#he really is the blueprint huh

[pearlessance]

Three's A Crowd

Tommy Miller x f!reader x Joel Miller

Summary: Tommy's new girlfriend is awfully sweet. When Joel finds out she's got a big appetite that only he can fill, he decides to satisfy the craving. Warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, threesome, praise, seduction, age gap(20yrs), size difference, oral sex galore, unprotected sex, photos taken during intercourse, mention of sending nudes, throat bulge, usual smut antics NOTE: i'm not sure if this is actually any good considering it was writen in just a matter of days because i was inspired by the new promo, gabriel luna the man that you are 😵‍💫😵‍💫 !! MASTERLIST [crossposted to AO3]

 Joel Miller knows his brother like the back of his hand. 

Which is why it’s not surprising when Tommy lets him in on the details about his secret new girlfriend. Secret—because you’re the daughter of their most consistent client. 

At first, Joel tells him how stupid it is to risk the company like that. It’s irresponsible to put on the line their biggest cash cow just to fuck around with the only daughter of the man that funds Miller Contracting through the winter. And then there’s the fact that you don't exactly fit Tommy’s type.

A rich girl with an even richer daddy compared to all those wild girls from Tommy’s previous female fixations? It doesn’t line up. It makes no sense in Joel’s head. 

Even as his brother tries to explain, “I didn’t go after her. Not at first. She came onto me.”

Joel’s got one hand on the steering wheel and the other propped on the open window of his truck as they drive home from a particularly exhausting day. He furrows his brows and asks, “Don’t you think that’s a little suspicious? You sure she actually likes you and isn’t just tryin’ to get her daddy’s attention?”

Tommy snorts. “Even if she was, I wouldn't care. You ever met a girl that loves to suck cock before?”

“Jesus Christ—”

“An’ I mean love, Joel. Not like. Love.” There are stars in his eyes and he knows it’s a serious matter but Joel can’t help the laugh that escapes him.

He thinks it must be high praise coming from his brother who goes home with a different girl every other weekend. “That good, huh?”

“Better than good.” 

And he knows Tommy’s got a one-track mind, so there’s really no use fighting it. So he just says, “Be careful. Don’t go gettin’ caught 'cause the business will pay the price.”

Tommy agrees and Joel lets it go. Doesn’t think about it again, even when Tommy cancels their plans to go out that weekend in favor of your company.

Well, not until he’s standing in your kitchen going over blueprints with your father, that is. 

Joel tries not to glance out of the floor-length windows in the kitchen to the backyard. He tries not to look at the movement in the pool that repeatedly catches his eye. And he tries, really fucking hard, not to allow his attention to linger on the way that white bikini rests so snugly against your chest, or the way your wet hair cascades down your back and sticks to your smooth skin, or the way his cock twitches in his jeans when the impressive swell your ass shakes as you pull yourself up and out of the pool.

He understands his brother a little better when he sees you, Joel thinks. Understands why he’s willing to risk such a high-profit opportunity for the chance to see you underneath him. 

Your father leaves the kitchen to find an old set of blueprints to compare to the new ones, and Joel begins to panic as he realizes this is the moment you decide you’re done swimming. 

When you open the door to the kitchen the hinges creak. Joel takes note of it. 

Water drips onto the white tile floor, the same quick rhythm as the thumping of his heart against his sternum. You cross the kitchen and open the fridge door without even looking at him. 

But Joel certainly looks at you. Can’t help but to, really. You’re like some decadent display as you break the seal of an icy bottle of water and begin to take long, slow drinks from it. Your lips are plush and swollen and Tommy’s words reverberate in the back of Joel’s head. 

You ever met a girl that loves to suck cock before?

“Thirsty?”

He nearly chokes. Joel knows you’re likely just being hospitable. Kind, even. But he feels like he shouldn’t be speaking to you, not when you’re close to naked and dripping wet. And if not because of your father upstairs, then certainly because of his brother’s affinity for you. So, despite the way his tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth, he says, “No, thanks.”

Joel turns his eyes back to his blueprints, folding the corner once, twice, trying to focus on anything but the weight of your stare.

If you notice his unease you ignore it as you slide up to the counter beside him and peer down at the layout of your father’s newest home renovation. You’re so close he can feel the heat of your skin, can smell the chlorine in your hair. “Hm,” you say. “This is for the guest room?”

“Bedroom D,” he corrects.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips. You turn away from the blueprints, spine resting against the marble countertop in favor of studying him instead. “You’re Joel, right? Tommy’s older brother?”

There’s no sense in lying, Joel thinks. Though he does consider it for a moment. “Uh…yeah,” he says. And then he clears his throat and nods, repeating a little more firmly, “Yeah.”

Your stare is so hot against his skin, eyes unabashedly roaming down the column of his neck. He shivers as your attention lingers on the small sliver of his chest that’s revealed thanks to his decision this morning to leave one of the buttons on his flannel unsecured. You’re standing so close to him now that a drop of chlorinated water falls from the ends of your hair and onto his arm.

Joel feels the cool liquid slide down his too warm-skin, melting as if it were ice, heating to the temperature of his blood that sings in his veins beneath your scrutinization.

He watches your tongue slide over your pretty bottom lip and his breath catches in his lungs. “Hm,” you say again, the sound a little fonder this time. “I see where he gets his good looks from.”

It’s been a long time since someone flirted with him so openly. Even longer since someone your age even took a second glance at him. And even though he knows, by the rule of his own morality, that you belong to his little brother…Joel can’t deny the giddy feeling it elicits in his chest. Can’t deny that he likes your attention, either.

“Found them,” your father suddenly says, bounding down the stairs with folded blueprints in his hand. 

Joel clears his throat and you take a small step away from him, but otherwise seem unphased by the intrusion. He tries to ignore the lingering buzzing beneath his skin, tries to shake off what remains of the electrified energy you’d created.

You greet your dad with a kiss on the cheek and tell him you’re going out tonight. Your father asks with who, and you glance past him, staring only at Joel as you say simply, “Just a friend.”

And he knows you’ll likely be at his little brother’s apartment within the hour. Thinks about preparing himself for yet another of Tommy’s cancellations of guy’s night but this time there’s no frustration on Joel’s part. 

Because he doesn’t blame his brother at all. If anything, he understands a little better now. Understands why getting drunk with Joel at a bar is a far less tempting activity than spreading those pretty thighs of yours. Understands why he’d rather stay home than go out, especially if you’re there in his bedroom on your knees for him. 

His assumption is confirmed later that night when he gets a text message.

Tommy: Have to cancel again. Sorry, something came up.

Joel knows exactly what ‘came up’ and decides to put on an old western movie to distract himself instead.

But when he lays in bed that night, the image of you in your bikini surfaces in his brain and makes a home there. He tries for an hour to get himself to relax enough to shut it out, to just go to sleep.

Eventually, though, he realizes there’s no fucking point in trying. And even though you’re in his brother’s bed and your father’s blueprints are sitting on the kitchen table downstairs, Joel Miller takes his cock in his hand and has the best orgasm of his life. He thinks about your smooth skin and supple curves, thinks about the way that single droplet of water felt against his skin, thinks about your pink tongue and the way you looked at him with such insatiable hunger.

It’s a secret Joel decides he’ll take to his grave.

He tries not to think of you after that. Tries to keep his distance from you, from your house in general. Joel’s not a man who enjoys technology but opts for emailing your father instead of meeting with him to avoid another post-pool incident.

Tommy finally makes it to guy’s night two weeks later but he’s glued to his fucking cell phone. Joel tries to make conversation, tells him about upcoming projects and opportunities for contracts, and mentions that this summer has been their most profitable yet. But Tommy only nods every so often. Giving Joel a stupid, uninterested, “Yeah, for sure,” or “That’s great, Joel,” or “I don’t know, maybe.”

There’s no salt to his words, no meaning other than oblivious agreement. And it starts to anger Joel because Tommy’s been distracted by girls before but never like this. Never so much so that he can’t sit and have half a conversation with his brother. Eventually, he lets out an annoyed sigh and says, “If you’ve got somewhere better to be you can just fuckin’ go, Tommy. Jesus Christ.”

The irritation seems to finally get his attention. Tommy locks his cell phone and says, “She’s sending me pictures, distractin’ me, I’m sorry,” but there’s a stupid ass grin on his face and Joel can feel the insincerity radiating off his brother.

Joel rolls his eyes and waves down the bartender for the check. 

“No, no, okay,” Tommy insists, setting his phone face down on the bar top. He shoos the bartender away and says, “Okay, seriously, you’re right. I’m sorry.” It’s a little more genuine this time, and so Joel decides to meet his brother halfway.

“You really like her? S’that what this is?”

That smile returns to Tommy’s face, eyes glossing over in a mystifying way. He must, because Joel’s never seen him like this before. “We’re not even together,” he says.

Joel’s brows furrow. “What are you talking about? You spend every weekend with her, you might as well be.”

“Believe me, Joel, I’ve tried, man. She’s…I don’t know how to explain it. She doesn’t want anything serious. Doesn’t wanna be exclusive or nothin’ but isn’t fuckin’ around with anyone but me. I just…” he shakes his head and his eyes widen and Joel can see the awe in them. 

“So she’s acting like you,” Joel supplies.

It makes Tommy laugh. But the more he explains, the more Joel starts to believe it. “She’s so sweet but that girl is insatiable. Just wants to fuck and have a good time and that’s it. Doesn’t care about much else.”

“I’m not sayin’ you shouldn’t have fun, Tommy, but don’t let her consume your whole life. Get some space every once in a while,” Joel says. But he understands the infatuation, understands exactly how enticing your company would be. 

He leans in close, one hand wrapped around his whiskey glass and the other tapping the back of his phone. “Those pictures…she’s taking pictures in the shower, Joel. For me. An’ you wanna know what she just told me the other day?”

Joel knows what’s coming next. Knows Tommy’s about to clue him in on something Joel has no business knowing, but he can’t fight off his curiosity. “What?”

“Said her biggest fantasy is a threesome with two guys. Told me, and I quote, that she wants to get fucked while she’s got my dick in her mouth.” He makes a sound of disbelief but there’s this grin on his face that lets Joel know Tommy’s biggest fantasy is to be with a filthy girl like you.

Joel just shakes his head.

But the image his brother paints lingers in his brain for days.

In fact, he’s still thinking about it during his next meeting with your father. Thinking about the fact that you’re up in your room, fantasizing about getting fucked by two guys at once when your dad suddenly says, “I’ll be out of town for a couple of weeks, I hope you don’t mind I gave my little girl your phone number. Just in case anything goes wrong. It won’t, but I hate being so far away while she’s here alone. I’m sure you understand, being a father and all.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to respond, unsure how to explain how terrible an idea that is, so he says nothing. Just nods stiffly and begins discussing the renovations for the ensuite of bedroom C. 

Less than a week later, Joel gets a phone call from an unknown number, and his gut sinks because he knows it’s you. He debates on ignoring the call but then begins to worry that something’s actually wrong and puts himself in your father’s position. Thinks he’d be furious, had it been Sarah, if she’d called someone for help and they’d ignored her. 

So, he presses his cell phone to his ear and says, “Hello?”

“Joel? Hi, sorry, I know it’s kinda late. Do you think you could come over really quick? I need your help.”

“Help? With what?” It doesn’t really matter, he thinks. Because he’s already lacing up his boots, phone held to his ear with his shoulder.

“I locked myself out,” you explain. “My dad’s out of town for work and I didn’t grab my key before he left. You have a spare, don’t you? For the renovations and stuff?”

Joel can’t help but wonder where you’ve been for the last few days. Someplace you wouldn’t have needed to come home, it seems. “Uh, yeah, I do,” he says. “I’ll be there in a minute. Hang tight.”

He finds you standing on your front porch with a backpack slung over your shoulder, your phone charger in your hand, and a look of relief on your face. “Thank you so much,” you immediately say. “I swear I never forget my key but I was distracted this time.”

Joel unlocks the front door for you and lets you inside. He lingers on the threshold, saying, “No, it’s fine. No worries at all.”

“Come inside,” you insist, and he can feel the bad decision from a fucking mile away.

“Really, it’s fine. I’ll just—”

“Please,” you interrupt. “Are you thirsty? Hungry? Let me make you something to eat before you go. It’s the least I could do.”

He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. But he does.

Joel nods, unable to resist you and how pretty the word please sounds in your mouth. He follows you into the kitchen, lingering at the island counter as you drop your bag onto the floor next to the stairs and immediately plug your cell phone into the extra outlet he’d placed into the backsplash per your father’s request during last winter’s renovation. You look over your shoulder at him as you open the refrigerator and ask, “You like grilled cheese?”

“Uh, yeah. I do.” He sits in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the way you move as you prepare the bread and heat up a cast iron pan. Eventually, he finds the courage to ask, “You…uh…were you at Tommy’s?”

He watches as your cheeks redden the smallest bit. But there’s no shame in your voice as you answer simply, “Yes, I was.”

“Figured you’d tire each other out eventually,” he teases.

You laugh softly, and the buttered bread sizzles as you place it into the pan. As you lay the slices of cheese on top of it you explain, “Wasn’t like that. I’m home for the weekend so Tommy can talk to you, actually.”

It surprises him to hear it, in truth. “Me? What for?”

You flush an even deeper crimson. “Uhm…I think it’s better that you hear it from him,” you say.

Joel’s mind wanders to a million places as you dig out a spatula and flip the grilled cheese. But then a terrifying thought strikes him and Joel suddenly asks, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“Ew, no,” you say with a laugh. “Believe me, Joel, I like creampies just as much as the next girl but I’m not irresponsible about it.”

This time, it’s his face that warms. Joel swallows hard and sits on the barstool at the island, trying not to think about your inadvertent admission, trying not to imagine it, to imagine how fucking good it would feel to—

“Here,” you say, placing a glass plate in front of him with a perfectly crispy grilled cheese cut diagonally. He’s thankful for the distraction, thankful to convince himself the watering of his mouth is from the food in front of him and not the thought of how you would taste on his tongue.

“Thanks,” he says simply, trying to massage some of the tension from his shoulders. It had been a long day on the job site and he’ll admit to himself only that a grilled cheese and the sight of a pretty girl certainly feels like a treat.

You seem to notice his discomfort and ask, “You okay?”

He nods and takes a bite of his sandwich. It’s the most delicious thing he’s ever had and he tries to hold back his moan to no avail. When he looks over at you, you’re wearing a satisfied grin that only widens when he says around another mouthful, “This is incredible.”

As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, you step up behind him and place your hands on his shoulders. Joel opens his mouth to stop you, to tell you this is wrong, inappropriate—but then you kneed your fingers into the tender muscle, and his eyes flutter closed. 

All argument leaves him as quickly as it appeared, and all he can manage to say is, “Jesus Christ.”

Your quiet giggle is the cutest thing he’s ever heard. And Joel knows he should be thinking of his brother right now, knows he should be thinking of your father, thinking about the fact that you’re just a young woman, twenty years separating the two of you…but all he can focus on is the way your hands feel on him.

They’re warm and soft but clinical in their pursuit, thumbs pressing hard into the muscle that brackets his spine. Your delicate fingers feel like heaven, bringing relief he never realized just how badly he needed.

You slowly massage down his back, pushing against the knots, working them free. When you get to his lower back, he groans when you slip your hands beneath his navy t-shirt. You’re touching him with no barrier and it steals the breath from his lungs.

Never in his life has he wanted to be touched by someone so badly. Never in his life has he enjoyed the feel of another person’s skin against his so much. Your thumbs dig into the sore muscles, working the tension out.

You lean in so close that he can feel the heat of your breath against the shell of his ear as you say, “Will you take your shirt off?”

He’s thankful you’re standing behind him, however. Because it means you can’t see the way his cock stiffens in his jeans.

The words are tempting and seductive and wrong, he knows. He looks back at you and the heat in your eyes takes him off guard. The angle has his mouth so close to yours you’re sharing the same breath.

It’s then he knows just how badly you want him. As much as he wants you.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you say. While you speak, your fingertips trace soft patterns into the skin of his lower back.

Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he does it anyway.

You step away from him only long enough for Joel to grip his t-shirt at the back of his collar and pull it over his head, laying it on the marble countertop.

And then you go back to your ministrations as if nothing changed; massaging the tension from his muscles, starting low and working your way back up to his shoulders this time. But it is different, Joel knows. Because he can feel the heat of your skin against his and his heart rate picks up, a different kind of tension filling him instead.

But it feels so fucking good that he doesn’t ever want you to stop.

So, he eats what remains of his grilled cheese. Lets you work the tightness from his bones, trying not to hiss in pain when you touch a particularly tender spot in the center of his back. You lighten the pressure there and begin building back up to it slowly, bringing him to heights of euphoria he’d never known existed.

When he wipes the crumbs from his hands and pushes his now empty plate away, Joel knows he should stop you. But he doesn’t, because he can no longer find a reason good enough to say the words. He lets you dote on him in a way he doesn’t deserve and soaks it up while it lasts.

And when you press a sweet, chaste kiss to the top of his spine, Joel feels the energy shift but doesn’t say anything then, either.

Because he likes the way your lips feel against his skin. Even more so than your soft hands.

You do it again, a little higher this time. You kiss the back of his neck and he shivers. He realizes you can see the goosebumps that break out across his skin, because he can feel the smile on your lips as you press another wet, open-mouthed kiss to the junction of his shoulder.

Joel’s cock has never been this hard, he thinks. He’s never wanted someone so badly, has never been so incapable of making the right decision as he is at this very moment.

His breath comes fast and labored as you press yourself to him. You’re not wearing a bra beneath your oversized t-shirt, and he can feel your pebbled nipples against his back. Your hands move forward, circling his abdomen, sliding up and over his chest. He knows he should stop you now, knows this is the beginning of something he can never come back from.

But the two of you are all alone in this big empty house, and how can he deny you? He doesn’t have the strength. Not then you slide pretty, delicate fingers over his soft stomach, through the dark curls that disappear into his jeans.

Your hand is slow in its pursuit but still adamant as you palm the bulge in his jeans. Even through the thick denim, the feel of your hands on him makes him shake. He cock throbs with each gentle stroke, each small movement. “You can tell me to stop,” you tell him. “Is this okay?”

He can’t bring himself to say anything, but the moan that escapes him is answer enough. He places his hands on the edge of the counter and straightens his spine, getting a full view as you undo the button of his jeans and lower the metal zipper at an agonizingly slow pace.

And then you’re slipping a hand inside his jeans, below the elastic band of his boxers, and all thoughts eddy out of his head. He can think of nothing, nothing as you begin to stroke him. Your hands are small, barely fitting around his cock, but you make do with what you have and it’s more than enough.

You pull him out of his jeans completely, and it’s a sight to behold, seeing his cock in your pretty hands. He tries to catch his breath as you pull one of your hands away for a single moment. And when it returns, your fingers are sticky with webs of spit.

This time, when you wrap your hand around his cock, you’re able to stoke him a little easier, the added lubrication allowing for freer movement. You move slowly at first, hands grazing from base to tip.

He watches with reverence as you familiarize yourself with him. When a bead of precum forms at the tip of his cock, you use your thumb to add it to the sticky wetness already in your hands. Joel can feel the smile on your face as you continue to press desperate kisses to his spine, and he knows he won’t last long like this.

Watching you stroke him with both of your small hands, watching you take care of him like this…it’s too much. It’s too fucking much.

So he closes his eyes. Lets himself sink into the moment with you instead, listens to your pretty whimpers as you press your tits against him. He wants to reach around and slide his hand between your thighs but knows better, knows that this is already bad enough.

You tighten your hands around his cock, squeezing a little harder, and he feels his end begin to build at the base of his spine. “Fuck.”

“Does it feel good?”

He tries to breathe slowly, tries to draw it out. But you pick up your pace, stroking him a little faster, and Joel can’t stop the groan that escapes him.

“You make me so wet, Joel,” you whisper against his skin. “I think about you and touch myself sometimes, thinking about how fucking big you are, how good it would feel to have you touch me…how good you’d feel inside of me.”

Your filthy words bring him to the brink. Joel fights it, doesn’t want to finish so fast he embarrasses himself. He wants to see the look on your face, wants to fuck you right here on this kitchen counter that he built.

Joel clenches his fists instead. Stays stone still because he knows if he moves an inch he’ll be giving into these desires. Knows a single shift in position would have him pulling your shorts down your thighs and licking your pussy until he makes you cry out for God. 

But it’s not his place.

It’s not his fucking place, and you’re not his fucking girl.

So he doesn’t move.

You do, though.

Joel tries to catch his breath as you pull away from him, the absence of your touch leaving him cold and wanting. But then you’re nudging your way in front of him, in the small space between his knees and the island, and then you’re lowering yourself to the marble floor.

You ever met a girl that loves to suck cock before?

Slowly, you run your hands over his jean-clad thighs. You look up at him through your lashes and he feels a little like he’s being worshipped.

And when you lean forward, pretty, soft tongue licking the underside of his cock, Joel can’t keep his hands to himself. His resolve withers, and he threads his fingers through your hair but is careful not to rush you.

He lets you take your time, lets you swirl your tongue over the head, lets you taste every inch of him to your heart’s content. And when you finally take him into your mouth, cheeks hallowed out, creating a tight seal around him, Joel’s head falls back in bliss.

You savor it, relish in it, swallowing him down inch by inch. He hits the back of your throat and still you keep going, choking on him, nose pressed against the hair below his navel. With each pass, you begin to bob your head, tongue smoothing over the sensitive tip. You set an insatiable rhythm, drool sliding down your chin.

It doesn’t take him long. His hands tighten in the hair at the nape of your neck and he breaths out, “Fuck, fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna-”

Your watery eyes meet his and the adoration in them sends him over the edge. Joel finishes at the back of your mouth, your fingernails digging into the meaty flesh of his thighs almost painfully, but you take everything he gives you and swallow it down.

It’s the sexiest thing he’s seen in all his life.

When he finishes, Joel strokes your hair affectionately and you smile up at him with his cock still in your mouth. It makes him laugh, and he realizes how soft and sweet this moment feels. How easy it is. How he never wants it to end.

Slowly, you sit back and begin to stand to your feet. Your lips are swollen and red and glossy, even when you wipe the spit off your chin with the back of your hand.

You cross the kitchen, grab your phone, and make your way to the staircase. “Thanks again, Joel. Can you lock up on your way out?”

He doesn’t understand how you can feel so casually about this. Doesn’t understand how you’re likely texting his brother as if Joel’s cock wasn’t just in your mouth, as if the taste of his release doesn’t linger on your tongue. 

The guilt doesn’t set in until he’s in bed that night. He can’t sleep, because he knows he has to say something to Tommy but knows, too, he’ll likely pay the price of a right hook in reparation. 

At three in the morning he sends a text to his brother; Come over in the morning. Need to talk. Important. 

Joel doesn’t sleep. He lays in bed and thinks of you, as he so often does these days. Thinks about how uncomfortable it’s going to be to tell his little brother that he indulged himself in the pretty little thing he’s been spending all of his time with. He decides he’s just going to say it outright, tell him the truth without beating around the bush, and immediately apologize for it afterward.

Because he is sorry, Joel thinks. Not sorry that he did it, but sorry that it’s hurt people in the process.

How can he come to regret the most gratifying sexual experience of his life? It’s a comfort, to hear some of Tommy’s words echo in his brain. 

We’re not even together.

She doesn’t want anything serious.

It’s like she just wants to fuck and have a good time and that’s it.

Joel hopes his brother feels a similar way. Tommy’s never once indicated he’s ever wanted to settle down with a woman, but…something sits in his gut and twists up his insides. Because as much as he wants to deny it, Joel knows this…knows you are different. What Tommy feels for you is different.

He’s drinking whiskey by ten in the morning for no reason other than to calm his nerves.

And Joel’s thankful for the liquid courage when Tommy finally pulls into the driveway at noon. He comes barrelling through Joel’s front door with a scowl on his face, and for a second Joel wonders if his brother already knows and is here thinking Joel had every intention of keeping this secret of yours.

But when he speaks, Tommy doesn’t seem angry. Just…concerned. “What’s up, man? Pretty ominous text to wake up to. Where’s Sarah? She alright?”

Joel shakes his head and raises a hand between them. “Sarah’s fine, she’s alright,” he says quickly. “Staying with a friend this weekend. Sorry, I guess I should have mentioned it wasn’t a life or death situation.” 

For Tommy, anyway.

With a slow nod, Tommy’s shoulders slump and he drops himself onto the couch. “Alright, then. That’s good. I was worried, came haulin’ ass over here.” It’s then he notices the tumbler in Joel’s hand, half filled with amber-colored liquid. “You good, Joel?”

He takes a seat next to his brother and tries to recite the speech in his head. But nothing comes out. Joel opens and closes his mouth once, twice, and then finishes off the whiskey in his glass.

Tommy’s patient, for what it’s worth. He lets Joel adjust in his seat three different times, saying nothing while he tries to find the courage he’s been building for the last twelve hours.

“I…I, uhm…I have to tell you something an’ I…” Joel shakes his head and squeezes his jaw. “Alright, look. I…did something.”

A quiet, curt sort of laugh leaves Tommy. “I know what happened last night, Joel. She already told me.”

It surprises him. Not that you told him, Joel can’t fault you for that considering he’s presently trying to do the same thing. What’s surprising is that Tommy seems relaxed about the whole situation. Relieved, even.

A million different questions surface on the tip of his tongue, but only one comes out. “What?”

“It’s alright, man,” Tommy says, laying a comforting hand on Joel’s shoulder.

“You’re not…mad? I don’t understand. I let her—”

Tommy’s mouth stretches into one of the widest smiles Joel’s ever seen on his brother’s face. “It was good, huh?”

Joel doesn’t know if saying yes is a good idea. Doesn’t know if a simple three-letter word is sufficient enough for the things you made him feel with that pretty, pink tongue of yours. 

But it seems his thoughts are written plainly on his face. “Fuck yeah, it was,” Tommy says with a laugh. “She called me right after you left her house last night. Told me everything. She makes a mean grilled cheese too, doesn’t she?”

Try as he might, Joel can’t seem to wrap his head around what’s happening. Can’t seem to process his brother’s ease, his indifference. He tries to put himself in Tommy’s place but knows that if it was his bed you slept in for the last week, Joel would be furious to learn you’d wound up on your knees for someone else.

But if that someone was Tommy? His own brother?

Maybe that’s why it’s different. Because Joel would never do something to hurt his brother intentionally. And he knows, too, that Tommy would never do it to him, either.

He trusts his brother with everything in him. There’s not another soul on the planet who knows him like Tommy does. So, surely, he knows that what you and Joel did wasn’t born of malicious intent, right?

“She’s a sweet little thing,” Tommy says quietly, as if they’re sharing a secret. “But that mouth on her is somethin’ else. She’s a talker, through and through.” There’s pride on his face as he speaks. “Said she felt real bad, runnin’ out on you like that, but she’d gotten so wet from just goin’ down on you that I could hear it through the fuckin’ phone, Joel.”

Though he tries not to, Joel begins to wonder what would have happened if you’d stayed, if you hadn’t disappeared so fast to take care of the ache that had settled between your thighs.

It would have been only fair, right? You helped him. He would have helped you.

“She wanted me to talk to you about something, anyway,” Tommy says.

He’d nearly forgotten that you’d mentioned the same thing last night in all the chaos. It piques his interest, because what on Earth could you need Tommy to ask him?

But his answer comes quickly when his brother says carefully, “You remember a couple of weeks ago when I told you what her biggest fantasy is?”

A threesome.

Joel’s standing from the couch and shaking his head before his brother gets another word out. “Have you lost your fuckin’ mind, Tommy?”

“Joel, just listen—”

“Listen to what, man? You got any idea what you’re askin’ me right now?”

There’s a smirk on his face as he stares at Joel from the couch, looking just as comfortable as if they were having a normal conversation about what they should eat for dinner. “I’m askin’ you to fuck my girlfriend,” he says.

Somehow, the word girlfriend surprises Joel more than the rest. It’s the very first time he’s ever called anyone his girlfriend. “I thought you weren’t together.”

Tommy shrugs. “Call it what you will. Does it really matter?”

“Yeah, Tommy, it does matter. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t have feelings for this girl. Tell me this doesn’t mean anythin’ to you, that doing somethin’ like this wouldn’t fuck it all up in a minute.”

He shakes his head. “Can’t lie to you, brother. ‘Course she means somethin’ to me. That’s why I wanna give her everything she wants. And she wants you too, Joel. Is that so bad?”

Joel sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots.

For a second, a single second, he considers it. Thinks about how any price is worth it for a single night with you, to hear the sound of your moans, to feel your warm breath against his neck again. He’d bet you sound real pretty, all filled up with him.

“Don’t trust anyone else to take care of her the way I do,” Tommy says. “No one but you.”

It’s too much. It’s way too much to ask of him.

“You’re insane, Tommy,” he says, grabbing his whiskey glass from the coffee table and escaping to the kitchen to refill it. He wishes he had something a little stronger.

He’s not surprised when his brother follows him to the kitchen. Tommy leans against the archway and says, “You can say no.”

“Good, 'cause I’m sayin’ no.”

Tommy laughs, but Joel thinks there’s no joke to be found. “Just wanted you to know the offer’s there and she’d jump at the opportunity. Y’know, if you change your mind, that is. Ask her about it, if you wanna.”

“I won’t.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, not tryin’ to push it or anything. You know how to get ahold of me.”

And then his brother retreats, leaving Joel with nothing but his whiskey and his thoughts.

Thoughts that run rampant in his brain. Filthy images of you beneath him, back arched in pleasure, pretty mouth hung open just wide enough for Tommy to slip inside.

How terrible would it be, really? Tommy might have impulsive tendencies, but he seems so sure of this. And if there’s not an ounce of jealousy in his brother, so much so that he offers you to Joel like some sort of prize…maybe there won’t be the repercussions Joel’s afraid of.

Maybe it’ll be as Tommy says. Maybe it would just be a good, safe way to give you what you want, to indulge your wildest desires. 

And it would certainly be an indulgence for him. Just feeling your hands on him had brought Joel bliss like he’d never known. He can’t imagine how much higher he’d feel if he could taste you, if he could finish deep inside of you and not at the back of your throat.

It takes twenty minutes of pacing in his kitchen and another ten of shaking the nerves from his hands before he picks up the phone and calls you.

“Hey, Joel. I was just thinking about you.”

“S’that right?”

“Mmhm. Did…did Tommy talk to you yet? He told me he was going to this morning.” 

“Yeah, sweetheart. He did.”

A strange sort of silence stretches on. He can hear your hesitance and realizes you’re just as nervous as he is. “And? What did you…what did you say?”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell you he declined the offer. Not when it was a no mostly out of fear and unease. “You wanna tell me how this is gonna work?”

You snort and he can almost see the playful smirk on your face. “I think you know how it works, Joel.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he says, but can’t fight off the smile that climbs onto his face and makes a home there. “Brat.”

“Hm, I think I prefer the term princess.”

Joel laughs but thinks the name is real fitting. He can see why Tommy likes you so much—can understand why he wants to give you everything it is that you desire. Everything about you is so playful and carefree and innocent. You’re just so sweet. A tooth-rotting confectionary. 

“I don’t know how it’ll work,” you finally say. “I’ve never done something like this before, but I know it’s what I want.”

Your conviction is reassuring. Both you and Tommy seem certain that this is the path you want to take, no unease to be found within either of you. But it’s not the physical that worries him. It’s…everything else. “An’ what happens if it becomes something more? Sex is just sex until it isn’t.”

He can hear the smile in your words as you ask, “You worried about catching feelings for me, Joel Miller?”

“I’m bein’ serious,” he insists. “Tommy feels somethin’ for you. I know it and I think you probably do, too. I don’t want to do this and ruin what the two of you have been workin’ on.”

“You won’t ruin anything,” you insist. “And if…if things do get…complicated, then we’ll just take it day by day. No use in worrying about something that might not happen, right?”

It’s such a naive way of thinking. Joel wishes he wouldn’t have said no so quickly. Wishes, too, that you were a little different. Maybe if you weren’t so sweet, so tempting, he wouldn’t be so worried about ‘catching feelings,’ as you’d put it.

Your voice is quieter as you say, “For what it’s worth, Joel…I like you, too.”

By the end of the phone call, you manage to convince him to consider it. To genuinely give the idea a shot, to weigh all the pros and cons. You promise not to be disappointed with either decision and though he knows the whole thing has been your idea, Joel believes you.

Several days later, Joel stops by with the intent to fix the creaky hinges on the door to the pool. But the moment he steps into the kitchen, Joel forgets all about the task at hand because he can hear your moans echoing through the house.

He follows them like a moth to a flame.

The door to your father’s bedroom is wide open. And in the center of the king-sized bed, covered with gray satin sheets, is you and Tommy.

Tommy’s turned away from the door, but you’re looking right at it. Looking right at Joel, as you bounce in his brother’s lap. When your eyes connect with him, your pace only picks up, your moans only grow louder.

Joel watches, frozen in time, as you chase your release. Tommy swirls his tongue around your pebbled nipple, leaving a trail of wetness in its wake. You thread your fingers through his hair and moan his name but you stare right at Joel.

He can’t breathe. Has suddenly forgotten the process of inhalation. He’s seen you in your bikini but never like this, never completely bare. You’re beautiful, Joel thinks. Beautiful in a godly way; a woman the poets write for, a woman the sculptors display in cathedrals.

You reach a hand between your bodies, circling your clit and arching your back.

The thought doesn’t even cross Joel’s mind that he should leave, that he should give the two of you some privacy. It feels right that he’s here. 

You grind yourself on Tommy’s cock and give Joel the sweetest, most innocent smile as you say, “It’s so big, you’re so deep. God, fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

Tommy grabs at the soft swell of your ass, lifting you just to slam you back down onto his lap. “Yeah? Gonna cum all over this dick, princess?”

I prefer the term princess.

No need to wonder why, Joel thinks.

“Mmhm, yes, yes, right there.”

“Can feel her gettin’ all messy,” Tommy says. “If I knew you’d get this wet ridin’ me in your daddy’s bed I would’ve said yes weeks ago, pretty girl.”

Joel knows the reason you’re all worked up has nothing to do with the location and everything to do with his eyes on you, but he stays silent. Stays still.

Even as he watches you fall apart on his brother's cock and soak the satin sheets beneath him. Even as Tommy does the thing that Joel’s been dreaming about every night for days, filling you up with his release. 

He doesn’t linger. He doesn’t fix the creaky hinges, either.

Joel barely makes it back to his truck before he’s reaching into his jeans to stroke his cock, right there in the driveway in broad fucking daylight.

It only takes a few quick tugs before he covers his hand in sticky ropes of cum. He tries to catch his breath, wiping the mess you’ve made of him onto his jeans and driving home ten over the limit. Before he makes it inside to shower and change, Joel sends a text message to both you and Tommy that reads; Okay. I’m in. My place. Friday night at ten.

He tries not to think about it too much. Tries to go on about his work week like normal, going through the motions of making dinner each night and taking Sarah to school every morning with Tommy in the passenger seat.

They don’t talk about it, though Joel can sometimes feel his brother staring at him a little too long as if there’s something he wants to say. But he doesn’t. They don’t bring it up until after Joel drops Sarah off at her friend’s house for another weekend-long slumber party. 

Tommy says, “I’m gonna take her out for dinner. Do you want to come with us? Could help break the ice a little. Loosen you up.”

He agrees, and instead of going home, they pick you up from your house. You’re wearing a pleated blue skirt that’s a little too short, but Joel thinks you look like something divine. Tommy helps you up into the truck, and everything starts to feel real the moment you’re sitting between them. Joel behind the wheel, Tommy on the passenger side.

You look so small in the center of the cab, surrounded by two brothers who possess nothing but longing for you. Like pretty prey caught in the clutches of two predators.

Joel has to readjust himself in his seat when you lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. Sweet. “Missed you,” you say. “You look good. You both do.”

He doesn’t comment on the fact that they’re both still in their work attire; dirty blue jeans, sun-faded t-shirts, and muddy boots. He’s surprised to hear your appreciation, considering how put together you always seem to be.

But maybe that’s the appeal for you. The blue-collar archetype. Your daddy probably expects you to marry the son of one of his friends, just another rich boy.

If he could see you now…

Tommy slides his hand to the inside of your thigh and squeezes. “You hungry, princess? Let’s get you somethin’ to eat.”

As much as he hates to admit when his brother’s right, dinner works wonders for Joel’s nerves. The three of you talk the entire time; you tell Joel about your friends and the subjects you’re studying in that fancy college you got into on a full ride. It’s not the one your father wanted you to attend, but it’s the one you wanted.

Even though he knows Tommy has heard it all before, he lets you and Joel have this moment. He sits beside you and smiles at you as you speak, eyes glued to the side of your face and full of adoration. Joel realizes then that he thinks his brother might be in love with you.

He gets it. Thinks it must have been a real easy fall.

Tommy slots himself in the conversation naturally. The two of you clue Joel in on some of your inside jokes and it doesn’t feel weird at all. He doesn’t feel left out like he’d worried he might be, and he doesn’t feel jealous when you steal bites from Tommy’s plate because you steal things from Joel’s, too.

It’s easy. Nothing feels forced, no conversation out of place.

Halfway through the meal, you switch sides of the booth and sit next to Joel instead. You lay your head on his shoulder and he holds your hand beneath the table and it feels right. Tommy smiles at the two of you and carries on with his story as if the dynamic you’ve created has existed for years and not just hours.

When it’s time to go home, Joel finds that his nerves have completely vanished.

Tommy offers to drive. And he’s thankful for it because it allows him to focus on just you.

You take Joel’s hand and lay it in your lap, palm open. He shivers as you trace the lines in his hand. You ask him, “How are you feeling?”

And the answer comes to him easily. “Good,” he says. “Better.”

“Told you,” Tommy says, one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh. “She’s a real good girl, Joel. Always does as she’s told.”

Even though the sun is setting below the horizon, he can see the crimson that stains your cheeks and it brings a smile to his face. “S’that right?” He takes your chin gently in his hand and forces you to look up at him. “You a real good listener, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, she is,” Tommy answers wistfully. “Why don’t you g’’head and give Joel some sugar, princess.”

You lean into Joel’s side, pressing a kiss to his jaw. It feels good just being close to you, holding you in his hands, but when you touch him, it’s something else entirely. An uncontrollable desire, an unfamiliar sort of decadence.

Joel cradles your face in his big hand, thumb stroking your cheekbone, and gently presses his lips to yours. It’s soft at first, a tender curiosity. He kisses you again, a little more heated this time, and when he flicks his tongue across your bottom lip you grant him access as if it’s second nature. 

His tongue explores yours, tangling together, invading your sweet mouth. Joel thinks you taste a little like honey and a whole lot like fortuity. If you had asked him ten years ago if he’d ever imagined he’d be in this spot, tasting the inside of his brother’s girlfriend’s mouth, Joel would have said it was a delusional thought. 

Yet here he was, cock stiffening in his jeans from something as simple as a kiss. Like he’s some teenage boy, experiencing a woman for the first time.

But it is his first time experiencing you, and Joel knows that’s what makes all the difference. 

The kiss turns sloppy and desperate. And when your panting breaths turn to moans, Joel realizes Tommy’s hand on your thigh has disappeared beneath your skirt.

It surprises him, the magnitude of the moment. Joel would have thought he’d feel jealous somehow, envious that his brother’s touching you and he’s not. But there’s nothing but satisfaction to be found. Joel likes to see the dark look in your eye, likes to see your breath hitch in your throat.

He takes your legs and spreads them wide, draping your thigh over his, giving his brother more room to touch you.

“What do you think, brother? Think we should give her what she needs before we even get home?”

Your face is so close to his that your breath fans across his spit-covered lips as you say so beautifully, “Please, Joel.”

A smirk finds its way to his mouth. “You look so fuckin’ pretty when you beg, sweetheart,” he says. “S’that what you want? Hm?”

You nod frantically, eyes pleading.

“Hold your skirt up, baby,” Tommy instructs. And you do as he says without question, fabric bunching around your hips. 

Joel can’t deny the pleasure he finds in discovering you’re completely bare beneath. Even from his spot in the passenger seat, he can see how glossy your pussy is with arousal, desperate to be touched by both of them. “Oh…look at that, Tommy. She wants it bad, doesn’t she?”

“Always does, brother. Needy little thing. S’why she needs the two of us,” Tommy says. His fingers trail lazily over your slit, a teasing caress. He presses his index finger against your clit and makes a satisfied hum, a sound that comes from somewhere deep in his chest. “Can feel your heartbeat right here, princess. Tell Joel what you want.”

“I want him to touch me,” you say, a little bit breathless. “Want him to make me cum while you kiss me. You taste so good, Joel. You make me so wet.”

The words don’t sound filthy or obscene in your voice, despite how vulgar they are. Joel squeezes your jaw in his hand and delights in the way you grin when he says, “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Wanna see the look on your face when he fills you up with his fingers.”

You’re so pretty, Joel thinks. But it’s nothing compared to the way your pupils dilate as his brother stretches you open. Your lips part and Joel takes the opportunity to crush his mouth to yours, to taste the sweetness you possess. 

He drinks up your moans as Tommy sets a steady pace between your thighs. Joel grabs the back of your knee with a rough hand and spreads your legs further apart. He can hear how wet you are, can feel the goosebumps as they form down the column of your throat.

Joel pulls away from your spellbinding kiss only to catch his breath. “How’s it feel, baby? That feel good, hm? Tommy takin’ good care of you?”

“Yes, yes—mmm—fuck. His hands are so big, feel so fucking good,” you whimper. One hand is clutching Joel’s shirt, holding on for dear life, and you move the other to rest on his cock. You gently knead it over his jeans, and he wonders if you can feel just how hard he is for you.

It doesn’t take long until his brother has you trembling. Your thighs shake and a crease forms between your brows as you chase after the relief you seek.

He kisses you again, tongue brushing against yours, and when you breathe Joel’s name into his mouth he knows what you need before you even ask. 

Slowly, experimentally, Joel’s hand on your knee travels upwards. Over the soft skin of your thigh, taking it all in, savoring you—and then his fingers are circling your clit while Tommy’s are shoved deep inside of you, curved to hit the perfect spot, and you come undone within seconds. 

“Oh, God, Tommy, I—”

“I know, baby, it’s okay. Go ahead,” he says, giving you full permission. 

The words are the last thing you need to reach the full height of euphoria. You’re reduced to a trembling mess in his hands and Joel thinks this is so much better than his dreams. Better than standing in the doorway, watching you, wishing he could hold you.

“That’s it,” Joel praises. “There you go. Bein’ so good for us, sweetheart.” Wetness coats his fingers as he continues to circle your clit until your breath stutters in your chest. He kisses you hard as Tommy’s rhythm begins to slow, eventually stilling completely. 

You wince as they both pull their hands away from you at the same time, a synchronized movement. 

Tommy pulls the truck into Joel’s driveway and chuckles as he looks at you, skirt still hiked up around your hips, limbs boneless. He strokes the side of your face and kisses your hair. “You’re alright, princess. We’re just gettin’ started.”

Joel climbs out of the truck and adjusts your skirt, holding you with an arm around your waist to ensure your balance until both feet are on the ground. Tommy comes to your side and slides his hand into yours, handing Joel the keys.

While he works to unlock the front door, Joel can’t help but smile at the sound of your sweet giggles. He looks over his shoulder to see his brother kissing your neck and grabbing your ass, and the two of you look so infatuated with one another that it’s intoxicating. A magnetism he can’t help but be drawn to, a warmth he wants to embrace.

The minute you walk in the door you’ve got your hands on Joel again. You slip them beneath his t-shirt and he’s thrilled to give you what you want. He pulls it off over his head, discarding it on the back of the couch, and lets out a pleased sigh as you begin peppering wet kisses over his chest, down his sternum, fingers grabbing needily at his skin. 

Tommy stands behind you as you lower yourself to your knees between them. He runs his hands through your hair lovingly and says, “Show him what you do best, baby.”

You smile up at him and it takes Joel’s breath away. He’s never seen someone so pleased to please him, never felt this wanted in all his life. The metal of his belt buckle clinks against the button of his jeans as you undo them, pulling down his zipper in a way that’s familiar to you now.

When you pull his cock out, you wrap one hand around it and guide the tip to your mouth. He’s so hard already that he aches, but the feel of your soft tongue on him grants him ease. You lick every inch of him, an indulgent sort of torture. And then you’re swallowing him down, creating a tight seal with your plush lips.

Your mouth feels like heaven, Joel thinks.

“Look at the way she’s got her legs pressed together,” Tommy murmurs, thumb caressing your temple gently. “Gets so turned on with a dick in her mouth she just doesn’t know what to do with herself.”

“We’re gonna take care of that for you,” Joel says, cupping your jaw in his hand. He shifts it a little lower and can feel the outline of his cock through your throat as you swallow him down, gasping for air you never once ask for. “Gonna take care of everythin’ for you, sweetheart.”

Pleasure coils around his spine, a vise-like grip that threatens to end this night well before he’s ready for it.

Tommy grabs a handful of your hair and draws your head back. Strands of spit still connect you to him and drool runs down your chin. It’s the most pornographic thing he’s ever seen. Tommy laughs and says, “I know, brother. S’almost too good.”

Joel knows it should be a strange thing to hear, but it feels innate. He helps you back to your feet and pulls your shirt over your head while Tommy unzips the back of your skirt and slides it down your legs.

You turn and wrap your arms around Tommy’s neck and he lifts you up in his arms like it’s second nature. Joel supposes it is—the two of you have had a whole lot more practice together than he has. Tommy starts towards the stairs, heading towards Joel’s bedroom, but you let out a whine and reach out for him.

He can’t deny how warm it makes him feel, seeing you all wrapped up in his brother but still reaching for his hand. The smile you give him the moment he touches you makes his heart constrict in his chest. It’s such a soft, intimate moment, and Joel can think of nothing but your conversation on the phone last week.

You worried about catching feelings for me, Joel Miller?

He wasn’t a week ago. But now…? Now, he’s not so sure.

Tommy lays you down in the center of Joel’s bed and the sight of it pushes away his anxiety. You’re so beautiful with your hair splayed out behind you, an angelic sort of halo. The thought crosses his mind that you might have always been meant to exist in his bed.

It feels like second nature to crawl over you, to let his hands roam over your chest, your ribs, your hips. Joel follows each caress with a kiss, mouth following the echo of his hands. He sucks a bruise into your hip, ensuring this moment is real with physical, tangible evidence.

When he gets to the crease of your thigh, Joel sits up and spreads your legs wide. “Look at that,” he whispers. Tommy’s pulling off his worn t-shirt and working on his jeans but pauses long enough to appreciate the sight of your pussy, glossy with arousal and what remains of your first release. “She’s so fuckin’ pretty, ain’t she?”

“Yeah, she is,” Tommy agrees. “Taste’s real pretty, too.” He leans over and presses his mouth to yours, a messy, needy sort of kiss. You whimper as Tommy asks, “What d’you think, princess? Think Joel should get a taste? Hm?”

“Yes,” you say without hesitation. “I want it so bad, Tommy, please.”

“Want it, huh?” Joel slots himself between your thighs, his mouth an inch from where that ache resides. “Maybe we should make her wait a little longer, Tommy. Make her wait ‘til she needs it.”

“No, no, please,” you cry. You buck your hips, trying to find reprieve, but Joel’s hands on your waist hold firm. “I do, I do, I need it, Joel, please, please.”

He looks to his brother to make the decision. Tommy’s got a wicked grin on his face as he watches you writhe on Joel’s sheets. “Think you’ve been real good today. But don’t go forgettin’ your manners, princess. When Joel licks that pretty pussy of yours, you better say thank you.”

The moment he slides his tongue through your slit, your spine bends, arching off the mattress. Your shoulders slump and your breath comes fast. “Oh my god,” you moan. “Thank you, Joel, fuck.”

He tries to give you the same tentative treatment you’ve given him; tracing every inch of you with the flat of his tongue, memorizing the sweet taste, sucking your clit into his mouth. He can feel it pulse with need, and Joel understands the fever.

Your thighs clamp down around his head but Joel doesn’t mind. He just presses his mouth against you harder and flicks his tongue a little faster.

“Tommy,” you whimper. Joel looks up to see your chest heave with each shaking breath. You reach out for his brother with trembling fingers.

“I’m comin', baby,” Tommy says softly. “Don’t you worry.” The mattress dips beneath his weight as he kneels beside you. He cradles your head in his hand, supporting your neck while he eases his cock into your mouth. 

It’s the hottest thing Joel Miller has ever seen in his fucking life.

You grind yourself against his face and he supplies the friction you seek. Arousal coats his facial hair, enveloping his senses in nothing but you. Your moans, your taste, your scent—you, you you. He thinks he’ll never want it any other way but this.

Tommy guides your mouth with a hand wrapped in the tangled strands of your hair. He fucks your face and you whimper around his cock like there’s nothing else in the world that could ever compare. He smiles down at you and says, “You’re gonna make her cum, Joel. Can you feel it? Get’s real sloppy when she’s right there, right on the edge.”

Joel groans against you and focuses his mouth on your clit, giving him just enough room to slip a finger inside you to massage that sweet spot.

You stretch your arms above you and fist your hands in the sheets. When you reach the summit, Joel can feel it on his tongue, can feel your pussy tighten around his finger, can feel your thighs shake around his head.

Tommy pulls your head back, giving you a moment to breathe as another orgasm surges through you. Your moans echo in Joel’s room, the prettiest-sounding symphony he’s ever heard. “Good fuckin’ girl,” Tommy praises, just as breathless as you. “Bein’ such a good girl for us, baby.”

Joel doesn’t relent, doesn’t stop licking your clit until you’re giggling and twisting in his hands at the overstimulation. You sound so satisfied, so happy. It pleases him to see the elation on your face. When he finally pulls away, Joel snakes his arms beneath you and pulls you up to your knees. “So good,” Joel agrees. “But she’s gonna give us another one, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

All you can do is nod and it makes both brothers laugh.

“She’s usually got so much to say,” Tommy teases. “Think we’ve got her fucked dumb, brother.”

“That’s alright,” Joel whispers. “We’ll do all the thinkin’ for her, hm? Take such good care of this sweet little pussy. Turn around, baby. On your hands and knees.”

You do as he says blissfully, ass arched beautifully on display for him. Tommy maneuvers himself in front of you and you take him in your mouth on instinct. Second nature, habitual.

Joel positions himself behind you and slides the head of his cock through your slit. “This what you want, sweet girl? This what you dream of?”

Leaning back, you stroke Tommy with your hand and look up at him as you answer Joel’s question. “Yes,” you say. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I saw you. Knew I needed you, Joel. Knew I needed you both.”

“Three’s a crowd, princess,” Tommy says. “But I think I like this one.”

Joel’s inclined to agree. He pushes into you slowly, sighing in contentment at the gratifying tightness. You’re so wet, so warm. “Goddamn, baby,” he groans, gripping the supple flesh of your ass to keep himself tethered to earth, to keep himself grounded. 

Tommy holds your face in his hands, smoothing his cock over your lips. “Oh, she likes it, Joel,” he says. “Should see her face. Can I take a picture, baby? So Joel can see how happy you look with his dick all up in your guts? Hm?”

The words are crude but Joel can feel you tighten around him as Tommy speaks. “Mmhm,” is all you can say, sticking your tongue out to lick the underside of Tommy’s cock.

He reaches over to the nightstand where his cell phone sits. Tommy angles his phone just right, and the shutter echoes in the room as he takes his photos.

Joel pushes into you real slow. And when he’s buried to the hilt you let out a gasp and hold onto Tommy’s thigh for support, balance wavering. “It feels so fucking good,” you say.

Tommy takes a couple more photos, tries a couple of different angles. But Joel thinks no image will ever beat the one in front of him.

He watches your pussy stretch to make room for him, watches you soak his cock, desperate for it. Tilting his hips forward, Joel sets a steady pace, easily finding a rhythm that has you moaning out his name. 

Satisfied with his work, Tommy sets his phone back on the nightstand in favor of the filthy exhibit before him. He guides his cock back to your mouth, groaning at the feel of your tongue. 

Joel thrusts into you and feels that coil begin to form around the base of his spine again.

You’re moaning around Tommy’s cock and he’s smiling like there’s no place else he’d rather be. Joel understands that, too—because he thinks you’re the most perfect girl that could have ever stumbled into their lives. “S’this what you needed, princess? Needed us both, hm? Dirty little girl.”

“Our girl,” Joel muses, captivated by the way you squeeze him as he says it. He fits so perfectly inside you, like you were made for him, made for this. “Stretchin’ her out so easy, brother. Sweet little pussy’s just cryin’ for it.”

Tommy’s head falls back and his hips stutter. “Just like that, princess,” he praises gently. “Yeah, shit—gonna swallow it all like a good little girl, ain’t you?” 

You make a sound of approval at the back of your throat. Joel can see you look up at his brother, cock-drunk and starry-eyed, and he feels his chest pull tight with a strange sense of pride.

Joel slows his pace just a little, long enough for Tommy to take what he needs from you, for you to focus on just him. And then he’s breathing hard as he holds your head still, nose pressed against his navel. His shoulders draw tight and then gradually relax as he spills his release at the back of your throat. 

When Tommy pulls out of you, his cock is covered in spit and cum but you do as he says, dutifully swallowing it all up like the perfect girl you are. And you even clean any remaining mess with your tongue, licking it up with sweet reverence.

He’s close—so close it aches, but he wants you to give him another before this is other. Wants to make it worth your while, wants to know how it feels to make you cum while he’s buried deep inside you. 

You arch your back and press your cheek against the mattress, looking back at Joel from over your shoulder.

Tommy moves to your side, smoothing your hair out of your face with one hand, and then he slips the other beneath you and circles your clit with skilled, deft fingers.

The response is instantaneous. Joel can feel your pussy pulse around him, sees the strain on your face as you fight the pleasure. You say his brother's name like a prayer shrouded in ecstasy.

But Tommy just shakes his head. “Nah, princess. Ain’t up to me this time. You gotta ask Joel permission.”

He doesn’t understand at first, this almost silent communication between the two of you. But then you say, “Joel, please. Please please, I need to cum so bad, it feels too good.”

You sound so fucking pretty, begging for him like that. “Been so good…I think you’ve earned it,” he says gently. “Go ‘head, sweetheart.”

Tommy continues to circle your clit as you clench around Joel’s cock, uttering quiet praises in your ear. 

You tighten around him and Joel’s right there, right there—and then you say, “Cum with me, Joel, please. Cum with me, I wanna feel it.”

And it sends him over the edge. His name in your mouth, begging him to fill you up. He buries himself so deep inside you that there’s no telling where he ends and you begin, and it’s the best orgasm he’s ever had in his fucking life. 

You shudder beneath him and Joel leans forward, pressing his forehead to your spine. He thrusts into you until the last drop, giving you all of it, giving you everything he has to offer.

As you come down, Tommy pulls his hand from beneath you and combs his fingers through your hair. He’s got that stupid grin on his face, but Joel’s not sure he’s ever seen his brother this happy before. 

The three of you just lay there for a moment, saying nothing, unmoving, basking in the afterglow. Joel’s not quite sure how he’s meant to navigate this, not sure what he’s supposed to say or how he’s supposed to feel about the fact that the best sex he’s ever had was with his brother’s little girlfriend. 

But he does know how to take care of a woman. So, he does. Joel eases himself out of you and disappears for only long enough to find a washcloth, wet it with cool water from the bathroom sink, and grab an icy bottle of water from the fridge. 

When he returns to his bedroom, Tommy holds you in his arms while you speak to him in a hushed tone. It worries him a little, truthfully.

So when Joel sits on the side of his bed to clean the light sheen of sweat off your forehead and the mess between your legs, he asks, “Everythin’ okay?”

“Everything’s good. So, so good,” you answer easily, giving him one of those honeyed smiles.

Tommy takes the bottle of water from Joel’s hand and breaks the seal. “Drink,” he says, passing it to you. And you do, listening so obediently.

But the moment your hands are free again you say, “Joel? Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he says. And he means it. Whatever it is you need, whatever it is you want, Joel wants to give to you. He’s come to understand his brother in this, too.

“Do you think you’d want to…I don’t know. Maybe we could do it again?”

He laughs. Genuinely, truly laughs, because Tommy’s been right this whole time. You’re insatiable.

But you quickly amend your words. Saying, “I mean, not…not now. But maybe…maybe I could stay? For the weekend?”

Joel finds the thought of you leaving at the end of the night an unbearable one. And he knows he’ll likely feel the same once Sunday evening rolls around, and he’s not quite sure what that means for him or you or Tommy…but maybe it’s not something he has to worry about today. 

He kisses your forehead and says, “‘Course you can, sweetheart.”

And then you’re reaching for him again, urging him beneath the sheets. You lay your head on Joel’s chest and drape your leg over Tommy’s hip, and you look so at ease, so peaceful that his heart constricts at the sight. You’re so good, so sweet, and Joel thinks he’d do anything to keep you happy.

Later, as your soft snores and shallow breaths fill the silence, Tommy playfully kicks Joel in the shin and says, “Ain’t no use tryin’ to talk yourself off the ledge, brother. Easier to just enjoy the freefall. Take it day by day.”

Joel thinks his brother might be right. Thinks that this might get complicated and messy and dangerous…but for now, for today…he’ll savor the sugary sweetness while it lasts.

[cheri-2047]

a scenario where “they find out you’re pregnant after you break up” with alhaitham, ayato, alhaitham, diluc, wriothesley or just any of them?? 🙂‍↕️

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, I haven’t started the inazuma quest so I don’t know much about ayato, this is completely based off on his voicelines so my bad.

as for Alhaitham diluc and wriothesley

THERE WILL BE AN ATTEMPT ! (I had hyper fixations on alhaitham and a lil bit on wriothesley)

I added LYNEY to the mix cause I need to see his x reader tag filled after days (it’s been less than 24 hours) of it not being filled

this will be mostly headcanons cause I’ve been losing motivation to write full fics lately 😔 I’m gen sorry

”You’re…pregnant?” With Alhaitham, Wriothesley, Ayato, Diluc, Lyney

TAGS: is pregnancy a tag 😭 it’s just y’all talking abt it 😭 alcohol (diluc)

CHARACTERS: haitham wriothesley, ayato, diluc, lyney.

MENTIONS OF: kaveh, sigewinne, kaeya, ayaka, Thoma, Lynette, freminet

ALHAITHAM:

you doorbell on his home, only to see…

kaveh.

”oh! It’s been awhile since you visited, uhh… he’s still at the akademya…would you like to wait or…”

kaveh lets you in and it’s up to you if you want to leave honestly. He’s aware you two broke up but decided not to pry into it anymore (to help both you and Alhaitham handle it on your own)

as you wait, you just watch him make his blueprints, he offers you drinks while you wait, but the moment the door opens kaveh packs up and leaves the room

“Alhaitham…?”

you called out for Alhaitham, as he looks at you with wide eyes.

“….”

he nods his head to acknowledge your presence.

“it’s been awhile.”

he sat across from you.

“why the sudden visit?”

“look, remember that night when we…. Um…”

“….what about it…?”

when you told him about it, he was speechless for awhile

”come again?”

you two sit in silence for awhile, both of you PRAYING that the other says something

”…what do YOU want?” He asks, wanting to know if you’ll keep the baby or not.

”I was hoping I could keep it… I just wanted to tell you since you know…”

he nods, he stands up and sits next to you.

He smiles, “would you be okay with raising them together?”

he was actually pretty happy that you wanted to keep the baby, both of you before you broke up wanted to have a family with each other. So he was still happy that you were still up to it

you nod

”I want us to try again” he says, while holding both your hands.

”I want to try to fix this relationship…do you?”

of you say yes, he smiles and hugs you, if you say no, he nods and says he understands, but still asks if he can raise the kid with you

”do you want to move in?” He offers, “I have a spare room, you can stay there while we fix our relationship, no rush…”

he assures you,

you nod. “I guess kaveh’s getting another roommate huh? Ah- another two roommates” he smiles as he rubs your belly.

while you’re pregnant, he takes care of finances, everything really. He pampers you and stuff

kaveh is happy for the both of you just “as long as you don’t make me the babysitter…. Except for if you lessen my rent”

When the baby comes haitham was there to support you

you two took care of the child pretty well (Kaveh taking care of the kid VOLUNTARILY since he’s grown to get attached to them, he even teaches them how to draw as they grow up)

Alhaitham and you get your relationship fixed (yayyy)

Alhaitham comes home earlier to help with the baby, he plays with the kid and does everything in general

he reads the kid as many books as they want, every day even if he’s busy he WILL make time for the kid.

sometimes he takes the baby to work with him, and while he works he talks to the baby (he teaches things to them as well)

Alhaitham proudly introduces them to Cyno and nari and they call Collei the sister of your kid

make another request if u want them as parents headcanons cause I can fill thousands of these

WRIOTHESLEY:

You and wriothesley ended your relationship on pretty good terms

you still visit him sometimes and that’s how this whole thing started

sigewinne started to notice how you constantly looked in pain, or how some days you come later than usual

she didn’t say much about it until she could have sworn she heard you throwing up in one of the bathrooms.

she asks you what’s wrong and when you say you don’t know, she brings you in for a checkup.

that’s when you found out. “you’re pregnant!”

she says happily while clapping her hands. “Congrats!”

you panicked, knowing EXACTLY who the father was.

“….whats wrong?”

she asks, noticing your silence

“…is it wriothesley?”

you nod, not even knowing how to tell him or how he will react.

“I’m sure he’ll be glad, ah speak of the devil!”

he entered the room, he heard you throwing up and he panicked. But when he entered the room, he had an unreadable expression.

“you’re…pregnant?”

he asked. And that’s when you realized he heard everything. As you nod he takes awhile to think

He sits down on one of the infirmary beds in front of you,

“….can we keep it? If you don’t want to I understa-“

you nod, he smiled and moved beds to sit next to you.

sigewinne went away to give you two some privacy

”I don’t want them growing up here though” he chuckled, he didn’t want the kid growing in the fortress of meropide

”wouldn’t let ‘em even if we had the option” you joked back, as wriothesley held your hand

”…you’re really okay with keeping the baby? Don’t wanna have regrets now”

as you reassure him, he pulls you into a hug

”how do we raise them?” He asks, squeezing your hand a bit

”what do you mean?”

”as…as best friends like we are now? Or… do.. do you want to try again? Being in a more… serious relationship I mean”

mid you say u wanan try, he’ll be happy and afterwards press a kiss to your cheek, and if you say no, he will nod but still be happy you two can have a family.

ge ends the talk with “I love you”

during pregnancy he makes sigewinne go to your home to help you when he’s busy

The moment you say ure in too much pain, he runs to your home, and cares for you the entire time.

eventually you move in to his mansion, and his maids take care of your cravings and all

He feels bad for being absent but every day when he comes home he has a gift for you <3

i feel wriothesley wouldnt want the kid to be scared with the criminals he handles so he doesn’t talk much about work at home

he enjoys being with you, he is more at home now as much as he can.

he’s in charge of diapers, he doesn’t care if he’s out he told you he will do it

in fact he’s like that with almost everything.

The moment you try to tell him “I can do it” he goes

“You’ve spent 9 months taking care of this kid on your own, no buts.”

he wants you to have a breeze with the kid

Every night, the kid cuddles with you two to sleep.

He makes an effort to go out with you two, on picnics or anthing, he wants to make sure this kid is loved due to his backstory

jes also very protective of the kid, he loves you two very much

AYATO:

You and ayato ended your relationship pretty formally, he didn’t want you two to have bad blood between each other

you don’t keep in touch much, but occasionally he sends messages asking how you are and all.

Lately however, you’ve been getting more sick and feeling bad. You asked your friends about it and they didn’t really know what to do, they passed it off as “maybe you ate something bad?”

you couldn’t handle it anymore, so one day you went to the hospital with your friend ayaka. Ayaka was one of your closest friends, even before dating ayato you two were already close, she went with you to the hospital (since you didn’t want to go alone) and after awhile, you two found out you were pregnant.

“Congratulations!” She clapped, as the doctor left the room. “What’s with the long face?”

“….I need to talk to ayato…. Ayaka do you know if he’s busy today?”

she then realized what you meant, before nodding and helping you check out of the hospital

that same day, luckily when you dropped her off, ayato was right outside, just taking a stroll around. He waved when he saw you and ayaka.

ayaka asked him if he was busy and he shook his head. And that’s when she left the two of you.

“it’s been quite some time hasnt it? What’s so urgent?”

he asks as you two continue to walk outside the kamisato estate

As you explain to him the situation, he stops walking

”you’re sure? You double checked?”

its not that he doesn’t want the baby, it’s just he’s worried about the amount of pain you’ll go through

he brings you two to sit outside (on a chair ofc) and as you tell him you were sure, he was speechless for a bit

”…dear i think it’s up to you for what to do”

”if you’d like to keep it, I’d be more than happy to raise them with you, but if not…I’ll help you get things arranged”

if you say you keep it, he will smile and kiss you on the cheek.

”sorry” he chuckles

”can I raise them with you?”

if you say no he says he will then just support you financially and if you say yes, he will clap in excitement

as you’re pregnant, he lets you stay in his house (in the comments please tell me if his home has a name so I’ll edit it) and he spends more nights working more to ensure you two have everything enough for the baby (even if he’s already rich)

He takes some more days off than usual, just caring and pampering you

ayaka is so happy that her best friend lives with her and she also helps u too, morning sickness? If Ayato’s busy, she’ll be right there to hold your hair back. cravings? She will immediately ask the chef to cook it for you.

Thoma also is more than delighted to help, he’s actually really happy for you two.

as for your relationship with ayato, things aren’t sure. But he would always be open to the idea of trying again with you

once the baby arrives, ayato drops what he’s doing and immediately runs to you, he takes you to the hospital (ayaka and thoma too) and stays by your side and holds your hand the entire time

once the baby is out, he would go “good job darling, I’m so proud of you” and kisses you on the forehead

he takes a LOT of days off more now, (ayaka volunteered to do his work for her even if it’s difficult) and he pampers you and the kid

its up to you if you want to raise your kid as the next heir, but ayato definitely wouldn’t force you (or the kid, he would ask the kid once he’s older if they want and gives him 2 years to change their mind is they say yes or no)

he asks thoma to help him learn how to cook, change diapers, etc, he genuinely just wants to make this kid feel as loved as possible.

if your baby cries in the middle of the night he tucks you in and handles it himself.

he’d honestly be a good dad even if he’s really busy at times.

DILUC:

”what?”

“immm pregnant….”

you said, completely out of your mind after you had a few drinks at the tavern.

“y/n you’re drunk.”

he thinks you’re joking, but suddenly you pull out a pregnancy test

“Tadaaaaa…..”

he looks at you in shock

“where did you get this?”

“From me…?”

“It’s no time for jokes y/n where did you get this”

“i can take another one if you wanttt”

not only does he have to deal with this, but he also has to deal with you being drunk as hell.

“not now, oh god if you’re serious… you drank too much alcohol”

he panics, he immediately takes the drinks away from you and carries you to your home in mondstadt.

“please tell me you’re lying”

it’s not that he doesn’t want the baby, he’s just scared that you ARE pregnant and since you drank a lot that night, it would damage the baby

“woah there”

diluc bumps into kaeya, and kaeya looks at him weirdly to find you just muttering in his arms

“Kaeya, I need you to do me a favor”

“oh? Not even daring to speak to your brother for months only to come back for a favor hmm?”

“I’m serious this isn’t a game!”

Kaeya then nodded

“alright alright, what do you want”

Diluc explains to him what you announced and he asked for him to go to the pharmacy to ask if you did buy tests.

“alright, I’ll meet you in her home”

kaeya runs and diluc runs to your home, laying you down in your bedroom.

he runs to the bathroom and he does see a box of tests and 3 other positive tests.

“…so you were serious huh?” He sits next to you on your bed, seeing how you passed out from the drinks.

he watches over you the entire night, thinking things through

kaeya comes and confirms you bought them, and he thanks him.

”so you’re gonna be a dad?” kaeya asks, looking at his brother

”…I mean… y/n and I did want to be parents… it’s just yeah.. the falling out”

“what are you gonna do about it?”

”…if she keeps the baby, I’ll gladly help her. I’ll ask adelinde to stay in her home or she stays in the manor” (forgot what his home is called)

”so I’m gonna be an uncle huh?” Kaeya jokes

”I’d actually be really happy if you’d support this” diluc admits,

”of course I do, you’d be a good dad” kaeya reassures him

a few hours later kaeya leaves and in the morning you remember your conversation with diluc

he talks you over with it and once you two reach an agreement, he smiles.

he takes you to his manor and even if he has to work, he’s home earlier every day to help.

he starts building things, a crib, etc

once the baby is out, adelinde helps you two, and diluc overall though he’s strict, he’s really good

be plays with the kid, teaches them to attack, anything the kid wants, he supports

during arguments (if it’s between you and diluc) he makes sure the kid doesn’t hear, he doesn’t want to scare him.

”hey kiddo, let’s get you to your room okay? Ah and wear this” he hands him headphones “no taking off okay?”

You two however, sleep in different rooms.

if you Two get together, then in the same room.

diluc loves you two very much (kaeya and Adelinde as well)

Adelinde does usual chores and plays with the kid when you both are busy

and kaeya makes a bigger effort to visit more

actually what’s really nice is kaeya and diluc gets close again, when they both play with the kid, they themselves get reminded of their childhood and it’s really wholesome honestly

LYNEY:

(I love him so much)

when you two dated, you two were actually roommates. Up until now you two are roommates, and best friends

You didn’t even take any suspicion that you were pregnant, he just noticed more changes in your mood how you always looked in pain.

one morning, you suddenly had morning sickness, he was cooking breakfast and once he heard your retching, he closed the flame and ran, he pulled back your hair and rubbed your back

“there there,”

when you finished, he ran to get you some water and sat with you against the bathroom wall for a bit

“I think we need to talk”

“hm?”

“this- it can’t just be a coincidence Mon cher”

(I HEADCANON THAT HE GOT USED TO CALLING YOU PET NAMES IN UR RELATIONSHIP AND YOU SAID THAT ITS OKAY THAT HE DOES THAT)

“what do you mean?”

“you’ve been having more pains yes? Your mood has been more down lately, and your morning sickness?”

“morning sickness? No Lyney I’m sure I just ate something bad-“

“I think you’re pregnant”

“…what?”

And that’s how this whole thing started

The entire morning he tries to convince you

”birth control isn’t… doesn’t always work” he mutters

if you’re in denial, he goes out later to buy a test.

once you try it, and it’s positive you try another

”I’m… I’m really….”

he nods

”…y/n? Do you want to keep them?”

If you nod, he smiled and hugs you tightly and if you say no, he says he will get arlecchino to help with the process.

you two remain roommates and you can tell he’s trying his best to pretend to still be in the actual relationship

one night, he talks to you talking about how he still wants to try again, with being lovers and all

if you say no, he respects that and if you say yes, he presses kisses all over your face

he’s overjoyed really, and he’s so excited to tell Lynette and freminet

as for father… he doesn’t know how she will react so he writes her a letter

and she’s happy, she supports, but comes the next question

”what do we do with the fatui?” Lyney explains that he doesn’t want the kid to even HEAR about the fatui, especially with the trauma he got from it but at the same time, he doesn’t want to lie

You two decide to hide it as best as you can from the kid and tell him when he’s older. It isn’t the best choice but LYNEY doesn’t want the kid to be haunted by the crimes and all

he pampers you, comes home earlier form missions and he genuinely loves you a lot, if you want something no matter how far, he WILL get it

once the babies come out, yes, babies, you gave birth to twins,

he was the happiest person ever, kissing you and thanking you and telling you that he’s so proud of you and all.

he raises the kids very well, he doesn’t want them to end up being sad at all.

magic tricks? Always there. Every time the kids say something magical lyney tríes his best to make it come true

je loves you all very much

anything the child wants, he will support.

he teaches them some magic tricks and buys them their own cards.

lynette and freminet visit often and they help you two take care of the kids, and arlecchino

shes really proud of lyney :)) and she won’t force the kids to join the fatui

lyney always does his all to make you all happy, and sometimes he even falls asleep while watching over the kids

he wants to make life as easy for you and sometimes he forgets about himself, but he appreciates it when you tell him you want the same for him

A/N: GOD THIS WAS SO FUN, sorry I didn’t add any periods or capitalization, it’s just headcanons and I don’t wanna be like EXTREMELY serious about this cause it’s just for fun. Anyways thanks for requesting !! I added LYNEY cause I love lyney so much like omfg. I didn’t color code it since I’m not using the tumblr app anymore (rip storage) and so that’s why I have to use the site. Anyways thank you for requesting and my bad again if I mischaracyerized them, just comment if I did and I’ll change it <3 comments on how I can improve are appreciated!

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

The Rain is Always Gonna Come if You're Standing With Me | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends. This one took me approximately 100 years to finish because school is eating me alive. This one is based on Peace from folklore, which is an underrated song, in my opinion.

Word count: 12.3k

Warnings: Bucky's negative self image, harassment, slight reader injury, people being assholes

"But I'm a fire, and I'll keep your brittle heart warm If your cascade ocean wave blues come All these people think love's for show But I would die for you in secret The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?"

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, doll-” Bucky said as you swiped the dirty dishes from the table. He made a grab for them, but his enhanced speed was no match for you. You expertly evaded his capture, slipping away from his grasp with almost no effort. You knew him too well, knew his movement patterns and habits. Anticipating his every move was easy. With a cocky laugh, you turned on your heel and headed for the sink. 

“Sweetheart, really,” he called after you, “I’ll clean up.”

“But you made breakfast.” You set the two bowls that once held yogurt, fruit, and granola in the sink and turned on the water. “It’s only fair that I do the dishes.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and gave a laugh, “that wasn’t breakfast, baby. It was just a… a morning snack.” In only a few long strides, he met you at the sink. His large hands snatched yours and pulled them to his broad chest, halting your efforts to clean.

You cocked your head to the side, “A morning snack, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, I know we’re going out for breakfast, but I didn’t want you to be hungry.” He added a fraction of extra pressure to your hands, pulling them closer against his body. “I gotta take care of my girl.”

“Well, that’s very thoughtful of you,” you placed a quick peck to his lips. “And because you are so thoughtful and sweet, let me do the dishes.” With a playful tug, you tried to free your hands from his grasp. But Bucky held firm. 

He shook his head, “Nope. Not gonna happen.” Suddenly, he released your hands, spun you around, and landed a light slap to your ass; it happened so fast it left you giggling. “You go get dressed, I’ll take care of it.”

Your giggly “sir, yes, sir” floated down the hall as you marched toward the bedroom. This was to be the perfect day. A trip to your favorite bookstore, followed by what you swore was the best chicken and waffles the city had to offer. After breakfast, the two of you were set to visit the new shark exhibit at the science museum, eat lunch in the park, and grab an ice cream from your favorite spot. 

Bucky planned it all out, ensuring a flawless blueprint. And while you appreciated his attention to detail, you would’ve been happy with a day at home. All you wanted- all you needed- was to spend time with him. 

And time with Bucky was lacking as of late.

He stood at the sink, drying the now clean dishes as emotion overcame him. He couldn’t believe he was here- home- with you. He waited for this day. He hungered and ached for a day without danger, without bloodshed. He waited for a day spent with you. And only you. 

He’d just been so busy lately- too busy. Over the past few months, he’d been dragged around the world more times than he could count. His missions only seemed to grow longer. And each time he got the call from Hill, she sent him farther and farther away. 

He found himself struggling under the weight of severe, mind-numbing exhaustion. Anxiety. His body threatened to give out with each new wound he received, each drop of blood he lost. But he didn’t mind the constant paint or fatigue. What upset him most was spending so much time away from you.

The two of you lived together now. You shared an address, a roof, a bedroom. The universe somehow allowed Bucky to have a home- a safe, comfortable home- with the person he loved most. But he’d spent so little time there lately that he feared it wasn’t his anymore. That he had no claim to the space. He always felt like a mere passerby upon arriving home, like more of a wanderer than a resident. He always had to stop himself from knocking, had to force himself to use his key. 

But who was he to waltz through the front door after being gone for so long? Who was he to act like he owned the place? He thought maybe he didn’t deserve it, this home you shared. And he knew he didn’t deserve you.  

Over the past few months, he spent only a handful of nights at home while you held down the fort. You kept things together. He missed out on so much of your life; what if you didn’t want him to be a part of it anymore?

When Bucky did come home, he always showed up in the middle of the night. Sore. Exhausted. He’d drag his body into the bed you shared and pass out before he even got the chance to pull you close. He’d sleep late, his body too fatigued to wake before the afternoon. When he finally stirred, the two of you did your best to catch up. He wanted to hear every detail of your life, and you his. But without fail, the emotion won. You’d cry together, wrapped in the other’s arms, whispering “I love yous” over and over. 

And without fail, some world ending threat would interrupt. Danger always found a way to force the two of you apart, isolating you from one another. And only twenty-four hours after arriving home, Bucky would leave. Again. 

But over the last few weeks, things started quieting down. It was slow at first. Subtle. But Bucky sensed a shift in the air. He could almost feel the world settling. At first, he thought he’d lost his mind. But Sam, too, felt the earth calming. As did Hill. Whatever sweeping, overwhelming chaos that sent the entire planet into disaster so many months ago seemed to finally lose steam. Fewer calls came in, fewer alerts woke Bucky in the middle of the night. 

And three nights ago, Bucky came home for good. 

The adrenaline that kept him going for so long evaporated as soon as he made it through the front door. The anxiety melted from his body. It was the only thing, he realized, that kept him upright. And with it gone, his body gave out. He crumbled and collapsed to the floor as sweet relief flooded his every cell. He didn’t care that he was hurt, that he was worn out; he was just happy to be home.

But a sharp shriek flooded his system with fear once again. 

You stood frozen in the doorway of your bedroom, just a few feet away, with your hands clasped over your mouth. Tears welled in your eyes. Your chest rose and fell as sharp breaths dragged into your lungs. The sight of his limp body sent you jumping to the worst, most tragic conclusions. 

“No, I’m- I’m okay, baby.”  With great effort, Bucky pulled himself to his feet. 

It was then that you snapped out of your horrified trance. You rushed to Bucky’s side, throwing your arms around his neck, and pressing your body to his. You needed to be as close to him as possible, needed your souls to touch. His arms wound around you and pulled you closer still, desperate for you.

“You’re okay…” you whispered against his neck. It wasn’t a question, but an affirmation.

“I’m okay,” he said. “I’m home.” 

That night, after he took a shower and let you clean his wounds, he planned this perfect day. And though you told him it wasn’t necessary, he wanted to make things up to you. He wanted to apologize for being gone so long. For breaking your heart over and over and over again. For disappearing. 

He knew how his absences affected you. Knew you worried about him constantly when he was gone. He noticed the way you bit your nails down to the quick. How you picked at your cuticles till they bled. Your tired eyes looked bloodshot, and your bottom lip chewed raw. He knew your anxiety gave you stomach pain and headaches. Knew that you could barely eat or sleep when he was away. 

His constant disappearing act put you through hell. And he hated himself for it. All he wanted- all he ever wanted- was to make you happy. To bring you calm and ease and tranquility. And now that he was home, he swore to himself that he’d give you peace. 

Bucky finished with the dishes and headed into the bedroom, hoping to soak up as much time with you as possible. But just as he made his way into the en suite bathroom, your grumbled, aggravated voice caught his attention.

“Oh, what the fuck?” You let out a deep huff, staring down at your phone with a sharp seriousness.

Bucky popped his head into the bathroom, “Everything okay?” 

A look of surprise splashed across your face; you hadn’t heard him come in. “Oh- hey. Yeah. Everything is-” you gestured to your phone, “everything’s fine. My friend just sent me a stupid gossip article.”

“Anything good?” Bucky shot you a wink, knowing damn well he was clueless about the latest reality tv drama. 

“No.” The word carried a hefty weight and fell to the ground with finality.

Bucky clocked your tone, your expression- both struck him as too serious for a gossip rag. His muscles stiffened ever so slightly at sight of your displeasure. 

“Just dumb shit. People writing whole articles over things they have no idea about.” You rolled your eyes and slipped your phone into your pocket. A deep breath acted as a reset to your system, clearing the fog of frustration from your mind. “And it doesn’t even matter, cause we have a perfect day planned.” 

Bucky, too, took a deep breath. He relaxed into a smile and leaned against the door jam. “We sure do, doll.”

He was too accustomed to disaster. Always prepared for the worst. The slightest change in your demeanor sent him hurdling toward the worst possible conclusion. His body was home, but his mind remained stuck in a never-ending battle. 

“I’m just gonna put my shoes on- I’ll be ready when you are.” Bucky stepped away and did his best to shake it off. ‘Everything’s fine, it’s all good’, he said to himself as he laced up his boots. ‘It was just an article about Vanderpump Rules or whatever.’ His palms dragged up and down his thighs, his chest rose and fell rhythmically. He learned how to self-regulate, to talk himself down, long ago- before he ever met you. It was his only option back then.

The sound of your footsteps bounding down the hall commanded Bucky’s attention. He snapped out his dimly lit world and stepped into your technicolor atmosphere. A comforting sigh of relief spread though his body as he noticed the bright smile on your face. Any evidence of the upset your gossip rag caused was long gone, replaced by an all-encompassing warmth. 

“Alright, Barnes,” you grabbed your purse from the hook by the door and slung it over your shoulder,  “let’s do this.” 

The warm summer air greeted the two of you as stepped out of your apartment building. The busy city pulsed with the possibilities of a perfect Saturday. People passed by with dogs in tow. Cars honked. Birds sang. And finally, things felt right. Everything fell off its axis when Bucky was gone. The world turned in the wrong direction, the sun set on the opposite side. And only his return could set things properly in motion.

“Okay, to the bookstore,” Bucky weaved his fingers with yours and gave you a gentle tug in the right direction, “here we go!” 

Bucky never had an affinity for going out in public. He didn’t particularly enjoy the crowded sidewalks or busy subways. Throngs of strangers surrounding him from every angle only ever served to put him on edge. But he’d improved. He’d worked through his anxiety and his fears- all to be with you. It seemed, though, that his paranoia threatened to creep in again. After so much time away, surrounded by danger, he found himself scanning every face on the street, assessing possible threats. 

He always experienced some level of recognition in public, sure, but today felt different. Every pair of eyes seemed to bore through him, every mouth whispered his name. His muscles tensed, his jaw locked. 

“You okay?” you pulled Bucky to the side, out of the flow of people, “you seem a little on edge.”

“Oh-” Bucky snaked his hand out of yours, realizing all at once the force of his grip. He watched you rub at the sore spots he created and silently cursed himself. “No, I’m good, I’m okay. I think I’m just-” He eyed the area once more, “I think I’m just being paranoid. Is it me or is everyone staring at me?”

Your heart stopped. “Um, no, I don’t think everyone’s staring,” A casual shrug and a shake of your head punctuated your thought. “I think you’ve got some residual adrenaline or something, you know?”

Bucky nodded. “Must be it. I’m sorry about your hand, baby.” He pressed his lips to the indentations his fingers left behind. 

“I’ll survive,” you threw him a wink, “but the kisses help.”

The two of you continued your journey with Bucky’s worries only slightly assuaged. It seemed to him that hundreds of eyes raked over him with each passing second, but he forced his anxiety behind a wall. He wasn’t going to mess up this day with you- he couldn’t. He didn’t know how many chances he had left, and if this was the last one, he couldn’t afford to ruin it.

Block after block passed as you and Bucky got closer to the bookstore. Sure, there was a similar shop only a few minutes from the apartment- but it wasn’t as cute or as special as the one in the village. And Bucky wanted this day perfect. He’d do anything to make you happy. And so, he sucked it up and vowed to make the trek with you, no matter how nervous the public made him. 

But with only a few blocks to go, you pulled him to the side once again.

“Hang on, shoe’s untied,” you attempted to bend down and tie your loose lace, but Bucky refused to let you. He, instead, knelt on the sidewalk and gave your shoe a proper double-knot. 

He stared up at you with adoration in his eyes and a warm smile on his face, “this is almost like a Cinderella moment,” he joked. “Except I-” 

Something caught his eye. 

And before you had the chance to intervene, he was gone. He forced his way past cyclists and families with children, his body seemingly drawn in by a magnet toward whatever grabbed his attention. He stood with his back to you, examining a newspaper box. 

“Come on, Buck, no one reads the paper anymore,” you laughed, attempting to sway his focus. But he didn’t move. 

His gaze remained on the grainy photo of the two of you holding hands outside your building. For the second time that day, you scanned the headline: ‘SERIAL KILLER’S PR RELATIONSHIP: The Winter Soldier’s Attempt to Win Over the American Public’.

“What- what is this?” Bucky looked to you for help, for context. “Why did someone wrote about us?”

A haunting sense of hopelessness filled his eyes, leaving you gutted. And though he wanted to look away, he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes from the page. Each second spent examining the harsh headline caused him more pain, more anguish. 

He truly couldn’t believe what he saw. And he couldn’t believe he’d dragged you into the crossfire. 

“Hey, don’t pay it any mind, okay?” You fought to meet his eyeline, “It’s just stupid gossip-”

A realization flashed across his face, “is this what you were reading this morning?”

A slow nod confirmed his fears. “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you, I just-”

Bucky snatched a paper from the box and began reading at lightning speed. With each sentence, the dread filling his chest grew heavier. “Hydra’s deadliest weapon has a new victim,” Bucky read aloud. “though she hasn’t been bloodied or brutalized…yet. We’ll see just how long Barnes’s new PR ‘girlfriend’ survives.”

The words cut him deep. They wormed their way into his brain and unearthed the fears he’d long tried to put to rest. He knew he was wrong to be with you. He was wrong to indulge in his feelings for you. Dating you meant putting you in danger, and he’d known that all along. But you were never scared of him- and if you were, you didn’t show it. This article, however, cemented his belief: your relationship was a ticking time bomb; being Bucky’s girlfriend meant signing your I love you’s in blood. 

“Wait-” he dragged his eyes upward and met your anxious stare. “What does this mean- what’s a ‘PR relationship’?”

You rolled your eyes at the phrase, just like you had earlier that morning, “’public relations relationship’. It’s a fake relationship that’s been arranged by a PR firm. People usually do it to get publicity or fix their public image after a scandal.”

Bucky knew there was more to your answer, and he had enough questions to last till dinner. But the article was long- too long. He knew it had to be full to the brim with the most brutal, vile rhetoric possible. Reading it would hurt, yes. But he needed to know exactly what the article said about him, about you. 

He buried his face in the paper once more, only surfacing to share a line or two with you. “They think you’re being paid to date me? That we’ve been doing something called-” he double checked the article, “‘pap walks’? What’s a pap walk?”

Even in times of crisis, Bucky’s lack of modern knowledge still managed to pull a smile from you. “It’s where you call the paparazzi so they can take pictures of you, but you pretend it was spontaneous.”

Bucky looked stunned, “Why would anyone do that?”

You shrugged, “you’d be surprised.”

People took pictures of Bucky without his permission constantly- it happened all the time. They snapped photos at the grocery store and on the subway. And no matter how subtle they tried to be, Bucky always clocked it. He could almost feel the lenses on him. But he didn’t notice the person taking this picture on the front page. Maybe if he had, he could’ve stopped it. Maybe he could’ve saved you from being exposed like this.

He shook his head and disappeared once again into the disgusting story written about the two of you. He didn’t care much what they said about him. People hated him- that wasn’t knew information. And though he didn’t love being one of the most reviled men in history, he’d come to terms with it. But now that someone dragged you into the fray, the fire within him reignited.

“His new ‘girlfriend’ functions as a means of improving the public’s opinion of Barnes and humanizing the ex-Winter Soldier. It’s a PR strategy we’ve seen a million times- one that could possibly salvage Barnes’s reputation,” Bucky read aloud. He eyed the people who passed, waiting until they crossed the street to continue. 

“But what if she herself is no angel?” He rolled his eyes at the thought. “Surely, no one in their right mind would risk their life to date a proven serial killer. So, it’s entirely possible that she herself may not be in her right mind. Maybe she, too, is a criminal. Acting as Barnes’s new love interest could possibly knock time off her sentence or hours off her court mandated community service.” 

Bucky stared at you, aghast. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I- I can’t believe they’d say that about you…”

“Buck, it’s okay,” you shrugged. “We both know I’m actually in love with you for real. I don’t have a prison sentence to shorten or community service hours to perform. And the last time I checked, no one is paying me to date you.” You cut a glance to the newspaper box, full of papers with front page coverage about you and Bucky, “I’m not worried about their bullshit.”

Bucky’s grip on the paper tightened, crinkling the edges. “But why’d they have to drag you into it? You haven’t done anything wrong-”

“Neither have you,” your tone was insistent, steadfast.

“We both know that’s not true…” Bucky loved your support, your assertions that he was an innocent man. But he never believed them. He knew he had blood on his hands even if you couldn’t- or refused to- see it.

“We both know you had no choice,” your rebuttal didn’t waver. “But, speaking of things that aren’t true,” you gestured toward the paper, “they also dropped Sam’s name.”

Bucky scanned through the article until he found the paragraph in question. “Why put in the effort to clean the blood from Barnes’s tarnished reputation? Two words: Sam Wilson,” Bucky paused his reading and stared up at you with wide eyes. All you could do was nod. 

“Barnes and Wilson have been seen together on many occasions and have even been photographed on Wilson’s family boat in Louisiana. But Barnes’s association with Sam Wilson, AKA the New Captain America, only hurts the Captain America brand. Even if the two did take down the Flag Smashers as a team, Barnes is a bloodstain on the brilliant red, white, and blue of Wilson’s Cap.” 

Hearing the words aloud twisted the knife. Sure, skimming the article hurt, but listening to Bucky read every last disgusting word hurt you in ways you never imagined. He deserved better. He deserved a world that loved him. A world that welcomed him home and celebrated his life. He deserved a fucking medal of honor for simply surviving what Hydra put him through. But he didn’t get medals or high praise; he, instead, got spit on by people on the subway. 

“But if this new woman improves Barnes’s image in the public eye, his destruction of Wilson’s mantle may be mitigated.” 

Bucky balled up the paper and crushed it into the nearest garbage can. His hands shook with anger, with anxiety. 

“I hadn’t even- I didn’t even think of that…” he leaned against the newspaper box, dejected. “I didn’t realize I was ruining Sam's reputation just by being friends with him.” Despair darkened his expression. He knew getting close to people was selfish- he just never realized how selfish. And in one fell swoop, he ruined the lives of the two people he cared about most.

“You’re not- you’re not ruining anything,” you took Bucky’s face in your hands, cradling his cheeks. “These kinds of stories are all made up, baby. There’s no sources or actual information for them to work from, so they just write whatever will get them the most attention.”

Bucky’s gaze fell downward. “I don’t know, doll…”

“But I do. I know.” Your words came out desperate, pleading. Something inside of you shook with a frantic need to mend Bucky’s broken heart. You’d never seen him this despondent, this torn apart. “And I’m not gonna let you doubt yourself because of some low budget, piece of shit gossip article.” Regardless of the emotion holding you hostage, your voice didn’t waver. You stood firm in your conviction, determined to help Bucky find his way out of the spiral. “I love you. I love being with you. I missed you so much- I hate when you’re gone. And Sam- Sam loves you, too. I mean, not as much as me…” you shot him a wink. “But he is your best friend. He cares about you. And I can guarantee that he’s never- even for a second- thought that you were ruining his reputation.”

Bucky gave a shake of his head.

“Hey, you know Sam doesn’t care about that kind of stuff- he doesn’t give a shit what people think.” Sam knew Bucky as the ruthless assassin, the broken fugitive, and the rehabilitated man seeking amends. He’d seen the darkest, most twisted version of Bucky created by Hydra- even fought against him. But he didn’t see Bucky as a villain anymore. He saw only his friend, the tortured soul who tried his best every day.

Bucky lifted your hands from his face and held them to his chest instead. He gave a deep, heavy sigh that vibrated under your palms. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. Part of him wished to go back into cryo and escape the stares of the world. 

You could see him crumbling, collapsing in on himself like a dying star. He was drowning in his own mind, and you offered him a life preserver. “Hey, I know it must feel fucking awful to see a story like this about yourself. And I know you hate that Sam and I are involved. But it’s not your fault.” You gripped his t-shirt in your fists, desperate to get your point across. “This whole thing is so predatory and evil- it’s killing me to see you hurting like this. But I swear to you that this does not matter to the rest of the world. they won’t even notice.” Bucky’s stare sliced through you. Something in his eyes appeared hopeful- but only for a moment. The brightness died suddenly, replaced by despair.

“Seriously, Buck, people these days don’t even have the attention span to read an article this long.” Bucky didn’t laugh at your attempted levity. You dropped your joking tone and grew serious. “I don’t want you to think that this changes anything- it doesn’t. This will not have any ramifications. It will all blow over. The news cycle moves so fast now- by tomorrow, this same shitty paper will publish something that’s, like, ‘Elton John is secretly an alien.’”

Bucky didn’t answer. He simply rested his shoulders against the cool, brick wall and let his head fall back. He wondered if the fear people held for him would ever subside, if he’d ever be seen as anything other than a monster. His legacy was soaked in blood. It hung over his head every day, dripping crimson onto his skin. No shower could undo the stains- no matter how hard he scrubbed, he’d always be the stuff of nightmares.

“Okay, hey, how about this,” you reeled Bucky back in, saving him from the dark recesses of his mind. “Let’s just go home, alright? We can hole up and hide out. Watch movies, order takeout. We’ll just stay out of the public eye until this bullshit blows over.”

The offer enticed him. Escaping the stares of strangers, their horrified expressions- it sounded idyllic. The thought of just the two of you snuggled together on the couch, marathoning all of What We Do in the Shadows with Chinese takeout in hand was tempting. Bucky could feel the ‘yes’ forming on his lips. But at the last second, he refused with a shake of his head.

Bucky made a promise to you. After being an absentee boyfriend for months, he planned out the perfect day and swore on his life to deliver. He couldn’t break any more promises- not after he was gone for so long. And he had so much to make up for. So many date nights and lazy weekends fell by the wayside while he was away. He racked up a stack of debt in your relationship, and if he didn’t start paying it off soon, he feared you’d cancel his account.

But he knew you- knew you didn’t care about these things. You didn’t consider him accountable for the time he missed or hold a grudge against him. You were gracious- too gracious- of him. And if he rattled off his reasons for refusing your offer, he knew you’d sweep them aside. He knew you’d lead him home without hesitation and stay cooped up inside until the world eased up on him. And you’d miss out on your perfect day. 

Bucky wasn’t going to let that happen.

“I think it’s actually better if…” he eyed the people passing, certain they were shooting the two of you dirty looks. “I think it’s better if I just go about my day. If we go home and hide, I’ll obsess, you know? I’ll get trapped in my own head.” He quickly tacked on an addendum, “but if you’re not okay being out in public right now, I understand. They involved you in this mess, too.”

You shrugged, “it doesn’t bother me. I know our relationship is real. That’s all that matters.” 

And for a split second, Bucky’s worries disappeared. You were so sure of your love for him. So unbothered by what everyone else had to say. You didn’t let the opinions of others get to you; you loved Bucky, end of story. You adapted to every hurdle and challenge brought on by dating the ex- Winter Soldier. And you did so with a smile.

“Okay, good. Then I guess our next stop is the bookstore,” he said with a small smile. You tried to turn and head in that direction, but Bucky caught your hand, stopping you. “And hey- if anyone on the way there gives you trouble, you just say the word, okay?” 

But no one gave you any trouble. The walk to the bookstore was quiet. Unremarkable. No one hollered close-minded comments at Bucky. No one gave either of you venomous glares. The calm shocked Bucky. He’d been so sure that this day would fall apart. That everyone who read that article would converge on the two of you all at once, harassing and degrading you until you retreated home. But no one said a word. The two of you simply strolled hand in hand, soaking in the warm summer sun. And Bucky’s hope for a perfect day renewed.

“I thought it would be in this section…” Bucky scanned the ‘fantasy’ section of the bookstore, searching for a specific novel. He took the high shelves, and you took the low, meeting in the middle after a fruitless search. 

“Yeah, I didn’t see it, babe,” you rose from your squatted position, two mystery novels under your arm. “Maybe you should ask an employee? I can stay here and keep looking, just in case we missed it.”

“Yeah…” Bucky gave the area another cursory glance, to no avail. “That’s a good idea. I’ll be right back.” He dotted a kiss to your forehead and set off in search of a clerk, leaving you behind to double check the shelves. 

The hundreds of books lined up in perfect rows put you at ease. This shop was the coziest place in the city, a peaceful paradise free from the noise. And spending a Saturday morning with Bucky, wandering amongst the many titles, felt like home. Your fingertips brushed over a few of the spines, tracing the ornate lettering in search of Bucky’s book. 

“Excuse me?” An unfamiliar voice brought you back to reality, halting your hunt. 

“Oh, sorry,” you took a few steps out of the stranger’s way and continued your search, only for her to interrupt once again. 

“No, I want to talk to you!” her intense energy was out of place in the small, quiet bookshop. The eagerness in her voice rubbed you the wrong way. “Is it true?”

You stared at her, a blank expression on your face. “Is what true?”

“The whole PR relationship thing!” She pulled out her phone and shoved the article in your face, “I read about you two this morning.”

Your hands tightened into fists. Your jaw tensed. And though you wanted to wring this woman’s neck, you kept your cool; Bucky wouldn’t want you to get into a fight on his behalf. With a deep breath, you quelled the rage building inside you. You set down your books and relaxed your shoulders, forcing your breathing to steady.

This stranger had no right to ask invasive questions about your relationship, and no right to ruin your favorite bookstore. “Our relationship is none of your business,” you said, and turned back toward the bookshelves. This stranger didn’t deserve your eye contact, your attention, or your mental space. “Please, leave me alone.”

“Oh, duh! I bet they made you sign an NDA, didn’t they? I get it,” she threw an all too friendly chuckle in your direction. “Can you at least tell me what they’re paying you?”

With that, you brushed past her and attempted an escape. All you wanted was to find Bucky and put this whole interaction behind you. But she followed, phone in hand, recording the whole thing. 

“Are you a criminal, too? Are you getting time off your sentence or something?” she called after you. 

You let it go.

“How’d they get you to agree to this arrangement?”

You ignored her.

“Aren’t you scared? I could never do what you’re doing,” she said. “No amount of money could ever get me to be near that man- he’s a serial killer. He’s a monster!”

Something inside you snapped. You whipped around, rage burning behind your eyes. She crossed the line. She didn’t know anything about Bucky, only what the papers and tabloids said about him. And she

deserved to pay the price for speaking about him so harshly. But just as you opened your mouth to tear her to shreds, a large hand rested on your shoulder. 

“Hey, doll,” Bucky stared down at you, “What’s-”

Your harasser’s eyes widened. “Oh my god,” pure terror rendered her white as a sheet. “It- it’s him…” Clumsy steps carried her backward as her phone slipped from her hand. She scrambled for it, desperate to run in the opposite direction. Breathless, horrified sounds fell from her lips. Her hands shook. You watched with a smile as she snatched her phone from the floor and tripped over herself as she high tailed it for the door.

Bucky eyed the woman as she knocked over displays and ran into other customers. “What was that about?”

You gave a shake of your head, “nothing. She was just hounding me about the article.” 

Bucky’s shoulders slumped forward ever so slightly. Hit brow grew furrowed. “Oh, baby…” he sighed, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t follow me around and ask me invasive questions.” You stretched up on your toes, planting a kiss to his cheek. “It’s not a big deal. I just hope I don’t end up on her Tik Tok.”

Bucky’s mouth fell open, “she was filming you?” 

You nodded. Bucky’s face fell. 

A rushed “Don’t worry about it, though” pushed its way past your lips. It had an over-the-top cheery tone and a thick affectation of reassurance. You could practically hear Bucky’s heart splintering and shattering with each passing second, and you had to stop it. “I’m sure she’s gonna watch it back later and delete it when she hears her own panicked panting,” you shot him a wink.

And you waited. Waited for the gears in Bucky’s mind to turn. To grind. The devil and angel on his shoulders fought one another, bare knuckled, to convince him of their arguments. The devil told him to spiral, to jump headfirst into a dark sea. He told Bucky this was all his fault, that you’d been harassed, followed, and filmed all because of him. The angel, however, urged him to listen to you. To take a deep breath. To hold your hand. To understand that the article wasn’t his fault- none of this was his fault. 

And after a long moment, he slipped his hand into yours. The gesture was a bit reluctant, sure, but you didn’t care. He’d resisted the urge to plummet into guilt and shame. And that’s all that mattered. 

You let loose a deep sigh as relief spread through your every cell. “Let’s get outta here, okay? We can head back home and-”

“What about breakfast?”

You eyed Bucky for a moment. “You still wanna go?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” he gave you a small smile. “I know how excited you were about it.”

Of course, all he cared about was you. Your happiness. Your enjoyment. Your love for this diner’s chicken and waffles.

“We can just go another time,” you assured him. “It’s no big deal.”

Bucky sensed the disappointment, no matter how slight in your voice. He couldn’t ruin this day for you. He couldn’t let you down again.

But he thought about the walk to the diner, the hordes of people you’d encounter on the way. And just like that, he felt his manufactured mask of optimism slip.

A sudden rush of what if’s pummeled his psyche. He imagined more harassers filming you, more unhinged strangers following you. He heard them yelling the most despicable things in your direction, hurling insult after insult your way. The voices grew into a loud, almost violent cacophony that rattled inside Bucky’s skull. 

He couldn’t let you be exposed to the cruel world like this. He couldn’t take you to breakfast when an angry mob threatened you at every turn. You didn’t deserve to be yelled at, to be disrespected. And what if they turned violent? What if someone followed the two of you home? He couldn’t risk your safety like that.

But he still had to make up for all his time away. All the lonely nights you spent awake, wondering if he was still alive. All the weekends you spent alone, missing him until it hurt. And he’d made a promise- to himself and to you- that he’d rectify the pain his absence caused. 

Plus, he had to be over-reacting, right? Assuming the worst out of people he didn’t even know- it wasn’t fair. Sure, a stranger followed you around and gave you a hard time. But she didn’t hurt you. She didn’t even try to get violent. It was all in Bucky’s head- he was sure of it. He made a conscious effort to release his shoulders from their tension-locked position and forced a deep breath into his chest. 

“No, doll, really. It’s okay,” he gave your hand a squeeze. “I can tolerate a few dirty looks.”

The second the two of you stepped out of the bookstore and onto the busy sidewalk, you clocked the way hung his head. The way he hid from the eyes of the city. He tried to shrink himself, to protect himself. The confidence, the self-esteem he’d worked so hard to build came crumbling down in an instant. This wasn’t your Bucky, but the Bucky of years before. The Bucky who hated every fiber of his being. The Bucky who took every harsh word spoken about him as gospel. The Bucky who punished his innocent body to make up for his tortured mind. 

The reemergence of this Bucky twisted the knife with which the article stabbed you and rubbed salt in the wound.

The walk to the diner brought out your chatty side. Filling the air with lighthearted anecdotes and silly jokes seemed to you like the only way to keep Bucky afloat. If you could distract him from the pain, from the potentially hateful onlookers, maybe this day could be salvaged. But, much to your surprise, not one person harassed the two of you. No one asked questions or followed you around. Not a single errant camera flash dotted the street. Hope rose in Bucky’s chest. Maybe this perfect day could still go as planned. Maybe he could still keep his promise.

When you arrived at the diner without issue, Bucky found himself almost laughing at his own dramatics. He knew he worried too much, that he always considered the worst possible outcomes. He saw the world through a dark and stormy filter, always casting shadows over reality. But to his delight, he’d been wrong this time.

The bell atop the diner door gave a delicate jingle as the two of you made your way inside. The place had an old-timey feel that brought Bucky a sense of comfort, a sense of home. Large families sat packed like sardines in every booth. Tray after tray of French toast and eggs benedict passed by. The smell of bacon and golden-brown pancakes instantly pulled his lips into a smile. It seemed to Bucky that this joint was the real deal. He couldn’t wait to try the chicken and waffles you raved about. Couldn’t wait for a syrup-sweetened kiss. 

“For two?” the hostess asked when you made your way to the front of the line. You gave her a nod. 

She eyed the section to her left, appraising the area for an opening as a busboy waved in her direction. “Okay, this way,” she grabbed two menus from the host stand and gestured for you to follow. 

But just as you attempted to trail her through the sea of tables, a booming voice caught your attention. 

“Hey!” 

The restaurant quieted. Heads turned in the direction of the outcry.

A large, gray-haired man with a soiled apron stepped into the hostess’s path, blocking her way. A deep crease formed between his furrowed brows. Sweat dotted his bright pink cheeks. This was the face of a man who stood over a hot grill for twenty-five years. He was familiar, but only vaguely so. You could’ve sworn you’d heard that voice before- though with a kinder intonation. And then it hit you.

During your last visit to the diner, he stopped by your table to ask how you liked the food. He was so kind, so even tempered. He thanked you for choosing to spend your Sunday morning at what used to be his father’s restaurant. He was so proud of the old place. So compassionate for its time-worn booths and outdated wallpaper. He told you how he worked in the kitchen for so long that now, even as the new owner and manager, he couldn’t stay away from the griddles. 

But the kind-hearted man you met last time was long gone.

“Not in my restaurant!” He ripped the menus from the hostess and dismissed her with a sharp wave of his hand. He glared at Bucky, his eyes brimming with hate. “We don’t serve murderers here!” 

The lighthearted chatter died out altogether. Forks stopped clinking against plates. Children halted their laughter. Hundreds of eyes locked on Bucky as his cheeks burst into a red flush.

“Get out before I call the police!” The man took a step toward the two of you, “You’re not welcome here, you psycho.”

“You can’t talk to him like that!” you barked back. “He isn’t-” 

“Baby, don’t,” Bucky cupped a hand around your upper arm and tried to gently pull you toward the door. “Let’s just go.”

“No,” you cut your gaze back to the manage, “not until he apologizes.”

Bucky gave your arm another tug, “please.”

The desperation in his voice nearly made you crack. His eyes swept across the room and back again, taking in each and every horrified stare. With each taunt the manager threw his way, the weight of the public eye grew heavier. More suffocating. Their stares pushed Bucky’s shoulders forward and his head down. He was crumbling.

Not one person stood up for Bucky. No one- aside from you- called the manager out. No patron even gave a disapproving shake of their head. It sickened you.

With a small nod, you obliged Bucky’s request, and let him lead you out of the restaurant. The stares followed him the entire way.

Bucky wanted to disintegrate. He wished to, once again, turn to dust and evaporate into the breeze. If he ran, he could put a few miles between himself and this godforsaken diner in minutes. But he found his feet rooted into the ground. He was frozen. Trapped. Running wasn’t an option.

He leaned against the cool glass window of the diner and let himself process. He heard you talking a mile a minute, reassuring him until you ran out of breath. But he couldn’t pick out more than a few words. It wasn’t until a defeated apology fell from your lips that he snapped out of his trance.

“Wait- you’re sorry?” 

You nodded. “I’m so sorry, Buck. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for.” His gaze fell into a strange middle distance, landing on everything and nothing all at once. “I should apologize. That article… it ruined everything. I feel like I-” His eyes met yours, “your life is never gonna be the same after this.” 

You gave him a shrug, “who says I want it to be?”

His eyes met yours as an exasperated laugh left his chest, “You’re kidding, right? This is going to affect everything for you: jobs, housing, friendships. When people look you up online, all they’re gonna see is that article. They’re gonna see me.”

“Good. I want them to see you,” you said with a wink. “If I’m gonna date the hottest guy in the universe, I want everyone to know about it.” Bucky didn’t laugh. “Babe, I’m not worried about that kind of stuff right now. I’m worried about you.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his gaze fall to the sidewalk below. “I’ve been through worse.” 

The worn-out, beaten down quality of his voice was enough to make you weep. Bucky didn’t deserve more pain. He didn’t deserve to be treated like a monster. But society cast him out and labelled him a vicious predator. They abandoned him, left him in a corner to rot and wither. All alone. 

And you weren’t going to let them do it again.

“Fuck that article and fuck all these people who wanna disrespect you.” You tilted his chin upward until his eyes met yours, “we’re gonna go home and order take out. We’re gonna watch some movies. And we’re gonna get through this bullshit together.”

Without another word, you slipped your hand into his and started off in the direction of home. But Bucky didn’t move. 

You turned back to him, an expectant look on your face. “You coming?”

“But…” he gave the diner another look, “You didn’t get your chicken and waffles.”

“What?”

“You should go back inside and eat,” Bucky pulled his hand from yours. “I’ll head home and-”

“Buck, I say this with love, but-” you cupped his face, “are you nuts?”

He let out a deep, genuine laugh. 

“I’m not gonna eat here ever again,” you spied the manager through the window, “fuck that guy.”

Bucky just wanted you to enjoy the breakfast you’d been dreaming of. He hated that you were willing to deprive yourself. That he’d ruined your special breakfast spot. But your fierce loyalty filled him with warmth. In that moment, he made a mental note. He planned to scour the internet and find the best chicken and waffles in the city to make up for today’s mess.  

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Bucky said. “You were ready to fist fight that guy.”

You put up your dukes and landed a few faux punches to Bucky’s chest, “hell yeah I was. No one is allowed to treat you like that.” Your hands fell to your sides. A sudden seriousness eclipsed your joking tone. “Ever.”

Bucky pulled you in for a hug, holding you close to his chest. He never thought he’d have someone like you in his life. Someone who loved him. Cared for him. Supported him. But, without fail, you had his back every time. You were his safe harbor, his soft place to land. 

Sometimes, he thought that maybe you were with him by accident. Maybe he was never meant to experience your gentle kind of love. Maybe he interrupted you on your path to someone else. Maybe he somehow got tangled in fate’s thread. But he didn’t care. 

You took Bucky’s hand once again, prepared to lead him in the direction of home, “Ready?” 

Bucky gave you a cheery nod, “let’s-”

“Fuck you, murderer!” a passerby shouted. He disappeared in a flash, bold enough to insult Bucky but cowardly enough not to hang around for the consequences. 

Bucky thought the man might’ve said something else as he bolted from the scene, but he didn’t quite catch it. He was too distracted by the vague sounds of discomfort grumbling out of your chest. 

“Doll? You alright?” 

Slowly, carefully, you turned to him. A look of shock yanked his features upward as he came face to face with the massive coffee stain covering your body. It splashed over the entirety of your chest, streaking down the front of your shirt. Steam still wafted from the drips running down your neck. Rogue droplets dotted your arms.  

“Oh my god…” Bucky didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to help you. 

The boiling tidal wave seared through your skin, setting each nerve alight. You could’ve sworn it hit bone. The sudden rush of pain forced a trembling into your hands, an unsteadiness into your voice. A stinging rush of tears brimmed against your lash line, but you wouldn’t dare let them fall. Not when you could practically see Bucky choking on his guilt.

“Wow, I wish that asshole was more of a cold brew guy,” you joked. “And he ruined my favorite shirt with his shitty aim.”

Bucky’s chest seemed to fold in on itself. It shuddered and shrank, collapsing against his thundering heart. Each inhale was shallower, greedier than the last. Oxygen leeched from his lungs as the crushing panic set it. An ever-darkening shadow clouded the edges of his vision- but he couldn’t succumb. Not when you needed him. 

Before he knew what was happening, he used his body to form a protective shell around you. He ushered you toward the diner door, scanning the area for oncoming threats. No one else was going to get to you- not today, not ever. 

A deep sigh of relief left Bucky’s chest as he ushered you inside. Sure, it was only coffee. And you weren’t even the target. But every passing second brought a new, horrifying ‘what if’ to the forefront of Bucky’s mind. 

What if you’d been thrown to the ground? 

What if you’d been shot? 

What if vengeful people wanted to spill your blood as payment for Bucky’s crimes?

He thought he might throw up. 

But the second he made it to the hostess stand, his nausea dissipated. The fog clouding his mind cleared. You were his priority- everything else could wait. 

“Someone just threw hot coffee on her,” Bucky said to the hostess. His words came out quick, firm. “She needs ice now.”

The hostess’s features sunk with a heavy guilt. “Oh, shit. I-” She glanced across the room at the manager and watched him with narrowed eyes as he schmoozed with the regulars. “I’ll go grab some right now, give me one second.”

The seconds dragged. Anxiety coursed through Bucky, prickling at his every cell. He clenched and unclenched his fists. Bit down on the inside of his cheek. Anything to calm the worry. But he couldn’t help it; you were attacked- because of him. And he needed to remedy it as quickly as possible. 

“You doing okay?” He stared down at you, worry creasing his features.

You nodded, “yeah. Doesn’t hurt that bad anymore. I think all of my nerves have gone numb, ya know?” You attempt at humor sunk like lead. 

“Baby, I’m so-”

“What the fuck did I say?!” the manager stomped over to Bucky, his wrath on full display. “I’m calling the cops! I already kicked you out once-”

Bucky held up a hand in surrender, “We just need some ice- the hostess went to get it. As soon as she gets back, I’ll go.”

The manager rolled his eyes, “No- you don’t get anything from us. Leave! I’m calling the police!”

It was then that the hostess appeared with a large plastic bag full of ice. She looked at you with kind eyes, apologizing silently for her manager’s behavior. “Here you go. Is this enough? I can get more-”

“It’s plenty, really,” you hastily grabbed for the bag and pressed it to your scorched skin. The cool sensation flooded your senses, doing away with any remaining discomfort. “Thank you.”

“Great, you got your ice,” the manager spat, “now get out.”

Bucky thanked the hostess a hundred times over as guilt settled in his stomach. He knew she’d get in trouble for helping him. He knew the manager would scream at her- most likely in front of everyone. But she’d shown the two of you kindness. She did her best to help you in a moment of need, regardless of what others said. And it renewed Bucky’s faith in strangers- if only for a moment.

“How does that feel? Is it okay?” Bucky eyed the dripping bag of ice, the shivering in your fingers. “I can ask her for-”

“Hey! Do you speak English, or just Russian?” The manager yelled, “GET. THE FUCK. OUT. You understand?”

Part of Bucky wanted to disappear into a cave for a while. Wanted to hide from the ridicule. But he couldn’t check out. He couldn’t evaporate and leave you to fend for yourself. No, he’d made a promise to himself the day he met you; he swore he’d always protect you. And though he couldn’t stop the public from treating you with malice, he could at least get you home safely.

“Woah, hey- where are you going?” Bucky put a hand over yours, halting your attempt to open the diner door.

“Well, I don’t know if you heard the lovely manager of this fine establishment,” you said, “but he wants us to, and I quote, ‘get the fuck out’. So that’s what I’m doing.”

Bucky gave a fervent shake of his head, “No. You wait in here. I’m gonna get us a cab, and-”

“It’s okay, I’ll come with you.” You gave the door a tug, but Bucky kept it from budging.

“Don’t,” a dark seriousness clung to Bucky’s words. “I don’t want anything else happening to you.”

Bucky’s protective nature was always sweet. Always made you feel special. You couldn’t help the tiny grin that pulled at your features. “Babe, it was just coffee-” 

“This time,” a grave look ghosted over his face. “It was just coffee this time.”

Bucky let his eyes drift to the busy sidewalk outside. Every stranger, every passing face posed a threat to your safety. Anyone could have a knife. A gun. And while Bucky was certain that the hot coffee had been meant for him- that you were simply collateral damage, an unintended target- he feared how the city might treat you. You’d already been followed, harassed, filmed, attacked. People saw you as fair game, as a token of retribution. An eye for an eye that made the city blind with hate.

“Can you just-” He dragged his gaze back to you, “will you please wait inside?”

Bucky couldn’t remember ever being this scared. Not on the train, not at Hydra. This was different; this was your life at stake. Your vulnerabilities exposed to the world. It was as if a magnifying glass sat posed above you, giving anyone and everyone a detailed look into your life. Bucky knew there wasn’t much time before the rays of the sun burned you alive.

“Okay, yeah,” you released the door handle, “I’ll stay in here.” It was the least you could do. 

He was deathly pale, his hand shaking with anxiety. He worried about you so intensely that you sometimes feared he’d get sick. And though no part of you wanted to send Bucky out there alone, you agreed. 

His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly; the whisper of a smile crossed his face. “Thank you,” he dropped a kiss to your forehead and headed outside to the world that hated him.

And hate him they did. You watched from the diner window, the scene that played out filling you with anguish. Not a single cab even slowed down for him. Vacant taxis turned off their lights as they approached- only to turn them back on once they’d passed. Bucky’s shoulders grew more slumped with each unsuccessful attempt at hailing a cab. His head drooped; his expression grew pained. This wasn’t fair. After his pardon, he’d worked so hard to earn the public’s trust, to reenter their good graces. He made his amends, went to therapy, even did a few interviews at Sam’s suggestion. 

One poorly written article in a shit-rag paper, however, was enough to send him back to square one.

All Bucky wanted was to get you home safely, and he couldn’t. He couldn’t even provide something that basic, that simple. He cursed himself relentlessly as taxi after taxi flew by. He was supposed to protect you, to take care of you. And yet, he was the reason for your pain. Your peril. It made him nauseous.

After countless failed attempts at securing a ride, Bucky turned to face you. He stared at you through the dirty glass, shame and disappointment dragging his features downward. For a long moment, he just stood there. Completely still. Passersby bumped into him every now and again. People muttered under their breath about him being in the way. But he didn’t move. He just looked at you, the person he loved most. You, the person he cared for above all else. You, the person he couldn’t protect. Couldn’t provide for. 

Part of him thought it best to just walk away. His absence would make your life easier, less chaotic. Safer. If he left you alone, maybe you’d find someone else. Someone normal. Someone better. Someone who could take you out to breakfast without putting you in harm’s way. Someone whose mere existence didn’t prompt strangers to scream at you in public. 

But he couldn’t leave you- ever. He was bound to you from day one. 

One last fruitless attempt at catching a cab sent his heart sinking down, down, down to the soles of his feet. And as he approached the diner with his tail between his legs, he felt himself stepping on it with each pace. He was so embarrassed, so ashamed. With a quick wave of his hand, he beckoned you to the door and popped his head inside. 

“Baby, could you…” he was almost too downtrodden to speak. “Could you get us a cab? No one will-” he cleared his throat, “No one will stop for me.”

The look on his face hurt worse than your scorched skin.

“Of course, Buck. Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

It wasn’t lost on Bucky how quickly a cab stopped for you. It took less than a minute, maybe less thirty seconds. He stood on the sidelines, as far away from you as he could possibly get without leaving you defenseless. You looked good out there on your own, free from his burden. 

The cab ride home was quiet. Uncomfortable. The driver eyed Bucky in the rearview as though appraising a threat. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles lost all color. You swore you heard the gas pedal hit the floorboards more than once. The car sliced through traffic and screeched to a halt outside your building, throwing you forward in your seat. The seatbelt tightened against your scalded skin, pulling a groan from your throat.

“Thanks. Um,” Bucky handed the driver a wad of cash, “keep the change.” He kept his focus trained on you but couldn’t pretend he didn’t notice the way the driver flinched. The way his muscles yanked his body in the opposite direction. The way his hands shook as he took the money. Bucky wished to evaporate.

But he couldn’t, not yet. Not when you needed him. And so, he walked you upstairs and ushered you into the small apartment you shared. He double and triple checked the deadbolt, even pulled on the door to ensure your safety. He couldn’t let anything else happen to you- he’d rather die. 

“Alright, well, I’m gonna go take a shower,” you broke the tense silence. “I reek of cinnamon soy latte.” The laugh that punctuated your sentence did nothing to brighten Bucky’s stormy expression. 

“Sounds good, doll,” he nodded. “You can just drop your clothes in the hall, I’ll throw them in the laundry for you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you frowned down at your coffee-stained shirt, appraising the damage done. “I don’t think this thing can be saved.”

Bucky shrugged, “It couldn’t hurt. I’ll give it a try.” He dropped a kiss to the top of your head, “it’s the least I could do.” And with a light tap to your ass, he sent you off to shower. The gesture wasn’t as lighthearted as it was just a few hours earlier, but he was trying. Trying to appear less dejected. Less broken.

But you saw through the façade.

When you emerged, free from the smell of coffee, you found Bucky in the kitchen standing over the kettle. He stared down at it, his hands resting on either side of the stove top, his shoulders nearly reaching his ears. You knew that look- he was lost inside his own head. 

“You know, I don’t think you’re supposed to watch that thing…” you said, snapping him out of his train of thought. “Otherwise, it’ll never boil.” 

His head snapped up. The darkness clouding his eyes parted. He smiled at your lame joke, letting your lighthearted tone lift his spirits. “I was just gonna make you a tea, I know you haven’t had the easiest day.” He just wanted to right the ship, to steer the two of you out of the dark, choppy waters in which you found yourselves. Maybe, this small, kind gesture could make up for your ruined Saturday. Maybe, it would keep you from leaving. 

“How was your shower?”

Just thinking about it made you wince. “It was fine, I guess. I had to use the coldest water possible- any warmth at all made my skin hurt.” 

Bucky’s eyes flicked from your face to the kettle and back. Worry creased his brow. “Should I not…” He sighed, “Are hot beverages out of the question?” He couldn’t believe how absentminded he’d been. 

“No! Definitely not,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek, “you know I’ll always take a tea. Thanks, babe.”

A small, proud smile spread across Bucky’s face. For once, he didn’t disappoint you. For once, he didn’t ruin the moment. After such a nightmarish day, he finally breathed easy, knowing that he’d done one thing right.

“I was thinking I could run out and grab us something to eat,” Bucky said when he got you settled on the couch with your tea and a fresh ice pack. “I know you’re probably starving. And I could-”

“Baby, no,” you shook your head. “I don’t want you out there- I don’t want you getting harassed or attacked. We’re in hermit mode for a few days until this whole thing blows over. Okay?”

Bucky barely mustered a nod. 

“Let’s just order some take out. What sounds good?” You dropped your ice pack to the side, grimacing at the loss of the cool sensation. But comfort could wait. You opened your laptop and sat up, poised to take Bucky’s order. But he didn’t answer. 

He remained silent for a long while, eyeing the floor with a blank stare. His nails dug into the palm of his hand; his jaw tensed. Something deep within him fought tooth and nail to claw its way out. It scratched at his insides, screaming for release. Bucky didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to even chance upsetting you. But the words slipped out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them.

“Do you ever regret this?”

You cocked your head to the side, “Regret what?”

“This-” Bucky gestured to himself, and then you. “Us.”

The words hurt worse than your scorched chest. “No. Why would you even say that?”

Bucky shrugged, “Because you’re covered in second degree burns and it’s my fault.” Never before had he ever sounded this broken, this hopeless. Not even after Steve left. 

“Buck, it’s not your fault,” you shut your computer and inched closer to him. “You’re not the one who threw hot coffee on me-”

“But the person who did was aiming for me, and you got caught in the crossfire,” he choked out. “That’s my fault.”

“It’s not-”

He stood suddenly, his anxiety forcing him to move. “Can you deal with this for the rest of your life? All the staring and the harassment? And the hiding at home because everyone hates me? Is that the kind of life you want?” He paced with a fervent drive, fearing that if he didn’t burn through the nervous energy, he’d suffocate under it.

But, even in the face of his frantic movements, you remained seated, remained calm. Talking to Bucky in this state was like coaxing an injured animal into your home. One wrong move, and he’d bolt. Every move, ever word, had to be slow, measured. With an even tone and soft words, you refuted his sentiments. “I want whatever kind of life lets me be with you-”

“You want people throwing coffee on you forever? You want-” He paused, only to place your icepack on your chest once again. “You want to be kicked out of restaurants and denied cabs? Just to be with me?”

One small nod. “Yes.”

Bucky stopped in his tracks. He turned to you, his expression blank. “People used to vandalize my apartment, you know…”

“What?”

He nodded. “After I finally came back to New York and tried to settle in…” The memories of those uncomfortable, disjointed days filled Bucky with dread. He’d never been so lonely, so lost. He pulled away from you, fearing he’d complicated your life. He forced himself into isolation. And to make matters worse, his community turned their back on him. They didn’t welcome him home or celebrate his survival. They made him wish he’d never made it back. “They broke my windows, filled my mailbox with pictures of my victims, used animal blood to write ‘KILLER’ across my front door-” He let out a heavy sigh, one that came from deep within his bones. “That’s why I moved so often. My landlords- no matter how sketchy they were, no matter how much illegal shit they did to their tenants- kept kicking me out. I was too much of a liability, even for those shithole places.”

It left you reeling. Images of Bucky coming home to find his place completely trashed hurt you in a way you didn’t know was possible. You could see him, covered in blood, scrubbing his front door in the middle of the night. Wiping tears from his eyes as he looked through piles of photos of the people he hurt. Taping pieces of cardboard over his broken windows in the hopes of keeping out the severe, violent winters. He didn’t deserve any of it.

With a deep breath, you forced yourself back to the present. “Buck, I don’t care about things like that. They can vandalize our place if they want. They can throw coffee at me.” Slowly, carefully, you rose from the couch. “As long as nothing happens to you, I’m happy.”

A rough scoff launched out of Bucky’s throat, “Come on-”

“No, you come on,” Your words came out too intense, too hard. But you couldn’t maintain your even keel anymore. Not when Bucky was moments from unraveling. “I have been in this with you since the day we met. I knew- almost immediately- that you were the person I wanted to be with. Even when you didn’t know where- or who- you were. Even when you went back into cryo. Even when you turned to dust and disappeared for five years.” Dredging up the past hurt. It sliced you open and tore your heart into pieces. But you didn’t dare fall apart- not yet. “Even when you pushed me away,” your voice wavered, “I have been with you- and I always will be. Because I know who you are. I know you’re a good person.” A few tears dripped down your cheeks, “I don’t want anyone else. I want you.“

“Why?” Bucky shook his head, “I don’t- I can’t understand that.”

“Because you’re just- you’re you, baby,” you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Bucky’s existence. “You’re kind. And you’re thoughtful. And you’re compassionate. You care about everything. Everyone. I’ve never met anyone with a heart like yours…” You shrugged, “I love you. So much.”

“I know you do. And I love you, but…” His eyes dropped to the floor, “I feel like being with me is a waste of your time. A waste of your love. You know? You should be with someone good. Someone with less baggage, whose hands aren’t stained with the blood of innocent people.” He dragged his gaze up to meet yours, desperation in his eyes. “I want to give you everything- I want to give you the world. But I can’t. I can’t give you what other people can. I can’t give you what you deserve.”

“I don’t want any of that- I don’t want the world,” you shrugged. “I want you.” To you, it was simple. Completely uncomplicated. But Bucky didn’t see it that way.

“Is that- am I enough, though? I mean, the quality of life I’ve given you so far has been…” He thought back on all the terrors and trials you’d face together. All the disasters to which he subjected you. He shuddered. “Everything I put you through is so fucking messed up. And scary. And painful. And-” 

He shook his head. Since the day he fell for you, he knew one simple truth. And for years, he did his best to deny it. Hide it. Run from it. But it came spilling forward all at once.

“There’s always gonna be something with me. Some problem, some mess. I’m either gone for weeks, fighting god knows who, completely unable to talk to you until I show up at home covered in blood,” he said. “Or I’m here with you while strangers to accost you on the street because they hate me.” He shook his head, disappointed in himself. Why did he allow you into his dumpster fire of a life? Why would he subject you to the heartache and the misery he knew lurked around every corner?

He fought the tears gathering in his eyes, the emotion that attempted to block his airway. “The waters are never going to be smooth. Not with me. And I don’t want you to have to deal with the fucking tidal wave of bullshit that is my life. You deserve better- you deserve better than me.”

“Buck-”

“I want your life to be safe. Peaceful. Comfortable. Not-” he gestured to the icepack on your chest, “whatever it is now.”

Without a word, you took him by the hand and led him to the couch. And for a long moment, he refused to sit with you. He didn’t want to give in, to lower his defenses and allow himself to get comfortable. But your red-rimmed eyes, glassy with tears, forced him to take a seat.

And when he finally rested beside you, you ditched your icepack and took his face in your hands. “Everything you said that you want for me? I already have it. I have all of that.”

He shook his head, “Doll-” 

“You make me feel safer and more comfortable than I ever have. Being with you is like being wrapped in a warm blanket made of bullet proof bubble wrap.”

Bucky couldn’t stop himself from letting out a quiet laugh. 

“I’m serious. You can talk about how the life I lead with you isn’t enough and how you’re not enough, but this,” you gestured to yourself and then him, “is everything I’ve ever wanted. Being here with you in our home is… it’s the most peace I’ve ever known. Even when we’re just sitting in silence, it’s- it’s warm. It’s comforting.” You inched closer to him and rested your head on his shoulder, “It’s like we’re the only two people on the planet. And we can just exist in the other’s atmosphere without pressure or fear. We understand each other. And it’s perfect.”

A rush of pink colored Bucky’s cheeks. Sometimes, even after all the years he’d spent with you, he didn’t know how to handle such loving sentiments. But there was no pressure to perfectly articulate his thoughts or express himself without flaws. A simple “I love you” did the trick. He leaned into you, allowing your warmth to soothe his aching soul.

“All that shit that happened today didn’t even bother me much,” you told him. “The lady in the bookstore, and the staring, and the coffee thing- I can deal with that kind of stuff. I can take that every day as long as I get to be with you.”

He pressed a kiss to your hair and caught a vague whiff off coffee but didn’t bring it up. 

“The only part that really upset me,” you continued, “was seeing people be so mean to you. And watching you get so down on yourself.” Reliving Bucky’s heartbroken expression at the diner almost made you tear up. “I can handle a rogue Starbucks, but I’ll never accept anyone treating you like that. You're everything to me- you always will be.”

Bucky handed you your icepack, begging you to put it back on your scalded skin where it belonged. “Well, I appreciate your support," he smiled to himself, "and your fierce loyalty.”

A mischievous laugh rumbled out of your chest. “Good. Just remember than when I call you from the county jail after I get arrested for burning that fucking newspaper to the ground.”

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[flower-yi]

Margaret's greeting to you is sweet.

She's the assistant Veritas took in three years ago, and hasn't left since. Most people applying to the position have ulterior motives—you glumly recall a specific student, because my goodness, they have little to no shame these days—but just one meeting with her made you sure she'd be 'the one'. Her unwavering yet gentle disposition was endearing, and despite Veritas's distrustful attitude, she got in anyways.

(You think it's one of the best decisions he's made.)

"Is there anything in the mail?" You ask, shutting the door behind you.

She hums, "No, not really."

"Really?" This surprises you. Usually, it's a race to contact him on anything new he's working on. "Veritas said he's expecting letters for that weapon he's finished working on. You know, the anti-planetary one?"

"Remind me what's... that, again?"

Margaret furrows her eyebrows. Maybe Veritas forgot to tell her. "Remember that project he's been working on for a long time? The weapon got sent in for a test-firing and it was successful. So, he's waiting for any correspondence from anyone who'd like to expand on it."

(You remember peeking into his office, once, wondering why he was up so late. He promised more than four hours ago that he'll join you in bed, but there was only a coldness to his side of the bed you'll never get accustomed to.

"I will be there in a couple minutes, my love," Veritas addressed you without lifting his gaze from the blueprints he's scribbling on. From the mess on his hands, it seems he's been working on it since tucking you in. "You may go to the bedroom yourself. It is unnecessary to wait on me."

Instead of listening to him, you entered his office with the door clicking behind you. Veritas's head lifted, lips parted and about to say something, but he stopped; adjusting his glasses.

You draped over him, meeting cold skin.

"What're you working on?" You asked, instead. His warmth soothed you. "Mmh... looks like it's important."

Veritas placed a hand on yours, raised to his lips to be kissed. Aeons, your little doctor was so warm. "This weapon... will be a magnum opus. One that will eventually serve its purpose, and will be recognized for years to come."

Even in the sleep-addled brain of yours, you knew it was important.

"Yeah?"

"Indeed. It will be a weapon that will..." Veritas suddenly fell silent, alarming you. He was quick to assure you with another kiss to your hand, "Do not be so concerned, my love. Either way, this weapon will be reaching its final stages soon."

You were nearing dreamland, at this point. You recall it well.

Though the mutter under his breath was ingrained in your brain:

"An anti-planetary weapon that will, hopefully, earn Nous's blessing this time...")

The spark of recognition appears, "Oh, that one!"

"You know it," you toss her a smile. "So, what's the status? I hope the Genius Society picks up one of his inventions this time. He's been looking forward to it ever since."

You take a moment to place the paper bags on the table, setting aside your bag on one of the chairs for visitors. It's well into the afternoon, classes are finished, and by Veritas's schedule, you're sure both are famished. It's strange he's not in his office at this time. You're never late with your visits, so perhaps it's likely you're early and Veritas is late.

He's probably finishing up the last lectures of the day somewhere.

"I feel the same," Margaret knows Veritas to an extent that falls closely to yours, and it's not hard to root for him the same way you do. It warms your heart to hear how Margaret holds him in high-esteem. "Mr. Ratio's one of the best, they'd be out of the minds to not induct him into the Society—oh, are those chicken wraps?"

The chicken wraps are steaming as you tear away the aluminium foil. "Yeah, I bought it for the two of you. Want one?" Her eager nod has a laugh huff out of you, so you hand it to her. You joke, "So hungry you nearly forgot, huh?"

"Yeah... where did you buy them?"

"It's near the university. There were so many students I had to fight for it..." Thankfully, one of the vendors pitied your nearly trampled self and gave you two on the house. You make a silent note to bring Veritas there to pay your debt. "...anyways, where were we?"

Margaret pauses, "Mr. Ratio's genius?"

Well, that's not what you were saying, but it's a part of the topic. "Yes, genius. Veritas is intelligent, of course. Speaking of genius, did the Genius Society send anything?"

Margaret's reaction to your question is strange. She freezes, chicken wrap just hovering in front of her mouth. Your inquisitive gaze snaps her out of her reverie, and when getting her bearings, she's avoiding your eyes. "Nothing... yet, of course. I've been watching the mail for a week already."

A week? The Genius Society's correspondence normally would not take so long. "Is there anything else in the mail?"

"No, not really," she nods her head.

Huh? The disconnect between her body language and words makes no sense at all. However, the soft smile on Margaret's lips takes the edge of the suspicion off. Why would she lie to your face, though? Unless something's happened, then...

You decide to say something else. "I see... perhaps there's some issue with the mailing system?"

"Maybe!" Margaret agrees too easily with you. Her voice went too high-pitched, smile exaggerated, then she changes the subject, "Have you eaten on the way here? It feels impolite to be the only one eating."

The sudden mention of manners has you laugh awkwardly. It's already strange enough she's avoiding a simple question like she is right now but the poor girl looks like she's about to burst with your incessant questioning of if there's anything in the mail .

Is it really so hard to answer?

"Yes, I did," you answer. Gesturing to her chicken wrap, you say, "So, go ahead and eat. It's alright."

When you turn your gaze away from her, it's as if Margaret breathes a sigh of relief. It's obvious even in the corner of your eye. For the three years she's been here, her knowledge on Veritas's projects would be better than yours. After all, it is something work related, and she deals with his correspondence to anyone on behalf of him.

If she's lying like this, then there must be a reason. A Veritas-shaped reason, indeed, because he's got a bad habit of concealing things when it comes to something.

Letting Margaret be, you take a seat on one of the chairs meant for guests. Veritas's office is a spacious one, with a small reception area for visitors to wait on him. The door to his office is by the left, the entrance to this space on the right, and Margaret's desk in the middle of the room with the lounge chairs lined up by the wall in front of her.

With this placement, it provides you a clear view of Veritas's door... and the light escaping below it.

He's here in his office and he didn't come out to greet you.

Several emotions rise up and simmer in you. Some of them are negative. Well. Most of them are, because the way alarm and concern starts to boil within you is too much.

You take a deep breath to sort your emotions first. Your feelings are negative, and worry takes the top of the list. There are some wisps of anger but it quickly melts into the emotion up top and you slowly realise that Veritas has not messaged you even once starting... 1700 system hours ago.

With your phone now in hand, you shoot him a message.

It's something to the effect of asking where he is. The loud ding! of his own phone seeps out of his office room, out into the reception, and into Margaret and yours' ears.

Guilt colours Margaret's face vibrantly.

"I can explain," she begins as you stand up, making your way to his office. Poor girl, she's been shocked out of savouring the chicken wrap you've bought. "He's— he needs some time to himself..."

It's something other than needing time to himself, you know it, you know .

You give her a rueful smile, "Is that why you told me there's no mail?"

Margaret... falls short on an answer. The diverting of her eyes to the floor tells you everything. The successful test-firing of that anti-planetary weapon was done a few weeks ago, and everyone in the know was scrambling to cover it. It was Veritas, after all, and his name—like every genius—is known across the star systems. It'd make no sense there was no mail, no nothing , to be sent to him.

You only hold on to that tiny, little hope that you're wrong and Veritas is too caught on rejoicing to have noticed your arrival.

Only a look of understanding could be given to her. To scream, to yell, to let everything burst on Margaret is counter-productive. Maybe, if you asked, she'd say that she was merely doing what she, as an academic assistant, should do.

(If it was some other situation, you'd say—to his face—that you were right about Margaret. You'd say to him she's the best academic assistant he's ever had.)

You barely spare Margaret any glance before opening the door to his office. Thousands of thoughts trickle into your brain now, ranging from is he okay? to I hope nothing's bad happened.

Every moment of you turning the knob to open feels like in slow motion. Your heart is racing, just every inkling sending you in a worry-filled tizzy, and you feel nearly paralyzed in the spot where you are right now.

You open the door, and pity and fear and just everything drops a cold bucket over you.

Veritas sits on the chair by his desk, a crumpled letter on the wood and his headpiece discarded somewhere off to the side.

You're sure he's heard you coming in.

"Veritas?"

He absentmindedly says, "You may enter."

Veritas's voice doesn't have the usual lilt it has. It does not carry around the room, nor does it have its self-assured cadence that comes from being a genius. He stares at the scenery outside his office window, as if too entranced with the way light leaves the sky to make way for the moon. The moon that merely borrows its lumination from the sun.

The door locks behind you with a click that seems to echo in the dreadfully silent office. Now, only your footsteps make noise while approaching him. You move like you're holding your breath, not wanting to startle an animal that's already on its last legs.

But it's Veritas. He's not some lowly animal, though you know his heart to be softer than anyone else would presume.

Leaned over him, you bring his face into your hands. He lets you so readily, not once making any smart comment about handling him like porcelain.

(You received such a comment, once, when doing so the first time. Before Margaret, it was you. It was so long ago you don't recall, but Veritas had turned to you for help in handling his interactions with the "outside world", he'd call it, and this time, he was busy with a project. Some prototype he'd been originally commissioned to make, though, without any second thoughts, turned down any offer of payment and instead asked that his name be "spread across the cosmos". You originally blanched at the credits the ruler of the planet was willing to drop for Veritas's involvement in their planet-wide security, but he easily brushed your surprise off. At that moment, you were sure that, to him, it was another day of putting his gifts to use. Another day of using his intelligence to aid in the prosperity of civilizations, as if it was nothing to boast about. "Do I seem to evoke some child-like energy to hold me like this?" Veritas questioned, a quizzical brow arched. There was nothing in his tone that suggested he disliked it to the point of abhorrence. If anything, he looked— curious as to why you'd hold him like this. Instead of answering that silent question, you cooed, "Oh, yes. A little baby, indeed! You're so adorable—" "That's enough," he interrupted. You couldn't help but laugh at his disgusted face. "While I appreciate the gesture, I ask you continue sorting through the letters that came through the mail if you are wasting your time like this." "You call this wasted time? I'm suddenly not allowed to hold my handsome boy like this." Veritas's eyes narrowed. "Cease calling me a 'handsome boy', and I will consider this time to be not of the 'wasted' sort." So, he didn't hate it then. You smiled. "You like it then, Veritas?" He fell silent, you recall. His eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, it seemed like he'd say no. Then Veritas turned his head, kissed your palm, and murmured, "If it's you... then, yes.")

You wonder if he can outright acknowledge it's you who's holding him this way. He seems so out of it that what gnaws at you says no, but you try. You try for him. "Veritas?" You say, again, redirecting his attention to you. His eyes follow his head's movement, but it drags, and it's like it's taking everything out of him to begin looking at you.

Faint recognition appears on his face, and his voice softens too much, unlike the usual way he addresses you, "...My apologies for not greeting you when you came. I was absorbed in my readings of a letter the IPC sent me. An invitation of some sorts..."

When you see his eyes, the world falls silent.

Oh, Aeons, his eyes. Its lost its sheen and barely looks like he's there at all.

Your heart aches. So, that's it, then.

"What did they invite you to, love?" You ask, caressing his cheeks.

Veritas breathes as if it takes so much out of him to say, “The Intelligentsia Guild.”

“Ah,” You hum, willing the sadness away from your features. This moment is about Veritas, not you. “I see. You think I should reply to them, instead?”

The shake of Veritas’s head is slow. The hand he raises to envelop over yours is warm, yet you cannot find yourself to find comfort in it. “It is… better than nothing, love.”

The sight of Veritas blurs.

And, of course, out of everything, he notices you.

"You're crying," Veritas whispers softly. He reaches over and attempts to wipe away the tears streaming down, trying to soothe you. "Am I the cause of your tears? Then, I apologize. For... for being such a failure in front of you. Nous has not deemed me enough." You hadn't realized your eyes beginning to water; a single tear brought on a waterfall.

Aeons, you want to beat him ten times over. "You're not supposed to say sorry, Veritas. I'm... I'm only so worried about you."

Veritas meets eyes with you, and knows that it's not enough to cover the defeat. The disappointment surrounding his head like clouds, blurring every aspect of himself that he thought himself to be worthy of Nous' gaze.

He looks tired; an exhaustion that drills into his bones and something far beyond you. You think he's feeling the countless hours he's poured into that weapon, the surge of ambition and dedication used to fuel his drive, and the beginning of something chipping away at him and you don't know what.

(It scares you. It scares you because Veritas shoulders too many burdens he should have given to you to share.)

"You're the best scholar I’ve ever met, Veritas,“ You tell him, pushing past the tears that line your face. ”The smartest I’ve ever seen. Have you known your intelligence was the part of you that pulled me towards you? Your genius is unparalleled, my love. There is no one else I can think of if, ever, someone asks me about the most astute person I know.“

Does he think they are empty compliments? Because Veritas merely says, “Your words are better suited to a man whose Nous’ gaze fell upon him.”

You fall silent, defeated. What are you supposed to say? Are you to tell him that Nous does not matter, when his life is centered around knowledge? What is someone to do in this situation? What is comfort to a man who has been seared beyond recognition by an Aeon whom he worships?

“It is not hopeless,” Someone speaks, and you take a moment to recognize that it is you who has spoken. “Will you let an Aeon define who you are, Veritas?”

Veritas’s eyes slip close, and his forehead rests against yours. There is nothing but your soft sniffling, the steady breathing of your lover, and the persistent ticking of the clock in his office that sounds off. It is quiet and chilling, as if waiting for some bomb to tick off to end this moment once and for all.

His eyelids flutter, reddish-pink eyes peeking through—some brightness have returned, but not enough.

Veritas replies, “I… will try not to let them define me.”

To you, that is enough.

(You know than more that he will take this moment, and let it haunt him.)

[dmwrites]

Grian didn’t choose the CuteGuy lifestyle as much as it was thrust upon him. He had made one joke (just one!) about how he could be HotGuy’s sidekick, CuteGuy, and Scar went nuts. Within a week, a shulker box had been delivered to his base, containing some flashy pink clothes, a huge bow with a deadly-looking quiver of arrows, and, most unexpectedly, a bedazzled pink flip phone. There was only one contact in the phone, so, with a sigh, Grian pressed the call button.

“Hello?”

“Scar, what is this?”

“Oh, so you found your CuteGuy readiness package!” Scar gasped excitedly. “What do you think? Do you like my big package?”

“Wording, Scar. And, no, I’m not going to be your sidekick! The CuteGuy thing was a joke, bro.” Grian held up the clothes and looked them over with distain, using his shoulder to prop the phone to his ear. “And pink really isn’t my color, much less hot pink.”

“What do you mean? You’re blonde, you’re basically like a Barbie, you’d totally rock pink!”

“I have an alter ego already, Scar, I don’t need another, much less one that wears… does this shirt have a heart-shaped cutout in the chest? Scar!”

“Oh please.” Scar scoffed. “Do you really think Poultry Man will make a comeback? Let’s all be honest with ourselves now.”

“Hey now, mister ‘HotGuy is like half of my personality’. PoultryMan was the blueprint of superheroes!” Grian put the clothes back in the shulker and closed it firmly. “Scar, this dress up game is going a little too far, don’t you think? There isn’t even a need for HotGuy.”

“You never know.” Scar said in a sing-song voice. “Listen, just keep the shulker and the phone- if I really need a sideki- backup, I’ll call this phone, okay? Please?”

“Fine.” Grian said. “It’s a good thing you’re my friend, or I’d burn all of this.” He hung up the phone and set it down on top of the shulker box. He sighed, shaking his head at the bedazzled and pink nightmare that sat on and in the box before him. He picked the box up and moved it to a shadowy part of his basement. Grumbot looked down at him, lights twinkling in a way Grian took as laughter.

“Listen, Scar never said a thing about me actually picking up the phone, so by technicality, I’m off the hook.” Grian felt a need to explain himself. “If he really wants a CuteGuy so bad, he can get someone else to do it or something. I don’t do sidekick. PoultryMan is main character energy.”

Grumbot just flashed his lights, and Grian wondered if the robot had even been listening at all. He sighed, turning around and gazing out towards the now-dull rift on the other side of the basement.

“Now, to something that really matters, what on earth do I do about this?”

-seven months later-

Much like young Issac Newton theorizing about gravity from an apple falling onto his head, Joe Hills also had an odd series of events happen to him when something big and heavy fell onto his head. But he thought “ouch!” instead of conceptualizing gravity, but that’s besides the point.

“Who is messing with me? Guys, now is not a great time… huh?” Joe looked all around, and his gaze came to rest on a red shulker box on its side, spilling stacks upon stacks of tnt onto the ground. Joe went to pick it up and saw it labeled as Grian’s. “Grian?” There was no answer.

So, Joe did what any good person would do, and gathered up all of the tnt, put it back in the box, and set off for Grian’s megabase, which he had only an approximation of its location. He did manage to find it eventually, or, at least, the amalgamation of Grian and Mumbo’s bases, and he dithered on the spot for a while, trying to remember who’s was which. He eventually just gave up and dove down into what he knew to be Grian’s basement, with that weird robot and rift thing. Luckily, both oddities seemed inactive, and Joe put the shulker box down in the middle of the room, and took out a scrap of paper to leave as a note.

Suddenly, a phone rang, echoing through the basement. Joe looked at the rift, then the robot. Neither seemed to a source of the ringing. It was coming, Joe found out as he looked around, from a bedazzled pink flip phone on top of a pink and horribly dusty shulker box. On instinct, Joe picked it up and answered.

“Howdy, Joe Hills from Nashville, Tennessee here, how can I be of service?”

“Cuteguy, it’s time! The time is nye! I- wait, Joe?”

Joe recognized the dramatic voice on the other end at once. “Scar?”

“Joe?”

“Howdy, Scar!”

“Wait, I thought I gave this phone to Grian.”

“Well, I suppose you did. I just happened to be by, dropping off a shulker box of tnt that he must have dropped by accident onto my head, and I heard the phone-“

“Hold on, I’ll be right there.”

Scar hung up, and Joe pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it in confusion. He considered leaving, he really did, but after a rather arduous debate in his head of how much time he could be spending on his pinball machine instead of waiting on Scar, he ultimately determined that time spent with friends was always time well spent. He had just come to that conclusion, in fact, when Scar crash landed right in front of Joe.

“Ahh! One heart, Joe, one heart.” Scar said, while Joe helped him right his wheelchair. “Now, where’s CuteGuy?”

“Who?” Joe asked. He took stock of Scar’s outfit, which was a tight black unitard looking thing with blue and orange details. “And what on earth are you wearing?”

“Well, I’m HotGuy, of course!” Scar straightened up, taking out a deadly looking bow and pointing it, clearly posing, which Joe took as the cue to make appropriate awed noises. “But every good superhero needs his sidekick, and I was hoping CuteGuy would have gotten my message.” Scar looked around, like this CuteGuy guy would be hiding in a corner or something.

“Scar, there is no one on the server named ‘CuteGuy’- I feel like Xisuma would have told us if he’d whitelisted someone new.” Joe said very seriously.

“What? No! Okay, Joe, listen,” Scar lowered his voice conspiratorially, and Joe leaned in, keeping an eye on Grumbot as he did- who knows who could be listening. “CuteGuy is Grian’s alter ego. Like how I’m HotGuy.”

Joe put a hand to his mouth in shock, to be polite. “You mean it was actually you who terrorized me all those months ago while I was building a sign for King Ren?”

Scar clicked his tongue in an awkward kind of way. “No time for that, Joe! The point is, I need a sidekick right now, and Grian is nowhere to be found. So, Joe, what do you say- wanna come be CuteGuy for a little while?”

Joe considered this. He had many questions, but Scar had a sense of urgency in his tone. And Joe did like to say yes to new experiences…

“Well, I suppose I could help you out Scar- I mean, HotGuy. But shouldn’t I be called something else, as CuteGuy is kind of more of a Grian thing? I wouldn’t want to invade his creative space.”

Scar rubbed his chin, thinking hard “Maybe… are there other adjectives that are like hot and cute?”

“Oh! I was named the sexiest Minecraft youtuber via a set of tumblr polls!” Joe exclaimed. “Sexy… guy?”

“Tumblr? What’s that, like a disease or something?” Scar asked.

“I- okay, so I could explain this simply, but even that might take a few hours within itself… if I say the words ‘Ball Pit’, does that invoke emotions within you?”

“Joe, we don’t have time!” Scar put a hand over Joe’s mouth. “Listen, I think G will be fine if you borrow the CuteGuy name and outfit. But we really do need to go- crime does not sleep!” Scar opened the pink shulker box and pulled out a couple of sets of clothes, holding them up to Joe and squinting. Finally, he shoved a bundle at him. “Go put this on, and I’ll meet you on Grian and Mumbo’s bridge. Hurry!”

Scar flew up, and Joe quickly changed into the violently pink clothes without much thought. It wasn’t until he flew up to meet Scar did it occur to him what exactly he had on.

“Scar, HotGuy, I don’t mean to complain, but is it really all that sensible to be fighting crime in a crop top and booty shorts? Where is the padding? And the armor?” Joe asked, pulling down on the crop top slightly.

“CuteGuy, in this life, you gotta slay in every way. We’re hotter and cuter then our enemies.” Scar lowered his sunglasses, gave Joe a once-over, and tossed him a huge, glittery pink compound bow. “Now, let’s fly. I’ll explain our mission on the way.” He took off, leaving Joe to put the bow in his inventory and hastily take off after him.

The pink phone began to ring as soon as Joe was coasting in the air, and he fumbled to pull it out of the bag strapped to his thigh.

“Howdy!”

“Alright CuteGuy, are you hearing me alright?” Scar’s voice was cool and collected, if a bit hard to hear over the wind.

“Loud and clear, Scar- I mean, HotGuy.” Joe could see Scar up ahead, and kept pace behind him.

“Fantastic.” Scar turned to give him a thumbs up and a cheesy smile. “Now, for this mission, CuteGuy, we’re heading for the lair of the biggest threat to the server, the goat himself, DocM77. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.”

“I… yeah, Scar, sorry, HotGuy, we’ve both known Doc since season five, of course I know him.”

“Good, good. Recently, I, HotGuy, teamed up with two esteemed revolutionaries to form the Buttercups, an elite team set to take down the goat once and for all. The camp has been set, but we need to send a message to the goat that we mean business. Doc may have fancy redstone, but we have determination, grit, and most importantly, obsidian. Oh, and we’re here!”

“Obsidian?” Joe asked, landing beside Scar on the floor of the perimeter, hanging up the phone. “I thought you were gonna say, like, a pipe bomb or something.”

“No, no, CuteGuy.” Scar pulled out a shulker box and set it on the ground. “We just want to be annoying to good ol’ DocM, not actually kill him. So, we’re gonna cover every surface down here in obsidian.”

Joe looked at Scar, then around at the yawning expanse of the perimeter. “I- yeah, okay. And we are the good guys here, right?”

“Of course.” Scar replied, smiling.

——

It took about five hours of painstakingly placing obsidian, but every surface within the perimeter was eventually covered, which was an interesting sight to behold. Scar and Joe stood at the mouth of Doc’s house, looking down into the expanse.

“I think we did good, CuteGuy.” Scar said, patting Joe on the back.

“This bow was surprisingly effective against slimes.” Joe replied, hoisting up the big pink bow.

“That’s the power of the veloci-tay.” Scar said with an understanding nod. “Now, let’s get out of here before Doc gets back.”

He’d hardly uttered the words when there was the distinct sound of someone coming through Doc’s nether portal. Scar and Joe turned around just in time to see Doc emerge from the portal, and freeze at the sight of them.

“HotGuy?” Doc breathed. “What are you doing here? You and your… actually, I don’t believe I’ve met your… friend?”

“Oh, this is my sidekick, CuteGuy.” Scar waved his hand at Joe.

“Name suits you, CuteGuy.” Doc winked at Joe. “Pleasure to meet you. Now, what was I- oh, what are you both doing in my base? Why does CuteGuy look guilty? What…” Doc’s mechanical eye suddenly flew from the socket, whirring into the air with small but powerful blades. It flew behind the two superheroes and looked down into the perimeter. The room went silent, and Joe watched Doc’s face fall, first into surprise, then anger.

“What the- what did you do? Obsidian?” Doc’s eye flew back into socket, and he actually growled at them. “You annoying-”

“CuteGuy, shoot him!” Scar screeched, hiding behind Joe.

“I- what- okay!” Joe pulled back the bow and aimed it at Doc. The arrow missed. Then another missed. Then Doc was standing right in front of him, glowering.

“It’s a good thing you’re cute, because you’re a terrible shot.” Doc growled.

“Run!” Scar screamed, shooting into Doc’s face over Joe’s shoulder, and they both took off to the sky. Doc typed a bunch of angry and cryptic messages into the in-game chat, but didn’t pursue.

Joe and Scar landed on the bridge between Grian and Mumbo’s bases, breathing heavily.

“We did it! Our first mission as a duo!” Scar held out his hand for a high-five. “What do you say, Joe, want to take on the CuteGuy persona full time? HotGuy needs a good sidekick like you.”

Joe gazed into Scar’s grinning face, seeing his own, glittering pink reflection in Scar’s sunglasses.

“Absolutely not.”

[shiftingparadise]

Chrollo x Reader: Take it off

Hi guys, it's been a while. To be honest, I didn't share my stories anymore because I thought they weren't good enough. However, yesterday someone left a really sweat message in Buy Me A Coffee that just made me gain some confidence back. I'll start writing requests again after my holiday this week.

Thank you to everyone who still reads and shares my work.

WARNING: a little smut at the end

Word Count: 2350

“What’s wrong?”, his voice sounded softer than usual. “Nothing”, my body tensed up as the moonlight brushed over our bodies. His arm wrapped around my waist; a sign he wanted me closer. I froze. “What’s wrong?”, his voice sounded a little more demanding. “Nothing”, I curled up into a ball as my hands wrapped around the soft fabric of my pillow. It was quiet for a second as he softly let go. “I can’t help you if you don’t want to talk”, his voice never sounded so fragile. “I don’t need your help”. “Fine”, he almost whispered before turning his back to me. I couldn’t blame him. Feitan had tried talking to me, for weeks now, and I never gave him an explanation. How could I? There wasn’t one. I didn’t know why I felt so cold toward him, why I couldn’t stand his touch anymore. “Get some sleep”, his words tore through the dense atmosphere, “Meeting in the morning”. “Night Fei”, I whispered back as guilt flooded over me. Even after everything, he still cared about me. 

---

“No, that’s not right boss”, I giggled, “You need to hold it like this”. “Oh,” Chrollo kindly looked up at me. “I was wondering why everything seemed upside down”. “You’re messing with me. You’re always reading, I’m sure you know how to hold one properly”. “Is it that obvious?”, his voice sounded calm, but there was this unusual glimmer in his eyes. “You really think I’m that stupid, boss?”, I squeezed my eyes a little. “Not at all”, his smile immediately disappeared, “I’ve never met anyone as intelligent as you”. “That’s a lie”, I playfully grabbed his book, “If I was that smart, you would’ve put me on that mission alongside everyone else. I never get to go-“. “I don’t want you to get hurt”, Chrollo interrupted me, “That’s why I never let you join the ‘big’ missions”. “Huh?”, my eyes widened as my grip around his book tightened. “Forget what I said”, he smiled while softly grabbing his book from my hand, letting his fingers linger a little too long on mine. “Boss”, Feitan coldly interrupted, causing me to blush in shame. “Yes?”, Chrollo’s demeanor changed completely.  “Any blueprints for tomorrow?”. “Phinks has them”, Chrollo coldly replied. “You”, Feitan turned toward me as he noticed I was leaving. “Yes Fei?”, I forced a smile on my face. “Dinner tonight?”. His words pierced through me like a sharp knife. I didn’t want to go to dinner with him. In fact, I didn’t want to do anything with him. “Sure”, I softly replied before leaving. “I’ve seen the way you look at her”, Feitan’s gaze fixed on Chrollo. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Fei”, Chrollo coldly replied. “Tsk”, Feitan couldn’t help but feel jealous. “Maybe you should treat her better”, Chrollo almost whispered as Feitan was leaving. “Boss?”, Feitan could feel a fire spreading through his veins. “Nothing, I’ll see you on the mission”, Chrollo smiled. 

---

“This is a nice place”, you gently adjusted your skirt under the table. “You only deserve nice things”, Feitan’s eyes were glued to the menu. You stayed quiet. Feitan usually never said anything remotely nice to you. It wasn’t until you both ordered that you noticed he seemed nervous. “Are you alright?”, you sweetly smiled. He didn’t respond, instead, he handed you a small box. “Saw this and thought it would look even prettier on you”. “Y-you got something for me?”, your eyes widened. He never got you a present before. “Open”, he nodded towards the box. You slowly opened it, only to find a beautiful bracelet inside. “Pearls”, your eyes lightened up, “My favourite, how did you-“. “I listen”, he softly replied, “Even if you think I don’t”. “But I only said this once when we were walking through the city”. “Like I said”, his eyes never met yours, “I listen”. “Thank you Fei, it looks beautiful”. You could see a small smile on his face.  “Are you ready for the mission tomorrow?”, you took a sip of your wine. “Hm, isn’t that dangerous. Only a small bank. Why aren’t you coming?”. “Boss won’t let me”, your smile disappeared as you remembered his words. “What’s wrong?”, Feitan’s brows drew together. “Nothing”, you once again forced a smile on your face. “Did he say something earlier?”. “N-no of course not, I mean, nothing important”, you smiled before taking another sip. 

It wasn’t worth mentioning. Besides, he didn’t mean it like that, right? He just didn’t want you to get hurt. Big deal. He doesn’t want any of his Spiders to get hurt.

“You’re drunk”, Feitan placed a glass of water on your nightstand. “I’m sorry”, you sighed as you could feel the room spin. “Don’t apologize”, Feitan placed a kiss on your temple, “Sleep”. His touch didn’t feel as bad. “Night Fei”, you murmured before closing your eyes. “Did you have fun tonight?”, his voice sounded unsteady. “Yeah”. “Good”, Feitan’s arm once again wrapped around your waist, and this time you did move closer to him. “Missed your scent”, his nose pressed against the back of your head. You didn’t respond. For some reason, you could only think about Chrollo. What would it feel like if he was the one laying beside you? If he gave you compliments and held you close? You tried to wash away the thoughts with a sip of water, but your mind felt clouded. “Are you okay?”, Feitan gently wrapped his arm around you again. “Yeah, I’m fine”.

---

“I didn’t expect to see you here”. “Huh?”, you looked up, only to see Chrollo sit down in front of you. “Aren’t you supposed to be on that mission right now?”, your eyes widened. “Everyone insisted they’d be fine without me, so I decided to grab some coffee instead”. “Sorry boss, didn’t mean to be rude”, you quickly sat up straight. “Chrollo’s just fine. You don’t need to call me boss”. You couldn’t help but blush. “So, what are you drinking?”, the dark-haired man leaned over and grabbed yours before tasting it. “Delicious”, he smiled while closing his eyes. “I-it’s a Chai Latte”, your cheeks were a strawberry red. “I want the same”, Chrollo signaled the waitress to come over. Your eyes were glued to his face as he ordered. For some reason, you never noticed his smooth skin, or his charming smile, not to mention how pretty he looked in the suit he was wearing. “Is something wrong?”, Chrollo playfully tilted his head as he caught you staring. “N-no”, you hastily looked away, “Sorry boss, I-I mean Chrollo”. He chuckled in response. It was a strange sight to you. Chrollo never seemed this happy to you. During meetings, he was always very serious, only smiling every so often. “So, what are you going to do after this?”. “I was hoping to go to a bookstore. It’s a very old one-“. “Mind if I join you?”, he leaned back in his chair. God, he looked divine like that. “Y-yeah sure”, you shyly responded. 

While walking to the bookstore, he made sure to walk a little behind you, as if he was trying to ready to protect you from any danger. 

“Thanks”, your cheeks turned pink again when he opened the door for you. “Wow”, your eyes lit up when you noticed a whole poetry section. “You like William Blake?”, Chrollo leaned against the bookshelf. “Oh, I love Blake”, your hands eagerly reached for one of his books. “Here”, Chrollo moved behind you while grabbing it for you. His body was almost completely pressed against yours. “T-thank you”, you turned around, but Chrollo didn’t’ move. Your eyes were locked onto the ground, but without any warning, Chrollo softly placed his thumb underneath your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Boss?”, you almost whispered. “God, I love it when you call me that”, Chrollo’s eyes lit up. “That’s why I want you to call me by my name. If you keep calling me boss and looking up at me like that, I don’t know if I can contain myself any longer”. “H-huh?”, your cheeks burning. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”, Chrollo’s thumb now grazed over your lips. You couldn’t reply. Your nerves got the best of you.  “So innocent”, he chuckled, “How did Feitan even manage to get you? Did he even try?”. Feitan. It felt as if his name was being burned onto your back. “It’s fine”, Chrollo noticed the doubt in your eyes, “I’ll take care of you. I promise-“. “N-no”, you interrupted him, “I’m with Fei”. “And does he make you happy?”, Chrollo’s gaze shifted to your lips.  “He does”, you looked down. “Fine, I’ll be patient”, Chrollo smiled before placing a soft kiss on your cheek. “Let’s grab some take out”, Chrollo moved away from you. “I’ve been craving Chinese”. “Why do you think I’ll go with you?”. “Because”, he smiled before walking to the register. “W-wait-“. “It’s a gift”, Chrollo waived the book in the air. 

---

“No, you’re holding them wrong!”, you giggled as you grabbed his chopsticks. “I’ve been eating with chopsticks all my life”, he softly grabbed them back. “So? You’re holding them wrong!”, you tried to get them back. “Am I?”, Chrollo smirked before grabbing your wrists with one hand and pulling you close. “Hm”, you shyly hummed in response. His other hand cupped your cheek as his thumb wandered to your lips again. Chrollo was tall, way taller than Feitan. You weren’t used to looking up at someone, but you didn’t mind it. “You like pearls?”, Chrollo placed your hand on his cheek. You nodded. “You know Feitan got this because of me?”, Chrollo’s fingers hovered over your bracelet. “H-he did?”, you pulled back a bit. “You really think Feitan knows what you like?”, Chrollo sounded cold. “B-but he said-“. “I saw you in front of a jeweler once. I can’t even describe how your eyes lit up when you saw that necklace”. “Necklace? Y-you noticed?”. “Of course”, Chrollo’s brows pulled together, “You were talking to Fei about them, but he was leaning against the wall. Don’t think he heard you”. “That’s right, we were out with the whole Troupe that day”. “Right”, Chrollo smiled, “I went and bought it the next day, but I couldn’t give it to you”. “You did?”, your eyes widened. “Yeah”, Chrollo slowly got up before grabbing something in his luggage. “I always carry it with me, just in case. Here”, he handed you the box. You didn’t know how to feel. The one time that Feitan made you happy, it was because of Chrollo. To be honest, you felt crushed.

“What’s wrong?”, Chrollo gently wiped a tear from your cheek. “I-I need to go”, you got up. “You aren’t going home alone”, Chrollo grabbed your wrist. “It’s too dangerous”. “I’m a Spider, I know how to protect myself”, you pulled back. “You aren’t going alone”, Chrollo put on his coat. “I want to be alone”. “No, you don’t”, Chrollo got close again, now cupping your cheeks with both his hands. “You want to be comforted, to feel loved. You want someone to care about you”, his lips now closer. “Let me care about you”. You didn’t respond, instead, you softly wrapped your hand around his wrist. Chrollo’s lips finally met yours. His kiss was gentle. It felt as if he was trying to remember this moment forever. “Boss-“. “Don’t call me that”. “I-I’m sorry-“. Chrollo’s breathing got heavier as his hand softly wrapped around your throat.

You softly tugged at his coat, signaling him to take it off. Chrollo picked you up before softly laying you down on the bed. “So pretty”, his eyes glided over your body as he took off his coat and loosened his shirt.  “All mine”, he crawled on the bed, his hair brushing over your forehead. “Take it off”, he grabbed your wrist and held it in front of your face. You didn’t hesitate to take the bracelet off. “Good girl”, Chrollo’s hand started to explore the skin under your shirt. “B-boss”, your voice sounded like music to his ears. “Don’t call me that”, his grip around your waist tightened. “Why not, boss?”, you smirked. “Fuck”, Chrollo softly bit in your neck, “I’m not going to be gentle when you keep testing me like this”. “I don’t want you to”, you arched your back in response. “But I want too. I want our first time to be-“. “Whatever you say, boss”, you looked at him with big, innocent eyes. “Why do you have to act like a brat?”, he smirked. “Because my boss is too soft with me”, you playfully sighed. “Fine”, he clenched his jaw before pinning your wrists above your head, “I’ll give you what you want, spoiled brat”. “Please”, your knees were rubbing against each other. “Beg”, Chrollo pushed his knee between your legs, forcing them to open. “Please, boss. I need you”, you closed your eyes. “Again, and this time you better look at me”, he coldly replied.

So, you obeyed him, “Please, boss. Make me feel good”. After that, Chrollo softly pulled your skirt to your stomach as he pushed your panties to the side. “So wet”, grazed over your most sensitive spot. “Hm”, you softly moaned. “You going to break up with Feitan?”. “Whatever you want, boss”. “After tonight, there’s no going back. You understand that, right? I’m going to mark you, make sure everyone knows you’re mine now”. “Shit”, you arched your back as you  could see him take off his shirt. “You like that, princess?”, he softly lifted yours in response. “No”, he stopped you as he noticed you wanted to undress yourself. “I want to fuck you in that skirt. You’ve been driving me crazy all day. You know it’s way too short, right? I’ll make sure you can never wear that thing again”. “S-sorry boss”, you tried to contain the butterflies in your stomach. “I’ll make sure you’ll never want another man in your life”, Chrollo hummed before he crashed his lips against yours. 

[findafight]

On the one-sided harringrove post- I feel it becomes infinitely funnier with bi steve. He likes men, just not Billy. Never Billy.

Oh yeah. When Billy fiiiirst comes to school with his music blaring Steve is head over heels for Nancy, so he might register that the guy with the Camaro and loud music has a good ass, but then billy opens his mouth and Steve is like "oh, no ass can make up for that personality." And continues with his life.

Just. Okay I like to project just a liiiiittle on Steve with him just. Not realizing his attraction to men isn't a straight thing. Like. Of course all straight people feel that way, you just kinda ignore it or don't do anything about it. So Steve is half way between being comfortable in his sexuality and being closeted to himself because buddy used Hawkeye Pierce as the blueprint of straightness.

So Billy is out here, wallowing in self hatred and internalized homophobia, hating Steve and wanting Steve and hating that he wants Steve and wishing Steve would pay attention to him enough for a hate fuck he can cry about later, and it's all very angsty. All the while Steve is just actually completely fine with thinking a dude is hot he's just got standards that include "not racist" "doesn't try to beat up kids" "hasn't made me blackout from head trauma"

Wait. Oh no. I feel an au coming on. Shit. Au where post S2 Robin hears piano coming from the band room after hours and is her curious self going "I must see who is this mysterious genius" and it's Steve. They get to talking and hanging out and all of a sudden Robin thinks they are actually good friends. Best friends. Somehow.

Cue them going to a band party together. Someone spikes their drinks with waayyyy more than they were expecting so they are blasted. Robin has to go pee but does not want to go alone so she drags Steve into the bathroom with her and makes him face away. He's like haha Woah you really had to pee. And she goes shut upppp and washes her hands but sits across from him. Steve smiles at her and gives her his speech about how amazing she is and how glad he is to be her friend (it is like March '85 so he is still not ready to get back out into dating yet). Robin tells him about Tammy. They sing. Someone slams the door open and kicks them out of the bathroom because there's a fuckin line.

They lay on the grass outside and look at the sky. Steve like. Caaaaasually mentions once having thought he was gonna marry Tommy when he was six and then realizing you just didn't do anything about those feelings and Robin's gotta shoot up going WHAT!! WHAAAT? Because it sounded like Steve coming out to her? Right after?? She came out to him??

And Steve is like yeah. Like you don't really have to? Easier to ignore it and flirt with girls who I like or think are hot. And poor Robin's brain is melting she's like please Steve I'm really drunk are you telling me you sometimes want to kiss boys? And he's like yes, obviously, everyone does. Just like everyone also wants to sometimes kiss girls. Except lesbians I guess who only want to kiss girls? And gay guys only want to kiss guy? Yeah that makes sense and straight people don't care but go for the opposite ya know?

Robin is like NO!! And calms down some and says "okay I'm telling you this because you are my friend and you just told me almost the same thing. Steve. I like girls and only like girls. That not a straight thing"

"yeah. You've said."

"but I am ninety nine percent positive that just because you like girls doesn't mean you're straight because you also like boys."

"what"

"yeah dude, I do not think this is a heterosexual experience you're describing. I'm not an expert but. Yeah.

"oh. Huh."

"yep."

"I definitely thought it was."

"your brain is so weird I'm still kind of obsessed with you."

"haha. Honestly I'm kind of obsessed with you. This is wild."

"well. At least I know you're stuck with me."

"ohhh nooooo whatever will I do with my best friend always around..."

ANYWAYS THE ACTUAL POINT OF THIS is not in fact the stobin. It's actually that

Sometime probably in may, when Steve is ready to be on the dating scene again, he gets with Eddie. Robin is happy for him but also so mad because he went from "probably shouldn't act gay even tho everyone feels a little gay sometimes" to "hey Robin what would you say if I said I got a boyfriend?" In less than two months. How does he have straight AND gay game. That's not fair.

Steddie getting together is a non event. Eddie is still like ewww sports and yet somehow he made out with Steve Harrington and the next day Steve asked if he wanted to get milkshakes and throw rocks into the quarry to see the splashes. Eddie must restrain himself from thinking it's a date because he knows it's not but it'd also be the perfect date (Eddie is a simple man)

At the end of the night steve kissed his cheek and says "I had a really great time..."

Eddie just blurted "hey do you want to be my boyfriend?"

To which Steve perks up like "yes! I'd like that!"

And Eddie didn't actually think he'd get that far so he was like "neat!! See you tomorrow!" before slamming the door in Steve's face.

So they're dating and Eddie disparages sports but Steve is like haha aw you don't like watching me play? Which is sooo mean to Eddie because obviously?? He likes?? Watching his boyfriend??? Run around in tiny shorts and sometimes shirtless?? He has to reevaluate some things he supposes.

All while this is happening Billy is still on his Greatest Homoerotic Rivals shtick with Steve. Eddie notices and is like to dude...what is with Billy? And Steve just sighs. Says Billy is weird and obsessed with him and glares all the time. It's a whole thing. Billy is pissed because what is Steve, his epic rival, doing hanging around some random band geek, his sister's bitchass friends, and maybe the local dealer.

Alright. Grad happens. Yay Steve! Poor Eddie. They go to some party , hang out with people, sell some drugs, etc. Billy is unfortunately also at this party, and is like. Lazer eyes boring into Steve's back. Very annoying. At some point, he sees Steve slip away and is like this is my chance so he follows him.

Howmever he comes across Steve, his epic and totally heterosexual rival, making out with Eddie the freak Munson.

And listen this is a scary thing to be caught inna town like Hawkins, but that's not the point of this post.

So Billy goes "what the hell?"

They turn around. Billy is still spluttering.

"what are you-why would you-- with him?!" He says.

Steve raises his eyebrows, alllll cocky confidence. He smirks a bit. Drawls. "Well, yeah. I like cock, billy. Just not yours."

Because the point of this post is that Steve is a bitch.

Thank you.

[yeyinde]

call me crazy but i think that if you worked in like a grocery store or some type of retail that soap would use all his power to get acces to cameras and just watch you while you work 🧎🏻

i just think he gets lonely!!! it’s no different than leaving a camera at home to check on your pets :( he just needs to make sure his lil hen is safe at all times

he maybe also uses clips of you bending over or being nice to customers to jerk his shit… maybe -🧸 (sincerely, a girl at work rn)

ohhhhh, if you haven't already read it, you're going to love @ceilidho's fic superstore!! it's very similar to this and is what really got me going crazy for unhinged Johnny. it's also the blueprint i used when writing him lmao

but you're so right. Soap in a position of power over you would be absolutely devastating. borderline criminal behaviour on a daily basis. probs texts you unhinged stuff from his office like, "no panties today, huh, hen? ;) saw it when ye bent over; must like teasin' me" or "saw ye requested some off. meet me in the back durin' yer lunch break an' we can talk about it. ahm sure ye can convince me tae say yes." sends you pictures he took of the security screen when you're bending over. gets mad if you smile at people for too long. truly a menace.

[vdoesstuff]

Fic #1 (Zosan)

Based off of Headcannon #17

Nami was bored. She was bored bored bored bored. So, she decided to get Zoro and Sanji together.

She immediately gathered Luffy and Usopp. “Ok, here’s the plan.” She unfurled a blueprint of a bottle taped to a stick. “We tell them we’re playing 7 minutes in Heaven. I’ll be below deck, with the stick. You have to make sure Zoro goes first. I’ll spin the stick so it lands on Sanji. And, that’s about it.” She rolled her diagram and smiled.

“I like it!” Said Luffy, grinning wildly.

~~~~~~

“You want to play what?” Zoro raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah! Come on!” Luffy grabbed Zoro’s arm and dragged him to the deck. Sanji was already sitting there, talking to Usopp, asking him why the fuck they’re here. Zoro reluctantly sat down across from Sanji, who glared at him as he sat down. God, why did I even agree to this? Zoro wondered. But it was too late now.

“Zoro, you go first,” Luffy said, trying to hide his giggles.

“God, you’re such a child.” He spun. It landed on… Sanji. They stared at each other. Sanji turned beet red and avoided eye contact. Usopp started pushing them both towards the closet.

“Well! In you go!” The door clicked behind them.

~~~~~

They both stayed on opposite sides of the closet, but it wasn’t long before Sanji started hyperventilating. He hated confined spaces. That’s part of why he always liked being at sea. On the ocean, there was no beginning or end. Just straight water for miles around. He looked for something to look at other than Zoro. Anything. Finally he couldn’t help it. He looked him dead in the eye.

“Cook, what’s wrong with you?” Zoro looked… concerned? For him?

“Nothing. It’s fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” It was true. Sanji had started sweating, and his hyperventilating had gotten worse.

“I’m fine, dumbass.”

“Yeah right. You’re crying. Come here.” Zoro tentatively put an arm out to comfort him. Is this really happening? Sanji wondered. He leaned towards Zoro’s embrace. It was… nice.

~~~~~~

“So, claustrophobia, huh?” Zoro needed something to talk about. Anything.

“Yeah. It kinda sucks.” God, he’s beautiful, Zoro thought. The cook was leaning against him. Zoro could hear his own heartbeat from here. Sanji leaned his head back onto Zoro’s chest. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Zoro could feel his face getting red. Slowly, he leaned his head back. This isn’t so bad. Zoro thought. It’s actually… kinda nice.

~~~~~

“Well. It’s been seven minutes.” Luffy shrugged. “I guess we should let them out now.”

“Yeah. Haven’t heard anything.” Nami frowned. “I guess it didn’t work.”

Luffy went to go open the door. “Hey guys, seven minutes are up…” And there they were. Sanji pressed against Zoro on the side of the wall… and they were kissing. It worked! Luffy thought. Zoro and Sanji realized the door was open, and quickly pulled apart. Both their faces were red. “Don’t worry. I’ll close the door.” Luffy smiled, and Zoro gave an appreciative smile back. Luffy closed the door, and walked off.

“Nami, Usopp, it worked! Operation Zosan is canon!”

——————

Guys I made a thing do you like it

[qstea]

: oaoaoao it's 🌷 again,, sry if I request too much I'm having brainrots !! can I request ink, dream, error and nightmare w/ an s/o that designs clothes now and then to entertain themselves ?? tyy <44

✦ - Ink!Sans

| - OMG no way…

| - He loves designing clothes as well! Mostly through painting them onto others and making new outfits out of his ink for other people! So he finds that you design clothes and he’s fucking ECSTATIC. hopping up and down and begging to see your designs.

| - literally won’t stop pestering you until you 1. get distracted which leads to Ink stealing your little sketched designs and squealing loudly as he stares down at them with a happy expression or 2. he pokes you so much that you just give up hiding your designs or 3. show him as soon as he starts to get annoying.

| - definitely going to want to help you with designs. He’s very creative and he comes up with cool outfits all the time, so he’s hoping you’ll let him.

✦ - Dream!Sans

| - oh. Neat.

| - Dream doesn’t really know how to design clothes, and his outfit was just kind of made up out of the blue with what he had on him at the moment. Wouldn’t mind taking a look at what you made and maybe even offering some tips and tricks all while complimenting your work.

| - He thinks you’re very talented for designing stuff like that, so he speaks highly of your work and the amount of positivity radiating off of you when you listen to his praises or just sketching away is just *mwah* he’s so in love with it.

| - tbh Dream thinks it’s so wholesome that you do it just to entertain yourself. what other things do you do to entertain yourself? can you automatically learn and adapt from then on and get an even more vast set of talents and skills? he’s so interested in you it’s kind of crazy.

✦ - Error!Sans

| - honestly I think they just started loving you even more.

| - they just watch you working on your newest design and they are just so entranced by your designing skills. they’re definitely going to just awkwardly look over your shoulder when you aren’t paying attention or sneak glances over to you direction to see how much progress you made.

| - when you’re done designing and quenched your boredom, they immediately go over to take your designs and make them into actual clothes. this is the exact reason they were so happy to see you enjoying clothing design.

| - if you end up making any clothing blueprints and concepts for them, they may actually fucking explode. Will no doubt make the concepts into a real piece of clothing and may end up wearing it as their usual clothes. would love to see your reaction to seeing all your creations come to life.

✦ - Nightmare!Sans

| - Huh? Oh, okay.

| - Doesn’t really care all that much, they’ll check out your design planning and give a few recommendations to improve it, then move along their day. Totally fine with it, actually makes them a bit confused yet curious on how you do it.

| - May ask questions here and there just to satisfy their curiosity. Besides that, go enjoy yourself, I guess.

[noisyquokka]

Winner Winner

PAIRING - Mark x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS - When you and Mark made a bet on who could create the better Halloween costume, neither of you expected to take it so seriously.

WORDCOUNT - 2.2k

WARNINGS - NOT PROOFREAD cause life has been busy srry, kinda fluffy, banter/shit-talking, friendly competition, established friendship, but we ain't afraid to talk up our boy when he's looking damn foine 😈😩

A/N - I watched the Ghost Rider movies again recently and yeah... Mark Lee in all leather, anyone?

"Damn!! I know you said you were going all out, but I didn't think you meant cosmic horrors."

You smile to yourself at Mark's praises, adding on the finishing touches to your makeup and special effects.

"Listen, never underestimate a bad bitch with a game plan, okay." You say, laser focused on what you were doing before turning to your best friend. You stop short, eyebrows raising at his choice of costume.

When you and Mark made a bet on who could create the best Halloween costume, part of you hadn't expected him to take it so seriously either. But seeing him in the reflection of the bathroom mirror doused all your thoughts. 

If someone were to look between you two, it's clear that your costume turned into a full-on art project. You had gone out and bought the different materials needed — be it fabrics for the outfit, special effects, wiring for the headpiece and caging around your torso — and spent upwards of two months to make everything as you imagined it in your head. The blueprints still sit in your room under a heap of fabric cuttings, and now you stand in your bathroom donning the finished product. You are a true Eldritch Horror.

That's not to say Mark didn't put a good amount of effort into his costume. You give him a once over, nodding to yourself. 

"You really put your whole Markussy into that, huh."

You hear him snort behind the skeletal mask, the sound making your lips pull back in an impressed smirk.

"I told you I was serious this year," He says, voice slightly muffled as he holds his arms out in a show of confidence. "This is gonna get me so many points tonight!" 

Indeed, Mark Lee was feeling himself in his chosen DIY costume. How couldn't he when he was head to toe in all-black leather? Ghost Rider wasn't the top thought when someone says Marvel — less so when it came to movie adaptations — but you and Mark watched the movies often. Even so, you hadn't thought of that as a potential costume. But damn, did he pull it off. 

"Damn, where'd you get the mask from? It's so detailed..." You bring a hand up to feel the skull, a rough texture under your fingertips. The jaw moves as he speaks,

"An old friend of mine. Bro's got a lot of horror costumes and stuff from conventions." It wasn't cheap, in fact it was so well detailed that you couldn't see it being from a costume store or online shop. That was hand-crafted with love over a few weeks, at the very least.

Then there was the leather jacket with the black tee underneath. The perfect pairing. The perfect fit. You took note of the familiar spikes embellishing the shoulders of the jacket, thrifted from one of your old belts. So that's what he wanted it for... A nice attention to detail, you admit. The chain wraps around his shoulder and over his chest, gloved hands adjusting the links as you glance down. And then the pants... 

"Those aren't actual biker pants are they?"

"They are, but I bought the cooler looking ones."

You chuckle, raising a brow. 

"Ah, the modern Johnny Blaze..." You trail off, taking a closer look. "And your high-top sneaks really bring the whole thing together!"

"Okay, that sounded condescending." He mutters, and you laugh, poking him in the shoulder.

"What!? You look good, is all I'm saying."

"Thank you!"

"And I apologize in advance for all the candy I'm bringing home tonight. I spent too much time and effort on this costume to not win!" You turn back to the mirror, giving yourself one last look before you add the fully furnished headpiece.

The base is just wires weaved together, but you had taken the time to mask over the skeleton to build up a mass of branching horns and a voided curtain of dead eyes within galaxies. It took hours upon hours of adding layers to an everchanging mountainous piece, you almost felt as if you were back in school crafting with papier-mâché. This was just more entertaining.

"Shit, what the fuck are you even supposed to be?"

You smirk, adjusting the thing to your skull until it's comfortable enough.

"An ancient entity incomprehensible to the whole of humanity."

"Right, duh." Mark jokingly smacks the front of his mask, shaking his head. You chuckle at that, turning on your heels. You tap his shoulder as you leave the bathroom.

"You ready to watch me win this thing?" You ask, to which Mark scoffs at your confidence.

"Now hold on, I've got more than just this," He gestures to his outfit, bringing a hand to the side of the skull. You hear a subtle click and suddenly the eyes and top of the skull is aglow in orange. After another beat, you see the smoke dispersing through the same locations. 

"I can totally see you passing out from smoke inhalation within the hour."

"It's not in the mask, it's rigged through a compartment on the side. I'll be winning within the hour though." He replies. You can hear the grin behind his words.

"Sure, keep telling yourself that!"

—

"Who's gonna tell the health-nuts that no one wants celery stalks on Halloween?" Mark groans, glancing down into his bag of candy. He pulls a Nature Valley bar out with visible disgust, the sounds of shrieks and youngsters laughing in the night fill your ears. "Look at this, nah bro!"

"At least it's not dental floss!" You snatch the bar from him, the infamous green wrapper crunching in your grip. You tear the package with ease, cursing as the snack falls onto the street like sawdust.

"Dude!" Mark huffs, watching you bring the opened end of the wrapper to your open mouth. You wave him off, attempting to wipe any crumbs from your costume.

"I went to the same houses as you. If you want it so badly, I'll give you the three in my bag."

The street lights glow warm against the asphalt below, illuminating the cul-de-sac you two chose for this year's trick-or-treat festivities. Over the past hour, you both had decided to go house to house separately. Most of the people who you came across praised your costume for its creative freedom. A few houses gave you extra candy for it. That was extra points in your book! Mark was doing about the same as you, his bag filled roughly half way. Trying to trust each other's word for what people said about your costumes was a joke though. You both regrouped at a street corner, talking shit about the reactions you both told one another. As if it was so hard to believe either of you got a thumbs up for your chosen characters.

Now you sit on the curb (or rather, Mark sits and you stand due to costume restrictions... a major penalty to your points, he'd said) to the block you've yet to venture around, digging through the various types of candy and fruit snacks and weird shit people decide is a good Halloween handout. 

"Why do people even buy those carrot sticks?" His voice is laced with frustration, pulling the snack pack out of his candy haul. "Like, who actually eats these for fun?"

"People who like the spicy crunch of raw carrot." You reply, reaching for his gloved hand again. But he's learned this time, pulling away.

You dig through your bag, pulling out a pack of Skittles and shaking them in his direction. Mark sits there for a moment, foot tapping as he takes a moment to think about your offer. Gloved fingers twitch in a come hither motion; the finality of the trade off.

"Couldn't trust me to trade with you once we get back to my place?" You tease.

"Not after the Nature Valley bar."

"You didn't even want it." You scoff, tossing the pack of candy as he tosses the carrots at you. Ever the savior you are. Your attention tracks to the houses that you have yet to raid, watching a group of young kids skip up the drive and rush the door.

"How much longer you wanna do this?" You ask. Mark shrugs, glancing at his phone. 

"It's coming up on 8:30... think we could make it through this entire block by nine?" You tilt your head slightly, inky fingers holding up the tote on your person.

"Bet, this entire block is done in ten minutes and we bail." You offer your free hand that Mark takes, tugging him to his feet. With determined strides, the two of you start for the first house on the block. 

The houses all look the same as you move down the street, the only difference being the appearance of adorned exteriors. You could tell which households went all out for the season and which didn't based on the decorations. A mass of projections in windows and four-hundred dollar giant skeletons in front yards could only be cool for so long. In reality, you preferred the homes that put a little charm in their decorating. Cotton spiderwebs and spooky ghosts hanging in bare trees. A few creepy animatronics and a scarecrow with pumpkins on the doorstep to pull it all together. Just a little charm, like this next house you're coming up to. 

A group of kids race past you and Mark, their feet pounding against the pavement as they cut through the yard of the nearest house. You can hear them yell a trick or treat as you both walk up the driveway, and just from their mannerisms you could tell they were teens. The door opens to an elderly woman dressed like the old woman from Snow White, long hooked nose and all. She mumbles something about their costumes and asks how their nights have been as she hands each a handful of candy, and the group hops off the steps, racing into the night like a pack of feral cats.

"Well, look at you two!" Your ears perk as you and Mark turn back to the old woman at the door, disbelief on your face at what just occurred. She gives you a toothy grin, very in character for her costume, waving you up onto the porch with a gusto unlike someone her age.

"Is it too late to say trick or treat?" You joke, taking the steps carefully so you don't trip in your draped fabrics. The woman laughs good-naturedly, her smile widening as you ascend the steps.

"It's never too late, dears!" She replies, holding out the bucket of goodies. "What are we this year, then?" You can't help but grin back at the woman. Her joy for the holiday is infectious as she takes in your costumes with twinkling eyes.

"You'll never guess mine, but Mark here is a-"

"Bro!" Mark smacks your shoulder, voided eyes staring back at you.

"What?" 

The old woman chuckles as he takes his handful of candy from the bowl. 

"Could we ask you who's is better, Miss?" Mark glances between you both before looking to the woman once more. A wide smile pulls at her cheeks, her laugh warming you like a fresh-baked apple pie.

"Well, now that's too difficult of a question to answer! I think the two of you look just great, and that's all there is to it." Her smile is contagious and you catch yourself grinning back. 

"That's very kind of you, Miss." You tell her, reaching for your own handful of candy. "Thank you!"

"You two have a great night now, stay safe!" She says, watching you both step off the porch. Once you're far enough from the door, Mark leans in. 

"So what she meant to say was my costume was better, but she's just too sweet of a woman to break your heart."

"Oh stop!"

"I think she was hitting on me." You scoff at that.

"She couldn't even see your face, Mark."

"Don't need to when I got all this to back me up." He says, gesturing to himself like he's the absolute shit.

"So you're trying to say that the Grannies love you?" You ask, raising a brow. He brings a gloved hand to his chest, rattling the chain links across the leather.

"They're busting down my door." He says, tone serious as ever. 

"They have arthritis, they can't bust down doors." You counter, turning up the next driveway.

"They can if they're determined enough!" He says, chasing after you.

You and Mark power through the rest of the block, your minds buzzing from the few pieces of candy you'd snuck from your bags. In the last twenty minutes you're sure you collected enough candy to make a toddler bounce off the walls... and a few more Nature Valley bars that Mark will complain about.

You're ready to retire for the night, a successful Halloween, you think. The lights are already out on many houses as you both trek back to the car and a couple of older kids are still shuffling up to doors in hopes of scoring some last minute treats.

"So it's safe to say I won with all the candy in my bag." You say, jostling the tote in your hand with a smirk.

"We haven't even counted out our bags, you haven't won yet!" 

"I have to get all this stuff off when I get home! I am not sitting down to count my candy, bro!"

"I'll do it, then." He replies, unlocking the car. You bark out a laugh, pulling on the passenger side door.

"Yeah, I trust you to not cheat." 

"You wanna win or not?"

"...Yes."

SPOOKTOBER MASTERLIST

[katatonicimpression]

⚔️⚔️⚔️!!! (For the sambucky ask game 😃)

Sambucky Prompt Game

This is also for @sammysdewysensitiveeyes Thank you both for the asks! This is inspired by Sam on the bridge in TWS... if you couldn't tell

“What about Captain America? We still have him restrained.”

The question was barely audible through the crackling walkie talkie, and Bucky could only just hear it from this far away. The reply was clear as day though, even from a distance.

“Kill him.”

No. Bucky sprang into action.

He leapt over the railing and dropped down onto the platform below, directly in front of the man who had given the order.

“Wh-”

Bucky grabbed him with his left arm, and threw him off the edge of the platform. He didn’t bother to see how he landed, but he heard the impact and it didn’t sound good.

He flung his right arm out behind him, sending the knife from up his sleeve flying at a henchman.

Someone was shooting at him, so he ran, left hand covering the back of his head. He charged up the stairs, sliding another blade out from his boot. 

It ended up in some guy’s kidney. Not that bad, you can live with one kidney.

He pulled the semi-automatic from his hip, and shot the two goons flanking the door to the rest of the building. Really, he was trying to be a different guy now, a less violent guy. But these freaks had kidnapped his boyfriend so if they ended up a little gutshot, that was on them.

He'd got a chance to look at the blueprints of this building before he'd arrived, and he knew that Sam was being held in a room right at the back. It was another two hundred metres of running, mostly stairs. Shouldn't take him more than half a minute, forty-five seconds if he was slow. But then there would be more guards.

He turned the corner, and there was Sam.

Sam, in the jeans and t-shirt that he'd been wearing when he'd been captured. He was at the other end of the corridor, and heading towards him. He had a knife in his hand, presumably used to free himself and fight his way out.

"Duck!" He shouted, and Bucky obeyed, instinct taking over. He dropped low and turned, firing down the corridor to deter them, as Sam's knife flew over his head and hit the goon behind him.

He misjudged something though, because suddenly the door next to them burst open, and another guy sprang out towards them.

Before Bucky even had time to panic, Sam had dealt with it. He had pulled another knife out from somewhere near his ankle and ran it into the guy's side, and he crumpled to the floor.

Bucky checked the door. Just a supply closet, no one else inside.

However many of these goons were left, they seemed to have fallen back for now. Bucky stopped to reload, and to look at Sam. To gawk, maybe.

He knew Sam was good at this. Obviously he knew that, but it was something else seeing it in action.

“Oh, hey,” Sam said casually. “You came to get me, that’s so sweet.”

“I… Uh-”

The henchman on the floor struggled to turn over, hand pressed onto his side.

“You just stabbed me!” He yelled in shock.

Sam faced him where he fell and cocked his head.

“Uh huh.”

“That’s not a very Captain America thing for you to do, geez!” 

“Oh, shut up. You’ll be fine,” Sam retorted. “Just keep pressure on it.”

He turned back to Bucky and gestured at the gun he was holding.

“You got another one of those?” 

He didn’t wait for a reply, he just reached into Bucky’s holster and took the second gun from where it had been resting against Bucky’s ribcage. 

And there was definitely something wrong with Bucky because for some reason even that tiny second of contact made his breath catch.

“You alright?”

“Ungh,” Bucky managed.

“What? What is it?”

The look on his face made it clear that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing to Bucky. He was just standing there, brown eyes wide, breathing a little heavy, a slight shimmer of sweat on his face… his arms. Oh, Jesus his arms. 

Get yourself together Barnes.

“Come on,” he said. “I’m taking you home.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I was managing fine.”

“No.” Bucky reached for Sam’s hand and pulled him towards him, ignoring the henchman who was still writhing on the floor next to them. “I’m taking you home, sweetheart.”

“Hnngh.”

[wordyneonlights]

Strawberry Flavoured Love

Ahahahahah heyyy. I did a rewrite of season 4 episode 5 kind of. purely based on @golden-redhead 's post about five getting a thank you and a genuine hug from his siblings. Sorry if you hate this though, I've never written for tua before!

6 years five months and one day.

Five turned over to see Lila sleeping a smile playing on her lips. This past month, that had been the only time he'd seen her smile. When she was dreaming.

It had been a sort of strange adjustment for her, he supposed. Being stuck so long never sat too well for Lila whether it was as a suburban mom or in this subway hellscape.

Five had adjusted remarkably well to their predicament... Lila had adjusted better than most. He could imagine being down here with someone like Diego who would have broken dowm months if not years ago.

Out of all his siblings, he figured Klaus would be the most enjoyable to spend this time with, him or Viktor.

That being said, Lila had proven to be more than mediocre company. He'd even go as far as to say, she was an almost pleasant person to be around.

She hadn't said a word about his reaction to seeing Dolores after all these years. His outburst had surprised even himself.

She'd just hugged him, wiped his tears and made rat stew. They hadn't talked about it since. He was sure he had to do something to thank her, something to show his appreciation and it found him in the form of a strawberry farm.

"I've got something to show you," he told her once she had woken up

"I'm guessing it's not a portal back home,"

"It's a shower and a bed to sleep in,"

She frowned slightly before eyeing five, "You're not giving up are you? Because I'd hate to do this whole thing on my own,"

Five rolled his eyes, "I'm giving you a chance to shower, trust me you need it." Lila eyed him before shrugging, "Ok then,"

It was about an hour later when they found themselves situated, behind the strawberry plants picking and occasionally eating in silence.

"Grace loves strawberries," Lila whispered softly and five's heart hurt for her. He'd spent more of his life away from his family than with them but he understood how she felt. Helpless but driven, tired but still willing to keep moving.

He turned back to his own strawberry plot, "We'll just have to pack some to take with us," he replied simply, pushing some of his pile to the side and placing them in a makeshift bag before turning to face her, "We're going to be back soon, you will see your family again," he said and she laughed wryly

"You said that yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that,"

"And I'll keep saying it until we get back,"

Lila sighed, and Five shifted on his feet. He suddenly wished that Diego was here. They were going through their troubles but Five sort of applauded his older brother.

They had had an awful blueprint for relationships, and that was putting it lightly. It was surprising but admirable that Diego was able to have a family like that; weirdly, Five was kind of proud of his brother.

"About Diego," he started and Lila frowned before her expression melted into something more wistful. "He's... my brother,"

Lila rolled her eyes, "Oh really?"

"In the sense that he's annoying and rushes into stuff and he can be brash, but he's a good guy,"

"I don’t know Five. It's great being able to see my parents again, being able to know my family? That's something I never even dreamed was possible. And I love my kids ok, I love my kids but marriage? That's- "

"Marriage only works as long as you’re willing to make it work,"

"Yes but-"

"Are you willing to make it work?"

Lila paused, looking down at the strawberries for a while before responding "Yes I am,"

"And so is Diego,"

Lila scoffed a small smile playing on her lips and Five smiled inwardly. He felt strangely accomplished.

"When'd you get so wise about marriage? Huh old man?" She joked elbowing him

"I guess Dolores taught me a few things," Five responded, sorting more strawberries.

"That she did."

-

6 years 5 months and 2 days

There was something beautiful about finally cracking a code. He'd personally never been involved in the world of drugs but Five supposed that this would be what a hit felt like.

Out of this fucking world.

He stumbled over to Lila shaking her, "I've got it!" He said, "I've cracked it we can go home!"

Her eyes opened and she blinked at him blearily, "What?" She muttered

"We're going home," Five responded placing a hand on her shoulder, "You're going to see your kids again"

"Am I dreaming- ow!" She asked before glaring at Five who had punched her hard enough to let her know that this was real.

"C'mon, we don't have much time left,"

"We never have much time left," she muttered getting up.

The walk back was full of tension, on Five's part he wasn't that worried. For his siblings, this had been a couple of hours. Lila however was fretting.

"Do you think they'll remember me? My kids, my family, Diego..."

"It's only been a couple of hours for them remember? They probably think you went out or something, d'you have the strawberries?"

She nodded, wiping her palms on her trousers before walking up to her door.

She was about to put her key in the lock before the door opened revealing Diego.

"Where've you been? I missed you!" He exclaimed and both Lila and Five's eyes widened. Did he somehow know something?

He embraced Lila who was fighting back tears, burying her face in Diego's shoulder.

"I missed you too,"

Five walked inside not trying to get in the middle of their moment. Walking into the living room he caught sight of the rest of his siblings. He hesitated, thinking about the subway. It was probably something he should tell them about.

"You alright Five you look kinda pale," he heard Luther ask

"Doesn't he always look kind of pale?" He heard Allison whisper

"This is a more... haunted pale than his usual pallour," Klaus chimed in

"Guys..."

"Five!" He heard, turning around to see Diego, he was about to say something when Lila noticed Grace and immediately ran to her.

"Mommy, you're squeezing me too tight!" The girl exclaimed to which Lila hugged her even tighter before loosening the hold, "Where are the twins?"

"Kitchen, come on!" Grace responded tugging on her mothers hand.

Five watched the scene unfold a small smile on his face reaching for the strawberries before he felt a hand on his back.

"Lila told me everything, I just... I want to say thank you,"

Five turned to face his brother, nodding but before he could speak, Diego had bent and wrapped his arms around him. "And thank you for everything else you've done. For us I mean, thank you for saving us, thank you for choosing us. We do love you Five, I hope you know that."

Five was (to say the least) shocked. The last time he had hugged any of his siblings was... could he even remember? Not any time in the last six years... or the six years before that.

He reciprocated the hug anyway although he still felt awkward

"You're family," he said, "I'll always choose you,"

Diego just hugged him tighter in response, staying that way for about a minute before pulling apart. Five barely had a moment to breathe before Klaus pulled him into another hug.

"If Diego gets a five hug, I get a five hug," he said simply to which he got a small smile in response

"Well now I feel left out," Luther complained standing up, and looking at Five who rolled his eyes in response before sighing and opening his arms.

Luther, as he would later admit to himself, was probably the best hugger out of all his siblings.

"Alright," he said turning to face the rest of his siblings, "Are we done?"

Allison and Viktor eyed each other before looking at Five. Viktor got up first awkwardly surveying five before wrapping his arms around him.

"Guess that was about as awkward for you as it was for me," he said pulling away

"I've been through worse things," Five mused to which Viktor laughed

"I guess we all have,"

"Well?" Five said facing Allison, "I've got about one left in me,"

"A five hug is the best type of hug," Klaus commented giving Allison a look

"Plus we've all done it, you don't want to feel left out," Luther quipped

Allison sighed before getting up and walking towards five. She bent down and hugged him gingerly.

"I am sorry for everything," she whispered, Five nodded in response and she pulled back.

"Now that everyone's done, Lila and I have something to tell you."

It was strange how six years five months and two days could be condensed into five minutes and about a half bowl of strawberries. Five almost smiled and the strangeness of it.

"It seems like you're always finding your way back to us," Luther mused as the weight of his and Lila's revelation eased slightly.

"I guess it's a good thing, that way we stop the world from ending," Allison said

"Ending huh," Viktor muttered

"Either way, you always end up saving us," Luther finished, "I'm not sure we've ever thanked you for that,"

"Well, staying alive is thanks enough," Five responded

"No, no, the big guy's right," Klaus chimed, "Our thanking should be oratory, expressive. You've saved our lives so many times now,"

"And you spent like forty years in the apocalypse," Viktor said

"Plus six years in the subway with Lila,"

"I think what we're trying to say is thank you," Diego finished

"Merci merci Five-a-rino, I suppose we owe are lives to you," Klaus added.

"Thank you Five," Luther said, squeezing his shoulder.

"Can't promise I won't fuck it up again but thank you," Allison echoed

"If it wasn't for you I wouldn't have been able to get closure with dad so... yeah thank you," Viktor mused giving Five a half smile.

Five himself wasn't really sure what to think about the whole situation. Appreciation was always welcome, but for his siblings to all be in agreement and sincere... that touched his heart somewhat.

"You're welcome," he replied. The statement felt perfunctory in the wake of the others' vulnerability so he cleared his throat and tried again.

"I mean, all this is... I would do it over again. You all aggravate me to no end but at the end of the day there's really nothing that means more to me than you all,"

There wasn't much to say to that, but there was an agreement that nothing more really needed to be said. For once, the siblings were at peace and Five was ... well he was happy.

He wasn't sure what would come next, if there would even be a next but he knew that sitting here he felt more ok than he had in years.

And really, what more could an old man want?

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Francis Drake Main Story

This is simply a fan translation and is not intended as a replacement for the game. Expect grammatical errors.

Minor spoilers ahead.

I returned to the mansion alone and quietly closed the door.

(It was here that I first met Drake.)

(To think that this would also be where we part ways.)

As I touched the door that stood between him and me一

Napoleon: “Mitsuki!”

Mitsuki: “Napoleon, everyone.”

Everyone in the mansion rushed to join me.

Comte: “We got worried after reading your letter. Are you okay?”

Mitsuki: “Yes. I’m really sorry for worrying you.”

Vlad: “Mitsuki, did you go through the door?”

Napoleon: “Did you go after Drake?”

Mitsuki: “Yes. I went to settle things.”

Let’s rewind time a bit.

------------Flashback-----------

Drake was leading me through the dark hallway while holding my hand. After confessing our feelings on that cliff, we returned to the hallway that transcends time and space.

Mitsuki: “The mansion’s doors were experiencing some spatial anomalies, yet this place seems fine.”

Drake: “Probably because I’m here now.”

Tilting his head, he tugged at the harness belt wrapped around his shoulder and waist with his thumb.

Drake: “This thing acts as a stabilizer to keep us from getting lost in here. It’s keeping this place stable.”

Drake: “My genius partner created this.”

Mitsuki: “There’s such a thing?”

Drake: "Yeah. Well, his genius led him to bear a responsibility that went beyond simply designing a door."

(Is the person accompanying him the designer of the door?)

I heard Comte and Vlad build the door using a blueprint Vlad happened to come across.

Could it be that Galileo drew the original blueprint?

Drake: "So, what will you do, fawn?"

Mitsuki: "Huh?"

Drake: "Right now, you can go wherever you want, whether it's the 19th century or the 21st century where you originally lived."

(----!)

Faced with an unexpected choice, I could only stand there, bewildered.

(The place I want to go...)

The place that came to mind was neither the 19th nor the 21st century.

Mitsuki: "I want to go to a certain place and confirm something."

Mitsuki: "It might be harsh for you, but..."

(I want to check it for his sake.)

The place I wanted to go was...

Drake: "This place..."

The location we visited was the garden of the old mansion一the place where Drake and his mother were captured.

Peering into that cruel hall from the garden, it seemed like the young Drake had already escaped, as there was no one there except for a woman crucified, her chest drenched in blood.

Drake: "You understand, right? We can't interfere with the past."

Mitsuki: "Yeah, I know."

He averted his gaze, seemingly avoiding facing whatever was in front of him.

This place probably still hurts him.

(I'm forcing him to confront painful and difficult memories.)

Even knowing that I was doing something terrible, I still held onto his hand and mustered my courage to step through the window into the room.

And then, amidst the choking smell of blood, we walked quietly toward his mother, her chest stained red.

(I really don't want to intrude at this moment.)

But if my guess was correct...

(I want him to know his mother's true feelings.)

She probably could no longer notice us as she was looking down, her tear-stained lips faintly moving.

Drake's mom: "That's right, run away, Francis."

Drake: "----!"

Drake's mom: "Sorry. I'm so sorry. Since giving birth to you, I've only brought you pain."

Drake's mom: "You can hate me, but please, survive."

Drake: "Mom..."

Drake's mom: "I love you, Francis."

With words of repentance and love, she breathed her last, uttering her son's name.

(Just as I thought.)

After shouting that she shouldn't have given birth to Drake, her lips seemed to move again, saying, "I'm sorry."

Mitsuki: "Maybe your mother tried to let you escape and intentionally pushed you away because she loves you."

This was the truth hidden behind the betrayal.

Drake: "Ha...hahaha..."

Drake: "Is this even possible?"

Drake dropped to his knees, covering his face with his hands.

(Believing in something is very difficult, especially when you're consumed by sorrow and anger.)

However, feeling his pain and learning about the hope he had held deep within his heart, I felt that I could confirm it once more.

(The difficulty of believing and the strength to overcome it.)

(My encounter with him taught me that.)

I leaned my cheek against his trembling back and gently hugged him, wanting to ease the despair he had been carrying since childhood.

Drake: "Hey, Mitsuki."

Drake: "Is it okay for me to believe those words?"

Mitsuki: "Of course."

Drake's hoarse voice was both heartbreaking and precious.

Drake: "Mitsuki."

Mitsuki: "Yeah?"

Drake: "Thank you. I'm glad I could hear those words."

Drake: "You've managed to overturn things again."

Drake: "Not that I mind, though."

(Drake...)

Gently narrowing his eyes, he held my hand and smiled.

It was a calm smile, different from his usual easygoing and fearless one.

This sight was probably the real him.

(His smile has always made my heart flutter, but right now I'm even more happy.)

Drake: "Hey, Mitsuki."

Suddenly, his voice and expression turned serious.

Drake: "Loving you made me realize there's something in this world worth believing in."

Drake: "But, you know, my hatred and despair towards humans and vampires haven't completely disappeared from within me."

Mitsuki: "Yeah."

(Human emotions are not that simple.)

Even if a ray of light shines through, I don't think it can melt his frozen heart instantly.

Mitsuki: "But it's precisely because I've witnessed your despair that I want to be by your side."

Mitsuki: "I want to live together with you."

(Since he's someone who can even throw himself away, I want to be there to lighten his despair a little.)

Drake laughed as I stared at him with such hope.

Drake: "Haha! You really are a kind soul, aren't you?"

Drake: "I'm glad to hear you say that, but I'm sure you'll struggle with our incompatibility."

Mitsuki: "That's not..."

Drake: "You can't say that with absolute certainty."

Drake: "You've probably cried and suffered, knowing my betrayal and desires."

He traced my cheek with his finger, as if there were still traces of tears.

(Could it be...?)

My chest tightened in unease as I anticipated what he was trying to say.

He smiled, covering the sadness in his eyes, and continued.

Drake: "Making the woman I love cry is enough for one night."

Drake: "Besides, it wouldn't be fair if I go back and there's someone I can't just leave behind."

Drake: "It might not be enough to make up for what I've done with the guys, but I'll make sure their precious little treasure gets home safely. Then I will disappear from your life."

(........)

His gentle smile and determination made my chest ache.

(I could finally touch his heart, and yet...)

I decided not to betray this love, but...

Mitsuki: "Is that what you really want?"

Drake: "Haha! That's a sneaky question."

After letting out a smile, he held me tightly.

Drake: "I thought about kidnapping you to the end of the sea where no one could chase after us, but..."

Mitsuki: "Drake..."

Drake: "But you have your own future that you believe in."

Drake: "A future full of hope and positivity, a future I never wanted."

Drake: "That's why I can't stay by your side."

His strong embrace seemed to express that he didn't want to let go, but at the same time, it clearly conveyed that this would be our last encounter.

Drake: "Hey, Fawn, would you like to make one final bet?"

Mitsuki: "What kind of bet?"

He let go of me slightly and lifted my hand.

Drake: "The fate of this world diverges into countless futures."

Drake: "Will everything meet its demise as I wish, or is there at least one future filled with hope, as you believe?"

Drake: "It's a bet on an endless future."

(But that's...)

It's an uncertain and endless gamble that spans across time and countless futures.

(Oh, I see.)

(So, this is his way of saying goodbye.)

Drake: "If I win, I'll come to take you."

Drake: "When the world falls apart, you'll be by my side. I promise."

He confidently laughed and made an impossible promise.

I mustered my courage and also made a bold statement.

Mitsuki: "So if I win, you're mine?"

Drake: "........."

Mitsuki: "Your heart, your trust, and you. I want it all."

Mitsuki: "You'll give up your wish for destruction, live with me, and be mine alone."

(Will I take him or will I be taken by him?)

A bet where we seek each other, a bet that will never lead to a conclusion, and a promise only to engrave each other in parting.

Drake: "Haha! You're even more greedy than me, little fawn."

Drake: "Yes, your majesty, as you wish."

Drake: "When you win, you can have me."

With a tender gesture, he kissed the back of my hand.

In the hallway that spans between the past and the future, we silently gazed at each other and gently exchanged our final kiss.

---------Flashback Ends--------

Mitsuki: "After that, I parted ways with Drake on the other side of the door."

I recounted all the events that had taken place to Comte, Leonardo, and Vlad.

I told Drake's life as a Dhampir, his despair towards humans, vampires, and the world, his desire for destruction, and the existence of his companion named Galileo.

Mitsuki: "I'm sorry for being selfish."

Comte, with his fingers interlocked and listening intently, slowly nodded as though digesting my words.

Comte: "Thank you for telling us. So, you came back to the 19th century to convey all that."

Leonardo: "For Drake, the historical figures who interfere with history are not only targets of his hatred towards vampires but also crucial sources of the destruction he desires."

Comte: "So it seems that the one distorting fate is an everlasting flower, after all."

Mitsuki: "Comte, I don't think that's true. We can't predict how anyone will influence history."

Comte: "You're right. Thank you, Mitsuki."

Vlad: "I'm also wondering what the architect of the door, Galileo, was thinking when he leaped through time."

Vlad, pausing slightly, continued with a somewhat melancholic tone.

Vlad: "I used to think that dhampirs were born from the coexistence of vampires and humans striving for harmony. But even there, persecution arises. Why does the sorrow continue?"

Leonardo: "The divide between races is an eternal dilemma for not just vampires but all beings in this world."

------------Flashback-----------

Drake: "The divisions among races are the root of fear and hatred. With that alone, anyone can become as cruel as they want."

Drake: "Whether human or vampire, their essence is the same. Hatred spreads through living beings as part of their nature."

---------Flashback Ends--------

I recalled the words Drake once uttered almost dismissively.

(There are humans who fear and hunt vampires, and there are purebloods who scorn humans.)

(And in between, there are dhampirs who lose their place.)

Through the incident with the hunters and Drake's past, I have witnessed the sad circumstances in which they persecuted each other.

(It's true that differences in race can give rise to fear and hatred, but...)

Mitsuki: "It's up to us to change the future. We can change it as much as we want."

Mitsuki: "I don't believe I have the power to change fate like Drake was talking about."

Mitsuki: "Even so, if the sad fate that originally existed somewhere has changed, I think it's because we, living in the same world, aimed for a better future together."

(Like the pureblood who loves humans, like Drake and I falling in love, we can coexist beyond our races and change towards a hopeful future.)

(We just need to believe.)

Believing made me feel connected to him, even though he was no longer here.

Leonardo: "That seems like something you would say."

Vlad: "True. Even if people call it idealistic, I want to believe that."

Smiling at each other, Comte looked at me with a slightly lonely expression.

Comte: "Should we leave Drake's room as it is?"

Comte: "A pirate needs a place to come home to, yeah?"

Comte's suggestion was probably out of concern for Drake and me.

(If Drake's place remains, even if just a little, I would feel a little comforted.)

Mitsuki: "Thank you, Comte."

(But...)

Despite expressing gratitude, my heart was tightly gripped with pain.

(Drake won't come back anymore.)

Previous Part ╎ Romantic End ╎ Dramatic End

[double-0h-no]

Interlude (please hold the line)

My prompt fill for "betrayed" and 717 words (yes, this is the number I picked, and I picked it for cheesy reasons, sue me) This had the potential of getting really really angsty, and I decided to dodge that bullet and replace it with the next one.

I don't know why I thought that picking the Whump table as the one to be finished this week was a good idea. I could have picked the word count table and intersperse my Whump with some fluff, but no, now we're all stuck with a week of angst. Oh well, better planning next year, lesson learned, and all that…

I hope you enjoy it :)

on ao3

Q's on comms with Bond when something more pressing calls his attention.

In hindsight, Q couldn't say what exactly it had been that had tipped him off, but he acted fast:

"James, get out, now!", he commanded via comms while his left hand curled around the ledge of the desk to activate the silent alarm and his right went for the desk drawer where his weapon was stored.

He heard the sound blocker of James' earpiece kick in that muted any sound that would blow his eardrums out on the other side. That would have been the explosion. Someone had rigged that room, and Q had almost led Bond straight into the trap if there hadn't been something that had told him that something strange was afoot.

It would be very helpful to know what. What was it that Agent Blakely had just said?

His hand had closed around the handle of the drawer as he was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked, and he froze.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," said Blakely deceptively calm behind him, and Q let his hands drop away from the desk. 

Moneypenny was informed, and Bond sounded as if he was actually doing what he was told. It was fine.

"Q, what's going on?", came the panting voice over his headset, but he didn't dare answer. Slowly he turned around and looked at Blakely, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Well go on. Answer. And then put your headset on your desk, and let's hope that Bond doesn't begin to suspect something is wrong here, huh?"

That could prove difficult.

"Q?" Bond had audibly stopped running, his tone still all business. "Could you tell me how you knew that the room was about to blow up around me before I entered, or shall I believe you were reading that from the tea leaves in your mug?"

That was a new one. "Of course not, I found a contradiction in the intel. The rest was in the tea leaves. I'll have to leave you for a moment to find out who buggered that up, I'm sure you'll survive for that long, won't you?" And with that, he took off his headset and placed it on his desk.

Then he looked expectantly back up at Blakely.

"All right, now I need you to copy the blueprints and plans of that project you were working on with Riley and Hammond." Q clicked his tongue. That was not supposed to be common knowledge. But it was not so secret that Blakeley couldn't have overheard it some time in Q-branch.

He studied the agent from head to toe. Blakely was incredibly calm, his gun steadily pointed at Q, as if this was just another day on the job. And it was. Q was deceptively calm, too, like this sort of thing happened to him twice a month.

Blakely tossed him a USB drive he caught easily and plucked it into the laptop that was disconnected from all systems. When he was sure there really was nothing on it, and the red dot appeared at the bottom of his screen. His computer was now running on the dummy system. Someone upstairs from admin had entered the code to cut Q-branch off from the MI6 network.

"All right. I assume the alternative is getting shot?"

Blakely huffed. "Who do you take me for, Quartermaster? No, if you don't comply, I'll shoot the minions." If possible, the room grew even more quiet. Q sighed. Not as if he'd do it any differently.

"Very well." Q turned to his desktop and selected the file, copied to the drive. "I will hang on to this until we're out of the building, assuming I'm your ticket out of here." Something like respect showed on Blakely's face, and he gestured with his gun for Q to make his way to the exit. On his way, Q directed a glare at his minions. This was not a moment for heroism. There were others for that.

Blakely followed him at a safe distance but Q had no illusions that he would end up in a choke-hold with a gun to his temple sooner rather than later.

"I figured you'd ask me why by now," Blakely started a poor attempt at smalltalk, and Q rolled his eyes.

"Traitors aren't all that interesting."

[redmarqar]

How would you describe Pyro's and Engi's relationship in your headcanon? Personally, I prefer "you helped me, I help you" kind where Engi takes them under his wing after the wars are over. Whether it's a semi parental dynamic or just purely bros. Never really saw Pyro being interested in romance, it just doesn't feel right for their character, you know?

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oh you're really interested in what im thinking about nearly everything huh. well i prefer to think that their relationship is closer to semi-parental because engie could really be a good father figure for pyro, he might let them draw on his old blueprints that he doesn't need anymore or calm them down with their desire to burn something or just if they are stressed after the fight. also i love that one headcanon that they both can speak sign language (engie learned it to just for pyro and pyro's really happy about it.), and engie got used to the almost burned food that pyro brings him when he's working late at his workshop, he even started to like the taste at some point, also pyro might help engie carry some of his buildings even though he's strong enough to do it himself, pyro just wants to be helpful, and engie can understand almost everything that pyro mumbles through their mask like a mother understands her little child's baby talk when it's still unable to speak and pronounce letters in words properly. and oh OH ALMOST FORGOT ONE MORE THING pyro lets engie fix their balloonicorn from time to time when it bursts because pyro trusts him. okay now im done have a nice day