#leg brain slow your roll challenge (impossible) *WHEEZE*

[thedeadthree]

the unstoppable force (worms for brains compelling me to make clowns) vs the immovable object (brain fried egg cannot brainstorm ideas for squat) 🥀🥴✨🤡

[thesolferino]

⤷ note: apologies for losing your request, anon, but thank you for requesting! this is my first time writing a full fic in second person, so bear with me, and i hope this is what you were looking for <3

The Great American Bake Off

pairing: corpse husband x gn!reader

word count: 3.6k

genre: fluff

summary: you’ve been jealous of rae and her closeness with your boyfriend since the dawn of time, but things change and friendships are made once she comes over for one hell of a cooking video.

Corpse, among many other things, was a man many wished to have.

It’s the truth; even if he didn’t have a YouTube channel through which millions kept up with everything from horror stories to Among Us gameplays, people would still turn heads and whisper whenever he spoke - that attention more than multiplied when he started blowing up and his social media presence grew.

With growth come numbers, and there are always people behind said numbers. Through them, Corpse makes wonderful friends - through them, you had met him, too. All the way back, during his horror narration days, you had grown to like him - really, who wouldn’t?

A DM you once sent after a few drinks, when you claimed to your friends you’d get the “deep-voiced man of your dreams” you often talked about and they, in turn, challenged you to message him, was nothing short of a joke and the idea of him responding was merely a pipe dream. What you hadn’t expected, however, was a response, which wrecked your brain at noon the next day, where your head throbbed with embarrassment, guilt, pride, happiness, a melt of hatred and gratefulness for your friends, panic and the remains of alcohol that tugged at every part of your skull.

It had turned out to be more than a great idea, though, because for the next few weeks you were constantly talking. You learned so much more than he let on in videos, and during late night calls you found out everything from his favorite clothing brand to his favorite color to his thoughts about his own mortality and then back to his favorite cereal. Audio calls and short voice messages turned into hours long FaceTimes that led you from friends to something more. And after a year or so of dating, you packed your bags and made it to sunny San Diego, ready to lay in his arms and sweat bullets.

Safe to say Corpse’s social media presence had its good sides. However, with all good things come bad things too, and you weren’t sure if the bad things were bad at all or you were simply too jealous.

Corpse made wonderful friends thanks to his YouTube channel. He met people he could confide in, meet, people he could talk to about his worst problems, people who would listen - he met people he could have fun with, with who he could forget all about the real world and his own issues, and simply laugh his heart away, play games until the late hours of the night.

If he had to name his closest ones, they would have to be Dave, Loey, maybe Mykie, possibly Jack, and Rae. And that is exactly where the root of the problem stood.

Rae is beautiful, and everyone who denies it must be either dumb or blind. She’s drop dead gorgeous, and funny, and kind, and smart, in a way that made you want to rip your hair out. You wanted to hate her so bad, because the jealousy ate away at you like a damn disease, but you couldn’t, because she was perfect Rae, and as much as you hated the fact she seemed to be perfect inside out, you just couldn’t hate her as her. It was impossible, you concluded.

You convinced yourself you weren’t jealous every time you heard him yelling or laughing at her from his office room - or at least you attempted to do so. Your lunch would turn sour and end up forgotten because you’d be way too focused on listening in on what he was doing and trying to make out what she was saying to even eat at the same pace you previously were. Jealousy ate away at you, no matter if you admitted it to yourself or not.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Corpse, of course. On one late night when you couldn’t sleep and neither could he, as per usual, you turned on a random comedy that you half-heartedly paid attention to, his fingers combing through the knots in your hair peacefully and the slow pace of the movie lulling you to sleep slowly. That is, before his phone rang and lit the mostly dark room. You managed to sneak a glance at the notification before he had, and the familiar bitterness seeped between your ribs as always upon seeing the name displayed at the top of the message, more than awake now.

You visibly stiffened when he laughed at the message and typed something back, shifting your head in his lap as some subconscious attempt at getting him to pay attention to you instead. He put his phone down and you huffed, eyes locked on the TV screen as you pretended to be extremely absorbed in the movie even though you weren’t quite sure of the difference between the protagonist and antagonist anymore. His hands didn’t return to your hair, and that somehow made you even more annoyed.

“What’s up?” Corpse quietly spoke up, barely over the volume over the already quiet movie.

“Nothing.” You said, quicker than you wanted to, and you bit your tongue in cringe when you realised it was an awful lie. Corpse seemed to think the same.

“That’s bullshit. Seriously, what’s wrong?” He asked, and was met with pure silence. In reality, you were hoping he’d simply never realise you were somewhat jealous, because you knew you were being stupid and unreasonable, but you couldn’t help wanting him all to yourself. Admitting it out loud made it so much more real, and so much more embarrassing that you would rather bury yourself alive than admit to being jealous of Rae, of all people.

After a few seconds of silence, save the laughter of characters on screen, he spoke again.

“Are you jealous?” The hint of a teasing tone in his voice made you want to rip your hair out of your skull. Was it really that damn hard to believe that yes, you were jealous of an extremely close friend of his? Was it a crime?

The clenching of your jaw seemed to give Corpse enough of a response, and his hands returned to running themselves through your hair as he giggled to himself. 

“What’s so damn funny?” You borderline spat, causing his movements to halt for a second before continuing with even louder laughter.

“I don’t know, just the idea of you being jealous of Rae is so funny. I’ve noticed the way you roll your eyes whenever I text her in front of you. You’re not exactly sneaky, you know?” His words made blood rush straight to your face, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. How long has he known this for?

“Sorry. I don’t…” you exhaled and attempted to smile. “I don’t know what’s up with me. I’m so jealous nowadays. I don’t even know why.”

“There’s enough of me to share with everyone, no worries baby.” he replied, teasing tone still yet to dissipate as you slap his knee in mock offense and he starts wheezing.

“Absolutely not! Fucking excuse you, I’m not sharing with anyone!” you gaped at him as he kept laughing.

That was the end of it - or at least Corpse thought so. Needless to say, he was wrong.

Your mood would instantly turn sour whenever he’d laugh at one of her messages, and you attempted to push down every eye roll whenever he’d sit on his phone, between your legs, back turned to you so you could see everything, and open Rae’s DMs again. Sometimes you managed, sometimes you couldn’t help it, but you did your best to do it whenever he wasn’t looking. Because you truly knew you were being unreasonable, especially whenever you have to relay situations like how he had to postpone a date one time because Rae asked him to play Rust for a bit longer and you almost ripped all your hair out of your skull in frustration back to your best friend who just turned Rae and Corpse into the villains in the situation because that’s what best friends are supposed to do.

Not like he was going out of his way to talk to her a concerning amount, they mostly talked in groupchats and on streams and that was only a few times weekly, but it did absolutely nothing to calm the green monster growing stronger in you every day, fed by every laugh she got out of him.

The green monster fucking loved it when Corpse excitedly announced to you that he’s finally meeting his friends for the first time, and by friends meaning Rae, Sykkuno and Karl. You, however… were far from impressed.

He paced around the room in excitement, a mix of obvious anxiety and joy evident on his face, and he fiddled with the strings of his hoodie with shaky hands as he very proudly announced that he would be the second tallest person in the room through a blinding, pearly grin, and seeing him so electrified couldn’t help but make you shut your jealous thoughts up, even if just for a little bit, and mirror his grin back to him.

What did, however, make you as anxious as him was when he announced they’d a) be coming to your shared apartment and b) making a cooking video - it sent you into a panicked mom mode as you dusted every corner of every room and vacuumed everything from the kitchen to the balcony and Corpse did nothing but record you as you anxiously rambled and laugh at you from his place on your bed.

When the dreaded Saturday finally came, and the first person to arrive, Sykkuno, rang your doorbell, you squeezed Corpse’s hand to stop him from nervously toying with his rings and opened the door, and you greeted the man like he was your own brother and not a person you’d seen probably a total of three times through the computer screen and someone who’s seen you maybe two times, from the pictures Corpse sent him, in your best attempt to make both of them more comfortable. It actually kind of worked - turns out Sykkuno is a pretty affectionate guy, too, and a conversation started as soon as he stepped in. Corpse gave you a look when you pulled away from Sykkuno’s half-hug, and you almost laughed out loud at the irony when his phone lit up with a notification from Rae announcing she was almost there at that exact moment.

She had kept true to her word; ten minutes or so later, another ring was heard and you gestured to Corpse to open it this time as you gave Sykkuno his cup of water and resisted any and every urge to roll your eyes or do something otherwise bitchy and stupid. Corpse did as told, and you watched them hug and listened to Rae squeal in excitement through the open door of the living room and decided to plaster a smile on your face for as long as you could muster before you remove yourself from the situation when they start filming.

Unfortunately for you, the first person she locked eyes with was exactly you, and they lit up an even prettier brown (if that was even possible) as she beelined to you and you barely got a greeting out before she engulfed you in a large hug, arms wrapping around your neck as she swayed both of you side to side.

“Oh my God, you must be Y/N! I’ve heard so much about you, it’s so nice to finally meet you!” Rae cheered into your ear before she finally pulled back, before shooting an infectious grin at you that you couldn’t help but return back.

“All good things, I hope.” you chuckled as she moved to greeting Sykkuno, and nodded her head with an enthusiastic giggle of her own. You eyed Corpse for a second who simply leaned against the door frame, watching the whole thing unfold with somewhat of a proud smile on his face, before Rae turned back to you and your attention was on her again.

“Of course! Corpse is very much a simp for you, you know that?” She said and both you and Corpse laughed, especially him, who nodded his head in agreement as she sat back down, still beaming at you.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that.” you respond before turning back to Corpse. “Where’s Karl at?”

“He’ll be here in half an hour or so, he only landed recently.” he said. You nodded and moved to sit on a nearby chair to leave space for the guests on the couch.

Karl ended up arriving in twenty minutes and apprised everyone of the information that “his taxi driver is a psycho that, apparently, doesn’t fear stop signs or the police” before setting up the camera in your kitchen and tried his best to attach lapel mics on everybody (admittedly, it took way longer than it should’ve, but he eventually managed and that counted as a win in his book). You reluctantly agreed to be the judge of the finished product when they’re done cooking, and Karl was there for the purposes of being a cameraman and making jokes off screen so he agreed too, albeit way more enthusiastically than you.

The two of you sat behind the camera as the three of them lined up, Corpse wearing a mask and his signature eyepatch (that he didn’t really need, but those two did their job in preserving his privacy) and introduced what they were doing. Corpse was obviously very anxious, hands fidgeting constantly and shivering like a dog after a bath despite the hoodie he was wearing in 100 degree weather because of the shower of sweat that was now drying on his body, and that was partly why you were there, supportive smiles, encouraging cheers and all.

They were making Mexican ground beef tacos, and despite knowing Corpse can barely make a sandwich without setting at least two dishes on fire, you still cheered him on proudly and repeated he was part Mexican himself roughly 5 times a minute, claiming he was going to kill it.

“Kill it? More like kill one of us- CORPSE watch what you’re doing with that fucking knife! You’re proving my point!” Rae yelled at him as he giggled in delight, watching the woman gape at him in pure horror and Sykkuno watch his movements completely entranced as he played with the knife in his hands.

“You’re just mad that he’s going to make tacos fifty times better than you.” you said to Rae, chewing down on some M&Ms that Karl and you shared (both of you decided on a genius plan - you’re going to eat the whole bag before they’re done with cooking so you can claim you’re full and therefore can’t eat the atrocity that will most likely be the tacos).

“Don’t gas me up like that, Y/N, you are well aware I’m shit at cooking. Expect absolutely nothing from me.” he replied over the sizzling of the meat on the pan, throwing a whole spoonful of chili powder into it, earning loud yelling and scolding from your side and loud laughter from Rae.

“HALF A TEASPOON! Half a teaspoon, how have you not remembered this already?! We’ve made tacos a million times now, oh my God, you’re actually stupid.” you yelled at him, arms flailing in the direction of the seasoning to emphasise your ‘half a teaspoon’ point as Rae doubled over in laughter and Sykkuno looked into the pan with a concerned and somewhat afraid look. Just as he peeked in, the overwhelming smell of chili powder started biting away at his eyes, and he jumped away with a yelp.

“Jesus, Corpse!” he exclaimed, rubbing his eyes with his forearm as the whole room burst into laughter and Corpse suspiciously inspected his beef.

“What were you saying about your ‘Mexican king’, Y/N?” Rae asked, pulling out a few tortillas and putting them on the table. You huffed, grabbing another handful of M&Ms.

“Giving him up to God. He’s the only one who can help, at this point.” you said. She giggled in response and Corpse let out some sort of protesting sound and waved his knife around in complaint. “I don’t know who this man is. He broke into my kitchen and now I’m here.”

“Hey, I pay half of your rent!” he said, and you were about to reply but Rae dropped her meat into a pan full of overheated oil, and a loud hiss and some sort of a scream overtook the room as a cloud of steam shot into the air and she frantically looked around for the wooden spoon so the meat wouldn’t stick to the pan. You simply sat and laughed, eating the candy like it was popcorn and you were watching a shitty cooking show - it wasn’t that far from reality, really.

“Um, I just realised I don’t make many tacos, actually.” she said as she helplessly stirred the meat, turning to you with pleading eyes. “What seasoning even goes into this? Y/N, will you help me? Let’s team up against Corpse!”

You tilted your head in thought, but before you could even speak, Corpse spoke up.

“That’s not fucking fair, that’s-that’s against the rules.” he turned to you. “You won’t betray me, right?”

You laughed at him, adjusting in your seat. “I gave up on you ever since you added, like, 3 kilos of seasoning into the meat for no reason.” then you turned to Rae. “Sure, let’s do it, babe.”

Their loud yelling immediately started mixing, Rae’s cheers contrasting Corpse’s protesting. She stuck her tongue out at him meanwhile Corpse shot her the middle finger, and she turned back to you with a grin.

“Alright, what do I put in?”

Roughly twenty unnecessary and extremely long minutes later, the tacos were done, two each for each of them. Rae’s looked the best - probably because you guided her through the whole thing - next to Sykkuno’s, whose you were genuinely intrigued to try. While Corpse was arguing with Rae, he burned roughly half of his already ruined beef, and Karl made the very nice observation that it looked like a bird shat in a tortilla, which you proclaimed as the highlight of the video.

Since you and Karl claimed you were full, the three of them simply swapped tacos between each other as to be unbiased, and the two of you watched in amused suspense. You were actually quite interested to see what the end results were - you were first anxious and quite annoyed you even had to participate in the first place, because it meant losing your mind from jealousy, watching Corpse and Rae giggle and act all domestic while cooking, but jealousy simply dissipated somewhere half through the video as you watched the three argue if cheddar cheese belonged on tacos or not and Rae laugh at every stupid joke you cracked. Now, you sat, fully immersed as you stared at Sykkuno’s face; the poor guy ended up with the misfortune of having to try Corpse’s taco first.

“Zoom in, zoom in!” you whispered into Karl’s ear who complied and zoomed into Sykkuno’s face. He bit into the taco, chewing for a second before his face twisted in disgust and you began wheezing when he grabbed a tissue and spit it out, immediately grabbing his glass of water. Rae laughed at him as well, mouth full of his one, which she claimed she actually liked but it wasn’t as good as the “Y/NRae-co” as she proudly called it. Corpse silently ate Rae’s taco and refused to give a review on it because he was upset he got defeated, but the fact that he scarfed down the whole thing in a minute or so was enough of a review.

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad.” Corpse exclaimed when he saw Sykkuno’s bite in the tissue, grabbing the second taco he made and biting down on it. The whole room burst into laughter when he roughly swallowed, tears obvious in the one eye that showed, because of the overly spicy beef.

“What are you motherfuckers laughing at? It’s not that bad, I stand by tacorpse.”

“Tacorpse is actually genius. The one good thing you came up with during the entirety of this video.” Rae said and Corpse mumbled a fuck you in response.

“Well, I think we can all agree that me and Y/N’s taco was clearly the best.” she said, clasping her hands together.

“I actually think mine was better.” Sykkuno said, to which she pushed his plate out of the frame.

“Nobody asked you anything.”

“Don’t bully Sykkuno, I’ll fucking kick you out.”

“Oh yeah? I’m pretty sure Y/N would kick you out before they’d let you kick me!” Rae said, accusingly pointing her taco in Corpse’s direction.

“Alright, let’s wrap up the video.” Karl laughed behind the camera, and the three of them all turned to properly face it and end the video.

“Thank you all so much for watching, this has been an… interesting video, to say the least. Uh, thank you to Karl for filming this whole disaster, thank you to Corpse,” Rae gestured in his direction, “for lending us his kitchen, thank you to Sykkuno for probably getting us more views on this video, and also a big thank you to Y/N, Corpse’s better half for making this video way more interesting and helping me make probably, like, the best taco I’ve ever made.” she grinned and you shoved a peace sign in front of the camera.

“If you liked this video, check out Sykkuno and Corpse’s channels, they will be linked down below, and please click like and subscribe to support the channel! Again, thank you all for watching, see you later, bye!” she finished, and with that, Karl turned the camera off.

Silence engulfed the room. You sighed.

“Alright, who’s gonna clean this shit up?”

[scgdoeswhat]

Scarred for Life - Beckett x Clarette (F!MC)

Summary: Beckett and Clarette have an entire afternoon to themselves… or so they think.

Rating: NSFW

Words: 1632

Author’s Notes: This takes place in their second year at Penderghast! I fully blame @lady-dianelewis for prompting me to do a flash fic challenge that turned into this. Beckett doesn’t belong to me (unfortunately), but the story does. No Beta used.

Sorry if the “Read More” link isn’t working. It’s Tumblr’s fault, not mine!

Tag List: @xo-endlessmayhem-xo​​ @grungeisntmything​ @friendlylilshipper​ @felmasri​ @numberonepoetryexpert​ @hellomynameisdeviblaire​ @beckettbaguette​ @siegrrun​ @choicesthatplayyou @retroangxl​ @askdana​ @50shadesofgrayx​ @darley1101​ @kamybelen-blog​ @herdecisions​ @artchoicesreblog​ @teenytinymagician​ @choicesfannatalie​ @itsstillnotwhatyouthink​ @abigailpoe​ @flyawayboo​ @brightpinkpeppercorn​ @gardeningourmet​ @harringtons-honey​ @manateemilk​ @queenodysseia @thatcatlady0716​ @divergentofhogwarts​ @pottershat​ @topsyturvy-dream​ @choicesyouplayandmore​ @zeniamiii​ @never-neverland​ @drakewalkerfantasy @syltti78​ @elementalistshoe​ @maxwellsquidsuit​ @sleepingpillcorporation​ @tabithacarlisle​ @ludextruction​ @pbmychoices​

Please let me know if you want to be tagged/removed on future fics and I’ll tag anyone I may have missed in the comments. Thank you!

  "Clarette, the door’s locked, right?" Beckett asked while he pinned her against the wall, his mouth finding the sensitive spot on her neck right under her ear. His left hand trailed over the curve of her breast and down her side, before squeezing her ass as he pulled her closer to his larger frame.

Clarette moaned as she felt him against her, his length pressing into her stomach. "Yes, I locked it. Besides, Shreya has classes and Atlas is training so we have the afternoon free here."

She pressed her lips to his as he picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist. He carried her to bed, the mattress sinking under their weight as his body covered hers.

Beckett made quick work of their clothes, the feel of her bare skin against his own lighting his blood ablaze. Leaning down, he traced the hollow of her neck with his tongue, eliciting a purr from her throat.

"You know, we could've always gone back to your room if you wanted to be sure," she mused.

He replied by kissing her hard, his hand slipping in between her legs as he shoved two fingers into her.

She broke the kiss, her head falling back on the pillow as her eyes shut in ecstasy. A strangled noise escaped her as he pumped his fingers in and out of her.

"My room's further and I couldn't wait to be in you," he growled in her ear. He removed his hand, licking his fingers as he stared into her chocolate orbs.

She whimpered, biting her lip, her gaze flitting to his mouth and then back to his eyes. Seeing him take such control turned her on to no end, the slickness at her apex evidence of her excitement.

Hooking an arm under her leg, he thrust into her long and deep, her pussy fitting him like a glove. A satisfied groan left him as he sheathed himself fully in her, the sound of his name being screamed from her lips an absolute melody to his ears.

Clarette snaked her arms around his neck, bringing him in for a hard kiss as their tongues fought for dominance. She found herself giving in as he pulled out, only to rock forward again, slamming his hard cock into her. Her nails dug into his back as she held on for dear life, his pace unforgiving.

Feeling his release nearing, Beckett slowed his tempo, not wanting to come until she did. He kissed her languidly, his strokes hitting her spot perfectly as he raised her other leg to adjust his angle. Their eyes connected as he moved within her, their panting breaths mingling as he picked up his rhythm, her hips meeting his every movement.

Sounds of pleasure filled the air as they became one. Beckett and Clarette were lost in a blissful oblivion and completely unaware of anything outside themselves. The only thing that existed in the entire world at that moment were each other.

Not once did the creak of the door enter their consciousness, even though it had been locked.

“Hey Clarette, I didn't know you were - OH GOD, MY EYES. I DID NOT NEED TO SEE YOU FUCKING MY SISTER!!” Atlas shrieked, her voice registering too late.

Beckett nearly fell off the bed as he rolled off Clarette, catching himself at the last minute. His whole body turned red as he buried his head in her shoulder in utter embarrassment.

Clarette flung the sheet over them, instant mortification causing the lightbulbs in the chandelier to burst. Her hand flew upward and covered her profile as she tried to hide in Beckett’s hair, all the while muttering obscenities to no one in particular.

Atlas closed her eyes as she threw a hand over her face, turning around as fast as she had come in. She bumped into the wall before making a hasty exit out of the bedroom, shutting the door with such force that it didn’t stay closed. The common room door slammed seconds later, leaving the couple all alone.

After a few moments, Beckett lifted his head and groaned. “I thought you said you locked the door.”

“I did! I don't know how she could've opened it.”

“I cannot believe she walked in on us.” Getting up, he put his boxer briefs on before inspecting and closing the door. His face crinkled as he examined the ill-fitting door knob. “Clarette?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you ever get the door knob fixed from that first night we were... together?”

Her eyes widened. “From last year? When you popped it off the door?”

A sheepish expression crossed his face as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

“I put it back with some metal magick but I don’t think it ever got looked at.”

“Well, that explains why she barged in here,” he said resolutely, running a hand through his hair.

“This is going to be fun facing her later.” Clarette chuckled at the absurdity of the situation. “On the bright side, at least now we can finish what we started.” She slid the sheet down, exposing her body to Beckett.

“You may have a point,” he walked back to bed, losing his underwear along the way. Beckett leaned over and kissed her deeply, a moan emanating from deep within him. “I do make it a priority to complete the task at hand,” he murmured against her lips. “But this time, I can be thorough to make sure I hit all the right spots.”

She giggled as he descended upon her once more, this time the complete opposite of their frenzied pace from earlier. They made love the rest of the afternoon, uninterrupted.

Two days later…

Beckett and Clarette approached the table that the other girls of Motley Crue were eating lunch at, sitting down in the empty seats that were saved. He placed an arm around her shoulder, planting a quick kiss on the side of her head.

Atlas blanched at the sight of her twin and boyfriend, a frown appearing instantaneously. She pushed her chair back, a loud screech echoing through the dining hall as she hurriedly jumped up from the table, not sparing a second glance at the couple in question while exiting the room.

Shreya exchanged looks with Aster, a concerned expression on her face. “Clarette, is everything alright with you and Atlas? She’s been very touchy whenever anyone’s brought you up… or Beckett for that matter.”

Clarette smiled sunnily, not giving a hint of anything wrong. “Everything’s fine! Still adjusting to this whole ‘I have a twin’ thing, I guess! And she’s probably sick of all the PDA, right, B?”

Beckett flushed, clearing his throat. “That must be it, nothing more.” He took a quick sip of his water, instead concerning himself with the stained-glass windows rather than the curious glances from the table.

Aster branched out spontaneously, sensing the odd behavior from both. She gasped and her jaw fell, a rosy bloom tinting her green skin while the flowers in her hair stood at attention. Breaking out of her trance, she peeked at Clarette, trying to pick her next words carefully. “Hmmm, Clarette, did you ever notice how many trees are outside your window?” She asked subtly.

Clarette’s eyebrows raised in surprise, thankful that she was the only one privy to the knowledge of how Aster’s branching abilities worked. “No, I wasn’t, but thanks for letting me know.”

The wood nymph’s eyes quickly shot to Beckett before returning to the Sun-Att. “You might want to talk to your sister, by the way,” Aster looked at her imploringly. She branched out once more. “She’s down by the lake.”

“Got it! I’ll go find her right now.” Clarette said her goodbyes to the table before kissing Beckett on the cheek, rushing out to find her twin. Bounding across campus, she spotted her sister pacing along the shoreline, racing down to her.

“Atlas, I - ”

“Clarette, no.” The platinum haired twin twirled on her heel and held up her hand, her face scrunching up. “I don't want to hear it.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath. “How hard is it to lock the fucking door?! All I see now is Beckett’s pale, pasty ass and you… GAH. I NEED BRAIN BLEACH!” A queasy look crossed her features.

“… But he does have a great ass, doesn’t he?” Clarette grinned shamelessly.

“You are absolutely impossible, you know that?” Atlas cracked a smile, shaking her head. “I’m embarrassed to be related to you.”

Clarette hugged her sister tightly. “You know you love me, sis!”

“That’s debatable right now.” She squirmed out of her sister’s grasp, pointing a finger at her. “And don’t touch me while I still have that damned visual of you and Harrington in my head.”

The brunette tried to hook arms with her, only for Atlas to nimbly dodge her attempts, leaving both cackling and wheezing with effort. “Just to let you know, I did lock the door. It never got fixed, though.”

The Moon-Att raised her eyebrow suspiciously. “Fixed from what?”

Her sister’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Well, last year after the championship party when Beckett and I first slept together – “

“You know what? I don’t need to know.” She patted her sibling on the shoulder. “Good job, Clarette. Out of all the things I’ve seen through the years of running from Raife and yet it’s you who manages to have me shrieking with something so gross.”

“You should feel lucky that I haven’t gone into detail with what he can do with his tongue!” Clarette snorted with laughter in response, successfully hooking arms with Atlas as they started the trek back to the main building. “Then I’d really leave you scarred for life!”

[sian22redux]

Pretty Woman

For  @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan ‘s  Body Positivity Challenge.

Pairing:  Plus size reader x Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Setting: Post Infinity War, the world has magically gone back to normal…

Rating: T

For the gorgeous @winters-beauty because she really likes this type of challenge.

 With a prompt like “your body is not ruined”  I know most folks are thinking of post-pregnancy or something but I’ve gone a different way, based on my own recent experiences.  This is post major illness where reader has to adjust to change. Hence some of her reactions here are based on loss of health of course, and control, and having to adjust to a new reality.  

 Fortunately her two guys have some experience with that.  

--------------------------

“Help!!”

The panicked cry that suddenly tumbles from your mouth brings your boyfriends running from the living room.

“Y/N?! Jarvis!?”  Steve is the first to skid to a halt at the bedroom door, blond brows creasing in anxiety and hands glued to the frame, ready to propel himself against whatever threat lurks inside.  His frown and tanned bulk take up all the open space, block the escape route as he quickly scans the room, reconning automatically for any one of several unpleasant situations.  

Intruder?  

Explosion? 

Lethal virus?

Nope.  

Nothing quite so deserving of an American hero’s skills.

Just your dumb rotten luck.  

“All is secure, Captain Rogers,” intones Jarvis mildly from above the massive closet door and you almost, almost laugh, because-- secure.   Great choice of verb.   Thanks.  Thanks so very much.  Now the AI is making jokes..

Bucky arrives a heartbeat behind and elbows Steve aside, squeezing through to stand worriedly at the cream carpet’s edge.  “Baby, what’s wrong?”

What’s wrong?!!!

James Buchanan Barnes allegedly has super-vision.   How can he not fricken’ see?!  

“I’m stuck!!!”

You stand poised in the middle of your bright and airy Tower bedroom wondering how life came to this.  There’s a tankini top caught about your chest and upper arms that’s mashing tender skin. The matching boxer briefs are wedged halfway up your ample thighs, their blue elastic pinching so hard it just might bruise.  

Secure.  

Yup.  

Impossibly. Hopelessly. Secure.

The frustration of this new reality makes you want to howl but it is the humiliation of standing there, inextricably pinned by two small scraps of cloth, that sends the tears silently coursing down your cheeks.   It was hopeless from the start.  There is no way you will get your one and only (and favourite) bathing suit on.  

Now, or possibly forever.  

The realization is truly sinking in.

“My body is ruined!”

Your plaintive wail jerks Bucky into action.  He leaps forward, slips both arms around your shoulders, braces you upright, murmuring “No doll, your body is not ruined,” softly against your hair, stroking your shuddering back as the dam bursts wide and months of pent up hurt flow out in a hiccupping, sobbing mess.  Steve, as always hyper focused on the mission, has figured out that rescue and extraction are the first priority and so he bends down and stretches the suit’s leg holes wide with his two strong hands, taking care not to tear the fabric.  Gingerly he shimmies the blue-aqua ikat print farther down-- the tugging is uncomfortable but eventually he helps you lift one foot and then the other, sets the bottoms on the bed and turns his attention to the top.  

Push, pull, wiggle—swear--- somehow he manages to remove it without tearing skin.  

You’re finally, finally free and he’s holding you, a wet and snotty, naked bundle of anxiety against his massive chest, crooning softly, “Shhh, baby, it’s ok. It’s ok.”

It’s really not.

“Here, sweetheart.”   A damp facecloth is pressed into your hand.   “Better?” Bucky’s eyes are blue green wells of hopefulness as he passes extra Kleenex for you to blow your nose and oh so delicately dabs aloe from a bottle onto the pad of his metal index finger.  

Oh god, he’s already retreated to the bathroom for supplies.   Each ensuing whisper light, achingly considerate touch of cool against the red welts upon your skin makes you want to tear up again.  Inside the chill, implacable shell of the Winter Soldier there had been trapped the world’s sweetest, gentlest man.  One who has a need to help, cannot stand to see anyone even slightly hurt, and the thought that he’s so tenderly helping you just slays you.  

Sniffing loudly, you dab your eyes and try to smile a little brokenly because you are beyond grateful but also, this is all so wrong.  “Thank you.”

Bucky nods.  Dark and gold, your boys rotate around and now Steve is at your back.  He sits on the one free bit of bed and pulls you down onto his lap with Bucky crouching down beside.  

Both are tense—and worried.  You’ve all been so looking forward to this break—to the Memorial day getaway that Tony is throwing at his Hampton house.  Laid back, weathered wood and chicly elegant white and grey, it is a sprawling haven. Rattan loungers surround an endless pool.  Acres of green lawn will host hilariously drunk croquet.  The beachside fire will glow below a vault of coruscating stars.  

Perfect and all perfectly organized by your boss, Miss Potts.  

Wheels up is at six.  

The sun is climbing quickly to its zenith, baking New York’s already heated streets and anyone who can is trying to find relief.  Bucky’s got on a linen shirt and dark boardshorts.  Steve is as dressy as he ever is in grey t-shirt and zip-off cargos.  You would have donned your sundress by now but around the three of you lie scattered a flurry of discarded summer clothes—like so much sediment rained out of a clear blue sea 

Not a single item fits.  

You’ve been sick for months.   Actually a year.   Have lost the permanent lines of pain and the wan pale skin of too much time indoors but still you are not yourself.  Eight months of steroid treatment have left you drained.  Bloated.   Living in your housecoat and nightclothes on a bad day and in sweats when it’s good.  

The fact that this is the first big event since you’ve been somewhat well stares you in the face.  Online you’d bought needed winter things but no warm weather items yet.  You’d been holding off in the faint hope you’d lose a little more.  But summer is arrived—early and abruptly--quite rudely without consideration of your schedule.  A drizzly week ago the mercury had barely climbed to sixty.   Now it’s a sweltering 82 

“I can’t go.”  

You hate yourself for saying it out loud but a little tendril of relief coils up.  You literally can’t get your suit on.  What will you do?  Hide in the house in jeans and rolled up sleeves?  Flounder in one of Steve’s fabled smedium T-shirts?  Wear one of Bucky’s as a dress??

Cocooning the whole time in the air conditioning feels as if it is giving in to debility once again.

“Steve, will you tell Tony that I’m sick?”

You twist round to catch his gaze but immediately you hear Bucky’s snarking response beside.  “Oh yeah, ask him to fib.  The one with experience lying on his forms.”

“Punk.”  

“Jerk.”   

“Hey!  I’m not the one who has the world bamboozled into thinking that I’m squeaky clean.”

“Fuck off, Buck.”

“Bingo!”

They’re quite the team---put on the squabbling couple act to try to cheer you up and you can’t help it, you shake your head in fond exasperation.  The thoughtfulness is sweet, but still, there’s a little hollow in your stomach.  They’ve done this so very much in the past few months the routine is pitch perfect every time.  

“You are meatballs, the both of you.”  

Bucky shrugs and gives a wry half smirk but Steve sighs heavily, running a soothing hand across your neck where the nerve pain has been worst.  “Your meatballs, Y/N.  But Baby, why?  You’re not hurting badly are you?”

Oh god.   Of course Steve’s going to worry about your symptoms.  Checking in, adjusting to their ups and downs, has become automatic.  You remember for a moment that first night of terror: the sudden jolt as if you’d been hit by a cattle prod, the fuzzy return to consciousness, speech slurred, left arm dead, a raging headache piercing through your skull and radiating down your neck.  Steve yelling at Jarvis to get the EMTs, all but certain it was a stroke. The week in hospital and months horizontal after that.  One night of terror turns into every night.  The seizures hit like clockwork.  Make you afraid to fall asleep because you’re going to get that same electrical shock to brain and the spreading flush of pain.   Every damn night.   Your arm, thankfully, comes back but that doesn’t stop it’s throbbing for a moment.  You feel guilty all the time because they are doing everything. Making meals. Cleaning.  Laundry.  Shopping. Shuttling you to doctors.  One of them insists on staying back from missions because you need so much help.  Neither will let anyone else but them take care of you most days, and so the Avengers do their best.  Run errands and make meals.  Read to you when the headache makes words slide across the page.  Distract Steve and Bucky with needed sparring bouts when all you can do is be still and quiet in a darkened room.  

While the medical team tries cocktails of different things, you all wait and hope.  Hoo boy is that fun.  There’s the one that makes you stoned.   The one that doesn’t work at all but gives you vertigo.  The one that works too well and makes you sleep twenty hours out of twenty-four.  The big gun intravenous med has Shield Medical quickly flushing you with ice water as you break out in hives and wheezing.   It’s supposed to slow the reaction down and so the intern stands frowning at the ensuing full body shaking, wondering if it’s progressed to an anaphylactic phase.

Buck speaks up right away when you can’t answer through chattering teeth. “It’s hypothermia.  You’ve cooled her down too fast.”

“Hypothermia?!”

“Trust me. I’ve seen it.”  

You’d all laughed grimly about that one afterward.  Finally, finally there came the med that worked.   The one that you’ll take forever.  It’s literally saved your life but this miraculous godsend is not without its downside.  

It’s number one side effect is weight gain.

Your gaze falls on the forlorn heap of lycra.  Pretty. Flattering to your curvy figure that both guys love.  It shows off your assets perfectly.  

But is now probably four sizes smaller than you need.

Would it be too much for life to not pile this on you too???   You take a deep breath and try to regain some equilibrium.  You don’t want either Steve or Buck to worry—to think that you aren’t well—but this particular problem isn’t one they’ll have not thought much on before.  “No,” you answer slowly. “It’s not that, I feel ok.” Two sets of shoulders droop, relieved. “But I can’t go in winter clothes. And I have nothing that will fit.”    

This not the cry of a spoiled pampered thing who just wants something new. Literally nothing fits.  Not shorts or skirts. Your favourite capris won’t go past your hips.  The dresses don’t do up.  Even the light evening sweater that doesn’t need to meet in front has arms so tight you’d had to peal it off inside out.  

Utterly humiliating.  

And absolutely a real and present problem.  The East coast has its first summer heat wave early.  When you asked Jarvis that morning what the temperature was outside he’d responded,  “Sir says it’s not fit for man or dog.”  

“I have to cancel going.”

Steve rises and sets you lightly on your feet.  His jaw is set, face intense and determined, and you know he’s thinking ‘no’.  That you shouldn’t give in to this disease.  Let it get in the way of life unless it’s really necessary.  

“I can’t.”   You’re pleading.  Still smarting from the too-tight straps and feeling totally demoralized. Bucky reaches out to grasp your hand while Steve pads silently over to the giant walk-in closet, rummages for the lightest weight sweats you own, holding them out hopefully. You know Tony will be so bummed. He’ll mope.  And pout.  But you can’t face it.  Hiding inside or broiling outside alongside everyone in bathing suits will only make you feel more pathetic than you already do 

You shake your head at the fuzzy mass of grey.  “You go. They’re used to me missing things.  What’s one more weekend?”

Steve sees the certainty in your eyes and does not try to argue on that point but neither does he back down.  

“We’ve just got you back.  Are so, so grateful you are ok.   We just want to see you enjoying yourself again.”  

His eyes are dark like a midnight sea.  Bucky is nodding, setting the sweats aside and handing you your undies and loose shirt and generous jeans from where they were flung across a chair.   When you take them and slowly begin to dress he crosses his arms, a shaft of sun winking off the metal.  

“Not without you, doll.”  

Not fair.  Those are words he knows will work, go straight to the heart of the little triad you have built, and then Steve of course piles it on.   “That’s right.  You don’t go, we don’t go.  We are a team.”  

Amazing, remarkable, wondrous stubborn idiots.  They are awfully hard to cross when they gang up.  

Nervously, you smooth down your dark ponytail and take a steadying breath. “I know.  It’s just…”  

What?   Too hard?

You look at the two gorgeous and true men you are all but married to. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined you’d wind up here.   Assisting (and being a good friend to) Pepper Potts while she assists the world.  Living in Avengers Tower.   Smoothing out the rough between two lovers who have dared time and space to be together.   They need you so very much that they’ve taken a risk on something quite unorthodox, and though sometimes it makes you want to pinch yourself, lately you’ve just wanted wake up out of the nightmare.  Focusing on yourself.  And forgetting how much they sacrifice.  

Every day.  For everyone.

You swallow hard, trying to gather the shreds of your confidence and explain the lump that sits brooding on your chest.  “I didn’t anticipate this would happen.  Didn’t think ahead.”  

Steve smiles sadly, and you let him take you in his arms, kiss the top of your head and pull back to look sombrely down again.   “Y/N, you’ve been so strong.  So incredible.  And Buck and I have watched you wrestle with this thing, amazed.  Proud of your will to find a way.  It should have made you crazy long ago and I get it.  I do.  This feels like too much.  This one extra thing.”  

Your nodding, realizing that if anyone does understand it’s him. Steve lived with chronic illness.  Several of them in fact.  Asthma. Heart arrhythmia. Scoliosis. Anaemia.  Ulcers.  All of them had plagued him for most of the twenty-five years before the serum.

You’ve been in the fight for not even two.  

“But what am I going do?” you whisper a little mournfully.   If you have to you’ll wear your sweatpants.  Maybe you can cut them off?  Maybe you can cut the arms off your tops?  They’ll look hideous but you won’t broil like a lobster in a pot.  “Can we butcher something that already fits?”

“No, Y/N, not necessary.”  Steve checks his watch and glances to the lightweight packs stacked neatly by the door. “T minus six hours.  There’s lots of time.  I’m packed and so is Buck.  Betcha we can get you stuff and be back by two.”

“Stuff?”  Does he realize what he’s saying?  Four days worth of clothes?  When you need every little thing?

Bucky, curls in behind, chuckling at the incredulity in your tone. “We all can do it baby.  In record time.  And the one of us with taste will even help you pick outfits.”

“Hey!”  Steve, mock-affronted, swats him on the rear.  

From your safe spot in the middle of the sandwich you heave a sigh. Perhaps just a suit and top and shorts would be enough.  The weekend’s casual.  You can get away without a dress.  Survive being seen in the same clothes for days.  The guys do it on missions all the time and heck, Clint lives in black and purple. And Thor in red and silver.

Bucking up your courage, you scrub the wet from your cheeks and are about to acquiesce when something Steve said pings.  

It’s Bucky who is the clothes horse.  Knows his style.  Enjoys taking risks.  Steve is simpler.  He gravitates to clean lines, simple shirts and slacks.  Nothing flashy but he appreciates well made.

He’ll accept finer things that you bring him home but if it’s left to him—it’s online all the way.  

He loathes shopping.  

With the fiery passion of a hundred suns.  

“All?” you ask, incredulous.    

“Yup.  We are team. All three of us will help.”  Steve cocks his head and stares up to the ceiling. “Jarvis can you patch me through to Tony?”

“Right away Captain.”

From above, you catch Pepper’s clear, ringing tones behind Tony’s rapid-fire, just slightly high and excited baritone “Stark’s house of mojitos and margaritas. What’s up Rogers?  We’re pre-drinking here. I’m collecting the eye-watering Hawaiian shirts and Pepper’s making me put the new toys back.”  

“Anthony!”  Pepper is mortified.  You’re blushing and Bucky barks out a laugh.  Steve’s shaking his head and grinning ear to ear, but truthfully the thought of Tony Stark tinkering with items from Frisky Friday?  

Should make all of you a little scared.

“Tony do you still have that limo?”

“Of course I do, Captain Obvious.  Bentley’s Mulsanne for eight.  Tan leather.  Naim audio and bluetooth headphones.  Retrofitted with Stark screens of course.  Whhhyyyyyy?”  

The insatiably curious head of your group absolutely has to know.

Steve grins and pops a quick kiss on your nose.  “We need it.  We’re going on an emergency shopping trip.

The reaction from two floors up is immediate.  

“Holy shit!”

------------------------

Of course Tony calls ahead.  

You stand in the bright but not too intimidating plus size boutique attended by the solicitous and friendly owner.  She is very nice. You force yourself not to apologize, to not make excuses for your size.  It’s ridiculous.  Being not thin is not a crime.  Or a tragedy. Or even actually a choice but it is so hard to go against the conditioning of thirty years.  

Why are you letting all that crap get inside your head? Ridiculous.  Time to be positive and so you force yourself to relax and let yourself be waited on.    

The owner brings armloads of practical and pretty and flattering styles that mix and match—can be a basis to add to later.  For two hours Steve and Bucky sit in the ‘boyfriend chairs’ and help.. Steve has a black-one sugar coffee, Bucky has a latte and his phone is in his hand. He’s helpfully checking for the latest styles..offering opinions as you come out and model each new thing.   They’re both laughing and joking, trash talking each other’s sense of style and seemingly enjoying the experience as you try on an entire wardrobe.  Two bathing suits, two shorts, navy capris, four tops, one light coverup and two sundresses.   In basic colours that all go together and will get you at least through a week with washing once.

“That’s enough,” you insist, feeling a bit tired and hot from all the changing, wondering what the damage to your credit card will be.  You haven’t worked since all this landed down.  And though Stark Industries has great disability insurance, you feel like you shouldn’t go too nuts.

“But you should have one tank, I think” the owner adds, frowning thoughtfully at all the cap-sleeved tees.  “In case there is a day that is very hot.”

Hmm. She has a point.  The weekend is slated to go from broiling to thermonuclear, but you’d steered away from thinner straps, a little worried at how they’d look.

“Go for it, Y/N!”  Bucky enthuses and Steve nods encouragingly and so you warily take a few wider banded versions into the dressing room.  Tug them down over your head, prepared for a pair of hastily stifled frowns.  

The reaction you get is not what you expect.    

Steve’s frowning, concentrating seriously like you’ve never seen, asessing the three different combinations like the fate of the world is riding on this choice. Finally he speaks up.  “I really like that one.”

You turn to give yourself a better view in the three way mirror.  The actually super comfortable white shorts have a broad waistband that flexes gently and doesn’t bind.  They’re topped by a just slightly flared, surprisingly flattering tank in black with grey overstitching.   Modern and sleek, it moves with you–and as you move Steve’s nodding.  

You glance back at Buck.  His head is tilted, long hair falling across his face as he peruses the combo with as much consideration as he gives a gun.  Which means serious consideration.  “The shape is great, Y/N, but the colour isn’t right.”  He rises up and heads unerringly for the rack it came from, picking out the same top in pale shell pink and walking back, holding it up against your shoulder.  “I think this is better against your colouring.“

You’re amazed.  Now that is getting into the spirit of the thing but still you bite your lip, thinking black is more neutral, but what do you have to lose? Why not try?

When you return and show it off, Steve smiles and the owner looks admiringly at Bucky and nods her head. “You are exactly right Mr. Barnes and pink is this summer’s colour.”

He is right, it’s a warmer tone and makes your skin look less sallow.  You feel better in it.  Surprisingly.  The top goes into the keep pile and Bucky grins, sitting down and stretching out, lacing his hands behind his head and making a face at Steve as if to say ‘I’m not the one to steer you wrong.’  

The gesture gets Steve’s dander up.  The game is on, and no one, no one, gets more competitive then Steve Rogers when he is the mood.  

“Try this…”  

Oh my god he’s actually picked up a sheerly pretty, ice blue strappy top from a rack, the dainty hanger looking hilariously tiny in his massive hands.   Can you wear something that—delicate?   Your brain had been kind of thinking of a heavier cover up….  

“Try it baby.”  He looks so sure of himself and Bucky’s nodding encouragingly and the owner is saying how the only rule is ‘do you like it?” and so you put it on.  The slightly ruffled asymmetric edges look sexy and cool against jean shorts and all of you agree---- it and the shorts are perfect.  

Both are to be kept but then Bucky will not be outdone.  He stalks around the shop, metal fingers quickly riffling through the wares, obviously searching for something exactly right.  

The owner hovers politely just behind.  “Mr. Barnes? Can I help.”

“Bucky,” he answers automatically.  “Nope. I will know it when I see it. 

Finally he pulls out a complicated looking fall of pale leaf green and holds it up.   It’s gorgeous.  And absolutely sexy.  A halter top that falls softly to a just slightly fuller base.   With an oval opening in the back and cut-out, slightly gathered sleeves that will leave your shoulders and upper arms quite spectacularly bare.  

You shake your head.  “I can’t.”  

“It will be perfect with your eyes.”  He’s right on that—it will bring the green highlights in your hazel eyes to life, but it’s seems waaay too revealing.  Your upper arms aren’t toned.  Your collarbones don’t show.  Your…

“Y/N?”  Steve rises and slides over to give your shoulders a quick reassuring squeeze.   His ocean eyes are pleading like a puppy dog’s.  “Please?  I’d love to see you in it.”

How can you resist both of them?

Cautiously you come back out and give a little twirl.  It’s flirty and sexy and both guys’ eyes light up right away.  

“Wow.”  

Their comment is in unison.  It is really, really nice, flirty and soft and it makes you even feel a little sexy.  Steve says he also loves the blocky heeled, buff sandals the owner has paired it with.  Bucky is raving about the stretch skinny jeans.  You frown at the size of the ‘keep’ pile.  

It’s growing.  The owner has suggested a really workable set of combinations and there is even a silky printed scarf to give one dress a little bling for evening.  

The thought of the bill is a little daunting but you do need longer pants if one evening turns out cool…

Bucky leans back in the chair and confidently crosses his arms across his chest.  “Buy it all, Y/N.”   Steve nods and gives you one of his precious sunrise smiles.   “We’re a team.  We’ll divide the bill up equally.  Don’t stint yourself.”  

That is so considerate and so very generous.  “You don’t need to…” you begin, but Steve cuts you off.   “We do.  We want you to feel comfortable and relaxed in what you wear, too feel confident.   We can afford it,” he adds and Bucky laughs. 

“Easily.  All he ever buys is paint and vinyl records.”

Steve rolls his eyes.  “And all he ever buys is knives and books.”  

True.  But not necessarily a reason for them to spoil you.  

Bucky turns and takes your hand in his metal one, raises it to his lips and plants a kiss, cementing the argument with one last, cajoling grin.  “After all you’ve been through don’t you think you deserve a treat?”  

Your heart melts a little bit.  Well. Then.  

The loot is packaged up and rung through while you change into a sundress and leave the baggy sweats behind.

Outside the limousine driver nods appreciatively when you climb into the butter soft back seats with what feels like a mountain of tissue-covered packages.  It’s Barry. The soft spoken, grey bearded gentleman who had taken you to the rare doctor visits neither Steve or Buck could attend.  

“Miss Y/N, you look lovely. So nice to see you looking well.”  

Wow.

“Did you pay him?” you hiss to Bucky as you follow a laden Steve up into to the steel cocoon of the private elevator.

“Nope, doll, I sure didn’t.”

-------

Once you are ensconced back in your room again, the guys go off to see if Pepper needs any help while you take another run at packing.  There’s no time to triage.  All the small things that don’t fit are unceremoniously bundled by the armload and stuffed into bags to store.  You set the small suitcase on the bed and start to transfer the new items in.  Dresses and pants on the bottom.  Tops and shorts and smalls rolled up to make up space.  Your toiletries go next.  And then your meds.  Six pills a day on top of the injection.  It comes with its own travel pack—freezer bag to keep it cool, mini disposal for the cartridges.  You tuck in your flip flops and eye the new sandals that Steve liked so much.  Should you bring them?  Will there be a chance to wear them?  Can you walk in heels for long after a year of bunny slippers 

Will anyone notice with Nat’s and Maria’s killer bodies in swimsuits?  

With Pepper in her perfect three inch heels?  

Who are you kidding?  They are all so gorgeous and thin and fit and you are white like a beluga whale. Of course all of them will be so nice, will go out of their way to make positive, encouraging remarks.  Of course Thor, oblivious, will make booming allusions to some obscure ancient goddess of fertility. Of course Tony, overcompensating, will ridiculously call you Marilyn, and Raquel and.. and…

Your courage throws a wobbly.  

You are wearing the new sundress with the yellow print.  It’s presentable and even pretty but turning now in front of the long length mirror that you’ve avoided looking in for months, you see it.  

The rolls that dip and dive along your back.  The bow outward of the bodice where your stomach sags.  Even with this being size XL. 

Dissolving onto the nearby bench, you place your hands across your face and struggle not to cry.  You love the Stark Beach House.  It was actually the place you first realized the months long flirtation with the Avengers’ supersoldiers was more than a bit of harmless fun.  Under hazy stars and moon, the softest of night breezes, you’d raised your cocktail to your lips and caught their eyes meet in glance.  Accept the truth.  Find the courage to admit.

They’d fallen.  For you, just as you had for them, and no matter how complicated, how messy it is to be three they wanted this.  The whole world knew Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are an item.  Indivisible and forged like steel by the vicissitudes of life. It just didn’t know they felt incomplete without a third.  Someone softer.   Who could fill in the chips and hollows, let them focus on something other than themselves. 

One different man came out of Greenland’s ice.  

One different man came out of Siberia’s wastes.  

Both of them understand in their DNA how hard it is to start again. That you are mourning.  For a life that is irrevocably changed.   No one’s breathed a word of you returning to work as yet but you know it will be hard.  Some mornings you’ve staggered into the common room, dopey from the night time meds and poured coffee into your orange juice.   Some weeks doctor visits and movies dates are equally lost in fog.  

Steve says not to worry, take baby steps, understand that pain builds fatigue and fatigue leads to forgetfulness but then you think of the insanely together, curvy woman with the photographic memory and talent for keeping track of every tiny detail.

Gone.  

You will never be that woman again..

You hang your head and cry.

-------------

  “Y/N?!”  

It’s Bucky.  He’s walking in, probably coming to see how soon you will be done and it doesn’t help. “I’m sorry. Sorry..I just…”  

He’s leaning over your half-zipped bag, biting his lip, one tendril of sable hair sweeping across his cheek.  Perfect dimple and chiselled jaw darkened by just a day or so of stubble.  

The sight catches at your breath.  

How?  How could so gorgeous, sexy a man want me??   How could Steve?  Painted golden as a perfect sunrise.  Inside and out.

The tears leak out again.  

Confused, surprised, you think, at the waterworks. Bucky straightens up.  “Baby what’s wrong?”  

You wave your hands at your body.  “You can’t find me attractive like this!   You both are so perfect and I look so…“  

Fat.  

The word is clinically quite simple but in practise it is so complicated. All too often meant to demean.  Trolls on the internet toss it negligently when they want to put someone down. ‘Fat slob.’ “Cow.’  ‘Porky’ may be gentler but the message is the same.  Appearance is all.    As if weight happens because you’re slovenly.  Or stupid.  Or worth less than someone else.  

It is so wrong but thinking judgementally is very so hard to banish when you’ve been bombarded by it for almost thirty years 

“Different..?”   Bucky’s eyebrows crash together into a familiar line of hurt.  “Y/N is that what you think our love is about?”  

“No. No!!’ you exclaim, mortified.  “I know you love me. I just..”  A little voice inside your head says ‘be honest. It’s the only way this will work.’

“I don’t want you to want me any less.”  

There.  You’ve said it.  In a whisper because it feels so unworthy.  Insignificant, when they’ve fought so hard to be together.  

But this worry has been clawing like a rat at your brain since the day you stopped being in so much pain.

Before nothing mattered but relief.  Now you feel better.  Mostly. You should want your guys, and the days you don’t feel so crap you sort of do.  

But there has been no sign of anything other than care and concern from them.  

Bucky’s face is a kaleidoscope of emotions.  Unsure of what he’ll do, you hold your breath, watch him sigh and cross over to the door. “Stevie, pal, can you come here?”  

He walks back to you with the saddest smile.  Warm and cool fingers hold your cheeks as he leans down to place a kiss upon your brow.   Hands glide down to rest upon your shoulders--the metal one, thanks to Shuri’s tech, barely heavier than the right.  

“Nothing.  Nothing could ever make me love you or want you any less.  Nothing.”  Bucky punctuates each word with a little shake.  “Wasn’t I the one who first noticed that exuberant, sexy smile?  Convinced Steve to take a chance?”  

You nod hesitantly.  He had been, and flirted too.  Hilariously. Brazenly.  You’d been so shocked.  It wasn’t until Steve ‘my tongue ties when I have to talk to women’ Rogers was enthralled, quizzing you about your peripatetic upbringing as unofficial assistant to globe-trotting famous scientist parents that you accepted it might be real.  He had touched your arm so casually and easily, fingers brushing lingeringly as he passed over a new drink, smile quirking just a touch seductively.

Magic.  And utterly irresistible.

It felt a lifetime between then and now, but in truth it was just three years.  

Steve arrives, exchanges an almost telepathic glance with Buck and quickly picks up the gist, reads the situation like a book as only he can do.  He leans in to hold his hand against your cheek, while the other cradles loosely at Bucky’s waist.  “You look beautiful.  And edible…” The feather touch wills a little of his certainty to seep in.  “Y/N, what makes you think that only one size is sexy?”  The genuinely bewildered tone usually reserved for odd parts of disco culture comes out.  This is one of the things that gets Steve’s dander up.  Disappoints him that it hasn’t progressed after seventy years of nap.  “That is flat out wrong.   Bigger or smaller, anything outside the ‘norm’ is bad. It’s crap.”

“Girls don’t get criticized for being skinny,” you blurt, not quick enough to block it in.  You flush, but in your defense.. it is true.  “There is no such thing as too thin for the magazines.”

“Screw the magazines,” Mr. ‘fight me’ growls.  “No one should be criticized for their body shape.”  

Bucky’s nodding.  “It is so demeaning.  In our time girls were made to feel inadequate for not being built like Rita Hayworth.  Flat chested was considered a disaster.  Guys were ragged on if they weren’t built like George Atlas.”  His gaze turns serious and he pulls you little circle closer, prosthetic hand tight on Steve’s shoulder, hair swaying back and forth as he vigorously shakes his head.  “That just isn’t how attraction works.  I have loved and wanted Steve since he was tiny as a matchstick.  So emaciated his hip bones fucking hurt when we were fucking.”

You gasp at the explicitness of the imagery.  Oh lord.  Yes that paints a picture.  Bucky grins and looks adoringly up at his boyfriend.  “I wanted him anyway.”

Steve drops a searingly hot kiss onto Buck’s lips before tearing his own away.  “You did.   Every day and twice on Sundays.”

This is not an earth-shattering revelation.  Bucky is the one with the raging libido.  ‘Hair trigger’ describes pretty much every part of him and honestly, you’d been too.   Before.  It was Steve who sometimes had too much in his head to play. Could not let the day’s anxieties quite go.  Wound himself in strategy until it took two to pull him down—a lion and lioness on their prey.  

The pair of them sexy snarking once again feels so good.  It’s been on hard mute of late.  

Steve runs a thumb thoughtfully across your lower lip.   “He loved and wanted me.  As I was..  Just like I love him for him.  And love you for you.”  The thumb trails down and deliberately runs along your collarbone, leaving precious, welcome little shivers in its wake.  “Y/N you are so sexy.  In every way. Every bit of you.  There is nothing to be unsure about.  You— curvy as you are,   you are perfect.   If we’ve held back from showing you, it’s because we didn’t want to pressure you into something if you weren’t ready.”  

Of course he has it exactly right.  Before, the constant pain and migraines had demolished your libido.  Constant worrying about you had killed theirs.  Bucky takes a deeper breath, leans in to leave a trail of butterfly kisses on your shoulder.  “I’m sorry we didn’t speak up sooner.  There is no way that you could look that would stop us wanting you.”    

He is reading your mind again—seeing that you worry your condition will change with time.  Relapse. It’s hard to entirely banish that fear.   “I’m not gonna go back the way I was,” you say forlornly.  

Steve hums and buzzes a sympathetic kiss upon your neck.  “Mhmmm.  The drug’s changed your metabolism… My serum won’t change either. Or Buck’s.”

“Don’t be so sure with Hydra tech,” Bucky mutters below his breath and Steve rolls his eyes expressively.   “The point is our change is permanent too.”

“But that’s not the same!”  You’re trying to not let your mouth hang wide open.  “You are both perfect since your change.  You’re gorgeous!”  

“So are you.”  Steve punctuates each word with a kiss.  “I get it, sweetheart, I really do. I don’t always love this body either.  Sometimes it just feels like a freak show, but I’ve learned to accept it’s me.”  

Steve? A freak?  This is not an adjective you associate him with.  He’s gorgeous.  Stunning. A perfect specimen of masculinity and that he wouldn’t be utterly thrilled to step into a machine and come out magically a new man has never occurred to you.  You know it hurt.  That he suffered for it.  But the change was absolutely for the better.

“But you’re strong?  And healthy now?!” you exclaim.

“Yes, and god knows it’s better than being sick all of the damn time but it isn’t me. In my head I’m still the matchstick.  There are days when I get caught off guard.  Feel big and clumsy.  And it’s not always such a thrill.”  He pulls a pouty face.  “Can’t turn off the heat that makes you two cuddle on the other side of the bed without me.”  

Bucky bumps him in the hip.  “Awww.  Rogers, you are such a sap.”  

“Unh hunh, well I’m your sap, pal. Forever.”  Steve reaches across your shoulder to kiss Buck’s cheek but then his eyes darken seriously.  “I am hungry all the goddamn time.  And it’s a crazy waste of money to buy custom everything.  Even T-shirts for crissake.”

That makes you smile.  It’s hard to take the frugal Irish boy of the Depression out of the modern man. “I kinda like it when you don’t and wear them a little tight.”  

Bucky grins and nods.  “And your pants.”   It is Steve’s turn to bump playfully at his boyfriend’s hip. “What?” Bucky’s eyes are wide and innocent.  He turns to you and becomes more serious, letting go Steve’s waist, turning his metal hand and flexing the matt black plates.  “I get it, too.  It is not easy to become used to looking different.  Took me ages to accept my arm.”   You nod a little hesitantly. You were not there when he first came back, broke his conditioning to seek out the man he loved, beyond time and all the cycles of the world. “I wanted to hack this thing right off.  Felt as if it wasn’t me.  I still catch myself in the mirror, seeing that, despite Shuri’s good work, I’m half a cyborg with a mass of scars.”  His tone turns low and serious.  “Do you find my naked body unattractive?”  

You gasp, appalled, reaching to catch his hand.  “No! Oh god, Buck no! It’s sexy as hell.  And your scars, they’re badges of bravery!”  

His eyebrow quirks.  “Yeah, love you babe for saying so but let’s be real.  I am a mass of metal and red keloid scar tissue.  Lots of it.  It’s not exactly conventional beauty pitched in the papers or TV.”  His flesh fingers dig into the junction of the prosthesis with his pec. “The internal struts at one time went in here.  The Wakandan version is far lighter and easier but I feel it still.“  

“Buck.”   Steve’s reaches to squeeze his left bicep as Bucky sighs and then his eyes drop to catch your gaze. “It’s taken a lot of time for me to feel it’s a part of me. Accept that I am sexy with it.  Give yourself time.  You will feel it too.  There is no one size or shape for sexy.”

Steve is nodding.  “There sure isn’t.  You both look beautiful.  And I love you beyond reasoning.”  He holds your hand but leans toward Bucky, wanting to support him too.   There’s just a hint of mischevious glitter in blue eyes and his voice is rough with sudden desire. ’I remember the feel of your left arm.  But I love the one that is here right now. ”  

You watch them kiss.  Soft lips meet at first gently and then hungrily, deepening the kiss until it is a barely reigned flame of need.  So enticing. And arousing.  As always the sight leaves you breathless.  The black and gold of the prosthesis is cool below your fingertips and little arcs of light sparkle in the pale gold of Steve’s soft hair.    

They were first.  The foundation.  But you are here now, a solid point of the triangle, and you know it, yet sometimes, as now, you feel the need to let them be.   They’ve been holding off because of you, and you’re uncertain you feel ready for attention yet.  

As you start to slip below the circle of their arms, a hand snakes out.

“No, no, no. Don’t you go anywhere, Y/N.”  Bucky has broken off their kiss, moved lightening quick to cut you off.  He turns your shoulders to face Steve, runs a hand encouragingly along your arm, lacing your fingers in his own.  Steve is smiling, slow and sultry, right at you, a wall of blast-furnace warm and sexy muscle, wedged almost touching right in front.  

Your body sings.  It remembers this, being caught between dark fire and golden glow.  Celebrated.  Revered. Taken to dizzying heights and a now melting grows in your core that you haven’t felt for months.

Perhaps it is that they are right.  You can, in time, adjust.  

And they will show you every hour of every day how much they love all of the woman that you are.

You let yourself fall back upon the bed when a hand with freckled pushes gently on your chest.  So many hands.  Pale. Black-gold.  Irish fair and English tawny warm.  Somehow Bucky has caught you as you fall.  Your head is in his lap.  His blue-green eyes are sparkling just above and one hand is palming, lightly, gently, at the nipple peaked below your dress.  It feels right.  And good. Home, after too long away, and then Steve crawls up the bed, lays himself warm and pliant between your legs. Grinning broadly, excitement glowing in his gaze.  His hands lift the cotton of the hem, ruch the pale yellow flowers up to see a view of your new lemon thong.  

A blond eyebrow raises. “T-2 hours before we go.  Time enough to change into another pretty dress?”

Oh god.  

“Yes.”  

So yes.  

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