#ok I’m rambling sorry I’ll clean these tags up later

[xannerz]

☁️🌞☁️

#so this is my first trip abroad and I’ve cried multiple times #it’s kinda funny tbh LMAO. like I’ve just been so in awe at the sights. #I also cried bc I’m sad my parents won’t be able to see this in person like. ever. #my mom medically should not fly and obvs my dad and I aren’t gonna like #go anywhere without her even if we had the chance #so I’ve just been dwelling on that #I called them last night to say hi and instantly starting bawling bc of it and they looked at my snot-nosed face on FaceTime like ‘bro’ #I go from crying bc I’m homesick or stressed abt work and family to crying bc I’m so overwhelmed w joy at being here LMAO ⚖️ #also missing my gf …. ;^; my friends are so cute we’ll be in a shop #and they’ll see me holding a couple things and they’re like is that for [birb] and I laugh like yes it is 😌❤️ #ok I’m rambling sorry I’ll clean these tags up later #mine #chianti

[archie-sunshine]

So, What Now?(Rehabili/Cohabi-tation)

Chapter 5: In Which A Movie is Best Enjoyed with Others

FIC TAGS: Eventual Whirl/Cyclonus/Tailgate, Cyclonus/Tailgate, polyamory, slowburn romance, mutual pining, slice of life, fluff, comedy, eventual smut(planned for later chapters), sappy mushy lovey stuff, polycue

The Lost Light has a brand new universe to explore! But everyone's still tired from the old one! In the interim between wacky hijinks, a solution is offered to those bored to death by peacetime- Why form a club about it or renovate your hab suite of course!

Whirl doesn't know how he feels about all the pep. And even worse, he doesn't know how to feel about Cyclonus and Tailgate wanting him to join in on their clean slate. 

Other Chapters here! Read on AO3 here!

_________

Author's Notes: Ok this one gets really really mushy but this is a treat for ME okay. I cannot stress the importance of domesticity in this fanfic. I also read the entire breakfast club script for this fanfic bc i didnt have time to watch the movie straight, and I've concluded that whirl would absolutely be a John Bender kinnie and you can't tell me otherwise, sorry.

CHAPTER TAGS: Movie night, cuddling, canoodling, whirl getting way too worked up in his own head about affection, background Chromedome/Rewind, swerve is also there

The spritzers continued to be awful. Tailgate must have tried a dozen different ratios trying to get them right, and each one was uniquely bad. 

Rewind cringed at the flavour of the latest one, scrunching up his optics. “Oh man- Tailgate, buddy, what in the name of Primus did engex do to you to make you do this to it!?” He cackled, leaning back against the sofa. 

Tailgate moaned in anguish. “I’m TRYING!!! I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!!” He let out a heavy ex vent, reaching for the near empty bottle of engex. 

Cyclonus placed a servo on Tailgate’s forearm. “Alright, lets give it a rest. How about we just have some normal energon.” 

“Yeah, you’ve got that sweet flavoured stuff, don’t you?” Whirl observed, swishing the half drunk spritzer- attempt #6- in its cube. 

“Oh yeah! Hold on- Slag- I’m out of cubes…” He mumbled, climbing down off his bar stool and wandering to the table to gather up the leftover cubes from their escapades in engex consumption. 

“I could borrow some out of our hab, if you like?” Rewind offered, sitting up. 

“Oh yeah? Oh-! How about we make an event of it, we could invite some folks over, maybe watch a few holovids?” Tailgate proposed, dumping the leftover spritzer’d engex down the trash chute. 

“Maybe if we invite Swerve over we could even have a chance at a palatable cocktail or two.” Whirl teased, earning an offended look from the minibot. 

“I’ve just comm’d domey, he’s on his way with some cubes.” Rewind said. 

“Perfect, I’ll bug Swerve as well!” Tailgate added.

*

It was only when the two other bots arrived that Whirl realized he had once again been roped into a night at Cyclonus and Tailgate’s hab suite. He glanced around, dimly noting Chromedome and Rewind greeting each other with as close to a kiss as their mouthpieces could allow. Swerve was making a beeline to Tailgate, accepting a spritzer from him with a warm grin as he held up a datastick and began to ramble about the ‘vid they were planning on watching. 

The newly reunited couple glanced around for a spot to sit. Whirl offered up his seat, shifting to the sofa next to Cyclonus. He leaned in a bit to whisper in his audial.

“This is all part of your plan isn’t it?” He hissed.

Cyclonus didn’t turn to face him. “What are you talking about?” 

Whirl continued to stare at him.

“You’re complaining about spending time with myself and Tailgate?” 

“N- I didn’t say that-” Whirl stammered.

“Then relax.” Cyclonus murmured, raising a brow ridge.

Whirl leaned back into the couch with a huff, folding his arms and starting to scoot down towards the opposite end of the couch. Swerve came down in his spot before he could shift fully. Whirl grunted, putting his pedes up on the table as Tailgate squeezed in between himself and Cyclonus.

Swerve had climbed up onto the back of the couch, reaching up to the holoprojector hanging from the ceiling. “Alright, I promised an unequivocal banger for tonight, and I swear you all are not gonna be disappointed.” He stood on the tips of his pedes, inserting the data slug into the side of the projector as it began to power on. “My dear mechs, I present to you, the human masterpiece, The Breakfast Club.”

*

“I don’t get it, so the punishment for them is just to sit quietly in a library?” Whirl muttered. 

“I guess humans are just a bit more fragile, no hard labour punishments or anything?” Tailgate whispered. 

On screen, the human with the visor- Bender?- did something kind of crude and gross. 

Whirl laughed quietly. “I like this kid, sorta nasty.” 

“Oh yea, bender’s a total card, you’re gonna love him.” Swerve confirmed through an intake full of energon crisps. 

“Yeesh, there's so much angst here, is it true that humans are like this for like a fifth of their lifetime?” Chromedome asked, cringing a bit at the dramatics. 

“We know some people who have been like this for milenia, I think we can give humans their 8 to 10 years of it.” Rewind shrugged. 

“Shhhh, I’m tryna watch!” Whirl hissed, before immediately once again giggling at the human’s antics.

*

The whole room had gone silent. There’s a long, tense moment, something between the five of them, younger humans all shouting out their feelings and thoughts.

Usually it would make Whirl die of boredom. But there was a tiny white servo wrapped around one of his claws. He didn’t have the tanks to look down, but it felt like his servos were on the verge of burning off. He didn’t understand it, he had plenty of friends, knew plenty of people, but there was just something about him that put them off from making contact. Sure, the occasional pat on the back plate, maybe a handshake, but more often a slap or kick. 

His servo was so small- Tailgates that is- but it was ruddy, paint chipped in places and painted back over, digits not so dextrous but round and gentle. When the humans on screen did something surprising, something that shocked and awed the little bot, he squeezed, just a bit too tight around Whirl’s claw. 

If that wasn’t bad enough, Cyclonus had absently reached an arm around Tailgate’s shoulders, meaning to hold the minibot closer, but as he did, he’d managed to sandwich his servo between the two of them. Whirl could feel every movement as Cyclonus fondly stroked Tailgate’s tire with one of his digits, the feeling mirrored against Whirl’s upper arm. 

He hadn’t realized how long it had been since anyone had been so gentle with him, even inadvertently so. Well, he could remember one notable outlier, being sat upon the same couch as he had been during the previous incident. 

Whirl had never felt so tense. 

He glanced down at the mostly full engex cocktail in his other servo. A long curly straw stuck out of it, perfect for his odd and inopportune intake. There was ample supply of straws in the couple’s unit, given Tailgate’s similar situation. He chased the straw around with his intake, beginning a long sip as the teen angst filled the air. 

The movie was so stupid, it didn’t even make sense, half the things out of their mouths were completely lost on Whirl. All about parents and school and cliques. He supposed if he looked at it from a different angle he might understand it better, but it was also. Sort of hard to focus. 

The long haired mech on screen had started shouting, so suddenly that Tailgate had jolted, his servo turning to a vice grip around Whirl’s claw. Whirl swallowed a wince, closing his servo around Tailgate’s and squeezing gently to try and convince him to ease off.

His digits unclenched almost absently as Tailgate resettled, now leaning his helm against Whirl’s arm. The taller mech’s processor felt fuzzy and hot, his optic crackling just a bit as he stubbornly focussed his gaze ahead to not pay attention to the minibot cuddling against his side.

These feelings that had been growing in him over the past cycles were foreign, alien. They felt wrong, tight in his chassis like his spark was jerked out of place. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way, he wasn’t supposed to feel at all. They felt distant, like a foreign body or a parasite gnawing at his spark. He wanted them to leave him, return him back to that emptiness that he’d grown to know. 

He slumped down a bit where he was sitting.

Nothing fit right in him anymore, chaos felt more like control than this peace. 

He hesitated for a moment, turning his optic briefly to peek at Tailgate and Cyclonus. Cyclonus’s digits had left Tailgate’s tire, now absently brushing along the edge of Whirl’s shoulder pad. It must have been an accident.

There was a moment of silence on screen, just before the actors began to talk again. 

Whirl leaned his helm awkwardly onto Tailgates. He could feel the minibot jolt for the barest moment before relaxing. Cyclonus’s digits found the back of Whirl’s neck and hesitantly rested there. 

The room was dark, save for the holoscreen’s light. He knew that the others could obviously see them, somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to him. 

But he could pretend. He could pretend there was a moment of intimate privacy between the three of them. It felt like there were only the three of them in the universe to Whirl at least.

He let out a quiet vent, letting the tension leave him. 

… This movie was stupid.

*

“...Sincerely yours, The Breakfast Club.” 

“Man… These humans, they’re like… Crazy good at this.” Swerve mumbled. “Got me all moved and slag.” 

“I dunno, I think I liked the other ones better, that long one with the four old femmes?” Chromedome asked. 

“The Golden Girls is not a movie, it’s a tv show!” Swerve balked. 

“Ohhhh… I figured it was a bit long for a single holovid…” Chrome dome mused, turning his attention to Rewind. “I was wondering why it was taking so long to finish.” 

“You were determined though, got through a whole season before questioning it.” The minibot laughed, climbing out of his conjunx’s lap and helping him up. “Thanks for the movie, Swerve, and thanks for hosting you two! It was nice to not be the projector this time.” 

The pair gathered up their empty energon cubes from the table and began to make their way out of the unit.

“Thanks for attending.” Cyclonus said warmly, offering a crooked smile. 

“Yeah, come by anytime!” Tailgate chirped. 

As Swerve got up to leave as well, Whirl finally became acutely aware of how entangled he’d become with the remaining couple. He began to wriggle his arm free from Tailgate, who glanced up at him as he let him go. 

“Take care, Swerve.” Cyclonus said. Swerve waved goodbye and trotted through the open unit door. It closed behind him with a quiet whoosh.

“That was nice, wasn’t it?” Tailgate sighed, shifting to lean against Cyclonus as Whirl shuffled away down the couch. 

“Yeah, it’s been a bit since we had a holovid night.” Whirl mused, claw absently rubbing at the back of his neck where Cyclonus had placed his servo. 

The odd tense feeling had returned, layered with that warmth as Whirl gazed at the couple. He fought for the right words to say, some suave or aloof way to say he’d be leaving again. The two of them just looked at him, almost expectantly- or maybe disappointedly- waiting for his excuse. He could see that twinge- he acted obtuse but he could see them prepare for the sting. He couldn’t pretend it was relief anymore. He opened and shut his claws. His vents felt choked and stilted. The engex he’d drunk wasn’t close to enough for an excuse for this. 

“... Listen- I… I don’t get why it's such a big deal or whatever to you- that I’m by myself so much-” He started, standing up off the couch. He couldn’t look at them. “It’s- It’s not a problem like you think-” He risked a glance at them. 

It was a mistake. Tailgate’s face had fallen a bit, looking at his own servos and fidgeting a little. Cyclonus’s face was unreadable, all warmth pushed back, blazing red optics intense with the effort of concealment. 

Whirl’s vocalizer felt choked. His voice wouldn’t start up no matter how he cycled it. 

This is stupid, why was he doing this? Why didn’t he just run?

“B-...But if its important to you-” He began stiltedly. “... I guess- maybe-... Like I wouldn’t mind-... We’re already going to those clubs and all-”

What was he saying- WHAT WAS HE SAYING??!

“I GUESS I could-.. Y’know… move in. Sometime.” He cleared his vocalizer again, kicking his pedes against the floor. Suddenly the wall directly behind the two of them seemed so interesting. 

He waited for the door to slam on him, waited for the rug to come out from under him, waited for a curse or a jeer or a denial. 

He dimly heard the two of them shift. He turned his helm away just in time for Cyclonus’s servo on his shoulder to surprise him. 

“I’m happy to hear that.” Cyclonus said stiffly. Whirl turned back to face him. That mask of apathy was still there, but shifted. There was a softness in his optics that made them look less like the red of fire and more like a far off sunrise. 

He nearly jumped out of his plating when Tailgate let out a happy trill and wrapped his arms tight around either mech’s hips. “Ohhh, Whirrrlll!!! I’m so glad!!” He cheered, squeezing the two of them to his chassis tenderly- oh- a bit too- OW-

“Ah- my love-” Cyclonus gritted out.

“You’re gonna- TAILGATE- YOU’RE CRUSHING M-ME-” Whirl croaked out-

“OHGOD IMSORRY!” Tailgate squeaked, releasing them. Whirl glanced down at the incredibly pronounced digit marks now dented into his thigh plating. The same marks were mirrored on Cyclonus’s hip armour. 

Whirl began to laugh, almost involuntarily at the ridiculousness of it all. He couldn’t help it, none of this made sense anymore. 

“I’m sorry-!! I didn’t mean to-” Tailgate fussed. Cyclonus’s chassis and shoulders began to quiver, faceplate twisting to hold back a smile. 

Whirl’s optic scrunched as his laugh grew louder, Cyclonus joining him as it rumbled out of his chest. Tailgate glanced between them, bewildered, and began to laugh as well, again wrapping them in a warm hug, this time more gently than the last. 

The world felt warm. Whirl didn’t fully know why he’d agreed, he swore he was about to turn them down properly. But he was just crazy enough to chase that feeling, instead of running like every bit of him told him to. 

He could figure it all out later. He wanted to savour this.

#cywhirlgate #cygate #cywhirl #whirlgate #transformers #transformers mtmte #tf mtmte #cyclonus #tailgate #whirl #my fic #my art #fluff #slice of life

[mediumtires]

bestie pls i need more christian/toto content, a drabble, a ramble, long tags, just SOMETHING!! you have me hooked and now i'm addicted i've read 7 years so many times it's embarrassing

ok hear me out you guys keep asking and i don’t have anything proper that i could offer you just yet BUT i saw an ask a while ago where someone said lewis isn’t going to renew his contract next year and saying “i won’t join another team” isn’t saying “i’ll be here next year i trust this team” etc etc etc and like, i hate myself for it but walk with me for a second here……………..

Lewis is the one to drop the bombshell of his retirement. Not his camp, not Merc, not PR. There is no tidy Instagram post in black and teal, no quote on quote, no text box announcing the retirement of one of the greatest. It’s Lewis who types it up, a hundred words max, and before he puts it on his story he calls Toto and lets him know.

Toto is in his office in Brackley, behind his big desk, glass walls, open door policy, looking out at a bunch of his employees steadily working away and none of them realise, none of them understand what is happening in the very moment he picks up the phone, what it does to him to hear the words, “I’m sorry man” and “I don’t wanna be the next Alonso” and “I can’t do another season of this” and “I need to let it go”. Toto’s world shifts, bends, and slowly glides off its axis. A funny joke, he thinks at first, before the realisation hits.

Toto has experienced many a crisis in his life. Some of them more serious, more real than others, but each one of them prepared him for the next, for what’s to come. His body catches up quicker than his brain. It’s the physical signs first, of going into fight or flight. Blood pumping, trouble breathing, sweaty hands, mouth dry. Racing heart. Funny expression. A racing heart. He’s always thought of himself as having a racer’s heart, especially in moments like this. He can calm himself, he can self regulate. He can manipulate himself, breathe through it, pretend he’s behind the wheel, pretend this is a life or death split second kind of decision calling for nothing but calm and steady hands.

He does; breathe through it. If there is one thing he is, steadfast and unswerving, it’s a leader. Responsibility sits tight in his neck as he seeks out his team, first the closest five, then senior personnel. He is not going to make this into a huge thing - it is - but he will have to make his people aware before Lewis lets the rest of the world in on his secret. Word is going to spread fast.

It does; spread fast. Toto was given an hour. He uses it wisely, types out a company wide announcement, and then another email, a more personal one, to the PR department. Tells them to leave things until tomorrow. There is no point in rushing this.

Toto leaves his office at 5 on the dot. Turns off his computer, does not take any documents, does not take any work to look at later, just shoves his travel mug into his bag, grabs his jacket and makes sure to turn the lights off on his way out.

When he gets home, Christian’s Range Rover is parked where it’s always parked, in the left space next to the stone steps leading up to the front door. It stands a little wonky today, the left front tyre kissing the grass. It’s an unusual sight. Christian is very particular about his car, and his lawn.

The dogs yap at his feet when Toto walks through the door, drops his shit on the sideboard with no mind to clean up after himself. He drags his feet through the foyer and into the kitchen. It’s still light out, it’s July, and Christian has opened the patio doors to let the warm summer breeze in.

His face has something critical to it when he locks eyes with Toto, crow’s feet deeper than usual as he watches him approach. Toto can feel the weight of his gaze on him, how he drags it up his body, down, up again, only to settle on his face for good.

“Colleague or husband?” Christian asks.

“Husband,” Toto says and folds himself into Christian’s opening arms, tucks his face into the crook of his neck and inhales deeply, allowing himself to just close his eyes and breathe. No need for pretences here. Car in the gravel, engine off, steering wheel dislodged and hands in his lap. It’s okay if his fingers shake. Christian knows he’s not a racer by heart.

#nah listen this is so pretentious lmao #i’m sorry this is the best i could do for all you lovely people who keep asking for more seven years #also this is a hypothetical #obviously lewis is NOT going to retire do i even have to say it #he’s gonna stay for that 8th (9th) we all know it #also the baby(girl)ification of toto wolff???? #this is literally so unsexy i’m so sorry #toto wolff #christian horner #seven years

[beauvibaby]

emergency contact — m.tkachuk

a/n: a random fic that I finally finished!!

word count: 2.4K

You groaned, the buzzing from your phone was stirring you from your sleep, it was nearly three am. No one would call you this early for no reason, so you suddenly came to your senses, scrambling to answer it. “Hello, hello.” You rushed, hardly getting to it in time. “Is this Y/F/N?” The lady’s voice came across delicately which only caused your heart rate to pick up. “Yes.” You sat up in the bed, flipping your lamp on as she began speaking across the line. “My name is Diane, I’m calling from St. Alexius Hospital, your brother, Matthew has been brought in from a car accident, you were listed as his emergency contact.” She explained, you flew out of the bed, “is he ok?” You were rushing around, pulling on whatever clean clothes you could find first. “He’ll be fine, I’m not at liberty to discuss the details over the phone.” She spoke calmly, you nodded, before realizing she couldn’t see you. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” You quickly hung up, yanking your jeans on in a rush, you forced any nervous thoughts to the back of your mind. He would be fine, that’s what you kept repeating to yourself, he was the only family you had left, he had to be fine.

Your feet carried you into the hospital emergency room before your mind could catch up, you reached the counter and blankly stared for a moment, you read her name tag, Diane. “I’m Y/F/N, I’m here to see-” “Ah, yes, for Matthew?” She cut you off, flipping through the papers on her desk. “Room 113.” She pointed you down the hall, and you were off, speed walking down the hall, your shoes sounding loud against the linoleum floor in the early morning. 109, 110, 111, 112, you froze outside of his room, clearly it couldn’t have been that bad if he was alone. You heard a groan from inside the room and you came to your senses, you pushed the curtain aside, “Matthew.” You whispered, and then looked up, the stranger in the bed looking at you with raised eyebrows. “You’re not my brother.” You gasped, and then realized you were standing in his room still, “I’m so sorry, uh, feel better.” You saw the cast on his arm and a bruise forming just under his eyes. “I’m not complaining.” He mumbled with a lazy smile, it captivated you, the way his blue eyes lit up as you smiled back at him. “But no I’m not, my name is Matthew though.” He muttered, coughing lightly, reaching for the water, it was just out of his reach so you walked over and handed it to him. “Here you go.” You whispered, his fingers brushing against yours as he took the cup, “I have to go, I-I’m here to see my brother.” You gave him a smile, going to rush out of the room but as you turned, Diane came running in, out of breath.

“There was a mix up, I’m so sorry.” She rushed, Matthew looking between you and her, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Is my brother even here?!” You snapped, relieved but angry at the same time. She shook her head and you scrambled to pull your phone out of your pocket, dialing your brother’s number. You bounced on your feet as it rang and rang, “Y/N? Why are you calling so late?” He grumbled into the phone, “Matthew!” You cried in relief, “you’re ok?” You asked, “of course I’m ok, why wouldn’t I be?” He sounded confused, “nothing, uh, it’s a long story, I’ll call you later.” You hung up, arms crossed as you glared at Diane. “Miss Y/L/N, I am so sorry.” She apologized again, you could only nod weakly. “I’m so sorry, uh, Matthew.” You turned to the guy in the bed, he had to be right around your age. “I really hope you feel better.” And with that, you rushed out the door, over run by the emotions you just went through.

That was almost a week ago.

Five days if we’re being specific.

“Mom is going to kill me if she finds out I let you drive.” You tuned into the conversation a girl was having with what you could only assume is her brother from the way she spoke to him. You kept your eyes focused down on the cup of coffee and laptop before you, but your ears perked up. “That’s why she isn’t going to find out, right Taryn?” He quipped back at her, you couldn’t fully place it but his voice had an oddly familiar tone. Not one that you knew well, but as if you had heard it before. You continued typing away on your laptop, forcing yourself to stop eavesdropping on their conversation, a message came up on your screen and you became so engrossed in it that you didn’t even notice as Matthew walked past your table with a small gasp, dragging his sister along.

“That’s her!” He whispered to his sister, who only looked at him confused, “that’s the girl from the hospital.” He groaned, running a hand through his curly hair. Only making it look messier. Taryn glanced at you, and at him, then back and forth once more. “You couldn’t pull her.” She teased him, earning a light flick to the arm from him. “I totally could!” He defended, panicking when your head popped up, you glanced around but didn’t notice him. “Well aren’t you going to go say something?” Taryn nudged him, taking his coffee from his not broken arm, and setting it down beside hers on the table. “What am I going to say? ‘Oh hey, not sure if you remember me but you barged into my hospital room last week because you thought I was your brother’? That’s not going to work.” He rambled, too caught up in his own words to notice his sister walking towards you until it was too late. She simply sat across from you, making your body jump back.

“Uh, hello?” You spoke hesitantly, sliding your laptop closer to you, eyeing the random girl skeptically. “Hi, my name is Taryn, I think you met my brother, Matthew over there, in the hospital last week?” She smiled politely at you, pointing to the corner of the cafe were you turned and saw Matthew looking over with wide eyes and pink cheeks, he offered a small wave, wincing when he used the arm in a cast. You giggled under your breath, waving back, “I did.” You confirmed, “I’m Y/N.” You added, turning back to Taryn, “well you see, he hasn’t really shut up about you since then, he thinks you’re really pretty, so I figured I’d come try and help him have a chance to talk to you.” She explained with a grin, occasionally glancing at her brother, who you could only assume had turned more red. “I’d love to talk to him.” You assured her, slowly closing your laptop, holding back a large smile when she grinned, rushing off, you heard them bickering before Matthew approached, awkwardly sitting where his sister just was. “Hi.” He hadn’t struck you as one to be shy when you first met him, “hi.” You repeated, leaning back in your seat. “How’s the arm?” You teased, glancing down to his cast. “It’s getting there.” He shrugged, looking up and meeting your eyes. “I’m really glad they called you.” He added, ah, there’s the confidence you were looking for. You rested your elbows on the table, holding your chin lightly in your hand, “are you?” You cocked your head to the side, smiling as he blushed.

“I am.” He confirmed, placing his phone up on the table, “so why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll take you out to dinner.” He spoke softly, a small hint of nervousness to his voice. “You know, as payment for emotional trauma at the very least.” He joked, earning a genuine laugh from you. “I think that sounds fair.” You picked up his phone, adding yourself to his contacts. “Good thing I’m the only Y/N you know.” You handed him his phone, smiling as his fingers brushed yours, it sounded cliche, and you hated to even think it, but even the simple touch sent your heart into a frenzy. “Mhm, good thing.” He agreed, staying seated, “you know, if we kept talking this could almost be like a first date.” He raised an eyebrow, you noticed the small smirk on his lips. “I think I can spare some time.” You smiled sweetly at him, diving into conversation. You both covered a lot of things, from work, which caught you off guard for sure when you heard what he does, to family, all the way down to embarrassing childhood stories.

“Alright, I’ve waited as long as I can wait, Matty, we need to go.” Taryn interrupted, looking down at her brother from where he was still sitting, you checked the time on your phone and you were embarrassed to see it had been nearly two hours. “Oh my god, Taryn, I’m so sorry.” You apologized, Matthew smiling at the interaction as his sister brushed it off. “It’s fine.” She turned back to him, who was lost in his happiness, “so, Matty.” You teased, gathering your things, “I’ll be waiting to hear from you.” You stood up, pushing your purse onto your shoulder, he followed, standing in front of you, he ducked down to press a kiss to your cheek. “You’ll definitely be hearing from me.” He smirked, walking off with his sister while you blushed furiously, he glanced back and you shot him a wink, you two were made for each other.

“So, tomorrow?”

You giggled at your phone as you walked to your car, already getting a message from him. You bit your lip as you smiled, typing a quick response to leave him on his toes while you drive home.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

You put your phone on silent to avoid getting distracted while you drove, but you could tell it vibrated a couple of times on the seat. It felt like forever until you got home, but once you did, you and Matthew texted the rest of the day, setting up plans for you both to meet at a restaurant not too far from your house the next day.

You were a little nervous, just because first dates were always nerve wracking, but otherwise you were calm, you knew you’d have a good time. You smoothed out your pants, looking down at the printed material, you adjusted your tucked in lace camisole, tugging your cardigan on over top, a chic yet comfortable outfit, paired with some heeled boots. Your hair falling down your back in loose curls, you gave yourself one last adjustment before you made your way out the door, hoping you wouldn’t be too early, you wouldn’t want to ruin his manly pride.

You were excitedly surprised when you arrived and Matthew was already standing outside the restaurant waiting for you. “Hi, Matthew.” You called as you climbed out of your car, his head snapped up, a grin covering his face as a couple of his curls bouncing in front of his eyes. “Hey. You look great.” He met you in front of your car, his jacket hanging off on one side because of his cast. “Clean up nice yourself.” You replied with ease, “how’s your arm?” You added, lightly touching it where he had scribbled on it. A chuckle falling from your lips at the stick figure he’d left on it. “Better now.” He smirked, earning a snort in return, your hand shooting to your mouth. “Oh my god.” He broke into laughter, using his good arm to move your hand from your face, “that was equally cute and funny.”

“I’m glad you thought so.” You breathed out, giggling as he led you inside.

***

“Oh, Matty. She’s lovely, I’m so happy for you.” Chantal grinned, looking at the ring he had picked out for you. You’d been together for just over a year, you both fell quick and hard, you moving to Calgary with him halfway through the season. “Thanks mom.” He sighed in relief, it was the last few weeks of the off season, and it was a no brainer for you both to come back to St. Louis for the summer to see your families.

What you didn’t know, is that he ended up holding onto that ring for almost a year before asking you to marry him, two years to the day when you ran into his hospital room.

***

“Matty, what are you doing?” You asked breathlessly as you walked into the living room after your shower, in frumpy pajamas and a wet messy bun. You looked at the candles that were scattered around, and him in a pregame suit, despite there being no game tonight. “You can’t cry when I haven’t even said anything yet.” He whispered as you approached him in shock, he pulled the velvet box from his jacket pocket. “Matthew.” You gasped, cupping his bearded jaw, he wiped under your eyes lightly, “Y/N.” He murmured, lightly kissing your forehead before getting down on one knee.

“As much as I hate how that mix up in the hospital scared you that night, I’m so grateful for it, you were right in front of me that whole time in St. Louis, but I wouldn’t have met you if it wasn’t for that.” He explained, popping the box open, you started nodding instantly, “ask me.” You begged. “Will you marry me?” He cut straight to it, grinning when you dropped down on your knees in front of him. You nodded furiously, holding his face in your hands, “yes. Oh my god, yes.” You pulled him in for a kiss, squealing in delight when he yanked you closer, “Mrs. Tkachuk sounds nice, doesn't it?”

***

You leaned in the doorway to your son's room, smiling as Matthew theatrically recalled your meeting story, your son, who was only four, looking up at his dad like he just told him how the earth spins. You giggled, making your presence known, you joined them on the floor, draping your legs over your husband’s lap, your son climbing onto yours, hugging you tightly as you played with his curly hair. “Is daddy telling your favorite story again?” You asked him, smiling when he nodded enthusiastically, “I really like that story too.” You told him, feeling Matthew squeeze your hip as your son giggled.

taglist: @boqvistsbabe @tortito @2manytabsopen @heybarzy @barzysreputation @yzas-stuff @iwantahockeyhimbo @leafs-forever

#Matthew Tkachuk #Matthew Tkachuk imagine #matthew Tkachuk imagines #matty Tkachuk #nhl fic #Calgary flames

[symphonicmetal101]

Babysitting in the Devildom

Chapter Six: Beel- Dinner Indifference

"Beel n-"

Solomon had to cast a teleportation spell before he could even finish his sentence. Beel's wings fluttered furiously as he burst through a portal and into Solomons arms instead. He immediatly clamped down on Solomons shoulder and started to chew. Solomon sighed as he watched his cloak get drooled on, big violet eyes watching him back as more of the cloth disappeared into his mouth.

Solomon paused. Should he take Beel to you? You seemed to know what you were doing but you also already had Asmo and portioning out food for the rest of the kids...Beel would be in the presence of food either way. He glanced back down and the chipmunk-cheeked Beel and considered trying to take the cloak out of his mouth.  Buuuuut if Beel cried again it was his fault, again...but he really shouldnt be eating fabric...not that it would ruin his appetite but-

He was running out of time to make a decision as the delivery person made their way back to the door. Beel seemed content eating his cloak for now. Beel would be fine, right? Yeah- its Beel. Solomon tightened his grip just slightly on the baby as he approached the front door again, ready to take the bags.

He should have taken Beel to you.

It was like fighting Taz from Looney Toons as Solomon stumbled about, half eaten cloak and a blur of movement around him as he used small portals to keep the bag of food away from Beel.

Barbatos had walked into the kitchen with Luke, wondering if he could help somehow. You had taken Luke from him and used one hand while also sometimes directing him on how to help you while Asmo followed behind him to make sure each plate "looked pretty". Everything was going really well....until the other bag of food appeared suddenly in your free hand and you heard a demonic screech come from the hallway and a loud buzzing noise which was curiously silenced soon after, though Asmo had given you wide berth after hearing that. You sighed and asked Barb to continue portioning things and to go tell the rest of the kids that if they had to go to the bathroom, the time was now. You held Luke close to you as you ventured just outside the kitchen doors and nearly bumped into Solomon.

".....I can expl-"

"Why is Beel eating your clothes?"

You didnt really want to laugh for fear of waking Luke up, but a wide silly smile bloomed on your face as you watched Beel use both his tiny fists to stuff more of Solomons cloak into his mouth, wide eyes staring at you as he cooed a bit and continued to stuff his face, Solomons cloak almost gone.

Solomon had a combination of exasperation and amusement on his face. "Uh...well I didnt want him to cry or attack the food- o-or you so I.....I fed him my cloak."

"....wHY? Earlier you were summoning food for him- you could have done that again right- or multiplied the food we already have even if he ate the bags worth of food-"

You were still smiling, the whole situation a little ridiculous as Beel finished Solomons cloak and started to sniffle, pouting and making grabby hands to the air for more.

Solomon paused before a goofy smile spread across his face as he summoned a popsicle to give to Beel. "I. Dont. Know." He laughed a bit before smiling fondly at you. "This is why you're the one in charge." He started to walk past you into the kitchen, but not before a quick kiss was planted on your temple and a small smirk at your expression was given to you. You gave yourself a moment before joining him and Barb, and a slightly startled looking Asmo.

".....can I have a posicle before dinner too?"

Asmo looked up at Solomon, pleading who just shrugged. "Thats not up to me." He looked at you and smirked a bit. *Motherfucker*

Asmo gasped and skipped his way to you, big, pleading amber eyes as he batted his eyelashes. "May I have a posicle before dinner too please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

It was too much. From the way he asked politely, to the way he said popsicle, to his little pose and big ole eyes-

You looked around the table of happy faces as all the kids destroyed popsicles that Solomon had summoned for them, all save for Beel, Barb, Diavolo, and Lucifer untouched food in front of them.

"POPSICLES FOR DINNNNNERRRRR!"

"They said we still have to eat our food if we want to have dessert tomorrow."

"But I'm not hungry anymore..."

"....I guess I can try to eat some food but Im full from the popsicle..."

"LOOKIT IM PUTTING MY FRIES IN MY ICE CREAM!  But I aint havin the green stuff, thats yucky."

"You're yucky Mammon."

"HEY-"

"My father would NEVER let me do this!! Thank you MC!!!!"

A chorus of thank yous came from all of the kids, luckily before another fight. You sighed softly and forced a small smile as you said "youre welcome". You figured they wouldnt eat their food if they had popsicles. The bigger kids had eaten their food, and Beel had no problem eating his portion and Belphies who....oh. Belphie was sleeping in his mashed potatoes. You glanced around the table again, noting all the sticky faces and hands and...bodies in Satan and Luke's case. Solomon looked exhausted as he summoned another piece of food for Beel. Asmo was trying so hard to eat some more of his food but only ate a few more bites and looked a little upset. Mammon had eaten his fries, at least.

".....if youre full, give your food to Beel. Dont make yourself eat anymore, its ok. I just need to talk to Sol for a minute, ok?" You smiled as you walked to take Belphie out of his highchair and gestured to Solomon to put Beel in. He was a little confused but did so as you wiped some of the potatoes off Belphies face.

Levi spoke up very quietly. "Can we still have dessert tomorrow if we didnt finish our food for dinner?" The sound of plates being pushed towards Beel paused as the kids all looked at you, waiting for an answer.

".....it depends on how well you eat your breakfast tomorrow.." you smiled as the kids thanked you again as you asked Barb and Lucifer to make sure Beel didnt eat the actual plates as you took Solomon and Belphie into the kitchen.

"How are you feeling...you look exhausted.." geniune concern on your face once you had Solomon basically alone. His face twisted slightly and he sighed. "I had hoped the rejuevenating spell I casted would re-energize me more than it did...why? Are you worried?~" he smirked slightly, though it fell just short of smug. You rolled your eyes a bit and ruffled is hair, your turn to smirk as his face turned light pink and started to protest, pouting when you stopped, though you werent sure if it was because you stopped or because you ruffled his hair in the first place. You stopped his protesting by asking your next question, also avoiding answering his question. "Do you have enough energy to clean all of them or am I going to bathe them in an actual bath..."

"....I? It should be we..."

"Well if you're tired you should rest...I'll need your help tomorrow too..."

"I can sleep after the baths..."

"But if we're doing the baths then I need you to cast one last spell to keep the water in the tubs..."

"So I'll sleep after that spell...maybe..."

You gave him a withering look before sighing, though appreciative of his stubborness....for once. You smiled a bit.

"Alright then. Bath time. Especially for the babies. The bigger ones can probably just shower.... Belphie, Luke and Satan need baths the most. Beel made sure his food ended up *in* his mouth....the others..." you chuckled as you peeked back into the dining room, seeing only Barbatos' face clean, and Lucifer and Asmo both fussing over the little mess they had on themselves, Lucifer using Asmos mirror, and Asmo following Lucifers every action to get clean. You brought your attention back to the sleeping Belphie in your arms.

"....do you think he'll stay asleep for bath time?"

"Its Belphie. He could sleep through anything."

"Dont jinx it." You sighed softly and looked out at the kids again, some playing tag, others just watching. Satan continued to mash his food onto the platter in front of him, Luke giggling and copying in glee. Solomon tapped your shoulder to get your attention again.

"Are you ok? The bags under ypur eyes could hold all my potions-"

"Shut up- maybe if a certain sorceror had been more careful I wouldnt be as tired....not to mention the popsicle before dinner was a bad mov-" you were interrupted by Barb lightly tapping your arm.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I was just wondering if you want me to wash the dishes or just leave them in water in the sink....or if you have a dishwasher..." you were a little surprised when you turned and saw him carrying all the dishes from the table, and Lucifer behind him with garbage. Simeon was wiping down the table with a cloth, but gave the younger ones in high chairs some room. Diavolo was trying to talk to Lucifer, who just kinda kept nodding and saying "oh thats cool" before looking at you almost desperately. His look brought you back to your senses as you nodded at Barb.

"Just in the sink with water is fine, thank you Barbatos. Thank you for cleaning up Lucifer, Simeon. It makes a huge difference to me."

Barb and Simeon beamed, and Lucifer managed a small smile before shooting Diavolo a dirty look, but the other boy didnt notice, too busy rambling on about how this was so much better than home for the upteenth time. Ypu ruffled Lucifers hair as he walked by, and noted Diavolo's slight stumble in words as he eyed you a bit, but rushed past to go talk to Barb, glancing back at you, almost pleading, though your attention was divided again as you felt Levi hug you and snuggle into your side wordlessly. You patted his head softly and turned back to Solomon.

"I'll answer that question later. For now lets clean up. Then bath time."

Levi squeezed you a bit and beamed. "I love bath time!! I can do it myself! I promise, I can! I can!"

Though Levi couldnt see it, Mammon was mocking him from behind. You gave him a bit of a "look" before the hem of your shirt was being tugged at and you were met with those same amber eyes that had persuaded you into giving everyone treats for dinner. "I love bath time too! Me too! But you have to watch me. I make great bubble hair dos! A-and guess what? In the water, it might look like I have legs, but really Im a mermaid!"

"And Im a sea dragon!!" Levi cried out, still wanting your attention. "And Asmo, you're not really a mermaid-"

"Am too!"

"Are no-"

"Everyone can be who or whatever they want to be, in the water or otherwise. Fooooor example, I'm actually a sheep, see I go baaaaa" you smiled softly, and winked at Levi before turning to Asmo again who was practically dancing at your side, bursting to ask you a question. "Whats the prettiest animal you like mc?!!!"

"....whats your favourite sea animal mc?"

"Whats the coolest animal mc! No wait- whats your favourite animal?!"

"Yeah, whats your favourite animal?!"

"Oi, I asked em first!"

"Guys its ok, you can all be my or your favourite animal. Theres more than one of each." You chuckled, listing off animals as more questions were asked, meowing at Satan as you handed Belphie to Sol and took him out of his chair, who happily meowed back as you lead your noisy little zoo to the communal bathroom.

Masterlist

#obey me #obey me shall we date #guide to babysitting in the devildom #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me asmo #obey me diavolo #obey me simeon #obey me barb #obey me solomon #obey me luke #not super happy eith this but oh well

[jaskierswolf]

48, geraskier ✨

48: I called you at 2am because I need you - (I don’t actually say the line but it happens! This is longer than I anticapted because the daft ones had feelings.) _____________

Jaskier had had a late night. He worked at a shitty bar where he was sometimes allowed to perform if the other bands cancelled and his manager was feeling kind. Tonight had been such a night and he was fucking exhausted. He crawled into bed at just gone one in the morning and fallen asleep within minutes. Needless to say he was fucking pissed off when his phone started to ring less than an hour later. He pulled on his glasses, not bothering with his contact lenses, and peered at the too bright screen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he hit the answer button.

“G’ralt?” He slurred, his tongue feeling too heavy in his mouth for words.

He heard a long sigh on the other end of the line from his best friend. “Let me in.”

Jaskier frowned and pulled away to scowl at his phone. Yup. Definitely still a phone, not some weird portal to Geralt’s house. “What?”

“I’m outside, Jask. Let me in.” Geralt sounded… defeated. Jaskier had never heard that in his voice before, weary yes, exasperated frequently… but defeated? That was new. He scrambled over to his window and peered out. It was dark out still and the stars were masked by thick clouds but sure enough, there was Geralt standing across the street under a lamp post.

Jaskier threw open his window and leant out, still with the phone to his ear. He waved and Geralt gave a small two fingered salute. “What are you doing here?”

“I. I’ll explain.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier sighed and hung up the phone. He pulled on his dressing gown and ran downstairs. Geralt’s arms wrapped around him as soon as the front door was open. “Geralt?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Geralt, what’s wrong?” Jaskier held Geralt to his chest and stroked his hair. “You’re scaring me.”

Geralt hummed and his grip on Jaskier’s waist tightened.

Fuck.

“Ok, you big softie, let’s get you inside.” Jaskier half dragged Geralt into the house and sat them both down on his lumpy old sofa. Geralt curled up next to him with his head on Jaskier’s lap. Jaskier was borderline panicking. He’d never seen Geralt like this before. Geralt was the strong one. He was the one that comforted and protected Jaskier. Whatever had happened must have been fucking terrible to reduce Geralt to this state. “Did you need a drink or anything? I have chocolate? Do you want chocolate?”

“No.” Geralt grumbled and his fingers clung onto Jaskier’s dressing gown.  Jaskier bit his lip to stop himself from rambling. He knew he had a tendency to chatter away about nothing when he was nervous. Instead he kept stroking his fingers through Geralt’s hair and hummed as quietly as he could under his breath, only stopping when he had to yawn.  “Sorry.” Geralt mumbled but didn’t make any move to get up.

“S’fine. Just tired.”

“I’ll go.” Geralt said with a sigh.

“No. Don’t go. Talk to me, Geralt.” Jaskier asked in a whisper, afraid that Geralt would run from him.

“Nightmare.” Geralt admitted. “You. You were dead.”

“What?!”

“Fuck it was so real and…” Geralt cut himself off with a grunt.

Jaskier’s hands stilled in Geralt’s hair. “And?”

“Forget it.”

“Geralt, please.” Jaskier gently pulled at his friend’s shoulder and rolled him onto his back so he could look Geralt in the eyes. “Tell me.”

“And I never told you that I love you.” Geralt answered, soft as a whisper on the wind.

Jaskier stared down at Geralt with wide eyes. His breath was shaky and for once in his life, he was lost for words. “You… love me?”

“I said forget it.” Geralt rolled back onto his side, his long silver hair falling in front of his eyes.

Jaskier was still stunned into silence. Geralt…loved him. Geralt. His best friend of over a decade and fucking love of his life apparently loved him back… and he still hadn’t said a fucking thing. “I love you.” He breathed, his voice was quiet as a mouse but in the silence of his living room it felt like thunder. “I’ve… I’ve always loved you, Geralt. I thought you knew?”

Geralt rolled onto his back once more and scowled up at him. “You what?”

“I asked you out at university! I asked if you wanted to go to the beach dance with me?!” Jaskier clapped his hands over his mouth to stop himself from yelling more. “You. You said no.”

“That was…  a date?”

“Yes!” Jaskier moaned and rubbed his eyes, completely messing up his glasses. “Oh, god. Geralt. Fuck.”

“I don’t like dancing.” Geralt grumbled. “I didn’t know.”

“You love me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not… I’m not dreaming?” Jaskier squinted down at Geralt as he cleaned his glasses on the edge of his dressing gown.

“Don’t think so.”

Jaskier gazed down at Geralt in awe. This stupid beautiful man, his best friend, loved him. He brushed the loose strands of hair from Geralt’s eyes, shining, golden eyes that were more beautiful than the sun. “Fuck, I love you too” He leant down to kiss Geralt’s forehead. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Geralt hummed, his eyes fluttering shut under Jaskier’s kisses. Jaskier laughed, giddy with excitement and perhaps a little overtired. Geralt had fallen asleep in his lap. _______

Tag list: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @awitchersbard  @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato @moonysourenza @artistsfuneral @victorieschild @hailhailsatan @havenoffandoms (reminder you can be added/removed at any point!)

#the witcher #geraskier #getting together #hurt/comfort #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #modern au #wolfie's witcher writing #Jaskier has glasses #for reasons #Anonymous

[shortprince-cos]

The Woes Of An Emo

Summary: Virgil wants at least one rehearsal to not go wrong. Also, he's a simp. Also, I apologize in advance.

Warnings: Angst, mental breakdown, anxiety, swearing, miscommunication. Tell me if I need to ask anything else!

Note: Happy Asides day!!!! (hopefully it is, this was written in advance) Remember to tag your spoilers for a week and to respect everyone's opinions!!!!

{Masterlist} {Previous}

Chapter 7: Typical Day?

~~~~~

By next Monday, everyone knew that Patton and Logan were dating. They kept holding hands in the hallway, walking each other to class, and even flirting in front of everyone.

Virgil was a little jealous, though he didn't want to admit it. They were just so cute doing those couple-y things, and Virgil wanted to do that with someone. Well, not just someone, Princey and/or Roman.

Right. Roman. Virgil almost forgot about his crisis for a minute. He has confirmed that yes, he does apparently have a crush on Roman. Great. The guy he just rejected. Wonderful. The guy who probably didn't want anything the do with Virgil at the moment. Perfect.

How could he not, though? Roman, who got almost every lead in the musicals. Roman, who called teachers out on their unfairness. Roman, who's eyes lit up whenever he talked about Disney or musicals. Who could fight someone for hours if he had the motivation. Who, when he flirted, could drop his voice so unbearably low it sent shivers down Virgil's spine.

And oh goodness, Princey. Princey is amazing. He talks like he'll run out of time. Types like Virgil's the most important thing in the world. He also loves Disney and musicals and talks about them like theres no tomorrow. He just cares so much about Virgil, letting him vent about his anxieties, and even tells Virgil all of his deepest secrets and insecurities.

Oh, heh, guess we've been rambling, huh?

Needless to say, Virgil was not doing that good. The amount of stress was driving him mad. Everything was just too much; waiting for Princey to be better, trying to not get overwhelmed by Patton's friendliness, trying not to make everyone mad or disappointed with him, finding out he actually does have a crush on Roman, hoping Roman isn't mad at him, being the prop master for the musical, and even just schoolwork. It was exhausting.

By next Friday his dads wanted him to stay home and take a 'mental health day', but Virgil couldn't miss rehearsal or he'd probably get kicked from the show.

Speaking of the show, Virgil was currently sweeping up the auditorium seats when he heard a familiar voice.

"Virgil!" Gabi the stage manager called. "Please clean up the prop room, the actors messed up the organization."

"Yeah, sure. I'll lock up too, if you want?"

Gabi handed Virgil the keys. "You're a lifesaver, Virge. If we were getting paid, you'd get a raise."

"It's no problem." Virgil said bashfully.

"Thank you anyway!" Gabi said as she walked out of the auditorium.

So Virgil made his way over to the prop room, and started cleaning up the fiasco that the actors left behind.

It wasn't until fifteen minutes later when his phone buzzed, alerting him of a message.

He quickly looked at his phone to find a message from Princey! Virgil hasn't heard from him for awhile, so he was getting a little worried, but apparently he was doing a little better if he was talking to him again!

princeofyourdreams: call me please

Or not?

That was...not a normal message. Virgil's anxiety immediately spiked at the thought of calling Princey.

onthevirgeofananxietyattack: princey, u know how i feel about random calls

princeofyourdreams: i know im sorry but please

Virgil hesitated. Princey sounded not ok and obviously Virgil had to do something, but the idea of calling him was a lot to handle, especially when Virgil was, as his username said, on the verge of an anxiety attack because of everything going on at the moment, and one more bad thing could probably break him.

He hit call anyway.

"P-Princey?" Virgil asked nervously.

"Hey anx." Princey was obviously crying, and Virgil's heart shattered. But...something was familiar.

"Are you ok? What's wrong?"

"Everything. Everything's wrong. It has been for so long and I tried so hard to be ok but now I'm really not ok." Princey was full on sobbing now, and Virgil didn't know what he could do to help.

"Hey, hey. It's ok, just focus on my voice ok?"

Roman just sobbed more in response, and Virgil swore he heard an echo from somewhere.

It must be his imagination.

Virgil softened his voice. "Hey, Princey, it's going to be ok, whatever's wrong right now will be ok in the end, I promise."

"How-" He choked "How can you say that when-when you don't even know what's happening."

"Just tell me and I can help." Virgil wandered out of the prop room to pace while talking.

"If I tell you, you-you won't care. I'm surprised you don't not care already." He gasped for some more air as Virgil heard something shifting in the men's dressing room.

"Princey breathe." Virgil turned to the dressing room door. "I care about you. I promise. I won't stop caring about you for something like this."

Princey took a big breath. "THEN WHY ARE YOU PLAYING ME?!" He screamed, and so did the dressing room door.

Suddenly everything was silent except for the heavy breathing over the phone and through the door.

What did that mean? Was he mad at Virgil? What did Virgil do? And, oh yeah, was Princey actually behind that door?

Well, screw anxiety, theres only one way to find out.

He knocked on the door, and heard the knock through the phone.

"P-Princey?"

"Y-Yeah?"

Virgil took a deep breath and opened the door.

"...Hey, Virgil."

~~~~~

{Next}

HAHAHAHAHAHA THAT'S RIGHT! IT'S A CLIFFHANGER! Y'all knew the angst was gonna spill out at sometime, I'm just surprised that it took this long! Sorry this one is really short, I didn't really know what to do to get to this point. So I just wrote Virgil simping for two paragraphs lol

@irritating-lady-knight I hope you liked your small cameo! Surprise!

Thanks to @thefingergunsgirl (Emma! Ily!) for beta reading this chapter! It was a big help!!!!!

Taglist in reblog

Reblogs are appreciated!💖

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #kawaiikat54 fic #twoae fic #the woes of an emo fic #prinxiety fic #prinxiety #ts virgil #virgil sanders #ts roman #roman sanders #sanders sides high school au

[mxvladdy]

More than just a flirt

John Hancock X OC

Hi hi! My smut hand be rusty but nothing like completely self indulgent OC smut to bring me back :)

So I’m still new to tagging and the like but my Fallout 4 OC is GN but I do insinuate female genitals. Soooo ye *finger guns* 

If ya read it I hope a like it! 

John was a flirt; that’s all he ever could be. He was charming. He was witty. He was an adventure covered in an oversized trench coat. What bed partners he had came for one thing. The experience. The ability to boast loudly about fuckin’ a ghoul. Like it was a damn badge of honor. His whole life had been a stream of one night stands, and cold beds. That's all he ever could be. That’s all he ever would be.

So then why did he wake up so warm?

Cracking an eye open John reached behind him searching blindly for what was heating his back. His burned fingers were a complete contrast to the soft flesh that greeted him. Slowly, he traces down it, following the flow of the dark muscular till he is holding on to an arm wrapped around his middle.

“Morin’.” His bed partner huffs in his ear. Chestnut curls tickle his cheek as they hug him closer. Whiskey and melon sweet breath bringing back memories of their lips against his. Last night clicks in place. Ophelia. John rose quickly as if burned. This was wrong, they are a friend. A good friend, a trustworthy hardworking leader. They deserved better than-than…

“John?” Ophelia rose uncaring of how the blankets slipped from their arms. Old fabric pooling around their bare waist. They rub at their eyes wearily. “You ok?”

He froze at the edge of the mattress. Long fingers reaching for his pants on a very recognizable floor. He was in Ophelia’s room; or rather this was their hotel room. Damn. He couldn't remember a thing from last night. What did he take? Fuck. He could kick himself. Of all the one-nighters, he wanted to at least remember this one. “Ye doll, sorry...just didn't wanna wake ya.” He smiles, covering his momentary panic.

Ophelia frowned, sleepy hazel eyes narrowing into a familiar piercing glaze. They size him up. Reading him better than anyone ever had before. John couldn’t help but squirm. They looked at him just like when they had first met. Strong jaw tense and their chin high, silently calling out his bullshit.

“I'm fine, honest. Didn't expect to see you is all.” Hancock tried again tugging on his pants.

“In my own room?” His friend snorts, rising to go open the curtains. “Where else would I be?”

John is silent. “I don’t know. Not here-with me.” He keeps his back turned. It was stupid to linger. The warm tingling of their soft body seeps down into the floorboards leaving him aching and cold. Staring at his irradiated hands he could almost cry. Almost- his tear ducts had been scarred shut years ago.  

“John?” Ophelia comes within arms reach. He could sense their hand hovering close to his own boney shoulder. They drop it moments later. “You sure you’re ok? You coming down from a bad trip or somethin’?” John chuckles humorlessly. Was he that predictable? Stepping away from them he finishes dressing.  

“Ye sunshine. Don’t worry about it. Ain’t my first time and sure as hell won’t be my last.” He tosses out over his shoulder. “I’ll give ya a minute ta get ready and meet you out front.”

If Ophelia had anything to say after that they kept between their pretty little lips.

“I think we should head for shelter.” Ophelia says, looking up from the fallen mutant. Their arms filled with loot. John follows their gaze. His black eyes reflect the eerie shade of green growing in the sky. Rad storm. Looked like a big one too. He lights a cigarette and sticks it between his grimy teeth before helping collect a few more useful items.

“Closest place is probably that supermarket couple o’ klicks back.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. If they hoof it they could probably get there and pick off any ferals before the worst of the storm hit. Ophelia sighs, John knew how much they hated backtracking. The decision was made for them when their pip-boy starts clicking in warning.

“Well-” They frown, throwing a glance back at the ghoul. “You alright with taking two steps forward and ten steps back?” John laughs, tipping his tricorn up to flash them a quick wink.

“Shit doll- You just summed up my life in a sentence.” Offering a hand he helps the sharpshooter over some loose rubble. “You keep an eye out K? I know you’re low on ammo so I’ll take point.” Ophelia nods. Their sniper rifle slung uselessly across their back. Readying his shotgun John follows behind.

The storm hit just when he had expected. Dropping rain and hunks of debris on the two as they struggle to close the supermarket doors against the high winds. Thanks to their combined dumb luck the place was empty. The sentry bots long since destroyed and even a few tins of food were still scattered about the aisle. Ophelia left him to collect some and scout out any hidden lock boxes, leaving him to set up the sleeping bags and start a small fire. Cracking open a room-temperature beer he stares idly into the flicking flames. It grew steadily as he fed it bits of cardboard and kindling. The yellow glow touches his skin and starts to dry his drenched clothes. John contemplates his predicament while he waits for Ophelia to return. The memories of last night slowly start to come back to him in the silence. The tastes, and smells of washed sheets and sweating skin permeate his senses. Ophelia’s sweet mewls and gasps echo around in between his ears. Who gave them the right to make his name sound so sweet?

Shit-He knew he shouldn’t dwell on it. First rule of one-nighters is to live in the moment then walk away clean. But damn if he wasn’t the worst at following rules.

He relives it all the best he can, parts still blurring and blocked, like a scratch in a holotape. But he’ll take it. He’ll take the phantom feel of strong, sure fingers mapping his body. The ghost of a tongue slipping against his. Washing away the taste of mentats and cheap drinks. He can’t remember the last time he had felt so warm and wanted. Made the sudden distance he put between them hurt even more. Fuck him for getting greedy.

John flicks the butt of his cigarette into the roaring flames and searches for another. He grumbles in irritation as each pocket bears no fruit. “Here. I got some.” A familiar red and white box appears in his peripheral. Ophelia’s chipped yellow nail polish clashing with the old carton.

“Thanks, sunshine.” He rasps, taking the box. He can’t bear looking up for the crumbled container. The thought of making eye contact with them while his blood and brains were living in his trousers seemed unholy. Pulling out the least damaged cigarette of the lot he lights it with a practiced flick of his wrist. “Found anything good?”

They shrug, putting a few cans of beans and corn in the growing amount of embers around the fire pit to heat. “Some ammo and super glue. Also-” They grin, forcing him to look up. “Got you a present.” They pull a bottle out from behind their back to brandish it at him triumphantly. He stares. Not at the bottle, but at the way that little pull of muscle brightens up their whole face. That signature gapped tooth smile warming him better than the beer and firelight combined. He reaches numbly for the bottle. A Nuka-Cola Quantum, the chill of the bottle a welcomed surprise.

He and the rest of the crew had learned over the years not to reject a gift, no matter how valuable. MacCready nearly had a heart attack when he was gifted with a shiny new sniper rifle. That pretty little custom piece came with all the bells and whistles. Not to mention a few boxes of specialized ammo. John had zoned out when the other man started rambling rapid-fire over specs clutching the gun to him like a newborn. Each of the core companions got some good shit from time to time. He had some absolutely sinful blades and an old bottle of pre war bourbon tucked away in his office. Valentine had gotten some fantastic upgrades to his hardware and repairs to his offices. Hell- Curie got a whole bloody body.

Can’t beat these job perks.  

“What’s the occasion?” He pops the cap off with the blunt end of his pocket knife, taking a pull from the bottle. The rush of sugar and god knows what else damping his headache.

Ophelia shrugs from across the pit. Pulling off their worn boots to warm their feet by the fire. “I remember you said they perk you up after a particularly bad crash.” They pause, face closing down for a moment, before looking up in horror. “I would have thought- I mean. I- you-I hope I didn’t do anything last night that upset you. I know you were a bit buzzed and I was way past tipsy. But, if I stepped out of line you would tell me right ?” John looks at them beyond confused.

"What?" He asks dumbly.

" Is," Ophelia waves vaguely at the distance between them. Normally when they camped together they were thick as thieves. Joking and nudging at each other's shoulders. Others used to joke about them getting a room. Now it felt like a great chasm had opened between them. "all of this about last night."

"Oh. Nah. Don't gotta worry none doll." John shrugs. Best to rip the bandage off now then later. "It's in the past, best leave it there. " He lies. It burns his throat worse than jet, but he has to. If only to protect his crumbling pride. One day he'll believe his own words. Hopefully.

"Well I am worried. How 'bout we start over. What’s wrong?" Ophelia jabs.

John feels heat rise under his thick skin. Just pokin’ a fresh cut tonight huh..."Kinda hard to start over after having someone's dick down your throat." He tosses it out carelessly. A shit attempt to derail the coming train wreck. Ophelia doesn't even flinch.

"Well, it's a damn good thing we both know how flexible I am then.” They rebuttal smoothly. “So, I'll ask again. What’s. Wrong?" The ghoul shrinks under their heated look. He was never keen on being hit with these eyes. Meant another kinda storm was brewing.

John throws his hands up in frustration. Had they never heard the phrase 'read the room'. "What, ya never had a one nighter before?" He regrets it the second the words leave his lips. He'd never seen someone flinch from words before. "Look, doll, I ain't one for making things awkward. I know the rules so let's just forget it and move on."

Ophelia deflates. Their signature look that could pin a super mutant in fight extinguished just like that. John watches them mouth over his words slowly. Clearly hating the taste of them as much as he did. "Is- was that what you wanted out of it?" Ophelia sighs. They dig a hand through sweat tangled locks. The tight coils of their hair protesting the drag of their fingers. His own fingers itch watching them, remembering the feel of their hair wrapped around his hand as he pulled them in for a kiss.

"What did you want out of it?" He asks, feeling dumber than a radroach.

Ophelia mimics him, throwing their hands up with a short laugh. "John, I thought it was clear. I don't go sleeping around with my friends and colleagues for shits and giggles. Who do I always ask to join me on travels?"

“Dogmeat?” John jokes, the knot in his stomach loosening with hope. It's unimaginable really- and yet. Were they serious? The past couple of times out they had always come to him. Even when they would be at a strategic disadvantage for whatever crazy scheme they had brewing. Only time he wasn’t Ophelia’s top pick was when some Minutemen tasks needed to be done. Even then He could always expect them at his front door the moment their feet landed on safe ground. A bottle of liquor in hand and an unbelievable story to tell.

“Not funny.” They chastised him scooting until they were seated next to him, knees brushing. "My idea for this morning was to maybe get breakfast and a semi decent cup of coffee. But I guess this is fine." They scrunch their nose in distaste at the cans warming in the fire pit.

“Shit doll,” John reaches out, wrapping a wiry arm around their waist. “Can I make it up to you? For being such an ass?” They hum in jest covering his hand with their own. The kiss that follows was unlike anything that he expected. It was slow and sweet. So different from the fast pecks he would get with others he slept with. He deepens it greedily, not ready to part just yet.

“You’re lucky I find you attractive.” Ophelia whispers into his mouth tossing his tricorn to the side and straddling his narrow hips. “We are going to have a talk about all this. Just-later-much, much later. I need a repeat performance of last night now that we are both sober.”

John groans letting them push him down. “Damn-you got it. You got whatever you want if you mean it.” Ophelia scoffs, ridding themselves of their baggy jacket. John can’t help but marvel at how beautiful they were backlit by the roaring flames. The orange glow of the light wrapping around their dark skin much like he craved to do. The flicking of it lapping at their smooth skin. Flashes of last night coming back to him of his tongue traveling down the same areas. He would have to remap them.

“As if I could ever lie to your smart ass.” They scoff grinding down on the growing bulge hidden in his rough pants. “But you have been lying to me and yourself it seems.”

He grunts in acknowledgment eyeing the way their ass moves. “You are absolutely right.Fuck- how can I make it up to you?”

Ophelia smirks cupping his cheeks. Their eyes meet. Rich hazel meeting cold black. The moment digs dip under his tough hide. The raw emotions in their stare makes his throat dry. “Put that mouth to good use- hmm? I know it’s good for more than some self-depreciation.”  

Spurred by Ophelia’s words he flips their positions, placing the sniper down on his bedroll. John sinks lower, kissing and nipping at their hip bone. Mapping out all the sensitive parts of their body. His tongue tracing the silver little streaks on their belly. Ophelia’s stomach twitches at the feel of his warm breath on their stretch marks, cursing quietly as he finds their slick core. Their nails score his scalp, dragging a hiss of pleasure from his lips. He licks with gusto, taking full advantage of their isolated positions to make them scream.  

“John-” They mew clawing at his shoulders to pull him back up to their kiss swollen lips. He goes leaving a trail of kisses in his wake before giving them a surprisingly chaste kiss on their lips.

“You sure ‘bout this doll?” He didn’t know what would happen after this, but it felt so different compared to his other recurring bed partners. He did want to see them again. He wanted this relationship to bleed into every aspect of his life. If he could relive that morning wrapped in their arms till his brain was splattered out on some dusty alleyway then he would. Without question.

Ophelia nods, reading in between the lines of his multilayered question. If there was one power figure in this wasteland they trusted, it was him. Wrapping a strong leg around his strong waist they shimmy off their tactical pants. Their eyes lock onto his pants as if the ratty briefs offended them.  John chuckles and casually loosens the draw strings keeping his pants up. Ophelia takes it from there scooting the rough material down his legs. They pur, grasping his erection and stroking it. Their dexterous fingers play with his head drawing out a healthy bit of pre.

John sighs and rests his forehead on Ophelia’s brow breathing in their naturally clean scent. It reminded him of the rare times he could get freshly washed laundry mixed with the springtime. Shen the wild plants strong enough to brave this cruel world sprouted. He kisses them, nipping at their chin and collarbone while they drive him wild. “Doll, please.” He gasps, back arching into their touch. “You’re killin’ me ya know.” Ophelia chuckles returning a deep kiss.

“Good, consider it penance for thinking I couldn’t love you.”

John heaves, lost for breath as their words hit him. He pulls back floundering.  “You mean that?” He sees the rapid fire thoughts racing through their wide eyes. Shock that they let slip that dirty little secret, fear of what he would do, then a stark resolution.

“Of course.” Ophelia nods through their embarrassment. Their sharp cheeks beginning to warm under his gaze. They say it like it’s an obvious statement. Like he should have just known. In a way he did. He just couldn’t believe it.

John takes the initiative now.  Dragging Ophelia down to his scarred lips preening when he feels them sigh into it. Their tongue teasing his telling him point blank what they wanted. Grabbing onto their plush hips John grinds down on them, rubbing his stiff erection through the seam of their thighs and wet entrance. The moans that elicited from them made his radioactive blood boil with need. He had to have them again, last night was a dud. He would savoir this time.

Positioning themselves over John’s cock Ophelia shoots him a sultry wink before sinking down onto him slowly. “Oh fuck me.” He groans, dropping his head to his pillow. Their body was feverish around his, soft, pliant and so willing.

“That was my intention.” They grab onto his shoulders for support. Eyelids fluttering heavily. “If I’m not getting that across now, perhaps I should quit while I’m behind?” They joke as they ride him. Their hips move in slow tight circles. It’s enough to drive him wild.

John digs his fingers into the supple flesh of Ophelia’s hips. With any luck he’ll leave bruises. Excellent. Ophelia couldn’t stop John as he flipped their position. He pinned them roughly down on his sleeping bag. “Don’t worry Doll. You got your point across very well. Don’t need to go putting yourself out like that.”

“You’re one to ta-” John thrusts into them cutting off their snark. Taking  devilish delight in flustering them. Setting a fast pace he drives in deep revealing in their cries of pleasure. God damn- this was almost enough to make him wanna go sober. How did he ever think one night would be enough?

“Fuck! I don’t deserve you.” His hisses cutting through the wet slaps of skin on skin. Ophelia does nothing but groan. Neither of them last long. Much to John’s chagrin. He finishes with a choked shout, hips and stomach twitching as he spills himself on their thigh. Ophelia doesn’t fare much better. They bite hard at the rough skin of his neck, nails scoring his back with a perfect mixture of pleasure and pain while they came undone beneath him.

“Do you mean it?” He asks, cupping the back of Ophelia’s skull. They wrap an arm around his neck nuzzling close, draping their body across his.

“Ye- but if you talk down about yourself again I’ll have to feed you to a deathclaw.” John chuckles feeling his eyelids getting heavy. He wouldn’t put it past them.

#Fallout 4 #john hancock #john hancock x sole survivor #it's smut #it's angsty #it's oc time #crusty boi is best boi

[hellroots]

『 MOBILE FRIENDLY RULES 』

— here you will find my rules or can also find them on my gdocs as well once i’m done with it. please like this if you read it, but otherwise don’t interact with this post, thank you. rest assured that i always read my moots rules before following and that i fully expect the same courtesy. i tried not to let them get too long but feel free to ask me anything you wanna know about them if it’s not clear ok?

 『 THE MUN』

NOXTROMUN, THEY/THEM, 21+, BRAZILIAN

shy but friendly ! i don't follow for follow, if i follow you that means i've read your rules and want to write with you. i have no triggers nor squicks of my own except drama in the dash, for that reason i do not engage in callouts/witch hunts and if you do it on a constant basis i might have to hard block you for my own peace of mind. although i may come off too strong/harsh, i am always up to talking things out privately. as long as you are civil, so am i. any form of hate will be deleted and blocked -  sometimes mocked, if i’m feeling cocky…

『 THE BLOG』

HELLROOTS, INDIE ( POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING AND NOT MINOR FRIENDLY ), HIGHLY SELECTIVE & PRIVATE MULTIFANDOM MULTIMUSE

primarily run on a low activity \ effort and with a slow speed.. my muselist changes a lot, depends a lot on what i’m watching lately so bear with me please. this is a drama free zone, therefore do realise that mun ≠ muses and (obviously) writing ≠ condoning !! as a quick note, do keep in mind that my blog is my safe space, just as your blog is yours - you are responsible for your own internet experience just as i am responsible for mine. should anything in my blog annoy/trigger/squick you, i strongly encourage you to block me & not write with me - your mental health is far more important ( for me, and hopefully for you as well ) than rp. on that note, please do not softblock me - that’s annoying, just hardblock please.

『 THE TRIGGERS』

TRIGGER HEAVY, PROPERLY TAGGED AND TAKING NO CRAP

i  usually  tend to write for trigger heavy fandoms (such as asoiaf, kingdom and others) and may incorporate some of it into my writing, muses' backgrounds and overall characterization. if you're bothered \ squicked \ triggered by that, i kindly encourage you to reconsider and not follow me. no amount of rp fun is worth your mental health.  i try to tag everything accordingly and i fully expect the same courtesy for our followers' sakes. be aware that there may be mentions of death, gore, violence, consanguinamory \ endogamy (especially when it comes to the lannisters and kekkei genkai clans), rape ( kingdom, though it will only be mentioned on the character’s backstory ) and cannibalism ( hannibal and kingdom ) , as well as unhealthy relationships and dynamics alongside with powerplay, and otherwise bad behaviours.  for all that is sacred, please, do note that i, the mun, do not approve, support or condone any of these actions or behaviours !!  i simply am capable of separating fiction from reality. as long as everything is properly tagged, with mutual consent and there are no minors involved (muse and especially not muns), . i support the right of a consenting adult to explore these awful dark topics in a safe fictional environment with other like minded consenting adults, people shouldn’t have to share their traumas to strangers on the internet to explain why they write what they write, be considerate. if that notion bothers you perhaps you might not want to interact with me, for both of ours sakes. fair warning, most of my graphics and aesthetics might trigger those who have xylophobia/hylophobia (phobia of trees or wooded areas), and considering it is a main theme here i will not be tagging it, i'm sorry. but its too many. however, if you want me to create a special tag for you, there's no issue! it will be either "[your mun name] don't look!" or "[your url] don't look!", whichever you prefer. QUICK EDIT/ADDITION: i do not believe that aging up fictional characters is inherently a bad thing - from what i understand, the whole appeal of aging up a character is that while you like their personality but you do not want them to be kids (for whatever reason) but insteasd adults. if you are one of those who think that aging up a character is automatically something bad (without even knowing why it was done in the first place) don’t bother following me because i do think that opinion is quite silly.

『 THE INTERACTIONS』

OC, DUPLICATE, MULTIMUSE AND CANON DIVERGENT FRIENDLY

my tagging system is simple, i tag triggers as "tw; x" and . images that may be sensitive or triggering as "cw; x". you can further see how my tags work by taking a look at my tag dump post, just search ‘tag dump’ on my blog and you will find the most recent one i’m using.    i shitpost and talk oocly on the dash constantly but you can easily blacklist my tag if it bothers you.  here's something you should know about me:  when i'm doing drafts i usually don't feel like chatting much, so please do not spam me because i won't be able to reply, i love to talk with my moots but sometimes it overwhelms me.  on that note, please don't pester me for replies ic or ooc, i am slow and chances are that if you try to guilt trip me or just nag me about it i'll leave as the ones i'll get to in the later end on purpose, just out of spite. yes, i be like that.   please be patient - i’ll never pressure you and expect the same in return.  plotting wise: i prefer to just wing it with just a faint idea of where to take the thread but honestly i'm cool with anything. please be considerate when formatting your replies, i have a bad eyesight & if i can't read it, i won't bother with it.   my own formatting is simple and clean.   on a smaller note, please bear with me and my muses as my muses ramble a lot but you don't have to match the length, just give me something to work with. if we write together, the chances of me making edits/tagging you in stuff are really big, just lmk if you don’t like that though !

『 THE FLEET』

MOSTLY BI/PAN MUSES, MULTISHIP AND MULTIVERSE, SMUT FRIENDLY

i love shipping but i like my ships to be devices to move the plot/dynamics/muses forward, every once in a while though i partake in some much loved self indulgent shipping. just because i ship a certain pairing don't presume that my characters are approaching yours with second intentions, please.   most of the time i like to reblog those relationship memes, so if you’re interested in a ship the best way (other than  sending me a message ofc) to let me know is by sending ones. there will be some triggering ships here ( like the lannisters, both cersei x jaime and joanna x tywin are my otps, and potential inter clan ships, like with the hyugas - i mean how the hell you think they keep the byakugan in their family?? ) that may either be played with trusted friends or be mentioned/reblogged sometimes, all properly tagged so you can easily blocklist/avoid it.  most of my muses are either bi or pan, those who are not will be specified. don't be afraid to reach out to me for shipping right off the bat - i'd rather have you to be open and honest with me about the interactions you want than lying to me, just know that there will be needed some plotting and threading first to see if your muses match. as an adult, my blog is smut friendly, i partake in sexual sunday a lot because some of my muses are very lewd in nature, you can blacklist my tag if that bothers you as well.

『 THE FINAL NOTES』

GENERAL RP ETIQUETTE APPLIES, CREDITS, THANK YOU FOR READING MY RULES

lastly but not least, general rp etiquette applies on my blog: no godmodding, forced ships, etc. there’s only ONE thing that truly makes me go apeshit crazy, and it’s when people don’t read my rules. i ALWAYS find out and it’s not pretty; i block it like it’s hot, ♪ ♫ ♬ block it like it’s hot ♪ ♫ ♬.   i strongly assure you that i always read your rules before both following you and also before sending memes, just in case. on a much smaller note, i’m not so hot on single shipping and i really feel weirded out about people forcing me to pic who i’m going to interact with due to theirs DNI’s. while i get DNI’s when it comes to actual predators, when it’s something seemingly random chances are that i’ll softblock you because it weirds me out how volatile some can be when it comes to a hobby. i have some trigger heavy hcs ( for example, the one about jiraiya’s hypersexuality being rooted in trauma that he suffered at a young age ) that i share with only a few muns that are closer with me, so i’ll be mentioning them every once in a while but won’t share them, please don’t insist.  i don’t really like most of the main characters of the franchises i write for, and when it comes to certain characters  i reserve the right to decline an rp for my own comfort. for further info on what i use to make my graphics please check my “CREDITS.” tag.  most of my stuff is made by me, i’ve got a lowkey rph in case you wanna check it out it’s @brazucahelps, however if you want a custom content i can see if i get a free time to come up with something :D

 IF YOU READ THIS FAR, THANK YOU SO MUCH — JUST ONE LAST THING, COULD YOU PLS LIKE THIS SO I KNOW YOU’VE READ IT? <3 THANKS!

#RULES.

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Day 5: Holy - Llewyn Davis

Day 5: Holy - Llewyn Davis

Pairing: Llewyn Davis x F!Reader 

Rating: 18 + for language 

November Writing Challenge 

Day 4: Tweeted: Benny Miller 

December 24th, Christmas Eve, 1962

Christmas, the best time of the year. Your small studio apartment is decorated on every surface. Fresh garland draped around the window, a wreath with a large red bow on the back of the door, a small Christmas tree with twinkle lights and few bulbs of red and green. The room is as festive as you can make it on a small budget. It was a small luxury to buy the fresh decorations instead of the synthetic but to you it’s what makes it worth it. You go around lighting small candles, and the warm smells of vanilla fill the room. You take in a deep breath and smile at the glow from the lights. 

You move to the small coat closet and pull out the two packages wrapped in old newspaper, wrapped with a large silver bow and you smile at the name on the tag before placing them under the tree. You move to the window and look at the picturesque scene outside. The blanket of snow on the ground was made almost brighter by the colorful lights bouncing off it. You turn over to your small heater and turn it on. Making sure the room is as warm as you can afford. This was a special Christmas this year.

Last week your sometimes “roommate” Llewyn Davis was making his usual rotations of couches when he came to you. During the visit you asked about his holiday plans knowing he usually spent it with his sister and her family. He got very quiet before telling you he and her had a small falling out and he honestly didn’t know where he was going to end up. You immediately offered your small home to him and after some deliberation he agreed. He was hesitant, worried about ruining your holiday with your family but when you told him you would be alone he agreed. 

As you watched the snow blow thicker outside the window you began to wonder if maybe he got a better offer or made up with his sister and was now spending the holiday with her. Your thoughts began to grow sad before you realized the buzzer was ringing loudly in the small space. You ran to the door before pressing the button for the speaker. 

“Hello?” 

“It’s Llewyn,” can the slightly shaky reply. 

You press the buzzer and walk back to your couch grabbing a blanket before putting the kettle on the stove to boil water. A few minutes later knocking draws your attention. You walk over to the door and pull it open gesturing for him to come inside. Wearing a threadbare coat, shoes leaking water on the floor, and shivering you begin grabbing his things from his hands. He opens his mouth to protest before you silence him with a look. He lets out a sigh lifting his arms to help you take off his coat, wrapping the warm blanket around his shoulders, you push him towards the couch. 

Dropping to your knees you remove his shoes, and socks. Reaching for the slippers on the coffee table before sliding his feet into the furry shoes. 

“When did you get those?” he asks, pointing to the shoes. 

“I just had them around,” you gesture with your hand vaguely. 

“Y- you just so happen to have a pair of men’s slippers in my size sitting around your apartment,” he asks, the shiver not quite gone. 

You choose not to answer, rising from the ground back to the small kitchen pulling down a cup and putting a scoop of instant coffee inside before topping it off with the boiling water. You bring the cup over to him and you swear you can see the steam rise as his frozen hands envelope the cup. 

“Where were you? I was expecting you here a few hours ago. I was beginning to think you forgot about me…” you ask. 

“No...no I didn’t forget I had to go over to Jim and Jeans and get my stuff. Although I almost didn’t come I know how much of a downer I can be and I didn’t want to ruin your Christmas.” 

You take a moment before answering, “I’m glad you didn't. I can’t tell you how much I have been looking forward to spending Christmas with you Llewyn. It’s all I have been able to think about.” 

You look away from him afraid that you had said too much, you feel his hands slightly warmer from the cup take your own and you raise your eyes to meet his. “I’m glad I came too, I...I’ve been looking forward to this. It’s so easy to be with you, you don’t expect me to be a performing monkey like the Gorfeins or make me feel like a piece of shit like Jean. You just let me be myself and I love that about you.” 

You smile brightly at him before you're interrupted by the sound of the timer going off in the kitchen. You hop up and slide on your oven mitts pulling out several dishes all at once. Fluffy mashed potatoes, roasted green beans, a small honey ham, and a cherry pie. Llewyn slowly rises from the couch walking over to you.

“I know that it’s not prime rib or a big fancy turkey but I wanted to do something special for us, plus we’ll have plenty to eat for the next few days, I’m sorry it’s not more I ju-” your rambling is cut off by Llewyn who wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. 

You let out a large sigh before you wrap your arms around his neck. He still feels cold beneath your hands. You pull back, placing your hands on his shoulders. 

“Your skin feels like ice Llewyn, why don’t you take a hot shower, I’ll leave a change of clothes for you in the bathroom and make us each a plate. Does that sound ok?” 

“Ok… but I don’t actually have anything else to change into, I haven’t been to the laundry mat in a few days. This is the last clean thing I have I wa-”

“I will leave you something clean in the bathroom for after your shower,” you cut him off before he can finish. 

He gives you that look again, “you just happen to have clothes my size sitting around-” 

“Just go take a goddamn shower Llewyn,” you roll your eyes at him. 

He looks surprised at your outburst but doesn’t argue with you further. His hands slowly leave your waist before he turns towards the small bathroom. When the door shuts behind him you go to your dresser and pull out some boxers, dark blue sweatpants, thick wool socks, and a short sleeve white t-shirt. You hear the water turn on and the gentle sounds of Llewyn humming under the water before you slightly open the door putting the clothes on the toilet seat before closing it again. 

You know he’s probably going to say something about the clothes, but you could care less. You cared about Llewyn and that included getting him some clean clothes, a pair of slippers, necessities. To your immense surprise he says nothing, only comes behind you and hugs you from behind tightly, a quiet whisper of thanks against your ear before he’s pulling back and helping you put the plates on the coffee table, pouring each of you a glass of red wine. 

You clink glasses and dig in. You both have seconds and with your encouragement Llewyn has thirds, you’ve polished off a bottle and a half of wine and you’re both warm and comfortable under a blanket, your feet in his lap. 

“Llewyn,” you purr, “will you play for me?” 

Llewyn reaches towards his case and pulls out his guitar. You go to move your feet but he pulls them back and places one hand on your ankle keeping you in place. Balancing the guitar on your legs gently, “what do you want me to play? Something happy? Sad? Festive?” 

“Festive, it is Christmas after all.” He strums the guitar and you fall a little bit deeper in love with him. The way he plays is like he’s making love to the room with his music, and god when he sings....

O holy night, the stars are brightly shining

It is the night of our dear Savior's birth

Long lay the world, in sin and error pining

'Til He appeared and the soul felt its worth

A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices

For yonder breaks, a new and glorious morn

Fall on your knees

O hear the angels' voices

O night divine

O night when Christ was born

O night divine

O night

O night divine

A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices

For yonder breaks, a new and glorious morn

Fall on your knees

O hear the angels' voices

O night divine

O night when Christ was born

O night divine

O night…

You can’t help the tears that slowly make their way down your cheeks and when Llewyn looks up from his guitar he frowns before putting the guitar down. His hands are warm and calloused as they wipe the tears from your cheeks and when he speaks it’s no louder than a whisper. 

“Why are you crying?” 

“It’s just...you're so incredibly talented and it breaks my heart that everyone doesn’t get to see that,” you tell him. 

His smile is small and gentle before he pulls you closer to him so you’re sitting in his lap, his arms wrapped around your waist, your head in the crook of his neck, his own resting against yours. You're so warm and comfortable and when Llewyn starts to sing quietly your eyes grow heavy and you drift off to sleep. 

December 25th, Christmas Day, 1962 

The next morning you wake up and feel slightly disoriented not knowing exactly where you are. A strong arm is wrapped around your waist and a warm body is pressed against your back, a blanket draped over the both of you. You're on the couch and you turn as slowly as possible to look at the body behind you. His curls droop slightly over his forehead and all the creases in his forehead are smooth, he looks truly at peace and your heart beats a little faster when you look at his lips soft and slightly open as he breathes. You don’t move afraid to break the spell, his grip on your waist tightens before his eyes slowly open. 

You both say nothing, but his lips pull up into a small smile which you quickly return. Your not sure what to call this thing between you, friendship, or something more. But, you know there is no one else you want to wake up too. 

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper. 

“Merry Christmas honey,” his words are slightly slurred with sleep. 

“I’m going to get up and get us some coffee then we can open presents,” you don’t miss the slight droop of Llewyn's mouth. 

“You told me last week we weren’t doing presents, I don’t have anything for you.” 

“Are you here?” you ask. 

He gives you that look again, “yes,” he says. 

“Then I got what I wanted for Christmas this year,” you pull away and he reluctantly lets you go, letting out a small sigh. You know how much it bothers him that you buy him things, but at this point you really don’t care anymore. 

You boil the water for the coffee, preparing two cups. Llewyn cracks your window taking a long drag from his cigarette. The kettle whistles and you pour the water bringing them over to the table. Llewyn blows the last of the smoke out the window before coming back to the couch. You go over to the tree and grab the two packages. One small box and a medium sized package. 

“Two? Honey, I know what you said but I-” 

“Just open it Llewyn,” you hand him the medium sized box first. 

He tears the paper gently and when he opens the box his mouth drops open looking at the new brown boots, and wool socks. His eyes tear up, but before he can protest you are handing him the small box. He puts the boots aside, and carefully unwraps the box before pulling back the paper, and when he lifts the lid his breath stops. 

Inside a gentle pillow of tissue paper is a single key. “Now I know what you are thinking, but hear me out. I didn’t give you this key out of pity or anything. I am giving you this key to my apartment because I want you to live here Llewyn. I want you to play at the Gaslight, gigs, and chase the dream I don’t want you to ever stop. But I also want you warm, fed, and safe. I want our days to be spent with music, laughter, and….” you trail off leaving it open. 

“What honey?” he begs quietly, “music, laughter, and what?”

“Fuck…” you promised yourself you wouldn’t cry, “fuck it….I love you Llewyn. I want you to make music, and I want to support your dream and I want you to do it here where I can keep you safe and love you. I know you think that you have nothing to give me but I....I just want you.” 

Llewyn doesn’t respond for several minutes and your heart feels like it’s about to stop. “Do you mean it?” he asks quietly. 

You can only nod. 

He scoots off the couch and over to you still sitting in front of the tree. On his knees he places his head in your lap and his hands sit on your waist. You don’t move for a moment before your hands run through his curls. He slowly raises his head looking at you, his eyes glassy. 

“Fuck...you are the most incredible woman I have ever known in my entire life. I thought for so long that I was destined to fail in everything, my music, my life, my relationships. But then one night when I was at my lowest bleeding in a fucking alley this angel appeared. You took me home, cleaned me up, and I have spent the last year falling deeper and deeper in love with you. So if you are serious and you will have me, then yes I will move in with you and I will spend however long you have me...proving to you how much I love you, how much I adore you, and how fucking grateful I am to have you in my life.” 

You release a sob and pull him by his shirt and when he kisses you can only describe the feeling in one word, home. 

Day 6: Carpet - Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia 

#November writing challenge #day 5 #inside llewyn davis #Oscar Isaac #llewyn davis x reader #llewyn davis

[elizabear]

my home is your body, how can I stay away?

I WROTE MY FIRST FIC. And I was brave enough to post it. So, if you want to read a fake-friends-to-real-lovers Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes post-Endgame AU where we pretend that Steve and Natasha are still alive and well in the 21st century, you can check it out below or read it on AO3.

Title: my home is your body, how can i stay away?

Rating: Explicit

Category: M/M

Relationship: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes (background Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff)

Additional tags: it’s like fake/pretend relationship, but it’s actually fake best friendship, fake friends to real lovers, post-Avengers Endgame, Epilogue What Epilogue, Natasha Romanoff Lives, Steve Rogers Stays, is everyone bi?, ambiguous barbershop quarter, bisexual Sam Wilson, bisexual Bucky Barnes, bisexual Steve Rogers, bisexual Natasha Romanoff, Captain America Sam Wilson

Words: 30,367

Link to AO3 here

Summary: "Anyway, I think if we team up, we can convince Steve that we’re best friends now. Then he’ll get jealous and remember how much more important we are to him than Natalia.”

Sam considers this carefully. He’s never been pressed so close to Bucky before, their faces only inches away from one another. From this distance Sam can see how long and thick Bucky’s eyelashes are. He can smell the pleasant scents of Bucky’s clean sweat and spicy aftershave. 

He wants to press his thumb into the cleft in Bucky’s chin.

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea,” Sam hears himself say.

“Great!”

After they save the world, after Steve leaves and returns again with a smiling Natasha tucked tenderly underneath his arm, after all the happy and tearful reunions, after Tony Stark’s funeral, Sam Wilson takes a minute to sit his ass underneath a tree and freak the fuck out about the fact that he’s just been dead for the last five years.

He’s listening to a robot tell him for the fifth time that his mother’s number is “no longer in service,” his hand shaking as he presses redial on Steve’s borrowed cell phone. He wants to call his sister, wants to find out what happened to his niece, but he can’t remember his sister’s number and the only thing he can think of to do is just to keep calling his mom over and over again. He’s starting to really settle into the panic attack, gulping for air as his heart pounds wildly in his chest, when Bucky Barnes squats down beside him, perfectly balanced on those lean and powerful thighs.

“You OK?” Bucky asks quietly. Sam shakes his head silently, too overwhelmed to even begin to answer that question.

Like people are just OK after waking up five years in the future. Like people are just OK after turning to ash and then reforming into a human being. What is he even made of right now? Is he made of the same atoms and cells he was made of before he turned to dust? Is he even the same person? Did Sam Wilson die? Is he just a new Sam Wilson that Bruce Banner created out of thin air, a brand new body with the same memories as the first Sam Wilson? God, what is this Ship of Theseus nonsense, everything about this is so fucked up—

“OK, I need you to breathe,” Bucky says gently, interrupting Sam’s spiral into actual fucking madness. Bucky grabs Sam’s hand and pulls it to his chest. “Can you feel my chest moving? Feel me breathing in and out? Stop thinking, close your eyes, and match your breaths to mine.”

Sam squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on the feel of Bucky’s chest rising and falling underneath his hand. Bucky’s sternum is flat and bony underneath Sam’s palm, but he can feel the gentle rise of Bucky’s strong pectoral muscles underneath his fingers. Bucky’s skin is warm through his shirt, and Sam focuses on the solid feel of him as he follows Bucky’s slow and deep breathing. Bucky’s thumb presses firmly against the inside of Sam’s wrist. There’s an anxious tingling all over Sam’s skin, washing over him from head to toe, making Sam afraid that he’s going to buzz right out of his skin.

But Bucky is breathing deep and slow, and Sam lets himself relax into it, feels himself fall in sync with this not-quite-stranger, his best friend’s best friend, who is very considerately trying to keep Sam from falling apart.

“You’re doing great, Sam,” Bucky praises gently. “Just keep breathing, you’re doing great.”

“I hate this,” Sam mutters.

Bucky strokes his thumb over the sensitive skin of Sam’s wrist and leans closer, hesitating briefly before resting his forehead against Sam’s.

“Just breathe, Sam. You’re doing so good,” he murmurs softly.

Sam feels a warmth uncurling deep in his belly, reacting to Bucky’s closeness and his quiet praise. Is Bucky the most instinctually effective peer counselor in the world or is he actually seducing Sam right out of a panic attack? Sam absolutely cannot think about this now, he needs to focus on the original source of his practical and existential terror.

“I hate every part of this,” Sam admits, frustrated. “I hate that I can’t get in touch with my mom. I hate that I don’t know if my niece is OK. Bucky, who has been taking care of my niece?”

“Hey, it’s OK, Sam.” Bucky says, his tone gentle and reassuring. “We’ll find your niece. If she survived the Snap, Steve and Natalia would have kept track of her. They wouldn’t have just let her disappear into the system. You have friends.”

“Right,” Sam says, feeling that glacier sitting atop his chest begin to recede a little. “OK. Friends. Steve and Natasha will know how to find Michelle. I just need to ask Steve and Natasha how to find Sarah and Michelle.”

“Great! See, you have a plan now and everything,” Bucky says encouragingly. “Everything is going to be fine. You’re going to be fine, Sam.” Bucky leans back onto his heels, and Sam breathes a little deeper as the world comes into sharper focus.

Sam nods. This is all going to be fine. He’s alive, he’s breathing, and he has his hand on Bucky Barnes’s warm, firm chest. Bucky’s eyes are kind, and Sam can almost understand, maybe for the first time, why Steve cared so much about bringing Bucky home. Maybe Bucky isn’t so bad. Maybe everything is going to be fine. Sam can just about manage, now, to stuff all this panic inside his chest where it can’t hurt him. If he just stuffs it in there forever, he will never have to deal with it.

Sam takes a moment to congratulate himself on his healthy coping strategies.

“You’re not too bad at this, man,” Sam says. “Where did you learn to handle a panic attack like that?”

“Well, I mean, I had a lot of them after realizing that I was responsible for literally dozens of grisly murders,” Bucky replies dryly. “But also I spent like fifteen years obsessing over the state of Steve Rogers’s lungs and trying to keep him from dying of asthma so he could grow up and be Captain America.”

Right. Captain America. That’s the other thing he’s panicking about.

“Hey, what just happened?” Bucky asks gently. Bucky strokes his thumb over Sam’s wrist. “Your blood pressure just shot way up again.”

“Tell me you’re not some kind of human sphygmomanometer,” Sam says. “I don’t have the patience for that level of weird right now. Stop monitoring my blood pressure. That’s creepy.”

“OK,” Bucky says slowly. “Sorry. What’s going on?”

“Steve asked me to be Captain America. Says he’s not retiring, but he’s needed off-world for a while, and he thinks I should be the one to carry the shield.”

Suddenly, just like that, the strange, tentative peace between them shatters. Bucky’s face turns white, then flushes a deep red.

“Steve asked you to be Captain America,” Bucky repeats coldly. All traces of warmth are gone from Bucky’s face, and Bucky’s mouth settles into a grim line. “Excuse me a moment.”

Sam sighs as Bucky stalks off in Steve’s general direction.

Bucky returns a few moments later, Steve in tow, the two of them having some kind of whisper fight that Sam can’t really hear.

“Can’t believe you would do this—”

“—you know he’s a good choice—”

“—supposed to be your best friend—”

“—c’mon, Buck, you know I wouldn’t—”

Bucky yanks on Steve’s wrist as they approach Sam.

“OK, first of all, Steve, where the fuck is Sam’s family?” Bucky demands.

Steve pales, then looks genuinely contrite. “Oh, God, Sam, I’m sorry. I should have told you right away. Sarah and Michelle, they survived. They both survived the Snap. They’re living in your mom’s apartment in New York.” Steve hesitates for a moment, then adds, “Your mom was one of the ones who disappeared. She was at home watching Michelle when it happened. She should be safe. We’ll get a phone to her right away.”

Sam feels his stomach plunge at the knowledge that Michelle is five years older. He already missed two years of her life on the run with Steve after the Accords. Would she even remember him?

“Nat has your old phone stashed away. It should still have all your contacts in it. Natasha—she paid the bill. Every month you were gone. She never gave up hope we’d get you back,” Steve says, looking proud and a little teary-eyed.

While Sam works on processing the fact that his six-year-old niece is now his eleven-year-old niece, Steve rambles on about Natasha, and how brave she was, and what a rock she was, and how she kept everyone together, and how she sacrificed her life to save everyone, for kind of a while. Sam’s honestly kind of surprised. Steve and Natasha have always been close, but Sam’s never seen Steve as openly effusive about anyone other than James Buchanan Barnes Before The War, Steve’s most favorite person ever.

“OK, that’s great, Steve,” Bucky interrupts in a frosty tone. “But what’s this about Sam being the new Captain America?”

“Oh! Carol wants Natasha and me to go with her to a couple of planets that are struggling to organize after their populations suddenly doubled. Actually, I thought maybe you could come with us, Buck?” Steve offers. “I know how much you love space and—”

“No, Steve, I think I’ll stay here with Sam,” Bucky says stonily, glaring at Steve. Sam is a little stunned.

“What? Why?” Steve asks. He looks a bit like a confused golden retriever. “I thought you’d jump at this opportunity, Bucky, you really—”

“I really think I should stay here. Since I’m Captain America’s right hand man and all. And since Sam is Captain America now.”

Sam doesn’t really know what to do with all of this, because it seems like there’s really a lot going on here between Steve and Bucky that he doesn’t want to get involved with. And honestly, he’s not one hundred percent sold on the idea of working with Bucky at all, since they hardly even know each other. Today is the first time they’ve really interacted in a way that isn’t hostile or at the very least kind of pissy, and to be honest the uncomfortable sexual tension Sam felt earlier wasn’t exactly welcome.

But then a thought occurs to him, and Sam is instantly filled with delight. “So wait. What you’re saying is that you’re going to be my sidekick!”

“What, no, I’m not going to be your sidekick, I’m going to be your partner,” Bucky argues.

“Nuh uh, nope. It’s right there in the comics. Bucky Barnes was Captain America’s sidekick,” Sam says with a smirk. “Are you gonna wear the outfit?”

“What outfit?” asks Bucky, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh! The outfit with the little booty shorts?” Steve asks.

“I’m not wearing an outfit with little booty shorts,” Bucky says scornfully. “I’ll wear my regular outfit.”

“Leather bondage gear it is, then!” Sam replies. He feels more cheerful already.

***

“So what else did we miss?” Sam asks later, when they’re all settled in at one of the cabins on Tony’s property.

Steve and Natasha are tangled up together on the sofa, Natasha’s legs slung over Steve’s lap and her head resting against his chest. Steve and Nat have been trading inside jokes and finishing each other’s sentences all night, and it kind of seems like Sam and Bucky must have really missed a lot, because Sam doesn’t remember Steve and Nat being so telepathically linked before he got dusted.

Bucky is sitting alone, tense and uncomfortable-looking, in a chair near the fire. He must still be pretty pissed at Steve for choosing Sam over him as the next Captain America, because he keeps shooting murder glares at Steve through narrowed eyes. When Steve’s not gazing adoringly at Natasha, he’s busy having a silent argument with Bucky through a complicated series of expressions that include rolled eyes, pleading looks, clenched jaws, and prissy, pursed lips. Sam is honestly feeling pretty left out right now, because there’s a lot of unspoken communication going on here between basically everyone but him.

Steve heaves a frustrated sigh, tears his gaze away from Bucky, and responds, “Well, they built a giant wall between the United States and Mexico. It was a pretty big deal, lots of people were really unhappy.”

“Seriously? Half of the entire United States population disappears, and Americans are still freaking out about immigration from Mexico?” Sam asks incredulously.

“Oh, no, we didn’t build the wall. Mexico actually built the wall,” Natasha says. The wicked look in her eye suggests that this is going to be a good story.

“Wait, what? That stupid promise actually came true?” Bucky asks.

“Well, kind of?” Natasha says, giving a little so-so motion with her hand. “Mexico didn’t actually build the wall because of illegal immigration, though. They built it after a bunch of riots and border skirmishes in late 2020.”

“So, what? Gang violence? Drug cartels?” Sam asks.

“Nope. It was the season finale of a television show on the CW called Supernatural,” Steve explains, as if this doesn’t make the whole thing somehow even more confusing.

“You’re telling me that we were gone for five years and now CW shows are a source of tension between the United States and Mexico and they built an entire wall about it,” Sam says, raising his eyebrows.

Sam is dubious as hell about this new foolishness—he’s starting to feel a lot more sympathetic towards Steve’s frustration with all the impenetrable pop culture references people expected him to grasp—but Bucky visibly perks up at the mention of Supernatural. “Oh, how did that go? Is Destiel canon yet?” Bucky asks.

“No,” Steve responds at the same time that Natasha replies, “Si.” Then they both cackle wildly, as if this is some seriously comedic shit, and honestly, Sam’s getting a little annoyed with all their inside jokes. He sneaks a look over at Bucky to see how he’s responding to all this, and Sam is relieved to feel slightly less like an asshole when he sees that Bucky doesn’t look any more charmed by Steve and Natasha’s Abbott and Costello routine than Sam feels.

“OK,” Sam says slowly, really drawing the word out. “So I guess if I want to understand all of that”—here, Sam gestures broadly at Steve and Natasha, attempting to convey his incredulity at their unnecessary dramatics—“that you just did, and apparently also current U.S. foreign policy, I’m going to have to watch a TV show on the CW.”

“It’s fifteen seasons, it makes for great depression watching,” says Natasha, shrugging. Bucky nods in agreement. “And Steve was pretty genuinely moved by the relationship between the two brothers.”

Steve confirms this with a solemn nod. “They were brothers, but they were also best friends.”

“Anyway it was better than a lot of the junk we watched while you were gone,” Natasha continues. “Half the time Steve and I spent in bed together we were just binge watching trash tv and getting overly invested in the love lives of twenty-five year olds pretending to be teenagers pretending to be detectives.”

Bucky shoots Sam a significant glance at this, somehow communicating half the time they spent in bed together? with the tense raising of his eyebrows alone, and says, “Sam and I will watch Supernatural together. I’ll get him caught up.”

And yeah, maybe fifteen seasons sounds like an awful lot of time to commit to spite-watching a television show with Bucky just to handle how weird he feels about Steve and Natasha’s whole new bed sharing thing together, but then Bucky stretches his arms over his head and reveals a pale sliver of belly, little trail of hair drawing Sam’s eyes pleasingly downward.

“Yeah, all right,” Sam says. After all, this Supernatural show does sound pretty important to this sketchy new future Sam didn’t ask to find himself in.

Bucky turns to Steve. “So when do you and Natalia have to head out?”

“Probably in a week or two. We want to make sure everything’s settled here before we head out.”

“A week or two, Steve, really? You think Sam’s going to be ready to be Captain America in a week or two,” Bucky says flatly.

Sam thinks Bucky sort of has a point, but out of loyalty to Steve and his own sense of competence he keeps his mouth shut.

Steve’s shoulders hunch defensively. “It’s going to be fine, you’re going to do a great job supporting Sam.”

“I shouldn’t have to support Sam, Steve—”

“Bucky, c’mon, you know I wouldn’t have—”

“Not even a supersoldier, Steve—”

“Sam doesn’t have to be—”

Natasha is listening to this argument with a fond look on her face, like she actually missed this shit while they were gone.

“OK, listen,” Sam interrupts before Steve and Bucky get too distracted by their bullshit. “The Captain America thing is huge, yeah. But I feel like maybe we also need to be concerned about the world’s population suddenly doubling instantaneously? That’s kind of a big deal.”

“Oh!” Steve lights up. “Natasha’s had a plan set up for that since like a week after you guys disappeared. She’s spent the last five years preparing for every contingency, basically every scientific or magical possibility that might bring you guys back. In fact, phase one has already started, getting lines of communication open to reconnect families and arranging emergency housing.”

Steve beams down at Natasha, and then—Sam can’t even fucking believe this—Natasha actually blushes in response. Steve and Natasha are, respectively, the most repressed and tightly controlled people Sam knows, and now they’re acting like emotionally healthy people who express their feelings in front of other people? Sam is suspicious as hell, and when he looks over at Bucky, Bucky is bug-eyed, looking frantically and significantly at Sam with that unmistakable are you seeing this too, what the fuck expression on his face. Sam hates the fact that things are so weird now that he’s bonding with Bucky over this.

“Pepper Potts is coordinating everything through the Avengers Foundation,” Natasha says. “She needs something to do right now, and she’s basically the most frighteningly efficient person I know, so. Your only job right now is figuring out how to work together without killing each other.”

Natasha eyes them both a bit skeptically, and Sam is instantly offended at this implied slight to his professionalism.

“Bucky and I are going to do great,” Sam says. “We are definitely going to be absolutely fine at working together.” He shoots Bucky a hard look, daring him to disagree.

“Absolutely fine,” Bucky repeats dutifully, then hesitates. “You’re sure, though, right, Sam? You really want to do the Captain America thing?”

“Definitely,” Sam confirms. Bucky searches his eyes for a moment, then nods, apparently satisfied with whatever he finds.

“Great!” Natasha says with a pleased smile, and shares a satisfied look with Steve.

“Anyway,” Sam says, changing the subject, before they can figure out Sam has no fucking clue how to be Captain America and definitely doesn’t feel certain about working with Bucky Barnes. “What else did we miss while we were gone? How did Brexit go?”

“Oh, God,” Steve says.

***

The next morning, Sam walks down to the cabin’s kitchen for breakfast and finds a disaster.

“Is this a murder board?” he asks, aghast.

The wall next to the kitchen table is absolutely covered in papers that have been hastily pinned up, and there are at least eleven different colors of string stretched together in a complicated web over top of them, forming a bizarre rainbow of crazy. Where did Bucky even find that many different colors of string in the middle of the night? Did he break into a Joann Fabrics?

The kitchen table is littered with papers as well, and Sam counts six different green tea bags sitting on a napkin next to Bucky’s mug. “Have you been up all night?”

“No! And yes!” Bucky answers, his eyes red rimmed and wild, looking simultaneously exhausted and absolutely frantic with energy. He cards his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Do you know how much money Stark was spending on the Avengers Initiative after you guys blew up SHIELD? The litigation team! The insurance premiums! The property damage settlements! Weapons and technology! Research and development! Sam, the cost was astronomical!”

“Wait, this is all financial stuff? I thought this was more of, like, a traditional murder board situation here.” Sam pauses, then struck with sudden uncertainty, he asks, “Is financial stuff part of Captain America stuff?”

“Well, I mean, kind of, yeah,” Bucky responds. He stands up and restlessly paces the tiny kitchen. “You didn’t think you were going to just run off with the shield and, like, live off the kindness of strangers or something, did you?”

“Obviously, no,” Sam says, offended. Actually, though—not that Sam is going to admit it—Sam hasn’t had a real job in so long that he sort of forgot that this was going to be an issue. “Wait, did you get all this stuff by hacking Stark Industries?”

“Well, yeah,” says Bucky, defensive now. “I didn’t want to be rude and ask Ms. Potts in the middle of the night. Also I killed her daughter’s grandparents.”

Sam considers this for a moment, then shrugs. “Yeah, that’s fair,” he says. “So what about the funding we had before? Is that gone?”

“It’s not gone, but there’s no way the money in Steve’s and my bank account will be enough.”

“Wait, you and Steve share a bank account?” Sam asks, raising his eyebrows.

Bucky’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Well, yeah, of course. Why would Steve and I need separate bank accounts?” he asks, looking puzzled.

“Why would you...” Sam repeats faintly. “OK. Moving on from that codependent nonsense, you and Steve were the ones funding us while we were on the run? Steve never said.”

“Well, I mean, I did steal a bunch of money from HYDRA, and Steve had some backpay saved up. But there’s no way Steve and I have Captain America money. Stark barely had Captain America money. Sam, he was spending down his entire fortune on the Avengers Initiative. Did you guys know he was doing that?”

Sam closes his eyes, shaking off the waves of guilt and grief he felt at the mention of Tony’s generosity. “No, I didn’t,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” Bucky says grimly. “It’s bad. Like, really, really bad. You aren’t an international fugitive anymore. If you want to be Captain America, you won’t be able to just save people, destroy a few buildings, then dash off to the next country before the police catch up to you. You have to actually deal with the fallout afterward. And, most importantly, and I cannot stress this enough, you need actual income. Was Stark seriously the only one of you with a real job?”

“I mean, yeah?”

“Of course he was,” Bucky says, deflating and leaning back against the counter with a thud. “God, you’re all idiots. I went off to war in the 1940s and I left one Steve back at home. Then I fell off a train, woke up seventy years later, and found out that Steve managed to find an entire team full of Steves, and each one of you is just as beautiful and heroic and stupid and utterly impractical as he is.” Bucky raises his metal hand to massage his temples, apparently fighting a headache so powerful that even his serum-enhanced regular arm isn’t strong enough to deal with it.

Sam carefully ignores Bucky’s insinuation that he finds Sam beautiful and heroic. Instead he pours Bucky a glass of water and slides it over to him. “OK, so what do we do?”

“Well, you’re not going to like it.”

“I’m not, huh? Just tell me.”

“We have to rebuild SHIELD,” Bucky states firmly. “We have to get in touch with Nick Fury.”

“Absolutely not,” Sam says.

“Sam, it’s the only reasonable choice. We can’t afford to privately fund your career as a superhero, OK? I mean, the insurance? The legal team? I’ve drafted fifteen different budgets and there’s no way we can get this off the ground. But if we rebuild SHIELD, there’ll be funding and qualified immunity. You won’t even have to work directly for SHIELD. You could be an independent contractor.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I know. But it’s the only way.”

“Is Fury even going to listen to us, though?” Sam asks skeptically. “Like, will he even hire you? You shot him, like, five times.”

Bucky grimaces. “Yeah, that wasn’t great. But listen, the man’s probably been waiting for this moment for years. If he can get Steve and Natalia’s public support behind SHIELD 2.0? He’ll seize the chance.”

“Shit,” Sam says.

***

When Steve and Natasha come downstairs, sleepy and happy looking, casually emerging from the same bedroom that Sam knows only has one queen size bed, like bed sharing is just a regular part of their regular lives now, Bucky introduces them to the financial murder board.

“So if you really want to do this, if you want Sam to be Captain America, we need to rebuild SHIELD,” Bucky concludes.

“SHIELD?” Natasha perks up. “We’re getting the old gang back together?”

“Natasha, like, 40% of the old gang were secret Nazis,” Steve says reproachfully. “And more importantly, Nick Fury didn’t notice they were secret Nazis.”

“He definitely started to suspect something was wrong near the end there, though,” says Natasha.

“Well, he’s our best shot at getting government funding, so unless you want to ask Tony Stark’s grieving widow for money, I think this is the best we can do.” Bucky turns to Natasha. “Natalia, you know how to get in touch with him, right?” he asks.

“I do. Pepper sent out working satellite phones via courier last night. They should have arrived by this morning. I’ll give him a call,” Natasha says. “He’s going to love this.”

“Your mom should have gotten a phone too, Sam,” Steve says. “I’ll text you her number so you can give her a call.”

“Thanks, man,” Sam says, relieved. While Steve works on sending Sam his mom’s contact info—does Steve’s phone have a holographic display? Does Old Man Steve know how to work a phone with a holographic display?—Sam asks Bucky, “How did you even pull all these records together, by the way? Are you like a secret accountant?”

“Bucky worked as an actuary before the war,” Steve responds absently, thumbing at some buttons on his phone screen. “He was getting his degree in mathematics before he dropped out to enlist.”

“An actuary?” Natasha asks thoughtfully. “I can see that. That actually makes a lot of sense.”

“It paid the bills,” Bucky allows.

When Sam receives Steve’s text with his mom’s contact info, he steps outside for a bit of privacy. Sam watches Steve and Natasha leaning together through the sliding glass window as he waits for his mom to answer the phone. Sam feels a pit growing deep in his belly, a black hole that’s been sucking in everything Sam could have lived and built and experienced in the past five years, leaving him empty and lonely and lost, missing parts of himself that he should have been gaining. Inside, Bucky is standing alone in front of murder board, his shoulders tense, while Steve and Natasha talk and smile and touch each other’s forearms.

“Sam? Sam, baby, are you OK?”

“Mom!” Sam exclaims. “Mom, I’m OK. I’m OK.”

“Thank God,” she says in relief. “We’re OK too. Sarah and Michelle, they’ve been living in my apartment. Michelle’s eleven years old now, Sam. We missed five years of her life. How did this happen?”

And Sam tells her how it happened. He tells her about the battle, and then the second battle, and then realizing that he had died and was resurrected by magical stones. He tells her about Bucky Barnes, standing there in disgruntled disbelief when Steve and Natasha explained that they’d woken up five years into the future, his only reaction to state flatly, “I was told that this wouldn’t happen to me again.”

When he tells her that Steve’s asked him to be the new Captain America, Sam’s mom gasps in surprise. “Captain America? Sam, are you sure?”

“Yeah, Mom. I am sure. I think I could really do some good,” Sam says softly.

“Do you have good people around you? Do you have people who will take care of you?”

Sam thinks of Steve and Natasha leaving for space in a few weeks, moving on to bigger and more complicated catastrophes, superheroes who’ve grown so powerful and competent and amazing that they’re needed elsewhere, on worlds larger than their own. And then he thinks of Bucky Barnes staying up all night to do superhero math so Sam can be Captain America, even though Bucky is apparently pissed that Steve chose Sam for the honor instead of him.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “I have people who will take care of me.”

***

That evening, Sam and Bucky sit at the table and watch Steve and Natasha put together the most disgusting struggle dinner Sam has ever seen. Steve is piling gross stacks of bologna onto bread and seems to think condiments are optional, while Natasha has dumped a bag of iceberg lettuce into a bowl and poured an entire bottle of ranch dressing on top of it. This, she insists, is a “salad.” Steve and Natasha move expertly around each other in the kitchen like they’re performing a choreographed dance, casually touching each other’s shoulders and hips as they slide past each other. Obviously they’ve created this sort of repulsive dinner situation more than once. What have these two been eating for the last five years? Sam can’t resist glancing up at Bucky to catch a look of horror on Bucky’s face, his nose scrunched up in disgust.

When Steve sets their plates of dry bologna sandwiches and the soggy bowl of lettuce onto the table onto the table, Bucky suddenly announces that he’s vegan.

“You are?” Steve asks suspiciously. “Since when?”

Sensing an opportunity, Sam rushes to support Bucky’s desperate ploy to avoid this dinner. “Bucky and I are both vegan, actually. It’s new.”

“Really,” Natasha says. “You and Bucky do stuff together now. Stuff like going vegan.”

“Uh huh,” Sam says staunchly.

The best way to handle Natasha is just to brazen it out. She’ll suspect that you’re lying, but she won’t actually say anything until she has proof. Unfortunately, she’ll stoop to any and all means—however invasive or conniving—to catch you out. Sam guesses he and Bucky are both vegan forever now.

“Go ahead and eat your dinner,” Bucky says. “I’ll just make Sam and me something while you guys eat.”

While Steve and Natasha eat and trade inside jokes and talk about a bunch of political events Sam does not understand—did Michigan actually successfully secede from the Union?—Sam watches in astonishment as Bucky prepares the most incredible looking burrito bowls Sam’s ever seen in his life. In like twenty minutes, the dude whips up some chipotle lime black beans, diced tomatoes, corn, fajita veggies, and quinoa, then proceeds to make pineapple mango salsa from scratch using a mortar and pestle. Where did Bucky even get these ingredients? The last time Sam checked, the fridge was almost empty.

Bucky looks relaxed and capable, and Sam watches the muscles in Bucky’s back shift and move as he chops and grinds and sautés. Bucky’s got a kitchen towel slung casually over his shoulder, and a few strands of hair at his temples curl a bit in the steam coming off the stove top.

“So what else did y’all get up to in the last five years?” Sam asks.

“Oh! Should we tell them about the—” Natasha begins, her eyes lighting up.

“You mean the dude with the—”

“With the plastic fangs!” Natasha finishes, wheezing with laughter. “What was that guy’s name? Oh, God—”

“—Baron Blood!” they exclaim in unison, cackling.

Sam can’t help but feel a little annoyed by how easily Steve and Natasha finish each other’s sentences. Sam knows, intellectually, that Steve and Natasha lived each one of the five years that went by in seconds for him and Bucky. He knows that Steve and Natasha have always been close and that it makes sense for them to, like, trauma bond after everything they’ve gone through together. But he’s never felt so left out by his own best friends before. He looks over at Bucky, relieved when he sees his own feelings of frustration and isolation mirrored on Bucky’s face.

“Wait, you fought the Bloody Baron from Harry Potter?” Bucky asks.

“No, it was Baron Blood, not the Bloody Baron.”

“Was the guy an actual baron, or were his parents just rich and tacky? Was his first name Baron?” Sam asks, fascinated despite himself.

“I think it was, like, a self-appointed title?” Natasha says. “I don’t think he was a real baron. Anyway, Steve decapitated him with his shield.”

“He was a Nazi vampire,” Steve explains.

“Like an actual vampire? Are we fighting actual vampires now?” Sam asks.

“I think so,” Natasha says doubtfully. “Steve had to soak his shield in holy water blessed by the pope first. It was a whole thing.”

“Wait, are you guys talking about Todd?” Bucky asks. “Brown hair, red eyes, ranted a lot about what an important superpower echolocation was?”

“Yes! Did you know this guy?” Steve asks.

“Eh, we weren’t close or anything. But there were some weird ass HYDRA experiments in the eighties and nineties. Most people these days think the Satanic Panic was a myth, but actually HYDRA really did have agents trying to indoctrinate daycare kids into supernatural cults. Todd was one of the evil brainwashed HYDRA daycare kids, volunteered to get some really hinky stuff done to him to try to create a master race of genetically pure vampires. Oh, and he was super obsessed with you, Steve.”

“Oh, God, was he ever,” Natasha says. “Let me tell you what he did when he got Steve tied up in his gross dungeon—”

***

While Natasha says goodbye to Bucky, squeezing Bucky and muttering something in Russian in Bucky’s ear, Sam is startled to feel Steve grab him tightly and pull him into an aggressive hug. Sam takes a minute to breathe in Steve’s familiar, comforting smell—still wearing Bay Rum even after all this time—and rests his chin on Steve’s strong shoulder.

“We love you,” Steve says, then hands him off to Natasha.

Natasha gives him a sweet kiss on the mouth. “We’ll miss you,” she says.

When Steve and Natasha disappear into the distance, Sam looks over at Bucky. “We, we, we,” Bucky says wryly.

***

Six weeks later, Sam and Bucky have formed a pretty solid partnership. They’re still living in one of the cabins on Tony Stark’s property in upstate New York for now, but they’re scheduled to report for duty at the new SHIELD headquarters in New York City on Monday.

Steve and Natasha are coming back to Earth this evening, scheduled for security briefings and press events promoting the resurrection of SHIELD, promising the public that Sam is going to make a great Captain America and that there definitely aren’t any more secret Nazis in the upper echelons of power at SHIELD.

As far as Sam can tell, Bucky’s still pretty pissed at Steve for asking Sam to be Captain America instead of him, but fortunately that grudge doesn’t seem to be carrying over to Sam. Instead, Bucky is perfectly pleasant and helpful as hell, which is pretty terrific considering the fact that Sam could use all the help he can get right now. Learning how to use the shield—especially while flying—is complicated as fuck and Sam probably would have lost patience pretty quickly without Bucky reassuring him that Steve was shit at math and definitely was not doing trigonometric calculations in his head while he fought.

“Does Steve seem like the kind of guy who’s doing a lot of thinking while he’s fighting? No, this is all practice and muscle memory,” says Bucky, clapping Sam’s shoulder. “C’mon, Steve and Natalia are scheduled to get here in like an hour. Let’s take showers and get ready to meet them for dinner.”

It’s humid as fuck outside and Bucky’s shirt is drenched in sweat, clinging so tightly to his skin that Sam can count each one of his abdominal muscles individually. Bucky raises a water bottle to his mouth and takes a long pull. Sam watches a drip of sweat slide down Bucky’s throat.

“Yeah, good plan,” Sam says. A cool shower sounds really refreshing right now.

***

When they meet Steve and Natasha for dinner, Sam nearly forgets that he and Bucky are pretending to be vegan until Bucky orders a wheatberry salad and then kicks Sam underneath the table. Sam grimaces and reaches down to rub his shin, looking regretfully at the shiny picture of the giant burger and fries that Steve ordered on his menu.

“I’ll have the wheatberry salad too,” Sam says, trying not to sound too sad about it.

Steve and Natasha are bursting with stories about space. They’re happy and full of excitement, and if anything, they’re somehow even closer than when they left. They have very strong feelings about Kree politics, and they tell a lot of stories about famous people from space that Sam does not know. They touch each other constantly.

The wheatberry salad is amazing.

“So what else happened while we were gone?” Bucky asks, mercifully changing the subject from the boring Kree legislative process. “How did the last season of Game of Thrones go?”

“Oh, it was incredible,” Natasha raves, her eyes lighting up. “David Benioff and D. B. Weiss were taken in the Snap, so they had to hire this fantasy author named Brandon Sanderson to write it. Everyone was really skeptical about how it would go—especially with half of the cast gone—but he did an amazing job. It’s now considered one of the strongest finales of any show in history.”

“You know, I never could get into Game of Thrones,” Sam remarks. “All those big-budget fantasy dynastic political dramas are just so unrealistic.”

“See, that’s what Shuri said when I told her I was watching it to research living in a monarchy after I moved to Wakanda,” Bucky says. “But then her secret illegitimate cousin traveled from across the sea to claim her brother’s throne in a trial by combat. And then her supposedly slain brother dramatically returned from the dead with the help of a magical herb in order to defeat the usurper in battle, so.” Bucky lifts his shoulders and raises his hands in a sort of smug, so who turned out to be right there? kind of shrug.

“Yeah, OK,” Sam concedes, tipping his head to acknowledge the point.

“It’s crazy that we’ll never know how much better it could have been with Benioff and Weiss at the helm, though,” Steve says, and Sam’s stomach drops a bit as he’s hit by another wave of wrongness, that same ears-ringing, tunnel-vision-forming wrongness he’s been feeling since he dramatically returned from the dead. Because what’s the deal with Steve being so literate in pop culture that he not only watches hit prestige dramas but actually knows the names of the writers? To Sam, it was just a few weeks ago that Steve declared Star Trek: The Next Generation “a bit too flashy” for his taste.

“Hey, did George R. R. Martin ever finish the books?” Bucky asks hopefully.

“No, he died,” Steve says.

***

Later that night, after Steve and Natasha have conspicuously gone to bed together, Bucky grabs Sam’s hand, puts a finger to his lips, quirks an eyebrow, and leads Sam silently into a small closet on the first floor of the house. The closet is full of thick winter coats that push Sam and Bucky right up against a wall, their bodies pressed tightly together. Bucky turns on the flashlight app from his phone to give them some light.

“What are we doing in here?” Sam whispers.

“It’s the only place in the house where Steve won’t be able to hear us. Just keep your voice down,” Bucky explains.

“Oh, shit. We’re not plotting to overthrow SHIELD again, are we?”

“No!” Bucky says. “It’s been like six weeks. HYDRA won’t have a secret majority interest in SHIELD for another twenty years at least. Look, have you noticed how Steve and Natalia are, like, obsessed with each other now?”

“Yes! What is with that? I thought I was Steve’s best friend!” Sam hisses.

“Well, you and Steve are definitely close friends,” Bucky says skeptically. “But best friendship is an exclusive relationship. It’s the closest and most intimate connection you can have with someone. And you can only have one of them. Your best friend is someone you would kill for, someone that you would die for, someone you would come back from seventy years of brainwashing for. Someone you would drop the very symbol of everything you believe in for. So, I think we can all agree that I was Steve’s best friend.”

Bucky looks pretty self-satisfied after that whole speech.

“I don’t think we can all agree that you were Steve’s best friend,” Sam says, tilting his head skeptically.

“Well, I was, but the point is that I don’t think I am anymore. I think Natalia might be Steve’s best friend now,” Bucky whispers, irritated.

“I know! I hate it,” Sam confesses. “Steve and Nat and I used to all be best friends. Now they have all these inside jokes and I feel left out all the time.”

“Again, Sam, you can’t have two best friends,” Bucky corrects. “Anyway, I know we haven’t always gotten along in the past, and maybe some of us have made mistakes like kicking people off helicarriers or wrecking their cars, but I think if we want Steve back, we might be able to work together on this.”

“I’m listening,” Sam says.

“OK, so I think we need to try to make them jealous.”

“I don’t think Nat gets jealous. Does Steve get jealous?” Sam says doubtfully.

“Oh, Steve gets jealous,” Bucky confirms. “Did you know that like five seconds after I admitted that I remembered growing up with Steve, he immediately started getting passive aggressive about some redhead named Dot that I spent three dollars on back in 1937? It was like the very first thing he brought up.”

“Oh, God, was Dot short for Dolores?” Sam asks. “Steve complained about her all the time while we were out searching for you.”

“That was her!” Bucky says. “Steve was so jealous of Dolores. Anyway, I think if we team up, we can convince Steve that we’re best friends now. Then he’ll get jealous and remember how much more important we are to him than Natalia.”

Sam considers this carefully. He’s never been pressed so close to Bucky before, their faces only inches away from one another. From this distance Sam can see how long and thick Bucky’s eyelashes are. He can smell the pleasant scents of Bucky’s clean sweat and spicy aftershave.

He wants to press his thumb into the cleft in Bucky’s chin.

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea,” Sam hears himself say.

“Great!”

***

The next day, while Steve and Natasha are busy in meetings with Rhodey and Fury, Sam moves into his new apartment in Brooklyn. It’s not actually so much his new apartment so much as it is Steve’s old apartment, but apparently Steve doesn’t need it anymore since he’s spending so much time out in space with Natasha and he “can always just stay with Nat while I’m in town, it’s no trouble, Sam, Natasha and I are used to bunking together.”

Sam actually has a lot of questions about how used to bunking together Steve and Natasha are.

Sam’s unpacking his clothes when he hears the doorbell ring. His spine stiffens and his fingers twitch for a weapon. Steve and Natasha are both scheduled to be out for hours still, and Steve’s a pretty private guy. Sam doubts many people know about his apartment.

He grabs a gun from his safe, loads it, and walks silently toward the front door.

“Sam, I know you’re in there.”

The muffled voice on the other side of the door is thankfully familiar. Sam feels the tension in his chest release and he lowers his gun. It’s just Bucky.

Unfortunately, all that tension in Sam’s chest immediately returns when Sam opens the door to discover that Bucky is, for some reason, carrying a duffel bag and surrounded by cardboard boxes. Sam’s stomach sinks.

“What the fuck, Sam?” Bucky complains, shoving past him into the entryway and setting down his bag. “You didn’t even look through the peephole to make sure no one was holding me at gunpoint? If we’re going to live together you’re going to have to be a lot more careful about security. I have a lot of enemies.”

“I’m sorry, if we’re going to live together?” Sam repeats, horrified. He puts the safety back on his gun and sets it down onto the counter.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Um, yes? Remember our whole fake-best-friends plan? You literally just agreed to it last night. Here, help me with these boxes.”

Bucky goes back into the hallway, where he bends over to lift a box labeled “pots and pans,” his skinny jeans stretching obscenely over his ass and thighs.

“Yeah, OK,” Sam says, and follows him out into the hallway.

***

“OK, so, explain this to me again: why does being fake best friends mean that we have to be actual roommates?” Sam asks later, passing Bucky a beer.

They’re sitting on Sam’s couch now, surrounded by fifteen boxes labeled, variously: “favorite grenade launchers,” “crossbows,” “guns (1 of 10),” “scopes and silencers,” “marijuana,” and “warm sweaters.”

“Is this beer vegan?” Bucky asks, checking the label. “Hold on, I’m gonna need to look this up.”

“Wait, are you actually vegan?” Sam asks, watching in astonishment as Bucky pulls up an app on his phone, types in the name of the beer Steve left in the fridge, frowns, and then gets up to put the beer back into the fridge. “I thought we were just pretending to be vegan to avoid Steve’s bologna sandwiches and that gross salad.”

“We were! But then I looked it up afterward to make sure I could pull this off in front of Natalia and I actually read a lot of really harrowing and kind of horrifying stuff about animal agriculture,” Bucky says, grimacing. “Anyway, if we want Steve and Natalia to believe that we’re best friends, we’re going to have to live together. Steve and I always lived together, and Steve moved in with you like five seconds after he met you.”

“To be fair to Steve, he did make it two very sad years living alone in the most depressing apartment I have ever seen, and he didn’t move in with me until you shot a man through his walls,” Sam says.

“That was just an excuse,” Bucky says, waving his hand airily. “Steve and I spent the entire winter of 1937 living in an uninsulated attic apartment with a broken window. If Steve didn’t want to live with you, he would have just slapped some duct tape over those bullet holes and gotten an extra blanket.”

Sam considers this and then reluctantly concedes the point. He’s seen Steve look unnervingly comfortable in some pretty horrific living situations over the past couple of years.

“All right, fine. But do we really need every gun ever made in our living room? I feel like surrounding yourself with this amount of weaponry has got to be an unhealthy coping strategy.”

Sam feels pretty confident about this—he’d been like three-quarters of the way through his Master’s coursework to become a licensed professional counselor when Steve Rogers bulldozed his way into his life.

“And what are we going to do if we need to take down SHIELD again, Sam?” Bucky demands. “How much do we really trust Nick Fury? Anyway, we aren’t storing these in the living room, Sam, that would be tacky.”

“Uh huh,” Sam says, his stomach sinking. “And where are we storing them?” He has a bad feeling about this.

“In the spare bedroom, of course.”

“What spare bedroom.”

“The spare bedroom-slash-armory! We only really need one bedroom, Sam. Steve and I always shared a bedroom.”

“Did you,” Sam says. “And I suppose you shared a bed too.”

“Of course we did. Why would Steve and I need separate beds? We were best friends.”

Bucky gives Sam an odd look, like he thinks Sam in the one being strange about this. As if indefinitely sharing a bed is just normal best friend stuff. Sam wants to believe that this is some kind of Depression era, growing-up-in-poverty sort of thing, but honestly Steve and Bucky are just so intensely weird about each other that Sam is pretty sure that it’s actually a Steve-and-Bucky thing.

Sam thinks about sharing a bed with Bucky every night. He wonders if Bucky wears a shirt to bed, or if Bucky slides into bed bare-chested, wearing only a pair of shorts or maybe even just some tightly fitted boxer briefs.

“All right,” Sam says, sighing.

***

Later that night, when they’re lying in bed catching up on Supernatural—he has got to know how this show somehow became relevant to international geopolitics—Bucky leans over to pull a huge bag of weed out of the nightstand. Then he slowly, carefully rolls the fattest joint Sam has ever seen. It’s somehow absolutely massive but still structurally sound and perfectly balanced. Sam puts the show on pause because he has a lot of questions about this.

“Where did you learn how to do that? Does marijuana even work on you?” Sam asks. “Did you learn how to do this as part of that whole Eat Pray Love thing you did while Steve and I were looking for you?”

“What? No. Steve taught me how to do this back in the thirties.”

“Excuse me, Steve Rogers taught you how to roll a joint in the thirties? Steve ‘Captain America’ Rogers knows how to roll a joint?” Sam asks, scandalized.

“Yes? I didn’t have any other friends named Steve—actually, Steve was always my only friend,” Bucky says offhandedly. “Anyway, Stevie started rolling his own asthma cigarettes when he was like twelve, had those perfect long-fingered artist hands even when he was little. Then when he started art school he started bringing home marijuana after class. He’d roll us a joint and we’d sit out on the fire escape and smoke before bed every night.”

“Steve Rogers,” Sam says, wonderingly. “What a little punk.”

“Right? I’m always saying that but no one ever believes me. Here,” Bucky says, passing the joint over to Sam. Sam hesitates for a moment—he hasn’t smoked pot since before he joined the Air Force—but then he gives a mental shrug, figuring that SHIELD probably isn’t going to drug test him. Yeah, Nick Fury is kind of a dick, but Sam doubts that he’d give a shit about a little recreational marijuana use.

Sam feels a little thrill when he raises Bucky’s joint to his lips, the paper still slightly damp from Bucky’s saliva. He seals his mouth around the end of the joint and sucks in deeply, sharing this wet vicarious kiss with Bucky, who watches Sam’s mouth with interest. Sam feels the sharp burn in his lungs as he holds in the smoke, then coughs violently when he exhales, passing the joint back to Bucky.

“Damn,” he says. “This stuff still works for you?”

“Yep,” Bucky says. “HYDRA wanted to make sure they’d still be able to drug the shit out of me when they were experimenting with their own version of the serum, so unlike some reckless assholes who actually volunteered to get the bona fide serum, I can still get stoned. Which is I guess some small consolation for spending seventy years on some pretty intense amphetamines and weird psychosis-inducing experimental drug cocktails.”

“Yikes. Well, that makes sense, I guess,” Sam says. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Bucky pauses. “Well, it’s not fine fine. But I’m fine. Now.”

“I’m glad,” Sam says, and he realizes he means it.

***

The first time Sam fucks up as Captain America, he finds out the answer to a great personal mystery: why Steve Rogers was considered “the greatest tactician in American military history.”

It’s not because Steve is actually a great tactician—in fact, Steve is an instinctive fighter, brash and brave and most of all impulsive.

Apparently, the real reason Steve was considered the greatest tactician in American military history is because Peggy Carter was the greatest tactician in American military history, and Bucky Barnes was the greatest bullshitter in American military history.

When Maria Hill orders them to Fury’s office for debriefing after that disastrous mission, Bucky grabs Sam’s arm and digs his nails into the tender skin on the underside of Sam’s forearm.

“Whatever you do, do not say anything,” Bucky hisses. “Just shut the fuck up, and let me handle this. I mean it.”

“I need to take responsibility for this, Bucky. Steve would take responsibility for this.”

“Steve would absolutely not take responsibility for this,” Bucky states firmly. “Trust me, I’ve been bailing that little punk out of trouble for one hundred years. Do not say anything.”

When they get to Fury’s office, Sam witnesses an actual miracle. Fury begins by asking them a series of terse questions in a clipped tone that slowly grows more and more agreeable as Bucky’s answers—calm, thoughtful, and pleasant—make Sam’s actions sound both necessary and entirely reasonable. The tone shifts from an interrogation to a more customary debrief, and by the end Fury’s countenance is less thunderous and more just his sort of standard expression of grim disapproval.

The truly bewildering part is that Bucky’s explanations for Sam’s behavior are so convincing that Sam himself is now questioning whether he even fucked up at all. Nothing Bucky says is a lie, and Sam’s not even sure he would characterize anything as misleading, but nevertheless Sam slowly moves from the distinct impression that both he and Fury considered the mission a failure, to the cautious notion that maybe he’d actually made the best of a bad job after all.

When Fury dismisses them, he offers them a gruff, “Excellent work, gentlemen,” and then he actually claps Sam on the shoulder as Sam walks out the door.

What the fuck.

***

“Excuse me, are you some kind of hypnotist or sorcerer?” Sam hisses when they return to their office. “What the fuck was all that?”

“Should we get Thai food for lunch? I’m thinking pad see ew,” Bucky muses, scrolling through the menu on his phone. “What about you?”

“Get me the tofu pad thai,” Sam says. It turns out Bucky wasn’t wrong about the environmental impact of animal agriculture—that’s actually some deeply sobering shit, and Sam feels like he should probably try to be a good role model now that he’s Captain America. “Seriously, though, I did fuck up that mission, right? I wasn’t imagining that?”

Bucky sighs. “Sam, you made the right call. Maybe Fury wouldn’t have agreed immediately, but I didn’t spend my entire life justifying Steve’s aggressive self-sacrificing bullshit to people in positions of authority for no reason. Steve knew when to step up and do what was right, sure, but he also knew when to shut up and let me do the talking afterward.”

Everything about Steve’s career in the Army makes so much more sense now.

“Thanks, man,” Sam says, awkwardly. He hesitates a moment, then asks, “You really think Steve would have made the same decision today?”

Bucky gives Sam a long, considering look. His gaze is solemn and sympathetic, and his lips press together in a sad smile. “Sam, you’ve got to stop comparing yourself to Steve.”

***

Sam misses a lot about Steve, but he very specifically does not miss running with Steve. That’s because Steve is an asshole, and while Sam may enjoy the view from behind when Steve laps him for the fiftieth time, he definitely does not feel like Steve deserves to act as smug about it as he does when Steve is quite famously the recipient of performance enhancing drugs.

Sam and Bucky are running their usual route in Prospect Park, feet pounding together in rhythm as they listen to the dope ass Carly Rae Jepsen playlist Bucky made for them on their headphones. It turns out that Sam’s been putting up with a lot of shit from Steve that wasn’t actually necessary, because despite being a full year older than Steve—or is it four years younger, now, after the Snap?—Bucky has managed to develop some pretty cool taste in music. More importantly, Bucky seems mercifully content to run at a speed that is completely normal for unenhanced people who are still in fantastic shape and also have great legs.

Speaking of great legs, Sam’s having kind of a hard time handling the length of Bucky’s running shorts today. Bucky’s legs are long and strong, lightly muscled and flexing attractively as his steady stride eats up the pavement, and his thighs—

“So how come Steve won’t run like a regular person?” Sam asks, reluctantly dragging his gaze away from those lean, golden thighs.

“Did he try to give you some shit about how he has to run that fast to stay in shape as a supersoldier?” scoffs Bucky. “No, Steve runs that fast because Steve has anger issues and a high sex drive. Otherwise he’d be starting fights and jerking off four times a day.”

Sam’s breath catches a bit in his chest and he tries very hard not to stumble at that. “Oh?” Sam asks, trying to sound casual. “And you? You’re not jerking off four times a day?”

“Living with you, sweetheart?” Bucky says with a wink. “Of course I am.”

***

This isn’t actually Sam’s first time living with a Russian assassin, because he spent two years on the run with Natasha, so he’s used to a lot of weird ass habits. But one thing that confounds the shit out of him is why Bucky insists on navigating Brooklyn solely through a maze of gross alleyways that smell absolutely foul.

Steve and Natasha are finally home from their peacekeeping or worldbuilding or diplomatic journey through the stars—whatever the hell they’ve been doing for the past few months—and Sam and Bucky are on their way to meet them at a café for lunch.

“Man, are you sure we’re not going in circles? I could swear we’ve passed that blue dumpster at least twice already. Is this some kind of spy thing where we’re doubling back to lose a tail or something?” Sam asks.

“No. And this blue dumpster is the blue dumpster behind the hipster café with the oat milk latte that you hate, the one with too much cinnamon,” Bucky explains patiently. “The other two blue dumpsters are behind the artisanal pickle shop and the thrift store where the secondhand clothes actually cost more than they do when you buy them new.”

“Right,” Sam says with a heavy sigh. Then he perks up when he sees their favorite stray cat. “Oh, hey, it’s Steve the cat!”

“Aw! Hi, Steve!” Bucky coos. He reaches into his pocket to toss a few treats toward the skinny, ill-tempered cat, who eyes them suspiciously before hissing viciously, his scraggly hackles raising. Steve the cat ignores their treats, presumably offended by their insulting attempts at charity, and Sam and Bucky positively melt at this pointless and self-destructive display of spitefulness.

“He’s so cute!” Bucky says.

“I love him so much,” Sam agrees. “C’mon, let’s leave the treats here and keep going. Maybe he’ll eat them after we leave.”

“We should stop at the pet store on the way home and pick up a different brand. Maybe Steve has allergies,” Bucky suggests.

“Good idea,” Sam says, nodding.

As they head toward their lunch with Steve and Natasha, Sam’s surprised to realize that he feels pretty relaxed and confident about their whole fake-best-friends plan. Usually he’d be having some kind of heart palpitations at the thought of trying to pull one over on Natasha, an actual spy who actually lied to the actual God of Lies and actually succeeded at it, but instead Sam thinks that he and Bucky might really get away with this whole fake-best-friends thing. It helps that Bucky looks so cool and self-assured walking beside him, hips loose and easy and confident as those long legs lead them toward their whole best friends debut.

Eventually they weave their way out of Bucky’s trash labyrinth and make it to the café, where Steve and Natasha are waiting at a table along the sidewalk. Steve and Nat look happy, laughing and chatting animatedly, their body language intimate and relaxed. Sam feels a brief moment of apprehension, but Steve smiles broadly when he sees Sam and Bucky approach, and Steve and Nat both stand to offer hugs and kisses in greeting.

“We’re so glad to be home,” Natasha says, sitting back down with a sigh. “Do you know that after spending the past few months trying to navigate alien bureaucracy, I’ve actually missed filling out post-mission paperwork at SHIELD? Do not repeat that to Fury.”

“Fury’s already trying to convince Natasha to train as his replacement when he retires,” Steve brags, putting his arm around Natasha’s shoulders. The flash of envy Sam feels at Steve’s obvious pride in Natasha is swiftly overwhelmed by Sam’s genuine happiness for her. He can’t think of anyone he’d trust more than Natasha to be the next Director of SHIELD. Probably she wouldn’t let in any secret Nazis or mad scientist artificial intelligences at all.

“That’s great, Natalia,” Bucky says warmly. “How soon can you start? I already hate working for Fury.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure Fury has like three decoy replacements lined up and at least another decade of weird mind games in him before he’ll seriously consider retirement,” Natasha says, nodding her head approvingly. “And to be fair to Fury, he’s probably still pretty pissed about that time you nearly killed him.”

“Actually, Fury really likes Bucky,” says Sam defensively. “Just last week Fury even thanked him for giving him the chance to fake his own death—said he’d been looking for just the right opportunity for years.”

Bucky smirks and nudges his knee against Sam’s underneath the table. Sam deliberately doesn’t move his leg away, warmth spreading through him from the point of contact.

“I feel like I should be surprised that Bucky won Fury over that quickly, but honestly it makes sense. The nuns loved Bucky,” Steve says, rolling his eyes.

“Fury does have kind of a weird nun energy, doesn’t he,” Natasha says thoughtfully. “I’ve never really thought about it before but now I’m kind of obsessed with the idea.”

When they’ve finished ordering—bacon cheeseburgers for Steve and Natasha, falafel salads for Sam and Bucky—Natasha asks them how they’re enjoying their new vegan lifestyle.

“Have you been eating a lot of aquafaba?” Natasha asks, too innocent by half.

A surge of triumph wells up in Sam’s chest. He knows that Natasha is testing them, and he knows that they’re going to pass this test.

“Aquafaba’s actually more of a baking thing, sort of an egg white replacement,” Sam explains, biting his lip to resist shooting Bucky a smug grin. “And Bucky doesn’t eat anything with added sugar, so we don’t do a whole lot of baking.”

“And since when is Bucky such a healthy eater?” Steve asks incredulously.

“Some of us got hasty Nazi knockoff serums, Steve,” Bucky replies. “I’m like a hundred years old. How do I know if I can just eat whatever I want and still have perfect blood pressure and cholesterol like you? Also, do you know how much we’ve learned about nutrition since you and I were in school? When was the last time you even got a physical, Steve? Natalia ought to be making sure you take better care of yourself. I make sure Sam exercises and eats a sensible diet.”

“I stay fit,” Sam agrees.

Bucky smirks and lets his eyes travel along Sam’s biceps and shoulders. “Yeah, you do, sweetheart.”

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to get a physical, OK? But my primary care physician was taken in the Snap,” Steve says defensively. “I didn’t have time to find a new one. I’ve been very busy.”

“I’m actually finding this all very interesting,” Natasha says, her chin propped on her hand and her voice low and amused. “Has Bucky always been this fussy and meddlesome?”

“Only when it comes to my best friend,” Bucky explains with great apparent sincerity.

Steve chokes on his soda, coughing and sputtering violently, and Sam looks up from his salad to grin and catch Bucky’s eye. Natasha gives Steve a few strong thumps on the back.

When Steve recovers from his coughing fit, he narrows his eyes in disbelief. “I’m sorry, your best friend? Is Sam your best friend? Because I thought Sam was more like your best friend’s best friend.”

“We’ve gotten really close since we moved in together,” Sam says earnestly, slinging a friendly arm around Bucky’s shoulders.

It’s not even a lie, really. They’ve got a pretty great routine going, and Bucky’s an easy roommate. They wake up every morning and drag themselves out of their shared bed, sleepy and warm, and head out for an early run, letting Bucky’s bomb ass running playlist and the exertion of their run build up the physical and emotional energy they need for the day. They take Bucky’s weird secret assassin route through the alleys to and from the subway every day, and when they come home in the evenings they catch up on all the movies and music and weird political news they’ve missed in the past five years. They smoke a joint together in bed every night before they go to sleep, and they laugh and swap stories and usually make fun of Steve. It’s all very comfortable and cozy. It’s actually, Sam is startled to realize, the closest thing to home he’s felt in the past two-slash-seven years.

“So you moved in together,” Steve says, his voice awkward and high pitched. “That’s—so great!”

“Speaking of moving in together,” Bucky says innocently. “Have you guys decided where you’re going to live? We can move the weapons out of the spare room at our place if you want to move in with us.”

“I’m sorry, the spare room? It’s only a two bedroom apartment, Bucky!”

***

Sam is happy to be back in the field with Steve and Natasha, but he can’t shake the slight uneasiness that comes from thinking he’ll be able to predict their actions, that he’ll be able follow the rhythm of their fight together, only for the two of them to do something totally different than what he expects at the worst possible moment. It turns out that five years was just long enough for Steve and Natasha to fall perfectly in sync with one another and out of sync with Sam.

It’s Sam and Bucky’s first official SHIELD mission with Steve and Natasha, and everything is going mostly fine except for the fact that instead of turning into nice, clean piles of dust like in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, these gross ass vampires are exploding like giant bags of blood every time you slay them. It’s super nasty and definitely unhygienic.

The vampires are feral, mostly mindless leech-like creatures that don’t seem to have a lot going on in their probably decaying brains. So on top of dying in a rather revolting sort of fashion, they’re not even sexy or sophisticated or even European the way pop culture has promised him. The whole experience is a real letdown, and it isn’t even really dangerous so much as it is messy and tedious.

“Last one!” Bucky calls out, firing his crossbow straight into the heart of a vampire standing in front of Steve. The vampire explodes in a disgusting spray of borrowed blood, drenching Steve from head to toe in its recycled bodily fluids. Sam stifles a laugh.

“God damn it, Bucky,” Steve complains, his face twisting in distaste. “Just for that I’m taking first shower on the Quinjet.”

Sam gives Bucky a discreet fist bump when they climb aboard, whispering, “Nice shot, man.” Bucky snickers.

Steve is always so funny when he gets all prim and fussy, like some kind of stuffy Victorian schoolmarm. It’s kind of adorable.

In order to fit a full decontamination chamber and shower into the Quinjet, there’s only one of them, so they have to take turns showering. Sam and Bucky have a sort of medium amount of blood on them, while Natasha has somehow managed to escape the whole gory ordeal without a single drop of blood—or even sweat? Literally how is she so pristine?—anywhere on her. Since they’re only in New Jersey, not too far from home, Natasha decides she can wait until they get back to SHIELD headquarters to shower.

“So what’s the deal with all the vampires?” Sam asks. “I thought you and Steve killed that Bloody Baron guy.”

“We did,” Natasha replies, frowning. “It must have been a nest he left behind. Usually new vampires are too stupid or underdeveloped to feed themselves—they’re sort of like human babies that way—but I guess after their vampire dad guy died they must have gotten hungry enough to try to find something to eat on their own. I would have thought that they’d have all starved to death by now, though.”

When Steve finally exits the shower a thousand years later, he shoots them a smug smile. “Good luck fighting over who goes next, guys,” Steve taunts, in an irritating, self-satisfied sort of way. “There’s probably not enough hot water left for both of you.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Bucky says casually. “Sam and I always shower together anyway. We can share. C’mon, Sam.”

Bucky grabs Sam’s wrist and tugs him along toward the shower, and Sam uses every ounce of energy he has left in his body to keep his facial muscles firmly under control, refusing to offer any kind of reaction whatsoever to that frankly shocking claim. What the fuck, Bucky? On the plus side, though, Sam has the pleasure of watching Steve’s eyes widen and his stupid smirk fade as horror slowly sets in.

Natasha’s face, of course, lights up in surprise and then sheer fucking delight at this unexpected turn of events, because Natasha loves drama.

“What,” Steve says weakly.

“Yeah, it’s no big,” Sam says, nonchalant as hell. “We’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Steve and Natasha whisper furiously at each other as Bucky pulls him out of the room.

When Bucky shuts the door to the decontamination chamber behind them, Sam falls back against it, running an open hand down his face and groaning. “Bucky, man, what are you doing?”

“What?” Bucky asks, eyes wide and guileless. He’s unbuckling the chest fasteners on his uniform, and Sam decides to take a moment to indulge his purely intellectual curiosity about how exactly Bucky straps himself into all that tactical fetish gear.

“Steve and I always used to take baths together,” Bucky says. “Do you know how long it took to heat up buckets full of water on the stove just to take one bath? And by the time one person was finished, the bath water would be dirty and cold! And Stevie was so little, it was just easier to bathe together so we’d both stay warm, especially in the winter—”

While Bucky prattles on about Depression-era plumbing, filthy shared tenement showers, cold water apartments, the potential dangers of cold baths for people with weak lungs, and how extremely normal it is for best friends to shower together, Sam watches Bucky methodically strip down to bare, sweaty skin.

“Do you need help, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, amusement in his voice.

“What,” Sam says absently. His eyes are intently following the path of a bead of sweat that’s sliding slowly down the hills and valleys of Bucky’s well-defined abs.

“You’re still dressed.”

“Oh! Right. Yes. I mean no! I don’t need help.”

As Bucky turns on the water and adjusts the temperature, Sam undresses hurriedly, tossing his bloody uniform into the laundry container marked “BIOHAZARD” and stepping into the shower with Bucky.

“Now, Sam, I just want to say: it’s OK if you get hard,” Bucky says sincerely, clearly trying but then utterly failing to hold back a grin. He looks directly into Sam’s eyes and claps him on the shoulder. “You know, Steve and I always—”

“Don’t say it,” Sam interrupts. “Do not say it or I will kill you, I swear to God.” Literally the last thing Sam needs, as he desperately tries to redirect the flow of blood running to his cock, is to think about Steve and Bucky showering together with erections. Jesus Christ. Sam is not made of fucking stone.

“I’m just saying, it’s perfectly normal—”

“I will kill you, Barnes,” Sam warns.

“It’s the beauty of nature!” Bucky proclaims with a shit-eating grin, then easily dodges Sam’s half-hearted blow to the face. “And if it makes you feel better, I will be making literally no effort to avoid ogling you, so.”

Sam rolls his eyes and suppresses a smile. “Whatever, man. Help me wash my back.”

***

After they shower together on the Quinjet, Bucky apparently decides that there’s no reason for them to stop showering together now that they’ve started. So every morning when they finish their run, Bucky follows Sam into the bathroom, stripping off his sweaty clothes and just stepping right into the shower, waiting for Sam to join him. And at this point it feels like maybe it would be weird if Sam said something, like maybe he should have said something the first time Bucky decided they were the kind of friends who took showers together, but quite frankly the first time Sam was so distracted by the shift and pull of Bucky’s muscles as he tugged off his shirt that Sam didn’t think to protest.

So now they shower together every morning, and they share the same body wash and shampoo too, because Bucky says that they already smell just like each other from spending so much time together that it doesn’t really make sense for them to use different products. Plus, Bucky explains, with two full grown men in the shower at the same time, there’s just not enough room to clutter up the space with a bunch of different bottles.

Sam is pretty sure that Bucky just likes it that Sam smells like him, though. Bucky’s weirdly possessive that way, and it turns out that maybe Steve is too, because every time Sam gets up close in Steve’s space during training, Steve’s nostrils flare, the briefest look of jealousy crossing his face.

So, on the plus side, their plan is definitely working.

On the down side, however, Sam has exactly zero opportunities to jerk off now, and he’s about to spontaneously fucking combust out of what is probably fatal sexual tension. Because every morning, Sam wakes up to a soft, sleepy Bucky pressed against his back, hips grinding gently against Sam’s ass. And every morning, Sam watches Bucky get sweaty and breathless on their run, thin t-shirt growing slowly more transparent, clinging to those perfectly sculpted pectoral muscles. And then, after all that, Sam has to actually get naked and shower with the guy, who is not at all shy about the way his erection springs up out of his running shorts as he pulls them down his hips.

And all of this—this whole fucking blue balls-inducing, brain-melting, sexually frustrating journey into madness—happens before Sam can even get a goddamn cup of coffee. It is eight in the fucking morning and Sam is about to die from his boner.

“Hey, Sam?” Bucky asks, giving himself a critical look in the bathroom mirror. “Can you cut my hair?”

“Do I look like a barber,” Sam replies flatly.

“No, but I feel like if we’re going to your mom’s today, I should probably look sharp, right? And I just don’t feel like the long hair goes with a suit.” Bucky frowns. “There are probably plenty of videos about hair cutting on Youtube, right? I’ll bet you could figure it out.”

Sam does not remember inviting Bucky to his mom’s house with him today, and he has no idea why Bucky is planning on wearing a suit, but he does remember how Bucky Barnes had looked in those old photos, with that classic haircut highlighting his sharp cheekbones and that perfect fucking jawline. He’d looked like an old movie actor, like Cary Grant or Gregory Peck, and Sam has always had a weakness for handsome men who look like they could take you to church and then take you straight to bed so you’ll have something to confess about next week.

“Yeah, all right,” Sam agrees.

It turns out there are actually a bunch of tutorials on how to cut hair on Youtube—apparently there was a whole thing that happened in 2020 where everyone had to cut their own hair for a while?—and after two or three videos Sam feels reasonably prepared for this potential disaster.

He sits Bucky down on a chair in the kitchen, because Bucky’s hair is thick and long, and Sam wants to make sure he can sweep everything up nice and easy when they’re done. When Sam runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair to start trimming the length, Bucky groans softly, his eyelids fluttering closed.

“Forgot how much I like having my hair touched,” Bucky murmurs.

“Oh, yeah?” Sam says, biting his lip. He wonders if Bucky also likes to have his hair pulled, and for a moment he regrets ever letting Bucky talk him into this hair cut, because he thinks he’d like to see Bucky’s long hair twisted around his fist as he guides Bucky’s mouth down onto his cock.

“I never had a professional haircut before the Army,” Bucky confesses. “My mom always cut it for me when I was a kid, and then when I moved in with Steve we’d do it for each other. We always needed money back then, couldn’t afford a barber.”

“Hold still for a moment,” Sam says, touching Bucky’s jaw and gently guiding his head into the right position. He runs the clippers over the back of Bucky’s neck, fingers pressing lightly against Bucky’s temples to move him where he needs him. Heat blooms deep in Sam’s belly at the way Bucky shivers under his touch. When Sam finishes trimming the sides and back of Bucky’s head, he leans down to softly blow the excess hair off the nape of Bucky’s neck. Bucky moans quietly, biting his lip and arching his back almost imperceptibly. Pretty little goosebumps rise on the back of his neck.

“Take a look,” Sam says quietly, handing Bucky a mirror.

Bucky turns his head left and right, preening a bit as he admires the tidy cut Sam gave him. He looks gorgeous, hair neatly trimmed in a way that draws focus to that devastating bone structure.

“Not too bad for your first try, sweetheart,” Bucky says, grinning. “Think your mom will like it?”

“Oh, I think she will.”

***

When Sam’s mom opens her door to see that Sam has brought a friend to visit, she looks delighted at this unexpected turn of events.

“Sam, baby! It’s so good to see you! Come in, come in!” she exclaims, pulling Sam in for a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek before leading them into the living room. “And who is this handsome young man?”

“This is Bucky,” Sam replies, shooting his mom a warning glare. Do not embarrass me, he communicates silently. She widens her eyes in response, giving Sam an overly innocent look and covering her heart a touch dramatically with her hands. Moi? her body language says. Sam is not fooled. “Bucky is my co-worker. And my roommate. And my friend.”

“Hello, Mrs. Wilson,” Bucky says, smiling like a goddamn choir boy. “It’s so nice to meet you. I hope you don’t mind that Sam invited me along today.”

Sam most definitely did not invite Bucky along today, but he feels like it would be rude to point that out in front of his mom, who looks very impressed by Bucky’s whole general existence. She looks even more impressed when Bucky presents her with the vase of lilacs he insisted upon buying along the way.

“These are lovely, Bucky! I’m always happy to meet one of Sam’s co-workers slash roommates slash friends,” she says teasingly. “And don’t you look nice! Sam, doesn’t he look nice?”

“You didn’t have to wear a suit to meet my mom,” Sam says with a sigh, rolling his eyes.

They already had this whole argument before they left, but Bucky was adamant about wearing the suit, and honestly Sam didn’t work that hard to try to talk him out of it. Sam didn’t even know that Bucky owned a suit, let alone one that was so perfectly tailored to those shoulders and those slim hips and those long legs. Once Bucky actually put on the suit, Sam suddenly felt like all of his objections were a bit trivial and unnecessary. So now, like an idiot, Sam is also dressed up, wearing a button-down shirt and a navy blue blazer to visit his own mother.

“It’s a Sunday, Sam,” Bucky says reprovingly, in a tone that suggests that the day of the week is somehow relevant to his sartorial choices. Sam’s mom nods approvingly at this, so maybe it’s some kind of weird older generation thing that Sam is too young to understand.

Sam feels a bit ill at the unwelcome realization that Bucky is technically older than Sam’s mother.

Sam’s mom serves them tea and cookies while they catch up, and Bucky is unfailingly polite, charming in a sincere sort of way that Sam should have expected from all of Steve’s stories about growing up together in the neighborhood. It occurs to Sam that Bucky probably developed this skill as a self-defense mechanism against the inevitable havoc that Steve wreaked in their lives, using it to keep the two of them out of trouble with mothers and teachers and, eventually, commanding officers.

When the subject of Captain America comes up, Sam’s mother frowns disapprovingly and says, “I just don’t know why that boy asked you to take on this kind of burden. Is he even retired? Why couldn’t he be Captain America?”

Sam’s mother always refers to Steve as that boy.

“That’s what I said!” Bucky exclaims. “I was furious when Steve said he wanted to pass the shield on to Sam. Why did Sam need to be Captain America? Sam was already a superhero. I mean, he was the Falcon! He could actually fly. How cool is that? Steve could never fly—Steve just fell, usually without a parachute. Being Captain America just meant doing the same thing Sam was already doing, but with an unfamiliar weapon and a lot more attention from bad guys. It seemed so risky and unnecessary.”

Sam is a little stunned at this revelation. He thought the reason Bucky was mad at Steve about the whole Captain America thing was because Steve hadn’t chosen him to be Captain America, not because Bucky was worried about Sam.

Sam’s heart thumps a bit in his chest, warmth flowing through his veins to thaw out a part of him that he hadn’t even realized had been just a tiny bit frozen, an icy chunk he’s been carrying around inside of him ever since he’d accepted Steve’s offer to be the new Captain America. Bucky looks soft and sincere, and Sam didn’t know how much he needed to hear that someone believed in him just as he was—that there was someone who didn’t just think that he’d make a good Captain America but that he was already a pretty great superhero all on his own.

Sam’s mom nods enthusiastically. “Exactly,” she says, then turns to Sam. “I like this one, Sam. He seems so much more sensible than that other boy. That one was always getting you into trouble.”

Bucky chuckles. “Oh, Steve is good at getting people into trouble. But the thing about Steve is that Steve attracts people who are just like him, people who are good and brave and ready to stand up for what’s right no matter what the cost. Sam was fighting for what he believed in long before Steve ever came along. You raised a good man, Mrs. Wilson,” Bucky says, smiling softly at Sam.

And Sam’s heart breaks a little in his chest at this, because he doesn’t think that Bucky realizes that Bucky is the very first person Steve attracted who shared his innate goodness and integrity, because Bucky doesn’t think he’s a hero like Steve and Sam.

Sam’s mom is clearly pleased by Bucky’s compliment, and she looks proudly over at Sam. “Sam is the best man I know,” she says, her voice strong, full of conviction. “I’m glad he has a partner who understands that his heart is just as valuable as his training.”

“Sam’s heart is exactly why Steve chose him as Captain America,” Bucky says. And then he tells her stories about Sam’s new job, stories that are carefully edited to minimize the danger they had faced and to maximize Sam’s capability and competence in dispatching various minor villains. He tells her about all of the countries they’ve traveled to, all the little boys and girls who’ve looked at Sam with stars in their eyes. Bucky makes sure to include Steve in these stories too, subtly but effectively touting Steve’s unflagging loyalty and care and dependability.

Sam remembers Steve telling him that Bucky was the first to shout “Let’s hear it for Captain America!” when they returned from Kreischberg, successfully distracting Colonel Phillips from any disciplinary action he might have been contemplating against Steve for going MIA. It’s hard to throw the book at someone who’s actively being celebrated by hundreds of grateful, cheering soldiers.

Bucky, Sam is beginning to realize, is the greatest hype man Sam has ever seen.

“Thank you so much for a lovely afternoon, Mrs. Wilson,” Bucky says with a kind smile. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“Come back next weekend!” Sam’s mom replies enthusiastically, giving Bucky a warm hug. “You can meet Sam’s sister Sarah and his niece Michelle. They’ll be sorry they missed you this week. Sam, dear, come give your mother a hug.”

When Sam pulls his mother in for a hug, she whispers, “I’m so proud of you” in his ear. Sam flushes a bit, feeling awkward and self-conscious.

“Thanks, Mom,” he says.

***

That night when they’re lying in bed, passing a joint back and forth, Sam makes a long overdue confession.

“I was mad at you, you know,” Sam says apologetically. “When you ran away. And when you didn’t come back after Peggy died. I thought you weren’t being a good friend to Steve. I don’t think—I don’t think I was being very fair to you. And I’m sorry.”

The thing is, Steve had told Sam a lot of stories about Bucky, about how charming and funny Bucky was, what a good friend he was, what a good sergeant he was. In Steve’s stories, Bucky was a giant, a larger-than-life sort of figure, a man who never gave up and never let anyone down.

And maybe Sam bought into all of that mythologizing, because when Bucky didn’t come back to Steve, Sam felt betrayed on Steve’s behalf. And he realizes now, with a sharp pang of regret, that this reaction was deeply unfair to Bucky, based on the legend of Bucky Barnes rather than the man. Because Bucky was supposed to be the loyal Howling Commando from Steve’s stories, Captain America’s Sergeant and Steve Rogers’s Best Friend, the hero who always rescued Steve when he needed it, even when Steve didn’t think he needed rescuing.

And Steve had so desperately, desperately needed rescuing, especially after Peggy’s death. Sam would never forget the sight of Steve Rogers, Captain America, tired and small and so very fragile, dipping under the weight of Peggy’s coffin as he carried her down the aisle.

When Bucky turns to face Sam, there are lines of grief in the corners of his eyes. “I was sorry about Peggy,” Bucky says quietly. “She was my friend too.”

Sam reaches out to brush his thumb along Bucky’s cheekbone, cupping Bucky’s face in his hand. Bucky raises his hand to cover Sam’s, cool metal against Sam’s skin, and Bucky shivers a little under his touch.

“You’re a good friend, Bucky. I’m sorry I thought you weren’t.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Bucky says with a tired smile.

***

When Steve knocks on their open office door, he looks with surprise at the sign on the doorway. “Sam Wilson and James Barnes?” Steve reads aloud, looking concerned. “Sam, they didn’t give you your own office? I feel like Captain America should get his own office. Do you want me to talk to Fury? Because you shouldn’t have to share with Bucky.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Sam says casually. “Fury gave us two offices, but we just figured it was easier to share since we’re always together anyway. Bucky’s office is our murder board room.”

Steve looks disconcerted by this. “OK,” he says, frowning. “Well, I just came by to let you know that Nat picked up another HYDRA facility on her radar, right near where we found those vampires in New Jersey. She sent you an e-mail with the details.”

Sam doesn’t know why Steve needs to stop by to tell him something that Natasha already sent him in an e-mail, but whatever. There’s something a little bit hesitant in Steve’s expression, a little bit lonely, and maybe Steve just came by because he wanted an excuse to see them.

“Thanks,” Sam says, with a warm smile. “C’mon, let’s go over to the spare office to tell Bucky to put it on our murder board. Make sure you tell him how great it looks, by the way. We spent like thirty minutes at Joann Fabrics picking out just the right shades of yarn to tie everything together. He actually has a whole color-coded system for it, with a key in an Excel spreadsheet and everything.”

While they walk down to go see the murder board, Steve tells Sam all about Bucky’s job as an actuary before the war. Apparently all those years doing informal risk assessment calculations to try to keep Steve from killing himself while they were growing up led to an actual career. “He was actually in college for mathematics when he dropped out to enlist.”

“I wonder if he put that on his resume when he applied for the job,” Sam says. “Actually now that I’m thinking about it I wonder how Bucky fit like 80 years of experience as an actuary, a commando, a brainwashed assassin, an international fugitive, and then a goat farmer on a one-page resume.”

“Wait, Fury actually made you two submit resumes?” Steve raises his eyebrows.

“Nah, just Bucky,” Sam replies, grinning. “I think Fury just wanted to give him a bit of a hard time after he shot him. Bucky actually wrote one up for him too. Wouldn’t let me see it, but if Natasha just so happens to find it anywhere on SHIELD’s servers at some point…”

“I’ll let you know,” Steve says, chuckling.

When they get to the spare office and see Bucky tacking up some new papers on the vampire murder board, Steve’s laughter catches abruptly in his throat. Bucky’s newly short hair is styled today in an appealing combination of his old, neatly parted look and a more modern fashion.

“Bucky?” Steve says breathlessly, his voice thick with emotion.

“Oh, hey, Steve,” Bucky replies awkwardly, raising his hand to his newly cut hair a bit self-consciously. “How does it look?”

“Great!” Steve says fervently, eyes shining. “You look—God, you look so great, Bucky.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says, biting his lip shyly. “Sam cut it for me. Had to look respectable if I was going to meet his mom.”

Steve looks unexpectedly stricken for a moment, but then recovers quickly. “Well, it looks great,” he says. “And you met Sam’s mom! That’s—great. That’s also great.”

“She loved him, of course,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. “He wore a suit. And he brought her flowers.”

“Bucky always did bring my mom a flower when he came to visit, even if he had to steal it from someone else,” Steve says wistfully. “That’s—that’s so great that he still does that.” Steve looks dreadfully, deeply jealous right now, although Sam honestly can’t tell if Steve is jealous of him, jealous of Bucky, or jealous of Sam’s mom. Probably a weird combination of all three.

“Well, it turns out Bucky is great with moms. Even put in a good word for your sorry ass while he was there,” Sam says cheerfully.

“Wow! Good! That’s—that’s so good,” Steve says, his voice a little weak now. “Wait, does your mom not like me? Actually never mind. We can talk about it later. I’ll just—I’ll just be going now. I can see that you two have a lot of work to do, so I’ll just—go.”

When Steve leaves, Bucky raises an eyebrow at Sam. “You think maybe the whole make-Steve-jealous plan is actually working?” Bucky says wryly, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a crooked smile.

Sam stifles a laugh. “Yeah, just a bit.”

***

Sam and Bucky are just getting out of the shower after their run on Saturday when they hear an unexpected knock on the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Sam says, pulling on a t-shirt and a hoodie. Bucky’s still standing in front of the closet, clad only in a gratifyingly small towel as he takes his time deciding what to wear today.

When Sam gets to the door and opens it, he’s surprised to find Steve and Natasha standing in front of him. Steve looks a bit sheepish, but Natasha appears utterly relaxed, at ease in the way that she always is no matter what’s going on or how weird Steve is.

“Surprise!” Steve says awkwardly. He raises his hands briefly like he might be attempting some sort of jazz hands or something, then clearly thinks better of it and sticks his hands in his pockets where they can’t get him into trouble. “We’re here to take you guys out!”

“Sam, sweetheart, where’s our blue sweater?” Bucky calls out from the bedroom.

“Sweetheart?” Steve repeats thinly.

“Our blue sweater?” Natasha repeats gleefully.

Bucky emerges from the bedroom, hands smoothing out a few wrinkles in the aforementioned sweater as he tugs it into place. “Never mind, I found it,” Bucky announces. “Hey, guys.”

“Well, hello, Bucky. So you two share clothes now,” Natasha observes, the corner of her mouth curving blithely upward. “Isn’t that interesting?”

What’s particularly interesting, Sam thinks, is that he is ninety-nine percent certain that he saw Steve wearing that same white t-shirt Natasha has tied neatly at her waist just the other day.

“Of course we share clothes. Why would Sam and I need separate clothes? We wear basically the same size, even if Sam’s shoulders are a bit nicer than mine,” Bucky says, winking at Sam.

“Your waist is trimmer, though. You’ve got that nice lean look going on, it’s really working for you.”

“OK!” Steve interrupts, sounding a bit frantic. He and Natasha trade a few weird, indecipherable looks back and forth and Natasha rolls her eyes. “So we were thinking we would take you guys out this morning, have some best friend time.” Steve says this last part with particular emphasis.

“Great, where are we going?” Bucky asks.

“Actually,” Steve says, “we were thinking about splitting up. Sam, how do you feel about going to a ball game with me?”

“Sure,” Sam says, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “What are Natasha and Bucky going to do?”

Natasha and Bucky have a brief conversation in Russian, gesturing back and forth a bit before Natasha flatly states, “Bucky and I are gonna go to yoga and then get mani pedis.”

“OK,” Sam says, raising an eyebrow in skepticism. Honestly he probably doesn’t want to know whatever it is they’re really planning to do, if only for the sake of plausible deniability. Sam wonders if he and Bucky should think about getting married at some point so they don’t ever have to testify against each other. He should bring it up later, probably not in front of Steve.

***

Steve and Sam are sitting in the sun, relaxing at a Mets game, and Sam has missed this so much. It’s spring, still a bit chilly, but the sun is out and the day’s warming up quickly. Steve looks happy and relaxed, golden hair shining in the sunlight and a little bit of pink on his cheeks and forehead that will fade away before they’re even home from the game tonight.

“So you and Bucky are getting along well,” Steve says, glancing at Sam out of the corner of his eyes.

Sam hums noncommittally, taking a sip of his water. He’d checked the app on his phone to see if any of the beers they had on tap were vegan, but unfortunately none of them were. Which is fine, really, because Bucky’s been nagging him to drink more water lately. In fact Bucky’ll probably ask Sam about it when he gets home, so now Sam will be able to tell Bucky yes, he had a bottle of water today, he’s staying hydrated.

“You don’t think Bucky’s a bit—much?” Steve asks uncertainly. “Some people used to think he was a bit overbearing.”

“Nah, he’s cool,” Sam says mildly, then hesitates. “But, well, he doesn’t have much use for privacy, does he? I mean, he’s always so—around. And so attractive! And sometimes a man needs some time to himself, for personal, intimate things. You know what I’m saying?”

“You’re dying of sexual frustration, aren’t you.” Steve smirks, with a knowing little glint in his eye.

“God, yes.”

“Old Bucky Barnacle. So that’s still his move, huh?” Steve says, his voice wry. “Well, good luck with that. If history repeats itself, I’m sure the situation will eventually come to a head one way or another.”

Sam doesn’t know what to do with that ominous remark, but since it’s such a nice day he decides to let it slide.

“Bucky did say something to me once, kind of struck me as odd. He said that you were his only friend growing up. Which—that’s not true, right? I mean, he’s so handsome and charming and—surprisingly sweet. I feel like a guy like that would have a lot of friends.”

Steve laughs ruefully. “You’d think so, right? But Bucky never really seemed to want other friends, and honestly a lot of people thought there was something a bit—funny, about him. And about me.”

“Funny like maybe you two were a little too close?”

Steve rubs the back of his neck, looking a little flustered. “Yeah, maybe,” he admits. “We were always together. God, Bucky used to get so jealous when I’d make other friends. But he loved me, wanted me to be happy. I think he was happiest when we were a part of the Howling Commandos. He just wanted me to be around people who valued me and appreciated me, I think.”

“He liked Peggy a lot,” Sam says mildly, carefully.

“He talked to you about Peggy?” Steve’s eyes widen slightly in surprise.

“We talk,” Sam says, careful to keep his tone guarded. Sam doesn’t know how much Steve and Bucky have really had a chance to connect after Bucky came back from Wakanda, doesn’t know how much Bucky is comfortable with Sam revealing. He gets the feeling that Steve and Bucky have been dancing around a lot of things for about eighty-five years now. “He likes Natasha too.”

“Does he,” Steve says, with a small, speculative smile.

***

They’re sitting on the sofa, catching up on Riverdale, and Sam can’t believe how much better the show has gotten since the Decimation forced them to write out Archie Andrews. They’ve just finished the episode where Betty Cooper reveals that the murdered Jason Blossom was actually just a clone of the real Jason Blossom—who apparently was in the witness protection program the whole time—when Bucky suddenly announces, “I think we should practice kissing.”

“Yes, absolutely, one hundred percent,” Sam agrees immediately, then pauses. “Wait, why?”

“Well, Steve and I used to practice kissing all the time, so it’s obviously a pretty normal best friend thing to do,” Bucky reasons, gazing earnestly at Sam with wide, too-innocent eyes. “I feel like it would be suspicious if Steve found out I haven’t kissed anyone in almost eighty years and my so-called best friend didn’t help me get back into practice.”

Then Bucky pulls his right arm across his chest, casually stretching the strong muscle in his shoulder, the thin material of his t-shirt straining over his firm bicep. And wow, Bucky really should have been a lawyer or a politician or something, because Sam always finds his arguments extremely convincing. He’s honestly the most persuasive guy Sam has ever met.

“Yeah, OK,” Sam says. “C’mere.”

Bucky leans toward him, hand coming up to touch Sam’s face gently. Bucky’s so close that Sam can feel Bucky’s soft breath against his mouth, and Sam leans forward to rest his forehead against Bucky’s.

“OK?” Bucky murmurs.

Sam hums in response, leaning forward to touch his lips softly to Bucky’s. Bucky’s hand trembles a little on Sam’s face, nerves or anticipation, but then Bucky’s grip tightens and he pulls Sam closer, opening his mouth to capture Sam’s lips between his.

The kiss starts out soft and sweet, tentative, and then slowly grows more passionate. Sam gasps when Bucky’s teeth pull gently at his bottom lip, tugging his mouth open so Bucky can slip his tongue inside. Sam moans and strokes his tongue against Bucky’s, heating burning through his veins as their tongues slide wetly against each other. Sam can feel Bucky’s heart beating right against his own, through their shirts and their skin and their sternums, a pounding, frantic rhythm that matches the pulse of blood traveling directly to Sam’s cock.

Sam tangles his fingers in Bucky’s hair, gripping the short strands in his fist and tugging gently, pulling Bucky’s head right where he needs him. Bucky pitches forward a bit, off-balance, bracing his hands on Sam’s thighs before climbing eagerly up onto Sam’s lap. Bucky is making sweet, urgent little sounds that send a shiver of want down Sam’s spine, and Sam has to pull back for a moment, take a minute to breathe and let his racing heart settle in his chest.

“Sam,” Bucky says, pupils dilated and dark. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

“Yeah,” Sam breathes, panting and fighting to keep his hips still, trying to keep from shifting them up against Bucky’s. “That was—.”

“Good?” Bucky asks, lips curving into a crooked, cocky grin.

“It was all right,” Sam replies casually, feigning nonchalance. “I think you still need more practice. C’mere.”

***

They practice kissing a lot after that, which is great, and also lucky, because when Bucky hisses “kiss me” to Sam in the middle of a HYDRA raid, Sam doesn’t even hesitate.

They’re sneaking into that New Jersey HYDRA facility Natasha found near the gross vampire lair, and Steve and Nat are breaking into one end of the facility while Sam and Bucky creep through the other. They’re trying to be quiet, don’t want to be caught before Steve and Natasha have a chance to get the data off HYDRA’s servers, so when a HYDRA goon stumbles into the hallway with them, Bucky hauls Sam right up against him and kisses him fiercely.

The HYDRA goon makes a noise of surprise and confusion, clearly baffled by the two heavily armed men making out in the middle of a research facility, but Sam’s having a hard time paying attention to him over the feel of Bucky’s lips, which are spit-slick and firm and insistent against Sam’s. When Bucky starts grinding his hips against him—wow, Bucky is really selling this—Sam lets out a low moan that Steve and Natasha will almost certainly hear over the comms.

“What’s going on here? You’re not supposed to be here!” the goon says.

Bucky releases Sam’s lower lip from between his teeth with a loud pop. “Huh? Oh, sorry, guess we got carried away,” Bucky says sheepishly.

“That’s OK, just—hey, wait! You’re the Winter Soldier!” the goon exclaims, apparently catching sight of Bucky’s metal arm.

Steve and Natasha burst into the hallway at that moment, and when the goon turns back around to face them Sam pulls his shield from its harness and throws it at the man, who falls to the floor like a sack of bricks. Sam catches the rebound.

“Oh, hey, guys,” Bucky says with a grin, casually reaching down to readjust the lines of his uniform from where Sam’s fists had wrinkled it during their makeout session. “You didn’t have to come help out. We had everything under control here.”

“Had everything under control here,” Steve repeats. “We saw you on the security cams necking right in front of a guard!”

“Well, sure, but the guy caught us red-handed sneaking down the corridors. Thank God Bucky’s such a quick thinker or that guard would have thought something was suspicious going on,” Sam says, shooting Bucky a grateful smile. Bucky grins back at him. “Using the old pretend-to-be-a-couple-making-out scam was a great call.”

“A great call?” Natasha says, raising her eyebrows. “You’re dressed as Captain America and the Winter Soldier and you’re right in the middle of their facility. In what way did you appear to be two passionate lovers out for an innocent stroll?”

“To be fair, that guard would have no idea if Captain America and the Winter Soldier had a more than professional relationship,” Bucky points out.

“And are you questioning Bucky’s professional judgment as a master of covert operations, Natasha?” Sam says reproachfully, shaking his head in disappointment. “Bucky was a ghost for over fifty years. I think the man knows how to keep from blowing a cover.”

Steve sighs heavily, rubbing his temples in frustration. “Look, let’s just do a quick sweep through the basement, OK? It’s the only place left that we haven’t checked out.”

When they make it down to the basement, Sam is surprised to find that the whole thing has a very distinct incel-with-a-sex-dungeon vibe to it. Which is not really an aesthetic that he thought HYDRA would be embracing, but he’s learned to roll with it when it comes to the weird shit that HYDRA gets up to. The room looks moldy and kind of wet, with a clammy cement wall that has an actual, albeit cheap-looking, coffin propped up against it, right next to some rusted metal chains that look like a serious tetanus hazard. There’s also a microwave and a pretty expensive gaming PC down here, screen turned on to one of those gryphons and gargoyles MMORPGs.

“Is someone living down here?” Bucky asks, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Or, even worse, is someone living in that coffin?”

There’s only one way to find out. Steve walks over to the coffin and yanks it open, jumping back in horror when a man wearing a neck brace and plastic fangs pops out and cries, “Steve! I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist coming back for me and my vampire babies. And you’ve found my new dungeon!”

His creepy red eyes are on fire with ecstasy.

“Ew, it’s Todd,” Bucky says, making a sour face. “I thought you killed that guy.”

“Yeah, me too,” Steve says with a frown.

“My name isn’t Todd,” Todd says peevishly. “It’s Baron Blood. How would you like it if everyone called you Bucky instead of the Winter Soldier?”

“Everyone does call me Bucky.”

When Todd has the nerve to look judgmental at this, Sam narrows his eyes and snaps, “Bucky is a great nickname.”

“It’s very cute,” Natasha agrees.

“I gave it to him,” Steve says, nodding proudly.

“Did you,” Todd says, eyes widening in alarm. “I didn’t mean to imply that Bucky was a bad nickname! Not at all! In fact, I love it. I was just—pointing out that it might be a tad unprofessional to use someone’s regular name in this kind of formal confrontation between a superhero and his archnemesis. I mean, this is really more like a work meeting, so I think it’s best if we just stick to titles, right, Captain America?”

“You called him Steve, earlier,” Natasha says.

“Well, the relationship between a superhero and his archnemesis really is such an intimate connection,” Todd purrs.

“Gross,” Bucky says.

“Anyway,” Steve says loudly, “Sam is Captain America now, I’m just a regular SHIELD agent. And I’m actually kind of in between call signs right now, so you can just—just call me Steve, I guess.” Steve looks a bit queasy at this.

“Wonderful, Steve,” Todd says smugly, his smile sharp and unnerving underneath those plastic fangs. Then he turns to Sam, looking him critically up and down before disdainfully stating, “I certainly won’t be calling him Captain America, though.”

“Why not? That’s pretty rude, Todd. We’re having a work meeting.” Natasha’s tone is disapproving.

“Well, for one, I’m racist,” Todd explains. “But also there will only ever be one Captain America, and that’s Steve Rogers. This guy’s just the Falcon.”

He says it scornfully, and Sam honestly might have felt a little insulted, but instead he remembers what Bucky said to his mother, that the Falcon was cool, that he could fly, that Sam was a superhero before he ever met Steve Rogers. And so Sam stands tall, raises his head high, and does his fucking job because he is a hero and a professional.

“Whatever, Todd,” Sam says. “I’m going to have to arrest you now.”

Unfortunately, Todd chooses this moment to reveal that he has the ability to transform into a swarm of bats, each of them wearing a tiny neck brace and plastic fangs as they form a small cluster and fly right out of the room and presumably away into the night.

Sam sighs in frustration. “You’re out there somewhere, Blood Baron, and I’ll find you!” he calls out after Todd.

“No, you won’t!” Todd shouts from a distance.

Sam puts his hands on his hips and narrows his eyes. “Yes, I will.”

“Nope!”

Bucky looks around the room, sighing in disgust as he takes in the mess and chaos from dozens of vampire bats flying about, leaving bat fur and guano everywhere.

“Great, now we’re all going to have to get rabies shots,” Bucky complains.

 ***

Sam and Bucky’s whole fake-best-friends plan is working phenomenally well, because ever since that Saturday Steve and Natasha had showed up unexpectedly to take them out, they’ve been regularly scheduling what Steve insists upon calling “best friend dates.” So long as they’re all in the same city, every Saturday they get together in pairs or as a foursome so that no one ever feels left out and everybody gets some quality time with each other.

When Steve and Sam hang out, they usually go to a game or to the gym—not to do any serious training, just to spar, getting sweaty and screwing around trying out new moves on each other. The best part is that for whatever reason the other SHIELD agents seem super reluctant to work out at the same time as them, so Sam and Steve always have plenty of room to wrestle and grapple around on the mats, pinning and taunting each other until someone gets frustrated enough to really slam the other one around a bit.

Sam has no idea what Bucky and Natasha do on their mysterious outings—they claim they’re going to drag brunches or yoga or spin class, but Sam can only guess what kind of sketchy shit a pair of formerly Russian former assassins might get up to together. Thankfully they’re always careful to mastermind their operations in Russian, presumably so that Sam will never be forced to reveal anything incriminating about them if he’s questioned. Bucky takes care of him like that.

Sam’s dates with Natasha are always super weird and fun—they usually end up going to see some kind of crazy conceptual art exhibit or avant-garde foreign film, then get coffee afterward and pretend to be fancy art critics. Or they’ll wander around old flea markets and antique stores and look for insensitive gifts for Steve and Bucky.

Sam is pretty sure that Steve spends his dates with Bucky doing something really homoerotic and intense like drawing semi-nude portraits of Bucky in 1940s military uniforms.

Actually, if they’re not already doing that, Sam should suggest it. He could probably try to pass it off as “healing” or “cathartic” or something, and maybe Steve will even show him the drawings afterward now that Sam has so much experience critiquing art with Natasha.

Today Sam and Natasha had planned on going to an outdoor art fair for their best friend date, because it’s funny to buy Steve tacky cat art and then watch him fumble for an appropriately gracious response, but this morning dawned with the sound of thunder rumbling ominously in the distance. By noon it’s pouring rain, a thick wall of icy water erupting from angry gray clouds, and Natasha is soaking wet when Sam answers the door.

“Jesus, Nat!” Sam says, ushering her into the apartment. “Let me grab you a towel for your hair. Do you want a change of clothes?”

“Sure, but don’t worry about the towel,” Natasha says with a careless wave of her hand. She opens the duffel bag she’s brought with her to reveal a barber’s cape and a pair of shears. “You’re going to cut my hair!”

“Oh, I’m going to cut your hair,” Sam grumbles, rolling his eyes. “Why does everyone seem to think I’m a barber?”

Sam leads Natasha into the kitchen and pulls out a chair for her before heading into the bedroom to try to find a pair of sweats that might fit. Natasha’s tiny, petite even when she wears heels, and it’s easy to forget that about her when she always stands so tall and confident. Sam wonders sometimes if that’s how Steve looked before he got the serum, all tiny and full of courage and swagger. Sam definitely does not think about how he and Bucky might have a type, and instead he grabs a t-shirt and the smallest pair of joggers they own, the ones that pull nice and tight over Bucky’s thighs and ass, before heading back into the kitchen.

Instead of waiting in the chair, Natasha’s standing in the nude, unselfconscious, wringing her clothes out over the sink. Her skin is pale and damp, glistening even in the dim, stormy light of the kitchen. Sam swallows and allows his eyes to trace the path of a drop of water sliding down the side of her neck only until it hits her collarbone, then looks away.

Sam clears his throat and tosses her the bundle of clothes. “Here, put these on,” he says, keeping his gaze averted while he grabs her wet clothes out of the sink. “I’ll put yours in the dryer.”

“Leave the bra out! If you put it in the dryer you’ll ruin it!” Natasha calls after him.

Sam rolls his eyes. “I have a sister, you know!”

Sam hangs Natasha’s bra up above the dryer, and damn, he can see why she doesn’t want him to ruin it. It’s gorgeous, black and lacy and expensive-looking—sexier than the three no-nonsense cotton bras that Natasha rotated between during those two years on the run. Sam smiles as he fingers the lace along the band, a gentle wave of happiness cresting over him at the thought of Natasha finally allowing herself to wear something beautiful.

When Sam returns to the kitchen, Natasha’s dressed, cozy and comfortable in Sam’s favorite t-shirt, joggers rolled up around her waist in an attempt to keep them from hanging onto the floor. Sam tries very hard not to feel any sort of way about how Natasha looks in Sam and Bucky’s clothing.

“So what am I doing here?” Sam asks. He flicks on the light and wraps the barber’s cape around Natasha, snapping it carefully at the back of her neck. Natasha’s hair is already damp, and Sam combs it straight, parting it just above her left eyebrow the way she likes. He’s lost track of the number of times he’s watched her straighten and style her hair this way over the years. “Do you want to keep any of the blonde?”

Natasha shrugs. “Nope, just lop it all off.”

“You’re lucky Bucky’s hair was long enough that I had to watch a bunch of videos on how to cut women’s hair too,” Sam says. He uses the comb to pull her hair taut and then trims off the bleached ends. “Actually, you’re lucky you’re beautiful enough that you can pull off an at-home hair cut from a dude with exactly one professional reference.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and reaches back to pinch Sam’s leg in response.

“Careful!” Sam warns, jerking back to dodge her unnecessarily strong fingers. “If I slip with these scissors, you’re gonna end up with the same haircut I gave Bucky. Do you want to be matching Russian murder twins? Steve and I won’t even be able to tell you two apart anymore.”

Natasha gives him a sly look from beneath her lashes. “Are you saying you and Steve would mind if Bucky and I switched places on you once in a while?”

Sam bites the inside of his cheek and ignores the massive trap Natasha has laid for him, all giant wooden spikes sticking out of a hole in the ground that Natasha’s barely even bothered to camouflage with leaves.

“You and Steve are nasty,” Sam says. “Don’t get me and Bucky involved in your business.”

“Sam,” Natasha teases in a sing-song voice.

Sam ignores her and focuses on trimming her hair, watching the blonde strands drift down to the tile floor. The kitchen is silent around them, quiet enough that Sam can hear the hum of the refrigerator over the soft sounds of the rain pitter-pattering outside, finally beginning to slow.

“Sam, ” Natasha says.

“I’m almost done,” Sam interrupts. He trims one last stray hair that’s escaped from the rest. “You like it just below your shoulders here? If you part it in the middle you’ll look just like you did when I met you.”

“Sam—”

“Here, take a look,” Sam says, handing over the mirror.

He unsnaps Natasha’s cape and busies himself with cleaning up, bringing Natasha’s scissors over to the sink to wash them. Sam soaps up the scissors and watches the storm move off into the distance through the kitchen window. There’s a ray of sunshine peeking through the clouds off to the west, just beginning to hint at the promise of a pretty day ahead.

When he’s done cleaning the scissors, he turns back to face Natasha and catches her smiling at herself in the mirror. “Sam!” she says, her eyes bright and sparkling. “I do look just like I did when you met me.”

“Yeah, Nat, you do,” Sam says with a fond smile, tugging on a lock of Natasha’s hair. “You look just like yourself again.”

The corner of Natasha’s lips tugs up in a wicked grin. “You think I’ve still got what it takes to bring down an entire secret government agency?”

“Nat, you don’t need to bring down an entire secret government agency. You’re gonna run one someday.”

***

The next Saturday Sam and Bucky are making their way through the alleys of Brooklyn on their way to lunch with Steve and Nat, and Sam can’t honestly say that the smell of dumpsters is really doing a lot for his appetite. He’s hopeful that they might run into Steve the cat, but otherwise it would really be nice to just go the regular way for once.

“Man, I don’t think we’re being followed,” Sam says. “Do we really have to go through the whole trash maze today? Can’t we just walk on the streets like regular people?”

Bucky looks concerned. “Wait, what do you mean being followed? Do you think we’re being followed?” Bucky’s spine stiffens and he looks alert, eyes darting back and forth to check the alley entrances for suspicious characters.

“No? But isn’t that why we walk through all these alleys every time we go somewhere?”

Bucky looks shifty for a moment, then embarrassed. “No? It’s really more like—OK, so the truth is—I don’t actually know my way around Brooklyn through the streets,” he mumbles.

“I’m sorry, you just said what now,” Sam says flatly. “Bucky, you grew up here.”

“I know, OK?” Bucky lifts his arm to scratch the back of his neck self-consciously. “But do you know how many fights Steve got into in these alleys? We didn’t have cell phones back then, Sam! The only way to make sure Steve was safe was just to take the alleys everywhere and hope I’d run across him before he got himself killed.”

“Oh my God, you really are the world’s best best friend,” Sam marvels. “No wonder Steve wouldn’t shut up about you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes and trying to hide a pleased grin. “All right, sweetheart, show me how to get there the fancy way. Lead on.”

So Sam leads Bucky out of his weird little warren full of dumpsters and feral cats and into the sunny streets of Brooklyn. Their shoulders and hands bump a bit as they walk along, and Sam’s heart beats a little faster when Bucky briefly tangles their pinky fingers together and gives him a little squeeze.

When they get to the restaurant they find Steve and Nat sitting close together, grinning and laughing and looking fondly at one another, and Sam is surprised to find that he doesn’t feel even the slightest burn of envy at their casual display of intimacy. Instead his heart swells with affection for them, his best friends, and Sam feels thankful that whatever trauma and heartache they’ve suffered over the last five years, at least they’ve finally learned how to express all those emotions they’d been keeping locked so tightly inside of them.

Steve and Nat seem lighter, happier, quicker to offer smiles and physical affection and verbal assurances of love. It’s kind of sweet really, Sam thinks.

Steve and Natasha look happy when they see Sam and Bucky arrive, standing up to give them big hugs and quick kisses on the cheek or the lips. The four of them chat for a while about what else Sam and Bucky have missed over the last five years—they’re still catching up, working their way now through the four legendary albums Taylor Swift released after her boyfriend was lost in the Decimation. She dropped all four albums at the same time, received massive public and critical acclaim, then disappeared for the next four years. Sam is profoundly unsurprised by the revelation that he and Bucky share an appreciation for hot, artistic blonds.

When the subject turns to work and thus to Todd, Sam groans. “So what’s the deal with that guy anyway? I thought you literally beheaded him.”

“I did,” Steve says with a grimace. “But he had that whole neck brace situation going on? So I guess he’s using it to just sort of—hold everything together.” Steve looks a little nauseated at the idea.

“Todd is so gross,” Bucky complains.

“You soaked the shield in holy water blessed by the pope, though, right?” Sam asks, frowning. “Todd’s Catholic, so it should have worked.”

“We did,” Natasha confirms. “Steve took a trip to Rome and went to a special mass and everything.”

Steve turns to Bucky, looking displeased. “Oh! Did you know that they do the mass with the priest facing you now? So now he can see if you’re goofing off in church. And they don’t do it in Latin anymore, so they expect you to actually listen too.”

“Remember when Father O’Connell caught us sneaking comic books into our hymnals and Ma wouldn’t let me see you for a month?” Bucky says, shaking his head and letting out a low whistle. “She always did think you were a bad influence.”

“I honestly thought you were going to die every single night when you snuck up that death trap of a fire escape to my bedroom in the pitch darkness.”

“Well, c’mon, like I was really going to go an entire month without seeing my best friend?” Bucky says, scoffing. “Plus that was like the same month we discovered masturbation so forgive me for being willing to risk death to come see you every night.”

Natasha snorts a little at that, and Sam makes sure to look directly in front of him at Steve so that he does not catch Natasha’s eye.

“Anyway,” Natasha says loudly, clearing her throat. “I think our mistake was in getting holy water blessed by the wrong pope.”

“The wrong pope?” Bucky lifts an eyebrow. “There’s only one pope, Natalia.”

“Not anymore!” Natasha says cheerfully. “After the Snap, there was a huge schism in the Catholic Church between the ‘faithful’ and a group of people who thought that what we actually experienced was the Rapture. There was this whole conspiracy theory that the old pope and a group of cardinals—who were all taken in the Decimation—deliberately suppressed information about the Rapture because it conflicted with Catholic teachings. So the remaining ‘faithful’ cardinals elected one pope, but then another group of cardinals broke off and elected a different pope.”

“What,” Sam says.

“Yup!” Natasha says, eyes alight with amusement. “So the schismatics moved their Holy See back to Avignon in France, but before they did, they—get this—collected the old pope’s ashes and put them on trial.”

“What,” Sam repeats, mouth dropping open in disbelief.

“It was the most batshit insane Medieval farce of a trial I have ever seen, and I grew up in the Soviet Union.” Natasha tips her head in reluctant approval at this lunacy. “So anyway, now there are two popes, and they’ve each ex-communicated the other.”

“So if Todd is a follower of the schismatic pope, then I guess we need to go get some holy water blessed by that guy instead?” Sam says.

“Natasha and I can go,” Steve offers.

Bucky narrows his eyes at this and bumps Sam’s knee under the table. “Nah, Sam and I can go. The last time I was in Avignon, I was in the infantry and it was being bombed by the Germans,” Bucky laments. He knows how guilty Steve feels about the horrors Bucky witnessed in the war before Steve rescued him from Kreischberg. “Plus Avignon is really beautiful this time of year.”

“It will be a healing trip,” Sam says earnestly.

***

One of Bucky’s many mysterious superpowers is that no matter where they are in the world, no matter what part of any city, no matter what language everybody is speaking and whether Bucky can speak it too, Bucky can disappear for fifteen minutes and magically return with the best weed Sam has ever smoked.

They’re at their hotel in Avignon, relaxing after a pretty tense dinner with Pope Stephen X—known apparently to “regular” Catholics as the Antipope of Avignon—and his loony band of schismatics. Sam has already expended the majority of today’s allotted emotional energy pretending that everything this guy did wasn’t deeply weird.

“Do you think he’s actually going to release a papal bull against Destiel?” Bucky asks. He sucks on the end of their joint, cheeks hollowing out attractively as he inhales, before he exhales and passes it back over to Sam.

They’re on the roof of the hotel, where they’re probably not technically allowed to be, but Sam used his wings to get them up here anyway and he’s sure they have some sort of diplomatic immunity or something, right? Probably. They have a gorgeous view of the Rhone, painted dark purple in the setting sun, and the Palais des Papes looks Gothic and romantic as hell surrounded by Medieval ramparts.

“I don’t know, man,” Sam says, shrugging. He feels warm and lazy. “I tried to tell him it’d be political or religious suicide or whatever if he did. Like 40% of the world’s Catholics live in Latin America and they’re all Destiel believers down there.”

They lapse into silence for a moment, and then Bucky says, “Hey, Sam? Do you ever think about submarines?”

“I mean, occasionally, I guess,” Sam says thoughtfully. “Why?”

“I dunno,” Bucky replies, leaning back and looking up at the sky. “It’s just so funny thinking about all the submarines floating out there, hiding from each other. Like, what a ridiculous thing we all decided to do. We just send people out for months at a time and tell them to find other submarines but not to let other submarines find them. And like every major superpower does this, and it costs billions of dollars.”

“That’s a good point, but also you’re high as fuck,” Sam replies, stifling a grin. “Where did you even get this weed?”

“French Mafia,” Bucky responds blithely.

Sam shakes his head in disbelief, wondering when that became a thing. He pours another glass of wine from the picnic basket they brought up with them and takes a sip. “This is a nice ass spread, by the way. You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

Bucky grins in response, and oh, Sam knows that grin.

“C’mere, baby,” Sam says. “Let’s make out.”

***

It takes a while for Natasha to track Todd to his new lair, but eventually she finds it in the Free State of Michigan. Like everything else about the world after the Snap, everything about that situation is confusing as hell too, because when Michigan seceded from the Union, the Upper and Lower Peninsulas actually split apart from each other. It wasn’t even because one peninsula wanted to leave and the other wanted to stay either—they both wanted to leave, but the Lower Peninsula refused to let the Upper Peninsula tag along with them, arguing that they didn’t contribute enough to their tax base.

So now the Lower Peninsula is an independent country known as the Free State of Michigan, while the Upper Peninsula is still a part of the United States of America and is known simply as Michigan. They fought a lot over which peninsula got to keep the name Michigan, and the Upper Peninsula only narrowly won that battle after Ohio got its trashy ass involved.

Finally, after the Battle of Toledo and the total shit show that was the Second Michigan-Ohio War, the United States government finally agreed to let the Free State of Michigan leave so long as they got to keep the Upper Peninsula and call it Michigan. So now the Lower Peninsula is a libertarian hellhole called the Free State of Michigan and Sam has to use his passport to get there.

“Do you even need a passport?” Bucky asks. They’re in the middle of fighting Todd, who’s not actually that good at fighting but is very good at exploding into a group of bats every time they try to land a punch. “You’re Captain America. I feel like this is a situation like the Queen of England, where she doesn’t need a passport because all passports are issued by her.”

“I don’t think that all American passports are issued by me,” Sam says doubtfully. He should probably check with Nick Fury or maybe the President about that, though.

Todd re-forms back into a person just to be a dick and tell Sam he’ll never be the real Captain America.

“You’re an asshole, Todd,” Sam informs him. Then, before Todd can become bats again, Sam slings his shield, already coated in holy water blessed by the Antipope of Avignon, directly at Todd’s neck, busting through his brace and re-severing his head.

 “Nice hit,” Bucky says, whistling in admiration.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t seem to do the trick, because Todd just stands up, gropes blindly for his head, and once he finds it, he poofs into a swarm of bats, each one cradling its little head in its right wing, flying off into the night at a distinctly wonky angle.

“Damn it, Todd!” Sam calls after him. “What the fuck do you even believe in, man?”

***

They don’t stay at a hotel in the Free State of Michigan because it’s a dystopian nightmare where every hotel room is a smoking room and Sam is genuinely concerned about being hunted for sport, so they take the Quinjet back to New York.

They get in late, showering perfunctorily and climbing into bed nude together, too tired to bother pulling on pajamas. When Sam wakes up in the morning, he can see that it’s really more like mid-afternoon, the sun streaming in through their curtains, filling the bedroom with soft, diffused light. Bucky is pressed up against his back, too hot and just a tiny bit sweaty, his hard cock nestled up against Sam’s ass.

When Sam shifts a bit against him, reluctantly considering the prospect of getting up and starting the day, Bucky makes a discontented little noise and wraps his arm around Sam’s chest to pull him back.

“No, come back here,” Bucky mumbles, voice rough with sleep. He throws his leg over Sam’s, trapping him into place, and drops a warm kiss onto the back of Sam’s neck. Sam shivers at the feel of Bucky’s lips against the sensitive skin at his nape, and Bucky’s hand wanders down Sam’s chest and along his flank as he subtly grinds his cock into Sam’s ass.

Sam lets out a low chuckle. “Oh, that’s what you want?” he asks with amusement.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky breathes. “That’s what I want.”

Sam turns over to face him, capturing Bucky’s lips in a slow and dirty kiss. Bucky moans softly, and his hand slides down to blatantly grope Sam’s ass, fingers kneading into the hard muscle. Bucky’s cock is pressed against his, and Sam can’t resist grinding a bit against him.

When Sam pulls back from the kiss, he asks, “You sure about this? Sex changes things.”

“Sure I’m sure,” Bucky says, grinning. “I mean, it’s been awhile, but Steve and I always—”

“Do not tell me you and Steve used to fuck back in the day.” Sam groans, willing his brain not to indulge those mental images.

“Wait, did you and Steve not—”

“No!” Sam says defensively. “Steve and I were best friends, not boyfriends.”

“Sam, first of all, it’s totally normal to fuck your best friend, it’s called friends with benefits. I looked it up, and it’s a thing.” Bucky sounds placid, relaxed, his tone entirely too reasonable, his expression even and unbothered. “And second of all, you and I are only pretending to be best friends, so it’ll be even more fine for us.”

Bucky shifts his hips against Sam again, and Sam stifles a low moan. Sam is absolutely going to go along with this nonsense. God, all of his relationships with all of his friends have gotten so deeply weird ever since Steve came into his life. Steve’s boundary issues with Bucky are infecting the entire rest of the team.

“Yeah, OK,” Sam agrees, then gasps as Bucky leans down to lick and then gently bite Sam’s nipple. The sensation goes straight to Sam’s cock and he can’t resist thrusting his pelvis up against Bucky’s hard abs. “Fuck, baby.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky says, licking his way down Sam’s chest, mouthing and sucking at the skin on Sam’s lower belly and thighs, soft and gentle and careful, like maybe he doesn’t want to leave any bruises. Sam wonders if that’s a leftover habit from fucking Steve, if Bucky hadn’t wanted to leave marks on Steve’s pale, delicate skin, still so quick to bloom purple even now that his bruises fade in a matter of hours. As Sam pictures Bucky’s mouth on Steve, licking and sucking at him the same way that he’s torturing Sam now, heat spreads through his entire body, his skin on fire.

Bucky spends an excruciatingly long time just teasing and kissing around Sam’s cock before he finally, finally runs his tongue slowly up Sam’s hard length.

“Fuck,” Sam curses, fighting to keep his hips still. Bucky looks up at him from beneath those long lashes, and Sam feels a sharp tug in his lower belly at the sight of those gorgeous gray eyes. “Fuck, please.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Bucky says soothingly.

He presses a soft kiss to the tip of Sam’s cock and then wraps his pretty lips around him and slides down, maintaining eye contact as he takes Sam deep into his mouth. Sam gasps at all that wet heat surrounding him, shocked by the fire racing down his spine as he feels Bucky swallow him down.

“Bucky,” Sam says helplessly, reaching down to put his hands in Bucky’s thick hair, soft and still messy from sleep.

Sam shifts restlessly, trying not to fuck Bucky’s mouth as Bucky leisurely drags his mouth up and down Sam’s cock, his pace maddeningly, frustratingly slow. When Bucky slides all the way down to the base of Sam’s cock, taking his entire length into his mouth, Sam’s hips jerk involuntarily and his fists clench in Bucky’s hair.

“Fuck, baby, I need—I need—”

Bucky pulls his mouth off Sam’s cock and Sam moans at the loss of that tight heat. Bucky’s eyes are knowing, his lips spit-slick and pink, so pretty and swollen.

“I know what you need, sweetheart,” Bucky says sympathetically, wickedly, his voice rough from Sam’s cock down his throat. “You gonna let me fuck you, Sam?”

“Yeah, God, yeah,” Sam says. Sam’s pulse leaps at the thought, and he takes a deep breath to try to force his racing heart to calm down, to steady his shaking hands.

Bucky kisses his way back up Sam’s chest, leaning over Sam to whisper in his ear, “So gorgeous, sweetheart. Gonna make you feel so good, Sam.”

Bucky reaches into the top drawer of the nightstand to pull out a condom and a bottle of lube. Sam starts to turn over, to bring himself up onto all fours, when Bucky stops him and says, “No, stay there, sweetheart. I wanna see you while I fuck you.”

Bucky grabs a pillow and slides it under Sam’s ass, pulling Sam’s knees up and spreading his legs apart so he can look at him. Sam trembles under Bucky’s gaze, his skin prickling as Bucky’s eyes roam greedily over Sam’s body.

“Fuck, Sam,” Bucky says reverently. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” Sam gasps, arching his back when he feels the slick press of Bucky’s finger at his hole.

He tries not to clench up, tries to relax his muscles as Bucky slides a finger smoothly inside him. Bucky is sweet and soothing, praising Sam as he works his finger in and out of him, telling Sam how beautiful he is, how good he feels, how much Bucky can’t wait to be inside of him. Sam’s poor, neglected cock is dripping precome onto his lower belly, and Sam reaches down to take himself in hand, giving his cock a gentle stroke.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” Bucky says, his eyes hot and admiring as they watch Sam’s fist moving over his cock.

Sam keeps at it, leisurely jerking himself off while Bucky works a second and then a third finger into him. Bucky’s eyes are dark and hungry, and Sam feels aroused and exposed and needy, desperate for more, ready for Bucky’s cock to fuck him open and fill him up. He’s panting and gasping, chanting, “Please, please, please” as Bucky’s fingers stretch and pull at his loosening rim.

“You want it?” Bucky says, ripping open the condom package, pulling out the condom and sliding it down the thick, flushed length of his cock.

“Please, yes, I need it,” Sam begs.

And Sam’s embarrassed by his eagerness, how desperate he is for it, but the humiliation only makes him more aroused, his cock hardening further under his hand. He’s always so quick to say yes to Bucky, so quick to be tempted even against his own common sense, and Jesus fuck is he grateful for that now because that is Bucky’s cock sliding into him, pushing past the tight ring of muscle at Sam’s entrance and filling him up.

Bucky grabs Sam’s legs and hitches them up around his waist, sliding another inch of his thick cock deep inside Sam, who’s gasping and panting beneath him. Sam’s knees tighten around Bucky’s sides, gripping him tight and using his leverage to pull Bucky deeper into him. Sweat begins to form at the small of Sam’s back and behind his knees, prickling at his overheated skin.

“Sam,” Bucky moans. “God, Sam, you feel so good, sweetheart.”

Bucky bends down to steal a wet, filthy kiss as he slides his cock deeper, pushing that last, final inch all the way into Sam. Bucky’s hips are flush against him, and Sam feels so connected to Bucky, with Bucky’s tongue sliding slickly into Sam’s mouth and Bucky’s cock thrusting deep into Sam’s ass, and Sam swears Bucky’s heart is beating in time with his, twin rhythms pounding faster and faster until Sam feels like they’ll both burst into flames.

“C’mon,” Sam urges. “I need it. Please, baby.”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, leaning down to give Sam one last kiss before he braces himself on his arms and starts moving, slow and deep and dirty, into Sam. Sam’s head falls back as his back arches, and Bucky’s teeth nip gently at the exposed skin of Sam’s neck. Sam reaches down to grab Bucky’s ass, and Bucky inhales sharply when Sam pulls him, hard, so far inside him that Sam feels like he’ll choke on Bucky’s cock.

“Sam—Sam, you—”

“Yeah, baby, please—”

“God, Sam—”

Bucky fucks him so slowly, so sweetly, that Sam feels like he’s going to float off into space, lost in the feel of Bucky’s cock hitting that sensitive spot before dragging back out against his tender rim. Sam moans every time Bucky hits his prostate, feeling his balls begin to tighten and draw up against his body. Bucky’s pace slowly shifts from controlled and relentless to wild and irregular.

“Sam, Sam, look at me,” Bucky groans. Sam opens his eyes to find Bucky looking wrecked, his lips swollen, eyes dark and dazed, looking beautiful and so utterly focused on Sam. Their eyes meet and Bucky holds the contact, biting his lip and moaning. “Sam, Sam, I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, c’mon, do it—”

Bucky comes with a choked cry, shuddering and thrusting his hips erratically against Sam. His body shakes and shivers, breath coming in heavy gasps against Sam’s mouth.

Sam groans and focuses his attention back to stroking his cock, his hand moving faster and faster as Bucky pants and recovers above him. Sam’s almost there, so close, when Bucky leans down to kiss him, teeth biting gently at Sam’s bottom lip, and stars explode behind Sam’s eyes as he spills over his fist.

Bucky is slow to pull out of Sam, kissing him lazily before removing the condom and then collapsing on top of him. Sam wraps his arms around Bucky as they breathe and let their hearts settle, pressed tightly against one another.

“God, Sam,” Bucky says, voice muffled by Sam’s neck, sounding happy and exhausted and overwhelmed.

Sam lets Bucky rest on top of him for a while until he begins to feel suffocated by the weight of an entire supersoldier resting on him. He nudges Bucky to the side a little, and Bucky rolls onto his back, pulling Sam over to rest his head on Bucky’s shoulder.

Sam wonders if Bucky understands that “friends with benefits” usually don’t make love to each other the way that Bucky just made love to him.

“Good, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, pressing a kiss to the top of Sam’s head.

“Yeah.” The corner of Sam’s mouth turns up in a grin. “You did all right.”

“You were pretty good yourself,” Bucky says appreciatively. “Thought I was going to die when I got inside you. Christ, sweetheart.”

They lapse into blissful silence for a moment, and Bucky reaches over to grab Sam’s hand and pull it onto his chest. He plays with Sam’s fingers idly, intertwining their fingers and then pulling back to stroke his thumb over Sam’s palm. Bucky seems utterly relaxed and content, and Sam hates to break the comfortable silence but he just has to ask.

“So,” Sam says casually, “is that always how you fuck? All slow and romantic and full of eye contact?”

“Well, I mean, I’ve only ever had sex with Steve, so I guess so?” Bucky says, frowning. Sam is a little stunned at this revelation, eyebrows shooting upward in shock, because Bucky is one of the most attractive men Sam has ever met and Sam now knows for a fact that Bucky knows how to seduce someone if he wants it. “I guess I’m not really sure how I’d fuck someone other than you or Steve. I mean, maybe Natalia—”

Sam decides to interrupt Bucky before he finishes that interesting thought. “Rumor has it that you were a real smooth operator back in the day, though, taking ladies out on the town and double dating with Steve and going out dancing all night. You’re saying you never seriously tried it on with anybody else?” Sam asks in disbelief.

“Well, I mean, there were girls,” Bucky says slowly. “But I sorta got the feeling that they didn’t really take me seriously? Like, they were happy to go dancing with me, and they’d give me a sweet kiss at the end of the night, but if I tried for anything more they’d just pat me on the cheek and tell me to say hi to Steve for them and I really should take out their friend Betty next week.”

Bucky shrugs, obviously baffled by this behavior, but Sam suddenly understands exactly why Bucky wasn’t very successful with the ladies, and Sam really should have been way less surprised by the fact that even the sheltered Catholic girls of 1940s Brooklyn could tell that Bucky and Steve were deeply weird about each other and Bucky wasn’t exactly available.

“Did you ever want to get married and have a family?”

“Sure, someday,” Bucky says carelessly. “But Steve and I were still young when the war hit. I thought we’d have more time together. And then we didn’t, and Steve met Peggy, and you know how everything went after that.”

“It didn’t bother you when Steve found Peggy?”

“No, of course not,” Bucky says, his eyes shining and earnest. “Peggy was a doll. And I’ve been in love with Steve my whole life. I knew we’d always be best friends. It never even occurred to me that I could ever really lose Steve, not in a way that mattered. After all, who can ever really come between someone and their best friend?”

And that—explains a lot about Bucky’s near fanatical devotion to the very concept of best friendship. Sam shakes his head at this, knowing that there’s probably no point in trying to shake Steve and Bucky out of the wacky coping mechanisms they’ve developed for 1940s homophobia. After over a hundred years that shit has got to be way too deeply entrenched in their psyches.

Sam resigns himself to embracing their crazy on this particular issue. At least Bucky is hot.

***

Sam and Bucky are visiting Sam’s mom, and Sam doesn’t know how his mom knows, but somehow she definitely does know that something is different between Sam and Bucky, and boy does she look thrilled about it.

“Thank you so much for the lovely flowers, Bucky!” Sam’s mom gushes. “And you thought to bring a dish for dinner! Sam never used to bring a dish with him to dinner.” She beams at Bucky, so clearly approving of all of the changes Bucky has brought to Sam’s life, then looks meaningfully over at Sarah and Michelle. “And don’t they look handsome!”

Michelle simply nods obediently at this, because she’s eleven and not particularly impressed by Sam’s too-formal attire, but Sarah gives him a quick once over and then raises her eyebrows in mild surprise at his tailored blazer.

Sam and Sarah have a quick conversation through facial expressions, communicating “What’s all this then, Sam?” and “Don’t make a big thing about it, Sarah,” and “Is he your boyfriend?” and “Shut up, Sarah!” through a series of suggestively waggled eyebrows and narrowed eyes and teasing smirks.

“I hope it wasn’t too much trouble for you to plan a meal without meat, Mrs. Wilson,” Bucky says with concern. “If it’s too much or you don’t want the hassle of meal planning, you’re all more than welcome to come to our apartment for dinner on Sunday nights.”

And the thing is, Bucky’s not being smarmy or insincere about it at all. He would be genuinely happy to have Sam’s family over for dinner every Sunday night, because Bucky likes cooking and he likes Sam and he likes families, and maybe Sam’s starting to feel some kind of way about all of Bucky’s effortless charm and openhanded generosity and muscular thighs.

“So you and Sam are living together,” Sarah says with interest. Even Michelle perks up at this, finally glancing up from her phone, where she’s been texting rapidly or possibly live tweeting this entire embarrassing conversation.

Bucky puts a casual arm around Sam’s shoulders, and come on, Bucky has to know how this looks to Sam’s family, right? “Yep, for probably around six months now, right, sweetheart?” Bucky says, smiling at Sam.

And suddenly Sam realizes that maybe Bucky doesn’t know how this looks to Sam’s family, because Bucky has such an extreme lack of awareness regarding normal friendship boundaries, and also because they’re so far deep into this whole fake-best-friends thing that this is just the way that the two of them act now, all the time.

And, really, Sam has to blame Steve and Natasha for this too, because the two of them are only encouraging this madness with all the “best friends dates” and the excessive physical affection and their own overly invested relationship. Literally no one in Bucky’s life is modeling basic relationship boundaries for him, no wonder he slipped through the cracks of normal human friendship behavior.

And Sam must be crazy too, because he just smiles back at Bucky and says, “Yep, that sounds about right, baby.” Because Sam isn’t really all that concerned about normal human friendship behavior when Bucky looks at him like that, gray eyes all warm and soft and pleased, like Sam’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

Sam’s heart beats a little faster in his chest, warmth traveling through his veins, and oh, this is a thing.

“You know, when you and Steve were living together, he never invited us over to your place,” Sam’s mother points out. Thanks to all of Bucky’s hard work rehabbing Steve’s tarnished image in Sam’s mother’s eyes, Steve has been upgraded from that boy to Steve, always stated with a faint moue of distaste.

“Steve and I were international fugitives, Mom,” Sam replies, his tone patient. “We didn’t have a stable place to invite you to.”

“And whose fault was that!” Sam’s mom says triumphantly.

“Mom, I made my own choices when it came to the Accords.”

“Sam’s not a follower,” Bucky agrees, and it’s sweet that Bucky thinks so but Sam realizes now that that is a complete lie, because Sam has done nothing but follow Bucky along in this foolishness ever since he felt Bucky’s body pressed up against him in a closet. “And if anything it’s probably my fault how everything went down. I was the one they blamed for that bombing—Steve and Sam were just trying to help me. They really are the best friends I could ever ask for, and I’m still not sure I was worth everything they went through for it.’”

And maybe it’s just a fluke of the phrasing, maybe Bucky didn’t really mean it, but Sam can’t help but notice that this is the first time Bucky has ever used the plural form of the term best friend.

“Oh, dear, that wasn’t your fault!” Sam’s mother protests. “You were framed for that bombing!”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t Steve’s fault either, Mom.”

Sam’s mother sniffs. “Well, I still think Steve could have made more of an effort to get to know your family.”

“I’m still friends with Steve, Mom,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. “Our friendship is not past tense, we’re not, like, broken up or something.”

“Then why isn’t Steve here for Sunday dinner with the rest of the family?” Sam’s mother gestures around the table at the five of them, and Sam’s heart skips a beat as he realizes that his mother is including Bucky in the family.

Sarah and Michelle are observing this conversation with ill-concealed glee, unabashedly enjoying Sam’s friendship-slash-relationship-slash-familial drama. Bucky’s arm is still wrapped around Sam, his thumb rubbing absent little circles on Sam’s shoulder, and Michelle is tapping away on her phone as she watches. Sam doesn’t have high hopes for this staying off the internet when he catches Michelle snapping a surreptitious photo of Sam tucked in snugly under Bucky’s arm.

It’s Bucky’s metal arm, too, so no chance of passing Bucky off as some random dude.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, Sam thinks. He leans over and gives Bucky a soft kiss on the mouth right in front of his family.

***

Sam and Bucky are fooling around on the sofa after finishing season one of The Mandalorian—apparently Pedro Pascal’s bedroom voice really does it for both of them—and Sam is finally getting the chance to trace Bucky’s abs with his tongue the way he imagined every single time he jerked off in the shower back before Bucky started taking showers with him.

Sam shifts down to suck a bruise into the sharp jut of Bucky’s hip bone, and Bucky moans underneath him. Bruises don’t last any longer on Bucky than they do on Steve, but Sam still likes seeing Bucky’s fair skin mottled with fresh marks, likes the possessive little thrill it sends through him to see Bucky’s perfect flesh marred by Sam’s mouth and teeth.

“Sam, please, suck me, sweetheart,” Bucky begs.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, pulling Bucky’s boxer-briefs down his hips and watching in satisfaction when Bucky’s hard cock springs forward, flushed and thick and perfect. Sam is impatient tonight, wants Bucky’s cock in his mouth now, and he leans forward to swallow Bucky down in one long, slick slide.

“Fuck, Sam,” Bucky moans.

Sam grabs Bucky’s hips as he bobs his head up and down, fingers digging in tight, bruising, to keep Bucky from thrusting into Sam’s mouth. Bucky is strong enough that he could easily break Sam’s hold but he doesn’t, squirming restlessly underneath Sam, frustrated and needy and desperate.

Sam pulls off Bucky’s cock long enough to take in a big gulp of air before he slides back down, taking Bucky as far back into his throat as he can, and Bucky moans brokenly when Sam tightens his mouth and lips around him. Sam sets a steady rhythm, swirling his tongue around the head of Bucky’s cock and then sucking him back down again, spit slicking up the way. Sam reaches up to roll Bucky’s balls between his fingers, squeezing and tugging gently, admiring the heft of them in his hand.

“God, Sam, Sam,” Bucky chants, hands fisting in the sheets to keep from grabbing Sam’s head and fucking his face. “Sam, sweetheart, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

Sam moans around Bucky’s cock, and Bucky cries out, tapping Sam’s shoulder in a desperate warning before he breaks Sam’s hold on his hips and thrusts forward, flooding Sam’s mouth with come. Sam swallows him down, bitter and salty, and then leans forward to rest his head against Bucky’s pelvis and catch his breath.

“God, Sam,” Bucky says, panting. He looks flushed and beautiful, and Sam’s heart feels like it’s going to explode in his chest.

“I love you too,” Sam says helplessly.

Bucky looks awestruck for a moment, then says, “C’mere,” in a rough voice.

He pulls Sam up and gives him a quick, hard kiss, then reaches down to unbutton Sam’s jeans and slide his hand around Sam’s cock. He strokes Sam firmly, a brutal pace that drives Sam half out of his mind. Sam’s already so hard from sucking Bucky’s cock, can still taste Bucky’s come in his mouth, and he won’t need much to get there.

“Baby, please, I need—”

“I know what you need, sweetheart,” Bucky says comfortingly. He buries his head in Sam’s neck, biting down on the thick cord of muscle that leads to Sam’s shoulder, and Sam’s back arches in pleasure. Bucky strokes him just a little faster, almost enough, thumb rubbing at that sensitive spot right beneath Sam’s glans. “C’mon, sweetheart, come for me.”

And Sam does, come splattering over his lower belly, mind going blissfully blank and toes curling in pleasure. While Sam comes down from his high, Bucky reaches up to cup Sam’s face in his hand, stroking his thumb tenderly over Sam’s cheek. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

Sam leans forward to kiss him, losing himself in the warm heat of Bucky’s mouth, their lips moving in a slow, gentle slide against each other. They make out lazily for a while, hands roaming appreciatively over each other’s bodies, until Sam reluctantly pulls away to clean up.

When Sam returns to the living room, Bucky is sitting in the dim light of the television, chewing anxiously at his lower lip. Sam plops down next to him, turning on his side to face him and putting his feet in Bucky’s lap.

“Did you mean it?” Bucky asks uncertainly. “It wasn’t just, like, a heat of the moment thing?”

“I did,” Sam confirms, his voice sure and steady. “Did you mean it?”

“God, yes, Sam. I love you.”

They look at each other dopily for a while, then Bucky tugs at Sam’s legs to urge him further down the sofa, closer to Bucky. They curl up together and enjoy the comfortable silence until Bucky says, “Tell me something you’ve never told Steve.”

Sam thinks for a moment, then groans. He covers his face with his hands, peeking embarrassedly through his fingers, and says, “OK, so I went through a phase, when I first got out of high school, where I told everybody to call me Snap Wilson.”

Bucky laughs incredulously, then claps a hand over his mouth to stifle it, mostly unsuccessfully. “I’m sorry, you told them to call you what now?” he asks gleefully.

“I told them to call me Snap Wilson,” Sam grits out. He is already regretting this, but Bucky looks so fucking elated that Sam can’t bring himself to care too much about the inevitable teasing he’s going to receive. And it’s Bucky, not Steve or Natasha, so Sam knows that the ribbing won’t be too savage.

Bucky is already trying to suppress his wild grin, pressing his lips together until they turn almost white. “So was this like a rough time you were going through, like trouble at home or something, or did you just think Snap Wilson sounded cool?” His voice is a mixture of genuine concern and barely concealed amusement.

“I just thought it sounded cool,” Sam confesses.

Bucky laughs in delight, and Sam gives him a sour look, poking him in the side. “Yeah, yeah, your turn now, buddy,” Sam says. “Tell me something you’ve never told Steve.”

Bucky sobers up, clears his throat and says, “I didn’t enlist in the Army.”

“What?”

“I let Steve think that I enlisted, because I didn’t want him to know that I had to drop out of college to pay for his medical bills when he got sick the winter of ’41. Got called up shortly after, told him that I enlisted.”

Sam’s heart breaks a little at that, for Bucky, because he would have done anything to take care of Steve, and for Steve, who never would have forgiven himself if Bucky had gotten drafted and sent home in a body bag on his account. To this day Steve still feels guilty about leaving Bucky behind in that ravine, even though he had no reason to believe that Bucky could have survived the fall, and anyway Steve drove a plane straight into the Arctic like a week later and couldn’t have rescued Bucky anyway.

“So wait, how does Steve think you paid for his medical bills?”

“I told him I got paid to pose for some dirty pictures,” Bucky says with a saucy grin. “Then he asked to see them and I had to beg one of his photographer friends to take some for me to try to sell the whole embarrassing lie. Honestly I was a little flattered that Steve had exactly zero questions about the whole thing, like of course someone would pay to see me jerking off wearing a pair of women’s stockings.”

Sam raises his eyebrows at that. “Any chance those pictures are still around somewhere?”

“I’m pretty sure Steve burned them all before he headed out on the bond circuit,” Bucky says with regret, then brightens. “But on the plus side, I think I just came up with a great idea for the erotic portrait series Steve’s been working on during all of our best friend dates.”

Sam grins cheerfully at this. “Nice.”

***

A month later, they’re in Eastern Washington with Steve and Natasha, fighting off a horde of formerly human white nationalist cult members who are now a group of largely mindless but probably still racist vampires.

The vampires aren’t much of a threat, but there are a bunch of them and they’re good at causing enough chaos that it’s hard to get close to Todd, who’s in a neck brace again and back on his bullshit.

Sam’s done a ton of research on Catholicism since the last time they met and he’s still not sure how to finally kill this guy. The holy water blessed by the Roman pope didn’t work, and the holy or possibly unholy water blessed by the Antipope of Avignon didn’t work, and Sam’s pretty much run out of popes to get holy water from. Out of a commitment to preparedness Sam’s brought along vials of leftover holy water from each pope, but he’s honestly not sure if they’ll be much help to them if neither of them even works.

Sam, Bucky, and Steve are all covered in blood from the vampires they’ve slain so far, but as usual Natasha still looks perfectly pristine as she lectures Todd on his many sins and hypocrisies. God, she even had the audacity to wear a white uniform to this. Sam’s heart swells with affection for her.

“I thought you were supposed to be Catholic, Todd. It’s not very pro-life of you to create all these vampires,” Natasha says, shaking her head in disapproval.

“I’m just trying to make humanity great again,” Todd snaps defensively through his ridiculous plastic fangs. “Society works best when there are a few strong leaders and many weak, dependent followers. HYDRA believes in order. The Catholic Church used to believe in order too—it used to understand the value of an authoritarian system of governing its followers.”

And just like that, Sam understands Todd’s belief system. “He’s a Sedevacant!” Sam announces, pointing a finger in triumph.

“What?” Bucky asks, firing a crossbow into a vampire trying to latch its fangs into Steve’s calf. The vampire explodes in a shower of red, and Steve wrinkles his nose in disgust but keeps fighting. At this point there’s not very much of Steve that isn’t covered in blood, and Sam hopes they aren’t all going to have to worry about bloodborne diseases from this whole gross situation.

“Remember all those changes in the Catholic Church since you and Steve were kids? Those all came about after the Second Vatican Council in the 1960s. Sedevacants believe that the church lost its way and fell into heresy when it embraced modernism. So according to them there is no valid pope—the seat of the pope is actually vacant,” Sam explains, tossing his shield off to behead a vampire looming over Bucky.

“Thanks, sweetheart!” Bucky calls, blowing him a kiss.

“Great,” Natasha says, irritated. “And how are we supposed to get holy water blessed by no one? Wouldn’t that just be regular water?”

Sam frowns in dismay at this terrible, zany loophole Todd has apparently discovered.

Todd cackles triumphantly. “You can’t! You’ll never be able to kill me—there’s no holy water on earth that’s been blessed by no one,” Todd boasts. “I’m invincible!”

“Not so fast,” Bucky says, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Sam, do you still have both vials of holy water?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Mix them together!” Bucky says. “Holy water blessed by the pope plus holy water blessed by the antipope will cancel each other out.”

Todd’s eyes widen in horror. “No, that won’t work!”

“It’s simple math, Todd,” Bucky says smugly. “Sam, do it, I’ll cover you!”

Sam’s hands are steady as he unscrews the tops of the bottles, sure in the knowledge that Bucky will have his back if any vampires try to latch onto him while he’s busy. He coats the shield in holy water from each of the vials, making sure to cover every square inch. Then, with a mighty throw, he launches the shield toward Todd, nailing him directly in the throat.

When Todd’s head is blown back off his body, he explodes into a bloody, disgusting mess.

“Gross,” Steve says.

The baby vampires stumble around, confused and lost without their leader, and it only takes about twenty minutes for Sam and the others to slay the rest of them now that Todd’s dead.

 Sam makes a mental note to use all of his influence as Captain America to get Bucky an honorary doctorate in mathematics from Harvard or Yale or something after all this.

***

Sam and Bucky spend forty-five long minutes showering off all the blood after their showdown with Todd and his racist vampire gang, the last fifteen of which are spent with Bucky pressed up against the shower wall with Sam’s tongue in his ass.

“Fuck, sweetheart, please,” Bucky begs. He’s trembling and squirming, spreading his legs shamelessly for Sam. “Fuck me, Sam, please.”

Sam reaches down to squeeze the base of his cock, liquid heat pooling in his belly at the thought of sliding his cock into that tight hole he’s been eagerly, methodically loosening. Bucky’s hands are pulling at his own ass, spreading his cheeks so sweetly, so obediently for Sam’s mouth. Sam traces a finger around Bucky’s wet rim, poking in just a bit to test him out, and Bucky’s thighs twitch and shake around Sam’s face.

“You think you can take it standing up?” Sam asks, giving Bucky an assessing look.

Bucky bites his lip and sobs a bit, panting and gasping, his face pressed up against the shower wall. Bucky looks wrecked already, so pretty, and Sam decides to take pity on him.

“C’mon, baby, let’s go to the bedroom,” Sam says, standing up and shutting off the shower.

He wraps Bucky in a towel and leads him to the hotel bedroom, and Bucky shivers prettily in the cool air, goosebumps rising on his clean, damp skin. Sam crowds Bucky against the mattress to warm him up, leaning his head down to dip into the wet heat of Bucky’s mouth, sliding his tongue against Bucky’s in a dirty kiss that leaves them both moaning.

Sam grabs the lube and Bucky spreads his legs eagerly, obscenely, and the sight is so erotic that Sam feels like he’s been punched in the gut, breathless with desire and desperate to plunge his cock into all that tight, willing heat. His hands shake a bit as he fumbles with the lube, and he coats his fingers until they’re nice and slick, ready to slide right in with just the slightest amount of pressure.

Bucky gasps when Sam slips one long finger into him, biting his lip and arching his back. “Sam, more—I need—”

“I got you, baby,” Sam says, sliding another finger in next to the first. Bucky’s mouth gapes open, his throat emitting a choked off little cry, and Sam’s cock is achingly hard at the sound, weeping messily against Sam’s belly, dripping little trails of precome. Bucky’s a quivering mess underneath him, and Sam presses wet kisses between Bucky’s thighs as he ruthlessly opens him up. “God, look at you, baby.”

Sam gives him another finger, and Bucky takes it, keening and begging. “More—please—Sam, I want your cock.”

“Oh, you think you’re ready for it, baby?”

“Yes, please, Sam,” Bucky whines, and Sam reluctantly removes his fingers, climbing up to settle his body over Bucky’s, letting gravity pull him down so they’re pressed tightly together. Bucky may be sweet and pliant underneath him now, but Sam knows how strong he really is, how easily he can bear Sam’s weight.

When Sam starts pushing his cock inside of him, Bucky gasps, mouth opening in a small o of pleasure. Sam fucks Bucky shallowly until he grows impatient, needs to go deeper, grabbing Bucky’s thighs to pull them up so he can bend Bucky in half underneath him. Bucky’s limbs are long and flexible, moving easily as Sam moves him right where he needs him. Sam bites his own lip, hard, as Bucky’s hole pulls him in, clutching greedily at Sam’s throbbing cock.

When Sam slides all the way home, Bucky gasps and says, “Sam, Sam, wait—”

Sam pauses, his cock buried fully inside Bucky, panting harshly at the effort of keeping his hips still.

“Yeah, baby,” Sam says, voice straining. “What do you need?”

“Sam,” Bucky says, and he sucks in a deep breath, closing his eyes and visibly working to control himself. “Sam, I need to tell you something.”

Sam looks down at Bucky and waits, letting Bucky take the time he needs to settle. Sam’s hips are flush against Bucky’s ass, his cock seated fully inside of him, and he feels so connected to Bucky, like they’re two parts of the same whole.

Bucky pants raggedly for a few moments, squirming and restless under Sam, until he calms again, opening his eyes to look at Sam. Bucky’s lashes are long and gorgeous and damp, his pupils dark and dilated.

“Sam, I have to tell you,” Bucky says, flushing prettily, his wide eyes so earnest and sweet. “I—somewhere along the way, I want you to know, everything became real for me. You—you really are my best friend.”

Sam closes his eyes, heart so achingly full in his chest.

“You’re my best friend too,” Sam says softly, seriously, because he knows this is important to Bucky. “I love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.” Bucky’s eyes are wet and shining.

Sam grinds his hips against Bucky’s ass, his lips curving up in a dirty grin. “You gonna let me fuck you now?” Sam asks. Bucky gasps, hands coming up to grip Sam’s back, fingers digging in bruisingly hard.

“Yeah, Sam, yeah, fuck me,” Bucky breathes.

Sam pulls out and then slams his hips back into Bucky, who gasps in surprise, spine arching in pleasure. Sam sets a hard and deep rhythm, letting loose all of the leftover tension and stress from the fight earlier, taking all that frustrated energy out on Bucky’s willing body. When Sam nails Bucky’s prostate, Bucky’s hands scrabble over Sam’s back, clutching and pulling at him frantically. “Yes, there, there,” Bucky says, voice desperate and breathy.

Sam drives his cock into Bucky faster, pounding harder as he feels his balls tighten and heat race up his spine. He’s close, so close, and he leans down to brace himself on one elbow so he can reach down to grab Bucky’s hard cock. He can tell from the noises Bucky’s making, those sweet, high whimpers, that Bucky isn’t far behind him. When he strokes Bucky hard, his fist sliding brutally up and down Bucky’s cock, Bucky arches his back and comes, spilling all over his sweaty chest.

The sight of Bucky’s come, pearly and glistening over his taut abs, sends Sam over the edge. Sam’s hips jerk and stutter, his thrusts erratic, shuddering as he feels his balls empty into Bucky’s tight hole. He wants to collapse, wants to let go and fall onto Bucky, let Bucky catch him and hold him, but instead he pulls out. Bucky whines quietly at the loss, and Sam can’t resist reaching down to rub his fingers against Bucky’s wet, puffy hole, admiring the slow trickle of Sam’s come dripping out of him. Bucky shivers at the touch of Sam’s fingers to his abused hole, probably raw and oversensitive, and Sam reluctantly drops his hand.

“Sorry,” he says, kissing Bucky’s knee in apology.

“S’ok,” Bucky slurs. “Like it when you get all vulgar and possessive on me.”

“Speaking of possessive,” Sam says, heaving out a heavy sigh and collapsing back onto the bed next to Bucky, hooking his ankle over Bucky’s. “Can we talk about the whole fake-best-friends thing? Like, where are we with that and what was our endgame there?”

“Well, I guess I was wrong about only having one best friend,” Bucky admits, looking at Sam out of the corner of his eye and grinning bashfully. “And I guess the plan was just—make Steve jealous.”

“And?” Sam prompts.

“And—I think that was it? I’m not really sure where I saw it all working out,” Bucky confesses.

“I feel like maybe you’re not all that great at planning without a murder board.”

“I’m a visual planner,” Bucky says defensively. “And it seemed kind of disrespectful to make a murder board about Steve given the fact that I did, in fact, try to murder him several times as the Winter Soldier.”

“That’s fair,” Sam concedes, tipping his head to acknowledge the point. “But we’re good now, right? I mean, we’re best friends with each other, we’re best friends with Steve and Natasha, Steve and Natasha are also best friends—and I’m kind of crazy in love with you.”

“What I’m hearing you say here is that my crazy plan worked.”

“Yeah, OK,” Sam says, hiding a smile. “Maybe it did.”

***

It’s a Saturday, and Sam and Steve are on their best friend date, and Steve is kicking Sam’s ass in the gym. Sam knows, intellectually, that he’s in fantastic shape and that there’s no shame in being beaten by a scientifically enhanced human being. That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t still hurt his pride—and his back, motherfucker—when Steve manages to take him down hard without even having the decency to break a sweat.

“I think that’s about enough for today. I feel like I’ve done a pretty good job wearing you out,” Steve says, smirking like an asshole, because he is an asshole. “Let’s hit the showers.”

When they get to the SHIELD locker room, it’s nearly empty, the way it usually is on Saturdays. There are still a few particularly dedicated SHIELD employees roaming about, mostly new guys. For whatever reason most of the seasoned employees stay away from the gym locker room on Saturday afternoons when Sam and Steve work out. Today, when people catch sight of Sam and Steve walking in, they blanch and immediately speed up with whatever they’re doing, hustling out of the locker room like it’s on fire or something. In under two minutes, Sam and Steve are the only ones left.

“It’s weird how everybody always leaves when they see us coming in to shower together,” Sam remarks, stripping off his sweaty shirt and tossing it in his locker.

“I wonder if they’re intimidated by us,” Steve muses, then takes a moment to admire Sam’s bare chest. Steve’s eyes are hot and appreciative as they travel lazily up and down Sam’s torso.

Sam shrugs in response, then winces as he feels a muscle tighten up in his back. “Ouch,” Sam hisses. “Man, I know I’m not twenty-five anymore, but damn, I really don’t need the reminder, you know?”

Steve’s brow furrows in concern. “Here, let me take a look at that when we get in the shower.”

They finish undressing and then get into the shower together. They share a stall, because Steve read an article about water conservation that he apparently found very inspiring, and also because sometimes it’s nice having a buddy with you. Sam lathers himself up, and then out of habit he reaches over to spin Steve around so he can wash Steve’s back too.

“God, that feels good,” Steve moans, the sound of it echoing in the strangely empty locker room. Sam spends a good few minutes really working Steve over as he scrubs Steve’s back, groping and kneading at Steve’s lats and traps while Steve moans and arches his back in pleasure.

When Sam finishes, he gives Steve a little pat and says, “OK, you do me.” Obligingly, Steve turns around to rub Sam’s back, massaging the tight muscles, his hands sliding easily over Sam’s skin with the slick of Sam’s body wash.

“This where it hurts?” Steve murmurs, digging his fingers into Sam’s lower back. “God, you’re really tight here.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, groaning at the pleasure-pain of Steve working at the sore point in his lower back. He huffs a frustrated, petulant sigh. “You know, sometimes I feel like the more I lift, the tighter I get.”

“Maybe you should start going to yoga with Bucky and Natasha,” Steve suggests. “Actually, they’re starting a class in about twenty minutes. If we hurry up in here, we could probably meet them there if you want.”

“Wait, Bucky and Natasha are at yoga today?” Sam asks in disbelief. “You’re telling me that Bucky and Natasha go to yoga? That’s what they’re doing on their best friend dates?”

Suddenly, Steve looks very anxious and very guilty.

“Wait,” Steve says slowly, apprehensively, “Bucky does tell you what he does on his best friend dates, right? He—I mean, you do know—”

“Yeah, Steve, I know,” Sam says, his tone dry. “I just thought yoga was, like, a cover for something. I didn’t think they were actually going to yoga.”

“Oh!” Steve brightens. “Yeah, it’s doing some really amazing things for Bucky’s flexibility. And for Natasha’s ass.”

Sam shrugs. “All right, then, let’s head over.”

Sam and Steve finish up in the shower, moving more quickly than their usual leisurely Saturday afternoon locker room shower pace. Sam’s skin is still a bit damp under his fresh gym clothes, but the air outside is warm, and he’ll be sweating again soon anyway once he starts working out in the humid yoga studio.

When Bucky and Natasha see Sam and Steve, their faces light up with big smiles.

“Hey, sweetheart!” Bucky says, coming over to give Sam a hug and a kiss while Natasha does the same to Steve. “You and Steve are done earlier than usual.”

“Yeah, he whooped my ass,” Sam admits, scratching his jaw.

Sam and Steve switch hugging partners, and Nat’s body feels small and strong in Sam’s arms when she goes up onto her tiptoes to give him a warm hug and a kiss on the lips. And when Sam sneaks a look downward, he notices that Steve was not lying about all the great things yoga’s been doing for Natasha’s ass.

Sam lets go of Natasha and turns back to Bucky. “So you and Nat really do yoga,” Sam says, shaking his head ruefully. “You know, all this time, I thought you two were doing some secret spy shit that you were trying to keep me from having to answer questions about? I was half-convinced that we should be thinking about getting married just so we wouldn’t have to testify against each other.”

Steve and Natasha raise their eyebrows in surprise, but Bucky looks pleased at that. “Well,” Bucky says, lips curving up in a crooked grin, “let’s not take that marriage idea off the table just yet.”

Natasha clearly aims for a sober expression, but the corner of her lip twitches and her eyes sparkle with mirth. “You know, I can’t say that we’ll definitely never get up to any secret spy shit, Sam. Maybe it’s not a bad idea to keep that in your back pocket.”

Steve raises an eyebrow and nods thoughtfully. “Plus, do we even know if Bucky’s still considered an American citizen?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Bucky admits. “But being married to Captain American should grant me automatic citizenship, probably.”

Sam shrugs placidly and slings an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “Sounds like a good plan to me.”

After all, Sam’s mom always did say that happiness was being married to your best friend.

#winter falcon #sam wilson x bucky barnes #sam wilson #bucky barnes #steve rogers x natasha romanoff #marvel cinematic universe #the falcon and the winter soldier #ambiguous barbershop quartet

[seokjinsdisciple]

Switched

jinyoung x reader

when you switch places with your twin sister to teach English in South Korea. You quickly find you’re worse at the job than you think. Luckily, kindergarten teacher Jinyoung helps you navigate the waters of teaching and help your class pass their end of the year exams. 

requested, unedited

warnings: oh boy where do i even begin, sub jinyoung, baby boy and mommy used excessively (im not sorry), overstimulation (sort of), nipple play, jinyoung is just really subby and cute ok, let me know if im missing anything bc this is a mess

word count: 3.1 k 

There was a certain way that your twin sister had about her that made it impossible to say no. She had used this against you her entire life, and it hadn’t stopped as you grew out of teenagers and became adults. In fact, her requests got more and more demanding. Which is how you found yourself on a 15-hour flight to South Korea. 

It was a simple switch really, she had gotten pregnant and wanted you to fill in for her. She had spent about half of the year teaching English to 6th graders and couldn’t leave for half of the year. You were pretty positive that she had just told you that so she wouldn’t have to pay rent on the year-long lease she had signed, but honestly, you were kinda excited. Not about the kids, you had no idea what to do with them, but more so about living in a different country kinda thing. 

The flight was long, and you spent the whole time watching movies, unable to sleep. So, admittedly you were exhausted when you stood in front of your new apartment. You made your way inside, and you had to be honest, the apartment was way nicer than your home back in the States. It was nowhere near as big, but it was filled with nicer, comfier furniture and a giant bed that you couldn’t resist. 

You awoke with a start, rubbing your eyes and groaning. You had no time to waste since your first day in the classroom was supposed to be today. You hadn’t made any plans for your students, but you didn’t have enough time to make one. Scurrying around the apartment you pulled together a business casual outfit, grabbing a piece of toast from the toaster and hurrying out of the apartment with only one shoe on. The other shoe balanced delicately in your hands with a cup of coffee, and your toast. 

By the time you made it into the school, You were more put together. You were still extremely nervous about meeting the students and you were praying that they would be nice to you. You weren’t too fond of kids, and, unlike your sister, you were terrible at interacting with them.

Your thoughts of the day were taking over, and as you desperately searched for your sister's classroom, you bumped into a broad chest. 

“Hey, you ok y/s/n?” A handsome man asked, his sweater showing off his broad shoulders. You had no idea who this guy was, but damn your sister for failing to mention that someone so handsome existed. You smiled at him, your cheeks heating up as you stared, looking for some sort of name tag. You couldn’t find one.

“I’m ok, just kinda lost for some reason,” you laughed, “My brain hasn’t started yet, I guess.”

“Ah, well maybe I can point you in the right direction?” The man said, looking at you quizzically, you were clearly failing at convincing him you were actually your sister. If he had any questions, though, he didn’t ask them. Instead leading you down a winding hallway and into a classroom. 

“Ah, it’s good to be back,” you smiled, praying that he wouldn’t be too suspicious, “Thanks for your help!”

The man just took one glance behind him, before deciding to just close the door of the classroom. 

“So you’re the twin, right?”

“Uh, I don’t know what you mean…” You tried, glancing at the desk and seeing the picture of you and your sister. She could be a real idiot sometimes. The man just raised an eyebrow at you, glancing at the picture on the desk and then back at you. 

“Listen, I know you aren’t y/s/n,” he stated, “she’s never this nice to me. Plus, what kind of teacher forgets where their classroom is?”

You let out a nervous chuckle at his accusation, it was only the first day and you had already been found out. 

“Don’t worry,” he added, “I’m not gonna tell anyone. My name’s Jinyoung. It's nice to meet you…”

“YN,” you said, taking his outstretched hand and shaking it, “I really don’t want to get my sister in trouble, so it would be really great if you kept it a secret.”

“Like I said, I am not gonna tell anyone,” he smiled, “but you are going to need to learn everyone else's names if you are going to try and pull this off.”

That was how you found yourself studying the school’s website, trying to memorize faces and names, with Jinyoung’s tips about their respective personalities. One thing you learned was that your sister wasn’t liked here, probably another reason she hadn’t wanted to tell you who she was working with. You got to talking with Jinyoung and learned that he was a kindergarten teacher. You and Jinyoung talked through your planning period, at least that’s what he called it, and when you told him you had no clue what you were doing, he suggested putting on a movie, an English movie of course. 

You stared at the list of names on your roster, Jinyoung laughing at your pathetic attempts to pronounce their names. He had to write out the pronunciation just so you could get it somewhat recognizable.  As you called the students of your class up during the first period, you had them write an English name that you could call them by. It was just easier and the kids seemed to be relieved that you weren’t going to butcher their names, although you did feel kinda bad about not calling them by their names. You explained to them that you'd be spending this semester watching and dissecting movies before putting one on. 

As time passed, this became your teaching method, watch a movie with the kids, and go over any questions about words that they had after the movie. You weren’t really sure if this was an effective way to teach English, but you didn’t have any better ideas. Jinyoung had become your only friend, as the rest of your school hated your sister, it just made sense. Especially because he knew about your little secret. It had become apparent that the two of you were attracted to each other. Both your students and he had started asking if the two of you were dating. You, of course, denied it, because he was just your friend. No matter how handsome he was. You shook thoughts of Jinyoung out of your head as you started to clean up the pizza party you had to help calm down the kids. You had never met kids who were as stressed out like these ones. Plus their exams were in a few days, and they needed a little break. 

You let out a quiet curse word as a cough rang out from behind you. 

“Any pizza left for me?” Jinyoung asked, his presence beside you sending you into the same thought process that you had been in before. You cleared your throat, reaching for a plate to hand to him. 

“The leftovers are all yours,” you smiled, chuckling at his over-exaggerated hand heart that he sent your way. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink tonight?” Jinyoung asked, a mouthful of pizza making his words hard to understand. 

“What?” You laughed, “Chew your food first you monster.”

He just laughed with you, covering his mouth as he chewed, “Sorry, I was wondering if maybe you would want to get a drink with me tonight?”

“Ms. Y/L/N, you have to go with him!” One of your students whined, apparently he had forgotten his coat for recess. Jinyoung just grinned at you, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. 

“Stay out of it,” you warned, shooing the boy back to recess. Your focused honed in, ignoring a grinning Jinyoung and busying yourself with tidying the plates and napkins. 

“You should listen to him,” Jinyoung sang, heat flaming your cheeks as you looked at him. 

“I’ll get drinks with you, but only if you SWEAR not to tell your kindergarteners, deal?”

At this, Jinyoung just chuckled, “It’s a deal, I’ll pick you up outside of your room at promptly at 4:30.”

It was your turn to laugh, the banter that the two of you often shared making a warm fuzz to fill your tummy. The fuzz that was normally only achieved through alcohol. You ignored the periods after lunch, your thoughts filling with Jinyoung. To be fair, most of the conversations your students were having were about you and Jinyoung too. The word of the date spreading quickly through the 6th grade, and you were assuming through the rest of the school. 

Your nerves didn’t pick up until your students were dismissed. Frankly, you couldn’t stand the thought of grading worksheets when you knew what was in store for you later. You needed some time to relieve some stress, and you had a feeling that Jinyoung would help provide that for you. 

Jinyoung was at the door of your classroom right when he said he would be, and his over the top bow made you chuckle as you collected your things. You weren’t sure exactly where you were going, but you knew Jinyoung would take you somewhere nice. He did. 

When you walked into the Korean Barbeque restaurant, the smell of cooking meat filled your nose, and the sound of it sizzling on the grill had your heart beating faster. You hadn’t realized how hungry you are until you sat down and heard your stomach grumble. 

“You should really take care of that,” Jinyoung laughed, lazily perusing the menu. 

“Well then, order me some food,” you smiled, taking your hair down from the bun it was in. When you look back at Jinyoung, his eyes were darker, and if you could’ve seen his crotch, you were certain there would be a noticeable bulge. 

“Excited for the food?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“I’m thinking about dessert,” he smirked, his tongue wetting his lips. 

This flirty banter continued all throughout dinner, your arousal growing by the time the both of you had finished your 3rd soju bottle. 

Jinyoung’s cheeks were flushed red and you couldn’t help but smile at his drunken ramblings. When he paid for the dinner and stood up, he wobbled a little bit.

“Woah, there,” you laughed, watching his ears burn red as he steadied himself. 

You walked together out of the door, his balance much better than it had been when he stood up. 

“Listen, I’m not that drunk, just feeling a little fuzzy,” he said, his already red cheeks flushing even more. 

“It’s ok Jinyoung, I’m feeling fuzzy too.”

You walked in silence for a moment, but you could feel Jinyoung’s eyes burning a hole into the side of your face. When you turned to look at him, he had a goofy grin on his face, and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“I like making you laugh,” he whispered, grabbing your hand and interlocking it with his own. His hands were cold, but they warmed you up from the inside out. His thumb rubbing gently over your hand as you walked. He had your heart beating out of your chest, and by the time you made it to your front door, his body was pressed flush against you. His arms wrapped around your waist, and you both waddled into your apartment, Jinyoung refusing to let you go. When his face landed in the crook of your neck, your stomach flipped. 

“Your hair smells good,” he sighed, his soft tone making you close your eyes and rest your head on his shoulder. You stood like that for a while, peaceful silence almost causing you to fall asleep. When Jinyoung started tonguing at your neck, you couldn’t help but let out a low whine. His actions sped up, and when you were desperate enough, you pulled him along behind you to your bedroom. Your lips found his, softly pressing against each other. His hands roamed your shirt, squeezing your boobs he deepened the kiss. When you pulled away, you both threw your shirts off, his hand reaching around to undo your bra. That’s when you first noticed it. 

One hand became two hands trying to remove the garment, and then with two hands came a pout. You held back a smile as you reached behind yourself and unclasped the bra in one go. His pout just deepened, and ears so red they could probably be seen from miles away. 

“Jinyoung,” you whispered, placing a chaste kiss on his lips as you pushed him gently down on the bed, “are you a virgin?”

Jinyoung’s hands found your waist, and as he pulled you onto his lap, he buried his head into your chest. You ran your fingers through his hair as he gently shook his head no. 

“I’m just inexperienced,” he whispered, his head refusing to come out from your chest. You continued to massage his head, a whine leaving his throat as you helped him relax. When he started to nuzzle into your boobs, you weren’t expecting him to lick your nipple, and then take it into his mouth to harden it. He repeated his actions on the other side, your breaths hitching every so often as he sucked and bit. When he finally looked up and met your eyes, you almost squealed at how cute he was. His nose and cheeks were flushed a deep red, and his eyes were watery.

“Oh, baby boy,” you whispered as his pout deepened a low whine leaving his lips at the nickname, “What’s wrong?”

“-m ard,” he mumbled, hiding into your chest again. You just cooed at him, running your hands through his hair again. 

“But baby, I have barely even touched you,” you said, “Do you want me to help you?”

You just tsked when Jinyoung nodded into your chest, speaking a little louder than before, “Use your words, baby boy.”

Jinyoung looked up at you, his lip trembling at your harsh tone. You caressed his cheek to soothe him, and that's when he said, “will you- will you please touch me?”

That was it, you were done for. You normally considered yourself to be a more sub leaning switch, but boy was this subby little baby making you go crazy. You pressed your lips onto him, reaching your hand down and pressing on his bulge. Jinyoung almost didn’t let go of you as you climbed off of his lap, but one glance at him had him looking down and loosening his arms from around your waist. 

When you undid the button of his pants and allowed you to pull them down his legs you praised him. His pretty cock bobbing at your words. 

“Do you like being complimented baby boy?”

Jinyoung nodded again, letting out a whimper as you slapped the inside of his thigh, “Yes, I do mommy.”

If you thought you were a goner before, you didn’t know what to think now. It was clear Jinyoung was going deeper into subspace, and holy shit you didn’t know how much you liked being called mommy. 

“You’re such a good little boy, Jinyoungie,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock, “and you have such a pretty cock.”

His whines at your teasing only intensified as you complimented him, “Look how big it is, baby,” you smirked, wrapping a hand around his cock and tugging once,” but you don’t even know what to do with a cock like this, do you baby?”

“N-, no mommy,” he hiccupped as you sank your mouth all the way down his length. 

“It’s ok, love,” you smiled up at him, “Mommy will take care of you.”

His sniffles were just so cute, you couldn’t stand to tease him anymore. You slipped your skirt off, placing both of your hands on Jinyoung’s cheeks. 

“Are you sure about this?” you asked, running your thumbs gently over his cheeks as he nodded, “Words, Jinyoung.”

“Yeah, god yeah, please,” he whined, gulping as you straddled him, sinking down until you had all of his length inside of you. 

“You tell me if you wanna stop, ok baby?”

“Yes,” Jinyoung whined, letting out a broken moan as you began to ride him. His fingers gripped your hips, pretty moan after pretty moan leaving his mouth as you chased your high. You were worked up, he had worked you up. He was just so good, and once you set eyes on his cock you knew you wanted to feel him in you. Now, you could maneuver yourself so that he was hitting you in all of the right places. And your sweet little love was so so close, you could tell. His hips were almost running from you, sinking as far as he could into the bed to try to take some of the pleasure away. His moans gave him away as he clung to you. 

“Mo-mommy, need to, need to come,” he whimpered, tears pricking his eyes at your silence. You kissed his nose and picked up your pace.

“You can come, little love,” you moaned, your heat clenching around him. He muttered a string of thank-yous, as you felt his cock twitching inside of you. You just kissed him, not wanting to hear his overstimulated moans as you kept riding him. But his mouth broke away, scrunched face as he moaned. 

“M, mommy,” he whined, face still red and scrunched. You tried to calm him, slowing your hips to try to relieve some of the overstimulation, but that's when you felt it. His cock twitching in you again. You let out a groan and came with him. Your eyes rolling back into your head as you clenched around him. You relaxed around him, your hands finding his cheeks as you took a deep breath. You quickly looked up when you felt the wetness on his cheeks. 

“What’s wrong love?”

“I was bad,” he sniffed, “Youngie came without permission.”

“You weren’t bad baby,” You smiled, pressing several kisses all over his face until he laughed, “you were the best boy.”

You let him pull you down across the bed, snuggling into your side and nuzzling into your neck. You fell asleep, and so did he soon after, both of you worn out.

You and Jinyoung spent the entire weekend together, laughing, making out and growing his experience. When you arrived at school on Monday, you were glowing. Your kids begged you to tell them if you went on that date, but you refused. At least until it was time for them to start their exam. In fact, you promised to tell them what happened (minus some details of course) if, and only if, they passed their exams. 

Not a single person in your class failed.

#jinyoung x reader #jinyoung smut #jinyoung fluff #jinyoung scenarios #jinyoung angst #sub jinyoung #got7 smut #got7 scenarios #sub got7 #got7 fanfic #got7 fluff #got7 angst #got7 #jinyoung

[emeraldeyes23]

Day 2 - Fictober/Fantober 2020

"Tea And Coffee"

„Ouch!"

"Eiji, I know you're new, but can you please pay attention to what you're doing? Many people are waiting for their coffee. So hurry up and stop daydreaming.", Shorter scolded him.

"Sorry!", Eiji apologized immediately and continued preparing people's orders.

He was new in New York. After his pole-vaulting accident, he had gotten a scholarship for college here with Ibe's help. He also worked on some photography projects with him to earn some money on the side. Those projects earned him only money occasionally, though, and money was tight in an expensive city like New York. So, he had taken a part-time job at a café in Manhattan.

Still, he had some difficulties adjusting to the quick pace and the morning rush hour in Manhattan. Manhattan was never standing still; people constantly hurried from one place to another without resting or taking a break. The rush hour with all the people and their complaints, demands and special requests were hard to handle for a country bumpkin like him. It was only his first week, though.

While working, Eiji cast a glance at the only guest who was completely unfazed by all the hectic around him. According to Nadia and Shorter, who owned the café, he was a regular and a good friend. He always sat at the same small table in a corner each day, drinking coffee and reading a newspaper or a book. He never communicated with anyone but Shorter and Nadia, so he just knew he was called Ash. He just sat there reading and seemed to have forgotten the world around him. There was something about him that had caught Eiji's attention. All his co-workers had already made fun of him because he had no poker face, and they had noticed that he was interested in him. They always told him to serve Ash coffee because he knew how flustered he got when approaching him.

Ash looked handsome with his golden, messy hair. Some strands were always falling into his face and hiding his emerald green eyes. Some glasses were resting on the top of his head, and his table was covered in papers, books and newspaper articles. Eiji had never seen anyone who could turn such a small table in utter chaos in under 30 seconds. Despite his young age, he looked like an absent-minded professor.

He had a slim build and was so large and handsome, he could be a supermodel without making an effort. Yet, he had a dangerous aura and an intense gaze that told people to keep their distance. Behind his sarcastic smirk and his green eyes, however, Eiji saw a lonely boy, and sometimes there was such a deep sadness in his eyes that broke Eiji's heart. He desperately wanted to make him laugh or smile, but he didn't know how to do that.

This was his first week, so he didn't know anything about him, except for the rumors circulating about him, which went from a ruthless businessman with ties to the mafia to him being an evil genius. Eiji ignored all of them, knowing perfectly well that rumors were rarely true.

Ash always isolated himself as if there was an invisible wall between him and all the other people. He always kept to himself and flinched at the slightest touch or move in his direction. And the way he always paid careful attention to his surroundings, and of the door, the rear exit and all the customers told Eiji there was more to him than met the eye.

Still, while preparing coffee and tea for the usual business people frequenting this place, he occasionally threw glances Ash's way. This time, however, Ash had caught him, and their gazes met for a fraction of a second. Eiji was so shocked he'd been noticed that he took a step back and nearly spilled the freshly prepared beverage. Luckily, he found his balance again and avoided a disaster at the last second. But when he looked in Ash's direction again, he saw a tiny smile on his face before his poker face returned.

"So, he can smile.", Eiji muttered to himself while preparing the next order, grinning in satisfaction.

_____________

Ash sat at the usual table at the café. He always came here because his best friend Shorter worked here. He was a pain in the ass and always pulled him into his mess with his crazy ideas and stunts, but he always had his back and knew how to cheer him up. The café belonged to his sister Nadia who had more or less raised Shorter on her own and, in part, him as well. If things got bad, he had always escaped here. So, Nadia was like a big sister to him who was strict but had a heart of gold. He liked to chat with them when they had time. But today, it was so crowded that chat would have to wait for later. Ash drank his coffee and then read the newspaper, trying to figure out how to continue his novel. His first novel had surprisingly landed on the bestseller list, and now everyone had high expectations for his next novel. His editor had told him that the writing was excellent, but it was too dark and gloomy. She suggested adding some cheerful scenes to the story to lighten up the mood a little. Really funny, Ash thought, it's more or less an autobiography relating his dark past, only written from someone else's point of view. How was he supposed to add some lighter scenes into that when his life had been literal hell? He rummaged through the paper, and when he was finished, he sighed deeply, opened his notebook, and tried to decipher the handwritten notes his editor had added to his manuscript. Maybe if he observed the other customers, he would get some new ideas for his book. Since he had a pretty dark past, he had never dropped the habit of observing people around him, checking every room for exits, people for weapons, and always watching the entrance. However, if he was perfectly honest, he hadn't been observing the people or the entrance as much as he used to. He had been too busy watching the new guy working behind the counter. At first, he had been annoyed because he kept staring at him and didn't even try to hide it. He had also caught him how he had secretly taken some photos of him with his camera, probably encouraged by Shorter, who had looked at the photos and had grinned wickedly. Still, there was something about the new employee that made him feel better. His name, Eiji, according to his name tag, sounded Asian. Shorter had told him he was Japanese and studi Eiji stood there, speechless for once while the whole room went silent.

Eiji's face immediately went red with embarrassment while he fidgeted with the sleeves of his hoodie.

"I'm so sorry. Somebody bumped into me and I lost my balance. Are you ok?", he asked while handing him a clean towel to dry himself. Ash thanked him and wiped the tea out of his face and his sweater. Eiji was rambling on much too fast, so Ash couldn't keep up with everything he said. But he heard the last two phrases.

"Can I make it up to you? Will you go out with me?"

Ash stared at him in surprise for a moment, then burst out laughing until tears emerged in his eyes. "Thank you, Eiji. You just made my day.", he replied, still laughing.

After a moment, realization of what he had said flashed in his eyes and he looked down at the floor in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I meant to say "Can I invite you to a coffee somewhere else to make up for it?", he explained, obviously feeling uncomfortable.

"It's fine. You don't have to do that. But if it makes you feel better, you can invite me for coffee tomorrow." Eiji beamed at him. "Sure!"

"What about your clothes?", Eiji asked, looking at his damp sweater.

"It's fine. It's just water. What isn't fine is that you served me tea again.", Ash complained while glaring at him. This time, Eiji couldn't hide his smile anymore.

"This isn't funny, Eiji! I hate tea. You should know that by now.", he scolded him. When he saw Eiji's smile, he knew that he hadn't hidden his own smile fast enough.

"I'm sorry. I'll remember it next time.", he apologized. "But I'm so happy I've finally seen it.", Eiji replied honestly, still smiling.

"Seen what?"

"Your smile."

In the background, Shorter grinned mischievously at him. Smug bastard.

#Banana Fish #Ashlynx #Okumuraeiji #Fantober2020 #Fictober2020 #My writing #Fanfiction #My fanfic

[fandomoneshots-imagines]

Trouble (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Summary: Steve discovers how much fun the reader has had while he was gone on a month long mission. 

Warnings: DDlg relationship, smut, choking, spanking, taking stuffies away

This will be the first part of a kink mini series that I’m going to start. If you would like to be tagged in this for future parts (or tagged to other oneshots/fics) , please message me to let me know!

I let out a little huff, glancing up at the clock, then going back to coloring. Just watching and waiting. Gone for a month. A MONTH! Finally coming back today. I let out another huff and continued coloring, my mind becoming focused on it.

“Ms Y/L/N, the quintjet is landing.” The voice if FRIDAY rang out. I let out a gasp and jumped down from my chair. I grabbed my stuffed dinosaur and ran up the steps, tripping a couple of times along the way. I made it to the top floor and yanked the door open to the landing pad, just in time for the door to drop down on the aircraft.

I giggled, bouncing on my feet, holding the dinosaur to my chest. The first one down the ramp made me immediately run straight towards him, “DADDY!” I yelled throwing myself at him, accidentally dropping my dinosaur in the process. He laughed and held me up, his hands resting on my thighs.

“I missed you so much, kitten.” He kissed all over my face, making me giggle even more. 

“I missed you too daddy.” I cupped his cheeks, giving them a little squeeze, and kissed him hard. 

Steve smiled against my lips and kissed back before pulling back slightly, “Were you a good girl for daddy?” 

“So how was the mission? Get the bad guys?” I avoided the question. 

“Y/N,” Steve said sternly.

“Oh, sounds like I may have a cuddle buddy for a few days.” Sam snickered, picking up my dinosaur.

“No!” I jumped down snatching the animal from Sam. I tried running away but my hand was caught in a larger hand. I was jerked back into a hard chest and kept my head down, avoiding eye contact. The other hand came up and gripped onto my chin, forcing me to look up.

“Now, daddy just got back from a very long mission.” He spoke softly but sternly. I glanced away, not wanting to meet his eyes. He gave my chin a gentle squeeze, “Look at me.” My eyes immediately focused on him.

“I’m sorry daddy,” I sniffled.

“Daddy just got back from a long mission and really doesn’t want to punish his baby girl. I’m gonna ask you one more time. We’re you a good girl?” He let go of my chin.

“Daddy, what does good even mean? What you mean by good and what I mean by good are two different things.” I rambled, watching my daddy’s eyes harden, causing my ramblings to fade away. He didn’t say anything just held out his hand. I squeezed the dinosaur to my chest.

“Don’t make me start counting little one.” I gave the dinosaur a little kiss and placed him in my daddy’s hands, “Buck, can you keep an eye on this for a couple of days?”

Bucky gave us a little smirk and nodded, “You got it. Anything else I need to keep an eye on?”

“I’ll let you know.” Steve picked me up and I immediately wrapped my arms and legs around his thick body.

“His name is Kharn! He likes to cuddle.” I reminded the other soldier, causing a laugh to escape his lips. Steve carries me through the compound and sat me down outside our door. He sat me down, facing away from the room.

“Anything you want to tell me before I open this door?” An eyebrow quirked up.

I looked down at my feet, “I may have forgotten to clean up after myself a couple of times.” I mumbled. Steve took a deep breath and placed his hand on the door knob, “And maybe stayed up past my bedtime. And didn’t drink all my waters.”

With a twist he pushed the door open making me close my eyes and crunch my face up. I whipped around and watched his reactions. There were clothes thrown all over the place, a couple of my stuffies laying on the floor. The TV was still on, even though no one had been in the room. A couple of juice boxes were sitting on the bedside table, right beside a box of half eaten pizza. The light of the bathroom was still on as well. He stepped up to the door of the bathroom, no doubt noticing the wet towel still on the floor from my morning shower. 

“Pick up all your stuffies and give them to me. You have 15 minutes to get this room spotless.” His jaw was tight and he was breathing deeply. “I’m going to take a shower in one of the guest rooms. When I come back, this room and bathroom better be clean. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” I bit my lip and started immediately started cleaning up. I managed to finish right as Steve walked back into the room. He walked around, making sure everything was put in its rightful spot.

“Much better.” He sat on the foot of the bed and pointed to the floor in front of him, “Come here.”

I moved, standing right between his legs, “Daddy, I’m really sorry.” I bit my lip and played with the collar of his shirt, which was damp from his still wet hair.

“I know baby girl. You missed daddy, didn’t you?” He slowly tailed his hands up my legs, pushing them up under my skirt. I gave him a little pout and nodded. “I missed you too princess.” He kissed my chest and roughly squeezed my ass cheeks.

“Daddy,” I whimpered, trying to pull him closer to my chest. He didn’t budge but instead hooked two fingers in my underwear and slowly began to pull them down. 

“Every night all I thought about was you baby girl. Thought of you squirming under me as I ate your pretty little pussy. About fucking you into the mattress as soon as I got back, leaving my cum dribbling down your legs.” He gave my ass one more squeeze then pulled his hands away. A second later there was a loud SMACK along with a sting on my right ass cheek. “But instead Daddy’s gonna have to punish you.” His hand connected with my ass again.

A cry escaped my lips, making my knees buckle slightly from the surprise. I was pulled across Steve’s lap with my skirt pushed up around my waist, “You’re gonna get 15 tonight princess. 5 for yelling at Sam. 5 for avoiding my question, and 5 for not doing your chores.”

I nodded and gripped onto the blankets. I could feel Steve’s large hands rubbing my cheeks and would inexplicably stop. He waited for what seemed like forever to bring his hand down sharply on my ass four times, rapidly and alternating cheeks. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes and wetness pooling between my legs.

“Daddy,” I whined, arching my back, pushing my ass up a little only to have it immediately pushed back down.

“Nuh uh, princess, you stay just like this.” I gripped the sheets tightly, pulling them up to my mouth and biting on them. He continued the punishment but drawing it out as long as possible. By the time he was done I could feel his hard cock against my stomach. My sat me up, making me straddle his hips. I instinctively rubbed my soaked pussy along his clothed erection. His large hands held my hips, forcing me not to move again.

“Baby girl, did you touch yourself while daddy was gone?” He asked, making me look down.

“In the bathtub, I let the water run on my clit.” I mumbled, my words causing a growl to rumble in Steve’s chest.

“And did you cum?”

“Only once, on accident. I was trying to edge myself daddy.” I whimpered. His hand hand gripped my chin again, making me look at him. He placed a soft kiss on my lips then bit my bottom lip, pulling it slightly.

“Daddy’s gonna let that one go this time but next time you’re going to edge yourself you let daddy know so he can tell you when to stop. Understand?” I gave him a quick nod and he quickly switched our positions, dwarfing my body with his. He roughly ground his hips against mine, making me wrap my legs tightly around his waist.

He pulled back and pushed his sweatpants down, making his cock jump up against his stomach. He wrapped his hand around his length, giving himself a couple of pumps of his wrists, before roughly pushing deep into my pussy.

“Fuck!” I moaned loudly, arching my chest up. Once again, one of his hands gripped my chin.

“Watch your mouth little girl.” He warned, drawing his cock nearly all the way out and pushing back in roughly. He slowly started to speed up his thrusts but kept the same rough intensity. His hand moved from my chin to my throat, pressing on the sides, cutting off blood flow. His hips never failing to slam into mine, “You like that don’t you baby girl? Daddy loves it when your soaked little cunt is wrapped around his cock. You love it when daddy fucks you like this huh?” He smirked. 

I moaned at his filthy words, nodding quickly. He removed his hand from my throat and held onto my hips tightly with both hands, moving back onto his knees. He groaned at the new angle and started railing his cock into me, hitting right on my g-spot, “Daddy, I need to cum. Please let me cum.” I whined, squeezing my tits.

“Cum for daddy baby girl. Cum on daddy’s cock.” He ordered, hit hips starting to stutter. I immediately obeyed and my pussy clenched tight around his cock, squirting just a little from the pressure hitting the right spot. 

“Fuck baby girl.” Steve let out a loud moan, warmth immediately filling me as he came, holding himself deep inside me. His body twitched as he came then he collapsed down on me. I wrapped my arms around him running my fingers through his hair with one hand and the other trailing up and down his back.

“I missed you,” I kissed his cheek, “But you’re crushing me.” I groaned and pushed him off of me.

He chuckled and gave me a kiss on my forehead, “You stay right here. I’m gonna run you a bath.” He disappeared into the bathroom and not too long later the smell of lavender drifted through the room. He came back, picked me up and carried me into the bathroom then lowered me into the bathtub. “Now you relax. I’ll be right back. Ok babe?”

I gave him a small nod, sinking down into the hot water. I could feel my eyes slowly drifting closed when the door opened again. Steve sat beside the tub and carefully cleaned my body then let the water out. He wrapped a warm towel around my body and helped me out of the tub.

“How are you feeling babe?” He asked, gently drying off my lower body.

“Good,” I smiled, running my fingers through his hair, “A little sore but good.” I smiled as he stood back up, taking my hand and leading me back into our bedroom. 

“Lay down and I’ll put lotion on you. You’re a little red babe.” I laid down on my front and Steve slowly rubbed the soothing lotion into every part of my body, helping me get dressed once he was done.

The two of us climbed into bed, laying right in the middle with me cuddled up to him, “I missed you too by the way. And I love you so much.”

“I love you too Steve.” I smiled. He pulled me to him and gave me a hard kiss before pulling away and tucking my head under his chin. 

“Get some sleep baby girl. I’ve been wanting to cuddle with you for the past month.” He gave me another kiss on top of my head.

“Night daddy.”

#steve rogers #captain america #chris evans #marvel oneshots #steve rogers oneshots #steve rogers x reader #captain america oneshots #captain america x reader #avengers oneshots #masterlist

[serahsanguine]

A Gillvony Story - The Text That Changed Everything (Ch, 2)

The X-Files RPF (Gillian Anderson & David Duchovny)

Rating; Explicit

Chapter 2 of ?

Tagging; @skullsmuldon

A03;  link

***********************************************

Chapter 2: A Voice

He was still deep inside her when they heard Piper's voice. They soon heard footsteps coming up the stairs. 

“Shit David” and she pushed him off and he slipped out of her and fell off the bed with a thump. 

Gillian quickly wrapped her dressing down around herself and opened and closed the bedroom door behind her. 

“Hi, Piper what are you doing home so early from work?” 

“I was feeling sick why?” she looked at her mother with questioning eyes. 

“No reason” Gillian answered defensively.

“Mum, what's going on?” 

“Nothing,”  she said clipently. 

“So why are you standing in front of your bedroom door?” Piper walked over to her mother's door pushing past her and opening it. 

“Shit” Gilian muttered under her breath. 

There David stood in just his boxers, his hair all over the place his skin still flush, the smell of sex heavy in the air all he could come up with was, “Hi Piper.”

“Fuck,” Gillian said again.  

Piper closed the door and faced her mother. “Mum you said that this wouldn’t happen again, you promised even.” it wasn’t anger radiating through her daughter's voice it was disappointment. “You’re happy why would you sabotage that?” 

While that was going on David grabbed the rest of his clothes putting them on including his shoes and placed them on his feet waiting for the mother daughter to exchange to be over. He soon heard Piper's door slam shut before exiting Gillians' bedroom. 

“I should go” he looked at her and could see she was on the verge of tears. He was going to say something else but thought better of it. He walked to her wrapping his arms around her. “I’m sorry,” he said truthfully.

“I know” she replied simply back. She didn’t know when David grabbed his clothes but she was glad. 

With her still wrapped up in his arms he let her go smoothly and grabbed her hand, “We will talk ok if you want or … we can … it’s up to you Gill.”

“Yes” she let go of his hand and he disappeared down her stairs and out the front door. Her legs dropped to the floor and she wept. They had really done it this time hadn’t they. Not only ruining her relationship but his as well. Just because there was always more than an attraction between them. 

A few hours later Piper came out of her room to find Gillian still in the same place. 

“Mom come on get up let’s go make some tea.”

“I.. err..”

“Come on” she grabbed her lightly under the arm and took her down the stairs and putting the kettle on getting two cups out of the cupboard placing them on the counter placing the earl grey tea bag inside.

“Mum are u ok?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Talk to me please” Piper pleaded.

“I don’t know how it happened” Gillian whispered. 

The kettle boiled and Piper poured the water then took the cups and sat next to her mother at the breakfast table.  

“You love him mum, and you never quite got over that.” 

“But I’m happy with Peter”

“But does he gives you that spark the one that ignites you and makes you feel butterflies in your stomach, and want to melt into a puddle around your feet.

“No, but I love him, I'm not getting any younger. I’m happy I'm content.”

“Sometimes that’s not enough”  she took a sip of her drink.

“But.” 

“But nothing mum.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“My mum taught me well” she laughed trying to pick up the mood.

“That she did” she laughed back and they sat in contemplation drinking their tea. 

---------------------------------------------------------xx

Meanwhile

He had really screwed up this time, hadn’t he. Not only his relationship with Monique but Gillian’s relationship with Peter as he stood there in the pouring rain waiting for his taxi to arrive to take him to his hotel room. He realized he had left his jacket in Gillian's house but dare not go back. 

The taxi arrived and he was soon back at his hotel room, he looked outside at the sky grey and cloudy as well as muggy and horrid. He stared out at the scene in front of him watching the rain pitter patter against the window he didn’t even turn on the lights. He could still smell her on his skin and clothes could still feel her mouth on his. He could still feel him inside her and he instantly got hard again, she never even realized what she did to him even from a thought.

He took off his soaking wet shirt and as sad as it was, placing it to his nostrils and with the other he palmed his erection through his jeans. He groaned at the sensation he was causing himself. His mind filled with thoughts of her and moments in between filming back when they were young and unaffected by their worries. This one moment had stuck to him like glue, especially with the rain outside. 

  They had just filmed a scene for one of their episodes called The Rain King and in this scene, they got soaked to the bone over and over again for the best camera angle. When   Kim Manners called cut both they had ran to her trailer their clothes sticking to their skin. It was all innocent at first he stripped off his clothes and grabbed a towel from her bathroom. When he turned around there was a look in Gillian’s eye that he had become all too familiar with.

She stood in front of him in just a bra and panties, they were lace and she knew they were his favourite she raked her nails down his toned chest, his skin flushed in a row of goosebumps he was immediately standing at attention. He looked down at her, her eyes dark lustful and full of naked desire. This was one of the times she didn't want to be kissed it was purely to relive a need, an itch as they say. 

He unbuttoned his jeans and stepped out of them, next to go was his boxers he lay down on the hotel bed his shirt next to his head her smell still invading his nose as he carried on the memory. 

She kissed his neck and worked down his abdomen laying little kisses and suckles leaving little red blotches in her wake. He tried to reach out to run his fingers down her body or through her hair but she simply moved his had away and shook her head. With just a towel covering his lower half she undid the knot letting the towel hit the floor and she took all of him in her mouth. No warning and no ifs ands or buts,  the sight of Gillian, red hair bobbing up and down on his cock was something he could never get used to.   

His hand wrapped around his cock pumping slowly remembering the rhythm she took and matching it with his own hand.

She swirled her tongue around his girth back and forth up and down. He could feel the back of her throat with his tip. He was always impressed when she deep throated him. She brought her hand up to play with his balls caressing and squashing and letting go making him mad with desire over and over again he was so close but he didn’t want to cum without her not this time she liked her rules so did he. 

His pace with his hand quickened but still going steady as the memory continued playing in his mind. 

He stepped back and she looked at him confused, he took her hands and turned her around bending her over the small kitchen table in full view of the trailer window so if anyone were to peer in they would see what they were doing. He pushed her down undoing her bra and throwing into one side before pushing her panties to the side before running his tongue through her dripping wet folds. 

“Christ Dav…”

He placed two fingers in her tunnel pumping rough hard and unforgiving, now it was his time to play. 

She threw her head back in pleasure as he felt her climax come to her scream emanated beyond the walls of her trailer. He didn’t give her time to recover or time to come back down reality he grabbed his member and shoving it into her, his hands either side of her hands their fingers interlocked as he thrust his body into hers as he kissed her neck. 

“Shit….. Ahhhh.”

He knew she was close and so was he.

Hia hand pumping faster and faster there was no need for lube he was leaking precum and he used that spreading that around his girth and his hand glided across his skin. 

He untethered his hand and reached down to her clit rubbing circling gliding his legs pumping harder and harder. 

“Look outside they all know what we're doing but no one will say a word. You so fucking hot Gill you make me feel alive.” He kept rambling in her ear and it didn’t matter “you laugh when you say my name and how I grab your hip so mean.”

She screamed his name as he pumped inside her and she became undone her body convulsing and clutching around him he pumped inside her a few times before he himself came undone inside her screaming her name to match.

He lay there on the hotel bed his legs spread his cock full his climax hit him he screamed her name into an empty room his cum flowing out of him in hot sticky sprouts covering not only his hand but his stomach and the bedsheets as well. 

He came out of his haze when he heard the familiar chirk of his ringtone. He stood grabbing some tissue from his nightstand he looked at his phone and realized it was Monique and answered. 

“Hi Dave how's London treating you?” she said in her chipper way, how he loathed when she said his name like that. 

“Fine thank you, Monique, I’m just tired from the meeting. ”

“Ahh I see, did you see her then?” she said angrily. 

“No, why would you say that she is in a relationship and has been for years” he bit back in response. 

“Never stopped you before has it?”

He couldn’t deal with her childishness at the moment, "Well guess what? I don't give a shit what you think" and hung up. 

He threw his phone on the bed not giving a second thought about his girlfriend. He really should break up with her it's not like he actually cared for her anymore his thoughts were always full of Gillian and that would never change. 

He found his suitcase and changed into a clean pair of boxers and got into bed and fell asleep tomorrow is another day and problem. 

#gillian anderson #david duchovny #davidduchovny #GillianAnderson #Gillovny #gillian and david #TXF #txf fanfic #txf rpf

[dragon-kazansky]

A rose in London - Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 3 - A last request

The next morning John had invited you to breakfast to apologise for the dinner the night before. Though you told him it was of not fault of his, he insisted and explained that that was the reason he never wanted you to meet Sherlock. Holmes was completely strange and quite possibly not human. He doesn't think like others do and it's a problem. You insisted that was it fine and you were more concerned about Mary than yourself. John assured you she was fine, but there would be no more dinner parties with Sherlock. You agreed.

When that was over, John excused himself. He had to find Sherlock and talk to him. An important request had been made and it was vital John find Sherlock. You offered to help, but he refused. You asked to tag along and not see Sherlock, you mentioned what happened after John had left last night. John agreed and apologised once again. he felt truly awful for what had happened, and felt like a rather bad friend. You told him you could wait outside for him and then asked him what this important thing was.  He was rather reluctant to tell you, so you didn't badger him about it.

You had taken a guess that it was about Blackwood, however. You wanted to go for the sake of having something to do, you had no plans for the day, but with the assumption it was about that case they did, you wanted to go with him to hear more.

John checked the flat, but he was defiantly not there. John led you to the boxing ring. Sometimes Sherlock came here to fight. You waited outside in the carriage, still not wanting to deal with Sherlock despite knowing he would have to come down and join you to get to wherever they were going. you would choose to ignore him for a while.

John went upstairs, after leaving you outside with a promise he would be quick, and found Sherlock plucking his violin at a jar of trapped flies. This still wasn't the weirdest thing he had ever walked in on when it came to his dear friend.

"Watson."

"Right, let's go."

"What started as merely an experiment, as brought me on the threshold of monumental of discovery." Sherlock rambled on about how playing different scales and notes, the flies behaved differently. John went on to look around the shabby room. He wasn't sure what was worse, this place or his actual flat. it appeared that no matter where Sherlock went, a mess was sure to follow.

John picked up a small bottle and read the label, he turned his friend with frown.

"You do know what you're drinking is for eye surgery."

Sherlock chose to ignore that statement and continued on discussing his discovery. John was not impressed in the slightest and put the bottle down, there was concern for his friend. John decided to get closer to the focus of Sherlock's attention and began to question things.

"I, using musical theory, have created order out of chaos." Sherlock said proudly.

"How did you lure them in?" John asked, more curious about that than anything else.

"Excellent question, individually. I've been at it for six hours."

John stared at Sherlock with a blank look. He wondered often how this man survived in the world. He was once again convinced the detective wasn't human. He just couldn't be.

"What happens if I do this?" John reached for the top of the vile and removed the magnifying glass that was keeping the flies in. He tapped the side with his cane and watched the flies find their escape, rendering the experiment useless now. "Clean yourself up. You are Blackwood's last request."

Sherlock let that sink in. He turned on his heel slowly and grabbed his coat. "Is she with you?" He asked, making sure it was on properly.

"No, Mary is at home. She wasn't too eager to see you again so soon." John was waiting by the door.

"I wasn't talking about Mary."

John glanced over at Sherlock who was gathering the few things he had with him here.

"Y/N is outside. She was bored and needed something to do." John sighed. "She also isn't too eager to see you, but she needed something to do."

"You should have brought her up with you." Sherlock walked past John and began to descend the stairs. John followed him quietly, not wanting to argue with Sherlock about his behaviour.

When Sherlock saw you sitting in the carriage, he became more excited to go and deal with request. For whatever reason, you made Sherlock want to do things just by being in those places he needed to be. John had noticed this.

"Lovely as always, Y/N."

You, not wanting to be rude, gave a small quick smile and a thank you, hoping this wouldn't turn into a conversation. You wouldn't know what to say to him, though you had to admit it was kind of nice to see him again, even in his rough state.

John climbed in and sat beside Sherlock. You turned your gaze to outside the window.

"Shall I have you dropped off at home?" John asked you kindly.

"No it's OK. I'll only grow further bored there. I'll take a walk when we get there." You gave John a comforting smile.

"If you're sure."

"You could come with us." Sherlock offered, his deep gaze piercing you.

Your lips parted slightly as you hesitated, staring right back at him. That was a strange offer considering you had nothing to do with Blackwood. After all, today he would hang for his crimes. You didn't really want to see that.

"Sherlock." John scolded him.

"You don't have to do anything, but if you want to, you can accompany us." Sherlock ignored the other man beside him and kept his attention focused on you.

"I don't think so." You muttered. "I don't like the idea of watching a man face his death sentence. I also have no reason to be there, this was your case after all."

Sherlock didn't turn his gaze away when you did. John could see him staring at you into the corner of his eye and gave him a nudge with his elbow. Sherlock was unfazed by that. The detective was very much interested in you. He knew everything about you, but at the same knew nothing. If only you would talk to him.

There was time for that later.

Along the way Sherlock had tried to make conversation, just to talk to you at least a little bit. He brought up to construction of what would become Tower Bridge. The carriage passed right past it, so you got a good view of it's progress. You couldn't help but wonder it would look when it was finally complete. Sherlock was hoping he was impressing you with the information he knew of the construction, but your face gave away no sign of being impressed. Though he could tell you were interested by the look in your eyes. He felt like he had at least learnt something else about you within that moment.

He teased John about collecting his winnings from the match that night, despite him not being there. Sherlock had put a bet on, knowing he would win using his skills to beat the opponent. That defiantly wasn't impressing you, but you were mildly amused that Sherlock put a bet on for John. knowing John was trying to get over his gambling faze.

Sherlock then brought up the opera. He said he could get tickets, but John wasn't interested. You, however, perked up a little bit. Very rarely you got to go and see the opera, so if Sherlock was at all able, you would have liked to go.

Sherlock noticed your interest.

"You have a gran gift of silence, Watson. Y/N, however, looks rather interested." His deep gaze met yours.

"Oh, well... I can't lie. The opera does sound interesting, but I wouldn't have anyone to go with." You gave a small smile.

Sherlock was going to say something, but John put and end to it.

The ride wasn't long and soon the carriage had reached it's destination. John was the one to help you out, pushing Sherlock to the side slightly as to keep distance between the pair of you. Sherlock side glanced John, unimpressed with that attitude, but he kept his mouth shut, smiling at you when his eyes met yours once more.

"Will you be alright?" John asked, concern evident on his face. There was crowds of people outside the prison, all yelling things you couldn't quite make out.

"Yes. I don't really want to see it. Will you be alright?"

"I'll be fine. I'm a doctor." He gave a chuckle.

You smiled, "just because you're a doctor doesn't mean you're OK with watching people die. Even evil people."

Sherlock found that amusing and chuckled from beside Watson. John ignored him and put on a smile, a brave face.

"I would feel much better if you came with us." Sherlock spoke up. "I fear I won't be able to concentrate knowing we left you out here on your own."

"Are you worried about my safety, Mr. Holmes?"

"Preciously." The expression on his face was gentle, but there was no sign of a smile. He looked, as far as you could tell, actually concerned about you. It appeared the thought of leaving you on your own worried him.

"I don't have to watch the hanging, do I?"

"Not if you don't want to, but I'll be happier knowing you're inside with us." Sherlock offered you his arm.

"You can come with me." John offered. "I have no purpose with him alive, I'll only be examining his body."

"Alright. That sounds better." You ignored the arm Sherlock had offered you and went with John. Sherlock was escorted inside. He did glance over his shoulder as you went in the opposite direction with Watson.

"Is Sherlock always like that?"

"Yes. I'm sorry you ever had to meet him."

"Don't apologise. I find him intriguing, but I find him so odd. He's so strange and seems so interested in me." You sighed softly. "I can't see why. I'm not very interesting at all."

"I wouldn't say that. I think you're interesting. Sherlock has known about for quite some time, but I refused him the chance to ever meet you in person. He was always interested in your few visits to the flat, or when I mentioned meeting up with you every so often. I think he rather fancies you, if I'm being honest."

"Fancies me?" You looked at John shocked. "What have you told him about me?"

"Only the truth." John smiled. "Don't worry, if he says anything just let me know. I can deal with him." He chuckled rather fondly.

You weren't sure what to do with the information of the detective seeing in such a light. You didn't know him very well, only what you read about him or what John told you. You decided right then that you would at least make an effort to talk to him. You had a feeling that you were going to be seeing him a lot now you've met him.

When the time came for the hanging, John had requested you wait in an office nearby. You had an officer for company, who you talked to until the event was over. The policeman understood you not wanting to be there to witness such an act, even if the criminal in question deserved it. John promised to come and collect you once he had officiated the death.

As promised, he came with Sherlock.

"Were you alright?" John asked.

"Yes, this gentleman kept me company. Is it over?"

"It is. He's dead."

You were glad.

Sherlock offered you his arm again, this time you took it. He said nothing as the three of you left the building. Sherlock didn't talk about what Blackwood wanted him for, and you didn't ask either. He was being oddly quiet, much like last night after Mary had left. It felt strange to see him so silent.

You didn't question him.

They took you home. Sherlock made sure to see you to the door, telling John he could do it without issue and insisting John remain inside the carriage. He was being a gentleman to you.

"Enough excitement for one day, don't you think?" He asked, smiling.

"Yes, very much so. Are... are you alright, Mr. Holmes?"

"Call me Sherlock, please." He insisted.

"Sherlock." You smiled.

"Nothing sleep won't fix." He put on a smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You must come over for tea sometime soon."

"I would like that very much." You smiled, yours making your whole face light up.

"Until then." He lifted your hand and placed a kiss to it, leaving you at your door and returning back to John, who had been watching everything.

You waved them off and went inside.

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#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes #a rose in london #chapter 3 #robert downey jr