#Candle Ring Wreaths

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✪ — JUST TALK ; vacant mirrors holiday special

summary: you spend the holidays at the wilsons. you and bucky really need to talk. pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader ; established in vacant mirrors tags: set post-tfatws, situationship angst, holidays shenanigans, drunk bucky in uniform, they just don't make cigarettes the way they used to, sam wilson is oblivious, sarah wilson is god to me word count: 12k a/n: happy holidays you filthy animals, this is just an excuse of me to finally make these two talk about their feelings (   AO3    |    MASTERLIST   )

It's December 23rd.

The door before you, adorned with a festive wreath and flickering electronic candle, is not that of your family home in Morristown, New Jersey.

The crunch of gravel signals that your rideshare from the airport is pulling away. Headlights dash up the side of the house to illuminate candlelit windows and you offer a courteous wave to the older gentleman. You crane your neck to watch for a moment, then trace the parade of cars parked up the long driveway; all belonging to friends and family you don't know.

You exhale and check your phone one more time. 18 Dancy Avenue. It's the right address. So, shuddering down any lasting, remaining tatters of the fear you're at the wrong holiday party, you take a deep breath and knock three times.

Your luggage knocks at your ankles as you shift in your boots.

Inside you can hear the chatter of voices — the knock seems to startle a wave of jeers as someone calls out:

"Someone's here!"

Moments later, the door is sharply yanked open.

Sam Wilson's toothy smile has maybe — maybe — never been bigger.

"There she is!" he cheers, his expression bright and excited as he swings you into the sort of hug that makes every bit of lasting worry about being a burden melt away; the urge to run is fought off with seasons greetings, "Took your ass long enough—"

"I know, I know, but the traffic was a nightmare coming from the airport," you sigh. Sam Wilson, the nation's new Captain America, waves you off. He bends and snatches up your luggage without a word like the man he is.

"All that matters is that you're here," Sam leans in a little closer only after casting his eyes over his shoulder; the look in his eyes is mischievous — almost boyish — like he knows something no one else knows, "Bucky was starting to pace."

Immediately, a burst of nervousness flares in your heart.

Bucky.

Right.

You... You promised yourself that you'd finally talk to him about all this. About... About the kissing and the consistency and the fact he has a toothbrush at your apartment and you have a toothbrush at his and how this isn't just sidekick business anymore. You promised yourself you wouldn't ring in another year without telling him how you really, truly felt.

For now, though, all you can manage is a brave face. You roll your eyes and a nudge to Sam with your shoulder. Enough, it says. Leave it be.

(He's been leavin' it be since months ago, alright? Sam has seen enough to know there's clear-as-fuckin'-day something between you two — after all, it was only a year or so ago that you were dragged alongside them to Madripoor and Latvia, dragged through all the GRC shit. Sam has seen those thought-to-be private looks shared, he's seen the way you're the only person in this dimension with enough patience to wrangle a certain pain-in-the-ass hundred-something-year-old man. And he lets you. Sam's not stupid, and he'll be fuckin' damned if Bucky doesn't get it together and lock it down by the New Year.)

Sam ushers you in with a smirk, nudging the door shut behind you with his hip as you shed your jacket and boots. The house smells good. Like a warm, fresh meal and pie and cinnamon and—

"She lives!" Sarah laughs from the living room, standing up and weaving past the family members gathered on the sofa; her Santa socks pad softly against the rug, and the drink in her hand sways as she smiles, "It's good to see you."

You hug her tightly, arms around her shoulders, and beam. "Thank you so much for having me, Sarah."

"Oh, psh," she tsks and waves her free hand, "Least I can do — seriously. You keep those two in line. I dunno how the hell you stand the bickering."

She waggles her fingers at her brother (who sucks his teeth in quiet disagreement and rolls his eyes) before quirking a brow. Sarah's eyes wander behind you into the packed dining room where the younger cousins are gathered over a Lego set.

"Speaking of, where is tall, dark, and brooding?" she asks her brother.

"Yo! Buck!" Sam leans around the banister and calls down the hall, "Where you at?"

There's a sudden crescendo of laughter — and the heavy footsteps of a gaggle of teenage girls come pummelling down the stairs. Their faces are split into smiles. Shyness creeps in at the sudden new face at the family holiday party, and you offer your best smile in return. They slip past you into the living room, invested in the snacks on the coffee table.

This house is alive.

"Kitchen!" comes the call in return and your heart leaps into the same genre of kick-up that comes with the mere mention of his name.

Sam juts his jaw towards the direction of Bucky's voice — through the dining room and down the hall — before hauling your suitcase up into his arms. "I'll put your stuff upstairs."

"Thanks, Sam."

"You better not be messin' with my pies, Bucky Barnes!" comes Sarah's follow-up; she lowers her voice and serves you a look, "Your man has a sweet tooth something fierce."

"He's—" you swallow down a sheepish laugh; is there some mind-reading shit going on today? "He's not my—"

Sarah raises her hands in resignation, but her eyes say otherwise. "Right, right, right. Sure. Either way, you are the only one he listens to. So if he's touchin' my pies—"

"I'll make sure he isn't touching the pies," you promise, patting Sarah's arm before starting down the hall.

"And get yourself a drink, okay?"

"I will, I promise."

15 Dancy Avenue in Delacroix, Louisiana has been home to the Wilsons for generations. There's photo evidence lining the hallway walls — family photos and school portraits serve as milestone reminders in time. Sarah's wedding photos, Sam's Air Force graduation.

A pair of people (you recognize the woman as one of Sam's cousins he's mentioned — she's a lawyer) squeeze past you in the hall. On the back porch, the smell of a cigar is wafting through the screen door.

Everything is so alive, so comfortable, so warm.

And there, in the kitchen, is Bucky Barnes.

He needed to keep himself busy.

It's not like he was worried — no, no. He's fine. Absolutely fine. Totally not worried that this is a... a big deal or anything. Y'know, the whole c ome to Sam's for the holidays thing. Which essentially translates to come home with me for the holidays .

It's fine. You're like family to Sam, and Sam is family to him, and you are... important to him.

The most important, actually.

...You two still haven't ironed out the details just yet.

Not that he doesn't want to. He does. But he also doesn't want to ruin anything. Not after everything the two of you have been through. I mean, all of last year had you running around the world as his off-the-books sidekick dealing with Flag Smashers and super soldier serum and political intrigue... and... Zemo, that fucker. And now? It's quiet. For once.

Peace on earth and all that shit.

He's been worried this would be a lot all week. It was a lot for him the first time — I mean, Sam's got a big fuckin' family. Huge. Lotsa Aunts and Uncles which means lotsa cousins and even more second cousins. It felt like a real homecoming the first time he was folded into the mix over the holidays.

And, well, Bucky never really got one of those.

So, it was special.

"I'm here to vouch for the pies?" comes your amused voice from the doorway.

Speak of the damn devil.

Bucky's head snaps around — and immediately, a smile splits across his face. He can't control it. Not anymore, not when he hasn't seen you in the flesh in nearly five days.

That smile is a sight you're not entirely sure you'll ever be used to.

"Hi," you breathe, your cheeks already aching from how hard you're beaming — and you've only been here four minutes and counting. That nervousness, the good kind , only increases when he smiles back.

Immediately, his task of decorating cookies is forgotten and it only takes the apron-clad super soldier two long-legged strides to cross the kitchen and sweep you into a crushing hug. It's the sort of hug that warms your bones. The sort that makes you giggle — and it only worsens, when Bucky hauls you up off the floor just enough to make you peel out a bark of laughter.

"Put me down!"

"You said," he scolds you with a touch of humor as he plops you down; he waggles a vibranium finger in your face, wrestling with a smirk to try and seem serious, "You would text me when you landed."

You shrug as your eyes sparkle. "I thought it would be a nice surprise. I gotta keep you on your toes somehow."

"You're a pain in my ass," Bucky mutters, shaking his head. He's looking you over — he's taken up this habit lately. It's almost like he's running some silly checklist in his mind to ensure you're good. Comfortable. And you do seem to be. You look relaxed if not a bit tired.

Bucky likes this sweater on you.

You look... pretty . Really pretty. So pretty, in fact, that he has to remind himself to breathe. In and out.

When he clears his throat and sneaks a look over his shoulder you know he’s up to something. The kitchen is clear. From this spot, no prying eyes can see you two from the dining room.

The moment before he moves is laden with mischief — and you're about to open your mouth and ask him what the deal is with that look when he bends down and cages you against the doorframe.

Fuck.

Shit.

God damn it, James Buchanan Barnes.

The stolen kiss he pulls you into is slow and warm, tender and sweet. His palm slots against your cheek in a practiced motion of endearment. It's slow at first. Tentative and soft. But, then you place your hands on his chest and he takes that as permission to really kiss you. His stubble tickles. Bucky tastes like peppermint thanks to whatever drink Sarah has made for the grown-ups. He pulls away to catch his breath.

"I missed you," he croaks against your mouth, a vibranium thumb pressed to your bottom lip.

For a second, all you can do is blink and try to remember to exist . Bucky seems exceedingly unaware of the fact that he's managed to wind you — as always. He has no idea , you think, the things you'd let him do to you.

...Okay, maybe he has, like, one or two ideas.

"I missed you, too," you whisper back, dazed and trying to find your footing before you blurt out that you need to talk to him, you need to tell him that you really, really like him and it's the serious sort of like and you're not sure how much of this unspoken situationship you can do if you two don't make it spoken —

Then, the oven beeps.

"Shit."

The moment isn't nearly long enough. The kiss is even shorter.

Bucky leans around you, hollering down the hall; his hands are gentle on your shoulders, "Sarah, the pies—"

"—Don't you dare touch my pies, Barnes!"

Domestic bliss — or utter chaos — looks good on Bucky. His hands are raised in silent surrender when Sarah barrels into the kitchen, and Sam is hot on her heels. You try your best to wrestle the dazed expression off your face and play with your bottom lip, mind rooted entirely on the ghost feeling of his thumb.

"Christ, Buck, you haven't even got her a drink yet? She's a guest," Sarah sighs disapprovingly and shakes her head before leaning in close to whisper a scathing accusation, "You too busy fuckin' with my pies?"

"I'm sensing some animosity over the pies?" you cheep weakly over Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky throws his hands. "It was one time."

"And it was two pies," Sarah takes care to remind him as she flips the oven open; she's muttering to herself, "Who even eats two pies in one sitting?"

"I'm a growing boy."

"Oh my god," you scoff as Sam nudges the fridge shut and hands you a beer. Thank Christ . Wordlessly, you hand it to Bucky — he knows his job. He cracks the top off with his metal palm and then rolls his eyes. Whether it's in reaction to the pie commentary or his role as the group's personal, walking-and-talking bottle opener, you'll never know.

"They were for the VFW," Sarah continues as she — to her credit — pulls two perfectly baked pies from the oven. Pecan, and... sweet potato, maybe? "Speaking of—"

"You two have plans tomorrow night," Sam says as he fires a lazy finger waggle between you and Bucky. He leans back against the counter and swigs his beer.

Bucky is immediately on high alert. The super-soldier crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. "That didn't sound like a question."

"'Cuz it wasn't," the man tosses back, "Tomorrow night, the local VFW is holdin' their annual Christmas Party—"

While your face lights up, Bucky's face falls.

"Oh, that's nice—"

"—No," Bucky responds curtly as he unties his apron, "Not interested."

"Oh. Oh, no ," Sarah laughs and shakes her head as she skirts by Bucky to hang up her oven mitts, "I had that musty, dusty dress uniform of yours dry-cleaned for this. You are not backing out."

Bucky snaps his eyes to Sam. In another life, that look would kill.

Sam shrugs it off with practiced ease.

"Maybe you don't remember. You promised last year," Sam smirks into his drink, "That you'd go."

Bucky's jaw falls open. This? This is a complete and utter betrayal. "...I was drunk —"

"A promise is a promise," Sam goads, wetting his lips as Bucky's face twitches.

Meanwhile, your jaw is slack and you look like you've just been struck with the biggest news of your life.

"Hold on, pause, you were drunk?!" you incredulously fire back, holding onto your beer for dear life, like suddenly James Buchanan Barnes and his love for a shitty pilsner is a threat; you're in a whirlwind as you blink ferociously at Bucky, "Since when is that a thing?"

Bucky groans. He inhales, nice and slow, before sighing. His eyes roll to the resident Captain America. "Our dear friend Sam Wilson was kind enough to gift me some Asgardian mead for the holidays last year, which I am now realizing was just a damn long-con to rope me into this shit."

"Take a breath, will you?" Sarah rolls her eyes, over the dramatics of a certain super-soldier occupying her kitchen, "It's a buncha' old veterans and their families playing cards, alright? You'll fit in just fine, Grandpa."

"You stole my dress uniform?" Bucky narrows in on Sam and decidedly ignores Sarah entirely because, well, he's never been good at handling people telling him to calm down. Bucky leans momentarily over Sam's shoulder to make sure the younger bunch of cousins in the other room isn't listening before a string of swears flies from his mouth, "You fuckin' bastard. That's why you came over the other week, isn't it? Where the fuck did you even find it? "

"It's one of six outfits you got hung in your closet, man," Sam waves him off as he mimics his discovery of the uniform and mimes sifting through the closet, " Black t-shirt, black sweater, black long sleeve, ooh! A garment bag with U.S. ARMY and PROPERTY OF JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES OF THE 107TH branded across the front, I wonder what this is? What, you think I'm stupid?"

"—Stupid lookin'—"

"I'll knock you stupid—"

"Guys," you exhale, "Can we not—"

"He started it!" they both shout at once, turning on their heel to gesture to the other. For a second, you're in Madripoor. Sam is in that damn suit and heeled booties, Bucky is looking less like Bucky and more like the Winter Soldier. And somewhere, in the far distance, is Zemo's stupid voice. That guy seriously never shut the hell up.

Your laugh is a bark. You offer Bucky a swig of your drink. He takes it with an utter look of exasperation. The metal of his vibranium fingers tinkers along the brown bottle's neck.

"It'll be fun," you cock your head and slip a smile at Bucky in an attempt to soothe the now agitated look on his face, "Just an hour or two—"

"You know I hate my dress uniform," he murmurs as shoulders sag; and Sam almost snorts at how rapidly the angry guard dog persona melts away with you, "It's—"

"Itchy, I know," you lament as you take his apron and hang it on the back of the pantry door with the others, "But, they don't starch uniforms the same way they used to in 1943, Bucky."

"Really?" Sam's brows knot in confusion.

"I didn't know that," Sarah mumbles as she moves to pour peppermint schnapps into the drinker shaker.

Bucky looks utterly hopeful.

You wet your lips and hesitate, only to pull your bottom lip between your teeth and shrug. Your eyes dart between everyone in the kitchen. "I... I have no idea, actually — I was just hoping that me saying that would make him feel better—"

"Oh, come on!" Bucky throws his hands.

"It'll be fun!" you moan, throwing your head back.

"I hate fun," Bucky leans in, mocking you, before finishing the rest of your beer and tossing it into the recycling. You roll your eyes, cross your arms, and swivel on your feet. Your reindeer socks slide easily across the hardwood.

"You're being mean."

Bucky's back is turned as he eyes his handiwork with the decorated cookies. Sam's brows rise as he eyes the two of you. Here we go.

"I'm not being mean."

"Fine. You're being anti-social ."

"That's who I am," he chirps back as he tries to adjust the sprinkles on Rudolph the Red Nose Cookie, "You know this."

"—I'd even venture to say you're being a real Grinch about it—"

Sam smacks his teeth in awe that you even dared to go there, and Sarah scoffs to herself as she works the martini shaker. Bucky freezes, and his eyes immediately narrow. He knows what you're doing — you're goading him. He turns around slowly, his face set in determination.

"I'll have you know I love the holidays."

(It's true. Raised by a devout Catholic father and Romanian Orthodox mother, Christmas was one of the biggest holidays on the books. Even after his father's passing, James Buchanan Barnes, his mother, and his sisters always attended mass, usually alongside Steve's family. Then, they'd leave that immense, ornate church on Fourth Street and head home for food, games, and — when they got older — dancing, beer, and holiday parties with cute girls from their high school.

He appreciates giving gifts. It's always his favorite part. He vividly remembers being fifteen — tall and awkward — and saving all year to get Mama a box of fancy European soaps.

Four years later, he was mailing home the same Parisian soaps from the frontlines.)

You shrug, toeing the floor, feigning disapproval. "I dunno, that's a lot comin' from the guy at the holiday party in all black."

Bucky drops his hands to his narrow waist, his eyes narrowing further. He quickly and dryly volleys back: "One would argue the true meaning of Christmas isn't gaudy sweaters."

"You're right, Buck," you concede with feigned, deep sincerity and clap him on the shoulder roughly. He bobs and winces, "It's about spending time with those you care about—"

"Oh, fuck off—"

"Yo, Uncle Bucky, that's five dollars in the swear jar," comes the voice of AJ as he rounds the corner of the kitchen; Cass is in tow, the both of them scoping out the current state of sweets in the kitchen, "Hi Rabbit."

"Hey guys," you grin, tugging them both into quick side hugs as Bucky angrily digs out his wallet from his back pocket. He's jamming a crisp bill into the jar on the window sill when Cass speaks up.

"You and Uncle Bucky are coming to that thing tomorrow, right?"

It's like a well-aimed (and even better-timed) arrow to Bucky's knee.

He's got a weak spot bigger than the state of Texas for those two boys. You can see the defeat in his eyes. It makes you muscle a smirk off your face as Sarah catches your gaze and smiles to herself. She's pouring the drinks into four glasses when Cass continues.

"You said you'd come last year," he reminds the adults as he steals a cookie, "And take a picture with Santa."

"Santa?" you grin, stealing a look between the boys and Bucky — whose shame is just increasing with every reminder of his blitzed promises, "Oh, well, we just have to go."

"Yea, man, you love holidays," Sam reminds him with an edge of humor.

"Alright, alright," Bucky concedes with pain in his eyes, "Yes."

AJ pumps his fist. Cass gives a toothy grin that reminds you of Sam. All you can do is thank Sarah as she hands you a Peppermintini in a cocktail glass and smiles.

"Cheers."

Dinner is nice.

Sarah and Sam (and Bucky, apparently) had spent the entire day previous cooking — so you make sure to load up your plate with every fixing possible. Sam insists you go first, chattering to his cousins about you havin' just flown all the way here from New York, to your abject horror. However, beating the rush does score you a nice spot at the dining room table beside Bucky.

He's carrying two full plates. You snort a little at his mountainous portions but say nothing and continue on sipping your second peppermintini of the night. These things are dangerous. You can feel the buzz in your knees.

"Don't gimme that look," Bucky mutters as he scootches his chair in and drops his napkin to his lap, "If I get up for seconds, this seat is forfeit."

"Oh?" you question through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

Bucky smirks a little then nudges your knee with his under the table, "Can't lose the spot next to my best girl."

Your smitten (and utterly panicked) smile is hidden in another bite of dinner. He's doing it — that thing. The... the flirting. But it's different from just flirting. It has feelings behind it.

He takes a huge bite of food, chews, then swallows. "I'm glad you came."

You shrug, elbow brushing his. "I'm glad I came too. This is really nice. The holidays are usually sad at home."

Bucky hums. "Your mom is visiting Fei's family with her?"

Your sister-in-law was delighted when you told her you'd been invited down to Louisiana for Christmas — and it was a good break in the usual grief-stricken schedule of the holidays at home in Morristown. You were all still mourning your brother. The holidays always made it worse, and... well, misery loves company. It feels strange to break out of that pattern of gloom. It was like Fei sensed the guilt radiating off you, and quickly she urged you to go, to accept the invitation. So, your mom joined your sister-in-law and niece on a little holiday trip up North to see Fei's parents.

You just nod.

"Next year," Bucky roughly says after a minute of mashing his sweet potatoes around; he swallows tightly, "We should, uh... We should spend it with them, maybe. Your mom, Fei, and Naomi."

The suggestion makes your heart tighten.

Next year.

We.

Your smile blooms slowly as Bucky's eyes scour your face for any sight of resistance. He doesn't find any, only that little glimmer of something he can never figure out when talk of the future comes up.

...He needs to talk to you.

"That would be nice," you agree, your mini wreath earrings swaying as you nod. Buck's smile is warm.

He reaches under the table, his vibranium hand squeezing your knee. Your hand follows, giving his knuckles a squeeze back. Bucky keeps his hand there, holding yours, through the entirety of dinner.

"Alright, pack it up! Outta my damn house!"

Sarah's call for the party's end comes at 10:30 — and you're glad. In the span of the last hour, you've been absolutely grilled by Sam's gaggle of younger high-school-aged second cousins on your entire life story and if you're an Avenger or not. You're on your fourth (count 'em, four) peppermintini and Bucky has mysteriously disappeared with Sam for an after-dinner walk.

You tried to join them but were ushered back into the warm house and told it was important ' guy time'.

Fine. Whatever.

By the time the house is finally empty, Sarah is ushering AJ and Cass up to bed and you've successfully melted into the couch by the Christmas tree while Die Hard's credits roll across the television screen. This is really nice. You take a moment to let it sink in.

Then, the front door opens, and Sam and Bucky spill inside — and you can immediately see they're up to something.

"Where have you two been?" you lazily ask, sitting up and taking the last sip of your Sarah Wilson specialty cocktail. You lean over the back of the couch and narrow your eyes at the two of them in silent judgment.

"Garage."

"I thought you went on a walk?" confusion passes across your face as you mumble.

"A walk," Bucky says coolly, "To the garage."

Your eyes snap to him. His cheeks are pink. You see him swallow down a grin; his posture a bit more relaxed than usual. Bucky leans to muscle his boots off and sways.

"Is everyone gone?" Sam asks with a touch of seriousness.

"Yea, Sarah's putting the boys to bed," you say slowly, "...Why?"

Your jaw drops open when you spy the bottle Sam procures. It was tucked under his jacket, and now that the coast is clear, he holds his prize high in the sky.

"Can't have anyone — especially Carlos — tryin' to get a sip of this."

Asgardian mead.

Your smile cracks wide open.

...Bucky is drunk.

It's painfully apparent now — worse when the resident super-soldier stumbles into the living room and collapses onto the couch beside you without regard for leg and limb. He pops his socked feet up on the coffee table and exhales. Your jaw is still open, the crest of a grin threatening to sweep away your awe in favor of total joy.

"You want another drink, Buck?" Sam calls over his shoulder from the hall.

" That’d be awfully kind a’ you, Sam ."

You laugh. You laugh, and Bucky melts further into the couch as you tuck your legs beneath you and lean into his orbit. His arms are splayed along the back, his eyes shut, and he looks utterly blissful in this state of... tipsy? You're not even sure — in the nearly two years you've known Bucky, you've always understood he couldn't get drunk. Something about super-serum impacting metabolisms and protein synthesis.

This is new.

Your hands press against his thigh, and Bucky tries to ignore the warmth of your hands through his jeans.

"You're drunk," you accuse with glee, "Are you drunk?"

"Getting there," he grunts, a bit like an old man — and you think that's awfully cute.

"This is, like, seeing a shooting star," you coo, watching him crack an eye open and smirk at your evident excitement; it's cute. It's clear that your joy comes from seeing Bucky relax enough to even get drunk — albeit on whatever potent drink-of-the-gods Sam is serving up as they speak, "This is insane."

"It's not insane , " he counters easily, shrugging a little deeper into the cushions; he moves to pat your knee. But, his hand stays there , "You doin' okay?"

"Mhm," you nod, resting your cheek in your hand and you settle in a little closer to him. Still, a distance that would seem friendly to Sam and Sarah's eyes — but close enough that you can pick a stray sprinkle off his shirt with wandering eyes, "Those drinks Sarah makes are dangerous."

"You were slammin' those things back," Buck mutters with an edge of humor, "I was worried I'd have to carry you to bed."

You smack his chest and ignore the burning implication. He chuckles.

"You gettin' tired?" he asks after a moment of comfortable silence held by the fire in the embrace of the holiday warmth.

"A little," you relent with a shy shrug. Bucky's touch turns tender for a second; he's looking at you like you've hung every star in the sky, and it makes you choke and stumble on your words. You'll never get used to it — ever. Seeing him so... content. Soft. Warm and relaxed. It's a gift in and of itself.

“You’ve had a long day,” he ruminates quietly. He's staring.

He's silent for a second, and then when he speaks it's nothing more than the quietest whisper among the crackle of the fireplace. His eyes trace the lines of your face, trying to commit it to memory.

"You're really beautiful, y'know."

He wishes he could frame this moment — the fireplace, the Wilson's hung stockings, the tree. You. It's home. It's everything he loves.

He looks twenty-something and in love when he says it. Untouched by war, by HYDRA, by horror. He looks young in the warm light of the tree, the fire, and the string lights. It makes you shy. You tuck yourself closer to the cushions and obscure your lovesick smile into your palm. Bucky eats it up .

Another whisper. He shakes his head as he speaks.

"God, I wanna kiss you again."

It's enough of a cue to bring you closer. Wordlessly, you drag yourself towards his chest and press a palm to his cheek. Bucky's hand tenses around the curve of your thigh. You're about to kiss him senseless when Sam's voice cuts through the palpable tension just as he rounds the corner.

"I tried to make it into some sort of... uh..." a blink. You're now on opposite ends of the couch from one another, and Sam swears Bucky is blushing, "You two good?"

Bucky takes the tall glass of questionable decisions from Sam as he clears his throat. "Never better. Thanks."

"Drink up," Sarah says as she wanders halfway down the stairs, bidding everyone goodnight; she points at Bucky, "You and bird brain over there are sharin' this couch tonight. You know where the sheets are. Rabbit, you're up in the guest room."

There's a pause.

Then:

"No funny business."

It's directed at Bucky.

The super soldier offers a sheepish thumbs up, and you purposefully ignore the little look he slides you.

...Did you miss a memo?

Sam waves her off. "See you in the mornin'."

"'Night, Sarah," Bucky calls.

"Night!" you call out to her.

Bucky takes a long sip of whatever the hell Sam has cooked up with the Asgardian mead. It isn't half bad, but this stuff is strong. Like a kick to the back of the knees strong.

"Need help cleanin' up, Sam?" you ask after him as he disappears towards the kitchen, only to find he's returned rather quickly with a parcel in hand. It's old, latched shut — you realize it's a fire-proof box.

"Nah, we'll do that tomorrow," he shrugs, "Bucky and I got you a little somethin', though. We wanted you to take a look."

You quirk a brow. "Was this also in the garage?"

Bucky takes a sip of his drink and smirks. "Sure was."

Sam sets the slate grey, metal box on the coffee table gently. It looks familiar. He stands back, offers his best Captain America smile, and waves you on. Immediately, you're suspicious but do as is expected. The latch securing the fire-proof box shut is a little rusted. It jingles softly against the metal when you flip it open and ease open the lid.

...Inside are papers.

Letters.

... Photos.

Immediately, you snap the lid shut and whip your head up to Sam and Bucky. Goosebumps. You have goosebumps. Sam is grinning and Bucky looks like the cat who got the canary.

Because in this box?

It's history.

Steve Roger's personal collection of history.

You've seen this box before, that's why it's familiar — in his room up at Elmwood. He would consult it often with Bucky by his side and pull tattered and faded memories out to reminisce on.

You're shaking your head when Bucky speaks.

"He wanted you to have this," says Bucky after a moment passes, "He said so."

"I can't possibly—"

"Yes, you can," Sam says as he plops down beside you on the sectional, "What, am I supposed to give it to the Smithsonian? We saw how that worked out last time."

Right.

The shield.

The alcohol in your system is making you emotional. You're clutching the box to your chest tightly, looking absolutely two beats from crying.

"Are you sure?"

"C'mon. Open it up. I haven't looked through everything," Sam says softly, rubbing your back, "And I thought it would be nice. Y'know, the three of us, talkin' about Steve. Like good ol' times."

Your face softens.

Bucky's heart clenches.

And Sam? Well, Sam's never been good when people start crying, so he just yanks you into a rough hug that feels brotherly and warm. "No, no, no tears — quit it, open the damn box, you sap."

"I told you she'd cry—"

"I'm not crying," you say as you definitely wipe a stray tear away as you toss a Santa-themed throw pillow at Bucky, "This is just... really nice. Like, really, really nice... I... It means a lot to me."

Sam lets out a soft breath. You've always held Steve in high reverence — Sam knows the whole bit about that signed poster in your apartment. He's seen it. Never let Buck live it down, either. With Steve's mantle now formally his, Sam can't help but feel glad he has someone on his side of this who cares so deeply.

"I promise I'll take good care of it," you whisper.

Sam doesn't say it, but that's why he's giving this to you.

Bucky's up and moving; he knows how you get about the sentimental stuff. You're like him about memories. They have a profound way of moving you. So, Bucky plops beside you and throws an arm around your shoulder as you sniffle. His voice is low, and Sam pretends he doesn't see his best friend soften. "Let's see this thing."

You take careful pride in opening the box again, your fingers gracing the tattered edges of photos and letters and newspaper clippings and folded posters. It's immediately clear this box had become Steve Rogers' catch-all for things that meant something to him. The thought alone makes your chest ache.

You slowly reach in, pull the entire pile from the box, and carefully set the bundle of history in your lap.

You feel, suddenly, like you're in college again — clamoring over Captain America memorabilia, obsessed over his career, proud of your favorite Avenger.

The first thing on top of the pile is a photo of Steve, Bucky, and Sam. It's a few years old now — if you had to guess, you'd assume before the Snap, after the Sokovia Accords. Bucky's hair is long, Sam looks the same, and Steve is young. They're crowded together, Steve in the middle. Gingerly, you turn it over.

Best Friends, 2017.

The next thing in the pile is a bundle of letters — they still smell faintly of roses. You spy an address and the neat penmanship of Peggy Carter. Bucky, beside you, hums softly.

"He wrote her all the time," he utters as he takes the bundle into his hands; he flips through them, eyeing only the dates — as if the privacy of their romance wasn't for him to read, "We'd be in some bombed out house in the South of France, no light orders, and he'd beg me to borrow my lighter. Just to write somethin' quick."

Sam shakes his head as he lets out a laugh. Bucky hands the letters back and you smile, thumbing the old rubber band keeping the bundle together.

The next thing in the box is a handful of photographs — old, curled up, black-and-white photos that were never really in focus. At some point, it's clear they'd been kept in a photo album of sorts. There's a discolored smear of dried glue on the back of most of them where dates are scrawled.

Photos of a cozy home, photos of a dog, photos of a laughing woman you realize suddenly is Peggy Carter. The wood paneling in the living room dates a handful of photos in the seventies.

And then there's the older stuff.

Stuffy portraits of a skinny Steve and his mother, rare childhood photos taken at holidays. Bucky laughs at these, shaking his head as he takes a long drink.

And then — photos of Bucky.

Sam whistles immediately, snagging the first photo off the top of the pile and shaking his head. "Woa-ho, man — okay , lady-killer—"

Bucky's face falls and he rolls his eyes. "I don’t know why he kept this shit—"

Steve took these. Bucky remembers.

"Lemme see," you chatter, leaning over to take a look — and Sam is right. It's a bit blurry, and a little off-kilter, but it's a weathered photo of James Buchanan Barnes on the stoop of an apartment building. He looks young. Maybe seventeen or so. His hair is slicked back neat, and he's got a dress shirt on. There's a cigarette dangling out of his mouth. He's mugging for the camera — and he's so young .

Your smile is sweet as you pin Bucky with an adoring look.

Bucky rolls his jaw.

That itch for a cigarette is back — the same one that creeps up on him every now and again.

Sam, again, pretends not to notice the adoring tension between the two of you.

"I was a kid," he snaps at your puppy dog eyes, "Let it rest."

"Oh, there's more," Sam crows as you place the picture of Bucky gingerly aside — and the super-soldier notes that it's separate from the letters and photos of Steve. Like you're saving it for you. And something about that makes him feel dizzy.

Sure enough, the next photo is, again, of Bucky — but this time, he's older. Sharper. He's in a kitchen, and there's two girls at the table behind him. The flash melts them into the background, and all you can focus on is how handsome Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th looks in his United States Army dress uniform.

All you can muster is:

"Wow."

It's a whispered prayer.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably in his spot. He moves to take the photo from you. "Yea, wow , who is that loser?"

"Stop it," you scold him gently with a whine, pulling it tightly to your chest before he can steal it away, "Don't say that. You look very handsome."

He's smiling in the photo. A real smile. You can almost hear the laugh that accompanies it. There's something in his hands — and you realize suddenly he's helping his mother cook in the photo. Those girls in the back must be his sisters.

The sight of the memory, frozen in time, makes your heartstrings tighten.

"Well," Bucky kicks his feet up and tries to ignore how tenderly you hold the photo of him, "You'll see just how stupid it looks tomorrow."

Sam rolls his eyes. "You are so dramatic."

You can't get over how handsome he is. You're staring — trying hard to memorize the photo — when Sam moves to pluck another piece of history from the pile.

It's Steve and Bucky, together arm-in-arm, in their Howling Commando uniforms. They're laughing, there's a banner hung behind them in the photo. Beside you Bucky sits up, his face brightening.

"I remember that," he says slowly like he's piecing it together; his words are looser with the alcohol, "Christmas. It was Christmas, and we were in England. Couldn't make it home, so... Peggy tossed the Commandos a little Christmas party."

Then:

"I was piss drunk."

You snort, handing the photo from Sam to him, and watch Bucky's eyes light up. The admission is soft and honest. "I was so drunk, I remember throwing up in Steve's cot — and the next morning, the Colonel had us running a debrief. Had to step out four times to puke beside some sorry bastard's tent."

He goes quiet for a moment. His face shifts into something somber.

"I, uh... I fell off that train car a month later."

Your eyes slip down his face, to his hand. His vibranium thumb is carefully tracing the scalloped and faded edges of the photo. The feeling of your palm across his back brings him to the present, and Bucky clears his throat before tossing the photo back into the pile.

There's more in the bundle in your hands — but you and Sam know how to read the room. Carefully, you return everything to its spot in the pile, save for one photo, and latch the box shut. You give it one more good hug before placing it beneath the tree beside the other presents.

"Thank you."

Sam's got the sheets in his hands, and he's tossing a bunch of pillows at Bucky. "You're up in the guest room, Rabbit — I put your stuff in the closet. If you need anything..."

"I'll holler," you smile, hugging Sam tightly.

Bucky feels... strange. Usually, he'd follow you to bed — curl up beside you. These days, you two flip-flop between his apartment and yours on account of the cats: Alpine and Mr. Poke Bowl. But, here? In front of Sam? It's... It's different.

"'Sleep tight, Rabbit," he offers instead.

You nod, and he realizes you still have that photo of him held tightly in your hands as you slip up the stairs into the dark.

"...When are you gonna tell her, man?"

Bucky is flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.

Across the room, Sam is in the same position.

His whisper is urgent, and in the dark, Bucky can almost see Sam's exhausted expression.

Bucky sighs.

"No, no, don't you — don't you sigh at me," Sam bites back; Bucky hears him shift to sit up, "It's like soft-core porn without the porn between you two—"

"What the hell does that even mean?" Bucky mutters — translation: shut the fuck up.

"You said you were finally gonna tell her how you feel," Sam urges. He waves his hand through the air, looking increasingly more stressed out, "What's stopping you?"

"I'm me, Sam," Bucky all but snaps in a harsh whisper, "Alright? I'm — I'm a fuckin' mess. Who would want that?"

Sam grows quiet. Then, he huffs out a defeated sigh. He knows when to pick his battles, and he knows this one is Bucky's to fight. The new Captain America rolls over with a grunt, but not before firing off:

"I've seen the way she looks at you."

Bucky tenses his jaw.

"She doesn't look at anyone else like that."

With that, Sam shuts up and Bucky is left alone with his thoughts in the dark of the living room.

He can be quiet when he wants to.

It's like muscle memory. The Wilsons' home has old bones and likes to settle at odd times in the night. Bucky uses that to his advantage as he climbs the stairs to the second floor.

Downstairs, Sam has already started snoring on the opposite end of the couch.

Sarah, in the master bedroom, is fast asleep. AJ and Cass are too, and Bucky checks on the boys out of habit.

The light in your room is still on. Warm light bleeds under the crack of the door, and Bucky debates for a long minute if he should be doing this. The other option is lying awake downstairs on the leather sectional and spiraling over his feelings.

Flesh and blood knuckles rap gently on the door.

"Come in."

You're in bed, thumbing through a book he recognizes as the one you've been working on since last week. It's been a bedside read. Something about star-crossed lovers through the dimensions. There's a god, he thinks. And a... scientist? He can't remember the details. You had rambled about it to him one night while he fell asleep after a long patrol.

You look adorable — skin clean, glasses on. You've been regimented about your bedtime routine lately.

There, beside your phone and a bottle of Lexapro, is that photo of him in his dress uniform.

Bucky's silent as a mouse as he closes the door to the bedroom.

"Sarah is gonna kill you if she knows you snuck in here," you whisper as he creeps closer; he's clad in a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, "Her house, her rules—"

No funny business.

Bucky's knee hits the edge of the bed, and he slowly tugs the book free from your fingers. He's slow to place it on the nightstand. The twin bed creaks, and he freezes to listen for any reaction from the sleeping house, before leaning farther down to catch you in the kiss he's wanted since you arrived.

Warm. Slow. He tastes like toothpaste. His hands are cradling your face as he kisses you senseless — his nose nudges yours as he breaks away for a breath.

His dog tags jingle as he hovers over you.

"What're you doing with this, huh?" he smiles; he reaches and plucks the photo from your nightstand and turns it over in his fingers while he watches your reaction. The corners of his eyes crinkle in that way that makes your body feel hot.

You grow sheepish. "It's special."

"I look like an idiot, Rabbit," he chirps as he gently takes the photo and settles to sit on the edge of the bed, "It's ridiculous."

His mother took this photo the day before his deployment. He remembers pieces of this memory — but not the whole thing. He can't for the life of him remember what he's helping her cook. Becca and Mary are playing cards in the back. They'd just been arguing over curfew, trying to get him to walk them to some dance that night.

Bucky barely recognizes himself.

Strangely, this version of him has no idea what sort of life would play out. This version of him wasn't hardened and cold, wasn't broken and pieced back together. This part of him wasn't a weapon yet.

"I think you look handsome," you murmur dejectedly, taking the photo slowly from his hands and cradling it close, "And if I had a locket, I'd put this picture in it."

Bucky's grin is wry as he eyes you over his shoulder, his hands resting in his lap. "...You'd put me in your locket?"

If you squint, it’s the opening to the conversation you’ve been avoiding. "Who else would I put in one?" you shake your head in disbelief.

"Not Cap?" he quips, whistling quietly, "You've changed."

"Oh, no, it's you on one side and Star Spangled Steve Rogers on the other," you play along, enjoying the way Bucky looks back at you against the pillows, "Don't even think for a second—"

His laugh is a low rumble. His shoulders shake, and you can't help but sit up in bed and reach for his arm. He bends, his chin resting atop your head as you hug his bicep. He plants a sturdy kiss on the crown of your hair before you raise your chin and look him over.

"Are you okay?" you whisper, "I know the memories can be a lot."

His lips quirk; another kiss, this one slower — and suddenly Bucky understands softcore porn without the porn . "I'm better now."

"Promise?"

"Promise," he murmurs against your mouth, his original goal of talking swept away in favor of touching. You're soft and gentle and make him feel whole. It's worse when you touch his dog tags beneath his shirt. It's worse when you let him deepen the kiss.

Focus.

You're on a mission, Barnes.

"Rabbit, I — I gotta talk to you about something—" he forsakes himself, stealing another open-mouthed and searing kiss because god damn it, you are so beautiful.

You barely hear him, you're too busy melting into another kiss. "Okay."

"It's important," he stutters, the feeling of your hands slipping up his chest providing an unsteady distraction. Another kiss. Another groan — because you're doing that thing where you play with the hair at the back of his neck, "It's about us —"

Your heart catches.

You pull back slowly, and Bucky feels panic strike his heart with how vulnerable you look. "Us?"

"—I said no funny business."

Sarah Wilson cuts an imposing figure in the shadow of the doorway. Her gaze lacks judgment, but god damn it — her timing is impeccable. Bucky's hair is a mess, his lips kissed red and you're no better, staring slack-jawed at him and terrified at whatever Pandora's box Bucky was about to open. You blinky rapidly between him and Sarah.

It's important. It's about us.

"C'mon, loverboy. Up," Sarah shakes her head at him, "That ain't your bed."

Bucky grits his jaw. "I was just saying goodnight—"

"You coulda done that downstairs," she scolds, "Or with the door open—"

It's important. It's about us.

"Fine," Bucky relents, standing to full height before raising both hands. Sarah tugs her robe a little closer, " Fine."

"Goodnight, Bucky," Sarah retorts as the super soldier slinks away, disappearing down the hall only after he tosses a lingering look your way.

"Yep, 'night."

It's important. It's about us.

You don't sleep a wink that night.

Christmas Eve morning, traditionally, is a slow morning.

It's late by the time you pull your eyes open and look at the clock on the bedside table. The sky over the river is blue and dotted with fluffy clouds. Though there's a distinct lack of snow in Delacroix, Lousiana, it's still a rather picturesque view.

The house is awake.

You shrug on a sweatshirt and a pair of joggers before slipping downstairs hellbent on a cup of coffee and something to eat — lest you start to dwell on whatever Bucky wanted to talk about last night again.

It's important. It's about us.

Padding down the stairs, you're immediately greeted by AJ and Cass. They're dueling it out on Mario Kart. They don't even look at you when they greet you in sync. You fire off a good morning in turn.

Sarah's in the kitchen.

There's a plate of bacon and eggs set aside for you.

"Good morning," she greets with an edge of a smirk, "Sleep well?"

All you can do is let out a long sigh and pull out a chair at the counter. Sarah, as she works on platting a box of catering for the VFW, slides you a look out of the corner of her eye. It's mischievous. You ignore it, trying to be normal.

"Where are dumb and bummer? " you ask, noting the dual plates in the sink.

"Out for a run," she rolls her eyes, "Fine by me. I needed a break."

You hum, take a sip of your coffee, and cross your legs.

"C'mon now," she chides after you silently take a big sip of your coffee, "Spill."

You almost choke. "I—"

"Y'know, it's cute," she begins, closing the lid of a box. Sarah's attention is now focused solely on you as she leans against the counter, "The two of you."

You're not sure why that hits you square in the heart.

You pause. Your lashes flutter for a second before you drop your gaze.

It's important. It's about us.

"Thanks, Sarah."

"He's nervous, I think," she mutters as she offers some hot sauce from the fridge for your eggs; you graciously accept it, "About you seeing him in uniform."

You almost laugh. "What?"

"Yea," she chimes in, "He said somethin' this morning that made me wonder — when's the last time he even wore that thing?"

Before everything, probably.

Before the Winter Solder , before the train car. Back when he hoped for a homecoming to his mother and sisters, back when he was young, back when he was told they'd be home by Christmas.

You chew thoughtfully. The truth tugs at your heartstrings.

"I think," you exhale, "The last time he wore it was a very long time ago."

The VFW in downtown Delacroix is small — but it's clear from the packed parking lot that this little holiday party draws a big crowd. You hop down from Sarah's tuck, shrug your wool coat a little closer, and follow her around to the tailgate. AJ and Cass are corraled close and handed boxes of meals by their mother.

You take a bundle with a smile.

By the time you'd showered and dressed, Sam and Bucky had disappeared off another side quest — this time grabbing Sam's Air Force dress blues from the local dry cleaner. They remarked in passing that they'd meet the four of you there, and when you brushed past Bucky's shoulder in the mudroom, the look he offered verged on apologetic. Kicked-puppy, almost.

There had been no time to talk. So, things were still hanging in the air. Things were... weird.

You try to remember that this is supposed to be fun — the temptation to fall down the cyclical thought pattern is there, but you try to breathe and remember to be present. It'll be fine. Everything is fine.

Hoisting the cardboard box a little higher, your eyes drift to the dotted lights hung across the entrance of the old building housing the local unit of the VFW. It's nothing special — but as you ascend the ramp alongside families and older veterans, the sound of Christmas music drifts to meet you.

The heat is blasting in the lobby, and you offer a cordial smile to the young woman holding the door open for you, Sarah, AJ, and Cass.

It's bustling — and through the halls of the lobby, there's a larger ballroom, no doubt used to functions like reunions and parties. The floors creak underfoot, and you follow Sarah like a lost puppy through the flow of families.

Long tables stretch across the far wall, punctuated by paper plates and plastic utensils. There's a punch bowl that looks suspiciously glittery and you offer a bitten smile to the older woman who moves to give the concoction a perfunctory taste test. The large, rectangular tins of Sarah's cooking are laid out on their own stands, and it quickly becomes your job to light the small, round containers of fire-starter.

The task is welcomed — and it gives you the chance to meet a handful of faces who are clearly familiar with the Wilsons. Vets, wives, mothers, daughters, granddaughters.

You're shaking your hand out from a close call with Sarah's lighter and trying to get another tin started when you hear a familiar voice over your shoulder.

"She put you to work, huh?"

He feels stupid.

This damn uniform is a lot. And sure, there are a handful of other guys in their dress uniforms, but Bucky's is old. His wool coat is chocolate brown, complete with a Howling Commandos patch on his shoulder and adorned with a handful of medals awarded to him posthumously. It was strange to pin them to his lapel. The jacket is belted tightly at his waist. Putting this whole thing on was like muscle memory he didn't know he still had.

And you were right. The starching is different.

He sweeps his cap off his head the moment you turn around, feeling less like Bucky and more like James.

It could have been a movie moment — picture it: you turn around in slow-motion, eyes alight, and there he is, your dashing Sergeant. It could have been perfect, with Sinatra's crooned carols floating by as the sea of people evaporates and all there is is Bucky. It could have been fluttered lashes and bitten cheeks, and Bucky would let out that stupid, huffed laugh he does while ducking his head and rocking on his shined dress shoes.

But, instead, you're so floored you proceed to freeze dumbly. The gel of the heating tin sparks, finally, and you proceed to realize ow, you're burning yourself, ow, ow ow ow—

"Ohmygod—"

"Jesus, bunny," Bucky exasperates as he throws his cap on, hopping quickly to your side to snag the tin from your hands with his vibranium hand; he quickly toss it beneath a tray, all while cradling your fingers in his other hand.

You're still staring at him. Burnt fingers be damned.

He shaved. He smells like crisp sandalwood aftershave and — cigarette smoke. It's faint, but it's clung to his jacket. You can't help but rake your eyes across him, realizing you much prefer this version of him to the one in that photo still on your bedside table at the Wilson's. He's here. Alive. Him. Not a twenty-something Bucky, but a hundred-something with all his quirks and agitations.

"You alright?" he asks, brows tightened in worry. He doesn't see the awe, just like usual.

Your voice sounds far away when you speak.

"Yea," you croak, blinking furiously to try and get your bearings because at this moment? It's all Bucky. Only Bucky. Sergeant James "Bucky" Barnes who you realize you've never seen in dress shoes before, but you've also never seen him in slacks starched and creased to regulation.

Bucky swallows.

You're still staring.

"Is it that bad?" he asks dryly after a long stretch of silence on both your ends; his face is set in a deadpan, "I told you—"

"No!" you nearly snap, quickly lowering your voice as you blink over your shoulder. Sarah seems to have handled the rest of the setup, you notice, as she slips a curious look over to you and Bucky, "No, no. You... You..."

Your heart feels like it's on fire.

And this is just proof, again, that you can't keep doing this without some sort of promise that he's not just going to leave or call it quits or... Or give up on you. This feeling is more than anything you've ever felt, and Bucky seems to notice.

Blue Christmas drones on in the background.

"You look really, really handsome, Buck."

It's all you can muster.

Bucky's eyes flicker with something like worry — and immediately, his fingers are curling in his pockets.

"You, uh... You got a sec?" he asks after a moment; his eyes haven't left yours, "To talk?"

You're nodding before you can even speak — but it doesn't matter, because Sam Wilson is here, throwing his arms around Bucky's shoulders. His own dress uniform is crisp and clean, his navy blues contrasting against Bucky's warm chocolate.

"Doesn't this shmuck clean up nice?" Sam jokes, completely unaware of the conversation he's interrupted, "I told him he oughta wear it more often, he'd look less like the long lost member of My Chemical Romance—"

"Ha, ha," Bucky deadpans, "Can you fuck off?"

"C'mon," he smacks Bucky's chest and leans to tug you into a half-hug. Your cheek smushes against Bucky's shoulder, "The three of us need drinks."

Bucky's begrudging irritation flares — he needs to talk to you, but... God damn it. There are more people here now, and... And Sam is tugging the two of you towards the open bar in the back of the banquet hall.

You relent, deciding that yea, you need a drink. A rum and coke is fine, and the grizzled-looking bartender behind the counter makes two drinks with heavy pours —

"Just a coke for me," Bucky rumbles as he leans on the counter, "Leave a lil' room at the top."

You quirk a brow.

Bucky rolls his jaw — then tugs his jacket apart to reveal the flask tucked into his inner breast pocket.

Sam claps him roughly on the shoulder again, his eyes alight. "Sly dog."

"I was not going into this dry," Bucky chirps back, shrugging Sam off as he takes his drink and turns away from the bar.

"Doll, hold this," the nickname slips out, and Bucky winces. You shoot him a look — he knows you hate it when he calls you 'doll' but... Muscle memory. Old uniform, old habits. You take his drink either way, letting him tug that flask of Asgardian mead out and unscrew the cap.

"Yeah, doll, " Sam parrots piqued interest.

"Don't," Bucky raises a finger, beating you to the punch, "call her that."

"Thank you," you sigh as he tips a generous amount of the Asgardian liquor into the bubbling cup of coke, "I hate—"

"—Only I get to call her that."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't," he responds flippantly, shrugging his flask back into his jacket as he takes the cup from you; he tips his cap back a bit, gesturing to the two of you with his drink, "Cheers."

"Cheers!" Sam laughs, and you smirk into your drink as you knock your rim against theirs.

"Cheers, you two."

The first sip is dangerous because shit — this is stronger than Sarah's peppermintinis. No wonder Sam insisted on coming to this party. An open bar with pours like that? This place should be shut down.

Sam's got the same screwed-up look on his face and you're just glad you're not the only one slightly mortified by the punch of rum. Bucky, though, wets his lips in contemplation. He seems impressed with his own little drink and tucks his vibranium hand in his pocket.

"Good turnout," he says plainly as he looks over the busy banquet hall.

You're still trying not to gag from your drink. "When are you sitting on Santa's lap again?"

The super soldier slides you a glare. "Don't start—"

"107th, huh?" comes a warbled voice from behind Bucky, and then a wrinkled and papery hand drifts to swat the brunette's shoulder; Bucky's lips jump into a smirk, and immediately he's locked in a strong handshake with an older man who must be in his late 90s.

...It's good to see Bucky like this. He's in his element, whether or not he wants to admit it. He gets along with these guys — better than most folks. He can relate. Maybe not to have a wife, or kids, or grandchildren, or great-grandchildren, but war is the tie that binds.

The man is whisking — as best as you can whisk with a cane and a hand on Bucky's arm — him away to a table full of Army vets, all well in their older years. You smile, sip your drink, and lean against Sam's shoulder.

The new Captain America tugs you into a half-hug.

Then, his voice is low.

"...He talked to you yet?"

You huff out a laugh — disbelief painting your words. "He was gonna, then you bombed in insisting on drinks. Which, by the way? This is the strongest thing I've ever had."

"Shit," Sam mutters under his breath, "I'm sorry, Rabbit—"

"It's alright," you pat his back and sip your drink, "He... Did he talk to you?"

"Why do you think we were out half the morning?" Sam huffs as the two of you watch him move around the table shaking hands, "Needed to run him like a dog — he wouldn't shut up about he's gonna fuck this up."

You raise both brows and serve Sam a look. "What could he possibly fuck up?"

"The whole... thing, I guess. You know how he is. He's got that broken-man-complex-thing — I told him it doesn't matter," Sam sips his drink and you sigh in agreeance.

"If that mattered, wouldn't I have stopped seeing him months ago?"

Sam blinks.

"Wait," he blinks, " Stopped seeing him?"

You lean back and confusedly eye Sam.

"...Yes?"

"Meaning," the man's face is set in utter disbelief, "You are seeing him?"

"...Oh my god, did you — did you seriously not—"

"No, I didn't know!" Sam cries, stepping back and bending at the knees as he throws his head back, "Are you serious? Since when?"

"Since before Madripoor," you fire off, blinking rapidly, "You always joked, I thought you knew—"

"I thought — oh my god — I thought the sexual tension was just there! "

"It was! Because we were sexually tense!" you whisper-yell, smacking his hands down from his dramatic show of exasperation, "I cannot believe you didn't know—"

"I can't believe this bastard has been gettin' the milk without buyin' the cow — It's been two years? "

"Alright," you bite, giving Sam a look that says ' please never say that again' , "In all fairness, I've also been getting the milk—"

"Alright!" Sam mimics your tone of finality, the look in his eyes begging you never to say that again, "So? What now?"

You cast a look over your shoulder at Bucky as he laughs at something one of the old Veterans says.

"I guess Buck and I talk."

Sam lets out a long sigh.

"Cheers to that."

This is a nightmare.

Is this bartending crew out to kill everyone here?

Thank god the kids are busy with ornament decorating, toy swaps, and Santa photo-ops.

The back of the banquet hall has dissolved into the sort of chaos only a bunch of old soldiers plied with liquor could create. Sam's on his third drink, tossed . Bucky is no better — he's squinting at a hand of cards, muttering something to himself as a guy from the 101st Airborne heckles him.

He folds with a buzzed scoff as you near with a plate of food. You're chewing, intent on seeing what all the noise is about as the table croons at the new loser: James Buchanan Barnes.

"Aw, did someone lose his wager?" you chirp as Bucky begrudgingly wrestles out his wallet and tossing a ten-dollar bill on the table.

"What else is new?" Bucky murmurs before standing. He sways a little, and you can tell from the ghost of heat across his cheeks that his flask is most likely empty by now.

He takes your fork from your hands, shoveling a bite of pie into his mouth. You laugh a little, handing over the entire plate to him.

"You keepin' your girl away from us, Barnes?" comes a call from the table — it's from a man in a Korea war veteran hat, "Not even gonna introduce us?"

Bucky's mouth is full when he points an accusatory hand at the man. "You've taken my cash, you're not takin' my girl—"

More laughter, and you just roll your eyes. " Your girl, huh?"

Bucky swallows and his Adam's apple bobs. His eyes roam across your face as he tries to sort out how you're feeling — and he decides then and there that it's time to talk. He's got enough liquid courage and a half-pack of won cigarettes in his pocket.

"Wanna take a walk?" he murmurs between another bite of pie.

"About time you asked, Sergeant."

The paper plate is promptly dumped into the nearest trash can.

The back entrance of the VFW is quiet. The music from inside drifts through the open doors, and as you shrug on your jacket, you note Bucky's fingers tugging a crumpled pack of Marlboros from his uniform slacks.

He won it in cards.

A smirk quirks your lips.

"You've gotta be kidding," you scoff.

"I've been itching for one," he laments as he drops the unlit cigarette between his lips and leans back against the slate brick of the back wall, "Since yesterday."

"Need a light, soldier?" you joke, trying your best Lauren Bacall-esque, trans-Atlantic accent. In your pocket is the lighter you used earlier — it's Sarah's.

"Be a doll , would you?" he croons back, the rare lightness of humor passing through his words as he ignores your pointed roll of eyes; Bucky slips the lighter from your offered hand, and with three flicks of the flint, strikes up the cigarette.

Now he really looks the part of the dashing Sergeant.

You cross your arms and lean back against the wall beside him as you watch him.

Bucky's eyes meet yours.

For a long moment, it's quiet comfort. He exhales a curl of smoke, the Marlboro perched between his fingers.

Then:

"This is fuckin' horrific."

The cough that follows is dry and brutal, and you can't help but laugh out loud as Bucky flicks the cigarette beneath his dress shoe and stomps it out. He coughs again, into his jacket, and spits onto the pavement — his face is knitted in revulsion.

You're laughing, really laughing, and Bucky swipes at his mouth with the back of his palm.

"What the hell—"

"Not like how you remember?" you chortle.

"This must be real funny for you," he rumbles out, swallowing back a wince of disgust, "Isn't it?"

"Almost like it's payback," you sidle up close, tilting your head, "For dropping the whole 'we need to talk' bombshell and then not talking to me—"

"Third time's the charm," he juts his jaw out, taking a step closer, "We're talking now, aren't we?"

"Not yet," you pry, standing toe-to-toe with him. You can see the anxiety radiating off him — and for once, you realize, it's not you saddled with the nervousness that burns through your rationality.

Bucky reaches out, his hand slipping along your cheek, "I'm not good at talking."

"I know," you mutter, turning your cheek and speaking into the warm flesh of his palm, "But all this tiptoeing is making me anxious—"

"I love you."

...Oh.

It just — it just comes out. It spills out before Bucky can catch it; not like he wants to catch it, though. He's been wanting to say it.

In the mornings, when you press your cold nose between his shoulders and murmur his name? He wants to say it. Over coffee that you make just for him? He wants to say it. When you lay your head on his lap and talk nonsense about books and movies and music? He wants to say it. After every single kiss, he needs to say it.

Your mouth is moving but no sound is coming out.

Then, like a damn bursting:

" Bucky—"

"I love you," he cuts you off again, leaning in to grasp your face and hold it tightly; his expression is deadly serious, "I love you, and you need to know that I—"

"Buck—"

"—I've loved you since Innessa, since Madripoor, since... Since Walker and the Shield and you've been by my side through the worst—"

" James."

Bucky blinks.

You're laughing.

You're laughing, and your hands are cradling his own against your face. Bucky's mouth snaps shut, his breath caught in his throat. You pull his hands down and wind your fingers through his.

"I love you, too."

His voice sounds far away.

"...I'm not easy to love, Rabbit."

"I know," you breathe; his eyes never leave yours, "Hasn't stopped me so far, though."

"Maybe it should," he whispers, glancing down at your fingers, "It'd be easier if you didn't."

"Maybe," you mutter back, breaking from his held hands to reach up and hold his face, "But, I don't really care, Sergeant Barnes."

And you kiss him.

Slowly, softly, and like a promise, you kiss him. There's a hesitancy that dies the moment you slip your eyes shut and Bucky knows you're being honest. You don't care. You want this — you want him, you've wanted him, you've stayed. You always stay. You're his foundation, his rock, his everything. He sweeps his cap off his head and wraps his arms tightly around your waist. There's no intention of ending this moment for anything, not even—

"Barnes! Santa's waiting on you for a photo!"

—Not even that. All Bucky does is offer Sam and Sarah Wilson a vibranium middle finger as he dips you a bit lower, the kiss unbroken.

Because this is important . It's about you two.

[l2vedive]

CHRISTMAS WITH YOU w. jeon wonwoo

first christmas together + fluff (557)

pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader

note: merry christmas eve !!! here's something to keep you warm and giddy before the year ends <3 i hope y'all are having a good one with ur friends n family 🫶🏻 please don't forget to give a like n a reblog w ur thoughts if you enjoyed !!

the soft crackle of the fireplace fills the living room, casting a warm glow that dances off the walls. the scent of pine mingles with the faint sweetness of cinnamon candles, creating an atmosphere that feels both festive and comforting. the christmas tree stands proudly in the corner, its branches adorned with twinkling lights, baubles, and ribbons.

wonwoo is crouched by its base, untangling a wreath he picked up earlier because, as he put it, “it matches the theme perfectly.” your cat, ever curious, bats playfully at the ribbons dangling from the wreath, earning an exasperated but amused sigh from him.

“you’re not helping, you know,” he says, looking at the cat with mock sternness before turning his attention back to the task.

you’re by the record player, flipping through vinyl sleeves, trying to choose the perfect background song for the evening. it feels important to you—setting the tone, making it just right. your fingers pause on a jazz album, but then you hesitate and move to something else.

“(your name), my love,” wonwoo’s voice cuts through your deliberation, gentle and warm, “whatever you pick will be perfect. honestly, i’d rather hear you humming than anything else.”

you glance over your shoulder, catching his soft smile. “it has to be perfect, though. first christmas together and all that,” you say with a grin, though there’s a hint of seriousness in your tone.

wonwoo rises, the wreath now untangled and hanging neatly on a branch. “it already is,” he says as he crosses the room, wrapping his arms around you from behind. his chin rests lightly on your shoulder, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your temple before he presses a kiss there. “but we’ve got a cake to bake and dinner to prep. think you can multitask, or do i need to pick the song for you?”

you laugh, leaning back into his embrace. “fine, fine. i’ll leave it for now. but if the vibe is off, you’re to blame.”

“deal,” he says easily, his arms loosening as he takes your hand. “come on, let me show you how amazing this wreath looks on the tree. it’s like it was made for it.”

he leads you over, gesturing proudly at the wreath now nestled among the branches. it does look good—better than you’d expected when he’d first brought it home. your cat, meanwhile, has abandoned the ribbons and is now swatting at the shiny wrappers beneath the tree.

“well, she’s having the time of her life,” you say, watching the cat with a fond shake of your head.

“at least someone is,” he jokes. “come on, let’s get started on that cake before she decides the wrapping paper is a snack.”

just as you’re about to head to the kitchen, the doorbell rings, a cheerful chime that sends your cat scurrying under the sofa. “that’ll be our first guests,” you say, your excitement bubbling up.

wonwoo squeezes your hand. “i’ll get it. you start setting out the ingredients. don’t worry—i’ll make sure everyone knows the cat’s got dibs on the tree.”

you laugh, giving him a playful shove as you head towards the kitchen. the sound of your friends’ voices fills the room moments later, their laughter blending seamlessly with the warmth of the evening. it’s a scene of perfect chaos—exactly how christmas should be.

— please do not copy , translate or repost any of my works anywhere.

© l2vedive on tumblr

[your-local-simp-writers]

Mistletoe

Word Count: 1456

Warnings: None

Silver the Hedgehog x Fem! Reader

Note- You are mobian, a silly little hedgehog!

Also yall should check our our latest poll ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The little town seemed plucked straight out of a snow globe. Rows of quaint timber-framed shops, their rooftops blanketed with snow, lined the cobblestone streets. Wreaths adorned every door, strings of golden lights looped from lampposts, and the scent of roasted chestnuts and spiced cider wafted through the crisp air. Silver and you strolled side by side, your breath visible in soft puffs as you took in the festive scene.

Silver adjusted his scarf, glancing down at you with a small, content smile. The lights reflected in his emerald eyes, giving him an almost ethereal glow. “This place is amazing,” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with awe.

“Isn’t it?” you replied, spinning in a circle to take it all in. “I love how everything feels so alive, like the whole town is celebrating together.”

The two of you wandered toward the bustling Christmas market, a maze of wooden stalls brimming with holiday treasures. Each booth seemed to tell its own story—one sold handmade candles in scents like pine and cinnamon, while another offered colorful woolen scarves and mittens. A nearby vendor was carving tiny figurines out of ice, his skilled hands moving with precision despite the cold.

“Oh, look at that!” you said, tugging Silver toward a stand displaying jars of sparkling snow globes. You picked one up and shook it, watching as tiny flecks of glitter swirled around a miniature village scene inside.

Silver leaned closer to observe, his hand brushing yours as he steadied the globe. “It’s like holding a little piece of this town,” he said softly, his tone filled with wonder.

You grinned, setting the globe back down. “Maybe you should get one, then. A way to remember today.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “I think just being here is something I won’t forget.”

Further down the street, the two of you passed a bakery where the windows were fogged with warmth. The display was filled with gingerbread houses, their frosting decorations so detailed they looked like real cottages. The smell of freshly baked pastries made your stomach rumble, and you couldn’t resist pulling Silver inside.

The bakery was cozy and bustling, with shelves lined with loaves of bread, trays of cookies, and steaming pots of hot chocolate. A friendly baker greeted you, offering a tray of free samples. You eagerly grabbed a tiny cinnamon roll, savoring the sweetness as you turned to Silver.

“Try this,” you said, holding one up for him. He hesitated for a moment before leaning down, taking the bite you offered. His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded in approval.

“That’s really good,” he admitted, his cheeks tinting pink—not from the cold, but from the closeness of the moment.

After leaving the bakery, you found yourselves in front of a toy store, its window display filled with plush animals and colorful trains. A group of children pressed their noses against the glass, their laughter ringing through the air.

Silver paused, watching them with a soft smile. “It’s nice, seeing everyone so happy.”

You nodded, slipping your hand into his without thinking. “It really is. It’s like the holidays bring out the best in everyone.”

Your touch startled him, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers curled gently around yours, his warmth a comforting contrast to the chill in the air.

As the evening went on, the two of you explored more shops—a tiny bookstore where the owner’s cat dozed on the counter, a craft store filled with handmade ornaments, and a quaint apothecary selling herbal teas and scented sachets. Each place felt like a treasure trove, and you found yourself drawn to the little details—the soft hum of holiday music in the background, the way the shopkeepers greeted you with warm smiles, and the simple joy of sharing the experience with Silver.

Eventually, as snow began to fall more steadily, the two of you found yourselves walking down a quieter street. “Any idea what you want for Christmas?” Silver asked, glancing down at you with a soft smile. His breath puffed out in visible clouds, and his silver fur seemed to catch the glow of the lights, making him look even more radiant than usual.

You grinned, your breath hitching slightly as you adjusted the scarf wrapped snugly around your neck. “Silver, I can’t tell you that. You have to guess!”

His ears twitched, and he tilted his head in thought. “Guess? How am I supposed to—”

“Imagination, my dear hedgehog!” you interrupted, laughing as you spun on your heels, gesturing dramatically at the market stalls lining the street.

He chuckled, the sound light and genuine. “Alright, fine. Let me think.” His gaze wandered over the nearby shops, his expression growing serious as he genuinely pondered the challenge.

As you walked, the two of you passed a stall selling handcrafted ornaments. You paused, admiring the delicate work—intricate glass figurines of snowflakes, reindeer, and stars, all painted with shimmering colors that caught the light beautifully. Silver noticed your fascination and stepped closer.

“These are incredible,” you murmured, reaching out to gently touch one shaped like a crescent moon. The cold glass felt smooth under your fingertips, and you smiled softly, imagining how it would look on a tree.

Silver watched you with quiet intensity, his green eyes flicking between your expression and the ornament. “Do you want it?” he asked after a moment.

You blinked and turned to him, shaking your head quickly. “Oh, no. I was just looking. It’s beautiful, but I don’t need it.”

He frowned slightly, but before you could protest further, he handed the vendor a few coins and carefully picked up the moon ornament. Turning back to you, he held it out with both hands, his cheeks slightly pink. “Here. I want you to have it.”

Your heart swelled at the gesture, and you hesitated for a moment before taking it. “Silver… Thank you. It’s perfect.”

The two of you continued strolling through the market, the glow of the lanterns and the twinkle of lights making the evening feel almost surreal. Silver seemed to relax as the evening wore on, his usual shyness giving way to a playful curiosity as you explored the stalls.

At one booth, you found a set of carved wooden figurines shaped like little forest animals. Silver picked up a tiny hedgehog, holding it up with a grin. “This one looks just like you.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “And this one must be you,” you said, holding up a sleek silver fox.

“Silver the Fox? I don’t think it has the same ring to it,” he replied, laughing as he put the figurine back.

As the snow began to fall heavier, the two of you ducked into a cozy café at the end of the street. The warmth of the fireplace inside was immediate and soothing, and the scent of cinnamon and cocoa wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. The café was decorated with wreaths and garlands, and a small Christmas tree stood in the corner, its lights twinkling merrily.

You and Silver found a small table near the window, and soon you were both sipping on steaming mugs of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. You sighed contentedly, gazing out at the snow-covered street.

“This is perfect,” you said softly.

Silver nodded, his gaze fixed on you rather than the view outside. “It really is.”

After finishing your drinks, the two of you made your way back outside. The town had grown quieter, but the festive lights still glowed brightly, reflecting off the freshly fallen snow. As you walked down a narrow alley lined with garlands, something caught your eye—a sprig of mistletoe hanging just above you.

You stopped, looking up at it with a sly smile. “Oh, look at that,” you said, pointing.

Silver followed your gaze, his expression shifting from curiosity to sheer panic. “Oh… uh… I mean… th-that’s… um…”

You laughed, stepping closer to him. “What’s the matter, Silver? You’re not afraid of a little tradition, are you?”

“I-I’m not afraid!” he stammered, his cheeks turning a brilliant shade of red.

“Well, then?” you teased, tilting your head playfully.

He hesitated, his green eyes darting between you and the mistletoe. You could see his hands fidgeting nervously, his usual confidence completely gone. Smiling softly, you reached up, standing on your tiptoes to gently press a kiss to his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Silver.”

He froze, his blush spreading all the way to his ears. “M-Merry Christmas,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Taking his hand once more, you gave it a reassuring squeeze as you continued walking. The snowflakes danced around you, the town’s lights casting a warm glow over everything.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Hi! I read your posts offering tips on how to describe dark coastal and academia settings. They were super helpful! I was wondering if you had any writing tips for dark forests..? Hope it wasn't too big of an ask. Thanks for your time!

I truly love this so much! I apologize for the delay in my post. I tend to put things off sometimes, I'm a serial procrastinator and it took me a little while to gather my thoughts on what you might encounter in dark forests. But hopefully these are similar to what you wanted!

✩°𓏲⋆🌿. ⋆⸜List of Random Things For Your Dark Forests Settings | For Writers

✩°𓏲⋆🌿. ⋆⸜

The Overgrown Trail 🌿

Winding dirt path obscured by tangled roots and underbrush

Twisted, gnarled tree trunks reaching up to block the sky

Shafts of pale moonlight cutting through the thick canopy

The distant hoot of an owl and the chittering of unseen creatures

The earthy, damp scent of decaying leaves and moss

The Abandoned Cabin 🏚️

Dilapidated wooden structure, its paint peeling and windows boarded up

Cobwebs draped across the porch railing and doorframe

The creak of warped floorboards and the groan of the sagging roof

Rusted tools and broken furniture scattered among the weeds

The stale, musty odor of neglect and the faint tang of rot

The Moonlit Glade 🌕

A small clearing, the grass blanketed in a carpet of wildflowers

Gnarled, ancient trees ringing the open space like silent sentinels

Faint wisps of fog drifting across the still surface of a dark pond

The soft susurration of leaves in the gentle breeze

The faint glow of bioluminescent mushrooms dotting the forest floor

The Winding Stream 🌊

A burbling brook cutting through the undergrowth, its water crystal-clear

Thick, twisted roots breaking through the soil along the banks

Schools of darting minnows and the occasional flash of a trout

Clusters of delicate ferns and mosses clinging to the damp rocks

The soothing sound of rushing water over the pebbles

The Ritual Circle 🕯️

A ring of large, moss-covered stones in a small, secluded clearing

Remnants of burned candles and wilted flower petals scattered within

Carved wooden totems or animal skulls adorning the perimeter

Thin wisps of incense smoke curling up towards the treetops

The eerie silence, broken only by the distant cry of a raven

The Fog-Shrouded Ravine 🌫️

A deep chasm obscured by tendrils of swirling mist

Gnarled, skeletal trees clinging to the steep, rocky sides

The faint sound of running water echoing up from the unseen depths

Thick vines and twisted roots snaking across the uneven ground

The chill of the damp air, raising goosebumps on bare skin

The Witch's Cottage 🧙‍♀️

A crooked, thatched-roof hut nestled between the twisted trees

Dried herbs and animal bones hanging from the eaves

Smoke curling from the chimney, the scent of charred wood and herbs

A small garden of nightshade, mandrake, and other sinister plants

The eerie cackling of the resident witch, her shadow glimpsed through the windows

The Forgotten Graveyard 🪦

Crumbling, moss-covered headstones half-submerged in the undergrowth

Skeletal tree branches reaching down like grasping hands

Ravens perched atop the weathered grave markers, cawing ominously

Shreds of tattered funeral wreaths and faded flowers scattered about

An unearthly chill in the air, as if the spirits of the dead linger

The Enchanted Pool 🌙

A small, still body of water reflecting the night sky above

Luminescent flora blooming along the murky banks

Schools of glimmering, ethereal fish drifting through the depths

Mist swirling across the surface, obscuring the view of the bottom

The faint sound of otherworldly music drifting from unseen sources

The Cursed Clearing 🕳️

A barren, circular area devoid of vegetation, as if scorched by dark magic

Twisted, blackened tree trunks surrounding the perimeter like sentinels

Jagged shards of obsidian-like rock piercing up from the soil

The crunch of bone-dry leaves and twigs underfoot, shattering the silence

An oppressive aura of dread and unnatural stillness permeating the air

[artisticaffairs]

The unequal marriage by Vasili Pukirev

Oil on canvas, 1862

It is a powerful painting that depicts the harsh realities of arranged marriages in 19th-century Russia. The painting shows a young, sad bride being forced to marry an older, wealthier man. The bride's expression of despair and the groom's stern, uncaring gaze highlight the stark contrast between their ages and social standing. The painting's dark, somber atmosphere further emphasizes the tragedy of the situation.

The bride:

The bride is the only figure in the image painted in light colors. She is still a child, barely holding back tears. A candle in her child’s hand leans over, wax dripping onto her wedding dress. Her right hand is extended to the priest who is about to put a wedding ring on her thin finger. According to research, the bride is Praskovya Matveevna Varentsova illegitimate child of one of the wealthy people who married her off to be wealthier. Sadly, Praskovya became an early widow but not a rich heiress. She lived out the rest of her days in a Moscow poorhouse – a charitable institution for people who were not able to take care of themselves.

The artist:

Vasili Pukirev painted this picture in a difficult state of mind as it was rumored that the bride is his beloved. Look at the man on the right, glaring at the groom, he undoubtedly resembles the artist himself. Furthermore, his pose expresses obvious dissatisfaction with what is happening.

The groom:

The groom seems entirely composed of angles and straight lines, unlike the soft, angelic bride. He symbolizes fading, mortification, the atmosphere in which the maiden beauty of the bride is to fade. We can also see the he has the Order of Saint Vladimir for continuous civil and military service, so he must be a deeply respected man. The groom tries to look at the bride from the height of his general’s rank.

The gloomy figure:

There is very strange figures in this room, an old woman. it begs the question: why are they wearing the same wreaths as the bride’s? And what looks like a white dress. Looking more closely, it appears more like a sheet. Perhaps this sheet is rather a burial shroud. There are several theories as to who this woman is. Most likely, she is the late ex-wife of the groom himself.

"The Unequal Marriage" is a poignant commentary on the societal pressures and injustices that women faced during this time. It serves as a reminder of the importance of individual choice and freedom in marriage, even today.

[nayziiz]

Forever | CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader (she her)

Author's note: Very short, but very soft.

Masterlist

The sun began to set, casting a warm golden tint over the sprawling vineyard that stretched out like a lush, green ocean. The air was filled with the sweet fragrance of blooming roses and lavender, mingling with the rich aroma of oak barrels from the nearby winery. Fairy lights twinkled overhead, strung between the towering olive trees, creating a canopy of stars that shimmered against the dusky sky. 

Guests mingled and laughed, their voices a pleasant hum that blended with the gentle strumming of a guitar from the live band positioned near the rustic, wooden dance floor. The band, dressed in casual, bohemian attire, played a melodic tune that invited everyone to sway and move to its rhythm, including the bridal pair, Pierre and Kika. Elegant tables draped in crisp white linens were scattered around, each adorned with delicate floral centrepieces and flickering candles. A long, beautifully decorated table stood at the heart of the venue, laden with an array of gourmet dishes and fine wines, reflecting the celebratory spirit of the occasion.

Charles stood at the edge of the dance floor, a glass of champagne in hand, his eyes fixed on the centre of the activity. There, illuminated by the soft, warm glow of the lights, was his partner, dancing with carefree abandon. The music seemed to flow through her, her movements fluid and graceful, her laughter a bright, contagious melody that added to the joy of the evening. She wore a flowing, navy dress with a slight glitter to it that caught the light with every twirl, the fabric rippling like water. Her hair, adorned with a wreath of wildflowers, cascaded down her back in loose waves. There was a radiance about her, a pure, unfiltered joy that made her stand out to him among the other guests. Her smile, wide and genuine, was the kind that made anyone who saw it smile too, spreading happiness like ripples in a pond.

Charles watched her, his heart swelling with love and pride. She moved effortlessly from dance partner to dance partner, drawing everyone into her orbit, making them feel like they were the only person in the world at that moment. Her energy was infectious, her spirit indomitable. It was moments like these that reminded him why he had fallen in love with her – her ability to find joy in the simplest of things and to share that joy with everyone around her, even at their friends’ wedding.

He took a sip of his champagne, savouring the crisp, bubbly liquid as he continued to observe her. She caught his eye and her face lit up even more, if that was possible. She beckoned him with a playful wave, her eyes sparkling with mischief and love. Charles couldn’t help but grin back, feeling the warmth of her gaze wash over him. He set down his glass and made his way towards her, weaving through the clusters of guests. As he reached her, she took his hand and pulled him into the dance, her laughter ringing out like music to his ears. He spun her around, the world narrowing to just the two of them amidst the joyful chaos of the wedding celebration.

They moved together, in perfect harmony, their steps synchronised like a practised dance. Charles held her close, feeling the beat of her heart against his chest, matching his own. The world faded away, and for a moment, it was just the two of them under the canopy of stars and fairy lights.

“How long is forever?” he wondered aloud, his voice a soft murmur against the backdrop of laughter and music.

“Huh?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, her brows knitting together in confusion. She had been so lost in the moment, twirling in his arms, that his sudden question caught her off guard.

“How long do you think forever is?” he repeated, his gaze drifting towards a newlywed couple dancing nearby. “They promised to love each other forever, so how long is forever?” 

His eyes, filled with curiosity and a hint of vulnerability, returned to hers. She chuckled softly, shaking her head as she studied his face.

“Are you having some existential crisis, baby?” she teased. There was a playful glint in her eyes, but she could see that his question was genuine, not just a passing thought.

“I'm just curious,” he said, a slight shrug accompanying his words. He looked down, his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of her hand.

“I think forever is everything and more,” she began, her voice thoughtful and tender. “It's not just a timeframe, but all the small moments in between. The laughter, the tears, the joy, the sadness, the anger, the patience, the kindness, the forgiveness. It's how even when you're both long gone, your story will still be told and sung, swept away in the wind, etched in the Milky Way, so no one could ever forget it.”

He listened intently, her words resonating deep within him.

“Mmh,” he murmured, letting the weight of her words settle in his heart.

“What? Is that too philosophical for you?” she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.  He shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“I think that's exactly what forever is for us,” he replied, his voice filled with a quiet certainty. “You know I'd love you forever and a day.”

“And I'd love you forever and a day, too, baby,” she whispered, her eyes shining with love. She leaned in, their foreheads touching, and in that intimate space, the promise of forever felt as real and as tangible as the stars twinkling above them.

As the song came to an end, she rested her head on his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck. Charles kissed the top of her head, closing his eyes, letting the moment etch itself into his memory. It was a beautiful evening, a perfect celebration of love, and as he held her in his arms, he knew that this was just the beginning of their lifelong dance together.

[stronghours]

ft. candles that work; 50% gelatin success - 6th Annual Holiday Bash

everything was pretty well prepared regarding timeage - keeping in mind next year, it really would be better for the layout to be totally set by the expected start time. a routine that has established itself in the past three years is my guests watching me bash gelatin molds around so I can Complete the Table, and as I was carving the beef with a ring of My Insanely On-Time Guests sitting on the rug behind me holding polite conversation, I felt like I was keeping things (and refreshment!) at standstill

these are little party scheduling blip-blups of time and space that I feel are circumvented when you're in a house or a larger apartment - people can roam without feeling hide-y, they can poke around more, they can lounge. in a small spaces lapses are more intimately felt, especially when a lot of the guests run anxious - I don't like the idea that people feel they can't eat or drink until a signal is given

presentation: I'm getting closer to what I want. I always think I'll have time and energy to run up a seasonal homemade tablecloth or tree skirt or make a wreath, but never do; managed this year with doing a couple flower arrangements and flung my old twin bed cover around the tree stand Just So that it appeared passably intentional

presentation 2: if your fruit bowl is too Aesthetic and Pretty, despite being placed welcomingly on the table with all the rest of the edible food, your guests will be wary to remove anything from it; if a lid or cover is placed over a dish, your guests will not remove it; if you have a candy dish full of spiced pecans at the wayside, your guests will naturally assume it is a dish of (1) potpourri, or (2) decorative dried mushrooms and will not remove anything from it

misc: a lamp I had stopped liking so much was broken, which means I can go lamp-shopping again; I was gifted a massive fern terrarium

at this point, I'm so fascinated by what compels me this time of year that I'm thinking of starting a substack just to start writing about my (admittedly uneven right now) cooking and domestic life

earlier this year I requested/demanded @drdemonprince read (and hate) Brandon Taylor's Real Life so I would have someone to talk to about how much I hated it (see post below), so he bought me the record I have been avoiding all year because I have not had the strength to confront the sorrows Sufjan Stevens has experienced recently.

having a friend is a lot like throwing a party - it is, quite overlapping, the twin whims of wanting to impart a good time and submit loved ones to ordeals.

[meandmythoughts210]

The oppressive heat perforated each lungful of hateful, poisonous air. It choked him as he gazed at the figure before him. The magma of Mustafar churned around them, the waves of impenetrable heat rising off the rivers of molten rock adding to the already disconcerting scene.

Anakin, the man–boy–he had thought he knew as he knew himself, was made a stranger by an unfathomable well of hatred, hurt, sorrow. He began to pace along the bank of the molten river, lightsaber in hand.

“You failed, Obi-Wan,” he said in a flat, unaffected tone, “this is your great dereliction.”

“I know.” he swallowed, struggling to speak past the knot of guilt in his throat.

  “I know, I left you here. I–”

Anakin laughed, a bitter sound that echoed unnaturally off the rocks around them. That was not the laugh of his Padawaan, of his brother. He didn’t know this person.

“Your failure came long before our meeting on this hellish planet. For all your wisdom, all your calculations, all your devotion to the Force, you could not see beyond your own nose.”

The hem of his cloak, brought too close to the river of lava, burst into flame. It engulfed him as his quiet bitterness turned into fury.

“I have been a slave all my life. To Wato, to the Jedi, to The Emperor. The Chancellor,” he sneered, “groomed me for years. He made me his perfect puppet. Why didn’t you sense it? Why didn’t you suspect? Why didn’t you intervene?”

The flame was searing his flesh, a foul stench filling the air. They danced around his head, crowning him with his own destruction. As he lurched forward, he ignited his lightsaber, the blue Kyber crystal having been bled to a bloody crimson. 

“You could have saved me long before this night, Obi-Wan!” he raged. The shadows cast by his fiery halo bent and stretched, making him appear larger.

“This is your doing Obi-Wan! Look at me! Look at me, see what you have made! LOOK AT ME!”

Obi-Wan forced himself to look into the creature's eyes. His stomach clenched as he looked into them. The man was well and truly gone; an animal’s tawny iris, ringed with a wreath of hateful scarlet, looked back at him.

Sorrow like he had never known flooded his heart. He had no defense against the accusations laid before him. They were the same rebukes he had whispered to himself in the lonely hours of the night, as he pleaded with the Force or whatever power was there to allow him to fix it, somehow. 

Anakin's skin was rapidly melting away, dripping absurdly to the ground like the wax of a forgotten candle. Fire seeped through him until there was nothing but charred bones and his robotic prosthetics left. The thing that used to be Anakin continued to advance, swinging it’s lightsaber so that sparks lept from the rocks in front of it as it walked. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He couldn’t speak past the tears that threatened to burst their dam the more he opened his mouth. He took half a step back from the skeleton as it came closer. He wanted to run, but his feet felt as if they were fused to the ground. 

“Your sorrow means nothing,” it said. It plunged its crackling lightsaber into his chest, burying it to the hilt.

He sat up, gasping for air. His chest heaved as his heart thundered inside its cavern, desperately attempting to regulate itself. His lightsaber was in his hand, his thumb on the button, ready to ignite the cerulean blade. 

“A dream,” he told himself, “nothing more than a dream.” It didn’t comfort him.

The night air chilled his clothes, made damp by his panicked sweat. He moved to get out of his makeshift bed, knowing to chase sleep would be futile. He paused as he sat on the edge of the bed, his bare feet resting on the dusty stone floor. Grief, remorse, fear. They weighed him down, fettering him to his bed. 

He felt a weariness beyond his years. The guilt had stretched his soul nearly past its capacity, making each breath, each motion a burden. The weight of so many deaths–Qui-Gon, Sabine, Padme, Anakin, Ahsoka, the list went on and on–sat on his shoulders. He sometimes wondered why he should continue to draw breath or why his heart should continue to beat. What was left?

Some reserve of strength in his soul began to break. The man that used to be Obi-Wan Kenobi put his graying head in his hands and wept.

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want: III, Part Fifteen

Word count: 20,059

I had PLANS for the aquarium date i swear they’re just… poorly executed. I struggled SO hard with this damn date even though there were a certain few things I absolutely had to include. This feels like i’ve handed y’all almost 20k words of trash. This chapter did not want to be written and I feel so bad it’s taken this long, and for it to end up like… really shitty. really really shitty. Everyone say thank you sleep token paris show with LP for being the reason I got my ass in gear to finish it (BLONDE SHORT HAIR III OH MY SLEEP) (also insomniac on twt for being so encouraging and kind even though I know this chapter is shit) there may be minor errors in hwo things are timelined in this one cause i moved a scene further up into the chapter, i really tried to make sure i fixed everything so, sorry in advance

Ao3

Masterlist

Previous Part 

Next Part

____ opens his eyes to the sound of waves crashing on a shore at his back, sand giving way beneath his bare feet. The moonless sky above him is dark, an endless expanse of deep grey rain clouds. He looks around, confused, blonde hair being blown around gently in a breeze that doesn't smell of anything despite the expectation of seasalt.

He had just laid down to try and sleep, hadn't he? Desperate to escape the sounds of raucous laughter from the living room, the feeling of bruises on his hips and beer on his tongue from harsh, demanding kisses.

There is flickering light in the distance, and ____ finds himself walking with purpose towards it. He notices that the light is not that of a bonfire, but of small candles as he grows closer. In this circle of candles lies a man, a long cloak covering most of his form. With each flicker of the flames surrounding him, his prone form flickers, too. One moment, he appears as though he has antlers branching off of his head, making grooves in the sand. The antlers themselves have white lillies wreathed around the base, dark silver chains with pieces of decorative iron shapes, resembling a four pointed star, hanging between. There are white bandages wrapped around his covered calves, criss crossing over each other loosely. A mask sits upon his face, pearly white with a large red sigil that drips down over the cut outs of six lightly squinted eyes, as though the mask is smiling. Jutting down into some variation of fleur-de-lis points past the open mouth and creeping up along the jaw and nose is detailed red, swirling flowery filigree. Splatters of red lead up towards the temples, reminding ____ of blood.

In the next moment, he is just a man, skin as black as coal with veins of gold on the parts of his arms visible through bone white bandages. Attached to his ring finger on his left hand, are three red threads, one tied to each joint. The one closest to the nail is faint, the end of the thread leading off a couple of inches before it dissipates into nothingness. Unlike that thread, the other two are strong, tangible, with no loose threads. The mask under the hood changes too, losing the bloody filigree, the smooth texture, seeming more skull-like in material, with more grooves.

"Hello?" He calls, stopping at the edge of the circle.

The man does not stir, but with the state of his body, ____ doesn't think he even could. Still as the dead, the sight begs the question of whether or not the man was alive at all. ____ finds his answer quickly, eyes drawn to the beating heart laying in the strange mans outstretched hand, curled up on his side as though he was cradling it. A trail of blood and viscera overflows from the golden offering plate under their hand, leading from the heart to the gaping wound in the man's chest, a golden bladed knife stewn not far from the body. Ribs are splintered and pulled apart, a grisly sight that leaves ____ feeling vaguely ill, unable to tear his eyes from the empty cavity of the man's chest. Of the black sludge dripping out and colliding with red blood, but never mixing.

With difficulty, ____ tears his eyes from the bloody mess, and back to the heart, somehow less gory.

It is missing chunks, only a quarter of it left, and yet it still beats, a steady thumpthumpthump that pounds in ____'s ears. Sharp claws dig into the tender flesh of the right atrium, no kindness in the grey knuckled grip. The breeze picks up, tousling both of their hair, sand finding a home in the crevices of their clothes.

____ finds himself sitting, kneeling at the edge of the circle. Something in him begs to move closer, to pull the stranger into his arms, to comfort. He fears breaking the circle, something clearly sacred, but his soul yearns to touch. Waves crash on a distant shore, and neither he nor the man move.

Six eyes blink open, a set at a time, pupiless, crimson irises glowing from within the pitch black darkness of the eyes of the mask. They're captivating, beautiful-

Suddenly, ____ knows who this is, the memory hitting him like a lightning strike. Though the appearance is different, ____'s soul knows.

The man does not speak, does not move, only watches with tired, sad eyes as though looking right through ____. His eyes wander listlessly, searchingly, lips forming around a word that ____ cannot hear, but thinks he may know regardless. Plush, black painted lips seem to part around the word 'four,' over and over as if in question, eyes still searching for something.

With time that seems to stretch along infinitely, ____ feels something tickling the back of his mind. A name comes to the forefront, falling off his tongue gently, a mere breath leaving him in concern.

"Vessel?"

Crimson eyes meet the ocean blue of ____'s, snapping to focus as though Vessel knew where he was all along. There is panic, there, and fear. So much fear.

Wind roars overhead, the already cloudy sky going darker as they go from rainy grey to stormcloud black. Water laps at ____'s feet, where before the ocean has been distant.

"You shouldn't be here." Vessel's voice is hushed, choked with emotion, red blood dribbling over the side of his mouth.

In an instant, ____ realizes this is not a nightmare, but some strange mix of a memory like the times before this, and a dream.

Vessel sits up slowly, the veil of magic clinging to the top of his head beginning to slip. Antlers flicker in and out of existence with the weakening flame of the candles, the wind testing their resilience. An animal pelt on the back of his right shoulder trickles sand. On his left shoulder, a three tiered pauldron sits, white, with the same fur as the pelt between each tier. Chunks of golden corral sit at the top, and the same intricate design on his mask also sits on the rim of each tier, gold detail mirroring the mask as well. The pauldron itself is held in place by a strap across Vessel's chest.

Hands cradle the bloody heart close to Vessel's chest, golden tears slipping out from under the ever shifting mask.

"Vessel, what is this-?" ____ starts, alarmed, as salty seawater begins to rise over his ankles.

"Are you hurt?! Fuck, stupid question, I can see you're hurt-" He exclaims, frantic, reaching out to pull Vessel from the ground. "Please, let me help you! We need to move, the water's-!"

The other man is still kneeling in the sand, clutching his own heart with nails digging into the beating flesh. Water has made it's way to his waist, licking at ____'s own knees.

____'s hands hit an invisible barrier, lined around the circle of candles, unable to reach Vessel. His head is bowed, squeezing the life out of the heart in his hands. Horrified, ____ begs him to stop, tears desperate to slip over, to fall. He watches in terror as the hearts beating grows weaker and weaker, fluttering like a dying bird. Vessel is killing himself in front of him, and ____ is unable to stop him, to hold him, to help.

"No one was supposed to know." Vessel laments, barely able to be heard over the crashing waves growing ever closer. "They will not love me if they know my heart is no longer my own."

Vessel stands, coming up to his full height that towers over ____. His form entirely shifts to something completely inhuman, something almost like living shadow beginning to waft off his pitch black skin. Golden tears splash into the water lapping at ____'s waist as Vessel moves through the water towards him, eyes glowing a crimson red behind his mask, like the strange sigil sitting in the hollow of his throat. The antlers atop his head, jutting out through slits in the hood of his cloak, are extravagant and sharply pointed, the silver chains and lillies softening the intimidating sight into something more elegant. White hair peeks out from the dark void of his hood, like silver moonlight. An image of a scythe, made of white bones and an intricately carved ribcage complete with a blackened heart, is strapped to Vessel's back, rippling on the water's surface. ____ looks back up, expecting to see the scythe on Vessel's back, but only finds empty air. Chancing a glance back down into the ocean, the scythe remains on the rippling image of the water's surface alone.

In the middle of his chest sits a large golden scar, uneven and littered with slash marks where skin had been cut through and carelessly pulled aside to make way for hands to extract the organ within. It travels down the length of Vessel's sternum, uneven and gruesome, a clearly agonizing injury.

Candlelight flickers at their feet, unnaturally lit even with the water submerging them, Vessel stopping at the invisible barrier between them. Careful hands offer up the heart, held carelessly between loosening fingers. Divots are left in the beating flesh as claws release their grip. Distant, crimson eyes search ____'s face, catching on the fresh bruise over his cheekbone.

"Are you in pain like I am?"

Ocean blue eyes meet pupilless blood red as the devastated whisper washes over ____. A split second later, waves crash over their heads, water filling ____'s lungs-

____ wakes up, shooting up in bed to the sound of the same loud laughter he fell asleep to.

Coughing, seawater spills out of his mouth, salt stinging his nose and eyes before the feeling eventually fades like a dream. When his lungs are clear, he rubs his face with both hands, struggling to come to terms with what he's witnessed. He knows he has seen that man before, a couple of times at least. Why... why in this dream could he not remember him until a glimpse at his six eyes had brought the memories forth? The beating heart and golden tears, the antlers, six crimson eyes... he couldn't possibly be human. Is ____ dreaming of a God? Is he being visited by a divine entity, forced to watch as someone once human suffers? ____ doesn't understand, no matter how his brain twists and turns over what he's witnessed.

"____! Get your ass out here and get us some more fucking beer!"

____ stands, wincing as the movement pulls on the bruised skin of his hips. Bracing himself, a hand hesitantly reaching for the doorknob, ____ takes in a deep, deep breath to steady the racing of his heart.

It pounds in his chest, just as the bloodied mess of- What was his name?

The thought slips away like water under a bridge. What was ____ even thinking about? It must have been a strange dream, for his mind to still be so muddled after waking up. He startles at the sound of another shout of his name, irritation blatant and terrifying. Hurried now, ____ leaves his room with a wince, fearing the harsh berating he is sure to come for taking too long to do as told.

II is up and starting the day earlier than the other two vessels for once, but isn't entirely surprised by it. It still takes a lot of energy for III to keep up their glamor for so long, and Vessel had a hard day yesterday. He takes a moment to sit in the rock hard hotel bed and admire Vessel and III, Vessel curled around III's mostly covered form. Tender caresses are bestowed upon their skin, over the curve of Vessel's cheek, down the slope of III's nose, through each of their hair. Every touch is reverent, worshipping. II is sure he has no need of a God, not when he has these two.

Dark bags under Vessel's human eyes pull a frown onto II's face, dried tears having left glistening tracks. Was Vessel crying last night while they slept? II had hoped Ves would wake them up if he needed anything, but knows the other man likely still needs time to warm up to that. He's come so far as it is. II is so, so proud of him for the progress he's made.

Sleep's presence, felt faintly, lingers at the edges of the room, a silent observer. II isn't sure if the God is even fully here with them, or if its only a piece of Him able to follow them around. II doesn't really care either way, chunks of his initial love for the God slowly being torn off with every action Sleep has taken that has hurt those II loves.

Glancing over at Nick to find him still deeply asleep, II starts getting ready after covering III's unglamored form back up with the bedsheets. He knew Vessel would be excited about the aquarium, glad he had the foresight to look into the city the festival was going to be in. An ad had caught his eye, and after making sure it wasn't a scam, II looked into it further. Looking over the exhibits offered, II knew he needed to take Vessel. Absolutely needed to. III had agreed when II mentioned his idea, eager to see Vessel's reaction. The mere thought of how excited Vessel had looked when II had brought it up, exhausted as he was, was fuel enough to keep II's soul burning bright for decades.

Gathering up all the stuff they would need, II takes it out to the car. It was mostly just spare clothes, since they didn't unpack any of their equipment. II comes back into their room as quiet as he can. III is sitting up in bed, rubbing sleep from their eyes with black stained hands, hair a baby blue mess around their head. "Hey honey, sleep alright?" II greets, gaze soft with love.

"Mm. Good."

"That's good, sweetheart. You should put your glamor back up, if you can." II requests quietly, glancing over at a sleeping Nick as he leans over the bed to smooth a strand of hair behind their ear.

"Mm." III hums again, carefully getting out of bed so they don't disturb Vessel, who is still sleeping, too.

"Wanna shower?" III mumbles, stretching while magic shimmers very faintly over their form, reapplying their glamor.

"Together?" II muses, eyebrows raised and a small smile playing at his lips.

"It's not like I haven't seen everything before, Doll." III smirks, but they're so sleepy still that it comes across as more of a smile.

"Sweetheart, we showered last night. Don't you remember?"

III frowns, thinking. "Oh. No, I didn't remember. Was exhausted."

"We can shower together some other time." II laughs, so, so fondly, reaching out to pull III into a kiss with a gentle hand at their nape.

When they part, II says, "You should start getting ready soon. I would like to leave before noon if we can."

"Can I... get dressed up?" III asks, hesitant.

II levels a confused but soft look up at him, "Of course you can. I was expecting you and Vessel to be dressed up. It's our first proper date away from home, after all."

"You won't mind if I wear makeup?" Less hesitant but still unsure, III tries to come across as nonchalant, but II knows them better by now.

"If you wanted to look as if you've just stepped off the red carpet for the Met Gala, I wouldn't stop you. Wear whatever you want, be it makeup or clothes."

III smiles, a gentle thing that is opposite to how they pull II forward with arms around his shoulders, kissing him roughly and adoringly.

They have found themselves struggling lately, with the weight of their past, bad memories that linger because that is the way Sleep made them. III has settled in entirely with being a vessel, and even though that was a quick thing at the beginning, eager for acceptance and love, he is only now beginning to have problems. It's frustrating for everything to have been going so well, and his own mind seems to have other ideas. As Vessel starts slowly healing, III seems to be reverting. II, as well, if the stint of smoking is anything to go by. III really hopes it's a one time thing and that II's bad habit won't make a return.

III had thought- had hoped... he wanted to move beyond his past life. That was why Sleep had taken most of their memories, wasn't it? But it's haunting all three of them, even after rebirth. Maybe Sleep should have taken everything, left them as nothing more than blank slate's.

II's lips on his makes III feel a little like everything is going to be okay, no matter what. It's a familiar feeling, when II is near, when II smiles up at III so prettily, with that self-assured little glint in his eyes.

When III pulls away, II is noticeably breathless, panting. It makes III's smile stretch into a grin, "Can I do your eyeliner?"

"Mine?" II mumbles, dazed, eyeing III's lips hungrily, "Uh, sure. Yeah. No wing though, please."

III pouts, but agrees without a fuss, pulling II by the hand towards the small bathroom. "Are we going to be wearing our masks?"

"We don't need to since we have our uh, y'know-" II lifts up his necklace for emphasis, "Vessel would probably like to wear his but... we could get him one of those surgical face masks?"

"Oh! Good idea! He'll feel so much better with that instead of his mask. We'll all blend into the crowd better, too. Speaking of Ves, should we wake him up?"

"No." II decides, keeping his voice low, "We'll let him sleep a little longer. He deserves it, having taken the brunt of the ritual magic yesterday. If he sleeps past eleven though, I'll need to wake him up."

"That really scared me." III says, almost meek, the admission lightening a bit of weight on their shoulders as they begin to pull out their makeup kit from their duffel bag.

"It scared me, too. It was nothing like our worship in practice or at the altar." II closes his eyes as III directs, content to let III work.

Between careful strokes with an eyeliner pencil and a brush to smoke it out, II peeks an eye open to watch III dig around in their makeup bag, the picture of concentration. III truly is a beautiful man, II thinks, a blush slowly spreading from his cheeks downwards.

"See something you like, pretty?" III comments offhandedly, not looking away from their search.

"Always." II smiles, "You're so beautiful. Inside and out."

"You flatter me." III says, brushing off II's words with a shy smile.

II sits, stunned for a moment. III thinks that II is only flattering him? Perhaps this is taking a page from Vessel's book, but II would become the air so that he could be the breeze, gentle enough to rustle III's hair in the light of day. III is always so beautiful in the sun.

"I'm admiring you." II corrects, gentle hands reaching out to stop III in his tracks for just a moment. "I do not do flattery. I mean what I say. If I could, I would show you how you look from my eyes. The sun seems to follow you, a light in a dark room. You're gorgeous, and I wish you could see that."

III blushes, a pretty red spreading across their face like wildfire. They cover their face with their hands, trying to hide away from the praise. III feels unusually shy, a little off kilter, when he says, "I love you. You mean the world to me."

"I love you, too, sweetheart. Now, am I done, or do you intend to put mascara on me as well?"

"Well, since you offered..." III grins, and the weighted bond feels a little lighter, like the dark cloud that had been hanging over III has finally begun to recede if only slightly.

III's mood seems improved, after that. The bond is content between them, broken only by the fuzzy feeling of Vessel sleeping. By the time III is done with II's makeup and moving on to his own, Nick is waking up. II doesn't bother watching the other man get ready for the day, only scooting to the side of the counter when Nick comes out from the small room with the shower and toilet, to fix his messy bed hair into something presentable in the large mirror. III is finishing up with their eyeliner as Nick goes back towards the main area of the room.

"I'll be right back. Gonna grab a pack from the car." Nick comments without any intention of receiving an answer.

The door slams shut behind him, and while II and III's faces both twist up into annoyance, Vessel wakes up choking on a sob. Smothering the bond out of instinct, Vessel both takes peace in the near silence of the bond going quieter, and hates the way II and III go distant. The sound of the door slamming has his mind reeling, caught between his dream and reality, unable to process what is going on around him. It takes but a moment for his mind to move from the fear of potential pain from hands that used to hurt him and on to what his dream had entailed. He feels somehow stuck in his past and present and his dream all at once. Vessel doesn't know what's going on in his own mind, he can't focus, he needs to focus-

The terror on Four's face, set into the worry lines by his mouth and the crinkles by his eyes comes to the forefront of Vessel's mind. He thinks that for just a brief moment, just a fraction of a second, he may have been able to see Four's face in its entirety before waves crashed over their heads. His magic had been so strong, swirling within him and around him, churning the ocean water, leaking out of every pore as exhaustion weighed his body down, Vessel isn't entirely sure what was going on in his dream before or after Four's arrival. He knows one thing though, Four knows.

No one was supposed to know.

And now, two people know what Vessel has tried so hard to keep hidden.

The dream starts slipping away. Something in Vessel knows if he lets it, he will lose Four with it. He grasps ahold of the memory of his dream, holding tight to it as it blurs in his mind. Vessel doesn't want to forget. It doesn't matter that Four knows his secret, Vessel doesn't want to forget.

The force tearing his dream away from him loosens its clawed grip before disappearing entirely, and everything comes back into clarity.

That dream is his, Four is his, and nothing will keep him from it.

The possesiveness scares him. He has always been so selfish, holding too tightly to everything that was his knowing that nothing lasts forever.

He coughs, trying to rid his lungs of water that isn't truly suffocating him, curling into himself under the coarse hotel sheets. Tears are beginning to make a wet spot on the pillow as II and III make their way to him hastily. It had been only a few seconds since he'd woken, but Vessel felt as though it had been a lifetime. He is so tired.

II reaches out, intending to comfort. Where the action had been welcome, before, Vessel slowly less and less expecting of a hit, now he reels back, scrambling to the other side of the bed, legs tangling in the sheets. He doesn't know if he was expecting to be hurt, or if he was afraid of his secret getting out. He thinks, perhaps, its both. He coughs again, sure that saltwater will come up with it, but there is nothing but saliva splattering on his hands.

"Ves, honey, how can I help you?" II tries carefully, handing over a pack of tissues.

Vessel only barely manages to get himself to reach out and take the pack, hesitant of II's hands like he had been in the very beginning. It breaks II's heart. When there is no response, III asks a similar question, hovering behind II with a worried expression. It's clear they want to ask more questions, but III shows restraint.

The hotel room door opens, Nick stepping through while shrugging his jacket on. He takes in the scene, a concerned, curious expression pasting itself on his face.

"Nightmare disrupt your beauty rest, princess?" Nick poses the question lightly, a joking smile pulling gently at his lips as he takes in Vessel's tears with this look in his eyes that begets a sense of satisfaction.

Vessel's expression shutters, like a light has gone out behind his eyes, face falling into humiliation and upset. Cold fury blazes in II's veins at the sight of Vessel's eyes going dead. A far too familiar sight, reminiscent of when II had first arrived as a vessel. So much time and effort and love has been put in to helping Vessel heal enough to bring that spark back to his eyes... to bring him to life...

"Leave it, Nick. He has a difficult enough time sleeping as it is. I know you're only joking, but now is not the time. And don't slam the fucking door next time." II turns quickly, almost spitting in his anger, trying hard to not be too biting in tone despite the way he bristles at the joke.

A strange expression twists onto Nick's face, something trapped between a sneer and a tight smile. Vessel shrinks into himself, the expresion oddly familiar, even if he has no face in his mind to truly compare it to.

"My bad. Not the time." Nick parrots, guilt seeping into his smile, "I'll be back. Going for a smoke."

The door clicks shut behind Nick, more conscious of the sound now, II watching him pull out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket as he goes. Something in II longs for the deathstick between his fingers, the smoke burning his lungs. He turns back to Vessel, shaking his head lightly to rid himself of the thought. His hands shake with his want.

It takes a moment for Vessel's voice to work, already strained vocal chords locking up in his fear. Tentatively, he lets the bond bleed back into focus, guilty over the concern the other two or feeling, but ultimately unable to force his own fear and anxiety to the side despite his best efforts.

"Don't touch. Please." Vessel hates to ask this of them, wanting the exact opposite of his request, the words thick on his tongue.

"Bad day, Sugar?" III asks, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed, body poised to get up quickly in case Vessel deems him too near.

II sits beside him, hands carefully laid flat on his lap, though his fingers drum gently against his leg. Somehow, the sight of II still drumming, even now, brings a little bit of amusement to Vessel, knowing the other man always had a beat on his mind. Tapping it out soothes II's own anxieties, shows when he's feeling content, happy, sad. The familiarity leaves Vessel wanting to hold II's hands, to offer up his own skin for II to tap against.... but those hands could also discover Vessel's lack of heartbeat.

"Mhm. Don't- Want it to be." Vessel tries to wipe his tears away, but they won't stop falling. "I want... I want to be able to-"

Fear leaves him shaking, thoughts of the others finding out about his lack of heart racing through his mind on a loop that he fears will never end. Vessel wants to be held, wants to curl up in II or III's lap, whichever of the two would allow him the comfort, but now more than ever he is scared of wandering hands. Hands that would not intentionally betray him, he knows, but... Vessel is afraid.

"I... I... my rule. Please, my rule... you'll follow it?" Vessel is desperate, so desperate for affection, for their love.

Even if he doesn't deserve it. Even if he knows it is only fleeting. One day, they'll realize he isn't worth anything.

Softly, reaching a hand out slowly in offering, III says, "Always. Your comfort matters to us more than anything, Sugar."

Vessel's fingers are cold as death when he reaches out to touch just the tips of them to III's hand, a faint tremble wracking his frame.

"Here, sweetheart. Maybe it will help with the cold." II says, standing to retrieve Vessel's hoodie for him.

Vessel doesn't have the heart (ha) to tell him it won't. He takes the hoodie anyway, grateful for the kind thought.

Vessel slips it on, and covers his head with the hood, contemplating whether he should pull the sleeves over his hands or not. Ultimately, he decides against it, crawling from under the covers and into III's lap. They welcome him with open arms, stroking a gentle thumb over Vessel's cheek when the other rests his head on III's thigh. "Better?" III asks, thanking II in Vessel's stead quietly.

The only response he receives from Vessel is a timid nod while he cinches up the hood of his hoodie tightly. III's arms comes to rest over Vessel's shoulder, hand hanging limply onto the bed. Their hands do no stray, do not wander where Vessel has asked them not to. He is thankful that they're so strangely willing to listen to him.

III continues stroking over Vessel's cheek, hand warm against Vessel's cool skin. III doesn't care that tears smear against his thumb, not when Vessel is allowing the touch.

"Would you like to speak about your nightmare, Ves? You don't- Ves, honey you don't have to!"

Before II has even finished his sentence, the bond is flooding with fear. Shaking his head profusely, Vessel curls into himself, hands clutched tightly over his chest. "Ves, love, please don't hide from us. I'm not going to force you to tell us anything." II tries, letting a sigh of relief spill when Vessel slowly lets a bit of the bond bleed back into focus.

The distance between them had been frightening, no matter how close they were physically. That distance Sleep had forced between them during their set the day before had been frightening, too, bit it was out of all of their control. Sometimes, II wonders if the bonds are just strings, an easy way for the God to puppeteer them at His whim. Or chains, perhaps. They are bound to him, after all. Sleep could take away His gift at any time, if the God saw fit, II is sure.

"Don't shut us out, please. Take all the time you need to calm down. We'll be here." III leans down to press a kiss onto Vessel's hood, their hand never losing the tenderness.

Vessel is so grateful to them. He needs them to know that, and so he tells them in the easiest way he knows how, by sending it down the bond. The warm affection he receives makes him cry harder, letting their love for him chase away his fearful thoughts, for now.

The terror has lessened with the others comfort, his tears abating eventually. Vessel is left tired, as if he had never slept at all. He doesn't want to go back to the way things were in the beginning, when he was afraid to touch and be touched. He wants things to remain as they are, he wants to trust that they won't hurt him without nightmares and plain old fear getting in his way. Vessel wants to believe they won't leave, if they find out what he is lacking. He doesn't, but he wants to. He wants so many selfish things...

"We're going home." II announces, moving to stand, "I'll call Nick back-"

"I still want to go on our date." Vessel says, voice hoarse, his eyes peeking out from under the cinched hood of his hoodie.

"You do?" II asks, a mix of concerned and surprised, eyebrows raising up to his hairline.

Vessel looks like a mess, beautiful even now, but a mess nonetheless. Exhaustion weighs heavy on his shoulders, purplish eyebags under his eyes and a frown trying to pull at one corner of his lips.

"Yes. Is... is that okay? Can we still go?" Vessel goes quieter, II only able to hear him due to the more advanced hearing they all have.

"Vessel, I only said we were going home out of concern for you. I didn't think you were feeling up to it." Frowning, II tries not to tap his fingers against his thigh anxiously.

"He says he wants to go, II. I think we should listen to him." III says, glancing between the two of them with slightly wide eyes.

II takes a moment to stare into Vessel's eyes, feeling fond when Vessel manages to keep the eye contact for a few seconds.

"You're sure, sweetheart?" II asks, blue eyes as soft as his words.

"I'm sure." Vessel states firmly, nodding his head.

"Alright, only because you said you want to. But if at any point you want to leave, we will, no questions asked."

Vessel smiles lopsidedly. Its hidden behind his hoodie, but his eyes crinkling at the edges is telling enough for II and III. "Mhm! Thank you..."

"You don't have to thank me, sweetheart." II remarks, leaning down to press a kiss on the visible sliver of Vessel's face, right over an eyelid.

"I want to, though. You didn't have to do this..."

II hmphs in amusement, dimple appearing with his smile, "Do what, Ves? Set up a date for my two beautiful boyfriends so I can see them all dressed up and hopefully, happy? It's no trouble and I'm more than glad to do this."

Vessel turns his head to try and hide, embarrassed, but it doesn't work very well. Remnants of tears are still drying on his cheeks as a comfortable silence seems to settle over them. III breaks in with a carefully controlled exclamation, "Oh, that reminds me, Ves, can I do your makeup!?"

Nervousness ripples at the edges of the bond as Vessel contemplates his answer, removing his hood. He takes a close look up at III, then over at II. They're both wearing makeup, he realizes with a start, face flushing at how ethereal they look. Mascara has made both II and III's eyes pop, the eyeliner bringing out the pretty blue of their eyes. Their respective piercings only add to the look, III's large, sharp wing suiting them well.

"I don't mind doing it myself. I used to wear a bit of makeup a long time ago." Vessel offers, not wanting to trouble III with it.

"You can do it yourself if you want to!" III reassures, shyly adding on, "I did want to do it for you though. If you don't want me touching you to apply it, I'd understand."

"No, I... You can do it. I want you to, if you want to."

With ease, II lifts Vessel up enough to put his head on II's lap instead, III immediately hopping up to go get their makeup bag. Excitement bounces along the bond, causing Vessel's nervous smile to widen into something more positive, more loving.

"Is it alright if I straddle you, Ves? I want a good angle to do your eyeliner." III asks when they return, waving a pillow in one hand while the other holds their makeup bag, "I kind of wanted to... uh-"

III fumbles, a little red in the face suddenly, "I would like to be close to you that way, while I do your makeup. I've thought about it... a lot more than I would like to admit. If that's too much for you right now, though, I understand."

Vessel's brain seems to stop operating all together, all at once. The thought of III atop him, straddling him, so close... their hair would fall to frame their face, pretty blue eyes staring down at Vessel... he wants that. The fact that III had thought about the scenario often...

Then he thinks of his nightmare, and the interest that had been growing is muddled immediately.

"If you want to, I don't mind." Vessel agrees, clearly nervous by the prospect of having III atop him but sitting up to move to the middle of the bed anyway.

II remains where he is, gentle gaze flicking between III and Vessel fondly. Vessel is almost apprehensive in his movements. He's undecided on whether to be nervous or eager.

Vessel takes the pillow as its offered, clutching it over his chest tightly as III crawls onto the bed. Carefully, III lowers themselves over Vessel's waist, thighs on either side of his hips. The long skirt he's wearing pools around them, fabric scrunching where their bodies meet. The sight leaves Vessel wanting... but-

His dream with Four is lingering heavily at the forefront of his mind, causing anxiety no matter how hard he tries to rid himself of it. Is he not allowed to have a moment of peace where he isn't afraid of his secrets becoming known?

"Mind if I hold your jaw? It would be easier for me. If not, that's okay, hun." III asks, trying his hardest not to let his own excitement overshadow Vessel's known insecurities and triggers.

"Go ahead. I... I trust you." Vessel responds, smiling into the kiss III leans down to smother him with.

Vessel tries to ignore the underlying arousal as III pulls away, but stays leaned over him to begin applying a bit of black eyeshadow, his hand so gentle where it's cupping his jaw. He doesn't want sex right now, but if the others want it, he will. He won't mind. They're always so gentle, it won't hurt. He trusts they won't hurt him, even if he wouldn't mind if they did. Vessel will take anything they offer, be it pain or affection.

Shaking his head lightly, Vessel tries to rid himself of the thought. II and III do not use him. They don't. They've- They make sure he feels good too. It isn't only take, they give as much as they get. As Vessel's mind wanders down that trail of thought, he wonders if they are simply kinder in their use of him. He doesn't mind the thought.

He is glad when II speaks, pulling Vessel's thoughts from beginning to spiral into anxiety over how his mind wars with itself over his past and present.

"No funny business. We've got places to be today. Wait until we get home." II orders, leaving no room for argument.

"Of course. I would never cause problems." III says, grinning widely under the scrutinizing, dry stare II tosses at them.

"You and I are his biggest problems." Vessel jokes, trying to appear as if he isn't closely watching for the others' reactions, as if he isn't more nervous to make a mistake than he has been in ages.

"He loves us though! Don't you, Doll? You'd be so bored without us to keep you on your toes." III agrees, so excited about the joke Vessel had attempted that they're nearly vibrating in place.

III squirms, trying to turn to see whatever expression II is making. The friction is delicious, Vessel squeezing the pillow to try and rid himself of the tension slowly building up his body. III is so beautiful above him, hair left loose except for a long braid behind one ear.

"I'd be absolutely miserable without you." II grins, and while its a wide thing showcasing human teeth, there's a soft, adoring edge to it, and Vessel is absolutely enamored by the view he's receiving.

III continues working, concentration furrowing his brow. Vessel closes his eyes when asked, opens them when asked, trusting III not to make him into some sort of clown. The right

III is heavy atop him, a welcome weight as Vessel's deep blush is met fondly. III's hands are steady as he draws a long, sharp wing, hot breath fanning over Vessel's face.

"Gonna make you prettier, beautiful. People are going to fall at your feet begging for a glance from your pretty eyes."

Vessel's turns more red, unable to escape or hide, unable to move for fear of messing up III's carefully applied work. His next words are mumbled, carefully enunciated so his face moves as little as possible, "Your praise is not helping."

"Oh, I can tell." III smirks, pausing to kiss the tip of Vessel's nose.

Large hands settle on III's hips when they shift to get a certain angle right. Vessel lets out a breathy little sound, caught in his throat from where he tries to stop it from escaping. Just to hear more, III grinds down again, receiving the same reaction only slightly more whiny. Vessel stifles the anxiety bubbling under the surface of his skin, desperate to please the others. If he's good, they won't leave him. Besides, it does feel good. It always feels good, if it's them.

"Boys." II's reprimand is sharp, causing both of them to freeze in place.

There's a pout on III's plush lips, a gentle hand moving to caress Vessel's cheek at the fear beginning to fester in the bond. Vessel swipes the fear away quickly, trying to keep the others from feeling anything negative from him. If III wants sex, Vessel will give it to him.

"No funny business." III recalls, voice mocking as he tries to emulate the timber of II's own voice.

"Good boy. I don't think we should be letting Ves do anything strenuous. He must be tired, remember?"

Vessel feels immediate relief, trying not to hide it but also feeling as if he should hide that specific emotion from them. He's been utterly exhausted since the ritual, minor aches still present in his chest. III's weight has strained his ribs, but Vessel has kept that well away from the bond. Has kept it from his own awareness intentionally. Seeing III like this above him is well worth the bits of aching pain that sometimes strikes through a rib or two when III shifts their weight.

"Ves, you should have told me to stop." III levels guilty eyes back on Vessel, who stares back just as guilty, both for differing reasons.

"Can't- I can't." Vessel admits, the words like ash on his tongue, forced out like pulling teeth. "You are not them and yet... I can't."

III looks crestfallen, tears beading at the corners of their eyes. Any bits of happiness that had been in their bonds have all been snuffed out. He sits up, beginning to pull his hand away and Vessel whines, desperately reaching his own hand up to hold III's hand on his cheek.

Vessel's ruined everything.

He wants to cry, to dig a blade into his skin anywhere he can reach to punish himself for fucking things up. He shouldn't have said anything, Vessel should have kept his mouth shut and let them do whatever they wanted to him despite his discomfort with the idea of sex right now. To think he hasn't even told them that he still hurts.

"My apologies." He mumbles, hesitantly reaching out to take III's now unoccupied hands. "I did not mean to make you cry."

III is still warm and heavy above him, both of them half-hard. III lifts one of Vessel's hands up to kiss his knuckles delicately, reverently. Each one is worshipped before III moves on to Vessel's fingertips.

Spreading his fingers out, Vessel dares to reach a little further up and splay his hand across III's cheek. III's sigh, whether of sadness or contentment, sends shivers down Vessel's spine as it spills over his cold skin.

"Its okay, Ves." III murmurs in response, II shuffling closer, his knee grazing against III's thigh.

"I know we've said this before, but you can say no. Neither of us will be upset with you for not wanting sex. It's not a requirement in our relationship, just a bonus, okay?" III needs to stop being so gentle with Vessel, he loves and loathes it.

In lieu of answering, eager to move past this, Vessel turns his head and bites onto III's hand, moving it closer for his teeth to reach. Human teeth do not leave more than faint red marks on III's flesh, but he receives the reaction he wanted anyway. III's smiles, smaller than Vessel had hoped for.

"We'll get through to you on it eventually, but I'll accept your attempts at ending that particular line of conversation, for now." II huffs, not quite amused, not quite annoyed.

Vessel is a little apprehensive, releasing III's palm from between his teeth. Is II upset with him?

"Bite me next, sweetheart?" II asks, taking joy in the way Vessel's nervous expression shifts into something brighter, a spark coming back to his eyes.

"Where?" He whispers, the hand cupping III's cheek falling to rest against a thigh, holding onto the other man as if he'll disappear if Vessel doesn't keep him within reach.

Offering up his arm, biceps on full display due to the tank top II is wearing, II points at the meat of his bicep, almost on the underside, "How about right here, once III is finished with you?"

II then grins mischeviously, a smile Vessel feels he picked up from III, "I'll take a kiss right now, though, if you're up to it."

Vessel sits up as best as he can, one hand making grabby motions without care for how his shoulder twinges in protest. III starts to get off of him, but the hand on his thigh splays out and grips, meaning to keep III in place. Vessel nips gently at II's lower lip, relishing in the warm hand II slips into his hair. The kiss is slow and languid, II taking his time tasting Vessel just the same as Vessel himself is doing. There is no rush, no frenzy of passion, only worship through colliding lips.

"My turn, my turn!" III exclaims childishly, taking great pleasure in the mockingly aggrieved look II sends their way as he and Vessel reluctantly part.

Vessel's little grin is contagious, II stealing it with one last peck. II turns his head, reaching out to pull III into a kiss before the other can process what's happening. II is more rough with III, but no less loving, tongue swiping over III's lower lip in search of entrance into their mouth.

Vessel watches, fascinated, at how differently II handles him and III while never losing that adoring tenderness. He flexes his hand, still holding III's thigh, and slowly trails it down to rest easily on their knee. III is still straddling them, just as Vessel wanted, remaining close just as Vessel wanted. Though clothes limit their touch, he relishes in the warmth seeping through to his skin.

Vessel wants to hold them, wrap his arms around them, be so close that they all meld into one being. Instead, he watches their dance of tongues and yearns for something he cannot give himself or them.

II gently pulls III's head back by his hair, forcing them to part. "Enough now, pretty. Give Ves a kiss and then we'll finish up. It's almost time for us to leave."

III lets out a sound between a whine and a sigh, pretty blue eyes falling to meet Vessel's own. II doesn't release their hair, and III glances down at Vessel in confusion.

"So you don't get ahead of yourself, Three, I'll be keeping my hand right here. I won't pull hard enought to hurt at any point. Is that alright?" II asks, always seeking to keep them comfortable.

"Mm. That's fine, Doll." III nods, not minding how the action tugs at his scalp.

Slowly, II pushes III down until he and Vessel are nearly face to face, noses a hairs breadth apart. Then, II makes III wait, and in doing so, makes Vessel wait. For a moment, no one says or does anything, the tension slowly building between all three of them. Finally, II pushes III's head forward and he eagerly takes Vessel's lips with their own. Their hand finds Vessel's, clasping their fingers together. Ever eager, III immediately tries to devour Vessel, all hot tongue and claiming lips.

Before III can get really into it, II is pulling them back by the hair, ordering, "Take your time with him. Savor what Ves is gifting us."

Whining, III nods, desperate to put his mouth back on Vessel's. Hungry blue eyes take in the human dilation of Vessel's pupils, the faint flush spreading to the tips of his rounded ears. Dark hair is messy, curling at the edges from sleep, with still wet lashes from when he had been crying earlier.

"Please, sir, I'll be good. I'll be so good, just- let me taste him-" III shivers, not missing the way arousal suddenly surges through the shared bond.

The hand in III's hair tightens its grip marginally, and then II is releasing him entirely.

It surprises III enough that he doesn't move an inch for a few long seconds, but he gets over it quickly, slotting their lips back with Vessel's as though it's the last time he'll be given the chance.

III is slower this time, more careful, a languid swipe of his tongue against Vessel's bottom lip, a gentle nip to pull on bitten, chapped flesh. Kissing Vessel can be a little challenging with the others' penchant for grinning widely or smiling sweetly into them, but III wouldn't have it any other way. It's such an endearing thing to do and III loves him so much...

"Enough now." II orders, breathing labored as he pulls III away from Vessel, "If we don't stop now, I won't be letting Three out of the bed for a long time yet."

"That was fucking hot. I'm so turned on right now." III mumbles, eyes wide and dazed as their hand squeezes Vessel's own.

"I may have allowed you to get yourself off but I told you no funny business and you didn't listen." II mocks, smugly licking his lips to gather the faint taste of his lovers, "And you even dragged poor Ves into it. I know he's irresistible but I told you no."

"Aw, that's no fair." III pouts, perfectly aware that he disobeyed an order. "If you were in my position, you'd be struggling, too."

"Now you know that's not true, my love. I have impeccable restraint." II hasn't lost even an ounce of that smugness, knocking his shoulder into III's arm gently.

"Didn't show a lot of restraint when we finally had Ves moanin' for us." III smiles again, widely with teeth, baring them in challenge.

II looks away deliberately, a blush spreading from his cheeks down his neck. III's grin grows impossibly wider, victorious.

"Finish up here, Three. No kisses for two days." II states, leaning over to give Vessel a quick peck on the lips before getting off the bed entirely.

III gasps, one hand splayed over their chest. For a moment, Vessel thinks III is seriously upset, but the pleased little glimmer of emotion in the bond shows otherwise. Vessel doesn't understand it, but III seems to enjoy the punishments given.

So he works up the courage to ask.

Once II has wandered off to change clothes, Vessel brings it up while III fixes a smudged bit of under eye makeup on Vessel.

"Why do you not mind the punishments you receive? He does not hurt you, but I still don't- understand?" Vessel hopes he worded it alright, trying to keep himself from tilting his head naturally to the side with his confusion.

III's smile turns muted, small, dull. It doesn't suit him, it makes their face dim, like the light of the sun has gone out. Vessel hates that he put it there by asking such a stupid question-

"I trust him." III responds quietly, gently dabbing the tip of the eyeliner brush at the inner corner of one of Vessel's eyes.

It's a struggle to keep from flinching away with every touch, but Vessel manages. He stares resolutely at the beauty mark beside III's eye instead of attempting to hold eye contact with III while they work.

"Two has always made everything very clear to me. He has never hurt me, always listened to what I've said. I do not feel ignored or like my wants don't matter. The punishments I receive are small, mildy annoying things at worst, and at best, simple tasks or minor things withheld. II... he makes me feel safe, and loved, and I trust him with my body and needs."

"I don't remember the whole experience well, but I used to not be allowed to eat dinner if I made a mistake or was too loud back at the adoption home I was placed in. I preferred being forced to be absolutely silent over not being able to eat. "

Vessel's face twists into a pained grimace, devastated over the life III must have led before Sleep. III's face twists into further concentration, struggling to remember. The memories are neither good nor bad, a grey area that makes them easier to recall with single minded focus, with enough effort.

"The only dom I ever had was nice at first, but strict. A lot like II, perhaps, not as fun. Didn't love me like he does, either, but I wasn't in it for the romance, with him. He was more inclined to refusing basic needs when I was too bratty, always thought I talked too much, too. Reminded me the most of my childhood compared to any other flings I had."

Vessel plots murder in his mind, protective, possessive rage fizzling under his skin. III soothes it with a gentle pat against Vessel's cheek, the tender touch smoothing out the rough edges into something more manageable. Vessel has time and a means of killing that asshole off, if III will allow it. "No murder. I vaguely remember he got his shit together after a different brat kicked his ass for trying to pull the same shit."

Vessel visibly wilts, but agrees quietly.

"I appreciate the intent though, my love."

III continues, brushing a bit of highlighter over Vessel's cheekbones even if it potentially won't be seen, "I think I was in a lot of online forums before Sleep? I have vague recollections of talking to other queer people and figuring out labels I never would have learned on my own in my shitty, backwards town. The elderly woman at the thrift store was the first person to accept me, for me, after I figured out who I was and wanted to be. It's.... it's hard to remember much of my time with her because it was some of my happiest moments and Sleep took so much from me."

"I know I just continued to ramble after answering your question, I'm sorry. If you want me to be quiet, I will."

"No. I want to hear you, the sound of your voice, your laugh... your moans. I want to hear all of it for as long as you'll allow me the pleasure." Vessel says, no more than a whisper.

III leans back, a blush flaming across his face, closing his makeup bag and taking in his work. Sharp, black eyeliner juts out from Vessel's eyes, the style matching his eye shape. Inner corner points are mostly even, and mascara used to further darken Vessel's already dark eyelashes.

"You look so fucking ethereal, Sugar. Thank you for letting me do your makeup. Wanna kiss you so bad." III juts their lower lip out, continuing to pout as they had earlier.

Its an endearing expression, with his wide, pretty blue eyes and his beauty marks. "You reckon he'll extend the time for no kissing or not let me cum for a week?"

"I'd keep quiet if I were you, sweetheart, you're giving me ideas." II sings from the other side of the room, slipping a black tank top on, having been listening the whole time.

III laughs, leaning down to nuzzle his nose into Vessel's cheek in place of a kiss before climbing off him. Vessel misses the weight immediately, even if his sore ribs immediately feel relief. Vessel follows III up, discarding the pillow to the side and reaching out to take III's hand. "You didn't deserve anything that happened to you." Vessel states, feeling a little strange for reiterating what they seem to tell Vessel himself so often.

"That's why I left the adoption home when I was of age and why I dumped that piece of shit dom I had. I realized how much of a dickwad he really was, and left him. I didn't deserve any of it, even if sometimes, somewhere in my heart where faint memories linger, I feel like I did."

Vessel longs for his mask, in that moment. To hide behind the solid material, to keep III from seeing how some twisted sense of realization seems to physically slam into Vessel, stealing his unneeded breath.

"Ves?" III asks softly, cupping his jaw with a tenderness Vessel doesn't deserve.

Or... does he? Does he deserve to have good things, does he deserve the other vessels? Did he deserve everything that led him to Sleep?

Did he?

In this moment, about to go on a date with his lovers who mean more than the world to him, Vessel doesn't want to think about it... but-

"I'm fine, Three. I'm going to get dressed, thank you for doing my makeup. You look beautiful." Vessel says while stepping away from the hand on his cheek, and though he means it, its a clear attempt at exiting the conversation.

III watches as Vessel goes to dig around in his duffel bag, sharing a weighted glance with II. The other man shakes his head, a small smile pulling at his lips. III understands. They'll leave it be, for now. Someday, Vessel will realize he didn't deserve a fucking thing that has happened to him, Before Sleep, or After. It is not an easy realization for someone who has been hurt so severely.

They all finish getting ready quickly. Vessel finishes tucking in his billowing black shirt into the waistband of his skinny jeans, and while he does so, he takes note of what the other two are wearing. III's long skirt, loose with ruffles at the hem, is a pastel blue to match their hair. A black shirt with bell-like sleeves, one of Vessel's, is hanging off their less broad frame, with black socks and their sneakers. II has on a form fitting tank top, tucked into a pair of black cargo pants. His silver necklace is the only accessory other than his piercings, unlike III who has a choker around their neck to offset their own piercings. III takes a few minutes to braid bits of Vessel's hair, and then up into his usual half up, half down style. The braids match III's, a detail that doesn't escape Vessel's notice. It makes him surprisingly happy to see that they match.

Just as Vessel thinks they're going to leave, II stops them at the door. "Forget something, pretty?" II croons, very slowly caging Vessel against the door.

He makes sure to give Vessel ample time to move aside or ask him to stop. Vessel grows nervous at the attention, at the position, biting his lip even as he eyes up the thick bicep's caging him in.

"Oh~ We almost forgot II's request!" III smirks, leaning his elbow flat on II's head.

It ruins the sensual approach II was going for, and II glares lightly up at them.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Doll. You were making him nervous! Coming at him with those delicious muscles on full display."

II glances back at Vessel, intending to see for himself. He finds Vessel staring at his biceps, eyes wide. There are hints of arousal in the bond from all three of them, though II knows Vessel likely doesn't want to do anything about it.

"Gonna bite me, sweetheart?" II says, leaning in closer, smile turning playful as III lifts their weight from his head. "I do so love your teeth on me."

Vessel's taller frame slowly moves closer, leaning down into II's personal space. Nervously, he places his mouth over the curve of a muscle, grazing his teeth along the skin. II shudders, leaning closer, his hair tickling Vessel's jaw and ear. The height difference is clear, like this, II so small beneath him even though the shorter man is the one caging him in.

It... does something to Vessel, to see II like this.

He opens his mouth, and sinks his teeth in to the meat of II's bicep. II moans, a shiver wracking through his whole body.

For a brief moment, Vessel has the strangest thought of reversing their positions. It's banished before it can fully form. Vessel would never dare. II wouldn't want it, and Vessel would never dare.

"Christ on a bike." III mumbles, finding themselves weak in the knees.

II chokes out a laugh, startled. "Where in the fuck did you hear that- Shit."

As II is speaking, Vessel releases his arm from between his teeth and moves up towards his shoulder, biting in deeper there. Not hard enough to break skin, but the indents will last a few minutes at least. Perhaps it will bruise, and Vessel can look at it longingly until it fades, can revel in guilty satisfaction at what II has allowed (asked) him to do.

Vessel pulls away, fearing for his secrets safety, realizing just how close he and II have become. Boldly, he presses a kiss onto II's forefead, face heating with a blush at the desire filled look in II's eyes.

There's something else, too. Surprise, adoration. Vessel had just kissed him first, after all. Even if it was only on the forehead. II could count on half a hand the amount of times that has happened, and basks in how happy it makes him.

II lets Vessel loose from the cage of his arms, rubbing a hand over his face with a disgruntled huff, "Okay, we need to go. I won't be able to stand a minute more of you both looking this pretty while we have some semblance of privacy."

Vessel can feel his face grow warmer, pale skin going pink as a lopsided smile tries to make an appearance. Without any more preamble, Vessel reaches back and twists the doorknob to their hotel room. II lets him escape without a fuss, running reverent fingers over the stinging bite marks then following behind III after making sure he has his wallet and room key.

Nick is leaning against Vessel's car when they leave the hotel, nearly to the butt end of his cigarette. He offers one to II as he shoves off the car, but II politely declines.

III makes note of the longing in the bond with distaste, trying to keep II from feeling it. They really hope II keeps to his promise.

"Well, aren't you a fancy bunch. Sure I can't tag along?" Nick's voice is warm, kind, smiling around his cigarette even as he eyes the bruising bite stark against the pale skin of II's bicep.

Vessel stiffens, moving to hide a bit behind III to avoid Nick even seeing him, or him from seeing Nick. He really doesn't want Nick to go with them.

"Maybe some other time, I'm sorry. If this weren't a date, I'd be all for you coming along." II apologizes, smile bordering on kind, and Vessel isn't surprised that the emotions the others feel towards Nick are genuine.

They're friends with him, somewhat, it's only Vessel who has a problem.

"It's almost noon, Two." III points out, and II is quick to give their farewells.

Nick says something about maybe going off to explore, or maybe just sticking around the hotel room but Vessel doesn't care to listen keenly, eager to leave the other man behind. Hiding in the car, Vessel fiddles with his phone as the others give farewell pleasantries. The message from Terzo stares back at him, left on Read.

As he's thinking over a reply, II and III get in the car. III immediately starts fiddling with the radio, digging through Vessel's cd collection. The Poison by Bullet For My Valentine is III's pick, and Vessel finds it in himself to smile a little wider at the choice, turning his attention back down to his phone.

How did Terzo know? How? Did Omega find out and tell him? Did they tell II and III? No. No, they couldn't have. There is no way that the others would still be here with him, treating him so kindly, loving him, if they knew he had no heart.

Vessel deletes the message from Terzo about his heart, electing to answer the first part.

(Terzo Emeritus)

Vessel: Thank you, and Omega, for helping me yesterday. I appreciate the kindness you have shown. It was a pleasure meeting you, and if I have any questions, I will ask as you have offered.

Pleased with his formal writing, Vessel sends the message and sets his phone down when II begins to drive. He doesn't mind being in the backseat as much, now that Nick isn't with them. III keeps engaging him in conversation, not minding when Vessel answers quietly, or merely nods or shakes his head to show he's listening.

The bond is buzzing with Vessel's excitement, the anxiety warring with the positive emotion for control. It leaves Vessel feeling a little ill by the time they park, seeking out one of the others hands for comfort. The aquarium is a large building, grey in color with spots of ocean-themed murals along the more expansive sections.

II pulls him closer as III takes Vessel's other hand, paying for the tickets. Inside is a throng of people all gathered around the gift shop and some of the smaller exhibits and directory signs. II hands over a black surgical face mask from one of his many pockets, and when III asks when he found the time to ask for one of those, II shrugs, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the ticketbooth. Vessel slips it on, making sure his earrings and hair aren't caught beneath the strings, and immediately feels more secure. He'd felt exposed without his mask, and this has helped.

All three of them take a moment to briefly look around, and then Vessel gasps softly, pulling the other two forward toward one of the directory signs. He lifts II's hand up with his own to point out one of the exhibits.

"A jellyfish exhibit!" He exclaims, blue eyes gray in the lighting, like a sea overshadowed by a gathering storm.

"Do you want to head there first, then?" II smiles, taking in how lively Vessel is already, and they've only just arrived.

"Can we?" Vessel turns wide, bright eyes onto II, grinning beneath his face mask.

Though his smile itself is hidden from them, it still crinkles the edges of Vessel's human eyes. He looks absolutely ethereal with his sharp black eyeliner with the bit of blue glitter II has put at the inner corners to highlight the little wings there, too. His hair is pulled back into its usual style, now with two little braids in front of his pierced ears. Framing pieces of hair had been left out, and he's utterly adorable. II and III are absolutely enamored.

The jellyfish exhibit is a large room, with a wall of glass on one side. Behind the glass are yellow-orange jellyfish, sea nettles if Vessel remembers correctly. They're large, floating about inside their huge tank. Smaller tanks are strewn about the room, with different types of jellyfish in each. Vessel knows some jellyfish eat other species of themselves, so it makes sense. Murals take up the expanse of the other walls, of jellyfish in the ocean and silly cartoon sea creatures. In the middle of the room sits a floor to ceiling cylinder of water filled with moon jellies, all leisurely swimming as people ogle them and their beauty.

Vessel opens his mouth to gush about the moon jellies as he drags II and III closer by the hand, but shuts it as he seems to wilt. He knows they don't mind too much if he rambles, but... the fear that they will grow annoyed with him remains ever present.

"Hey Ves, what kind of jellyfish is this?" III asks, grinning when Vessel visibly perks up.

As Vessel moves to speak, II mouths, "Good job."

"They're moon jellies! They can make themselves about half their size if there isn't enough food around, and will grow back to regular size when more food is available! They're primarily preyed upon by sea turtles-!"

II and III listen fondly as Vessel continues to ramble out facts about jellyfish, not just the moon jellies. He drifts over to the sea nettles, explaining how depending on their home region, can be minorly or severely dangerous based on someone's sensitivity to their sting. 

Eventually, they finish in the jellyfish exhibit room after no small amount of time. Vessel had gone on and on about each type in all of their respective tanks, enjoying himself to an extent the other vessels aren't sure they've ever seen. It makes them feel so... in love. And proud. Proud of how far he's come.

"Hey, Two, Ves, want a picture?" III asks, holding up their phone as they're all just looking up at the glass wall separating them from the jellyfish, right before they leave. 

"Up for a picture, sweetheart?" II looks up to Vessel, and when he receives a quiet affirmation, II pulls them over to a less crowded spot while III follows, readying his phone camera.

Vessel stands awkwardly, not sure what to do, as II moves them both into position, facing each other.

"Okay, in three, two, one-!"

II reaches up on his toes, pulling Vessel's face mask down and kissing him, cupping his jaw on either side so gently it brings tears to Vessel's eyes. II fixes Vessel's mask after he pulls away, settling back down onto his feet properly.

III comes over to show them the picture, pouting about not getting a candid photo of kiss too. II grumbles in good fun, leaning over to kindly ask a young goth couple to take a photo of them. 

Breaking the rule he'd set, II kisses III the same way, the girlfriends taking the photo hooting and hollering. 

"One more photo." II calls, pulling Vessel to their sides, "Alright, now pose."

Knowing he must look a fool, Vessel simply smiles, doing a little peace sign. III strikes some full body pose from II's other side, while II merely leans his head on Vessel's arm, hands clasped together. The girls give III his phone back, commenting on how cute they all are and then walking off, hand in hand. III shows them the photo and then sends all of them to the group chat. Vessel sets the one with II as his lock screen, and after a bit more tapping, the group one as his homescreen. After that, they move on through the penguin enclosure, where Vessel tries not to frown too harshly. Downtrodden, he asks to go to a different area pretty quickly.

Vessel had been excited, at first. He still is, to an extent. Happy that II and III brought him, had thought of him to such an extent, but...

He can't help but think back to how listless the penguins had looked, in their boring enclosure with nothing to look at but gray walls and ice, and the relentless calls and noises from humans staring at them through the glass separating them. Vessel may not know what it's like to have a home (he won't admit the truth to himself. He can't- He's afraid-), but he can sympathize with the pain of being taken from it. The only place Vessel had felt at home in, Before, was down in the ocean, sinking with the weight of stones in his pockets as his lungs screamed for air and his body fought his heart to swim back to the surface. He'd worn his heaviest clothes and boots, knowing it would only help him achieve his goal. Fish had swam by, a small coral reef leaving scrapes and cuts when he'd hit it after finally sinking deep enough. The light of the moon had been bright, then, and utterly beautiful. His body still struggled, but his heart, his mind, had finally, finally felt peace.

They move on to the shark exhibit at III's insistence, trying to lighten the suddenly somber mood that has befallen Vessel. The First perks up, having a love of sharks, but the sight of one of the grey reef sharks swimming with a bit of difficulty alongside some seabass, ruined III's good intentions.

"What's wrong sweetheart, why are you sad?" II questions, pulling Vessel in close, arms brushing against each other.

"They were all taken from their homes. All the creatures we saw today." Vessel frowns, eyes a little misty, "The sign says that this shark was hurt so they brought it here for recovery, but... the scar looks like it was from something man-made. We did this to it, took it from its home after we hurt it."

"We didn't do this to it, honey. I know someone else did, and I despise that we as a species are so prone to cruelty, but they're trying to heal it, here. Look, this other sign says they'll release it once it's healthy enough. It'll go back home soon enough."

Nodding, Vessel squeezes II's hand, seeking comfort without wanting to ask for it. "Next time we'll go to a sanctuary!" III breaks right out with it, desperate to bring some semblance of that joy back to the bond.

"There might be one near home." II adds, nodding, "They treat their animals better, usually, and are more likely to actually release them when they're healed up."

"You would do that for me?" Vessel whispers, surprised like the first time, like every time they show him an ounce of consideration.

"I would do anything for you." II replies firmly, pressing a soft, adoring kiss to Vessel's temple.

Vessel doesn't realize the truth in that statement. II isn't sure he ever will, but that's alright.

"If you decided one day that the sun was too bright or something, I'd find a way to take it out of the sky." III chimes in, completely serious.

Vessel gapes, "That would have severe environmental effects-"

"It's the sentiment, Sugar. If you asked me to do something impossible, I'd find a way, no matter what, for you. Because you mean that much to me, to us." III grins so widely their cheeks surely must hurt from the strain.

Vessel grins, eyes wet, nodding in lieu of a verbal answer. He's overwhelmed by the love they're showing him, by that tender emotion flowing so gently down the bond.

"Can we head to the giftshop next? We passed it on the way in and there was something I wanted to check out." III says, bouncing on the balls of their feet.

There's an excited gleam in his eyes, uncontainable.

"Shouldn't we wait until we're about to leave?" II counters, a little confused.

"There's a plushie I want to get Ves and I really want to get it now before all of these little kids buy out their entire stock." III says, entirely serious, then brings out the wide eyes and simpering expression to beg, "Please?"

"Oh, fine. We'll backtrack if its fine with Ves." II rolls his eyes good naturedly, turning to look up at Vessel for his decision.

Vessel nods, not really minding either way. He's content to follow the others around, even though they have been following him around. Rubbing an eye, Vessel struggles to stifle his yawn. He's still utterly exhausted from yesterday, the ache in his ribs growing worse as the day wears on. "Do you want to take a break first, honey?" II asks, ever the caretaker.

"No. I'm fine, promise."

II acquiesces, and they continue on. They make their way back to the front area of the aquarium, holding hands the entire way. Any rude look receives a fierce glare from II, the shortest of them shooting daggers into any bigoted asshole that wants to be shitty. They're holding hands, not fucking on the aquarium floor. The giftshop is larger than some of the exhibit rooms, dedicated to many different kinds of merch, ranging from t-shirts, to mugs and keychains, to plushies and child-friendly scientific kits or home aquariums.

"Do you have a preference for a plushie, Ves? You don't have to pick the one I have in mind." III says, suddenly nervous, picking at his nail polish.

"Pick whatever you want. My plague doctor was a gift from II. It is... nice, to be thought of. To have a gift chosen for me."

III lights up, the sun returned to his eyes, bounding off with a promise to return thrown over their shoulder. II stays close, keeping a tight hold of Vessel's hand as he leads him through the store. Vessel tries to keep track of III, anxious for him to be so far away. Rows of plushies are lined up against a back wall, the opposite direction of III who is currently staring down a child who wants one of the plushies somewhere up front. Vessel watches as II scans over the rows with a discerning eye, taking great care in reaching out and feeling the materials of each plushie to see how the texture feels between his fingers.

"Here, Ves, how about this one?" II says, finally, picking out a jellyfish plushie.

It's about the length of Vessel's arm, white in color with two black dots for eyes and a line for a smiley face. Hanging from off of its bottom is the jellyfish arms, a mix of white ribbon and a scrunchy pastel blue material that springs back up when Vessel tentatively stretches out one of the tentacles. It makes him smile, amusement zinging down the bond.

"I take that as a yes, then." II says, longing to hug Vessel or kiss him senseless.

"Guys! Guys! I beat this kid in rock paper scissors, four to five, and got the last one!" III exclaims loudly, excitedly bouncing up beside them with a decently sized shark in hand, triumphant.

Vessel barely flinches, feeling much better than when he woke up. He turns his attention to the shark. It's... comical in expression. With big, beady black eyes, a grey and white body, its mouth is what sets it apart from a typical shark plushie. Its mouth is a half moon shape, lined with sewn in pointed, but blunt, teeth. Its a very round shape, with a floppy dorsal fin, and one of the pectoral fins is misshapen. The caudal fin looks to be about the right shape, but no less floppy than the dorsal.

"It's a little... off looking." III's smile turns sheepish, "But it was the last one and I wasn't about to lose rock, paper, scissors to a ten year old that I challenged."

"You challenged a ten year old to rock, paper, scissors?" II raises an eyebrow, amused.

"And almost lost?" Vessel whispers, taking the shark from III.

"I'll have you know I won in the end, and that's what matters. Besides, that's not the point here. The point is that I got the plushie I wanted to get Vessel! Even if its misshapen." III pouts, tucking a stray strand of hair behind their ear.

"Such a pouty boy today." II gets up on his tiptoes to whisper in Vessel's ear, smile fond but cheeky.

It sends shivers down Vessel's spine, warm breath hot against his cool skin.

"I like the shark." Vessel decides, as III moves to ruffle II's hair out of spite.

"What are you going to name them?"

"Name them?" Vessel tilts his head, puzzled.

"Yeah! You should name them! It's like breathing new life into them, like when we chose our names." III drops their voice down to a little louder than a whisper.

Oh.

Vessel thinks he understands.

"Think on it, Ves. You don't have to name them right now, or today. Whatever you think of will be a good choice because they're yours now." II says, reaching up to cup Vessel's cheek over the face mask.

Nodding, Vessel follows the others towards the front of the shop to pay, struggling to ignore the crying child throwing a tantrum over wanting too many items for the family to pay for. The noise is loud, almost overwhelming, and it causes Vessel's anxiety to spike.

He holds the plushies close, seeking comfort in them while they wait in line to pay. As he's looking around, rubbing a thumb over III's knuckles, something catches his eye on a stand nearby. Vessel glances up at III who is messing around on their phone, and II who is watching him already. II makes a shooing motion, taking the plushies from Vessel, and slowly, he drags III with him to look at what caught his attention.

It's a projector that puts moving underwater images on a wall. Deliberating, but guilty, Vessel weighs his options. He knows the others would just tell him to get it, simply because he wants it. And he does want it. They don't destroy his things either, so it likely won't get broken that way.

He turns to III, holding up the box with one hand wordlessly.

"That's going to look so fucking cool in your room, pretty."

Vessel grins, kissing III's knuckles through his face mask as they go back to where II has moved a bit further up in line. "I'll help you set that up at home if you need me to, Ves. It'll look really nice with your blackout curtains to block out light."

Vessel presses up close to II, keeping hold of III's hand. The line moves slow, but not overtly so. The harried cashier is tired but kind, struggling to man the cash register by himself. II pays, uncaring of the price, though Vessel blanches at the absurdity of it. III reassures him that money doesn't matter today, and Vessel really does try his best to not think of it. 

As they find the nearby directory, Vessel is lost in thought. He thinks he has names picked out, but will the others approve?

"Um, how about Mr. Nibbles? For my shark, and Jello for my jellyfish?" Vessel asks, gently putting Mr. Nibbles in the bag with his new projector. 

He makes sure to pat his head goodbye before II takes the bag from him.

"Those are great names!" III exclaims, II agreeing, more subdued, but no less enthusiastic.

Vessel lights up at II's approval, holding a hand out in hopes II will take it.

He does, clasping their fingers together and bringing their hands up to kiss Vessel's ringed knuckles. Vessel blushes up to his ears, a pretty flush to his cheeks that hasn't seemed to leave the entire time they've been on their date. He really is so happy to be here, despite noticing some less than savory things about the place. Hiding his face in the plush fabric of Jello's cap, Vessel attempts to force the blush from his cheeks. 

"Two, Two, he can't keep getting away with this. He's so cute." There are honest to Sleep tears in Three's eyes as they tug at a beltloop on II's pants.

"And I'm not even allowed to kiss him." III moans out in utter agony, dramatically holding their head in their hands.

"You can kiss him all you want in a couple days, brat. Now, how about we check out the bioluminescent fish exhibits?"

"Can we go back to see the sharks again? I... saw something for a touch pool." Vessel asks, quiet and expecting rejection, quickly trying to correct himself, "We don't have to. We already went so-"

"That's fine. I wanted to take a look at the touch pools too. I chose the aquarium with you in mind, we can do whatever you want to do." II assures, eyes going between the directory and up at Vessel tenderly.

"Alright. If you're sure." Vessel's smile is weak, uncertain, but II takes comfort in the hints of excitement still in the bond.

II takes the lead again, holding Vessel's hand while he holds III's. They might look a little silly: Three grown men linking hands at an aquarium, armed with bags of merchandise. II doesn't spare a single fuck for fools who think they're acting immature or being too public in their affections.

The shark exhibit room is busier than the last time they were there, II's shorter frame helping him navigate through the throngs of people and pulling the other two with him. The touch pool area is thankfully less crowded, with only a few families and their children around.  All three of them lean over into the touch pool area, II setting down their stuff by their feet. III immediately seeks out a cow nose ray, petting over it's brown back gently. II finds a starfish close to the wall of the touch pool, fascinated by how textured their spines feel as another cow nose ray drifts close. 

Vessel is a little more hesitant, gradually sinking his hand down into the water. There's a bamboo shark nearby, tentatively swimming closer. It brushes up against the back of Vessel's hand curiously, then swims away. It comes back quickly enough, nibbling at Vessel's fingers gently, making him laugh quietly. Vessel thinks this is the best part of the day so far, unable to contain the elation flowing smoothly through his veins, thick like honey.

A child splashes the water, her parents pulling her back with exasperated reprimands, familiar on their tongues, as the manta rays scatter. Vessel loses track of time as he pets the sea creatures, gently picking up a starfish to look over before setting it back down. II and III eventually drift away to look over a wayfinding sign, pointing out exhibits they could look at next. They talk back and forth, debating over which of the few are left to go to since they've visited most of the exhibits  already. Vessel stays nearby, seated now on the concrete lip as one arm remains in the water, the other holding Jello. Gentle fingers brush over a bamboo shark pup, eyes wide in wonder as the beautiful creature keeps circling back around for Vessel to pet again. II keeps a careful eye on Vessel, afraid to lose sight him in the growing crowd.

Slowly, more and more of the pups come up to Vessel's hand as he struggles to pet them all and hold his plushie still, a wide smile pulling at his lips. III takes a quick photo before turning back to the conversation they're having with II, undecided on the aviary or the seahorse exhibits.

Around Vessel, children of all ages pet the epaulette sharks and manta rays, laughter and conversations between families quickly becoming overwhelming. It's beginning to make his skin crawl, every little noise causing him to flinch or grimace. Looking around, Vessel stands, shaking his hand off then wiping it on his pants. His sleeve is let back down as he looks around, hoping to find somewhere a little quieter that won't be too far from the others. There are more people around II and III, parents with their unruly children looking over the wayfinder sign, too, and Vessel doesn't feel like going near all of those people. The others would hold his hand if he asked but all of the noise and people would cancel out the comfort.

Another glance around and a sign catches Vessel's eye, as well as the deep blue tunnel under it. It's a water tunnel that apparently leads off to a large room of similar purpose. Already Vessel can see schools of fish swimming past the glass in front of a lone couple in the tunnel, and intrigued, Vessel makes to move that direction before pausing, looking back towards his lovers unsurely.

He adjusts his grip on his plushie, holding Jello closer, running gentle fingers up and down the length of one of her scrunchy blue arms, taking comfort in the action. A child starts screaming, high-pitched and grating, throwing a tantrum over something or other, and Vessel flinches, hunching into himself. He takes a glance at II and III again, finding them thoroughly distracted. 

Vessel stands, and heads in the direction of the water tunnels. He'll only go a few feet in, linger at its entrance so he's within sight. And he does, Vessel stays near the opening, crouched at the glass separating him from kelp and little fish swimming about in their schools. Vessel stands, moving a bit further in to get a better look at some of the larger fish, human eyes struggling in the lighting. 

Vessel is entranced. Beautiful blue waters surround him on all sides, fish of various types swimming in their own respective schools. A hammerhead shark swims leisurely by, Vessel losing sight of it as it goes behind a large structure meant to resemble a corral reef. The lights in the room are meant to look like the audience is underwater, and blue eyes absorb everything around him he can as he slowly spins in a circle.

His soul had died it's true death the day Vessel tried to drown himself in the ocean. He knew a piece of him stayed down under those deep, dark waters. Here, surrounded by fish and stalks of seaweed, the distinct sound of being underwater playing through the speakers, Vessel feels like he finally came home.

He holds his new plushies close, standing smack dab in the middle of the room. No one is around, only him and the blissful calm of the sea as company. He gets a bit lost in it, unaware of the passing of time as he watches the fish swim by.

Unbeknownst to him, Vessel's bond goes distant, fading into the void like his mind.

The peace is shattered by the sound of his name, a desperate call. Vessel blinks, dazed, as his mind is forced to focus.

"Vessel!" The shout reaches Vessel's ears again, and he realizes II is calling for him.

His phone rings incessantly in his pocket, and he reaches to answer it urgently. As he does so, he notices multiple missed calls. How hadn't he heard them?

"Three?" Vessel inquires, a little confused as his head tries to focus on the present.

"Vessel, where are you?!" III's voice over the phone is frantic, laced heavily with emotion as though they are on the verge of tears.

That thought leads Vessel to realizing his face is wet, and there is a tugging on the bond every second or so, trying to get his attention. He pulls taut on it, a means of leading the others to him.

"I followed the signs for um, an underwater room? I'm not sure. It was through some ocean tunnels." Vessel tries to explain, but his voice is frail, as weak as he suddenly feels.

Slipping off his face mask, Vessel tries to wipe away his tears. His hand comes away glistening, wet with the tears he didn't even know he was crying.

"Okay. Okay, II and I are on our way. Stay there, okay, Sugar? Stay there. We'll be right there." III's voice sounds wrecked, and his words feel more to reassure himself than Vessel.

Vessel doesn't need reassuring. He's fine. He is.

He makes his way to the glass separating him from the tranquil waters, placing a hand on the glass, listening to III whisper loudly to II on the other end of the line.

Staring into the glass this close, vision filled with beautiful blue water and little guppies pecking at his fingers through the glass, Vessel feels himself slipping away again. It's quiet here, the only sound are the waves through speakers, static interrupting the peaceful sound every once in a while. 

Vessel wants to go home.

Yet, that place, sinking under the depths, isn't really his home anymore, is it? He's found a new one, he just can't admit it to himself. Fear stays his hand. 

Two pairs of footsteps running towards him fall on deaf ears, his phone hanging loosely at his side in a limp hand. His arms itch, the sensation faint, like the strange feeling of more tears slipping down his cheeks. Free to glide over his skin, salty wet splashes against his shirt, but Vessel doesn't notice. 

"Vessel!" He barely manages to hear II and III, their voices intertwined, only realizing they've finally met up with him when II collides into his back in a hug.

Vessel flails, caught between turning around and pulling away entirely. He settles on turning around, keeping his plushie between them. It doesn't feel like enough, it never does, but Vessel desires what he knows he shouldn't, so he allows them closer than he should. 

"I look away for two seconds and you're gone! You scared the shit out of us, Ves! Please, please don't wander off again." Tears bead at the corners of II's eyes as he pleads with Vessel, wishing for the stuffed animal to be gone, just so he could be close enough to hear Vessel's heartbeat, to know the other man was alive.

The wetness smudges the eyeliner that had remained intact all day, but II still looks beautiful. He always looks beautiful.

Vessel is slowly nodding his agreement without a thought, squeezing II's hand comfortingly, "I didn't mean to worry you,. I'm sorry."

"I know you didn't mean to, honey." II sniffles, uncharacteristically vulnerable.

"Why did you wander off?" III asks, voice small, clutching at Vessel's sleeve like a scared child.

III looks scared, too, wide, wet eyes scanning Vessel for any injuries. "There were so many kids screaming, and everything got really loud. I... I couldn't handle it so I went off to the ocean tunnel area. I only meant to stay at it's entrance, I swear, so I wouldn't lose either of you, but I got distracted by all of the fish and continued." Vessel explains, guilty.

II finds it in himself to laugh, "Of course you got distracted. You at an aquarium must be like a kid in a candy shop. Do you... know why you started to disassociate?"

Vessel's lips pinch beneath his face mask, averting his eyes. "No. Must be because I got overwhelmed."

II knew this would be coming any time now. Vessel hasn't been out around this many people in the entire time II has known him. He knew the other would get overwhelmed eventually, and should have kept a closer eye on him.

Any vulnerability is gone quick enough, snuffed out in replacement of a smile and drying eyes, "Alright, Ves, that makes sense. Do you want to do anything else? There are a few more-"

Vessel wants to go home. He wants to go back to the manor, where he lives with II and III, and he wants to be home with them.

"Can we go back to the manor?" Vessel interrupts, guilty eyes struggling to meet II's.

Vessel turns his head so that his cheek presses onto III's head, taking comfort in the way the curls muddle his line of sight. III still hasn't let him go, still clutching at Vessel's arm like a limpet now, refusing to let any distance come between them. If Vessel focuses, he may be able to feel III's heartbeat in his bicep where the other man has Vessel's arm in a vice grip. 

"Of course we can, Ves. I'll be right back." II says, soft eyes full of understanding.

II turns to go back to the wayfinder to grab their things, hand beginning to slip from Vessel's. He clutches onto it like III is currently doing to him, fearful of any distance between them. "I don't... please- Can we stay close?"

"I'm not going that far, sweetheart. Just to grab our things."

"Too far." Vessel mumbles, selfishly, and II's expression softens further.

II let's Vessel hold onto his hand, all three of them shuffling back through the tunnels towards their collection of bags. It's a miracle all of them are still there, and then Vessel notices the thicker than normal shadows underneath the plastic bags. Vessel still feels guilty that they'd bought him anything, even though II was adamant it was fine, they weren't wanting for money thanks to Sleep, and Vessel had decided for himself that he wanted something. 

"Can we get a drink or something before we go? I would feel better, personally." III asks, feeling guilty for asking.

"Is that fine with you Ves?" II asks, and Vessel nods, replying, "Do they have anything sweet?'

Even if he didn't need sustenance, something sweet did sound nice. As soon as they find themselves surrounded by people, Vessel's hands kick up a faint tremble. II blessedly tries to keep them away from the thick of it, carrying their bags in one hand while keeping hold of Vessel's with the other. 

II finds a secluded spot for Vessel to calm down in, setting their stuff down beside a small fountain. Small tremors wrack his otherwise still form as Vessel's mind settles from being out of the overwhelming situation, holding Jello close while rubbing his thumb and forefinger down the scrunchy material of her arms. 

"I'm going to the restroom and to get us drinks! I'll be right back, promise!" III exclaims, nervously fidgeting with their nail polish, picking at the chipping paint.

"Be careful." II implores while he digs around in his wallet for their credit card, seeming as reluctant to let III go off on their own as III himself is.

"Will do." III grins, easy despite his own anxieties.

"Three." Vessel mutters when III turns to leave, "Sleep will erase anyone who harms you if I ask. Do not be afraid to protect yourself."

"I'll come back to you, Sugar. I'll bring you something sweet, and maybe something more bitter for Two." III leans down to kiss Vessel's forehead, pulling away from the finger he didn't realize was locked around a belt loop.

They glance over at II, a nod meeting his questioning look. The kiss was allowed then. III was hoping it was. II isn't strict on the rules when distressing situations occur, knowing allowing them the small comforts helps. II isn't cruel. III turns, and walks away, long legs carrying him from his lovers quickly. II waits until III is out of sight, both he and Vessel watching them go before II hands Vessel Mr. Nibbles, swimming in his love for the other man as Vessel cuddles into the misshapen shark. Already, away from the crowds and overall noise of the aquarium, Vessel's bond is lighter. The static of overstimulation is beginning to taper. II wants to ask Vessel what happened in the ocean tunnels. That look in his eyes scared him, something like death seeping from his blue eyes into crystal tears.

Now, Vessel is looking at him over his new shark stuffed animal with loving eyes, clear contemplation in the bond. Would II get angry with him? Would he think the nickname was too old-fashioned?

II lets him ruminate in peace, content to keep watch for III's return as Vessel calms down. II tugs on the bond on occasion, relief buzzing through him whenever III returns the gesture.

Vessel does his best not to even think the nickname, despite how much he longs to refer to them as such in his head. He yearns for so many things, and fears allowing himself the luxury of having any of them. He is ruled by his fear, but... II and III have helped him overcome so much already...

"Today was fun, thank you, beloved."

II freezes in place, and Vessel does, too.

"I-I apologize, it just slipped out!" Vessel tries to fix his mistake, even if he said the nickname with purpose, holding his plushies tighter to himself as though their soft forms will protect him. "I won't say it ag- oof!"

II launches himself at Vessel, startling him so badly he loses balance, almost toppling over the ledge and into the fountain behind him. II continues, smile wide, picking Vessel up by the waist and twirling him around. It makes Vessel dizzy, and he's caught between yelping and loosing an undignified giggle. The sound he makes comes out as more of a squeak instead, and II laughs, pressing a kiss into Vessel's stomach. Vessel almost drops his plushies in surprise, easily ignoring the way his ribs ache in protest at the movement. II doesn't miss the flash of Vessel's pain, hold gentling but not placing him back down. Vessel's weight is barely felt due to II's strength, the chains on his pants digging into II's skin. He doesn't want to let go, wants to hold on to Vessel forever. 

"Sorry, sweetheart. Got ahead of myself. Are you okay? I can put you down."

Vessel hums a disagreement, relishing in II's arms around him. He shouldn't be able to feel Vessel's lack of heartbeat. Hopefully. He can't see II's head over his new stuffed animals, but Vessel can still feel his love, feel his happiness, and that's enough. He sends back his own, and it is like they're floating in it, just them two in a vast ocean of tender affection.

"Would you say it again, sweetheart?"

"Beloved." Vessel murmurs, too lowly for II to hear him.

"Again."

"Beloved." Vessel repeats himself a little louder this time, though not above a whisper.

"Again? Please?"

"Beloved."

Now that he's said it properly, at a normal volume, II finally sets him down only to immediately smother him in a world ending kiss, pulling Vessel's facemask down to do so. One hand holds Vessel's nape, pulling him down to meet II's lips while the shorter man stands on his tip toes, the other cupping Vessel's cheek. He is careful not to put too much strain on Vessel's ribs, but Vessel himself is not as careful, once again ignoring the ache and leaning down further so II doesn't have to strain himself.

Gentle 'I love you's' are murmured into the chapped skin of Vessel's lips as II kisses him again, and again, less frenzied than the first, softer, slower.

Finding the restroom is easy enough, III passing by a man who sneers at them distastefully when they politely squeeze by. Taking a piss is a boring affair, as it always is, though III is glad to be the only one in the restroom. Lost in thought about how absolutely gorgeous his boyfriends look today, and still a little frazzled from losing Vessel, III doesn't pay any mind to the next man who comes in the bathroom, takes one look at him, and promptly leaves as III is washing their hands.

A tiny voice croons in awe, something about his hair being pretty and having so many red threads on his fingers, and III freezes in place, turning their head to look at the restroom entrance. Empty, just like the stalls behind him. 

He turns in a circle, looking around. The restroom is completely empty, except for a spider on the wall, hanging out on an intricately spun web in one corner of a small window. The tiny voice speaks again in amused disbelief, and again III understands perfectly. It isn't English, or any other human language, but III's mind translates it with ease. It says something about there being no way a human had heard her speak. The spider shuffles, moving slightly closer. Eight eyes blink slowly, once, twice, before there's a chittering exclamation of realization.

III finds himself pointing at it, mouth hanging open. It's tiny head tilts, before one equally as tiny, spindly arm lifts to point back.

Slowly, the point turns into a mimicry of a wave, and III feels their heart constrict painfully. He waves back cheerfully, trying to keep himself contained so he doesn't scare the little creature.

"You're so cute. What's your name?" III sticks his hand out, and tentatively, the spider climbs on.

It's a small thing, no bigger than III's thumbnail, perhaps a jumping spider? With two large eyes in front with a smaller pair beside each of those, and another set, one eye on either side of its head, and fuzzy little hairs all over the brown body.

"What is a name, Vessel of a God?" She asks in a confused chitter, and III is fairly certain it's a she.

"It is what you are called. My name is Three. It's what my boyfriends call me, and the name I chose when I started my new life." Though surprised, III brushes past the spider knowing their inhuman status.

"You can choose your own name?" III's mind supplies when the spider speaks again.

"Yeah, you can! Or I can name you. It's your choice." III responds, exiting the restroom.

They move off to the side, reaching to fiddle with their phone screen so they don't draw too much attention for talking to their hand.

"You would grant me a name, kind Vessel of a God?" Big, big eyes stare up at III and he knows he won't survive those eyes.

They remind him far too much of Vessel.

III has only known this little spider for a total of five minutes but he'd kill for her.

"Yes, yes, I will! If you want me to! How about Kiwi? Cause you're fuzzy and about the same color."

When Kiwi repeats her name, it is not in any form of human speech, but it translates just the same. She sounds a little awed, and looks so adorable III wants to squeal like a schoolgirl.

"Can I take you home with me? The restroom doesn't seem like a safe place for you to live. I don't want to take you from your home though, if you'd prefer to stay."

"Will I have a place to spin my webs? Food to eat?"

III is nodding rapidly as they agree, "Yeah! I'll make sure of it! You'll need to stay in my room most of the time though. One of my boyfriends is afraid of spiders. He's been working on it but still freaks out when he see's one. It's not your fault though, or his. He's making an effort to get over the fear for my sake." III gushes, pure adoration shining in his eyes as he lifts Kiwi up and let's her hide in his hair.

It tickles a little as she moves around, "Just stay hidden in my hair for now! I'm so excited! You're such an adorable new friend!"

"Your mate, he will not hurt me?"

III's eyebrows raise in surprise, "Mate? Well, I suppose that's an accurate term. No, II won't hurt you. He's more likely to run away or freeze in place. Vessel won't hurt you either, he's too gentle hearted."

"I will take your word for it, friend."

III could cry. This is the sixteenth greatest honor he's ever been gifted. A spider has just reciprocated their friendship. He can't wait to tell II and Ves, even if they know II will be a bit... scared, to put it lightly, at the mere mention of a spider. Maybe he'll wait until they're leaving the aquarium.

He would just have to keep Kiwi in his room, to keep II from seeing her and passing out on his floor or something.

Getting drinks is easy, aside from the long line. II tugs sporadically on the bond in question, anxious for their return, and it leaves a smile permanently etched onto his cheeks long after he orders. There is relief, too, as Vessel's end of the bond loses it's harsh, overstimulated edge. Tugging back is second nature, and each time he is met with II's relief and a heavy dose of love down the bond.

III returns to II holding Vessel in the air by his waist, absolute elation flooding the bond like the waves of an ocean. II has a wide smile on his face, Vessel much the same, and III wishes he could take photo's with his eyes.

"And you said no PDA when I wanted to give you kisses on stage!" III calls, grinning widely, drink holder in hand.

Vessel blushes up to his ears as II puts him down, pulling away and fixing his facemask. He remains close to II's side, holding his new plushies still. He's so fucking cute, III feels he will burst at the seams with his love. 

"I told you I have to concentrate. Besides that, we're as away from other people as we're going to get and you didn't hear what he just called me. You'd want to kiss him senseless, too."

"What did he call you?" III asks II, curious blue eyes sliding to try and catch Vessel's evasive gaze.

Vessel can't bring himself to speak, a conflicting mix of nervous and embarrassed. "Come on, sweetheart, he won't be upset." II gives Vessel a reassuring smile.

III starts handing everyone their drinks, and when Vessel takes his, he speaks in the same fashion he had with II mere moments before, "Thank you, beloved, I appreciate it."

III freezes, wide eyed as a grin twitches onto their face. Then, he doesn't do anything. Just stands there, drink in hand. Vessel would have thought he'd done something wrong if the emotions coming from III's bond weren't complete and utter love and elation.

"I think you've broken him, sweetheart." II's teases lightly and Vessel is struck by a mix of worry and mirth.

"I didn't mean to. I wouldn't have said it if I'd known they'd react this way." Vessel replies, unsure, pulling his plushies closer.

"No!" III practically shouts, and it's so sudden Vessel steps back out of instinct.

III's smile is still bright, the blissed daze he'd fallen into slipping away so he could grasp at some amount of coherency after Vessel short circuited their brain. He steps forward, handing his drink to II who takes it with a small smile, "No, Sugar, I'm so happy with that nickname! I want to hear it everyday for the rest of my life! You're absolutely adorable."

Arms wrap around Vessel's torso, III pressing in so close. The only thing that keeps their chests from meeting is the plushies Vessel still holds. Vessel smells of the ocean, something like the salt on a gentle breeze. It's a scent III has noticed before, but it's stronger here, in this place, where the scent can be given a proper name.

III wants to hug him, pull Vessel close and meld into one. He wants to know why Vessel won't allow them to hug him, why he is so adamant they remain far away from his neck and chest with few exceptions. He wants to ask, to know, but neither he nor II will dare.

Vessel has allowed so much, told them so much already, shared painful secrets. If there is something else he is hiding, there must be good reason. III just hopes it isn't something that will hurt Vessel in the long run, hopes one day Vessel will tell them.

Kiwi chitters in III's ear about how cute his boyfriend is, and III wants nothing more than to shout it from the rooftops because it is the truth and he needs the world to know. Kiwi moves around in III's hair before he can't feel her at all, and internally, III panics, afraid she has fallen. 

"Make sure II doesn't see the little spider." Vessel mumbles, breath cool against III's ear, close enough for III to feel the way his lips brush against the sensitive skin.

When Vessel pulls away, III's face is bright red, pupils dilated as he see's Kiwi hanging off of one of Vessel's braids, thankfully at an angle II can't see. Despite his flustered state, III nods as if nothing is wrong, as if Vessel's pretty voice in his ear didn't send blood straight down to his dick. Reluctant to let him go, but knowing it would only make Vessel uncomfortable to continue holding on to him, III lets their arms fall back to their sides, taking their drink back from II. A sip is taken, and III groans.

"This is the best matcha iced latte I've ever had! Surely I would remember that much. You've got to try this, Ves! I got you the same thing. Oh, and a dark chocolate frappe for Two, I thought you might like it because it isn't super sweet-."

While III distracts II with talk of their respective drinks, Vessel tells the little spider his name, even if he isn't sure it understands him. A gentle hand reaches up to fiddle with one of his braids, Vessel trying to discreetly move the little spider somewhere II won't see it. It's a cute little thing, waving up at him happily. Vessel moves it to the pocket on his loose shirt, letting the spider slip inside. Vessel finally takes a sip of his iced latte, finding it to be a perfect amount of sweet and bitter, mostly sweet. He likes it, and wonders if they could get something similar in the city near the manor.

"This is really good, beloved, thank you." Vessel comments quietly, and is surprised when III steals a kiss.

They taste of matcha, like their drinks.

"Three! You little brat. Make that three days."

"Oh come on, Doll! Show me some mercy, he's just too fucking cu- Hey! Stop- Stop flicking me! I'm not a cat-!"

Vessel laughs, feeling light on his feet despite the tiredness dimming his brainpower. His bond, somehow, feels less weighed down than the others, and he knows he must have scared them badly.

They leave the aquarium in varying states of emotion after finishing some of their drinks. Everyone is a little on edge, the terrifying situation of having lost Vessel lingering like the rot of death, and yet time has passed, the tension fading away bit by bit. Guilt festers in Vessel's empty chest. Regardless, Vessel is still happy, so happy, but heavily bittersweet. He sips at his drink on the way to the car, holding the little spider in his hand, resting curled in his lap once they're on the way back to the hotel. III chats with II in the front seat, animated and full of energy regardless of the long day they've had. Vessel wants nothing more than to take a nap, exhaustion making his bones its home. His mind runs wild, thoughts swirling round and round. 

Today had been good, despite it's rough start and iffy middle. His first ever official date, outside of the manor, that is. He made mistakes, and the others didn't get too upset with him. He remained unhurt, only loved. Truly loved.

How was II to know that Vessel would grow nostalgic for the peace of the ocean, the moon above him, the fish swimming around him without care, and the way his mind and heart finally seemed to settle even as his body struggled for air.

Vessel still doesn't know how he survived that. He made sure the next attempt would be the last, and it had been. Until Sleep came to him, anyway.

Nick is watching television while simultaneously scrolling on his phone when they return to the hotel. He spares them a warm greeting, though he doesn't look up from his phone screen for long enough to really get a glimpse at any of them.

Vessel carefully avoids looking at him, once again nervous to be existing in his presence. If he looks at Nick too long he can feel the other man's hand on his shoulder, brushing against his lower back. It makes him vaguely ill.

They take turns washing their makeup off, III bemoaning losing such a pretty sight. Nick snorts quietly, lip curling. Only Vessel seems to have noticed, as is becoming a familiarity. He seems hyper aware of everything Nick does, something about the other man instilling a quiet, but building, fear in him. It's a recognizable feeling, but... Nick isn't like that. Like them. 

II spares no time for rest, beginning to pack their things without care for the time. He has clearly taken Vessel's request to go back to their manor seriously. The thought of going back soon becomes all he can think about, discreetly handing III the little spider and going to lay down. He curls around a pillow and wonders if his heart still beats while he is aw ay from it. Wonders how Elvira is doing, if Sleep misses him the way Vessel misses the God. 

Vessel wishes he had brought his new plushies inside instead of leaving them in the trunk, fearing losing them on the trip back and the stop they'll have to make at Nick's apartment.

"Going back to sleep already, Vessel?" Nick asks, his presence nearing.

Vessel's eyes shoot open, having not realized he'd closed them. Nick is beginning to sit on the bed, phone in hand as he mindlessly scrolls. Vessel moves to sit up so he can put some distance between him, but one glance from Nick has him stilling.

II and III are bickering loudly by the bathroom over III having lost something. Vessel knows III isn't used to having to keep track of their own things since the house always returns any lost items quickly, and would say as much if Nick weren't around. 

"Must be tiring third-wheeling their date, huh?" Nick snickers quietly, turning warm brown eyes on Vessel. 

Vessel winces, Nick's words like a dagger to the heart even if it is no longer in his chest. 

"You're not much of a socializer, it must've been so boring."

Anxiety begins to fester under Vessel's skin, a hand coming to rest on his ankle. Vessel wants to throw up, carefully hiding his emotions from the bond as III laughs about something or other.

Get off of me. Don't touch where Four had. Don't ruin the memory with your filth. Today had been good, please don't ruin it for me. I have so few good things.

Vessel is begging in his mind for Nick to go away. A thumb begins to caress his ankle, brushing over the tips of fading scars. He flinches away, curling into himself further. Nick grins, standing with a whisper that wraps thorns around Vessel's throat, "Not much of a talker, either. That's probably for the best." 

"Hey, Nick, have you seen Three's checkered socks? He's lost them." II calls, ruffling through III's duffel bag.

"No, I can't say that I have. Give me a sec, I'll help you look." Nick responds, walking away from Vessel's bedside.

The room isn't even big, and yet Vessel feels the space between them widening like a chasm, a welcome distance. 

"Was nice talking to you, Ves. Hope you had fun on your date." Nick's voice never loses its kindness, and Vessel's stomach churns, the itch for a blade building in his fingertips.

He turns onto his other side as he buries himself under the bedcovers, and wishes to go back to the manor where only the three vessels live. Where he doesn't have to see Nick more than a few times a week. Where Vessel feels safe. He promised II, he promised.

I promised, Vessel repeats, digging his blunt, human nails into soft skin and wishes to bleed.

[elucubrare]

Walter de la Mare, Good-bye

The last of last words spoken is, Good-bye - The last dismantled flower in the weed-grown hedge, The last thin rumour of a feeble bell far ringing, The last blind rat to spurn the mildewed rye.

A hardening darkness glasses the haunted eye, Shines into nothing the watcher's burnt-out candle, Wreathes into scentless nothing the wasting incense, Faints in the outer silence the hunting-cry.

Love of its muted music breathes no sigh, Thought in her ivory tower gropes in her spinning, Toss on in vain the whispering trees of Eden, Last of all last words spoken is, Good-bye.

[fauxrealfloralsbyyasmin]

Hydrangea Rose Candle Ring & Hydrangea Wreath

Create a warm and inviting atmosphere in your home with our stunning candle wreath featuring white silk Hydrangea Ring, white silk Roses, and green leaves accent. Handmade with care and attention to detail, this beautiful candle wreath is perfect for any occasion.  It fits candles up to 4 inches in diameter and can be hung or displayed as a table centerpiece. The wreath is one-of-a-kind and sure to add a touch of elegance to your home décor!

Grapevine wreath base

8" diameter

Blue and white silk Hydrangeas

White silk Roses

Green leaves accent

Hook attached on back of wreath for hanging 

Candle not included

Handmade in a smoke-free environment

[whiskeysmulti]

Acorns, Chestnuts, and Pinecones (A KHR Flufftober fic)

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn Ship: Kyoko Sasagawa/ Haru Miura (9586) Word Count: 1,220 Prompt: Acorns, Chestnuts, and Pinecones Event Host: @flufftober

Acorns, chestnuts and pine cones were in abundance now with the season. Haru and Kyoko were excitedly gathering them up for Nana. "There will be plenty!" The girls called out and wrapped up in their jackets with buckets ready to gather everything they could.

"Kyoko-chan, we can gather some pine nuts too and roast them for the kids as a nice snack!" Haru called.

Kyoko smiled. "Yes and we can use peanut butter and bird seed with the pine cones to make bird feeders they can hang outside!"

A few hours later and their baskets were full, the girls carried them inside with pride. As Kyoko began sorting through what could be used and what couldn't of their collection, Haru got out a few lollipops and began wrapping the tops in white cloth and took a marker to make the eyes of a small ghost, it reminded her of the little rain dolls, teru teru bozu that were often hung to wish for sunny weather. They had a lot of craft ideas for the kids, however there were other items they'd collected that they weren't sure what to do with.

"Haru-chan, what about the acorns?" Kyoko asked, uncertain what to use them for.

"Oh we can roast them after we soak them and just salt them for a snack like peanuts." Haru loved cooking and could honestly figure out a way to cook almost anything if it was edible to begin with. Kyoko had a similar gift so allowing the two girls time in the kitchen would work wonders.

The acorns and pine cones dealt with, that just left the chestnuts then. Chestnuts were a different case, they weren't as edible as the rest. However they could be used for some easy and cute handmade decorations. It was craft time. Hot glue, chestnuts, and time were often the materials necessary for most of these. Which seemed simple enough to do a candle holder or wreathe by simply gluing them together in a circle and that should have been the end of it, right?

A quick search for some tutorials showed the girls one of the cutest ideas they could have come across and started gathering brushes and white paint. They could take the chestnuts and paint animal faces on them like owls and hedgehogs or any design they wanted to.

Supplies gathered, the girls called the kids in for a day of arts and crafts as Nana had made sandwiches for their snack, they would have plenty of energy to deal with the children. Or so they thought. Children were often more energetic than adults to begin with, and teens couldn't often handle them without their own help, hence why Gokudera and Tsuna were so bad with Lambo sometimes. Craft time was a fun activity for the children however a majority of the time crafts with children often resulted in messes and a minor injury if they were using scissors sometimes. Haru and Kyoko decided to cut out the paper pieces for faces and decoration just in case the kids wanted to do some, that way they could spare them the injuries. Now all they would have to do was possibly use the hot glue gun on some of the items for them to spare the little ones from getting burnt on accident.

However, they got another idea, that would require a little more work. They could take a wreathe base and glue the pine cones, chestnuts and acorns to them to make a decoration and glue a little ring or hook to the back so the kids could hang them up anywhere they wanted them to go. Supplies all gathered and crafts planned out, the girls prepared other snacks for the kids as well, making some sandwiches and juice for them as well as fresh fruit cut up for a healthy sweet.

"Lambo-chan, I-pin-chan!" The girls called for the younger kids to join them. It was honestly a perfect evening for them, crafts with the love of your life and the two kids you had grown so attached to through the time spent together. Haru and Kyoko actually had to thank Tsuna for this, they wouldn't have these precious moments if they hadn't met him. The more Haru thought about it, they all owed a lot to Tsuna, he was technically the glue that held them all together just like the little crafts they were making with the children.

The more Haru looked at the craft pieces, the more she realized it was kind of like the Vongola. They were all different pieces that you wouldn't think at first glance could mix together so well, but some creative imagination, patience and glue and it later became a handmade masterpiece.

They were technically a handmade masterpiece as well. Each member coming from a different background. Each member with a unique ability all their own and a different position in the Mafia, Gokudera the right hand, Kyoko and herself the support, Chrome and Mukuro the Mist, they all contributed their own part to the bigger picture and made something really beautiful even when the pieces didn't seem to mix so well at first like Hibari-san and Mukuro-san or Gokudera-kun and Yamamoto-kun. The boys clashed more often than it seemed, but they somehow still worked together effectively.

"Mwahaha! I, the great Lambo-san have completed my masterpiece!" Lambo shouted proudly and showed off a crooked wreathe with more glue than anything to it. Haru smiled and patted his head, he still gave it his best.

"Great job, Lambo-kun. We have to let it dry overnight, then we'll add the ribbon tomorrow so you can hang it." Haru congratulated him, placing the wreathe on a piece of newspaper so it could cool and the glue could dry.

"I-pin-chan, how's yours coming along?" Kyoko asked and smiled as she watched I-pin proudly hold up her wreathe, she had somehow arranged the pine cones in a shape that oddly resembled her Sensei Fon, who she dearly missed. Kyoko patted her head, "I think he'll love it."

Wreathes done and chestnuts roasted, there was only one thing left to do. They could make pine cone bird feeders using the remaining pine cones, peanut butter and some bird seed. Going to gather the seeds and peanut butter to prepare the feeders, Kyoko was in shock when she heard singing coming from the bag. Haru however just smiled as she recognized the song, it was the Namimori anthem. Hibird was in the bag eating the seeds, which meant they weren't alone, they were in the company of more friends than they thought as Hibird's presence meant one thing, Hibari had stopped by to check on the kids. Glancing at the chestnuts the kids had painted Haru smiled seeing a familiar hedgehog design on one of them. She looked over the others to see similar animal faces like Uri, Garyuu, Natsu, Mukurowl, the kids had taken their time and painted the box animals on the chestnuts as a special gift for each of the guys.

"Pine nuts are ready!" Haru called for the kids to come get their snack after she salted them. Love was also in abundance this season and it was evident in every brush stroke the children put into painting and carefully roasted snacks from the girls.

[rebelliousstories]

25 Days of Ficmas 2023

Here we go again! Ficmas 2023 will officially begin Friday December 1st, 2023. I’m really excited to add in some new characters and revisit some old ones. Without further ado, here is your 2023 Masterlist.

Hope (December 1st) Bernard the Elf

The head elf is down in the dumps, and nothing can bring him out.

Childhood (December 2nd) Poly! Lost Boys

It’s Christmas time in the cave, and the Lost Boys mate is making sure that nothing ruins it for Laddie. Nothing and no one.

Elf (December 3rd) Louie Pointe du Lac

Claudia wants to partake in the Christmas cheer and dress up for their party. With her dad’s otherwise occupied, she employs the help of the only other woman in the home.

Poinsettia (December 4th) Selina Kyle

A little Christmas cheer in their dreadful New York apartment.

Stockings (December 5th) David

This was NOT what he had in mind when someone mentioned “stockings.”

Egg Nog (December 6th) Paul

Someone really should have told Paul not to drink an entire thing of egg nog before deciding if he liked it or not.

Through The Years (December 7th) Poly Louie & Lestat

Settling down on the couch, Lestat and Louie entertain their ladies with tales of their Christmas celebrations through the years.

Candles (December 8th) Tom “Iceman” Kazansky

Tom doesn’t allow a lot of personal items in his office on base, much preferring to keep his loved ones close to his heart. But he had to have a little something.

Festive (December 9th) Jack Twist

A snowy day at the ranch is the perfect setting for some winter, holiday fun.

Naughty/Nice (December 10th) Jake Gyllenhaal

The question everyone has to ask themselves every December; are you naughty or nice?

Pine cone (December 11th) Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Jake decides that he is going to show his girlfriend the lovely Seresin family holiday tradition of making a pine bonfire in the backyard.

Yuletide (December 12th) Corey Cunningham

Christmas holds some rough memories for Corey. Luckily his lover has some ways to override Christmas memories of the past.

Sugarplums (December 13th) Donnie Darko

Do sugarplums even exist? Has anyone ever had one? Donnie surely didn’t think so.

Wreath (December 14th) Rhett Abbott

For the last time; just because it’s ring toss shaped, doesn’t mean you can play ring toss with it.

Cranberry (December 15th) Pete “Maverick” Mitchell

A certain unusual flavor that has held a special spot in the Mitchell and Bradshaw family every Christmas.

Reindeer (December 16th) Robert “Bob” Floyd

A snowy landscape, total seclusion in an Alaskan cabin, and lots of wildlife. What an interesting winter vacation.

Mistletoe (December 17th) Lestat de Lioncourt

There is one tradition that Lestat loves no matter the year or who he is spending the holidays with; mistletoe.

Candy Cane (December 18th) David Loki

How do you get a workaholic in the Christmas spirit? Asking for a friend.

Snowflakes (December 19th) Miles Miller

All the guests are taken care of for the evening, and a thick blanket of snow has descended upon the El Royale. What is a couple to do?

Caroling (December 20th) Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

Walking through the military town, the Dagger team is stopped by a small group preforming.

Handmade (December 21st) Austin Butler

Nothing made Austin happier than to be home with his girlfriend for Christmas. And they said no presents!

Angel (December 22nd) Marko

Everyone can see that Marko should have been a cherub in a past life, but one person brings that fantasy to life.

Stories (December 23rd) Dwayne

When you live for a long time and never die, you pick up some interesting tid bits of history.

Home (December 24th) Athos

Is it a place or is it a person?

Merry Christmas (December 25th) Bernard the Elf

Another year has come and gone. Another Christmas success. While he would normally jump straight into work now, someone tells him to take some time off to enjoy himself.

[fanficsfreeideas]

Crimson and Cedar

alastorshippermonth day 15 dystopian world - replace it with 6. playing in the snow drinking hot chocolate -Ship Fem! Alastor/ Fem! Adam

The winter air was crisp, filled with the scent of pine, as Alastor and Adam trudged through the snow, laughing like they always had. Snowflakes sparkled in their hair—Alastor’s crimson curls catching the light and Adam’s messy cedar-brown locks dotted with white. As the day wore on, they'd exhausted themselves with snowball fights, making snow angels, and attempting to build a snowman that had promptly toppled over as soon as they finished it, sending both of them into fits of laughter.

Hand in hand, the two women headed inside to warm up, cheeks flushed and noses tinged pink from the cold. The cozy warmth of the cottage welcomed them, and the crackling fire cast a soft, golden glow over the room. Alastor, ever the perfectionist, took charge of making hot chocolate, moving toward the kitchen with practiced ease. Adam, meanwhile, drifted to the small table by the window where Alastor had lovingly arranged their holiday decorations—a small wreath, a few candles, and an album filled with photos from their shared memories over the years. Smiling, Adam reached for the album but her fingers brushed against a small velvet box she’d slipped there hours earlier, tucked beside their favorite picture from childhood.

Her heart beat faster as she held the box, warmth blooming in her chest at the thought of what Alastor’s reaction would be. She had loved her best friend since they were kids, and over the years, their bond had only grown stronger. It seemed almost unreal that tonight, after so many memories, she would finally take this step.

“Adam?” Alastor’s voice called from the kitchen, stirring two mugs of steaming hot cocoa. The smell of chocolate filled the air, making Adam’s stomach flutter. “Are you going to come drink this before it gets cold, or are you just going to stand there in a daze?”

Adam laughed softly, slipping the box back beside the album, deciding to wait just a little longer. “Coming, coming! Don’t get your candy canes in a twist,” she teased as she walked over to the kitchen, where Alastor stood with two perfectly crafted mugs of hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon.

They curled up together by the fire, hands wrapped around their mugs, enjoying the quiet moments between them. The snow continued to fall outside, soft and steady, as they sat in comfortable silence. Adam kept sneaking glances at Alastor, mesmerized by how the firelight made her eyes sparkle, the warmth of the moment filling her with love so deep she could hardly contain it.

“Something on your mind?” Alastor asked, her voice warm and teasing as she turned to meet Adam’s gaze. Her smile was soft, and she always had a way of knowing when something was on Adam’s mind.

Adam felt her cheeks heat up, but she quickly looked down at her mug, trying to play it cool. “Oh, nothing,” she replied, trying to act casual. “Just… thinking about all the Christmases we’ve spent together, that’s all.”

Alastor’s smile softened. “It’s been a lot, hasn’t it? I can’t think of a single one I’d want to spend without you.”

That was it. Now or never.

Setting her mug down, Adam stood up and walked back to the table by the window, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for the small velvet box. When she turned back to Alastor, her gaze was steady, but her heart raced with anticipation.

Alastor looked at her, puzzled, her mug hovering halfway to her lips. “Adam? What’s that?”

Taking a deep breath, Adam’s voice softened, yet it was firm and clear. “Alastor… we’ve known each other our whole lives. You’ve been my best friend, my other half, and there’s no one else I’d rather spend all my Christmases—and every other day—with.”

With a flick of her fingers, she opened the box to reveal a simple but beautiful ring nestled inside. Alastor’s eyes widened as her breath caught in her throat.

“Will you marry me?” Adam asked, her voice a whisper, but it held all the love and warmth she’d built up for this woman who meant everything to her.

For a long moment, Alastor was silent, her eyes shimmering with unspoken emotion. Then, slowly, a radiant smile broke across her face, and she nodded, tears of joy brimming in her eyes.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice choked with happiness. “Yes, Adam. A thousand times, yes.”

They embraced, laughing softly as they wiped away each other’s happy tears, their foreheads touching as they reveled in the warmth of the moment—years of love and friendship transforming into something even deeper.

Later that night, as they curled up together in front of the fire, the snow still falling gently outside, Alastor’s fingers entwined with Adam’s. They stayed close, whispering quiet promises about the future—promises they had already made long before the ring was ever given.

As they drifted off to sleep, the last thing Adam heard was Alastor’s soft murmur against her ear. “Merry Christmas, my love. Here’s to a lifetime of them.”

[cor-lapis-candy]

So there is a very very talented artist on Instagram under the name daione.sith (100% look at their stuff! And of you have the money their patreon cause !!!! The NSFW versions!) And they have a demon Diluc drawing and good lord has it given me an idea.

So here I come like some kind of goblin out of my lil cave of Minecraft and grinding to give you this.

This piece doesn't really need a CW or a TW to my knowledge, but if religious themes or anything to do with possessive themes makes you umcomfy maybe don't read this one!

Have you ever seen the Anemo Archons cathedral in the afternoon?

Rays of golden light transformed into halos of gold and blue, green specks filling gaps between pure white streaks, the air filled with specks of dust that drift and paint the cracks between each colour stained display of devotion. Candles of every kind, pillars and tealights, long burning towers of wax that are lit day in and day out, melting and painting old stained wood with pools of faded whites and yellows, all long since forgotten and uncleaned after their purpose had been served.

There is piety in the air and whispered hymns on the lips of every soul that passes through those doors, heads bowed and hands offered in prayer and open devotion, and yet one resounding set of steps is all it takes to taint and defile, the solid click after click of his shoes against polished tile is a simple rhythm that sinks sin into the very stone foundations of the cathedral, a rot of domination seeping into the roots and curling around the heart of the church of freedom.

A demon in only your mind alone, and a saint in all others eyes, the uncrowned king and deep shadow across your devotion looms over you, standing as he always does, clothed in his jacket and hands ringed in simple yet daunting steel rings, lips moving through mockeries of prayer after prayer as the air fills with thick incense.

The censer by your side long since burnt out, a centerpiece to the flowing wreaths and displays of devotion through fruit and wine, the ash that falls and spills from the gaps tells of age and endless nights in the fogs of devotion and prayers that the red haired man that has come to curl around your back would disappear from your side, that 'The Diluc Ragnvindr' would turn those crimson eyes from you and find some other lamb to lead a stray, and yet again you feel the heat of his gloves drag across your arms, his hands pulling you backwards into the broad expanse of his chest.

The scent of incense is overpowered but the smell of oak, wine and something burnt, like the after scent of a fireplace or boiler pit, it smelt like iron and ash.

You know what lies under the heavy finery, that the moment you step out of these hallowed halls and step over the threshold of your home there is no archon or divine grace to save you, red hair will give way to arching horns and draping layers with loosen and fall away to leave the defined lines and markings of his true nature bare.

A sight many women and men would kill for will lay bare and inviting on your bed, legs spread with one hand lazily pumping his length. Fingers dragging the small trail of pre further down and making the ridges and inhuman shape all that more prominent, black trails that swirl across his hips and up around his chest, for something so inhuman he plays the role well, a thick swatch of red hair covers his chest and leads wispily down his stomach.

The deep red of his hair mats itself with sweat and other evidence of your entanglement, something of both his and your own, and yet it's not a matter of when you would give in but how.

Some Days he would catch you before you got into the cathedral, other day, ones much like this one, he would cradle you through your last prayers and escort you home, making you a sight of envy for all those that would catch sight of the two of you, and oh how people would see. The route he would make you take winds the many main streets and side roads, every set of envying eyes would watch as his gloves hands dug into your hips, how he let you push against him and made him chuckle.

The sound mistaken for mirth when really it was nothing but condescension.

Whatever his end goal was, Diluc Ragnvindr was working his way into your heart and head, somedays all it took was a flash of the fiery red of his hair and you would be wound up expecting those heavy hands and ash laiden words to coax you off your beaten path and into the dark of some ally for a quick moment of hushed breaths and shape teeth digging into whatever skin you had exposed or could be exposed.

But here in your home as he lays back, horns ripping through the plush pillow you had bought not a day before, red tipped claws digging into the soft skin of your hips and dragging you further and further down his cock making the finale ridge of something just shy of to big, to wide, too much for you, press against your opening as he huff out a laugh.

Today he would take you wholly, leave you gasping and open mouthed as he sunk that finale but of himself into you, stained you inside and out with himself, marks of theet and hands mean nothing to how he will know that he finally came in you, finally painted your inside with his spend.

How glorious it will be the day he gets you watch you stumble back from that cathedral to his winery, to drape yourself across his lap and grasp at the base of his horns and beg for him, true devotion to him, true adoration and nothing but from you, to him would be the icing on this long overdue cake.

For now though he will enjoy the fucked out and watery eyes stare from you as he pushes you that little bit further down his cock, bottoming out and drawing a deep gasp from your lips.

For now this will do…