#I know why. I just need to be able to have the energy to do those things and I just do not

[gothicpaperback]

THE WAY HE CARES | FIVE

<<< PART FOUR | PART SIX: COMING SOON >>>

wc: 3,5k | rating: 18+ for eventual smut | Joel Miller x You | Enemy Pregnancy

summary: Joel Miller has been my pain-in-the-ass neighbour for years. we argue more than we speakand when we do speak, it's usually through gritted teeth. but when my doctor tells me my fertility’s running out of time, panic sets in. I want a baby and I don’t have the luxury of waiting around for Mr. Right. Joel's a damn good father to his daughter, Sarah. that much, I can’t deny. so one night, fuelled by nerves and just the right amount of wine, I ask him the unthinkable: get me pregnant. no strings.no romance. just biology. i never planned on falling for him. but nothing about Joel Miller ever goes according to plan.

while the story is first person narrative, the OC female character is YOU. she is not named and barely physically described aside from being able bodied and having hair long enough to grab.

tags/warnings: neighbours, enemies to lovers, comedy, smut, sexual tension, mentions of fertility and reproductive issues, mentions of drugs and alcohol, self pleasure (male). i will add more tags as they become relevant.

taglist: @himboelover | @harrypotteranna23-blog | @isabella-rose-trastamara | @ro4nix | @sunndroppp | @harriedandharassed | @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 | @titlee78 | @olafsmiles2020 | @sophiagladiator

THE WAY HE CARES | FIVE

Joel shows up at my door the following ovulation window ten minutes after I send the text with no questions or weird follow-up. Just a simple: be there in a sec. 

I still can't believe he’s offered so kindly, so blindly. 

He walks in with his worn flannel rolled up at the sleeves, heavy boots thudding against my hardwood floors and he heads straight to the bathroom like this is the most normal Tuesday night task he’s ever signed up for.

"This is for you," I tell him when he arrives, holding out a six pack of his favourite beer. "As a thank you."

"Not necessary."

"I know." 

He nods, looking awkwardly around before placing the six back by the door. He rights himself, dark eyes sweeping over me. 

"So..." 

I motion for him to follow, pointing at the familiar door. 

“I left a cup on the counter,” I tell him arms crossed as I lean against the wall just outside the door. “Same one as last time. Washed, sterilized, emotionally traumatized.”

Joel snorts. “You’re real hospitable, y’know that?”

“Just trying to keep things professional,” I reply. “Like a very weird, unlicensed clinic.”

I move to the kitchen and hear the bathroom door click shut. I try not to listen in but I can't help it. I creep back into the hall, holding my breath. 

The faucet runs for a few seconds, maybe he’s washing his hands? Or trying to stall. He’s got this quiet nervous energy, which is wild because Joel Miller does not seem like a man who gets nervous. 

He’s the kind of guy who fixes your leaking sink without asking, leaves the wrench on your porch, and then scowls at you for saying thank you.

I pace back and forth with my body tingling and my skin warm. Five minutes go by and I'm consumed by the running thought that this feels different from last time but I can't explain why. 

“Uh.” His voice floats through the door hesitantly. “You got your phone on you?”

 “Why?”

“I forgot mine.”

“You forgot it again, or you didn’t want to bring it into the donation chamber*?” I make air quotes even though he can’t see me.

“Bit’a both,” Joel grumbles. “Look, I need something. I’m not seventeen, it takes more than imagination.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “You really want my phone?”

“Worked last time,” he mutters.

I groan, covering my face with my hand. “Fine. But no going through my photo albums.”

He scoffs. "You think I want to see your camera roll? Just pass it under.”

I unlock and slip the phone under the door and a second later, I hear the soft clunk of the cup on the counter and then the faint creak of the toilet lid. 

For the record, I am not imagining what Joel Miller looks like sitting there, hunched over, trying to do the world’s most awkward chore. I’m not. Okay, maybe I am a little. 

I hold my breath when I hear the unmistakable sound of a zipper being undone, the light clink of a belt. 

And then a soft, barely heard "fuck, baby."

I hear a soft rasp that has to be his hand on his cock gliding up and down... Up and down. Does he spit on it? Is it beading at the tip? Shit I need to get laid. 

The sound increases, the tempo faster and faster. The sound is getting slick, the tugging more frenzied.  I can hear him making soft little pants between gritted teeth of so fucking good and keep going darlin', just like that, you know just what I need. 

What is he watching? I'm dying to know. Is it just Google images? Pornhub? My knowledge of porn is limited so i can't imagine much further than that. I'm debating this when I hear a muffled groan and the volume on my phone spikes with a very loud, very feminine, very familiar moan. 

My entire spine locks as Joel curses behind the door. 

There’s a fumbling noise, skin against porcelain, phone slipping, a soft thud. He slaps the volume down, but not before I hear the worst sound possible: my own voice broken and whiny.

“Fuck, feels so good Daddy.”

Oh.

My.

God.

He hit one of my saved videos. The most humiliating one. The one no one else has ever seen besides me. And now him. 

“Joel,” I gasp, mortified. “What the fuck are you watching?”

Dead silence. I want to dissolve into the drywall. My face is on fire. Then Joel's voice is there through the door, irritated. 

"Why are you standin' out there? You listenin' to me?"

Fair question. 

"Don't flatter yourself, Miller. I was walking by to do laundry." 

He's quiet for a moment then I hear a small sigh. "You, uh… always record yourself?”

My cheeks flame knowing what video he landed on. 

Me, the camera propped to see me from above. One hand playing between my legs, the other pinching my hard nipples as I moan obscenities and writhe on my bed. I filmed it for my last hook up, some guy from tinder that begged me for a sexy video where I called him Daddy. I still can't believe I did it. 

But upon playback I found it to be too personal, too intimate and chickened out sending it.  However I looked really hot in it. Soft lighting, slutty negligee. So I kept it and I never regretted it until this very moment. 

“Give me the phone.”

“No.”

“Joel.”

“I’m already halfway done, for chrissake!”

“Using my video as inspiration?”

"I was watching somethin' and my finger slipped. I'm watchin’ something else now don't stress yourself." 

I bang my forehead lightly against the wall. “This is humiliating.”

“You want results or not?” he grumbles. “’Cause frankly, you’re not makin’ this any easier.”

“You used a video of me!”

“I didn’t mean to! It just played.”

Joel mutters something about "momentum" and I swear I briefly lose vision in my right eye.

I slide down to the floor, back against the wall. This whole plan is a disaster. A hilarious, humiliating, hormone-fueled disaster.Three more minutes pass in agonizing silence. I hear the occasional huff, a muttered “Jesus”, and once, weirdly, the sound of the faucet again. At this point I don’t want to know.

Then the door opens a crack and he stands there with pink cheeks. “Done.”

He stays in the doorway, still half inside the bathroom, like he’s ready to retreat again at a moment’s notice. Neither of us speak. The air between us is taut and unbearably awkward.

Finally, I say, “You really didn’t mean to hit that video?”

“No,” he says. Then, after a beat, “But it didn’t hurt.”

I suck in a breath. He shrugs one shoulder, eyes flicking up to meet mine. I stare at him. Finally he nods behind him.

“You gonna… do the thing?”

“I wasn’t planning on baking it into a lasagna, Joel. Yes. I’m doing the thing.”

He makes a face, then takes a cautious step back. “Right. Well. Hope this one takes.”

“Me too.”

“’Cuz this was plenty awkward.” he raises a brow, lips twitching. “Unless you keep uploading performance art like that.”

"Get the fuck out of here."

Joel laughs as he heads for the door. And even though I want to slam it behind him, part of me watches the way he walks, how he scratches the back of his neck like he’s still flustered, how he glances back once, just before stepping off my porch.

And how my body tingles wondering if our child will have his smile.

Sarah’s started waving to me when she gets dropped off by the bus. Not in that fake, I-have-to-be-nice-to-the-lady-who-lives-across the street-way. She does it casually, like we're friends. 

She drives by on her bike on sunny afternoons and tosses a greeting to me while I attempt to garden. Some days she even slows down long enough to chat about school, or soccer, or how the new guy at school is the most annoying boy on earth (even though I know she has a crush on him). 

I don’t know when it started, exactly. I think after that whole weird run in it broke the ice. Like she'd been wanting to talk to me the whole time and now had an excuse. And just like that I’m the neighbor she trusts enough to share her day when we both go to get our mail at the same time. 

She’s sweet, smart and sarcastic like her father, but way easier to talk to. She's charming in a way most pre-teen girls aren't.  So when she casually says, “Hey, we’re doing a cookout Saturday, you should come,” during one of her drop ins I don’t think she means it as a trap. 

She smiles all big and earnest and I can admit it disarms me. 

I blink. “Oh, uh… I don’t want to crash your family thing.”

“You wouldn’t be. I invited you.” She tosses her backpack over her shoulder. “And Dad always makes too much food anyway. Like, weird amounts. Who the hell needs fifteen burgers?”

I laugh. “Alright. Maybe for one burger.”

That Saturday I follow Sarah through the open side gate, the scent of grilled meat and charcoal already curling through the summer air. She’s chatting about how Joel just had to put in a pergola after seeing something on HGTV, and I half-listen, too aware of where I’m heading.

I haven’t been in his backyard before. I’ve seen flashes through my bedroom window, glimpses distorted by my blinds slats.

And now that I’m here, stepping into his space and I hate how impressed I am because his backyard is stunning. There’s a wide cedar deck that leads to a slate stone patio, a pergola strung with soft Edison bulb lights, and planters built right into the woodwork. There’s even a sleek built-in bench that curves around a fire pit in the corner like it was lifted from a designer’s sketchbook.

Of course Joel would know how to make something like this. He builds things for a living. But damn I'm jealous. 

“Didn’t think you’d actually show,” he says, flipping a burger with practiced indifference.

“Well, your daughter is oddly persuasive.”

“She gets it from her mom,” he mutters, and then glances at me. There’s sweat darkening the collar of his t-shirt, a smudge of soot on his forearm, and the look in his eyes, teasing, but cautious, makes something tangle up in my chest. 

"Burgers look dark," I say in an effort to change my thought process. 

"Is that a compliment or a complaint?”

“Guess I'll know when I eat one,” I admit.

He smirks, noticing my eyes go across his backyard again. My obvious jealousy must show on my face because he's chuckling. 

“You’re staring."

“I’m not,” I lie, because I am. “I’m just trying to figure out how many hours of HGTV and ego it took to make this place happen.”

He grins, setting the tongs down. “Ego? Please. This is pure craftsmanship.”

“Craftsmanship,” I echo, nodding solemnly. “Is that what we’re calling this level of overcompensation now?”

He lets out a short laugh and leans against the edge of the deck railing. This is comfortable for us, this gentle ribbing. It forces reminders of pregnancy and cups in bathrooms from our brains. 

Sarah calls out to telling me she wants to show me something. I use it as an excuse to step away, feeling Joel’s eyes on my back as I arrive to Sarah is showing me her new bike, the one she saved for with all her babysitting money. I give my compliments but mostly I watch her smile and the way she arches her brow like Joel when I say something asinine about not having streamers for the handles.

I listen to her patiently explain why she picked this specific model and I can see the way she worked hard to get it. These are all admirable traits, ones I want our baby- no, my baby - to have. Fingers crossed all her good attributes aren't from her mother. 

The afternoon isn’t terrible, if I’m honest. The food’s actually great; Joel can grill like it’s an Olympic event and there's corn on the cob, biscuits, chips and more. 

Sarah keeps the conversation going enough that I don’t feel like I’m intruding. We sit at a beautifully done patio table that I'm sure Joel made by hand. With Sarah taking the only seat across from us I'm forced in next to Joel, our knees bumping every so often. 

Joel’s less gruff when he’s got a beer in hand and a chatty daughter as a distraction. Noticing that I can't drink beer Joel pours me a tall glass from the jug of lemonade so sweet it sputter a choke. 

"I made it," Sarah announces proudly. 

"It's perfect," I say between small coughs. I catch Joel grinning behind his burger. He nudges my shoulder with his. 

"You need another glass? Seems like you dribbled most of that one down your front." 

"Dad! Be nice or she's never gonna come back," Sarah admonishes through a mouthful of burger. 

"Don't worry Sarah. I came for your company not his," I promise with a wink. 

"S'that so?" Joel says with fake offense. "No dessert for you then." 

"I'm the one that dessert," Sarah reminds him. 

"Oh right."

All at once she and I meet eyes across the table and burst into laughter at his response. 

And I look over, expecting to see Joel frowning or at least pretending to be irritated. But instead he's wearing this soft look as he glances between us and when we lock eyes there's something curling beneath my skin that feels unfamiliar and a little dangerous. 

I look away quickly with my cheeks burning, listening as Sarah asks Joel about their upcoming boat day with Uncle Tommy. I find myself intrigued with Sarah's stories about growing up with Joel. About camping trips and Joel's first day at the construction company with his brother Tommy. 

I learn a lot about the family. How Joel and his ex Penny split when Sarah was two. How for a while when she was transferred overseas for her dream job that it was just Joel and Sarah against the world. 

They all have a good relationship now and ever since she moved back, Penny is an active part of Sarah's life. And through it all I glance at Joel through my hair, seeing the way he smiles at his daughter, never interrupting her. How he nods and laughs and genuinely seems to enjoy her company. 

After a while I realize that despite my previous hesitation I'm actually enjoying my time here with both of them. It's comfortable. I like laughing and eating and relaxing with the Millers, it feels great actually.

And then I go inside to use the bathroom, my stomach a little rumbly. For a moment I worry that Joel might have overcooked the meat.

Sarah offers to show me where if it's and I'm momentarily distracted by the sight of Joel's, neat and tidy home because the moment I cross the threshold, it hits me: this is the first time I’ve been inside Joel Miller's house.

I think I thought maybe it would feel unfinished, rough around the edges like him. But instead, it’s calm and warm and lived in. I hesitate in the hallway. A framed drawing hangs there, a child’s sketch in marker, thick and wobbly.

To the best  Dad in the world, Love Sarah.

 A little house with flowers, a sun, and two stick figures holding hands. It guts me, just a little because it's obvious Joel keeps it right there, where he can see it every day.

For some reason I thought that I'd see a lot of empty beer bottles and clothes strewn about. And while there is the lived in quality, I cannot say that just anything less than tidy. 

"Just there," Sarah days pointing to a door. "I'm grabbing some cupcakes. You want one?"

"Chocolate?"

"I'm not a barbarian. Of course chocolate."

I laugh.  "Sure. Thanks!"

I find the bathroom down the hall and flick on the light. It’s surprisingly clean. Minimalist. No clutter on the counter, just a soap dispenser shaped like a seashell and a pink towel folded with military precision. 

Girl dad. 

I'm humming some dumb pop song Sarah had playing on her dad's phone earlier, when I feel it.

That unmistakable shift, a twinge and then the gut drop and I freeze, tears springing along my water line.

No. No no no. Please no. 

I tug down my jean shorts and panties, ass hitting the porcelain and I feel my stomach drop further. 

There it is. Blood. A visceral reminder of my failure. I stare at the bathroom wall, throat tight, heart hammering. It didn’t take. Again. My body made the decision for me. Final, Indifferent and cruel.

The rest happens on autopilot. I clean up. Flush. I haven't bled through my shorts thankfully. I wash my hands again even though I already did. 

I stare at myself in the mirror for a long moment, hands braced on the edge of the sink.

My face in the mirror looks normal, too normal because it doesn't look like the face of someone whose entire hope just slipped quietly away without so much as a warning cramp.

I slip out the side door, muttering something vague to Sarah about forgetting an errand, and ignore Joel when he calls after me from the grill, “You good?”

I’m not good.

I walk home, eyes burning, arms wrapped around myself like they can hold everything together if I just squeeze tight enough.

The knock comes about an hour later and I pretend I don’t hear it. But Joel’s not the kind of man who goes away politely, of her was we may have started out as friends.

“Hey,” he calls through the door. “You left your damn cupcake. ”

I shut my eyes.

More knocking. Then the handle jiggles. “I know you’re home. You're lights are all on."

“Go away, Joel.”

He pauses. "That was fucking rude you know. Sarah spent all afternoon makin' those cupcakes."

"Tell her I'm sorry."

"You can tell her yourself."

My throat tightens.

I don’t want to open the door. I don’t want to see him. But something inside me uncoils, half spite, half despair, and I open it anyway.

Joel’s there, brow furrowed, arms crossed. He looks angry. He takes one look at me and his whole face shifts subtly, but enough.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice lower now. Less bark, more something else.

I exhale. “I got my period.”

It lands between us like a brick. Joel blinks.

“Oh,” he says. Then again, slower. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Silence. He's a girl dad, not embarrassed but he's not exactly great with it. He is a Southern man after all. 

I fold my arms. “So you can stop acting like i was trying to hurt Sarah's feelings by running out of there.”

Joel rubs the back of his neck. “Shit. I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t. Why would you? You’re not the one counting days or tracking symptoms or hoping for nausea.”

He shifts. “You could’ve told me.”

“You’re not my boyfriend, Joel. You’re not my anything. You’re just the guy who drops off DNA.”

That stings. I see it in his eyes.

“I care,” he says, voice sharp.

I laugh bitterly and he looks down at the porch boards. 

"I'm sorry I'm being a bitch. This isn't your fault, Joel. I just feel like a failure." 

Joel looks up. 

“What?”

"I'm supposed to be able to do this without so much effort. I feel less than every other woman I see with kids."

He doesn’t speak. The silence stretches so long I almost close the door again.

But then Joel says, "You're not." 

I blink. “What?”

“You're not less than,” he repeats, stepping back. “You're strong and focused and you know what you want. You'll be a great mom some day and that kid'll be the luckiest child in the world to have you as a parent." 

Then he shocks me further. 

"And we can keep this thing going until it sticks."

I blink up at him. I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I'm afraid I'm going to start crying. 

"Joel I can't ask that of you, I finally say shakily. 

"I'm offerin', you just let me know when to come by." He looks awkward now. “Alright. I’ll, uh, let you be.”

He turns and starts back down my porch steps, the sagging wood creaking underfoot.

“Joel?”

He stops, head turned to the side, profile strong. "Yes?"

"Please tell Sarah I'm sorry about the cupcakes."

“I'll get her to drop you one tomorrow,” he says, “but only if I don't eat em all myself first." 

i'm really glad that so many of you are commenting and sharing and letting me know what you like. i would love if it you would keep doing that! xx

💋💋💋💋

[demigod-of-the-agni]

centipedes and peeps and all those weird genes that got lost along the way

aka i give you a rundown of known centipede genetics and tell you how kai could potentially get fucked up by getting his genes mismatched with a centipede's, spider-man style (i have a degree in scientifically accurate spidey so im more than qualified for this job)

body horror and medical warning? just beware. there are also centipede fun facts. people hate to see me coming in with real science

things we will be covering: blindness, a different way to smell things, no more getting tired, and more!! this paper here goes into what is the first complete sequence of the centipede genome, completed in 2014, and it is fucking phenomenal, give it a read if you want.

here we gooooo

centipedes via evolution, have lost the genes that encode for nearly every iteration of light receptors found in the animal world. they do not perceive light

yyyeeeah so this means they're just blind. blind kai truthers, eat your heart out with this one here. of course centipedes have other senses to rely on when it comes to navigation, but when it comes to kai, perhaps the light receptors in his eyes degrade over time? maybe he goes blind in one eye, or both? much 2 think about ...

centipedes also don't have olfactory receptors.

these bitches can't smell either. contrary to popular belief, smell does not actually contribute much to your perception of taste, so kai's tastebuds are going to be functioning normally, and sweets will be sweet and salt will be salty and shit will be shitty. he might not be able to anticipate food anymore, tho. sorry about that

for humans, all olfactory signals are carried out through the olfactory nerve (cranial nerve I). many studies out there have found that losing your sense of smell progressively is linked with many neurodegenerative diseases like Parkinson's and Alzheimer's. fear not, i'm not saying kai is going to lose his memory. it might be harder for him to establish new smell-based memories, or to recall memories that are heavily based on smells.

additionally. centipedes, while they don't have traditional olfactory receptors like most animals, they've got their own way of sensing smells. that's done with their antennae. if we're going to give kai antennae, he's going to use them primarily for smelling. research shows that when centipedes "smell" something of interest, their antennae quiver!! that's really cute. i don't know what it's like to sniff with some antennae so that's up to you to figure out.

also just anatomical note, it would be interesting if the antennae would technically integrate with/replace kai’s olfactory nerve…. ...

centipedes have tossed out the genes responsible for the circadian rhythm! their day-night cycles are completely whack

yeah, so, just to be clear. [turns invisible]

joking. in humans, the circadian rhythm is controlled by a bunch of different signals - temperature, light, food - in order to maximise how the body uses its energy throughout a 24hr day. the centipedes.. don't do that. they have no eyes, no light receptors, so that's already a huge stimulus (sunlight) that's essentially removed from how they perceive the world and how their cells calculate time. it's weird because other insects/arthropods DO have a circadian rhythm, so what the fuck do these guys have? we have no idea

we know that humans generally fall apart if we can't maintain our rhythms. kai probably gets the equivalent of 50 trillion red bulls and is running on whatever the fuck centipedes run on. he doesn't feel tired anymore. but his body can run itself to exhaustion and collapse. maybe. he needs to figure out the signs that indicate he's tired and needs to conserve energy.

"but agni if centipedes can't see light then why are they always running away from the sun" good question, it's because they have antennae. the antennae are heat-sensitive due to being covered by very fine hairs, meaning even just the simplest exposure to light will get these centipedes skedaddling into the dark. kai might probably experience a similar thing, tho it's incredibly ironic- a fire elemental master, literal heat generator, and yet his body just can't stand the heat like he wants to bury his fuckin head into the ground. or wear a helmet or a scarf (like. like in the new suits) or maybe stand close to someone who provides a damp and cool atmosphere (like. is this why we’ve been getting more kai and nya together?) more 2 think about

funnily enough, from the same previous paper, it says TESTOSTERONE as a hormone could potentially inhibit the effects of the heat-sensitive antennae. transmasc kai? transmasc centipede kai actively taking hormones might circumvent this issue? who knows, man, I don’t got antennae …

humans and centipedes have very similar antioxidant systems, while it’s insects that were stupid enough to evolutionarily lose them

you heard me right. common ancestor to vertebrates and invertebrates actually had antioxidant systems (which is basically numerous processes in the body that control the number of reactive oxygen species that get produced during metabolism and by environmental factors). somewhere down the line, insects decided they didn’t such complex systems, while the myriapods retained them.

how is this kai related? no idea. it could tie into his metabolism being slightly more efficient and he isn’t prone to having his dna damaged even further and he’s able to bounce back from injuries quicker? i fear it’s more dependent on his physical environment, as in will being in an environment that physically taxes him throw his antioxidant system out of balance? no clue, but good whump material maybe

okay that’s enough for now. I might make a post later about the functionality of things like a carapace and extra legs. it’d be cool frfrr like imagine,,,,,,, would the carapace be fused to his spine? who knows. it’s 12am man leave me alone

[sweepingboy]

Mu Qing is meditating next to him and despite the peaceful nature of the activity gives an impression of a pissed off cat.

The swamps are a neutral territory between their borders: always humid and swarming with mosquitos and restless dead - the place is a headache and even a greedy control freak like Mu Qing prefers "co-owning" to dealing with it alone. Or he just want Feng Xin to suffer too. He would never agree smelling the turf monsters on his own.

So here they are in an old inn sharing a room since apparently the place is extremely popular not only among ghouls. Or maybe the owner is a ghost himself and has an evil plan to choke them with the dust and mold in that casket. To his surprise ever so squirmish Mu Qing sighs heavily and walks inside. Feng Xin thinks that he must be really drained and feels a bit bad knowing that the man probably won't be able to rest properly after the mission.

Nights drag forever when you don't sleep, especially the summer ones. Drained in sweat after the long day of scorching sun at first you're relived when the it hides behind the horizon but it hardly gets better. The thinnest blanket feels like Kiln sticking to your body as you turn and twist trying to settle down.

"You can't do anything about it" he says when Mu Qing gives up pretending it's not bothering him and offers sleeping herbs.

"I have eight centuries of medical experience, you think I don't know how to treat insomnia?"

"I can fall asleep just fine", Feng Xin starts feeling agitated. Gods, the asshole is certainly experienced in being annoying and pulling his last nerve.

"So what's wrong?" Mu Qing sounds like he's winding up too.

"None of your business! Why the hell do you care?"

A bit of silence.

"Then suffer." the man seems to lose the remaining energy. "Just try not to make noise again" He closes his eyes and returns to meditation. Feng Xin feels a pang of frustration and somehow disappointment. Shame maybe. Mu Qing meant well it's not his fault he can't help.

He watches the man and feels his own exhaustion wash over him. He wishes he could just go to sleep but he wouldn't be able to rest when....

"I have dreams of you dying."

"Of course you do" Mu Qing responds quickly. Feng Xin can swear he managed to roll his eyes while keeping them shut.

"No I mean back then." Feng Xin turns away and focuses his gaze on the dirty curtains. He hesitates trying to come up with words to describe the endless nightmares that have been plaguing him lately.

Mu Qing falling into lava, Mu Qing bleeding to death, Mu Qing tortured to death by the Jun Wu him passing away in the medical tent he spent few weeks at. A tragedy after tragedy each night until he wakes up feeling even more tired than before.

When he turns back Mu Qing observes his face quietly.

"I don't like them." he whispers not knowing what else to say " they bother me a lot".

Words hang in silence. Somehow the confession seems bigger than it is. He's putting something into Mu Qing's hands and doesn't even know what it is.

"You did it though. You saved me. No matter how much i hate it you saved my life."

This takes Feng Xin by surprise and makes him chuckle. What an proudful ass!

"I'm not afraid to die for a good reason." Mu Qing continues calmly " And I don't need anyone to rescue me - but as long as you're around no matter what I think about it you will pull some shit and get me out. In spite of my opinion just to piss me off"

Feng Xin hums. Mu Qing being an ungrateful ass he is is surprisingly relaxing "What if I fail to do it one day?"

"Oh, you never fail to make me mad. This you can be trusted"

A wave of warmth washes over him. Mu Qing has that way of saying things indirectly Feng Xin got familiar with in the past few months. Passages of indifference are a way to hide a soft vulnerable something. But as he sits in front of him dressed only in the inner robes clinging to his body (not a look many people saw a great general Xuan Zhen in!) talking in that soft calm tone not meeting his eyes the veil of confusing statements seems a bit lighter and the outline of something is almost recognisable behind it. So Feng Xin takes his chance and makes an assumption.

"I'm glad you trust me - because I would do it again. I hope you will be mad at me forever if it means you're alive."He can swear Mu Qing's ears flush pink.

"Go sleep." He turns away pointedly. "And if you get one of those dreams again - I will wake you up" he adds quietly shooting Feng Xin a glance before finally facing away.

Feng Xin is still smiling as he makes himself comfortable on his pillow and allows himself to finally rest.

***

That night he dreams of Mount Tonglu - and it happens again: the fire, the leap but Mu Qing's in his arms as he should be. Scared then confused then angry at him and alive. And as he screams at him for getting him out, or for being too slow, or for gods know what else Feng Xin leans on and gives him a kiss on the lips to make sure he stays mad a bit longer.

[imsosoheee]

running | s.es

24. i know you better | wc: 924

once he felt fully rested, you were able to convince eunseok to join you for a walk at the han river.

“the fresh air might make you feel better,” you’d said. you knew it’d be difficult—sungchan always complained about eunseok being such a homebody. “i’ll buy you dumplings! steamed dumplings, so you don’t have to spend too much energy chewing. and we don’t have to stay long. just until the sun sets?”

maybe it was your big, hopeful eyes. or the way you tugged lightly at the hem of his shirt. or maybe it was just the sound of your voice—soft, careful, excited—that did him in.

whatever it was, it was enough.

the two of you walked side by side in the golden late afternoon, wind tugging gently at your hair. there were other people, couples on rented bikes, kids tossing snacks to birds, the low hum of music from portable speakers. but in your little bubble, it was quiet.

you realized you knew eunseok better than you thought. you could guess his favorite movie, color, and season without needing to think too hard. you knew his mbti, the way he tapped his pen when he was focused, how he hated when people interrupted him mid-thought. over the years, maybe you’d been paying more attention than you realized.

“we’ve known each other for how long now?” you asked, watching a group of clouds shift lazily above the water.

“since i transferred to the same middle school as your brother. so... eight years?” he looked at you, grinning slightly. “why? you surprised you know so much about me?”

“a little,” you shrugged. “but i guess we kind of grew up together. do you know me well, too?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he reached over and gently picked something out of your hair, letting his fingers linger for a moment longer than necessary. his voice was warm when he spoke.

“i bet i know you better.”

you blinked up at him, a little stunned. “prove it.”

he looked ahead again, smile curling slightly. “you don't just have one favorite color. you like anything that's gentle: beige, pink, sage green. soft things.”

you slowed your steps. “that’s... right.”

“you’re an isfj. you like staying in, but if you don’t go out every now and then, you feel off. you’d rather take photos than be in them. you never drink your coffee once it goes cold, then say you’ll reheat it, but never do.”

you didn’t respond. you couldn’t. your heart was caught somewhere between awe and something you couldn’t name.

“you want to work in marketing. or social media. something where you can create, express, and still take care of people.”

your mouth parted slightly in disbelief.

“you hum when you’re thinking. you get excited when you talk about things you care about, but then you get shy about it and try to change the subject.”

his voice was lower now, steadier.

“you give more than you take. always. you try to carry things alone because you don’t want to burden anyone. and it hurts you, but you still do it.”

you stopped walking completely, turning toward him slowly. the setting sun hit his face at just the right angle, like something out of a dream.

eunseok noticed you weren’t moving and paused, brows lifting in question. “did i say too much?”

you shook your head, the motion barely there. “no. it’s just…” your throat felt tight. “i didn't think anyone knew me this well."

and maybe that would’ve been the moment your hand brushed his. maybe it was an accident—maybe it wasn’t. but it was enough to send sparks up your arm. and when his pinky reached back for yours, it didn’t feel accidental anymore.

“you’re not the only one who notices things,” he murmured.

you looked down at your hands, barely linked, and swallowed hard.

“you missed one thing, though."

"oh, i did?" he challenged you, smirking.

"mhmm. i'm a huge otaku," you laugh at your words. "i guess not huge because you didn't know, but sungchan makes fun of me all the time. sometimes when i talk about anime, all he says is that we'd get along well."

“i would have never known," he laughed.

you go quiet as you take in the full picture of the world in front of you—the sun beginning to set behind the boy who just made your heart swell, your hands linked together by your pinkies as the evening breeze picks up. you found yourself wishing that today could last forever, leaving you and eunseok in your own little bubble.

"you feel better?" you ask in a small voice, knowing that your time together is ending.

he nodded. "much better, almost normal. thanks to you, though."

you smile. "i'll take care of you next time, too."

he doesn't say anything, feeling his phone buzzing. "ah, they're almost back," he explains to you as he reads his texts.

"it would have been nice if they had a two day, two night trip," you said without thinking, hoping he didn't catch what you said.

"mmm, i agree," he replied cooly. "should i ask sungchan if i can sleep over?"

your face warmed at the suggestion, pushing the boy away. "no! he'll definitely say no because you're sick."

"but you slept beside me twice—"

you placed your hands over your ears, not wanting to hear his teasing anymore. he smiled brightly at your cuteness, raising his hands in surrender as you two made your way back to his apartment.

running next back

a/n: sorry i just reread this and it's lowkey cringey af LOL but...😭 teasing eunseok,, next chapter is back to social media heh sorry for writing sm

🔖: @jaellymint @haruharua @banez @karebearyu @yoursyuno @rksbae @kamelyrics @kkunyangz @alwayswonbinning @ch2won @nujeskz @smiles4hyuck

[charlie-shmarlie]

i LOVE your loki writings so much omg, i had an idea for headcanons, basically inspired by "out of hand" that you wrote. maybe like headcanons for loki when he gets in those sorts of moods. i dont really know how to describe it sorry 😭 but i loved the energy from that fic id love to see more if you had the ideas <3

Aww, thank you so much, I'm so glad you do!! I'll absolutely get working on that! Thank you for requesting 💜

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When he gets in a playful mood: Loki Laufeyson headcanons

Some silly headcanons of Loki's playful moods (based around this oneshot here!<3)

TW: none

Fluff ☁️

Requested !

I'm currently taking requests!♡

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As I said before, Loki tends to get these random outbursts of energy surprisingly often. No one really knows why. Does he have ADHD? Perhaps he's secretly a cat disguised as a god who needs to get his zoomies out? Or maybe he merely just loves being a terror? Who knows. Regardless, it's a habit (if you could call it that) that he just never grew out of.

That's right, it's been happening ever since he was a little child. Thor and Frigga can attest to that.

You'll almost always be able to tell when that trouble-making itch is creeping up on him. That switch between calm and chaos will flip, and suddenly, he seems... different. Maybe a little more intense. Maybe he'll speak a little faster. Maybe he'll just stare at you with that familiar smirk on his face that always comes with these moods.

It will start off small and then-- BAM! He's jumping you from behind and pinning you down to the floor. Why? Cause he can.

Lowkey, terrifying chases. It's all playful, but it may not feel like it when you've suddenly got a literal god sprinting after you, making all kinds of threats that would make you believe he either wants to kill you or... do something else...

No worries, though. When he does catch you (because he absolutely will), you'll get attacked with nothing more than kisses.

Honestly, it can all be a bit overwhelming, especially for the first few times you experience this with him. It can be overstimulating, even a little scary. But if he ever notices that he's gone too far, he'll stop and apologize for letting himself get carried away. He would never mean to hurt you.

Play fighting ALL the way. He loves just grabbing you and roughing you up. You give him major cuteness aggression when he's in such a state.

Imagine him calmly excusing himself from a serious conversation, just to run off and find you, wherever you are, hurl you over his shoulder, and make off like a thief.

His highly energized moods also include causing trouble for you and whoever else is within range at the moment, so don't think it's all just conveniently cute things he does. We're talking turning your plate of food into a plate of larvae and maggots. Or cutting your hair terribly. Or turning into a snake and... okay, he only does that to Thor, but you get my point.

Want a word of advice? DO NOT give him any kind of food that has dyes in it. It makes it worse. His system isn't used to such ingredients, mostly because they aren't really a thing in Asgard, so whatever you do, don't give him anything, especially candy, that has food colorings in it.

One of his previous outbursts may or may not have started an intergalactic war between two other planets because he simply wanted to see what would happen if he pitted them against each other.

War. That's what happens, Loki. War.

Him in the midst of his zoomies or whatever tf is wrong with him ⇩

Depending on how energized he gets, when it starts to ware off, he actually might get a bit tired. All that terrorizing and instigating can be exhausting.

Whether if he's already with you or if he has to come find you, he'll likely just silently wrap his arms around you from behind and bury his face into your neck until you give in and cuddle with him.

Winds down by picking up a book he likely discarded earlier and holds you close to his side while he reads, like nothing ever happened.

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[pipecleaneradventures]

(I wish I could have time to edit this so it's less of an axious mess, but I've already taken too long, and I need to do something or things will just getting worse. But this post has so much anxiety in it even for my standards. But I'm just so scared and sorry.)

Sorry to be asking this of the best followers anyone could ever have. I call you all my friends because you are so kind to me all the time. Would you guys all hate me if I started using Patreon? I know I hate myself for even thinking of feeling like I need to use it. That’s also why I don’t sell my critters anymore because I fear it’s unfair to you to have to pay for something I made, and like I’m making you have to pay me, even though I’m not, and I'd be making new things just for you. I feel so guilty to even ask this of you guys after you’ve already done so much for me. I’ve been thinking of it for over a year now because I don’t have a job, and really can’t do anything else.

But you guys have already done so much for me in just liking what I make and being patient, encouraging me, trying to help me feel better when I’m depressed, and being there through everything. I’m really sorry for all the depressing comment responsses I give months after your kind comments, but I give them because at least I’m finally saying something. You guys are such good friends to me. How could I ask for more because you guys are the best and I don’t know where I’d be without you. I'm as sorry as can be. I promise to make lots of extra content for you guys, so I’m not just asking things of you, I’m giving you things in return, but it still feels to me like that would be unfair to you.

When I first thought of setting up Patreon I was thinking how it already takes all my energy to make what I’m already posting (because I post every day) so how can I make more? (And I was feeling less of a broken mess mentally back then.) Well now, I don’t have much of a choice. I either set up Patreon and push myself really hard to make more content or else i'll be unable to make pipe cleaner things anymore, and I really want to keep making pipe cleaner things for you guys. It’s the only thing I’m good at doing. I’ll still keep making the same kinds of normal content I’ve been making for years. It's just that I’ll also be making extra things as well. I really hope I can make the extra things. I must find a way. So I’m not saying you have to sign up for my Patreon. I’m just wondering if you would hate me for having it at all, and if you would hate me then I won’t set it up and I’ll just forget this crazy nonsense. I just don’t want to lose everything.

But this probably all sounds like I’ve been pretending the whole time to have all my emotional problems like anxiety and depression. It probably sounds like it was all a lie so you’d feel sad for me. And that’s not true, everything I say is sincere, but I have no way of proving that you can trust me. I’m just some person online who could be anyone. I might not even be a person at all, who knows? I don’t mean to even mention my struggles until I’m completely broken. I have a disability as well, but I don’t mention it often because I don’t think it really matters. I should be able to do what everyone else does, so if I struggle a little more, it doesn’t matter.

I feel so sorry that I don’t even say anything in my posts anymore unless I’m saying sorry for being so depressed. But I really feel that I’m of no value to anybody. So, this is really hard for me to ask for a little help like this because I don’t want to lose you guys’ trust. I still want to have you as friends, and I wouldn’t be hurt if you couldn’t support me on Patreon. I totally understand. But asking doesn't hurt right? Even though I feel like it does. But I understand if you’d think bad things of me for wanting to get something in return for creating something. I understand that. I also hate myself, a lot.

I just soared. I don’t wanna have to do this, but I kinda have no other option, and if I’d done this earlier maybe I wouldn’t have gotten this bad because I would have felt more useful like this is my job and not just a silly hobby. At least others might see me as something useful, unless of course they hated me for charging for my creations which is totally understandable. Remember, I hate myself more than any of you ever could. And it’s not that I don’t trust those of you who might possibly still like me. I just don’t like myself. But I’ll try so hard to make extra thigns for you, no matter what it takes.

[autisticlee]

no one knows just how hard I work at things. how I have to work 1000000x more than the average person to compensate for being autistic and adhd and probably other things i'm working out with therapist, and having a sort of physical disability i've not received any help or treatment for. everyone assumes I don't try or give up too soon. they think I just started, need more practice. they think I expect everything handed to me immediately with no work or effort and don't acknowledge the multiple years i've put into things. they think I have no right to be upset about still failing to get where I want even after working my entire life to get there, while watching people around me surpass even my meager goals within a fraction of the time and work i've out into the same thing. constantly getting surpassed by everyone around me who seem to barely do any work to get there compared to me. it's all handed to them and falls into their lap so easily. all because they don't have the extra obstacles to overcome and work around that I do. while they go from point A to Z immediately with no major stops in between, I have to go through every single letter and then some, often getting sent back to the start. but it's always *my* fault, according to everyone. it's not the fault of those around me who ignore me, don't support me, don't help me, don't believe in me, etc. it's my fault they don't do those things. because doing the work of 10 people in one isn't enough, just because it's me. and not reaching Z as fast as everyone else means I don't deserve any of the support or help or anything else and means i'm not trying hard enough. it doesn't matter that I *need* to work harder than 100 "normal" people combined to get even half the result! Just because I can't reach what they do means i'm not trying hard enough! ugh.

[bbq-potato-chip]

i can't think about drawing right now I HAVE THINGS TO DO!!!

[orcelito]

Honestly sooooooo fucked up that I thought my overwhelming daily fatigue and debilitating body pain was a product of the awful working conditions I was under for years and years... and yet, despite being out of work for half a year now, I'm still so fatigued and in pain all the time??? Like come on man that's not fair

Oh well maybe I have liver disease and they'll treat it and then I am magically so much more energized like I was as a kid. We can only hope !!!!

[lexicals]

Swear to god I don't know why I ever try to bring anything up with that woman it's never a good idea but every time I'm like "what if this time I'm not immediately told I'm wrong". Call me either an optimist or a fool

[m34gs]

I am so tired

so run down.

And I'm honestly so sick of this. I am so sick of being tired and not having the energy and my head feeling like there's things buzzing under my skin and like it's heavy and full and can't stay upright the minute I get home from work. It's not fair. I put so much effort into work because I have to; it's not a job one can really afford to fuck up, and then I don't even get to have energy to do things I want to do outside of it. I fucking hate this.

I mean, I haven't been able to write all week because of this. I have barely been able to stay awake long enough to eat supper after work. Even if/when I take a nap, I can't function fully afterward and it makes me want to cry. It took me all week. All Week. To respond to a friend's prompt because I could barely write a couple paragraphs each day.

I want to cry so bad right now.

[naenaex0xx]

good nini <3

[alphalesbian]

Like whose gonna try and call THEMSELVES a brother to YOU while not being able to withstand a very expectable period of silence from me of which he was forewarned about as a possibility no matter how much Id rather it not happen if I had the choice, and regardless of how he interpretted that I Was Going To Try To Give That And Could Not Right There Because Thats Something Im Working On and You Also Know That. And wants to say I DONT know what LOVE is! btw.

[tyracaterinagrant]

sigh had another category 5 "i can't say no to my coworkers when they ask me for help even if i want to" event at work today

[connormoving]

okay sooo 1. once little man is done with my laptop i need to do the ssn shit bc i have the letter 2. in an hour i need to switch my laundry to the dryer and at Some point i need to sleep preferablyyyy i oush as long as i can its been 28 hours i Think? since i woke up i dont avtually remember its all kind of a blur i do have a headache and my fuckshit tooth is bothering me but whatever . once i get the ssn login thing done im pretty sure i can get a new card like right away and then once that gets here i can go and get my permit And by then my new glasses will be here which is epics and ummm at some point not today bc im tired and have a headache aka not at my best. so once those 2 things r not the case i need to do the science and math ged practice tests ive been putting them off bc im scared ill do bad SKULL.but i need to get those done ... and omce i have the permit and everything thennnnnn i can go do my actual proper ged tests and once those r done ill have my ged and an id and thus can start applying for jobs again And ill be so brave and ask my mom to teach me how to drive . YIPPEE

[tallaennatargaryen]

Wife Speak

Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: You asked Bucky to install the security camera a month ago, and he still hasn’t done it. You take matters into your own hands, to his vexation.

Warnings: Bucky's been too busy to do what you asked, you put yourself in slight peril, worried!Bucky, gentle manhandling, protective!Bucky, mention of previous injury, my own lack of construction know-how so I apologize for any inaccuracies, no use of Y/N

This is my first time writing in second person so hopefully I did okay! This was inspired by this short I saw on YouTube.

You were good at a lot of things. The team’s go-to “girl in the chair,” there was no one better at intel, strategy, quick escape plans, and getting into just about any system you were presented with. You’d had the Avengers’ lives in your hands countless times, and never led them to put a foot wrong. Somehow, you, a girl with just a bachelor’s degree, a–perhaps excessive–perfectionist streak, and a mini fridge full of energy drinks to help you stay sharp on overnight missions, had become indispensable to the Earth’s mightiest heroes.

But you couldn’t install a security camera above your front door.

As smart as you were, you were probably equally as uncoordinated. All the bruises in odd places told the tale of your frequent misfortune. Walking by itself often presented a perilous challenge, so standing on a ladder, balancing precariously with expensive equipment and sharp objects in your hands seemed like a perfect recipe for a trip to the ER and a costly bill for tech replacements.

Which was why you’d asked your husband, a super soldier with a metal arm and a keen eye for home repairs, to do it.

A month ago.

And three weeks ago.

And two weeks ago.

And last week.

You were tired of waiting. Bucky, of course, was busy, and often away on missions, but you only ever asked him to do it when he had a moment to spare. He’d said he would, every time you’d asked, but there was still no camera above your front door. On top of it all, the camera had been Bucky’s idea, a little extra security for when he was away on missions; it was one of Stark’s smart cameras, which could differentiate between a mailman dropping off a package and a criminal about to break into the house. Bucky didn’t exactly know how all of that worked, but he was good with the installation, and you both knew better than to assign the job to you. But the camera had sat there for a month, collecting dust on the dining room table, and despite all his promises, you knew it was time to take matters into your own hands.

And maybe get a little payback while you were at it.

It was a warm spring day, and the front door was open to let the breeze in but the screen door was in place to keep the bugs out. Bucky was in the kitchen, making lunch, so he’d be able to hear everything easily, between his proximity, the open door, and his enhanced hearing. Smirking to yourself, you set up the ladder as quietly as possible, knowing that that alone would tip Bucky off and make him come rushing out before you were ready. If this was going to get done today, you needed to execute the full plan.

Picking up the electric drill and the mount for the camera, you put one foot up on the ladder, and held down the trigger of the drill for a few seconds, causing a loud whirring sound to tear through the quiet midday air. Just as you took another step up and held down the trigger again, Bucky’s voice carried out from the kitchen.

“Doll?” he questioned, and it took everything in you not to laugh. You gave no answer, instead only whirring the drill once more as you climbed to the top of the ladder. “What are you doing?”

You might have felt bad about the panic and concern in his voice, but if he’d done this a month ago when you’d asked, you wouldn’t have to go to such lengths to have it be done. Natasha had called it wife speak, when women use their sly little tricks to get their husbands to do what they need to. She used it with Banner, Pepper used it with Tony, Wanda used it with Vision; it was a universal language amongst women when requests and orders just weren’t cutting it.

Holding the mount up against the wall, you furrowed your brow in concentration as you tried to figure out how to hold the mount, place the screw, and drill it in all at the same time with only two hands. Judging by the purposeful footsteps pounding towards the front door, you knew you wouldn’t have to keep trying to figure it out for long. Still, you kept up the ruse, because he needed to think you were serious about doing it yourself if he was going to get it done right this minute.

“Baby, what are you doing?” Bucky asked, voice raising with alarm as he found you balancing precariously on top of the small ladder. Paying him no mind, you decided to just wing it and put the drill into the head of the screw, pulling the trigger to send the screw spinning into the wall. For extra effect, you added a little wobble, just enough to make Bucky worry more but not so much that your uncoordinated self would actually fall. “Honey! Stop! What are you doing?”

“What?” you responded innocently, still not turning around. “I’m putting up the camera.”

“Why?” His hands grasped at your waist, but you pushed him away as you continued your ruse and placed the next screw.

“Because it needs to go up?” you said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, because it was, hello, and you’d asked him to do it so many times. Once more, you placed the drill into the screw head and let it rip, watching it spin into place. Maybe you could do it yourself. Maybe impatience was all it took to overcome your incoordination. 

“Baby. Baby, baby, baby.” Bucky’s hands were on your waist again, this time with a firmer grip so you couldn’t brush him off so easily. “Come off the ladder.”

“It needs to go up, Bucky,” you insisted, milking your moment of acting for all it was worth.

“I know, so I’ll do it, okay? Just please, come off the ladder.”

“I’ve asked you a million times over the last month to do it and you still haven’t, so I’m gonna do it and then I’ll know it's done.”

The drill was slightly stuck in the screw head once it was screwed all the way in. You gave it a tug, and the force of it combined with the resistance of the drill to come loose caused you to tip backwards slightly; for a moment, you thought you might fall, but you regained your balance after a second or two. Still, it was a second or two too long for Bucky, who’d had enough of asking nicely and being patient. 

“Alright, that’s it,” he declared, using his strength and his grip on your waist to lift you off the ladder and set you on the wooden boards of the porch like you were little more than a doll. You almost grinned at the move, as being on the receiving end of his enhanced strength and fierce protectiveness always made your stomach do somersaults. By the time he spun you around to face him though, you had regained your self-control and regarded him with a displeased scowl. “What are you doing, huh, doll? You know I don’t like you up on that thing.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huffed, “Well, someone has to put the camera up, since you’ve proven yourself incapable.” You turned to step back onto the ladder, but Bucky grasped your arm gently and pulled you to him, maneuvering at the same time to take the drill and the remaining screws from you. You resisted, but even when he was diluting his strength, you couldn’t hope to best him, so instead you started to complain, “Bucky-”

“I know, doll, I know,” he said, voice soft as he pried the drill and screws out of your hands. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and then your nose for extra contrition. “I’m sorry. I should’ve done it when you asked me to, but I’ll do it right now, okay? Just…please stay off the ladder?”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m a girl?”

Bucky chuckled in amusement, his free hand rising to cup your cheek and pull you closer so he could press a sweet kiss to your lips. You melted against him instantly, as you always did, because Bucky always kissed you like he was trying to transfer his heart from his body to yours, deeply and wholly and with every ounce of love that he had. After a moment, he pulled away, though he kept his nose touching yours as his twinkling eyes gazed at you adoringly. “It’s not because you’re a girl, it’s because it’s you, doll. The last time I trusted you with a drill and screws, you drilled your sleeve into the wall and broke your finger trying to pull it free.”

Nose scrunching and lips pouting, you did your best to fight off a smile, trying to lay it on just a little thicker to make sure you would get what you wanted. “Promise you’ll do it right now?”

“Pinky promise.” Bucky held up his pinky finger between you, and you locked yours around it. “You can stay and watch if you want, just to be sure. I think you’ll like the view.”

Rolling your eyes, you gave him another quick peck before stepping back and nodding for him to climb up the ladder. Once his back was turned and he was on the top step, your mischievous smirk returned in full force, not only because of your triumph, but because you really did like the view.