#gay!reader

“She’s been moved to the office,” He paused, scanning your face “It’s easier that way,” The clinical tone of his voice shocked something in your system, gone was the lilt of fondness you’d once been privy to. 

Trepidation prickled beneath your skin, twisting at the cords of your throat as you dared to glance back at him. It wasn’t unexpected– returning home always brought back old feelings– but the rise in which all your past walls of vigilance came barrelling up still surprised you. The bygone fear of being seen together returned, grasping at your lungs as you scanned the street for any passerbyers. 

“No one cares,” He conceded as a certain softness settled in the corner of his eyes. 

Something sharp tangled into your expression, his lenity no match for the truth at hand, “I care,” You bit back, “Now can you let me in?”

The office, once nestled in a quiet corner in the back of the grand home unfurled before you as a transformed oasis of comfort care– “palliative,” was the word the head nurse on your mothers team, Irene, had said over the phone.It didn’t matter how quiet his footsteps were, you knew he was there trailing behind you. Before stepping into the room you glanced back into the hallway, his expression was pensive, albeit remorseful. The latch locked into place, in turn shutting out the memories that threatened to rise at your lash line with a quiet click. 

Regardless of death, your mother’s taste for opulent things was ever present. She lay, propped up against a throng of silk cased pillows, the sheets the same expensive cream colour she’d always had on her bed upstairs. Although familiar, the bedding did little to masquerade the fact she was propped up in a hospital bed. A fresh bouquet of flowers sat in a crystal vase by her bedside, accompanied by a compact of rouge and her favorite lipstick. A cart stacked full of medications and medical supplies to her right. 

It was strange to see her skin so pale, her wrinkled skin now pulled taut by gravity. The years of botox you knew she’d gotten seemed to have done nothing for the end of her days. Her always honeyed hair cascaded in a halo around her head, a clear demarcation from when it was last bleached harsh against her scalp. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen her without her hair styled, the loose waves she’d kept hidden all your life a reminder of the priorities she’d held throughout your childhood. 

As a child, when you’d tiptoed down the hallway to her room after a bad dream, she’d seemed rigid, even in sleep. For once she looked peaceful. Her face was relaxed, or at least something that could be read as contentment woven beneath the flesh, but you were only guessing. 

There was nothing to be said in the repose of the room, at least nothing that meant anything at this point. So you sat back in the overstuffed armchair that had been moved from the parlour to her bedside, and you sank into the tranquility you’d yearned for in her presence your entire life. 

Brushing your thumb over the back of her hand you noticed how her skin had grown crepey, veins thick and protruding through the thin membrane of her body. No amount of cosmetic surgery could fix the truth of the matter, her hands an evading minatory of the truth: your mother had aged, dementia had settled into the valleys of her brain, eating away at everything you’d ever known of her, ultimately robbing you of the fleeting hope that one day she’d be kind. 

Despite your best efforts, there was no stopping the tears that welled in your eyes. You looked up at the ceiling, choking back the sob that pressed against the base of your throat. There had been so much time to face reality– so much time you’d wasted on trying to forget the past. But how could you face her in such an unknown? You’d done your part. You’d coordinated her care, hiring a nursing agency and clicking the green ‘approve’ button on the website they used for payroll every Sunday. You nodded through their weekly updates, approving changes in her care plan without the blink of an eye; “Whatever you think is best, uh-huh, sounds good.” None of Irene’s updates ever really stuck. 

Facing her, even in her final days, was an admission of your failure. Failure as a son. Failure as a man. And worst of all a failure to yourself. 

You let the tears fall in cascading rills past the peak of your cheekbones. They were the fat, hot kind of tears. The ones that bring a wave of phlegm and labored breaths. Her fingers were cold between your hands. The spark of the woman you’d known extinguished deep in the hearth of her body. She was alive, but barely. 

Maybe it was better that way. 

A quiet knock stirred you and your hands fell from your mothers, the brief moment of connection snapping like a taught wire at your fingertips. You sucked back the snot that begged to drip from your nose, wiping away the salt that glazed beneath your eyes. Just as quickly as your walls came crumbling down when you’d stepped into the room, her room, a stronger enceinte rose in its place at the sight of Harry. 

His lips pursed at the sight before him, eyes rounding just enough to show a softness you so desperately needed but couldn’t quite take from him. “Sorry to bother,” He murmured, “It’s time for her medication.” 

“Of course,” You mumbled as you wiped your hands on the rough denim of your pants. 

Rising from the overstuffed armchair you made your way towards the door, just barely crossing paths with Harry as he reached for the cart of her medication. 

“You can stay, I’ll only be a minute,” His voice was calm, even in the chaos of your mind. It carried a confidence you so desperately wished you could possess in that moment. 

“No, it’s okay, I need a minute.”

You didn’t look back as you exited the room, too afraid of the sight of Harry tending to your mother’s care– tending to the one person who made any prospect of a life with him impossible. 

The estate was always quiet, your mother wasn’t one for undue ‘raucous’ as she’d called it. She’d never played music. She’d rarely had friends over. It always felt like such a waste of a home; all this space, all these lush things, and yet it was reserved only for her. Moving through the kitchen you reverted to the same vigilance you’d had instilled since birth. Quiet footsteps, careful deposition– no clanking, no clattering. Even the kettle whistling on the stove top felt like a crime. 

As you waited for your teabag to steep, Harry padded into the kitchen, his hands deep in the pockets of his pants. Suddenly the grout of the floor became the most interesting thing in the world. 

“She’ll probably be out until this evening,” He broke the silence, “The gabapentin always puts her out for a few hours, at least.” 

“Okay, thank you,” You said, raising the mug to your lips, not caring that the brew was still weak. 

From your periphery you watched as he leaned against the counter opposite you, arms crossed. Something unspoken hung in the air– a mix of unease and remorse. Something neither you nor Harry felt could be named. You couldn’t bear to look at him, even if he could you. 

“I’m really sorry,” Harry broke the silence, the careful timbre of his voice the right frequency to crack whatever fortification you’d built, “I thought you knew.” 

Glancing past the rim of your mug, you met his eyes for the first time since your arrival. His lips were pursed, pulled to one corner of his mouth in thought. There was an edge to his features you had yet seen, one that reminded you of the lost years between the two of you. One that reminded you of the robbery of maturing together you’d been forced to endure. 

Still you kept yourself guarded, eyes narrowing in cynicism, “It doesn’t matter.” 

Dismissal felt like betrayal on your tongue– to uphold the coldness you’d obliged in the transference into adulthood. A betrayal to who you wanted to be and what you wanted to become. A reminder that you were your mothers child. 

“I think it does,” He challenged, arms steady across his chest. 

He’d always been this way: A challenger to every notion you’d had instilled. A disruption to the corrective course you’d been placed on since birth. A threat to the sanctity your mother had inculcated your entire life– he was a threat to your predetermined promise, a kindler to the vein of truth your mother had worked hard to suppress. He was wrong– wrong for you and more importantly wrong for your mother.

His presence in this very home was a testament to the state of your mother’s wellbeing. A reminder that she was unwell. A reminder that the vindictive bitch she’d always been had died and been replaced by someone of unsound mind. She’d never have let him in if she’d known– but she was gone in that sense and Harry was here now. 

“I’m not staying here,” You paused, “If you were wondering.” 

“Okay.” 

You placed your mug on the counter, the worry of leaving a ring on the marble a fleeting thought, “Call me if anything changes.” 

Your shoulders barely skimmed as you brushed past him. 

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

The night dragged on endlessly. No combination of edibles or subpar hotel wine could satiate the ebbing ambivalence of your emotions. You cocooned yourself in lush hotel sheets, your mind wandering in between the static states of the present and the past. 

Part of you was surprised Harry was still here, still in your hometown. That he’d clung so close to home after all those late nights the two of you had spent daydreaming about the future, about getting away. Reverie had gotten lost along the way, not just for him, but you too. In the quiet of the night fingertips had etched so deeply into the skin of your waist that you’d thought Harry was worried about you disappearing beneath his touch. He’d whispered softly into the shell of your ear quiet murmurs of promise and hope, things that only could be uttered in the sanctuary that your bodies created beneath crisp cotton sheets. 

At the memory, you recoiled beneath the cold cotton of the hotel bedding, the ghost of his touch almost there. You weren’t two kids in love anymore. The relationship had ultimately been one soaked in delusion and naivety. But part of you missed the bygone days of puppy love; a series of firsts and ultimately a series of lasts. Nothing had felt as right since you’d left the unwavering authority of your mother and gone off to university. You’d since fooled around and dated. You’d let yourself explore queer identity without censorship or prying eyes. But nothing ever stuck like Harry did– and you hated that admission. 

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

You visited in short bursts over the following days. Popping in to check in on the state of your mother and speak with her aides. Irene and Susanna were lovely. It was clear in their crystalline eyes and kind smiles that they held no judgement for your detached involvement. They were here for you now, and that, you accepted with what little grace you’d carried in with you.

Irene’s touch was soft on your shoulder as she rounded your chair in the vacant parlour with a fresh mug of tea for you. She spoke with a candor and confidence that felt intransmissible over the phone. Already you knew that time was fleeting, but hearing the truth in digestible and professional terms began to settle the uncertainty you felt about the coming days. 

You checked off lines on your mental checklist as the signs of death rolled in. Visiting just enough to get the run down from the aides and to not feel guilty about being absent. You managed to mostly avoid Harry, visiting only in the morning when you knew Irene or Susanna were there.

Despite your boss granting you a leave of absence, you still filled your spare time with work. Maybe it was foolish, dedicating yourself to what was ultimately busy work, but it gave you something to do that was not thinking about what was lost and what you were losing. 

It was two nights before her passing that Susanna called you to let you know things were near. With clear skies and an edible clouding your mind you caught the bus across town. It felt good to walk and you couldn’t help but admire the clement skies. Looking up you swore the cloudless night held a promise of clarity, one you couldn’t pass up on. A newfound calmness washed over you, a quietude like the hush the town carried. You’d prepared for this, to say goodbye, and already in a sense you had when you’d left for school. 

The red door was illuminated by the golden glow of the porch lamp. The lights were off upstairs but you knew that someone was inside. Your feet didn’t feel so stuck when you stood on the street, admiring the home that raised you. Those roots had been yanked long ago and new ones had taken their place without you even realizing. 

There was no need to knock, whoever was there would know you were coming. It felt more natural than the visits before as you stepped in. The house was quiet, but not absolutely so. Soft voices came muffled from where your mother resided. The hush of their tones gentle as you approached the cracked door. 

the quiet of the house no longer felt like a warning.  

Pushing open the final barrier between you and her, you were greeted by gentle smiles. Susanna was seated in the armchair you’d sat in when you’d first arrived, Harry on the opposite side in a chair from the dining room. Something about the incongruity made you smile. If only your mother knew she’d be dying in a room with mismatched furniture. 

“Hi,” Susanna greeted in a hushed tone, “Here, I’ll make you a cuppa,” She quickly excused herself and you assumed her chair. 

You looked between your mother’s sedated state and Harry. He sat with his elbows to his knees, hands clasped before him and as you took a deep breath the revelation hit that it wasn’t so scary sitting across from him, albeit still enigmatic. 

“How is she?” You asked, already knowing the answer. 

His face twisted into something unsure, an amalgamation of everything unsaid and said, “She’s comfortable,” He settled on, the hesitation in his voice a clear indicator that the words didn’t feel right on his tongue. 

All you could do was nod in response as you glanced back at your mother. Susanna, you had guessed, had applied some rouge to her wan cheeks, the same pink she’d pressed to her skin every day of your life. Her wavy hair was brushed out, soft curls fluffy and buoyant around her face. The application of her favorite lipstick and blush brought a humanness to the moment, one you’d be eternally grateful for. 

“She looks beautiful,” you whispered as you took in her now soft features in the warm light. 

The admission hurt, but not in the painful way that brought you back to youth– the painful and ever present sting that seemed extensive and universal throughout your childhood. It hurt to admit that only in the absence of everything you knew to be true about her, that you could finally see her as beautiful. Despite this revelation something else settled. Something so deep and wounded you wouldn’t know how to bandage it if you’d tried. 

Tears welled in your eyes blurring your vision into something fragmented and marmoris. With your elbows digging into your thighs you pressed your palms to your eyes, hiding behind the phosphenes of your closed lids. The warmth of a hand pressed to your back, another to your thigh, just above your knee. The touch was too tender, too charged with emotion, too familiar to be Susanna. You let him linger and more importantly you let yourself revel in the comfort he brought. 

“Let it out,” He crooned softly from below, “Let it all out.” 

And you did– sobs wracked your body, a relentless force that there was no reckoning with. You felt the heat of your tears spill into your open palms, the taste of salt on your tongue as hot rills descended to your lips. You sank further into Harry’s touch as it stayed warm and constant through the layers of your clothes. 

Cocooned in the cacophony of your emotions the outside world fell away. Gone was the rasp of your mothers breathing, the tell-tale sign of what was to come. Gone were the worries of unsanctioned discovery. All that existed then was the glow of his touch against your body and his murmurs of solace. 

Susanna returned with the tea, a clattering tray that awakened you from your perturbed state. Harry’s eyes were blurred, irises like the lichen covered rocks who’d found home in a creekbed darkened by the flood of a freshet. Pinkness nipped at the highpoints of his face, the rubicund flood of emotion a reminder that you were not alone in this. He looked up at you with a softness you knew you didn’t deserve, as the two of you choked back the tears that threatened to fall. 

“You’re okay,” He whispered, “Why don’t we have some tea, okay?” 

Nodding, you wiped away the salt that clung to your cheeks. 

Looking around the room you were thankful to see that Susanna had left the tray of tea atop the old desk that still sat in the corner. Harry was the first to move, murmuring something along the line of “I’ve got it” as he moved across the room. As he poured your cups you dared to glance back at your mother. She lay just as peaceful as she had before, oblivious to the turmoil she always seemed to bring. For a fleeting moment you wished she’d return to awareness. The pang divided between a search for the familiar: high pitched and full of shame. And the unfamiliar: the draw to comfort you’d not once received. 

A warm mug was pressed into your hands, breaking you from your unattainable and melancholic desires. Harry reassumed his seat against the unyielding wood of the dining chair, a mug pressed between his hands. 

Taking a deep breath, notes of jasmine and chamomile rising from the steam of your mug, you felt like you were walking into a thunderstorm. The charge in the air was unlike anything you’d faced before. Somehow stickier and more saturated than the turbulent goodbyes of your past. You glanced at Harry, a grounding rod in the uproar. 

For a while you allowed yourself to just be. Focusing on the warmth between your palms and the crackle in the air you let the storm roll in. Every heavy, tepid, untouched and unspoken entity of your past and what would soon be your future rolled in with unbridled force

Deep breath in, deep breath out, you embraced the chaos. 

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

Susanna poked her head into the room, exchanging a look with Harry that you didn’t quite catch but knew meant she was leaving for the night. It felt foolish but something akin to jealousy rose at the unsaid exchange. You envied the notions of their connection, even if it was a self told concept. Time had passed, he had grown and you had no right to his life, his relationships, his choices. Still you couldn’t help but smile, as the brief moment of jealousy gave pause to the turbulence of your own world. 

Your tea ran cold between your palms. The ceramic mug became nothing more than a smooth surface for you to focus on. The silence stretched into something sharp and too reminiscent of your youth.

Harry sensed your agitation before you had and he rose with an abruptness you hadn’t expected. But after days of careful footsteps and hushed whispers the action brought a realness you hadn’t realized you’d missed. 

His voice came out with a rasp that reminded you all too much of quiet sun soaked mornings, “Let me take you home,” Despite how badly you wanted to mouth back, there was no room for questioning in his tone. It was a declaration, one you were not equipped to fight back on. 

Wiping your palms along the top of your trousers you glanced back towards your mother, a silent question of “Will she be okay?” But you already knew the answer. 

In a matter of days, everything you’d thought to be true about yourself had whittled down into a fine point you barely recognized. You’d prepared for a degree of upheaval, spent weeks working with your therapist to prepare yourself for the reality that this would be a pivotal moment in your life. But you hadn’t expected Harry to be a part of the equation. You felt like a shell, a hollowed out husk of yourself, as you followed behind Harry into the foyer. There were no guards to send to the parapet you’d kept maintained, and the proximity was pulverizing to what little armor you had left. 

Harry’s keys dangled from his hooked pointer finger, jangling and catching the faint glow of amber light that danced from lit sconces. It was hard not to focus on the scintillating refraction as you toed your shoes on. He watched in amusement as you wobbled on one foot, the glint of a smile almost tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

For a moment everything hung in suspension, hung between the dichotomy of unprecedented normalcy and habitable turbulence. The normalcy that crept in between the cracks was terrifying. The brief moment was enough to send you spiraling. With your back pressed against the wall you felt torn– torn between what could only be classified as defeat and the admittance that you deserved this. Him. 

Harry recognized the look in your eye as you pressed yourself further into the wall, “I’m not going to let you walk,” He said, voice entirely too calm for the conflict you felt bubbling. 

Tilting your head back, the column of your throat exposed in a reminiscent arch, you clung to the comfort of what you knew. Resistance was safety– hyper-vigilance the only home you’d known. Past echoes of your own voice swarmed, younger, higher pitched, defeated, “We can’t, we can’t, we can’t,” 

“Look at me.” 

You tried jerking away, tilting your head at an angle that would make him disappear, but Harry was there, his eyes level with your own. Actinolite, mullein, lichen. You were pinned. His eyes were so calm, so vivid, so certain as he scanned your face. 

His hands found your biceps, fingers indenting. Every muscle in your body froze, immobilising you in the pits of contradiction. His touch unleashed a heavy stone, dropping like a weight to the depths of your gut. Weighted, hot, it fell into a snarl of roots bound too tight. His touch scorched like coals. Coiling, unbridled, the flames crept higher, alighting a flush across your cheekbones, your neck, your chest. 

On instinct your eyes darted down the hallway to the sliver of light that escaped through the cracked office door. The sight, the reminder of her, it broke you. The scene was all too familiar; Harry’s hands on your body, the foreboding hush of the old house, the ache only he could bring. But now it was like gasoline had been poured over every inch and crevice. 

His words floated beneath the current of everything, “Breathe.” 

Eyes like slits, your vision snapped to him, the calm of his voice suddenly infuriating. Beneath a blur of tears his features came loose, emulsifying into the abstract of a face. You wanted to scream. To throw your whole body to the ground and let whatever it was that had ravaged the inside of you for so long loose. To put him in the path of your wrath. Not because he deserved it, but because it needed freedom, an outlet, something else to destroy.

It wasn’t fair you’d been the one to endure its hunger. 

Steady hands framed your body, bracketing you to the swath of his broad chest as your weight fell. Harry held you, one hand cradling the base of your skull as he pulled you impossibly close, his other hand wide against the swell of your shuttering ribs. 

The noises you made were not your own. Too snarled, too broken, too gauche. The beast finally unleashed, open mouthed, brine eyed. Tepid skin slicked with liberation. 

Beast or not he held you, unafraid. Your bodies moved like the sea as he rocked you, soft words like wind in your sails as he cooed against the crown of your head. 

Eyes shut tight, face pressed into the crook of his neck, the glow of light from your mothers room disappeared. Your senses filled solely with him: the smell of his skin, the warmth of his touch, the steady press of his ribcage to yours with every breath. 

The beast quelled as you were refamiliarized with the feeling of your bodies moving in tandem; settling to find a home in the cradle of his arms. 

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

Too prideful, it would take you a while to admit that he needed to be a part of your reshaping. 

Together you’d traverse this new landscape, moving the rubble at the periphery into something new. It would take some dirt beneath your nails but the gaps and crevices between surface roots would fill in with fresh soil, lambs ear and mullein. Golden light would take on new meaning, the shadows nothing more than a shady place to rest. Thunderstorms would become something fared together beneath the safety of crisp cotton sheets. 

Together you’d move forward through the hard days that laid ahead. Closure would take time, but you’d get there. 

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

steve and bucky being the sweet gay couple next door to your apartment. offering you leftovers from their dinner, claiming they made too much on accident (they actually just want any excuse to see you but we don’t talk about that-)

they seem to be the picture perfect couple ! they have two dogs, a golden retriever and a black lab. They go to the gym together every day in their tight gym shorts, always making sure to flash you a smile whenever they see you (they’ve also developed a habit of hanging out outside shirtless whenever they know you’re there)

They had everything going for them! Great jobs, both healthy and happy, a nice apartment and a sweet neighbor like yourself. And I mean.. even you could tell. They had a great sex life. It was to be expected with how they both look like they were built by the gods themselves. But you.. you had a little extra level of confirmation.

you didn’t mean to listen. I mean really, they were pretty goddamn loud. You were certain they’d gotten noise complaints from other neighbors.. but you never reported them. It was embarrassing- I mean really embarrassing. Listening to the sweet happy couple fuck nasty every night wasn’t exactly a normal thing to do. But honestly? Your masturbating game has been up more than ever. Porn always made you cringe, and reading could only do so much. But having a real performance right next door through the paper thin walls? Christ.

You always made sure to stay quiet- how embarrassing would it be if one day your neighbors had to knock on your door and say ‘hi can you please stop touching yourself to the sound of us fucking?’ You refused to let that happen- even if it meant you had to keep a hand over your mouth the whole goddamn time.

on your knees with your face buried against your pillow, vibrator pressed right up against your clit as you do everything you can to keep your whines to a minimum. It has become a nightly occurrence, listening to the two of them switch between fucking each other. tonight Bucky was on top, and god he knew how to talk.

“god you’re such a slut for it Rogers” he’d groan out, followed by the repeated slaps of his hips against Steve’s ass. It wasn’t hard to imagine what positions they were in, and you always tried to copy them, making it all the better. When you heard Steve whimper you couldn’t help but whine as well, pressing the little toy harder against your twitching bud, legs shaking already. It hadn’t even been that long since they started, but it always got you off quicker than you’d like to admit.

hearing Bucky slap what could’ve been none other than Steve’s ass, you wished you could try to recreate it- but you were terrified of being too loud. Whining weakly into your pillow you turn up the speed of your vibrator, bed shaking slightly from how much your muscles were twitching.

Of course- you had no idea they were super soldiers. they could hear every little buzz of that toy against your clit and god it turned them on. They had never even considered adding a third to their sex life, but hearing how sweet you sounded? it drove the both of them nuts. you never questioned how you always seemed to cum at the same time as them, but it would turn out hearing you getting close helped them along as well.

Bucky fucking wished he could have you in the room with them. His favorite fantasy is having Steve on his back, fucking him hard while you’re on your knees over him. Making you ride Steve while you make out with him, Bucky bending over to eat your ass whenever he got the chance.. fuck it was all he could think about sometimes. And Steve? He was no better. He wanted you to sit on his face while Bucky rode his cock, suffocating him in the best way. Even better if you jerked Bucky off and made out with him during it all.

They weren’t super familiar with being trans, so when they saw it on your Instagram (which they totally hadn’t stalked or anything-) of course they got curious and looked it up. well- let’s just say they ended up watching trans guys getting fucked the entire night and jerking off together to it, imagining you were there to suck and jerk them off.

You were just so goddamn sweet. You always had a smile on your lips when you looked at them, giving them a kind greeting and asking about their day. You were the complete opposite of them.. soft and sweet, a pretty little angel that was just out of their reach. The most perfect boy next door they could’ve ever hoped for.

Imagine the absolute disappointment on their faces when they listened to you bring a guy home- for the first time ever. Steve couldn’t stop pacing as he listened to you suck the random prick off so sweetly. Bucky swears he almost broke something when he heard that asshole make you choke on his dick, almost seeing red when he hears your immediate apologies for not being better. They were absolutely pissed when they listened to how you asked so gently ‘can I kiss you?’ after you gave him head and he replied with a ‘no’, quickly leaving after.

let’s just say you never heard from him again. But that’s probably because Bucky pulled him into an empty alleyway and beat the shit out of him while Steve started cooking something special just for you to hopefully make you feel better. they both had to listen to how you cried for the next hour, asking yourself through tears what you did wrong. it broke both of their hearts, and they just couldn’t help themselves anymore.

when you opened your door with a flushed and tear stained face, you didn’t expect to see your two lumbering neighbors standing in the doorway. And you certainly didn’t expect for them to coax their way inside, telling you how they heard everything and how you deserved so much better. Of course you never would’ve expected for Bucky to sit on your bed, pulling you into his arms and holding your back to his chest, all the while Steve manages to get your pants off, pressing soft kisses to your plush thighs.

And who could’ve guessed that after such a terrible experience with that asshole, you’d have Steve on his stomach licking your boycunt as sweetly as he can while Bucky presses loving kisses to your neck and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. Bucky coaxing off your shirt, followed by your binder. Groaning against your skin when he sees your soft chest, immediately reaching and kneading the plush flesh in his hand.

“so fucking pretty” Bucky groans against your neck as he plays with your chest with one hand, the other undoing his zipper so he can pull his cock out. “Hiding these in that?” He murmurs, gesturing to your binder. “shit.. never thought my soft boy could get any softer” he whispers against your skin as he jerks himself off against your back slowly. if he detects even a hint of insecurity about your chest? he immediately amps up the praise, resting his forehead against your shoulder as he speeds his hand up around his dick, making sure you can feel how hard he is for you. “more of a man than i’ll ever be” he breathes out against your skin as he tweaks your nipples, making sure to soothe the skin afterwards.

Steve lifting his head from his cunt just to ask you to suffocate him, practically pleading for you to squeeze your soft thighs around his head. Bucky asking how you taste, and Steve almost whimpering when he says “the sweetest thing I’ve ever had.” The attention is dizzying- you can’t keep quiet at all, not when two of the most perfect men you’ve seen want you like this.

Bucky can’t help but pull his hand away from your chest, slipping down between your thighs and circling your clit as Steve laps at your tight hole. “oh christ- keep at it buck, makes him leak like crazy” Steve’s muffled voice speaks up as you whine and try to curl up into Bucky’s arms- but they keep you steady.

Face completed flushed from the heat of being in between their two bodies, almost on the verge of tears from how good it all feels. Being held, being kissed- being licked. After all those nights of silently begging that they would come over and fuck you, it finally happened.

Steve gently spanking the underside of your thigh, motioning for Bucky to reposition you. Bucky grabbing your hips and turning you over so you’re on your knees, face in his lap and only an inch or so from his hard cock. His rough fingers gently running through your hair, making you feel all the safer. “You don’t have to” he says softly. “It’s just there if you feel so inclined” he chuckles faintly, a laugh followed by Steve’s. You feel how Steve arches your hips up so you’re on your knees, and you can’t help but whine at the position.

“Let me guess” Steve smirks. “This is your favorite?” He muses as he rubs his large hand along the lines of your back. “You always whine more when we do it in doggy” he says with a small smile. “Figured it was the least we could do for our boy.”

You tense at his words, realizing they could hear you the entire time. Bucky quickly shushes you, slipping a hand down your form with a gentle touch, making sure to keep you steady for Steve. you whine the second you feel Steve’s thick fingers prodding at your tight hole, tentatively pressing inside, getting a feel for how long it would take to open you up properly to fit his cock.

embarrassed with how needy you sound, you attach your lips to the base of Bucky’s dick, making him groan and lean his head back. feeling how Steve squeezes Bucky’s thigh, as if telling him to be good and watch how nice you’re being to him. Bucky steadying himself as he looks down to watch how you try to take care of him. Because of your position you can’t get to the red hot tip, but it makes the teasing all the better as you wrap your tongue around the veiny base.

Steve pressing sweet kisses to your ass and the backs of your thighs as he fingers you, groaning with you as he scissors you open experimentally. “Jesus.. who knew our boy had such a pretty pussy?” He muses to Bucky, making you squirm. Bucky chuckling weakly as his breathing gets heavier from your ministrations.

“I knew it the second I saw him” Bucky replies with a groan. “Steve.. christ you wouldn’t believe the mouth on him” he sighs softly as he runs his fingers through your hair. “Such a good boy.. sucking on my dick like a dog on a bone” he chuckles.

Steve chuckling with Bucky, sinking his fingers deeper into you. “His boycunt is so fucking tight Buck.. it’s unbelievable. Can barely get two fingers in.” both of their hands on you have left you completely dumb, moaning weakly while they use you in the best way.

Steve sitting up onto his knees so he can align the head of his cock with your already messy hole, the tip gathering up your slick easily. Almost crying out from just the feeling of his heavy cock teasing along your lips, so sensitive to his touch. Bucky pulling you away from his dick to make sure you can breathe while Steve presses his tip into you, making you shake with pleasure.

“Ohhh fuck- holy shit” Steve groans instantly, his eyes closing with how nice and warm you are. “Bucky-“ Steve whines slightly, his eyes meeting Bucky’s as he gently rocks himself into you.

Bucky rubbing your back comfortingly while he talks you and Steve through it. “Tell me how he feels” he says softly.

“W-warm” Steve chokes out while you lie dumb underneath him. “he’s squeezing me so good” he whimpers as his hands grip at your sides, scrambling for purchase in your soft form.

Bucky sitting up slightly so he can get a better view, humming appreciatively. “He’s opening up like a little flower” he says softly. “Be a good boy and thank him” he murmurs as he runs his fingers through Steve’s hair.

Steve immediately bending over your form as he sinks into you further, his forearms against the mattress on either side of your head. “t-thank you- oh fuck- you’re so good sweet boy” he whines against the column of your neck. “so good to me” he cries out weakly as your hot boycunt sucks him in more.

Bucky jerking off over the two of you, occasionally slipping a hand under you to tease at your clit, groaning when he feels Steve’s cock slip in and out of you. The three of you going on like that for the next hour, then spending the night together, showering with each other and making sure you feel cared for.

You canceled your plans with Robin. Afraid of the pit that is forming in your stomach and the hole that opening itself up in your heart. But she’s persistent, climbing up your roof, knocking on your window. You hesitate as you open the window.

“Hey.” She breathes with a smile “know you had to study but thought we could study together.” She says holding up her book bag.

“Ok.” You simply reply and Robin instantly knows something is off. She moves in to kiss you and allow her to. You’re tearful as you look at her when you break the kiss.

“I wish you were a boy.” You whisper against her face. Now she’s also crying.

“W-what do you mean?” She nervously laughs, hoping this is some kind of joke from you.

“I love you Robin but this-this isn’t right.”

“Isn’t right? You mean like two girls?”

“Yes!” Robin looks down embarrassed and ashamed, “no, no that’s not what I mean. I mean it isn’t right to other people. Other people don’t think what we do is right.”

“Who cares what they think. It’s not like we have to be open about it. We just have each other and that’s enough.”

“No it’s not enough, not when everyone is against us. It’s over Robin.”

“B-b-but, we could-” she struggles to get out, she grabs your hands into hers.

“We can’t.” You insist, taking your hands out of hers. “Please leave. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” Robin stands there for a minute, not being able to move. Your anger strikes you. Your anger filled with dread, depression, the feeling of others attacking Robin for who she is, not seeing her for who she is, judging you and her based on who you love.

“But you’re my best friend.” She sniffles.

“Robin leave!” You yell, pointing to the window. She doesn’t hesitate this time and quickly moves from out the window.

You drop your body into your bed and lay there motionless until your body forced you to sleep.

-

The next day at school is sick and cruel. Everywhere you look you see Robin. At the school colors, the lockers, your goddamn history textbook. You wanna crawl into a hole and cry forever. You know the things you said to her were cruel, mean, unnecessary, but you also knew you were trying to do what was best for her.

Weeks go by now. She doesn’t look at you in the hallways anymore. You float down the hallways in your skirts and floral shirts and the playful smile she had on her face has disappeared and is now focused on Eddie Munson or Nancy Wheeler. Her new best friends. Ones who could protect her from you and others who’s opinions differed, not you though. When you felt trouble you just threw her away.

Now it’s a football game. You’re standing proud and tall in your cheer uniform. The uniform you and Robin had a lot of fun with when you would wear it after football games. Those passion filled nights of experimenting seem decades ago, another lifetime ago.

You stare at her as she plays her trumpet, she looks happy. Like she’s enjoying her life without you. She’s closer to Vickie Thomas, a girl who pings your gaydar a little too much. Maybe Vickie can give Robin what you could never give to her.

After the game you’re walking to your car. Your friends start to leave the parking lot, but you slowly walk to where your car is parked far away from everyone. You then stare at the car Robin is getting into. Vickie’s. You both lock eyes. You start to walk towards her, you don't know why, your legs are just forcing you to move. Robin hesitates before she says something to the girl and shuts the door. Walking up to you also so you meet halfway. 

“Hey.” She says. The car she was once gonna get in drives off. Now it’s just you two in the silent deserted parking lot.

“Hi.” You reply. Then it’s silence. Just the sound of the trees moving is what you hear, nothing else. It’s strange. Being quiet around Robin.

“How have you been?”

“Great. Fine. You?”

“Fine.” She offers awkwardly.

“Do you have a ride home now?”

“No, kinda ditched it so I could talk to you.”

“Thanks, I guess.” More silence. 

“I-”

“I-” You both start but then immediately become silent. “I’m sorry Robin, the way I ended things, the things I said aren't right. They weren't right. There is nothing wrong with us. I just get so nervous about everything. My parents, my future, our classmates. I-I-I don't know. You just made me feel a way a boy never could and I got scared. And I know we’re supposed to like boys so I just said that stupid thing and I just regret it so much. I don't wish you were a boy, I don't wish you were anybody else.” You're sobbing at this point. You never talked about your sexuality so much in one sentence. 

“I know, it’s ok. It’s a hard thing to except.”

“I love you. I love you Robin no one else.” She pulls you into a hug. A tight fierce one. 

“I love you too. No one else. C’mon lets get out of here and go to my house.” You nod and follow her to your car. 

When Tommy called you over, you hardly heard him at first. You were too busy staring.

“Come here,” your father beckoned you, “I need you to get these over to Greet.” “What for? Race’s already started.” The great Thomas Shelby was down in Small Heath, which was unusual for him these days. Still, you could see this was where your father truly belonged. All his money had earned you a mansion by the name of Arrow House, but you still thought he looked out of place in it. Maybe that’s why you preferred to stay in Birmingham. He told you, “It’s nothing to do with that. It’s to do with… the other business.” “Russians?” you ventured. He waved a vague hand, “Best if you know as little as possible about it, eh?” You grinned a little, because you may only be thirteen but you weren’t a total idiot, “But you still want me to run your fucking errands for you.” “Yes.” “Alright, dad,” you said, “but I’ll expect a bonus of at least two pounds by the end of the week,” you bargained. You were your father’s son after all.

*** Just before a race started, the betting den was usually one chaos of men running around and desperate souls trying to lay a bet last minute. The second a race had started, everything went quiet and people disappeared, only to have the chaos start again immediately after. Between those chaotic moments, you could get away. “Y/N,” he breathed your name softly.

Behind the house was a small yard where no one ever went to, except for Polly when she used to put up her washing there, but she was out right now. In the shadows, you gently pressed your mouth onto his soft lips. And as you both opened your mouths, you whispered his name in reply, “Will…” Kissing and touching was quick, scattered, hasty and haunted. Dangerous even, but that’s how you both liked it. All things forbidden belonged in the shadows and your secret gave it that little bit of light it needed to be beautiful again. To you, the most sacred place on earth was that little grubby yard out the back of your house in Watery Lane. It was yours and no one else was allowed in.

“What if they knew?” he asked. “Fuck ‘m,” you replied, your hands roaming frantically. William chuckled a little, “You’re a Shelby, Y/N…” “Not by choice I am.”

“I mean it,” he held your face for a second as if he was trying to be serious, but the naughty twinkle in his eyes was still there, “Do you want to sneak around like this forever?” “Yes,” you breathed, going in for another kiss. But he still held you back, “I need more than that. I want more than two minutes in secret. The things I want to do take longer, don’t you see?” “Oh, do tell?” And now William did actually appear to be serious, “I mean it. I want more.” You sighed dramatically and backed away a little, “Why the fuck are we wasting our time talking? We only got a few moments.” “My point exactly.” “I can’t tell them, Will. They won’t… they wouldn’t understand.” “How do you know?” What you meant to say was that you were too afraid to ever tell anyone. Your father often talked of the Shelby Brothers Limited being a modern company that believed in equal rights bladibla, but that only meant that women could speak, not people like you. You wanted to explain to William how being manly was something of the Shelby trade and being gay, well that just didn’t fit the picture at all. You couldn’t find the words for how precious these moments were for you and you couldn’t bear losing them. In these short minutes you could be you, you could free, free of all the shame and guilt and prejudice. When you only thought of endangering all of that, because even your family wouldn’t accept you: it was too much. But you couldn’t find the words, so you just said, “I just…know.”

***

Days, weeks and months went by like this, and you could feel William was pulling away, put off by the secrecy. But most of all, you felt it too now: you wanted more.

Even John had started to notice, asking, “Where were you?” as soon as you returned after the race ended.

“Went out for a smoke,” you replied quickly. “Why?” Impatiently you waved a hand, in the very same manner as your father often did, “Makes me nervous, doesn’t it, the races.” John raised his eyebrows, “Why? It’s not like you have any money on the horse.” “Nervous for the people who have I mean.” “Why…” John started again. But you interrupted him, “For fuck’s sake with the thousand questions, John!” And with that you practically stormed off.

“Family meeting, at eight o’clock,” Tommy had announced abruptly that afternoon and so here you were, back round the kitchen table, just like old times. And as you looked up at the clock hanging from the wall, you noticed it was two minutes to eight, so you got up to leave. “Stay, Y/N,” your father announced his presence with these words. “I’m never allowed to stay.” “You’re almost fourteen now, Y/N, time you got in on the family business,” Arthur winked at you.

You looked at your aunt for approval and Polly nodded almost invisibly.

“Right,” Tommy started, “Now, you all know big money’s coming in and it’s no longer from just the races anymore, but this is where we started, so we have to make sure our business here is secure.” “Business is good, Tommy,” John replied. “It is,” he confirmed, “but someone’s told me we might have a snitch in our midst.” You listened to all of this with wide open eyes. Never before had you been an actual part of the meetings and it was quite exciting to have something like this come up on your first time. “One of the women from the washing house told one of ours,” Polly continued, “Someone’s spilling the odds before we’ve officially set them.” “What does that matter? We set them anyways.” “It matters because we set them,” she emphasized, “we can’t have one of our own talking. Who knows who else they’ve been talking to.” “We need to find out who it is,” your dad lit a cigarette and without noticing, you copied his movements and started smoking as well. Everyone was quiet for a little while, thinking. Then John said, “What about that kid from the Garrison. William?” And you started coughing at once, and suddenly those familiar blue eyes stared at you piercingly. “Why him?” Polly continued like nothing had happened, while you tried to regain your breath. “He goes out,” your uncle explained, “out back. After every race. I’ve seen him do it.” “So does Y/N,” Arthur shrugged, “Doesn’t mean anything.” Again, Thomas Shelby’s gaze fell upon you and you felt your face getting hot. Before you could stop yourself, you had turned bright red. Then your aunt turned to you as well, “Do you know what he does there, Y/N?” “No,” you lied unconvincingly. “I thought you two were close, like brothers almost,” John said. Stuttering, you replied, “No… We’re not… not like brothers, I mean. I-I mean, I hardly even know him. Don’t even really, you know, like him…at all.” Polly put on her strict voice, “So what are you doing with him exactly, in my yard?” Tommy narrowed his eyes and you felt yourself crumbling. The silence that followed was deafening and seemed to last for ages. Suddenly he broke the silence, “Meeting’s over. I’ll have someone find out more about this William kid. We’re done. Everyone can fuck off now.” “But Tommy…” John protested. “Out, John,” he snapped, “I have other business to attend to and so do you.” And without another word everyone left the room in confusion. Everyone, except Aunt Polly, who never took her eyes off you before walking through the door. When they’d all gone, you suddenly felt your legs again and tried to make a quick exit, but your father was faster, “Sit down, Y/N,” he demanded in his cold manner. Your heart skipped a few beats and your futile requests were soon overruled. “I said: sit.” And so you sat. “Look me in the eye,” he pointed a finger straight at your face and hovered over you like you were still eight years old, “Tell me: are you sneaking out back with this William boy?” “Dad…” “Don’t you fucking lie to me.” “Dad, he’s just…a friend.” “I didn’t ask you what he was to you.” You shrugged. For three breaths, Tommy only smoked. Then he said, “Is this boy our snitch?” “No.” “Are you certain?” “I am,” you finally dared to meet his eye, “I know him.” “Oh, I bet you do…” and those words almost managed to make you cry.

“Dad…” But he wouldn’t let you finish, “One of our clubs in London has been seeing some trouble. You’ll be going up there, you can stay with your aunt Ada, let me know what’s going on there, eh?” “You’re sending me away?” you almost whimpered. I did it, you thought, I disappointed my father so immensely he no longer wants me around. “Yes,” and with that he left the room, leaving you feeling more defeated and lonelier than you had ever felt before.

***

Hardly a week later and here you were, with your things packed to go and stay with Ada in London. You felt utterly and completely numb.

“Why’s he making you go then?” Finn asked. Now, technically Finn was your uncle, but he was barely two years older than you, so he was more like a brother to you. “Because I bring shame on the Shelby good name,” you replied sarcastically. Finn offered you a cigarette, “Tommy’s not like that.” “Isn’t he?” “When will you be back?” the youngest Shelby brother had been the last one who stayed behind in Small Heath, so he had enjoyed your company. He joked, “Take too long and there won’t be any girls left for you here.” Like you’d been punched in the gut you fell still. Finally, you said, “You can have them all, Finn.”

“So that’s why you’re leaving.” You looked up with questioning eyes. He didn’t even ask, he just stated, “William.” “How do you…”you started. But he grinned, “I’m not a total idiot,” and with that he left your small bedroom, calling from the landing, “Give my love to Ada!” As you walked down the stairs with your bag, your emotions and thoughts were all over the place. Finn’s reaction should’ve given you some confidence, but it only made you more frightened, because apparently you were a lot more obvious than you’d thought. Then again, if all else failed, you could always move in with Finn. Unless your father completely cut you from the family first, or if someone killed you on the streets for being a fucking sodomite, or if you were actually arrested… When you’re reached the kitchen, your thoughts were bleak once again.

“Ready?” Arthur asked. John and he had been tasked with taking you to London. “Guess so…” “I still don’t get why we’re shipping the kid off to London,” John protested to no one in particular, “You’ve seen it for yourself, Arthur, they’re all fucking mad down there…” “Ada’ll look after him,” Arthur nodded, like he had to convince himself most of all.

“Will she? Tommy wants him to check out the clubs we own. Him! He’s not even fourteen yet!” “Are you worried about me, uncle John?” you asked sweetly, because it was actually quite touching to hear him go on like this. “Shut up,” he threw back, “I just think Tommy’s being an idiot.” Arthur frowned suddenly, like he’d only just added things up, “Wait. Tommy’s sending him over to see to the trouble at the Blanchards club? This bloody kid?” “That’s what I’ve been saying, Arthur.” “Like hell!” the eldest shouted out, “They’re all mad bastards down there. The things they get up to… and the music! Fucking horrible…” “Don’t worry,” you finally spoke, “Dad’s not sending me there on business. He’s just trying to get rid of me.” “What makes you say that?” Polly asked. You hadn’t even noticed her before. “Just know.”

“This got anything to do with that boy? William?” Before you could stop yourself, tears started pricking in the corners of your eyes, “Yes.” John and Arthur clearly didn’t understand and asked almost simultaneously, “How?” But luckily Aunt Polly required no answer and she told them, “Out.” “Why?” John asked, full of indignation. “Because I fucking like him, alright?” the words had slipped out before you could stop yourself. The tension was practically audible. For another few moments, John’s frown only grew deeper and you wished with every fibre of your being you could just disappear. Then he said, “So?” “It’s illegal, John,” you emphasised. “So?” he raised one eyebrow, “We’re the Peaky fucking Blinders: when’s the last time we did anything legal?”

“Your great-grandfather’s rolling over in his grave at your words,” Arthur mumbled, scoffing slightly, “legal…”

“People won’t understand, John, they’ll try to…” But John interrupted you again, “If they come for you, we’ll cut them a fucking smile each, right?” And you had never loved your uncle more. “Arthur?” you finally asked, as you observed his face, that had confusion written all of over, closely. “What?” “Are you angry?” Then he sighed, seemed to make up his mind, and said, “You’re a Shelby, so you’re alright.” After another few moments of silence, John turned to his brother, “Let’s get the car ready. We told Tommy to get Y/N to London before dark.” Which left you with Aunt Polly, who hadn’t said a word yet. And in a way, her opinion mattered most to you. Well, hers and your fathers did. But before you could ask her how gravely you’d disappointed her, she said, “I’ve known you all my life…” “I’m sorry…” “What for?”

“For keeping it from you.” Polly came towards you and put one hand to your cheek, ever so gently and lovingly, “You didn’t. Like I said: I’ve known you all my life.” Leaning into her hands, you whispered, “But what about dad?” “Let me deal with Tommy. He’s just being difficult.” “So what do I do now?” your voice sounded so small all of a sudden. “Go and see Ada. She’ll know what to do.”

***

You’d been at Ada’s for three weeks now and still not a word from the great Thomas Shelby. Quite honestly, this infuriated you. If he planned on disowning you, why not fucking do it straight away? If he hated you this much, that he couldn’t even bear the sight of you, why couldn’t he tell you himself. You thought him a coward, for letting his brothers drag you away from your home instead of doing it himself. But the anger you felt was only to cover up your underlying sadness and hurt. Uncertainty was gnawing away at you. Still, London wasn’t all bad. When you told Ada, she hardly seemed to notice your big revelation and reacted with her usual sarcastic distant ways. And somehow, this was strangely comforting to you. And London wasn’t at all like back home. Here gays could meet openly in pubs and clubs. Sure, it was illegal, ‘gross indecency between males’, but it seemed like people just turned a blind eye to it here. Your Aunt Ada’s friend James had told you it’d been like that before the war even. Can you imagine?

James had taken you to some of the clubs and it was like being in a different world. The dancing, the drinking, the people; everything was more exciting here. It was like these people didn’t have a care in the world, like they’d found their place in the world.

“Tommy’s coming to London,” Ada announced suddenly over breakfast. “Good for him,” you snapped in reply.

She looked at you from across the table, which reminded you of Aunt Polly somehow, “Have you two talked yet?” “No and I don’t fucking want to.” She rolled her eyes, “Men.”

“Exactly.” And that very evening, you were called to the phone. When you answered it, no one spoke, but the sound of someone inhaling cigarette smoke told you all you needed to know. And at once you knew Ada had intervened. But you’d be damned if you were the first one to speak. “Y/N,” his low voice eventually sounded, “I know you’re there.” “How very perceptive of you.” Your father sighed on the other end, “How are things in London?” “Brilliant.” “How’s Ada?” “Fantastic. Best guardian I ever had,” you tried to pack as much venom in each sentence as you could.

But he was obviously ignoring your tone, “Tell me about London,” he demanded. You waved an impatient hand, tired of this conversation already, “It’s colourful, open and everything that Birmingham isn’t.”

Tommy smirked in the horn, “I know, that’s why I send you there.”

And for a moment you lost your composure, “Wait, what?” “I wanted you to figure out who you were, in a place where you would be allowed to be you,” your father explained casually. You had no words. “I knew Ada wouldn’t mind, she’s seen everything living in London by now,” he continued, “and I knew she had friends who you could talk to…” “James…” “Yes, James, amongst others.” “He’s been showing me around. Like the dancing and clubs and stuff.” Tommy cleared his throat, “Good. Just, be careful.” “Dad…” “I mean it, Y/N, I don’t mind you going to these clubs but beware of those fucking Londoners, alright? They’re all mad down there.” He was worried about you and it warmed your fucking heart. “Dad?” “Hmm…” “Why the fuck didn’t you just tell me?” “Tell you what, eh?” “That you accepted me.” So used to the gesture, you could hear him frown, “Didn’t think I’d need to. Some things don’t need to be said out loud, eh?” “I still needed to hear it, dad.” “Alright,” he waited for a few moments, “I don’t give a fuck whether you’re into men or women. I don’t give a fuck who you love. I only care you’re safe and happy, alright? Which is why I did what I did.” Your father wasn’t great with words, but when he did talk, he knew exactly what to say. Neither of you spoke for a long time and it was nice.

Then you said, “When can I come back to Birmingham?” “I thought you liked London.” “I do, but I can do both, right?” He cleared his throat, “Is this about William?” You confessed, “Yes.” “Why him?” your father sounded genuinely curious now. And you shrugged and smiled to yourself, “I just couldn’t keep my eyes off of him.”

You take a seat next to him and place your hand over one of his. He looked at you. Here goes, it’s time to tell him. You knew it’d go fine, he was in love with Mike after all. But still, a part of you was scared he wouldn’t accept you. 

With Jonathan it had been different; the man had been far too high off his ass to even register what you were saying. But here, in the vulnerability of his room, you’re more both nervous and prepared at the same time. 

“I, uh, I wanted to talk to you,” you say, and when he gives you a hesitant, albeit confused, nod, you continue. “I’m not entirely sure how to say this in a not-awkward way, but… I know about you and Mike.” 

He freezes up. It’s not like he doesn’t want you to know, per se, it’s more that he’s scared that you know. What if you’re mad? What if you’re homophobic and you hate him now and you’re ready to ignore him for the rest of his life? Can you even do that? Would mom let you? You are an adult, after all. 

“Know… what, about me and Mike?” he asks, unconvincingly. He knows exactly what you’re talking about and you damn well know it. 

“Look, Will. I know you might be kind of… hesitant, to admit it out loud - and that’s perfectly fine. I just wanted you to know that,” you pause, are you really ready to do this? A deep breath: in, out. “I wanted you to know that you’re not alone.” 

A beat. “What?” his head whips toward you, shock apparent on his face. 

“I like girls,” you say, smiling sheepishly. Well, no going back now. 

All Will does is continue to stare at you in shock. You start to regret telling him. Maybe you were projecting onto him and Mike? Seeing what you wanted to see and not what was actually there. 

“Y’know, I expected more of a reaction. You’re acting kind of like Jonathan did, and he was high,” your lame attempt at a joke seems to do the trick. He snaps out of his comical reaction.

“Sorry, I’m just,” he searches for the right word, “processing. Does that mean all that time you told us that you didn’t want a boyfriend because you wanted to focus on school, was it really just because you don’t like boys?” 

“Partially,” you laugh lightly, “I did want to focus on academics. But also, yeah, ‘cause I don’t like boys.” 

“Does Mom know?”

“I never directly told her, but I’m pretty sure she does.”

“That means she probably knows about me too, huh,” he groans.

“Probably, but that’s not surprising. I’m pretty sure that Jonathan knows too,” 

He groans, holding his face in his hands. “Really?”

“Really. But don’t worry! He’s totally cool with it. And he won’t tell anyone - I also won’t tell, by the way,” you reassure him.

“Thanks,” his reply is muffled, his head still pressed into his palms.

“Okay c’mon, cheer up! I know yesterday was bad, but that doesn’t mean today will be!” In all honesty, yesterday was a lot more than bad for him; it was a shitty day from hell, but you refuse to swear in front of his little brother.

“Yeah whatever.”

You feel bad for him. Obviously he isn’t in the mood to talk about it. 

“I would've told you about it sooner, but I wasn’t sure if the girl I’m dating wanted anyone to know.” You can see him visibly perk up at the mention of a girl. Seems you changing subjects was a good idea after all.

“Who?” he asks excitedly, “Who’re you dating? Do I know her?”

“Maybeee,” you drag it out teasingly, “you ever met Robin Buckley?”

“Robin Buckley?” he repeats, “as in Steve’s friend, Robin? She’s gay?”

“Full on lesbian,” you smirk.

“Makes sense that she never got with Steve then, huh?”

“Steve’s not that attractive, Will, c’mon.”

“Not that attractive? Really? Just because you don’t like guys does not mean you can’t accept that some are attractive,” he rolls his eyes at you, a grin on his face.

“Tell that to Nancy,” you shoot back, referencing their previous relationship.

“Tell what to Nancy?” Jonathan peeks his head into the room.

“Nothing!” you and Will both chime. 

“Okay, well Mom’s about to go, so come down and say your goodbyes before she leaves.” Usually he’d probably care a bit more than you were talking about Nancy, but he and Argyle had definitely smoked some of their treasured Purple Palm Tree Delight before dinner.

“Alright we’ll be down in a sec,” you usher him out the room. When the door closes, you wrap an arm around Will’s shoulders. 

“You really okay? After everything that happened yesterday, I mean.” You just want to be sure, let him know he has a shoulder to cry on. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “it’s not what I expected, but it wasn’t terrible.”

“I’m really sorry that they forgot. I know that your birthday usually doesn’t mean too much to you, but it still would’ve been nice of them to remember.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter now. Besides, I like the stuff you guys got me.” You can tell he’s just trying not ro make you feel bad. You know just what will cheer him up.

“That reminds me, I have something for you!”

“But you already got me a gift,” Will points out.

“I know, but I have something else.”

“GUYS HURRY UP, I HAVE TO GET GOING!” Joyce calls from downstairs. 

“Right, let’s go!” you grab Will’s hand and the two of you rush downstairs.