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feelbokkie · 1 month ago

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L♡VE IN F♡CUS | Chapter 12

PAIRING: idol!Changbin x fem reader

WARNINGS: mention of food and eating, swearing

GENRE: smau, crack, angst, fluff

P♡V: 1st/2nd person (depending on how you view it)

SUMMARY: Amateur concert photographer Y/n has recently been promoted to junior music journalist. Her first assignment? An exposé on the popular Kpop boy group, Stray Kids. Spending an entire tour doing in depth interviews with eight men seems simple enough, but one member isn't exactly open to the idea. Will Y/n be able to break down the walls around his heart, or will her big break turn into a big disaster?

TAGLIST: closed

W♡RD C♡UNT: 6,009

A/N: we only have a few more chapters of the ones that I pre wrote to last when I think this hiatus will last so I spread the releases of these chapters a bit so they can last a bit. sorry for the wait.

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

You mindlessly scroll through Twitter while you wait for Changbin to join you for breakfast. Your notebook lays open next, ready to add any last-minute questions you might come up with that you should ask him or if you see any questions that fans want answers to that are reasonable.

It's early—almost too early—in the morning for your brain to be working. But with the lack of an itinerary, you had to schedule the meeting with Changbin this early so you can try to figure out how the day is going to go. The concert went slightly longer than it should have last night when Felix's "Let's go one more!" turned into five more. After that, you got caught in traffic on your way back to the hotel. You’re not sure if it’s the post-concert adrenaline that you’ve grown accustomed to or pure anxiety from your one-on-one day with Changbin, but you couldn’t sleep when you got back. So you decided to get some work done editing pictures until you felt tired enough to sleep.

Unfortunately for you, that came an hour before you needed to wake up. And even then, it was more like your body forced you to go to sleep than you actively decided to go to bed. You’re glad you had some sense to set your alarm ahead of time or else you definitely would have overslept.

Ding!

You let out a deep sigh as you click over to the message you just got from your team leader. Seoul is only 2 hours ahead of Bangkok meaning that he’s already back home from church and decided to torment you all before lunchtime. He may be a worse workaholic than you.

“You’ve got to be fucking joking,” You grumble under your breath as you scroll through the message he sent you.

“If you’re fussing about me being late, I still had 10 minutes before I needed to be here, noona,” Changbin speaks lowly as he takes the seat across from you.

From the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of a staff member, a babysitter as you like to call them, taking a seat at a table nearby. They sit just out of your view but right in Changbin's line of sight. There's a rotation of the same four staff members who accompany you and the group on official outings. It's annoying asking the members a question and watching their eyes drift off to the side to get approval, even for the simplest questions. If you were a bolder person, you'd take advantage of the times you hang out with the members off the clock and ask them questions without their babysitters. But even you know when to draw the line between work and pleasure.

"You're fine. Honestly, I expected you to be a little late. You're part of insomniac-racha, no? We got back pretty late so I thought you'd sleep in a bit." You exit out of the message from your team leader and slide your phone into your camera bag. You'll worry about it later.

"Of the four of us with bad sleep schedules, I have the best one. I can guarantee you that Chan hyung, Hyunjin, and Jisung aren't leaving their beds before noon." He jokes a little louder as he sets a jacket down in the chair next to him.

Changbin's a bit more dressed up compared to the other times you've met up with him. Photo ready. His hair, a now faded dark green leftover from last month's Japanese comeback promotions, is straightened again, his bangs only giving a slight preview of his forehead. He is wearing a short-sleeved button-up shirt that is a similar green to his hair. The green shirt is unbuttoned, revealing the white tank top tucked into his blue jeans and accessorized with a matching black belt. A simple outfit for probably one of the more complex members of the group. Even his accessories are simple. A single, silver ring on his right ring finger, two small layered silver chains, and black-rimmed glasses that you know he doesn't need but somehow ties the whole outfit together. You didn't manage to see his shoes before he sat down but you wouldn't be surprised if they matched the color scheme of his outfit. If you didn't know any better, you would have thought that he touched up the color of his hair to match his shirt.

He's certainly dressed better than you are with your baggy blue jeans, oversized black graphic shirt, and red Converse that you threw on before you left the hotel. It's the least professional outfit you've worn on a workday, but you didn't really care. You're too tired to care. And besides, your job is to be behind the camera not in front of it. Nobody is going to care that you aren't wearing makeup or that you're wearing a face mask and glasses to cover up the dark circles under your eyes that are permanently etched into your face. Or that your hair is going to spend the day in a messy bun or loose ponytail. They're only going to care that you get exemplary shots of their bias.

"Good morning, by the way, noona," Changbin lowers his voice again, so as to not to disturb the other people in the diner.

You chuckle at the delayed greeting. "Good morning, Changbin,"

"Did you order already?" Changbin takes one of the menus that is sitting on the table and skims through it.

"Not yet," You shake your head as you take the other menu. "I didn't know when you'd be here and I didn't want you to feel like I was rushing you. This is one of those places where you have to go and order at the front though so just tell me what you want and I'll get it."

"I'll order for us. It'll probably be easier." Changbin says casually without looking up from his menu.

"You know Thai?" You tilt your head to the side, dumbfounded.

"Chan hyung is close to BamBam seonbaenim and one of his love languages is learning languages. He always tries to teach us what he knows." You can't see his face beneath his mask but you can hear the soft fondness for Chan in his voice. "Plus, I believe that there are five fundamental things you should know in terms of foreign languages: how to order food, how to ask for directions, how to shop, proper greetings...and how to ask where the bathroom is."

You can't help but laugh at the last addition. You can only imagine how many times he's gotten in trouble before he realized he needed to learn the last one.

"Okay, you can order for me. Your Thai is probably better than mine anyway." Truth be told, you were fully prepared to head to the counter with your broken Thai and the menu and just pointing at what you wanted to order. Part of you is grateful that Changbin offered to order instead.

"What do you want?" He sets the menu down, finally settling on what he wants.

"This," You turn your own menu upside down and point at what you wanted. Thankfully, the menu had English descriptions right next to them. "And the largest, strongest ice coffee that they have."

There's an expression on his face that you can't read for a moment before he nods. You watch as he walks over to the Skzigi sitting near you and has a brief conversation with her before going to the front counter to order. You laugh to yourself when you finally see his shoes: white sneakers with green on them.

You quickly jot down what Changbin said about Chan and BamBam and about the five fundamental things of learning a new language in your notebook while they're still fresh in your head. You have a tape recorder for the actual interview portion, as old school as that sounds. But you don't want to pull it out now and be rude. You're extra cautious around Changbin and any sort of recording device you have after what happened in Sydney. You two may have reconciled, but you know he still doesn't fully trust you.

Changbin comes back from the counter and walks straight back to the Skzigi, handing her a receipt. It only now just dawned on you that he went up to her earlier to ask what she wanted to eat and ordered it for her. You take note of it in your notebook. It's one of the few things that you've noticed about all of the members, their kindness towards their staff. You've been around groups that treat their staff members as poorly as you can imagine. Or, if it's not the entire group, it's a few members. It's refreshing to see that the entire group treats the staff like they're a part of the group as well.

"How much what my stuff?" You ask Changbin when he sits back down with you. You pull your phone out and open up to a money transfer app.

"Don't worry about it." Changbin waves off as he puts his receipt in his pocket.

"I can pay for my own food." You blink.

"I'm using the company card. All of our meals today are on JYP PDnim."

You'd believe him if you hadn't spent months hearing the other members saying the same thing despite the fact that you say them using their personal cards. Most of the other members already blocked you on money-sharing apps or disabled their Apple Pay so you couldn't pay them back. You're almost certain Changbin hasn't done that yet.

"Changbin--"

"It's fine, noona," He sits up straighter in his chair.

"...I'm paying for lunch. But thank you" You sigh as you see that Changbin also blocked you. At this rate, you're going to be pulling out a suspicious amount of cash by the end of the tour and sneaking it into all of their suitcases.

"We'll see," He laughs. "What pissed you off earlier?"

Your mind trails back to the text from your team leader that you never responded to. You quickly go back to the message and put a thumbs up to it so he knows that you saw it. If you didn't, he'd end up sending you a bunch of emails and texts later until you acknowledge him despite it not being a work day and you're technically out of the office.

"I was just reacting to the list of comebacks and debut albums for January. Which just means I'm going to have more reviews to finish over the holidays." You can already imagine how many albums and eps are currently sitting in your inbox.

"Isn't The Seoul Star a big company? Are you the only one there who can review albums?" You can feel the concern in Changbin's voice leap across the table and float around your head.

"It's...it's complicated. The short story is that I'm apparently too good at my job. The longer one is that it's all bureaucratic bullshit and I like being employed so I just keep my mouth shut and do what I'm told."

"If you're that good at your job, shouldn't they treat you better?"

"Am I the one getting interviewed? What's happening right now?" You laugh, but not because it's funny, but because you're too tired to get into that topic right now.

"Technically, the interview hasn't started yet." He says smugly.

"Speaking of which," You quickly shift the topic off of you, "where are we going first today?"

Changbin nods, realizing that you don't want to get into it. Instead, he follows your lead into the new conversation. "We'll see,"

"Excuse me?" You freeze. You want to hope that you misunderstood him or that he's playing coy. But you know him enough to know that he's being serious.

"We'll see," He repeats nonchalantly, picking at the nonexistent lint on his shirt.

“I hope that means you already planned everything today, like I asked you to do, and you’re going to wow me with your amazing travel guide skills.” You laugh nervously.

You know that if Changbin’s concept doesn’t look half as good as the other members, you’re in deep shit with their fanbase. While Changbin isn’t your favorite member because of how rocky your relationship started, you’ll have “Changbin anti” rumors circulating as soon as the magazine is released. Not to mention other rumors that will completely derail your career and everything you worked hard for.

“It means that we’ll see where the day takes us,” He clarifies, not that it makes anything better.

“I’m entirely too tired for this,” You mutter under your breath as you lay your head against the table. “I knew I should have planned something just in case.”

You sit there for a moment, your forehead pressed into your forearm, trying to even your breathing. Crying first thing in the morning in front of Changbin is the last thing you want to do. Crying in front of anyone is the last thing you want to do in general but in front of the man who most likely hates you is worse. Instead, you focus and try to remember some of the events that you looked up a few months ago.

We can try to do something with the floating market. It'll be harder, there'll be a lot of people around, and I'll have to edit their faces and hope the concept comes out well. There are too many Christmas events going on right now. Which would be nice if we were releasing the magazine now, but it's not coming out until the middle of next year. Going to The Grand Palace or temples might come off as distasteful and cause a scandal that neither of us would survive. Well, Changbin might survive it. His fans might just shove the blame on me. Which, in this case, would be correct. Maybe we can do a "Date with Changbin in Bangkok" concept and just have him eat street food. Even then, that's a pretty desperate and lame attempt that would reflect negatively on me. Not to mention the lack of permits for any of these places. It might be more complicated to explain to locals what's going on, especially since we can't really advertise for them. Maybe we can--

"Noona?" Changbin's voice calls out softly, his fingertips graze your arm almost shocking you out of your spiral.

"Hm?" You plaster on a fake smile and lift your head to meet Changbin in the eyes.

You've unlocked a new expression from Changbin. It takes longer than normal to register the furrowed brows forming three perfectly parallel lines between them, his lips pressed into a thin frown, and the way his eyes carefully looked over you as concern. It's similar to the one that Wonseok had on his face when you spent your first Christmas in Seoul and the two of you got drunk in his room after opening presents with his family. Right after you hit your soju limit you told him that it was the happiest Christmas you've ever experienced.

"Wipe that look off your face, you're weirding me out." You laugh as you push his hand off of your arm.

"I didn't think it would stress you out that much." He whispers, almost as innocently as a child who got caught doing something they shouldn't have been doing for the first time.

"You're saying that you wouldn't be stressed out if someone told you, last minute, that you had to freestyle your performance?" You scoff.

"I'm a rapper, I'm supposed to freestyle," He sits up straight again, finally removing his hand from the spot on the table where you pushed it to.

You pinch the bridge of you, throw your head back, and let out an exasperated sigh. You don't care how this comes off to the staff member sitting not even 3 feet away from you. "It's been so long since I've met someone who manages to piss me off every time they talk. You really know how to wear my patience down, don't you, Changbin-ssi?"

"I'm not--"

"Here's your food," The waiter says slowly, making sure that you and Changbin understand every word. He sets down the two plates towards the end of the table, not sure what belongs to who, but also not sure if the two of you would be able to understand him if he were to ask. He only heard you and Changbin speaking rather loudly in Korean earlier.

"Thank you," Changbin says with a smile and a nod. After the waiter leaves, he slides over your food, which had been placed closer to him. He leans in slightly over the table and whispers, "I'm not doing it on purpose."

"Could've fooled me," You mutter as you roll your eyes. You ignore the plate of food and take the glass of iced coffee that has, thankfully, been placed close to you and take a large lip of it.

You can't hide the face that appears on your face as the bitter taste of the coffee hits your tongue. Still, you force it down and set the cup back on the table, deciding to let the ice melt a bit to lessen the flavor. Changbin wordlessly slides the sugar packets towards you.

"Thank you," You whisper without looking at Changbin. You take four sugar packets and one of the vanilla creamers, pour them into your cup, and mix it quietly with a spoon from the table.

The two of you sit in relative silence in the diner, the only comfort that makes it not completely awkward is the white noise coming from the kitchen and the other patrons. You watch as Changbin fiddles with his utensils and his food, seemingly having to have lost his appetite.

"Look," You take another sip of the coffee and set it back down on the table, "I'm sorry. I'm just extremely sleep-deprived right now and it's making me act unprofessionally. Let's just eat and then we'll figure it out."

"It's fine. I'm sorry too. You're just so wound up and focused on your job all the time, I thought that I could...I don't know, force you to slow down today by being spontaneous." He finally stops playing with his food and shovels some of it into his mouth.

"There's nothing wrong with a strong work ethic." You shrug while taking a bite of your own food.

"There's a difference between working hard and working yourself to death." A hushed tone replaces his usual, booming voice.

You stop chewing for a second, studying Changbin. He keeps his head down as he eats, almost like he's refusing to look at you. You set your fork down and lace your fingers together as you place them on the table in front of you. You twiddle your thumbs together as you think about your words carefully. The caffeine coursing through your veins is already causing your previously sluggish brain to work faster than it did earlier.

"We've been on tour for three, almost four months now. In that time, you've done 18 shows in 10 different cities." Changbin glances up at you as you lean in a bit closer. "And during that time you've also promoted a Japanese comeback, performed at and attended award shows, completed countless interviews, worked on and promoted collabs, worked on an entirely new comeback for next year, and filmed content for future projects. And that's just you. The other members had their own schedules--hell, some of them attended fashion week or flew back home to help other artists produce songs. And I know for a fact that you're planning that comeback to be released in between the gap between the first and second leg of the tour. The call is coming from deep inside of the house."

"You've got me there," Changbin sets his utensils on the side of his plate. He takes his napkin and dabs the corner of his mouth before placing it on his lap. He pauses for a moment before making eye contact with you again. "But at least I know how to relax on my days off."

You smirk as you let out a huff of air, your patience wearing thin again. "You have seven other group members that you can lean on when work gets to be too much. I don't have anyone. I may wear a Skzigi badge, but I'm not one of them. I'm an outsider to them. My team back home only sees this as a glorified vacation, I can't even complain to them without coming off as entitled. I don't have the luxury to relax."

A sinking feeling in your chest overwhelms you, filling you with dread. You've become concerningly aware of the staff member sitting near you, who is most likely going to gossip with the other staff members about you later about how unprofessional you are and how rude you've been to Changbin. You squeeze your eyes shut, almost like a child.

One...Two...Three...Four--

"Noona--"

"Forget it," Your eyes snap open as you quickly cut Changbin off, not really wanting to hear his pity for you. You pick up your fork and go back to picking at your food. "Just eat and find something for us to do with lax photography policies. We're wasting time with the conversation. It's not going to change anything."

***

"You don't cook a lot normally, do you?" You ask Changbin as you go over the pictures in your camera. The tape recorder you've been using all day sits between you. Both of you have small mics so that you can be heard loud and clear when you play it back later.

The day ended up well, despite its rocky start. The two of you went to the floating market after agreeing to do a food theme. You got pictures of Changbin "buying" fruits and vegetables from merchants on the boats. You even bought some actual fruit and got pictures of him eating them. You did some walking around and got pictures of Changbin at some food stalls, one of which the three of you actually ate at. You found a Thai cooking class for tourists and rented the space so that you could get pictures of Changbin cooking. Overall, it looks like another date concept, but it comes off almost like the Stay is going through a sort of farmer's market with Changbin and then cooking dinner with him. You got some amazing shots of Changbin feeding the camera that you're really proud of. You even had some time earlier to explore the more scenic routes around Bangkok, which is why the two of you are taking a bus ride over an hour back to the hotel.

Click

You turn to Changbin, who sets down the disposable film camera you gave him earlier in his lap. He peers over your shoulder to see what you're looking at. It's a picture of Changbin looking at an egg that he dropped on the floor. You know there's a picture somewhere of him holding a pan on fire that you took almost 20 minutes after that.

"It's not that I can't cook. Like most things, if I focus and try my best, I can do it." He speaks clearly and loudly so his voice isn't muffled by his mask. He lets out a soft chuckle like he's remembering something fondly. "But I don't trust myself in the kitchen. I'll end up wasting more things because of mistakes so I just order food or let one of the members that can cook take over. I know when to step away and let the professionals take over. I'm not as bad as Yongbok...Ayen, or Kim Seungmin though."

"So you're asking Minho to cook a lot then?" You set your camera down and rub your eyes. You're not sure if sleep is catching up to you or if your eyes are tired from looking at the camera screen.

"Yeah but...Minho hyung is a bit funny." He laughs as he leans his head against the back of the seat.

"Funny how?" You tilt your head.

You watch as Changbin's eyes shift over to the Skzigi sitting in front of you, asking permission to talk about it. You hate when the members do this. Especially when they do it over questions that are nowhere near controversial. The Skizigi's back is facing the window of her seat so she can keep an eye on the two of you and prevent anyone else from sitting near you and hearing your conversation, not that they would be able to understand you anyway. She pauses for a moment, looking up from her phone, before giving him a soft nod. She glances around before gesturing for Changbin to answer. There are not many places for people to sneak up on you since you're sitting in the back of the bus.

"I don't know if it's because he has that tsundere thing going on or because he's an only child so he's not used to all of the attention, but...Like if one of us asks him to make something directly, he'll say 'No.' Or if one of us just mentions that we're craving something and he happens to be in the room he'll say 'Just use your food delivery app.'"

You laugh, you've witnessed similar scenarios with Minho where he's done things like that with the other members more than enough times for you to believe it. "That sounds like Mr. Cat."

"Right?" He continues. "But then a few days later he'll call and say 'Come over, I made too much food to eat by myself' and it's the food we asked him to make or mentioned. And no matter how difficult it was or how much time he took, he'll play it off like it was no big deal. You've heard about the Beef Wellington story, right?"

Changbin's voice has a certain...soft fondness that you don't think you've heard in anyone's voice as he talks about Minho. You only just now noticed that he does that when he talks about any of the members.

"You mean when he spent like...four hours making Beef Wellington for Felix's birthday?" You recall.

"Exactly! He's always taking care of us like that. He pretends like he doesn't care about us or that he can't be bothered but..." Changbin glances over the Skzigi again. This time she hesitates to answer. Instead, he ignores her and turns his attention back to you before she can object. "It's all an act for the camera. But he truly cares about and loves the members. Even if he won't admit it. He is more of a 'showing his love through actions' person than a 'speaking his feelings' person."

You glance over to the Skzigi this time, mentally taking note of the annoyed look on her face. You know she's going to say something to you later.

"You know," You speak loudly so she can hear you as you turn back to Changbin. "I've been around a lot of groups where it's blatantly clear that their relationship is just a business one. But, after spending these past four months with you guys, I can see that you guys are an actual family."

"A family?" Changbin's voice trails off as he looks past you and out the window behind you. "Yeah, we are...I used to beg my parents and pray when I was little for a brother. And now I have two older ones and five younger ones."

You almost miss the worried look that appears on the Skzigi's face. Changbin catches it and thinks to himself for a moment.

"Take out the part about me praying about it. You can just say that I begged my parents for a brother." He says softly.

"Understood," You nod. You make a note of it on your phone just in case the mic didn't pick it up.

You understand why he said it. Even though his contract renewal gave him more freedom, there are still things he can't talk about. Or rather, he shouldn't speak about to protect his idol image. You remember the backlash Felix received just for being seen holding his Bible and mentioning that he'll pray for fans.

"I think we're done for today," You yawn as you turn off the tape recorder and shove it into your bag, along with your phone.

"Are you tired, noona?" Changbin asks, snapping back into his normal self.

"I think all the caffeine I've consumed today has escaped my body," You yawn again. If you're being completely transparent, you've lost track of how many coffees you bought today after the third one.

You squeeze your eyes shut and open them as wide as you can to keep them from staying shut. You slowly take apart your camera and pack it away in your bag as well. Still, the low lights in the bus, the quiet ambiance from the few passengers, and the stillness of the night are starting to make your eyes feel heavy and unfocused.

"An hour? Noona, that's not healthy." Changbin nearly shouts.

"It's fine. You guys have your own schedules for the next few days before we leave for Jakarta. I'm going straight to bed and sleeping in tomorrow since you don't need me." You grab your bag from your side and set it between you and Changbin on top of his jacket so you're sure you won't forget it.

"Yeah, but that's..." Concern laces Changbins voice as it trains off. "We're still far from the hotel and it looks like we're in traffic. Why don't you rest? I'll wake you up when we get there."

"Hm, maybe just for a moment. I'm probably going to end up knocking out at this rate anyway." You yawn again as you rub your eyes.

You settle a bit more into your seat, resting your head against the back of your seat and crossing your arms across your chest. You let your lead heavy eyes and don't try to open them again.

The three of you sit in silence for a while. You can hear someone typing away on their phone. Somehow, it doesn't annoy you. It's almost like ASMR.

"I'm sorry for being a bitch this morning," You mumble.

Thud

You force one eye open to see the Skzigi bending over to pick up her phone. You let out a soft chuckle at her reaction to hearing you swear. You don't do it often. Another sign of how tired you are. You close your eye again.

"I-I wouldn't use those words," Changbin clears his throat nervously. "But you're fine. I was being rude and frustrating earlier. Your frustration with me was completely valid. I'm sorry,"

"Apology accepted."

The two of you fall silent again and the soft typing resumes. The bus moves forward a little and then stops, almost like it's rocking you to sleep. Only, a thought pops into your head as you try to drift off to sleep.

You try to shake it out of your head to no avail. The more the louder the thought gets in your head, the more away you're becoming.

Fuck,

“Can I ask you something else off the record?” You break the silence again.

“Go to sleep, noona,” Changbin sings softly.

“Just one last thing, I promise.”

Changbin pauses for a moment, debating letting you ask the question. You crack your eye open again to find him deep in thought. After a moment, he turns to you. “If I don’t feel comfortable, I’m not answering.”

“Okay,” You nod, closing your eye again and resuming your previous position. You sit there for a moment, thinking of different ways to phrase the question.

“Noona?" Changbin whispers softly. "Did you fall asleep? Or are you having second thoughts?”

“I’m not having…It’s just a complicated question to ask.” You breathe.

He gently knocks your knee with his. “Stuff like that is off the table, you know that.”

“This has nothing to do with your romantic life, family, or private life.” You say quickly.

He pauses for a moment again. You're not sure if he's thinking or trying to read your thoughts. You're too tired to open your eyes and check to see what he's doing. You hear a soft sigh before he opens his mouth. “Then why are you having trouble asking it?”

“Because it’s…” You press your lips tightly into a thin line as you try to find your words. Your brain is nearly mush in its current state. You give up trying to find a diplomatic way of asking the question and just go for it. “Why did you hate me at first?”

More silence. You're almost certain that he's planning on getting out of the question by waiting for you to fall asleep. You hear him clear his throat again.

“I didn’t hate you." He says faintly. "I don’t hate anyone.”

“Bullshit,” You snort.

Thud

“I’m telling you the truth!” He says a little too loudly.

It's enough to make you jump and open your eyes. You scan the bus, none of the passengers seem disturbed by the volume.

You place your hand on Changin's forearm as you shush him.“Shh, okay, I believe you,”

“Sorry,” He lowers his voice, almost whispering. “Look, I didn’t hate you. Hating people isn’t good for your health and it takes too much energy away from you that you can use on something else.”

“But, you definitely didn’t like me,” You push.

“Not because of who you are.” He reassures you.

You think for a moment as you go back into your sleep position. “Because I'm a reporter?”

“Exactly,” He hums. You can almost picture him nodding his head as he says it.

"But you do interviews all of the time. I saw the Rolling Stones article. The journalist is a good writer, but you seemed comfortable."

"That took a while to get to that point. But after what happened at the MET Gala...I've been cautious around photographers and reporters. And this situation is...it's different because you're always around. Always watching and listening."

"Not always," You laugh to yourself, "As you pointed out earlier, I'm always working and I'm not around to that often."

"I know...Anyway, I was just worried about the group. It's our seventh year. It's a scary time, anything can go wrong, even if we don't do anything. We've reached a new level of fame this year and with that comes unwanted attention. It's hard to know, at this point in our careers, who is there to help us and who is here to harm us."

"...I'm here to help."

"I know that now. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize."

"It's fine," You yawn loudly.

"Go to sleep, noona," Changbin whispers softly. You can almost feel his breath on your ear.

Satisfied with the conversation, your brain rapidly returns to sleep mode. You offer a hum in response to Changbin. The bus starts moving again, pulling your body deeper into the state of sleep.

Your body is in a weird state where you have no real concept of time. It feels like you're only resting your eyes. You can hear the low hum from the bus moving and gently squeaking as it slows down. But your brain and body also feel like you're asleep. It feels like it's only been a few moments, but your eyes are glued shut. You can't even open them to check the time on your phone.

You feel warm all of a sudden, almost like you've been covered with a blanket. A few moments later, or soon after you can't really tell, you feel like you're falling. A few more moments later you feel something touch the side of your head, making you fall faster, just before the other side of your head hits something soft. You feel a soft smile creep on your face, but you're no longer in control of any part of your body anymore.

Click

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mingirn · 7 months ago

Text

only lovers alive

song mingi x reader

synopsis: you return back home after graduating college to a new relationship you have to navigate with your childhood best friend

warnings: smut, a lot of mentions of sexual acts, drinking, insecurities, jealousy, dirty talk, phone sex, sort of (very brief) exhibitionism, gender neutral reader

word count: 20,3k

notes: hello. i’ve had this sitting in my drafts for 1-2 years and saw a tweet that said ”i’d pick you up from the airport in every universe” and decided to let this out of jail bc of that. although the fic itself is inspired by this song. fic title comes from this song. i’m gonna schedule this to post while i’m asleep because i’m terrified to post after not being on here for such a long time. please be gentle with me >:(

It’s dark outside your window, but the streets are lit up by countless glimmering lights. Even though the day is turning into night, there’s still plenty of traffic. Beaming headlights join the streams of light from street lamps, and it’s just your apartment that is missing a glow from a lamp on its windowsill. You’ve got all yours packed up and sent away already, and you’re taking in the city for the last time.

��Are you going to miss it?” Mingis's voice is soft on the other end of the phone. You’ve got him on speaker, lying right next to you.

”I guess, yeah. It’s been nice, even though I haven’t spent much time exploring or enjoying the city.”

It’s true. You’ve just finished your last semester and finally graduated after moving hours away from your hometown to go to your dream school. It feels like eons since then, when you had to say tearful goodbyes to your friends and family and settle down in a cramped little dorm room. You’d been lucky enough to get student housing in your last year, a bigger place where you’d been living for the past two semesters. This city wasn’t just a stark difference to your hometown, it was the definition of complete and total opposite.

The town you grew up in was the type to hide, not really forgotten, just barely there. Small and tucked away between long stretches of forests and fields. You’d be blessed to live there your whole life, yet lucky to get away. You’d go home to visit during summer break and just bask in how simple life was back home, but beyond all, how it was still home to all the things you held most dear. Top of that list: Mingi.

”You’ll always be able to go back, maybe we can go during the summer and you can take me to that Chinese place you’ve talked so much about,” Mingi says. He’s starting to sound a little sleepy, and it’s a reminder that you should probably get to sleep soon. You’ve got an early flight to catch, then it’s just a span of a few hours separating you and Mingi. He’ll be coming to pick you up, so you suppose you better let him go too so he can get some sleep.

”You know I’d love that,” you smile, and slump down on your bed. ”I think we should head to bed though, maybe we should leave this future talk for some other time.”

He hums in agreement, and the line goes quiet for a minute. You can hear his breathing through the speaker, slow and steady. When you close your eyes it’s almost like he’s here.

”Hey, uh,” he begins, and he swallows audibly. ”Do you think it’s gonna be weird?”

Ah, there it is. You’ve almost been waiting, expecting, him to ask it.

”No, I don’t… It’s not like we haven’t seen each other since I moved away. We’ve spent almost all of the last three summers together, right?” you reason. It’s not really what Mingi is referring to, but you have to start somewhere. Soften him up, reassure him.

”Well yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just different because we weren’t doing those things then, and now it’s… well, different.”

”Mingi,” you say with firmness in your voice. ”It would only be different if you said and did all those things just because it was over the phone. If you didn’t mean any of it.”

Mingi takes another moment of silence, and you can imagine that he’s probably chewing nervously on his bottom lip. It makes you a bit nervous as well, the fact that you can’t see him. You’d always been so good at reading his face and figuring out what he was thinking. You need that more than ever now, the ability to read him, because so much has changed.

”I’ve meant every word I’ve ever said,” he says, and something about the words feels so heavy and serious, and he seems to realize it too. ”I really, really want to fuck you, not just over the phone.”

Mingis voice is normal when he says it, not a hint of underlying desire or desperation, but the words themselves send a flash of warmth through your body. It’s become regular at this point, this shift in your friendship. The first time you guys crossed over that invisible line had been under the influence of alcohol, you had come home drunk from the bar after celebrating good test results with some friends and Mingi had been celebrating getting a new job with your mutual friends back at home. It just sort of happened, you dialing his number and gushing about how much you missed him. The conversation went on for half an hour when you started trying to undress from your bar clothes and Mingi had asked what you were doing. He’d asked about what you were wearing, and what color your underwear was, then he informed you that he was just in his boxers, and for some reason you found yourself telling him about how sexually frustrated you had been lately in hopes that he’d offer help. And he did.

That first night it was quick and needy, neither of you initiated it, it just happened in perfect symbiosis. You checked the call log the day after and saw that you guys had been on the phone for hours, the last of which you had both eventually fallen asleep on call until your phone battery died. Tentatively, you had called him during the afternoon and asked him if he had any recollection of yesterday night's events. His voice had been raspy and breathy, throat raw from drinking and moaning, and you can still remember every inflection in the tone of his voice when he asked if you had liked it. That had been the start of it all, of an almost full year of phone sex, sexting, and swapping pictures.

”I’m glad to hear that,” you say, trying to sound just as casual even though you can feel butterflies swirl through your stomach. ”I really can’t wait, Mingi. Can’t wait to fuck you and can’t wait to see you, I’ve missed you so much.”

”I’ve missed you too… Get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow at the airport, just look for a handsome tall guy!”

You fall asleep with Mingis laugh ringing in your ears.

The next day, your plane lands at a far emptier airport than the one you’d set off from. It’s early in the day and the sun is high in the sky, occasionally passing behind weak and thin clouds. The air is so different out here than in the big city. The sounds are clearer, the people are kinder, and everything feels so much more simple here.

You sit on a hard airport bench and wait as your phone connects to the internet after having been turned off, seeing all your missed messages coming in. You’re just about to type up a response to Mingis ’You there?’ when a call from him pops up on the screen.

”Yeah, I’m here!” you chirp into the phone.

”’Here’ where? I’m just walking around and-”

”Mingi, you idiot, turn around!” you call out loud enough for him to hear it on the phone and in person, though he’s quite a distance away from you. You could recognize the back of his head anywhere, even though it’s short and bleached blond right now, it’s undeniably Mingi.

He spins around and spots you right away, making eye contact with you across the big, open space. Seeing Mingi in person for the first time in months washes away all nervosity, all the same as it stirs up a new sense of anticipation. You jump to your feet and you're both rushing towards each other, crashing together in a tight hug.

You find yourself closing your eyes, tucking your head into his chest, and inhaling his scent until it makes you lightheaded. He smells just like your Mingi, that same cologne he’s worn since he was 15, the same laundry detergent, and he smells faintly of sunscreen. It’s not the first time you’ve hugged him, not by a long shot, but it feels like the first time you’ve held him like this. Your arms around his middle, taking note of how big he feels in your hold, and you’re thinking about every little detail you’ve missed out on by being away from him. His warmth, his touch, his size, his voice.

”Hi there,” he murmurs, and his voice is so different up close. It’s deeper and darker, it reverberates through his chest. ”Was the flight okay?”

Something about the conversation he’s initiating makes you feel like now is the appropriate time to pull away, and that in turn has you questioning how appropriate that hug had been on your part. Mingi, however, feels cool as ice when he grabs hold of your bag and slings his arm around your shoulder to guide you out of the airport.

”Uh,” you begin, feeling a bit stumped. You continue, ”It was as good as you can expect, but the food sucked, I can’t wait to get home and eat my mom's cooking.”

”Tired of ramen and takeout?” he asks, chuckling.

”You could say that.”

You try to move on past your own weirdness. Mingi is normal and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be as well. Still, there’s a sort of buzz igniting under your skin from being in Mingi's presence again. You suppose it’s always like that, this initial excitement of seeing each other again and getting to update each other on all the things you’ve been up to while knowing you’ve got all the time in the world to hang out. But there’s this nagging voice at the back of your head that is frantically going through all the conversations you’ve had with Mingi on the phone. Late at night, underneath your covers, with Mingi moaning and speaking filth on the speaker. It doesn’t match up with the Mingi in front of you, the Mingi that has been your closest friend for years, and it makes you feel electric.

Mingi pops his trunk open and you load your bags into his car, then get inside and start the half-hour drive back to your hometown.

You only dare to steal little glances over at him. Watching him in the rearview mirror, seeing the sun set his brown eyes ablaze and paint his skin golden. His fingers strum along to the song on the radio on the steering wheel, he’s wearing a single ring on his right hand and his skin is already tanned even though summer has just begun. It’s almost like you’re meeting him all over again with the way you’re soaking in every inch of him, yet it’s forcefully clear to you that none of this is new. Perhaps that would have made it easier if he had just been a stranger where the slate was clean, but this is Mingi and there are things you’re both gonna need to navigate.

You’d foolishly expected that he’d lean in and steal at least a kiss but perhaps more right away, when you were still parked at the airport. More accurately, you had hoped so. It’s all you guys had been talking about for the past months, all the ways you’d want to ravage each other when you finally were face to face again. Apparently, Mingi thinks that can wait.

So you turn your head away, try not to look over at him or imagine his hand holding your thigh instead of the steering wheel. Instead, you focus your attention on the trees outside, and Talking Heads on the radio.

”Do you still like this song?” Mingi asks you. He takes a turn, and this is where the road gets lonesome and there’s more nature than buildings. The song playing is ’This Must be the Place’, and you know Mingi is asking because you’d been the one that bought him this CD for his birthday.

”I could never outgrow Talking Heads, you know that,” you smile at him. You’re starting to settle in now. The fields and the trees are so familiar, the air smells like your childhood, and Mingi is humming along to music you’ve listened to for years. You can do this, it’s not going to be weird, it’s still your best friend Mingi.

The ride back home starts to fill up with idle chatter. You’d think that you’d have run out of topics to talk about by now, seeing as you’d talk on the phone almost every day, but you still find new things to bring up. He parks his car in the driveway outside your house and helps you carry your luggage, all while giggling and joking with you.

It’s only been a year since you’ve been home, you hadn’t been able to come during Christmas, but that’s the longest stretch of time you’ve spent away from this very house. Not much has changed, your parents have kept your room exactly like you had left it, but something just feels different. It feels smaller, or you feel bigger. You catch a glimpse of Mingi in your doorway as you start unpacking your bags and for a second your abdomen flutters when you notice just how much of the door opening he can shield with his body. He has filled out a lot, and this shouldn’t be a surprise because you’d noticed it plenty of times before when you came home to visit. You suppose it’s not a surprise, but it’s the first time you’ve felt appreciation for it.

Of course, you had fantasized about his body since you entered his whole thing, and he had sent a lot of pictures that had helped you out with that, but seeing it in person is an entirely new ordeal. You feel your face heat up as your mind flicks through memories of pictures he’s sent you of himself naked, knowing what he looks like underneath his clothes. You have to wonder if Mingis mind is running in the same circles, if he’s as hyperaware of your skin as you are of his, and how he’s able to contain himself as well as he does if that’s the case. You hardly can’t.

”So,” Mingi begins. Your stomach lurches and plunges every time he pauses between words, fearing what may come next. Maybe this is when he breaks your heart and tells you he can’t do what you’ve been speaking about, that it’s just not the same when you’re face to face. You try to seem unbothered by your racing thoughts and decide to hear him out first. He continues, ”Uh, what now? Do you need any more help?”

”No, I’m all good, Mingi,” You’re rifling through clothes and belongings, lining them up on your bed. You can physically feel him behind you in your room as if he’s radiating this electricity and warmth that has your skin tingling.

”Maybe I should get going then. You know, to let you settle in.” You can hear him shift his weight between his feet. It suddenly feels unbearably awkward and strained between you two, and you know that if you keep your back to him it will only get worse. You need to face this head-on, cut through the tension, or at least pretend like the heavy atmosphere isn’t weighing you down.

You don’t want to let Mingi leave like this, without either one of you addressing things. If he leaves like this, with things unspoken and forgotten, the next time you see him it will be like nothing has ever happened. He’ll be right next to you but somehow further away than ever.

You guess you shouldn’t have expected to jump each other's bones the second you saw each other. Maybe that was unrealistic, but it had just felt that way on the phone. You suppose this is more natural, maybe you just have to stick it out until you’re used to being in the same room.

This Mingi in front of you is an entire world different than the one you’d grown up with. Despite the fact that everything is the same, that he’s in your childhood room and the sun is shining through the window just the same. The beam of light illuminates him directly, making his tan skin radiate.

You’re admiring him when he steps forward and closes the distance between you. Only the birds are singing outside your window, but in the total silence of your room, you can hear Mingi suck in a shaky breath before he leans forward and kisses you.

Time stills, the earth feels like it’s tilting or tipping, as if the very makeup of the universe is now irreversibly changed. Mingis mouth is warm and gentle but he’s keeping a pressure that has your mind whirling, just the way he’s kissing you with so much intent. You’re both breathing heavily and the air escaping his nose is so sweet that you can’t stop yourself from inhaling as much as possible, dizzying yourself to consume every bit of him that you can.

He’s already close, but he shuffles even nearer without breaking apart from the kiss. You can now feel his body against yours and Mingi moves his hands up to hold each side of your head, keeping you in place as he kisses and licks into your mouth. For some reason you’re so very present inside your head, thinking about each little detail of the way he kisses, reminding yourself to remember this moment forever.

You can feel when he starts to pull away so you chase after him, deepening the kiss for another second before he parts from it entirely. He’s just as breathless as you are, and there’s something in Mingi's eyes that you’ve never seen before. He focuses on your lips and leans in for another kiss that ends a moment too quickly.

Mingis hand ruffles your hair up, and his voice is laced with a laugh when he says a drawn-out ’bye’ and leaves your room.

You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, can hear the blood pumping and wooshing from it all the way through your body, throughout each delicate vein in your ears. Your lips are tingling when you reach up to touch them, almost in disbelief at the fact that Mingi had just been kissing you right there. Your mouth is slick with his spit, and your finger moves cardinally to gather it up and plunge into your mouth so you can savor it.

You fall down on the bed, staring up at your ceiling, and close your eyes to relive the kiss as you imagine what it will be like the next time you see Mingi.

Almost a full week passes until you see him again. Your family practically swarms you for the first few days, your parents being overjoyed to have you back invite your grandparents to welcome you home and your favorite aunt comes to see you with your two young cousins. You get unpacked quickly enough, when you manage to find time between family visits and long drawn-out meals, and before you know it five days have passed. Mingi stays busy too though, he sends a few occasional texts about work and though he lives right across from you, you never even catch a glimpse of him.

Sometimes you lay in your bed at night and feel your heart race up at the thought that there is only a few yards of grass and asphalt road between the two of you. It’s a massive change from the last three years when you had been miles and miles apart. Now, it feels almost like you can sense him. Just across the street, breathing and shuffling in bed. You can picture him so well, long eyelashes resting against his cheekbone, his skin flushed from sleep, his long limbs tangled up in a thin blanket. Your hand slips inside your underwear with a hot fire fueled by embarrassment and insecurity burning in your stomach.

Your imagination moves between recollections of words he’s spoken and pictures he’s sent, to the image of him in his bed right now. He’s so very close, but so very unaware of how much that precise fact affects you. Each day away from him only tightens the strings in your body and you grow more frustrated that you haven’t actualized any of the promises you’d made on the phone. At the same time, you find yourself quietly thankful for the imposed distance. Mingi isn’t even here, but he still has such an impact on you that it has you rushedly getting yourself off with your face buried in your pillow to keep quiet.

You’re so deeply affected by all this, while Mingi is fine. You’re the one busy, but when Mingi comes home from work and has some downtime he doesn’t even text to see if you can spend time. Seemingly, he doesn’t care to find out when you can see each other again.

On day six you’re sitting in your garden with your mom and aunt. Your cousins are playing in the grass in front of you and calling for your attention. The sun is high and hot in the sky, and Mingis car has been home for a few hours. You’ve checked your phone multiple times to make sure it’s not on silent, or if you’ve somehow missed a text from him, but it’s been quiet all day.

Then, a car pulls up to Mingi's house. You recognize it in an instant, it’s Yunhos old Camaro that he had inherited from his dad when he got his license, the same car he’d posted a thousand pictures of on social media. He had even let you drive it for an entire block two summers ago. The paint job has sparkles of blue in it that glimmer in the sun, and you somehow feel like it’s taunting you. The front door of Mingis house opens and he emerges in a pair of short shorts and a t-shirt that he has cut the sleeves off of, and he’s got a pair of sunglasses sitting on his face. A feeling worse than rejection rushes through you when Yunho rolls down the window and waves to you, finally prompting Mingi to also notice you sitting there.

Mingi raises his hand to wave but the movement is cut shorter than Yunho's enthusiastic full-bodied gesture. Mingi gets in the car and the engine roars as Yunho drives away. The warm air feels bittersweet when it’s filled by the smell of exhaust fumes.

That night you’re lying in bed and you’re inching close to sleep when your room lights up for a second. In the haze of sleep, you assume it to be the headlights of a car, but it happens again until the stream of light persists entirely and you finally get up to look outside your window. It’s clear instantly where it’s coming from because Mingi is hanging halfway out his window with a flashlight in his hand.

Though he’s quite a distance away, you can see him well enough to tell that he’s shirtless and his hair is messy, but your focus is pulled from that to trying to decode what gesture he’s making with his hand. You shrug, and he disappears from his window for a few seconds before he pops back with his phone and starts pointing to it.

You search for your phone and open it to find 4 missed calls from Mingi. His contact picture pops up on your phone and you hurry to answer.

”What the fuck, Mingi?” you whisper into your phone.

”Were you sleeping?” he chuckles, and you can see his shoulders shake with laughter. Every little bit of this makes you want to hang up, or scream, or march right over to his house and have a go at him. How dare he go days without speaking to you, then call you up in the middle of the night and laugh as if you haven’t been in agony this past week? How dare he kiss you breathless in this very room and make no attempts at reliving it?

”No, I was just about to fall asleep!” you huff.

”Why are you whispering?” Mingi asks.

”Because my parents are asleep, dumbass.”

”Hm,” he ponders. ”So that would be a no if I asked you to sneak out and come over?”

You hope he doesn’t hear your breath hitch at the thought that he wants you to come over in the middle of the night.

”Of course, it’s a no! My mom is already peeved because of Yunho coming by earlier today. She hates how loud that car is. She’s gonna think you’re a bad influence, riding around in that and making me sneak out.”

”Imagine her reaction when she finds out you drove that car before you got your license, and I wasn’t even there. It was all Yunho,” Mingi jokes.

”Shut up! God, my mom has been warning me about him for years. She used to be convinced I was going to end up with him and it was her biggest nightmare,” you say. Your window is cracked to let in some air now that it’s cooler outside. The night is quiet, and all you can hear is Mingi breathing at the other end of the call. It’s quiet for a moment, and you can see that Mingis face is scrunched up.

”You and Yunho?” he scoffs. ”Why would she think that?”

”I don’t know, it’s not like she had any reason to. She’s just weird like that, you know how my mom is.”

It’s silent yet again, Mingi just sighing.

Your stomach does a somersault when a thought strikes you and you have to ask, ”You’re not jealous, are you?”

”Jealous? Of- of Yunho?” Mingi laughs breathlessly. You just hum, and you can’t take your eyes off of him where he’s sitting in his window. Mingi sucks in a deep breath and regains his voice, ”I have no reason to be jealous of him when I’m the one with your nudes in my phone.”

Something about that makes you curl up on yourself, suddenly feeling very shy that you’re only in your underwear and a thin old tank top. It brings up another thought that has plagued you. The pictures you’d sent were all meticulously posed and manipulated to be as appealing as possible. It had been your body, yes, but the most perfect version of it possible. Here, in your pajamas with your skin glistening from sweat, hunched over yourself, you hardly think Mingi can find any resemblance between the picture-perfect version and the one in front of his eyes.

”Oh yeah?” you murmur. You can’t let him see you falter, can’t let him call your bluff. You straighten your back and pretend to be more interested in something under your nails. ”You could have a lot more than just pictures, you know.”

Mingi lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a moan and a breath, just audible enough for his phone to pick it up.

”Fuck, look at me,” he says, and you do. You just do.

Mingi stands up, keeping his phone pressed to his ear with one hand while his free hand moves in a long, slow caressing motion down his upper body. It’s your turn to feel jealous now, stupidly jealous of Mingis own hands for getting to touch him. His fingers reach the waistband of his boxers and you nervously stop breathing as you imagine them dipping inside. His hand moves just a bit further down though, where Mingi wraps his entire palm around his dick.

”Can you see that?” he asks. He uses his hand to move his hard cock under the light material of his underwear, making sure to jut his hips out towards the moonlight so you can see every second of his show.

”I can see you, oh my god. Are you out of your mind? Mingi, what if-”

”No one’s around, no one’s gonna see except for you,” he assures you. You lick your lips, thinking back to what Mingis mouth had tasted like.

”You’re crazy,” you whisper to him.

”You make me crazy,” he says with a smirk. ”Would you lift your shirt up for me?”

Your fingers have dug into your thigh without you noticing until now that Mingi is directing attention to your body. There’s so much tension inside your body that your breathing feels labored as if there are coils fastened inside you and everything Mingi says and does tighten up every bit of your internal structure. He has you feeling lightheaded with words alone.

Sensing your hesitance, Mingi speaks again. ”You don’t have to, I just really want to see you.”

The last sentence has you moving without thinking, getting up on your knees on the seat under your window. You take a quick glance around the street and in the windows of nearby neighbors. The whole world is asleep, only you and Mingi are awake.

You use your free hand to pull your tank top as high as possible, exposing your stomach and chest to Mingi who has stopped touching himself and is keeping razor-sharp focus on you.

”You-… Thank you, you’re gorgeous, do I ever tell you that?” Mingi’s voice is low and hushed. Until now he has sounded loud and confident, and if you didn’t know any better you would think that Mingi has gotten shy. He probably didn’t expect you to follow through with his request.

You haven’t spoken in minutes and you’re not sure if you could make any noise without it coming out as a whine, but luckily Mingi speaks up once more.

”Can you get into bed? I’m gonna lay down, please join me, please, would you touch yourself with me?” Mingi pleas. He waits a second for the words to register, for you to spring into action before he does so himself. Part of you wants to stay and keep drinking in the sight of his body, but the expectations of what he’s going to have you doing has you obeying his words.

”I’m in bed now,” your voice is still hushed, and there’s a layer of excitement in it that brings on a wave of embarrassment.

”I am too, I’m gonna- I’m taking my underwear off. It’s been so long, I just need to…” Mingi trails off. His end of the call is muffled, and a little distorted, and you can hear him shuffling to get his boxers off.

”It’s been so long since what?” you ask to clarify.

”Since we last did this, since I last came…” he answers. Fuck.

”Have you not been cumming since we last had phone sex?”

Mingi quiets down for a second before he lets out a breathy laugh.

”Have you?” he asks with a tone in his voice you can’t make out, but it has your cheeks heating up and your entire body running ice cold.

You turn silent now, but it’s clear from how Mingi is laughing under his breath that he doesn’t need an answer from you to know the truth.

”Oh my god. Well, tell me then, how many times have you made yourself cum since our last call?” Mingi asks. He sounds so cocky, so full of himself that you don’t know whether to roll your eyes or shove your hand between your legs and revel in this stupidly hot version of Mingi.

”Maybe two or three times,” you mumble, hoping that he doesn’t catch it.

”Let's just pretend I believe that. What have you been thinking about?”

You whine, feeling your entire body surge with shame and humiliation. Despite all of it, you’ve bunched up your blanket between your legs and without thinking about it you’ve started rutting against it slowly.

”Mingi, please…”

”Tell me.”

”I think about you. I always do. I’ve been thinking about that kiss, and-…” Your thought is interrupted by a sound on the other end of the line, along with Mingis soft hums. ”Mingi, are you jacking off to me telling you I fantasize about you?”

”I’m jacking off to your voice,” he says so matter of fact it knocks the air out of you. He continues, ”The fact that it’s about me only makes it better.”

”Oh my god,” you sigh, closing your eyes and letting your hand move where you need it most. Mingis voice is sweet and gentle as he moans with each stroke, and his phone is so close to his mouth you’re tricked into believing he’s right next to you, breathing and huffing.

”I wish you were here right now,” he says, sort of under his breath, a little quiet. It feels a little secretive when he says it, like when you were younger and he would have you turn your back to him as he did the same. With your backs pressed together, he would tell you all his deepest secrets, and when you’d turn around again you would both pretend like nothing had happened. It’s a memory you have replayed a lot more recently than ever before, just due to how similar it feels to this arrangement you have with Mingi. As long as you aren’t faced with each other, as long as your backs are turned you can do and say whatever you want.

Instead of sulking about it, you force yourself to play along.

”I do too, I need you so bad,” you whisper, and none of it is a lie.

”Need to see you cum for me, fuck, I need you to make me cum,” he moans. It echoes through your entire head, that moan and those words, and it has you rolling onto your back and pulling your underwear down your legs so you can touch yourself properly.

”You’ll make me cum just by saying that, Mingi,” you say, pathetically so. Something about Mingi has you reaching the edge faster than anything else.

”Fuck, me too. Just hearing you say my name is enough to make me cum right now. I’ve never felt this fucking good,” Mingi groans.

”Mingi,” you let out again, out of pure instinct. ”Mingi, please give me permission to cum, I need it, please!”

He does, in a string of words and breathless moans he allows you to cum with him. Your orgasm rolls through your entire body in a blinding flash, and by the time it’s over you can’t gauge if multiple minutes or just a few seconds have passed. Your phone is pressed so tight to your ear that pearls of sweat coat the screen.

”You there?” Mingis voice is raspy, all fucked out.

You come to, clearing your throat, ”I’m here, sorry. Holy shit.”

”What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks. You don’t have time to feel overjoyed or even finish your train of thought (of oh, fuck, it’s finally happening) before Mingi continues, ”Yunho’s throwing this… thing, at his house. There’s gonna be a barbeque, we’re gonna get drinks, and he says it’s going to be chill but you know how he is. It’s gonna end up being a party by the end of the night.”

You’re staring up at the glow-in-the-dark star stickers Mingi helped you set up when you were 15, and the answer is so obvious you don’t have to think about it.

”Yeah, I’ll go with you,” you respond.

”Well… I’ll take you, but maybe we shouldn’t make it too obvious when we’re there. All of our friends will be there, maybe it’s best to lay low?”

You clench your eyes shut. It makes you want to scream so loud it’d pierce your wall and travel across the street and through to his bedroom. A week ago he had been so concerned about things turning weird between you two and you’d written it off as a worry about your friendship, about how things would change after all the words and naked pictures you had exchanged. You hadn’t considered for a second that Mingi would be concerned for his reputation.

”Yeah,” you mutter. ”No, yeah, you’re right.”

”Okay then,” he says, so cheerily that you feel shame wash over you. ”I’ll pick you up tomorrow at five then?”

You hum in response and swap goodbyes before he ends the call and the beeps ring through your ear.

Your sleep that night is weighed down by a worry you can't dispel even after you wake up. You hardly feel rested, and your parent's voices barely register when they speak to you at breakfast. A lot of thoughts linger in your head, unshakeable doubts about whether things with Mingi are really going to be as okay as you had thought when you were in school.

Things had felt so much simpler then, like this steadfast belief that it would be just as it had always been. You had returned every single summer and were able to pick back up your friendship with Mingi with no trouble, despite all the months you had spent apart.

At least you would get to see all your friends again. Summer being in full swing would mean that everyone would be at their happiest, most free, possibly stupid, and risky behavior.

The day passes by sluggishly, you're merely counting down the hours. You try to read a book while lying in the sun in your backyard, but find that the words just flow together. You check your phone and see the half-hour call in your log from yesterday night, you’re just staring at Mingi's name and contact picture. It's just letters and numbers on a screen, but it's also a journal of your entire relationship. You can go back and see every single one, remember where things had started and where things had escalated. It took you weeks to send the first suggestive pictures to each other and they had been modest back then. A picture of your dark silhouette in the mirror, and Mingi replying with a blurry picture of his thighs in the dark of his room.

It's just another reminder that what you've got with Mingi is all contained in this piece of technology you can fit in your hand. Nothing is real or tangible, except for a few minutes of kissing. That's all you've got that counts as something; Mingi kissing you in your childhood bedroom for a few very good minutes before departing and ignoring you for days.

The kiss lives vividly in your head as you shower and get dressed.

You're sitting on your windowsill and watching the clock tick closer to five when the front door of Mingis house opens and he walks outside. He's got a pair of sunglasses on that he lifts off of his nose to peek up at your window, and when he spots you he waves and motions for you to come down.

You float down the stairs and out your door. The air is light and breezy outside despite the way the sun has been beaming down all day. Mingi is dressed in yet another shirt that shows off his arms, the slight tan line from his work t-shirt that he tries to even out is obvious to you up close and you squeeze his arm to tease him for it.

Both of you sit down in his car. The windows are rolled down to let air flow through and Mingi sets the car stereo to a low volume so you can faintly hear Tears for Fears play in the background. The engine hums pleasantly in comparison to Yunhos Camaro when Mingi starts the car. You watch his hands, waiting for him to shift the stick into first gear, but it doesn't happen.

Instead, time moves in both directions, very slowly but all too quickly as he wraps his hand around the back of your head and pulls you in for a kiss. Every single thought that has plagued you throughout the day vanishes the second his lips are on yours. It's replaced by the fact that these same lips had moaned your name less than 24 hours ago, that he had sounded so desperate when he told you he wished you were there.

Mingi deepens the kiss this time, letting it go on for longer than last time. When you have to part from it to take a breath Mingi trails his kisses from the corner of your mouth to under your ear. The kisses are chaste, barely there, but every single one leaves your skin tingling.

He doesn't return to your lips, he pulls back and regains his breath and his smile is so cocky when he reverses the car out of the driveway. You can't help but giggle then, and Mingi turns up the volume to let the music blare through the entire car. This is the Mingi you've missed, the one that drives through your neighborhood and ignores all the grouchy people who turn around and stare disgruntedly. He sings along too loudly, straining his voice to hit notes that sound awful even though you know that he's a great singer.

Everything feels as it always has when you pull up to Yunhos house and there are cars parked up and down the street. Mingi parks and as you're unbuckling your belt you see him look in the rearview mirror, grooming his hair and then wiping his mouth to remove your lip balm. It stings for a second but you don't let it persist. You just get out of his car and the two of you walk towards Yunhos backyard.

There is a voice in the back of your head that reminds you of the distance Mingi puts between you, this very conscious measurement that would leave no doubt for all your friends that you're strictly platonic. You push that away too, and make way towards all your old school friends instead. Seonghwa is the first to pull you into a hug, and it's all you need for the bubble to burst on all your worries.

Soon enough you're all laughing, the backyard is quickly filling with people and Yunho is having a hard time keeping up with all the people demanding a burger. The afternoon air smells just like high school, and the cheap alcohol mixed in the punch is just like the one you used to drink back then. The only difference is that everyone looks so much older, and the conversations have switched from homework, crushes, and drama to future plans and jobs.

"So what now?" Seonghwa asks you when a few hours have passed and the sun is setting. It's not getting dark, the sun is just changing from blue to lilac. You turn to him, feeling the way the alcohol has affected your vision, the way it's swimming a bit.

"What now?" you ask.

"I mean, are you back for good? Are you gonna settle down, get a job, do the whole small-town thing?" he jokes, but the question he poses is a valid one.

"Hm," you ponder for a second, looking up at the sky as if an answer is gonna rain down on you. "I guess I don't know. I need to get a job, but I'll give myself the summer to figure it out. It feels like the last one before things truly.. you know.."

"Change," Seonghwa interjects. "Before we truly grow up."

The conversation quiets for a moment before you both burst into laughter.

"Jesus, we always get so somber, don't we?" Seonghwa laughs.

"Remember prom? We went out for some air and you couldn't stop talking about the universe because you looked up at the stars for a second," you say.

"I don't remember that, I just remember Hongjoong going off on me because I teared up and ruined the makeup he spent an hour doing on me," Seonghwa recollects. You could remember that. You also remembered the eyeshadow Hongjoong had smeared across Mingis's eyelid, the messy dark brown he had lined his eyes with because Mingi refused to stay still for too long.

None of you had brought any dates that night, your entire friend group had decided to just go together and spend the night dancing with each other. When you had gotten a dance with Mingi towards the end of the night his makeup had started running and you had brushed your thumb under his eye. Nothing about that action or the dance, or the night as a whole, had been close to romantic. He had just been Mingi, the same Mingi as always, he walked you home that night with his arm around your shoulder just like he had every day after school.

It's only with the wisdom of hindsight you can identify little actions to speak otherwise. You can't recall what Sans eyes had looked like when you danced with him, but you remember in great detail how the lights had twinkled in Mingi's irises. All you remember from your dance with Wooyoung is that his hands had been too sweaty to hold, but you can go back in your memory to when Mingi had leaned his head on your shoulder and sang along softly to the song that was playing.

"What is it like when you talk to Mingi?" Seonghwa pulls you out of your thoughts. You don't know when your eyes close, but when you open them again the sky is starting to burn a vibrant pink.

"Well... I don't know. It's good. We talk about all sorts of things," you try to sound matter of fact, very casual. Reminding yourself of Mingis words, lay low.

"Yeah, you must," Seonghwa remarks, a chuckle sounding through his voice. It has you turning to him, eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

"Meaning?" you question.

"Just that there must be substance to your conversations, seeing as Mingi excuses himself from every night out when you call," he says.

"Yeah," you attempt to brush it off as a meaningless piece of information, but it feels like a lot more. You didn't know Mingi would rush home to talk to you.

Seonghwa hums, and your eyes are pulled to the ground where you've been digging your heel into the grass.

"I guess you guys have always been closer than the rest of us. Living across from each other, being childhood friends, all that," he says. There's no hidden meaning or intention behind his words, you know Seonghwa well enough to deduct that, but it still feels like he's trying to catch you out.

"Yeah," you repeat, absent-mindedly. "Suppose so."

Seonghwas mouth twitches a little as if he wants to say something else, but he keeps it shut. You're thankful, because even if he can read between the lines of your and Mingi's strange relationship, the fact that he doesn't say it out loud serves as reassurance to you. It's the same thin veil that you and Mingi drape yourselves in. Unspoken meaning unchanged.

A friend comes over and offers to top off your and Seonghwas glasses, and you decide to get up on your feet and move on from the sudden gloom that took over.

The music is loud and the air gets chillier as the clouds twist amongst pink and orange. You’re talking to Yunho and telling him the story about your mom's disapproval of his car when he notices your shoulders quiver with the drop in temperature. He fetches one of his flannels for you, helping you thread your arms through and telling you that you need another drink to warm up. Yunho makes you something stronger than the diluted punch, and it goes to your head with haste.

It does warm you up, and it pulls you from reality a little. It’s easier to laugh along with Yunhos jokes this way, without thinking about the tension between you and Mingi. It feels good and safe to just be worriless, to feel the wind in your hair and be surrounded by the sound of your friend's voices mixing together.

Your legs are getting wobblier, but Yunho catches you before you fall and he lets you stay posted against him.

You’re just watching the conversation your friends are having without joining in when you feel two hands on your waist. You don’t have to look back to know that it’s Mingi. The smell of his cologne is familiar enough to alert you.

”I think I better get them home,” Mingis voice is warm and round behind your ear. For a second you feel a little bitter, you kind of want to shake his hands off of you and scoff at him because he’s intervening just when you’re truly starting to enjoy yourself without spending a single thought on him. Is that not what he wanted? You’re keeping the secret, you’re not drawing any eyes towards you two. He’s doing that all on his own.

Had it been three years ago, you think your friends had been protesting your leave. You’re all grown up now though, and everyone is understanding when Mingi wraps his arm around your waist, and you both wave goodbye.

Mingi helps you into his car. Tears for Fears is still playing when he turns the car on and starts driving, and you feel a sort of agitation that you can’t place. He doesn’t speak a single word for a minute or two, and the mood inside the car is unbearable.

”I don’t think anyone could tell,” you say. Mingis face is bare of emotion, and you find yourself with an urge to placate him. ”We did well, don’t you think? I didn’t make anything obvious.”

You don’t know what response you expect to get from Mingi, but there’s a palpable shock within you when he pulls the car over to the side of the road and turns to you.

”What?” you ask. Mingis eyes soften when they flick over your entire body, to then end up at your face.

”Did you really.. worry about that?” Mingi wonders softly.

”Huh? I thought-… Yes, I worried about it, because you did. I mean, you told me we needed to lay low.” You’re starting to get thoroughly confused and frustrated.

”I know, but I didn’t think you’d drink so much and cuddle up to Yunho because of it,” Mingi says, his tone quickly working up to a sharpness you’ve never heard in him before.

”Drink so much?” you gasp. ”I was just having fun! It had nothing to do with you! Not everything is about you, Mingi, or about us. I don’t worry about it as much as you do. Believe it or not.”

”I don’t worry about it,” Mingi sounds accused.

”Clearly you do though. You take me to this party and give me instructions on how to behave, then spend the whole time ignoring me. Just like you did all of last week. Clearly, you have to feel ashamed, or- or…” you trail off, feeling your voice crack. Mingi sucks in a deep breath and leans closer, putting his hand on your knee.

”Please,” he urges, and there’s something in his voice that breaks your heart. ”Please, don’t think I could ever be ashamed of you.”

”Then what, Mingi?” you ask quietly, starting to feel yourself break now. Tears are starting to well up and cloud your vision. You continue, ”Do you just not want me? I get if it’s different when we’re face to face, I know it might not be what you expected, I understand if you don’t find me-”

”Stop it!” Mingi is almost shouting now, startling you. ”It’s nothing like that, you have to believe me. Stop saying these things.”

His hand lifts from your knee to hold your face where he wipes away a tear from your cheek. You don’t know what to say, even though there’s a part of you that wants to keep insisting. Mingi isn’t offering any kind of explanation or even an excuse, he’s not saying anything to quell your worries, and his hands on you are not enough.

”Kiss me. Please,” you whisper. There’s more you want to say, like prove it, prove that you want me. Kiss me and mean it.

”I’m not going to kiss you when you’re drunk and I’m sober,” Mingi says, offering up a solemn smile.

”I’m not though,” you argue. This entire conversation has been sobering. You’re still tipsy, your head feels a little heavy and your vision is still floating but you think you can blame it on your tears as much as you can blame it on alcohol.

”Well, you’re drunk enough that I don’t feel comfortable kissing you.” Mingis thumb strokes over your cheek to comfort you. It’s enough to calm you a little, because that you can take. You don’t think you’d want to kiss him either if the roles had been reversed.

”Okay,” you mutter. ”Are you sure it’s not because you don’t want me?”

Mingi sighs, ”We’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re not-”

”I’m not drunk, Mingi.”

”Okay, okay. But I still want to do this tomorrow, when we’re both thinking clearly. We’re just misunderstanding each other, and this isn’t how I wanted it to go,” he tells you. He leans forward and kisses the top of your head instead, just above your hairline. It must be calculated on his part, to kiss you where your skin can’t feel the warmth of his lips.

”Okay,” you say again. This time Mingi lets out a little laugh at your dissatisfaction.

He starts the car back up and takes off to go home, leaving his hand on your thigh throughout the drive. When he pulls up to his house and you get out of the car your legs feel like jelly, and you realize you’re probably not as sober as you’d like to believe.

”Mingi?” you ask. He rushes to your side to hold you up, though that’s not what you meant. ”Can I sleep here tonight? You know how my mom is, she’d flip if she saw me-”

”I wasn’t planning on letting you go home like this, don’t worry,” he laughs.

So, with his arm around your waist, Mingi guides you inside and up the stairs to his room. It’s dark and you have to remind yourself to be quiet to not wake Mingi's family. While he leaves the room to fetch another blanket you sit down on his bed and look around his room.

It’s been a while since you’ve been here but not much has changed. You know for a fact that Mingi is still just as entertained by his action figures now as he had been at 13. It makes you laugh to see them all lined up on his shelf, right next to a couple of books that you had gifted him. He had forced his way through a couple of them and called you to complain about every choice the main character made.

You’re comforted by how much of his room remains the same. This is a place where you can remember and picture Mingi. By his big stereo, switching CD’s. Cutting out pictures of his friends to add to his collage wall.

Mingi comes back to his room with a blanket and a pillow that he throws next to you on the bed.

You’re watching his every move. When his eyes land on you he lets out a sound you can only read as disgust.

”Of course he gave you that,” he complains, more to himself than to you.

You can’t help but follow his line of sight though, finding that he’s looking at Yunhos flannel shirt.

”What’s so bad about it?” you wonder. Being under Mingis gaze always fills you with a sort of insecurity that has you twisting and turning.

”It's like, his move. Lending out his shirt. And then letting you lean on him like that..” Mingi mutters.

”Why would Yunho ever pull a move on me?” you ask incredulously.

”For the same reason I would, I assume,” he says. ”You’re really hot.”

A heat rushes to your abdomen and you can’t meet Mingis eyes anymore. Today has left you feeling anything but desired by him, but you don’t think he’s lying right now. He wouldn’t lie about finding you hot just minutes after refusing to kiss you.

”It wouldn’t matter what Yunho thinks of me. Like you said last night, you’re the one who has my nudes. Right?” you say.

Mingi sits down next to you, looking at his hands in his lap instead of at you.

”What if he wanted more than just your nudes?” he asks. This, too, feels like he’s asking himself the question. And you don’t know what to answer.

You don’t think Yunho poses any threat whatsoever, he’s just friendly and flirty by nature. But you let yourself think about what Mingi is implying for a second. What if he - or anyone else - would want more of you than Mingi does? Someone who could offer you a relationship that wouldn’t require secrecy. Someone who would bring you around his friends and hold your hand for everyone to see. Someone who would properly date you and want a relationship, as opposed to dirty phone sex at odd hours of the night.

You realize you’d always pick Mingi above all that, no matter if you had to have him only partially. If he was never yours.

You open your mouth to respond but shut it again when you can’t find the right words.

Mingi looks over at you. He speaks, ”Can’t you take it off?”

”Take it off of me,” you whisper back.

His mouth twitches into a small smile.

”It’d be a lot sexier if I wasn’t taking Yunhos clothes off of you the first time I undress you,” he still sounds displeased, but his hands work the shirt off of you anyways. He discards it to the floor, as far away as it can come.

”These are all mine,” you say, meaning the clothes you have on. ”You can take those off.”

Mingi lets out a drawn-out breath, something to collect himself. His hands pause at the hem of your top even though you’ve already given consent, waiting for you to nod until he starts pulling it over your head.

Silence permeates in Mingis bedroom as he continues undressing you. It’s just the wind rustling his curtains that disrupts the quiet. He guides you to lie down so he can unbutton your shorts to take them off. His hands are so gentle and his touch is soft, when he has finished taking your socks off and all your clothes are on the floor except for your underwear he leans down and presses a sweet kiss right above your knee.

”Take yours off too, please,” you say softly. He’s not quite as delicate with himself, he doesn’t make a show of it. You can’t help but stare though, trying to really commit this to memory since it’s the very first time you’re seeing him strip for you, even if you know it won’t be followed up with all the things you’ve talked about on the phone.

Your eyes flick all over him, down his toned arms and up his torso as he pulls his shirt over his head, across his broad chest. You watch his fingers work the button on his shorts open, revealing his dark underwear. He’s not hard, at least not fully, and it’s strangely intimate to be so close to his dick for the first time but not in a sexual manner. Everything about it makes your heart feel heavy, you’re somehow aware of each pump of it, how it’s speeding up at the mere sight of Mingi.

Mingi, your Mingi, that hasn’t ever been yours. Not really, not properly, but still somehow.

You want him on top of you so bad, to finally feel him in the ways you’ve dreamt about for a full year. Instead, Mingi climbs in bed with you and pulls you close.

He is soft and warm in all the spots your bodies are connected and intertwined. You fall asleep to the sounds of his breath coming out slow and steady.

You wake to a breeze of air over your face. At first, all you can hear is the chirps of birds outside and the distant noise of cars driving around. You don’t need to open your eyes to know that it’s the middle of the day, the sun is bright in that midday way, bright enough that there isn’t a total blackness even when you screw your eyes shut further.

You just turn around and try to escape from it by burying your face into the pillow. The texture of the pillow feels strange and unfamiliar, and the more you come to you realize it also doesn’t smell like your bedding. It smells like Mingi, you realize, and shoot up in a startle.

You don’t have time to wonder why the bed is empty next to you, because you can hear steps on the stairs and seconds later the bedroom door creaks open. Through a squint you can see Mingi in the same state you remember him falling asleep. In just his underwear he walks up to the bed and sets down a glass of water and a plate, before petting his hand over your hair.

”Good morning,” he greets you, smiling big.

”Mm, yeah,” you hum back, still drowsy. It’s far more comfortable to let your eyes close again and just lean into Mingi's affection.

”You okay? Are you hungover?” Mingi asks.

”Yeah, but not from drinking,” you murmur. ”It’s from you yelling at me.”

”I wasn’t yelling!” There’s an undertone to his voice, an actual worry and fear that you’d be feeling a certain way today after last night's conversation.

”I know you weren’t, Mingi. I’m just messing with you, I remember every bit of that conversation,” you assure him. He lets out a sigh of relief, his thumb stroking over your temple.

”That was going to be my next question,” he tells you. ”So you remember the whole night then?”

You nod your head under his hand.

”Do you want to talk about it?” he asks you.

The question stabs at something inside your sternum. Of course, you want to talk, in reality, there are a thousand times you’ve held yourself back from saying to him and there would be nothing more freeing than telling Mingi all of it. There’s just never a time and place for it though and you’ve come to terms that there never will be. It would take astronomical changes to allow you to say what you want. Yes, Mingi, I’m in love with you and probably have been all my life. Mingi, it took us sexting to make me realize you’re the only one I could ever picture myself with.

You had of course let yourself fantasize a couple of times, but the details of any imaginary and hypothetical relationship between you two would quickly obscure, and Mingi was often a perpetrator in that. It would present itself on days when you lived in the afterglow of a nighttime call. You’d walk on clouds with the memories of Mingi moaning your name, then check social media and be greeted with photos of him with his arm around your lifelong friends and strangers you would get nauseous picturing Mingi talking to. Your name wouldn’t even come up in conversation, he’d appear single to them because after all, he was.

So you wouldn’t often entertain the idea of being something more. You’d just treat it as a passing thought, boil it down to what it was, a neuronal connection gone to grief.

You guess you had hoped to see something in Mingi to completely deny these thoughts. Like, a first kiss that you wouldn’t be able to break away from. Or the moment you finally have sex for the first time and it being this out-of-body experience that ends with both of you crying and confessing your love. Like a scene out of a movie.

You could even have survived the opposite. If the first kiss had gone sour and the spark died before it even ignited. At the very least, you would have an answer to all your questions. Instead of being tethered to this middle ground where there’s an undeniable passion and need for each other, but a considerable distance keeping you apart.

Though there were things you’d want to say, there are none you could verbalize.

”I don’t think there’s anything to talk about,” you say, finally. To convince Mingi of this, you open your eyes and roll onto your back so you can look at him. He looks unconvinced, so you continue, ”I think I was just confused and upset. I don’t know why. Maybe because you’ve barely spoken to me since I came back home. I had just… expected more.”

You find yourself surprised that you’re telling the truth. It’s not what you had meant to say, but it’s true and innocent enough. Mingis hand rests on the side of your face, where his fingers fiddle with your hair, and for a second his eyes focus on that, before coming back to yours.

”I don’t have any excuse,” he says. ”I guess I could say that I kept seeing your relatives show up at your house and I thought it’d be rude to whisk you away from all that just to fuck you. But I think the more time passed, the harder it got to..”

”Yeah,” you agree. ”To fuck.”

He smiles at your choice of words and nods.

”Have you not happened to notice I haven’t initiated a single kiss between us, Mingi? I’m nervous too. It’s different in real life. It was much easier on the phone to just do things,” you say.

”Would it make it easier if I told you I’d really like to kiss right now?” Mingi asks.

There won’t ever come a time when the prospect of Mingi wanting to kiss you won’t send a jolt of electricity through each and every vein in your body. Nor will there ever be an instance where you won’t act on that will, especially since it seems that there will be a finite number of them. As you prop yourself up and lean in to kiss Mingi you realize that, along with this being the very first time that you initiate a kiss with him, you’re also one kiss closer to the last kiss you’ll ever have with him.

Because there will be a last time. If you keep going like this there is no other possible outcome, there will simply come a day when Mingis's eyes set on someone else and your arrangement is concluded. There’s not an if, it’s simply a when, and every kiss from now on is going to lead up to that last one. You can’t decide if you should hold out and stave off that last one for as long as you can or fit in as many as possible until then.

All these thoughts disperse when your mouth meets Mingis and he kisses you back. It’s hard to think of anything other than his warm lips or his tongue softly licking against yours. It’s more playful this time compared to the last two, today you’re both feeling each other out and learning what to do, what feels good.

You find yourself out of rhythm at times, the position you’re in is a little awkward, and you fumble through a few kisses to lean closer to Mingi. You feel your stomach swirl when you realize that none of this deters Mingi, that you can in fact feel him smile and breathe out something between a hum and a moan every time you come crashing against his mouth. His big hand comes up to your jaw, long fingers curling around the back of your head to deepen the kiss.

Things get heady so fast with Mingi, he works you up so incredibly quickly, and it’s obvious from the sounds he’s making that he’s just as affected. He doesn’t pull away for a second, his hand keeps your head in place and he continues to clumsily kiss you as he guides you down onto the bed.

The air in Mingi's room is hot from the summer sun shining through his window. It’s not until now you realize that the only thing separating you from Mingis body has been his thin blanket. He starts peeling it away, and it’s then you remember that Mingi had undressed you the night before. A jolt of panic shoots through you now that Mingi can see you, entirely nude except for your underwear, in the warm, bright light of his room. You find comfort in the fact that he’s undressed too, but with Mingis eyes taking you in it’s hard to feel relaxed.

Mingi leans in for a long, passionate kiss, and against your mouth he muffles, ”You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Your head is swimming, Mingi keeps on kissing you, getting softer and more careful as he moves down your neck and continues to lavish you with compliments. So pretty, kiss, gorgeous, kiss, breathtaking, kiss. And if you had any doubts, he squashes every single one when he kisses from your collarbone, over your chest and down your stomach, all the way down to your hips.

He plants his hands on each of your thighs, not grabbing or putting any pressure, but you can still feel the weight of them.

”Is this okay?” he asks quietly. He kisses just above the waistband of your underwear, and at the same time, his hands nudge your legs apart. Your breath catches in your throat and you can only nod and let his hands move your legs to where he wants them.

”What about your family?” you ask him, suddenly realizing the reality of where you are.

”No one’s home. It’s just us,” he says. ”So don’t hold back on me please.”

His shoulders are big and broad between your legs. The sun illuminates him so prettily, his tan skin glows, and every little hair on his body is lit up by the sun. The heat has left a thin layer of sweat on his skin and it highlights his muscles in just the right way. He’s just glowing, near angelic, and you’re moved with the need to worship every part of him.

Mingi is still so tender with all his kisses, there’s no sense of rushing as he takes his time by really letting his lips linger. His mouth trails along your entire thigh, stopping now and then to lightly suck your skin into his mouth and have a taste of you. He only falters when he gets to the junction of your thigh, to where your skin is covered by the fabric of your underwear.

You’ve been short of breath for a while now, but when Mingis fingers dip into the waistline of your underwear you cease to breathe entirely. Your head is rushing, watching as Mingis hands pull your underwear down your legs, leaving you completely naked. You’ve sent him pictures before, he knows what every little inch of your body looks like, but Mingi looks at you as if it’s the very first time.

A thousand thoughts whirl through your head between the seconds your underwear hits the floor to when Mingi springs into action. A thousand worries now culminating, whether he’ll realize that it was better over the phone, if he’s disappointed by what he’s seeing, or if he’s repulsed by how aroused you already are.

”You’re,” Mingi begins, stopping to press a kiss at the seam of your thigh. He adds, ”Beautiful.”

His eyes aren’t even on yours, he’s single-mindedly focused on what’s right in front of him. His breath is fanning across your entire crotch, tickling your inner thighs, and as you feel it get closer and closer you instinctively close your eyes and let your head roll back when Mingi finally puts his mouth where you need it most.

He’s still so gentle, using his tongue and lips to tease you and explore what you like best. It feels like hours pass of Mingi lightly sucking and pressing wet kisses all over you, he’s really and truly taking his time and you have to believe it’s for his own sake because he’s only building up a frustration within you.

”Mingi,” you whine, reaching down to grab hold of his hair. It’s an objectively insane feeling, to have his hair in your hand and head between your legs, after all this time of dreaming of it. It’s enough to have you getting close, even though Mingi is still lapping carefully at you, and it's nowhere close enough to what you crave.

When you start bucking your hips against his mouth it’s like he releases all restrain and just goes for it. His hands wrap around your legs at first, pressing them towards his head, to then wedging underneath your ass so he can get all of you into his mouth.

Mingi moans out ”You taste so good” with a mouthful of you at the same time you tell him how good he is with his mouth, prompting him to smirk against your pelvis. It really doesn’t take long for him to learn what gets you closest to the edge, just where he should put his tongue and where to apply some pressure.

”So good, Mingi, you’re so good. Oh my god,” you sigh. You tug on his hair hard enough for your fingers to cramp, and Mingi only moans against you. Every sound you make seems to spur him on further, Mingi only getting more eager with the way he’s circling his tongue around you.

His tongue is getting you closer and closer, your stomach is splitting in two to hold onto the edge and trying not to cum. You’ve been waiting for this for so long that it feels a shame to cum just minutes after Mingis mouth is on you, but there’s no holding back. His hands grip your hips, pulling you flush to his face, and the second you lift your head to look down at him between your legs you start orgasming in his mouth.

He understands what’s happening before you do, applying enough pressure to get you over the edge before letting up and licking you slower to help you come down. All while he keeps his eyes on yours, letting your fingers scratch his scalp. Mingi listens to every little noise you make and stops the second your heavy breathing turns into an overstimulated hiss.

”Mingi, Mingi,” you whine. His cheeks are flushed a deep pink and his lips are slick with his own spit and your cum, and you can’t stop admiring him. All you can do is pray that Mingi looks into your eyes and mistakes your all-consuming love as the afterglow of a great orgasm.

He pulls himself up enough to crawl on top of you, and though he’s just spent minutes between your legs, this feels a lot more daunting. He hesitates for a moment as if he’s unsure if he’s allowed to kiss you, so you wrap your hands around the back of his head and pull him towards you.

Mingi is breathing heavily from the effort he’s just put forth, and instead of letting him catch his breath you only grow more desperate. Your hands clammer onto his shoulders, pulling him against you, then down to his waist, and finally around his ass so you can pull him against your core. He’s got his underwear on, but you don’t let it stop you as you grind up against him. He’s hard and you’re still wet with spit and cum, it doesn’t take long before you’ve soaked his boxers and the barrier between you both is practically nonexistent. You can feel every bit of him against you.

”Mingi,” you moan into his mouth. ”Fuck me, please.”

He pulls away and sucks in a deep breath.

”Don’t you want me to… uh, prepare you?” He sounds small and insecure. You watch his brows burrow and his eyes flick across your face, and you’re struck by how much he looks like Mingi. Your best friend Mingi, who you’ve built up in your head as a confident sex god, even though you’ve always been aware that he’s more careful and vary than any other person you know.

You suppose you’d just assume that that version of him would disappear in the bedroom, that he’d be the same as he is over the phone when he’s telling you all the different ways he wants to fuck you.

”I’m- I’m embarrassed to say this, but I’m so worked up you could just slide inside me,” you tell him, and Mingi moans in response.

”Are you sure?” he asks. You pick up motion again, sliding yourself against the entire length of his dick.

”I’m not just sure, I’m begging,” you plea. You hook your fingers into his boxers, trying to tug them down even though you know the position you’re in won’t allow you to undress him. You just need him to act, now, you can’t wait any longer.

It happens fast, Mingi pulling his boxers off and getting back on top of you, to then lining up his dick to enter you.

”Fuck, I forgot how big you are,” you mumble. The sight of him in comparison to you, lined up against you, is enough to make you cum untouched.

This is what you’ve been dreaming about for a whole year, this very moment. For Mingi to push inside you, hook your legs over his shoulders and fuck you until you can’t see straight. Actually being here, with the tip of his dick against your hole, it feels much different. It’s not the actual sex you’re looking forward to, it’s the fact that he’s finally going to be inside you. It feels like you’re claiming him, that the moment is finally here and he’s going to be yours.

”Are you okay? Are you ready? Can I-?” Mingi asks, searching your eyes for uncertainty.

”Please,” you nod.

He starts pushing inside, watching his dick slide with ease until he’s got the entire tip in. The stretch feels amazing, you could take all of him in one go but the fact that he stops and leans down to kiss you as he slowly thrusts his entire cock inside is way better. And god, he kisses you as if he’s not currently buried inside you. His lips barely brush against yours, and the kisses are short and sweet. Finally, he pulls back to watch himself bottom out.

The sun is shining on the side of Mingis face, and this is just not at all how you had pictured it. In your fantasies, there had always been a dark bedroom and Mingis body had been on top of yours, only distinguishable by faint lights outside the window. It was quick, rushed, and dirty, maybe Mingis hand would be clamped over your mouth to keep you from making any sounds since it would have to happen at one of your homes. Sometimes you’d imagine it happening in his car, parked somewhere secluded at night, it would be bumpy and awkward and sweaty and the focus would just be on both of you cumming as soon as possible.

You hadn’t pictured it like this. Like, Mingi looking at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time.

His hair is messy from your hands grabbing it, and the sunlight lights it up like a halo. Time feels unmoving, you’re drinking in the sight of him and trying to memorize every small detail.

He starts thrusting carefully and slowly. His back is upright, leaning away from you so he can watch his cock go in and out of you. You can’t stop watching him though. He’s so beautiful, his hair is a mess, and beads of sweat are starting to trickle down his chest. You reach your hands up, caressing his skin.

You wonder if you’re breaking some sort of unspoken rule. The two of you hadn’t discussed or set any boundaries, but when you slide your hands over Mingis chest and stomach, you wonder if you should have. This isn’t just fucking, you’re worshipping him and looking at him with intense adoration. He’s going so slow too, really taking his time. You’re not fucking, this is making love.

”I’ve never felt this good, you feel so good,” he moans under his breath. He curls his hands under your ass, picking you up so he can get better leverage to thrust as deep inside as possible. The new angle makes him groan, ”Fuck, you were made for me, weren’t you?”

It has you sobbing with pleasure. Mingis fingers are digging into your flesh, and he fucks you at this torturous pace for tens of minutes. You can truly feel the drag of his dick inside of you, when he bottoms out all the way inside to when the tip of his dick is at your entrance.

”You’re so good, oh my god! So good, you’re so handsome, Mingi,” you praise him, causing Mingi to pick up the speed.

You’re grabbing at his arms and shoulders, trying to pull him down, to get him closer. He lets you down on the bed and leans down, coming chest to chest with you, shoving his arm under your head instead. Your bodies are flush with each other now, Mingis pelvis rubbing against you and getting you close to cumming again stupidly quick.

His mouth is right by your ear, pressing a few sloppy kisses to your neck and temple. He is moaning your name and though his voice is hushed and strained you can still feel it reverberate through his chest, right against yours.

It’s precisely that which has you cumming, the sound of his voice calling your name over and over, telling you how good you feel. Your ears start to ring when your orgasm rolls through you and Mingi only picks up the pace to intensify it. You can faintly hear him, somewhere far away now, this otherwordly being showering you with so much affection it has tears forming in your eyes.

”You’re so perfect,” he’s telling you, fucking you faster. ”Just for me, all for me, you’re all mine.”

Somewhere through it, you realize he’s picked up the speed because he’s close too, but he wants to make it good for you before he pulls out. His eyes are on you, watching your breathing return to normal and feeling your hands unclench from his shoulders, and only when he’s certain that you’re coming down from the orgasm he leans back and pulls out. He only manages to get his hand around his cock before he cums all over your stomach, cumming so hard he shoots all the way up to your chest.

Mingis other hand is grabbing your waist and you can’t stop looking at the way he’s marked you up. There are red marks on you from the tips of his fingers, and little marks from his nails all over your hips, and you’re covered in his cum. Just seconds ago he’d told you that you’re all his, and in this moment you feel it.

”Fuck, that was…” Mingi is the first to speak. ”Shit, let me get you cleaned up.”

He scrambles for his underwear, starting to wipe his cum from your stomach.

You’ve managed to blink away the tears that welled up when you came, but there’s still a sob within your chest that you’re fighting to choke down. Everything about what just happened was about a thousand times more intense than you had ever dreamt of. Had he not pulled away you think you might have confessed to him right then and there.

”How are you feeling?” you ask him, clearing your throat and hoping Mingi reads it as just being fucked out.

”Very good,” he responds, without a hint of hesitance or a second of stalling. There’s a faint laugh in his voice, and he’s starting to smile. Nothing about him looks like you currently feel.

”Oh,” you say, struggling to find words. It’s not like you had expected him to just bare his heart and pour out confessions. You’d just expected something more to follow, after all of that. You had made love. There’s no other word for it.

Mingi leans down and kisses you once, so chaste you barely have time to kiss back.

He gets up and pulls out a pair of new boxers from his dresser, stepping in them.

”Fuck, I made you breakfast earlier and forgot all about it,” he tells you. You look over at the nightstand, where your breakfast sits forgotten.

”Oh,” you repeat. Your head drops back down on Mingis pillow. You speak again, ”I think I’d rather have a shower.”

It’s all so thoroughly strange. Mingi clasps his hand in yours and pulls you up from the bed, and you feel perturbed. You’ve seen Mingi greet Yunho with more affection than the way he helps you up on your feet. At least he joins you in the shower, but you feel weirdly disconnected from him. Even when he jokes and suds up his hair into silly hairstyles you can only manage halfhearted laughs.

Your body aches to have him closer, to feel him pressed against you and to have his lips back on yours again. The kisses he’s giving you now feel cheeky, as if he’s kissing you just because he can, and not because he truly wants to.

You suppose there’s reason to feel thankful, because at the very least Mingi hasn’t rejected you. His casualty is worth a lot more to you than the possibility that he could have pulled back and realized that everything about this was a mistake. He ruffles your hair after the shower, and it stings, but each second you continue to remind yourself that this is how things are supposed to be.

He lets you have one of his shirts after the shower, and he cooks you a very late lunch, then Mingi has to leave for work. Your legs are still unsteady when you make the walk back home to your house.

You prepare yourself to be ignored again. You busy yourself with cleaning your room, reading a book, cleaning out weeds in the garden, sending out job applications, anything you can to make the hours go by. You don’t want to check your phone, but your fingers itch to see if Mingi has texted you.

Nothing.

It’s not until late that night when you know Mingi's shift has ended that he calls you.

”Hey,” you answer, walking over to your window. Mingis car is in the driveway, but you can't see him in his room.

”Hi there,” he greets you. ”Busy day?”

”Oh you know, the usual,” you say. ”Mom wasn’t too happy with me spending the night but she was very relieved to hear it was with you.”

You’re still dressed in his t-shirt, and throughout the day you've been bringing the collar up to your nose to smell him on it. You find yourself doing it now too.

”Her head would explode if she knew what you were doing at my house this morning,” he teases you.

”Good thing no one will ever know then,” you joke, though it is the truth. It was always meant to be a secret.

”Right,” he says. ”So, do you think maybe you could come over tomorrow? My parents will be gone, I start working in the afternoon again, I was thinking maybe-”

”Yes,” you interrupt him.

Mingi laughs, ”Okay. Uh, do I sound desperate if I say that you can come over as soon as you wake up?”

”A little, but I like it,” you giggle.

”Good.”

”I’ll see you tomorrow then!”

You sleep so much better when you know that you’re seeing Mingi tomorrow. You wake up feeling completely rested, and you’re giddy as you sort out your bedhead and get dressed.

Mingis parents aren’t home, and there’s a spare key resting atop the frame of the front door that you use to let yourself into their home. It’s still early, early enough that you know that Mingi is probably fast asleep in his bed. You try to keep your steps light as you trudge up the stairs and into his room. The curtains are drawn, only letting in a stream of sunlight that lights up a sliver on his bed. The orange morning sun is casting a few inches of light on his thigh, so you let it lead you.

It’s where you first press a kiss. He smells of sleep and Mingi, you inhale the scent of his skin between kisses you trail all over his thigh and over the front of his underwear. Mingi sighs softly in his sleep, hips twitching when your lips kiss the tip of his dick through the fabric of his boxers. You’re looking up to watch his face, but when he’s still asleep as you mouth over his entire cock, you crawl up and kiss his lips.

Mingi huffs and puffs, twisting underneath you. You continue to kiss all over his sleepy, confused face. He cracks an eye open, transforming from a groggy confusion to a content smile.

”Morning,” he mumbles happily.

”Hey,” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth. ”Can I suck you off?”

He lets out a drawn-out moan that tapers off into a sigh, nodding fervently. His hands are weak and his fingers fumble to find purchase in your hair when you pull his underwear down his legs and take him into your mouth right away.

He sounds so lovely, all raspy and deep from his sleep. Even though he’s just come to consciousness, Mingi makes sure to tell you how good you are making him feel. He moans your name, over and over, giving you so much praise it’s making your head swim.

It doesn’t take him long to get close, so you choke out permission for him to cum in your mouth, and Mingi listens eagerly. Even as he cums he’s vocal, talking you through it and reminding you to breathe all while he praises you for how well you take it. He’s so gentle it’s making you moan as you swallow, and when you pull off his dick you scramble to get his thigh between yours.

Mingis hands guide your hips over his thigh, setting the pace for you to hump him. He keeps the praise coming, and when he feels you getting close he pulls you down for a numbing kiss. You cum on his thigh while deep in a kiss, and Mingi holds you close to his chest as you come down from it.

Somewhere in the post-orgasm haze, you both fall asleep. It’s peaceful and quiet, Mingi lulls you to sleep with the sounds of his breath and his fingers drawing patterns on your back. When you wake up again it’s in a sweat. His little bedroom is swarming with heat, so you decide on a shower, where Mingi has your chest pressed against the white tiles while he fucks you until you’re cumming a second time, this time while full of his cock. He bites down on your shoulder to keep from cumming until he knows you’re fully satisfied, and only then does he pull out and let himself cum on your ass.

When you’re pulling his shirt over your head 10 minutes later while he cooks you lunch, you catch sight of marks on your shoulder. His teeth had dug hard enough to bloom bruises on your skin, and your mind reels at the fact that he has marked you up.

Mingi has you coming over the next morning too, after you’d spent the previous night sending him pictures of the bruises his teeth left on your skin. His responses had been sporadic as he focused on work, but it didn’t stop you from going into detail about all the things you want Mingi to do to you.

It’s like all the limits have finally vanished, neither of you are held back by the fears and worries of before. It’s just like it had been before you moved back, when you only had phone calls to rely on. Back then, the comfort had come from the fact that you didn’t have to actualize all the things you spoke about. You had time to feel each other out and discuss what you want, all without having to put yourself on the line for possible failure. Now, you’ve found reassurance in the fact that you do have a physical relationship.

You know each other in your bones. You can read all the queues his body gives you, and you know what every little expression on his face means. You can sense differences in his sighs and you know what his voice sounds like when it’s getting to be too much. There’s no room for doubt when Mingi is in front of you, you just intrinsically know what he needs.

The two of you fall into a routine. When morning comes, you skip over to Mingi's house and usually he’s still asleep, tired from his shift the day before. You wake him up with kisses or gentle touches, and if he’s hard by the time you get there, Mingi loves to wake up to you already taking care of him. Some mornings you simply lay beside him, tracing his face with your finger. His hair sticks to his forehead so you brush it back, giving soft kisses to the side of his temple. Your pointer finger follows the contour of his nose and lips, feeling the warmth of his breath exit his nose.

Even though he’s asleep and unaware of your worship, you can’t bring yourself to stop. It’s in these moments you can be fully truthful with your affections. Letting your hands linger on his chest for a moment longer, focusing on his heartbeat underneath your palm. You whisper things to him you’re too afraid to say when he can hear you, just to release yourself from the need. It satiates you enough, like this airing out of your system, enough to keep you going until the next morning when you once again get overwhelmed with the sight of his sleeping form blanketed by sunlight. There is only one thing you forbid yourself from saying, three words that you vow to never let yourself speak.

A full two weeks pass of this. Every day you explore something new, things you’ve spoken about on the phone over the last year. With Mingis parents working daytime, you have full freedom to be as loud as you want. Mingi also takes full advantage of a free house. One morning he bends you over the kitchen counter while breakfast is still cooking. His mouth is always right by your ear, moaning and telling you how bad he needs you, despite fucking you upstairs in his bedroom just an hour earlier. Another day he has you ride him on the couch right before he leaves for work. You love it most when Mingi randomly decides to go down on you, whether it’s in the shower or he makes you lie down on the kitchen table. When he’s got his mouth on you he’s possessive, making sure to mark up your thighs and hips. It happens so often that he sometimes ends up darkening the hickeys he left a few days earlier.

Then Mingis schedule changes, and he has to work in the mornings. It doesn’t stop you, but it puts a damper on things as you know them. You have to meet in the afternoons instead, and with Mingi's parents home you end up sitting through long dinners with his parents, reminiscing and talking. It makes sex a little difficult, and Mingi hates the fact that you have to be quiet. He picks you up in his car a few times, but quick head while parked at the edge of the woods is a harsh contrast to the hours of sex you’d been able to have a few weeks earlier.

You’re caught by surprise one day when your phone calls and you rush to pick up only to find Yunhos voice at the other end. You’re so surprised that you pull your phone away and check the name on the screen, and sure enough it’s Yunho's contact name.

”Hey,” you reply, trying to play off the shock.

”Not happy to hear from me?” he teases.

”Shut up, you know I am!” you joke back.

He laughs in return and makes some small talk, telling you how much fun it was to see you and asking you how you’ve been.

”But, hey, uh,” he interjects. ”You ended up leaving with my shirt, is there any chance I could get it back?”

”Shit,” you curse, squeezing your eyes shut in embarrassment. ”You’re right, I totally forgot. Uh, do you want me to bring it by today?”

”That’d be perfect, thanks!”

When Yunho hangs up the phone, you chew nervously at your lip. Getting the shirt back to Yunho wouldn’t be an issue, it’s just that it’s in Mingi’s room somewhere, and asking him to locate it would probably lead to another weird moment where Mingi says something petty. You’re pacing around your room when your eyes land on his driveway and you remember that Mingi is at work. You’re just about to call Yunho and tell him today’s gonna be impossible, before the solution hits you.

Mingis mom opens the door to their home when you knock, and beams at the sight of you on their doorstep.

”Sweetheart! Hi there, Mingi is at work right now, I’m afraid,” she tells you while wrapping her arms around you for a hug. She always does this, even though you’ve been spending a lot of time over at their house recently, Mingis mother hugs you every time she sees you.

”I know, it’s just that I left something in Mingi's room that I need to get if that’s okay?”

So she lets you run up to his bedroom. You feel a little bad while rummaging through his room, but it doesn’t take you long to find Yunhos flannel shirt bunched up halfway underneath Mingis dresser. Mingis mom tries to convince you to stay for dinner, but you tell her you have to get going, and within moments you’re in your car on the way to Yunhos house.

It’s another picture-perfect day outside, the sky is a pristine blue and the wind is blowing just enough to bring some relief in this heat. Yunho is outside in his front yard, with the rear of his car jacked up.

”Hey, you!” you call, getting out of your car. ”Car trouble?”

You can tell by the fact that he has picked apart the entire wheelhouse that it’s not just something routine, but Yunho shrugs his shoulders.

”Not something I can’t fix,” he smiles. ”Dude, you’re quick. I called you, what, 30 minutes ago?”

You nod, sitting down on the tire Yunho has removed.

”Honestly, I was losing my mind at home. I’ve been doing jack shit for days now, I think I might die out of boredom,” you complain.

”Oh, so you’re saying you left the minute you got my call just because you had nothing better to do? It’s not just because you love me?” Yunho quirks an eyebrow, wiping grease from his forehead.

”Can’t it be both? And anyway, I had to go over to Mingis to get your shirt, so I didn’t leave ’the minute I got your call’,” you say, sticking out your tongue at him.

”It was at Mingi's house?” he asks.

Something comes over Yunhos face that you can’t pinpoint.

”Yeah.. I left with him during the party, and we went to his house afterward.” You hope he buys it as a reasonable enough explanation, it’s at the very least true. Just not the entire truth.

Yunho shrugs, and his eyes lose the edge they just had. He smiles, ”Leaving in one man's shirt to go to another dude's house, all in one night.. Impressive, I’ll give you that.”

”Fuck off!” you huff, kicking Yunhos shoe.

He laughs, slapping down a greasy hand on your knee to let you know that he’s just joking, even though you already know that.

”Although…” you trail off. ”Mingi did say that it’s your move.”

”Oh yeah, it is. I wasn’t expecting you to fall for it, though.” Yunhos's voice is still teasing, but not in the same way that Mingis usually is. You can tell that Yunho is just friendly, that there’s no flirting laced in his words or tone. It makes you miss Mingi.

”I don’t fall for things like that,” you retort, but quickly find your mind going to all the shirts Mingi has let you borrow these past weeks. You wear them all day, every day, even when you come back home after spending time with him. You even sleep in them, and you frequently bury your face in the collar to smell his laundry detergent. The few times he gives you a shirt he’s already worn you end up getting so worked up about it that you think you’d be getting yourself off while smelling it, if it wasn’t for the fact that Mingi now has you cumming at least twice a day.

So, perhaps you do fall for tricks like that. But only when it’s Mingi.

Yunho goes silent, and you can see that he’s chewing on the inside of his lip.

”What’s wrong?” you ask him.

His eyes flick over to yours for a second, then he looks at his hands. You’ve never seen Yunho this deep in thought outside an academic setting, and something about it is making you uneasy.

”You know,” he begins, but the words die as quickly as he says them.

”Yes?” you try again.

He pauses, looking up at you.

”You know that Mingi is my best friend,” he says. ”And I love him, I do, but sometimes he acts like an idiot. And I can’t- I just hate seeing it, you know?”

”Okay,” you mumble, only growing more confused with every word Yunho says.

”I don’t think it was right how he came here with you, then spent the whole night talking to everyone but you. But, he just gets so weird sometimes, right? And like I said, I love him, he’s my best friend, but- we just thought it would be different when you came back home. So, Wooyoung and I decided to see what would happen if I lent you my shirt, and-.. Yeah.”

”What… What are you saying?” Your voice is getting quieter. The cheery happiness from before has retired, and there’s something strange in the atmosphere now. You can’t understand what Yunho is getting at, but there’s a part of you that wonders and wishes. A part of you that can read between the lines of what Yunho is too afraid to say out loud.

”It’s not my place to say,” Yunho says, looking everywhere but your eyes.

”At least tell me what you intended to do with this shirt.” It’s still in your hands, his flannel, and your fingers are tightening around it.

”We just figured that maybe he needed a push,” he tells you, sounding so sheepish.

”You wanted him to get jealous?” you finally say it out loud. Yunho doesn’t meet your eyes, but it’s a clear enough answer. So you ask, ”What do you know about me and Mingi?”

”In all honesty? I don’t know anything. And it used to hurt me because Mingi is my best friend and I’ve known him since we were kids. But that’s what clued me in because I know for a fact that he would have told me if you were dating,” Yunho says. You’re holding your breath while listening to him. He continues, ”I, uh, I accidentally saw the preview of a text you sent him once. Something about.. well, that’s not important. But, I realized it then. We all thought it was just a matter of time, and that you’d make it official when you moved back home.”

You’re hearing every single thing Yunho is saying, but the words just won’t stick. You’re becoming more aware of the birds singing and the sound of the wind among the treetops.

”Mingi is in love with you,” Yunho says. At last. The rest of his words blur together. He has been, a long time, doesn’t know it. Yunhos mouth is moving, and you know what he’s saying, but the rational part of you that knows this can’t be true has stopped listening long ago.

Mingi is not in love with you. He’s just not, that can’t be true.

Yunho scrambles towards you, hands landing on each of your knees. He looks so concerned and his mouth is still moving.

”-you okay? What’s wrong?” You hear once your brain stops blocking your ears. You’re crying, tears falling from your cheeks down onto your hands.

”What did I say?” Yunho asks frantically.

And the confessions start rolling. You tell Yunho about everything, from that first night to everything that has happened since you returned back home. You tell him about the weird moment when Mingi drove you home after the party.

”Don’t you hear it though? He’s in love with you! My god, I think he always has been,” Yunho says.

You scoff, ”He ignored me for four whole months during my first semester away. He’s not in love with me, this is just.. out of comfort, it’s just easy.”

”You’re both in denial. You know what I’m hearing? That Mingi was so heartbroken when you moved away that he couldn’t even be a good friend. That didn’t just extend to you, by the way. He barely hung out with us during that time, and it only changed when you came home for Christmas,” Yunho tries to lay it out for you.

”You’re wrong. You’re wrong-”

”I can’t tell you what to believe,” Yunho says. His hand squeezes your knee, leaving dirty marks of grease on your skin. It’s a gesture of comfort, and you appreciate it for what it is. ”You need to talk to Mingi. Maybe disarm him by telling him that you’re in love with him first.”

The air feels different when you drive back home. It feels heavier, somehow. Yunhos words bear an incredible weight and no matter how many times you run them through your head they don’t get any easier to process. It would be different if it had come from Seonghwa or Hongjoong, who would say practically anything to comfort you. You don’t think Yunho would sweeten his words like they would, or even at all.

You sit through a quiet lunch with your mom, unable to get your thoughts in any other direction than the conversation you just had with Yunho. For some reason, you feel absolutely stuck there, and you can’t see a way for things to work. It feels as if time has been suspended in wait for your next move. The hours tick on though. You lay in your bed and watch the numbers on your alarm clock change. Seconds turn into minutes, and then hours, and your mind is still stuck in the same place as it has since you left Yunhos house.

You don’t realize when the clock indicates that Mingi is ending his shift. The numbers are just ticking, hypnotizing you. You startle when your phone calls and the pit in your stomach grows when you know that it’s probably Mingi.

Your fingers move on pure muscle memory as you pick up your phone and swipe to answer the call, then raise the phone to your ear. Through the phone, you can hear Mingis car running.

”Hello?” Mingi asks. ”You know, it’s usually the person who picks up the phone who speaks first.”

”Sorry,” you croak. You don’t even recognize the sound of your voice.

”Are you okay?” Mingi sounds so concerned it makes your stomach twist. It’s still the same Mingi you have known all your life, and he’s the same man you’ve been fucking the past weeks, but something feels as if it has fundamentally changed. You try to listen to his voice, read it for any hint of tenderness you’d have previously missed. You can’t make out any, it’s the same Mingi as always.

”It’s been a weird day,” you settle for.

”Then what do you say about changing into your swimsuit and we go to the lake? It’s so hot out, I can’t stand to be home. And maybe it can take your mind off of things?” he suggests.

”Yeah, sounds good.”

”I’ll pick you up in 5, better hurry!”

Mingi hangs up. Your head feels all fuzzy and distant, but you pull yourself out of bed and get changed. While putting your clothes over your swimsuit you realize you’re in one of Mingis t-shirts. Every single bit of this feels like a divine punishment. To be dressed in Mingis clothes and have marks in the shape of his mouth decorate your chest and the insides of your thighs, to be so thoroughly claimed by him but yet not be his, is agonizing.

You’re aware that Mingi would park in your driveway and come knocking at your door, wanting to impress and appease your parents at every turn. You just can’t deal with that today, so you hurriedly make your way down the stairs and out your door to wait for him outside. You’re just in time, because Mingi is making the turn up your street and it’s only half a minute before he’s pulling up to your house and you’re getting in his car.

”Hey, I missed you!” Mingi sounds cheerful, sporting a smile so big it’s splitting. You hate the way that time and space curl around Mingi each time you see him as if he presents to you in technicolor and slow motion. Your eyes pass over each feature, trying your best to handle what just seeing him does to your body.

Mingi keeps a pair of extra sunglasses in his car for you, and when you’re sat down he leans over to place them on your face. The gesture is enough to make your breath hitch, but he uses it as an opportunity to lean in for a swift kiss, and you feel as if you’re floating.

Today, Mingi has Fleetwood Mac playing softly throughout the car.

You’re just looking at Mingi with this pit in your stomach, this sense of impending doom sitting heavy in your abdomen. The world feels slow and strangely saturated. The seconds stretch on infinitely, allowing you plenty of time to watch the sunlight adorn Mingi's skin.

You’re aware that you can’t stop staring. When Mingi parks the car and you start making the short walk through the trees to get to the lake, your eyes are always set on him. From the towel slung over his shoulder to the sweat that has broken out and is trickling down the nape of his neck. You’re trying to make sense of the sight in front of you, the same Mingi you’ve made this walk with a hundred times, the only difference being that he’s had you in the most intimate and tender ways now. It forces you to rewrite history, the memories of your childhood innocence are permanently changed. If only you had known then, while sitting on the big rock and throwing pebbles out to break the still surface of the water if you had only known that the boy handing you rocks would end up being the man you fall in love with fifteen years later.

Your stupid, stupid heart. Sometimes you think the ribs, flesh, and muscle containing it won’t be enough to keep it in place. It beats so hard and fast it billows from your chest, through your arms, and out to the very tip of each finger. You have to flex them to stop that lovesick tingle from numbing you.

The water is beautiful. The lake looks just like you remember it, the wind is blowing slight ripples upon the surface and the trees are swinging lightly. Besides the gentle hum of nature, the place is completely undisturbed and it’s just you and Mingi here today.

You're placing your towels down and undressing in silence, barely glancing at each other. You sneak little glances at him in the corner of your eye, wondering what he’s thinking. Yunhos words are still echoing through your head, getting louder and more unbearable for every minute that passes.

Mingi is wading into the water before you know it, covered up to his knees, then thighs, then his waist, and eventually he points his arms and dives in entirely. He erupts back through the surface with a shriek that echoes over the lake, and you can’t stop yourself from laughing.

He rushes back up to where you’re laying on your towel, shoulders bunched up in reaction to the cold water. Mingi shakes his head above you to force droplets onto your bare skin, laughing loudly when you yell in protest. Things feel so extraordinarily regular, it’s as if you have transported back ten years in time. Even when Mingi gets down on his towel and leans over to kiss you, it still feels so normal. It just feels so right with Mingi, like this is what you’re meant to be doing.

Mingis's mouth is cold and wet from his dip in the water, and his hair continues to drip onto your face, but you find it hard to care when he wraps you up in a long, passionate kiss. He’s on his stomach on his towel now, as close to you as he can get. Your heart beats with a discernible nervosity at the fact that you are laid out in the open with Mingi making out with you. There would be quite a walk for anyone else to get here, and you would probably be able to hear branches breaking or even a car parking way before anyone could walk upon the scene and spot the two of you. The risk of getting caught here is low, but you still feel like you’re on display.

Mingis cold fingers wrap around your jaw where he keeps you firmly as his tongue enters your mouth. The kissing goes to your head very quickly, dulling all your senses as all your thoughts are replaced by what Mingi is doing with his mouth. He knows you so well that he pulls away seconds before you lose your breath, letting you regain it while he kisses the corner of your mouth softly. His hand trails over your chest and down your stomach carefully, feeling the way your ribcage heaves as your breaths get steadier.

Mingis eyes follow the path of his hand before he abruptly stops by your knee.

”What’s that?” he asks you. You have to crane your neck to see what he’s looking at. Not much remains of it, but there are still faint marks of dirt and grease on the top of your knees. Just on the outside of your leg, there’s an unmistakable fingerprint.

”Oh,” you mumble. Mingi detaches himself from you with a quickness that makes you lose your breath, and you scramble to get up too.

”I don’t- I feel like I don’t even need to ask who left that on you,” Mingi says.

”It was Yunho,” you rush out, wanting so badly to resolve this before Mingis thoughts spin and twist so bad that you can’t untangle them. It’s clear from the look on his face that your words and their haste only have the opposite effect.

”Yunho?” he questions, getting quieter.

”It’s not all what you think. He called me about that shirt he let me borrow a few weeks ago, remember? I went to his house to give it back and we got to talking. You know, just.. stuff, about life. I ended up getting emotional and he comforted me. I was crying and he put his hands on my knees, that’s all.” You read Mingis's face for any changes, but nothing happens. He only looks at you, taking in your half-truth excuse of an explanation.

”What is it that Yunho can comfort you about, but I can’t?” Mingi asks, his eyes staring into yours with so much intensity you feel like crying. You had expected everything but that. You’d rather Mingi accuse you of getting intimate with Yunho, that you’re lying and it’s a terrible cover story you’re spinning. You could defend yourself from all that, but not this.

”That’s not… Mingi, it’s not like that. I didn’t just choose to go there for comfort. It just happened, I just started crying, and that’s it,” you urge.

Mingis legs are drawn up to his chest and his arms are wrapped around them. He looks so small and vulnerable. His eyebrows are starting to furrow together, and you’re finding it hard to tell if it’s anger or sadness that is starting to show on his face. Both possibilities terrify you equally.

”Why?” he wonders, simply. ”Why did you cry?”

You can physically see the restraints he’s putting on himself to hear you out, to not race away with his worries. You wish it means what you want it to mean. That Mingis vulnerability was an act of love instead of self-preservation. He’s probably sat there worried at the threat of Yunho taking you away and replacing his role. That the fun you’ve had the past weeks, and the year before that, would be over, just like that. You wonder if he views it as a hindrance more than anything. Mingi has finally scored a way to have sex on the regular, without the commitment or worries of starting with someone new. What you have is a lot of comfort, and you suppose he doesn’t want to lose that.

Still, even this feels like a lot more than you deserve of him. If you can’t have Mingi in the ways that you want, you’ll have to do your best to preserve the arrangement you have now.

”It’s not important,” you mumble. You know it’s not a good enough answer.

Mingi lets the word hover in the air for a moment, pondering on whether he should let it go.

In the end, he decides to speak. ”There’s nothing you can tell me that would scare me off. You know that, right?”

”That’s not true,” you whisper, so quiet it’s almost a hiss. ”There is something I can’t ever tell you.”

Tears start to fall down your cheeks and it’s now a conscious effort to keep your sobs contained within your chest. The lake is still breathtaking, the wind is still and the sun is bright in the perfect blue sky. It’s a beautiful day to get your heart broken, at the very least.

Mingi stretches his fingers and you watch the tendons twitch and flex. You’re brought back to what you were doing earlier, shaking off your nerves.

”What if I say it first?” he says. You look up at his eyes.

”What?”

”That I love you,” he tells you. His eyes are big and dark, brimming with tears of his own. ”If I say it first, will you say it too?”

”Mingi-”

”I do love you,” he begins. ”It’s stupid, looking back, because I think I’ve loved you since before you left. I loved you that first night, I already knew it, and I felt so stupid when I woke up the morning after. Doing that with you when I was drunk out of my mind made me feel like shit. And then I felt even more like shit, because- because, it made me realize that it hadn’t been the way I wanted it to be. So I took comfort in the fact that it was over the phone, and I still had time to do it right. To start right, with you, I mean. I wanted our first time to be perfect. I knew I loved you when I kept thinking about it. But then, when you finally came back, it truly clicked. For a while, I had figured that I’d know how I felt about you when we had sex for the first time. But I was wrong because all it took was me seeing you to know that I’m in love with you.”

”Mingi,” you whisper, again, over and over. It’s all you can bring yourself to say, like a prayer, before you crawl over to him and press your lips to his. It doesn’t matter that it takes him a beat to respond, you don’t care at all anymore about how things get awkward or strange. You continue to kiss over his mouth until he’s ready to kiss you back, when time finally catches up to you and it dawns on you both that this is real.

You can’t stop kissing him, breathing out his name every time you part.

”I love you,” you mumble into his mouth. ”I’m so in love with you.”

Mingi smiles into the kiss. Your senses are overwhelmed with the taste of both your tears and the fact that you’re both now smiling and giggling, repeating ’I love you’s until the words merge.

He pulls you into his arms, tumbling over into the grass. He stops kissing you to just look at you, and you watch him too. Your Mingi, in the grass by the lake. Finally, your Mingi.

#mingi x reader #ateez angst #ateez imagine #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #mingi x y/n

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in1-nutshell · 9 months ago

Note

I need more of Megatron being a terrible father.

I need Soundwave realizing that Buddy will never be safe on Nemisis and creates a plan for her to escape, entirely against her will. She has been raised that the worst thing you can do is betray Megatron. She's terrified of what will happen to her if she leaves.

I need Soundwave to throw her at the autobots through a ground bridge with a bow on top and a sticker thar says handle with care.

I need buddy to be freaking the fuck out for the next few days while she's with the autobots.

I need Optimus and Ratchet to be low-key (high key) horrified at what has become of her. How funny little buddy who liked to read and the color purple now can't look anyone in the eye.

I need the rest of the autobots being EXTREMELY warry of her because she's MEGATRONS KID

And I need Bulkhead to just move a little too quickly in her direction, and she just crumbles to the floor begging for mercy. I need them to know exactly how shitty of a father Megatron is.

Bonus points if Miko asks about her daddy issues.

Bonus bonus points for Optimus learning that before Megatron came back and did drugs, Buddy was in charge and was trying to reach them for peace negotiations and mentally slamming his head against the wall.

Tis here! After hours of editing and writing... the second part to Megatron's daughter!

Thank you to everyone who has posted their comments about the last one, it means a lot!

Hope you enjoy!

Megatron's daughter with the opposite personality: Soundwave's Plan part 2

SFW, Platonic, ANGST, You have been warned!, Hurt and Comfort, Cybertronain reader

TFP

It took longer than expected but Soundwave finally found one night where everything could fall into place. His plan would act.

Megatron and Starscream had left the Nemesis to look over some energon tunnels, leaving the Nemesis without its leader.

Without anyone competent on the cameras.

Carefully, he put a loop schedule on the cameras as he made his way to Buddy’s room.

The mini was in deep sleep, exhausted from the recovery of her injuries.

It wasn’t wise to get her out of the med bay like this, but what choice did he have. At this rate, Megatron was going to want to train her while she is recovering.

Buddy still had some fresh dents and welding marks littered across her frame. Knockout refused to mess with them until the next day to avoid further armor complications.

Soundwave carefully picked up his niece and headed out the door.

Thankfully Buddy was an extremely heavy sleeper in recovery. If she were awake now during the escape, she surely would have thrown a fit about all of this.

He created a groundbridge and stepped through it, the cool night of the dessert greeted him when he stepped out.

Buddy was still out cold.

Soundwave hoped that the fake emergency signal he sent out would reach the Autobots soon, he was already betting so much with Buddy and the position of the Nemesis like this.

Another groundbrigde opened behind him a couple feet away.

Optimus and Ratchet come out of the groundbrigde.

Optimus with his blaster at the ready with Ratchet holding his med kit in one servo.

“Soundwave?”--Optimus

Soundwave turning around with Buddy in his arms.

Both Autobots optics go wide.

“Is… is that—”--Ratchet

“Buddy?”--Optimus

Soundwave nods slightly and begins to walk forward.

The Autobots tensing up a bit.

“I—come here—in—peace.”—Soundwave

“And how can we trust you?”—Ratchet

“You—don’t.”--Soundwave

Soundwave walks towards the Prime and stops in front of him.

Ratchet takes a look at Buddy, servos slightly shaking seeing the dents and welding marks.

“What is this? What happened?”--Ratchet

“Buddy—not—safe—on the Nemesis.”--Soundwave

“What do you mean she isn’t safe on the Nemesis? She’s Megtron’s daughter who would be daft enough to—”--Ratchet

Soundwave gently pushes her to Primes arms.

Prime reflexively cradles Buddy’s frame closer to him.

“Why did you call us Soundwave? Surely, if this is about Buddy’s health, Megatron would have—”--Optimus

“Megatron—did this.”--Soundwave

“…What?”--Optimus

“Megatron—hurt her. Too much—damage done. Buddy—not safe—on—Nemesis. I—cannot keep—her—safe. Prime can—keep her—safe.”--Soundwave

“…Megatron hurt her… Do you mean to tell us all this damage was Megatron’s doing?”--Optimus

Soundwave nods silently and turns walking away.

“Wait so you’re just going to leave her!?”--Ratchet

Soundwave stops for a moment.

“Buddy—not safe. Buddy—safe—with Prime.”--Soundwave

Soundwave gives one last glance to Buddy’s sleeping form before going through his groundbridge.

Ratchet and Optimus are stun in silence fully rerestarting the words.

Buddy yawns a bit and snuggles closer to Prime’s chassis.

Prime instinctively holds her closer.

Both Autobots are furious and worried over their niece.

“Bulkhead, open up the groundbrigde. We are bringing in someone.”--Ratchet

The three of them returned and everyone was immediately swarming the Prime holding an injured minibot. Everyone is curious about them. The kids are especially curious. This bot was smaller than Arcee, much closer to their size.

Arcee looks at a scratched up Decepticon logo.

Her blasters go up.

“Woah! Woah! Woah! Arcee what are you doing!?”--Bulkhead

“That’s a Con! Why did you bring them here!?”--Arcee

Buddy yawns a bit and begins to open her optics slowly.

“Primus… that hurt… note to self, get a—”--Buddy

Buddy looks up at the very blur optics staring right back at her.

Buddy slowly looks around at the Autobots around her, especially the one with the blaster trained on her chassis.

“Primus tell me this is a dream…”--Buddy

Buddy patting the ends of Optimus’s digits slowly.

They aren’t sharp…

They aren’t sharp!

“OH PRIMUS THIS IS REAL!”--Buddy

Buddy somehow jumps out of the Prime’s servos and starts running to the door.

“Get her!”--Arcee

Smokescreen tries to tackle her down, but she sidesteps making him crash into a wall.

Arcee tries to fire a blast at her, but Optimus immediately puts the blaster down.

“Stand down everyone!”--Optimus

“But Prime—”--Arcee

“Stand down!”--Optimus

Everyone, even Buddy in the corner stops.

Optimus turns to Buddy who is shaking in the corner staring right back at him.

Ratchet is the first to make a move and slowly walks to Buddy.

Buddy tries to press herself more into the wall as ratchet stops in front of her.

“…Hello Buddy…”--Ratchet

“…Dr. Ratchet?”--Buddy

Ratchet gives her a tired smile.

“I’m going to look at some of your welding’s and dents. Is that okay?”--Ratchet

Buddy stops for a moment before nodding her helm, slowly sinking down to the floor letting Ratchet make a few checks on the wounds.

Buddy asks what she is doing on their base.

Something that everyone wants to know.

Optimus tells them about Soundwave’s visit.

How Soundwave wanted Buddy to stay with Prime as the Nemesis was no longer safe for her.

Buddy is in deep denial.

There was no way that Soundwave would do that.

Not after everything they went through.

But the more she thought about it… the more it made sense.

Soundwave wanted her to be safe, and he thought that Optimus was going to keep her safe.

Many bots looked uneasy at her.

They had a good reason too.

This was Megatron’s daughter after all.

What if Megatron came knocking on their door with bombs demanding the sparkling back?

Buddy is granted refuge by Optimus despite some opinions.

The tensions in the base were thick.

Buddy stuck by Ratchet’s side the entire time.

No one wanted anything to do with her, which she understood.

Something that she wasn’t expecting was one of the humans to come up to her and try and kick her pede.

Buddy cleaning some of Ratchet’s tools.

CLANG!

Buddy looks down to see an angry human girl looking at her.

“That was for Raf!”--Miko

“What is this ‘Raf’?”--Buddy

“You’re dad nearly killed him!”--Miko

Buddy looks at the smaller human boy semi hiding behind the taller human boy.

She hangs her head a bit.

“I am truly sorry for my… father’s actions young Raf.”--Buddy

Miko, Jack, and Raf look surprised by the apology.

“Yeah, well a sorry isn’t—”--Miko

“It’s okay.”--Raf

“It is?”--Buddy

“It is!”--Miko

“Yeah, it happened a while ago, but you didn’t have anything to do with it, right?”--Raf

Buddy looking slightly horrified.

“Of course not! I would never want to hurt your indigenous population on purpose or with any malicious intent!”--Buddy

“…wow…”--Jack

“You don’t seem to be related to old Bucket head.”--Miko

“Well… you wouldn’t be completely wrong. He found me in the streets of Kaon in a trash bin.”--Buddy

“So, you’re a dumpster baby?”--Miko

“Miko!”--Jack

“I suppose so. Miko… is that your designation?”--Buddy

“Yep! You know… you don’t exactly fit the Con description. Like at all. One your small—”--Miko

“I’m taller than you, though.”--Buddy

“Yet, Arcee has more height on you.”--Jack

“Arcee? Was that the one who—”--Buddy

“Tried to put more holes in you? Yeah, I’m Jack by the way.”--Jack

“Pleasure to meet you, Jack. My designation is Buddy.”--Buddy

“Wait really? I thought Ratchet said that to calm you down. Coming from Megs kid, I’d think that you’d be named something like ‘Skullcrusher’ or ‘Smash’ or something threatening.”—Miko

“Orion actually gave me the name.”—Buddy

“Orion? Wait as in…”----Jack

The kids and Buddy looking across the room at Optimus and Bumblebee talking.

“Yep.”—Buddy

Miko plopping down in front of Buddy.

“All right spill the lore!”—Miko

“What’s lore?”—Buddy

Things slowly became less tense with the kids acting as an olive branch.

The first ones to come around were Bumblebee and Smokescreen.

It only made sense being that Buddy was near the same age as the two.

The three of them would chat about human media and the latest movies they watched with the kids.

Buddy became very fond of the movie nights the kids would put up.

“Hey, it’s my turn to sit there!”—Smokescreen

Buddy sitting right behind the kids to watch the projector.

“I’m shorter so I get to sit here.I wouldn’t be able to see anything with your big helms in the way. Its only logical.”—Buddy

Miko hoping into Buddy’s lap with a blanket to ‘cover' them both.

“Aww. C’mon! Bee?”—Smokescreen

Bumblebee laying on his side slightly behind Buddy with Raf laying down on his helm with a yellow blanket.

“Beep boop bep beep (You snooze you loose, Smokescreen)”—Bumblebee

Smokescreen laying down, slightly sulking behind Buddy, with Jack slightly leaning on him with a pillow on his head.

“Traitor.”--Smokescreen

“Act you age Smokescreen.”--Buddy

“Wait who is the older one here anyways?”--Raf

“That would be Smokescreen. Bumblebee is the youngest one out of the three of us.”--Buddy

“So, you’re the middle child?”--Miko

“Yes?”—Buddy

Strangely, Magnus and Arcee where the next ones to fall.

It was all thanks to Buddy trying to prove that she wasn’t here for anything malicious.

The two had decided to do some training with the minibot.

They were surprised to see how well the mini could move so quickly and so fast.

Whatever training Buddy had previously was good.

Buddy dodging another attack from Arcee.

“That’s enough. Training is over.”--Magnus

Buddy huffing a bit.

“You tired already? Would have figured that you had more in you.”--Arcee

“You wish Arcee. You barely touched me this time.”--Buddy

“This time. Wait till next time.”--Arcee

Buddy smiling a bit before turning to Magnus, straightening her back struts a bit.

“Ultra Magnus, sir?”--Buddy

“The training was adequate. You need to learn how to attack faster at your opponent’s weak spots.”--Magnus

“I will do my best sir.”--Buddy

Magnus giving a small smile before leaving the room.

Buddy smiling a bit, trying to ignore the shaking servos when she left the room.

Bulkhead and Wheeljack were the last to fall.

It was all thanks to Miko.

Miko had been trying for a while to get them to play with Buddy.

Wheeljack flat out refused to work with Buddy, still thinking that this could have all been some sort of elaborate trick.

Bulkhead was a bit more open minded, but he backed Wheeljack up.

But after a bit of convincing, she managed to get them to play at least one game with her.

And it worked.

Bulkhead soon became another friend of Buddy’s while Wheeljack followed closely behind.

Optimus walking through the base with his data pad in his servo.

He turns the corner to hear laughter coming out of one of the rooms.

He peaks in to see Buddy and his two Wreckers playing, having a great time.

He manages to catch Buddy smiling.

A smile he hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

He turns and continues his walk.

Optimus and Ratchet obviously trusted Buddy right off the bat.

They knew their niece well.

But that didn’t shake the memory of Soundwave telling them that Megatron had laid his servo on Buddy.

Ratchet was absolutely fuming with anger.

How dare a father even consider doing such a horrendous act to their own sparkling!?

Optimus really wanted to fight Megatron.

He almost felt the same way as he did when Raf had gotten exposed to the dark energon.

In a way they both feel like they had failed.

What if scenarios popped up more with Buddy around.

The duo did their best to get Buddy to open up about her time on the Nemesis.

So far it had been snippets here and there, nothing major, but it was something.

Optimus, Ratchet, and Buddy looking at some coding in the empty base.

Buddy stops for a second.

“Buddy? You found something important?”--Ratchet

“It’s just…when fath—when Megatron left to space for those years on Earth, I was put in charge of the Decepticon army.”--Buddy

Ratchet’s optics widen a bit.

Optimus is not too surprised by this news.

“I—I tried to get in contact with you… I wanted to negotiate peace between our two factions, for good.”--Buddy

Optimus optics widen now.

“I—I figured it could be the one good thing I could do on the forsaken ship… I should have tried harder to—”--Buddy

Optimus hugs Buddy close.

Buddy’s optics become blurry with tears.

“Oh…oh Buddy…”--Ratchet

Ratchet rubs circles on Buddy’s back as she racks a sob on Optimus’s chassis.

The Prime holds her close to his spark, wishing he could take away her pain so badly.

They knew they needed to talk more about this to Buddy, but they never seemed to find the right time.

Until the truth revealed its ugly head.

Miko was on Buddy’s shoulder trying to show her a new photo that she took not too long ago.

Buddy didn’t notice Bulkhead behind them.

He wanted to get Miko to go help her with her guitar lessons.

The only things Buddy recognized was a dark shadow and a fast-moving servo.

It was too quick.

Buddy soon found herself cradling Miko close to her chassis with her back towards the offender.

She waited for the blow.

She felt sick when she didn’t feel the blow.

Maybe it was because the only thing Buddy could feel and hear where the loud hums of her spark going haywire.

She didn’t notice Miko furiously hitting her armor trying to snap her out of it.

She didn’t notice the sudden crowd around.

She did notice someone trying to take Miko away.

She tightens her grip on the human but making sure not to hurt her. That was the last thing she ever wanted to do.

It took a minute to try and get Buddy to calm down.

Buddy felt awful for the sudden panic.

Buddy sitting on the med slab looking at Miko who was in her servos.

“I’m so sorry for that.”--Buddy

“Buddy you’ve already apologized, anyways it’s okay.”--Miko

“No it’s not. That should have… it won’t happen again.”--Buddy

“It was my fault Buddy. Maybe if I hadn’t moved so fast.”—Bulkhead

Buddy looking at Bulkhead’s sorrowful optics.

“No Bulkhead it wasn’t you. You just looked a little like… The shadow reminded me of…”--Buddy

“Megatron?”--Ratchet

Buddy flinches a bit, but nods.

Silence.

Miko patting Buddy’s servo.

“When you came to the base all hurt, that was him wasn’t it.”--Miko

Buddy nods slowly.

“I… I think its about time you guys knew what happened. From the beginning. Optimus? Will you help me in the parts I don’t remember?”--Buddy

Optimus placing a servo on Buddy’s shoulder.

“Of course.”—Optimus

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #tfp #tfp x reader #tfp optimus prime #tfp optimus x platonic reader #tfp ratchet #tfp ratchet x platonic reader #tfp soundwave #tfp soundwave x platonic reader #tfp miko

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psblooms · 7 months ago

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safety net | park sunghoon

𓍯𓂃 fluff established relationship, no hurt just comfort, non idol!au, crying and cuddles on a bad day word count 1.2k works

every person experiences good and bad days throughout their lives; that's how it works. everyone hoped that good days overcounted the bad ones, and most of the time for you, they did. however; this week was not what you could consider a good week. life was beating you up from the moment you woke up to the moment you got out of work.

since the moment you and sunghoon decided to move in together your home became a haven for the both of you. it was not a necessity to be sharing the space every single moment for you to be happy; just things like each other's scents and mundane actions that reflected your personalities made being at home a bigger delight. and even though neither of you claimed to be clingy, the fact that your out-of-the-normal busier schedules overlapped denied you of spending time together was not helping with your mood.

you were in those moments where you felt overwhelmed just by simply existing, these feelings of exhaustion and fatigue were just being bottled up. normally, whenever either of you had a bad day you would rant with each other over dinner and hate the world together for at least an hour. but now that work requires you to leave earlier and for him to arrive until late at night puts your rant sessions on hold. you miss him, and so does he, you barely talk with each other in person, most of the time under soft and sleepy whispers at midnight; your communication relies on post-it notes around the house and texts during breaks.

but thankfully the weekend was coming and you would have the entire two days to spend time with him and catch up, you just had to hold on for the next eight hours and everything would be alright.

oh boy, how wrong you were.

between school work and actual work, you were juggling your time and running on caffeine, hence, having an extremely bad day that added to the list of bad things that happened in the week, from sleeping through your alarm and running out of the door, to forgetting to check the weather app leaving you sweating your ass off literally and figuratively since you also forgot to print an essay making you run to the library. to dealing with the awful mood of your superior at work and some rude customers you were sure everyone was struggling with their day.

you just hoped the moment you arrived home everything would start to fall into place and your stress would start to dissipate. and for a moment you thought it did, even though it was an empty apartment it still brought you peace of mind the fact that you could disconnect from life for a little bit.

that was until your bad luck decided it was not leaving just yet making your electric kettle stop working, or at least that's what you thought because the moment you touched it to figure out what was going on, the handle was incredibly hot surprising you and making you remove your hand quickly without realizing your elbow hit the cup you were about to use and making it fall to the ground breaking it. maybe it was the adrenaline rush of getting burned or the loud sound of the ceramic breaking that startled you. but from one moment to another, you were now crying without knowing why, you were not hurt but all the frustrations of the past few days just came out with your sobs.

crouched down in the kitchen your cries muffled all the sound so you didn't hear the door unlocking and you didn't expect sunghoon to be home so early so it was a shock for both of you.

"whoa, what happened?" he asked while getting close to you in a worried voice "are you hurt?"

"the kettle was not working - the handle was hot and I broke the cup," you said still sobbing.

"it's okay we can buy a new one, are you sure nothing hurts?" he questioned while examining you only for you to nod. after seeing you were, in fact, alright he helped you get up and walk around the broken pieces to take you to the couch in the living room.

even though he kept reassuring you that you could replace those things you still kept crying only worrying sunghoon more. he sat on his knees in front of you cradling your face in his hands and wiping away your tears with his thumbs.

"what's going on love?" he asked softly.

"I'm not sure…" you answered him without looking at him. as if reading you he asked, "did you have a bad day?" while moving your head so you could finally look at him and you just nodded.

"do you want to talk about it?" he continued and you shook your head no. "it's okay we can talk about it later, we have the whole day."

your tears decreased while being close to him and you felt truly grateful to have someone like him in your life; someone who could share your burdens and be willing to pick you up the moment you fell down, sharing your life with someone as gentle and kind as sunghoon was the biggest blessing you could have in your life.

you joined him on the living room rug and hugged him in hopes of sharing the immense amount of love you haven't been able to express in this busy week. "I missed you so much," you whispered close to his ear.

"I missed you too, we haven't had the chance to talk a lot right?" he answered in the same voice level returning your hug tighter.

after a little bit still sitting on the floor you pat his hair while looking at him "why are you here so early? - I thought you were coming later" you now asked him.

"I thought it would be nice to share dinner after so long" he answered simply "I think we both need our usual rant sessions, don't you think?" he asked lightheartedly while caressing your now puffy eyelids, making you laugh and agree with him.

he looked at you with the most gentle eyes and the softest smile and it made your heart skip a beat, you got close to him again and lay your head on his chest while he gave you soft kisses on top of your head, both of you still on the hard floor but neither of you cared, his warm hold mixed with the scent of his perfume made you feel so comfortable and happy. both you and sunghoon were content with the fact that it was the first time in a while that you could spend time together without fighting sleepiness.

you had a lot of catching up to do and that would probably happen under the kitchen lamp with some takeout, but you felt thankful for the fact that you were in a relationship with sunghoon. you both knew that under every circumstance you would have a place to go to; you found peace in each other's company and safety in each other's arms knowing you found someone who loved you as much as you loved them.

#𝜗℘ the little library ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen #park sunghoon #sunghoon

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dreamingofep · 28 days ago

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Forbidden Love pt. 8💔❣️

Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Reuniting with Elvis was supposed to be the highlight of your summer, but with unresolved tensions between you two, things aren't what they seem. [Fem!reader]

TW: Cussing, angst, some tension

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: Hi everyone! Posting in Elvis hours again! Hope you like where this next part is heading! More to build upon and can't wait to share with you what's next! I Hope you enjoy!

July 8th, 1969

The next few days felt like an eternal hell. It almost felt like you had to start your life over. It was lonely and quite depressing. You were so mad at Elvis for how he’s treated you after all these years and the other night was your breaking point. You thought a person could change but you might have been wrong. You didn’t want to talk to anyone about what happened over dinner. You kept to yourself for the next few days and no one seemed to mind. John didn’t bring up once why you stormed out of Elvis’ house. It was a better idea for him to do that. You didn't want anything to do with him.

You had to get yourself out of this funk. You can either let this define you or do something else to make a difference in your career. You started taking fewer hours at the diner which was a scary choice because you knew it wasn’t going to be easy getting new auditions and getting booked for them. It had been three years since you’d gotten anything remotely interesting. You were afraid you didn’t have it anymore.

You tried to push that negative energy out of your mind and focus on some good. You had to try and go out there. It was still your passion and something you would tirelessly work for.

For the next few days, you set out for any audition you could find. You'd wake up early to go to the diner for a few hours, then change into new clothes to go search for audition notices around the city. There were quite a few you found and it made you feel hopeful one of these projects could be yours.

You hadn’t spoken to Elvis this entire time. It was almost strange after you were so used to this new routine you two had. You had too much anger towards him to speak to him about everything without yelling at him again. You were surprised that he didn’t even try calling you. Every time the phone rang, you always expected to hear his smooth southern drawl ring in your ear but you were left disappointed.

After a few days of nothing but empty promises and bad auditions, you had to keep trying. You knew there would be a hundred nos before there would be one yes. You were about to head out for the day and go to another audition you had scheduled when the phone rings. You were home alone and wondered who could be calling this time of day.

You quickly pick it up, “hello?”

“Hi, may I speak with y/n?” A woman’s voice says on the other end of the line.

“Speaking?” You say, not recognizing the woman’s voice.

“This is Nancy from Paramount Studios. We’re holding open auditions today for a new production. Your resume was passed onto us from a friend and we were wondering if you’re free to come in today around one?” She asks you.

You were a bit taken aback. This was unheard of for you. No one was calling you for auditions, you were normally the one on the phone begging them for a chance to be seen. But you had to push that self-doubt away and seize this opportunity now.

“Oh yes, I can be there no problem!”

“Wonderful, we’ll see you then,” she says.

You were thrilled, this could be a new start for you. Your brain couldn’t help but spoil the moment with doubt. This all felt too easy. You had only been out looking for new jobs for a few days and this fell into your lap? It didn’t settle with you, right?

It had Elvis written all over it.

He did something to get you this. Sure, it could be just dumb luck but with Elvis around, that wasn’t a thing. He needed to stay away from you, you didn’t want him around screwing up anything else for you.

You raced to the studio and got there early to get your hands on the script they wanted you to read from. The audition went really well. The scene they had you do dealt with a girl pleading for her boyfriend to tell her the truth whether he loved her or not. It wasn’t too far off from your real life you realize. You connected with the script and let your emotions over your whole situation with Elvis fuel your performance. You left the soundstage feeling positive but still not that hopeful you had the role. It had been a while since you worked so you weren’t sure if your lack of work would hinder you.

The next day, you get a call and it just about makes you scream with joy. You got the part and you needed to be on set in two days. You couldn’t be happier. It was a shorter production for your character but you didn’t mind it. You get to be on set for five days and do what you love. It was going to be a new start for you, just like you hoped. You had a new sense of optimism. Things were going to be alright, and maybe you needed Elvis out of your life for it.

That thought made your heart cry.

The first day of shooting went well and the entire cast and crew were wonderful to you. You had some jitters at first but they disappeared when you started to work with everyone. Everyone showed you respect and appreciation for showing up and being prepared for the day.

You’re always surprised how much waiting there was when you’re on set. Your call time might say for you to be onset at three, but you won’t start shooting til four. That’s Hollywood for you. It takes the crew a while to set up the new camera or change locations. Thankfully you had the patience for this waiting game.

You weren’t called onto set for another three hours so you had time to kill. They were kind enough to give you a small trailer to get ready in that you shared with another co-star. It wasn’t like what the big stars got but you were thankful you had a couch in there you could take a nap in if you wanted. Sometimes you have to take advantage of the downtime and get a few minutes of sleep. You were going to be on set late today for scenes that were going to be shot at night so you needed the rest.

You lay down on the small, two-seat sofa and try to get comfortable. A knock on your trailer door snaps you awake and you sit up. You couldn’t have dosed off for more than a few minutes and became fearful that you overslept and they were looking for you on set.

“Come in,” you quip, straightening out your hair and smoothing the dress you had on.

Sunshine pours into the trailer and a tall shadow walks in. Your heart stops when you see his face. That beautifully sculpted face that people dreamed about was standing in your trailer.

Elvis.

He wore tan slacks and a white button-up, looking at you like he did when he first saw you a few weeks ago. He looked so put together and effortlessly beautiful. His hair fell down on his forehead, just how you liked it. He wore these gold sunglasses that had his initials on the sides of the frames. He takes them off and his blue eyes melt into you. God he was beautiful, it shouldn’t be that distracting but he was! You blamed it on not seeing him for the last week that you were jarred by his presence but who were you fooling, he was just too damn beautiful to look at.

Your mouth goes dry as you stare at him longer, not expecting him to be here.

“What are you doing here,” you say a bit coldly.

He continues to stare at you and doesn’t say anything right away.

“How are you, honey?” He asks softly. His voice has you melting. You curse at yourself for feeling this way for him. Even after everything he did, you still feel weak around him.

“I’m fine,” you say softly.

He stays quiet and looks around your small dressing room. You didn’t want him here lingering, he came here for a purpose and you wanted to get him out of here as quickly as possible. You also had things to get off your chest. You didn’t want him to stall or try to do anything drastic.

“How much did you pay them to get me in this movie?” You ask him, crossing your arms against your chest.

He turns around quickly, confusion covering his face.

“What are you talking about?” He asks, taking a few steps closer to you, and taking off his sunglasses.

“Oh come on don’t play dumb, I’m not an idiot. I haven’t gotten an acting job in over three years. Then all of a sudden I get a call that I was recommended to them by someone? It doesn’t make sense,” you huff.

“I didn’t pay them, honey,” he says calmly.

“Stop calling me honey,” you snap, “and stop lying to me!"

His lips form in a scowl and his blue eyes burn into you menacingly. He stands before you and takes a slow breath in while looking at you. He makes you feel on edge, being this close to him again was too much to handle. He was so provocative without even trying. His presence pulled you in so easily and made it hard to focus even when he was mad. He gently lifts your chin up to look into his eyes. His skin on yours again made you feel like a puddle. You defiantly look at him and wait for him to say something.

“From what I remember, you like me calling you honey quite a bit,” he teases, eyeing you up and down slowly. You hold your breath as you feel yourself crumble for him. He was right, of course he was and it pissed you off.

“I’m trying to be civil with you. I just wanted to see you,” he says low.

You quickly push his hand off of your face and scowl at him.

“Did you think this would make up for what you did? Like I’d forgive it all?” You ask him.

“I didn’t do anything about this role. I didn’t pay anyone anything,” he says fiercely. Your heart gallops away at his tone and the way he continues to look at you.

“I did pass your information to producers here, yes, I did. I still know people here and met with one of them last week for lunch. They were saying they were having a hard time casting this movie. He explained to me the role and… of course, I thought of you. It’s like second nature to me… but I just passed on your information, that’s all. I helped you get the call sure, but you did the work. You were the one who impressed all the producers and director. You got yourself here, I just wanted to help from a distance, that’s all,” he explains.

You sit down quickly on the couch behind you, feeling the wind get knocked out of you.

He was just trying to do something good.

He did something kind and stayed out of the way.

He’s letting you shine and do what you love.

Damnit he's impossible to hate.

You didn’t know what to say to him. You felt bad for snapping at him like this. You’ve had so much pent-up anger towards him this last week you couldn’t think straight about the whole situation. The sight of him on a magazine cover in the grocery store ticked you off. The sound of his voice on the radio put you in a foul mood for the rest of the day and you almost always drove in silence because of it. You still hadn’t listened to his new album even though it was everything anyone was talking about.

The guilt wracked through you the longer you looked at him. You couldn’t find the words to start to apologize to him. He still put you through a lot of strife. This wasn’t going to make it all magically disappear but it was a good start.

“I… I didn’t know,” you say timidly.

He stays silent, letting you find the words you want to say.

“I appreciate the help,” you continue.

“It’s the least I could do… you know I care for you don’t you?” He asks, taking a seat next to you on the sofa. “I’ve missed you terribly. I hate not seeing you.”

He looks at you softly, his eyes pleading for you to keep looking at him. He places his hands on either side of your face and gently rubs him thumbs across your cheeks, studying every detail of your face. It felt so good to be touched by him again. He was so comforting and intoxicating to be around. He keeps staring at your lips, parting his slightly as you’re both sitting there and he leans in a bit more. Both of you breathe in sharply as you get closer.

You were nervous for this to go any further. On one hand, you wanted him to kiss you like he used to, you missed how his lips made you feel on fire. You wanted to let your guards down with him. A part of you wanted him to hold you in his arms again and hear him say how much he’s missed you. What you would give to hear him plead for you over and over and over…

You let that fantasy wither away and slowly pull your face out of his hands. You take a sharp breath in, you were holding it the entire time he was touching you. He looks like he just got his heart ripped out of him. He was so physical and emotionally hurt by you.

“I want to believe every word you say, but you have to understand why I have the hesitancy not to,” you sigh. His eyes fill with hurt as he looks at you.

He gets up and runs his hand through his hair, clearly frustrated even though you can’t see his face anymore.

“Please come by the house after you’re done here, so we can talk. I just want to talk to you again,” he says firmly as he heads for the door.

“Elvis I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, trying to stop him.

“Y/n please, I don’t want to fight with you here. Just come to the house after you're done here okay?” He says sternly.

“No, I’ll go over when I’m ready to talk to you. I have to be back here really early too so I can’t come by,” you snip.

“Goddamn it,” he mumbles under his breath and goes to the door furiously, not taking another look at you. The sound of it slamming made you more upset at yourself. You didn’t know what to say to him. It was hard to have him look at you with those soft eyes that could make you do anything. You didn’t want to talk to him about everything you’ve been feeling these last few days. You wanted more time to process this all. It wasn’t going to be easy to stay away from him.

The next few days on set were wonderful and went by too quickly. You wished you had more days to work with all the kind people in the production. Elvis weighed in the back of your mind though. All you could see were those hurt, pleading eyes of his that begged for your attention. It had been over a week since the huge fight you two had. You still weren’t ready to talk to him. You knew it would go the same way when you saw him in your trailer the other day. You didn’t want to blow up on him again, you needed to have a civil conversation.

It was a sweltering night in LA. The city was experiencing a heat wave and wasn’t letting up for a few more days. You were looking forward to being in your air-conditioned apartment and relaxing. It was well after midnight and started to drive home. There was no traffic this time of night but the lights of office buildings in town poured onto the darker roads, illuminating your way home.

You unlock the front door and feel the warm, stale air hit you in the face. It was also pitch black in there and couldn’t see a thing in front of you. John had to be home, he didn’t stay this late at Elvis’.

“John?” You say loudly. The flick of a match makes you stare into the darkness, trying to see who’s in there.

He was in the kitchen and stepped out, “yeah?”

“Why are all the lights off? Why is it so damn hot in here?” You say grumpily.

“The powers shut off,” he says lighting another candle.

“What do you mean? Was there a blackout or something?” You say confused.

“The bill wasn’t paid on time,” he grumbles.

You were taken back. John took care of the rent and the electric bill. He made more than you and that’s just how you’ve always done it. He had never missed a payment like this, even in hard times. He never asked you for the money even if you two were having a really hard month.

“What do you mean? Elvis paid you right? You’ve been working three weeks for him. I’m sure that’s been plenty to pay the electric bill,” you press.

“Well it wasn’t, we’ll figure it out in the morning.” He snaps at you, taking the candle to the bedroom with him.

You knew he was lying. The man was lying right to your face. You just about had enough of it with all the men in your life lately lying through their teeth when talking to you.

You follow him to the other room, needing to understand what’s going on.

“Please don’t walk away from me. I don’t understand how we didn’t have money to pay the electric bill. This has never happened,” you press.

“I said I’ll figure it out in the morning! Get off my back about it. Should probably get used to it if you’re going to be out there acting again,” he huffs.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Are you blaming this on me?!” You protest.

“Well you’re not helping very much,” he snarls at you.

You look at him in disgust, not believing this is how the man you thought you loved is treating you.

“How dare you. You’re unbelievable, you know that. I know Elvis is paying you more than you’ve made in a long time so I don’t understand where our money is going,” you seethe.

“I guess it’s none of your concern since it’s not your money,” he barks at you.

You had enough. You couldn’t be anywhere near him at this point. You needed to know where all that money was going but you didn’t have the patience tonight to go back and forth with him. It was ridiculous the way he was talking to you. It seemed the happier you were, the meaner he was to you, sucking all the joy out of your life.

You quickly push past him and reach under the bed for your duffle bag. You open your closet and pull articles of clothing off the hanger and shove them into the bag. You then go to the dresser and put more clothes in there before rushing to the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” John asks annoyed.

“I can’t be here. I’m going to stay at a friend's tonight,” you snap.

“Come on,” he says dumbfounded, pulling at the duffle bag, trying to get it out of your hands.

You quickly pull it back though and don’t let him get it out of your grasp.

“No, I’m going. I’m tired of your shit,” you yell, quickly getting out of his sight. You rush out of the apartment and get back in your car. You drive almost on autopilot, leaving your neighborhood and driving up to the Hollywood hills, towards Elvis.

Tagging: @loving-elvis @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis

@ccab @presleyenterprise @theresalwaysep

@sillybookmarks @dkayfixates

@ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog

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@18lkpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873

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@everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers

@idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy-

@elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony.

@generoustreemystic @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121

@jaqueline19997

@returntopresley. @iloveelvis @rjmartin11 @that-hotdog

@louisejoy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8

@arrolyn1114 @raginginkedslut @epthedream69

@mh777ep1938

@50sexyshadestashionista

@oldhOllywOod @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs

@sloppiest-of-jos @thisis-theway @gatheraheart

@aphroditebabygirl @faeolwen

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x reader #elvis x you #elvis imagine #elvis smut #elvis presely smut #60s elvis #sammykinz fics

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bc17-writes · 6 months ago

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The Hand That Feeds - Chapter 1

Uhhh my fic got 10K+ hits on AO3 so I thought I'd post the first chapter here while I'm working on chapter 9 and some drabble like things okay cool thanks (no use of y/n)

(I also haven't used tumblr since college so if anyone has any hints, tips, tricks let me know)

Summary: You're Simon's pregnant new neighbor.

chapter specific c/w: none

Ghost is a creature of habit - most every moment of his life is structured into routines. Missions broken down to the minute, with backup plans upon backup plans. Days on base divided into blocks - trainings, briefings, meal times. Mornings and evenings in his apartment scheduled by the minute. Ghost thrives when he knows what to expect.

What he does not expect is opening the door of his Manchester apartment at zero two hundred hours to leave for his morning run, and seeing you stumble on the uneven carpet in the hallway before him. You’re half his size, dressed not dissimilarly to himself in an oversized black hoodie and joggers. The cardboard box you hold nearly flies out of your hands before he reacts, grabbing the scruff of your hoodie with one hand and steadying the box with the other.

“Christ,” he says, putting you back to rights. His voice is deep and rough with disuse. “Y’alright?”

“Yeah, sorry, thank you” you reply. “Not sure what happened.”

“Carpet’s fucked. ‘Sall uneven.” He watches you set the box down before the door of the recently vacated apartment next to his.

You pull out a lanyard from your pocket, loaded with too many keys and trinkets to keep track of, looking through them for the right one.

“It’s silver. With a square head.”

You find it almost immediately and thank him, again, opening the door and nudging the box in with your foot. You don’t lock it back.

Ghost narrows his eyes at that.

“Looks like we’re neighbors!” You give him your name and hold out a hand with a smile.

To him, it is blinding as the sun. You are resplendent, even with red, sleepy eyes and road-trip hair. You are stunning, in shapeless clothes with a few crumbs on your hoodie.

You smile at him despite his black mask and hood pulled so far over his head he knows his eyes are hidden in shadows.

He takes your hand in one of his gloved ones, and you shake it firmly, unflinchingly, the smile never leaving your face. You don’t divert your eyes, like the anonymous people he passes on his runs, or at the pub. You don’t shy away like the cashier at the little shop where he buys his tea. You don’t cower or flinch, like mothers moving their children from his view when he picks up meat at the butcher’s.

“I’m Simon.”

“Who pissed in your tea this morning, Ghost?” Captain Price asks, leaning back on the cool wall next to Ghost. “Really running the recruits through the ringer today.”

“L.T. didn’t get his tea this morning.” Soap interjects slyly from Ghost’s other side, before he can respond.

“Watch it, Johnny,” Ghost growls.

“Rolled up late, right before PT. Didn’t even have time for a ‘cuppa’”

“Soap!” Ghost snaps, not turning from the recruits.

“Late?” Price asks, incredulously.

“Wasn’t late. Got here when I was ‘sposed to.”

“Just later than every single other day.”

Ghost clenches his jaw, crossed arms tightening minutely across his chest. Soap obviously has a death wish.

Price hums in consideration and Ghost can feel the Captain’s eyes boring into him.

Simon had ended up helping you move the rest of your things from your ancient van, loading them onto a small flatbed cart so you didn’t have to bring them up the elevator one by one. He didn’t let you lift a finger. He brought them into your apartment, with your permission, and deposited them into their corresponding rooms, each mirrored from his own, just on the other side of the wall.

You’d filled the silence easily, despite the early hour and your obviously sleep-deprived state, not requiring him to speak much, and hardly asking him questions.

You’d puttered about, unboxing a few of your things, and told him a little about your job as a translator as he set up your tiny desk and computer.

You’d interjected multiple times about how he didn’t have to, how he’d helped enough, how he probably had somewhere to be considering he looked like he was on the way out already. Each time he’d say he’d be on his way if you wanted and each time you shook your head.

You’d offered him coffee and compensation, both of which he refused, counter-offering with his number and the offer to call him if you needed help with anything else. You nodded in agreement, texting him immediately with your name and apartment number.

You never asked about the mask.

He’d had enough time afterwards for a smoke and a brief shower, but not much else, abandoning his usual morning run and tea before leaving for the base.

Ghost clenches his jaw under his mask, refusing to give Price his attention.

“Come see me after lunch, Ghost.” Price says before walking away, not even waiting for a response.

“Don’t fucking try that again Soap,” Ghost growls under his breath.

Johnny just laughs.

Simon makes his way to Price’s office after lunch, closing the door behind him and leaning back on it.

“Take a seat, Simon,” Price says calmly, motioning to the plush leather chair in front of his desk.

“‘m alright, sir.”

Price sighs, shuffling the folders on his desk to the side and folding his hands atop it. “About what Soap said… Son, I don’t want you to think you need to be here any more than you have to. It’s good to have a life at home. Hobbies or- whatever you want. I trust you with my life. Have your tea at home. As long as you are where you’re supposed to be and when, I want you to enjoy your life outside of all this.”

Ghost hardly holds back a scoff at the idea - at having a home that isn’t just walls and a too soft mattress where he lays, unsleeping, glaring at the ceiling, keeping the night terrors at bay. “That all, sir?”

“That’s all. Dismissed.”

When Simon finally gets back to his apartment that night, he finds a six-pack of beer in front of his door, with a thank you note in your handwriting.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod ghost #ghost call of duty

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steviewashere · 5 months ago

Note

Hello, since you're taking prompts, I'm here humbly requesting anything with autistic Steve because I adore him and he's relatable af. Steddie, heavy on the comfort? Other than that, whatever you like, I'll love it :)

Wooo!! I wrote this in like three hours because I was on a roll, so I'm excited to share this!

Rating: Teen and UpCW: Meltdown, Overstimulation (Not That Kind), Some Negative Stimming, Mild Internalized AbleismTags: Post-Canon, Post-Season 4, Established Relationship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Autistic Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Cuddling & Snuggling, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Soft Steve Harrington, Soft Eddie Munson

Also on AO3

💕—————💕 His t-shirt was too tight. Had it shrunk in the wash, he initially asked himself. Is this not even mine? But when he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, reflected back at him was the same burgundy colored t-shirt, softly worn and sweat stained, a big graphic stretched across the chest that read: ‘Go Bulls, Go!’. Where this thing came from, he doesn’t remember, but it’s kept him comforted and grounded throughout the years.

Steve had a particular wardrobe. Maybe a bit peculiar to the normal, wandering eye. But to him, his clothes made perfect sense. Every pair of jeans was just a size bigger than he needed them, to give him the extra give. All of his white boxer briefs were made of cotton, because the silky type were always too constricting. His socks had holes and patches on them—worn over and over and over again, folded inside out so that the seams didn’t catch under his toes, but they were the perfect level of softness that he couldn’t find anywhere else. Polos made of cotton. Henleys the same. And his t-shirts, well they were soft, too.

In fact, Steve loves soft things. Loves loose things. Loves expected things.

But now his t-shirt is too tight. The t-shirt he thought of all of the last three days. A t-shirt he thought would look good with his light washed Levi’s—always worn on Thursdays for his day of errands. And looking at the little desktop calendar in his room, it is indeed Thursday. He planned this, but he neither planned nor considered the possibility of a clothing malfunction. His hands go to stretch the hem of the shirt, pluck it away from his body and make the fabric accommodate him. However, at the first tug, the loosely bound hem gives an unmistakable Riiiippp sound.

And…

Great, he thinks, I’ve just ruined one of my favorite shirts.

The t-shirt’s too tight, now ripped, and about to be retired. If only he could find something that works the exact same. Every t-shirt he tries on has some sort of error: too big, too ugly, clashing colors, won’t match the Adidas he picked out last night, stretched on the collar, so on and so forth. It’s Thursday, he thinks, it’s a busy day. Errand day. And now I have nothing to wear. Well, he has something. Not exactly what he planned. But if he doesn’t just put on a damn shirt, he’ll never get through his day, and if he misses out on the free time to take charge of the few errant errands—Steve’ll never get them done or he’ll get them done on a different day, a day where it’s noticeably not Thursday.

He snatches a yellow polo from the back of his closet. Dijon mustard colored. Too scratchy over the downy hairs on his belly. But he doesn’t have the time. Doesn’t have the time to redo his hair—three puffs of hairspray and he’d have to do a fourth, but four doesn’t fit, it’s not right, it’s too different. So he just settles. He’s got a schedule today, and damn the world for already trying to stop him.

Next on his agenda is breakfast.

Which, now that his head is shoved dutifully in the fridge and he’s rummaging around like a dumpster diving raccoon, he remembers that he has to go grocery shopping. Down to three large eggs, a couple bacon strips that didn’t crunch right the last time he ate them, and some cream cheese for bagels he can’t reason eating anymore. But he makes do. Again, settling—always settling, it seems. Because today just can’t go right.

Half-way through the eggs, his brain reminds him that he’s eating eggs. The texture going from wonderfully scrambled, not too soft and not too dry—to awfully rubbery and terribly bland and disgustingly charred. His bacon didn’t crisp right, so he won’t even attempt the few nibbles that lay out on his plate. And the bagel is just…staring up at him like the thousand eyes on every spider of his nightmares. Just the mere thought of cream cheese on his tongue has him wanting to hurl. So he tosses the rest, sets his plate in the sink, and wonders if he’ll even have the time to do the dishes—they aren’t piling by any means, but he didn’t plan this. He wanted cereal this morning. Had thought about the near glass like shards of Cap’n Crunch against the roof of his mouth, drenched in whole fat milk. But, again—You’re an idiot, he’s starting to chastise—he forgot that he needed to do a grocery run today.

Now that his stomach isn’t full and is left completely unsettled. Now that his shirt is scratching him and rough in all the wrong places. Now that more wrongs have been done to him than rights, he can woefully cart himself to the supermarket.

Only to get there and not find a spot. Well, one in the back of the parking lot is barely a spot. The one he hates parking in because he always has to walk two minutes longer than he needs to and sometimes the gravel from the nearby bushes is kicked up and then he steps on it and there’ll be a rock in the sole of his shoe. Like there is today because of course, of all days, there are little jagged gravel rocks for him to step on and feel through the soft, giving out soles of his sneakers. Of course, he thinks—riding over mildly irritated to extremely annoyed within seconds.

The grocery store is hell on earth, if it exists. Lights fluorescent and produce aisle sprinklers going haywire and the coffee grounds too fresh and the chatter of people incessant. Annoying.

He brought a paper slip with him. His chicken scratch identifiable to him. Reading:

Grocery List

Milk White Bread (Wonder, not Kroger) Peanut Butter (Jiff, not Skippy) Laundry Detergent - unscented Cat food (salmon this time, maybe that’ll lure in that stray?) Pasta (Thin spaghetti, penne, and farfalle) Parmesan (Preferably not in the jar, but whatever is cheapest) Potatoes Pop-Tarts? (Eddie’s favorite is brown sugar) Chicken Chicken nuggets

The cart he grabs has a wheel that squeaks the entire time he pushes it. Wonder bread is sold out by the time he gets to the right aisle. They really should say something when they change the layout of the store, he notes bitterly, stuffing a couple loafs of Kroger white bread into his cart. Skippy was the chosen option of the creamy peanut butters, simply because the Jiff wasn’t on sale anymore. On the bright side, salmon wet cat food wasn’t too expensive, even if he could only grab three cans. The Pop-Tarts are forgotten by the time he makes it back to his car. And the first paper bag has a handle that rips off almost immediately. And he forgot to unload the quite substantial amount of baseball supplies he brought to the park the other day—which means the bags are loaded into the backseat and he can only hope and pray that the milk doesn’t topple over and squish the bread or god forbid the laundry detergent somehow gets jostled the wrong way and spills all over his car.

He should’ve made another list of things he needs to remember he’d done. Would’ve been nice, he supposes, if he told his future self that the baseball equipment is still in his trunk. But, alas, here he is playing the same Tears for Fears tape again, listening to the baseballs clink off of each other. Thank god for the Tears for Fears tape, though—it’s the same one he’s listened to nearly every day since he bought it in 1983. At least that’s something to expect. At least it’s something he can rely on after the absolute shitshow he’s had today.

Though, maybe he should’ve expected having to pull over to the shoulder. In a car that chokes and gives up when he’s two-thirds back, half-way through his errands list, and completely done with everything. His hands are tight on the steering wheel. And there’s nothing but silence flowing around him. It’s like drowning, sitting here like this. For once, after everything he’s ever experienced and having so many bad days like this, he doesn’t know what to do.

A part of him, the overwhelmingly obvious part, wants to scream and cry and kick his legs out in front of him. Wants to dig the heels of his feet into the pure asphalt underneath the rubber tires of his stupid, unreliable car. Maybe tear the shirt right off his body and squish himself back to normal. But in the open, bright pool of sunlight, he can do nothing but just sit there. Head against the steering wheel, wet breaths through his nose, and a tightness in his throat that won’t rid even after his fifth swallow. Part of him wants to cry and cry and cry and never stop crying. And it sounds good. Not here, though. Not yet.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there before something knocks on his window. So, he rolls his head over to peer—not at all that gently, with enough force to drive a hard line into his skin. But when he catches sight of the person watching him nearly fall apart, he wants to cry impossibly more.

It’s Eddie. With his big, soft, concerned eyes. Hair tied up into a bun. Coveralls over his body, splattered with oil and other unidentifiable muck. Probably coming back from an early morning shift at the auto shop in town. He can help, maybe. So, Steve cranks down his window. Enough that Eddie can dangle his arms inside and crouch down to get a better looks.

“Stevie,” he softly greets. “You doin’ okay?”

Steve just shrugs. Makes some sort of noncommittal grunt. He works his jaw tight and tense. Mumbles, “Car broke down.”

Eddie hums, acknowledging. He looks over his shoulder briefly, leans to peer into the backseat, and then looks onto Steve again. “I can take a look, if you want, sweetheart.”

“Don’t have enough money to get it fixed right now.”

“Baby,” Eddie sighs. His eyes go half-lidded with aching. He reaches out a tentative hand and gently traces his fingers over Steve’s left shoulder. Inching his way to his neck, where knots are surely forming. “It’s free of charge for you, you know that.”

“I just don’t care about it right now,” Steve lies. He cares a great deal. Cares that this has ruined his day. Has ruined the rest of his plans, but if he admits that, he’s sure he’ll cry. He’s not sure why that’s his first reaction: to cry and break things and flap his hands as if ridding the energy. Not sure why it hurts to look Eddie in the eyes right now. Why everything that’s happened has affected him so negatively. Why he’s so particular about his things to do and how he dresses and what he eats. But he knows he’ll cry if he explains.

“Okay,” Eddie mutters. His fingers are soothing over Steve’s shoulder. Light and airy and so soft, it makes Steve want to melt. “How about I drive you back? Help you unpack your groceries? We can leave this baby right here for now and figure out how to get it back to you later, alright?”

Wordlessly, Steve nods, hauls himself out of the driver’s seat, and helps Eddie unpack the bags into the back of his van. That part of him that wants to destroy flares alive inside of him. And he has to restrain himself from chucking the milk carton against the side of the van. But he gets into the passenger seat, silent and seething and mildly overwhelmed.

He gets angrier, though, as soon as Eddie’s radio blares to life. Heavy, obnoxiously loud drums and guitars and vocals fill the space. Instinctively, Steve’s hands shoot to his ears, covering them completely with his palms, digging his fingernails into the skin around them. Garbled, he makes a noise of great discomfort. Grits his teeth together. Squeezes his eyes shut until little speckles of black float in the corners. And hunches into himself, compact and an easy trick to consolidate himself. It doesn’t work, though. Nothing is working in his favor.

“Turn it off, Eddie,” he distantly hears himself snap, “turn it off!”

All at once, the music stops.

Steve sighs, not quite relieved, but easier. It’s still bright. And Eddie’s van smells a little bit like marijuana. And maybe Steve hasn’t smoked that in a little while because the scent is too intense and he never knows how to explain why the smell alone makes him want to scream, but it does and he knows part of that isn’t normal but he doesn’t know how to be normal and now he’s blown his cover all because of something petulant like music being too loud and now Eddie won’t want to date him because he’s being irritable and annoying and—

“Sweetheart?” Eddie’s distant, raspy, soft voice calls. “Is it a migraine? Do you need some water?”

“No,” Steve answers tersely. “Just take me home, Eddie.” He can’t loosen himself from the tight hold, from the squeeze of his eyelids, from the tension in his fingers. But he’s probably making an ass of himself. Probably pissing Eddie off. “Please,” he tacks on, “please take me home, Eddie.”

Nothing else is said as the van rattles and grumbles, pulling away from where Eddie had been parked. There’s no words. No music. Eddie doesn’t fidget. Steve doesn’t think either of them breathe, really. And not only has he pissed Eddie off, but he’s starting to make himself angry. Why couldn’t I just be normal, Steve internally bemoans. I’m being annoying. And he shouldn’t be helping me. And I should’ve just called a tow truck. And I’m making a big deal out of nothing, just like Mom and Dad used to say.

And if he were in a different mindset, he could probably think about why that statement used to feel so miserable. When his parents would dismiss him. Send him to his room. Where he’d sob into his pillows and toss his books across the room and hide inside his closet because it’s the only place that truly felt safe. The closet, where the world couldn’t reach him, and the lights were all dark and he could hum as much as he wanted. Because nobody could find him. And nobody cared. And then he was warm, safe, the version of himself he felt he needed to be.

Eddie parks gently. He helps bring the groceries inside. And then he just stays. As if Steve didn’t just ruin everything. But he looks at him with those concerned eyes again, fidgeting with his fingers because he wants to reach out, about two seconds away from crawling out of his skin. Meanwhile, Steve’s pacing back and forth, squeezing his hands shut, eyes closed, breathing heavy through his nose.

“Is something wrong, Steve?” Eddie finally breaks.

Steve shakes his head quickly. “Long day,” he gets out.

Humming, Eddie takes a step forward. He tilts his head and attempts to make eye contact, but Steve averts his gaze. “Why don’t we sit down for a bit and take a little breather?”

“This is the wrong shirt,” Steve blurts, scratching at his stomach again. The shirt keeps rubbing up and down whenever he bends, whenever he moves for that matter. It’s starchy and too new. Too much, not enough. “And my hair is a mess.”

“It’s not a mess,” Eddie murmurs, “looks fine to me.”

“No. I messed it up this morning. Because I tried on all my shirts.”

“All of them?”

Steve nods hastily. “None of them were right. And that doesn’t make sense, I know, but it’s true. And I put three puffs of hairspray in, needed a fourth, but that’s not right either.” He angles his head up at the ceiling, furls and unfurls his hands a few more times before placing them palm down and flat against his chest. Wants to press down. Hard enough to remember, but not enough to bruise. So he does. Gives in. Allows himself this one good thing, the pressure, the hurt, the sizzling ache. “My breakfast was gross.”

“Yeah? What’d you have, baby?” Eddie gently asks.

“Why—“ Steve gasps, struggling. “Why are you fine with this?”

Taken aback, Eddie makes a soft noise. His eyes widen and he furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m being weird. I—You saw me! I was having like a little mini freakout in my car and then I got all mad at you and I was covering my ears and keeping myself tight and now I’m—Fuck, I’m going insane.

“Everything’s wrong. Everything is so wrong. My whole day is fucking wrong. Schedule got ruined. The clothes I planned out days ago didn’t work. My breakfast was bullshit and the grocery store didn’t have the right bread and Skippy is my least favorite peanut butter, but I had to get it because it was on sale and I forgot to get those Pop-Tarts you like even though I wrote them down on my stupid list but I don’t make enough lists because I forgot about the baseball stuff in my car and it shouldn’t have been there and that’s why I had to put the groceries in the backseat and the only good thing was my Tears for Fears album was still in the radio—And…Fuck.” Steve takes a haltingly loud gasping breath. He slams his hands over his chest, finally giving in to that innate urge he’s carried since he was a kid. Squeezes his eyes shut again, not wanting to see whatever hurt or disappointment or realization washes over Eddie’s face.

He continues, “I left the album in my car. The light’s too bright. I can…I can like hear the wiring in the fixtures. Everything. I’m feeling…I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m feeling. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,” Steve babbles. His hands flex into his shirt, the fabric wrong on his skin. Fingernails scratching at it, trying to tear it off. Wants to crouch down onto his knees and hide between the corner cabinets, nestle himself in a dark place, cry until there’s nothing left to give.

The realization hits him all at once, he needs to get away. To the safe space he created. So he forces himself around Eddie, up the stairs, behind his slammed bedroom door. And he crawls the rest of the way into the deep, far side of his closet. On top of old blankets, underneath too small clothes. Rests his head against the wall. And just…sobs.

His elbows rest upon his knees as he shields his face with his forearms. The sounds of his cries muffled by his own skin. He kicks off his sneakers and digs his feet into the pile of blankets underneath him. Trying to get rid of the itchy, swooping, nauseous ache from inside him. He doesn’t like this part of his bad days. Doesn’t like being alone. To be left with his own mess. But he’s not sure how Eddie will respond, so he figures this is better.

Though, that’s quickly proven wrong when Eddie carefully comes in, announcing himself as the door opens. He stops in front of the closet and crouches down. “Hey, Stevie? Is it alright if I’m in here, baby?”

Steve sniffles. “I…You’re not going to be mean, are you?”

“No, Steve. I promise I’ll be nice. I just…You seem really overwhelmed and I thought maybe I could help you a little bit.” He shuffles forward slightly, opening the closet door from inside. Peeks through the gap. Asks, “How?”

“Could give you a hug? But…I was thinking we could trade shirts first? Mine is pretty soft, kind of loose. I know that’s how you like your t-shirts, baby.” For good measure, he plucks his t-shirt and gestures for Steve’s.

“You’ll look like a dork.”

“Yeah, but you’ll be comfortable. So hand me your shirt and I’ll give you mine.”

Once they’ve exchanged shirts, Steve leaves the closet and sits with Eddie against the side of his bed. Sure, the mattress may be soft and feel nice, but the firm ground under him keeps him anchored. He leans into Eddie’s side, lets him drape an arm over his shoulders, and sighs into the hold. Eddie’s other hand comes up and he traces fingers over Steve’s hairline, featherlight but caring all the same.

“Does this help?” Eddie whispers.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “Sorry about…Well, being weird and getting all intense earlier.”

Eddie shrugs. “It wasn’t like that at all, baby. You had a bad day, nothing worked in your favor. I’m not going to fault you for reacting.”

“I was crying in my closet, Eds. That’s hardly normal.”

“I’d cry, too if I had the day you experienced.” He runs his hand between Steve’s shoulder blades, pressing firmly over the tense knots that formed. “Is there anything I can do? Anything on your list that you need help with?”

Steve nuzzles his face into Eddie’s shoulder, cheek squished against the joint. Muffled, he says, “For now, can you just hold me for a while? Nobody’s ever comforted me like this after…Well, you saw what happened. But later, can you help me vacuum and mop?”

“I’ll hold you forever,” Eddie promises. “And I’ll exterminate all the dust bunnies you could ever think to encounter, nothing could make me happier.”

Something in him finally chips away. He’s not quite loose, yet. Not ready to release all the pent up negative energy he’s seemed to catch throughout his day. But he can believe Eddie, for the moment. He rests his head deeper into Eddie’s shoulder, lets himself fall into whatever song Eddie is humming, reaches out and grips firmly to one of Eddie’s hands. Plays with his rings, the smooth metal like a balm on the fatty part of his thumb. He relishes in how Eddie just lets him. Lets him, despite everything.

He can’t quite look Eddie in the eyes, not yet. Can’t force himself off the ground. Can’t quite get rid of that intense, drowning sensation that burbles in his chest—makes him want to cry and breakdown even further. And maybe he can, realistically. But later, he surmises, later he’ll do that, so long as Eddie continues to not mind.

The warmth of their shared bodies is nice. The softness of Eddie’s t-shirt against his skin. The gentle musk left on the collar from whatever cologne Eddie uses. Something with bergamot, a little bit of citrus, something like bourbon. He closes his eyes softly. There’s not much light flooding into his bedroom, just a stripe of golden sunlight from between his curtains, but that’s fine.

For the first time today, something is fine.

“I like this,” Steve quietly admits. “You being here with me through this, I mean.”

Eddie makes an acknowledging hum. “Whenever you need me, I’m a phone call away, sweetheart. I’ll come dashing over, your knight in shining armor, armed with the softest of t-shirts and the most delicious of snacks just for you, baby.”

Steve chuckles. A sound he thought wouldn’t be possible on a day like this. Despite everything, he smiles softly. “I’d love that,” he whispers, “I love you, Eds. Thank you for making me feel a little bit normal.”

“I love you, too, Stevie,” he responds, easy as that. “And I mean it, baby. I love you, I want to hold you and cherish you. You need anything, any time of day, you call me. Bad days are no joke.”

“Mmm,” Steve gently hums. “Maybe I should add cuddle time to my daily routine?”

“Maybe you should,” Eddie agrees. “I think that would be excellent for both of us.”

“Good,” Steve states quietly. He wraps his own arm around Eddie’s waist, pulls him in tighter, and tucks in close. “This feels right.”

💕——–——💕 Taglist: @hotluncheddie

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #autistic steve harrinton #angst and hurt/comfort

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theambivalentagender · 25 days ago

Text

Hello all! So if you follow me, you likely also follow my comic Valley Echoes as well as any of my other art drabbles. You may also know that I've been financially limping along for some time.

For context, my day job is dog grooming. It's a "career" I came into relatively recently and honestly love. However, my location has recently been incredibly dead. I haven't been able to make commission from lack of dogs and my hours have been cut drastically.

I'm currently looking into finding extra work where I can that will still fit with my technically full time schedule. This has been a big part of why the comic updates have slowed considerably in the last few months.

In the meantime, however, I did want to show that I am available for commissions at this time. This is the first time I'd be getting into commissions, so if folks do request I just ask for patience as I figure it all out, but I'd love to be able to draw your requests. I have a vgen account that's still being set up at the moment.

I also want to plug my Patreon again - honestly, the fact you all give this much for what I do now is incredible to me. I recently met the fun "milestone" of Patreon temporarily locking access to my withdrawals because I had made enough money this year to require filling out a tax form before my funds could be released, which I did. Maybe it's silly but it made me a little happy. I also have a Kofi though that's updated less.

This next part ended up being much longer and more personal than I expected so I'll put it under a cut.

Anything at this time would help immensely. Cost of living is insane, I just turned 30 and keep wondering how much longer I'll be able to keep renting, let alone ever saving to afford a home. I'm very, very lucky in that I have support from my dad, who has honestly been one of my strongest lifelines for years. But I obviously don't want to have to keep taking so much of that support from someone who should be enjoying retirement.

There are a lot of expenses I keep having, and things I'm putting off. The ipad I use for art has been cracked for months, but is still functional thank god. I recently finally bought myself clothes that aren't falling off my body after losing over 100 lbs in the last year. I have to buy and maintain my own tools for my grooming job, and I have to maintain my own health, both mentally and physically. My left hand/arm probably has nerve impingements and muscle strains science hasn't even named yet lmao. And of course there's taking care of my two terrible feline children who cause nothing but chaos in my home and who I love dearly.

Even if you don't give monetary support though, I so, so greatly appreciate every one of you who shares, likes, or comments on my work. I just recently got an anon who I mean to reply to soon gushing about they love Valley Echoes. Nothing makes my day more than waking up to see a million notifications that's just one person liking each of my comics as they read through it the first time.

Ever since I was 6 years old I wanted to be a storyteller in some way. I used to draw my own Dilbert and Far Side comics, and I constantly wrote wild fantasy stories. But after going through college, dealing with a huge amount of stress, burnout, and just one random person online telling me that I needed to hear the harsh "truth" that my writing skills were garbage, that spark was just gone. Excluding occasional stuttering starts, I didn't really write for years.

Doing this "silly" comic and getting the feedback I have is starting to rekindle that spark. I have so many stories of my own that I'm starting to make tentative plans on producing in some way. But even if I never become some official published recognized author, I feel like just putting out this comic is fulfilling that dream I had as a kid. So thank you again, as cheesy and long winded as this post has become.

#personal #art

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callalillywrites · 3 months ago

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A Dream on a Mean Machine 1

I'm going to start by saying I wasn't expecting this to be such a beast of a first part. That said, I'm not unhappy with the results. I definitely tried to create more tension between the two of them compared to the fluffier stuff I normally write.

Bucky is really such a sweetheart while Steve is a pure menace in this.

Welcome to the first part of my Cool Rider Barber Shop and Hair Salon series.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Other Characters: Reader's brother, Steve Rogers

Word Count: ~7100

Summary: Bucky's going on his first date since getting free from Hydra. In order to look his best, Steve drags him to the Cool Rider Barber Shop and Hair Salon for a haircut and a shave. There, Bucky meets the famous, Stephanie Zinone (Reader's codename), who owns the place and does his hair.

Warnings: insecurities, mentions of violence (nothing too graphic), some language, Steve being a menace, anything I forgot let me know

A/N: I wrote this beast of a story in a few hours. While I did go through and proofread, any mistakes are mine and mine alone. Yes, Reader has a codename (used all of like 4 times), but she's still a reader who may or may not share some personality traits of the character she's chosen for said codename. She's still a blank slate to fill in as you desire.

I do not give permission for my work to be copied or posted on other sites or fed into an AI machine.

“Hey, Stef, you going to be okay?” your brother asked from the back doorway.

You looked up from where you’d been giving your workstation another spot clean. Nothing could be less than perfect for this next client. Not with the obscene amount of money being paid to rent out your entire salon for this new VIP.

“I’ll be fine, Davey. Take the others out to a nice lunch. I should be done here in a couple of hours.”

Your brother hesitated another moment before he finally nodded. His footsteps retreated until you could no longer make them out.

A glance at the clock on the far wall warned you your client should be there any moment.

When you’d spoken to both Pepper Potts and Tony Stark about renting out your salon, they never once mentioned who the client would be. If you had to guess, it had to be an Avenger. A simple agent wouldn’t warrant this level of privacy.

Then again, none of the other Avengers who’ve quickly become loyal clients of your salon never really bothered with having the place vacated for them, either. Sure, they picked the slowest times to schedule their appointments to keep their celebrity down, but that was about the extent of it.

You had to smile at the thought of a new Avenger joining the growing list you already had as clients. If they weren’t yours directly, they came in and worked with one of your fabulously talented employees. The fact that your talented staff came in such high demand had you ready to do a little victory dance where you stood.

It was really a dream come true how far your barber shop and salon had come in the years since you first took over.

All that was missing was someone to share your success with. Someone to call yours and you theirs.

Before you could get too far down that thought trail, a knock came at the front door.

You locked it earlier to keep any would-be walk-ins from trying their luck. Not that your place allowed walk-ins with the clientele you’ve built the last few years.

Going to the door, you smiled upon seeing the golden god of a man known as Steve Rogers.

With a twist of your wrist, the lock released. You pushed the door open and said, “Well, long time, no see, Goldie.”

“Goldie? That’s a new one, Steffy.” Steve chuckled. His eyes always sparkled with a bit of mischief every time he came around. This time was no exception.

Your smile widened. “Well, your hair’s gotten too dark for me to call you Blondie or Honey. So, it’s Goldie now. You my special client? Surprised you want the whole place to yourself. Something I should know about?”

“No, no,” Steve quickly assured before his head shifted to his right. “It’s not for me. It’s for…”

Your gaze followed the direction of Steve’s until it collided with the solidly built man leaning sullenly nearby. At least you thought he appeared sullen until you noted how his gaze never settled in one place for too long. His alertness had gone into overdrive.

A soft exhale was wrenched from you when his gaze landed on you.

Oh.

You’d recognize this man anywhere.

James “Bucky” Barnes, WWII vet and former Winter Soldier turned Avenger.

More importantly, your grandpa’s biggest hero.

Far greater than the blonde standing in front of you.

How did none of his photos, past and present, do him any justice? It wasn’t fair how handsome this man was as you took in his features without trying to appear too creepy about it. Those steel-blue eyes damn near hypnotized you without trying. They reminded you of a clear Nevada sky. Then, there was his long, dark hair that called out to you and your fingers. It dared you to see if the strands were as silky as you hoped they’d be.

“Buck’s got a date tonight,” Steve said, breaking the silence. “Think you can work your magic for him?”

Well, that news sent a bucket of ice water down your back. It took everything in you not to shiver at the chill and give away your thoughts to these two men.

Instead, you made sure to keep your smile on your face as you nodded. “You doubting my skills, Rogers? Don’t make me buzz that glorious hair. You know I’ll do it.”

Steve’s hands came up in surrender. He quickly stepped into the shop and took a seat in the small waiting area.

You had to bite back a laugh at the way his features shifted from horror to pleading. The poor guy really could look like a kicked puppy when he wanted to. Simply wasn’t fair he could use that face and get away with anything, but then, it was one of the reasons you two had become friends. You really couldn’t resist his sweet face.

It was that sweet face that made you even more determined to find him someone, too.

If anyone deserved all the love they could get, it was Steve Rogers. You weren’t put off, either, after learning that the famous Black Widow was also on the same trail for him. Between the two of you, you were going to get Steve his happily ever after.

“Alright, Goldie, sit there and behave. No more quips about my skills, or you’re next.”

Satisfied Steve would listen, you turned your attention to the man who’d crept in behind you. His quiet steps nearly unnerved you. He really had no right to have all that muscle and build and be so quiet with it.

You gently introduced yourself to him, extending your hand.

His brows drew together as he blurted, “Thought your name was Steffy. Isn’t that what Steve just called you?”

“Codename. We all have them here. Can’t be too careful nowadays. Only a select few know our real names, and that includes you now.” You dropped your hand since he hadn’t tried to take it. Instead, you gestured toward the chairs. “Shall we? You have your pick: T-Bird or Pink Lady.”

The clueless expression on his face had you biting back another smile.

“Ah, another newbie to the musical greatness that is Grease and Grease 2. Come, I’ll educate you while we get you set up.”

You moved around him and stepped further into the salon where he could see the alternating chairs in black and pink design. On the back of the black chairs was the trademark logo of the T-Birds. The pink chairs bore the Pink Ladies trademarks. It was well worth the expense of having.

Nodding toward the different chairs, you continued toward the closet where you kept all your capes and other necessary items.

“Feel free to drape your jacket on one of the other chairs. It’ll be easier to cut your hair without the collar getting in the way.”

You didn’t stop as you spoke, or you would’ve seen the way Bucky froze at your words. The idea of taking off his jacket hadn’t crossed his mind and had him threatening to spiral a bit. While he’d worn a long henley in deep blue, he still wouldn’t be able to really hide his left arm from you. For some reason, he really wanted to hide it from you.

He couldn’t help thinking about how beautiful you were. How confident, too, in your space.

As he took in the shop’s décor, he could almost feel like he was back home in the forties. Sure, there were aspects that didn’t fit, but it had a welcoming aesthetic that called to those old memories.

Soft music played in the background, which you’d turned on near the back wall. While he didn’t know the song, he liked how it reminded him of simpler times. His memories might still be jumbled from all his years under Hydra’s control, but he could pick out pieces here and there.

It took him another moment and a deep breath to remove his jacket.

He set it on one of the T-Bird chairs while he settled into one of the Pink Lady chairs. They didn’t remind him of that awful chair Hydra used to strap him in. The soft leather even felt nice under his hand as he tried not to grip it too tight to leave impressions of his fingers.

“Hey, you okay?” You asked, coming to stand in front of him. A frown had replaced your bright smile, and Bucky already wanted to find some way to bring it back. “We have all the time you need. We go at your pace. Promise.”

As if to solidify your words, you brought up your hand again. This time, you extended your pinky and waited for him to make his move.

You couldn’t quite hide your surprise or your pleased grin when he finally brought his pinky up and looped it with yours.

“Alright, now that’s settled.”

Showing him the cape, you waited for his nod before placing it around him and cinching it loosely at his neck.

“Not too tight?”

He shook his head.

“Perfect.”

You spun the chair until he faced the mirror. It’s not lost on you when he grimaced at his reflection, but you wisely kept your mouth shut for the time being.

“I’m going to touch your hair now, okay? I want to get a feel for its thickness and texture. Stop me if it gets too much.” You kept your voice soft as you spoke, not wanting to spook him.

As before, you waited until he nodded to proceed.

You graced him with another smile for being so cooperative. Your fingers started at the front and gently combed through the locks at his temples until you reached the tips. As you guessed, the strands had a decent thickness with a silkier texture than you first imagined. It wouldn’t have been hard to continue to just run your fingers through his hair. But you had a mission, and you weren’t going to let him down.

What would your grandpa say if you didn’t do your absolute best for Bucky Barnes?

Returning your attention to your job, you met his gaze in the mirror. “Have an idea of what you’d like done? A trim or something a bit more dramatic?”

His eyes clouded while his lips thinned.

You could feel his muscles tense despite her fingers still running through his hair. The tension radiating off him had you wanting to wrap him up in a tight embrace and comfort him. You could well imagine all this had to be overwhelming. That begged the question of why he was going on a date tonight. He didn’t even seem all that thrilled, but then, you didn’t know him well enough to know for sure.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. With what Stark paid to rent out my place, I’m more than happy to just sit here with you and talk. Or not talk if that’s what you would prefer. You want me to simply wash your hair and style it, I can do that, too. Whatever you want. You have my word, Sergeant.”

His eyes widened while his entire body shifted from tense to shock.

“Yeah, I know who you are. James Buchanan Barnes. Sergeant from the 107th Infantry Division. WWII. POW. Veteran. The man who saved my grandfather at Kreischberg.” You gave him a warm smile, happy to find the tension slowly ebbing out of him.

Deciding it best to continue, you added, “You took his place when they were experimenting on Allied soldiers. Sick as you were, you still stood up for him. He died last year before he got the chance to know you still lived. He did get to see his second favorite hero though before he died.”

Before Bucky could ask, your gaze drifted over to where Steve sat in the waiting area.

“I know everyone adored Cap over there. My grandfather did, too, but he never failed to talk about you more. You certainly left a lasting impression on him. He even named my father after you and Cap. James Steven. A lot to live up to, but my dad was never one to back down from a challenge.”

When you said your grandfather’s name, Bucky’s eyes widened. He remembered that name. Your grandfather had been built a lot like Steve before the serum. It hadn’t been much of a stretch for Bucky to become protective. Your grandfather had been a fresh-faced eighteen-year-old, too, if his memory recalled correctly. How could he not do what he could, sick or not, to keep your grandfather safe from Hydra’s hands?

Another thought niggled its way to the front of his mind, pressing to ask, “Is Steve…”

“A good friend, yeah.”

Resuming your earlier ministrations, you decided to use this time to talk. You both had plenty of time to get to the actual haircut if Bucky changed his mind.

“We actually met during that alien invasion a couple years back. I wasn’t even sure it was him until his helmet thing came off, and I saw his face. He took a nasty hit from one of those Chitauri guys. Knocked him flat onto his hands and knees. Such a cheap, cowardly blow, too. Deserved what it got for doing that.”

“What did it get?”

Your gaze dropped to Bucky’s hair, intent on combing through the strands with your fingers. He’d begun to relax again, and you wanted as much time as you could just being allowed to touch him like this. You had a feeling that could so easily change if he let you get near with your scissors or shaver.

“My best pair of scissors lodged in its neck. Grandpa always loved that you were a sharpshooter. Taught me everything he knew. Competed for several years during my high school and university days. He was also the reason I got into dagger and axe tossing as well. I’m a pretty good shot. As Clint likes to brag, I can never seem to miss.”

“She’s not wrong,” Steve hollered from his seat in the waiting area. “She took that thing down with little effort and cursed it out for ruining her scissors. Never thought I’d hear a dame with a mouth like hers. I still maintain I had it handled.”

“Sure you did, Goldie,” you shouted back, doing your best not to laugh. You failed as your shoulders shook despite your best efforts. Dropping your voice to a whisper, you brought your head closer to his so you weren’t far from Bucky’s ear. “Wanna know the real reason why I call Steve those nicknames of mine?”

Bucky swallowed at your proximity. Everything in him screamed to have you come closer as you continued to soothe him in ways he hadn’t felt in so long. He really wanted you to keep playing with his hair.

When he nodded, you bit your lip before admitting, “He just reminds me of a golden retriever. In the best way though, so please know I mean no offense.”

“You’re serious?”

You nodded, then called out, “Hey, Steve, come here a sec, would ya?”

It didn’t take Steve two seconds to come bounding into the heart of the salon. When he stopped, he shifted from one foot to the other as though he couldn’t settle while awaiting whatever orders you had for him.

You had to bite your lip harder to keep your laughter at bay.

“Can you fetch me that folder from Goose’s station? I wanna let Bucky check out some of the newer styles. See if he likes any of them.”

It took everything in you not to burst out laughing at how quickly Steve followed your orders. He had the folder in hand within moments and erased the distance between you two. When he held it out to you, his head tilted to the side as if awaiting a treat or another command. You just knew he would be wagging his tail if he had one.

“Thanks, Goldie. I’ll let ya know if I need you again.”

Steve nodded, then retreated to the waiting area.

When he was out of sight, you returned your attention to Bucky with a ‘see what I mean’ look.

“That was so wrong,” Bucky said, but a chuckle escaped him. An honest-to-goodness laugh escaped. His eyes scrunched at the corners as he tried to hold back more laughter at his friend’s expense. “You have a mean streak, doll. I like it.”

So lost in the realization that you’d made Bucky laugh, you almost didn’t hear, let alone comprehend, the pet name he’d given you. When you did, you could feel the heat suffusing your cheeks in pleasure.

The folder turned out to be a good idea.

Bucky flipped through the various photos of different styles that had either gained popularity or regained it in the last two years. He finally landed on one that seemed to hold his interest the most.

The model had a shorter, more dramatic cut.

Bucky would be losing all but five-eighths on the sides. The top would keep some length though nothing compared to what he currently had. It’d be enough to keep hair pulling or tugging an option. You always liked guys who kept enough hair on top for gripping, but…

You shut down that thought train before it could get properly started.

He wasn’t cutting his hair for you. Not that you would ever ask him to with how pretty it looked with its current length.

Though, a girl could dream, couldn’t she?

As you continued to study the one he liked, you couldn’t help thinking how he wouldn’t be able to hide behind his hair with this style. His eyes would be allowed to pop, too, when he wore the right colors. This included the henley he was wearing.

Hell, he could probably wear almost anything, and he’d be devastating.

His date was one lucky lady.

Shoving your unprofessional thoughts aside, you picked up your shaver and showed it to him. “This okay? It’ll go quicker than me manhandling your hair with my fingers and scissors.”

“We had them back then, doll. Not as fancy as that one, but they did exist,” Bucky said.

If you knew him better, you would recognize the teasing in his voice as he met your gaze. He actually liked how much care you were taking with him, wanting him to have the best experience at your salon. It’d been a long time since someone had shown him any type of kindness.

When you didn’t move, he realized he didn’t exactly answer your question. He still couldn’t believe that you were holding to your promise not to rush him and check in with him. Not even the other Avengers had handled him with such care since bringing him onboard some months ago.

“Go for it.”

You smiled at him.

Oh, he was getting addicted to your smile. It just brightened the whole room and made him almost believe that he was worthy of it.

Lost in thought, he didn’t see you move behind him. That surprised him as he always kept his guard up, especially around new people. He’d long since learned he couldn’t trust others, not with what he’d done as one of Hydra’s assets. Danger always lurked in strangers’ motives.

Yet, he wanted to trust you.

Steve trusted you. So did the other Avengers.

“Such pretty hair,” he heard you murmur before your hand ran through his locks. He had a feeling he wasn’t supposed to hear that with how low you spoke, but the words continued to ring in his ears and through his mind. He hadn’t been associated with pretty in so long. Maybe never.

The shaver clicked on after another moment, taking the first of many paths across his head. His long locks fell to the ground around him until he had quite the pile surrounding him. Closing his eyes, he let the sound of the shaver and your soft humming lull him until he jerked back to reality when you clicked the shaver off some minutes later.

He couldn’t believe he’d actually nodded off.

That had never happened before.

When he glanced in the mirror, he stared in shock at how different he looked. You weren’t done by any means, but he didn’t look like he had minutes ago. He wasn’t even sure he recognized the guy staring back at him.

“Come on, stud,” you said, nodding toward the sinks. “Let’s wash your hair now, then I can finish up the rest of your new look.”

Again, he chose one of the Pink Lady chairs near the sinks. It took him a little bit to relax before resting his head in the cutout of the sink.

“Doing okay?”

He breathed in and out, then nodded.

You smiled at him. “Yeah, you are. I wish all my clients could be as great as you’re being. I’ll have to see if I can find you a treat when you’re done. I think Rizzo has some lollipops stashed at her station.”

“I don’t need a treat, doll. It’s fine.”

Bucky figured you dropped the argument when you didn’t counter his words. He couldn’t tell if he was more relieved or disappointed that you didn’t.

That thought soon disappeared though.

The water hit him at exactly the right temperature, dousing his head until his hair dripped.

Then, your hands performed their magic with the sweet-smelling shampoo your salon used. The way you massaged the shampoo into his scalp nearly had him moaning aloud. It just felt that good, and he hadn’t been prepared for it. Neither had his body with the way it reacted to your hands in his hair. He’d never been so grateful for the cape covering him.

You soon rinsed out the shampoo and followed it up with a conditioner that had the same sweet smell. Your hands repeated the same process as the shampoo, making his body even more aware of you and your closeness to him.

It really wouldn’t take much to grip your hips and tug you closer. The desire to do just that nearly overwhelmed him. To keep himself in check, his hands gripped the chair.

He could make out the floral notes of the perfume you used. It intoxicated him.

The sweet torment of your touch, smell, and proximity ended all too soon.

Water doused his head once more, removing all traces of the conditioner. It was soon replaced with a towel that quickly collected the stray water droplets that tried to break free and race down his neck as you helped him sit back up.

Before he knew it, you were leading him back to your workstation.

Taking his seat, you moved behind him again and lowered the chair for the first time. You even shook your head as you mumbled, “Tall guys. I just have to like tall guys.”

Bucky swallowed at that. Could you like him? Would that even be possible?

No, he had a date tonight. He shouldn’t be thinking about you like he had a chance when he should be concentrating on his date.

As if you had the same thought, you asked, “Tell me about your date tonight. What’s she like? Or he? They? I don’t want to assume.”

“She,” he said, a small grin at your need to correct yourself. You might have a mean teasing streak, but you weren’t unkind. “I, uh, don’t know much about her. Sam set it up for me.”

“So, it’s a friend of Wilson’s then? He didn’t give you any information on her?” You picked up your scissors and a comb before turning toward him. “I’m going to start in the back and work my way forward. Okay?”

He nodded.

After you got started, he recalled your questions. “She’s not a friend. Sam said I needed to date. Put me on some of those apps. Tinble or something like that.”

Your brows lifted as you bit your lip.

He caught it in the mirror as his eyes haven’t stopped watching you since you started working. It took everything in him to ignore the way your fingers danced through his shorter locks.

Just as it was taking you not to laugh at whatever he said that was so funny.

You soon enlightened him by asking, “You mean Tinder? There’s also Bumble. It’s newer. I can’t blame you for mixing them. There are so many out there nowadays. Makes my head spin with the many options.”

“Do you use them?”

You shook your head. “Nah. Too busy with my salon here. Besides, I know what I’m looking for, and I know I’m not going to find him on any dating app.”

“What are you looking for?”

When you smiled, it had a dreamy quality that had Bucky holding his breath. Oh, how he wished he could be exactly what you wished to have.

To his surprise, your smile turned cheeky when you said, “I’m looking for a dream on a mean machine.”

Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that.

Steve’s loud laugh echoed through the shop, having heard her answer from the waiting area. The punk followed it by saying, “Thanks for that, Steffy. I got that reference.”

“You should, Goldie. It’s a requirement you know it if you’re wanting to be a client here at Cool Rider.”

Now, that had Bucky’s attention. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, “You have requirements for your clients?”

“Just the Avengers. Well, mainly Tony. Such an insufferable ass though he does have a few good points to redeem himself now and then.”

That didn’t answer his question at all, but you weren’t finished thankfully.

“After saving Steve that day, he was the first to stop by my salon. He really liked the aesthetics. Reminded him of the old days. While he didn’t know anything about Grease or the best musical ever, Grease 2, he kept coming back. Eventually, he brought some of the other Avengers with him.”

You snipped several small swathes of his hair before you continued.

“One of those times, Tony tagged along. That man, I swear, wouldn’t stop commenting on my Grease theme and décor. Then, he had the nerve to tell me he’d never seen either film. After all his badmouthing, I’d had it. Told him I refused to service him again until he watched the movies and could be quizzed on both.”

A small chuckle escaped.

“He had no idea I was mainly teasing him, but the threat worked. From what Steve told me, Tony made all of them have a movie night where they watched both musicals. He even came up with every possible question I could quiz them on and made them answer each question correctly. Never would’ve guessed I had that much power over a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Did I get that right, Goldie?”

“Yeah, sounds about right,” Steve hollered back. “He’s been complaining about his hair getting too long, so I’d expect an appointment soon from him.”

“And why didn’t you tell me this earlier? You know we need all the warning we can get when it comes to Tony, Goldie. He always shuts down my place at the worst times. Doubling my rate. Tell him that, won’t you?”

Steve acknowledged he heard you.

Satisfied, your voice returned to normal as you shifted to Bucky’s left side.

He did his best not to tense at your proximity to his metal arm. If you hadn’t mentioned it, then he didn’t want to point it out. Maybe there was a chance you didn’t know he’d been used as a weapon for so long. Though, he had his doubts as you’d known everything else about him.

“So, where are you taking your date tonight?” you asked, changing the subject with a quickness that Bucky feared he wouldn’t ever be able to keep up with you.

How he wanted to do just that surprised him, too.

He finally named the restaurant. It was a fancy place that Tony had set up for him, which meant at least a nice suit and tie. Both of which, Bucky really couldn’t stand to wear.

Maybe he wouldn’t mind so much if his date was anything like you.

Stop it!

“I’ve heard some nice things about that place, but you really strike me more as a smaller, cozier type of restaurant guy. Any reason why you chose something so fancy?” You paused then as though the words you just spoke finally hit you and the implications you’d made with them. Horror entered your eyes as they met his in the mirror. “That was…so rude of me. I apologize. I shouldn’t have made assumptions like that.”

Bucky shook his head, letting his smile emerge albeit awkwardly. “It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean any offense. Tony made the reservation. Told me to wine and dine her with the best the city had to offer. But you are right about me.”

Relief washed through you. Your smile returned as you finally asked, “Name your favorite place then.”

There was no hesitation as he named a little Italian bistro near your salon and the Tower.

Your smile grew. “That’s one of my favorites, too.”

He bit his tongue before he could think about asking you to join him there sometime.

Silence fell between you for the next few minutes.

In that time, you finished clipping his hair down to the right length and adding some layer and texture to it. You moved from his left to his front and finished on his right. Your movements had been smoothly fluid. Almost like a dance you’d learned long ago.

He had to admit he was mesmerized watching you work so quickly and efficiently. Watching you move the way you did. You never seemed to second guess where you needed to cut or the way it would look once you did.

That was something he’d never really experienced outside of the jobs he’d been forced to do for Hydra. Get in, get out with the least amount of mess left behind. He’d been good at it. As sick as it was to admit, he knew it was the main reason the newly reformed SHIELD even allowed the Avengers to take him on. Fury wanted him for his expertise with quick, efficient asset recovery and cleanup. Extract and sanitize wrapped in nicer packaging all over again.

It wouldn’t do to dream of being anything more. To dream about being with someone like you. You deserved someone without half the baggage he came with. You deserved someone more like Steve if he was being honest.

He really needed to put you out of his mind before you nestled too deep. Before you could manage to sneak your way somewhere even more locked away than his head. A place like his heart.

Crazy. It was crazy.

The two of you had just met. He shouldn’t feel like this about you.

Yet, he couldn’t deny that he did. He really did. That scared him, too.

You would never be safe with him in your life. Compared to the other Avengers, he would always be a target, and anyone attached to him would have the same mark on them. It would only be a matter of time before you’d had enough of him and being in constant danger because of him.

No, it was better to make this the first and last time he ever saw you.

Even if it hurt him to never see you again.

Something dark had entered Bucky’s mind. You could sense it in the way he tensed his muscles before forcing them to release, only to repeat the cycle all over again.

You had to find some way to distract him.

Landing on his face, you noted the way his full beard didn’t really fit with his shorter hair. As much as you liked its fullness, you could see the potential of trimming it down close to his face. It might even lessen the strain you could make out around his mouth.

Okay, you really shouldn’t focus too much on his mouth. You really didn’t need to go down that road, or you might start thinking about what kissing him would be like.

Get it together, you silently admonished yourself.

Even still, you couldn’t stop yourself from running a finger along his bearded cheek, drawing his attention back to you.

“Your beard is beautiful, but a trim might be in order. What do you think?”

You mentally high-fived yourself for how normal you made yourself sound right then. Hopefully, you could keep it up until he finally left your salon, ready for his date that evening.

“I, uh, whatever you think is best,” he said, his voice deeper than it’d been before.

Could it be that you affected him as much as he did you? Oh, now that was a dangerous thought.

Bringing yourself back, you shook your head. “Against the rules, stud. It’s your decision whether the beard stays or goes, not mine. I will say that our beard trims and shaves come with a facial massage and skin treatment.”

He shifted in his seat.

You could make out his hands rubbing up and down his thighs. Even without the cape, you recalled the way his legs had filled out his tight jeans. The man had actual thighs of steel.

He finally nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?” You couldn’t help prodding him a little. After all, you needed to hear the words. If this was going to be his show, then he needed to decide and say it clearly, so you understood. After all his years of having no control over his life, you wouldn’t take even a second more from him if you could help it.

“I think it’s time for a shave, too. Go big or go home, right?”

You smiled. “Right.”

Since your station didn’t normally carry any of the items you’d need, you headed over to Goose’s station and picked through what he had. Thankfully, you had understanding employees who didn’t mind sharing when something came up. Plus, Goose’s equipment surpassed those of Kenickie or DiMucci.

Not wanting him to get nervous while you set up, you decided to ask him another question. It was nice to hear how he opened up in a way you had a feeling he didn’t do all that much with others.

“Well, we’ve covered who your date is and where it’s taking place. How about what you’re driving to get yourself there? It’s safe to assume you’ll be wearing a nice suit, so…” You allowed your words to trail off in the hopes he’d picked up from there.

Bucky didn’t disappoint you, either.

“Well, I don’t have much besides my bike, but I could always take the bus or subway to get there.”

“He’s taking one of Tony’s lesser fancy cars,” Steve offered so helpfully, still eavesdropping with little to no shame. You could almost imagine he wore a shit-eating grin every time he jumped into the conversation to appear so helpful. “I think Tony mentioned one of his BMWs.”

“Of course, he did,” you mutter, shaking your head.

Tony Stark was nothing if not pretentious in the types of cars he liked to drive and be seen in. You couldn’t really see Bucky wanting to drive something like that, but then, you doubted he’d have much choice with the restaurant he was going to.

Deciding to keep that observation to yourself, you said instead, “Well, it’s nice to see Tony knows how to share.”

With everything in hand, you headed back to your station to drop them off, then went off to retrieve a hot towel.

“I’m going to cover your face for a few minutes,” you held the towel up for Bucky to see, “but I won’t be far.”

His grin appeared again. Almost cheeky in the way one side curved up as he said, “I’ll be fine, doll.”

Oh, you just knew he was aware of the effect he had on you. It simply wasn’t fair when you were certain you didn’t have the same power over him. The nerve of this man to call you ‘doll’. It was so wrong the power of the pet name had, going straight to the heart. A dangerous man indeed.

Shoving those thoughts aside with all the other inappropriate ones you had for this man, you covered his face, taking an extra moment or two to ensure the towel covered him. No folds were in sight. You spared another moment or two of massaging his face through the towel to ensure it sat properly.

Satisfied, you went to work on building up your favorite lather, also stolen from Goose’s stash. You preferred this gentle soap as it had little fragrance and tended not to irritate clients’ skin.

To your surprise, he broke the silence with a question. “What do you think of flowers?”

Your brows rose before they drew together, unsure what his question hinted at. There were so many different directions you could answer it, but you didn’t want to say the wrong thing and put him off. So, you did one of your worst pet peeves. You answered his question with a question. “What about them?”

“Guys still bring them for their dates these days?”

Oh.

How did that make him so much hotter?

You seriously needed to get a grip on yourself or risk falling hard for a man that would never be yours.

“Not so much, no,” you finally managed to say before quickly adding, “but I think they’ll be a nice, unexpected touch. Is that what you did before the war? Bring flowers to your girl?”

“Girls,” Steve offered up. “Buck was never without a girl on his arm. Sometimes, two if I was meeting up with him. Pity date and all that for the scrawny Brooklyn boy.”

“Steven Rogers, you are not a pity date for any woman. Now or back then. I’ve seen pictures of you, and there was nothing wrong with you. It was always their loss if they didn’t see the rare gem you were and still are.”

You lifted the towel off Bucky’s face and flashed him a smile. Your voice dropped low, so Steve wouldn’t overhear as you said, “Your past doesn’t define who you are, either. Sure, it’s a part of you, but so is the man you are now and the one you were before Hydra got their hands on you. You are worthy of every bit of love you can find in this world.”

Bucky’s Adam’s apple bobbed several times.

“I see it now.”

“What’s that?” Your brows drew together.

Bucky’s lips curved up at the corners. “Why Steve likes you so much. I get it now.”

You beamed at him. His praise meant far more than it should for such a short acquaintance. Yet, that didn’t stop you from having to blink back tears before they managed to run down and mess up what little makeup you’d put on that day.

“Alright, mister, let’s get you finished up for your big date. You’re going to knock her socks off if I have anything to do with it.” If your own socks were already knocked off, then that would be your secret and yours alone.

The first few strokes of the lather brush felt a bit awkward since it’d been a minute from the last time you shaved a client. It came back to you though and soon you had him covered with the first application. When you were satisfied, you rushed over to grab a second towel from the warming rack.

With the same care as you used before, you placed it over Bucky’s face, molding it to the lather. You shot him a small grin as you whispered, “Doing so good here, stud. Almost done.”

Goose’s everyday straight razor took a minute to sanitize and reset with a new blade. He preferred using single-use blades for their easier disposal over sanitizing and reusing a conventional straight razor. That wasn’t to say he didn’t have one, but no one, not even you as his friend and boss, were allowed to touch the reusable one or its strop. That was his and his alone. His most prized possession.

With the razor intact and ready to go, you turned back to find Bucky’s eyes on you. You did your best to hide the warmth his gaze caused, but you were almost certain you failed at this point.

To hide the way he affected your nerves, you quickly removed the first lather you applied and the towel covering it. You’d never been so satisfied than in that moment to see it all came off without missing a spot on his face or neck.

“Alright, stud, I’m going to need you to stay as still as you can for me. I’ll make this as quick and painless as possible. Really don’t want to nick your handsome face before your date tonight, okay?”

The small grin he shot you had you nearly dropping your lather cup. “I’ll do my best, doll.”

“It’s not nice to tease a lady with a razor, Sergeant.”

The nerve of this man, you couldn’t help thinking as he didn’t appear the least bit repentant.

Not to be outdone, you lathered him up again, making sure you covered every inch you needed before you picked up the razor and made the first of many gentle scrapes across his skin. Muscle memory had you finishing up within minutes of starting.

The rest of his shave went smoothly until you got to the last step.

“Which one do you prefer?”

You held up two bottles of aftershave, letting him take and inspect them at his leisure. One had a spicier scent while the other had a cleaner, more natural scent to it.

He chose the latter.

It took you moments to pat it into his skin until you were certain you’d done your job well. The same moments you realized you would shortly be forced to say goodbye to him.

Before you could think better of it, you leaned into his space and pressed your lips as softly as you could to his cheek.

His breath hitched at your action, but he didn’t appear upset.

Taking that as a win, you retreated with a small smile. “A good luck kiss for your date tonight. It was an absolute pleasure to meet you, stud, and to work with you. I really hope we’ll get to do it again.”

*****

Main Masterlist

If you'd like to be tagged, reply to me here or message me. I do expect Bucky's story to span a couple more parts. If you want to be tagged for the whole series with the other characters, please reply to the master post.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #female reader #x female reader #steve rogers #platonic steve rogers #barber shop au #hair salon au #grease theme #grease 2 theme #a dream on a mean machine #cool rider barber shop and hair salon #fluff #meet cute #mutual pining #slow burn #first date

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