#honestly sad this isn’t a regular thing… | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

l223m0nade · 2 months ago

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Bees (a stucky au snzfic)

ok ok

so I saw this random thing on a tumblr post:

and it got its Stucky-idea hooks so deep in my brain. It just did. And the thing is my deepest inspo is honestly in the land of snz. (This fic kind of ends abruptly sorry but i want to do more and it'll probably end up on Ao3 w like a M or E rating 😳🫣 when and if that happens i'll link to it)

Stucky au, no powers, age gap, what I'm picturing in my head goes less with the words "silver fox Steve" and more with the words "dorky Dilf Steve" like 2012 Cap fashion with current Chris Evans face? in..a good way? and longhair early-20s burnout Bucky. I have some backstory headcanons that are just hinted at here, hopefully it's tantalizing rather than confusing.

anyway have 11.5k words of this and encourage me to write more bc i have fallen in love with these particular boyz. Some light existential angst but mainly idiots pining aka the sweetest sauce

~Fic~

Sam isn’t sure how much longer he can allow this to go on. His barback and the new semi-regular square dude are once again being all awkwardly flirty while pretending they’re not, like two sad lonely white...ducks, who never learned a mating dance and have zero game.

At least Square Dude has an excuse: he’s the most obvious newly-divorced newly-out family-type guy Sam’s ever seen. He’s clean-cut, with a ridiculously handsome square jaw, wearing well-made but unstylish button-down shirts and pants that make him look like he belongs in a Norman Rockwell painting. He started coming in about two months ago, quiet, friendly when ordering his one or two beers of the evening, and firmly shy when it comes to the inevitable overtures sent his way. It doesn’t take a genius to see that this is him dipping a first toe into the pool: coming to a relatively quiet gay bar, just to sit and watch men talk to each other and let the whole notion sink in.

By now most guys would’ve found someone to spread their wings with or gone elsewhere to find em, but Square Dude, whose name is Steve, seems content to talk to the guy who pours his beer about whatever DIY project Bucky is pulling questions out of his ass about.

The crush is painfully obvious, and suburban closeted Steve can’t be blamed for having no deal-sealing abilities, but Bucky has no such excuse. Sam has watched him pull stiff-backed business bros in five minutes flat when the mood struck him, with his big blue puppy eyes and his dark wicked smirk and long lean slouch. But with Steve all he appears capable of doing is asking him questions about crown molding as though those words mean anything to him while gazing at him like he’s beaming the words You could fix me directly into Steve’s skull. Steve, for his part, just doesn’t seem to be able to look anywhere other than Bucky.

As usual, anyone that tries to strike anything beyond a friendly conversation is kindly but firmly rebuffed. “He’s not ready for that yet,” Bucky had insisted with unnecessary defensiveness when Sam implied it was time for the new guy to move from spectating to participating in the relatively mellow flirting and hookup scene the bar played host to most evenings. “People go at their own pace.”

“The only pace he’s going at is towards you,” Sam smirked. Bucky glowered at his implication. “You gotta make it weird. He comes here to, like, practice. I’m part of that, in a chill, friendly way.” He shrugged and looked at the glass he was drying. “When he is ready, it’s not gonna be for me, it’s gonna be for someone actually in his league, like a...hot college professor, or something.” Sam had rolled his eyes and resolved to stop trying to help Bucky Barnes flail around in his mess of a love life anymore, for the hundredth or so time.

Tonight is busy enough that Sam can mostly be distracted from this bad sitcom, and not so busy that he has to yell at Barnes for being distracted. Still, there are a couple empties on tables in the Steve-less side of the bar, and after finishing the drinks for the people in front of him he turns, catching Bucky’s voice, in a tone of delight he uses when speaking with only one person, saying “Wait. Seriously? Bees?”

“Yeah!” Steve responds, equally puppyish. He’s tall and broad, sandy hair and beard just beginning to show a hint of salt-and-pepper. He looks like anyone’s fantasy fireman or lumberjack, at least in the context of a place like this. He also exudes genuine sweetness and vulnerability despite his intimidating muscled height.

Bucky Barnes, Sam’s barback and old friend, leans against the bar doing the helpless-goober-with-a-crush stare, a look on his face like Steve just announced he was a Nobel Prize winner. “No way. How do you keep bees? Just as, what, a casual hobby? That’s, like, a whole thing, you can’t be an expert in so many things!”

Bucky is all shaggy longish dark hair and stupid cheap graphic t-shirts, with a striking, animated face that is used mainly for sarcasm. He and Sam had been at the same high school a few blocks away, though Sam is older, and in the funny way of life they’ve wound up good friends. He’s working at Sam’s place because, in his words, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing with his life. Bucky’s going through his own version of one of those fairly bleak lost periods of 20-something misery, but he’s smart and not a drunk and decent at what he does for Sam, and if he bangs a third of the customers he does it discreetly enough. Sam never knew dark-blond, broad-shouldered, bass-voice sad-eyed dudes pushing 40 were the kryptonite that made him unable to do anything including flirt, until Steve came in one day and Bucky sprayed himself with the keg he was tapping.

Steve chuckles— is this man blushing? “Oh no, I’m nowhere near an expert. But it’s pretty easy once they get established. Don’t need much from you. I’m not, uh, living at the place with the backyard where the hives are, right now….so….but they’ll be fine without me.”

Steve gets a little quiet and Bucky’s fangirl expression dims with distressed sympathy. It gets sad like this sometimes when talking to Steve. Recently divorced guys had this problem, where everything came back to the one topic. Steve’s not doing it pathologically, didn’t seem like, just genuinely realizing another change. Bucky looks stricken. He doesn’t always seem young, at newly 24, but sometimes it still shows.

Sam finally manages to catch his eye away from gazing at Steve to convey a quick head jerk of get-the-hell-over-there-and-do-the-job-I-pay-you-for, and Bucky peels himself away with an apologetic smile at Steve. Sam picks up the conversation with Steve as Bucky clears tables at top speed, hearing how he’s renting a place month-to-month not far away, not able to plan something more permanent just yet. He doesn’t say anything revealing, but it’s still easy to paint a picture of a small, empty apartment. Bucky’s not the only one with a soft spot for this guy, and Sam is warmed by the thought that his little bar offers him respite.

………………..

“That’s so sad,” moans Bucky a few days later. It’s just after opening on a weekday afternoon, and Bucky seemed quieter than usual so Sam is tantalizing him with what he learned talking to Steve the other day. “Did he say—you know he has kids?”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam answers. He’d been as offhand as a person could be about that sort of thing, but it wasn’t hard to see how he really felt. He was standing in the rubble of a sincere loving marriage to a woman with whom he had two 11-year old twins. Helped explain his rectitude when it came from moving from his spot at the bar, meeting someone other than the staff. Bucky’s eyes are pools of sympathetic anguish and Sam feels the need to say, “This kinda stuff happens to people, Buck,” earning an eye-roll for his patronizing efforts. “It’s good he’s coming here, learning about himself. I think you help a lot, for the record.”

Bucky starts and gives him a bewildered look. “What?”

This is aging him. Sam sighs, “He’s lonely. Maybe feels kinda lost right now.”

Bucky’s mouth gets a pained downward slant to it.

“He. Likes. You.”

At that, of course, Bucky gets uncomfortable, blushing and moving off to wipe tables somewhere away from Sam, rubbing his nose and clearing his throat like he’s been doing since he got there. He brightens when Steve comes in an hour later, and Sam rolls his eyes and leaves them to their game of mouse-and-mouse.

Steve is telling Bucky... how window insulation works. He thinks he asked, he hopes to god he did, at least. He’s been embarrassing himself for weeks, coming to this place almost every day. He’s kept it pretty well under wraps that although he liked the neighborhood simplicity, and talking to Sam, and got comfortable after the first few visits, the real reason he’s there more evenings than not is to see Bucky. With his bright grey-blue eyes and dark hair hanging past his chin, swinging against his cheekbones, with his smile and wicked sense of humor and his confounding ease in himself, the ease that gives Steve despair and hope for himself. With that mouth and that divot in his chin, and those last two thoughts are not allowed, because the need to put his thumb into that dot in his sculpted chin and kiss those ridiculously pink lips is urgent and unthinkable.

He doesn’t do that, he just sits and pines and chats awkwardly with him, and gets to know a few other regular guys and talks sports with Sam. He just likes talking to Bucky, it’s easy, easy like nothing has been in a long time, and he’s a creep, he’s a pathetic older guy using his experience to take advantage of a younger guy—

Only, he’s not actually experienced here, at all. And Bucky is so smart, he’s self-deprecating about it but it’s not like he and Steve aren’t generally on the same level beyond his inner glossary of home improvement terminology. He downplays the fact that he knows cars like an expert, insists the stuff Steve learned from keeping up an old house and the hobbies he picked up to stay sane is somehow far more impressive— Steve’s pretty sure he’s doing it on purpose, to make him feel less adrift and clueless. He has that way about him, of someone who looks after other people without realizing it.

Things were all dark there for a while, with the end of his marriage to Peggy. But he’s pretty sure he and Bucky are friends, and he feels bright when he sees him.

Tonight, though, Bucky seems just a little worn down. He’s wearing a waffle-knit shirt under his incomprehensible-thorny-calligraphy-t-shirt, as though he’s cold, and his eyes are tired. Steve waits for a reply to the last thing he said and looks to see Bucky with a dazed, spaced-out expression, before he shakes his head and rubs his nose, saying “Sorry, I thought I was gonna sneeze, what’d you say?”

Talking about the goddamn weather and window insulation was segueing into a real conversation, to Steve’s delight: “How my mom moved us out to Jersey so we could live somewhere better and I never forgave her.” Bucky gives a wide-eyed grimace of agreement and he can’t help the bright laugh that bursts out of him. “How about you, you grow up in the city?” He’d inadvertently spilled his guts about the divorce on like his third time in the bar, something that humiliated him to think of but Sam had simply said with an understanding face wasn’t too unusual, so Bucky knew the basics about Peggy and the twins, but Steve had felt clumsy asking Bucky about himself.

He rolled his eyes with his problematically attractive crooked grin and answered, “Aw man, I grew up practically around the block from this place. Went to high school at the big catholic cinderblock in the neighborhood. I was at school on the west coast for a couple years, but…” His eyes cast downward. “now I’m back.”

Steve remembers how bad it felt at that age, to not have accomplished enough fast enough. Saying that will make him sound like an old grey dad and even if that’s what he is he can still hold out a little hope of being something different here, so he just says, “Brooklyn’s a good hometown to come back to.”

That makes Bucky smile at him and look him in the eye, like he liked what Steve said, even like it made him feel better. Steve tamps his answering grin down to reasonable levels.

Bucky’s also been rubbing at his nose on and off this whole time, and he can see it give a little twitch right before he breathes out a “scuse-me” through hitching breaths, his eyes flickering closed. He pushes his nose firmly into his long-sleeved elbow. “hhh-hh-tdschuh!” He sneezes quietly and muffled. “Oh, snf, sorry,” he says, blinking and emerging from his elbow but not lowering it, the hazy ticklish look still on his face, breaths hitching. “Another—hhh—‘nother one?” He freezes, looking up at the overhead lights, nostrils flared, but after a second he deflates with a sigh. “Nope, nevermind. Snff.” Steve’s guts swoop. This crush is so unsustainable. He’s gonna fail to be cool and friendly and he’ll have to watch Bucky go all uncomfortable and pitying as he explains to Steve that he has six hot boyfriends who are not almost-forty almost-virgin losers who only know how to take up his time when he’s trying to work. According to his therapist these “harangues of negativity” are “unhelpful.” But Bucky looks tired and a little pale and like his nose is going to start turning pink and Steve is just trying to survive.

“Bless you,” Steve says softly in his gentle voice that’s so deep it takes Bucky by surprise and makes his stomach flutter every time he talks to him. He feels like he might be blushing.

“Thanks,” it comes out husky and he clears his throat hard, moving to the little sink to wash his hands.

“Allergies, or…?” Steve ventures, a little divot between his eyebrows of concern-more-like-pity.

“I dunno, something’s bothering my nose today,” he says lightly with a shrug. In truth Bucky has a good idea what’s making him sneeze. The fucking radiator that was supposed to heat his cheap shitty basement apartment had stopped working in the middle of the night, so he’d spent six hours until dawn shivering, and an itchy tickly feeling had been growing in the back of his nose and throat since around noon. It’s starting to evolve into a runny nose and an ever-present but elusive feeling of being about to sneeze, and he knows that means he’s coming down with a cold.

He sees some convenient glasses to clear and excuses himself with a smile so he can sniffle out of Steve’s earshot; he’s enough of a mess compared to Steve on his best day, he doesn’t need to show off his scraggly urchin runny nose aesthetic of tonight any more than he has to.

For the next hour, these light, tickly sneezes either sneak up on him or abandon him at the last minute, leaving his nose feeling like it’s going to start getting stuffy.

Steve watches Bucky do his job, sniffling, rubbing his nose, and sneezing furtively into his sleeve or collar; tucking the strands of hair that have come loose from his short ponytail behind his ears, and feels so helplessly tender for him that it can’t be normal or healthy even by desperate crush standards.

Bucky’s coming down with a cold. He seems to want to brush it off, but Steve can hear a slight change in the resonance of his voice that gives it away even if the tired pink starting to border his eyes and nostrils doesn’t. The place is getting crowded and he’s busy; Steve feels for him, as well as pathetically jealous of his attention as he banters with him in passing once in a while.

He glances up as Bucky heads in his direction with a short stack of empty glasses and sees his steps slow; he pauses, blinks up at the overhead light, eyes hazy, and then, wavering, starts to turn his face into his shoulder, before pausing again and then sighing and sniffing as the sneeze evaporates. He looks up and sees Steve watching him like a creep and laughs, “Damn, lost her,” and then as he continues behind the bar, “You havin’ fun watching me look stupid?”

“It’s agony actually,” he responds, gets a laugh, and feels the now-somewhat-familiar internal squeal of this is flirting! I’m flirting with a guy and I think he can tell! It’s painfully pathetic, but he can’t help but track the fact that Bucky knows plenty of the folks that come to Sam’s, that he’ll give anyone his attention if they ask for it, smiling and joking, but the only person he really goes out of his way to talk to, initiates teasing with, is him, Steve. It’s still nothing more than polite obligatory chatting, he’s sure— when you work at a bar this kinda thing is natural. Bucky is young and charismatic and gorgeous. His love life would probably give Steve enough combined envy and jealousy to cause heart failure, which would be perfectly appropriate because he is an old square divorcee. It makes him warm and bubbly enough that he seems to be Bucky’s favorite customer to pass the time with.

A guy down the bar gets his beer from Sam and sidles closer. “This seat taken?” he asks with a good-humored cocked eyebrow. This is why Steve actually started coming to this place: to meet people, to meet guys, in a way that, well, went somewhere. To call his own decades-old bluff. Not to moon over staff half his age who woulda been out of his league even if he was still in his twenties. He turns to the guy—his age or a few years older, attractively lithe with muscle, a hard but handsome face, and smiles.

Bucky gets busy for a stretch— Sam’s place is actually full tonight thanks to the playoff game. He enjoys the feeling of being a genuinely necessary part of the bar’s operation, when some nights it’s hard to believe he’s more than Sam’s charity case. Nights like this remind him that he has a real job, he’s decent at it even with a bum left arm; whether he’s living out his dreams or not he’s an adult with a job, a place to live, and people he cares about. Plus it distracts him from feeling sorry for himself for coming down sick.

His satisfied feelings fade when he looks over to the Steve end of the bar and sees Brock Rumlow talking to him. He scowls. Fucking Rumlow. He only ever comes on nights with games these days, but Bucky would be perfectly happy if he never came in at all.

It’s fine. Steve’s fine. He is a grown-up, significantly more of one than Bucky. Of all the people who have no need of his misplaced ineffectual chivalry, Steve has got to be last in line.

Maybe he finds more stuff to do in the general area of that end of the bar, and maybe he’s listening for Rumlow to say something dickish, or maybe he’s just a masochist and he wants to know firsthand if they hit it off. Sam is trying to point his “Don’t-be-Stupid” face at him like a flashlight beam but he resolutely ignores it while he replaces a couple bottles that legitimately needed it, ok, just because they’re in a convenient place doesn’t make that untrue.

“Yeah, I’m glad I found this place,” he catches Steve’s cheerful voice. A wave of bar noise obscures their next words, and then he makes out Rumlow,

“—actual sports on the TV. ‘Course,” the smile is audible in his voice, “the clubby places are good for at least one reason, y’know?” He quiets down to say it but not enough. Steve wouldn’t particularly like that, Bucky guesses, and then grinds his teeth as his brain helpfully supplies him with the memories of how easily Brock had charmed him, months ago. It wasn’t any kind of nightmare, but it was still probably his least favorite hookup to date: he’d been so happily focused on Bucky at first, then rough and selfish in bed, capped off by an unnecessarily clear implication that he wouldn’t be calling. Bucky knew the score with casual sex, but it had still given him enough whiplash to sting; it crossed his mind a few days later that it had been like Rumlow wanted him to feel like a dumb kid.

Steve has sputtered something about “not sure he’s looking for anything like that” while Bucky fumed about the past. He has to grab beers for a couple guys, and bending to get in the lowboy fridge makes his nose run suddenly, and flush with an insistent tickle. He manages, just barely, to squash the sneeze completely into a silent mmp! into his shoulder, andmakes a getaway to the bathroom. He blows his nose, but it won’t stop tickling, so then he stands there like an idiot, holding paper towels like they’re a book he’s reading, staring up into the lights and waiting to coax the sneeze out.

He can feel it coming but it still takes forever. At least the bathroom is empty. He wrinkles his nose exaggeratedly and sniffs and his breath finally starts to catch.

“hehh...heh...heh—heh-Uhh....huhh. Fuck.” There’s no way it’s not happening though, his goddamn nose tickles so bad— “hhHAh—EHSsschhooo!” It’s a ridiculous cartoony sneeze but at least it’s satisfying. He blows his nose again, then sighs. He’s definitely sick. Gonna be great sleeping in a freezing apartment. Turning into kind of a shitty night, he thinks with sarcastic pep.

When he leaves the restroom he can’t help glancing over to where Steve sits, and sees he’s now frowning at whatever Rumlow’s saying, looking politely uncomfortable on the way to annoyed. As he drifts back into earshot he hears, “….fun, but, if you’re looking for more than, um, casual, I dunno, kind of a dead end.” Then his pulse jumps as Rumlow looks right at him and finishes, “not dating material, trust me. Either way,” he leans in, “I think you can do better.”

Bucky closes the distance but puts himself behind the bar so he doesn’t immediately clock the asshole. His fists are clenched. Can he throw him out? If he doesn’t get away from Steve and shut up Bucky’s gonna end up fired and charged with assault, probably, but he doesn’t know if he can throw someone out on the grounds of being a jerk that he hates. Thank God, Sam’s caught on that something is up.

Rumlow doesn’t seem to have won Steve over, in any case. He’s turned cold and hard in a way that makes him look unfamiliar, and he says quietly but very clearly, “I think you’ve got the wrong idea.” He sounds like a straight Army Captain contemptuously shattering an underling’s heart immediately post-office-suckjob or something; in the morass of anger and panic it still registers with Bucky’s dick to his utter bewilderment. It definitely triggers some core memory for Rumlow, who turns the color of old milk before flushing and standing. He takes in the sight of Bucky glowering behind Steve and barks an ugly laugh. “It’s like that, huh?” he asks, shaking his head in mock pity. “Good luck with that rescue mission.”

Bucky feels like he did when Hank Ackerman pantsed him in 8th grade. Everything’s too bright and clear. He wants to cover his face and run into the back, but he’s rooted to the spot by the thought that that’s just what the dumb baby slut Rumlow’s been making him out to be would do.

“That’s it man,” Sam comes up beside him, smile on his face as though he’s just casually joining their conversation. “You’re done. Get outta here.”

Rumlow scoffs, takes a step towards the door, then turns with the beginning of a macho intimidation-lean in Sam’s direction. He’s hammered, Bucky hadn’t realized, and he can usually tell with people. He’s...kind of fucking scary. Had he gotten rougher around the edges, or had he been like this when Bucky went home with him? Jesus Christ.

Sam just returns his stare, all semblance of friendliness gone from his face. “Get out.”

Rumlow glares another second, but then he goes. There’s a reason Sam’s successful running a bar in the middle of the still-managing-to-be-seedy part of Brooklyn, as well as his finely tuned sensibilities to the unmet needs of Brooklyn’s grownup queer folks. He has the air, recognizable to serious troublemakers, of someone who will absolutely meet and raise any escalation. There were, in fact, a taser and a gun behind the bar, but Sam had never had to use them.

Steve stands up sharply, like he’s—what, gonna follow? Bucky opens his mouth to protest, but then—“Steve.” Sam’s got the side bar entry folded up and he’s intercepting his angry stride. “Please don’t.” He goes on, too quiet for Bucky to make out. Steve deflates and sits back down, taking a long drink of beer and then frowning at his knees.

Bucky consciously lets go of his tension as he sees Rumlow’s silhouette, walking outside, disappear from the last window on the right. He feels shaky, the way any kind of confrontation leaves him, and embarrassed as hell. He avoids Steve’s eyes for all he’s worth, scrubbing a hand under his nose and sniffing sharply.

Steve was just a customer. Bucky was just one of many people that Steve made polite conversation with in the course of a day. Feeling like this was just a consequence of getting that confused. Because he’s an idiot. He has to sniffle again. He also feels about ten times sicker than he did a few minutes ago, and successfully blinking away the brief prickle in his eyes just turns it into the need to sneeze.

Steve tries to breathe smoothly and calm down. This frat-boy rage is ridiculous, he still wants to go punch the hell out of that fucking creep. He must be drunker than he realizes, although deep down he knows it has more to do with the inarticulate surge of protectiveness he’d felt for Bucky since the guy had gestured to him with a jerk of his head as he crossed the room.

He hears a shuddering gasp and sees Bucky duck down to crouch behind the bar. His concern flares way up, but then he hears the three muffled sneezes, all in a rush, “hhhMPtchsh—hmptsschoo—hptsshhuh,”. He straightens back up, sniffing hard, more wetly than he sounded earlier. He’s rubbing his nose and glaring at the door, not looking at Steve.

“Bucky,” he says, frowning, determined to get this across, “what that asshole said about you—”

“Steve, snff, it’s fine, just drop it, okay, I’m asking you,” he meets Steve’s eyes with a downcast expression, before it flickers as his breath catches, and he sneezes again, half-pinched down into the collar of his shirt, “ihh-dtsschuh!”

His nostrils keep quivering and he lets out a shaky sigh of frustration before ducking around the corner out of sight with his hands tented over his nose and sneezing, “hiih-hih-HIDtschoo!...hih-HIH-TISchoo! ..heehh...heh—HEH—” the last one deserts him and leaves him sniffling. They’re still pretty quiet, but a lot heavier and spraying than the first sneezes Steve heard earlier. Bucky blows his nose and washes his hands thoroughly, and when he’s back behind the bar his nose is decidedly pink.

“Buck,” Steve says, and Bucky’s lips thin in exasperation— it’s not like him, compared to the guy Steve’s talked to the last few weeks. Whatever, he can’t help but say, “you do sound like you’re coming down with something, you should—”

“Steve, I’m fine,” says Bucky, in a soft tone that brooks no argument. Still tense, he turns to Steve with a crooked smile and says, “Really,” and it’s warm, if strained, between them again, and it seems like that’ll just have to satisfy Steve, and he says as much to Bucky who blushes and bites his lip for some reason.

Sam rescues Bucky by asking him to do inventory in back, letting him be sneeze and be dramatically in his feels without anyone around, especially Steve. The bar is slow enough now that he just shamelessly hides for the rest of the night. He’s constantly sniffling and sneezing and needing to blow his nose with the roll of rough brown paper towels back there, and even without that he’s too keyed up and pissed and miserable for human company, so it’s for the best.

He casts furtive recon glances to the bar where Steve sits, first craning his neck trying to spy Bucky, then brooding into his beer glass which makes Bucky feel like an asshole, then perking up at least a little shooting the shit with Sam, hopefully talking shit about Brock Dickface Rumlow. Then the misery wells up enough to get him to actually focus on work to avoid feeling it, and then it’s a few hours later and they’re closing up and he goes home to his little icebox and tires not to think about anything.

The next day, Sam chooses evil.

Steve and JB Barnes are both at least somewhat complex men, and it is always a bad idea to meddle in the affairs of others. But screw it, he’s had Bucky moaning in his ear for months now, and he was gonna have to recheck all his angry counting from last night, and these guys really seemed dumb enough to let the tension of mutual attraction strain between them until it just broke, some misunderstanding threw them both on the defensive or whatever, and they missed the chance at any of the fun part of connecting with each other.

So.

It isn’t a big surprise when Bucky calls him around 2, apologizing and pausing to make some gross “ihHgjshuhh!” noise, saying he was probably too sick with this cold to come in. What is a surprise, for poor Bucky, is Sam’s implacable response: “Duuude, I’m so sorry, but there’s some kinda convention in town and the place is packed, I need you here so bad, no matter what. You can take the next two days off, I’ll pay you.” He hears Bucky swallow back the what the hell and resignedly say ok. He feels diabolical. But hopefully it will be worth it. Steve usually comes in early on Thursdays, and he’d looked all hangdog-worried about Bucky the night before.

He’s been there twenty minutes already, chatting distractedly with Sam and staring at the TV screens but really looking all over the room like Bucky might be hiding somewhere. Bucky slouches in, ten minutes late, takes in the mostly empty room and gives Sam a betrayed glare.

“You really ndeeded mbe, huh,” he mutters as he puts his backpack away.

“You don’t even sound that bad,” Sam rejoins cheerfully, and Bucky’s mouth drops open with incredulity.

He moves some boxes around in back without issue. Then he tries to start prep by the bar. In a fifteen-minute period he has two sneezing fits that require him retreating to the bathroom to blow his nose endlessly and wash his hands. Sam decides that’s plenty sufficient. He and his customers are gonna pay a price in germ exposure for this stupid ass cupid skit he’s putting on.

“Steve, you believe this guy?” Bucky’s been avoiding Steve’s concerned hopeful looks since he got here. “He insisted on coming to work.” Bucky chokes in outrage, then coughs for real, while Steve moves a few seats closer. Sam turns; Bucky couldn’t look more betrayed if there was a knife with Sam’s name on it in his guts. Lord deliver him from dramatic white boys. “Did you take the bus here, Buck?” There was no other way for the guy to get to work, but he just replies flatly,

“Yeah.”

“You oughtta go home and rest.”

“Le me give you a ride, Buck,” Steve jumps in with the Air-Bud eagerness Sam had expected. They confirm it and bustle Barnes into a Civic while he’s sneezing too much to protest. Sam washes his hands metaphorically of the situation, and also very literally and thoroughly.

Steve’s car is a little old, and cold, and dusty. Bucky shivers as he buckles his seatbelt. He feels silently nervous and thrilled to be in Steve’s Car!!, but at the moment it’s hard to be anything but….sneezy…

“hhh-hh-hhmmPtchuh! S-s-sor-ry-hiihHIptchsh!” Holding them back when he feels like this just makes his nose more irritated and thus even sneezier. He stubbornly jams his fist under his nose to quell the tickle. He has some napkins from work, so a nose-blow is possible, but it doesn’t feel possible, not so close to Steve, who has it a million times more together than Bucky even on days when he isn’t falling apart on a cellular level.

“Bless you,” Steve says quietly. He looks at him reflexively, to see a small, sweet, sympathetic smile. “Ready?” Bucky gives a little nod and the car pulls out into the slushy road.

His nose is running onto his finger, it’s a crisis. This is why it’s always a terrible idea to leave the house when you’re really sick. “Ugh, I gotta blow mby ndose, I’mb sorry, I’mb so gross right ndow,” talking also makes his nose angry. Fucking Sam and his supervillain plan to humiliate him. What had he done to deserve this? He fumbles for the napkins with his less-dextrous left hand, the one he should have stuck under his nose, goddamnit, he’s gonna sneeze again…

“Psh, don’t worry about it,” scoffs Steve like the big huge dad he is, then with a sympathetic glance he turns the radio on, to the classic rock station, because of course, Bucky almost laughs even while racing to get tissues on his face before this giant wet sneeze overcomes him. The music is loud and it does help him feel less embarrassed.

“heh—HEH-KSSSHOOoo!” he gets the wad of napkins in front of him just in time. Blowing his nose after that demolishes them, but he feels a little closer to a human being.

“Bless you!” Steve chuckles. “Man you got a good bug, jeez!”

Why are he and Sam both so cheerful. “Thanks, I’mb glad you’re impressed,” he croaks.

“You have cold stuff at home?” Huh? When Bucky doesn’t answer he continues, “Tissues, tea, soup, medicine, you know?”

“Oh, umb, sorry, I’m tired,” Steve makes a sympathetic sound. “I usually just use toilet paper. I took the last of my Dayquil before work. I dunno if it even helped, all it feels like it did is mbake me jittery and sdeezy.”

“Why don’t we stop by a drugstore.” He sounded decisive.

“Oh, you don’t have to bother with that, really Steve—” he pauses to sniffle desperately. Technically he can afford a couple things, and he probably needs them. “Or—you could drop me off and I’ll get myself home from the store, that would totally be a big help—”

“Is the heat even on in your place?” Steve interrupts, shrewd-eyed. At Bucky’s wide-eyed sputtering response he continues, “I knew it. I used to be a broke Brooklyn kid, once upon a time. Only reason to come into work, am I right? Can’t believe landlords are still getting away with this shit.”

Bucky considers denial, then slumps. “S’why I’mb so much...hhh...worse...hh-huh-hudschuh! Snff-snff. Worse today. They said it’ll be fixed by tomorrow so...we’ll see, ha. I got a space heater and an electric kettle though, I can get in my blankets and drink tea and I’m fine.”

Steve is quiet, no response, and Bucky worries irrationally that he pissed him off. A few minutes of classic rock later, he pulls into the small parking lot attached to the drugstore, turns the car off, and turns to him, looking a little uncomfortable.

“Bucky I—” he breaks off and laughs to himself. “I know you have to be polite to customers, I don’t want to—” he makes eye contact, looking pained and rueful. “I’d like to think we’re friends. But I don’t want to put you on the spot or anything,”

“We’re friends,” Bucky interrupts gently. Steve’s face brightens like a sunrise and Bucky’s chest does a nice warm thing.

“Yeah? That’s...I’m real happy to hear it.” Steve says, sheepish but grinning. Then his eyes get the determined look that Bucky is starting to think means trouble. “Well the reason I asked is, as a friend, I really hate the idea of you trying to ride this out in an icebox apartment. I have heat. And a couch!” He hastens to add at whatever wide-eyed look Bucky’s giving him. “It’s just, I know it’s no fun being sick by yourself, and, well, honestly I wish I’d socked that asshole at the bar last night, and I really wish I’d clocked him as a jerk faster, and I’d feel a lot better if I could do something nice for you, and you really seem like you could do with some rest and medicine. Will you let me grab some stuff here and spend the night at my place—where there’s heat— and let me fuss over you?”

“Steve, that’s—that’s so nice, but I really can’t imb—snff—impose on you, and I gotta be so contagious right now…”

“I don’t care about that,” Steve says easily. “And I know you’re not gonna die on your own, but,” and, whoa, he’s deploying some kind of dignified mature version of puppy-dog eyes, it’s so sincere, and also so certain, that it starts to seem like the only sensible course of action is to let his gorgeous crush take him to his apartment while he’s the polar opposite of sexy, an unspeakable snot factory, and also possibly starting to run a fever.

….His apartment is gonna be so goddamn cold.

And lonely, incidentally.

And Steve is so nice. He’s literally, actually here, he seems to mean it that he wants to take care of Bucky’s sick bedraggled ass as some kind of friend-favor. There’s no way this is a come-on with him in this state, even if he can still muster enough energy to wish it was. No way Steve’s ever gonna want to fuck him after watching him snuffle through 200 tissues and mouth-breathe all evening, but he was nuts to think he ever would anyhow. He’s just that nice, and Bucky is that pathetic, and that might not feel great, but he wants to be Steve’s friend, he really does, and even through his own shyness he can see that the guy is pretty lonely.

“You, umb. You really don’t have to.” He says, watching Steve, who waits with obvious hopefulness. “But. Uh.” Steve raises his eyebrows and gives him a little smile, and Bucky finds himself returning it helplessly. “If you really don’t mbind. It could, potentially, be really ndice to take you up on that. You really don’t have to though!”

“I want to, though.” Jesus, he’s so sincere. Bucky feels some weird kind of protective way about the earnest honesty in his eyes.

“Well, then, okay. Thangk you, I really appreciate it.” He laughs, finally feeling how miserable it would have been to go back home and try to sleep in a cold blanket pile on his mattress on the floor. “Mby place sucks right now.”

“Alright then,” Steve beams. “Let’s get you a couple things and then get you cozy.”

Bucky’s nose is not okay with him using his face to talk instead of constantly blow it. It’s gotten completely blocked, and it’s tingling unpleasantly, and running so bad again he has to smush his knuckles under his nostrils. The tickle crests and his breath catches before he can do anything about it, but he clenches his jaw and forces it into a stifle. “hhh-huh-MMP!!” The problem with doing that is it just makes the tickle— “hh-mMP!” worse. “Ugh, sorry.” His hand is a dam against his nose at this point.

“Bless you!” They both step out of the car, but Steve hurries over to his side with a crinkle in his brow. “Why don’t you just stay here and I’ll grab a few things. Anything in particular, or just tissues and NyQuil?”

“Dyquil is just schndapps,” Bucky grumbles, then his brain catches up a little and he says “tissues,” fervently, and then it catches all the way up and he says “wait, ndo way are you buyig!”

Steve cocks an eyebrow like a handsome jerk. “You really wanna go in there?” With your current nose situation? He’s kind enough to not say.

He casts about for a moment—“Grab me a little pack and then I’ll go in!”

Steve gives him a skeptical look and says “Sure,” in a way that makes him think his orders won’t be followed, but he’s too busy squishing his nose more firmly and silently begging it not to make him sneeze again to keep arguing, or to protest when Steve opens the door for him and puts his car keys in his hand before dashing into the store with a promise to be quick.

He’s back not even ten minutes later, by which time holding his nose plugged and not letting his sneezes out has put Bucky in a state of perma-misery, stifling relentless sneezes every few seconds, unable to keep his eyes fully open. Steve tosses a box of tissues onto his lap before he gets all the way into the car because he is a saint.

“Guh,” Bucky says gratefully, pulls out a wad of about ten, and lets the miserable sneeze that had been building out into the nest of forgiving softness. “HehgSHOOmpff!!” And then blows his nose forever. Finally he feels like he can speak and have a face again; the little drugstore bag is now home to a dozen nasty used-tissue balls. “Well,” he says as he puts the last one in there, “wish I hadn’t had a witness for that.”

Steve just chuckles. “You’re fine,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing rumble. “I grabbed you a toothbrush, and I’ve got some stuff that can fit you for pjs.”

Bucky feels like he sneezed out the last of his strength. “You’re way too nice.” He sniffles and slumps against the window, looking at the familiar blur of orange streetlight. “I should be more worried you’re a serial killer.” Steve chuckles again, and he likes that, so he goes on, “Probly got a nice Jeffrey Dahmer setup at your place. Sorry if I don’t make a good steak.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Steve replies, sounding indignant. Then laughs for real, shaking his head, “I’m not gonna chop you up and eat you, I swear.”

“It’s fine. Just mbake mbe into soup,” sighs Bucky. That would be warm. He’ll just be a big hot pot of Bucky, and Steve will stir him and season him so carefully with his big strong hands. This is a weird train of thought. He might have a fever. But he can still hear Steve chuckling.

Steve pulls into his parking spot and the car shudders to stillness as he takes his key out of the ignition. Next to him, Bucky is asleep with his head mushed against the window. He’d conked out for the last five or so minutes of the drive. “Hey, Buck, we just got to my place,” he says softly, trying not to sound too bedroom-y. His eyes flutter open, the blue of them standing out, and Steve takes a steadying breath because Bucky is so good-looking it catches him off guard and overwhelms him sometimes.

His eyes are glassy-bright and there’s a flush high on his cheekbones, and as he shifts upright in his seat Steve reaches over and touches his forehead without thinking about it. It’s noticeably hot, but not burning. The twins’ childhood bouts with the flu gave him a sense of bad-fever heat. “Think you got a temperature,” he murmurs sympathetically. Bucky just blinks up at him, a little wide-eyed, and only then does he realize his big meaty hand is practically covering half his face. He feels himself flush to match Bucky, and for a second they just look at each other.

Until Bucky sniffs a miserable liquid sniffle and they both almost jump. “Sorry,” Steve mutters awkwardly, and Bucky’s saying the same thing at the same time. They both move to get out, “Just one flight of stairs up.”

“huh—tschumpf!” is Bucky’s answer, his nose buried in a new handful of tissues. “huhh, hUH—huh.” The second sneeze fizzles, leaving him blinking and frowning and wrinkling his nose snifflishly against the ticklish haze as he shuts the door. “Fuck. Sorry, scuse mbe.”

“Bless you.” It’s probably not normal to find someone so sick so adorable.

Steve leads him up and along the hall and then he’s unlocking the door, feeling giddy that he’s letting Bucky into his apartment, and then guilty for being excited, when the poor guy is just hesitantly accepting a much-needed favor. Bucky trails in behind him and then stands still while Steve sets the bag from the drugstore and started to turn to him, saying, “It’s not much, but—”

“ASHHOO!” Bucky’s sneeze interrupts and snaps him forward into his tissues, and then he just stays folded over for a second like it sapped the last of his energy. Then he straightens, rubbing his nose into the tissues and sighing. “Jesus, sorry,”

“Bless you! You don’t have to be sorry, you’ve just got a cold.” Steve has to hold himself still to keep from rubbing his back.

“You’re...hh-huh….? Snfff, ugh. Totally gonna catch this, I owe you way mbore apologies.”

“I won’t hold it against you,” he chuckles, toeing his shoes off. Bucky follows suit and he continues, “I stopped caring after raising toddlers, they’re little germ factories, you catch everything.” Why’d you bring up your old-dad status, Steve? “I’ll grab you some things to sleep in.”

An hour and one confrontation about Steve giving up his bed later, Bucky is ensconced on his couch like the king of cold-medicine commercials, surrounded by blankets and pillows and tissues and steaming cups and bowls. He feels a little more human, which is nice, but lets him access how incandescently awkward he feels at being rescued from his idiotic life like a snotty Cinderella. Steve has been flitting back and forth between the couch and kitchen, fussing over him to a truly excessive degree while exuding satisfaction and cheer, like some kind of calendar-model Santa with a caretaking kink. He was practically rubbing his hands together at the prospect of getting Bucky blankets and tea on his couch. Now he’s giving a rundown of his TV system standing next to the couch and it feels the tiniest bit manic and Bucky can feel himself getting a little too quiet but he can’t help it. After a minute Steve notices, and sets the remote down.

“I should stop babbling at you and leave you in peace,” he says with a bashful chuckle, turning to leave the room.

“No, I— you don’t—” Bucky doesn’t really have a response beyond ‘please chill out and hang out with me and let me picture cuddling with you,’ which will not be said aloud.

“You really don’t hafta feel like you need to entertain me, Bucky.”

“It’s not, I don’t,” he sighs and then sniffles. He doesn’t want to sit here and stare at the wall and stress about this, alone in this room in Steve’s goddamn apartment. He maybe should have thought about just how much he’d fallen for Steve before taking him up on this offer, because the concern and sweetness and fussing are starting to ratchet up his anxiety, because what if there was a chance it meant—

“Is anything the matter?” Steve crouches smoothly to be on his level and torment him with his eyes’ blueness. When all Bucky can do for a moment is flounder he looks more concerned, and a little downcast. “I really don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. If anything’s bothering you, you can just tell me.”

What the hell is an ordinary sinner supposed to do in the face of this much sincerity? Act like he thinks he’s a damn grownup, Bucky guesses, and girds his nervous loser loins.

“Why’re you—” he starts, frowning, then cuts himself off and tries again with a small, apologetic smile.

“It’s just...this is such an imposition, and you seem...kinda weirdly happy about it? I just don’t get why.”

One side of Steve’s mouth quirks up, making him look dry and self-deprecating and unfairly handsome. “You’re worried I’m gonna start talkin about Scientology, or put you in my basement dungeon?”

Bucky shrugs. “Kinda.” Just ‘cause he went home with strangers didn’t mean he had no sense.

Steve seems to cast about for an explanation, and he also starts to turn pink. “It’s—you’re just so—” and then he sighs and sits on the end of the couch, next to his blanketed feet, addressing his words to the wall in a rush. “Honestly, Bucky? I have a huge crush on you, and,” he laughs in embarrassment, decidedly blushing now, “I’m just real happy to have a chance to take care of you in whatever little way.” Now he does turn to look at him, pained. “I’m sorry, that must be so uncomfortable to hear. I promise you’re not my hostage! Please don’t make a break for it, it’s cold out and you’re so sick. I swear I’m not Cathy Bates in Misery.”

“Y—hihdsschuh!” The sneeze catches him by surprise, but he has wadded-up tissues in his hand already anyhow. He has to blow his nose, and he does it thoroughly to buy time. Steve stares stoically at the ceiling as though waiting for sentencing. Is this seriously Steve telling Bucky...he likes him?

“You…” he stops, sniffs. He needs a plan. He doesn’t have one. His mouth is gonna keep moving anyway, “You said, ‘you’re just so—‘, what were you gonna say?”

Steve looks confused for a second, and then just helpless. “Bucky, you’re just so sweet. I’m happy for a chance to do something for you because I owe you, you get that, right?”

“Owe me?” Bucky asks, nonplussed. Steve laughs with what seems like disbelief at his confusion.

“Yes, Buck! For the last few months! For taking pity on me that first night I came into Sam’s. You asked me a question about antifreeze.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs. His world is rearranging itself. Steve remembered that?

“I feel—real self-conscious, I guess, coming into the “scene,” he gives it air-quotes and Bucky’s heart swells a little more, “by the route I have. Y’know, married dad who woke up one day and realized the stuff he repressed at sixteen might be the real him. Sam’s was the third place I tried to go into. I just felt so ridiculous, I still do— 39-year-old brand-new gay dude, it’s idiotic. I was practically gonna have a panic attack, I was definitely gonna leave and not try again and just...stop trying in general, maybe, to figure this new scary shit out. Except you were there, this—this smokin-hot guy, and you’re acting like you actually want to talk to me, and… so I stayed. And came back.” He looks Bucky in the eyes and it makes Bucky’s stomach clench. “I feel like you’ve been taking care of me this whole time, helping me ease into things, helping me not to feel bad about being completely uncool, asking me about stuff I actually know about instead of laughing at me because I’ve never heard of ‘poppers’,”

At that, Bucky has to give in to the giggle bubbling out of him, which inevitably leads to a short coughing fit. His first instinct is to keep laughing, rake Steve over the coals, but Steve is looking at him with a careful sort of expression, and it occurs to Bucky that just because he’s older and seems like he has it all together and has great posture doesn’t mean he’s immune to feeling vulnerable. And he looks like he’s feeling really fucking vulnerable right now. Acting like Bucky is worthy of this adorable schoolboy crush is absurd, but it’s not like it was so many eons ago that little baby Bucky Barnes was having his First Gay Bar experience, and he’d been scared as shit.

He already feels like he missed the boat on his life. Steve is starting over at 39. He’s so fucking brave. Bucky...somehow, unthinkably, Bucky is in a position where he could really hurt this guy.

“I’mb, umb. Snfff. Thing is, I’m a little surprised…” And Steve must think that’s the prelude to rejection because he pulls this sad little smile onto his face that’s the worst thing Bucky’s ever seen, and he has to make it go away, “It’s just, to hear you tell it I took pity on you and I’ve been talking to you to, like, guide you along and coach you because I’m some saint!” He smiles, starting to feel amused. “Steve— I just wanted some reason to talk to you, dude.”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

He has to laugh, putting his forehead in his hand. “Sorry. I, just, I have not been operating under the assumption that I had a chance with you? And now it sounds like you’re telling me I do? While I sit on your couch filling your trash can with my disgusting tissue mountain?”

All he gets from the man is “...Huh?”

“You said ‘crush’,” he insists, and he’s not laughing, his heart is pounding actually. “What did you mean by that?” He’s gonna awkwardly say that he wants to fuck, and once that box is checked in his Gay Awakening, he’ll move on to actually date people actually in his league, and that’s maybe not gonna feel great, but, well…

Steve looks up from staring at his hands, makes eye contact, and he looks a little confused and a lot like he’s facing a firing squad. “I meant, I mean that…” he blows a breath out. “Jesus I have no idea what I’m doing. I mean that I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask you out on a date, since pretty much the first night I met you.”

Bucky’s head does a record scratch and Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, “But I guess instead I kidnapped you when you were sick and blurted this out to you while you were trapped on my couch waiting to be left alone to sleep. I was never smooth but I swear I’ve done better than this.”

A giddy feeling is rising up in Bucky’s chest, making him forget completely about how tired and crappy he feels. “Well, I am smooth,” he says, “I’ve got game. At least, I did, until you showed up and turned me into a giggling bimbo. What the hell, Steve.”

“This is starting to seem like a romantic conversation but I can’t tell,” murmurs Steve with his face still uncertain but a little twinkle in his eye.

Bucky’s nose is gonna ruin this, he’s surprised it gave him that long a grace period. “Yeah, snfff, real romantic, I’mb gonna—hih—fuckin’ sndeeze—heh-heTShoo! Againd.”

Another sneeze teases out, and then he has to blow his nose for about ten years. “Bless you,” says Steve all quiet and bedroomy in his deep voice, and he’s definitely smiling, sparkle-eyes, leaning towards him the tiniest bit, but still looking like Bucky’s leaving him hanging a little, unsure, and he can’t help the wave of doubt he feels.

“Steve, you—” he stares at the blanket on his lap. “I’m a mess. You’ve accomplished shit, you have a real goddamn job, I—I’m just, ok, we’re both adults, but I feel like a screw-up kid compared to you.” He takes a deep breath and says what he doesn’t want to, “I’d be...pretty damn flattered if you wanted to hook up. I kinda can’t imagine you actually want to date me.”

He dares to look up and Steve looks more serious. He doesn’t say, “no shit.” He says, “I won’t argue if you say you don’t want anything, but I sure don’t agree with how you describe yourself. I don’t want to hook up—at least, not just that— I want to date you, get to know each other better, because I like you. I trust my judgement, when I think someone’s a good person.”

He says it so simply, and Bucky finds himself believing it despite himself, and a warm happy fire is kindling under his ribs. “Well, shit,” he murmurs, “it’s starting to seem like you’re asking me out.”

“It’s...starting to seem like you might be saying yes? If I am?” Steve looks agonized and Bucky’s doubts are no match for the giddiness fizzing up inside him, and he lets it show on his face with a grin, and whatever that looks like makes Steve kinda gulp and scootch up closer to him. Bucky makes a show of giving a slow, considering nod. Yes.

Steve has this soft, nervous little smile on his face, but his eyes hold something weighty, almost burning, as he moves even closer, and it’s just, it’s really, wow, Bucky has maybe never been taken seriously in quite this way by anyone before, it makes his knees feel watery and kindles something in his core. “I know you’re sick,” he rumbles, “but I feel like I gotta kiss you,” and how is it that the softer he speaks the deeper his voice sounds? He brushes his curled fingers over Bucky’s cheek because that’s how close they are now and this isn’t really Bucky’s life, is it? “What if I was to kiss you, right now?”

It’s hard to tell with the sexiness melting his brain but he realizes Steve is actually asking, because he’s a gentleman— a gentleman Bucky wants to be taken apart and turned inside out by. “Then you would be a guaranteed victim of my plague,” he breathes. “But I wouldn’t stop you, I’m not that selfless.”

“Sounds like a dare,” Steve murmurs, and tilts his head and presses their lips together.

It’s a short simple kiss but they each give a quiet gasp at the contact, and then stay there a moment. Steve’s beard isn’t huge but he feels it, like a firm underline to the shockingly warm plush pressure of his lips. He thankfully tragically remembers that congested people can’t make out and pulls away after just a brief press of lips, but not before giving a soft lick to Bucky’s, full of promised things to come.

They sit there a few inches apart and breathe. Bucky feels like a vibrating tuning fork. He just barely stops himself from shakily saying “wow,” like a highschool virgin, but when he sees Steve looking at him with lips still parted and a gobsmacked expression he changes his mind and lets it out anyway, “wow,” with a giddy grin.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, blinking like he got hit with a cartoon hammer, going from pink to red, and then he swoops in and kisses Bucky’s cheek, and then stands, going, “Excuse me, just gotta go...out of your sightline, and. Do something cool. And serious. No victory dances.”

…..the next morning…….

Steve could hear Bucky in the shower, sneezing three times, but not sounding—four times—nearly as heavy or exhausted as the night before. A few minutes and one loud noseblow later, he came out wrapped in a towel, mercilessly bare-chested, his nose bright red but his eyes clear and cheerful. Steve’s attention caught on his chest as his nipples tightened in the relative chill as Bucky said sheepishly, “forgot my clo-hothes—” his voice swooping to a breathy quaver on the last word, “hhh-hh-hehh—EHisSHOooh!” he turned as far away from Steve’s part of the room as possible and sneezed over his shoulder. “Snnfff. Excuse me, sorry.”

“Can I lend you some warmer stuff, just for now while we eat breakfast? There’s no way you’re not still sick,” Steve fussed, forcing himself to round the kitchen island slowly and casually instead of rushing over and wrapping him up in his arms and kissing his red nose that was twitching again. He quelled it with another sniff that sounded a lot less congested than the previous night.

“Ah, I’m ok. I felt really bad yesterday, but I slept so well,” he said with a warm grateful smile at Steve that went to his toes, “I don’t feel shitty and run-down anymore, just all, like, shnuffly.”

Steve chuckled helplessly and went over to rub his shoulder. “You’re adorable.”

“No way!” Bucky glowered, but then a few drops fell from his wet hair to his chest and neck, and he shivered into a sneeze so quick and light it sounded incomplete, “hih—tish!” followed by “ih-hihtchoo!” and he blinked, taken by surprise.

“That was... the cutest thing that ever happened,” Steve said truthfully.

“Shuddup— heh—edschoo!”

#at some point they bone and there are like snapshots of that written #just sayin #snz fic #stucky snz fic #sneeze kink fanfiction #cute sick bucky #snzfic #lots of not-snz plot but the story is still basically Bucky Has The Sneezies You Must Save Him Steve

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dreamwatch · 3 months ago

Text

Part 1 Part 2 AO3

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Black Friday pop-up event.

Prompts: Black, Friday, "I'm not standing in line for that", Leftovers, Trampled, One Day Only, "I am giving thanks."

Yeah... all of them, and you're right, it was a stupid idea.

Word Count: Pt3 - 4954 | Rating: M | CW: Past suicidal ideation (very subtle, blink and you'll miss, I'm just being cautious) | POV: Mixed - Pt1 Eddie, Pt2 Steve, Pt3 Eddie | Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | Tags: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Gareth CC, Jeff CC, Matt CC, Wayne Munson, disabled Eddie Munson, pining, protective Gareth, protective Steve, kissing, guitars, reference to canon typical injuries, references to blood and injury - please let me know if you think I've missed any.

Part 3

For the first time in years they get lucky; Wayne gets Christmas off. He says it’s because he worked Thanksgiving, but Eddie overheard phone calls that maybe he shouldn’t have been listening to, and he has a suspicion it’s more to do with the fact that for a while there Wayne was facing all his future Christmas’s alone and this one’s kind of special.

They’re watching the TV, eating too much, and sipping on beers. It’s normal. Just regular Christmas Eve in the Munson home, but the weight of it, the what ifs, hang in the air. It’s not oppressive, or sad, it’s just … there. It should be a sign, probably, that he and Wayne need to have a good talk, maybe work through a few things. But Wayne isn’t a talker, doesn’t understand why anyone would go to a shrink, he buries his shit deep. When Eddie thinks of his father, he was much the same. It probably shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, then, that Eddie likes to keep things locked away, hidden from public view.

He sips on his beer and he eats his cookies, and he smiles at Wayne and Wayne smiles back. They know what they have. It’s enough.

They don’t get visitors often and he can’t think of a single Christmas where they’ve had one that wasn’t a cop, so when they hear the knock at the door they both look at each other like deer in the headlights. The bad knocks, the ones that end up with shit on the doorstep, or notes on the door telling him to move away if he knows what’s good for him, they don’t come as often as they used to. The last one was around Halloween, which in some regards he kind of expected; every town has a boogeyman and sadly he’s it for Hawkins. They keep a baseball bat behind the door where most people store their umbrellas.

Wayne answers the door, fist twitching, but then Steve is wandering into his home, flakes of snow on his eyelashes and in his hair.

“Hey sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you, I just wanted to give you these.”

He hands over two badly wrapped gifts, something bottle shaped for Wayne who seems a little shellshocked at getting anything, and a small navy blue package for Eddie, with way too much tape holding it together. And he knows gifts aren’t a quid pro quo kind of situation, but he’s honestly been back to back with appointments and just life in general, and he doesn’t get out as much as he would like, seeing as he still can’t drive, so his heart sinks a little at it.

“Shit, I didn’t— sorry, I was just so caught up—”

“It’s nothing. Honestly, it’s just something I saw that reminded me of you.”

His voice peters out as he says it, and Eddie feels that little kick, the little squeeze in his core, but he just can’t help it. Reminded me of you. Like he’s important enough for Steve to think about. And isn’t that something?

Reminded me of you.

It’s a little fan, breathing life onto a flame that he just can’t afford to have lit any further. Tamping it down is getting harder and harder.

They talk for a few minutes, but it doesn’t matter how many cookies or beers or sodas Wayne offers him, he declines them all with a sorry, got to get back. He gets up to leave and Eddie walks him to the door.

“What are you doing on Friday?” Steve asks.

“Hmm, I’ll have to check with my secretary, my diary gets booked up so far in advance these days.”

“He ain’t doin’ nothin’!” Wayne shouts. “And close the goddamn door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“Jesus Christ, old man, keep it down. No fucking privacy here. Well, as you heard, I ain’t doin’ nothin’ apparently.”

It’s a pretty accurate impression, which he knows Wayne heard and he’ll be paying for that for a while. But he made Steve laugh, so it’s entirely worth it.

“Cool. I’ll pick you up at four, be dressed and ready to go.” Steve hops down the porch steps back to the car.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out on Friday. Get inside before you freeze to death, Munson. Merry Christmas!”

“I’m going, I’m going, why is everyone such a nag? Merry Christmas, Steve!”

He should wait until tomorrow, but the little blue package in his hand feels like it’s burning him. He sits on his bed and tries his best to peel each piece of tape carefully, but the fucking thing is covered in it so he ends up ripping the paper off anyway.

The guitar strap is neatly folded, blue embroidery singing against the black leather. Guitar picks slip onto the floor at his feet.

His breath falters, trapped in his throat, and it’s several long seconds before he takes a deep breath again.

His guitars were some of the only things saved from the old trailer. Wayne told him how lucky he was to be at the back, how most of his precious possessions survived. He even hung the Warlock on the wall of his new bedroom. It felt like he was being watched, like an eye following him around the room. It felt like a living thing in a way that scared him.

And it wasn’t just the thing of it, the object that got carried into battle - even if that one was a version from another world - it was the way it sounded in his hands now. He tried to play it just once, and once was enough to know it would never happen again. The shake in his hand was frightening, the lack of control, the dissonant noises that rang from it. He chalked it up to some weird phobia, a reaction to what the guitar meant now. But then he picked up his old Fender knock off and it wasn’t any better, and it hit him that it was gone, everything he had practiced, everything he worked for, it was gone just like that. Now he had a shaky left hand and no grip strength and moving his fingers along the fretboard was an effort not an instinct.

It was over. And he never wanted to see that fucking guitar again.

But now he’s sitting here with a beautiful guitar strap in his lap and guitar picks all over the floor, things that Steve chose for him, because they reminded me of you, and it’s painful in a different way, in a way that he can’t examine right now because he just doesn’t have the strength for it in the middle of a Christmas he was never meant to see. He wraps them both back up in the crumpled blue paper and puts them in the bottom drawer of his dresser, pulling a pair of sweats over the top.

Christmas is… emotional. But like in that quiet ‘we’re not gonna talk about it’ way that he and Wayne have perfected over the years. There are pats on the head, hair ruffles, side ways glances when Wayne thinks he’s not looking. Weighty, but not unpleasant. It’s a lot to know you’re loved so deeply, a lot to know how difficult this would have been for Wayne if Eddie hadn’t been here.

(There’s things about that day, about the decisions he made, that he tries to keep hidden from everyone, himself included when he can manage it. They haunt him at night when he’s alone in the house by himself and has time to dwell on them, but when Wayne rests a calloused hand on his head, it’s almost like forgiveness. He hopes Wayne doesn’t know. He hopes none of them know.)

When Friday swings around he feels entirely too much like a kid in a candy store, and if Wayne notices his slightly hyper demeanour when Steve pulls up outside, he at least has the grace not to mention it.

Steve doesn’t open the car door for him. Anyone looking on, watching Eddie potter down his steps unevenly, crutch in hand, would read that as rude. Eddie reads it as trust, as being listened to, and most importantly being heard. Other people struggled with that, so many of his friends, fuck, even Wayne, wanting to step in whenever they thought he needed a hand, but never really hearing him when he said he was fine. And look, he’s a stubborn fuck, he knows this, and he hasn’t made this easy on people, he could have - should have - asked for help at times, but having one person in his corner that listened to him made him feel less powerless. That it was Steve made his heart sing.

Steve still won’t tell him where he’s going, so they do what they usually do, argue over the radio while Eddie tosses tapes around in the glove compartment. Eddie doesn’t get out often, mostly of his own choosing, so these moments mean a lot to him. Painfully normal.

Painfully normal with Steve by his side.

He starts to nod off to the sound of Cyndi Lauper coming through the speakers, but he catches sight of the sign to Indy and it wakes him up with a start. He glances at Steve who definitely knows he’s being stared at because the little smirk on his face grows. Something in Eddie grows with it.

Twenty minutes later they’re pulling up outside Sandy’s.

“Holy shit,” he says, almost under his breath. “I haven’t been here since… fuck, last year I think? How did you find this place?”

Steve unbuckles his seat belt, that smirk firmly still in place. “Friend of a friend.”

And then, because Eddie’s world hasn’t spun out from beneath him enough this year —

Steve Harrington winks at him.

And it’s not a wink like, sports and jocks and rough-housing with the kids wink, it’s a wink. It’s loaded. It takes up space in the car. It passes between them, a little bird Steve set off into the air for Eddie to catch with careful hands.

He doesn’t know what’s happening, but it feels like it will collapse around him if he asks, his little tower of cards that just got to the second level will flutter to the ground. So he laughs it off, calls him a dork and then gets out of the car.

They take a booth at the back, sliding in, face to face.

“Have you eaten here before?” Eddie asks.

“Just the once.” And there’s that smile again, and that little thing in him that keeps so deeply hidden continues to unfurl.

The waitress approaches to take their order, and Steve gets in before Eddie can.

“Two chilli dogs with extra onions, two sides of cheese fries, and two peanut butter malts, please.”

He didn’t even look at the menu.

The moment she walks away, Eddie leans forward.

“How do you know my order?” He’s a little rude with it, though he doesn’t mean to be, and for the first time Steve looks unsure.

“I told you, a friend of a friend.”

“Gareth. You can say Gareth, Steve. I’m not stupid.”

Steve picks up the salt shaker, rolling it idly between his hands. “I just wanted to do something nice, for Christmas, you know? Is that so bad?”

“You did something nice for Thanksgiving.”

“Uh, no, I tried to do something nice. Consider this a do-over.”

Eddie does his best, tries not to read too much into the fact that Steve knew his order, or that he asked Gareth for help, or that he ordered the same thing, or that he spends the entire time practically moaning as he slots the hotdog into his mouth in a way that honestly looks filthy as fuck, but he can’t possibly know what he’s doing, or what he’s doing to Eddie specifically.

He does his best. But a boy can dream.

Steve pays, which just makes it all so much worse. Is this how they feel? All those girls from Hawkins High? Is this what it means to be wooed by the Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington?

They get back to the car, and Steve starts her up, the cool air from the vents turning warmer as they sit there.

“That was… that was really cool, actually.”

“Yeah, those hot dogs were awesome. Seriously we need a place like that in Hawkins.”

Eddie shakes his head. “No I mean… you bringing me here. It’s my favourite place to eat. It was a really nice thing to do. Thank you.”

Steve looks delighted. “Good, I’m glad you liked it. And hey, it wasn’t burnt this time, right?”

Steve laughs and Eddie tries to but he can’t, is the thing. It’s all kind of caught up in him, like a tangle. He’s confused, and warm, and happy and a little sad, actually. He surrounds himself with things he wants and can’t have. Sometimes he can live with that, but sometimes it hurts.

“Thank you. Like, honestly,” and he let’s a puff of air out of him, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. Blowing the sting from them. “I haven’t been there since my birthday last year. It was kind of a tradition, you know? I didn’t get to go this year, so… yeah, thanks.” And he means it. Truly and honestly means it.

Steve taps the steering room, out of rhythm to the song on the radio, a nervous little tick Eddie’s noticed before.

“So, there’s one more thing. Uh, one more place I want to take you. If that’s okay?”

He looks so earnestly at Eddie, like he’s honestly scared Eddie will say no to him when right now Eddie doesn’t think he would deny him a fucking thing.

“Yeah, of course. Lead the way, sire.”

They don’t drive far, but they move into the suburbs on the other side of town and into a little neighbourhood Eddie recognises, before pulling up somewhere Eddie knows very well indeed.

Wayne was the first one to bring him to Rudy’s Music Shop back on his twelfth birthday, when he got that old Fender knock-off from Gary at the plant. It needed strings, and it buzzed like crazy and Rudy’s was cheaper than the big store in the middle of the city, so they visited and Rudy fixed it up for him, almost as good as new. And when he was finally ready for his first serious guitar, something metal that he would take the world by storm with, it was Rudy’s that he went to. He couldn’t afford a lot, but the Warlock was a trade in, barely used but with a couple of big chips in the paintwork. Rudy cut him a deal, and Eddie spent three bucks on red nail polish and you could never tell they were there unless you knew where to look.

“Steve… ?”

“I um… Wayne told me about this place. I thought it would be nice to visit. It’s been a while, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie whispers.

Steve taps him across the chest. “Come on.”

This time he does let Steve help him out of the car, the long journey and the cold starting to wear him down. They walk over to the window, the red neon sign glowing bright into the dark street, the guitars stand like soldiers under it, and he feels the pang of want. It feels like the twist of a knife.

“You wanna go in?”

Eddie’s not sure where it comes from. But something in him stirs, something that feels like bravery, and he finds himself wanting just that. But…

“It’s closed,” he says, trying his best to keep the disappointment from his voice. “But thanks for bringing me here, it was a really lovely thought, you know.”

Steve walks right past him to the door and knocks three times, and in a moment Rudy is there, unlocking the door and ushering them in.

“It’s good to see you, kid,” says Rudy.

“Uh— shit.” He starts laughing, it bubbles up from nowhere and he feels a little delirious with it. “It’s good to see you too. Sorry, it’s just a lot, being here.” He gestures around the store at the walls of instruments.

Rudy laughs softly, “Yeah, I bet.” Then he looks at Steve and says “You got half an hour then I got to lock up. You want the, uh—” he gestures over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Uh, give us ten minutes?”

Rudy nods before heading out back, pulling the office door closed behind him. Then it’s just them, and Eddie’s head is spinning like a fucking top.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Promise not to get mad?”

Eddie’s eyes narrow. “Why would I get mad?”

“I thought maybe it was time to get that new guitar.”

Eddie tips his head back, looking up at the ceiling painted with famous musicians. He stares B.B. King straight in the eye. B.B. Stares right back at him.

“Steve, I just… I can’t.” He blows out a huge puff of air, and it feels like he’s emptying his heart as much as he’s emptying his lungs.

“I know you sold the Warlock. And I get why.”

“No, you don’t!”

“Okay, so explain it to me.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“You can’t run from everything, man.”

It’s like a slap and Eddie turns on him. “Oh fuck you!”

All of it’s falling to shit, all the good, summer, the trips to the drive through, the summer spent in the Harrington’s pool. Cold nights tucked up against each other watching horror movies. A burnt Thanksgiving dinner.

A guitar strap.

Steve reaches out to him, squeezing his wrist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just. You’re so fucking talented, Eddie, and I hate that you lost the thing you loved the most. You deserve better than that.”

Eddie scoffs. “How do you know I was talented? You’ve never heard me play.”

Steve smiles softly and digs into the pocket of his coat, pulling out a cassette before waving it gently in the air.

“Borrowed it from Wayne. Blues, huh?” And there’s that smirk again, like he’s won something, and fuck it. He has.

“Fucker.”

“Me or Wayne?”

“Both of you.”

There’s a pause, Steve opening and closing his mouth like he's working out what to say next.

“Why did you lie? Why did you sell it?”

It’s not an accusation, just an honest question. If it were anyone else Eddie would fob them off. But it’s Steve, and he deserves so much more than that.

“Because it wasn’t the same, Steve. I couldn’t look at that fucking guitar, I didn’t want it anywhere near me, man. It just didn’t sound the same anymore. I didn’t sound the same. And it just reminded me of everything, every time I looked at it, Chrissy, and Patrick, and the bats--” He heaves in a breath. “Do you know what it’s like when your dreams are stolen? For them to just disappear overnight?”

Steve’s eyes drop to the floor, but he replies with a nod.

“I had a basketball scholarship lined up. Until Billy smashed a plate into my head, anyway. It’s not the same, I know, but I do get it.”

Billy was a bastard, and Eddie never liked him, and it’s awful but all he can think right at this moment is that he’s glad he’s dead.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that,” he says softly.

Steve shrugs. “Shit happens. It’s what you do after that matters. Come on,” Steve takes him by the hand, locking their fingers together, and Eddie’s breath slams to a stop as Steve leads him to a stool and amp. “Rudy said you can play whatever you want. Just point and I’ll grab them. But there is one, I kind of put aside for you. If you want to try it?”

Alternate dimensions haven’t got a thing on what ever the fuck is going on here today. He barely nods before Steve runs off like an excited puppy. He returns a moment later, carefully holding a guitar.

“So, I know this isn't like, metal, or whatever. But Rudy said it’s got a really nice tone? And it’s a lot lighter than your Warlock, so I thought… “ He coughs, suddenly sounds embarrassed, “I just thought it would be easier for you.”

He recognises it immediately; a Gibson ES-335. But not sunburst or cherry red, like everyone knows it for, but in a washed out sky blue. It’s scratched, the paintwork chipped in places, but it’s clean and otherwise clearly well looked after.

“It’s beautiful.”

Steve’s eyes light up. “Yeah?”

Tentatively, Eddie reaches out for it and Steve hands it over almost reverently. It is lighter than the Warlock, though it’s bigger. But the rounded cut outs make it fit him better, it rests comfortably on his thigh. He runs his fingers up the neck, feels the comforting grab of the frets under his finger. The loss of it all hits him so suddenly he feels himself fall back, like a gust of wind carrying his grief slammed into him.

“Yeah,” he manages to say, but his throat is closed tight and theres no way Steve doesn’t hear it.

Steve kneels in front of him, places his hands on Eddie’s knees and a spark fires through him.

“Play me something.”

“What?”

Steve beams at him. “Anything you want.”

He feels a tear slip over his lashes, and he watches as Steve traces it down his cheek, wiping it away before it falls from his chin.

“No tears on the guitar,” Steve whispers. “Not good for the paint.”

“Fucker,” Eddie laughs wetly. “Plug me in.”

Steve sets him up, with a little direction, then sits on the floor in front of him, legs crossed, like a toddler at story time, his attention undivided.

It’s rough, the first chords are chunky and stilted, he doesn’t have the strength or the dexterity that he once had, certainly not the speed. But as his hands warm up, as he falls into it, the rhythm, the vibration of the strings under his fingers, the callouses softened from all these months without steel underneath them. His eyes slip closed and he plays by feel again, and without thinking he starts striking chords, the D, into the F sharp, G into the A. He smiles to himself, before opening his eyes, and he and Steve lock eyes, sitting in the dark in Rudy’s, just the neon red lighting them up.

You’re the one I’ve waited for

He sings it openly, part challenge, part declaration.

I need your love more and more

His breath is knocked from him as Steve rushes forward, hands on Eddie’s cheeks pulling him in, his lips pressed deeply into Eddie’s. Eddie grips the guitar in one hand, covering Steve’s hand with the other, holding it there. When the shock passes, he kisses back just as fiercely, lips finding one another in the red glow.

Steve breaks apart first, breathless with giggles before leaning in for another quick peck. And then another. And then he takes the guitar from Eddie, gently places it on a stand before standing in between his legs, his hands on Eddie’s face, tipping him back, before leaning down to kiss him again, slower this time, more softly.

“I’ve thought about this for so fucking long.”

A sound escapes Eddie, air rushing out after a punch to the solar plexus, to a place deep within him.

“You have no idea, man,” is all Eddie can manage in response.

There’s a cough from behind them and they split apart as fast as they came together.

“So, uh, we taking that guitar, boys?”

“Yes,” answers Steve, at the same time Eddie says “I don’t know.”

“Do you like the guitar?” Steve asks.

“I love it.”

“Good. Then we’re taking it.”

Rudy carefully places it into a case and hands it over before letting them out onto the street, and wishing Eddie well.

“But I haven’t paid—”

“He’s all paid for kid. All yours.”

Eddie is dazed when he makes it back to the car. He looks at the little store front in the dark, the neon fighting the orange glow of the street lamps for the honour of lighting the sidewalk. It was a minute ago but it seems like a dream already, like a spell was broken the moment they walked back onto the street, and he’s not sure it happened. It’s too ridiculous to imagine that it happened.

Steve climbs in beside him, looking every bit the King of Hawkins High, smug bastard.

“What just happened?” Eddie says to no one.

He catches movement beside him, Steve pushing his fingers through his hair, checking himself out in the rearview mirror before repositioning it.

“Well, I took you to dinner, then I brought you to your favourite guitar store, bought you a beautiful guitar and basically took you out on the best date you’ve ever had.”

Eddie nods absently. “Oh, is that what happened?”

Steve looks like he’s actually thinking about. “Yeah, pretty much,” and he winks again, like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to Eddie now.

They drive back to Hawkins, Steve stretching his hand out to hold Eddie’s every time they come to a stop light, Eddie squeezing it tightly like it might disappear, like it might be the last time he gets the chance.

They pull up outside Eddie’s little house, just as snow starts to flutter to the ground again. Steve leaves the car running, the heat blowing out onto their faces. Eddie feels a little flushed. He’s not entirely sure its the heater though.

“So…” he starts.

Steve throws his arm across the back of Eddie’s seat. “So.”

“Did that really happen? Because, I was dead for about five minutes back in March and they said there could be lasting consequences from the oxygen deprivation and—”

Steve shuts him up with a kiss and not for the first time Eddie’s pleased they moved to a private little house where they can’t be seen from the street.

“Firstly,” Steve says when he let’s go, “Don’t ever joke about that.” Steve’s cradles his jaw, thumb stroking at the raised pink of the scar that sits there. “But yes, it happened. All of it. Maybe I was a little slow off the blocks. Let’s just give thanks for me getting there sooner rather than later, huh?”

Eddie can’t help the bubble of laughter. “Oh, I am giving thanks, trust me, big boy.”

Steve’s eyes narrow as he leans in for another kiss.

“Oh we are totally circling back to that,” Eddie says gleefully.

“Shut up.”

They lean in again, and this time he wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him close, his lips parting ready to kiss, until a loud knock knock knock on the window has them flying apart.

Wayne peers in at the two of them as Eddie rolls the window down.

“Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of us.”

“This strikes me as something you might want to do inside.”

Steve combs his hands through his hair, nodding. “Yep, absolutely. We will definitely do that.”

“Not tonight though,” Wayne adds, and honestly, Eddie loves this guy, he does, but fuck does he pick his moments to get parental. “Goodnight Steve.” And then, because Eddie’s suffering is his greatest pleasure, he smirks and says. “Hope it all went well.”

“Would you just leave, please, now. Thank you.”

They both watch Wayne walk back up the porch steps, a sly smile on his face.

“Fucker.” Eddie sighs into one more kiss, Steve meeting him across the console. “I should go.”

Steve hops out to grab the guitar - his guitar, and that’s going to take a while to get his head around - and carries it up to the porch for him.

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Please,” Eddie says, feeling for all the world like a fucking schoolgirl with a crush. So, this is what it’s like?

Steve gives him that stupid little wave and smiles at him, but as he’s about to get in the car he calls back.

“Hey, what was that song you were singing?”

Eddie laughs.

“Oh, uh, Love Hungry Man. AC/DC.”

“Holy shit,” Steve laughs. “Don’t hold back, Munson.”

He shrugs, delighted. “What can I say? Speak your truth, right?”

Eddie stands in the cold as he watches Steve drive off into the night. Flakes of snow begin to fall again, shimmering in the amber street lighting. He sticks his tongue out to catch them. He feels giddy, kind of light headed and for a second he thinks he’s over done it today, he should get in, get his pills and sleep.

It takes a moment for it all to filter through, for his brain and his body to catch up with one another, but eventually it hits him; he’s happy. He’s never let himself want before, not big things, not things he can’t buy. He’s spent years hiding big parts of who he is, even from his closest friends, with only the dream of moving to a city to give him real hope for a connection with someone. For love.

And then Steve Harrington, brave, smart, wonderful Steve Harrington, knocks the wind right out of him, turns his world upside down, the good kind this time, and now not only does Eddie get to want, he gets to have.

He sticks his tongue out again to catch a last, fat flake of snow, and then carries his guitar inside.

He has a lot of practicing to do.

****

Holy shit. Full disclosure, I wrote most of this today and I'm sleep deprived and I can't bear to think how many typos and errors there are in this, but I'm trying to hit a deadline. Feel free to let me know what I fucked up. 😂

#corrodedcoffinfest: black friday #corrodedcoffinfest #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #wayne munson #cw sui ideation

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junosmindpalace · 4 months ago

Note

Hey! I'm a long time reader of yours. I'm finding myself real down on my luck lately, and life has been kicking my ass (medical school, and this flu season amongst other things). May I request headcanons of Gen or Ukyo taking care of a sick reader?

hello hello!! i’m very grateful that you’ve stuck around and enjoy my writing! i’m so sorry to hear life hasn’t been treating you so good, and i hope things pick up for you soon :(

gen or ukyo…why not both!

GEN ASAGIRI

Depending on the severity of your sickness, Gen may initially be a little reluctant to be around you.

He’s a bit of a drama queen, swooning over how sad it is that you’re in such a state, worrying about whether or not he’ll catch anything from you, teasing that he should keep his distance.

Yet when your unimpressed features finally send the messages that his jokes and attitudes weren’t all that funny, he sobers up and truly is one of the most committed to looking after you out of everyone in the camp.

He truly and honestly worries about you; he hates seeing you in such distress, and though subconsciously he may also want to save his own skin and comfort by averting his eyes, he forces himself to stay by you for both your sakes.

Especially if your sickness is something that can evolve to be life threatening, he’ll stay by your bedroll all night if it means giving himself some peace of mind.

He acts as a messenger between you and the rest of the Kingdom of Science. Anything you want or need, Gen is immediately out to ask someone to bring it over, or he’s going off to retrieve it himself.

He brings meals to your bed(roll) and insists he feeds you, even when you tell him he doesn’t need to.

He’s surprisingly diligent and mindful of your body; he thinks to put a soothing cloth on your skin for some relief, and takes care to change it regularly. He’s quiet when he moves around, so as to not disturb you while you attempt to rest and dull the ache in your head.

When you’re up for it, Gen most likes to talk you out of hyper fixating on your pain. He’ll complain about people and complain about tasks they force him to undertake, always in a theatrical way that makes you chuckle, which reassures him greatly.

Sometimes he may even pull out some of his magic tricks to amuse you. If not tricks, then regular games of cards and showcases of all the flowers he managed to find and pick and preserve.

Most of the time when he’s in your company, however, he’s trying to busy himself one way or another. Sitting and staring at your weakening state for too long makes him nervous. He feels the need to pace, to do something.

Overall, tries to continue acting like his arrogant self, but his actions give away his concern, and he’s more than relieved when you recover from your ailment.

UKYO SAIONJI

Ukyo, in many ways, is incredibly similar to Gen, just without the arrogance and dramatics and more concern instead.

It’s hard for him to hide behind a smile like Gen does, however; when it comes to you, his emotions are kind of plain to see, almost impossible to hide. He’ll give you reassuring squeezes of the hand or shoulder, laugh with you and offer all his support, but you can tell the whole thing makes him uneasy, and when he isn’t wearing a smile for your sake, he’s silently grieving your condition (especially if it appears life threatening).

So you’ll both need some comforting, perhaps a squeeze of his shoulder in order to get his tension to diffuse just the slightest bit. But Ukyo is always there to pull you out of your misery with reassurances that the sickness won’t last forever, and that you’ll recover soon enough, reborn into a stronger body (and mind).

In the meantime, he does what he can for you. He takes over your chores, brings you your meals, and stands by you with his bow at night; just in case.

Conversation is the main way he attempts to get your mind off your sickness. Talking about himself, updating you on the day’s happenings, asking questions about you and the things you like--anything and everything if it means keeping you as spirited as possible. It’s also a subconscious reassurance for himself that you show potential in recovery.

He also works closely beside Senku and the other villagers who closely monitor your condition and attempt to help you recover through whatever means they can think up (or invent). Though he may not know all the science behind the recovery methods, he’ll recommend remedies from his own experience and ask questions as to what he can do in order to best support you.

When you do eventually recover, he’s just as bright and cheery (and perhaps even relieved) as you are, though he may remain a little more protective of you than normal, not wanting you to contract a similar ailment.

#school has also been kicking me in the butt too </3 #picked the worst year to crash out #so we are in this together #dr stone oneshots #dr stone x reader #dr stone fluff #dcst x reader #dcst oneshots #dcst fluff #gen asagiri x reader #gen asagiri fluff #gen asagiri oneshots #ukyo saionji x reader #ukyo saionji fluff #ukyo saionji headcanons #dr stone headcanons #dcst headcanons

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chamiryokuroi · 2 years ago

Text

My thoughts on Tim Drake: Robin #10 heavy spoilers under the cut

First of all got to say it wasn’t a bad ending if we consider they had to wrap up this arc in such a short amount of time, gotta give it to Meghan she managed to figure out a way to answer as many questions as possible and give us a relatively good ending for a series that I feel was canceled with no reason.

You can definitely feel that the story was planned to be done in more issues, the building blocks are all there for an amazing arc and it is sad we had to condense it all in one issue.

Now into a more in depth analysis of the comic of my favorite parts.

The Labyrinth was such and interesting point I wish we could have seen more of, specially with the fact this is the cult if Dionysus.

I absolutely adore the fact that Bernard is fully aware of Tim’s identiry because we get such funny interactions like this where Pie honestly thinks Tim is cheating on Bernard with Robin, and that panel of Bernard laughing because of that is one of my favorites for sure, boy is having so much fun, as he should.

Now in a more serious tone, this two panels tells us so much of how Tim feels, how insecure he is of his own place, not only on his family, but in the world as a whole. That second panel specifically where we see Bernard having fun while Tim is just on the bg, knowing how hard it must be for Tim to wrap his head around his sexuality even now, a year after coming out and starting dating Bernard, this feels realistic, sometimes when you come out later in life it feels as if you do not fit exactly with the community, and it can be hard to find your place.

If I had a nickel for every time a creepy cult tried to recruit Tim into their ranks I would have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it is weird that it keeps happening.

This is honestly another point that feels like it was meant to be explored for longer before the cancelation notice came. At least it gives us an explanation of why Kate was acting the way she was, it took me a while to get it but basically after Tim saved Bernard from the cult back in Urban Legends Kate went around hunting down those that managed to escape, one of them being the son of this man that appears to be the leader of the cult, the son then took his own life and Kate was taken into the labyrinth, were we know Tim was being pumped with some hallucinogen gas of some sort, depending on how long she was on the labyrinth before managing to escape that might explain her memory loss, again this is all theorizing with what we are given since there wasn’t much space for it to be explain as it should.

And now we go back to Bernard who is looking around for Tim, going to all the people that knew him as Robin, and then those words “Tim takes care of everyone… but sometimes he needs someone to take care of him” hits me straight on the feels, Bernard is such a supportive boyfriend, he is definitely what Tim needs, someone that is there for him, not only for Tim, but also Robin.

Also the fact that Bernard is making his own homemade bat-signal with his hands is just adorable to me. Boy could had probably drove to Bruce’s house, but he doesn’t need Bruce’s help right now, he needs Batman.

And of course Batman responds. Bruce why were you following Bernard? Anyways, yet another great speech from Bernard “I thought you might be a ghost. Or you weren’t real. But the truth is you look sort of normal. Like regular-people normal.” Leave it to Bernard to understand exactly what Batman is, just a normal man trying to help as best as he can.

And then he says Tim needs help, not Robin, Tim. This is just Bernard out right telling Bruce “I know, and I don’t care, because Tim is in problem and you got to find him”

And then we get the best thing, Bernard, and Tim’s friends and family, rushing in to save him, just as he was losing hope of managing to leave the labyrinth alive. Absolutely in love with Bernard’s long ass coat.

And then we get to my favorite page. The uncertainty if it is really him or another hallucination, the confirmation that it is him, it is Bernard, here to save Tim. The hug, the way Tim is holding Bernard’s face, the only thing that would had made this better would had been a kiss.

And then we get to the ending, not much to say here, I just love these two pages, Tim just finally realizing he doesn’t need to be anyone else, that he can be himself and that he is right where he belong, and that he can be happy with that. The best ending we could have hope for with what we were allowed to have.

There are obviously many questions left unanswered.

What was exactly the Cult of Dionysus? Where did it came from?

What’s going on with Bernard’s parents?

What’s up with Moriarty? Who was his boss? What was his deal with Robin/Tim??

I am sad TD:R ended the way it did, had it been given the time to develop I feel it would had gotten better. But I am glad we managed to get as much as we did, now we just have to wait and see what will DC do now with Tim, and if Bernard will stay relevant or will they brush him under the rug.

#dc #tim drake #bernard dowd #timbern #this makes no sense but I just had to speak out #td:r spoilers #spoilers

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cloudzzcore · 11 months ago

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Adam and Lucifer with a child’s entertainer!gn!reader as Lover headcanons!!

Warnings: None really but Readers in a group of entertainers inspired by the wiggles so I’m just calling the group “Whimsy Wonders” to keep it

simple.

Adam first! (Get it bc he’s the first man-)

When he found out that you were in that wiggles rip off of a music group he was lowkey surprised and found it HILARIOUS.

The group name did NOT help in the long run.

“The fuck kind of name is Whimsy Wonders?!” Adam’s laughter rang out as he had a hand on his forehead. You were mildly offended and a bit, “Hey, I didn’t choose the name! I’m just working in the group!” You say, Crossing your arms with a pout. “What’s your groups main song? Wait- wait lemme guess!”

You really had to hold back the urge to just walk away from Adam, He hated when you would do that.

Although he may tease you about it, he’s very supportive of your work and helps you get ready before showtime.

“You can do it babe! Show those crotch goblins a real fuckin’ show!” Adam cheered as you put on your signature (f/c) shirt. “Adam, just call them kids. They’re wonderful anyways, they’re angels.” You say as you reach for your ear piece. “Don’t even think about it.” You quickly scolded as Adam quickly put his hand back. Damn how did you always know when he’d try to slap your ass??

Overall he’d tease but still let you have fun, and hey at least you could handle kids.

He wasn’t trusted with babysitting. Or anything with kids really.

——

Now Lucifer!

Now Lucifer on the other hand, He knows the struggle of having a kid and you performing for hundreds of them as a regular thing is probably one of the many things he adores about you.

He’d definitely watch you and group rehearse and probably have all the songs memorized.

“Hear the drumbeat.. Hear the guitar.. when you dance this way. you do the shimmy shake..” Lucifer mumbled as he was working on a rubber duck, One of the Whimsy Wonders DVDs running on the dvd player in the background, One of Lucifer’s favorites. “Shimmy Shake” he honestly know how it was his favorite. It was just stuck in his head. Tapping his foot to the melody under the beat, Charlie was walking by her father’s bedroom and soon heard the music. “What the-?” She mumbled coming to stop in front of the door. “Isn’t that the Whimsy Wonders?” Charlie thought, Hm. She didn’t know how often Lucifer would listen to this kids band. “Hey dad, can I come in?” Charlie asked with a knock on the door. That knock snapped Lucifer out of his little work induced trance.

Oh fuck someone heard the music–

Lucifer wasn’t embrassed that he was dating a children’s entertainer, but he was embarrassed to seen listening to a kids band music.

Damn that song was stupidly catchy.

You told Lucifer that it was genuinely okay to like any kinds of music, no matter the age demographic.

He dotes on you before showtime early single performance bringing you Lunch after your performance. Helping you get ready to perform, making sure your guitar was ready.

“Luci.. Everything is fine, Showtime is in 20! I have time to sit and not rush.” You try to say as Lucifer was helping you get ready. Making sure your shirt was adjusted for the dozen time. “I-I know that.. I just want you to look your best for those kids..” He mumbled his hand reaching up to hold your cheek. “There’s kids out there who idolize you and.. I just want you to look amazing.” Lucifer added as your gaze softens. “Lucifer.. Everything is gonna be fine. Kids barely care about appearances. But I care about you and your worrying–” You then say before voice over the speaker rang out.

“Showtime is in 2 minutes!”

“Shit! Love you Luci.” You quickly plant a kiss on his lips, Lucifer wish the kiss would linger but it didn’t it was over as quickly as it started.

He couldn’t wait until the show was over.

——

Woah Lucifer’s got a little sad but hey it’s just something short.

Constructive criticism is welcomed!’

— 3/31/2024

#hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar x reader #appleradio #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #adam hazbin hotel #adam x reader #adam x you #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel adam x reader

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cookiescribble · 1 year ago

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Something New

A/N: Someone asked me for a part two of this, and honestly? Don’t have to ask me twice, I’ve been thinking about it a lot 🫶🏻 sorry it took a little more time than I was expecting, we’re going on vacation soon so a lot of our time is being spent preparing for that :) - mod angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Summary: Spencer has been spending a lot of time bonding with his new coworker, and they’re starting to realize that they might have more feelings than they were ready for.

~~~

I was, admittedly, pretty nervous the first time I came over Spencer’s apartment.

I’ve always been a really shy person, and new situations always seemed a little intimidating to me. But Spencer was… different, and that comforted me.

I walked up to his apartment that first day, fidgeting a little as I approached his door. I took a deep breath and knocked lightly.

He answered the door, smiling, gesturing for me to come in.

I smiled and looked around his apartment. I hadn’t known him very long but it seemed very… him. There was a bookshelf against one of the forest green walls that held a large amount of books; if it belonged to anyone besides Spencer, I would’ve doubted all the books had been read. But I guess if you can read as fast as he can, getting through all those books isn’t that big a deal.

He led me to the couch and motioned for me to sit down. He had taken out a DVD set of Star Trek: The Original Series that was sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch.

He took the DVDs and started speaking. “So, I know you said you’ve seen some of TOS, but I figured it would be better to watch it completely through from start to finish.”

“Yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve seen any of it,” I replied. “Plus, I always like to watch things fully in order. I can’t just pick up a show in the middle. I have to start at the beginning.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I feel the same way! People have told me it’s not a big deal to start watching a show in the middle, but I could never do that.”

I smiled. “Plus, there’s only 3 seasons of TOS, right? It’s not that hard to get through.” I could feel myself calming down as the conversation seemed to flow easily between us.

“There’s only 79 episodes. It’s really short, considering how many other shows and movies came out of it.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment as he put the DVD in the player. “… I have all the other Star Trek shows and movies too, if you want to watch them.” He cleared his throat and quickly continued, “of course, for now we’ll just stick to this and, um, we don’t even have to finish if you end up changing your mind…”

I shook my head. “No, I want to do this. I think it’ll be fun.” I smiled reassuringly. “Plus, what I have seen I’ve really liked, so I definitely want to watch the whole thing.”

He smiled back at me and sat on the opposite end of the couch. “I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to agree to this. Most people don’t really take my interests seriously…” he admitted, sounding a little sad.

I just shrugged. “Well, I’m here, aren’t I? Why would I come here if I wasn’t interested?”

“I guess that’s true,” he said as he picked up the remote. “… So, are you ready to start?”

I smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready,” I responded before he started playing the first episode.

…

We fell into a regular routine after that first day.

I’d usually come over about once a week. We’d always start with Spencer recapping the last episodes we watched, recalling them in perfect detail so I could remember exactly what happened.

I really liked watching the show with him. A lot of times, he’d get really excited and talk during the episodes. He’d always apologize when I asked him to rewind so I could catch what I missed while he was talking, but I always told him I didn’t mind. And I really didn’t, I loved listening to him talk. He always had something interesting to say.

I found myself starting to watch him more than I watched the show. I was trying really hard not to admit it to myself, but I was really starting to feel something between us. I’d noticed the way we both started to get comfortable with each other as time went on, and how we started to sit closer to each other every time we hung out. I felt some kind of… spark, whenever I was with him.

I tried to ignore this feeling, but it was getting more and more difficult. I felt so happy to see him all the time; hanging out with him felt like the highlight of my week. I looked forward to it for days, and I couldn’t help but think of how much I wanted to be alone with him when I saw him at work.

But I kept this all to myself. It was just a silly crush, and I didn’t even know if he had feelings like that. Plus, there’s no way I could have a crush on a coworker. That could never work out well.

Right?

… (POV change)

Spencer wasn’t used to spending so much time with someone. Sure, he talked with his coworkers every day, but it wasn’t the same. No one shared interests with him like this.

Since this was all new to him, he figured these feelings he was having were just normal when you made a new friend. This certain fondness he was feeling that he had never felt before now.

But as time went on, and he kept spending more time with them, he was starting to suspect he was feeling a little more than friendly with them. He started spending a lot of time wishing they would hang out more. Eventually, he couldn’t help it, and asked them to come over even if he’d already seen them that week. He’d say it was because he wanted to keep watching the show, but really he was just excited to see them.

Eventually, he couldn’t deny the feelings he had for them anymore.

There was one day they came over, after there had been a particularly exhausting case. It just so happened to end on the day they had both been reserving to watch the show together. Spencer offered to switch the days and let them catch up on sleep, but they insisted that they still wanted to come over.

It wasn’t a problem for a while, but eventually, as Spencer was talking, they stopped replying to him. He looked over to see they had fallen asleep curled up on the couch.

He just stared at them for a few moments before pausing the show, not wanting them to miss what was happening. He wasn’t sure what to do; he didn’t want to wake them up because they looked so peaceful. They looked… really cute…

He shook his head as if trying to shake the thought out of his mind. He stood up, getting a throw blanket and gently placing it over them, careful to not wake them up.

He walked to the kitchen, figuring he’d make something to eat in case they were hungry when they woke up. Really, he just needed an excuse to not be near them right now. It was taking every ounce of his willpower not to slip his arm around them and let them sleep on him.

He tried not to let his mind wander as he made dinner, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop thinking about them.

He kept trying to rationalize his thoughts, like he always did. It had never been a problem before; he had always been a logical person, so it had never been difficult to keep his thoughts in check. Until now.

He knew that he shouldn’t have feelings for a coworker. It just wasn’t professional. And besides, they probably didn’t feel the same way about him. No one ever had. It was new to him just to have someone willing to share his interests. Their feelings probably ended there: he was just a new friend to them.

Although… there have been multiple occasions where he thought he saw them sneaking glances at him. And the way they looked at him, he thought that maybe they were starting to have feelings for him too…

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice them waking up and walking into the kitchen until they spoke to him.

“Hey…” they started. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was falling asleep.”

Spencer jumped a little before turning to look at them. They still had the blanket wrapped around their shoulders. They looked really comfortable that way. And the sleepy tone in their voice…

He cleared his throat. “That’s okay. We had a pretty tiring few days with that case, so I figured I’d just let you sleep. You seemed like you needed it.”

They smiled sleepily. “Yeah, I guess I did.” They turned their attention to the kitchen counter. “You made dinner? Was I asleep that long?”

He shook his head. “You weren’t out for too long, but I figured you might be hungry when you woke up, so…” He trailed off, blushing a bit.

They smiled. “Thank you. I am actually pretty hungry.” They hugged the blanket a little closer to them, rubbing their eyes a bit.

Spencer turned around and grabbed two plates, carrying them to the coffee table in the living room. They followed him and sat down on the couch, moving the blanket so it was laying across their lap.

They ate in silence, the show playing on the TV in front of them, though they both seemed to have trouble paying attention to it.

After a few more episodes, it was time to leave. Spencer took the blanket when they handed it to him, putting it back where it was before.

He walked to the door with them, like he always did. Today, though, they lingered in the doorway a little longer. Maybe it was the tiredness, or maybe they just finally found the courage they’d been looking for all this time.

“Um…” they started, looking a little nervous. “Thank you for making dinner tonight. That was really nice.”

He smiled warmly at them. “Oh, it was no problem, really. I was hungry too,” he laughed awkwardly.

They smiled a bit, but they had a concentrated look on their face. “Well, uh, I was wondering… Maybe one day you’d like to… go out to dinner?” They took a deep breath before continuing quietly. “Like… as a date?”

He blushed and smiled, all the thoughts of doubt he’d been having earlier thrown out the window. “Yeah, I... I’d really like that.” He tried to sound calm, but it was clear he was really excited about it.

They smiled back at him, the nervousness gone as they realized he was just as happy about it as they were. “Okay. It’s a date, then.”

They said their goodbyes, both of them unable to stop smiling as they thought about what their future together would hold.

#i hope the pov change doesn't read too awkwardly. it's just what was in my head so i wanted to write it that way #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x male!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #fanfiction #mod angel

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idk6123 · 8 months ago

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An Arranged Marriage For The Richest (Derby Harrington X Male Reader)

Derby life’s goal is to follow his father’s footstep and become as successful as him. Being the heir of an oil digging made his life so much easier. Being the richest of the rich. Buying expensive things a regular person needs to work for in a year or two. That is his life, and it’s all thanks to his father. Because of that, he listens to him dearly, to the point of choosing his future partner, which is Pinky, his cousin. Other people find it weird, but he doesn’t mind it. He does mind how much attention she seeks of him. To his luck, he got a better offer.

“You wish to speak to me, father?”

“Yes.” Inside of his office, Mr. Harrington sits behind his desk while addressing the issue. “I know you got an arranged marriage with your cousin, Pinky. However, we have to cancel that deal, because I found a better offer.”

Derby looks surprised. “Who is it?”

“It’s our rival, Mendez. With this deal, we can fuse the two biggest oil companies in America to become the number one in the world.” Mr. Harrington sounds excited with the plan. “We have dinner with them this Saturday, where you meet your future spouse. That being said, Mendez’s heir is a son as well, so you will be marrying a man, but I don’t expect that being a problem.”

“Of course not.” Derby honestly doesn’t care if he needs to marry off a guy or a girl. All he just wants to do is making his father proud. “Won’t that be a problem with your friends? Your son marrying another man?”

“They have nothing to complain about when we have twice amount the money.” Mr. Harrington assures. “His name is Y/N Mendez, remember that. Make sure to treat him like a gentleman.”

“Of course, father.”

With their fancy clothes on, Derby and his father are being driven by their personal chauffeur towards the Mendez’s mansion. It’s around the size of their own, with a gorgeous, well taken care garden. After they parked the car, they get to the gate and grants access to come in. Once at the door, they get greeted by the rich family.

“Mr. Harrington. It’s a pleasure allowing you to come in our house.” Mr. Mendez greets him with an arm. His wife is next to him. “And it’s an honor meeting you, Derby Harrington.”

After fancy introductions, they get in the mansion, seeing the grand entrance of the building. The guests put their jackets away and follow the couple to the dining room. Once there, they see their son.

“Y/N, this is Mr. Harrington, and his son, Derby Harrington.”

“Pleasure meeting you.” Y/N shakes both of their hands.

“Like wise.” Derby says with a handsome smile.

After some talking, the five of them sit down at the large dining table. Maids and butlers set down the plates of food that is freshly prepared from the chefs. As they begin eating their fancy food, the five of them chat, mostly about business stuff. Though since both teens doesn’t have much experience with it, they barely talk. That’s why Y/N begins to talk to his future husband.

“Where do you go to school?”

“Bullworth Academy. What about you?”

“Redwood Academy.” Y/N responds. “Isn’t Bullworth that school filled with psychos?”

“Sadly, yes.” Derby replies with a chuckle. “We have poor, poorer, and poorest. Brainless monkey’s without brains and nerds without any spine. I’m lucky I got 8 fellow preps that makes the school less horrible.”

“Sounds rough. My school isn’t any better.” Y/N smiles as well. “We have punks that don’t bother showering. Goths and theater kids that seeks attention. Teens addicted to drugs. It’s honestly sad that schools nowadays allow people like that on their ground.”

“I wholeheartedly agree. How about hobbies?”

“Swimming, poker, martial art. I’m considering shooting in the future.”

“Looks like we got the same interests as well.” The blonde says with a smirk. “I’m more of the art of boxing myself. It’s something my group takes pride in. My dearest friend, Bif, managed to secure us countless trophies.”

“Sounds like you’re real close with your friends. I’m guessing you’re their leader?”

“That is a good guess.” Derby complements him. “Let me take a guess as well. You’re one as well?”

“Of course. I’m inheriting my father’s company. I need to prove myself and others I can be a leader.”

Derby can share the same settlement. He didn’t expect connecting with his future husband this well. Pinky, for example, he finds her just annoying and demanding. Y/N, however, is someone he can relate to, and thus respect. He’s glad his father got this deal, because he would rather spent his future with someone like Y/N instead of Pinky.

Ever since that day, the two continue to get to know each other. Mostly by their parents setting up dinner parties and other events. Though they do meet up unofficially after school. They have been going steady, to the point Derby wants Y/N to meet his best friend, Bif.

“I didn’t know you liked the gents.”

“I blame Pinky for that.” Derby says with a chuckle. “Besides, if it’s an arranged marriage with someone’s son that owns another oil company. Luckily for me, he isn’t annoying.”

“Sounds like true love.” Bif sarcastically comments. “Don’t you think you should’ve describe him on what you like about him, or his personality.”

“I like about him that he isn’t annoying.”

Bif sighs, but smiles. “I would love to meet him.”

“Good. I bring him at the gym after school. Make sure not to be drenched in sweat.”

Bif leans against the ring as he awaits for his friend. As he looks at the entrance, he spots the blonde walking in, holding Y/N’s hand. Bif stands up and walks over to them.

“Bif, this is Y/N, my fiancé. Y/N, this is my best friend, Y/N.”

“It’s great to meet you. Derby told a lot about you.”

“I can say the same.” Bif makes sure to not mention about Derby’s comment about Y/N not being irritating. “Fiancé, huh? So it’s set in stone.”

“Well, there are some stuff our parents need to figure out, but I have zero doubts that won’t work out.” Derby says with a smile to his boyfriend.

“We hope to get wed after we graduate. Our plans are to study about running a company, but once that done, we’re CEO’s of the biggest oil company in the world.” Y/N says with a proud smile.

“Now we have to take care of Saudi Arabia and Chine, but let’s be honest, it’s only inevitable we have a war with them.” Derby adds.

“Which brings more profit.” Y/N also adds.

Bif can tell they’re meant to be together. “You two will be a great couple.”

“Thank you.” Derby replies. “Of course you will be invited to the wedding, as well the rest of the group.”

“Hey, how about we ask Bif for advice?”

“Hm? What can I do?”

Y/N looks back at him. “We’re discussing where to hold our marriage. We’re thinking about Paris, New York City, London-”

Bif continues to hear Y/N rambling about the most expensive wedding revenues with tens of options.

Months has passed, and the marriage is about to begin. They finally settle it down at The Biltmore Estate in North Carolina. It’s a bit smaller than they wanted it to be, but it’s good enough. Inside of the large mansion, Derby awaits in his room as he looks at himself through the mirror. Besides him is Bif, also wearing a tux.

“You look fine.”

“I don’t want to look fine. I want to look perfect.” Derby looks at himself with paranoia. “I feel like something is off. Suit fits perfectly… hair is well done…” He mutters to himself as he goes from one thing to another. “Face looks handsome…”

“You’re just nervous.”

“I’m not.” Derby assures. He turns around and looks at his back.

“Yes, you are.” Bif grabs his friend’s shoulder, forcing him to look at him. “You’re just about the marry the guy you love and spend the entire life with. This is natural. My dad felt the same way before the divorce.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. I’m beyond happy this is happening.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t be nervous.” Derby remains quiet. “Look, you look perfect. Even without your tux, you do. I know. I talked plenty of times with Y/N. He loves you, a lot. He’s like another version of you.”

Derby smiles after feeling stressed. “He’s probably stressing about this too.”

“I would bet on it. Now, let’s calm down and prepare your speech.”

Soon the marriage starts. There was a major discussion between the two family who is the man in the relationship and after a while, Derby and Y/N stepped in that they both will be. So, they stand at the altar. Derby stands with his father and his best friend, and Y/N has the same at his side. Between them is the marriage officiant, who had a speech to address the merry couple. In the audience, there are friends of both spouses, as well their father’s coworkers and friends. Some of them are more… traditional to say the least, but the fathers still thought it was a good idea to invite them just to see the look of their faces when they see one of the biggest companies in the country fusing together.

After the speech, it’s time to have both spouses to say their vows, starting with Y/N.

“I know it isn’t a long time since we met, but ever since that dinner party, I had a gut feeling you are the one. And standing here today, that gut feeling isn’t just a feeling, it’s a fact. I’m glad I’m going to spend my entire life with someone that I can relate to. Someone ambitious, strong, smart and kind. I’m inspired by you and have the motivation to make this marriage better one day after another, as well our future companies, as CEO’s.”

Then it’s Derby’s turn. “I have to say, you took the words right from the mouth. The first day we met, I know we end up together. And like you said, we’re perfect. In general and together. As a Harrington, it’s an honor to marry a Mendez. Not just as a company, but also as life partners. I make sure to treat you well, and when the time comes, make sure to stand by your side when things get tough, as you will do with me.”

And so, the rings get passed. Each spouse having the same kind of expensive diamond ring to give each other. When done, they look at each other with a smile.

“I, Derby Harrington, take me Y/N Mendez as my lawfully wedded husband in sickness and in health till death parts us.”

“I, Y/N Mendez, take me Derby Harrington as my lawfully wedded husband in sickness and in health till death parts us.”

“May you know kiss the groom.”

And so, the two are officially husband and husband, with the entire room clapping. In the audience, the preps are beyond happy for their leader.

“They’re so perfect…” Gord begins to tear up. “They’re the IT couple.”

“May our- I mean mine wedding be like this.” Chad reacts with awe.

“They better not divorce like their parents.” Bryce points out.

Everyone is beyond happy, except Pinky, who’s feeling salty. “This could’ve been mine wedding!”

#bully #bully x male reader #bully canis canem edit #bully scholarship edition #derby harrington #derby harrington x male reader

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starryjkoo · 1 year ago

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This might be a controversial opinion but some of y’all need to learn to pick your battles and stop chasing the validation of PJMs and JJKs. Who cares if JJKs are hyping some fictional friendship and writing fanfictions because Jungkook stood next to some random dude twice? Who cares if solo fanbases crop out and don’t post the whole picture (that no one should be reposting btw)? Who cares if PJMs and JJKs don’t acknowledge their friendship? As long as they aren’t dragging Jimin or JK, or even overtly saying anything negative about their bond, literally why do some of you guys care what solos of all people think?

It’s odd to me that some jkkrs will go into solo spaces and then try to get them to acknowledge a member you know they hate and regularly drag. What are you expecting to happen? JJKs actually not mentioning or paying attention to JM is literally the best case scenario. I absolutely wish they would never look at him or talk about him or post anything about him ever again. I literally don’t care if they think JK loves random solider #2 or Mingyu or an inanimate object more than he loves JM and neither should you. They are NEVER going to acknowledge Jikook’s friendship, so stop expecting them to. That is literally one of the least offensive things I’ve seen them do this week alone and it doesn’t actually hurt Jimin or JK, it’s just annoying.

100% make fun of them in your own spaces for being so lame and immature about Jikook enlisting together, they ARE super weird for hyping up this random friendship they suddenly invented (and yes I know they were likely doing it on purpose), it IS really frustrating and sad how dismissive so many people are about Jikook -- but I still don’t understand what some jkkrs were expecting. I sincerely hope that whenever the Jikook travel show drops they keep cropping them out and pretending they’re besties with random bartenders and camera men because the alternative is them dragging JM and JK and their entire bond nonstop. Solos are NEVER going to acknowledge their friendship and I wonder why some jkkrs seem to want them to so bad? You are CHOOSING to go into their spaces and be annoyed that these people who call JM slurs and animal names on the regular don’t want to acknowledge his friendship with JK - and some of you are literally antagonizing these people you KNOW have no morals over something like this.

This whole issue snowballed because so many people are bored and miserable right now and tkkrs especially are looking for a fight ever since Jikook enlisted together (or honestly probably since Tokyo). I see how jkkrs can make an innocent post and get jumped and tkkrs can say the most heinous shit about JM and jkk imaginable and get away with it -- but if you’re active online you should know how it is and learn to pick your battles if you actually care about the people you stan. There was no reason for JM or JK to get dragged over something like this.

Anyways this isn’t the end of the world or anything, but I did watch this whole unnecessary drama unfold and opened my twitter account this morning to see report accounts STILL trying to clean it up, so I wanted to rant a bit. I’m sure the Jikook show will unleash the most heinous discourse imaginable so I’m saving my energy for that. Obviously people can do whatever they want, and I’m not saying jkkrs shouldn’t rant or be upset about it in their own spaces, I was just surprised by some of the reactions. Jikook enlisting together makes it obvious to anyone with a brain how close they are, that’s why the people who hate them are being especially weird and petty and obnoxious. JJKs were writing about how JK tattooed ARMY on his knuckles because he knows ARMYs hurt him or whatever just the other day so idk why some jkkrs were expecting them to suddenly celebrate his friendship with JM who they literally hate more than anyone else.

#jikook #sorry to bring twitter discourse here #again 😣#but every now and then #i need a good rant #because i wasn't seeing enough people calling this out #and if it doesn't apply to you #it doesn't apply to you #i know it's not all or even most #but enough i wanted to make a point #discourse

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whiskeynwriting · 2 years ago

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MBFD - Chapter Ten: Even When Apart

Dave York x Female Reader

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Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Mentions of separation/divorce, reader descriptions, dirty talk, sexting, male masturbation, spanking, praise kink, mentions of oral (m and f receiving), unprotected vaginal sex.

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A/N: soooo we planned out this chapter a hot minute ago, and expected it to be way longer. But I hope you enjoy it anyway my babies <3 I feel like having 14k chapters and then 6k chapters is a running theme in this series lmao

Also, sorry for the late post lovelies. But if you know me, you should know it’s a regular thing 😂😭

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My Best Friend’s Dad Masterlist

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“John,” He nods, walking down the hall. Just barely, the coffee in his to-go cup swishes inside, the contents still boiling.

His coworker returns the friendly gesture with a smile on his face, asking briefly, “Dave, how’re the kids?”

All he does is shrug, putting on a brave face. “Can’t complain.” But that’s the end of it.

As he expected, life’s been shit since you left again. But he understands, he can’t exactly live at your apartment forever. At least, not yet. He has considered it, though. Over the past few days, he’s been researching homes, mainly condos and townhouses. It’s not likely that he’ll be sharing a home with Carol and his daughters for much longer, and maybe you’d be willing to move with him. But Dave’s waiting to bring all of this up. He thinks it will be best to do so toward the end of your trip. Which is in about… shit, three days. He can’t fucking wait.

David is well aware that he’s living in a fantasy land. The two of you living together? Officially? It blows his mind to even think about it. At that point, Molly would have to know. There’d be no hiding it. But for now, he’s ignoring all of that. He’s choosing to bask in the peace you bring him.

Settling in at his desk, he releases a heavy breath. Honestly, he doesn’t need to be here this early - he hasn’t needed to stay so late, either. But it gives him time away from the anxiety surrounding his family, and in turn, helps him relax. He’s good at his job and truthfully, figuring out how to quietly and expertly remove people from their own lives is easier than dealing with his current familial stress. It does, however, have one downside. It takes time away from you.

“Oooh, who misses you?”

Immediately, you’re snatching your phone out of Angela’s hand, staring down at the screen to see the text Dave sent. Eyes widening, you feel a sense of heat run through your cheeks, and Molly notices, too.

“It’s probably just Anthony.” Rolling her eyes, she moves into her next stretch, preparing for today’s warm-ups.

“No, it’s not. I told you I’m done talking to him.” Trying to dull your annoyance, you turn back to your screen, smirking ever so slightly. He misses me?

Frowning, Molly leans upright once again. “Well then who the hell is it?”

The quiet that follows seems to infuriate your closest friend, because she’s immediately trotting over to snatch your phone from your hand.

“Molly!”

“Miss you, princess.” She reads out loud, raising a brow. “How come I don’t know about this?” It’s easy to see now that Molly isn’t angry, she’s sad. She assumed you’d tell her about your next relationship. And all at once, the guilt you’d been pushing down for weeks bubbles into your throat again.

“I, well, I just… I’m…”

“That’s funny,” She cuts in, staring at the screen. “My dad’s name is Dave.”

At first, you feel like an idiot. You really couldn't have changed his name? But as soon as Molly starts giggling, you release all your anxieties in one breath.

“That’s so weird, is he my dad’s age, too?” She jokes, tossing your phone back to you while returning to her position.

Chewing on the corner of your lip, you close your phone, shoving it into your backpack. “Maybe.”

“Wait, really?” Spinning on her heels, she darts back over, sitting on the floor in front of you. And a few other girls scooch in, too.

“Of course you’d be the one to go for older men.” Nora chimes in, causing you to turn your head.

“What? Why?”

“Maybe it is Molly’s dad.” And now, everyone is turning to Lexi. “What? It could be!”

“Yeah, right.” Molly snorts, rolling her eyes. “Like that would ever happen.”

“It’s not her dad!” God damn, this is frustrating.

“Whatever,” Molly groans, patting her hand on your knee. “Just tell us about him!”

Side-eyeing her, you grin, quickly glancing down at your hands. You almost can’t keep it in, your relationship with him. Not when everyone is so eager to know. Hell, you can do this, you can still keep this a secret.

“Well… he is older. And, I don’t know… we’re still kind of… new.”

“Have you said I love you?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Awe! Wait, who said it first?” The girls seem ecstatic, but you can tell Molly is still pretty hurt.

“Um… he did.” Your heart beats a little harder, thinking back to that night.

“So it’s definitely not new.” Lexi adds with a few of your girls agreeing.

“So, his name is Dave?” Molly inquires further, trying to ask the important questions. If you’re telling this guy that you love him, she should know more about him. “How did you guys meet?”

“Oh my gosh, what does he look like?!” Angela unexpectedly butts in.

“We have a… a mutual… friend.” It’s all you could come up with. “And he’s tall, way taller than me. He has light brown hair and dark brown eyes…” Trailing off, you find yourself caught up in the thought of him. “He’s pretty strong…”

“You said he’s older, right?”

“Mhm,” Nodding, you shake yourself out of your thoughts. You just had an overnight trip with him not too long ago, you should be able to focus on your personal life.

“Does he have a dad bod?” She’s grinning wildly, and now, every head is turned toward you. “Is he big?”

“Angela!” You scoff, still smiling. “Yeah, he has a dad bod…” Replying with a laugh, you turn away.

“And?”

Raising a brow, you turn to face your teammates. “You think I’d be with him if he wasn’t big?”

Everyone is giggling like little school girls, but Molly still can’t shake the feeling of being lied to. Why haven’t you told her about this? Are you not as close as she thought?

“Go stretch!” You demand with a grin, shaking them off. “We have warm-ups in ten.”

On the other side of town, Dave smiles down at his phone. Once you’d gotten a moment to yourself, you responded to him. I miss you too.

He hasn’t seen your pretty face in days, not in person, at least. But he’s been thanking the lord for SnapIt. Wait, no… Snapchat? Whatever it is, it’s been his only way of actually seeing you. At home and in the office, he can forget about personal calls and video chats. But cute selfies and quick videos easily make up for all of that.

“Jesus,” Giving his head a quick shake, he sighs, staring down at the video you just sent.

You’re in the bathroom, the camera fixed on your reflection in the mirror. That smile lights up his entire life, and prompts his own to form, too. And while the short clip might seem sweet, it’s less than innocent. What you’re wearing immediately sets him off.

“Remember this, daddy?” Comes your cute, girly little voice.

With one hand on your phone, the other finds the edge of your skirt, twirling it slightly. Of course he remembers it, how could he not? The last time he saw you in your cheer outfit was when he came on it.

His response is pretty simple, a picture of his work pants. Well, a specific spot on his work pants. With his hand holding his semi-hard crotch, he captions it with, think I’d ever forget?

“Hey,”

“Shit!” Nearly jumping out of your skin, you turn, seeing Molly. “Oh, h-hey, hey Goof.”

She smiles sheepishly, “Texting Dave?”

For a split second, your eyes widen. But then you remember, she now knows your boyfriend’s name. How… strange.

“Um, yeah.” It comes out as an awkward chuckle, quick to close your phone and put it away.

“I… I was wondering.” Staring at the floor, she swallows, unsure of how to start this conversation. “Why haven’t you told me?”

“About Dave?”

“Yeah.” She nods, finally returning her gaze to you. “Did I, I mean… have I done something wrong?”

“What? No! No, not at all, Molly!”

“It’s just… I don’t know. You’re already saying I love you to each other, and… I just don’t know why you wouldn’t tell me about it.”

Jesus Christ, what the hell are you going to tell her? Is this when it happens? When everything just comes out? When your insides spill out of your mouth like word vomit? Every single secret you’ve been hiding, now rushing to the surface?

“Honestly,” Laughing away your anxieties, you shrug. “I thought you’d think it was… too fast. After Anthony.” Okay, that was good. That was smooth.

“Really?” Raising a brow, she shifts her stance. “I hate that guy. You being with literally anyone else is better than you being with him.”

You chuckle, eyes wandering. Not anyone else.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide things from me.” Shrugging, she steps closer to you. “That’s all.”

Offering your best smile, you wrap her in a big hug. “Thanks, Goof.”

And you want to stay true to your friendship, you don’t want to lie to her. There are days where you’ve thought about the outcome of your secret relationship, and it’s really torn you to pieces. In the end, you figure it’s best if she doesn’t know. Maybe it’s best if she never knows.

A few buzzes from your phone end your brief moment, with Molly now back away. Pulling out your phone, you glance down, watching the screen light up with Dave’s name.

“Well… I guess I’ll let you get back to it.” She chuckles, acknowledging the notifications.

It’s weird, her finally knowing about this. And although she doesn’t know everything about this, her knowing some of it sort of… normalizes it. But you’re not exactly sure that’s a good thing.

Before you can get a response out, she’s walking away. “Tell Dave I say hi.” She grins, shutting the door behind her. Now that comment, makes your insides twist tight.

Doing as he says, you open the app, seeing another notification from him. And inside, you’re already full of butterflies, thinking about what he’s sent.

This time, it’s a video. It starts out in the same position as the photo he sent, directed at his covered lap. But now, his hand is moving, slowly undoing his belt before pulling it open. Thick fingers then move to his zipper, pulling it down to reveal the pretty periwinkle underneath. But then it abruptly ends. Frowning, you close the app to message him, wondering if he’d intended to send more. But just before you can, another video loads.

Groaning, David sighs, pulling himself out of his light purple boxers. He’s red, already dripping down the sag of his foreskin. Pulling it back, you can hear him gasp, a quiet noise as he holds himself in hand.

“I miss you, baby.” His voice is low, but sweet. Gliding his thumb over the tip, he sighs again. “Miss the way you feel around me…”

You’ve already spent at least ten minutes in here, so you’ll need to do this quick. And be creative. It’s not like you can just get naked in the middle of the bathroom, and you definitely don’t have the time for that. But Dave isn’t exactly a hard man to please.

“Fuck me.”

He thought the two of you were just having fun together, sending these messages back and forth. Sure he’d touched himself in a video for you, but he had no real intention of actually getting himself off. That is, until you sent an upskirt picture of yourself to him.

Your cheer uniform is clearly visible, and with your panties tugged to the side, he can see you perfectly. The smooth pinkness of your skin, just barely glistening for him. Jesus, he misses that, misses how it feels and tastes and smells. Fuck, he’ll have to convince you to give him your panties again, especially if you’re not sure when you’ll next see him.

Making sure to screenshot the image, he pulls it up in his photos, no longer having the Snapchat timer on it. Spitting into his palm, he stares at the screen, at the beautiful picture of your sweet, tiny pussy. It’s his, it’s all his, the entirety of your body. Your gorgeous tits and smooth thighs, the plumpness of your ass. All he wants to do is touch you, feel and grab on your most sensitive places. He loves your hips, loves digging his fingers into the thin skin, especially when he’s fucking you. Jesus Christ, it’s all he can think of, bending you over and taking you from behind, fucking you in his car, in the basement lounge of his home, anywhere secluded enough for him to have you.

Tugging on himself, he releases a rough sigh. Even though he has an entire office to himself, he still wants to keep quiet. He has absolutely no idea who could be walking the halls. Truthfully, though, it’s hard to do so when he has a woman half his age sending pictures from between her thighs.

His head tilts back, resting on the upper portion of his chair as he spreads his legs further. Thrusting up into his palm, he gasps, continuously brushing the flat of his thumb over his leaking head. He just loves how you play with it, how you tug his foreskin back to suck and lick on it. The next time he sees you, he’ll demand it, shove you down onto your knees until you’re gagging on him. It’s what he’s wanted for days, it’s what he needs.

Spit isn’t enough to be an adequate lubricant, nowhere near as slick as your cunt. It’s amazing to him, just how slippery you get, just how desperately you want for him. And he knows if you were here, you’d be doing this for him.

Slamming the phone down on his desk, he finds his breaths becoming ragged, using his now free hand to cup his scrotum. He fondles the softness of it, imagining it to be you while he jerks off into his hand. Internally, he’s thinking about your mouth, about the way you swallow him. Even when he cums, you’re sucking it down, urging it to the back of your throat and Christ, just the thought of it is enough for him.

It’s incredible how sensitive he gets, especially when he cums. He has to bite into his lower lip to keep himself at bay, to keep those whimpers from slipping out. Thrusting up into his own hand, he groans, eyes pitching shut with his brows furrowing just above. His mouth hands agape, unable to think about anything other than your pretty face. He can feel it oozing down the side of his hand, seeping into the cracks between each fingers, leaking over his knuckles. He never used to cum so much before you.

“F-Fuck,” He grunts out, eyes shooting open to look down.

Slowing his pace, he takes a breath, staring at his mess. Some of the warm, white goo is on his boxers, even his work pants, too. But he’s not frustrated about that. He’s annoyed about something else entirely.

“Should’ve filmed that.”

It’d be for the best that you accept her offer, you want to reassure her that your friendship is as strong as ever. But you just can’t bring yourself to. Dave’s presence is nowhere in that house, but Carol sure as hell is. She’s always complaining, whether it’s about Dave, or her work, or her friends, it’s always something. It’s never-ending. And you just don’t feel like dealing with that right now.

“I think I’m okay today, but thanks for askin’.” Is your final response, alongside a grateful smile.

“You sure?” Molly inquires, shifting her bag on her shoulder. “You don’t want to hangout today?”

“Not today, babe. But we will sometime this week, I promise.”

Honestly, you’d like to get home and eat. It’s been a long day, with an early practice and then another after your classes. You’ve barely had time for a latte and some crackers, and you’re starting to feel woozy from it.

“I need to get home and eat. Talk to you later!” And with that, you’re hopping in your Jeep.

Some days, it’s easy to get caught up in the world around you. With school and work and cheer and pom, Dave occasionally falls to the wayside. Even though you’ve been missing some classes and practices lately… But while these days come and go, he always wiggles back in somehow. Today had been busy, you weren’t able to respond to him after your flirty morning messages. But now that you’re driving home, finally on your way to relaxation, your head is full of him again.

“Hey, baby.”

“Hey!” You’re giddy all over again, just hearing his voice. You’d decided to call instead of text, you missed his voice. “How are you?”

“Tired,” He groans, staring down at the paperwork he’d been tasked with. “How are you?”

“Tired, too. But I'm finally on my way home, think I’ll take a day off tomorrow. This week has been draining me.”

“Just remember, we’ll get a break soon.” Smirking, he traces an imaginary shape onto his desk, sighing.

“What do you mean?”

“Our trip, we’re leaving on Thursday.”

“Holy shit, I completely forgot! Fuck, I need a break.”

“You’ll get one soon, princess.”

The way he says it makes you sigh, releasing the stress of your day. His voice is smooth and reassuring, deep and just a little bit gravely.

“I miss you.”

“I know, honey. But I’ll see you soon.”

“Tonight?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I’m pretty busy, I’ll probably be home late.”

Immediately, you have the thought of visiting him. You’ve never gone up to his work, you haven’t really had a reason to. But maybe you could surprise him today.

“Okay, babe. Just get some rest, okay?”

“Sure, baby.” He chuckles, checking the time on his wrist. “We can talk more later, okay?”

“Okay,” Pouting, you pull into your parking lot, wishing the call didn’t have to end.

“I love you, sweetheart.” He says it with intention, like he’s apologizing for your time apart.

“I love you, too.” And while your response isn’t said as sweetly, he accepts it, promising to text you soon.

As soon as the call ends, you’re scurrying inside to see what food you have. Instead of just visiting him, you figure you’ll bring him some dinner. He did say he was busy, maybe he hasn’t had the chance to eat yet.

Thinking back to the first time he stayed in your apartment, you remember one of his favorite meals. Easily enough, you find noodles and alfredo sauce in the cupboard, and some frozen chicken in the freezer.

“Who?”

“Dave York… does he, does he not work here?” It’s the third time you’ve had to ask for him, and everyone’s been acting super strange.

“No, he does, he does. I just… are you one of his daughters?” And now, you freeze up. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“I’m… a friend. Can you just tell me where to find him, please?” Did it have to be that big of a deal?

Though, you suppose it should be a big deal. This isn’t just any office, it’s the office for the Central Intelligence Agency. Maybe you should’ve thought this through.

“Sure… just let me give him a call. What was your name?”

Sighing, you hand your ID to the man at the front desk, watching him eye it while picking up the phone. He dials a quick number, Dave’s voice heard on the other end almost immediately.

“Yeah, I’ve got a younger woman here that’s asking for you.”

At this, he sounds flustered, though you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. But then this man is repeating your name, and he goes silent. Shit, is he upset that you’re here? Maybe this was a bad idea. Shit, shit.

“Ma’am?”

“Hm? Yes?” Startled out of your worried haze, the man says, “You can go in. He’s right down that hall, and to your right. Office number twenty-nine.”

Raising your brows, you feel a surge of adrenaline burst inside. “Oh… okay, thank you.”

You’re very suddenly intimidated by your surroundings. Everything looks so… professional, monochrome colors and sleek lines, engraved name cards and security surveillance at every turn. Regardless, you make your way down, albeit with timid steps. And when you’re at his door, you take in a deep breath. Gulping, you lift your hand, knuckles knocking shyly against the door.

“Come in.” His voice is deep, loud, demanding that you enter.

Slowly, you twist the knob, urging the hunk of wood forward. Peaking your head inside, you’re met with an abundance of dark wood and grays. Wooden side tables and shelves, and further in, a dark wooden desk, too.

“H-Hey, hi.” Grinning sheepishly, you fully make your way in, closing the door behind you.

“Hey…” Standing from his desk, you’re not quite sure how to read his expression. Both hands fall to his shirt, fiddling with his buttons. “What…” Walking toward you, he exhales a nervous breath. “What’re you doing here?”

“I, well…” Lifting the tupperware in your hand, you glance down, explaining, “I wanted to bring you dinner.”

As soon as he sees it, his eyes are wide, lips parting slightly. “You… brought me dinner?”

“Mhm, I made it. It’s chicken alfredo, I… I thought you’d like it.”

“Baby,” And the way he says it prompts your eyes to return to him. “Thank you.”

He takes the container so gingerly that you’d assume it was glass if you didn’t already know better. Spinning on his heels, he sets it on his desk, just as quickly turning back to you.

“Oh!”

“Thank you, baby.” Reaching out, he pulls you tightly into his arms, heart beating out of his chest. You can feel it against your own, your hands sliding up to wrap around his neck.

“Of course,” You’re flush from his reaction, beyond happy to see him this way. “I’m so glad you’re happy to see me.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asks, loosening his grip to kiss your forehead. And then he’s turning, walking back to his desk.

“I don’t know, I’ve just never been here before and I got… nervous.”

“You’re cute when you’re nervous.” He’s chuckling, opening up the container and grabbing the silverware you brought with it.

Slinking into one of the chairs before his desk, you grin, watching him dig in. And in this brief lull, you take a look around his office, having wondered what it’d be like in here. All the lights are warm-toned, his shelves full of novels and his desk incredibly clean. Usually though, it’s quite messy. He’s lucky his secretary called first, it gave him time to hide a few things before you came in.

“Did you eat?”

“Yeah, I ate at home. Don’t worry about me.”

All he can do is stop and stare at you, smiling sweetly. No one’s ever been so thoughtful toward him before. In all their years of marriage, Carol never thought to do this. And if she did, she never followed through on it.

“You’re so sweet, honey.”

“Yeah well I try.” You respond, rolling your eyes with a grin.

With an ounce of confidence, you stand, making your way behind his desk. Wrapping your arms around him from behind his chair, you lean down, kissing his cheek.

“I was a little bit nervous, if I’m being honest.”

“Why?”

“Well, everyone knows I’m married, baby.” He laughs, thinking that was obvious. “And now I have some young girl bringing me food.”

Shrugging, you grin. “Maybe they’ll be impressed.”

Setting down his fork, he grins, turning a bit. “C’mere.” Grabbing hold of your hips, he pulls you into his lap, your back pressing against his chest. “I’m impressed.”

“With what?” You giggle, feeling his lips dragging over your neck.

“How caring you are, baby.” Kissing your neck, he grins, hands unwilling to move from your hips. “I’m lucky to have you.”

Tilting your head back onto his shoulder, you sigh. “I’ve missed this.”

“I know…” Dave groans, “I can’t wait to take you on this trip, do whatever I want with you for days.”

“You could do whatever you want with me right now.” You return, eyeing him from the side.

As if the sound was meant to directly ruin your moment, his work phone rings. And then, a notification pops up on his laptop. A work meeting.

“Yeah, not while talking to my bosses.”

Frowning, you release a pouty huff. “Could I maybe… stay? I’ll be quiet, I promise!”

At first, he’s inclined to say no. He isn’t sure what this meeting is about, but… he could always take it on his AirPods, too.

“Sure, baby. Just keep quiet, okay?”

Your face lights up at his words, nodding enthusiastically. Darting to the side, you grab a chair, pulling it up beside him. It takes all but two seconds for him to connect the call, popping in one of the small, white earbuds.

It’s cute, really, how sweetly you cuddle up to him. But can you help it? Going days without him feels like a fucking crime. And since he’s not on camera, you really can snuggle him, looping an arm around his and nuzzling into his shoulder.

Smiling, he enters the chat, happy to hear it’s about the upcoming trip. “Yeah, the tickets are set. Resnik checked into the hotel already, I’ll be meeting him early Friday. Yep, leaving Thursday night.”

He’s going through the facts, just running over the plan, but even though the conversation is mundane, you couldn’t be more entertained. The smooth melody of his voice lulls you into relaxation, that baritone sound rumbling in his throat.

Something about laying on the sturdiness of him, listening to him converse nonchalantly with his coworkers, it’s healing your inner child. Even though he’s at work, clearly busy, he still wants you here. He still does his best to make sure you know you’re loved.

“Come here.”

“Sh!” You giggle, moving with him. “We have to be quiet!”

“I know that.” Dave grunts in response, pulling you into his body again.

It all happened so quickly, him waking you up before leaving the office. You’re shocked that you fell asleep in the first place. Thinking back, you weren’t even that tired. Maybe he just made you that comfortable.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t have my fun with you.” He finishes, biting into your neck.

After he woke you up, he suggested that you come back to his home. Truthfully, it’s become far too easy for this to take place, for you to fuck Molly’s dad just down the hall from her bedroom. Coming home past midnight, he’s certain that his family will be asleep. And as long as you’re out before six the next morning, you’re in the clear. And anyways, he’d missed having you in his bed, beneath his body and hands. There was a point where you’d told him that you wanted a home, a home to share with him. And after that, he kind of lost it.

At first, it was innocent, the two of you snuggling in your undies together. He locked the door after you were both inside, releasing a contended breath once he finally got to hold you. Dave wrapped the covers around the two of you, settling into his bed. But then you were shifting, trying to get ‘comfortable’, all while grinding back against him.

“You know what I can’t stop thinking about? Your gorgeous fucking mouth,” Reaching up, he covers it with his palm, hissing into your ear, “And all the sexy sounds it makes.”

He’s holding you from behind, having shoved your panties to the side. Slipping himself out of his boxers, he slides along the slickness of your sex, grunting hot breaths directly into your ear.

“Jesus, baby, you don’t understand. You can’t do that to me, you can’t grind that perfect ass against me. I just, fuck, I cum so fucking easy with you.”

And while he’s talking, only riling himself up, you’re still doing it, shoving yourself back against him. Both of your hands are clinging to his forearm, lungs doing their best to release quiet breaths.

“Every time you leave, I think about you, baby. I think about you every goddamn second of the day. Think about your beautiful lips, tapping the head of my dick against them.” And that’s when you release your first, true moan, eyes fluttering just above his hand. “You want it, princess? You want me?”

It’s a smile whine, one accompanied with a nod, that you give in response. And with one small slip, barely adjusting the angle of his hips, he’s sliding in. It feels like it’s been forever since you felt him, the thickness of him splitting you open from behind.

“Talk to me,” He finally gives in, taking his hand away. “Talk to me, baby.”

“Baby,” You nearly squeal, feeling his hips thrust into you. All at once, he’s forcing you to take him, every inch. And it burns but it feels just right. “Fuck, I need this.”

“C’mon,” Dave grunts, teeth dragging along your neck. Sliding one hand down, he smacks your outer thigh, demanding, “Grind yourself against me.” And like always, you give in.

“More, daddy.” Already, your breaths have turned heavy, feeling his hips rotate against your ass. The sting of his slap still radiates along your skin, his fingers now pressing into the plump muscles he can’t seem to get enough of.

“I can’t wait to give you more, I’ll give you everything.” He promises, huffing out a deep moan. “When we’re on our trip, I’ll taste you everyday, every goddamn day.”

“David,” He’s pumping himself into you, meeting the smooth rotation of your hips.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to have your mouth on my cock again. Shove it down your throat and make you look up at me while you swallow.” He can’t even begin to tell you about the fantasies he’s dreamt up about this trip. “I can’t wait to take you with me.”

“I…” Sighing, you smile. “I can’t wait, daddy.”

“Daddy’ll give you whatever you want, okay, baby? Whatever you need, it’s yours, it’s yours, princess. Fuck.” Sliding his hand down, he fondles your chest, gripping you in hand. “Maybe I can show you off, take you to some beaches and clubs.”

“R-Really?”

“Fuck yes, you think I’d pass up that opportunity?” You hate to say it, but feeling like a prize to him is making you drip. “Let everyone see the sexy little thing that’s with me… Fuck, you can be so dirty, can’t you, baby? Sending me pictures of your pussy, huh? Letting me see up your cheer skirt?”

“I, I want that. Want you to do that.”

“I already have.”

“No, baby…”

“What?” Pressing his nose into your cheek, he groans. “What do you need?”

“Want you to do that at our next game.” And you almost can’t help the wicked smile that forms on your face.

“Yeah? At halftime? Just like how we first met?”

“Yes, baby.” The feeling of his cock dragging along your walls is almost too much when coupled with his words. And before you even realize it, your hips are stuttering in their motion.

“Did I tell you to stop?” Another harsh spank, one loud enough for you to worry.

“Daddy,”

“You like that?”

“You know I do.”

You can feel his stubble scratching along your jawline and cheek, his lips insistent in their kisses. But then he’s lowering himself, finding and then sucking on your neck.

“Do you like it, daddy? You like being inside me?”

“Fuck,” It’s a growl, one vibrating over your throat.

At this point, he’s slapping his hips against you, diving deeper every time.

“I loved sitting in your lap, daddy. Maybe I can do that more often at your office.”

“Maybe you can do a little more than that.”

You’re pulsing around him, trying to quiet your shrill gasps. Molly and Alice are just down the hall, and so is Carol. And to think you’re fucking their dad makes you hot all over again. It’s become so exciting. Hell, who are you kidding? It’s always been exciting.

“I love you, sweetheart. You were meant for this, you were made for me. Even when apart, I still want you. I still need you.”

“I need you, David.” Clinging to his forearm, you release a soft moan, feeling his tip punch against your most sensitive spot. “I love you.”

“B-Baby,” He suddenly stutters, holding you tighter in his grasp. And you almost can’t breathe from it, can’t think of anything else but him.

“I know, daddy. Will you cum inside me?”

“Jesus,” Eyes rolling back, he grunts. “You’re perfect for me.”

The sloppy sound of your meeting sexes makes your face burn, and if it weren’t for the loud fan in David’s room, you’d be worried. It makes you grateful for the times you get at your apartment, where you can be as loud and sloppy as you want. And you’re sure this vacation won’t be any different.

“I’m gonna take you with me,” He promises breathlessly, eyes pinching shut. His tongue is laving over your neck, lips kissing your jawline and cheek, moaning sweetly, desperately into your ear. “I can’t wait to take you with me.” In less than three sharp thrusts, he’s spilling into you, feeling the hot liquid rush out of his tip. It shoots into your center, the gooiness of it coating your insides white. His muscles turn to jelly, his once steady breaths now faltering, especially when you shove your hips back against him.

“I love you,” He proclaims through his high, his voice and chest straining as he speaks to you. “I love you, sweetheart. You’re mine.”

“I know,” You promise in return, nuzzling back into his barely-covered body. “I know, baby. And you’re mine.” Reaching around, your fingers find that soft, light brown hair, finding gentle purchase with it.

“You’ll always be with me, I promise.” Kissing the shell of your ear, David sighs, basking in the sensation of your fingers in his hair. “Princess, I’ll take you everywhere.”

#Dave York #MBFD #MBFD Series #My Best Friend's Dad #My Best Friend's Dad Series #Dave York x you #Dave York x reader #Dave York x female reader #Dave York smut #Dave York fluff #Dave York series

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everettswritings · 1 year ago

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I have nothing to say other than the usual “this is purely SFW, NSFW isn’t welcome. Begone!”

Hollyberry definitely spoils you, but Golden Cheese? Dear god, you’ll be spoiled rotten to the very core!

Just look at an item and she’ll be like “Oh, you want it? Here you go, it’s yours!”

Literally just gives you whatever you want whenever you want, there’s no stopping her. I genuinely can’t emphasize this enough!

Very much enjoys dressing you up, she can’t help but love to put you in adorable outfits!

Very, VERY affectionate! Even when you’re just chilling, coloring or something, she’ll be right next to you! There’s no way to pry this woman off of you

Kisses and hugs are definitely regular occurrences, almost a twenty four hour thing

Calls you the following: my baby, precious, my treasure, littlest, sweetest, cutie, and a lot more that would take a century to list

She is always incredibly delighted when you call her “mommy”, “mama”, or whatever! The first couple times you did that she was overjoyed to say the least

Everything you color or draw immediately goes straight to a place of honor higher than the fridge! That’s right, she hangs your works on the wall! There’s actually an entire wall dedicated to all your masterpieces, it’s a miracle that it’s not completely filled in yet.

Baby talk to the point where you can’t even understand her, even in a regressed state. Her speech has a tendency to devolve into verbal keyboard smashes because she wuvs you so much!(sorry for making you read the word “wuvs”)

Impure regression? Haha! Don’t even think about it! She will fix it effective immediately, she can’t have her little baby feeling sad or upset in any capacity!

And that’s it, everything else I can think of is more detail on how she’d spoil you to death. I was thinking about maybe including the other Cookies from this update, like “oh they babysit you when Golden Cheese is busy”, but honestly? With how clingy I head canon her to be I genuinely can’t see that at all! Anyways, have a good one y’all 🫶

#cr kingdom #crk #everetts writings #headcanon #headcanons #crk x reader #golden cheese cookie #golden cheese crk #golden cheese x reader #agere hcs #sfw agere #age regression #Agere #agere headcanons

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m3loria · 3 months ago

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˖﹙ 🌠 ﹚ TOWER SIDE MEMORY.

WHERE yohan thinks his members are the most telling combination of strange.

˖ FEATURING. hong yohan, meliora ensemble. ˖ TIMESTAMP. NOV '19–SEP '22, scene combination. ˖ WARNINGS. swearing, insomnia, mentions of drinking, smoking, fighting, this is not in chronological order. ˖ WORD COUNT. 8.7k ˖ NOTES. happy friday random account viewers, hi jj no.1 yohan stan mega oomf ily btw 😊😊 so i basically sort of kind of plagiarized this because its the oc work of the century.. sorry, it was either this or angst and i can save that for another time!! im an angst lover to my core lowk 💗 i will make these men sad, anyway, warning bc this work is non-linear, i love writing things out of order its so fun 🫶 yohan's the best person for this because hes basically meliora's face and jj wants him so bad 🙂‍↕️ me too honestly (i created him), this work absolutely killed me to write since i debated on how sad i should make each section, not everything is that bad though!! im so sweet cant you see it in my smile 😁😁

OCTOBER 6 2021. LOUVIX AUDIO BUILDING

hwan is low maintenance, yohan doesn’t have to be a genius to know that one.

through observant glances and itching from none other than haneul, he figures that encapsulating silence defines his character. when meeting him firstly, he felt just the slightest bit seen. it’s unlike the groups flurry of extroverts who get uneasy when they don’t receive a text each hour, the two don’t even need to have each other’s numbers.

friendship has never been discreetly established, hwan never verbally establishes anything, he implies it through actions, through baked treats and intricately created charm bracelets.

yohan’s gotten a few cookies, he thinks he’s in the clear.

despite the label of ‘hiatus’, he never exactly rests, not when the members decide to leave anyway. resting would equate to doing nothing, and yohan loathes doing nothing, maybe he should write a song about that.

there’s no time for anything, he’s let off promotions yet there’s still so much to do. hospital visits, meeting attendances, so much catching up he genuinely doesn’t give a thought about when he finally passes out after midnight.

what’s the point of being out on a ‘hiatus’ if the company can’t even attempt to get rid of a few unhealthy tendencies? maybe they want to make way for another stage collapse, that wouldn’t be too daunting. sometimes, he feels like they think he’s a machine instead.

the scrawled lyrics appear as more of diary entries than anything, what the fuck is he writing about again? if this is going like it does in that one story, then a guardian angel will appear to him and finish the whole thing instead.

“aren’t you tired?”

or he guesses hwan.

it isn’t as if it’s the first time he’s ever heard a mutter from the younger, there consistently happens to exist silent mumbles in the background of regular arguments. he usually does give his piece, it simply isn’t loud enough to cut through the ear bleeding sounds of fighting.

well hwan sort of is a guardian angel, unwillingly, in a completely unaware manner, but he acts as a preserver nonetheless. he scrunches his nose at the inquiry, biting his wince back at the screech of the nearby chair. “it’s only been an hour”.

it isn’t an excuse, no, it’s a fact, though he supposes any other member would graciously take the aftermath of silence as an opportunity to attempt a scathing rebuttal, hwan remains silent, much too familiar with using the very own words as a response.

he rubs at his wrist, lethargy staring down lethargy, it’s ironic. it comes sporadically on occasion, but he sometimes feels like yohan’s spitting image, yet the degree of timidity stretches.

“that’s still a lot of sleep missing” he laughs, a quick glance at the scribbled lyrics, he pays no mind to them, it’s typically a team effort, which is pretty caustic considering the lack of definitive teamwork between whatever they write. for once, uneasiness seizes his features, concern, yohan thinks in another life, he’d probably be the group leader. “i mean— i guess i can’t talk about that but uh.. this is your break, for, you know, resting?”

“i’ve spent half the time resting”.

yohan doesn’t find pride in lying, it’s simply effective in moments like this, where someone once again stares him down to inquire about the unhealthy behavior he can’t keep under wraps any longer, it’s to quell worries, it’s a brick wall used to at least conceal something.

but of course, someone so similar can probably spot that one, it isn’t as if he underestimates the other’s intelligence, it’s simply the fact of the prospect being a regular coping mechanism.

“okay hyung”.

his undertone is soft enough that it doesn’t physically irk the older, but it almost appears just the slightest bit condescending, at least he has the pretty smile as a sugar coating device. “i can finish this..”

yohan’s right eye twitches, yet not out of irritation. “no, it’s okay”.

okay is about the worst word to use.

“my handwriting isn’t that bad”.

he snickers, he doesn’t exactly expect that one. “it’s too personal, you might go crazy”.

and the excuses are going to pile up until there are none left, until yohan has to surrender his dignity to admit the fact that he’s scared, that his medication does nothing and the claustrophobic studio has already swallowed him whole.

but until then, nobody cares about that.

he shrugs in reply. “the intimacy is an important factor”.

“i’m gonna scrap it”.

this is probably the longest conversation they’ve had, yes, despite the many lyrical collaborations. the act of stalling is easy, and the simplicity clears the anxiety he felt encapsulating him before the younger entered.

hwan blinks. “or you could let me help”.

help should be a word of contentment, but that uneasiness once again settles, longing for solace in the air of a room like this is a fool’s dream, and yohan thinks it’s been too extensive of a period since he’s properly closed his eyes without fearing what would happen after sleep. sleep itself appears to be a dream, he reaches, his fingers just barely grace its curvatures, and then it slips away once hope emerges in a gleam, taunting, fucking shameful.

in his current circumstance, help could be considered similarly, he yearns for such a thing, yet it’s just barely out of his reach.

his glasses are fogging.

yohan sucks his teeth, now he actually does want to scrap the whole song. “i mean.. i don’t know how we— you would do that”.

he isn’t exactly sure they’re a team in his eyes.

“what? you don’t trust me?”

it could be earnest, but it appears more playful, yohan’s sure hwan is picking such words carefully.

it’s actually the opposite, yohan doesn’t trust himself, which is a stupid thing for such a stubborn person to say aloud, so of course he doesn’t.

“not sure..”

for the first time, his responses dry up, there appears to be no more excuses left behind.

there’s a smile, hwan lords his victory over yohan with that smile. “go to sleep hyung, i can finish the song”.

and it’s the simplicity which moves him, has him standing out of his seat, hand instantly grabbing his sweater. hwan’s smile remains, it’s a rare right, and yohan guesses he has the right to be full of so much pride. “was that a first?”

well now he’s just being cocky.

“i guess” yohan shrugs, he doesn’t divulge the imminent fear of closing his eyes which will probably arise on the walk back, a horror not even the solace of his bed can fend off. “one song”.

hwan doesn’t seem to long for any more. “aye aye captain”.

his nose scrunches, but he guesses it’s pretty funny.

AUGUST 18 2021. HANAGAE BEACH

kiro’s about one of the strangest guys yohan knows, which is the true surprise when considering his debut in meliora as a whole.

they’re all a bit strange, some members allowing for the peculiarities to shine, others instead keeping them restricted until they have to display such oddities for the sake of content. he’s aware that might be a rude thought, but he still holds love for them, eccentric characteristics and all.

and it’s not that kiro causes him to question his sanity, he has a good chunk of the others to condemn for that one, he’s not one of them.

he’s sweet, through the spontaneous peculiarities, he doesn’t make yohan want to rip individual hairs out of his scalp, he simply makes yohan feel indescribably beatific, it’s something about his smile that earns a responding smile. kiro makes yohan happy even with silence, that’s why he’s strange.

and this, for some inconceivable reason he can’t conjure, makes yohan happy, all because of kiro. standing on a beach to watch the sunrise simply causes warmth to encapsulate his heart, it’s cute.

yohan’s always been an early riser, he’s aware kiro’s practically identical to him in that field. comeback seasons been out forever, yet opening eyes at five in the morning to again face the monstrosity of this world is completely mundane, it’s always been mundane, established as its own feat of normalcy since the early teenage years.

when he sees kiro downstairs, hair already brushed and tying his shoes, he blinks;

“what’s going on here?”

he startles, yohan occasionally forgets the members are always so jumpy, he isn’t that frightening, he’s sweet!

“god hyung don’t do that! i didn’t even hear you coming down the stairs!”

it’s adorable, how he remains the slightest bit neurotic, korean stuttered as he stares him face to face. when they first met, kiro could probably only dream of such a prospect, yohan can still make out a fraction of timidity remaining, but in comparison to last year, they’ve improved.

“sorry” his tongue prods at the side of his cheek. “it’s so early, where are you heading?”

and yohan realizes he does sound a lot like hajoon at this moment. well, he can’t win everything.

embarrassment overtakes his features, it manifests in a red tint which is quick to make home on his cheeks, the tips of his ears rapidly reacting in a quicker succession, and listen, yohan is aware it’s the middle of summer, but the place is also extremely air conditioned, unless there’s some secret furnace he’s unaware of.

“i uh— um..”

take your time, he wants to mutter, afraid of being unable to convey that through his stare alone. yohan’s a patient man, and though time is precious, he finds that the comfort of the people in his life outweigh that prospect. “i usually go to the beach to watch the sunrise..”

yohan blinks, he’s unsure of how the answer appeared to slip by so rapidly, or maybe he should scrutinize himself for not allowing the endless possibilities which exist to spring to mind.

“the nearest beach is almost two hours away?”

“well i uh— i mean, i don’t mind just catching a taxi, even if they’re kinda expensive”.

he hums, observing for a moment before clicking his tongue. “do you mind if i join you?”

his reply is exhibited through the acute physical reaction which corresponds with the titular widening of his eyes, as if it’s a travesty having the company of another human being by his side.

that might not be the case, it may just be the idea of spending time with yohan which startles him, or perhaps it’s the question, the tone and weight of each singular word that makes regular inquiries appear so.. irregular.

“do you not want me to?”

“no, no you can come with i was just.. kinda surprised”.

so they do exactly that; continuously muttering on the way, even with the taxi ride stretching to just before the two hour mark, they happen to enjoy themselves much more than they assume.

“so is this a tradition of yours?” he inquires, eyes threatening to flutter closed from the sheer power of the sun, the rays stabbing at his eyes. his right eye twitches, but he doesn’t fret.

“yeah mostly, when i first came to korea this was one of my first visiting spots”.

a smile tugs at yohan’s lips. “that’s cute” he states, basking in the light breeze of the early morning, the rushing of the ocean filling his ears. “do you always come alone?”

kiro appears to attempt a shot at hiding, averting his gaze instantly. “no one wants to wake up early to watch the sunrise” he whispers.

there’s a singular tick before yohan speaks once more; “if you ever want to, you know i’m always up early”.

“aww, are you offering?” his undertone indicates pleasantry with a hint of genuine surprises, but yohan decides to not dwell.

“i mean— the beach is nice, would be good to get some fresh air..”

kiro laughs. “you need to make time for yourself, hyung, this is technically your break after all”.

“i am doing that” yohan is unsure of exactly why he decides to pose such an argument, tone too gentle to convey any truth. “i can just do that while also spending time with you”.

and he includes the nudge of his shoulder to sell his point, repeatedly blinking at the shine of the sun. “come on, let’s go eat breakfast”.

yohan usually doesn’t eat breakfast, but he supposes today is a special occasion.

“oh hyung, are you spoiling me?”

he can’t help his responding smile. “don’t get used to it”.

NOVEMBER 29 2019. HOTPOT RESTAURANT

apparently it’s a good day for hajoon, and whilst yohan can only assume, it appears the answer for his elevated brightness is clear.

yohan remains the slightest bit weary, not because he’s rude, it’s quite the opposite, he exudes a level of consideration yohan doesn’t expect from a guy he’s technically competing with for a spot in a fresh new group.

their skill sets are much the opposite, but competition is competition, he’s aware he’s gonna debut either way, maybe that explains his natural talent for simple generosity.

and it’s not that yohan doesn’t like him, it’s simply everything else that makes him strange.

which is exactly why yohan agrees to a hotpot “date” as he calls it. he entered the cushioned trainee dorms at eight pm, completely vitalized despite the tenor extending exhaustion. he specifically sought out yohan for a reason which remains iffy, nothing of a sure reply given for the question.

but he guesses that should be the least of his concerns when food is free.

he tunes out for a moment, only snapped out of his daze once the younger begins a fit of complaints. “you’re always looking in front of you, what are you thinking about?”

he knocks as if the older’s head will emit a sound, amused by his responding irritation. yohan’s face scrunches, his fist winding up just for nothing to happen. “nothing..”

“it’s not nothing” yohan is rattled by his chewing, his nose scrunch selling that idea. the younger decides to ignore him, hands clasping together in a silent sound. “come on, i won’t bite, what’s bothering you?”

“nothing’s bothering me i just couldn’t focus”.

hajoon takes in a deep breath, somehow not having his tongue burnt from the sheer amount of food he’s scarfed down, it’s still steaming, yet he doesn’t falter in the slightest. “is it debuting?”

yohan falters, hajoon smiles, god he’s way too good at that. “what’s with the doubt? you’re clearly going to debut”.

at that statement, he earns an eyebrow raise. “clearly?”

“you’re everything the lineup needs, you’re pretty, you can sing, you can dance, you don’t talk too much, companies like that in trainees” he muses, fingers coming to brush his hair out of his face. “you’re just like hwanie”.

yohan finds the words baffling, but he doesn’t display that, simply furrows his eyebrows. “and what? you aren’t anxious about debuting?”

“it isn’t exactly my whole life, this group”.

yohan is jealous. he longs for such laxity, hajoon talks about it like it’s nothing, but yohan’s putting his whole life into this. how is he supposed to face his mom if he doesn’t get into the group? areum? hyeri? yisoo? he’s supposed to pass, he’s the sibling consistently fueled with determination, what would failing even be like? how could anybody be relaxed about such a thing?

or maybe yohan’s simply chiefed by his anxiety, perhaps that’s the reason.

“oh”.

sensing the sudden change of atmosphere, hajoon begins whistling, playing with his chopsticks. “after this, we should go shopping or something”.

yohan’s eyes narrow. “if we do that we’ll get back late”.

he pretends to contemplate, clearly aware of what he’ll say next. “you need to relax”.

yohan clicks his tongue. “didn’t realize you cared”.

the younger snickers, slapping his arm. “of course i do! we’re friends now aren’t we?”

friends, well that’s a strange word. yohan doesn’t realize they had a label for this, hajoon just appeared one day in the practice room and yohan never questioned it, he never questioned their relationship.

yohan realizes that he probably won’t get another opportunity like this with the next year hot on his tail, once the idol life sets in, there’s no longer free time.

he sighs. “fine”.

“great! it’s a date!”

that’s probably gonna be his thing, yohan realizes he doesn’t mind much.

SEPTEMBER 3 2022. STYLE ROOM

yohan finds the members’ muttering easy to fall asleep too, the stylists hands in his hair cushioning his falling head.

the heat emanating from the hair straightener is surprisingly comforting, and despite the shouting, he manages a good thirty minutes of slumber before a tap on his forehead disturbs him.

he’s awaken by yet another tap on his forehead followed by the shuffling of footsteps, when he finally does open his eyes, he belatedly misses the absence of the hairstylist’s presence, instead alerted by two muddled voices.

haneul and yaejoon are arguing over.. something, yohan doesn’t mind whatever they’re whispering about. however, he notices the appearance of taro, who awkwardly stands by, seemingly caught in the crossfire, the image causing a chuckle to push itself up his throat.

the two others continue their “intense” argument, taro turns his way with pleading eyes, silently requesting for the older to get him out of his current predicament.

“what did i do?” he whispers, arms flailing slightly as yaejoon lightly tugs his shoulder.

yohan decides to pout for him. he clears his throat, catching the attention of his two arguing members. “you guys wanna know something interesting?” he begins, “last week’s hotel had the best desserts so far”.

and just like that, they begin yet another debate, a calm one somehow, taro watches on in pure amazement. “how do you just do that?”

yohan shrugs. “i don’t know”.

and honestly? he doesn’t.

the two arguing don’t pay attention, but at least the pressure is off his shoulders. he takes a seat in the vacant chair beside the leader, yohan gazes on, observing the anxiety permeating from him immediately, the maknae flinching at nothing in the air. “you okay?”

he doesn’t answer verbally, simply nodding. yohan hums, unbelieving of it all. “come on, you can tell me what’s wrong”.

he still remains silent, yohan doesn’t mind that really, he’s simply aware of how terrible it is to bottle up things like this. “aren’t you excited to go home?”

at the mention of home, taro flinches, flinches in the manner of a cat flicked with water, accidentally dropped into a bathtub in a ruthless prank by their owner.

he’s skittish like that, yohan has observed, he’s got cute eyes and constantly fiddles with his bracelets when longing for something to do, once the anxiety settles in, he plays around with the knots of fabric pressing to his skin.

gosh, yohan adores taro.

“i’m not sure, yoiki is excited but knowing my parents they probably won’t come”.

yohan frowns for his sake, but the news appears normal for him, his undertone doing nothing of a change. he blanks at the information, not exactly unaware of such a thing, simply disheartened for the maknae.

“are they working?”

“it doesn’t matter if they are or not”.

yohan doesn’t meet the members’ parents often, it just so happens to not be that much of a need for him, the members all have their own issues relating to some parental figure, and if that isn’t the case, then it’s probably much worse, stuff he’d rather not get into with the rest of them because dealing with trauma like that does questionable things to people.

his mother appears to be nice enough, she’s simply a massive workaholic.

his mouth dries. “hey, don’t think about that, on a positive note, your sisters are coming, and..”

“and?”

“you have us” he motions his head in the direction of the two softly quarreling. “i’ve always wanted to try soba”.

now that earns a small smile, the pretty stretch resulting in warmth encapsulating yohan’s heart. taro glances downward at his nails, picking at the skin.

once yohan gently separates his nails from the skin, he earns a smile; “i know a few good places” he mumbles, shyly looking away.

yohan smiles. “great, we can go together”.

he blushes, flush with endearment and a hint of budding enthusiasm. “yeah i’d like that..”

he’s unsuccessfully attempting to hide a smile, and yohan has to stifle a flurry of coos.

he simply thinks taro may just be the cutest person ever.

DECEMBER 23 2021. MELIORA DORMS

yohan comes to a not-so startling conclusion, haneul drunk is nothing different from haneul sober.

he supposes affection is guaranteed with a guy of that manner, when yohan first met him, there happened to be a distinct fashion of the air. he appears to be fond of everyone, everything, elated by such mundane prospects of life as if it’s his first waking moment on earth.

it’s.. well, kind of cute, in a completely abnormal sense to yohan’s considerably sane mind. he’s never seen the guy without a smile, every waking moment the feat of ecstasy simply heightens, and it appears that extends to tossing back shot after shot.

his face is painted a baby pink, the only contrast being the bright red of his cheeks. it has no affect on his attitude, he’s woozy, one of the few unusual results of drinking to your heart’s content.

“one more!” and when he raises the shot glass, it disappears as swiftly as yohan swipes it out of his hands. he releases a very intelligible ‘hmph’ and gives his best attempt at getting it back, just barely able to control his own limbs. “hyung!” yohan grimaces at the immediate spike of volume. “you can’t withhold shots from me, it’s my birth month”.

what an excuse, the younger about falls off his chair, yohan having to act as damage control in a room full of his other wasted members.

but he unfortunately does not let up, instead wrapping his arms around the leader in an effort to keep him in his place, or maybe the alcohol setting in is just opening the door for a mountain of affection he did not ask for. he snuggles into his side, and yohan has to keep a sigh between his teeth.

“are you alright?”

“i’m tired” haneul mumbles, eyes fluttered shut as he totally, possibly unconsciously, squeezes around his waist, yohan clenching his teeth as his own silent reply.

yohan snorts. “what about the shots?”

he allows for the crack of an eye, then his glance wanders over to the dormant shot glass, lips taking a downward turn into a saddening frown. if yohan didn’t know any better, he’d presume that haneul was definitively disheartened by being unable to enjoy one last “drink”. it’s hilarious, in another universe, he’d be rewarded acting accolades.

“you were the one who stole them from me? you’re such a phony you know what right!?”

lord is he still whining? yohan pats his head in a questionable manner, as if haneul is his son or something, attempting to console him in his drunken stupor. “shh! you’re too loud..”

haneul yawns, pinch purposeful. yohan slaps the small of his back, earning the best glare haneul can give with such droopy eyes, a glower which results in probably one of his fairest laughs in a while.

“how about” he begins, unable to slip from the compression paired with his physical feat of endearment. “you go to sleep”.

“i want water” he immediately demands, yohan again allows a smack on his back, perturbed by the change of his tone in the fashion of an unaltered adult.

“okay fine, water”.

unfortunately, yohan underestimates how much he would sort of do for him, it’s just so the younger can stop hugging him so tight, he echoes in his mind.

but he’s probably lying to himself in that regard, the contracting embrace encapsulates solace he supposes he never knew existed for someone like him.

he could probably get used to it.

OCTOBER 25 2021. IOYS STUDIOS

“have you ever actually considered painting much more seriously?”

the significantly strange wavelength of what they can call their “relationship” is probably what sprouted such a question. rae often inquires, he’s curious about it all, maybe he was meant for the stars, when his pupils dilate in his typically questioning manner, yohan can’t help but observe how they resemble constellations he so dearly cherishes.

he used to be scared of yohan, in complete tandem with several of the members, yet his fear was deemed different by yohan’s subconscious. it took one physical clash in the practice room for him to run away and hide, it provided him with excellent laughing fodder for a mere moment, but afterward it was simply strange.

the reason they’re painting is technically all due to yohan in the first place, he muttered to him that it was an “early birthday gift”, except such a gift was hidden from the members because they’d easily chastise him for not resting during his break, hwan already did a good number on him.

“it’s just a hobby” he mumbles, tongue prodding at the side of his cheek as his glasses make a daring attempt to fall off his face, steadily sliding down his nose. “nothing serious..”

yohan realizes he must say that about many things, because byeol’s responding look is reminiscent of many he’s gotten throughout the years when musing about his unserious hobbies.

“you said that about singing too and..”

that earns a snicker, it’s true, but they can’t exactly be compared. yongrae takes yet another glimpse, as if trying to take a look into yohan’s mind. his attempts appear to be futile, and he turns his head back to his half done painting.

“well that was before i knew i would debut”.

“didn’t you always know?”

he likes to ask questions, and yohan enjoys answering questions, enjoys relaying more information to his members in a manner which heightens their intrigue. he’s unsure of why they’re always so curious about his life, he isn’t that interesting in hindsight.

“i mean.. you never know, remember when we thought iseul-ah was in the lineup? we got fooled”.

technically they didn’t, iseul was a fuse, somewhat of a breaking point for the company, yohan doesn’t try to talk to him now that they’ve debuted, he’s sure the other holds back some contempt, but not enough to block hajoon’s number, he’s sure they still talk.

they were a.. close pair he remembers.

he shrugs in reply. “i guess you always just seem to know, sometimes i think you’re a psychic, hyung”.

the way he describes things always irks yohan, but not in the usual sense. he’s invested in the manner of his verbal illustrations, he longs to hear more. “that’s funny”.

his wrist has begun to cramp, he finally sets down the paintbrushes and adjusts his glasses. there’s some scrawled across his shirt, shades of blue he doesn’t recall ever actually choosing, yet they permeate the canvas before him anyway.

“it’s pretty”.

“it’s not done” yohan isn’t a perfectionist, he simply wants for it to be done, the chemicals sneaking up his nose. “i don’t want us to stay out too late”.

“oh, do we have a curfew?” the younger inquires, raising an eyebrow and beginning to giggle at his own joke.

“well you need sleep”.

he snorts, opting to frown at the mere mention of sleep. “how can you say that with little sleep under your belt hyung?”

yohan gets chastised for it often, he finds such a prospect hilarious, consistently getting criticized by his own dongsaengs for his terrible sleeping habits— or, he supposes insomniac habits, he doesn’t sleep much, he supposes that’s why they always point it out.

“i’m just looking out for you”.

yohan wants to vomit, he’s unsure of why it’s taken him so long to verbally utter those words to any of his members, but he really does just want that. yes his members are strange, out there, loud, occasionally they irritate him beyond words, but he does care, he tries his best to verbalize that with actions the best he can.

“how about we just stay a bit longer, it’s not that late” he excuses, he’s correct, it’s only eight o’clock, crossing late territory won’t be evident until it’s at least nine. “you aren’t even done yet”.

yohan’s gaze softens, he guesses it won’t be that much of a problem. “sure”.

his birthday is coming up anyway, yohan will do everything he can for him.

JUNE 16 2020. MELIORA DORMS

“and why exactly are you doing this for me again?”

yohan doesn’t mean to exude such a tone, especially with someone older than him, but he supposes he’s much too used to it. chaiya doesn’t mind much, besides the occasional jab at the maknaes whenever they disrespect him as the eldest member, the act of formality is the furthest from his mind.

“you have an addiction” he merely states, and yohan scoffs.

“it’s a healthy addiction” as if that makes any sense, he probably sounds like a raging hypocrite, but that would be nothing new. “better than all the sugar you put into that shit”.

“don’t you swear at me” he points an accusatory finger, yohan’s eyebrow merely raises. “i’m older you know, just because you’re the leader doesn’t mean you have all the power”.

yohan narrows his eyes, longing to say a specific something. the eldest seems to understand despite the silence, because he smiles; “you better stay there, not letting you run away from trying something new”.

that appears to be a consistent theming with all of the members. since when did they all just think that? why do they consistently tell yohan the same thing? well.. the ones who’ll talk to him anyway.

they only debuted a month ago, half of them won’t speak to him and most of them seem terrified at his mere gaze, but they all look to understand the same thing.

yohan’s a control freak.

how funny, he just barely recognizes the inner workings of all their minds, but it’s like they all look at him and think the same thing.

yohan enjoys having things remain the same. what’s the point of trying a new thing that he may dislike when the current wavelength of his life is somewhat comforting to him already? he simply stares, blinking at the concoction the eldest is pouring sugar into. his nose crinkles.

“see? you always do that”.

“i like my coffee black” he voices clearly, but he’s not going to listen, why would he? he’s already doing all of this, at least he knows a good chunk of the members are as stubborn as he is.

“i know that” his tone appears gentle, as if yohan’s some sort of baby. he presumes chaiya would be a good teacher in another life, the thought almost earns a smile. “i just need opinions”.

from me of all people?

and yohan doesn’t think he’s.. mean per say, he just thinks that his opinion could possibly anger one. he’ll leave all the blatant insolence to junmin, there’s so much which could spill out, but he decides to actually have self control in contrast to the other.

chaiya again smiles. “i don’t mind if you don’t like it, that’s the point of opinions isn’t it?”

is this how people make friends now? yohan almost laughs, this is probably the best case scenario of such a thing. “besides, there are twelve other people living here, i need to draw actual conclusions”.

he’s simply so cheerful, and yohan finally does smile, a small one, but a smile nonetheless. “fine”.

“see? i knew you’d come around”.

yohan snorts. “don’t be so full of yourself”.

the words hold no truth, bear no genuine weight on the confidence of the eldest, yohan finds it pretty admirable.

he can just deal with it for now.

AUGUST 10 2022. OAKLAND CA

yohan gets about twenty minutes of peace before his door is kicked down.

his eye cracks open, and he heavily sighs at the sight of a familiar headache. kang yaejoon just so happens to be full of energy, a consistent noise yohan begged to not bother him.

“oh fuck this”.

“don’t swear hyung”.

and suddenly, the younger flops on top of him, possibly breaking all of his bones in a singular movement. yohan grunts, but the other doesn’t let up, instead makes himself comfortable crushing him. “is this a guarantee?” he’s somehow able to let the words escape him, glancing up at the younger who appears contended by it all.

“this is how i show my love for you!”

“by trying to kill me?”

yohan is so fucking tired, maybe he shouldn’t have fought to be placed into a group with twelve other guys, his head falls forward and he takes a deep breath into his pillow. he hears the younger snicker, completely overjoyed at the prospect of the older’s misery. “hey, sometimes it works”.

“yeah sometimes”.

“don’t be so mad, hyung, i always knew i was one of your favorites”.

yohan doesn’t even attempt to refute such a claim, he instead decides to make himself comfortable with the situation in the best manner possible, head remaining rested on his pillow. yaejoon mumbles something that he doesn’t try to decode, eyes begging to flutter closed.

he’s disturbed by a whisper; “hyung”.

“yes?” he yawns, eyes now closed.

“am i really your favorite?”

he cracks one eye open, hoping to convey his feat of chagrin with just a singular movement of one eye. “is that what you’re most concerned about?”

“yes”.

“let me sleep”.

“it’s only nine pm!”

yohan typically doesn’t sleep early, but the tour has practically wiped him out, sleeping early is the only thing he can do in order to ensure he doesn’t pass out on stage.

he grabs onto the younger, instead pulling him into an embrace, one leg thrown over the other. “shh, quiet now, i need my beauty sleep”.

yaejoon stares, yohan can feel it despite the fact that his own are closed. “wow, you wanna lay with me? always knew you had a crush on me”.

“shut up”.

“alright hyung”.

he may talk his ear off the whole entire night, but yohan decides that such a prospect might just be the slightest bit comforting, even if irritating.

AUGUST 6 2022. LOS ANGELES CA

the longer yohan spends time with him, he realizes there are many similarities between him and kristian.

it goes past the amount of siblings they have, their equal adoration of cats, unhealthily taking in much caffeine, being much introverted, often on the side when the groups arguing.

he really didn’t recognize how much the younger is basically him in a skewed font, glares and all.

los angeles is the first stop on every american tour, yohan didn’t mean to study it, he’s just always around once the staff begin muttering about future plans, barely alerted by his presence due to his silence. that’s where kristian was born, he doesn’t often talk about it, not even to jaehwan, who he practically talks about everything to.

yohan’s only aware of one thing, a thing he’s aware of once it comes to most of the members; he’s got a complicated relationship with his parents.

not the first time with a member in this group, he makes occasional passing comments about how they’re probably crazy, doesn’t go much further than that.

he’s clearly been weary of coming home, in a fashion that’s typically uncharacteristic of him, his usually tranquil manner disturbed for possibly the first time since yohan’s met him.

and now he’s grabbing his jacket, heading out.. somewhere.

“where are you going?”

he produces the closest thing to a ‘hmph’, scoffing at the prospect of nothing. “my parents called for a reunion dinner because they heard i’m here”.

yohan blinks, studying the younger for a while. he doesn’t care what the members do after hours, he’s simply concerned about what reunion dinner entails. “and you’re really going?”

the younger shrugs, even with disquietude coloring his features, he wants to appear completely unscathed by such news. yohan again narrows his eyebrows, it’s easy to spot such a facade when you’ve had one up so many times yourself. “my siblings will be there anyway”.

“but your parents..”

he doesn’t finish.

kristian simply stares, attempting to look unbothered despite the clear lack of satisfaction emanating from him in all. yohan yearns to give him a hug, for some unusual reason, he wants to tell him everything is going to be okay, which makes no sense because the younger seems to despise hugs if they aren’t from his favorite person.

he pushes down such thoughts. “doesn’t matter, i’ve dealt with them before”.

you shouldn’t have to.

yohan really does care, he feels like hajoon, constantly babying the members even if they can reasonably afford to take care of themselves. with the way the younger stares, he can practically tell what yohan is thinking.

“don’t you think you should stay?”

yohan is really trying.

he tilts his head. “do you want my company or something?”

“no.. i’m just worried about what might happen”.

“well if i don’t come back then you’ll know they killed me”.

yohan deadpans, but the slightest snicker leaves him. that was pretty funny.

“if you need me to come pick you up i will”.

“you’re too sweet”.

it isn’t said like an insult, not in the manner it usually is, that makes yohan the slightest bit glad. “don’t get sappy”.

“i was saving it just for you”.

yohan scoffs, but there is nothing genuine behind it.

APRIL 30 2022. DOWNTOWN SEOUL

yohan never thought he was anybody’s favorite member, mainly because he’s always perceived himself as pretty unapproachable,

but it appears jaehwan enjoys differing with him even when he doesn’t specifically utter it.

and how he drew an impatient blabbermouth to his side will always perturb yohan, he seems to attract a completely contrasting crowd, which includes over half of the meliora members. jaehwan woke up early for possibly the first time ever (despite his day typically ending at nine pm, he’s always out untimely) and dragged a groggy yohan out of the house. the taste of toothpaste still fresh on his tongue, he barely had time to adjust.

“what’s the point of this exactly?” the younger appears elated by the sight of displayed baked treats. he’s always so happy, joy caused by even the slightest of things.

jaehwan continues bouncing up and down as he seemingly contemplates on what to get. “i just wanted to go out, you know you’re my favorite right?”

yohan is unsure if his heart should swell at such a fact. “oh? i thought it was kyuhyunie”.

it technically is, no matter how much it changes, jaehwan will always have a specifically special place in his heart for ahn kyuhyun mostly. yohan doesn’t mind, it’s not much of a pressing matter.

jaehwan frowns, feigned offense in the stretch of that downward turn. “things can change”.

well they usually don’t.

“do you want macarons?”

at the question, jaehwan plays at thought, though his choice appears completely avowed, yohan still squints his eyes anyway. well, he could probably pass that over with the reason that he left his glasses at home, what would jaehwan know?

the younger smiles, bright, all teeth present in the frankly pretty grin. “absolutely, do you not want macarons?”

he shrugs. “i don’t know..”

they do end up getting macarons, several flavors available yet all of them tasting the same to yohan. maybe he doesn’t allow for too much focus, perhaps he should’ve allowed the specific tastes to linger on his tongue, then he would’ve enjoyed them much more than it appeared.

jaehwan drags yohan by hand around downtown seoul for the filler of the day they have time, comeback preparations begin soon and it seems he just wanted to spend time with his “favorite person” (his words, not yohan’s, though the consistent smiles he earns are invigorating enough that he has no rebuttal), something of a mystery to yohan.

“how do you plan to afford this?”

“you mean how do we?”

yohan’s eyes narrow, his vision somewhat blurry as he eyes the miniature figures jaehwan appears so entranced by. they pose nothing of a interest to him, not in the manner they clearly do to jaehwan, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“i don’t want any of this”.

okay, not shut for long enough.

jaehwan pouts, is he really sad? that’s ironic.

“can’t you do me this favor?”

his eyebrows pinch together, is he serious? yohan about laughs at such a thing. “i got you macarons”.

“macarons cost nothing!”

“so why didn’t you get them yourself!?”

he opts to not answer that question, instead taking ahold of yohan’s arm and lurching him forward, out of the titular store.

his feet may have begun to swell, he’s unsure.

he doesn’t exactly long for home, a certain someone just so happens to be weighing in on his conscience, he surmises that going out is better than facing a member who causes his eye to twitch erratically, even if leftover mushy feelings remain constant.

“this sugar intake is unhealthy” yohan ironically bites into an abnormally large chocolate bar as he inquires on such a thing.

“you need it after all, you don’t eat any sugar!”

“i do, healthily”.

jaehwan snorts. “healthy is a fake word, nothing’s healthy at the moment”.

“how deep”.

“i’m being serious” he earns a mere shoulder nudge as his response. he narrows his eyes, vision obscured with the lack of his glasses present. “don’t fight, okay? i don’t want you two to be mad at each other..”

and maybe, for a specific purpose, he’s allowing for the words to escape from the sheer kindness of his heart.

“i’ll try”.

by try, he means he might just have to bottle it all up again, maybe avoid him consistently in the fashion he has since after chuseok, but it technically would be trying.

“no more avoiding him either”.

damnit.

well, yohan can’t do anything else now.

SEPTEMBER 9 2022. SCOTIABANK ARENA

they’re about two hours into rehearsal, the complaining begins as soon as the threshold is crossed.

haneul exceedingly whines about the heat, then suddenly jaehwan is endlessly complaining, chaiya is attempting to stare into the sun and yaejoon wants water.

yohan is aware in these kinds of situations he’s supposed to sport a whole responsible leader attitude about the whole thing, but he can’t find the air to care, a hand combing through his hair and lethargy sinking him to the ground.

“let’s take a break now!”

well yohan’s glad he didn’t have to utter it.

he grabs a spot in one of the corners, eyes closed as he allows for his head to comfortably snuggle against the nearby stage equipment. it’s possibly dangerous, though that happens to exist on a further plane of his mind.

he gets distracted when he feels the irking sensation of a presence beside him, a presence which has his eyes narrowing despite them being fluttered shut.

now yohan is unsure of much regarding canada and its specific climate, he doesn’t have enough time to delve into that one, however, the heat typically dissipates around early september, that is not the current wavelength of the weather.

when he cracks open one eye, he’s met with kyuhyun attempting to keep himself awake despite his head begging to be let down so he can doze off. yohan’s perceived his unusual bout of weariness these days, not that every member is not extremely tired over the soul sucking mindscape of a tour, but energy 24/7 kyuhyun suddenly becoming not so talkative should begin ringing alarm bells.

“you need to sleep”.

and yohan supposes he’ll just always be a raging hypocrite, sleep just so happens to be his worst enemy in the world.

kyuhyun turns his way, a seething exhaustion gleaming in his pupils. yohan blinks, he so yearns to give him a hug, he just.. he just looks like he needs one, looks soft, probably feels soft too.

“ouch, do i look that bad?”

yohan chuckles, poking his cheek as his lips take a downturn. “you look like you could use better time”.

kyuhyun scoots closer and makes his head comfortable on his shoulder. yohan longs to question the wavelength of his actions, but he opts for silence as a response. typically, kyuhyun could not resist blabbering, extroverted tendencies carried throughout no matter what.

today appears to display a couple of differences.

“maybe you should stack up on the caffeine” yohan sports, amusement elevating his words.

kyuhyun offers a snort, though deflated. “ki would kill me, you know, i used to be crazy for iced coffee, she’s practically keeping me alive”.

“an energy drink once in a while isn’t terrible”.

“you can’t talk hyung” he rebuts, not scathing, tone much too gentle for the perceived insult seemingly delivered. “your blood may as well be replaced with caffeine”.

“it has some good effects”.

“sounds like something an addict says” kyuhyun unconvincingly laced their hands together, a figurative embrace that surges warmth despite the hoisted heat in the surrounding air. “kiarra would faint”.

yohan furrows his eyebrows, somewhat offended by the certain insult. “well if you attempt it in a healthy manner, it won’t be as bad”.

kyuhyun sighs heavily, supposedly on the brink of dozing off, yohan guesses no energy drinks shall be bestowed upon him, he may as well just fall asleep before they can finish rehearsals.

yohan pokes him again. “go sleep, you’ll be able to catch up tomorrow”.

kyuhyun scoffs, clearly attempting to rebut that claim, unfortunately, yohan’s much more stubborn than he is.

“go”.

“okay!”

kyuhyun’s nose scrunches, but it’s clear he needed that either way.

SEPTEMBER 21 2021. GWANGJU SK

junmin somehow agrees to celebrate chuseok with yohan’s family and he basically has a mini heart attack at the fact.

he suggested such a thing for a blatant reason, he really really knew the extent of junmin’s parents behavior. yejin is constantly at the forefront of his mind, she’s just a kid, barely recognizes the reality of her situation and much too young to even attempt a shot at independence.

he isn’t exactly sure of why he so wanted to, he wasn’t aware the other members had plans. haneul definitely would’ve invited him, hajoon as well, shit, maybe even rae if he wasn’t holding fear back from clashes in the practice room. he took that as a challenge, it wasn’t one, who was he even competing with? himself? his sane mind that tells him to not continuously do this to himself?

when he inquired about it to junmin, the younger just stared. they had been.. well, what they were was complicated at the time. there was no semblance of bad blood, not any that yohan is aware of, he so wishes he could read junmin’s mind, he embroils things in confusion, yet yohan yearns for his presence no matter what.

“you could bring yejin too” he recalled saying, striving to appear mundane enough. “i know you want to”.

well yohan doesn’t know enough about what exactly junmin wants.

god he hates him.

actually, he doesn’t.

he presented a good enough smile. “sure”.

sure, yohan held solace in that one singular word for the week coming up to going home. he never forgets anything, but the mere idea of having to disclose such information to areum and hyeri kills him for the duration, his own head pounds at that.

oh, you’re bringing your boyfriend back home?

not my boyfriend.

she taunts him about it even with the most silent of mutters.

thankfully, possibly because the world decided to hand yohan a single favor for once in his untouched fucking life, his siblings are much too caught up with pampering the house’s newest baby to observe yohan’s impending impatience.

junmin easily slides into the cracks with such perfection yohan wants to die. he’s good at listening and he has a nice smile, yohan’s parents adore him at first glance, yisoo allows for his thumb to continuously point backward; you’ve hit the jackpot!

yohan hasn’t hit the jackpot, he would never call himself a coward, he isn’t, he really isn’t, on most occasions he would simply face a trouble like this head on instead of displaying a terribly manufactured facade.

“don’t get your feelings hurt, han”.

hyeri always says this without any additional context, but yohan isn’t in need for a situation like this. his nose crinkles, and she crushes a dormant cigarette under the heel of her boot. he presumed she quit, he guesses she lied about that fact to mom.

“i won’t”.

who is he kidding?

she does that invasive stare thing, her eyes narrow in complete judgement, she could never be ambiguous, nothing of dubiousness when it’s all scrawled over her features 24/7. yohan constantly feels surveilled under her gaze, when she finally calms the eyebrow raise, she sucks her teeth, teeth drawing blood from where they sink into her bottom lip. “i’m sure your members would believe that one”.

he opts to leave that one unanswered.

junmin doesn’t bring anything up, and yohan’s grateful he remains silent because dad and mom would probably freak if they found out what he was doing behind the scenes. he loves them, but they retain too much of that worry they constantly weighed down on him during his childhood.

“you’re making fun of me”.

“i’m not”.

“you are” yohan clears his throat, chin tilted up in a stubborn display of.. something. “i didn’t decorate my childhood bedroom, you know”.

junmin frowns, cracking his knuckles in his typical i just need something to do fashion. “the color scheme is simply funny, and you used to be so cute!”

yohan guesses he likes it sometimes, enjoys the fact that junmin has that somewhat exuberant switch whenever he’s with him alone. it’s such a selfish thought, yohan surmises he’s probably a pretty selfish person when it comes to the current circumstances.

he doesn’t mean to be, he simply can’t help it.

“could you not? those photos are essential for keeping memories alive!”

and then they bicker, it’s always the same between them, yohan finds comfort in that.

it all went fine, yejin is an absolute angel, areum wants to keep her around forever, she formed a strong ass attachment in just seven hours, yohan’s sure she’ll sign adoption papers straight away.

“he should come around next year too” his mother whispers once most are out of view. yohan pauses, blinking, throat drying up in an aberrant manner, he winces, accidentally turning the water much too high, he might’ve just burned his own hand unconsciously washing the dishes. “i like them both, they’re the sweetest”.

yohan might as well just die.

“i mean—” he swears at himself, how do you disagree with your own mother? “i can see if he wants to again..”

then it’s over, areum has to begrudgingly let yejin go and hyeri continues giving him that look. yohan isn’t leaving just yet, technically, he has a sure fire break until the company decides to shove him back on stage, mental wellbeing better or not.

“think they just found their new favorite” areum made yejin a gift, hair tied into twin braids and decorated with bows. she’s adorable, yohan is aware of how the easy devotion formed.

“she’s gonna want an invite next year”.

yohan frowns, playful, nothing real. “you don’t sound glad”.

junmin shakes his head. “no no your siblings are nice”. he looks down at the floor, hands clasped with his sisters. “i guess i wouldn’t mind”.

yohan wants to jump at the fact, that’s pretty pathetic of me.

“could you call me when you get off the train?”

and listen, yohan’s always been a little self destructive, he’s going to get hurt in the future, maybe he’ll cry, bite off his nails in anxiety, hate himself,

but it feels so good now, he’s afraid he can’t help it.

“of course, that’s no problem”.

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