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heli0s-writes · 4 years

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III. Paralysis*

Summary: “I’m sorry,” you sob, locked around Bucky’s bicep, his forearm, fingers digging into the smooth obsidian plates, fisting the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As if he were Natasha—as if you could stop both her death and his mangling, or at least hold her the way you are holding him now.

A/N: 9.8k words. OOF.

Warnings: Language, robots v. monsters violence, Big Time angst and comfort, smutty bits (dry-humping, thigh riding).

Trinity Epoch Masterpost

He leaves around sunset. Hair combed neatly to the side and freshly shaven, Steve’s dashing in a fitted suit and tie.

In the middle of passing around a basketball, Erik Killmonger, in all his subtlety, whistles, “Looking fresh, white boy!”

Steve smirks, smoothing the front of his jacket, “This monkey suit? I’d rather be in circuitry.”

He’s been laying low since Siegehook, since Bucky’s arm, and since you. But now the story’s changed and he’s gotta get his narrative straight— he’s introducing a new character, changing the players, and guiding the spotlight exactly where it needs to go.

Jimmy Fallon— Kimmel? One of the Jimmies personally flew into Hong Kong for a special taping of his late-night show. Orion racked up eleven kills; it’s another record and the people want what they want.

Fury called the three you of into his office after the network reached out for the umpteenth time. He strategized shrewdly to have Steve on this particular broadcast because it’s not as serious as a news report and not as wordy as an interview. Too many things can go wrong in both: cross-examinations, misquoting, scrutiny after the fact.

Steve works best in front of a live audience. He’ll sit down tonight—broad and tall—smile at the camera and the host, make a few charming quips, and then he’ll let the world know.

James has been hurt. The next breach will overlap his recovery time—don’t worry, everybody, fortunately, there’s a pilot available to step in and fill his place until he’s fully healed. And yes, he’ll be back soon, both in the Jaeger and on the show— I know you miss him, he’s even more popular than me, huh? Broody and quiet, right, ladies? He’s a hit!

Then he’ll laugh and field some questions about his new partner—but keep it vague for both yours and Bucky’s sake.

It didn’t need to be said. You didn’t want to be named, Steve didn’t want to make any assumptions for the future, and Bucky didn’t want to know if anyone thought he couldn’t pilot anymore.

Erik passes and you catch, sidestepping Thor and shooting over his figure which is no easy feat considering his massive height and the way Steve is staring you down. You don’t have to be hooked up to his brain to know what he’s wondering.

Since the trial run, you’ve been feeling the after-effects of the drift in oscillating waves. Sometimes you catch yourself standing ramrod straight, physically feeling heavier, knowing it’s him.

You okay? We talked about this. Yes, you are. No, you aren’t. It’s complicated. He’s fixes his tie the same time you spot a wrinkle. After-effects.

Erik jumps for a rebound when you miss the next basket, getting it knocked away by Thor’s enormous hand. Steve’s already gone when you look back, but Erik is passing again, and your next shot sinks through the net.

“That’s fuckin’ right!” He knocks his elbow into yours proudly, pushing sleeves over elbows until you can see the patterns of scarification up his arms. Feet back and forth on the scuffed concrete with distracted rhythm, you dribble, thoughts still on Steve.

“Hey,” a voice calls over the sound of the slamming ball. Barnes toes the edge of the makeshift court. A jacket is tucked under his arm, baseball cap atop his dark head. “Come on, it’s Friday night and you’re thinking too much. I wanna show you a place.”

He leads with confidence, directing the taxi in practiced Cantonese picked up over the last two years. Then, once disembarked, he peeks back every few minutes on the street to check if you’re still following. Your gait is awkward—steps firm, but lopsided. All off kilter and wound up like a spring.

It’s okay. In Bucky’s experience, food always helps. He’s taking you to his favorite restaurant—hole-in-the-wall Sichuan. He hollers over his shoulder, "You better be prepared for spice!”

Red lacquered doors open with a tinkering sound, a tiny overhead bell signaling new arrivals. A hostess steers through a path of similarly varnished tables and decorated chairs when Bucky asks for a quiet corner. Fish tanks of koi gleam green and blue. Chandelier scatters gold and white diamond shapes on a ceiling painted like a cloudy sky.

Hot tea first, and he sips carefully, gaze moving up to the T.V. behind your back when you’re busy flipping through the menu. A few more minutes pass of your furrowed brow sinking deeper and Bucky’s hand slides quickly across the tablecloth, nudging the booklet from your clutch.

“I got this.” And relief washes over your entire body like rain.

The appearance of entrees breaks your trance. Mai Gai, Char Siu Bao, Dan Dan noodles, and eggplant in garlic sauce—you’re trying to tell him it’s too much, wondering when he even ordered, but he ignores you. Not his fault you spaced out, he says, catch, and a napkin flies directly into your chest.

It makes you laugh, and Bucky secretly wants to tell you that it wouldn’t kill you to do it more often. Why the hell not, anyway? He’s tired of being upset about something that was largely inevitable. He knew the risk of death when they signed up to be Rangers so on the bright side, at least it’s his arm and not his head. At least it’s his arm and not his co-pilot’s. You’ve proven to be more than capable and proven to be someone he can trust with Steve’s life.

If Bucky had any doubts about whether or not that damned Rogers determination would see them through—they’ve been dispelled now.

The drift was sound. When Steve stepped out from the loading dock, he was lighter like half his weight had been sloughed off. When you followed, helmet pulled from your face, Bucky could see where it landed. Your hips, your shoulders, your jaw, all defiant—even if temporarily—coming down from the high of the handshake. Squared and strong, you looked at Bucky and certainty gleamed from your eyes.

You are Orion’s new pilot. He’s gotta give it up. It could be worse.

Bucky’s fingers shift as he unsnaps chopsticks and grabs spoons, the plates on his left clicking quietly, flexing his pointer when it sticks. Sometimes the prosthetic is a little glitchy because nothing’s perfect, but Stark and Shuri are constantly making updates. They use technology from the spinal clamp to connect his synapses, running tests on its reaction time, sensitivity, and functionality. He can feel pressure, but not pain, and wouldn’t it be nice if it applied elsewhere, too?

He passes your utensils over, wrapped loosely in a napkin. It could be worse.

“Hey Barnes,” you call earnestly, running your fingers over an embossed floral pattern on the paper, “Thanks.”

He’s not looking at you yet, firmly on a mission for soy sauce and chili oil. He makes a well of it in a ceramic dish and stirs with a chopstick, moving it to the center of the table, finding distraction in small tasks.

“...Barnes?”

“It’s Bucky,” he says finally, flicking his eyes to your hopeful face, “You can call me Bucky, alright? Usually that’s just for Steve, but you’ve been in his head—know me now, I guess. So you might as well. Hold your horses—I’ll serve you.”

Speechless, you put your hands in your lap and observe him scoop food, the syllables of his offered nickname tapping like a metronome over your curious tongue.

Bucky, you consider, watching the way he moves. Bucky, with his long hair pulled back and out of his cap. Bucky, his soft and worn hoodie, boots drumming gently against the table leg, eyes discreetly glazed over because he doesn’t think you notice the change in his mood.

Bucky, who made you laugh in the Jaeger hangar—even if he did threaten your life upon the first meeting. Who could have let you rot from boredom and worry, but instead took you into Hong Kong to his favorite restaurant without being asked to. Who could hate you—truly, truly hate you—for taking half his life from him, but instead is piling a mound of fragrant jasmine rice on your plate.

“What?”

“Bucky. I like it. It sounds nice.”

A clipped noise of displeasure, “Okay. Don’t fuckin’ wear it out.”

“Bucky...?” You murmur, sly. “Bu-cky. Buck-y.” The tips of his ears swell pink as you continue, emphatically pressing your lips together, letting your jaw hang open, pronouncing with precision. A bite of a steamed bun and you lick the edge of your mouth, “Bucky…hm…”

He sputters.

“Would you stop? Jesus, you’re annoying just like him— no fucking wonder— the two of you. Just fuckin’ darling.” His words are all run together with how fast his frustrated tongue moves, a healthy flush over his cheeks, spoon clinking on his plate.

It’s cute. Stoic, serious, James—Bucky Barnes– just a boy who can’t take a bit of flirting without lighting up like a candle. It’s fun. You like him, Bucky Barnes.

An unexpected ache overtakes you and suddenly Bucky looks more familiar than he ever has. Something excruciating about the soft crinkles of his brow, the way his generous lips draw back to reveal a sliver of his teeth.

He’s Bucky wiping the sweat from his collar in a dirty alleyway, jeans torn at the knees, bruises budding along his knuckles as he yanks up a troublesome blonde friend. Bucky, young and determined, helping Steve into bed every time he got sick.

Bucky, hovering pallid and broken in the drift, hurt and afraid but you felt his resolute strength in Steve’s head even as he howled in agony. Far off and shuffling in transparent layers until he was little more than a specter, but he was there.

His eyes lift again, raising to point you toward the T.V.

“There’s our boy.”

Our boy. And it keeps hurting.

You twist your torso as Steve steps out from backstage, waving and smiling, impeccably poised. He shakes Jimmy’s hand— silently mouthing thank you and hey because the cheering and yelling is too loud to hear him anyway. You try to stop thinking about Bucky anywhere but corporeal and whole across the tablecloth.

“Hey, Jimmy, how are ya?”

“Good—good, Steve. It’s so great to have you on the show again! Wow, you look great! Specimen.”

Steve chuckles modestly, tucking his chin to his chest, “Thanks, you do too.”

“Alright, no need to flatter me, we’re already in love with you, okay?”

You grin the same time Steve does, but whereas he continues to joke and enthrall two hundred people, you grow restless. Bucky refills your tea and drops a crumble of yellow rock sugar in.

“Relax,” he mutters, “It’s fine. He’s good at this. Eat your food.”

And you know this; you know him. Steve’s good when the questions get too personal and when there’s gaps in the conversation—when the cheering interrupts him or when his jaw ticks before he morphs it into a smile.

He’s good when he breaks the news to a hushed audience, gone eerily quiet like they’ve stepped on consecrated ground. Steve gives them those big blue eyes and the room immediately bursts into applause. Some people are crying. The host is shocked into wordlessness.

You feel relieved, getting what you pleaded for. No cameras. No questions. No pressure. The truth is aired, and Bucky seems pleased, too. You’re about to turn around, offer your full attention, thankful for his company, but then something else happens.

Jimmy blinks his stupor away from the blow of Steve’s confession. He takes a sip from his mug and after a short exchange of, thank you for your transparency, it must have been hard— wow I didn’t think you’d drop a bomb like that on us tonight! I thought I was the one with the ace up my sleeve— ha!

He points off-stage and says, “After that, I think you deserve a nice surprise, Steve. Ready?”

Tall, gorgeous, lightly curled hair cascading down her back—the surprise is a woman. She steps easily in heels, an off-the-shoulder red dress hugging tight to her body. Stunning. She waves to the audience and they go wild.

Steve shoots up to meet her for a kiss in front of the host desk, shaking his head in disbelief, tangling his fingers in her silky hair. There’s cheering again and the crying keeps on.

“Oh my god— Jimmy! You sly devil!” He’s overjoyed. “Baby— how’d you—I thought you were working.”

“I can always make an exception for my favorite guy.” She showcases perfectly white teeth and the high apples of her rosy cheeks.

It’s Ophelia Reyez, Steve’s model-turned-actress girlfriend of approximately six months. Her recent appearance on the Victoria Secret fashion show blew up the internet and her last Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover sold out in every gas station you went into.

Their first meeting was at a charity event—raising awareness about pollution in the Pacific, discouraging scavengers from harvesting Kaiju parts after battles. A picture of them standing two feet away made its way through social media the next morning her PR team made contact before noon.

So of course, it was decided; it’s a beneficially mutual relationship, after all. Doesn’t matter if he hates it or not—people don’t want to know that pilots live in a metal box and play basketball on Friday nights. They want to see Rangers in a role— monogamous relationships with beautiful people, white picket fence (or gated community) future in the making, and eventually plump-faced babies in strollers.

Steve’s now back in his seat, shifted so Ophelia is sitting in his lap, turned to the side. His hands are locked around her slender waist—an incredibly believable display of public affection. She kisses his cheek, leans her head on his shoulder, beaming brightly. If you were anybody else, you’d believe it; you have before.

“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw,” you whisper in both awe and annoyance.

“Feeling it, huh?” Bucky speaks plainly around a bite of eggplant when he notices your jaw. That habitual and microscopic signal he’s grown to spot a mile away means Steve’s irritated and pissed off, and now it means that you are, too.

“Yeah,” you admit, shaking your head. You turn back to him, thoroughly bothered, having had enough of the performance.

“Uh-huh. Everyone’s a Fly—even her.”

You sigh at the label. Jaeger Flies, is what he’s saying. Ranger groupies. Derisive titles— and maybe deserved— for men and women who are attracted to pilots solely because they’re pilots. They want the opportunity to be famous or the privilege of being elite.

Even her, Ophelia Reyes. She’ll forever look at Steve Rogers as the Ranger.

Natasha always lamented—usually as she took her earrings off after a date, heels slipping off her pale feet—about another civilian man who worshipped her, and how that would be a dream for most people, to be so adored, so revered, but you always felt her sorrow in the drift mourning a love she couldn’t have.

She wanted the white picket fence. The normal life, normal husband, normal family. Her clean break from the past where monsters could no longer chase her in Decima and nightmares could no longer chase her at night. Behind closed doors, she was all torn open at the seams. And you’d wordlessly tell her shut up because she had a family with you. You loved her too, wasn’t that worth something?

She’d spiral and spiral and nothing was ever enough.

Your stomach twists and it keeps hurting.

Bucky pays for dinner. He asks as he pops a mint into his mouth, “Up for dessert?”

“God, Buck.” You groan, and Bucky takes a second to run that through his head again. God, Buck. Another thing like Steve.

“C’mon, I wanna show you another place,” he says thoughtfully, “Hold on to your hat, punk.”

A lighthearted swat to your back and then he’s shoving the ballcap hanging from his chair on your head.

The streets are lit with all sorts of colors as you follow him through the market, peering at vendors showcasing an abundance of food and miscellaneous items. You keep telling him you’re too full and can’t eat another fucking bite, but he only commands you to walk it off. The crispiest egg waffles are somewhere down this way, and even though he can’t remember the intersection, it should be close.

Between steps and dodging passerby’s, he relates his own experiences of brief PR relationships. A Russian woman one time, and a Greek woman another time. Cross-cultural because it made the PPDC look good—and it was all about looking good. He loathed it, of course, but he’d bite down a couple of months before their representatives would release those asinine joint statements about “conscious uncoupling” – schedules too busy, still have love for each other in their hearts, though.

“Couldn’t tell you those girls’ middle names. We’d get together just long enough for some media circulation—dates where we’d pretend to be offended when pictures leaked on TMZ.”

“Well,” you muse over a vision of Bucky leaned back on Steve’s mattress, returned late and bored of another paparazzi encounter swarming him in the lobby of some hotel. You know it like a dream—his ankles crossed, shoes shucked off, cracking his neck. Fuckin’ wild, Stevie. This girl. My knees ain’t what they used to be.

“Least you got your dick plenty wet, didn’t ya?”

He makes a noise like an engine backfiring—offended like you’ve pawned off his prized possessions or something.

“Jesus—you’re an ass.” He slams the bill of the cap down until it hits you in the nose. Another huff, more cursing, and then he’s saying fuck you before speeding off alone.

You chase cheerily, finding his chestnut head peeking over the crowd with ease because he’s tall and hard to lose in Hong Kong. A few more blocks down with him looking back surreptitiously to make sure you’re not lost, and Bucky ends up being the one who is actually lost.

“Shit. Can’t find the stand,” he grumbles, “Don’t give me that face. These are way better than the ones we passed earlier—fucking all soft in the middle—fresh pandan leaf, alright? You don’t get it.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” you laugh, feeling your cheeks grow tired from the way they’ve been lifted all night.

A stifled, hot breeze of urban downtown mixes with a chilly gust of wind, carrying Bucky’s petulance away though the throng. Blinking, you look around, craning your neck and shuffle to the curb. Stalls with hanging lanterns. Carts lined with pickled mango. Vendors grilling skewers of pork and cleaving roast duck into chunks.

You suddenly dart from him across the busy road and barely avoid a rickshaw balancing two enormous baskets of finger bananas. When you return, you hold up matching green popsicles. One gets shoved into his mouth, other one into yours. Pandan, like he wanted.

“Hey, it’s not bad,” you give it another taste. Lingering coconut, a little bit leafy, but not unpleasant. “Oh shit—cold!”

Bucky licks his lips, stinging red from the ice. You shudder loudly as brainfreeze hits, another chatter of your teeth following when a gust of wind whips through. He shrugs his jacket from his shoulders.

He calls you a dumbass after an embarrassing story about the time you skinny-dipped in a pond near The Icebox in the middle of winter. A handsome man, your eager libido, and a handle of whiskey had been involved. You giggle about being bed-ridden for half a week afterwards, but you got his number and a few good nights in his bed.

“Guess you’re not as boring as I thought.”

You whistle, “Sweetheart, I got stories that’ll put some hair on your chest.”

Bucky smacks you on the shoulder. “Ass.”

The Shatterdome comes into view much later.

What would have normally been a three-hour excursion, at most, has unintentionally into six and you’re nowhere close to tired—not quite ready for it to end. Bucky is bright with energy, too.

The past hours have been dedicated to recalling old tales. One led to another, threads pulled from the most insignificant of mentions—your old Boston Terrier’s underbite; Bucky accidentally knocking Steve’s bottom lip into his own braces in sixth grade and it swelled up so big he could hardly talk; Natasha, unable to pronounce fucking aluminum out of all the damn words in the world; you, unable to pronounce facetious; and then Bucky, trying his own hand at it and realizing he can’t either.

“Fa—fa-shish-shush? Fascist—tus? Factitious… Ah, shit.”

“Buck,” you gasp through another fit, “Bucky—you have to shut up. Oh—Oh my god—my face hurts.”

“Christ, who fucking made this word up?” He turns the corner toward the living quarters, shaking his head. Just you and him between the rooms and his steps slow at the advent of an inbound goodnight.

Bravely, now that you’re in more secluded space, you offer, “I can tell you more... if you want. Anything. It’s only fair.”

“Yeah,” he says, going quiet and careful. “If you want to.”

So, you take a deep breath, bookended by a nervous grin because other than Steve, the only person who knows anything about you outside a confidential manila folder is dead.

“Well, it might surprise you, since I’m just so goddamn talented—"

“Oh, here we fuckin’ go.”

“Kidding. I wasn’t good at anything,” you elbow him before fishing out your key. “Other than getting into trouble.” Clicks of the cylinder and your vault door squeaks open. “Lots of fighting—I was a small kid. Had nothing but the clothes on my back and just the biggest chip on my shoulder.”

“Sounds like someone I know.”

Yeah. It’s funny. Steve’s alleyway fisticuffs might as well have been your own. You tell him as soon as the PPDC started recruiting again, you were in line. Their standards were confusingly specific and the tests they ran didn’t make any sense, but you passed and landed in Kodiak Island under the austere care of Stacker Pentecost.

Flipping the light on, you invite him inside. “I’d been in and out of foster homes. Barely had a high school degree. Got into… bad work. You know— what do homeless young adults with questionable moral codes do when their 9-5 isn’t paying the bills?” It’s desperate joke to break up the tension but he doesn’t take the bait.

“I’m not judging.”

You plop down on the edge of your table— a spotty metal thing pilfered from a vacated room. He takes the single seat in front of you, moving a dusty glass of water toward the wall, expression only showing attentiveness.

“Well, anyway…” you pause, “I was in the Bay Area after Trespasser— you know, scavenging. But, well, it changes your perspective a little when you’re sneaking through government tape at 3 in morning, stepping over flowers and memorabilia for all the deaths to crouch over a monster’s fucking toenail.”

“Hell,” a sardonic and self-deprecating grin, “I might have been a degenerate street urchin, but someone’s family got taken from them and here I was—monetizing their tragedy.”

Arching your back for more comfort, you splay your left leg over the surface, “Pentecost always said if I was lucky enough, I’d suffer brain damage or radiation poisoning, but might as well die in a Jaeger than in a ditch like I figured I always would. Son of a bitch had my number.”

Bucky’s lips are pursed lightly, eyes are tracing the path of your laces through bent hooks when you wriggle your boot back and forth. He spreads his hand over your ankle, keeping you still.

You swallow when he squeezes.

“Uh— I met Nat at Kodiak.” Bucky is warm. You oscillate between ignoring him and focusing on him, clinging to his hold instead of chasing the thought of Natasha too much. “We were… very similar. Childhood, um, troubles and all that.” You give him a pointed look and he makes a small noise of understanding with no intention to press for details, “She became my best friend. She was the first person I had. My only family.”

A nod of mock irritation and he says, “Yeah. Steve was always a part of mine. Sometimes they say they like him more than me. Can’t blame ‘em.”

“It’s the charm. They make it seem effortless, huh?”

“Fucker can’t take a bad picture to save his life.”

You laugh. “A smile like the goddamn sun!”

“One look into those stupid blue eyes and you’re a goner.”

“Criminally pretty.”

“Hah!” Bucky snorts, “Pretty enough for all of us.”

The floodlight on the wall casts darkness in the shape of your head over his shoulder. Lines of wayward hair caress his neck, tapered strands resting on his collarbones, chestnut glowing orange. His irises stipple forest green when it touches the light, smile nostalgic and lovely.

“Don’t be stupid,” you look at him for another minute longer, “You’re pretty, too, Buck.”

A raise of his brow. Bucky’s mouth opens and closes a few times vacantly. “Thanks,” he mutters finally. Then, bashfully, “So are you.”

Then, a cautious murmur of your name that you almost miss, and he’s peering up at you, deliberately soft. Bucky’s thumb knead small circles over the stitching of your jeans.

“You loved her, didn’t you?”

You loved her, didn’t you?

The years sweep through, passing over your face in a range of rapid-fire emotions. Bucky watches them change like shadows of a bonfire. Delight, amusement, longing. Anger, despair, grief. Deep and unforgiving because she was your whole world—all you had— and she left too soon.

You inhale and it sounds like a sniffle— exhale, and it sounds like a sob. No going back now; you did promise him anything.

You loved her, didn’t you?

Of course you loved her. Natasha-fucking-goddamn-Romanoff. Yeah, of course you did.

You loved her like a sister. You loved her like a lover. You loved her in reflexive ways, like mother’s intuition, finding your motivation in the need to protect her even though she hardly ever needed protection. You loved her like precious gems. You loved her like she was made from your own rib. You loved her enough to love unreciprocated.

“Well, you spend years living with someone, in their brain, learning everything about them— every decision in and out of their control that led them up to who they ended up being. Their—all their impulses and all the things they think about themselves. How—how they hate themselves sometimes.”

You’d always said you were the stupid one. Too stupid to reflect on the past and too stupid to let it burden your conscience the way she’d let hers. A running gag whenever her hand jammed putting on a lipstick she’d worn a million times and you’d finally have to do it for her.

Cheer up, Nat. You’re too pretty to cry. You’d line her lips, pat in rouge delicately, encouragingly. And then you’d shut up because there was nothing you could tell her. A million reassurances rolled off her back because they only made her feel worse. She clung onto your care like another weapon in her chest because she couldn’t return it even though you told her you wanted nothing from her but happiness. Jesus Christ, Nat, I thought I was the stupid one.

“When you know someone like that, it’s easy, isn’t it? You see them exactly for who they are and suddenly there’s no longer the concept of good or bad. What else could I do but love her? Especially when she thought so little of her damn self—tried everything to be someone else but—Jesus, if you only knew how radiant she was—”

You shut your eyes. “A smile… like the goddamn sun. Ah, fuck—"

And now you’re crying. You haven’t cried about Natasha in almost half a year because it’s something you track like the entrance bay’s war clock. Five months. Ten days. Zero again.

You’re choking back too many words and you don’t even know why you said all of that. You start apologizing, rattling out more, too much again, desperately like a prayer, pitch escalating higher and higher. “She deserved everything. A life that was completely—solely—hers. A life that made her happy— and why— why her?”

Why not me?

Bucky hears it in the silence. Watches it descend like a funeral shroud, weighing you down until you look as heavy as Steve on his worst days—when he stares at Bucky’s arm, like Bucky can’t see, can’t feel him there. And he knows Steve is thinking, why not me?

Bucky rises to his feet, stepping next to your uselessly dangling leg, resting his left hand on your shoulder and you grasp him, clutching achingly tight, torn to bits. And it’s too much all at once.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, locked around his bicep, then his forearm, fingers digging into the smooth obsidian plates, fisting the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As if he were Natasha—as if you could stop both her death and his mangling, or at least hold her the way you are holding him now.

You’re smashed into little pieces, barely keeping your head above water, holding it all in, and no one recognized how you were drowning the entire time.

Solemnly, curiously, he feels like he’s seeing you for the first time but not quite, remnants of familiarity sparks in him—the filmy plastic layer of an old photograph pressing down to reveal something he once knew and finally knows again.

You make helpless noises, staring numbly ahead, tears rolling out like marbles to drop into your lap.

Bucky shakes his head, “I’m fine,” he whispers gently—frustrated—brow furrowed, his fingers rubbing the salt from your chin, “Quit your blubberin’.” He tilts your face up to the light, watching you take a shuddering breath, exhausted from unearthing buried skeletons.

It's wet when he kisses you, supple flesh chapped around the edges from anxious gnawing, swollen hot from weeping. It’s soft and quick, and then he pulls away.

“St—sorry,” he says, mouth pressing into a thin line, lips drawn in and tentatively licked. “Sorry, I don’t know… I don’t know why I did that. I shouldn’t have.”

Your eyes are sad—big and vulnerable, inflamed red, confused, worried, something else weaving through the damp gaze. Your strong, small fingers are still tight on him, and even though Bucky pulled away and apologized, he rushes forward again.

His free hand curls around your neck, supporting your head. Lips part and close, pressing firmly, expertly, naturally. It feels like he’s kissed you before and missed it— like a kiss he’s been waiting on for a long time.

Banging on your door jerks him away. You careen off the tabletop, smooth the back of your hair, wipe your face and the vault creaks open.

“Marshal,” Bucky greets.

“Rangers…” Fury’s steps are suspicious, phone in his hand aglow. “I thought we had a plan.”

Your heart is beating too fast, the press of Bucky’s plush lips still warm, the scent of his skin still near. You sense it like an imprint, feel it like a brand. The room spins with an onslaught of possible scenarios—all horrendously unclear.

“Care to explain this to me?” The marshal turns his phone toward you, the lit screen displaying a photo of a dark street, illuminated by red and yellow lanterns. A thick crowd is spread around stalls of fruit and knick-knacks.

The headline reads James Barnes Spotted in Hong Kong with Mystery Woman, and the two of you are circled inside a red ring. You’re teetering off the curb of the sidewalk next to a sewer grate. It’s grainy and distorted, but Bucky’s striking features are clear.

“And this one?”

Bucky’s cap on your head, popsicle sticks between your teeth and his.

Steve Rogers on Jimmy! Jimmy Barnes on a Date!

James Barnes Officially Over Penelope Mercouri.

James Barnes’ Injury?

Fury tucks his device back into his coat. “Not that I care what you get up to on your spare time, but we had a tale to tell. It’s hard pushing an agenda when you’re pushing the wrong way.”

“We just got dinner,” you stutter, an upsurge of guilt rising. The speculation, the kiss, the gut-wrenching reflex that feels like a crime. Fury’s calculating now, looking from you to Bucky, assessing the situation with some pity because you truly look pitiful.

“What you got is PR on cleanup. Potts has been trawling Twitter for the last 20 minutes. For someone who doesn’t want to be in the public eye, you’re making a lot of noise.” He points to Bucky’s jacket still over your shoulders.

You tear it off. “It’s not—”

“Oh no—I won’t be losing sleep any over it.” The marshal’s single eye blinks calmly, “She can spin the story, but you become responsible for this.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, Ranger, that the spotlight is on you now. And there is nowhere to run.”

And if you didn’t think it could get any worse, footfalls down the hallway reach your ears in a pattern that you recognize immediately. Here he is, stepping into your room like it’s his own, suit jacket over his forearm, shirt halfway untucked and tie pulled loose. His lips drawn together and unreadable.

But you read it: Steve’s seen the pictures, too.

And goddamn, if you didn’t think it could get any worse— the earsplitting alarm announcing sudden movement in the breach startles you all.

“Orion Bravo, report to Bay 08, Level B. Codename Polidori. Category 2 Kaiju.” Shuri’s reedy voice is collected but critical. The thin screen next to your bed blinks on primary colors, wavy lines of activity rising and falling, counting down until emergence. Three hours.

Banner streams down the hall. The ruckus drowns him out.

Fury’s dark skin is ochre beneath the lights, “Category II,” he says, “Should be achievable. Odinsons will be on standby, guarding the Miracle Mile. Maximoffs on the coastline. They’ll come to you if necessary. Shelve your personal troubles, Rangers, we’ll continue this conversation later.”

Circuitry. Battle armor. Helmet beneath your arm. Muscle memory cuts down the time to seven minutes until you’re set to board, but you need more. Just a few—you have to tell him—better now than later—better from your mouth than from the drift. So, you blurt, “Bucky kissed me.”

Steve turns.

“We kissed. It—it’s nothing. I just needed to tell you before we get in. Didn’t want to seem like I’m hiding anything—I’m not.” It sounds so stupid, like a child admitting fault for breaking a window with a too-hard throw. It sounds like betrayal.

His helmet is gripped tightly in the crook of his elbow. Steve’s chin juts out incrementally, chewing on the inside of his lip, the air around him gone stagnant until he makes a noise both like a scoff and a hum.

“Sure. Fine. I get it—you’re lonely.” It’s worse than any response you expected to receive. “You know what I mean.”

It must be a testament to the depth of your connection now— you knowing him, him knowing you in all the ways that can make an argument escalate into atomic warfare. Precision strikes and then the two of you walking Ground Zero in its aftermath.

“Wait—you think I’m lonely?” You block his way out, furious. “What the fuck does that— have you met yourself? Girlfriends who will never see you for who you are. Ophelia Reyez? Katherine Lau?”

Orion Bravo. Report to the loading platform.

“I know exactly what I’m doing—do you? I spent all evening on T.V. for you--”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, Mister Martyr in front of a drooling audience telling white lies and screwing a Victoria’s Secret Angel in some penthouse suite— such sacrifices you’ve made in my honor.”

Orion Bravo. Report to the loading platform.

“What the fuck have you done lately?” Steve snaps, “Other than try to fuck my co-pilot?”

His words hit like a kick in the goddamn teeth. You slam your helmet into his chest and the polycarbonate shells knock together violently.

“I’m your fucking co-pilot,” you snarl, “You wanted me.”

Steve steadies himself, twisting until he’s snarling at you down the bridge of his nose, “Enough. We’re being hailed, I’m not breaking this record because of you, and not for a Category II. Get your shit together.”

You grind your molars when he pushes you aside, stumbling on shaking legs. Your brain feels gnarled—misshapen and bent up in sharp, jagged points—and as much as you want to stomp his goddamn face in, he’s right: you can’t feel this way. You can’t. It’s your first drop in two years with the best pilot by your side—and you’re responsible for his life. The last one proved disastrous, and you cannot risk that again.

Your suit feels heavier with each step. When you climb in after Steve, the rig feels more obstinate. Your head, chest, heart are all swollen with turmoil and hot rage.

He’s next to you, breathing deeply. You mimic, shelving personal troubles like the marshal commanded.

Out of alignment, the automated voice of the system calls, and you push it back further, grabbing the entire shelf and hurling it into the depths. Steve sends you an incisive look. A blame. You take a breath, another, and another. Fuck!

“Orion.” The heads-up display spotlights Bucky’s face in the control room, emotionless. “Focus.”

You inhale one more time, seeking reassurance in his unwavering gaze—necessary peace in the silhouette of his phantom left arm. Bucky. Steve. Natasha. You. There can be no more loss. You cannot let it happen again.

Levels stabilizing.

To your right, Steve makes a noise like he’s shaking something off.

Neural Handshake complete.

Bucky stands behind the glass, watching aircrafts lower their hooks. A nod of his dark head is the last thing you see before Orion is lifted from the hangar.

There would be a fucking storm.

You’ve always hated fighting in the rain because Kaiju are enormous, slippery, alien amphibians, and Orion’s left fist slides off more times than you’d like. This one’s much smaller than Orion, which allows it the slight advantage of speed, slicing through the water like a shark, corkscrewing for an extra boost of velocity before emerging with a splash from behind.

A miss when you and Steve weave away, hazarding a minor scratch to the right shoulder before Orion’s shield knocks it back.

Despite the vexing evening and the simmering hurt in the pit of your chest, the drift is steady. So, you take it for what it is, cast the rust off your bones, and the two of you do some fucking damage on this thing.

Banner named it Polidori, after the writer credited with inventing the vampire genre. K-Science sonars detected protruding fangs and petal flaps folded on its back like vestigial wings. So, Polidori, he shrugged, it’s cute.

You discover with swift horror that the flaps are neither vestigial nor cute when Polidori pulls one sliver of leathery skin free with a splat. An atrocious shriek rings over the storm as it struggles with its own body, then another shriek and the left pillar continues to stretch, knobby blunt end of its shoulder blade shooting high, ripping itself full of gaping holes in its endeavor.

Banner was more accurate than he realized.

“Orion!” Shuri’s voice is sharp, “Bring it down! Do not let it into the air! Use your cannon!”

You’re frozen stuck, eyes squeezed shut at the sight of stretched membrane. A terrified whimper and a puncture of nauseating memory nicks at Steve’s concentration.

No! Levels spike on the HUD screen. Fuck! Steve is caught in the undertow and the rig jams beneath both your feet.

“Orion! You’re out of alignment! Orion!”

She’s here.

Natasha’s bright hair is unfurling all around you. There’s deafening splintering when the incisors of her killer punctures through Decima’s chest and both her legs. Metal grinds against metal, the sound searing itself into your eardrums—your brain—your heart. Wings are beating—wild flaps of rubbery sails against the downpour—muffling screams from Decima’s cockpit.

It’s as real and cruel as the last time you saw it.

Bi Fang, like the bird from Chinese mythology, beaked and blessed with flight to make up for its one leg. Bi Fang the Kaiju was legless, and Natasha was convinced Decima could take it. You had no reason to think otherwise; five previous kills cultivated your confidence. You had her by your side, after all. Two orphans with something to prove, proving it again and again.

Wings and fangs? No legs? Six is an auspicious number. The smirk on her lips blooms fiercely. You’re laughing when Decima hovers above the water. Alright, Tasha. Six drops.

A tremendous splash and you touch ground.

She grins. Six kills.

Polidori has one limb fully flexed, fragmenting pixels bending into the shape of Bi Fang. Natasha is bending, too, lowering her center of gravity. Her elbows are against her ribs, fists set. This is gonna hurt. Come to–

Come to me! To me!

He’s stepping in ink. In water. And then metal is beneath Steve’s feet. There are flashes of rain, lightning, and he recognizes her dead center of the storm.

Natasha Romanoff, vibrant and joyful through the glass of her helmet. You, next to her, reciprocal smile on your face stuck in hysteria, tears streaming down your cheeks in wide stripes. Steve’s hand is reaching but going nowhere. Echoes overlap of crying and shouting. Yours. Hers. His.

Come to me!

He yells again, but you’ve chased the rabbit too far.

Come to me!

He’s trying his hardest, stretching himself like ropes to bridge the fissure. He feels your fear, your hurt, and for a flash, it eats him whole, spits him out a twisted-up way and his brain screams for Bucky.

Bucky is doing the same through the control room, reaching his will out to Steve, praying their connection still holds despite their distance. He’s yelling for you, too.

“Steve! Get the hell out of it! Steve, you need to get her!”

The ripping of his red left arm loops three times in quick succession before Steve can temper it down. Bucky is howling, crying, sobbing. Steve is breathless, stuck, rattled, steeling his entire body to witness the amputation for another inescapable replay until your frozen body smears across his blurry field of vision.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Bright whites burst behind his eyelids. Flares of panicked emotion. Bucky. Natasha. Him. You. An endless rippling chain of trauma lashing Orion open.

“Come on— Steve! It’s moving! Steve!”

“Buck! I’m— I’m okay! Just— need a second.” Steve scrambles for his sanity, latching on, knowing Bucky’s well— alive and not hurt. Shuri begins urging him to get up faster. Polidori’s moving slow, but it is moving, and it needs to be put down now. She’s calling for the Odinsons—Colossus, be prepared to walk-

The metal under Steve’s feet slides away. Water returns, ink flowering behind it—molasses and murky. His steps are unsteady, chest heaving as he advances through a field of speckled glimmers like fireflies at dusk. Each flicker reflects an agonized shard of your distorted face.

A flit of your voice rushes behind his head. Steve whips around and tries to catch it but no such luck.

Again, to the right, then gone each time he spins. It builds and builds until he feels half-deaf, frantically invoking your name into the ether where it becomes lost in dissonance. Butterfly-winged iridescence scatter and plummet, shrieking, shrieking, shrieking.

Then, nothing.

He finds you crumpled over on Anchorage’s shore.

Decima reaches sand as a crackling mess of Jaeger parts, chest piece ripped clean off the right side. You clamber out of the rig, hugging Natasha’s mutilated corpse. Your drivesuit is split open down to the hip, the glass of your helmet fractured and splattered with blood from your nose– still dripping.

He shakes his head, attempting to free himself of your scarred clutch. You had been hooked into the rawest fear—linked up when she died— gored and broken with half your brain believing it is also dead. Chills race up his spine and breaks him out in a cold sweat. He feels strangled to his very soul.

Then, seizures take you—the casualties of solo piloting—the neural damage come to collect. Nobody know how many miles you steered Decima alone and truthfully, it should have killed you.

Your eyes roll up to the sky, body convulsing before slamming into the ground like a rag doll, shaky fingers still reaching for your co-pilot. Steve shudders quietly, flinching with each impact. A final wail and everything slackens to a dull vibration. You quiver on the sand, howling and crying for Nat.

Polidori’s right wing casts itself loose, jaw opening wide. Steve’s on a time limit; there are only a few grains left in the hourglass. He croaks your name.

A second of recognition triggers from behind the curtain and it’s miraculously enough for you to see him. It’s enough.

He begs. He begs on his goddamn knees, crawling to you.

Look at me, only at me. Come back to me, please. Please. Please.

Steve gathers you in his arms, both of you trembling and afraid. Your suit heals itself, pieces stitching back together, blood little by little disappearing from your nose. Natasha shimmers away.

He presses the glass of your helmets together. He needs to get closer.

Steve? S-Ste-Steve—Steve?

You’re still crying. You’re breaking his heart.

Yes. I’m here.

St-Steve, what d-d-do I do?

You’ve got me now. I’m here with you. You understand?

He can see you struggling to escape, consciousness clawing with nails and teeth to return to the present.

Yeah. Y-Yes.

We have to move.

Steve—Steve—everything hurts.

Just for now. Just for a little bit—but I’ll make it better, I promise. Nothing’s gonna hurt you again. Will you hold on to me? Do you trust me?

Y-yes… Yes, yes. I trust you.

The rig lurches back to life beneath his feet. Jittery and creaking with strain, Orion rocks forward with a rumble. The drift stirs once more, noise giving way to silence.

Steve’s vision clears. You’re back in the present, precariously grounding your strength inside his guidance. You raise an unsteady left arm. He powers it up. Energy surges through the cockpit, tremors running up your side as it charges. Your hand splays. Steve’s palm takes aim.

Activating plasma cannon.

The beam pierces Polidori’s shoulder and its roar chases a simultaneous thunderclap.

A crack of lightning flushes the sky purple. Orion’s right arm lifts high above its head and slams back down, the glowing hot edge of its shield cleaving through Polidori’s skull.

Bucky’s grip on the control room’s railing feels like it could warp metal. Wilson is on his right, other pilots in a row next to him. All is silent.

Through the relay of Orion’s camera, Polidori’s writhes one final time. A death throe—pathetic trilling drowned by rising water, falling into deep darkness. Overhead, Kaiju clean-up advances, jet engines rumbling behind an ashy horizon. Orion’s shield retreats to its side with a wet, sloppy sound. The handshake pulled through. Steve got to you.

Abruptly, the room vibrates with the shouting of about fifty voices. Sam is banging on the railing, strong fists rocking the entire length of it, roaring with glee. The others are even wilder— shoving each other in triumph.

Bucky tunes it out, waiting for quieter confirmation. He can hear the both of you despite the racket. Steve’s steady pants, cut with throaty relief—this one, Bucky’s familiar with. Your small, weak sobs strangled with tears—this one, he’s quickly learned, but knows now in his bones.

“Twelve drops,” you announce hoarsely. Raw. “B-Buck?”

He grins, dazed comfort rushing over, your voice chasing the torture away.

“Twelve kills, sweetheart,” Bucky says, “You did it.”

The raucous celebration in the Shatterdome simmers down around four, sunrise just a couple hours behind the horizon. Unruliness had broken out, triggering a party that lasted from the time Orion got picked up ‘til now, and still there’s chatter in the common room.

It’s normal; Anchorage celebrated too after most kills—as long as no one died.

You’re freshly showered and changed, barefoot as you patter it back to your room. Voices from other beds are lowered as you pass—friends taking banter back to private spaces, couples pressed up against each other. All standard-issue revelry to commemorate the endurance of life.

It’s how these things go. Violence on a massive scale, humanity threatened with extinction—the people closest to death feel it the most. When routine becomes monotony, it’s good once in a while to be stimulated again.

Damn near two thousand people in close quarters—Rangers in perfect form, friendships assembled on the foundation of sharing an exceptionally singular purpose. Even Pentecost in all his grave formalities couldn’t ward off human nature. Plenty of pilots hooked up with each other and other staff in Anchorage and no one cared as long as it didn’t muck anything up on the job. At least the marshal could control that; mishandle your personal relationships and you’d be off the docket for your next drop.

Sex is biology. Desire is human.

It’s hard for you to feel human this morning. Exhausted by the fight and the prior evening—awake now for over 24 hours, you broke away from the commons as soon as you arrived, spending an hour simply breathing in the steam, the habit achingly comforting. Your chest still feels tight, heart bloated with invasive flashbacks.

You used to decompress with Natasha. A few drinks, tales from the cockpit, shadowboxing and putting on a show, glad to be in the company of friends— to be back safely with each other. Then you’d scatter with the crowd, meet her in the showers, and help her wash her hair in silence. Nothing but the trickle of shampoo down the drain.

She’d cry, sometimes. Catharsis, mostly. Curled up in your arms, the both of you cozy in pajamas on the floor. Then off to bed where she’d climb under your sheets, falling sleep with her head on your shoulder, your fingers in her hair.

A love unspoken. A home in the shape of a twin-sized bottom bunk. Cramped and narrow. Too brief.

You sigh. Everything hurts.

A few rooms away from yours, Steve’s door is open just enough for a line of orange to escape. You know he’s there, waiting patiently as he has been. You went near catatonic on the way back, lying down in the cockpit, no longer needing to be hooked up. You shed the armor, holed yourself into the corner of Orion’s hull, and said nothing when he sat by your side.

Walking in front of the light, he places himself in the entrance way until he’s looking at you. His face is a gentle blue shadow, resplendent halo glorious behind his head. He’s dressed in soft pants and a t-shirt damp at the collar. A droplet of water runs down his neck.

It emerges like an orchestral arrangement. Leisurely notes creep into your ears—a tune you’ve always known. Plucks of strings, escalating windchimes. It echoes, the trails on his skin, his measured breath, his percussive voice layering and pleating until there are dozens of him.

Look at me. Come to me. I need you.

You feel it all at once. A knotted, chaotic tempest. Hesitation. Confusion. Ache. Bucky. Him. You. Your eyes lock with his. A mistake and a revelation.

Steve holds out a steady hand. You take a step, terrified, pulled into his overwhelming atmosphere like magnets, your bodies humming a secret frequency, purring for each other.

The drift opened everything up, but the battle tore it all out. The both of you are laid bare, everything else fallen away.

Nothing’s gonna hurt you again. You’ve got me now, you understand?

You reach the shadow he casts, eclipsed entirely by his bulk. Steve threads his fingers between yours and with a tug, you surrender your worries to him.

He’s kissing you before the door is entirely shut and latched. He fumbles for the locks, wraps his arms around your waist. A click and a clatter. He moans into your mouth.

You exhale from deep inside your chest. He inhales like it’s all the oxygen he needs.

Your hands move to one place, his hands to another. Before your bodies can savor it, the both of you have roamed on, reading each other’s minds, knowing what’s next.

More. More. More.

It’s impatient and fast and Steve picks you up with ease. You forget yourself, forget the world outside the room, outside the three-by-three tile area of where he’s got you lifted, legs wrapped tight around his hips. Fingers dive into the back of your pants, squeezing, up your shirt, pawing at your breasts.

His groans blow heat onto your neck. You arch away, giving him more skin to brand kisses onto. He nips at your throat, light, then again, rough. His voice is raw and thick, husky little clouds making their home on your body.

Gentle sucking on your bottom lip follow each kiss. He takes you to bed, dropping himself onto the mattress, you on top of him. He’s been in your head; he knows what you like. Knows where you want him. Your voice is getting higher, sounds quick and shallow.

Steve guides you with one hand on your hip and the other beneath your thigh, soft pajama bottoms pressing against his. He groans each time you rock forward, needy for more contact against his groin.

You’ve been in his head, too. He likes feeling hands in his hair, so you grip his flaxen strands. He likes hearing, so you make a little more noise. He likes seeing his partner helpless because of him, losing all control, falling apart for him.

So you do.

Pleasure rushes from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, his name burning in your throat. It’s an incredible shock and you’re spellbound, enraptured by him drinking in the parting of your swollen lips. Quickly, he places you on his thigh, enormous and strong, needing a better position to see— to feel you on him. Hungry attention, eager eyes, pleading like a mother tongue.

“Keep coming for me. Just like this— don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

The shamelessness of it—your underwear soaked to your pants. The fever of it—his body like a fire, low, husky begging just from watching lighting up your spine. It’s extraordinary adrenaline— the heightened and profound connection of knowing one another in every way—as if you were made for each other.

Animal instinct liberated from human sentience. Desire pursuing release. Two bodies colliding and igniting.

You can’t stop the next cresting wave, crying out again.

Steve pushes you on his leg repeatedly, back and forth, solid and firm between your thighs even as you shudder and whimper, telling him it’s too much— you’re too sensitive. He kisses your neck, jaw, chin, cheek. He doesn’t stop moving.

“Hold on to me.”

A bead of sweat collects on the dip of your cupid’s bow. He looks at how sweetly your skin shimmers as you shiver, how your pupils are blown wide, how you look so perfect to him. He presses his forehead to yours, looks into your eyes like the way he did in the drift.

You reach for him and rub in quick strokes, fumbling when he rocks you back, gripping when he rocks you forward. Parted lips hover, “One more time for me—ah, please,” he begs, “Before I do.”

But he’s too late and too heated. Steve makes a mess of his sleeping pants, taken over the edge by how you feel without hardly feeling you at all. He buries a groan into your shoulder, riding it out with indelicate thrusts into your palm.

“Oh,” he murmurs, “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.”

He’s blush pink and beautiful when he remembers himself again, rubbing his cheek against yours. He knows what you’re thinking— the realization in the comedown, the leaching fear of what could have been a mistake. But it isn’t, and Steve remains faithful to your body.

“Stay. I’m sorry—for hurting you. I’ll make it better.” Velvet kisses to your lips and you shake your head, apologies no longer necessary.

A whisper of his name like it’s the most radiant word. You cling to him, kissing him, answering only to him.

In the afternoon when Steve is still sleeping, you retreat to your room. You pause at the sight of Bucky already on your bed, caught in the bleary focus of his gaze. With lashes soaked wet, his throat constricts around a forceful swallow.

“Hey,” he says, voice breaking on the syllable. He pats the space next to him and you come sit, turning your knees until they knock into his.

“Bucky…”

He laughs like you’ve told a joke, like the sound of his own name is a funny thing escaping your mouth. “Hoped I could catch you last night, before—” he laughs again. “—Before bed. Just wanted to—I guess I don’t know what I wanted to do.”

The hurt resurfaces. You find him through the rose-dappled lenses of Steve’s eyes. Those warm summers with two boys running wild, effortlessly devoted to each other. Your heart swells like you’re there, gazing at russet locks flying in the wind. Years and years between them—Bucky’s smile, lopsided and carefree. Steve’s gaze, illuminating Bucky in every memory.

“Bucky,” you say again, so wonderfully soft, he thinks, even as his chest feels stretched to bursting. “You love him.”

He places his temple on your shoulder, face hidden by the long strands of his hair.

“You’ve been in his head. He’s easy to love.”

“Yes,” you agree, touching his bangs, pushing them over his ear, streaking four affectionate lines through, “He is.”

“So are you.”

Bucky turns into your palm, smiling openly, like the truth is the simplest thing in the world.

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #pacific rim #marvel #reader insert #fanfiction

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orbitariums · 4 years

Text

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬! | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟗)

note: eeek i’m so excited for y’all to read this!!! it’s honestly one of my fav chapters. read up, there’s some tea at the end ;) so excited for y’all to read the next chapter.

and i just wanted to thank those who have been reading girls on film from the beginning, i started this in april as a quarantine project that i did NOT expect to blow up the way it did. i pretty much jumped into making a series out of it bc it was what so many people wanted & i’m glad i made that decision. so if you’ve been here from the jump and you’re still here, thank you!!! i’m extremely committed to girls on film & i’m genuinely eager to write even more of it, i have so many more ideas. & if you joined a lil later or just started reading, thank u :’) i appreciate all of y’all. ♡

playlist

warnings: none

word count: 8.8k

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞: 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬! | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

Four slavish years of dedication later, and you were done. You would be done, in just a few hours. You'd sit through a few boring speeches, sure, but then you'd throw your cap in the air. Then you'd really be able to sit in the realization that you finished college, an indubitably incredible feat. You'd been through so much, and so much of it on your own. You were almost entirely independent, especially over the course of these four years. The thought of how much you'd carried on your own back actually made you tear up.

Lucky for you, your best friend noticed.

"Aht aht!" Aaliyah tsked, rushing over to you when she heard you starting to sniffle. She sat next to you on your bed and cupped your face in her hands, wiping away the tears rolling down your squished cheeks. "No crying. Not when your face is this beat!"

"Happy tears?" you said, as if it were a question - honestly, your tears came from a source of happiness and heaviness all at once, from all this deep contemplation.

"Save that for the end, girl," Aaliyah waved her hand dismissively, and you couldn't help but smile, locking eyes with Aaliyah.

"Love you. So much," you said, for probably the thousandth time that day.

"I know! Love you too, sis," she pulled you in for a deep hug, nuzzling her chin into your shoulder. "And this dress is to die for. Don't get your makeup on it, now."

Another one of your accomplishments being called to attention - the fact that your best friend was wearing a dress that you made to your graduation, and so were you. You started out college practically without a clue - it seemed that some years asked questions, and other years gave answers.

"I won't," you pulled away, your hands still on Aaliyah's sides. You lightened up. "Now let's go graduate."

| | |

"Proud of you, YN," your mom smiled warmly.

You were standing in front of your parents, who you actually hadn't seen in a few months, despite them living in California too. You didn't really make it a priority to talk to them - honestly, you never had. Your relationship with your parents had been almost stonelike throughout your life. It wasn't bad, per say, but it wasn't your definition of healthy either. They were sort of just there, playing the role of parents.

They helped you when you needed help, but they were never really there for you. You had never felt comfortable enough to really open up to them. It was just another part of the reason why your relationships felt the way they did, why you were so adamant on protecting yourself and healthy communication.

Being here with them today was nice, but it was almost fake - your sweet interactions with them tasted like artificial sugar, especially when you smiled extra wide, so much that it hurt your cheeks. But you downed it like it was nothing. It couldn't hurt to have them here.

"Thanks, mom," you pulled her in for an awkward hug, then your dad.

You found yourself just standing in front of them, clenching and unclenching your fists, unsure of what to say next.

"We... made dinner reservations for this nice restaurant in town. We thought you might want to join us, to celebrate," your dad offered - at least he was trying, you noticed.

You smiled sadly, because you had already made plans with friends. Still, you weren't sure a dinner with your parents would be your idea of celebration, so, a little selfishly, you were glad.

"Aww, that's sweet of you guys, but I already-"

"Hey!" you were interrupted by Aaliyah's trill as she slid up next to you, holding balloons and what looked like not one, but multiple bouquets. Like always, her whole family came to congratulate her. You kind of wanted to see Aaliyah's parents instead. Aaliyah paused slightly when she saw your parents, who she knew too since you had been close friends for ages. She smiled softly, eyes darting between the three of you, and continued. "Hey Mr. and Mrs. YLN! Wow, it's been a while. Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to talk to YN about our... plans?"

Aaliyah seemed to be looking to you for guidance on what to say- you had planned something for tonight with her, but Aaliyah in no way wanted to interfere with whatever your parents had planned. She knew you felt incredibly neutral towards them, but she felt like maybe this would be an opportunity for you and your parents to finally open up to one another. Her plans with you could wait.

"Hi, Aaliyah, it's good to see you," your dad grinned, and pulled her in for a hug, along with your mom.

"Uhh. I was saying it would be nice, but I have plans with Aaliyah and a couple other people, so."

"Oh, uhm, actually, if it's a problem we can just hang out some other time," Aaliyah suggested, looking up at you for acceptance, shrugging. "And, my family wants to hang out too, so, I won't really be able to hang out tonight. If that's okay. By the way, my parents wanted to give this to you..."

Aaliyah handed you one out of her many bouquets, and you took it with grace, smiling down at the assortment of flowers. She kept looking up at you, and you could tell she was sort of pushing you to take this opportunity for your own sake. She wasn't trying to intervene, but she knew what was right for you as your close friend, and she figured both you and your parents deserved some personal time with each other. You and Aaliyah already hung out a lot.

"Up to you, YN," your mom replied, but by the way she was slightly bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet told you the decision you had to make.

You smiled at everyone, though you were withholding a deep sigh. Tonight would probably be another night of unraveling and healing, you had to prepare yourself. But until then, you would be celebrating.

❁❁❁

Steve was busy, workwise and otherwise. He was out of town on a mission with Sam and he barely had any way to communicate with you. But thoughtfully, he had told you that he wouldn't have his phone, so there was no need to question his silence. Besides, early this morning before he left, he made sure to text you a short but sweet congratulatory message to praise you for your graduating. As brief as the message was, it was genuine and kind, and left you grinning the whole morning through, thinking of him.

Now though, Steve was heading back to headquarters to report back to Fury, in the Quinjet which was being manned by Sam.

"Couldn't you have just flown back?" Steve attempted to make a joke, though in all reality he was tired and just trying to grasp onto sanity - it wasn't only work that was occupying his mind this week. It was also you, and he was twisting his own arm trying to arrange plans to meet you. Doing so discreetly seemed to be a bigger issue than he had anticipated.

"Ha-ha," Sam bleated, a smile on his face. Steve sat down next to Sam in the cockpit, making him look over. "For someone like you, you sure seem tired."

"Ahh," Steve laid his head in his hands. "Just busy. Work and otherwise."

"Otherwise?" Sam intoned. "Do tell."

Steve chuckled and shook his head,

"I can't really wrap my head around it myself."

"Huh. Does it have anything to do with why you've been so happy recently?"

"Gosh," Steve sighed, not even ready to combat the way he knew Sam was about to grill him. "Everyone thinks this is about a girl."

"Woah- I didn't say anything about no girl. You finally got some snatch, huh Steve?"

Steve chortled at Sam's vulgarity, and the topic of the question in general. Ironically, the answer was both yes and no. Yes, if it counted onscreen.

"Shouldn't have said a word, huh?"

"No, you should not have. To be fair though, Bucky has been pestering me to ask you. Don't think you'd tell me if you won't even tell him, though," Sam admitted.

Steve had to admit, the idea of someone finding out before he was ready made him anxious. Not to the point where he was ready to abandon all his plans, but enough to make him feel like he had to be careful. He didn't want to hide the fact that he was happy, he just didn't want people in his business about it. It was the last thing he wanted when it came to you. He wanted privacy, wanted to wait until he was ready to come out with it. He could only hope that if and when he did, the positives would outweigh any possible negatives or doubts. The last thing Steve wanted to do was let anyone down - not because of what you did, but because he knew it sounded rash, whether you were a sex worker or not. So sue him if he didn't wanna tell on himself. Not before he even got to have you all to himself.

And now that he was sitting through the logistics of getting you here, avoiding Bucky's suspicions was like clockwork. He had to be more aware around him, off of his phone, no matter how much he might want to text you. He didn't want trouble in paradise before he even got there.

"There's no girl," Steve said, as seriously as he could. Sam smirked, side eyeing him a few times, trying to rouse something out of him, and Steve laughed again. "'M serious."

"Okay. Hey, listen, even if there was, you know we'd have your back right?"

Steve almost blushed - sometimes he could feel so silly for being so private about the situation. Like he should just stop letting precautions impede him. But his smarts got the best of him every time, and thank god for that. He knew his friends would have his back, after all they weren't just his coworkers. But they couldn't possibly expect Steve's situation to be anything like this. Their reactions wouldn't be basic. Besides, there was more than just work and his team dynamic to worry about - there was the issue of your own safety, booking flights and privacy in general. It was worth a lot of work and a lot of contemplation. Nothing he wasn't willing to do for you, but still, he needed the transition to be as seamless as possible.

"I know, I know," Steve replied. "Just got a lot on my mind these days, that's all."

Sam patted Steve's back, squeezing his shoulder,

"Let me know if you ever need to talk about it. I'm your guy."

"Sure, pal. Sure."

| | |

Back at the Stark Tower, in the midst of their debrief meeting, Steve decided he should let his team know his plans in advance. Not entirely, but enough so that when he did take the short break that he would be taking in order to accomodate you, it wasn't too much of a surprise.

He was sitting at the head of the table, opposite end of Tony, his hands clasped together. It was a bit nerve wracking to sit in front of everyone and tell them this simple thing, because there was so much that would lead up to this simple decision. It was all riding on one thing- being able to see you, in the most practical way for the both of you. And, he didn't want to draw any more attention to himself than he already had by being in a better mood and being practically glued to his phone. Everyone suspected him already. So, he tried to keep his voice steady and his eyes low when he made the announcement,

"I'm thinking of taking a few weeks off. Soon."

"How soon?" Tony asked, cocking his head.

"Not sure yet. Thinking in about two weeks, maybe," Steve replied. "And, I'll still be coming in, just not as frequently. By time off I just mean I'm going to be living in my apartment... not here."

Steve had a nice, but common apartment somewhere in Brooklyn, close to where he lived as a child. He sometimes went back and forth between that apartment and Avengers Tower, but he lived with the others for the most part. When it came to you, he wanted to give you as much attention as he possibly could, given the duties of his job, and that meant that he wanted to live with you for some time. He'd retire from the tower for a while and just focus on you, only coming in when he needed to. That way you wouldn't take over his life, but he'd have enough time for you.

Steve looked around the table, gaging the reactions from everyone. Most everyone seemed fine with Steve's decision, but Bucky was looking at him a little funny, and Sam seemed to have a small smile on his face, whereas Nat was nodding slowly.

"Well," Tony grunted, shrugging. "You are the boss... for whatever reason. Your call."

"Thanks for letting us know," Wanda added in, to cover up Tony's comment.

"Yeah, Steve," Bucky echoed, though he appeared much less thankful, glaring up at him with those striking eyes of his.

Steve shifted in discomfort, clearing his throat,

"Well, just wanted to make sure you all are aware."

"We'll miss you," Nat chimed in deviously, and Steve smirked over at her.

"Won't disappear on you guys, I promise."

❁❁❁

As much as you tried to distract yourself in the few hours leading up to the dinner with your parents, it admittedly made you nervous. Thinking about talking to them in private rang up so many things that could go wrong in your mind. And again, it wasn't like you had a bad relationship with your parents. It was more like you didn't have a relationship at all— which, now that you thought about it, was bad. You just felt like it would be... awkward. It wasn't quite your idea of a nice graduation night.

So, on the Lyft there, to calm your nerves, you decided to call Steve. You hoped you wouldn't be interrupting him or bothering him, considering the fact that he had told you he'd be unavailable for a portion of the day. You had already triple texted Aaliyah, but she was out with family, so she wasn't on her phone. You were chewing on your lip as you waited for Steve to pick up, and you practically sighed out of relief when he did.

"Hi, doll," he said, his voice warm even if slightly tired.

"Hey," you sighed. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Course not," he cooed. You could practically picture the pout on his soft lips when he spoke, and it only made you want to see him in person more. "Everything okay, doll?"

You giggled, your mood already boosted just by talking to him. The fact that he sounded so concerned when you hadn't even expressed your worries yet warmed your heart, gave you a pang in the chest. It also scared you a bit, how much you felt for him, not even having met him yet. Before, you avoided falling for him because it wouldn't have made sense at all, it would've been an issue of safety and logic. Now, you could feel yourself falling for him, and although you were sure you'd be safe with him, it was still something that you could hardly grasp.

It made your throat run dry just to think of it. It was all good, and then some nerves on the side. You still didn't know what to expect. And the fact that you were calling him while you were under stress, looking for his reassurance, showed you that you were in deeper than you thought. But just like Steve, you refused to crack. You had been through enough - you could handle this like a big girl. No more scaring yourself away.

"I'm fine. It's just, my parents came to my graduation today, and they wanna take me out for dinner later."

"That's great!" Steve sounded genuinely happy for you.

You forgot he didn't really know much about how you felt towards your parents. Then you realized that there was still so much you didn't know about each other, even with all the time you spent talking to each other. You figured you'd make it a goal of yours to get to know each other better.

"Yeah, it's cool, but it's kind of... it's weird, I don't know, it's like... our relationship isn't appalling, but it isn't good either. I've never really felt close to them. Like, accepted? I don't know if that makes sense," you leaned your head against the window, grimacing at how poorly you had just explained yourself.

"It makes perfect sense," Steve said, so surely that you felt more confident in your words. He was always so firm.

Everything he said, he meant. Besides, he could tell that you were a bit stressed out. He wanted you to feel secure about the things you were saying, wanted to make sure you felt like you could express yourself without inhibitions. And maybe he could ease your nerves a bit.

"Well, it's just kind of weird between us. It feels like they've never really been there for me, but they've also never really neglected me. It's complicated."

"Sounds like they do all the stuff a parent is supposed to do, but they're just not emotionally available," Steve offered, perfectly putting it into words for you.

"Yeah, exactly that. And, as a result, we've never really been close. So it's hard for us to behave like a happy family. I've just been pretty much independent, I've had to put in extra work to find out what healthy relationships look like my whole life. You know the deal."

And he did. You had talked about your troublesome relationships, specifically your ex. Stece wanted to be gentle with you knowing all that he knew about you and how you felt about relationships, whether they were romantic or not. You were pretty social, but you made lots of executive decisions about who you wanted to be in your life, and just how much you let people in.

"Mhm, I understand. So you're nervous about it because of that?"

"Yeah, but talking to you helps," you couldn't help the small smile that grew on your lips, and you knew Steve was grinning on the other side.

"Well, I'm glad, doll. And if you're looking for advice, I'd say just be yourself. Let it go naturally, don't stress too much about the dynamic. If anything, it seems like they're just trying to get closer to you. Don't let them think it's too late, if you can help it. I'm sure it'll be fine."

"And if it's not?" you asked, biting your lip as a crease formed at your brow.

"Then it's just another lesson learned, and it's their fault. Not yours. It's their responsibility to make you feel safe around them. To make you feel like you can be yourself. If they can't do that, then shame on them," Steve replied without missing a beat, his response making your heart pitter patter.

He was so good with words, and everything that came out of his mouth sounded lovely, especially when he was giving you advice. He actually cared about you, and he made it a point to show you. It made your stomach stir in the best way. He paused, then added,

"No offense to your parents."

You laughed, shaking your head and biting down on your finger. Honestly, you had lucked out. Steve made you feel so much better with ease. Maybe you could just think about him during the whole dinner with your parents, and you'd be in a good mood. Still, he had made some great points, and you felt like it might be much easier for you to talk with your parents now. He had even made you a little hopeful. Maybe you'd have a good time? It wasn't impossible, but it didn't seem likely. And though you still wanted to get it over with, at least you weren't dreading it.

"Hm, I'm sure they'll be fine. But, hey, thank you. I really appreciate it. You always know what to say."

Steve chuckled, thinking back to all the times you'd left him practically speechless or tongue tied, but he appreciated your words.

"No problem. Just want you to be alright."

You breathed in and out, trying to push away the deep feelings that were coming to the surface- you didn't want to show up to dinner with tears in your eyes.

"Thanks, Steve. Listen, I'm at the restaurant. Talk to you soon?"

"Talk to you soon. Don't worry, it'll go great, long as you have anything to do with it."

You chuckled, smiling,

"Bye."

After you hung up, you couldn't wipe the smile off your face. You felt sort of stupid, walking around all dazed with a silly smile, but you were glad your mood was elevated. The reason behind it- it was complicated, but you were grateful for Steve any day.

The restaurant was dimly lit and not too crowded, so you felt like you could relax a bit. Your parents were already there and waiting for you, so you checked yourself in and you were lead over to your table.

"Hi," you smiled softly as you slid into the booth with your parents, the two of them sitting on the other side. "Good to see you again."

"You too," both your mom and dad greeted you, warm smiles on their faces.

All three of you seemed to be a bit nervous, and this was something you took note of. Your parents just wanted to have a regular conversation with you, wanted to connect, and they were a bit anxious to do so.

"So, congratulations," your mom kept grinning, and you couldn't help but sit back a bit, feeling like you needed to absorb the effort they were making to be nice.

Your dad slid an envelope across the table, and you opened it with a nervous chuckle, reading the letter they wrote you. It was short and sweet, complimenting you on your accomplishment and how proud of their daughter they were. And in the envelope there was a check, for five hundred dollars - which made your brows raise. Your parents were always able to support you financially, but you hadn't expected this much. You didn't want them to think they could just buy your accompaniment.

"Wow," was all you could say after a few moments of silence as you composed your thoughts.

"We figure you could treat yourself," your father reached over and patted your hand, and you struggled to grin.

"Yeah. Sure. Treat myself, yeah," but really, you were just thinking of how much money you made on your own, from camming, your internship, and soon from your brand.

"Don't think too much about it, YN. I know you love to overthink. But it's for you, and all your hard work. We... we just want you to know that we love you," your mother explained, and you could see the way her eyes softened looking at you.

She was trying. They both were. But, you felt like it was a bit overdue. Maybe they just figured that now that you were grown, it might be easier to start up a fully developed conversation about it. You just wished this idea of theirs had manifested a little earlier.

Just as your mother was about to continue, the waiter came to the table, and asked what you wanted to drink. You couldn't be any more grateful, and you answered quickly,

"Dirty olive martini, please. And thank you."

You weren't one to depend on alcohol, but you figured just a bit would get you through this more efficiently. You weren't turned off by your mother's proclamation of love, but it was a bit awkward. You weren't one to express emotional sentiments too often to people who you didn't feel one hundred percent comfortable with.

The waiter left and you were left with your parents, who were still smiling at you. You felt like screaming at them to stop, but you remembered Steve's words, and you relaxed a bit. You had to at least give them a chance.

"As I was saying, we want you to know that we love you. We know we've been a little distant throughout your life," your mom continued, and your dad nodded, putting an arm around your mom's shoulder.

"Right. But, we really want you to know how much we appreciate you. You've changed our lives for the better, even if we don't show it one hundred percent of the time," said your father. "We don't want you to live on feeling like you didn't have the best relationship with us."

You nodded, taking in all of their words, and folded your hands together. You cleared your throat before you continued,

"Um. I... I really appreciate you guys expressing that to me. And honestly I'm glad you took it upon yourselves. I guess I just wish, you know, that it hadn't taken so long."

Your mom laughed, understanding you,

"We spoke about that, your father and I."

"Huh. Why did it take so long? I mean, I'm your daughter, but I've never once felt truly close to you two. I know you love me, and I know you care about me but... it's been so hard for me to even express myself to you for so long. I guess I just want... I need to know why," you sighed, feeling troubled again.

Both your mom and dad shared a look, and you watched them take their time to answer you.

"I guess we just didn't know how to be emotionally open with you. We were there, but not fully, and it's a fault of our own. When it came time for your graduation, we realized you were moving into such a new part of your life. We didn't want to just keep acting like we were fine. And it took a while for us to address it because we didn't know how, just like we didn't know how to be open with you," said your father.

Again, you could understand where he was coming from, but the longer you listened to them, the more issues you found with the things they were saying. You weren't necessarily resentful of your parents, but you grew sort of bored of the fact that you always seemed to know better than them how they should treat you. You didn't expect them to hold your hand, and without your upbringing you wouldn't even be the person that you were, so in a way you were grateful. But it just seemed silly that they didn't know how to communicate. You were the kind of person who valued good communication, anything other than that irritated you.

"Huh," was all you could say, taking everything in.

"Dirty martini, a beer, and pink lemonade for all of you," the waiter came back, serving the drinks to all of you.

You thanked him quickly, hardly paying attention, immediately taking a big sip of your drink. You hoped refills were free. You would need as much as you could get.

"Thank you," your mother's warm voice came back into your mind, and you could feel her eyes on you, observing you as you sipped loudly through the straw.

You pulled back, blushing a bit. She merely smirked, nodding over to the waiter who was walking away now, but not without looking over his shoulder at your table again.

"What?" you asked, your eyes wide and naive, and your mother chuckled,

"You don't see the way he was looking at you?"

"Hell, I saw it," your father echoed, and you stared at them, your eyes blank, your brain scattered.

What the hell was going on? They were making such an effort to be relatable. And you were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn't feel like you were receiving any special treatment from said waiter, nor did you give a rat's ass.

"I... didn't notice," you uttered a fake chuckle, raising your brow.

"Oh, he's in love. No surprise there, you've never had much trouble with boys," your mother waved her hand, and you nearly snorted. She had no idea. Sure, guys thought you were pretty in high school and all, and you had your share of flings. But relationships? There was always trouble. "You know what, I was wondering if you were seeing anybody?"

"I'd be surprised if you weren't. But you're a bit overqualified for most of these guys. Are you seeing anyone?" your dad pressed on, and you couldn't help but feel cornered, especially because of the current situation you were in with your relationship with Steve.

No one in your social circle knew about it, it was something you were deliberately working to keep private. It wasn't something you saw yourself revealing anytime soon, because you simply had no reason to, and you were smart enough to know it would only complicate things. Luckily, it hadn't complicated your life or friendships, but maybe you'd tell just Aaliyah at some point.

You nearly choked on your own spit, trying to remain calm, and failing. When you cleared your throat, you recuperated, took a big sip and replied, mindful of their anticipating eyes on you.

"I'm... not currently seeing anyone, no. Uhm, would you excuse me, for a second? I have to use the restroom."

You hardly waited for them to give you the go before you scrambled out of your seat, grabbing your phone quickly, and taking another long sip of your drink before you power walked to the bathroom. You pulled out your phone once you were in there and started texting Aaliyah. You knew she was with her family, and you didn't want to be rude, but you were honestly going through it, and that was what friends were for anyways.

YN | aaliyah, this is URGENT. SOS!!!

Liyah | BITCH!! what what what

YN | my parents are... insane. they keep being all affectionate, it's driving me crazy.

Liyah | yn... sometimes you confuse me tbh. isn't that a GOOD thing? it's what they've failed to do for the past 22 years.

YN | exactly! which is why it feels so fuckin weird right now. and they keep asking me about men... how do i break it to them that there is absolutely no one and there won't be one for a while.

You were lying, because there was a man. And in that retrospect, you had technically lied to your parents. You didn't need them asking questions, not when the man was Steve Rogers. But Aaliyah didn't know that - she still figured you were in your independent single woman phase. And technically, you still were both independent and single. But you wouldn't be surprised if Steve changed you being single real soon.

Liyah | listen, i love you, but i think you're just resisting because it's all super new to you. i get that it's their fault and that they can't just switch up, but they're trying, and i think you know that!! just let it happen, yk?

You sighed. She was right. You were resisting. Steve had made you feel less nervous about the situation, but now that you were actually in it, you were nitpicking everything that you felt was going wrong. You just didn't understand why it took them so long to open up to you, why you had to live your life this way. It all seemed so sudden. But maybe, you would just have to accept it, and let it be. Maybe it was the universe's way of telling you that things were going to get easier. You texted a simple: "you're right, love you," and fixed yourself up before heading back in. You'd be less begrudging, but you still needed a drink. Or two... or three or four.

The rest of the night you let your parents dote on you, as unnatural as it felt, and with every compliment you took a sip. And as much as you valued communication, you found yourself willingly shutting down, letting your parents insist on loving you like "they knew they should've been", while you happily sipped away at the growing number of martinis you were receiving. At some point, you knew you should stop, but you had gone overboard long before you knew it, and you had barely even touched your food.

"Honey, did you hear me?" your mom asked, and you looked up from the bottomless pit that was your drink. Honestly, you hadn't spoken much the whole dinner, at least not what was on your mind. And right now, you were feeling like you had a lot to say, that was all bubbling up too fast.

"Hm?" you hummed, distracted, your eyes bleary.

"We were saying we wanted to maybe spend the week together, you know, bonding? We've made a rough itinerary of stuff to do."

You sighed loudly, not able to hide your despair and slight annoyance. You appreciated the effort, but why wasn't this enough for them? Why couldn't they just gain some clarity, feel better about themselves now that they thought they had redeemed themselves, and go on about their lives? You tried to think about the things that Aaliyah and Steve had said, but it was hard for you to be mindful and not nitpick or purposefully reject their approach when you were drunk and hadn't even spoken your mind the way you wanted to. You needed them to know how you really felt.

Your parents could tell you weren't satisfied, and glanced at each other shortly before looking back over at you.

"I understand that you may not think this is the ideal way to bond. I know it's been far too long, but-"

You interrupted your dad, the words spilling out before you even had a chance to really think it out,

"Mom, dad, I don't think you know me at all. I mean, honestly. And I get that you're trying to get to know me but... you can't just say it's been far too long and think that this solves everything. I know you think that you're doing something good for all of us, mainly yourselves, and I appreciate you trying, but I'm at a point where I just can't accept delayed communication. You're telling me you didn't know how to love me? I'm your daughter. You practically threw this at me, this... intervention, this facade of solving our issues, which were unspoken until now. Do you even know what I've been doing with my life, besides attending college?"

By the looks on their faces, you could see that they were miffed, unsure of what to even say. You knew this wasn't the "right" way to talk to them, but you couldn't stop now. Your brain wasn't clear, but you were saying everything you were thinking.

"I mean, fuck! I'm a camgirl, for god's sake. And I never thought I would've been telling y'all that, because you've never even made me feel comfortable enough to tell you the most basic shit about me. And if this changes how much you respect me, I don't know what to tell you. It's what the fuck I've been doing and it's led me to meet people that are more emotionally available than either of you ever were. There's so much shit about me that you just wouldn't know because you never seemed to care to know. And now, you're trying to solve whatever issue we have and not even... I mean, it doesn't seem odd to you? You're pretending this is normal, like the way you've acted was ever normal. Shit."

You knew you were rambling, and definitely saying things that wouldn't have left your mouth if you were sober, making confessions that weren't even necessary and things that you knew you'd probably regret. But your mind was running a million miles a minute right now, and you had shut down all your coping mechanisms, until all that was left was word vomit. Normally, you wouldn't behave like this. You had learned enough how to handle tough situations that came as a surprise - Steve and your ex taught you that. But something about this actually felt empowering.

You didn't feel like you were moving backwards when it came to the long healing process that you were still guiding yourself through. Was it the most efficient, ethical way of expressing yourself? Maybe not. But you didn't think you would be nagging yourself about this night and how you had communicated. It wasn't that you didn't care, but maybe that you cared just enough — for yourself. You had to be true to yourself. It was essential to your self care. Besides, you hadn't gone off on somebody in a long time. Even if you were slurring your words, you'd made your point.

You'd literally left them speechless, and as for yourself, you were done. With a big heaving sigh, you gathered up your stuff, including your drink, and muttered,

"I'm calling a Lyft home. I'd appreciate it if you just... left me alone. For a while. And please keep the check."

You fished out of your purse for the amount they'd given you, leaving it on the table and walking away. It was your luck that they really did leave you alone, and your luck that you were deliberately choosing not to obsess over how that went down. Because honestly, you weren't bothered by it. You had said your piece. It was messy, it was raw, and there was nothing you could do about it. You were sure nature would run its course. For now, you were too tired and drunk to give a shit. By the time you got home, you knocked out on your couch.

| | |

In the morning, you woke up to many missed calls and texts from your parents, including a text from Steve who was checking in to see how the night went, as well as Aaliyah. You wracked your mind trying to remember what had happened last night, and felt a drop in your stomach when you remembered the things you had said, specifically one thing in particular.

I mean, fuck! I'm a camgirl, for god's sake.

It wasn't your best moment, but you didn't regret anything else you had said. Still, your hangover was a bitch. You spent a chunk of the morning in complete silence, to ease your throbbing headache, and went through a few remedies hoping to fix your hangover at least a little. You ignored the missed notifications on your phone and just decided to focus on yourself for the first part of the day, chugging water and taking vitamin B6.

It was when your headache lessened that you decided to take a look at the aftermath, starting first with your parents. You avoided all their texts and instead listened to the voicemail from your mom, which they were both speaking on.

"YN, we're disappointed in the way tonight went. We wanted to have an open conversation with you, and it saddened us both to see that this was the result," your mom spoke first, making you roll your eyes, then your dad.

"But after some reflection, and a long conversation between your mother and I, we realized that you made some valid points," your dad continued, and you narrowed your eyes, confused — in all honesty, you had expected utter disappointment and you even geared yourself for manipulation.

The typical "how could you do this to us?" But that wasn't what you were getting, and it forced you to look deep inside of yourself. You still didn't regret speaking your mind, but maybe that was all you had to do. You didn't have to abandon any chance of reconvening with your parents and building a relationship with them. If anything, it was only going to help you grow. You had every right to be hesitant and feel spiteful for the way they brought it up and attempted to address it. But you knew you didn't have to resist always.

You just needed time to yourself. You would reconvene when it was right. But right now, tensions were high, and you didn't think it was the right time to try to patch up your relationship. Soon, but not now. Your parents weren't villains. They just didn't have a fucking clue. And you were rightfully angry about that, for feeling like they were trying to squeeze their way into your life now when you had made a life for yourself, when you had accepted the relationship, or lack thereof, a long time ago. It was a cycle with people like this, with all of your relationships. And you realized the universe wasn't out to get you. You just had to work out the kinks. And one day you'd really be at peace with all your relationships.

You continued listening to them, as they told you that they would try again when you were ready, and even thanked you for your honesty. So, surprisingly, the dinner had gone better than expected. But the real home run came at the end when your mom said,

"We're proud of you. And we support you in whatever you choose to do. Call us back."

Now that was a surprise. You were glad for everything else you'd said, but you hadn't exactly meant to let your career choice slip. But to hear that they actually supported you, when you had expected everything but that? It kind of meant the world to you.

You found yourself sniffling up unexpected tears as the voicemail ended, and straightening up. You sat there for a good five minutes just thinking, reflecting on the whole night, when you decided to reply to Steve's text from the night before.

Steve ❤️💙 | Hey! How'd it go with your parents?

Hmm. How to reply?

YN | i thought it went bad, but surprisingly it went better than i realized? call me when you can, i should fill you in.

You put your phone down then and sighed out, sinking further into your couch. It was comfortable being alone, only surrounded by your thoughts. And in a way, you felt a sense of clarity. Issues seemed to solve themselves these days. You'd talk to your parents soon. You were just glad there wouldn't be anything in the way of creating a real connection any longer.

A week and a half later, you were sort of just letting life take its course. You called your parents back, and told them that you were willing to try again, and that you didn't know when, but it would be soon enough. You told them that you appreciated their efforts, and that you wanted to try as a whole to create a bond. You couldn't hold on to your resentment forever. Steve helped guide you through it, talking to you whenever he could about the situation, and about other things.

You didn't bring up the prospect of the two of you meeting, because he had reassured you a week before that he was making plans, and essentially told you to be patient. He knew you needed the security, needed to know that this was going to happen because you didn't like empty commitments. So he kept you updated. But, not all the way.

Within that week and a half, you had been out with Aaliyah more times than you could count, celebrating and partying and talking your asses off. You'd slept over at her place, she'd slept over at yours - you spent almost every waking day together, processing your new life post graduation. You knew you didn't have to start work right away, so you would enjoy the new free time on your hands, while being mindful. Soon enough, Aaliyah would be going onto higher education, and while you didn't have a set job or further education plan in mind, you had a lot going on. Getting a job wouldn't be a problem, and your brand and camgirl sessions were still a factor. In fact, you had made your first sale that week - to a customer named Natalie. You were over the moon with joy about it, and it was just cause to celebrate with Aaliyah once again, reveling in the fruits of your labor.

You were getting somewhere, and it was like you were on fire, surging with possibilities and newness and this feeling of "what's next?"

The one day you weren't with Aaliyah, you woke up alone in your apartment, on a lovely sunny day, the sun waking you up as it filtered through your shades. You woke with a pleasured sigh, scratching the nape of your neck, and hopped right into a cool shower, rinsing off the light sheen of sweat that had gathered on you while you slept, due to the heat of the spring, which was slowly becoming another Cali summer.

In the shower, you lathered body wash and various skincare products on your body, taking the time to appreciate your skin. You were grateful for how well you took care of your physical and mental health - it took a lot to be as glowy as you were. And listening to music in the shower like you did, only helped to raise the positive vibrations you were always chasing. You were the picture perfect happy California girl, but there was a lot of work behind the scenes to have that image. Not that you had to try hard to be a beach babe, you were just naturally like that, but actually being happy? That was a whole nother journey down a road that you were actually willing to take.

When you got out of the shower you slipped into a loungewear set that once again, you had made- a loosely fitting cropped crewneck with matching lavender sweats. You quickly snapped a picture of yourself in the full length mirror in your bathroom and sent it to Steve with intent, knowing he'd die for the way the sweats hung low on your waist and hips, and how you were still sprinkled with cold shower water.

As for the rest of your day, you didn't really have any plans. Maybe brunch by yourself, and lounging around watching TV. Maybe you'd even surf later today. It was too nice of a day not to.

All that goes to show, you weren't expecting the doorbell to ring. You didn't invite anyone over, and you hadn't ordered anything. You furrowed your brows at first, then walked over to the door and opened it. To your confusion, there was nobody there. Then, you looked down to see a bouquet of flowers - roses specifically, all colors, even.

Sunshine yellows, sultry reds, pure whites, girlish pinks, even vibrant blues and purples. You wanted to smile, but you were honestly confused. Who was sending you roses? And there was a sleek black box next to the roses. You gazed over it for a minute trying to spot a letter, a name, anything. Nothing to be found.

You gazed out of your apartment door, craning your neck as you tried to catch the person who'd delivered the roses and mystery box to you. Maybe a mistake? You got gifts from your customers often, but you had a P.O. box for that purpose. You bit down on your lip, and crouched down to take the unexpected gifts in. You closed the door behind you, and set the roses down on the table, as well as the box. It was a little suspicious, but your gut feeling told you it was fine. The worst thing was that it was a mistake, and you'd try to find out whoever these belonged to - then again, you really liked the bouquet. How unique.

You opened the box first, and your eyes widened when you saw what was inside - a cut out lace bodysuit with straps all around, white, and a satin robe that was a more delicate light pink. Oh yeah, this definitely wasn't for you.

You closed the box, and moved the roses to the other side of the table, which was when the envelope fell out from the bouquet onto the floor. You rushed over to pick it up, eager to see who it actually belonged to. An audible "hm?" left your lips when you read your name, written in perfect cursive. You blinked a few times, and the gears in your brain started to turn. Steve. Steve! It made perfect sense. You were honestly surprised that it didn't register the moment you saw the gift. Maybe you'd had too much sun - nah, that couldn't be it, you could never get enough sunshine.

Realizing that it was from Steve generated an incredible amount of excitement in your body, like your engines were revving and you were ready to go. You were practically shaking just out of happiness. The fact that he had the consideration to send you a gift to your home was something you couldn't even register. He was always so kind to you, and of course you hadn't expected any sort of gift from him, for graduation or otherwise. It was just the kind of gentleman that Steve was. And, you hadn't received flowers from what some may call a romantic interest in a long time. It almost made you tear up to think about it.

You huffed out a laugh, then started to giggle uncontrollably, like a schoolgirl whose crush just asked her to the prom. Your hands trembled as you went to open the envelope from Steve, reading the letter.

You read the words in his voice, kind and firm and handsome:

"Dear YN,

I wanted to really congratulate you on graduating. It's a big achievement, even for a big girl like you. I know you will genuinely go on to do amazing things, and I'm so proud of you. I'm not sure whether this is overdue or far too early, but I wanted to get you a gift anyway. I hope you love it. You know, Moonrose? Moon. Rose(s). I tried."

You looked over again at the flowers - roses, of course, and how could you miss the little crescent moon decal that was carved into the vase? He really had tried, and been so fucking considerate. Now, you really were crying. He was so sweet without you having to ask him to be sweet, so unlike so many of the relationships you'd had in the past.

And, he tailored the gift to be extremely specific to you. Even if he had just sent you a single daisy, you would've been over the moon. But man, had Steve thought this out. You half-laughed, half-sobbed. You had no choice but to fall for him. You continued reading.

"Anyway, enough about me. Hope your post grad life is everything you wanted and more, I'm so glad you're letting me follow you on this incredible journey of yours. You really are unbelievable. Speaking of more, look inside the envelope one more time.

- Steve.

P.S. I thought the lingerie was cute, think it would look even better on you. Hope it's not too forward of me."

You wiped away your happy tears. You wanted to read the letter in his voice over and over, but you figured you'd look in the envelope and reread the letter later, until it got deep into the day and you hadn't done much of anything else. As for the roses, you wanted to keep them for as long as humanly possible. And as for the other gift, well, realizing that it was from Steve made you blush. You didn't expect that from him, but it made you laugh to think that he might have been worried that it was too "forward." He'd literally seen you naked more than a few times - what was a little lingerie gift? It was extremely intimate, and you appreciated that. He'd definitely be getting lots of special pictures from you later.

You set down the letter with a grin on your face that wouldn't go away. You were beaming, and only positive thoughts soared through your mind, matching the pace of the butterflies in your stomach. You looked inside the envelope again as instructed, giddy with delight. Your heart stopped, because what was inside was the biggest surprise of all.

A plane ticket.

note: eeek you’ve made it to the end of this chapter!!! tell me y’alls thoughts!!!

adding tags later :’)))

#girls on film #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers x y/n #yn #reader insert #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel series #marvel smut #marvel reader insert #captain america #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #orbitariums

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blueboycal · 5 years

Text

Number One - Ashton Irwin

REQUEST: A jealous ashton request when he gets really jealous/ possessive because of one of the other 5sos boys being too handsy + An insecure ashton request where he thinks he isn't good enough for you

AUTHORS NOTE: shoutout to @flannelpunkcalum for editing this and helping me in general.

PAIRING: Ashton x Black!Reader

WARNINGS: mentions of racism, self harm

WORD COUNT: 1,912

She followed closely behind the boys as they entered the bar. She held on tightly to Ashton’s hand. They’d gotten off stage about an hour ago and were going to celebrate their third record debuting at number one. Ashton found a booth for them and they sat down while the others were at the bar ordering drinks. She checked her phone to pass the time before the other boys sauntered back to the table carrying drinks in each of their hands. Soon glasses were passed around the table and she picked hers up.

“We’re number one in the U.S baby!” Michael shouted. He lifted his in the air and brought it to his lips, downing the shot. Cheers erupted around the table. Everyone echoed Michael’s actions.

“You guys earned this. I’m so proud.” She beamed looking around at the boys. They’d worked so hard to get where they are now, and their hard work was paying off.

Ashton slipped an muscular arm around her bare shoulders attached his lips to her pink plump ones. He could taste the strawberry gloss that coated her lips. He broke the kiss satisfied that he left her breathless.

“Get a room!” Calum hollered in disgust, while Michael made a gagging gesture from the other side of the table.

“Oh, we will.” Ashton fired back.

She felt her cheeks burn at her boyfriends cheeky remark, she took another sip of her drink as her eyes wandered around the club. The boys began to strike up a conversation about how excited they were to play shows. She continued to sip on her drink and half listen. She slid out of the booth and began to head towards the dance floor when a hand tugged on her arm.

“Where you going?” Ashton asked.

“To dance.” She nodded her head in the other direction. “You coming?” She asked, hoping he’d join her on the floor. He may not be the best dancer in the world, but she loved his energy.

“No, I think I’ll sit this one out.”

She giggled. “Haven’t you been sitting all night?”

“I’ll have you know drumming isn’t just sitting.” He retorted.

She rolled her eyes at him. She knew a lot of physical exertion went into drumming, she just liked to give him a hard time.

“I’ll dance with you. I feel like I’m gonna explode if I don’t move around.” Luke said, getting up from his spot at the table.

With a flick of her red box braids, she led the way to the dance floor with Luke trailing behind her still wearing his stage outfit from earlier. As soon as she stepped on the neon tile her body was swaying to the beat of the music that blared from the speakers. He grabbed her hand twirling her in a circle and pulling her close to him. Back at the booth Ashton occupied, he watched as Calum left to join the others. Michael had stepped outside to call his girlfriend.

He was left alone at the table with his thoughts.

He watched as Luke danced with his girlfriend, he felt a tinge of jealousy within. His green eyes followed their every move. Deep down he knew he had nothing to worry about; Luke was one of his closest friends and wouldn’t try to steal his girlfriend. There was something in they way he held her that bugged him to no end. The way he rested his hands on her waist and brushed her braids out of her face that made his fists clench. Ashton forced himself to look away and take a few deep breaths.

“There’s nothing going on between them.” He whispered to himself. He was acting jealous over nothing. It was just his overactive imagination making him see things where they aren’t. He had been sneaking glances at the two of them while scrolling through his social media.

Several derogatory comments caught his attention as he scrolled through the You section on Instagram. He clicked on the photo he posted days ago, it was taken before he’d gone onstage. He had his arms wrapped around her while she planted a kiss on his lips, she had her back to the camera so no one could see her face. In the photo she wore the white Youngblood hoodie which was a stark contrast against her dark skin and braids. Andy had taken the photo without either of them noticing and then sent it to him after the show was over. Ashton asked for her approval to post the photo and she agreed.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the photos of her receive hate but it was the first time he posted a photo that confirmed their relationship. She made a point to ask him to keep her face out of the photos he posted online of her. He fought tooth and nail to keep her out of the spotlight when they first got together. They’d take separate cars and enter restaurants separately. If management wanted paparazzi to follow him around he’d make sure to tell her ahead of time. The two of them kept a low profile by going out at night in places where they wouldn’t be spotted. He’d even entertain wearing disguises so he could hold her hand out in public. The hiding in plain sight was thrilling at first but he soon tired of the charade and wanted to be a bit more open about the relationship. In interviews he’d mention he was seeing someone or he’d mention her discreetly in tweets.

He was several beers in when she had come back over to the table. “I’m ready to go, are you?” Ashton asked standing up from the table, her jacket and purse in his hands.

“Yeah.” She took her jacket and slipped it on and put her purse over her shoulder. The two of them gathered their belongings and said goodbye to the other boys. Ashton couldn’t help but feel like she took too long saying goodbye to Luke.

Ashton rushed up the steps to his house after getting out of the Uber. He unlocked the door and headed inside without bothering to see if she was even behind him. She closed the door and took off her heels and jacket. She set her heels by the door and went over to the hall closet to hang up her jacket. She observed her boyfriend unsure of what to say. The sound of his boots stomping around the house made her jump.

She didn’t understand why Ashton’s mood had soured. He was all smiles before they had gotten to the club. The screeching of the dining room chair being dragged across the floor sent chills up her spine.

She went upstairs and changed into one of his t shirts and a pair of shorts before she crept into the kitchen. Ashton was sitting at the table with his back to her. He held his head in his hands, lost in thought.

“Did I do something wrong?” She asked breaking the suffocating silence that had hung in the air ever since they left the club. Her brown hand clung to the door frame. Tucking a loose braid behind her ear she walked over to him and pulled out the chair closest to him and took a seat. Her brown arms sneaked around her sides as she tilted her head to look at him.

Ashton slowly lifted his head up at the sound of her voice. Guilt spread through him; he didn’t mean to make her think that he was upset because of something she did.

“No.” He said softly, meeting her worried brown eyes.

“What’s wrong then?” Her eyes darted back and forth trying to get a read of his facial expression, but she couldn’t figure out what he was thinking no matter how hard she tried.

Ashton ran a hand through his brown locks and let out a sigh. “I don’t feel good enough… for you.”

“Good enough how?” She gently pried.

“I don’t deserve you. There’s plenty of other guys who could make you happy. I’m not good enough to be your boyfriend.”

“That’s not true.” She reached across the table and put her hand over top his, lightly rubbing it with her thumb.

“Yes it is! Look how you are with Luke.”

She furrowed her brows in confusion. “What about Luke? We’re just friends.” Ever since she met Luke they’d gotten along very well and although she found him attractive, she was never interested in him in a romantic way.

Ashton scoffed. “He seemed a bit too friendly when you were dancing together.”

She pulled her hand back and began twirling her hair. “Okay first, there’s nothing going on with me and Luke. And second, you are literally the best boyfriend I could ask for.”

“All I do is bring negative attention into your life and I hate it.” He frowned.

She shook her head. “People on the internet are assholes and they always will be. Nothing can change that. It’s better to ignore it.” She learned a long time ago that you couldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea.

“But-”

“Ashton you bring me so much joy and laughter in my life. You have a way of making me smile on my worst days, and you listen and try to understand the things I go through. You see me as person, and that’s all I could ask for.” She placed her fingers underneath his chin and titled his head upward so they were eye level.

“You’ve gone out of your way to defend me to your fans when you didn’t have to.” When they first started dating, Ashton wanted to show her off to the world and would constantly post pictures off her on his Instagram stories. It sparked an awful amount of hate from ‘fans’ who couldn’t understand why he’d choose to date someone who looked nothing like his last girlfriend.

It got so bad she deleted her Instagram. Her account had always been set to private but she had hundreds of message requests that contained nasty and hurtful words. Some ranging from racial slurs to strangers telling her to hurt herself or bleach her skin because she was 'too dark’.

She stayed off the internet for three months and eventually decided to create a new account because she didn’t want to let internet trolls take away one of social media platforms that brought her happiness. The hate she was getting resulted in Ashton having to write a series of tweets condemning the fans who wrote awful things about her, and him asking them to be more mindful of people’s feelings. It broke his heart to see how racist people were towards his girlfriend. He had to set the record straight. He was in love with her and no amount of hateful comments could change that.

“I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me about serious things,” She paused. “When you’re feeling insecure I want to know. Communication is the only way I’ll know what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Ashton was speechless, he didn’t realize he had such a profound impact on her. He nodded in agreement. "Okay, I’ll try to be more open about how I’m feeling.” She got up from the chair and pulled his head against her chest. She ran her fingers through his brown locks while his arms wrapped around her waist. She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“You’re my number one.” She whispered.

#ashton irwin imagine #ashton irwin fanfiction #ashton irwin angst #ashton x reader #ashton x black!reader #5sos fanfiction #5sos fanfic

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noona-clock · 6 years

Text

Office Blues: Jonghyun

An office romance series in collaboration with @cramelot - hope you enjoy! 💙

Genre: Office!AU

Pairing: Jonghyun x You

By Admin B

Part 1, 2

When you heard the door to the break room open, your eyes instinctively shifted upward to see who had just walked in.

And, lo and behold, that someone was Jonghyun.

“Good afternoon,” he grinned, sliding one hand casually into his pocket as he sauntered over to the counter, presumably to make himself a cup of coffee.

“Hello,” you smiled back as you lazily stirred some honey into your tea.

Jonghyun must’ve noticed the jar of honey next to your mug because a frown overtook his lips. “Honey? Are you not feeling well?”

“Just a little sore throat,” you answered. “Nothing major.”

“Okay... let me know if it gets worse and you need to go home, all right?”

“I will,” you assured him. And, with that, you put the honey back in the cupboard and picked up your mug of hot tea. “Enjoy your coffee!”

Jonghyun simply lifted one corner of his lips into a half-grin before you made your way out of the break room and back to your desk in the accounting department of Code Name.

Any fellow employee who had been in the break room with you two would have thought nothing of your exchange with Jonghyun, the head of Accounting and, subsequently, your kind-of-boss. They would’ve seen it as an average conversation between two co-workers and nothing more.

But that’s only because the two of you had become experts in hiding your relationship.

The truth was, you and Jonghyun had been dating for two years. You were fully, deeply, madly in love with each other, but absolutely nobody at work knew. And that’s exactly how you wanted it.

When you’d first started dating, Jonghyun had brought up your thoughts on telling people at work or not telling people at work.

“I’d rather not,” you’d answered a bit anxiously. “I mean, you’re head of accounting... I work in accounting... I don’t want anyone to think something sketchy is going on or that you’ll play favorites because we’re dating.”

Thankfully, Jonghyun had agreed, so the two of you kept your budding relationship a secret from everyone you worked with.

Now, two years later, you’d simply gotten used to not telling anyone. To seeing your boyfriend in the office and putting on a mask to hide your true emotions. To talking to him like you were just co-workers. It was second nature by now, and you truly wondered if something would ever happen to change anything. Honestly, you couldn’t really even imagine a time when your relationship would be out in the open. It would be... weird.

As you sat back down at your desk, you thought about what Jonghyun had told you just now: if you started feeling worse, just let him know. Obviously, he had said that because, as your boss, he needed to know if you were going to be leaving work early. But he had also said that because it was your two-year anniversary, and you were going over to his place for dinner. So, as your boyfriend, he needed to know if he had to switch plans and come over to your place with chicken noodle soup and medicine.

Jonghyun was caring that way. If you ever felt the least bit poorly, he was there in a heartbeat to give you what you needed.

But that was just one thing you loved about him.

He was probably the hardest working person you knew, but he never expected any sort of praise or reward. He was incredibly sweet and easy-going and low-key, and you just loved him with every fiber of your being.

You let out a soft sigh as you thought about him, though the noise broke you free from your ‘thinking about Jonghyun’ trance and you remembered you were still at work. There was no sighing about your boyfriend allowed here!

So you ducked your head and got busy typing, taking sips of your tea to try and soothe the tickle in your throat.

Just before 5 o’clock, your phone lit up with a notification. A quick glance informed you it was a text from your boyfriend, and he’d simply sent you a kissing emoji.

This was your code for ‘see you soon’; whenever the two of you messaged each other during work hours (which wasn’t often, but it was hard to ignore your feelings all the time), you always sent emojis as code for something else. The heart eyes emoji meant ‘you look very nice today.’ The hug emoji meant ‘I wish I could hug you right now.’ And the computer emoji meant ‘check your email’ - only Jonghyun used this because you were the type to get so caught up in your work, you didn’t even remember you had email to check.

You quickly opened the message and sent ten kissing emojis back, something you knew made Jonghyun smile and chuckle softly to himself.

When it was finally time to leave, you shut your computer off and grabbed your coat and bag, heading to the elevators so you could catch the bus to take you to Jonghyun’s apartment.

The man in question stepped onto the elevator with you, and you quickly navigated to the back wall so no one could stand behind you. Jonghyun followed suit, and he stepped closer to you so the two of you could hold hands behind your back in secret.

As everyone filed out of the elevator once it reached the lobby, you glanced at Jonghyun and very discreetly winked at him.

A slight tinge of pink appeared on your boyfriend’s cheeks, and you had to press back a giggle. What about him wasn’t absolutely adorable?

Nothing!

You began your journey toward the exit, along with almost every other employee at Code Name, focusing on your shoes as you walked. As you passed by the door leading to the stairwell, you jumped and let out a startled gasp when it suddenly opened.

“Oh, sorry!”

You looked up immediately, seeing one of the programmers and a girl from the IT department emerging.

“No worries,” you assured them, stepping aside so the three of you wouldn’t run into each other.

Wow, they took the stairs? The office was eight floors up! That’s a lot of climbing...

When you finally reached the doors, you heard someone chirp an ‘excuse me’ before gently pushing past you and slipping out in front of you.

It was the receptionist, and you’d honestly never seen her so glad to leave work...?

But then you watched as she quickly weaved through the crowd, approaching a very handsome young man who had, apparently, been waiting for her. She flung her arms around his neck, and they shared a very sweet kiss.

For the second time in the last fifteen minutes, you let out a soft sigh.

You were jealous because you wished you could do that. You wished you could push past people, your eyes locked on Jonghyun’s as you wove through the crowd to reach him. You wished you could let yourself beam as you got closer to him. You wished you could throw yourself at him, feel his arms catch you, capture his lips in a kiss.

You wished.

Maybe one day, but... not today.

It took about half an hour for you to catch the bus, ride the bus, and get off the bus in front of Jonghyun’s apartment complex, about the time it normally took when you went back to his apartment instead of your own.

Jonghyun drove to work, so he always made it home before you - even if date night was at your apartment. But you honestly liked it that way because seeing Jonghyun’s face first thing after walking in... it sounded cheesy, but there was nothing better.

A smile crept onto your lips as you unlocked his front door, and your heart sped up when you opened it.

“Honey, I’m --”

You stopped short when you saw it.

Saw everything.

His apartment was fairly dark, only lit by one lamp in the living room and about two dozen candles. There was the biggest bouquet of flowers you’d ever seen on the kitchen counter. Soft R&B music was playing on his record player. And you could smell the most delicious scent of your favorite Chinese restaurant.

“What’s going on?” you asked, though you felt a bit dumb. You knew exactly what was going on. It was your anniversary, after all!

Jonghyun rushed over to you, taking your coat and bag and hanging them up in the small closet in the entryway.

“What’s going on is I missed you,” he murmured as he slid his arms around your waist. He didn’t waste any time in taking your lips in his, kissing you passionately but also tenderly.

“I missed you, too,” you whispered. Because, boy, you had.

“Are you hungry?”

“Now that I smell the mu shu pork from Imperial Gardens, I’m starving.”

Jonghyun laughed softly before going in for one more kiss.

You sat at his small table, gazing around his apartment and marveling at how he’d managed to get all this done in twenty or so minutes. He was obviously some sort of miracle worker!

“You’re feeling okay?” Jonghyun asked after he’d filled up plates for both of you and joined you at the table.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you assured him. “I guess it’s just the weather getting colder. That tea with honey did the trick.”

“Good.” He reached over and took your hand, bringing it up to his lips briefly before letting it go again so you could eat your dinner.

As always, the two of you had an extremely pleasant meal; you talked about your days, your plans for the weekend, and since it was your anniversary, you began reminiscing about all the memories you had made so far.

When your plates were clean, the two of you transferred over to Jonghyun’s couch. You’d gotten on the subject of your first date, and Jonghyun’s cheeks were the deepest shade of pink they could possibly be.

“I mean, you have to admit, they make ice skating look a lot easier on TV.”

“They do,” you laughed. “But I never knew someone could fall that much on an ice skating rink. Remember, I thought I would have to take you to the hospital!”

Jonghyun reached around to rub his hip just thinking about it. It had been one of the most embarrassing nights of his life, but you’d erased practically all of it when you’d kissed him at your doorstep.

“It’s been quite a two years, hasn’t it?” you asked softly, breaking through his thoughts of slipping and sliding and falling and hurting and mortification.

His eyes shifted to look into yours, and your heart began to glow.

“Yeah,” he agreed, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “It has.”

He reached up to cradle your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your skin before he leaned in and placed a sweet kiss on your lips.

When you pulled away, your eye caught on the bouquet of flowers on the counter, and your eyebrows rose.

“You... are those mine?” you asked timidly, nodding toward the vase.

“Oh!” Jonghyun quickly got up, fetching the flowers and hurrying back over to you. “Yes, of course. Here.”

A huge grin lit up your face as you took the vase, the tantalizing aroma of the flowers tickling your nose and making your heart soar. You absolutely loved flowers, and once Jonghyun learned this, he never failed to bring some home for you every so often.

But this time you saw a card tucked in-between the petals.

“What’s this?” you asked, your brow furrowing.

“Open it,” Jonghyun smiled.

He got you flowers all the time, yes, but there was never a card in it. Not even the flowers for your birthday or for a special holiday.

You carefully set the vase on the coffee table in front of the couch, plucking the small card out and opening the envelope.

When your eyes scanned the message inside, you were so taken aback that you had to read it again.

And again.

Because surely your eyes were playing tricks on you.

“Will you marry me?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and your eyes shot up to look at your boyfriend. Somehow, as if by magic (but really just because he’d opened the coffee table drawer while you’d read the card), he was holding the most gorgeous ring you’d ever seen in your whole life.

“Wh--wha--wha,” you stammered breathlessly, your eyes filling with tears.

Jonghyun reached out to take the card from your hand, setting it next to the flowers.

“Will you marry me?” he asked, this time out loud rather than in writing.

Part 2

Office Blues: Jungshin | Minhyuk | Jonghyun | Yonghwa | Epilogue

Master list // RULES // Read About the Admins

#cnblue #cnblue scenarios #cnblue imagines #cnblue au #cnblue fluff #jonghyun #lee jonghyun #jonghyun scenarios #jonghyun imagines #jonghyun au #jonghyun fluff #cnblue jonghyun #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop fluff #admin b #collaboration series

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yougotthatbilly · 6 years

Text

Electric

→ member: wong yukhei → genre: fluff | crack → song rec: electric x alina baraz & khalid → word count: 9.3k ↳ summary: yukhei is very easy to fall for, and that’s okay.

You’re a great friend.

You’d much rather be in bed scrolling on your phone with a movie playing for background noise after your shift today, but right as you hopped out of the shower, Mark called.

And now you’re pulling up to the diner down the street that stays open until the wee hours of the morning with Yerim to meet up with her boyfriend and his close friend. Mark had double booked himself and didn’t have the heart to cancel on either people so he asked (read: begged) you to come along so his friend wouldn’t be a third wheel, with the promises of free food and his friend being attractive and cool people.

Who are you to pass up free food?

The pair of you spot Mark quickly when you step into the diner, his friend beside him and tall even when slouched, his elbow on the table before him and attention on his phone. Mark stands to greet the two of you, giving you a hug and whispering another thank you in your ear and giving Yerim a chaste kiss before he swats the male beside him on the arm. His friend blinks up confusedly before realizing you and Yerim have arrived, pocketing his phone instantly and you’re met with the sight of wide eyes, a button nose, and pink, plump lips.

“Hi, I’m Yukhei,” he introduces himself with a smile, reaching over the table to shake Yerim’s hand before moving to you.

Well, Mark was definitely right about him being good looking, his smile and raspy voice causing you to falter before shaking his hand and telling him your name as well because wow. His golden brown hair is messily parted off-center and pushed back, his shoulders broad under his black hoodie.

He sure is a sight for sore eyes.

Yerim discreetly pats your thigh, already having a good idea of what you’re thinking without even having to look at you because she can read your body language exceptionally well after all these years.

“You’re really gorgeous,” Yukhei compliments, followed by, “and your hands are really soft.”

Both you and Yerim are left blinking at him, watching as he flips your hand to run his fingertips over your palm, and your heart skips a beat at his bluntness and actions.

Mark sighs deeply, not looking surprised at his actions like you and his girlfriend are, but instead over it. “Yukhei.”

He just smiles and slowly lets go of your hand, letting his finger drag before folding his hands in front of him. “Sorry.”

You can’t help but return his smile due to how he doesn’t look nor sound apologetic one bit. “It’s cool. You’re pretty cute, too.” And Yerim’s hand is back with more persistence because your comment has the male in front of you biting his lip, happy the feeling is mutual.

Oh, he is fine.

From then, Yukhei doesn’t care to be discreet about his interest in you or how much he enjoys looking at you, and you don’t mind, being in the same boat. When you speak, you’ve got his undivided attention (he missed his mouth when trying to eat a fry one time), when you laugh at the banter between Yerim and Mark, Yukhei is smiling in your direction. You occasionally find your eyes wandering over to him throughout the night, even when he’s not speaking, not bothering to divert your attention immediately when he catches you, instead, giving him a tiny smile that he returns before looking down at your food or the couple to the right of you.

(You find out Mark had no qualms paying for you because he had enough points on the restaurant’s app to get a free meal. You still help with the tip, though.)

Yerim and Mark break away from the small group as you exit the diner, Yerim leaning into your side to whisper that there’s something she needs to discuss with him really quickly, leaving you and Yukhei in front of the diner. He’s leaning against the wall coolly, looking at you as you just kind of stand there.

“Can I ask you something?” he asks after a beat of silence.

“Shoot.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Wasn’t really expecting you to really shoot your shot when I said that,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “No, I do not have a boyfriend.”

“You talking to anyone?” Another shake of your head. “Can we exchange numbers, then? I’d really like to see you again.”

You pull your phone out of your jeans, unlock it and hand it to him, soon getting it back to see the smirking emoji next to his name and that he texted himself from your phone.

“Will you actually text me or ignore everything I say?”

You shrug, forcing your lips not to curve up. “I guess we’ll see.”

Before he can counter you, the couple is back and goodbye hugs are given, first between you and Mark and Yerim and Yukhei, then the latter in walking up to you with a faint smirk and outstretched arms. Whatever cologne he’s wearing makes your eyes flutter shut, your arms coming up to return the embrace.

“Let me know when you’ve made it home, ‘kay?” His voice vibrates the side of your face and you nod briefly, cheek rubbing against soft, dark cotton.

◅ ▻

“Hey, babe. Watcha doin’?”

“Getting ready,” you answer, putting Yerim on speakerphone to resume doing so.

“Ooo, where ya headed?”

You take a skeptical glance down at your phone. “Something tells me you already know.”

There’s a moment of silence as you sweep your hair back into a ponytail before she speaks again. “Yeah. Mark told me.” You snort. “What are you wearing?”

“The dress you got me for my birthday,” you supply, adjusting your spanks under the loose but still flattering blue sundress in question.

You can practically hear the smirk on her face as she asks, “Hmm, so we’re showing some skin today?”

Shaking your head, you hum to confirm, pulling out your makeup bag from underneath your bathroom sink. When he saw you last week you had messy hair, a thin sweatshirt, and jeans on with sneakers. Of course you want to make a better impression this time, especially since it’ll just be the two of you. And on top of that, it’s pushing ninety degrees outside.

“Aw, does this mean we can go on double dates and shit?”

“We’ll see how today goes.”

It’s twelve-thirty when Yukhei knocks on your front door, clad in a simple white tee and light-washed jeans, looking like something right out of a magazine. He’s all smiles when you open the door, long fingers brushing his locks back and out of his face as he greets you. Once your door is locked he leads you to his Tundra, opening the passenger’s side door for you before jogging to the driver’s seat, leaving you briefly to nibble at the inside of your cheek at his chivalry.

“Have you eaten?” Yukhei asks, starting up his truck.

“Mhm. ‘Bout an hour ago.”

He hums, fingers tapping rhythmically against his steering wheel, the sound stealing your attention as he takes some time to think. His hands are gorgeous.

“How does the Boardwalk sound?”

“I’m down,” you nod.

The first trip is to the shop that sells both frozen yogurt and boba tea, Yukhei getting a concoction of fruity flavored froyo and making a face when you order avocado boba. The Boardwalk isn’t empty but definitely not packed like it gets on Friday and Saturday evenings, the people here walking in summer attire, some feeding ducks and turtles, others riding in pedal boats, and the happy squealing and laughing of the children in the playground all coming together to match the mood and weather today.

The pair of you stroll down the main path, over a small bridge.

“I didn’t even know avocado boba was a thing,” Yukhei scrunches his nose, eyeing the plastic cup in your hand.

“You’re missing out. It’s the only thing I get.” He watches in interest as you take a sip, a few tapioca balls slipping up the straw along with blended ice, milk, and avocado. You lift the cup to his face when he can’t seem to take his eyes off of it. “Try it.”

He hesitates, then his plump lips wrap around the straw and he takes a baby sip, to which you roll your eyes at because you need more than that to get a good taste. Not even two seconds later his face twists up and he’s coughing, gagging a bit with his tongue out, being extra, and if you roll your eyes any harder they’ll fall out of your head. His theatrics stop the motion of your feet and bystanders stare at him in worry and funnily. Granted, it may be an acquired taste, you weren’t the biggest fan of it your first time trying it but he’s acting like it’s the worst thing he’s ever—

“Wait,” he smacks his tongue against the roof of his mouth a few times, giving you whiplash at the lack of transition between his dramatics and how calm he just became. His hand covers yours to bring the straw back in between his lips to get another taste, and your body feels a warmth that has nothing to do with the blazing sun at the feeling and sight of his palm dwarfing it. “That’s not that bad.”

He softly nudges your arm at the completely done expression you shoot him.

Small talk isn’t dreadful with him, and it’s no surprise because from the first meeting you could already tell he has no problem in the communication department, and you aren’t so bad yourself in most cases. Not to mention over the course of the week, texting had been smooth (and full of memes).

You migrate to a bench on the opposite side of the parking lot in which he parked in, the view of ducks, some turtles, and a couple of swans minding their business in the body of water ahead. The tree above you gives the perfect amount of shade.

“This weather makes me wanna go to the beach,” you muse, crossing your legs and slouching into the wood behind you.

“We could make that happen,” Yukhei shrugs. “The four of us could take a day trip or something.”

You hum, nodding your head to his idea while nibbling on a few tapioca balls. “You seem like the type to pick people up and throw them into the water,” you eye him with faux weariness, and he just smiles brightly, nodding to confirm your suspicions.

“It’d be the best beach trip you’ve ever been on,” he sing-songs confidently, draping his arm along the top of the bench behind your shoulders. “You got any other plans for the summer?”

Plans that consist of mostly chilling and working get discussed, following topics ranging in importance; from what your majors and minors are, which universities you go to (to which you find out he lives in the town south of the one your currently seated in), to one of your favorite animals being turtles and wanting to feed them. He graciously pays for the food to feed them, both of you purposely avoiding the ducks that try to get some and laughing at the one that gets angry and trips over its own feet.

Yukhei’s feet noticeably drag as he walks you to your door and his face shows he’s content with how today went but isn’t ready to part way just yet--or just isn’t ready to go into work, you’re not too sure.

“We should do this again,” he suggests once you’ve made it to your doorstep.

“Soon,” you agree. “I had a nice time.

“I’m glad,” he smiles that boyish smile that makes your stomach do something weird. “You think you’ll be up around one?”

“Probably, why?”

“I’ll call you after my shift?”

You’re going to lean more towards he isn’t ready to part ways side.

At the nod of your head he steps forward to softly pull you into his chest, mumbling he’ll talk to you later, you telling him to drive safely.

◅ ▻

The guy at the entrance of the grocery store greets you with a head nod and you do the same, pushing your cart at a slow speed as you think about where you want to start first. Your shift ended maybe thirty minutes ago and the only food waiting for you at home is a half-eaten bag of chips and maybe a bowl of cereal left in the box. You ate the last apple for breakfast and you almost had the mind to just grab some fast food on your way back home, but then that would mean you’d have to get up early in the morning to go grocery shopping or wait until the night because you refuse to go anytime in between.

Might as well make your way back and around.

Soon there’s a variety of fruits and vegetables, protein and a much needs bottle of salt in your cart. You don’t have to get much because you’re alone for the next month or so, you roommate in her hometown with her parents until school starts again. Water and juice are in a couple of aisles, your feet on autopilot while you yawn and rub your eye with your pointer-finger, not caring about your mascara flaking or giving you raccoon eyes.

In the midst of bending down to get a good grip on each side of the thirty-five pack of water bottles, two hands slide their way next to yours and lift it with ease, your body convulsing in its tired state and you don’t know if you want to punch or thank Yukhei because of the scare.

“You can’t just roll up on people like that,” you whine instead, hand on your chest as if it’ll calm your heartbeat, discreetly wiping under your eye now that you definitely do care about having raccoon eyes.

He just flashes you his signature smile, dipping down to fit the package on the very bottom of your cart. “Why are you full out grocery shopping so late?”

“I just got off and this is the best time to shop,” you supply, enjoying the height difference, moving a strand of hair out of his eye. “Why are you here so late?”

He uses your hand for leverage to stand to his full height, knees cracking along the way as he answers with, “Mark only has bullshit snacks like veggie chips and watermelon and I didn’t wanna take anything from Donghyuck’s stash.”

“Grandpa,” you snort, pushing the cart again. “I want some veggie chips now,” you hum to yourself, walking straight ahead to the chip aisle.

“You disgust me.”

“Glad the feeling is mutual,” you smile sweetly, stumbling when he bumps his hip into your side.

You learn that Yukhei’s idea of legit snacks are Hot Cheetos, ice cream, and powdered donuts, all in which he put into your cart, soon taking over said cart without you even realizing it until minutes pass.

“What else do you need to get?”

With a glance at your half-full cart, you shake your head, tiredness creeping up again and causing you to yawn just bread behind your hand.

“Long shift?”

You nod. Eight hours that felt like twice as much because customers really like to be a pain in the ass on Saturdays. “Closing sucks.”

“Get on the end of the cart,” Yukhei points.

“Huh?”

“Stand on the end of the cart,” he points with more aggression. “I’ll push you.”

You haven’t done that since you were a small child… but you still follow his instructions because who are you to say no to a man offering to push you around the store—and who are you kidding? You’re still very much a small child on the inside. He starts pushing you in the direction of the bread easily, getting a funny look from a kid holding his mom’s hand, and a fond one from his mom. There’s small smile that never seems to go away on Yukhei’s face as he strolls, face relaxed and content in the midst of making smooth turns. He catches how you’ve been admiring his features like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him all over again and his smile only grows, and you’d be enchanted by it if it weren’t for the new look in his eyes.

“What?” you inquire wearily. Your answer is his pace quickening gradually until he’s jogging, your fingers fisting the bars of the cart harder and harder the fast he goes, a dull pain coming from the metal but you pay no mind to it. “Yukhei!”

It’s clear how much he lives for the fear and excitement in your eyes. You’re definitely awake now. He turns down an empty aisle and starts to run, laughing maniacally at the screech you let out before becoming to an abrupt stop at the end of it, your body snapping forward at the force.

And then he does the same thing down the next aisle.

The fear that was running through your veins is replaced with pure adrenaline and elation by the third aisle, but a different fear soon replaces it when you look back at the way Yukhei’s face straightens and he slows down, a pissed looking security guard at the end of the aisle.

“Does the store need to put up a ‘No Horseplaying’ sign up like a Kindergarten classroom?” he deadpans, eyeing you as you quietly get down to stand next to Yukhei. “This is a grocery store. Stop being disruptive.”

There are literally five people here. And Yukhei seems to read your mind because soon he’s speaking up to say, “with all due respect, there’s nobody he—”

The grumpy guard interrupts with a raised hand.“Don’t make me repeat myself, or I will personally carry you out,” is said before he turns on his heels and walks away, leaving the two of you with your heads down, both biting the inside of your lips to stop yourselves from cracking up until the faint tap of hits boots disappears.

Yukhei’s the first to let a chuckle out, and it’s only a domino effect after that because then your laughs feed off of each other’s until you’re both fill out guffawing, Yukhei wiping the tear that slips down your cheek.

“Shh,” you try to calm down, not wanting the grumpy old man to come back and personally carry you out, “Let’s go. Your ice cream is probably soft by now.”

Giggles are still let out as you check your items out at the self-checkout station, smiles still in places as the warm night air hits you when the automatic doors open for you. He helps you put your groceries into your trunk and gives you the longest bear hug, rocking side to side and making you tired all over again. His scent is so relaxing, his warmth calming. You don’t recall ever being so comfortable so quickly with someone, but Yukhei doesn’t really leave room for awkwardness and you’re sure even the most awkward person would crawl out of their shell fairly quickly with him. Only Yukhei can turn a simple night of grocery shopping into a night of almost getting kicked out of the damn grocery store and manage to have your heart beating wildly and stomach flipping from more than just the thrill.

You push your next set of thoughts to the back of your mind with a deep sigh.

“If you don’t let go I’m gonna fall asleep right here and now,” you mumble into his shirt, eyes closed and arms making no move to let go.

His words vibrate the side of your face as he replies with, “I’m cool with that,” arms squeezing you a little tighter.

“But I have to drive home,” you whine lowly.

“Fine, you big baby,” he sighs, letting go and picking his bags up from the roof of your car. “When am I seeing you again?”

“We can plan that tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Yukhei nods, slowly walking backward.

“Alright,” you parrot, unlocking your car and opening the door.

“Okay.”

“Mhm.”

“Cool.”

“Yukhei.”

“Sorry,” he pouts. “I haven’t seen you in like a week and I don’t know how long it’ll be before I can see your beautiful face again.”

You’re stuck between being flustered and gagging at his cheesiness, choosing something near the ladder choice by sighing and rolling your eyes.

“You’ll see my beautiful face in a few days if our schedules allow it. Now good night, Yuk.”

The last thing you see before swooping down into your car is the smirk on his face from the nickname slipping out of your mouth.

◅ ▻

When Yukhei said what he had planned for the two of you was ‘super chill,’ you had a hard time believing it. Granted, the first couple times you were with him were laid back, but with how your grocery run went and how his voice was a little too nonchalant when discussing when you’d go through with said plan, you were weary but didn’t ask further questions. And now a couple of days later you realize you indeed had great reason to be skeptical.

“Wear a bathing suit.”

You blink at him through your phone screen. “A what now?”

“You know, what you wear to swim in,” he elaborates as he unlocks his truck, swooping inside of it. You can’t even tell if he’s actually serious or being a smartass.

“Yes, I kno—”

“Great, I’ll be there in fifteen.” And the FaceTime call ends, leaving you to stare blankly at your lock screen.

You do as told, shaking your head as you switch your bra and panties out for a two piece under your shorts and graphic tee. Soon you get a text him telling you he’s outside, and he smiles brightly at you as you buckle your seatbelt. The ride is short, and you find yourself in an apartment complex you’ve never been in, parked in front of a pool.

A closed pool.

“You’re kidding,” you scoff.

Yukhei beams, grabbing a gym bag from the back that reminds you that you didn’t bring a towel or spare clothes because it really didn’t occur to you that you’d be sneaking into a fucking pool in the middle of the night, and tonight of all nights there’s a breeze.

You judge yourself for not questioning him and just going along with his shenanigans. He climbs the fence easily with his long and sturdy limbs, gracefully jumping down and onto the ground on the other side of the locked, black fence. You don’t get up with quite as much finesse, your feet slipping because Birkenstocks have no damn grip, and you don’t even have to look at Yukhei to know he’s smiling at your struggles. Eventually, you make it to the top and look down at him to see his arms held out, and you don’t think twice before falling into them bridal style.

“This is your idea of a super chill night?”

“Is relaxing in a pool without a bunch of obnoxious children around not chill to you?” he raises a thick brow, having yet to put you down.

“You are an obnoxious child, Yukhei,” you deadpan. He pretends to drop you (and you let out the ugliest choked scream) before letting you find your footing.

He doesn’t waste time in stripping; his shirt, Adidas sweats and socks in a messy pile beside his shoes within seconds and you barely get the time to appreciate the new amount of skin shown because he’s running, then his long limbs are curling into a ball, the impact of his cannonball strong enough to have water splashing onto you.

The water is fucking freezing.

“Jesus—fuck it’s cold,” Yukhei emerges, shaking his hair and resembling a puppy. “Hurry up and come in.”

You snort. There’s no way in hell. Freezing water plus the wind blowing? Pft.

You kick your sandals off next to his slides and pad over to the edge of the pool, sitting down and very slowly putting your feet into the water until it’s at your knees.

“I’m not trying to get sick,” you roll your eyes at his puppy eyes. “I didn’t bring or a towel.”

“And you think I didn’t?” Yukhei scoffs, walking up to you. You get the chance to let your eyes roam this time, and he’s nothing but lean muscle. You quite literally have to force your eyes to meet his own again when he’s made it in between your legs, a knowing look in his iris.

“I mean you’re not the wisest guy out--”

He cuts your sentence off with a sassy hand in your face. “I brought two towels and some clothes for you.”

“So you just knew it would slip my mind to bring some, huh?”

“Nah,” he breathes, running slow hands up the sides of your legs from under the water. “I just wanted to see you in my clothes.” The cocktail of his honesty and gentle touch are enough to have your head dizzy, and at this very moment, you realize how weak you already are for him. If you were in this position with any of the guys from your past you know you would’ve mushed them in the forehead and laughed, but you’re already convinced.

“I’ll turn the heat up as high as you need on the way back,” he singsongs, clearly already knowing he’s got you hooked, a twinkle in his eye. Large hands stop their journey at your knees, palms covering them before taking their times back down your shins. “Pwease?”

You gag. “If you ever say ‘pwease’ again I swear I’ll block you.”

He pays no mind to your empty threat and instead focuses on how you lift your shirt up and off of your torso, drinking in every inch of newly exposed skin, only snapping out of his trance when you gently flick him upside the forehead. You stand to remove your shorts. Descending down the stairs takes way too long because once the water hits even just an inch higher up on your legs than before, your first reaction is to freeze until it’s bearable. Yukhei is over the awe of seeing you with little clothing and over you in general by the time it takes more than a minute just for the chlorinated water to be mid-thigh, swimming up to you and encircling your waist with his arms to pull you down and flush into his chest. He laughs at the shriek you let out, telling you to hush before you get the two of you caught, and your instincts tell you to stay as close to Yukhei as possible to steal his warmth.

“See, it’s not so bad.”

You grumble something incoherent and his hold on you tightens in retribution. It’s actually not bad at all after the freezing of your blood passes, being in his arms like this. The contrast of his hard torso with your soft chest, the way you feel his heart beating at a faster pace than deemed normal. Matching your own.

He’s right. This is relaxing. You wouldn’t mind staying like this until the two of you are prunes.

It’s a little surprising how it suddenly becomes quiet; no teasing or usual banter going on. Just the two of you standing near the steps in the shallow end wrapped in each other’s embrace and listening to the faint sounds of your breaths and the occasional sound of cars passing by in the distance, seemingly both deep in thought and enjoying the proximity.

It’s intimate, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t scarily so.

Yerim’s text tone interrupts your thoughts and the silence and you almost choose to ignore it, but then it sounds a few more times back to back. You reluctantly push away and through the water to get where your clothes are sitting, Yukhei reluctantly letting you go, and use your shirt to dry your hands before getting your phone out of your shorts.

Her messages are not as important or urgent as you figured they’d be, just a screenshot of a conversation some guy from Instagram tried to have with her and her laughing about it, in addition to a couple of memes.

The water sloshing behind you is the only warning you have before arms are caging you in, Yukhei’s head hanging over your shoulder. He presses forward until you’re against the concrete edge, flush against your back.

“This is okay, right?” his deep voice vibrates against your skin, halting the movement of your thumbs on your screen. Goosebumps form along your body and you shiver for reasons other than the weather, and there’s a kitten lick of arousal in your gut. “I’m not going to fast for you, am I?”

You look up and to your right and consequently, Yukhei lifts his head, genuinely worried eyes staring down into your own. Granted, this is only your fourth time seeing him, but it’s your first time sensing anything other than confidence, and something else takes a lick. It makes you feel better that you aren’t the only one who isn’t completely sure about this thing you have going on, but at the same time, you’d rather not think so hard about how you feel and what exactly is happening, you just want to let it happen. And at that thought, you put your phone down to reach a hand behind his neck, guiding his face to be even closer to yours. Yukhei’s eyes roam your face slowly, checking the sincerity of your actions in your eyes, then dropping down to your parted lips, his tongue poking out briefly to wet his own before he dips down to close the distance.

His soft, pillowy lips lightly brush against yours once, deep exhales coming out of both of your noses. There’s this current that goes through your body even at such an innocent kiss, and you let yourself revel in it.

“I’ll take that as a yes? And a no?” he mumbles, eyes fluttering open.

“Yes this is okay and no you’re not going too fast,” you giggle quietly, leaning back into his chest, eyes closing again. “It’s perfect.”

His wide palm rubs up and down your stomach, reeling you into a deep state of relaxation. “Yeah, perfect,” he hums.

The calming atmosphere disappears in the blink of an eye, your body jerking backward and submerging into the water. You struggle out of his grip to come back up for air, and the glare you send Yukhei as he rises up and rubs the water out of his eyes has him cackling madly. You lurch forward to slap a hand over his mouth while simultaneously hitting him on the shoulder gently for scaring the shit out of you like that.

He doesn’t pay any mind to your small hit and soon you’re being lifted by hands on your waist, but before he can throw you into the deeper end you wrap your legs above his hips, locking your ankles behind his back.

His eyes widen and you smirk in victory, your arms encircling his neck for extra security.

“You can’t be serious for long, can you?”

“Where would be the fun in that?” he grins, hands snaking down until they grip the very bottom of your ass, elated with the startled squeal you let out. “Hold on tight,” is his warning before you’re back underwater.

The rest of your time at the pool consists of seeing who can hold a handstand longer, childishly giving each other facefuls of water, you timing how long it takes for him to get from one side of the pool back to the other. It ends with wrinkly fingertips and toes, shaking bodies drying off with fluffy towels, and you drowning in his grey sweatpants and matching sweatshirt.

“If you let me take a picture of you right now I swear I’ll give you my entire wardrobe.”

“That’s a win-win situation for you, Yukhei,” you state dryly, adjusting the pants. “What am I getting out of it?”

He scoffs, getting his phone out. “Don’t act like you don’t love the way I smell, I’ve peeped it.”

He captures your pout at getting exposed.

Yukhei keeps his promise and turns the heat on, letting you adjust it as you please. The fingers of his free hand slide in between the spaces of your left hand, and when you’re out of the car they’re back. It’s like it gets harder to part ways each time it comes time to, Yukhei being ever the gentleman and walking you to your door again.

“Text me when you get back.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The squeeze you give his hand is returned, but before you can let go and say goodnight, his grip doesn’t let up. Instead, he gently tugs you into him, placing another innocent peck on your lips.

“Good night.”

◅ ▻

“My feet hurt,” you pout.

Because what does Yerim do when she’s tired of being home on her day off and Mark is busy at work? Beg you to run errands with her because you’re the only other person she wants to be with today. Errands that take all day, at that.

First on the list was lunch around twelve, where the two of you caught up on how work and finding more scholarships have been going, where she tried to get more information out of you about how you and Yukhei have been, which ended in her side eyeing you because you were short and vague. Grocery shopping happened after two and she bought you your favorite snack because she knows you don’t like being at the grocery store when everybody and their mother is there, too. And now, with her and Mark’s first anniversary coming up in a couple of weeks, you’re in the mall going from store to store to find the perfect dress, skirt, or romper for the occasion. She dresses very simply and while Mark loves her simplicity, she can’t exactly show up in mom jeans and a crop top to wherever he’s made reservations. You’ve been here for about two hours already, both of you losing sight of why you’re at the mall and getting distracted by people watching and buying match bathing suits in different colors.

“Mine, too,” Yerim mumbles distractedly, focusing on the dresses in front of her.

You look at the rack of clothes beside the one she’s observing. “Red, right?”

She hums.

You pull out the blood red dress from the back of the rack; a simple number with spaghetti straps, a neckline that would show a decent amount of cleavage and a slit that doesn’t seem too high. “How about this one?”

It doesn’t even take her a few seconds to say, “She the one.”

It fits her perfectly and the price isn’t so bad either, and you treat yourselves with food, only the choices in the food court aren’t really doing it for either of you today so you pick up Chinese on your way back to your place, the two settling on your living room floor with your plates on the coffee table.

“I’m thirsty,” Yerim pouts around her fork.

You roll your eyes and get up to get her a bottle of water without a word, and you don’t even have to turn around to see the way her eyes crinkle in an admittedly cute smile.

“I don’t have any cold water,” you raise your voice some, closing the fridge.

“Room temperature is fi—ooh your boo texted you.”

You grab her a bottle and make your way back to the living room embarrassingly quickly. Ignoring the smirk on her face, you hand her the water and reach for your phone simultaneously, sinking back down into your former position.

[6:23 pm] yukhei: you free tonight/tomorrow??

“What did he say? Why are you smiling?”

Your face straightens immediately. “Nothing.”

Her eyes squint at you. “Right.”

She doesn’t open her bottle nor does she resume eating in favor of watching you closely as you text him back.

[6:25 pm] you: possibly

And even when you’ve picked up your spoon, her eyes don’t move.

“What?”

“You confuse me.”

“How?”

Her face turns comically straight. “You get all smiley from a text, but when I was asking about him earlier you practically waved me off and gave me short answers.” You choose to stuff your mouth instead of answering her indirect question, but that only urges her to go on. “You usually tell me about the guys you’re seeing without me even having to ask… what’s different this time?”

You really didn’t want to have this conversation anytime soon, or at all to be honest. And you really weren’t expecting the conversation to happen with Yerim instead of Yukhei himself, but your best friend holds that very titled for a reason.

“Previous guys weren’t just here for a couple of months,” you mumble, shoving another spoonful of fried rice into your mouth.

Her head tilts. “I’m not following, babe.”

With a deep sigh, you drop your spoon on your plate and give Yerim your full attention like you know she’s silently been begging for since you say back down. “Previously guys never made me fall so quickly in just a month, Yerim. Previous guys that pursued me also lived right around the corner or attended the same school—well, except for Jungwoo.”

She takes the time to process your words.

“You think that this will all end once school starts again?” she concludes.

“I mean, why wouldn’t it? I’ve been cool with Mark for years and he’s just now coming around, only for the summer.”

The look of pity she shoots you along with the comforting hand on your thigh is exactly why you kept pushing these thoughts to the back of your mind.

“You really like him, huh?”

“That much is obvious, isn’t it?” you chuckle dryly. “Wasn’t exactly expecting legit feelings to come into the picture when he asked for my number. I was thinking it would end up like another Jungwoo after finding out he’s at least an hour away, you know? Fuck around little until school starts.”

“So you were just gonna let yourself continue to fall even though you—knew,” cue her air quotes, “that it was gonna be short-lived and you would end up sad?”

It sounds pretty dumb when she puts it that way.

“I’m just trying to live in the moment and not think about how I’ll feel when the time comes.” As bad as it may seem, you’d rather be happy and enjoy what you two have right now than to be alone or find someone else to keep you company in a way your friends can’t. Maybe you’d rather not find another guy because Yukhei is one of (if not the) most attractive guys you’ve ever laid eyes on, maybe because as far as you can tell, he’s the man of your dreams, or maybe because no one has ever made your heart beat as fast or stomach flip as much as he does. To be this comfortable with someone you just met is foreign even to someone as social as you, and while it’s scary, it’s something you don’t want to let go of until the actual time to comes. And if that’s when schools about to start again, then so be it.

“Have you two messed around?”

“Nah. Just a small kiss or two.”

Her brow arches and if it weren’t for the serious moment you have going on right now you know she’d be on your ass for not telling her sooner. “Define ‘small.’”

“Literal pecks.”

Yerim looks at you like you’re stupid. And the longer this conversation goes and the longer you think about the situation in your head, you start to think you might be. “And after that, you still thought it was just a summer fling,” she deadpans.

You shrug, though you know she has a point.

“Has he actually said or done anything to have you thinking whatever you two have going on wouldn’t progress beyond the summer?” You take a moment to wrack your brain and come up with nothing. You shake your head. “Has he said or done anything that made you think it wasn’t just a fling?”

This time when you think about it, multiple things resurface. “Last time we were together he was touchier than normal and though it wasn’t anything super bold he still asked if he was going too fast for me…” Her hand moves in a winding manner, telling you to tell her more. “He looked like he was really concerned that he was overstepping boundaries and not like he was just asking to be polite.”

“Anything else?”

“I was the one that initiated the kiss.”

Your phone dings twice.

[6:30 pm] yukhei: i get off at 10

[6:30 pm] yukhei: can i get you around 11 or 12?

“And you have the nerve to constantly clown Mark because he was shy,” Yerim scoffs. “You’re a whole dumbass.”

The corner of your lips tries to lift. “Shut up.”

“When are you seeing him again?”

You glance at the messages again. “Possibly later tonight.”

The hand on thigh squeezes. “Talk to him about this tonight, okay? Though I’m one-hundred percent sure he likes you as much as you like him or maybe even more, this is something you need to get cleared up by the primary source.”

Mark is really rubbing off on her.

“One-hundred percent, huh?”

“When I was at Mark’s the other day he wouldn’t stop looking at his phone and may or may not have been very vocal about how beautiful you are, inside and out.”

A wide smile takes over half of her face at the glare that appears on yours.

“You couldn’t have told me that in the beginning?”

She grabs your thigh again, “you needed to say certain things aloud to realize how much of an idiot you are and I wanted you to come to the realization on your own with a little push.”

Food is finished and the table is cleared, Yerim leaving soon after to go to Mark’s. You hop in the shower and come out with tired eyes and sluggish limbs, the day’s activities finally catching up with you, and you crawl into bed bundled in a hoodie and leggings. You turn the t.v on and try to stay in an upright position so you don’t fall asleep before Yukhei’s shift ends, but you fall before it even hits eight.

Your ringtone and your phone vibrating next to you wake you sometime later and you blindly reach for the rectangular device.

“Hello?” you croak, clearing your throat and trying again.

“Aw, you were asleep?”

Your eyes shoot open at the voice.

“Shit,” you mutter, checking the time.

A quarter past ten.

“I was calling to make sure you were alright since you didn’t text me back, but we can do something another day. Go back to sleep, love.”

“No, no. S’fine,” you push yourself up. “Tonight is fine.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Jingling keys sound from the other end. “Alright. I’ll see you soon. Then.”

The warmth of Yukhei’s hand and the comfort of his thumb caressing your own plus his deep voice telling you about his day at work after you asked about his day is enough to lull you back into an unconscious state. Eyes that were once focused on his gorgeous profile become unfocused until you see that you’re downtown, and you remember you didn’t question where you’d be going and what you’d be doing.

You never do. And if that isn’t enough of a sign that you already have trust in him, you don’t know what would be. Your conversation from earlier with Yerim resurfaces. Tonight is the night you stop running away from confrontation, the night you get peace of mind.

Your confusion grows as he drives up to the roof of a vacant parking deck. With curious and half-lidded eyes you watch as he sets up the blankets and pillows in the back of his truck, and moments later you and Yukhei are side by side, laid out, both in hoodies he owns.

To be in the extended back of a truck, looking up at the stars in the middle of blankets after a long day is exactly what you need.

“You’re gonna fall asleep, aren’t you?”

“Most likely,” you hum, taking a glance at him to find him already looking down at you. “I’m tired and very comfortable now.”

The fond expression written on his face draws you closer to him. You wouldn’t mind falling asleep and waking up to this view.

“You want me to wake you up when the sun starts to rise?”

“Is stargazing and watching the sun set and rise that much of a cliche or did Yerim tell you what I like?”

“Mark told me you and Yerim indulge yourselves occasionally,” he shrugs, draping a long arm over your waist at the next proximity. “Plus, I like this kind of stuff, too.”

Positions shift until the side of your face in on his shoulder and you’re on your stomach, eyes slowly blinking up at the sky. You get a bit cuddly when you’re tired and there’s a warm body near, and Yukhei doesn’t seem to mind one bit, his arm gently squeezing you further into.

Now would be the perfect opportunity to get clarity on what the two of you are doing, but at the same time, it’s not even your hatred for confrontation, it’s also your pride that’s getting in the way. You don’t want to be that person that asks what are we. Plus, the silence is too nice to interrupt, so you let the rise and fall of his chest lull you closer and closer to dreamland.

Well, Yukhei doesn’t seem to think so when he clears his throat moments later.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” you mumble, a slow smile stretching your lips at the soft pinch he gives your side. “What’s up?”

He takes a few more moments to get his thoughts together before taking a deep breath. “Do you believe in pronoia?”

Ah, late thoughts. That’s why he’s been so quiet.

“Uh, yeah. I guess so. Do you?”

“Promise not to laugh or judge me?”

“I can’t promise th—” another pinch. “I promise.”

“Promise not to run away?”

Run away? Why would you do that?

You worriedly glance up at him. “Yukhei…”

“I’m staying with Mark for the summer because I needed to get away from home for a lot of reasons, and my life has just been shambles since last semester,” at the sight of him rubbing his lips together, looking like he’s contemplating if he should really continue or not, you sit up on your elbows to look down at him and try to convey with your eyes that this is a judgement-free zone and that you’re all ears. “I mean, I’m goofy as hell, but lately I’ve been having to fake it till I make it… but I don’t have to fake it with you.”

Oh.

He looks away from the stars above to gauge your reaction, and apparently takes your expression the wrong way. “I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything because we’ve only just begun whatever it is we’re doing a—”

You put your weight on one arm so that you can cup the side of his face, his words quickly dying on his tongue. You never doubted he had this side to him, you just weren’t expecting to witness it so soon, but you’re not complaining. You’re also not complaining because you’re glad this conversation has been brought up regardless of your overthinking.

“You don’t have to fake it with me?” He shakes his head. “Mind explaining why not?”

“You just…” Yukhei struggles, eyes trailing back up to the sky. “Things have been going really smoothly for me since I’ve met you? It could be a coincidence but I feel like it’s not.”

The last bit of tiredness washes away as you do your best to understand his words.

“So… you’re saying the universe…” you struggle to make the sentence make sense. “The universe put me into your life as a benefit?”

“It made more sense in my head,” he admits, sounding defeated. “You’re basically a good luck charm.” He takes another moment to words things correctly in his mind and you wait patiently, caressing his cheek with your thumb. “The day after I met you I got a call for an interview and got the job, and after that, I’ve had this motivation to patch things up at home and do better in general…” he trails off when your thumb stops. “I’m sorry this is a lot to put on you—”

You roll your eyes and dip down to peck his lips once, twice, until his lips press back, then you slant your lips over his. His words are definitely a lot to take in, and overall make you feel better yet even dumber about overthinking because he’s in the same boat.

“So this isn’t just a summer fling?” you mumble a hair away from his mouth.

The way he pulls back and his brows furrow take a jab at your heart. “Is that what this is to you?”

“No,” you chuckle, rubbing his cheek again. “I thought it was a possibility but then I realized I wasn’t thinking straight,” you admit, all of a sudden shy, eyes roaming everywhere to avoid his face. He just confessed you’ve done a great number on his life and you have the audacity to be timid in admitting you were worried about this ending once the summer did. “We just got so close so quick it seemed too good to be true?” and now you’re speaking in questions, too.

“I mean… does it bother you that we don’t go to the same school and that there’s some distance?”

“Not anymore.”

He blinks up at you cutely. “Really?”

“I’d rather not think about it until the time comes,” that much hasn’t changed. “but really,” you nod. “I really like you, Yukhei.”

His smile is scintillating, even more so than the stars above, and you do your best to engrave the sight into your memory before he’s leaning forward to capture your lips in the sweetest kisses, the stretch of his mouth still present as it moves slowly against yours.

Periodic lazy kisses, other late night thoughts said lowly to each other and your mind buzzed and running with nothing but positive thoughts that keep you up until the sun rises, all in the strong hold of Yukhei’s arms, is the perfect way to end a long day and a new one.

◅ ▻

“Put me dOWN.”

You look up from rubbing sunblock on your legs to see Yerim being carried into the ocean. Mark holding her ankles and Yukhei holding her wrists. Both males are laughing loudly, bystanders chuckling along and watching Yerim struggle to break free to no avail, and then she’s flying before sinking.

Mark and Yukhei high-five childishly, pointing and dying laughing at Yerim when she emerges, pissed. You can’t hear what she says angrily to Mark or read her lips, but whatever she says makes Mark shut right up and Yukhei cackle even louder.

Poor Mark is pouting.

You shake your head at their shenanigans, a smile pushing your cheeks up as you resume spreading the lotion on your lower half.

“Babe,” a gravelly voice calls, the owner of it jogging up to where you’re seated. He blocks the sun perfectly when he’s in front of you.

“Need help putting some on your back?”

You snort unattractively at the smirk he shoots you but pass him the bottle anyway, turning your back to him.

The sound of him squeezing your almost empty bottle hits your ears before you hear the wet sound of his hands rubbing together.

“What did Yerim say to Mark after you guys threw her?”

He lets out a reminiscing laugh, smoothing his hands up the middle of your back. “He’s not getting any tonight.”

Your eyes close as you chuckle, leaning into his touch as your head hangs forward. The sun above is perfect, the occasional breeze working in harmony with it, and Yukhei’s hands working the lotion on your skin to top it all off gives this weekend trip the perfect start.

“I’m sure that was an empty threat. She can’t stay mad at him for too long.”

His fingers creep under the straps on your shoulders to gently knead them. “Like you can’t stay mad at me?”

“You’ve yet to make me mad, Yuks. But don’t think too highly of yourself.”

His presence disappears from behind you but reappears in front of you, and you open your eyes to see him squatted down with a smile. You spread your legs to let him come closer.

“I guarantee you it’s impossible to stay mad at me.” His hands are back on you, only this time on your thighs the up and down motion smooth from the residue on his hands and your legs.

You squint at him.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Yukhei’s eyes blink in faux confusion. “Think about what, baby?” His hands continue up, fingers running across the fabric of your bottoms. “This color looks really nice on you, by the way.”

Yes, that is why you choose it instead of the one currently on Yerim. Your lips go thin.

“Stop while you’re ahead.”

“Stop what?” You honestly can’t tell if he’s purposely acting terribly or not and you’re stuck between finding it funny or not. “Don’t look at me like that. After working all week I just wanna be in your presence,” he shrugs, hands stopping at your sides.

“Uh huh,” you muse, carding your fingers through his hair to push his bangs out of his eyes, keeping your hand on the back of his head. “I keep my promises, baby boy.”

He simply grins, not at all taking what you’re saying seriously, and you can in his eyes he’s already got his mind made up. Yukhei leans forward to press a soft peck to your mouth, the repeats until you return the affection. You mentally roll your eyes at the way you relax and give into him, knowing you’ve fallen right into the blatant trap when the kiss turns languid.

You’re prepared for the way his grip on your waist tightens, and in the blink of an eye his lips are no longer on yours and you’re upside down, flipped over his shoulder. Yukhei laughs maniacally as he stands up, gets a good hold on your under your ass and starts jogging in the direction of the water, and you put on the theatrics just for his amusement.

In the midst of your limbs flailing you pass a Yerim that’s smiling at the show while Mark is ooo-ing excitedly and clapping like a seal, and he’s the last thing you see before closing your eyes and holding your breath at the feeling of being tossed. The water feels great on your warmed skin, and you take your time emerging.

The glee on Yukhei’s face is instantly wiped off when you walk past him and lowly tell him, “you’re sleeping with Mark tonight.”

#nctwriters #yukhei scenarios #yukhei scenario #nct u scenarios #nct u scenario #nct scenarios #nct scenario

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allonsysilvertongue · 6 years

Text

The Pub Below The Apartment

The Ballad of A Drunk & His Lady: The Pub Below The Apartment

Here - have something that’s been sitting in my Dropbox folder for such a long time i forgot it existed until i went digging in my Hayffie folder.

The place was hardly quiet but at four in the afternoon, Haymitch wouldn’t say that it was noisy because as night descended and the crowd expanded, the place could certainly get rowdier. As it were that particular afternoon, the pub was rather peaceful with only a few patrons; most of whom were retirees watching a rerun of the yesterday night’s baseball game and whose faces were familiar to Haymitch.

Well, except for one.

A woman sat alone at one of the booth, furthest away from the mounted television, very much oblivious to her surroundings as she stared intently at whatever had captured her attention on the laptop screen in front of her. Occasionally, her fingers would fly across the keyboard. The clicking of her keys punctuating the commentary from the game.

Haymitch nudged Johanna. The young woman clicked her tongue, making her displeasure known.

“What?” she snapped.

“Go find out what she wants,” Haymitch nodded at the woman by the booth. “She dresses like she’s from uptown.”

“Ten dollars says she’s gonna ask for Rosé or some shit like that. Looks fancy,” Johanna commented.

“Only one way to find out,” Haymitch scoffed.

Smirking, Johanna approached the woman. “You going to order anything or what?”

She glanced up, a little startled. "Oh! Just a glass of water, please. Thank you."

With a huff, Johanna stomped away, pulling a ten dollar bill from her pocket. She slapped it over the counter for Haymitch.

"Just a glass of water, please. Thank you," she mimicked, making sure to pitch her voice a tone higher.

Haymitch snickered but filled the glass for Johanna to take it to the customer. She placed it, not so gently on the table in front of her.

“Thank you,” the woman offered a distracted smile.

Haymitch stood behind the counter, watching the woman. Once in a while, his gaze would trail to the wall clock but most of the time, his attention was on her. Discreetly, of course. She was a sight; beautiful and elegant, and each time she bit on her bottom lip or the top of her pen, Haymitch had to take a deep breath.

It became apparently clear that he or the pub wasn’t worth the time of day because not once did she even look his way or raised her head to take in her surroundings. How anyone could remain completely focus on their work and oblivious to everything around her was beyond Haymitch’s guess.

It annoyed him, though. This was his establishment and he was certain that she had not even seen him on her way in although that wasn’t what he told himself. A glass of water wouldn’t cut it.

He should rectify that. Grabbing the old laminated menu, he crossed the room towards her table. It was only when his shadow fell over her laptop did he get her attention.

A pair of striking blue eyes locked with his and for a moment, he forgot the reason he was here in the first place. She blinked slowly and her eyelashes – too long to be natural – fluttered gently.

"Lady," he muttered gruffly, clearing his throat uncomfortably to break this spell that she had unknowingly cast on him. He tossed the menu in front of her. "You've been here a while – two hours actually – and you ordered nothing 'cept that water. I'm startin' to wonder why you're here at the pub at all. It’s definitely ain’t for that game."

"My apologies!” she said. “I do not drink. What do you have?"

"This is a bar," he pointed out. "Alcohol's a given. So, what can I get you?”

“It’s only six in the afternoon. It is a little too early to be drinking, don’t you think?”

“Not for them,” Haymitch gestured to the group of middle age men sitting closest to the television. “Listen, are you here… to just be on that?"

He pointed to her laptop.

"Why yes, you are quite right,” she flashed him a smile. He stared at the bright painted lips. “To be perfectly honest, I am here for your wifi."

"My … " he snorted. "My fucking wifi?”

He waited for her to correct him but she held his gaze.

“Let me get this straight, you're here for the wifi?"

"Yes," she nodded earnestly. "Your wifi is stronger here that it is up in my apartment."

"You live upstairs?" His brows crinkled at that information because he had not seen her around before.

"Mhm."

Haymitch narrowed his eyes as he began to process her words. "So you've been using my wifi from your apartment?"

Her eyes widened.

"Y- Yes."

"You think I'm running a charity, yeah? Swindle my wifi, free water..."

"I can pay for the water," she added immediately.

"You either order somethin' or you get out, lady."

"How rude," she pursed her lips and pulled the lid of her laptop halfway through as if his rudeness also meant that he was about to pry into whatever work she was doing. "I have to endure your customers walking in and out of this bar night after night. They are loud and thunderous. They disrupt my sleep every night so really, mister, the least you can do is to let me have this booth. I am not disturbing anybody."

"You stay above a pub," he pointed out in exasperation. "Bit crazy to complain 'bout the noise, yeah?"

"I admit this is not the most ideal living location but - "

"I ain't changing my mind. Order something. People will see you sit here with no food and drink, and they're gonna start thinking that they can just walk in here, sit their asses on the booth, chit chat with their friends while waiting for another friend, maybe. Nah, that ain't happening so - "

"Mr. Abernathy," she heaved a breath.

“Haymitch,” he corrected.

"Haymitch," she acquiesced. "Your behaviour is appalling. Do you talk to women this way often? It is rude, I will have you know."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, sweetheart, you're something I'll give you that but you can take your shit," his jabbed his finger at her laptop, "and go to the damn library."

She gasped.

"Now, listen here, Mr. Aber – Haymitch," she corrected herself. "Perhaps you will be more understanding if I just explain myself. I am here merely to do some work. I will not bother you or your patrons, I promise. The crowd will start coming in at eight, I noticed, by which time, I will be gone and be back in my apartment. The nearest coffee shop is five minutes' walk away."

"Here's a suggestion, sweetheart - "

"Effie," she interjected. “If you really need to call me something, I’d prefer it if you use my name.”

"Right. Here's a suggestion – get your own fucking wifi. Call the telecom company. Don't need me to teach you that, yeah?"

"I just moved in," she argued and that would explain the reason he had never seen her around before. "That was three days ago and things are not set up properly. The router's giving me some problem and I have a deadline to follow. Please."

“The what?”

“The router?” she clarified tentatively. “Besides, if you do not want anyone using your wifi, you should have password protected it.”

He frowned but he was not going to let her get the best of him.

“Yeah, see, it's not password protected because wifi's meant for the paying customers. You aren't one of them.”

Johanna had been the one to suggest that having wifi would attract the younger crowd and he hadn't bother to argue much.

“Alright, very well," she inhaled and Haymitch could see the struggle she was going through to remain calm. "If I were to order something, will you let me stay?”

"What I've been sayin' all this time," he scoffed.

She gave him such a bright, mocking smile as she said, “Raspberry Snapple, please.”

He frowned. "Don't think we have that. You look like a Bailey's kinda gal."

“No, please. Like I’ve said, repeatedly - no alcohol. I am trying to work here. Tea, then. Surely you have that? Oh, do you have salad?”

"Not a restaurant," he said over his shoulder.

Haymitch came back with a cup of tea and a full plate of finger food. She gave the greasy plate one look and wrinkled her nose.

It made him laugh quietly to himself.

Surprisingly, she returned for the next three days and when she didn't that one day and the day after, Haymitch knocked on her door at four in the morning, an hour after the pub’s last call.

"You didn't turn up," he said. "Been two days."

She didn't call out the fact that he kept count.

It didn't escape his notice the swell of her breasts under the blue robe or for his imagination to run wild, picturing what she was hiding underneath the robe. He had never seen her this way – her face bare, her hair in a messy bun, her eyes heavy with sleep. She looked… exquisite and homely, something he could easily fantasize himself waking up to every morning.

He shook his head at the thought, taken aback by how fast his mind had gone from one point to the next.

"My router is fixed. My wifi is working," she answered, fighting off a yawn. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"You ever coming back?"

She pierced him with a look.

"Not for your greasy finger food, no," she laughed, her blue eyes sparkled underneath the dim light of the corridor.

"Shame," he shrugged and pushed himself off from where he was leaning against the doorframe. "You made the view better."

As he walked away from her apartment down the corridor, he could feel her staring after him.

#hayffie #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #the ballad of a drunk and his lady #hayffie au

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lumity-supremacy · 5 years

Text

I don't have a title yet anyway here's the short story I mentioned earlier.

------

Charlie sat next to his best friend Sierra as they all sat in a booth at one of their favorite restaurants. The waitress had already come by with their food, and they were all sitting and having a good time when Charlie noticed a few familiar faces across the room but thought nothing of it and continued listening to Ashley as she talked about her latest ‘case’ she did in her criminology class

The all finished their food and went outside as Cole went to go pay at the register. The same people were, not very discreetly, still watching him. He felt their gaze burning into the side of his head as he stood there.

Pulling his beanie down farther and holding his jacket closed as if to try and hide from them he followed after his friends as they discussed where to go next. To anybody else, they would think he was just cold, but he knew that wasn’t the case. He knew he was trying to hide.

He found himself being tugged into a store by Sierra, and that was when he finally focused on his surroundings, “What?” He asked, “Did you not hear us earlier? Christmas is in a few weeks, we need to do some shopping!” Sierra told him.

She tugged on the sleeve of his jacket more as she went down one of the aisles, and Charlie realised they were in a bakery, “Where did the others go?” He asked her.

“They went around to some of the other stores, now what kind of cookies does Jordan like again?” Sierra asked him and he shrugged, “I don’t know, she changes her answer every time somebody asks.” He said and she huffed, “That’s not helpful.” She said and Charlie smiled in amusement.

“Charlotte?” Somebody said and Charlie stopped smiling immediately at the sound of his dead name. He ignored it and continued scanning the shelves of cookies that stood before him.

A hand grasped his shoulder and he stifled as the same voice sounded, “Oh my god Charlotte it is you!” They said and Charlie turned to see a blonde girl standing there next to him, “Uhh....” He trailed.

“God I haven’t seen you since high school, you’ve changed haven’t you?” She said and he looked at her, “Yeah..” He laughed awkwardly.

Sierra appeared around the corner, he hadn’t even noticed she left, “Everything okay Charlie? You didn’t come over when I called.” She said. Charlie went to speak but was cut off, “Charlie? This is Charlotte. Trust I would know, I’ve known her since high school.” The girl laughed as if hearing a funny joke.

Sierra looked confused, “No… this is Charlie, he’s a boy. Told me himself he was.” She said and the girl looked confused, “Um Charlie is a girl. I specifically remember seeing her in the locker room after gym every Wednesday.” She said with a bittersweet smile as if daring Sierra to tell her she was wrong again.

“Charlie, do you actually know her?” Sierra asked and he nodded, “Known her since freshman year.” He said awkwardly, “Charlotte why is your voice lower?” The girl asked.

This was when Charlie was annoyed. How has she not gotten it yet? He turned to her, “I’m a guy.” He said and she scoffed, “No you’re not. I specifically remember you’re a girl! A girl can’t be a boy! It doesn’t make sense! If you’re a guy like you claim to be then why were you in the girls locker room unless you’re some pervert!” She yelled.

Charlie huffed, “You know what? I’m done here. I’m going home. Sierra I’ll text you later.” He said.

He started to walk away when the girl grabbed his jacket, “You’re a girl and I’ll prove it!” She said angrily. She then proceeded to try and snatch away his jacket but he resisted and yanked his arm out of her grip, tearing the sleeve in the process, “Don’t touch me again.” He said and stormed out of the store.

He arrived home twenty five minutes later.

Approaching his house, he sees another car in the driveway. He let out a frustrated groan and parked on the side of the road in front of the house and got out.

Grumbling angrily under his breath, he pulled his key out of his wallet and unlocked the door. He went to call for his dad when the strong smell of expensive perfume invaded his senses. It was so sudden and strong that it was like a slap to the face and made his nose burn slightly.

“Who's there?” Someone called from the kitchen.

Charlie wandered into the kitchen where he saw his mom and aunt sitting at the island drinking tea.

“Oh! Charlotte hello!” His aunt said cheerily as he went over to the fridge, “It’s uhh.. It’s still Charlie, Aunt Theresa.” He said politely yet awkwardly. Her smile dropped slightly, but still remained, “Oh I thought you would have been over that silly phase by now.” She said whilst waving her hand as if brushing off what he said and he shook his head, “It’s still not a phase.” He told her as he opened the fridge and grabbed a carton of orange juice off the top shelf.

It was quiet as he took a cup out of the cabinet and poured himself a glass.

His mom spoke up as he put the carton away, “So I heard prom is coming up. We still need to get you a dress.” he told him.

“Mom I already told you I don’t want a dress. Cole said he’s going to have his uncle tailor me a suit since it would be cheaper than renting one. He’s willing to lower the price since I’m a friend.”

“No daughter of mine is going to one of the most important nights of her life in a suit.” His mom said, spitting the word suit as though it were venom.

Charlie ignored her and went upstairs to his room. His aunt came by a few minutes later and stood in the doorway.

“You’re upsetting your mother you know.” She said and he ignored her as he took off his torn jacket so he could fix it. She huffed, “You’re destroying all her hopes for you.” Again, he ignored her.

“Give me your phone.” She said, holding her hand out, “Why?” He asked, holding his phone closer, “You’re being disrespectful to me and your mother. Now give me. Your phone.” She demanded and he shook his head, “You’re the ones being disrespectful. Leave me alone.” He said.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway caused both of them to stop. His aunt looked like a deer caught in headlights before she bolted down the hall and back downstairs. His dad came in and everybody acted as though nothing happened as Charlie closed the door to his room and locked it for the time being while he tried to patch up his jacket.

Dinner rolled around a few hours later and everybody, except Theresa, was sat at the table. Charlie was texting Jordan and Luna as they all waited for her to come back from the bathroom. He hoped she would be back before his soup got cold.

Suddenly his phone was snatched out of his hands, “Hey!” He said as Theresa sat down, his phone in hand, “It’s rude to text during dinner.” She said.

Charlie gestured to his dad who was doing the exact same thing he was. She looked at him before turning back to Charlie, “He’s the father, he can do whatever.” She stated.

“And part of that whatever is telling you to give him his phone back.” His dad said as he put his phone away.

Theresa glared slightly, “If you knew what she did when she came home then you wouldn’t be saying that.” She said, and he raised an eyebrow, “Oh yeah? And what did he do?” He asked, not believing her for a second.

“I was in the kitchen with my dear sister when she came in. We said hello and she started cussing us out and threatening to throw things so I sent her to her room and when I asked politely to take her phone she said no and slammed the door in my face.” Theresa lied.

His mom said nothing, neither agreeing or disagreeing and his dad scoffed, “I doubt Charlie would do that. He’s always been respectful towards people unless aggravated so it was likely you who started it.” He said and Charlie was delighted to see that his dad’s statement offended her, “Then why was her door closed hmm?” She said turning to Charlie, “I always have my door closed, and I was fixing my jacket cause the sleeve got torn today.” He said, mostly to his dad.

“Exactly, so Theresa stop starting things and let’s eat.” His dad said and Theresa looked annoyed and mad.

“Why would I start something?! She has been nothing but troublesome since this little phase of hers started and if you’re not going to do something about it then I will!” Theresa seethed.

She then turned to Charlie, “Go to your room. Right now. You will not be getting your phone back and I’ll be taking your laptop and television as well.” She stated and Charlie glared.

“No.” He said and her glare darkened, “I said go to your room.” She said lowly and he shook his head.

“I said. Go. To. Your. Room.” She said, if it were possible, steam would have been coming out of her ears. Charlie shook his head again and crossed his arms as he leaned back in his seat.

“Theresa. Stop it. You have no authority in this house. Charlie does not have to go to his room especially since he has done nothing wrong.” His dad stated and Theresa’s face turned red, “Fine.” She said before turning to his mom.

She gave her a look that said ‘tell him’ and his mom looked at him, “Go to your room.” His mom said and Charlie was shocked. She had been silent this whole time and the only time she had spoken was to tell him to leave.

“Ariana!” His dad said but Theresa cut him off, “I may not have authority but she does.” She turned to Charlie, “You heard your mother. Go to your room, I will be there in a minute to get your laptop.” She stated.

“He’s not going anywhere!” His dad yelled, slamming his hand on the table, “He has done nothing wrong! Stop being entitled for once and shut up!” He yelled again.

Charlie didn’t think it was possible, but Theresa’s face got more red than before. She started cussing up a storm and slamming her fist on the table. Charlie felt uneasy and got up to leave, but Theresa stopped him and stood up abruptly.

“No! You stay right where you are! You have been nothing but an entitled brat since your little phase started and I’m sick of it! Not everything revolves around you, you brat!” She screeched.

She then picked up the hot bowl of soup in front of her and flung it at him. He raised his arms to protect his face but it didn’t help as the soup splattered everywhere. His arms, his torso, his face. Everywhere that was visible was hit by scalding hot soup.

Charlie screamed as he moved back only to stumble because of the chair and slip on the puddle that now surrounded where he stood. He slipped and fell forward, his head banging against the table. Theresa was still screaming, but he knew it wasn’t because she was concerned but because she was still angry and likely blaming him for what just happened. He blacked out after that due to the throbbing pain in his head and was no longer aware of anything going on around him.

After what felt like hours had passed, Charlie was able to feel his arms and legs and hear his surroundings.

He heard what sounded like beeping and after a few tries he managed to crack open his eyes a bit. The only light in the room being the rays of sunlight coming in through the window.

The beeping continued and he followed the sound, looking to his left and seeing a heart monitor and underneath it was a bag of clear fluid that had a tube leading out and connecting to the IV in his arm.

He heard the rustling of clothing and looked to his right to see his dad sitting in a chair a few feet away. He coughed to get his dad’s attention.

His dad looked up and, realizing Charlie was awake, got up and moved his chair over.

“Hey there bud.” He said softly with a calm smile and Charlie returned it.

“What happened?” Charlie asked him and his dad’s smile dropped a bit but still remained, “You uh.. You got some pretty bad burns and a blow to the head there bud. I called an ambulance after you blacked out.” He told him, “What about Theresa?” Charlie asked, and his dad chuckled halfheartedly, “Her and your mother bailed when the cops showed up. Ran right out the backdoor.” He explained and Charlie nodded in understanding as his dad continued, “I think it was for the best though. You don’t have to deal with them anymore and they’ll get caught eventually.” He said.

The door opened and Jordan came in, “Hey there nerd.” She said as she walked over with a bag of food and placed it down. Before pulling up a chair and sitting next to his dad.

His dad looked at her for a moment before turning back to to Charlie, “Bud your friend and I were talking and uhh… we were thinking it’s best you move out and live with her or Luna. Just so that your aunt and mom don’t find you.” He said.

“Or at least until you can find a better place to live cause I know you'll feel bad for staying with us for too long.” Jordan added. Charlie nodded and closed his eyes, a headache starting up and the throbbing feeling coming back but not as intense as before.

He felt…. happy, for once. He still had a long way to go, the medication can only do so much. He knows that there are others who aren't as lucky, and so he was going to keep fighting until him and everybody going through the same thing or something similar can be happy with their lives.

“Now how about we eat these tacos cause I’m hungry.” Jordan said causing Charlie to laugh and a light chuckle from his dad as she picked up the bag and handed out the food.

Yeah, this was good.

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#tw transphobia #transgender #short story #writing

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