#I want to make it clear I LOVE this show so much

[xylatox]

Cinnamon, a Kim Mingyu fic :)) I wanted to read this for a while and I finally got to it today!!!

Immediately loving the relationship between reader and hannie and moreso how they reacted to Gyu having a girl over😭, it does make me feel bad for reader because she has such clear feelings for Gyu it actually hurts, like — You roll your eyes, but you’re fighting a smile. You hate that Mingyu can just charm you right out of a mood, and you hate it even more than he knows it and weaponizes it. He’s the one who gave you the nickname Sunny (or Sunshine depending on how cranky you were at the given moment) back when you were a college freshman. Your other roommates picked it up, but Mingyu was the only one who ever turned Sunshine or Sunny into Sunny Baby — this is actually so darn sweet???

I do appreciate that seeing the momentd with Daeyoung is actually really sweet especially since he more cared about knowing reader than the bowling :(

Loving thst amidst the chaos with Hannie, Wonwoo is like the voice of reason to not encourage so much teasing and it's so sweet that despite his plans to go home for the holidays he still offers to stay in the apartment with her :(

The difference in the reader's reaction to the flowers from Daeyoung vs Gyu omg :((( —Because being thought of earlier by Daeyoung was nice, but it is so much better to be known, like this. Mingyu knows you don’t like roses. Mingyu knows your favorites. Mingyu knows you — in so much pain oh my god.

You were wrong when you said Mingyu was the sun. Mingyu is an avalanche. Rushing, rolling, thundering over and through you until there’s nothing left but a glinting field of ice and silence. Nothing else matters - nothing else exists - in his wake — this expression is so beautiful what the hell???

It hurts how much the dream affected her and eventhough Gyu was the main person in said dream she still went to him :(

“I’m not sure you do,” he says, and the gentleness is gone from his tone; you’ve moved into the Tough Love section of the lecture, apparently. “You can’t keep playing house with him, pretending you’re together, and then falling apart every time he makes it clear that it isn’t real. You’ll never feel better like this. It will never change, Sunny. You’ll be like this, forever. Is that what you want?” — Hannie looking out for her constantly (and Wonwoo too even if he hasn't particularly voiced it).

It hurts how sweet Daeyoung is too but reader is so into Gyu I'm not sure if she can let go and fully give herself to him yknow.

God, Daeyoung is actually insanely sweet and understanding??? like to an extent that I'm shocked actually, he really does like reader.

Wonwoo gives you a very deadpan finger heart from his spot on the couch. — absolutely love Wonwoo, he really is that guy.

I actually super love reader's relationship with Daeyoung like it's actually so sweet , he's reaction to the Sunny Baby nickname is so real and valid

“Yeah, dude,” he says easily as he leaves again. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”— Jeonghan is so evil I love it.

It's so insane that even in June reader still dreams of Gyu — The blanket of darkness makes him bold. He scoffs, not even trying to hide it. “Why not? Because of that guy?” Like he doesn’t know Daeyoung’s name, like the last five months never happened. That guy. — this is an insane response, Gyu's jealousy is showing waw.

Daeyoung was so sweet and nice, his reaction is valid imo, like, it does suck that the person reader was getting over she lived with. He does deserve better though, but, I'm glad thet talked about it, I feel like it's just hindering the inevitable though.

The fight with Gyu, the breakup with Daeyoung:( ugh

I do think Gyu calling reader by her name and not all the nicknames shows how much he was affected too :((

Mingyu is sunrise, leaking orange and pink and yellow and white and chasing away a world of purples and blues. He’s so bright you have to squint, a promise of a fresh start, an end to the darkness of night. — this is so beautiful wtf.

You will, in just a second. But first, you lean over to the candle you have burning on the coffee table and adjust it just slightly to center the label, which reads Fall Harvest and Cinnamon. — oh my god.

This entire piece was so beautiful, I'm so glad I finally got to read it😭 it was such an emotional Rollercoaster

Cinnamon || KMG

banner by @sailorrhansol

Written for the Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab!

Cinnamon mingyu x fem!reader (nicknamed Sunny), reader x male oc for a while fluff smut angst best friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, idiots to lovers all apply NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: You finally decide to try and move on after years of waiting for Mingyu to return your feelings. But when you start bringing your new boyfriend around more often, things with Mingyu get... difficult.

WC: 19k

Warnings: language, recreational drinking and overdrinking, a brief mention of throwing up from a hangover, angst and hurt feelings, not miscommunication but definitely refusal to communicate, kissing (some with mg and some with a male oc), arguments, reader and mingyu are both imperfect people who make mistakes and do things wrong... theyre not bad or toxic people but their choices can be hurtful... theyre humans who mess up have to just do their best to do better going forward, quick and prosey smut scene with piv penetration

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-inggggg iluuuuu

--

December

“Good morning, Sunshine.”

You grumble in response, eyes still mostly closed, as you make your way by muscle memory to your apartment’s barely-functioning coffee machine. Only once you’ve poured a mug, stirred in everything you need to make it palatable, and taken your first sip, do you speak actual words.

“Morning. You’re up early.”

Jeonghan, one of your three roommates, nods solemnly. “I have a nine o’clock meeting today, but I need to get some files together first, so I’m trying to be there by eight,” he tells you. You glance at the clock on the microwave - it’s already 7:20.

“You might want to get moving,” you warn him.

He makes a face that says, I know, but - and cocks his head towards the bathroom the four of you share. The door is closed and the light inside is on, which means it must be occupied. It’s not usually a problem, even with four of you - your schedules are just different enough that it works out.

You frown. “Wonwoo isn’t gone yet?” He’s usually the first one out of the house on weekdays since he’s got the longest commute.

Jeonghan shakes his head, but then the light clicks off and the door opens. A girl you’ve never seen before steps out cautiously, then pauses when she sees the kitchen isn’t empty.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Hi. Good morning. I’ll just -”

She gives you each a polite nod and slips quickly back through the nearest door - Mingyu’s bedroom.

You face Jeonghan again and roll your eyes. He gives you a bit of a grimace and gets up, hurrying into the now-empty bathroom.

You take his seat at the table, sip slowly at your coffee. Having three guys as roommates means this happens with relative regularity, though usually the guys keep their conquests to weekends and holidays. Mingyu must have really liked this girl to bring her home on a weeknight. You glance back at his closed door; you can faintly hear their voices, but not what they’re saying. She was pretty.

You tuck away whatever feelings you might have about this, just like you always do, wipe your heart as clean as a classroom chalkboard at the beginning of a new day. Jeonghan vacates the bathroom, clearly in a hurry, and you take his place, turning the shower on and praying that there’ll be enough hot water left to get you through. (There’s not.)

Later, as you sit on the train amidst a sea of other morning commuters, you check your phone.

Roomies 💕

[8:07am] (jeong)Han Solo: i would like to issue a formal complaint

[8:07 am] wonuuu: i left plenty of coffee bro

[8:07am] (jeong)Han Solo: not that

[8:09am] Cinnamingyu: if this is a noise complaint… i’m sorry but also no i’m not

[8:09am] You: you’re disgusting

[8:09am] Cinnamingyu: you love me

[8:10am] You: 🙄

[8:10am] (jeong)Han Solo: so does the girl whose presence in our one (1) bathroom made me late this morning

[8:10am] (jeong)Han Solo: if i get fired you’re covering my part of the rent

[8:11am] Cinnamingyu: have fun defending that in small claims court

[8:11am] You: i am happy to be a witness on your behalf

[8:11am] Cinnamingyu: et tu brutus?

[8:11am] You: my shower was lukewarm at best

[8:12am] You: you will be hearing from my counsel

[8:12am] You: thanks in advance wonwoo

[8:14am] wonuuu: for the millionth time… I cannot be your counsel. I’m not qualified yet.

[8:14am] You: yet ☝️

[8:17am] Cinnamingyu: let’s not ignore the real problem here… we need another bathroom

[8:21am] (jeong)Han Solo: ok great, tell me when you win the lottery so we can move out

Chuckling, you slide your phone back into your coat pocket as the train pulls into your stop. You hurry through the train station, tucking your chin into your coat collar as you speed through the icy December morning. It’s one of those dry cold days, where the air around you feels frozen, almost hurts to breathe. Everything is grey - sky above you, buildings around you, ground below you. Fast steps take you the three blocks to your office building, where you sigh in relief as the heated air hits your face, chasing away the chill.

You check your phone again as you hang your coat on your chair in your cubicle. As usual, Mingyu has texted you privately, away from the group chat.

[8:31am] Cinnamingyu: sorry about the hot water :(

[8:38am] You: you should be. i shivered through my whole conditioning routine.

[8:38am] Cinnamingyu: poor sunny baby :( :( :( will you ever forgive me?

You roll your eyes, but you’re fighting a smile. You hate that Mingyu can just charm you right out of a mood, and you hate it even more than he knows it and weaponizes it. He’s the one who gave you the nickname Sunny (or Sunshine depending on how cranky you were at the given moment) back when you were a college freshman. Your other roommates picked it up, but Mingyu was the only one who ever turned Sunshine or Sunny into Sunny Baby.

It’s absolutely horrendous, unfathomable, deeply unfair that it works, that it makes you melt into goo when he uses it. Still, you try to hold strong.

[8:38am] You: don’t you Sunny Baby me Kim Mingyu, you have crimes to answer for!!!

[8:39am] Cinnamingyu: ill cook for you tonight as penance. and then maybe a movie?

You frown. You wish you could take him up on the offer. Mingyu’s a great cook. One of the many things you love about him.

[8:39am] You: rain check. i won’t be home for dinner

[8:39am] Cinnamingyu: what’s this? did you manage to bag a man????

[8:39am] You: i hate you so much

[8:39am] You: yes you absolute scrambled egg, i have a date

Mingyu sends you a gif of an old man suggestively wiggling his eyebrows, and you laugh out loud. Then you stash your phone behind your keyboard and get to work. But when you check it again a few hours later, after your first meeting of the day lets out, he’s texted you again.

[8:40am] Cinnamingyu: is it the same guy as last week? date number TWO?? 😮

[10:51am] You: yeeeeees 🤭

[10:51am] Cinnamingyu: wow, big moves for you. a second date! do we need to have The Talk?

[10:51am] You: blocked and reported

This is an ancient song and dance for you and Mingyu. When you’ve been friends as long as you have, some things just become routine. Like you, gracefully ignoring the handful of girls that you never see a second time. Like him, acting like it’s monumental when you actually give someone a chance.

He’s used to you giving no one a chance, ever. He knows it doesn’t happen much.

But you had a good first date with Daeyoung last week. A really good first date. You’d been texting a lot since then, too. He was funny - witty. And cute. So you’d thought to yourself… what the hell. Why not? Why not go out a second time? What else were you going to do tonight?

(Stay home and eat the food Mingyu cooks for you. Watch a movie together on the couch.)

And, sure, you do want to do those things. But going out with Daeyoung tonight won’t change a thing between you and Mingyu. He’ll grill you about it when you get home, maybe tease you a little, and you’ll do food and a movie another night.

Daeyoung takes you bowling. You weren’t sure how you’d feel about it, not having been in a bowling alley since you were a kid, and remembering them as vaguely sticky places. But it ends up being kind of cute, maybe even nostalgic. Daeyoung buys a pitcher of beer and sets it on your - yes - sticky table, and walks with you as you select a pink ball that is definitely meant for children. 

“You know that’s only six pounds, right?” he asks you, smiling playfully.

“Bold of you to think I could lift a heavier one,” you deadpan, and he laughs. You like his laugh - it’s easy, light, like he’s wholly uncomplicated. You could use some uncomplicated in your life. 

You're terrible at bowling - you score a 42 on your first game, the ball finding the gutter more times than it stays on the lane. Even so, you manage to have fun. Daeyoung doesn’t make you feel weird about it - in fact, he barely pays attention to the actual bowling. Instead he talks to you about your day, asks about your family, doesn't seem like he's freaked out that you live with three guy friends. He doesn’t even ask the very common, “so, has anything ever happened there?” for which you’re grateful. 

He’s got three sisters, you learn, and grew up with cats but still wants a dog someday. He graduated two years before you, has never traveled outside the country. 

You offer back your own resume of sorts - an older sister and a younger brother, no pets growing up and allergic to most mammals (perhaps humans included, as has been pointed out by Mingyu on many occasions, usually in the same conversation that he’s calling you Sunshine and pinching your cheeks like your attitude is cute). Graduated with Honors and haven’t traveled much either, though you’d love to when you have some money saved up.

Your phone lights up on the table every so often, and you check it while Daeyoung takes his turn on the lane. A few are Jeonghan and one of your co-workers, and one is your little brother asking how to get blood out of laundry which is super alarming - but the rest are from Mingyu.

[7:19pm] Cinnamingyu: just know that you are missing one of my best creations

[7:19pm] Cinnamingyu: but dont worry i will save you some ☺️ because i’m the best roommate ever

[7:31pm] You: thank youuuuu! I might not have any tonight but you know i’ll eat the leftovers!

[7:31pm] Cinnamingyu: hows the date?

[7:36pm] You: i am very bad at bowling actually!!!

[7:36pm] Cinnamingyu: aim for the pins

[7:43pm] You: have i mentioned that i hate you?

[7:43pm] Cinnamingyu: guess i’ll throw these leftovers out then

[8:12pm] Cinnamingyu: what time do you think youll be home?

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: sorry i didnt mean that like WHEN WILL YOU BE HOME YOUNG LADY

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: i was asking bc i was deciding if i want to start a movie or wait for you i wasnt trying to

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: you know

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: anyway. aim for the pins. wear protection. etc. see you later lol

[8:38pm] You: young lady 🙄 go away mingyu!!! 

[8:38pm] Cinnamingyu: you dont mean that

[8:38pm] You: i don’t 😘

[8:47pm] You: if you wanna save a movie for me… i should be home by 11

Daeyoung drives you home after the date, and you note that his car is clean, but not serial killer clean. A green flag. 

When he asks if he can see you again soon, as he's pulling the car up to your building, you tell him yes without hesitating. It’ll be your first third date in maybe ever, and you make a little note in your brain that you should probably talk to him about this, make sure he can be on the same page - that this is fun and you’ll keep going out as long as it’s a good time, but you aren’t really looking for serious.

When he pauses, leaning in a little closer, you feel yourself smile, and you let him. It’s a nice kiss.

He’s a nice guy.

There’s no reason you couldn’t follow through with this. There’s no giant problem with him, no personality quirk or inherent difference that makes him ineligible.

But. 

You push the thought away. “Thanks for tonight,” you tell him. “I had a good time.”

“You’d have a better time if you listened to my advice and used a heavier ball,” he says seriously, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he’s teasing. “You can’t expect to knock down pins when they weigh more than what you’re throwing at them.”

“Sounds fake,” you joke, and hop out of the car. Before you shut the door, you pause. “See you next weekend?”

His smile unfurls, pleased. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll text you.”

You practically skip back into the apartment. You pause at the closet by the front door, pulling off your boots and hanging up your puffy winter coat. You can hear the tv on in the living room and water running in the kitchen.

You step into the kitchen, heading for the fridge. Mingyu stands at the sink, his back to you, up to his elbow in suds. You bump him with your hips as you pass by, and he kicks at you and misses. You open the fridge and grab a can of seltzer. Mingyu smiles at you from the sink, and just like that, Daeyoung evaporates from your mind.

He calls you Sunny, but he’s the sun. Has been that way as long as you’ve known him - since undergrad. 

You’d met in your freshman year - he was puppy-dog cute, back then, not the chiseled sculpture of a man who takes up half your kitchen now. You’d been in the Arts and he’d been in the Sciences - something mathy - but you’d bonded in one of those godawful general requirement classes, and somehow the friendship had taken hold.

Mingyu holding your hand - metaphorically and literally - through your two required math classes and two required science labs was the only reason you’d even managed to graduate. Of course, you’d also written every single formal paper he had through the whole four years, so it evened out.

You complement each other that way, in every area. He’s outgoing and friendly, you’re cranky enough to be given the nickname Sunny in pure irony. Mingyu likes puzzles and problems he can work out, you like to turn the brain off for any and all hobbies. Mingyu is sunshine and big smiles, you are made of salt and sarcasm. 

But you love each other - have been best friends since almost the moment you met. There is nothing in your life you’d be willing to lose less than him.

You wander up to him and lean against his arm, mostly to be funny because he continues to wash dishes even as it jostles you around, and it becomes a little game of him trying to shake you off and you refusing to be shaken.

“How was your night?” he asks finally, reaching to turn off the water. You automatically pass him a dish towel to dry his hands. He takes it, drying, and then reaches around you to hang it back up near the oven. 

“Not as good as yours,” you snicker, noticing a purple blotch near his collar.

He flushes dark, slapping a hand over the spot. “Yah,” he complains. 

You laugh. “She was cute!”

“She’d be cuter if she spent less time in our bathroom!” Jeonghan’s disembodied voice floats from the living room.

“Alright, we get it!” Mingyu calls back hotly. “You’ve only been complaining about that for fifteen hours!”

Cackling, you follow him out into the living room. Jeonghan is sprawled sideways on the two-seater, a show you don’t recognize playing across the tv screen. Down the hallway, Wonwoo’s door is open about a foot, casting the hallway in flickering blue light that tells you he’s gaming and you probably won’t see him for the rest of the night. 

“So,” Jeonghan says dryly, without peeling his eyes from the tv, “I noticed your boyfriend’s car idling outside for quite a while before you came in. Were we necking?”

“Necking?” you splutter. Beside you, Mingyu is biting on his lips, trying not to laugh at your expense. “What year is this, 1950? And he’s not my boyfriend. You know that.”

You can’t help the defensive edge that creeps into your voice. From where he’s plopped on the couch, Mingyu reaches up for your hand, tugging. You let him pull you into the space next to him and he rubs a soothing hand across your shoulders before taking his hand away. It’s a silent, quick moment - easy to miss if you aren’t looking. But you are looking, always, and you wonder if he even knows he does this - reads your moods, rushes to fix you. 

Unbothered by your ruffled feathers, Jeonghan asks lightly, “So, are you seeing him again, or…?”

The bastard hasn’t even looked away from the television screen.

“You’re such an ass sometimes,” you grumble at him.

Now he looks over at you, smiling beatifically, innocently. “There’s my Sunshine.”

“Fuck off.”

“Well?” Mingyu asks from next to you, eyebrows raised. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” you say, trying to sound casual. You can tell the jackals are in a mood tonight.

Jeonghan’s face splits into a delighted grin. “A third date? My goodness.”

“We all know what happens on a third date,” Mingyu says sagely, and you punch him in the thigh, extra hard since you can only reach him and not Jeonghan too.

Wonwoo’s voice comes from down the hallway. “Leave Sunny alone, you guys.”

“Yeah,” you grumble. “Leave Sunny alone.”

Mingyu stretches over your lap to reach for the remote. It brings his torso almost flush against yours and you feel your face heat. 

“I was watching that,” Jeonghan complains before Mingyu even presses anything.

“Sunny and I are watching a movie,” Mingyu says flatly. “Go watch on your laptop if you care so much.”

Jeonghan reaches towards your couch lazily and slaps at the air like he can’t be assed to work any harder to hit his roommate. “You’re cranky today,” he observes, the arm not trying (sort of) to slap Mingyu’s leg folded behind his head. “Why might that be?”

Mingyu doesn’t answer him, just settles back next to you, his arm against yours, and starts scrolling through movie options.

He still hasn’t picked one when Wonwoo appears in the living room’s doorway, leaning against the wooden frame, his LED headset looped around his neck and his eyes on his phone.

“What are we watching?” he asks absently.

“Nothing, apparently,” Jeonghan quips.

Beside you, Mingyu growls a little.

Unphased - this is so normal for them, it would be more alarming if they weren’t pissing each other off - you look up and Wonwoo and say, “I didn’t think you’d emerge tonight.”

“I’m heading right back in,” he admits. “Hydration break. Anyway - question. What’s everyone’s plans for the holidays?”

Mingyu stops scrolling, pausing to think. 

“I’ll be home,” Jeonghan says, meaning his hometown.

“Me, too,” Mingyu adds. “I’m leaving on Sunday. Next Sunday, I mean.”

Wonwoo lets out a little sigh. “Okay. My folks were asking when I was coming. Sunny, you’re going home, too?”

“Uh, no, actually,” you admit. “I was staying here.”

You feel rather than see your friends share a glance. 

“I can stay, then,” Wonwoo says, a bit tightly - you can tell that wasn’t the plan. “So you aren’t alone.”

“No,” you protest. “I’m perfectly fine being here by myself, you know that.”

“Sunny Baby is an indoor cat,” Mingyu notes, and you bump him with your elbow. 

“It’s fine,” you insist. “Plus, I think Daeyoung will be around, so I won’t be alone the whole time anyway.”

Mingyu’s eyes bore into the side of your face, but you don’t look at him; if it’s pity he’s leveling at you, you don’t want it. 

“If you’re sure,” Wonwoo says, and when you assure him you do, he vanishes into the kitchen and then back into his room. Mingyu clicks on a movie and you settle in, eventually getting sleepy and shifting sideways, your head resting comfortably on his unfairly sculpted shoulder. He shifts to let you get more comfortable, and the night passes as simply and pleasantly as hundreds before.

When the movie ends, you pick up the bottles and cans from the coffee table while Mingyu does a quick lap of the apartment, turning off lights and making sure doors are locked. You meet outside the bathroom - occupied by Jeonghan - both waiting your turn to brush your teeth and whatever else before bed. 

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu says softly, something tentative in his voice, and you look up at him, heart suddenly thumping. He’s looking at you earnestly in the dim light from the bedrooms down the hall, something you’re not sure you can name on his face. It’s almost pleading, but that doesn’t make sense. “Are you sure you don’t want to come home with me for the holidays? My family would love to have you - they’re obsessed with you, you know that.”

Your heart calms. “It’s really okay,” you promise. “But thanks for checking.”

The bathroom door opens and Jeonghan slips by, leaving a wave of toothpaste-mint in his wake. 

“You go ahead,” Mingyu says.

“You were in line first,” you argue.

He rolls his eyes but knows how stubborn you are, so he disappears into the bathroom. You lean your butt against the kitchen table and check your phone for the first time in a while.

Daeyoung had texted shortly after he drove away - probably as soon as he got home.

[11:24pm] Daeyoung: I had a really good time tonight. Looking forward to next week :]

[12:51am] You: me too ☺️

The bathroom door opens and you turn off your phone screen with a click, bidding Mingyu goodnight as you slide into the bathroom’s light.

–

January 

New Year’s Eve

Roomies 💕

[11:13pm] (jeong)Han Solo: sunny where’d you end up tonight?

[11:13pm] You: i’m with the girliesss!!! where are you guys

[11:13pm] Cinnamingyu: sunnnyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy baby baby baby

[11:13pm] You: yyyeeesssss??

[11:14pm] (jeong)Han Solo: we’re downtown. mingyu cant come to the phone right now but i think he wants you to come hang out with us

[11:14pm] You: lmao nooooo he didnt even make it to midnight??? thats sad, kim mingyu

[11:16pm] Wonuuu: u ever think about that phrase “can’t come to the phone”… from an era in which you had to walk to the family’s landline phone in the kitchen or whatever… none of us were even alive for that

[11:16pm] You: wow apparently you guys are having a much better time than me

[11:16pm] (jeong)Han Solo: only wonwoo lol ok be safe and have fun!! see you at home

–

[11:14pm] Cinnamingyu: come out!!

[11:14pm] You: i am out! Lol

[11:15am] Cinnamingyu: you know what i mean

[11:16am] You: im sorry :( but we’re across town and by the time we got there we’d miss the countdown

[11:16am] Cinnamingyu: ok 🙁

[11:16am] You: don’t pout!!! i’ll see you at home tomorrow and we can hang out all day

[11:16am] Cinnamingyu: not the same!

[11:17am] You: ok lets take a shot together!!

[11:17am] Cinnamingyu: ???

[11:17am] You: go order one and tell me when you’re ready!!

[11:18am] Cinnamingyu: lmao on it 🫡

[11:28am] Cinnamingyu: ok im ready

[11:28am] You: ok when you get this count to three and take your shot! 

[11:29am] You: geonbae or cheers or salute or whatever

[11:29am] Cinnamingyu: or whatever 🙄 

[11:29am] You: 😘

New Year’s Day

Roomies 💕

[12:00am] You: HAPPY NEW YEAR LOVES OF MY LIFE LET THIS BE THE BESTEWT YEAR FOR US EVER EVER EVR!!!!!

[12:00am] Wonuuu: happy new year sunny 🙂

[12:00am] (jeong)Han Solo: happy new yearrr 😽

[4:09am] You: home safe ♥️ 

[10:33am] Wonuuu: i’ll be home tomorrow sunny

[12:42pm] (jeong)Han Solo: i’ll be back tonight but probably not until after dinner

[12:42pm] You: ok! i’ll be here

[3:17pm] (jeong)Han Solo: is mingyu alive???

[3:17pm] You: lol yeah he’s home. he’s just… not in the best shape asfjkasfhaio

[12:00am] Cinnamingyu: happy new year sunny baby 🩷

[12:01am] You: happy new year best friend!!!!!!! ily ily ily!!!!

[12:32am] Cinnamingyu: you kno you could still meet us out nw

[11:23am] Cinnamingyu: can u open the front door… my head hurts too bad to make the keys work

You stagger to the apartment’s front door, eyes squinting against the harsh daylight streaming into the living room and kitchen area. When you unlock and pull open the door, Mingyu almost collapses on top of you.

“Get up,” you groan, shuffling backwards. “You’re too heavy, I can’t hold you!”

“Shhhh,” he whispers, but rights himself to standing. 

You stand there for a minute, both of you just grappling with the horrible reality of being awake and upright and, god, very hungover.

“I need to lay down,” Mingyu says finally, very clearly, like he’s had a sudden burst of self-preservation.

“Come on,” you wave at him vaguely and make your way back to bed. You collapse right into the spot you’d vacated when he texted, pulling the blankets up to your ears and closing your eyes, waiting for the bed to dip beside you. 

It doesn’t.

You open your eyes again. “Mingyu?”

He appears wordlessly in your doorway, then makes his way over to his side of the bed. The empty side of your bed. Not his. You have to stop thinking that way.

You’re puzzled, but then he leans over and presses a cold water bottle into your hand. Despite his whining, he was still trying to take care of you. 

“Did you take any pain killer?” you mumble. 

“Probably more than was actually advisable,” he admits, twisting his own water open and drinking noisily. You don’t see a problem with this - Mingyu is gigantic, and you can imagine his dosing needs would reflect it.

“Okay,” you say with a little sigh. “We’ll sleep for a while and then maybe we can try to eat.”

“God, don’t talk about food,” he moans, taking one of your extra pillows and covering his face.

You chuckle lightly, and then roll to hide your face somewhere near his bicep, breathing in his familiar cinnamon scent and matching your breaths to his until you slip back under. The millionth time you’ve fallen asleep next to your best friend, and you’re already eagerly looking ahead to a million and one.

You’re awakened by the sound of someone retching in the bathroom, clear on the other side of the apartment. You scrabble for and glance at your phone - hours have passed. The light in your bedroom has slipped closer to golden as mid-afternoon begins to wane. You sit up tentatively; this time there’s no wave of dizziness as a punishment for being vertical, though your head still pounds. 

You drink some of the water Mingyu brought you, answer a text from Jeonghan, then decide to go make sure Mingyu’s alive.

“You need anything?” you call through the door. You can hear the sink run, and the door opens. 

“A lobotomy,” he deadpans. He looks miserable, frown pronounced and eyes puffy. 

“Get back in bed,” you tell him gently, and he ambles off towards your room. You detour into the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. It might not save him, but you could use some caffeine. 

While it brews, you poke your head into your bedroom. Mingyu is back in your bed, curled up pitifully, that pouting frown still prevalent on his face. 

“What time did you take something?” you ask him.

“Like ten thirty,” he mumbles into your pillow. 

You glance at the clock. “You can have more,” you tell him, and head back across the apartment to pilfer through the medicine cabinet. 

With the pill bottle in hand, you stop in the kitchen long enough to pour yourself a cup of coffee. Carefully balancing so as not to spill, you bring it into the bedroom, placing it carefully on your nightstand and then nudging Mingyu’s shoulder. 

He whines a response. 

“I have drugs for you,” you tell him, and he holds up an open palm without lifting his face.  

You drop the medicine into his hand and get comfy back in your spot, even though you think you’re done sleeping for now. Beside you, Mingyu takes the pills and settles back into sleep. He’s snoring before you can even choose a show to watch on your phone. 

You look over at him fondly, disaster that he is. Then you settle in deeper, content to let his warmth radiate over to you, content to be by his side.

–

[12:02am] Daeyoung: happy new year! wishing you luck and happiness ☺️

[4:23pm] You: thank you!!! to you as well!!

–

February

Valentine’s Day is an emotional minefield. You don’t know if you want to lean into the bitter and single thing, or if you want to go all Gal-entines and pamper your friends, or if you want to just keep your head down and treat the day like any other fuck-ass Tuesday in winter.

The universe surprises you with a secret fourth option. Or, rather, Daeyoung does. 

You’ve lost track counting your dates with him at this point - you are simply dating. Neither of you has pushed for a what is this conversation, and you’re relieved. You like Daeyoung, you like the time you spend together, and you’d be sad if things ended. But at the same time, you don’t feel things getting deeper, and if he pushed you to make this serious, to put parameters on it, you’re not sure how you’d feel. 

Something inside you keeps it light - enough so that you don’t even think of doing anything for him to celebrate the holiday.

Apparently, you’re an asshole. 

Sometime after ten, your office’s secretary calls you, asking you to come up to reception for a minute. You’re suspicious, but you don’t do the mental math about what day it is until you turn the corner and see the small vase of roses - three of them, arranged with some baby’s breath and a few other fillers you can’t name - sitting on the reception counter.

“These got delivered for you,” she tells you, and it’s clear on her face that she’s dying for you to spill. “Are they from that guy? The tall one who looks like a movie star?”

This would annoy you if you weren’t so used to it. Everyone asks you if you’re with Mingyu - they never understand why you’re not when you two are attached at the hip.

It had happened once - just a kiss at a frat party, in the middle of the dance floor. You’d both been drinking, of course, and pressed close together to dance, his chest against your back and his hands on your hips and then you’d turned and tipped your chin up and his sparkling eyes had gone molten before he’d kissed you and your whole world had been swept away -

And you’d been interrupted, had been literally pulled away to deal with some drama happening in the kitchen, and somehow… you’d never talked about it. It never happened again.

Sometimes, you wonder if you only dreamed it. It wouldn’t surprise you.

But, no. Your imagination is good, but it’s not good enough to come up with the minute details of how his pecs had felt under your hands, how his fingers had felt pressed into the small of your back, how he had almost sighed into your mouth when it opened for him, how he had tasted a bit like cinnamon, courtesy of the fireball shots the frat was giving out like candy.

Anyway. Life goes on, right?

“No,” you tell the secretary quickly, because you know the roses aren’t from Mingyu. Even if he’d done something today, as your friend, he knows you aren’t much of a roses girl. “We’re just friends.” You will the words to leave your mouth without leaving ashes in their wake.

You reach for the small card tied around the thinnest part of the vase to see who did send them. 

Thought you deserved something pretty today. Don’t freak out. :] - Daeyoung

The secretary is still watching you, harmlessly curious. 

“It’s just a guy I’ve been seeing,” you say. “It’s not serious.”

“Wow,” she says, eyeing the simple arrangement. “Looks like he thinks it’s a little serious - or that it could be.”

“That’s probably true,” you muse out loud, taking the arrangement back to your own cubicle and setting it on your desk. You snap a photo and text it to Daeyoung with a thank you and a row of sobbing emojis. Then you stand behind your chair, eyes on the red petals, your hand pressed to your mouth, processing.

You didn’t expect to feel like this. A fluttering, a rush of excitement. Even though you aren’t into roses, specifically, the thought is very nice. And no one has thought of you, not like this, in a very long time. 

When you get home, the apartment is dark and empty. You wonder if any of the guys have dates tonight, or if they’re working late, or with family. You set the roses on the kitchen table, hang up your coat, and then shoot the grouptext a quick “where is everyone?”. Then you head into your room, eager to take a quick shower and change into something comfy.

You freeze when you flick on your bedroom light.

The clutter on your small desk has been pushed to the side, and a clear vase holds a thick bouquet of sunflowers - your favorite. 

You hear yourself gasp, the sound echoing through your head on a loop as you stare at the bright, yellow blooms. You step forward on shaky legs, reaching for the tiny card that’s slipped under the vase.

Sunny flowers for Sunny Baby. Love you. - M

The tears come with such unexpected force that you almost laugh through the third sob. You can barely see through the sudden stream of tears, can hear yourself struggling to inhale. You hurry to shut your bedroom door, locking it for good measure, and then those shaking legs of yours give up, and you sink to your knees and weep into your hands, trying to muffle the sounds, just in case anyone comes home.

You cry so hard it makes your abs hurt, makes the muscles in your face feel stretched, nearly makes you gag. You haven’t cried like this since undergrad.

Because he loves you, but he doesn’t love you, and even though you’ve been pretending for so long it’s as unconscious as breathing, it doesn’t shatter you any less. 

Because he’s perfect, and he’s yours, but somehow you still don’t have him, and in the meantime no one else will ever be enough -  just for not being him.

Because being thought of earlier by Daeyoung was nice, but it is so much better to be known, like this. Mingyu knows you don’t like roses. Mingyu knows your favorites. Mingyu knows you. 

And it’s a waste. It’s all for fucking nothing.

When the tears start to settle and you can breathe a little better, you push yourself back to your feet. You listen at your bedroom door and don’t hear anyone, so you hurry across the apartment and into the bathroom, where you blow your nose and splash your face with cold water. 

When you come out again, Jeonghan is in the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says, his back to you. When he turns, he freezes, his face dropping. You must be puffy and red, still.

“Hey,” you reply meekly. 

“Oh, Sunny,” he says mournfully, stepping closer. “I told him he shouldn’t, but he asked why not, he’s your friend, and I couldn’t say -”

You let out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah,” you mutter. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

He watches you carefully, probably trying to gauge if you’re lying. Then he spots the roses and lights up. 

“Well, well,” he says, a sly smile showing up on his face. “Those are nice.”

“Yeah,” you say again, the only word in your arsenal. “They are. I, um, I think I’m gonna shower. Do you need the bathroom first?” 

Under the spray of hot water, you cry a little more, like an aftershock hit you. It’s quiet this time, and you try to shoulder through it as you condition your hair, ready to put this whole episode behind you once you step out into the chilly bathroom air again.

When you emerge, Jeonghan is on the couch. By the sounds coming from down the hallway, Wonwoo has just gotten home and is dumping the contents of his life onto his bedroom floor. Jeonghan opens his mouth to say something, but you lift a fluffy-bathrobe-clad arm and silently shush him. 

“It’s fine,” you say again, firmly. 

Jeonghan had been your friend first, back in undergrad. You’d brought him into the friend group the same way Mingyu had brought Wonwoo. The four of you had worked cohesively as a friend-and-roommate unit for a long time, but sometimes those old alliances seemed to matter more than others. Jeonghan would never cross the line without your permission, would never tell your secrets if you weren’t willing to tell them yourself. Wonwoo, on the other hand, was much more likely to open his mouth - especially if he thought he was helping. 

The front door bursts open, and Mingyu enters the apartment in a cacophony of noise and dropped items, oranges spilling from the bag in his arms and rolling across the floor. You move to pick a few up as he puts the bag of groceries down and pulls his boots off.

“Sunny!” he says, all excitement, eyes shining. “Did you like my gift?”

You can’t even look at Jeonghan, turning your back to him completely as you hold out the oranges you’d collected. Mingyu takes them, but watches you eagerly, waiting for your answer.

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “I loved it.”

His smile triples.

You were wrong when you said Mingyu was the sun. Mingyu is an avalanche. Rushing, rolling, thundering over and through you until there’s nothing left but a glinting field of ice and silence. Nothing else matters - nothing else exists - in his wake.

“You better watch out, Mingyu,” Jeonghan says from the couch, and your blood runs as cold as that field of ice, because you know he’s about to start some shit. “Sunny got flowers from her lover today. That guy’s coming for your woman.”

You’re opening your mouth to reprimand him - tell him to shut up, or something - but Mingyu beats you to it.

“Sunny’s not mine,” he says simply. 

All that ice evaporates in an instant like it was never there.

“My lover,” you echo with a frown, when you can speak again. “Don’t say it like that, you weirdo.”

“Well, isn’t he?” Jeonghan asks innocently.

You head for your bedroom with a roll of your eyes. “Goodnight, Jeonghan.”

“That means yes,” he sing-songs, and you slam your door shut.

Wonwoo’s voice floats through the door. “Who pissed off Sunshine?”

Mingyu’s grumble responds, “Who do you think?”

–

You and Mingyu lay side by side in the grass, a late spring night unspooling with cricket song and a smattering of flickering stars above you. His arm touches yours and you can feel his chest shift as he breathes deeply.

You feel content - you feel infinite - you feel like one of those blinking stars. You feel like you could lay here next to him in silence and be happy until your light goes out, just like theirs. 

“Mingyu,” you say, turning to look at him. The grass tickles your cheek. 

He turns to look at you, too. It’s dark, here behind the university’s main hub, most of the lights on the far side of the building. Still, there’s enough light to see his eyes, steady on you, his gaze serious.

“Sunny Baby,” he responds, voice low, like he’s telling you a secret. “I love you.”

You startle awake, heart pounding, and you’re immediately furious. 

“Fuck,” you hiss, punching your mattress once. 

The pathetic truth is you dream about that night in undergrad all the time - you and Mingyu on one of the last nights before summer break, leaving a party together and laying in the grass behind the advising department building watching the constellations rotate above you. 

The pathetic truth is the dream never follows the script, always turning the scene sideways, making it something different than what it was.

The pathetic truth is that Mingyu had been blacked out, more fucked up than you’d ever seen him, and you’d laid in the grass because you physically couldn’t keep him upright any further than that and you’d had to text Wonwoo to come help you. 

You hadn’t said anything to Mingyu - at least not something meaningful. You might have said please don’t puke on me, or god, you weigh a ton, or how many jaeger bombs did you do? 

He had said he loved you - had slurred it, eyes closed. 

You had laughed, even though it had sent a dagger through your chest. “Okay, Romeo,” you’d teased, and checked your phone to see if Wonwoo was on his way to help. 

“I do,” he’d insisted, one hand patting the grass next to him like he was trying to find you. “Sunny, I love you.”

You didn’t know how he meant it - still don’t know, to this day, because you don’t think he even remembered saying it and you’d been too afraid to bring it up.

What were you supposed to say? Hey, when you were blacked out last night, you said you love me… do you mean like… platonically… or…? 

God. The idea of it is just as humiliating now, years later, as it had been in the weeks that followed that night. And though he’s said it regularly since then - like on this fucking card with the sunflowers - he never said it like that, and you never pushed it. 

Now, awake and furious and sad at three in the morning, you grab your phone and climb out of bed. 

You know you shouldn’t. You know it’s only making this worse for you. But you make your way on light steps through the dark and silent apartment to Mingyu’s door and push it open.

Is it mithridatism, this thing you do? Microdosing on the poison so that a full dose won’t kill you? No, that isn’t right. A full dose of Mingyu wouldn’t kill you. It’s an absence of Mingyu that you need protected from.

You climb into his bed and poke at his calves with your toes until he grunts as he wakes. Then, as he gathers his senses, he rolls to look at you over his shoulder.

“Bad dream?” he asks, voice kind of breathy with sleep.

“Mhm.”

He rolls the rest of the way, lifts his arm so you can scoot a little closer. You breathe easier immediately. It makes no sense that the thing that hurts you is also the only thing that makes you feel better. 

“Won’t your lover object to you getting in bed with me?” he asks, and you can hear the edge in his voice as clear as day.

You let out a single, wry ha. He’s got a point, but Daeyoung isn’t your boyfriend, you aren’t exclusive, and what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Nah,” you say easily. “I’m not his.”

-

March

March can’t make up its mind if it’s winter or spring. Warm days lull you into a false sense of security, and then a blistering cold rushes in just to call you a fool.

You’re the last one to get to the bar on Friday night after work, and you have to stand awkwardly next to the booth the guys have staked out and unwrap yourself - hat, scarf, gloves, puffer coat, big heavy sweater - before you can actually slide into the empty spot next to Mingyu.

“Hi bestie,” he says, immediately draping his arm behind your shoulders, resting on the back of the wooden bench. “How was your day?”

“Fuck Marcus in Accounting,” you answer.

“Fuck Marcus in Accounting,” your roommates all answer solemnly, because this is a common gripe. 

“Fireball and ginger ale it is, then,” Mingyu says, and climbs over you to head to the bar, his own empty beer glass in hand. When he slides the cocktail glass in front of you and scoots back to his original spot, you fill the guys in on Marcus’s Bullshit of the Day. 

“And then,” you finish the story, “I was like yeah, I know you did, Marcus, because she blind-copied me on her reply and you should have seen the color his face turned so I think it’s fair to say I won this round.”

“I’m surprised they aren’t all scared of you,” Wonwoo remarks. 

“Marcus is,” you say, glowering at your now-empty cocktail glass. “That’s why he’s such a dick. He hates that he’s intimidated.”

Mingyu’s arm has slid down from the back of the bench and rests lightly across your shoulder by this point, and he gives you a playful squeeze into his side as he laughs. 

He starts telling a story next, and you listen as you slip your phone out and check your texts. Daeyoung had texted you a while ago, and you shoot him a quick answer that you’re out with your roommates for Friday drinks, and then dial back into the conversation. 

When Mingyu’s glass is empty again, you rise, taking the empties up to the bar and signalling for another of each. While you wait, elbows on the bar, you check your phone again. Daeyoung had texted back, asking where you guys were drinking.

You hesitate. The idea of incorporating Daeyoung into the group makes you nervous. Behind you, you can hear Mingyu yapping a thousand miles a minute, and Jeonghan’s distinctive heh heh heh in answer. It’s not that you don’t think the guys will be nice… it just feels like a big move. 

It might be nice to have him there, though - someone on your side when Jeonghan and Mingyu gang up on you and Wonwoo is too in his own world to be effective back-up, someone to hold your hand and get your drinks, someone to be in your own private little bubble with when the conversation ebbs and flows away from topics you can engage with. 

You send him back “just a little place by the apartment!” which is technically true, and then grab the refreshed drinks for you and Mingyu. 

The guys are getting up, making noise about a just-vacated darts board, so you swivel and turn to follow them, a cold drink in each hand.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu tells you, half an hour later, bending down low so he can talk close to your ear over the loud music, “you have to put more muscle into it. You have to throw it like you want to pierce it.”

“I don’t think it’s that serious, actually!” you tell him cheerfully, and down the rest of your drink, pushing the empty glass into his giant hand. His turn. 

He shoots you a grin so sharp and devilish that it makes your whole body fight a shudder, and then he disappears off to the bar. 

You heckle Jeonghan through his turn (unsuccessfully - he’s way better at this than you) and then glance at the bar to see if the bartenders have gotten to Mingyu yet in the crowd. He’s facing you, his arms crossed, that same devilish smile on his face. He leans sideways on the bar, where your drink and his own beer sit sweating, forgotten. 

The girl he’s smiling at has her back to you, which is a miracle, because if she’d been able to see your face fall, she probably would have back-pedaled out of the conversation immediately - it would be impossible for her not to see that she was walking into a flashing neon sign screaming this situation is a mess!!!!

When she laughs, throwing her head back, and reaches a hand out to touch his forearm, you feel the whole bar swoop sideways around you. You’re fumbling for your phone, even as you hear Mingyu’s answering laugh cut through all the loud music and conversations filling the space, even as you watch through your periphery as he gives her a return nudge to the shoulder, playful, that smile only growing.

You’re going to be sick.

You shoot Daeyoung a text - sorry, I should have told you which bar. I’m leaving now though. Do you want to come get me? We could chill for a little? - and then you push your way through the bar, not even bothering to tell Jeonghan and Wonwoo goodbye. You make an extra effort to skirt the opposite wall as the bar, hoping you get out without Mingyu spotting you. 

There’s no way you could fake it right now. Zero chance. If he came after you, it would all be out in the open.

Daeyoung answers you almost immediately - no worries! sure, send me your location. you want to hang at my place? 

Outside, the cold air assaults you. You immediately hesitate, wishing you’d grabbed your coat. You’ll get pneumonia waiting for Daeyoung without it.

You’re saved the trouble of going back in - the door opens and someone comes out after you. But it isn’t Mingyu - it’s Jeonghan, giving you the heaviest side-eye you’ve ever seen from him, your coat in his hands.

“Thank you,” you breathe when he’s close enough, taking the coat and sliding it over your arms. “It’s freezing.”

“Sunny,” he says, and something in his voice makes you pause. “I think we should talk.”

You cover your face with one hand, embarrassed and spent and tired. “About what?” you ask flatly, just to buy yourself a second. You know the answer. Of course you do.

He levels you with a look. “This can’t continue,” he says firmly. “For you, or for him, or for me and Wonwoo.”

You scoff. “What do you two have to do with it?” 

You’ve never seen him this serious, and it scares you a little. “Do you think it’s easy for me to watch you get hurt?”

You lower your gaze to the ground and don’t answer this; it feels rhetorical. 

“But you’re right - it’s not about us. It’s about you. Something has to give,” he says gently. “Either face it and get your answer, or let it go.”

“It’s not that simple,” you argue.

“Yes, it is that simple,” he retorts. “It’s just scary. But that’s not the same thing.”

“I can’t tell him,” you say, because it’s true. You can’t. You can’t. “What if it messed up everything for all of us?”

What if you lost him completely? What if he moved out? What if he stopped talking to you? 

Jeonghan doesn’t reply to this at first, he just watches you carefully, then tucks a long strand of dark hair behind his ear. 

“You can,” he says finally, still gentle. “But… if you won’t… then you have to let him go.”

Your stomach drops at the words, even though this is a truth you’ve been aware of for ages, have been doing your best to avoid. 

“I don’t know how to do that,” you whisper. And it’s true - loving Mingyu feels as instinctual as your heartbeat, intrinsically part of who you are. How can you separate it out, shut it down? 

“Stop sharing a bed with him,” Jeonghan suggests, and it’s so simple and straight-forward and correct that you can’t think of a single argument. “Quit texting him but ignoring everyone else. Stop cuddling with him on the couch after work. Quit-”

“Alright, I get it,” you snap, the defensiveness rising up again like muddy waters. 

“I’m not sure you do,” he says, and the gentleness is gone from his tone; you’ve moved into the Tough Love section of the lecture, apparently. “You can’t keep playing house with him, pretending you’re together, and then falling apart every time he makes it clear that it isn’t real. You’ll never feel better like this. It will never change, Sunny. You’ll be like this, forever. Is that what you want?”

Your throat is tight and sharp, and you blink quickly, eyes on the ground again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he says it like he aches. Maybe he means it. “You could talk to him, you could at least see what he says -”

“No,” you interrupt. “No. I can’t do that.”

He shrugs, big and exaggerated. “Then move on. There are other people in the world who’d be happy to love you the right way. You can’t give any of them a proper chance if you’re holding it against them that they aren’t Mingyu.”

Like the one you ignored all night, who is still on his way to pick your ass up right now… 

You push your hands against your eyes like you can block out the truth of what he’s saying, but you don’t say anything.

Jeonghan reaches out and rubs your shoulder. “I’m gonna go back in,” he says, gentle again. “It’s freezing out here. Just… think about it.”

“I’m thinking,” you say dryly. 

He nods, then disappears back into the bar, the wave of sound crashing and fading as the door opens and closes. 

You stay outside and wait for Daeyoung’s car, your hands going numb from the cold. You run the whole thing over and over in your head, replay Jeonghan’s words, daydream a hundred conversations with Mingyu each with different endings. 

You think maybe you should take Jeonghan’s advice - put some physical distance between you and Mingyu, just as a starting point. 

You hate the idea of it. But you know he’s right.

When Daeyoung pulls up, you slide into the passenger seat and tell him thank you, leaning over to kiss his cheek. He smiles at you, all sweet, and then whisks you away. Halfway to his place, he glances over at you.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he observes. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie, and then instantly feel bad for it. “Just… argued with my roommate. I’m kind of cranky.”

He reaches out and squeezes your knee once, reassuringly. “Well, you’re welcome to stay with me,” he says, and when you whip around to look at him, he laughs. “I wasn’t being presumptuous. I just meant if you needed some space from them, you’re welcome. That’s all.”

“Yeah, okay,” you repeat, settling back against the seat. “We’ll see.”

You keep your eyes on the window for the rest of the drive. 

You wonder if Mingyu brought that girl home, and then you shove that thought away, because you’re letting him go, starting tonight, and those thoughts aren’t going to serve you anymore.

And then you wonder the same thing again five minutes later.

–

April 

Winter softens, the temperature sturdies itself, and the season forms solidly into rain-logged spring. 

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu sings. Even on the greyest, soggiest days you turn to him like a plant turns to sun. “I’m bored.”

“That sounds like a personal problem,” you quip. 

He drapes himself over you in retaliation, long arms and legs hanging heavy towards the floor as his torso smothers your face, drowning in you in his cinnamon-tinged scent.

You protest wordlessly and shove at him, and he laughs, his abs working near your chest with the motion.

“Entertain me,” he whines.

Things have been different - weird different, sometimes even bad different - for a few weeks now, all because of Jeonghan. You choose to blame him, anyway. 

What he said to you plays in your head on loop all day every day, and suddenly you don’t know how to act right with Mingyu, causing you to overcorrect and swerve wildly. Sometimes you’re spending the entire day with him, touching and talking and leaning into it - then you think about it too hard and you spend the next two days icing him out. 

It’s confusing for both of you. You can tell he notices, can tell he’s baffled by the change. More than once you’ve caught him looking at you like you’re a problem to solve - that face he makes when something isn’t working, or he’s got an equation of some sort to work out. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make you feel bad about it, doesn’t confront you, just takes what you’ll give him with a smile.

You haven’t gone to his room in the middle of the night since your talk with Jeonghan, either. It feels like quitting something. The withdrawal eats at your nerves, the cravings taking over until you can’t focus on anything else. More than one night since then you’ve laid awake, staring at your ceiling, heart pounding as you argue with yourself - just go, you’ll sleep and you’ll feel better waging war against Jeonghan’s you can’t keep pretending you’re together and then falling apart when he makes it clear that it isn’t real. 

Each time, you’d ended up staying in your own bed. Jeonghan is right. You knew it when he said it, and you know it now. You have to let go if you’re ever going to be happy. You can’t keep living in the shadows of Mingyu’s life, waiting for him to come give you just a slice of himself and pretending to be sated by it.

“I can’t entertain you, you pain in my ass,” you say, as he allows you to roll his heavy body off of yours and onto the other side of your bed. “I have a date with Daeyoung in like an hour. I need to go shampoo.”

“Booooo,” he complains. Then he props himself up on one elbow and gives you that familiar look again - the math problem look. Not calculating, exactly, but definitely evaluating. “You’ve been seeing him for a while,” he remarks, and you can hear the effort to keep his tone casual, which makes you wonder what he’s hiding.

“Like four months,” you say, not sure if this is agreeing with him or not.

He nods, then rolls to face your ceiling, arms behind his head. It does disgusting things to his biceps, and you look away, sitting up and reaching for your phone to check the time.

“How’s that going?” he asks, still all casual. 

“Good,” you say airily, still not looking at him.

“Sunny,” he says, a bit more seriously, and it’s enough to make you glance his way. He’s facing you, arms still behind his head, but watching. “Why won’t you talk to me about it?”

Ice flows through your veins so quickly that you have the urge to blow on your fingers to warm them. Talk to me about it. You take a calming breath, remind yourself that he’s asking about Daeyoung, not about your feelings in general.

“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug. “Just feels weird.” 

“It didn’t used to,” he says, and you know exactly what he means. You’d always talked to him about anything - including boys and crushes. 

He doesn’t ask so what’s different now, but you know the answer anyway. You’re afraid you’ll say anything, and Mingyu - who knows you better than anyone else - will hear everything you aren’t trying to say. How you feel about him, how you’ve been trying to create distance and boundaries, how it’s been unsuccessful because you have no sense of consistency, how you can’t seem to accept that you don’t get to have him, how Daeyoung is so nice and fun and cute but still can’t silence the urge behind your ribs that screams for Mingyu.

“Yeah,” you sigh, acknowledging that he’s right - that you used to tell him everything. “I don’t know, Mingyu. It’s good. I like him. Like… I don’t necessarily think he’s The One or anything, but I’d be upset if we broke up?” 

Mingyu nods, something complicated on his face. “Well,” he says finally, “That’s good. I’m glad it’s going well. You deserve it.”

There’s something flat in his voice, and you stand because you can’t just sit there next to him right now. 

“Thanks,” you say, because you don’t know what else to say. “Well… I’m gonna go shower so I’m not late.” You grab the few things you need from your room and pause in your doorway. He’s pulled out his phone, his thumb swiping slowly and his eyes on the screen, and you carry on across the hallway, leaving him behind.

The way you need to. The way you’re trying to. 

Daeyoung takes you to dinner, making you laugh so hard you have to wipe under your eyes, and listening intently when you bitch about work (and, yes, Marcus in Accounting). 

After, as you walk along the river, looking out at the lights, Daeyoung reaches for your hand, and you link fingers. 

This is what you need - to lean into it with someone, to really try with someone. Maybe that will ease this process of shifting Mingyu to the background. Maybe you just need to try.

Like he can read your mind, Daeyoung slows, turning to look at you. He says your name hesitantly, and you match his slowed pace, waiting.

“We’ve been doing this for a while,” he says, kind of hesitantly, “and I kind of wanted to see if we’re on the same page.”

When you just look at him, he forges ahead, the words rushing out of him now. “I really like you, and I really like this… and I was wondering how you’d feel about… maybe being more official?”

You feel yourself flush, a smile tugging at your lips. “Are you… asking me to be your girlfriend?”

He smiles back, relief washing over his face. “Yeah,” he says, much more confident now. “Yes, I am.”

You lick your lips, suddenly unsure. “Daeyoung,” you say, and you watch his face fall. You hurry to amend - “No, I’m not saying no! It’s just… I don’t know… I feel like we’ve kept things pretty… light. And I just worry that if we get more serious and you see more of me… you might…”

You trail off. He watches you intently, and then finishes for you, “Change my mind?”

You nod meekly. What if you can’t do it - what if you can’t push Mingyu out of your head and heart, what if you can’t start fresh with someone? Daeyoung has been wonderful to you. He doesn’t deserve to get hurt. He doesn’t deserve to be second choice, doesn’t deserve to be a consolation prize. 

You can’t say yes if that’s what this will be. You need to be sure you’re all in, you need to be sure you want him and not just the fresh start he represents.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you say instead, quietly. 

He considers this, watching you carefully. “Why do you think you will?”

It’s a fair question. “I’m… trying to get over someone,” you force yourself to say. He deserves to know what he’s walking into. 

You watch his face for any change in expression. His expression does ripple a little, and then he licks his lips and asks, “And how’s that going?”

You scuff the toe of one shoe absently along the pavement. “Goes better when you’re around,” you admit. “But I don’t want to be… like… using you, I guess? It feels… unfair.”

He nods. “I appreciate that,” he says, looking away from you, at the river. He’s quiet for a while and then asks, “Are you into this? With me?”

“Yes,” you say emphatically, because despite the Mingyu of it all, it’s true. “I just don’t want you to end up with regrets.”

He smiles kind of ruefully. “Thanks for being honest,” he says, brushing the back of your hand with his thumb. 

“What are you thinking?” you ask in a whisper. You really hope you aren’t breaking up right now, but you wouldn’t blame him if he called it off.

He lets out a long breath, very slowly, measured. “I’m thinking that no one can make promises at the beginning of a relationship.”

Your stomach jolts, terrified, at the word. He continues, oblivious.

“But,” he says, “you just take it a day at a time. That’s all I’m asking for - just a day. And then maybe another. We can go from there.”

You consider this, that tiny smile returning. He waits for your answer.

“Okay,” you say finally. “Yeah. If you’re sure you want that, then… yes.”

“Yes?” he repeats, like he needs to be sure. He’s already grinning, despite the turn the conversation had taken on the way here.

You laugh, feeling suddenly shy. “Yeah. Yes.”

He kisses you next to the singing river, and later you take a selfie together beside a food cart. You post it to social media with a blue heart emoji for the caption. 

You swallow hard and swipe roughly to remove the notification when Mingyu likes the picture minutes later. 

–

May

“Kim Mingyu!” you bellow, scooping up an armload of shirts and socks from the living room floor. “Get your gross, sweaty clothes off of our shared couch! The hamper is like three feet away!”

“Yah,” he complains, coming to take the offending pile from you. “You never cared before!”

“Well now her boyfriend is coming over,” Jeonghan says, somehow making the word sound sleezy. “She wants it to be pretty in here.”

“I hate you both,” you say. “I only like Wonwoo. He’s my only friend. Wonwoo, you’re my only friend.”

Wonwoo gives you a very deadpan finger heart from his spot on the couch. 

Unfortunately, Jeonghan is kind of right. 

You’ve mostly spent time out with Daeyoung or at his place - mostly because he lives alone and you live with a cast of clowns. But he has come over a handful of times. Sometimes he’s only there long enough to stand awkwardly by the front door while you finish putting on jewelry and shoes before whisking you away; other times he’s stayed to eat take-away and watch a movie as the aforementioned clowns filter in and out, leaving snappy comments like use protection in their wake. 

Tonight’s the first time that the plan is for everyone to hang out. To say you’re nervous is an understatement, as evidenced by the uncharacteristic way you pace the house, adjusting items Daeyoung has already seen out of place as if it makes any difference.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu finally says, coming up and putting his hands on your shoulders, trying to still you. You pull back from his touch as gently as you can, trying to make that space with some subtly. “Why are you freaking out? He’s been here before.”

“Yeah, you’re right, why would I be nervous?” you ask sarcastically. “Why would I be nervous to have my boyfriend come over for games and movies with three notoriously very nice people who never make trouble?”

“Rude,” Wonwoo remarks from the couch.

“Not you, Wonwoo, you’re my only friend,” you tell him without even turning your head. You hear Jeonghan snort.

“You said three,” Mingyu points out seriously, stepping back from you like he silently got the memo about space. “That includes Wonwoo.”

“Fine, I retract my statement. Two people who make trouble, and then one person who knows how to be normal sometimes.”

A knock on the door interrupts you before anyone can push your buttons any further.

“Be nice,” you tell them sternly as you head to open the door. “Be normal. For the love of god, at least try.”

“She has no faith in us,” Jeonghan says sadly behind you. 

“We probably shouldn’t try Monopoly tonight,” Mingyu remarks, and you hate that he’s right. 

You all almost broke up over Monopoly, once. You never played again. 

“Yeah, put that one away,” you agree, as you pull the door open.

Daeyoung greets you with a smile and a small bouquet of flowers - nothing too fancy, just a little something. You pay for them with a smile and a kiss, lifting onto your tiptoes to reach his lips.

“Awwww, so cute,” Jeonghan coos from across the apartment.

“Jeonghan,” you say sharply. “What did we talk about?”

Daeyoung feigns a pout. “You don’t think we’re cute?”

You slap at his arm playfully and step back to let him in. You head to the kitchen to find a vase for the flowers, listening as the men all exchange heys and how’ve you beens. 

You all settle for a variation of Rummy, sitting around the kitchen table with a smattering of snacks and drinks, chatting easily as you play.

At the end of the second hand, you ask, “Wait, what does that put me at?”

“Sixty-two,” Daeyoung says, just as Mingyu says, “Sixty-three.”

You look at them both blankly. You and numbers don’t vibe. 

Jeonghan looks at the little note on his phone where he was tallying scores. “Sixty-three,” he confirms.

“Whoops,” Daeyoung says apologetically. “I wasn’t trying to short you on points, sweetheart.”

All three of your roommates stiffen, and you feel your face heat. “No worries,” you say quickly, reaching to cut the deck for the next hand. “Whose turn is it?”

Be normal, be normal, be normal, you mentally beg the clowns. 

“I think it’s mine, sweetie-pie,” Jeonghan deadpans. You kick him ferociously under the table, not even trying to be subtle, and he swears.

“Knock it off,” you growl.

“You’re upsetting pookie, hyung,” Mingyu says somberly. 

“I hate all of you,” you whine. And then, on instinct, “Not you, Wonwoo.”

Daeyoung looks around the table, amused. “Is this always how it is around here?”

“Basically,” Wonwoo admits. “Just usually with a lot more -” He stops short, coughing, and reaches for his drink. You all wait, your heart thrumming nervously. You’re sure he’d been about to drop a crack about you and Mingyu’s physical affection. “A lot more yelling,” he finishes. “This is everyone on their best behavior, because Sunny threatened us.”

Daeyoung laughs, and you pray that the moment went unnoticed. You can tell Mingyu is a bit still on your other side, and if it was a month ago you would have reached over to him already, soothed a hand down his arm or pressed your cheek to his shoulder until he untensed. You rest your hands in your lap, instead, eyes on your cards.

After Rummy, which Jeonghan wins by a landslide, you all head to the couches for a movie.  Your roommates and you have always had unspoken “spots”, but Daeyoung’s presence throws the balance off entirely. Normally you’d be next to Mingyu but he takes Jeonghan’s spot, leaving the other guys to buffer as they try to figure out a new arrangement.

“Here,” Daeyoung says, tugging on your wrist until you settle on his lap, legs hanging just off the side of his own, “we can make room.”

Jeonghan tosses you a small blanket and a wink and settles in on the far side of your couch, giving the two of you lots of room. Wonwoo flicks off the overhead lights and settles next to Mingyu, the two of them awkwardly squished on the two-seater. But, blessedly, no one complains as the opening score emanates from the sound bar. 

As the movie begins, you relax, leaning sideways against Daeyoung’s chest, his arms looped around you. You stomp down on the intrusive thought that wants to compare how comfortable this is to how comfortable you’d been with Mingyu for past movie nights, internally hissing at your own brain for the unwelcome thought. 

“You good?” he murmurs, voice low, only for you, one hand rubbing the small of your back lightly.

“Mhm,” you assure him, reaching up to kiss the edge of his jaw, the only bit of him that you can reach comfortably. He smiles down at you, endeared, and then turns his attention to the television again. You can feel someone’s eyes on you, but you refuse to look, refuse to give attention to whoever is trying to heckle you right now. They can’t just let you live, huh?

Halfway through the movie, Mingyu stands, moving out of the way of the screen quickly and heading to the kitchen. You don’t lift your head from Daeyoung’s check, just watching him go through the corners of your eyes. 

“Anyone need a drink?” he calls from the kitchen. “Hyung? Sunny Baby?”

Daeyoung physically recoils, his head snapping back so he can look at you, wide-eyed. You look back at him the same way, feeling like you’ve been caught at something. 

“It’s just habit,” you say, quietly, and Jeonghan turns away, shifting awkwardly next to you two. “Old nickname from a million years ago.”

Daeyoung nods, but his face is still a bit stricken.

“Hello?” Mingyu calls from the kitchen. “Beer? Anyone?”

“No, thanks!” you call back, trying to force your voice to come out cheerful. 

When he returns, flopping unceremoniously into his spot next to Wonwoo, Daeyoung’s arms tighten around you. 

You close your eyes, frustrated. You hope you can salvage this. You’d been afraid from the jump that the Mingyu factor - even with the changes you’ve been purposely making, all that space - would damage what you have with Daeyoung, as effective as a drop of ink in a bucket of water. 

When the movie ends, Wonwoo gives a polite goodbye and vanishes into his lair and you lead Daeyoung back towards the front door. Behind you, you can hear the tell-tale clicks of bottles as Jeonghan and Mingyu start picking up the food and drinks. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, as soon as you have some semblance of privacy in the entryway. “I knew hanging out here was going to be a mess.”

Daeyoung manages a smile. “It wasn’t a mess,” he says. “I just didn’t realize how close you all were.”

He’s being too nice. You feel terrible. 

“I think we might get less close very soon if they can’t get their shit together,” you grumble, which makes him laugh, some of the tension alleviating. 

“Well,” Daeyoung says, suddenly turning conspiratory, “while your place was very fun… what would you say to some fun at my place now?”

You giggle. “I wouldn’t hate that plan,” you say coyly, smiling up at him. “Quieter, there. Fewer clowns.”

He laughs again, even as he reaches to tilt your jaw up, shuffling you backwards against the entryway wall as his lips find yours. 

As the kiss warms you, your hands finding the front of his shirt and bunching it into your fists, heat beginning to trickle out of hiding in your belly, you hear footsteps and an abrupt, “Oh - shit - sorry - my bad -”

“Your place,” you say against Daeyoung’s lips as Mingyu retreats back to the kitchen. You can practically feel through the wall how red his ears are. 

Daeyoung lets you out of his embrace and you hurry to your room to toss a few things together - toothbrush, phone charger, clothes - and come to get your jacket. 

“Bye, idiots!” you call through the apartment. Then, “Not you, Wonwoo!” and you close the door behind you with a giggle, following Daeyoung down the stairs.

On the other side of the wall, safely hidden in the kitchen, Mingyu stands staring blankly at the pantry, one hand over his mouth, still as a statue. What is this feeling churning in his gut? He feels sick, and he can’t put a name to it but he hates how it crawls through his system. 

Jeonghan appears next to him, placing two more dirty cups in the sink. He lets out a single, wry laugh when he sees Mingyu standing there.

“Yeah, dude,” he says easily as he leaves again. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

–

June

You and Mingyu lay side by side in the grass, a late spring night unfurling with distant thunder and a smattering of fireflies lazily drifting through the trees beyond the garden. His arm brushes yours and you can hear his breathing as he exhales slowly.

You feel happy - you feel infinite - you feel like one of those distant cracks of ferocious thunder. You feel like you could lay here next to him in silence and be happy until your joy has to burst from you, just like the clouds on the horizon. 

“Mingyu,” you say, turning to look at him. The grass tickles your cheek. 

He turns to look at you, too. It’s dark, here behind the university’s main hub, most of the lights on the far side of the building. Still, there’s enough light to see his eyes, steady on you, his gaze serious.

“Sunny Baby,” he responds, voice low, like he’s telling you a secret. “I love you.”

You wake up with faint tear-tracks on your cheeks, and you growl out a frustrated breath. 

“I need a lobotomy,” you grumble, wiping at your cheeks and trying to get comfortable again, hoping to go back to sleep - with less ridiculous dreams. 

It doesn’t happen. You flop from side to side over the course of half an hour, and then give up. You reach for your nightstand to see if you have any water, but there’s nothing but your phone and the lamp. With a sigh, you push yourself out from under the blankets and pad into the kitchen.

You’re letting a glass fill with tap water when you hear one of the other doors down the hallway open. You turn, peering through the moonlit living room, to see who else is up. The clock above the stove says it’s four in the morning.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu says, his voice rough with sleep. His hair is sticking up in the back. Your stomach lurches with the sick desire to smooth it down. “Why are you up?”

“Had a bad dream,” you lie. It was a good dream. Nothing bad about it until you wake up and feel guilty because of Daeyoung, and angry because your brain and heart are holding you fucking hostage. “Couldn’t get back to sleep.” That part’s true. 

“Poor Sunny Baby,” he croons, coming closer, the darkness making his form seem even bigger. “Come on - we’ll get comfy.” Just like we used to, he doesn’t say.

Your heart slams against your chest. “Oh,” you say softly. Because, yeah, a few months ago you wouldn’t have even needed him to invite you - you would have been there already, snuggling into the space next to his ribs, breathing him in until sleep returns to you. “Mingyu, I can’t.”

The blanket of darkness makes him bold. He scoffs, not even trying to hide it. “Why not? Because of that guy?” Like he doesn’t know Daeyoung’s name, like the last five months never happened. That guy. 

“Because I want to respect my relationship?” you correct gently. “Yes, that’s why. It wouldn’t be right, and you know it.”

You stand in silence for a moment, barely able to see each other across the darkened space, at an impasse. Then, he scoffs again, lighter this time. 

“Fine,” he says, moving past you towards the bathroom - probably the reason he was up in the first place. “Suit yourself.”

When he passes back through the living room on his way back to bed, you’re curled up on the couch under one of the blankets, the tv on with the sound turned low. He doesn’t even look at you as he turns down the hall and shuts his bedroom door behind him. You hear the lock click. You press your hands to your face and will yourself to breathe deep. Crying over him while asleep is one thing. Doing it while awake feels like a betrayal. 

Just one more you can add to your list.

–

“Hey!” you yell across the noisy room. Mingyu turns from where he’s standing near your bedroom door, talking to a few guys who you’ve seen around here but whose names you forget. Seok… something. The other one might be a Chan, you’re not sure. Mingyu lifts an eyebrow, waiting for whatever request you’re going to shout at him. 

“Can you get the door for me?” you call, trying to be louder than the music and chatter. Your apartment is bursting with people as Mingyu’s annual summer bash is well underway. You’re at the pong table - your kitchen table, shoved halfway into the living room - a slightly sticky plastic ball in hand. “Daeyoung is here, I can feel my phone going off.”

Mingyu gives you a wordless salute and shuffles off towards the front door, and you close one eye, lean forward as far as the others will let you without calling a foul, and line up your shot.

You sink it just seconds before you feel someone’s hands on your hips. You straighten up and turn to greet Daeyoung with a kiss, firm and confident courtesy of many drinks. The party’s been going for a few hours already, and you and the guys pregamed before the guests started showing up.

“Hi!” you chirp when you part. “Glad you made it!” 

“This is a lot of people,” he says back, looking around your living room and kitchen a bit incredulously. “You said you guys do this every year?”

You nod seriously. “We bribe our neighbors. I mean, they’re all invited of course, but we also try to do something nice to make up for the one night of noise. Last year I baked cookies. This year we just went straight to cash.”

He laughs, and you lead him through the throng of people into the kitchen for a drink. 

“I’m glad you came,” you say again, as he stands before the open fridge, scanning beer bottle labels for something palatable. He sends you a smile over his shoulder, then picks a bottle and turns. You place the opener into his waiting hand.

“You look good tonight,” he tells you, all glinty, looking at you sideways. You pretend to preen.

“Sunny always looks good,” Jeonghan asserts, breezing in behind you holding a bowl full of chips. 

“Are you sharing those?” you demand. “You can’t gatekeep the good ones, Jeonghan. We’ve talked about this.”

“Gatekeep, girlboss, whatever the third one is!” he replies, zipping back out of the kitchen as quickly as he’d come. 

Out in the living room, you hear the familiar sound of the karaoke machine booting up. There’s a telltale scraping - the pong table being shoved against the far wall to make more room for jumping around while aiming for that perfect score. 

When you and Daeyoung make it into the living room again, Mingyu and one of the friends whose names you forgot are singing together. Mingyu’s all irony, eyes closed in mock passion as he clutches his mic with both hands, but his friend is actually good, voice sailing over the higher notes without error.

“Wow,” you say. “That guy can actually sing.”

One of your friends, a girl you lovingly call Ethel because of the style of grandma glasses she favors, stops in front of you, pushing little plastic shot glasses into your hands.

“Are you the boyfriend?” she asks Daeyoung, somewhat breathlessly. “I’ve been dying to actually meet you. She’s been keeping you a secret.”

“I have not!” you reply hotly, as Daeyoung laughs, introducing himself. 

“It’s nice to meet her other friends,” he says, and she rolls her eyes. 

“I know, it’s hard to separate her from these guys,” she says. “They deserve a sitcom.”

“I’m standing right here,” you protest. 

Jeonghan appears behind you, too close. “We have a little problem in the kitchen,” he whispers.

You excuse yourself, leaving Daeyoung with Ethel - who will hopefully say nothing too incriminating about you and Mingyu’s blurry-lined friendship. 

In the kitchen, Wonwoo is kneeling on the floor, his upper body hidden in the cupboard under the sink. When he shuffles back out, the front of his shirt is wet. You can see a bit of water starting to pool on the boards below the cleaning supplies.

“Uh oh,” you say.

Mingyu appears to your left, solid and warm against your arm. Then he crouches, peering under the sink. 

“Can I have someone’s phone?” he asks, and you pass him yours. He turns on the flashlight and shines it at the pipes. You watch his face do that thing - that calculating look, the problem-solving look. 

“It’s this one,” he says, pointing to something you can’t see under there. “Where’s our toolbox?”

“Great question,” Wonwoo says, mouth twisting as he tries to remember. “Laundry room?”

“I think so,” you say. “I think it’s on the shelf in there.”

Mingyu scoots out from under the sink and disappears into the little nook you all graciously call a laundry room, since it does have a functional door, then reappears with two tools in hand. You don’t know what they are - you’ve never needed to.

You and Jeonghan and Wonwoo stand around him, worried, like you’re waiting for a doctor to emerge through hospital doors to report on the status of a loved one. When Mingyu backs out of the cabinet again, it’s with an air of smugness. 

“All set,” he says, one side of his mouth quirking proudly. 

“Our hero,” Jeonghan deadpans.

“This is why we keep you around,” you tell him.

“Get the man a shot,” Jeonghan says, swiveling to the collection of bottles on the counter. 

Daeyoung finds you on the kitchen floor, using a rag to wipe up any bits of water. Wonwoo and Mingyu both disappeared to change into dry shirts, you think. 

“Everything okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you tell him, wiping one last spot and leaning up on your knees to look around for any areas you might have missed. The last thing you need is for someone to slip in here. “The sink broke. It’s okay now, Mingyu fixed it.”

“Well, thank god for Mingyu,” he says, and you look up at him, not sure if you’re imagining the edge in his voice. Are you? Did you project that?

“Well,” you say, “kind of! Because four of us live here, and only one person could solve the problem.”

He laughs reluctantly. “I can fix a sink,” he says, a bit of a pout in his voice.

You stand, returning the rag to the counter. “I’ll make sure to ask you first next time,” you say, leaning up to brush your lips teasingly across his. “I just thought the rent-payer should handle the problem before the guests.”

“I guess that’s fair,” he allows, smiling bigger. 

A while later, you find yourself in Wonwoo’s room, leaning against the wall watching somewhat absently as he and one of his friends play a POV shooter game, their brows furrowed in concentration and fingers flying on the controls. 

Daeyoung had been with you only moments ago, reporting into your ear on the game’s happening like a sports commentator to make you laugh, but he’d gone to get you each a new drink. Mingyu appears in his absence, and you can tell immediately that he’s sloppy.

“Sunny Baby,” he sings, draping an arm over your shoulders. 

You can’t help but smile, even as you try to shift out from under his arm. “Yes?” you sing back teasingly. “Can I help you?”

“Mhm,” he hums. “You can stay just like this.” He wraps his other arm around you, and you laugh, pushing very gently at his chest.

“Mingyu,” you protest, laughing. “Get off me.”

“I will in one second,” he says, smiling cheekily. “You haven’t let me hug you in a hundred years, I have to take advantage now that your defenses are weakened by cheap vodka.”

“Mingyu!” you laugh again. 

And then you see Daeyoung in the doorway behind him, face unreadable. 

“Mingyu,” you say again, deadly serious now. “Let go.” 

Daeyoung slowly reaches to put the two beers on Wonwoo’s dresser and turns, wordlessly retreating down the hallway.

“Damn it, Mingyu,” you hiss, extracting yourself and hurrying to follow him. Daeyoung makes it clear outside and down the front steps before you catch him.

“Daeyoung, wait!” you call, and he finally slows, turning to face you. You jog to catch up, a bit breathless. You’ve had way too much to drink for this kind of confrontation, but you try to get your shit together enough to defend yourself. Or apologize. Or both.

He doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrows and waits.

“Don’t -” you start, and then switch tracks quickly. “That was nothing. He’s like that when he’s had too much to drink. He’s just being silly.”

Daeyoung laughs once, sharp and sarcastic. “Don’t lie to me,” he says flatly. 

“I’m not!” you protest. “It’s true.”

He shakes his head, swipes his thumb across his phone screen and taps around. 

“Don’t leave,” you beg. “I’m sorry. I was trying to tell him to let go.”

He twists his mouth, refusing to look at you. At the far end of the street, you can see approaching headlights. He’s ordered a ride home. 

“When you said you were trying to get over someone I didn't pry,” he says flatly, “but I guess I should have. You could’ve had the decency to tell me that you live with him.”

The slam of the car door feels final, the sound passing over you like shrapnel. 

The blink of red taillights has just vanished around the corner when strong arms wrap around you. Mingyu must have followed, must have been watching from the door, must have seen it happen. 

You’ve been trying to make space, you’ve been trying to stay away, but you’re buzzed and you’re sad and you’re weak. So, you turn in his arms, burying your face in his shirt and letting yourself cry. 

He holds you through it, doesn’t say anything to you, just holds on tight until you can breathe again. 

“I don’t want you to see this,” you sniffle finally, and he lets his arms drop, stepping back so he can look at you. “This shouldn’t be you.”

“That’s fair,” he murmurs, sounding much more sober than he had inside. “But I’m the one who’s here. Tell me you want me to go, and I will.”

Your heart cracks. 

“I don’t want you to go,” you whisper. 

“Okay,” he says, wrapping you up again, leaning his chin on the top of your head and swaying you a little bit. “Then I won’t.”

Eventually, you both lay in the grass. You don’t want to go inside, and Mingyu says he doesn’t want to leave you alone in the front yard. Instead, you lay side by side, far enough away that you’d have to stretch to touch. It feels like that night in undergrad, but also completely opposite. In your memories of that night, you felt warm and good like your place in the universe was guaranteed, your cog in the great machine fitting perfectly and spinning without difficulty. Tonight, you feel off, cold and angry, like your piece has been displaced and can’t fit anywhere anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu says, breaking the silence. “I didn’t mean to make problems for you guys.”

“I know you didn’t,” you allow. 

“It was just us being us,” he says, a bit defensively.

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “I think that was the problem.”

He has nothing to say to that. 

Daeyoung calls you, much later, when you’re back inside and tucked in your bed. 

“Were you sleeping?” he asks.

“Of course not,” you say. “I’m lying awake agonizing over you storming out on me.”

He laughs quietly, and you feel hope bloom behind your ribs. Is this salvageable?

“I might have overreacted,” he admits. “It’s easy to be intimidated by that guy.”

That guy again. What is it with these two? 

“You shouldn’t be,” you tell him. “He’s an idiot.”

Daeyoung laughs again. “So am I,” he says.

“You don’t need to worry about him,” you say. “I’ve been really trying to adjust the boundaries of our friendship, and it’s a big change from how we used to be. Usually we do better… Like I said earlier, he was drunk. He just forgot himself, went back to how things used to be.”

Daeyoung is quiet for a second. “I should have let you explain yourself before I left,” he says evenly.

“I’m sorry I put you in that position in the first place,” you counter. “I didn’t mean to. I’m in this with you, Daeyoung. I promise.”

“I know,” he admits. “I know you are.”

You smile into the phone. “Our first fight.”

He laughs again. “Hopefully not one of many.”

“Eh,” you say. “It’s normal. Anyway, I’m glad you called. I would have been a mess waiting to hear from you. Might have embarrassed myself blowing your phone up.”

“Maybe I should have let you embarrass yourself,” he teases. 

“It’s like that, huh?” you joke.

“Yes,” he sniffs. “Until I feel better.”

When you finally hang up, you creep through the apartment to pee before trying to sleep. You notice Mingyu’s light is on, though his door is shut. You pause, looking at that sliver of light, and then continue on back to your own bed. 

–

July

“Move over!” you giggle, using your hips to scoot Daeyoung out of your way, a wooden spoon in your hand. The simmering stew on the stovetop smells delectable, and you give it a stir, make sure nothing is stuck to the bottom of the pot. 

“Ask nicely!” he retorts, but he’s smiling. 

Mingyu watches the scene covertly from the couch, trying to keep his face neutral, trying to keep his face tilted towards the tv so he doesn’t get caught watching. Or worse, caught sulking.

You and Daeyoung eat and wash up most of what you used to cook, offer the leftovers to anyone around to hear you (so, just Mingyu), and then leave, giggles and flirting dissipating and leaving Mingyu in a quiet that he absolutely can’t stand. 

When you return the next day, trying to look nonchalant with your overnight bag clutched in your hands, Mingyu is at the kitchen table, eating some of the leftovers and watching videos on his phone. 

“Hey,” he greets you, pausing the video.

You give your overnight bag a light toss; it lands with a thump over near the couch. “Hey yourself,” you say, heading into the kitchen for a drink. “The food’s good, right?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “Your man can cook, huh?”

“Hey!” you object. “I did most of the work!”

“Hmm,” he says, rising and coming into the kitchen to rinse his plate. 

You cross your arms, eyes narrowing. “Hmmm what?”

He shrugs teasingly. “We’ve lived together a long time, Sunny. I have a hard time believing you’re the chef in that relationship. You never helped me cook anything.”

Your eyes narrow even more. “You never asked me to,” you retort, suddenly defensive. “There’s a lot of things I do with Daeyoung because you never asked me to.”

Silence falls on the kitchen like a rockslide. 

Mingyu takes one very careful step backwards. “Because I never asked you to?” he echoes, his voice shaking just slightly.

Your pulse races, and you fight a wave of nausea. A Freudian slip if there ever was one. 

“That you never asked me to,” you amend firmly.

Mingyu hesitates. Then, “I don’t think that’s what you meant.”

That defensiveness moves inside you like a thing alive, your temper flaring in an effort to protect you. 

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” you snap, suddenly pissed. 

Mingyu doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t match your temper at all. Calm and steady, he says, “So then you tell me. How do you feel, Sunny?”

That rockslide hits you. You can’t breathe, too bruised by the onslaught. All the years of secrets and feelings and broken rules and truths that you knew but pretended not to spill around you, impossible to escape.

“You don’t get to ask me that,” you hiss at him. “Not now. That’s not fair.”

His calm cracks, just slightly, his tone going hard. “What are you talking about?”

“Why now, Mingyu?” you demand. “Why now, when I have someone? Why not any of the years before now, when I was only yours?” 

You’re breathing hard, having spat the words like they’re venom, and you wait him out. He blusters, splutters, has nothing to say to this.

Your temper pulls you like a wave, a momentum you can’t fight.

“You don’t know the answer?” you ask sarcastically. “That’s fine - I can tell you: because you had me. You had me, and you didn’t need to share me, and you could still do whatever - or whoever! - you wanted and I’d still fucking be here afterward.”

You know exactly the moment you start crying through the words, because Mingyu’s body jolts, like he instinctively moved to touch you but remembered to stay back.

“And now?” you continue, because you’re on a roll, everything you’ve held in for years finally bursting from you with the fury of a cracked dam. “Now that’s changed. So, what is it? You want your toy back now that someone else is playing with it?”

“Of course not-”

“Fuck you, Mingyu! You sat me on the shelf for too long. I don’t deserve that.”

“Sunny, no,” he tries again. “It isn’t like that. I lo-”

“Yes, it is!” you shout. You’ve never shouted at him in your life, and it actually shuts him up. Tears are still streaming down your face, but you ignore them. “It is, and until you see that, I can’t expect you to change it or fix it.”

You start to storm past him, but you whirl on him, a finger pointed in his direction. “And don’t you dare try to tell me you love me!” you add furiously. “No you don’t. Not the right way, not like this.”

And then you slam out of the apartment, barely remembering to grab your keys off the hook as you go.

–

[5:22pm] You: if i send you a list of what i need, can you please put a bag together for me and leave it in the hall

[5:22pm] (jeong)Han Solo: :( sunny

[5:22pm] You: hannie please??? i can’t go inside. i really can’t.

[5:23pm] (jeong)Han Solo: he’s a fucking wreck 

[5:23pm] You: i don’t care

[5:24pm] You: i mean of course i fucking care that’s the whole problem

[5:24pm] You: please? my things?

–

August

August 3

[10:02am] Mingyu: sunny please talk to me

[12:17pm] Mingyu: please let me apologize to you

[12:17pm] Mingyu: i dont want to do it over text but you wont answer my calls and no one seems to know where you are

[12:22pm] Mingyu: you were right. about all of it.

[12:22pm] Mingyu: and you were right that you dont deserve it

[12:22pm] Mingyu: please call me back or come home so i can say this to your face

[5:38pm] Mingyu: there’s one part you were wrong about

[5:38pm] Mingyu: i do love you. the right way. maybe it took losing you to someone to get my ass moving but i loved you way before he was in the picture

[5:38pm] Mingyu: dont ever question that again

[11:04pm] Mingyu: god, sunny, answer your phone!

August 4

[7:43am] Mingyu: you’re killing me

[7:43am] Mingyu: are you happy sunshine???? KILLING ME!!!

[1:36pm] Mingyu: come home

[1:36pm] Mingyu: please

[8:02pm] Mingyu: we HAVE to talk about this, sunny

[11:51pm] Mingyu: i’m not going to give up

[10:23am] (jeong)Han Solo: are you staying with daeyoung for a while?

[10:23am] You: no. my mom’s. 

[10:23am] (jeong)Han Solo: ok. im glad you’re with someone who can care for you.

[10:23am] (jeong)Han Solo: we miss you :(

August 5

[8:00am] Mingyu: fine, i’ll say everything over text like an asshole

[8:00am] Mingyu: just know you made me do this!

[8:04am] Mingyu: i fell in love with you in undergrad when you had to take that statistics class that you almost failed. when you saw your midterm score was passing you told me i love you for the first time and i swear to god i almost proposed to you right there. And it never went away. It was never less.

[8:08am] Mingyu: i love you because you wield your attitude like both sword and shield. I love you because you can barely count but you make me feel so stupid sometimes with how clever you are. I love you because you’re beautiful and funny and empathetic and you make me want to be better than i am. I want to be more competent for you, to be able to take care of you and provide for you when you need it. I love you because when i’m sick you take care of me and you let me take care of you when you’re down too. I love you because when i’m with you i feel like someone’s GOT me, someone understands me and has my back. 

[8:09am] Mingyu: i cant believe youre making me say this all in TEXT i hate this!

[8:10am] Mingyu: i have more. I have a hundred more reasons. 

[8:10am] Mingyu: come home so i can tell you

[11:58pm] Mingyu: goodnight sunny baby. Please come home soon.

You show up to Daeyoung’s unannounced. His face is grim when he opens the door; you haven’t answered his calls or texts in a few days, either. He probably knows what this is. 

“Hi,” he says, stepping backwards to make room for you in his doorway. “This is a surprise.”

“I’m sorry I vanished,” you tell him. “Something happened. I’ve been at my mom’s.”

He eyes you warily, like he’s not sure if this is a I got in a car accident kind of something, or a I cheated on you kind of something, and he doesn’t want to react for the wrong one. “Okay…” he says slowly.

“Daeyoung,” you say, after taking a breath to steel yourself, “I care about you, and I like you, and I have real feelings for you.” 

“I sense a but,” he says dryly. 

You smile sadly. “But I dont think this is fair to you. I shouldn’t be with someone - anyone - until I’m over him or he’s out of my life… and I can’t seem to make either of those things happen.” You don’t need to say which him. You both know. “I wanted to. I wanted to do it right and I thought I was… but I was wrong.” 

He shrugs, face blank. “Okay.” 

“Daeyoung.” 

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, frustration seeping into his tone. “I can't argue with any of that. I can’t change it for you. I can’t be better than him, I can't become him. You’re right, you shouldn’t be with someone else if what you really want is that guy.”

That guy. Again.

“You’re right,” you whisper, looking at your feet.

He lets out a breath. “So, it’s done then?”

You nod miserably. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Daeyoung. I hope someday you can believe that this isn’t how I wanted it to go. You deserve better.”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t let you go out with any optimism. You and your misery trudge back to your mother’s, fall asleep in your childhood bed.

August 6

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning ☀️

[8:00am] Mingyu: i have more things to say today

[8:00am] Mingyu: i will give you two 2️⃣ minutes to respond or you get it all thru text AGAIN

[8:00am] Mingyu: and you know how i feel about that.

[8:03am] Mingyu: fine.

[8:03am] Mingyu: you’ve always been so fucking stubborn sunny. just let me apologize to you!

[8:05am] Mingyu: i’m sorry i kept you on hold

[8:05am] Mingyu: you’re right. that’s what was happening. but i didn’t MEAN it like that.

[8:05am] Mingyu: idk if you believe me bc i can’t see your face 🙄

[8:06am] Mingyu: but its true. I just… liked how things were. Youre right… i counted on you always being there waiting for me. 

[8:06am] Mingyu: i thought it was okay though… i thought if you wanted it to change you had the power to change it

[8:07am] Mingyu: like, you could have said something to me.

[8:07am] Mingyu: and i dont mean that like its your fault or anything, it was just how i rationalized it to myself. Like if you werent complaining then it must be fine?

[8:09am] Mingyu: i’m an idiot

[8:14am] Mingyu: but i’m an idiot who loves you, and misses you, and wants to do better

[11:59pm] Mingyu: please come home

[12:32pm] You: i broke up with him.

[12:32pm] (jeong)Han Solo: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[12:32pm] (jeong)Han Solo: are you okay???

[12:32pm] (jeong)Han Solo: come home so we can take care of you!!

[12:58pm] You: i cant face him. not yet. im not ready

August 7

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning sunny ☀️

[8:00am] Mingyu: i’m sorry i took you for granted. even if we walk out of this only trying to repair the friendship, i swear i’ll never let it happen again.

[11:58pm] Mingyu: goodnight sunshine. I love you.

August 8

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning sunny ☀️

[8:00am] Mingyu: dont work too hard today

[8:00am] Mingyu: dont take any shit from marcus in accounting

[12:12pm] Mingyu: having lunch. call me if you want? it doesnt have to be heavy. Just hello.

[12:39pm] Mingyu: i need you back sunny. in whatever capacity youll let me have.

[11:57pm] Mingyu: hope you had a good day. Goodnight, i love you.

August 9

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning sunny

[11:58pm] Mingyu: please. Please come home.

–

When you return home, a week after you left, it’s nearly dawn, the light from outside the living room just turning blue enough that you can see the outlines of the couches as you close the door as quietly as you can.

You step lightly, avoiding the spots you know will creak and groan when you step over them. You peer down the hallway to see that the guys’ doors are all shut, no lights on - not even the blues of Wonwoo’s computer monitor. 

You open your door and look around; your room looks exactly how you left it, down to the glass of water on the nightstand, now nearly empty. Except… the blankets on the bed are wrong. You set your bag down gently next to your dresser and creep closer, squinting through the dimly lit room.

A dark head of hair peeks out from under your comforter.

You can’t help it - you smile to yourself. For all the things Mingyu is - intelligent, funny, athletic, competent - he’s also a big baby. And he’s sleeping in your bed, because he misses you, and it comforts him.

It makes you want to forgive him for every wrong, press your lips to his sleepy forehead, listen to him lisp out Sunny Baby. 

He hurt you, it’s true. But you believe it that he was lying to himself, pretending things were fine. Weren’t you doing the exact same thing? You can’t hope Daeyoung will forgive you for your mistakes if you aren’t willing to do the same, too. 

You close your bedroom door and approach your bed. Mingyu stirs, making cricket legs under the blanket and stretching one arm towards the empty side. Towards you, though he doesn’t know it yet.

Then he freezes. His voice comes out paper thin. “Sunny?” he asks, pushing himself to sitting.

“This is not your bed,” you tell him, and he launches himself across the mattress, scrambling to reach you.

You allow him to wrap his gangly arms around your middle, pulling you to him as apologies pour over his lips so fast that he’s nearly babbling.

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, pushing at his shoulders. You back away and he follows like he’s tethered to you, clambering from the bed and standing before you.

For a moment, you just stare at each other through the thick blue of encroaching dawn.

And then he says your name.

Not Sunny. Not Sunny Baby. Your real name.

“I am so sorry - for everything,” he says, the ache in his voice clear and open. Then he drops his voice to a pained whisper. “Please. Tell me I can fix it.”

You press your lips together, looking at him. He looks awful - like he hasn’t slept much, or been eating well. You feel a little bad that you stayed away for so long, but you’d needed the time by yourself. You’d needed the clarity of being alone to figure out what you want.

“I think we can,” you whisper back, since the rest of the apartment is still sleeping. We, because this was on both of you. 

He crushes you in a hug, surrounding you in the smell of cinnamon, his cheek pressed to your head. “I’m sorry,” he breathes into your hair. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please let me try and do better.”

“I broke up with Daeyoung,” you respond, and he snaps his mouth shut, stepping backwards to stare at you. 

“Why?” he asks finally, hoarse, like he can barely get the word out. 

You look up at him. “Because it wasn’t right to be with him. It wasn’t right to be with him when I’ve been in love with someone else the whole time.”

He closes his eyes, his whole body seeming to sag. 

“I forgive you,” you say quietly, “and I do believe that things will be better now. If we talk about it - if we’re working together to make it better.”

“Yes,” he says quickly, desperately. “I will - I’ll do whatever I need to -”

“Both of us,” you say again, emphatically. “You were right, this wasn’t just your fault. I let this go on for… years. I counted marks against you but I never once spoke up.”

“No,” he protests, shaking his head. “It was my fault, Sunny, I took it for granted and I should have been loving you, spoiling you -”

You laugh. “I mean, maybe,” you say. “But if I’d talked to you… maybe you would have been.”

“I want to now,” he says. “Can I? Will you let me?”

You smile up at him, and he grins back, taking your smile as an answer.

You reach up and touch his eye-tooth gently with a fingertip. “Your stupid fang is so fucking cute,” you whisper. “It is truly unfair how cute it is.”

He pretends to scowl at you. “We’re having a serious moment, here, Sunshine.”

You smile again, gentler this time. “I love you,” you tell him. “If you want to prove you can do this right… then I’m all in.”

He whispers your name again, then looks at you.

His eyes are molten again, the way they were the night you’d had your only kiss. It’s almost hypnotizing, the strength of his gaze on you, pulling you in wordlessly until your body is flush with his. You look up at him, breathless. 

“I’ll start proving it now,” he murmurs, so low you barely catch it, and then his mouth snags on yours, forceful, his hands cupping your jaw gently, a juxtaposition.

He touches you so tenderly, his fingers feather-light against the skin they uncover as you undress each other in hushed silence. It feels holy, somehow. 

He licks spices and heat into your mouth, trails calloused fingers down your bare arms, pulls your hips into his as his teeth trace down your jaw, makes sure you feel his want for you.

You slide your hands from his waist up his stomach and over his pecs, revelling in how he hisses and leans into the touch. 

“Wanted to do this for years,” he grumbles, like he’s complaining, before lowering his lips to your chest, sucking on supple skin to see how you like it, then doing it harder when you dig your fingers into his shoulders, gasping at the sensation.

“Should’ve,” you scold, even as your eyes close and your head tilts back. “Could’ve been.”

But you aren’t thinking about your wasted time when he kneads both hands in the meat of your ass, or when you slide a flat palm up the length of him, delighting in the weight and heat you find straining against his Calvins. You’re thinking about how his hands are searing, about how you want to taste him but maybe not yet, not this first time. You’re thinking about his fingers sliding between your legs and the belly-deep rumble he makes when he feels how ready you are for him.

And when you finally come together, his mouth pressed to yours as he lays you back on the bed you’ve shared countless times, you’re only thinking about him and his beautiful smile and molten eyes and infectious laugh and empathetic heart. When he’s pushed as far into you as your bodies will allow, his hips tight against you and a whine slipping between his lips, you’re overcome with emotion. As you adjust to him, his eyes trace your face, and he reads what’s there with perfect clarity.

“Love you, Sunny Baby,” he whispers into the crook of your neck. 

You swallow against the thick rise of feelings and run your fingers through his hair. “Move for me,” you beg. And when he does, it’s just as perfect as the rest of him. 

You press your forehead to his when you come, his thumb rough on your clit and his mouth gasping broken breaths against your lips, pulsing around him in waves so dizzying you think they trigger even more. His hair sticks to his forehead as he presses deep inside you, and he shelters you between mountainous arms as he finally lets go.

Mingyu is sunrise, leaking orange and pink and yellow and white and chasing away a world of purples and blues. He’s so bright you have to squint, a promise of a fresh start, an end to the darkness of night. 

He’s perfect. He’s perfect, and you love him, and finally you can have him. 

You lay in his arms, heartbeat slowing bit by bit, and feel wholly at peace - like everything finally settled into place, everything landed exactly as it was meant to. Your cog in the universe, spinning correctly at last, grooves fitted perfectly to Kim Mingyu’s. 

The peace lasts…. until you check your phone. 

[8:26am] (jeong)Han Solo: when you two are DONE…. we went out for breakfast if you want to join 🙄

—

November

“Baby,” Mingyu says, but it’s stern. “Quit fixing the pillows.”

“It has to be perfect in here!” you whine. 

Mingyu wraps his arms around you like a cage, squeezing until you’re laughing too hard and drop the throw pillow from your hand.

“They lived with us for years,” he says, entirely too rationally. “You can’t fool them.” 

He releases his hold on you so you can turn and pout at him. You’re about to protest - argue that it’s Jeonghan and Wonwoo’s first time visiting you and Mingyu’s new place, that this is momentous, a special occasion - but you’re cut off by an obnoxiously outlandish knock on the front door. 

“I’ve got it,” Mingyu tells you. “You just try to relax.” 

You will, in just a second. But first, you lean over to the candle you have burning on the coffee table and adjust it just slightly to center the label, which reads Fall Harvest and Cinnamon.

--

thank you so much for reading!!!!

[strwberri-milk]

How would Xavier, Zayne and Rafayel react if we asked them to set us up with Jeremiah, Greyson and Thomas? In this scenario we're single and not into any of the LIs (but they don't know)

these kinda feel ooc but i kjinda like them anyway LMAOO let them be. mean and bitter bc thats how I feel whenever im rejected LMAOO

Xavier is pissed. He doesn't really show you the brunt of his anger but you can see he's...displeased with the way he just barely entertains the question. He'll ask if you really want him to get you with Jeremiah and if you really think that a guy like that is deserving of your attention. Somehow, despite how harsh the words themselves are his soft voice betrays their venom and you can delude yourself into thinking he's just being dramatic or making fun of his close friend.

You wouldn't be able to use Xavier to get to Jeremiah at all. He won't go out of his way to stop you from hanging out with him if you don't tell him you're going to see him but he makes his disapproval known at any given moment in time. You'd have to seek out the object of your affections independent of Xavier but when he sees the two of you together his gaze darkens and he observes from the sidelines.

Ultimately, he does want your happiness so he'll keep his thoughts to himself. However, you know he isn't happy about the fact you're seeing Jeremiah but you can't understand why. It's not because the man is treating you poorly - it's just because Xavier wants you. The fact that he can't have you vexes him but he's also not wanting to admit this to you. He grows distant with Jeremiah but if you ask him to spend time with you he finds it hard to say no. He'll always be longing for you, praying that you'll return his feelings but with every day that passes he knows the chance of it happening dies.

Zayne doesn't know how to respond. He asks you a little about your feelings for Greyson, trying to understand just how much you like the man. When it's clear that just the simple act of introducing him to you would make you happy he decides to do it despite every part of his body screaming no. He loves you and he wants you but he also knows he'd never forgive himself for getting in the way of your happiness.

It would take him a second honestly to muster up the mental energy to ask Greyson if he'd like to meet you. He mentions that a friend of his would like to meet him and internally, he's devastated when Greyson says yes, setting up a time and place for the two of you to meet.

As your relationship with him develops Zayne finds himself wishing he could retract. He loves you and he always will but seeing you so happy with someone that isn't makes his heart break. He doesn't go out of his way to avoid you two but he also doesn't really hang out with the two of you either. He tries to keep himself neutral as much as possible, not letting his personal feelings bleed into his professional life.

Honestly, it seems as though he doesn't have a personal life. He throws himself into work now that you don't have as much time to be with him. He doesn't really mind being too busy for other things but a part of him misses when he could spend all his free time with you. You'd start to see less and less of him, Greyson telling you that he's just busy all the time. You miss him too but you know he is a busy man, the two of you falling out of touch as time passes at an agonizingly slow pace for him.

Rafayel wouldn't introduce you to Thomas for similar reasons to Xavier. He doesn't think Thomas deserves you so you'd have to circumvent Rafayel which is fairly easy considering how often Thomas comes by his place for work and how often Rafayel insists you have to come over.

It's best to speak to Thomas whenever Rafayel is in the midst of an elaborate painting considering he'll leave you alone as all of his attention is taken up. That's when the two of you would bond and your relationship would grow, much to Rafayel's displeasure. He notices what's happening and would make subtle hints (read: complain loudly) about how you deserve someone better than Thomas. He tries to steal your attention but the more it fails the meaner he seems to get.

Thomas finds himself either fired or demoted but thanks to the fact that he's been able to work with Rafayel for so long he finds new work quickly. You want to scold Rafayel for being so petty but the man you find isn't the one you grew to know. This one is cold and almost cruel, never outwardly saying anything mean to you but you get the sense that he's keeping quiet for your sake.

He can't help but lash out, deciding he doesn't need this anymore. He'll decide that he doesn't need you (and he's fully lying to himself), resigning himself fully back to feeling that ever permeating pain that seeps itself into every part of his being. He was already used to the longing before - he'll do it again.

[girlinaboxx]

what happened after the explosion..// sevika x reader ﹒₊‧ ﹒𓆩 𓆪﹒₊ ﹒﹒

this is just a ramble, a short story—whatever you want to call it. no major warnings, just heavy angst.

you were losing your mind.

it was nearly 4 AM, and she still wasn’t home. six hours late. that wasn’t just late—it was unheard of. sevika was always late, sure, but never this late. maybe you were overthinking it. maybe you were being too naïve, too soft, too you to understand the kind of life she led.

but then again, maybe you weren’t.

a thousand thoughts raced through your head, each worse than the last. had a deal gone wrong? was there a fight? had someone stronger—meaner—finally taken her down? you tried to push those thoughts away, but they sank their claws in deep, festering, growing roots inside your chest. you had called. you had texted. hell, you had even stood by the door, keys in hand, heart in your throat, seriously considering breaking the one rule she made crystal clear:

“if i ever saw you at any of Silco’s— i will wreck your shit.”

a direct order. one you weren’t stupid enough to disobey. but if she didn’t show up in the next hour, you didn’t care.

then, just as your panic was reaching its breaking point, the front door creaked open.

relief flooded through you for exactly one second. then you saw her.

sevika wasn’t alone.

she wasn’t standing.

she wasn’t okay.

deckard stood in the doorway, her massive, half-conscious body draped over his arms. he looked at you like he was waiting for something, maybe for you to freak out, maybe for you to do something—but you couldn’t move. you couldn’t breathe.

because your baby was broken.

her shoulder was a mess of blood-soaked bandages and metal clamps, barely holding together the raw, exposed wound. she was awake, but only barely—bleary-eyed and exhausted, her head lolling against deckard’s chest. you’d never seen her look so small before. so… defenseless.

you wanted to scream. to cry. to shake her, demand what the hell happened, why she let this happen—why she always had to come home in pieces. but there was no time for any of that. you needed to pull yourself together. you needed to be strong. For her.

deckard didn’t say a word as he carried her inside, setting her down carefully on your couch before stepping back. you barely registered the sound of him leaving, the door clicking shut behind him. the apartment was quiet, except for her breathing—shaky, uneven, pained.

you dropped to your knees beside her, hands hovering over her as if she were made of glass.

she cracked one swollen eye open, her lips twitching like she was about to smirk, about to throw out some cocky remark to make you feel better. but nothing came.

instead, her fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, holding on like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

and then, for the first time in two years of loving her, sevika cried.

she buried her face against your chest, her broad shoulders trembling. tears—real tears—hot and silent, soaking into your skin. it shattered something inside you, something you hadn’t even realized could break.

you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her closer, cradling her like she was something precious, something fragile—something you would burn the world for.

you stayed like that for an hour. maybe longer. just rocking her gently, pressing trembling kisses against her temple, whispering things you weren’t even sure made sense. she never cried out loud, but you felt every sob against your chest as she soaked it in tears, in the way her grip on your shirt tightened to the point of tearing.

finally, she spoke.

“i can’t hold you like I truly want now..”

and just like that.. you heard your heart shatter, your fingers threaded through her hair, your lips brushing over her damp forehead.

“you still have me.”

and you meant it. every word.

no matter how many pieces she came home in, no matter how much she thought she lost—she still had you.

always.

[hy6erion]

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭! - 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬, 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐌𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐚, 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐕𝐢𝐤, 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐌𝐞𝐥

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲/𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲(𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲) 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜, 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐩 (𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞), 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞/ 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐢𝐝𝐤 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐨𝐦𝐥. 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞....໒( ᓀ ‸ ᓂ )७

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who meets you by complete accident. You weren’t looking for a sugar daddy, but Jayce was definitely looking for someone to spoil. Maybe you worked at a café near his office, your customer service smile making his heart stutter every time he came in for his overpriced espresso. Or maybe you were a friend-of-a-friend at some fancy charity gala, out of place in a dress you borrowed just to blend in. Either way, he clocked you instantly—soft, sweet, and so tempting. And when he heard you offhandedly mention needing a little extra cash? Well. That was an opportunity he wasn’t about to pass up.

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who is shameless about his wealth. He won’t outright flash cash in your face, but you’ll know within the first twenty minutes of talking to him that he’s rich-rich. Designer suit? Custom. Car? One of many. The watch on his wrist? Costs more than a year’s rent. He’s not bragging—he just enjoys nice things, and he wants you to enjoy them, too. He loves watching your eyes widen when he hands you a little shopping bag with something pretty inside, murmuring, “Go on, baby, open it.”

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who doesn’t do subtle. He doesn’t just send you money—he wires it directly into your account with zero hesitation. No sneaky Venmo requests, no waiting for you to ask. You’ll wake up to a casual $5,000 deposit with a text that says, “Get yourself something nice, sweetheart.”

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who makes it clear from the start that this is all on your terms. If you just want a platonic arrangement? Fine, he’ll be your generous benefactor, no problem. But if you do want something more? If you want to let him kiss down your throat after a fancy dinner, press you into silk sheets in a penthouse suite, murmur filthy things against your skin while he unzips your dress? That’s even better.

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who is so goddamn weak for you. If you so much as pout at him, he’ll cave. You could say, “Jayce, I saw these earrings—” and he’s already pulling out his card, nodding, “Get them, baby. And the matching necklace.” If you bat your lashes at him and whine about being cold? He’ll drape his expensive coat over your shoulders and hold you close, grumbling, “Gonna have to start keeping you wrapped up in furs, huh?”

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who loves showing you off. You’ll never feel out of place on his arm, even at the most exclusive events. He’ll make sure you have a closet full of luxury, and he lives for the moment you step out in something new, watching his friends’ eyes go wide. “Damn, Jayce, where’d you find her?” And he’ll just smirk, pulling you in close and murmuring in your ear, “They’re all jealous, sweetheart.”

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who gets filthy when he’s had a few drinks. After a night out, he’ll press you against the door before you can even get your shoes off, his lips hot and desperate against your neck. “You look so fuckin’ good in that dress, baby… but I bet you’d look even better out of it.” If you let him? He’ll pull you into his lap, his voice dropping into a needy rasp as he grinds you down against his cock. “C’mon, sweetheart, lemme take care of you. You know I love spoiling my girl.”

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who gets possessive in bed. He’ll never push, never demand, but if you let him? Oh, he’s gripping your thighs, spreading you open, and moaning about how pretty you look taking his cock. He’ll hold your face, make you look at him while he fucks into you, murmuring between ragged breaths, “You like bein’ spoiled, huh? Like knowing you’re mine?”

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who is completely whipped for you. If you ever call him while you’re out shopping, asking if you can get something? His response is always, “Get it, baby. Get two.” You wanna sit in his lap at dinner? He’ll pull you in without a second thought, smirking at how flustered you get when his fingers start idly tracing circles on your thigh. You wanna ride him in the backseat of his car after a long night? “Fuck, sweetheart, you don’t even have to ask.”

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who adores you, no matter what. You could come to him in pajamas, hair messy, no makeup on, and he’d still look at you like you hung the damn moon. He loves how soft you are, how warm, how sweet. And if anyone ever tries to disrespect you? Well. Let’s just say Jayce doesn’t mind throwing money—or a punch—to protect what’s his.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who wasn’t looking for a sugar baby, but somehow ended up with you anyway. Maybe you were a barista at his favorite café, always slipping him extra sugar packets when he looked tired. Maybe you were a broke student struggling with tuition, and he overheard you venting about how you might have to drop a class. However it happened, he found himself saying something like, “I could help, you know.” At first, you thought he was joking—until he was wiring money into your account without a second thought.

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who acts like it’s completely normal to fund your entire lifestyle. Need rent money? Already transferred. Want a new laptop? He’s sending links to the best models. Thinking about quitting your job because it’s exhausting you? “Then quit, darling. I’ll take care of it.” He makes it sound so logical, as if it only makes sense that he should provide for you.

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who has a soft spot for your little indulgences. You mention wanting a new perfume? It’s on your dresser the next day. You offhandedly say you miss a certain snack from your childhood? He finds a way to get it imported. You could be scrolling online, sighing wistfully at something, and he’ll just smirk, “Do you want it, or are you going to make me guess?”

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who loves spoiling you in ways that feel personal. He’s not flashy like Jayce, but he pays attention. If he notices you’ve been stressed, he’ll book you a spa day. If you have an important event, he’ll arrange for a stylist. And if he sees you shivering even slightly? He’s wrapping his coat around your shoulders before you can protest, murmuring, “There. Better?”

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who is a little condescending about how much you need him. He likes that you rely on him. He enjoys the way you come to him for everything, his voice dripping with amusement whenever he says, “You’re quite helpless without me, aren’t you, darling?” And if you try to deny it? He just smirks and tucks a wad of cash into your pocket. “Then by all means, don’t spend it.”

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who gets off on the power imbalance, just a little. He’s not cruel, but there’s something about knowing you depend on him that makes him shiver. The way you lean into his touch when he strokes your cheek, the way you bite your lip when you ask for something, the way you thank him so sweetly—it all makes him ache with possessive need.

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who turns into a menace when he’s teasing you. He’ll let you sit in his lap, but only if you can behave. He’ll take you shopping but make you ask properly. He loves drawing out your desperation, whether it’s for money, gifts, or even just his touch. “You want something from me, don’t you? Then use your words, sweetheart.”

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who is surprisingly rough when he finally gives in. He spends so much time being controlled, being composed—but when he wants you? That control shatters. He’ll pull you onto his lap and grind you against his thigh, his breath hot against your ear. “Is this what you wanted, hm? My hands on you? My cock inside you?” He’s a mess when he fucks you, panting, “Mine. You’re mine.”

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who makes you say it. He loves hearing you acknowledge your dependence on him, whether it’s a simple, “Thank you, Viktor,” or something far filthier. His favorite? “I belong to you.” Say it while he’s fucking into you, while you’re clinging to him, while he’s got your thighs trembling—and he’ll give you anything you ask for.

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who has no problem reminding you who takes care of you. If you ever try to push his generosity away, he’ll tilt his head, amused. “Oh? You don’t need my money? Interesting. Tell me, how much was that dress you’re wearing? Those shoes? That pretty necklace?” And when you have no answer? He’ll just chuckle and press a kiss to your forehead. “That’s what I thought, my dear.”

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who is possessive, but in a quiet, inescapable way. He’s not loud about it, but you know he doesn’t like sharing. If someone flirts with you, he won’t cause a scene—he’ll just wrap an arm around your waist and murmur, “Having fun, darling? Or should I remind you who really takes care of you?” And if you so much as hesitate? He’s pulling you into his lap the second you get home, his grip firm on your hips. “Mine.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Sugar Mommy! Mel who chose you the moment she saw you. You didn’t find Mel—Mel found you. Maybe you were serving drinks at a high-profile event, your uniform neat but clearly a little worn. Maybe she caught you in the art gallery, staring longingly at a piece you could never afford. Whatever it was, she saw potential. And when she saw you hesitate, checking the price tag on something as small as a cocktail, she made her move.

Sugar Mommy! Mel who is effortlessly smooth about it. There’s no awkward “Hey, do you want a sugar mommy?” conversation. No, Mel makes you want it before you even realize what’s happening. She invites you out for drinks, orders the best wine without glancing at the menu, and when the bill comes? She doesn’t even look at it. Her generosity is so casual, so natural, that by the time she’s slipping a sleek black card into your hand and saying, “Use it whenever you need, darling,” you already know you belong to her.

Sugar Mommy! Mel who doesn’t just spoil you—she elevates you. She doesn’t want to simply throw money at you. No, she wants to transform you. Your wardrobe? Remade. Your living situation? Upgraded. Your confidence? Unshakable. She doesn’t just buy you things—she molds you into someone who turns heads just by walking into a room.

Sugar Mommy! Mel who has exquisite taste and expects you to match it. If she’s taking you to dinner, she’s sending you to a stylist first. If you’re attending an event with her, she’s having something custom-tailored for you. And if you dare show up wearing something less than perfect? She’ll simply smile, brush her fingers along your collar, and murmur, “We’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”

Sugar Mommy! Mel who loves to tease you about your newfound luxury. If you ever hesitate before accepting something, she just tilts her head, amused. “Don’t tell me you’re feeling guilty, sweetheart. What else is all this wealth for, if not to indulge you?” She lives for the moment you finally let go, when you stop questioning whether you deserve it and just accept that you’re hers.

Sugar Mommy! Mel who adores the power imbalance. She doesn’t shove it in your face, but she knows exactly what she’s doing. She loves how small you feel in her world, how much you need her. And when you get overwhelmed by it all? She strokes your cheek, kisses you softly, and murmurs, “Shh, darling. You don’t have to worry about a thing. That’s what I’m here for.”

Sugar Mommy! Mel who absolutely wrecks you in bed. The same careful, refined Mel who speaks in perfect, elegant tones? Gone. In her place is someone who commands you, who takes what she wants while making you beg for it. She’ll have you spread out on silk sheets, one manicured hand between your thighs as she hums, “Tell me, sweet thing… do you think you’ve earned this?”

Sugar Mommy! Mel who has a wicked streak when she’s in the mood to tease. If you so much as think about bratting, she’s laughing softly, shaking her head. “Oh, darling. You do know that acting out only makes me want to punish you, don’t you?” And punishment? It’s slow, drawn-out, deliberate. She’ll have you squirming, begging, unable to think of anything but her voice purring in your ear, “Good girls wait, don’t they?”

Sugar Mommy! Mel who makes you say thank you for everything. She loves hearing it slip from your lips—breathless, needy, desperate. Whether it’s for a new dress, a new car, or the way she’s got her fingers buried inside you, she expects those two little words. “Thank you, Mel.” And if you forget? She just smiles, kisses the corner of your mouth, and whispers, “Try again, sweetheart.”

Sugar Mommy! Mel who never lets you forget that you belong to her. You can flirt, you can tease, but at the end of the day? She owns you. And if anyone tries to overstep? If someone gets too bold, too familiar? She won’t make a scene. She doesn’t need to. She’ll simply pull you into her lap later that night, her fingers tracing your skin, her voice velvet-soft as she murmurs, “You’re mine, darling. Say it for me.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Sugar Daddy! JayVik who didn’t intend to share, but once they saw you, they couldn’t help themselves. At first, Jayce and Viktor had no reason to entertain the idea of a sugar baby. They had each other, they were successful, and money was never an issue. But then you entered their lives—maybe as an intern, maybe as a struggling student, maybe as someone who simply caught Jayce’s eye first. He was the one who started it, offering little gifts, slipping a card into your bag, but Viktor? He was watching. And when he finally spoke up, smirking at Jayce’s obvious infatuation, all he said was, “Are you going to keep her all to yourself, or should I have a taste?”

Sugar Daddy! JayVik who balance each other out perfectly in their spoiling. Jayce is the grand, dramatic one. He wants to take you on vacations, buy you expensive jewelry, show you off. Viktor, on the other hand, is calculated in his generosity. He doesn’t just buy you gifts—he curates them. He watches what you linger on in stores, what you sigh wistfully over, and makes sure it’s waiting for you before you even ask. Together? They create a perfect storm of indulgence.

Sugar Daddy! JayVik who both love watching you get used to luxury. Jayce gets all giddy when you finally stop hesitating before spending their money, while Viktor just smirks knowingly when you start accepting their gifts as a given. “Ah, you’re learning,” he murmurs, slipping a designer bag into your hands. “Took you long enough, darling.”

Sugar Daddy! JayVik who are so different in their possessiveness. Jayce is obvious—wrapping an arm around you in public, grinning as he introduces you as their girl. Viktor, on the other hand, is more subtle. He doesn’t need to declare anything—he simply reminds you in quiet, inescapable ways. A hand at the small of your back, a murmured “Ours, aren’t you?” when someone looks a little too long.

Sugar Daddy! JayVik who both love teasing you, but in very different ways. Jayce is playful, teasing you with gifts, making you ask properly before he spoils you. “You want me to buy it, sweetheart? Gotta hear you say please.”

Viktor is downright mean with his teasing. He’ll withhold just to hear you beg, just to see that little desperate pout. “You can have it, my dear. But only if you prove you deserve it.”

Sugar Daddy! JayVik who have a very interesting dynamic when it comes to sex. Jayce is loud, desperate, needy. He whimpers, begs, gets completely lost in the feeling of you between them. Viktor is quiet, intense, commanding. He doesn’t just fuck you—he studies you, learns exactly what makes you fall apart.

Together? You don’t stand a chance. Jayce is moaning in your ear about how good you feel, how perfect you are, while Viktor is holding your chin, forcing you to look at him as he murmurs, “You can take more, can’t you, darling?”

Sugar Daddy! JayVik who are both insatiable when it comes to you. Jayce can’t keep his hands off you, always pulling you into his lap, always kissing you just a little too deeply in public. Viktor, on the other hand, is more restrained—but that only makes it worse when he finally snaps. When he does decide he wants you? He’s relentless, murmuring filth in your ear while Jayce is already a mess beneath you.

Sugar Daddy! JayVik who both make sure you never forget who you belong to. Jayce does it with his enthusiasm, always touching, always reminding you, “You’re ours, baby. No one else gets to have you.” Viktor does it with his control, holding your chin, tilting your face up so you have to meet his gaze as he murmurs, “Say it for me, sweet thing. Tell us who owns you.” And when you do? When you moan, “You—both of you, I belong to you,”—Jayce groans like he’s about to fall apart, and Viktor just smirks, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “Good girl.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Sugar Daddy! JayMel who saw you, exchanged a single glance, and decided. You didn’t stand a chance—not when Mel’s sharp eyes appraised you like something she was considering acquiring, not when Jayce leaned in with that easy, dazzling smile. Maybe you caught Jayce’s attention first—laughing at a bar, struggling to carry too many books at a café, hesitating before ordering the cheapest drink on the menu. But it was Mel who sealed your fate. One perfectly arched brow, one quiet murmur in Jayce’s ear, and suddenly he was approaching you, grinning, as if it was his idea.

Sugar Daddy! JayMel who make it feel effortless. Being spoiled by Jayce and Mel isn’t a negotiation. It isn’t something you ask for. It’s simply something that happens. One moment, you’re living your normal life, and the next? You’re drowning in luxury. A black card slipped into your hand with a casual “Use it for whatever you need, sweetheart.” A boutique owner greeting you by name because Mel already made arrangements. A reservation at the best restaurant in the city without you even realizing they owned it.

Sugar Daddy! JayMel who balance each other’s spoiling in very different ways. Jayce is the type to see you glance at something expensive and buy it immediately. No hesitation. No questions. He loves watching your eyes light up when he surprises you with something ridiculous. Mel, on the other hand, enjoys control. She doesn’t just throw money at you—she curates your life. Every gift is intentional, every change calculated. And she lives for the moment you realize she’s been shaping you into exactly what she wants.

Sugar Daddy! JayMel who absolutely love seeing you get comfortable with being spoiled. Jayce gets giddy when you finally stop hesitating before accepting their money. He’ll tease you about it—“See? Told you it feels good to be taken care of, baby.” Mel, on the other hand, is smug about it. She just hums, brushes a finger under your chin, and murmurs, “That’s a good girl. You’re learning.”

Sugar Daddy! JayMel who are both possessive, but in different ways. Jayce is obvious—arm around your waist, introducing you as “Ours”, glaring at anyone who even thinks about getting too close. Mel? She doesn’t need to be loud about it. She simply owns the room, and by extension, owns you. If someone oversteps? One look from her, one coolly spoken “I don’t believe you were invited to touch what’s mine,” and the poor idiot immediately backs off.

Sugar Daddy! JayMel who love teasing you together. Jayce is playful, laughing as he tugs you into his lap, whispering in your ear, “C’mon, baby, you know you like it when we spoil you.”Mel is cruel with her teasing. She’ll sit back, sipping her wine, watching you squirm under their attention before murmuring, “If you want something, darling, you’ll have to earn it.”

Together? You don’t stand a chance. Jayce is coaxing, tempting, urging you to ask for more, while Mel sits there like a queen, waiting for you to break.

Sugar Daddy! JayMel who are so different in bed, but both leave you ruined. Jayce is needy. He whines, groans, begs when Mel lets him have you, pressing desperate kisses against your skin, moaning about how good you feel. Mel is controlled. She studies you, learns exactly how to undo you, and then takes her time doing it. “I wonder,” she murmurs, trailing fingers down your stomach, “how long can we keep you like this?”

Together? They wreck you. Jayce is panting in your ear, telling you how perfect you are, how good you feel, while Mel is watching, smirking, murmuring, “Such a pretty mess, aren’t you?”

Sugar Daddy! JayMel who make sure you never forget who you belong to. Jayce says it, constantly, grinning against your skin, whispering, “Ours, baby. All ours.” Mel reminds you without words—a gentle grip on your jaw, a look that commands obedience, a murmured, “Say it for me.” And when you do—when you moan, “Yours, I’m yours”, Jayce groans like he’s about to fall apart, and Mel just smirks, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Good girl.”

[witchywithwhiskey]

Ok for the Sweethearts Game I'm going with Ransom and true love! 💕💕

Happy Valentine's babe! 😊

skincare routine

pairing: boyfriend!ransom drysdale x female reader

summary: your boyfriend is in a dark mood when he gets home from work on valentine's day, but you're prepared to spend the night pampering him and showing him how much you love him.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), emotional hurt/comfort, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, bathing together, ransom is emotional and vulnerable, ransom's family has issues, non-sexual and sexual intimacy, fluff, emotions, pet names (beautiful), kissing, established relationship

word count: 2.7k

a/n: ahh thank you for sending in this request/prompt Kes!! i wasn't sure at first how to tackle "true love" with Ransom, but then i had this idea and i'm so so so happy with how it turned out!! i love taking a big mean man and making him soft—and who needs some pampering and emotional support more than Ransom?? 🤭 thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy ♡♡

sweethearts game masterlist

You could tell from the way the front door of the Boston townhouse you shared with your boyfriend opened and shut just a little bit shaper than normal that Ransom Drysdale was in a mood. Truthfully, you’d known it since he texted you that he’d be late coming home, his frustration clear in the tone of his message. 

So, when he trudged into the living room, kicking off his expensive leather loafers in the doorway and tossing his wool coat haphazardly on a chair, you were well and truly prepared for the scowl on his handsome face. It made your heart lurch, wanting to take all his pain and anger away, and you were more than certain you’d made the right call about your Valentine’s Day plans that evening.

Your boyfriend didn’t even greet you before he collapsed on top of you on the couch, burying his face in your chest and curling his larger body around yours. His strong arms banded around your waist and dragged you so close, there wasn’t an inch of space between your bodies. Only then did a modicum of tension ease from his shoulders.

A soft laugh slipped from your lips at his grumpy demeanor and you carded your fingers through Ransom’s soft, brown hair, pushing it back from his face and raking your nails over his scalp until he let out a groan of pleasure. The tense bunching of his shoulders began to soften and you smiled down at the top of his head. 

You kept up the soothing motion of your fingers, making soft cooing sounds to your boyfriend while, slowly but surely, he finally relaxed. After a while, he turned his face to the side, his cheek pressed to your sternum so he could mumble out the first words he’d spoken since he got home.

“Just gimme a few minutes, then I’ll get ready for our date,” he said. His voice was so heavy with exhaustion that you couldn’t help but hug him a little bit tighter. 

He hadn’t even opened his eyes, but you knew his normally sharp, intelligent blue irises would be dull with fatigue and frustration. You could see the evidence of his annoyance in the two little furrows between his brows, and you smoothed them away with your thumb. 

Ducking your head, you pressed a featherlight kiss to his hairline at the top of his forehead, watching with no small degree of satisfaction as even more tension drained from his exquisitely handsome face. It was a reminder that you were Ransom’s safe space, and you felt honored to be that for him—just as he was your safe place.

“I cancelled our reservation at Ostra,” you began to say, but your words were cut off on a startled sound when Ransom suddenly pushed himself up, his face twisted into a glare.

There was very little heat to the expression, though, and you noted that his eyes did look as dull and exhausted as you’d suspected they might. It was hard to take the glaring man seriously when he looked so tired and had been cuddling you so sweetly just a moment before, so you gave him a challenging look in return.

“I made that reservation six months ago,” Ransom bit out harshly, even as he was making obvious pains to soften his tone because he knew you didn’t deserve his ire. It was an admirable effort, but it didn’t matter, Ransom couldn’t ruffle your feathers that easily. “I wanted our first Valentine’s Day to be special,” he said sullenly, dropping his head onto your chest again. 

You gave him a moment to take a deep breath and calm down, and then you pulled him up for a kiss. It was just a soft brush of your lips against his, but the rest of the anger drained out of him just as quickly as it had come and he sank into the kiss. His mouth pressed more firmly to yours as your lips slanted together. You could taste the apology on his tongue. 

With a sigh, Ransom pulled away and lay back down on your chest, squeezing you tightly as he relaxed back into your body. Your fingers kneaded his shoulders lightly before returning to his hair, smoothing through the strands and pulling another, more contented exhale from your boyfriend.

“As I was saying, I cancelled our reservation, but Ostra agreed to deliver some food to us,” you said, biting back a laugh when Ransom made a grudging sound of encouragement. It was little more than a grunt, but you’d long since learned how to interpret his wordless sounds. “It’ll be here a little later. I thought we could take a bath together while we wait.”

There was some grumbling reluctance from Ransom, who didn’t seem to want to leave the couch, but you finally managed to coax him up and dragged him upstairs to the master bathroom. Once inside, he stared dumbfounded as you flitted about, lighting candles and drawing a bath, adding rose petals and a luxurious bath bomb to the hot water. 

A little while later, the two of you were submerged in the blisteringly hot water filling the extra large clawfoot tub Ransom had put into the bathroom for the exact reason of comfortably fitting two people. The tiled room was quiet and dim, with only the softly flickering flames of the candles lighting the space.

“Do you want to talk about today?” you asked gently, your lips brushing against the shell of Ransom’s ear, smelling his freshly washed hair and letting the comfort of the familiar scent soothe your own aches and pains.

The two of you were laying entangled in the tub, your back against the cool porcelain while Ransom’s larger body was sprawled between your thighs with his back to your chest. You’d washed his hair and taken a loofah to every inch of his skin, scrubbing him clean while he’d relaxed. 

You’d already refilled the tub once, and neither of you seemed in a rush to leave the bath, so your fingers were tracing idly up and down Ransom’s smooth chest while his big hands stroked your thighs beneath the warm water. 

It was so pleasant, you almost never wanted to leave—or talk about what had bothered him that day. But you’d needed to ask, in case he did want to talk about it.

Ransom was quiet for a long moment before he heaved a heavy sigh, sounding like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. You ducked down and pressed a kiss to the base of his neck, feeling his muscles loosen beneath your lips. 

“It’s the same old bullshit,” he said heavily, his eyes closing as he sank deeper into the water. “I’ll never live up to my family’s expectations, I’ll never be… good enough for them.” 

His voice cracked a little on his last words and you wrapped your arms around his big body, squeezing him tightly and giving him the comfort you knew he needed. It broke your heart to see the way Ransom’s family treated him, especially since all you could do was support him and remind him that you cared about him. 

“I love you, Ran,” you whispered in his ear before pressing a kiss to his temple. “I love you exactly as you are—you’ll always be enough for me.” 

A rough sound came from deep in Ransom’s throat and he turned his face, pressing it into your arm. You knew from the gentle shaking of his chest and shoulders that he was crying and you buried your face in his neck, holding him tight while he let it out. 

All the while, you murmured your love into his skin, feeling his pulse beneath your lips and wishing you could pour your love straight into him. You wanted him to know your love wasn’t conditional like his family’s; you wanted him to feel your love with every beat of his heart.

When Ransom quieted, you sat up and rearranged the two of you in the tub. Some water sloshed over the edges as you moved to sit in his lap, your legs circling loosely around his waist. 

Your handsome boyfriend’s cheeks were pink and his eyes were dull and watery, and you couldn’t help but love him all the more. He was having trouble meeting your eye, but that was fine. It had taken a long time for him to feel comfortable crying in front of you and he still struggled with it, so you appreciated every bit of vulnerability he allowed you to see.

You held Ransom’s face in your hands and kissed the remaining tears from his skin with featherlight presses of your lips. Even once you’d gotten them all, you kept brushing kisses all over his face, until he was laughing, the sound rich and deep and pleased, sending shivers of delight racing down to your toes.

“What’re you doing, beautiful?” he asked in a rough, rumbly voice that had sparks zinging beneath your skin. You made a mental note to make Ransom some tea to soothe his throat after you got out of the bath, even as you kept kissing his face.

“Skincare,” you answered sweetly. Your lips caressed his forehead, cheeks and chin with even more kisses, making him chuckle deep in his chest. “Kisses from your true love are the best skincare routine, didn’t you know?” you asked matter-of-factly, unable to keep the silly smile off your face.

Another laugh rumbled out of Ransom and his arms wound around your waist, pulling you closer until his half-hard length was trapped against your soft belly. For the moment, though, the two of you ignored it, content to bask in the intimacy of your bodies pressed together, skin to skin while you held each other.

Ransom’s mouth found yours, stopping you from continuing with his skincare routine, and he kissed you slowly, tenderly. Heat bloomed and unfurled from the depth of your core as your lips parted for your boyfriend, allowing him to slip inside and deepen the kiss. 

In every sweep of his tongue and soft groan, you felt his love, and you returned it in kind, showing him how much you cherished and adored him. You loved Ransom Drysdale and you wanted him to know it, to be certain of it on his darkest of days. 

“I love you, too,” Ransom murmured after pulling away and pressing his forehead to yours. His mouth ducked down and captured your lower lip, nibbling on its plump plushness in such a way that your body grew warmer than the bath water, desire for him rising within you. “I couldn’t imagine my life without you.”

“Oh, you’d definitely be way more miserable without me,” you quipped, your voice a little breathless from his kisses as you tried to lighten the mood. 

But Ransom was somber as he brushed a kiss to your cheek and agreed, “I would.”

The seriousness of his tone had you squeezing your arms tighter around his shoulder, your mouth seeking his for a deeper kiss. With so much of your bare skin pressed against Ransom’s, it wasn’t long before the mood in the bath shifted, and turned into something desperate and craving. 

“Ran,” you whined softly when he pulled away to press hot, suckling kisses to your neck. Your hips shifted restlessly beneath the water, rubbing against the stiff length trapped between your bodies. It was so close to where you needed him, but so far away, too. “Ran.”

“D’you need something, beautiful?” Ransom teased in his deep, rich voice, nipping at the skin over your fluttering pulse point. A moan tumbled from your lips as your head fell back, lolling to the side to give him more room to kiss and suck on your neck.

“You,” you moaned, when you managed to formulate a thought and answer your boyfriend’s question. “I need you.”

Ransom’s big hands slid down your back, palming your ass and lifting you up with the help of the water. Eagerly, you reached between your thighs and lined up the tip of his cock with your entrance. He lowered you back down slowly, giving you time to adjust to his thick length impaling your body.

When you finally settled back on his lap, you felt perfectly full, a blissful smile curling the corners of your lips as you let out a sigh and let your head fall against his shoulder. Ransom settled back against the side of the porcelain tub, the two of you getting comfortable in the bath so you could stay connected in the most intimate way possible until the water cooled.

For a long, long while, the two of you held each other, fingers dancing idly over warm, slick skin while you enjoyed being together. You told Ransom about the book you were reading and he chuckled at the mob boss romance, scoffing at the male main character’s antics. But he also shared stories from his day, updates on the manuscripts he was excited about at Blood Like Wine Publishing. 

Eventually, the bath grew cold and the heat that had been building in your body from keeping Ransom’s cock warm in your pussy for so long grew impossible to ignore. Gradually, your bodies began to rock together, first slowly and then picking up speed as your mouth found Ransom’s for a blisteringly searing kiss.

Ransom fucked you hard and fast in the tub, the two of you having used up all your patience and needing to find completion together. With his big hands kneading your ass greedily, Ransom bounced you up and down on his cock, uncaring of the water spilling from the tub while his face was buried in your tits, licking and sucking and marking your body as his own. 

As for you, all you could do was tangle your fingers in his still damp hair and hold on while he pounded into you from below, filling your cunt perfectly, stretching you exquisitely, and hitting a spot deep inside you so deliciously, you were rocketing toward your release. Your boyfriend knew just the angle to make sure your clit ground against the base of his cock with every thrust, and he used his hold on your ass to hit it perfectly. 

Ransom worked your pleasure higher and higher until it finally snapped and you came with a shrill cry that bounced off the tiles of the bathroom. He held you tight while your body trembled and clamped down around his cock, groaning his own release into your skin as he pumped you full of his cum. 

Your boyfriend held you close as you came down from your highs, his hands skimming up and down your spine soothingly. But when you shivered at the cooled temperature of the bath, he was quick to help you out of the tub and bundle you up in a fluffy towel. 

Together, you cleaned up the bathroom, drained the tub and blew out all the candles, moving into the bedroom and stealing kisses from each other as you dressed. Ransom insisted that you wear one of his sweaters, because he loved seeing you in his clothes, so you happily pulled one on, along with some comfortable shorts while he dressed in a tee and joggers.

By the time you made it back downstairs, your dinner had been delivered from Ostra and the two of you ate the expensive meal on the couch, watching some mindless TV and cuddling in the Boston townhouse you called home. 

It may not have been the Valentine’s Day your boyfriend had planned, but you couldn’t help but notice how happy he looked, his face relaxed and an ever-present smile curling the edges of his mouth while he buried his head in your chest and snuggled into you. It turned out to be the perfect night.

All you’d wanted was to spend the evening with your favorite person in the world, to make him feel better and bring him the comfort he’d sorely needed. And the fact that, as he was falling asleep in your arms on the couch, you got Ransom Drysdale to admit that your true love kisses were, in fact, the best skincare routine was just an added bonus.

sweethearts game masterlist

[redheadspark]

Azriel

character a is getting nursed back to health when they realize they’re in love with the person nursing them to health— or, that they in fact love someone else

A/N - This is great! Thanks for requesting this, anon!

Heal

Summary - You were healed in the night by someone you did not expect

Warnings - Fluff!

“How are we feeling today?”

“Better, thank you Madja,”

“I figured you would be on the mend, just not this soon.  Your recovery must be some kind of record,”

You hummed as Madja was becking your pulse with her wrist, the rest of her body was still with her medicine bag perched on the nightstand and opened half-hazard.  Her tools were out and about, herbs stuffed in vials and potions labeled and half full along the top of the nightstand as well as gauze stained in dried blood and semi-wet towels thrown on the floor.  There is clear evidence of your previous night and what you went through to heal.

Last night was hell for you, literal hell since you were on the brink of death.

The Battle was long and torturous, King Hybern was threatening the lives of all the Courts and all the lives that were lost in the shuffle.  As a member of the Inner Circle and Mor’s sister, you were in the fight to help your people and your Court.  It was such an easy decision for you to jump into the fight, even with the hesitation of the Inner Circle.  Not that you didn’t know how to fight, you were trained in fighting since you left the Night Court with your twin sister in tow.  Both of your childhoods were filled with hate and pain and anger, thanks to your family and what they inflicted on you both.  Mor got the worst of it, the abuse she was was enough for you to leave with her to Night Court to find peace again.

You found it, after some time of healing and making a new life with your twin at your side.  Being with your cousin who was the High Lord, you found that safety you’ve always wanted.  After Rhysand came his two childhood friends: Illyrian Commander Cassian with his boyish charm and playful nature.

And the Spymaster and Shadowsinger: Azriel

You two grew to each other like moths to a flame.  Perhaps it was your gentler nature compared to your twin that made Azriel comfortable with you, or maybe it was your kindness that seemed to spew out of your pore, but a friendship with you was naturally growing.  You found him to be kind and less of a terror than others said for him to see not to mention a fan of some of the books you are reading and going on long walks with you to get to know you.  He loved hearing about your interests and the pair of you joking about the others, which in return made you get feelings for him over time.

His protectiveness, loyalty to your cousin and Night Court, his handsomeness that shone even in the night, his smile that would melt any icy heart, plus much more.  Yet deep within you felt like he was merely a few inches away from you, a bit too far that you could not reach him.  Maybe it was because he worked for your cousin and had a massive job on his shoulders, or that your own twin was weary of you being so vulnerable with someone else.

But you couldn’t help it, you were in love with him.

Still, you had a duty to your Court, to protect it and its citizens.  Which was when you asked Azriel to teach you how to fight.  Your own father never let you learn since it was the place for a female.  Mor defied him on her own, though you were more hesitant to go against him.  Now that you weren’t with your father, you wanted to know how not just to fight but to defend yourself in a time of need.  Azriel, tough bit reluctant with the notion of you ever being in the line of danger, showed you enough to get your hands dirty and also have skills under your belt.  You were thankful for him showing you how to defend, though it could have been more of an excuse for you to be closer to him. 

Maybe it was, and maybe you were falling harder for him all the more.

“You are lucky,” Madja explained as she looked at some of the wounds that were still along your neck and your arms, her trained eyes were fixed on the discoloring where you were hurt, “Some of these could have been fatal.”

“How so?” You asked in curiosity.

“This one,” Madja said with a pointed finger to the deep wound on your arm, “An inch to the left would have hit an artery and you’d bled to death on the field.  There was poison in your bloodstream when the Shadowsinger brought you here,”

Last night was a bit fuzzy: One minute you were slicing through some of the soldiers who were in front of you with ease.  The next minute you were stabbed and you felt so much pain that it made you cry out.  The pain was all over you, inside and out. Almost blinding, like you were lowered in a roaring fire, and as your sword fell from your hand and you fell to the ground ground, the last thing you saw before you passed out was Azriel.

Who was rushing to you and attempting to call out your name?

“He was here tending to you all night,” Madja explained as you looked from your wound to her in shock.  That was news to you, then again you were out cold from the moment you passed out on the field to when you woke you earlier that morning.  Mor was with you when you woke, tears were in her eyes as you blinked at her slowly and she hugged you gently.  Thankful her twin and better half were alive again, even with her twin being pale and looking like hell while encased with pillows and satin sheets.  Between those times was fuzzy for you, almost like you were stuck between dream and reality.  

Mor told you that you were a lucky bitch to be alive and you were not allowed to die on her again, to which you agreed but you asked her more about what happened.  She filled you in with everything: Rhysnad nearly dying but was saved by Feyre, Cassian almost losing his wings from a brutal attack, King Hubert losing his head to the Archeron sisters, it was all to drink it and yet seemed like a fantasy.  But in the end, the Courts were safe, Night Court was safe and well again.  

You were sad to have missed it, but grateful to be alive.

“Azriel…he helped me?” You asked sheepishly.  Madam hummed as she moved to her potions and herbs, placing a few leaves into a bowl to grind into a paste and then adding a few drops of her potions into the bowl to thicken the paste.

“He was here from the moment you were placed in this bed until this morning when I arrived,” She explained, painting some of the paste on your wound with her fingers as you were listening intensely to what she had to say, “He would not leave your side for a moment.  I was swamped with the sound back at the battlefield the I could not come and tend to you.  Thankfully the Spymaster had some knowledge in keeping you alive.  You wouldn’t have been in worse condition if it wasn’t for him,”

You tried to picture it in your mind, Azriel at you’d side like a wet nurse and making sure you were safe.  It felt like it was not in his nature at all, his patience or lack of did not fit in your mind.  You were thinking of excuses: he had other things to do, he had to make sure security was well taken care of for Night Court, he had to help the Illyrian soldiers who were hurt.

But no matter how many excuses you were thinking of, they didn’t matter.  He stayed with you.  All night. And keeping you alive.

What did happen, while you were passed out in exhaustion and in pain, was Azriel, in fact, tending to you.  He filled a bowl of water to wash off most of the dirt and grim still caked on you, dressed the wounds that he could with ease, and tried to lessen the wounds that were a bit more hazardous.  Perched over you in candlelight, his eyes never left you and his attention never waved.  Even when Feyre carefully brought in food for him to eat and Mor sat with him for a few moments before she too left for bed, Azriel was still tending to you as if it was just the pair of you in the world.

He watched him in the wee hours of the morning as you slept, seeing your chest rise and fall, how your hair was braided to the side thanks to Mor and her skilled fingers in your locks, he did think of you as beautiful.  Azriel too and feelings for you, from the moment you met her and Mor so long ago. When Mor was a spitfire you were a calm breeze, your smile lit any room you walked into, your eyes reminded him of the seas high above on a moonless night, and the way you made him feel loved with your gestures and words. 

He fell for you hard, and Azriel was afraid of living in a world without you.

“There, you should be on the mend for now,” Madja explained as she was finishing her pastern your wound before she started to pack her medicine bag, “Now, I want you in bed for the best of the day to going your strength back.  I’ll make sure you get your meals and the proper rest that you need.”

You were about to thank her when there was a knock at the door.  Both you and Madja looked, seeing a head poke into the room.  You beamed, seeing it was none other than Azriel there with a soft look on his face.  Your heart was beating so fast from the sight of him, now knowing that he was with you all night to make sure you would stay alive.  

That flutter in your chest was on overdrive.  

“I wanted to bring you breakfast since I knew you were awake,” He explained, coming into the room a bit more to show that he was carrying a tray filled with breakfast food.  A coffee cup with steaming coffee, buttered toast with scrambled eggs, sausage and bacon, it all looked perfect.  But you were mostly focusing on Azriel who was looking rather happy to see you awake.  Madam chuckled as she grabbed her bag in hand.

“Well done keeping her alive, Shadowsinger.  You would have been a good Healer if you weren’t working for our High Lord,” She commented Azriel blushing from the compliment while she walked to the door, “Just keep her in bed for now, you can handle that, can you?”

Azriel nodded as she slipped out of the room, leaving the two of you alone in the room.  You were watching one another, fondness filled the room like a mist.  It felt like a page was tuned in your book, in your life, where he was intertwined.  Love there was, fizzling under your skin as he smiled at you and nodded once. 

“Hello,” He hummed.

“Hi,” You replied.  And as he watched you eat your breakfast, it was a permanent shift that would forever change the pair of you for the rest of your lives.  Especially since you two would be married within the next year and let your love blossom from there.

The End

[myloveer0]

My lovely darling

Girlfriend Ambessa Medarda X Fem!reader

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Summary: You were just trying to survive your family reunion when Ambessa Medarda—your girlfriend—showed up unannounced. Now, you have no choice but to introduce her to your entire clan. What’s got you nervous isn’t just introducing any partner—it’s the fact that you’re dating a woman who also happens to be twice your age.

💋 Enough with the smut we need sweet girlfriend Ambessa💋

Part III is here took it longer than i expected. Since this is modern setting i think Ambessa would likely be a rich ceo.

Part III (final)

“And… what exactly do you do, Miss Medarda?” your mom asked, her tone light but loaded.

You look at your mom with a pleading eye telling her to stop but she was totally ignoring you. Like you don't exist. Wonderful..

"Nothing much, Mrs. [Last Name] but I do own a business called Medarda Enterprises," Ambessa replied smoothly, as if it were nothing remarkable. "We specialize in international investments and infrastructure. If you don't mind, Y/N mentioned about your passion for cooking, so I brought you a little gift. I hope you'd be please.."

You swallowed, waiting. This was Ambessa’s way of extending goodwill, and you prayed your mother wouldn’t outright reject it. God! She sound so smart and formal.

But the room went dead silent. Even your cousins, usually glued to their phones, looked up. You saw your dad’s who was in the side, eyes widen slightly, realizing.

Medarda Enterprises.

Everyone knew it. Ambessa wasn’t just rich—she was influencial and wealthy. She owned one of the biggest enterprises, and their latest expansion had set its sights on your country. It was no wonder your family recognize it immediatly.

And the CEO herself? She had a reputation of her ruthless business deals and nonsense attitude they weren’t just office gossip they made headlines. And the owner of such, here she was, sitting casually in your family’s dining room, sipping wine like she hadn’t just sent the entire room into stunned silence.

Your mom cleared her throat, but her voice had lost a bit of its edge. “T-that’s… quite the achievement,” she said carefully. “I suppose running such an empire doesn’t leave much time for… personal matters? And beside you don’t seem to be the type of person who would date someone like my daughter.”

You flinched, opening your mouth to protest, but Ambessa placed a firm hand over yours under the table. She exhaled a quiet chuckle.

“And what type of person would that be?”

Your mother shrugged unsure, but now her voice was low. “A woman like you… Y-you have power, wealth, influence.You seems to have everything under your finger. You can have anything you want. So why my daughter? of all people..”

Your stomach twisted. Your mother wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore. It show how against she was in the relationship.

Ambessa wiped her mouth with a napkin, taking her time. “Your child is a remarkable person,” she said, her voice cool and calm. “Independent. Intelligent. Capable of making her own choices.” She finally met your mother’s gaze, “Do you doubt that? What exactly do you think your daughter is lacking, Mrs. [Last Name]?”

Your mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s not about lacking,” she said “It’s about reality. People in your position don’t settle down with people like us. They take what they want and move on when it’s convenient.”

A muscle in your jaw tightened. She thinks this is temporary. She thinks you’re temporary. And worst of all, she thinks your relationship with Ambessa is just a phase—something fleeting, something Ambessa will eventually grow tired of.

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but Ambessa beat you to it. Her gaze flickered to you. She wanted you to stay put, to trust her. This was her fight, and she didn’t want you to bear the weight of it any longer.

Ambessa’s expression darkened just a fraction. If this had been anyone else, she would have shut them down without hesitation. Ambessa Medarda did not entertain opposition, especially from those who dared to speak ill of her. But this was different.

This was your mother, and despite your mother poor choice of word, Ambessa held herself back, maintaining a measured respect.

She deeply understood at your mother reaction.

Ambessa leaned back in her chair, “I understand why you would think that, Mrs. [Last Name]” she said, voice smooth but firm. “People like me… we don’t have the best reputation, do we? And i understood my past doesn’t inspire trust. But my intentions are not temporary, and neither is my love for your daughter.”

Your mother’s fingers twitched slightly, “And you expect me to just believe that?”

Ambessa tilted her head, considering. Then she smirked—not mocking, but with confidence. “No,” she admitted. “I expect you to watch and see for yourself.”

Your mother’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “That’s a rather diplomatic answer.”

“I can be far less diplomatic, if you’d prefer.”

Your mother exhaled sharply through her nose, breaking contact first.. And continue “Let's just be honest here for once, Miss Medarda,” she pressed on “what exactly are your intentions with my daughter?”

Ambessa’s expression didn’t change, but you felt her grip tighten on your hand beneath the table, just slightly. “That depends,” she said smoothly. “Are you asking out of genuine concern or because you think I’m incapable of commitment?”

Your mother, for the first time in the entire conversation, didn't know what to reply.

But Ambessa, sensing the shift, didn’t let the silence settle for long. She exhaled softly, her grip on your hand grounding, steady. “Just to make one thing clear, Mrs. [Last Name],” she said, “Your daughter is an extraordinary person. She is intelligent, kind, and resilient in ways most people never have to be. She challenges me, surprises me, and makes me better simply by existing.”

Your heart clenched at the sincerity in her voice. It was the first time Ambessa had let down her defenses in front of someone else. And yet, here she was, speaking with raw honesty. You couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride.

Ambessa’s gaze softened slightly. “Before I met her, everything around me was gray—predictable, structured, and… empty.” She glanced at you briefly before reaching out, her fingers brushing against your cheek in a sweet, tender caress. Your heart swelled at the touch and you felt yourself lean into it without thinking.

“And then she came along, and suddenly, the world had color again.”

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly against the sting of emotion creeping into your eyes. Your mother was watching the two of you closely, her expression unreadable. The room felt impossibly still.

“I don’t take people lightly,” Ambessa continued, turning back to your mother. “And I don’t waste time on things that don’t matter. But your daughter? She matters to me. More than I can fully put into words. And i am expressing that i am truly genuine in our relationship. We didn't reach five years for nothing..”

Silence.

Your mother blinked. Then again. Her lips parted, coudn't believe what she just heard.

“Five years,” she repeated, voice barely above a whisper. “What Five years?”

This time, she turned to you, and all you could offer was a guilty smile, shifting under her intense stare.

Your mother’s gaze sharpened. “Wait—five years ago… that’s after one year you set foot on the States, isn’t it?”

You swallowed. “Y-yeah, Mom…”

She narrowed her eyes. “And Ambessa was…?”

You sighed, already feeling the weight of the explanation. “A-ambessa was actually become one of my clients.” You glanced at Ambessa, who simply smirked like this was all highly entertaining. She was entually enjoying this.. “That’s where it all started. And, well… as we spent more time together, we eventually started dating.”

Your mother blinked. Once. Twice. Then turned to Ambessa, eyes narrowing. “So let me get this straight—you were her boss?”

Ambessa, to her credit, met your mother’s scrutiny head-on, completely unbothered. “At first, yes.” She tilted her head slightly, lips curling into a knowing smirk. “And then, we became… more.”

Your mother looks like her jaw gonna drop at Ambessa's shameless agreement. “So you mean to tell me that while I thought my daughter was out there working hard, making a name for herself, and focusing on her career—”

“I was doing all that!” you protested.

“—She was actually started dating such person?! And for five years already?!”

The entire room fell into silence. Even the distant chatter from the remaining family members seemed to dim as your mother sat there, stunned.

She took a moment, as if trying to process this new reality. Then, finally, she turned to you, her eyes narrowing with accusation.

“How did you even manage that?” she asked, voice laced with pure disbelief.

Your shoulders dropped. You stared at her, deadpan.

“Seriously, Mom..?''

Beside you, Ambessa let out a low chuckle but eventually stopped when she noticed your pout, your expression clearly showing how upset you were. Why did people always ask that? Like it was some impossible thing? Well… they weren’t wrong exactly. You had caught a big fish—an impossibly big one.

Your mother exhaled sharply, shaking her head like she was trying to reset her brain. “I mean, it’s just—this is a Medarda we’re talking about. She could be with anyone. Anyone.”

Ambessa, ever the amused spectator, took a slow sip of her wine before setting the glass down. “And yet,” she said smoothly, resting an arm behind your chair, “I chose her.”

Your mom blinked, glancing between the two of you. “But… why?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my God, can everyone stop asking that?”

Ambessa smirked, tilting her head. “It is a fair question, little one.”

You turned to her, completely betrayed. “Not you too!”

Your father, who had been quietly observing the conversation from the sidelines, let out a low whistle. “Well… that certainly explains why you never brought anyone home before.”

Your mother held Ambessa’s gaze for what felt like an eternity. Debating and looking like there was so many thing circulating on her head—but then, finally, she exhaled a long, sigh of defeat.. loss of word.

You nearly gasped.

Your mother—one of the most difficult, most stubborn people on the planet—looked completely out of words.

You turned to Ambessa, barely suppressing a grin, and found her already looking at you. A slow, proud smirk tugged at her lips—one that said I told you so.

God, you loved this woman.

Mother inhaled sharply, rubbing her temples like this was giving her a migraine. Worry immediately surged through you, and you stood up without thinking.

“Mom? Are you okay?”

But she immedialy raised her head sharply pointing in your direction.

“You.. Young lady. We have so many things to talk about”

You froze.

"Five years," she repeated, shaking her head again. "Five years, and you never thought to mention this? Am i that distrustful for you to keep it that long.. Do I look like I can't handle it? I always thought you were alone and miserable, but clearly, that’s not the case." She let out a dramatic sigh.

"And gay? Listen, I love you honey but i have nothing against it, but..." She hesitated, gesturing vaguely as if trying to grasp the right words. "I always thought you liked men. Handsome ones! Those with big muscles.. The kind who look like Chris Evans or—"

She hissed, voice barely above a whisper “And then you’re telling me this whole time. She looks like she could even be your—”

“Mom, don’t,” You warned,. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Your mom immedialty stopped. Completly understood and clearly deciding not to push that particular button.'' A-and Oh! I remeber..What about Henry Cavill?! You dreamed about marrying him.. Don’t you remember? You used to have a poster of him above your bed—''

Your stomach dropped. Where was this conversion even leading up?

“Mom—”

You darted a glance at Ambessa, and to your horror. Beside you, she was watching you with her signature unreadable expression, one brow arched in amusement.

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

“That’s enough, mom” you cut in, mortified.

It was bad enough that your mother was bringing up every embarrassing detail of your past, it wasn't on your bucket list for Ambessa—Ambessa hearing it for the first time about your past fascination on men.

You dared a glance at her once again, swallowing hard.

Ambessa took a sip of her wine, her smirk growing. “Cavill, hmm?”

You groaned, covering your face. This is the best and also the worst day of your life.

FIN

Thank you so much for reading!! (happy2 author!)

[petersasteria]

Hey, It's Been A While (2) - G Dragon/Kwon Ji-yong

Pairing: GD x Reader Summary: long time partners that don't have the same goal Warning: delulu!ji-yong

A/N: thank you all for showing so much love on my first ever ji-yong fic! I'm ever-so flattered that many of you have asked for part 2. As promised, here it is. Lmk what you think! This is Ji-yong's P.O.V from part 1.

Kwon Ji-yong wasn't the type to show his feelings. He just dealt with it privately and most of the time, on his own. However, that changed when he told Daesung and Taeyang about your breakup. Oh, he was immensely heart broken. He was so close to pulling the same thing Taeyang did to win Min Hyo-rin back, but he didn't. He knew that whatever he did, nothing would bring you back to him.

"I thought I was being clear..." Ji-yong spoke in a soft voice as Daesung sat next to him on the floor. Ever since the break up, Taeyang and Daesung decided it would be best to take turns in looking after him because he didn't have you anymore. Tonight was Daesung's turn. They both sat in Ji-yong's dimly lit room with Ji-yong finding comfort on the cold floor.

"Well, Ji-yong, I hate to say it, but it was all a misunderstanding in the first place." Daesung said cautiously, not knowing how his best friend would react. "You know, sometimes our goals really don't align with the person we love, and that's okay."

"So..." Ji-yong trailed off. "She won't come back?" His voice cracked as he started sobbing again. His lips quivered and his shoulders shook, it scared Daesung because he had never seen him so... broken before. Daesung pulled him in for a big embrace and he just held him until he calmed down.

"Ji, maybe she will, maybe she won't. It's really up to both of you. I mean, if you really want her back, you have to do something. Right now, I just think she needs space."

"How do you know what she likes? You didn't date her, I did!" Ji-yong snapped at him, breaking free from the hug.

Daesung sighed, "I know you did. I'm just saying, you both need your time to heal before one of you does something. You can't think straight right now, Ji. If you say or do something, she might get overwhelmed and she probably wouldn't want to see you. After all, you just told her that you didn't believe in marriage while she did."

"But what if she doesn't want me back?" Ji-yong asked him, fear creeping throughout his body and he didn't like it one bit.

"Well, fate is twisted. If she doesn't want you back, then you guys were probably just meant to meet to build each other up, but not be together forever." Daesung confessed sadly. "Let's not think about that now. If you want her back, do you really want Y/N to see you like this? I'm sure she'd love to see the Kwon Ji-yong she loves, not the snot-filled, puffy-eyed Ji-yong." He lightened the mood, which was successful considering Ji-yong laughed a little bit.

"You're right." Ji-yong chuckled as he wiped his tears and ran a hand through his hair.

"I mean if I were Y/N and you walked in my apartment looking like that to take me back, I'd be scared! I'd be like, 'who is this gremlin?!'." Daesung joked and nudged his shoulder a bit, making Ji-yong laugh even more.

"Thanks, Dae. I appreciate it." Ji-yong smiled softly, patting his friend on the back.

-

A year after your breakup, Ji-yong heard from Taeyang that you started dating someone else.

"WHAT?!?!" Ji-yong reacted. "She was supposed to be with ME!!!"

"Ji-"

"Are you sure you sent her the flowers I asked you to send?"

"I'm not your assistant, but yes."

"Are you sure you picked the loveliest card in the store? I knew I should've gotten her the shiny lambskin Chanel bag instead!"

"Wait- the gold tone metal white one?"

"Yes, that one! It would look so cute with all of her outfits because white is easy to pair with anything!"

"Okay, but-"

"Did I lose my game? I don't think I did. I mean, even after I courted her, I still heavily flirted with her because you gotta keep it going and I love flirting with her because she gets all cute and shy."

"I did not need to know that, but that's cute. Please-"

"Did she not love me enough? I-"

"KWON JI-YONG!!!!" Taeyang shouted, causing him to stop rambling. "That relationship she has is probably not going to last, y'know? I mean, we don't know what the future holds, right? He could be a-"

"A rebound!" Daesung said as he entered the room.

"Right!" Taeyang slammed his hand on the table.

Ji-yong snickered, "Okay, Glinda."

Taeyang glared at him before he said, "Maybe you should move on a bit."

"I HAVE moved on. Just not in the way she moved on. I still think about her 24/7. I just don't cry about it anymore." Ji-yong said proudly. "I still look fondly at our photos, y'know? I miss her a lot."

"We know." Daesung said.

"Anyway, this has been fun and all, but I have to see Y/N, confess my love for her, and then make out." Ji-yong said, walking towards the door. Before he reaches the door, Taeyang pulled him back.

"Whoa, don't do that. Also, TMI." Taeyang said.

"Stop being delulu. It's not the solulu." Daesung said as the other two looked at him confused. He rolled his eyes, "I'll rephrase: being delusional isn't the solution."

"Then say that!" Taeyang exclaimed.

"Yeah! What language was that?" Ji-yong asked.

"It's the new internet lingo. Oh my gosh, stay updated." Daesung said as he sat down on the couch.

"Um, anyway, he's right." Taeyang agreed. "Being dolulu isn't the selulu."

"You got it twisted."

"I think Ji-yong got my point, Dae."

Ji-yong fought back a smile from their ridiculous argument. "Fine. I won't go. I'll just investigate her new boyfriend."

"Oh my god stop." Daesung said. "Just let her be happy."

"Oh, I want her to be happy... it's just that I want her to be happy with me. Besides, I just want to see if that guy's good enough for her, y'know? I'm looking out for her because I love her and I'm afraid I'll love her until I die, so please let me be." Ji-yong took out his laptop, sat on the dining table and immediately stalked your socials to get some kind of information on this new guy.

It took him months, but he finally got the information he needed. Being petty, he printed it all out with a proud smirk, stapled them together, and presented it to Taeyang and Daesung, who were busy watching some variety show on the tv.

"Um, what's this?" Taeyang asked. It was a neatly organized, 100-paged paper, all about your new boyfriend. Ji-yong even made a formal cover page for his paper. It was his thesis at that point and now, he's doing a defense.

"My thesis titled: The Effect of Being Serious with A Man You Don't Know: A Study About The Cause and Effect of Dating A Suspicious Man." Ji-yong grinned.

"If you flip the page, you'll see the table of contents dating back to 2015 until now. Then as you read through it, it's everything that I found out about Y/N's new boyfriend. Including but not limited to: his family tree, his exes, his behavior and attitude, screenshots from his exes, and observations from his ex-best friend. All names are, of course, redacted for this thesis I am presenting."

"Kwon Ji-yong, you are INSANE. Like, officially." Daesung said. Taeyang nodded in agreement as he flipped through the pages.

"I know, but HEAR ME OUT!" Ji-yong explained. "I have a really bad feeling in my gut when you guys said she started dating him. I just researched about him and I was right! Please just read through it?"

"What if you're wrong?" Daesung questioned. "What if-"

"No, he's right." Taeyang said, intently reading Ji-yong's hardwork.

"What the fuck, Tae? I thought we were a team." Daesung whined.

"Yes, we are. Despite him being delusional and crazy, he's actually right this time. The man is bad news." Taeyang said as he showed Daesung the proof.

Ji-yong smirked to himself as he laid down on the floor. He rubbed his tired eyes as he stretched his whole body and yawned. His research required sleepless nights and convenience store coffee runs at ungodly hours.

"I'm impressed, Ji." Daesung nodded. "This is all precise."

"I didn't get a bachelor's degree and a master's degree for nothing, Dae." Ji-yong chuckled, his voice hoarse from being tired.

"Hey, speaking of-" Taeyang spoke. "Y/N emailed me!"

"Ooh, what did she say?!" Daesung asked excitedly. "I think this is a sign! Maybe your manifestations are finally working, Ji!"

Ji-yong laughed before folding his arms under his head, relaxing a little bit. "It's all coming together. It's weird for her to tell you about their breakup through email, though. That's so-"

"SHE'S GETTING MARRIED?!?!" Daesung screamed as Ji-yong quickly sat up in shock. Taeyang glared at Daesung and said, "I was about to say it!"

"Yeah, but I figured it should be said immediately! Like removing a band-aid!" Daesung explained.

"Yeah, but this isn't exactly a band-aid, now is it?" Taeyang pointed out and Daesung shrugged.

"She's getting married to that dick!?" Ji-yong exclaimed in frustration.

"You know what? Let's all boycott this wedding." Taeyang said. "I can just email her and say that as early as now, we are NOT RSVP-ing."

Ji-yong frowned and shook his head, "No, that's not right. You guys were her friends too and my feelings about this shouldn't be in the way. At the end of the day, it's her event... that I secretly want to ruin, but I digress. We can all go and allow her to be happy."

"Why do I feel like you're planning something?" Daesung eyed Ji-yong suspiciously as Ji-yong stood up, walking to the kitchen.

"Dae, I just finished a really good thesis about why her man is bad news. Of course, I'm planning something. You'll just have to wait on the wedding day." Ji-yong smirked to himself.

-

Taglist for part 2: @loveesiren @balladeerssong @gdinthehouseee @natalicss @multifanxtvshows @pleasantgiverninja @onyxmango @pinkpunkdynamite @steponupbabe @rafesbunniebby @sylviavf @myc4br3 @waltons-things @sillylittlecat1

Taglist: @redhoodedtoad

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

ARE YOU ASHAMED?

PAIRING : beau arlen x younger fem!reader

SUMMARY : beau had planned to spend the day with reader but when emily tells him she’s on her way to his trailer, he forces reader to leave before his daughter shows up.

WARNINGS : age gap. strong language. smut. unprotected p in v. creampie. morning sex. dom!beau. sub!reader. slight out-of-character beau. angst. kept secrets.

A/N : i’ve had this beau oneshot idea for forever and finally felt like releasing it cuz I miss him so much. might make a part 2, tell me what y’all think!

Beau stirs, waking you from your slumber. The sun seeps through the thin curtains and shines over your eyelids. He wraps his strong arms around your body, pulling you into his. A content smile graces your tired face, and you bask in his warmth. Oh, how you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

His lips brush against your skin, beginning from the back of your shoulder up the side of your neck. You squirm in his embrace, tickled by both his beard and kisses. Beau knew how sensitive you were, and he loved to see you giggle with glee. He moves, hovering over your body. His shadow stretches across your eyelids, shielding you from the indirect sun.

Finally, you open your eyes and couldn’t be happier for the gift of sight. Your handsome boyfriend stares down at you, lust in his hooded eyes. He moves between your legs, and you know what he wants. He leans down slowly and gently captures your lips between his. It was long and sweet, just like every kiss he gives you at the start and end of your day. He deepens it, and the more your lips move in sync, the hungrier you each become.

His excitement presses against your inner thigh, and you can’t help but point it out. So, with a smile, you murmur against his lips, “Well, someone’s having a good morning.”

Beau presses his confined member against your clothed clit, eliciting a whimper from your pretty mouth. Your underwear gets damper when his husky Texas draw replies, “Sweetheart, the mornin’s only begun.”

You weren’t a morning person, but you didn’t mind how and when he woke you. Even after a night of sex, you still looked forward to the morning. He kneels between your legs as his hands drag your panties off. He bites his lip when he sees your glistening pussy, staring as if it was the first time he’s seen you. You used to be shy, but after months of watching the same reaction, all you feel is confidence.

He pushes his boxers down, and your mouth waters as his cock springs free. With your undergarments aside, he leans over you again. Despite the warmth radiating from his body onto yours, he pulls up the covers to shield you from the cold. Beau presses his erection between your wet folds, coating his thick member in your juices. He doesn’t ask permission when he brings his leaking tip to your entrance or before he shoves his long shaft inside you. He didn’t need it. From the beginning, you made it clear he could handle you when and however he wanted, as long as he didn’t break your heart.

Instinctively, your body clings to his, holding on for dear life as he splits you in two. It didn’t matter if he went fast or slow, the size of his dick still stretched you the same, and you’d be feeling it for a long time after. The protruding veins in his cock rub against your walls, making your mouth fall open. His tip hits your G-spot effortlessly, forcing your eyes to roll back. Your nails dig into his back, leaving behind crescent-shaped marks.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer, and you swear you’re in Heaven. Your body arches into his chest, the pleasure becoming so much that you can’t lie still. He picks up the pace, grunting in your ear as your tight cunt clenches around him. Your hand finds its way to his hair, tugging hard enough to drive you both wild. His lips go right for your neck like the animal he was. His teeth brush against your sensitive skin as he sucks on your sweet spot. His large hand massages your breast, his thumb circling your hardened nipple while his other holds him steady. The pleasure was becoming too much, and he could tell by the way you squeezed him.

Suddenly, his phone rings, disrupting his vigorous rhythm. Your eyes open in startlement and dismay. God, please don’t answer it, not now! You internally beg. He groans and slows his movements.

“I should probably get that.”

“Fuck, I was so close,” You whine.

Unexpectedly, he slams his well-endowed manhood into you. His tip bruises your cervix, and your body jolts. Your eyes squeeze shut, hollering in pain, pleasure, and surprise. His mouth finds yours, and the kiss is hot and heavy. He reaches for the nightstand, his hips snapping into yours as he blindly silences the ringer. The vibration moves the phone, but it becomes tolerable.

Beau’s thrusts grow more urgent, harsher. He pounds you into the bed, and you’re shocked the trailer wasn’t moving with you. His pelvis grinds against your clit, and you feel your orgasm approaching. Your body begins to overheat; The combination of pleasure, blanket warmth, body warmth, and insanely hot sex made a thin layer of sweat coat your body. You both come up for air, and fresh tears sting your eyes.

Beau sees how close you are and encourages, “Go on, darlin’, cum on my cock like a good girl you are.”

And with his permission, you come undone. Your body trembles beneath him as your orgasm passes through your nervous system. ‘Times like these, you were grateful that Beau lived in the middle of the woods with no neighbors to hear you scream with ecstasy. His hips lock with yours, and with a guttural moan, he shoots his thick load inside your spent pussy. Your limps fall from his body, but he stays one with you.

Your breaths mingle as you each pant heavily. Neither one of you moves, reveling in your highs while they last. Once your breathing steadies, Beau slowly pulls himself out, and you whimper at the loss. He collapses next to you before wrapping his arm around your shoulder to pull you into his side. You blissfully cuddle up to him, enjoying his presence and basking in the post-sex euphoria.

“That was…Fuck, I can’t even think straight.”

You giggle, nuzzling your cheek into his chest while wrapping your arm around his torso. He holds you closer and kisses the top of your head. It was rare, but you each had the day off. His left hand strokes your right arm, soothing both your body and mind. What you wouldn’t give to stay like this.

His phone chimes with a text. You groan, knowing the serenity was ended by whoever sent the message. And to top it off, they now have your man’s undivided attention. He chuckles at your annoyance but understands it. Everyone knew it was his day off, but clearly, they didn’t care. All he wanted was to spend the day with his girl in peace. But being Sheriff has its downsides. He reaches over your body, grabbing his phone off the nightstand before lying back down. The screen lights up, and he reads the text, realizing it’s his role as a father who threatened his time with you.

Emily: Hey, dad. Mom’s dropping me off. She got called in for an emergency at work. See you in 10!

He springs up in bed, knocking you off in the process. Your heart leaps out of your chest, confusion and fear coursing through you.

“Damn it!” Beau exclaims before scooting off the mattress.

You hold the blanket to your body, asking, “What’s wrong?”

“Emily—she’s on her way,” he grabs your shirt and tosses it on your lap. “You gotta go.”

Shit! You scramble out of bed to put your clothes on. You and Beau have been together for over seven months, and not once have you met his daughter. Whenever the subject came up, he’d say he wasn’t ready. You didn’t rush him; You understood that it was a big step for him—for everyone involved, but you so desperately longed to be in that part of his life. Deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was ashamed of you. After all, you were half his age.

In the beginning, you both kept your relationship a secret, afraid of the judgment you’d each receive. Beau even second-guessed his decision to go out with a younger girl. Hell, you were closer in age with his daughter than you were to him. But he couldn’t deny how well you both got on. He connected more with you than he ever did with his ex-wife. After a few months had passed, he allowed the knowledge of your relationship to spread to the people closest to him. Despite the success, the thought of you meeting his family terrified him, so he asked everyone to keep the news low-key.

What if we broke up? What if she realizes she no longer wants an older man? What if Emily doesn’t like her? The thoughts often clouded his mind, but he had to remind himself she wasn’t a little girl anymore. The relationship between you and him wouldn’t affect her much, but still, she was his life. His daughter’s opinion matters most, and he’s afraid she won’t get past the age gap.

“Sweetheart, you gotta go faster than that.” Beau’s anxiety causes his voice to rise. “She’ll be here in eight minutes. I can’t let her see you or your car.”

“Beau, I’m going as fast as I can. Please, don’t rush me.” You had pulled on your shirt and began to slide on your underwear as you balanced on wobbly legs. “Have you seen my bra?”

You get down on your hands and knees, searching underneath the bed for the garment, but you don’t see it. Before you can look under the nightstand, Beau grabs your arm and yanks you up from the floor.

“Forget your fucking bra!” He shouts before shoving your jeans into your unsupported chest. You barely catch it before it drops, but you’re too slow to stop the gasp from leaving your mouth at his sudden behavior. “Put those on and get out.”

Your shock turns to anger as you pull on your pants. Beau was already dressed and gathering your items. When you leave the bedroom and enter the other half of the trailer, he hands you your belongings and opens the door. He searches for his ex’s car and sighs in relief when he doesn’t see it. When he looks back at you, you’re sitting on the couch, putting on your shoes.

“Y/N, you gotta—“

“Go! I know. Can I put my damn shoes on first?”

“There’s no time. They’ll be here any minute.”

He strides toward you and tries to grab your arm again, but you snatch it away. “Don’t touch me!”

You get up from your seat and walk to the open door with your stuff in hand. Beau follows you outside, and before you walk down the patio stairs, you turn on your heel.

“Are you ashamed of me?”

His eyebrows furrow and his neck straightens, seemingly caught off guard. “Wh-what?”

“You heard me,” You ask again, terrified of the answer. “Are you ashamed of me?”

“I…” He appears defeated, but he quickly masks the emotion. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Answer the question.”

“Damn it, Y/N. We can talk about this later.”

“I don’t want to talk about it later. Just tell me—”

“Leave! Now!”

“Not until you give me an answer.”

“Please—They'll be here any second,”

“Yes or no: Are you ashamed of me? Of us?”

He glances toward the car trail, hoping they don’t show now and see you two. He runs his hand through his hair in frustration. He knew you wouldn’t give up without an answer. “Sweetheart, it’s not that simple.”

You nod, understanding what he refuses to say out loud. Your throat gets tight, and you know you have to leave before you cry but, more importantly, before they arrive. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they don’t see me. Neither will you.”

Without another word, you hurry to your parked car whilst ignoring his calls. Maybe it was best that he didn’t introduce you to his daughter. Perhaps it’ll hurt less. You toss your belongings into the passenger seat and start your vehicle. Without bothering to heat your car’s engine, you speed off. He wanted to run after you but instead, he watches you go with a heavy heart.

Surely, you had to understand why he didn’t want you to meet them right now. And you did. You understood why today wasn’t the best day to meet his family. Hell, you didn’t want your first interaction to be right after you had sex with Emily’s dad and Carla’s ex-husband. But it bothered you that this wasn’t the first time you had to leave because they were coming by.

Despite being distraught, Beau didn’t have time to digest what happened as Carla drove up less than 20 seconds after you left. Like you promised they didn’t see you and in a way, he was thankful but not when the cost was losing you. Emily steps out of the car and greets her father.

“Hey, Dad.”

He puts on a smile, trying not to let the prior events affect the time with his daughter. “Hey, Em.”

“Are you okay?”

It seemed as though she knew him better than he thought. But he decides to deflect. “What’re you talking about? ‘Course I’m okay. What’d you want to do today?”

She shrugs and goes into the trailer. Beau waves to Carla before following her inside. “I was thinking…”

Emily’s voice fades into the background as his eyes wander to his room.

His thoughts drift to every word, spoken or unspoken, every action in the little time you were given. How could he treat you like that? You had done nothing wrong. How could he have let you leave thinking the worst?

“Dad!”

His head snaps in Emily’s direction. “What?”

“So, can we? Go into town?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure. I’m gonna hop in the shower first, then we can head out.”

“Okay,” She stares warily. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Beau nods, “I’ll be—I’m fine. Don’t you worry.”

He walks toward the bathroom, and before he enters, out of the corner of his eye, he sees your bra underneath the nightstand. His heart tightens, but he doesn’t dare to deal with the sorrow in the presence of his daughter. He closes the curtain to the room, planning to deal with the evidence after his shower. He’s certain about one thing: He’d make it right.

BEAU ARLEN MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | JOIN THE TAG LIST

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BEAU TAGS : @criminalyetminimal, @lailawinchesterr, globetrotter28

JENSEN TAGS : @cheynovak, @deadlymistletoe, @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld, @kindollss, @juicyballsworld

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO JAYS-BONNIE-ON-THE-SIDE

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*beside my writing, my works include : all banners, dividers, and gifs that i use (which were made by me,) unless otherwise stated.

[fairestwriting]

Hiii!!! Just found your account and I love your works ☺️

May I request headcanons of Leona & Azul with a reader who’s afraid to commit to him since they have a hard time trusting NRC students because they fear he’ll only be with them if they can benefit him/he has an ulterior motive for them?

Thank you!!

𐙚 Leona Kingscholar

It’s not something that goes unnoticed, but also not something he thinks about too much, at the start. Leona’s view of commitment is much more based on how you behave around him than your words, and he doesn’t expect to really feel it when you’re still just getting used to each other’s presence, in this new context of considering a relationship… Besides, you asked to take it slow, he’s not about to disrespect that.

Then that period of time passes, he starts to relax, and the gap between the two of you slowly becomes more visible — He’s not the most overtly affectionate guy out there, sure, but he makes it quite clear when he’s gotten comfortable around somebody. He assumes your distance is just shyness at first, but it quickly starts to bug him. He knows how to recognize the different types of unease in others, and shyness isn’t exactly the feeling he’s getting for you.

The last straw happens when as you’re spending time together and he ends up getting tired, he tells you you can stick around while he sleeps, and you quickly get up, ready to leave — The memory will feel embarrassing to him in the future, at how emotional he got over something seemingly so small, but in the moment, it just feels like you’re avoiding him.

What the hell is up with you, really, he questions when you’re on your way out. In Leona’s perception, he’s being so obvious, basically outright telling you that he wants you to be around, that he trusts you to be there while doesn’t have his guard up. And this same interaction has happened so many times already. Aren’t you two supposed to be… dating? If he could even call it that?

It’s not fair if he’s the only one who’s vulnerable, he thinks and doesn’t say, but the message gets across. ”If you’re so excited to leave, then just go.”, with that bitter look in his eyes. You try to say that’s not how you felt, while still not revealing too much, but he’s set on questioning you now. And it shows how it’d been bothering him, the way you just seemed to never breach that distance.

Eventually you get the words out. It’s not about him, you were just anxious because of previous experiences you had in NRC — Even if you just tell bits and pieces of the full story, it’s enough for him to get a grasp on the situation. His expression softens. It does all make sense to him, he doesn’t feel comfortable around most people either, as much as he hates to admit. ”I wouldn’t tell you to stick around if I wanted to take advantage of you. Would be a stupid move. He says, after a while, then nothing else. He would never pressure you in general, but especially not about this. He just hopes you do decide to stay.

𐙚 Azul Ashengrotto

All sorts of preventive measures happen in the background before you two even agree that there’s any sort of mutual attraction taking place. He’s built his business so carefully, he doesn’t want to take any chances, even if the temptation to just throw logic out of the window is there. When you two decide to date, Azul has already thought about a thousand possible futures, part of his willingness to get into this relationship comes from ruling out the worst outcomes.

The hesitant phase lasts considerably longer with him than it does with Leona. He wants you to be the first one to let your guard down — A wish he knows would make him sound horrible even if he tried to explain, with the image he has — as the last bit of confirmation to him that you’re safe, and he can stop being so overly cautious around you. But he waits, and he keeps waiting, and none of the signs he’s looking for ever come.

How long has it been, at this point? Months? Azul actually isn’t very sure of what to do from here. Was this all because of his reputation? Did he do something wrong? Or was this just your regular personality, and he actually severely miscalculated every part of his “plan”?

He doesn’t want to show how much it bothers him, at first. He tries to think of ways to get you to open up, at least a little bit, like showing interest in your background and such… But he knows there’s a limit to how much he can do until he puts you off completely, if you’re really this cautious. And at this point, he’s too attached to want to risk losing you.

Some questions still slip through though, that exact attachment he feels making it difficult for him to keep up with your level of detachment. His curiosity really is genuine too, he wants to know more about you, to understand you better. Maybe even especially due to the detachment, he can relate to that distrustfulness too much. So much it makes him actually feel closer to you, though he does recognize that might be kind of weird. He does get a stray thought that he could be just projecting, that you could actually turn out to not be safe, but he decides to trust you.

There won’t be arguments or anything on the topic, even if you don’t reciprocate as Azul, without even thinking, ends up slowly lowering his guard first, and your reactions sometimes feel a bit cold to him — The sting of it fades quickly, because he just understands. When he asks questions, or ends up inviting you on more serious dates, there’s always an added, “but only if you’re comfortable with doing so, of course”, followed with a smile you never really see him show to anybody else. His observant nature will help him put the puzzle together, eventually, already starting to suspect you’ve had bad experiences with being harmed by people you trusted in the past. Regardless of how long it takes for you to be straightforward with him about those things, he’ll always thank you for trusting him with that same smile.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hello Gloom! If you wouldn’t mind, what are your headcanons about the 141!boys and how they’d be with a partner who has Tourette’s syndrome or tics? Happy holidays ❤️

Hello! I don’t mind at all. Also, the fact that your ask says “Happy Holidays” just goes to show how behind I am on working through my inbox. I’m more than happy to drop a few headcanons on this. I will say, if any of the 141 had a partner with Tourette’s or tics, they’d be completely fine with it, otherwise they wouldn’t be with them to begin with. So, I want to take this time to maybe highlight some specifics for each of the guys.

written w/ gn!reader

John Price

Spends a lot of time learning. He wants to understand how he can support you without expecting you to do the mental and emotional labor of teaching him.

Strongly advocates for you, but only when needed. John won’t overstep his boundaries but will make sure you receive the help you need.

For those days when your tics exhaust you, John designed a room in your home that you can escape to. All you need to do is give a word or a non-verbal sign for when it’s bad, and he understands. No pressure or hard feelings.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Never compares your experience with that of others.

Great about having reflective conversations and helping you work through what your stressors are if you’re struggling with identifying them yourself, but never forces the conversation.

Constant affirmations. Never makes you feel unsupportive. Kyle makes sure you know that you are loved.

Spends every evening massaging any afflicted muscles you might have. You might see it as a big ask but Kyle doesn’t.

Will defend you in any situation. He’s not afraid to call someone out or correct someone who is being rude and/or insensitive to you, especially if it’s acting as a stressor or trigger.

John “Soap” MacTavish

Laughs with you and not at you.

Never mocks or mimics (not that the others would, they absolutely would not.)

Makes sure that you have a calm environment somewhere at home. If the two of you are in public, Johnny goes out of his way to make sure there is a safe space for you to retreat to if you need it.

Doesn’t criticize or try to control your tics. He’s good at ignoring them entirely, and only quietly checks in with you if he notices something unusual or if you appear to be in distress.

Believes in open and clear communication. He always tries to be sensitive and empathic, but he’s also a yapper. (Johnny isn’t always perfect.)

Lots of physical affection as well as verbal affirmations.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

While support is crucial, Simon is also respectful of your boundaries and allows you to manage your own life choices as much as possible. He rarely steps in unless he thinks he needs to.

He doesn’t see you as someone who needs to be “fixed.” Simon has his own experience with people seeing him in that light due to trauma, and he never wants you to feel that way.

Never discusses your tics in public or talks about them with others behind your back.

If the two of you are in public, and someone is staring at you for too long, Simon is quick to stare them down until they become uncomfortable.

main masterlist

[belu-4]

During the last hours I have kept thinking about alpha frido 😭😭

NSFW Headcanons of Alpha Frido

There's nothing Frido likes more than pinning her omega against a wall, pinning her down with her body. Her size and strength make it impossible to escape… but who would want to? As her hot breath brushes her neck, Frido murmurs to her in a husky voice in Swedish, making it clear that she's her's.

Her scent is a mix of fresh pine after the rain, green apple, and a slight hint of spice, something that leaves a feeling of warmth and security. But when she's in heat, her aroma intensifies and takes on a musky, more intoxicating undertone that's impossible to ignore.

She doesn't need to raise her voice for her omega to shudder. A simple brush of her tongue against her earlobe, an intense gaze from across the room, or the weight of her hand on her partner's waist are enough of a warning.

Whether they're on the court or in private, Frido enjoys showing off her strength. She loves to lift her omega with ease, holding her against the wall or effortlessly carrying her to bed, making sure she feels every muscle in her body.

Although she is a calm alpha, in the moment of intimacy she becomes territorial. Her kisses are deep and demanding, her bites on the neck are strong enough to leave marks, and her grip on the hips is fierce, making sure her omega remembers who has claimed her.

During her heat, her patience is reduced to a minimum. There is no room for escape, her omega barely has time to catch her breath before Frido claims her again and again, each thrust more intense than the last. But when her omega enters her own heat, Frido becomes a helpful alpha, willing to give her whatever she needs… as many times as she needs it.

Whispering in Swedish in a deep voice while exploring every part of her omega's body is her favorite tactic. “My little love, you are so beautiful when you tremble beneath me…” There is no escape when she uses her voice to dominate.

Her skin often feels cold to the touch, which contrasts delightfully with the heat she generates in her partner when she touches them. When Frido’s icy tongue runs over every inch of her omega, the reaction is instantaneous: a shiver, a gasp, and absolute surrender.

Sleeping next to her means waking up trapped under the weight of her body. Her omega barely has a chance to move before she feels Frido’s hands sliding under her clothes. A kiss on the back of his neck, a low growl, and a “You’re not going anywhere…” before claiming what’s hers.

Alpha Frido in public is a mix between a loving alpha but with a hint of teasing play. She's not the type to blatantly mark her omega in front of everyone, but she does like to leave small signs of dominance in a subtle way.

She doesn't hesitate to play pranks on her omega, especially if she blushes easily. She whispers things in her ear just to see her lose concentration or laugh at her confused expression. But if someone else tries to make fun of her omega or make her uncomfortable, Frido's cold gaze makes it clear that he won't allow it.

She's not one to brag about neck bites, but she likes to play with her omega's clothes. She'll pull down the collar of her shirt just enough so that an old bite is barely visible or she'll arrange her hair with an excuse, if only to make sure that her scent is well impregnated on her.

In general, Alpha Frido is the type who loves to play with her omega in public, always maintaining that air of a relaxed alpha but with absolute control of the situation.

Although she's calm in public, in bed her more alpha side takes control. The idea of ​​filling her omega and leaving her essence inside turns her on too much. Sometimes, after the first round, she keeps it close, making sure nothing spills out.

If they are in a situation where they can't leave evidence or her omega asks her to finish outside, she will do it, but with a frustrated expression that makes it clear that it is not her ideal scenario.

[pinkpastels113]

pop star x bodyguard au

for @writerallie

Adrenaline rushes through her veins as Galinda moves across the stage, the lights overhead brilliant and warm and colorful and she knows she looks dazzling as she dances, singing to her own song with the earpieces that keep her on track. She giggles through the chorus in all the right places, makes that one voice change that makes her fans go wild, and lets her eyes stray to the side, to that dedicated spot to the left near the closest floor seats, to make sure that the sole person in this entire sold out stadium there for her is listening, watching her performance.

Elphaba, as always, stands there, in her pressed black suit and stoic expression. Her clear steady gaze meets Glinda’s, never leaves even as Glinda shoots her a dimpled smile before (satisfied,) focuses on an arbitrary fan in the crowd, winking at them just so they can catch it on their phone cameras. That intense stare burns a trail right to the tips of her toes in their heels, encouraging her to put on a show more so than any of the other tens of thousands of people in that stadium. It makes her excited to (rather than prepared to). It carries her through the rest of the songs, the rest of the setlist. 

The material of her cutout dress glitter, sparkling brighter than the stars in the evening sky that are trying to peek through. Her own voice sounds strange in her head, though louder than the many others singing along, which are vying to bleed into one with the way they are perfectly in sync with her lyrics. Glinda’s hold on her microphone is gentle but firm as she gives everyone what they want, paid for, looked forward to, traded plans with, for that night. 

Glinda loves being a pop star. She has always dreamed of being an artist ever since she first held a karaoke microphone toy at seven, and now, fifteen years later, she’s finally made it. The energy of the crowd brings a flush to her cheeks, their open adoration causing her heart to soar, and their connection to her own feelings making her so validated and seen. Wanted. Perfection. Though it oftentimes can be lonely and suffocating and overwhelming, she wouldn’t trade it for the world. She’s worked too hard to reach that point. Sacrificed so much. 

She finishes off the choreography with her backup dancers, skipping across the stage to the inconspicuous mark identified with a dollop of pink tape. Glinda poses, as rehearsed, her breath tumbling out in soft pants, sweat beading on her forehead, hair slightly damp and dark and returning to their natural waves. 

(She hopes her makeup’s still flawless though.)

Glinda glances, again, to the left.

Elphaba’s smile is small but still decipherable, only there for Glinda to pinpoint due to the amount of time that they’ve spent together. The corner of her lips quirk up the tiniest bit in fondness (and if Glinda allowed herself to dare to hope, with pride, too), and for some reason it makes Glinda’s eyes sting with unshed tears.

Her chest suddenly feels tight, like there is a weight on it, but Glinda ignores it as she turns back to address the audience. She curtsies while everyone else bow deeply to signal the end of the show, grinning widely while the cheers heighten into a deafening roar. The lights flash elegantly into synthetic rainbows, showering across the stadium not unlike shimmering bubbles. Taking a few minutes of reprieve to catch her breath and make sure that the noise isn’t a danger to her poor eardrums, she takes out her IEMs to give her expected speech.

“I had such a fun time with you all here tonight! The Emerald City really holds such a special space in my heart, and well. I hope your memories here in the past couple hours were as beautiful as mine for those years spent at Shiz, if not more. Thank you all for coming to the show and spending the evening with me, and see you in the next! Now I must go,” she finishes with a delicate chuckle, “Before I float away in all the goodness everyone has bestowed upon me.”

When she’s finally off that platform under the pressure of tens of thousands of Ozians, Elphaba is there with her pink converse. Glinda is grateful for the bit of privacy the darkness beneath the stage provides as she’s pretty sure the tabloids would have a field day printing articles about the gripping of her bodyguard’s shoulders as she carefully removes Glinda’s heels for her.

It’s fine, Glinda thinks, as the heat in her cheeks refuses to fade. It’s just a caring gesture. Nothing more to it. Any reasonable person with a heart would understand that she probably requires a change of shoes after two and a half hours of elaborate dancing on the pinches of her feet. Even if she’d never ask for it. 

She shouldn’t read into it much. Couldn’t. It’s not like Elphaba will say anything substantial if she prods.

“Just doing my job, princess,” Elphaba would always reply in that dry tone that Glinda foolishly, determinedly, wishes to crack someday down the line. 

(And princess as in “pop princess.” As the public deems her. Presumably.)

Elphaba ties the laces, accentuating them into double bunny ears. She straightens into her full height, placing a hand on the small of Glinda’s back, right there in that spot where her glittering dress gave way to a slip of skin, guiding her back out into the crowd for the final stretch of public attention. 

She smiles. And waves, as expected. For the cameras, for the eager faces, for the anticipation and the admiration and the happiness that it provides others. 

“Glinda, we love you!”

“You did so amazing, I love you so much!”

“I’m such a huge fan!”

“It was perfect, Glinda! The best show ever!”

“Aah! Glinda!”

“You look so beautiful!”

Elphaba keeps her steps quick, steadily pushing Glinda along even as fans try to reach out, swiftly inserting her body between them to block their line of sight. While Glinda makes it her day’s mission to please the public, Elphaba could not care less. 

(There had been instances where she had to scold Elphaba for being particularly aggressive.)

A young girl cried her name and Glinda turned, pausing to pay her a compliment and genuine smile. She already knew that Elphaba would be upset at her for doing so but she crouched down to hug the girl anyway, answering her questions about some of the theatrics of the performance.

“We have to go, Glinda. The car is waiting.”

Despite herself, Glinda rolled her eyes. “It can wait for a little longer.”

Something shifts in Elphaba’s gaze, and her hand twitches at her side for a split second. A rare moment of deviation of her cool facade but Glinda would gladly take it. It’s a small victory. 

She decides to not push her luck any further than that, though, and reaches the car without additional waylay. Elphaba holds the door open for her, Glinda sliding past with a purposeful brush to her wrist, before ducking in herself. She slams the door shut behind them.

The vehicle begins to move.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Elphaba huffs, tossing Glinda’s heels on the opposite seat. There is a bottle of water tucked into a compartment which Elphaba picks up to shove at Glinda. “You don’t know what could have happened.”

“She was a child!” Glinda protests. She wrenches open the cap to gulp a few mouthfuls to hydrate her throat. Then hums a bit to soothe her voice. “Nothing could have happened.”

“It’s my job to prevent you from anything happening, so I think I should have a say on whether or not it could have. Happened.”

“Like there would not have been plenty of time for you to do something if it had.” Glinda peers up at Elphaba from beneath her lashes, resting her chin on her hand. “Did you have fun, Elphie?”

Elphaba glances past Glinda’s shoulder to the streets cruising out the window. “It’s not-”

“Did you,” Glinda says, punctuating her question, because Lurline, she was so sick of Elphaba skating and avoiding, “Have fun?”

“I don’t see how that would have mattered. It’s not like I had a choice on the matter of attending.”

“Just answer the damn question.” Good thing the privacy screen is up between them and the driver.

Elphaba pursed her lips. Glinda can see her debating with herself on whether or not to indulge her but Glinda had already seen the display of affection after the last song. And she knows that Elphaba knows too. She just hopes for a confirmation, and a quiet extension of something beyond strictly professional in this weirdly tense in between of their relationship.

“Perhaps.”

And that alone brought her more joy than the entirety of the performance that evening.

[thewinterdrafts]

Flesh and Metal | The White Wolf

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (1st Person)

Word Count: 6,062

Summary: Bucky Barnes is everything you ever wanted—soft, thoughtful, devoted. He loves you with a quiet intensity that should make you feel like the luckiest person alive. But after so many months of being together, he still hasn’t touched you. Not like that. When you finally confront him, you realize the truth is so much deeper. He does want you. He just doesn’t know how to ask. And tonight, for the first time—he’s finally ready to give in.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, Sub!Bucky (lots of begging you guys), Angst, Swearing, Dominance & submission dynamics, Self-doubt & insecurity, Trauma responses & PTSD, Fear of abandonment & rejection, BDSM themes (light control, praise, permission-based dynamics), Overstimulation & begging, Implied past abuse

A/N: hey guys! this is my first ever story here, and i've worked so hard on it, my brain might dissolve through my ears tonight. i hope you'll like it, happy reading 🤍

Masterlist of The White Wolf stories

Masterlift of The Winter Soldier stories

Masterlist of '40s Bucky stories

It has been four months. Four months and one day, to be exact, since Bucky Barnes became mine. I’ve never heard so many people congratulate me and warn me in the same breath, but I never cared. Not when he’s been so precious, so thoughtful, so achingly romantic. Not when he’s spent every single day making me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

I love him more than life itself. And with him—life and death feel closer than they should.

So why does it feel like I’m still not enough?

Four months, and he hasn't touched me. Not once. Not like that. 

Every time I try, every time I lean in, every time I press just a little too close, he pulls away. Sometimes subtly, sometimes not. Sometimes it’s a hesitant step back, sometimes it’s a firm grip on my wrist, pushing me away just enough to make it clear.

I tried everything. Cute lingerie. Whispered invitations. I even got my hair done for our anniversary last night. Nothing helped, I couldn't shake his composed demeanor, no matter what I did.

Maybe, he doesn’t want me at all. Why would he?

The Bucky Barnes could have anyone. Someone like Natasha—gorgeous, cool, effortlessly magnetic. The kind of woman who could hold her own against a super soldier, the kind who wouldn’t hesitate. The kind who makes sense with him.

Me on the other hand? What was I thinking, believing I would be enough? Just a simple girl, coming from a boring family, with no interesting backstory, nothing to show, nothing to–

"Baby?" Bucky put his face an inch from mine, which immediately snapped me out of my spiralling thoughts. "You okay? Is your stomach upset?" He pointed to the remaining of mac and cheese he cooked. 

He grew to be extremely good at reading my expressions over the past few months. He usually doesn't need to ask; he just knows what's wrong, and eliminates the problem without a word. This time, though, he didn't know. How could he?

"No," I say flatly.

"Sure? Because–"

"I am fine," I snap, louder than anticipated. 

I immediately regret my tone when I see Bucky stiffen, the sound of his metal arm clenching into an unbreakable fist. He takes exactly three steps back from me; measured and calculated. His eyes terrified; I can almost see how he is searching for the possible threats or punishments he would receive, now that he senses the change in the mood. He's still as a sculpture, except for the arms; they are shaking from how strongly he is sqeezing his fist.

Oh, I fucked up.

"I'm sorry. It's just been a really hard week on me, I-"

"You're hurt." 

It's not a question, it's a fact.

"I'm not hurt–"

"I hurt you."

It's not a fact, it's a crime. At least that's how he says it.

I look down to the tiled floor where I can still spot the signs of Bucky's cooking. I cannot look at him. I would need to lie to his face and that is one thing I was never able to do. Not after what he's been through. 

I notice a small movement from him as he takes another step; farther. Way farther away from me. I take a deep breath and force myself to look at him, wishing I didn't as the sight instantly breaks my heart; his eyes are filled with tears, and he's so confused. Scared. Terrified of what is coming. He's gripping onto the side of his shirt, like he always does when he feels unsafe. A lump forms in my throat as I try to open my mouth to speak. I've ruined him. 

"I– uh." The sound I made was barely a whisper, but it made him visibly flinch. "Do you... Do you not... want me?"

Bucky's terrified gaze turns into utter confusion in a matter of seconds. He blinks – for the first time in maybe minutes – as he's struggling to understand my question. I collect all my leftover courage and hope to keep talking. 

"You push me away," I say, trying to be as soft as possible. "We've been together for months, but never... together."

I feel so stupid for not being able to just straight out say it. I'm hoping he somehow understands what I mean, but judging by his scrunched eyebrows, I'm gonna have to be more specific.

 I let out a big sigh and close my eyes to make the embarrassment less painful. "Bucky, we never had sex." 

As soon as the words leave my mouth, his face drops. I lose him again somewhere very far away from me, and he keeps looking at me like I am about to destroy him completely. 

"If you don't want me, that's okay," I assure him, ignoring the bitter taste in my mouth. "I know I'm not the prettiest girl, and you've probably seen better—"

"No!" he snaps, so I lift my head up. He looks horrified, like I've just said something unspeakable. I wait for him to continue, but instead, he keeps staring at me, as if his eyes could tell everything he is unable to.

"No?" I echo. "Then why do you run every time I try to touch you like that?"

He breaks the eye contact by strictly looking at the kitchen counter right in front of him; or at anything that is not me. From all the months I've spent in his presence, I recognize this look too well. He's ashamed. 

"Bucky..."

Silence. He grips the fabric of his shirt, twisting it in his hands. A nervous tick, but to him, a grounding mechanism. He's really trying not to lose himself.

"I—, I don't—," he stutters. "I don't know how."

"What?" I blink. “Bucky, you’ve—” I hesitate. “You’ve been with other women before.”

His head jerks up with a flicker of panic and frustration.

 “That’s not—that’s different.”

“Different how?”

Bucky is refusing to look at me, so I stand up from my seat to make way towards him. He takes a sharp breath when I'm within his reach, but doesn't move. That's a good sign. 

"Look at me, baby," I ask, softly. His eyes snap up instantly, and I see it all there. The fear, the desperation, the battlefield in his head. "Tell me what's wrong."

He tries to do so; he opens his mouth, swallows, exhales, shakes his head, tries again, but he fails, no matter how hard he tries.

"Do you want me?" I ask bluntly.

He nods, still staring at the marble countertop. Okay.

"Are you scared to ask for what you want?"

Another nod. 

"Do you trust me?"

This one is instant.

"Yes."

"Then tell me."

He lets out a shaky breath before he swallows. He turns his head to me, face flustered, his chest moving up and down as he tries to regulate himself.

"Please, can you—," his voice dies before he can finish. He clearly is struggling, like he doesn't know how to want things and the fact breaks a small part of my heart permanently.

"Go on, Bucky. What do you need?" I encourage him.

"I—," he stutters, and then shakes his head hard, like the words are physically hurting him inside his head.

 His body, however, tells the truth on behalf of him. The way his hands tremble and his chest heaves with each exhale, the way his metal fingers twitch against his thigh—he is fighting himself.

I let the silence stretch, waiting, watching the way his face twists with frustration, with hesitation. With want.

“Baby,” I say softly.

His eyes cracks open, blue burning with something raw, something pleading. He sucks in a breath, and for a moment, I think he finally gives in, but then he shakes his head again, hard, turning his face away.

I click my tongue, grabbing his chin, forcing him to meet my gaze. “You want something. I can see it. I can feel it.”

His chest rises sharply, lips parting, but still, he doesn't speak. I lean in, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. 

“Do you need me to guide you?”

His entire body jerks, a sharp inhale ripping from his throat. His fingers are clenching into fists, the tremor rolling through his shoulders like a quake. But he still doesn't answer me.

My grip tightens slightly, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Bucky, if you don’t tell me what you need, I can’t give it to you.”

He exhales shakily, a frustrated, broken sound. His brows knit together, his hands lifting before falling back to his thighs, his whole frame trembling.

“Please,” he whispers.

My heart clenches. “Yes?”

His head dropped forward, breath ragged. “Please… please tell me what to do.”

Oh. 

Oh, fuck.

I smile, slow and knowing, letting the moment stretch, letting him feel the weight of what he's just asked for.

“I’ll show you.” I say, and I find my voice firm. Commanding.

His breath stutters, his entire body tensing, every muscle coiled tight with restraint, with hesitation. He’s fighting it, clinging to the instinct to resist—until I lean in, my mouth brushing over the shell of his ear.

 “If you'll be a good boy for me.”

The sound he makes—soft, broken, fucking relieved—rips through me like a shockwave. My core tightens, ignites, burns, a volcano threatening to erupt at the sheer power of it. 

Bucky Barnes is submissive. For me. 

"Follow me," I say, and as if I freed him from an invisible curse, he makes his way after me.

All at once, every doubt I ever had—about myself, about us—disintegrates. How did I not see this before? How could I have been so blind? He doesn’t need distance. He doesn’t need time. He just needs me. Me in control. Me guiding him. Me telling him exactly what to do.

And fuck, if that isn’t the most intoxicating realization of all, I don't know what is.

I may not be the most experienced woman alive, but that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that he needs me to be present. He needs me to take this. Own this. There’s no room for doubt, no room to shy away, when he trusts me to take care of him.

I release him just to check his expression, searching for even the slightest hint of hesitation, but to my surprise, I find none. Not a single trace. His eyes track my every movement, locked onto me like a soldier awaiting an order.

And it shouldn't turn me on the way it does.

"Do you want me right now?" My voice is steady, even as I close the space between us, just by one step. 

His gaze sweeps over me, dragging from my lips, to my throat, to my body before he gives a sharp, assured nod.

 "Then take off my dress." 

He moves instantly, without hesitation—like he’s been waiting for this since the moment he met me. His fingers find the hem of my dress; his touch cautious, reverent, like he’s afraid I might pull away at any second. Like he can’t quite believe this is happening.

The contrast of his warm, flesh hand on one thigh, and his ice-cold vibranium fingers on the other, sends a shiver tearing down my spine. Slowly, deliberately, he lifts the fabric over my head, the brush of his knuckles against my skin leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Once I’m bare before him, he takes a small step back—just to look. His lips part slightly, his breathing uneven, chest rising and falling faster, deeper. His eyes—piercing, devastating—roam every inch of me, burning me from the inside out.

And then, he moves.

He throws the dress across the room without looking, never once taking his eyes off of me. His entire body is vibrating, like he’s barely holding himself together, barely restraining the need thrumming beneath his skin.

The sight of him is stealing every breath I have left.

“Can I take your shirt off?” I break the silence, my own voice softer now.

“Please,” he begs.

I waste no time. I step in, close enough for his ragged breath to ghost over my skin, and strip him bare. It’s a summer night, so he’s only wearing a thin, black V-neck, already clinging to the sweat on his chest–or at least, he was. With one fluid motion, I pull it over his head and let it drop to the floor.

I take a moment, just a few seconds, to admire him.

His body is all strength, broad shoulders and sculpted muscle carved by battle and time. Scars litter his skin, testaments to wars fought and survived, and yet, under the soft glow of the moonlight, he looks like something untouchable. Ethereal. Unreal.

I swallow hard, licking my lips as my gaze travels downward, over his defined abs, the way they tense under my attention, down to the dark trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his boxers. I feel it then—the heat pooling low, the unbearable pulse between my thighs. And he’s just standing there, watching me, eyes so dark they’re nearly black.

I’m already so wet for him, it’s almost embarrassing.

"Undress me," I whisper. 

His breath catches, eyes flash with hunger, the way they always do when he wants but won’t take. But this time, he moves.

With careful fingers, he reaches behind me for the clasp of my bra, hesitant yet desperate. This is as far as we’ve ever gone. Four months of waiting, of skirting the edge, of Bucky refusing to let himself see me without clothes. Back then, I thought it was because he didn’t want me, because I wasn’t enough.

But now? Now I know the truth. He wouldn’t have known what to do. He was afraid to ruin this. Afraid to ruin me.

I snap out of my thoughts as I feel the cold air of the AC dance on my bare torso. My nipples instantly harden as a result, and Bucky notices it just as quickly. His lips are apart, and he's staring at them like an animal on his prey. The way he wants me fills me with every ounce of confidence I’ve ever needed.

"You can touch them," I whisper, not sure he even heard me, but then he takes two steps towards, putting his flesh hand on my waist.

I gasp, the breath catching in my throat as his warm, steady touch trails up my skin. His movements are slow—painfully, torturously slow—like he’s memorizing me with his hands, drinking me in through touch alone. He reaches my left breast and he cups it, his thumb immediately finding my hard nipple. His breath shudders, sharp and heavy, his chest rising with a strained inhale as he circles my achingly hard peak with his thumb, teasing, testing, learning me.

I struggle to hold in my moan, my teeth sinking into my lip as he pinches it, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight between my legs. And fuck, he’s watching. His vibranium arm remains stiff at his side, fingers curled into a tight, trembling fist, his jaw slightly slack, his lips parted as he watches himself touch me.

He’s fascinated. Hypnotized. Like this is the first time he’s ever allowed himself to truly want something.

"Both hands, please." My voice is barely a whisper, barely a sound, just a needy, broken plea. His head snaps up, and for the first time in what feels like forever, his eyes meet mine.

His metal hand, still clenched in restraint, relaxes. With slow, careful hesitation, he brings it up, inch by inch, his fingertips skimming my ribs before finally—finally—he touches me. A shiver rips through me, my body instinctively arching into the icy contrast of metal against my heated skin. I don’t pull away; if anything, I lean into him, chasing the sensation, craving more.

"You're being so good for me," I praise, my voice low.

Bucky fucking breaks.

His entire body stutters, trembles; his breath hitching, his knees nearly buckling beneath him as a wrecked, desperate whimper falls from his lips.

Fuck. That has to be the sexiest sound in the world.

“Can I—” His voice cracks, his fingers flexing against my skin. “Can I please kiss you?”

He is pleading, over and over, his voice shaky, utterly undone.

“Please, I need it. Please.”

His words shoot straight to my core, the need in his voice a direct pulse between my legs. I want him so much, I might sublime from the heat he ignites inside me.

I don’t hesitate. I grab his arm, pulling him against me, forcing his bare chest to crash into mine. He melts against me, his body burning, muscles taut, already trembling with restraint. And then, I kiss him. Or maybe he kisses me. Either way, the moment our lips meet, Bucky loses himself.

He kisses me like he’s starving, like he’s drowning and I’m his only air. His mouth is hungry, relentless, desperate, lips crashing into mine as he’s trying to devour me whole.

And fuck, his hands.

They roam everywhere, one gripping the small of my back, the other skimming just beneath my panties, teasing, taunting me, and just when I think it couldn't get any better, his metal hand clamps around my ass, gripping tight, keeping me steady. Feeling the cool vibranium pressing into my heated skin, I moan straight into his mouth, my body shuddering in his hold.

“Put me on the bed. Now.”

The words leave me in a command, and Bucky moves before I can even take another breath. With one arm, just one, he lifts me with ease, like I weigh nothing to him. He lays me down, gentle but firm, already moving to cover me with his body—but I stop him.

“Not yet.”

I shake my head, and he immediately halts, his breathing labored, controlled. He looks wrecked, like he's using every bit of self control to keep himself away from me. Still kneeling between my legs, still so fucking obedient, and yet—his eyes. His fucking eyes, they’re eating me alive.

“Take it off,” I order, nodding toward his jeans.

Bucky keeps his eyes locked on mine, hands trailing down, slow and deliberate as he reaches for the button of his jeans. With a quick flick of his fingers, they’re undone. His piercing gaze never leaves me, his eyes dragging over every inch of my body, devouring, worshipping.

I don't have much time before he stands up and slowly pushes his jeans down. I gasp when I see the thin, black material of his boxers that do nothing to hide him. The thick, heavy outline of him, pressing against the fabric, takes my breath away.

I’ve never seen him like this before. Not even close. I’ve felt him—hard, pressing against me on nights where he’d let himself have just a little. But then he would stop and shut it down. I couldn't understand why, not until now, and I don't have one second to think about it, because he pushes his boxers down. His cock is finally bared to me in full, and Jesus fucking Christ.

He is huge. How is that gonna fit?

“Please,” I hear a small plea towards him, and I shot my eyes back to his face. 

His breath is wild, erratic, chest heaving like he can’t get enough air, like he’s on the edge of breaking. His flesh hand is poised, ready to touch himself, to relieve even an ounce of the pressure, but he doesn't. Not without my word. I bite my lip, reveling in the power of it, in the way his entire body trembles under restraint.

“Take this off, too,” I instruct, gesturing to the lace panties that I’d bought months ago—back when I thought he’d see them then.  Back when I thought we’d be here so much sooner. 

But I don’t have a single complaint left in my body, because when Bucky finally moves—he rips them off. The thin fabric tears from me in one sharp pull, and for a split second, I wonder if he just ripped them in half.

His eyes drag over me, drinking in every inch of bare skin, mapping the places he’s never let himself truly look at before. I feel just how wet I am, now that there’s nothing to soak up the slick. I can feel it all pooling between my thighs, proof of just how badly I want him.

A flicker of  shyness grips me—how did I get this lucky? How did I end up with him, undone and starving, in front of me? But I don’t let myself hide; instead, I sit up slowly, deliberately, my movements calculated, letting myself kneel on the soft mattress.

I look up at him, like I could devour him with a single breath. The six-foot-tall ex-assassin is towering over me, radiating pure heat, his entire body coiled tight like a predator barely holding back.

And then, soft as a prayer, I say, “I want you.”

As if I’ve broken a curse, Bucky snaps. His fingers clamp around my throat, his mouth slamming into mine, the sheer force of it knocking me back onto the bed. He pins me down, all of his weight pressing into me, heavy, suffocating, absolutely fucking perfect. The way he kisses me makes me crazy; he's hungry, possessive, and so filthy, I can only moan as a response.

His cock, thick and heavy, sliding between my soaking slit, his length gliding right over my clit with each slow, torturous grind.

“Fuck—” I moan straight into his mouth, my hips instinctively tilting up, chasing every ounce of friction he gives me.

I lose every bit of control I had left. Overcome with greed, I grab at him, pull at him, take as much as I can. My fingers tangle in his long hair, keeping him locked to me, refusing to let him break the kiss for even a second. 

I let my other hand wander; I trace the sharp lines of his back, trailing lower, until my palm finds his ass. I squeeze, hard, forcing him to rock against me even harder, dragging his cock rougher, deeper through my slick folds. My breathing is a wreck, my body moving instinctively, clinging to him, needing more, more, more.

I want him. All over me. Inside me. Taking me apart.

“Can I—” His voice shatters, breathless. He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes wrecked with need.

“Can I please put it in?”

And fuck, he looks at me like a puppy, wide-eyed, begging.

“Please, I’ll make you feel so good,” he purrs against my neck, teeth grazing my skin, lips pressing open-mouthed kisses.

“God, yes,” I groan.

Bucky grabs himself, his fingers shaking with need as he positions his cock right at my entrance. He could thrust in immediately, take what we both want without hesitation, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pauses; his eyes flick back up to mine, searching, waiting, needing something more.

And I know exactly what he wants.

“Be a good boy and fuck me, Bucky.”

I'm way past hesitation or shame. All I want is him taking over me, claiming me, pressing me into himself. The words shatter something inside him; his mouth parts, his pupils blown wide, and then—without ever breaking eye contact—he slides inside.

A broken moan leaves my lips as my spine arches, my body opening for him, stretching around him, and fuck, he fills me.

Completely. Entirely. Devastatingly.

I’ve been aching for this moment for months. I’ve fantasized about him taking me, and now he’s finally inside me. A deep pressure builds low in my belly, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as he pushes deeper and deeper, until I feel the blunt tip of his cock press against my cervix.

He’s so fucking hard. I can feel him throbbing inside me, feel the pulse of his cock against my walls, and it drives me insane. I wait for him to finally move, but after a few seconds of stillness, I open my eyes.

Bucky is watching me so carefully, his eyes flicking over my face, searching for even the slightest sign of discomfort. His arms shake violently, his knuckles white from gripping the sheets beside my head. He’s breathing fast, erratic, his small, shaky breaths cold against my ear. And he’s moving too slowly, like he’s terrified of losing control.

“Relax, baby. You can let go.”

I lift my hand, gently stroking his beautiful face, my voice barely a whisper. His eyes soften, then immediately darken.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasps, his voice hoarse, ruined.

“You can’t,” I assure him. “I can take it. I want to take it.”

The sound that escapes him—a helpless whimper, like he’s been waiting his entire life to hear those words. His body trembles, his control hanging by a thread, his cock twitching inside me at the sheer relief of it.

He might be above me, but he is completely at my mercy.

“You’re doing so good,” I murmur, just inches from his lips, my breath fanning over his skin. “Don’t stop.”

The second I say it, he melts.

Raw, desperate need unleashes from him so suddenly, it knocks the breath from my lungs. I wheeze in surprise, barely able to keep up before he grabs the bedframe above my head with his vibranium arm and picks up the pace—hard. The deep, wrecked moan that rips from his throat sets me on fire; a wildfire raging low and uncontrollable, consuming every last of my coherent thoughts. All I know is him—the way he moves, the way he fills me, the way every precise thrust hits where I need him most.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, and he collapses into me, his mouth claiming mine in a sloppy, desperate kiss. His thrusts are relentless, shaking the entire goddamn bed, and I have to grip his vibranium arm for dear life just to keep myself in place.

Somewhere in his haze, even now, he thinks to protect me—his flesh hand cradling the top of my head, shielding me from the bedframe. My chest tightens at the gesture, and I let my lips trail down his sweat-slicked neck in silent gratitude, my teeth grazing over his skin.

Something inside me snaps as I feel his salty skin on my tounge. My nails rake down his back, digging into the hard muscle, desperate to leave my mark. My teeth sink into his shoulder, biting, scratching, taking him. We’re sliding against each other, slick with sweat, the heat of the summer night making everything feel even filthier, more raw, more real.

And Bucky is falling apart.

He’s moaning, breaking, unraveling against me, the sounds deep and ragged, each one rougher than the last. If I didn’t know better—if I didn’t know how utterly overwhelmed with pleasure he is—I’d think he was in pure agony from the helpless little cries slipping from his lips.

“Tell me I’m good for you,” he whispers, almost afraid to ask, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

“You’re such a good boy for me, Bucky.” 

The words fall from my lips like a promise, and fuck, the sharp, broken gasp he lets out shreds me to pieces. It’s high and desperate, so fucking needy, and it goes straight to my core.

He kisses me, hard and possessive.

“I’ve been waiting…” His voice is unraveling, barely understandable.

”… for so fucking long.”

Then suddenly—

Thrust.

“And you—”

Thrust.

“Feel—”

Thrust.

“So—”

Thrust.

“Good.”

His voice rasps in pure, guttural pleasure. I’m nothing but a puddle beneath him, completely ruined, and somehow, he’s not finished.

His rhythm snaps, his thrusts turning harder, rougher, deeper, more possessive.

“Mine,” he snarls, his voice low, primal. He slams into me, hard, forcing me to take it.

“Mine, you understand?”

I can’t speak. Can’t think. There’s no rational thought left, no words, just pure, consuming pleasure. So instead, I match his pace, my hips rolling up to meet every devastating thrust. The way his words set me on fire, I let the flames consume me. My orgasm builds dangerously fast, and I’m hanging by a fucking thread, barely holding on under the brutal precision of his movements.

“Bucky—God—”

His name falls from my lips like a prayer, breathless and desperate.

“I’m—”

Judging by his increased pace, he knows exactly what I'm trying to say. He lifts himself, just enough to look me in the eyes, and I’m trying so hard not to let my eyes roll back, not to completely lose myself in him.

“Please.”

His voice shatters, breaking apart in my ear, pleading.

“Please cum on my cock. Please, baby, please—”

This is all I need to spiral. The coil inside me snaps violently, my entire body arching, shattering as a scream tears from my throat. I crash into pleasure, drowning in it, my walls clenching tight around him, milking him, pulling him deeper.

“Oh, fuck—” Bucky’s voice breaks, his hips stuttering, his rhythm completely unraveling as he feels me fall apart around him.

“That’s it—fuck—that’s my girl.”

His praise sends a violent aftershock through me, my body trembling, shaking, completely spent. I gasp for air, trying to regulate myself after the most devastating orgasm of my life, but I don't stand a chance. Bucky's not finished, not yet.

“I—I can’t—”

Bucky’s voice isn’t even human anymore. It’s a shattered, breathless little whimper, choked between desperate gasps, his body trembling like he’s about to break. His hips falter, his cock twitching so agressively inside me I swear I can feel it in my throat.

But he won’t let go. Not yet.

Not without permission.

“Please—”

The word falls apart in his throat, barely even understandable.

“Please, baby, please—please let me cum, I need it, I need you, I can’t hold it, I can’t—”

He’s whining, his breath is gone, his voice is gone, his body is gone; he is completely, utterly mine.

“Release it, baby.” My fingers tighten in his hair, dragging him deeper inside me. “Be a good boy and give it to me.”

And that’s it; he doesn’t just fall apart—he disintegrates.

His hips slam forward, burying himself so fucking deep inside me, holding us together, his muscles locking up, convulsing. And if this wasn't enough, he whimpers.

“Ohhh—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

His cock twitches and throbs uncontrollably, and I feel everything. The first violent, overwhelming pulse. The hot, thick flood of him spilling deep inside me. His hips keep jerking, his muscles keep locking up, his whimpers keep breaking apart into desperate, breathless sobs.

“Baby, baby—please, please, oh my God, I—I can’t—”

His hands claw at my waist, face burrowed into my neck, his breath a gasping mess. His voice cracks, completely breaking apart, and then a single, desperate sob escapes from him.

He cries. Bucky Barnes cries when he cums.

His body shakes uncontrollably, his hips rocking forward on their own, like he’s trying to push it even deeper, like he’s chasing something he’ll never be able to reach.

“Baby, baby—please hold me, please—fuck, I love you, I love you so much—”

His voice is cracking, completely gone, and I gasp as I feel another orgasm building inside me. Another slow, rolling wave, ignited by his moans, his desperate little whimpers, the way he’s still trembling inside me.

“Bucky—oh, fuck—”

The second he realizes what’s happening, it destroys him all over again.

“Baby, you’re gonna— Fuck, fuck, fuck—please, baby, please—”

His hips snap forward as a last burst of desperate energy, his hands gripping my waist so tightly I feel the bruises forming.

“Oh, baby—please, please cum on my cock again, I wanna feel it—please, baby, please, please—”

The filth of it, the raw need in his voice immedately shatters me. I scream his name, my body convulsing around him, my walls tightening, pulsing, taking him deeper, squeezing him so hard he sobs.

“Oh—oh fuck, baby, I’m still cumming—”

His cock throbs again, another weak, helpless little spill, and he whimpers so high and wrecked he sounds like he’s dying.

“I can’t stop—baby, I can’t stop, I can’t stop—”

His breath is gone, tears spilling onto my skin, his voice a trembling, begging mess, pleading for the final release. Not a moment later, he collapses.

His body slumps into mine; arms useless, his breathing erratic and broken. His tears still fall, his entire body shivering, overstimulated, still whimpering, still sobbing.

He’s still inside me, throbbing. Utterly gone from this world.

His hands stay locked firmly around me, fingers clutching, shaking, gripping, like he’ll die if I let go. And on top of that, he just won't stop crying. Soft, helpless little sobs hide into my skin, as he's holding onto me for dear life.

“Baby,” he whispers, his voice so broken and small.

“Baby, please don’t let go—please don’t go.”

My heart shatters to a million pieces in a matter of seconds. It becomes evidently clear that he's not here right now. He’s somewhere else, somewhere dark, somewhere cold, somewhere where he had nothing and no one. I feel it in the way he clings to me and his hands shake as they grip my waist. The way his face tucks into my throat, burrowing, searching, nuzzling like he’s trying to disappear into me; like he’s afraid this isn’t real.

"Shhh, Bucky,” I murmur, kissing his damp temple. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Even though I wanted my words to soothe him, he breaks even more instead. His breath catches on a sob, his entire body curling into me, fingers fisting in the sheets, in my hair, in anything he can hold onto. 

“You’re so good to me,” he gasps, his voice shaking. “So perfect, so soft, I—fuck, I don’t deserve this—”

His lips quiver against my skin, hands tightening around me, pulling me closer. The realization that he’s not just crying from overstimulation, hits me like a brick. He’s crying because he’s never felt this before.

Never felt this safe. Never felt this loved. Never felt this cherished, taken care of. 

“Bucky,” I whisper, cupping his tear-streaked face, making him look at me.

His blue eyes are glassy and vulnerable, still wet with tears. God, he looks so much younger like this. Like a little boy, back in the ‘40s, nineteen years old, held too many responsibilities, never got held in return.

I immediately want to fix every bad thing that's ever happened to him.

“You deserve all of this, my sweet boy,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his forehead. “You deserve every single second of love. You deserve to be taken care of.”

He lets out a tiny little sob that slits my heart in half, like a butcher knife.

“But I—” His voice cracks, his fingers digging into my waist. “I don’t—I don’t know how to do this. I don’t—”

His breath hitches, his chest rising, falling too fast. I know him enough to realize he’s panicking, his brain is fighting him, pushing against the comfort, trying to tell him he doesn’t deserve this.

I also know how to shut it down. I pull him into me, wrap my arms so tightly around him that he has no choice but to believe that this is real. I'm real.

“It’s okay, baby,” I say gently, stroking his hair, feeling his body relax against mine. “You don’t have to know how. Just let me love you.”

He immediately eases into me, his breath slowing, his shaking finally dying down. He doesn't know, but he's holding my own broken pieces together too, since I've never felt a love so consuming before. 

“If I fall asleep,” he whispers, as if he is about to say something unthinkable, “will you be here when I wake up?”

My dear God. 

"Of course, Bucky. I'll be right here, always," I promise, my voice firm, not leaving any space for doubts in his broken mind.

He buries his face into my neck as an answer, and with that, Bucky Barnes is fast asleep in my arms.

[starryjkoo]

I honestly didn’t expect Jikook to talk about their military service much tbh. 2seok never really have, neither of them have been very active on social media, Jimin made it pretty clear he just wanted to go and get it over with and come back… so I’m just… really glad to hear that they managed to make some memories worth taking back with them, ones that they’re excited to (potentially) even share with us. I’m also not surprised but still endeared to learn that Jikook are still managing to find the humor in every situation.

The part of the convo where they’re laughing and talking about not being sure how much they can share because they’re scared of ARMYs running off just reminded me so much of AYS and how they talked about it. I could see Jikook on that couch in the last group live, laughing and playfully scolding Namjoon for spoiling the show, calling the elbow to Jimin’s face a gift for ARMYs, and telling us to look forward to it with all of that silly laughter and wide smiles. Last time they were talking about not being sure if they should share we learned it was because the whole first trip was centered around Jimin’s stomach issues 😭 I can only imagine what they’re talking about this time if it’s bad enough they think it could scare away ARMYs after we all watched that (but I also need to know).

But that little convo with Hobi, idk it was just nice to see that nothing has changed really (insert JM’s favorite LGO lyrics). It was so Jikook, silly and a little chaotic, warm and familiar, them laughing about the unfortunate or crazy things that happen to them, wanting to share their misadventures with us (and clearly with the other members, who knows how many times JM brought up that elbow story for example, he’s so funny).

I just really appreciate that part of their dynamic so much, the way they manage to find the humor in everything, turn a sucky situation into something to laugh about and look back on fondly. I’ve talked about that so much on my blog, but it’s seriously something I love so much about them and something I can’t highlight enough is just so valuable in life. No wonder they get along so well when they always manage to find a way to have fun wherever they’re at and to be able to lift each other up through laughter whenever something unfortunate happens. That kind of thing must be pretty invaluable in their current environment.

We already knew through their letters that things have not been easy at all for them in there. I’ve worried just a little. I know they’re alright, but it’s clearly just… emotionally so taxing, and their words, while having resolve and looking forward to the future, are also honest enough to share those vulnerabilities and uncertainties with us. So, it was just nice to hear their voices for one (first time we’re hearing JM since 2023 😭) and to hear that familiar silliness as short as it was, but also to know that amid all the struggles they’ve at least had a few spots of laughter, and that after all that has happened at least they’ve made some memories worth taking back with them. I’m glad that it seems they’ve both made friends too (or in Jimin’s case, adopted sons). I can’t wait to hear their stories if they decide to share any with us (and I’ll prepare myself because it sounds like I’ll need to) but I’m just happy that they’re hanging in there, that there’s not much longer left, and obviously that they have each other to lean on, confide in and make laugh every now and then too.

[thekoalapastriesbakery]

another follow up nobody asked for but oh well!

NSFW OSCAR PIASTRI HEADCANONS PT.2

ft. bunny!ftm!sub!bottom!oscar, thanks to @babybearnation + @milessunflowers <3 (love u pookies)

whenever he rides you his ears flop soooo much

tugs them down to try to muffle his whines when you eat him out

massive secret slut

window sex, fucking in bathroom stalls, fucking where he knows people will hear because nobody will guess that oscar piastri is making those noises

he cries so easily and so much but it's so adorable

lil bunny nose twitchin as he rides you so desperately and tears stream down his face

hiccuping in between moans and semi-coherent thoughts about how good it feels

lowkey loves wearing lingerie and skirts. make him feel pretty i beg

he adores it when you kiss his tummy + thighs before eating him out

loves the idea of being marked up but his skin is so sensitive he just cries (in a bad way)

the compromise is that you draw "property of [your name]" on his pecs so he still gets the same giddy thrill without the pain

would definitely bend over any available surface at home n show off his bunny tail (+ how wet he is)

it's a stereotype but he still fits it *perfectly* so ... he has insane stamina. like he doesn't last very long but he can go for so many rounds and still want more a few hours later

this is where fingering him/eating him out comes in handy

because you physically cannot keep up with him otherwise

also those remote controlled vibrators w the apps n stuff? good investment

would brag to logan about how good you are at eating him out

^ especially if this is like all-the-drivers-are-trans au

he gets so pouty and his ears will be full-on shaking if anybody actually approaches you about it

he's your bunny! nobody else gets to feel it!!!

word spreads quick in the paddock tho. so it definitely happens

the solution is to eat him out until he's sobbing while making an audio recording

sends it to the unofficial drivers gc

make it very clear that you are only allowed to/interested in taking oscar apart <3