#and if you know what I’m talking about you’re a real one

[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!!!!

[lologoinsolo]

A continuation of this post! Tw: the word Daddy is mentioned but not in a sexual way!

A week passed since that guy came in. You hope that the kitten's okay, the guy seems much better than you thought him to be. You did wonder if that was blood on the bills he gave when your manager had counted the register for the night. It looked a lil too red for your taste. But everyone has their secrets and you’re not about to ask that tank of a man if he killed someone or just happened to prick his finger. Still though you hope Bailey is faring much better with him than in the could and… you hope he comes back.

Sunday’s the worst but you managed to persuade your coworker to take over your register. Truck had just came in with so many things for the store and your managers are scrambling to get it all on the sales floor.

Humming along to the song from your earphones. The perks about stocking is that you hardly get bothered by your coworkers. No one likes to restock the numerous bedding and litter and pet clothing so you jumped at the chance to do it. Gives you some peace and quiet save for when the customers will tap at your shoulder. You’ll plaster a smile and use your “customer voice” to point them to where they need a certain item and then get back to stocking. You really should find a way to just work with animals. Maybe you can talk to your manager to see if you can try grooming instead of—

“Girl!”

You jerk and nearly ruin the stack of dog cans you had just put up when someone grabs your arm. “Jesus, Jess,” glaring at your manager when you give her a scathing glare. Coincidentally this one’s the grooming manager. “What’s the matter?” Normally she wouldn’t be out of the grooming salon but the stores been short staffed and cutting corners. She’s been running around having to manage the store floor and hers.

“What’s the matter,” she scoffs, “the matter is your boyfriend is asking for you.” Boyfriend? “He’s a real asshole, ya know. We paged you twice over the intercom. Did you not— are you wearing headphones?” You wince when her voice gets screechy. You pull on your earphones and sigh, it’s an unspoken rule to not wear earphones but that literally never stops her groomers from wearing them.

“Jess, I don’t have a boyfriend.” Rolling your eyes as you give her a once over. Her hands land on her hips and you inwardly sigh. “What does he even look like? Did he say my name?” A little hopeful and also very worried because why is there a man claiming to be your boyfriend and why did your manager come get you for this? “I’m sure he’s one of the customers that’s been bitching lately. The fish tanks aren’t on sale anymore maybe he—“

“He’s not here for fish.” Cutting you off, “he asked for you. I thought he was your boyfriend cause he knew you were working right now.” The alarms start going off in your head. “Look, just go see what he wants.”

“Jess, I don’t know who this man is. Why didn’t you tell him I was like— I don’t know, not working?!”

“Because he’s refusing to fucking leave and he looks like he’s apart of the goddamn mafia!” She yells and you blink at her. Your anger boils to a simmer when she mentions what he looks like.

“Wait, wait… is he wearing a black mask? The ones people wore during COVID?” She nods and you pinch your nose hard. This motherfucker, “okay… I know him. He found a kitten a week ago. I told him to come find me. I didn’t think he’d remember my name because my name tag is so small.” Sighing loudly and stepping around her. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“Good, he’s given us all a fright and I really don’t need this right now. Bella bit the shit out of Felix and now I’m down a groomer.”

“Okay,” nodding as she tells you her woes. It’s been hard all around cause there’s not many workers but you’ll take a mask wearing customer over a shih tzu that’s known to bite. Fixing your shirt and putting on a smile when the figure that’s haunting the grooming salon takes one look at you and starts walking to you— quickly. “Evening, good to see you again. How can I—“

“She’s not eating any of the shit you told me to buy.” He cuts you off and you wonder if you’re actually just made of paper with how everyone cuts you off. There’s a black scarf he’s wearing and you notice a little bit of movement. This guy seems to favor black considering the matching jacket and pants color scheme.

You pull a face and turn to your side when he steps right in front of you. Jesus, he’s tall. Craning your neck to look up at him. “Sir, you have a weeks worth of three different foods?” Is she refusing to eat all of them? “It’s only been a week. Are you sure she’s—“

“Gave her a different one each day and she ain’t eating.” He tilts his head down, “why?” You swallow a bit when he glares at you. You wonder if whoever pisses him off gets to see this last before they get knocked the fuck out.

“You?” Shriveling up slightly, “wait,” once it runs through what he says it starts to click in your head. “You gave her a different one each day. You’re not supposed to do that.” Now it’s your turn to glare at him, “you’re supposed to ease her out into a new one before letting her try it suddenly.” You gave him the kitten version of chicken, beef, and salmon. You had a feeling that she was probably eating literal garbage and wanted her to try the chicken first. It’s your usual go to for new kittens.

“News to me,” he crosses his heavy arms over his chest. “Should’ve told me that.”

“I did tell you…” you start to trail off when you realize that you in fact did NOT tell him that. You just assumed he would know that. Goddamnit. “Okay,” he cocks an expectant brow, “maybe I forgot to mention but you didn’t ask. I thought you knew.” A measly form of an apology and taht doesn’t seem to settle him

“I told you I need things for the little shit. You made me buy those things,” he takes a step forward, “expensive things and now she’s waking me up all hours of the damn night because she’s hungry.” Your throat must be very dry from how hard you swallow. “What you didn’t tell was how to feed her.” His hands ball and flex.

Rubbing the back of your neck, you realize that maybe you are more in the wrong than your pride wishes to admit. “Look I,” taking a breath, “I’m sorry. It’s on me, I should’ve told you. I would’ve given you one of those first time pamphlets but we ran out.” Feeling like how a bug feels under a boot with how you tremble out an apology. “Was there one that she seemed interested in the most? Some cats like the chicken more while others prefer the salmon.” Maybe you can give him some wet cans to entice his little pet. A small thing like her shouldn’t be without food and you start to feel worse.

“She sniffed more at the salmon.”

“Okay, that’s good.” Perking up and you turn on your heel. “Come on, I’ll buy you some wet cans.” Before he can even protest you cut him off finally. “Look, I feel horrible, it’s the least I can do. Plus I get discounts.” Giving him a wink and he doesn’t give you anything other than a curt nod. You grab the salmon wet cans, the kitten ones, and you pray to the gods that Bailey will eat it so her dad won’t kill you. “Try the wet cans, see if that’ll work. If not then you’ll have to try for a different one. There’s a brand here that sells rabbit and turkey, a bit expensive.” You laugh shortly, “but cats have sensitive stomachs. They don’t mean to be picky.”

“Might not be picky but she sure as hell like to run my money.”

You huff a small laugh at his expense, “you should see the bills I’ve seen that get racked up here.” You skip the line to head to your register. Ringing it up and usually you’re not supposed to use your own discount for others but you’re not willing to risk mafia guy’s anger. Bagging it and passing it to him for him but he doesn’t grab it right away “Is there… is there something else you need?” You ask and he takes the bag from you finally.

He mulls over your words for a second and then says. “Need a collar,” he tilts his head to the side and out pokes Bailey’s itty bitty head from his scarf. You nearly scream when you see her but manage to bite your tongue on time. “Here,” he pulls her out and she lets out a disgruntled meow. He plops her down in your waiting arms. “Scratched up my neck.” He grumbles under his breath when he fixes his scarf back up. The kitten simply purrs in your arms when you coo and run from her nose to head. A glutton for love and you readily give it to her. “Find something for her.” He waves offhandedly once his scarf looks decent around his neck once more.

“Do have a specific—“ you trail off again when his eyes squint down at you. Right… he doesn’t really care. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” He grunts an acknowledgment and you walk off with the cutest little baby. She keeps pulling at your chest, seems eager to get to your shoulders and you wonder if she does that to her dad all the time. “Hmmmm,” looking from all the collars that the store sells. “You’re too tiny,” you hold her up like the monkey did the lion cub, a little sad that there’s not much that’ll fit her. “But,” noticing a small blue collar that shines slightly, “this could fit. It’ll give you enough room to grow into as well.” It’s a cat collar designed to unclasp if it gets snagged hard onto something. And knowing this curios kitten, she’ll need it.

Bailey doesn’t seem to mind when you let her sniff at it till the collar comes on and then she’s desperate to figure out what’s around her neck. Her back legs kicking at the edge of the collar and you cup her so she won’t tug it off. “Your daddy wants you wearing that so you gotta get used to it.” He could train her to walk on a harness later but that does take a good amount of training and

“Daddy, huh?”

You jolt from your thoughts and squeeze a little too tight around Bailey. She lets out a little hiss and you blubber an apology. “I didn’t— that’s not what I—“ the ‘daddy’ in question seems far too amused with how you stutter. “I uh… I thought you were at the front?” Coughing to push past your embarrassment. Petting Bailey as an apology on her sides and under her chin. She doesn’t forgive easily as she gives you a well deserved nips. You murmur a sorry to her and she squints up at you.

“Thought you got lost.” He comes around and pulls his kitten from your hands, he took a little longer to get her out but maybe you’re thinking too hard. You were taking a bit down the aisle but you wanted her to have a nice collar that fit her well. The heat from his fingers though makes your own cheeks warm slightly. When did he get that close and also why didn’t you hear him walking up? “Looks good,” he holds Bailey up and moves her around like she’s a little jewel. “Blue suits her.” He pushes her back inside his scarf and you can faintly hear her little purrs. A slight movement of the fabric before she settles right up against his neck.

Clearing your throat slightly, some strands of hair falls a bit forward but you’re still a bit squirmy to fix it. “I knew she would look good in blue. It matches her, I can buy it for you as well. I don’t min—“ your eyes widen when he moves his hand to tuck those loose strands back behind your ear. You stare up wide at him and he stares down at you. Nothing in his eyes give away an ounce of an emotion despite how you look. To his credit, he may have not meant to do that with how quickly he puts his hand down. “Uh… I— sir?” You manage to squeak out and his mask twitches slightly.

He flexes his hand that touched you and leaves you standing there bewildered, confused and your cheeks burning up so much that you might consider it to be a fever. You don’t follow him when he took off without giving an answer but you do touch your ear. The phantom feeling of his fingers makes butterflies flutter in your stomach. “What the fuck?” You murmur under your breath.

…

The next day you manage to get to work with little sleep from how you tossed and turned. You sorta waited more around your register to see if the man would come back but to your disappointment… he doesn’t. You take it in stride and continue about your day. Just as you’re about to clock out a man with a charming smile and model worthy appearance comes in holding a kitten in his hands and says, “I was told by my friend to ask you for help with cats. Can you help me, love?”

[hrrtshape]

shifting and manifesting q&a post.

you know the drill. another day, another q&a. i’ve gathered all your burning questions about shifting & manifesting and answered them like i’m hosting a late-night talk show, except instead of celebrity guests, it’s just me, sleep deprivation, and an encyclopedic knowledge of the multiverse. consider this your go-to guide for everything from “why hasn’t it worked yet?” to “can i shift standing up?” (yes, and if you figure out how to do it mid-stride, let me know).

now, let’s get into it. also. this is an open discussion and i will be putting in more and more questions as time goes on.

shifting q&a.

❛❛ what is law of attraction? shifting, or reality shifting, is the practice of consciously moving one's awareness to an alternate reality or desired reality, in other words, a dr. shifters believe that infinite realities exist simultaneously and that through intention or visualisation, they can experience a reality of their choosing.

❛❛ how does shifting work? is it something gradual or instant/overnight? shifting is instant. one moment you're here, the next you're there. no in-between, no buffering. just a switch.

❛❛ what is awareness and how does it work? awareness is the fundamental observer, the "i am" behind all thoughts, emotions, and perceptions. it is not your thoughts, your body, or even your identity, it is the thing that witnesses all of those. if you strip away your name, your history, your emotions, what remains? the awareness that experiences all things. imagine awareness like a flashlight in a dark room. whatever you shine it on, your thoughts, your surroundings, your sensations, becomes your focal point. but the flashlight itself is not the object it’s illuminating. it’s just observing.

in simpler terms, your awareness is not the content of your mind, it’s the thing that notices that content. it’s always present, always watching, whether you’re thinking, daydreaming, or in deep sleep. it creates reality by focusing on particular thoughts, assumptions, and experiences.

❛❛ how do we shift constantly? you are always shifting because your awareness is fluid, not fixed. reality is not a single, static thing, it’s a spectrum of infinite possible states, and your awareness moves through them constantly. every thought, every assumption, every focus of attention is a micro-shift to a different version of reality.

every time you change a belief, you shift. if you wake up believing today will be boring, you experience a version of today that aligns with that belief. if you wake up believing today will be exciting, you shift into a different reality where things unfold differently. your awareness dictates what version of reality you experience. if you focus on lack, you shift into a reality where lack exists. if you focus on abundance, you shift into a reality where abundance is your experience. small shifts happen every second. right now, if you decide you are lucky, you just shifted into a reality where you are lucky. if you suddenly assume you are confident, you just shifted into a reality where confidence is more accessible to you.

❛❛ can i permashift? if you want to, yes. your cr body won’t drop dead, it’ll just exist on autopilot. permashifting is a commitment, but you get to decide what it means.

❛❛ i tried a method and it didn’t work. methods don’t make you shift, you do. stop hyper-fixating on technique and start focusing on the belief that shifting is inevitable.

❛❛ i’m hopeless about shifting and losing hope. you can’t lose hope in something inevitable. shifting is real, it exists, and you can do it. sit with the fact that it’s already yours.

❛❛ what happens if i move midshift? will that disrupt it? no. that's very much a myth. you can shift whenever.

❛❛ i’m struggling. struggle doesn’t mean failure. keep going, keep believing, keep knowing it’s done.

❛❛ i’m impatient. shifting isn’t about patience, it’s about certainty. the second you know it’s done, you’ve already shifted.

❛❛ how to be aware of your dr? awareness = presence. stop doubting, stop overthinking. if you’re there, you’re there. simple.

❛❛ how is lucid dreaming different from shifting? lucid dreaming is control over a dream. shifting is moving consciousness to a real, existing reality. they’re not the same.

❛❛ i’ve gotten to the void but i can’t shift. the void isn’t the destination, it’s the doorway. walk through it.

❛❛ do i have to script? no. scripting is for clarity, not necessity. your intentions are enough.

❛❛ what if i get distracted easily? distractions don’t stop you from shifting. shifting is a knowing, not a concentration game.

❛❛ during the day i’m really excited and when it’s time to shift, i have doubts. excitement means you believe it’s possible. doubts don’t matter unless you entertain them.

❛❛ wait, so all i have to do is go "it's ok. i'm in my dr" and then don't think about it again??? just go about the rest of my day and think nothing more?? yes. it’s called living in the end. stop micromanaging the process.

❛❛ what if i see the people in my dr as fictional? reality is perception. fiction here doesn’t mean fiction there.

❛❛ do time ratios matter between realities? no. your dr follows its own time, its own rules.

❛❛ tips on lucid dreaming and how to shift with it? use lucid dreams as a launchpad. once you realise you’re dreaming, affirm you’ve shifted.

❛❛ any tips on how to keep faith? remind yourself shifting is inevitable. let go of desperation.

❛❛ what should your mindset be? unwavering certainty. shifting is done, you are there.

❛❛ will your dr feel the same // be as realistic as your cr? yes. possibly even more real.

❛❛ is there a thing such as shifting symptoms? symptoms are just your own expectations manifesting. they’re not required. and sometimes it's just your body falling asleep.

❛❛ what about shifting signs? (angel numbers, seeing things that correlate with your dr) if you believe they mean something, they do. if you don’t, they don’t. reality is what you make of it.

❛❛ should i assume from third pov or first? both are fine. you can do first since it's more personal, unless third feels more natural to you.

❛❛ can you shift to dangerous places? yes, but why would you want to?

❛❛ can i have multiple s/os? yes. your dr, your rules.

❛❛ what if i can’t visualise at all? how do i shift without visualisation? visualisation is a tool, not a requirement. belief and intention are enough.

❛❛ what does it actually feel like to shift? is it a fade-to-black, a snap, or something else? different for everyone. could be a snap, a slow transition, or just opening your eyes and being there.

❛❛ can i shift into a world where i don’t exist yet? yes. there's an infinite amount of realities. you can go into any timeline.

❛❛ can i shift to a different race/ethnicity? yes. your dr body is fully customisable. if you want to change your race, height, or even species, go ahead. just remember that identity is more than just aesthetics, if you shift as another race, you will experience the world through that lens.

❛❛ what if i shift somewhere and i hate it? exit. shift back. undo. just leave.

❛❛ can i shift into an animated/cartoon world?yes.

❛❛ if i shift into a dr where i have kids, will i actually love them? yes, unless you're a deadbeat. your emotions in your dr are real. you will feel the same love, attachment, and responsibility as if those kids were born in your cr.

❛❛ can i shift into someone else’s pov?yes.

❛❛ what if i shift somewhere where things are different? your brain adapts. you will instinctively know how to function in that world, whether it’s bending gravity, casting spells, or breathing underwater.

❛❛ can i shift while walking or doing daily activities? yes. people have shifted while listening to music, washing dishes, and even mid-conversation with someone.

❛❛ what if i shift and panic? if you shift and freak out, you can always return to your cr. panic won’t trap you. you’re not locked in.

❛❛ when i shift, do i leave my body? no, your physical body stays in your cr, but your consciousness shifts to your dr. think of it like tuning into a different frequency.

❛❛ is it possible to smell scents from my dr in my cr, or am i just going crazy? yes and no. shifters report phantom sensations like smells, sounds, or even touches from their dr. your brain can be simply syncing with that reality. but it can also be a coincidence. make of reality what you will, if you think it's from your dr, then it is.

❛❛ i need to convince myself I’m in my dr and wait for the 3d to reflect it? be delusional and patient?? yes, that’s the law of assumption in action. hold the belief and live from it, and reality will catch up.

❛❛ do we have to perceive shifting as natural for it to happen? yes. the more normal and achievable it feels, the easier it is to shift. make it feel as natural as blinking.

❛❛ is shifting to a dr i’m less attached to easier than one i’m obsessed with? sorta. less attachment = less pressure = smoother shifting. when you need to shift, you create resistance.

❛❛ how do i detach from my cr? it can help to live in your dr mindset. see cr as a temporary dream. engage less emotionally. shift focus to your dr completely.

❛❛ if I already shifted but the 3d hasn’t caught up, and i can’t be arsed to do methods, am i still doing it right? yes. if you know you’ve already shifted, you don’t need to do anything. just exist, stay stable, and avoid spiralling into frustration. you’re on track.

❛❛ will it feel weird to see people from my cr in different realities? yes and no. at first, it might be surreal, but you’ll adapt quickly. they may act differently, but your mind will adjust.

❛❛ what do you think of quantum immortality? (i do believe in it) quantum immortality suggests that consciousness never truly dies; it shifts to timelines where you continue existing. if you believe in infinite realities, this aligns with shifting theory, you’re always moving into different versions of existence.

❛❛ i got close to shifting but panicked at the last moment. how do i stop this? you're already shifting every second. excitement turning into anxiety is normal. next time, remind yourself there’s nothing to fear. breathe through it. Instead of anticipating the shift, surrender to it like falling asleep.

❛❛ do you need a safe word/safe action? it’s optional. if it gives you peace of mind, use one, but you don’t need it. your intent alone is enough to return.

❛❛ do angel numbers mean anything? yes, but also, everything is a sign if you decide it is. angel numbers (111, 222, 333, etc etc etc) are basically reality’s way of winking at you. they indicate alignment, a shift in energy, or a confirmation that you’re on the right path.

manifestation q&a.

❛❛ what is manifesting? manifesting is the process of deliberately bringing a desired outcome into reality through focused intention, belief, and aligned action. manifestation operates on the principle that thoughts, emotions, and expectations influence one's external circumstances.

❛❛ what is law of attraction? the law of attraction (LOA) is the principle that like attracts like. meaning that positive or negative thoughts bring corresponding experiences into one's life. it is based on the idea that the mind emits energetic frequencies that align with similar external energies. loa suggests that maintaining an optimistic mindset, visualising success, and embodying gratitude can lead to favourable outcomes.

❛❛ what is law of assumption? the law of assumption (also....LOA) posits that one's assumptions. deep-seated beliefs and expectations, shape their reality. unlike the law of attraction, which emphasises energetic alignment, the law of assumption focuses on the psychological certainty that what one accepts as true will inevitably manifest. this concept was primarily developed by neville goddard, who taught that by persistently assuming a desired state as already existing, individuals can bring it into their lived experience. It operates on the principle that consciousness dictates reality.

❛❛ 3d, 4d, 5d...what's the difference? ◞ 3D (third dimension) : the physical reality you experience with your five senses. the "real world" where things feel solid, time moves in a linear fashion, and external circumstances seem fixed. this is what most people believe is the only reality.

◞ 4D (fourth dimension) : the realm of thoughts, beliefs, imagination, and assumption. this is the layer where you create reality before it hardens into the 3d. your inner world (mindset, affirmations, visualisations) exists here, and it directly influences what you experience in the 3d.

◞ 5D (fifth dimension) : a state of consciousness where you recognise infinite realities exist at once and you can shift between them freely. It’s often associated with detachment from 3d limitations, full trust in the self, and an effortless ability to manifest or shift.

❛❛ what is saturating? flooding your mind with thoughts, affirmations, and beliefs that match your desired reality until they feel natural. this speeds up the 3d shift.

❛❛ i would like to be present and aware in the void. then decide you are. the void is a state of being, not a place to find.

❛❛ is it difficult to enter the void because i get distracted? distraction is a belief. stop feeding into the idea that it’s hard.

❛❛ what if i get distracted easily? doesn’t matter. the void exists whether you’re hyper-focused or not.

❛❛ what exactly am i supposed to do in the void state? nothing. it’s a state of pure being. exist in it, and intend.

❛❛ any tips on how to keep faith? faith isn’t something to keep. it’s something you live in. affirm or take a break if it feels like too much.

❛❛ what should your mindset be? unwavering certainty. the 3d follows your assumptions.

❛❛ should i assume from third pov or first? i recommend first. you are the creator.

❛❛ what happens when i doubt? doubts only manifest if you let them control you. assume certainty.

❛❛ do i need to work towards getting my desires or will they just appear? they will appear, but inspired action may follow. don’t confuse effort with control.

❛❛ what’s the difference between assuming something and just pretending? assuming is knowing it’s already done. pretending is hoping.

❛❛ if i assume i have something, but it’s not physically there, what do i do? persist. reality conforms to your assumptions, but there’s a lag.

❛❛ why do negative assumptions seem to manifest faster than positive ones? because you believe they do. flip the script.

❛❛ is “living in the end” just lying to myself? how do i do it properly? no, it’s knowing it’s already yours. embody it mentally.

❛❛ can i manifest something for someone else without their permission? probably, but it’s more effective when aligned with their existing beliefs.

❛❛ what do i do if my manifestation is taking longer than expected? does that mean i failed? no. time is irrelevant. persistence is key.

❛❛ if i assume something is mine, but i keep looking for proof, does that ruin it? kinda....yes. looking for proof implies lack. assume and let go.

❛❛ how do i stay consistent when my 3d reality is making me spiral? detach from the 3d. persist in the assumption.

❛❛ can i manifest something i don’t want to happen (by accident)? yes, if you dwell on it.

❛❛ can i manifest a completely different appearance. like, a new face, height, or features? yes. your physical form is as malleable as reality itself.

❛❛ can i change my race/ethnicity with manifestation? yes. just like shifting, loa allows for complete identity transformation. but remember, race isn't just aesthetic. your perception and experiences in the world will shift, too.

❛❛ can i manifest a different voice or accent? yes. people have manifested different vocal tones, speech patterns, and even language fluency.

❛❛ can i manifest someone else's thoughts and actions? you can influence people’s thoughts about you, but they still have free will. manifesting works through your assumptions affecting how the world reacts to you.

❛❛ can i manifest something terrible happening to someone? technically, yes. but that’s a dark path and the energy you put out will reflect back on you. be careful with karma.

❛❛ can i manifest a whole new personality for myself? yes. confidence, extroversion, charisma, it’s all malleable. change the assumption, and the behaviour follows.

❛❛ can i manifest intelligence? yes. memory retention, quick thinking, academic success, it’s all just perception. if you assume you’re naturally brilliant, your mind will adapt.

❛❛ can i manifest a different past? your past memories can shift, but others’ memories won’t always follow. some people have had success with revising events....others find it easier to focus on changing the present and future.

❛❛ can i manifest abilities I don’t have, like playing an instrument? yes.

❛❛ if i assume something and it doesn’t happen instantly, does that mean i failed? no. read more here.

❛❛ how do i stay consistent when my 3d reality is making me spiral? detach. the 3d is old news. if reality is trash, ignore it. focus on your new assumptions, not the mess outside.

❛❛ can i manifest a completely different life overnight? yes. if you assume a full reality shift, everything will align. the challenge is maintaining the belief without doubting.

❛❛ can i manifest money instantly? yes. unexpected checks, job opportunities, random cash finds. it all happens. if you believe money is always flowing to you, it will.

❛❛ what if i feel nothing while affirming? that’s fine. manifesting isn’t about emotion. it’s about assumption. you don’t need to feel ecstatic; you just need to accept it as truth.

❛❛ any tips for that final push to reach the void or shift? or do i just keep affirming and hope for the best? go in with full certainty, no doubts. detach from trying too hard, relax into it. if affirming works for you, do it, but don’t force it. confidence + ease = success.

❛❛ why does affirming until sleep work for some and not others? it depends on how suggestible your mind is. if it feels natural and calming, it works. if it feels forced, it might not. try tweaking it, focus on emotions, not just words.

[azzifuddfanpage]

So the world knows🫶🏻

————

*this is not my story guys ‼️‼️

full credits to my amazing anon who actually cooked so I’m posting it since they can’t but ya hope u guys love this as much as I did

————

Author note

~A story told in past tense through small snippets of a fictional Pazzi World.

————-

The way Paige and Azzi announced their relationship was subtle and without much conversation. Paige knew that without a doubt, no matter how many seats she was given at her draft table, Azzi would be there. When she was announced as the #1 pick she stood, turned to her parents for a brief hug and then quickly found the arms of the one person who mattered most to her, Azzi. She latched on to her as Azzi whispered “I love you, P. I am so proud of you. This is your moment. Your deserve it.” Paige smiled and leaned up from the hug and placed her forehead gently on Azzi’s knowing they only had a second she said “I love you so much, this isn’t my moment without you right here.” She placed her hand briefly on Azzi’s cheek and Azzi smiled “I’m here, now go to the podium.” She chuckled and so did Paige, and then Paige walked up to the podium as the #1 draft pick.

Perhaps it was that moment that told the world, or perhaps it was later that night when Azzi posted on her social media pictures of them congratulating Paige, gushing over her, and then ending the post with “I love you the most.” Only for Paige to comment on it “you’re the love of my life for real, thank you Baby 💗.” It wasn’t a comment Paige ran by Azzi, but she didn’t need too. Without saying anything, even though the girls were sitting next to each other on a couch at the after party, Azzi replied back to it “always 😘💗”

To capitalize on what they already established tonight, Paige allowed her teammates to go live one more time at the draft after party. KK was talking to the live as she normally did, wrapping her arm around Paige and hyping her up about the night and telling all the fans to get a Wings Jersey and to buy some tickets. Paige just laughed at her friends. She read some comments “umm Paige and Azzi came out!” “Pazzi for life” and then “Paige where is your girlfriend?” Paige smiled before she said “where’s my girlfriend? She’s right here, “baby the live wants to see you.” KK’s grin spread from ear to ear and then she eventually got out of the frame and Azzi joined her. She looked at Paige and smiled then turned toward the camera, waiving, “hi live.” The comments went nuts. They came in so fast the couldn’t even read them. Azzi laughed “ok guys slow down let me look at some of these.” Azzi settled on a comment to read out loud “Paige and Azzi are in love 😭” Azzi giggled and looked at Paige and Paige raised an eyebrow Azzi leaned her head on Paige’s shoulder and looked at the camera “yeah we are.” The team behind them came into the frame then, jumping for joy and wrapping their arms around them. They all laughed and then Paige said “aight aight, bye live! I’ll see you in Dallas!” Paige dragged Azzi way from her teammates and let KK do whatever she was going to do. She found a corner, wrapped up Azzi in her arms and kissed her. She kissed her for a long time, until Brittany came up behind them. “Ahem, you may want to chill.” They pulled apart with laughter, Paige said “when have I ever been chill about Azzi.” Brittany laughed “true.”

When the girls would wake up the next morning ,in their hotel room, they’d see the internet going crazy over their deceleration of love. It didn’t bother them, they were ready for it.

They would also wake to many texts from friends and family, congratulating them, supporting them, and very thankful they didn’t have to evade weird questions from people about their relationship. John and Jose were the most grateful the pressure was now off of them having an accidental slip up.

~

Even though they had been together for essentially 7 years, defined or not, they had a lot of firsts. Like when Azzi showed up courtside to Paige’s first game wearing a jersey and Paige couldn’t stop staring at her. Yes, she had worn her jersey a couple of times.. but this time everyone knew that they belonged to each other. When the game was over and after acknowledgements to her team and the other team, Paige would walk straight to her girlfriend, and kiss her. Cameras around and all, Azzi would just smile and shake her head at her girlfriend. “Come with me to sign autographs.” P said immediately and Azzi followed suit as fans screamed for both Paige and Azzi. Azzi ended up signing everything Paige did and walked down the tunnel with her. In the post game media presser Paige would get her first taste of WNBA media personal who loved to ask all kinds of non basketball related questions. “Paige, we saw Azzi here tonight in your jersey, the affection you showed her at the end of the game, and then her walking down the tunnel with you. As I’m sure you know social media is already going crazy, I was just wondering if you had any comment on your relationship with your long time best friend.” Paige smiled “umm yeah, social media is what it is- but Azzi has always been there for me, I knew she’d be here today cheering me on and wearing my Jersey. I love her more than life and just really grateful to have her support.” Azzi would tell Paige later that she handled that question well, they didn’t want to ignore their relationship in the press but they also didn’t want it to be a focal point around everything they did.

~

Once the W season was over, Paige would get the chance to return her support as she would sit right behind the bench, in a #35 jersey cheering loudly for Azzi and the UConn Huskies. When the game was over and they had won, Paige would walk on the court hugging her former teammates and wrapping up her girlfriend in the biggest bear hug. She wouldn’t kiss her, only because CD would ban her from the court, but she did let hands linger just a bit on her hug.

~

In April, when it would be Azzi waiting to be drafted, Paige would sit at the table along with the Fudds and when Azzi was selected #2, one behind Lauren Betts, Azzi would take her last hug at the table from Paige, and then lightly kiss her lips before heading to the podium. Paige would stand the entire time, watching her being interviewed and smiling as big as she could.

~

When Paige and Azzi would meet each other for the first time on opposing squads, they wore matching shoes. Paige walked up to Azzi who entered on the court before tip off with the rest of the starting 5 for her squad. They had decided they’d go back to their roots when they would see each other on the court, so they brought their hands together and did their familiar USA basketball handshake as the cameras watched. The crowd at Dallas erupted, and the girls laughed. “Good luck baby” Paige said. Azzi winked “I don’t need luck, I’ll see your ass once this is over.” Paige laughed “like my naked ass?” “Yep” Azzi said over her shoulder, as she walked to join her team. Paige just smiled after her, laughing, and then dapped up Arike to get in game mode.

That evening the girls would lock themselves away from the world, relishing in the short time they had together. They knew this was their new normal and they were ok with that. It didn’t matter they would now have more days apart than together.. because the days together were worth every single one they spent apart.

[elllisaaa]

BROUGHT THE HEAT BACK - L. HEESEUNG

KINKTOBER DAY 25 - OVERSTIMULATION + SEX WORK

SUMMARY : when a client offers a generous amount of bills to get a private show from you, you have no other choice but to say yes. after all, you need that money and the guy is handsome, you couldn't ask for more.

-> pairing : rich!heeseung x stripper!reader

-> words count : 2.6k

-> genre : smut

-> warnings : overstimulation (obviously), sex work, multiple orgasms, teasing, dirty talk, praising, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), breast play, hair pulling, fingering,

+ the way i'm depicting heeseung does not represent him, it's only a work of fiction

-> 18+ content bellow, minors DNI

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ! sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> masterlist | enha masterlist | kinktober 2024

You usually didn’t remember what your clients looked like. Most of the time, it was because you just didn’t want to keep their faces in your memory. Some other time, your brain just decided that it was better for you to just forget. It wasn’t very easy for you to recall faces anyway, so you just left it there. And as a stripper, you preferred it that way, because you didn’t want to go to the grocery store, run into a client, and remember they were literally throwing money for you to shake your ass the night before. 

However, there was this one man that you couldn’t seem to forget about. He always came in in perfectly tailored suits that looked like they cost two months of rent, always ordered the most expensive drinks on the menu, and always looked at the show like he wasn’t that interested. Though, you were often feeling his eyes on you when you came closer to where he had the habit of sitting. You loved that he wasn’t trying to touch you like some other men here, you loved that he seemed almost nonchalant about the whole thing. But most of all, you and all the other strippers knew that when that man came in, he always left so much money that you were safe for a while. You never understood why, but apparently, he always insisted on you getting more money than the others. And while you weren’t complaining about it, you found it odd considering the way he never asked, nor tried to ask for a private show, for more. 

“- Mr. Money might come in tonight, he was there on the same date last month.”

You listened to one of your coworkers yapping as you finished getting ready. That was arguably your favourite part of the job - putting on sparkly and glittery makeup according to the lingerie sets you were wearing, doing your hair, feeling yourself. You loved it. And you had to admit, when you felt like that man might be coming, you always put on a little more effort than usual. Was it because he always tipped well and you wanted to make the money worth for him ? Or was it because that man intrigued you, because he was way more handsome than all the other ones that came in here ? 

Usually, he didn’t come in before the first show had already ended, but for once, he was there early, already settled with his drink in his typical seat. You couldn’t help the small smile that creeped up your face as you got in place for the first set of the night with the other girls, ready to deliver your performance just as good as usual, maybe even better since he was there to watch. Everytime you were near his side, he would make eye contact with you and not break it before you did. By the time the set ended and some clients came up to the strippers to ask for private shows, you started to pick up the money that had been thrown at you.

“- You could have been a real dancer, you know ? You’re talented.”

Your head snapped up, met with the intense gaze of that same man again. You stayed speechless for a while, trying to come up with a good answer that will not make you look like a loser in front of the man that literally paid for your apartment at this point. 

“- Are you saying what I’m doing isn’t real dance ?”

The man’s smile widened, a glimmer of playfulness going through his eyes as he looked at you bending down to pick up even more bills. 

“- Not at all. I wouldn’t keep coming here if I didn’t enjoy the show, don’t you think ?

- Yeah, that would be strange.”

What w as even stranger was that you didn’t want this conversation to end so soon. You didn’t want him to leave. 

“- Are you available for a private show right now ? I know your boss told me that you don't do them often, but I’ll pay well. And I’ve been wanting one for a long time now.”

Usually, you would’ve declined. You had the liberty to do what you wanted with your private shows. And ultimately, what you earned between your tips as a waitress during the day and the money you made at night when you danced was enough for you to live off. But sometimes a little bit of an extra couldn’t hurt, right ? Especially when you knew that the man in question had money. So you nodded at him as you attempted to get off the stage in your high heels. You were surprised to see the man holding his hand out for you to grab it to help you get back on the floor. You weren’t used to clients being gentlemen, but you liked it, and he gave you even more reasons to give him a good show. You stayed careful though, because you experienced too many assholes who acted like good guys to get back at you right after. 

“- Follow me.”

You guided the man to the room you used for your private shows. It had been a while since anyone had stepped in it, because this mysterious man had made it optional to do these kinds of shows with how much he tipped. The lights were already turned on, a faded gold glow mixing with the purple neon lights also illuminating the room. A pole bar was standing in the middle of the room, right in front of a black leather couch that was so comfortable you could've slept on it. 

“- Make yourself at ease. Do you want another drink ?

- Yeah, why not ? Can you make me another one of these ?

- Of course.”

You headed over the mini-bar that was behind the couch, getting out everything you needed to prepare the drink he always ordered. Your gestures were precise and controlled, and you could feel his eyes on you the whole time. And he didn’t even make an attempt at hiding it when you turned around to hand him his fresh new drink, smiling up at you as he took a sip of it. 

“- This is really good. You’re talented for many things it seems, Y/N, right ?”

You nodded as you walked over the small music player. You were trying to find which one of your routines would be the most fitting for the current mood.

“- I’m a woman full of surprises. 

- I can see that. My name’s Heeseung, by the way.”

Heeseung. It was great to finally be able to put a name on the one that had been quite literally paying your bills for months. You smiled at him as you watched in his direction again, and if usually, you had to force your smile for it to seem seductive or genuine, tonight, it felt like everything was so easy. 

“- Well, Heeseung, is there anything in particular you want to see ? Any demands ? Though, I have to warn you, nothing more than dance will be happening, this is out of my range of actions.

- Of course, I understand. Do whatever you feel comfortable with pretty, I’ll enjoy it either way.”

This was an unexpected response for you yet again. Typically, men would always have their conditions and they wanted you to meet them. But not Heeseung. And it made you more comfortable, made you want to give him a whole show for all the money he had given you over these past months. He had deserved it. The music started to play as you walked to the poll bar, the first notes of Fetish by Selena Gomez filling up the small room as you started dancing to one of your sexiest and most lascivious combos. You rarely did it in front of your clients, except some regulars that you enjoyed the company of. But Heeseung could be considered a regular at this point, and something in you wanted to prove him that he didn’t do a mistake by investing so much money in you. 

Paradoxically, this was also one of your favourite combos too, and you were happy to perform it again. Heeseung had spread his legs comfortably on the couch as your hips, legs and arms swayed to the rhythm of the music, not missing one beat. And there was something in his eyes as you started to crawl on the floor, coming closer to him, there was something that made you want to do more for him than you ever did for any of your clients. So while you would usually stop at their feet and give them a show, you used his thighs as a support to get back on your feet, your hands way higher than what decency would suggest was acceptable. You distinctly heard his breath hitch in his throat as you leaned over him for a few seconds, his eyes drifting down to your lips. 

Then, you turned around, continuing to sensually dance to the music that would soon come to an end. And as the last notes rang, you sat down on his lap, biting your lip as you looked back at him over your shoulder. Your breath was short as another song followed in the background, but you didn’t move, staying right there, staring into Heeseung’s eyes. And he seemed so entranced, so out of it that you didn’t dare say something. 

“- Fuck… Are you doing this to all of your clients, pretty ? 

- No… Just you.”

Maybe you shouldn't have said that, maybe you shouldn’t have done so much when he was only supposed to be another client. But then again, Heeseung wasn’t any common clients either. And something in him, something in the way his eyes darkened when the words left your mouth, something in the way he couldn’t detach his eyes from your lips made you want to go even further to satisfy his needs - and yours. 

And yes, kissing your clients wasn’t part of your job, you weren’t a prostitute after all, but you could give Heeseung a ride for all the money he gave you. And yes, you shouldn’t have enjoyed it this much, but you did, and you did not regret a thing as Heeseung helped you turn around and straddle his lap properly, his hands staying around your waist as he pulled you in another kiss that left you dizzy. Dizzy and hungry for more. 

“- Shit… I really hope I’m the only one you’re giving this kind of show to.

- You are. You definitely are.”

Before Heeseung could even think of adding something else, your mouth was back on his, and anything that wasn’t you and your gorgeous body grinding down on top of him flew right out of his mind. He didn’t care about all the money he gave you, you were definitely worth it, more than worth it. He had dreamt about your soft skin and your pretty curves, about feeling them under his hands so many times. And now that he had you, he was barely able to hold back the urge to devour you. With one swift movement that made you gasp in surprise, Heeseung had laid you down on the couch, your back comfortably resting against the cushions as he spread your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs until they met your lace panties. 

“- Just let me do all the work, pretty. Let me thank you. Let me spoil you.”

He searched for an answer in your eyes, and as you nodded, biting down on your lips, he didn’t waste anymore time to get rid of your underwear. Immediately, his mouth was on you : his tongue was lapping at your folds hungrily, one of his hands keeping you pinned to the couch and the other one going higher to massage your breasts. You moaned out at the feeling of so many different stimulations at a time. Your fingers tangled into his hair, pulling on his strands when he licked you in a way that felt particularly good. And Heeseung didn’t even care to push your legs apart when you closed them around his head, only burying his face deeper into your cunt - if he was going to die suffocated by your thighs, tasting your juices, then he would die a happy man. 

“- You taste so fucking sweet, pretty… I cannot get enough…”

His chin and lips were covered in your arousal, but he didn’t seem to care either as he got back to work as soon as he felt your hips buck up for more. Every sound that came out of his mouth felt like music to your ears, it was almost as if he liked this even more than you. And you couldn’t keep your own noises to yourself either, the pleasure coursing through your veins far too intense to stay quiet. 

“- Heeseung… I’m close…

- Go on, pretty, cum all over my face, you deserved it…”

As if his words were all you needed to let go, you felt your orgasm crashing over you. You cried out his name, your hips moving faster against his face and Heeseung made sure to swallow every drop of your slick, his eyes sparkling with an insatiable hunger as he looked up at you. He was completely disheveled, completely on the opposite side of how put together he always looked but he didn’t seem to care, and neither did you - you liked that desperate and needy style on him. Though, you couldn’t lie, maybe you were the needy one as you moaned out when he pushed two of his fingers inside of you, the slight overstimulation making it feel even better. 

“-  You did so good for me, pretty… 

- Heeseung… I…

- What do you want ? Tell me Y/N, tell me and I’ll do it, I’ll give it to you.”

This time, it was your eyes that were filled with a craving for him as you cupped his face in between your hands, bringing him down to your lips so you could kiss him. Your legs were shaking and your mind was completely fogged up by the pleasure he was giving to you, by the way he didn’t care about the raging bulge deforming his pants, by the way he was so focused on you and making you feel good that he didn’t even realize when your second orgasm washed over you, that he didn’t even stopped and continued thrusting his fingers and rubbing your clit the right way until your eyes were rolling back and your pussy was soaked. 

You remembered how men treated you, how they didn’t care about your pleasure as long as they emptied their balls. And here was Heeseung, with a darker spot growing on his dress pants because he wanted to make you cum again, and again, until you couldn’t see straight anymore. And maybe that you shouldn’t think like that when you were so overwhelmed, and maybe that you shouldn’t have let him go this far, and maybe that you shouldn’t have accepted all his money. But you couldn’t deny how he was making you feel, how he made you feel worth it. 

“- I want you Heeseung, I need you…” And you didn’t have any idea of how bad he needed you too, of how bad he wanted to give you everything he had. The way you were clenching down on him and begging for more only convinced him that you were made for him. He was going to spoil you, to give you everything you wanted and needed until you were ready to let him be yours.

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my work.

enha masterlist (fill in this to be added) :

@bbgnyx @hann1bee @rikiives @puppy-minnie @binniesbabygirl @foxinnie8 @lala-----------lala @seomisaho @han-to-my-minho @dylanobr1ens @straytiny127

kinktober masterlist (comment or dm to be added) :

@d-dilemma @bath1lda @anxiousskylar @mikaelless @leeknowingg

[melodyreads]

Hamzah x Manager(Reader)

Summary: Y/n is the manager for Slushy Noobz. She loves being apart of such an entertaining team. Being the manager came with a lot of responsibility. However, she was finding it hard to stay professional when Hamzah was around.

a/n: i hope this concept reaches the corporate baddies, enjoy <3

—-

The room buzzed with focused energy as everyone prepped for Hamzah and Martin’s big boxing match. Y/n stood at the edge of the practice room, clipboard in hand, eyes fixed on the monitor as she tracked every play with precision. Managing Slushy Noobz with their growing and dedicated fanbase was both a privilege and a challenge—one of those challenges being the guy currently making a beeline straight for her.

Hamzah.

She exhaled sharply, looking away and pretending to be engrossed in her notes. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go bother someone else.

No such luck.

“You look stressed,” Hamzah said as he stopped next to her, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. “That’s probably because you know the viewers are gonna be bored after I sweep this match.”

Y/n sighed, giving him a side glance. “Or because I know you and Martin are going to be running around bald soon," you said shaking your head, "there goes your TikTok edits.

Hamzah smirked. “That too.”

She had to bite back a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leaned slightly against the desk, glancing at her clipboard. “You actually writing useful stuff, or just pretending to look busy so no one bothers you?”

She huffed. “I don’t pretend to work—I actually do my job.”

He knew this, he just liked to push your buttons.

“Good for you.” He nodded approvingly. “That’s one of us.”

Y/n finally looking up at him. “You’re impossible.”

Hamzah grinned, then tilted his head slightly. “By the way, you've been acting real serious whenever I’m around recently. What’s up with that?”

He was onto her. This wasn't entirely untrue, Y/n had slowly started avoiding Hamzah as her feelings became harder to ignore. This made her feel slightly guilty, but it was the measures she had to take to keep her job.

“Because I have responsibilities?” she shot back while keeping her eyes fixated on the computer in front of her.

He made a face. “Yeah, yeah. Or maybe you just don’t know how to act around me.”

Your eyes finally met his as your mouth opened—then closed. He said it so casually like he was commenting on the weather.

"He's just joking", you told yourself

His dark humourous eyes bore into yours as he patiently waited for a response. Before she could formulate a response, Martin called out, “Yo, Y/n! Can you come over here for a sec!”

Y/n took the escape without hesitation. “Duty calls,” she muttered, turning on her heel.

Hamzah watched her get up before he called after her. “Miss you already!”

As she ignored him, she couldn't help but replay that last comment over and over again in her head.

"Or maybe you just don’t know how to act around me."

She didn’t need to dignify that with a response. Mostly because he wasn’t wrong.

---

That evening, you were finishing up an email to a potential sponsor. (There were hundreds of them.) Y/n had just clicked send when Hamzah dropped into the seat next to her.

“So,” he said, resting his elbow on the table. “You avoid me all day just to end up being the last one here. Interesting.”

She groaned. “I did not avoid you.”

“You literally left mid-conversation.”

“Because I had work to do!”

He took a slow sip of his protein shake, eyeing her over the rim. “Uh-huh.”

She scowled. “Not everything is about you, Hamzah.”

“Big talk, considering I’m basically the headliner of this team.”

Y/n let out an exasperated laugh. “You’re insufferable.”

He grinned. “And yet, your working for me.”

She rolled her eyes, focusing on her computer, but Hamzah’s voice cut through again—quieter this time.

“For real, though,” he said, “I mess with you a lot, but you know I actually mean it when I say you’re good at what you do, right?”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “…Thanks?”

“Don’t get weird about it.” He went back to scrolling on his phone like he hadn’t just said something out of character.

She shook her head, smiling despite herself.

Hamzah might be blunt. He might be insufferable.

But damn it, he was also kind of impossible to ignore.

---

a/n: part two?

[norrisainz33]

f175 || ls18

☆ summary: you and lance attend the f175 event

☆ pairing: lance stroll x reader

☆ fc & warnings: dua lipa and suggestive! you are responsible for the content you consume

☆ requested: yes!!! thank you for the request 🫶🏻

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

ynuser has posted to their story

view all story replies

user1: effortlessly gorgeous

chloestroll: pretty princess

ynuser: i wish you were here 😫

chloestroll: i’ll see you soon bb 😘

user2: OHMGMEKGKOEY ARE YOU GOING TO F175?!

astonmartinf1: can’t wait to see you tonight 💚

ynuser: promise to only get my good side in photos?

astonmartinf1: you don’t have a bad side y/n!

lance_stroll: that’s my beautiful girl 😘

ynuser: my handsome man!!! i can’t wait to see you in your suit 🤤😍

lance_stroll: and i can’t wait to see you in that dress and also….. out of it 😏

ynuser: could always see the second in your fancy dressing room at the O2

lance_stroll: don’t tempt me

ynuser: but what if i want to 🤨

lance_stroll: then by all means

user3: ho is you an angel

user4: watching the red carpet of that weird event for you and you only

ynuser has posted to their story

view all story replies

user6: stunning!!!!!!!!

fernandoalo_oficial: sorry for stealing your man 😉

ynuser: i’ll forgive you but only this time!!

fernandoalo_oficial: lawrence is the better chauffeur anyway 😏

ynuser: hahaha i’ll tell him you said that

user9: no bc you’re gonna mog everyone so hard on that red carpet idk why anyone else is even bothering to show up

lance_stroll: goodness gracious you are stunning

ynuser: thank you babyyyyy!!

lance_stroll: i wish they would let me ride with you instead

ynuser: i know sweetheart but this evening is for you and nando to show off!!!

lance_stroll: and you know i hate it… these sorts of things make me so anxious

ynuser: i know baby but lawrence and i will be right behind you! you’ll only have to be without me for a few short minutes

flavy_barla: i’m going to start drooling

ynuser: thanks for helping me pick the outfit out baby girl

flavy.barla: happy to darling 🤍

user10: not them sending you in the safety car but ig they gotta keep the people’s princess safe huh

chanelofficial: beautiful! we are so glad you trusted us to make your outfit for this evening 🤍

ynuser: and thank YOU for the perfect outfit 🫶🏻

user11: is it wrong to say i’m more excited to see you than the liveries

peoplemagazine has made a post

liked by astonmartinf1, yourbff, alexandrasaintmleux, user12, user18, and 78,356 others

peoplemagazine: we had the pleasure of talking with y/n y/l/n and lance stroll tonight at f175. y/n talked about how excited she is for this season: “theres just so much to look forward to! lance and the entire aston martin team have worked so hard over the break and i am really looking forward to seeing that work pay off. i am so incredibly lucky to get to have a front row seat for all of this - from learning about the car back at the factory to supporting the love of my life in making his dreams come true - i am just so lucky.”

view all comments

user12: is someone cutting onions

user13: petition to make y/n the head of strookie nation

user99: Y E S

user23: petition signed. i want mother to represent us

ynuser: i’ve been summoned and i love that we’re calling ourselves strookies. i’m so in

user13: asdfghjkl she’s ONE OF US

user14: why is that so sweet i’m sick

yourbff: people magazine?! oh ynuser you’re famous famous

ynuser: dream come true for real

user15: the way y/n talks about all the people back at the factory so fondly 😭🫶🏻

user18: most supportive and kind partner award goes to y/n fr

ynuser has posted to their private story

view all story replies

yourbff: y/n/n this is unhinged

ynuser: i stand with my cancelled wife (myself)

lilymhe: screaming how much champagne did they give you

ynuser: not enough honestly. this was all organic

lilymhe: never change y/n/n

lance_stroll: not the sirens and the gun shots

ynuser: the helmet and the suit have done something unspeakable to me

lance_stroll: noted 😏

ynuser: you know what tate said about sports cars….. i’ve been thinking…..

lance_stroll: y/n i’ve told you this! there is no way we can both fit in my f1 car

ynuser: one day i’ll get you to say yes to this proposition just wait lancey

lance_stroll: whatever you say princess

estebanocon: i watched you giggle and post this from 2 tables away

ynuser: you saw nothing pls 😔

alexandrasaintmleux: mon ami stand up

ynuser: i can’t 🧎🏻‍♀️

chloestroll: i’m gonna scroll now….

ynuser: yeah that’s fair

yourfriend1: and this is valid af

ynuser: THANK YOU!!

ynuser has made a post

liked by lance_stroll, boss, chanelofficial, alexandrasaintmleux, chloestroll and 453,234 others

ynuser: the amr25 is almost as hot as lance 😍🤤 thanks for an incredible night f1 and to my ladies at chanelofficial for dressing me!

view all comments

user18: the head of strookie nation has spoken 🗣️

astonmartinf1: she is a beauty 😉

ynuser: you got that right admin

user22: aston had the best reveal hands down

chloestroll: *almost as hot as you

ynuser: *almost as hot as YOU

user24: now let’s pray that she’s also fast 🤞🏻

lance_stroll: you flatter me

ynuser: just spitting facts!

estebanocon: simping on main now too??

flavy.barla: at least this was tamer

yourbff: definitely could’ve been worse

ynuser: guys please

user32: 👀

user33: you are so real for this y/n/n

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: sooo happy to be getting all these lance requests 😭😫 likes and reblogs appreciated!! thanks for reading 🤍

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[tteotlma]

Sugar and Skin

5. Unspoken Proximity || Previous - Next

A grocery run leads Bucky straight into familiar territory except this time, outside of the café, outside of routine, she feels different. More real. More tangible in a way that unsettles him.

TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (8kw)

tw: 18+ MDNI; 18+ MDNI; mild language, subtle tension, implied attraction, slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of alcohol, drinking, lingering touches, close proximity, unspoken intentions, introspection a/n: omg sorry guys... i didn't know what to write for this chapter and idk if u can tell LOLLLL i also kinda got lost a little bit writing and rewriting so.. if u can tell just pretend u cant ty. anywhoo enjoy 8k words of writing!!

“Thanks for coming so quick guys.” Steve sat you guys in his waiting area, allowing you and Sam to sit on the loveseat against the window display, while he sat on the armchair resting against the wall perpendicular to the sofa. The coffee table in the center was littered with papers, and folders. 

“No problem, I’m just glad we’re able to finally talk.” You sat on the side closest to him, and he gave you a small smile. 

“What’s all this?” Sam gestured to the mess scattered in front of you. 

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk about.” Steve’s tone suddenly changed, and his eyebrows drew together. A sudden wave of anxiety was building in your stomach, but before you could say anything he continued. 

“Well you see, somehow things have sort of shifted,” The words come out of his mouth slowly, as if he’s trying to think of what to say as he’s saying it. “And well…” He rubs his palms on his jeans. 

“Oh my god Steven, just spit it out!” You accidentally barked, the wave in your stomach finally crashing into an ocean of apprehension of all the things that could possibly come out of his mouth. 

He jumped in his seat. 

“It’s just becoming a lot more than I anticipated, I’m worrying it’s becoming too much.” The words fly out of his mouth. 

“I’m…” You pause to look at him, his eyebrows are still knit together, ”Unbelievably underwhelmed.” You deflate in your seat. Sam lets out a laugh. 

“What are you talking about?!” Steve panics moving closer to the edge of his seat to pick at the loose papers. 

“What are you talking about?” You sit up watching him scramble. 

“Betty—you know the one from that crafts store down on Narrow Blvd.—“

”Knotty by Nature.” Both you and Sam speak at the same time. 

“Right, well she heard what was happening and decided to take it upon herself to invite all these groups she’s somehow affiliated with,” He grabs a paper off the table and begins to read it aloud. “Filthy hands club, Pounded Clay Association, Neon Noir, The Indigo Hour Society—“

”Jeez, who didn’t she invite?” Sam scoffed, whether he was being facetious or not was unknown. 

“I’m more focused on what it is these clubs actually are.” You said, repeating the groups names he’s listed so far. 

“It doesn’t matter, what matters is that her sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong has now turned something small into something drastically huge.” Steve put his head in his hands. 

You watched him for a second before giving a small side eye to Sam, who quickly returned the look. 

“Let me get this straight,” Sam started, “You’re upset because you’re going to be getting potential customers?” 

A second passes, no sound is made save for the air conditioner softly whirring. Steve lifts his head. 

“You think I’m an idiot?” He suddenly gets serious and you take in a deep breath to mask your laugh. 

“I think what Sam means is that shouldn’t you be looking at this like it’s a good thing? Why are you freaking out?” 

“Because I had planned for this to be a simple thing you know—a few close friends, a handful of walk-ins, some drinks, some music. But now, thanks to Betty it’s turning into a whole-ass networking event.”

“Isn’t that sort of to be expected?” Sam asked. Steve narrowed his eyes at the man beside you. Before Steve could say anything you spoke up. 

“What he means is.. what’s the big deal?” You try to dig your friend out of the growing hole he’s finding himself in, but it turns out you dove headfirst beside him instead.

Steve huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back on his seat. “You two are so damn helpful, really.” He shot you both a look before rubbing a hand over his jaw. “The big deal is that Betty’s list of groups didn’t just bring in a few old people—it brought in everyone,” He lets out a panicked sob (definitely on the brink of a tantrum) “Now instead of a chill small thing—which I wanted—I’m now anticipating artists, painters, curators, and god knows who else all expecting some kind of official event.” 

You and Sam exchanged another glance, but this time you held your tongue letting the grown man pout and whine. 

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. “And thanks to the flyer she made, people are expecting food.” His gaze flicked to you pointedly.

You blinked. “You mean… more than just desserts?” 

Steve nodded, exhaling sharply. “Yeah… and I know I already asked for your help the other day, and I hate to ask for more, but—“ 

“You should hate to ask for more,” Same cut in, crossing his arms. 

Steve shot him a glare before looking back at you, his expression softening just slightly. “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t trust you, and I know you love a challenge.” He gave you a weak smile. 

You pressed your lips together, pretending to consider it, even though your excitement had already begun bubbling under the surface. It was true, you did love a challenge. 

It had been ages since you got to flex your actual culinary skills—pastries were your specialty and of course your passion, but you couldn’t lie that savory was always a tempting mistress. 

Steve saw the shift in your expression and immediately leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Oh, come on. Don’t pretend like you’re not already swimming with ideas.” 

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. “I hate you.” 

“You adore me.”

”Debatable.” 

Sam scoffed. “Unbelievable. I hope you know she’s about to carry this entire thing.”

Steve lifted a hand, grinning. “And that’s why I asked.” 

You started grabbing the strewn about papers. “I keep forgetting under all that ink and jewelry you’re just a baby at heart.” You joked, replaying his dramatic behavior in your head. 

Steve rolled his eyes, but the grin didn’t leave his face. “Yeah, yeah. laugh it up.” 

You smirked, stacking the last of the papers into a neater pile. “I’m just saying—big, bad tattoo artist panicking over a party? You’d think you were planning a wedding.” 

Sam let out a loud laugh, slapping his knee. “Damn, she’s got a point.” 

Steve narrowed his eyes at both of you but didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. “I just want it to be right.” His voice was quieter now, more honest.

You softened slightly, patting his knee. “It will be.”

For a moment, the three of you just sat there, the weight of the conversation finally settling into something manageable. Sure the event was bigger than what Steve had planned but with the way things were coming together, it was starting to feel real.

You tapped your fingers on your chin. “Okay, if we’re doing this, we should do it right.”

Steve sat up again, nodding eagerly. “Agreed.”

Sam raised a brow. “What’s the plan, boss?”

You bit your lip, thinking. “Well, for one, we should probably have more than just pastries. If people are drinking, they’ll need actual food too—something yummy and more than just a bowl of chips and a cup of dip. 

Steve’s eyes practically sparkled. “God, I knew asking you was a good idea.”

You grinned. “You owe me, Rogers.”

Sam whistled low. “Man, he’s getting off easy. If it were me, I’d be negotiating for free ink at this point.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t have any tattoos in mind yet, but maybe I should start thinking about it, huh?”

Steve smirked. “Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll take care of you.”

Sam gave you a pointed look. “See? That’s a good deal.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “I’d want the tattoo to mean something, though. I can’t just get inked from here for the first time for the sake of it.” 

Steve smirked, “Oh come on, just a tiny one,” He suddenly grabbed your forearm, angling it straight up, and with his other hand he lightly grabbed your wrist. “Right here.” He taps delicately at the soft skin of your wrist, absentmindedly thumbing your pulse as he continues to talk. 

Sam leaned in slightly, his tone casual—too casual. “What about a rolling pin? Or maybe a piping bag?” He smirked. “Right here.”

Before you could react, his fingers brushed lightly over the side of your neck, just beneath your ear. His thumb dragged against your collarbone as he tugged gently at the neckline of your shirt, exposing a little more of your skin.

“Or a knife.” He teased.

You let out a breathy laugh, rolling your eyes. “I am not getting a knife tattooed onto my collarbone.”

Sam grinned, leaning in to “inspect” you. “Or,” he continued, “the side of your neck.” He joked, grazing his finger down the side of your neck. 

Before you could retort, the bell above the door chimed.

The shift was immediate.

Bucky stepped inside, the shop’s soft lighting casting shadows over his sharp features. His eyes flicked toward you first. Then to Steve’s hand still wrapped around your wrist. Then to Sam, whose fingers had just grazed your collarbone.

His stare was unreadable. Blank, even.

You felt the heat creeping up your neck as Sam casually dropped his hand, but Bucky wasn’t looking at him anymore. His gaze had flickered back to you, his jaw set.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t acknowledge anyone.

Didn’t even pretend to.

Instead, he walked past the three of you without so much as a nod, his steps slow, deliberate, carrying him deeper into the shop without a glance back.

The silence he left in his wake stretched.

Sam exhaled sharply through his nose, muttering under his breath, “Dude’s got a weird fucking vibe.”

“Sam,” you warned, shifting slightly where you sat.

Sam just raised his brows, leaning back against the loveseat. “What? I’m just saying.”

You shot him a look.

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t weird.”

Steve, patted your hand before letting go and flipping through the papers in front of him, barely bothering to look up. “That’s just Bucky.”

Sam let out a dry laugh. “Right. Just Bucky.” His fingers tapped idly against his knee. “Dude walks in, looks like he wants to murder someone, doesn’t say a word, then disappears into the back like he’s some broody action movie character.”

Steve smirked. “Jealous?”

Sam’s expression turned flat. “Of what?”

Steve shrugged, grinning now. “He’s got that whole ‘mysterious, quiet, probably dangerous’ thing going for him.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and I’ve got the whole ‘charming, personable, actually fun to be around’ thing going for me.”

You snorted. “Sure.”

Sam turned to you, feigning offense. “Wow. That was uncalled for.”

Steve chuckled, finally setting down the papers. “Look, Bucky’s just—” He waved a hand. “He keeps to himself. That’s how he’s always been.” 

Sam scoffed again, shaking his head. Then, his gaze flicked toward you. “And you? What do you think?”

You hesitated, pressing your lips together.

You thought about the way Bucky’s stare had lingered for just a second too long. The flicker of something behind his eyes before he shut it down completely. The way his shoulders had tensed before he turned away. The other night still weighing heavily on your mind.

“…I think he’s just quiet,” you said finally, though you weren’t sure why it came out softer than you intended.

Sam’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind his expression. Then, with a scoff, he leaned back against the loveseat again, shaking his head.

“Quiet,” he repeated, like he was testing the word.

Steve, oblivious to the shift in energy, reached for another paper from the pile in front of him. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

You didn’t respond. Instead letting out a deep breath, shifting where you sat. 

“We should probably head back,” you said finally, smoothing out your pants. “Peter swears he can be left alone for long, but we know he worries.”  

Steve frowned slightly but nodded “Yeah, yeah, of course.” 

“Don’t worry, Steven. I’ll come to you soon with more ideas.”

Steve’s face brightened at that, his worry giving way to childlike excitement. “You mean it?”

You grinned. “Of course. You know I can’t resist a challenge.”

His responding “awe” was warm, genuine, and before you could react, he was grabbing you.

It wasn’t just a hug—it was a Steve Rogers hug. A full-force, rib-crushing, lift-you-off-the-ground kind of hug that had you letting out a startled yelp before melting into it.

“Steven—oh my god—”

He just squeezed you tighter. “You are the best.”

Your breath came out in a short laugh, face half-smushed against his shoulder. “Okay, okay, let’s not break my spine.”

Steve finally set you back down, but before he pulled away completely, he pressed a firm, affectionate kiss to your temple.

It was nothing.

And yet, as you stepped back laughing, hands smoothing over your hips where your shirt had ridden up, something in the air shifted. It wasn’t anything tangible, nothing obvious, but it was there—lingering, humming beneath the surface like the faintest static charge.

Like the temperature had dropped just slightly, like the warmth of the moment had dulled by a fraction, like something had changed without you quite knowing how or why.

You laugh died as you turned and saw him.

Bucky stood just beyond the threshold between the back of the shop and the main floor, his presence still and quiet, but impossibly heavy. He wasn’t just lingering, wasn’t just standing in the background like he usually did, half-invisible, watching the world move around him. No, this was different. This was something else.

His stare was unreadable, his expression impassive, but there was a weight behind his gaze. And for a fraction of a second, so brief you might’ve imagined it,  you thought you saw something flicker there but then, just like that, it was gone.

Bucky blinked, his jaw shifting almost imperceptibly before his features smoothed into something neutral, carefully blank, as if he hadn’t just been looking at you at all. And without a word, without so much as an acknowledgment, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the back, leaving nothing behind except the distinct, unmistakable sensation that something had just happened.

Something you weren’t entirely sure how to name.

You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of the lingering press of your own fingertips against your sides, the rise and fall of your breath, the faint, inexplicable feeling that whatever had just passed between you had been fleeting but significant.

Sam let out a slow, deliberate exhale beside you, arms crossing over his chest as he tilted his head, his gaze sliding from you and Steve, completely unaware that Bucky had returned for a moment.

“You two are so damn affectionate.”

——

Bucky wasn’t in a bad mood. Not really.

He was just… irritated. Restless. Something he couldn’t quite name but had been sitting on his chest since this morning, tightening like a vice, making everything feel just a little too sharp. The kind of feeling he couldn’t shake, no matter how many times he rolled his shoulders, no matter how much he tried to push it aside.

And coming home to a mostly-empty fridge sure as hell didn’t help.

Bucky stood there, one hand braced against the fridge door, staring at the contents like they might magically change if he looked at them long enough.

They didn’t.

Eggs. Bagels. Three cans of beer.

His jaw ticked.

With a sharp exhale, he swung the door shut, perhaps with more force than necessary, before dragging a hand down his face. He was not in the mood to go grocery shopping. He wasn’t in the mood to do anything, really. But he also wasn’t in the mood to deal with the hunger clawing at his stomach, so he grabbed his jacket and keys before he could talk himself out of it.

The store was quiet. At least there was that.

The fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead, buzzing in that way that always made his temples ache. He moved through the aisles without much thought, grabbing things at random, barely registering what he was throwing into his basket.

Pickles. A loaf of bread. Canned fish.

Something about the selection in his basket felt wrong, unsatisfying in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was too easy, too thoughtless, just a collection of things he grabbed on autopilot because the idea of putting in actual effort—of standing in front of a stove and making something that required patience—felt exhausting. He hadn’t realized until just now how little he actually cared about what he was eating, as long as it was quick, as long as it was simple, as long as it was enough to shut his body up and get him through another night.

So he kept walking, moving without thinking, scanning shelves without really seeing them, mind drifting in that restless way it had been all day. An older couple stood near the dairy section, murmuring to each other as they checked expiration dates, and he adjusted his grip on the basket, his fingers curling tightly around the handle, jaw flexing as he exhaled sharply through his nose. The feeling hadn’t left him—the unease, the static hum beneath his ribs, something unsettled and stretched thin.

And then—

He saw her.

His body went still before his brain could catch up, every thought in his head grinding to a halt as his muscles locked up, as his pulse fumbled mid-beat and his breath caught somewhere between inhale and exhale. It was an instinctive kind of reaction, one he wasn’t prepared for, one he couldn’t immediately shake.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about this moment before. He had. Not in any real, intentional way, but in that vague, distant way you think about things that seem inevitable. They lived in the same area, worked just down the block from each other—of course they were bound to run into each other somewhere, at some point, in some random, mundane setting.

He just hadn’t expected it to be now.

Not when his head already felt too full, his patience too worn down from a morning spent pacing between his fridge and his couch, knowing damn well he had nothing to eat but still refusing to do anything about it. Not when he already felt off balance, like something was pressing in at the edges of his mind, something he couldn’t quite name, something that had settled under his skin ever since he’d walked into the shop earlier and seen her under the weight of Steve’s hands, under the warmth of his laughter, under the kind of casual, easy familiarity that had no business making his stomach twist the way it did.

And certainly not when he was standing in the middle of a grocery store, clutching a basket full of things he didn’t even want, looking at her like he’d forgotten how to function.

She wasn’t behind the counter this time, wasn’t tucked into the space he had unconsciously confined her to, the setting where he had let himself believe she belonged. She wasn’t sliding receipts across a register, wasn’t greeting him with her usual knowing look as he grumbled out his order, wasn’t framed by the soft glow of café lights and the scent of coffee beans and sugar.

She was here.

In the same dim, soulless grocery store, under the same too-bright fluorescents, in the same aisle, in the same moment.

And Bucky had no fucking clue what to do with that.

His stomach tightened, something low and unfamiliar coiling behind his ribs, and he hated it—hated the way his feet stayed glued to the floor, hated the way his hands curled a little tighter around the basket, hated the way his chest went tight at the sight of her outside of where he was used to seeing her.

Because she looked different here.

Not in any way that actually mattered—she was the same, same soft curves, same warm expression, same quiet confidence in the way she carried herself, like the weight of the world had yet to leave a mark on her. But without the buffer of familiarity, without the safe, predictable rhythm of their usual routine, she felt different. More real. More tangible in a way that unsettled him, in a way that made something inside him pull taut.

And then—

She turned.

And her eyes met his.

His stomach lurched, fingers twitching where they gripped the basket handle, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

The world continued around them, carts rolling past, the faint murmur of an old pop song crackling through the overhead speakers, the butcher handing off a neatly wrapped package to another customer—but everything else seemed to pull back, like the static had narrowed to just this one moment, just this one stretch of space between them.

She hesitated, just for a beat, just long enough that he could see the flicker of consideration in her expression, the weighing of options, the silent question of how she was supposed to react to this just as much as he was.

And then—

She smiled.

Small. Almost hesitant. Like she wasn’t sure if she should, but was doing it anyway.

And Bucky—Bucky fucking Barnes—panicked.

Not outwardly. Not obviously. But something inside him jolted, something in his chest pulling tight, something hot and uneasy rushing beneath his skin before he could stop it.

Because the last time he’d seen her—really seen her—she had been staring at him in that same quiet way, that same careful, lingering gaze that had almost felt like it should have been followed by something else. A touch. A brush of fingertips. Something. She had stopped herself then, just before she left. He had, too. But for one stupid, fleeting second, Bucky had wished she’d followed through and touched him.

And now she was here, smiling at him, soft and tentative, like she was still figuring him out, still testing the edges of whatever this thing was between them. And Bucky? Bucky was still an idiot, still standing there, stiff and rooted to the spot, still gripping the handle of his basket like it might somehow sprout wings and fly away, taking him with it.

His grip tightened, his jaw flexing, something sharp settling behind his ribs. He felt—fuck, he didn’t even know what he felt. Off balance. Too aware. Like his body and brain were moving at two different speeds, tangled up in a static hum that had been following him since this morning.

Since he had walked into the shop and seen her under the touch of Sam and Steve, her laughter bright. Since he had seen Steve grabbing her, her shirt rumpled beneath his grip, with the man’s lips pressed to her temple. Since something in his gut had twisted in a way he didn’t like, a way he refused to name.

And now she was here, standing under the same too-bright grocery store lights, watching him with an unreadable expression. She quickly bid the butcher a quiet goodbye, slipping the neatly wrapped package into her basket before shifting it in her grip. Then, she turned and took a few light steps towards him.

Bucky had to force his legs to move, to meet her at the last step, though every muscle in his body locked up at the effort. His usual instinct was to turn the other way and pretend he didn’t see anything, but this time, he found himself wanting to stay. And yet, despite everything, he still couldn’t move.

Instead, he just stood there, too aware of the way his pulse jumped slightly at the sight of her approaching.

“Hi,” she said quietly, looking up at him, the soft curve of a smile still on her lips, and Bucky swore he felt some of the tension in his neck loosen just a little.

He blinked, his grip tightening on the basket, the plastic straining under the tension of his hold. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the way she was looking at him made his thoughts slow, made his brain stall like an old engine caught on itself.

She looked… the same. Of course she did. But something about seeing her here, in this mundane, everyday place, without the scent of coffee curling in the air, without antiseptic clinging to the walls, without flour dusting the edges of her sleeves or the tips of her hair, made her feel different.

More real.

More… something.

“I didn’t know you shopped here,” she said after a second, glancing around as if taking in the store for the first time.

“I don’t shop much,” he admitted, and immediately hated how stupid he probably sounded.

She glanced down at his basket. Bucky could practically see her take it in, scanning the sad collection of groceries before her gaze flicked back up, something unreadable playing at the edges of her expression.

She gave him a weak, knowing smile.

“I can see that,” she murmured.

Bucky felt something twitch at the corner of his mouth before he shut it down, the faintest urge to smile pressing against his cheeks.

There was a beat of silence. A moment where they just… stood there, in the middle of the grocery store, and Bucky realized how little he actually knew about her outside of their usual routine. Outside of the coffee, the ink-stained counters, the pastries.

And she didn’t know him either.

It should’ve been as simple as that.

But then she shifted, the light rustle of fabric pulling him from the thought, and he hated how acutely he noticed it.

“I just stopped to grab some stuff for Steven’s event,” she said, adjusting the weight of the basket in her arms. “Or, I guess… the both of yours’ event.” She chuckled lightly as she corrected herself.

Bucky’s brow lifted slightly, but he quickly shook his head. “No, it’s totally all him,” he said, scoffing under his breath. “I just work for him.”

She stared at him but gave a small nod, lips pressing together as if committing the response to memory.

“But I thought that wasn’t until next month?” he asked.

“It is, but… after this morning, I had a few ideas I wanted to try out right away,” she admitted, fingers lightly twisting the plastic handle cover of her basket.

Bucky hummed in acknowledgment, watching the way her fingers moved—twisting the plastic tube against the metal like she was already thinking ahead, her mind already somewhere else.

The silence stretched again, but this time it felt heavier. Not exactly uncomfortable, but there.

She shifted on her feet. “Um, I’m about done here…” She glanced around, then back at him, eyes flicking over his face for a second before settling.

Bucky felt his grip on the basket tighten. “Yeah. Me too.”

Her gaze flickered to his basket again, hesitating for a second.

“Um—d-do…” She bit her lip, exhaling softly before trying again. “I can—”

Bucky just watched her, something stirring in his chest at the way she fidgeted slightly, the blush creeping up her cheeks, her lips rouge from biting them.

“I can make dinner,” she suddenly blurted out.

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together, but he stayed quiet, just watching.

“I—I’m not gonna be able to eat everything I’m making tonight,” she continued, stumbling over her words slightly. “If anything, I probably would’ve given you guys the leftovers anyway—” She was thinking out loud. She shook her head, trying to get back on track. “I-I mean… only if you’d like.”

She trailed off, shifting on her feet, and Bucky could see it—her grasping for a way to save herself from the awkwardness of the offer.

So he saved her instead.

A small smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah. Sure.”

Relief washed over her features so quickly, he almost chuckled. Instead, he just nodded, keeping his expression cool—at least, he hoped he looked cool. He honestly felt a little dumb, standing there trying not to look as thrown off as he actually was.

They made their way to the registers, and as he went to set his basket on the conveyor belt, she reached out.

“Um, you can leave that here,” she said, motioning toward his items.

Bucky blinked. “What?”

She nodded toward his basket. His brows furrowed slightly, about to protest, but she cut him off before he could. “There’ll be leftovers you can take home.” She reasoned, giving a small shrug.

Bucky sighed through his nose but didn’t argue. Instead, he stepped past her and let her unload the basket.

“If anything, I’m probably doing you a service,” she teased him lightly.

Bucky let out a scoff.

As she scrambled in her purse to find her wallet, Bucky reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and swiping his card before she could react.

Her eyes widened. “What? No, Bucky—”

“It’s fine,” he said simply, grabbing the receipt from the cashier. “Consider it a trade.”

She stared at him, lips parting like she wanted to argue further, but then she exhaled, shaking her head with a soft huff. As she reached for the bags, Bucky once again made sure to move before she did, and he grabbed the bags and made his way to the exit.

They stepped outside, the cool air against his skin as he walked her to her car. He helped her load the groceries into the trunk, shoving his hands into his pockets when they were done.

She hesitated for a second, then reached into her bag, flipping the receipt over and scribbling something onto the back.

“This is my address,” she said, handing him the receipt.

Bucky took it, fingers grazing the paper before slipping it into his pocket, the ink warm from her touch. His gaze flicked over the street name, barely processing it before she stepped back, giving him one last look. Then she climbed into her car.

He stood there for a moment, watching as her taillights disappeared down the street.

And then, with a sharp exhale, he turned, heading toward his own.

The drive wasn’t long enough.

It wasn’t long enough to sort through the static still buzzing in his head, wasn’t long enough to shove this thing—whatever this was—into a neat little box where he didn’t have to look too closely at it.

He hadn’t exactly realized what it meant when she offered to cook for him. Hadn’t let himself think about it, not fully. But it finally clicked when his car rumbled to life beneath him, when the city blurred past his window in the glow of passing streetlights.

It wasn’t just a meal. It was something else entirely—something Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted to name.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as he switched lanes, grip tightening on the wheel. She was cooking for him. Not just for Steve, not just for the event, but for him. And for what? Because she was just nice? Because she had extra food and didn’t want it to go to waste? Or mayb—

No. That wasn’t it. Couldn’t be it.

He was making this into something it wasn’t. Overcomplicating it. This was about work. That’s all. Just food. Just an exchange. One that benefited her, too. He should think of it like an investment—something that helped his best friend’s event, something that made sure Steve’s business kept thriving. That was it. That’s all this was.

So why did his fingers tighten around the wheel? Why couldn’t he shake the way she had bit her lip, looking almost nervous, her voice trailing off before she had finally blurted out the offer? Why did it feel like there was something between the lines he hadn’t been ready to read?

His jaw flexed as he turned onto her street. The tension in his chest hadn’t eased, hadn’t faded, even as he pulled into a spot near the curb. He shifted the car into park, fingers drumming idly against the wheel before finally looking up.

She was already waiting.

Standing under the glow of the streetlamp, bags in hand, rocking slightly on her feet. She wasn’t looking around, wasn’t checking her phone she was just standing there, like she was waiting for him. Just him.

For a second, he stayed put. Gripping the wheel too tightly, trying to ignore the restless pull under his skin. Trying to remind himself this wasn’t a big deal. Just dinner. Just a thank-you. A friendly gesture.

But it felt like something else. Something heavier. Something he wasn’t sure he knew how to handle.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, grabbing the receipt she had scribbled on, tucking it into his pocket before stepping out of the car. The cool night air hit him, but it didn’t do much to settle the tightness in his chest.

His gaze flicked across the street. Just a glance. Then another. Something about the sight made his stomach pull tight, but he pushed it aside and forced himself to move.

His boots were loud against the pavement, the sound muted by the quiet hum of the street. She must’ve heard him coming, because she turned, adjusting the weight of the bags in her arms.

“Everything okay?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Bucky blinked. Realized, belatedly, that he’d been staring across the street again. “Yeah,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Just—” His mouth pressed into a line. “Just thinking.”

She watched him for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. But she didn’t push. Instead, she reached for the door, and Bucky stepped forward, grabbing the handle first, pulling it open for her.

She gave him a small, amused look before stepping inside. Bucky followed, feeling the weight of something settle in his chestr.

Not yet.

Bucky followed her into the elevator, the doors sliding shut with a quiet whump, sealing them inside a space that suddenly felt too small, too still. The silence settled heavily between them, thick and suffocating, pressing in from all sides. The hum of the fluorescent light overhead and the faint whir of the elevator climbing floors should have been nothing more than background noise, but right now, it was deafening.

He could hear everything—his own breathing, hers, the almost imperceptible rustle of fabric as she shifted beside him. The steady flicker of the numbers above the door marked their slow ascent, each floor clicking by in excruciating increments. He clenched his jaw, adjusting his stance, feeling the weight of his own awareness pressing down on him. This was awkward. Too awkward.

She stood next to him, hands curled tightly around the straps of her bag, fingers flexing slightly, like she wasn’t sure what to do with them. He could feel her presence in a way that made his stomach clench, too aware of the way she smelled—warm vanilla with something deeper, richer, something that curled in his chest and made it impossible to ignore just how close they were.

It shouldn’t have been this unsettling. But there were no distractions here. No counters between them. No clinking coffee mugs, no scent of roasted beans, no bustling grocery aisles. Just them. And that realization sat heavy on his chest, a weight he wasn’t ready to examine too closely.

He cleared his throat, the sound sharp against the quiet, a weak attempt to break the tension. "You, uh…" He glanced at her bag, then flicked his gaze back to her. "You cook a lot?"

She turned to him, blinking as if she hadn’t expected him to speak. For a beat, she just looked at him, like she was weighing something, trying to decide what to say. Then she shrugged, shifting her grip on the bag. "Not as much as I’d like," she admitted, her voice softer now. "I mean, I bake all the time for work, obviously, but… cooking? That’s different."

The elevator doors slid open, breaking the moment before it could stretch too long. She stepped out first, leading the way down the hall with Bucky following at a measured pace. He could feel his own pulse in his throat, unsure why this felt so... significant.

Her apartment was small but warm, the scent of something citrusy lingering in the air, mixing with vanilla in a way that made his chest tighten. She set the bags on the counter and glanced at him over her shoulder, a question in her eyes before she exhaled, like she had decided not to ask it.

“You can sit if you want,” she murmured, pulling out a few ingredients, her fingers deft as she began unwrapping the steak.

Bucky hesitated for a beat before pulling out a chair, his hands resting on his thighs as he watched her work. She was comfortable here, in her own space, moving with an ease he found almost hypnotic. He realized then that he hadn’t actually seen her outside of the café before, hadn’t really let himself think about what she might be like beyond the soft glow of pastry cases and the scent of coffee beans. But here she was, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, and still, something about her made his chest ache.

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, watching as she carefully sliced the bread, her focus trained on her task. “So, what are you making?”

“Steak crostini,” she answered, glancing up at him briefly before going back to her work. “With hollandaise.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, lips pressing together as he nodded. “Fancy.”

She huffed a small laugh. “Not really. Just something I like, that can feed lots.”

“You do this often?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the cutting board, at the careful way she seasoned the steak.

She shrugged. “I cook for myself, but mostly… I just like feeding people. It’s nice. Feels like a way to take care of someone.”

Bucky’s throat tightened. He didn’t have a response to that, didn’t know how to put into words the way those simple sentences made something in his ribs press uncomfortably against his lungs. He wasn’t used to people like her—people who did things just because they wanted to, because it made them happy.

And maybe that’s what made this feel different. Because she wasn’t asking for anything in return.

He cleared his throat again, fingers tapping against his thigh. “You uh… you grew up around here?”

She shook her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “No. Moved around a lot, actually. But this place? It’s the first one that’s felt like home.”

Bucky studied her, the way she said it like it was something she had fought for. And for some reason, that struck him harder than it should have.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. “Yeah. I get that.”

She watched him for a moment, then turned back to the counter, her fingers deft as she reached for a bottle of wine from a small rack beside the counter, tilting it toward him in question. “You drink?”

Bucky blinked, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

She smiled, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet before pouring a deep red into each. “Figured it’d pair well,” she murmured, handing one to him before picking up her own.

He took the glass, feeling the weight of it in his palm, and hesitated before taking a small sip. The warmth of the wine spread through his chest, and suddenly, the tension inside him felt a little less sharp.

She let out a soft sigh and turned back to the cutting board and then slid a small bundle of asparagus toward him. “Why don’t you prep these?” she asked, her tone light, teasing. “See if you remember how to hold a knife.”

Bucky let out a dry scoff, shaking his head as he reached for the bundle. “I think I can manage.”

She smirked. “I don’t know. You don’t seem like the vegetable-chopping type.”

Bucky snorted. “What type do I seem like?”

She shrugged, eyes twinkling as she leaned against the counter. “The kind who survives off black coffee and whatever takeout doesn’t require talking to anyone.”

His mouth quirked, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he focused on trimming the ends of the asparagus, his hands surprisingly steady. He hadn’t done this in years—not since before everything—but muscle memory kicked in, guiding his hands with careful precision.

She moved closer, leaning just past him to reach for a saucepan, the faintest brush of her arm against his shoulder making his breath hitch. She didn’t acknowledge it, but he felt it, the warmth of her body so close that for a moment, he forgot what he was doing. He forced himself to keep slicing, though his movements slowed, as if suddenly hyper-aware of every tiny motion.

A quiet hum left her lips as she stirred something on the stove, the rich scent of butter and herbs filling the air. She turned back to him, spoon in hand, and lifted it slightly. “Here, taste this,” she said, stepping closer.

Bucky blinked, glancing between the spoon and her, hesitating for just a second too long. “Uh—”

She huffed a small laugh, shaking her head as she nudged it toward him. “C’mon, it’s just sauce. Don’t look so suspicious.”

Still, there was something intimate about it, the way she had just tasted it herself, the way her fingers barely brushed his when he finally took the spoon from her grasp. He swallowed before bringing it to his lips, the warmth of the sauce settling on his tongue, rich and velvety with just the right hint of lemon.

He exhaled slowly, nodding. “Damn. That’s good.”

She grinned, pleased, before turning back to her station. “Good. Because I’m not taking criticism from a man who probably lives off instant ramen and black coffee.”

Bucky smirked, shaking his head. “I know good food when I taste it.”

She raised an eyebrow, turning back to stir the sauce. “Oh? And here I thought you only ate out of convenience.”

Bucky huffed, shifting his weight as he reached for another asparagus spear. “I didn’t say I don’t eat well.”

The words felt defensive in his mouth, so he covered them up by focusing on slicing. He wasn’t about to admit that he had a taste for things beyond quick meals and coffee. After all, he had been the one slipping extra pastries into the bag every morning, using Steve as an excuse. He had been the one peeling them open later, in the quiet of his own kitchen, savoring them more than he’d ever let on.

She moved around him again, this time slower, closer, like she wasn’t in a rush to put space between them. The warmth of her body lingered in the air between them, and Bucky could feel it, could feel her. The scent of her perfume mixed with the buttery aroma of the sauce, something delicate and grounding all at once.

“Can you hand me that?” she asked, pointing at the cutting board beside him.

Bucky grabbed it, but as he passed it to her, their fingers brushed again, a fleeting press of warmth that neither of them acknowledged aloud. His stomach twisted, unfamiliar and slow, something far too careful for what he was used to. He swallowed, exhaling softly as she took the board from his hands, her fingers lingering a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

She turned back to her work, moving with the ease of someone comfortable in her space, but he caught the way she bit her lip, just for a moment, before letting out a quiet breath. Like she felt it too.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It was thick, charged, but not tense. It was full of something else entirely, something that made Bucky want to keep talking just to keep her looking at him the way she had been all night, soft, curious, a little amused.

“You always cook alone?” he asked, watching as she plated the crostini, careful and precise.

She paused, just slightly, before offering a small shrug. “Most of the time. It’s nice, you know? Therapeutic.”

Bucky nodded slowly. He understood that. The solitude of a routine, the way something as simple as cooking could feel like control in a world that never quite slowed down.

“Don’t mind the company?” he asked, quieter this time.

She glanced at him, then down at the plate she was finishing. “No,” she admitted, almost hesitant. “I don’t.”

Something shifted in his chest, something that made his fingers twitch against the edge of the counter. He didn’t know what it was, didn’t know what to do with it.

She reached for two plates, carefully arranging the crostini before sliding one toward him. “Here,” she murmured. “Try it.”

Bucky hesitated, then picked up a piece, taking a bite. The crunch of the toasted bread, the richness of the steak, the smooth tang of the hollandaise...it was damn near perfect.

She watched him, her lip caught between her teeth. “Well?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You’re good at this.”

Her shoulders eased, a quiet smile tugging at her lips. “I know.”

A beat of silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt… natural. Easy.

She poured another splash of wine into his glass, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky let himself linger, let himself enjoy the moment. He wasn’t in a rush to leave. He wasn’t looking for an escape.

Instead, he just sat there, across from her in the quiet warmth of her kitchen, feeling something settle inside him that he still didn’t quite have a name for yet (or maybe he was acutely aware).

Eventually, the night had to end. The plates sat empty, only a few stray crumbs left behind, and their glasses carried the last traces of deep red wine. She stretched her arms above her head, a quiet sigh slipping past her lips, the movement so casual, so unguarded, that it caught him off guard. He swallowed, forcing himself to look away, to focus on the slow, inevitable rhythm of the night winding down.

She walked him to the door, her steps unhurried, as if she wasn’t quite ready to break the spell either. Bucky shrugged on his jacket, the warmth of her apartment still clinging to his skin, seeping into the fabric.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said, voice rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “It was good.”

She smirked, leaning against the doorframe, her arms folding loosely. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

Bucky let out a breath of a chuckle, shaking his head. “Nah. Just haven’t had something like that in a while.”

Something flickered across her expression, something soft and unreadable, but she didn’t push. Just nodded. “Well… goodnight, Bucky.” She said softly, leaning against the door frame.

He nodded back, lingering for half a second longer than he should have. “Goodnight.”

The door shut softly behind him, but the air in the hallway felt colder, emptier. He let out a slow breath, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck before stepping toward the stairwell.

Outside, the night air hit him, crisp and grounding, but as always the warmth from her still hadn’t fully faded from his skin. He let out a breath and—without thinking, without hesitating—he jaywalked straight across the street, his boots striking pavement in an easy, familiar path.

And when he reached the other side, when he stepped up to his own building and turned toward the door, something made him glance back.

His stomach twisted as his gaze flicked up.

Right at her window.

His lips pressed together, breath catching slightly as realization settled in his chest like a slow ache. That was why he had felt the pull earlier, why something in his gut had twisted when she’d given him her address. Because now, standing in his own place in front of his window, it clicked.

He could see her window from his.

And if he could see hers, then she could probably see his too.

--

a/n: again thank you so much for your patience again huhuhu~

please reblog to support! I also love feedback, and comments :)

Literally your comments are hilarious

taglist (lmk if you want to be added!) : @cheezemanz @shirukitsune @miharuwrites @multifandomkid @violetpassionfruit @sapphirebarnes @grilledcheesewithjalapeno @angelbabyyy99 @theendofmaterialgworl @venuslovey @blackhawkfanatic @lazyneonrabbitt @singsosworld @danzer8705 @xamapolax @otterlycanadian @that1geek06

[lowkeyerror]

Late Night Calls

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Notes: Reuqested, fluff

Summary: Agatha wants you to stop working and come to bed.

Masterlist

Agatha was practicing her patience. That’s what she told herself as she paced back and forth in your bedroom. It had been hours of her waiting, hoping to get some of your company. The one thing in her way was your stupid job. Agatha was not a fan of the long hours you spent on your computer or talking to idiots on the phone.

It was torture, knowing that you were just a few rooms away, but not being able to bother you. Well, she could and often, she did. Which is why tonight she was trying to be patient.

However, she knew that you should’ve been done by now. Your 8-hr shift should’ve been completed nearly an hour ago. So it shouldn’t be a big deal if she were to pop into your study, and wait for you to finish in there.

Agatha walked over to your study, cracking the door ever so slightly. The screen of your desktop dimly lights the room. You’re sat at the desk with your phone to your ear, mumbling about things that Agatha didn’t care to comprehend.

She slipped into the room closing the door behind her softly. Though she was careful, you’re aware of her presence. She smiles brightly when you flash her a quick grin.

With one of your free hands you motion her closer to you. She has to hold back a yelp as you pull her into your lap while you continue your conversation.

Your arm wraps around her midsection keeping her in place. Agatha is sat with her back to you. You figured she’d keep herself busy, playing on the computer, while you talked.

For a while that worked. She did a few online quizzes, played a few word searches, she even put on some headphones to watch a YouTube video.

You knew her patience was wearing thin when she started squirming in your lap. You lightly squeezed her hip to signal for her to stop. You heard the huff of annoyance she let out, but decided to ignore it.

The older woman turns in your lap, so that now she’s straddling you. The words that you were saying into the phone get stuck in your throat for a moment.

Agatha smirks at that reaction. She takes your free hand and slides it under her pajama shirt. You try to keep your eyes stern as you glare at her, but you fail miserably. The softness of her skin never ceases to amaze you.

You pull your hand from under shirt to mute the phone call for a moment.

“Ags, I’m almost done sweetheart. Just let me finish up real quick and I’ll come to bed.”

She steals a kiss from you, “It’s been nearly 2 hours since you were supposed to be done with work.”

“I know, I know, but this is a really important call, baby.”

Agatha pouts and it almost compels you to end the call right then. The voice on the other line saying hello, snaps you out of it. You give Agatha an apologetic look before unmuting, and resuming the call.

The older woman sighs. She grabs your hand and starts playing with your fingertips. She begins to trace patterns, trying to stop her disinterest. Her tiredness starts to get to her.

She tries to stand up, but you keep her in place. Your tired eyes meet hers as you mouth the word ‘stay’. She rolls her eyes, but leans in so her head is buried in your shoulder.

Agatha can’t help herself as she places feather light kisses on the side of your neck. You don’t seem to mind it. That is until she nibbles on your earlobe, “Come to bed.”

She feels your body shiver underneath her, which pulls a smile from her. She pulls back to look at you fully. Her hands slide innocently under your shirt, just resting on your stomach. She sees you exhale deeply, her warm hands against your cold abdomen.

As the person on the other line talks, she can see your eyes getting heavy. Agatha begins to wonder if you’re even awake as small lines leave your mouth ever so often, like an automated message response.

Her hand cups your face, and you sleepily lean into her touch.

Agatha takes the phone out of your hand and mutes the call. Your eyes shoot open fully as you reach to take the phone back from her.

“Enough phone time for tonight. It’s late, you’re falling asleep, and I want to cuddle in bed.”

You don’t argue with her. She places the phone back in your hand, “Mr. Stark, I’m going to have let you go, now. It’s pretty late, do you think we can resume this conversation tomorrow?”

The phone call ends and you close your eyes, leaning into Agatha. You inhale her scent, which helps your entire body relax. After a moment you stand, the woman still in your hold.

She scrambles to get a better hold on you, but you'd never drop her.

“Let’s go to bed,” you kiss the top of her head as you walk to the bedroom.

Agatha mumbles something incoherently into your neck as you reach the bedroom. You’re careful as you lay her down. She makes a gesture grabbing towards you, and you chuckle.

“I’ll be in, in a second, I'm just changing into something comfy.”

When you climb into the bed, her arms around you in an instant. She pulls you into her, tired eyes opening just to get a peek at you.

You kiss her softly. It’s a delicate thing as your lips move together. It’s the kind of kiss you share, when the night is over. No fiery hunger or neediness, just the overwhelming calm of love.

“No more late-night calls from Stark, you call him first thing in the morning,” Agatha snuggles into you.

“Yes ma'am,” you say playfully.

You feel her pull back a little, just enough to meet your eyes, “I love you.”

You’d never grow tired of kissing her, so you do it once more. It’s brief, when your lips touch her’s.

“I love you too.”

The rest of the night is spent in each other’s arms. The last thought that trails through your mind is that you won’t be doing any work tomorrow. All you want to do is stay in this position as long as you can with the love of your life.

[this-user-is-new]

"proceeds to complain that i want the show to engage with the long-term consequences of piltover’s actions." how is that spoon-feeding? i mean yeah, imagine expecting a show that presents itself as a mature, political narrative to actually follow through on the themes it sets up. wild concept.

oh, and "gassy"? wtf? whatever. let’s entertain this "fantasy gas" idea for a second.

there’s literally no reason to assume it behaves any differently from real-world toxic gases. arcane itself establishes that the gas behaves like a real toxic substance when it comes to how it destroys the body (kiramman archives). so why would it suddenly not behave like real gas when it comes to spreading? you can’t have it both ways. either the show deliberately left out consequences for narrative convenience, or this is straight-up inconsistent writing. i’ll let you pick one. but i won’t waste time on this again since you’ve already decided the laws of chemistry just don’t apply here anyway.

also, we know children work in the factories of the chem-barons. why do you think isha and other kids were running from the chem-barons' goons? what did they want from them, huh? meaning, yes, kids would have been exposed to the gas at some point. (... even if they weren't there at the moment.) because that's literally where the gas was used. but again, that'd mean you actually understand how gas works so ... yeah. i'm not talking about this again.

and no one’s saying caitlyn and her team intentionally targeted children, the issue is that the show erases unintended consequences, making piltover’s actions seem cleaner than they realistically would be. learn how to fucking read. also, funny how you keep bringing this whole thing back to caitlyn specifically, like this is just some personal attack on your fave instead of a broader critique of how arcane rewrites piltover’s crimes to be more palatable. but do you actually like her? because if anything, this also makes her villain arc boring as hell. you should want to see the consequences of her actions.

"they never erased piltover’s guilt." lmao. really? so viktor’s suffering getting reframed as a personal failure instead of systemic neglect isn’t erasure? orianna’s story being stripped of its direct critique of piltover’s pollution isn’t erasure? the show giving just enough plausible deniability for fans like you to defend piltover’s actions isn’t erasure? be serious.

your focus on viktor’s leg is just a lazy attempt to reframe his struggle. his arc was never just about mobility, it was about survival. we literally see him suffering from chronic illness: fatigue, nosebleeds, coughing fits, and even slipping into a coma. he wasn’t just looking for a "fix" out of some internalized ableism, he was dying because piltover let zaunites rot. the "beauty in imperfection" framing is a deliberate rewrite that removes piltover’s guilt. it’s not just a misinterpretation of viktor’s motivations, it’s a calculated shift to make it seem like he should’ve just accepted his fate instead of demanding more from a system that abandoned him.

"singed’s daughter wasn’t dead, she was dying." you missed the point. orianna was a direct victim of piltover’s pollution. arcane stripped that context away so piltover wouldn’t be at fault. and you’re fine with that because it lets you pretend it wasn’t deliberate.

this isn’t just about individual changes, it’s a pattern. i was asking you about that.

"the seeds were there, you’re just a bad gardener." nah, the writers just ripped the roots out. so yeah, i’ll keep pointing out how arcane carefully sidesteps piltover’s worst atrocities while you keep pretending that’s nuance instead of narrative sanitization. keep dancing around my points, though. anyway, i’m not wasting my time responding again if you’re just going to misrepresent what i’m saying over and over.

has anyone else noticed that the writers were absolutely reluctant to fully commit to the darker implications of piltover's actions? like the gas attack on zaun? but tbh the writers' self-sabotaging of arcane's potential as social commentary is not what's really frustrating, it's that it's not just a missed opportunity, it’s a deliberate avoidance. the writers couldn't make piltover that bad, at least not through the characters we have to follow.

with the gas attack, what we get are scattered hints: a single man coughing, kids praying to janna in a song (in a way that’s super easy to miss), and worship of a painting of janna. but the show never fully depicts the suffering caused by the gas. it never commits to the atrocity and by refusing to depict the actual impact, the show softens piltover’s culpability and allows a big part of the audience to either overlook or justify it.

but the gas attack aside, the writers had two opportunities to make an explicit statement about systemic oppression, environmental racism, and the true cost of unchecked industrial power but they avoided doing so. and those two clearest instances of this avoidance are in how the show handles viktor and orianna:

in season 2, viktor’s story is literally warped to avoid blaming piltover. viktor, a character who should represent the suffering zaunites endure because of piltover’s neglect, is instead pushed into the role of an irredeemable villain for a marvelesque shit show. his transformation discards his humanity so blatantly that the audience is distracted from the actual injustice: he was dying because of piltover.

his ending is framed around jayce’s “beauty in imperfection” speech as if he should have just accepted his disability rather than seeking a cure, when the reality is, he wasn’t just disabled, he was dying because of the system piltover built. that was his entire struggle in season 1, but by season 2’s end, the narrative no longer engages with it to protect piltover.

as for orianna, she is reduced to an easter egg as a gift to league of legends fans (which is funny because the show ruined her lore for them), but more importantly, to avoid critiquing piltover.

her lore was an explicit condemnation of piltover’s disregard for zaunite lives. she was a little girl who helped zaunites, got sick due to piltover’s pollution, and had to slowly replace her own body with machinery until she lost all humanity. but arcane erases this. she’s barely a cameo, and the audience isn’t even told how she died. the show doesn’t just sideline her suffering, it removes it entirely, sanitizing piltover’s guilt in the process.

more importantly, all of this lets a big part of the audience defend piltover. for instance, by never showing the gas’s impact, the show gives certain viewers the option to ignore it: no bodies, no long-term sickness, no undeniable, inescapable horror. and i'm sure we've all seen how this allows for interpretations that justify piltover’s actions in the fandom, whether that means erasing the gas attack’s consequences or framing it as acceptable because the victims are zaunites (who are often conveniently portrayed as violent criminals).

also, ekko’s line about rescuing more people because of gang fighting is a perfect example of how the show subtly misdirects the audience. yes, gang violence is an issue, but it’s not the only crisis. the gas remains, it spreads, it poisons the people, especially the children working in factories. those are also people the firelights must have rescued. but the show chooses to highlight one crisis over another, and we know why ...

anyway, it's sad that the writers had no balls. they let so many people feel comfortable not thinking too hard about piltover’s crimes, and comfortable enough to insult anyone who criticizes characters participating in those crimes, especially caitlyn and her squad.

[damiansgoodgirll]

can you write about drew and reader are a couple but no one knows and austin theory wants to have his way with reader. she’s shy and kind and she struggles saying no so austin thinks he has free will with her until he goes to far and drew has to intervene. some angst and a lot of fluff please ❤️❤️

drew mcintyre x reader

‼️angst, feels, comfort, touching without consent, austin is a dick here sorry‼️

safe in his arms

being shy in the wrestling business wasn’t easy. you were used to the loud personalities, the egos, the over-the-top confidence. you’d spent years perfecting your smile, your polite nods, your quiet way of excusing yourself from conversations that made you uncomfortable.

but the hardest part? saying no.

you never wanted to be rude. never wanted to upset anyone. so when people pushed, you let them. when they ignored your hesitation, you swallowed it down.

and most of the time, it wasn’t that bad.

but then, there was austin theory.

cocky, arrogant, and completely convinced that every woman in the locker room wanted him, including you.

it didn’t matter that you never flirted back. didn’t matter that you barely even made eye contact when he talked to you. he saw your shyness as an invitation, your soft-spoken nature as an opportunity.

and tonight, he took it too far.

the show had just ended, and you were on your way back to the locker room when you heard him.

“hey, y/n” austin called, jogging up beside you.

you forced a small smile “hey.”

“great match tonight” he said, flashing a grin “you looked real good out there.”

“thanks…” you murmured, hoping that would be the end of it.

but he kept walking beside you.

“you know, i was thinking…” he continued, his voice dripping with confidence “we should go out sometime. celebrate a little.”

you swallowed “oh, um… that’s nice of you, but i-“

“c’mon!” he interrupted, nudging your arm. “you never go out. gotta let loose a little.”

you hesitated. “i just don’t think…”

“just one drink!” he insisted “what’s the harm in that?”

your heart started to race “i’m really not-…”

and in that moment his hand landed on your waist. it wasn’t rough, wasn’t violent, but it wasn’t welcome.

your whole body tensed.

“austin, i said no…” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

but he didn’t move.

“don’t be like that” he murmured, his fingers pressing slightly against your hip “you’re just playin’ hard to get, huh?”

your throat tightened.

you knew austin. he wasn’t a bad person. he wasn’t dangerous.but right now, you felt trapped.

and then…

“get your hands off her.”

austin barely had a second to react before he was shoved back, hard enough to send him stumbling.

your breath caught.

drew.

his chest was heaving, his eyes burning with something dark, dangerous. his hands were clenched into fists at his sides.

“what the hell, man?” austin huffed, regaining his balance “we were just talking.”

drew didn’t even blink “she said no.”

austin scoffed “oh, so you’re speaking for her now?”

“no” drew said, voice low and controlled, “but i’m damn sure listening to her more than you are.”

austin rolled his eyes “whatever, man. she’s a big girl. she can handle herself.”

drew took a step forward “she shouldn’t have to.”

for a moment, no one moved.

then, austin threw his hands up backing away “fine. whatever. not worth the trouble.”

you let out a shaky breath as he disappeared down the hall. immediately, drew turned to you, his expression softening “are you okay?”

your lips parted, but no sound came out. you felt frozen, like your body hadn’t caught up with what had just happened.

drew’s hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “sweetheart...” the warmth of his touch melted the ice in your chest.

you inhaled sharply, nodding “yeah. i’m okay…i just… i didn’t know what to do.”

his brows pulled together “you shouldn’t have to do anything. you told him no. that should’ve been enough.”

your vision blurred slightly “but it never is.”

his jaw clenched “i know.”

he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into his chest. you didn’t hesitate. you melted against him, burying your face in the fabric of his shirt. his arms tightened around you “i’ve got you” he whispered softly.

you let out a shaky breath “thank you.”

his lips pressed to the top of your head “always.”

later, in the quiet of your hotel room, drew held you close, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back.

“i hate that you felt like you couldn’t say no,” he murmured “hate that people take advantage of your kindness.”

you sighed “i don’t want to be mean.”

he pulled back slightly, looking down at you. “standing up for yourself isn’t mean.”

you bit your lip “i just…i don’t want people to hate me.”

his expression softened “sweetheart,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear “anyone who gets mad at you for having boundaries isn’t worth worrying about.”

you swallowed “i know. it’s just…hard.”

he nodded “i know. but i’ll be right here, every time you need me.”

your heart swelled. you reached up, fingers brushing his jaw “i love you.”

he smiled, warm and soft “i love you too.”

his lips met yours, slow and gentle, a silent promise that you were safe.

that you were his. and in his arms, you finally felt at peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

[likea-silhouette]

Tied Together - ex bf!Harry Styles blurb

cw: mention of past relationship

word count: 2k

summary: Ever since you broke things off with Harry, you felt a massive feeling of guilt and hatred towards yourself for allowing such a trivial thing to come between the both of you. Now, all you had were your daydreams of him. What happens, in the present day, when you attend one of Harry's concerts and mix your daydreams with the reality of him being in front of you again. Inspired by the song Someone Else & Jesus by Ricky Manning

Sometimes I have this fantasy.

That one day I’ll get a knock on my door and it’s you with your arms outstretched and the widest, most infectious grin on your face.

I’d run into your arms with an exasperated cry of your name as I bury myself in your scent that envelopes your clothed chest and makes my stomach flutter. I feel as if I’m home.

It’s almost like I can smell you now, but that would be impossible amongst the thousands of sweaty, screaming bodies that are currently admiring you on a stage for the world to see and adore. 

As I briefly come back to reality, I smile to myself, watching you from the side of the stage as you do what you were clearly born to do with your life for the millions who know you’re a dime a dozen.

However, in my head, it’s just you, me, and the love that we once tended to religiously. In my mind, you’d whisper to me in that all too familiar accent, “Sorry, that I'm dropping in without warning, I've just missed you so much,” and I’d smile as if I knew this was always how it was meant to be with us. We were always meant to be so deeply tied together, yet in the real world, we couldn’t have been further apart. I shake my head and allow my ears to take in the screams and loud music that my brain had somehow filtered out in order to bring me to this space inside of my head where I went way more often than I’d like to admit. I wonder if he ever thinks of me as I think of him in a daydream that reflects our past. How he used to play me all of his new songs or tell me about his coffee order from the local coffee shop that day. The smallest things are the ones that bear the greatest weight on my heart because I crave them so so deeply, yet they are so fucking far away. That’s why I have this space inside my head that preserves a version of me and Harry that I would crawl on my hands and knees to obtain again in the real world. However, in my fantasy, I wouldn’t have to crawl to revive our relationship. Instead, we’d both have a proper laugh as we saw how inevitable it is that we would be back together again on my doorstep, because why wouldn’t it be? We are irrevocably chemical after all. Tied by a string that can’t be cut or stomped on. But instead, I left. I told Harry I couldn’t do this anymore - the touring, the months and months apart from one another. It was eating me up from the inside out and I thought that this was what he and I needed. If I just completely cut down our love that had grown into the prettiest maple tree, then eventually I would be okay. That I would heal and so would he. Except it never happened. Sure, things got easier, but I never stopped loving him no matter how many bodies I tried to use to replace him with. Now, Harry and I were strangers and he had been intertwined with other partners, and I was happy for him for that. Truthfully, I was. Harry was completely broken when I broke off our relationship. My best friend and Harry’s sister Gemma kept me in tune with how he was doing, but only because every time I talked to her, which was often, I would insist on asking if he was okay. Years later, I still did this very thing. That right there should’ve told me that what I did was the biggest regret I would make in my entire life. Now look at him - he’s touring the world again and making music that matures with every piece he creates. He’s dressing in a way that shows off how inevitably comfortable he is with himself and I couldn’t have wished more for him…except that he does this with me still by his side. I’m selfish, I know. But it’s foolish, isn’t it? I’m going to my 9-5 job and eating take-out in front of my TV on Friday nights while he’s doing all of this with his life. I am the one who lost out on so fucking much and, the fact that I did this on my own accord is the hardest pill I will ever have to swallow for the rest of my life. Especially when Harry was innocent in the matter, having done absolutely nothing wrong as a partner.

Regardless, I couldn’t be more proud of H for finding himself and those who love him - even if it means others inhabiting his heart like I wanted to again. He deserved love more than anyone because he gives it with everything he has and finding that genuine of a human is rare, yet what did I do with it? I broke it. All because I was young and I thought that long-distance relationships could never work. All because my anxieties ate away at me as I thought of the worst-case scenarios for what or who he was doing while out on tour in my absence. I placed my own insecurities on him and that isn’t fair to either of us. Now, I’m hurting in the process and I hurt him too. How stupid could I have been?

Suddenly, Harry’s voice rang through the entire arena as he addressed the crowd in between songs. Just the tone of his voice sent chills down my arms and spine and brought me, once again, out of my daydream. I watched as he interacted with those in the crowd - they didn’t know how lucky they had it. Being able to hold his attention and be graced with the things running through his mind that eventually left his mouth was such a privilege. I can’t believe I let that very thing slide through my fingers all because of my own stupidity. Harry never wanted me to break up with him. He pleaded with me on the street saying, “We can work this out. I’ll quit. I’ll do whatever it takes. I can’t lose you”, but I couldn’t let him give up his dream and love in life just because it was something I, at the time, couldn’t get accustomed to. This is why I kept telling him as a way to pacify his tears, “This is for the best for both of us” - except I failed to mention that I’m no psychic, merely an insecure girl who allowed her thoughts to weigh more heavily in her chest than the love she had with him. I wish I could talk to that girl again. Warn her that he was it for her. That he was and would be everything she would ever need. Tell her that their love was strong enough to get through anything and that her mind was the one creating wars, not Harry.

Suddenly, I felt Gemma’s elbow poking into my rib just before she whispered in my ear, “He just looked at you.” Quickly, maybe a little too quickly, my eyes moved in Harry’s direction, only to find him just beginning to sing the next song with his eyes very much closed and his hands shaking as they gripped the microphone stand. “I promise you, babe. He looked right at you. Nearly looked like he pissed himself.” There I was again - missing those vital moments in life because I couldn’t get out of the make-believe inside my head.

But-god damn-in my head, it was everything I wanted and more. How could I resist? In my head, Harry watches me do the most mindless of tasks with a smile on his face and when I’d catch him, as I did every time, I’d give his knee a playful tap. He’d respond by wrapping his arms around me and whispering sweet nothings and thanks that said how happy he was that we figured it out and finally found each other once again and that this time it would be different because we were older and wiser. That’s how love is supposed to go, isn’t it? If you truly love someone, then you always find them again. Yet, why did it feel impossible to find Harry again?

I’d like to give up this hide-and-seek chase with love and instead have a kid running around our shared flat who looks like Harry and has his deep emerald eyes that remind me of him every time I look at the being we created together. But instead, I left all because I allowed my brain to tell me what was fact and fiction. Suddenly, the whiff of Harry’s scent filled my nostrils yet again, except this time it was extremely strong. It almost felt real.

I rapidly blinked my eyes and allowed the reality in front of me to come into crystal clear view. What I saw, made my mouth hang agape. Not even three feet away from me - there he was in the flesh, not just in my memories. Harry was shaking hands with a few crew members in all black as he expressed his gratitude while wiping a white towel through his sweat-dampened hair. He had clearly just finished his show and was readying himself back into his regular, non-stage life. And then his eyes met mine. “Told you he saw you”, Gemma muffled from the corner of her mouth at me as she watched the interaction of past lovers now meeting in the present. I couldn’t help the smile that graced my lips the closer he got because this was real. He was so fucking real. It wasn’t one of my far-fetched daydreaming spells, it was Harry, standing directly in front of me with a heaving chest as he tried to regain his composure after putting on a show.

Soon, he was standing directly in front of me with a matching mouth that also hung slightly open. “Hi,” I said after several seconds of the both of us staring at each other with goddamn identical stars in our eyes and wide-spread smiles. At first, Harry didn’t say anything. His eyes simply searched along my face. Taking it in - deciphering if this was reality or one of his own daydreams that he always thought to be fictitious and ridiculous to even be picturing. Yet, here you were. Here you both were. Suddenly, Harry’s arms wrapped around you and you didn’t care about the fact that the sweat from his clothes was quickly morphing into the sweat on both of your clothes. You didn’t care that it had been years and years of pain and missing him because right now, you had him where you had been craving him the most - in your arms. Everything felt worth it just for this moment, whether it lasted for just tonight or for the rest of eternity.

Harry squeezed me even tighter in his arms until eventually releasing but still maintaining a gentle touch as he let our fingertips just briefly kiss one another.

“I’ve missed you so fucking much. You have no idea.”

I shook my head because, actually- “I think I do. I’ve missed you too Harry.”

From that moment I felt something that I hadn’t felt in a long time when it came to Harry and I. It was positive and even excitement.

It was hope.

[16wolke11]

CRESTFALLEN - Lando Norris

A/N Tuesday is for the tears

Summary: The reader struggles with the emotional rollercoaster of her relationship with Lando, who has been increasingly distant, only returning when it's convenient for him. After a painful confrontation, where the reader tells him she can't continue in a relationship where her needs are unfulfilled, and despite Lando's pleas, she decides to leave, acknowledging that it's time to let go and move on.

Words: 2276

Warnings: Sad Ending __________

When I woke up this morning, I just wanted to go back to sleep, avoiding what would happen today and ignoring all my responsibilities forever. Lando is returning home today, and what usually would be a day of happiness for me is now something I await with dread. Today is the day I am going to end this relationship if you can even call it that.

Every time Lando leaves for a race, appointments at the headquarters, or anything else, I am crossed out of his life. It wasn’t like this when we first started seeing each other, but it turned into this miserable thing over time. Even though I’ve seen improvements, I can no longer do this without hurting myself over and over again.

So when he texts me, ignoring the one I sent him while he was away, I make my way to his apartment. Standing in front of the door, I didn’t even want to knock, when I was usually so ecstatic to meet him again. I take a deep breath before finally lifting my hand, and it doesn’t take long before the door flies open to reveal a grinning Lando.

“Hey love,” he greets me, pulling me into the hallway and lifting my chin to press his lips to mine. As much as I would like to sigh, kiss him back, and just snuggle into his embrace, this is not what I’m here for.

“Stop, Lando,” I mutter against his lips and manage to get out of his grip, leaving him with a confused look.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed. But he does take a step back, letting me get rid of my coat, and I need to take a deep breath before speaking up.

“We need to talk.”

“That doesn’t sound fun,” Lando pouts, and I can feel some anger rising in my chest.

"This is serious, okay?" I snap and get a weird look in return. This isn’t a great start for a conversation, but since it isn’t going to be a good one, it might be okay.

"I just missed you. Can you at least give me a proper hug?" Lando mumbles, and I sigh. It feels like being guilt-trapped, but for him, it must be strange. Usually, I’m the first one to hug and kiss him when he’s back. Things have just changed without him noticing.

“I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself,” I mutter to myself but do hug him, knowing that it’s probably the last time I’ll be close to him. Almost giving in to his familiar touch, I lean my head against his chest and wrap my arms around him. Lando did hear what I tried to only say to myself, and I can hear the confusion in his voice when he speaks up.

“What do you mean?”

I pull back from the hug and take a step back, trying to create some safe distance between us. “Me waiting for you to come back, waiting for this to become a real thing,” I begin, trying to find a starting point for this conversation that would make sense for Lando. He furrows his eyebrows, so I just keep rambling.

“Every time I think it might be different, you pull away again, leaving me behind like a convenient space-filler when you’re back home.” I try to stay strong, not wanting to cry at the beginning of the conversation, and calmly tell Lando my problem, but I know it’s going to be hard. Slowly, Lando’s eyes widen, and there’s concern on his face, like he’s slowly realizing which direction this conversation is going.

“It’s not like that. I don’t think you are…” He stutters, struggling to find his words, and ruffles his hands through his hair, messing it up slightly.

“Fuck, I never wanted to hurt you, you know that. Right?” Lando asks eyes fixated on me, and I lift one of my eyebrows at his question.

“Hurt me?” I ask him, thinking about what happened again and again during the last weeks. How my texts have been abandoned as soon as he left the country, and how he acted like nothing happened as soon as the plane touched down back here again.

“You’ve been doing that for months now,” I inform him, crossing my arms in front of my chest. A defensive move while trying to hold myself together and not fall apart.

“Acting like you care, and then just disappearing, acting like I never even existed.” I tell him what he did, at least from my perspective.

“I don’t know what to believe, what to think about you, and I need to figure out what you even want from me.” This is the reason for this conversation. Being with Lando was once my favourite thing, and now it’s something I fearfully look forward to. I can see that Lando gulps, fingers fiddling with each other. Good, at least he’s as nervous as I am about this topic.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Lando admits, and I would love to believe him, but I just can’t. He desperately speaks up again, and I try to listen to his words.

“I don’t even know how to fix this, I try…” At this point, I already have to stop him.

“You try, really?” I scoff at his words because it felt like many things, but not like he tried to make this relationship work for us.

“It doesn’t feel like it. You come and go out of my life like I’m just a side character in your game of life. But I’m not.” There are many emotions on Lando’s face, trying to bubble up to the top, but I’m not finished. It’s finally time to tell him how I really feel about the whole thing we shouldn’t even call an “us.”

“I’m not here for you to just mess with me when it’s convenient and leave when it’s not.” My voice cracks, and I need to blink a couple of times, trying to get rid of the first tears prickling in my eyes. He uses me when he’s back home, and when he leaves, it’s like he pauses his life here and just continues playing when he’s interested in it again. But the world keeps spinning here, even though he isn’t here.

“That’s not my intention. Please, just listen.” Lando begs, trying to grab my wrist, holding onto me, but I snap my hand back, knowing I will fail to stay strong when his soft touch is on my skin. Lulling me back into the good times, but I need to keep a clear head now.

“I’ve listened to your excuses and promises for long enough. You’re no longer the person I fell for. You keep changing, and I don’t feel like I know you anymore.” I am no longer sounding as strong as I would like to, my voice rather thin, but I need to tell Lando how I felt during the last weeks. In the beginning, he was sweet, and I understood that his life was busy, but time passed, and he is no longer the one I fell in love with. The one who called me late at night just to talk for a bit, or even to keep each other company while watching a movie even though we were miles apart. Now he is the one who puts me away and just pulls me back out when it’s convenient for him.

“I never wanted that to happen,” Lando promises, now pacing up and down the room.

“I never wanted to hurt you.” He looks straight at me, and I try to listen to his words, maybe even to an explanation.

“I feel like I don’t even know how to be what you need.” Lando says, hesitating for a moment before continuing his speech. “You deserve someone who gives you everything, and I… I can’t do that.” He admits, and my heart aches. Even though I am angry at him, at the same time it hurts to see him broken. But for my own sanity, this needs to be done.

“Then why are you still here?” I ask him. When he is aware that he isn’t the right person for me, why didn’t he leave? Keeps torturing my feelings even though he tells me he knows better.

“I already gave you all of me, and you tell me it’s not enough? Is that the reason I’m not enough?” The tears flow now, but I don’t care. I could prepare myself for this conversation as much as I wanted, but some things just caught me off guard.

“It’s not about you not being enough. You are everything to me! But I don’t know how to let you be loved the way you deserve by me. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.” Lando tells me, and my heart breaks at the sight of him. His slumped shoulders and the absolutely broken look in his eyes. It does take me only a few seconds to realize the meaning behind his words.

“You’re afraid of love.” I whisper, a realization which does make sense, but makes everything just more painful than it already is.

I take a deep breath before coming to another hard point on my list. “And I can’t keep waiting for you to see me, really see me, without hurting myself.” Trying to keep my head up, I look into Lando’s face, wanting to see his reaction and if he is at least as hurt by this as I am. “How long do you think I was supposed to wait for you to figure this out?” I ask him, my voice trembling, I hate the hurtful feeling in my chest, but I know I need to break it fully now to slowly heal it later. “How long am I supposed to act like it’s okay while you keep breaking my heart?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Lando’s voice breaks, and I need to look twice to realize that he is crying as well. I’ve never seen him so vulnerable, and as cruel as it sounds, it’s almost good for me to see him hurt. That he can experience these feelings and not just brush them off as it felt for me every time he left before.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore,” he tells me, and I believe him.

“I love you, I really do, but I’m terrified of losing you and pushing you away.” I need to close my eyes at his confessions, warmth flooding my broken heart, but I have to let my head take over before my heart falls again for him.

“You already did this. You already pushed me away. And I don’t know if I have the strength to keep doing this. I don’t know if I can keep loving you like this when you pull away every time it gets too real.” I know it’s cruel to give him crumbs like telling him about the love, but I try to be honest. Put all my feelings into this, and this includes the hurtful things as well.

“Please don’t leave me.” Lando pleads, and he takes my hand in a desperate grip.

“I need you, and I know I messed up. I know I hurt you, but I’m scared. Scared of ruining everything, and I swear I…” He sniffles softly and takes a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down.

“I’ve tried too, you know.” I tell him and carefully start to remove his fingers from my hand. Fingers shaking, but I am determined to stay strong. “But it always felt like I was fighting this battle alone. I can’t be the only one trying anymore. I need someone who wants this, wants me.” I explain to him and take a step back, trying to bring back some distance between us.

“I want you, more than anything. I just need time.” Lando tells me, his fingers curling into his hoodie like he needs something to hold on to.

“I don’t have any time left. I can’t keep waiting for you to decide I’m worth it. Maybe I’m not, at least not for you.” This was something I thought about during Lando’s last trip. Maybe I am worthy of love, but not just of Lando’s.

“I just need to let go of the hope that one day everything will be perfect.” The little cry that comes with these words makes me sound even more miserable, but the truth has to be spoken. I need to let go of the perfect image of an “us” and try to go on with my life.

“Don’t say that.” Lando tells me, attempting again to grab my hand, and I let him, probably for the last time.

“Please don’t leave me.” His voice cracks, and I would like to hug him, tell him that everything is going to be okay, but that would be a lie.

“You are everything to me, and I will lose everything without you.” Lando pulls me closer, desperate, while we both just cry. He doesn’t stop me when I pull back my hands, his arms slumping down on the side of his body, and I can see the spirit breaking in his eyes when I step back.

“Maybe it’s already too late, Lando,” I whisper and turn around, finally leaving his apartment, knowing I wouldn’t be able to resist him if I stayed any longer. This end is a beginning, and outside the building, I am finally able to breathe again for the first time in forever.

[yantao-enthusiast]

tumblr reading comprehension challenge impossible…. i literally said don’t give me discourse on this post. i don’t care about your opinion, scream it to the mountains. i’m just asking for you to stop putting it on my obvious silly post about my opinion (or anywhere in my notifs)

“age doesn’t matter in the wilderness” is crazy... ESPECIALLY in the context of him and misty like do you think all of a sudden his knowledge was nerfed out on the wilderness??? this isn’t even about the wilderness at this point, this is about ben’s inability to communicate with misty (even outside the wilderness) and letting it get worse to that boiling point. and… like even still a lot of the yellowjackets looked to ben for guidance even if he didn’t know anything like he did have power there. i’m not saying he’s a. “pdfile” but in the grand scheme of things i’m just saying i question his ability to be able to truly communicate and understand teenagers when he can’t communicate with one that’s done nothing wrong to him but annoys him anyways pre crash. and his great big solution to her behavior was… asking her to be in a secret relationship? like if that’s his solution…… well. forgive me if i at least think he shouldn’t be teaching and if i lowkey want a fictional character to die in a show where fictional characters die

i say “wasn’t the best” because in the context of misty’s pov, she thought she was doing what the both of them wanted even if it’s not what ben wanted (which if she thought it’s what ben wanted, she doesn’t see it as rape or breaking the law, especially with him engaging a relationship with her despite drugging him in her mind that must be fine, right? (even if it’s not)). but ben never gave any real indication against it, had in fact told her to ignore all signs of it because of their secret relationship. and this is all at 16, and the other party is…. i don’t have to say it

reading over this again i’m beginning to think this fandom isn’t for you…. like femcels…. okay….. and like i think there’s plenty of reasons to hate a lot of the men and especially in a women’s show, especially when you see most of the negative sides and less backstory and good moments from them. but i think travis is a great character, doesn’t mean anyone has to like him. same for any character of this show regardless of gender. it is just a show and it’s up to us what makes a character enjoyable or not. you can’t change everyone’s mind on this with your anger, even if you don’t like that. you ignore a lot of my explanation of misty’s actions in favor of your interpretation of her as ‘ben’s villain’, and you’re not obligated to but if you wanna debate about misty, you should probably try seeing her as a complex character….

i’m not replying to this anymore to keep my peace and because of my clear boundary to stop rbing MY post with discourse i don’t wanna see. MAKE YOUR OWN POST IF YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT IT. THAT’S LITERALLY ALL I’M ASKING.

but like i hope things get better for you whatever’s happening in your life. like get to the root of your problem on a session with your therapist or something. good luck

“omg poor coach ben someone save him from misty” i hope he meets his demise at her hands actually

[matchalovertrait]

Remind me again why we named her "Dulce" 🙃

Start from the beginning (Gen 2)

Previous | Next

DULCE: Thanks, Antonio.

MATTHEW: Hey, I can’t hear them! What gives?!

GUILLERMO: Turn your mics back on!

[Silence.]

MATTHEW: ...I think they muted us.

GUILLERMO: WHAT.

MATTHEW: What could they be talking about?

GUILLERMO: Maybe about the kitchen?

MATTHEW: It is a nice kitchen but she’ll get a cool one too eventually—Oh! Speaking of which...

MATTHEW: How come Hilary isn’t always sending money her way? She loves Dulce more than she loves her own children.

*START FLASHBACK*

[Restaurant employees groan.]

HILARY: Don’t whine. She could take over this place if she wanted to. Seriously, I want her on the will but Hector only wants our kids on it [scoffs]. They’re living proof that not everyone can cook.

*END FLASHBACK*

GUILLERMO: My Tía Noemí didn’t raise Dulce like that. She’ll accept a deposit every now and then, but that’s about it. Hilary is always ready to whip out her checkbook for her, though.

GUILLERMO: When the whole ordeal with the Altos went down, Hilary offered other solutions besides the partnership. She wanted to buy advertisements for Postres de Alegría, create and sell merch, and launch a “truth-based Alfonso Alto smear campaign”... whatever that last one means.

MATTHEW: Noemí and your dad declined? I’m guessing they said something like “it wouldn’t be honest work.”

GUILLERMO: Yeah. It’s kinda funny. Nobody wants Hilary’s money. The Antonio guy refused it too until she pushed him enough.

MATTHEW: Ha! It was probably a few weeks into working with Dulce when he realized he shouldn’t be doing it for free.

GUILLERMO: [Chuckles in agreement.]

DULCE: Okay I have a plan for a new route.

ANTONIO: Let’s hear it.

[Dulce whispered.]

ANTONIO: Agreed. Let the other two know.

DULCE: “Fuego.” New plan.

MATTHEW: Oh! So now you decide to turn the mic back on!!

DULCE: My bad. Anyway, what do you think of this...

DULCE: The dance floor is too unpredictable. What if we head to the laundry room, hallway, then garage?

GUILLERMO: It’s riskier cuz we don’t know if certain doors are locked, but sure.

MATTHEW: If that’s what you’re comfortable with. Just wait in the kitchen until we clear it.

-----------------------------------------------

DULCE: Okay I have some regrets. This is taking forever. Can’t we just book it to the door?

ANTONIO: Those secret agent movies you watch tend to be overexaggerated, you know? Real agents have to do a lot of waiting.

DULCE: I’m seeing that now.

ANTONIO: Okay, why don’t you make us less suspicious? Eat some of the desserts to make people think that’s why we’re secluded over here.

DULCE: After you, I don’t like sweets.

ANTONIO: No, I’m vegan.

DULCE: Dammit! I forgot. Okay well... I guess this is what a dedicated agent must do.

DULCE: Oh man.

DULCE: Agents do whatever it takes for the sake of the mission. Always. This is my moment to prove my dedication and-

MATTHEW: The coast is clear!

[Dulce sprinted to the door at the speed of light, much to Antonio’s amusement.]

[fennecfox44]

landslide

jack hughes x reader

summary - my attempt at nice jack.. takes place years before radio nowhere so u dont need to read that first but maybe u should bc i liked it.. also might do a series idgaf who gaf id ont gaf...

Well, I've been afraid of changing 'Cause I've built my life around you But time makes you bolder Even children get older And I'm getting older, too

The summer sun is burning a hot hole through your back. You feel the scorch creeping up your shoulders and you know you should flip off of your stomach already but you’re too comfortable, sun-baked. Cicadas hummed and buzzed but you only heard them in between songs shuffling through your wired headphones. 

Some time passes before you eventually decide you’ll flip over once this song ends—no, the next one—and then you finally do. You tug your sunglasses off the top of your head and push them up the bridge of your nose, shutting your eyes as you settle into your new position on your back. 

Luke had invited you to fish with him and Quinn. Jack was off on a tournament in Russia, so they let you use his rod. But your patience for it dwindled quickly, deciding your time would be better spent tanning in a bikini than waiting aimlessly for a fish to poke. You’d fallen asleep in the chair, the sun soaking up your energy, and when you’d woken up, the brothers were gone. Probably to eat. But you weren’t hungry, so you stayed on the dock.

Your eyes are shut but you can still sense a cloud or something pass over you through the thin veil of your eyelids. You squint and push your glasses up over your head, worried it’s rain and that you’ll have to make a run for it back to the house. But it’s only Jack.

Your heart might’ve lept—well, it does, but not with excitement—if you hadn’t already known he was coming back today. He hadn’t text or called. You only got your news on him relayed to you second hand from Luke. The games he won, how his practices went. Luke had even offered a handful of times to put you on the phone whenever he called, but when prompted, Jack had always just said that he had to go and that he'd call back later. 

You scowl up at him when you see his shit-eating grin, and pull your sunglasses back down.

“Is this my—hey, this is my chair,” Jack says, stifling a laugh as he pulls your legs up and on to his lap as he shoves his way onto part of the chair.

“Oh god, go back to Russia,” you grunt, tugging your headphones out of your ears. “It was so nice with you gone.”

“Hello to you too,” he grimaces as you kick at him, trying to wrestle your ankles into submission. “Fuck, chill out.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t even say hi!” you whine.

“Hi,” he smiles, snatching your sunglasses off your face. “Wow, it’s sunny. I forgot what the sun felt like.”

“Yeah, you look super pasty,” you retort, trying to grab your glasses back. He smacks your hands away. You give up and huff, laying back down against the chair.

“This is my chair,” he says again, more intently.

“Yeah. And I was using your rod earlier, too.”

“Yeah? My rod?” Jack grins cheekily, the fact that you hadn’t caught your own innuendo. “You wanna use it again now?”

You scoff, really kicking him hard in the side this time. Jack grunts, clutching at his side.

“Ow, you bitch,” he huffs. “The fuck’s up with you?”

You glare at him. “Giving me a hard time about not saying hi is really funny when you didn’t even call me once, Jack.”

Completely serious now, he pulls the glasses off to really look at you. “I called you!” 

Technically. He called you a couple times in the middle of the night so that you could help him get off, not minding the time difference or that it threw you off your sleep schedule. You had tried to talk to him after, but he would say he had to get to bed, big game tomorrow or whatever excuse and that he’d call for real after. But he never did.

“Right,” you roll your eyes, finally retrieving the glasses back. You put them on, not wanting to look at him. “You’re right. I’m wrong.”

Jack groans, exasperated, running a hand through his hair. “See, this is the shit that pisses me off about you or us or whatever. You’re not my girlfriend. We’re not dating. Why do I have to call you? Why are you so up my ass?”

You bite the inside of your cheek but can’t help how your nostrils flare, trying not to react. You lived on eggshells around him, afraid that showing too much feeling would send him running.

“We’re friends,” you mumble, drawing your legs up to your chest. Felt really naked and vulnerable, suddenly very conscious of yourself and that you were only in a bikini with him sat beside you fully clothed. “Just would've been nice.”

Jack sighs, laying his head on your knees. “Sorryyyyy,” he drones, looking up at you. He wraps his cold hands around your warm calves. Then drops his head and presses a kiss to each of your knees. “Sorry, sorry.”

You can’t help but giggle. “Stop,” you pretend to be annoyed, tangling a hand through his hair like you were gonna pull him off, but really, you only wanted to make sure he stayed.

He splits your legs open, kissing the inside of your thighs, punctuating each one with a ‘ sorry’ in between.

“Jack,” you hiss, really tugging his hair this time as he makes his way lower. 

“Sorry,” he keeps on, trailing closer to your core. At one point, he even bites at you playfully, and you whine, trying to squirm away, but he holds on to your hips, dragging you towards him. He’s knelt before you. You glance over your shoulder, and you convince yourself that the chair’s big enough to conceal him. And all the way from the house, through a window too. No one could see.

He hooks his thumbs round your bikini bottoms and tugs them down. His hands crawl back up as he spreads you open, glistening, wanting, before he latches his hands back onto your hip bones, pulling you up to his mouth. 

You mewl desperately, your head lolling back, chewing your lip as he licks at you. Reflexively your hips buck against him but he holds you down while he apologizes so kindly. This was so rare. Even if there was a chance of getting caught, you think you’d take it, if it meant having him be this nice to you.

“Fuck,” you whimper, tears brimming your eyes as you tug his hair, urging him closer. Jack grunts, a hand trailing up your body, grazing your ribs before you snag his hand in yours. Without really thinking, you mindlessly pull his hand up to your mouth, sucking a finger past your lips. He groans into you, the vibration of it shooting a bolt through you. 

He pulls his hand free, looking up at you, his mouth glistening. You whimper down at him as he wraps a bruising grip around your waist, pulling you down the length of the chair. “You little fuckin’ devil,” he says, looming over you, and you’re not sure if he’s mad or not, but decide it’s the latter when he presses his mouth to yours, kissing you hotly. "Fuck, you taste good." He murmurs against your mouth.

Jack pulls away, and you think he’s gonna really start in on you now, but he just stares. He brushes some unkempt hair out of your face, tucks it behind your ear before rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. You look up at him, hoping your internal mix of shock and fear and hope and awe don’t betray you.

“You got prettier,” he says. “I mean, you’re always pretty. But you look prettier.”

You pinch your eyebrows together, drawn up tight in the middle. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he smiles strangely, then pats your cheek like a child. “Keep it up, kiddo.”

He goes to pull his hand free and against your better judgement, you reach for it, wanting to keep him close.

But he’s already pulled free, yawning, stretching. “Fuck. Jet lag’s a bitch.”

You wrap your legs around his middle. “I wanna make you feel better,” you say. Too forward. Too much all at once. He’ll think you’re trying to get something more out of him, tie him down to you, but you can’t help it. All you’ve ever wanted is to make him feel good, even when he’s constantly leaving you wanting.

He pats your leg, bending down to press one last cheeky kiss on your knee. “You’re sweet. I really am sorry.”

You frown. “Did something happen in Russia?”

Jack shakes his head, grinning. “Nah. Maybe I missed you.”

It was so hard to believe him, but you wanted to. Even if it meant you knowing you were going to let him let you down again. He would never want you this way. Fully, forever.

“Gross,” you say, but you both know you missed him more. It’s why he gets away with everything he does. He rolls his eyes again. This was good as it was. It didn’t need to change. Nothing needed to change.