#so i feel i have a responsibility to share ^^

[barrenclan]

"The Vaster World"

Well! This is it! The very last epilogue of "Pinepaw and the Forgotten World"!

This epilogue in particular took me awhile to write, because I had to get it exactly how I wanted. Pinewing and Cormorantleaf's relationship is one of the main focuses of the story, and I really felt I needed to explore it the way it deserved. Especially important to me was showing that despite how much they love each other, there's still a ton of baggage and difficulities they needed to work out. I honestly think it would be unrealistic for two characters with so much trauma to just skip off happily together, but I also wanted to emphasize how they could still reconcile in the end. Not all relationships work out, but Pinewing and Cormorantleaf both felt that the other was extremely important to them, and the relationship was something they both wanted. So they were willing to put in the work of building it back up.

I had a ton of fun drawing older Pinewing and Cormorantleaf. I started doodling Pinewing with full facial hair something like a year ago, and I've been so desperate to finally get it into the comic since. It feels so right for him, like his perfect final form. After a life full of pressure and difficulty Pinewing just wants to be a happy old man who gets to kiss his husband every day, and sometimes profesy the future writ flesh. Goodbye, my little blue cat; I'm gonna miss you.

The title of this epilogue comes from "Mimsy Were The Borogoves" by Lewis Padgett: "They would survive, but they would not know how to swim downstream, to the vaster world of the ocean.”

In the end, the whole project wraps up at 64,501 words, 370 pages, and two and a half years of production time. I started this project expecting it to be a minor thing I occasionally drew on the side, something a few people might find interesting. The enormously positive response has absolutely blown me away and continues to do so, and I am forever so grateful that thousands of people can enjoy and meaningfully relate to this story.

Thank you, as always, to everyone who has commented, shared, reblogged, theorized, made fanart, made fanfiction, told their friends, liked it, or just read it at all. Though I won't go into the specific details, PATFW is an extremely personal and cathartic creation of mine, so the fact that many of you have also told me that it connected with you on an emotional level is genuinely heart-touching. I appreciate all your readership through these years. It means a lot.

-Raz

Previous < > You are at the end

[daechwitatamic]

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!!!!

[blastiebabe]

hell yeah, you are spoiled

Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

You place your phone somewhere Katsuki cannot notice, and in an angle enough to be able to see most of the space in the bedroom you share with him.

You press record and come back to sitting in front of your vanity table to continue getting ready for your date night. You have seen this TikTok video and was inspired by it to put your phone on record to test how easily your boyfriend can be enraged for you.

Katsuki comes into your shared bedroom wearing only trouser pants that fits perfectly in his waist and accentuate his hips. Seeing him through your mirror, you can't help but realize how beautiful your boyfriend is. Katsuki heads to the closet looking for a shirt to wear.

"Love, what color are you wearing?" He asks as he look at his clothes on the rack.

You came back to your senses when you heard him speak, you have been so mesmerized by his beauty you almost forgot you were shooting.

"A black dress." You replied, looking at his direction. "Why?"

Katsuki looks back at you. "Just askin'." He says as he brings out a black polo and proceeds to sit on the bed.

You smirk at his response. "You wanna match colors with me or somethin'?" You tease him.

"Nah uh." You watch his condescending expression from his reflection on the mirror, his tone with an attitude while simultaneously having red ears. If you aren't planning anything, you weren't gonna let that slide, but since you are, you'll prioritize that.

You laugh at him and continued your make up, trying to find the right time to throw him the reason you started recording. He laid on the bed scrolling on his phone while waiting for you.

A minute passed, and you decided to finally tell him. "Love..." Katsuki immediately darted his eyes straight at you, waiting for the next thing you'll say.

"I have something I need to tell you but promise you won't be mad, okay?" You say calmly, acting yourself the hell out.

Katsuki immediately changed his position and sits up straight, eyes locked at you with a hint of worry in his face. "I ain't making any promises. What is it?"

You turn your back on the mirror and faced your boyfriend who has now a visibly worried face. You look at the floor and started playing with your fingers, making him worry more.

He stands up and sits on the edge of the bed in front of you. He is now near you and looking straight at you while you continue to look at the floor. "Princess, come on, you can tell me..."

"Well, I... I have read some comments on your social media page..." You look at Katsuki before you, you feel a hint of guilt when you saw how genuine his concern is. But you needed to continue.

"Mm hmm. And then?" He asks calmly.

"And... and some of your fans have left comments on the pictures you have uploaded of me."

"The hell did they say?" Katsuki asks now with a hint of irritation from his voice. This is going well. You thought.

"They said I am super spoiled." You say as sad as your acting can be.

You can clearly see the shift in Katsuki's eyes as you have muttered the last word, and his annoyance suddenly became a repressed laughter. He snorts as he covers his mouth.

You face him offended. Did he just laugh because other people called you spoiled? What the fuck?

Before you can even tell him off, he stands up, grabs his polo and started wearing it. "Love, you are spoiled." He says emphasizing on it.

"Katsuki, what the actual fuck?" You say having a hard time to process what he is saying.

He was about to button his polo when he suddenly sees you look so disappointed to what he just said. He clearly isn't making himself clear. He goes in front you, his right knee touching the floor as he looks straight into your eyes.

"My love, you honestly better be spoiled. Because I do spoil you, don't I?" Katsuki reaches for your hands. "So, hell yeah, you are spoiled. Because you are my princess and you deserve to get everything you want."

You can literally feel your annoyance slowly fading out. How can this man be so damn mean and sweet at the same fucking time?

Katsuki continues, "I know you spoil yourself even before we started dating, so it is my job to spoil you better than you spoil yourself." You can straight up see how genuine his words are through his eyes.

"And if I may I remind you, I am more than willing to spoil you 'til the ends of the Earth if it means I get to make you be happiest you've ever been." The man before you explain as he cups your cheek with his hand.

This conversation has turned into a completely different route from what you had expected. You had expected him to be furious about the comments, to be protective to not let other people talk like that about you. But turns out Katsuki has his own way to make you feel so damn good. This. This is the reason why Katsuki is different from all the other damned extras.

You can literally feel tears forming in your eyeballs. You cup both his cheeks with your hands, knowing anytime the damned tears might just fall. "You know I love you so damn much, right?"

You feel his smile in the palm of your hands. "Of course I do, my love." As soon as these words depart from his lips, you took the opportunity to have your lips met his.

Using your tongue to explain and make him remember how much you love him, and all the other things you feel for him that can never be explained by words alone.

Your hands travel on the nape of his neck bringing him closer to you as you deepen the kiss. You feel his hands at the small of your back as he let you lead.

When your lips parted, both of you are catching for your breath. You stare at Katsuki's mesmerizing face before you with his eyes glistening. "Now that was a perfect example of how you spoil me."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ thank u for reading! :>> . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ༶•┈ by yel0ngkape ┈•༶ i accept requests, so feel free to reach out! ♡

[leighsartworks216]

His Beautiful Nose

Sylus x gn!Reader

This is all I think about when I see him sometimes, genuinely. I just see his nose and I go a little insane

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, kissing, biting, teasing, silly

Word Count: 1,001 (all my fics lately have had such satisfying word counts ough so good)

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"Sweetie, what are you doing?"

You shush him, focused on whatever the hell you were up to right now. Sylus quirks a brow at you.

"I think I have a right to know, since you're holding my face hostage," he teases, speaking in a languid murmur, raspy.

You'd found him asleep in one of his many lounge chairs; legs out, arms crossed, head back. It was impossible to ignore the desire to sneak around behind the chair and hold his face. Of course, doing so woke him up, which led you here.

"I'm just appreciating how pretty you are," you tell him. And it's not technically a lie. You are appreciating his beauty. Just, a specific part of his beauty.

"And you can't sit in my lap and do that?" He reaches back behind the chair. His large hand finds your back easily and begins tracing light shapes into your sides, your spine - wherever he could reach.

You giggle and squirm away from his ticklish touch. "No, now stay still and hush."

He huffs with exasperation, but he does as you ask. His hand settles on your lower back, loosely holding you close. He appreciates you in turn with his crimson eyes, half-lidded with sleep.

You run your thumbs along his cheeks. His skin is smooth, pliant beneath your fingers. He seems so untouchable - and he is. To everyone that isn't you. The fact you're this close means more than you'll ever be able to fully grasp.

You lean down and press a delicate kiss between his eyebrows. His fingers twitch against your back. You trace under his eyes, coaxing him into closing them and putting his full trust in your hands. You kiss the spot again.

The next spot your lips find is perhaps half an inch down, at the point where his nose begins protruding from his face. It's an odd place for a kiss, he thinks. You must be up to something, yet he allows it anyway.

Kisses are slowly peppered down his nose. Each one takes its time, each following the strong line of his nose, over the bump and the wide bridge, down to the tip. Each one pours into the lazy smile tugging at his lips. You really woke him up just to "appreciate" his nose?

The kisses retreat towards his brow, but never reach it. One kiss, then two placed at the most prominent part of his nose's definition, and then-

He cracks an eye open. "Did you just bite my nose?"

You hum with a slight nod, kissing over the spot again. "I've been wanting to bite it for weeks now. This seemed like the perfect opportunity." Despite the nonchalant way you say it, he can practically feel the heat radiating off your face and onto his.

He chuckles softly and draws you closer by your back. "Do it again."

Truly, you didn't expect for that to be his response. You anticipated this being the one and only time you'd ever be allowed to do this. But he's encouraging it, with clear amusement.

Your teeth settle on either side of the bridge of his nose and not very far down, not even as far back as your canines, and gently bite down. It's not a lot of pressure, either. Realistically, it's more of a light nip, but he hums his approval. When you pull away, your lips catch on his skin, just as his do when he bites your hand. It's perfect.

His eyes watch now with unreserved affection. His hand trails up your back, reaches to cradle the back of your neck and the base of your skull. "Come here," he murmurs lowly. You're guided forward, drawn down as he tilts his head further back to meet his lips.

Your mouths move together in languid, drowsy kisses. The faint wet sound of your lips parting and shared, soft breaths fill the room. His nose presses against your chin, and yours in his, but neither of you move from the awkward angle except to deepen the kiss.

You feel the smirk on his lips before you see it. He pulls away and your body is suddenly weightless, floating through the air, carried by playful tendrils of energy.

"Sylus! What're you doing?!" You're flipped over him, slow enough you don't get lightheaded, to the front of the chair and directly into his lap. His arms wrap powerfully around your waist to draw you against his chest. Light kisses trail along your neck.

"You woke me from my nap. It only seems fair to keep you here," he says against your skin.

There's no point trying to push his arms away or wriggling free. He's much too strong for that. So, you give in. You sigh with a playful roll of your eyes and lean back into him, trying to find some comfortable position. Once you're settled, one of his arms slips from around you, and gently fingers turn you by your chin to face him.

"I also need to return the favor, don't I?"

He takes his sweet time doing so. A trail of kisses, all light pecks, winds from your jaw to your chin to your cheek. They finally come to your forehead, where he places one between your brows. Down to where your nose begins. Down over the bridge, to the tip, and back up.

Your breath catches in your throat as he tilts his head and carefully lines his teeth up in just the same way you did. He bites down, gentle in a way that seems unfathomable to anyone else who knew him. After a second, he pulls away, lips catching on your skin.

He leans back into the chair and guides your head to his shoulder before wrapping his arm around you once more. He sighs, long and low, with content. "Wake me up in four hours," he murmurs.

"And what am I supposed to do until then?"

"You should have thought about that before you snuck in, sweetie."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08

[lucy-ashton]

OMG, I actually remember seeing the post OP is talking about a few days ago, and honestly, I just rolled my eyes. My reaction was basically, “Ugh, here we go again—another person spouting nonsense.” It seemed like one of those random bad takes that would best get ignored and forgotten. But now, people actually have to break down why it’s such an absurd and destructive idea? That blows my mind.

Think about it: AO3 is a nonprofit platform built to celebrate creativity, not some popularity contest like social media. The idea of introducing a “dislike” button there is completely tone-deaf. Writers share their work for free—not for validation, but out of passion. A “dislike” button would invite unnecessary negativity and turn a supportive space into one that feels hostile and judgmental.

What’s even more ridiculous is how self-explanatory this should be. If someone doesn’t like a fic, the solution is ridiculously simple—just… don’t read it. Why does everything need a public opinion button? AO3 isn’t asking for feedback on what it offers—it’s giving people a platform to enjoy and explore content without the toxic dynamics of other sites.

It’s surreal to think that this idea even gained enough traction to be addressed. Why waste energy on negativity when the platform is literally designed to encourage enjoyment and freedom of expression? I swear to God, some ideas are so bad they shouldn’t even require a response, yet here we are.

heard someone say archive of our own should install a "dislike" button and I thought I should say this: no, there's absolutely no need for archive of our own to install a "dislike" button.

why? because archive of our own isn't tiktok or youtube or twitter/x where users can monetize their content. archive of our own is a nonprofit site run by fans for fans, which means every content — every fanfic — you see on archive of our own was made out of pure love and passion from the artists/authors.

ao3 authors write because writing about these characters is their happiness and passion. they write for themselves, but they were generous enough to share with you their creations.

they're not "content creators" the way tiktokers or youtubers or instagram models are. they don't "make content" for views and engagements that can be monetized.

so no, you don't get to "grade their works" unless they specifically and directly ask you to.

you don't get to "say what you dislike about their works" unless they specifically and directly ask you to.

you don't get to "dislike" works that are not made specifically to please you in the first place. you're just a guest in someone's house, a house in which they let you in because they were kind, you don't get to roam around their house and say what you dislike about their furniture. you don't get to roam around their house and say you "dislike their house".

of course, you can have your opinion about the house its host invites you in. but if it's a negative one and you find yourself not liking the house, the polite things for you to do is excuse yourself and leave without telling them you dislike their house.

and just because you personally dislike the house doesn't mean the house is "ugly" either. the house you dislike could be a favorite, most luxurious place to many others.

my point is, don't be entitled by wanting the rights to voice your disapproval of things that you get to enjoy for free. don't be entitled by wanting the rights to voice your disapproval of things that were made out of love and passion — things the artists made for themselves for fun.

it makes you look like an entitled jerk with main character syndrome. the universe does not revolve around you.

now repeat after me: don't like don't read. no one forces you to continue reading a fic you don't like. quietly leave instead of being rude to authors who write for free because writing is their source of comfort.

people are so used to contents that were made because it's a trend / contents like tiktok that were made with the main purpose of reaching high engagement and making profits that they forget sometimes things can be made out of love and be made just for fun. sometimes things are supposed to just be for people to enjoy, and if some people don't enjoy them, then they can simply leave without being unnecessary unkind.

[nodoubtily]

reader trying to take control but niki puts her in her place? 🫠🫠

TW:// angry sex so MDNI, bratty reader, annoying as fuck reader, possessiveness if you squint, choking, bulge kink, vulgar words and language, usage of pet names (good girl, bitch, slut etc..), thigh fucking. NOT proofread. Lmk if I missed anything!!

ALSO I FORGOT I HAD THIS ANON ASK IN MY DRAFTS TEEHEE here u go pookie 🫶

Fucking brat.

You’d like to say you don’t know how you got in this situation. But see, that’d be a lie.

The day started like any other. But that quickly changed, as seemingly everything got on your fucking nerves. And Niki did not know why. You weren’t on your period- you had met him know that (by snapping at him that you weren’t). You had a good night of rest, and Niki knew he hadn’t done anything because he’s carrying on with the routine he’s imprinted in his mind, and you’ve never been angry at him for that before.

So he was really confused, to say the least. And as the day progressed, you only became more bratty. More independent. Which, in hindsight, should’ve shown how the night would go. But all Niki wanted was to make you feel better. So he dealt with the snarky responses, the groans of frustration and the constant eye rolls. He powered through, as today was probably just a bad day. His turning point would boil over soon enough though…

“I don’t fucking know?” You retort, venom dripping through your teeth. Niki sighs, pushing through.

“Baby..” he tries a new approach, slowly walking to your stiff body. His hands find your waist, and he pulls you slowly to him, pressing you against his body. His breathing calm, hands cold and eyes wider. You, still breathing fire, try to push him away, but you both know you don’t really want him to.

“Want me to make you feel better?” His voice is soft when he speaks, edging his face closer to yours. You scoff.

“I don’t care.” You shrug. He nods, gently wrapping his hand in yours, interlocking fingers as he leads you to your shared bedroom. He takes you to the bed, laying you down on your back, hovering over you. His lips find yours, in a slow kiss that turns more desperate.

He begins a trail of kisses down your jawline, to your neck, nibbling at the pulse, before making his way below. His hands bunch at the hem of your (his) shirt, lifting it as his kisses progress to your abdomen. You sit up slightly so you can pull the shirt off completely, leaving you bare, the cold air awakening your nipples. He stops at where your pajama shorts start, seeking silent permission with his eyes.

You tsk. “I haven’t stopped you yet?” He takes that as a yes, ripping your shorts down your legs. He’s internally shocked, seeing the sight of your bare pussy. You weren’t wearing panties. “Well?” Your hands clasp onto his hair, pulling his head down. Niki feels his blood spike, anger rising silently, almost as if it wasn’t there.

His tongue laps at your folds, awakening your pussy. Then, with no warning, his lips grasp your clit, sucking harshly. Your legs twitch, your thighs closing around his head mercilessly. A loud, short moan erupts from your throat.

“Give me more…” even now you’re still demanding. Niki allows you to take control, planning on tiring you out until you’re not longer a rude girlfriend, but you only seem to be getting worse now you’re getting your way again. Shit, Heeseung Hyung is right. Niki does spoil you.

Niki’s fingers trail along your entrance, and your hips buck into his face more. “Don’t fucking tease me..” with that, he elicits a moan out of you again when he shoves his middle and index finger inside at once. “Fuck!” You exclaim. Pulling his head back, you glare at him. “Prep me next time, fuck.”

He continues to ignore that, admitting to himself that was a moment of pettiness. He did not like that fact you pulled his away, just to shove back where it was. The breaking point was when you tried degrading him. “My little fucking slut. Eating me out ‘cause I’m angry. Maybe you should’ve have been a fucking lest today.”

And just like that, Niki rips his head away from your cunt, opening your legs wider. You groan, that turns into a pained whimper as Niki lands a slap to your cunt. “Shut the fuck up.” You’re gagged.

Niki gets off the bed, stripping himself of his clothes, before returning to his previous position.

“What the hell are you-“

“What did I say?” His voice cuts through yours, and you, as if a stubborn child, plop on your back, arms folded, huffing in annoyance. “Keep quiet if you want me to even think about letting you cum.”

“I’m going to cum.” You snap back.

“Not with this fucking attitude you’re not.” His voice replicates yours, and you take offence to it, as if that’s not how you’ve been speaking all day to him. When you don’t have a response, he hums. “Already doing better.” His hand wraps around his cock, stroking it a few times to get it really hard, before lining his tip to your entrance. You breath hitches, waiting for the stretch, but huff again when you don’t get it.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“Beg.”

“I’m sorry? What?” Your voice is laced with shock. “Beg?” You mock.

“Beg me to even slide the tip in.” Niki teases his tip along your slit, applying pressure every now and then. At the lack of response, he rests his cock on your public bone as his hands grab the outside of your thighs, slamming them together around his shaft. He starts rocking his hips, his body meeting your thighs as he fucks himself with your thighs, barely scraping your clit as his balls slam against your entrance, which is already leaking with arousal.

Niki’s head falls back, the sensitivity getting to him as he becomes more vocal, little groans leaving from his chest.

“Put it in..” you whine, attempting to pull your thighs away, but he’s too strong.

“Beg me to.” He repeats, unbothered. “Or I’ll just cum like this and leave you to your own fingers. You can finger yourself as long as you can, not even reaching to your orgasm because you’re so pathetic to point you need me for everything.”

“Fuck! Whatever. Please.” Niki doesn’t relent, your clit throbbing with need as he continues to use your thighs for his own satisfaction.

“You don’t want to fucking cum?” He chuckles mockingly. “Fine by me.” He speeds up even more, which gets you more desperate.

“No please! I want to cum. I need to cum! I want you inside! Please fuck me. Need it so bad— please!” You relented, your need to feel him overpowering everything else. He stops straight away, wrenching your legs apart again.

“Was that so fucking hard?” He spits as he slams his cock in one go. He bottoms out quickly, giving you the courtesy to adjust. He doesn’t give you long though, adamant on fucking the brat out of you.

His hips pull back to the point he almost slips out, before he slams back in, jolting your body, bouncing your tits. He continues that a few more times until he works you both up a bit more.

“So fucking rude. All day, so rude to me as if I wasn’t doing everything to help you.” His frustration fuels his stamina even more, thrusts hard and merciless, knocking the wind out of you. “Did this shit wrong, did that wrong. Was never enough for your bitchiness.” Loud, shaky gasps and whines left your mouth, feeding on every word he throws at you, causing your cunt to throb even more.

“You dirty girl. Clenching on my cock like a hungry whore. Be glad you’re even getting it. Should just cum in you and fuck off.” His mouth only releases dirty words, the smell of sex quickly flooding the atmosphere.

“G-gonna,” you find difficulty remembering how to speak, mind only on Niki and his big dick.

He laughs again, sneering at you, ostracising you. “Already fucked stupid and I’ve barely even started.”

“Gonna c-cum.” Your voice is whiny, pleading. Your eyes widen in desperation, scared he’ll deny you of the pleasure. “Please, god. Baby, please let me fucking cum. Want to make a mess on you, fucking please.” Your voice is heaving, heavy sighs and desperation flooding your speech.

“Make a mess on me, hm? Wanna coat my cock with your slick? Decorate our sheets with your liquids?” He asks, hands creeping along your body. One finds itself wrapped around your neck, applying pressure every few seconds before realising. The other palms your lower abdomen, causing you to cry out in pleasure as he feels his bulge, pressing it even tighter in your hole. “My pretty cocksleeve. My stupid whore. You’re all fucking mine.” You nod, albeit with difficulty due to Niki’s hand, but you nod needily.

“You’re cocksleeve. Your whore. Want all of it— please!” Your hands grasp his biceps for support, feeling unsteady as his hips bash into yours without much thought.

Niki suddenly pulls out, and before you get the chance to ask why, he flips you into your stomach, manhandling you so the side your face is pressed against the pillow, your ass lifted as high as your arch in your back will allow. Niki lands a few slaps to each of your ass cheeks, before sliding in once more. This new angle reaches deeper, and you both collectively moan loudly. Both his hands rest on your hips, fucking into you from behind as your moans are muffled by your hair and pillow.

“Want to cum?” He asks.

You nod quickly. “Yes! Yesyesyesyesyes—“ your eyes roll back, pussy exploding all over Niki’s cock as you tremble through your orgasm, riding it out as he fucks you through it, prolonging it. “Fuck yes—! Thank you so much, thank you so fucking much, baby.” You thank him, before the overstimulation overwhelms you, and you whine again.

“I’m gonna cum.” Niki announces, hands everywhere, before one again wraps around your throat, pulling your body up from the bed, flushed against your back whilst the other works his fingers over your puffy clit. “You’re gonna cum with me.”

You shake your head. “T-too sensitive.” You beg.

“You’re going to cut with me or I pull out.” You nod, arching your back so he hits you G-spot once more. His tip abuses that soft pad, working your way to your other orgasm as he speeds up, including his fingers. He keeps this up, until he presses his hips flush against your ass, shooting his hot whiteness deep inside of you, more seeping out as your orgasm prolongs once more. “Fuck. You’re so fucking tight, baby.” He sighs, panting as he continues riding your highs together.

“Mm-fuckkkk.” You’re absolutely fried. Your body plops onto the bed once more when Niki lets go of you, legs shaking and quivering as you forget to do anything else but lay.

“Feeling better?” You nod at his question. “You’re not going to be a bitch anymore?” He asks you again. You shake your head. “Good girl.” Niki doesn’t expect anything more from you, and you’ll most likely apologise for it tomorrow when you’re in the right mindest, most likely resulting in your kneeling between his legs.

I literally forgot this existed…I’m so sorry what the fuck.

perm taglist — @jyikeu @goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby

[htaesan]

　ᅠ ✿　ᅠ MEDICINE　　────　ᅠ ( han taesan )

𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀your boyfriend, han dongmin, isn’t the biggest fan of public displays of affection, preferring to maintain his nonchalant image. however, when you come home with a sore throat, his inner romantic pops out instantly.

　　　ᅠ 한태산 ⠀⠀◜◡◝ ⠀⠀𝒇 reader ⠀wc 1.2k ⠀ genre fluff established relationship ⠀ contains mentions of food skinship pet names sickness (sore throat) ⠀ note i’m sorry LOLZ this is suuuuper self-indulgent coz. i am unfortunately Sick ⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net , @onedoornet

　　　ᅠ ＞︿ 　　please leave feedbacks 　　& 　　reblog

Dongmin knew, from the moment you stepped into the house, that there was something wrong with you. 

“Welcome home, baby,” he says the second he hears the door open. He’s sitting in the living room, brainstorming some ideas for his upcoming song. He looks up to you, eyebrows furrowing immediately after seeing a blank look on your face. 

The only response he gets from you is a hum. You huffily open your shoes, setting your coat aside, and walk into the bedroom you share with Dongmin. 

Dongmin watches in pure silence as you do all this, concern clouding his thoughts. He knows, immediately, that you’re feeling off—you didn’t run straight into his arms after coming home from your work shift. 

“Y/N? Darling?” he calls, pausing to hear for any replies. 

And after a few minutes of getting silence as your response, Dongmin grunts and jumps off the couch. He tosses his notebook aside, bolting towards your shared bedroom. He stops his momentum as he bumps against the doorframe, a little perplexed seeing you plopped on the bed, face flat down, still in your work clothes. 

The unusual change in your usual behaviour irks him. 

“Baby,” he says softly, “are you mad at me?”

Dongmin asks cautiously, remembering that he didn’t pick you up from work today due to a meeting with the band he’s producing songs for. It’s part of the way Dongmin shows his love for you—he’ll spend extra money on bus tickets just to accompany you on the way to work, even though your workplace is the opposite of his own. 

“No…” he catches a muffled reply from you, weak and tired. Dongmin takes this as a chance—he steps closer to you. His steps are swift yet quiet, and once he’s by the edge of the bed, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants. He isn’t used to being the one offering physical affection, so he’s a little unsure of the next move he should be making. 

“Then… What’s the matter, baby?”

Dongmin has his eyes trained on you, quick to catch any kind of response from you. He’s immensely worried—you’re not usually like this. On normal days, you’d spend your evenings talking about your day, telling him about the little things that made you smile today as the two of you take the bus to go home. Usually, Dongmin would enjoy the view of the sun setting into the horizon with you on his lap, taking a nap to recharge after a long day. 

You sluggishly turn, whining. “I don’t know…”

“You don’t feel good?” Dongmin asks, sitting next to you. Still laying down, you nod.

“Yeah,” you say, clearing your throat immediately after. You pout, inching closer to Dongmin. Noticing your actions, Dongmin adjusts his sitting position to let you lay your head on his lap. You settle yourself comfortably, melting into his warmth.

“This feels so much better,” you murmur. 

“Yeah?” he breathes, smiling softly. 

The two of you spend quite some time together—Dongmin stroking your head gently as you close your eyes for a few moments. He’s not a big fan of grandly expressing his love for you—he prefers loving you in the little, simple things in life. But today, he just feels like it—it’s quite tiring pretending to be so nonchalant when all he and the biggest romantic side of him wants is to pepper you in his affection. 

Dongmin is lost in thought as he’s gazing upon you—how gentle and beautiful you look even when your eyes are closed, and how lucky he truly is to have you as the love of his life. He leans down, kissing your forehead, and is surprised at how abnormally warm your skin feels. 

Dongmin places a hand on your forehead. Warm. He frowns, placing his hand on your neck and face. Still warm. 

“Darling,” he calls, his voice gentle as his kiss on your nose. Your eyes flutter open, and he holds your gaze. “Are you sick?”

You clear your throat, clearly uncomfortable as you do so. “Am I?”

Dongmin opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by a fit of coughs from you. Both of you widen your eyes, and you immediately sit up. 

“I’m sorry for that–”

“You’re sick.”

You blink profusely, confused. “What?”

“You’re sick,” Dongmin says, matter-of-factly. Without missing a beat, he rushes to the closet and comes back a quick second later with his hoodie—your favourite one to steal from his wardrobe. He hands it to you, his brows crossed in a serious expression. 

“Here,” he says. 

You take it from his hand. “What are you–”

“Go change—” he says, quickly kissing your cheek before darting out of the room. “—I’ll be back!”

You oblige to his words, changing into the Dongmin’s hoodie and some comfortable pants. You walk out of the bedroom, hating how you’re coughing every two minutes. A sweet, tangy smell attacks your nose, and you dash to the kitchen, seeing Dongmin cutting up a pineapple. You can’t fight the smile that immediately erupts on your face, finding his focused expression adorable. 

You cough again, breaking the comfortable silence in the apartment. Dongmin looks up at you, and his eyes instantly light up at the sight of you. He smiles, a kind of fuzzy feeling filling up his chest seeing you comfortable in his clothes.

“What are you doing there? Go rest,” he says, using his head to signal to the direction of the bedroom. 

You purse your lips. He’s right, but you just wanna stand there and watch him do his thing—remembering the tiny details about you, effortlessly doing them for you. Dongmin is cutting pineapples, meticulously picking out the spiky leaves out of the sweet fruit’s flesh—all because he knows that you love eating pineapples whenever you have a sore throat.  

“Where did you get the pineapple?” you ask, approaching him. 

Dongmin scoops the cut-up fruit from the cutting board and into a bowl. “I happened to have one,” he answers, flashing you an ‘innocent’ smile that you know is hiding mischief behind it. 

“You ordered it, didn’t you?” you question, narrowing your eyes at him. Dongmin snickers, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Now, my dearest darling,” Dongmin says, the bowl of pineapple in one hand and another on your back. He guides you to the bedroom, grinning widely. “Let’s cosy up, shoo the sore throat away with some pineapples and a good kdrama?”

Your face lights up with the mention of Dongmin’s brilliant idea. “But you don’t like watching dramas,” you point out as you climb onto bed. 

Dongmin, the stupidly handsome grin still on his face, replies cheekily. “Well, I’ll watch them for you.”

“Why?” you ask, suspiciously glancing at him. 

“Because I love you,” Dongmin says in a sing-song tone, leaning in to give you a swift kiss. 

You giggle into the kiss, already a pink mess. You bury yourself into Dongmin’s hoodie, letting his familiar and comforting scent engulf you as you wait for him to settle next to you. 

You then wrap your arms around Dongmin’s waist, head snugly against his chest. You spend the rest of the night binge-watching a comfort show that you’ve seen multiple times—letting yourself rest, already feeling better with Dongmin feeding you pineapples, knowing that he’s secretly enjoying being the openly affectionate one. Your heartbeats align with one another, and you slowly drift to sleep in peace, forgetting about the annoying feeling of a sore throat. 

Honestly, any pain is tolerable when you’re with Dongmin—his presence is already enough of a medicine for you. 

― © htaesan, 2025.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀want more like this? check out the 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

I have poppy playtime brain rot and wrote this to clear my thoughts. This is also my first time writing anything for poppy playtime. If you have any constructive criticism, please let me know!

Fluffy Doey head canons because he deserved better!

★ Sometimes, when he's lonely or just needs to relax, he draws on the walls. His drawings often attract the smaller toys to join in. He likes picking them up so that the higher places are in reach. He can even be a staircase if a lot of people want to join! the more the merrier!

★ He would put everyone above himself, even Poppy. Despite everything that has happened, she is still his family. All the toys in safe haven are. Each and every one of them. They mean the world to him.

★ Kissy and him have sleepovers! they share a tent together and he makes up happy stories to pass the time. It's good for them both because Kissy sleeps better when someone she trusts is close to her. And Doey loves sleepovers because it reminds him of his old life. It makes him feel normal.

★ He can sew. It helps him cope, whether it's patching up old rips and tears or creating new pillows and stuffed animals. If they were to ask, he would teach the other toys basic sewing skills.

★ He willingly takes on extra tasks and responsibilities to lighten the load for the other toys. Whether it's cleaning, organizing, or running errands, he is always the first to volunteer. He doesn't know it, but it's earned him a lot of goodwill.

★ As mentioned above, Doey has a talent for storytelling. He often gathers the toys around for bedtime stories. It brings a sense of comfort and routine to the Safe Haven and allows everyone to feel involved.

★ When Kissy isn't feeling her best Doey guides Kissy through mindful breathing exercises, helping her feel more grounded. Doey's calm demeanor and reassuring voice helps Kissy feel more centered. They are certified besties!

[cometconmain]

Wired is paid subscription only but I found someone on Reddit who posted the full text for everyone. (Sorry to anyone with screen readers, this is A LOT to type on my phone. I'll come back later to add it in when I have access to my computer.)

Here are some other articles I've found talking about it as well.

https://www.reuters.com/world/us/young-techies-underpin-musks-drive-slash-size-us-government-2025-02-05/

“I’ve been furloughed, I guess?” said one contractor with 15 years of experience for the bureau for humanitarian assistance, where she had helped coordinate urgent responses in Ukraine, Gaza, Somalia and Latin America. “I don’t know what my status is but I don’t think I work here right now.” By Monday, Kliger wrote an email to all staff at 12.42am to tell them not to bother coming into the building that day.

The incident has illustrated how Doge employees with Musk’s backing were able to override USAid leadership and bypass government procedures for accessing restricted areas with classified materials, fueling criticism that his agency is a national security risk.

“Did Secretary Rubio allow this kind of access by Musk’s employees?” asked Kim. “It worries me about USAid but if it’s happening here, I’m guessing it’s probably happening at all these other national security agencies.”

Formally, Rubio has delegated responsibility to Marocco, who has been pressed by congressional staffers to give details of the changes affecting USAid and the $40bn in foreign aid it manages each year. “The question at hand is: who’s in charge of the state department?” Senator Brian Schatz told the Guardian. “So far the answer has been Pete Marocco.”

Doge did not respond to questions about what security clearances, if any, the engineers held. “No classified material was accessed without proper security clearances,” wrote Katie Miller, a Doge spokesperson, on social media. But Scifs are regulated by a strict protocol and it is unclear who could have verified the Doge employees’ credentials and filed the necessary paperwork to allow them to enter.

Inside the building, staffers said that Doge cultivated a culture of fear. “It’s an extreme version of ‘who do you trust, when and how?’” said Kristina Drye, a speechwriter at the agency, who watched dozens of senior colleagues escorted out of the building by security. “It felt like the Soviet stories that one day someone is beside you and the next day they’re not.” People started meeting for coffee blocks away because “they didn’t feel safe in the coffee shops here to even talk about what’s going on”, she added. “I was in the elevator one morning and there was an older lady standing beside me and she had glasses on and I could see tears coming down under her glasses and before she got off her elevator she took her glasses off, wiped her eyes, and walked out,” she said. “Because if they see you crying, they know where you stand.”

(Btw I want to make it very clear I'm reblogging this because it's just their names and I'm not aware of or intending to support any address sharing because that would be doxxing which is unacceptable behaviour, especially when we want to make a world where collecting, sharing and using someone's personal data without their consent at all let alone to harm them is unacceptable behaviour. Their names are apparently easily seen on their own social media profiles as of this date, so it looks like their names are not currently private information. Their families also don't deserve to be harassed or attacked for these peoples' behaviour, so I don't support that either.)

These men just stole the personal information of everyone in America AND control the Treasury. Link to article.

Akash Bobba

Edward Coristine

Luke Farritor

Gautier Cole Killian

Gavin Kliger

Ethan Shaotran

Spread their names!

[wstviewvidal]

fever- w. maximoff

pairing: wanda maximoff x r

summary: soft fluff with sick wanda

a/n: i think this was written in december. (don’t like this but also maybe by posting it ill be able to do more things?) trying to get out of my funk lolz

minors do not interact

you give wanda a sideways glance as she coughs into her elbow, burrowed under her blanket, “i told you to wear your jacket on that trip.”

rolling her eyes, she adjusts how she’s laying on the couch, her legs draped over your lap, “it’s germs that get people sick, not the cold,” she mumbles into the blanket that’s covering her face.

“uh huh, and how’s that working out for you?” you tease as you cover her legs with another blanket.

wanda was recently invited to a panel to speak about her experience working in the avengers. of course, being the workaholic that she is, she did not think twice about booking a plane ticket out to the upper east side.

unfortunately, being in a cold climate with countless people stuffed into a closed off space only meant it was a matter of time before someone came down with a cold. even worse, it happened to be wanda— your wanda. the workaholic in her is now paying the price.

and, boy, are you realizing how hardheaded she is when she gets sick.

“you didn’t have to come over, you know,” she says as you can hear the congestion in her voice, “i’m just going to take some medicine and go to sleep.”

wanda can be independent to a fault.

when you’d called her this morning to ask if she’d like to get breakfast, you could immediately hear the stuffiness in her nose. she didn’t even get half way through her response before you bombarded her with questions like, “are you sick?” “did you seriously not wear the clothes i told you to? i helped you pack, wanda,” and, “you don’t even have actual medicine at home, don’t you?”

she tried her best to ease your worries over the phone, but you were at her doorstep no less than an hour later with grocery bags in hand.

you rub her leg as it lays over your own, “i know i didn’t have to, but i wanted to make sure you were taken care of,” you say softly as you watch her burrow into the knitted blanket.

even though wanda preferred to deal with her things on her own, she’d always imagined what it’d be like to have someone to share these experiences with— to be cared for. that was something she’d kept buried deep inside, afraid it was a childish hope.

at the sound of you saying you want to take care of her, she felt her stomach flutter. her lips curled into a bashful smile as she tried her best to hide it. her cheeks turned a dark hue of pink— not from her fever, but from your words.

you didn’t see her reaction, you were too busy watching the show while absentmindedly rubbing her leg in a soothing matter. wanda watched you with a glint in her eye, taking in your gestures.

you turn to look at her, “i’m gonna make you some soup, okay?”

wanda knew it was a losing game to try to stop you, so she nodded and moved her legs to allow you the room to get up.

she laid in the couch, cocooned in blankets while you prepared a dinner for the two of you to eat together.

you walk back after a while with two bowls in hand. you place both on the coffee table in front of the couch.

you move to stand in front of the laying woman, hands on your hips as you assess how her nose is red and her eyes are glossy, “how are you feeling?”

wanda looks up at you with big eyes, shrugging, “the same.”

you nod and help her sit up, “i know, baby, i’m sorry,” you pout softly as you brush away hair from her face. your voice is gentle and warm as crouch in front of her as you fix the blanket she has wrapped around her body.

you touch her so delicately that it makes wanda’s heart swell— then she realizes what you said. she stares up at you with wide eyes, a subtle smile on her face. you don’t notice the giddy look on her face, you’re too busy fussing over her comfort on the couch.

wanda wants to say something smug but the way you’re holding out a spoon for her to eat tells her that you don’t have it in you to make a humorous conversation.

she takes the spoon from you, “you’re spoiling me,” she murmurs.

you settle beside her on the couch, soup in hand, “you deserve it.

you two are sat in a a peaceful silence, cautious glances thrown in wanda’s direction to assess how she’s feeling— she’s loving it, but can’t help but feel a lingering feeling that she could be burdening you.

slowly, she turns to look at you, “why are you being so sweet to me?”

her voice is filled with nerves, and you immediately notice this is hardly the confident woman you first met— instead, this is someone who’s allowing herself to be vulnerable with you.

you look at her, your head tilted in confusion, “what do you mean?”

there is a small crease in between your eyebrows as you look at her, unsure as to why she’s asking such a question.

watching the way your fingers massage her forearm that is laid on your lap, her voice is small as she speaks, “you took the time to come take care of me. you should be at home right now.”

her eyes don’t meet yours and you can see how her ears have turned red from embarrassment. a frown pulls at your lips as you brush back hair from her face.

there’s a brief moment of silence between the two of you and it makes wanda wish she hadn’t said anything.

you breathe in slowly, as if preparing yourself for your next words, “because i care for you, and knowing that you’re okay will always be my biggest priority.”

wanda’s lips purse slightly and you notice the way she licks her lips to prepare to respond to you.

but you don’t allow her to speak— you know she will only down play your words.

you squeeze her hand lightly to get her attention, “i’m not an avenger, you know? i can’t be out there with you on missions to protect you from bad guys. however, i am here where i can at least take care of you when you’re sick. i love you, wanda, and ill spend the rest of my life showing you that if you’ll allow me to.”

your voice is laced with emotion as too speak to her— and the words weave their way into wanda’s heart.

slowly, she looks up and into your eyes, a nervous smile tugging on her lips, “you mean that?”

you chuckle softly, your thumb rubbing the back of her hand as you hold it, “of course.”

wanda’s smile never faltered as she laid in your arms. her mind replayed the moment you saying you want to take care of her for the rest of your life and she knew it would be engraved into her memory.

[persicipen]

𑑛 “IMPULSE” ﾉ SUNDAY. HONKAI STAR RAIL

fem reader ﾉ words 2.5k ✘ master-servant but not in a kinky way. unless… sleeping with your boss. lowkey office romance. secret relationship. reader is a chambermaid. mentions of appearance — makeup, short dress, pantyhose. sunday has some controlling tendencies. overstimulation. crying from pleasure. cumming inside. petnames — angel, dove, sweetheart ﾉ rewritten ✘ ADULT CONTENT ﾉ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

“I would prefer if you refrained from visiting me at this hour until further notice.” His voice is tired and unusually drags each syllable as if to prolong the time before uttering something he doesn’t actually want to say.

His divine silhouette of ashy whites and delicate plumes slumps on the armchair as he tries to regain at least an ounce of energy — futile, only making him more aware of the mental exhaustion of the passing day. His head still hurts, even though it has been going on for days now.

A few steps, and he notices a movement behind him, hands slowly unbuttoning the tight collar from around his neck and undressing him carefully in complete silence. A feather falling could have easily made more noise. The sigh he exhales is out of relief mixed with a dash of fatigue after sitting up properly. The soreness spreads along his body as you unwrap him from the layers of fine fabrics that hug him gently.

“Thank you.”

The only answer you deliver is a soft smile of appreciation towards his gesture.

He looks over your side to check if no one else is near his bedroom to listen, then pulls you by the arm across his lap, resting your foreheads together with his eyes shut. You two spend several seconds in silence, simply feeling each other’s breaths getting calmer and bodies relaxing with every moment shared like this. Your delicate fingers start moving up his chest slowly as if examining it for any anomalies; when finding none, you take it upon yourself to embrace him tighter in response.

On the contrary, Sunday caresses your head just above the scalp until eventually lifting your face with a finger under the chin. Your eyes meet halfway, burning with lust — unspoken since morning yet unsatisfied even during lunch break, where he tried relieving himself before taking a quick nap in bed.

He lets out a few weak chuckles, thinking about how hard he should try avoiding any contact today, not letting anyone suspect anything, before giving in to the impulse.

The taste of your lips leaves nothing behind except wanting more, despite knowing exactly how much it already affected you two — physically and psychologically alike.

“This is precisely why I requested you not to come here… I need to reclaim composure first, but with that exhaustion and your presence, it’s impossible.”

Your expression softens after hearing his confession, also catching his muscles relax; the grip loosens as you move away slightly from the position above his crotch. He rests against the velvet chair once more while trying to compose his thoughts after admitting a weakness towards something trivial and simple — in comparison to politics-related problems.

There were many reasons he couldn’t stop himself from continuing.

“Mr. Sunday, I’m here to help you with anything and everything. Just so you can rest enough to welcome another day with your mind at least slightly less troubled… alright?” you speak in hushed tones, voice calm but determined.

All traces of previous worry are wiped out as he exhales deeply before answering your question. He smiles again — tired but sincere.

“Yes.”

At this point the atmosphere shifts immediately once again, making things less serious than a moment ago between the two individuals, now more than just employer and employee. You resume by unbuttoning the shirt on his torso completely, revealing his pale skin underneath before pushing off the material completely to the sides.

With his chest exposed to cool air along with the robe sliding down onto his lower back, he leans forward, kissing your forehead.

A string of soft pecks going up from there along the bridge of the nose toward the mouth, leaving it just outside of reach, teasing you like this when you were sure he would continue straight away to your lips…

You shift nervously on his lap, overwhelmed with tension and his closeness, causing the entire scene to unfold right under your own gaze yet unable to do anything about it, too shy of the difference between your statuses.

Sunday knows how much power he holds over people… including you. Whenever you end up sitting on his legs for extended periods — especially lately since it’s been happening more frequently these past few months. A sight that brings immense pride to his heart. He continues his gentle assault by dabbing kisses across your eyelids, slowly one at a time, before lowering them all over your face, lingering there longer than usual each time around before reaching your earlobes once more for one last kiss.

A tingle shoots through your spine upon his warm breath, tickling your sensitive spots as he speaks next.

“Do you trust me?” the question itself seems harmless in contrast to how your body reacts whenever it’s spoken directly against your jaw; you shudder involuntarily after every word, goosebumps rising because of his sultry tone.

“Yes, absolutely…” Your response comes almost automatically. No hesitation, followed by his silent chuckle.

“And if I say that you should listen to what I command tonight, then what? Would you grant my every wish until tomorrow morning?”

As the intensity increases dramatically, you swallow the lump in your throat. Sunday’s body language is somewhat threatening, but at the same time so gentle and calming, unlike previous occasions when dealing with clients or rivals during negotiations… It’s inviting you, luring you into his open arms.

“W-what do you wish me to do, then?”

His hand reaches to cup your face, turning towards himself for one more look before taking advantage of an opportunity presenting itself before his very eyes — he captures your mouth after closing the distance between them quickly.

Your eyes widen momentarily while struggling against the sudden surge of electricity coursing throughout your body while feeling completely trapped when he cuddles you by your waist. He nibbles with care at your bottom lip before biting, teeth scraping over it.

There is a certain taste in his saliva; bittersweet yet addictive as it mixes inside your mouth. Unable to protest when his hands sneak behind you to hook the short dress up enough to grip the softness of your ass firmly. He uses force on your rear to rub up against his cock harder than moments before as you find yourself losing grip on reality until it hits that you won’t escape anymore… You will spend the rest of the night fulfilling his desires.

After all those years in his service, you learnt to submit quickly — but you wanted nothing else more than this, either.

After you separate from each other, panting hard, Sunday cups your face one last time before whispering into your ear.

“You’ve always done the best job helping me cope with stress in such wonderful ways.”

A compliment given so sincerely contrasts with his fingers dipping from behind just to tap your pussy through the sheer fabric of your pantyhose, making you jolt back, startled as you grab tightly onto his shoulders, whimpering softly as heat rushes across your cheeks.

“M— Sunday, ah…”

Before you even realise, he’s already grabbing the nylon and tearing it apart, ripping down along the seams with ease. Then he places a finger right at the top of your heated folds. He drags through them back and forth without applying any pressure whatsoever, causing your insides to convulse with excitement. Your legs tremble on each side of his hips, dragging your weight against his clothed erection that still hides beneath grey slacks; bodies locked together while the fabric becomes damp in an instant.

He laughs huskily as you look down in shame between your bodies — an attempt to hide your face away from his gaze while biting back moan after moan. Before reaching up underneath the dress, Sunday moves his hand away, brushing his fingertips across smooth skin. To your surprised gasp, his touch lands upon your clit, pressing there to spread tingles in small circles around the sensitive pearl.

“Open my trousers in the meantime. Touch me first, just for a while, and then ride me, okay, dove? Let’s continue from there.”

You fumble with the zip, drawing it down to reveal his needy cock despite trembling fingers. He guides you to grab the shaft between thumb and index finger, sliding up and down smoothly even with pre dribbling down already. You two synchronise your motions after a while.

“See, isn’t this much better for us both?”

You nod weakly, eyes rolling back as he slips easily into your slick entrance. The sounds of squelching are soon replaced with rhythmic slaps from below each time you sit down, bouncing atop his length. Your walls are wet, swollen, squeezing every inch out as you buck yourself up until only the tip remains inside, forcing breathy sighs from him each time you connect with him again.

“Just like that, angel, just like that,” he guides you whilst gripping your hips forcibly. He knows exactly what makes you two crazy, but he enjoys pushing the limits of your patience to the breaking point until nothing else can be done except him taking the initiative. “Ah… hold it right there. Yes, perfect.”

His back arches deliciously every time you stop for a second because it’s too much to handle.

It’s unbelievable how much your dishevelled state can affect him when he usually tries keeping his emotions in check — never letting anyone see through any cracks even if one did appear, no matter how insignificant it appeared on the surface. But the fact of having you in complete obedience on his own lap, whining and shaking from the pleasure he is providing — it’s exhilarating.

The sensation of your warmth wrapping snuggly around him entirely brings him the utmost satisfaction. To see you lost in bliss, caused exclusively by him alone, is a delight on its own.

Sunday’s thoughts go rampant at times like these. The logical part screaming inside his brain to stop, saying this shouldn’t happen with an employee working under him… however, every instinct tells otherwise as you dwell on pleasure, trying your best to not disappoint him with the faltering tempo. There is no break between bounces, and just like a puppet on strings, he pulls the strands leading your body towards the release desperately needed since your last meeting.

His fingers dig deeply into the flesh of your butt, making sure that nails don’t graze the skin too much. You deserve much more than a mere slap or spanking session; you deserve proper treatment, especially now after showing how willing you are to serve him.

So he picks up the pace himself, holding onto you and guiding every single move effortlessly, even in this awkward position where you’re forced to cling to him like a lifeline. Your lips clash in frenzied kisses until the air runs out, but he refuses to relent, drinking every bit of saliva dripping out of your mouth and tasting sweat mixed along with it as you struggle to keep composure.

“Please! Please, Sunday, it’s too much…”

Your fingers claw into his shirt, leaving red irritated marks behind. Nevertheless, he grins smugly with one last stroke upwards, causing your pussy to squeeze tight against the base again while feeling tremors passing throughout the core before stopping altogether. He lowers your body in one quick movement, sitting you right on his cock until your orgasm subsides.

He exhales, burying his head in the crook of your neck, kissing tenderly all over. You stay tense for a long while, simply melting in his arms, completely spent. Slowly regenerating strength as he strokes your hair, soothing aching muscles until you relax again.

“That’s right, dove. I love it when you do it… just for me to see. Can you take some more? Please, at least until I finish, too?” Sunday murmurs tenderly between each peck pressed across your jawline.

You hum lazily, nodding again, albeit somewhat reluctantly compared to the previous agreement, but consenting enthusiastically enough.

He starts moving slowly, drawing slow circles inside your pussy.

“Yes, yes, like that…” you respond, leaning more on him with each thrust. He nibbles your neck lightly as a reward for such positive reactions.

As minutes tick away, he gets impatient once again. Your hands tighten around his open shirt, pulling him close enough to bite and lick every piece of skin visible. The amount of pleasure building inside becomes almost unbearable as he drives you insane, forcing you to accept how weak you feel at this moment.

You shudder from head to toe when his fingertips brush along the sides, causing the whole body to tense up. Hearing your whimpers, he hushes you lovingly.

“I know you can. Just one last push. Come on.”

And so he does… not stopping.

He pounds ruthlessly into your soaked cunt until there’s no more air left inside your lungs as you pant frantically while trying to not collapse right away; bodies locked together intimately, your hands desperately grabbing onto shoulders until knuckles turn white from the strain. He’s doing the same around your hips, using a soft force to press every single inch of flesh against flesh.

“There you go, sweetheart, you can do it. You’re almost there… Just one more second.”

With that sentence said, Sunday flips your body forward and lies back comfortably in the chair, shifting you up and down a few inches until he finds the ideal angle. He pulls your hips down hard on his cock as he slams his pelvis upwards at the same time, causing loud moans to erupt from your throat along with high-pitched noises.

Tears begin to stream freely, trickling off your chin with each rough thrust while rubbing sensitive spots that leave you writhing, desperately trying to hold off any sort of response. The urge to let it all go builds stronger as he continues the incessant rhythm with barely enough pause between strokes to let you breathe before diving right back in again.

He groans loudly before ramming into your pussy again and again. Until he eventually clears the pent-up frustration, cumming rope after rope into your fluttering heat.

This triggers the follow-up from your side, reaching a peak soon after him. Your muscles contract erratically while remaining frozen above him, eyes squeezed shut tightly as you wail throughout the release, bucking hips on him, milking his cock out of every drop. You feel his cum coating your core, making everything throb and slip inside; every little goosebump on your skin burning.

By the end of it all, you fall motionless upon his chest; completely exhausted yet fulfilled, and still leaking from his twitching shaft, which softens gradually within the depths of your body. Sunday peppers kisses around your neck after cradling your tired form.

“Well done, my sweet dove. I’m proud of you for staying with me through it all.” He whispers before gently wiping away your tears and removing all traces of makeup from your cheeks.

The gesture feels natural, as if he’d been doing it all the time in secret before this point.

[kashverse]

How do you think would bf!gojo survive the flu, "IF HE SURVIVES IT"

I think that dudes rarely get sick maybe also because of his infinity but if he gets sick, that he will be the babiest of the babies

the real ones remember @naomigojo's germophobe reader x gojo...can't say i wasn't thinking about it when writing this 🙂‍↕️

gojo satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive, lay draped over you like a particularly dramatic victorian-era widow who had just received word of her beloved's tragic demise in the war. except, in this case, the war was flu season, and the tragic demise was his immune system.

"i have fallen," he wheezed, dramatically throwing his arm over his eyes, his long limbs effectively pinning you to the mattress. his forehead burned against your shoulder, sweat slicking his white hair to his skin. "love has made me weak. love has made me—" he coughed, a truly pathetic sound, before groaning. "—love has made me sick."

"no, i made you sick, dumbass," you croaked, shoving at his shoulder, but he clung to you tighter like a koala with abandonment issues. "i told you not to sleep next to me!"

"and let my sweet, sniffling angel suffer alone? never," he gasped. "never!" another dramatic cough. 

"but now… now i too must bear this curse."

"it's the flu, s'toru."

"oh, so now you don't care that your dear husband is dying?"

"we're not married."

"technicalities," he rasped, reaching for the tissue box and dramatically dabbing his forehead like a victorian lady about to faint at a ballroom dance. except, unfortunately, it was the same tissue you had just blown your nose into.

you gagged. "ewww!"

"sickness of love," he whispered, looking at you with glassy, feverish eyes, voice hoarse but still somehow smug. "our love transcends germs."

"our love is a biohazard."

he chuckled weakly, pressing his fever-warmed forehead against yours. "i feel like i got hit by a train."

"you sound like you got hit by a train."

"oh yeah? well, you sound like a cartoon villain with bronchitis," he shot back, voice cracking pathetically halfway through. he punctuated his insult with an even more pathetic sneeze, which sent his whole body jolting. you felt the full force of it because he was still sprawled on top of you. "get off of me," you groaned, shoving at his heavy frame, but he only groaned dramatically in response.

"no. i must remain close to you. i may not have much time left…"

"you're not dying!"

"…but i shall spend my last moments with my beloved. tell me, my dear," he sniffled, clutching onto your hand. "if i go, will you—"

"i am going to smother you with a pillow."

"oh, how cruel, how heartless!" he gasped, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, as if he were a fainting maiden in a period drama. "to think i have loved you so deeply, only to be cast aside in my weakest moment! oh, woe is me!"

"woe is me," you muttered, forcefully shoving a tissue into his hand. “blow your damn nose, properly, before you start monologuing about the fragility of life again.” he sniffled loudly, taking the tissue before collapsing dramatically against you again, sighing like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"this," you grumbled, voice clogged with congestion, "is exactly why i told you not to sleep next to me."

"but what would be the point of my infinity if i couldn't let it down for the one i love?" he murmured, blinking up at you blearily. despite the absolute mess of tissues, the shared misery of high fevers, and his insufferable dramatics, you sighed, feeling your chest soften ever so slightly. 

"…you're still an idiot," you muttered, tucking the blanket over both of you.

"ah, but i'm your idiot," he murmured back, before promptly sneezing directly onto your shoulder.

…you were going to kill him.

[bakedbakermom]

Tell me: do you think child sexual abuse material (CSAM, the preferred term) is illegal because it makes you feel icky to look at, or because it is a record of the real actual abuse of real actual victims, which is then perpetuated each time the images are shared? CSAM, by definition, must be real images of real people. Fanfic, no matter how well-imagined, is make-believe and does not in itself cause harm.

Frankly it is insulting to the real victims of child sexual exploitation (CSE) to equate random stories on the internet to the pain they have suffered, as if your squick at fiction is in any way the same thing.

"But what if an actual pedophile reads it and goes out and hurts someone?"

If someone looks at the painting of The Beheading of Saint John the Baptist and goes and cuts someone's head off, is that Caravaggio's fault, four centuries after the fact? Or is it perhaps the fault of the person who, upon seeing a depiction of a brutal act of violence, thought that looked like a good funny time?

If a person is tempted to go out and do harmful acts because of something they read on the internet, it is not the fault of the thing they read nor the person who wrote it. We are individuals with free will. We cannot foresee and are not responsible for the actions of complete strangers.

"But what if a victim of CSE reads it and is triggered?"

That does happen, and it is terrible, but that is also why Ao3 has such an incredible filtering system and why your browser has a back button. If you are walking through an art museum and see a painting that triggers you, is it the fault of the museum for having it there? The fault of the artist who made it? No. Is someone going to hold you by the shoulders and make you look? No. (And if they do, that's called assault, and it's still not the fault of the museum or the artist.)

You are responsible for the things you see and read online; just like you can and should walk away from a piece of art that disturbs you, you are responsible for filtering your fics and looking away from any you accidentally stumble across that trigger you. (Without leaving horrible comments for the author or reporting it as CSAM - which by definition, it is not, and such reports clog up the system so that it is harder for actual CSAM to be found, removed, and investigated.)

I have known victims of CSE, and I have known people in the tech sphere who work to remove CSAM from the internet. Did you know that there was a department at [company you've definitely heard of], fully devoted to identifying CSAM as it moved between users, reporting it to the FBI, and assisting in the investigations? Most people in that department burned out after about 2 years because they just couldn't stand looking at these torturous images day after day, and reading through the correspondence of those who make and share it.

There was a giant bell in the middle of their workspace. Every time a pedophile was convicted based on their evidence, the person working the case would ring the bell as the rest of the department cheered and cried. Because they had helped a real person, because they had stopped a real crime, because someone who actually hurt a child would never be able to do so again.

Words on a screen are not the same thing.

saying ao3 needs to censor certain content is like saying a museum can't have still life art that includes strawberries because you don't like them.

these are not real strawberries. you do not have to, and in fact cannot, eat them. no one with a strawberry allergy will be harmed by looking at them. no migrant workers were exploited in the picking of these strawberries. there were no questionable farming practices or negative environmental impacts from growing or transporting them.

because - and i cannot stress this enough - they are not real strawberries.

if you don't like strawberries, you don't have to look at the paintings. in fact, you can get a map of the museum that lists what works are in what rooms and just. not go in there. if you see one by mistake, you can look away. just keep walking. there's plenty of other stuff to see.

yes, real strawberries can cause real quantifiable harm to real people.

but again. these are not real strawberries.

you may have whatever feelings you like about strawberries, and so can i. you can draw and write about whatever fruit floats your boat, and so can i, even if that happens to be strawberries. and we can hang our art side by side in the same gallery, provided you understand that my strawberries are not about you (and your kumquats are, shocker, not about me) and that - and this is true - neither are real.

and when the fascists break down the doors and grab all the strawberry paintings and heap them in the street and set them on fire, please know that they are coming for your kumquats next.

so if you want a place where you can show off your beautiful kumquat art safely, you're gonna have to tolerate having some strawberries in the next room.

and that's okay. because the strawberries aren't real.

[promptedwordsmith]

Omg I love the last one soo much!!

It might sound a but crazy but could you do how they would react to you dying? :3

I'm not going to lie, cried while writing these, feel so bad for the boys

Caleb

Caleb's reaction to losing you would be a deep, overwhelming, and almost incomprehensible kind of pain, something that could shake the very core of who he is. His protective instincts would have been built on the idea of keeping you safe, of always being there, and in his mind, he would have failed you in the most profound way possible.

Initially, he would likely retreat into himself, burying his emotions beneath layers of coldness and duty. As the Colonel, he’s used to handling tough situations with steely resolve, but this loss would be different. Nothing in his life—no mission, no threat—could prepare him for something like this. He’d probably go through the motions, perform his responsibilities, but there would be a distance in his actions, as if part of him was no longer fully there.

Behind closed doors, Caleb would fall apart. His apartment, his home, would feel emptier than ever before. The quiet would be unbearable. He’d likely replay every moment with you in his mind, going over things he wished he’d done differently. His guilt would haunt him—wondering if there was something more he could’ve done to protect you, to keep you safe. The weight of his failure would be something he couldn't escape, no matter how many hours he spent immersed in work or trying to numb the pain with distractions.

Caleb might not express his grief openly at first. His deep love for you was often expressed in the quiet, subtle ways—acts of service, protection, keeping you close—and without you, he would struggle to find meaning in those small, everyday gestures. The house would remain as you left it, with everything just slightly out of place—your favorite things still where you left them, the familiar scent of you lingering in the air. He wouldn’t be able to bring himself to touch any of it, afraid that doing so would erase what little of you he still had left.

Over time, though, Caleb would carry you with him in a different way. His obsession with keeping you safe would turn inward—toward keeping your memory alive. He would hold onto every little thing that reminded him of you: the flowers you loved, the notes you’d written, the meals you’d shared. Each small piece of your life would become a treasure, something to keep him grounded when the world seemed too heavy.

But even through the pain, Caleb’s love for you would never waver. It would remain with him, a constant presence, a painful but enduring part of his life. The weight of your absence would never fully leave him, but in a strange way, it would become a part of his identity—a testament to the love he had for you, and the life you had shared. And as much as it hurt, he would keep pushing forward, in the way that he always did—fighting, living, and never forgetting.

Rafayel

Rafayel’s reaction to your passing would be an unraveling of everything he is, a quiet storm of grief and disbelief. On the surface, he would likely carry a cold, stoic facade, the same aloof, composed demeanor he often shows to the outside world. But inside, beneath the carefully constructed walls he’s built, everything would shatter.

At first, he might struggle to comprehend it, the finality of it all too much to bear. The world would feel unreal—you were unreal. How could someone like you, someone who inspired every stroke of his brush, every note of his music, be gone from his life? The thought would be suffocating, pulling him under in waves.

For a while, he wouldn’t know what to do. He might find himself wandering his studio, the silence there too loud, the stillness a reminder of the absence he couldn’t escape. The art he had once poured his soul into would feel hollow, lacking the passion it once held. And when he tried to work, the empty space beside him, where you should have been, would gnaw at him.

Rafayel wouldn’t reach out to others for comfort. He would seclude himself, shutting himself off in the dark, half-buried beneath a mountain of unfinished projects and failed attempts at distractions. He’d avoid your favorite places, your routines, because each one was too painful to endure. He’d keep the memory of you close, but the pain would be too raw, and he wouldn’t know how to handle it. He’d keep your sketches tucked away, maybe keeping one by his side—a haunting, beautiful reminder of your smile, your eyes, the way you filled the room with light.

But eventually, the grief would transform him. Rafayel was never one to stay stagnant. Your memory would become a part of him—woven into every painting, every note, every whispered word. He wouldn’t let go of you, but he would find a way to carry your presence with him, even in the darkest hours.

He would stand at his easel, paintbrush in hand, and create once more. But this time, the canvas would hold something more—something profound, something full of love and loss intertwined. Your absence would echo in every piece, but it would be a quieter, gentler ache. And when he looked at the completed works, he would know you were still there, in every stroke, every color, every memory he painted.

In the end, Rafayel would carry you with him. You would be immortalized in his art, his music, and the very air around him. You wouldn’t be gone—you would simply live on in the deepest parts of him, forever a part of who he was.

Sylus

Sylus’s reaction to your passing would be nearly imperceptible to most, as he would make a conscious effort to keep his outward appearance controlled. To the world, he would remain the same calculating, strategic man they knew—his arrogance unshaken, his coldness unwavering. But beneath the surface, a storm rages, and his subordinates, the few who are perceptive enough, would notice.

At first, Sylus would bury himself in his work, just as he always did when he wanted to avoid something. His focus would tighten, his movements more precise, as though he could outrun the grief by drowning himself in his duties. His demeanor, while cool and distant, would be sharper, more driven. However, there would be an edge to him now, a quiet fury that he struggled to keep in check. And when he gives orders to his subordinates, they would find themselves on the receiving end of a more dangerous, more relentless Sylus than ever before.

In the midst of an interrogation, the change would be noticeable. What once was a controlled, calculated method of gathering information now becomes something much darker. Sylus would push harder, demand more, inflict more pain, as if trying to extract something from his captive that went beyond mere answers. His eyes would be colder, more fixed, and his hands more brutal as he delivers punishment. The pain he inflicts on others would seem disproportionate, not because he’s angry with them, but because he’s angry with himself. His grief manifests as a need to control, to break something, to feel the release of power—anything to drown out the gnawing emptiness that is slowly consuming him.

His subordinates, the few who know him well, would start to notice the changes. His actions in the field become more violent, his patience shorter. When he’s around them, his eyes would seem distant, haunted even, but his attention to detail would be sharper than ever. There’s an intensity in his gaze that wasn’t there before, an urgency that betrays his inner turmoil. They'd see the tension in his jaw, the tightening of his posture whenever he’s alone, and they’d know. They might not understand the depth of his loss, but they could sense that something had shifted.

And when they witnessed his interrogations, they would realize that this wasn’t the usual Sylus, the cold and calculating man who always held back, who always maintained control. No, this Sylus had cracked—just enough to unleash something far darker, far more destructive. And his subordinates would be left with the uneasy sense that the man they served was far more broken than they had ever imagined. They would see the pain behind his eyes, the grief that he refused to acknowledge, but they would never say anything—because they knew better than to confront Sylus when he was like this.

In the quiet moments when no one was around, Sylus would retreat to his private space, his office, the only place where he could allow himself the luxury of feeling the weight of his loss. His hands, still stained from the interrogation, would tremble slightly as he pours himself a drink, the sharp burn of alcohol a futile attempt to dull the ache inside him. But nothing would ever quite dull it. The grief would settle deep within him, twisting into something darker, something dangerous.

And Sylus, for all his power, would have to learn how to live with it.

Xavier

After your passing, Xavier’s response to grief would manifest in a way that reflects his stoic, self-contained nature. He wouldn't outwardly show how much he’s hurting. Instead, he would suppress his emotions, trying to keep himself distracted by work, almost to an obsessive level. His usual precision and focus would become warped by this need to avoid feeling anything related to the pain of losing you.

Xavier is someone who has always kept his emotions in check, perhaps even burying them to keep functioning. But with you gone, the act of "functioning" becomes harder. The adrenaline of his missions might serve as a temporary escape, but it would also become a crutch for him. He would push his body beyond its limits, almost recklessly, as a way to silence the ache inside. The more he threw himself into his work, the less he would have to confront the emptiness of your absence.

Physically, Xavier might start ignoring the injuries he sustains during his missions, the toll on his body barely registering. What’s a broken bone or a few cuts when the one person who kept him grounded is no longer there? He wouldn’t take care of himself the way he once might have, not because he wants to harm himself, but because he no longer feels he deserves to be taken care of. In a way, this behavior is a reflection of his grief: a quiet, self-destructive spiral where he disconnects from the world around him, choosing to numb himself rather than process what he’s lost.

Mentally, Xavier would likely be struggling with an overwhelming sense of guilt and self-doubt. He’d wonder whether there was something he could have done differently, something he missed that could have saved you. Even if rationally he knows it wasn’t his fault, the emotional weight of that loss would still haunt him. His memories of you would be a bittersweet reminder of what he can never have again, which only feeds into the spiral of isolation and pain he experiences.

Ultimately, Xavier’s grief would isolate him. He would push others away, especially those who were close to you, because he’d feel unworthy of their support or understanding. He might continue with his duties as a hunter, but it would be less about the mission and more about escaping the constant reminder of your absence.

Xavier wouldn’t know how to move forward, but he also wouldn't know how to stop.

Zayne

The sterile, familiar environment of the hospital would become his refuge. He would dive deeper into his cases, performing surgeries with his usual precision, but now with an edge of urgency, as if the act of healing others could somehow fill the empty space that your absence left. His colleagues might notice that he’s working longer hours, rarely taking breaks, and pushing himself even harder than before. But it would be subtle. Zayne would keep his personal life locked away, too private to share with anyone. He would be the model professional, the kind of surgeon people relied on, respected, and admired. But deep down, his heart would be somewhere else—somewhere that he couldn’t reach anymore.

He would avoid returning home after shifts, not wanting to face the silence that awaited him there. Instead, he’d spend more time at the hospital, catching up on paperwork or reviewing cases, seeking solace in the rhythm of his work. It would be his way of coping, though it wouldn’t be healthy. He’d try to bury the pain, to keep his mind too occupied to feel the full weight of the loss. But the exhaustion would eventually catch up with him, and the long hours would take their toll, both physically and emotionally.

On the rare occasions when Zayne would allow himself a moment of quiet, perhaps late at night when he was alone, he’d find himself remembering the smallest details of you—your laugh, the way you touched his arm when you passed by, the soft way you said his name. These memories would be bittersweet, and he would try to push them away, only to be reminded of them constantly by the quiet hum of life outside the hospital walls.

Despite his attempts to distract himself, Zayne would never truly move on. The pain would remain, but his way of handling it would be through work, through action, even if it meant sacrificing the space for true healing.

Zayne would carry you with him in his own way, honoring your memory through the subtle acts of care he gives to others. He might find himself doing small things, like making the same meal you had once cooked for him, or visiting places you had enjoyed together, hoping that somehow, it would feel like you were still there beside him.

But most of all, Zayne would be filled with an enduring, quiet love for you that would never fade. It would remain with him, silently in the background of his life, a constant presence he could never forget. Even though he would never speak it aloud, Zayne’s heart would be forever touched by the bond you shared, and he would carry the weight of losing you with him always.

[withlovemark]

hello! could i request making out with Mark? maybe cuddling too

warnings: suggestive

cuddling with mark! consisted of his entire body weight literally being on top of yours, head on your chest as he listens to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, your fingers gently running through his hair, making him sigh in content.

you’d talk about everything and anything under the sun, just catching each other up. he tells you all about his worries but also shares with you all the happy bits, emphasizing how much he’s missed you and hoped he could take you with him everywhere he went.

you were his sweet escape from the busy outside world — with you, his mind was always at ease.

then his hand would start to wander, gently caressing your thighs…up to your waist, outlining your body, up to your neck then ever so softly, guiding your cheek towards him for a soft kiss.

mark kisses you once…twice…again and again, addicted to your taste, softly sucking your lip until his tongue makes its way into yours, asking for permission that you quickly grant, lips moving in sync. he takes the lead, tongue slowly battling with yours, as your hands gently clutches his hair, making him groan, the action sending tingles straight to his cock.

he gently bites your lower lip, eliciting a whine in response, and mark can’t help but smile through the kiss, lips still entangled with yours.

carefully, he turns you to the side, your leg automatically wrapping around his lower torso like he was your pillow. his hand finds their way to your ass, cupping your cheek and giving it a light squeeze, pussy aching at the action.

“mark,” you moan against his lips, “yes, baby?,” he asks innocently, lips never leaving yours as he continues to play with your ass, growing your arousal.

“want you,” you confess, hip slowly brushing into his, feeling his semi-hard boner, making you whine in frustration. he smiles at you cheekily, “you have me baby…do whatever you need,” he says, swiftly lifting you up and sitting you on top of his thigh.

after all, make outs with mark can never truly be just a make out…

[hyckvr]

spidermark bf thoughts

spidermark x reader // warnings. mentions of being tied up, blood, mentions of being saved. idk any others😭 // a/n. ngl i don’t read much kpop stuff anymore so i apologise if any of these r overused😭 i wish my tv would let me play the spider-man games bc im having withdrawals. thanks to my wife for helping me with the smut since im shit at it🙏 @chenlezip

bf spider!mark who is a dedicated boyfriend who is always ready to take you swinging whenever you request it. no matter the hour, he never hesitates to drop everything to make your wishes come true. his willingness to help is unwavering; if you ask him to take you to the top of a tall building, he will do so without a moment's delay, ensuring that you have an unforgettable experience. whether it’s the thrill of the swing or the breath taking view from above, mark is always there to make those moments possible.

bf spider!mark who has a playful passion for recreating the iconic spider-man kiss. despite the fact that he often ends up tumbling onto his head in the process, he finds joy in the effort. each time he leans in upside down, his heart races with excitement, knowing that the moment is sure to bring a smile to your face. for him, the little mishaps along the way only add to the charm of the experience, making it all the more memorable. seeing your smile in response to his antics makes every fall worth it.

bf spider!mark who is the kind of person who never fails to surprise you with thoughtful treasures from his little adventures. as he swings through the bustling streets, his eyes are always scanning his surroundings. suddenly, something catches his gaze—the glimmer of a unique trinket or the vibrant bloom of a beautiful flower—that instantly makes him think of you. with a spark of excitement, he quickly turns around and retraces his steps, eager to gather that perfect find that he knows will bring a smile to your face.

bf spider!mark who often calls you when he’s lounging at the top of a tall building, enjoying the breath taking view of the city skyline. as he overlooks the bustling streets below, he eagerly shares captivating stories about his thrilling adventures. he recounts tales of daring escapades, the intense fights he has faced, and the amusing incidents that make him laugh. each conversation flows effortlessly, filled with his energetic enthusiasm for life. as you listen, the soft glow of your phone illuminates your features, casting a warm light that captivates him even more. he finds comfort in the way your face lights up, reflecting your engagement in his storytelling. meanwhile, the vibrant city below- full of life, lights, and movement- creates a stunning backdrop behind his phone with your soft smile glowing.

bf spider!mark who consistently offers his assistance with homework. whenever you find yourself struggling or feeling overwhelmed with assignments, he's the first person you turn to for help. his understanding nature and patience make it easy to approach him with questions. sometimes, he goes above and beyond, taking the time to complete entire assignments for you, which can be both a blessing and a curse when it comes to learning the material yourself.

bf spider!mark who is the kind of person who would go to great lengths to ensure your safety. he is unwavering in his commitment and will stop at nothing to protect you. whether it requires tackling difficult challenges or facing daunting obstacles, he won't rest until he knows you are out of harm's way, dropping anything he's doing to instantly come aid you. his devotion and determination shine through in every action he takes, proving that your well-being is his top priority.

bf spider!mark who always knocks on your window late at night, his presence a familiar yet unsettling ritual after a long day spent out fighting crime. no matter how late it is or how tired you feel, you can never bring yourself to turn him away. as you open the window, a sense of apprehension washes over you, mixed with an undeniable urge to bring him in. once inside, he perches on the edge of your bathroom counter, his posture slumped and weary. the harsh light reveals the extent of his exhaustion—the dark circles under his eyes and the way he runs a hand through his dishevelled hair. blood smears across his beautiful face, a stark contrast to his usually charming smile. It’s a haunting sight, one that tugs at your heart, leaving you wondering what harrowing experiences he faced to return to you in such a state. the only good thing that came from this is your medical skills are top-notch now, you're always able to patch him up.

bf spider!mark who loves to tie you up with his webs. seeing you struggling to get out of the tough webs turns him on even more, the look of pure bliss on your face sends him into an overload. "you like being tied up don't you?" he let out with a smirk plastered onto his lips, you could only whimper and nod aggressively in response. the webs are strong and sticky on your wrists, the pain that spread through your wrists from the tight webs had your head going fuzzy.

bf spider!mark who shows off his strength. whether that be picking you up, holding your thighs and pinning you against the wall.. slamming you down onto his bed, hovering over you and pinning your wrists down. another example, he loves to fuck you in an alleyway, you pinned up against a wall as his hips go at a relentless pace, hand over your mouth to keep your moans at bay.

bf spider!mark who has a cocky smile on his face when you finally request him to keep his mask on during sex. he's been fantasising about this for ages, so when you finally came to him about it he was overjoyed. he wastes no time, instantly picking you up and throwing you onto your double bed. soon, the air in the room changed all together and mark had you right where he wanted you. you bite your lip, “fuck- ngh, mark,” you whimper as you feel him slipping inside of you. the eyes on his mask soon close, you can’t see the blissed out expression on his face but you can tell he feels just as good as you do.

bf spider!mark mark loves when you switch the tables over, topping him. it was probably one of his favourite things, he loved seeing you on top of him taking charge, putting him in his place. he was too exhausted after a night of fighting crime and saving citizens. he threw himself down on the bed and you could see he needed the relief after a hard day. you smile and make your way over to the bed, falling to your knees and stroking his thigh, “let me ease you up, pretty boy. deserve it.”

bf spider!mark who is always loud in bed, he never fails to let it be known how much you pleasure him. especially if he’s receiving oral from you. you’re swallowing down on him and he hisses, bucking his hips up, “shiiittt, baby.. just like that, yeah, keep goin’ for me sweetheart..” “fuck, you’re so good” “right there, right there, fuckkk”

bf spider!mark who can go as many rounds as u want and never run out of stamina. he'll be fucking into you, hips going at a rapid pace as you struggle to keep up with him, pleasure taking over you, making it hard to speak. all you could do was whimper and whine as mark kept up his relentless pace. “m-mark, mark..” you pant. it was your third orgasm already, and it didn’t seem like he was going to stop.