#like there's three I've never written in here

[killinkiwi]

My Little Sodapop

Summary: After a depressive spell after a heart shattering break up, you find yourself distracting yourself from the voice in your head. Perhaps you can fixate on a member of a new boy band that debuted literally in front of you, but is it what it seems?

Content Warning: Cheating, Depressive Thoughts, Feeling Horny Af, Misuse of a Lightstick, Masturbation, Low-grade Stalking

Be gentle with me - I know I like it rough but it has been a long time since I've written something and I am a little vulnerable, okay 🥺

I am very rusty and didn't really proofread but here we go! I was inspired to clack away once again my some really talented people but also because there isn't enough Abs, so please enjoy.

Also, I was inspired to clack back onto the keyboard by @kinsuim who has been posting non-stop masterpieces and if you haven't already, please go check out their work. Phenomenal, chef's kiss.

-

Three years, you had given him, three full years of your fucking life and it would end this way. You had given him your heart and he shattered your soul.

Daniel, your now ex-boyfriend, pleaded at first for you to understand. "It's not what it looks like" and "Please, it didn't mean anything" poured from his mouth, clichés that fell on deaf ears. However, when you couldn't stop crying, when you just couldn't understand his side of the story, those words quickly became truly toxic.

"It's your fault, you're never here" because you work to support him and yourself so you can live somewhat comfortably.

"You say you're always tired, you never have time to satisfy me" because you are always working and struggle to maintain a social life.

"You've let yourself go, it's hard to be attracted to you sometimes" because you would come home exhausted, but still have to clean and cook as well as take care of chores he couldn't seem to find time to do - how could you have time to pamper and relax?

"Maybe if you weren't a fucking prude and put out more, I wouldn't have to go elsewhere..." Truthbetold, you couldn't find a suitable response to this one. Yes, you were chronically exhausted all the time from constantly working overtime. Yes, your stress levels felt through the roof 24/7. But generally - you just weren't in the mood to be intimate with him.

Sex with him was average at best - minimal foreplay, switching between two to three positions, and just waiting for it (for him) to finish so you could shower and sleep. You loved him with your entire, but sex with him wasn't the highlight of the relationship. His love for you, his adventurous soul, his caring heart was what made you love him beyond the realm.

But that seemed all for not now.

Not when you caught him fucking his coworker on your bed, in your room, in your apartment.

And in front of your fucking cat.

-

The good news was your name was on the entirety of the apartment so Daniel had no say when you kicked his ass out. Of course he fought back, stated he had paid a minor part of the rent, but the landlord (bless her soul) was quick to state he wasn't even on the lease and therefore had no right to stay. After half-an-hour of fighting and a threat to call authorities, Daniel proceeded to walk off the property with several boxes of haphazardly packed shit.

And you were left cold, in an apartment you once considered warm with love. Now it just felt empty, dull, lifeless - or perhaps that was just a reflection of yourself.

You refused to slump on the floor and sob, like the women in dramas do. Instead, you took a different approach that they do which is walk to the nearest convenience store and purchase several bottles of soju, get drunk off your ass, dismantle the entirety of the apartment to rid anything that reminded you of Daniel, then pass out on the couch because the bed was "tainted with disgusting betrayal" you muttered.

You refused to cry at first, trying to feign strong and stay angry while you poured another shot of soju. But the more you drank, the more the unwanted emotions crawled to the surface. You began hearing a rather grim track play in your mind, repeating, like a broken record over and over.

Sobs racked your body for several moments before you passed out from mental and emotional exhaustion.

"You're the problem, Y/N, you'll never be good enough."

-

You felt like a zombie for weeks after the break up, that same voice just scratching at the back of your mind constantly with the same grim message. At first you tried to ignore it, but it felt like that made it louder. You saw a therapist and while it helped to discuss your emotions and trauma, it didn't stop the voice from preying upon you in the night. You tried so many methods - went for walks, took supplements, tried working out, hell you redecorated the apartment and even bought a new bed!

Nothing was working. The pain and misery only grew, burning like a roaring fire. You began slowly accepting the voice, when...

Golden.

HUNTR/X released Golden and it was beautiful. It was the first time you cried in an accepting manner, almost relieving in a way. Something about the way the lyrics soothed your soul, made you feel warm, made that voice quiet for awhile. It was a breathe of fresh air.

It quickly became your most replayed song.

The voice that played in your head was muted, but the volume would crank up again when you would see loving couples walking around the city. It would become loud when you watched a romantic drama and felt your heart twinge with heartache again. It was hard to not be reminded that you weren't enough for Daniel...

It was this very thought you were pushing out of your head right now as you walked through the busy plaza, seeing cute couples holding hands and wearing matching outfits.

Golden played through your earbuds but lately, as you replayed it more and more, it lost its potency. The song was still beautiful and you had really wanted to see it live, but the night of it was canceled because the lead singer Rumi had laryngitis and was unable to perform. It still helped, but the voice in the back of your head was persistent and reminded you of your shame.

"You know we're gonna be, gonna be golden..." you muttered to yourself, trying to mask the voice once again. Today it was being especially persistent, loud enough that you decided going for a walk downtown was a better option than staying at home sulking. You thought that the sun and fresh air could do you some good, but that was before you saw the cutest couples just marching around together.

"You don't deserve that love, it's not meant for someone like you," that voice whispered once more, clearly cutting through the song that blasted into your ears.

"Fuck you," you couldn't help but mutter back. Frustration clawed at your soul, making you rip out your earbuds and stop in the middle of the sidewalk - inconveniencing the couple behind you and clearly upsetting the girlfriend.

"Good," that voice drawled, "Why should you be the only one to feel inconvenienced?"

Ignoring it once again, you quickly apologized with a slight bow before scampering to the side. Now out of the way, you surveyed the bustling area around you. It was abnormally busy for a random Thursday. Adults and teenagers alike were running about, peeking into stores, gossiping while sipping on coffees, buying snacks from the street vendors.

Which is where one vendor caught your eye - a bright pink pop-up with a lion head on top. It seemed rather busy, customers coming and going with hands full of what looked like canned drinks and flyers.

Perhaps it was the curiosity of it's popularity that drew you over, but you found yourself drawn to the little pop-up and waited in line. Under the lion head the title SAJA BOYS was scrawled.

"Who are the Saja Boys?" A gentleman behind you muttered, mirroring your thoughts as well.

You finally got to the front where you met a rather exhausted looking individual, their eyes glazed with a lifeless hue.

"Thank you for joining us here at the plaza to see the debut of the newest boy band, Saja Boys. Please take this free soda and cloth, here is a flyer as well. Enjoy the performance starting here soon."

This person had clearly said it hundreds of times with how monotonous it sounded.

You looked down at the goodies you were handed. There a bright pink can of soda with the lion logo on it, a black cloth with a pink lions head, and a flyer on with their name and logo on it as well. According to the information, it was starting shortly in the plaza center and it was a free performance.

"Why not, might as well," you mumbled to yourself as you began to walk over. Stuffing the flyer and cloth into your little side bag, you looked closer at the can of soda you were given. "What the actual fuck is Abs flavored soda?"

You turned the can to see what the ingredients list was because Abs wasn't a flavor but instead of seeing the usual table of additives and flavorings, it just said 1000% YOU on the back. Cute but useless for deciphering anything about the drink.

Regardless, you cracked it open and took a cautionary sip. It was pleasant, refreshing even. It had a fruity yet florla taste, something with berries and perhaps hibiscus. It was surgary and sweet, and honestly addicting. You almost hoped there would be more available after the free concert because this was delicious.

Your attention to the deliciously cold beverage was torn away when a cloud of purple smoke suddenly started to form in the plaza center, quite close to where you were actually. And just as sudden as the smoke, a background track started to play, the smoke clearing, and there stood...

Holy shit, these men were dangerously attractive.

Boy bands were objectively good looking, but these men were sinfully attractive. They wore bright colors and had even brighter hair, except who you assumed was the dashing lead who had very fluffy black hair. Their voices were like hot honey, smooth but set fire to your insides and soul. And clearly the crow agreed because everyone was going feral, even the older ahjummas were running up to them.

"Lookin' like snacks- 'cause you got it like that!

Take a big bite, want another bite, yeah!"

Fuck you in every position, you think you just found the one the soda was named after and fuck all if you didn't want a taste of him. Man was ripped, to say the least. His abs flashed from underneath the shorter green shirt, pecs ready to rip through the buttons, biceps pushing the seams to their limits. He held a dangerously seductive smile, hazel eyes sharp to match, the darker pink locks under his beanie bouncing softly as he danced.

For the first time in weeks, you felt genuine attraction towards someone and felt the familiar need to masturbate.

Because of him.

And as if he heard your thoughts, he turned to face you. Whether it was part of the dance or not, his eyes found yours and even gave you a wicked smirk, tongue coming to wet his lips for a moment and you felt the fire inside roar hotter. With one last wink, he flipped around to join his band mates in dancing for the main chorus.

"You're all I can think of, every drop I drink up.

You're my soda pop,

My little soda pop!"

His head snapped to you again as he sang and danced. And perhaps it was the delulu talking, but it felt so intentional as he sang the line "My little soda pop."

Regardless of your impending delusion and horniness, the song was ridiculously catchy. You found yourself dancing along without realizing, laughing and singing along as your shoulders popped side to side. These men were ridiculously talented and must be sponsored by a great talent agency because somehow, there was a giant soda can rising from the ground as they came to the end of the song.

As they delivered the last lyric and posed, the crowd and yourself went wild. Screams and cheers erupted from everyone, the energy was high and chaotic.

The leader began talking to the crowd as other members began to throw assorted merch at the crowd. It looked like light sticks, shirts, more cans of soda - you watched it all fly by in the air.

You turned back to the devilishly handsome men just in time to see the most chiseled, pink-haired specimen staring directly at you. There was no mistaking it this time, no delusion, because he crouched down slightly to throw merch at you. His eyes connected with yours, shirt tightening as he stretched, and down came a black shirt and bright pink can of soda.

It was suddenly hard to breathe because even after catching the merch, he stood up but continued to stare at you, dark eyes never breaking eye contact with you. You could hear the leader telling you to tune into the show tonight to watch them and that Saja Boys loved everyone.

"My Little Sodapop."

The baritone voice of the god standing above you rang straight into your core, a whimper coming involuntarily from your lips as he sang the words looking at you.

Another wink, a flash of purple, and they were all gone.

You were touching yourself tonight.

-

After buying a Saja Boys light stick from a stand nearby, you rushed home.

The need for release was suddenly consuming you, burning you up alive. Images of the pink-haired demon, his smirk, his tongue, those abs, it all played in your mind. You felt hot all over, mind plagued with him.

Crashing into your apartment, you threw everything down haphazardly and began to strip down. You felt warm, warm from your run and warm from the need that built inside you.

You threw your bare body down on your bed, fingers immediately between your wet folds. How you got this wet from that brief performance, from what you could barely call an interaction, was borderline ridiculous, perhaps he even embarrassing. Were you so starved you were getting off to a man who you looked at once, a man who's name you didn't know?

Yes, yes you were and you weren't ashamed.

"Fuck," you whispered breathlessly, fingers ghosting your sensitive clit. It had been awhile since you had touched yourself, or let alone been touched, and every nerve was on fire, sensitivity through the room.

A load, lustful moan filled the room as you put your fingers inside yourself, feeling your own tight walls clamp against two of your fingers. You didn't feel full enough, but you still slid your fingers in and out of your wet center and massaged your palm into your clit.

The pleasure felt amazing, the stimulation causing your body to stiffen and relax repeatedly, but...

"Not enough," you cried out, your climax seemingly out of of sight despite the stimulation.

A red glow filtered behind your eyelids, making them snap open as you look to the side. Mysteriously the light stick you bought had turned on, glowing bright red, beckoning you to it.

You removed your fingers from yourself, latching onto the handle of the light, smearing your own essence along it. You brought it to your face, the lion's eyes boaring into yours, like it was commanding you to do its bidding.

It seemed to glow brighter as you neared the handle closer to your pussy, urging you to use it for your own pleasure. Shifting your hands, you brought the handle down and began to rub it through your folds, pressing it into your clit.

Immediately, pleasure began to burst through your veins, stars dancing across your closed eyelids. You hadn't even inserted it into yourself yet, but it felt euphoric already.

After gliding it against yourself multiple times, coating the handle generously, you began to ease it into yourself gently. Your eyebrows scrunched at the foreign intrusion, walls tight and unsure if it was welcome.

The stars behind your eyelids were replaced suddenly with images of him again - pink hair tusseled, chiseled body on bare, his abs and chest covered in a sheen layer of sweat.

He was above you, panting through an open mouthed smirk, sharp canines on display, deep voice practically growling, "Atta girl, take it all in for me."

His golden eyes were locked with yours as you let a loud moan once again, the handle not fully fitting within you but filling you deliciously. Without breaking eye contact, you began to move it in and out of yourself, the motion filled with urgency as you climbed the ladder of euphoria.

Whimpers, pants, moans, began to fill the air, squelches sounding from your pussy as you used the light stick to pleasure yourself. All the while, those sinful golden stayed on you, watching your expressions, trailing down your naked body, locking in on to the light stick.

"How does it feel? Hmm?" He asked, his voice alone causing your eyes to roll, "Feel good fucking yourself with it?"

His words had you bucking up into the stick as it pushed in. "Feels good, 's so good," you mumbled incoherently.

He understood nonetheless, letting out a deep breathy laugh, "And yet you still wish it was me." It wasn't a question, it was a fact, one you could only whimper to answer.

After a few more strokes you suddenly felt the lightest touch along your stomach, a whisper of fingers as they trailed down towards your center.

Gold eyes met yours once more before deft and firm fingers pressed into your clit, a scream erupting from you lips at the stinging pleasure it brought. There was no mercy in his touch, his goal was to make you finish for him.

"What a good little slut you are for me," he taunted. "You don't even know my fucking name but you're sitting, fucking yourself to me."

Your arms were starting to get sore from the repetitive motion but you were teetering so close to the end, his ministrations and edge words hurtling you towards the finish. You needed this, you craved this.

"Be a good girl and scream my name when you come, Y/N, scream it for me."

Your blown out eyes met his again, trying hard to peace the sentence together, "What name, what-" cutting yourself off with a sharp moan, his fingers never letting up as you began to crest to the peak.

He leaned down, plump lips brushing your ear, biting his name out for you to scream.

You cried his name, chanted it like a fucking mantra, as you fell over the edge and into the darkest, deepest pit of euphoria. Your vision went black and you swore you felt something bit your neck as you fell.

When you opened your eyes again, the illusion of the sexy man was gone, his fingers never touched you, words never whispered, nothing. But you enjoyed the hallucination while it lasted because it felt amazing.

You removed the wand of the lightstick from yourself, grimacing how it was covered in your juices along with the sheets under yourself. Perhaps you broke it because it no longer shone red, which sucks because it wasn't cheap but you have no one to blame but your vagina.

Standing up with shaky and sore legs, you swiped the cloth from your bag and wiped yourself off with it. You were dripping from your orgasm and covered in sweat, feeling droplets roll down your face, neck, chest. Dropping the cloth to the side, you unfolded the shirt the chiseled vixen gifted you as well. From first glance it just seemed like an extra large shirt with Saja Boys written in fuchsia letter, but the lettering on the bottom made your heart drop and the sweat on body feel ice cold.

Abby.

The name Abby was scrawled at the bottom corner of the shirt in gold writing.

The same name your illusion of him told you to scream when you came.

And in the corner, gold eyes watched you from the shadows, lips smirking at how your heart and mind raced with momentary panic. You had no idea he was there, lurking over you.

He brought his fingers to his plump lips, a flash of a tongue parting them, and the sinful flesh tracing, licking your juices off of him. A silent groan built in his chest, a rumble at how exquisite you taste.

His little human tasted so sweet.

He couldn't wait to eat you up.

[toasterdrake]

Can I ask for Zoey with F!Reader where Reader is from a "rival" girl group like k/da or black pink? Rivals to Lovers style?

i write exclusively gn!reader so that anyone can read, but if you don't mind that then i hope you enjoy :) i'm always happy to write for zoey, she's so 🥰

fun fact, i've never written rivals to lovers before! this was a fun challenge to figure out

reader is taller than zoey here, but that's it!

Summit - Zoey x gn!Reader

word count: ~900

let's lay down some background, first:

- Your group and Huntr/x have been battling for the top spot on the charts ever since you both arrived on the idol scene, which happened to be around the same time.

- Huntr/x always fought hard to be #1: their popularity decided the fate of the world, after all. But what were they supposed to do? Explain that without sounding crazy, and ask your group to pretty please sabotage your own careers?

- Zoey would stay awake late into the night, rewriting lyrics until they were perfect, burning through a stack of notebooks in the process. Within them she would weave subtle references to your group -- to you.

- And it brought success. How It's Done held #1 for the longest record either group had hit. But with popularity, came rumours. Most theorised that various members were secretly dating each other across the groups, and that all the fierce rivalry was just a front to distract from the so-called truth.

- It was an appearance on a variety show that rippled that lake of rumours. The show wanted to capitalise on the fans' investment by not only putting both groups under one roof, but pitting you against each other.

By all rights, Zoey should've excelled at an obstacle course. She'd been training as a Hunter as long as she had an idol. Both were physically intensive. Both required unshakeable discipline. Both demanded single-minded focus.

...Neither had ever involved inflatable plastic mats. Or inflatable plastic pillars. Or inflatable plastic climbing walls.

It was her round. Zoey versus you. Three to each group, you were paired up in a speed race: fastest across the course would add a point to their team's score.

Thirty seconds left on the clock, Zoey squeezed between two horizontal rollers. Confronted with a field of giant space hoppers, you were a handful of paces behind.

Zoey's smaller size meant she could duck and weave between obstacles faster than you, but still you had managed to keep the gap small, and were just diving through the rollers when she dropped out the other side.

Ahead was the final obstruction of her imminent domination. A victory that would impress even your group's most loyal fans, and sway them to enjoy Huntr/x's music too.

The climbing wall.

The fifteen-foot mountain of air loomed at the end of the studio set. Foam shelves dotted its surface, leading up to her goal: the summit.

Zoey was already at the third shelf when you tumbled out of the roller. Scrambling after her, your longer limbs quickly proved an advantage as she strained and flexed to reach the next shelf.

You overtook her in no time. Each beat of the clock spelled doom: the end of Huntr/x, the end of the Honmoon, the end of the world.

The spiralling descent Zoey's thoughts took was dizzying. Her body followed when her fingers missed the next shelf after she'd let go of her current one. A fatal mistake.

Time slowed to a crawl. She fell like a stone in water, clawing for holds that weren't there. Head turning to see her go, your figure dwindled.

Damn you.

She hit the inflatable mat hard. Something in her back complained, but at least the impact of her fall had been muffled by a cushion of cool air and plastic.

Spots dancing in her vision, Zoey was just shaking the fuzz from her head when the mat depressed again with a new weight.

She looked up. You kneeled beside her, holding out a hand. What?

Even under the glaring lights of the studio, on display before an ever-watching audience, your eyes held nothing but kindness and concern.

"Are you okay?" You asked in a whisper so small, it was barely static in the mics hovering above your heads.

Distantly, Mira and Rumi were screaming for her to move, what was she doing! Cries from your group mates and the crowd drowned out anything else.

Stumbling to her feet on the unsteady surface -- your hands on her arm, her lower back, helping her rise -- Zoey could only manage a tiny nod.

The buzzer sounded. She was eliminated, too delayed in reaching the finish line.

A flash of frustration shot through her. But before a frown could fully form, guilt at letting down her girls tugging at the corners of her lips,

The buzzer echoed its cry on the tail of the first. Your icon on the screen faded to red, just as hers did.

You should have been able to finish before the time was up. She knew it. If you'd just-- If you hadn't... if you hadn't stopped to help her.

Looking away from the screen to take in her open mouth and wide eyes, you smiled just outside the range of the cameras.

"Looks like it's a tie! What a way to end tonight's last game!" One of the hosts boomed.

The moment shattered. The audience's reaction was an enthusiastic mixture of cheers and boo's.

Rising from your bows, you elbowed her lightly, a sparkle in your eye. "Story of our careers, right?"

"Uh--" Zoey started.

Then your group was pulling you away, and Mira and Rumi were ushering her back to their marks to stand while the scores were called out and the winner declared.

Zoey coasted through the closing motions of the show in a daze. Mira and Rumi shot her glances every so often, probably worried she'd gotten a concussion from the fall.

She was fine, mostly. Her mind was just far from the studio. It was at home, in her room, with her notebooks.

Her notebooks, filled with abandoned lyrics bordering on diss-track status. Her notebooks, mocking your smile when bouquets were handed to you instead of them at awards shows. Her notebooks, littered with confessions of admiration for your art in the margins.

~[Z]~

- love, toasty

 i got too close to researching how bouncy castles are made for this. we're not gonna talk about it

[kingmlem]

Hi everyone! I'm here with part two of the untitled/unfinished angsty fic I posted last week. You can find part 1 here if you want to go read that before this. I don't know when I'll get around to posting part 3, because it's still in the outline stage (looks at open document with the word 'reconciliation?' written in comic sans) but it's somewhere in the list after 3hrs and the others. Anyway, here's the rough draft of part two (she was written immediately after the first part, I just never posted her.) I hurt you last time, I'll put a band-aid on it this time, enjoy! 🧑🏻‍🚒🧑🏻‍🚒

One of the main differences between First Presbyterian and Good Samaritan was the Jello schedule, and how you could bribe the nurses to 'lose' an extra cup of Strawberry Jello on your tray at Good Sam.

First Pres's resident Red Jello© was cherry, which always reminded him of the time he did Jello shots off of some girl at some college party- the time he puked because of her excess use of body glitter. Jello shots, not great coming back up. The memory always made him shiver, and Tuesday's Red Jello© at First Pres was usually casually pushed aside with a harried glance. If Eddie snickered, because he had in fact been told about the Jello Shot-Body Glitter fiasco, then that was just his lot.

Luckily, (not really but hey, at least he was alive and not in a coma this time) Sheila had slipped an extra cup of green Jello onto his tray, an equal exchange for the chocolate bar he'd 'accidentally' left out.

"Everything's looking pretty good, the swelling's decreased significantly," The doctor offered, swiping through a few pages on that tablet in her hands before looking up with a smile. "You should be out of here early next week."

"Next week?" His skin itched, stuck here for three days already. At least Eddie was next door, and Sheila didn't mind wheeling him back and forth between the two rooms too much, so he wasn't completely stir-crazy yet.

"Unfortunately, you're not completely out of the woods yet, Buck. We're still monitoring the clotting situation, given your history. Ideally, I'd like to see the swelling reduce further before sending you home." Dr. Daria looked once again at her screen, nodding once in her assessment before jotting something down. "Precautionary measures, that's all."

"Right," Buck sighed, resigning himself to his bed-ridden fate. He could already hear the lecture from Maddie if he tried to check out AMA, and now she had Jee to really back up the tear-filled scolding. He still had Eddie to bother, now that he was mainly recovering from surgery, and Sheila was always more than happy to make sure the two (hot- the nurse's station tittered) firefighters were okay.

It wasn't exactly a hardship to stay, it just gave him too much time to think, which wasn't... great, at the moment. Too many questions, too many thoughts about being trapped, about his thoughts spiraling... about how he was probably (definitely,) not as over his last relationship as he 'should' be.

Every time he thought of the moment before he'd crashed- the fear in Tommy's eyes that pierced right through him- it sent him further down the rabbit hole. Nothing like reliving the moment, over and over and over again.

"You could try to talk to him?" Eddie offered, snatching his own Jello cup back when Buck tried to sneak it off his tray (rude, Eddie knew green was a top tier flavor in Buck's book.)

"And say what? 'Hey, man, I know it's been a few months, and I know we haven't actually spoken, but somehow I've kind of fallen harder for you than before?'"

"Sounds pretty good to me-stop playing with my food, man." Eddie snipped, swatting at Buck's hand as he poked at a suspicious chunk of something in the pasta salad. A stubborn part of him wanted nothing more than to stick it out, adamant that it wasn't actually his fault in the first place. He wasn't the one who ran this time. Tommy did.

"So, continue being idiots, then. I don't know what to tell you." Buck huffed, eyes rolling at the wholly unhelpful answer.

He picked at a green olive slice, poking the red pimento piece farther down into the noodles below, fully ignoring Eddie's stare. He could be eating green fucking Jello- this was just karma.

Really.

Totally had nothing to do with the fact that his best friend was probably right, and talking probably wouldn't hurt... Unless of course Tommy had moved on in those three months. Found himself some other guy-

"Stop." Eddie's voice cuts his spiral short, eyes never once leaving Buck's face. "Jesus, I can see you overthinking this. Get out of your head and talk to him. Hell, yell at him if it'll make you feel better. It'd probably make him feel better." The last part was huffed under Eddie's breath, not really meant to be heard, but he was tired of watching Buck vandalize his (admittedly shitty quality) lunch. At least at First Pres he could get revenge, watch Buck turn practically green at the mere smell of the Cherry Jello. Quid pro quo.

"What- what's that even supposed to mean?"

Because what was that supposed to mean?

The thought of what it could mean sent a dangerous little spark though Buck's chest, a sparkle of what he's been trying to squash since Tommy walked out.

"Just- please, just talk to him, or I'm calling Donato, because apparently she's the only one who can talk sense into either of you." Eddie bat at his hand once again, saving the semi-edible vegetables from a fate similar to the mangled pasta salad. "I'm stealing your rice pudding, asshole."

"You wouldn't dare," Buck pulled his hand back and away, straightening too quick and wincing at the sharp stab of pain in his back. Which threat the comment was directed toward, Buck wasn't sure, both maybe. He really didn't need another Donato dressing down on top of all of this, and Eddie could pry Good Samaritan's rice pudding from his cold dead hands.

"I know where you sleep, Buckley. Now get out of here and let me enjoy Top Gun before Chris gets here." Buck flipped him off before scooting the wheelchair away from the bed, glaring at Eddie when he heard the familiar ping of his call button being rung.

"I can manag-"

"You boys all set," Sheila chimed, knocking once on the door jam as she poked her head in. Buck watched her expression change, her eyebrow raising as she clocked his hands on the wheels, his back hunched slightly (she'd ratted him out to Daria once, he knew she'd do it again.) He flinched when she clicked her tongue, shooting a glare at Eddie's poorly covered cough-chuckle. He didn't fight it when Sheila grabbed the handles of the wheelchair, flipping Eddie off one last time as she wheeled him back out of the room and into his own.

"You are just bound and determined to stay here, aren't you?" Buck smiled as charmingly as he could, one of his boyish grins that used to get him everywhere with the women he flirted with, huffing when the nurse only crossed her arms over her chest.

"I would miss your smiling face too much," Buck wheedled, moving himself into the bed with a wince. Sheila scoffed as she moved around the room, checking the tablet left on the table at the end of his bed.

"I'll be sure to tell Daria that's the reason you're still swelling." She was definitely going to rat him out again.

[winter-spark]

Guys I did it it! I finally put down some introductory scenes for my Pirates AU! I'm calling it Lost at Sea right now because when I went to label the document those are the first words that came to mind but as of what I know is gonna happen, I think it fits.

Note: This was just to lay down some of the setup. This is the roughest first drafti-est first draft I could present. I had fewer ideas for the Zafran Princes just thought they all had to get a perspective because I knew Orange and Tangerine would be main characters and it felt weird to not include Navel and Citron(especially since Citron is sorta is, I didn't actually have any ideas for the intro for the four of them though because the first scene I have in my head with them is a little bit later. I did always intend to start with a scene between Izumi and Itaru, though. Thank you for reading if you read this.

Also, I did a little bit of research on Pirates for this but in doing that I've also decided to do whatever I want because I can. Alright, thanks. & remember that everything finds its footing better after the pilot.

~~~~~~~~~~•~~~~~~~~~~•~~~~~~~~~~•~~~~~~~~~~•~~~~~~~~~~•~~~~~~

“Itaru!” Izumi waved over the edge of the Mankai. “Didja get everything you needed?”

The Mankai was a strange vessel. It wasn’t like the galleons Itaru had seen nor even the sloop, he was a crew member on. It didn’t really look much like it was for battle, despite its size. It almost looked like a home? Not that it was house-shaped, just that it looked… homely. Itaru stopped rolling his barrel and looked up at her. “You know that’s confidential.”

“I don’t know why though. It’s a simple yes or no.”

“I’m not gonna give ship status to a potential enemy ship.”

She seemed in thought. Then she leaned over with a grin. “Are you happy there?”

“I–” Itaru knew this was a part of her recruitment campaign. He hadn’t yet figured out why but she’s offered him a spot if he’s ever needed one. Mankai was in no means a small ship. What reason did she have to offer Itaru, an essential nobody, a spot on the ship? But still this was the first time she directly asked if he was happy. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oi!” Her ship’s bird landed on her shoulder, it’s wing pointed off in a direction, “That’s you isn’t it?”

Itaru looked. It looked like they were getting ready to head out, he groaned. “I gotta go…”

As he headed off he could hear her call out to him, “Alright! But think about it okay!”

Itaru had made it in time, hoisting the barrel of water onto the ship. He sighed. He would’ve been left if Izumi’s bird hadn’t warned him… He looked over at Mankai, it was such a pretty ship. He did wonder what it looked like aboard it.

“Ay,” Tonooka’s arm landed over Itaru’s shoulder. “You made it.”

“No thanks to you,” Itaru gave him a playful shove.

“Hey, I had matters to attend, but I was worried about you.”

“Yea?”

“Yea. What took you anyway?”

“The water was heavy.”

“You’re so weak,” Tonooka twisted his knuckles against Itaru’s head. Itaru pushed at him, he didn’t need a reminder.

“Hey, what do you think it’s like on Mankai?”

“That ship with the old dudes?”

“And Izumi.”

“I mean, the ship is nice I’ll give you that, but what would they do under attack?”

“But don’t you ever wonder why they aren’t ever attacked?”

Tonooka raised a brow at him. “What are you saying?”

“Just–Do you think people fear them?”

Tonooka shrugged. “What does it matter? They’ve nothing to do with us.”

“Yea, I suppose.” There were a number of older people on the ship, maybe Izumi was just looking for someone her age. Maybe she just latched onto the idea of offering a spot to Itaru because he was familiar, they’d had a number of run-ins before. Yea, that made sense.

"He's so expendable."

"Kamekichi!" Izumi frowned at her feathery crewmate.

"He is! Isn't that the reason you're interested in him? With the whole retirement thing and all. I thought you were looking for recruits."

"I am but I've been trying to recruit Itaru before a lot of that." Izumi watched his ship start to set sail, "I just think I enjoy his company more than his crew seems to."

"You should just kidnap him."

"Kamekichi!"

"What? They won't try that hard to get him back, guarantee."

"You give bad advice." Izumi petted his head.

"I give great advice!" He squawked. "I should leave too, just for that. You'll never see me again!"

"Ah okay," Izumi rested her chin in her hand, "Well, Isuke will always be here with me."

"Ah!" Kamekichi flew off her shoulder, clearly offended. "You're supposed to beg me to stay."

Izumi tapped her chin. "Hmm…"

"Rude!" He tugged her hair. She laughed.

"I'm just messing with you!"

"Ah Izumi!" Isuke ran up, "Your father would like to discuss the course with you."

Izumi's father was retiring. From being Mankai's captain, not from the sea. But it made sense. Not much was left of Mankai. First to leave were some of her father's closest friends–Zen wanted to start a traveling restaurant, Yuzo wanted to be a captain himself, Kasumi wanted to explore other avenues than Pirating, maybe be on land for a while, Syu was summoned by his father's company to run cargo and trade ships. Yukio, the first to encourage to their departure. Then soon enough, other members left too. Some with/to help Zen & Yuzo. Some were just done with the sea. And some were still around, ready to leave once Yukio officially did. 

But Izumi wasn't done yet. And neither were Isuke and Kamekichi. The three of them hadn't had their fill of adventure and the sea and finding loot! Izumi wasn't ready yet to leave Mankai. So even though she wasn't sure she was ready to be a captain she'd be doning that role. And she'd be looking for recruits. Mankai was too big a ship for three people. 

She met up with her father and he told her his plan. Basically he and Captain  Reni were going to be meeting up at an island and then Yukio would retire. It'd be his last voyage. Wow… 

Izumi took a breath and shook her head. Hopefully, by then Izumi would have some new recruits by then.

Navel looked at the stars and his map. He was pretty darn good at his job so if he really wasn't gonna be the next captain he didn't mind sticking with navigation. However, he wasn't sure he'd want to be Citronia's navigator. Orange knew the ship like the back of his hand, he was in charge of keeping the ship safe and making sure it got repaired when it needed to be, it was initially mainly the main sailing functions but he likes to make sure everything’s in order. Sure, Citronia was the Quartermaster but still.

Navel turned to a chart. Yea like he thought, they were near a fairly windy area. Best to turn the sails and work with the wind rather than against it. 

Navel looked down from atop the mast. No one should really notice him. The wheel was tied still so the boat wouldn't turn on it's own but even if someone was there they shouldn't see… Navel took one more look around. Alright. Guilty pleasure, it was but he loved the rush. Instead of climbing down, Navel took his telescope and held it atop of the rope and let himself hang below, and slid down to the deck.

"Good evening Navel."

Of course he'd be there, probably judging him. Navel pocketed his telescope and turned to Citronia, "Yes dear brother?"

"Well I was coming to suggest you get some rest," He began adjusting the mast, “You’ve not left your post in a while.”

"What are you–"

"Were you not about to do this?"

"I was but," that's the thing, Navel was gonna do it. He forgot sometimes that being the expert didn't mean Citronia wasn't gonna butt in.

"You can help."

Navel frowned but did so.

"Is this good?"

"Yea, it's fine." Navel headed off. Citron frowned. 

Maybe he shouldn't have helped. He didn't mean to take the wind from his sails. Navel had looked in a good mood so Citron thought he could talk to him…

Citron looked out at the horizon. The sun would be a while. He enjoyed being out on the sea, and he didn't mind his job, but he wished interacting with his brothers was a lot more pleasant. Their moms had done more on the ship than Citron's though, Citron's mom wasn't even a pirate, really, more of a stowaway that happened to get along with the captain. So it was a little strange Citron was even here and so highly revered by the crew. And yet the people he wanted to like him the most…

Tangerine came out, in somewhat of a hurry.

"Is there trouble?" 

"Why would there be?" Tangerine tilted his head.

Citron put his hands on his hips. "Then shouldn't you be sleeping?" 

Tangerine shook his head. "You promised you'd play a song for me."

"Was that tonight?" Citron tapped his chin, teasing the idea that he was in thought.

Tangerine looked around. "Are you too busy?"

"Of course not," Citron patted Tangerine's head. "I just need my violin."

"I'll go get it!" Tangerine perked up.

Citron chuckled. "Alright and I'll keep watch then."

Tangerine nodded and headed in. There were others to keep watch but Citronia was always trying to carry so much of the weight on his shoulders, it's clearly part of the reason everyone loved him so much but Tangerine honestly wished he'd sit down.

"Good evening sir," Mika, a cooper, greeted him in passing. Tangerine turned to him and made a face.

"We're the same age."

"But you're an official–"

"Barely."

"So… you don't want me to call you sir?"

"Ah…" Tangerine didn't really ever get any status calls, so it was a little nice… But sir? "Can we pin this?"

"Yea, of course."

"Thanks." Tangerine smiled and shook his hands. "I gotta go, but we'll definitely talk later."

"Okay."

Tangerine headed to Citronia's room and got his violin case. There was a new song he'd picked up a bit in the last port town they were in.

He exited to find Orange inspecting the wall. 

"Big brother?"

"Hello, Tangerine," Orange stood up straight and nodded slightly at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Navel said he got snagged on the wall in this hall but the moment he laid down he fell asleep so I'm trying to find it."

"I see, do you want me to help?"

Orange looked above him then at him. "No carry on, I suppose it's not too much of a threat, especially since it's just our quarters so if I can't find it I'll just ask Navel in the morning."

"Oh okay."

"Yes, and don't stay up too late."

"Okay," and Tangerine headed off with the chipper energy he always had when heading to see Citronia. He must understand him better than Orange could ever fathom too. 

Orange gave up on the wall, it was something small anyway. He just needed something to do. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Everything was pretty much in shape. Navel was in bed. Citronia was on deck so he’d rather not go there. After things get windy, they’ll get stormy. Navel said so anyway. So another check of the ships features wasn’t a bad idea, but maybe tomorrow.

“Orange there you are.”

“Yes, Moon?”

“Would you like an update?” Moon was somewhat of a friend to Orange’s mother, so when she wasn’t around Moon tended to take care of Orange. His mother had been the first mate but she nearly shared Quartermaster responsibilities with his father’s first wife. With the traditions of ship, such as the next captain being chosen by lineage, she’d thought for sure Orange would also end up as Quartermaster, as much as she’d kept things in order with everyone. Citronia was just a natural with the people though. And it wasn’t like he was ever unfair with the way he divided up the loot. So Orange was in what seemed a losing battle if he really wanted to follow in his mother and father’s footsteps.

“Mm, Citronia and Tangerine ‘re on deck, I take it Guy’s at the wheel? And most others have gone to bed.” 

“Pretty much, but it is tied for now. Your elder brother, though, has thrown somewhat of a party.”

And that’s part of what it was wasn’t it? Citronia could just spontaneously start a party late the night before the weather started being more difficult. Orange would opt as many people to sleep as possible so everyone was as ready as they could be, Citronia with all his wit and calculations though still did things that didn’t quite made sense. And if Orange asked why he’d throw a party he’d problem ask if there was an issue celebrating the crew. 

Vaguely, Orange could hear it. Other musicians on the ship had their instruments out, playing. Playing what Orange didn’t know. He got up, his hair snagging on the wall, there it was. Orange cleared his throat.

“Right in the morning have a carpenter come and fix this, it’s about…” Orange eyeballed the distance down the hall and from the floor it was. Moon noted that down. Orange then turned to head to his room.

“You’re heading to bed?”

“Better to let them regret it in the morning than be the one who ruined the fun.” Orange headed into his room. Right. Navel was asleep in there. Orange took out a spare blanket and pillow, he should get a second hammock.

He laid down, the distant sound of music still playing. He closed his eyes. He was tired but sleep never came that easy.

[diabolicalworldwriter]

there's something sadly funny about the way that Kaladin goes into literally every situation thinking "Too bad I'm not cool anymore 😔"

I mean. I get it. Depression fucks your brain up and you feel detached from yourself and any skills you have or had. The PTSD and chronic fatigue are keeping him from doing things he once managed with far less effort. And it's rather impossible to feel like you can just... do things like you used to when you're struggling at a basic level to simply be.

Still, literally everyone who knows him is like "Kaladin you're so storming cool" and he goes "They're referring to the person I was, who is dead. I'll never be cool again. I'm sorry."

The most hilarious thing? He walks into these moments, thinking 'too bad', and then he does the most objectively amazing thing possible while everyone else just watches in awe.

Kaladin, three seconds after absolutely changing everyone's outlook on life: Aw, it's too bad the person I just was died again. Guess I have to find something else to be cuz I sure can't pull that off anymore.

[kangaracha]

it's been six months since i posted a to do list

where the hell have you been, roo.

WHAT U GOTTA DO IN JANUARY

edit daybreak

queenmaker - post ch 24

queenmaker - writing

nevermore - ch 25

see no evil (railway fic)

cold summer (unfair fic)

birdcage (original) - final chapter

OTHER?? STUFF??

tgbyb - planned chapters

leave - part 2

FNF fic - 8/10 chapters

hymn of babylon (original)

all that is good/holy (original) - prologue

what the water brought (original)

she of the garden (original)

[ruelpsen]

If I had to choose between cutting off my hand and redoing grad school apps, I'd seriously consider the hand. Be gentle with yourself, it's a fucking slog. What kind of program are you looking into?

Thank you for the reminder to be gentle. This shit has been stressful, and having for various reasons only about a month and a half to actually do focused work on applying has SUCKED. Not looking forward to potentially having to do this again in the future (it's complicated but I'll explain why in a sec), but I am SO looking forward to two weeks from now when these applications are in and it's out of my hands, as much as the waiting game itself sucks in its own way.

As for programs, I don't want to get too specific. I was a double major in undergrad, and I'm not exaggerating when I say I've literally never met anyone else with those two specific majors. (Ftr one is a STEM field and the other in the humanities.) I want to keep studying both in some capacity in the future, but to make a long story short I'm stuck in a position where I have to hold off on applying to the program in the humanities for now.

As annoyed as I am about the 'long story' part of that, I'm totally fine with prioritizing the program in STEM for now. Hell, in some ways that's a good thing given the limited amount of time I have to work on applications. But at the same time, I've greatly limited the number of schools I'm applying to so I can focus on creating well-tailored applications for their specific programs and faculty, and that means each potential rejection would leave me with a far smaller share of options. It's a bit of a risk, but damn it I'm trying my best to show how strong of a student I've been and that I would work well with their specific people. Hopefully things work out in the end.

I hope your own efforts have paid off too, wherever life has taken you.

[metricalscansion]

x x / x x / x x / x x /

Kinda wan | na be kissed | kinda wan | na be stabbed

x x / x x / x x / x x /

And he's hav | ing a smoke | and she's tak | ing a drag

anapestic tetrameter

Kinda wanna be kissed kinda wanna be stabbed

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[hannieoftheyear]

After All This Time (kmg)

When you're asked to be on the wedding party of a long-lost friend, you get the chance to reconnect with former classmate Mingyu, but not without your old feelings and struggles resurfacing.

✧˖* pairing: groomsman!mingyu x bridesmaid!reader

✧˖* w.c: 18,7k

✧˖* genre: friends to lovers, fluff, smut, angst, it's another self-indulgent 'running away from your high school past' story from me.

🎧: still into you — paramore

check out my main masterlist ♡

✧˖* warnings: alcohol consumption, a lot of not standing up for oneself, kind of unrealistic wedding timeline (i've never been a bridesmaid so bare with me), mingyu has no flaws here because... im in love with him, this might be badly written I can't really tell anymore | smut: it's messy, and rough, face sitting, unprotected penetration (don't do this), multiple orgasms (f). lmk if im missing anything

The unopened letter stares at you from across the table. Trying to ignore it by doing your housekeeping chores is pointless. Scrubbing your toilet, doing your laundry, making your bed, and even cooking your meal preps for the entire week, nothing managed to take your head away from that stupid letter, wondering what could possibly be.

You and Olivia haven’t spoken properly since graduating high school many years ago. The last time you had a full-on conversation with her was when she told you she started seeing a new guy freshman year in college, someone who went to your same high school but never knew. Besides that, your only form of “communication” was liking each other's Instagram stories and the yearly happy birthday text. A letter from her addressed to you was the last thing you expected to see today, or ever.

Curiosity finally wins as you take it and inspect it up close. The pastel pink envelope with golden details feels sturdy in your hands, and the wax seal is stamped with two initials, O and T. The boyfriend’s name appears in your memory as the realization hits you. Olivia and Thomas.

This is a wedding invitation.

Opening the envelope just confirms your thoughts, but there’s more to it than just a mere invitation. Just below some details such as dress code and the plus one, there’s a part specifically addressed to you asking you to be one of Olivia’s bridesmaids. Your stomach turns, anxiety, and excitement battling it out in each of your organs. For one, it’s really heartwarming that she thought of you as a friend still and wants you to be a part of such a special day as her wedding. On the other side, it’ll be awkward to see everyone again after such a long time, because, weirdly enough, you never encountered anyone you knew ever again, even if you didn’t move away and still frequented same places as before.

Except, maybe that anxiety is just because of one person, who’s probably going to be more than involved in this wedding. Cassie, your other best friend.

Being a trio was never a problem. Actually, it’s probably the better friend group arrangement for you. The three of you got along immediately since the first day of middle school and never looked back. It was always fun and comfortable, you thought you had found your best friends for life. But something happened around the age when girls start noticing boys, when everyone starts going on dates, flirting, kissing, getting into relationships. That’s when you realized you and Cassie had the exact same type. It became almost like a routine: you’d notice a cute guy around school but didn’t say anything, and the next thing you know, at the next party Cassie would also notice him and hook up with him. You were sure you were in your very own Truman Show.

Was it partially your fault for not saying anything? Maybe, but did it have to happen with literally every single guy you were ever attracted to? It reached a point where you would constantly doubt yourself, compare yourself to her, was she cooler? Prettier? Smarter? Funnier?

In the end, it wasn’t her fault, and you’d never blame her for that, but for your own good and the wellness of your crumbling self-confidence, you had to get away from that situation. And you did. At least until now. But it’s been years, you’re not the same person you were back in high school, and hopefully, all of your self-doubting was also left in the past.

A sky-high, lavish building stands before you in all of its glory. You were no stranger to your old friend’s rich family, but her lifestyle always managed to take you by surprise.

Olivia wanted all the bridesmaids and groomsmen to meet and get comfortable with each other, so she and her fiancé arranged a little afternoon party at their apartment. Over the few texts you exchanged with Olivia, she failed to mention the other people on the wedding party. So during the elevator ride, you think of every possibility, who could be there that you know? With how many people from school has she kept in contact with? Will you know the groom’s friends?

The doorbell rings inside the busy apartment, and a few seconds later you’re welcomed by your old friend with a bright smile. You hug Olivia tightly, the weirdness of the situation fading away for a few seconds. Afterward, you greet everyone with a shy smile, recognizing some faces and encountering new ones. Some people are standing in groups of three or four, while others sit on the couch or a few scattered chairs, talking with each other comfortably.

“While we wait for the last people to arrive, I want to start telling you what I have planned.”

Olivia announces as you walk away slowly, and you find an empty wall by the hallway to rest against.

At least twenty minutes pass, in which Olivia doesn’t take one breath, her happiness and excitement showing through her endless words. The wedding plan is not really out of the ordinary, but the scale of things, that’s the impressive part. She has seven bridesmaids, including you, plus the maid of honor who hasn’t arrived yet, and her fiancé has the same number of grooms, plus the best man. Each of you will pair up throughout the days coming up to the ceremony, and on the big day, each pair will have matching outfits and even a dance scheduled after the couple’s first dance as a married couple. Her idea was essentially thought so no one would feel out of place and enjoy the ceremony, because it should be a happy day for everyone.

While she explains everything for the second time, you take your time to look around the big room full of people. Scanning every face, there isn’t really a lot of girls you know, but the groomsmen, on the other hand, all of them went to your same high school. It seems Olivia’s fiancé still hangs out with his same group of friends. One of them, in particular, sparks a little smile across your face.

Mingyu was the only other person you considered a real friend in school. As scary and anxiety inducing as it is to have classes without your small friend group, he made it more than bearable, enjoyable even. Becoming friends with the nerdy boy assigned as your lab partner is one of the things you remember fondly about those years of your life. He was like a breath of fresh air during all the turmoil. Would he remember you?

His eyes catch yours from across the room, and an instant smile forms across his lips. After all the years that passed, he still looks the same. He’s much more mature and fully over puberty now, his broad bulky frame being one of the more standing out new things about him, but you’d recognize that confused expression and toothy smile with fangs peeking out anywhere. Your mood rapidly improves as he mouths a ‘hi’ and waves his hand lightly at you, not wanting to interrupt the bride to be. You repeat his greeting with a growing grin, but your small interaction is cut short.

Your name catches your attention, and you turn to Olivia, “you and Mingyu will be our last pair. Is that okay?”

The relief is immediate. It might be a little awkward, but at least you’ll be with someone you know. You and Mingyu look at each other once again and then nod at her, but before she can continue with whatever she is saying, the entry door opens behind her.

“Hi everyone!” The familiar voice makes your stomach drop, “I’m sorry I’m late. My boss wouldn’t let me go.”

She looks the same too, only with longer hair and more mature features on her face. Her body language holds the same coolness, as sure of herself as she was when you were younger.

“It’s fine. It’s nothing the maid of honor hasn’t heard before.” Olivia replies to her with a chuckle.

“Oh my god! I haven’t seen you in so long!” When she greets you, you straighten your posture, put on your best smile, and hug her back. “How are you doing?”

“Hey Cassie, good, good, just working my life away!”

You joke and try to ease up your emotions. Your few words manage to satisfy her as she nods with a smile, walks away, and pecks one of the groomsmen – her boyfriend? – on the lips before sitting by his side.

The schedule is easy for Olivia to finish explaining it, so in no time, food starts rolling in, and conversations pop up between everyone, either catching up or normal everyday chats. Cassie starts telling a story about something that happened earlier at her job, but you don’t really understand it. You haven’t talked to them in so long, you don’t know what they do for a living, or where they work. You don’t know them anymore, and you’re too afraid to ask.

To the side, a couple of people over, Mingyu’s talking with the rest of the grooms' friends comfortably. You want to talk to him, but what would you say? It’s not like you were the closest of friends. You never hung out outside of the school, and your friend groups never actually interacted until now. Actually, you never told Olivia and Cassie about him. Maybe because you were afraid that if you introduced him to Cassie, he’d swoon over her like the rest of the guys you ever interacted with romantically.

An uneasy feeling creeps in on you as memories of your past fight to climb up on your memory. Feelings and thoughts you haven’t felt in years come back up, almost reliving everything in a matter of milliseconds. You need to talk to someone, take your mind off of your overthinking. Because this is not the time nor the place to get so gloomy.

You get to talk with the rest of the bridesmaids, and the anxiousness of it all starts bubbling down, and you’re much more comfortable. A couple of them are close family friends with Olivia, also as rich as her, but still really nice girls, even if a little airheaded, and the rest are friends from college.

Time passes by easily, and soon enough, the sun is already set.

On the ride back home, your mind starts spiraling again. Do you even fit in with all those people? An invite to her wedding would’ve been just fine, but a bridesmaid? You feel like a total stranger, someone from her past who’s meddling around trying to sneak into a place she purposely left behind. At least you won’t have to see anyone ever again after the wedding is over.

It is said that changing your usual routine helps improving your mood, taking another path home, shopping at a new place, sitting down at a different park, trying a new coffee order, changing the little things to feel more energized and be more productive. You wouldn’t know, because every task you complete as fast as possible to be back home quickly. So, after days of not being able to think about anything else but the upcoming wedding, it’s your only option left.

With the sky lit up with golden light, the grass and trees as green as ever, and a light breeze that prevents you from getting too hot, you walk around a park you’ve never been to before, with your new ‘hot girl walk’ playlist as a soundtrack. The kids running around the playground are the only sounds that get through your ears besides the music, maybe a bark or two as well, and the sun against your skin soothes all your worries. Damn. Going on a walk does fix your mood.

A hand grabbing your arm softly startles you, and you’re about to punch the mystery person when you recognize his face.

“Mingyu?”

His eyes are focused on your fist that was ready to hit him, and you lower it down, beginning to take out your airpods.

“Sorry! You scared me!” You erupt in a nervous laughter.

“I’m sorry! I called your name but you didn’t hear me.” He stands apologetic in front of you, looking down at his feet before daring to look back up. “How are you doing? We didn’t get to talk the other day.”

“Yeah! It’s good to see you! I didn’t expect you to be there, it was a nice surprise.” Is it too weird to say that? Well, it’s already done.

He gets the tiniest bit shy at your words, his ears turning a light shade of pink before disappearing quickly.

You notice a bicycle by his side, a cute pink helmet with glittery heart stickers hanging by the handle. He must’ve been biking when he saw you and took it off before calling your name.

“I didn’t know if you were still friends with Olivia, I didn’t know if I was going to see you either.”

You fixate on the first part of his sentence, ignoring your body’s reaction to him implying he wanted to see you.

“Oh, we’re not really that close anymore.” There’s a silence as you finish your words, as it wasn’t the reply he was expecting. “Life, you know? We just grew apart.”

It was you who stopped making an effort to talk to her, but even if it was still for your own good, you’re a little ashamed to admit it to Mingyu.

“She still asked you to be her bridesmaid. That must mean something.” Ever the positive guy, he tries to make you feel better after the sour comment.

“Yeah, it’s really nice of her.” The sun shining so bright prevents you from looking up at him, but you smile, hoping he can see it.

The slow steps you’ve been taking side by side turn awkward with silence. You wanted so badly to talk to him after the other day, but now that he’s here, in front of you, you can’t think of anything.

“It’s good that you still hang out with the guys.”

You don’t know what else to say, and the words spill out of your mouth. He doesn’t seem to notice the awkward atmosphere, his body as comfortable as ever walking by your side.

“Yeah, even though not as often as I’d like.” A regretful smile forms across his lips. “Our schedules haven’t been lining up, I met Olivia in person maybe a total of three times over the years.”

“What? There’s no way you didn’t share any classes in school?”

He shakes his head, chuckling at your surprise.

“I think I only ever shared one class with her, but I didn’t really care much about her crowd back then.”

“Wow, thanks for that.”

He means all the popular guys your friends would hang out with, and you know it, but there was always something so fun in teasing him and seeing him get so pouty.

"You know I don’t mean you.”

His shoulder pushes your body lightly to the side, and you chuckle together. It’s hard to prevent the red from rushing to your cheeks. Maybe he’ll mistake it for a faint sunburn.

“That’s a cute helmet you got there.” Your eyes point to it as a way to distract him.

“Oh, that?” He picks it up with what seems to be an embarrassed voice tone, but his actions quickly override it. He puts it on proudly and looks at you with his eyebrows raised, “my sister gave it to me when I bought the bike, gets all the ladies.”

“I'm sure it does.”

Attention from women he for sure gets, but probably not because of that thing. His tall, muscular body is enhanced by the tight blue t-shirt he's wearing. You didn’t get a proper look at him the other day, and now, standing next to him in broad daylight, you almost wish you could still live in the ignorance bliss of not knowing the exact height difference between you two.

“So, what are you doing around here?”

His words make you realize you’ve been staring for a few seconds, and you look ahead, hoping he didn’t notice. He forgets to remove the helmet, making you chuckle quietly before answering.

“I just got off from work and thought it would be nice to take a different route home.”

“That’s such a coincidence! I come here, like, almost every week to bike around.”

“Wow, It really is.”

For how long have you been avoiding this specific park for no reason? Pushing away your chance of meeting the one and only person you would’ve wanted to?

A ping from his phone alerts both of you, taking you out of your little bubble.

“Sorry I-" His expression falls as he reads the new text, “I have to get going, but it was really nice seeing you!”

"Oh, sure! I didn’t mean to hold you back.” It comes out quieter than you’d like. “Goodbye!” With a simple smile and a tiny wave at him, you turn around.

Right when he gets on his bicycle again, before he starts pedaling, he looks back at you, taking your first step in the opposite direction.

“Wait!” When you turn around, he’s taking his phone out of his front pocket, “Can I get your number?”

The both of you blush at his words, and you look up at him cautiously.

“So we can catch up and, you know, get comfortable with each other for the wedding.”

You had already forgotten about that. The reason you even met him again in the first place.

“Sure!”

Your hand trembles slightly when you take his phone, and you mentally beat yourself up for it. It’s just your number! It could mean nothing.

“I’ll text you later so you can save mine.”

And with a wink, he’s off to whatever he was late to.

Great. Now you’re not only re-living your high-school anxieties but also your high-school crushes.

During the following days, you find yourself checking your phone more often than ever, always with the hope that you’ll get a new message from Mingyu. Texting almost every day since the encounter at the park, the time when you’re both free to talk has become your favorite part of the day.

It started shyly, merely updating the other about your lives since finishing high school, your jobs, and hobbies. But as time passed, the never-ending conversation eased onto your daily routines. You’d wake up and text Mingyu, update him as you arrive at work. Lunch, break, evening, clocking out, dinner. Every little free time you got, you’d text each other back and forth.

A text notification cheers you up constantly, thinking that it could possibly be him again. But it’s not always the case, like this time.

It’s Olivia reminding you that, in exactly 29 minutes, you have the dance rehearsal with all the maids and grooms. Half an hour, and you live 1 hour away from the studio she rented. A little white lie never hurt anyone, so you tell her something came up and you'll be just a little late.

You love weddings, but if you had to choose one thing you don’t like about them, it would definitely be the dancing. You can’t dance for shit. You’d tell your right leg to move forward, and your left leg would move backwards, like your body can’t comprehend instructions when they’re related to dancing. Usually, you stay in your seat, choosing not to embarrass yourself in front of all the guests, but this time, you can’t get out of it. Poor Mingyu will leave the class with at least five bruises on his feet from you stepping on him.

The dance studio is part of a new, contemporary looking building on the exact geographic center of the city, a place you would always pass by but never thought you’ll get to enter. Standing at the front desk, over half an hour late, you feel too out of place. Your clothes are probably wrong, your hair is completely disheveled, you don’t remember on which floor is your class, and you don’t even know the name of the dance teacher.

After a long discussion with the receptionist, she finally understands what you’re here for and lets you go up to the 13th floor.

The walk from the elevator to the studio feels longer than it actually is. Three to four footsteps become long, slow turtle-like steps. But not even the infinite time you spend taking four steps prepare you for your stomach to drop down to the basement at the sight of Mingyu dancing with Cassie as soon as you open the door.

His hands on her waist, her arms around his neck, dancing slowly in circles, laughing about something she just said, you can almost hear something inside you break. After all this time, nothing really changed.

“Hey! You’re finally here!”

Olivia’s voice brings you back to earth.

“Hi! I’m really sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” The dance teacher gives you a look, and you lower down your voice, “So how is this going?”

“We had to put them together,” she points the dreaded pair, directing your eyes to them once again, “because neither you or Tyler were here when we started, but after the song’s over you can join him and I’ll practice with Cassie, okay?”

You nod with the best spirit you can manage to express.

“Is Tyler the guy she was with the other day?”

You don’t forget to whisper so the class isn’t interrupted by your chatter.

“He’s the only one of Tom's friends who’s not from school, don’t worry, you didn’t erase him from your memory.”

You stifle a laugh before it gets loud.

“Good, I was starting to feel bad about not recognizing him.”

In reality, his existence doesn’t matter much to you either way, except for something. “Are him and Cassie a thing?”

“She says it’s something casual but, and don’t tell her about this, I paired them up together on purpose so they can finally realize that they like each other!”

Your lungs clear of air in an instant after hearing those words. She’s not available. She has a boyfriend, sort of. A boyfriend who you do not know nor have feelings for.

“Your secret's safe with me.”

“Mingyu's nice and all, but if he messes with my plan and charms her, I will personally revoke his invitation to the wedding.”

You both chuckle just as the song finally ends, yours quieter than hers. Both of them see you with Olivia, but only Cassie comes forward to say hi.

“Hey girls! Good to see you!” She gives you a little hug before directing to Olivia. “So… Tyler isn’t showing up, I assume.”

“He told me a few minutes ago that something came up and can’t come, sorry.”

Her hand flies to Cassie's shoulders to comfort her, but she doesn’t seem bummed by the news.

“Well, then, I have something to ask you.”

Her presence suddenly becomes overwhelming as she grins at you with a proposition in mind, seemingly all thought out.

“Are you close with Mingyu? Olivia told me you were classmates.”

How did she know? Maybe you did tell her about him after all.

“He used to be my lab partner. Why?”

“How did you not crush on him back then? He’s such a cutie.”

“I probably did, I don’t remember.” Lie.

“Could you find out if he has a girlfriend, pleeease?”

A buzzing sound is all you hear for a few seconds, like your brain forgets how to function. Words don’t come out, and you’re freezed in place as Cassie looks at you expectantly. To the side, Olivia looks just as puzzled by her request.

“W-why?”

“Because, he’s really hot and, if I need a quick rebound because of that other fucker, I need to know I’m not messing with a relationship.”

Silence is all you produce once again.

“I just need a tiny bit of info, and it’ll be weird if I ask him directly, so could you please try?”

“Sure… I’ll try, but I’m not promising anything.”

You’ve never sounded less excited about something in your whole life. You love some gossip and some drama, but not if it involves a genuinely nice guy like Mingyu being used. Or maybe it’s just because it’s him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Cassie jumps excitedly and hugs you once again, just as the dance teacher calls for everyone to gather.

Mingyu’s hands slot carefully at the sides of your waist, guiding you swiftly and sparking goosebumps across your back. Your arms wrap awkwardly around his neck, making him crouch a bit so you can look properly at each other.

“Were you always this good? Or did you become a professional waltz dancer in the half hour I wasn’t here?”

You remember him telling you the other day, during your endless text conversations, that he, like you, wasn’t particularly excited about dancing.

“Let’s say, hypothetically, that I practiced before coming here, what would that say about me? Hypothetically.”

“It would say that,” you drown out a cackle before you can continue, “you take your duty as a groomsman very seriously, hypothetically.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want you to think I was a dork, hypothetically.”

“You’re too late, I already thought that.”

A pout forms on his mouth at your giggles, and he flashes the world's most menacing puppy eyes ever.

“I mean it in the best way possible!”

“Isn’t it embarrassing?”

“It’s cute!”

His face shifts with skepticism, sending enough signals saying he didn’t like your choice of words.

“It’s charming!”

The warmth his body emanates wraps around you fast. His expectant eyes looking down at you and the closeness of your bodies rises your temperature in record time, your cheeks pinking up furiously. You keep talking as the nervousness takes over you.

“At least it worked! You’re a really good dancer, I’m sorry I keep missing the beats.”

“You’re giving me too much credit. You’re not that bad.”

“Now you’re just lying. My limbs are physically unable to coordinate more than three steps. You’re guiding me through every single one!”

His hands tighten just the tiniest bit around your waist, like a confirmation for the both of you that they’re still there.

The teacher’s voice echoes all around you until it finally punctures your bubble, and you’re able to hear the class you’re here for. The steps she’s explaining for a second time make no sense in your head, too many turns and moves for you (and your body) to comprehend.

“I need all the pairs to practice the final steps again.”

Only her final words make sense on your mind, and when you look towards Mingyu, his hand left its place on your body and is extended at you, his eyes kind yet concentrated back on the dance. You nod, taking his hand with an electrifying rush going through your veins.

Mingyu guides you firmly but with care, moving along the beats of the waltz. With each step, your synchronization improves, and the moves flow along easily, your bodies understanding each other. You can’t help but smile as you look him in the eyes, a familiar warm feeling bubbling up inside you.

“You're doing a really good job.”

His eyes catch yours, a little wrinkle forming by each of their sides before he cracks a smile to match yours. There’s something in the way he looks like when paying attention to you, like a spell being casted on you, making you crave more.

“It’s because it’s comfortable with you.”

Your mouth betrays you and sends out the words without checking with your brain, but weirdly enough, you don’t fear his reaction. It’s just the truth.

“We’re more in synch than you thought.”

You swear you see a glimpse of a smirk before he spins you in his arms.

As you turn and move together through the song, you think your excitement isn't solely because of the rehearsal going well. It could be simply a wish, but a spark of something is definitely lighting up. The way Mingyu holds you, attentive and confident, you can't help to think he feels it too.

“You think we can be this good the day of the wedding?”

There’s more anticipation than curiosity in your voice, remembering you’ll keep meeting until then, you’ll keep seeing him.

Mingyu reaches closer until his warm breath fans your ear and his lips graze your cheek.

“We could meet a few days before and practice, like I hypothetically did today.”

“You think I need practice?” You tease to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks.

“Maybe it’s an excuse to see you again.”

A mix of shyness and giddiness overtakes you as you giggle at his proposition. But in the midst of your interaction, you skip a crucial move and begin to turn, stepping right on one of Mingyu’s feet and almost tripping over to the side. His hand secures you by the waist, the hem of your t-shirt raised just enough so his fingers brush your fiery bare skin.

“Ok, maybe I do need the practice too.”

The teacher talks to you on the background, but it’s hard to concentrate on anything other than Mingyu’s touch lighting fires across your body, his worried eyes over your ‘almost’ fall, and his smile when he realizes you’re laughing at your clumsiness.

The music starts over, and you only realize it because his hand is extended at you once again.

“Let’s give it another try.”

“So, you didn’t get to ask him?”

“I’m sorry, I forgot about it. I was so focused on learning the dance that it slipped my mind.”

Running into Cassie coming out of the subway was the last thing you expected (and wanted) right now. Trying on dresses is the one bridesmaid related thing you were least excited about. So many hours of putting clothes on and off, picking colors, showing the rest of the girls, giving your opinion on their dresses, and listening to their opinions on yours. It just sounds so exhausting. But your mental pep talk got interrupted when Cassie saw you walking up the stairs of the station heading to the bridal shop.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“He didn’t say anything that would imply he has one, if that helps.”

More than a helping hand to her, you're starting to hope he’s single too.

“That’s good to know, thank you.”

“I don’t really get why you wanted to know, though. I thought you had a boyfriend.”

“He’s not... I mean, it’s not like, official. I wanted him to get jealous, but I'm over that now.”

“Oh, so... you talked about it with him?"

“Kind of... he just explained why he couldn’t come to the rehearsal, and I just, couldn’t get mad at him simply for that, right?”

“Right...”

You know virtually nothing about their ‘relationship’, or about him for that matter, so it’s maybe for the best to stay out of their… thing.

“Anyway, about today, do you have something in mind for your dress?”

“Not really, I was just thinking of browsing through the store and seeing what they have.”

“Wow, really? You’re so chill about it. I have a pinterest board with all the styles and shapes I like. I even checked their online store to see what they have in stock beforehand.”

“That’s… actually really smart.”

“Nah, don’t be nice. Did you at least think of a color? Olivia wants all of us to be different colors, but in pastel, obviously. I personally didn’t really care about it, but I chose pink after some thought.”

“Oh, actually, I didn't know that.”

“It’s okay, you can decide when we get there.”

“Did the rest of the girls choose already?”

“Maybe? I haven’t had the chance to ask them.”

“I hope I don’t get green then, I don’t really like how it looks on me.”

“You’ll look amazing either way. Don’t let a simple color wear you down!”

Small talk with Cassie turns out to be quite nice in the short walk you have up to the store. It's a pretty shallow conversation, but not at all stressful like you thought.

The place is really fancy looking, tall glass windows and blinding white interior. It makes you take a breath just by looking at the displayed dresses. Relieved that Olivia said multiple times that she’ll take care of everything and not to worry about the prices, you and Cassie walk inside.

You didn’t expect every girl to be already there, and you especially didn’t expect the groomsmen to be also all there. The girls browse through racks and racks of different shaped and colored dresses, and the men are sitting back, talking with one another, waiting for their bridesmaid to ask for their opinion.

Cassie goes straight to greet Mingyu with a hug. Even if he isn’t the closest one to the door. Even if Tyler is there also. And you walk behind her, slowly, shy because of all the people aware of your arrival. You give Mingyu a shy smile as a greet, and he returns it warmly.

After the dance rehearsal all those days back, you’ve been hesitant about contacting him again. There’s nothing wrong with him. It’s quite the opposite, actually. He’s caring, attentive, and kind towards you. You just don’t want to fall in your black hole of a crush on him again. especially after Cassie made it clear to you that he’s caught her eye too. Sure, she just told you she made up with her boyfriend, but her actions are already contradicting her words.

Olivia sees you with Cassie and walks quickly towards you two with a smile on her face.

“Hey girls! How do you like the store?! Isn’t it huge?”

“It’s unbelievable! I’m gonna need at least two hours to look through all the dresses!”

Cassie answers, staring at the lengthy room in awe. You can feel Mingyu’s eyes on you. Or maybe on Cassie. Regardless, you’re in his line of sight, and it gives you chills.

“Well, you have all the time in the world today. I reserved the whole store for the entire day for all of us, and the staff is also here to help us if needed, so don’t worry about asking for help!”

“That’s amazing!” You both exclaim at the same time.

“Thank you!” Cassie doesn’t look back and goes straight to the racks of pink dresses. You’re about to go and walk around as well. Maybe try to find a color that suits you, but Olivia stops you before you can even take a step.

“Wait! I got the list of the available colors left for you,” she hands you a sheet of paper with almost everything on it crossed out, “I’m sorry, I know there isn’t much left.”

“Oh don’t worry, it’s fine. I should’ve picked it earlier. It’s not your fault.”

It’s disappointing to see that only two items aren’t crossed out. Light teal and pastel green. Green and teal aren’t ugly colors by any means, but you always feel awkward when wearing them, so you’ve learned to avoid them. The back of your throat itches to close as you think about looking ugly at the wedding, in front of so many people, in front of him.

“I saw some of the teal dresses earlier, and they’re all super cute! You’ll look amazing!”

“Oh, ok, I’ll go check them out. But, just in case, isn’t there any way for me to change colors?”

“You could ask someone to swap with you.”

Your mind instantly goes to Cassie. Earlier, she told you she didn’t care which color she wore, maybe she wouldn’t mind switching with you. You spot her easily on one corner, asking Mingyu about his opinion. She looks up at him with glittery eyes as one of her hands places itself on his arm. The sight turns your stomach upside down. You want to stop watching the scene as much as you want to break them apart.

Your legs make the decision for you and walk you to where they’re standing. They don’t notice you walking over to them until you speak up.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt you guys, but Cassie, could I ask you something?”

Mingyu’s the first one to look up at you, his face lighting up as you interrupt whatever Cassie was saying to him. She’s slower, making sure to hang the dress back on the rack before turning to face you.

“What do you need?”

There's very little annoyance on her tone, but you don’t miss the way her eyebrows arch and her eyes dart to Mingyu, signaling you that she wants some alone time.

“I wanted to ask if you, by any chance, were willing to switch colors with me?”

“What happened? Which ones are left?”

“Basically, just green.”

“Oh, that’s such a bummer.”

There’s a silence when she finishes talking. You wait for her to continue, blinking at her, but she just doesn’t. Her sentence ended there.

“Yeah, so, would you swap with me?”

“I…” Her body language turns awkward as she thinks of an answer, side-eyeing Mingyu, who’s also waiting for her, but with no context to what you’re asking her.

“I just, you said you didn’t really care about the color, so I thought you wouldn’t mind changing it.”

You huff, not helping the awkward atmosphere around the three of you. Your eyes connect with Mingyu’s, who's silently watching the interaction from the side. You hate that he’s seeing you in such a state, so... desperate for something that’s not that big of a deal anyway. You need this interaction to be over.

“You’re right, I did say that,” you can already see where this is going, “but, I kinda already put my mind to it, and it took a lot of convincing to get Tyler to match with me. He already bought his suit, and I don’t want to make him mad by changing everything so suddenly, I’m sorry.”

“Oh…”

You can feel your stomach contracting, your throat threatening to close, your eyes getting ready to be filled with tears. This is so stupid. It’s just a stupid color. It's a stupid dress you’ll never wear again. Why is it affecting you so much?

“Wait, I’m sure Tyler wouldn’t mind changing.”

Mingyu’s soft voice sounds closer to you, but you can’t really see much with your eyes trained to the ground and vision blurry from tearing up.

“No, it’s fine, let’s not bother him.”

Blinking away the tears is easy, but looking up and finding a concerned Mingyu makes you feel like jelly. Cassie’s long forgotten as you focus on him, his tall figure watching over you, his hand placed on your shoulder, squeezing lightly, silently comforting you.

“I’ll go try and find something I like.”

“I can look with you if you want.”

“No, it’s fine, you can go back to what you were doing.”

You walk away, leaving him standing there, still worried about your sudden reaction. Cassie is just behind him, waiting for the opportunity to get his attention back.

But you try not to think about him or her while browsing through the store. Trying your best to be positive, to not get dragged down by a simple color choice, or by a friend – if you can call her that – that couldn’t help you.

Hours go by, and it’s easier when you focus on other things. You help the other girls decide on their dresses, reacting and applauding, helping them find new ones if they aren’t satisfied. It’s fun, contrary to what you previously thought, it’s like playing a dress up game, except every now and then, it’s Cassie who comes out on the make-shift runway, and the first opinion she asks for is always Mingyu's.

At one point, everyone has already decided, and you’re the only one left. All the girls you helped come together to try and find you the best possible dress, bringing a new one to you with hopeful smiles on their faces every few minutes.

You try them on, eager to find one and be done with it. But, even if they look gorgeous when on the hanger, they always got something that doesn’t sit right with you when you put them on. And after trying dress after dress, you grow more discouraged.

Olivia notices how tired you are and tells you that you can come back another day, alone and less anxious, but then again, that would mean stretching the situation for longer than needed. You decide to try on one more dress, one that Olivia picked specifically for you, and if you’re not satisfied, you’ll come back with her the next day.

The store lady helps you put the dress on, her sweet smile never fading, even if it’s the tenth dress she helped you put on already. The pastel green silk fabric glides smoothly over your skin, hugging you in the right places as the lady zips it up. Your back’s facing the mirror, too afraid to look in it again and find another disappointing result.

“Sweetheart, I think this is the one.”

The kind woman’s voice startles you, but her honest smile makes you believe her words. You inhale deeply, calming yourself before turning around. But instead of looking at your reflection, you walk outside the changing room and onto the lobby.

Every pair of eyes is on you the moment you step out, your arms wrap around your torso in an effort to shield yourself, and you can feel your cheeks being painted a bright red color. A few gasps are heard, and when you look around, the girls who helped you are all covering their mouths, eyes wide as they watch you cautiously strolling forward.

At the back of the store, it’s like time stops for Mingyu. Whatever he was doing, forgotten at the sight of you. He was unaware of how much your appearance could affect him. His eyes are trained on you, allured by your figure, scanning you up and down like a piece of art worth studying.

Buzz erupts all around you, mumbles and praises about your dress and how you look in it, but it’s all background noise for you. Mingyu’s heavy stare finds yours, and his ears turn a faint shade of pink. The subtlest smirk begins to form on his lips, spreading the warm feeling on your tummy all across your body. He can’t seem to drive his eyes away from you, and you don’t want him to. Your arms relax under his gaze, disarming the protective shield around you and drop to hang by your sides.

But, in a matter of seconds, the girls swarm around you, blocking all 360 degrees around you. Their positive opinions flood your ears as they walk you back to the dressing room, trying to convince you to choose this dress. You can’t look back, but you’re sure all the groomsmen left together.

Doesn’t matter. You’re definitely getting this one.

After spending the whole day shopping together, it marvels you how these girls still want to spend time together. When they noticed all the boys left, they planned an impromptu girls' night at Olivia’s apartment.

It’s amazing how they can spend hours and hours talking with each other, a few drinks here and there, never running out of topics, entertaining you when you’re too tired to talk.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you sit back on your side of the couch to read the new text.

Mingyu: hey, how are you?

Mingyu: sorry i couldn’t stay today, they dragged me to a boys night

Everything that happened a few hours ago flashes through your mind, waking a giddy smile on your face as you reply.

You: why are you sorry?

You: the girls wanted to do a ‘boys free’ night, we’re at Olivia’s rn

Mingyu: i didnt want to leave before making sure you were okay

Oh.

You: im better now

You: it was fun helping the other girls, took my mind off of it

You: but thank you, you didnt have to worry

Mingyu: good to know :)

Mingyu: next time ill drive you home

You: drive me home? Will i sit on the bike's handlebar?

Mingyu: i was thinking more like a piggyback ride

You: hmm... ill have to think about it

You tune back to the conversation before anyone notices you not paying attention, having no idea what turns the topic has taken in the time you weren’t listening.

“I think he’s definitely seeing someone.”

The girls divided into two groups with different conversations going on, but sitting in front of Cassie, you can only hear her side of the table. They might be talking about Tyler and their “relationship” problems.

“I really don’t think he is. He didn’t use his plus one you know.”

A smile forms in your mouth when your phone vibrates in your hand once again.

Mingyu: can you believe the wedding’s so close already

You: times moving so fast

You: i cant believe its less than two weeks away

Mingyu: it feels like it was only yesterday that tom told me he was getting married

“But today, he didn’t seem at all interested, he was really out of it from the start.”

“Maybe seeing dresses all day is not his thing.”

“No but like, I tried every move on him, and he didn’t even bat an eye.”

Bits and pieces of the still going conversation manage to register on your mind, and you realize they’re talking about Mingyu, unaware of your current chat with him.

You: is the boys only hang out getting boring? Its not very polite to be on the phone you know

Mingyu: theyre all playing games, havent looked my way in over 30 mins

Mingyu: besides i much rather talk with you

You: well i wont argue with that

Mingyu: you seem bored too

You: you’re definitely helping me get through the night

“Maybe he’s just not interested in you.”

Olivia teases Cassie, even though her comment is more than just a joke. But why is Cassie so adamant on wooing Mingyu if, according to Olivia, she really likes Tyler?

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Mingyu: you know what I just realized

Mingyu: I forgot the dance routine already

You: omg me too

You: we might have to meet to practice like you said

Mingyu: we can do it at my place

Mingyu: you up for it?

You: i should ask you that

You: your feet are going to suffer because of me

Mingyu: that’s a risk im willing to take

Mingyu: but I gotta warn you, I take my practice very seriously

You: sure, you can carry me back to my apartment after we're done

Sitting on Mingyu’s couch, waiting for him to get back from the bathroom, you’re too tired to do anything else than looking around his living room. It’s so him. The warm and neutral colors make everything feel cozy, with pictures of him and his family hanging on the walls – no ambiguously romantic photos with unfamiliar girls, and everything is so tidy, not one pillow out of place, even after practicing for over an hour. Out the window, you can see the sun starting to set, and the buildings across the street start lighting up. You recognize all of them. 

All this time, he’s lived so close to you. His building barely a ten minute walk away from yours. You can’t help but wonder, what would’ve happened if you kept in touch, if you just walked two more minutes to the park he frequents, or sent him a follow request on Instagram the few times he popped up on your recommended. It comforts you that at least you have this chance to reconnect with him, to make things right. 

But sounding confident over text is easy, and now, you’ve only danced for the whole time you’ve been here, barely even talked about anything else. 

It’s conflicting, the guilt of meeting with Mingyu behind everyone’s back – even if it’s no one’s business –, the excitement of seeing him alone after weeks of only wedding related stuff, and the actual need to practice the dance so you don’t embarrass yourself, all colliding in your mind, making everything awkward for you. 

Like ten thousand spectators, the windows of every apartment watch you through the glass, just sitting, waiting. Mingyu left only a couple of minutes ago, but after the many times you stepped on him, you wonder if he’s actually hurt. 

“Are you okay? Tell me if I need to call a doctor for your feet!” 

You shout with your head looking towards the bathroom door. His chuckle travels all the way to your ears before he opens the door. 

“I’m fine, I swear.” 

As he comes out, your body tingles with nervousness once again. He sits beside you on the couch, unknowingly making your head spin. 

“You sure? I don’t think feet are supposed to withstand all of that.” 

“I’m okay, just tired, why don’t we rest for a bit?” 

They way he sits, on his side, facing you, and his arm resting on the back of the couch, your eyes can’t help but wander to where his arm muscles start showing. Every variation of the phrase “butterflies in your stomach" could describe the way you feel as he watches you, paying so much attention that you mumble your next sentence. 

“This couch is way too comfortable. It makes me want to just stay here the rest of the day.” 

“Let’s do it! We can even have dinner here. If we order take out, we can tell them to leave it at the door.” 

“That sounds nice, but one of us will have to go get it.” 

“When my roommate comes home, he’ll bring it inside for us.” 

“Oh my god, you have a roommate? When is he coming back? I don’t want to be a bother.” You look towards the entry hallway, like he’s about to come in and kick you out. 

You really don’t want to leave, Mingyu’s company is already becoming one of your favorites, but you hadn’t counted on being around another person, and in their home for that matter. You start to get up from where you’re sitting, worried about having overstayed your welcome, but Mingyu’s hand grabs yours softly and drags you back down. 

“I invited you here. It’s not like you’re trespassing.” 

“But I’ve been here for hours, is it not too much?” 

“I guess I don't want you to leave.” 

His hand hasn't let go of yours, his skin against yours waking up your whole nervous system. You like how it feels when he’s looking at you, but you can’t help feeling too observed under his gaze. 

“Should we practice one more time?” You get up as your other hand takes Mingyu’s free one to try and get him off the couch too. He doesn’t fight your push, but you still struggle to move him barely an inch. 

“Now that I think about it, my feet do really hurt.” 

When he stands up, your hands dreadly separate as you go press play on the song you had paused earlier. 

“You’re a big and strong man, you can handle one more dance.” 

The music starts slowly, and when you turn around to go where Mingyu’s standing, he’s quick to put his hands around your waist and bring you to him. 

Like that day in the dance class, your bodies are quickly coordinated. You’ve been over the same dance for over an hour now, so at this point, every step is engrained in your muscle memory forever. 

“Why don’t you take the lead on this one?” He might’ve felt your sudden confidence in the moves, but fails to realize it’s only because you’re doing it with him. 

“Do you have a death wish? The last time I tried to take the lead on a dance like this, it ended really badly.” 

“But you’re doing good now! I’m sure it couldn’t have been that bad.” 

“Don’t you remember the senior prom? When I made my date trip and he fell onto the chocolate fountain? He got completely covered in melted chocolate.” He shakes his head, making you more confused. “He dislocated his shoulder. You really don’t remember? 

“I don’t-” He chuckles at your story but stops his words when he realizes you don’t get what he wants to say, “We left early.” 

“Oh… I guess you had a good time with your date.” Thinking about him with someone else puts a bad taste in your mouth. 

“I didn’t have a date, I went with the guys.” Somehow, that’s less believable than you being a good dancer. 

“I vaguely remember seeing you dance with a girl. Is my memory failing me?” You remember because you hated it. 

“Maybe I did dance with someone, but I couldn’t score a real date.” 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“I am! Why don’t you believe me? 

“Because I knew at least ten girls who had a crush on you back then.” 

The dance is already forgotten. None of you make the effort to go over the moves. With your arms hanging around his neck and his hands holding on to your waist, you’re just going around in slow circles, eyes connected as your talk turns into something more. 

“Well, I wasn’t interested in them.” 

“But still, you could’ve easily gotten a date.” You could let the subject go, and maybe you should, but you really want to make your point. “I would’ve gone with you.” 

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.” 

“But I mean it.” 

“You wouldn’t have gone with me.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“Yes I do!” His tone gets serious, and it just makes you more desperate to make him understand. He needs to know he’s wrong. 

“No, you don’t! You would know if you had asked!” 

“I wanted to! 

You stop in your tracks, looking straight into his eyes, seeing little hints of shock on his face as he realizes what he said. If your bodies were closer, you’re afraid he could feel that you stopped breathing for a second. 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Because I knew at least ten guys who had crushes on you back then,” you’re about to shut him off, but he continues, “and you did end up going with one of them.” 

“So, you did see me.” 

“Yeah, didn’t stay much after that."

None of you know what to say, as your minds work tirelessly to understand what this conversation means. 

“You really should’ve asked me.” There’s so much more you want to say, but you simply can’t. 

“You were kind of popular and, I don’t know… It messed with my head.” 

“I didn’t care about those stupid labels, and I thought you didn’t either.” 

“I know you didn’t, but I wasn’t a confident kid back then, I couldn’t just go up to the girl I liked and ask her out.” 

Your jaw reaches the floor after hearing those words. The girl he liked? 

Speechless for a few seconds, you can only look at him, trying to figure out if he meant to say those words specifically. He seems to be proud of what he said, showing no sign of regret. 

“So, now that you’re all grown up…” you dare to let your fingers caress the skin at the base of his neck, and his hands tighten around you at the touch. 

“One would think that, after so many years, things would’ve changed but-” 

“I don’t believe you’re not confident by now.” 

“That did change, but apparently, other things didn’t, even after growing up.” 

He tilts his head to the side cockily, his piercing gaze making you feel hot all over. 

“Maybe some things aren’t meant to change.” Like an adrenaline rush, it’s your turn to feel confident as one of your hands starts playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I'm starting to discover some things are not that different for me either.” 

“Could it be, perhaps, the same thing I’m talking about?” His arms wrap around your waist, bringing you closer to him little by little. 

“Hmm, I don’t know, you’re being very vague, I could be talking about still enjoying country music.” You joke so he doesn’t notice your heart beating twice as hard as normal. 

“I think you know what I mean.” His smirk is one new thing about him, not that you’ve never seen it before, but the reason behind it makes it way more thrilling to see now. 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“You really didn’t know? I mean, back then, I always thought I made it obvious.” His chuckle sends shivers down your spine. 

“I wish I did.” You can’t help but think about how your life would be if you made a move on him all those years ago. “But I never said anything either, I was shy too.” 

“Good thing we can make up for the time we lost.”

His droopy eyes send you down a spiral you have a hard time coming back from, all your insides becoming putty, feeling his want through his embrace, but there’s still one more thing to get to. 

“You know… you say you’re so confident now and whatnot, but I still haven’t heard you say it.” The look you give him is all he needs 

“Fine, you win, I used to like you, and seeing you again made me realize I still kinda really do, I’m always eager to get your attention and to spend time with you.” He pauses to take the quickest breath ever, all while you’re losing yours. “I know we’re not the same people as back then, but if you want to, we can get to know each other, again, more mature and less stupid. I have my regrets about how I handled my feelings in the past, but I won’t make the same mistakes again. And I will ask you on a date after the wedding, just a heads up.” 

“Wow, I was fine with just an ‘I like you’, but it’s nice to see you’re just as down bad for me as I am for you.” You confess with a joke because, how can you possibly answer that? Your brain is barely receiving enough oxygen as it is. 

“And one last thing, I really, really, really, want to kiss you right now.” 

“Then why are you not doing it?” 

It takes a second for the words to register in his head. A second where you only look at each other, almost not believing what’s happening. The air around you gets so thick, so hot, almost unbearably heavy. And just when your hands begin to push his head your way, his lips attack yours.  

All the resurfacing feelings come to life, colliding like a thousand stars that have been running to meet for millions of years. His arms around you bring your body closer to his, forcing you on your tiptoes to follow his lead while his hair tangles between your fingers. 

It's surprisingly slow, yet hungry and desperate, making the other feel everything through the connection of your lips. You move along with him naturally, and when he bites your lower lip as a request for access, you don’t hesitate. His hands creep under your shirt just as his tongue dares to move past your lips, exploring your whole body to his liking. 

Your chests flush together, leaving little to no space between your bodies, and you can do nothing but melt in his embrace. Your hands wander around his arms and back, touching and feeling every muscle they encounter on their way. When his hands travel down your lower back and reach your ass, you sigh on his lips and immediately feel his smirk against you. 

A furious knock on the door makes you both jump and separate, leaving you looking at each other, breathless and with confused faces, until you hear a knock again, as strong as the first one. That’s when Mingyu decides to check his phone and sees it's his roommate, who had apparently forgotten his keys. Both a blessing and a curse. 

“Bro, what the hell? I’ve been calling you for about 15 minutes.” You hear the door opening, followed by a new, deep voice. 

“I told you I had company.” Their voices echo through the hallway. 

When they finally reach the living room where you’ve been awkwardly trying to make yourself look presentable, the roommate's face morphs into something, a mix of surprise and realization. You rush to gather your stuff after muttering some variation of ‘hello’ and 'goodbye' to him. Your heart still pumps twice as fast as normal, and you don’t trust you’ll be able to handle yourself if you stay for longer. 

“I’ll see you on the weekend?” Mingyu asks when you’ve both reached the entry, his hand on the handle, hesitant to unlock the door. 

You want to kiss him again so badly. His lips are parted, still swollen, calling to you to connect them with yours again. 

“Find me when you crash the bachelorette party.” You make your best effort to sound confident and not at all dizzy because of him.  

“You know about that?” 

“The bridesmaids know everything... It’s only a surprise for Olivia.” You peck him goodbye, like a promise for more. And the feeling of his lips on yours lasts all night.

It’s roughly around 1 am. when a high-pitched scream from Olivia announces to everyone at the bar that the bachelor party has officially arrived. 

The effects from all the alcohol you consumed in the last 4 hours are just starting to fade, only a little buzz left. But that doesn’t prevent you from seeing what’s happening all the way across the room. 

Mingyu standing with his hip resting on the barstool, listening to Cassie as she drunkenly asks him something. You want to stop looking, not wanting to let all your previous feelings resurface again, not after the recent development in your relationship with him. But just as soon as you’re about to turn your head the other way, Mingyu interrupts Cassie’s rumbling and tells her something, to which she doesn’t respond, nods awkwardly, and just walks away, leaving him standing there. 

That’s your signal to walk over to him. 

“Looks like I found you first.” 

“Damn, I wanted to get you a drink first.” 

The music and the people drunkenly signing and shouting makes it hard for your voices to reach the other, and Mingyu takes the opportunity to take a step closer to you. 

You stand against the bar as the room grows warmer and warmer the closer his body gets to yours. His height taunts you as he stands against the bar as well, forcing you to look up so you can see the smirk on his face. His fingers play with yours as the intensity of his stare increases. You don’t care that you’re in public, that anyone from the wedding can see you two. Maybe you want them to. 

“How’s your night going?” His hair tickles the side of your face. 

“It was really fun, I might be growing fond of the girls." You don’t remember much, just a vague memory of many different games you played to get drunk, and the feeling of being happy. “How about yours? Don’t tell me you went to a strip club or something like that.” 

“Actually, we did a drunk escape room, didn’t even know those existed until today.”

The closeness between you is getting more worrying by the second, mainly because if you hear his low chuckle next to your ear one more time, you might pass out. 

“That sounds horrible!” You chuckle away from his personal space, only to encounter his hungry eyes already looking at you. 

“It was fun, I wish you could’ve been there.” His honesty has a sultry tone to it that makes your lungs completely empty of air. 

“I’m not sure we would’ve made a good team.” 

“Why? You’re smart! Or at least you were back then.” 

“Hey! I still am!” 

“I really have to get to know this new you.”

The pink and blue lights reflect on his face, giving him the most beautiful sparkles on his eyes, directed at you. 

“It’s not that new, I’m still very introverted, don’t talk much when there’s a lot of people around.” 

“I like that, you’re observant, good thing to be while in a escape room.” 

“We’re still talking about that?” 

“Maybe, maybe not, I don’t really care, I just wanted to spend time with you.” 

“Are you drunk?” You can only ask with a smile plastered on your face, but he shakes his head. 

“You kinda make me feel like I’m a teenage boy again, I don’t know how to explain it.” 

“I think I get it.” You place your hand on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart under it, even harder than the music blasting out of the speakers. 

“You know, back then, every time I had a free period, I would make my friends walk past whatever class you had, just to get to see you, at least for a second.” Out of everything he’s drunkenly confessing, this may be the one that surprises you the most because you really never realized he felt the same. He notices you freezing in place. “Once they found out, I was relentlessly bullied by them.” 

“I sure hope it was worth it.” If the lighting was any better, he'd be able to see the cherry red covering your cheeks and ears. 

“Every second of it.” Everything around the two of you moves slower, like time’s stopping only for the outside world, and the muffled background noises do nothing to pierce the bubble around you. “I really want to take you on a date, a real one.” 

“I would very much like that.” 

You can see the gears turning through Mingyu’s eyes, and you move your eyes down to his lips so he can take the hint. But nothing happens as someone else enters your little world. 

Olivia’s aware that something’s going on, her eyes switching back and forth between the two of you before she speaks. 

“I need your help, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m getting worried about her.” 

“About who? What happened?” Mingyu stays behind you as you turn to Olivia, grabbing one of your hands, and his warmth gives you goosebumps. 

“It’s Cassie, she’s been sitting alone in the restroom for I don’t know how long, she's way too drunk and I can’t take care of her.”

You now realize she’s slurring her words, meaning she’s also too drunk and therefore can’t take care of another drunk person, leaving you no choice but to go help Cassie. You look back at Mingyu, who encourages you to go, even if it takes a little too long for his hand to let go of yours. 

The graffitied restroom provides you with a little more light than the rest of the place, and when you enter, you recognize Cassie sitting on the floor inside one of the stalls. Luckily there’s no one guarding the bathrooms because if she’s seen throwing up, it could potentially get you both kicked out. 

You sit on the dirty floor beside her without saying a word, letting her know you’re here to help without giving her a headache. Her forehead’s resting on top of her knees as she hugs her legs tightly. But after a minute or two of silence, you decide it’s best to check if she’s at least awake. 

“Cassie? Are you okay?” Your hand on her shoulder makes her look up at you. 

“I don’t feel so good, I just want to sit down for a while.” She sounds tired, her husky voice giving away all the talking and singing she’s been doing all night. 

“Do you need anything? I can get you a cup of water.” 

“No, please, just stay here a bit, I didn’t want anyone to see me but I don’t want to be alone.” 

“Ok, I’ll stay, let me know if you need something, anything.” 

Time passes by, the music making it easier for you to not get bored. A few people enter the restroom from time to time, too drunk or too in a hurry to notice you both sitting down. Olivia passes by the door a few times, hovering, checking if everything’s okay (and if you’re still in the same position as the previous time). You just smile and nod, letting her go back to her party time and time again. But at last, in one of her check-ins, she finally walks inside. 

“Hey, Mingyu’s looking for you!” Both you and Cassie look up at Olivia, but her eyes point at you. “What do I tell him?” 

You instinctively look to Cassie by your side, and her expression falls. 

“Don’t, don’t go with him.” She finds the strength to plead to you, but she seems more worried than anything. 

“Why? Did he do something? Is that why you’re hiding here?” Olivia asks, and you realize she didn’t leave after you didn’t answer her. 

“No, no, I mean, yes I’m hiding from him, but he didn't do anything, it was me, I embarrassed myself.” 

“Why are you telling me not to go with him then?” 

“Do you like him?” 

“I-” Wow, blunt question out of the blue. 

“You can be honest, it’s fine.” 

“Yeah, I do, I like him.”

Telling them, her, the truth feels kind of freeing. Finally admitting in front of them that you like someone, after not being able to for so many years, it’s like you can finally breathe. 

“Then, for your own good, don’t go with him, he’s seeing someone.” 

“What? How do you know?” That freedom lasts barely seconds before a new weight falls right on top of your lungs. 

“He told me, when the guys got here, he said that he’s been after a girl for years and they recently started going out.” 

“Are you sure? Did he use those words?” 

“I’m not saying it verbatim, I don’t remember it exactly word for word, but that’s what he meant.” 

Could he possibly be talking about you? How recent is ‘recently’ supposed to mean? You haven’t even started officially dating. Is confessing your feelings considered the start of dating? Is it supposed to be this confusing? Are you going to believe her? Not that Cassie’s a liar, but you don’t know the context nor the exact words he used, and she doesn’t know what happened between you and him either. 

“Should I go tell him something?” Olivia's already standing up, your silence not helping the situation. 

“Just-" You don’t want to push him away, but it’s not the time to resolve this. The whole thing is too confusing to be making desperate decisions at this hour of the night, “Tell him to go have fun with the guys, I’m getting Cassie home.” 

The loudest alarm you could’ve ever set up wakes you up with a jump. Your head hurts like your inside out emotions are building houses inside your skull. But the memories still hit you as soon as your eyelids burst open. Some decisions were definitely made the night before. Wrong ones? That’s to be seen today.

And thanks to the gods and Olivia’s always late waking family, you’re not supposed to be at the venue until 11 am. Only bad news, It’s on a luxury complex outside the city. You have time for a real breakfast and a shower, but all the thinking and feeling will have to wait.

You unlock your phone to find the last text conversation open and the messages you barely remember sending stare at you through the dim screen.

Mingyu: you left so suddenly

Mingyu: everything ok?

You: yeah

You: had to take Cass to her place, she wasn’t feeling well

Mingyu: that’s too bad, hope she feels better

Mingyu: you just got home?

You: yep, about to go to bed

Mingyu: great, just checking before i head to sleep

Mingyu: sleep well, big day tomorrow

Admittedly, you were a little dry. Cassie’s words were still lingering on your mind, making you doubt everything. One side of your brain telling you that he was probably talking about you, he explained what he felt and what he wanted and sounded sure and truthful. But, the other part of your brain, the still self-conscious and self-doubting side, also makes valid points. The void years in between your relationship weren’t mentioned in his confession, and you technically aren’t dating. He hasn’t even asked you out yet! It’s too conflicting. But you know you have to face both of them today. After the ceremony.

The taxi ride to the venue is not only long but full of traffic. The sun shining bright directly to your face, the light humming of the driver to the songs of the radio and the occasional car horn on the distance, somehow make it bearable, with all the thoughts about the previous night, switching sides between the he said she said, it’s nice to have something constant while your minds goes on a rollercoaster.

A rollercoaster that doesn’t stop even when you arrive. As soon as you step foot outside the car, Olivia’s mom rushes you upstairs to where the make-up artists set up. There’s no time to admire the beautiful countryside venue. You walk past the door to where the ceremony’s going to be held later, but rush up the stairs without even looking. The green dress already waiting for you at the door, an infinite echo of voices and even more people running around make the atmosphere feel dizzying.

Nothing slows down for even a second. Even when you’re sitting down having your make-up done, around you there’s only people rushing to do everything, stressing about the little details, people running into the room to tell Olivia or her mom about decorations, the wedding planner coming in and out constantly, checking everything’s in order. It’s kind of beautiful how all this mess has the sole purpose of making today the best day for the couple. Even if it doesn’t look like it, no one will remember the dress that wasn’t properly ironed, or the string of hair that had too much hairspray on it, or the too slippery shoes that made it a chore to walk on the tiled floor.

So much chaos happens between the hair and make-up, and then with the photoshoots, you don’t have time to talk to Mingyu. Your eyes would cross from time to time, but those milliseconds of him in a suit glaring at you from across the room are enough, and there’s so much of that you can take before an internal chain reaction begins.

The walk downstairs, after all the make-up retouches and fixes to any rebellious stray hair that didn’t want to stay in place, feels like the first calm and slow moment of the day. As the steps get closer and closer to the bottom floor, the red carpet muffling the clicking of your shoes, your insides feel fire-like when you see Mingyu waiting for you by the final step, an unknowing smile on his face. His eyes drill holes on your figure, scanning you up and down shamelessly.

“You chose this one, I like it.” He whispers by your ear as you walk to the door, where every pair is already waiting. A little smile shows on your face, but it fades when your eyes encounter Cassie’s, watching the two of you with a frown so little you only notice because she immediately relaxes her face.

The music starts before you can say anything to Mingyu, and one by one, each of the bridesmaids start walking down the aisle, arms linked with the groomsmen, gracefully walking forward as the eyes of every guest fall on them. Your arm tangled with his is the first touch you share since many days ago, and even with all the conflict making your mind a blur, your heart speeds up at the feeling of his muscles.

Nothing seems slow anymore, and the ceremony almost goes by without noticing. There isn’t one second where you don’t feel Mingyu’s eyes on you, making it impossible to focus – or pretend to focus – on what the priest is saying.

The moment your brain reconnects with your ears, Thomas delivers the most beautiful vows you’ve ever heard. You met the guy only once, never even spoken to him, but the way he speaks so fondly about Olivia makes your heart clutch in your chest, and your throat tries to fight it, but you end up bursting with tears. But you’re not the only one with a cascade of dramatic tears falling with seemingly no end. As the room fills with applause and even some whistles at the first kiss between the officially married couple, you see some people with tissues, quietly blowing their nose.

But the never-ending rush in time continues, everyone sprinting to sit at their tables for the reception. The last retouches of make-up get done quickly. The girls gossip to kill the time before the dance, because for them it’s moving so slowly, but in the blink of an eye, you’re going out the door once again, just as Cassie taps on your shoulder. You turn to her, expecting her to be angry, or at least to start speaking, but it looks like she’s still figuring out what to say.

“Thank you, for taking care of me last night, I’m sure you would’ve preferred to enjoy the party.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you alone, it’s fine, you don’t have to thank me. Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, I am! But actually, I wanted to apologize.” Your head spins, dizzy from the world suddenly stopping hearing her words. “I didn’t know there was something going on between you two.”

“There’s not- I mean, not much happened, I didn’t want to cause a fuzz over it.”

“But you should’ve told me you liked him, at least! If I knew about it, I wouldn’t have gone after him.” You see in her eyes nothing but honesty. “I know we’re not as close as before, but these are the things we need to tell each other. It’s the girl code.”

“I don’t really know why I didn’t, I know I should’ve, I didn’t know how.” You’ve now started to go downstairs to the reception, already the time to dance in pairs.

“Look, it’s okay if you’re not comfortable telling me this, but did something happen? Was he talking about you last night?”

You’ve reached where everyone is waiting, and you’re too embarrassed to look up and possibly find Mingyu standing there, leg-melting and breathtaking.

“I thought about it but I don’t know, maybe?”

Back at the reception, the music starts, signaling the newlyweds are about to begin their first dance, meaning in no time you’ll have to step in and dance around them.

“I’m going to ask you three questions and you just have to answer yes or no. There's no need for explanation, okay?”

“O…Kay?”

“So, you two knew each other in school, did you like him?” You nod shyly, not looking in her eyes, embarrassed to be talking about this so openly, “Did he like you?” You nod again, “And did something happen recently that would indicate that he would like to date you in the near future?”

You give her a final nod and finally look up at her. She sighs, taking your hand and squeezing it to make you pay attention.

“Then he meant you dummy! Go, talk to him. He’s been staring at you all day like a lost puppy.”

When you dare to look his way, where you just knew he was standing, he’s looking at you, a little smirk on his lips and subtly motioning he's ready to take your hand. You didn’t notice it was already time, and everyone around you stands in their position.

The pairs start entering one by one, and your smile trembles, feeling the eyes of every guest on you. Your fingers barely graze his, but they feel raw, like you can feel every particle of his hand below yours. The electric fire emerging from where your skin connects with his runs through your veins in record time.

But as soon as the music starts and Mingyu turns you so you’re looking at him, everything is forgotten. The steps come easily, his eyes calm but observing, his hand on your waist guiding you as he did every time you practiced.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He whispers, not wanting to disrupt the moment, but knowing it’s the only time you’ll get alone.

“I swear I didn’t mean to.”

You panic. There was so much to do and so few words you could come up with to say to him that maybe you unconsciously avoided him by locking yourself up in the make-up room.

“Did I do something wrong?” He doesn’t sound hurt, but rather just plain curious, eager to work this out between you two.

“No! it was just a misunderstanding,” he waits for you to continue, but the part of your brain that makes sense starts crumbling, making it impossible to form a coherent argument, “I- can I ask you something? It might sound stupid, I’m warning you.”

“Go ahead.” He chuckles, his feet continuing to dance while you've already forgotten about it. One of your hands stays on his shoulder, while the other is being held by him, still in the air by your sides, reaching the height of your shoulders.

“You’re not dating anyone, are you?”

He doesn’t let the silence even come close to the two of you, chuckling quietly so you’re the only one who can hear it.

“I’m not, hard to believe I know, but I’m painfully single.”

“Great, I just wanted to make sure.”

“I remember telling you I want to take you on a date.”

“Y-yeah, of course I remember that too."

The pit of your stomach lights up at the remainder of that afternoon in his home, your bodies as close as they are at this moment.

“Then what made you think that?”

“You just, you said to Cassie last night that you started seeing someone recently and, I don’t know, we didn’t technically start dating, so I panicked.” Saying it out loud to him, it sounds ridiculous, but if he thinks that, he doesn’t show it.

“Oh that, yeah, I might’ve gotten ahead of myself, but hey, think of it as manifesting.” He’s so charming that you don’t care that he’s making no sense.

“Next time, don’t tell a drunk girl who’s flirting with you the wrong information. She might spread it around.”

The synchronized chuckle you let out makes you pay attention to the forgotten situation. You’re dancing and haven’t tripped once, like your muscles got a life of their own and remembered every single step. And you suddenly realize how close your body is to Mingyu’s. One hand down the small of your back, pressing just enough to hold you in his personal space, his face close enough that you could concentrate on his breathing and feel the light exhales on your face.

When the music ends, the applause makes you look around, and your cheeks feel warm immediately, noticing all the eyes on every one of you. But the attention is short-lived, as you and Mingyu walk quickly to your table so the couple can do the welcome toasts. You don't miss how he slides your chair closer to his before you sit down.

Sitting by your side, Mingyu’s body and yours are connected by an electric current, drawing you closer. His knee stays glued to yours, and the cut on the side of your dress allows your bare skin to brush against the fabric of his pants. A conversation takes place between everyone at the table, one of the guys telling a story about something funny that happened with Tom back in high-school, but it’s hard to pay any real attention when Mingyu’s fingers start tracing circles on your knee. He’s not even doing to be a tease. It seems like it’s a habit of his, one that you’re just discovering. You don’t stop your fingers from playing with his, and a subtle smirk forms on his lips at your action.

It’s not like you’re doing anything too flashy or indecent, but you do your best to mask your reactions to his touches, to try and keep the people of the table unaware of the not so innocent things going on under the fancy tablecloth. He only notices your changes because he’s paying attention to you. The way your chest rises just a tad bit more when his hand goes a little over your knee, or how you drink from your cold glass of water when he presses on the skin of your inner thigh, but when he’s about to move his hand off of you, you put yours on his to keep it in place. You also notice things throughout the night, for example, that Mingyu isn’t drinking a lot, restricting to one glass of champagne per serving. You do the same, wanting to remember this night in the future.

Mingyu stands up when the dancefloor opens again, turning down an offer to go to the bar for something stronger than sparkling wine. Instead, he reaches for your hand, silently inviting you to dance with him, to which you agree, with a smile and avoiding his eyes. Following behind him, he doesn’t let go of your hand, even when you’ve reached the spot he wanted. People join you on the dancefloor, drunkenly vibing to the dj set, surrounding you, and blocking you from anyone you know. It’s feels almost private. Whatever song is playing on the speakers, it doesn’t prevent you from following your own rhythm in your own world. Your arms wrap around Mingyu’s neck, and both of his hands hold your waist, mirroring the evening at his place.

“So, tell me, what other embarrassing things did you do when you liked me?”

He throws his head back in embarrassment, sighing with a smile before daring to look at you again. His ears turn a light shade of pink, and you swear you can feel his heartbeat between your bodies.

“I really told you that, did I? I was hoping you wouldn't remember.”

“Nope, I remember it very vividly actually.”

“Let’s leave the embarrassing stories for the future, I wasn’t in my best condition last night.”

“You’re making me too curious now, but how drunk did you get last night?”

“Honestly, I was just nervous about seeing you and about tonight.” He might be confessing another embarrassing thing, but behind his truthful tone, there’s something you can’t quite decipher.

“What’s there to be nervous about tonight?”

Your heels allow you to be in his line of sight, and your chests are too close. If you inhaled deeply, you’d be able to feel him on you. He takes advantage of your new height and forces your attention to go to his lips, smirking shamelessly as he thinks his next words.

“Did I tell you how pretty you look today?"

One hand comes close to your face, removes a strand of hair from blocking your view, and tucks it behind your ear.

“Oh, shut up.”

You can’t even think of a snarky response, your brain melting and showing just how much he affects you. Goosebumps spread all across your arms and back at the feel of his hand caressing your skin.

“I can’t, it’s all I’ve thinking about all day, you, this dress, and you in this dress.”

You instinctively hide your face on the crook of his neck, his cologne invading your senses. It’s hard to think of words when he’s looking at you like he wants to eat you whole.

“I got it because of you. Do you really like it?”

Not that you need any confirmation, since he’s told you twice already, but it wouldn’t hurt to hear it from him one more time. Your reveal makes his smirking lips graze your ear, sending shivers down your spine, and his voice drops an octave to answer.

“I love the dress, but I’ll love it more once I get it off you.”

“I hate you.”

You barely manage to say, your chest rising but breathless at the same time. Your body’s automatic reaction is to push him away, and your hands go straight to his chest to try, but of course it’s pointless. His hands catch yours, not letting you leave his personal space. He taunts you by spinning you around, and once you do a full twirl, he grabs you by the waist again and brings your body to his.

“You have no idea how hard it was for me that day when you stepped out, wearing this.” He gets closer to your ear with every word. You hate it and love it. For one, you can hide from his teasing eyes and blush in peace, but on the other hand, you are cheek to cheek with him, his breath fanning lightly on your side, and you can feel he’s still smirking. “You’re lucky there were other people in the room.”

A breath catches in your throat, and you swallow hard. You thank all the gods there are out there for being surrounded by drunk people. Because to anyone on their senses, your reaction to Mingyu's words would be too obvious.

“I really hate you right now.”

It’s getting harder and harder to ignore the heat growing at the pit of your stomach.

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

“I think it’s quite the opposite actually.”

How are you supposed to play hard to get when his hands hold you like he wants to keep you forever?

“You think you know everything.”

You catch your voice about to tremble when his free hand starts going down the side of your arm, from your shoulder down until your hand, and interlocks his fingers with yours.

“If you hate me then, I can’t tell you the secret I’ve been keeping all night.”

“Have you been secretly writing an article about how to break someone’s heart in 10 days?”

“I love that movie, but it has been well over 10 days, I couldn’t make the deadline.”

“Rom-com connoisseur, noted.” You jokingly nod, but not forgetting what’s important. “Now tell me.”

“So, you know how they told us there were rooms available for anyone that couldn't drive home?” You nod, too enthusiastically. “I may or may not have booked one for tonight, and if you want to, there’s space for one more, we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to…” He keeps talking, something about you watching him do something, but you get lost in the way his lips move as he talks, so pink and fast and hypnotizing.

“Isn’t it rude to just leave?”

The question leaves your mouth more to tease him than anything else. You want to be alone with him so badly, feel his body all over yours, his hands everywhere he can reach, ripping this godforsaken dress off you.

Before the last food serving rolls out and everyone scatters to go back to their seat, you sneak out of the reception, but the drunk bodies are not making it easy. Mingyu leads the way with you grabbing his hand and walking behind him. You don’t know if you could’ve managed another teasing touching session under the table.

You take a left turn into the hallway just at the same time as one of Olivia's drunk uncles, a stranger to the both of you, who’s half asleep using the wall to steady himself as he walks. The music echoes through the walls, and you can only look at each other, half about to burst out laughing and half needing to take the others clothes off, as you walk as nonchalantly as possible past the man trying his best to open his door.

Giggling like teenagers, you finally reach your room at the end of the hallway, but the second you enter, the atmosphere changes. Standing by the closed door, shoes off, panting, and frozen in place, you only look at each other. Your breaths regulate, and your smiles slowly fade off your expressions as the realization hits. It’s real. He’s here, and you’re here, in a room just for the two of you. His eyes are bound to your parted lips, but you wouldn’t know, as yours are also unable to leave his.

Like magnets, brutally drawn to each other, your lips finally reconnect in a hungry, desperate kiss. After learning how sweet he tastes, how his lips glide over yours so easily, how he wraps his arms around you to keep you close to him, there was only so much time you could spend in abstinence.

No words needed, the want translating in the way your hands push him against you, his hands traveling across your back, touching and groping everywhere he can reach. After the long day testing your patience, neither of you can slow down.

His fang claws at your bottom lip, making you whimper against him. He drinks in any sound you make, his arms bringing your body impossibly closer to his, almost making you one. No one is in control, both of you just touching and grabbing anywhere you can, desperate for more.

Your mouths reluctantly separate as Mingyu starts leaving a trail of kisses down your neck and biting lightly on your sensitive skin, making you gasp. You can only thread your fingers on his hair, encouraging him to leave any marks he wishes to.

“Is this okay?”

His raspy voice travels to your ears, and you don’t trust yourself to not make unholy noises if you open your mouth to answer. But just as you’re humming, he digs his teeth just above your clavicle, turning your hum into a moan.

He slowly slides the straps of your dress down your shoulders, his fingers teasing your skin on the way down. His hand travels across your chest, only the silky green fabric in between your fiery skin and his teasing fingers. They go over your pointy hard nipples, feeling everything on its way, but not letting it stay anywhere for more than a second.

“Are you going to take it off?”

Your breathlessness makes him chuckle, smug and cocky as ever.

“Rushed?”

“Very. You’re the one that put the thought in my head, now take care of it!” His hands sneak up your back, playing with the zipper of your dress.

“Don’t act so innocent.” His tone goes straight to your core. The fabric around you loosens up as his hand runs down your spine, but he stops before it gets too loose to slip down. “You think I didn’t see the way you looked at me all day? You’re not slick.”

He takes a step back to take off his suit jacket, absentmindedly throwing it to the side without breaking eye contact. But you don't let yourself get shy.

“Who said I was trying to hide it?”

Your hands run from his shoulders to his chest, unbuttoning his shirt one by one as his breathing speeds up. The warmth of his body envelops your hands, your fingers barely grazing the skin above his pants, and his muscles tense at your touch before you slip his shirt off.

“Now who’s the one teasing?”

Pulling on the red tie around his neck, he swallows hard as you bring his head closer to yours, so close you unconsciously flutter your eyes closed. His bare chest rises against yours as you undo his tie slowly. You could tilt your chin up and break the tension once more, but something in you wants to keep teasing him.

A step back is all you need to have his lips chase you, and he opens his eyes, droopy and confused, to find you slipping your dress off. His stare turns surprised and hungry as you reveal yourself for him, but his body stays frozen in place.

“I’m supposed to do that.”

It’s your time to chuckle now, taking a step forward again. His hands slot on your waist instinctively, traveling to your stomach, enjoying the feeling of your soft skin against his hands.

“You’ll get to do it next time.” The sentence is almost left unfinished, a breath getting caught in your throat when his hands dare go up your chest. But they’re gone in a heartbeat, as they reach your face and tilt it so you can properly look at him.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” No teasing tone on his voice.

“I’m literally naked in front of you.” Your hands go back up to his neck, pushing his head slightly down, reaching a hypnotic closeness. “I want this, I want you Mingyu.”

Confirmation is all he needed to let loose, to let the want take over his body and soul. He connects your lips with force, and wastes no time. With his hands on your ass and his tongue working its way inside your mouth, he stumbles backwards until you both fall on the bed.

With you on top of Mingyu, your hands make their way across his chest, his golden skin glistening due to the sweat. You can feel his hard muscles tense under your touch, making him sigh on your mouth when you find his sensitive spots. His hands move to your hips and push you down on him, making you both moan un unison because of the first friction between your cores.

His growing hard grinds deliciously against you. Even with his pants still between you, you can feel how big he is, and the wet patch on your panties grows by the second. Your lips are still smashed together, a mess of saliva allowing your lips you glide faster and hungrier on his, your tongues becoming one, not wanting to separate ever again.

Your hands find their way down his abdomen, reaching where his pants hang on his hips. The absence of a belt makes it easier for you to unbutton them, and he takes the off expertly, all without ever taking his hands off you.

The second your hand sneaks under his underwear, he groans under you, disconnecting your mouths to take a look at you.

“Is it embarrassing to be already close?” His blood red lips are parted, breathing out his confession, and you almost moan, clenching around nothing because of the sight, or his confession, or maybe the whimper he fights when you wrap your hand around him.

“You’re so big, fuck.” You sigh, and the side of his mouth quirks up, but slowly disappears as you start sliding your hand down, smearing the precum on his length.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.”

His eyes have a mix of concern and lust on them, and your body doesn’t know how to react, your stomach flips, your hands tremble, and your underwear grows wetter.

“I know you won’t.”

You climb down on him, your eyesight reaching where his boxers begin to tent. His gaze follows you, like he can’t believe the reality of what’s happening. You take off the last piece of clothing left on his body, and his dick springs free, standing proud and angry red in front of your eyes. The throb on your throat makes you move forward, wrapping your lips around his leaking tip.

“Wait. Don’t.” You look up at him but he’s facing the ceiling, ears red and eyes closed. “I can’t.”

“I haven’t done anything.” You play innocent, and a smirk appears on your face when he finally looks at you, resting on his elbows.

“Exactly, that’s why I can’t, I need to have a little bit of pride left.”

“What do you suggest we do?” You slowly climb up on him again, his hands moving to your hips like they got a life of their own. One hand on his chest and one hand on his jaw, you kiss him softly, and he melts at your touch.

A soft moan is heard, could be from him, could be from you, but your mind is too clouded to care when he rolls his hips against yours, following the pace of your lazy kiss. A rush of arousal takes over your body when he presses you harder against him, his length sliding perfectly with your core, your wetness making it easier to reach every point that makes you gasp.

“I want,” his lips stop working on yours, but his arms keep you from separating. You feel his every breath, every gasp at the friction, and his lips graze yours when he speaks, “I want to taste you.”

“Fuck.” He might just be able to feel the new rush of wetness dampening your panties further and smearing around his hard below you. His hands push your hips up his body. He told you what he wants, and he’s showing you exactly how he wants it. “Are you sure? I don’t want to crush your skull.”

“I wouldn’t mind that, at least I’d die happy.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that if you want it.”

The chuckle he lets out reverberates from his chest up through your whole body. There’s not much you can do besides complying with his wants, especially with the way your body’s reacting to the sole idea of it and the way he’s moving you to where he wants.

His hands sneak under the strings of your underwear, and as you climb higher and higher, he removes them easily, leaving you bare on top of him.

“You’re so wet, shit.” Your pussy pulsates just above his face. You can’t see his reaction, but you for sure can hear it, “I would’ve done this sooner if I knew this was waiting for me.”

From your point of view, his whole face is covered, by you, on top of him, only his messy hair laying on the mattress can be seen. A view that’s dizzying and hypnotic at the same time, and you can’t think of any answer to give him. His breath on your wet core makes you shiver, but you’re afraid to sit down, afraid you’ll hurt him.

Mingyu senses your hesitation and gives you no more time to doubt. His head rises until his tongue meets your folds, flattening on you, desperate to make you feel good. The sudden stimulation makes your legs tremble, and you would've fell on his face if it wasn’t from his hands still holding your hips.

He starts making out with your cunt, moaning and groaning against it like this is also pleasurable for him. His tongue finds every place that makes you gasp, moan and whimper, and with every lap at your folds, a nasty wet sound accompanies it.

A shaky moan escapes out of you when he envelops your clit with his lips and sucks lightly, making you grab the headboard so you don’t fall on him.

You must’ve fully sit on his mouth in your search for support, because he moans louder against your pussy, and you can feel everything. His lips and tongue working to drink every drop of arousal that leaves you, discovering every sensitive spot you didn’t know about.

The tip of his nose bumps your clit just as his tongue finds its way inside your pulsing hole, and you instinctively move your hand down to pull at his hair. The action encourages him to go faster, harder, and when you grind on his face and he groans like he’s enjoying it, you let go.

Riding him, chasing your high, you’re using his tongue for your own pleasure. Your hand on his hair tightens, and you lose the little control you had of your throat. But the unfiltered sounds you make just push him harder. Every one of your senses is clouded. The wet sounds, the way he moans against you, his tongue already knowing where to go to make you squirm, everything culminates without warning.

You cum on his tongue faster than you have ever before. Your thighs tremble at either side of his head, and you realize you’re crushing him between them. But he doesn't let you get up. His tongue continues to work on you,

He cleans you up, drinking every last drop of arousal smeared on your skin. You spasm over him every time he –not so accidentally– flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue, starting to get you overstimulated.

You use the strength you have left to push his head back, and take advantage of his surprise to plop down on his side, your back on the mattress and your pussy finally away of his eager mouth.

“Are you okay?”

From the corner of your eye, while you try to recover, you see Mingyu doing his best to clean the lower side of his face.

“Yeah, fuck, that was a lot.” You manage to say in between breaths. “I need a second.”

“If you’re too tired, we can st- fuck.”

You don’t give time to overthink, quickly getting on top of him again, your swollen dripping cunt right on top of his still hard cock.

“Second's over.” Only a little smirk is the warning he gets before you’re grinding on top of him again. All of your juices mix as you slowly ride back and forth, his length sliding between your wet folds deliciously. “I’m clean, and on the pill, are you?”

“On the pill? Unfortunately not.” How he manages to make you laugh even on your horniest moments will forever remain a mystery. “But I’m clean, I’ve never had sex without a condom before.”

“Me neither. I guess this will be a new experience for the both of us.” The sole thought of it makes his dick twitch under you.

“Are you sure?” His hand cups the side of your face, and his eyes look at you with such care that you could melt in an instant.

“Yes, I don’t want to wait anymore. We’ve waited long enough.” That seems to relax him, his hands beginning to roam freely across your torso.

Sliding forward makes the veins of his cock drag along every sensitive spot and you both moan before his tip finally prods at your entrance. A loud hiss comes out of him as you align yourself with his length and push his tip in.

But before you can go any further, he wraps his arms around your waist and turns you around so your back is against the mattress. You gasp at the sudden change, and when he starts slowly sinking into you, filling every possible space inside you, you lose your breath.

His cock being covered by your fluids makes it easier, and when he finally bottoms out, so deep you feel him everywhere, you hear him trying to muffle a moan. Your gummy walls clamp around him, trying to get used to his size. The twitch of his length feels stronger while inside you, and you know he’s trying to resist the urge to pound into you.

“Move, please, I need you.” Your pathetic whimper triggers another smirk out of him, and as he moves down to give you a soft kiss, his eyes darken.

“Whatever my girl wants.”

The slow drag of his cock as he starts sliding it out almost make you delirious, but before his tip slips out, he snaps his full length right back in, making your body jolt upwards. You can't speak properly, a curse you can’t even hear leaves your mouth before he repeats the action, again and again.

“So deep, Mingyu, fuck.” The brutal pace he sets has him abusing every single sensitive spot inside you, even the ones you didn’t know about, hitting relentlessly where it makes you scream, and you’re seeing stars.

“You don’t say my name often,” his voice is raspy and deep, almost mirroring the way his cock pistons inside of you, “I like how it sounds coming out of you."

Your palms are against the headboard and you’re sure the bed hitting against the wall can be heard from other rooms, but when one of his hands sneak between your bodies and starts circling your clit, you stop caring all along.

The grinding of your hips matches his rhythm, accentuating everything as he drives you closer and closer. With his face just above yours, you can only look him in the eyes and let him watch your face contort in pleasure feeling every vein of his cock dragging inside of you. With any other person, you would be self-conscious, but as he finds that spot inside you that makes you squirm, you forget the world around you and focus on grabbing his strong arms for support.

His teeth find your neck again, biting and kissing on your soft skin, pushing you closer and closer to the edge, and he doesn’t stop drilling his hips into you. Somehow, you feel him deeper with every thrust, and the only thing you can do is claw your nails on his arms and back, encouraging him more and more.

“You’re so tight, shit.” His hips stutter when you clench hearing his voice. “Tell me you’re close, please, fuck, I don’t now how long I got."

“Yes! Yes, don’t stop.” You tighten impossibly harder around him when you feel him pinch one of your nipples. He’s literally everywhere, stimulating every spot to tip you over the edge.

Your arms and legs cage his body so close to yours that he has trouble keeping up with his pace, but that doesn't stop him from pounding hard. The sound of skin your skin hitting against his and his groans are like music to your ears.

It's when his thumb teases your clit again that you finally snap.

You tremble around him, moaning uncontrollably as he keeps pounding into you, prolonging your orgasm as he pleases and chasing his own. But he’s far gone too. Your sweet moans in his ear and your walls clenching around him so perfectly are enough to have him spilling inside you.

Sleepiness is about to get you when you feel him sliding out you and plopping by your side. Naturally, one of his arms slots under you as your head rests on the crook of his neck.

There’s silence while you both catch your breaths, his hand softly drawing circles on your back and yours on his chest. As reality sinks in, giddiness fills your entire body, and you can’t contain the smile growing against his golden skin.

“Did you do any embarrassing things back then?” The sudden interrogation makes your cheeks turn red.

“I’m guessing there’s no way out of this, right?” You avoid looking up at him to not make your shyness obvious, and you feel him shake his head as an answer. “Fine… you know… your fangs?”

“My fangs?!” Amusement and surprise mix on his voice.

“Fuck this is so embarrassing.” You’re caged between his arms but you manage to cover your face with your hands.

“You liked my fangs?”

“I still do, but yeah, I would just draw little fangs everywhere, I guess no one ever noticed because they looked more like vamp–"

“Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?” He luckily interrupts your embarrassing rant with his pending question.

“Already? You want to see me again that badly?” You feel the chuckle on his chest before you hear it, and at that moment, it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard.

“I plan on taking you on dates at least three times a week. You’re never getting rid of me now.” He embraces you in his arms, chests flushed together, and when you tilt your head up, he’s already looking at you, expectant for your answer. “So, what do you say?”

“Yes, I would love to have dinner with you tomorrow.” The smile he gives you might be the most blinding smile you’ve ever seen. “But just so you know, I do not have sex on first dates.”

thank you so much for reading♥♥ sorry this took so long to finish

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt3 of the Danny is the 99th attempted clone Tim made of Kon. Kon learns about Danny.

Relevant info: Kon was dead closer to a year and a half in this au, and this happens a few months after his revival.

[Pt2: here] [Pt4: here]

So Tim has admittedly been putting off meeting up with the Titans. Everyone has settled back into the new normal. Too much has happened for it to look anything like before, but the other 3 Titans have been hanging out semi-regularly, and Tim turns down their invites 3 of 4 times. He knows it's starting to hurt their feelings, and he hates that.

But... he's scared to admit he's a father now. A father to a clone of one of them. He's not sure how to bring it up. Cassie never asked if he was successful, probably just assumed he failed because there isn't a third Superboy flying around. Jokes on her. Danny isn't going to be a Superboy. He's not allowed to even think about being a hero or vigilante until he's 14 at the earliest, and Tim is going to help him find his own name if he chooses that path. He won't be a Robin or Superboy. He won't live in the shadow of those legacies if Tim can help it.

None of that is relevant for the here and now, though. Tim got Jason to babysit Danny and finally agreed to a hang out with the Titans. He asked Danny for his opinion first before making his decision and got the go ahead. So, Tim is finally going to come clean.

Tim barely makes it into the tower when he's tackled by his friends.

"Tim! You're here!" Bart cheers.

"Yeah, it's good to see you guys too. Sorry I haven't been very present." Tim fidgets. "I've been busy... I also haven't been honest..."

"Tim?" Cassie sounds concerned. And Tim just can't. He extracts himself from the puppy pile. He can't make himself give eye contact. He's sure his guilt and shame are written all over his body language.

"Tim, you can tell us anything." Kon sounds super genuine. Tim takes a deep grounding breath.

"Okay, let's do this like a bandaid." Tim finally looks at them, focusing mostly on Kon. "I have a son. He's technically Kon's, too."

He gets the dubious pleasure of watching his three idiots look at his abdomen, as if he gave birth.

"Why-? Kon, we never fucked!? What the fuck guys??" He sputters, waving his hands in front of him.

"Then how-" Cassie realizes. "Oh!"

"Oh?? What do you mean??" Bart is looking between them and vibrating in confusion. Kon is just looking like a confused and concerned puppy.

"Okay, so, I may have had a breakdown with everyone dying or going missing." Tim grimaces. "And while I was fully aware that even if I succeeded, it wouldn't be Kon, I still tried to clone him. And, um, I did manage to succeed in the end."

"Fuck, Tim.." Kon starts.

"Look, I was in a really fucking dark place and needed even just a piece of good I lost." Tim hugs himself, self loathing burning him from the inside out. "Everyone was turning their back on me, I just needed something, anything, to keep going."

"Fuck, I should have helped..." Cassie bites her lip, chewing on her guilty conscious.

"It's fine. No one was listening. Don't beat yourself up over it. You were in a bad spot, too." Tim gives a humorless laugh. "Danny was my 99th attempt. And my last attempt, if I'm honest. I could feel myself breaking more with each failure. On a fucking whim, I decided to make the 99th attempt a baby instead of trying for a teenager, and it worked. I fucked up a bit, I forgot to adjust the knowledge download to that of a 1 year old, but he was alive. He's the best thing to ever happen to me. I was scared to tell you. I'm sorry-"

"Tim.." Kon cuts him off, and Tim snaps his mouth shut. "I.. I'm honestly not sure how to feel about you cloning me, but I'd like to meet him. What's his name?"

Tim rapidly blinks back tears. "Aedan Drake, he prefers being called Danny. I.. I didn't add Kent because I don't trust Clark with him or give him an El name, I wanted him to understand kryptonian language and culture first. I... I also wanted Danny to be old enough to make the decision over his name himself. I don't want him to be treated like you were. The house of El were so awful to you."

"I understand, Tim." Kon steps towards Tim, "Can.. Can I hug you?"

Tim nods and is swept into a tight hug. He feels something give emotionally, and he sobs into his shoulder. "I fucking love him so much."

"Tell me about him." Kon says softly. He can feel Bart and Cassie hoving, unsure what to do, but unwilling to leave.

"He's physically around 3 now. He loves ghosts and space and named the wolf plushy I bought him on his first day alive Wulf." There's some chuckles over that. "He's sassy and petty, but insanely sweet and tries to help out with any and all tasks. I see so much of both of us in him. Nature vs Nurture is a messy bitch. You remember what I said my start as Robin was like?"

"How you had to babysit a grown ass man and force him into better habits?" Cassie snarks.

"Karma's a funny bitch. Danny started doing the same shit to me as soon as he figured out how to walk." Tim giggles. "Anytime we weren't in danger, he'd force me to take care of injuries and to eat and sleep. And I'd do it because what kind of monster denies a baby trying to be helpful... plus he gets really stressed and depressed if he can't help."

Tim grips the back of Kon's shirt. "I don't understand how he developed my people pleaser tendencies so early on. We were stuck on LoA bases when he first started doing everything in his power to help me. I was purposely being a little shit to our "hosts" at the time. So it wasn't a surprise that he developed a Robin's need to troll, but he only saw me be nice to him."

"The LoA??" Kon asks in alarm.

"It was a rough year..." Tim scowls. "And if I see Ra's again, I'm gutting him. B's rules be damned."

"What happened?" Cassie asks, suddenly a lot closer.

"He's a creep, a pedo, and a child abuser." Kon rubs Tim's suddenly very stiff back and shoulders. "I could handle him being creepy towards me. While gross and awful to have a disgusting 300 or something year old man trying to wife me-"

"Excuse me???"

"He WHAT?"

"-I'm more pissed I couldn't protect Danny. I don't know what that piece of shit did when I couldn't take Danny with me, but Danny is linked to the pit now. He luckily doesn't have pit rage like Jason, but he can calm Jason's pit and apparently glows according to Duke." Tim sobs. "I should have killed the man when I had a chance. I don't know what he did to Danny!"

"It's not your fault, Tim." Kon hugs Tim tightly, it's almost painful. "You were in a tough spot and doing your best to keep you both alive."

"Just focus on healing and moving on." Bart says while running a hand through Tim's hair. Cassie rubs both Tim and Kon's backs as Tim gets himself under control.

"Can.. can I meet him?" Kon whispers.

"I'd love for you to meet him." Tim sniffles. "He was nervous you'd hate him for existing. I apparently passed on my stupid anxiety. I couldn't quite get him to believe me when I told him he wouldn't be who you'd be mad at if you got mad. He wants to meet you, but I accidentally made the most jaded baby in the world."

"A Super raised by a Bat is going to be terrifying." Bart giggles. "We'll have to make sure he doesn't become a supervillain."

"Meh. He's too cute. If he goes evil, all he has to do is pout and he'll instantly win." Tim jokes, wiggling out of the hug. "Want to see pictures?"

There's a very strong positive response. The next 3 hours finds Tim showing off pictures and explaining the stories behind them, his team melting at how cute his son is. Tim feels the lightest he's felt in a while. He does have to promise Bart and Cassie to bring Danny over once Kon and Danny meet one on one first.

What Tim doesn't know is Kon is absolutely obsessed with and slightly horny over this parental side of Tim. He's fully daydreaming of the 3 of them living together and being disgustingly domestic the whole time Tim is showing off Danny. Cassie can tell what Kon is thinking about and is amused.

Once Tim leaves, the Titans go to the training room and fuck up some bots because of the rage they feel on Tim and Danny's behalf. They all agree to be as petty as possible to any LoA members they come across and to murder Ra's the moment there's an opportunity to do so without the JL knowing. Tim isn't the only unhinged one on this team. That's why they work so well together.

[ms-demeanor]

TBH another thing that irritates the living shit out of me is how many ADHD tools and guides are inaccessibly expensive.

I searched for ADHD organizational videos today and of the seven I opened up, three were ads (one for something QUITE expensive and unfortunately very useful-looking) and the other four were unbearably rigid in their approach to how to help with organization ("the only way to stay organized is to always put things where they belong immediately and never deviate from that" - you sound like my old GP when I introduced him to the concept of delayed sleep phase disorder. No there isn't only one solution, and no a solution that is going to require a high amount of effort for no visible reward forever isn't going to work).

I get that creators with ADHD have to make a living, and being an ADHDinfluencer is probably one of the better gigs someone with ADHD could land. But also.

Like?

Fuck you a little bit? Like at least a little bit. You're making sponcon about expensive tools for people who are like 20% less likely to be able to hold a full time job than a neurotypical.

Which is exactly why my website is free and it and all of my resources will always be 100% free.

I've said it before, I'll say it again: my mom and I had discussed end-of-life planning and pre-death fill-in-the-blanks tools for years before she died, but I never had the money to go out and order the books about it when I was talking to her about it. That's why I made the death book, and that's why the death book will always and forever cost zero dollars.

Same thing here. I've been searching for good ADHD tools for most of a decade and what I get on free sites is mostly a lot of inspiration porn, tools for neurotypical parents to manage their ADHD children, and ADHD adults feeling helpless. And when I wanted to read the book about managing your ADHD that everybody praised, it was thirty bucks that I didn't have and an 18-month waiting list at my library.

So I want to make sure that other people who feel like they're drowning have something to grab onto that I wish I'd had when I was there. You don't have thirty bucks or eighteen months to wait either, you need to figure out how to keep track of your important papers NOW because you're coping with a loss or a separation or a natural disaster.

(Though if I haven't written it yet you may be waiting 18 months sorry it's getting built but it's not moving fast)

[coquelicoq]

i've decided to archive this on ao3. if anyone who speaks chinese would be willing to read this post (& a few other spoilery and explanatory tidbits that are not in the tumblr post) and point out any typos or places where i've misinterpreted something, i would be very grateful! according to my draft on ao3, it is 4.6k words. the majority of it is in the post above, and i would dm you the parts that are not. familiarity with the double is not necessary, though if you want to watch it and haven't yet, be warned that there will be spoilers. please reply to this post if you're interested and i will dm you <3

Jiang Li's family tree and familial terms of address in The Double

I'm making this guide for my own reference because there were several family relationships in The Double that I misinterpreted at first based on how they were translated in the English subs, so I've gone back and compared to the Chinese subs. I'm also hoping it will be helpful to people wanting to write fic in English! What little I know about Chinese terms of address has largely been gleaned from other tumblr users' posts predating this show, and I'll link to my sources.

The only significant potential spoiler is some basic biographical information about Jiang Li’s older sibling, who is not directly mentioned until episode 26 but whose existence can be inferred from the fact that Jiang Li is referred to as Second Lady Jiang.

I am basing all of this solely on the drama, not the novel it was adapted from.

Apologies in advance for any inconsistencies in the pinyin punctuation (hyphen vs. apostrophe vs. space vs. smooshed together); it varies widely across sources and I don't think I have a clear enough understanding of the nuances to be confident I'm being consistent in applying the conventions, but I'm including the hanzi as well as an English translation (if the translation is in quotation marks it’s from the subs, usually Viki but not always). Also apologies if I messed up any of the hanzi. I welcome corrections and insights from those with more knowledge!!

I'm referring to Jiang Li in the present tense here for convenience, but since she's dead for the majority of the show, when I say "Jiang Li calls so-and-so xyz," of course it's almost always actually Xue Fangfei acting as Jiang Li who's doing that.

Each image is of that character's first appearance, when the hanzi for their name is given. The hanzi and any other caption are transcribed in alt text.

Jiang Li

Jiang Li (姜梨), aka Jiang Ruoyu (姜若雨), is the second child and second daughter of Jiang Yuanbai. She’s his only child with his first wife, Ye Zhenzhen.

According to this title card, her given name is Ruoyu and her courtesy name is A'Li (阿梨). This means that in this universe, people are given courtesy names in childhood rather than upon maturity. No one ever calls her or refers to her as Ruoyu that I noticed.

She is 18 or thereabouts (she was sent away from the family 10 years ago at age 8) when she dies at the beginning of the series.

She was accused of fratricide and attempted matricide at age 8 when she was blamed for her stepmother's miscarriage.

Sometimes in the subs she's referred to as the eldest daughter or the firstborn. For instance, when Ji Shuran says in episode 7 梨儿终究是我家嫡女, the Viki subs give "Li'er is the firstborn." Another example is in episode 5; someone in the crowd at Jiang Ruoyao's coming-of-age ceremony refers to Jiang Li as Jiang Yuanbai's 嫡长之女, which Viki translates as "eldest daughter". I think this might be a mistranslation. The character 嫡, di, means "legal wife" or "child of legal wife" and also is one of the characters in the title of the novel The Double was based on, 嫡嫁千金 (Marriage of the Di Daughter). (The other relevant character in the above examples is 女, nü, meaning daughter.) She's not the eldest daughter, but she is the eldest legitimate daughter (born to a legal wife rather than a concubine). In episode 6, Jiang Li refers to herself as 嫡女, and that time it's translated as "legitimate daughter" (Jiang Ruoyao also refers to herself as the same thing in episode 26, and it's "legitimate daughter" there as well). In episodes 26 and 32, Jiang Li is referred to as 姜家的嫡娘子, translated as "legitimate daughter of the Jiang family".

As the second daughter of a noble family, she is referred to outside the family as Jiang-er'niangzi (姜二娘子, “Second Lady Jiang”, or sometimes translated as "Miss Jiang"). Family servants call her niangzi or er’niangzi (translated in direct address as "My Lady" or "Miss Jiang"). (Note that Tong'er calls Jiang Li niangzi but tends to call Xue Fangfei jiejie (姐姐, older sister) when they're alone.)

Her younger sister Jiang Ruoyao and younger cousin Jiang Yu'e call her er'jie (二姐, older sister, second in the birth order; subs translate this as "Second Sister" or, more often, “Li” even though they’re not actually using her name at all) or er'jiejie. Her younger brother Jiang Bingji calls her jiejie; Jiang Ruoyao also sometimes calls her jiejie.

People in her family who are older than her call her A'Li (阿梨]) or Li'er (梨儿). A'Li, according to her title card, is her courtesy name, but "A" and "er" are also affectionate/familiar prefixes often used in families. Most people who call her one of these things (including Xue Fangfei, her paternal family, her mother, and her mom’s friend Liu-furen) call her Li’er, while her maternal family (other than her mother) tends to call her A’Li.

Her paternal grandmother calls her Li'er, haizi (孩子, child), and er’yatou (二丫头, literally second girl). The latter two are generally given in the subs as Li or Li’er.

Her aunt (her father’s younger brother’s wife) calls her wo de hao zhinü (我的好侄女, “my dear niece”) at one point when she's feeling particularly appreciative.

Her older maternal cousin Ye Shijie calls her/refers to her as Jiang Li initially, then as they become closer starts calling her both Li’er and A’Li, though I noticed him using Li’er more often. He also calls her biaomei (表妹, younger female maternal cousin, maternal meaning you're related through your mother and/or her mother; in this case, Jiang Li's mother is his father's sister), as does her other maternal cousin, Ye Jia'er.

Her older paternal cousin Jiang Jingrui calls her Jiang Li. As they become closer, he starts calling her A’Li or Li’er.

Her school friend Liu Xu calls her Jiang Li in the earlier episodes and A'Li as they become closer.

She refers to herself (that is, Xue Fangfei refers to Jiang Li and/or herself-as-Jiang-Li) as Li’er or A'Li.

Note that while some people close to Jiang Li call her A'Li (阿梨), when Su-guogong calls (Xue Fangfei as) Jiang Li A'Li, the Chinese subs use 阿狸 (different "li" character). They are pronounced identically, but the latter is the way that Xue Fangfei’s given name, Xue Li, is written (薛狸).

Paternal family (Jiang jia 姜家)

Parents

Jiang Yuanbai (姜元柏) is the current head of the noble Jiang family and a high-ranking minister in the imperial court.

His title is Jiang-xiangguo 姜相国, translated as "Grand Chancellor" or "Secretariat Director", depending on the subs.

Xiangguo is a more general honorific that is used for some other ministers as well. His position more specifically seems to be zhongshuling (中书令, “Secretariat Director” or “Chief Secretary”) and taishi (太师, “Grand Preceptor”).

The emperor calls him (and other officials) qing (卿, noble, minister). He also refers to him at least once as laoshi (老师, teacher).

Servants call him zhujun (主君, translated as “my lord” in direct address and "master" in reference).

Jiang Li calls him fuqin (父亲, formal term for "father"). I don't think Xue-Fangfei-as-Jiang-Li ever calls him die (爹, less formal term for "father") at any point, but he refers to himself as diedie a couple times.

His brothers call him da’ge (大哥, older brother, first in the birth order). His sister-in-law (Jiang Yuanping's wife) also calls him da'ge.

Jiang Jingrui and Jiang Yu'e call him da’bofu (大伯父, father’s older brother, first in the birth order, "Uncle") or just bofu.

Hi wife Ji Shuran calls him fujun (夫君, husband).

Ye Shijie calls him Jiang-bofu (“Uncle Jiang”) a couple times in the late episodes.

He and his brothers share a generation name (one shared character in the given name of each descendant of the same generation), 元, yuan. However, they don’t appear to have continued the tradition in the next generation, because Jiang Jingrui's and Jiang Bingji's names don't share a character. At first I thought at least the girls' names shared a character, because Jiang Li (whose given name is Ruoyu) and her sister Ruoyao both have 若, Ruo, but their older sister and their uncle’s daughter don’t have that character in their names.

Ye Zhenzhen (叶珍珍) was Jiang Li's mother.

She died when Jiang Li was a baby, at least six months after giving birth.

She was Jiang Yuanbai's furen (夫人), his official wife (as opposed to a concubine).

When Jiang Li talks about her, she refers to her as a'niang (阿娘, mother) or shengmu (生母, birth mother).

Xue Fangfei addresses her as Ye-furen in her head/when praying to her.

Her younger brother Ye Mingyu calls her Zhenzhen-jie (珍珍姐).

Ji Shuran (季淑然) is Jiang Li's stepmother.

She is Jiang Yuanbai's current furen. Jiang Yuanbai married her after Ye Zhenzhen died.

She's over 30 and probably under 40.

She's the mother of Jiang Ruoyao and Jiang Bingji, who call her niang. Jiang Ruoyao sometimes calls her or refers to her as muqin (母亲, formal term for "mother").

She's referred to as Jiang-furen (姜夫人, “Madam Jiang”) by those outside the family (women keep their own surname when they get married, but when honorifics are used, they're attached to the husband's surname). At one point she refers to herself as Jiang jia de zhumu (姜家的主母, "madam of the Jiang family").

Her husband and the family servants call her furen.

Jiang Li calls her muqin. In flashbacks, young Jiang Li calls her niang. She’s sometimes referred to as Jiang Li’s houmu (后母, stepmother).

Consort Li, her younger sister, calls her jiejie.

The Marquis of Ningyuan calls her xiangguo-furen (xiangguo being her husband’s court honorific).

Jiang Jingrui calls her da’bomu (大伯母, wife of da’bofu) and sometimes refers to her as Ji Shuran when talking about her to Jiang Li. Jiang Yu'e calls her bomu ("Auntie Shuran").

Jiang Yuanping, her husband's younger brother, calls her saozi (嫂子, sister-in-law). Jiang Yuanxing, her husband's other younger brother, refers to her as da’sao (大嫂, “Eldest Sister-in-law”).

Before her marriage, as the eldest child/daughter of the Ji family, she was called Ji-da’niangzi.

Paternal grandparents

Jiang Yuanbai's mother is referred to as Jiang-lao'furen (姜老夫人, "old Madam Jiang").

She was Jiang Yuanbai’s father's furen. Her husband also had at least one concubine.

Jiang Li and her siblings and paternal cousins call her zumu (祖母, father's mother, "Grandmother").

Her two biological sons and Jiang Yuanxing, her husband's son from a concubine, call her muqin. Jiang Yuanxing’s wife also calls her muqin.

Members of her household, including servants and her daughters-in-law, refer to her as lao’furen (“Old Madam”). Her daughter-in-law Ji Shuran also addresses her as lao’furen (translated as “Madam Jiang”).

[Not pictured because he never appears onscreen] Jiang Yuanbai's father, who's deceased, is referred to a few times.

Tong’er refers to him as Jiang-lao’taigong (姜老太公, “Old Master Jiang”).

Jiang Li refers to him as zufu (祖父, “Grandfather”).

His widow refers to him as taigong (太公, grandfather, “Old Master Jiang”). She addresses him as lao’Jiang at one point.

Paternal aunts and uncles

Jiang Yuanping (姜元平) is Jiang Yuanbai's younger brother from the same mother and father.

Jiang Li calls him er'shu (二叔, father’s younger brother, second in the birth order; “ Second Uncle Jiang”).

His son Jiang Jingrui calls him die (爹, "Father").

Jiang Yuanping’s wife's surname is Lu (卢).

Jiang Li calls her er'shumu (二叔母, wife of er'shu; “Second Auntie Lu”). Interestingly, all the tumblr guides I’ve seen say the wife of your father’s younger brother would be shenmu, not shumu, but she is clearly saying shu according to the subs, and shumu is in the dictionary.

Her husband Jiang Yuanping calls her furen (translated as "My Lady" or "my dear").

Her son JIang Jingrui calls her niang ("Mother").

Jiang Yuanxing (姜元兴) is Jiang Yuanbai's younger half-brother; they have the same dad, but his mom was their dad's concubine.

Jiang Li calls him san'shu (三叔, father’s younger brother, third in the birth order; “Third Uncle Jiang”).

His daughter Jiang Yu’e calls him die and fuqin.

His eldest brother Jiang Yuanbai calls him Yuanxing and refers to him as Yuanxing and san’di (third younger brother).

He calls himself (and other people call him) shuzi (庶子, bastard, translated as "concubine's son").

A servant calls him 主家 (zhu jia, “Master”).

There’s at least one instance in which he’s referred to outside the family as Jiang jia lao'san (姜家老三, “Third Master Jiang”).

Jiang Yuanxing’s wife's surname is Yang (杨).

Jiang Lu calls her san'shumu (三叔母, wife of san'shu; “Third Auntie Yang”).

Her husband Jiang Yuanxing calls her gunainai (姑奶奶, aunt, translated as “my dear”).

Her daughter Jiang Yu’e calls her niang and muqin.

Her husband’s older brother refers to her as san’mei (三妹, third younger sister; in context, he’s talking about both her and her husband and says “san’di san’mei”, translated as “Yuanxing and his wife”).

Siblings

Jiang Yue (姜月) is Jiang Yuanbai’s oldest child and Jiang Li’s older sister. She was born to a maid (so, not the furen). This means that while she is the oldest child, she's not the oldest "legitimate" child.

She’s not directly mentioned until episode 26, so I won’t say anything else about her, to avoid spoilers.

Jiang Ruoyao (姜若瑶) is Ji Shuran's oldest child, Jiang Li's younger sister, and the third child and third daughter of Jiang Yuanbai.

She can't be much younger than Jiang Li, possibly two years younger at most would be my guess? I can't remember if they ever say her age. She has a coming of age ceremony in one of the early episodes.

Her parents call her Yao’er.

Her older sister Jiang Li calls her san'mei (三妹, literally "third younger sister", which refers to her position in the birth order as the third daughter of the Jiang family, rather than meaning that she's the third youngest of Jiang Li's younger sisters (Jiang Li only has one younger sister), translated as "Third Sister").

Her younger paternal cousin Jiang Yu’e calls her san’jie (三姐, older sister, third in the birth order, translated as “Third Sister”).

Her paternal grandmother calls her Ruoyao and san’yatou (三丫头, literally "third girl").

Those outside the family call her Jiang-san'niangzi (姜三娘子, “Third Lady Jiang”). Family servants call her niangzi or san’niangzi.

Jiang Bingji (姜丙吉) is Ji Shuran's second child, Jiang Li's younger brother, and the fourth child and only son of Jiang Yuanbai.

He was born after Ji Shuran’s miscarriage (source: he refers to the fetus as gege (哥哥, older brother), meaning it would have been born before him). This means he’s less than 10 years old, since the miscarriage/Jiang Li’s exile was 10 years ago.

Jiang Li doesn't have a lot of interaction with him, but in his intro she calls him didi (弟弟, little brother).

His parents call him Bingji and his paternal grandmother calls him Bingji or xiao’Bingji (小, xiao, is a diminutive meaning "young" or "small").

Family servants call him xiao'gongzi (小公子, "Young Master").

Paternal cousins

Jiang Jingrui (姜景睿) is Jiang Yuanping's son.

Xue Fangfei calls him tangxiong (堂兄, older paternal male cousin, i.e., son of father’s brother, older than her) the first time they meet, which causes him to accuse her of not being Jiang Li because it's too formal. Jiang Yu’e also calls him tangxiong.

Jiang Li's childhood nickname for him was xiao'Ruirui (小睿睿). In the present she mostly calls him Jiang Jingrui.

His parents call him Rui’er.

Liu Xu refers to him as Jiang Li’s gege (哥哥, older brother). He refers to himself as gege when telling Jiang Li to listen to him.

Those outside the family call him Jiang-gongzi (姜公子, “Mr. Jiang”). Tong’er calls him da’langjun (大郎君, “Young Master”).

Jiang Yu'e (姜玉娥) is Jiang Yuanxing's daughter.

She has a lower position in the family because her dad's mom was not the furen but a concubine.

Her parents call her nü’er (女儿, daughter) and Yu’e.

Her paternal grandmother refers to her as si’yatou (四丫头, literally "fourth girl") and Yu’e.

She and Jiang Li refer to each other (and others refer to them) as sisters (Jiang Li calls her si'mei (四妹, younger sister, fourth in the birth order, "Fourth Sister") and she calls Jiang Li er'jie), but they're actually cousins; their dads are brothers.

Jiang Jingrui also calls her si’mei.

As the fourth daughter of the Jiang family (though again, not the fourth daughter of Jiang Yuanbei; she's the fourth girl born to the previous generation of Jiang sons), I think prior to her marriage she would be addressed by those outside the family as Jiang-si’niangzi (姜四娘子, “Fourth Lady Jiang”), but I can't remember if we see any examples of this.

After she gets married, servants call her furen or niangzi.

Jiang family servants

Tong’er (桐儿) is Jiang Li’s maid.

Sun-mama (孙妈妈, “senior maidservant Sun” or "Madam Sun") is Ji Shuran’s maid.

Ji Shuran calls her Jindai (锦黛) at least once. Perhaps this is her given name?

[Not pictured because I never saw a title card for her] Zhang-popo (张婆婆, “maidservant Zhang”) is Jiang-lao’furen’s maid.

[Not pictured because I never saw a title card for her] Jinhua (金花) is Jiang Ruoyao’s maid.

Maternal family (Ye jia 叶家)

Maternal grandmother

Ye Zhenzhen’s mother is referred to as Ye-lao’furen (叶老夫人, “Old Madam Ye” or “Old Mrs. Ye”).

Jiang Li calls her wai’zumu (外祖母, mother’s mother, “Grandmother”).

Ye Jia’er calls her zumu (祖母, father's mother, "Grandmother").

Her son Ye Mingxuan refers to her as lao’furen and calls her muqin.

Her son Ye Mingyu calls her and refers to her as niang.

Her daughter-in-law, Ye Mingxuan's wife, refers to her as lao’taitai (老太太, literally “old lady”, translated as “Old Madam”).

Maternal aunts and uncles

[Not pictured because he never appears onscreen] Ye Zhenzhen's oldest brother, who is deceased, is mentioned, though not by name. He is Ye Shijie's father.

Since his brothers share the first character in their names (明, ming), it seems like they might have a generation name, so it’s likely his name also began with that character.

His younger brother Ye Mingyu refers to him and his wife as da’ge da’sao (大哥大嫂, oldest brother and wife of oldest brother, translated as “my brother and his wife”).

Ye Mingxuan (叶明轩) is Ye Zhenzhen's brother, the second oldest son in the family.

Ye Mingxuan’s older brother and father are dead, making him the current head of the family.

Jiang Li calls him er'jiu (二舅, mother’s brother, second in the birth order, translated as "Second Uncle").

It’s unclear if he’s Ye Zhenzhen’s older or younger brother. It's impossible to tell from what Jiang Li calls him, because the term for a mother’s brother is the same whether the brother is older or younger than the mother (舅, jiu). I don’t think there are any flashbacks in which Ye Zhenzhen talks to or about him. And we can infer that the birth order terms used for the men in this family do not include the women, because we know Ye Mingyu, who is referred to as third uncle and so must be the third son, actually must be the fourth child overall (assuming there aren't any other Ye daughters), because Ye Zhenzhen calls him younger brother, which means he has three older siblings (the two sons who are older than him, plus Ye Zhenzhen). So we know that Ye Mingxuan is second in the birth order of sons specifically, but he could have one or more older sisters as well.

His wife calls him er’lang (二郎; er is “two” or “second” and lang is “young man” or “husband” (the “second” refers to his birth order, not to him being her second husband; presumably he’s her only husband); translated as “Mingxuan”).

His daughter Ye Jia'er calls him die.

His younger brother Ye Mingyu calls him er’ge (二哥, second older brother, translated as "Mingxuan").

Ye Shijie refers to him as er'shu (二叔, father's younger brother, second in the birth order).

Family servants and the clerk in the family shop refer to him as zhuren (主人, “Master Ye”).

Ye Mingxuan's wife’s surname is Zhuo (卓).

Jiang Li calls her er’jiumu (二舅母, wife of er’jiu).

Her husband calls her furen (夫人, translated as “my dear” or “darling”).

Family servants call her furen or er’furen (夫人, "Madam").

Governor Tong calls her furen (夫人, "Madam").

Her husband’s younger brother Ye Mingyu refers to her as er’sao (二嫂, wife of er'ge).

Her daughter Ye Jia’er calls her niang.

Ye Mingyu (叶明煜) is Ye Zhenzhen's younger brother, the third oldest son in the family.

Jiang Li calls him san'jiu (三舅, mother’s brother, third in the birth order, translated as "Third Uncle").

In his flashback of Ye Zhenzhen getting married, she calls him san’di (三弟, third younger brother, meaning younger brother who’s the third son; it doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s the third of her younger brothers. She does have three brothers, but it’s possible one or both of the other two are older than her; see above).

His older brother Ye Mingxuan calls him san’di (三弟, third younger brother, translated as “Mingyu”) and Ye-lao’san (叶老三, lao as in old, san as in three; translated as “Mingyu”) when he’s being annoying.

His older brother’s wife calls him san’di.

His mother calls him erzi (儿子, son).

Ye Jia’er calls him san’shu (三叔, father’s younger brother, third in the birth order).

Jiang Jingrui calls him san’jiu. Jiang Jingrui is not actually related to him, but san’jiu is what Jiang Jingrui’s paternal cousin Jiang Li calls him.

The clerk in his family’s store calls him san’lang (三郎, “Third Master”).

Official Zhu calls him Ye-lao’ban (叶老板).

Maternal cousins

Ye Shengxuan (叶圣宣), courtesy name Shijie (世杰), is the son of the oldest (now deceased) son of the previous generation of the Ye family.

Jiang Li calls him biaoge (表哥, older male maternal cousin) and refers to him as Ye-biaoge. At one point after they know each other very well, he refers to himself as Jiang Li’s gege (older brother), and she calls him ge. Jiang Jingrui refers to him as Jiang Li’s biaoxiong (表兄, another term for an older male maternal cousin) at least once.

Jiang Yuanbai says that Jiang Li and Ye Shijie are around the same age and refers to them as xiongmei (兄妹, brother and sister), which Viki translates as “cousins”.

Jiang Jingrui calls him Shijie, or (similar to how he calls Ye Mingyu san'jiu because that's what Jiang Li calls him) Ye-biaoge or just biaoge (表哥).

Ye Jia’er calls him tangge (堂哥, older male paternal cousin, translated as “Shijie”).

His aunt, Ye Mingxuan’s wife, refers to him as Shijie. So does his uncle Jiang Yuanbai (his father’s sister’s husband).

A family servant calls him da’langjun (大郎君), translated by Viki as “Young Master”.

Social inferiors or people who are being polite call him Ye-gongzi (叶公子) or Ye-langjun (叶郎君), both translated as “Mr. Ye”.

His classmate Liu Xu calls him Ye-langjun. Some other students call him Ye-xiong (叶兄, brother Ye).

After he’s appointed a position in court, a palace servant calls him Ye-yuanwai (叶员外), translated by Viki as "Mr. Ye". Ji Shuran also calls him Ye-yuanwai, translated as ��Official Ye”.

Ye Jia’er (叶嘉儿) is Ye Mingxuan's daughter.

Jiang Li calls her/refers to her as biaojie (表姐, term for an older female cousin when you’re related through one or both of your mothers), Jia’er-biaojie (嘉儿表姐), or Jia'er-jie (嘉儿姐; the “er” is part of her given name, rather than the “er” meaning “second”).

Her parents and her uncle Ye Mingyu call her Jia'er.

The clerk in the family store calls her Jia’er-niangzi (嘉儿娘子). This is also what Tong'er calls her.

Family servant A'Fu calls her Jia'er-jie. Other family servants call her niangzi.

Ye family servants and employees

[Not pictured because I didn't see a title card for her] Li-mama (李妈妈, “Madam Li”) is Ye-furen's maid.

[Not pictured because I didn't see a title card for him] A'Fu (阿福) is a servant in Ye Mingxuan's household.

[Not pictured because I didn't see a title card for him] A'Shun (阿顺) is Ye Mingyu's servant.

[Not pictured because I didn't see a title card for him] The clerk at the family shop is called Qian-zhanggui (钱掌柜, shopkeeper Qian, “Mr. Qian”).

[msgexymunson]

The Ink Shop

Description: Desperate for a job, you answer an advertisement not knowing it's a tattoo shop. It's not particularly difficult work, except for one thing: having to deal with Eddie Munson. 

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI or I'll tell your parents, fem reader, thick sexual tension, angst and smut. Fingering. 

A/N: I finally wrote it! The teach me fic I've been day dreaming about forever. This will be part one of three, and honestly this is one of the hottest things I've written. If you enjoy it, please comment and reblog, it means the world to me. 

8k words

Masterlist Part 2

Screwing your nose up in confusion, you look at the meticulously cut snippet of newspaper neatly attached to your resume with a paperclip. Sure enough, receptionist and administrator wanted for a place called ‘The Ink Shop’. 

The outside of the building looks a little bleak, all decked out in black with frosted windows, but the fading lettering above does indeed spell out ‘The Ink Shop’. 

Weird. This does not look like a printers. 

You smooth down a minor wrinkle in your white shirt and open the door with unsure hands, the bell above ringing out loudly. 

Oh. 

This is not a printers. This is a tattoo shop. 

The thought hadn't even crossed your mind. The noise is a cacophony of buzzing, rock music and loud conversation. Art hangs on every available wall, the wallpaper underneath a royal purple, faded over time. There's frames upon frames of predesigned pieces for people to choose from, and an enormous wooden counter, black and gouged with use, directly in front of the doors. 

Taking a confidence boosting breath you march forward, pencil skirt stretching and heels clicking on the black and white linoleum, and stand by the counter. No one seems to have noticed your arrival, and a polite cough is not going to cut it. 

“Hello?” Calling out to the shop, a devilishly handsome tattooed man in a ripped band shirt, black jeans and scuffed army boots turns his head. Loose dark curls escape a low bun and swivel with him, framing his animated face. He saunters over to the counter and towers over you, giving you an appraising look. 

“You old enough to be in here sweetheart?” He asks, amused, as he points to the sign on the wall that states ‘Strictly Over 21s, no exceptions’. 

“Yes?” You're trying to be confident but it comes out as a question, entirely taken aback by the strength of his stare. 

“Oh, well then I'm Eddie,” he holds out a hand and you're forced to reach up to shake it, but to your surprise he doesn't let go. The skin is rougher than you thought it would be, and absolutely covered in small tattoos. “What is it today? Let me guess, cover up an ex boyfriend's name? I can help you forget all about him.” 

The grin he shoots back is nothing short of predatory. All you can think of is that old childhood song, never smile at a crocodile…

“No, no, I'm here about the job?” 

He looks genuinely surprised, taking in your outfit in another flagrant stare. 

“Really? You?” 

“Yes, me.” You respond, cheeks flushing in annoyance. 

“Hey, Mac!” He calls over his shoulder and a big guy with a shaved head lowers his tattoo gun, glancing over at you both. “This girl's after a job?” 

Mac stands up slowly and begins to walk over. 

“You can let go now princess.” 

Staring at Eddie dumbfoundedly, you realise his grip on your hand has softened completely. Whipping your hand away, you flash him a defiant eye. It's ineffective; he merely grins wider and winks at you, poking his tongue out playfully. You see a hint of silver, a tongue piercing. 

“Hey there, I'm Mac, the owner.” another handshake, but gentler and brief. You introduce yourself and go to hand him your resume. 

A phone rings on the counter and Mac shouts “no!” just as Eddie picks it up. 

“Mac’s Roadkill Café, from your grill to ours.” Eddie delivers the line as smooth as silk, never taking his eyes off you. “Yeah, it's Eddie, of course. Oh, I'll tell him. Thanks.” 

As Eddie turns to Mac he's given a small but effective slap to the back of the head by Mac. 

“What did I tell you, stop answering like that!” 

Eddie just grins wider and looks at you again, a fake pout on his full lips. 

“You see that? Harassment in the workplace. Wanna kiss it better?” 

Mac shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, then turns to face you again. 

“Are you immediate start?” 

“Er, yeah. I've got my resume, and references here-” 

“Listen Miss, if you can read and write, answer a phone, and put up with that-” he says, gesturing a thumb at Eddie, “then you've got the job.” 

Thank God, two of those references were your best friend with different names. Stunned, you just nod fast.

“Great. Tomorrow morning. We open at 10am.” 

Saying goodbye, you turn to exit, and risk one final glance over your shoulder. Eddie's still at the counter. A disarming wink, and then the door shuts behind you. 

********************

So, not exactly what you expected, but a job's a job. After getting a degree, you'd assumed doors would open, but a string of coffee houses later and here you are. You'll take it. 

It's 9:30 am, and you stand outside, wondering whether or not to try the door. Keen, but not too keen. It's a line you're trying to toe without much experience, especially with an establishment like this. 

A pretty woman with an undercut and a butterfly neck tattoo stirs you out of your calculations. 

“Hey, I'm Chloe. You're the new girl, right? Eddie bet you'd be early.” 

Blushing at the entirely accurate first impression, you try to stop your nose scrunching in distaste. As if reading your mind, Chloe chuckles.

“Ah, don't worry about him, he's an idiot. Come on, I'll show you the ropes.” 

Chloe is the piercer that basically rents a place in the shop, where she's been for around three years, she explains. There's also Julio, who does more realistic tattoo work, and Miranda who works part time. 

Chloe turns out to be warm and welcoming, showing you how they book clients in, how to take payments, and the phone note system. It's straightforward work, stuff you'll master in no time. In fact, you feel comfortable enough by 10 am to sit at the counter on your own.

Mac arrives on time, giving you a quick check in and taking down all your information on a yellow legal pad. 

“Do you not have a computer in here?” you ask, genuinely puzzled. 

“Oh no, not yet. I don't know how to work those things, Miss.” Mac chuckles, and gets to his station to prepare for his first client.

At 10:45 am Eddie walks through the door as if he owns the place. 

Your eyes widen at his brazen lateness, but no one seems to bat an eyelid. It boils your blood; to be that disrespectful and clearly not care. How could someone act like that? 

“Hey princess, didn't think you'd come back,” he smiles, reaching for your hand. 

Oh I'm not falling for that again. 

You pull your hand into your lap, expecting trickery from him. A smug grin smears across his face at the gesture, as if he knew you'd do that. It makes you even more annoyed. 

“Eddie, the book says you start,” you say, flicking through the tome in front of you, “ah, at 10 am today.” 

“It's walk-in Wednesday sweetheart. There's no one here.” 

He's got a point. Chloe had explained the tattoo artists work a shift of Wednesdays, someone is always available for walk-ins for small and pre designed pieces. Today is Eddie's turn, and he's right, no one is here. 

“Well, there could have been,” you snark back, folding your arms. 

He crosses into the shop, pushing the little gate open and stands next to you, arms crossed. The height you had is now lost, forcing you to look up at him. 

“As far as I know, you ain't the boss of me. I suggest taking the stick out of your ass before you come here.” 

Mouth falling open in outrage, you move to reply but he's already turned away. 

“Oh, and princess, there ain't a dress code.” 

He's gone, disappearing upstairs. Blushing crimson, you cross your arms as if you can hide the conservative outfit you're wearing. 

You're beginning to see why Mac asked if you could put up with Eddie. 

********************

Halfway through the day, you realise just why Mac puts up with Eddie. 

“Hey! Seeing if I can book with Eddie?” 

“Any appointments with Eddie?” 

“Just checking to see if Eddie had any cancellations?” 

It seems most calls are about him. As you check his schedule, it's not only fully booked for the next 6 months, they've even started a waiting list at the back. 

“Any walk-ins?”

The words next to your ear make you jump bodily, almost losing your place on your chair in alarm. 

“You scared me! No, I would have said,” turning to him, you're sucked into those deep brown eyes once again. “Why do you do walk-in Wednesdays if you're so… so popular?” 

Eddie flashes a smile at you, full of self importance. “I don't know sweetheart, Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle!” Shouting the last part at the back of Mac's head, he turns to you. “We just divided the shifts, so it was fair, that's all. Why, want a tattoo?” 

You roll your eyes. “No, I was just wondering.”

“Do you have any, princess?” 

“Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't.” 

The laugh that rips from Eddie's chest is hearty and full of amusement. 

“You work in a tattoo shop and you don't have any? That's practically blasphemy!” 

The little bell above the door rings, and a nervous guy looks around before walking in. Before you see what he wants, you shout to Eddie's retreating back. 

“Van Gogh was only famous after he died, you know!” 

It's a little later on in the day; you've done a stock take, ordered more ink, and neatened up the consent sheets three times. The phone hasn't rung in a while, and you're bored out of your mind. 

Chloe walks over, coat in her hand. 

“Hey, how you getting on?” 

“I'm good, just bored.” 

She laughs, “it's not always this quiet, mid week and all. Mac's done for the day, and I'm heading off. You gonna be OK?” 

You glance over to Eddie, who to your surprise is tattooing his own fingers. 

“What, with the untrained monkey? I'll live.” 

She laughs harder at that, “he's not so bad, once you get to know him.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “he's good at some things, you know.” The conspiratorial wink fills in what she isn't saying. Cheeks flushed, you gawp at Eddie and back at Chloe. 

“Huh? W-what, are you like, an item?” You ask, entirely thrown. 

“Oh no, he's not exactly boyfriend material. It was just one night, but bloody hell. Anyway, it's not like that anymore, we're just friends now. Maybe you two should just, you know.” 

A blush floods your face, almost reaching the roots of your hair. “I don't- I don't, do that.” 

“I'm just saying, it's an option. It'd stop the bickering at least. I can sense the tension from all the way over there.” 

Without a further word, she leaves you sitting on your stool, trying to remember how to breathe. 

Right, let's just play nice. 

Walking over to his station, you try to glimpse what he's tattooing. 

“I thought Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle” you quip, trying to keep it light. 

“This is different” he responds, not looking up at you.

“You know, that's a waste of a needle.” 

Eddie turns the machine off and rolls his eyes at you. 

“Who made you Princess of the Needles, hmmm?” 

“Mac did actually, when he asked me to check the stock,” you reply hotly, folding your arms. Stopping for a second, you take a breath. Play nice, you're supposed to be playing nice. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to-” 

Eddie turns the machine back on and continues with his impromptu tattoo. 

“Can't you just be… professional?” You ask over the buzzing. 

“Can't you just relax for a second? No ones here. Fuck, you need to get laid.” 

Mouth dropping open in shock, you grab your bag and stomp out of the store, anger fuelling every step. 

********************

Right, be calm, put together. You've dealt with worse people. 

It's true. At the coffee shop you had on edge caffeine addicts shout in your face almost on a daily basis, but none of them got under your skin like Eddie did. Then again, none of them had spat truths like venom in your face.

Breathe. Just breathe. 

Taking the leap, you walk into the shop, coffees and a tray of donuts in hand; a small peace offering. To your surprise, he is already at his station, sorting through ink pots. 

You make quick work of handing out coffee and donuts to everyone, until you reach his side. There's plastic wrap around one of his fingers, you assume from his little tattoo session yesterday. It only serves to remind you of how tetchy you were. 

“Morning Eddie.” 

“So you came back. Tough little princess ain't ya? Remove the stick from your ass yet?” The grin he flashes you is wide but there's a bite to his words. 

He's trying to rile you up, but you ignore it, thrusting a coffee at him. 

“I'll be nice if you will.” 

Tension laces the air as he stares at your outstretched hand, but he takes the coffee. 

“I'm sorry Eddie.” 

Opening the box of donuts, you gesture for him to take one. He does, stuffing half of it into his mouth. 

“What about you?” you ask.

“Huh?” He mumbles through a mouthful of crumbs. 

“Are you sorry…?” 

“What for?” 

Setting your jaw, your hand is about two seconds from slapping the shit out of him, but you need the money. So, you huff and walk away. 

“What did I do?” He huffs, shouting it to the shop. 

“You should just say sorry, you've clearly upset her.” Chloe calls over to him, a slight smile on her face. 

“Yeah, how do you know?” 

“You upset everyone Eddie.” She laughs, and stands to greet her first client. 

It's a tense kind of day, with neither you nor Eddie backing down, only speaking to each other if absolutely necessary. By the time everyone's left it's just you and him again. 

He's finishing up with a client, telling them about aftercare as they gush about their new ink. It's difficult to deny, the guy is talented. This phoenix tattoo looks like it's popping right off of the skin, the flames so bright and detailed you could swear you saw them move. 

Once they've left, there's an awkward pause. Eddie breaks the silence first. 

“Listen, I'm sorry sweetheart. I shouldn't have been rude to you. So I'll make you a deal. I'll give you a tattoo, for free, and we ask each other questions, get to know each other. What do you say?” 

Smiling in spite of yourself, you turn to face him. “And why would I want a tattoo?” 

He visibly relaxes at your grin, and flashes one of his own. “Come on, I'm the best. I promise I'll be gentle.” 

“We close at six, so it'll have to wait.” 

Eddie looks at the clock, and bobs his head with each tick. Twenty seconds later he turns to you, eyebrows raised.

“Fine, I suppose it is a bit silly to work in a tattoo shop with no ink.” 

He punches the air with glee, forcing you to smile despite your better judgement. 

“Well then, what are you thinking, got any ideas in mind?” 

“I want a heart on my hip” he groans, putting his face in his hands, “hang on, before you judge, I want one like this.” 

Pulling a book from your bag, you turn to the page neatly bookmarked. It's an anatomical heart from a textbook you own, a line and dot drawing.

“Oh.” Eddie's eyes light up, “that's pretty metal, actually. So, you just happen to have this on you?” 

“No, I've been thinking about it for a while. It's… not what people would expect. And when I got the job here, I was working up the courage to get it. Carrying around the book was a promise to myself, I think.” 

He busies himself with getting a stencil ready, the drawing supplied speeding up the process. 

“Right, climb on up princess, show me where you want it.”

Blushing, you unzip your skirt at the back and roll it down slightly, shifting your blouse up high. The smile Eddie gives you is salacious, but he doesn't say a word. 

“Right here?” Softly his fingertips graze you, making you jump. That simple act crackles over your skin in an electricity unknown to you. 

“Y-yes,” you practically whisper it, face crimson. 

“So, questions. Can I go first?” 

“Sure” you nod, feeling vulnerable flashing this much skin. 

“OK,” he starts, pressing the stencil down, “I'll start with an easy one. How old are you?” 

“23.” 

He nods, prepping the needle, “your turn princess.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Ah, copycat,” he grins, testing the gun, the sudden noise making you jump, “I'm 30 sweetheart. I know, I look younger.” 

Act younger is more like it. 

“I'm gonna start, you still alright?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Atta girl. It'll feel like a scratch.” 

He leans forward as his words burn your insides. Atta girl? Part of you wanted to tell him you're not a fucking horse, but another, deeper, part keens at the praise, kicking it's feet and twirling its hair like some dizzy schoolgirl.

The needle touches and you jump, but it's fine. It's easy. If anything, it's rather nice? You gasp at the feeling, your feet wiggling. 

“Right, next question. Why here, why this job?” 

The gun is moving across your skin, consuming all rational thought. You could lie, but a part of you feels like he'd know somehow. 

“I thought it was a printers shop, or a copy place.” 

He laughs briefly, but continues to focus on your new ink. 

“I knew it. Pretty, innocent thing like you, wandering into this den of depravity? Too good to be true.” 

Glazing over his comment, you think of a question to ask. 

“How did you start working here?” 

Eddie scoffs and turns off his machine for a moment, “you need to get creative, stop using my questions.” 

“I really want to know!” You say, meeting his derisory look. 

“Fine, quid pro quo and all that shit. Been here seven years. I begged. I begged Mac for an apprenticeship everyday for a week. He gave in, and here I am. Ask something else, that was boring.” 

You wrack your brains, trying to think of something original, far too aware of the steadying hand that he's pushing onto your abdomen. 

“What band is that?” 

It's the only thing that pops into your mind. He follows your eye line to his t-shirt. 

“Oh this? This is my band, Corroded Coffin. You should come see us sometime.” 

“Oh, what do you play?” 

His face lights up, “I sing, and play guitar. That's why my fingers are so rough-” he holds one up, covered in black latex, “-oh yeah, gloves.” 

After you both share a chuckle, there's a breath of quiet between you, except for the sound of the tattoo gun.

“My turn,” he says, smiling at your hip, “I gotta know, are you a virgin?” 

It's a miracle that he's as responsive as he is, since the question knocks you sideways. You sit up in shock, but he's already moved the needle off and away. 

“You can't just ask that, it's… it's rude!” you splutter, face glowing red. 

There's no trace of apology on his face. In fact, his grin only widens with your reply. 

“I thought so. Don't worry, I'm not gonna tease you about it.” 

Laying back down, you try to think of something to say, but it just doesn't arrive. He can read you like an open book and it's deeply unsettling, not to mention embarrassing. 

“Your turn princess.” 

“I don't want to play anymore.” 

“Oh come on, I'm being nice! Ask me something.” 

“Fine. What was your last wet dream about?” 

To your dismay, he smiles yet again.

“You, sweetheart.” 

Huffing, you cross your arms in annoyance. “Fine, don't answer.” 

He's focusing on your tattoo, tongue poking out in concentration, “I'm nearly done, then you can go back to hating me.” 

“I don't hate you. I've never hated anyone,” you respond in truth. Eddie's eyebrows raise, but he remains focused. 

“Really? You must have had a much better childhood than mine.”

It's quiet for a bit. You're not sure how to respond to that, feeling the cloud of his memory hanging thickly in the air between you. 

“All done.” 

“Huh?” 

He chuckles and points at your new ink, “take a look.” 

It's beautiful. All line and dot work, like it was pulled from the book itself and glued to your hip. 

“It's amazing Eddie. Thank you.” 

The grin he shoots you is warm as he wraps your new ink and then removes his gloves. “No problem. I'll lock up, the sheets on aftercare are right there. But you knew that.” 

Smiling affectionately, you take one and stand up, hovering for a second. 

“Eddie what do I owe-” 

“-not a damn thing. See you in the morning, princess.”

********************

The next few days were much more pleasant. Eddie was flirty, yes, but he seemed to understand when to stop. You had been nicer to him, biting back on the comments when you could. There was a rhythm to it, a constant dance of him flustering you and you annoying him. 

Things really felt like they were falling into place. Until Eddie decided to cross the line. 

Walk in Wednesday again, and the shop was dead. Julio was on shift, sitting in the back having a nap. 

“Hey Mac, can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, what is it Miss?” 

“Well, how do people know about our Wednesdays?” 

“Mostly word of mouth. We handed out flyers before, but it didn't really pick up. Honestly, I'm thinking of scrapping it.” He shrugs, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Before you do, I have an idea. I can design some flyers, get them out to the coffee shop I used to work at. It's by campus, I'm sure a few students would jump at the chance. You could offer a student discount, get them in the door?” You stare at him wide eyed, hoping he likes the idea. The little speech was one you'd practised about fourteen times before actually saying it to him. 

He stares at you for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that's a good idea. I like it. Tell you what, you make it a success and I'll give you a raise.” 

“Oh, thank you! I'll get on it.” You beam, and start planning the flyer. 

Ten minutes later you have your head down, your attention entirely on the paper in front of you. The noisy shop was purely a background soundtrack, including the approaching footsteps. Then, there's a whisper, directly in your ear. 

“What you up to, princess?” 

“Fuck!” 

You scream it out and jump so high you fall off your stool. Eddie's in bits, laughing so hard he's clutching his stomach. 

“I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” he says, looking the least sorry you've ever seen a person look. 

Clambering off the floor to berate him, your mouth flops open when you hear a rip. As you desperately turn your head to look down, you see where your pencil skirt has torn right next to the seam nearly up to your ass. 

“Fuck's sake Eddie! What the hell am I gonna do!” 

Hands shaking, you clench your jaw in panic, trying to frantically come up with a way to rectify it. Eddie holds his hands up to you as if he were approaching a wild animal. 

“Just calm down princess, it's only a skirt.” 

Pouting, you hit him on the arm. 

“It's not just a skirt! I can't work like this, how can I go home and change, I won't be able to fix it and-” 

Eddie smiles and holds one of your hands. 

“It's gonna be OK, we can sort something out. You seriously need to chill, have a big O or something.” He chuckles, clearly meaning for it to be a joke, but it's hitting too close to home. 

It's never happened for you. You've kissed guys, sure, but whenever they reach into your pants, it's either uncomfortable or downright painful. Even your own desperate fumblings haven't got you there. Most of the time you just feel stupid and awkward trying to touch yourself. So, you'd given up, thinking you're broken. That it'll never happen for you. 

Tears well immediately in your eyes. He knows he fucked up, it's written all over his face. As he opens his mouth to speak you rip your hand from his grasp and run to the restroom sobbing. 

It's stupid, it's so stupid. You know that, but the tears won't stop falling, face hot and scrunched as you sit on the closed toilet seat with your head in your hands. Your breath is heavy, gulping and wet; you dimly wonder if you can just stay here until the shop closes.

There's a gentle knock on the door. 

“Sweetheart, can I come in?” It's Eddie, voice softer than you've ever heard it. 

“Go away” you manage. It's shaky and pathetic sounding, but it's out there. 

“I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me, you'll feel better, I promise.” 

He tries the door, turning the handle before you get a chance to lock it. Jumping upright, you go to push him away but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into him. His embrace takes away that edge and pretty soon you're just sobbing into his chest. 

As he strokes the back of your head, he makes shushing noises, his other arm wrapped tight around your shoulders. You're not sure how long you stay like that, in the warmth of his hold, his body pressed against yours. The tenderness calms you down until your tears stop, but he doesn't pull away. 

After a while, he whispers, “feel a little better?” 

“Y-yeah,” you say, voice returning to itself. 

Only then does he release you, rubbing a thumb under your eye to wipe moisture away. 

“I didn't mean to hurt you. You wanna go somewhere and talk about it?” 

“I- I've never- I don't talk about- I-” you shake your head as if to clear it. A part of you wants to hit him, to shout at him, but his gaze is so concerned that you agree. Your shoulders slump, losing a bit of tension. “OK.” 

Smiling at you, he whips his flannel shirt off, leaving him in a white vest, and ties it around your waist. 

“For your modesty. Come with me.” 

Puzzled, you follow him out of the bathroom and back into the shop where Mac is sitting looking worried. 

“What's going-” 

Eddie interrupts, “emergency late lunch needed, alright? Can you cancel my 3 o clock?” 

Mac seems confused, but looks at Eddie's earnest face, and your emotional one, and nods. 

“Not a problem.” 

“Thanks, man.” 

Before you can ask where you're going, he pulls you from the shop by the arm and across the street into a dimly lit bar, depositing you in the nearest booth. 

“I'll be right back.” 

If he's uncomfortable by his appearance, he doesn't show it. The way he strides up to the bar, it's as if he owns the place. It's remarkable, the sheer confidence he embodies like a second skin. 

“Hey, John!” He hollers, knuckles knocking on the wood of the bar. 

John appears, a gruff, stocky guy with a buzz cut and a sour face. 

“What the fuck are you doing here.” 

“Oh come on, you know you missed me.” 

John's face screws into something akin to a smile. “What do you want, you little shit.” 

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Eddie grins and winks, “two beers please.” 

A grunt and a nod, and John puts the beers down on the bar. As Eddie reaches for his wallet John waves a hand in dismissal. 

“Put that away boy, your money ain't good here. Besides, your lady friend looks like she needs it.” 

You flush and tear your eyes away, embarrassed. Eddie walks back over and puts a beer in front of you. 

“Eddie, we're still working I-” 

“It's one beer. It's alright.” 

You shrug and take a sip, nodding at the bartender, “he knows I'm upset, do I look a mess?” 

Shaking his head so hard it releases some of his wayward waves from their confines, he tips his beer at you, before he takes a long chug. 

“No,” he says enthusiastically, “you look just as pretty as you always do.” 

Scoffing, you turn your eyes downward. Eddie ignores your response, instead pressing on what happened earlier. 

“Sorry again,” he says, sounding genuinely distressed, "I don't want to see anyone hurt from something I said, least of all you.” 

Meeting his gaze, you smile incredulously. “Oh? And why me?” 

“Come on, don't make me say it.” 

Staring at him, you fold your arms in an act of defiance. He rolls his eyes and looks at you. 

“I like you. You're uptight, and mean to me, and a little conceited, but I like you. I don't want you to hurt. Can we just be friends? I'm a pretty good listener, you know? I can help.” 

Heat floods your insides. Eyes scanning him for any sign of a joke, you come up empty. 

‘I'm not conceited,” you counter weakly, clinging on to the familiar push and pull. 

“And I'm the Easter bunny.” 

Giggling, you take another sip of beer. 

“Come on, friends? Talk to me.” 

Sighing deeply, you fix your gaze at the table, forefinger tracing patterns in the condensation from your drink. “Promise not to laugh?” 

“I promise.” 

You can't tell how genuine he's being, as you don't dare look at his face, nerves controlling your every limb. His voice seems honest enough. 

“I- I have a problem, something I can't physically do. You reminded me of it. It's not your fault.” Shrugging in an attempt to make this look less serious than it is for you, you take a pull out of your beer bottle once more.

“Wait, are you saying…” he chuckles a little in disbelief, “have you never… had an orgasm before?” 

“Eddie, be quiet!” You urgently whisper, looking around the bar. 

“No one's listening sweetheart, no spies in here,” he says in a low tone, hand reaching out to grasp yours. Your first instinct is to shake his hand away but he holds firm, rough fingertips rubbing against your knuckles. 

“Eddie, I'm broken,” you whimper, voice breaking, “I can't do it.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” he responds, chock full of emotion, “you're not broken. You are perfect.” 

Pulling your hand away, you keep your eyes away from his, unwilling to meet that burning gaze of his. Unwilling to lose yourself in those sultry dark eyes. 

“I can't do it. Anytime some guy tries, it hurts. I've given up to be honest. I just wasn't made for it.” 

He laughs again, dragging his hand over his face. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, the problem ain't you. Have you- have you tried, fixing it, on your own?” The last part is a whisper, you assume to protect your feelings. 

“Yeah, but I just feel stupid and awkward. I don't know.” 

There's a little silence between you as you both dwell in the suffocating fog of your confession, neither of you willing to clear it. 

“Listen, this may be way out of your comfort zone, but I'm saying it anyway. If you don't like it, we'll forget it, and I won't mention it again.” 

Finally looking at him, at the vulnerability on his face, you nod, not trusting your voice. 

“I can… maybe I can help you. Show you you're not broken? As a favour between friends.” 

You laugh mirthlessly and finish your beer. “That's a little more than a favour, Eddie.” 

“We can keep it professional.” 

You stare at him wide eyed. His messy hair and dark glittering eyes. At the way he slumps in his seat like a king or a delinquent, you can't decide which. At his taunt frame, the tattoos spackling every available inch of his skin. Your eyebrows raise of their own accord. 

“Professional? You?” 

“Yeah, me! I can do it, you know. I could make you come.” 

A shiver forces its merry way down your spine at his words. 

“You're really confident.” 

“You haven't seen what I can do.” 

Blushing hard, you attempt to control yourself. “Look, if we're going to do this, I need you to promise some things.” 

“Ah, of course, you would have rules,” he grins, as he leans back and spreads in his seat, “continue.” 

Searching your mind for a moment, you try to glean what you need. 

“First of all, we need to be discreet, and professional at all times, clear?” 

“As crystal,” he grins wolfishly, “anything else?” 

“Yeah- I think,” you wrack your brains, trying to come up with something that would make this less intimate. Anything. But the roguish nature of his presence makes it hard to even think of a thing. Finally, your eyes widen at the idea that suddenly crosses your mind. 

“Final rule. No kissing.” 

He pouts, looking at your chest and back up, “no kissing anywhere?” 

“N-no, no kissing on the mouth.” 

Grin returning, he winks at you, a gesture that flips your stomach inside out. 

“Kinky. Alright, deal,” he leans forward to give his hand to yours. A hand covered in ink and calluses. Roughness and tenderness. 

You shake it.

********************

For the next couple of days, your little arrangement isn't brought up. A wild thought hammers itself into your mind; either he wasn't serious, or you imagined it. 

Those theories are put to bed on day three. 

After you let Mac know about the flyers and the bonus poster you designed, you sit back and enjoy the praise given to you. It's funny, the feeling of being told a job has been well done makes you happier than you care to admit.

Eddie turns up at the counter, whistling through his teeth. “Sweet looking flyers, how'd you swing those?” 

“I designed them. I've got a degree in design and marketing, if you didn't know,” you sniff, rearranging the stationary on the counter to avoid his eyes. 

“Maybe you could help me design some for my band. These look pretty metal.” He says, picking one up and looking at it closely. 

“Maybe.” 

Eddie leans in close, so close you feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. 

“If you're still up for our arrangement, I'm free tonight.” 

Heat immediately flushes your face. Ignoring him entirely, you write your address and a time on a notepad, and thrust the paper into his hands. 

“Covert, I like it. See you then princess.” 

By the time 9pm rolls around you're a jittery mass of nerves, having changed clothes no less than four times, tidied your apartment, changed the bedsheets and paced so much you're surprised there's not a groove in the floorboards. 

In the end you'd decided on a baggy band t-shirt and your sleep shorts. It was a rational calculation to make Eddie think you're just wearing what you usually would at home and therefore show you're not nervous. I mean, you are wearing what you'd usually wear at home. He didn't need to know about how long it took you to reach that decision. 

The sound of the intercom buzzing sends your pulse into overdrive. Pressing the button, you let out a strangled “Hello?” 

“Hey princess.” 

“Come on up.” 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…

A soft knock at the door and you count to five, trying to remember how to breathe. When you open the door, you're stunned. He's leaning on the doorframe in a fucking button up shirt. It's black, and clings to him deliciously. His hair looks a little damp, loose around his shoulders, and his aftershave is making you feel dizzy. 

“Oh, you didn't need- I mean-” you point at his shirt, and he looks down and chuckles. 

“Just came from band practice. Took a shower, and this was clean,” he shrugs and shoulders into your apartment. “Nice place. Where's all your stuff?” 

You look around at your sparse apartment. Everything in order, down to the fresh flowers on your tiny dining table. 

“This is all my stuff,” you say, confused, “I don't like clutter.” 

He chuckles, walking over to you. “No wonder I annoy you. I am clutter.” 

He's close now, close enough so that you have to look up to see his face. His rough fingers ghost your arm, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. 

“Nice seeing you in something casual. L7, right?” He asks, pointing at the t-shirt. 

“Yeah, you know who they are?” 

“I'm surprised you do. Thought you'd be a Mariah Carey kinda girl.” 

You scrunch your face in distaste. “No, not at all. You don't know everything about me.” 

He leans in, warm breath a whisper in your ear. “I know some things about you.” 

Squirming hotly, you lead him to your room before you lose your nerve. 

“So, the princess's bedchamber. It's nice,” he remarks, flopping down on the bed as if it were his own. 

“Take your boots off,” you snip, folding your arms. 

“Ah, there she is.” He smiles, but does as instructed. Once more he's laying back into your scattered pillows looking perfectly at ease. You, on the other hand, stand there, spine a vertical rod as you stare back at him. 

 “Come on then, sit down.” 

Nervously you sit at the foot of the bed with your legs crossed. 

“Now princess, what do you do when you touch yourself?” 

Blushing furiously, you stammer out, “what, do you expect me to like, show you?” 

He chuckles, diffusing some of the tension. “As much as I'd like that, I don't think you're ready for that kinda shit. Just tell me, what's your thought process?” 

Staring at him for a little too long, you open your mouth and close it again. He rolls his eyes. 

“Look, if you want me to help I'll help, but you gotta give me something here.” He looks as if he's about to get up and leave; your arm shoots out on its own accord, grabbing his leg to stop him. 

“Sorry, sorry. I just, I've never spoken about this kinda stuff. I don't know about any process, I just… reach down and fiddle around?” You blush even more. 

“So you don't like, watch anything? Or read anything?” He looks a little amused.

“What on earth are you talking about?” 

“Porn, sweetheart.” 

It's so blunt that you jump a little. “Oh no, I've never, oh no no.” 

“Christ,” he whispers, “right, you can like, set the mood. Look at something to turn you on? It'd probably help you feel less awkward.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“And do you ever just like, slouch? I feel like I'm back at school looking at ya.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just, come here.” He pats the little space between his spread legs and you hesitate for a second before you crawl over to him. 

“How do you want me to sit, like cross legged or-” 

He grabs your hips and spins you, forcing your back into his crotch.

“Stop trying to control every little thing,” he says in a hard tone, one you're too embarrassed to admit makes your insides tingle. Softer, he continues. “Look, if you're ever gonna get there you need to relax, stop trying to control it, and stop overthinking.” 

“Great, all of the things I'm shit at.” 

His laugh is loud, it vibrates into your spine. “I'll help you, OK? You trust me?” 

“In a very limited sense of the word, yeah.” 

“Lemme rephrase. You still OK to do this?” 

“Yeah.”

“Good. Just relax.” 

You're not sure what you are expecting, but it certainly isn't his hands winding into your hair, fingertips rubbing softly at your scalp. It shoots tingles down your spine, your entire head feeling fuzzy and warm. 

You stifle a whimper, biting your lip. His fingers stop. 

“If you want to make noises, you can. Tells me I'm doing a good job. That goes for everything else too, alright?” 

“Alright.” You whisper. 

“You comfortable?” 

“Yeah it's just- well-”

“Tell me.” 

“I think it's your shirt buttons, they're digging into my back a bit,” you admit, feeling the sharp points down your spine. 

“Easily fixed.” He taps your arm and you lean forward. Some rustling, and he throws his shirt to the foot of your bed. 

“Now just chill sweetheart.” 

His fingers begin rubbing at you again, thumbs sinking low to pop at the bubbles in your neck. 

“Fuck, that's really nice.” 

He hums appreciatively, working his hands lower and dropping them to your shoulders. The massaging continues, and you feel yourself melting, your body moulding into his. Your legs, once ramrod straight, have bent a little and parted of their own accord, the muscles loosening. Even your breathing has slowed. 

“That's better, atta girl,” he says and you whine at the words, a little pathetic mewling sound that tumbles past your lips.

“Oh, you like that, don't you?” The smile is evident in his voice, a smug tone smeared liberally across each word. 

“You, you're so-” you begin, but his hand drags across the front of your shirt, just over the tops of your breasts.

“I'm so what?” He whispers in your ear.

“So, so arrogant,” you huff. He laughs, a husky chuckle, and dances the tips of his fingers over your clothed nipple. Gasping, you grasp at his thighs either side of you.

“Yeah? What else am I?” He says, nibbling at your earlobe. 

“You- you're cocky, and- and self assured- Oh God!” 

Rudely interrupted by him tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, you swear, back arching off of him for a moment. 

“You know,” he says in a gravelly tone directly in your ear, “those are pretty much the same thing.” 

“You drive me crazy,” you huff, squirming a little against him as his hands explore your chest over your shirt.

“Good crazy or bad crazy?” He smiles, then bites softly at your neck. 

“I- I haven't decided yet.” 

“Good. I can say the same about you,” he admits, his hands trailing lower, pulling your shirt up so he can stroke at your bare sides. The touch of fingertips on your skin sends a river of sensations through you that run deep into your core. 

“Are you going to- what are you doing, exactly?” You breathe, starting to move against him. 

“I'm warming you up sweetheart. Why, don't you like it?” 

Genuinely curious, you try to ask what you want to know without using the words. 

 “N- no, I do. Do you have to, erm, get warmed up? When you, you know.” 

He lets out a little huff of a laugh. “Guys are a little less… complicated, than girls. For the most part.” 

“Oh. OK, so you can just. I mean, you just, get excited?” Your breathing becomes more ragged when the tip of his thumb grazes the underside of your breast. 

“Sweetheart, I got hard seeing you in these little shorts.” Running a finger down your stomach, he lightly pings the elastic of your sleep shorts as if to accentuate his point. 

“Really?” 

There's no denying it when he moves his hips up and you feel his solid bulge press into the small of your back. 

“Really. Can I take this off?” He asks, twisting the hem of your shirt in one hand. 

“Yeah.” It's a whisper. You're a little scared of being bare chested, but not having to see his face helps. Plus, he's wound you up so much you're on the verge of begging for his touches, pleading for more. 

He guides your top up, up, up, revealing you slowly. Coaxing it over your head, you move your arms up so he can remove it. It ends up in a heap on top of his shirt. One tattooed arm wraps around your waist, pulling you toward him more, his hardness pushing against your ass. 

His breathing is unsteady as he grinds his hips, pushing onto you further. Gasping, your fingers are vices, firmly attached to his thighs in a vain attempt to anchor you. 

Suddenly his hand is winding into your hair, tugging your head aside so he can run a fat tongue across your neck. You shudder at the sensation, feeling the hard ball of his tongue piercing against your throat When he takes his pillowy lips and sucks at the spot between your neck and shoulder a moan slips out. Grunting in approval, his hands are on your bare tits, fingers pinching at your hardened nipples. 

“Holy hell!” 

He laughs, running rough fingers down your body, circling your new ink, then dipping down past your waistband. Those tattooed fingers barely brush your pubic hair, teasing you, then glide back up to your stomach. 

“Eddie, please.” 

Your voice is small, not your own. Eddie groans low in your ear, rubbing his length into the fat of your ass.

“Fuck, princess, I like you saying my name like that. You want me to touch you right here?” he says, pressing down hard over your clothed clit. 

The sheer relief of having his touch where you need it gets you close to tears; a gulping shudder of a sob rips from deep in your chest. 

“See, you're not broken, sweetheart. Can I take these off?” 

Shaking, you hook your fingers into your sleep shorts and pull them down your legs, air hitting your most intimate area. Eddie huffs in your ear, his inked hands rubbing up the insides of your thighs. 

“You're so fuckin’ sexy.”

Before you can retort, his fingers dip down to your entrance, gathering your slick. You can hear how wet you are, but it's not in you to think about it. You can't think, only feel. 

When his fingers run up and start rubbing circles into your clit, your response is visceral. Bucking up, you chase the feeling, searching for even more. 

“I'm gonna slip a finger in, alright princess?” 

You nod, waiting for the pain, wincing before it even starts.

“It's OK, you're fine, you gotta relax baby.” He strokes your stomach with his free hand, pressing kisses to your temple. 

The tip of his finger breaches you, and the pain doesn't come. Your soaking wet cunt invites him in, warm and pulsing with arousal. He slips it into the hilt, his palm pressing into your clit, and your moan is long and loud. It's never felt like this. Never has it stoked a fire in your gut, bubbled your insides like pop rocks and Coke, turned you into a writhing mess. 

He fucks his finger into you, slipping a second in to join the first, and you move your hips, chasing the building tightness in your belly. Each thrust of his hand has you bucking, and in turn rubbing against his member trapped within its denim prison. 

“That's it, good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is strained, as if he's trying hard not to lose control. 

“Eddie, oh fuck, f-feels so- good, yes, please, please-” 

You're not sure what you're begging for, and Eddie doesn't seem to be in any state to ask, but it doesn't matter. His fingers fuck into you in earnest, stroking hard against some spot inside that has you babbling and quivering around him. 

“God, you're so tight, this little cunts gonna drive me crazy. So wet and perfect, Jesus Christ.”

The feeling seems too much and not enough, and it grows higher and higher, flooding your body with a pleasure so intense you're sure you black out. The only thing you're aware of is your voice screaming out his name as your body thrusts wildly into his grip. Finally, it dissipates, your body melting against his form, sweating and spent. 

You take a breath, and another, trying to gather your wits enough to speak. Eddie speaks first.

“So sweetheart, everything you dreamed it would be?” He asks as he strokes your hair. 

“Better. Fuck, Eddie. Thank you.” 

“Anytime. Seriously. Any. Time. Day, night, weekends, holidays-” 

You giggle, slapping his thigh, and sit up, grabbing your discarded shirt to cover up. 

“Sorry, that was probably a little er, frustrating for you.” You say as you glance at his bare torso, drinking in the sight with your eyes for the first time. He's lean, but ripped, a faint sheen of sweating making his tattoos glisten in the low light. 

“What do you mean sweetheart?” 

“Well, doing that, not getting anything in return...” 

He chuckles lightly, “Oh I wouldn't say that,” he glances down, gesturing to his jeans, “full disclosure, I came in my pants.” 

“Really?” your eyes widen, staring at him with disbelief. 

“I ain't lying. Wanna check?” He waggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh again. 

“You seem better already. Right, I better go.” 

Shoulders deflating, you pout, “I suppose you better.” 

“Hey don't look at me like that. I hoped that helped. Sleep tight, drink some water. I'll see you tomorrow princess.” 

And just like that, he leaves. Of course he leaves, it was just a deal you struck, nothing more. A favour. you wipe stray tears from your eyes and try not to focus on the sound of the front door shutting. 

As you collapse on the bed, exhausted, you think about his hands, his words. There's something screaming inside, telling you you're playing with fire, but as you drift off you can't find it in you to mind.

Taglist

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes

[a-very-tired-jew]

I do love seeing all the antisemites scream about pine trees in Israel whenever there's some sort of ecological issue or disaster going on or they want to use them as "proof" that Israel is a white European colonial project. Why? Because I've never seen them say what pine trees are the culprit. It's always some allusion to pine trees being non-native to the region and that they were planted to make the country "more European" or something like that. The articles are written in English for a Western audience that has pines in their backyard and are likely associated with the winter months in their culture. The implication here is "how could your Winter Xmas Pine Tree survive in the desert?!" which leads to the colonial assumptions and so on and so forth.

This entire schtick plays upon the general populace not understanding anything about ecology, range distributions, species, and other biological concepts. Most people see the term "pine tree" and assume it's the same pine trees they've seen their entire lives. The concept of different species all being colloquially referred to as "pine tree" is not a common conception.

So if you're reading any of those articles or posts that scream about colonialization because of "pine trees" then you need to stop and ask "what species?" Because the JNF has planted 3 particular pines - The Aleppo pine (Pinus halepensis), the Turkish Pine (Pinus brutia), and the Canary Pine (Pinus canariensis).

All three species are endemic to the Mediterranean region and are subtropical species. Meaning, all three have distributions that include Israel in their native range and have a biological history of being there. At one point or another many of them were cut down for some use (from what I understand, primarily for ship construction during the Ottoman Empire). In fact, the Aleppo was almost wiped out from its Middle Eastern distribution until it was brought back (and the three species are all closely related and adapted for the climate in the region).

Now, I've seen variations of the land shouldn't have been greened, they cut down native forests, they drained swamps, etc, etc... as criticisms. I even had the "they shouldn't have drained and greened the swamps" as an argument, barring the fact that the swamps only existed because the native forest was cut down for use by the Ottoman's and as such caused environmental degradation and change.

And the thing is, there's valid criticism for planting so much pine. It's a very dry tree species that catches fire easily. Especially when it becomes sick and/or damaged. There's also concern that it's planted in parts of Israel that are not suitable for said tree species. But at no point are they a foreign invasive species. They are native to the region.

However, what stands out the most to me is that never do one of these articles, blog posts, rants, or antisemitic screeds mention Eucalyptus.

That's right.

Eucalyptus, a genus (or Tribe) primarily endemic to Australia, was brought in to drain swamp, wetlands, and marshlands and make them habitable. And not just one! But multiple species were introduced for this purpose (Eucalyptus camaldulensis, Eucalyptus gomphocephala, and Eucalyptus torelliana).

Not a single writing has ever mentioned these trees, and that should be a big warning flag that what you're about to read is mired in half truths, falsities, and lies of omission besides outright ignorance. Solely focusing on pine trees is to elicit the response I mentioned above in Western audiences who only associate "pine tree" with their winter time and climate. It's a malicious technique to manipulate the reader and come to a false conclusion and assumption that will stoke their outrage at the "colonial" behavior of planting "colonial non-native" trees.

[cheriecoke]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ SAFEGUARD — dazai, chuuya, akutagawa

summary . . . they save you after you've been injured and captured by an enemy.

contents . . . sfw, f!reader (chuuya & dazai) and gn!reader (akutagawa), violence / blood, threats, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, and it's pmboss!dazai bc i can't help myself — 3.5k total

notes . . . i got this request so long ago lol. not my best work, but i have been in the worst writing slump ever and just wanted to finish something. i've also never written for akutagawa before so pls be nice <3

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 . . .

there are very few times that chuuya feels he’s been outsmarted. he knows he’s not the mastermind of the port mafia, but he certainly isn’t a fool. when it comes to you and your well-being, though, his mind short-circuits, half of his intelligence draining away while his emotions take hold. 

your relationship isn’t a secret to anyone in the port mafia, which means that it isn’t a secret to your enemies either. and while most people know it’s hard to land a finger on chuuya directly, his pretty little girlfriend doesn’t have the power of a god nestled inside of her.

the rage sparks through him, growing fiercely into the blaze of a forest fire, until all he can think of is getting you home safely. he thinks of your sweet smile as he rips the door of the enemies’ base off the hinges, crushing it into a million pieces with the force of gravity. 

the men are quick to react, but chuuya hurtles the crushed door towards them, knocking three of them to their feet. another group charges at him, but their guns do little against his skill. after years of fighting some of the strongest ability users, simple criminal organizations are as easy to step over like ants. 

chuuya kills them all — except for one.

the man’s knees are wobbling, hand shaking around the gun as he realizes that these will be his final moments. there is fear in his eyes, brown ones that rest wide open, and chuuya almost hesitates. his remorse doesn’t last long, though, before he’s wrapping a hand around the man’s throat, thrusting him backwards. 

“where is she?” chuuya asks, voice sharp and commanding. 

he can feel the man swallowing. 

chuuya knows that backup is probably on the way, but it won’t matter whether they show up or not. he’ll crush the rest of his enemies just as he’s crushed the last twenty men. the poor soul in his leather hold seems to know that as well. 

“i-i’ll take you to her,” he rasps, dropping his gun to claw at chuuya’s hand. 

he drops him, lets him take a few heaving breaths and coughs, before he’s kicking at him, forcing him back to his feet.

the young man takes him up the elevator, weaves him through a hallway as chuuya leaves a scattering of bodies in his wake, not hesitating to kill a single man that gets in his way. there is nothing that can keep him from you. 

how fiercely and loyally he loves you — it drives him to near insanity. 

finally, with blood coating his face and his clothes, the young man enters a room, locked with a code, revealing you. 

chuuya’s rage is almost as blinding as his corruption, as he gazes at the sight of you. bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair, so visibly harmed. his hands clench into fists. “get the fuck away from her,” he says to the man who seems to be monitoring you.

“what are you doing in here?” the men left in the room panic, but they don’t have time to react before chuuya throws them back at the wall, so quickly, with so much force, that their spines snap. they hit it with a sharp crack, skulls shattering against the plaster, the wall crushing beneath the weight of them. 

limply, they fall to the floor. 

chuuya rushes over to you. 

the young man that led him here disappears, but chuuya isn’t worried about him. he’s a coward; he’ll likely flee from the country and never look back. the men that truly hurt you are already dead, and he’ll burn this building to the ground once he’s gotten you away from it. 

“hey,” chuuya says, cradling your cheeks gently, trying to coax you back awake. he’s not sure if it’s exhaustion, blood loss, or the obvious head trauma that caused you to pass out in the first place. but you’re still breathing, so he counts that as a blessing. 

“hey,” he whispers again, kissing your forehead, like it will heal all your ailments. “wake up, baby. we gotta get you out of here, okay?” 

it takes you a few seconds to come to, eyes glazed over and shell-shocked as you blink at him. “chuuya?” you say; your voice is so hoarse it makes chuuya want to keel over and vomit. “is it really you?” 

guilt gnaws at him, almost crushing, at the fact that thirty-six hours passed, and you’re delirious enough not to recognize him. you probably haven’t eaten, either. 

he should’ve been there. no one should’ve ever had the chance to hurt you, yet…

“it’s me, i’m here,” he says, kissing your lips, your temple, brushing your hair away from your face. the strands are sticky with blood. “shit,” chuuya nearly shouts, pulling a knife from his pocket, sawing through the thick ropes around you as quickly as he can. “i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry.” 

he can’t get you free fast enough, and you smile at him, drowsy, your eyes fluttering shut once more. “it’s okay, chuuya,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you’re here now.” 

“you have to stay awake,” he says desperately, realizing your head is still bleeding. he doesn’t know how hurt you are. chuuya’s no expert when it comes to medicine, but he’s smart enough to know that internal injuries could be even worse than the external ones. 

“stay awake for me, okay, honey? i’ll get you back to the boss and we’ll find you a doctor. you’ll be just fine.” 

“okay, chuuya,” you hum, weakly gripping his back. seconds of silence pass before you mutter, “i just want to go home.” 

"i know." his heart pulls, and he almost lets out a cracked sob. but he refrains, knowing that there is plenty of time to drown in his sorrows later. 

finally, he gets the ropes under, lifting you from the chair. you’re so much lighter, weaker, and it makes him sick as he carries you. “let’s get you home.” 

𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀. . .

the call comes just as akutagawa is getting ready to head home for the evening, his tasks completed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. 

normally, he doesn’t stick around to say any goodbyes, sneaking off into the darkness of the night like a shadow, blending right in. but, something about the evening, so gloomy and drizzly with spring rain, feels off. 

with a heavy knot in his chest, so much different than an incoming fit of coughs, akutagawa heads back up to mori’s office, if perhaps to only ensure that everyone else’s jobs had been completed. he’s a lot of things, but he’s never been a slacker; and he’ll do what it takes to ensure that his position in the mafia is eternally secure.

though, he doesn’t have the opportunity to get all the way upstairs before he run into the boss, who is calm, but with an air of irritation clouding him. 

he explains the current situation to akutagawa in a clipped tone, bored — an enemy group has kidnapped you, holding you hostage. 

“how rude is it to bother a man, just as he is getting ready to go to sleep?” mori says, sighing histrionically.

but what is a minor inconvenience to mori sends an entire wave of dread through akutagawa, his entire body feeling as if it’s been dipped in ice. he can’t explain the horror that washes over him, not really, because he shouldn’t feel so panicked. it is rare for him to get worked up about the danger his subordinates find themselves in, save for his sister, of course. 

but you… you’re different. 

“can i trust you to diffuse the situation?” mori asks, impatiently glancing at his watch as if that will change anything. “i can call someone else, but they will not be so quick.” 

akutagawa doesn’t even think before he accepts the job, hating the way he sounds pathetically desperate for more details. his hands flatten the edge of his cloak, as if his ability is going to take on a mind of its own. 

he calls for a driver, calm but breathing so heavily that an aching cough rises up in him. his throat feels as if it may begin to bleed, but he swallows, glances away from the driver and gets himself under control.

there’s a ransom — bring them the money and they’ll return you, mori had told him. you’re only a lower ranking member of the mafia, and someone that makes for a pretty poor bargaining chip, so the motive is questionable. 

mori probably would’ve let you die, akutagawa knows, his teeth gritting together, so much so that a splintering sound comes from it. but the boss, in his infinite, concerning wisdom, seems to also know that his loyal dog has an soft spot for you. 

as regrettable as that may be.

akutagawa has no doubt that whoever the enemy is, they are no match for him. still, a twinge of anxiety settles in his stomach, fingers jittery as the driver, despite the decreased traffic of the hour, seems to drive impossibly slow. 

“are we not in a rush?” akutagawa snaps, leaning forward.

“apologies,” the driver, says, not daring to even look at akutagawa from the mirror. but the car speeds up, enough for akutagawa to be able to notice, at least. it cools the simmer that has already begun deep in his chest.  

even so, the car seems to go at a snails pace, minute upon minute flying by, with you in the clutches of an enemy. 

akutagawa doesn’t care who they are. he doesn’t care why, or how they captured you. he wants them dead. he’ll rip them apart, easily, and he’ll make them suffer — they’ll be alive for all of it, for every second that he peels the skin from their bones, ripping the smaller ones out of their sockets. 

what he feels for you… well, it’s too hard for him to admit to himself. he has no experience with what it means to care for another person, doesn’t even know if that’s his goal. he just knows he wants to protect you.

and he can’t do that if you’re dead.

finally, the car pulls up to an old warehouse, one at the very outskirts of the port, beyond the docks and the shipping carts. it’s tucked far back, an obvious lair for some villainous organization that doesn’t want to be found. 

akutagawa gets there, but there is nothing. he hears nothing, feels no signs of life as he trudges through the puddles left behind from the earlier rain. 

a small string of panic begins again, as he wondered if maybe the call that mori had told him was only a ruse. maybe this entire time had been a distraction, a way to lure him away. there are other skill-users in the mafia, but none quite as dangerous as him. 

though, he hears it, then. a small little sound, muffled and hoarse, full of pain. 

he ducks into another corner of a warehouse, and you’re there — bound with chains and a gag across your mouth, one of your eyes blackened with bruises, your nose bleeding. 

his heart aches. never in his life has he so quickly made his way over, used the sharp edges of his ability to shear through the chains, falling to his knees as he unbinds the cloth from your lips. 

“where are they?” he rasps, mouth opening and closing, hating the sound of his own voice. he recognizes his desperation, his anger, but the affectionate sound that clips at the end is unfamiliar, as he shakily pulls himself closer to you. 

you glance up at him, eyes glossy and wide, and though you are scared, hurt, he’s so thankful you are alive. his heart flips once, as you grasp at his cloak, the material that has the blood of so many staining the threads. 

“gone,” you say, throat chalky, words nothing more than a note against the wind. “they fled when they heard it was you coming.” 

“and left you?” he asks, jaw clenching, as he hopes that the emotions aren’t as visible on his features as he thinks they are. “were you not a ransom?” 

“no,” you swallow, hard, as if in pain. he notices bruises around your neck, the shape of fingerprints indented there. “i was bait.”

anger rises up in him like a wave, engulfing him, wholly and relentlessly. he is no stranger to that, like he is the kindness you show him, the way you look at him as if he is your protector, rather than a bringer of destruction. “i’ll go after them. where are they headed? they’ll pay, i’ll slaughter—”

“ryunosuke,” you say, reaching for him as he stands, expression pleading as he backs away. “stay.” 

he has half a mind to ignore you — the enemy escaped, after all. but your voice. your eyes… you look so small sitting there, bloodied and bruised and broken. 

“please,” you try again, near tears, and though he has never been good with obvious displays of emotion, something within him snaps at the desperation in the word. 

he nods, slowing his pace as he returns to you, lets you wrap yourself in him, cling to him. his hands fall, naturally, to your waist, somehow knowing where they belong, even if akutagawa never has a clue what he’s doing with you. 

“i’ll call hirotsu,” he says simply, before pulling out his phone, not bothering to untangle himself from you. 

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 . . .

dazai is not a forgiving man, and will never learn to be. forgiveness is not a luxury he is often able to indulge in in his line of work, and his heart has hardened enough that until the end of time, those that are branded his enemies will remain his enemies. 

though, in his blackened heart, one soured over the course of time, you have carved out your own little space, lit it up with golden rays of light that are fiery enough to melt the stone casing of his chest. 

his only love — his only weakness. but it is a weakness that his enemies know about as well. 

dazai tries his best to keep you safe. he always has, and he knows that, sometimes, his grasp on you can be a little too tight. that the way he tries to keep you under his watchful eye can sometimes be stifling, frustrating. 

but he can’t always be there to protect you. and it is in times like these, that he regrets letting you go without a bodyguard. he regrets that he listened to your insistence that you could keep yourself safe. 

he should’ve at least told you to take a friend. 

“boss,” his subordinate says, bowing his head, his voice pleading, desperate. “i’m so sorry. your wife—”

“if anything… anything happens to her, you will be the one responsible, do you understand?” dazai says, his eyes cold as he glowers down at the man, only a few inches shorter than him, but feeling so much smaller. “i will personally see that this act does not go unpunished.” 

“of course, sir,” the man says, and he, at the very least, has the decency to sound resigned. to accept his fate and suffer the consequences, for allowing the boss’s wife to get herself into such a situation. 

and dazai means it, every last word; if he finds you in a state closer to death, anyone who put you in harm’s way will be torn apart from the inside out. he isn’t able to think of anything but bringing you home safely, his hands shaking with rage as he sends more than enough people out on a search to find you. 

with all the strings he’s able to pull as the mafia boss, it doesn’t take long to find you, for those that have bravely — or stupidly — used his wife as bait to come forward, and offer an attempt at some sort of negotiation. 

there’s little of the conversation that dazai remembers on the phone, even less that he remembers after that. the anger bubbles up in him and grabs hold of his conscience, the emotion directing his movements with a mind of its own. 

he’s already sent out every last one of his people into the field, ensuring that the organization that had the gall to threaten you is wiped off the face of the earth. deleted from every corner of the world, buildings flattened to the ground. by tomorrow, they won’t have ever existed. 

today, he doesn’t care what happens as long as he finds you alive. 

you’re held hostage by two men — so completely beaten that they’ve given up on any restraints. whatever they wanted from you, you seemed to refused to have given up, lip bleeding, eyes swelling so badly that you can’t even open them. 

dazai doesn’t hesitate before pulling the trigger on the first man, then turning to the other, shooting the hand that holds the pistol. the man recoils, shouts, and drops the weapon completely, as dazai lands another bullet to his knee, causing him to fall. 

slowly, dazai walks up, firing again to his other arm, a loud snap echoing throughout the room. the man winces, trying to crawl to the gun, one last desperate attempt to stay alive. 

he kicks the gun away, watching, as, pathetically, the expression in the enemy’s face changes — any of his remaining hope vanishes. 

“you told me she was unharmed,” dazai says, bending down, his coat flaring out behind him as he squats. 

the man coughs, gasping for air as the blood seeps out of him. “we lied.” he smiles cruelly, and though he shares the same sort of darkness as those in the port mafia, there is something even more twisted in his smile. 

dazai hums. “you the leader?” 

the man doesn’t give an answer, but the slight twitch of surprise on his face is all dazai needs. he’s no one — just a grunt whose life was put on the line to guard you. 

“didn’t think so.” dazai shoots him once, straight through the forehead, instantly killing him. but he is vindictive, angry, and the man he truly wants to destroy, the one who took you, is nowhere to be found. another bullet lands, tearing apart the flesh of his temple, then another, and one more, his skull beginning to cave in from the force of it all. 

dazai heaves, letting the gun clatter to the ground as it runs out of bullets, and then he realizes, all this time, you’ve just been watching him. the ugliest side of him — the worst side of him. 

you’re no stranger to it, of course. how can you be, when you’ve shared a life with him for years? but that doesn’t mean he wants you to see it, see how bloodthirsty he can become. 

he stumbles over to you, where you’re still sitting on the ground, your wrist in your lap, bent at an angle that he knows isn’t right. bruises are littered across your skin, and your hair is matted from the blood that pools at your temple. 

it takes every ounce of restraint he has to stay calm, a million feelings swirling under his skin. ones that he was never familiar with until he met you. 

“i’m sorry,” he says, taking your face in his hands so, so softly, worried that he’ll hurt you even more. “i’m sorry, darling. i should’ve — i should’ve been there.” dazai notices his hands are shaking and he balls them up into fists, leaning back. “fuck. fuck — i’ll kill them all, just tell me who it was. anyone who laid a finger on you. i’ll cut them down one by one.” 

“osamu,” you say, and your voice is raspy, cracking, as your unbroken arm reaches for him, squeezing his shaking hand. “i—”

you open your mouth to continue, but only tears come streaming down your cheeks, over your bloodied lips, saltiness soaking your jawline. no words don’t leave you, but a soft sob chokes itself up your throat.

“hey, hey, hey.” dazai’s voice softens, every muscle in his body relaxing as he draws you nearer to him, into his chest with a touch that’s barely there. “you’re safe. i’m here, okay? they’re not going to hurt you again, sweetheart.” 

you sniffle, barely making a sound, but he can feel the tears drop onto his clothes, soaking the material.

“can you walk? are you hurt anywhere else?” 

you hesitate for a moment before answering; he’s not sure if there’s a reason you only answer the first question. “i can walk.” 

dazai nods, and though the rage is still bubbling there, underneath the surface, there is a coolant streaming through him at the vision of you alive. the men who did this will pay the price, but he still has you — and that’s all that matters.

thank you for reading !!! ❤︎