#no one has said it so i have to be the first to claim the title

[fxstpace]

the very first night

summary: the search for a new place to live takes a turn for the worse when the only person willing to split rent with you is your ex-boyfriend.

pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader genres: romance, angst, smut, exes to lovers!au, roommates!au word count: 19.7k

↳ warnings: profanity, alcohol conusmption, explicit sexual content (oral sex, fingering, protected sex) ↳ a/n: title is the very first night by taylor swift. reposted from my old blog.

ONE

You think that all the decisions you’ve made in your life so far have all boiled down to this one moment.

Karmic retribution, if you will.

Despite the six months for which you and your ex-boyfriend have been separated, Kim Mingyu looks the same. The same floppy hair that never quite sits flat on his head—though he’s let it grow a tiny bit, and now it curls behind his ears—and the same tight-fitting black shirt you swear you tried stealing from him once. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and warm brown eyes that peer back at you. Pink lips which beckon you with a small, yet welcoming smile.

“Hey.” The word drags from his mouth, and he extends the last syllable for a second longer than necessary. “You’re here early.”

Shit. Even his voice sounds the same.

You heft your suitcase and place it by your feet just so you can avoid eye contact. Under different circumstances, Mingyu probably wouldn’t have let you carry your suitcase all the way up the stairs to the third floor—the elevator has been out of commission since before you even met him, and that doesn’t appear to change anytime soon. He probably would have lugged the whole thing upstairs, despite your protests and claims that you’re strong enough to do it on your own. But now, you can only sense his gaze on your figure as you place it securely on the floor.

When you straighten up, he’s still looking at you. He has an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes are clouded, almost as if he’s built some kind of impenetrable fortress against you. You have your walls up, too—in the slight clench of your jaw and defiant raise of your chin—and it’s something someone else wouldn’t be able to notice, but you’re sure Kim Mingyu has.

“Yeah. Um.” You attempt to smile, pray it doesn’t visibly appear as a grimace, and gesture behind you with your thumb. “The packers and movers came by pretty early, so everything ended up moving faster.”

“I see.” He purses his lips, evidently running out of things to say. (Good for you, really, because there’s nothing for you to say either.)

You take the chance to glance behind him—a feat in itself, considering how broad his shoulders are—and observe the interiors of what is going to be your home for the next year. Beige walls, the ratty sofa he bought off a garage sale, the television set he originally used to play video games on but ended up using it to watch shows instead—and a potted succulent placed in the corner. That wasn’t there before.

Before you allow your lips to tug up amusedly, Mingyu speaks again. “Is that all? When’s the rest of your stuff coming in?”

“The movers said they’d have everything ready within two days. It might take me longer to get everything sorted out, though,” you reply, aiming your gaze downwards at your suitcase.

It’s an old thing, with fraying fabric and rusty wheels, but it currently contains a fraction of your belongings: Clothes, toiletry, a small pouch where you keep items that have a special significance to you. Only the bare essentials, really. Mingyu had assured you that the room was furnished, with a bed, closet and desk. His old roommate, Minghao, had moved out but left the furniture behind because he had no reason to take them with him—not when he moved in with his girlfriend in her own apartment. All that’s left for the movers to bring over is your bookshelf, your book collection, the rest of your clothes, the Ikea drawer you and your best friend, Park Jihyo, built together, and other smaller items like your desk lamp and office chair.

“That’s okay,” Mingyu says. “Take as long as you need.”

You nod, mumbling a “thank you”, then bend down to pick up your suitcase.

Mingyu moves aside, granting you enough space to roll it across the floor and head over to the side that leads to the Minghao’s old room. Right opposite you is the doorway that leads to Mingyu’s bedroom, and further to the side is the corridor that opens into the kitchen, the small space where he keeps a dining table, and the bathroom.

In a way, you’re glad your room is situated further away from those places. Ghosts of memories linger there, ones that you can’t bear to revisit.

No, it’s better this way; you’re away from everything that you used to consider a second home. Maybe if you close the door behind you, you can pretend like you’re in some kind of void where the only things that exist are you and the bed.

“Wait, Y/N.”

You pause, feeling… something. The way he says your name, so casually, as if it’s second nature to him (it used to be) and nothing has changed at all, has you on edge—not in the good way, but not in the bad way either. 

You turn around. “Yeah?”

“Um.” Your ex-boyfriend hesitates for a second. “I’m… going out for dinner with Minghao and some others, is that okay? It might be late by the time I come back.”

“Okay.” Then, feeling the need to clarify something, you say, “You—you don’t have to tell me that. We don’t… owe each other an explanation for where the other is.”

Mingyu stays quiet, and you look away, teeth worrying your bottom lip. You wonder if he’s going to say anything—or even show any kind of reaction at all. 

“Right. We don’t.” His voice is toned down with a kind of uneasiness that you don’t blame him for. Heck, even you feel a twinge of hurt rise up your throat at your own words. “I’ll… let you get some rest.” He nods once, places his hands in his pockets, and walks back to his room.

Your grip on the suitcase handle tightens. Once you enter your room, you let out a pained sigh. You shut the door and turn your back to the wooden blockade that separates you from the rest of the apartment.

This is not going the way you expected—but then again, what had you expected? That everything between you and Mingyu would just vanish and you could talk to him normally without feeling that tiny pinprick of bitterness stab your chest every time you address him? You and Mingyu have a history, filled with good times and bad times, and six months spent away from each other will do nothing to erase that. 

You think of what your old roommate, Jihyo, would’ve said. He’s just a boy, Y/N. Make him clean the toilet all the time so he’ll automatically get sick of you.

You smile to yourself, unlocking your phone. Jihyo is probably too busy settling down in her new home in the city she moved to, so she can’t pick up your call. You decide to send her a text message instead.

You switch to the food app, order your favourite dishes from the Indian place a couple of streets away, and toss your phone onto the bed. Kneeling, you unzip your suitcase and unpack the few items you have with you. As you move around, you can already imagine how to decorate the place, how to make it feel more like a home and less like you’re an intruder. The closet is just enough for all the clothes you own—the ones you’ve packed and the ones stored in cardboard boxes yet to arrive. The desk placed opposite to the bed is perfect for when you have to work on your laptop late at night; if you place your lamp on it, you might even forget that you’re not in your old apartment. The bed already has a mattress with clean linen on the bedspread. You place your old Looney Tunes duvet on it.

Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rings. You pause your unpacking to get the door and thank the delivery guy for the food. Mingyu has already left, judging by the lack of noise in the rest of the apartment. You just hope he doesn’t come back home drunk and shit-faced—that would definitely ruin the rest of your night, and the much-needed sleep you require. 

You decide not to use the kitchen table, instead opting to take the food containers into your room, where you can eat and watch a show at the same time. It’s lonely, but at least you can have your meal somewhere comfortable.

Your phone rings with notifications. You pick it up, carefully balancing the bowl of curry on your knee. 

(19:47) Jihyo: hows the apartment??? did u make mingyu clean the toilet yet?

(19:47) Mingyu: hey, i’m at a thai place. do you want anything to eat at home? i could get something packaged.

You smile at the first text, tense up at the second one, and place your phone down next to you. Not replying to either of their messages might be a bad idea, but right now, all you want is to have your spicy curry and naan in peace—your best friend and ex-boyfriend be damned.

TWO

It’s only after you move in with Mingyu that your separation from Jihyo truly sinks in. Now, there’s no one you can wake up at two in the morning because your period started and you ran out of pads, or gossip about that one campus couple who broke up in public at your favourite boba place.

Not to mention the fact that living with your ex-boyfriend is mildly awkward at best and stupidly melancholic at worst.

It’s been a week, but you and Mingyu seem to have figured out a way to work in tandem. It appears as though neither of you want to see the other—just yet, at least. He goes for a morning jog at six; your alarm rings at six. He comes back reeking of sweat at seven in the morning; you’re getting ready to leave for work by then. You do the dishes on the days he vacuums the apartment and vice versa. It leaves no room for conversation, other than the occasional greetings and small talk when you happen to cross paths.

In fact, ever since you purposefully ignored Mingyu’s text asking if you wanted anything from the Thai restaurant, he’s made a conscious effort at avoiding you.

You nearly jump out of your seat when someone taps your shoulder. “Hey.”

You turn around and meet your co-worker, Lee Seokmin’s eyes. He smiles at you, eyes curving into little crescents.

“Hi,” you say, smiling back automatically.

If there’s one person you can count on to bring a smile to your lips, even if it’s eight o’clock in the morning—at work, no less—it’s Lee Seokmin. His cheerful nature and lively personality is infectious. His happiness radiates outwards in waves that everyone gets swept up on. You might even consider yourself envious of how easily he sways everyone, with that exuberant smile and those good-natured compliments he doles out to everyone like they cost him nothing. (Which they don’t, you suppose.)

“Something on your mind?”

Your smile turns into a grimace. “You could tell?”

He gives you a little half-shrug, still smiling. “You had a weird, serious, think-y face. And before you come at me for think-y not being a real word—I’m very aware of that, thank you—it’s the best way I can describe you.”

“You chose think-y—” you bite back a chuckle— “as the best word to describe me? Come on, Seokmin, you can do better than that.”

“I can,” he agrees, “but only when the situation is appropriate.” His face turns grave, and he continues, “But seriously, Y/N. Did you have a rough night?”

His eyes roam over your face, evident concern shown in the curve of his lips and the slight dip of his eyebrows. You control your wince, wondering if the swollen bags underneath your eyes aren’t as concealed by your makeup as you thought. 

Rough week, more like. But you don’t say that to him. “Something like that,” you say.

“You moved out a while back, right? How’s the new place?”

“It’s… good. Close to the supermarket and all that. Everything is within, like, a ten-metre radius, so I don’t have to go very far to get things.”

“That’s nice to hear,” Seokmin says, and you can tell he really means it. “I bet you’re tired, though, with all that packing and unpacking and moving around.”

He bends closer, the front of his loosely tucked shirt just barely touching the back of your chair. This close, you can smell the faint scent of Seokmin’s deodorant and fabric softener. He taps his finger on the arm of your chair. “Do you want to get some coffee with me?”

“Um.” You look back at your laptop and the pile of binders next to it. Seokmin seems to know what you’re thinking, because he huffs and says, “C’mon, I’m sure Seungcheol wouldn’t mind if you took a coffee break.”

“I guess,” you return, flashing him a smile when he rolls your chair backwards to give you space to stand up.

Getting up, both of you weave your way to the third floor, where the only functioning coffee maker is housed. The elevator is too crowded and busy for you to use to get down from your position on the seventh floor, so you settle for using the stairs. Throughout the ten-minute walk (which effectively turns into a fifteen-minute one, thanks to him), Seokmin waves and greets every single fellow office worker you pass by. By name.

You roll your eyes and bite your lip to hold back your laugh when a young, female intern—probably still in college by the looks of it—flushes bright red because Seokmin complimented her barrette.

He catches your eye and grins. “What’s so funny?”

You shake your head good-naturedly. “It’s nothing. Carry on with whatever you were doing.”

“What was I doing?”

“Oh, you know,” you say airily, “making everyone fall head over heels for you because you’re just so nice.”

His grin only widens. “You make it sound as though being nice is a bad thing.”

“That’s not what I meant at all,” you protest. “I’m just— Greeting every single person you see? By name? How do you even know everyone in the building?”

“I just check their ID card,” he explains, shrugging slightly. “I read this WikiHow article that said if you speak to people using their name, it creates a good impression and makes you appear more confident than you really are.”

“Really?”

Humming, Seokmin nods, before adding slyly, “I’m not sure what you mean by making everyone fall in love with me, though.”

“Please,” you snort. “You’re way too charming for your own good—and I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

“You think so?” 

You can hear the smugness in his tone and you roll your eyes again. “Yes, I think so.”

“Then…” He trails off, gazing at the handrail.

Seokmin’s voice turns softer, more serious. Contemplation bleeds into his features, and when he speaks again, he lacks the bravado he had with all the other people he spoke to on your way down.

“Guess I better work on charming the right people, huh?” 

You blink, but before you can digest Seokmin’s words, he gives you another bright grin before rounding the corner and striding towards the coffee machine. You follow, the need for caffeine in your system overriding your instinct to mull over what your co-worker said. Unfortunately, it seems you and Seokmin aren’t the only ones who want coffee; a long queue runs ahead of you. Your coffee break might end up taking longer than you thought.

“So,” Seokmin casually drawls, one hand in his pocket and the other fiddling with his ID card’s lanyard. “Do you want to talk about your rough night?”

“I…” You pause and consider. 

Should you tell Seokmin? You trust him enough—you’ve known him for as long as you’ve been working in this company—and he’s always been friendly to you, offering you a ride home when both of you work overtime and paying for your food on the occasional visits to a café or a coffee shop. Besides, he’s the closest person you have to a friend, now that Jihyo lives in a different city and you can’t call her up whenever you feel like it. You decide to tread the waters first, only telling him the bare minimum.

“Hypothetically speaking,” you begin, “if you move in with someone you don’t like but have known for years, what would you do?”

“That’s a tough one.” He scratches his chin, pretending to think. “I guess it depends on the kind of past you share, y’know? But either way, I would try to… make peace with them, I guess. Like a ceasefire. Offer them an olive branch. Hypothetically speaking, of course.” He grins knowingly at the last bit and you shove his shoulder.

What Seokmin said makes sense. You and Mingyu are living together; your past relationship shouldn’t come in the way of talking to each other. But it does, so much more than it should. Try as hard as you might, every time you think of Kim Mingyu, the first thing that comes to your mind is all the kisses you’ve shared, the way his arms feel around you, how both of you broke the promises you made to each other—all because you were too proud and he was too stubborn. 

You still are proud. For all you know, Mingyu might still be stubborn. 

What a pair, you think drily.

You and Seokmin shuffle forwards. He stays silent, allowing you to process your thoughts and wonder how, exactly, you’re going to get over Mingyu and talk to him without feeling like your stomach is twisting into a million knots. 

Once you reach the coffee machine, Seokmin hands you a cup. “It’s hot,” he warns, before carefully handing you the styrofoam cup filled to the brim with the bitter brew. You cautiously take a sip, wincing when you almost burn your tongue and make a face at your co-worker when he chimes, “I told you.”

The walk back to your floor doesn’t take as long as the walk down. Before you part ways, Seokmin offers you a small smile and a pat on your shoulder.

“If you’re wondering how to approach your roommate,” he says, lowering his voice, “maybe start off by offering them food. Works like a charm every time.”

Food. Yeah, you can manage that. Dinner with your ex-boyfriend.

Should be a piece of cake.

THREE

Asking Mingyu if he would like to have dinner with you is decidedly not a piece of cake.

When he comes back home from work, Mingyu has only one trajectory: Travel in a straight line from the door to his bedroom, offering you a tight smile if he sees you along the way. His bag is always slung across one shoulder and his shirt is always untucked and his hair is always a wild mess. If his appearance wasn’t achingly familiar, you would probably laugh every time you see his unruly figure.

It takes a week for you to muster up the nerve to look Mingyu in the eye, after your conversation with Seokmin. He’s been pestering you incessantly, almost exactly like Jihyo. When you told her about Seokmin’s suggestion, she had been nothing short of enthusiastic. Your phone has been blowing up constantly with texts from her, egging you on and on and on to make a move first and raise the (hypothetical) white flag. 

“If you keep putting it off, you’re going to be very miserable for the rest of your immediate future,” was her reasoning when you called and spoke to her on the phone three days ago. “But also if you don’t fucking ask him to have a meal with you within the next week, I will fly over and have you both sit in a room, alone, and force you to talk.”

Both the options are pretty much the same. You didn’t have the energy to tell Jihyo that.

It’s on a Monday evening that you catch Mingyu and pop the question. A Monday evening that’s insignificant, really. Almost laughable at how normal the evening is. Mingyu unlocks the door, closes it while toeing his shoes off, and gives you the same tight smile—one where it doesn’t reach his eyes, his jaw is slightly clenched, and his lips thin into almost straight lines. 

“Mingyu.” Your voice comes out breathless, like you’ve been jogging for miles before coming to a stop in front of him. He pauses, wind-ruffled hair framing his face in cloudy wisps.

“Yeah?” 

“I—uh—” you force the words to tumble out of your lips, before you can overthink— “I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me?”

Mingyu purses his lips, looking at you warily. He’s careful, cautious, when he asks, “Is… there any special reason?”

You swallow. “No,” you say honestly, not allowing your eyes to tear away from his. “There isn’t. But I tried making lasagne today, and I would like to share it with someone.”

For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, only lets his bag fall into the crook of his arm. “Okay,” he says finally. “Let me just change and wash up.”

You nod, making your way to the kitchen to bring out the casserole. You’re not usually one for cooking—you prefer ordering takeout because it’s easier and they make the food better than you, anyway—but simply ordering food didn’t sit right with you. Lasagne is a dish you’ve made a few times before, and you would rather make something you’re familiar with instead of trying to whip up something new.

When you go back into the kitchen, you find Mingyu already there, bent over an open cupboard’s door as he fishes out some plates and cutlery. He’s wearing a loose white shirt and grey sweatpants, fringe falling freely over his forehead and obscuring his eyes. 

“Are our regular plates okay or do we need the china ones?” he asks, still bent over.

“Why do we need china plates? Wait, why do you even have china plates with you in the first place?”

He looks over at you and shrugs. “Dunno. Minghao had a china cutlery phase, I think.”

That does sound like a phase Xu Minghao would have.

“The regular ones are fine.” You don’t want to risk breaking Minghao’s precious cutlery.

While Mingyu wipes the plates with a dishcloth, you grab two mugs and pour orange juice from the fridge into them. You take one in each hand and follow Mingyu to the kitchen table, placing both of them on either side.

“Orange juice?” Mingyu’s eyebrows are raised.

“Yeah. So?” you challenge him, raising your eyebrows as well.

But he doesn’t say anything against your choice of beverage, only shrugs and mumbles, “We should really stock up on alcohol.”

Your lips twitch. You don’t allow yourself to smile.

Instead, you pull your chair back and sit down, steepling your fingers in front of you. Mingyu piles some food onto his plate. For some reason, you feel weirdly nervous. What if it’s not as good as you think? What if he doesn’t like it?

You shake those thoughts away. This is Kim Mingyu. Even if the food was bad, he wouldn’t tell you; he would only grin, compliment your culinary skills, and continue to eat despite everything.

“Is it… good?” you ask tentatively, after he takes a forkful into his mouth and chews deliberately.

He waits until he’s swallowed before answering. “It’s great. Really good,” he affirms, and you can hear in his voice that he means it.

Well, almost.

It’s the slight dip and intonation of his tone, but it’s one you’re familiar with. You narrow your eyes at him. Mingyu continues eating, oblivious to your glare. In fact, he shovels more lasagne onto his dish and eats with more gusto, pausing every now and then to gulp down some orange juice.

“Really?” you say casually. “I’m glad. Maybe I should try some too.”

Mingyu’s reaction is so instantaneous, it’s almost comical. His eyes widen by a fraction, and he immediately reaches for the casserole. “You should definitely try some,” he says. “But it’s so good, I wanna have some more.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, watching Mingyu stuff more food into his mouth before deciding to put him out of his misery.

“Mingyu. Tell me the truth. How’s the food?”

He pauses, swallowing the food in his mouth and answering with a subdued, sheepish smile:

“It’s too salty.”

FOUR

“Why are you leaving so early?” Jihyo’s voice crackles through your phone placed on your bed.

“Seokmin said he wanted to try out the croissants at the new bakery that opened nearby,” you reply, fiddling with the buttons of your shirt. “He also said he wanted to buy a baguette so that he could whack his roommate with it. Something about going all the way to Paris to buy it but his roommate used it to hammer a nail into the wall and broke it.”

A pause, and then, “Is his roommate okay in the head?”

“Good question.” You grin at your reflection in the mirror, pat down the hair at the back of your neck, and grab your phone. “I’m heading out now. I’ll text you later.”

“’kay,” your best friend says. “Tell Mingyu I said hi.”

“I will,” you say, but you already know you’re not going to greet him on behalf of her.

Things between you and Mingyu are… still pretty much the same, honestly. After that dinner fiasco, you’ve been too embarrassed to properly address him, and he’s not made much of an effort on his part. Or maybe you’ve been consciously avoiding him so much that he doesn’t get a chance to put his foot forward. Either way, your cheeks still burn up whenever you think of that night’s dinner, so for now, hiding in your room is quite possibly the only way you can prevent yourself from catching fire completely.

Stupid logic. You’re a grown adult, with the ability to make good judgements and make decisions. Unfortunately, your decisions are mostly borderline idiotic.

Shouldering your bag, you leave your room and head to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. There’s a Post-It note stuck on the refrigerator. Peeling it off the fridge’s door, you read it curiously.

Got some cookies from Minghao’s friend’s bakery. I’ve kept them in the pantry. Enjoy! :) 

Mingyu’s familiar scrawl is branded into your head, and seeing the yellow square of paper makes nostalgia bubble inside your chest like a bath bomb dropped into a bathtub filled with water. You pocket the note, and smile so widely, your cheeks hurt.

Maybe he’s put his foot forward, after all.

Seokmin is already waiting for you outside your apartment building by the time you go out. He grins at you, his eyes crinkling in the corners and teeth flashing happily. 

“Hi,” you greet him. “Did you wait long?”

“No.” Your co-worker shakes his head, still smiling. “I just got here, actually.”

“I’m glad.” You return his smile. “Should we head out?”

Seokmin nods. “Of course,” he says, and you fall into step with him. 

He has a never-ending list of topics to talk to you about—and for the most part, you’re glad that he’s so outgoing. In twenty minutes, you’ve learnt almost everything there is to know about his roommate, Jeonghan, his older sister, his fear of ladybugs (you snort out loud at that particular anecdote), and his favourite anime (Haikyu!! and One Piece). In return, you tell him about that time you and Jihyo accidentally walked into the wrong restroom at a bar, and how you got dumped by your high school crush because he thought you were better than him at playing basketball.

It’s comfortable. Talking to Seokmin always is. 

But you still don’t talk about Mingyu. You try hard to stop thinking of him, but he’s always there at the back of your mind, an unopened gift that you don’t unwrap. 

Finally, you and Seokmin round a corner and find yourselves standing in front of the just-opened bakery. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafts through the open door. An array of different types of breads and other desserts is placed carefully on a display at the counter, and the owner greets you with a welcoming smile.

“What do you want to have?” Seokmin asks, holding your elbow and leading you in.

You eye the basket of croissants. The buttery confection looks delicious, but so does the tray of muffins placed next to it. And the bagels placed beside the muffins. “I can’t decide.”

“How about one of everything?”

You glance at him to see if he’s joking, but Seokmin looks completely serious. “You’re kidding, right?” you say, grabbing his arm. “There’s no way I’m going to let you buy one of everything in this store!”

“I would,” Seokmin admits, a flush creeping up his neck, “if you asked me to.”

You groan. “Seokmin. Please don’t.”

“Alright, alright.” He raises his hands in defeat. “I’m just saying, if you wanted me to—”

“One croissant, please,” you interrupt, addressing the owner. “To go. And he will have…”

“Make that two croissants,” Seokmin finishes. “I’ll have whatever the lady’s having.”

“How gentlemanly of you.”

“I know.”

Seokmin pays for his croissant, and you pay for yours. The owner wraps them up and hands them to you, asking you to visit again. Once you exit, you unwrap yours and take a small bite. The bread is soft and melts in your mouth, leaving a sweet aftertaste. You take another bite, and it’s only then that you notice Seokmin looking at you, a corner of his lips turned upwards in a crooked smile and one hand in his pocket.

“What?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I have crumbs on my face?”

“No,” he replies. “I just… I would really love to do this again, Y/N.”

Oh.

Seokmin looks at you so hopefully. Like he’s been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. Like he needs to get something off his chest. Like he never wants this moment to end.

“...I’d like that, too,” you say.

Somehow, the words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, one that even another mouthful of the sweet snack can’t erase.

FIVE

It’s getting late, and yet Kim Mingyu is hellbent on getting you to keep him company. The worst part is that it’s working—though you would never admit that to him.

Being friends with your ex isn’t that uncommon. You and Mingyu can be friends. But how long are you willing to put up with this ruse before it all blows up in your faces? Friendship between two people who used to date isn’t that much of a big deal—but that’s just it, isn’t it? You and Mingyu weren’t just two people who used to date.

How did you even let him talk you into spending time with him? Or maybe that’s all on you; you’ve never been able to say no to him. One minute you’re looking at his face and remembering the lasagne gone wrong, the next he’s asking if you want to watch a movie with him. Except neither of you have updated your Netflix subscription, so this was a bad idea all along.

Maybe talking to Mingyu is a bad idea. 

Maybe you should go back to your old ways, locking yourself up in your room and only acknowledging his presence when you happen to cross paths. 

But the socialite in you nags, what if he thinks you’re some kind of hermit who only comes out to eat and drink? Besides, he’s here now, right next to you on the sofa—keeping a respectable distance between your bodies—as he watches a rerun of America’s Next Top Model because it was the least shitty thing playing on all the channels you scrounged through fifteen minutes ago. 

Normally, you would be elated at the idea of poking fun at random reality shows, expressing your exasperation at the poorly-written scripted drama and the even worse acting. But even if the showoff between two aspiring models both named Jessica and sporting the same colour of fake tan and bleached blonde hair was somewhat interesting, you find your gaze keeps wandering to your ex-boyfriend.

You trace the contours of his face with your eyes—the cheekbones that jut out only slightly, the furrow created on his forehead as his eyebrows kiss, the way his honey-brown eyes stare at the screen in front of him with a focused intensity. Even the way his lips curve ever-so slightly upwards, despite him pressing them together, has you recalling just how soft they felt against your own. 

His warm, soft skin. The prominent collarbone that you used to press small kisses to whenever you wanted to get his attention. The moles scattered all over his body, creating a canvas for you to paint on by tracing them with your fingers. The flex of his fingers as he bunches them into a loose fist.

Everything about him is so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time.

Even this semblance of friendship that has bridged the drawn-out distance between you both feels strange—as though somewhere in the back of your subconscious, you recognise that this camaraderie is either a really good thing or could go extremely wrong. You’re in the middle of that bridge, trying your best not to lean too much to the right or to the left, but even a slight misstep could lead to everything going downhill.

“Are you rooting for Jessice H. or Jessica C.?”

“Huh?” You blink, escaping your haze of thoughts. “I’m sorry—which one is which?”

Mingyu glances at you with a deadpan expression. “We’ve been watching them trying to one up each other for the past ten minutes.”

“Sorry.” You smile sheepishly. “Both of them look the same to me.”

“Fair enough,” he acquiesces, before returning his focus to the show. “It’s the fake tan, isn’t it? Although the hair is similar too… No wonder they’ve been arguing about who put on their mascara better—it looks identical.” 

You play along. “Or maybe it’s the supposed Gucci belts. I had no idea Gucci made handbags with fake crocodile skin.”

“The more you know…”

You laugh at that, and Mingyu looks at you—really looks, the same way he used to when you made a bad joke and giggled at it yourself. He looks at you with adoration written all over his face, in the upward twist of his lips and the crinkling in the corners of his eyes.

You clamp your mouth shut immediately, feeling a sense of nostalgia, longing and wistfulness seep into your skin, through your flesh and settle deep into your bones. 

Too much. It’s too much, and it’s way too early, and you don’t want to dwell on anything at the moment. So you do what you do best: You hide.

You tear your gaze off him and rub your palms on your old jeans. You hear Mingyu’s sharp intake of breath, but you force yourself not to look, not to think about him. 

“Hey, uh—I was supposed to call Jihyo right now,” you lie, and even you think it sounds lame coming out of your mouth, so there’s no way Mingyu can’t see through it.

“Y/N,” is all he says. 

You hate the way your chest clenches—just because he said your name—but what can you do? Escape the situation and never bring up the obvious elephant in the room?

Yeah. That’s exactly what you do. Making decisions isn’t your forte, but you’ll deal with the consequences of your actions later. Much, much later, if you can avoid it for as long as you’re living here.

You get up and make a beeline for your room, and Kim Mingyu doesn’t say anything to make you stop.

SIX

Whenever you faltered, Jihyo was your voice of reason. She would help you back to your feet, give you a solid nudge on your shoulder and list out the pros and cons of everything, allowing you to formulate your own opinion and come to a decision.

She isn’t being very helpful right now.

“Think about it,” she reasons. “Before, he was your ex. Now, he’s the guy you live with. You have to talk to him, no matter what.”

She’s right. She knows you know she’s right. You still refuse to acknowledge it, because pride comes before a fall, but you haven’t fallen yet. It’s more like you’re dangling off the precipice.

“How’s Jaehyun?” you say instead, referring to the guy she’s been crushing on ever since she moved to the new city.

Jihyo lets out an unimpressed sigh, the grainy image of her face on your phone screen contorting slightly. “Don’t think you’re being super smart by changing the topic, Y/N. And he’s fine. We went out for boba the other day.”

“Yeah?” You play with the fraying edge of the duvet thrown over your body. “That’s nice.”

Jihyo hums, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “And then he asked if we could hook up.”

You guffaw. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She nods vigorously, affirming her statement. “I said no, obviously.”

“Why? Afraid he’s too much to handle?”

“Please,” your best friend snorts. “Have you seen him? I think I’m too much for him to handle. He couldn’t even pay for the boba without tearing his pocket because he was too enthusiastic in getting his wallet out.”

You smile thinly. Jihyo might be poking fun at the man, but you can tell from the twinkle in her eyes and the way her voice is filled with infectious joy that she’s enamoured by him. You wish you could meet him in person. Instead, you have to settle for checking out his Instagram profile.

“Anyway,” she continues, stifling a yawn, “it’s late and I have to head out tomorrow. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay,” you say. “Good night. Don’t dream of Jaehyun.”

She flips her middle finger at you and you roll your eyes, pressing the end button. Just when you’re about to fluff your pillow so you can lie down, you hear a knock on your door.

“Y/N?” Mingyu sounds remarkably active, considering the fact that it’s currently fifteen minutes past midnight. “Are you awake?”

Curiosity compels you to answer honestly, “Yeah. Is everything okay?” 

You tread over to the door, swinging it open. Mingyu is in his sweatpants—a pair you know he only wears for bed—and a loose graphic T-shirt. You’re wearing pretty much the same attire, except your shirt is an old one, worn-out from your high school days, and it doesn't fit you that well anymore. You tug the hem over your hips consciously.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah, everything’s okay. I was just…” He pauses, raising a hand and ruffling his hair. “Do you wanna get some ice cream?”

Of all possible things you expected Mingyu to ask you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. You blink, bemused. 

“Or—or we don’t have to,” he backtracks, when you don’t say anything immediately. “I was just craving something sweet, that’s all—”

“Okay,” you say, surprising yourself with your answer. Mingyu is trying to extend the olive branch you placed in between you both, and you have to appreciate that. Regardless of your personal feelings. Besides, Jihyo was right—he’s the guy you live with, and you need to be able to spend time with him. As friends. Nothing more.

“Okay.” He exhales, relieved. “It’s right across the street.”

“I think I know the one you’re talking about.”

The ice cream parlour is a ten-minute walk from your apartment, but walking with Mingyu makes time fly. He says something about mint chocolate being an underrated flavour, and you insinuate that it deserves to be, and just like that, conversation flows between you both as though your past is some kind of a fever dream.

Where Seokmin is a bright ray of sunshine lighting up your way on a cloudy day, Mingyu is moonlight, skittering over your figure and providing solace in the dark. Seokmin is infectious laughter and gleeful smiles; Mingyu is whispered jokes and shared silence.

Perhaps it’s those very qualities that made you fall so hard for the man next to you. You know for sure it’s those very qualities that still have you in his grip, even though he doesn’t know it. Maybe that’s why talking to him is awkward—because how do you move on from someone who captured your heart and kept it for safe-keeping but know that there’s one big, gaping hole in your chest where his heart is supposed to be? Even now, a small part of you belongs to Mingyu, like a little token which he’s kept locked up and hidden the key.

Six months is a long time, but neither you nor Mingyu seems to be able to bring up what happened. Maybe it’s for the best, you think. You would rather have a small bit of this domesticity that feels familiar than have everything blow up in your face because of the harsh words you exchanged.

You ignore the tightening in your chest and focus on the warmth pooling in your stomach when Mingyu grins and offers you a chance to redeem yourself when it comes to good ice cream flavours. You say mint chocolate is tolerable, but only because Mingyu likes it.

SEVEN

Seokmin drops by your cubicle almost every day now. He offers to drop you back home, too.

Each time, you smile but decline politely. You still feel guilty about saying that you would like to spend more time with him as well—but in your defence, you didn’t really lie; you do want to spend more time with him, but only as a friend. Seokmin didn’t specify how exactly he wants to go out with you.

It’s getting harder to say no, however. Seokmin is everything if not persistent, and his determination to take you out has you crumbling under his forlorn gaze and pleading words.

He doesn’t make your heart beat faster, or make butterflies erupt inside your belly. Being with Seokmin doesn’t come with bright fireworks or flashy songs. It’s finding the extraordinary in the mundane, and laughing yourselves silly over jokes that aren’t even that funny.

So. It’s not Mingyu, but Seokmin is nice and friendly and stable, and you think you can fall for him. You and Mingyu aren’t going to cross the threshold of friends ever again, anyway. There’s nothing stopping you from going out with Seokmin.

“Okay,” you say when he asks you again, a half-resigned look on his face when he assumes you’ll just say no again. 

The way his expression morphs to elation is worth it, you think. He surges forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers into your ear, and the joy he feels is infectious—as most good things with Seokmin are—so it’s no surprise that your cheeks are already hurting from smiling too hard.

When you update Jihyo about the latest turn of events, she tuts disapprovingly and says, “Have you told Mingyu?”

“No,” you say, feeling defensive. “I don’t have to tell him, do I?”

Your best friend waits for a beat. “You don’t, I guess.”

Mingyu interrupts your call then, and you quickly tell Jihyo you’ll text her later. He stands in the living room, holding up a pair of button down shirts, one in each hand, forehead creased and mouth downturned.

You lean against your doorway, amused. “You called?”

His face clears as he looks at you, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “I have this work event I need to attend tomorrow, but I don’t know what to wear.”

You observe the shirts he’s holding up. One is cream in colour, long-sleeved and ironed neatly. The other is black, with a thin white stripe along the collar and sleeves.

“The black one,” you say immediately. And then feel your cheeks heat up with your quick answer. In your defence, Kim Mingyu has always looked alarmingly handsome in black. Objectively speaking.

“I haven’t worn this one in a long time.” He brings it close to his face, squinting at it. “It probably stinks.”

“Smell it, then,” you say, chuckling at the mortified look on Mingyu’s face. “What? You’re telling me you’ve never worn your underwear inside out because you forgot to do the laundry? This isn’t that different.”

“I have never done anything of the sort.” He sniffs petulantly at you, before his eyes narrow. “Wait. Does that mean you’ve worn your underwear inside out?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Gross. I thought you knew me better than that.”

Mingyu tenses up at your offhand comment, and you look down, wondering why that even slipped out of your mouth in the first place. Of course you screw everything up just when things are going decently well. 

“I do,” he mumbles. “I do know you better than that.” When you look at him, he has a wan smile on his lips. “Which is why I’m going to trust your judgement and wear the black shirt. Even if it’s musty from sitting in the back of my closet for so long.”

“Oh, shut up,” you huff, walking over to him and grabbing the cloth out of his hand. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He only raises a single eyebrow at you.

That’s what prompts you to sniff at it. At his goddamn shirt. Like you’re one of those police dogs they use to find missing people.

It… doesn’t smell unpleasant. A little bit musty, like Mingyu said, but that can be attributed to him not wearing it often. Mostly, it smells of faint fabric softener and deodorant—and underneath it all, a scent that is solely Mingyu’s. (Pine and citrus and lavender, all mixed together, in a way that only Mingyu can pull off.)

“It smells fine,” you say, shoving it into Mingyu’s chest. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not the one who grabbed it and shoved my face into it,” he says, “so who’s the real dramatic one here?”

“I didn’t shove my face into it!” You swat at his shoulder, but he laughs and dodges, eyes twinkling with playfulness.

“If you say so,” he returns, still chuckling to himself.

“When is this event?” 

“Tomorrow evening,” he answers.

“Both of us won’t be at home then,” you say, and he raises an eyebrow. “I… have a date tomorrow,” you explain, and regret it almost instantly. Why are you even telling him that? He doesn’t need to know.

“Oh,” is all he says, followed by a quieter, “Have fun.”

EIGHT

Seokmin picks you up at exactly six o’clock, wearing a loose button down shirt and slacks, and his hair styled carefully. He perks up as soon as you wave at him, jogging over to you with a smile.

“Hey,” he greets you. “You look good.”

You return his smile, tugging at the edge of your blouse and smoothing out your skirt. “Thank you. So do you.”

Seokmin’s grin brightens, which you didn’t even think was possible. “Thanks,” he says, and then gently takes hold of your elbow. “So… the plan for today is to take you out for dinner, and then a movie. How does that sound?”

“It sounds… good,” you say, letting him lead the way. It’s basic, yes, but you’re a firm believer in clichés—there’s a reason they become popular, after all.

He doesn’t stop talking, and neither do you. Throughout the entire half an hour dinner in some hole-in-the-wall diner that Seokmin discovered a month ago and serves the best blue lemonade mojitos you’ve ever tasted, and the entire two hour movie that’s way too boring for you to focus on the screen anyway, you and your co-worker keep up an endless stream of banter and silly anecdotes and you find yourself enjoying it more than you thought you would.

It’s refreshing, and when you and Seokmin finally make the walk back to your apartment, you find it difficult to let go of his hand. He pulls you to a stop in front of the building, rubbing his thumb gently across the back of your hand. 

His smile is as bright as ever, albeit tinged with slight disappointment. “So. I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding. “Thank you for today, Seokmin. I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too,” he returns. “Listen, I—”

He’s interrupted by someone stumbling across the sidewalk—not someone, you realise. It’s two people, tightly coiled around each other in a manner that is entirely indecent for the public eye. But as they trip around one another—still holding each other tightly—your heart sinks deep into the pit of your stomach.

One of them is Mingyu.

The other person is some girl, hair falling loosely across her face, Mingyu’s fingers tangled into her tresses, while his other hand bunches up the material of her dress at her waist. They kiss and kiss and kiss, and you don’t tear your eyes away until Seokmin makes a noise of disgust.

He turns around, blocking your view of them and takes both your hands in his. “I… I’ll call you. Okay?”

You nod numbly. “Okay.”

Seokmin leaves with a bright smile and a lingering kiss on your cheek. You plaster a smile onto your lips until he moves out of your line of sight, after which you begin the arduous trek back to your—Mingyu’s—apartment. Normally, the three floors you climb aren’t much of a strenuous task; tonight, however, every step you take makes you feel like your legs are made of lead. 

You fumble in your purse for your key, the image of Mingyu kissing that girl not leaving your mind. It’s not supposed to hurt, you’re not supposed to be bothered by it. But it stings, like the biting cold on a freezing winter morning, making your fingers stiff and your ears chilly.

You hear footsteps right when you twist the key into the lock.

The last thing you see before you enter the apartment is Mingyu clambering up the staircase, clearly drunk but surprisingly upright. He has a lipstick stain leading from the corner of his mouth to his cheek, his hair is tousled—no doubt from someone running their hands through his silky locks—and his shirt is untucked and wrinkled.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you grab the door handle and step inside, because the last thing you want to confront is the fact that your feelings for Kim Mingyu might not be as forgotten as you believe.

Which is fine, all things considered, except Kim Mingyu doesn’t give a damn.

You let the door slam shut behind you before Mingyu can get in. Technically, it’s his house. Technically, he’s the one who has the right to lock you out.

Technically, you’re acting like a child throwing a tantrum, and technically, Mingyu is allowed to kiss whomever the fuck he wants. 

You wish Jihyo was here. She would ground you, make you see everything calmly and rationally. But she’s been having boy problems of her own (Jeong Jaehyun, who is decidedly not as romantic as Jihyo was led to believe), and the last thing you want is to dump your boy problems on her.

Besides, it’s no big deal. Right?

Mingyu lives here. He should have his own copy of the keys. He’s also drunk. (Drunk and half-laid, your mind helpfully reminds.)

Before you start overthinking about letting the door close behind you, you decide that what you really need is a warm shower. So you let your feet lead you to the bathroom directly, and don’t allow thoughts of ex-boyfriends and overly friendly co-workers to enter your brain.

You don’t hear the sound of keys turning in the lock the entire night, but you shove down the guilt that bubbles up your throat. It’s Mingyu’s fault for not carrying them with him wherever he goes; you’re not his caretaker, anyway. 

Your phone pings with a text message from Seokmin, and you pick it up.

(19:47) Seokmin: I had a great time today. Thanks for coming with me :) 

Despite the fact that you only have a towel wrapped around your body, and the fact that your hair is dripping wet, you feel a tingling warmth creep up your chest. 

NINE

Monday is a horrible day.

You woke up half an hour later than usual, which led to you rushing through your morning routine. Your clothes aren’t ironed, which is fine usually, but the shirt you pick doesn’t tuck in quite right and you don’t have the time to change it. You almost tripped over the curb in your rush to get to work and nearly spilled a cup of coffee—which is far too sweet for your liking, due to the dollop of sugar you added by accident—all over yourself. Your manager, Choi Seungcheol, doesn’t approve of the project portfolio you compiled, and the deadline is fast approaching, which means more late nights for you.

And to top it all off, your car engine won’t fucking start.

You’re really not in the mood for Seokmin and his exuberant enthusiasm, which is something he probably catches onto, considering the fact that he stands silently next to you, waiting for you to finish cursing the piece of metal you call a car. Once you’re done resisting the urge to burn down the automobile, Seokmin places a placating hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, training a concerned gaze over your figure. “I can drop you back home.”

“No, it’s fine,” you mutter sullenly. “I’ll just call a cab or something.”

“Y/N, please. It’s no trouble.” He pauses, and you glance at him, at the sympathetic crease of his forehead and the genuinity reflected in his eyes. It’s touching, and Seokmin flashes you a small smile. “I was gonna head over that way anyway—I wanted to get some stuff from that bakery we went to.”

“I—” You hesitate, and he takes the chance to slide in.

“You call the mechanic. I’ll wait for you in my car, okay?”

He scurries away, leaving you biting your lip and staring at your phone. You should probably call Mingyu; he can help. Knowing him, he would probably want to help, regardless of who was asking him. Instead, you search up the nearest mechanic shop and dial in their number, giving them the details of where you are. They arrive a couple of minutes later, and you watch as they hook your car onto their big tow truck and drive away.

Seokmin waves you over to his car, a sleek Hyundai that's probably a few years old but still looks brand new. He opens the door to the passenger seat with a smile before grabbing the stack of folders you had kept clutched to your chest. You let him take them. You’re far too tired to argue.

Briefly, your mind wanders to Mingyu—what he would do if you had told him. Probably run all the way here, your brain supplies, prompting a wry smile to form on your lips. You press them together when you think of Mingyu with that girl immediately afterwards.

The drive to your house is silent, only the rumble of Seokmin’s car and the soft noise of some interview playing on the radio filling the silence. He pulls to a stop near your apartment, bundles up your work folders in his arms and gestures for you to lead the way to your flat. 

The door swings open before you get the chance to pull out your key. Mingyu stands opposite you, dishevelled—just woken up from a nap, it seems. His mouth parts when he sees Seokmin standing behind you.

“Who’s this?” he asks by way of greeting.

You shift uncomfortably, wanting to say something, but the words stick to your throat like you’ve swallowed chewing gum. Seokmin reaches out from next to you, and you don’t need to see him to know he’s positively beaming.

“Hi, I’m Seokmin,” he says. “I work with Y/N.”

Mingyu shakes his hand, eyes roaming quizzically between you and Seokmin. “Nice to meet you,” he says distractedly. “I’m Mingyu, Y/N’s… roommate. And ex—”

“Come on in, Seokmin.” You glare at Mingyu. He only raises an eyebrow in retaliation. Seokmin coughs slightly, blows out a puff of air, and follows you inside.

“You can just…” You wave your hand around vaguely. Gritting your teeth does nothing to bring you out of your haze. It only exacerbates it.

“Did something happen?” Mingyu moves aside, but you feel his eyes on the back of your neck.

“Y/N’s car broke down,” Seokmin supplies. “It’s at the mechanic’s right now, so I offered to drop her back home.”

“I see.” His next statement is directed at you. “You could’ve called me. I would have come.”

It’s only then that you turn around and face him. He doesn’t move, gaze locked unwaveringly on your hunched-over figure. It’s almost like he’s challenging you to say something.

“I know that,” is all you say, voice low.

Mingyu nods. “Good.”

You avert your attention to Seokmin. He appears lost, gaping at both of you as though he can’t quite catch onto what’s going on. “Let’s go to my room, Seokmin. You can leave my stuff there.”

“Okay.” Seokmin nods, giving Mingyu a hesitant smile. “It was nice meeting you, Mingyu.”

“You too.”

It’s a tiny exchange, but it’s enough to cause a fissure inside your heart. Seokmin is always so nice. He gives out niceness like he’s handing out free candy to toddlers. The only time you’ve ever seen him get remotely angry was when another co-worker of yours forgot a pen drive containing a crucial presentation to an important client—even then, all he did was level a glare at her before calmly asking for a backup drive to be brought.

Mingyu, on the other hand, is like a burning ember. Calm one minute, and angry the next—and it’s the reason you love him, but it’s also the reason you broke things off. You and Mingyu are far too similar, hot-headed and careless to a fault, like two candle flames competing to see who can burn their wick the fastest. You didn’t burn the wick. You ended up burning each other instead. Let it not be said that playing with fire isn’t one of your specialties.

Seokmin lets out a breath that sounds like a huff and a sigh simultaneously as soon as he enters your room. “You can leave the stuff here,” you say, pointing at your desk.

He obliges, carefully placing the stack on the table. “That’s your roommate, huh? Y’know, when you said that you were living with someone you didn’t like, I didn’t think you meant your ex-boyfriend.”

You look away, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s… difficult. I needed a place to live and he was the only person who offered on short notice. It just happened.”

Seokmin nods understandingly, lips pursed in thought. “He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is,” you agree. “One of the nicest people I know.”

“Yeah?” Your co-worker lifts one corner of his lips in an amused half-smile. “What does that make me?”

The answer is on the tip of your tongue. You know Seokmin is expecting it. Hell, you’re expecting the words to just come out. The nicest guy of them all. That’s all you have to say.

“You’re… Lee Seokmin.” 

The words are flat on your tongue. Seokmin’s expression falls—just the tiniest bit, a crack in the foundation—but you feel a terrible weight in your stomach, pulling you down, down, down until your head sinks below the surface of the metaphorical waves and the water erases your existence. 

Seokmin is a nice guy—you know that, and you’ve reiterated it so many times. The only thing stopping you from being in a proper relationship with him is your ex-boyfriend, only separated from you by a wooden door and cement walls. Mingyu doesn’t like you anymore, not in the way he used to, and it’s clearly time for you to stop dwelling on what you had.

You swallow, looking at Seokmin directly. “And…” You take a step closer to him. “I consider myself lucky to have met you.”

Seokmin looks at you, his gaze unsteady, but he takes one of your hands in his. “Yeah?” His throat bobs when he speaks, and that’s how you know he’s nervous.

“Yeah,” you confirm, letting his fingers slip in between yours. 

He shuffles closer to you, and you can smell his woody cologne intermingled with sweat. You can count the moles on his face, see your reflection in his pupils. 

“Y/N, I really want to kiss—”

There’s a knock on your door, and you and Seokmin jump away from each other like a pair of schoolchildren getting caught doing something you’re not supposed to. Seokmin looks down at his feet; you clear your throat before letting out a hoarse, “Yes?”

“You left your phone outside,” Mingyu calls. “The mechanic just called.”

“Oh, um. I’ll be right there.” You turn back to Seokmin, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Of all possible times for Mingyu to be a cockblocker, why now? “S-sorry about that.”

“No, it’s—you’re fine,” he stammers out, clearly as out of it as you are. “I should probably leave too, I still need to stop by the bakery.”

“Oh, yeah!” you say. “I forgot. Do you want me to come with you?”

“It’s alright,” he says. “It’s getting dark outside and you need to get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you murmur. “Thank you for today, Seokmin. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Cursed your car to oblivion, probably,” he teases.

You flush, heat creeping up the back of your neck and ears. “That—you didn’t have to see that.”

“I thought it was cute,” he returns easily, corners of his lips twitching. 

Against your will, your lips twitch upwards too. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

Seokmin opens your door, and you follow him out of your room. He gives Mingyu a grin, says, “See you around,” and lets you close the door behind him. 

Mingyu crosses his arms over his chest. You glance at him. His eyebrows are knotted together, lips pressed into a stoic line. You bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling awkward.

“Hey,” he begins, voice soft, “is that… your boyfriend?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Does it matter?”

He huffs, shifting from one foot to the other. “Yes—no. No, it doesn’t matter. I was just curious, okay?”

You open your mouth, then close it, at a loss for words. Are you and Seokmin together? Not really. Both of you haven’t done or said anything to define your relationship—if there is one in the romantic sense, at least. Seokmin wanted to kiss you, but Mingyu interrupted before anything could even happen—it’s your irritation at the day being shitty, and Mingyu being an asshole after everything he did that makes you roll your eyes at him and snap at him. “It’s none of your business.”

Mingyu’s face turns stony, a hardness to his features that you’ve only seen a few times before—it was directed at you the last time, too. “Okay. Fine. Sorry I asked.”

“Are you?” you retort, and before he can say anything to retaliate, you storm back into your room and lock the door.

Your heart feels like it’s been split into two, one half yearning for the comfort and familiarity that comes with still liking Mingyu, and the other excited to explore what Seokmin could offer you—and what he already has offered. But for now, you decide to get some sleep. Your heart can wait.

TEN 

Jihyo is back.

Jihyo is fucking back, and she’s standing in your—Mingyu’s—living room, arms wide open and a grin on her lips so wide, her eyes crinkle in the corners. It takes all of your willpower not to launch yourself into her arms. Instead, you slow down, toe your shoes off, let your bag drop to the floor, and then launch yourself into her arms.

She laughs at your overzealous demeanour, and you giggle into her hair. God, you’d missed her. Texting every day and video calling every weekend can only do so much, and it’s nothing compared to seeing her in person.

“Hi,” she says, pulling back enough to escape your cage-like hold around her body.

“Hi,” you greet back, smiling so wide and so hard, you can feel your ears pop. “You’re back.”

“I’m back.” She confirms your statement by nodding. “Only for a week, though.”

“Ah.”

Your best friend lets out a sheepish chuckle, and you take a step back. Her suitcase is on the floor next to her, and she’s kept her backpack on the sofa. “Are you gonna stay here?” you ask.

She winces. “No, there isn’t much space here. I booked a room at a hotel nearby. It’s, like, ten minutes by walk from here and it’s not very expensive either,” she assures.

“Okay,” you say, a little deflated. If Jihyo stayed with you, at least the awkwardness between you and Mingyu might be reduced by a small fraction. Her overbearing nature and ability to make conversation with literally anyone would be a lifesaver, given the situation you’ve dug yourself into.

A situation that she knows nothing about.

You haven’t had the time to keep Jihyo updated about the latest turn of events—not when she was busy juggling a relationship with her sort-of boyfriend, Jeong Jaehyun. She doesn’t know about Seokmin, and she doesn’t know about your lingering feelings for Mingyu.

“Hey, you’re back already.”

Speak of the devil. 

You turn around and find Mingyu leaning against the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. You feel your breath hitch. He continues, “I guess Jihyo already beat me to it, huh?”

“You knew she was coming?” you ask him, almost accusatory. 

“You didn’t tell her?” Jihyo echos, a curious tinge to her tone.

He lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug, lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile. “Wanted to surprise you, that’s all.”

Against your will, you find yourself grinning at him. Mingyu dissolves in the slightest—a small hint of surprise—before he grins back at you, teeth flashing and eyes crinkling. Jihyo lets out a small huff from next to you, but you know nothing can put a damper on your mood right now. Not even your resurfaced feelings for Mingyu, nor your newfound ones for Seokmin.

Your best friend squeezes your arm. “I have some time before I need to check in at the hotel. Do you wanna check out our old place?”

You turn to her and nod. The prospect of going back to the place where you created cherished memories with someone so dear to you is enticing; then you remember your car is still at the mechanic’s. “My car is out of commission.”

Jihyo only turns and stares at Mingyu. He sighs resignedly, pushing himself off the doorway and heading inside his room. “Let me grab my keys.”

“Might as well stop for ice cream along the way,” Jihyo calls out gleefully to his retreating back. 

You gulp. This… might not be a good idea. If Mingyu tags along with you, this would be the first time since last week where you’re speaking to him normally, making conversation that isn’t just along the lines of “Did you do the laundry?” or “I bought some vegetables”. Of course, if you told Jihyo what happened, she would immediately make sure Mingyu doesn’t come. You chew on your bottom lip, but before you can come to a decision, Mingyu emerges from his bedroom, car keys dangling off his fingers.

“Ready?” he asks.

Jihyo grabs onto your arm, excitement so visible on her face that it prompts the tension in your own features to melt away. You let yourself get carried away by her giddiness, not noticing the fond glances the only male in the group keeps giving you whenever he’s sure you’re not looking. If you’d met his eyes once throughout the drive to your old place, you’d see the way his eyes still twinkle at you with the same intensity as they did months ago, but you’re too busy catching up with Jihyo to notice.

Mingyu pulls to a stop in front of your old apartment building—a dilapidated structure that’s not half as modern as the current building you stay in. At least the elevator is still functioning; you purse your lips to contain your laugh when Mingyu looks at it, eyebrows raised in visible astonishment. Jihyo grips your hand tightly when you reach your floor. You tighten your hold on her hand as well, feeling a sudden burst of emotion erupt inside your chest like lava escaping from a volcano.

You and Jihyo round the corner to the apartment that used to be yours, Mingyu following closely. The door is the same dull brown it was back then as well, but someone has put in the effort to redo the varnish. There’s a potted fern next to it as well. 

You let out a shuddering breath. Jihyo wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close; you aren’t sure if it’s just the wind rattling through the open window, but you hear something like a sniffle.

This is the place you lived in when you had your first boyfriend, when you had your first heartbreak, when you cried your lungs out at some stupid TV show that you were invested in at the time but can’t possibly remember the name of now. This is the place where you and Jihyo bonded over crappy supermarket deals and made a mess of the kitchen whenever you tried to learn how to cook something new.

This is the place where you first met Kim Mingyu.

You tilt your head at him, watch as he stares resolutely ahead of him, like if glares at it strongly enough, he can bore two holes straight through the wood. Eventually, his eyes land on yours.

His lips part but no words come out. He offers you a small smile instead, one so tender and heart-warming and achingly familiar. You blink, and the moment is gone. You’re left with the same sense of wistfulness and longing that you always feel around him. 

Jihyo squeezes your shoulder, eyes shining. “Should we ring the bell?” she asks, and then presses the doorbell before you can respond.

A muffled “Coming!” from inside, and the latch is pulled open to reveal a college student—a few years younger than you, perhaps, with sleep bags underneath his eyes and a cup of coffee clutched to his chest. He looks confused—as anyone would be, you suppose, when you see a random bunch of strangers standing on your doorstep—but his expression clears when Jihyo explains who you are and why you’re here.

He says he’s living here with his boyfriend and their pet cat—a beautiful Siberian who coils itself around his legs, tail upturned—and you feel your heart swell with the knowledge that your old haven is being taken care of well. Jihyo consistently badgers him with questions and he answers each one patiently, to his credit. 

A flicker of uncertainty crosses your mind, however. Does Mingyu not remember this? He was looking for apartments in this building, too, when you met him. Doesn’t he remember the old landlady conversing with you? Doesn’t he remember the way people constantly asked if you two were together, which is what even prompted him to ask for your number in the first place? 

You’re shaken out of your thoughts when you feel a slight pressure on your shoulder. Mingyu’s hand is on your shoulder. Your gaze flits over to him. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, ducking his head. “There was a mosquito.”

He’s lying. 

He remembers. 

ELEVEN

“Spill.”

“The… tea?” you ask cautiously, looking at Jihyo. She’s holding a steaming mug of tea in her hand.

“You think you’re so funny.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know I am,” you quip, and she rolls her eyes again, taking a sip of the beverage.

“You’ve been distracted since yesterday,” she states matter-of-factly. “Since we went to our old place.” Her voice quietens, “Is it Mingyu? Did he do something?”

You eye her warily, sitting down on the plush armchair opposite her. “No,” you say.

“Then what is it? Did—did you not want me here?”

“No.” You’re quick to alleviate her concerns. “Of fucking course I wanted you here. I missed you. So much.”

Your best friend smiles at that, swirling the tea in the mug. “But something’s bothering you.”

“...Yes.” You admit it slowly, playing with your fingers splayed out on your lap. “It’s not important. You’re here only for a few days, we should do something fun.”

“Y/N,” Jihyo says slowly, enunciating every syllable of your name like she’s speaking to a troublesome child, “if you’re worried about me feeling bad or anything, please don’t. I want to help you.”

You wave her away. “You have your own shit to deal with.”

“What, you mean Jaehyun?” She snorts. “I’m over him. I was over him ages ago.”

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Just.” You look down at your feet. “You really liked him, didn’t you?”

Jihyo cocks her head to the side, studying you carefully. “Yes. I did. What about it?”

Your shoulder slump, dejectedness seeping into your figure. “How… did you do it?” You glance up at her, note the way she observes you carefully. Your voice is almost pleading when you continue, “How did you get over him?”

Your best friend’s expression clears, comprehension dawning on her face. She places her mug down, leaning forward and clasping your hand with hers. “It’s Mingyu, isn’t it?”

You shake your head miserably. “Not just him.”

“There’s someone else?” She doesn’t sound surprised, only intrigued and concerned.

You take a deep breath, lock gazes with her—and everything comes spilling out of your mouth like the tide receding into the ocean. You tell her everything, about Mingyu and Seokmin and how conflicted they make you feel; how one is like the living personification of sunlight on a gloomy day, and the other reminds you of clouds providing shade on a hot afternoon. You tell her about how guilty you feel, as though you’re leading Seokmin to believe that you’re ready for a committed relationship when a part of your heart still belongs to Mingyu. You speak until the words end up garbled and slurred, and your breathing turns heavy and salt water streaks across your cheeks, your best friend rubbing them away with the pad of her thumb.

When you don’t know what to say, Jihyo pulls you into a hug—it’s an awkward position, your elbows locked around her arms while your neck is bent at an odd angle, but it’s comforting, and you let your eyes close tiredly. 

“Y/N,” she says, rubbing her thumb on your shoulder soothingly. “I know it’s hard for you to decide, but you have to know: What do you want?”

The question makes you contemplate. What do you want? 

“I don’t know,” is all you can get out, slumping further into her arms.

She hums softly. “But you’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

Will you? You’re not so sure. Maybe when the time is right. But for now, you rest your chin on your best friend’s shoulder and let her rub circles onto your skin.

You pull back when the position becomes too uncomfortable—you can already feel a crick in your neck—and Jihyo wraps her fingers around her discarded mug. She raises it in a half-hearted toast. “To sexy girls who don’t need men in their lives.”

You giggle, rubbing your eyes. “Men are pieces of shit, anyway.”

“Damn right they are,” she croons, falling dramatically back onto the couch. “We should just get married instead.”

“If you propose to me the right way, maybe I’ll consider it.”

Jihyo grins at you, and it’s infectious enough to make you grin back at her. “Consider it done,” she says. “I have a ring in my nightstand drawer with your name written on it.”

“If it’s not pure diamond, I won’t accept.”

“Tsk. So greedy.”

TWELVE

Introducing Seokmin to Jihyo was not a part of your agenda for the week.

But it’s Seokmin and it’s Jihyo, so really, what else did you expect? Both of them integrated themselves seamlessly into your life, and they have no plans of leaving anytime soon. Might as well get the introductions over with.

Ironically, it happens when you go to collect your car from the mechanic’s, and once they’ve exchanged names and small talk, Jihyo and Seokmin are inseparable. The former regals him with tales of your college shenanigans, while the latter listens enthusiastically, eyes flitting between you both amusedly.

“Okay, that’s enough,” you hurriedly interrupt the conversation, right before Jihyo can go into the messy details of how you wanted to marry the toilet when you were drunk once and Mingyu had to physically carry you out of the house because you were convinced the white ceramic was proposing to you.

“You and Mingyu were together for a long time, huh?” Seokmin asks you quietly, once Jihyo is finished with her sulking at you interrupting her story. She’s at the side, conversing with someone on the phone, leaving you and your co-worker alone in front of your car.

You’re so startled by the question, you nearly drop your keys. “I—why do you ask?” 

Seokmin licks his lips, a seriousness to his figure that you haven’t witnessed many times before. “Just… curious, I suppose.”

You look down once, see how he’s twisted his fingers together—even the Lee Seokmin gets nervous, after all—and look back up at him. “Yes,” you admit softly, voice hitching slightly, “we were. We… were in love, I guess you could say.”

He’s silent for a minute, tongue darting out to lick his lips again. “And now?”

“I don’t know, Seokmin,” you answer him honestly. Your heart flutters inside your chest, while your stomach twists into tight knots—two reactions you didn’t think would go hand-in-hand, yet here you are, leaving your heart bare for Seokmin to take while gatekeeping a part of it to yourself.

He raises his head, warm eyes capturing yours. You see the smallest flicker of hope and sadness, two thin wisps of emotion dancing in his eyes—but even then, his lips are turned upwards, because it’s Lee Seokmin. 

“But you could try?” he asks, so softly you can barely catch the words.

You push down the emotions that threaten to swallow you whole, swirling around your entire body like the blood that flows through your veins. “I don’t know,” you say again, no less honest than the first time.

He opens his mouth, but Jihyo walks back to you both, mouth downturned. “My company said they need me back as soon as possible.” She says it calmly, but disappointment and bitterness seep into her voice.

For a moment, you freeze, and then ask, “When do you need to leave?”

“Tomorrow,” she answers with an apologetic shrug of her shoulders. “They’ve already booked the flight.”

“Okay.” You nod. “I’ll drop you to the airport.”

“I’ll come with,” Seokmin chimes in, and adds, in true Seokmin fashion, “Make sure Y/N doesn’t drive us all into a ditch or something.”

You shove his shoulder, muttering an “asshole” under your breath, and his smile only widens. Jihyo glances in between you both, lower lip caught between her teeth, before she sucks in a breath and smiles. “Good to know my best friend is in good hands.”

“The best hands, actually,” Seokmin teasingly corrects. 

You roll your eyes at the two of them. “Can we go home now, or not?”

“Home it is,” Jihyo agrees, “but first, I demand Taco Bell.”

“Fine,” you concede, letting her grab the keys from your outstretched palm. 

Seokmin grabs your hand once she clambers into your fixed car. His palm is broad, skin warm, and his fingers wrap around yours with ease. He squeezes your hand once, gently, and it feels like a promise and a farewell at the same time.

Seokmin asks you out again three days after Jihyo leaves. 

This time, he takes you out to an Italian restaurant. He’s dressed up in a suit and a bowtie—and actual blue velvet bowtie that sits snugly at the hollow of his neck—and he’s the perfect gentleman, pulling your chair out for you and pouring champagne into your glass like a professional. (When you compliment him on his drink-pouring skills, he just mutters bashfully about how his dad taught him that to please a lady, you need to be good at pouring drinks; it does nothing to ease the quickening pace of your heart.)

Lee Seokmin compliments your dress, says that that specific shade of pink looks beautiful on you. He recommends you try out their vegetable lasagne, says it’s one of the dishes the restaurant is famous for. He laughs about his favourite show, tells you he would love to rewatch it with you someday. He asks if you like gardens because his neighbour is trying to convince him to grow a rosebush outside his house, but he can’t look after plants even if his life depended on it. He wants to go out for ice cream afterwards, but the night is too chilly for the cold dessert so you opt against it.

Throughout, you play someone who’s on her first date, who thinks this is all there is and everything she’s been dreaming of has come true.

You would like to think you’re a good actor.

Kim Mingyu has seen you in nothing but sweatpants and old t-shirts and he used to whisper praises against your skin, flushed with sweat and sweet words. He ate the shitty lasagne you made without complaining, no matter how bad it tasted. He watched whatever was playing on television with you, just because he enjoyed your company and wanted to be wherever you were. He’s not particularly good with plants, but he has a little succulent named Spurt, making sure it gets enough sunlight and water. He likes mint chocolate ice cream, and would defend the flavour with his life.

Kim Mingyu and Lee Seokmin: Two sides of the same coin.

Jihyo’s question resonates in your mind as you and Seokmin walk back to your car.

What do you want?

As you near your vehicle, Seokmin puts a gentle hand on your arm. “Y/N,” is all he says, and you hate the way your chest clenches at that—just because he said your name.

“Did you have fun today?” he continues, eyes roaming over your features like he’s committing you to memory. Like a soldier leaving his wife before he heads out to the frontlines.

“I did, Seokmin. I really did.” You place your hand over his, tracing the veins on the back of his hand, pressing lightly on his knuckles; you need him to know that you truly enjoyed today—desperate for him to know, because it’s the least you can do for him after everything he’s done for you.

“Good,” he says. “I—I had fun today with you, too. I always have fun when I’m with you, Y/N.”

He bends down. You can feel his breath fan out on the shell of your ear and it makes you shiver. He turns his head, and his lips brush against your cheek. A small, soft farewell. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t—” you begin, feeling your voice begin to wobble.

“Don’t be sorry,” Seokmin whispers, but he sounds firm. “We’re still friends.”

Your heart plummets deep, deep down, a free fall that isn’t orchestrated by gravity. You think you know the answer to Jihyo’s question now.

“Thank you,” you whisper back to Seokmin.

THIRTEEN

The light is on when you enter the apartment. Mingyu’s figure lies hunched on the sofa, head in his hands, a half-empty beer can next to him. You quickly shuck off your heels and drop your purse onto the shoe rack.

Your ex-boyfriend looks at you when pad over to the living room. “You’re back.” He sounds hoarse, tired. 

“Have you been drinking?” you say in return, raising an eyebrow. 

Mingyu glances at the can in his hand then back at you. “Yeah. Long day.”

“Me too,” you admit quietly.

Perhaps it’s the quiet ambience of your shared home—silent, despite the noise of the city outside—that compels him; or maybe it’s the idea of coming home to someone you think you know better than the back of your own hand. Either way, when Mingyu pats the cushion beside him, your feet move automatically and you sit down, letting out a weary sigh.

It’s quiet, but not in the awkward sense. Not like back then, when Mingyu thought you and Seokmin were dating. Not even when you visited your old apartment. Exhaustion makes its home in your bones, and you suspect it’s taken over Mingyu too; there’s no way this shared piece of night can be so comfortable otherwise.

“Want some?” he asks after a few minutes.

“No thanks.”

Mingyu shrugs and puts the can down on the coffee table. “Wanna talk about it?” He leans back against the sofa, arms crossed behind his head.

“No,” you answer, and then, “Do you?”

“No.” He clears his throat, glancing sideways at you. “Were you with… Seokmin?”

“...Yes.”

You don’t have to look at Mingyu to know he’s clenching his jaw. It’s a pure rush of adrenaline that makes you ask, “Why does it bother you so much whenever I’m with him?”

Silence.

You turn your head, cheek brushing against the back of the sofa. Mingyu’s eyes are closed, hair falling in loose strands around his forehead and neck. You wonder what he’s thinking.

His answer excites you—in the rawest form possible. Anticipation builds up in your chest, threatens to explode through your windpipe. You don’t know what he’s thinking, but when he opens his eyes and meets your gaze, there is nothing you can do to stop your heart from rabbiting inside your rib cage.

“It doesn’t,” he says finally, an air of decisiveness about him.

For the second time that night, your heart plummets, and you tear your eyes off him. “Okay,” you say. “That is, um, good information to have.”

“Isn’t he your boyfriend?” 

“How does it matter to you?”

Mingyu crosses and uncrosses his ankles, this time staring resolutely at the floor. “I don’t know. It just does.”

You purse your lips. He isn’t being fair to you. “What about you?” you demand. “What about that girl you almost brought back home, huh?”

His mouth twitches. “You saw that.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“I’m not blind, Mingyu,” you retort.

Your roommate lets out a sardonic chuckle at that, slowly dragging his eyes up. “I highly doubt that.”

“What do you mean?” You scowl at him, feeling your chest begin to heave. “You—you’re like some kind of a riddle, Mingyu. I can never tell what you mean by anything, and it’s even worse now that you’re drunk and—”

“I’m not drunk, Y/N,” he interrupts. 

“I don’t care if you’re drunk or not—” you don’t realise your voice is caving in, growing softer and softer by the second— “stop saying things you don’t mean.”

“I want to kiss you,” he says finally. “I want to kiss you and I may be slightly drunk, but I don’t fucking care. And I mean it.”

You swallow, blood pounding through your veins. “Say that again.”

“What?” he says, sounding genuinely confused. His gaze never leaves your face, every ounce of earnestness and honesty written plainly on his features.

“Say it again,” you repeat.

“I want—”

You surge forward, capturing his lips with yours, pressing them firmly against his even when he lets out a muffled gasp. He doesn’t kiss back immediately, but his hands find their way to your waist, gripping tightly and crumpling the flimsy material of your dress. He kisses you back then, mouth jutting insistently into yours, tongue sliding against your lower lip. You arch your back, scramble to find some balance in this precarious position, and your hands end up tangled in his hair. He tastes like beer and aftershave and something that’s so distinctly Mingyu, you want more.

You pull away when air becomes a necessity, blinking even as Mingyu’s arms pull you closer to him.

“This isn’t over,” you manage to get out in between huffed breaths.

“Tomorrow,” he promises, but his eyes are glazed. He looks at you like a man starved, and tilts his head and kisses you again, kisses you like he might never see you again. 

You let him. It’s Kim Mingyu, after all, and you’ve always been a little weak for him.

You don’t think of Seokmin; don’t let him come out of the tiny pocket you’ve preserved in your heart just for him. Instead, you wrap your arms around your ex-boyfriend’s neck, leaning into his chest and kissing him back with equal fervour, letting him know that you need him as much as he needs you.

God, you’d missed him. Way more than you thought. You’ve memorised his touch, branded it into your mind, but it still feels new. Like the first time you were with him, kissing like two teenagers with reckless abandon. 

His cold fingers find their way underneath your waist, hitching up the loose material of your dress around your thighs. You kneel on the couch cushions in front of him, almost straddling his lap but not quite. His fingers brush against your sides in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

He nips at your lip, asking for entrance to your mouth to which you accept, parting your lips enough for him to get a taste. As he moves his tongue around yours, exploring your mouth in every way possible, you can’t contain the slight whimper that escapes your throat. 

Mingyu groans, leaning his weight onto you as you both start moving together until you’re laid flat against the couch. He’s impatient, you can tell; his fingers dig into your skin, and he groans again when you bite down gently on his lower lip. He pulls back and moves downwards, kissing your jaw and behind your ear, suckling gently on a sensitive bit of skin with expertise. “Tell me to stop,” he says, whispering the words against your skin.

All you do is moan in response, rubbing your thighs together to get some friction with the way he’s moving his mouth against your skin. 

“Tell me to stop,” he says again, more firmly this time.

“Shut the fuck up, Gyu,” is all you reply with, the nickname falling out of your lips with familiarity. 

Maybe it’s the use of something that used to be your thing—something the two of you shared, the shortened version of his name—but hearing it come out of your lips again does things to Mingyu that he isn’t sure he’d ever be able to put into words for you. Trailing his movements down to your neck, he stops at your chest, a small smile spreading on his face. “Forgot how much I loved it when you called me that.”

Looking down at him, you hadn’t realised he’s moved further down your body and his fingers trace the edges of your underwear. Your dress is bunched up above your thighs, skin exposed to the cool air. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he mumbles, pressing a tiny kiss to the inside of your thighs. He toys with the elastic of the waistband, chuckling when you shoot him an irritated glare.

He stares down at your clothed core, mouth watering while his hands move faster than you can comprehend. It takes him two seconds to hook his slender fingers underneath the waistband of your panties before he pulls them down to your ankles and tosses them onto the coffee table. 

You feel a wave of shyness overcome you—with the way he’s looking at you, desperate for your taste—and you try to close your legs, before his hands land on your thighs, halting your actions. “So pretty,” he murmurs. “I want to see all of you.”

Heat burns your cheeks and flows through your body. You turn your head to avoid his burning gaze as you feel him part your legs. He readjusts himself, laying as flat and comfortably as he can with what little space he has on the couch until he’s face-to-face with where you need him most. He tests the waters, leaning in with his tongue out, letting it graze your clit. You stifle a moan, biting your lip so hard, you think it might bleed.

He smiles, loving how you’re holding back. “So quiet, baby. Wanna remember how I used to make you feel.” Laying his tongue flat against your clit, he gives you slow and soft strokes—so gentle that it drives you insane. 

“You’re such—such a tease,” you gasp out, right when he swirls his tongue around the nub.

Mingyu only raises an eyebrow at that. “You haven’t changed.” But all the same, any plans he had to be patient with you go straight out the window; he wraps his arms around your thighs to pull you down further to his face. The sudden pull surprises you, and you gasp a little while searching for something to grab onto. He indulges in your pussy, tongue exploring your pulsating hole that clenches around everything and nothing all at once. He relishes in the way you feel on his tongue, groaning against your folds while bringing a hand up and rubbing his thumb on your neglected clit. 

You’re a mess under his touch, squirming on the sofa, loud groans and soft mewls escaping your lips wantonly. Your fingers find their way into his soft locks, pulling gently on his hair and scratching against his scalp. He lets out a moan against your pussy, lapping at your juices as if you’re his last source of water. “F-fuck, Gyu, ‘m gonna—” a gasp— “‘m gonna cum.”

This only encourages him to work his mouth harder, wanting to watch you fall apart just by his mouth alone. You tug harder at his hair, moans growing louder and more desperate by the second, and your thighs shudder around his head, feeling the rush of your high come so close, you aren’t prepared for it.

With two final sucks to your clit, you come undone on his tongue followed by a string of moans with broken pieces of his name somewhere in between. Mingyu looks up at you with bright eyes and a satisfied grin, as if he didn’t just eat out your pussy like he would never get the chance to again. The mixture of saliva and your juices dripping down his chin makes your eyes widen even as you squint down at him. 

With careful, deliberate motions, he moves away from you, the grin on his face replaced by a more serious expression. You sit up, leaning on your elbows. The aftermath of your passionate actions catches up to you; reaching over, you snatch your panties from the coffee table and swing your legs over. Throughout, Mingyu doesn’t say anything. He only watches, in that quiet, observant way of his, swiping at his mouth and chin with a tissue he grabbed from the tissue box next to the couch.

You glance at him. Is he going to say something? Or is he going to let you walk away again, with all the words you want to say to him lying on the tip of your tongue, always there but never released?

“Y/N.” He scrambles to his feet when you stand up, clutching your underwear in one hand and adjusting your dress with the other. He sounds… uncertain. Completely unlike the Mingyu who cockily asked you if Seokmin was your boyfriend, or who joked around with Jihyo like it was second nature to him.

You bite your lip. “Yes?”

“Do you… do you want anything? Water?” 

You melt a little at his words like an ice cream left out for too long. Kim Mingyu, always so kind, always so caring—you know that better than anyone. 

He can be cruel too, in the way he chips away at your already broken heart. He doesn’t know it but he does—lift your hopes only to let it all crumble down. Like how he broke the promises you made to each other, and how you broke the words you’d sworn to say to him alone.

It hits you again, how you and Mingyu were meant to be, and how lonely it was when he left. You wonder if he feels the same way—did he spend sleepless nights in bed, thinking of you? Did he ever think that if he could travel back in time, he’d do it all over again?

You shake your head no at him. He doesn’t say anything after that, but his lips part slightly. He watches you as you walk over to grab your purse and head inside your room.

That night, you don’t sleep at all—despite wrapping yourself up in your Looney Tunes comforter and the comforting weight of your pillow beneath your head that usually puts you to sleep instantly. 

Instead, it feels like the very first night you and Mingyu broke up all over again.

SIXTEEN

You don’t tell anyone about what transpired between you and Mingyu. It remains hidden between you both, a secret neither of you are willing to bring up.

Jihyo is back to work at her new city, now completely devoid of boy problems of any sort, since Jeong Jaehyun has shifted his affections to another co-worker. (“It’s better this way,” she tells you, “he didn’t want a committed relationship, anyway.” You can tell she’s truly not bothered by it, so you grin and agree.)

Seokmin doesn’t come around to your cubicle the way he used to earlier, either. Your days at the office are dreary and boring, now that your co-worker’s sunshine smile isn’t there to keep you company. In fact, the only person who still talks to you voluntarily at work is your boss, Seunghcheol, but even then it’s mostly just a sympathetic smile he offers you followed by a new deadline or a project.

You and Mingyu are back to whatever it was you had when you first moved in, before the lasagne fiasco. Not talking to each other, but not not talking to each other either. You swerve around each other in tandem, finding more and more excuses to avoid whatever happened in between you both. He lied when he said he would talk to you about it the next day, after he ate you out on the couch.

You can’t blame him completely; you’ve made no effort to reach out to him, either.

Weariness seeps into your skin with every passing second. You rub at your already half-closed eyes and hide a yawn behind a closed fist. The letters on your laptop screen swim in front of you. The stack of folders next to it drags a tired sigh out of your lips.

You’re so tired. Not just physically, but emotionally you’re drained out, all the liveliness sucked out of you like someone vacuumed up the inside of your heart. The lack of sleep is getting to you; the lack of someone to brighten up your days is getting to you more.

If you and Seokmin were still on a talking basis, he would have sauntered over to your desk by now, hands in his pockets and the same question on his lips: “Coffee break?”

He’s not here now, probably tucked into his corner of the floor. Maybe his smile is directed at someone else. Maybe he’s taking someone else on the daily ritual that you used to consider yours. Maybe it’s time you get out of your fucking swivel chair and get some coffee.

You’re not doing it alone, of course. No, coffee at the office—no matter how shitty the machine is and how long the line for the coveted caffeine is—is yours and Seokmin’s thing. Besides, he said you’re still friends; it’s time for you to step up.

Stifling another yawn, you blink slowly before pushing yourself off your chair. It occurs to you that you don’t know exactly where Seokmin’s cubicle is—he’d mentioned it was by Seungcheol’s room once. You decide to start there.

It doesn’t take you long to find Seokmin. You walk into him—literally walk into him. A startled gasp leaves your lips when you collide into someone’s chest, an apology already on the tip of your tongue.

“Are you okay?”

You blink once. The voice is familiar. You direct your gaze at the person you bumped into. 

“Seokmin,” you breathe out weakly.

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “The one and only.”

“I-I’m sorry I bumped into you,” you quickly apologise. “I was on my—”

“It’s okay, don’t apologise,” he interrupts. “I should’ve looked at where I was going too.”

“How… have you been?” The question spills out before you notice, and you realise that you’re genuinely concerned about his wellbeing. You’ve missed him, missed his companionship. 

Seokmin looks briefly surprised that you’ve asked him. He clears his throat, once. “Oh, um. I’ve been fine—y’know, the usual. Work, home, sleep and then repeat. How—how about you?”

“I’ve been better,” you admit. “You look tired, though.”

He lifts his hand and rubs his cheek with an accompanying embarrassed chuckle. “You could tell?”

He has bags underneath his eyes. His shoulders sag ever-so slightly. His usually perfectly styled hair isn’t as neat as it used to be. You nod. “You look exhausted.”

“Ah.” Another embarrassed chuckle; you can tell he doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Coffee break?” you offer, a small, lopsided smile gracing your lips.

This time, the smile Lee Seokmin gives you lights up his eyes.

SEVENTEEN

“This is ridiculous!” you call out for the nth time, glaring at the door with as much intensity as you can muster.

“Jihyo’s orders!” Seokmin calls back, from outside the room. “I have proof that she asked me to lock you two up in order for you to talk it out.”

Mingyu huffs out a breathless laugh from behind you. He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, sheets crumpled and pillow on his lap. You turn around to level your glare at him.

“Give it up,” he advises.

“Don’t even.” You pinch the bride of your nose, closing your eyes in exasperation. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault? No one told you to tell Seokmin everything!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know he would go and tell Jihyo?” you splutter out, opening your eyes and bringing your hand down. “I didn’t even know they’d exchanged numbers!”

“Might as well get it over with,” Seokmin’s voice travels through the barricade once more. “The sooner the better.”

“I didn’t ask you, Seokmin,” you mutter.

“He’s right, you know.” Mingyu pats the space next to him, inviting you to sit down. “If Jihyo hadn’t forced him to do it, I would have found some way to do it myself.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” you retort. “You’ve been avoiding me since the day we—since the day we kissed.”

“I would have tried,” he reasons. “But since you’re here now, can you at least please listen to what I have to say?”

“Oh, so now you have things you want to say,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. Regardless, you sit down next to him. You’re curious, you will admit. This conversation could potentially break your heart, or it could also change the trajectory of your relationship with Mingyu.

Your ex-boyfriend takes a deep breath before beginning.

“The other day, when I said I wanted to kiss you—I wasn’t lying, Y/N. I truly meant it. I’ve wanted to kiss you the minute I laid eyes on you again. I wanted to hold your hand, to take you places around the neighbourhood, to come back home to you.

“I thought we were making progress. I thought we were friends again, and I could somehow win your heart back.” A wry smile crosses his lips. “But then Seokmin came by, and you both just seemed so close. He—he brought back this life in you; your eyes sparkled whenever he was around, and you were always smiling when you were with him. I never saw that after we… after you moved in. You were always so jittery with me—understandably so—and I… I let my jealousy of seeing you with Seokmin get the better of me.

“That day, when I—” he pauses, glancing at you; his eyes are imploring, and you sense that he’s laying himself bare for you— “when you saw me kissing that girl, I did it on purpose. To make you jealous. And then I saw the look on your face, and even when I was drunk, I knew I’d fucked up. So I left her, and I followed you back inside—you closed the door just as I caught up with you. I called up Minghao, spent the night at his place. I think that’s when I realised completely that I—that I still love you.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. Your heart is hammering inside your chest. You can’t believe you’re actually hearing these words.

Mingyu swallows. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. Even after we broke up, even after all the things we said to each other—some part of me knew that I shouldn’t give up on you. I have loved you throughout. I will continue to love you throughout.”

He looks down, staring at his hands. In that instant, he looks so small. Vulnerable. As if giving his entire heart to you on a silver platter isn’t enough. As if he’s giving all of himself to you, mind, body and soul.

You need to tell him that your mind, body and soul have always been his.

“Mingyu,” you begin, watching as his eyes travel over to yours uncertainly, “you absolute fucking idiot.”

His lips twitch up briefly. “Wha—”

“I love you, too, idiot.” The words rush out breathlessly. “I never stopped.”

Mingyu’s eyes widen and his mouth opens imperceptibly. You continue, “I knew this would happen. The minute I stepped foot into your house, I knew I would fall for you all over again.”

You reach out and grip his hand, needing something to tether you against him. “And I did.” A watery laugh escapes your mouth. “I fell in love with you all over again.”

A pause, and then Mingyu’s free hand cups your cheek, skin warm against yours. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Mingyu smiles at your confession—a full smile, with his eyes crinkling in the corners and his lips turning upwards. He leans forward. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

You beat him to it, covering the distance between you both with one swift swoop. You capture his lower lip in between yours, hands resting on his shoulders to steady yourself. He kisses you back with equal fervour, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you impossibly closer. You close your eyes and slide your tongue across the seam of his lips, smiling when he lets out a silent groan. 

He only pulls away once he needs air, but even then he doesn’t let you go. He pulls you forward, making you straddle his lap as he kisses your cheeks, your nose, the column of your throat. You relish in his touches, tangling your hands in his hair and tugging gently at the silky strands.

“We should probably stop,” you whisper, when a particularly sharp nip at your neck elicits a soft moan from you. “Seokmin’s standing outside.”

“Fuck him,” Mingyu says. He presses another kiss on your jaw, looking up at you like you’ve hung up all the stars in the universe.

You roll your eyes affectionately at him. “C’mon. I don’t want to scar him for life.”

“Who cares?”

“I care,” you say, slowly getting off his lap. Already you can feel the absence of his warmth. 

“Fine,” he agrees, once you stand up fully and brush yourself off. “I love you.”

Warmth shoots up your chest and onto your cheeks and neck. Your heart swells, and you find yourself grinning involuntarily. “I love you, too.”

“Good.” Mingyu stands up and pecks your cheek. “Now let’s go save Seokmin from his misery.”

(Later, if you find Seokmin with bright pink ears as he pointedly avoids yours and Mingyu’s gaze, that’s no one’s business but his.)

EIGHTEEN

Mingyu sucks on a sweet spot right underneath your ear and you can practically hear his smirk when you let out a whine. You fist your hand in the sheets, feeling the soft material crinkle underneath your fingertips. 

“Such a tease,” you whisper out.

He lowers his head, nips at your neck and then runs his tongue over the spot, soothing it. “So you’ve mentioned.”

Your retort dies on your lips when he moves lower and lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses on your collarbones and shoulders. You whine again when his fingers find your nipple, pinching the bud lightly in between his thumb and forefingers. He moves lower, breath ghosting over your abdomen and belly button, until he finally comes face to face with your clothed pussy.

He hooks his finger into the waistband of your panties, nails scraping against your skin. You squirm under his touch, lifting your hips to help him pull the flimsy garment down your legs and toss it to the side. Mingyu sucks in a breath sharply when he sees your exposed cunt—despite already having seen it before, and you feel a rush of pride at the fact that you still have this effect on him. “So pretty,” he murmurs, eyeing your folds hungrily. 

Mingyu works on your clit expertly, thumb rubbing against the nub, eliciting a loud moan from you. He licks a stripe up your folds, grinning when your hand automatically finds itself in his hair again. When he finds you’re wet enough, he slides a finger in. You inhale sharply, hole clenching around the digit. He circles his thumb around your clit once more, before sliding another finger in.

You gasp at that, tightening the hand in his hair. Mingyu leans forward, swiping at your clit with his tongue one more time and pulling both his fingers out at the same time. He relishes in the sounds coming out of your mouth, feeling proud that you’re not trying to hide anything from him. You’re completely under his mercy, as is he when it comes to you.

He slides both the fingers back in, hissing when your walls contract against them, pumping the digits in and out a few more times. The way you moan—because of him—makes him finger your hole faster, enjoying the way your moans increase in pitch. When he sees your eyes beginning to cloud over, Mingyu quickly withdraws his fingers. You whimper at the loss of his touch and he chuckles. “Patience, baby. Don’t want you to cum just yet.”

Your head falls back on the pillow and you mutter a string of incoherent words under your breath. “Look at me,” Mingyu tuts.

You lift up your neck curiously. Mingyu waits for your eyes to land on his lips before he slowly, deliberately puts his two fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digits and licking your juices off. He doesn’t fail to notice the way you bite your lip at the sight.

Once he pulls his fingers out, Mingyu bends down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Are you even gonna fuck me, Gyu?” you grit out, and his eyes widen.

“Call me that again,” he orders. 

“Fuck me, Gyu.” Your voice is borderline a whimper, and, well—who is Mingyu to prevent you from getting what you desire? After all, he’s always been a little weak when it comes to you.

He gets on his knees, holding his throbbing cock in his hand. He pumps it a few times, groaning softly, before positioning himself at your entrance. “You’re on the pill?”

“Yes.” You nod almost desperately, waiting for him to slide it all the way in.

Mingyu enters you slowly—the pace is almost unbearable—but he shudders when he feels your walls against his dick. You grab onto his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh. A loud moan escapes your lips when he jerks his hips forward, his cock pressing into your cervix. Your eyes screw shut, and Mingyu grunts, pulling out and thrusting back inside with more force. Almost unconsciously, you wrap your legs around his hips, granting him more access to your hole and allowing him to push himself deeper inside you.

He leans down and captures a nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue around the pebbled bud. You gasp out moans wantonly, and it spurs him to thrust faster and faster inside you. He watches you fall apart on him, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips when your moans become interspersed with chants of his name. 

Your grip on his shoulders tighten and the muscles flex under your hold. Your cries reach a crescendo with one particularly sharp thrust; Mingyu can tell your climax is approaching.

He speeds up, pumping into you with as much strength as he can muster. Your nails leave white-hot trails along his back, his shoulders—you try to hold onto him as best as you can. You cry for more, beg him to keep going. A bit redundant, in his opinion—he has no plans of stopping until you’ve orgasmed. 

Mingyu thrusts into you one last time, throwing you over the edge. Your walls clench around his cock tightly, black stars floating in your vision as you cry out his name. He pumps into you weakly, letting you ride out your orgasm while chasing his own high. He buries his face in your neck, breathing heavily, and when your walls tighten around him, he comes inside you, his movements coming to a pause. 

You stroke his sweaty bangs away from his forehead, both of you catching your breaths. He remains sheathed in you, even as he pulls you onto your side so both your chests are touching. 

“Feel good?” he asks, one hand carding through your hair gently.

You let out a tired, but satisfied hum, smiling softly at Mingyu. 

You spend the night curled up in his arms. He sleeps soundly next to you, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks and hands wrapped protectively around your figure. The steady thrum of his heartbeat sounds against your ear, and you smile, even in your sleep.

NINETEEN

“You have your thinking face on.” Your boyfriend saunters into the kitchen, a knowing smile on his lips. You roll your eyes at him. 

“You can’t tell me you don’t see it too,” you say pointedly, waving your wooden spatula at him.

Mingyu chuckles, moving over and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He presses a sweet kiss to your shoulder. “What, that Seokmin and Jihyo are meant to be? That smells amazing, by the way, love.”

“Yes,” you huff out, stirring the soup inside the pot boiling on the stove. “And thank you.”

From the living room, you can hear your two friends laughing over something you couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend. Jihyo still lives in another city, but she comes over to visit whenever she can. You and Seokmin remain friends, and he often comes over whenever you, Mingyu and Jihyo decide to hang out—though, you suspect his enthusiasm to join you three has more to do with one particular person rather than the entire group.

“If you say so,” Mingyu agrees. “I think they’re just friends.”

“Friends don’t look at each other that way,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Really? I seem to recall him looking at you the exact same way not too long ago.”

“That’s different, Gyu. Here, can you taste some? I don’t want it to be too salty.” Grabbing a large spoon, you dip it in the pot and offer it to Mingyu.

He obliges, letting you shove the spoonful into his mouth—and yelps almost immediately. “Ouch! You didn’t tell me it was hot.”

You only raise an eyebrow at him, but a small hint of amusement dances in your eyes. “How does it taste?”

Mingyu rolls his eyes at you but rests his chin on your shoulder; his hair tickles your ear. “It tastes amazing as always, love.”

“You’re sure? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

“I’m offended you think I would lie to you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you deadpan, and it makes Mingyu giggle.

“I’m serious, it tastes good.” He smiles at you, peeling himself away from you. “Let’s go join the other two.”

“Coming.” You put the stove on simmer and grab Mingyu’s extended hand. His fingers slot in between yours easily. Your lips curl upwards on their own accord, and your heart feels so full, it’s close to bursting.

You’re there, in a room with all your favourite people, and it’s perfect.

The very first night you and Mingyu broke up is pushed to the back of your mind, never to slip out of the corner you’ve tucked it into. The nights after made up for it, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. You rebuild the promises you made and make new ones along the way.

You’d write it in the sky if you could, but you and Mingyu don’t need that. 

[ailelie]

The Wolf now is Concerned. He isn't invested. He refuses to be invested in humans. Humans are food, not friends.

And yet. This utter sad sack needs help and Hairy McLumberjack is too busy fussing around with trees to do more than look in and tut occasionally.

And, it isn't like the Wolf can roam much. He had a serious surgery to get Steven out of his stomach. He needs recovery time.

It only makes sense that he recovers at Steve's. It's all Steve's fault anyway, if you think about it.

Steve is still mourning his relationship with Denise and dealing with his recent near-death experience. The latter would be easier if the cause of said-near-death experience hadn't decided to take over Steve's bed.

The Wolf is a demanding and infuriating roommate, but the more time they spend on bickering, the less time Steve has to feel sorry for himself. He ends up developing a new passion for cooking out of pure spite--he will prove to the Wolf that there are many better options for eating than 'raw human.'

"So raw my heart was literally still beating, Wolf."

"The better to warm my stomach, Steve."

It is when Little Red is visiting again, more than a week after the Wolf last felt a twinge of pain in his torso, that everything changes again.

"Mama said to invite you to dinner, Uncle Steve," Little Red says. "You can come, too, Uncle Wolf."

Steve and the Wolf meet each other's horrified gaze as they both realize the domestic comfort they've found and created in each other.

That night, long after Little Red has returned home, the Wolf says he's leaving and he goes.

For the first time in weeks, Steve doesn't have to share his bed.

(After the first few nights when the Wolf had claimed his bed, Steve decided he was not going to be forced to the couch again. They each dared the other to leave the bed if they were 'too uncomfortable' to share. Neither left. Neither ever admitted, in the weeks that followed, how nice it was to have someone else there.)

He can't sleep.

In the morning, he eats some berries for breakfast. Lunch is a leftover soup. Dinner is more of the same.

Cooking is less fun on his own, less fun when he doesn't have the Wolf stealing his ingredients and making sly comments from the side.

Meanwhile, the Wolf is in the forest and utterly refusing to admit that his rabbit is a bit gamey, that its flesh would be better shredded with a spicy sauce and served over whipped potatoes. He is a Wolf. He doesn't need cooked food. He doesn't want it.

The flesh and blood are warm in his mouth, but they do not heat his belly like one of Steve's stews. The forest is so unreasonably cold.

And lonely.

"He tried to eat me, Laura," Steve complains to his sister, Little Red's mother.

"From what I understand, he successfully ate you. That lumberjack cut you free, no?"

"The lumberjack! Now, he would make sense. He's handsome, right? Saved my life even. If I had to-- why couldn't I have--" the words won't come out. Steve's never been attracted to anyone male before.

Until the Wolf.

His face flushes bright red and his sister sighs. "You could do worse than that Wolf, Steve."

He buries his face in his hands.

The Wolf goes by the cabin when he knows Steve will be in town, attending the dinner Little Red had invited them to, the dinner that ruined everything.

The ice box has no ice and the plants inside are limp and shriveled. A stew pot, crusted with the dried remnants of broth, sits on the stove. Another pot is half-full with congealed oatmeal.

The Wolf refuses to feel guilty. He is a wild creature. He is not meant to live within four walls like some domesticated dog.

He washes the pots and tosses the ruined vegetables and herbs. It is during this last task that he runs into the lumberjack.

"Glad to see you're back" the Lumberjack says. "He's been missing you."

I'm not back, the Wolf wants to snarl, and, What business is it of yours? Instead, he says, "I don't belong here."

The lumberjack shrugs. "Well, I don't know about that. I think we belong wherever we love and are loved."

"So, what, you're having a love affair with a hundred trees? Do you chop them down after you break-up?" It isn't his best line, but the lumberjack laughs anyway.

"My love was turned into a tree and hidden in this wood. Someday I will find and free him from his curse. Until then, my job gives me more than enough time to search."

"So you're saying it could be worse," the Wolf says. "I could be in love with a tree."

The lumberjack's smile broadens and he nods. "Instead you're only in love with a man."

It is only then that the Wolf realizes what he'd said. The truth of it warms him inside out. "I'm going to go back inside."

He doesn't say he's going to stay. That's what he means anyways.

The next morning, carrying a basket of leftovers, Steve returns to his cabin. He is dreading being alone again, but he cannot live in his sister's house.

He wants the Wolf. He doesn't understand how or why the Wolf has become so important to him, but maybe that doesn't matter. He just wants that strange and frustrating beast back in his kitchen, his bedroom, his life.

He has decided to track down the Wolf just as he's opening his cabin door.

And the Wolf is there.

Glass shatters as the basket falls from his hand. The Wolf's coat is warm and musky under his hands and cheek. His snout presses cool against Steve's neck. His claws prick lightly along his back. Steve can barely think for the utter relief flooding through him.

"I'm back," the Wolf says, unnecessarily. He is holding Steve as tightly as Steve is holding him.

Neither can quite feel embarrassed by their reactions to one another given the other is reacting quite the same.

"Good," Steve says. "Stay."

"Wild creatures don't belong indoors," the Wolf warns. He wants to stay, but some fear lingers. He can only promise now, not forever.

Steve, though, is unconcerned. He steps back, looking his Wolf in the eye. He lifts a hand to his Wolf's maw and traces a thumb along the seam of his mouth, the same mouth and sharp teeth that had once devoured him. "Since when," he asks, "have you cared about arbitrary rules?"

The Wolf flicks his tongue against Steve's thumb. "Since when, indeed."

inspiration struck in a really, really weird way

[persicipen]

₊ ˙ ⊹ . 𝓟𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆. KAMISATO AYATO ₊ ˙ ⊹ .

ৎ୭ — · · 2.1k ノ fem reader — distracting him from work in a certain way ノ petnames — dear . wife . darling ノ implied breeding kink . fucking against the wall ノ teasing and flirting . established relationship . marriage

When he sees you in his office room this late, he knows his frustrations with endless paperwork finally end as the long-awaited — and, what is wee embarrassing to admit, long-forgotten — break came to visit. Break, albeit used to describe many situations and events, in this particular case means you, his most beautiful wife. Ayato’s favourite type of break.

“It’s late, my dear,” he says, tone playful. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping already?”

Your fingers graze against his temple in a caring manner, and he purrs with satisfaction, allowing you to sit right beside him near the low table.

“I wanted to see you. It’s so cold in bed without you…” Your hand slowly slides from his temples to the nape, feeling your husband tremble ever so slightly at your meek touch. The warm pads of your fingertips trail across his shoulders and the area where the neck meets the broad back, resting for a bit and then gently rubbing circles against it, working through the layers of expensive garments. You don’t say anything for a few long minutes — rather, you’re fully immersed in taking care of his stiff muscles.

“Judging by the warmth of your palms, perhaps your claim is not entirely true, hm? Leaving your cosy bedding just to visit me in nothing but a flimsy robe? I sense an intrigue rather than a genuine concern.” Ayato’s hands grab yours before they escape anywhere else. He gives your knuckle a quick peck. Only once, unimpeachable, and he does this every single time you crave some intimacy after what seemed like eternity without him.

Frankly, you do not appreciate it. A pout forms immediately on your lips. They feel lonely, unkissed.

“Spare me a moment or two.” You wrap around his neck, burying your face in the curve of his shoulder and inhaling the intoxicating scent. Camellia flowers and cherry blossoms — a fragrance almost too sweet and innocent for a man such as Lord Kamisato. “I love you so much that I don’t know what to do with myself anymore if you’re not near me.”

What could have been better than enjoying all those delectable noises reserved only for him? A solid offer. No wonder you two are together, one always outsmarting another, always trying to bargain a better deal, be it a kiss, a hug, or an indecent touch during a walk in nature where even butterflies can’t seem to find a way to your secret place.

Insufferable are his thoughts now that you’ve inflicted this venom of lust into his system. If anything, the first dosage was administered long before this evening and had gone untreated due to your husband’s own unwillingness to firmly stop himself from overworking.

Ayato must say that it takes both more patience and determination than usual to fight off your beauty. The purple of his eyes never loses its enticing luster — a mystery worthy of thousands of poems dedicated solely to you. Why should he torture himself any longer while you’re within his reach, offering yourself so obediently?

“My sweet wife is already going for the kill.” His arms encircle your waist in one fluid motion. As expected, he grins to himself, feeling you shiver with excitement against his chest, gaze wandering between your parted lips and star-stricken eyes. “If your request wasn’t so very irresistible, then maybe… Oh well.”

None of you waste any more time, shamefully clawing at each other’s garments just to open them enough to continue making out. You cling to his nape as he puts one hand beneath your ass to hoist you up in order to carry you closer to him.

Every breath burns his throat until he presses you onto the nearest wall — away from the main corridor and prying ears of curious servants, which is unfortunate since he has planned something particularly scandalous involving said corridor. This one he will remember for another occasion, that is. Nothing lost. It does not matter anyway — whatever idea would’ve come to his head can be used tomorrow, a day after tomorrow, anytime, provided that the opportunity arises once again.

Ayato allows himself a brief evaluation of his abandoned tasks before getting down to business. A mere moment later, he’s fucking you relentlessly against the wooden column, your hair tangled with the surface and messy behind your head. With a warm hand on your cheek, it contrasts with the cool breeze coming through the window.

Debauched noises escape your throat without regard to decency, like waterfalls running dry after a hot summer, until there is nothing left but a silent heap of exhales.

Still starving for attention, deprived of everything your beloved husband has been reluctant to provide these past evenings, even the most minuscule gestures spark flames below your navel.

Supposedly, getting so easily wet could be considered unwelcome, always messing up your underwear, but in the company of your adored man, it’s perfect. It’s foolishly easy to slip past the entrance of your pussy and force it to catch every tiny shift of his shaft.

The quick work on your clothes made you too flustered to act before you could even explain your presence here in more detail. With an arm sneaking around your waist, he pulls you closer with a goal to slip his painfully hard cock deeper into your sodden cunt.

Alongside the kiss pressed to your forehead, his mouth lingers there for a brief moment, humming praises against your sweaty skin.

“Is this exactly what you wanted?”

“I love you.” You pant in desperation, fisting at the back of Ayato’s embroidered suit. A string of needy whines flows from your tongue in rapid succession while his lips pepper kisses over your jawline, up and down and across your heated skin until they land on the juncture of your neck, eliciting a small gasp as a reward.

“Aren’t you the most precious one? You should be aware that your words are more dangerous to my heart than any blade or poison.” The Commissioner lets his guard down, a ripple of relief and solace washing over him in the loving warmth of your closeness, and he leans into the embrace while holding you as careful as one holds an ancient vase.

“Hmm, isn’t that adorable that even you have a soft spot?” Your giggle turns into a wanton yelp as he manhandles you to fit against his lean body like a missing puzzle piece.

“Only because I adore you so dearly, I will allow myself to pause the work of utmost importance.” His fingers are brushing against the soft material of your night robe, creeping under the fabric to keep your thigh high enough for him to push his pelvis right against your clit. “It’s not as important as you, I have to admit.”

He kisses your cheek, and his lips travel down your jawline, the feather-like pecks on the side of your collarbone, and you can’t help the content sigh that escapes your mouth. His breath is ticklish, and when his teeth gently nibble the delicate skin, the gasp that follows makes him chuckle, his pace not slowing down.

“If my darling is not silent,” Ayato whispers, his hot breath fanning against your ear, “the servants may notice something unusual is happening in my private quarters.”

As if it would not rouse is excitement…

Such a threat is empty, just a fickle of a joke to raise your pulse before his pace returns to the previous rhythm. The mischievous sparkle in his eyes betrays his amusement, knowing that he will most likely fuck you dumb until you whimper out his name pleadingly, for he does not care if others hear how much of a perfect lover he is. Those working under him are long adjusted to the questionable ways of their Lord’s doings.

You can’t deny the effect it has on you, though. Especially with his hand moving to your mouth, covering it completely to muffle any delicious mewls slipping down your tongue.

“Bite it, if you have to.”

A rush of heat engulfs the pit of your stomach, your cunt squeezing his shaft hungrily. He doesn’t slow down — no, quite the opposite, as if motivated by the shame that strikes your silhouette. His thrusts are steady and merciless, and you are glad that the column is keeping you upright; otherwise, you’d collapse into his arms like a lithe rag doll.

It works like a charm on you. Heavy weight of his words, a need for control in every little detail, always caring, always considerate towards you. Although there are times where your husband will bend to your will and please you thoroughly, there are also moments like these when he won’t give you a chance to think straight, all because of such a simple reason.

He adores you to the point of addiction.

And now he wishes to enjoy you to the fullest without further pauses, reducing his duties to mere distractions that otherwise would stop him from revelling in your body.

No longer form a coherent sentence, you accept the mind-numbing sensation of his cockhead hitting the deepest spots simultaneously with his fingers rubbing at your wet, puffy clit. The tension in your core is threatening to snap at any moment, your juices soaking his length as your pussy greedily milks his shaft with each and every snap of his hips into your pliant body.

Even with limbs unable to muster out any strength to cuddle to your husband, the feeling of your hole gripping him like a vice rewiring Ayato’s mind into a mush, a delirious haze of lust. He removes his hand from your mouth, cupping your face and wiping the drool that is trickling down your chin, his thumb gently caressing the damp skin.

Dark lavender eyes follow sparkles dimming in your fluttering gaze as you try your best to not fall into bliss and close your lids. His forehead rests against yours, his breathing heavy and shallow, his lips dangerously close, and the Commissioner swallows at the familiar heat pooling in his abdomen.

“Just like this, dear,” he says softly, his voice trembling and strained. “Just a bit more.”

With a shaky sigh, he shoves his mouth against yours in a sloppy kiss to avoid any loud noise to escape him, savouring the flavour of your tongue as if you were the finest dessert prepared solely for his appetite.

Despite being unsure if you could truly make it last until your husband finds relief as well, you fight for balance on your shaking thighs while even a portion of your weight feels too much to bear on your wobbly knees. His cock swells, the pressure coiling and tightening from the inside of his balls as the release hits him like a tidal wave. As soon as his essence souses the walls of your womb white, you sob and join him in the moment of sweetest carnal satisfaction.

The sudden contractions of your cunt bring you both to the sweetest peak of pleasure, all too intense to not slump down the polished floors in a puddle of fine silk stained with your mixed essences.

Although Kamisato Ayato is the epitome of politeness and strict discipline, there is no way to deny the truth that he might turn the world upside down just to rest between the thighs of his darling wife.

The delirious euphoria comes to an end when he slips himself out of your snug cunt, soft and worn, satisfied but also amused upon noticing that some of his cum already leaked out of your hole. A pity, such a waste that his seed is seeping through the slippery gash. Maybe the idea of making you pregnant will stay with him until the next close encounter, then.

There is nothing left of composure that usually defines him as the leader of the Yashiro Commission. Instead, the sight is almost unnerving compared to his usual image. Clothes crumpled and skewed, hair ruffled atop his sheen forehead, and the pink blush adorning his cheeks. Perhaps you did him some good tonight after all, clearing his mind and relaxing the muscles tense from sitting still for hours. There are plenty of tasks left to be done — he won’t sleep even after exhausting himself — but perhaps now he’s willing to consider joining you in bed for the rest of the night.

As if hearing your thoughts, he chuckles breathlessly, scooping you up in his embrace without worrying about cleaning the mess just yet.

“There are several things I’d rather do instead of dealing with t-those reports right now...”

“Do I r-really have to coerce my beloved husband into sleeping together?”

“Obviously, no. It’s only a matter of fact that I forget about the passage of time until you have to visit my office. But wasn’t it just as sweet?” His teeth nibble at your earlobe before he laughs under his breath again.

[idkyetxoxo]

Gwayne Hightower - Rivalries

Summary - She is the object of affection for Gwayne, her devoted husband and her resentful brother, Daemon. As passion ignites and jealousy simmers, secrets and desires threaten to unravel, culminating in a game where love and power collide in the shadows of the palace.

Pairing - Gwayne Hightower x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Sexual content (oral f!receiving)

Word count - 2516

Masterlist for Gwayne • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

Men have always possessed an uncanny knack for wielding power, bending influence to their will in ways both obvious and subtle. 

Few embody this more fully than Otto Hightower, a man whose calculating mind and scheming nature have ensnared him a firm grip on our realm.

Through a web of calculated marriages, he has planted his kin at the heart of the Targaryen dynasty. 

First, he manoeuvred his only daughter into marriage with the king, my brother Viserys, making her queen and securing his own proximity to the throne. But that wasn't enough for Otto. 

He orchestrated a second union, binding me, the realm's princess and sister to the king, to his eldest son, Gwayne. 

In doing so, Otto has gained control over both the king and me, each one of us a pawn in his designs.

Now, with his daughter wielding influence over the king and his son ensnared in my favour, Otto's reach is all-encompassing. 

Through the queen's soft-spoken whispers, he bends Viserys to his will, while through his son's bond with me, he consolidates his sway over the princess of the realm—a princess who, in turn, holds her brother's ear and favours the Hightower cause.

Fortunately for Otto, his son Gwayne is entirely enchanted by me, his devotion unwavering. 

But not all in House Targaryen are as easily convinced of these alliances' virtues. 

Our brother Daemon alone harbours deep resentment, his contempt for Otto's manipulations a fire that no amount of diplomacy can cool.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

"Stop watching me," I murmured with a teasing smile, adjusting my earrings. 

Gwayne leaned casually against the doorway, his gaze openly admiring, though a flicker of something sharper lingered in his eyes.

"How can I not?" he replied, his voice low, as if savouring every detail of the moment.

His laugh was soft, rich with affection, but I knew him too well not to see that spark of possessiveness beneath it. 

It was a look that said he was proud, even smug, that I was his—but also quietly wary, as though he were forever warding off the shadow of some unseen rival.

I smirked, glancing at him through the mirror as I adjusted a wayward strand of hair. 

"Go down to the feast, Gwayne," I urged, straightening up, my reflection catching his eyes in the glass. "I'll be along soon enough."

He let out a playful sigh, his shoulders drooping in exaggerated disappointment. 

"I had hoped to walk in with the most beautiful lady in all the realm on my arm," he said, the feigned pout quirking his lips, inviting my laughter.

"Patience, love. You'll have your moment," I replied, the corners of my mouth lifting as he leaned in, cupping my face with familiar warmth. He kissed me, his lips lingering as if reluctant to let go. 

Even as he pulled back, his eyes promised he'd claim me again before the night was over.

With a last, wistful look, he turned to leave, his presence an absence that weighed on the air. And then he was gone.

Down in the great hall, the feast was already a whirlwind of flickering torches, laughter, and the clamour of goblets raised in toasts. 

Gwayne moved through the crowd with ease, his gaze courteous, his nods respectful. But then, as though fate delighted in twisting the knife, he found himself face-to-face with Daemon.

Daemon, who leaned against a pillar with that insufferable smirk of his, every inch the dangerous prince. 

His eyes held an unsettling gleam, something unreadable lurking behind their dark depths as he regarded Gwayne with a look that felt almost too intimate.

"My sister finally had the sense to let you walk alone?" Daemon's voice was as smooth as silk, but each word was sharpened to wound, his arms crossing as he took in Gwayne with a mocking tilt of his head.

Gwayne's smile was a flash of polished steel, his voice unflinching. 

"Wouldn't that be your wish, my prince?" he returned, his tone honeyed with feigned respect. "Then you might finally have her all to yourself."

Daemon's smirk wavered, his jaw tightening as the ever-so-carefully constructed façade cracked, allowing the faintest flicker of irritation to bleed through. 

Daemon might have titles and power, but there was one thing, one person, he would never possess—and that knowledge ate away at him, poisoned the edge of his smile.

"Oh, don't worry," Daemon said, lifting his goblet to his lips, his gaze cold and unwavering. "One day, she'll tire of you. And when that day comes, she'll come crawling to me."

Gwayne let out a low, quiet laugh, a sound rich with derision. He leaned in, closing the gap between them, his words barely more than a murmur. 

"Don't hold your breath," he said smoothly. "I wouldn't want you waiting forever."

Their words were razor-sharp whispers, thinly veiled threats exchanged like a deadly dance, both men balancing on the precipice of violence. 

But as if the gods themselves had a sense of irony, the hall doors swung open just then.

In unison, both men turned, their eyes falling upon me as I entered. 

Gwayne's breath audibly caught, his pride swelling as he caught sight of Daemon's face—his gaze darkening as he took in the emerald green gown I'd chosen, a proud declaration of my allegiance, of my bond with Gwayne. 

The colour was a statement, a reminder, a choice that all in the hall would recognize.

I lifted a gloved hand, waving lightly to Daemon, whose returning smile was as thin and strained as a worn-out thread. 

But then I shot a wink to Gwayne, my mouth curving into a private smile that only he understood. A victorious smile spread across his lips, his chest swelling slightly.

"Now, doesn't she look divine?" he murmured to Daemon, his voice rich with the satisfaction of a man who knows he's won, his eyes alight with triumph as he cast a quick, cutting glance at his rival.

Daemon's smile wavered, barely masking the smouldering bitterness that darkened his gaze. His voice was a dangerous purr, admiration and resentment blending like poison in his tone. 

"Irresistible," he replied, his eyes lingering on the fabric that marked my choice, his gaze smouldering with an unspoken challenge.

Gwayne leaned closer, his voice thick with intent, his words low enough for Daemon to hear. "I look forward to removing that gown later tonight."

Daemon's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. The tension between them sharpened, each man a wire strung too tight, vibrating with a resentment just waiting to snap.

"Perhaps," Gwayne taunted, his smile razor-thin, "the rogue prince might content himself with watching from a respectful distance, praying to the gods for a fortune like mine."

Daemon's knuckles whitened around his goblet, his calm veneer slipping, barely. 

He looked like he might have lunged forward had I not arrived between them, drawing both of their heated gazes to myself.

"Are you two playing nice?" I asked lightly, laughter lacing my voice, breaking the taut string of animosity between them.

Gwayne wasted no time, slipping an arm possessively around my waist and pulling me close. He took my face in his hands, kissing me with a passion that left me breathless, his intent to stake his claim clear as day. 

I pulled back, cheeks flushed, my breath catching as I smiled up at him.

Daemon cleared his throat sharply, his gaze hardening, but his practised smile never wavered. "Of course we are, sister," he said, his voice as smooth as ever. 

But in his eyes a storm was brewing.

I laughed, stepping forward to kiss him on the cheek in sisterly affection. But Daemon's face tilted, ever so slightly, guiding my kiss dangerously close to the corner of his mouth. 

I pulled back with a startled laugh, brushing it off as an innocent miscalculation, but I didn't miss the way Gwayne's hand tightened possessively around my waist.

"We should greet the other guests," Gwayne said, his voice a low murmur laced with steel as he pulled me firmly to his side, making his claim crystal clear.

With one last smile at Daemon, I let Gwayne lead me through the crowd, our departure marked by a final, simmering look over his shoulder. 

Daemon's eyes tracked us, his expression carefully schooled, yet the slight, almost triumphant smirk that tugged at his lips betrayed his satisfaction.

It was a look that promised he would not let the matter rest, a hint of smugness at the intimacy we'd shared, however fleeting. 

In his mind, he'd scored a small victory in this endless, unspoken war—and he would savour it until his next move.

The night wore on, music and laughter swelling around us, but Gwayne's attention never strayed. 

His hand on my waist was a constant, possessive presence, his fingers tracing circles that sent heat flooding to my cheeks. 

There was a hunger in his gaze that he made no attempt to hide, a smouldering desire barely held in check.

"You're very eager tonight," I whispered, my lips brushing his ear. 

A thrill ran through me as he shivered under my breath, his hand tightening at my side, thumb brushing the curve of my breast in a bold, teasing stroke.

His answering smile was both reverent and defiant. 

"No one but you is to blame for that," he murmured, his voice low, a promise woven in each syllable. He glanced around the hall, and for a moment, his gaze caught Daemon's.

The look between them was a spark, igniting something dangerous. 

Daemon's smirk faltered as he held Gwayne's gaze, a silent tension crackling between them before he turned away with a barely concealed scoff. 

I sensed the dark resolve kindling in Gwayne, a thrill of excitement creeping into his touch.

"Come with me," he whispered, the command and excitement unmistakable. His hand tightened around mine, and with a quick tug, he led me through the hall. 

I could barely keep up, my surprised laughter echoing softly as we slipped past the others, evading curious glances.

"Gwayne, what are you—" I managed, breathless as he pulled me into the shadows of a secluded balcony. 

The night air was cool, adding a thrill of secrecy as he backed me against the stone, his gaze sharp with intent.

"I can't restrain myself any longer," he murmured, his eyes blazing with hunger as he dropped to his knees before me. 

My heart pounded as his hands gathered the fabric of my gown, his movements reverent yet bold, his hands urgent.

"Gwayne—someone might—" 

My words faltered into a gasp as he parted my legs, his mouth hovering tantalizingly close. The thrill of it all, the forbidden nature, sent a rush of heat through me as I glanced over my shoulder at the empty corridor.

"Trust me," he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly plea, edged with defiance. 

His eyes flared with something fierce and unapologetic, daring me to pull away, to deny him what he was ready to give.

Before I could fully gather my thoughts, he pressed his mouth to me, his touch igniting a fire that swept through my entire being. 

My head fell back, my eyes fluttering shut as I stifled a moan, my hand flying to cover my mouth.

I lost myself to the blissful rhythm of his touch, his mouth working with an expertise that left me breathless, every stroke intentional and unrelenting. 

Each soft sound he coaxed from me only drove him further, his hands gripping my hips possessively, grounding me against the hard stone.

"That's it, love," he murmured between kisses, his gaze lifting to mine even as he pressed deeper, his eyes filled with a dark devotion. 

I was lost to him, each wave of pleasure pulling me further under, blissfully unaware of the game he had set into motion.

Unseen by me, Gwayne's gaze flicked to the dimly lit corridor, his senses on high alert, waiting. 

He was all too aware that Daemon would pass through this corridor, lured by both routine and curiosity.

And here, tucked against the shadowed stone of the balcony with me, Gwayne intended to make the prince pay for every hidden glance and lingering touch that Daemon had stolen.

It wasn't long before Daemon appeared, his strides purposeful yet wary, as though drawn by some invisible pull. 

He stopped abruptly in the shadows just beyond the balcony, his eyes widening, expression caught somewhere between shock and fascination as he took in the scene before him.

Gwayne lifted his head for the briefest moment, his eyes meeting Daemon's across the dim corridor. 

His mouth, slick with evidence of his devotion, curved into a wicked, triumphant smile—a silent victory. He had claimed this moment, his eyes taunting Daemon with a satisfaction that words could not convey. 

He knew Daemon's love for me, knew the jealousy that burned beneath every calm exterior, every fleeting glance.

Daemon's jaw tightened, his fists clenched at his sides, and yet he did not turn away. He was rooted to the spot, compelled by a combination of fury and helpless longing. 

Gwayne held his gaze, the smirk deepening as he pressed his mouth back against me, his movements more fervent, almost performative, meant to drive the rogue prince mad with envy.

I remained blissfully unaware, caught in the waves of pleasure, my mind fogged with sensation. 

The world beyond Gwayne's touch faded into oblivion, my body responding to his every movement as he held me tightly, anchoring me against the balcony. 

I gasped, feeling my restraint begin to shatter under his care, my body trembling against his hands, and I clutched onto his shoulders to steady myself.

Gwayne's eyes darted up once more, relishing the sight of Daemon—livid, yearning, utterly defeated in that moment. 

The prince's face was a mask of restrained anger and desire, his fingers flexing as if to break something, or perhaps to reach for me, to grasp what lay mere inches beyond his reach.

Gwayne's smirk deepened, triumphant, revelling in the one prize Daemon could neither claim nor deny himself from wanting.

With one last smouldering glance at the prince, Gwayne returned his full attention to me, his mouth and hands working in tandem, ensuring I was lost entirely to him. 

He whispered praises into my skin, quiet enough that only I could hear, a stark contrast to the dark thrill he shared with his rival just beyond my view.

Daemon stood, his chest rising and falling, but Gwayne gave him nothing more—no acknowledgement, no satisfaction. 

He closed his eyes, committing every reaction, every soft gasp of mine to memory, a final mark of his victory before Daemon could bear it no longer. 

With a rigid turn, Daemon left, his face a storm of rage and resignation as he vanished into the darkened corridor.

When I opened my eyes, breathless and flushed, I found Gwayne's gaze on me, filled with pride, as though I were the centre of his world.

"What?" I asked with a dazed smile, noticing the glint of triumph in his eyes.

"Nothing, love," he murmured, his thumb stroking my cheek tenderly as he helped me steady myself. "Just admiring how perfect you are." 

His smirk softened as he leaned up to capture my lips, the victory between him and Daemon remaining a secret I would never know.

A/n - this didn't execute how I wanted exactly but I'm too lazy to change it now

Gwayne tag list - @deniixlovezelda @randomnerdyfan

[justchillandshipit]

More thoughts:

I linked a post below that has me thinking about Tommy's actions & Eddie's place in the narrative. In retrospect, I 100% believe Tommy knows and understands that Eddie is likely going to be Buck's last. (as much as anybody can know this sort of thing.) I know Tim and Oliver said Eddie had nothing to do with the obstacles in Buck's relationship, but I think that was a partial truth on their part. Technically, Buck does spiral because of Abby and #stagefoureddiediaz has talked about the way Buck is still stuck on the hamster wheel. I think both of these things are part of the obstacles mentioned in one of Oliver's interviews. However, if you look only at those things, you overlook the Pink Eddie in the room. While I agree that Eddie didn't interfere or try to stop Buck & Tommy from being together, his friendship with Buck has remained a constant. (see the link at the very bottom for more about Eddie in the narrative.) If you check out Buddielifer's post, several good points demonstrate the breakup was about Eddie. I'll try to avoid repeating what was said there as I explain. My opinion does differ on a few small points, but I'll get to that later.

Ok. I'm going to talk about Tommy a little but stick with me. This is a Buddie post. I promise, and I do have a point. I do believe Buck was attracted to Tommy, not because he had some great destiny to be the love of Buck's life, but because he did a few really cool things while helping to save Bobby & Athena's lives. Plus, Tommy did it in the coolest way possible. Helicopter pilots are cool, or they would be if they weren't dating one-half of your favorite ship. lol. Before the kiss, Buck wasn't self-aware enough to fully engage with his sexuality, I suspect that he handled his attraction to Tommy the way he handled it with other men before we knew him as a firefighter.

As we saw in a flashback, when Buck met a man he felt attracted to, he processed those feelings by befriending him. It was the same with Tommy. That is why he was at the hangar that day. When he offered to buy Tommy a beer, I truly think Buck thought he was making a new friend. If you think about it, you can see this was a pattern for Buck. He did have a meltdown over Eddie when they first met (but with Eddie, bigger things were and are still in play) It doesn't change the fact that once Buck got past his initial jealousy or whatever that was, he threw himself all in with Eddie. It was part of his pattern and part of #stagefour's hamster wheel. (Endgame will have Buck get off the wheel and look around. The person standing there was never part of the wheel, but the person waiting for him to stop and get off of it.)

The situation with Tommy is probably closer to how Buck reacted to his friend who wanted Buck as a sperm donor. Buck actually followed that 'friend' to Peru. I have a post from a while back where I discuss Buck sending mixed signals. In his mind, he is making a friend, but he is also unconsciously flirting. Tommy was the first to push through and just kiss Buck. I don't think this was nefarious so much as an attempt to interpret the signals Buck was sending. (I'm sure many see Tommy as having bad intentions but stick with me. I'm trying to put him into the context where Tim claimed he wanted him to be seen. Tommy was supposed to be a mentor or a more experienced man helping Buck navigate this side of himself.) As a teacher, Tommy did help him navigate, but he also let Buck set the pace. Although never shown, we know Buck is a very sexual being, and the deleted scene with Tommy, Hen, and Karen confirmed that Tommy was just trying to keep up with him.

But I digress. Buck's intention to befriend Tommy ended the exact moment that Eddie showed up at the hangar with a huge smile on his face. Stoic Eddie who does not show his emotions was smiling hugely. Even though this is from Buck's perspective and he is an unreliable narrator, it is plausible to me that Eddie would be excited to go to a live fight in Vegas. Oliver and Tim have talked a lot over the past few weeks about how Buck spirals. When Eddie left with Tommy, Buck began to spiral in a way that we have never seen before or since. He was absolutely unhinged with jealousy. There is no way that Buck, who didn't even ask about Tommy's dating history until six months into the relationship, was that insane to get the attention of a man he has known for a few days or weeks. Now that we are pulling in new material from the current season, it isn't even remotely believable that Buck's reaction was about Tommy.

If Buck had experienced some sort of love-at-first-sight moment with Tommy, then he would have asked Tommy about his past at the beginning of the relationship. In fact, people entering into something serious generally ask about past partners in the first few weeks of getting to know each other or before sex. The fact that Buck didn't, is a change in pattern for him. Buck typically throws himself all in and then when things go wrong, he doesn't know how he got there. (Also part of the hamster wheel.) However, I attribute the difference this time to the fact that, subconsciously, Buck knows what he's feeling. He can use his body. (borderline sex addict). However, he can't bring himself to share with Tommy what he already shares with Eddie, but you know our unaware cowboy can't see it yet.

At the hangar, Tommy didn't have a feel for Buck yet. However, by the end of the Vegas trip, I think he had picked up a good idea from Eddie that there was something there. (not because Eddie has made some sort of confession, but because I'm confident that Eddie talked about Buck nonstop. I'm hoping that we get some sort of confirmation of this in the current season. I don't want it to be forgotten.) At any rate, whatever conclusions Tommy drew from his time in Vegas with Eddie and the time they spent hanging out afterward didn't bother him enough to refuse to date Buck. I do think Tommy was longing for the family and support he could see Buck has with the 118, but I don't think he was ever planning a wedding in his head. In fact, I know he wasn't. That's part of why he broke up with Buck.

Sidenote: (Thanks to StageFourEddieDiaz, for pointing out how Buck failed to understand the mission from Josh's speech because this is what caused Buck to shift from not letting Tommy get too close to asking Tommy to move in with him.) Until the conversation with Josh, Buck was actively shutting Tommy out of anything other than sex and possibly learning the ins and outs of the LGBTQ community.

Again, in the beginning, this didn't bother Tommy. He knew what Buck needed, and as he stated a few times during the sixth episode, Buck was hot and fun. If you need examples of Buck shutting Tommy out, I point you to anything that happened in the Halloween episode. I'm not saying Buck didn't care about Tommy at all, but he was holding back. The look on Buck's face as Josh asked about his feelings really said it all. I think this is probably why Josh was a little shy of the mark when giving his speech about comphet. Josh had to give a long list of, "Do you feel "this or that" for your boyfriend of six months," before he finally hit on something that Buck did feel. I don't want to get off topic or repeat too much from the linked post, I just wanted to illustrate that the jealousy from Buck's coming out episode was 100% for Eddie and that it was something that Tommy realized before entering the relationship.

I know there will be some disagreement here, but I also feel like Tommy's feelings for Buck actually were on the verge of changing, and he hadn't expected that. When they were standing at the grave, Buck gave his eulogy directed to Billy Boils. Tommy's face went through a series of changes. First, he seemed annoyed or concerned. I couldn't quite tell, but the more Buck talked, the more you could see of our Buck. The guy with a huge heart who can empathize with the skeletal remains of a criminal. I'll link the clip for you to judge. What Buck had to say to Billy was more open and revealed more about Buck's character than anything he had been saying to Tommy over the past six months. It was a small scene, but one that probably came back to Tommy when Buck suggested moving in together.

It was scenes like this one combined with Tommy's exclusion from group chat, etc., that probably helped to remind him that Buck's feelings six months ago were not about him and nothing had changed despite Buck's suggestion that he move in. Tommy's insecurities took over and reminded him what the inevitable end was going to be for them. He was the first not the last.

For the past six months, he's known that Eddie was between them, but you could see how comfortable he was with it. He didn't seem annoyed by Eddie's presence at all. I disagree with either Tim or Oliver when they try to play up that Tommy was Eddie's friend and this was natural. Eddie and Buck met Tommy at the same time, and Tommy was trying to shoot his shot by taking Eddie to Vegas. I don't know what was discussed between Eddie & Tommy during those few weeks where Buck was being left out, but it is clear that whatever conclusion he had drawn from the Vegas trip had been solidified by what happened on the basketball court, so much so that he wanted to apologize to Buck in person. We all know how that went, and I still think that was a good scene.

This brings me to the breakup scene itself. In the end, when Tommy talks about how he didn't see it coming. I don't think he was referring to the breakup. I think he was referring to the feelings he caught close to the end. He thought he would help Buck, provide a safe space for Buck to explore that he personally didn't have, and have some fun with a hot young thing, but he let it go too far. (His reasons are pretty much part of what Tim has said in interviews.) I don't think Tommy realized how much he had gotten caught up in the fantasy of Buck until Buck asked him to move in with him. I do think he's sincere when he says his heart would end up broken because, despite his feelings, he still understands there is something between Buck and Eddie even if they don't.

(One side note. I agree with Buck that first and last can be the same thing. I don't buy into the belief that you have to be with dozens of sexual partners, but I also don't think that would have been the case with Buck. He is a sexual character, and he's openly curious. I know people were mad about the interview where Oliver talked about letting Buck F#ck, but I think that would be in character for an upset Buck who was just dumped. It is less about his sexuality than it is about his abandonment issues and neglect trauma. That's my take anyway. We'll see what Tim does with it. I do think the part of Buck that craves monogamy already belongs to someone else, and the di was cast before Tommy came into his life, and we are back again to the hamster wheel.)

If you stuck with me this long, thank you. I know there are few, if any, fans of Tommy around here so I appreciate that you were willing to objectively view him the way Tim kept trying to present him. I'm tired and I'm pretty sure I rambled a couple of times, but I do understand Tommy is a problematic character. I consider that to be a writing issue that never got a satisfying resolution. I'm equally aware some people hate him simply because he was with Buck. I'm not doing a lot of judging these days because I already know how unreasonable I'm going to be over Eddie being with another man. After seven seasons of subtext, they are already in love. These other relationships are like cheating. lol I'm not so secretly hoping that if Eddie needed a "first" he got it when he was a teenager or when he was in Afghanistan.

I can tell I'm going to be bad because when I see posts about Eddie sleeping with a priest, I want to scream into a pillow and pretend that I'm flipping over furniture and tossing chairs across the room. I just can't be reasonable. I would never attack the actors or writers though. That's not me. My jealousy is on Buck's behalf, and my bad behavior remains entirely inside my head. I don't know what they'll do with Eddie, but they are going to need a chat group to make sure Eddie's boyfriends do not meet with Buck's subconscious mind.

Click here to see the meta on Eddie Haunting the Narrative from #buddielifers.

[thunderingreign]

Anxious avid tumblr lurker turned poster here…

This is actually NOT what is taught in feminism 101 courses! I took an introductory women studies course last year and I thought it would be a breeze because I had been on tumblr for 10 years so I knew about intersectionality, I knew how oppression works!

Let me tell you— I was wrong. I didn’t know how these concepts actually functioned. I knew of their importance, and would use them rhetorically in ways I’d seen others model for me, but I didn’t know how they actually worked.

Online we are taught that intersectionality is an additive model; that black women have it worse than black men and worse than white women because they are “black” plus “women.” When in actuality, Crenshaw coined Intersectionality to specifically push back against the idea of the identity of black women being seperable into “black” plus “women.” Judges were already ruling against black women for their claims of discrimination exactly on that basis— so Crenshaw coined Intersectionality as an argument that a black woman’s experience is uniquely a black woman’s experience (not simply a binary between a black experience and a woman’s experience).

Our identity is not something that can be analyzed along individual axes because each axis we experience influences the other— intersectionality is a way to model individual unique oppressions that all share similarities. Oppression is not additive.

I explain this important distinction because there is a problem within feminism that has been critiqued for decades by Black feminists that many white feminists do not want to acknowledge— the problem being that White Feminism (as a movement) asserts ALL men are the oppressor. Black feminists were the FIRST to argue that the identity of “man” was not the problem, and they were the ones to correctly identify dominance hierarchies as the root behind the ever-branching tree of oppression. Patricia Hill Collins coined the Matrix of Domination in the 90s and we STILL have people acting like second wave feminism’s perspective on men was at all positive.

MEN ARE NOT THE ISSUE. And we STILL have people saying they are! That was the first thing I saw after the election results. That’s what I see and hear when people find out that I’m a man sometimes— I have had other trans people tell me I’m gross for being a man. Like hey have you tried simply listening to the experiences of the marginalized men in your life? The man-hating is 100% here and BLACK FEMINISTS have been saying as much for YEARS.

Idk, all that to say, it’s not “fascistic misogyny” for a leftist man to say “the kill all men stuff on tumblr freaked me out so I didn’t do any exploring of Leftist ideology.” A reason isn’t an excuse. They never said “it was good/okay for me to do this because—“ That would be an excuse! But they were explaining what their own experience was, which is an experience that Black feminists have been imploring white feminists to fucking stop perpetuating. They were explaining IN RESPONSE to someone saying “wow we really gotta figure out how to stop men from joining the death cult.”

I’m begging y’all to listen to Black feminists on this matter. Please. They’ve been talking about it for 30 years at least and I know that’s underestimating it by a lot.

Resources to read up on this further:

“Intersectionality as Critical Social Theory” by Patricia Hill Collins

“Black Feminist Thought” by Patricia Hill Collins

https://blackfeminisms.com/matrix/ (link explaining The Matrix of Domination that is discussed is Black Feminist Thought)

“There is No Hierarchy of Oppressions” by Audre Lorde

“Against White Feminism” by Rafia Zakaria

“The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love” by bell hooks

Okay, folks, I think we need to have a little Feminism 101 Discussion.

If someone says they used to be a fascist but are now an "ally" and then start talking about how the Real Reason they were a fascist was because people are too mean to men, that is not an ally! In fact, that is not even a reformed fascist!

You are talking to a fascist, using misogynistic tactics to try to put himself on a pedestal. That person is functionally no different than a fascist making "Why I left The Left" videos. They are trying to put themselves in a spot of authority, trying to not just put down feminists, but garner sympathy for fascists.

It's a con as old as shit. Do not fall for it.

[hannahbarberra162]

The Crocodile's Gambit, Part 4 (Croc X Reader)

18+ MDNI on Ao3

The other chapters

Warning: description of prior abuse /medical violence in this chapter

~~~

You watched with your mouth a perfect circle as Crocodile’s hook fell to the floor. “B-but, your hook -”

“We both have our histories, our secrets, our scars. They make us who we are, not who we were.” Crocodile was unsure how he remained eloquent when surely all his blood was in his aching cock. Your eyes searched his face, trying to determine if he was going to switch his opinion and mock your scars.

“May I touch it? Your arm?” you asked hesitatingly, your hand hovering over his arm. No one had asked since the doctor had removed the stitches binding his skin together. 

“You may,” Crocodile said, allowing you to run your fingers over the scarring. 

“I’ve never seen you without your hook,” you stated, Crocodile transfixed by your slim fingers gently cradling his stump.

“No one else has either,” Crocodile said, puffing on his cigar with his hand. Normally brash, impudent, and cheeky, you ran your fingers delicately over his pitted and marked skin. Crocodile allowed you to move his arm and inspect it as you saw fit. It felt refreshing to be so open with a sexual partner, especially one who had scars of their own.

“Does it hurt?” you whispered, still tracing the faded pocks where the sutures had been.

“It aches at times, but nothing too bothersome” Crocodile said, blowing cigar smoke above your head. To Crocodile’s surprise, you began to massage his stump with your deft little fingers. It felt incredible, nothing like the rough kneadings he gave himself. Crocodile bit back a groan as he leaned back further into his padded chair. He finally had you, naked, sitting in his lap, and his first groan was elicited from a hand massage. 

“You should let me help you with it,” you offered as you continued to work. Crocodile hummed his response. It really did feel quite good to have your nimble fingers working out his tension. He’d agree to it later, right now you were looking delectable with your little furrowed brow concentrating on him, tits gently swaying with your movement.

“Maybe another time. Right now, I’m going to help you,” Crocodile said, rising to stand while holding your bottom in his arms. You squeaked from surprise, clutching his shoulders as if in fear Crocodile was going to drop you. Crocodile strode with purpose towards the bedroom, his cock tenting his pants in anticipation of being buried in your heat.

He set you down none too gently on his bed, you ass bouncing on the mattress. Crocodile undressed rapidly, wishing he was still wearing his hook to slice through his expensive clothes. Putting his cigar in his bedside ashtray, he dove right after you, pinning your wrists down above your head with his hand. “Finally, captured by the King,” Crocodile droned into your ear. His legs in between yours spread them wide open, your wet core sloshing on his thigh. Crocodile wanted nothing more than to sink into your sweet cunt immediately but he knew he had to wait. You weren’t some plaything he’d forget the moment after orgasm. Crocodile needed to show you that he was worth the ride, so to speak. “Will you be a good girl for me? Keep your hands above your head?” 

“Mmhmm. I can be good. I can be very good. I have manners now,” you purred to him.

“Talk is cheap,” Crocodile said with a smile, kissing between your tits. Crocodile growled, biting a nipple gently, earning him a yip. He kissed down your delicious stomach, licked some of your parallel line scars down your legs to your already sopping cunt. “You’ll have to show me,” Crocodile said, licking his lips and hiking your legs over his broad shoulders. 

Two orgasms later and you were no longer very good as you had claimed. At first you had been, mewling and keening for his tongue like a good little slut as you came at his command, your hands where he’d left them. But after the second delicious orgasm you were whining for him to fill you, tangling your hands in his hair in desperation, trying to squirm away from his tongue. Crocodile tsked at you. “So? What’s your answer, hm? Are you still a good girl for me?” Crocodile asked before running his tongue up the length of your cunt, flicking your over-sensitive clit with the tip of his tongue. The action had you writhing under him, trying to move him closer or farther away, he couldn't tell.

“Not such a good girl then, hm? Can’t stay still for me?” Crocodile teased as he brought himself up to loom over your face. “That’s alright, I like you wicked,” he said with a smile, kissing you deeply. You tasted your own delight on his lips and tongue, winding your arms around his neck with a contented sigh. Crocodile adjusted you to his desired position, bringing your knees up to your chest, legs hanging over the crooks of his arms in a modified mating press. Crocodile maneuvered the tip of his heavy cock to your entrance. 

“Are you ready? I know I am rather… large,” Crocodile said softly, searching your face. You grinned and patted his cheek, causing Crocodile to kiss your palm.

“Fuck me, baby,” you said with a smile. You gasped as you felt Crocodile enter your tight heaven, your channel squeezing him like a vice. You were wet and slick but so tight Crocodile had to hold himself back from pounding into you. Your back arched up as he continued feeding your sweet pussy more of his cock. Pushing himself into you inch by inch, Crocodile groaned as he finally bottomed out, your tinny whine music to his ears.

He started moving his hips with a slow roll, making you groan your satisfaction. He kept an even tempo even when you mewled at him for more.

“You don’t tell me how to fuck you , brat,” Crocodile smiled against your temple. But he did rise to his knees, using his now free hand to rub your pretty little clit. 

“C-crocodile, I’m close,” you uttered, eyes screwed shut with pleasure.

“Look at me,” Crocodile demanded, pinching your clit. You opened your eyes as you yipped with the sensation. “Look at me as you come, look at who can make you feel this way,” he growled at you, rubbing your sensitive nub faster now. He began thrusting more forcefully, rocking the bed frame with the strength of his movements. 

“ Ah..ah..f-fuck! Crocodile! I’m c-coming!” you stuttered out, your tight channel gripping and spasming around Crocodile like a vice. Your toes curled as your legs tensed, clenching around him even tighter. It was music to Crocodile’s ears and he rode you hard through your high as you came undone around him. He was near his own pleasure and relentlessly pursued it while dragging out your own. Never overly expressive during sex, Crocodile grunted as he gripped the bedpost, cracking the wooden frame under his hand. His orgasm hit him harder than he anticipated, bringing sharper relief to his aching cock than he’d felt in months. Fighting the urge to collapse on top of you, Crocodile laid to your side and rolled you onto his chest. You were still dazed from your third orgasm and breathing heavily.

“So, what do you think, brat? Am I a selfish lover?” Crocodile teased, kissing the top of your head.

“Dunno, need to test my theory again. Best two outta three?” you said with a throaty laugh. Crocodile grinned, his scar spreading further across his face. 

Later that night, Crocodile dozed off easily with your face pressed against him, drool pooling on his chest from your slack mouth. You were exhausted after enjoying each other's bodies for hours, now resting on top of Crocodile’s warm chest. He’d retrieve the hook in the morning, he thought to himself. For now, he enjoyed the warmth of your smaller body on top of his own as he pulled the blankets over the two of you.

~

Crocodile was an early riser by nature but the spot you slept in grew cold by the time he awoke to the breaking rays of the sun. He would reach for you in the morning only to find your lingering scent on the pillow. Today was no different as Crocodile woke to an empty bed. You’d started spending your nights in his bed, usually romantically, but sometimes just talking quietly together until you fell asleep. Crocodile didn’t have a sense of humor that he was aware of, but you were able to get him to chuckle quite frequently. You told him jokes, relayed funny information you’d heard and did an impressive Mihawk impersonation. Your keen intellect was always on display even when you were nestled into his side drifting to sleep. He frequently sought your opinion about Cross Guild matters and gave it as much weight as Mihawk’s.

“What should we do with the Marines that are brought here?” Crocodile asked. Mihawk very strongly wanted to kill them but Crocodile was undecided if that was the best option.

“Keep ‘em. Er, at least the high level ones. Shows you can contain powerful Marines. And the others, just kill ‘em,” you said with a yawn.

“Kill them? I’m surprised that’s your opinion dear,” Crocodile said, kissing the top of your head.

“Did you call me dear ?” you asked incredulously.

“Mmm. You are dear to me, I should hope that is clear by now. But why kill them? I would think you’d be opposed to the murder of innocents,” Crocodile mused as a blush spread across your cheekbones. You were unused to romantic affection, but Crocodile sought to remedy that with his own brand of tenderness.

“Why would I care? They’re not innocent. They’re part of the World Government, just as bad as the people on the top. Maybe worse because they sign up for it. I’ve changed my mind, I think you should kill 'em all,” you said with a pout crossing your adorable features. You were generally easy going in nature towards others, with a notable exception for Marines. Crocodile assumed your negative perception of Marines had something to do with your previous enslavement, but you’d tell him when you were ready, it wasn’t his way to pry. 

He got dressed and headed for his kitchen with a scowl. He was going to address the issue of leaving his bed without him later today - either you had to wake him up with you or you had to remain until he was ready to let you leave in the morning. He’d grown accustomed to your presence and wished to spend the early morning with you.

Pouring from the coffee carafe you’d thoughtfully prepared for him, Crocodile looked out the veranda at the island. Although it wasn’t chosen for its beauty, the island was rather pleasant in the early morning and in the evenings, when most of the crew was sleeping off their hangovers or preparing themselves for another. Crocodile’s coffee soured in his gut as he saw you from afar exchanging a hug with the Clown by the entrance to the Clown’s tent. You stayed in conversation with him afterward, smiling and laughing at the foolish man’s animated words and limbs flying about in the air. Crocodile had no idea what someone as intelligent as yourself could possibly say to such an imbecile but he’d long stopped trying to interfere in your relationship with your Captain. 

Throwing his beloved jacket over his shoulders, Crocodile stalked towards you, no longer willing to hide his jealousy. The Clown and Mihawk were aware of his feelings towards you, though neither had said anything. As Crocodile rounded the corner to the tent, Crocodile realized the Clown was speaking to you about himself. Pausing to listen in, Crocodile heard the remainder of the conversation.

“ - could get you away if you needed it,” the Clown said quietly, holding your hand.

“Nah, I like that old bastard,” you replied, nuzzling his hand on your face. It would have been a touching display of affection if it was himself, not the Clown. 

“But if there’s problems, let me know. Shanks's pretty good at chess too, watching you kick his ass would be fun,” the Clown added, putting his hand on your shoulder in concern. Crocodile gave the Clown’s words some thought. Though the fool irritated him to no end, Crocodile appreciated that the Clown was watching for your best interest even if it was against his own, he thought, chewing on his morning cigar. To offer to send a crew member to a rival Emperor was a sign that he cared for your safety, even if he had no reason to be. For this transgression of offering to take you away from Crocodile, he would only verbally wound the Clown, he wouldn’t raise his hook against him.

Coming fully around the corner, you smiled as you saw Crocodile’s own frowning face. Despite having his back to Crocodile, the Clown tensed, quickly removing his hand from your shoulder, correctly guessing the identity of the interloper.

“Good morning, Dear. Buggy,” Crocodile intoned, tilting his head in an outward show of respect towards the Clown, making you beam. You always appreciated when he showed a modicum of respect towards the Clown though it was not sincere. “Come, let us eat breakfast. Buggy, I will see you later at our meeting,” Crocodile said mildly, resting his hook on the Clown’s shoulder in a mirror of the Captain’s own movements. It always felt odd calling the Clown by his name - like referring to a an animal by a human name, but he had agreed to the terms of your service. Crocodile wasn’t going to hurt the Clown, but he didn’t need to know that now. A little negative anticipation would benefit the Clown’s mood for later. You kissed the Clown’s cheek and bade your goodbyes, walking with Crocodile back to his increasingly finished mansion.

“What was that conversation about?” Crocodile asked, though he felt foolish confirming information he already knew. 

“Captain Buggy was making sure you’re treating me right,” you replied easily. Crocodile hummed and took your hand and placed it on his arm as the two of you strolled back to his residence. He had to walk slowly to match your shorter stride but he didn’t mind enjoying the cool morning air with you.

“I know you were eavesdropping, you’re not as slick as you think you are,” you said with an impish grin. Crocodile grunted. He was slick for everyone else, just not to you.

“I’m not old,” Crocodile replied.

“You are. You’re like 50,” you said matter-of-factly.

“47, brat. Maybe I need to spank the impudence out of you later tonight,” Crocodile mused. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you said with a wink and a laugh. Crocodile’s lips quirked into a small smile. Crocodile led you past the marina towards his residence when you spotted new prisoners being unloaded from a pirate ship.

“Oh, new Marines? Anyone good?” you asked curiously, watching the prisoners being brought to the prison. Your idea had been an incredible success, Marines began arriving to the island semi-regularly. Of course, all high ranking captures were published in the news by Cross Guild, further weakening the bonds the Marines had with the less stable islands. 

“Mm. This time we have mostly low ranking Marines with a notable exception. The Mad Medic has been brought in, apparently captured and detained by his own subordinates. A rare occurrence, but nothing -” Crocodile ceased talking as he took in your countenance. You had paled, your cheeky attitude from moments prior evaporated completely. Your gaze was fixed on the ground, no longer watching the scene play out in front of you. Crocodile frowned, he hadn’t seen you this on edge since the first time he’d properly met you. And even then, you were more nervous than anything else. Your hunched shoulders and lip between your teeth told Crocodile you were scared. And that was not an emotion Crocodile liked seeing in his brave, resilient maid.

“Dear, what’s the matter?” Crocodile asked quietly, walking even slower now. His hand on top of yours kept you from removing it from his arm completely, you were practically tugging him to get further away from the marina. You were frantic to get away, your normal sassy attitude completely absent from the conversation, unlike the easy, leisurely walk before.

“Nothin’, just wanna go,” you whispered back, resuming pulling on his sleeve once more. Crocodile had never seen you so withdrawn - it must be the introduction of the Marines. Crocodile scanned the incoming prisoners, the only one of note was the Mad Medic who was decidedly unamused by the circumstances. He was examining the island and his eyes landed on Crocodile and his companion. A sickening sneer spread over his face as he leered at you from afar. Things quickly clicked into place in Crocodile’s mind as he made a quick decision. 

“And go we shall. Come along,” Crocodile said, hand on the small of your back, guiding you away from the marina. Your eyes darted back towards the boats, as if to make sure you weren’t being followed. Unfortunately, the time for discretion had ended. You were going to have to tell Crocodile what had happened to you so that he could determine the level of torture the Mad Medic would face. 

Wheeling you into his house, Crocodile brought you into the study, sitting you down in your usual chair. You started to set the chess board automatically, your mind obviously elsewhere. Crocodile wasn’t in the mood for playing chess but allowed you to continue as a way to settle your nerves. Crocodile poured two cups of coffee from the carafe you’d left, handing you one after adding one teaspoon of sugar and a large amount of cream, your preferred presentation.

“The Mad Medic,” Crocodile stated.

“Yeah,” you said absently, staring at the chessboard. Crocodile made the first move, trying to ease the burden on your mind.

“Describe how you know this person,” Crocodile rumbled, crossing his legs and steepling his fingers against his hook. You studied the board and made your move, countering his pawn with one of your own. You waited for Crocodile to make his next move before you resumed speaking.

“Before Captain Buggy bought me, I was a medical slave for students training to be doctors to Celestial Dragons. They don’t train on animals or oranges or poor people, they train on slaves for accuracy. Um, like me. I had to go through lots of invasive physical exams, sutures, venipuncture, intubation, surgery…and lots of other stuff was done to me by students. It was um, bad. Really bad. That’s where some of the, um, scars come from. Suture practice. He would, um, make cuts and sometimes rub stuff in them to make them worse for the students to clean and fix. That’s why they’re so even and there’s so many of ‘em, they were for practice. And um, a buncha my veins are ruined from, um, being stuck bad too many times,” you stated, showing him the crook of your arm again. The irregular puncture wounds and parallel scars made sense now. Given the hundreds you had, Crocodile couldn't imagine how many times you had to endure being sliced just to be poorly sewn again or stabbed over and over. You were jiggling your feet and rubbing your hands together, clearly in distress.

“Come here,” Crocodile said, holding his arm out to you. You got up from your chair and came over to sit in his lap sideways, tucking yourself against his chest. “Thank you for sharing this, little one, I know it is difficult for you,” Crocodile said, rubbing your back with his hand. He kept his sand from swirling, he didn’t want you to worry about cleaning the chair. 

“And he was, um, in charge of the program. He used me more than any other slave. Said I had good skin and blood for it, I dunno. And healed faster, but I don’t think that’s true. So. That’s how I know him,” you spoke in a rush, as if you needed to get it out quickly before you stopped yourself.  “That’s, um, part of why I got so good at chess. I used it as a distraction during procedures or when in recovery, which was a lot of the time. You know, thinking about moves, playing games in my head, since um, I was strapped down and um, y’know, gagged most of the time, ” you continued, staring out the office window. You hadn’t made eye contact with Crocodile since the sighting at the marina, something that bothered Crocodile immensely. 

“I see,” Crocodile said easily, like you were telling him you wanted two teaspoons of sugar in your coffee instead of one. In reality, he was imagining the myriad ways he was going to enjoy torturing the Medic to death. He didn’t want to think of you, scared and in pain, strapped to a medical table as students practiced on your precious skin.

“And the final test for doctors who want to work for the Celestial Dragons is, um, how I got the neck scar,” you stated, though your voice had dropped to nary above a whisper. “They, um, well, he, um, slashed my throat with a razor and a fourth year student had to sew up the wound before I died. If I died, they wouldn’t pass. It was….” you trailed off, not finishing the sentence as you relived what was likely the worst moment of your life.

“But um, it took me too long to recover since the student who did mine wasn’t all that good, and um, they sold to the auction house since I couldn’t work, and um, well, you know the rest,” you ended abruptly. Crocodile didn’t want to press for the details, he would find out all he needed to from the medic in due time.

“So that’s why I hate Marines. The medical school was affiliated with them and if they were really going to protect people, they would. They would have stopped the program. But they don’t care about us. No one does,” you finished, wiping your nose with your sleeve. Crocodile reached into the pocket of his vest, retrieving his handkerchief and handing it to you. You took it and wiped your nose and eyes, sitting miserably with tears staining your pretty cheeks. 

“Would you prefer to watch his torture or participate yourself?” Crocodile asked, his head at a slight tilt as he removed your tears with his thumb.

“Wha-what? I thought you were keeping the high level Marines alive, that it-” you sputtered, finally looking at Crocodile’s face. Crocodile cut you off with a wave of his hook.

“No. This one dies by my hand. Or yours, should you wish for it,” Crocodile stated in a flat tone. 

“You’d…do that for me? I know this is fucked up, but that’s…really nice. Maybe the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. I mean, aside from buying me and freeing me,” you said, wiping your nose again. 

“You are precious and irreplaceable, I will kill anyone who dares raise their hand against you. That is not a threat, it is a promise. Now, answer the question. Would you like to participate, watch, or neither?” Crocodile asked, rubbing his hand tenderly on your cheek.

“Hmm. I don’t - I don’t know. I don’t want to see him at all. I wasn’t, um, who I am now back then. It was - I wasn’t -  um, I just can’t, I’m, um, scared,” you said, avoiding Crocodile’s eyes once more. He gently put the flat or his hook under your face, tilting it up towards his own.

“It is understandable that you are afraid but you have nothing to fear. Why don’t you let me attend to this matter for now, hm? It is, after all, my area of expertise,”  Crocodile said, a wicked grin spreading across his face. You gave him a watery smile, but kissed his cheek.

“Thank you, Crocodile,” you said softly. 

“The pleasure is all mine,” Crocodile said, sand already swirling as he adjusted his hook.

Taglist: @mfreedomstuff

[glisten-inthedark]

The way Mike says “I say it,” during his argument with El about how he doesn’t say ily is very intriguing to me. He says it with so much….gravity? Solemness? Almost….somberness?? It’s so hard to pinpoint but there’s no warmth in his eyes and it almost feels like a mantra, and he does this little nod at the end of it like he’s telling himself, “Yep, that’s right, I do say it.” He says it like saying it will end the conversation. But it doesn’t.

I agree with other analyses that say he’s trying to gaslight himself in this scene too because what an odd delivery.

Also, have we ever really broken down why this entire scene proves that him not saying I love you isn’t born out of insecurity or, like he later claims, saying it would make El realize he’s just a loser soon? Because for one thing, it’s not like this is something that is disappointing El but she’s keeping it to herself and only confiding it in others. She makes it so damn clear that she wants Mike to say it, that it’s reached the point where she doesn’t think he loves her romantically anymore—if he loves her romantically but is insecure, then El confronting him on not saying it to her should actually make him feel more secure because it’s confirmation that she wants me to love her romantically. And it’s also showing him that he’d actually lose her faster by not saying it than by saying it so what the hell does he have to lose?

But more importantly, Mike insists that he does tell her he loves her.

So how the fuck would that work, Wheeler?? You’re afraid of saying the words I love you to her because you think you’ll lose her faster if you do but also you insist that you do say it?? So if you want El to believe that you do tell her you love her even though apparently her being told by you that you love her would facilitate you losing her??????

Bullshit, Michael Wheeler!

And I think you were the one who pointed out that Mike doesn’t say, “You know how I feel about you,” but rather, “You know what I think of you.” which is like, such a huge Freudian slip imo, especially because he then goes on to say only 2 things about her: she’s the most incredible person in the world, and she’s a superhero.

Nothing about how he feels about her. Just what he thinks of her as. And guess who also calls El a superhero? Her other friends. Mike says two things about El in this scene that literally anyone else in their party would. Compared to Will’s van confession where he talks about how Mike makes him feel—like he’s better for being different, like he’s not a mistake, and gives him the courage to keep going. That’s fucking romantic love right there.

Lastly I want to praise Finn Wolfhard for his microexpressions during that entire argument because I rewatched it over and over for this comment to try and find words to describe how he delivers that one line, but damn after El says, “You can’t even write it,” he has the most fleeting microexpression of panic that is honestly so impressive—it’s this eye twitch/muscle flex by his right eye and this tiny little flinch forward, it almost looks like the right side of his face minutely trembles, A+ acting right there👏👏👏

Hello!

First of all I'm hella sick and I just took some medicine so if I don't make any sense you can blame it on that lmao.

First of all, I just rewatched the scene to see if I could pick it up and my diseased riddled brain did notice what you're talking about. Firstly, he says with such certainty that you'd almost believe it if it weren't for the fact we saw how he signed his letters to El.

And secondly, is almost as if he's trying to convince himself and her that he does say it, probably because as you said, he expected this to end the conversation.

And see, it bothers me so much that people (the GA) don't notice the inconsistency in Mike's behavior because had not one, but two moments that should tell him exactly what he claims he needs to hear. The first is when El tells him point blank that she loves him too, and the second is this one.

Like, what sense does it make that he says he doesn't say the one thing he knows she wants him to say because he's afraid that it'll hurt if he loses her, but him not saying is clearly what's hurting her therefore might be the thing that can make him lose her, so WHY DON'T YOU SAY IT, MICHAEL?

And it's like you said, he says be does say it like he believes it, like he thinks he does which opens another Pandora box, because is like you said, he's telling El he says he loved and then turns around and says he didn't say it because he's afraid to lose her so WHICH IS IT? Can't be fucking both.

And yup, I'm the one who said that about him saying what he thinks of her and not what he feels.

He never says he likes her or anything remotely singular to her personality, is just about the things he thinks she can do which I still insist connects to her he associates El with physical and emotional security that he lacks.

But yes, he never said what she really needed to her, he said the opposite as a matter of fact.

I hope this made sense lmao

[kinardsevan]

FYI, I'm crowdfunding a retirement plan for Tim and a place for you on the 911 writers team. I'm sure you can help them sort out the rest of the plots too!

I don’t know if this is genuine or sarcastic, so I’m just going to say this:

I don’t claim to know anything about media literacy. What I do understand is intricate plot and telling a compelling story. I also understand that from the end of 806, I said almost immediately “I feel manipulated”. This has deep personal connotations for me, but the point remains, and because of those personal relations, I get an actual “ick” about feeling manipulated. Now again, I have zero clarity one way or the other as to whether the manipulation is based out of them actually fucking this storyline up or if it’s because of the way they’re trying to pitch it to us as an “exit” and “ending”. Either way, that hasn’t left me.

All I know at the end of the day is that if these people don’t understand how to recover from this decision, they don’t belong in writing television. There’s also the point that I’ve made this week, that this is not the first time TM & Co have done something like this. They’ve done it with Madney. They’ve done it with Tarlos. We’ve even seen it to some degree with Bathena. What set us all off was the interviews, which we’ve all stated from day one were …odd. The thing that stays with me though, is the fact that not once has any one of these interviews stated “Tommy Kinard is gone for good”. I’ve read dozens of exit interviews (said this too earlier this week), and the only people CALLING it an exit interview, are the interviewers. Lou said the arc was over. By the very definition of what needs to be shared and said between BuckTommy for the reconciliation, he’s right. They’ve spanned the first arc of their relationship. Further, another thing that sticks out in my mind is his statement towards how he wouldn’t turn down playing Tommy again because, to his knowledge, there’s nothing else similar to their relationship happening on television. Which is SO important for representation. I also keep thinking about his tweet “keep the hope alive”. Obviously that can be read as he just wants more work… or it can be read as, there’s more coming, don’t give up on them yet.

Above all else, it’s the crowd reaction. We know the “other team” thinks this is all to tee them up into their pairing, and here’s my response to that:

One, it’s not. Because we know that’s now what TPTB want. But two, if it is, I hope they’re prepared for the mass exodus that takes place when all the people who DON’T want that pairing stop watching. And of course, those who do but don’t get the version of it that they want because RG and OS don’t want to play it the way the fandom thinks it should.

I’m not above saying that if they made them canon, I don’t think I’d stick around. It doesn’t serve the story, it spits in the face of what RG has been trying to communicate for years about himself and Hispanic men in general, and especially on the heels of this, it would feel dirty.

Anyway, I rambled on on this far longer than I meant to. Oops!

[wileycap]

Special Instructions For Luke Skywalker

(approved by hon. Sen. Organa, Gen. Solo, entirety of Rogue Squadron, Adm. Ackbar, hon. Sen. Mothma, distributed to Cmdr. Skywalker)

1. No acrobatics, except in designated excercise areas.

1.1. Not even if you can "jump really high, the Force is so bright right now, look!"

2. Absolutely NO mind reading.

2.1. If you do it on accident, try not to get a weird look on your face and also tell us what you learned. Proverb: It's better to know than to wonder about it until one ends up doing something stupid.

2.2. Yes. I'm talking about that. I can't look General Madine in the eye anymore.

2.3. It's still allowed for intrasquadron prank purposes. But you can't do it to the others, they freak out.

3. No posing. Yes, you pose. It's annoying and wrong. The rest of us are dirty and want to slump down into our own filth and sleep. We don't need to see you being all heroic.

4. No claiming "the will of the Force" when you do something weird. Yes it's saved all our lives more than once. Yes it's still offputting and just plain disturbing.

4.1. "The universe is telling me that..." is not an acceptable substitute.

4.2. "I have received an omen" is also out.

4.3. "The vibes speak to me" is funny but no.

4.4. "Hey guys, guess what came to me in a dream" might be okay but it was in the middle of combat. And you said it over the general comms. And then you did an unannounced microjump into actual hyperspace in the middle of actual combat. Admiral Ackbar nearly had a medical event.

5. If somebody wants to hold your lightsaber you should let them.

5.1. You're officially allowed to disregard that. Never give Janson your lightsaber again. We have no idea how he snuck that in in the first place.

5.2. If Princess Leia requests to inspect your ceremonial weapon (commonly known as a 'lightsaber'), you should let her. For reasons for legitimate cultural intrest and archeological research. And because as your superior, she has the right to inspect your weapon as set down in the Alliance Charter, section General Conduct, heading B4467, subheading BA561-33. By permission of Princess Leia. I approve of this. Luke give it to me for a second you get to have it all the time.

6. If you need to "have a conversation with a ghost", do it in a private place.

6.1. If you agree to have your ghost conversations in private, we promise to stop referring to our "private time" as "having a conversation with a ghost."

6.2. In fact, we could just stop announcing it altogether. It was funny the first time and it hasn't been funny since. Guys, I don't want to know.

6.3. But please don't talk to thin air in front of us.

7. Luke, you are a hero of the Alliance. We are also friends. You don't need to bow when you see me, even if I am technically royalty and your superior.

7.1. It's very sweet that you do it and I appreciate that you want to show your respect, but the new recruits are getting confused.

7.2. NO, ADMIRAL ACKBAR DIDN'T WRITE THAT. It was obviously me, Leia!

7.3. If you're doing this on purpose and hiding it behind your innocent farmboyishness, I'LL KILL YOU. I'll kill you until you're dead.

7.4. STOP BOWING STOP

8. Don't work on the Falcon unsupervised.

8.1. Me being in the general area isn't supervision.

8.2. Me being near you but working on a different part isn't supervision.

8.3. Apparently me looking over your shoulder isn't supervision either. Just don't do it, kid.

9. Cub. You are very small in comparison to other humans. If you are having trouble hunting I can do it for you.

9.1. Apologies. Han reminded me that you are an adult by the standards of your species. I travel with him and I am often confused that he is an adult. You understand.

9.2. No asking Chewie if his relationship with me is "kind of like adopting a tooka" for him. For one, no, and for two, everybody else already made that joke.

9.3. He is very much like a badly behaved tooka.

[legally-allowed-to-slime]

Can’t even lie man I’ve been offline all day and i immediately went to your blog to read your takes on the session and Pearl n gem n co. after watching some wild life. Thanks for having the best takes lol

genuinely, it’s an honour. crazy to me that anyone would come to this blog for good takes, they never make any sense and i’m always suspiciously resentful towards c!scott. i’ll take this opportunity to lay out my gempearl thoughts as well

first of all, it drives me insane the way pearl usually goes along with whatever scott and cleo says, but the only thing she consistently, and has repeatedly, contradicted them on is that she’s been antagonising gem. in fact at the start of the session scott poked her about it again and she laid out a short monologue to assert that his claims were invalid. funnily enough she goes back on this a few seconds later saying that “i’ll make her have a reason to hold that grudge” which honestly is not helping her case. however if gem can make vague threats about impulse i don’t see why pearl can’t do the same. women’s wrongs and all that.

and then after that scott tells impulse and pearl to apologise to gem and joel. again, it’s a bit odd to me how they keep harping on this bit, but every time they do, all they do is scold impulse for rightfully constantly accusing gem over the cows, and then impulse apologises, yet pearl is still implicated (for NOTHING). pearl did protest this point earlier that she was “just existing”, scott counters that “i don’t know what you’ve done but you’ve annoyed her”, so “keep your distance”.

and to think that the argument only happened because scott made a throwaway comment about a “request” he had for pearl if she wanted a life from him. i feel like he meant it as a funny aside and expected pearl to just shut up and take it, but pearl never shuts up and takes it so that’s the problem there.

also, on secret life: pearl argues that she was right to ally with scar, which like, okay, fair enough, but scott says that “it takes time” and that “look we’re together” i’m not sure why he’s under the perception that GGG is in anyway functional or healthy considering he himself is trashtalking impulse and pearl with gem geminitay (ok sorry i’m just salty over him being buddy buddy with gem). at one point cleo goes “we have to be enablers” (lowkey incorrect because pearl hasn’t done anything, you can’t enable someone to just do nothing, but i appreciate the sentiment) and pearl just starts. throwing eggs at the ground. really funny out of context.

now for the actual gempearl interaction (we get like one and a half per episode i’m actually starving). they’re so obsessed with each other. trust me i said so. pearl beelining to gem to say “hi gem! :D” and gem beelining to pearl to punch her and say “go home pearl” oh they make me ill i feel like they’re just constantly on each other’s minds. the problem is that we haven’t gotten a good gempearl interaction because when they’re near each other their allies are also hanging around, so it always ends up with gem getting glazed by scott or pearl getting distracted by bigb or something like that. it’s such a pity because gem specifically went to find the 4Gs’ base but she went to the old one instead of the new one where pearl was hanging around so we could have potentially gotten a 1 on 1 shiny duo interaction this session (i’m not sure about the timeline there) but we DIDN’T because gem’s not talked to the 4Gs enough to know that they moved bases. grrr.

and then gem drops the anger for a bit to encourage pearl to kill grian. i have NO idea what that’s about, i feel like she’s just into bloodthirst in general but what it does remind me of is her trying to convince pearl to kill the ender dragon in SL, coincidentally, when pearl was impulse’s butler. and now she’s encouraging pearl to carry out what impulse wants. i don’t know. maybe her type is murderers and she’s trying to give pearl a chance. or something

anyway as for the other half an interaction where gem finds etho pearl and cleo at her base, gem reverts back to loudly disparaging pearl within earshot. i feel like she’s nailed “ex who really wants you to know that you’re exes”, and pearl getting so indignant about it she can’t even form a sentence for a few seconds is great actually. might be a reach but whether on hermitcraft or life series, pearl tends to stumble over her words a lot when directly challenged by gem, which is probably just because she’s thinking hard on what to say and is sleep deprived half the time. but i find it pretty telling that pearl doesn’t say anything back to gem and just. leaves. it’s very obvious she’s still down bad for gem in a way but gem is intentionally making it very hard for pearl to remain so.

last paragraph. when joel visits pearl at their new base, joel is happy that pearl called his build a car and said she liked it (pearl likes cars fork found in kitchen). so joel and pearl are on good terms, which i expect would lead to interesting dynamics but at the same time joel would definitely follow gem’s lead over maintain that friendship but still his perception of pearl now is positive. so that’s intriguing

song of the day is down bad by taylor swift. trust me guys they want each other so bad

[rockermybuddie]

I’ll Never Leave You

Eddie x Buck

Summary: Eddie and Buck have a deep conversation on Eddies couch after Buck came over after his break up with Tommy.

Warnings: not proof read, unsure of what im even writing.

A/n: Im still not over Bucktommy break up. Blah blah blah yeah yeah yeah they only brought Tommy back for one reason.

Im still sad ok.

In my head this is what i need to see in the next episode. What i imagine is happening.

In no way am i trying to make Tommy the bad guy in this. If you have seen any of my other posts since Epi 6, you know i love Tommy and im a multi shipper.

——————

“Tommy broke up with me.” Buck muttered. Its the first thing either of them said since they sat in the couch, the case of beer almost empty.

Eddie paused and made his known face he makes when Buck tells him he broke up with is current partner.

He turns his head and sees how hurt Buck is. Of course breaking up with someone is hard but Tommy was good for Buck so even Eddie is feeling sad for Buck.

“I’m sorry Buck.” Eddie rubs Bucks shoulder reassuringly as he finishes off his beer.

The two sat there in silence again as Eddie doesn’t want to push Buck to talk and Buck is wondering why no one stays in his life.

“We both dated Abby.”

“Really?” Eddie furrows his brows as he proceeds to think of what Buck just said.

“Yep. Tommy and Abby were engaged. And after that i was the himbo.”

“Himbo?” Eddie snorted but quickly cleared his throat when he saw the look Buck was giving him.

“Sorry.”

Eddie got up and grabbed another six pack from the fridge bringing it into the living room handle Buck another beer.

“I asked him to move in with me.”

“You did?” Eddie thinks of how long him and Tommy have been together but then again he cant say anything. He asked Marisol to move in with him.

“Then he said that ‘I’ would end up breaking his heart because he knows how this ends.”

Buck leaned his head back against the couch as he finished off another beer.

“I thought he was the one. He said that he was my first not my last. But they can be they same thing, thats what i told him. He didnt believe me. Do you believe me?” Buck looks over at Eddie who is fingering his beer bottle.

“Y-yeah, sure….they can be the same thing.” Eddie mumbles out. The beer is starting to get to him.

Buck puffs out his cheeks as he looks down at the floor. He notices Eddie is still just in his underwear and a button down with the collar flipped up. But he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Everyone always leaves me.” Buck says after minutes of silence. A tear falls down his cheek but he wipes it away.

“Maddie has left me multiple times, my parents clearly didnt want me in the first place. Bobby left. The damn lawsuit. And everytime i ask someone to move in with me, they leave.” Buck named off everyone whos ever left him making him realize that maybe hes the problem.

“Buck we are all way past the lawsuit.” Eddie reminds him. “Bobby came back to the 118. Maddie and Chimney are here and Hen is here.”

“I know. I just wish people who claim they love me would stay.” Buck says

“We all love you Buck.”

“Not like that.”

Eddie turns his head and looks at Buck, the conversation at the coffee shop with Father Brian.

“You’ll always have me Buck.” Eddie tells him, he feels his heart beat start to race and he starts to feel sweat droplets around his forehead.

Buck turned his head looking at Eddie and repeated what Eddie had just said in his head trying to put it in place with the conversation.

“What do you mean by that?” Buck asks

“I- i um… I’m your best friend.”

“Yeah?” Buck can clearly tell something is going on with Eddie, and its not how drunk he is something was going on before he got there.

“I lied to you.” Eddie says, he sees the hurt fill Bucks face even more and it makes him feel even worse.

“About what?” Buck asks him. “Being my best friend?”

“No. About me. Who i am.” He sees the pain he caused turn into confusion on Bucks face.

“I went and talked to Father Brian and he said that I’m punishing myself of ‘joy’ told me to find a way to express myself.” Eddie explains

“Is that why you shaved?” Buck asks

“Part of it.”

“The other part is because i was hiding from myself.” Eddie confessed. He found it easy to talk to Buck, he didnt feel pressure or judged.

“Are you done hiding from yourself?” Buck asks. He knows Eddie feels like a failed parent since Chris is in Texas with his parents.

He knows Eddie hasnt been himself since and he hasn’t wanted to push him about it.

“Im not sure.” Eddie says “theres something else.”

Buck reaches for another beer, as he leans back onto the couch hes a bit closer to Eddie. Their arms brush against each other as Buck takes a swig of the beer. Waiting for someone to say another word.

“Find joy” Eddie mumbles

“Hmm?” Buck looks over at Eddie.

“Joy.” Eddie places a hand on Bucks cheek as he looks into Bucks blue eyes.

“Eddie.” Buck says, the hand on his cheek feeling like a hot mold leaving a scar on his face.

This had to be the beer because why is Eddie staring into his sould wetting his lips with his tongue.

“Kiss me.” Eddie whispers

“W-what?”

“Kiss me.” He repeats

At first Buck thought he was joking there was no way Eddie wanted him to kiss him. Eddie was straight to his knowledge.

“A-are you sure?” Buck asks as he notices the tent in Eddies underwear. Its pretty easy to see since hes not wearing any pants.

“Yes.”

Eddie asking Buck to kiss him sobered him up but as soon as Buck leaned down and placed his lips on Eddies he was drunk again.

Eddies lips were warm and soft against his.

Eddie adjusted himself on the couch so Buck was above him between his legs.

Bucks tongue worked its way ino Eddies mouth as Eddies fingers slipped under his shirt.

The two were shirtless chest to chest as they made out.

“Is this what joy feels like?” Eddie asks

“Yes.” Buck quickly answered.

-

As Buck laid on Eddies bare chest listening to his heart beat all these thought were rushing through his mind.

His boyfriend just broke up with him, he came to his best friend’s house to drink a beer and to not be a lone only to have ended up making out with his best friend.

That was a very Buck 1.0 move.

He just made out with his best friend who hasnt came out to himself.

What if it was all the beer?

What if this isnt what Eddie really wants?

Buck cant go back like nothing happened.

———-

A/n: I’ll probably write another story once we know what happens next episode.

[diangelodork]

OKAY HERES A THING IVE BEEN ITCHING TO TALK ABOUT BUT IVE BEEN AFRAID THAT PEOPLE WILL MISINTERPRET ME

crystal knows that edwin likes charles. look at how she looks at them in the first few episodes especially. look at the things she says about them. “deceased married couple,” for one. i KNOW she knows it. it’s OKAY that she knows it. she KNOWS WHY edwin’s jealous and that’s OKAY. she isn’t obligated to protect edwin’s feelings. she isn’t obligated to refuse to pursue something with charles just because she knows how edwin feels. that’s not her fucking responsibility!! she can be aware and understand and still become involved with charles!!!!

i’ve been so afraid to say this because i don’t want anyone to sit here and think im saying that crystal is a shitty person for doing stuff with charles even though she knows how edwin feels. i’m not saying that at all.

because i’m neurodivergent, i feel i must liken this to my own experiences to help elucidate my meaning.

i had this friend group where everyone knew i had a crush on this one guy. he was my best friend at the time. he told us he had a crush on someone but that he would only tell me because i was the person he trusted the most. he told me it was someone else within the friend group. he then enlisted my help in asking her out and i did it. i had a conversation with her where i asked if she liked anyone and was very clearly trying to coax out an answer. i eventually said something along the lines of “but if you HAD to choose one person to date, who would it be???” and she finally cracked and said that it would be him, but that she would never do anything about it because she couldn’t do that to me. i was immediately like ??? that’s bullshit?? i don’t have any particular claim over this person. sure, i like him, but who am i to stand in the way of a potential relationship? you like him and he likes you and you’re allowed to do something about it. i can put my big boy pants on and say that you both made a choice and accept that i wasn’t it. that’s fine. don’t refuse the fact that you like him for my sake, that’s dumb.

all this to say, edwin liking charles does not mean he has a claim over him. charles can make his own decisions and the one he chose was to pursue crystal. crystal is not then obligated to say “well, because i know that edwin likes him, i will not pursue him back out of respect! even though he likes me and is actively TRYING to pursue me and even though i actively like him back!!”

that’s some BULLSHIT. they are their own people and are capable of making their own decisions!! she can know and still like him and want him and make out with him. that’s fine! stop treating her like a shit person just because she knows!

[cringe--is--dead]

𝔽𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕄𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤

ℕ𝕖𝕜𝕠𝕞𝕒 𝕄𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕘𝕖𝕣 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

𝔸/ℕ: I started re-watching Haikyuu so the hyperfixation is coming back STRONG!

Direct sequel to this blurb!

You took everything you had said earlier back; nervous didn't even begin to cover how you were feeling. The closer to the camp sight the bus got, the shakier your hands got. You did your best to hide them, though the worried looks Yaku was sending your way says you weren't doing a great job at it.

"Hey," You could feel the bus begin to slow down as Kuroo turned around to look at you, the playfulness that had been present was gone, and you were grateful for the small smile he was sending your way, "You'll be fine. We're going to be the first team there more than likely, so you have time to get adjusted before everyone else shows up."

You nodded, moving to stand as Nekomata called for everyone to hop off the bus. The third years and you were the first ones off the bus after the coaches departed, grabbing your bags and waiting to make sure everyone else deboarded.

Lev groaned as he stretched, "That was way too long to be sitting."

Yaku rolled his eyes, gently nudging the first year to continue walking, "Only for a tall freak like you."

"Hey! That wasn't nice!"

Kai wandered over to you, offering to carry one of your mini bags for you, and you agreed, wanting to once more go over the notes he and Nekomata had curated for you to study. You may have begun to understand volleyball more, but after expressing your fear of embarrassing yourself in front of these other teams, they had made you more things to study.

"The other teams have managers too," You two began walking, Kuroo and Yaku ahead of you, already bickering about who knows what, "I'm sure you'll get along well with them. Karasuno has a newer manager too, so you two will probably be in similar boats."

You let out a breath, "Right."

"I'm serious," You glanced over at him, "It'll be fine. We were all nervous our first training camps, but you get used to them."

Nodding, you entered the building where your rooms would be. Each team had their own room, and due to the smaller numbers, the managers all had one room to them. You were too scared to ask earlier if you had to room with your team or by yourself; both sounding not ideal.

You entered the room, dropping your bags off in a little area, mentally claiming the small spot as your own. That wasn't too presumptuous was it? Maybe you should wait for the others to show up, offer them first dibs.

Sighing, you shook your head to yourself, there was no point in worrying about it now. If any of the other girls had issues you'd quickly move your stuff-- easy fix.

A knock at the door had you turning, Shibayama peering in curiously, "Hey, we're going to set up in gym one right now, and Kuroo wants to know if you'll lead some warm up drills?"

And the day starts.

"Are we starting practice matches when they show up?"

He shook his head, "He says Lev and Yamamoto have too much energy, so this is more to tire them out so they don't annoy him."

You snorted at that, sometimes Kuroo reminded you of an over exhausted pre-school teacher. Glancing at your bag, you followed Shibyama out and towards the gym, you'd change later.

You had gotten held up by a teacher before you departed, and in turn, weren't able to change out of your school uniform. It wasn't uncomfortable per say, but you'd trade out the skirt for a pair of Nekoma sweatpants before the practice matches started.

The chatter inside the gym wasn't loud, but you could hear it from right outside. Inuoka and Lev were helping set nets up, Kuroo was discussing something with Kai, and when they saw you, they motioned you over.

You left Shibayama who promptly went over to help with some other set ups, making your way to your captain and vice-captain. Kuroo raised an eyebrow at you.

"You're still in your school uniform?"

You shrugged, "I was going to change before the actual practice matches started. Didn't want to waste precious time tiring Lev out."

Kai chuckled, while Kuroo just sighed, and the mental image of him as a pre-school teacher was back. He handed you a clipboard, "It'll be a shorter night, but we figured these starting rotations would be good. Only a few teams will be here today, the rest arrive tomorrow. So we'll just be in this gym for tonight."

Two courts, four teams. Okay so there were three other schools showing up today, no worries. Fukurodani, Shinzen, and Karasuno today. It seemed in order, Kuroo was good with scheduling, and to be fair you didn't often have to correct his work. He was just paranoid from when he royally screwed up during exam week; the poor guy was running off of no sleep and way too much coffee.

You handed it back, "Those are two of the teams I'm supposed to be weary of, right?" The question was asked dryly, and Kuroo huffed at your tone.

"Don't appreciate the sarcasm, but yes. Thank you for asking." Kai just chuckled, patting him on the arm.

"Lev, I swear to the gods if you don't stop-"

"Yaku, come on! What's the point of a training camp if we're not training?"

"We're just warming up now, put the ball down!"

You sighed, understanding Kuroo's petulance from earlier. Damn rooster-headed captain laughed as you stalked over to where Yaku and Lev were bickering.

"Yaku's right, Lev, we're going to run some drills before we start with anything else."

Lev pouted at your words, and Yaku looked far too smug after bullying the first year. You raised an eyebrow at him, "If you both have enough energy to be bickering why not run some extra laps, hm? I was going to have everyone start with fifteen, but I think you two need a bit more than that. Does twenty five sound good?"

The two blanched at your words, the sickly sweet tone you had adopted since filling this position, you had been told, was terrifying. Yaku looked sheepish, rubbing the back of his head, but decided against arguing.

"Sorry," Lev muttered, and you nodded.

"Now put the ball back, Lev, and the two of you can get started. I'll have the others join you when you hit ten laps."

He nodded, the pout disappearing as he thought of something, "Oh! Watch this!"

Before you or Yaku could say anything, he launched the ball, clearly aiming to throw it directly into the basket. It made it, in a sense, before bouncing off all the other balls inside, and flying out the still open door. He stared after it, almost surprised by the outcome.

"Go start your laps." Was all you said, sending the two off.

You could hear Kuroo's stupid cackle from across the gym, and turned quickly, glaring his way as well. "You wish to join them, captain?"

He sobered up rather quickly, "No. I'm good, thanks."

You huffed, turning to gather the stray ball. Nekomata chuckled from where he and Naoi were talking. You all had barely been here and these troublemakers were already... well, making trouble.

The ball had bounced further down the sidewalk than you had thought, and you had to walk a good few meters away to get it. Though before you could lean down to grab it, the presence of someone startled you.

This kid appeared out of nowhere.

He was staring at you, almost as confused by your presence as you were of his.

"Um, hello?" The hold he had on his bag tightened as he awkwardly greeted you.

He was short, bright and unruly orange hair. He seemed nervous, reminding you of one of your younger cousins whenever he got caught doing something he shouldn't have been. Maybe he was wandering around and didn't think anyone would be here.

"Hey," You squatted to grab the ball, walking a bit closer to him, "Are you lost? I don't think you're supposed to be here, kid."

His cheeks burned bright at your comment, and he stammered over whatever he was trying to say.

"Hinata! What did I tell you about running off, man?"

You two turned, a guy about your age calling out to the red head, Hinata, also carrying a bag at his side. The two of you made eye contact, and the man froze where he was standing.

No one said a word, and you awkwardly moved the ball around in your hands, "Um, are you his older brother?"

Hinata sputtered at the question, "He's not my older brother!"

The other guy didn't say anything, simply staring at you silently. It was starting to make you feel a bit uncomfortable. "Uh-"

"Pretty girl!"

His shout caught you off guard, and you felt your shoulders raise, cheeks burning at the words shouted your direction. Mouth parted slightly, you took notice as other people began walking into view.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh shit.

You turned to Hinata, "Are you all here for the volleyball training camp?"

He nodded enthusiastically, "We're Karasuno high school!"

"Oh." Was all you managed to say, looking from him to the others who were walking up curiously.

One of them stepped forward, the way he walked reminded you of Kuroo some, and he smiled at you. Oh he was... he was handsome. Your cheeks burned even hotter at your own thoughts.

"Hello, I'm Daichi, Karasuno's captain. Who are you?"

"Oh, uh," You were stammering like Hinata had been when you called out to him, introducing yourself, "I'm Nekoma's manager."

He blinked, "Their manager? I didn't know they had gotten one. That's great!"

He smiled down at you, and you felt your heart flutter some. This was dangerous.

Wait, weren't you supposed to avoid this team? Because-

"What!" Someone else came into view, standing next to the buzz cut guy who called you pretty a few minutes ago, "Nekoma got a manager too?"

You stepped back, the attention scaring you, and you were beginning to feel like you had when you first became Nekoma's manager. "Uh, yes?"

"She's so pretty!"

"Stay strong, Noya," The buzz cut guy grabbed his friends shoulder, "We must remain strong!"

Those two. You were supposed to avoid those two.

You failed.

"Hey!" You had never been so happy to hear Yamamoto's yells before, "Back off our manager!"

You felt yourself breath a bit easier as your team came out of the gym, Lev and Yaku looking a bit more winded than the others. Kuroo hurried over to you, smiling at Daichi.

"Well well, I thought you all weren't going to be here until later."

Daichi sighed, "We thought so too. Kiyoko really saved us with motion sickness medicine for Hinata though, so we pulled through."

"I would have rather your managers meet ours before the rest of your crows," Kuroo muttered, standing close enough to you that you could feel his body heat, "Especially your rowdy second years."

"Yeah, sorry about them," His apology was directed towards you, and you waved it off.

"Oh, no, it's- it's okay!"

"Yachi and Kiyoko are putting their stuff away, if you want to go introduce yourself to them."

He really needed to stop smiling at you, it was not doing good things to your heart.

"And change into something that's less cute," Kuroo muttered to you, half playful, half serious.

You self consciously tugged at the end of your skirt, those sweat pants were really calling your name. You quickly bowed towards the rest of Karasuno, "It's nice to meet you all! I'll be back!"

With as much dignity as you could muster you sped walked back towards the rooms, cheeks warm and heart fluttering. You thought you were going to have more time to calm down before meeting more strangers? Oh you were so making Kuroo do some type of drill he hated as punishment.

Outside of the manager's room, you took a moment to compose yourself. You patted your cheeks, hoping the flush would die down soon, before softly knocking on the door to announce your presence, before sliding the door open.

"Um, hello," You stepped inside, the two figures turning to look at you.

One of them was a bit shorter than you, she seemed like a first year. She had cute little star hair clips in her hair, and she seemed almost more nervous than you were. The other one was down right beautiful, and you were regretting agreeing to come to this training camp.

You introduced yourself, "I'm Nekoma's new manager. Daichi said you two were Kiyoko and Yachi?"

The taller of the two, Kiyoko, smiled softly at you, "Yes. I'm Kiyoko, this is Yachi. It's lovely to meet you."

"Yeah!" Yachi echoed, voice a bit louder than necessary, all nervous smiles, "I didn't know Nekoma got a manager!"

"I really only started a few weeks ago, Kuroo had to beg me to come to the training camp. He also said you all would be a bit later coming, so I'm sorry I wasn't here to greet you two."

"No, it's alright," Kiyoko waved off your apology, "It was good luck and proper planning that got us here now, something I fear we often lack when traveling."

Yachi nodded, "Yeah! I'm going to start packing a mini first aid kit, and I'll keep motion sickness medicine in it for any time we travel in the future."

That didn't seem like a bad idea. Granted, none of your teammates got sick traveling, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibilities.

"Oh, if you don't mind I need to change," You motioned towards your uniform, "Then I can meet you all back at the gym."

"We can wait for you if you'd like," Yachi offered, voice tentative, "Only if you want though!"

"Oh," You blinked, before smiling, "That would be nice, yeah!"

These two were so sweet, you were starting to look forward to this training camp. Yaku and Kai were right, they were all nice, and even the quick talk with the other team, they all seemed sweet.

This would be fun, you were sure of it now.

[theyjustadmitthathuh]

Fish anon again

"Male people, such as trans women, will still never face actual misogyny, which is the name for sex-based oppression."

How can you feel so comfortable neatly categorising trans women out of being able to experience discrimination they clearly do? When trans women are harassed in the street, or pressured to shave their legs, or die of breast cancer due to a lack of medical funding, or killed by their partners - that's only transphobia and/or homophobia? Because of the cells in their body? How does neatly dividing complicated forms of discrimination by primary sexual characteristics make sense?

In your example of a trans women (the "male person") being murdered by a sex buyer - can you say with a straight face that the man's actions were not influenced whatsoever by his hatred of women? That this women who was murdered was the victim of only homophobia and transphobia.

I am going to say this completely seriously, read Invisible Women (free pdf here , free audiobook with a library card here ) and then get back to me. I want to hear what you have to say about the matter after you read this book, and I want you to know that it’s not even radical feminist theory, just regular feminism.

Another book that would be a good read is Who Cooked the Last Supper, but as I don’t have any free copies readily available, I will just say that the reason all other bigotries so closely mimic misogyny is because misogyny was the first bigotry. Misogyny was the very first way people looked at each other and said “i am this way and you are different” and acted upon it to privilege one group and disenfranchise the other. If there is a similarity between transphobia and homophobia as compared to misogyny, that would be because they used the misogyny template to grow.

This book outlines this in how women were kept as slaves because they could provide more slaves in the future when raped. How that sexual slavery morphed into marriage so that the rapist could be sure the child was his. And how this was all happening when humanity was still in early tribal form and long before the birth of jesus or even the idea of yahweh. And how it became more intensely enforced as time went on. How the first recorded code of laws even has misogyny enforced in its text. Misogyny is the template for other bigotries, and that is the reason that trans women can claim they experience something like misogyny, because all bigotry is like misogyny, but only female people experience oppression on the basis of sex.

[ttaibhse]

do you support trans people?

let's just assume youre asking this in good faith despite this being an extremely vague question that doesn't really ask anything specific lol. so i'll give you answers to a few different interpretations of it and you can let me know if i've missed any that you're especially concerned about 👍

oh and bear in mind the context that i have transitioned medically and lived as both stealth ftm and openly trans/nonbinary and have experienced being trans first person 🙏

do i support trans people's right to live safe and happy lives free from harrassment and discrimination? yes, of course

do i support trans people's right to present themselves however they want to? yes, of course

do i use the correct names and pronouns of trans people that i interact with in real life? of course!

do i believe people when they tell me their gender identity? sure. i have experienced gender dysphoria lol. i get it

do i support trans people's right to good healthcare? yes of course

do i support adult's decisions to transition medically? if they have ACTUAL full informed consent, sure. many many MANY people are not being provided with FULL, INFORMED consent before opting for medical transition. this is not their fault.

do i think it's irresponsible and stupid to tout medical transition as a risk free, reversible, totally harmless way to experiment with gender? yes

do i think any of this should mean that women should scrupulously monitor their language and behaviour at all times to make sure that no one might possibly feel excluded or offended by anything at all? no

am i personally going to walk on eggshells with the language i use to avoid being called names online when anyone with a working brain knows exactly what i'm talking about? no

am i going to police my own presence online to make sure i'm not interacting even remotely with any bloggers who might have different or even distasteful beliefs or opinions to my own? no

do i think the existence of people with gender dysphoria and people who choose to reject binary gender labels and/or whatever other interpretations you might have of any variety of trans identities means that biological sex is suddenly somehow irrelevant and should be ignored? no

do i think that ANYONE AT ALL AT ANY TIME, regardless of identity, has the right to sexual access to women's bodies? no

do i think that any woman should be obliged to date or have sex with anyone she doesn't want to date or have sex with, for any reason at all, including to make that person feel validated? no

do i think that trans women face the same struggles and experiences with misogyny as cis women? no

do i think that you're being wilfully stupid if you claim these two groups of people are indistinguishable? yes

do i think women should have to prioritise the feelings and sensibilities of any other group, even marginalised groups, over their own safety in the face of being raped/forcefully impregnated/abused/killed by men? no <3

anon as ive said before, you're welcome to make your own decisions about me based on these answers & the content of my blog. you can ask me more questions if you want. but i'm not going to give any black and white sweeping statement answers to appease random anonymous tumblr users and i'm not going to pretend i don't see, experience, and understand material reality. i'm not going to pretend that women aren't my priority lol. i'm not going to pretend that i care that much about being careful to use inclusive language instead of just saying "women" and "men". if that's your priority then that's great for you but it's not mine and it doesn't have to be lol