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gyuswhore · 2 months ago

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Statistically Speaking...

part of the svt TA collab

kim mingyu x reader

word count: 21k

contains: TA! mingyu, fluff, smut [minors DNI], angst, statistics, ur honour they're stupid for one another, descriptions of stress exhaustion and burnout, academic burden, disagreements, mingyu is smart as hell, shitting on bad professors, smut but its a surprise [gyu gets his soul sucked while he's reciting statistical models I mean what]

words of conviction from @highvern: Kim Mingyu, total asshole , 1-800-HOT N DUMB , THEYRE IN LOVE MINGYU SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU LOSER , sick fucking freak , i know when you wrote this you put your head in your hands , OHHHM YW GOD

synopsis: In all your years of academic endurance, you’ve never failed. A 100% success rate, despite you cutting it close at times. However, the line graph that is your life starts tanking somewhere around the time you began taking this hellsent Statistics in Psychological Research class. With a professor that wouldn’t know his ass from his head, and an overworked, overenthusiastic, and overcaptivating TA, it couldn't possibly get any worse than this. However, statistically speaking,…it could.

[a/n]: this fic is set in the same universe as @highvern's wonu fic endpoint [read here!!!], some insight for wonu's pov is included here as is some of Mingyu's pov in cam's fic if you'd like to see more about what happens in the gaps!!

I want to start by thanking everyone who chose to be part of this collab fic and for being the reason cam and I were able to open up @camandemstudios in the first place. everyone's been so kind and cooperative and I still cant believe we managed to convince such amazing writers to join us on this collab journey 🥹 I love u guys

Thanking my wife camothy @highvern for brainstorming with me since day one and for betaing for me. @seokgyuu and @miabebe for also looking over the doc and reassuring me. I'm for sure forgetting someone and I'm really sorry about that, know that I appreciate you just as much 🤍

on that note, I hope you guys enjoy this fic, im HELLA nervous for some reason so plsplspls remember to reblog and send me feedback on how you liked it, I will love you forever <333

masterlist

Monday

A normal person would’ve cried. Perhaps even sued the entire institution for all it was worth. Burn down the world, if it came to it.

But as you stare at the tiny 37/100 on your screen, you feel…nothing.

You could’ve said you saw it coming, which you did, but something about blaming someone else for an exam you took was beginning to feel a little manipulative.

Clicking off the student portal, you huff loudly, five in the morning too early for you to begin breaking down over a grade that was completely unreflective of what you were taught.

Or maybe it was, because as you count one, two, three hours till your dreaded Statistics in Psychological Research class, you can only hope you’ll hold back from spitting in your professor’s coffee. But alas, you can only shut your laptop harder than necessary for what it costs and push the grade out of your mind.

You were tired enough to sleep for a couple more hours, and you take it as an opportunity to spite the entire course by giving just as many fucks as your professor did.

Which was little to none.

That was a lie—on your part anyway. Because you continue to show up, and probably will until you can put this course and all of its trauma behind you. Even now as you feel the inclining beat of your pulse sitting in the white lecture hall, you know this is all but you versus the universe.

Dr. Cho might as well have wheeled himself into the room on a skateboard with the way he struts into the room.

He’s wearing a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off and jeans of a matching finish that do not fit him properly. There’s pins in every last colour on this earth, littering the front of his jacket with sayings that toe the silver controversial lining. There was one that said Vote for John F. Kennedy, another plain black one with I Eat Kids, and of course, the blaring Cunt written in cursive, pink sparkly letters.

This man that’s pushing into his 60s stands before his slightly wilted class in his crocs, hands on his hips as he heaves a long breath.

“I have to say, not the turn out I was expecting on that last report.”

He’s talking about the report you coincidentally failed, the same one you were pushed into with little to no direction and a deadline tighter than any you’ve had to bully yourself through.

“All I can say is to read through the feedback I’ve given and try a little harder next time.” His voice is somewhere bordering comical exasperation. Feedback that consisted of sparing ‘?’’s and ‘no’’s with zero further explanation. He could say more, but you’ve learned that he simply chooses to not.

Besides the man that drones in the front of the room, there’s another person in the other corner of the lecture hall. He’s hunched over a giant pile of papers, sifting through each and every one with a pen in his other hand.

The TA doing a mundane task is somehow more interesting than whatever seminars of disappointment your professor was giving. He’s crossing something out on every single leaf of paper that he flicks through, and you vaguely wonder if those were today’s worksheets.

“...and post hoc tests last week, we can start on Bayesian today. Mingyu will be handing out the tutorial papers.”

The poor TA looks like he thought he’d have more time, snapping his head up to look at the professor with an expression of pure incredulousness. He staggers for a moment before he’s flicking past the pages even faster somehow, striking out what seems like the same instruction in the giant pile of papers meant for an entire lecture hall. There’s a rustle as about a hundred laptops are being pulled out and booted up, waiting for the worksheets to land on the desks.

You hear the familiar warble of papers being passed out and you watch as the TA pulls chunks of sheets out of the giant stack in his arms to slam down onto the front tables.

“Pass it down, please… pass it down, please…”

There’s a voice that calls from one of the front seats, “What formula is the sheet talking about?”

Mingyu looks startled as he snaps back to look at the blaring empty whiteboard. In the midst of passing papers, you watch him sprint to the rolling whiteboards, pulling one of the giant flats of white over to the other side, the mechanism slamming into place with a louder than comfortable slam. It reveals another whiteboard underneath with the detestably long formula already written (and the one you’d have to figure out yourself).

The professor remains with his chin in his hands behind his laptop, unphased.

By the time you’ve registered the foreign symbols on the board, one of the tutorial papers has made it into your hands.

Sure enough, there’s a quick line across one of the steps with a thick black marker.

Blinking hard, you attempt to pull yourself into the zone, staring at the white sheet with words that are barely stringing themselves together. Nothing out of the ordinary, especially as you lift your head to find hunched shoulders and furrowed brows all around.

There’s one person that’s zipping back and forth, just like there always is.

You watch as Mingyu hunches over certain laptops and whispers in rapid explanation before moving on to the next, a looming sense of dizziness that trails behind him as he shoots up the stairs to the back rows to help someone else.

There’s a brief consideration to raise your own hand to ask for help, but one look at his disoriented gaze and the amount of hands that shoot up by the second, you guess it wasn’t going to help.

Back you go, hunched over the same wretched paper as everyone else, and praying for some divine revelation.

Tuesday

Divine revelation did not come to you, but the good sense to make use of office hours did.

So here you are, a printed copy of your supposedly horrid assignment and a pack of multicolour pens in your tote, and determination in your stride, you make your way to the department building.

You’ve double, triple, quadruple checked the times to ensure you don’t dip in at the wrong moment, swiping open your phone to re-check the room number yet again.

Standing outside the door, you knock with mustered confidence, waiting for something akin to an affirmative from the other side of the door.

Nothing.

You knock again.

Silence.

You glance around the empty hall before grasping onto the cool brass handle of the door, wrenching it open just a peep. Poking your head in, you find the room…empty.

The chairs and tables that usually buzz with discussing students lay barren as you step into the room. Moving to look at the front of the room, you inhale sharply as you realise the professor’s desk has been occupied this entire time.

Except he’s asleep.

No, that’s not the professor.

Moving closer, you watch the way his back rises and falls ever so slowly, head resting on his arm as his hand hangs limp off the table. Whipping your head around with more attention this time, you attempt to find an explanation written on the walls. But there’s none, even in the papers that litter the table he rests his head on.

You don’t need to see his face to know it’s the TA. But as you stand in the empty room, clutching the straps of your tote, you aren’t quite sure what to do.

Another glance around the table and you realise his laptop remains on, the screen yet to sleep. Before the obvious issue of a blatant invasion of privacy can befall you, you take a step forward to take a peek.

It’s his schedule, a million colours blaring on the screen in a colour coded regard with barely any white spaces. It doesn’t take long to find his time slot for right now, red with importance.

Glancing down, the man remains fast asleep, pen still in hand as it inks a faint line on the page. You look around the room for the nth time, taking constant glances back at his laptop that tells you he’s actively missing something right now. Clearing your throat, you hunch over a tad bit.

“Um, excuse me.” He hardly moves. So you try a little louder, hunching over his sleeping form even further. “Excuse me.”

You could’ve sworn you heard a snore.

Out of instinct, you bring a hand forward to his shoulder, shaking ever so slightly as you call for him again. “Excuse me!”

There’s a sharp inhale and he shoots up quicker than you can back away, ensuring you get an entire back’s worth of force as he bumps into you, hard.

“Wh–ow!” The noise is collective, yelps and thuds as you both back away from each other.

“W–what’re you doing here?” he asks, hair still ruffled and eyes barely open as he stands at the table. There’s a bright yellow sticky note on his right cheek, ink scribbled on in something you can’t decipher.

“Um, it’s office—”

His eyes land on the same screen you were peering into just before and it looks like his life flashes before his eyes, widening at the sight as he slams around the table looking for something.

“I have to go,” he announces, gripping onto an unstrapped watch as he registers the time, his other hand shoving his laptop and a few papers into a dark messenger bag.

“Wait, isn’t it still office hours?” you call out as he whizzes past you.

He’s swinging his bag over his shoulder and half tripping to the door as he calls out, “Wednesdays and Thursdays.”

“But—”

“It’s on the portal.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it—” he pauses as he exhales loudly, closing his eyes and bringing a hand to rub across his tired face. “I’ll double check. But it’s Wednesdays and Thursdays from now on. You can wait till I get back if you really want help.”

“How—”

A loud slam! of the door.

“—long…”

You’re left draped in silence yet again, the echoes of the slammed door ringing in your startled ears. It all happened too fast for you to process, blinking rapidly as you registered that you were now alone in the room.

He said he’d be back, but left you with no indication as to when. By the looks of his god awful schedule, it looked like he had something else to attend to right after whatever it was he buggered off to right now.

Fingers clenched into a fist, you consider your options. You could wait, sit on one of the desks and try to get some work done until he gets back.

The universe gives you your answer as the door opens with a loud creak in the empty lecture hall. It’s another professor who looks quite startled to find an overenthusiastic student already present for class.

She stares before craning to look at the room number outside the door, “Am I in the right room?”

“Uh, yes! I was just leaving,” you buffer out, moving to shuffle out immediately.

You’re halfway out the door when you hear another call of an “Excuse me!”

“Are these your papers?” The professor’s full arms are up as she gestures to the still littered table.

The No is ready on your lips. Until it isn’t.

Later on, you’d consider how you left that room with an armful of papers that did not belong to you. How you’d ducked under the table to ensure you’d gotten everything, down to the leather strap watch with the cracked clock face.

But as you stare at the stack of files and sheets that lay on your desk at home, you only know of the decent act that you’d committed.

And nothing of the hourglass you’d just turned over.

Wednesday

In your Sent box are three emails sent on three separate days, all asking the same recurring question, all responding with the same recurring reply.

I wanted to confirm the days and times for office hours. I’m aware it’s on the portal but I’d like to reconfirm.

Regards, YN

Dear YN,

Wednesdays and Thursdays. 4 to 6 PM.

Kim Mingyu, T.A.

So there you were on a Wednesday afternoon, 3:59 PM sharp, outside the lecture hall where office hours have always been. With the same tote hung on your shoulders, with the same printed assignment and pack of multicolour pens, and a separated stack of files and folders, you wrench the door open with bated breath.

The blended murmur of the usual hustle and bustle of the appointment reassures you first, the sight of scattered students of familiar faces reassures you second. And most of all, a conscious TA that sits at the professor’s desk, speaking to another student over a laptop screen.

The man does nothing to acknowledge your arrival, continuing above the babble of students that occupy the chairs and the discussion. It isn’t too full, but considerably busy nonetheless despite how early you’ve swooped in.

There’s a brief consideration whether this was in the TA’s job description at all, craning your neck to take a full sweep of the room to find a sparing glimpse of the man who should be here. The professor and his loud fashion choices are nowhere to be found.

The sigh you let out is heavy and full of an emotion you cannot possibly begin to unpack, taking a seat on one of the unoccupied chairs to slump against. Shoulders sagging, you feel every fibre of your being screaming against your better judgement to pull out some work and to be productive while you wait. Reading over your failed assignment for the nth time, the same one that seemed to be some sick form of rage bait.

You pull a couple things out so as to not look awkward sitting and staring into nothing on an empty desk, uncapping your pen and pulling up your sleeves like there was business to be done. Which there was, but none of which you wished to entertain.

People watching, you realise, is a lot easier when most of the room is preoccupied with whatever it is they’re doing, too busy to notice your blank stares.

The faces are familiar, none of which are people you’ve interacted with before but classmates nonetheless. The room is full of shaking legs, spinning pens and hunched backs, not an un-scrunched brow in sight. There’s a particular gaggle of girls somewhere around the front, their tables suggesting a work environment but between the whispers, giggles and glances to the front of the room, you assume there’s one thing in common the both of you weren’t doing.

Speaking of the front of the room, your matched glance finds you face to face with the student at the main table in the middle of pushing himself off his seat. Your reaction is immediate, hand coming over to slam against the flat of your bag to find the lost straps, moving out of your seat as you keep your eyes on the front of the room.

Bad luck must be a lover, because you realise quickly that somebody’s already beat you to it. Before you even noticed the first’s intentions to. The student stands beside the chair ready to keep it warm as the previous occupant leaves.

Slamming back down on your own seat, you realise very quickly that trying to get an audience with this TA was going to be harder than you anticipated. There’s multiple other sounds of frustration around the room, and you doubt the slowly increasing pool of students was going to help anyone’s time management.

Realising you needed to be a little more tactical if you didn’t want to sit here for the next month and half, you find an empty spot near the gaggle of girls you’d noticed before. It was right up front, just enough for you to hear when the conversation would begin to conclude at the main table.

Once again, the TA doesn’t seem to notice any of the hustle and bustle of the room as his mouth continues to move rapidly, eyes on the question as he invests himself in his explanation.

It was unfortunate that the only remaining seat was right next to the louder than necessary group, but you take it as a blessing anyway. It’s then that the one right next to you turns to stage-whisper to you.

“Are you here to see him?”

You don’t expect a conversation, ears straining to eavesdrop on the other conversation in front of you to find your cue. You snap to look at her in surprise. “Pardon?”

“Are you here to see him? Mingyu?”

“Uh—” Wasn’t everybody? “Yeah, I had a couple things I wanted to clear out.”

The revelation makes her shoulders drop as she lets out a loud sigh, “God, I can never get anything this professor says. I've been here nearly every week trying to figure it all out.”

“Yeah he’s a bit…unorthodox.”

“He’s unorthodox too.” She looks over to the main table towards the TA, chin in her hands as she gazes. “A face like that is rare.”

It wasn’t that she was wrong, it didn’t take more than a glance to convince yourself that Mingyu was possibly one of the more attractive people you’d meet in your lifetime. But the appeal lasted for all of five minutes for you, flitting away when you noticed that he dragged along a very…overwrought… suggestion wherever he went.

It was clear he was stressed seemingly all year round, nearly just as relaxed as your professor seemed to be.

But Mingyu was attractive. And you realise how much of a fool you’d sound if you admitted to anything other than such.

“It is. His willpower’s somehow even rarer,” you add. “Don’t know how he does it.”

“God, tell me about it. Forget getting his number, trying to have more than a three sentence exchange with him without some statistical nonsense involved is near impossible.” Her face has fallen, a tight little frown on her face as she irritates herself with some other memory.

Taking a glance down at her notes, you find the printed sheet littered with glitter gel pen ink lining the edges, doodles of stars and hearts and small anime characters next to p values and z scores.

There’s a distinct sound of a chair screeching, and it’s like a large GAME OVER sign is hanging above your head.

You jerk in your seat, like you could jump over the table and land in the emptying seat with some god-given stroke of luck, like the person already standing next to the chair wouldn’t hold a lifelong grudge against the insane girl with an unnatural acclimation to statistics.

Although, nothing was more unnatural than the way this TA seemed to know more than the professor. Or you were just really behind.

Alas, you don’t tumble over the table or kick back your chair, merely making a forceful motion in your seat, palms itching terribly as you watch the girl with her open laptop balanced in her arms move to take a seat.

You were preoccupied, hence you do not notice that the TA has also noticed you.

Suddenly, the girl looks startled as she’s told to wait.

“She’s been waiting nearly a week, I really hope you don’t mind,” you hear him say, voice strained as you turn to look at him. His hands are outstretched to motion towards you a few feet across from him.

For whatever reason, you had no thought that he might’ve remembered you. Something about his half asleep state when he’d spoken to you, perhaps he might’ve thought he dreamt it. Or he’d just forgotten it altogether.

The girl glances at you, and her shoulders sag a little as she nods in formality.

“Thank you.”

It comes out of both of you, snapping to look at each other hardly a moment as you go back to smiling at the retreating student.

“You can come right after her,” he reassures, his own upturned mouth tired and fading.

Never have you felt more awkward trying to come around the elongated student tables.

You pause at first, staring at the table in front of you like it was worth trying to climb over or even crawl under it to get to the desk. Another moment of eye contact as he stares at your unmoving form with a blank look, and the heat pools your skin.

Staggering for a moment, you end up moving past your chair and walking the way round anyway, the screeching of the chairs only nurturing the existing budding humiliation for no apparent reason.

It only gets worse when you sit across from him finally, backside barely touching the plastic before realising you’d forgotten your bag in your seat.

Mid smile in a timid greeting when you make a sound resembling something of an “Oh!” as you spring back up immediately. It’s easier to reach for your bag over the table you were sitting on, reaching across to grab it off your vacated seat.

The girl you were sitting next to just before makes a motion like she’s trying to help and you have to remind yourself to smile at her as you retreat.

Mingyu has the very beginnings of an amused expression on his face once you’ve finally made yourself comfortable across from him, clearing your throat just for something to do.

“Right. How can I help you?”

Pulling out your printed assignment, you bring out the sheets of stapled paper to the centre of the table, writing facing him.

One look at the sparse format of the cover page, he blows a full mouth of air at the sight of recognition. Without you having to say a thing, he flicks to the very last page, finding the rubric printed on a separate page.

“It’s a 37,” you inform him like he couldn’t see the bold 37/100 in the bottom Total cell.

“Do you think you deserved a better grade?” he asks. It would have sounded direct, an accusation even. But he asks with an intonation of genuinity, like he actually wanted to know.

It stumps you regardless.

“Well…I know I can do better, at least,” you decide to answer.

“You’re here, which means you’re at least willing to try. That’s a start,” he murmurs. His eyes are laser focused on the sheet beneath him, holding it open as his eyes move faster across the page than you can keep up with. Somehow talking to you while taking in the words on the paper.

“I remember marking this,” he says, looking up to address you. “Your concepts are nearly there, but your structure and presentation was off.”

“You marked them?”

He raises his brow, “I hope that wasn’t an accusation. I need to stick to the rubric.”

“I thought the professor marked the lab reports.”

“He’s…supposed to.” There’s a forced reservedness in his voice. “I mark them and he puts in his comments if he has any. But I’m not sure you’d fare any better than this if it was him behind that pen either.”

Every question that floated in memorisation, from the form and structure, to the nitty gritties of the data presentation, all evaporate as you realise you’re at a loss for words.

Even more embarrassingly, you feel tears prick the back of your eyes. You don’t have an explanation, but it’s somehow easier to feel helpless in front of the man that’s meant to help you. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“That’s alright,” he says as reassurance, though it sounds awfully rehearsed. Like he has to say it everyday. “We’ll work through it.”

He lets out a big sigh, adjusting in his chair and running a hand through his hair. The motion has you noticing the dishevelled nature of the mop on his head, un-uniformed and sticking out at certain places, yet still somehow cohesive with his look. His shoulders are straight and taut, fingers working as they fiddle and flick the pen in his hand.

Despite it all, his shirt is ruffled and creased, unbuttoned at the first couple steps. The buttons are misaligned, one side of his collar higher on his neck than the other. It takes an effort to not reach over and fix it for him.

“Lab reports can be quite tricky if you aren’t sure what you’re doing. Did you refer to the tutorial?”

You mean the one that did nothing to help? “Yes.”

“You got those bits right, format and whatnot. But—”

“It was a lump of writing about subheadings and word counts,” you say plainly.

Mingyu lips are in a tight line. “Well, yes, but it helps—”

“I know the results are supposed to go in the results section. I don’t need a PDF to tell me that,” you cut him off. Your voice is reserved, and you hope it comes off as a point across and not a complaint. Although it was a complaint. “I want to know why the entire section was ruled off as incorrect when we were never properly taught how to write it in the first place.”

“Dr. Cho—”

“Is no help.”

“I understand—”

“He can’t even mark his own papers. I’m quite sure that’s not in your job description. It’s supposed to be him here. Not you.”

It’s silent. There was nothing in your voice that suggested you wished to pick a fight, on the contrary, quite calm and matter of fact. Mingyu’s fingernails are going white as his grip on his pen and paper grow stronger.

“And yet, we continue to show up. Because we do what we must.” He raises his head in control, a small smile on his face, eyebrows unnaturally raised. “And, better that I’m here rather than no one at all. I can help you too.”

Help, he did.

Mingyu had made it quite clear his time with you was limited, but by the end of the near 25 minute session, nearly every inch of your printed assignment was covered in a rainbow of notes and corrections, additional papers and post-it notes pasted on the back as you remain careful to not lose them as you slip the stack in your bag.

You only remember when you spot the segregated file of papers in your bag.

“I almost forgot,” you say, slipping the files and tidbits out and in front of him.

“Where did you find this?” he asks sharply, eyes widening as sees the familiar blue.

“You left them at the desk of the lecture hall last week,” you say, before quickly adding, “There was a class right after you left. I took them off the professor’s hands before they got lost. Thought it might be important.”

“I’ve been looking all over for these,” he says as he goes through the pages and files. Random sticky tabs and highlighted regions across the pages. The leather strap watch with the broken clock face remains on top, and he picks it up. He looks up to you with wide, sparkling eyes and a smile that feels genuine. “Thank you.”

You flush for some reason, “O–of course, couldn’t just leave them there.”

Pausing, you wonder if you should make the next comment, the words tumbling out before you can make a decision. “Maybe don’t run out of rooms still half asleep.”

By the grace of God, he laughs, “No, you’re right. I should be careful.”

It isn’t till you’re pushing yourself out of your chair that he continues. “You can come in at 3:30 tomorrow.”

“Pardon?”

He’s stood up as well. “I have a free thirty minutes before office hours formally start. I can help you out a little more without the crowd.”

Feet planted on the ground, there’s not much you can do but stare. “Um, sure. I can come in a little early.”

He nods casually, “Thanks again for the papers. And the watch.”

You smile, “No problem.”

Thursday

True to your punctual nature, you make yourself known at exactly 3:29 PM.

Mingyu is at the desk, conscious and on the phone, eyes closed as he rests his face on his fist.

“I don’t know if I can make time for that—no, I understand, sir,”

Another pause as the noise from his speakers fill his ears, his rubbing over his face a little harsher than you doubt he’s entirely comfortable with.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

His phone hits the table with a heartbreaking thud, both hands covering his face as he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“Light on your feet or something? I can never tell when you come in,” he startles when he notices you.

Sheepish smile on your face, you move to sit down. “Sorry.”

You know it’s invasive, and you also know you might be asking him to break some unknown university code of conduct, but curiosity takes charge as you ask a casual question. “Important call?”

“Uh, yeah, um, just work stuff,” he states, shaking his head swiftly like he’s trying to shake the thought out of his mind.

There’s a pause while you're slipping your papers and laptop out of your bag, during which he seems to have decided to divulge a little more.

“It was Dr. Cho. More stuff for me to do,” he says. “As always.”

“Does he do anything other than show up to class?” you ask through a snort.

“Of course he does. He cusses out every article he doesn’t agree with, is anything but objective and…the occasional relay of blatant misinformation.”

For the record, you’d never really heard Mingyu speak at all for the months he’d been TA-ing for the semester. It was small whispers of choice words in a vague voice, the distant murmur as he exchanged with the professor too far for you to hear.

The voice of the seemingly quiet and diligent TA was never known to you, not until yesterday as he explained statistical models and the flaws of your data presentation.

Passionately too. Incredulous for a discipline so dry and unapproachable.

That being said, something about the grit in his voice as he positively sneered through his teeth, badmouthing his professor—it was something you couldn’t quite believe he was capable of.

“I’m sorry you have to put up with him.”

Once again, by whatever stone of tolerance the universe bestowed in his heart, you watch him sigh and smile, “Anything for that recommendation. And the pay too, I suppose. Besides, he’s done a lot for the area, can’t discredit him entirely.”

With your eyebrows raised, he seems to catch your expression. He pants out a laugh, and your stomach lurches as you watch it reach his eyes, teeth on display, a lurch in his chest; a true laugh.

Raising his hands in surrender, he responds, “I’m stuck.”

There’s nothing you can do to stop the smile that reaches your own face, turning your laptop screen towards him with the JASP software display. “I am too. Help.”

Help, he does.

Monday

Mingyu ended up giving you an entire hour on that Thursday.

The thirty minutes before office hours began soared by like they were nothing, and you were ready to take your leave the minute students began to scatter in as the clock hit a swift four. Except he kept going, another 30 minutes in deep concentration as he retaught you nearly everything from scratch.

Perhaps his proven determination to ensure you don’t tragically fail is what prompted you to do this, standing at the till of your regular coffee shop as you ask, “Make that two, please.”

It might also be important to mention the 7:30 AM on the dial on a bright Monday morning as you walked into your slightly less dreaded Statistics in Psychological Research class, knowing there would only be one other person insane enough to get to the lecture hall this early.

Something isn’t right.

Mingyu is in a position all too familiar to you and everyone else who shares this class, hunched over something or the other in deep focus. The sun pours in through the lifted blinds, the lights of the class turned off as natural light does more than enough of the job.

It also shows you a blaring hot pink post-it note on his face, all too familiar to a previous interaction you’ve had with him.

He notices you before you need to announce yourself, brows separating as he recognises you in the doorway. “‘Morning!”

“...Morning.”

“You’re early,” he comments, straightening his back with a hand behind him for support as you approach.

“Figured we both needed this,” you hand him a tray with his cup of coffee, eyes still trained on his lower cheek with the paper stuck to it. “It’s a latte with no sugar, but I added a couple packets on the side anyway. Just in case.”

“O–oh, thank you. And you’re right I did need this.”

Now that you’re closer, the scrawled writing on the post-it note is clearer.

To Do:

Call mom

Shoot myself

“You, um—” It’s alarmingly difficult for you to say it, despite the words being so simple. Hey! You got a lil’ something on your face.

But all you do is dumbly point to your own cheek, eyes trained on the loud piece of paper that tells more than he might like the world to know.

There’s a loud slap of his hand on his own cheek as he crumples the paper in his hands, bringing it forward to see. “For fuck’s sake.”

“It’s okay! I wanna…shoot myself too sometimes.”

What the fuck?

“I mean!” you correct louder than you anticipated, before covering with a laugh. “It’s okay, it happens. Good thing I caught it before someone else did.”

It’s all the more petrifying when your voice echoes across the blatantly empty lecture hall, reverberating like it was a punishment for you and your horrid lack of volume control. Meeting his eyes feels like a sin right now, so you keep them downcast and pray he doesn’t try to sabotage your education.

“Good thing it was just you. Yeah.”

Just you.

“Anyways, I think I’m done with prepping for class. Do you wanna squeeze in twenty minutes of ANOVA?”

“Have you seen the time?”

“Not a morning person?”

“Nope!”

“And yet it’s 7:40 on a Monday morning and you’re absurdly early.” His brows are raised as he pulls around the professor's chair to bring it to you.

“Do you want the coffee or not?” you ask, watching as he drags another chair for himself.

The both of you sit away from the professors table, coffees in hand as you watch Mingyu run a hand through his hair.

He gives you a crooked grin,“I apologise.”

“To be fair,” he continues. “I’m not much of a morning person either.”

You narrow your eyes the slightest bit as Mingyu takes a sip of his unsweetened coffee, “I’m starting to think no money’s worth this job.”

Mingyu snorts, coffee suspended in his full cheeks. He swallows with much difficulty before answering, “You’re right. Not sure why I’m still here either. I could get an offer from another professor.”

“And that isn’t happening because…?”

Elbows on his knees, Mingyu swirls his capless coffee cup, the beige liquid moving in a growing tornado. “I like Dr. Cho.”

“You—”

“I know,” he laughs loud, a deep, echoing sound that shakes in your ears. “I know. I sound like a lunatic.”

“I don’t know about lunacy, but insanity can have its reasons.”

“Another would argue that insanity was the very absence of reason.”

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“Excuse me for doing my job.”

He takes another sip of his coffee, and you ask again, “No, but really. I can’t imagine this man having too many redeeming qualities as an educator.”

Mingyu lifts his chin as he presses his lips together. “When I was in my first year, there was this other class I had where we had to write a lab report for the first time.”

“PSYCH101?”

“That’s the one. I’d never written one before, but I liked statistics enough to do a little more digging than what the assignment called for. I ended up finding one of Dr. Cho’s studies, read the entire thing, word for word. I was up all night reading nearly everything he’d published, some of ‘em before any of us were even born.”

“Oh. So you’re a fan.”

“Everyone tells you to never meet your idols,” he snickers. “He’s done amazing things, but I guess he pays for it with his flawed personality.”

“I’m sorry it had to be you,” you half joke.

Mingyu looks at you sheepishly, “That might also be my own fault.”

“Don’t tell me you offered.”

“I might as well have. All my assignments referenced his work the most. I was always talking to him about upcoming research after class, and it was like he was a different person. Forget differing opinions, some of what he was saying was just…plain incorrect. He welcomed the argument though, and I couldn’t—can’t—stand listening to someone spew nonsense when I know it’s not true. He was always emailing me extra resources which…I’m pretty sure he isn’t supposed to do. Only reason I did so well in his class was because I taught myself.”

He sighs a loud sigh, straightening his back, “I guess he liked me more than I thought, because next thing I know I’m getting a call over the summer telling me I have a job.”

“Did he…have a TA when you were in his class?”

“Four.”

“Four?!”

“Two at a time. All of ‘em quit at some point. Said they didn’t want the recommendation or the pay.”

“Would he…not give you a recommendation anyway? You said he liked you.”

Mingyu shakes his head solemnly, “He’s a tough cookie, everyone in the field knows that. If you’ve impressed him, you’ve impressed everyone.”

You take a moment to really absorb everything you’ve just learned. “That’s a sucky position you’re in.”

“Tell me about it. But it’s okay. Three—three and a half more months to go? This isn’t even the worst of it, I’m just dreading study week when I’m gonna have to handle all the crying.”

You wince as he mentions something even remotely close to exam season, still barely at a stage where you can accept you’d be alright with this class.

“I know you’re not nearly as qualified or experienced as him, but I think you could take over his class.”

“Ever heard of barriers to entry? I’d be ruined if I wanted a career in this.”

You roll your eyes playfully, “All I’m saying is I’ve learned more from you in barely a couple hours combined than the last two months I’ve spent cursing this very lecture hall.”

If you weren’t lying to yourself, you could’ve sworn you saw a blush creep up his face, and paired with his shy laugh and hand at the back of his neck, you can’t help but bite back your own smile.

“If I can help you then it’s worth losing myself.”

Your heart is in your fucking throat.

“I’m glad when students tell me that,” he continues, utterly oblivious to the landslide happening in your digestive tract. “Makes me feel like I’m doing something right.”

“You’re—” you swallow thickly because you sound like a toad. “You’re doing more than just something right. You’re saving us therapy and an extra semester.”

He laughs at that, and you wish he’d let you breathe.

“Feels like I’m doing something wrong sometimes,” he huffs. “My friend’s a TA too and he’s got himself a girlfriend on top of everything else he’s got going on.”

He goes on, “Do you know how many times I need to ask people to quit twirling their hair? To look at the page and not my face? Asking for my number, I have an email for a reason, for fuck’s sake—”

Mingyu is cut off because you’re laughing, hand to mouth as your shoulders shake through your sniggering. “W–what?”

“I’m sorry,” you hiccup. “It’s just…It sounds like you don’t know what you look like.”

“What’s wrong with how I look?” he frowns.

“Nothing!” you exclaim. “But that’s the problem isn’t it.”

Mingyu doesn’t seem to buy it, even through your coaxing as you attempt to explain to him that he is, in fact, desirable.

“Can’t possibly be enough to distract people,” he huffs in earnest, still hung up on the students he can’t get through to.

“Majority of the class would beg to differ.”

There’s a pause as he registers what you imply.

After a few moments, he drops his head, opening his mouth, “Would… you also—”

There’s a loud creak of the door as you hear the immediate noises of shuffling feet and chattering mouths, as low and tired as they sounded. Turning back to look at Mingyu, he’s already jumped out of his seat, wrist to face as he checks the time on the same leather strap watch you returned.

“That’s our cue,” you breathe, pushing your chair back behind the professor’s desk as you manoeuvre around Mingyu who’s suddenly frantic.

Of course you realise there’s people other than just the two of you in the room, heightened in seats that are designed to ensure they can absorb every detail that goes on right where you stand in the front of the room.

But you feel the soft of Mingyu’s shirt over his wrist as you give him a gentle squeeze despite it all, barely enough pressure. Half your index finger brushes the skin of his hand, just enough to register how cold your fingertips are and how warm his body is.

“Relax,” you whisper. “You’ll be better off without all the panic.”

You don’t see his face as you brush past him and up to your seat, looking up to see him disappear somewhere in the corner hunched over another stack of papers. The next time you see Mingyu’s face is when the professor arrives and has begun his regularly scheduled tomfoolery, and realise all the age that can accumulate in the span of five minutes.

Thursday

Midterm season is nothing you’ve ever really had to worry about.

Something about the halfway point did make it obvious that the clock was ticking, but danger was far enough away to prevent the ultimate breakdowns reserved for the peak seasons.

Except this class isn’t ordinary, and it’s all you’re able to worry about all semester. And as Dr. Cho in his Thrasher vest announces the date for the in class midterm, the glass once half empty, suddenly looks very half full.

“I’m not ready.”

“You’re more ready than anyone else in class.”

“How do you know that?”

Mingyu stares at you blankly, “If I don’t know that, then who else does?”

You have tears in your eyes, which is embarrassing enough since this is the second time you’ve teared up in front of him, but also because you’re in a library following Mingyu around like a lost duck because he insists on putting the books he borrowed back onto the shelves himself after registering the return.

“But I don’t feel like I’m ready,” you whine, turning the corner as he searches for the last spot to place his final book.

“You’ll realise just how ready you are when all those hieroglyphs on the page start to make sense to you,” he grunts the last bit out as he reaches on his tippy toes to shove the book back up.

Dusting his hands off, he adjusts his shirt before turning to you, “You only feel that way because I’ve been giving you harder problems to work on. You’re past the level you need to be at right now. Trust me, you’re more than prepared.”

“But—”

“Listen,” he waves to the librarian as you both leave the library, your eyes still glistening as you fiddle with your sleeves. “It’s only the midterm—”

“Only the—”

“If this goes wrong, I’m just gonna have to work you harder for the real thing. Even though I know it won’t go wrong because I said so.”

You fall into silence as he walks you towards the coffee shop across the courtyard.

“I’m assuming…” you start.

“Hm?” he looks over to you.

“I’m assuming you can’t hint at what’s on the paper.”

Mingyu barks out a laugh of disbelief, “You assume correct. I’m not going through hell with this job just to lose it because of a paper leak.”

“But it’s just the midterm,” you mumble, not even close to remotely audible.

“What did you say?” Mingyu smirks.

“Nothing,” you huff.

“You know, I’m a little offended you don’t trust me.”

“Who said I didn’t.”

“Well then, stop being such a worrywart.”

There must be something written on your face, because as you pass Mingyu standing at the door he keeps open for you, entering into the coffee shop with fallen shoulders, he seems to change his mind.

He brings you a coffee, sits you down, and gives you something else you need. “I made the paper. Every question. And I taught you. Every concept. So I definitely know you’re gonna be fine.”

In that moment, with the large glass walls of the warm coffee shop, the afternoon sun comfortably resting on every last object of the room, you don’t see it illuminate anything other than the man before you.

Perhaps you're being dramatic at the revelation, but you don’t take anything into account as you note Mingyu’s eyes and how they sparkle like they were gifted from the centre of a flaming volcano, brown and polished more than any jewel or stone you’d ever seen. Reaching out to touch him, you know you’d feel nothing but smooth stone, the indentations only possible by a being beyond what you could comprehend.

He’d given you more than just reassurance, and at times, his timing makes it feel like he was sent from the heavens itself, just for you.

You sniffle.

His hands brush over yours as he hands you a napkin, and even more so, cover your own as he takes your freezing fingertips into his own palm, the contact burning you like hot coal.

You know he’s real. And you don’t know why quite just yet, but that reassurance is enough to give you calm.

Monday

You were alright, but it seems that Mingyu seemed to disintegrate right after he was done reassuring you to the moon and Saturn and Jupiter and back.

It’s midterm day, and as always on every Monday morning, you enter the empty lecture hall with two warm coffees in your hand, ready for whatever shitshow you’d have to perform for today.

It seems Mingyu must defect from at least one regular string of behaviour to remain as Mingyu, who on this occasion, stands before you in a baby blue polo sweater.

Except you only know that because you can see the unique collar, but it might also be important that his back is turned towards you.

“Morning, champ,” he gruffs, nothing encouraging about his voice in the slightest.

Your breath hitches when you finally see his face, eyes sunken in and face pale. His lips are chapped and peeling, eyes half closed.

“Why’re you looking at me like that, why has everyone been looking at me like that?” he huffs in one long, rapid question.

“Um, I mean,” you stare at his shirt that’s backwards. And inside out. “I can’t tell if that’s a choice or a mistake.”

Looking down at his front, he looks back up, “What?”

“Your collar is…not at your collar, Mingyu. And your shirt’s inside out.”

Hand at his nape, he reaches his fingers down and finds the unmistakable starched planes of his collar, eyes closing at the realisation. He’s immediately pulling his arms out of the shirt with his eyes still closed like it’d all disappear if he keeps them like that.

“Wait!” you exclaim before he strips entirely, scrambling to put your coffees down to push him out of the room towards the restrooms. “Do you wanna strip for the CCTVs?”

You only hear him sigh as he moves out and into the hall, doors closed behind him.

You’ve nearly forgotten about the midterm at this point, your concern now growing in a completely different direction. By the time Mingyu returns, he’s blabbing about wondering why everyone he ran into since he left home was giving him the strangest looks, and then something about you always swooping in to save him before the real bout of disaster strikes.

It’s hard for you to listen to him when you’re more worried about him passing out, his face doing him no favours to reassure you that he wasn’t a breathing corpse.

“Mingyu…did you sleep at all?”

“Hm?” His eyes are glazed over and unfocused.

“Sleep? Rest?”

“Oh,” he frowns. “Not really. I had emails coming in all night.”

“And you were replying?”

“It's the midterm today,” he responds flatly, like it should’ve been enough explanation.

You almost don’t believe him. “Doesn’t mean you stay up to answer something that should’ve been cleared out beforehand!”

“Couldn’t just leave them to fend for themselves,” he dramatises.

“Yes, you could!” Your voice comes out louder than you expected, eyes wide as you realise what he’s doing to himself. “You barely look human and it’s only the midterm.”

“What’re you trying to say?”

“I don’t know if this job is really worth as much as you think it is.”

Mingyu’s jaw is clenched, fists tight as he releases them to grip paper weight on the desk, knuckles white. “I can’t get anywhere if I don’t—”

“Mingyu, please. This isn’t good for you.”

He says your name. Declarative, almost like a warning. “If you think this job isn’t worth it then you just don’t know.”

“Mingyu—”

“No, you don’t, because I’ve seen how good of a job I’ve been doing.”

“You have, you’ve been amazing but—”

Mingyu’s own voice is raised, a hard impenetrable floor to the words he spills. “Then what’s the problem?”

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You look like a corpse!”

And then he’s getting out of his chair with so much force it almost knocks it backwards, “Why on earth do you care so much? So what if I look like a corpse, if I‘m doing my job?”

It might’ve been better if he knocked the chair right into you, your breath dissipating in your chest like it never existed. His face is morphed in an expression of exasperation your anxieties fear the most, every line on his face committed to irritation and anger.

Why on earth do you care so much?

Right. Why do you?

“Are you asking me that?”

“What?”

“Are you asking me why I care?”

Mingyu only sighs, shoulders dropping and eyes closed. Like so many times before, you watch run a hand through his hair, except this time he yanks on the strands harder than ever before.

His eyes are bloodshot.

“I have to get the exam pack.”

Marching out the door in front of your own eyes, you’re left with a feeling that’s right in the back of your throat, curling and whirling into something you wish you could hack and gag out. Gripping the corner of the professor’s desk, you feel the peeling wood cut into your skin.

There’s a draft, the delayed slam of the door has only hit its wind now, a delayed reaction. It’s like it registers in your mind as you feel strands of your hair shift, the clarity that comes with it.

Delusive. Chimeric. Cruel.

Everything you’d subjected upon yourself. A whimsical fantasy between pages of logic and numbers, a story that simply didn’t fit where the laws wouldn’t allow it.

The null hypothesis of your most elaborate nightmares.

Monday

Your favourite commonplace box, where your mother once placed all her most prized jewels, had a finicky latch.

It wasn’t broken, simply worn in from years of opening and closing. It took a few tries to get it shut. Simply pressing down with pressure didn’t work; you had to open it again, press down on the individual elements of the latch and then try again.

You were never satisfied until you heard the distinct click of the latch fixing itself, the box closed and ready for you to hook your lock through.

Earlier on in your undergraduate career, you remember a professor talking about the effects of external factors on the mind, how they can sometimes cause it to ‘shut down’ when overwhelmed or stressed.

It’s happened to you on many a occasion; like when you stayed up too late on a school night to watch a documentary about the Stanford prison experiment, or when you’d neglect food or water on busier days, or when you’d stop paying attention in class because you were too preoccupied thinking about Taco Tuesday.

Regardless, you’d found a way to recognise when your brain would fall into some strange kahoots with daydreams, or whatever was bothering you, and learned ways to give yourself a reset.

Pressuring and forcing the attention wouldn’t work, just like how the latch wouldn’t fit when you’d do the same with your beloved old box. So you’d take a walk, drink something cold, spray yourself with a garden hose, or even take a nap altogether. Opening yourself up, so the latch can finally click.

On the morning of your midterm, when you’d ensured your brain was in optimal condition for the exam you knew would be one of the worse ones you’ll have to take, you were sure the only external force that could ruin your vibe was from God himself.

Having been so preoccupied with your mind and its functions, you’d seemed to have forgotten where your heart had wandered off to.

Somebody else might consider it a minor disagreement; an anxious squabble if you will. But your breakfast in your throat was enough reason to deem what happened that morning much more than that. At least for you.

“Pass it on, please…pass it on, please.”

The sound of his voice is tectonic. Rattling in your head like a superior force had slammed into your skull like a padded hammer to a gong.

You hated it. You hated everything. You hated yourself. And as the midterm paper reaches you with your pen in your clawed fingers, the first three questions already making perfect sense, you realise you hated Kim Mingyu the most.

That was a lie. You were lying to yourself, yet again.

Because it was quite the opposite. You couldn’t hate him.

As you drift past every question of conditional experiments and screenshots of data and tables on a software, you hardly remember what you circle and what you don’t. Hardly remember what words you picked for the short answers and labels. You hardly remember taking the steps down from your seat to the front of the room, where the professor sat scrolling through his Skateboarders [!MEN ONLY!] facebook group, placing your paper down and leaving the classroom.

Throughout your years of living, you’d learned what you needed to get your brain out of its clouded muffle, to refocus when you needed it.

Everything. You tried everything.

But on that day, when it mattered most, your latch never clicked.

It’s Wednesday.

You order lunch from the Italian place a few streets down. Ravioli; it’s safe and you know you’ll like it.

Savouring it is easy in front of another true crime show. You pull a lone soft drink from your fridge, one that your friend left weeks ago. It tastes just as bad as the last time you tasted it from someone else’s cup, but you drink it anyway, the empty can now in your trash.

It’s 3:30 PM, and you sit at your desk. It’s strange. It feels like you’re missing something, which in ways, you are. But as you pull your laptop from your nightstand instead of out of your bag, you slow your movements.

The papers are the same. But you read them anyway.

Parameter estimation: Make inferences on characteristics of the population, including distributions of the variables and the effect of one variable over another.

It’s accursed the way the universe won’t let you live.

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue, estimation cannot be perfect.

Estimation cannot be perfect.

[_]

It’s Thursday

Class. Eat. Drink. Work.

Hypothesis testing: Determine whether null hypothesis is rejected or not after data observation.

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue, no null hypothesis in bayesian approach!!

[_]

It’s Friday

Eat. Drink. Work.

Latent means to have meaning but is yet to be manifested. The greek letters are placeholder values for values yet unknown.

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue; values that you will find out

[_]

It’s Saturday

Eat. Drink. Work.

P(A|B) = [P(B|A)P(A)

——————

P(B)

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue;

it gets less complicated

promise :/

[_]

It’s Sunday.

Eat. Drink. Work.

The page is blurry. Your eyes hurt.

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue;

you’ve got this!!! < 3

You give up.

It’s Monday.

8:14 AM.

You barely glance at the front of the room; swift turn to the left and right up the steps. Dr. Cho’s outfit almost goes unnoticed by you, tamer than most. Bright Barbie pink with large polka dots, untucked into too tight white jeans. His crocs are sparkly, at least that’s what the twinkle from up here looks like.

He’s insulting another author, the man’s ProQuest journal article open for the world to see like a mediaeval scandal.

There’s another person next to the whiteboards, back to the wall, hands clasped in front of him. His hair is messy, shooting lasers into the carpet as he rocks the slightest bit, listening to the professor rip this author to shreds.

An hour later, you’re staring into the JASP software like it was written in a different language.

Glancing next to you, the boy in the spongebob hoodie is playing sharkboy and lavagirl by himself. On your other side, the girl has the same thing as you open on her laptop, her pen occupied with drawing about a hundred tiny gojos on a bright pink sticky note.

Bright pink sticky note.

You snap your gaze back to your screen quickly after that.

9:58 AM. You start packing up, shoving everything into your bag.

Dr. Cho doesn’t even notice you slip out of the room, hardly a minute to the end of the lecture.

In the hallway, you take your first real breath in two hours.

It’s Tuesday.

You’ve come down with something, head heavy as you feel yourself burn up. Skipping class is easy when you sleep through your alarm and every phone call from a friend asking where you are.

They drop by, armed with medicine and soup. You almost feel better.

It’s silent after they leave, and you realise in that moment how much you hate it.

Opening your laptop for the first time in over 24 hours, you turn on a random podcast to play in the background, needing something to fill the air before you lose it entirely.

The screen lands right where you left on the incredulous data presentation, unsolved tutorial paper crumpled between the screen and keyboard like a wilted leaf.

Hot, scalding tears sting your eyeballs when you realise there was nowhere to turn to.

It’s Wednesday.

After a long day of doing nothing, still sick from whatever plagued your body, you go to bed earlier than usual.

It’s Thursday.

Walking out of class, your mind is empty. You’re still sniffling, still achey, but better than you were. The shawl wrapped around you is warm, and your hood covers the cold tips of your ears.

This other class makes you feel better about yourself, especially when the content is digestible and so is the professor. The TA feels like a mere accessory in the room, something you’ve learned to appreciate.

With your gaze lowered, you only see midriffs as you walk out the classroom into the busy hallway.

It happens in an instant, the flash of a clenched hand as the owner walks by in quick stride. An unmistakable leather strap watch with a broken clock face on the wrist.

You freeze like you’ve been caught.

The hard bump of someone coming out the room behind you is welcomed, the annoyed “Hey!” knocking you back to earth before you could even exit the dimension.

You’re off centre. But it’s fine.

It’s Monday.

“Midterm results are out Tuesday morning. If you have any questions I’ll be sitting at office hours on Wednesday and Thursday, four to six in the evening. Or you could send me an email, either’s fine.”

Dr. Cho isn’t here. Something you only found out when the pitt sank in your stomach as Mingyu cleared his throat at the full hour.

You want to leave, not caring about how strange it’d look if you did. Not caring about how he would definitely notice if you did. You want him to shut up, to stop talking, for anything to halt the way his voice infiltrates your entire being, talking about things you don’t understand but more familiar than anything else.

Mingyu’s voice is hoarse, and you loathe the way you can tell the difference.

It’s Tuesday.

Midterm Results for Statistics in Psychological Research.

— 92/100

It’s Wednesday.

4:10 PM. It’s almost too much for you. Almost.

The screech of the door is loud, the slam of the handle’s rebound even more so. The room doesn’t so much as glance at you at the door, the half full seats preoccupied with more important things.

The front desk perks up immediately, eyes shooting towards the door for the nth time that day, like he was expecting someone that never seemed to show up.

It’s ironic, you think, how Mingyu never seemed to notice you walk into the room for the many months you’ve walked in just for him. And now, as you walk in fists clenched and jaw set, eyes wild and burning, he’s breaking away from a student to look at the door before you even come into view.

“Did you feel bad?” you spit.

“What?” he whispers. He seems to come around, glancing back before continuing, “Can we talk? Please.”

“Answer the question, Mingyu,” you snap. You don’t care there’s a confused student sitting right across from the both of you, his slot interrupted by your barge. “Did you feel so bad you had to give me something I didn’t earn?”

He’s stood up now, half confused. “Is this about the midterm—”

“I did not get a ninety two, I know I didn’t,” you grit. “Whatever happened before that stupid paper made sure I wouldn’t.”

Mingyu says your name and the sound makes you want to vomit. “What makes you think I’d do something like that?”

“I don’t know, maybe because I fucked up because of you?” you announce, louder than before.

The world disappeared, your tunnel vision pointed at Mingyu’s face that wears an expression you cannot even begin to read. The unbecoming tears in your eyes are of a type of unadulterated rage you’ve felt only a few times before. Your heart is going about a million miles a breath, everything else only triggering an added bout of infuriated tremble in the forefront of your emotions. Nothing makes sense.

Mingyu pushes back his chair in silence, stalking over to a large cupboard in the corner of the room. He shuffles around for a minute before returning.

There’s a packet being thrust into your fists when he reaches you. He does not meet your eyes.

A bright red 92/100 marks the front page.

“Here. It was all you, if you can’t believe me.”

It’s a careful mark, unmistakable lines and curves of the nine and the two.

Reality is slow to sink in, but for some reason it’s only making you angrier. The paper curls under the pressure of your fingertips. You don’t open the packet. You refuse to flick through the pages.

Because you know you’ve lost.

It’s Thursday. And it’s full of regret.

There’s a sickness in you, from that dreaded day, something beyond what affects your body temperature and your energy. It’s in your mind, flooding the nerves that swim through every crevice and cave of your brain, a physical venom that does the opposite of kill but also the opposite of letting you live.

There’s a feeling in you, that even if you were to open your mouth, unhinge your jaw, try to scream as loud as your throat would allow, there would be no sound. Something like a horrible dream, that you need to screw your eyes tight shut to fall out of. Except you aren’t waking up from this one.

In a coffee shop, where Mingyu held your hand in a reassurance you now bleed for, you were sure he was real. Real like some deiform image; too good to be true.

In your bed, dry tears on your face, midterm packet sifted through that showed you absolutely everything that you did right, thanks to him. He feels too real. Real like a cloud of obsidian that follows you everywhere, like the sad that’s been sleeping with you every night.

If there was a way to hate someone more than a human limit, you’ve crossed it with the resentment you’ve now fostered for yourself.

Barging into office hours like that, accusing him on a basis of nothing but your own dangerously stewed thoughts. If there was a hope of salvaged parts, you took a hammer to it in disregard; tearing it to ribbons that lay at your feet.

It’s Friday.

At least it was. It bled into Saturday before you realised the 3:23 AM on the dial.

Two weeks of no help and you already feel lightyears behind. The hour is getting to you, and you feel the frustration pool into tears, that turn into full fledged sobs. You’re crying over Bayesian inference and it’s somehow more pressing than any other emotion you’ve ever felt.

Impossible numbers on your data sheets taunt you, not a single reference to if it was a button you clicked wrong or if you were playing a fool’s game altogether.

Ding! You pick up your phone, the weight of it is enough gravity to pull you back to earth.

[Mingyu]: switch to bF10

[Mingyu]: you’ve been pulling numbers from bF01

It’s immediate the way your eyes dart towards your lit screen, clicking off tables to get to the drop down menu you need. And there on the left, two tiny buttons, one clicked on bF01.

With shaking fingers, you move your cursor to hover over the tiny bF10, anticipating. You click. It takes a moment for the numbers to change, but they do. The nominal values turn into something you can actually work with.

Something akin to a tut leaves you, hidden in the breath of another sob. It’s stupid, unreasonable, absurd. Your fingers hover over your phone, shaking as tears drop onto the screen, faster than before.

Do you not miss me?

Do you not want me around?

Talk to me

I miss you

Please talk to me

“I couldn’t—can’t—stand listening to someone spew nonsense when I know it’s not true.”

Mingyu is a product of his personality. You can only imagine he’s helped because he saw you struggling in class, heard from someone else, or perhaps, he just knew the very thing you’d make blunders out of.

The reasons come to you, that Mingyu is a product of his personality. Then why does it hurt? Why does it feel like the knife’s twisted a full 360, that despite the way you accused him of the thing that would strip him of everything he’s bruised himself for, he helps you. The very thing that caused this rift in the first place.

There’s a reason for that, and it is again, that Mingyu is a product of his personality.

It’s Saturday.

Perhaps you relied on your olfactory senses to remain calm, because you always knew you could count on a coffee shop to forever and always smell the same.

The universe seems to want to ruin that for you too.

“Latte, please,” you voice. “Iced.”

“We have a one plus one for the week! Would you like to receive another latte?” The lady taking your order looks no older than 17, a pep in her voice.

“Um, no thank you. Just one, please.”

She looks taken aback, a reasonable reaction to anyone turning down a free drink. But you couldn’t bring yourself to walk home with two cups in hand.

You’re plucking a napkin from the pickup counter when you hear his name.

“...that he manipulated her grade because they were hooking up.”

“He has time to hook up?”

“I remember hearing about that! She barged in during office hours and asked why he fixed her grade or something.”

“A ninety two? In that class? Oh, they were definitely fooling around with each other.”

“Whatever, at least we know he’ll entertain you if he likes you enough. I’m just glad those two are over so I can swoop in.”

There’s an eruption of giggles. You press your head down further.

“Unless he flirts in variables.”

“All is forgiven when you’re born with a face like that.”

Another explosion of giddy laughter, through which your drink is slid across the counter towards you, like it was waiting for you to hear the damning evidence before you could leave. You grab it anyway, grip tighter than usual.

Turning around, your eyes search, finding a group of people that sit in smiles and in various states of trust-falls.

There she is, the girl you sat with on the first day you attended office hours, the one with the glitter gel pen doodles on her notes and her blatant fawns over the TA you slipped under just as easily.

She locks eyes with you and her face falls, eyes widening the slightest bit in recognition.

Pressing your lips into a smile, you hope it doesn’t look as menacing as you feel. You don’t wait for a response before you walk out the large glass doors.

It’s Sunday.

It seems every sip of water you’ve taken during the week has been used up in all the tears you’ve seemed to be shedding. By the bucketload.

Alas, even blurry and puffy eyed, you pour over statistical formulas anyway, running on no energy and all antagonism. It’s another tutorial sheet left incomplete, a single question taking a pour that lasts in at least an hour of struggle.

Reading the same question for the nth time, your palms press into your temples as you stare lasers into the paper, like the revelation would come to you if you stared it down hard enough. It doesn’t make sense, the commands you’ve toggled on and off identical to the instructions on the page.

Hence the question begs why the data was coming out like someone pressed the ultimate on a number generator.

With a heat of unreasonable embarrassment, you find yourself checking your selection in one of the drop down menus, switching to bF01 and back just to see the difference. It does nothing to help, and you can’t help but feel a little relieved it wasn’t that particular snag.

The library is as silent as it could possibly be on a Sunday morning, near empty as you occupy the mostly vacant seats. The librarian is having her own day off, as you could swear she’s playing computer games behind the counter instead of actual work.

The only noise in the room is your own breathing, and that seems to be enough to mess with your concentration. You’re going cross eyed staring at the page for so long, the words doubling and disappearing before going back to normal.

Bayesian inference…z scores…null hypothesis…

Wait.

It’s like you can see it in front of your eyes right now, the scribble of someone else’s dark blue on your notes.

no null hypothesis in bayesian approach

Bayesian approaches don’t use null hypotheses. And z scores are in…

“Oh my god, this is a t test,” you whisper to yourself in disbelief. Immediately, you’re scrambling to shake your laptop out of its sleep, switching over to a t test to redo everything, following the instructions on the same data set.

And there it was…a clear 0.067 under the p value.

In a moment of questioning, you laugh out a breathy sound, the absurdity of it all becoming too real. T tests were the first thing you learned, the foundation to all your statistical knowledge. Coming so far, and it took you days to realise the instructions under a Bayesian approach were for a different realm entirely.

It was stupid of you. But in this difficult aftermath you can’t help but feel victorious. Laughing to yourself quietly in this empty library.

When the initial adrenaline fades and you’ve double, triple checked to ensure you were right, you can only stare at the tiny mail button in your shortcuts on the screen. It was clearly an error, one that was given out to nearly a hundred students.

The first step was clicking, your inbox coming to life as you drift towards the big blue button with the readily available NEW MAIL. So you click.

There’s an attached file in the email you draft.

The tutorial paper has titled t test instructions as a Bayesian approach. Just wanted to point it out and ask if I could receive a corrected version.

Regards, YN

It’s almost like you’re trying to remember how it feels like when you type an experimental m in the To bar. His name pops up immediately, email address typed out in full, full name clear on top as a regular contact.

You don’t need a suggestion to remember, his email came easier to you than your own.

But you don’t email him, backspacing till it’s empty once again.

Dr. Cho’s email sits in that place instead, a first for you.

SEND.

You don’t expect him to reply on a Sunday, in fact, you aren’t sure if he’s going to respond at all. You’ve already shut your laptop, half out of your seat in an attempt to pack up. You’re forced to consider.

Would it be terrible to go back and cc him as well?

A spiteful part of you might find joy in correcting him for a change. The rational part of you wants to actually finish the tutorial before tomorrow’s class when you’d have to tackle another beast for the rest of the week.

Sitting back down, you move without thinking. Your mind is still cooking up possibilities as you swing your screen open once again, still weighing as you click back into your inbox.

There’s a new email in your sent box after you’re done, a copy of the one you sent your professor, the same attachment and the same question; word for word. The only difference, a more familiar name in the address bar.

Before you can chicken out, you slam your laptop shut for the actual last time, shoving everything into your bag before the speeding thoughts can infiltrate your mind's barrier. You’re out the door before you know it, ready to be done with this.

You’re afraid if you put a hand to your stomach it’d be met with kicks and punches, especially with the way you feel the aggressive cartwheels slashing away at your insides. The butterflies are making it to the end of your food pipe, and you briefly wonder if you need to break into a sprint to make it to a safe throwing up zone. Your entire being jolts as you feel a buzz in your hands, a loud click that signifies a new email in your inbox.

Right there, in the middle of the sidewalk, you stop.

The grip you have on your phone is unyielding, your fingers beginning to hurt from the pressure. There’s no way to tell if you’re shaking or not, but you bring your phone to your face anyway. The screen flips on, a lone notification on the screen.

RE: Tutorial Error from Kim Mingyu

It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since you sent that email, the library still in sight from where you stand. At the same time, it’s almost funny you expected any different from him.

The kicks and punches in your stomach halt, the cartwheels have calmed, the butterflies have fallen asleep. The grip on your phone has loosened, and it’s like every nerve in your body went from on fire to serenity in a whiplash inducing shift.

Clicking on the notification, the email opens.

Noted. I have another tutorial sheet for you if you want it. I’ll be in the room where office hours are held for the rest of the morning.

Kim Mingyu, T.A.

There was no way he didn’t have a softcopy he could send you in less than a minute, and you’re sure he knew you’d realise that too. You should scoff, be upset, roll your eyes.

But instead, you find your feet making a 180, turning around to go right back to where you came from. You walk, eyes still half trained on the email, reading and rereading as you walk back onto campus, towards the building you’d once considered a second home.

You walk, and walk and walk, in through the doors, up the stairs and then another set of them, you take a left and look up. The hallway is empty, the door on the right coming into view as you slow your steps significantly.

Closer and closer, you realise the light surrounding it is brighter than usual. The door is open, and you can see the empty rows of tables and chairs, set neatly against one another. It’s strange, you’ve never seen it wide open before.

Walking even closer, you can see the beginnings of the professor’s desk come into view, and it only takes you one more step forward.

Standing in the doorway now, you find yourself in the direct path of the sun that pours in through the open windows. It’s warm, but just enough to combat the cooling weather.

The desk up front is occupied, as it always is.

Mingyu is only in a t-shirt and trousers, glasses perched on his nose as he scrawls away on the paper in front of him. His laptop is turned on, screen facing the door where you stand, his inbox open and available even on the weekend.

It wasn’t that you were waiting for him to notice, but you found yourself inadvertently taking your time looking at him. Every other situation, you’d done your absolute best to avoid your eyes grazing over him at all costs, hardly drifting over his form before flitting away. You never did it on purpose, but it was more like you were unconsciously protecting yourself.

Like looking at him would only make the ache in your heart worse.

If that was the case, you would’ve been right. There’s a tug in your chest, and in that moment, it all comes flooding in like a gate destroyed.

Mingyu looks up and sees you in the doorway, standing immobile. He sets his pen down, taking his glasses off. There’s the smallest hint of a smile on his face as he greets you, “‘Morning.”

You take it as your cue to move forward, stepping foot into the patch of sun slowly. “‘Morning.”

You reach the desk, standing in front of him, the only thing blocking you being the littered table with files, papers and stationary; the trench between you both.

It’s so silent it tears at your insides, gripping the strap of your bag to have something to do.

“I, uh, double checked when I saw the email. You were right, nobody noticed in class either.” There’s an airiness in his voice, like he might be struggling just as much as you are right now.

He clears his throat when you don’t respond, looking back down at his workspace like he was looking for something. He finds a paper from some stack, handing it over to you.

“Thanks,” you hoarse. It’s the same tutorial you had, except the instructions had been crossed out, replaced by a list of handwritten instructions instead, detailed in their annotation. You recognise it, because of course you’d recognise his handwriting.

“I didn’t have time to print one out right now. I’ll probably send a corrected copy to everyone tonight,” he explains.

“That’s alright.” You look up, lips pressed together, eyebrows forced into a regular position on your face. Nodding, you thank him once again. “Thanks again. I’ll…get going.”

Every fibre in your body screams at you to turn back around, hollering profanities at your inability to deal with this. You’re already halfway to the door though, and your pride’s already deemed it too late.

Please stop me, please stop me, please stop me, please just say something and stop me—

There it is. Your name, from his mouth, in his beautiful voice.

Turning back around is the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

Mingyu has stood up from his seat, out from behind the desk. He looks like he wasn’t expecting you to turn back. “Can we talk?”

And then he’s pulling out the chair he was sitting on, presenting it like a piece offering. If you heard correctly, you could’ve sworn you heard his voice break the slightest bit when he pressed, “Please?”

So there you were, in a position all too familiar as you sit across from the man that’s haunted you for the past weeks, trying to keep your chest from falling in.

“I guess I should start with an apology,” he’s fidgeting with his own fingers. “I don’t need to give you excuses about stress or exhaustion because…”

He closes his eyes, trying to find the words. “I didn’t mean to lash out at you. You were only trying to help and I was too preoccupied with myself to notice. I’m sorry I spoke to you like that when you didn’t deserve it.”

For about the millionth time, you realise you’re tearing up again. He continues. “And then…right before the midterm too. You were right, I did feel horrible. But I swear that grade was all you, I didn’t touch those numbers.”

He really didn’t, because the papers he had thrust into your hands on that fateful day in this very room proved that you earned that mark. You wince regardless.

“I thought I could apologise before the exam started but I couldn’t find you, and then you were gone right after. I didn’t text or call because I was sure I’d fucked it all up.”

“I’m sorry too. For barging in in front of everyone and basically accusing you. I wasn’t thinking straight.” You look up from your lap, wet lashes and all. “I really hope you didn’t get into any trouble.”

“I–no, I didn’t.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“I promise I didn’t.” He locked eyes with you when he said that, hoping you’d believe him. You nod slowly.

“It wasn’t even that bad, what you said,” you sniffled.

He scoffs at that, “I’d beg to differ.”

“I would’ve gotten over it,” you continue, bracing yourself to admit to something you’ve had trouble admitting to yourself. “I should’ve gotten over it. I don’t know why it hurt so much, why watching you walk out felt so horrible. But I haven’t been acting like normal ever since, and I’m sorry for stretching this whole fiasco out into something that didn’t need to turn into…this!”

“You were hurt because I hurt you.”

“People have said worse things to me. And you were practically a zombie, I should’ve just left it for another time. It was a little bit my fault too. But…yeah.”

There’s a silence as you try to remind yourself to breathe. You speak up again. “I just want us to go back to normal. I’ve missed you. Alot.”

“Me too. The go back to normal bit. And the…missed you bit.”

Mingyu’s half smiling when you look up, biting your lip hard as you try to keep a smile of your own at bay. “I’d thought if I gave up and admitted I was struggling that day, that’d be admitting defeat. That you’d think I…couldn’t do it.”

Why on earth do you care so much? It rings in your ears.

You sound light when you say it though, knowing now it wasn’t what he meant.“Since when are we on caring terms?”

Mingyu cringes. "We are. I am, at least, if you aren't anymore, which is fine. I care about you. A lot."

It’s hard to not let out a laugh. He looks half constipated as he tries to navigate his words.

“Oh well I’d hope you’d care, since you’re my TA and all.”

“Not in a TA way.”

“Tutor way.”

“Um.”

“Friend way? A human way?”

“No.”

You both know you’re being obtuse on purpose, and you aren’t sure why. Maybe you just like to watch him squirm.

“You know what?” he rasps.

“What?”

Your answer comes in the form of Mingyu lurching to grab the legs of your chair, pulling the wheels to crash into him where he sits. You’re not expecting it, the clashing legs causing you to swerve forward, hands on Mingyu’s lap.

And then his hand is on the back of your neck, and his lips placed on your own.

You’re stiff as a board, brain computing the fact that Mingyu is kissing you in a classroom.

It’s short, hardly a few moments before he pulls away. “Does that clear things up?”

There’s nothing you can do but blink at him, the reality of it all settles in. “Hm.”

He laughs at your half dazed state. It’s a purely instinctual part of you that speaks after this. “Maybe one more time. To make sure.”

Mingyu doesn’t even wait to laugh again as he wastes no time, putting his mouth on yours properly this time. There’s more of a drive in you this time, moving your mouth against his and he keeps your head close.

The ecstasy is slow but sure to build in your stomach. Mingyu is kissing you. Mingyu is sitting with you and kissing you so good you’re already half faint.

His mouth tastes like coffee and remnants of berry, a combination you can’t believe you could enjoy this much. Licking into his mouth, you let your tongue drag over his, like the tactile would convince you this wasn’t some too vivid fever dream.

He pulls away for a moment, but hardly so as his lips remain pressed onto yours.

“For the record,” he pants. “I love that you care. And I hope you’ll keep caring. Because I don’t think I can handle it if you walk away after this.”

Mouth back on his own, you decide there’s only one way to convince him you weren’t going anywhere without dragging him with you.

MINGYU'S APARTMENT IS CLEANER than you expected. You aren’t sure what you were expecting, perhaps more mad scientist than anything else. But the most you find is a mug and plate in the sink, and a moderately crowded study desk, which is to be expected.

Mingyu decided to abandon his work for the day to spend it with you, to which you contest that it was Sunday anyway. His response is making you change into something comfortable of his so you could laze on his couch.

Like you would run away if he didn’t, Mingyu keeps his arms around you in a tight hold, fingers curling around your shoulders as you lay on top of him. Your head rests directly over his heart, his cheek and lips taking turns to occupy the top of your head.

You fill him in on everything, and realise the most eventful weeks you’ve spent were actually quite uneventful in hindsight. He feels up your cheek and forehead when you tell him you got sick at one point, to which you have to reassure him it was either something going around or stress that you subjected on yourself.

“I went to a frat party,” Mingyu mumbles into your forehead. “For Halloween.”

The information has you shifting to look up at him in bewilderment, “You went to a frat party?”

He snorts, “Dressed up for it too.”

“Oh my god,” you voice in mild horror. “Do I wanna know?”

“Wonwoo and I matched,” he hums as he pulls out his phone, scrolling his gallery to look for pictures. “I was Mario, he was Luigi.”

“How adorable.”

He only gives you a look and shoves the phone in your face. By some grace of god they aren’t wearing moustaches, but the distinct red and green outfits are enough to give you enough recognition.

“Thing 1 and Thing 2 were also possible contenders,” he informs.

“That might’ve been a little better.”

“What’s wrong with Mario?” he asks sharply.

“Nothing. But I do hope you weren’t sporting an Italian accent throughout that.”

“I was,” he pushes. “A horrible one too.”

You give him the satisfaction of an eye roll.

“You could’ve gone as Peach. We could’ve matched.”

“I don’t know if I’d wanna wear any available Peach costumes during Halloween time.” You crinkle your nose as you think of all the racy costumes that unearth every October.

“Maybe in private,” he says with an insufferable smile on his face.

Placing your hands flat on his chest, you rest your chin and look up at him. “I’m not sure I want to interrupt whatever you two have going on.”

“Who?”

“You and Wonwoo, you’re practically married.”

Mingyu laughs out loud, and you can feel the rumble in his chest against your hands, his body moving against your own that’s stuck to him. “Not with whatever he has going on with his girl.”

“Oh right,” you frown in remembrance. “What happened to not understanding how he does it?”

“Hm?”

“He’s a TA too. Probably just as busy as you. You said you didn’t know how he could juggle a relationship and his job at the same time.”

His eyes spark in remembrance, pausing for a moment. “I may owe him an apology.”

“Do you?”

Mingyu frowns, “Actually no I don’t. I don’t think he and his lady are doing too well right now. He’s been insufferable lately.”

“Is it because of the TA-ing?”

“I never know with those two,” he sighs.

There’s silence once again, in the midst of which Mingyu leans over to kiss you a few times, soft and lingering. Like he’s trying to familiarise himself with the shape of your mouth, the tactile feeling of kissing you.

“Do you…know about us?” There’s hesitancy in the way you ask. But you can’t help but ask anyway.

Mingyu thinks for a moment, and it has your heart beating out of your chest. “I know that I want us to be concrete. That I wanna work around whatever life throws at us. You can decide what to call it, but I know I’m in it for the long run.”

“I’m glad you’re smarter than your husband,” you smile.

He only rolls his eyes, “He’s only good at one kind of chemistry.”

“D’you think they’ll be okay?”

“Oh yeah,” he assures. “They’re just going through a…rough patch.”

“Like we did?”

“If you’re asking me, I’d say they’re being a little more stupid about it.”

The snort that leaves you is unanimous with his own. He continues, “They’ll be okay though.”

“I hope so. I’d like to go on double dates with my boyfriend’s husband’s girlfriend.” You start giggling in the middle of your sentence, too ridiculous even for you to voice.

“This is getting weird,” Mingyu breathes.

You only hum against his mouth, “Do I have to take your husband's blessing before we can move forward?”

“For fuck’s sake.”

You’re both laughing again, a sound that comes from your stomachs, true and uncontrollable. For a moment, you can’t help but be conscious of how light you feel, how happy you feel with his scent infiltrating your nostrils, his presence known where his fingertips touch you.

“I did the sticky note thing again too,” Mingyu says into the silence, and there’s nothing you can do to stop the fit of giggles that erupt all over again.

“Said something worse this time,” he continues as you laugh into his chest. “Accept that you’ll die alone or some other shit like that.”

There’s comfort in this moment. In your giggles and in your tears, in his voice and in his affection. His lips are another sanctuary you’ve found, and perhaps even another way to make your dreaded latch click.

Nose nuzzled in his cheek, the feeling of his skin so soft against yours, fingers at his chin where a slight stubble grows, you relax in ways you cannot comprehend.

MINGYU'S LIPS BECOME A feeling you’ve grown dangerously accustomed to.

It isn’t that he has them on you too much, regardless of what an outsider might suggest; to you they simply aren’t on you enough.

The following Monday went as usual, for you anyway. You weren’t avoiding Mingyu this time, and you were grateful for it. It was two hours of following him with your eyes as he darted around the room. You could hardly constitute it as not paying attention when Dr. Cho was preoccupied with explaining every reason he hates JASP over SPSS, but also ultimately, hates them both.

You don’t even notice his loud outfit (overalls and a neon green sweater underneath), happy to watch Mingyu flit about and whisper incoherent explanations to students.

The tutorial paper is barely looked at by you, because you know your boyfriend will be happy to help you out later at his place.

You’re barely through the door that night when he gets a hold of you, tight grip across your waist as you’re catapulted into his arms, door slammed shut behind you.

Bag still on your shoulders and your shoes still on, Mingyu’s slammed his mouth onto yours before you can take a proper breath. You stumble, squealing through the kiss as you realise you aren’t escaping the iron grip he’s got on your face.

Somehow between it all, you manage to slip your bag off to let it drop to the floor of his doorway, shoes kicked off one after the other as he leads you inside, littering the way.

“You aren’t actually paying attention in class anyway,” he breathes against your mouth before kissing you again. “So why don’t you sit in the back where you don’t distract me.”

“Who says I’m not paying attention.” You open your as your back lands on the couch, looking at him as he looms overhead.

“You’re paying attention to me.”

“It was in my job description when I signed up for the girlfriend position.”

He’s all over you now, hands at your sides, mouth underneath your earlobes as he husks, “Was letting me take you in front of the entire class also a clause? Because if this goes on I might have to take up on that.”

If you didn’t know any better you would’ve assumed he’d been possessed, everything about his behaviour screaming the opposite of the well behaved, restrained man you’ve been accustomed to. The fact that he’s whispering directly into your ears isn’t helping either, a conspicuous shiver dragging across your spine.

It lands with precision, right at your core. You’re too hot to tell, but there isn’t a doubt you’ve begun to pool.

There’s a ding in the background.

He’s suckling underneath your ear, his hands roaming in ways that would smear your reputation altogether.

Another ding.

He’s reached your mouth once again, groping your right breast lightly. Like he’s testing the waters.

Ding.

Mingyu makes a noise of annoyance, the other hand trailing underneath your shirt.

His ringtone blares throughout the room, whoever the caller was having reached wit’s end.

“Gyu…” you whisper.

“Ignore it,” he growls. The ringing has stopped.

He ducks underneath to kiss at your stomach, lifting your shirt oh so slowly. He goes higher, and higher and higher, leaving a trail of kisses at the skin, taking deep breaths as he drags his mouth over your torso.

His phone begins to ring again.

Your head is spinning, your senses overcome. If you weren’t sure before, the air of wetness between your legs is definitely obvious now.

He brings a hand to your centre, pushing inwards at your jean clad core. You exhale sharply yet shakily.

The ringing stops.

Mingyu makes a gumbled sound that you can’t quite make out, too preoccupied with the way your shirt is now up past your bra, at which Mingyu has taken to leaving open mouthed kisses to your cleavage.

There’s a ding.

“Mingyu, I really think—”

His phone begins to ring again.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he curses, rearing his head like an interrupted animal, wet mouthed and bleary eyed. He looks at his buzzing phone on the floor in an accusatory glare, like he wants to chuck it out the window and go right back to burrowing into your chest.

“You should answer.”

He looks irritated as he takes his phone in his hands, and you find a flash of Dr. Cho’s name on the screen. “It’s eleven O’clock.”

“It might be important.”

“The last time he did this he asked where his peacock feather pen was,” he grunts as he silences his phone.

You laugh, running a soothing hand through Mingyu’s hair, a tiny attempt to calm him down. Pulling your shirt down, you attempt to sit up.

Mingyu makes a noise of denial, attempting to stick his face into your now clothed chest, knocking you back down, “Nooooo, I’m gonna ignore him.”

“He’s not going to leave you alone,” you sing quietly, running your nails across his scalp lightly, holding his head to your chest. You place your cheek on his head, playing with his ear.

As if to prove your point, Mingyu’s phone begins to ring again, and he groans at the prospect.

“Go on.”

He swipes to answer it. A loud sigh and then a tired, “Hello?”

His volume is bumped up enough for you to make out what’s being said on the other line. “Where have you been?”

“It’s nearly eleven, sir. I was in bed.”

“My flash drive won’t open up on my computer.”

You have to stifle a snort.

“Is it…plugged in?”

“Of course it is, I’m not an idiot.”

“Is it showing up on your files?”

“Disk…is not…formatted.”

“Erm, it might be corrupted.”

“How did that happen?”

“Did you download something off the internet onto it?”

“Hardly matters, I need the attendance sheet on it!”

Your fingers are massaging Mingyu’s temples as you feel him tense on top of you.

“Your attendance sheet is on the teacher’s portal,” Mingyu grits before adding, “sir.”

“...I have other things on there too.”

Mingyu exhales ever so quietly and you tighten your hold on him a smidge. “This sounds like something tech support could help with.”

“Why can’t you help?” he asks sharply.

“I…I don’t know how, sir.”

There’s a noise of indignation from the other end, and you can’t help but keep from laughing.

Mingyu sighs into the phone, this time doing nothing to hide it. “I’ll take it to tech support for you tomorrow. And I’ll send you a direct link for the attendance sheet for Monday and Tuesday’s classes.”

The line beeps shut. Mingyu brings the phone for you both to see the professor’s hung up as soon as the words left Mingyu’s mouth.

“Wow,” you whisper into the silence, the weight of Mingyu’s head heavier on your chest. “Not even a thank you.”

“Absent father behaviour,” Mingyu grumbles as he moves his face to burrow into your shirt.

It’s a bad joke, but you laugh anyway.

“Will I be an asshole if I say I’m not in the mood anymore?” he murmurs.

“Absolutely not. Everything sucked right back in the minute I heard his voice on the line.”

“Gross,” he comments, but he’s laughing too.

“Should we call it a night?” he asks, rearing his head.

Nodding, you rise with him. By the time you’ve reached the bedroom, you’ve already begun taking off your accessories, fiddling with your bracelet as you voice.

“I need a shower.”

Mingyu throws you a towel and a t-shirt, which you catch and move towards the bathroom. Halfway through the door, you sneak a look at him fiddling with his belt.

“Do you wanna come in too?”

Mingyu looks at you peering through the door frame. You’ve never seen anyone leap across the room as quickly as in that moment.

THE FOLLOWING DAYS WERE just as eventful as that phone call, Mingyu running around as the midterm low passed and the line creeped up towards finals season.

Perhaps it was better that you stopped attending office hours, because the room seems to become increasingly packed as the days progressed.

You only ever saw Mingyu in the wee hours of the night at his place, where he begged you to camp out till the end of the semester so he “doesn’t move to insanity”. It might even be better for you, going about your day as usual, without the usual added distraction of a partner.

Coming home to him was easier, where he could clear up your doubts while in ratty pyjamas and starfished across the bed, where you could find solace in Mingyu’s chest without prying eyes when the information became like filling an already stuffed junk drawer.

It was a Friday night, you’re alone at Mingyu’s place sitting cross legged on the floor. The table in front of you is pouring over the final question of this week’s tutorial paper, everything seemingly whizzing right past the top of your head.

Despite that, as Mingyu stumbles inside past eleven, you know you shouldn’t ask him for a thing.

Tired was a look on Mingyu you’d gotten quite used to, so you’ve learned to not comment and simply let him fall into the couch cushions with all his weight.

His face is parallel to yours as he closes his eyes with a light groan in greeting. Moving forward, you kiss the flutter of his eyelids softly, down to the apple of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth.

Your fingers run through his tangled and distressed hair as he mumbles against your mouth. “Did you finish the tutorial paper?”

You huff in mild annoyance, that despite his state he still thinks about work. “Not yet. One last question and I’m done.”

He hums and waits a moment before reopening his eyes. With a loud groan he’s pushing himself off the couch, sliding off of it to sit with you on the uncomfortable floor. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“I can figure it out myself, Gyu.”

“You would’ve been done by now if you could,” he answers. It’s annoying that he says it but he’s also right.

Mingyu holds the paper a mere inch from his eyes, the sight almost comical if he also didn’t look an inch from passing out.

He mumbles the question as he reads, “It’s nothing, just worded weird. Toggle this off and move this to mixed factors and you’re done.”

The toggles are done for you, and Mingyu takes the liberty crossing he question off with a pen he finds on the table.

“Did you get everything else?” he asks in earnest.

“Hm? I think so.”

“Good.” And then he’s throwing his head back to rest it on the couch cushions behind him, breathing slowly.

He’s in a navy sweater, collar of his undershirt peeking through the top. Your gaze leads up further, to the exposed area of his throat—clean, tan and naked. You realise this might not be a good time, but it’s only natural your mind cooks up other ways to translate your helplessness as you watch your boyfriend push himself to the brink. Release is never a bad idea.

Besides, it’s a Friday night. No reason to not.

“Gyu,” you shuffle closer.

Lolling his head to look over at you, he answers in a small voice, “Yeah?”

You put on the guiltiest face you can muster, complete with darting eyes and fidgeting fingers. “D’you think…d’you think you can go over post hoc tests again?”

“Post hoc?” He furrowed his eyebrows. You bite the inside of your cheek, having blurted the first plausible model you could think of to ask him. It’s an older bit of the syllabus, something you should already be well versed in.

Not that you care what he thinks right now, he’d figure out why you were asking anyway.

“Post hoc, um,” he rubs a hand over his face as if to jog his memory.

Shifting forward, you plaster you front onto his side. He thinks nothing of it.

“Analysis tool after you’ve already run the data,” he begins.

Placing your chin on his shoulder, you let your nose nuzzle against his cheek. Trailing up, your lips find the shell of his ear.

“Results have to be…they have to be…” He falters when your hand reaches his front, running across the expanse of his clothes stomach, nails digging ever so slightly as you reach his abdomen. You continue to place open mouthed kisses at the space of neck you can reach.

“Hm? Has to be what?”

“Statistically significant,” he breathes when your palms reach the tops of his thighs. “To run a post hoc test.”

His trousers are less barrier inducing than regular jeans, something you’re both grateful for as you begin to palm his clothed bulge. “Results of what, baby?”

“For the love of—”

“Go on,” you whisper in his ear. “Please.”

One flick and his trousers are unbutton, pulling them aside as the zipper pulls open. You're pushing down his boxers when he answers you. “ANOVA.”

“What’s that again?”

“You little shit.”

You move your mouth forward to kiss him.

“Analysis of variance.”

You hum against the column of his throat at that, his half hard member in your hands. Light touches, that’s all they are, running the pads of your fingers across the pulsing length, coaxing him into full length.

“What’s it for though? We already got our results.” Bending forward, you stick your tongue to kitten lick at his tip. Mingyu hisses, hips shifting. Your tongue swirls around the tip, pushing into the skin on the head where he’s most sensitive.

“Ugh, fuck, for um,” he falters as you begin to suck at his head, tongue running over each hollow of your cheeks.

“For…for…” His chest is moving up and down in quick breathes, every sound from his mouth coming from a deep rumble in his stomach.

Letting go of his cock, you continue to pump him with your hand as you gaze up at him from your position. “For? Keep talking, baby.”

“For…To identify groups,” he grunts out. He lets out a louder moan when you place your mouth back on him, going past his tip and taking as much as you can of him into your mouth. “Identify…the differences, shit, hmph.”

He takes a loud breath before speeding through it again, “Identify which groups actually differ, oh my god.”

The bit of him that you can’t fit on your mouth is being pumped by your hands, fingers pushing into him like you were trying to indent them on the base of his cock. A glance upwards and you find his head thrown back, hands coming to tangle in your hair. His thumb caresses the side of your cheek.

“How many groups?” you ask, before diving back in.

“Three,” he chokes out. “Three or more, oh I’m gonna cum, fuck don’t stop, holy shit.”

Both of his hands are at your head, guiding you as you suck him harder, faster, more tongue digging into his slit. You hum against his dick on purpose, making sure it’s coarse enough to get the reaction you want.

You succeed, because immediately after you hear Mingyu rip out the loudest moan you’ve ever heard, his grip on your strands harder than ever. He cums into your mouth, hips stuttering as you place your entire weight on him to keep him in place.

You let some of it dribble out your mouth and back over his softening dick like a hot coating, sucking him through shooting spurts of cum that land on your tongue.

When you emerge from underneath, Mingyu looks like he got the soul sucked out of him; eyes closed, stuttered breaths raking through his entire body, a light sheen of the beginnings of sweat that glisten in the low light of the room.

Reaching for the tissue box and water bottle on the table, you soak the napkins and bring them to clean him up. He whines when the cold tissues touch him where he’s most sensitive right now, you want to kiss him but account for the cum that is actively stuck to the walls of your mouth.

You leave for a few minutes, much to Mingyu’s hoarse protests. He’s almost on all fours, hands on the floors as you promise to be back. By the time you’ve hauled his tired ass into bed, you’re just as ready to knock out as the half asleep man beside you.

Mingyu’s face is plastered into your neck, arms and legs thrown over your form as he hugs you close to him.

“I might love you,” he says into the darkness. A secret, just for you and the walls to hear.

You hide the way your heart absolutely leaps, conceal the way your hands tighten around his form into an affectionate caress, hold your breath to prevent the inevitable hitch.

I might love you too.

You hide that as well. For now.

Smiling into the skin of his temples, you sigh.

“Feel free.”

[Mingyu]: class ended early

[Mingyu]: be there in 5

[You]: ???

[You]: wdym ended early

[You]: kim did u end class early to come home

Your response comes in the form of the front door lock jiggling loudly. You’d stayed the night at his place, knowing you didn’t have anything to do but study by yourself. Sickly as you were, you doubt you could sit through two hours of even more statistics.

He’d left you in bed with a kiss, needing to be extra early since Dr. Cho decided to dump the last crucial few weeks leading up to finals season entirely on his TA. As much as there was on Mingyu’s already overflowing plate now, you couldn’t deny the elated feeling of your attendance being taken care of regardless of whether you show up to class or not.

A very real violation, but no one truly notes one skipped student in the midst of hundreds. Besides, the bag under Mingyu’s pretty eyes might be enough for anyone to have mercy and let the supposed mistake slide.

As Mingyu walks into the room, shoes flying and back dumped on the floor, he finds you still half clothed with leftover sleep in your eyes, standing in the middle of the living space like you were lost.

He drops his things to come and drown you in his arms, loud kisses all over your face as you talk. “You’re getting too comfortable with this job.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t possibly expect me to teach a bunch of half asleep idiots when my woman is all alone at home, sickly and cold without me.”

You grumble wordlessly as you feel him check your temperature with the back of his hand. “How’s the congestion?”

“Bad,” you respond nasally. “I can’t find my Afrin.”

“It’s on the bedside table, baby.”

“No, it’s not.”

Still wrapped in his hold, Mingyu begins to take steps forward that lead towards the bed, pushing you to walk backwards.

“I’m not awake enough to navigate,” you sniff.

“I’ve got you,” he lowtones, pushing backwards slowly.

The back of your knees hit the bed and you let yourself fall back into the unmade sheets. You crawl back under the covers as Mingyu navigates between used tissues, water bottles and pills on the bedside table. But no sign of your nasal spray.

You have to breathe through your mouth and you hate it, but you send a remark his way anyway. “Told you.”

Mingyu bends down and emerges with a familiar red capped bottle. He stares at you while you stare at it, choosing to simply snatch it from his presenting hands and be done with it.

“Good thing I came back early, hm?”

“Shut up.”

He leaps over your form to claim the spot in bed right next to you, still fully clothed as he burrows under the covers next to you.

There’s nothing flattering about the way you stick the nozzle up your nostrils and sniff hard, but the gleam in your boyfriend’s eyes might as well suggest you were trying to get him to look at you like that.

“Are you gonna keep doing this till finals?” you ask throatily, shifting under the covers.

“Teaching during class time is just extended office hours, I’m gonna go insane if I keep going like this. Probably just today. Or…once more if I feel it.”

“Didn’t you say you were gonna extend office hours to Fridays too?”

Mingyu moulded himself against you, giving warmth to your shivering body even under thick blankets.

It seems throughout the course of your relationship, your time with Mingyu is either spent laying down or in the process of doing so. Not that you mind, you’ve found that remaining horizontal was what worked best for someone like Mingyu who seemed to want to fuse with your very being whenever you were together.

“Ugh, not this week. Do not have the patience.”

“I’m proud of you,” you say, eyes closed, already on the highway to dreamland.

“Thank you, I do think I’ve been very brave.” Even while slipping into dreamland, you find the good sense to find his nipple through his sweater and give it a hard pinch. He jerks away in a yelp, clutching his chest.

“What’s that for?!”

You ignore him and simply run your hand over the area you just attacked. “You’ve gotten better at knowing when to slow down. I’m proud of you.”

You’re too far gone to make out what he answers you with, but with the hot breath against your already warm forehead, you decide it's more than enough for you.

MINGYU DOES IT FOR the fourth time, but this time round he’s smart enough to not tell you.

It’s the Friday before finals week officially begins, and you remain in your own place for once to crack down on the last bits of syllabus you want to go over, away from your extremely distracting boyfriend.

There’s a text when you check your phone after a couple hours of hyperfocus, and you narrow your eyes at the notification.

It’s Wonwoo’s (actual) girlfriend, and she’s sent you nothing but a picture of both of your men on Wonwoo’s living room floor, thoroughly occupied with the floored expanse of sheets, pillows and cushions.

It’s a pillow fort.

Your boyfriend is building a pillow fort in his not-husband’s living room mere days before the final exam for the most dreaded course of the semester. All while he’s actively meant to be available for office hours.

You want to laugh. The man that stayed up multiple nights to answer stupid questions in emails, is now less than concerned about the pandemonium that is probably ensuing in the department building. It isn’t that you’re upset, because this was what you wanted from him. To learn to take a break when it was needed. But you would also prefer he’d time them a little better.

Inevitably, you text him, but not before sending an encouraging text to your girlfriend-in-law for putting up with the both of them all by herself.

[You]: where are you

[Mingyu]: where im meant to be?

[You]: office hours?

[Mingyu]: mhm

[You]: are u and ur husband conducting them under a pillow fort in his house

You imagine him sending Wonwoo’s girlfriend a betrayed look. Perhaps even throw a frilled throw pillow in her unassuming direction.

[Mingyu]: DONT KILL ME

You let him suffer in your silence, clicking your phone off and leaving it somewhere you won’t be tempted to look.

Besides, it wasn’t long before there was an incessant banging at your door that you ended up needing to get up to open. He looks so timid, the face of an innocent perpetrator that waltzes into your space.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, following you to your desk like a lost duckling.

“Whatever for?”

“For lying.”

You snort as you sift through tutorial sheets, “Might wanna take that up to the poor hopeless student that thought you were their last hope.”

Mingyu’s head sinks to your shoulder where you sit at your desk. “God.”

“Him too.”

In another few moments, his arms have come around to cage you into your desk where you’re sat, hands placed on the table as he towers over the top of your head, mouth to crown.

“Rumour has it,” he starts.

You make a face. “Now you’ve joined in on gossip? Maybe I have steered you wrong.”

He ignores you valiantly as his mouth drops lower, down to the beginnings of the tips of your ears. You can smell him. He smells good.

“That a textbook recitation is all it takes to get you all bothered down there.”

Lifting your head from its craned position over your papers, you stare straight ahead. Blank and unassuming.

“Take a hike, Kim.”

“...Sorry.”

NO MATTER HOW FAKE annoyed you were at your boyfriend, you cannot possibly credit anyone else for how smooth your finals had gone.

Not a single tear, hack or whine. Your meals were on time, your sleep schedule the healthiest it’s been for months. You even managed a movie night break in the midst of it all. A record for you.

The very first thing you do after walking out of the exam hall, stretching and sighing, you find Mingyu waiting with nervous eyes.

“Well?” he asks, eyes wide and lips pulled into his teeth.

You merely grab for his hand and pull him out of the crowded hall and past a few familiar turns.

“For the record I didn’t want some of the questions on there,” he yaps as he follows behind your stalks. “Hard ones weren’t mine. I promise I’m not a sadist.”

Then, in an un-CCTV’d corner, marked by the broken, empty vending machine, you round up on him. In seconds you’ve pulled him down to meet your lips in an eager, full kiss.

In the moments your lips remain intact, you can feel all the horrid statistical knowledge you’d gathered over the months slip out the cracks and crevices, relieving you.

Mingyu is careful to let you pull away first, eyes sticky to open when you do. There’s a smile on your face. “It went great.”

A strong tug against your waist and you’re suddenly pressed into Mingyu’s all too familiar hold, so everloving tight you can hardly breathe. His lips are smacking and pressing into your skin, all over your face, neck and hands. Anywhere he could possibly reach.

There wasn’t much he could do standing in a huddled corner at nine in the morning on a Tuesday, where anyone could pass by and question what in the high school was going on. But there was more than enough Mingyu could do behind closed doors.

In true Mingyu fashion, he’s begun to grope in every way you love the minute the lock clicks shut of his apartment, every fibre of both of your beings giddy and jumpy, giggles erupting from your tired mouths. You haven’t been touched in ages, always too tired to do anything even when you would find the time.

It isn’t remotely strange that you're wet from only a few kisses and hot breaths against your neck. Although Mingyu’s hands haven’t been modest either, already reaching your clothed cunt as you fall into bed.

He says it was your reward, for doing so good, his illustrious mouth suctioned onto your naked core, moving and grinding in ways you can more than just appreciate.

His tongue is nothing below made for you, like he knows exactly when to flick his tongue, graze his teeth and all but suck the daylights out of you. It’s marvellous, even more so as you realise he won’t stop. One, two, three mind blowing orgasms later, your legs still shake around his head as you cry out for him to stop.

Not that he was going to listen, as he did not the last fifteen times you tried, simply pushing a finger into your abused hole to chuck you into yet another climax. You’re sobbing, trembling, sweating; but also half hearted in your attempts to stop him.

By the time he’s relented, you’re sure you won’t feel a thing down there for at least a week. If Mingyu will even let you go untouched for that long.

But as you’re finally able to catch your long lost breath in bed, and Mingyu has curled up right beside you, like he always does, you let the finality of it all sink in. You were done. And so was he. And you could now begin to experience a Mingyu that wasn’t exhausted, stressed or tired. Even now, the long indented layers of fatigue begin to melt away, revealing a less strained man.

Mingyu was beautiful either way.

“Are you okay?” he asks you, his fingers tracing your features.

The pads of his fingers glide across your eyelids, down the slope of your nose, tracing the outline of your lips. You kiss his fingers as they reach you there, hand coming up to hold his wrists. You kiss the tips of his fingers, down to the palm of his hand. Eyes closed, you keep your lips there.

“More than okay,” you mumble.

“Good. Thought I lost you there.”

Stretching unceremoniously, you drape yourself over his naked form, head on his shoulder. “You’re not losing me. Not after being the sole reason I pass this devil’s module.”

“Is that all it takes? Make sure you don’t fail?”

“And give head like that.” It’s a half joke. “But also be Kim Mingyu comma TA.”

He mimics you between a breathy laugh, “Comma TA. Not anymore, I guess.”

“How happy are you?”

“Still have to grade the last set of papers. But I got what I wanted.”

“The recommendation? You deserve it.”

“That, and not having to be in Dr. Cho’s presence every other day. And you.”

You kiss his shoulder. “Look at you. All grown up with your big boy grad school on the horizon.”

“Not just yet.”

“You’ll get there too. If you can power through this hellsent semester, you can power through anything grad school applications throw.”

Mingyu shifts where he lays, taking a turn to lie on his side to face you. The afternoon sun peeks from behind his form, his outline made of pure gold. His breath is in your face as he talks, and there’s comfort in the air it penetrates.

“I only powered through this because of you. I hope you know that.” He’s smiling.

“Girlfriend duties,” you quote solemnly.

“I mean it. I knew I was walking into disaster with how this stupid job was going, all that work was just a distraction. I didn’t wanna believe this was a bad idea. And then you walked in.”

You cup his face and pout, “Oh, my damsel in distress.”

“Hm, my knight in shining armour,” he giggles. “Galloped in and saved me from myself.”

“You saved me too. From the world and its horrible creations.”

“I’ll start talking in formulas if this keeps up.”

You can only grumble in mild annoyance.

“I’m glad I asked you to come in early that day,” he says.

“I’m glad I was a good samaritan and gathered all your stuff that day.” You grin.

Mingyu leans in and kisses you. It’s soft, slow, and drips of the romance he’s trying to bring into the conversation. His lips are bliss, the feeling of him is bliss.

It’s almost scary how easily you’ve been able to give yourself to him. How quickly he’s placed himself in every nook and cranny of your heart. With his tired eyes and stronger than himself smile, the hand he extended in ways beyond you could ever explain to him. It’s terrifying when you realise what remains on the tip of your tongue, ready and bursting.

But it’s true, and you can only pray it remains that way. Because in that moment, naked and tangled between Mingyu’s limbs, his heart in your ears, your hands on his being, you just know.

“I think I might love you too.”

2K notes · View notes

lqvesoph · 7 months ago

Text

Kingsday || LN4

lando norris x fem!reader

summary: when celebrating kingsday with your boyfriend lando ends with a small injury, and a call from his boss

masterlist

Your boyfriend being friends with a dutch DJ, meant one thing: party, party and party. Especially on Kingsday, a day where the dutch people celebrated the King‘s birthday, or got drunk on random boats driving down the channel of Amsterdam.

You had arrived about two hours ago. Lando immediately joined Martin at the DJ desk whereas you went to get some drinks for the two of you.

Now two hours later, Lando was still with Martin, or so you hoped because you actually haven’t seen him in over 30 minutes.

"Y/n!! Y/n come here!", a voice that you recognized as Martin called. You whisked around to find the dutchman waving frantically.

You frowned and excused yourself from your conversation before making your way through the mass of people. "What’s wrong?", you shouted. "It’s Lando, come!", Martin yelled and reached a hand out for you to take.

You gladly accepted his help to guide you through the people and to your boyfriend. And lord, you almost dropped your glass when you saw Lando.

"Baby!", a drunken smile graced his face. But that wasn’t the only thing. Before there were glasses and a ribbon in the dutch colours but now there was a white bandage wrapped around his head.

"Lando, what the hell happened??", you called, hastily placing your glass on a table and rushing to your boyfriend.

"I’m so happy you’re here", he slurred, placing his hands on your cheeks and pulling you into a messy kiss. You returned the kiss for a second before pulling back, holding him upright and steady.

"Baby, can you explain what happened?", you tried to again, pushing back his curls. "There were SO many people", he giggled and you tried your best to stay calm and let him finish talking. "And then I tripped and then there was an elbow and glass and suddenly ow…", his face dropped towards the end and his fingers reached up to his nose.

You held his hand back. "Don’t touch, let me see", you muttered and removed the very badly done bandage. You held his chin to move his head to the sides to get a good look at his bloody nose.

"Does it hurt?", you asked, carefully touching the brink of his nose. "Nope!", Lando grinned proudly, making you roll your eyes. "Of course not, you’re drunk", you mumbled.

"Martin, can you get my bag please? It’s with Lando’s jacket behind the DJ pult", you explained to Lando’s friend who nodded immediately and went to grab your bag.

When Martin came back you pulled tissue and sanitizer out of the black bag and cleaned up the blood around Lando’s nose. "Are you like a professional?", a guy asked, nodding at the things in your hand and your firm grip on Lando’s chin. "Almost", you chuckled. "I’m studying medicine."

"Yeah, she’s gonna be a doctor!", Lando called proudly. "Shh", you firmly said snd squeezed his chin. "It doesn’t look broken, maybe bruised but you‘ll be fine", you delivered the verdict. "You‘re the best, thank you. I love you", Lando mumbled, leaning forward to connect your lips again. A few "Aww"s were heard around you which made you smile just as Lando‘s phone started ringing.

The boy fumbled it out of his pocket, only to find his boss‘ name on the display. "Oh oh, that means trouble", Martin muttered. Seeing as you weren’t as drunk as the rest of the people around you, your reaction times were way faster. And so you reached forward to grab Lando‘s phone out of his hands to answer the call yourself.

"Lando Norris, what on earth are-", Zak‘s voice roared through the speakers. "Zak, hi, it’s me Y/n", you quickly interrupted the American who abruptly stopped talking.

"Y/n? I didn’t know you are with Lando", he sounded surprised.

"Martin invited us over-" "There’s a picture of Lando bleeding and with a bandage circulating around the internet, care to explain the situation?", Zak interrupted you, getting straight to the point.

"I wasn’t with him when it happened but according to him and various people around him, he tripped and cut his nose. Martin got me soon after and I already took a look at his nose and he‘s okay. A bit bruised, going to cause a bit of pain when putting a helmet on but he‘ll be fine. Nothing‘s broken or anything like that", you broke down the whole story to Lando‘s boss while pushing your fingers through Lando‘s curls.

He let out a sigh and you could imagine him sitting in his office chair, rubbing the side of his head. "Okay, can I talk to him for a second?", Zak said and you nodded, leaning down to Lando and handing him the phone.

"He wants to talk to you", you muttered, putting the phone to his ear. "Hiii", Lando called excitedly, making you squeeze your eyes shut with a chuckle. "Noo, I swear I‘m okay even better than okay!", he assured his boss. "Zak, I‘m fineee! Y/n is taking care of me."

"Hey Zak, did you know that dutch people-", you pulled the phone back from his ear before he could spill some stupid shit. "I‘ll get him back home in one piece, I promise", you said, ruffling his curls. "Thank you, Y/n", Zak replied before saying goodbye.

You took a deep breath and put Lando‘s phone in your back pocket. The Brit leaned his head against your stomach and closed his eyes with a content drunk smile.

"You okay?", you whispered with a smile and tapped the back of his head a few times. Lando nodded against your stomach and then looked up at you, pouting his lips to let you know he wanted a kiss. You smirked and leaned down to connect your lips.

"Okay let’s get back!", he called enthusiastically and got up, swaying a little when he stood. You wrapped an arm around his waist, doing your best to steady him. Lando naturally put his around your shoulders.

"Let‘s get you a glass of water and then we can go back, alright?", you compromised with him and dragged him over to the bar, telling the guy to hand you a glass of water.

You thanked him and turned your body to Lando, holding the cup close to his mouth. "Here you go."

Lando took a few sips and then leaned closer to your ear. "I love you", he whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. You giggled and pulled him into a hug. "I love you", you replied.

"Let’s go back to Martin", he then called, making you laugh. "Oh and can I please get another Vodka Lemon?", Lando turned to the barkeeper who looked at you for approval. "Okay sure", he said when you nodded.

"Drink up, come on, hop hop", you clapped his waist a few times and nodded to the cup of water. Lando nodded and down the liquid in a few seconds before grabbing the fresh cup and taking the two of you back to Martin.

"What do you think Zak would say if I get behind that DJ desk?", Lando asked you. You chuckled. "He already called you once today because he worried you broke your nose so I don’t think it can get much worse", you replied making Lando laugh. "I‘ll just say you forced me to", your boyfriend said before pressing a kiss to your lips and walking around the desk to join Martin.

"Joining in again?", the dutchman asked, putting his arm around Lando. He nodded and was quickly handed the headphones. You chuckled, pulling out your phone to take a video of Lando pressing random buttons on the DJ desk. He grinned broadly when he spotted your camera on him.

"Come here, baby!", he called you over, holding the hand that wasn’t holding his glass. You put your phone away and took your boyfriend‘s hand.

He turned you around in a swift motion, wrapping his arms around your neck and pressing your body to his. You laughed out loud at the action but let him sway you from side to side.

Taking a sip from your glass you carefully pushed your hips back into his. When you didn’t get a reaction from him you did it again, this time a bit firmer. "Once is a mistake, two‘s a choice", he muttered in your ear, making you giggle.

Lando moved one of his hand down to your stomach, pressing you against him while he swayed your hips. His lips being so close to your ear meant the small breathy moan that left his lips was only for you to hear.

You turned your head so your nose was pressing against his jawline. A small kiss against his skin made him smile.

It wad Lando‘s turn to press himself closer to your back. "Okay, baby, no funny business until later", you chuckled, placing your fingers on his hands on your stomach.

"Oh, so you can tease but I can’t?", Lando chuckled teasingly and turned you around. "You can tease all you want, as soon as we’re inside our own four walls", you whispered, leaning closer to his ear.

"Promise?", Lando smirked.

"Promise!", you laughed, pressing your lips on his in a soft kiss.

📍 Amsterdam, Netherlands

tagged: landonorris, martingarrix

yn: Kingsday well spent (+ Lando at the airport the next day🤭)

comments:

landonorris: Violation

> yn: U were the one who got injured…

> landonorris: U r the one who posted it

> yn: I was also the one who aided you

> landonorris: I- don’t have anything else to add🙃

martingarrix: Had the best time🧡

> yn: Thanks for having us!!

maxverstappen: Did my invite get lost orrr?

> yn: LETS GO OUT IN MIAMI!!

oscarpiastri: Mate, you looked DEAD

> landonorris: thanks a lot, MATE🙃

ybff: YOU LOOK GORGEOUS unlike a certain brit boy

> landonorris: hey!

fan: The way she still slayed at the club while Lando was wearing that neon ass hat😭

fan: All the Mclaren members laughing at sleeping Lando lmaoo

fan: Lando getting violated by his girlfriend and his girlfriend‘s best friend and his teammate😭

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#lando norris #f1 #mclaren #ln4 #quadrant #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you

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caruliaa · 2 years ago

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i literally havent done my kitty doodles in. over a fucking year jesus. i miss them i am going to try to draw and post some again this week 👍🏽

#i cant belive that wadda hell those lil guys used to be so core to me art #they where also the main bit of art of mine that got 100+ notes but im assuming its been so long tht tht wont happen again #which to be clear is fine lol i j wanna draw them again bc they where cute and silly #and i can draw literal meow meow puss in boots <3 love on earth #also !! started a redraw of my julia+kitties drawing a while back but got distracted halfway thru colouring and then never finished it #but will try to soon !!!!#also j generally been meaning to draw more recently but im bad w it lol #flappy rambles

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ravenna-reid · 10 months ago

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Battle Scars

Reader is from a planet of warriors. A planet where each scar is seen as honourable rather than ugly. When she accidentally sees Jason's scars, she can't help but look at them in amazement, much to Jason's surprise...

I really hope ya'll like this one...lmk!!

"Come on, lift you arms."

With an agitated sigh, Jason did as Dick asked and raised his muscled arms. Dick quickly pulled Jason's bloodied and torn shirt from his body and threw it to the floor, analysing the gash that sat across Jason's chest.

"What, did you get into a with Catwoman or something?" Tim asked, grimacing as he looked at the gruesome scene.

""I'll break your nose replacement." Venom coated his words, and Jason's expression read that he wasn't joking, so with that, Tim shook his head and left the room.

Just outside wandering the empty halls of Wayne manor was the girl Batman had found just a month prrior. Tall and toned, carved muscles on your arms and legs. A slick scar the colour of pearls ran down the side of your jaw to the top of your neck. A few more decorated your back and arms. A stern expression and soft eyes. You were a warrior from another planet Bruce had told everyone. He wasn't sure what planet though, seeming as whenever you told him the name, no records of it could be found. Not even those on the Justice League could find the unusual planet you were calling home. .

You weren't Kryptonian and you weren't an Amazon, even though your ideals and principles aligned with theirs. Nor were you a Martian, or an Atlantean or a Tamaranean. So what the hell were you?

Well, you kept telling them over and over. You were Idorian, from Idoria, but your home planet was apparently non-existent. 'A part of another timeline' was the theory.

"Non-existent as far as you're concerned." You had muttered with the roll of your eyes.

All they knew was that you'd accidentally been dragged to Earth when an incident a few months back involving portals and timelines threw you down from the sky into Bruce Wayne's garden. They also learnt that you had immense strength and durability. You could fly. You almost bested Wonder Woman in melee combat, almost. And electricity didn't affect you one bit. Other than that, you were a complete mystery.

And a certain seemingly uninterested vigilante seemed to liked that.

Tim watched as you looked out the grand windows lining the hallway, still amazed by the fact that Earth only had one sun.

A warm smile grew on his face. "Hey y/n, what are you doing?"

"Nothing much. You?"

Tim shrugged. "I was helping Dick mend Jason until I was threatened." He scoffed, trying to mask it with a bitter laugh.

A warmth grew in your cheeks at the mention of his name. Why? You had no idea.

"Why, what happened to him -?"

"Tim! You took the antiseptic with you!" Dick suddenly called out from the room, Jason's annoyed mumbles following.

Tim let out a huff, much to your confusion, "I don't wanna go back in there with that son of a bitch."

"It's alright, I can if you want." You offered, holding out your hand and questioning what a son of a bitch was. Humans were easily injured compared to your people, so it would be interesting to see the healing process.

"Are you sure?" Tim asked, his brow raising, "He can be a real ass, especially when people are trying to help him."

"Yeah, I'm sure." You replied, so Tim placed the odd looking bottle in your hands before you walked into the room.

Your footsteps echoed through the atmosphere. Instantly, Jason's eyes snapped up to meet yours, his cheeks burning a subtle red before he quickly looked away. A wince escaped him as he tried to subtly cover up his body. Too bad my shirt is on the damn floor he thought to himself. Picking up on Jason's change in demeanour, Dick turned to look at you, a charming grin appearing on his face immediately.

"Y/n! I haven't seen you in ages, how are you?" Dick had just finished pulling out the last shard of glass from Jason's slash and dropped the bloody tweezers on the tray beside him.

"I'm fine thank-you. Here is...well, this." You said, holding the bottle out to him. "Tim gave it to me."

"Thanks, y/n." He grabbed the bottle from you then looked back at the array of medical supplies sprawled across the table beside him. Hands cupped together in his lap, Jason stole glances of you here and there, glad that you were more interested in the odd looking tools Dick was focusing on rather than him.

"Shit, I just realised I forgot the stuff for the stitches," Dick turned to you and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, "I'm just gonna run and grab some things. Can you watch him for me real quick?"

"I don't need a babysitter Dick." Jason quipped, his eyes trained on his brother. Please just let her leave.

"I don't mind." You responded, and that usual glint of joy passed through Dick's eyes.

"Thanks, I'll be back in a sec."

With that, Dick left the room, leaving you two alone.

"Why did you do that?"

You looked over at Jason with a puzzled look, "What do you mean?"

"You don't have to watch me. You can go if you like." Jason swallowed hard, doing his best to act unfazed by the fact that you were standing right there.

"It's alright, I'm kind of curious to see how this all works on your planet."

His gaze averted back onto the floor, his body instinctively turned from you. You, however, were watching him. The wound had stopped bleeding, and it didn't look too deep, but it stretched across one side of his chest and onto his bicep. Looking at his arms, you couldn't help but think about how he looked like those perfect sculptures back home.

"Does it hurt?"

"No." So curt. So closed off. You were going to remain quiet until you did a double take. Silver streaks painted his chest. His abdomen and arms. There were even some on his back that caught your eye.

"Wow." The words fell from your lips, and Jason's eyes cut back to you.

"What?" He asked, meaning to sound more curious than defensive.

You walked over to where he sat, eyes trained on all of his scars. All of his accomplishments. Back at home, whenever someone attained a scar, it meant they had cheated death. They had been lucky and strong enough to survive. It was why you never hid yours. A scar is a victory. A glorious one too. And Jason had many victories.

A sickening tightening sensation began in Jason's throat as you neared, still obviously oblivious to personal space, especially Jason's. He watched as you stared at his biggest insecurities, the things that would taint his body forever and remind him of the horrors he was forced to endure. Immediately, he grew even more self-conscious. Sick. Angry.

"What the hell are you doing?" He snapped, but you ignored it.

"If the elders back home saw this, they'd call you a war hero." You let a light laugh.

His frown faltered a little, his glistening eyes watching you intensely. It was as though your eyes were tracing each and every tarnished bit of his skin. "You have so many."

His frown was back, a shot of anger burning through his chest at your comment. Why did you of all people have to say that? Jason drew in a deep, shaky breath, but before he could speak you told him how impressive it all was, and now the frown was even deeper than before. "What?"

You looked up at him, and suddenly his head was reeling. Jason found that some part of him, a hidden away part that was deep deep down, wanted you to look at him like that for the rest of his life. A look that said he was worth something. That he wasn't this ugly, scarred monster. Skin crawling and muscles tensed, he managed to ignore it. Just for now. Just this once. He quickly cleared his throat as he waited for your explanation.

"Your scars...they- you have so many victories." You repeated, "Many more than me." You pulled the sleeve of your shirt back to show him. Jason's eyes ran along the silver lines on your arms before his attention turned to your skin. The muscles on your arms. The glossy hair that ran over your shoulder. His eyes drew up your neck to your lips...

He quickly looked away, shame and bashfulness so blatantly evident on his face.

"What do you mean..." His tone was distant, until he paused. "Victories?" Now he was curious.

You frowned. "What do you mean? Scars are honourable. They show strength. Tell stories. You must be a valiant fighter. A survivor." You smiled at him gently, pointing your finger at them. And it was like something got caught in his throat.

Silence washed over the room like a soft wave. Jason kept to himself as his big, bright eyes watched you. He turned your words in his head, amazed at how you viewed this topic. He almost waited for you to correct yourself or take the compliment back. Because there was no way. No way you were truly being honest about how you viewed the ugliest parts of himself. Everyone had always looked at his scars that same way, with pity and aversion. And yet you...

"You really think like that?" He asked, looking up at you through his dishevelled, raven hair.

"Doesn't everyone?"

A soft, subtle smile tugged at Jason's lips, and suddenly your heart was hammering in your chest, faster than a hiccup. Jason watched you attentively now, still shy, but not as ashamed or ill at ease. Since when was he so comfortable around others, especially a stranger? Especially about the things that kept him up at night? Especially with someone that was on his mind 24/7....

Dick suddenly bursted back into the room, a needle and bobbin of nylon string in his hand. "Sorry Jace, had to get Alfred to look for it."

Jason shook his head at Dick as he got started on stitching him back up. "I can do it myself you know -"

"Shut it." Dick responded.

Jason's gaze fell back onto you and he almost felt like collapsing when you said you'd leave them be and see them later. You realised the longer you stood with him, the lighter your head was becoming. So with that, you left the room, and all Jason could think about for the rest of the day was you.

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hirschkuh-im-traum · 8 months ago

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Ma poupée

︵‿୨♡ fragile ♡୧‿︵

the plot is: you are a doll demon made of porcelain and you wonder how fragile you are, but you're also afraid to know the answer. fortunately alastor has no fear

part one, part two, part three

warnings: dismembering or a very close to it, blood, biting, reader doesn't like their body (a demonic one), possibly grammar mistakes

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

You were sitting at the bar with Angel, discussing your hell life. Husk poured drinks for you and Angel and for himself too. He knew that you didn't like to be drunk, but he also couldn't let you sit there without alcohol in your hand, so he made light cocktails for you, that didn't rush into your head, but they helped you to relax after a hard day.

That day Lucifer came to the Hotel. Before he came all the residents had to make a quick cleanup, cook some cookies, decorate the lobby. During this preparation an unpleasant thing happened to you, that set you thinking.

* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

You and Angel were responsibile for wellcoming banners (to one of them Angel add an inscription that made you choke with laughter, but you were not sure how would the king of hell react to it.) Angel was very tall but you were not, so you needed a step-ladder. You were told that that step-ladder was pretty old and you'd to be careful, as some of the screw were a little bit loosened. You were at the top of the step-ladder, trying to pin the banner to the wall, when suddenly your view had changed, like the ground had tilted. You understood that those damn screws had left their places, and now you were about to fall. You dropped the banner, wanted to grap the step-ladder, but it was too late, you had already lost the balance. You were in free fall.

"Caught ya!"

You opened your eyes to find yourself in Angel's arms. He looked at you with a smile.

"Lucky you, you have a long-armed fellow like me," He said, winking at you.

"Thanks," You murmured, embracing him by his neck.

He smiled and put you to the ground. Husk and Vaggie asked you if you were okay, and then you were sent to kitchen to help Nifty and Sir Pentious with cookies, while Angel and Husk were about finishing the decoration.

* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

This case set you thinking. You'd been here, in hell, only for a month and most time of this you spent in the Hotel. Before it you were wandering in streets of hell. Luckily, you'd never got in any trouble, never been hurt. It was great fortune, that for all these days you hadn't even got a scratch.

Before this day.

Technically, you were not harmed, but you could have. It was the first time you was so close to get injuries.

Placing a glass at the bar, you looked at your hand, purely white and smooth. You moved your fingers, clenched and uncleched your fist. Every move was accompanied with a quiet creak of your ball-and-socket joints.

You were not an ordinary demon. You were a doll-demon. A porcelain doll, to be more precise. Where your limbs used to bend, thanks to the joints between the bones under the layer of flesh and skin, there were ball-joints now. They were in your fingers, hands, elbows, shoulders, in your ankles, knees and in thighs. Knees were the most strange thing in your new body. Between your hips and shanks two ball-and-socket joints were placed, that were connected with a strange-shaped porcelain plate, which you could call rectangular. Thanks to this construction, your knees bended. The elbows were arranged in the same way. Your body gave you a feeling of uncanny valley, but these two parts you just hated, so you wore only long-sleeved clothes and long skirts or trousers.

Your eyes were round and big and had the same colour when you were alive. Eyelashes became longer and more rounded. You had a very tiny nose and very red lips, that had the same form from you earth life.

Your skin was pearly white, smooth and dull, as it was covered with a thin layer of flour. It was porcelain. And now you seriously thought about how fragile you were. Porcelain dolls were very fragile you believed, so were you, weren't you? What would have happened if Angel hadn't caught you? Would you just bruise yourself or would you be totally broken in many pieces? You didn't know even if you bleed. You felt touches, you could define what you touched. When you embraced Angel you felt his fur under your arms, and your body felt his arms around you. You felt warmth, cold, sharpnes or bluntness. Well, maybe not as good as others. When you put out a baking tray with your unprotected arms, even Nifty was in shock, when you said, that the tray was just a little bit warm.

So, your sense of touch was different from others. Because of your body. Because of what you were now.

* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

"A porcelain doll, you say?" He turned away from Charlie and looked at you, pushing his monocle, "A very fragile thing, hm?"

You were watching them. You had just arrived and Charlie introduced you to the residents. A tall, dressed all in red man, captivated you the moment you saw him. He was... Frightful. And now, as he was looking at you with a sinister smile, you couldn't make your heart beating slowlier.

Suddenly you heard a voice from the left, "Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you, doll face, quite a pleasure!" He was shaking your hand already.

How was it possible?! A moment ago he stood in front of Charlie, several meters seperated you, you were looking at him and saw, that he didn't move, but somehow he materialized just beside you.

"It's a pleasure to-" You began, shaking his huge palm.

"A porcelain doll as I heard?" The demon interrupted you, "An owner of such an easily breakbale body, hm? Must needs a protector?"

You frowned, as you were not sure if it was a question or a statement, or what it actually meant.

"I mean, my dear," He saw your confusion and said with a predatory smile, lowing his statical voice, "that porcelain is a frigale material."

"Oh," You understood, "well, I don't know, sir, I haven't been in any troubles yet, that brought me any damage, so I don't know how breakable I am," You awkwardly chuckled. This man was interesting but also he was weird. Even creepy.

He sharply grabbed your forearm and exclaimed, "Then we could quickly check it right now, dear!"

"Nope!" You pulled out your hand very quickly, pressing it to the chest and covering with other hand, "No, no, no!"

He tilted his head still smiling. Did he ever not smile?

"I mean, that I'm just fine to be in ignorance, sir!" You said almost proudly.

"No need to be so official, dear. It seems I said to you my name, didn't I?"

Yes, he did. His name was Alastor. But it wasn't in your character to use the first name of a man, who was older than you for sure, right after you met. And also he still didn't know your name, as he interrupted you the moment you were about to introduce yourself.

"You did. But I didn't tell you my name-"

"There's no need, my dear." He leaned over you, "Dolls don't have names. Their owners give them ones."

And he walked away.

* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

It was your first conversation with the Radio Demon, and since then you hadn't comminuted much. You met each others in the hall or dining room, sometimes in private, but you never dared to say him more than "Hello!" or "How are you doing?" And it was okay. Almost okay. Since the first meeting he captivated you. You'd like to know him better, to be even friends maybe. But you we're not sure how to start, and moreover it seemed, that he didn't like to talk with you a lot. So you didn't try. But his gaze always followed you. You were sure, that even if he wasn't present, he still was there.

* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Angel and Husk were looking at you, as you still clenched and unclenched your fist. They were tipsy and fascinated by your movements.

"And what are you doing, kid?" Asked Husk finally, taking his eyes off your hand.

"Just thinking."

"About what?" Angel also stopped staring at your hand and tried to focus his gaze on your snow white face.

"About me. And you. And you, too," You pointed at your friends in turn. "About the demons..."

"It's senseless, kid," Husk took a bottle and started to dust it down.

"Look, you are a cat, and you are a spider. And why are you like this?" You said, throwing your hands.

They looked at you, frowing. It was obviously, that you were the only one who cared about such things. Maybe it was because you were a new one in hell.

"Why indeed, doll face?" Angel chuckled.

"Angel, stop. You know, I don't like it."

"C'mon! I just wanted to tease you."

"Don't do it, Angel," said Husk, wiping glasses and pouring another drink to him.

You gratefully looked at him. Husk always knew what was on one's mind and heart, and he knew how bad made you feel such forms of address to you. Anything that reminded you of your essence.

"All riiiiight!" Angel rolled his eyes up. "Why are you like this?"

"Like what?" You said.

"Don't like jokes," He said seriously.

"Go to hell, Angel!"

"Calm down, kid," Husk said calmy but loud enough for you both heard him. "Just tell us what's on your mind."

You glanced at him. Since the day you got here you couldn't stop thinking about your body, about your essence. You believed that demons had appearance that described their essence when they were alive. But you couldn't understand why you were a doll.

"Well..." You started.

"C'mon, toots, don't keep in your feelings," Angel was seriously just like Husk and a little bit tipsy.

"Ok," You sighed, "I just don't understand myself. Don't understand who I am. Or what I am... I don't know what to expect. I think about my essence. Why am I a doll? And do I really?.. I mean, I don't even know what is under the porcelain! Is the flesh? Or emptiness? Am I even alive if this is so? Could I really have died today, if Angel hadn't caught me? Could I crash? Or what if I didn't die, but just broke something? I don't even know if I bleed!" The more you spoke, the faster your speech became. In the end you just sighed, "I'd like to know..."

Your interlocutors were confused.

"Don't give her alcohol, she turns into a depressed masochist," Angel said.

"Did I hear someone said bleed?" A voice from behind made you jump up on your stool. You quickly turned to the sound, "Oh, Alastor!"

"How much has he heard? Everything, I suppose..." You thought.

He stood behind you from the right and looked at you widely smiling.

"How are you?" You asked, because this silence, that nobody dared to break, was unbearable, and also you indeed wondered how did he feel after meeting Lucifer. Their meeting was... It was just awful.

"Oh, I'm fine, my dear, thank you for asking," He adjusted his monocle, still looking at you. His sharp smile gave you shivers down your spine. He didn't take his eyes off you.

Husk lowered his eyes and said, "That's nothing interesting, boss."

Angel was drinking his cocktail.

"Is that?" Alastor looked at him for a second, but then his gaze came back to you, "I believe, that whatever our fragile friend says is quite interesting."

"Well, you didn't see but I almost fell today-" You had began, before Alastor interrupted you. Did it really bring him that much pleasure?

"My dear, I saw everything! And your dreadfull fall too. I'm glad that your friend caught you. Who knows what the consequences could be?"

Did he really knew everything that happened in the hotel?

"Well... You're right. This case made me think of the consequences."

"Now you mind to be in ignorance, doll?" He tilted his head. You understood he still remembered your first meeting and first conversation.

"It seems..." You murmured not really sure.

"Then..." Alastor ran his claws over your hand. His breath tickled your ear.

"Stop it." Said Husk.

Alastor turned his head to him. His left hand was still on your forearm. His gloves were leather.

"Excuse me?"

Husk massaged the bridge of his nose, "It was a long day for all of us. It's time we went to bed."

You heard that crackling near your ear became louder and you said, "Yes! I also think so!"

You jumped off from the stool, "Good night everyone!" and walked away.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

It was a very hot day in hell and it became even hotter after you had finished cleaning your room. Of course Nifty was responsible for this, but you didn't like when your things were touched. So Nifty only dusted your room, removed stain out of the furniture if you left some, and carried the trash out. But all the papers, cups, plates, and clothes, that was scattered all over the place... You had to take care of all this yourself.

After you cleaned the room, you took a shower and changed the clothes. You put on palazzos, that were so wide they looked like a skirt, and a shirt and rolled up the sleeves. After the clean up you understood how many books were in your room, that you hadn't read, and that, you knew, you wouldn't read. So it was time to borrow them back to the hotel library. You took one stack of books and left the room.

* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Pressing books to your chest you carefully stepped on the first step of the stairs. You tried to peek out from behind the books, but then they began to wobble, and you had to pull them closer to yourself. There was no way to watch underfoot and not to drop the books. You slowly walked down, when a toe of your shoe stuck in something and you completely lost the balance. Books fell on the red carpet and you rolled down the stairs.

You heard quickly steps coming near, as you were lying on a landing. A pair of someone's hands raised you a little. You felt dizzy and leaned on them. You touched your forehead with your palm, as if that could stop the dizziness. Then you looked on your fingertips, excepting to see red wet stains on them, but all you saw was white porcelain. You didn't know whether to be happy about it or not. You were still leaning on someone's strong shoulders and were sure that it was Angel, but suddenly a sharp red claw ran down your cheeck slowly.

"Just a little crack, my dear, " His breath burnt your nape, "Nothing to worry about. You're much firmer than I thought."

You quickly turned to face him.

Alastor sat in front of you, holding you by your shoulders, so you wouldn't fall.

"I'm fine," You said and got to your feet, making him remove his hands, but felt a strong pain in your left ankle, and would definitely had fallen, if Alastor hadn't caught you.

"Seems like not totally fine, dear? Need some help?"

You leaned against his arm and looked at your ankle. You tried to stand on your aching foot but just a touch of your toes to the floor made a terrible pain ran through your leg. You gasped for breath and grasped Alastor's arm.

"Severe wound, darling," He said seriously, and it seemed for you, that your heard sympathy in his tone. "How could this happen?"

You didn't want to confess that you entangled in your own trouser legs.

Suddenly you didn't touch the floor anymore and found yourself in Alastor's arms. He glanced at you, and you felt like your cheeks turned red as the colour of his eyes. You turned away and looked at his bowtie and than looked at your knees. Alastor took your more comfortably; one his hand was on your back and other under your knees. Until this moment you'd never been carried in this way, as a princess, as a bride, as a doll. He passed by the books scattered all over the stairs.

"My books-" You said.

"Don't worry, little doll, they will be back on their places in the library."

"Okay," You only sighted.

* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Alastor was carring you thought the hotel without stopping. His steps were long and fast and though he held you firm you were afraid to fall, so you put your hands around his neck.

"How do you feel, dear?"

You thought for a second and replied, "I'm fine now. I don't feel any pain when I..."

How to say it? When I don't touch the ground? When I'm carried by you?

"Well, no pain, when I don't need to use my hurt leg."

Alastor didn't answer anything and just hummed.

You asked yourself why didn't he use his shadow teleportation. And wait, did he missed your door?

"Um, Alastor, you've missed my room," You said.

"We're not heading for there, my dear."

He went up to the next floor. Were you heading for..?

He stopped in front of a door with a unique wood engraving depicting a deer in the forest. The animal was surrounded by the branches of the trees and the bushes, and it itself looked directly at the audience. Its antlers were branches too and singing birds sat on them. The silhouette of a hunter could be seen in the corner.

The door opened and Alastor, with you in his hands, entered.

It was the first time you saw his room. The first thing you saw was an evening forest. The room began with a usual quarter and than there was no wal, just a dark forest. Twilight had already covered all the century-old trees and everything plunged into blue shadows. The chill night wind barely kissed your cheeks. You looked around the room. It was in dark red colours with only the most necessary wooden furniture: a fireplace and two armchairs in front of it, a desk and a chair, a chaise longue with velvet cushions. On the walls there were a lot of empty frames, in some of them behind the glass there were leaves of fern. You saw a big bookcase, which had not only books on its shelves but also bones and skulls, dried flowers and candles. On a coffee table you saw a gramophone. There was a whole collection of records in the commode nearby.

The room was cozy and warm. Somehow you felt yourself here more comfortable than in your own room.

Alastor lay you on a chaise longue and sat next to you, so both of your legs were on his knees.

"Well, let's see what we have here. May I?" Said Alastor, asking to take off your shoe. You nodded. He untied a shoelace and took off the shoe. He took off his gloves, and examined your foot. His touches didn't bring you any pain. He softly touched your frigale skin, his long fingers ran up and down the side of your foot, studying you. His gaze was fixed on your joint.

"Strange..." He pronounced, not taking his eyes off from your ankle, "There is no blood, though I'm sure you're not blodless, otherwise you wouldn't blush so much every time I touch you." He looked at you with a sly smile, and you felt how your cheeks became more red.

He laughed, "Hahaha don't worry, dear, it just shows how modest and well-bred you are!"

"Maybe you could just do something with my leg? I actually don't understand what you're trying to do, as you're neither doctor nor doll-maker."

"Trust me, my dear, I know what I'm doing."

You only frowned.

"And what are you doing?"

He removed his hands from you and said, "Well, it seems that you've got severe damage, and the only solution is to replace the broken joint with a new one."

You glanced at him with your eyes wide open.

"How to replace..?"

"Like this," He said and pull your foot out.

You blinked. Didn't say anything. Didn't scream or cursed. Did he just..? But more importantly, there were no pain. How was it possible? You were torn between the thought that you didn’t feel anything and what he just did.

Alastor was looking at you with a smirk and than looked at the part of you that he held in his hand.

You kept silence, you just didn't know what to say. You were too shocked.

"You know, my dear," He said twisting your foot in his hands, "dismembering you doesn't satisfy me, as you act like you lost your tongue and your your limb."

You finally opened your mouth to speak, "It's... It's just shocked me... I didn't expect... This." By "this" you meant his action and your own feeling, or rather feelingless.

"Why, me doll! Your body keeps much more secrets then you think."

After that he removed broken ball-and-socket joint, and with his magic he made a new one, wooden, and put it on the place. Then he fastened the foot there.

All this surgery made you feel rather uncomfortable. You felt how grotesquely it was and it made you loathed the whole situation and your body. You felt the urge of crying.

"Well, my dear, test it!"

His voice suppressed your thoughts, and you tried to move your ankle.

"God, that's just perfect," You said with admiration.

The wooden ball in your leg moved freely without any pressure, it slid like it was oiled. And there were no pain.

You twisted your ankle a little more, understanding that it felt like your own joint, like it always was there. Only the dark colour and tree drawing made it clear that it wasn't yours from the start.

"Thank you," You said as you were about to get up, but then you saw Alastor's face and stopped. He was looking at you. His gaze was sharp and his smile was greedy. You swallowed.

"You don't think, my little doll, that I did it all for free, do you?"

You kept silence, hoping that he wouldn't ask the highest price for his help — your soul.

You didn't answer and he continued, slowly running his hand over your leg and leaning closer over you.

"My soul..?" You mumbled. You didn't even want to say it aloud, you only thought it, but Alastor heard it and exclaimed, drawing himself up, "Nonsense!" He grasped your palm, "Isn't the satisfaction of my curiosity a fair price for the help I offered for you? And moreover, I'm sure that this is favourable for you too, isn't it? I know you're still wondering what are you?"

He held your palm in his, tenderly and yet firmly. You knew he was right. You wanted to know. But you couldn't do it yourself. You wanted him to dispel your fears and all the mysteries.

You looked away and pronounced quietly, "Do it."

Alastor's smile became narrower and longer. He brought your hand closer to him and leaned towards it. His left hand rested on the chasie longue next to your waist, with his right hand he held your palm, turning the inner side of the forearm towards him. His mouth slowly got closer to your skin and you felt his hot breath.

You held your breath, when he opened his mouth and you saw his sharp teeth. They touched your skin, and you quietly took a breath. Alastor closed his eyes. Your skin was porcelain indeed, and his teeth didn't sink into your flesh immediately, as it had always happened before. You heard a quiet crack under his fangs and gasped. His fangs sank deep inside of you, so you couldn't see them anymore.

Your lips trembling, you were choking from pain and... pleasure. You couldn't deny, you liked him inside of you. He softly held your hand, playing with your fingers; his knees touched your legs. All these touches helped you not to focus on pain.

When Alastor slowly opened his eyes, you didn't notice his pupils right away. Did he roll his eyes with pleasure?

Looking at you from half-closed eyelids, Alastor pulled his teeth out of you. You saw his teeth were wet and red, red with your blood. You looked at your forearm and saw an oval red wound with several dark holes in it. A thin stream of blood flowed down, approaching your shoulder. Alastor ran his index finger up your arm, wiping the blood. It tickled. He raised his finger to his mouth and put it inside.

"Tasty," He said, putting his finger out of his mouth.

You felt dizzy. You felt that the ground was leaving from under you, although you were lying. The room became unbearably hot, you couldn’t get enough air.

Alastor closed his eyes again, leaning closer to your arm, but you pulled out your hand and pressed it your chest. Your shirt got stained.

"That's enough," You said and sat up.

Alastor didn't move, he was still sitting upon you, and you turned out face to face, so close that you could see each others in your eyes.

You glanced at his lips and saw a drop of blood in the corner of his mouth.

You slowly raised you healthy hand towards him and wiped the red stain with your thumb. Alastor was looking at you without blinking. You looked at blood and put your finger in your mouth, just as he did a minute ago. After a while you said "Not to my taste."

Alastor blinked and laughed leaning away from you, "Hahaha of course, my dear! Nobody loves their own taste."

You didn't know how to be. Alastor sat between your legs, and you couldn't read what he was about to do. The instinct of self-preservation told you, that it was better to get away, but nevertheless you wanted to give up and let him to do whatever he wanted to. Even if it meant, that you'd be eaten.

Alastor took you wounded hand and you understood what he was about to do.

"No!" You pull out your hand and smiled awkwardly, "I believe it was enough for the first time haha"

"If there was the first time, my dear, then there must be the second one, hmm? And the third one?" He leaned away from you, but his smile still held you.

"Maybe," You said and stood up. Alastor remained sitting.

You adjusted your sleeve as you walked so that no one could see the wound. And now you had to find a doll doctor or something. How to explain all this blood on your shirt to the residents if you meet them now?

When you came up to the door you heard Alastor's voice,

"You know, my dear, I haven't finished exploring your body."

You turned to him. Alastor sat, crossing his legs. One of his arms he laid on the back of the chaise longue and other one was on his knee. He didn't look at you, his gaze was focused on the forest.

"I still have so many questions..."

He said it more for himself and very quietly, almost without ordinary static sound. You didn't answer anything, and only thought about what could he do to you.

You turned away and left the room.

"Stupid doll," You thought.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

invitation for a deernner: @noraunor

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x y/n #alastor x reader #alastor #alastor fanfiction

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lisbeth-kk · 2 months ago

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Sherlock fandom.

Temporary Stupefaction

Sherlock pulls up the collar of his coat to protect his neck from the icy wind. The night is dark and foggy. Gloomy. It fits his mood.

John was on a date when Lestrade called with a nasty murder. Sherlock texted and even called John, but he didn’t pick up, nor answered the texts.

It had been an extraordinary case. John would’ve loved it, despite how easily Sherlock solved it. The cases were no fun when John was absent.

Colourful leaves are twirling around his feet in Regent’s Park. Sherlock is desperate to get home to the warmth of 221B. He forgot to bring his gloves.

John wasn’t there to remind him.

Still, Sherlock is hesitating to leave the park and walk the short distance to Baker Street. The flat is probably empty and cold if John’s still out. Perhaps he’s got a leg over and will sleep at that woman’s place. Sherlock is thankful that John never brings any of his girlfriends to the flat.

Small blessings.

The wind and his soon frostbitten hands, decide for him, and Sherlock approaches the black door. When he looks up at the windows, he stops abruptly. Golden light from the lamps and something incandescent, tells him that John is home and that he’s lit the fire. Suddenly John’s figure appears in the window. He stands with his back to Sherlock and he’s gesticulating wildly with his arms.

John never does that.

He’s clearly talking to someone. Sherlock checks his watch. Nearly midnight. Too late for a visit from Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade drove home at the same time Sherlock left the Yard, Molly never visits them, and Mycroft is out of the country as far as Sherlock knows.

Who can it be and why is John so agitated?

He needs more data, and hurries to find his keys and locks himself in as silently as he can. Sherlock tiptoes up the seventeen steps, avoiding the creaky one. John’s voice is loud, but the words are muffled by the door.

Sherlock stops on the landing to eavesdrop before deciding how to proceed.

“How did she know, hm? I’ve only dated her two times.”

There’s a long silence. Sherlock reaches for the doorknob but stops when John speaks again.

“What do you mean I talk about him all the time? He’s the person I deal with the most. It’s only natural, don’t you think?”

What on earth is John talking about? And more importantly; who is he talking to? The responses from the unknown guest, are apparently so low that even Sherlock’s brilliant hearing can’t perceive it.

“I’m not gay, remember!”

Ah, John is talking about Sherlock. His heart cracks every time John utters those words. He startles when John’s voice quivers.

“How did you know that I’m bi? I’ve never told a soul. And before you say Sholto, nothing happened, okay!”

John’s voice rises again when he mentions his former superior officer. Sherlock has always wondered about their relationship. His stomach is in uproar. John has just admitted that he’s bisexual while discussing Sherlock.

What does that mean?

Sherlock can hear that John is pacing, but he’s stopped talking. He opens the door as carefully as possible and dares to look. John seems lost in his own head. His hands are buried in his hair. He looks a bit like Sherlock does when he’s despairing about a case or useless yarders.

A quick survey of the room stupefies him. It’s empty apart from John.

Who the hell has he been talking to?

“Do we have an invisible guest, John?” he asks softly.

John turns to him, his face ashen. He stutters, then blushes.

“Sh…Sher…Sherlock! What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Sherlock offers with a smirk.

John snorts and starts to chuckle.

“Yeah, you do. Sorry. I was just…”

“You were talking to…”

Sherlock doesn’t finish the sentence but waves a hand, indicating for John to fill in the blanks.

“No one,” John mumbles, his smile gone.

“I heard you,” Sherlock coaxes, eager to solve this mystery.

He hangs up his coat and walks to the fireplace to warm his hands.

“You forgot your gloves again,” John tuts.

“Brilliant deduction, John,” Sherlock quips.

He rubs his palms together and expects John to reprimand him further, but the flat is deadly silent.

“I was talking to Harry,” John finally says behind him.

Sherlock turns so fast he almost knocks John over. His eyes evidently show the horror he feels.

Harry Watson, John’s twin sister, has been dead for six years.

Before Sherlock can analyse this baffling information further, John grips his hands, warming them efficiently. Sherlock momentarily closes his eyes to revel in the sensation. Warmth seeps through him in a flash and sets in his chest like a burning flame. When he opens his eyes, John is gazing up at him with a look Sherlock’s seen before, but not often. It’s fond and hungry. Normally, it disappears within seconds, but this time…

“Sherlock?” John whispers.

“Are you a psychic, John?”

Shit! He didn’t mean to say that out loud.

“Just a vivid imagination, but who the hell knows? Me and Harry’s bond has always been strong. I don’t think I’ve told you, but as children we sometimes communicated telepathically.”

“You are an enigma, John Watson,” Sherlock murmurs.

Sherlock is completely warm now, and decides to be brave. He pulls John to him by his hands, guiding them around his waist. After he has released them, he lets his own hands cradle the back of John’s head and bends down. When he’s close enough to feel John’s breath on his face, he looks into John’s eyes to get confirmation. They are closed, so Sherlock bends down further and kisses each eyelid, before he finds John’s cheeks, forehead, chin and at long last, his lips.

When they part for air. John smiles and tells his sister to kindly leave them alone.

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

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @helloliriels

@raina-at @meetinginsamarra @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @topsyturvy-turtely

@jolieblack @peanitbear @phoenix27884 @bs2sjh @brandiwein1982

@meandhisjohn @a-victorian-girl @221beloved @ninasnakie @shy-bi-letsfuckingdie

@7-percent @lhrinchelsea @missdeliadilisblog @salmonsown @oetkb12

@jawnscoffee @gay-ass-bitch @acumberlockedgirl @williamholmeswatson @whatnext2020

@mydogwatson @redmondcollege @thegildedbee @ilovegayangels

(Tell me if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)

#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #sherlock #john watson #bbc sherlock #johnlock #FFF273 #invisible guest

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actual-changeling · 1 year ago

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i wonder if angels actually have a bunch of abilities they're not aware of because they never had a chance or even the imagination to use them. for example, talking to animals.

crowley swings by the bookshop daily to help muriel adjust to earth and humanity (and to make sure all the books stay exactly where they belong), and one day he opens the door and finds them lying on the floor with a tiny, fluffy, cream-coloured dog (pomeranian in my mind).

both look up, the dog gives a little excited bark and sprints towards crowley, and muriel just watches, visibly delighted.

"oh, hi mr. crowley!"

he stares down the dog, his brain blue screening because that's. that's a tiny creature. in the bookshop. slobbering all over the carpet.

the dog stares back.

"what-"

"who," muriel corrects, pushing themselves upright and gently slapping their thighs; the dog immediately runs back and settles in their lap with a lot of swiveling and stumbling.

"that's cupperty! she said her human wasn't being very nice to her so she ran away, but i told her she can stay with me. we're 'best friends forever'," muriel finishes, pronouncing the last three words very distinctively.

a dog. in the bookshop. a very tiny, hairy dog.

crowley slowly makes his way over to his armchair, keeping an eye on 'cupperty' the entire time, and when he settles into his usual sprawl, she zooms over to him - apparently asking for permission.

a dog. on his lap.

oh, what the hell, why not.

#alex talks good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #muriel good omens #muriel and crowley #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #idk just trying to make myself feel better #i dont like this but have it anyway :/

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captain039 · 6 months ago

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Predator grounds (Cooper Howard)

Alpha!Cooper Howard (pre-war)x omega!reader

Warnings: AOB dynamics, vault tech things, forced heats/ruts, eventual smut, age gap, angst? Experiments, needles, drugs

Omega forcer a chemical injected in the blood stream to induce a heat

Alpha forcer a chemical injected into the blood stream to induce a rut

Swear I’ll continue Wasteland heat. Later xD

Cheery music wakes you up, the happy song much too loud for you to be waking up.

“Good morning Vault 18” a feminine calls and you groan at it. Your head pounds your body hurts and it’s overly hot. Wait. Vault?

Your eyes open staring at a cream coloured painted steel ceiling, you take a small breath like you forgot to breathe and get hit with alpha in rut. You sit up quickly ignoring the way the room spins momentarily and who you see isn’t who you expect. Cooper Howard an actor you work for is sitting on the other side of the room knees up, arms on his knees and his head down. He’s wearing one of those silly vault suits.

“Mr Howard?” You call and he snaps his head up before the speaker rings.

“By now you’ve all probably woken up and wondering what is happening!” The woman’s voice is too cheery, to overly happy for whatever shit show this so. You rest your hands on your stomach feeling it clenching and unclenching.

“Let me formally welcome you to vault 18, our most successfully built breeding station!” Her words make you freeze, breeding station?

“You’ve all been injected with the respective alpha and omega forcers! You’ve been asleep for 200 years! and now it’s time to repopulate the earth!” She laughs happily like a giggly child while your face goes blank as does your mind.

Frozen? For 200 years? Omega and alpha forcers?

“Wait-“ you mutter glancing to Mr Howard who hasn’t moved from his position.

Your mind reels back, back to when you were walking home one late evening and you got a call from vault tech before someone knocked you out. You’ve been out for 200 years?!

You were leaving set later than usual, Mr Howard had stayed behind to and you chatted a bit while you finished paper work and what not. It’d been nice having the older alpha around his scent was a calming mix of honey whiskey and those alpha undertones. You’d always had a crush on him, his cheeky smiles and winks but you think he saw you more as a daughter than anything, a role model to his real child Janey from a previous marriage. Maybe he just enjoyed a woman’s company. And now he was currently sitting in the same vault room with you induced in a rut and you in heat.

“Breakfast is coming soon! Enjoy!” The woman’s cuts off and the soft music resumes. You glance to the alpha hells his scent is everything intoxicating and inviting at once. You’re also in a vault suit, blue and yellow, zipped up. The windows have been covered by curtains. You hesitate but slowly stand and move them back slightly. You suck in a breath seeing across the vault hallway another room, curtains not drawn and a couple on the kitchen counter, her face down with him behind. You close the curtains quickly cheeks a flame.

“I figured you wouldn’t want to see that, so I closed them” Coopers voice reaches your ears, he sounds tired and a little rougher than normal.

“Mr Howard-“ you say but don’t know how to finish.

“I won’t touch you” he says and it sounds strained almost making you gulp. The thought makes you sadden that he wouldn’t touch you, you knew he was a man of his word, but it didn’t hurt any less.

“This’ll be over in a week, that’s how long my heats last so, um, maybe I’ll just sleep in the tub?” You try to rationalise, you glance around at the kitchen, dining table and lounge all set up neatly. You remember seeing these types of rooms in vault 4 when Cooper Howard was doing a shoot in there.

“You’re not going to sleep on the tub” he gives you a stern look his voice annoyed before his face softens.

“Sorry sweetheart, we’ve been asleep for 200 years and then thrown into this” the pet name makes you tense, he always had pet names for you.

“It’s ok, I understand, I don’t understand this, but I understand your feelings” you babble out and curse yourself silently before a noise makes you jolt.

“Breakfast!” A man says as he slides a tray through the food hole in the door. You go over first when Cooper gestures to it and take the plate.

“You’ve got snacks already stored up in the cupboards and fridge, but you’ll get three fresh meals a day brought to you!” He says it so happily like he isn’t affected by the pheromones flying everywhere. Cooper takes his tray once you retreat to the other side of the room.

You eat and place the tray by the kitchen sink before retreating to the opposite end of them room. It’s hard to sit still, luckily you’re sort of hiding behind the double bed, two pillows under you. You squirm and try to press your thighs together, it’s hard to focus on not crawling across the room and forcing him to do something. You’d hate yourself if you did that, he’d hate you too and the last thing you want is for him to hate you. You wondered if you were lucky to get placed with someone you knew, someone gentlemanly, kind and compassionate, not like the couple across from you. Thankfully these Vaults are sound proof, you remember Cooper saying that in an advertisement. You sneak a peak at the alpha who stares at his plate, gosh he’s probably missing his little Janey and probably his wife even if they’re separated. He shouldn’t be here stuck in a room both induced with forcers. You glance around the room, a normal vault room set up, maybe there’s some paper and pens you could huddle into your corner to doodle on. What you really want is a shower and he is on the side of the shower near the door. You glance between him and the bathroom a few times wondering if you could just run in, slam the door shut and bathe.

“Mr Howard?” You speak up and his eyes snap to yours like you startled him again.

“Sorry, I uh I’d like to shower?” You say and he frowns probably wondering why you’re asking him.

“Oh, yeah of course” he realises your dilemma and stands to move. He shuffles out the way and you practically run into the bathroom and slam the door shut before sagging and sighing. You glance down at the door realising there is no handle, it’s just a swinging piece of metal on hinges. You back away from the door and it slowly moves open making you curse it. You press it close so it hits the frame but it just keeps opening. You gather some towels to force the door to stay shut and sigh turning the fan on and the water on. You tug off your suit, white singlet and underwear before glancing hesitantly at the mirror. You take a small breath and look. You haven’t changed, not a bit, nothings different, you’re not older, withered, hell you probably look healthier. You glance at your body seeing the same no changes before you step into the shower. You sigh in contentment as soon as the warm spray hits you, you hum and close your eyes this is, quite literally the first shower you’ve had in two hundred years. There’s only unscented shampoo, conditioner and soap, making you miss the fancy soaps you had bought before all this. There’s a toothbrush and toothpaste in the cabinet under the sink after you shower. You brush your teeth while you dry off before grabbing a towel to dry yourself off properly. You curse yourself inwardly, you forgot a new pair of clothes. You gulp, move the towels and turn the fav off before peering out the door.

“Mr Howard?” You call.

“I um, I forgot clothes, could you grab me some? Please?” You press your head against the wall hearing him shuffle, open a drawer and close it before his footsteps come over. You back up from the door forgetting it doesn’t stay closed. Cooper lays the clothes down in front of the door avoiding looking at you and walks away. You let go of the breath you were holding and snag the clothes up and force the towels to hold the door again, this was going to be torture.

Next part ->

#Predator grounds #x reader #aob #fallout tv series #cooper howard x reader #cooper Howard pre war #vaults

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hurpdurpburps · 4 months ago

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Otherside Picnic Manga Yuri Club Special Story 3 English Translation

SPOILER WARNING: Takes place immediately after the events of File 1 - Kunekune Hunting in Vol 1 of the novels.

Written by: Miyazawa Iori

Translated by: @hurpdurpburps

Chapter 3: Ochanomizu, The First Afterparty

"Hey… Earth to Toriko, you okay?"

I waved my hand in Toriko’s face, who was staring into space with her chin propped on her hand.

"Mnnnnnnmm… I'm okaaaaaaay…" Toriko answered fuzzily.

Her eyes were only halfway open, or perhaps just a quarter-way.

"You look like you’re gonna fall asleep though."

"No I’m nooot…"

Liar. It was obvious she'd already reached her breaking point.

As I watched her while taking small sips of beer from my glass, Toriko's eyes finally closed completely. With a droop of her head, she completely stopped moving.

Alright, that's all, folks. Toriko-san has closed up for the day. Great work today. [1]

… What the hell am I supposed to do?

On the table were three empty Tsingtao beer bottles. They were small in size, which should’ve been a reasonable amount for two drinkers, so I was surprised to see Toriko wiped out so early into the night. I’d assumed that she could hold her liquor well, judging from the way she went wild with our drink orders as soon as we were seated.

She’d applied the same heavy hand to our food orders as well. I'd thought that she could finish all of it but that wasn’t the case either. Our plates of cashew chicken (delicious), cumin lamb (spicy & delicious) and water spinach (perfect with beer) sat on the table, mostly untouched.

I don’t think this lass can eat any more…

Toriko was dozing off soundly, so the prospect of depending on her for help seemed unlikely in the near future.

I guess I don’t have a choice.

Resigned to my fate, I picked up my chopsticks and began eating the leftovers.

I wasn’t a glutton, I just simply didn’t like the idea of not clearing my plate. But I suppose it was also because I’d picked up the habit of eating whenever I was able to.

Just an hour ago, Toriko and I had entered the “Other World” [2] via an old building in Jinbocho, encountered the kunekune, fended it off somehow, then fled in a mindboggling state of excitement and fear. In order to return to the real world, we had to take the exhausting route of climbing ten floors on a ladder attached to the exterior of the skeletal building. We’d both been laughing and screaming the entire time, which in hindsight, painted a rather unhinged picture of us.

Isn’t that way too scary from an objective point of view? I think something was probably wrong with us.

After our return, Toriko had kicked up a fuss about holding an afterparty for whatever reason, so we made our way to the station and entered the first Chinese restaurant we saw.

We made a toast and… ended up in this situation before we knew it.

Toriko's chin fell from her hands, and she collapsed onto the table, burying her face in her arms. Sending pieces of shredded lamb into my mouth from the plate that I had moved away so that her beautiful golden locks wouldn't get dirty, I stared intently at the crown of her head, which was facing me.

There’s no sign of black around her roots. Seems like it's not a dye job, but her natural hair colour. Huh…

I continued eating while staring at the head of a woman I didn't know well.

As if on cue, Toriko began to stir just as I was about to finish eating.

"Are you awake?"

"Hmmm…"

"You're sleepy after all."

"I'm not sleepyyyyy…" Toriko replied, her tone foggy and with her eyes still closed.

It seemed like it would take her a while to reboot.

"I thought about leaving you behind."

"Why would you say that…"

"You were the one who said you wanted to have dinner, then you went ahead and fell asleep anyway."

"You can’t do that… Don't leave me behind…" Toriko mumbled apologetically. "It's weird… I'm usually a lot stronger than this…"

"You're kidding."

"I’m serious, usually my face doesn’t even flush when I get like this."

"It's probably the exhaustion. I heard that alcohol tolerance can vary quite a bit depending on your condition."

"Hmm…" Toriko said, rubbing her eyes with both hands. "I guess it's because I met you, Sorawo."

"… Me?"

"Hmm… I guess you make me feel at ease."

"Huh?"

I had no idea what she was talking about. It was a good thing Toriko felt at ease, but I didn't think that had anything to do with me.

Wishing for Toriko to wake up soon, I scarfed down the last of the chicken and cashew.

TL Notes

General note: I adopted a more 'literary' prose style to match the tone of the novels. Hence, the translation in this series will be significantly more liberal than my usual analytical posts. Feel free to ask me anything.

[1] This line in Japanese is "はい終了。鳥子さん閉店ー。おつかれさまでしたー。", which conveys a humourous tone by using a business/shop metaphor for Toriko.

[2] A fun fact about the OP series name is that 裏世界 (urasekai - lit. "Other World") does not translate to "Otherside" exactly. 裏世界 is the term first used by Satsuki, Kozakura and Toriko, and was only adopted later by Sorawo.

The name for the UBL that Sorawo came up with on her own was 裏側 (uragawa - lit. "Other Side"). In fact, Sorawo continued using 裏側 until her first meeting (and briefing about the UBL) with Kozakura in Chapter 3 of File 2 - Hasshaku-sama Survival.

This bonus story takes place before that, which is why Sorawo is still using 裏側 here. I essentially flipped the translations of 裏世界 and 裏側 so that it makes a little more sense contextually.

PS. While I use the term "real world" for the reality in which our characters are from, the Japanese word used in the novels is in fact 表世界 (omotesekai - lit. "surface world"). This is because 表 ("surface" or side facing up) and 裏 ("back" or other-facing side) are antonyms.

The English localisation of the novels follows this terminology ("surface world") but the wordplay gets lost in translation due to the lack of context.

List of Yuri Club's Otherside Picnic Short Stories [my translations]:

1. Shinjuku, The First Meet-Up (新宿、初めての待ち合わせ)

2. Hasshaku-sama Epilogue (八尺様エピローグ)

3. Ochanomizu, The First Afterparty (お茶の水、初めての打ち上げ)

4. Ikebukuro, Cafe Meal For One (池袋、ひとりカフェ飯)

5. Naha, After The Big Job (那覇、大仕事の後)

6. Ishigaki Island, A Dazed Vacation (石垣島、呆然のリゾート)

7. Mercedes AMG, The Backseat (メルセデスAMG、後部座席)

8. Otherworldly Elevator, On The Way Back (異世界エレベーター、帰路)

9. Kozakura Mansion, Pizza Party (小桜屋敷、ピザパーティー)

10. Ikebukuro Bookstore, Meet Up (池袋の書店、待ち合わせ)

11. Hannou, In The Car From The Station (飯能、駅からの車中)

12. TBD

#otherside picnic #裏世界ピクニック #urasekai picnic #Otherside Picnic Yuri Club Special Story #世界ピクニック百合部限定SS

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blueraineshadows · 1 year ago

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Her Gryffindor

Part 3 of my Leander series

Part 1 - It's Not a Date 🌶🔥

Part 2 - I Don't Kiss and Tell 🌶❤️

Leander Prewett x F!MC 🔥🌶❤️🔞 NSFW

She couldn't find Sebastian anywhere and the panic was starting to set in. She hadn't seen Leander either and her mind was creating all sorts of awful scenarios. She didn't want either of them to get hurt.

MC wasn't one for tears. They were a sign of weakness and she tried to avoid it if she could, she had learnt at a very young age to hide her weaknesses to avoid being bullied. It was a habit long practised. However, right now, she could feel the burn of tears at the backs of her eyes.

It was an unfortunate side effect of being close to someone, she realised. When you let them in, there was the potential to get hurt. Holding people at arm's length prevented it but, the closeness she now shared with her friends was something she would fight for, hurt for. They were worth it.

The sun was setting. She had missed dinner, but she wasn't hungry. Feeling tired, her throat still aching after the choking experience in the forest, she made her way to the Slytherin common room. The great snake door slithered into place and she entered, the cool ambience soothing as she descended the staircase.

Imelda rushed towards her as soon as she entered the common room. "Finally," she said, taking her arm. "Where on earth have you been?"

"I was looking for..." MC trailed off. Sebastian was sitting on the sofa, head in his hands. Ominis was beside him, his face set in cold disapproval. MC's stomach clenched.

"What happened?" She asked. She looked at Imelda and Imelda winced.

"They had a fight," she said. "Sebastian and Leander. And not a fight with wands either, although it did start that way. It ended with fists."

MC stared at Sebastian, but he wouldn't look up at her. She looked back at Imelda. "Where's Leander?"

"Not sure," she admitted. "The fight was in the Viaduct Courtyard after dinner. We broke it up before any professors came along. I think Garreth took Leander away."

MC sighed, but Imelda wasn't finished. "Erm, everyone knows. About you and Leander. There was a lot of shouted insults..." She trailed off, throwing an evil glare Sebastian's way.

MC moved towards Sebastian, standing before him. Still, he would not look up at her. "Look at me," she demanded.

Ominis sighed. "Don't be a fool, Sebastian."

Sebastian looked up at her. MC sucked in a swift breath. His face was fairly banged up, Leander had certainly given his fair share of hits. She folded her arms, resisting the urge to take a closer look at his bruises and cuts. "What were you thinking?"

"He wasn't thinking, that's the point," Ominis muttered. "Lashes out first, to hell with the consequences."

Sebastian glared up at her, face hard, cold. "What were you thinking? Letting that filthy Gryffindor put his hands on you."

MC flinched. "I didn't realise I needed your permission," she snapped. "Last time I checked it was my body."

Sebastian stood in one fluid motion. "Last time I checked you were mine to touch, now you're putting it out to him, of all fucking people MC. It's disgusting!"

Her hand flew up without even thinking about it. The slap she delivered to his cheek resounded sharply across the common room, his head swinging viciously to the side. Her palm stung from the impact and she wrung her hand, wincing, her breaths coming in quick gulps.

Both Imelda and Ominis gasped in surprise.

"Bastard," MC hissed. Those tears that had threatened earlier welled up in her eyes, hot and fast. She tried to gulp them back, but it was no good. They spilled free.

Sebastian stood still, stunned. Then, slowly he swung his head back to look at her. His cheek was reddened where she had struck him, adding to the already colourful array of bruises. His eye was watering on that side, leaking down his cheek as if he was crying too.

He said nothing, just stared as he wiped his cheek dry with his hand. MC choked back her tears, backing away from him. She couldn't stand this. This was exactly what she had wanted to avoid.

Imelda moved towards her. "MC..."

MC held up her hands. "No, please," she sobbed. "Don't touch me. I need...I'm sorry. I can't do this."

With one more heart broken look at Sebastian, she ran for the stairs. She had to get out.

....*....

Leander hissed as Garreth wiped a cotton pad soaked in potion over the split on his eyebrow. Sebastian had thrown a few good punches, but Leander had tackled him down to the ground pretty fast. He grew up wrestling with an older brother, he knew how to fight when he needed to.

Garreth gave him a rueful smile. "I guess there won't be any need for sneaking around anymore after this," he said.

Leander gave him a grim smile. "That's if she will even speak to me. I made a bit of a mess of Sallow's face."

"He did kind of deserve it though," Garreth said. He dabbed at the cut again, and not that gently. Leander swiped the pad from his fingers and did it himself. Garreth grimaced. "I don't think he will be coming back for another pop at you, though. Nice moves there, mate. I'm impressed!"

"I can't believe she told him and didn't warn me," Leander said. "I haven't seen her all day."

Garreth shrugged. "Maybe she didn't get a chance to. Sebastian was rather wound up, maybe they argued too. I'm sure she will talk to you about it, mate. Try not to worry."

It was late when Leander finally went to bed. He wasn't even tired but thought he had better try. Tomorrow was the last exam, and he should get some sleep. He wondered if MC was okay. He missed her, ached for her, worried that this was the beginning of the end.

Feeling restless, and drawn to the desire of being near her, he dressed and slipped quietly from the Gryffindor common room. Walking the castle at night was oddly peaceful, and he arrived at MC's secret room in no time. He thought about leaving a note for her there, a point of contact in the hope that she wouldn't slip from his grasp.

There was no need for a note. She was there, sitting huddled against the cushions by the light of a single candle, her face blotchy and tear streaked. She looked up in surprise to see him in the doorway.

"Leander," she whispered.

His brow creased in concern as he entered the room. "Are you alright?"

She stared up at him, and then her face crumbled, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. She held her arms up to him and he immediately hurried to her. He dropped to his knees and pulled her into his embrace, cradling her head against him.

Her fingers clutched at his robe as she sobbed against his chest. He rocked her, smoothed his hand over her hair and pressed light kisses onto her head. He hated seeing her like this. She was strong, stubborn, fiery, and seeing her so sad broke his heart.

"It's alright," he whispered. "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere. It's going to be okay."

Her tears slowed and she wiped at her cheeks. She lifted her head and studied his face, her fingers tentative as she explored the cut and bruising to his jaw. "Does it hurt?" She whispered.

He shook his head. "I'm fine."

"I'm sorry," she said. "You didn't deserve this."

"It's not your fault," he said. He took her chin in his fingers, his thumb brushing her lips. "I just hope it hasn't changed anything between us."

"No," she said, immediately. She shook her head and held his face in her hands. She held his gaze, her eyes shining from her tears. "I'm not letting you go."

His heart fluttered in his chest. He soothed her tears from her cheeks and bent to press a soft kiss to her mouth. She kissed him back, so soft and gentle. When she looked at him again, the intensity in her gaze stole his breath.

Something was different. Her kisses were slow, seductive even, and she kept eye contact with him as she slowly removed his clothes. Her kisses were soft as she pressed them to his throat, his shoulders, her hands smooth and sensual as she caressed him.

She pressed her nakedness against him, arching upwards as though hungry for the contact as he lay above her. He kissed away her tears, his mouth lovingly pressing kisses over her breasts, his hands cupping them and relishing her soft moans.

She rolled them both, straddling him, rolling her hips against him, her gaze burning into his. He smoothed his hands over her hips, tracing the exquisite curve of her waist. She guided him inside of her, arching as she took him deeper. He groaned, squeezing her perfect backside as she began to move.

There was no urgency, just a slow build of desire, he moaned, whispering to tell her how good she felt, how much he wanted her. His hips rocked to meet her sensual rhythm, his hands holding her firmly by the hips.

Afterwards, they lay together, wrapped closely in each other's arms, and he pressed soft kisses to her hair. There was no doubt. He loved her. He could feel it, like a warm blaze in his chest. It almost hurt, how precious and amazing she felt here in his arms. It didn't matter if she didn't feel the same, he would still love her.

They didn't return to their common rooms that night, they made a make shift bed on the rug and slept in each other's arms. Nothing had felt more right.

....*....

MC picked at a slice of toast, her stomach a ball of lead. Today was the last day of exams. School was almost over. It was bittersweet. She looked across the Great Hall towards the Gryffindor table, Leander's eyes finding hers immediately, his soft smile loosened the tension a little, and she smiled back.

Something had shifted between them, something soft, fragile, and she felt the need to protect it. She sighed and gave up on the toast. A gentle hand reached for hers and gave it a squeeze. She looked down at the slim, pale hand and instinctively leant her shoulder against Ominis. His calm, steady presence beside her was a comfort.

"He will come around, MC," he said, quietly. "Even if I have to nag him from dawn till night. You know what he is like, brash, stubborn, foolish. But underneath, he loves you. I think that's half the trouble."

MC frowned and squeezed his hand. "He's an idiot. Why didn't he say anything sooner if he wanted more from me? Maybe I would have given it a try, I don't know. I always thought it wasn't like that. But, its too late now. I have feelings...I like Leander, Ominis. I want to try with him."

Ominis smiled. "Then be happy, MC," he said. "But don't get too swept up in your new romance. I will expect to see you once we graduate. I am going to miss our morning chats."

Oh gods, she felt the burn of tears again. She sucked them back and lay her head on his shoulder. "I love you, Ominis, you're my family now. You're not getting rid of me that easily."

....*....

It was done. MC had done everything she possibly could have when it came to exams, and now she was free. She walked the grounds of the castle, the warm summer sun on her back. She had organised a room in Hogsmeade, a temporary place to lay her head while she figured out a more permanent solution. The shop was doing well, so she had an income.

Hogwarts had been the first real place she could call a home, with people she cared for. It was going to be a wrench to leave here, and she wasn't sure if she was ready to take that leap. It was scary.

Sebastian was ignoring her. It hurt, there was no way to hide from that. But she wasn't going to go running to him this time. She loved him, missed him, but she had forgiven him so much over the years. This time he needed to earn it. He needed to be sorry. She was not going to apologise for falling for someone else.

Yes. This softness in her heart, this glow that lingered after Prewett had touched her, it was a delicate little flame that was being nurtured by every long look he gave her. His hands stirred it, his kiss made it flare hotly, but most of all, his presence was a comfort that she was easing in to.

As she made her way towards the Summoners Court board, she saw him playing a game with his sister. Muriel's giggles drifting across the lawn as her ball rolled off the board and Leander laughed, bending to help her have another go at it.

"Room for one more?" She asked. They both turned to her. Muriel smiled brightly and clapped her hands. "MC, it's you! Yes, please come and help me beat my oaf of a brother," she said. She grabbed her hand and dragged her up onto the boards.

MC met Leander's gaze, her smile for him a delicate curve, a secret exchange of awareness between them. He didn't touch her, just smiled, the soft smile he reserved only for her.

"Maybe we could make this a little more interesting," he said. "Winner gets a prize?"

"Oo, what's the prize?" Muriel asked. She looked between the two of them and a sly grin curved her lips. "How about you two play and the winner gets a snog?"

MC smirked at Leander. "Isn't that how this all started in the first place?"

Muriel frowned. "How what started?"

Leander blushed and dipped his head. "I still say you lost on purpose."

Muriel gasped. "Merlin, you two have already snogged haven't you?"

Leander ruffled her hair. "None of your business," he grumbled. "Come on, let's play. Winner gets a box of treats from Honeydukes."

MC was amused at his bashfulness. She hadn't thought he might be shy about public displays of affection. She decided to take matters into her own hands though, and moved to slip her arm around his waist. He looked down at her in surprise, his cheeks darkening further.

She looked up at him, uncaring of who saw, and winked. She looked at Muriel and smiled. "You were right about his hugs, Muriel," she said. "They really are the best."

Muriel did a little dance and clapped her hands. "My brother and the Hero of Hogwarts," she squealed. She rushed to wrap her arms about them both, the three of them squished into an embrace. MC laughed in delight, returning the sweet girls affection. When her eyes met Leander's she almost couldn't breathe at what she saw in them.

Suddenly, life after Hogwarts didn't seem so scary after all. She smiled, and tried to convey the warmth in her heart as she gazed back at him. The words were there, buried deep, but she wasn't ready to voice them yet. She was savouring them, learning to appreciate what they meant. But, she would tell him. She just needed to be ready.

....*....

The 7th years were gathered in the Great Hall, the headmaster and Professor Weasley on the platform preparing to hand out the slim envelopes containing their futures, their NEWT grades.

MC wiped her hands on her hips nervously. So, she owned a shop, she wasn't preparing for some huge career, but those results would show if she really had earned her right to be here. Her throat was dry. Fear was a tricky thing, and usually she faced it head on, solid and true. Today she wasn't so sure.

A steady hand on her lower back made her sigh. She looked up at Leander and managed a tight smile. "I just know you will have the best grades," she said. "You're a bit of a nerd after all."

He chuckled. "Thanks, I think," he said.

She bit her lip as she looked up at him. "Oh, it's definitely a compliment, Leander. Nerds are very attractive in my opinion."

They stood holding their envelopes, staring at them. "You first," she said.

Leander nodded and ripped the pale cream envelope open, pulling out the parchment and scanning the page. MC held her breath. Then he laughed. "Fuck! I did it!"

She hurried to look at his results. He was right. He had smashed it, despite her dragging him off and distracting him. There was another envelope inside and he pulled that out, a confused frown on his face. When he opened this one he paled, and then a bright flush soon followed.

"I've been accepted on to the professor training program," he gasped. His hands shook. "I can understudy here, at Hogwarts..."

He had to stop, swallowing hard. MC felt her heart squeeze for him. It was what he had wanted. And a selfish part of her was inwardly screaming. He would be close to her, she could see him everyday once term started again.

Ignoring the other students in the hall, the staff, everything, she threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off his feet. She squeezed him so hard he grunted, his arms coming around her waist. "You deserve this," she whispered fiercely. "I am so proud of you."

He was choked. He merely nodded and looked at the acceptance letter again, shaking his head. He mentally shook himself and gave her a nudge. "Now you, open yours," he said.

She stared at her envelope and hesitated. She thrust it towards him. "I can't," she said, flushing.

He pushed it gently back towards her. "Come on now," he said. "Surely some of that Gryffindor bravery has rubbed off on you. You've got this."

He was right. With a deep breath, she opened her envelope and stared at her own results. Her lip trembled. Top marks across the board, even in Arithmancy, and she owed that to him. She nodded, words escaping her. He took the parchment to see, and then it was her turn for a bone crushing hug.

It might not have meant a whole lot to some, but those results were the proof that she belonged in this world. She had earned every last one with her very blood. But she hadn't done it alone. Her friends had helped her. A tight sadness clenched her heart, missing the one who had always been at her side since day one.

She looked up at Leander. "Give me a minute?"

"Of course," he said.

She slipped from his arms with the promise to meet back up with him shortly. She clutched her results in her hand and moved through the hall, chatting quickly with some friends and sharing their congratulations, but there was one face she needed to see.

She caught the back of Sebastian leaving the hall, alone. She hurried after him. He'd always had a quick stride, but she jogged to catch him up, reaching for his arm. He halted, his surprised gaze meeting hers.

She held up her parchment. "I did it," she said, softly. His eyes dropped to her grades, scanning them quickly. "I just wanted to thank you. I couldn't have done half of it without you, and I appreciate it. I didnt want you to leave without knowing that."

He nodded, his eyes guarded. "You're welcome," he said. "And you shouldn't be surprised. You are a brilliant witch, MC. One of the best." His smile was small, sad.

"What about you?" She asked.

He shrugged, easy, carefree. "I did alright, enough to see me right with the Ministry."

"I didn't doubt you for a second," she said. She turned awkwardly, a little nod to him as she made to leave.

His hand caught her robe and she paused, looking back. He stared at her a moment before pulling her in for a tight hug. He buried his face into her hair. "I'm sorry, for everything," he said. His fingers were in her hair, sliding through to hold the back of her neck. "Be happy, MC. That's all I ask."

She swallowed thickly and returned his hold on her. "As long as you promise me the same," she murmured. "I love you, Sebastian."

"Not how you love him, though," he said, pulling back from her. He brushed his fingers under her chin, his smile beautiful. He bent to press a light kiss to the tip of her nose and smirked playfully. "Just remember though, if it doesn't work out with your Gryffindor, you could always come and find me. You know I can never say no to you."

She blushed and swiped at his hand, a laugh bubbling up her throat. "You're a bloody nightmare, Sallow," she sighed.

He grinned and stepped away from her, hands sliding into his pockets. "Don't be a stranger, MC. Come and visit us in London. You're always welcome."

"I will," she said. "As I said to Ominis, you're my family now. You're stuck with me."

She watched him walk away, robe billowing out behind him, the familiar swagger of his step making her smile fondly. He was a rogue, and she would miss him. But, she had her own path to tread now, and she needed to get back to it.

....*....

Summer was in full force and slipping by quickly. It had been busy around the family farm, and Leander had been lending a hand, helping with the harvest and around the house. But today, he was waiting at the train station. MC was coming for her promised visit, and his heart ached to see her. The frequent owls they had exchanged wasn't enough. He craved her skin, the mischievous flash of her eyes.

When she stepped from the carriage, her hair swept up, soft strands framing that perfect face, he stilled. Her beauty slammed into him, the days apart had only magnified what he had been missing. A strong surge of imposter syndrome swept over him and he was rooted to the spot, heart hammering. Why was she here to see him?

She turned, eyes searching, and then she saw him, her lips lifting into the smile that he could never resist. She ran, her heels clicking on the platform, she dropped her suitcase without a care and launched herself at him. He unfroze his limbs in time to catch her, sweeping her up off her feet and burying his face into her soft sweetness.

Fuck, he had missed her.

She leant back, cupping his face in her hands. "I've missed you, Gryffindor," she said. She pressed her lips softly against his, searching his mouth, moaning quietly into his kiss. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "All the way here, all I could think about was how I want you to sneak me off somewhere and fuck me until I can't breathe."

He gasped, desire flooding through him, his cheeks colouring up at her words, and right here on the train platform no less! Her smirk was wicked and she kissed him again. "Not lost for words are you? Or, have you gone off me now?"

"No fucking chance," he said. "You know, I always thought Slytherins were meant to be cold and ruthless, but you are hotter than a firecracker!"

She smirked, wickedly. "Get me alone and I can play ruthless if you want me to, I do like a good tease."

He let out a desperate groan, his cock already aching to be buried inside of her. He put her feet back down on the ground and kissed her forehead. He took hold of her hand. "Let's get you home."

....*....

The Prewett home was cosy chaos. That was the only way MC could describe it. It looked lived in, loved, and his family were equally as charming. She sat at the kitchen table, a large mug of tea in front of her and a plate that was literally a mountain of homemade cookies.

Mrs Prewett was fussing around her, ensuring her every comfort. Leander had been right about her being small, and he had already received a slap for patting her on the head over lunch. MC had smothered her giggle, and Muriel had been her little partner in crime when it came to getting a blush out of Leander over the table.

She had been made to feel most welcome, not even the brief second of silence at the revelation she was a Slytherin had dampened the mood. The Prewett's were not judgemental in the slightest.

George, his brother, was even taller than Leander, his arms and neck strong from labouring on the farm. He bent to take a cookie from the plate and gave her a little wink. "What are you doing with our Lee then, MC? He is definitely duelling above his weight with you," he chuckled. "I can't believe he had the nuts to go after a Slytherin."

Mrs Prewett gave a little cry of protest and smacked his leg with her tea towel. "Watch your language in my kitchen, thank you very much," she scolded. "And in front of our guest too!"

"Your brother is very charming, actually," MC said. She thought about the night in Hogsmeade, when she had made him chase after her, his reward her kiss. "Let's just say he was relentless and I was powerless to refuse."

George quirked an eyebrow. "Sounds intriguing, do tell," he grinned.

"Right, that's it. Tea break is over," Mrs Prewett sighed. She gave George a nudge towards the door. "Go on, back to work."

MC pressed her lips together, fighting her smile as George was shooed out of the kitchen, his hand making a grab for one more cookie as he went.

Mrs Prewett gave her an apologetic look. "Forgive my firstborn," she said. "Like all the boys in this family, their mouths tend to land them in hot water more often than not."

MC smiled. "No apology needed," she said. "My skin is thicker than it looks, and I'm not afraid of a bit of banter."

Mrs Prewett settled into the chair adjacent to her. She gave MC a scrutinising look. "My Leander has done nothing but talk about you since he got home from school, it's rather sweet if you ask me," she said. "He was always such a shy, awkward boy. He seems different somehow, more confident. You make him happy."

MC blushed and lowered her gaze, she fiddled with her mug. "He makes me happy, too."

Mrs Prewett's smile was knowing. She gave MC's hand a little pat, and leant in to speak quietly. "I was watching you both at lunch, the little looks you two share. I remember what that feels like, dear," she said, warmly. "I've put you up in the spare room, but don't worry about the creaky floorboards. Mr Prewett sleeps like a log, and I know how to turn a blind eye." She tapped the side of her nose and winked.

MC gasped in surprise. "Oh...I..."

Mrs Prewett chuckled and stood, waving off her protest. She went to fetch the tea pot. "Top up?" She filled MC's mug. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Just make sure you're taking the potion. No babies just yet, plenty of time for them after you two have enjoyed time alone together."

MC gaped and shifted in her seat awkwardly. Babies? Potions? Mrs Prewett speaking to her about intimate things? She'd never had a mother, never had these talks with anyone other than gossip in girls bathrooms, or the school nurse.

Mrs Prewett seemed to see her discomfort and she put her hand on her shoulder. "Sorry, did I embarrass you? Forgive me," she said. "I can be a little blunt sometimes I suppose. But, Leander told me about you, that you are an orphan. If you ever need a woman to talk to, please, come to me. I know how scary things can be when you're trying to find your way. My door is open to you, to both of you. Whatever makes my boy happy, makes me happy. And you put the best kind of smile on his face."

MC stared at her. Tears burned the backs of her eyes. In less than a day she had been accepted with open arms. It was staggering. "Th...thank you," she whispered.

Mrs Prewett squeezed her shoulder affectionately. "Right then, let me get a glass of something cool for Lee, shall we? He's working hard out there in that sun, you can take it to him, spend some time with your man."

....*....

Still a little overwhelmed, MC wandered across the yard towards the sound of an axe hitting wood. Leander was swinging it, chopping fire wood, a pile of split logs gathered beside him. MC paused in her step. He was shirtless, sweating, she stared at the ripple of lean muscle as he swung the axe down. A little sound left her throat and she was tempted to take a gulp of his drink that she held in her hand, because Merlin! She was suddenly parched.

She moved closer and he paused, smiling as she held out the glass. He took it and drank deeply, his throat working, beads of sweat trickling down his neck.

"Give me that," she demanded. She took the glass and put it on a nearby wall and grabbed his hand. "Come on, now, Prewett."

"What...where?" He stuttered. "I need to finish those logs."

"Sod the logs, I want you. Now," she gasped. She eyed him hungrily. "Fucking hell, you're so..."

She groaned and pulled him in for a kiss. "Where..." She was panting. "Before I lose my shit in your mother's garden."

He chuckled and dragged her down past a shed, the pair of them giggling as they ran down a dirt path and into the shadowed cool of a barn. There were huge bails of hay stored in there and he led her around into a secluded corner, backing her up against the bales, his mouth hot and hungry on hers.

She slid her hands over his sweaty chest, moaning, grinding her hips hungrily against him. "Gods," she groaned. "This is fucking hot, I love you like this, all sweaty and filthy."

His mouth was on her neck, sucking deeply, and she slid her hands inside his trousers, seeking his hardness. He squeezed her backside, sliding up her skirt, and she wrapped a leg around his waist.

It was frantic, breathless, he thrust hard and fast and she dragged her nails up his sweaty back, her own back scraping against the prickly hay bales.

He knew what she liked now, his hands seeking out her pleasure, and she came apart under his care, biting her lip against the climax that ripped through her. She clung to him, she had missed this, the connection their bodies made. They just clicked together, the bond growing ever thicker. She was beginning to wonder why she had ever hesitated over him.

She bit his lower lip and urged his own release out of him, watching as he gave it to her, his cock buried deliciously deep. Oh, fuck, she had it bad. For the first time in her life, she thought she would be willing to put her heart in someone else's hands.

....*....

It was late, the moon was high and the sky was a blanket of stars. Leander leant his head against MC's where it was settled against him. She was sat between his legs, back to his chest, his arms securely around her as they sat on the roof. They had climbed out the window on to it, something he had been doing ever since he had been able to.

The wide spread of rolling countryside spread out before them, his father's fields and beyond draped in shadow. The night was still warm, and they were in nothing but their nightclothes, and he was savouring the moment. It was pretty damn close to perfect.

She shifted a little, tilting her face up to his. He smiled and kissed her forehead. She was toying with one of his hands, stroking her finger tips along his knuckles like she always did.

"I love you, Gryffindor," she said, softly. "I hope you realise that."

Her words were so soft, he thought he might have misheard her. The roof felt like it shifted underneath him and he thought he might topple off, his arms tightening around her instinctively. "You...really?" He stared at her, stunned.

She smiled and shifted to take his face into her hands, she put her nose against his. "I love you," she said, louder this time. Then she tilted her head back, a laugh spilling from her lips, she called out. "I love Leander Prewett!"

He grabbed her closer, pressing a hand to her mouth as she giggled. "Shush, you'll wake everyone!"

"I don't care," she said. "I want the whole world to know. I love you."

He thought he was going to cry. His throat closed up. "Girls like you don't love boys like me," he choked.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked. "Now you listen to me, Prewett. You're smart, generous, kind, and you make me happy. Not to mention the way you make me feel when you fuck me the way you do, mmmm...gods, its so good."

He stared, heart pounding. He brought his fingers to her face. "But, you are so beautiful, so powerful, you could have anyone you wanted," he said.

"And I choose you," she said, simply. Then she frowned. "What's the matter with you? Are you trying to talk me out of it or something?"

"Gods, no!" He said, holding her tighter. "I'm never going to let you go, not ever. I love you too, so much. I just didn't think you would feel the same way about me, but that didn't mean I would stop. I would love you wherever you were, because you're you."

She smiled and kissed him, sliding her arms around his neck. Immediately, their passion began to burn, and she shifted again, trying to press up against him. Their balanced wobbled and they froze. He gasped. "Maybe we should get off the roof," he suggested.

She giggled. "Yes, because falling off is not in my plans for tonight."

"Oh, really?" He asked. He slid his hand downwards, dipping them under the hem of her pyjama top to seek out a deliciously soft breast. "And what are these plans? I'm afraid there are no graveyards around here to seduce me in."

"I thought we could take a blanket out to that barn we were in earlier," she whispered. She sucked his lower lip. "You can take me for a roll in the hay, farm boy. What do you think?"

He moaned appreciatively, kissing her, aching for her. "Anything for the girl I love."

Thank you for reading. I hope that my fic shines a little light on this side character. It has been a fun ride learning about who he could be, and how MC would fall for him. ❤️

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #leander prewett #leander prewett smut #mc x leander prewett #leander prewett x mc #blueraineshadows

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