#I have too much time in my hand also too little of time to properly rest

[cosmicalily]

10:45pm with bang chan - a @cosmicalily timestamp

author’s note: okay hello so where was mr christopher bahng when i was stressing and studying like crazy for my exams? also first channie fic (everyone claps) highkey embarassing that it took me so long apologies to my bahngers

warnings: discussions of anxiety and stress to do with university/school

“Do you want a pudding? Minho dropped them off for us.”

You didn’t reply, body sprawled across the couch. Chris shrugged, assuming you were asleep, picking the small plastic cup up and rifling around in the drawer for a spoon.

“I’m so overwhelmed,” you said suddenly, your voice cracking. He stopped in his tracks, letting the spoon and unopened pudding clatter to the counter. He approached you, gently, resting his hand on your cheek, moving his thumb to wipe under your eye when a tear spilled over.

“Come here,” he said, putting his arms around you as you crawled onto his lap, wrapping your legs tight around his waist. He rubbed circles into your lower back, letting you shove your face into the crook of his neck and dampen his sweatshirt with your tears. “I’m sorry, sweet girl. You always have too much on your mind.”

You sobbed at his kindness, holding him tighter. “It’s just all this shit with my assignments, and then work, too. I keep covering for people but when I’m the one who’s sick, nobody covers for me. And then there’s that girl who just pulls apart every fucking thing I do.”

“That friend of a friend?” Chris raised an eyebrow. “What a bitch.”

“I know, I hate her. I hope her lash tech absolutely botches her next set, eyes swollen, no space between,” you huffed, and Chris laughed.

“That’s my girl, let it out.” he smiled, giving you a kiss on the cheek. “Is there anything else you’re still stressing about?”

You sighed. “That assignment. It’s making me nervous, even though I know I can do it. I just don’t want to.”

“You’re the smartest person I know,” Chris said honestly. “I don’t think there’s anything you’ve done to your ‘worst ability’ that anyone else could do to their best. It’s not everything, baby, I promise you.”

“It’s a sixth of my outcome-”

“Out of the other five parts that you’ve already smashed out. I’m always proud of you, you know that, and it’d make me proud to see you let yourself go a little. I’m here, you know, you can always tell me this stuff. I have the space in my mind for it if it starts to overflow from yours.”

You gave Chris a kiss on his nose, then his cheek, then his lips. “Thanks, baby.”

“It’s what I’m here for.” He hoisted you up, carrying you into the kitchen and setting you down on the counter. He stood between your legs, taking time to properly wipe your tears and press gentle kisses onto your lips. Chris tore off the foil lid of his pudding and dug his spoon in, pressing the cool metal against your mouth. You opened, smiling, letting the cool custard melt onto your tongue. It was comforting, not just the food, but sharing it with him.

He slung one arm around your waist, the other holding his spoon, taking a mouthful for himself then offering one to you. It felt good to have something substantial in your stomach; whilst Chris always made sure you ate properly when studying, you never gave yourself the time to actually enjoy the food, or to have something as a treat. Your stomach would cramp after the third coffee and the second energy drink, but now, it felt calm. 

“You’re too good to me,” you looked up at him, eyes shining.

“Nobody’s good enough to you, sweet girl,” Chris replied. “I wish I could stop everything and give you a moment to breathe. It’ll be over though, someday. I’ll make sure of it.”

“And we can live in a pretty house by the beach with a dog and make out all day?” you asked, giggling.

He smiled. “That’s the dream, baby.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “That’s the dream,” he repeated, pulling you in close.

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[croissantsandblackcoffee]

luigi mangione ⊹ promise

— was going to make a smut but i felt emotional all of a sudden. might make the conjugal visit a part two this :) also this is so much longer than any of my brian work omfg. the luigi thirst is real

it’s visiting day today. you walk into the visitation room, and take a seat on the chair. the room is pretty empty today, and as always you end up waiting for your boyfriend to get dragged into the room. and then, the door on the other side of the room opens as he’s led in by a guard.

his facial hair is scruffier than usual, there’s bags under his eyes, but he quickly lights up when he sees you. the guard pushes him in the shoulder to get the message to sit down. as soon as your eyes meet, he smiles.

luigi picks up the phone that connects both of you. “my love,” he says, looking you up and down with hunger. there’s been a long time since he and you got to properly… be intimate, and so he’s extra starved for you.

“my love,” you repeat, a smile on your lips. you’re happy to finally see him. gosh, you missed his face, his eyes, seeing him smile, seeing him even just breathe. “i brought you something,” you say, looking at the guard who just sits there in his little booth. then you reach into your bag.

he nods, licking his lips. “oh, yeah? what did you bring me, hm? another photo of yourself? that’ll go great with all the others you’ve brought me,” he teases.

the guard has his eyes on you, waiting for you to take whatever it is out of the bag. fhe man watches, knowing whatever it is, he can’t confiscate it as long as it’s not too long and doesn’t contain any weapons. you keep quiet for suspense as you rummage through your bag, before eventually taking the little jewelry box and sliding it through the tiny slot in the thick window. the guard watches before picking it up and inspecting it, before handing it over to him.

he holds it tightly in his hand, a sparkle in his eyes as he looks over the box, before carefully peeling off the cover to reveal the golden ring within. there’s a sharp inhale as his eyes get wide, and he looks back up at you, his eyes glistening with tears. it dawns to him that this isn’t a fake ring, that this is real and authentic and his.

“you—“ his voice is a little shaky, and he swallows down a lump in his throat. “you got me this?” he looks down at the ring again, his stomach knotting as he thinks about it. “i can’t wear this in here, though.”

you bite your lower lip. “it’s a promise,” you say. “once you get out of here, we’ll really get married.” you can’t help but smile. you’re proud of the reaction you received from him.

he puts the ring back in the box before putting it gently down on the steel table, and then he brings the phone closer to him. “you’re insane, y’know,” he mutters with a laugh. “spending so much money on a promise.” he smiles softly. “when I do get out of here, i’m gonna make sure to make it up to you, somehow.” he reaches forward and puts his hand against the window, as if he’s trying to reach out and touch your cheek.

“i love you,” he whispers into the phone, staring right into your eyes. “i love you, i love you, i love you.”

out of the corner of your eye, you can see the guard getting visibly bored and annoyed. he obviously couldn’t care less about the conversation you two were having, and was silently wishing he could be anywhere but here. but that hardly mattered, you were too engrossed in your boyfriend to even notice anything else in the room.

“when i’m out, i’m gonna treat you so good. make up for every single day i’ve spent stuck in here, without you by my side. i’m gonna give you whatever you want, whenever you want. i’ll spoil you,” he mutters. “‘cause i’ve already spent way too long away from you.”

the guard starts getting increasingly agitated now, and makes a show of checking his watch. he obviously wanted to end this as fast as possible so he could go back to being useless somewhere else, and not having to play babysitter for you two.

“time’s up,” the guard mutters, loud enough for both of you to listen in and understand. “time’s up. say your goodbyes,” he says with a huff, standing up from his seat and getting ready to escort him back to his cell. luigi’s eyes flicker over to the guard, and he frowns. “already,” he says, in genuine disappointment. he turns his attention back to you. “i’ll see you next time, yeah? i love you.”

you nod. “i love you, too. be safe, okay? i’ll try to get a conjugal visit as soon as I can.” you can see him nodding, before the guard grabs his shoulder and tugs him up to his feet. with heavy steps, your boyfriend turns and walks back to the exit.

he doesn’t even get the chance to say another word — the guard pushes him out the door quickly, and just like that you’re left all alone in the empty visitation room. a small sigh leaves your lips, and you stand up from the chair, grabbing your bag. it’s always heartbreaking to watch him be escorted back to his cell, and in a way, you’re glad that it wasn’t too drawn out this time.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

For Trine, what are Anselm and Reader giving Blue for a holiday present? Also, Blue doesn't talk about his past much; does he seem a little *cough* blue for this time of year? Does he have bad memories, or is he worried about what to gift Reader and Anselm?

Oh my gossh jaspoagjpsodg I am so emotional over this!! <3 Thank you so much for sending me these thoughts!

Trine [12]: Nice List

Anselm Vogelweide x Blue Jones x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Trine Masterlist • ko-fi •

Warnings: sexy times mentions, Blue feeling a little blue, typos, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 584

Anselm is upstairs wrapping ecstatically. He enjoyed being far too over the top about the matter and wrapping gifts himself for those he cared about deeply, often decorating the presents with things that properly weren’t best suited as gift toppers. But they were fantastic and oh so very Anselm nonetheless. 

It was however best to leave him to his own devices when he was wrapped, even if he wasn’t wrapping things you weren’t allowed to see. He’d had the ‘gift wrapping room’ rearranged long before you’d gotten married so that you could both have space without being able to see what the other was working on.

He’d commissioned a beautiful belt for Blue, the metal clasp engraved with mistletoe after Blue had held a bunch over his dick earlier in the month and asked Anselm for a kiss. 

You head downstairs, walking through the smaller, ‘private’ rooms that you prefer over the grandeur more traditionally mansion-looking cavernous spaces that are many there to entertain guests and intimate associations.  

Blue is staring out of one of the large windows in the living room, his head slightly slumped to the side. The weak, gloomy light catches him at a sweet angle, almost making him look like a statue for a moment. Something a skilled artisan had spent hours pouring over. 

He doesn’t notice you, too twisted up in his own thoughts until you place a hand on his arm. 

“Blue?” 

He blinks and turns, smiling and trying to shift the sombre look on his face. He manages it mostly, but the emotion still pales his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” You stroke his cheek and he nuzzles into your palm, placing his hand over yours and kissing your wrist. 

He nods. 

“It’s a good job you’re pretty.” You wait until he gives you a quizzical look before you continue, “Because you’re a terrible liar.”

He smiles, warmer this time. 

“Your emotions are always written all over your face.” You tap his nose playfully and he leans towards you to rub his forehead against yours, kissing down your cheek to your neck and wrapping his arms around you. 

“Are you worried about what Anselm said earlier?” You say playfully as you hug him back. 

“Hmm?”

“That he’s going to dress up as Krampus and ravage you?” 

Blue snorts, “If I recall correctly, you were also going to dress up as Father Christmas? Complete with the white beard?”

You grin, “We are going to fight over your immortal soul,” you mimic Anselm’s accident teasingly as you repeat his words from earlier and Blue giggles. “So have you been Naughty or Nice this year?” 

“Hmm… A tough choice.” 

“I think no matter what you say Anselm is going to shove something inside you.”

Blue laughs, smiling as you pull back so you can stroke his cheeks. 

“He wanted to make a dildo out of coal, but that is not practical.” You wiggle your eyebrows. 

“Maybe I can sit on your lap?” He presses his face into your touch, “Or lay on it? You can spank me with your belt for being a bad boy.”

“Hmm,” you pretend to think. “I don’t know, that sounds like a reward, not punishment.”

He pouts a little, trying to cover up his smile. “And how would you punish me?” 

“Well, I’d leave you alone for one.”

“Nooo,” his grip on you involuntarily tightens. 

“Well,” you lean closer and give him a light kiss. “It’s a good job you’re on the nice list, isn’t it?”

Thank you so much for reading!

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[morganaspendragonss]

can't make it all alone

to rose ( @hereghostslive )! it's your tarlos secret santa here with a little gift for you! inspired of course by your prompt of tk suiting up again, and also by an anon request of tk and carlos being trapped in a fire, and also by the prompt 'raspy breathing' from my @anyfandomdarkbingo!

happy, happy holidays and i hope you enjoy!

ao3 | 1.8k | angst, hurt/comfort, big brother tk | title from fairytale of new york by the pogues

TK hates working Christmas Eve. Especially as it now means he has to miss the Reyes Nochebuena family gathering, but working right up to Christmas means he gets to have the whole of Hanukkah off to spend with Jonah. It’ll be his first without either of his parents, and though they’re still working through the steps to officially adopt, TK wants to make sure that paperwork doesn’t get in the way of actually being there for his brother.

Besides, it’ll be good to do it all again. He’s been better lately, and he tries to be home to light his mom’s old menorah every night, but it’s been years since he’s celebrated Hanukkah, or any of the high holidays, properly. Not since he was a kid, really, back when he did it all with his mom. He doesn’t know what Enzo has done for the last couple of years, he’s not Jewish so maybe Jonah has never experienced Hanukkah that he can remember, but TK feels he needs to do this this year. For himself as much as Jonah. For their mom.

So, he’s suffering through Christmas Eve to have the next eight days with his baby brother. It’s always a chaotic shift, too many people desperately crowding the malls before they close for the holidays. There are electrical fires, pileups and road rage induced crashes a-plenty. Add that to their usual injuries and accidents, and it turns into the shift from hell.

TK hates it.

Around mid-afternoon, they get called to the mall across town, fire and medical both. They’re far from the closest station, so this must be an all hands on deck kind of situation, something which gets confirmed with every new detail that comes through. 

The mall was packed for a Christmas Eve family activity, as well as the usual last-minute shoppers, when the generators powering both the entire mall and now the additional stage set-up for the choir had overloaded and sparked a fire. The subsequent panic had led to one catastrophe after another, and now they were facing people with crush injuries, burns, screaming children, and god knows how many were still trapped inside in the middle of the fire.

It would have been a nightmare on a normal day, but the holidays always make disasters so much worse.

He and Nancy barely have time to grab their gear before they’re hustled over to triage where they’re put under the command of the 122 captain and directed to the green zone, the less injured having been neglected so far in favour of the serious injuries, of which there were far too many. 

There are only four of them working to help dozens of distressed people, a lot of them children, which is why TK doesn’t hear it at first. But as he is just finishing up dressing some minor burns, he hears a child’s cry. And not just anyone’s.

He just about manages to turn and crouch down before three feet of little brother crashes into him. Jonah buries his face in TK’s neck, snot and tears smearing his uniform, but TK doesn’t care about that when his brother is hysterical in his arms. 

Another paramedic, one he vaguely recognises as being from the 163, approaches with a harried expression on his face.

“I was just treating him when he ran off,” he explains. “We can’t figure out who he belongs to so–”

“Me,” TK interrupts, raising his gaze to meet raised eyebrows and a doubtful twist of the mouth. “He belongs to me. He’s my brother. Is he okay?”

“Uh.” The paramedic blinks at them, then quickly shakes himself out of his stupor. “Yeah, he’s okay. A couple of bruises, but nothing that won’t heal. I– Can I leave him with you? I gotta…” He gestures to the mass of people around them and TK nods.

He returns his focus to Jonah and manages to pry him from his death grip on TK’s turnouts. Jonah tries to dive straight back into his hiding spot, but TK gently holds him by the shoulders and keeps him on his own feet. 

“Hey, Jonah?” he says. “Can you look at me, buddy? That’s it, that’s it, you’re okay.” He grabs a wipe from the kit and carefully cleans up Jonah’s face, trying to stop his own panic from swallowing him whole.

Carlos and Jonah were supposed to be spending the day together today, to get used to each other away from TK. Carlos had said they were just going to the park, so how they ended up in the middle of this is a mystery, but the more pressing concern was the fact that Carlos was currently missing. He definitely wasn’t in the green zone, and the paramedic had said no one had come to claim Jonah, so…

No. Carlos is okay. He has to be. TK refocuses and smiles at Jonah. “Jonah, do you know where Carlos is?” he asks. “Can you tell me?”

But if Jonah does know, he’s clearly beyond words now. He just wipes his arm across his face and reaches for TK again, and who is he to deny his little brother?

If TK could choose, he would find Carlos and take them all straight home, but they’re still in the middle of an active scene, a fact he’s very quickly reminded of by the IC yelling his name.

“Strand! Gear up,” he commands, marching over.

TK straightens, still holding Jonah’s hand. “Captain?”

“You heard me,” he says, no-nonsense. “We’ve got someone trapped in there who needs advanced medical now, and since you used to be Fire, you’re the most qualified we’ve got to go in there.”

The captain marches off without giving him time to respond, and TK feels torn in two as Jonah clings ever tighter to his jacket. He wants so badly to be there for his little brother, but Jonah isn’t the only one who needs him right now. People need help, and TK swore an oath.

“Hey, listen,” he says, turning back to Jonah and holding him by the shoulders. “Someone needs my help, so I have to go now. But Nancy is right here, you remember Nancy?”

Jonah looks at him with wide eyes, but nods. He’s spent a little time with the crew over the past few weeks, all part of getting him used to everyone for when the adoption goes through, so he’s at least familiar with all of them. Tk smiles and glances up at Nancy, relieved when she nods in understanding.

“Okay, good. I want you to stay by Nancy, you can help her with the other hurt people, yeah? I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

TK leans forward to kiss the top of Jonah’s head. His brother clings to him for a few seconds more, before TK is forced to pull away and he hands him off to Nancy. He spares one last look back before jogging off, grabbing a mask and O2 from the rig before following the firefighters into the blaze.

*

Inside feels like they’ve stepped into some sort of Christmas disaster movie. There’s a capsized giant tree surrounded by the shattered remains of baubles and lights, a warped version of Jingle Bells is playing from somewhere, and a cardboard cutout of Santa is slowly being consumed by flames.

He’s led over to where a shop display has collapsed on top of a victim. TK can see why they needed him in here rather than transporting the patient outside; the firefighters are all occupied trying to keep the flames back and the victim’s injuries, even from a distance, look nasty. He spots at least one shard of glass impaling the man dangerously close to his neck, and there’s melted plastic from the display sticking to his skin.

TK steels himself for an unpleasant rescue, one which he wouldn’t be surprised if it turned into a recovery. But when he gets closer, it’s still so much worse than he could have imagined.

Because it’s Carlos.

Carlos, with glass covering his body; Carlos, whose breathing has turned wheezing and raspy, and which worsens by the second.

TK is frozen for a moment as he hovers over his husband’s body, and that moment is enough for things to go from catastrophic to apocalyptic.

The firefighters yell, and feet stampede past, and all TK can do is throw himself over Carlos as a roar erupts in his ears and heat sears his back.

*

*

*

They’re alone. His every nerve ending is screaming in pain and TK coughs as he rolls sideways off of Carlos. His mask has been knocked askew, but it doesn’t matter because TK doesn’t need it anyway. He’s fine; he’ll be fine.

But there’s Carlos…

And his kit is gone, so TK reaches up and removes his mask completely, burning air immediately filling his lungs, but he pushes through it to press the mask over Carlos’s face. He doesn’t know if it will save him, but TK has to try, even if it’s the last thing he does.

Which it might be.

He…

But if Carlos has a chance, then TK…

TK is fine.

*

The weight of it all hits him later, when they’re recovering in the hospital, both of them miraculously alive. 

Carlos explains to him later: they were on their way back from the park when Jonah had spotted some toy in the window. They weren’t going to go in, but when he found out it was going to be a Hanukkah present for TK, Carlos couldn’t resist Jonah’s pleading expression. They were on their way to leave when everything happened; Jonah, when he meets them in the hospital, is still clutching the toy in his fist.

His brother looks so scared and TK’s heart twists uncomfortably as he considers how he could have died today. They both could have, and where would Jonah be then?

Carlos was caught up in an accident; those happen every day, and they aren’t always able to save everyone, but he was almost shot on the job a few weeks ago. TK was at work today, and he made the choice to try and save Carlos over himself. It’s a choice he’d make over and over again, and not just to save his husband.

To save anyone who needed it. To save their family from imploding, and causing his own to do so in return.

And it hits him, all of a sudden, that Jonah’s world has already imploded. TK is all he has left, and if TK dies…

He loves his job. But he loves his little brother more, and TK realises suddenly, painfully, that he’s going to need to make a choice, one that isn’t really a choice at all.

Jonah, or his job?

He looks over at his brother, who reaches out to be hugged. TK takes him easily into his arms, and something settles heavy in his stomach.

It’s a decision that’s already been made for him.

[itsa-not-me]

@nightunite you’ve cursed me with this. I gotta get this out of my system stat.

I’m just…I’m sorry

CW; threesome, anal play, rimming, oral, anal sex, vaginal sex, cum eating, more loss of my sanity

Johnny’s always one to come up with funny plot ideas for his videos for the holidays. He’s seen all the serious ones or the ones where it’s maybe some throw away line about step siblings or being short on cash for the pizza guy, growing up. And he likes the serious and the cliche shoots, he likes sex, but the silly shoots? Oh those are great.

He personally thinks he’s outdone himself this year. He’s gotten Simon to agree to wear these honestly hideous green fuzzy boxers, and for himself he helped costumes make a headband with puppy dog ears and a single antler attached between them. (Theres even a tail that Johnny wears, Simon only agreed to the boxers because Johnny let Simon finger his ass until he was crying to loosen him up for the tail plug)

And then that left you, the present in the middle. You’re new to the company, just signed on a couple months ago and you like how nice everyone’s been, and how transparent they are about health statuses, the use of birth control, boundaries.

You’re excited for the shoot. Even laughed when you saw the truly ridiculous or sparse costumes your costars have on (Johnnys only wearing the headband and tails). It’s not like you’re much better, you got a single ribbon wrapped around your neck, tied up in a pretty bow in the back, and not much else. Simon does help you put on nipple covers, since the boys are strapping you down to a collapsible cube doggy style, and he says that he knows from experience that the hard top can chafe the nipples.

Everyone goes over the stoplight system, what your personal safeword is, and what to do if you can’t speak for whatever reason and you need it to stop (there’s a loud buzzer button placed in your hand to squeeze if its too much). Once you’re set and everyone is good to go it’s show time.

As soon as the director shouts action, you can feel Johnny diving into your ass, mouth and tongue working to prepare you for the plug you’d agreed to. You’re not left alone long enough to sink into the feeling without distraction. Simon’s coming up to you, cock already out through the front fold of the awful green boxers and hard. He slides his fingers into your hair to hold it firm at the base, the way you had showed him you liked it earlier, and you can’t help but moan at the pleasant ache.

Simon’s ordering you to stick your tongue out, tapping the head of his cock against it when you do. It gives you the barest taste of his pre, really it’s just a tease, and you look up at him with pleading eyes, only he’s looking at Johnny behind you. They must have some silent conversation because Simon is rocking the head of his cock along your tongue, something that keeps you both a little on edge as you hear and feel Johnny spit on your asshole.

Before you can whine to have a little more, Simon’s pushing into your mouth just as it feels like Johnny is pushing a finger in. Your moan is cut off as you choke on Simon, throat squeezing around the head of his cock, while your ass squeezes around Johnnys fingers.

Even if it’s something you’ve discussed already, Simon still pulls back enough to check in, asking if everything is green only for you to nod eagerly, sighing as you tell them both you can take more. So they give you more.

Simon takes his time to enjoy fucking your throat, pushing deep enough that your nose is buried in the fake fur and your drool is matting it. Johnny on the other hand, seems to want to see how fast he can pull you apart. He’s making sure that you’re prepped properly, doesn’t want to hurt you, but he’s making it a mess of spit and lube, fucking your ass with three of his big fingers only to pull them out and see how you gap just a little.

He can also see how your cunt is getting wet, pretty folds seemingly begging for attention. He wants to spit on your pussy, see if it clenches the same as your ass did, but he knows he has to wait for it, doesn’t want to risk cross contamination. Instead when he has three fingers hooked into your ass with one hand, he takes his cock in the other and starts to rub the head of it through your folds, letting it catch at your weeping hole, but ultimately going to focus on your clit.

And you must feel good because the way you’re moaning and swallowing around Simon’s cock has him moaning, grip tight in your hair as he starts to fuck your face. You just take it all so beautifully. At one point he pauses to just push as deep into your throat as possible, counting to five slowly so you don’t panic before pulling out to let you take a breath. He does that over and over again until he finds himself on the edge and he has to pull out entirely, telling Johnny to put the plug in.

He holds your gaze, wiping away stray tears and ignoring the way his cock bobs in front of you like it’s begging for attention again. He enjoys the way your eyes flutter as the anal plug gets pushed it. It makes you look cute along with your flushed face. Once it’s in Simon gives Johnny a nod to go and wash his hands and mouth. He keeps a hand on you as he moves around to your backside and oh don’t you look like a pretty gift for them.

The plug’s base is decorated with fake mistletoe, so it looks like it’s hanging above your cunt, and boy does it look like she’s begging for a kiss. He can see your clit is already plump and shiny from Johnny coating it with his precum. And you’re soaked, so much that you’re dripping down your thighs.

The man can’t ignore a holiday tradition can he?

The way he kisses your pussy is nasty, tongue starting at your clit and dragging all the way to shove into your hole once, then twice. He knows it feels good, even if he couldn’t hear the way you’re moaning he’d be able to feel how you clamp down on his tongue.

But he really isn’t suppose to be in the holiday cheer is he?

So he pulls back to your disappointed moans, mouth already coated in your slick. He tries to hush you, says that you’ll be getting your presents soon enough, but you still beg him to fill you, to fuck you. Simon tsks you, but he says he’ll be generous at least. You think it means he’ll give you his fingers, or maybe his mouth again. Instead you feel as Simon pushes a toy into you, the low vibrations already making your toes curl. Where Johnny found a candy cane themed vibrator Simon will never know, but he’s enjoying the insight of it all. Because it’s such a cute look, ass full of mistletoe and cunt full of a thick faux peppermint stick.

So Simon goes about torturing you with the vibrator as you both wait for Johnny. Sometimes he’ll fuck you fast and hard but with the vibrations on low, other times it’s slow and gentle, but the vibrations are clicked to max.

That’s what Johnny walks back into, Simon slowly circling the vibrator in you while it’s set to max, making you cry and beg to cum. Simon just gives Johnny a smirk when he comes back to lick your slick that’s still on Simon’s face.

You don’t expect Johnny to be the one asking if you’ve been a good girl this year coming into your line of sight as he walks around to your head. He almost coos at how teary and pleading you are when you tell him you have. He pets your hair, moving it out of the way before telling you that maybe you should do a little more to prove you’re on the nice list. And that’s how you’re sucking and swallowing Johnnys cock like your orgasm depends on it.

You must be doing good because suddenly Simon is fucking you with the vibrator, fast, hard, and with the vibrations set to the highest setting. Johnny doesn’t even pull out of your throat entirely when you cum screaming, just pulling back enough so you can get some air.

But it’s not like you’re giving any reprieve though because what feels like seconds into your orgasm Simon is forcing his cock into your pussy and fucking you through it and into the next one.

And you’re held like that, Johnny fucking your throat while Simon does his best to ensure you’re not walking straight for the next 24 hours. It’s absolute bliss even if you feel like you can’t tell up from down. After a while Johnny pulls out, letting everyone hear Simon fuck the voice out of you. You have no idea what he’s doing, but suddenly the front of the cube is being lowered, arms stretched out and tied up above your head so you’re in a wicked but not uncomfortable curve downward.

Simon enjoys the view even more once Johnny has you all set up, arms tied in the same pretty ribbon around your neck. He lets himself enjoy the feeling of your cunt wrapped around his cock and squeezing like it’s begging for every last drop. He asks if you’re ready for your gift and you practically please for him to give it to you. How could he deny you?

He waits until Johnny is back at his side before fucking into you with short hard thrusts before a deep grind as he cums deep inside your pussy. You moan at the warm feeling filling your tummy, but the boys moan at the view of Simon pulling out of you, cum spilling every time your poor used hole clenches.

Simon doesn’t even have to tell Johnny to do anything before he’s diving into your pussy, already licking up the cum that’s dripped down onto your clit, before going straight to the source. The attention makes you whine but you don’t tap out, because it feels so good to be at their mercy and to let Johnny feats on your pussy like it’s his last meal. And Johnny is savoring it. He is. The taste of you and Simon mixing on his tongue is divine. But he’s also so excited for what comes next his cock is dropping on the floor.

Johnny isn’t inconsiderate though, he makes sure you get a few good orgasms as he eats you out, making your pussy clean with his spit. Then he’s onto his prize. He’s at least gentle as he starts to lightly push and pull on the plug, gently fucking your ass with it as he asks if you’re still green. He doesn’t hear the answer, but don’t worry, Simon’s there. He’s pressed up tight to Johnny, pumping his cock with a lubed hand as you slur you’re green, that you’re still good.

With a dark chuckle Simon is grabbing the plug with Johnny, the two of them starting to pull the plug further out of you after pushing it in. It’s a delicious kind of torture until it comes out with a pop, leaving your ass to gap a little, and really it’s an invitation for both men to spit on you.

You’re not left empty for long, the plug being replaced with Johnny’s cock. He’s so gentle with it to, slowly giving you more and more of his cock with every thrust. The lube that Simon pours directly onto the two of you is a little cool but that’s because Simon’s a little mean and he likes the little gasp you give.

Soon Johnny’s fucking you in long smooth strokes and it feels heavenly. You’re warm and when you squeeze down on him it sends a zing of pleasure up his spine.

And then Simon starts pulling at his own plug and he knows it’s going to feel better. He moans when the plug gets pulled out, giving you a hard thrust that makes you whimper a little before he’s murmuring apologies.

That all goes out the window when Simon starts to thrust hard into him the way he likes it though. He almost pulls himself out of you with how desperate he pushes back to get Simon as deep into his guts as possible. It’s only the other man’s grip on his hips that keep him from doing so. Simon uses Johnny as a toy to fuck you with for a few moments, pushing the man into you before pulling him back onto his own cock. He only chuckles when Johnny whines for more, telling the man he’s gotta do the work then.

So Johnny puts in the work. He’s practically going cross eyed from how good it feels to fuck into someone and to be fucked into. You can’t even talk because the feeling of both men fucking you is sending you to a new state of being. You don’t even realize you’re cumming from the feeling, it’s all just one big pleasure ride.

Johnny can tell though, and again it’s Simon that’s forcing his hips as deep into you as possible to make sure Johnny’s cum isn’t escaping you…yet. In fact it’s Johnny’s turn to lose his mind as Simon keeps him buried in you, fucking him until Johnny is hard and thrusting into you, only to be forced to cum into you again. It’s a cycle that gets repeated until Johnny’s drooling and you’re now also dripping onto the floor.

Finally Simon’s deemed you full of enough cum, and it’s knowing that you’re both a fucked out mess that sends Simon over the edge, fucking his cum as deep into Johnny as he can. After a few seconds he starts to shuffle both him and Johnny back, for him to finally slip out of you. And for the cum to start dripping without Johnny’s cock to plug you full.

Sliding his fingers into Johnny’s mohawk, he forces the man face first back into your ass, telling him to clean up the mess he’s made. Johnny’s happy to comply, and it’s only once he’s into it does Simon pull out of him, letting the camera get the view of his own cum starting to drop out of Johnny.

Edit;

This is the second version cause tumblr ate the first when i tried to post it.

[millythegoat]

Tomorrow Copa and Euro will enter the Quarter Final and I've summed up the disciplinary statistic between the tournaments

I think this is the perfect time to do a summary as the two tournaments are on pause. I've been gathering the data from UEFA website and ESPN also AS.

This is the summary for the overall matches that been played:

and this weighted for the the teams that progressed to the QF:

details:

Having watching the two tournaments closely I know that the two are as chaotic, although in this case the Euro IS the more chaotic. Also, the ref is a huge factor, in Euro the refs are more inclined to call the fouls and penalized the players, but in Copa, the refs are more inclined to only call the fouls.

I make this while sleep deprived. I'm sure there are lots of other things that can be pulled out from this data but I'm way too tired to speculate more and I need sleep to watch the upcoming matcheess..see you all soon! XO

[not-brionnnne]

hey has anyone ever considered doing shinjiro smut for after the fade to black but he lays you across his lap, like has anyone ever considered the canon praise kink with him more—shinjiro who scolds you, calls you trouble and tells you to stay close to him like a "good girl", shinjiro who acts tough, pretends to be fed up with you pushing him around (he loves it, but that doesn't mean you're not gonna hear about it), ignoring what he wants, so two can play that game, and you think, god, he's not holding back anymore, he's going to kiss me, finally, we're going to— but no, he settles on his bed and pats his lap and tells you that you need to "take responsibility" for teasing him like that, messing with his feelings — "be a good girl." remember, you started this.

[pyrriax]

ANYWHO goodnight tumblr i'll be back on the art grind tomorrow i think 🙏

[healingheartdogs]

WHY DO THEY WANT TO SLEEP IN THEIR FORMULA BOWL?! ARE Y'ALL TRYNA DROWN?? Please learn how to eat without wearing most of it all over your body. 😭 The amount of baths I have to give them currently...

[sttoru]

pls pls pls 🥹 older bf! gojo fucking the attitude out of his gf

 𝝑𝑒 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. satoru picks you up after your lecture to spend quality time with you, only to realise you got an attitude that needs some fixing.

tags. dom older bf!gojo x female reader. smut, pwp but also with plot. age gap (reader early 20’s, satoru early 30’s). rough. hints of degradation. p in v -> unprotected. standing doggy. semi-public. spanking. hair pulling. name calling. creampīe. nicknames ‘princess, baby’. wc: 3.2k

“mind telling me who that was, baby?” satoru asks while he fixes his sunglasses. he pushes his hair back a little, walking beside you through campus. you had just finished your study session with a boy who’s in your statistics class. your lovely boyfriend offered to pick you up and take you back home after that.

though, despite the kind gesture, you’re still visibly stressed after revising the material. your mind is occupied with all sorts of stuff you need to know before your exam on thursday.

“just a classmate,” you respond curtly, not even looking at satoru. you’re speeding ahead of him, wanting to rush home already. you nibble on your bottom lip and your brows are furrowed due to the distress, “why do you care?”

that sentence came out harsher than you had expected it to. you don’t mean to be bitchy, but you’re under too much stress at the moment. your body reacts before you can withstand it.

satoru is silent for a few seconds. he’s surprised by the tone of voice you used. he keeps on following you, however, not letting your little comment ruin the conversation. he’s there to help you, not to make you even more upset.

which is why he tries to lighten the mood.

“oh?” satoru chuckles, his dimples showing. he easily keeps up with you, his long legs carrying him around quite fast. the white haired man pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear ever so gently, “did someone upset my little princess today?”

you don’t answer him. you’re focused on your phone, hurriedly texting your friend back while speeding past all the other students. you don’t even notice how the girls are gawking at your man—whispering about how handsome he is and who he might be.

satoru doesn’t pay them any mind. his sole goal is to gain your attention back. he frowns after his question is met with silence. the clicking of his dress shoes increases as he tries to get you to stop and face him.

“c’mon,” your boyfriend sighs and stands in front of you, stopping you to an abrupt halt. he holds your wrist tenderly yet firmly, letting you know that he wants to properly communicate with you, “y’ can’t ignore me.”

you yank your hand back, your irritated attitude visible in your actions. you look up at satoru, not caring about what he thinks or wants at the moment. you just want to go home and relax. everything is overstimulating you.

“i can and i will,” you huff before stepping aside to continue your journey out of the university’s terrain. your boyfriend’s frown only deepens. you’re not the only one who’s currently getting agitated. you push past a group of students who stood in your way, “let’s just go home.”

satoru’s eyes narrow. he doesn’t get upset fast—he rarely feels any kind of anger—but right now he can feel something itching inside of his chest. he’s tried not to let the jealousy get the best of him at first, but now with all the other emotions coming into play, it’s nearly impossible to hold himself back.

satoru considers himself a fairly mature man. he’s always been one, yet when it comes to you he can’t help but feel like he doesn’t have any control over his emotions. his body and mind act on their own.

“aht aht. not so fast, little lady.”

you suddenly feel yourself being dragged to the side. satoru’s grip around your arm isn’t harsh, but it sure is enough to make you stumble along with him. you click your teeth in slight annoyance after the initial shock settles in. you know there’s no fighting it; you don’t want others to witness your little squabble.

“hey, where are we going?” you ask, a slight whine leaving your throat. you simply want to go lay in your bed and avoid everything and everyone else. your eyes are focused on the back of satoru’s head as he guides you along. he doesn’t bother to face nor answer you.

you sigh and simply allow yourself to be dragged away. if you’re going to get a scolding, you don’t mind. you’re just going to hear him out and nod along so you can go back home faster.

you raise an eyebrow when satoru arrives at the bathroom on the second floor. “what the—” you’re confused as to what your boyfriend is trying to achieve. you quickly look around to see if anyone has seen you.

no one seems to be close. this part of the building has always been empty around this time frame anyway.

you’re pulled into the men’s bathroom after satoru made sure that the coast was clear. he gently pushes you into an empty stall and locks the door. “satoru, what’s up with you?” you sigh as you stumble back against the bathroom wall. it’s a hypocritical comment considering your own nasty attitude.

you try to push him aside, only for your boyfriend to force your arms around his neck, pulling you flush against him. your eyes lock into his and that’s when you notice how . . dark they are. the usual playful look is nowhere to be found.

“i’m just thinkin’ that y’r attitude needs some fixing, hm?” satoru whispers. a ghost of a smirk appears on his face—it’s a twisted one. wicked, with the thoughts of what he’ll do to punish you for your actions. he rarely has that expression when he’s with you.

he tips your chin up with quite some force, “i can help with that.”

everything else happens at a blink of an eye. one of satoru’s large hands slithers up your back to tangle in your hair and yank it back, exposing the column of your throat for his hickeys to take shape on. his other hand swiftly makes work of your pants and undergarments.

his jaw is clenched—the usual hint of gentle love in his eyes is replaced by lust fuelled by jealousy and frustration. satoru is not playing around either. instead of taking his time like he usually does when it comes to intimacy, he’s quick to discard both your clothing.

“fuckin’ tease,” the white-haired man mutters under his breath, panting with desire. he zips down his pants and frees his big cock from his boxers. “always pushing my buttons. isn’t that right, baby?”

satoru lets out a breathy, mocking chuckle. he fists the shaft slowly while his blue eyes roam over your body caged against him and the wall, “but i guess tha’s part of the reason why i love you—hah.”

you’re basically in shock at the sudden switch. your jaw is slack and your eyes are wide, but there’s an undeniable feeling in your chest that tells you you’re loving this change. you can’t deny the fact that you’re turned on. extremely turned on.

“‘toru, i don’t think it’s smart to do this here,” you murmur in a small voice. you’re trying to have some dignity, even now, when your panties are soaked and the scent of your obvious arousal is driving your man crazy.

“don’t care,” satoru shakes his head with a smug grin. his long fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear before flimsily tugging them down to your ankles. his eyes darken the second he sees the webs of sticky, translucent slick clinging from your panties to your puffy folds.

he grunts, his cock twitching painfully in his hand. he’s thinking of simply jerking off to the sight of you in front of him, but he decided otherwise. satoru smacks your clit with his fat tip, “should’ve thought about that before catchin’ an attitude with me.”

suddenly, he turns you around so you’re facing the wall. your nails dig into the flat surface of the tiles, catching onto nothing. you’re hoping that no one will walk into the bathroom. last thing you need is everyone knowing that you were getting your back blown out by your boyfriend on campus.

not that satoru would mind those rumors. it’d only fuel his (already) huge ego.

“oh, yeah— shit. you need this ‘s much as i do,” satoru groans as sinks his cock into your pussy, agonisingly slow, inch by inch. you shudder and hold in your moans as your velvety walls make part for him.

his hands spread your pert asscheeks, smacking the full globes before kneading them to soothe the pain. he continues in a low, dangerous voice, “you wouldn’t be so stuck up if y’ didn’t need this fuckin’ dick to shut you up.”

satoru doesn’t stop pushing in until his heavy balls are resting snugly against your bottom, warming his sack full of cum that’s aching to be released in your dripping cunt.

“ngh, ‘toru,” you bite your lip and try not to orgasm just from the feeling of being full— so full of cock that it makes you see stars, “just like that.”

the white-haired man responds with a satisfied grunt, sweat forming on his forehead from how hot and wet it is inside of you.

“oh, there she is,” satoru coos once he hears your whiny voice, that sweet voice he cherishes and loves. it isn’t cold nor avoidant anymore like before and that’s really all he wanted to acquire. he licks a stripe from the tip of your ear to the lobe, voice husky, “there’s the girlfriend i know. moan some more f’ me.”

you shiver as satoru’s lips connect with the back of your neck. after wetting the skin with his saliva, he bites. not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to leave a mark. you clamp around his dick in response and he curses under his breath.

“please, fuck me,” you breathe. you need more stimulation, need him to absolutely ruin you. the shallow and slow thrusts he’s giving are nothing but torturous.

satoru grins and rests his chin on top of your shoulder, large hands rubbing around your hips and lower abdomen, teasing your clit every now and then to get you even more pent up.

“fuck you?” he tilts his head, as if contemplating. he clicks his tongue and gives your ass a firm slap that nearly sends you over the edge. “hah, you should be grateful for what i’m givin’ you.”

but satoru’s weak for you. even if he’s trying to be the ‘mean’ and ‘cold’ dominant guy. his cock is aching to plunge in and out of your wet hole, to see you come undone and feel your juices coat his balls and thighs.

“fine. i’ll fuck you,” satoru relents with a roll of his eyes, acting like he isn’t desperate for you too. he grips your hips in a bruising manner and bites your shoulder, “—fuck you like the brat you are.”

your hands save your face from making contact with the wall as your body suddenly jostles back and forth in a speed you can’t even process.

“satoru!” you nearly scream his name out of pure surprise. the pleasure comes crashing down in waves, your pussy uncontrollably spasming around his girthy cock.

satoru grumbles something incoherent as he pistons his hips, ramming in your sloppy cunt while his eyes are fixated on your bouncing ass. white locks of hair stick to his forehead as he splits you open on his dick.

“so pretty,” the older man sighs. he turns your head sideways so you can look him in the eyes while he fucks you silly. he caresses your cheek gently, a contrast to the mocking grin on his lips and the rough thrusts against your ass, “too bad y’ got such a potty mouth on you.”

satoru pushes his index and middle finger between your lips to muffle your noises, “…but don’t worry, i’ll fix that for you. gladly.”

you eagerly suck on them between quick gasps of air, saliva trickling down his hand. your boyfriend redoubles his efforts, the fat tip of his dick hitting that special spot deep inside you.

his free hand reaches down to circle your clit. the double stimulation sends you into a state of pure bliss. your pupils are dilated as you struggle to find satoru’s gaze, head lolling back and forth with each powerful stroke.

perhaps this really was all you needed to help destress and forget all about your responsibilities. it feels good to not think about anything at all— your head empty except for the feeling of your cunt being filled.

satoru’s cock twitches inside of you with the urge to release a load in your womb. “give me it, please,” your voice is muffled as you plead with him. your hand sneaks downwards, trying to find his balls, “w-want your cum.”

your fingers toy with his sack once you find it. his pre-cum and your own juices now coat your skin as well, your hand enclosing around his balls, massaging them. it’s like you’re trying to coax his potent semen out of them and that alone makes satoru throw his head back in ecstasy.

“little cumslut. . .” satoru growls, brows furrowing as he tries not to shoot his cum inside of your greedy cunt right that second. the hand that was keeping you quiet quickly snatches your wrist and pins it against the bathroom wall.

“are you that desperate to get filled? yeah?” your boyfriend huffs, not stopping to catch his breath at all. his hips pound faster against your ass with renewed passion.

your lips are parted and they move, but not a single answer comes out of your mouth. you’re unable to think or talk because of the pleasure.

satoru takes that as a yes. the erotic sight of you being so lost in sin is enough to fuel his desire to fuck you harder. his hips never falter as he scoffs at your pathetic self, “tch, so addicted to my cock y’ can’t even answer me.”

you shake your head and search for your words. however, you fail, and all that you’re capable of communicating is what you need, “fuuuuck, yes i am—‘toru, need your cock ‘n cum— more.”

satoru lets go of your wrist to grab your jaw. he forces your head back again before he captures your lips in a bruising kiss. his tongue plunders inside your mouth, exploring every inch.

he pulls back to gasp for air and releases your jaw with a slight shove to grab your hips again. “more? hah,” the white-haired man lets out a haughty chuckle. he gives a particular hard thrust against your butt, tip kissing your cervix painfully yet deliciously, “y’ think you deserve more after that shit you pulled?”

satoru yanks your head back by your hair. the stinging sensation makes your scalp itchy, but it also increases your pleasure. he lowers his lips to your ear, his voice dangerously low, “nah, you gotta make this work.”

you could. you can make it work and that’s the truth. he could fuck you with just his tip and you’d be able to cum a couple times in a row.

jolts of pleasure run down your spine as satoru drives into you harder, the force of his thrusts rocking your entire body. you’re seeing stars and the words roll off your tongue, “please, mhh, almost there!”

satoru groans. he can feel the delicious fluttering of your cunt around his cock, the telltale signs of an orgasm building. he has half a mind to pull out completely and let you writhe and beg him some more.

he contemplates it for a few seconds. the second your eyes start to roll back, signaling your impending climax, his cock slips out of your pussy. you whine and push your hips back in search for his dick- to fill the void he left.

satoru jerks himself off at the pitiful sight. he rubs his veiny shaft between your slick folds before slapping the tip against your cunt, letting it catch onto your entrance for a few times.

“begging like that isn’t going to get you anywhere. y’ can do better,” your boyfriend encourages in a sultry tone. one of his hands rest on your tummy, fingers splaying over your clothed skin. another filthy smack of his tip against your slit makes you shiver, “come on.”

you bite your lip out of frustration. you arch your back each time the fat head of his cock catches onto your gaping hole, hoping to slip it in, but you can't. you tilt your head back and lock eyes with satoru close up behind you.

“please let me cum, 'toru. i'll be good, i promise,” you beg with a lewd pleading expression. one that make satoru's balls tighten with the urge to cum as well.

with a low groan, satoru snaps his hips forward, burying his dick inside of you once more, “there ya go. good girl, knew y’ had it in you.”

the praise and familiar feeling of his dick stretching you open is enough to push you over the edge. you nearly black out as your cunt spasms around him, your juices gushing out to coat his length and balls.

satoru grits his teeth once he feels your tight cunt clench viciously around his throbbing cock. your orgasm has a domino effect on your lover, causing him to hastily chase his own release. “shit! take it, princess. take it all inside this greedy fuckin' cunt,” he hisses and grinds his pelvis against the fat of your ass.

satoru buries himself to the hilt before his cock jerks and pulses, emptying his balls deep inside of you. his fingers dig into the meat of your butt, holding you in place as he grinds against you, making sure every last drop of his seed is nestled into your waiting womb.

“there y’ go, mhm—taking my load so deep,” your lover sighs and lowers his head, resting against your back. he hugs you tightly to his chest while you both catch your breath. he rides out his orgasm slowly, still grinding against you while he leaves lazy kisses on your nape.

a minute passes before you've regained your composure, somewhat. you smile as satoru kisses your temple lovingly, praising you for taking him so well. the switch back to his usual gentleman personality is much needed after such an intense moment.

“thank you, babe. i needed that,” you giggle as you rest back against his chest. thick, pearly globs of cum escape your pussy, dripping around his cock and onto your thighs, but neither of you could care less. the clean up is a problem for later.

satoru chuckles back at you as he leaves another loving kiss against your cheek. “i knew you did,” he murmurs and pets your head, “my poor girl has been working so hard on her assignments, hm? poor, poor baby.”

you playfully roll your eyes at the overexaggerated concern in your lover's voice, however you appreciate it.

satoru doesn't bother to pull out. first things first; he needs to get you all comfortable again and give you the aftercare you deserve. his hands massage your hips as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, acting all lovey-dovey like he hasn't just shown you a more dominant side of him.

“how ‘bout we go home and order some food? we can cuddle and watch a movie together, ‘kay? i’ll take care of you, princess.”

[jaegerbby]

➳ inculpatus

--͙[satoru gojo x female! reader]-͙-

╰┈➤ word count; 5800

╰┈➤ rundown; satoru is everything you want and more, it is time you gave him a little more of you.

╰┈➤ caution; virgin! reader (also described as having small breasts), established relationship, corruption kink, cunninglingus, size kink, cum eating, ball sucking (?), handjob, dry humping, fingering.

not proof read!

he is pretty, way too pretty for you to think properly.

"can i suck your dick?" satoru flinches once the words leave your mouth. he is perched on the quaint white sofa in your apartment and maybe you should not have spoken so loosely because his eyes slightly widen as he turns to you.

"sorry! it's just... you haven't tried anything with me." you unsurely speak, avoiding his gaze. satoru is respectful, overly so. you thought inviting him to your place would at least give him a hint without you having to spell it out for him.

sky blue eyes flit over your features before he licks his lips. they are so pink they look doll like. "i don't want to push you." he pauses. "because you're a virgin." while he does not admit it, it undeniably makes him hard.

"i'm not ready for sex but other things." you trail off, "you can do other things with me."

he jaggedly nods, his head feels dizzy after hearing you say he can have his way with you. "i'll do anything you want."

you perk up immediately.

"how do i get it hard?" he follows your gaze as you focus on his crotch. where the grey fabric of his pants are futile in concealing his bulge.

you are too cute. satoru surges forward to press soft wet kisses to the right of your neck before shifting to give the left the same treatment.

your breath picks up at his proximity, you feel the softness of his hair but it is a lot different in this atmosphere.

his large palm cups along your jaw. "you don't have to do anything. i could look at you and my cock gets so hard it hurts. it's worse cause these clothes are so skimpy." his gaze has darkened now, your mouth feels sticky with spit and your stomach turns in an unfamiliar way.

he grips your wrist to bring your hand onto his stiffened erection. "feel that?" he urges your touch along him, it feels hard, long and hot. so hot.

it does not take long before you are caressing him without any assistance, he puffs air into your face. "i didn't make a move cause i didn't want to scare you but i wanted to touch you. whenever you leaned over i saw your titties, i saw how small they are and your puffy nipples. got such cute tits, babe, wanted to suck on them so bad, would you like that?" you mewl at his low voice, his thumb strokes over your bottom lip.

"toru." his expression looks almost pained at how airy you sound, your voice is sexed out already. when you call him like that how is he supposed to stay sane?

he tugs the straps of your vest down, you practically writhe like a cock is in you as your breasts are revealed. you squeeze along his length, your little hand working him despite your lack of experience.

"i want to lick them up, see how much you squirm or if you'd cum from that alone. just from your little tits getting sucked" he paws at your chest, there is barely a handful for him to grope.

he tweaks your nipples, his eyes narrowing and his tongue flicking over his lip. he is so close you can see the sky within his eyes, the thickness of his lashes and the blush along his skin.

"you didn't wear a bra, what about panties? what kind do you wear, ones with little bows, pink, white? what's a virgin like you into? you keep your tight cunt covered in cute ones or do you dress her like a whore?" you moan at the vulgarity, your forehead leaning on his while you lose your bearings.

your pussy is a soaking mess and if you could, you would press your thighs together to relieve the ache that is building up the longer satoru invades your space.

your insides clench and clamp down, they feel like they are begging for something. satoru tugs your hand away from his heady cock and you whine.

"why don't you show me? show me what you have under those slutty shorts." he pinches at your nipple hard enough to make you wince, his teeth flashing as he smiles. he looks so pretty, far too perfect to be real.

your palm slowly strokes your pussy over your shorts, satoru's eyes hold yours before they flit down to look at you touch yourself.

his hands reach for your waist, bunching up in the fabric of your vest. he is so big and strong, his muscles flex and pulse. your fingers prod the waist band, biting your lip as you slip further in.

the soft skin of your pussy meets your fingers and the wetness pooling from your slit drenches them after. it is hot and syrupy. he can see bare skin where your hand keeps the fabric pulled taunt.

"i didn't wear any. cause you'd be here. i thought about you seeing my pussy through my shorts. did you, toru? when i answered the door or when i sat down did you see it?" he groans, rolling his head against yours.

you stroke down your slit, you are wetter than usually. you are so much wetter now than when you are touching yourself to the thought of him.

"you're driving me crazy. yeah i saw it. i saw your little cunt. you need to be careful, i'll start thinking you're telling me to take your pussy when you do things like this." you face contorts, satoru's hand trailing along your sides and his voice sounds like a wet dream come through.

you pump the underside of your fingers along your swollen opening. "i am, toru. it's already yours." your voice is all shaky and you do not sound like yourself at all.

you are all whiny and borderline desperate. you sound like you need to get fucked. you hurriedly tug your hand away to grip his face and press your mouth to his.

the slick from your fingers taints his skin and you hardly know how to kiss but satoru tilts his head to deepen it. he is a good kisser but you knew that already, you have kissed him before but never this exposed, never with this palpable tension.

he hums into your mouth, his hand cupping your throat as his tongue glides over yours. you feel like the saliva pools in your mouth, you suck on his bottom lip then you kiss him harder.

your fingers pull on his hair, your teeth gnashing. it is open mouthed and desperate. the kiss is all wet and sloppy and any time either of you pull back the other chases.

the other pushes forward to keep your mouths connected. wet smacks fill the room, his tongue claims every part of your mouth it already has and when you both lean back your chest is heaving

"fuck, oh fuck." you pant and your fists tangle in his shirt to pull him back in, your lips glide along satoru's, spit swapping and your cunt aching the more you kiss him.

you think you might give him your virginity this very moment.

his thumb strokes your throat, using his grip to draw you closer. your entire body is vibrating, you feel like every neurone in your system is firing off.

you whine, your mouth leaving his with a sticky smacking noise. "i think m'losing it." you breathlessly mutter, satoru drags his finger along your lips, smearing the saliva across the swollen flesh.

"i am too, you shouldn't have let me touch you. i won't be able to stop." you look so innocent, yet your hair is all messed up, your lips are puffy from kissing so aggressively, your cute little boobs are exposed and your pussy is so insanely wet, there is a wet patch through your shorts.

it drives satoru insane, how can you look like sin incarnate and still have innocence all over your face.

"i don't want you to stop." he groans at your admission, you need to stop before he is too far gone. you need to stop before satoru starts thinking about how the inside of your tight virgin pussy will feel. all hot, gooey and sticky. he just knows your leaky little fuck hole would take his shape so well.

he leans in to peck your lips, satoru needs to stop thinking. "m'not letting you suck my cock." you stare at him in disappointment. why are you doing that? satoru has half a mind to stick his cock in one of your holes and you are making it far too difficult not to.

his hands caress your hair, smoothening it down before he cups your face. he wants to bite your pouty lips and never stop kissing them at the same time.

"not today, not gna slip my cock in your tight baby throat and feel all those little muscles gripping me, no cause i want to eat up your pussy instead. i want to taste how sweet you are and stick my tongue in that virgin hole." your fingers paw at his body, feeling his hard stiff muscles beneath them. he tugs off your vest and you lay back as he reaches for the waist band of your shorts.

a deep sound rumbles in his chest when the material peels away from your cunt and he sees it for the first time.

"c'mon didn't you want me to see? spread your legs." and you do, without any fanfare. satoru's large palms coax along the back of your thighs before he cups under your knees to keep you open for his prying eyes. satoru wonders how long you had been thinking about showing him your hot sticky pussy.

he wishes you showed him sooner but he might have lost it since then. your cunt is dripping with slick, it leaks down your hole to your ass. you look all pink inside satoru wants to see it stretched around him, he wants to feel you gripping his cock and milking him dry.

"got such a pretty pussy, i'm lucky, so fucking lucky. my pretty girl is so gorgeous. look at this messy little hole, she's so wet, fuck." the tips of his fingers trail along your slit, collecting your wetness before he rolls your stiff clit. you jolt as he strokes your bundle of nerves. the mewl that escapes you is borderline pornographic.

he leans over to lap at your lips and then he is shoving his tongue in your mouth to roughly kiss you. his entire body is between your legs, he covers you completely. he is so big it makes you ditzy. he is hard and muscular all over.

when he is on you like this, all you can think about is how easily he could fuck you, it is all you want. you want him pounding into your pussy until you are brainless. he is so close he could take you right now if he pleased.

your hands tangle in his hair, trailing down his jaw and neck before you squeeze his broad shoulders. satoru moans into your mouth, propping his arm beside your head to crowd over you more.

your hips stuttering as he rubs your clit harder. you feel his bulge hitting the back of your thigh, hot on your skin beneath his clothes. you want to see it, you want to touch it.

"toru, i want to see you" a growl rumbles in his throat and he licks into your mouth. "take it off, please" you tug at his shirt, he does not want to stop kissing you. his expression is pained as he pulls away, hurriedly yanking off his shirt to reveal his narrow waist and the muscles all over his body.

you giggle when he shoves his pants down and almost falls over. he climbs onto you with an embarrassed smile on his face and blush coating his cheeks. "you laughing at me?" you hum. "cause you're cute and i like you." you brush the long hair away from of his forehead and wrap your legs around his narrow waist to tug him in.

when his covered erection meets your slit you both breathe heavily. "why didn't you take these off?" your finger prods the waistband of his boxers. your eyes are on his, the same ones that look like every sunny sky is held within them.

"i don't trust myself to not fuck you. if i take them off, you won't be a virgin for much longer." you shiver beneath him. that does not sound like a threat, it sounds like the solution to everything.

like something you need to keep breathing. satoru is big, every muscle in his body is defined, you can trace each one with your eyes. his shoulders, his abs, his biceps. you want to see how they flex and bulge when he is losing himself in your cunt. how they will pulse when he is fucking you.

he gropes your breasts, his tongue laving over your nipple before he sucks down on the perked flesh. your legs jerk when he thrusts his hips into yours. your stomach feels tight, you feel like there are too many butterflies within the small space.

your pussy leaks so much liquid it drenches the front of his boxers, it only makes it easier for him to hump away with your pussy. his bulky thighs are warm as they press into the back of yours to hold you open. satoru pants into your skin, you can see the ripple of his back muscles as he fucks his hips.

there are wet smacks of his cock colliding with your cunt, this alone feels so good, you know it would feel a million times better if he was actually fucking you. you want him to have you, you want the real thing. it turns your brain to mush, makes your cunt ache and your tummy tremble.

he is breathless when he kisses you, it is hard and sloppy. almost as hard as his cock grinding against you. it is thick and long, you want to have it in your hand, down your throat, inside you.

you never thought depravity would ruin you like this but it does and it is okay because satoru is the only one you will get like this for.

his hands desperately grip your cheeks and jaw. you moan as he pulls back to slam his hips particularly hard. hard enough to make your body jerk and your back arch.

"i want to eat you out. i need your pussy in my mouth, need to know how you taste." you whine, your nails dig into his nape, thighs squeezing on either side of his hips.

"anything, toru. anything you want." you mewl. the friction on your pussy has your head in a mess, more of a mess than the slick leaking from your untouched hole.

he presses his stuttering hips flush to yours, his hefty length digging into your cunt. "you don't know how much i thought about this, i used to rub my dick raw when i thought about getting my mouth on you. my tongue in you, wanted to smell and taste your pussy so bad."

he slowly kisses down your sternum, hands trailing over the heat his lips leave in their wake. his palms are so wide, just one spans your waist. just one covers the plane of your stomach. his mouth seems to water the closer he gets to your sex.

you tug your legs to your chest, your hands folded and resting over your mouth. you tense when satoru presses his nose into your slick and nudges the flesh. it is embarrassing, even after all you did, it makes you more flustered than you can explain.

"you smell like heaven, baby. fuck don't ever keep this cunt away from me." his tongue flicks out to lave over your buzzing clit and your eyes shut tightly. it is when he reaches your dripping hole does your body stiffen the most.

your toes curl as he licks you greedily, sucking at the sodden flesh. it is like he does not want to stop. he presses further, his tongue flattening over the expanse of your pussy as he licks it entirely.

"fuck, babe. your pussy's too perfect." his eyes flick upwards, they are blown out and predatory. he spreads your lips before wetly spitting a thick glob into you.

he drags it along your slit before plunging a finger inside. it is long and thick, a lot thicker than any of yours. you writhe at the intrusion.

"how am i supposed to fuck such a tight hole? won't be able to take it, i might just rip your cute little cunt apart." his mouth encloses your clit, sucking and licking as he fucks his finger into you. the pace he sets is fast and riveting, it has you moaning like a freaked up slut instead of a virgin.

you brokenly cry when he adds another finger and your insides are stretched more than they are used to. you can hear the soaked soppy noises of your hole being slammed into over and over, his slimy mouth on your clit.

it is so embarrassing. yet it feels so good, getting your insides stroked and having his mouth somewhere you never thought it should be made your entire body buzz.

his mouth wetly separates from your clit with a sticky pop. "you like that? yeah you do, got your pussy dripping all over me." he thrusts his fingers, deep and fast. like he has done it countless times before.

you dumbly nod your head, your insides squeezing his digits and your hips rutting to meet his movements. he pounds into your hole until the creamy liquid is dripping down his wrist and there are tears in your eyes. saliva webs in your mouth while you moan. he slowly pulls his digits out of you.

"you okay?" you hum, sniffling. your eyes trail along his glistening fingers, it is weird to think they were just inside of you. satoru looks at you as he kisses your abdomen, caressing your thigh before his tongue glides along your entrance.

the tip prods your cunt and you whine lowly when the hot slimy muscle finally sinks in, hips tilting at the strange sensation. he groans into your flesh, his jaw dropping to press deeper. the tip of his perfect nose nuzzles against your clit and your eyes flutter constantly.

your lids threaten to shut as his mouth drips saliva onto you and the muscle squirms within your gooey walls. the knot in your stomach pulls tighter and tighter, your thighs tensing at the sight of him bobbing his head between your legs.

your shaky fingers find purchase in fluffy white locks. the feeling of his tongue being pumped into you makes your mind go blank, it makes your mouth water and your insides tighten.

squelching sounds fill the room as he eats your cunt up. his tongue going so deep your vision blurs.

"toru, toru, toru." you did not realise you were moaning. blue eyes flick up to look at you, you who is so lost in pleasure your head is leaned back and your chest is heaving.

satoru thinks if he had to choose the happiness moment in his life it would be here, with you. you were intoxicating enough but having you like this meant he could never be without you.

your slick in his mouth drives him insane, he wants it on his tongue always, he could die happy if your pussy is the last thing he has. he sucks up your drenched hole before moving to your clit.

he laps at the mound, fingers filling your hole to replace his tongue. the faster he shoves into you the more you tremble, the more your body jolts and the tighter you grip his hair. they reach for his shoulders instead, nails digging into his flesh and it makes satoru think about you clawing his skin when his cock is buried balls deep in you.

your voice is all high pitched and whiny, your head writhes against the couch, hips bucking into his face. he does not give you a break, despite your moans being broken and shaky.

no, he slams his fingers into your creamy pussy, feeling your walls pulsing around him as he quickly thrusts into you.

your liquid splatters with the pace of his movements, his mouth alternating between sucking your clit and licking it up. your voice is all honey dew and dreamy when you cream.

satoru groans at the taste of your cum, still fingering your innocent hole as he laps at the evidence of your orgasm. your thighs tremble and you roll your hips into his face, breathless with the weight of your high.

satoru's jaw is covered with slick when he moves over you, his other hand still gently caressing between your folds after slipping out of your sensitive slit. "why do you know how to do that?" you mumble.

"i had to know just so i could do it with you." he flashes you the prettiest smile. you trace his jawline, your blurred eyes trailing over his messy hair, his lengthy lashes, his gorgeous eyes and the slope of his nose.

the pinkness of his lips is more swollen than usual and cum drips down his jaw. even so he lacked imperfections.

satoru pecks your cheek "you were so good, such a perfect girl." he presses his body flush onto yours, both of his arms hugging your figure.

your smile is flustered with his weight on you, you keep him as close as possible. you are overwhelmed in a good way.

you think you would do this countless times so long as it is with satoru. he buries his face into the crook of your neck and sighs softly.

"i don't think i could be without you." truly, he thinks it might break him. you press a kiss to his hair, your hand stroking down the toned bulked up expanse of his back.

"you'll always have me, toru." the sound that escapes him is something like a whine as he leans in to peck your lips.

"we should clean up." you slowly let go when he sits himself up. satoru's arm is resting along the back of the couch, one leg folded while the other rests on the tiled floor.

his dexterous hand adjusts his cock through his boxers. the thickness looks like it is struggling with the constricting fabric. your body feels lighter, the mess between your legs is a bit uncomfortable but you tug them to your chest and look at the male before you.

he is way too big, it makes you all tingly inside. like he could hurt you if he wanted to but he does not. like if he held you, his arms would be the most impenetrable fortress. 

"what do you want to do after?" he leans his head back, his eyes turn to you and his adam's apple bobs. he is looking at you but you are staring at his evident erection.

the thin material of his boxers does nothing to hide the girth of his aching cock nor does it conceal the wet patch from his pre cum.

"so shameless." he slyly smiles, he reaches to nudge your chin but his resolve falters when your gaze flits between his crotch and his eyes and your cute little tongue trails along the seam of your kiss swollen lips.

he hopes you do not say what he knows you will because satoru cannot resist you. not a single ounce of him has the strength to refuse you.

"toru, i can take care of you too." his smile slowly drops and his mouth dries. his eyes go dark and he tilts his head.

"yeah?" he sees your little hands bunch into fists before you perch yourself on your knees and you lean closer to him.

satoru wants you this close forever, to always see, touch and have no matter what. your hair frame your face and your lips pouts with your words.

"if you want to use my mouth or anything else, you can." you are temptation. you are temptation in the form of an angel.

satoru swallows hard, he shifts closer to you, hands cupping either side of your head. he kisses your forehead before nuzzling your nose with his.

"today isn't about me, we'll do it another time." your eyes flit over his features, leaning in to peck his plush pink lips. you grips his wrists, stroking them.

"but i want to do it now, i really want to see it." satoru breathes heavily. he feels like there is no air in his lungs.

"okay." it comes out soft, you are too good for him. "i just need you to put something on if i'm taking my boxers off."

his large palm trails down your bare chest "you're too pretty, you're everything i want and i don't trust myself to not take you." you slowly nod before holding his hand. satoru follows you without a question, he would follow you to ends of the earth without any hesitation.

your bedroom is pink where your apartment is white everywhere else, it is like you were hiding all the colour in here. it is his first time in your bedroom despite the countless times you slept over in his.

you have plushies all over your bed, the sheets are pink, your fluffy pillows are pink, your closet is wide open and all that meets the eye is pink. your laptop, headset, desk. it is all pink.

you leave him beside your bed and he sits at the edge with an increasingly painful erection making his boxers tight.

his eyes trail over your room and he has to adjust his cock again. this should not be a turn on.

yet something about you, a pretty little thing like you touching yourself in such an adorable room, getting fucked by him in here.

the thought of him pressing your face into these pink sheets and rawing your cunt with reckless abandon. it makes him lose his mind.

he winces as he tugs his swollen cock. when you come back into his view, pink lacy panties are covering your pussy and the matching bra that conceals your tits makes satoru groan.

you draw closer to him and his large palms caress your hips. "now i know you wear cute panties." he jokingly says but there is a desperate undertone in his voice.

when you kneel down, satoru thinks he might be too turned on to think. he wants to keep you to himself.

your hand strokes along his happy trail before teasing the waistband framing his deep v line. he gently grasps your wrist, preventing you from going further.

"we'll leave the blow job for another day, okay? you can use your hand, i'll tell you what to do." you nod yet your eyes look all hungry. his abs tense, staring at your face as he tucks his thumbs into his boxers and tugs them down his thighs.

finally having his aching cock unrestricted has him grunting. your expression is so flustered yet you are pressing your legs together to dull that burning desire at the sight of him.

he grits his teeth, you are staring at it, from the pinkness of his swollen tip, to the dip where his head meets his shaft. the hefty girth with veins trailing down it, there is one particularly prominent one along the underside.

satoru wants to make you feel every inch of it inside, he wants to make you take his shape. maybe he is thinking too deeply, he jolts when your mouth surrounds the side of his ballsack and your little tongue is laved along it repeatedly. "don't- ohmfuck. okay, okay." he pants, fingers curling into his palms.

you need to stop before satoru shoves his entire cock down your throat without any care that you are gagging and choking on it. the gasp that leaves him is way too shaky. his tip goes past your face, it is over the crown of your head, it is too big for you. he is too big for you but he cannot not touch you.

he needs you like he needs air. he hums softly, he should stop you. he really should but he cannot when you are sucking at his balls. your little hands resting on his upper thighs and your mouth is draining him of any self preservation.

"you like it?" there is a sticky noise as your mouth pulls back, so much saliva on his skin. it is even webbed in your mouth.

"mm, you're so big toru." hearing those words in your soft voice makes his cock ache. he should not, he really should not but he needs to see it.

"keep that pretty baby mouth closed." he cups the back of your head, gripping his cock and squeezing it tightly before he presses it into your cheek. he curses, burning it into memory as he rubs his mushroom tip along your lips. his pre cum looks better than any lipgloss you own.

his fingers tangle in your hair to make you look up at him. having pretty little you, kneeling in nothing but laced panties chips away at satoru's restraint.

"want you to wrap your hand around it, can you do that for me?" you hum, when he lets go your fingers take his place. right around his base, your hand is so much smaller and so much softer. your fingers do not even reach around the perimeter of his cock.

his breaths are all laboured and hard, "don't put it in your mouth, just lick the head." his thumb strokes your cheek and you lean closer. your squirming slimy tongue trails over the slit and satoru throbs against the muscle.

"fuck, baby, you're so good at listening." he grips your hand to guide you up and down his length. "squeeze it a bit and move your hand like this." pre cum dribbles and he lets you do it on your own. it is jerky and unsure but somehow your hand feels so much better than his. he leans back on his arms, his hips moving slightly, his chest heaving and his dick begging for release.

"am i doing okay?" you mumble, begging for praise, feeling the ridges of his cock along your fingers while you slowly stroke up over his thick head and down his shaft.

the liquid seeping from his tip glides down along the sides and collects on your fingers, making it easier to jerk him off.

"more than okay, pretty girl. you're perfect." satoru's hand tangles in your pink sheets, the other reaching to tuck your hair behind your ear.

"faster?" you tilt your head, you are like a puppy. the cutest one ever.

"if you want." he grunts, when your hand starts pumping at his cock more, his eyes roll back. the muscles along his thighs flexing, all over his body in fact. he cannot help but fuck his hips upwards to meet your movements.

he is leaking incessantly, it coats your hand and it sounds all sticky and wet when you rub his cock. satoru curses, he feels like a virgin, maybe it was you, maybe it was your hand on him but it made his stomach all tight and his cock throb with no control.

you stroke at his base with a vigorous pace, your other hand surrounding his upper shaft and moving much slower. he jerks, teeth gritting when your tongue laves over the pinkness of his head before you take it in your mouth. it is so warm and wet, it makes him lose his mind.

your lips rest right before his shaft and the second you suck, satoru tightly grips the sheets, his head hanging and his jaw dropped to moan erotically.

"baby, baby what are you doing to me?" his unsteady palm caresses the crown of your head, petting you like the sight of his cock in your mouth does not tear him to bits. like it has not thrown him over the edge.

he wonders if you can feel him pulsing against your tongue. he wants to know what deeper in your little mouth would feel like wrapped around him.

"you're so fucking good, holy shit. never felt this good before." he groans and your eyes meet his, your wide innocent looking eyes despite how he has tainted you already. you look too pure for what you are doing.

"fuck m'gna cum. gna cum, take your mouth off baby." his hips stutter, muscles jumping. his toes curl into the fluffy mat beneath you both. you are still licking and wetly slurping around his head while you stroke his cock. the heated muscle of your tongue laving at his slit.

satoru's never came this quick before. his lids keep fluttering, he cannot stop groaning. his mind is too occupied with the thought of cumming in your mouth to stop you though he knows he should.

you keep touching and satoru has lost it already. he does not realise he is cumming in your little mouth until your hands have slowed down and you are teary eyed with milky liquid dripping down your jaw.

he curses. satoru is so sensitive and you are swallowing, why do you keep swallowing?

"baby, don't swallow. fuck, you don't have to." your hands shift to rest on his thighs, your brows furrowed and your little throat still bobbing.

you lean back and strands of cum are webbed in your mouth, still connected to his softening member. it drips onto the rug beneath you.

you sniffle, swallowing hard while you gaze up at him. your eyes are all glossy and pretty.

"i didn't think it would be that much." you are on your knees, right in front of him with your belly full of his cum, looking like the sweetest girl in the whole world.

you are his, you are all his. you have to be.

he cups either side of your face, leaning down to kiss you hard. he tilts his head, his tongue gliding over yours and the taste of his cum heavy in your mouth.

he reaches under your arms to lift you into his lap, nose nuzzling yours while he hugs you close. you are so much smaller you tuck right in along his large frame.

"i like you too much." he breathes into your shared air.

satoru cannot get enough of you.

[gyuswhore]

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.” 

[rafey-baby]

hidden

outlaw!rafe holding pogue!reader hostage in her own house after banging his fist on her door in the middle of a stormy night, demanding to be let in with a gun in hand and wild waves in the sea of his eyes…

18+ mdni!

c/w: outlaw!rafe being mean and manipulative, mentions of murder, violence & other dark themes, he’s also weirdly soft in the end?

wc: 2k

he's been stuck in my head for a while so hope u enjoy xx

part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

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

There’s still sleep dust lingering in her lashes when she hesitantly cracks open the oak door at 3 am— revealing a tall, scary man with scarlet stains on his big hands, white button up saturated in maroon and a scowl painted over his unsettling countenance.  

She stands there like a deer in headlights, unmoving as he stares down at her with arctic eyes as chilling as the frigid waters surrounding an iceberg.  

At first, she thinks she’s still asleep, tired brain conjuring up some creepy murderer scenario where she’s the idiot who does everything the audience in the movie theater is screaming at her not to.

But as she properly blinks her sleepy eyes open, she comes to the realization that this is not a horror film and this intimidating stranger (with oddly appealing features) who’s definitely just killed someone is very much real.  

She’s about to open her mouth and she’s not sure whether she was going to scream for help or simply stare at him with her mouth hung open in shock but she doesn’t get the chance to find out before he’s pasting a massive palm over her mouth.  

“Don’t make a sound,” his low mutter makes a shiver run down her spine. 

And she doesn’t, instead she just blinks, too out of it to even move a muscle; the reek of the dried blood on his hand hitting her nose, making her face scrunch up. And she doesn’t know why she’s not putting up any sort of a fight, blaming it on the fact that half of her brain is still swimming in the lake of her dreamland; soaking up the glittering sunbeams that never dull and dipping its toes in the grass that consists of misty nebula and twinkling stars. 

And he’s just so mean, ordering her around with a gun to her head, manhandling her around to his liking, grumbling about needing to stay at her house for a bit since he needs a hiding place from the cops after dumping a body somewhere in the ocean and getting caught. Apparently, his temper really just got the best of him at times.  

“I didn’t even mean to kill the guy, alright. He just kept pissing me off on purpose and I was provoked, what was I supposed to do?” He offers as an explanation that seems to do very little to soothe her overstrung heart that’s thudding in her ribcage. It’s loud enough for him to hear; almost as if she’s a terrified rabbit and he’s a big bad wolf, hunting down his prey.  

“I’m taking a shower now, and you’re not gonna move an inch, you understand? Cause if you do, I’m gonna have to hurt you, and I really don’t wanna do that, okay?” 

She nods her head, unable to form any coherent sentences. 

He takes note of the way her inhale gets caught in her throat when he steps closer to her, inquiring whether she lives alone or not, to which she just nods her head again.  

“Dumb girl”, he tuts, shaking his head in disapproval. “When someone’s knocking on your door in the middle of the night you don’t fucking open, alright?”  

She’s making it entirely too easy for him.  

The second he’s in her bathroom, she forces her exhausted brain to think; quickly coming up with a rickety plan as she listens to the water streaming down from behind the door. She waits for a moment, making sure the coast is clear before she bolts towards her bedroom, trembling fingers grabbing her phone from her nightstand and trying to dial 911.  

However, her shaky hands don’t help her one bit when they drop the phone; the clattering sound of it hitting the floor echoing in the quietness of the room.  

She can’t breathe, her brain short-circuits as she bends down, reaching for the wretched device that has somehow tumbled under her bed. However, when she finally catches it in an unsteady grip, she hears the shower turn off; an eerie stillness following. In her state of panic, she fruitlessly tries to turn it back on and call for help but it’s proving to be harder than she thought when her lungs decide to stop working, her respiration shallow and her heartbeat ringing in her ears.  

“Boo,” a low whisper right behind her makes her blood run cold; a shiver traveling down her spine as she slightly jumps, a faint gasp leaving her.  

“Why did you just do that, huh? Told you, didn’t wanna fucking hurt you and then you go and pull this shit,” a strong hand is gripping her by her throat as he turns her around to face him.  

“I’m sorry, I...I don’t—” she’s paralyzed, unable to move.  

“You don’t what, huh?” He stares into her horror-stricken eyes with an almost bored look, seemingly entirely indifferent to her torment.  

“Can’t…can’t breathe,” her voice is nearly inaudible, making a grim chuckle bubble out of his chest.  

“Can’t breathe? Maybe you should’ve thought about that before, yeah?” He scoffs, cruel words mocking her.  

“You’re so fucking stupid, want me to kill you, is that what you want?” He grits out as he squeezes at her neck, making her feel dizzy; gasping for air.  

“No! No, please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Won’t— won’t do it again, promise, I’ll do anything—” she manages to force out as he’s nearly crushing her windpipe in his unrelenting grip.  

“Anything, huh? That’s real tempting and all but what I need you to do is not pull stupid shit like this, you understand?”  

“I won’t, I promise. You can...stay here for as long as you want and I’ll help, okay?” she thinks she’s gonna pass out soon, stars peppering behind her fluttering lids and her weakened limbs starting to feel heavy. His coarse panting fills her eardrums as he seems to contemplate her offer for a moment.  

“If you even think about running to the cops tonight, I’m gonna fucking find you, you understand?” 

She’s frantically nodding her head and at last, his hold begins to loosen around her trachea, allowing for her greedy lungs to finally suck in air as she takes a step back, trying to even out her respiration.  

He doesn’t say anything, silently observing her as she clears her throat, swallowing a few times as she tries to pacify her racing heart and calm the thoughts running around her head; trying to reassure herself that she’s still alive and she will stay that way if she just doesn’t rile him up anymore.  

He notices how her rounded eyes look up at him as he stands before her, smelling like her honey-scented body wash and orange blossom shampoo, nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips, leaving very little to her imagination as the room grows quiet.  

“What’s— um…what’s your name?” Her voice is creaky when she tries a different approach once she feels the flat floorboards under her wobbly feet again, a nervous hesitation overlaying her precarious question.  

“Don’t worry about it,” he simply dismisses her, but a small pout molds her mouth as she stares at him and he lets out a discontented sigh, rolling his eyes.  

“Rafe,” he finally responds, not bothering to ask for hers, seemingly not caring enough for it. She tells him, nonetheless and he laughs at her priorities. A literal criminal has broken into her home and she cares about fucking introductions.  

“So…have you— have you killed anyone else?” She doesn’t know why she’s trying to make small talk with him but she supposes if she gets him to talk about something, choking her to death won’t be at the forefront of his mind anymore.  

“You seriously wanna know?” He raises his brows. 

She thinks about it for a moment and then settles on shaking her head, followed by a harsh chuckle rumbling out from his sturdy chest.  

“So, uh— what is it that you do? Like besides…killing people and stuff?” She tries once more.  

“Look, the less you know, the better, alright?” He simply states, making her let out a soft sigh in defeat.  

All of a sudden, a vigorous thunder crackles behind her windows, an ablaze lightning illuminating her dimly lit bedroom soon after.  

She flinches at the sound and the sinister way it momentarily lights up his face.  

“You scared of a little storm?” He feigns concern as he peers down at her.  

“N— no,” she lies, forcing her face to stay neutral, hesitant about him finding out her weaknesses.  

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe, yeah?” The mocking grin on his face causes a shudder to travel through her as she swallows, wishing this was all just a nightmare she could wake up from.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

After that little incident, he thinks that she’s just as sweet as sugar, offering to make him tea and asking if he wants a blanket or an extra pillow so he’d be more comfortable sleeping on the couch.  

He can tell that she’s merely doing it because she’s terrified of him, which she should be. Nonetheless, he thinks it feels nice to be pampered, doted on; to have a pretty girl following his orders like a trained puppy. Makes him figure he's gonna enjoy his stay just fine.  

The following morning though, he’s woken up by her shaky figure standing next to his own tired form, pointing his gun at him.  

His softened bones feel mellow from the sleep and he lets out a sigh, rubbing at his sleepy eyes and shifts to sit on the couch cushions; teasingly lifting his hands up in surrender. 

“Puppy’s got a gun, huh? Trying to be all tough now, are we?” There’s a lazy smile on his face.  

“I— I want you to…leave,” she says, voice rickety and words unsure.  

And he’s trying to take her serious, he really is, but it’s proving to be a little difficult since she resembles a scared little kitten more than someone who knows what they’re doing.  

“You want me to leave? Maybe you should work on your pitch, I’m not very convinced, you know?” The exasperating smirk plastered on his face makes her brows crease.  

“Rafe, this is not a joke,” a scowl shades her face and he thinks she looks rather adorable.  

“Come on, Puppy. You’re not gonna shoot me. You don’t even know how to use that thing, do you?” His voice is even; she hesitates. 

“Well, it can’t be that…complicated?” It’s more of a question than a statement and he really can’t keep the chuckle from bubbling out of his throat. Her frown deepens.  

“Why don’t you give it to me, yeah? You don’t want death on your conscience. Would break you, you’re too soft for that shit.”  

“You don’t— know me.” 

“I know you enough,” he says, finally standing on his feet. He takes a slow step towards her and she squeezes the gun tighter in her trembling fingers.  

“If I give it to you, you’re gonna— you’re gonna…kill me. I don’t wanna die,” her words are hysterical, rushed.  

“Now who said anything about killing you? Look, if you give me the gun right now, I’m not gonna do anything. I give you my word, alright?” He’s towering over her, solid chest nearly grazing the barrel.  

“I don’t trust you,” her voice is a whisper.  

“I know, Pup. But I also know that you’re not gonna use that,” his steady hands are a contrast to her own precarious ones when he grabs for the firearm, slipping it from her weak fingers with ease.  

“There we go, no need to be so fucking theatrical, yeah?” He lowers his head in order to lock his eyes with her frenzied ones.  

“See? Not hurting you, am I?”  

She manages out a hum of agreement and then her waterline is brimming with water, salty droplets trickling down her cheeks as she chokes out a sob. “I’m sorry. I don’t—”  

“Hey, hey it’s all good. Mistakes happen, yeah?” He says and then his strong arms are wrapping around her trembling form because he’s not a complete monster and for some reason that makes her weep harder.  

Her crocodile tears wet his shirt but he doesn’t seem to mind, big paw rubbing against her back. And it’s almost…comforting, she thinks as he starts to sway her from side to side, like he’s trying to calm down a crying child.  

“There you go, just let it all out and maybe you can chill out a bit, yeah? You Pogues can be so fucking dramatic sometimes,” he pats at her back, rolling his eyes as she takes in shaky inhale after shaky inhale until she’s feeling slightly more placid.  

“Shit, if I’d known you were such a crybaby I would’ve picked another house,” he grumbles, pulling away from her weakened form before pushing her back to stumble on her feet— setting the gun back onto the coffee table with a clank. 

[clockwayswrites]

Bitty birb in the nest is worth...? Part 19

Masterpost This is going to have many typos and spelling issues, but it currently feels like I've got an ice pick in my temple and my skin hurts so there's no rereading happening atm. Sorry!

-

Danny looked up as Tim Drake-Wayne strode into the lab and closed the door quietly behind himself.

“Tim?”

“Mm-hum?” Tim hummed as he sat down his thermos before he shed his messenger bag, coat, and school jacket onto an open part of desk.

Danny watched on with bemusement. The kid looked half asleep. “Not that it isn’t great to see you again, but what are you doing here, honey?”

“Bruce is on a call running Luthor in circles and then has to talk to legal about some stuff because Luthor is always an ass. We’re supposed to go run an errand and then to dinner together, so I’m stuck here until he’s ready to leave for the day.”

“I’m sorry,” Danny said honestly.

“It’s okay, at least Bruce won’t forget, not like—” Tim shut his mouth with a snap, seemingly suddenly thinking about what he was saying.

“It’s okay, I get it,” Danny said, because he did. “You need somewhere to hide out then?”

“Yeah, it’s… calm here.”

“Okay. Sit wherever you want that’s clear. If you need to move something, let me know first, okay?”

“Thanks,” Tim said, shoulders finally losing some of their tension.

“Of course, whenever you need.”

Not wanting to push Tim in any way, Danny kept a subtle eye on the boy as Tim absently wandered around Danny’s office. To Tim’s credit, he did try to touch anything or move things around, even as he obviously grew increasingly tired.

It would be a lot, Danny supposed, to be a teen ager trying to live up to the legacy of two important families in the area, learn the business, go to school, and (hopefully) also spend time with friends. Danny knew how hard it had been only having Phantom as an obligation.

While, sure, Danny wished Tim had made chosen a less neck cramping spot, he was happy to see Tim finally settle down and seemingly fall asleep… under one of Danny’s work benches. Danny couldn’t fuss too much, he’d done that plenty in grad school himself. Once Tim seemed properly asleep, Danny got up to fetch his cardigan from the hook by the door and took it to drape over the sleeping kid. Tim let a little huffed breath of air before he snuggled further into the cardigan and settled back into sleep.

It made Danny’s heart melt in a way that he didn’t want to think too hard about.

It really was no surprise when about forty-five minutes later one Bruce Wayne poked his head into Danny’s office. The door was hardly open when Danny had his finger up and over his mouth in the universal sign of ‘shush’.

Bruce titled his head curiously. Danny gave a little nod of his head towards the workbench that Tim was sleeping under. Silently, Bruce moved to the work bench and crouched down next to it. There was a soft, amused sound before Bruce reached out to brush his hand over Tim’s forehead, as if habitually checking for a fever.

When Bruce returned to where Danny was working, he asked softly, “How long has he been asleep?”

“A little over a half hour. It took him about ten minutes to settle in,” Danny answered, voice equally quiet.

“Then do you mind if I let him keep resting for another fifteen minutes or so? He’s likely to wake up on his own then.”

Danny shook his head. “Nope, let the kid rest. He seems like he needs it.”

Bruce glanced at Tim, his expression that soft sort of worried only parents seemed to get. “He does. He works too hard at… everything. He’s always trying to prove himself even when he doesn’t need to anymore.”

Danny made a little questioning noise as he got back to fiddling with the annoyingly tiny screws.

“His parents were… demanding. They had very exacting ideas of what proper high society behavior was,” Bruce explained. “I’m sadly not the best suited at dismantling those ideas either.”

“Ah… well, what do you do that encourages him to be a kid?” Danny asked.

“He skateboards, actually. And he enjoys photography, but even that became a goal what with art competitions at school.”

“Maybe take him and Damian on a mini art vacation? Somewhere pretty. Somewhere where it’s not about judges,” Danny suggested. He finally got the last screw seated so he glanced up at Bruce’s thoughtful face.

“That’s a good idea,” Bruce said. “I’ll start looking at what might work. Thank you.”

“Sure, ideas are kinda what I do,” Danny said and motioned to the office around him with the screwdriver.

Bruce’s answering chuckle was low and warm. “I suppose it is. I hope you’re also not overworking yourself.”

“I’m doing much better,” Danny assured Bruce. “I just needed some rest.”

“Which my children made sure you got. I’m still sorry that they kept you so long on Friday.”

It was Danny’s turn to laugh. “Honestly, I don’t think you really have much control over what they do.”

“No, I really don’t,” Bruce admitted. “But I wouldn’t have them any other way.”

“That’s good; they’re a pretty amazing family,” Danny said with a soft smile. “And if I don’t get to be sorry about falling asleep, you don’t get to be sorry about making me rest.”

“You drive a hard bargain, but deal.”

“I am a master business man,” Danny teased and ducked his head to hide his smile.

“I’ll have to watch for corporate take overs. Keep an eye on the stocks and papers.”

“Maybe. Oh, speaking of… Well, not speaking of but sort of related? You know, I was joking about us making the papers.”

Bruce hummed curiously so Danny set aside his tools to pull up the story that several coworkers had sent him on his table. He spun it to face Bruce. The picture of them in the box was big on the screen. They were pressed almost chest to chest with Bruce’s arms around Danny. It certainly looked incriminating.

“Well shit,” Bruce said with a sigh. He picked up the tablet to scan through the article. There wasn’t anything in it, of course, just wild speculation. “I hope you haven’t been harassed about this by anyone.”

“I don’t think anyone knows who I am to harass me,” Danny said honestly. “Some coworkers have sent me it, but apparently it’s just my luck to have both randomly run into a Wayne and be invited to an event and have one of my ‘spells’ when I’m around them.”

Bruce looked at him with one well manicured brow raised. “You have interesting luck.”

“Yep. It’s been quite a life so far. I was pretty much born into interesting luck and life has really lived up to that luck and died by it,” Danny said with a little chuckle as he took his tablet back.

“I feel concerned by that last part.”

Danny hummed in question, distracted by pulling his notes back up.

“The having died by the luck part.”

“Oh.” Danny smiled, but he knew that expression was less than a happy one. “I think I mentioned that there was an accident when I was a kid?”

Bruce nodded and lean his elbows on the work bench and crosses his arms. “You did. One that is apparently still affecting your pulse to this day.”

“Yes, well,” Danny glanced away from Bruce. Why was it still so hard to talk about. “When I was fourteen, I was electrocuted at at an… industrial level of voltage. Unsurprisingly it killed me. And hey, obviously I came back! But that sort of thing sticks around.”

“I’m sorry.”

Danny looked back at Bruce, honestly startled. In all this time, Danny wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard a ‘I’m sorry’ about his accident, not without strings attached. His lips quirked into a smile again. This one felt more pleasant. “Thanks. Trust me though, I’m grateful that life has, had been calmer.”

Whatever Bruce was going to say to that was cut off by a loud yawn, the sound of someone shifting around, and then the unmistakable bang of a limb against the metal legs of one of the workbenches.

Quiet cussing followed a moment later.

“You okay there, Tim?” Danny asked.

“Fine,” Tim hissed back.

“I’m sure I have an instant icepack in my office. We can grab one before we leave,” Bruce said.

“B?” Tim asked, voice noticeably brighter. A moment later he appeared out from under the desk.

“Hi, sweetheart, sorry that I had to take that call,” Bruce said as he stepped over to Tim. He reached out to brush the teen’s hair a little straighter.

“It’s fine, it’s Lex, I get it.”

“I know you get it, but that doesn’t mean it has to be fine.”

Tim just shrugged. The action made him notice the the cardigan draped over his shoulders. A little blush rose on his cheeks as he took it off and handed it back to Danny. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for Tim, you weren’t any problem,” Danny assured him. “You’re welcome in my office whenever.”

“You’re going to regret that,” Tim said.

Danny just shrugged with a smile.

“Come on, chum, let’s go find that icepack. We’ll still get to your store before it closes,” Bruce said and started to guide Tim out by the shoulder.

Bruce glanced behind him and Danny gave a little wave to the retreating Waynes.

His luck indeed.

-

“What happened in Danny’s office that’s bothering you?” Tim asked. He had the icepack pressed against his elbow and was sitting almost sideways so that he could take in all of Bruce’s expression.

Bruce was doing that thing where he was feeling big, complicated emotions and wishing he wasn’t. Tim could read it in the way that Bruce’s shoulders were set, that little bit of tightening under his eyes, and the way he was very purposefully not frowning.

“B,” Tim pressed.

Bruce sighed, the sound all of his air. “I think we should leave Danny alone, both as Waynes and as Bats.”

Tim jolted and scrambled to sit up further. “Wait, what? Bruce, what happened?”

“Nothing bad,” Bruce assured Tim. “Nothing bad happened. Vicky got a picture of Danny and I at the ballet. We spoke some about it and Danny talked about how he had interesting luck. He said he was grateful that life has been calmer; he had to change that to had.”

“…oh.”

“It’s just that—”

“No, you’re right. I’ll try to talk to the others about it because you know they won’t listen to you about it.”

“I’m sorry, Tim.”

“It’s fine, I get it.”

[spencerreidenjoyer]

giddy up | spencer reid x reader

Spencer gets shot in the leg. You help him feel better about it.

wc: 1.7k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: s5/jesus hair reid, established r/s, reader and spencer are both switches, riding, grinding, frottage, porn without plot, fluff and smut actually

a/n: was thinking about writing jesus reid/crutches reid for a long time and this was the only thing that came to mind. I am only a little sorry about it. (also find this fic on ao3!)

Of all the things Spencer could complain about after having been shot in the leg, not being able to fuck you properly is something you definitely did not consider.

You’d been worried sick when Penelope had called you, when Spencer had woken up after surgery. You were the first person he’d called for.

No unnecessary pressure on the leg, the doctor had said. Spencer was to use crutches at all times until the doctor cleared him. You don’t remember the rest of the doctor’s instructions, at least not now, when Spencer’s doing much better. He’s just been cleared to walk off his crutches, but he still has a slight limp in his step and starts to wince when he’s on his feet for too long. He hasn’t healed completely, but it’s enough to put you at ease being around Spencer, not having to worry excessively about him. 

While you know he’s grateful to have only gotten shot in the leg and not somewhere more risky, Spencer’s got a mouth on him, which leads you to where you are right now:

“I’m so tired of not being able to fuck you,” Spencer groans. 

You’re lounging in bed with him when he says this, and you whip your head around to look at him, shocked at his sudden admission. “Damn. What’s the matter, baby?”

“I just–” Spencer huffs in the middle of his sentence, like he needs to find the right words. It blows his hair out of his face. It’s cute, but what he says next is filthy in comparison: “I miss fucking you. Properly. Not just handjobs.”

“I thought you liked my handjobs, babe.” You pout, pretending to seem upset. “And my mouth.”

“I do!” Spencer is quick to correct you, insisting, “I like all of that, but it just doesn’t feel the same.”

“As to when you’re buried inside of me?” You whisper, resting your hand on his chest, giggling when Spencer turns red. While he was no longer the innocent, virginal nerd you’d met him as, sex talk still flusters him from time to time, and you love to fluster him.

“Baby,” Spencer whines at your teasing. “I’m serious. I miss making you feel good too.”

“You’re good with your hands, though,” you swoon, mind drifting. “And your mouth. Really good with your mouth.”

You think about Spencer asking you to sit on his face for the first time. Neither of you were exactly used to the position, Spencer typically preferring to be between your legs when he went down on you. But the way his tongue was expertly flicking at your clit, slipping into your hole, making you feel so good until you were making a mess of his face, your slick everywhere–

“Hey, focus.” Spencer taps your cheek, and you puff your cheeks. “I want you to feel good too.”

“I know, pretty,” you hum, letting your thumb trace his jaw. “I think I have an idea.”

Spencer quirks a brow in attentive curiosity. You, getting up from laying next to him, swing your leg across his hips. You sit down squarely on his crotch. 

Spencer’s eyes widen. “O-Oh.”

“Let me make you feel good, baby,” you coo. Spencer nods hurriedly. 

Spencer looks up at you with wide eyes, roaming all over your body but unable to leave it. He watches you roll your hips into his crotch. He lets out a pitiful whine. You feel him hardening between your legs already. You grind against him like this, solely intent on working him up. You know this kind of pressure isn’t enough for Spencer, pleasure dulled between layers of fabric, so you aren’t surprised when Spencer asks, “More, please?”

You smile. “Poor thing.”

“Please, darling,” he exhales. 

“Okay,” you hum, climbing off of him so you can get your shorts and underwear off. His eyes are so big as he stares at you, all of you, like he’s still surprised that he gets to see you undress. You laugh, and snake your hands into the waistband of his pyjama pants. You push them down, until his hard cock springs up, bobbing against his stomach. You meet Spencer’s gaze, before pressing your cunt to his cock.

You both gasp, feeling each other’s warmth. You’re so wet you know you must be making a mess of Spencer right about now. You don’t slip him inside of you just yet, instead grinding your bare pussy against Spencer’s length. You can’t imagine how it feels for him, but you see the way his face is scrunched up in pleasure – what you’re giving him is not entirely enough. You know he misses sinking into your wet heat, and you’re just giving him a taster, sliding his cock along your slick folds, pressed against your leaking hole.

“Spencer,” you moan, rocking your hips harder. It feels so good, Spencer’s hardness against your cunt, the tip of his cock nudging at your clit every time you press your hips down. It’s too much yet not enough, both you and Spencer needing that sweet relief, the feeling of his cock pressing into you. Still, you want to drag it out for him, and you grind your pussy against him some more. “You feel so good, baby.”

“It would feel better if you let me fuck you, darling,” Spencer grunts with gritted teeth. You can tell he’s desperate, his hands antsy by his sides, nails digging into his palms. 

“Mm, not yet,” you hum, feeling a little bratty, enjoying the feeling of building tension, growing arousal between the two of you, between your legs. It’s heaven grinding against Spencer like this.

And maybe you’re too wet, or Spencer is too convincing, because by some act of God, when you roll your hips down against him again, the head of his cock is breaching your entrance, and you moan when you feel his tip pressed inside of you. “Oh–!”

“Fuck,” Spencer moans, long and drawn-out. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

You can’t blame him, since you’d put a stop to sex with Spencer as he recovered. You’d only started giving him handjobs and blowjobs once you were sure an orgasm wouldn’t break him – “I promise an orgasm won’t hurt. It’ll be fine. I’m a doctor.” “You’re not a medical doctor, idiot.” – even then, penetrative sex was off the table.

Until now, as Spencer’s cock pushes deeper inside of you, and the rolling of your hips only serves to remind you just how good Spencer feels. You’ve missed this, his thick cock pressed inside of you, splitting you in half, filling you up until you don’t know anything other than his name. 

“Spence,” you whine. “Feels good.”

“I know, darling,” Spencer groans. “You feel tighter than I remember. Wetter too.” 

He sounds so nonchalant saying these things, and that only serves to drive you more insane. When did he get so confident, so cocky? You want to say something witty but you can’t find the words. Spencer just continues, almost bored to the untrained ear, but you know Spencer’s barely keeping himself together, “So, are you going to ride me or not?”

You grumble, your thighs flexing as you push yourself up, shifting from a rolling, grinding motion to bounce on Spencer’s cock instead. You don’t think you’ve done this before with Spencer, always content letting him get on top, so the new angle makes the both of you a little crazy. He moans, and so do you.

Like this, Spencer’s cock fucks you deeper, harder, the weight of your bouncing thrusts driving him into you until you feel positively ruined. You cry out, desperate, “Spence– Oh, Spencer, oh my God–”

“You’re riding me so well, darling,” Spencer says in awe, slack-jawed. His large hands come to hold your waist, feeling you bounce on his cock, helping you with the laborious movements. “You look so fucking hot right now.”

You whine, thighs already feeling the burn, but the way Spencer’s using your weight to fuck you down onto his cock has you feeling lightheaded. You think you like the feeling, being pushed around like a warm, wet fleshlight for Spencer to fuck into. “Spence, so deep–”

“I want to fuck you so badly right now, my love,” Spencer groans. You feel his hips bucking up into you slightly, right when he pulls your ass down against him, but you know his movements are restricted because of his leg. Still, his desperation to bury himself into you is wild, and your head spins. “But I can’t, and you’re doing so good fucking yourself on my cock.”

You tremble, using all your strength to fuck yourself on his cock, sobbing because you just feel that good. Spencer’s filthy words and the intensity of it all has you weak, and you wish Spencer could just flip you over and finish the job.

“Come on, darling,” Spencer encourages, his hands squeezing your ass and your thighs. It makes you feel wanted, a desperate Spencer’s way of feeling you. “I’m so close too. You’re doing so good.”

“Spencer-!” You sob, clenching around him as you come, your orgasm wracking through your body like electricity in your veins. It’s so good, too good like this, Spencer pressed up inside you like he could split you in half. 

You’re frozen as you feel him inside, his cock twitching as he blows his load. It’s warm and wet and sticky, as you feel it drip out of you. You almost can’t believe it, feeling Spencer buried to the hilt of you after months, and you wonder why it hadn’t occurred to either of you to do this sooner. 

You whimper as your emotions rush over you, and Spencer is quick to pull you close, his lips pressed to the top of your head. “That was crazy. You’re amazing. And perfect. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you say, still a little breathless. “We should do that more.”

“Until my leg is better? Then I can fuck you the way you want,” Spencer soothes, his hand petting your hair, and that certainly sounds like a good idea.

“Yeah. But we should also just do that again some time,” you giggle, resting your head on his chest. You feel his heart pounding under your ear. “I like riding you.”

Spencer laughs heartily, a warm sound that is like music to your ears. “Giddy up, cowgirl.”

[wileys-russo]

mapi “surprised it could fit around my bicep”

oh capitana II m.león

thinking back, you should have clocked your girlfriend was up to something the moment that cocky little smirk had settled on her face when you woke up in bed together.

instead you'd just assumed it had something to do with the activities you'd partaken in last night, the evidence which was scattered across both of your bodies, your chest in particular covered in an array of red and purple bruises.

"bon dia guapa!" the defender had greeted cheerily as you finally joined her in the kitchen after a shower, a plate of breakfast waiting you as she pushed you to sit down at the table, stealing a kiss and nudging your chair in.

"you are very smiley today maría." you chuckled at her clearly gleeful demeanor as she tucked into her own plate of eggs with a shrug. "why not? it is the first game of the season mi amor!" mapi beamed as you hummed, the pair of you quickly falling into regular conversation.

but now as you sat in the stands watching your girlfriend lead her team out with the captains armband snugly wrapped around her bicep, her behavior and glowingly cocky aura all morning suddenly made sense.

you'd of course figured it out for yourself when the team lineup was posted and you saw the little (c) by her name, but by then the dirty blonde was warming up and you had no way of being able to yell at her for withholding the news from you.

as much as you wanted to strangle her for the secret keeping you also couldn't deny the immense and overwhelming sense of pride which flooded you at watching her both play and lead her team brilliantly.

knowing mapi always made time for the fans after the match you busied yourself chatting with some of the other girls families who'd been at the game and sat nearby, having met most of them before.

but tired from a hard fought ninety plus minutes you didn't need to wait long, mapi appearing with a few of her teammates up in the family and friends section in what you'd deem as record time, the cool breeze of the late evening also discouraging most of them from staying out with the fans for too long as thunder clouds were forming up above.

meeting her eyes across the room you excused yourself from speaking with patri's cousin and stepped away, shaking your head slowly at your girlfriend who strode over with the same infuriatingly attractive smirk plastered on her face that had been there when you'd woken up in bed beside her this morning.

"hola princesa!" mapi grinned, hands on your hips as she pulled your body into hers, your arms still staying firmly crossed across your chest. "hola capitana." you quirked an eyebrow as her grin only widened.

"good surprise amor, sí?" mapi questioned with a smug smile, letting go of your hips to wrench your arms apart and forcefully wrapping them around her.

"see? much nicer bebita." mapi sighed happily, moving your arms back over her shoulders as you let them fall limply to your sides, giving in and hugging her properly with a small chuckle.

"tan irritante." you shook your head, your girlfriend kissing your cheek a few times with a mumbled apology as the two of you pulled away, your hand held securely in hers as she lifted it and kissed your knuckles with a charming smile and wiggle of her eyebrows.

though once alone together in the car the defenders confidence tripled, the same smug smile never once dropping from her lips for even a second as she drove the two of you back home, hand securely gripping your thigh.

"focus on the road león." you warned her for the third time as her hand moved higher, making it even harder to pretend the simple gesture wasn't affecting you as much as it was, not needing to give her anything else for an ego boost.

"lo siento bebita, i am just thinking about the ride you will be taking later." mapi shrugged, your eyes widening not missing the insinuation poorly hidden behind her words as her lips curled into a smug grin and you wrenched her hand off of you with a shake of your head.

"-surprised it could fit around my bicep, tan enorme!" mapi stretched her arms behind her head purposefully flexing as you closed the front door after her, the defender sending you a wink as you looked on unfazed.

"you are not as cute as you think, minúscula." you pinched her cheek and ducked under her arms, finally succeeding in getting the smugness to fade from her features.

"minúscula!" the tattooed spaniard scoffed in offence, her lack of height really the easiest way to hit at her ego most days when it was getting a little insufferable like right now.

"minúscula!" mapi repeated with a scowl, glaring at you from the middle of your bedroom as she tossed her dirty jersey to the side and you rolled your eyes.

"how many times maría? cuándo aprenderás." you huffed, picking it up and moving it to its proper place in the laundry basket, not in the middle of the floor where you'd be sure to trip over it lately.

"why do you always have to go after my height mi amor? you know it wounds me!" your girlfriend clutched at her heart dramatically as you rolled your eyes.

"you really should treat el capitána de barcelona, with a little more respect." the smug smile was back as she wiggled her eyebrows at you and you bit the inside of your cheek to stop a smile of your own forming.

"bien. do your washing then, capitana." you smacked her cheek playfully as again you ducked under her arm and out the door.

but you barely made it downstairs and two steps into the living room before her footsteps thundered down after you and suddenly you were in the air.

"maría!" you gasped as she spun you around and effortlessly dropped you onto the lounge on your back, pouncing on top of you before you could move an inch.

"i dijo, with a little more respect." mapi purred, grinning wolfishly as you suddenly noticed the new addition.

"en serio. you brought it home with you amor?" you sighed as the yellow and red armband was again wrapped around her bicep.

"eres bienvenido bebé." mapi smirked, sitting back on her heels and making a show of flexing her arms in different poses and pulling faces, grunting and posing like a body builder as you withheld the urge to smile.

"are you going to be giving up football for body building then tonta?" you shook your head at her theatrics. "maybe. what is it that the kids say? i am a tank." mapi grunted, continuing to pose and flex as you couldn't help but snicker.

"well there is no height restriction to body build, minúscula." you smirked beneath her as she stopped, tattooed arms suddenly either side of your head caging you in as her lips curled into a pout.

anything you went to say next was lost as she kissed you, much less softly or as sweetly as she normally would, often treating you as if you were made of glass and could shatter at a moments notice.

your hands tangled in her hair which for once was out, pulling her even closer as hers squeezed your hips, and before you could even blink she'd moved so that she was sitting up on the sofa and you were sat on her lap, lips not even disconnecting for a moment.

your breath hitched as mapi rolled your hips against hers, using the momentary lapse to slip her tongue into your mouth. "why do you always do that?" you pulled away as she smiled into the kiss.

"hacer qué? ven aquí bebita." mapi laughed, trying to lean in for another kiss as you ducked back.

"smile like a twelve year old boy getting a very first kiss!" you teased, thumbs tracing down her jaw with a shake of her head. "que? i do not!" mapi's eyebrows furrowed and another frustrated pout settled on her rosy pink lips.

"you do mi amor. every time we makeout, you smile like that." you shook your head, pressing your forehead against hers. "que? i can't be happy to kiss a pretty girl?" mapi smiled softly, rubbing her nose against yours making you let out a laugh.

"mi niña bonita." the defender whispered, stealing a kiss as her eyes shone with so much adoration you felt your cheeks heat up beneath the intensity of her lovesick gaze.

"capitánas are not supposed to be so soft." you teased, pecking her lips a few times but moving your head back as her mouth chased yours to deepen it.

"maría!" you squealed as she suddenly stood taking you with her and raced upstairs, your legs wrapped around her waist before suddenly your back was meeting the mattress and again she hovered on top of you.

"i show you how capitánas kiss? not so soft." mapi raised an eyebrow, fingers digging tighter into your hips pressing you down deeper into the bed with a smirk.

"when you smile it will be very soft." you teased again, her smirk melting into a cheeky grin as she flexed her arm and the bright yellow armband tensed around her bicep.

"cállate y besa a tu capitána."