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gyuswhore · 2 months ago

Text

Statistically Speaking...

part of the svt TA collab

kim mingyu x reader

word count: 21k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

masterlist

Monday

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which was little to none.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

You knock again.

Silence.

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

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

Except he’s asleep.

No, that’s not the professor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could’ve sworn you heard a snore.

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

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

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

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

“Um, it’s office—”

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

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

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

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

“But—”

“It’s on the portal.”

“No it’s not.”

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

“How—”

A loud slam! of the door.

“—long…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday

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

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

Regards, YN

Dear YN,

Wednesdays and Thursdays. 4 to 6 PM.

Kim Mingyu, T.A.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you here to see him?”

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

“Are you here to see him? Mingyu?”

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

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

“Yeah he’s a bit…unorthodox.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right. How can I help you?”

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

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

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

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

It stumps you regardless.

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

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

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

“You marked them?”

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

“I thought the professor marked the lab reports.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dr. Cho—”

“Is no help.”

“I understand—”

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

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

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

Help, he did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pardon?”

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

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

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

You smile, “No problem.”

Thursday

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

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

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

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

“I’ll see what I can do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Help, he does.

Monday

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

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

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

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

Something isn’t right.

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

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

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

“...Morning.”

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

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

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

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

To Do:

Call mom

Shoot myself

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

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

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

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

What the fuck?

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

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

“Good thing it was just you. Yeah.”

Just you.

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

“Have you seen the time?”

“Not a morning person?”

“Nope!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And that isn’t happening because…?”

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

“You—”

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

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

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

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“Excuse me for doing my job.”

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

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

“PSYCH101?”

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

“Oh. So you’re a fan.”

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

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

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

“Don’t tell me you offered.”

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

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

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

“Four.”

“Four?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart is in your fucking throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Majority of the class would beg to differ.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday

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

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

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

“I’m not ready.”

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

“How do you know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

“Only the—”

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

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

“I’m assuming…” you start.

“Hm?” he looks over to you.

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

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

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

“What did you say?” Mingyu smirks.

“Nothing,” you huff.

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

“Who said I didn’t.”

“Well then, stop being such a worrywart.”

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

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

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

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

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

You sniffle.

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

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

Monday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mingyu…did you sleep at all?”

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

“Sleep? Rest?”

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

“And you were replying?”

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

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

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

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

“What’re you trying to say?”

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

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

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

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

“Mingyu—”

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

“You have, you’ve been amazing but—”

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

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

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

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

Why on earth do you care so much?

Right. Why do you?

“Are you asking me that?”

“What?”

“Are you asking me why I care?”

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

His eyes are bloodshot.

“I have to get the exam pack.”

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

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

Delusive. Chimeric. Cruel.

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

The null hypothesis of your most elaborate nightmares.

Monday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything. You tried everything.

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

It’s Wednesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Estimation cannot be perfect.

[_]

It’s Thursday

Class. Eat. Drink. Work.

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

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

[_]

It’s Friday

Eat. Drink. Work.

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

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

[_]

It’s Saturday

Eat. Drink. Work.

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

——————

P(B)

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

it gets less complicated

promise :/

[_]

It’s Sunday.

Eat. Drink. Work.

The page is blurry. Your eyes hurt.

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

you’ve got this!!! < 3

You give up.

It’s Monday.

8:14 AM.

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

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

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

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

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

Bright pink sticky note.

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

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

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

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

It’s Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Wednesday.

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

It’s Thursday.

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

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

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

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

You freeze like you’ve been caught.

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

You’re off centre. But it’s fine.

It’s Monday.

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

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

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

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

It’s Tuesday.

Midterm Results for Statistics in Psychological Research.

— 92/100

It’s Wednesday.

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

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

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

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

“Did you feel bad?” you spit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A bright red 92/100 marks the front page.

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

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

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

Because you know you’ve lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Friday.

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

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

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

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

[Mingyu]: switch to bF10

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

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

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

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

Do you not miss me?

Do you not want me around?

Talk to me

I miss you

Please talk to me

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

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

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

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

It’s Saturday.

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

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

“Latte, please,” you voice. “Iced.”

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

“Um, no thank you. Just one, please.”

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

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

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

“He has time to hook up?”

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

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

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

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

“Unless he flirts in variables.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Sunday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bayesian inference…z scores…null hypothesis…

Wait.

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

no null hypothesis in bayesian approach

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Regards, YN

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

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

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

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

SEND.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RE: Tutorial Error from Kim Mingyu

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

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

Clicking on the notification, the email opens.

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

Kim Mingyu, T.A.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I–no, I didn’t.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

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

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

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

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

“You were hurt because I hurt you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not in a TA way.”

“Tutor way.”

“Um.”

“Friend way? A human way?”

“No.”

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

“You know what?” he rasps.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorts, “Dressed up for it too.”

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

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

“How adorable.”

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

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

“That might’ve been a little better.”

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

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

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

You give him the satisfaction of an eye roll.

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

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

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

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

“Who?”

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

“Do you?”

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

“Is it because of the TA-ing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you think they’ll be okay?”

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

“Like we did?”

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

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

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

“This is getting weird,” Mingyu breathes.

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

“For fuck’s sake.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re paying attention to me.”

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

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

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

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

There’s a ding in the background.

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

Another ding.

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

Ding.

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

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

“Gyu…” you whisper.

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

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

His phone begins to ring again.

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

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

The ringing stops.

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

There’s a ding.

“Mingyu, I really think—”

His phone begins to ring again.

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

“You should answer.”

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

“It might be important.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Go on.”

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

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

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

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

You have to stifle a snort.

“Is it…plugged in?”

“Of course it is, I’m not an idiot.”

“Is it showing up on your files?”

“Disk…is not…formatted.”

“Erm, it might be corrupted.”

“How did that happen?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I…I don’t know how, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need a shower.”

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

“Do you wanna come in too?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can figure it out myself, Gyu.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm? I think so.”

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

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

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

“Gyu,” you shuffle closer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm? Has to be what?”

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

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

“For the love of—”

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

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

“What’s that again?”

“You little shit.”

You move your mouth forward to kiss him.

“Analysis of variance.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I might love you too.

You hide that as well. For now.

Smiling into the skin of his temples, you sigh.

“Feel free.”

[Mingyu]: class ended early

[Mingyu]: be there in 5

[You]: ???

[You]: wdym ended early

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“It’s on the bedside table, baby.”

“No, it’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good thing I came back early, hm?”

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that for?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a pillow fort.

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

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

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

[You]: where are you

[Mingyu]: where im meant to be?

[You]: office hours?

[Mingyu]: mhm

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

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

[Mingyu]: DONT KILL ME

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

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

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

“Whatever for?”

“For lying.”

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

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

“Him too.”

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

“Rumour has it,” he starts.

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

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

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

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

“Take a hike, Kim.”

“...Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mingyu was beautiful either way.

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

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

“More than okay,” you mumble.

“Good. Thought I lost you there.”

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

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

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

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

“How happy are you?”

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

“The recommendation? You deserve it.”

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

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

“Not just yet.”

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

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

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

“Girlfriend duties,” you quote solemnly.

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

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

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

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

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

You can only grumble in mild annoyance.

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

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

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

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

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

“I think I might love you too.”

2K notes · View notes

buckyalpine · 1 year ago

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Okaaay! How can you write perfect imagines like that ! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Now I cant help to send you another idea and I'M NOT SORRY!

Another Bucky one, where you’re kinda their technician and support the Avengers out of the IT section of the compound when they are on the field. But Bucky also thinks you should learn how to self-defense yourself just in case, but you always refuse. One time you finally give in and he starts training private with you, which one time leads you falling and landing on top of him. instead of getting up, he pulls you closer and kisses you and even carries you to his room to make sweet love. Afterwards he’s a huge cuddler and you both confess your feelings ? I LOVE YOU 😊

I LOVE YOU I LOVE THIS I LOVE IT ALL, give me some sweet, soft Bucky loving his shy girl. (also bb, idek if you remember sending me this considering how long I've taken, IM SO SORRY, I hope I did this justice). Ugh, I love this type of smut, lowkey a weakness.

You breathed out a sigh of relief, setting down your headset after navigating the team through the building they had to break into, infiltrating the security system from your place in the Avengers tower. You guided them down the halls, alerting them of any potential hazards that were to be expected, carefully watching four different screens at once so you had eyes on all of them.

"Couldn't do this without ya short cake, see you soon" Tony's voice crackled through the coms, making you giggle before signing out. You loved your job with the Avengers, helping them on the field through the latest Stark technology, safe in your IT lab. You never had to worry about skills or getting injured because you didn't have to go out onto the field, at most, having to worry about the wifi ever slowing down at the wrong time (though there were plenty of back up softwares in place).

The familiar sounds of boots softly thudding down the hall made your heart flutter, peeking up from your place behind the computer to see Bucky walk into the lab, still in his tactical gear. He didn't seem fazed by the cut that was bleeding from his forehead; at the very least that seemed to be his only injury.

"You saved our asses again" Bucky grinned while you shook your head, taking his hand and making him sit at your desk, pulling out a first aid kit to take care of a gash that was cut across his eyebrow.

"And you're still bleeding" You gently dabbed a cotton ball to his eyebrow, carefully blowing away the sting after.

"Just a scratch doll" Bucky shrugged, letting you clean up the cut, the serum already starting to heal it. "How were things here"

"The usual, made some tea, watched your mission online, nothing exciting"

Bucky hummed, bringing up the same thing he always did after getting back from a mission without fail.

"Maybe you should learn some self-defense doll" He peeked an eye open, meeting yours while you put a final band aid on the side of his forehead just above his brow. "Just in case. Can't have anything happening to our favorite little short cake"

"I'm perfectly safe in the lab, Bucky" You replied, his words making your cheeks heat up, brushing them off as his usual playful teasing. This wasn't the first time Buck had suggested you learn self defense and you always shut it down.

"C'mon. I'll teach you, give you a private lesson. I'll be gentle" He prodded further, being dead serious in his offer. Sure you were safe at the tower but should anything happen, he wanted you to be able to take care of yourself if necessary.

"Bucky-

"It'll be good for you! What if someone broke into the compound when we aren't here"

"Bucky-

"Or if aliens attack. It literally happened last month. Remember that big purple ball sack-

"Bucky-

"Or if you're just walking down the street and someone tries to steal your purse"

"James-

"Pleaaseeee" Bucky gave you his final puppy pout, eyes wide, his bottom lip jutting out until you finally huffed, butterflies fluttering around you tummy.

"Just once" You agreed, feeling like you'd been lit on fire at the handsome smile he gave you, deciding to meet up twice a week at the gym for training. You felt nervous, seeing as you'd never had to use self-defense in your life. You weren't exactly coordinated for fighting and even though you were learning you didn't want to look like a complete fool in front of Bucky of all people.

You nervously made your way to the gym, surprised to find it empty with just Bucky waiting for you at the mats. You were expecting to find it full with the others training as well.

"Is it just us here?" You asked as he held his hand out, helping you under the ropes.

"Booked the gym just for us doll, we have it for an hour so you don't have to worry about anyone else" He smiled warmly, hoping the blush on his cheeks wasn't obvious, not wanting to seem like a creep. He really did want to train you, but he couldn't help the inkling of excitement he felt getting to help his crush.

You were surprised at what a gentleman he was. Training went surprisingly well; Bucky started off with easy moves, always warming up and helping you stretch first. It didn't help that you were flustered each time, usually slipping or tripping because you were caught up in his blue eyes or pink lips, the scent of his cologne always making you woozy.

He caught you every single time, setting you back on your feet with ease, praising what a good job you were doing whenever you did something well and encouraging you when he showed you something more challenging.

"Alright, today you're going to attack me" Bucky stated while you stared at his wide eyed, shaking your head.

"Bucky, I'm not sure I can-

"Yes you can short cake, c'mon, show me what you've got" He threw you a playful smirk, taking a few steps back and getting into position. You gulped, shaking off your nerves before steadying yourself, remembering everything he'd taught you. It didn't help that he'd decided to leave his shirt behind, his sculped body nearly taunting you from focusing. You launched yourself at him, managing to land a hit near his ribs before he caught you, gently grabbing your arm and holding it in place.

"Good job doll, now you're going to try and get out of this and attack again". Bucky's voice was strained, struggling with all his might to keep from blushing more, the scent of your shampoo and the softness of your skin making him giddy. With each training session, he was falling more and more for you, your shy giggles and smiles making his school boy crush worse.

You tried to focus on getting out of his hold instead of the fact that you were pressed tightly against him with your back to his chest, his warm breath fanning against your cheek, the coolness of his arm making you shiver. You wriggled around, slipping out and lunging forward again. You couldn't recall the exact sequence of steps Bucky had taught you, asking him while still moving.

"Do you think I should-ops-" You squeaked, losing your footing, crashing right into the soldier, sending you both onto the floor, landing right on top of Bucky. Bucky caught you, hands firmly on your waist while your eyes grew wide as your nose nearly brushed against his, chest pressed right onto him. You were frozen in place as the the tension grew thick, his baby blues daring to your lips before looking at you again, your sweet face centimeters from his, all he had to do was just-

Before he could stop himself, he pressed his lips against yours, smirking at the surprised gasp you let out before melted into him, eyes closing when you left his tongue softly trace along your lips. You lost yourself into the kiss, gasping again when he handled you with ease, standing with your legs wrapped around his waist, holding you securely. Your heart hammered against as he made his way towards to the gym doors, his arm supporting your ass while the the other cupped your face to kiss you again.

"Wanted to do that for so long short cake" Bucky shyly smiled, pressing the button of the elevator to take you right to his room, leaning in again for another kiss. You giggled, kissing him right back, tugging on his dogtags, not breaking away from each other until you were in the privacy of his room, gasping for air.

Bucky gently nudged the door shut, laying you down softly on the bed, lying on top of you, brushing your hair away from your face.

"Hi" He gave you a boyish smile, nuzzling his nose against your cheek, coaxing you to look at him when you tried to shy away, still in shock you had kissed Bucky and now you were in his room.

"Hi" You whispered, biting your lip feeling his hand softly stroke your waist, the both of you lost in each other again. You sucked in a breath before pressing a kiss to his cheek, blinking up at him to see if it was okay.

"So soft" He hummed, stroking up your thigh to your waist when your hitched your leg over him desperately wanting him closer. "My pretty short cake" Bucky didn't rush, the both of you innocently kissing on his bed, not leaving an inch of skin untouched with hands exploring each others bodies. Your stomach flipped when you felt his erection press against your tummy, the deep blush on his cheeks making you fall for him so much more.

"Is this okay?" Bucky asked, toying with the hem of your shirt, waiting for your permission before going any further.

"Please Bucky" Your voice was needy, craving to be closer, warmth pooling in your panties at the sight of his bulge straining in his grey joggers. He took his time undressing you, taking your hands in his and pulling you up so he could take your top off, tossing your sports bra aside immediately after. You lifted your hips up, letting him pull your shorts and panties off in one go, feeling exposed, your legs shut tightly together. As much as he wanted to admire your pretty body, Bucky kept his eyes on your face, smiling at you reassuringly while you covered yourself with his sheets.

He threw his clothes off before joining you under the covers, laying on top of you again, this time letting his kisses trail to others places. You let your hands cling onto his muscular shoulders while he kissed down your neck and across your chest, making his way to your peaked nipples, taking one into his mouth. You bit your lip to hold back your moan, hardly realizing you'd spread your legs for him, the slick between your folds making a mess between the sheets.

His cock leaked against your thigh each time you whined, his tongue drawing circles around your softness, pulling off so he could pay attention to the other. His thumb came up to flick your nipples, groaning when he felt your hand come to play with his hair, his hips rutting against the bed.

He continued to kiss down your body, nipping your tummy before settling between your legs, licking your sensitive inner thighs before spreading your folds apart and kissing your clit.

"So sweet doll" He whispered as he began to gently suckle, moaning when you whimpered, his arm slinging over your hips to keep you from squirming.

"Oh-B-Bucky!" You gasped, the band in your belly already starting to tighten as he drew circles, his lips sealed around your sensitive nub, nursing from you with the most soft, gently gurgles, his beard soaked with your juiced. "Bucky-I-I'm gonna-

"Come for me short cake, lemme taste all of you" Bucky went right back in, the sound of your moans growing louder making his cock throb, restraining himself from humping the bed knowing damn well he'd blow his load if he moved the slightest. You came all over Bucky's face, covering your face with your arm when he crawled back up with a grin, your arousal glistening off his lips.

"All shy for me now doll?" He purred, moving your arm away so he could kiss you deeply. You could feel his painfully hard cock pressed against you reaching down to stroke him.

"Fuck" Bucky hissed, his eyes rolling back, involuntarily thrusting forward into your hand, a drop of precum falling onto your skin. The sight alone send another wave of arousal gushing between your legs, feeling more empty than ever, feeling his thick velvety shaft fuck your hand.

"Can-can I?" You were too shy to say it but you wanted to make Bucky feel good too, his perfect pink glistening cockhead begging to be sucked, all leaky and swollen.

"You have no idea how much I'd love that but I just-I really wanna be inside you baby" Bucky panted, letting out a strained chuckle knowing damn well he wouldn't last if he saw your sweet doe eyes looking up at him with your mouth filled with cock, much less actually feeling your tongue. "Is this okay?"

He pumped his cock a few times, swiping it along your folds, his weeping tip catching against your fluttering hole.

"Will-will it fit?" you bit your lip, bringing your legs to wrap around his waist, your arms slinging around his shoulders, wrapping yourself around him.

"Told you I'd be gentle" Bucky smiled softly, kissing your cheek as he started to push in, swallowing your gasp as he began stretched you. "Fuck you feel so good" Bucky moaned softly, continued to give you every inch until he bottomed out, stilling so you could adjust.

"Everything okay?" He looked at you with concern, wrapping your body protectively against his.

"Feels good Bucky" you nodded, your voice melting into a moan as he started to move, pulling his hips back slowly and thrusting forward again, keeping a steady motion, letting you feel every bit of him inside you. He reached places you'd never felt before, shamelessly getting louder, digging your nails into his skin when he moved faster, desperate to give you as much pleasure as he could.

"Wanted this for so long doll, y'know that? How long I wanted to make love to you?" He confessed, grinding his hips, barely pulling out, his full, heavy balls pressed against your ass. "Make you feel so good pretty girl, take care of my sweet little short cake who always looks out for me"

"Please don't stop Bucky!" You begged, squeezing his cock, your pussy pulling him back in each time he pulled out, nearly tearing up at his words. "Don't-oh god-Bucky, don't-stop!"

"I know baby, I know" Bucky cooed, "Shhh, feels good, doesn't it? Is that all babygirl? Does it feel good?" His thrusts grew more powerful until he was pounding you into the matters, pouring every bit of his feelings into his strokes, the feeling of your body wrapped around his driving him closer to his own climax.

"Feels-good-so-good" you hiccupped between a whine, crying out when he brought his knee up to fuck you deeper, hitting a different angle. "RIGHT THERE BUCKY"

"That's it angel, I know baby, that's your spot, doing so good for me, think you can give me one more doll? Cum one more time for me?"

"Y-yeah!" You wailed, your back arching off the bed as he brought his hand between your bodies, rubbing your clit with soft circles, adding more pressure between snapping his hips. "I'm gonna cum Bucky!!"

"My good girl, makes me so hard when you say my name baby, cum for me angel, cum on my cock, don't stop till you cream all over me baby, I got you" He held you tighter, your head tucked into the crook of his arm while he cradled you, his other hand still rubbing you. His pace didn't faster, panting, desperately holding his own orgasm off, your brows knitting together, jaw slack, sweat covering your skin.

"You look so pretty like this babygirl, fuck, gonna make me cum y/n" He practically whined, moaning loudly with you when he started to feel you milk his cock, fluttering and squeezing him as your orgasm washed over you.

"BUCKKYY" You screamed his name as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm, his movements growing sloppy.

"You feel so good doll, so so good, sweetheart-fuck-I'm cumming" Bucky moaned against your neck, stilling as his cock started to throb, his warmth splashing against your cervix. He rocked his hips a few more times till he was milked dry, collapsing into your arms and rolling over so he could pull the covers over you both.

You giggled to yourself, tucked snuggly in Bucky's thick arms, your cheek pressed right against his warm chest. Neither if you had spoken a word yet, basking in a post sex haze, cozy and content in each others embrace.

"What's so funny short cake" Bucky whispered, tipping your chin up to meet his twinkling eyes, a dusting of pink still covering his cheeks.

"You're so cuddly for a big scary assassin" You teased, while he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"S'not my fault" He playfully pouted before squeezing you tighter. "Can you blame me? Look at who I get to cuddle with"

You smiled, resting your head on his chest again, tracing invisible shapes onto his skin while he stroked your back, his heart starting to beat faster as he began to speak again.

"This-what happened between us-

You froze, stopping your ministrations, dread pooling in your chest over Bucky's words.

Had you misread the situation?

Oh god, you did, he didn't actually like you, you-

"It wasn't just a one time thing for me. I've liked you for a long time short cake-" Your spiral stopped immediately, looking at him with wide eyes, only to find him nervously chewing his bottom lip raw. "I don't- I don't know if you feel the same way but I'd love for you to be mine-if you'd have me"

His last words melted into a whisper, still looking at you with precious shyness, your heart ready to burst out of your chest at how soft he was for you. Your surprised him, smashing your lips against his, the adorable squeak slipping past his lips turning into a groan.

"You like me?" You grew bashful, tucking your face into his neck, giving the young soldier his confidence back, a smirk playing on his lips. "Like me like me?"

"Course darlin' you're my best girl" He kissed your forehead before rolling you over and attacking you with kisses again, the both of you grinning at each other with heart eyes,

"My favorite little short cake"

"My Bucky bear"

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just-some-random-blogger · 4 months ago

Text

Why Not Me? | 1

Part 2

Love is beautiful. Love is lovely. But lately, to you, love is a form of self-harm.

Rockstar!Gwayne Hightower x Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, Modern AU, low key fix-it-fic, canon divergence, DD:DNE, body dysmorphia, body shaming, smut (cunnilingus, piv, biting, marking, licking, they're messy yall), fluff, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: THIS INCESTUOUS SHOW i changed the family tree for the sake of this fic and ive FIXED EVERYTING SHUT UP you cant do anything about it anyway ok ok ok. im half sorry it became so long. idk how many parts i wil do T_T save me. also i cross posted this on ao3 MASTERLIST/PLAYLIST

Tagging: @ceoofyearning @pendragora @worms-on-multiple-strings @barbieaemond

You can hear the live music playing from the inside your car. You take a deep breath and look at yourself on your phone before stepping out. You smile and fix your hair, "maximum slayage has been achieved."

You exit the camera app, catching the text icon when you do. You bite your lip. Your thumb itches. You open it, checking the last message you have that you've not replied to.

From Harwin: Are you at your sister's already? Can we call?

You clench your jaw and place your phone in your purse. You sling your purse on your shoulder and grab the cake on the passenger seat. You tell yourself to forget about the text as you walk towards the open gate of the white picket fence.

You smile at the garden, happy to see it in real life again and not just during video calls. You brush off your iridescent, pink dress before ringing the doorbell. As you wait, you look around the neighborhood. All the houses here were as expensive as the one next to it.

The door opens. You turn back and grin as Alicent squeals, "YOU'RE HERE!"

"I'M HERE!"

She can't help but kiss your cheek before leading you inside. You talk and walk, and the moment you set the cake down, your best friend immediately seals you into a hug, both of you squealing.

When you break away, you lift your eyes to the chandelier and point, "is that the new chandelier?"

Alicent beams and spins beneath her beloved light source, "yes! I swear to the Mother if someone fucks up my chandelier again-"

"Oh, ho, ho, ho!"

Both of you turn to the man waltzing in with horrible dance moves, "speak of the devil." Viserys walks over to you, coming in for a hug, "she returns! Alicent's been waiting on you for ages."

You share a hug while Alicent makes a face, "can you blame me? She works at the fucking edge of the world!"

You pull away and raise a hand, "okay, one, dramatic-"

"No it's not," she red haired woman crosses her arms, "you literally work next to Harrenhal."

"That is a gross simplification," you wave your hand, "and two, why don't you visit me for a change?"

"In your shitty apartment?" she makes a disgusted face, "no."

You make an offended noise and glare at Viserys, "you've turned her into a stinky bourgeoisie!"

Viserys makes a face and Alicent shakes hear head. She places a hand on your shoulder, "no babes. Your apartment is simply crappy."

You make another offended noise and shake her hand off. You turn back to her fiance, "anyway. Happy birthday, Viserys!" you motion to the box on the counter.

"Is that what I think it is?" he gasps.

You scoff for effect, "yah."

Viserys opens the box and makes a dramatic sound at the sight of the chocolate cake. He turns to Alicent, who shakes her head and sniggers. The man whisper-yells, "triple chocolate cake!!!"

You laugh. Your best friend repeats, "triple chocolate cake. Now what do we say?"

Viserys seals you into a tight hug. You squeal when he pulls you up enough for your feet to leave the floor. He groans excitedly as he puts you down, "oh, you are perfect, my dear. Thank you so much."

The overly affectionate gesture leaves you a bit awkward, but you play it off with a chuckle, "you're welcome."

Alicent clicks her tongue when Viserys swipes some frosting and licks his fingers, "Viserys. Get a plate."

"Oh, fuck, I feel like I'm in uni again," he sighs at the sweet taste, "should I grow out my hair?" He rubs the trimmed sides of his hair.

Alicent cringes, "absolutely not. You looked like a sickly lord in uni."

"But love-"

"Oh, I knew you were here."

You look over your shoulder. Your stomach drops. You shift awkwardly as Daemon walks towards you with a grin. "Figured from Alicent's squealing," he says before pulling you into a hug.

He rubs your sides and it makes you feel overly conscious. You mutter as he pulls away, "how've you been, Daemon?"

"You know me-"

"High as a fucking kite?" Viserys answers for him as he takes a slice of cake.

Daemon flips him off but smiles at you, "just dandy, love. And you?"

"Oh, you know, wet."

Alicent slaps a hand on her forehead.

Viserys snorts.

Daemon raises his brows.

You realize your mistake and backtrack, "n- no- I mean, cause- cause Riverlands!"

He snorts and your body tingles. He shakes his head and sighs, "and here I thought it was because of me."

Alicent raises her brows and takes that as a cue to leave. She pulls Viserys back, who whines because he hadn't gotten his cake yet. She slaps his arm and lies about needing to check on something.

"Did you bring someone?" Daemon asks.

Your stomach rolls at the insinuation he was interested in knowing if you had a date. You dramatically look around, "do you see anyone?"

He purses his lips and shakes his head, "well, I was hoping your sister would come around."

You stiffen. Your sister? You manage a chuckle to play off the stinging in your gut; it doesn't sting any less though. You half-smile, "Mysaria's in Lys."

He raises his brows, "still?"

You knit your brows, "still?"

"I just figured her vacation would be done by now."

You feel your eye twitch. You raise a finger, "how'd you know she's on vacation?"

Daemon simply shrugs, "I follow her on Unstagram."

A scoff spills from your lips as your brows raise, "she let you follow her?"

"Yeah," he shakes his head and furrows his brows, "why wouldn't she?"

You clench your jaw. You feel your skin crawl. It's as though your body was being stretched into oblivion. You press your lips into a tight smile and rub your belly as your agitation builds. You shake your head and shrug, "I didn't think you were that close. She's pretty private."

Daemon is supposed to say something, but then his attention is stolen by the sound from outside.

"This next song is called Breathless," followed my cheering.

His expression shifts. He throws his thumb over his shoulder, "shit. I uh... I have something-"

You nod before he can finish and Daemon effectively runs off.

Once you're alone, you let it catch up with you, the loathing, the disgust. You look around you and feel bile rise up your throat. Everything was beautiful. Everything was pristine and put together. From the color of the walls, to the furniture, even to the tiny pieces of décor.

This is Alicent's dream home. She found a man that loved her and he got her that white picket fence she's always wanted. She's living her dreams because... she's someone's dream girl.

You walk towards the mirror in the common room and stare at yourself. The makeup you spent hours on and the sundress you overindulged in now looked lack luster. Whatever convincing you did in the car has gone. You think about Alicent. You chuckle bitterly as you think of your sister, "oh, Mysaria." You were nothing but a disgusting blob, next to the statuesque her.

You grow angry at yourself when your eyes water. You pace around to calm yourself, "it's fine. I just won't eat any sweets." You force a smile at the mirror, "or carbs," you fix your hair, "I'll just have a bev. I ate already anyway."

When you no longer feel like crying, you let yourself join everyone outside.

Your eyes immediately fall at the platform and band setup across the large backyard. Viserys really went all out; there were lights, a sound system, and everything.

You try to make out the band playing. You immediately recognize Criston in his cream colored suit playing the bass, though his hair was snipped short and he had massive shades on. You knew Aemond was a guitarist but there was only a blonde with short platinum hair on the keys, and he never cut his hair, so you debated if it was really him in that leather suit jacket. But then you saw Aegon and his shaggy, jaw length hair, drumming yet again sans shirt showcasing all his tattoos and figured the other blonde had to be his brother.

Then, of course, there was Gwayne. If you couldn't recognize him by his guitar playing, or his distinct baritone, then you would by smirk and auburn hair. You sure did. There was a bit of sheen on his forehead, but even then he moved as cool as a cucumber. He looked good in his dark blue suit. I mean, they all did.

You remember Alicent talking about how excited Viserys was to have Oldtown play for his birthday, how they cleared their schedule and all. Though you weren't a close follower, you somehow felt proud of them, having watched them perform in shitty bars a couple times in university. To see them have the success they do now makes you feel honored to have been one of the few people who said they were going to make it. And judging by how people were singing along, they made it.

You were agitated by the size of the crowd. It still baffled you how many friends the Viserys had, but then your remember he's an old money businessman... and an extrovert. You rub your stomach as you search for Alicent. You spot her alone, cringing by the buffet table as she poured herself a drink. Immediately, your anxieties dissipate because of her and her unabashed dislike for her brother's music.

You walk over to her and sway your hips exaggeratedly to song. Alicent stills when she sees you, and makes a revolted sound before raising her pointer, "stop it."

"Nuh uh," you throw your hands in the air and move your hips, "it's a good song!"

Alicent rolls her eyes, which only makes you laugh.

From across the yard, Gwayne's attention is stolen. He watches how light catches in your pink skirt as you grind against his sister, much to her disgust. He smiles between lyrics, making the crowd react.

"Oh, come on, babes," you watch as your best friend chugs her drink, "you have to at least be proud of your brother."

Alicent shakes her head, "I am! I'm so glad that people like his music enough that he can perform it somewhere far away from me."

You turn to the buffet table when you catch the aroma of your favorite stew. You gulp but tell yourself you shouldn't eat. You decide to pour yourself a drink.

She catches you, "you want me to get you a plate? I ordered your favorite-"

"No," you shake your head, " 'm just thirsty."

She knits her brows, skeptical of your words as she was aware of your destructive tendencies. She decides believe your reassurance, though her gut was telling her otherwise.

She turns back to Oldtown and catches her brother looking. She shakes her head and flips him off. Gwayne chuckles, not because of her though, because you finally turn around. This entices another reaction from the crowd, which Alicent wretches over.

You sip on some punch and shoot her a look, "oh, stop being so sour, baby."

She glares and points, "you try listening to your brother and your cousins sing about the women they've shagged and tell me then if being I'm sour."

You bite your lower lip, but break into a laugh anyway, "you got me there."

Alicent's eyes widen for emphasis, "yeah. And I don't even mind it when people ask me about 'em, but I really, really don't want to know how badly you want to fuck my brother."

You laugh again, no longer holding back this time.

She laughs along. She loves seeing you this way, "you look absolutely stunnin' in your dress, by the way."

The compliment flies over your head.

"Pink is 100% your color," she says with genuine enthusiasm.

You sigh and offer a smile, "it better. This dress costs me a fucking arm."

"Well, it does," Alicent affirms, "you look like a fucking queen."

Your heart swells. Yet again, your best friend breaks into your layer of self-hatred. You nod and agree for her sake, "I really do."

The next moment, the crowd breaks into applause, signaling the end of the song. You cheer along, though you hadn't really paid attention. You turn to the stage and find Gwayne looking your way. You smile and he smirks back.

Gwayne pushes back his strapped guitar and grabs the mic, "thank you. I hope you all enjoyed our set." He shields his eyes as he looks through the crowd. He points once he spots Viserys, "happy birthday again to you, brother."

Alicent claps with the crowd. Viserys laughs as his friends shake him wildly.

"Thank you so much for your endless support, and your endless money." Gwayne chuckles before motioning, "it's been Criston, Aemond, Aegon, and-" he places a hand on his chest, "- Gwayne. We are Oldtown, and you have been a wonderful crowd."

You applaud as the band gets off the stage. They settle their instruments with their stage riders and you look back to Alicent. Before you can speak, her eyes widen as she takes a sip, "idiot in coming."

You look back where she was, brows quirking in surprise when you see her brother jogging over.

Gwayne immediately tries to snatch Alicent's drink, but as she anticipated it, she effectively dodges then chugs. He groans, "oh, thoughtful."

She manages to make a face as she gulps. Some liquid dribbles from the sides of her mouth.

"And classy," her brother's forehead wrinkles.

You chuckle at their antics and shake your head, deciding to pour the man a drink yourself.

Gwayne gives his sister an annoyed look when she sighs for effect. She wipes the corner of her mouth, "it's my drink."

"I would at least expect-" his words falter when he realizes you weren't even beside him. He cranes his neck to look at you before looking to his sister, "-you'd be willing to share after I've slaved away for your pleasure."

"Oh, I can assure you I found no pleasure in this. And have you been so out of practice 8 songs is slaving away for you?"

Gwayne chuckles but is uninterested in continuing the argument; his interest was never in his sister to begin with. He turns to you, digging his hands in his pockets, "and who might you be?"

Alicent turns between the two of you then deadpans, "seriously?"

Gwayne smirks. In his head, his sister's reaction is of being a protective friend. He's admittedly had flings with her friends before, but he's never been deterred by his baby sister's wrath.

But the truth is, that's not at all the reason why Alicent shakes her head incredulously, "my friend from college, you absolute goldfish."

He furrows his brows at Alicent.

At this point, you procure a cup of punch for Gwayne and hand it to him with a smile. He looks at you then the drink you're holding out. He takes it with a smirk, making sure your hands brush as you do. Oh, he is smitten.

None of that registers to you. You return his smirk with a genuine smile.

It doesn't register with Alicent either, which is why she complains about something else entirely. Her lips curl, "you've done it now. You've fed his ego. He's going to be insufferable."

You shake your head and laugh.

Gwayne licks his lips, laughing along, body tingling at the sweet sound of your voice. He does not look his sister at all as he replies, "I've always been insufferable."

You catch his look. Alicent rolls her eyes, "oh, thank gods he's at least self-aware."

Again, Gwayne reacts; he chuckles, but his eyes do not leave you. He shakes his head, "did you transfer after I graduated?"

You knit your brows at the notion, "no," you chuckle, "I'm actually your junior. I took Music Production at King's Landing too."

His face falls and his brows raise.

You chuckle brighter as you nod, "yeah... we were even classmates in, what, two subjects?"

Gwayne wipes his face. You laugh at his stressed expression. "No fucking kidding," he clutches his jaw. He shakes his head again, "what classes did we share?"

You press your lips together in thought, "the... one with Mr. Boldwood."

"Are you serious?" he mutters, "the one where we scored horror films?"

"Yeah," you smile, "I remember you added sound effects instead of music and Mr. Boldwood was like, yeah don't do that, it's a scoring class, not an SFX class."

Gwayne runs his hands through his auburn hair and tugs on the collar of his dress shirt. He loosens his tie as he sighs. By the Seven, how does he not remember you?

You laugh and wave him off, "it's not that big of a deal. You were always too tired to talk in class."

That was true.

"No, it is," Alicent blurts, and he agrees. "Make him feel bad for not remembering you," she shoots him a look, "I literally went to one of your concerts with her, you imbecile. The one where you forgot your guitar and we had to drive-"

"To Highgarden?" Gwayne's jaw slacks.

"Yes, to Highgarden."

Oh, he is stressed.

You feel bad, and shake your head, "to be fair, I wasn't there when she gave you your guitar. I was the one driving and didn't get out because I didn't want to get towed."

Gwayne nods. He watches how your brows quirk and how your lips curl.

You assure him once more, "it's fine. Really... and anyway-"

"Oh, you stop it," Alicent cuts you off.

You turn to her, "but it's tru-"

"No, it's not!"

"I usually just fade in the background of people's minds. I'm not very memorable."

"You are!" Alicent argues, "Gwayne's just an fucking idiot."

Gwayne points at her, "and I am completely agreement."

Before you can respond, Daemon suddenly walks into the conversation. You turn to him, seizing up as he brushes against your shoulder. You turn to your drink and step back. Daemon says, "Viserys is asking about the mixer and-"

"Did he touch the damn mixer?" Alicent says, "I told him not-"

"I told him the same thing," he raises his hands.

She groans and rolls her eyes. She raises a hand in regard before walking off, "gimme a sec."

Daemon follows her. Your eyes follow him, allowing yourself to look a while longer than you should have.

You best believe Gwayne catches it all. His lips twitch and his brows pull back in annoyance. He mutters pointedly, "so Daemon, huh?"

You turn to him, "w-what?"

He chuckles dryly at your coyness. He takes a sip before glaring at the said man, "so you have a thing for annoying cunts?"

Your face falls.

He shakes his head before tilting it, "the imbecile has no redeeming qualities. It's an anomaly why woman chase after him." He scoffs, expression growing even more bitter, "probably his money." He drinks some more punch, cringing at how sweet it was, then finally turns back to you.

He is both annoyed yet subtly amused by how affected you are by his dislike for the Targaryen rat. He sighs, "for what it's worth he, himself, thinks I'm also an annoying cunt."

You raise your brows, realizing he wasn't just saying this. Then out of nowhere, you find it incredibly stupid and downright hillarious.

Gwyane finds his expression softening at the sound of your laughter. His annoyance did not wane, but still, he smirks and brings a hand into his pocket, "switch to me instead."

You laughter dies down but it's too late, you weren't paying attention. You shake your head, "I'm sure he doesn't actually think that."

"Oh, trust me, he does."

You wipe a tear, "no way. He's actually a closeted Oldtown fan."

Gwayne laughs, loud and mocking. The taken aback giggle that leaves you is the only reason he actually starts laughing genuinely. He clutches his side and moves towards the table, "is he now?"

You watch him put his drink down, "he is! He practically ran out of the door when he heard you announce the last song."

He sniggers, "pathetic bastard," he steps closer, "but who can blame him? I quite like Breathless myself." He brushes his lips and looks you up and down, "though I much prefer someone who dances to my songs unabashedly."

You smile, unaware of him still, "oh, I'm sure you do."

Gwayne, in truth, is also unware of you, far too wrapped up in the way you smiled and how your skin glowed in this light. In his head, this conversation was going swimmingly, because when has it ever not— Which is why he says, "let's go dancing in my bedroom."

You do a double take. Your jaw drops, "I beg your pardon."

He tilts his head, "I have about a hundred records and a vinyl player. I'm sure your dress would look even prettier under my lights."

When he takes another step forward, only then do realize what's happening. His stance. His eyes. His lips. It's all coming together. It stabs into your belly and you're suddenly bleeding all over yourself.

Your breath hitches. He catches it, and causes the corner of his lips to quirk. He is pleased. "What do you say?" he leans on one leg and brings his hands in his pockets.

What do you say?

You say you were still reeling from your sobering encounter with Daemon. Of course you always knew he was a playboy and he slept around, of course you knew he would never be seriously interested in you, but realizing any sort of interest he had in the first place was because of your sister again— it doesn't hurt you any less. It hurts you more each time. The next second, you are reminded of every man who's ever shown you interest and recall what they really wanted from you.

And as your mind raced with these thoughts and the sight of Gwayne Hightower— multi-award winning Gwayne Hightower, front cover of Rogue magazine Gwayne Hightower, Oldtown hearthrob Gwayne Hightower-

"Alicent doesn't have to know," he mutters and shrugs.

Oh.

He gives a lopsided smile.

If you somehow didn't know before, you know now exactly what he wanted from you.

You turn to your feet. But Harwin...

You scoff at yourself. Who were you joking?

You feel pathetic enough for you to look up and say, "okay."

Gwayne examines your face. He notices how your expression shifted but still, his smile spreads. He reaches a hand to you and you take it without a second thought.

You walk off and you don't even bother looking for Alicent at all. Before you leave, you do encounter his cousin, Aegon. Your eyes lock as you pass each other, and so you decide to smile at him, "nice tats, Aeg."

He freezes and watches as you and Gwayne leave.

Gwayne raves as he drives, telling you about The White Walkers, how it was his favorite band and how excited he was when Oldtown got to play with them. He rambles some more before asking you about your tastes. You brush him off at first, uninterested in indulging conversation.

You shake your head, "it's not very interesting."

"I'm pretty sure I get to decide what I find interesting or not."

You watch him give you that trademark smirk of his and you want to so badly believe he wasn't just saying that to get in your pants.

You don't but you humor him, "I'm more of a jazz sort of person."

"Aha," he maneuvers the steering wheel, "so extended chords and irregular tempos get you going?"

You lean into the passenger seat and smile, "don't forget nonfunctional harmony."

His dimples deepen. He takes a turn, "so what, you're too good for The White Walkers?"

"I did not say that."

"Well," he sighs deeply, "you don't seem to want to say much so I'm going to have to make things up as I go."

You shake your head and roll your eyes at him. You look out the window and miss the way he smiles at you.

"Fine," you start, "there's an artist called Khiara. She's makes incredible music. She's Lengii, and she infuses a lot of her native sound in her music. It's stunning."

He nods, "Khiara."

"Yeah..." you give him a passing smile before looking away again, "she's great."

"I'm sure she is."

He did not mean it in a mocking way, but it comes across to you as such. You scoff and resign to watching the buildings pass.

"Are you a jazz musician by taste and profession?"

You roll your eyes at his adamance at small talk, "I'm a music teacher."

His brows quirk, "what? No way, that's-"

"Underwhelming?" you look back at him.

"Cool," he spares you a look before bringing his eyes back on the road, "you teach jazz?"

"I teach 4th graders."

"Even better," he smiles, "I couldn't teach a dog to bark even if I tried so, consider me impressed."

"Mmm. I'll add it to my CV."

He snorts.

You look out the window again, "that one rockstar is impressed by me."

He leans an elbow on the car door and brushes his lips as he chuckles. Gods, you were a dream.

When you reach his apartment, you realize just how much of a rockstar he really was. His place was huge, and he had such eccentric furnishing, from a full on display of a suit of armour, to posters of obscenely niche bands. They didn't make sense and yet they fit perfectly together. And when he said he had a hundred records in his bedroom, you think he was actually playing it down.

You both take your shoes off before entering his bedroom. Gwayne leads you by the hand and motions to his collection, "I'm sure I have something here that's jazzy enough for you."

You raise your brows at him and pull away, effectively stopping him in his tracks before he can go through his records.

His brow quirks, "what is it?"

"Did you really take me home to dance in your bedroom?"

Gwayne chuckles as you walk past him. He eyes your body as you inch towards his bed and sequentially sit by the foot. You place your hands on your knees and raise your brows at him. He licks his lips and shrugs, "did 'dancing in my bedroom' sound like an innuendo to you?"

You scoff out a chuckle and roll your eyes, "you really are an annoying cunt."

Gwayne lowers his gaze, licking his teeth. He saunters over, hands in his pockets. He stops once he is directly in front of you, "do you want me to stop?"

"Stop what?"

"Being an annoying cunt?"

"I want you to stop wasting my time," you retort, "unlike you, I work a 9-5."

He laughs, dropping his head. He raises his hands in surrender, "damn. Where did you come from? You were so smiley and sweet not even an hour ago."

You forfeit a response and simply lean back on the bed.

That wipes the smile off his face. He looks down on you, feeling his breath grow heavy at your expression. He clenches his jaw, undoes his tie, and drops to his knees.

You can't stop your lips from parting.

He rubs his hands up your shins, measuring your reaction. You simply watch as his hands disappear underneath your skirt. Your breath hitches when he squeezes your thighs. Gwayne pushes closer, and you wouldn't have minded, had he not kissed your knee.

"Wait," you reach out to his head.

Gwayne gulps as he looks up at you, eager to know where he went wrong.

"No kissing," you mutter.

He hears it, repeats it in head, then repeats it out loud, "no kissing?"

You bite your lip and stroke his cheek, "no kissing."

It takes a moment for him to realize you were being serious, and when he does, he slowly nods, repeating again, "no kissing."

You nod and straighten up. You brush your hands up his arms then proceed to unbutton his white dress shirt, "you can bite, you can lick," you lick your lips on cue, "I'll even let you spit on me—"

"Mmm, fuck."

"—but no kissing." You slip your hands into his shirt, "you good with that, Hightower?"

"Fuck," he hooks his hands behind your knees and tugs you forward. You squeak and grip his shoulders. He slots himself between your legs, "no kissing anything?"

Your breath strains when his nails drag up the inside of your thighs, trailing to your waistband. Your brush your noses together, shaking your head, "anything."

He hisses, baring his teeth. He is unbelievably compelled to kiss you. He knocks his nose into your cheek, nostrils flaring, jaw muscles feathering. He breathes against your ear, "not even here, pretty girl?"

You feel his fingers brush across your soft belly and sink past your navel. You whimper when his fingers press into your core. He tuts and bites your neck at your attempt to you close your legs, "nah, ah, ah, ah. No fair. You need to play fair with me, sweetheart."

You rest your head on his toned shoulder. You squeeze his biceps, taking a moment to relax before willingly parting your legs.

He makes a pleased sound, "good girl," he nips your earlobe, "now, say it for me. Will you play fair?"

You sigh against his trapezius as your hand clutches his neck. You lick his skin before biting and whimpering, "yes."

"Seven gods," he groans, turning to kiss you. He tilts your head back, lips nearly landing on yours, but the sight of your smeared lipstick reminds him that he can't. His mind raceswith all the things he wants to do you. He starts by smearing your lipstick with his thumb and biting your lips.

You whimper and push him by the chest.

He licks your cheek and shakes his head, "I'm not kissing you, baby."

You dig your fingers into his hair and pull him back, "annoying fucking cunt."

He laughs and pulls away. His hair is messy and your stomach drops when he swipes the lipstick on his thumb on his lower lip, "I am. Now lie down." He bunches your skirt up.

You refuse to fully lie down, wanting, no, needing to see him. His eyes stay fixed on yours as his nails bite your thighs and his teeth stake their claim. He shakes his head, nose brushing against you, "told you to lie down."

"Mmm," you comb the hair out of his face, "want to see your pretty face."

He smirks and rids you of your underwear, throwing it somewhere in the room, "we'll see."

Gwayne sinks into you, his tongue and lips lapping into your folds. He works with confidence and feasts in a way that makes you writhe. You are powerless against his finesse. Your breath strains as you fall on the bed. He grips your hips, keeping you from moving too much, and you are never not amazed at just how strong men can be, "mmm, 's what I thought."

Before you know it, all you can do is arch your back, tug his hair, and call out his name. It only inspires him to be more diligent. He basks in the power he has over you. He moans as you become increasingly frantic and curses when you come undone all over his mouth.

He allows you momentary repose as he rises from your legs. You look up at him, heart racing as he licks his lips. Fuck, he was beautiful. You wipe the sheen off his chin and feel your stomach drop when he licks your thumb.

Let it never be said that Gwayne Hightower is a talentless prick. Go say what you want about how he sings and speaks, but gods, the man can use his mouth.

It was both so quick and not quick enough until you're both naked. Gwayne has to make the conscious decision to leave bites on your skin instead of kisses, and you suppose this is the reason why he ends up trapped beneath you. You take advantage of his distraction and lose yourself as you ride him, unabashedly bouncing on his hips as your hands reveled in his toned belly. He squeezes every part of you he can get his hands on, relishing the firmness of your hips, the delicateness of your breasts, the softness of you. It was in these moments you didn't mind your build, knowing well these mortal men looked at you like a goddess.

He can't help himself and sits up to graze your skin. He leaves marks all over your throat and nips your lips every time you drive him wild with your noises. He thinks about how badly he wants you to stain his mouth with your lipstick, and in that moment, you push him back and shift your weight into his shoulders.

He curses for the nth time and brings one hand up to the base of your neck. You lean into his touch. His thumb brushes over your lips and you suck on his finger. It makes him claw at the small of your back with his other hand.

Gwayne watches the way your body quakes at the force of your actions. He commits the sight to memory as he feels his belly tighten. He pulls his thumb away with a pop and aids your movements with the thrust of his hips. You call his name out like a mantra as you feel pressure building inside you.

And then it was hot and electric. And then you felt yourself melt into a burning mess as slowly your bones turned to jelly.

You fall into his chest and catch your breath. You can feel both your hearts racing with your sweaty skin pressed together like this.

Gwayne wipes his face and brushes his hair back, mind hazy, mouth dry. Before he can bring an arm around you, you're pushing yourself up and climbing off him. He turns to your side, expecting you to lie next to him, but you make him knit his brows when you grab your dress from the floor, "where's your bathroom?"

He rolls on his belly and points, "just outside."

You cover yourself with your dress and pick up your underwear. You quickly find the bathroom and open the light. You give yourself a jumpscare when you catch reflection on the mirror.

You look like you were caught in a violent accident, with your hair messy and your lipstick in places you didn't expect. You body looked horrendous, worse under this lighting. You gulp and wonder how horny Gwyane must have been to want to take you home. You feel pathetic. You feel nasty. It's no wonder why no one's seriously interested in you. You were a disgusting fat fuck who's only point of interest is her pussy.

You wash yourself as much as you can, get dressed, and take a few deep breaths before exiting.

When you step back into his bedroom, you hear music playing. Was that-

"Khiara," Gwayne says, still sprawled on his belly, butt naked. His eyes are on his phone, "she is incredible."

You look around for your purse, wondering if it was here on in his car.

He turns to you when you do not respond, his expression dropping upon seeing you dressed. He sits up, "is something wrong?"

You spot your purse and smile to yourself, "nope. Just need to call an Ubor."

He watches you grab your purse and pull out your phone. It takes a moment for him to register what was happening. His pride is wounded, "you're not going to stay?"

"Like I said, nine to fi-"

"Tomorrow's Sunday," he leans into his thighs.

You glance at him, catching his sullen expression.

"Don't go."

You ignore the bubbling in your stomach. You chew your lip and walk towards him. He watches you intently. You rest your knee on his thigh, and he immediately straightens up to grab your hips. You take his chin and look at the mess on him, your lipstick, your slick, your spit, then whisper, "I've got things to do."

He rubs your sides, "do they do you better than me?"

Neither of you react.

You think about the convenience store you passed on the drive here. You decide you can wait for your Ubor there and pull away from him, "this was really fun, rockstar."

Gwayne huffs, lowers his gaze, and pinches the bridge of his nose, "no, wait-"

"Good night," you walk off.

He grabs his pants, "let me drive you home."

You ignore him and rush to his door, "good night."

"Wait, dammit!"

You sigh in relief once you're out his home. You forfeit the elevator and head to the stairwell. Halfway through your descent, the door above slams open, and you look up to see a frantic looking Gwayne.

"Really?! The stairs?!"

You wrap your arms around yourself, watching him runs down to you. His face is still messy. His shirt is unbuttoned, and his pants aren't zipped. He sighs, shaking his hands, "what?! what? Am I a bad driver?"

You bite your lip and shake your head.

He huffs and waves a hand, "am I a bad lover?"

Your stomach rolls. You turn to your feet, "I wouldn't know, you're not my lover-"

"Fuck- am I a bad... fuck- sexual partner!" he blurts, zipping his pants then adjusting his shoes.

"No," you chuckle guiltily, "you were... you were amazing-"

"Rate it 1 to 10," he begins to button his shirt.

You look up at him incredulously and sigh, "Gwayne, I just really want to go home."

"Then stop bruising my ego and let me take you home," he shakes his hands in frustration. You stare at each other for a moment. The look on his face makes you want to be swallowed by the ground. You go down a few steps, and Gwayne steps once before sighing. He places his hands in his pockets, "I just... I thought it was going really well."

I look up at him.

He another step forward.

Your mind races. You can't help but relive all your bad memories in this moment. The sheen on his chest tells you bad this is going to hurt if you dive into it. Gods, fucking around with someone in Oldtown? You shrug, "it was, I think."

"Then," he steps forward and grabs your shoulders, "let's at least end it on a good note." You watch him motions with his head, "and let's take the fucking lift while we're at it."

He heads for the door. You suck in a breath and simply go down.

Gwayne holds the door for you and does a double take when he sees you walking off "seriously?"

"Stairs or nothing, buddy. I need the cardio."

"Well, if it's cardio you want," he rushes after you, "I am happy to help."

You glare at him once he's beside you.

Gwayne chuckles at it, feigning a look of innocence, "I have a treadmill in my flat. I don't know what you're thinking, dirty girl." You roll your eyes, making him laugh, "well, I mean I do, you practically jumped me."

"Oh, what, like you didn't think of it."

He gasps, "I am a gentleman."

"Mmm, you must think you're cute."

"Not nearly as cute as you," he grabs your arm once you reach the next door in the stairwell, "now for the love of the Mother, let's fucking take the lift."

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mollyrolls · 4 months ago

Text

if you ever listen to me, let it be this time ‼️‼️‼️ please read rot and give it the love it deserves. truly one of the best pieces of writing on this site

rot: h. iwaizumi

chapter five -> the move

(masterlist ; written content)

word count: 3.8k

now playing: school shooter by wych elm

warnings: this chapter is heavy with discussions of abuse, violence, other themes already discussed in this story, divided this last chapter in two parts and this is going to be the angst before the happy ending. when i say angst i mean angst. rest assured happy ending is coming tho

Her well-organized list of problems has been upended. A bright, shiny new problem has outshone all of her other ones, dimming them, displacing them, reducing their need for attention.

Problem #1: Iwaizumi Hajime, neighbor, definite arms-dealer, maybe boyfriend, has been arrested.

It’s hard to get people to listen to you in a police station. Cops sit at their little desks and they look at you like they’re pretending to pay attention to what you’re saying but really, all they can think about is how much better than you they think they are, and how little they care about your problems.

Matsukawa has a hand over her shoulder, not firm but not lose, like he’s ready to pull her back down to her feet if she leans too far over the front counter. She’s trying to appeal to the lady behind the front desk, (as if there’s anything she could actually do), voice raw and shaky, knuckles going white as she grips at the edge of the counter.

“Please,” she begs, her unhidden desperation feeling out of place in the clean station, where the smell of hand sanitizer and pine floor cleaner is heavy in the air. It’s far too bureaucratic for her to be like this; reduced to a pile of tears and snot, begging and pleading and being ignored like a small child throwing a fit. “He didn’t do anything to me. This is fucking insane, lady.”

“Honey,” she says, voice slathered in condescension, like she knows. Like she knows Iwaizumi’s been treating her like shit this whole time and she’s just been too stupid to realize it. Like she knows what’s best for her just because she sits behind the front desk at a police station for eight hours five days a week for semi-not shit pay and a pension. “If you want to help your boyfriend, the best thing you can do is get him a lawyer, okay? Yelling at me isn’t going to help. They can hold him for forty-eight hours, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

God, she wants to reach over this fucking desk and sink her nails into this lady’s face. Dig under her skin and gather evidence so they know it was her that did it. That desk lady’s sickly-sweet tone and fake pity had driven her to madness. A long-buried thirst for violence that makes her feel like a grade-school girl boils in her blood and it’s like Matsukawa can sense it because it’s then that his hand goes tight around her shoulder, and he pulls her back. “Thank you, ma’am,” he says, relaxed politeness sounding natural on him. “We appreciate your help.”

She doesn’t appreciate her help. She doesn’t appreciate shit. She wants to jump over the counter and make that known, but Matsukawa grabs at her arms and tugs, using a bit more force to get her away from that desk. But she makes a point to turn her head and shoot that lady one more rage-filled sneer.

Matsukawa doesn’t let her go until he’s pulled her out the front door, into the sidewalk of a busy city street. But he has no qualms about stopping her there, a dam in the middle of the sidewalk, foot traffic splitting and flowing around them. He grabs her by both of her shoulders. “Okay, you need to calm down. Like right now. Alright?”

Her teeth grind together. “I want to pop her fucking eyes out,” she spits out, like an unrepentant child, unashamed of her outburst.

“Well, that’s not going to do anything to help, so don’t fucking do that,” Matsukawa says, a bit of a bit in his voice and slightly shaking her shoulders. The air surrounding them is suffocating, hot and humid and beads of sweat are popping up on the back of her neck already. “And she’s right. There’s nothing we can do but get him a lawyer.”

She doesn’t look at Matsukawa. She hates him right now, because he’s right, and there’s nothing her blind rage and outburst can do to make it better. She focuses her stare just past him, watching the stream of tourists and college students and burdened employees that drifts down the sidewalk, past both of them. She gnaws on the inside of her cheek. “Whatever.”

He releases her then, and her gaze falls to her shoes as Matsukawa steps back from her. A hand reaches up to push stray strands of hair away from his forehead. “Oikawa’s calling his guy. He should be down here soon. We’ve gone through this before, we know what to do. Iwa’s not an idiot, he can handle himself in there.”

The combination of rage and embarrassment tastes sour in the back of her throat. “He didn’t do it,” she asserts, for no one else other than herself.

“Course he didn’t fucking do it,” Matsukawa scoffs. “Iwa has lines. Hitting his girl is way past them.”

Her mouth furls. It’s getting hotter and hotter every second there on that sidewalk. Every emotion feels too big for her body; it paralyzes her. She hates this. She fucking hates this. Iwaizumi being locked in some holding cell with the drunken disorderly conduct leftovers from the night before. Him being in there because of her.

Matsukawa sees her standing there, stiff and clenched up, and sighs. “Look,” he starts off, more sympathetic than before, and the pity makes her twitch, “why don’t you just come back to mine and Makki’s place for now? You don’t have to go-“

And then, the call of her name. Loud enough to get the attention of everyone on that sidewalk. Commanding enough that people look, just to make sure, just to double check that it’s not their name, that they didn’t make a mistake, somehow. She looks over Matsukawa’s shoulder and sees her father. Out in the open, on the sidewalk.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he says as he approaches, broad smile sending a new rush of rage down her spine. Matsukawa raises an eyebrow at her, but she doesn’t dare to tear her eyes away from her father, looking clean in his freshly pressed uniform. Like this is some kind of special occasion for him. “I was worried help wouldn’t get to you in time.”

She blinks. There’s no room for fear in her body. “Help?” she echoes back, voice hoarse.

He moves to reach for her. She steps back, Matsukawa places himself in front of her. “When I saw how that boyfriend of yours was treatin’ you, I had to call in a favor. I got a friend that works in this district, y’know. I got lots of friends, Bug.”

Really, she shouldn’t be surprised. She feels stupid for not thinking of it earlier.

But she didn’t think of it. She wasn’t expecting it. She was completely caught off guard by her god-awful, piece of shit father.

So she can’t be blamed for her reaction.

She reaches into her pocket and fishes out her keys. A few for the sports store. Three for her apartment building (one for the front door, one for her place, and one for Iwa’s), and one to her old home she shared with her brother. She places them each between her fingers, and without very much hesitation, she punches the end of those keys into her father’s face, with as much force is left inside of her.

Pretty immediately, there’s a reaction from the stream of people. Screams, she thinks. Matsukawa’s quick to act, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her away from her now-bleeding father. But everything around her is white noise. She's numb to it. She looks at her father and she hopes the gashes will scar. “You piece of shit!” she screams at him. “I’ll fucking kill you! You fucker! You’re fucking dead!”

★⋆. ࿐࿔

Her list is fucked now. She doesn’t know where rage issues fall in the new order. But probably higher than before, she would have to guess, because she’s sitting in an interrogation room.

Kageyama Tobio sits across from her, sleeves pushed up to his elbows and arms crossed over his chest. He’s leaned back in his seat, and she has this feeling she’s about to be scolded. “Assaulting a police officer is pretty serious.”

She feels dirty, humid air making her skin sweaty and salty, her hair fizzy and tangled. A bit of blood splattered on the skin of her forearm. They wouldn’t let her wash it off. “He’s not a police officer to me,” she says, words coming stubbornly out of the corner of her mouth. “He’s just my piece of shit father.”

Kageyama leans forward, bare forearms pressed against the cool metal of the table between them. “Can I ask you something?” He does not wait for the answer. “Is Iwaizumi worth all of this? Look at where you are, do you think this is worth it?”

“Can I ask you something instead?” She waits for confirmation from him. He gives her a slight nod. “Did you like PCD?”

He sighs, fingers tapping against the table. She wants to break them. “We can drop the charges on you, y’know. If you have something more valuable to give us, we’d be happy to do something for you in return.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Valuable?”

Kageyama leans back again. He adjusts a lot, she’s noticed. Moving and shifting and repositioning. She has stayed still in her seat. “Listen, I’ve known Iwaizumi for a while. All of them. I know what they’re like. I know how they can make you feel. You get caught up in it. Good people like you and me find themselves in shit situations without realizing it. But let me tell you this,” he says, severe, and a finger pointed in her direction, “Iwaizumi’s not going to give this up for anything. And you’re not an exception. As much as you think he cares about you, he cares about his job more.”

She can see her mother so clearly, then. For the first time in years. She can see her features, the details of her face. The ones she has in common with her brother. The ones she has in common with her. She can see the anger twisted into her brow like a permanent fixture. She can hear her voice, as if it’s in her ear now.

“Men like your father, they only care about one thing. And it’s not you and it’s not me.��

She lifts her head to meet Kageyama’s stare. His eyes are so sharp and so blue. “Kageyama?”

He leans forward. “Yeah?”

“Suck my dick.”

The sigh of defeat is, at the very least, satisfying. His shoulders slump and she watches the last bit of hope he was holding onto fade out of him. And at least she has that. “Well, in that case, you’re free to go. Your father’s not pressing charges.”

She stands at once, not immediately being hit the with realization that he had tried to trick her into snitching. “Fucking finally,” she spits out, her limbs feeling stiff and disjointed.

She’s halfway out the door when Kageyama says, “Yeah, well, see you later, I’m sure.”

★⋆. ࿐࿔

Iwaizumi is released before the forty-eight hours is up. She does not find out until four days after.

Most of those four days are spent numbly sitting through her shifts, face weathered and her limbs hanging from her body like heavy, led weights. She lies in her bed. She hardly eats. She checks her phone every five to ten minutes and she calls Oikawa and Matsukawa and Makki and gets their voicemails and she hears nothing.

And then, as she’s hanging out the window, smoking her second cigarette in a row, she sees him. Walking down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets and his chin up. She watches, in disbelief for a moment, waiting to see if he’s going to turn into their apartment building and run straight up the stairs and into her arms and kiss her and apologize and swear that he would exact vengeance on her father. For the both of them.

But Iwaizumi just walks. He goes straight until he is out of her view.

With shaking hands, she texts him:

so when were u planning on telling me u got out?

He does not respond.

★⋆. ࿐࿔

It’s a month before he speaks to her again.

A month after no texts and no calls and no early morning coffee visits and nothing but the creaks of his floorboards from above. It’s torture. It scratches at her throat and it puts nails in her bloodstream and she spends more than one evening laid out on her bathroom floor, sobs wrecking through her frame, clawing at nothing, trying to grab onto something.

The feeling of abandonment is not entirely unfamiliar. It tastes the same as anger, and it never comes without it. And the combination can make her irrational.

“-and my friend Tanaka has a truck,” Kiyoko says into her, her voice fuzzy from the poor connection. She has her phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder, haphazardly throwing whatever belongings she can find into the cardboard box she stole from work. “He offered to help move your stuff out if you want.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles, drifting through her apartment, stopping as she settles in front of her CD player, sitting in the middle of her kitchen table. The one Iwaizumi gifted her. She makes no move to grab it. She’s sure that Kiyoko has one already. “Maybe he could come by tomorrow. I could be done packing by then. That cool?”

“Yeah, that should work. I’ll ask when he’s free.”

She hums in response, and kicks at one of the legs of her coffee table. A lot of her sidewalk trash furniture is going to right back to where it came from. “Are you sure this is okay with you?”

“Of course!” is Kiyoko’s enthusiastic confirmation. “It’s been a little lonely since my last roommate moved out. And to be honest it’ll be nice to split the rent again.”

God, rent splitting. It sounds like a dream to her. Expenses divided in half-she almost drools at the thought of it. She chuckles. “Alright, fair enough. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then. Should probably finish packing now.”

“Alright. See you then.”

She snaps her phone shuts and pockets it.

Even as she empties it of her belongings, the apartment is a mess. Littered with forgotten belongings and things she never had the motivation to get rid of. Things she doesn’t know what to do with. Things that she doesn’t need and can’t justify keeping but she can’t bring herself to trash. The Ponkadu mug. Her pink, fuzzy journals filled with love struck passages. A dried, dead dandelion Iwaizumi ripped from the ground and placed in her hand.

Her head throbs. She looks up at the ceiling above her, like she’s waiting for something. A creak or a slam or something. A sign that he’s still there. That he’s not as far away from her as he feels. But it’s silent, and there’s nothing. And it’s like he was never even there in the first place.

She swallows the lump in throat and returns her attention to the scattered objects in front of her. She forces herself to harden and drops the Ponkadu mug in the trash. Then the journal. Then the dandelion. And she thinks to herself, bitterly, like she’s in an argument with herself, that it’s not like he was never even here in the first place. The evidence of his existence is all over her. It lingers in her lungs, in her chest, it spreads through her bloodstream. Iwaizumi’s there, causing every ache and every sting and every throb. He’s there.

Something possesses her. Everything can go in the trash, suddenly, it doesn’t matter what it is. Plates and freezer-burnt ice cream and a half-empty first aid kit. Anything with the lingering presence of Iwaizumi is getting dumped. Trashed. Left rot and fester in some landfill. And after an hour passes, her apartment is covered with bursting, heavy black trash bags of her wasted belongings.

She sits on the floor, shoulders slumped, legs crossed. She already threw out her couch. Her mattress is sitting on the floor of Kiyoko’s apartment, in the bedroom that will be hers by tomorrow. So for now, all she has is the rotted hardwood floor, where Iwaizumi told her he’d marry her.

Her throat tightens. She cannot get out of here fast enough.

Sweat droplets form on the back of her neck as she stands, ready to start hauling bag after bag out to the presumably already overflowing dumpster behind her apartment building. Her knees knock together as she stands, and she moves towards her door, ready to prop it open with one of the trash bags.

She undoes her deadbolt. Then her chain lock. Then she opens the door, and Iwaizumi is there, hand raised to knock.

At the sight of him, her throat tightens up, and she is immediately, torn split between her rage and her desperation. As much as she wants him to hold her, to make her promises and give her the comfort she’s been craving so desperately for the past month, she wants to bite his head off just as much. To make him hurt the way he hurt her. To tear him up from the inside.

Instead, she stares, blankly, somewhat horrified. Her heart beats heavy in her throat and her ears get fuzzy. He looks the same. That makes her angry. She wishes there was some change, some difference. But the Iwaizumi that said that he loved her in her kitchen and that he’d marry her on her floor is the same one that left her to rot on her own.

He steps into her apartment, right past her, like he still has the right to, and looks at the state of it. Everything packed up. Everything scattered. He looks at her like he still has the right to. “What’s going on?”

She flinches, and her anger is starting to win. “I’m moving.”

Iwaizumi pulls that face. That same one. Always looking like he’s slightly dissatisfied with something. “Why?”

Why. It’s such a stupid question. She tries to take a breath to calm herself but it makes her shudder and lock up. “I’m sure if you think about it, you can figure it out.”

She watches the air enter and exit his lungs through the rising and falling of his shoulders. He looks at her, right through her. “Don’t leave.”

In an odd way, she likes the control. She likes the feeling that, for once in her life, she’s not the one begging. “Don’t tell me what to do. Not after you left me.”

He exhales sharply. Iwaizumi takes a step towards her, and she takes a step back. “C’mon, that’s not fair. I didn’t leave you. I just needed to put some distance between us for the time being. Your dad, he’s fucked, alright? It was a liability to-“

“A liability?” she cuts him off, hands clenched into fists by her side. The heat in her blood rises. “I’m a liability?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head and reaches towards her. She jerks away from him. “No, not that you’re a liability, it was just a risk to be around you while-“

“So, what, you couldn’t get one of your little errand boys to tell me about it?” she says, and it comes out like a bark. “You had to leave me in the dark for a month while you dicked off doing god knows what? Too risky to send a text? After I lied to the cops for you and risked getting arrested for you and became a fucking on-call nurse for you, you couldn’t send me a fucking text?”

Her breath is ragged. Iwaizumi stares down at her like he’s seeing for the first time. “I thought you wouldn’t care. I thought you don’t care about anything.”

And it’s too much for her. It’s too big for her body. It’s too much for her to carry and she can’t hold onto it anymore. “I care about everything! I care about everything so fucking much it makes me sick!” she erupts, tears in her voice and rolling down her face. Her skin feels hot. The air feels hot. “Is that what you liked about me so much? You thought I was some kind of apathic ragdoll you could toss around and do whatever you want with?”

“I thought you would understand!” he eventually bites back at her, his own voice rising. “I thought you knew what kind of life I live and what that meant! God, you fucking act like nothing bothers you and you pretend to not see the world around you and you just expect me to read your mind?”

“What fucking person would be okay with being abandoned for a month?” she screams. “You knocked on my door and asked me for a favor and you hovered around me and you said you loved me and said you’d marry me and then you just fucking disappeared! That’s so fucked, Iwa. That’s so fucking cruel.”

He steps towards her, and before she can say anything his arms are around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. Like one simple embrace will end it all. Like he can just take her in his arms and suddenly she’ll stay, suddenly it’ll fix everything. She wants it to. She wants it to so badly. But she places her palms on her chest and pushes him away. She stumbles back and looks at him with wet eyes. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“I do love you,” he tells her, voice lower now. “I meant what I said and I still do. You’re my girl. You’re everything to me.”

She shakes her head, trembling. She can’t let it be true. “No, I’m not,” she asserts, backing up into her kitchen table. Her hands go around the edge of it. “I don’t mean anything to you. You wouldn’t have left me if I did.”

“I had a reason-“

“I don’t fucking care what your reason was! I don’t fucking care, Iwa! I don’t care about your stupid job or your stupid fucking guns or whatever! I care that you were here, and then you weren’t! You left me like my mom did and you left me like my brother did and then you come back here and you have the fucking audacity to not even be sorry about it. I fucking hate you!”

She knows that she doesn’t mean it, when she says it. Iwaizumi probably knows too. He probably knows she doesn’t mean it when she swipes the CD player he got her off the kitchen table and it goes flying. Soaring across the room until it slams into the opposite wall, breaking and crumpling against the pressure. Bits of it snap off.

Iwaizumi looks at it, and then he looks at her. She’s shaking. She wants to get on her knees and do everything she can to fix it the second it breaks. But it’s on the floor, broken and shattered. Iwaizumi nods, and then he leaves. He turns around and walks out the door and slams it shut behind him.

an: huge huge huge huge thank u to wyr and ness and honee and molly and dodger who all had to suffer thru me trying to get this chapter out u guys are the best

taglist: @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @bedeater @deluluforcarlos55 @localgaytrainwreck @cherrypieyourface @eclecticeggknightpsychic @httpakkeiji @does-directions @needtoloveoutloud @causenessus @kawaii-angelanne @thatonecroc @v1oletfury @lonesomedrive @nnnyxie @pinkiscool @michivrse @cannibalsrider @kmwife @k8nicole @oikasenpai @fennecnco @riousluvs @bellamsby @rinheartshyunlix @bae-ashlynn @ephemeralninon @fangsbb @plumarbre @v-e-r-t21 @snail-squasher @seroh @mfcherry @canthavetoomuchchaos @ange1icarch1ve @applepi25 @wqnsho @19calicos @girlkissersco @Lisoozi @bailey-reeds @kitskasoboring @iluvaquaphor @lllaw @kinsies-blog @1lovestrawberrymilk

#ive been a writer for as long as i can remember. i pride myself on knowing what words to say and how to string them together. all that shit #i have never felt more at a loss for words than i am right now /pos #ive sat here for easily 5 minutes and nothing ive written in these tags has come close to conveying how i really feel in this moment #there arent enough words in the english language and the words i do have arent good enough #this is truly a masterpiece #and i dont throw that around lightly #i feel like i could pick any line from any paragraph and analyze it and tell you how excellent it is #there is not a word out of place not a sentence poorly written #this is going to sit with me for a really long time and im glad for it #please give yourself some accolades and some praise because holy shit eggy this is beautiful #i feel everything so deeply and so gutterally #its so intimate and it takes incredible skill to do that so well which you clearly fucking have #'i thought you dont care' 'i care about everything' this absolutely destroyed me #their arguement was so painful and heart wrenching but so fucking real #breaking the cd player man did you really have to include that #i just cannot cannot get over how well you convey the tone and the emotions in this #like within the first sentence im right there feeling everything im supposed to be feeling #and again thats fucking talent not many people can do that #the love that you have for this fic is so clear in all the words that you use and the attention and care that goes into it #ugh and then her sudden snap into rage and starts throwing everything out that so painful but completely justified #like i want to stop her i want to shake her but i also know thats what she needs?#i cant even start with the fight with her dad and then seeing her mom in kageyama like holy fuck #dude and the line where 'its been 48 hours since he got out she finds out in 4 days' that destroyed me the first time i read it and the 2nd #ugh and the juxtaposition between how much she cares and how aloof iwa is just makes the fight that much more painful and emotional #my heart is with rot and rot is in my heart #30 tag limit approaching but i will be returning once ive processed and can tell you how i feel about everything but eggy this is just so #beautiful please be proud of this and the work you put into it #sorry this was hella dramatic but it’s the only way i could get close to conveying how i was feeling #molly rocks with this #mollys book reviews

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tkaulitzlvr · 1 year ago

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Hii! Could you please maybe do one of where the reader and Tom are like on a break from each other, and the reader and him end up being at the same party and he gets all touchy with this girl and the reader gets jealous and she ends up making out with this guy out in the crowd and Tom sees and gets jealous and ends up beating the guy up and the reader and him get into a heated argument in the car on the way to his place and he ends up doing yk as soon as they get there but in a angry way 👀

(sry Im really bad at explaining. And if you cant do it I totally understand, plus your writing is AMAZING, like seriously I appreciate all the time and effort you put into your writing I could never 😭)

BELONG TO YOU - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: you and tom had decided to take a break from your relationship a few weeks back, and you hadn’t seen him until now, at some random party, flirting with another girl. you want payback, but tom notices straight away, acting on his jealousy.

content: angst & smut

a/n: this is such a good idea omgg these types of fics are my fav to read and write. this took me three days omg i made this like unnecessarily long & detailed sorry about that.😭 thank you so much for the request and ur kind words anon!! 💞 also this clip is so hot like hello rail me pls.

my eyes burn into his figure from across the room, fingers clutching the plastic cup in my hand so hard that the material begins to crumple, though i don’t care. i am far too immersed in the interaction taking place in front of my eyes, watching the way he places a hand on her thigh, whispering things into her ear with that same playful smirk i had seen too many times, completely oblivious to the fact that i am here, seething with rage at the sight. god knows how long i had been watching the pair for, time had seemed to stop altogether the second my eyes landed on him, all i know is that i am getting closer and closer to losing my sanity.

it didn’t matter that i was a considerable distance away. i noticed everything - the way his tongue poked out of his mouth and repeatedly brushed against his lip piercing, the lingering touches which, though failing to reach the cleavage spilling out of her tight dress, were pretty close to getting there - too close. not that it matters too much that his hands hadn’t reached the most intimate parts yet: his eyes were already doing the work for him, staring so intently at her overtly prominent chest that he should’ve made physical contact with them and put me out of my misery, tearing away the only remnant of hope i had left - hope that he wouldn’t stoop so low and give himself to the first girl that he saw.

though i know that my expectations are way too high for someone like tom. he hadn’t cheated whilst we were in the relationship, but outside of it, he couldn’t help himself. and, even though we hadn’t actually broken up, ‘giving each other some space’ as he called it, it seems that his morals haven’t at all changed, and i am the last thing on his mind - my chest heaving up and down in utter rage as his hand travels suggestively further and further upwards, fingers dipping underneath her dress slightly. that was it. admittedly tipsy, i strut toward him, stopping just a few feet away from him, now in front of a semi-attractive guy who seems to avert his gaze to me almost instantly. i don’t even have to look in tom’s direction to know that he has spotted me, i can feel his eyes on me, burning intently into my figure.

indirectly aiming to maintain tom’s attention as i soak it all in, i go that extra step further, whispering a small ‘hi’ in the boy’s ear, making sure to flutter my eyelashes, noticing the way a subtle smirk etches upon his soft lips. my hands trail aimlessly up and down his chest, his own slipping to rest comfortably against my lower back, the words ‘you’re cute’ falling from my lips, smooth as silk. it didn’t matter if i meant them or not, i am not looking for a conversation, and i think he knows that too, our intentions pretty much mutual. tom doesn’t have to know that though.

all he has to know is that two can play at whatever game he thinks he has started. though the second he spotted me with whoever had his hands roaming my body, he had stopped playing, no longer finding the small blonde beside him as interesting as he did five minutes ago. i am more than willing to carry it on, messily colliding my lips with the stranger’s, the kiss sloppy and heated - everything that i want it to be. my tongue finds its way inside his mouth, deepening the kiss even more, my hand moving to the back of his neck, fingers raking through his soft brunette curls. his own hands travel further downwards, cupping my ass and using it to bring our bodies closer together, the kiss soon becoming more heated than it was before, fuelled by the alcohol in my system and the jealousy i felt, somehow trading it all in for intense anger, eager for tom to feel the way i had just a few moments ago.

‘you wanna get out of here gorgeous?’

his voice is low as it vibrates through my lips, his words slightly muffled, thanks to both the almost deafening music reverberating through my ears, and the close proximity between us. knowing that i wouldn’t think of doing anything more with this guy, i still nod my head slowly, purely to intensify tom’s jealousy, sensing his presence slightly closer than it was before, somehow easily identifiable through the crowd.

the guy smiles against my lips, kissing me roughly once again, though this one is much shorter than the last - not because either of us want it to be. he is harshly pushed away from me, my eyes opening in a mix of confusion and shock, frantically scanning the room for any clue on what had just happened, the answer becoming crystal clear as i spot tom inches away from him, hands balled into fists against the stranger’s chest.

a small crowd begins to accumulate, my hands pushing through desperately, scrambling my way to the front, the entire thing escalating impossibly fast, tom’s fist colliding with the boy’s cheek with such force he stumbles backward, body slamming against the wall harshly. but that isn’t enough for tom. he continues to land strong punches to his face, the guy finding some strength to fight back, though they are completely pointless, having little effect on tom. after a few harsh blows, the boy is defenceless, lip swollen with blood trickling just below it, a large red mark printed across his cheek.

my fast steps make their way over to tom, who is clearly just as angry as he was before he had beat the shit out of that poor guy, his cold expression failing to waver even when i grab his shoulder, turning him to face me in one swift motion.

“what the fuck? have you lost your fucking mind?” i shout over the loud music, noticing that the people seeking entertainment from the ordeal had returned back to their own company, all immersed in random conversations, or making out with someone they had never met before - not that i was in any position to judge, i had done the exact same thing moments ago.

“have you?” he shoots back, voice a level louder than mine, oozing with rage, carrying thousands of harsh words yet to be spoken.

“take a look at the guy with the fucked up face thanks to you, then think about asking me that question again! what the fuck is wrong with you?” i question, eyebrows knitting together, wondering how he can dare to turn this on me, ignoring the fact that he has just left someone with a bloody nose, seemingly unfazed by it. his eyes scan mine, narrowed slightly, a few wrinkles lining along his forehead as he does so. i hadn’t seen those eyes in so long and, despite the indisputable fury within them, it is impossible to deny how much i had missed them, regardless of the circumstances.

“we aren��t doing this here, not in front of this crowd.” he shakes his head forcefully, grabbing my hand and attempting to lead me away from it all, my body hesitant to do so.

“why? i’m not leaving.” i state confidently. he tilts his head to the side, mouth falling open slightly, his eyes squeezing shut as he appears to be in a fight with his own mind, clearly contemplating something, the decision seemingly difficult to make.

“well i am.” he replies, shaking his head slowly, turning around to walk away.

“what the fuck? are you serious?” i ramble, chasing after him shamelessly, not yet aware of how humiliating it is that he has me wrapped around his finger. my hands clutch at his jacket, wrapping firmly around the material as i pull him backwards, just before his hand reaches to clasp the door handle.

“you don’t seem to care about us anymore.” he shrugs, expression fixed, though despite the hostility it shows upfront, i can sense the sadness behind it. “so why the fuck should i?”

he shakes his head at my silence, looking for something, anything, that hints to a response, no matter how small and totally ridiculous. i stay quiet, in total disbelief of his ability to manipulate this whole situation, somehow attempting to put me at fault, as if he hadn’t had his hands all over that girl. he doesn’t seem to care about his own mistakes, focusing purely on my actions, choosing to act as a saint despite knowing deep down he is far from being one. it is this realisation that prompts him to turn around once again, his back to me as he tugs the door open, walking through it without looking back. yet i refuse to let it end like that, hurriedly following him, not considering the consequences.

“what are you talking about? seriously, instead of being such a pussy and walking away, fucking talk to me!” i demand as he momentarily stops in his tracks, eyes glued on my own, his jaw clenched. i no longer need to raise my voice, the music drowning itself out, but that doesn’t stop me, the volume of my words far louder than they need to be.

he reaches his car, hands moving into the pocket of his baggy jeans as they scramble for his keys, pulling them out without a word, though i still have plenty to say. “i’m talking to you!”

finally, he turns to face me, expression still harsh; not giving away anything that he truly wants to say. for some strange reason, he seems to hold back, restraining his mouth from acting out ahead of his mind, this unexpected, especially considering just minutes ago he hadn’t restricted himself from making particularly rash decisions, the smear of blood on his knuckle concrete proof of this.

“what, are you deaf, hm? my words not registering up there? i’m speaking to you, answer me!” i know exactly what buttons to press, exactly how to make him crack, and, once again, i do so with some success. he briefly hesitates, letting out a heavy sigh, seemingly reaching his breaking point as his mouth opens, ready to pour out the thousands of emotions he has kept in thus far.

“some fucking break this is.” he mutters, shaking his head slowly, his hand clutching the car keys with such strength his knuckles begin to turn white. “i say that we need some space and then catch you with some random guy’s tongue down your fucking throat. really seems like you missed me.”

not waiting for me to respond, he opens the car door, climbing into the driver’s seat hurriedly. i don’t know what compels me to follow him, perhaps it is my desire to find answers, possibly i am eager to continue this argument, or maybe i just missed him: his voice, his presence, everything about him somehow being exactly what i need. whatever it is, i am far too lost within him to care, my body acting ahead of my mind as i enter the passenger side, tom’s eyebrows furrowing in confusion. he doesn’t object though, clearly needing me as much as i do him, a brief look of relief taking over his expression, silently wishing that i would give in since the argument began despite his initial standoffish-ness, thankful that i have.

“don’t act like you’re all fucking innocent! the only reason i did all that was because i saw you with that slut! you clearly don’t love me anymore, not with the way you looked at her!” each word pierces him right in the chest, the daunting realisation of what he has done hitting him faster than ever. but it is the confession that i think his love for me has diminished that strikes him the most, his face softening when i utter those words. despite this, his voice is still harsh, volume meeting my own.

“don’t be ridiculous. you know she meant nothing.” he states, this apparently sufficient reassurance for his actions, the car silent for a moment as he starts it, hands on the steering wheel. i don’t know where he is going, far too frustrated to even care, wanting nothing more than to carry on this argument, in no position to let him off the hook.

“do i?” i scoff, face harshly turning to him. “i don’t see you for two weeks, and when i do, your hands are all up on some girl. the fuck am i supposed to do with that?”

his hands forcefully clutching the wheel, jaw clenched as he looks ahead, i know that he hears every word i say, processing them with ease, yet he stays quiet for a second, an uncomfortable silence in place of the harshness of my utterance, making the words ten times harder to digest. he knows that i am right, that it would be hypocritical for him to be mad at me right now, but that doesn’t stop him from being angry. in fact, his stubbornness only increases despite the realisation that he is just as guilty as i am, if not more.

“what was i supposed to do, hm? i didn’t have you, i just-” he trails off, a heavy sigh leaving his parted lips, head moving backwards to rest against the back of the seat, one hand coming upward to rest on the bridge of his nose. though the hesitation suggests otherwise, he knows exactly what he wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to utter the phrase, perhaps out of shame, or reluctance to admit how he truly feels. whatever it is that holds him back, i am no longer interested in his skepticism, wanting clear answers, not the mixed signals that i am receiving.

“what? you just what? stop being so fucking weird and just talk.” i order, turning in his direction, eyes burning into his features regardless of his hesitance to do so, strangely scared to look in my eyes.

“fuck…” he begins, exhaling shakily, almost preparing himself for the effect that his words are bound to have. “i missed you, okay? i missed you, and i didn’t know what else to fucking do.”

“don’t be stupid. i know that’s bullshit, and so do you. be honest with me, have you fucked someone else? since we went on whatever you want to call this weird distance between us.” i know that i shouldn’t have asked such a stupid question, the answer bound to disappoint me. for some strange reason, i want to hear him say the words, to make me realise that i’m not as important to him as i thought, that in reality, he can find someone prettier within a heartbeat. because the false hope that i continue to hold onto doesn’t seem to fade, even after watching him with his hands all over another girl.

“of course i fucking haven’t.” he scoffs, shaking his head as his face twists in anger, shocked that i would even ask such a question, the thought completely unheard of, apparently. “what, you really think i care that little? your expectations of me really that low?”

“you expect them to be high after i see you acting like that with her? you’re unbelievable.” i state, briefly looking over at him, his eyes fixated on the road, though i notice the quick glances he throws my way, assessing my expression, not giving the impression that he is going to apologise anytime soon.

“you know what? pull over, this was a mistake. we should’ve just stayed away from each other.” i say, turning to look at him, my hand moving to the door handle, desperate to get out of the situation, soon realising that we are never going to come to a solution, instead the back and fourth of our arguing will only continue until it becomes out of hand, unless i put a stop to it now.

he refuses to stop, the pressure his foot applies to the gas only seeming to increase, the speed of the car getting faster, making it pretty clear that he doesn’t plan on letting me leave.

“i’m not letting you go, not when it’s this dark out. you should know that i care about you too much to do that. i want to talk about this.” he replies, his voice assertive yet calm, the desperation behind it more evident than ever. the surroundings soon become familiar, having travelled along this road thousands of times, it would be impossible to not recognise it. countless times i had seen the same houses, same trees, same buildings either side of the road, each small detail reminding me of how much i had become used to this area, able to distinguish it much easier than i realise. the familiar house comes into view, it’s four walls holding more memories than any place i had ever been. thousands of nights of passion, mornings of lazy affection, afternoons spent simply enjoying each other’s company spent here, each one unforgettable - to me, at least.

but the comfort it brings me isn’t enough to make me forget about the situation, instead it makes me resent it even more. “why am i here? you want to ridicule me even more, yell at me for kissing that guy some more, rub it in my face that you had your hands on her-”

“you’re here because i want to you be. please can we talk about this? instead of being so fucking stubborn, just let me talk, for once.” he interrupts, confessing his feelings as they spill freely from his lips, eyes finally brave enough to look into my own.

“why should i?” i scoff, stepping out of the car as he does the same, hurriedly catching up to me, my steps towards the front door heavy and fast. his hands fumble with the keys, swiftly unlocking the door and opening it for me to step inside, all whilst i continue to ramble on, a mix of upset and anger sounding from my lips. “you have your hands all over her, and when i do the same thing, you don’t like it? and then you say you did it because you miss me? you’re the most frustrating person i’ve ever met, you know that? nothing is ever simple with you. you mess with my fucking head, and you don’t even care! why? why do you have to make me so-”

as much as i want to continue the sudden burst of rage, eager to show tom the frustration i feel right now, my words are abruptly cut off by a soft pair of lips, the harshness of them mirroring the venom within my tone, silencing my rushed speech in a way too tempting for me to dream of refusing. without thinking, i quickly kiss back, soon reflecting the hunger that tom displays as his lips move against mine, hands moving to my waist to pull me closer, my own behind his neck, his black braids tangled between my fingers.

“you drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” he breathes out between kisses, my mind too lost within the moment to even respond, his words barely registering. “so stubborn, but fuck, i need you, can’t live without you...”

i moan against his lips in response, deciding that actions speak far louder than words, channeling all the built up frustration into the kiss, parting my lips to allow his tongue to slip inside my mouth, my own entering his. the process of his arms hoisting me upwards, legs wrapping around his torso roughly and walking sloppily into the living room, our lips never parting is all a blur, my back ending up flat against the couch, tom’s body situated in between my legs, hovering over me. it didn’t matter that five minutes ago i could’ve punched his face. truthfully, i could do the same right now. however i decide to exercise my anger in the most pleasurable way possible, figuring that if he is trying to apologise, this is a pretty damn good way of earning my forgiveness - the silent promise of feeling him inside me meaning i’d probably accept whatever half-hearted attempt he put together to make amends, if it meant that we could get to the point faster.

my hair is disheveled, lipstick smudged, traces of the deep red now present on tom’s lips, proving just how desperate the both of us are - whether i am willing to admit it or not. his hand travels upwards, fingers grazing the soft skin covered by my hair, eventually making contact with the zipper of my dress and carefully tugging it downwards, despite his kisses being anything but. it is so wrong, knowing that he has entertained someone else not even an hour ago and he is touching me now, but it feels so right, against all of my morals, every part of me willing to make my body his and his only. my mind silently thanks whatever higher presence up there for gracing me with tom, though the things that we are doing forbid us from ever reaching heaven, not that it matters, because the feeling of his lips against mine is pretty damn close to it.

“fuck- i love you so much baby, so much…” he trails off, pulling away momentarily to allow his hands to take my dress, sliding the material down my body, exposing it all inch by inch until the soft cotton is bunched at my knees. his lips are curved into a small smirk, so subtle it is almost unnoticeable, though once his eyes flick between my face and now bare figure, i know that it is real - his being in some sort of trance as it rests above me, giving away his silent admiration. eyes twinkling as they take in my curves, perfectly defined, adorned with smooth skin, begging to be touched by his calloused hands which now reach outwards from his sides, giving into the temptation.

he is careful, despite the look on his face suggesting that he wants to be everything but. he desperately tries to hold on to the gentleness, hesitant to spoil moment of passionate bliss that resumes as his hands continue to run along my stomach, moving further and further upward. but deep down, he wants to ruin me, to give up the sweet act that he is putting on, and i want it just as bad - each second that he continues to be tender, his actions restricted and mild, slowly tortures me.

“why are you holding back?” i breathe out, eyes locked on his hands as they finally make contact with my breasts, moulding the flesh into his palms. i can sense the way he pauses slightly, refraining from applying any pressure, instead maintaining his steady movements, gaze locked on my breasts as he drinks in the view, mesmerised by the sight as if he hadn’t seen it a hundred times over.

“we don’t have to rush, i want to be gentle-” he speaks, voice slow and soft, though i have passed the point of caring about taking our time, the concept of it long gone. because i could spend an eternity like this, completely connected with him, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“be gentle tomorrow.” i interrupt him, eyes flickering to his lips, wanting nothing more than to feel them against my own once again, tired of his accidental teasing.

his eyes meet my own, the lust within them taking over, my words barely considered as he acknowledges them immediately, capturing my lips in a kiss. it is rough, lacking that hesitance he showed moments ago, because now he has my permission, he no longer cares about being gentle, able to act out on his desires the way he needs to.

with a simple tug, he takes down his jeans, discarding the denim somewhere on the floor, far too focused on my exposed body in front of him to care where. if his demeanour didn’t give away his desperation, the bulge in his boxers said enough, his length brushing against my leg through the material as his head dips downward once again, reconnecting our lips in another heated kiss. i shift my hips slightly, mouth falling open once his dick brushes against my clit through my panties, the sensation, though only slight, enough to restrain my ability to kiss back.

he quickly senses this, hands moving to my panties, fingers hooking under the material, slowly raking them downwards, letting the lace pool at my feet. his arms lift upwards once my fingers make contact with the hem of his t-shirt, making it easier for me to remove the heavy fabric. i sit upwards, face inches away from his own, lips ghosting over each other’s whilst i pull the t-shirt upwards and over his head, releasing it onto the floor.

within seconds, his boxers are lost somewhere on the floor, joining the piles of clothes scattered around the room. his dick presses against his lower abdomen, the sight only making the aching between my thighs intensify, just about ready to get on my knees and beg, if he doesn’t put me out of my misery in the next few seconds.

and he does - just not in the way that i want him to. instead, his lips move downward at an agonisingly slow pace, eyes never leaving my own, even when he begins to place open-mouthed kisses along my stomach, his teeth grazing over the skin ever so slightly, though the sensation is enough for small whines to leave my lips, hands reaching for his head, fingers running over the rough bumps of his braids.

“shit- you’re so beautiful, so pretty schatz…” he praises between kisses, hands coming upward to pry my legs apart as they instinctively clench together at the pleasure. if it weren’t for his body in between them, they probably would’ve closed completely, not that tom would ever complain about being in such a position - especially not now when he had been without it for so long.

“please…” i whine, back arching slightly off of the couch, his teasing movements no longer enough. i need one thing, and he knows exactly what that is, his desires mirroring my own.

“shhhh. i know baby, i know.” he coos, head finally moving from my stomach as his whole body shifts upward, his forehead now resting against my own, lips placing small kisses all over my face, attempting to distract me from the feeling of his tip aligning with my entrance. he is foolish to think that anything could divert my attention from this sensation - i have been waiting for it for so long that it is the only thing on my mind, mouth falling open once it finally becomes a reality.

his lips curve into a smug smile at my reaction, watching the way my face contorts when he pushes inside of me, his length stretching out my walls as they clench around him. my mind is hazy, tuning out everything else around me, nothing else seeming to matter once i have gotten what i want. sure, thirty minutes ago i resented him, wanting nothing more than to hurl words of irritation at him until my throat turned hoarse, but it seems that i’ll be reaching the same conclusion anyways - the way his cock slowly thrusts in and out of me eliciting moans from me that are bound to leave my vocal chords sore. this doesn’t stop me from vocalising my pleasure though, inaudible whines not far from screams leaving my parted lips once he speeds up his pace a little.

“that’s it baby, let me hear those pretty sounds. show me how much you missed me, mhm?” he grunts, his own mouth hanging open a little as his hips continue to grind against my own, knowing exactly how to move, paying close attention to when my noises would become particularly loud, angling himself to elicit those same sounds from my lips, eyes squeezing shut whenever i do so.

somehow he hadn’t reprimanded me for when i would squirm a little, back arching ever so slightly, legs closing tighter and tighter around him. instead, his eyebrows would furrow when i do so, my movements drawing him deeper inside of me, so deep that i swear i can feel him in my stomach. even if he had scolded me, reminding me to be good, to behave myself as this is what i wanted, he knows that his words won’t stop me from acting out, especially when i know he is too lost in his own pleasure to even consider halting his movements - my climax guaranteed regardless of how much i irritate him so, why not misbehave a little?

“fuck- stay still.” he finally orders once i squeeze my legs around his waist one too many times, my hips lifting instinctively from the couch. his hands firmly place them downwards, fingers digging into the skin ever so slightly, providing just the right amount of pain to make me go close to insane, a moaning mess beneath him. he starts to circle his hips swiftly, his dick moving in and out of me at a different angle, and god, that’s all it takes. that is all i need for my mouth to fall open in a silent scream, quickly acknowledging that his tip no longer brushes weakly against that sensitive spot inside me, it hits the flesh directly.

if i had the ability to speak, i would be encouraging, no, begging him to carry on, to keep his movements going, his cock hitting every spot inside of me that causes me to moan that little bit louder, legs to squeeze around him just a little tighter. but he is perfectly aware of the effect he has on me, knowing the reaction that he elicits out of me is one of unmatched bliss, so he keeps going, much to my relief. through the small part of my vision that isn’t overtaken by the tears that soon begin to cover my eyes, i study tom’s face, his expression causing the already prominent knot in my stomach to tighten even further.

if the pleasure he brings me isn’t enough, the evidence of his own tips me over the edge - his eyebrows knitted together, sweat lining his forehead as he moves in and out of me, mouth open with his tongue occasionally swiping across his bottom lip. he stays relatively quiet, though i know exactly how to elicit small sounds out of him, noticing the way deep groans sound from the back of his throat when i clench around him, almost inaudible words of encouragement that follow his moans prompting me to repeat my actions, noticing the way he twitches inside me as i do so.

“gonna cum, c’mon baby, cum with me.” he prompts, bending downwards to plant quick kisses onto my lips, his thrusts now slow and deep, pushing me over the edge as i manage to nod my head, hands reaching to clutch his biceps. my nails dig into the skin once i feel his hot cum shoot inside of me, an elongated ‘ohhhh’ leaving his lips as he throws his head backward, hips lazily rocking back and forth at an irregular pace, one final thrust being all it takes for the knot in my stomach to quickly unravel.

my eyes squeeze shut, mouth falling open as a high-pitched moan escapes it, back lifting upward off of the couch once his pointer finger reaches to make contact with my clit, rubbing slow circles over it as my release washes over me. he continues to move in and out of me, fucking his seed further into me, his heavy breathing sounding through the silent room. he collapses on top of me, not bothering to pull out just yet, instead using the little energy he has left to softly run his fingers up and down my arm in an attempt to slow my rapid breathing, taking notice of the way my entire body trembles slightly.

“you okay schatz?” he mutters, his low voice vibrating against my bare skin, lips inches away from my breasts as his head rests in between them, placing a lazy kiss there. i mutter a small ‘mhm’, noticing the strain that the small utterance places on my throat, silently cursing myself for being so vocal, though deep down i know that i don’t really regret it, the sex warranting every sound i let spill from my lips.

“you still angry?” he asks, the soft smile that graces upon his lips telling me that he knows the answer to his question before i even open my mouth. he chuckles lowly, squeezing my waist and moving closer, intertwining our legs together, our bodies tangled as we lay on the couch.

“depends if you plan on touching someone like you did that girl again.” i shrug, honestly still a little frustrated at what i had witnessed, the thought making me seethe with jealousy. even after i had tom inside of me just moments ago, the small amount of satisfaction it brings me isn’t enough, wishing that i could somehow go back in time and stop the entire thing from ever happening, realising that my life would be better without knowing he had entertained someone else, even for a few minutes.

“what girl?” he grins, beginning to place sloppy kisses on my neck, hands running up and down my waist. he knows exactly what i am talking about, continuing to sweet talk me, all whilst his lips continue to work against my neck, tongue running soothingly over the skin after his teeth nip against it. “the only girl i want to touch is you, baby.”

“you know what girl.” i breathe out, trying to continue the conversation, my head tilting backwards to give him more access, failing miserably to maintain my composure as his kisses hold me under his trance, getting me just as worked up as i had been ten minutes ago, before he had pleasured me.

“hmm, i don’t care about her.” he mutters against me, his voice vibrating above my chest, sending chills through my body, the feeling soon soothed when he moves on top of me once again, trailing the suggestive kisses lower and lower, hovering just above my breasts. his eyes are half-lidded, filled with tired lust as they peer innocently at me, the intent behind them crystal clear as they darken just before his mouth opens, his voice low. “why would i? just want you beautiful. need you all to myself…”

tired moans leave his lips as they continue to work against me, leaving no part untouched, his kisses becoming slow and sloppy. though he doesn’t show any intention of stopping, muttering small compliments in between kisses. ‘so beautiful.’ he mumbles, taking the skin between my breasts and slowly sucking on it, teeth digging in momentarily, soon pulling away once he is satisfied with the small bruise left in place of his soft lips. ‘love you so much.’ he whispers just before his tongue swipes over an existing mark, head tilting to the side to press open-mouthed kisses just below it. “shit- so fucking perfect.’ he mutters, lips hovering above my breast for a few seconds, breath fanning over it, watching the way my chest falls up and down, anticipating his touch. ‘meine schatz, all yours.’ he murmurs, taking my nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, his free hand kneading the flesh of my thigh, slowly continuing to work against me, noticing the way my whines become lazy and restricted.

he looks upward briefly, my own eyes on the verge of closing, completely exhausted, entire body aching as it manages to calm down, no longer trembling the way it was moments ago. his hands reach upwards, fingers threading through my hair, removing any knots within it. his own eyes struggle to stay open, yet he forces them to, holding back on falling asleep until he knows that i have, instead resuming his fingers’ slow movements through my hair, paying close attention to my breathing pattern, humming in satisfaction once it becomes slow and shallow, signalling that i have finally let exhaustion take over. even when he falls asleep, he refuses to reduce his hold on me, bodies tangled together as we are finally at peace, belonging to each other once again.

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