#i'm also kind of sick and exhausted and just want to sleep but i have to see my psychiatrist

[soaps-mohawk]

Was someone telling you their life story or something? 😂😂

Pieces of it really 😭 just some very odd statements and stories that I didn't even really know how to respond to?? Like...making me sit there wondering how this pertains to me at all much less what I'd say in response. Very much diary thoughts that probably shouldn't be sent to a random stranger's inbox.

[gyuswhore]

Statistically Speaking...

part of the svt TA collab

kim mingyu x reader

word count: 21k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

masterlist

Monday

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which was little to none. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday

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

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

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

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

Nothing. 

You knock again.

Silence. 

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

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

Except he’s asleep.

No, that’s not the professor. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could’ve sworn you heard a snore. 

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

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

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

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

“Um, it’s office—”

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

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

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

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

“But—”

“It’s on the portal.”

“No it’s not.”

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

“How—”

A loud slam! of the door. 

“—long…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday

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

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

Regards, YN

Dear YN,

Wednesdays and Thursdays. 4 to 6 PM.

Kim Mingyu, T.A. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you here to see him?”

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

“Are you here to see him? Mingyu?”

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

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

“Yeah he’s a bit…unorthodox.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right. How can I help you?”

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

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

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

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

It stumps you regardless.

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

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

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

“You marked them?”

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

“I thought the professor marked the lab reports.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dr. Cho—”

“Is no help.”

“I understand—”

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

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

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

Help, he did. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pardon?”

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

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

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

You smile, “No problem.”

Thursday

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

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

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

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

“I’ll see what I can do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Help, he does.

Monday

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

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

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

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

Something isn’t right. 

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

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

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

“...Morning.”

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

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

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

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

To Do:

Call mom

Shoot myself

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

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

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

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

What the fuck?

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

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

“Good thing it was just you. Yeah.”

Just you.

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

“Have you seen the time?” 

“Not a morning person?”

“Nope!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And that isn’t happening because…?”

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

“You—”

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

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

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

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“Excuse me for doing my job.”

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

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

“PSYCH101?”

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

“Oh. So you’re a fan.”

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

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

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

“Don’t tell me you offered.”

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

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

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

“Four.”

“Four?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart is in your fucking throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Majority of the class would beg to differ.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday

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

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

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

“I’m not ready.”

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

“How do you know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

“Only the—”

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

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

“I’m assuming…” you start. 

“Hm?” he looks over to you.

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

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

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

“What did you say?” Mingyu smirks. 

“Nothing,” you huff.

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

“Who said I didn’t.”

“Well then, stop being such a worrywart.”

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

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

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

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

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

You sniffle. 

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

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

Monday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mingyu…did you sleep at all?”

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

“Sleep? Rest?”

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

“And you were replying?”

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

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

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

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

“What’re you trying to say?”

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

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

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

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

“Mingyu—”

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

“You have, you’ve been amazing but—”

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

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

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

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

Why on earth do you care so much?

Right. Why do you? 

“Are you asking me that?”

“What?”

“Are you asking me why I care?” 

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

His eyes are bloodshot. 

“I have to get the exam pack.”

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

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

Delusive. Chimeric. Cruel.

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

The null hypothesis of your most elaborate nightmares.

Monday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything. You tried everything. 

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

It’s Wednesday. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Estimation cannot be perfect. 

[_]

It’s Thursday

Class. Eat. Drink. Work.

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

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

[_]

It’s Friday

Eat. Drink. Work.

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

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

[_]

It’s Saturday

Eat. Drink. Work.

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

              ——————

                     P(B)

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

 it gets less complicated

 promise :/ 

[_]

It’s Sunday.

Eat. Drink. Work.

The page is blurry. Your eyes hurt. 

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

you’ve got this!!! < 3

You give up.

It’s Monday.

8:14 AM. 

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

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

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

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

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

Bright pink sticky note. 

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

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

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

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

It’s Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Wednesday.

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

It’s Thursday. 

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

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

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

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

You freeze like you’ve been caught. 

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

You’re off centre. But it’s fine. 

It’s Monday.

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

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

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

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

It’s Tuesday.

Midterm Results for Statistics in Psychological Research.

—  92/100

It’s Wednesday. 

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

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

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

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

“Did you feel bad?” you spit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A bright red 92/100 marks the front page.

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

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

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

Because you know you’ve lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Friday.

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

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

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

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

[Mingyu]: switch to bF10 

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

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

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

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

Do you not miss me?

Do you not want me around?

Talk to me

I miss you

Please talk to me

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

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

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

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

It’s Saturday. 

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

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

“Latte, please,” you voice. “Iced.”

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

“Um, no thank you. Just one, please.”

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

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

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

“He has time to hook up?”

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

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

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

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

“Unless he flirts in variables.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Sunday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bayesian inference…z scores…null hypothesis…

Wait. 

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

no null hypothesis in bayesian approach

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Regards, YN

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

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

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

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

SEND.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RE: Tutorial Error from Kim Mingyu

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

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

Clicking on the notification, the email opens. 

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

Kim Mingyu, T.A.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I–no, I didn’t.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

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

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

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

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

“You were hurt because I hurt you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not in a TA way.”

“Tutor way.”

“Um.”

“Friend way? A human way?” 

“No.”

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

“You know what?” he rasps. 

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorts, “Dressed up for it too.”

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

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

“How adorable.”

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

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

“That might’ve been a little better.”

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

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

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

You give him the satisfaction of an eye roll. 

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

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

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

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

“Who?”

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

“Do you?”

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

“Is it because of the TA-ing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you think they’ll be okay?”

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

“Like we did?”

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

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

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

“This is getting weird,” Mingyu breathes. 

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

“For fuck’s sake.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re paying attention to me.”

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

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

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

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

There’s a ding in the background. 

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

Another ding. 

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

Ding. 

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

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

“Gyu…” you whisper. 

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

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

His phone begins to ring again. 

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

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

The ringing stops. 

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

There’s a ding. 

“Mingyu, I really think—”

His phone begins to ring again. 

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

“You should answer.” 

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

“It might be important.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Go on.”

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

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

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

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

You have to stifle a snort. 

“Is it…plugged in?”

“Of course it is, I’m not an idiot.”

“Is it showing up on your files?”

“Disk…is not…formatted.”

“Erm, it might be corrupted.”

“How did that happen?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I…I don’t know how, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need a shower.”

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

“Do you wanna come in too?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can figure it out myself, Gyu.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm? I think so.” 

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

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

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

“Gyu,” you shuffle closer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm? Has to be what?”

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

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

“For the love of—”

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

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

“What’s that again?”

“You little shit.”

You move your mouth forward to kiss him.

“Analysis of variance.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I might love you too. 

You hide that as well. For now. 

Smiling into the skin of his temples, you sigh.

“Feel free.”

[Mingyu]: class ended early 

[Mingyu]: be there in 5 

[You]: ???

[You]: wdym ended early

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“It’s on the bedside table, baby.”

“No, it’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good thing I came back early, hm?” 

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that for?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a pillow fort.

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

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

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

[You]: where are you

[Mingyu]: where im meant to be?

[You]: office hours?

[Mingyu]: mhm

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

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

[Mingyu]: DONT KILL ME

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

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

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

“Whatever for?”

“For lying.” 

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

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

“Him too.”

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

“Rumour has it,” he starts. 

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

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

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

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

“Take a hike, Kim.”

“...Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mingyu was beautiful either way. 

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

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

“More than okay,” you mumble. 

“Good. Thought I lost you there.”

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

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

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

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

“How happy are you?”

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

“The recommendation? You deserve it.”

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

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

“Not just yet.”

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

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

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

“Girlfriend duties,” you quote solemnly. 

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

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

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

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

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

You can only grumble in mild annoyance. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I think I might love you too.” 

[endo-bunny]

Sit Down Now and Rest

-~-~-~-~-~-~

Description: You had anxiety and depression, and Tony and Bruce were more than happy with getting you anxiety meds the moment that you asked. When you stop taking your meds, your mental health plummets and spirals as well as your physical health, and everyone notices. Don't worry though, they're there for you.

Pairing: (Platonic) Avengers x Teen!Reader

Type: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Depression, anxiety, sickness, fainting, dizziness, taking meds(both medicated and just vitamins/iron supplements), dehydration, insomnia, depressive and hurtful thoughts, reader doesn't talk very much in this, nicknames(Kiddo, Kid, Hun)

Word Count: 1,627

Note: I may or may not have written this with too much of myself being present… But it's fine! I also wrote this at like 2 in the morning so it's kinda rough but I just needed to get this typed out so here ya go! Also, the characters might be kinda ooc because I haven't watched any marvel movies in a little while but I've been hyper focused on fics with them lately so yea. And I am working on my tlou and tech fics, it's just hard to find the motivation to write them, but don't worry, I'm working on em.

-~-~-~-~-~-~

You were quick to notice that you stopped taking your meds. You knew that they helped you, but you couldn't get yourself to start the habit of taking them again. You wanted to, most definitely, but you couldn't. Every day was the same. Wake up, look at your meds, contemplate taking them, saying you'll take them later, go train, eat, and then not take them.

You also stopped taking them at night too. You had even set alarms so that you'd remember to take them, but it didn't help at all. Natasha was the first to notice that something was up, being the closest one with you. When she realized that something wasn't quite right, she made sure to keep a close eye on you. She was quick to pick up how dizzy you looked when you'd get up, sometimes not even being able to stay standing before you crumbled back onto the couch. You'd always play it off as if you just lost your footing but she and everyone else knew that that wasn't the case.

One morning you had gotten up much later than you had recently been getting up. When you checked the time, it was around two in the afternoon. You got up and went to the kitchen, feeling extremely hungry after forgetting, and also just not wanting dinner the night prior. When you arrived in the kitchen, Tony was there. He had kind of taken up the father role in your life.

The moment he saw that you had finally arose, he was quick to make a snarky comment in good fun, “Ah! The beast has finally awoken from their slumber, now off they go to find their beauty.”

You only roll your eyes, ignoring him. You felt exhausted, even though you got close to ten hours of sleep seeing as you fell asleep around 4 in the morning. You couldn't find anything easy to fix or that looked appetizing in the fridge or pantry so you just opted for a bottle of water that you would only take a sip or two of then leave with your other five almost full water bottles on your nightstand.

Before you could go back to the confines of your room, Tony had to ask you a question, “ Hey kiddo, did you take your meds?”

The question caught you off guard, not expecting him to ask seeing as he hasn't asked in a real long time.

“Oh yea! I, um, took them earlier but fell back asleep. Yea, that's what I did!”

You try to make it seem like you weren't lying through your teeth, but weren't very successful because of how exhausted you were. However, before Tony could confront you, you book it to your room. You hide there for the rest of the day, not coming out for Dinner. Steve had come by to tell you that dinner was ready but you told him that you weren't very hungry as you just kept your

on the book that you had your nose in. You kept your light on all night, not feeling tired.

The next morning, Nat knocked on your door around eight, coming to get you so that you could train with her. When she opened your door, she saw you laying on your back staring up at the ceiling. You looked exhausted and had dark circles under your eyes. When Bat opened the door, you flung up in surprise. You hadn't heard her knocking so you weren't expecting for the door to randomly open. You couldn't tell who it was at first because your vision went fuzzy black as your body tried to accommodate the sudden movement that you caused. Nat waited for you to acknowledge her.

When you did after a couple seconds, you looked over at the time, confused. It had just been two the last time you looked at the clock. How could it be eight all of the sudden? You were brought out of your thoughts by Natasha trying to talk to you. You zoned back in, giving her a questioning look.

“I said, are you ok? You look exhausted Hun. I came by to get ya to come train but it looks like you need to rest for a couple days.”

“Oh! No, I'm fine. Just give me a couple minutes to get ready and I'll be down and we can get to work in no time!”

She gave you a skeptical look but nodded, closing your door behind her.

When you got down to the training room, Bucky and Steve were there with Natasha. They smiled upon seeing you walk in. However, Bucky and Steve's bright smiles dropped upon looking at your figure. You were slouched, tired eyes not fully open and your eye bags were extremely dark.

Bucky was the first to point it out, “Hey Kid, you ok? You aren't looking too good.”

You only shrugged, your body aching and your throat feeling scratchy and sore for some reason.

As you're sparring with Natasha, you continuously have to stop the match because you go into coughing fits. As finish with your last coughing fit you go back to Natasha, but she's packing her stuff up.

“Wait, where are you going?” You're voice comes rather harsh and rude as you ask the red head.

“I think you should rest for the rest of the day Hun. I'll come check on you in a little while. But go take your meds and also some cough syrup and eat something.”

You didn't say anything as you grabbed your stuff and walked back to your room. This was stupid. It was just a little cold. You can still fight. You need to train. Deep down though you knew you needed to listen to her and do as she said. In the end, you don't. You go back to your room, take a sip or two of water, get a small snack and then sit down in the living room with a book.

You try to read it, but you can't stay focused for long enough to. Your mind is spiraling and racing. You kept replaying how training went. You were so pathetic. And rude. How could you be so rude? Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You slam the book down onto the sofa, huffing.

You hadn't noticed that some of the others had joined you in the living room. They look up at you, surprised. They weren't used to seeing you like this. You tried to get up quickly, wanting to get away from this embarrassing situation.

The moment you get up, the world goes black, buzzing and ringing is the only thing you can hear as you collapse. You feel something picking you up and setting you down on the couch. You blink your eyes a couple times, slowly feeling sensation being restored in your body. You look around you and see that Bruce is coming over with a damp cloth and water. Nat has your head resting in her lap and Tony has your hand in his. They all look worried as they stare down at you. You hear gasped as Steve and Bucky walk in.

Questions are being thrown at you, too fast for you to comprehend. You instinctively put your hands on your ears, feeling overwhelmed. They all quiet down upon seeing this. Tony is the one to ask the questions from then on.

“Hey, it's ok. We're sorry, didn't mean to overwhelm ya like that. Can ya sit up?”

You nodded, feeling embarrassed now. Tony nodded and Nat helped you sit up, allowing you to lean against her.

“Ok, drink some water, you're ok,” Tony hands you the water that Bruce had brought over as Bruce is wiping your face with the cold damp cloth.

“Ya feeling better?”

“Ya, I'm fine.”

“Have you been taking your meds, kid?”Tony doesn't hold back, knowing what it looks like when you don't take the meds that have been helping you produce what your body needs.

You sheepishly look down at your hands that are fidgeting in your lap. You inhale sharply before shaking your head no.

They all sigh, Natasha being the one to talk this time, “Why haven't you been taking your meds, Hun?”

“I-I just don't want to… I don't like the feeling.”

They looked at each other, wondering what to say. As they look at each other, you go to stand up, but they make sure that you don't get up.

“Sit down now and rest,” Bucky's voice comes from behind you, his hands still on your shoulders.

“I'm sorry…” Your voice comes out in a whisper.

“You're forgiven kiddo, but ya gotta start taking your meds again.” Steve comes over and sits on the other side of you as he speaks.

“I know.”

“How bout I take my medication with ya? God knows that I haven't been taking it as much as I should be,” Tony chuckles as he tries to negotiate with you.

You didn't know if it would actually help you but you were open to the idea.

“Good, drink some more water. Now what do you want to watch? Hm? TV's all yours,” Tony stood up, giving you the TV remote as everyone decided to sit down on the couch.

You picked your comfort movie as you snuggled up with Steve and Nat. Tony had gotten you some actual food, and by the time the movie was over, you had drank all the water, ate all the food, fell asleep, and almost everyone else had fallen asleep as well. You felt safe with the people that cared about you all around you. You knew that this would be a journey, but you also knew that you weren't alone.

-~-~-~-~-~-~

Tag list: @fakegingerrights @macchiato-dreaming22 @silnebula

[blckbrrybasket]

Run, girl, run

Artrick x Fem!Reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1k

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Art’s grandma comes over after you and Patrick spend the night

Art's grandma was the sweetest woman you'd ever known. She was the salt of the earth, raising Art to bring only kindness and love into the world. He always tried his best to please her, and for the most part he kept his soft heart even after starting college and while keeping Patrick around him. 

You balanced the two boys out. You kept Patrick in check, while also encouraging Art to loosen up a bit and enjoy his life outside of tennis. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, no longer bound by the rules of parent figures, urged on by your support. Most days with the three of you were like a dream, always helping the other to be the best they could be. Not that other people knew.

You all decided to keep your relationship private, not wanting outside judgments or prying eyes.

So no one else was aware, including Art’s grandma. Unfortunately for you, Art's grandma didn't always call before stopping by. She meant well, but her surprise visits meant quick texts from Art to make yourself scarce for the day. You always listened; even when Patrick begged you to mess with Art, you insisted on giving them space.

Maybe that’s why he got some sick satisfaction that Art's grandma had unexpectedly arrived for a visit while he was still half-dressed in Art's bed with you. The past night had been great, fucking until you were on the brink of exhaustion, and yet somehow Patrick was already energetic again in the morning. Art was usually a little slower to getting up, wanting nothing more than to drift back to sleep cradled in your arms.

However, the single knock on his door shattered the peaceful morning's atmosphere. Art groaned into his pillow, barely lifting his head to call out, “What?” A second of silence passed when his grandma’s sweet voice answered, “Art, sweetie? Is that you? I tried to call but I couldn’t wake you up.” She laughed softly, unaware of how fast Art shot out of bed.

He toppled over the side of the mattress, shoulder slamming into the thin carpet. Art hissed in pain, wasting no time when he popped back up. “Guys, you gotta go - now!” he whisper-yelled, shaking you awake. “Honey, are you alright?” Art winced at his grandma’s concerned voice. “I’m alright grandma!” Art replied, eyes darting between you and the door. 

His head swiveled back around to face you as you raised your head, blinking away the last traces of sleep to take in the scene. “Up!” You let out a silent sigh, looking around in confusion. Art was already moving on to scramble, grabbing the clothes off the floor. “What..?” You asked.

Patrick leaned over your bare shoulder with a wicked grin, having been silently awake for a while. “Art’s grandma is here,” he whispered in your ear with cruel amusement. He laughed quietly at Art’s frantic movements, your fingers pinching the bridge of your nose. You sat up with little urgency, the comforter rolling off your body. 

Art’s panic fell into background noise as Patrick slipped his shirt over you, giving you more coverage than just your underwear. A quick kiss silenced his mirth as you took in poor Art's panic. You turned away from Patrick when the sound of Art’s window opening drew you back to the present. 

Art came back into view, whipping around to face you with an expression full of worry. He grabbed your face for a desperate goodbye peck. “I'm so sorry,” Art apologized profusely, knowing there was no other way out than the window. You understood - there wasn't any other option with his grandma right outside the door. 

You shrugged, not caring all that much as you kissed him back, hands smoothing his curls down. “We get it,” Patrick mused. “You’re throwing us out like some hookups, no don’t worry,” he laughed as Art shoved his chest. “We get it!”

Patrick pecked Art’s cheek in an apology, ignoring his eye roll, before helping you to the end of the bed. His hand smoothly slid around your waist to guide you to the window. “Ladies first,” he said ‘gallantly’. Patrick watches you swing a leg over the sill as you snicker. “How chivalrous,” you goad.

Your hands find his, holding tightly as he helps lower you to the ground. It’s a gentle landing, greatly helped by Patrick who goes to follow suit the moment your feet find purchase. His landing is…a lot less graceful, shoved outside by Art. He could only hold his grandma off for so long, excusing that he was taking so long because he was simply getting dressed, deciding to hurry it along.

With a yelp, Patrick practically swan dove from the window, a mess of flailing limbs. He lands in a painful heap to the side of you, groaning. You could only sigh as you lent a hand to pull him upright once more. “Patrick,” you nearly whine in annoyance.

He wasn’t the last to come out though, your clothes raining down on him, adding insult to injury. “Seriously?” Patrick muttered, brushing himself off indignantly. You were all lucky that Art only lived on the first floor. 

Despite the exit, you couldn't help but laugh at Patrick's disheveled state, the window slamming shut after another apology from Art. Your giggles bubbled over as you freed him from the shorts caught on his ear and shoulder.

Patrick only huffed, bundling the clothes unceremoniously.  It was a rough start to the morning and you could see his thinly veiled annoyance. Wanting to lighten the mood, you leaned in for a quick kiss. His furrowed eyebrows softened some as his lips pressed to yours.

“Come on, first one back to my dorm gets head,” you challenged, lips brushing against his. Patrick's eyes lit up at the offer. In an instant, he gripped your hand and took off in a sprint across campus. You laughed with glee as the wind rushed past, any lingering stress melting away by your joint euphoria.

[keikikait]

ᴡᴀʏ ᴏᴜᴛ (ʙɪᴋᴇʀ!ᴍᴇɢᴜᴍɪ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

for my other megumi fic, click here (warning - smut!)

pairing: biker!megumi x f!reader (au, both are early to mid 20's)

word count: 2k

summary: you love your new apartment, as small as it is. it's in the perfect place, right next to the train station, and is cheap as hell. the only downside? your neighbour, who revs his bike outside your window every morning.

warnings: NO SMUT!, no angst!, multi part series, kind of enemies to lovers, slowburn?, megumi is kinda rude lmaoooo, the girls are fighting!, he says sweetheart twice, reader is kinda down bad lmao

a note: sorry for the delay, i've been busy with work! also, 8 square metres is about 86 square feet :).

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

The rent was cheap. Suspiciously cheap. 

You should’ve been wary, but you didn’t have many options. After a bitter fallout with your roommate, you needed to move out quickly. You should’ve paid more attention to the listing, you realise, as you stop in front of the building and it sinks in that your new digs weren’t 18 square metres.

It was eight square metres. 

Thankfully, you didn’t have much furniture with you, needing to sell it all to afford the move. Your apartment was essentially one long, two-story hallway, just enough for your desk chair and TV. 

You get settled in quickly, trying to liven up the place by replanting your herb garden outside on your small porch. The apartment doors faced an alley, and on the other side of the alley was another apartment building. You didn’t know how much sunlight your basil would get, but that’s a problem for future you.

A problem for the current you, however, was your neighbour's motorcycle. The bike is an exact replica of the legendary Honda Super Cub that was used in the original anime Akira, and as pretty as it is, that shit is loud. His apartment is right on the edge by the sidewalk, meaning the only place he can park it is right in front of your window.

You’ve tried everything. Earplugs. Noise-cancelling headphones. Ear plugs under your noise-cancelling headphones. Sleeping with a white noise machine. Nothing works. You only moved in a month ago but you’re already sick of this mysterious man and his bike. You don’t run into each other often, catching glimpses of him as he drives off in the morning and comes home at night. You didn’t want to be that neighbour, the one that complains about every single little thing, but it was driving you mad. He revs his bike so loudly and for so long, that you’re starting to think he’s doing it on purpose.

You wake up that fateful morning and decide you’ve had enough. You wait for him to return home, hyping yourself up in the mirror before heading outside to confront him. You idle nervously in front of his front door for a few seconds before knocking. 

He answers, looking exhausted, his hair a mess from his helmet. “Yeah?” You have to admit, he’s pretty cute. Tall and lean, with bicep muscles that strain against the fabric of his black t-shirt. And you swear you can see some eyeliner smudged on his water line.

You smile, trying to come across as calm and casual, slightly flustered by how attractive he is. “Hey. I’m your new next-door neighbour,” You gesture with your thumb. “I don’t wanna be that person, but would it be possible for you to not rev your engine so loud in the morning? It’s just…it’s right by my window, and it’s really loud.”

He lets out a sigh of frustration, not exactly in the mood for what you're throwing at him. It was already 9 pm on the third day in a row that he had worked the late shift, and this was not something he needed right now. He looks at you, his expression a mixture of irritation and confusion. “Look, I'm not doing it on purpose. I park where I park, nothing is going to change that. You just moved in, this is how it's been and how it's always going to be.”

You blink, a little taken aback by how rude he was being. “I understand that, but surely I'm not the only person in the building who gets inconvenienced by your bike.”

He crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing. The last thing he wants to do after a long shift is argue with someone about something as insignificant as noise. “Look, if you don't like it, then move out. I don't see anybody else complaining. You're the only one.”

You clench your jaw. You had some experience with bikes, your ex-boyfriend being a mechanic. You knew it was possible to make the revving quieter, it just seems like he didn’t care. “Can’t you just buy a muffler silencer?”

He lets out a short, sharp laugh, one that doesn't hold a single trace of humor.  “A muffler silencer? For a Super Cub? Are you serious? That would be like asking a Ferrari to be quiet.”

“You can’t expect everyone to just be okay with how loud your bike is, man.” You say. “I’m sure it inconveniences everyone in the building, but no one wants to be the person that confronts you.”

He seems to be holding back from saying what he wants to say, taking a shallow breath. “Look. It's my bike. I can do whatever I want with it. No one else is bothered, so why should you be any different? Why do you care so much?”

“You’re not the only person who works early mornings.” You say. “You aren’t the only person in the world, you know.”

That strikes a nerve, clearly, but he still doesn't seem interested in hearing what you're saying. He just rolls his eyes, looking away at his bike for a moment before looking back at you. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but in case you haven't realised, you're not that important.”

“Neither are you.” You say impulsively. It was mean, and you didn’t like being mean, but he wasn’t giving you any other option.

He glares at you, his expression darkening. It's only for a moment, but you can see there is actual vitriol in his eyes. “Look, I'm going to make this simple for you. If you don't like the noise, then move out. That bike is not going anywhere. It has more meaning to me than you'll ever understand.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Akira meant so much to you as a kid,” You say sarcastically. “It doesn’t matter. You can’t keep doing this, man. Buy a muffler silencer.” 

He laughs, but there's a slight tinge of bitterness to it. “Oh, so it's just a cartoon to you? It’s not an influential masterpiece that changed motorcycle and animation culture forever? Okay, great. Good to know.” He is starting to get worked up, but then he shakes his head, trying to regain his composure. “Look, like I said, I am not doing anything to this bike. Not the mufflers, nothing.”

“Then park it somewhere else.” You snap. “Keep it away from my window. I don’t want to hear that shit.”

There's a flash of annoyance on his face. “There's no place to park it away from your window unless I block the sidewalk, which I guarantee you would cause more inconvenience. You're just going to have to deal with it.”

“Are you always this rude and stuck up?” The question stumbles out of your mouth before your mind can process it.

His temper flares up. He takes a step towards you, putting his hands on his hips as he glares at you. “Are you always this entitled and self-absorbed?”

You take a step back. You hate to admit it, but the way he towers over you is arousing. His cologne fills your nostrils and you find yourself getting lightheaded. It was slightly spicy, with a hint of vanilla and coffee. 

You ground yourself, swallowing hard. “Look, I don’t want to argue with you. I just want us to come to a reasonable compromise.”

He glares at you, his eyes boring into you as you step back. You can feel the heat on your skin as if every drop of sweat in his body has been activated by the situation. His cologne is overwhelming you, filling your whole body. “There is no compromise to make here. You don't like the noise, tough. You're just going to have to get used to it or move out. That's it.”

Your eye twitches. “You’re such an asshole.” At this point, you didn’t feel bad being mean to him. He kind of deserved it.

He laughs, seeming almost amused by your temper. “You're one to talk. You come barging up to my apartment, demanding I make changes to my bike, and then you get mad at me when I tell you not to waste your time. Look in the mirror, sweetheart, and then come back with the right to tell me I'm an asshole.”

Fuck. You shouldn’t like the way he says sweetheart, but it causes your throat to dry up. “I tried to be nice to you,” You say. “You’re the one that got defensive and rude.”

“Nice? Maybe in your little dreamland that's what you think you were doing. Maybe you even believe that you were just being friendly and reasonable, I don't know. But in reality, all you were doing was pissing me off and acting like some sort of entitled princess.” He takes a step closer to you, his finger pointed in your face. “But one thing is certain. I’m not changing anything about my bike just to make you happy.”

He’s so close to you that it makes your head spin. You step back again, leaning against the railing surrounding his small porch. “Look, I’m sorry, but you can’t blame me for being upset.”

He doesn't seem interested in letting you off the hook yet, not when he looks so close to snapping. “It doesn't matter if you're upset or not. You don't get what you want by coming here and giving me an attitude like a fucking brat.”

You swallow hard. Fuck. You shouldn’t be attracted to this man, he was rude as hell and didn’t seem to care that he was inconveniencing not only you but everyone in the building. But you couldn’t help yourself. He was so pretty, and he smelled so good, and his voice was so nice. You were going to have to change your panties when you got back home. 

You stand up straight, trying to stay headstrong. “You’re being incredibly rude about this.”

“And you're being incredibly entitled. There's only one of us that needs to change here, and it's not me.” He narrows his eyes, his gaze still burning into you.

You lick your lips. “Look, we’re not going to get anywhere by arguing.”

He gives another one of those short, sharp laughs. He smiles, and it makes your stomach flip. “You finally said something smart. I didn’t know it was so difficult for you. Now, are you ready to accept that you're not going to get what you want, or do you want to keep wasting my time?”

Your eyes narrow. What the fuck? “Excuse me? Did you just call me dumb?”

A smirk spreads across his lips. “You heard me. Or did you need me to repeat it for you?”

You let out a sharp laugh, moving off of his porch. “You know what? Fuck you.”

He raises his eyebrow, a faint smile on his lips. “Oh, so you've switched from demanding to insults? Real mature, aren't you?”

You head over to your apartment, laughing again. “I should’ve known trying to reason with you would be impossible.” 

He calls after you. “You're damn right it's impossible. You come here, make some demands, and then get mad when I tell you no. You're a spoiled brat who always gets her way, aren't you? Well, today's a bad day for you, sweetheart.” 

“Fuck you.” You say, holding the door to your apartment open. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I’m not sure I want to.” He says, smirking slightly. “I’m not into brats like you. I think you need to be taken down a few pegs. You need someone to put you in your place.”

You scoff and flip him off before slamming the door behind you, and just like that, you have given up. 

He leans against his door, crossing his arms and smiling as he watches you leave, his eyes on your ass. He’s just a tiny bit disappointed that you gave up so quickly. He's got to admit, it was pretty fun messing with you, watching how angry you get. He thought you looked cute like that, your cheeks all red and flustered.

Maybe next time…

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

part two is here

dedicated to the lovely @whereflowerswenttodie

[binsito]

subaru

pairing: han jisung x fem reader

genre: enemies to lovers

word count: 5.4k

rating: mature, includes: swearing, jisung is kind of an asshole to reader at first, mentions of smoking and alcohol consumption, mentions of death but in an exaggerated way due to being upset over a situation (no one actually dies, just used as a hyperbole here and there), an altercation where someone gets slapped on the face, slight mentions of reckless driving (they like to street race n shit!), words such as "stupid", "idiot", "dumbass", "bitch" etc are used, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), mentions of cum play, pet names such as "baby" are used. i think thats it??

disclaimer: i am not too involved in the car community although i do love cars ashsh so if i got anything inaccurate i apologize but it's just a silly lil fic okie!!!!!! also not entirely proof read lmfao

subaru wrx with a clean build.

it was baby pink, low to the ground with bright blue led headlights. the color combination was absolutely sick.

it was fucking gorgeous and jisung couldn't help but be jealous.

it was two in the morning and he had decided that he wanted to grab some mcdonalds, his sleep schedule was shit and all he ever did was watch movies, smoke, eat-

typical boy shit.

but aside from all of that, han jisung had an extreme infatuation with cars, more specifically street racing cars.

none of that corny fast and the furious shit, he was seriously into car modifications and speeding whenever he was sure there wasn't a cop around to catch him (even if there was one, he'd probably floor it to get out of the mess like an idiot, catch-me-if-you-can mentality). he had built his old honda civic up from scratch and it had been pretty loyal to him thus far. that was his baby, his girl, he loved his car more than anything and it was his pride and joy.

however that subaru was definitely one of his dream cars. something he hoped to get his hands on one day when his civic decided it was time to bite the dust.

he was sure he had seen all the street racing cars in his city, he had gone to plenty of car meets to know.. but this subaru was new and he had never seen it before. he definitely would've known if someone in his car community got a new vehicle..

you two were the only cars on the highway right now, the city was mostly dead - perfect time to get some action in.

he drove closely to the car, right next to it, lowering his passenger window to look over at the driver.

he couldn't see shit through the tint, trying to get their attention by revving his engine at them but they seemed to pay no mind

who was this guy? why was he going to have such a badass car and not use it to its fullest potential? why even bother getting a racing car if you weren't going to put your foot to the pedal?

was this guy just being an asshole? jisung clearly was trying to race, trying to get their attention..

the least they could do was tell him no?

whatever.. jisung thought, pulling up his window before speeding off, smoke obnoxiously coming out of his exhaust as he drove.

--

that weekend, jisung had gone to a car meet, it was something he participated in once a month, it gave him something exciting to look forward to.

looking at all the cool modifications his friends have invested in for their cars - whether they got a fresh wrap, new lights, whatever it was, he was excited to see it.

he pulled up in his car, parking in reverse next to the other vehicles in the lot.

once he stepped out, everyone greeted him and they caught up, talking about whatever came to mind

"i saw this fucking baby pink subaru wrx.. none of you got a new car and didn't tell me right? you know how fucking much i love those damn cars!" he whines

"uh no actually.. did you race it?" "no the guy must've had a stick up his ass because he didn't even acknowledge me.." "well i'm sure you'll see them around again, it'll be hard to miss a baby pink wrx, trust me" his friend giggles.

jisung knew he was right, how many pink subarus could there possibly be in this town? (lucky for him, just one)

"hey jisung! there's your car!" his friends giggle when they catch sight of the pink subaru pulling up to the meet. the last thing he expected was to see them again so soon, here of all places.

"holy shit" he groans, he was dying to see who the asshole behind the wheel was, but they never seemed to get down, and those blasted tints might as well have been illegal because he could barely make out the shape of a person in there.

instead they rev their engine, jisung's friend urging him to get into his car and race them. so now this asshole wants to race, huh? he thought as he got into his car, pulling up next to the subaru as they drove out into the street. both getting their cars ready and as soon as the lights turned green, they were off. the area they were racing in didn't have many stoplights and was normally empty at this time of night. jisung knew this road like the back of his palm, so he felt like he had the advantage.

he was not about to lose to this person, no way in hell. he had so much faith in his old civic, it had never failed him before, so it better not fail him now.

(but the subaru was sooo kicking his ass and it was making his blood boil.)

they raced in a loop back to the lot where the other cars were at, his friends waiting with anticipation, watching as the subaru arrived first, jisung was furious.

how could he lose to this guy? his ego took a huge hit.

to make matters worse, the driver finally rolled down their window

"i hate racing guys that have those dumb anime stickers on their car.." you smirked.

jisung gritted his teeth.

a girl? a car girl?

(those were his dream girls, but how dare she insult his anime stickers..)

"better luck next time buddy.."

oh he could not stand you.. (but that was just his fragility speaking.)

his friends held back their giggles as they rushed over to the cars, they crowded over you, checking out the wheels on your car and complimenting them.

jisung wanted to explode, who even were you anyways? your car wasn't even that cool or that fast (he was lying to himself).

(he was soo fucking jealous)

--

unfortunately for jisung, that wasn't the last time he saw you.

you also began attending the car meets once a month and were quickly becoming acquainted with his friends.

great.

they had learned that you had moved to this city for a job and were excited to find another group of car enthusiasts. you were scared that maybe you wouldn't find a group but you were proven wrong.

everyone got along well with you except.. han jisung of course!

his friends had told him to grow up and get over it but he just couldn't seem to let it go, once he had a bad first impression of someone, there was no changing his mind.

it was childish, but that was han jisung for you.

he hated how you were becoming a part of his friend group, how his friends were inviting you over to their garage on saturdays to maintenance your cars together.

and he couldn't be more obvious with his hate. he made it his job to make it very clear to you that you were not welcome here.

"hey jisung can you pass me that-"

his foot coming to kick the wrench in your general direction while you worked underneath your car.

"dude piss off. seriously." his friend chan spoke up. he was the one trying the hardest to keep things neutral between everyone.

you tried not to let it bother you, although you were not stupid and knew jisung didn't like you one bit.

it made you a little upset the way he treated you.

you felt like you had to apologize. maybe the whole anime sticker thing really hurt his feeling? you didn't mean to hurt him but maybe you took it too far before you even got to know him?

you didn't want things to be like this if you were going to keep hanging around him. you'd find the time to apologize one of these days for sure.

--

see, han jisung was charming when you weren't around or when he thought you weren't looking.

he was actually a pretty funny guy.

(you loved funny guys, had a thing for them even..)

so you tried to incorporate humor when you tried talking to him but he always just looked at you blankly or let the joke go over his head purposely.

you were starting to feel like you'd never be able to apologize to him. and if you did, you were sure he wouldn't even accept it. this was so much harder than you anticipated, why couldn't he just let you make things right?

the only time han jisung ever talked about you without a front was when he was drinking with chan in the garage. they kept a fridge in there stocked with water and snacks and jisung was thrilled to see his favorite kind of beer in there one day. it seemed that drinking made jisung so much more open, like it made him just spill whatever was on his mind easily. it could sometimes put him in sticky situations but it also ratted his true feelings out. chan figured he could get some info out of him.

"your civic is getting old, dude.." chan teased him, taking a sip out of his beer can.

jisung just hiccuped and laughed.

"don't call my baby that.. she's all i got.." he smiled stupidly

"i think she's keeping the ladies away from you"

jisung waved him off and shook his head "nuh uh.. she's a babe magnet trust me.."

"what babe is she exactly pulling? cops handing you speeding tickets don't count" chan laughs

"that subaru bitch.. fuck if she wasn't so annoying.. i think i'd fucking kiss her.."

"she's got a name you know? she's only annoying to you 'cause you want to hate her." "no, she's annoying.. hot but annoying. like cool.. you like cars too, whateverrr.." he slurs

"what if you guys talked it out?"

"would rather die, channie my boy.. besides what if it get out of hand? what if she's angry hot or somethin'?.. no thanks.." he was holding on to one of the rolling carts in the garage only to almost fall over.

"you are the most stubborn person i know, han jisung." he shook his head

chan knew jisung had a tiny crush on you, there was no doubt about it. but he knew his best friend well to know he would never admit to it. god he was so dumb sometimes.

before you were in the picture, he would always talk about wanting a girlfriend who liked cars. how they could modify their cars together, go to meets hand in hand in their obnoxiously fast and loud cars..

(han jisung loved car girls.. had a thing for them even..)

but chan just kept this information to himself, didn't out jisung's crush to you. he wasn't that kind of friend. if it was meant to happen, he'd let it unfold.

--

things remained virtually the same after that conversation with chan, most times jisung couldn't remember anything he said after he drank so he wasn't even aware he basically told chan he liked you.

on this particular saturday, chan wasn't in the garage.

normally jisung wouldn't care, he knew where everything was and he could just start working on his car on his own.

but you were there.

you were there and it was pissing jisung off.

"what are you doing here?"

"oh.. i thought channie was gonna be here and i came so we could rotate my tires-"

"ew.. don't call him that.. channie? gross."

"well you call him that so what's the problem?" "i'm his friend. i'm not trying to fuck him."

to say you were offended was an understatement. maybe you shouldn't even waste your breath apologizing to him, seemed whatever this is was irreparable.

"you're a real piece of shit you know that? i'm not trying to fuck chan, he's my friend too."

"yeah well i've known him for ages so.. and i just know when a girl is just trying to fuck him, like it's so obvious.. could you be anymore obvious? jeez. like why are you even coming in here with those slutty shorts and-"

oh god.

you knew you shouldn't have done that but he had it coming.

your hand stinging after the impact.

shit, this was bad.

you slapped han jisung straight across the face.

"f-fuck jisung- i-i-"

he was angry. face red.

you swore you could see smoke coming out of him.

"get out of here. NOW." he said angrily between gritted teeth.

you didn't want to see where this would escalate so you quickly ran out, tears stinging at your eyes.

shit. you felt like you just ruined everything.

chan would be mad right? you hit his best friend across the face.. should you call him? you didn't want to burden him. ever since you started hanging out with them, all you've ever done was cause problems to arise. it was hard not to agitate han jisung when you all were together. things must've been fine before you joined the scene..

you decided it was best to just remove yourself from them and let them be.

--

after two weeks of not seeing you or hearing from you, chan knew something was up so he decided to confront jisung. he had invited him over to play video games and jisung showed up within the hour of being asked.

chan didn't feel like beating around the bush, this was getting out of hand and he needed to figure out how to make peace.

after two rounds of call of duty, chan looked over at jisung.

"mind telling me what happened that day i wasn't in at the garage?"

"what are you talking about?"

"don't play dumb ji.. come on. we both know better than that. it's been two weeks and i haven't heard or seen of y/n. i texted her and at first she was giving me excuses to not show up at meets or come over on saturdays but now she's straight up ghosting me."

"maybe she got tired of being annoying-"

"han jisung, get a fucking grip dude. she is NOT annoying. you're being a fucking asshole. you know she's been trying to apologize to you right? are you that stupid? you think she's just trying to crack jokes and bring us beer because she wants to be annoying?"

"no she's doing that because she's trying to fuc-"

"holy shit, you are a lost cause. i didnt buy the beer and it was never for me okay? she brought it for you because i told her you liked that kind and they don't sell it in any of the shops here, only that one liquor place twenty minutes from here. and i lied to her, i told her i'd be there saturday and i wasn't just so maybe, you'd be a nice guy for once and help her rotate her tires. clearly you didn't fucking do that."

"maybe i would've if she didn't fucking slap me."

"she slapped you? well you know what, maybe you fucking deserved it? if i were her i'd do a little bit more than just a little slap. i'd rock your fucking shit for being so fucking insufferable. you're my best friend but right now, you are being the most goddamn pathetic person ever. all because she kicked your ass in a race? because you like her car? because she poked a little fun at you that day?"

jisung started to get up, dropping the controller on the couch and walking towards the door, he knew chan was right but he was too prideful to admit it. chan didn't bother stopping him, he knew he had to let him reflect on everything. the only way jisung would ever listen was if he talked hard to him, it was the only way for his thick skull to understand.

jisung was embarrassed.

his ego getting the best of him.

he knew it was too late to backtrack everything he's said and done.

he fucked up and these were the consequences.

and karma had a way with things because as he was on his way home, his car finally gave out in the middle of the highway. thankfully nothing happened and he was able to make it to the side of the road quickly but he was so upset.

he couldn't help but cry as he sat on the hood of his car. he didn't even know who to call for help. he just sat there contemplating what to do while tears blurred his vision.

he wanted to kick and scream and throw himself in the middle of traffic but before he took a leap in front of a semi, he saw that godforsaken baby pink wrx.

he figured you would drive by him and not give a shit, maybe even roll down your window to laugh and point at him but you pulled up behind his car and got out.

maybe he had died before he made it to the side of the road and he was now entering his personal hell.

"han jisung? are you okay?"

he didn't answer you, instead he looked down at his feet.

"i'm trying to help. you're lucky i was on my way home and i saw you." you said, walking towards him

"hey, i'm talking to you, idiot. want me to just leave you and your stupid car here?" you shouted, hoping to get him to snap out of it.

he shook his head and sniffled

"just..get in my car okay? i'll call a tow truck." you sighed

he didn't question you, he just walked over and got in the passenger seat. jisung wasn't surprised that the interior was sleek, black leather with pink accents and led lights. you got in contact with a towing company, thankfully they came fairly quickly and took care of jisung's car.

you got back inside your car and started your engine before looking over at him.

"nothing happened right? you're fine?" "she just gave out on me.. i'm fine.." he mumbled.

you nodded and asked him to put in his address.

after that it just went quiet.

it felt tense but not like before. like there were things you both wanted to say but decided not to.

after fifteen minutes on the road, you pulled up to his apartment.

he didn't move to get out and you didn't urge him to.

"i'm sorry about your car jisung.. a-and i-i'm also so fucking sorry that i hit you.." you spoke up, breaking the silence.

"no.. it's cool.. i deserved it. thank you for stopping for me. that's really nice of you.. even after i was such a dick."

you took a deep breath and looked down at your lap

"i've been trying to make things right between us.. i know maybe what i said about your car that first time we met might've been rude but i didn't mean it like that.. friendly competition you know? but maybe i went too far.. i'm sorry.."

"no seriously.. it's fine. i'm the one that was being an asshole.. i'm the one who's sorry okay? your car is super sick and you're actually a really cool girl.. i just guess i got intimidated by you. that sounds really fucking lame doesn't it?"

you laugh and nod at him "super lame.."

he just smiled softly and let out a chuckle.

"i guess.. truce then? you owe me anyways for the ride home.." you held out a pinky for him, he wrapped his own around yours without hesitating

"truce.

oh and.. thanks for the beer."

you blushed softly, hoping he wouldn't notice.

(he definitely did. he thought it was cute.)

"oh yeah.. it was nothing. i just had a box in my house and i thought you guys would enjoy it more than i would."

(and he knew that was a lie too. that you had gone out of your way to buy a pack and didn't just have it lying around your house.)

"right right.. well thanks..

um listen there's a meet coming up.. you haven't really been around lately so.. are you gonna come? chan's been worried about you and i know it's my fault you've been m.i.a.."

"mm.. i dunno.. i feel kinda weird just showing up after ghosting him.." you said softly.

"i'll take care of that okay?"

"how do you plan on showing up if you don't have a car?" you teased

"well i could ask chan- no no.. he'd ask me what happened.. he's so nosey, dammit.." "i'll pick you up han jisung.. don't sweat it." you laughed and in turn it made him laugh.

the next order of business was him figuring out his feelings for you now that he had apologized and formed a truce with you.

he hoped he didn't fuck things up too badly. hoped that maybe he'd finally grow a pair of balls and face the fact that he liked you.

--

jisung knew it was gonna be crazy for him to show up the car meet with you.

in your car.

he knew chan was going to question and pull him aside and bombard him with a thorough interrogation.

but he tries not to think about it, not while he's shaking with nerves as he watches you pull up to his apartment, honking at him to alert him of your arrival but your loud ass exhaust pipes gave you away the second you entered his neighborhood.

he walks up to your door, hearing you click it open for him to get in.

and god, did you always dress this pretty to go to meets or is today a special occasion? cute blouse with a pleated skirt and converse to tie it all together.

so, so pretty..

"welcome to the barbie subie" you joked which earned you a smile from him

he buckled up and you were off, jisung enjoying the way you shifted gears and drove your car so flawlessly.

part of him didn't even want to go to the meet anymore.

all of him wanted to just pull over somewhere, lean back in his chair and talk to you for hours.

"han jisung is awfully quiet.." you giggled

but he didn't find it amusing, instead he shrugged.

"oh come on.. i thought we were doing good. what's wrong now?"

"you really wanna go to this meet?" "i mean.. you're kinda the one who invited me remember?"

"well yeah but.. i don't know if i wanna go anymore y'know?" "are you embarrassed of being seen with me or something? jeez man you got some serious ego issues to deal with-" "no no! it's just i dunno.. i think i just.. fuck.. don't laugh okay? don't you dare fucking laugh.."

you shook your head and bit your lip in hopes of hiding the smile creeping up on you

"i just kinda wanna hang out? like.. just with you.. and without chan asking a million questions. just us two alone.." "so like a date is what you're saying?"

"what! fuck no!"

you frowned but only to mess with him.

"w-well shit yes okay! but like you didn't have to say that yeah? admitting it makes me feel funny.."

"it's okay jisung. it's growth and you're lucky i think you're cute so i'm taking the offer."

jisung feels like he could jump out of your car from how crazy he's feeling right now. and he's so mad at himself for being such a dumbass before because maybe he could've been going on dates with you so much sooner.

he could melt into a puddle right in your seat.

especially when you tell him you've found this huge empty lot by a construction site that you two could go make donuts.

even more so when you tell him he can drive your car.

and jisung feels like he's in some insane car wet dream of his because there's no actual way he's in your car, driving, you at his side laughing hysterically while your car spins in circles, tires screeching as it leaves dark circular skid marks.

"j-jisung! jisung holy shit!" you laugh as you hang on tightly "i'm gonna hurl!"

he stops the car and his sides hurt from laughing. cheeks sore from the huge smile he had been wearing. and when he looks at you, he feels like such an idiot because he really wants to kiss you and he regrets wasting so much time hating you for no good reason.

and you feel the same desire.

you want to kiss his stupid, stupid face.

want him to finally admit he fucking likes you.

thank god you're both finally on the same page. both leaning in at the same time and bumping into each other with a laugh.

"you first.. please.." you whisper, he cups your face and leans in to capture your lips. fluttering his eyes closed as he gets to feel your soft mouth on his. letting out a pleased sigh as he deepens the kiss.

kissing someone had never felt this good before.

when you pull away, he almost whines, almost begs you to come back. he watches as you lick your lips, almost as if collecting whatever remnants of him were left on yours.

(he'd be lying if he said he didn't think it was hot.)

and he looks at you confused when you get up and crawl into the back seat of your car, gesturing him to come join you. basically knocking over himself as he rushes to get back there.

was jisung about to fuck his dream girl in his dream car? if you told him this a few weeks ago, he'd laugh in your face.

"by the way stupid.. i was trying to fuck you not chan.." you laugh

his face is so fucking red and his cock is so unbearably hard, he almost felt humiliated.

"why didn't you say something then?"

"cause you'd never even give me a chance to.. besides i thought you said you can tell when girls want to fuck someone? was i not being obvious enough for you?" you tease him, using his own logic against him.

he physically face palms, he'd have to make a reminder to never be so fucking stupid again. he'd have to learn to not open his big mouth sometimes.

"fuck. whatever okay? we get it, i was stupid."

"i'm not letting you live it down, ever." you smiled crawling over to him to give him another kiss

he pulls you close, grips your hips tightly. he was so needy but that doesn't come as a surprise to you.

"shit.. i wish i could've fucked you stupid in my civic.. make you regret ever calling her names.." he groans

"shh.. be quiet.. you talk too much.." you teased.

he quickly pressed you down into your seats, hovering over you as he pulled off his shirt. you leaned up to touch the tattoos littered over his skin. he should work shirtless in the garage you think. why doesn't he? maybe it would distract you but that would be alright with you.

and he doesn't waste a second pulling off your top, hastily unclipping your bra to let your tits spill out for him, slapping them before taking one in his mouth and moaning.

your legs wrapped around his torso, tugging him closer, desperately to feel him against your crotch

"fuck jisung.. take it out.. i wanna see it.." you whine

he pulls back to unbuckle his jeans shimmying them off while in the process hitting his head against the roof a couple of times. you laugh at him and reach forward to help him tug them down, boxers soon following suit, letting his cock spring free.

"now i wanna see yours." he gives you a stupid little side smile and you pull your skirt up to reveal your panties. black thong that would soon be thrown out of sight. you hook your fingers on them and tug them down, throwing them at jisung once they were off your legs. he caught them and give them a nice sniff to which you slapped his arm and laughed, calling him a pervert.

he quickly manhandled you into position. he wanted to take you from behind, wanted to lap you nice and clean before he even dared sinking his cockhead inside of you.

working your pussy with his tongue, his hands spreading your asscheeks open for him to be able to embed himself within you. he could stay like this forever. he could live off eating your cunt for the rest of his life.

you were soaking.

some of it dripping on to your leather seats which made jisung fucking lose it

"your car's gonna need some detailing on the interior once we're done.." his hot breath fanning against your pussy as he lands a spank on your ass

"i think my pussy needs detailing first.." you giggle and jisung lets out a grunt. you couldn't joke with him like that, he could fucking die!

he spits on his cock and and uses it to work himself, pumping his length and letting his tip collect some of your essence so he could rub it in with his palm.

he presses an inch in, hearing your breath hitch as you scramble to hold on to the door, anticipating him to completely ruin you.

he curses as he feels your tight pussy swallow whatever he gives you, starting with an inch, then two, then three.

holding still to not overwhelm his cock and blow right then and there, he still had to work the rest in and he was already feeling his balls tighten at the sensation of your warmth.

once he collects himself, he bottoms out. taking a deep breath as he holds your hips and starts to set a steady pace.

the way your pussy was gripping on him was making him dizzy. hearing you moan his name and reaching a hand back for him made his ego and cock swell. he grabbed your hand and held it behind your back as he pressed you further up against the door.

you didn't seem to care about how uncomfortable it was at the moment, all you cared about was that han jisung was using your cunt and it felt so fucking good.

your face pressed against the window as you mumbled incoherently, he picked up the pace as a sheen of sweat started to form on his body.

"fuck.. this pussy is so greedy.. holy shit.." he groans loudly

he could barely pull out, cunt too tight and hungry for him to even let go.

"this pussy is mine now got it? m' making it mine.."

"yours now jisung..fuck yes.. gonna cum in it right?"

"you can fucking bet on that, baby.. gonna fuck you full and have you keep it in until the next car meet. then i'll just fill you up all over again, got it?"

you moaned in agreement, you wanted nothing more than to be stuffed full of jisung's cum. maybe you'd go home and play with yourself, pressing your fingers inside of you in hopes of collecting some to rub against your clit. or maybe you'd bring it up to your lips to taste him, to imagine it's actually his cock in your mouth and not your fingers.

"shit jisung.. i-i'm gonna cum.. keep going baby please.."

the pet name has him reeling, it makes him animalistic, pounding into you so hard that the car starts shaking. if anyone were to pass by, they'd know exactly what was going on inside your car.

he reaches a hand down to rub at your clit, pinching it a few times to hear you yelp.

"come on baby.. cream on my cock.. milk me yeah?" his chest pressed against your back while he whispered pure filth in your ear.

he could feel your pussy clamping down on him as you reached your orgasm, body shaking as it ripped through you, cumming with his name on your lips.

it was finally too much for him so he lets himself go, letting his cum seep into your walls as he finished inside of you, making sure not a drop is spilled.

"fuck jisung.. that was a lot.." you whined, afraid that if you moved too much you'd make a huge mess for sure.

"sorry.. just had to get my point across. i was serious about this pussy- well.. you.. being mine.." he laughs shyly

"we can discuss that topic later and see if it fits into the terms and conditions of our truce." you giggled.

he smiled and helped you up carefully to give you a soft kiss.

at least he was right about his honda civic being a babe magnet, right?

his car sacrificed herself for this moment and han jisung couldn't be too mad about it.

please refrain from reposting, modifying, translating, copying or stealing my work. - © binsito

[l0v3tast3]

here to help — spike spiegel

spike can't help but say yes when you ask him to help you with something so nicely.

✎ tags: mdni!, smut, female reader, cat girl!reader, dub-con if you squint, smoking, spike's eye wasn't the only thing experimented on (wink), pet names, spike is kind of a perv but in a hot way, very brief mentions of blood, dacryphilia, bit of a size kink, he's nice in a mean way, unsafe sex, fluff at the end

✎ word count: 3.8k (proofread this time wowie!)

✎ author's note: i know i haven't posted anything in a month oops sorry ヾ(´ ▽ ` ) ... anyways i'm back and still working on call of duty stuff for those who follow me for that! but i'm also gonna start writing for jujutsu kaisen and cowboy bebop now yippee!

masterlist

spike really, really hated sharing a wall with you right now.

being the latest addition to the bebop, the room next to spike's had been the only empty one left, and you were just so sweet. he had just grumbled a "fine" and went on with his day, thinking that you were agreeable enough to live next to.

you were quiet, certainly more-so than faye; he had reasoned with himself that that was why he said yes. not that your pointed cat ears atop your head and fluffy tail that flicked side to side and curled when you were happy was the cutest thing he'd ever seen.

you had sheepishly explained them when it was just you and him in the living room. he had asked what the deal was with "all that", and you had twiddled your thumbs in your lap and told him about the medical tests gone very wrong. he had started scolding faye and jet whenever they made jokes after that, and kept ed away from poking at you.

now, though, you were anything but quiet.

spike could hear every moan and gasped breath you uttered through the thin wall, his bed of course pressed up against it. he could hear the sounds of you desperately fingering yourself, wet noises between your voiced frustrations. you must have been soaked.

he wasn't stupid; he had figured it out pretty quick. after the first night, when faye had knocked on your door to drag you out and you said you were sick, he knew you were lying. after the second night he realized you were in heat.

this was now the third night in a row, and he was exhausted. it was hard to get any sleep with you practically crying out in his ear, making him painfully hard throughout the whole night. at least he knew now why you would disappear for a week every month you'd been here. this time, though, the bebop just had to be out of fuel, unable to get to the nearest planet with a hotel.

spike was fed up.

he was just going to go over to your door and tell you to be quiet. right? well, he didn't want to embarrass you. but you had to know he could hear you. you had to know he could hear everything, even the whines of his name that you were poorly attempting to keep quiet.

your door stood in front of him and spike was unsure of what to do, more than he had been in a long while. should he knock? just yell and hope you hear?

he was about to just turn away when the door slid open; he hadn't even realized you'd gone quiet. he just stared in shock, mouth hanging open as he processed the fact that the only thing you were wearing was one of his shirts.

"spike," you sighed, as if just seeing him gave you some kind of relief. your eyes were glazed and wet like you were on the verge of crying.

it took him several moments to recover. "you're... being loud," he finally managed to say.

"'m sorry," you muttered, looking down. "can't help it, it just hurts."

"you need some help?"

spike was just as surprised as you seemed to be by the words that had just come out, but your breathy voice, wet thighs, and having been already thinking about this for awhile won him over.

"are- are you serious?"

"wouldn't say it if i didn't mean it." he was walking forward into your doorframe, tall enough that he almost had to slouch. it made him very aware of just how small you were compared to him. "do you want my help?"

you nodded, backing up as he slid the door shut behind him and moved closer to you. when you were at the edge of your bed and couldn't back up anymore, he came close enough to cup your face with his hands and bend down until your lips were a hair's breadth apart.

"you gotta say it, sweetheart."

your hands were on his bare chest, nails almost digging in. "yes, please, need your help, spike-"

he pushed his lips into yours and you let out the sweetest moan he'd ever heard. his hands were running through your hair, down your back and to your waist and under your (his) shirt, swallowing your noises the entire time.

breaking your kiss to pull off your shirt, he marveled at the sight of you. he was laying you down on your bed and biting and licking down your body before he knew it, until he kneeled between your legs, pushing them up to get a better view.

your hands were already in his unruly hair to try and tug him to where you needed him to be, but he didn't budge. instead he brought his hand down from under your knee, each grazing touch closer to your core making you twitch.

"shit, you're so sensitive, baby," he muttered. his fingers had barely touched your clit and you were already crying out.

"please, spike, please just do something," you whimpered when his hand went back to your thigh.

"what do you want me to do, hm?"

"something, anything, please spike!" he almost felt bad when tears started welling up in your eyes again. almost.

"anything?" he echoed with a giddy smile.

he slid two fingers inside you easily. you were practically dripping wet, a damp spot already forming underneath you. he cursed again as he felt how tight you were, watching your back arch almost immediately.

"ha-a, ah! spike!"

your voice was music to his ears, a song he wanted to play on loop forever. he'd been imagining it, your whimpers and pleas, for months now. it was about time the universe paid him back.

it took less than a minute for you to cum, your body going stiff and your voice choking. spike almost came himself when he felt your pussy contracting around his fingers.

he gave you barely any time to recover before he was licking up your juices, sucking on your clit and pushing his tongue into you. you just about screamed, but you didn't push him away, only pulled him closer, one hand leaving his hair to claw at any skin you could reach.

you were already reduced to a babbling mess and he couldn't stop muttering about just how sweet and addicting you were.

"fuuuck, sweetheart," he dragged out, finally detaching himself from your clit after you'd came twice more. "can't get enough of you."

spike stood up and you whined, sitting up and trying to get his sweatpants off before he even had a chance to himself.

he choked out a moan when you started licking and sucking at his cock as soon as his pants were down, looking like you were entering the same trance he had just been in. it took every ounce of willpower he had to drag you off of him and lift you back onto the bed.

"you can do that later, angel. i'm here to help you, right?"

you seemed to forget about going down on him pretty quickly, opting instead for trying to drag the man closer as he crawled over you. he gave in to you rather easily, meeting his lips with yours again.

admittedly, he had been giving into you a lot lately. he would give you the last snack left and let you lean against him on the couch when you were tired. he would let you come with him when he split off from the group when you touched down in a new place.

and of course, everyone noticed. they saw how soft he was with you, how his stature relaxed and he slouched just a bit closer to your level when you walked into the room. and of course, they teased him relentlessly about it.

jet had even asked him once if spike thought you went into heats.

"well, she disappears for a week every month. what if that's when- ya know-"

"faye disappears all the time. so do i. besides, it's none of our business."

spike would never admit that he got off to the thought of it. and now, here he was, basically living his dreams. he couldn't wipe the grin off his face.

you whined when he started rubbing his dick over your pussy, his head bumping your clit with each grind. he found your attempts to line your hips up so he would finally fuck into you adorable; there wasn't much you could do though when he had his arms hooked under your knees and hands grabbing at your waist.

"aww, sweetheart, what's wrong?" he patronized, breaking away from kissing you. you were still grabbing at him wherever you could. "what is it? you want me to fuck you?"

"mhm, need you to, please spike- ah!"

he wasted no time pushing into you as soon as he heard your sweet voice, cursing as he slowly pressed in further and further, barely dragging his hips back before he would slide in more.

"oh, fuck, baby- so fuckin' tight, can barely fit my dick inside you- shit!"

you cried out when he finally bottomed out; it was like he was reshaping you to fit him inside. it had been so long since you had been with someone, since someone had helped you with your heat, but even then it had never felt as good as it did now.

he was about to ask if you were alright when you started begging him to move, to fuck you, to please help you. his final shred of resolve snapped before he grabbed one of your wrists as leverage to start hammering into you.

your back arched again and spike took that as an opportunity to lean down and suck on one of your nipples. he wasn't surprised when you came again already, your cunt tightening until he felt like he could barely move. your eyes rolled back and your nails dug as deep as they could into spike's back, probably drawing blood. he didn't care, though, because you looked so pretty cumming on his cock.

spike kept making you cum as much as he could until he couldn't fight off his own orgasm anymore (he was honestly impressed with himself that he'd managed to even last this long).

"where do you want me, baby? huh? where d'you want my cum?" he breathed, watching your body squirm and twitch from overstimulation.

you couldn't even answer him, feeling like he fucked your brain right out of your head. all you could think of was the pleasure overtaking your entire being, of wanting to stay like this for as long as possible.

when you didn't say anything, spike leaned down over you and left your leg on his shoulder to lightly grab your jaw.

"c'mon, angel, you gotta answer me," he panted. "you want me to cum inside you, right?"

that seemed to bring you out your haze a little bit and you nodded, ears teary and face painted a cute shade of pink. "mhm- ah- cum in- side, ah! please!" you managed.

he came with a harsh groan, bullying his dick as far into you as he could as he filled you up. you came with him one more time, your body clinging onto his, trying to keep him from pulling out.

you both stayed like that for some time, kissing slow and stealing the other's body heat. you whimpered when he pulled away and started to untangle your limbs from his, but he shushed you with another smile.

"don't worry, sweetheart. we're far from being done."

spike found out just how sensitive your extra appendages are pretty quickly, and he absolutely took advantage of it.

scratching and petting your soft ears made you melt against him, like putty in his hands. he found you're much more pliant when he does it, less whiny and more grateful.

of course, spike wasn't a complete dick, so he would take you into his room to feed both of his addictions at once. like when he was fucking you but stopped every time you were about to cum, torturing you just to see what you'd do. he had your hands tied to his headboard, keeping one hand on your stomach to pin you down and using the other to smoke a cigarette while he lazily fucked you.

"nngh, nonono- please! spike, you're bein' mean-"

he bends down over you to put out his cigarette on the bedside table, making him press deeper into you; you nearly came just from that, choking on your words.

"i'm being mean? sweetheart, i'm helping you." he cupped your face and debated internally for a second before he reached up to pet and rub your little cat ears soothingly.

your tensed limbs went slack, no longer tugging on your binds or trying to pull him closer with your legs. your wide eyes became lidded and you started nuzzling your head further into his hand.

"you asked for my help, remember? this is how i help you, baby," he cooed, and when you gave a little nod and a whimpered "mhm" he smiled. "you just gotta be a good girl and take it. can you do that?"

you nodded again. "mhm, i'll be good," you mumbled.

"good," spike said, reaching for another cigarette and leaning back up to light it. he put a hand back on your stomach and when he wasn't holding his cigarette he was petting your ears as he went back to slowly dragging his hips back and forth.

he also found out that tugging on your tail made you cum nearly instantly, and he used that until you were crying.

you were on your hands and knees on the floor with spike fucking you from behind, having to hold your hips to keep them up; he was holding your hair in a messy ponytail to make you watch it all in the floor-length mirror that was in front of you.

the curl of your tail against your back was just so cute, and having seen the effect of touching your ears, he had no hesitation in grabbing your tail lightly. your body shuddered and twitched and your back arched when you let out a loud whine.

"shit," he groaned through clenched teeth, feeling your pussy tightening around him. "you really like that, don't you angel?"

"fu-uck, mm-mm, i don'-"

he grabbed the base of your tail and tugged, and you were clawing at the blankets underneath you as you came.

"ha, why are you lying to me, baby?" spike breathed, tossing his head back as he fucked you through your orgasm. "thought you were finally being good."

he flipped you over with a pillow under your back and tried it again while he ate you out, and he was delighted to feel your cunt pulsing around his tongue. he tried it when he was just rubbing your clit, when he only had two fingers inside of you, when he was just sucking on your tits. you came every time, and each time made you try to claw your way away from him a little more. he never let you run; even if he did, he knew you would just come right back.

"one more time, baby, just one more for me," he kept saying, until you were reaching back to grab his wrist, his arm, his chest, anything to get him to let up.

"please, ple- ah, spike!" you hiccupped. which one of you was the one in heat again? "break, i need- nnh- need a break!"

he slowed down his thrusts and took his hand away from your tail, your sob turning into one of relief.

"alright, baby, we can take a break, you just gotta give me one more," he said, leaning down over you to kiss the back of your neck. you tried to shake your head, tried to say you couldn't give him anymore; it was then that you realized you definitely wouldn't be able to keep up with him if you continued this after your heat was over.

"i know you can, doin' so good for me," he just mumbled as he fucked you slower, until he finally let himself cum, of course making sure to give your tail one last squeeze. he couldn't help himself when it forced the cutest moans out of you.

he filled you with his cum over and over again, the both of you passing out for a couple of hours just to wake up and fuck all over again.

he would wake up to you sucking his dick, you would wake up to him spooning you and giving you hickies in the spaces between the ones he'd already left while he fingered you open again.

the only other time you stopped fucking is when he forced you to take a break and shower. you clung to him like a koala bear the entire way to the bathroom, fucked again in the shower, and clung to him all the way back.

during the duration of your heat, spike found himself being a lot more caring than he had been to someone in a very long time. he made sure you drank plenty of water, took you to the bathroom, made sure you ate still, dealt with your whining every second he wasn't physically touching you. in truth, he liked how much it made him feel needed.

he only ran into jet once while he quickly raided the fridge and filled up water bottles. jet came in just as he was hugging the supplies to his shirtless chest.

"spike! where the hell have you been?"

"uh... well, turns out she does go into heat," he said with a shrug and a slightly smug grin, walking past jet.

"oh, shit... wait, how do you know-" his jaw dropped when he saw spike's chest, back and arms, scratched to hell and marked with bites from your little fangs. he told faye, edward, and ein that you two were both very sick and needed to be "quarantined", counting himself lucky their bedrooms were all on the opposite side of the ship from yours.

you both stayed in your routine of fucking, sleeping, eating, and being forced to bathe for four days before your system starts calming down (spike had found himself considering the experiments done on himself more good than bad; he was so grateful he could keep up with you).

it's when you wake up with a pained groan as he's stretching out his overused muscles that he knows you're finally sobering up. as much as he loved the sex marathon, he was starting to get sore all over.

he plops back down next to you and you roll over to lay on top of him, but for the first time in days you don't start nipping at his chest and grinding against him. you just let out a little whine and go back to sleep. he can't help the little smile that spreads across his lips, and he reaches up to gently pet your ears and hair until he falls back asleep too.

you're shook awake a few hours later, blearily cracking open your eyes to see spike setting down a tray of "beef" and vegetables next to you on the bed. he gently moves your legs to sit beside you and eat his own.

"morning, sweetheart," he says when you raise your head and mumble something along the same lines back, slowly shifting onto your back and sitting up with another groan.

spike frowns a little in worry, wondering now if he had been too rough on you. it doesn't match up to your face of horror, though, when you look up and see his shirtless body.

"oh god, spike, 'm so sorry! you didn't have to- oh god," you ramble in panic, reaching out to him then retracting your hands and hiding your face in them, curling up into a ball.

spike laughs a little bit before he reaches over and gently takes your wrists in his hands to show your face to him again. "it's alright! hey, really, it's alright. i love the kind of woman who stakes her claim," he reassured with a cheesy smile.

your face goes red and you look down, embarrassed. "you didn't have to help me. i'm sorry- 'm sorry i made you do... all that."

"i seem to recall making you do a lot of things, too. very happily, too."

"well, yeah, but-"

"trust me, i enjoyed every minute of it, princess. well, except maybe having to force you into the shower. and having to spoon-feed you."

"you did not have to spoon-feed me!" you mutter indignantly, brows furrowing adorably and your tail flicking behind you.

"yes, i did," he sys, pointing his fork at you as he went back to his tray, "when you just needed to keep my dick inside you but didn't want to stop fucking yourself on it long enough to eat. had to hold you down." he acts like he's complaining, but he has a shit-eating grin on his face the entire time.

you choke on your own spit a little before huffing; before you can turn to your own food he adds on, "eat, don't make me force feed you again." you half-pout and half-glare at him, but you shovel the food into your mouth nonetheless.

once you're beyond full, you collapse back onto the bed, fully intending to go back to sleep and let your hormones rebalance on their own. you were always sore and exhausted for a day or two after your heat, but you usually slept through it anyways.

"hey." apparently, spike has other plans. "come on, we gotta take a bath." he's hauling you back into a sitting position and pulling his t-shirt over your head, which of course swallows you whole, despite all your whines and protests. "quit complaining, all you gotta do is sit in the water."

regardless of his front of acting like he was doing you a favor, he lets you cling to him again all the way to the bathroom. he washes your hair and cleans you off, makes sure the water isn't too hot for you. generally, you hate baths, but this seemed like something you could live with.

when he's toweled you dry and put you in one of his clean shirts, you sit on the counter while he finishes pulling up his sweats.

he picks you up again and as he starts walking you both back to your room, he asks, "so when did you take my shirt, anyway?"

spike feels you tense up and your cheeks get warm where they're pressed into the crook of his neck.

"i didn't take it," you squeak, "it got- it got mixed up in the laundry..."

"riiight. sure, sweetheart."

[a-sleepy-raven]

Hi! And welcome. :3 I have a request for you - can I ask for a fic where reader takes care of Leon when he's sick? Fluffy pls. :3 Thank you!

Hey there! Thank you so much for your request, I love writing stuff like this, though I have to say I'm a bit nervous about sharing my first RE fic. Hope you enjoy! <3

(established relationship, post RE4)

Baby, it'll be alright - Leon Kennedy x gn!reader (fluff)

When you come home, you’re surprised to find Leon curled up on the couch, fast asleep and buried beneath one, no, two blankets. There’s a half empty cup on the coffee table in front of him – chamomile, if you’re not mistaken. And as far as you know, Leon hates chamomile with a burning passion. He can’t even stand the smell of it. That, paired with the fact that he fell asleep in broad daylight, can only mean one thing: His health hasn’t gotten any better since you left the house this morning.

Well. At least, you’re prepared, you think to yourself as you set down the bags in your arms, careful not to make any noise because you don’t want to disturb Leon’s slumber. He has barely gotten any sleep last night, and you’re sure he must be absolutely exhausted.

As quietly as humanly possible, you start to unpack the groceries. Aside from a few essentials like coffee and toast, you have also stocked up on lemons, tissues, cough drops and lemons. (You also bought a tub of ice cream, but that one’s for you – your reward for taking care of your sick boyfriend who can be as stubborn as a mule, especially when it comes to his health. Wouldn’t be the first time that he insisted he was fine when, in fact, he was still feeling like garbage.)

A quiet groan that sounds like it’s coming from beneath that pile of blankets on the couch snaps you out of your thoughts, and you turn around, your gaze meeting Leon’s. He looks terrible. The dark circles under his tired, red rimmed eyes are a sharp contrast to the pale, sallow tone of his skin, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse and raspy. “You’re back.”

“Yeah.” You make your way over to him, crouching down in front of the couch before you place your hand on his forehead. Beneath your palm, his skin feels burning hot and freezing cold at the same time. He’s definitely running a fever. “Damn, Leon.”

“What kind of greeting is that, honey?”

“Shut up. You sound like you’ve been chain-smoking for at least ten years.” 

He suppresses a cough. “You really know how to make someone feel better.”

“Sorry.” You brush your hand through his hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Horrible.”

“My poor baby,” you say and lean in to press a kiss to his cheek. “Do you want some tea? Or a glass of water? I also bought lemons – people say hot lemonade works wonders when you have a cold. I could make you some.”

“As long as it’s not chamomile, I really don’t care.”

“Hot lemonade it is, then.” You get up. “And in the meantime, you should gather your stuff,” you motion to the blankets and the pillows that definitely come from your bedroom, “and go back to bed. I don’t understand why you haven’t stayed there in the first place.”

“Yeah, well-“ Leon interrupts himself when he falls into yet another fit of coughing, forcing him to sit up. “God damnit,” he mumbles, then. His head hurts like hell, like it’s going to explode any second, and with every cough and every sneeze, it just seems to get worse. 

You rub his back. “Go to bed,” you order him, softly. “I’ll bring you some meds. And painkillers. You look like you need them.”

He sniffles. “Yeah. Thanks.”

* * * *

“Ta-da,” you say as you carefully set down the tray that’s loaded with two cups (one filled with hot lemonade you hope you haven’t messed up, the other with water), a bowl of ice cream (you don’t have the heart to not share it with Leon when he’s feeling so bad) and the meds you bought on your way back home from work. 

Leon sits up, relief written all over his face when you hand him the painkillers. A moment later, before you can even reach out for the glass of water, he has already swallowed one of the tiny pills. Then, he lets himself fall back into the pillows. “Thanks.”

“You survived Raccoon City and getting infected with some ancient parasite. Who would’ve guessed that a simple cold is all it takes to knock the famous Leon Kennedy flat out?” you tease as you sit down on the edge of the bed and reach out to caress his face. He catches your hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to each knuckle before he sinks back into the pillows because the world around him has started spinning. And he’s pretty sure it is not supposed to do that. Not like this, at least.

This goddamn cold. He can’t even say what annoys him more – the constant coughing, the terrible headache or the fact that all he wants to do is sleep. And although he knows that you don’t mind taking care of him, he can’t help but feel like a burden right now. You probably have a million other things to do, and yet, here you are, keeping him company and trying your best to nurse him back to health. If only he could find the right words to tell you how much he appreciates your efforts.

“Try to get some rest,” you say, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Sleep is the best medicine, after all.”

Leon hums in response. Sleep truly sounds like a wonderful idea.

“Do you want me to leave?”

He shakes his head. “Come here,” he mumbles, “please. Unless,” a coughing fit interrupts him before he can finish his sentence, and he takes a deep breath before continuing, “unless you’re afraid to pick up a cold, too.”

You let out an indignant huff. “You’ll need more than a few germs to scare me away, Leon. You should know that by now,” you say as you lie down next to him and make yourself comfortable. With a content sigh, Leon snuggles up to you and drapes his arm over your stomach. You kiss the top of his head. “Want me to cuddle you to sleep?”

“Hm… yeah.” 

A smile flashes over your face. That’s exactly the answer you have expected, and so you wrap your arms around him, carefully burying one of your hands in his hair while the other one traces invisible patterns on his back. “Sweet dreams, Leon.”

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it please consider liking, reblogging and/or leaving some feedback. I'd really appreciate the support. 🥰

[vodika-vibes]

Hi, love~ I am back with request #7 (last one)

This time, I'm choosing Fox, with an opal, and at midday. He needs some love. Some *good* love. Real good love. The kind of love that makes him realize he's worth loving. Give this man the bestest love for me 🫶🏻

Please and thank you 💚💚💚

@the-bad-batch-baroness

Not A Question Of Worth

Summary: You remind Fox that your love for him isn’t conditional.

Pairing: Commander Fox x Reader

Word Count: 744

Prompt: Opal - Faithful Love

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I'm not sure if I hit the prompt for this one. I had an idea and I wanted to write that, but maybe I also did? I dunno, I'm getting sick and it's making everything hard. Also. If you wanted to send me a prompt for my baby boy Dogma I would love you forever and a day. 🥺

You know when Fox has had a bad day.

Partly because Thire and Thorn and Stone, sometimes all of them, will shoot you a message giving you heads up. But also because you know Fox. And you know his moods.

So when you get a message just before you leave work for the day, a warning from Stone that Fox had a really bad day, you’re already planning on what you can do to make his evening better.

On your way home, you stop by his favorite restaurant and grab the food you ordered in advance, you pop into the florist and grab a bouquet of his favorite small purple flowers, and you dip into a bakery to buy a premade cake.

If you’d had more time, everything would have been individually ordered, but such is life you suppose.

You hurry home, and you’re not surprised when you step into the home you share with Fox and you hear the shower running. If the day was as bad as Stone implied, your Fox will want to wash the day off his skin before he sees you.

Your perfect man seems to think that if he touches you after a bad day, he’ll do nothing but hurt you. Which is silly, but if it helps him feel better than you’re not going to question it.

In any event, the fact that he’s distracted, means that you’re able to get the room ready. The flowers are put in a vase and set on the table. The curry is removed from the containers and placed on the fancy china that your mom gave you when you moved out of her house. The cake is put on a fancy platter and cut into slices. Two scented candles are lit and set a safe distance away from the flowers.

And then you dart into the bedroom and peel off your work clothes for something more comfortable. 

And you managed to do so in less than five minutes.

You’re doing one last check of the kitchen, making sure that everything looks perfect, when the shower stops. You turn to the bedroom door and, only moments later, Fox steps out of the bedroom clad in his sleep pants and nothing else.

It takes everything in you to not swoon for him. He really is so handsome that you just want to cry.

“Cyare,” Fox’s voice is rough, “Welcome home.”

He looks exhausted, you note. You’re glad you prepared everything before he got out of the shower. Now he just has to enjoy it.

You walk over to him and slide your arms around his waist, “Stone sent me a message and said you had a rough day.” You stand on your toes and kiss him, “Did the shower help?”

“A little.” He leans his forehead against yours, “I meant to have dinner ready for you-”

You beam at him, “You’re so sweet!” You lightly pull back and take his hands with yours, “Luckily, I took care of it.” Gently, you tug him into the kitchen, and he pauses in the doorway.

You watch him scan the room. From the flowers and candles, to the food and the cake, and then he focuses his gaze on you, “What’s all of this, cyare?”

“Well, Stone said you had a rough day, so I thought I’d try to make it a little better. Do you like it?”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he turns to look at you, “I’m not worth all of this. I didn’t do anything for-”

You reach up and press your fingers against his lips, gently interrupting him. “My love is not conditional, Fox. You don’t have to do anything to earn my love. You have it anyway.”

He stares at you, and you can’t help but hope that maybe, this time, he’ll believe you when you say that. Though you’ll repeat it as often as you need to. 

Fox sighs and presses a kiss against the pads of your fingers. “I’m not worthy of you. You should be with someone brighter…like Cody.”

“It’s not a question of worth, Fox.” You kiss him gently and then kiss him again and again, “I love you. I choose you. It’s as simple as that.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he ducks his head and kisses you deeply, “I love you” He says against your lips, “Thank you for loving me enough to try and make my day better.”

[starsomens]

hii 🙋🏼 Can you, please, write about Noah taking care of the sick reader with flu, cold?.. He calls her (by regular call, by video call) during work and realizes she's not well, and although she insists that she is fine (because she doesn't want to disturb his schedule, his day), he comes home by surprise to take care of her 😣♥️ i cry just imagining him appearing at the door 😩😭

Note: I’ll use a Fem! Reader here

“Noah, Y/N is calling you back!” jolly said holding up his phone while they were sampling for their next up coming album. You were currently back home and he was over with the rest of the band. He felt bad about leaving this morning since he has a hunch that you were doing too well. He called you before but you didn't answer and he figured you were sleeping.

"Y/N, sunshine, how are you?" he asks straight away

"Hey, just calling to see how things are going so far *sniff* " he could hear the rasp of your voice and how stuffed your nose was "Sorry I missed your call, I fell asleep again after you left."

"Well, we're fine but Y/N are you sick? You really don't sound good." poor Noah was worried he left you alone while you weren't 100%

"Maybe I have a stuffed nose but it's really not that bad, really you're busy with work right now I'll be just fine!" you try and play it off while being followed by a cough.

"babes you're not fine, I'm coming home"

"Noah no! You guys are working right now! Just come once you guys are done okay? I can hold out until." you try and convince him. You knew working on music and making an album took a lot of work and focus and you didn't want to take away from that

Noah being the boyfriend that he is gave in "..Can you hold on until 6?" he asks knowing that'll be about the time they may finish

"You know I can, I promise moonlight" ugh and you used his nickname. You really knew the way to his heart

"Call me. For whatever okay? Please sunshine"

"I will, say hi to the boys for me. Love you"

"Love you too, I'll be home soon okay?" and with that he hung up

>>>>>>>>>>>

It was about 3 in the afternoon when you had finally gotten out of bed. You were pretty sure it was the flu. You head was pounding, you were exhausted, and your eye burned. Your cough and stuffy nose didn't make it any better either. You were wrapped up in a blanket with one of Noah's hoodies on with some random TV show on. It was more of background noise than anything, then there was a knock at the door. Getting up you go and look through the peep hole to see none other than your boyfriend.

You open the door in shock "Noah? You're supposed to be working on the album what are you doing home??"

"I wasn't gonna stay away from my girl when she's sick. What kind of boyfriend would I be?" he said coming in and kissing your head. He sets down a couple of bags on the kitchen counter. He brought some of your favorite cookies, soup from your favorite cafe, medicine and even some heat packs.

"Noah, you didn't have to..." you felt bad to have taken time from his work, but you also felt touched that he went out and got you all these things to feel better.

“Y/N.” Okay now he was serious “ you’re sick, I love you so I want and need to care for you. Now go get comfy on the couch while I get your soup ready” he pointed to your previous spot

“Okay okay, thank you baby” you pout. He leans down for a kiss but you stop him with your hand “okay that is where I draw the line mister. You are the lead vocalist in the band and I will not let you kiss me and catch my sick”

“Fine, Fine. But you’ll owe me kisses when your better”

He served your soup in your favorite bowl. Put some of your favorite cookies on a small plate and brought you two bottles of water. For one you had to stay hydrated, and to at least have a treat with your medicine. He found a movie he knew you loved and waited for you to finish your soup to cuddle you. Every now and then he would feel your forehead to see how your temperature was.

I have a few minutes to sell her check up on you. See if you need anything or if you were comfortable. Eventually you did fall asleep on him so he covered you in an extra blanket. No no it has a habit to take a picture of you whenever you fell sleep on him. And you being sick was not an excuse to miss out on this moment.

You just looked so peaceful he had to capture the moment. On top of that you were cuddling on top of him? Even better. And even if you were to get him sick he wouldn’t mind. Although he did start to feel that you were sweating a bit. You must’ve started to sweat the fever which means the medicine was working great. That also meant it was sent to wake you up get you in the shower and to change clothes and give you some more medicine if needed.

As for you, since no one has gotten there with all of these things to take care of you you didn’t even feel sick anymore. Just by him bringing these few things and taking care of you you already felt a million times better. And you will admit you did hear him while you were sleeping and how he had promised you to always take care of you when you got sick. And you will definitely tease him about it later on.

「✨Taglist✨」 @lilhobgobbler @cncohshit @vir-tual



[silentglassbreak]

Fragmented

Noah Sebastian x OFC

Just having a lovely good time with this. We are getting there, I swear it. 😘 (I promise there’s method to my madness.) Also HEAVILY recommend listening to the chapter song title - especially toward the end of this chapter. Levitate by Sleep Token.

Warnings: No smut today. But I fucking cried writing this chapter, and I hope you do too (I'm so sadistic). Sadness. Graphic descriptions of vomiting and overall being sick. Fluffy, heartache chapter. OH and graphic depictions of violence and blood (in a dream setting, don't stress).

+It goes without saying. This is a work of fiction. My words are mine. Plagiarism is a crime.

Taglist: @flowery-mess @lma1986 @myownthoughts12 @poisongirl616 @missduffsblog @reidsblessing @malerieee @jilliemiw86 @thisbicc @knivesforapro @diabolicdiatonics

Part 7 - Levitate

At what point do you start drawing lines in the sand? I asked myself that question over and over the past several weeks since the party. Who was fucking with who anymore? I'm certain neither of us really knew the answer.

Mileena was still seeing Justin, our mishap in the bathroom on the 4th being unspoken of again. It never happened. I kept trying to remind myself of that, each time I saw her, the only times our paths crossing being during pick-ups and drop-offs of Addison.

I had fully expected her to become scarce, but to my surprise, she was letting business go on as usual. Even being around more often. Part of me wanted to hope that meant she was slowly inching her way back to me, some undying need inside of her not being capable of keeping a distance. That thought was shut down, however, when Nick mentioned that he was asked to go on a double date with her, Laura, and the Ken doll (my favorite nickname for him).

That came about two weeks after the party, and I just shrugged it off, assuming that meant Mileena had truly forgotten about the bathroom, or was forcing herself to.

Still, she showed up, sometimes spending half an hour or more at the house when dropping off Addie, making small talk with me, once in a while even flirting. It was casual, comfortable, and for some reason, it didn't bother me to know that she was likely fucking that other guy. Something in my gut just told me to be patient. Good things come to those who wait.

So that is exactly what I did. I gave her room to exist, letting myself exist somewhere near her being good enough for me most days. In all honesty, the lack of pushing made some space for a very good friendship that we never gave the chance to grow before. Sure, the attraction was clear, but she started telling me things; things that I didn't get to hear before.

'Nick and Laura are gag-worthy. It's honestly kind of annoying.'

'I'm going to go back to work soon. I got a job offer, but the last two years off have been so heavenly.'

'I miss Washington. We need to take Addie up there to visit Dad.'

She kept throwing that word around. We. I never wanted to bring it up. Never wanted to spook her. Rather, I stood there and listened to her most times, smiling softly at her, loving the way the light filled her eyes when she was excited, or she came in close for a hug whenever she was sad. I took every second. I accepted it graciously, happy to exist.

Today, however, was not a good day. Today, I felt like a bin of hot, rancid, putrid garbage. We were stood in the green room of a venue in Buena Park, getting ready for a pop-up show, when I felt an overwhelming sense of nausea hit me. All day, I had felt off, but had brushed it off as the heat, stress from the show, and exhaustion hitting me all at once. I had slept most of the day, working to get myself out of the funk, trying like hell to prepare for the show, but I couldn't shake it.

Now, feeling my insides threatening to make their way out, my eyes darted around the room frantically, eyes falling on a nearby trash can. I bolted for it, collapsing onto my knees before emptying everything in my stomach into the bin, heaving painfully.

After successfully spitting out the last of the vomit, I sat back on my heels, trying to breathe deeply. My episode had caught Jolly's eye, and he ran over, face cringing at the sight.

"Dude, what the fuck?" I pointed at a stack of napkins on the table behind him, and he handed me a few. I wiped my mouth.

"I don't know, man. I was good, and then I just had to hurl." I was trying to determine if I was done puking, my stomach still rolling around.

"Eat something bad?" Nick had joined us now, hands in his pockets.

"Fuck, man, no idea. I guess." I shrugged, tossing the napkins in the can.

"Do we need to cancel? If so, we need to let Matt know now." Jolly's voice was concerned.

I shook my head. "Nah, I'm good. I just need a minute."

"You sure?" Nick raised a brow at me, and I stood up.

"Yeah. You guys got any gum?"

Four songs. I made it that far. I worked so hard, swallowing all of the saliva building in my mouth, keeping my face even. But as soon as we hit Glass Houses, and I had to start screaming, I had to run off stage, emptying my stomach once again into a trash can off of the side. I had thrown my mic hastily on the stage, making it clear that my abrupt exit wasn't planned.

Jolly, still vigorously playing the music, repeating the same riff, stepped off to the side and gave me a glance. I was kneeling, gagging dryly into the can. I saw him motion for everyone to stop. The music and lights cut sharp, and I leaned my head on the cool rim of the metal can, breathing heavily.

Folio stood over me. "Noah?" I looked up at him.

"I can't. I'm so fucking sorry."

He was shaking his head. "No, bro. You're fucking sick."

My body was covered in a slick, disgusting sweat, but I was still shivering profusely. "I'm freezing, dude."

Folio looked up. "Uh, hang on." He jogged off to the side of the stage, returning with my coat that I had discarded after the first track. "Here."

I stood up and pulled it on, not feeling much relief, my skin screaming as the fabric brushed over it. I took a moment to calm my body before walking back out to the stage, the crowd cheering as I did.

I picked up my discarded microphone and waved. "Well," I put a hand on my hip and huffed a laugh out. "I'm so sorry about that, guys."

The crowd cheered for me, but I was still fighting the feeling of another impending puking spell.

"So, I think I'm sick." I chuckled, and I saw the guys shaking their heads, smiling. Nick was already taking his bass off, and Jolly was walking over next to me. "I'm so sorry, but I don't think I'll be able to finish the show tonight, folks."

It was met with cries of sadness, and I frowned. "We're so sorry." Jolly's voice came through his own mic. "But we will schedule a make-up show. We've just got to keep this guy away from the gas station sushi."

Nick and Folio laughed with the crowd, but I just gagged, pressing it back down. Jolly slapped me hard on the back, which made me flinch.

"We're going to get this guy into bed, guys. But, before we go, we thank you all for being here!" Jolly hollered, and the crowd cheered.

"And can we give it up for Noah, guys?!" Nick hollered out, causing the venue to erupt. I just gave an embarrassed nod and began stalking off stage, feeling another wave oncoming.

-

Nick drove me home last night, walking me inside to make sure I got into bed properly. I only managed to get my pants, shoes, and shirt off before I folded into bed.

"Alright, bro, I've set a bowl on the nightstand, in case you don't make it, and I've got a water bottle next to you." But I was already half asleep when he left.

I was awoken to the doorbell going off, and I groaned, my back muscles screaming at me, and my stomach rolling inside me when I swung my legs off the bed. My head pounded hard at the sensation of sitting up. I felt truly horrific.

I stepped downstairs slowly, my body aching with each drop of my feet. I rubbed at my eyes against the sunlight, opening the front door.

Mileena stood in front of me, grocery bags in hand, and staring brightly at me, her faced etched with worry.

My eyes widened when I realized. "Oh, fuck! It's Sunday!"

She shook her head. "Oh no, I didn't bring Addie. I didn't want to risk giving her the plague."

I rolled my eyes as she walked past me into the house, closing the door behind her. "Then why are you here? Don't you not want to get it?"

She waved me off, heading for the kitchen. "I'll be fine."

She was back after a second, and I hadn't moved from where I stood by the door, focusing on staying upright as the room started to spin. Her eyes examined my face, a look of sympathy on hers.

"Oh Noah," She rubbed a hand on my shoulder. "you look like shit."

I smirked, my eyes nearly closed. "Thank you for noticing, I feel like it too."

I yawned, stopping it short when I felt as though I may gag again.

"How'd you know I was sick?"

"Nick called Laura last night. Told us about the show. I almost came over then, but Nick said you knocked out pretty quick."

I opened my eyes, then, giving her an inquisitive look. "So, you're here because...?"

She huffed, putting her hands on her hips. "To make sure you don't die?"

Leena was trying so hard to be convincing, but I still smiled playfully at her. "Oh sure. You're just here cause you couldn't stand the thought of not seeing me."

She rolled her eyes at me, smacking a hand gently on my chest, which made me whine, rubbing the spot. My skin was so sensitive.

I saw her face flinch, realizing I was tender. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry." Her fingers rubbed the spot she hit, but I wiggled away, the contact uncomfortable.

She then pressed her palm to my chest, scrunching her brows. "Jesus, Noah." Mileena grabbed my face and pulled me down, pressing her lips to my forehead - something she always did when checking for a temperature. "Fuck Noah! You're burning up!"

Scurrying into the kitchen, then back to me in a flash, she had the thermometer in her hand, brushing it across my forehead. Everything was happening in slow motion for me, the room still threatening to turn on it's side at any given moment.

"Fuck! 104.9 degrees!" I just nodded dryly, not fazed. "Noah, you may need to go to a doctor."

I groaned, walking over to the couch and sitting slowly. "I just want to sleep."

She followed me, pulling my legs up to stretch on the couch. Her hands grabbed the blanket I kept on the back of it, stretching it out over me. "Fine, but I'm staying with you a while. I don't like that fever."

I scoffed. "I'm not too fond of it, myself."

She grabbed the remote and turned the television on. "What do you want to watch?"

I moaned, absolutely suffering. "Don't care. Whatever you want."

She took up space on the other end of the sectional, tucking her feet underneath her and scanning to Hulu.

"Just nothing about food." I felt my face begin to turn green, and she noticed. She ran to the bathroom, grabbing the trash and placing it near my head on the floor. "Thanks, babe."

I watched her still, glancing at me, wanting to correct me. It was a reflex that I hadn't meant to say, but in my current state, I couldn't find the willpower to care.

She must've known, because she just turned up her lips, and softened her eyes. "Of course."

I let my eyes fall closed, my head calming while I heard the opening to Grey's Anatomy play.

I woke up to a lurch in my stomach, my eyes flying open, and my hand instinctively grabbing the trash, retching hard into it. Not much had come out, mostly bile, as I hadn't held down anything for about thirty-six hours. I opened my eyes, bleary with involuntary tears, and saw the end of the couch empty, but the TV still playing.

"Oh, Noah!" Her feet tapped the floor softly as she ran into the living room.

She circled the coffee table, and sat next to me on the couch, her hand rubbing small circles on my back. Setting the can down, I leaned back on the couch, fighting to get air in my lungs.

"What the fuck?" I grit through my teeth. Her hand was now on top of mine, her thumb massaging into the tattoos on my skin.

"I know. Must be a bad bug."

I leaned down, grabbing the edges of the bag in the can, preparing to get rid of it. Her hands came in, shooing mine away.

"I'll get this. Go brush your teeth."

I stood, running a hand through my sweat-soaked hair, and realized I was still in just my boxers. It hadn't even occurred to me, too sick to realize how gross I must look.

"Sorry you have to see me like this."

She snorted, tying the bag up. "Noah, you watched me give birth. I think we're okay."

I smiled at her tiredly. "You don't have to stay. What about Addie?"

She walked to the front door, slipping on my slides so she could walk outside to the can. "Uncle Jolly and Uncle Folio took her out for the day. Laura told me to stay as long as you need."

I was sick, exhausted, and half-dead, but I couldn't help what came tumbling out of me.

"And what if I never let you leave?"

Her hand hovered over the door knob, her neck twisting so she could look at me, a sad expression on her face. "Go brush your teeth. Your breath is rank."

I smiled. It wasn't a 'no' or a 'shut up', so it was progress.

"I think I'm going to shower, actually."

She just nodded before disappearing outside to dispose of the garbage.

I climbed the stairs carefully, lightheaded. I walked straight into the bathroom, turning the water to scalding, and stripped off my underwear. I glanced in the mirror, cringing at the sight. My eyes held dark, grey circles around them, my hair was visibly greasy, and my lips were pale and chapped.

Real sexy, Sebastian.

While I waited for the water to get hot enough to melt my skin, I brushed my teeth, working hard not to gag again. Once I spit the last of the toothpaste out, I stepped into the hot water and took a moment to adjust. I had a feeling my fever had broken, as my skin didn't hurt quite so badly.

I took time to scrub my body, letting my body calm as I felt the previous day rinse off of me. I quickly washed my hair, not even bothering with conditioning or anything extra. Then, I just stood there, letting the warm water wash over my back, my forehead leaning against the cool tile, zoning out while I breathed deeply.

"Hey." I heard her voice, which I didn't react to. "You alive in there?"

I flipped the handle, turning the water off. My hand grabbed the towel on the hook, pulling it in and wrapping it around my waist before opening the curtain. She stood in the doorway, and I heard her inhale a sharp gasp when her eyes caught me standing, my hair dripping down my face. I flipped it back and eyed her.

"I feel like death."

Her eyes were blown wide, and her lips parted slightly, not responding. Normally, I'd be taking full advantage of the moment. However, I was sure my stomach couldn't handle any sudden movents.

"I, uh," She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. "I brought some Zofran. We need to get you to hold something down."

I stepped out of the shower, sighing. "If you think it'll help."

She held a hand out, a small white pill in the palm. I walked over, picking up the tablet and holding it on front of me.

"How do I know you're not drugging me?"

She pursed her lips, smirking. "You don't."

I shrugged nonchalantly, and dry swallowed it.

Standing inches from her, smiling mischievously. "How's my breath?"

Leena grinned earnestly, then. "Better." She lifted a hand to the back of my neck, pulling my forehead down to her lips again. She hummed in approval. "That's better too. Now c'mon," She tugged at my wrist, pulling me out of the bathroom. "let's get you dressed and into bed."

I took note of the sweats, underwear, and t-shirt laid out on the bed. I also noticed the blanket being fresh.

"I changed the sheets for you. They were still damp from you sweating all night. I set up the trash can next to the bed, water on the nightstand. You need to drink it." She was using her Mom voice now, which had me staring at her, amused. "When you're ready to try eating, I've got Saltines, cheese, and a few different soups."

Eyes boring into her, I couldn't help but grin. "I appreciate you, Mileena."

The look on her face told me she was not troubled by any of her efforts. "You know I don't mind." She scanned the room, and began turning around. "I'll let you get dressed."

"Are you leaving?"

She stared at me, her eyes sparkling. "Do you want me to?"

A tinge of red crept up my neck, suddenly shy. "I mean, no?" Breathing out a chuckle, I picked up the underwear, letting the towel drop. Her eyes only flashed down to me for a split second, her throat swallowing hard. "But I get if you need to get back to Addison."

She squeezed her eyes shut. "No," She had her lips held tight together. "I checked in with Laura. Addie's fine. She said I can stay however long."

I nodded. "I've got pants on now." My words were lighthearted, finding humor in the fact that she was trying to preserve my modesty, as if she hadn't seen it all before.

"I figured I'd start disinfecting the living room while you napped."

I sat down hard on the bed, slipping the shirt over my head and wincing, the sensitivity coming back.

"Or, you could watch TV with me."

She stared at me, as if I was insane. "Is that such a good idea?"

I leaned back, pulling myself under the comforter and sinking down into the mattress.

"I mean, if you don't want to catch this crap, I don't blame you."

Sitting next to me on the edge of the bed, she laid a hand on my stomach softly. "I told you I'm not worried about that."

I laughed. "Well, you don't have to worry about me trying to come onto you. I get nauseas just breathing. I couldn't imagine what having sex would do."

She let out a hard cackle, smiling with all of her teeth. It was a nice sight to see, even on the brink of death.

"Well," I could tell she was weighing her options. "I guess it's fine. Mind if I borrow some pants? Jeans aren't exactly comfortable."

I just gestured to the dresser. She knew where to find everything. She slipped a pair of joggers out of the drawer, stepping into the closet to change. After, she came over to the bed, her side, and sat on top of the blankets, pushing her pillow up against the headboard, and flipped the TV on.

"Still no requests?" I just shook my head. She started Supernatural, picking up where her and I had left off on the last season, sitting back and watching the screen intently.

After a few minutes, I rolled onto my side, facing her, in a desperate attempt to ease the hard ache in my diaphragm. My body felt sore from dry heaving and the virus that crept through my veins. Eventually, I grew frustrated with the uneasiness each position had me in, growling.

"Come on." She motioned for me to scoot closer, pulling her legs under the covers and half-laying on the pillow. I moved myself to lay my head on her stomach, arm draped over her middle. Her fingers began running through my hair, nails scraping gently over my scalp the way she knew would have me snoozing quickly.

I buried my nose into her shirt, breathing easily. "Hey Leena?"

"Hmm?" She was into the show, but I still couldn't help myself.

"How would Justin feel about us just cuddling?" I smiled, reminiscing of the first time we cuddled on her couch, two years ago.

She snorted, clearly remembering exactly what I was referring to.

"He'll live. You may not. Priorities."

"So I take priority, huh?" My voice was slightly muffled against her, but I was warm all over thinking about it.

"You're the father of my child, Noah. And my best friend. Of course you do."

My hand squeezed her side in a sad attempt for a hug. She gripped my hair a touch tighter at the root, earning her an appreciative moan from me. So fucking relaxing.

"You should get some sleep."

"Are you and him still...a thing?"

I felt her chest heave. "Is that really a good conversation for right now?"

I raised an eyebrow she couldn't see. "We're best friends, right? Just pretend I'm Laura or something."

She laughed at that. "No can do, babe. Laura's prettier than you."

I waved a finger in the air in front of us. "Nuh-uh."

Her body shook with laughter.

"Ah Noah, insufferable as always."

I could only hum at her, my arm falling back to her side.

"You can tell me, Leena. I won't get mad."

Her voice was careful. "Kind of."

"What does that mean?"

"It means exactly that, Noah. Kind of." She sighed. "I like him, but..." She trailed off.

"But what? He’s not as dreamy as you had originally expected?" I smirked at my words, which came out in my voice.

But her words were somber.

"He's not you."

My face fell, processing what she had said.

"Oh."

"Yeah." Her fingers pet my hair softly now, smoothing it down. "Get some sleep, babe. I'll be here."

Even with the firecrackers exploding inside of my chest, the overwhelming exhaustion was taking over, blurring my vision. Sleep overtook me quickly, my eyes closing while her hands soothed me into oblivion.

-

"I don't love you, Noah. I don't think I ever did."

"She's never going to be with you again."

I pulled at the metal shackles around my wrists and ankles, screaming at the top of my lungs behind the leather bound around my mouth. My skin burned from all over, unable to breathe in enough air to fight any harder.

"This is how you die, Noah. Alone. No happiness. No dignity. No family. You're pathetic." Leena was stood inches from my face, Justin just behind her, staring wickedly.

"She's mine now, bitch."

The veins in my neck strained as I tried to bite down on the bind in my mouth, my flesh bleeding as I pulled against the steel holding them to the table I laid on.

Justin picked up an instrument off of the tray, a long, razor-like blade that looked medieval.

"You deserve this, Noah. For being such a fucking failure." The laugh that pressed out of her was maniacal, bouncing off the hard walls of the dark room. "Addison will never have to see how fucking sad and horrid her father was."

Justin stepped over to me, using one hand to rip the tank top I wore. I pulled harder as he lowered the blade over my stomach.

He smiled at me. "I hope you didn't pay much for these tats, dude, cause they're about to come off."

My eyes bulged, my chest heaving as I shook my head hysterically.

The blade sunk deep into my skin, a sharp, piercing burning flashing over me as I watched the blood pouring out of me.

My screams were wet and desperate, tears flowing down the sides of my face into my hair. I stared at Mileena, begging her to stop this, but she just smiled at me, her yes dark.

"Oh Noah! You're doing great!" Her words were all venom, and I couldn't breathe now, a weight pressing on my chest. I looked up to see Justin pressing his palm down as he dug the blade in deeper, piercing my organs.

Blood pooled in my throat, and I tried spitting it, only for it to fall back down into my mouth, making me choke.

"Noah!" Mileena clapped, smiling wildly. "C'mon Noah!"

"Noah! Noah, wake up!" I felt my body shaking. "Babe! Wake up, honey!"

I startled, my eyes snapping open, and sat up abruptly. My eyes scanned for the trash can, grabbing it and lifting it into my lap, violently throwing up into the bag. I could feel the tears coming out of eyes, and I lifted my head, my body still shaking with sobs.

"Baby," Her hand was on the back of my neck, her voice calm in my ear. "it's okay. Let it out."

Heaving again, I ejected any stomach contents I had before taking a few deep, hard breaths.

"Done?" After a few seconds, I nodded. "Okay, let me take this."

She grabbed the can and stood off the bed, walking back into the bathroom. Returning with toilet paper in her hand, she tore some and handed it to me to wipe my face.

She crawled into my lap, pulling my face into her chest, as I cried hard.

Usually, I try to be masculine about it, crying quietly, privately. However, I was still so shaken by the nightmare, that I let myself wrap my arms around her, wetting her shirt with my hot tears.

She shushed me, rubbing calming circles on my back until I was able to breathe evenly again.

"Bad dream, huh?" I only nodded in response, unable to speak. "Yeah, fever dreams are the worst."

After several long moments, I shifted so she could scoot off of me, standing and heading into the bathroom, running my toothbrush over my tongue and teeth again, washing the taste of stomach acid out of my mouth.

I came back to the bed, pulling her back into me.

"I'm sorry."

We were laid together, tangled on top of the blankets, and she giggled.

"Don't apologize for having a bad dream. You can't control that."

"It was so bad."

She reached a hand up under my shirt, splaying her fingers out on my chest. "Sounded like it. You started screaming."

"Ugh, I'm sorry."

Rather than lecturing me again for apologizing, she just hummed.

"I've got you, babe."

I noticed Supernatural was still on. "How long was I out?"

"About two hours. I think I dozed off a little, too." She traced my skin with a fingertip. "You think you want to try munching some crackers? You're dry heaving so bad because you don't have anything to throw up."

I sighed hard. "I guess."

Another hour, and I was sitting up on the bed, breaking the crackers into four and taking at least fifteen minutes to eat each one. My stomach didn't like it, but needed it. I had earned a love/hate relationship with a sleeve of Saltines, and that's just fitting for my whole fucking life, isn't it?

Mileena was eating a sandwich she had ordered from her favorite spot, pulling pickle slices off of it and popping them in her mouth. We both watched the screen intently, making odd and end comments about the movie we watched.

"This isn't nearly as good as the first one." She spoke around her bite of food.

I shook my head. "Nah. The first Nun was actually a little creepy." I pointed at the TV. "This one is kind of boring, actually.

"Agreed." Leena popped another pickle in her mouth.

I smirked at her. "I still don't get that. Why not just eat them on the sandwich?"

She stuck her tongue out, a perfect round pickle slice sat in the center, and crossed her eyes at me. I stuck my fingers out to pinch her tongue, but she sucked it back in quickly, giggling at me.

Although my stomach still hurt, and wasn't pleased that I had filled it with six crackers and a half of a water bottle, I felt a slight energy surge, so I didn't want to try falling back asleep yet. Not after my last nap. I shuddered at the thought.

Her eyes fell on me, noticing my shiver. "You want to talk about the dream?"

I shook my head, looking down at the cracker I was breaking. "It's fading anyway."

Mileena raised an eyebrow at me. "Mkay, well you let me know if you change your mind." She turned her attention back to the movie.

"What time do you have to go?"

She stood off the bed, balling up the paper from her sandwich, and tossing it in the trash can. "I called Laura after you woke up, and she told me I was fine to stay over if needed. Addie has been really good today, and tomorrow her and Nick are taking the baby to the aquarium."

Expressionless, I tried not to let the hope swell too much in my chest.

Still, I croaked out. "Slumber party?"

She laughed, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door. "Oh sure! We can paint nails and have a pillow fight!" She hollered from behind the door.

"I'm into it!" I yelled back.

"Yeah, well I'm all yours, then."

I smiled triumphantly. If I had known this was how to keep her around, I would've been licking doorknobs ages ago.

She returned, perching back on the bed. Her eyes glanced over to me comfortably, a smooth smile on her face.

"Leena?" She looked back at me over her shoulder. "Seriously, have you told him you're here?"

Her face fell, her gaze dropping to the remote in her hand. "I haven't."

I huffed, leaning back. "Maybe you shouldn't."

Her eyes looked up at me from under her lashes. "Can I be honest with you, Noah?"

My face twisted into a frown. "I expect nothing less."

She turned completely, facing me, and her legs crossed underneath her.

"I'm not good at this." She gestured between us.

I raised a brow. "What do you mean?" I looked over to the nightstand and down at my crackers. "Being a doctor? Could've fooled me."

She rolled her eyes, smiling. "No, dork." She looked back down out her hands. "Being broken up."

My head leaned back against the headboard. "Ah."

"I just," She pressed her lips together. "I miss you. And that makes it so hard, because I know you miss me too. You tell me all the time."

I nodded, crossing my arms over my chest. "I do."

"I want to be with you all the time. I think about it all day, every day."

I wouldn't dare interrupt, despite the increasing surge I had to kiss her, touch her, hold her. Anything.

"I damn near talk myself into coming home every day, Noah." Her eyes were getting wetter, and I just wanted to press my lips to her forehead. "But then I remember. Being alone."

My heart twitched.

"I don't know. Justin is...good." Ouch. Didn't need to know that. "He has a good job. He likes me, so much." She rolled her eyes. "He's good-looking, funny. He likes everyone. He respects the hell out of you." Shocking, truly. The feeling wasn't at all mutual.

"But," Her hands fell flat on the bed, a deep breath filling her. "I don't feel what I do when I'm with you."

My face was curious. "And that is?"

"Alive." She stood up then, beginning to pace back and forth in front of the bed. My eyes followed her every move.

"Noah, I spent a long fucking time just...breathing." She stopped, eyes boring into me. "But then I met you, and I felt like something inside me woke up. Like I had been on autopilot, but then, suddenly, I was driving again. At a hundred miles an hour."

I smirked.

"Even now, after all this time, I feel so drawn to you. Like a magnet, or gravity? Maybe that's the same thing, I have no fucking clue."

"It's not. Continue."

She narrowed her eyes at me, but continued pacing. "Either way. I can't find that feeling with him."

She sat on the bed then, right next to me.

"It's like that feeling of being on a roller coaster, when your blood is on fire, and your heart is racing? But then you get off of it? And everything goes back to normal? Do you know what I mean?"

"I do."

"The second I left your hotel room that night, it was like I stepped off the coaster. And for a while, I loved that. It was relieving, not knowing when it was going to drop. It was nice to know that I finally had control." A tear rolled down her cheek. "But then...I hated it. I felt like I was at a standstill."

I lifted my hand, wiping the tear from her cheek, using the other to rest on her shoulder.

"But every time I saw you," Her voice cracked, wet. "it was like I was awake again; alive."

She shook, a cry breaking through her. I pulled her, then, bringing her in close to me. I held one arm around her body, locking her in close to my chest. My other holding the back of her neck, squeezing gently to comfort her as she cried.

"I got you, Leena." I whispered in her ear. "I'm right here."

Her hands gripped my shirt tight, legs pulled up underneath her.

"Babe," I pulled her up so I could look into her eyes. "I know this is so hard. But it's truly whatever you want. Whenever."

I pulled her back down.

"I'm always here, just for you."

She laughed then, a sarcastic sound. "Noah, I can't ask you to sit around and wait for me to figure my shit out."

"You don't have to."

This made her cry harder, and I squeezed her tight.

"I love you Mileena. More than life itself."

Her voice was strained. "God, I love you so much, Noah." She cried between her words. "I miss you so much it hurts."

I felt my own tears brewing. "I know. I do too." I inhaled hard, trying to hold my own hurt back behind my hard exterior. "Every day. Every moment."

"Can we just pretend for today? Can we just act like nothing ever happened? And be us? Please, I'm so fucking tired. I just need one fucking day." Her hands were pulling at me, desperate to get closer.

I wrapped both arms around her in a tight grip.

"Of course we can, baby." I spoke into her hair. "Anything you want, my love."

[lastoneout]

Hey uh @ people with ME/CFS I got a question...

Everything I've read and heard about kinda seems to go hard on the idea that over-exerting yourself tends to lead to exhaustion that just never gets better at all no matter how long you rest after, and like I always assumed I didn't have it, because yeah overexerting myself tends to make me way more exhausted than is does other people and the exhaustion lasts like, a week or more sometimes, but it does eventually get better.

Like last weekend I went shopping for my birthday and also to an art gallery, and then I did a few small errands, and I conserved my energy as best I could, resting often, using mobility aids, ect, but I had to spend Mon-Fri in bed doing basically nothing aside from watching youtube, listening to music, and playing tetris because that was all I had the physical and mental energy to do. And granted that was dragged out a little because I had to go to the ER on Wednesday due to a migraine that got triggered by all this(bcs overexerting myself almost always triggers a migraine) and on Tuesday I sat in the car while we took my cat to the vet for a quick nail trim, but aside from that I just rested and even though I am feeling a bit better today I'm still just SO fucking tired and I know I'm going to have to take it easy for a few days more just to be sure I'm okay.

Which like, idk doesn't sound normal, that's for fucking sure, but I do know that with enough rest eventually I will return to my normal, which isn't everyone else's normal but is still normal enough that I can make myself easy meals and sit at my desk and talk to people and make phone calls and run errands without it killing me too badly.

But like idk my doctors seem convinced that I don't have any kind of autoimmune condition(although they haven't actually ran any tests they just keep insisting I'm not showing the signs of one and to keep up with physical therapy even when I tell them that just going clothes shopping for a few hours puts me on bedrest for the next 2-3 days) but idk again this does NOT seem normal. I legit feel SICK sometimes when I push myself too hard, like I think I'm coming down with a cold or something but it never actually turns into one, I just have that "eugh" sick feeling for a day or two and then it goes away once I've rested enough(also for clarification I never get any real cold/illness symptoms like a temperature and I mask literally everywhere and this ONLY happens after exertion so I don't think I'm actually getting sick). I also don't usually feel rested when I sleep but I always chalked that up to the insomnia more than anything?? But it does happen even when I have a good night's sleep with no tossing and turning or nightmares...

Anyway if anyone who does have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome could maybe explain to me what it's like for them I would appreciate it because idk what else could possibly be going on with me but I am so fucking tired of my doctors acting like there is nothing wrong. It might not be ME/CFS, and I have been diagnosed with fibromyalgia so maybe this is all just that? So I also wouldn't mind if someone who has fibro can tell me if this is all just fibro stuff. But idk I just want to know for sure, you know? (If it helps in addition to the fibro I also have arthritis, hEDS, orthostatic Intollerance, and occipital neuralgia.)

[life-is-more-than-just-a-game]

Can you write a lovely fluff story between Arisu and female reader who loves get kissed, to get cuddled, to get touched from him (and maybe more) at night?🥰 Maybe something romantic with some kinda sexual parts

♠️ Late night closeness ♠️

A/N: Yo, I'm back and haven't forgot your request yet! As I said in one of my posts, I felt a little sick this one day so I used the next days to recover a little. Plus, I was at work thursday and friday until 6pm, so I was tired and exhausted to be honest. 😬

Nevertheless, here comes your desired story and I hope that you will like it even more. Now that it's finally out. 🫶🏻

Characters: Arisu

POV: fem!reader ; fluff ; slightly sexual content at the end!

Warnings: Includes slightly sexual content, but nothing excessive.

Late at night. To be more precise, it's the perfect time to go to sleep. Just like I always do. Apart from the fact that the surroundings are quiet and empty from dawn to dusk anyway, there is complete darkness all around us. One thing I can't stand since I've been in Borderland. The reason? The red laser beams that shine down from the sky to kill other people whose visas have run out. I know a few idiots who stay up late and look for a higher spot to watch the spectacle. Just to make sure how many will leave this world behind forever - and for sure - today.

Fortunately for me, I also know people who have similar thoughts to mine. People who don't want to see this happen. People who have enough common sense, empathy and decency to look the other way. Call it strength or call it gutlessness.

I want to sleep. Every day, even before the selection takes place. However, my thoughts, which are spinning endlessly in circles, are preventing me from doing so today. My eyes are closed. My back is turned to the window so that I am not even tempted to open my eyes. But as destiny wants it, this shall not be to my disadvantage.

It's a typical time for me to sleep. You lose track of time and space in here, but if I had to guess, it would probably be 10 pm by now. Maybe half past ten at night. So I'm not surprised that the mattress behind me lowers a little, that the blanket is lifted slightly and then gets straightened again. So that I too can enjoy a comfortable and peaceful night's sleep. Just as I deserve- at least according to Arisu.

Arisu and I ... we met here during a game and haven't gone our separate ways ever since. At least not directly. We rarely go to games together for fear that we'll end up in one where we have to kill each other. I know Arisu's story. I know what he's been through. And I don't want him to have to go through it again.

We always promise each other that we'll come back. That we'll meet again at the agreed meeting point and go back to sleep side by side in the evening. The only difference today is that I'm still awake and can therefore feel the dark-haired man snuggling up to me even better.

How he puts his arm around me and presses me closer to him so that my back is pressed tightly against his upper body. As if he's afraid someone might just take me away from him for the night. Or as if he was worried that I would just leave him alone in the middle of the night.

He does that often. Always, actually. Every night when I'm drifting off to sleep. And I like it. Arisu is a shy boy who has a lot of decency as well as respect. He would never do anything against my will or touch someone 'indecently' if he didn't know whether he was allowed to. And even if he was allowed to, he would find it difficult because he wouldn't know how to handle it.

I think he knows that I like this kind of closeness. I'm not sure, but if he pulls me into his arms while I'm sleeping, I think I'll have some reactions that approve of his actions. Be it a smile that creeps onto my lips. It's possible I'll turn towards him to nuzzle my face into the skin of his neck so I can be even closer to him. And then I remember that I once started to giggle a little when Arisu pressed kisses to my cheek, neck and shoulder. I remember, because ... he is doing it again.

"I love it when you try to show me your affection secretly, quietly and silently." As soon as he speaks, I notice how his head shoots up a little and his grip on me loosens. "Surprise, love." I take the chance to turn onto my back in the loose grasp of his arms so that I can see Arisu's face much better- it may be dark, but I don't miss the somewhat indignant look on his silhouette, which makes me laugh a little.

"I thought you were asleep!" he says confusedly, his eyes almost as big as the moon in the sky itself. "How much did you notice...?"

"Everything." Silence. "But I don't think that was enough." I smile up to him, stretching my face a little towards his so that I can give him a little peck on the lips, before staring at him for a second.

"Awkward."

"Awkward?", I asked, bursting into laughter. "What the fuck are calling awkward, Ryohei?! No, that's not!"

"I-It's just ... I thought you sleep, Y/N!" Now he starts giggling himself, so that both of us are just a laughing mess. "You can't pretend just to set a trap for me, that's not how it works!"

"Oh? But it worked very well, don't you think?" It takes a moment for us both to settle down again- until we're both quiet and just smiling to ourselves.

Shortly afterwards, Arisu tightens his grip again and presses me against him once more. He has turned sideways towards me and finally leans his head relaxed against mine. I do the same and start to stroke his arm up and down with one of my hands, while we just lie here together in silence, staring into emptiness. In the soft bed of the tower block that we have made our home for the night.

"I ... actually tried to fall asleep but failed this time." Arisu looks down on me while I look up to him. "It wasn't my plan to trap you, darling. But I have to say, I really do love it, when you cuddle me that much while I'm sleeping, Arisu. And you know, I would be happy when you keep doing this- it makes me feel protected and ... I feel safe in this creepy world when having you by my side." I assume that these words will overwhelm Arisu for a moment, as it's quite a lot at once and … well, very unexpected. "So … I'd be happy if you did that more often. Not just when I'm asleep, but also when I'm awake. I really enjoy your attention and your closeness, so … I think it would be nice if we could build on this ... intimacy." I know it might not be a good attitude.

This is not the world in which you would want to fall in love. We are not in the time warp where you are looking forward to the love of your life, where you want to fall for a person completely and carefree. Here in Borderland, it's a matter of life and death. That's why it might be wrong to tie yourself to one person- morally speaking. But if your heart is yearning and your head is in harmony with it, then it no longer feels as wrong as it really is.

"You know, this ... might getting dangerous, love?", he whispers, making me giving him back a quite "Of course" which makes him sigh a bit. "This … is not something one want to assume, but … you know, it can happen every day that one of us doesn't come back to the other." You can tell from his voice that he feels fear and pain at the thought, which makes me swallow hard- but again I only get out a whispered "I know ...", which should make him realize how seriously I meant what I said to him. "And yet you want me to consciously give you this intimacy?"

"Yes," I said, serious. "Because I love you, Ryohei." This is where I end my caresses on his arm.

Instead, I just look up at him, able to catch his eyes thanks to the light given off by the moon. I notice how his arms wrap around me even tighter in response and I catch myself clawing into the skin of his arm a little, but lightly enough to make sure there's no residue and that I don't accidentally hurt him. He nuzzles his face into my cheek and we close our eyes to enjoy the togetherness for a moment. To forget everything else for just a few seconds.

"I don't think that's something we can decide immediately, Arisu ..."

"There's no need to decide something, I guess." I open my eyes again, looking at him, giving a little "Huh?" right back, before I can catch a smile on his lips. "I ... I cannot deny that I ... like you and that I would very much like to continue to be close to you." I giggle.

"Come here." Without giving it a second thought, I swing myself on top of him and wrap my arms loosely around his neck.

His hands rest on my back from that point on and I make it quick: I pull him into a loving, passionate kiss. I know he needs a moment to realize what's going on, so … I give him the time. And only when he moves his lips against mine do I match his movements and deepen the kiss a little more, burying one of my hands in his mane so that I can push him a little closer to me.

A little later I wander with my lips to his neck, which he frees up for me a little bit by tilting his head to the side. Small kisses are spread over his thin skin before I reach his ear and whisper a soft "Touch me, Arisu ..." into it, making him blush, pretty sure.

"You want me to-"

"I see what you're up to, my love." I'm smiling. "Don't think about it … and just do it." Again I start to work his neck, which makes him hum happily before I add anything else. "When I was sleeping, you weren't afraid to go under my shirt, too." Now I'm laughing.

Because of his shocked "What?!". Because of his big eyes. Because he's a little freaked out all of a sudden.

"How much did you really notice when I thought you were sleeping all this time?!"

"I've been sleeping," I say, "but sometimes I've woken up and just let it pass over me with pleasure~."

[fuyine]

Oneshot: Mad by Ne-yo

warnings!!! fluff (maybe a bit of angst???), the character is aged 18+, and there are grammatical errors ahead. Please read with a grain of salt.

Pairings: timeskip!sakusa kiyoomi x gn!reader

Dating Sakusa means having to deal with his mysophobia while he also tries to get used to being touchy around you. It was a petty argument when it came to him.

"What are you doing?" he asked. He had just arrived home from overtime at practice with the MSBY and had to deal with Bokuto's emo mood throughout the training. He just wanted to eat dinner and sleep with you in his arms.

But things escalated when he saw you facing the door to the entrance of the bathroom, crouching down in front of the cabinet under the sink as you were shuffling some items.

You stopped what you were doing and turned around. He looked at you, noticing that you were wearing a mask and a yellow cleaning latex glove, waiting for you to speak up.

"Omi, you're home," you acknowledged before standing up, lowering your mask with the finger pads of your glove which made him scrunch his nose. "I was arranging your—"

"Arranging?" he cut you off, brows furrowed a little. "Did I ask for it?" Exhaustion and hunger were taking a toll on him, and he couldn't take it that you were touching his stuff when he didn't even ask you to do it.

A little taken aback, your parted lips formed a thin line before you shook your head. Awkwardly shifting your weight on your feet, you looked down at the floor.

You heard him sigh and looked up again to see him running his fingers through his hair before stepping closer to you and crouching down at the cupboards. He scanned the detergent pods, spray bottles, and other cleaning materials before his brows furrowed even deeper.

"I already arranged them according to which product I use most often to least. Detergent pods are different from powders, even if they have the same scent, you can't put them together."

Your lips formed an 'O' shape before looking at him rearrange the items in the cabinet.

"Damn, you even messed up which spray bottle is for floors and tables," he muttered, which didn't escape your ears.

Just how are they different? They're both spray bottles.

Suddenly, he turned around, which took you by surprise. He was glaring at you, and as if he had read your mind, he spoke, "Even if they are both spray bottles, you still have to separate them."

He stood up after closing the cabinet and placed his hands in his pockets as he looked down at you with the same expression. "There are different types of chemicals mixed in their solutions," he said firmly, making you shrink back at his tone.

"What do you think would happen if I used the one with a strong chemical solution in cleaning our dining table, and you, being the airhead you are, put your hands on the countertop and wherever else, and directed it to your skin, hmm? Heck—if even our future child could inherit your clumsiness and touch their face with their hands that touched who knows where I sprayed that kind of solution and get sick, huh?"

You weren't able to comprehend the second sentence as the thought of the possibility of getting to that point already made you swallow a lump in your throat and hang your head low, fidgeting with your fingers while still wearing the yellow latex glove.

Sakusa stood there with his brows raised for a moment, not knowing that you were thinking he was mad at you. But in reality, he was just scolding and lecturing you about the consequences of messing up the arrangement of his cleaning supplies. Although he knew you meant no harm, he just didn't know how to rephrase it.

Waiting for your reply, Sakusa grew anxious. Was he blabbering too much? Was he saying too much? Was he rude? He just wanted to let you know. Yet, he could've said it another way and not rub it in your face.

After a while, you spoke, still not meeting his eye. "I'm sorry, I didn't know…" Noticing the shift in your tone, Sakusa anxiously shifted on his feet and was about to say that it wasn't your fault for being ignorant, but the way your body turned around shook him a little.

"I'll try not to touch—arrange them for you," you said, your voice above a whisper, making his throat run dry. "Dinner's at the table, I've already eaten."

As you headed out of the bathroom, he felt the colors drain. Debating whether to walk after you or head to eat, before he knew it, he was already standing at the doorframe of your shared bedroom, unmasked, staring at your back as you lay sideways on the bed.

It shattered him; it was never his intention to indirectly tell you about being so ignorant of all things—his cleaning supplies.

As you lay there, words ran through your mind. Chemicals… they have different kinds? you thought, biting your lower lip as you stared at the dark sky through the windows.

Footsteps on the floorboard could be heard as they approached the bed. Feeling the bed sink at the additional weight, you heard him from behind.

"Love," he started. His voice contrasted with the one he used to scold and lecture you with.

But you were stubborn to hear another from him and cut him off before he could continue, "I've eaten."

"I'm not hungry anymore," surprisingly, he was, after knowing he made you feel a little less after lecturing you like that. Suddenly, you felt a hand slide from behind you to your waist and rest there.

You felt him scoot closer to you until you felt his breath on your nape.

"I'm not mad," he said, closing his eyes as the words that came out of his mouth were reassuring and genuine. "But I'm mad thinking you think I'm mad," he added, his wrap tightening around you, making you tense up but later on relax.

Suddenly, you found yourself unable to answer, and he took it as a sign to continue, "I'm not mad," he repeated. "I was just… a little conscious of the idea of having you touch those without knowing they have different properties."

"But I'm not saying being ignorant on your part is at fault either; you simply didn't know," he quickly added, not wanting you to think of something negative.

"I really… have a way with words, that most people misunderstand," he continued. "But love, please know, I'll never be mad at you for not knowing something that is beyond your field of expertise," he said softly, finally opening his eyes.

Feeling your heart flip a little at his confession, you turned around, completely facing him as you spoke quietly, "You're not…?"

Sakusa's expression softened, glad that you were now facing him. "I'm not," he said, reaching for your chin and lifting it up for you to look in his eyes. "And I don't want you to go to bed, mad at me, or thinking that I am, to you."

Your heart was beating abnormally fast. True, he has a way with words, but his confession had just made you forget about your little exchange in the bathroom.

As you were about to reply, a stomach growl interrupted you. Sakusa, whose face was now uncharacteristically red, buried his face in the crook of your neck.

You chuckled softly, wrapping your arms around his torso. "You should really eat," you said softly, only to hear a muffled groan from your neck followed by incoherent words that you couldn't make out. "Hmm?"

"Eat with me," he said, leaning back from your neck, his face no longer red. "No, at least, watch me eat," he rephrased, making your lips curl up in a smile, earning a nod from you.

"Alright."

requests are open!

[comfortjoonie]

sick joon drabble

thoughts of an extremely nauseous joonie..

he's exhausted and emotional from puking all day, and despite yoongi trying to feed him, he's basically refused all food after 3pm since he couldn't keep anything down. his stomach is roiling.

he's sitting on the bathroom floor, rocking back and forth a little and staying near the toilet.

hoseok and yoongi are both with him, hoseok rubbing his back and yoongi offering quiet words of comfort. seokjin is in the doorway, texting joon's mom to ask for advice since they're running out of ideas.

after a while, hoseok speaks. "you should go back to bed, joonbug."

namjoon inhales sharply, then shakes his head. everyone can see the tears of frustration in his swollen eyes, the way his lower lip juts out and shakes a bit.

"i know, baby. it's gonna be ok, though. you need to try and sleep," hoseok whispers, his voice breaking a little. he brushes a bit of hair off of namjoon's forehead, which just makes joon burst into heaving sobs.

"oh...my gosh, you poor thing," hoseok mumbles, pulling joon into a hug and rubbing his back. sliding his hand under joon's shirt and rubbing in gentle circles. namjoon continues to sob and starts hiccuping.

"jin-hyung, go get jungkook. we'll have him carry joon to bed," yoongi says, holding the glass of water with a straw to indicate to hoseok that namjoon should drink.

hoseok shakes his head. he wants joon to drink, but he knows he'll refuse and it'll just come right back up anyways.

namjoon keeps his head buried in hoseok's chest, his cries getting quieter. a few moments later, jungkook is leaning down next to him.

"come on, hyung. i'll carry you to bed."

guys i'm so sorry for my absence...life has been insane to say the least. i've been busy but i also got a really awful concussion that kind of took me out for a couple months and i'm just getting back to this...

but i love you all endlessly. seriously!! thanks for reading this far.

[shewhopats]

Overwatch characters watching your kid

I've been thinking about writing some silly short stories about OW characters getting stuck watching someone's kid, but I figured I would make this guide for my headcannon for the kind of babysitter each of them would be.

Brigitte and Reinhardt would make you the most nervous with their methods. Lots of rough-housing, throwing them around and into the air, giving your kid sugar, letting them climb things, and overall just encouraging mayhem and rule-breaking. "You mom/dad doesn't let you do this at home? Well, they're not here, are they?" Your kid will come home thoroughly exhausted, but bitter about you not being as fun as they are.

Orisa would make the same mistakes as Brigitte and Reinhardt, but more out of ignorance and inexperience. Like letting your kid stay up too late, because she doesn't understand why going to bed at a decent time is important, or feeding them something that makes them sick because that's what they said they wanted to eat. Unintentionally lets your kid walk all over her, but once you teach her how it's done, she'll be your go-to option when you need a break.

Zenyatta would be so intrigued by the natural imagination and curiosity of children. He'd provide lots of different toys, art supplies, and time for unrestricted and uninstructed play. A one-man enrichment program. Just don't try to tell him there are boy toys and girls toys. Your kid will be allowed to play with whatever they want. He would also unironically have a blast playing pretend with dolls or action figures. I'm talking a 25-part narrative with backstories, lore, worldbuilding, and an Endgame-style final conflict.

Genji, Kiriko, Tracer, and B.O.B would be the kings and queens of "don't tell your parents." Extra screen-time, taking them out for ice cream, staying up a little later then their normal bedtime, etc. What I would call "a healthy amount of rule-breaking." They have everyone else convinced they are Responsible™ but you can't help noticing that your kid is always excited to hangout with them.

Ana and Torbjorn could be depended on the same way you can trust grandma and grandpa. They've had kids, so they know all the tips, tricks, and games to keep your kid clean, fed, safe, and happy. Just don't tell them some dumb shit like "organic, non-gmo fruits only." Your kid will be eating bananas from the supermarket like everyone else. But for more sensible rules, even the ones they don't agree with, they will follow them.

Echo will make you fill out a 200-question survey and write an essay on how you want your kid cared for. She will follow every instruction down to the letter, and send you updates every 30 minutes. If your kid sneezes, she will call you to ask about it. The downside is your kid will probably hate her for being such a rules monger.

Baptiste, Illari, Lucio, and Sojourn would try so hard to be responsible and follow your instructions, but puppy-eyes work on them 80% of the time. Your home will look like a warzone when you get back, but they'll help you clean up.

Lifeweaver, Pharah, Mei, and Zarya would get a whiff of that specific smell babies have that makes your DNA scream at you to make one yourself. They would be the sweetest, most gentle caretakers on this list. They'll spend most of the time snuggling on the couch, watching T.V. and drinking hot coco. Would let your kid give them a makeover, paint their nails, and play with their hair. Would read to and rock them to sleep, tuck them in really snug. They'd probably look forward to seeing your kid again, and every time you happen upon one of them, they'll only ask what's going on with the kiddo.

Sombra, Symmetra, and Widowmaker would rather be water-boarded then spend five minutes with those sticky-fingered cunt goblins you call kids.

Ashe, Hanzo, and Winston would happily agree to babysit for you, thinking they will be serviceable at it. How hard could it be? Then an hour later they call you, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and beg you to come back, because your kid is crying or throwing a tantrum. They definitely have the potential to be great caretakers, but they would need someone to walk them through it at first.

Bastion and Sigma definitely WANT to give babysitting a try, but they understand why that's probably not a safe idea. They would question your intelligence if you asked them.

Cassidy and D.va would take your kid to McDonalds or somewhere else with else with a play-place, and let them go wild while they sit on a bench nearby. They will do the bare minimum amount of work to keep your kid alive, because they have better things to do. Would only babysit as a favor for you if no one else is available.

Mercy is married to her work, and Ramattra is dedicated to his mission. If you somehow convince them to watch your kid for even a single hour, they'll set-up a playpen with whatever toys they like, toss in a sippy cup and snack every now and then, and ignore their existence while they do their usual business.

Doomfist, Moira, Reaper, and Soldier: 76 would tape your kid to a chair the first time it annoys them. I know there's the fandom joke of S76 being the dad of the team, but he's always come off as grumpy and impatient to me.

Your kid would love the junkers (Junker Queen, Junkrat, Roadhog, Wrecking Ball) for all the wrong reasons. They would teach your kid how to make a grenade launcher out of plastic bottles and rubber bands, 37 new swear words, and how to punch people in the throat. Unless you want to get a call from the school about your kid blowing up the chemistry room, I would choose literally anyone else to babysit.

Mauga would use your kids to get dates. He'll take your daughter to a dance class and talk to any single parents about how much of a family man he is and how difficult being a single dad. He'll take your son to play catch in a park so he has an excuse to take his shirt off and flex his muscles. He'll coach your kid to walk up to someone and say, "my uncle thinks your pretty, so maybe you can play with us."