#i'm sitting here taking a denim break

[not-poignant]

Actually didn't mean for like 2 excerpts and a chapter to all go up on the same night BUT HERE WE ARE

Also I'm going through my wardrobe and I've kept like every pair of jeans I've owned in the last 20 years so I'm having to try on like 15 pairs of jeans (it's all I wear aside from Snag leggings) to see which ones I can keep and which ones I can turf and which ones I can repurpose into shorts

And y'all, why is trying on jeans so hard T.T

[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.” 

[samthestrangerthingsfan]

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: friends-to-lovers, mutual pining, lots of parallels, reader is a lil down on herself but don't worry, eddie is down bad for her.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of weed and smoking, smut!! 18+, minors DNI.

AN: do i write 90% of my fics based on what pops into my head when i hear a certain song? yeah. also this is only half edited bc life. enjoy bbs <3

“Okay, okay,” You laughed. “One more hit then I’m tapped out, Eds.”

Eddie grinned, speaking through a half-held breath. “Oh no, Sweetheart. New stuff hittin’ a little too hard?”

You inhaled deeply, passing back to him what was left of the joint. It went straight to your head, and you flopped back, laying comfortably on Eddie’s bed.

Eddie inhaled, following suit, making your body bounce as he hit the mattress.

“Shit,” he mumbled. “Feel like I’m fuckin’ flying.” He grips your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Don’t let me float away, okay?”

You smile at him, taking in how fucking beautiful he looks under the dim lights in his bedroom.

“Never. You’re stuck with me, Eds.”

He looks down at you, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. He took you in like he'd done 100 times before. Eyes trailing from your nose, to your eyes, landing at your mouth.

So fucking beautiful.

“Good," he breathes, pulling you in closer. "Just the way I like it.”

Eddie let go of you hand, only to wrap his arm around you and pull you into his chest. He placed a kiss to the crown of your head, "This okay?"

It's all I want. You think.

"Or do we have to get up and go watch that cheesy chick-flick I promised we'd watch.

You sighed, fiddling with the hem of your denim skirt. "I'd stay here all night if you let me."

That's all I want. He thinks.

Eddie leans back a bit, looking down at you. He's not sure if it's the weed making his so emotional, but he swears he could cry just looking into your eyes. "What am I gonna do if one of these dates you keep going on works out? What if someone takes you from me?"

He tries to sound relaxed, but the truth is, the thought keeps him up at night. There’s gonna be a guy that steals you away from him one of these days. Someone who can give you everything he can’t, someone brave enough to open their mouth and tell you just how much they love you.

and it'll crush him.

The laugh that escapes you is a cynical one, "Eddie, I've been on three dates with three different men, and I've gone home alone each time."

"So?" He asks.

"So," You scoff. "It means no one is interested in doing anything with me."

It’s true—to you at least. The guys you’d gone out with were either not looking to be tied down, or ran once they met you. The last guy thought you’d be easy because ‘the freak’s best friend has to be a freak herself right?’

The dates were a distraction for you. As your heart pined over the one guy you could have it all with, it was breaking too. Eddie hadn’t made a move on you—ever, and you weren’t brave enough too.

So the two of you sat in limbo, completely unaware that the other person was right there with you.

Eddie sits back, releasing you from his arms. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" You ask, sitting back as well.

"That. Act like you're the problem, and not these shitty fucking dudes you keep going out with.” Eddie tried to control his tone, but his temper got the better of him. He cursed at himself for it.

Jesus H. Christ, Munson, get it together.

You push back from him fully now, "Eddie, the common denominator is me. I-I'm fucking broken or something."

“Stop that.” He seethed.

It’s a command—a tone you've heard him use with Steve, or Dustin, but not you.

Never with you.

Eddie stood as you sat up, hanging your legs off the edge of the bed.

"What--"

He turned back and got to his knees right in front of you.

“Stop talking about yourself like that. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

He was close to you, and with him on his knees, his gaze was just at your eye level. “You’re not broken. There's nothing wrong with you, you’re—you’re fucking perfect.”

“Eddie…”

“No, no, just…just shush for a second.” Eddie moved his hand to your cheek, his thumb sweeping across it gently. “You think all this shit about yourself and it’s just not fucking true. I wish, for a second, you could see yourself how I see you. I fucking adore you.”

You feel the warmth of his breath on your nose. His large hand on your cheek warms you, and you lean into the touch, closing your eyes.

Everything is Eddie in this moment. He’s invading every sense you had.

It’s overwhelming.

You can feel your eyes brim with tears. “You don’t have to say that, Eds. I’m okay. I’m just…I’m lonely, that’s all.”

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat. He watched you, he saw the tears hidden beneath your lashes. How could you not see it? See how you were…everything to him?

His mind stopped for a moment, deciding whether or not to take the leap, to risk it all and not run for once.

Fuck it.

“I’m right here, Princess. I’ve been right here.” He leans his forehead on yours.

You exhale his name, “Eddie,”

“What,” he’s quick to ask. “What is it, Sweetheart?”

Your on fire with how close he is to you. But he doesn’t mean it, not in the way you hoped he would…does he?

Your eyes open, seeing his beautiful brown ones searching your face for some kind of clue as to what you’re feeling. You clasp your hand on top of his. “Please,” you beg. “Please don’t say things you don’t mean just to make me feel better. My heart can’t take it.”

He laughs softly, bringing his other hand up. He’s cradling your face gently, “Oh, Honey. You have no idea just how much I mean it.”

Eddie is overwhelmed with you. You’re everywhere, and he can’t fucking think straight. Probably a good thing right about now, because he’s about to do something he never thought he’d be lucky enough to do.

“Can,” he clears his throat. “Can I kiss you, Baby?”

With zero hesitation, you nod, earning a chuckle from Eddie.

“Gotta use your words, sweet thing.”

“Yes,” it comes out as a plea. “Kiss me...please.”

Warm warm warm.

It’s all you feel when he leans in. Then his soft lips are on yours, all the while he’s holding you as if you’d be the one to float away.

Eddie kisses you like he’s done it a thousand times. Like he knows your lips and the pattern that drives them crazy. He’s trying to tell you everything he’s been too afraid to say since the moment he met you.

There’s no one but you.

You’re everything.

I love you, please, let me love you.

Regrettably, you pull away. Breathless from the kiss, but also how surreal this moment is.

“I-I,” you sigh, touching your forehead to his. “I’ve wanted to do that for forever.” It comes out as whisper. As if you’d scare him away if you said it too loud.

Eddie smiles, a relieved laugh passing his lips. “Yeah?”

You nod, “Yeah.”

It’s quiet for a beat, Eddie is looking at you so softly and with such care.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says with all of the conviction in the world. “My pretty girl.”

“Am I?” You ask. “Am I yours?”

He nods, "If you want to be." He moves his hands, resting one on each thigh. He rubs them absentmindedly, likes he's trying to flatten the goosebumps that had prickled across your skin. “...and I’m yours. You've got me, Honey.”

Eddie's grin was still a shy one. You brush your hand across his face, pushing back any stray hairs. "Eds?"

He grips your wrist gently, placing small, tender kisses along the inside of it. The gesture is so simple, but it sends a heat through you like you've never experienced before.

"What is it, pretty girl? Whatever you want, whatever you need...it's yours."

You intertwine your fingers with his smoothly, "You, Eddie. Need you. Wanna make you feel good, Eds."

Now it was his turn to get goosebumps.

"Fuck, Angel. You can't just say that to me." He breathes.

Your bedroom eyes blink twice, "Please?"

A strangled moan vibrates from his chest, "Who am I to deny the fair maiden what she asks for?" Eddie stands, holding out a hand for you.

You're pulled to your feet by him, and he's looking at you through a brand new set of eyes. "One problem with that though, Princess. You come first."

You gasp as his hands take purchase of your ass, pulling you into him. "If anything, and I mean anything is too much, or too weird, you tell me, okay?"

You're nodding again, and he tuts at you. "Uh-uh. Words, baby."

Your arms fall around his neck and you press your body against his. "Yes, sir."

"Ho-ly-shit." He moans. "Yeah, I'm gonna kiss you now. Cool? Cool."

He's hungrier this time, kissing with teeth and tongue as his roaming hands explore your body.

"Eddie, Eddie..." You breath through swollen lips. "Too many clothes."

"You a mind reader or something?" He jokes, ripping the t-shirt from his body. His body was a work of art in more ways than one, and seeing it now, like this, made you crave it all the more.

You watch as Eddie falls to his knees, "Can I?" He asks, pulling at your skirt.

"God, yes."

He unbuttons the fastener, pulling the distressed denim down until it's pooling at your ankles. Eddie then came face to face with your black-lace covered heat.

"I-I'm dead right? I've died and now I'm at the pearly gates."

Your hands cover your face, "Eddie! Stop!"

He stands quickly, "No, baby, no. God, please don't hide from me." He pulls your hands away gently.

Your shirt is next to go, and so is the matching bra. Eddie pulls his pants down, leaving his boxers on.

"Lay down for me, Princess. Wanna take care of you.”

The timber of his voice makes you tremble. Once your comfortable on the bed, Eddie climbs on too.

“Now, I know this is all new, and we’re figuring things out as we go, but…” Eddie pauses, laying on his stomach between your legs.

He starts kissing his way up your legs. “I’ve been dreaming of eating this pussy for a long, kiss, long, kiss, long time.”

You’re so turned on you can barely speak, but you manage to get out a quiet. “Well what are you waiting for?”

Your thong is thrown into parts unknown, and Eddie starts to feast like a man starved.

“Eddie, fuck—“ his tongue explores your heat. His hands hold onto your hips as you grind down onto his mouth.

“Uh-uh, don’t hold back. Wanna hear you, Princess.” He dives back in, lips sucking on your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. He slips in one, the two fingers. Pumping and curling them slowly until he finds the spot that makes you see stars.

The fire in your belly is growing and you feel your legs start to shake. “Holy fuck, Eds—Eds I’m gonna cum!” Your hands take purchase in his hair, giving it a sharp tug as you feel the heat engulf you.

Eddie eats your pussy, drinking you in as you cum.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” You release your grip on his hair as you come down from your high.

Eddie crawls up your body, kissing you. You taste yourself all over his tongue. “Don’t be sorry, Baby. Let’s me know you’re enjoying yourself,” he kisses you once more. “Plus, I kinda like it.”

You’re both breathing heavy.

Now it’s his turn.

Your hands touch his shoulder, pushing him gently. “What’re you doing, pretty girl?” He asks softly.

When Eddie’s leaned back against the headboard, you pull his boxers off. Pink, uncut cock springing from it's confines.

God damn...he's fucking huge.

"Gonna ride you, Eds. Let you feel what you did to me." You climbed on top of him, "Can I do that? Can I make you feel good?"

Eddie's nodding, not sure what part of you he wants to look at more.

"Uh-uh," you tease. "Use your words, Handsome."

"Fuck," He breathes. He palms your bare chest, moving the pads of his thumbs over your nipples. "Do whatever you want to me, use me, I'm yours." He leans forward, hot mouth latching to your other breast.

You sit up, allowing Eddie's hard length to slip inside your aching cunt. The sheer stretch and size is enough to snatch the breath from your lungs.

"Eds...Eds, shit. S'big." You moan.

His eyes close as he bottoms out inside of you, "So tight. Fuckin' pussy was made for me, she wants my cock. Won't let it go. She greedy, baby?"

You adjust to his size filling the void inside you. Eddie hold your hips as you begin to ride him, helping you to keep a steady rhythm.

"Look at you, Princess. Cock-drunk already, hm?" He teases.

Eddie is whispering praises as he fucks up into you.

Such a good girl.

Taking me so well.

My pretty girl.

Mine.

Eddie's pace quickens, and you feel the tremble return to your legs.

"Eddie, fuck, I--"

"I know, Honey. I can feel it, feel you squeezin' me. Let go, Angel. Go on, cum for me."

His words are like a spell.

You cum harder than you did on his mouth, and this time, it's his cock that's drenched in your essence.

"Gonna cum, Sweetheart. Where--"

You're entirely lost in everything Eddie. "Inside me, Eds. Fuck, please cum inside me."

"Shit, shit, shit." Eddie's moves become erratic. Sloppy thrusts chasing his release, and when he does, he all but growls in your ear.

He's breathless and spent, but his arms wrap around you. Eddie holds you, softening inside you. He kisses the center of your chest, the trail making its way across your shoulder, up your jaw, and to your lips.

"Hi." He says quietly.

You giggle softly, "Hi."

"So uh, not sure if this is a good time or not..."

You kiss his nose, "Hmm?"

"I-I...I love you. I don't know, just felt like someone should tell you, might as well be me." Eddie's big brown eyes search your face for any sign of regret or discomfort.

Nothing.

You kiss him deeply, "I'm glad you told me, otherwise I'd be sitting over here, in love with you, looking all silly by myself."

Eddie holds you tighter. "You, you love me?"

You giggle, "Edward Munson. I love you."

He pulls you closer, "You love me." It's a statement now.

Eddie lays his head against your bare chest. "I'm gonna get you cleaned up in a second, Sweetheart. Just wanna hold you for a little."

Rubbing small circles on his back, you kissed the top of his head. "I'm not going anywhere, Handsome."

[midnightbluebells03]

Ellie x easily distracted reader ><

DISTRACTED

Ellie pic from here

CW - oral (r receving)

WC - about 1.3k

Readers physical appearance isn't described (I think)

I think this went a lil left field, so sorry about that!! Leave me any Abby or Ellie requests x

I wrote this super quick cause I've got a concert to get ready for but hope yall like it

When you had asked Ellie to come over and help you study you were fully convinced that it would be a good idea. Afterall she was the smartest person you knew, majoring in astrophysics and being genuinely good with math. But now it seems like it was anything but.

Your girlfriend is sitting so close to you, your thighs are grazing together, those glasses you love perched on her nose and her veiny hands point to the pages in your text book.

How were you supposed to pay attention?

"So just take x, which in this case is 57" she starts to walk you through another question. Even though just ten minutes ago she had to pause because you had lost focus. Starting to doodle on the margins of your notebook and look around your room. Hands restleslly fidgeting with the sheets underneath you. Now your focus was on the textbook. Well on the hands running across the text book anyway. Close enough right?

You had to fight every urge to trace your fingers over her tattoo, to pull two of her fingers into your mouth and just-

"Hey" Ellie's voice snaps you out your trace. "Babe are you listening?" Her eyebrows furrowed slightly and you can't help but feel guilty. The heat rushing to your cheeks as you nod timidly, knowing full well you have no idea how to do this. "What's the answer then?".

"Umm...12?" Ellie shakes her head and closes the book over.

"39" she sounds defeated and you sigh softly, covering your face with your hands. A frustrated groan leaves your lips.

"I'm sorry Els I just...I don't get it"

Ellie's hands come to your wrists, pulling them down softly. You look at her and she just smiles. You're a little shocked. You had expected her to be at least a little annoyed, you two had been at it for hours and you still couldn't keep focused. But no she's as soft as ever.

"Think you're just distracted baby" her eyes dart down from your own to your chest, making you swallow hard. Your tight tanktop letting her see a peak of your cleavage, your skin that's just begging for her to mark it. "Want me to make it better?" Her tone has switched, to that cocky, teasing one that makes you weak. You nod and reach for her cheeks but she stops you. "Words babe"

"Please?" You say quietly, Ellie moves closer to you. Cupping one of your cheeks in her hand as she starts to close the gap between you two. Only pausing when she's an inch away from your lips.

"But right after-"

"I'll keep studying, promise" you inturput, running your hands up her thighs. Feeling the rough denim of her jeans under your fingertips. Your lips connect and your melt into her touch. Your hand coming to the back of her head to deepen the kiss. When you two pull back her glasses fall onto the bed and make you giggle. Picking them up to place them on your bedside. "Don't wanna break them again"

One of the first times you had made out Ellie's glasses were an unfortunate victim. Ending with her needing to tape them together until she could buy a new pair, refusing to let you help her pay.

But once you place the glasses down you can't help but glance at your phone. Noticing all the notifications that had been piling up since you started studying. "Baby?" Ellie's hand on your thigh makes you whip your head back around.

"Hmm?"

She tilts her head towards your desk just across the room. "Go sit" you open your mouth to question her but she cuts you off with a peck. "Just do it"

You do as she asks and seat yourself down on your desk chair. Swiveling in at as you watch Ellie move your notebook, pen and textbook infront of you. "Els I thought we were gonna....yknow" you pout, feeling her hand rest on your shoulder.

"We are baby" she picks up the pen and scribbles down some numbers, you watch as she does and frown when you reliase shes writing you an equation. "Just need you to solve this problem okay?" You groan but nod, watching as Ellie drops to her knees infront of you. Her hands spreading your thighs apart. "I'm just gonna go down here" she plucks at the waistband of your sleep shorts. Signaling you to pull them off, along with your panties. You feel your face get hot as she pulls you closer. "Once you solve it, then you can cum"

You look at the problem and you just sigh. "Els I cant"

"Yes you can baby" she starts to trail soft kisses up your inner thighs. "Cmon you know this" she licks a strip from your hole to your clit. Making you grip the desk hard. You can practically feel her smiling into you as her tounge starts to circle your clit in slow circles.

Instead of fighting it you pick up your pen and try to tackle the problem. Hoping to get it done soon because all you want is to grab onto Ellie's hair and grinding yourself down onto her. But you know better than to test her. She was soft sure but she could be mean when she wanted.

It's almost painful how slow her tounge is moving, purposely not trying to distract you. Just enough to make you drip. Your eyebrows are knitted as you stare at the mess of numbers infront of you but after a few more minutes you give up. Scribbling down the answer you got to before tapping Ellie's head. "Done" you say softly, chewing on your lip as Ellie moves back. Sticking her hand out for you to give her the paper. You can't help but pick at your nails as you watch her read it over.

"Babe"

"I know it's wrong but Ellie plea-"

"You got it" she cuts you off, looking up at you with a huge smile. "X equals 16" the paper gets dropped to the floor as Ellie wraps her arms around your thighs. Burrying herself in your pussy like she was the one being teased. She always did treat it like her last meal. "So fucking smart baby" she mumbles between borderline making out with your pussy. Making you moan loudly as your back arches off the chair.

"Fuck Ellie" your hand gets wrapped in her hair. Messing up the bun she had thrown it into this morning. You hadn't realised how close you were, how worked up her teasing had gotten you. Not until your thighs were shaking around her head and threaning to close. Only stopped by her strong grip keeping you open. "Can I cum? Ellie please?" You start to whine, hips jerking up when she pulls back. Trying to chase her mouth.

"Yeah baby make a fucking mess on my face" she kisses your clit "you earned it, such a good girl for me". She barley gives you time to thank her before diving back between your legs. Tounge swirling around you clit when her nails dig into your thighs. Making you moan so loud you're worried about your neighbours. But the knot in your stomach is building, your eyes starting to roll back.

"Ellie!" You moan loudly as your orgasm rushes through you. Nothing but the sounds of you babbling her name echoing in the room. She let's you ride it out. Only stopping when you slump back into the chair with heavy breaths.

"Think you can go again baby?" Ellie looks up at you, your cum dripping down her chin "we gotta get you prepared for the test"

After a few seconds of catching your breath you nod, watching her scribble another problem down. You were going to past this test, even if it meant you were going to be so fucked out you can't think straight.

[ashlynlovestlou]

au where abby and reader try to break up :( emphasis on try because they just can’t stay away from each other :( they keep talking and updating each other on things until its too much :( and they get back together :)

(i put my whole back into this pls be nice)

꩜ cw: no smut! abby x reader , reader works at a plant nursery , use of pet names

masterlist

the breakup was rough, to say the least. abby was your first everything. your first kiss, your first girlfriend, your first time, and your first everything. letting go of that was the most heartbreaking thing either of you had gone through.

for the first couple of days post-breakup you could hardly eat and sleep. your bed felt so cold and so empty without her next to you. you even made a lame attempt to line some pillows up to make it seem like she was there. and for a moment, it worked. but her warmth wasn't there for you to wrap yourself in. her heartbeat wasn't there to listen to. and her arms weren't there to hold you.

despite the fact that you were no longer together, you still talked. but less than you usually did. so many messages went unsent, so many calls you hesitated calling.

the first time either of you said something to one another was when you texted her about the job you had been wanting for months. she knew how much you wanted to work at the plant nursery down the street from your apartment, even before you split up. so when you got the email after your interview saying that you got the job, your immediate instinct was to tell abby.

"i got the job!" you had texted her.

"thats so amazing, sweet girl." she responded so quickly that it made you think she was anticipating you to text her, "i'm proud of you."

and just like nothing had happened, you were smiling down at your phone, just like you were before you started dating.

but that butterfly feeling in your stomach didn't last long. it fizzled out when you remembered you were no longer with her.

over the course of a few days you chatted about little things. your first day at your new job. abby's dog, alice, catching a squirrel in her backyard. little, minuscule check-ins. nothing too serious.

until a week later.

"want to get coffee?" she texted you one day, while you were busy watering plants in your denim overalls.

it caught you by surprise, to say the least, but you knew it wasn't a date. just two friends getting together for a cup of joe. not romantic. strictly platonic.

no matter how much you wanted to run back into her muscular arms and re-familiarize yourself with her touch, you couldn't. you shouldn't.

"sure." you text her shortly, without the need to ask which coffee shop or what time. while you were dating, you went every week to the same coffee shop at the same time on the same day and ordered the same drinks.

⋆┈┈｡ﾟthat weekend ｡┈┈⋆

the second you walked through the doors of the coffee shop your nostrils were filled with the scent you missed so much. freshly brewed coffee grounds and warm pastries. the faint sound of chattering from the patrons enjoying their own treats.

and there she was.

sitting at a two-top table, two drinks in front of her. she was already looking at you, as if drinking in your image. even though you were devastated and still a little heartbroken from the previous events of your relationship, you did a good job at finding distractions. which is probably why you don't look quite as miserable as she does.

"hey." she greets you as you sit down across from her, "i um.. i ordered the drink you usually got."

she remembered.

the mug was still warm, so she couldn't have been here long.

"thank you." you nod your head once, "you didn't have to do that."

"its no big deal." she shrugs, taking a sip of her coffee. black coffee, to be exact. you never understood how she liked the bitter taste of it, "how have you been?"

"good." you answer quickly. so quick that she has a hard time believing you. in reality, you were good. but you weren't great. you would never admit to her how you would accidentally cook too much food, because you were used to cooking for two people. you would never admit how many times you've accidentally set the table with two plates instead of one. how you would say 'i'm home!' when you walk through the door, even when nobody was there to listen, "i'm uh.. how about you? how are you?"

"im alright." she says.

but not good. you tell yourself in your head.

for a little while the two of you just chit-chat back and forth, talking about nonsense for half an hour before you notice abby fidgeting. she can't sit still, and you have a gut feeling you know exactly what's wrong.

"sweetheart, i cant keep doing this." she finally breaks, interrupting your rant about how you hate one of your coworkers.

"wait, huh? did i say something wrong?"

she shakes her head, glancing around the coffee shop like she's afraid to make eye contact with you, "we shouldn't have broken up."

oh.

your heart falls to the pit of your stomach, "what?"

"i need you more than i thought i did. i miss you."

you stare at her, eyes wide and lips slightly agape. you wanted to hear these words, but you never thought that you ever would, "are you.. are you serious?"

she nods her head, looking back at you.

"abby, i... i dont know."

"baby." she breathes deeply, desperate for your forgiveness, "dont make me beg."

you exhale, your cheeks burning crimson. you had waited so long for one of you to finally say something about the breakup. you waited so long for one of you to speak up about the need for the other.

without another moment of hesitation, you lean across the table, boldly smashing your lips into hers.

she tastes sweet, just as she always had. she was wearing coffee and the mint chapstick you left at her house and she never returned it, because she liked being able to have your taste with her.

she smiles against your lips, baring all her teeth. when you both pull away you can see her little dimples on her cheeks, the skin underneath her freckles a light shade of pink.

"so.." she says, folding her hands together in her bulky lap, "is that a yes?"

[undead-supernova]

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 (TBA)

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

plot: after you and Eddie get...acquainted, it seems that he's everywhere. there's nowhere for you to hide when Eddie is on a mission to make your Christmas break miserable.

wc: 3.6k

cw: bickering, smoking

fic title reference: We Are Going To Be Friends by The White Stripes

if you spot the movie reference in here, i'm giving you a kiss on the cheek

Best Teacher Ever.

Your favorite spiral notebook sat in front of you, pink and white stripes lining the cover with an image of an apple and golden lettering. It was a gift from one of the fifth grade students you subbed for at another school. You traced the words with your fingers as you wondered if the child even knew what that meant.

It was five minutes to one and Eddie wasn’t here. You’d gotten here fifteen minutes ago, always keen on punctuality (and having the advantage of choosing where to sit.) Nerves crept up your neck, settling in the emerging headache you knew he was about to cause.

It would be so easy to start working on the book club without Eddie. To open the notebook and start your list. But you refrained, maintaining your self-respect. If he walked in and saw you already at work, you knew he’d start making a big deal about it. Then it would be an entire pissing contest with little to no meaning behind it. And you weren’t going to give in to his antics. Not today.

The wind chimes above Java Bean’s front door clanged against the frame as it swung open. You glanced over and found yourself inside an alternate dimension.

Eddie Munson stood there, sure, but you weren’t sure if it was him or some twisted doppelgänger sent here to confuse you. He was clad in a white shirt that read Vote For Pedro in red across the chest with black jeans and combat boots. On top was some combination of a leather jacket layered with a denim vest, littered in enamel pins. When he removed his hands from his pockets, you saw rings adorning almost every finger. 

Something churned in your stomach at the sight of him like this, hooked on the way he grabbed at his black Sony headphones, pulling them down to his neck and glancing down at his iPod. 

Maybe you could run away. Find your way to the bathroom and out whatever dingy window they had. Break it if necessary. Would they take a twenty to cover the charges?

Eddie stayed paused in the doorway, eyes scanning around the room before they found you. 

Something cranked your nerves up to one hundred as you realized there was nowhere to escape to now. Especially when he flashed you a bright smile that seemed a far cry from genuine. What a prick.

He approached you slowly, agonizingly. Placed his ringed fingers on the top of the chair across from you before asking, “Are you early?”

Your eyes kept flickering back and forth from him and the chair, seriously wondering if he was going to sit down or not. You hated the advantage he had of towering over you. 

“Uh, yeah,” you responded, trying not to cower away. 

“You would be.”

That snapped you out of your trance, furrowing your eyebrows. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “You look like a real person today.”

Looking down, you reassessed your outfit of a v-neck crimson sweater, dark blue jeans, and white Converse. On the back of your chair was a green parka. What did he think about your outfit? Why did you care?

“Did you think I wasn’t?” you asked, looking back up.

Eddie shook his head. “Nah, nothing like that. Just interesting to see you like this.”

You swallowed the urge to say the same, releasing a stifled breath as he finally sat down. You noticed his hair was frizzy for once, twisted into a half-assed bun. It was downright criminal that he still looked good.

“Who’s Pedro?” you asked, changing the subject.

The look he shot you made you wonder if he thought you’d shot a puppy. 

“You haven’t seen Napoleon Dynamite?”

“Uh, no.”

“Why not?”

That movie came out, what, three years ago? Approaching four? When you thought back that far, you remembered exactly what happened. Your ex boyfriend, Jason, had been reluctant to go see it with you. It was like pulling teeth to get him to do anything with you at all. But the movie theater? Yeah, forget it.

You’d dumped him a couple of months later after you caught him cheating on you. It was safe to say you never got around to renting the film.

“I was busy,” you said with a shrug.

“It’s been almost four years!”

You scowled. “So?”

“So,” he started, shrugging off his jacket. “you have no excuse.”

Oh.

Eddie…had tattoos. Six or seven up and down his arms, varying in size and intensity. You were no different, sure, with tattoos mixed and matched around your body. But he had tattoos. Perfect, cleancut Eddie Munson had tattoos. 

This felt like an ambush. There was no way he was this outside of work. All he’d ever worn were those nice button-downs. He never even rolled up the sleeves. He wore his outfits like he was some waiter at an upper class restaurant or a pretentious English professor that thought he was Hemmingway’s prodigy.

But, no. This was who he was underneath it all. 

You felt something stammer in your chest before it popped and fizzled in your stomach. 

“While this is riveting,” you said, doing everything you could to distract yourself from whatever the fuck was happening to you. “I really do think we should focus on choosing the first book.”

“I actually think we should get some coffee and food. Emphasis on the food.”

“Uh, okay,” you said, trying not to get annoyed. “Yeah, sure.”

The two of you awkwardly waited in line together. You didn’t technically stand next to each other, his figure tucked behind yours. But your shoulders touched.

Your throat closed up at the contact, unsure as to why merely standing next to him felt so overwhelming. Maybe it was because he was an annoying asshole who never gave you a moment’s peace. Maybe you were just crabby without food or 

You ordered a peppermint latte—ignoring Eddie’s snort—and a blueberry muffin. Stepping aside, you watched Eddie get a black coffee—pretentious idiot—and a blueberry muffin. 

And what did you know? There was only one muffin left. It was rightfully given to you, with a promise of being heated up and left at your table. 

But as soon as you made it back to the table and the barista placed it in front of you, Eddie said, “Give me some of your muffin.”

You scoffed, pulling the plate closer to yourself. “No, go find your own!”

“Come on,” he continued, grabbing onto the other side. “Give me some of your muffin.”

You tugged on it again, simmering with frustration when it barely budged. “No, I’m fucking starved. I didn’t get to eat anything this morning.”

His grip tightened as he tried to take the plate.

“No, come on,” you grumbled, putting your other hand on the plate.

But Eddie did the same.

And in the process of fighting for the plate that was undoubtedly yours, Eddie gave a final yank of the ceramic before the muffin toppled over and onto the ground.

“Ugh,” you said with a scoff. “Gross.”

He gestured to you with the plate still in his hands. “Look what you did, idiot.”

“What I did?” you exclaimed, noticing a few pairs of eyes looking your way. You lowered your voice. “You’re the idiot.”

“You don’t know how to share,” he chided.

You scowled, leaning over to start cleaning up the mess Eddie made. “You don’t know how to keep your hands to yourself!”

It took another ten minutes for you to stop arguing and start talking about the books. But then it stirred up another argument, him vetoing your choice of The Giver and you vetoing his choice of The Hobbit.

“That book is long,” you argued. “They’re teenagers.”

“Uh, I read it as a teenager,” he said with disbelief.

“Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He opened his mouth to protest but you beat him to it. “So no.”

In the end, you settled on a newer release, Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. Eddie protested that the novel was too short while you told him that that was the point. And as you bravely attempted to settle on the second book, it ended in chaos. You hated Catcher in the Rye. Eddie hated The Great Gatsby. There was nothing you could do.

You threw in the towel first in first, grabbing your things and half-heartedly wishing him a Merry Christmas before leaving. 

At last, you were left with two more blissful weeks without having to be anywhere near his insufferable presence.

But the thing about hating someone is that the more you hate them, the more you see them. Everywhere. 

A few days later, you’d been weaving in and out of the grocery aisles to garner inspiration for a healthy Christmas meal that would cancel out the eggnog and cookie coma you were likely to fall into. But as you stood in line to check out, you noticed Eddie strolling in with a shopping cart. 

You instinctively ducked, peering through the cashier behind yours to watch as he walked further and further away. Sure, the bored teenager bagging your groceries looked at you weird, but this had been life and death. And you’d chosen life.

Two days after that, you were making your way into the gas station near your apartment to get a few packs of cigarettes. You’d primarily smoked them in college before swearing up and down that you’d quit. And you did.

Until you started working full time at South Jefferson and realized just how stressful teaching teenagers all day every day was. So now it was back to the nicotine haze, barely satiating an oral fixation you’d had since birth.

There at the checkout counter stood Eddie Munson, currently sifting through coins in his hands with two packs of Marlboro Reds sitting in front of him. He was still in that leather jacket and denim vest combo, hair messy and chaotic. This time his bun sat on top of his head, stray hairs dangling down the back of his neck. There was a tattoo there too, something you couldn’t quite see from your vantage point. 

You thought about leaving but you couldn’t just go. Eddie was the exact reason why you’d gone through the rest of your pack. At home, you’d pace around and have arguments with him in your head until you won. You didn’t see that going away for the foreseeable future.

Before you could make up your mind, Eddie was thanking the cashier and turning away. As his eyes met yours, you felt that same stammer in your chest from Java Bean.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he greeted, a faint smile on his lips.

“You’re a smoker,” you noted, glancing at the pack he was starting to open. 

He nodded. “You caught me red handed.” You rolled your eyes. “Get it? Red?”

“Yeah, I got it,” you replied, walking past him to the counter. 

He followed suit, standing too close for comfort again, boldly nudging your shoulder with his. For obvious reasons, you did not return the gesture. 

Before the cashier could greet you, Eddie stated, “Get the Marlboro Reds.” 

“No,” you said before turning to the cashier. “Two packs of those blue Newports, please.”

As you pulled out the five dollar bill from your wallet, Eddie shook his head at you. “You’re so wrong and you don’t even know. You don’t even know. I feel sorry for you.”

You ignored him as you paid and immediately walked outside. Eddie kept up with you, shoulder colliding with yours with every step. You needed to leave. You had to get away from him, especially two days out from Christmas. There was a promise of a holly jolly atmosphere waiting for you in your shithole apartment and that’s the way you liked it. No friends, no obnoxious family. A solitary affair with reruns of It’s a Wonderful Life and a new Maya Angelou poetry collection you’d snagged at Goodwill. 

But you couldn’t help yourself. “You know what your problem is?”

He was grinning. “What’s my problem?”

“You think you’re right about everything all the time.”

Eddie nodded. That fucker nodded. “That’s probably ‘cause I am.”

“You live in delusion,” you scoffed.

Lifting the cigarette box, he shook it in front of your face. “You should smoke one of these with me.”

“Yeah, right,” you replied with a snort before walking toward your car.

“You can’t spare five minutes to smoke with me?” he shouted after you.

Refusing to stop, you called over your shoulder, “Five minutes I can spare. But five minutes to share? With you? No, thanks. Happy Holidays and all that.”

Thankfully, he didn’t follow you.

There was this thing you did when you were thinking too hard about something. It started with furrowed brows, clenching together with intensity. Your lips didn’t purse, rather they scrunched up until they were barely visible. 

Usually, it was directed towards Eddie. But tonight it seemed you were focusing your mental energy on movies at Blockbuster. You looked torn, seemingly trying to decide between 28 Weeks Later and Music & Lyrics. Horror and a romantic comedy. Fascinating.

Eddie was browsing his usual slew of horror for the night when he’d looked over to spot the New Releases stand and instead found you like this. A DVD was already clutched to your chest, but you were looking back and forth from these two other films. You looked pretty, in a white sweater with faded pink sweatpants.

He wondered what you were thinking. How you were making your decision. What kind of snacks you’d pair with them, especially a few days after Christmas. The crashing blues that ensued after the holiday were apparently getting to you too, needing an escape. Just like him.

He could just ask you about your decision. It was going to backfire. He knew that. It’d been something he’d accepted weeks ago. However, that didn’t mean he didn’t like to have a little bit of fun pissing you off. It was just so easy to work you up until you stormed off. 

Eddie couldn’t understand why his presence set you off so viscerally. You seemed almost angry that he wanted to make any kind of conversation. Even if he lightly teased you, it was enough pressure to set off a landmine.

And maybe, just maybe, he liked the way you looked at him. With that same wound up expression, eyebrows inching closer together as you prepared to explode. It might’ve been crass of him to say, but he really wanted to kiss you whenever you made that face.

And it might’ve been a bit vulgar of him to say, but he really wanted to grab your hips and push you up against a wall as you devoured one another.

Eddie closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Now was not the time for that shit. Blockbuster was not the right place, either. He collected himself before throwing on a casual smile.

His steps were intentionally quiet, slow and steady as he came up behind you.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

You jumped, letting out a yelp before a hand flew to your chest. “Oh my god, you’re everywhere,” you breathed.

He couldn’t help his chuckle. “I’m sure you just love seeing the sight of my dashingly handsome—”

Groaning, you shook your head and said, “No.”

“Oh, I get it.” Eddie put a hand on his chest and flashed you an even wider smile. “You’re just charmed by my riveting conversational skills.”

You did something odd. Your eyes squinted softly as you swallowed and held his stare. What were you holding back from him?

“Not in the slightest.”

He gave up, pointing at the DVD in your hands. “So, what’re you watching tonight?” You went to hide the DVD behind your back but Eddie was a step ahead of you. He easily snatched it from your hands and held it up.

And he had no problem letting out a howl of laughter.

“Did you really grab Napoleon Dynamite because I told you to?”

You nearly gasped as if you were being slighted.

“Told me?” you grumbled. “You berated me.”

“It was just some light teasing,” he countered.

“Oh, sure. Of course you’d think that.”

Something clicked in his head and before he could even think about it, he smirked and said, “So you were thinking about me, huh?”

Never again would he see a sight so incredible.

There was that gasp he’d wanted, hitching in your throat before you puffed out your chest. Then your stare intensified, the one he was so fascinated by. It sparked a low-burning flame in his stomach.

He really liked the way that felt.

“I don’t spare any of my thoughts on you.”

Liar.

“So you decided on Napoleon Dynamite immediately but can’t make up your mind about 28 Weeks Later or Music & Lyrics?”

Your mouth opened and closed several times before you settled on, “I only have enough to get one more.”

Another lie.

He decided to let you off easy. For now. “Well, they’re all good choices, if you ask me.”

“I wasn’t asking you,” you said bluntly.

Finally, the truth.

“You should be,” he said. “I’m the horror connoisseur of your dreams.” You opened your mouth but he beat you to it. “Because you do dream of me.”

“Oh, fuck off.” You scoffed, grabbing both movies off the stand and walking away.

Okay, maybe a little too far. Noted.

“Woah, hey,” he called out, following behind you. “You can’t go. We haven’t chosen which one you’re getting.”

You looked at him like he was stupid. To be fair, he knew he was. But he really enjoyed that look on your face, too.

He enjoyed all of your faces. 

“We aren’t choosing anything,” you corrected. “I am choosing to get both and I am choosing to go home.”

“Just hold on,” he said, reaching a hand out to your elbow.

You whirled around and stopped. He nearly collided with you but stopped just in time, rocking back on his heels.

“What?” you asked.

He didn’t know what. Something kept him coming back, kept him leaning in closer just to try and understand you a little bit more. Despite having these distinct facial expressions, he still couldn’t figure out just what they meant. 

Or why you’d even think he wasn’t a good person when you barely understood him either.

An intriguing idea crossed his mind. “What if we, like, hung out?” he suggested.

Immediately, something thawed. Your eyebrows smoothed out and your lips dropped open into a small o. And he could’ve sworn he saw your eyes soften.

“You want to hang out with me?” you asked.

Eddie shrugged. “Yeah, why not?”

“I don’t know,” you answered. “I just assumed you had other friends. Like, um.” You looked away. “Chelsea.”

He tilted his head. “Chelsea?”

Why Chelsea? he wondered. He only really spoke to her at lunch and in passing. It was friendly, but they weren’t friends. Did you watch him at lunch? Did you think they were best friends?

Why did you care so much? And why did he care about what you thought?

“Yeah,” you whispered, going back and forth from looking at him to the DVDs in your hands.

“Hm,” he responded, looking around the store before coming back to you. “Well, I think we should go bowling.”

“Bowling,” you repeated.

He nodded, smiling as he quietly whispered, “Oh, yeah.”

Confusion spread across your face. “You want me to go bowling with you?”

“I think you said that earlier.” Eddie watched annoyance return to your face before adding, “Consider it a New Year’s resolution.”

The annoyance dissipated, replaced by your previous confusion. “How is bowling a New Year’s resolution?”

“It’s a blank slate, you know?” You shook your head. “Let’s call it a ceasefire between us. We can start over and, I don’t know, be friends.”

For a moment, you went quiet. Your eyes danced around the room, as if you were weighing your options. “How do you know I want to be friends with you at all?”

“Oh, come on,” he said with a sigh, still holding that smile. He couldn’t help it around you. “It could work, you and I. Friends. Buddies. Companions.”

You paused, your eyes assessing his. What the hell were you thinking? Why couldn’t he read your mind? There was this habit of yours to go quiet, to keep him on his toes until he went crazy.

And right now, he couldn’t keep standing here like this. 

“Well?” he asked, eyes still searching yours. “What’s it gonna be?”

A long moment passed before you sighed. “Fine. Yes. Let’s…go bowling.”

“Yes!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “I could pick you up next Wednesday around, what, seven?”

“I think we should drive separate,” you stated.

“Why? You don’t wanna be in a car with me?” All you did was nod. “You wound me, honestly. I’m not even a bad driver.”

Eyebrows shooting up, you asked, “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Okay, fine,” he conceded. “We’ll meet up at Lanesman next Wednesday.”

You gave him a quick nod. “Okay.”

“At seven p-m.”

“No, yeah, I got that.”

“See you then. Oh, you know what? You can tell me all your thoughts on Napoleon Dynamite while we bowl.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, I’m leaving now,” you said, lazily waving at him before walking towards the checkout line.

Eddie had successfully survived another interaction with you. It was a whiplash for sure. But there was a shift. He felt it, but he wondered if you felt it, too. When you quickly turned to glance at him on your way out the door, Eddie couldn’t help but smile to himself. 

If you hadn’t noticed it yet, you surely would soon.

requested tagging: @anukulee, @twihard28, @doorlesscub00, @whisperingwillowxox

thank you to @littlexdeaths for always having the cutest dividers!!!

[wildemaven]

strangers : climax | dave york

pairing: dave york x fireader word count: 6307 content warning: 18+ blog; established relationship, workaholic Dave, Soft Dave, miscommunication, implied/ alluding to infidelity (there is none, reader just doesn't know this), Dave's phone deserves its own warning, mention of food and alcohol consumption, a moment in a dressing room where reader inspects her reflection/self image judgments, smut (oral f receiving, fingering, semi public sex, kissing after oral, public affection, some praise if you squint), angst and sad feels, somewhat jealous Dave in a kind of joking manner, lots of tears, reader is mentioned wearing a dress and jeans- but zero description features, no age given but it's implied she's at least over 30, no y/n, established relationship, this is au- no Carol or kids, if I missed anything let me know notes: it's finally here!!! I'm so sorry it took so long to get this chapter out into the world. I was working through lots of writing blocks, kids, travel, and sickness. But it's finally here!!!! This one is a doozy in so many ways but I'm so excited for it!! I'm so grateful for everyone who takes the time to read, share, comment and like each chapter of this series. I'm sad it's almost over!!

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It’s almost sadistic. Taunting every single fiber of your being as each chord of the melody, so perfectly orchestrated, looms over the hotel bar. 

Your body betrays you. So easily giving in to the song's familiarity as each word reverberates through your chest. Flashes of Dave dressed in black, spinning you in front of your closest family and friends drowned out the urge to ask for the song to be skipped. 

The liveliness of the crowd pouring into the dimly lit space helps block out the music. Your fingers swirl around the condensation slowly settling around your drink that sits untouched on the mahogany bar top. Your mind sifting through the day's events leading up to this moment, where you’re sitting alone, annoyance raging in your veins, in a dress you're starting to regret buying. 

*

Lunch was relaxed and pleasant. The oceanfront views of the small cafe were something straight out of a movie. The weather was warm enough to enjoy the patio dining, a subtle breeze cutting through periodically. The ocean swells breaking masked the bustle of beach goers and passing cars. It was everything you had wanted to experience in this beautiful city.

Dave had been fully present since the intimate moment you both shared back at the hotel. More than he had been the entire trip thus far. Keeping you close to him, his hands never leaving you once stepping out of the room. As if to silently say I’m all here with you and I love you. 

You relished in the closeness of him. Internally screaming with increasing avidity at his electrifying advances all afternoon. 

Pulling your chair closer to where he sat so his free hand could nestle between your thighs. Too focused on twirling the pasta around your fork between discussing the most current events Dave had read in the morning paper while waiting for you to return from your walk. 

Growing and falling Stocks. Government scandals that could trickle down and affect parts of his job. National affairs of all levels that jumped out to him. All things you hadn’t really kept up with until meeting Dave, were now things you looked forward to listening to him talk about and giving your input with your own perspective. 

It's when Dave starts discussing something about sports or sports related that throws you off balance. Not necessarily so much in what he’s saying, but in what he’s doing when he’s saying it. 

“So if they draft him this year, he’ll be a starting rookie…” Dave says as he shifts forward in his chair to adjust his position, hand slightly shifting where it still rests between your legs, his pinky sliding up the crotch seam of your denim with an ample amount of pressure. 

“I’ve got money on him this season…” Your mind is too cloudy to even focus on what he’s saying. 

An instant jolt of arousal splinters across your body, you use your napkin to hopefully muffle the moan you nearly choke on. Oh! It’s deliberate, Dave’s expression collected and unphased as he carries on, continuing to drag his digit up and down the thick layer of fabric. 

“You okay, Honey?” He smirks, applying a little more weight behind his touch, before directing his attention to the server passing by the table and signaling for the check.

“Mmhmm— y-yeah! I’m fine. Great!” Your voice pitches at an unusual tone, frantically nodding in response as you wring the napkin between your fingers trying to not succumb to the pleasure currently building in your core. 

It’s a tragic feeling when his hand abandons the heat of your thighs. His focus now is on inspecting the bill, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and tucking the proper amount of cash into the server’s book. 

“That’s good.” He says all blasé as he looks at you with deadpan expression, situating his wallet in place again. 

“Oh my god— Dave! You are the worst!” You toss your napkin at him, shaking your head as you laugh at his flirtatious behavior. 

*

A proper casualness flows between the two of you following lunch— a familiar domesticity that had become so foreign to you. It now almost seems too far-fetched to think things have been strained in the last few months leading up to today and this seemingly perfect afternoon with Dave. 

A stitch of guilt begins to weave through your mind as you take in Dave’s unreserved laughter and the way he looks so, extremely happy. Maybe you were premature in believing that there was anything wrong to begin with. 

There’s a liveliness to Dave that has felt so rare to witness as of recently. No signs of stress. No closed off demeanor. No inkling of any distress that threatens to disrupt a marriage you so desperately desire to keep intact. 

He’s remarkably your Dave— through and through. 

The sun becomes far more dominating as the day passes. It’s fiery intensity has you squinting as you step out of the cute little ice cream shop you dragged Dave into after lunch. 

Thankfully you’re more than prepared. A pair of dark sunglasses now perched on the bridge of your nose and the light fabric tank you opted for thanks to Dave’s attentive nature for planning, always checking the weather forecast incessantly as he sips from his morning coffee.

It’s no surprise at the influx of tourists that crowd the sidewalk as you both amble about. Your arm wrapped around Dave, his free hand gently resting at the nape of your neck, both of you working against the heat to keep your ice cream from dripping down the cone. 

There’s a silence that hangs around the enjoyment of the summer treat, but it’s not uncomfortable. People watching and window shopping paired with brief moments of sweet banter have seemed to reignite the flame that had slowly begun to dwindle. 

“Woah!” A swarm of teenagers rocketing by on skateboards out of nowhere has you stunned, several of them nearly knocking into you. 

“What the fuck!” Dave’s quick like reflexes immediately turn on and he’s pulling you into his chest as the last few of the trailing skateboarders roll by. “Get off the sidewalk before you hurt someone, you punks!” 

“Yeah yeah! Fuck off old man!” The last of the bunch, a typical backwards hat wearing unphased teen, yells over his shoulder raising his middle finger as he skates off into the distance. 

“You okay?” Dave asks, giving you a quick once over. 

“I’m fine. They didn’t hit me— just startled me more than anything.” You assure him. 

“Still— those little assholes almost sideswiped you. And that little fucker calling me an old man?” Dave grumbles, following your lead to continue walking despite wanting to track down the group and give them a piece of his mind. 

“Easy, they’re just having fun. If I remember correctly, you too were once a little asshole. There’s a laundry list of stories your mom has shared with me to back that up too.” He scoffs at your comment, knowing exactly which stories his mom has divulged to you about his wild adolescent years. 

Your favorite being when a senior year prank almost resulted in suspension and losing scholarships. Dave and a few of his high school friends had decided to toilet paper and egg the principal’s home one night. The group of teens had thought they pulled it off until they came to school and their pictures were plastered in every classroom— security cameras were not taken into account while planning such a prank. Dave’s parents caught wind of the incident and the missing rolls of TP from their home and forced Dave to turn himself in. Dave confessed as a lone prankster, adamant that he didn’t know who the other students were in the images, resulting in tutoring lower grade classmates the remainder of the semester and a few weekends of community service. 

“I’m not an old man.” He murmurs against your temple, pressing his lips to your warm skin. His hand settles into your back pocket directing his attention to his almost finished ice cream. 

“Didn’t say you were.” Grinning at his annoyance. “Your mom earlier— How is she? Everything okay?”

“She’s good. Everything’s good. Just checking in. Making sure we’re settling in okay here— you know how she is.” It feels like he’s saying a lot without saying much of anything. 

“Yeah— definitely sounds like her. Feels like it’s been forever since I’ve talked to her. We should invite them over for dinner when we get back. Proper catch up— share about our trip with them in person.” You look at him, his head nodding along at the suggestion. 

You’ve always had a close relationship with his mother, Carol. Weekly trips to the farmers market and coffee dates became a regular thing after you and Dave married. Family dinners took place once a month, rotating between each other’s houses or restaurants. Carol never wanted to be one of those overbearing mother in laws, always making sure that you and Dave didn’t feel suffocated by her and Dave’s dad’s presence. 

“Okay. I’ll umm— I’ll call her when we get back. See what her and dad’s calendar looks like. I’m sure they’ll jump at the chance to get together, since our busy schedules haven’t seemed to line up in the last few months.” 

“Perfect.” 

There’s a beat of silence that follows making plans with his parents. Like there was more he wanted to say but left it unsaid. You don’t push for more and let any needling thought dissolve. 

“How was it?” Dave points to the remaining milky soup that’s settled into the top of your semi soggy cone. 

“It was delicious.” You tell him, then lapping at a few random drips racing down your wrist with your tongue, savoring the last of its salty sweetness.

“Let me have a taste of it.” He says, pulling you both out of the main flow of people walking behind you. 

“What? You don’t even like this flavor, Mr. Vanilla is the only flavor that truly matters.” You playfully mock his go-to choice of a single scoop of plain vanilla, not even a punch of vanilla bean or a sprinkling of chocolate chunks— he’s a simple man. 

“Maybe my taste buds have evolved?” He counters, pulling you flush against him under the shade of a store awning. “Give me a taste.” 

Everything around you fades to the background, it’s just the two of you. Dave’s lips molding to yours. His tongue gently skims over your lower lip, silently seeking entrance. 

It’s unhurried and thorough. A stark contrast from the chilly sensation that still lingers from the frozen dessert and the heat emanating from the way Dave’s tongue languidly traces over every bit of surface he can reach. Dizzying your senses, your mind fully immersed in the way he still tastes of sweet vanilla as he explores every detail of your mouth. Lapping at the remnants of the melted salted caramel that coats your tongue. 

It’s vulnerable and thrilling— feeling so right and fully present together. 

Your ice cream cone falls from your hand, crashing hard on the cement walkway, giving you the freedom to wrap your hands around his neck and relax even more into the kiss as Dave guides you through it. His hand squeezes your ass through your denim pocket, securing you against him. His other hand cradles your face as he swallows the small moans you produce when he nips tenderly at your bottom lip. 

“Dave—“ Is the only coherent word you can think of when he finally breaks the kiss. Your fingers tighten around his short hair as you float back to the ground. 

“I like the way it tastes on you. Might be my new favorite flavor.” He smiles, releasing small puffs of his breath over your lips. 

*

It was the first shop that caught your attention, the front display had you stopping in your tracks. Your initial interest to merely window shop, a signal to Dave that you were interested in the possibility of checking out more of their inventory. 

“Sweetheart? You doing okay in there?” Dave asks cautiously, as if to not scare off any potential decisions you might be deliberating over from behind the velvet curtain of the dressing room. 

It’s nothing new, a song and dance you’ve been through before— turning and inspecting from head to toe. Your mind in an epic battle with the reflection framed in front of you, dreading anytime you step foot in anything that resembles a fitting room. 

Except this time you’re not tearing apart every little thing about what you’re seeing, finding all the negative reasons as to why this particular dress isn’t working.

It’s the complete opposite, because you love the dress and you can see yourself wearing it on many occasions without a doubt. 

An ambered hue that reminds you of autumn when the leaves turn, and Dave spending hours in the yard gathering pile after pile while you bake a seasonal pie, watching him from the kitchen window. 

The tiered tulle fabric plucks a peculiar scene from your memory. Its flowy and dramatic silhouette is reminiscent of the dress you had worn to last year’s CIA Gala. Dave kept you close for the entirety of the evening. Your arm wrapped around his as he talked with colleagues, some new whose names you wouldn’t remember and others who had slowly worked their way into a more permanent place in your lives with regular dinner parties and monumental celebrations. Dave’s hand planted on the small of your back, his thumb drawing soft shapes where your dress strategically exposed your back, you were his grounding force among a sea of highly regarded men and their significant others.

“Hey- is everything okay?” Dave’s head now visible as he pulls the curtain back just enough to check in with you, his hushed tone barely audible over the upbeat music that the trendy boutique has playing through the store. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” You say flatly as you continue to inspect your reflection, the hang tag with the bold asking price of the dress held between your restless fingers.

“Wow— Sweetheart, you look… Wow!” Speechless. Dave stands stunned behind you, taking in every bit of you, completely captivated.

“Yeah? It feels like a lot. I have a dress back at the room I can wear instead…” You say, watching the arduous battle he’s sorting through in his mind, his smitten smirk doing wonders to help settle your dress turmoil.

“No— No this, this is perfect. I love it so much. You definitely should get this one.” Dave says persuasively, a beat of sensualism exuding from where he now stands with his chest flush to your back, his hands attempting to bypass the layers of fabric in search of somewhere to efficiently affix himself to you. “Reminds me of that dress you wore to the Gala last year. You looked stunning. So much so I couldn’t keep my hands off of you the entire night. Pulled you into that closet and fucked you while the awards ceremony carried on.”

“Hmm, I remember.” You smile, your stomach flipping at the way he so vividly remembers that evening too. “But the price is a little much though. Like too much.” Dropping the price tag, allowing it to hang freely from the dress instead of mocking your sticker shop distress.

“Don’t worry about the price— it’s fine.” You gasp when he connects with your skin, a shiver zipping up your spine, his lips fervent and assertive as they work up the expanse of your neck.

Dave’s hand catches your head as it tips to the side, allowing him more ample space to roam. Your skin in his teeth triggers a soft whimper in your throat, your eyes fluttering closed as you get lost in the sensation of him.

It’s a blur of calculated movements on his part, your body receptive to his smooth control, moving along with ease until your back settles against the wall of the dressing room. The carpeted floor envelops the sound of him falling to his knees. Dave’s eyes glazed over as he stares up at you, their usual golden hue dappled with gleaming eagerness. His hands fumble with the hem of the dress skirt briefly, delighted when he finally manages to breach the abundant layers of fabric. The brush of his fingers on your skin as his hands skim up your legs is all the forewarning you’re given before he’s pulling down and removing the lace panties that you’ve been soaking through all afternoon because of him.

“Dave— what are you doing?” A breathless question, one you don’t really need a response to as he looks up to you one more time, his pointer finger resting on his mouth then lifting your leg over one of his shoulders. 

He takes in the sight of your glistening wetness, his mouth watering at how you’re dripping for him. The urge to taste you is strong and he gives into it fully. 

From above all you can see is bunched fabric and brown tousled locks when he connects to you, his angular nose pressed into the patch of hair that covers your mound, that first tentative kiss to your sex delicate and heady. The soft pressure of his flat tongue has your eyes rolling back when he starts to lick up and down, savoring the deliciously sweet taste of your arousal. Desire forging through your body with a deep buzzing intensity. 

“Oh fuck! If we get caught— Ah!Shit. Dave— Baby, that feels amazing—” You purr in what you hope is a hushed tone, tilting your pelvis just so, a dire need for a climactic release. 

Dave’s tongue moves in slow circles, teasing and flicking at your clit. His ministrations causing a slow tingle to build in your lower abdomen, steadily increasing in strength as he goes. 

“Ma’am, how’s everything going in there?” The store attendant asks, completely unaware of the lewdness taking place on the other side of the current. 

“Mmhmmm! Great! The dress is p-perfect!!” Your voice shoots up an octave when Dave inserts two fingers into your fluttering pussy in one quick thrust, moving them in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue on your aching clit. 

“That’s so great to hear. If you need any help, don’t hesitate to holler.” She says before you hear the clicking of her boots retreating. 

You are squirming and quietly moaning, your knees nearly buckling as the fiery pleasure gains momentum, completely lost in the blissful sensation.

“You hear that, Baby. She said don’t hesitate to holler. Doing so good for me— I can never get enough of you!” His fingers hitting that delicious little spot that makes your toes curl, over and over again. 

“Dave— don’t stop!” And he doesn’t. 

He senses the tension building in your body, your walls seizing up around his deft fingers, intensifying his movements, his tongue lapping at every inch of your folds as your arousal runs down his hand. 

“Baby, I'm coming.” You say right before your jaw goes slack, a silent whine only noticeable to you and Dave fills the small space. Your vision dusted in white, a euphoric sensory cloud of light bursting behind your eyes. 

Dave catches you when it becomes too much to stand, whimpering at the loss of his fingers seated so firmly inside you. 

Your skin is dewy. Glowing under the small dressing room light. The beads of sweat running down the length of your neck, sliding down the slopes of your breast, migrating somewhere below the fabric of the dress. 

Dave catches a few salty drops, his tongue trailing over your clavicle makes you aware that he has removed himself from the underside of the skirt. 

You taste the brininess and the sweet tang of your arousal when he licks into your mouth. Zero time to catch your breath, his tongue tangling effortlessly with yours. 

“Hmmm— I take back what I said earlier. I love the way you taste— only flavor for me!” He says smirking against your tingling lips. 

“You are such a menace. But I love you for it.” You pull him in for one last chaste kiss. 

“I love you so much, Sweetheart.” He kisses your forehead, then bends to pick up your discarded panties, stuffing them in his front pocket. 

“Seems like it would be wrong to not buy the dress after that little move you pulled.” Giggling as you begin the process of undoing the back zipper. 

“Knew that would help sway your decision.” He says with an impish grin and wink. 

*

Your reservation has come and gone. 30 minutes to be exact. Misery and frustration fill your veins as you stir the tiny straw in the watered-down concoction. The cocktail-soaked cherry, normally your inaugural sprinkling of how well the drink was mixed, now lays overlooked and forgotten at the bottom of the glass.

The bartender, who checks in with you like clockwork every 10 minutes or so to see if you needed a refill albeit your obvious lack of consumption from the original drink he made, has shown zero annoyance over the fact that you have taken up space in not one, but two chairs at his bustling bar. Your small clutch placed in front of the empty seat reserved for your husband who was supposed to meet you here an hour ago.

*

Dave and you had made your way back to the hotel after purchasing the dress, giving yourselves plenty of time to get ready for the evening Dave had planned out.

It was hard to keep your hands off each other. a magnetic effervescence had you contemplating whether to call off the reservation all together despite Dave’s ecstatic adamancy to make it to the reservation on time. Both of you managed to work against the intense pull, only sharing shy glances and brushing of limbs standing side by side in front of the bathroom mirror while getting ready.

Dave didn’t shy away from flattering you as he helped zip you in, causing you to fight against tears that threatened to ruin the dramatic makeup that paired perfectly with your dress.

I love you. You are so beautiful. How did I get so lucky? I can’t wait to get you out of this dress later.

Dave’s hand molds to yours, a corner of his mouth lifted as you eagerly drag him from your hotel room. Taking advantage of the privacy the small offshoot hallway provides from the main corridor of the floor, he draws you back to him and without hesitation he kisses you with a fiery tenderness. 

“Alright. We need to go.” He says, breathless and not all that convincing. 

“Do we though? We could just swipe the key, make our way back inside, order room service— you can get me out of this dress. See what I may or may not be wearing underneath.” You murmur against his smile, your tongue sensually gliding over the underside of his upper lip causing him to release a heavy sigh, as if he really wants to do exactly just that. 

“You drive a hard bargain, Sweetheart. And as enticing as all of that sounds— amuse me and go along with what I have planned. The sooner we go, the sooner we can get back here and I can slowly undress you.” He counters, leaving you little room to dispute his well thought out plan for the evening. 

“Alright, Mr. York. We'll play by your rules.” You bat your eyelashes at him. “Dinner. Then straight back here—“

A soft buzzing cuts you off. Dave’s body tenses against yours, releasing you from his hold to retrieve his phone from his black slacks. 

“I need to take this— it’s work.” His demeanor completely shifting from his usual sweet carefree self to closed off and mysterious. 

“Okay. Call them later then. They can leave you a message.” You reach for his hand to continue to make your way down to the restaurant. He pulls away, promptly taking a few steps back, his focus still on the number flashing on his phone screen. 

You’re not sure what hurts more. The fact that Dave is putting work first once again or how he so quickly recoiled when you reached for him. 

“I can’t. I need to take it.” He says, finally looking at you with pleading eyes, and you hate how much you so willingly give into his need to brush off the plans he was only moments ago so eager to get to. 

“Dave— Fine.” Releasing a heavy sigh into the narrow hallway, tightening your grip on the small purse that holds your phone, lip gloss and key card, doing your best to mask the resentment and defeat simmering just below the surface. 

“I’ll be quick. Go grab us a seat at the bar and I’ll meet you there when I’m finished.” He doesn’t give you an opportunity to get another word in, turning to let himself back into the room. 

The bottom of your dress floats in the air, kicking out with each step you take, making your way to the main hall of the floor in the direction of the elevator. Further from Dave. Closer to being alone yet again. Suppressing your swirling emotions for the time being.  

Dave’s hushed voice echoes down the walls. Never actually making back into the room before answering the call. Out in the open. Zero care that his wife is still within earshot. 

“Hey, Ashley… Yeah, she just left. I told her to just wait for me at the bar.” 

You stop dead in your tracks. The swish of your dress is now still at your feet, hanging in its normal wearing state. Your blood runs cold as your brain rapidly tries to digest what you just heard. 

Your heart clings to how easily Dave had been so present and affectionate since this morning. That sinking feeling of your suspicions being revealed. I knew this whole day was too good to be true. 

Everything feels like it’s narrowing. The hallway. Your vision. Your airway. Smaller and smaller. 

Something compels you to keep moving. Further from Dave. Closer to being alone at the bar, away from this man who you no longer find recognizable at this moment. 

*

“Excuse me. Can I get a Scotch, neat, side of water please?” Dave’s whereabouts are no longer unknown to you, leaning an elbow onto the bar as he orders himself a drink, his other hand resting on the back of the chair that has kept you comfortable while you wait. 

“Sorry, that took longer than expected.” Dave apologizes, sealing it with a kiss to your cheek. 

You hum a lackluster response. Gnawing at your bottom lip as you focus on the dilapidated napkin you’ve been rolling and unraveling, folding and unfolding for the umpteenth time. 

“You okay?” Dave asks, his hand moves to rest on your back but now it’s your turn to recoil from his touch, leaning forward before he’s able to make contact. 

“Yeah— I’m great.” You say flatly, only briefly looking at him to deliver your annoyed smile, then back to the crinkled napkin that’s now serving as an absorbent to pooling condensation. 

“Here you are sir.” The bartender interrupts, placing the single malt and ice water on the bar, Dave nods his thanks. 

You don’t have it in you to pry or question his tardiness. So you continue to sit in silence, watching Dave out of your peripheral properly dilute his drink so it’s suitable for sipping. 

“You’re not wearing your ring?” He points out to your bare ring finger then takes a light sip of the diluted scotch. 

The fingers of your left hand pause, fanning out so you can inspect the observation yourself. The usually adorned finger is stripped, lacking your wedding band and engagement ring.  

“Oh— I must have forgotten to put it back on after we went to the pool…” You hadn’t realized how naked it felt all day, the fingers of your right hand soothing over the indent skin, recalling when you had tossed the jewelry haphazardly into your bag yesterday. 

“You don’t think these strangers will get the wrong idea?” You sense an attempt at humor in his voice, only he has failed to read the room. His government skills not sensing you have zero interest in Dave’s untimely decision to be a humorist. “A beautiful woman, alone at a bar, without her wedding rings— Don’t want—“

“Excuse me— can you put my drink on his tab? He’ll be taking care of it, along with your generous tip.” You alert the passing bartender. You swivel your barstool just enough to reach around Dave’s solid form to grab your purse, then swivel in the opposite direction to stand. You tuck your purse under your arm, before delivering the irritation that has finally begun to boil over. “I think the only stranger confused about our marriage is you, Dave.” 

“Wait— Where are you going?” His hand gently clasped around your upper arm, halting your departure. 

You glance down at where his hand holds you, his thumb actively moving in soft circles over your skin, trying his best to distract and diffuse the air between you. Unfortunately, too little too late. 

“I’ve been sitting here waiting for you, Dave— for a fucking hour. I’m going back to the room.” You pull your arm from his grip and leave without another word. 

Dave somehow manages to catch the same elevator, but you don’t bother acknowledging his presence as he stands on the opposite side of the small metal cabin. The other riding passengers don’t suspect you two even know each other or the emanant rift that is unfolding between you, just two lone hotel guests sharing a lift to their designated floor. 

2 stops allow for the other guests to get on to their respective floors, leaving only you and Dave left to continue the ride to the final stop. 

The striking silence is met with electric chords spilling from the small speakers in the elevator. The familiar tune feels like an old friend you’ve been reacquainted with after months apart. Those first few lines wrap around you, embracing you fully— I’ve missed you so. The chorus drawing your gaze to where your husband stands slouched against the mirrored wall, looking equally as somber as you feel, his eyes already drawn to you in the same manner. 

A smile tugs at your lips, a fleeting moment of remembrance to that night so many years ago. That night where Dave was more than just a stranger in a bar. He was your future. Your home. Dave without a doubt was the best thing to happen to you. 

The memory of meeting Dave is interrupted by a soft ding and the doors slowly unveiling your intended destination. 

You stalk towards the room with a graceful backbone, a beautiful facade to how you truly feel inside, keeping yourself together with each poised stride. Dave takes his position two steps behind, vigilantly in tune with your body language. 

There’s a sense of relief that overcomes you the second the door closes and the lock clicks. No longer needing to keep a composed demeanor to prying eyes. No longer allowing the hurt to fester and torment your heart in a stealthily manner. 

They flow furiously once they start. Tears streaming down your face. Silent sobs cracking in your throat. 

You move about busily, grabbing and tossing, too lost in your own blurry thoughts to even notice Dave standing there watching you. 

“What are you doing?” Dave asks, perplexed by the way you’re flinging item after item into your suitcase that lays open on the bed. 

“You’re a smart man, Dave. I’m sure you can figure that out.” Grabbing a drawer’s entire contents and dropping it messily into your bag. 

“I get that you’re packing. Why are you packing is my concern.” He takes a timid step closer towards the streamline process of you moving about. 

“I’m going home. I’ll catch a ride to the airport. Book a new flight when I get there. I can have Jacey pick me up when I land.” A plan you had thoroughly developed before Dave had arrived at the bar. 

“Wait— you’re going home? Why? What’s going on?” He steps directly into your path, hindering your progress. 

“I don’t know anymore, Dave. I thought this was what we needed. Some time away together. Away from work. Away from our normal lives. Just us reconnecting. But it seems like this whole thing was just wasted effort.” You try to wipe the tears, but they just continue to fall. 

“Baby, you’re not making any sense right now.” He knows he should allow you space, but the urge to pull you into him is stronger. 

“It’s been months. Months of you working long hours. Months of missed dinners and late nights at the office. Months of being alone at night wondering if you’re okay and when you’ll be home. Months of worrying that something is happening between us and trying to figure out how to fix it.” Each convulsive gasp for air you struggle for fans across Dave’s neck. His arms tightening around you, every word slicing through his chest. 

“Fuck—“ He murmurs, his cheek pressed into the side of your head, your tearful confession not anything he expected to hear tonight. 

“If you didn’t want to c-come with me— I would have u-understood.” Your shoulders jostle in Dave’s arms, your own arms hanging at your side, still holding a few loose garments in your fists. 

“What? No! Baby, I wanted to come. I want to be here— with you.” Dave pulls back, enough so you can see the sureness in his eyes. 

“What about her? Wouldn’t you rather be here with— h-her?” Your voice cracks at the thought of Dave with someone who isn’t you. 

“Her? What are you talking about?” 

“Ashley— She’s the important phone calls you’ve been taking. The work that can’t wait. She’s why you’ve been so distant with me for months.” It feels like glass the minute it leaves your mouth, shattering across your tongue, nearly choking on the tiny little shards. 

“Honey, you think I’m having an affair?” A nod is all your weary state can give. An affair— it’s the only thing that makes sense to you right now. 

“I heard you talking to her several times since we got here, Dave. The last time being when you told me you had to take an important call and you would meet me at the bar before our dinner reservation.” 

You’re not sure what you expect him to do now that he’s been caught. Confess to his actions. Tell you everything from the beginning. Get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. It was a mistake, it will never happen again. 

What you don’t expect is to see a single tear fall down his handsome face. To see a look of rich tenderness in his eyes. Warmth in his touch as he wipes away the wet worriment painted over your face. 

“Baby— Fuck, I’m so sorry. To say that this trip so far has been stressful would be an understatement. Nothing I had planned for this trip has gone right— even after months and months of preparation. And you’re right, they weren’t work phone calls— not all of them at least. I’m so sorry for making you feel like I didn’t want to be here— I do. I want to tell you everything, but I think it’s best if I show you first.” 

“Show me what?” You ask him. 

“Come with me so you can see for yourself. And if you still want to go home afterwards, we’ll leave tonight.” Dave’s head tilts, his eyes searching yours hoping to relieve any reservations you still might be internally feeling. 

“I look like a blubbering mess right now.” You use what you now realize are a pair of socks to wipe any streaks of makeup smeared on your face. 

“No you don’t. I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He says, his lips molding over yours are a sobering reflection of his love for you. 

Not much else is said on the trek back down to the lobby, allowing Dave to take you to wherever this mysterious place is. 

There’s a nervousness about him, his jitters, while subtle, are loud and obvious. Holding his sweaty palm against yours. His other hand actively fidgeting in his pocket. Head tilt back, then forward, stretching his neck from side to side. 

You lean into his shoulder, tucking your free hand under his arm, hoping to ground him a bit. It helps, you feel him relax instantly into your touch. His lips pressing to the side of your head, Thank you. 

“Dave, where are we going?” You ask as you walk in an unfamiliar area of the hotel. 

“Almost there.” He says, his fingers squeezing in small bursts against your hand. 

It’s a long hallway covered in an elaborate wallpaper with rich details of floral patterns and bold hues. It's dimly lit due to the fact that there’s zero windows, the only light is given by the mid century style sconce fixtures lining the walls. Potted plants strategically placed around sculptures and empty velvet chairs. 

You’re met with two large wooden doors as you approach the end of the hall, but it’s the woman standing in front of them that has your attention. She’s beautiful, actually she’s stunning. Her smile is so warm and inviting, beaming at you as you and Dave walk closer to where she stands. It’s as if she’s been expecting you, waiting diligently for your arrival. 

“Good evening Mr. and Mrs. York. My name is Ashley.” 

[starrystevie]

it's 2004 when steve finds himself back in hawkins for the first time since he moved away for good. he has a master's degree under his belt, a mortgage on a house outside of st. louis with a dog and picket fence, and a rockstar that wormed his way into his heart next to him in bed every night. he's closer to 50 than he is to 20 and life feels good, life feels settled, figured out in a way he never thought he'd get to see.

"you gonna tell me why you're shakin' like a leaf?"

but sitting across from wayne munson and his sharp gaze is enough to make him feel like a teenager again.

steve takes a sip from his glass of water before setting it down on the end table next to him and watches the way wayne's finger taps against the side of his coffee cup. it's like he's keeping rhythm with something that steve can't hear, like a drum beat in his head that proves that he's the reason eddie has musical talent.

"i'm fine," he responds back to wayne, a stilted smile crossing his face. wayne's gaze deepens like he he doesn't believe him. "i'm fine!"

there's a clock ticking somewhere in the living room and the faucet in the kitchen is dripping quietly and it makes the silence that falls between them even more deafening. steve takes in a deep breath and nods absently as he rubs his palms over his denim clad knees.

"is he in trouble?" wayne asks in a gruff voice, low and to the point. steve shakes his head immediately, stutters out something that sounds like no, and wayne looks at him with his eyebrows pinched together. "are you in trouble?"

"no, it's not-" steve stands up and paces out some of his nerves, hands shoved into his pockets so that he stops waving them around. he sighs and looks back at wayne. "it's nothing bad."

"if it ain't bad, then just say it."

steve groans and runs his hands through his hair. it's harder to do this than he thought it would be, quite possibly the hardest thing he's done in years and that's including having to admit to eddie that he does indeed like the stupid beard he grew as a dare from jeff. wayne is still staring at him with a determined look, like he won't let steve get away with any of his usual charming bullshit, and looks so much like eddie that it makes something in his heart explode.

"fine! i'm asking eddie to marry me and i need your permission or something. happy old man?" he finally says, or well, shouts. it's too loud in the quiet house and he can see wayne wince from the decibel he reaches but it's out. it's off his chest and he's finally said it.

and wayne is smiling.

seeing him smile is strange, not because he doesn't look good with a smile, but because it's not often that steve gets to bear witness to it. it starts off slow, clipped at the edges before it spreads to his cheeks and crinkles his eyes. steve's breathing hard when wayne stands up and wraps his hands around the tops of his shoulders. he can feel himself shaking under wayne's grip and from this close, he can see the tears that he knows wayne is fighting against.

"it's about damn time, boy. took you two long enough to pull your heads outta your backsides."

getting hugged by wayne is almost weirder than seeing him smile. it's short, to the point, with pats on backs and chuckles that break loose from steve's too tight chest. part of him wishes eddie were here to let him be a part of the moment, but it would ruin the surprise he's so carefully planned, so he revels in the rare time between just the two of them.

"had to wait for somewhere to allow it first, wayne," steve mutters as they pull apart and he feels hope unfurl somewhere within him when he says it.

"well, alright, i guess you're off that hook then. but y'know," wayne's sitting back down in his arm chair and steve does the same, matching grins plastered on their faces. "you don't need my permission. that boy is crazy over you and if you think you ain't a part of this family already, then you're crazier than he is."

steve looks around at the pictures on the shelf behind wayne's head. sees young eddie and wayne with arms around each other, sees a makeshift graduation picture, an out of focus one of the two of them outside their house in missouri, one of all three of them around the chritmas tree in '99 when they had wayne come down to see them, and he thinks, yeah. they're already a family. at least now it'll be paper official.

[reidshearts]

Picture 1, summer lake party!

You had just turned 16 when you had finally been granted permission to stay out later and attend one of the infamous lake parties hosted by head councillors and the older campers. Your older siblings in the Ares cabin had prepped you of the activities that took place and what not to do to embarrass the Ares name. For example when one of your brother, Aiden had snuck in weed and accidentally misplaced it before realising, after Chiron had caught them, the wood nymphs had stolen it and … well they were forbidden to tell the rest by Mr D!

After many hours of changing outfits with your Clarisse's opinions, you had decided on a pink floral two piece swim costume before layering a cute tank top and your favourite denim shorts.

You gave yourself some encouragement in the mirror before heading down to the lake after your siblings, not before hugging Clarisse goodbye seeing as she was too young to attend.

Noticing a few crowds already scattered across the area. You paused, realising the only people you knew closely had already begun to mingle and join their friends. Of course this wasn't a good idea, there was no point trying to fit in with your siblings friend groups, they would reject you after noticing you weren't like them. Not brave like Lena, as pretty as Clarisse but you were too emotional and sensitive no matter how many times you had tried to change. You would never have the confidence.

Preparing to leave you had turned on your heels before a warm hand took a hold of your shoulder, forcing you to turn around and an unfamiliar voice spoke.

"I am so sorry i didn't mean to startle you, just wanted to see if you were okay was all"

After realising this person had meant no harm you noticed it was Luke, a son from the Hermes cabin. Smiling softly you admire his soft features, from his onyx curls to his mesmerising jawline.

Luke chuckled breaking you from your stare, of course he had also admired you however he had learnt to be more subtle.

"Sorry your...", you clear you throat and decide not to continue your trail of thoughts, "Oh yea I'm peachy just going to head back to my cabin, get some beauty sleep yanno?"

"You only just got here"

"You stalking me Luke?"

"Nope, just observant but I think I've been more subtle than you, my eyes are up here sweetheart"

You turned your head trying to hide you growing smile however your plan failed when your eyes met his again.

"C'mon you have to actually be by the lake to say you came to one of these things!", Luke exclaimed before giving you his best smile, saved for his favourite people and holding out his hand for you take take.

You threw your head back with a huff giving in and reluctantly placing your hand in his. He had definetly then suprised you when you were suddenly launched forwards trying to catch up with his running further towards the lake.

Luke made his way with his hand in yours towards the furthest end of the lake where only few campers sat, slowing his pace as he got closer. You couldn't help but admire the lake as, forgetting it's beauty in the glowing sunset. Trees scattered the landscape and vines dripped from the high branches creating curtains that sun snuck through and highlighted rows of hyancinths and tulips. This was beautiful you thought.

You were truly magnificent Luke thought, his gaze admiring you and your actions. Your hands were still clasped together as Luke softly pulled you down to sit on the nearest picnic blanket with him. It was an intimate moment, both sitting side by side, thighs touching as you got lost in conversation.

Time slipped by and you both hadn't noticed how campers had began to make their ways back to their cabins, only a few including you two still stayed. The moon had now shone down reflecting light against the lake waters.

"I love the lake like this", you expressed, "the most peaceful it probably is all day" recalling the number of people who swam and splashed in it earlier the evening.

"Are we personifying the lake now?", Luke teased.

"No, doof you know what I mean"

"Like you wanna capture it and keep it in your pocket?"

"Yea, well maybe not my pocket but a pretty box would be nice", you replied with a soft grin, your features were lit up by the night sky.

"Well then why don't we", he suggested.

Before you could question him, he was already calling out to another camper who he had seen previously to have a polaroid camera with her. The girl wondered over with a grin, pleased to capture a cute moment between the two of you. Luke pulled you closer, hand around respectfully around your back and your head dropping onto his shoulder.

"Cheese!", the girl exclaimed and you gave your best smile hoping Luke was doing the same, "Awh that was so cute guys, here you go, keep it safe".

She handed over the polaroid photo to you carefully before skipping back towards her friend group. Waving it around in the air you impatiently waited for the picture to develop.

"Shit, we should probably head back, the last group is leaving now, ready?", Luke jumped to his feet while lending out his hand to you.

"Thank you kind sir", you replied letting him pull you up, holding the polaroid tightly in one hand and keeping his in yours as you wandered back through the woods. The walk wasn't long and seemed to have unfortunatley quickened as you both shared whispers, hoping to not wake the sleeping campers with loud voices.

Standing in front of your cabin with a blush and a honest smile was not how you anticipated the night to end when you first arrived at the lake. But you weren't disappointed.

"I had a nice time", Luke spoke, matching your smile.

"Me too"

Your hands were both still tightly strung together before you reluctantly let go, leaving a final squeeze.

"Night Luke"

"Night sweetheart", he gave you a brief kiss on your forehead before making his way back to his cabin, looking back twice as he watched you open the cabin door.

With one final glance over your shoulder you quietly shut the cabin door and head to your bunk. Thankfully not dropping the polaroid in your fingers you figured it had probably developed by now. Holding it up your smile only grew wider. You had a smile on your face in the picture and where you had expected to see Luke's also towards the camera it was not. His eyes glued to you, leaning on his shoulder, and had a soft smile, admiration only seen.

[schluttandco]

𝖶𝗁𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖥𝖾𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗋𝗂˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Highschool!Schlatt x Reader ༉‧₊˚. PREVIEW

Hey! I wrote this twenty chapter fic like 6 months ago and now I'm reworking it⋆.ೃ࿔*:･I am like totally new to Tumblr and this concept genuinely keeps me up at night.

Reader and Schlatt are both eighteen, eventual smut, angst always.

The schools star baseball player and virgin Schlatt can't help but befriend the grunge girl with no friends who has a bit of a reputation.

Schlatt was leant back in his gaming chair, fingers lazily moving over the controller of his Playstation as he focused on the game of Call of Duty in front of him. A great use of his allowance. The noise of something banging against his window drew him out of his technology driven haze, pausing the game to throw open his curtains. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of you, clinging to the trellis that ran the length of his house, a grin painted on your face as you motion for him to open the window.

"Hey there..." You say, with an air of faux casualness. "You come here often?" Schlatt shakes his head at the sight, yout chipped black nails clinging to the wood like an insane person, giving him a stupid grin that made the skin of his palms sweat.

"Ha ha, very funny doll..." He says, with a small huff of laughter. "You're going to break a bone or somethin'." Your face peels into a smirk at that, rolling your eyes at him.

"Wanna go get drunk?" You ask, gesturing to the vodka bottle poking out of the top of your denim shorts. He lets out a small groan, which turns into a nod.

"When don't I wanna get drunk?"

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

After scaling the trellis with practised ease, the two of you fall into step with each other. The evening air is cold as you make your way to the small wooden area at the edge of Schlatt's neighbourhood. You settle in the slightly dingy den, which you built in freshman year. It's not much: just a few big sticks tied together with rope, but it was secluded and a good place to get drunk away from the eyes of parents or kids from the neighbourhood.

"You stole the vodka, didn't you?" Schlatt asks, slightly amused as you sit cross legged opposite each other.

"Obviously." You reply with a small smirk, twisting off the cap, taking a swig and then passing him the bottle. "How'd it go after the game?" Schlatt considers the question, taking a sip from the bottle with a small wince.

"Same as every other game, I guess..." He shrugs, passing the bottle back to you.

"Get with Kelsey?" You say, wiggling your eyebrows, taking another sip and sticking out your tongue in disgust. "I overheard her talking about you." He rolls his eyes at that, shaking his head as he lets his back rest against the sticks of the den.

"Nah... she was all over me after the game but I..." He trails off, unable to meet your gaze properly, his fingers playing with the dirt below him. "I ditched her. I guess."

"Still a virgin then?" You grin, passing him the bottle as you place your satchel bag onto the ground in front of you, pulling out a tube containing a joint, taking a moment to fish out the lighter from the bottom.

"Says the one that keeps sleeping with half the seniors in the school." Schlatt bites back, his eyes studying your fingers as they pop open the tube, pulling out the joint and placing it in between your lips. He's mesmerised  by the sight, able to watch over the top of the vodka bottle as the alcohol scorches the back of his throat.

"You calling me a slut, Johnathan Schlatt?" You say with mock offence, lighting the end of the joint. You take a hit, then you pass it to him, watching as he places the vodka bottle haphazardly in between your legs.

"Well..." He hums, taking the joint from in between your fingers. "I'm not wrong, am I?"

"So you are pissed at me for sleeping with Ben then." You say, watching him closely as he exhales a small cloud of smoke.

"I don't care what you do with who doll." Liar.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Chapter One comes tomorrow! Idec if nobody likes this fic, I simply just need to pour out my inner feelings- lmao.

[moonstruksandco]

⋆｡devil i know 𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

PROLOGUE ; PLAYING GOD

pairing : mob!stucky x mob!reader

summary : your father risked his life for somebody else, now you have to work for him and his best friend

warnings : eventual smut (hehehehe) ; soft mean bucky (meaner reader) and steve ; hard headed reader with a violence problem ; meaner bucky, colder steve ; classism ; daddy issues ; hella violence ; fem!reader ; trailerpark!reader

a/n : yeeaaaaaaaaaaaaa i'm sort of out of my mind writing this, cuz i have a an unfinished tvd chap in drafts but i couldn't help myself, the daydreams went CRAZZYYYYY and I miss infinity war steve and cap and winter soilder look! this is dedicated to my sun ; reblogs and feedback are loved and appreciated

Its ridiculous

And you think you don’t care.

Well.

Its hard to ease into it, but you still know you should.

He sacrificed himself for someone else.

Took a bullet for someone else.

Someone that was never going to be you.

And now, he’s in front of you.

Not the one striving for his life, the one who got to live.

You know this life well. And you thrive on it. Born to fight, raised to live.

But never for him.

“He told me to watch over you,” He says with his golden hair and beard, looking at you seriously.

His eyes are too blue.

His office, or what he chooses to show face in, is cold. Everything is white or beige. Big open windows behind him, desk and monitor shining on his face.

“So…I have to work? For you. That were his last words?” Before he became a vegetable, you don’t say.

You’re clad in attire that almost didn’t even get you into his floor. Theres an oversized leather jacket draped over the chair next to you, denim skirt, groza strapped right underneath (and another in said jacket), white tank and low top sneakers ;because its blazing outside, obviously. Sweat still sticking, mind the very ventilated room.

You think back;

“I’m just here to see Steve Rogers,” you say to the point of exhaustion to the receptionist - secretary whatever.

You think if she was more gentle and nice about it, you would’ve given her grace. But she wasn’t, and hasn’t.

“Yes, but I told you I’ve spoken to him on the phone, and I’ve shown you the number that I could see you obviously recognized, plus the text he sent to come at this time.”

She rolls her eyes.

You decide you’re going to maim her.

“I’ve heard this all before,” She responds in a bored tone, “If you’re not on the sched-”

You’re beginning to pull out the dagger under your skirt.

A hand stops you.

“She’s fine. Let us up.”

You immediately pull on his wrist in retaliation. You think you’re about to break it, but he meets yours eyes.

Eyes to blue. But ones you don’t recognize.

And he stands by Steve now, hands clasped on his front.

You think he said he said his name was Bucky in the silent elevator.

He continues, “I’m not going to take whats owed to yo-”

“Well, he wanted you to, no?” you finish.

You cross your arms, leaning back slightly in the chair. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

Steve sighs, look away from you, then back to you. “We need you to keep doing what you do best. But this time, for a cause that matters.”

“And that cause is…?” You sit up, confusion evident.

He stalls, as if confused. “You’re father.”

You slack by down, not amused and definitely not interesting

Steve continues, “Just pretend to be my assistant, do what you do best for him, and I’ll protect you.”

You laugh, a short, bitter sound that echoes in the sterile room. "Protect me?” He must be joking.”I think I’ll be fine without it.”

“You know who your father is, right?”

Your face morph into something close to irration.

Its not Steve, its the other blue eyes, and you look straight into his eyes, Bucky you think, “Did I stutter?”

The tension in the room thickens, Steve interjects, placing his palm up to interrupt whatever his (Bucky?) rebuttal was, “This isn’t just about you. It’s about preventing something bigger.”

Your eyes leave a pair of blues, to meet another;

Steve continues, “No one knows what happened. If they know the state he’s in, or even wher-”

“So what? I play assistant

“Exactly.” His shadow says.

You don’t like Bucky.

“You already have one. The bitchy one.”

Steve sighs, “You’re just a cover. You’ll be doing the real work.”

You lean back again, contemplating. "Fine. But if this goes south, I'm out," you say, standing up grabbing your coat.

Steve nods, "Understood,” He stands up when you do respectfully. We start tomorrow."

You scoff again opening the door to exit, “We start next Monday.”

The door closes behind you with a soft click, leaving Steve and Bucky in a tense silence.

Bucky turns to Steve, "Are you sure about this?"

Steve nods, "She was his right hand” He looks back at the seat you were sat on.”No ones going to do it as best as her.”

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

working on chap 2 ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎

[rowretro]

𝕊𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕪

♡taglist: @firstclassjaylee @laurradoesloveu

♡Warnings: slapping, idk what else.

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✧CHAPTER 1✧

Saturday morning, 11am. Rowan was still deep asleep lost in her strange dreamland. She never wasted her mornings waking up early like a positive healthy person who studies at 6am and gets on her parents good side. She simply can't. Why waste the only 2 days you get to sleep and take a peaceful break on being productive?

Compared to the 5 days she wakes up early, zooming around to freshen up, doing her makeup and going to school, especially these recent days as exams are nearing, and the stress starts taking a toll on her feeble state. 

That's right, exam season, the season I must say all students dread it's insane how a paper of useless questions that won't even be helpful in the future, can cause her to cry, lash out at her laptop every time it takes a while to load, and cause her to lose weight at an unhealthy cost. 

She wasn't going to wake herself up the one time she was sleeping soundly when all these nights she spent cramming and revising, highlighting notes, and trying to solve confuzzling formulas. She preferred her zombie apocalypse dream, where she was eating marshmallows in a rundown building's attic.

"Row! it's 11:47 get your ass up!" Jungwon yelled, no answer "Rowan. You'll have plenty of time to sleep later- we need to go to the mall" Jungwon reasoned as he softly opened the door, peeking in, hoping he's not walking in on anything awkward. To his luck she was buried under her thick duvet, snuggled up against another pillow, and sound asleep.

There's only one way to get her to wake up and come downstairs, all dressed and ready to go outside. "Row- get your fucking ass up now! Heeseung is waking up!"Jungwon finally said as he shut the door of her room, grinning mischievously as he heard her get up, rushing about here and there.

. . .

"I'm ready let's go-" Rowan froze mid sentence as she saw Heeseung sitting on the sofa, Newspaper at hand, Steaming hot tea, in the delicate, expensive teacup on the table before him. He eyed her up and down, eyebrows scrunched at the centre, s if scrutinizing her look.

Hee tended to be pretty protective, of course he was all for her style and love for fashion, but sometimes, all he could see was his little baby sister. Row bit her lip, nervous, hoping she didn't have to change. she was wearing a pretty tight pink top, flounce sleeves with a nice white ribbon in the centre, a rather ballet core top, with a short white skirt to match.

"Where are you off to?" he asked coldly, eyes piercing into her as he studied her makeup, not too natural, heavy on the eyes, visible manga lashes, so definitely not a date. "Jungwon, and I have to buy a few things at the mall-" she said as she turned to Jungwon who just grabbed his car keys. 

Heeseung nodded as he turned to Jungwon "Alright. take care, be back by 6 Won, we have a meeting at 6:30." Heeseung simply said as Jungwon smiled saying ok as he led Rowan out the door.

. . .

Sunghoon hummed to himself as he dried his hair, white t shirt somewhat sticking to his abs, and a nice dark denim pair of jeans that suited his stature very well, practically everything suits him. He smiled to himself as he sprayed a crazy amount of deodorant around himself. 

"ma im heading out with the boys ill be back very late don't know when so don't worry about me ok?" he said as he was about to walk out the building "Why would I worry about you?! im more worried about your sister." she said as Sunghoon playfully pouted "Favouritism much.... "

"No it's not like that... Sunghoon your sister's been getting bullied the past week... since she's joined high school, it's one of those things I was worried about... can't you go ask her what's wrong? like I don't know solve her little issue?" She asked as Sunghoon groaned.

He didn't defy. He couldn't, he'd feel guilty anytime he didn't do something his mother wanted, she wasn't strict or anything, just... she's his mom after all.  "Oi. tell me who he or she or they is." Sunghoon said as he sat beside his sister. Siyeon frowned, taking off her ear piece, as she folded the page.

"Why do you suddenly care?" she asked as Sunghoon shrugged "You're my sister- and I have the power to scare people so just tell me-" he said as the girl rolled her eyes "Fine... her name's Leiko, she's in a few classes above me and she thinks im going after her man- whoever he is... she often wears pink and hangs out at the Hera mall on Saturdays-" She added, waving around some cash as Sunghoon narrowed his eyes.

"give me a description and your problem will be solved within seconds. That girl won't even look in your direction my dear sister~" Sunghoon said with a smile as Siyeon smirked "Black hair, around 5'2 or something, she's probably wearing pink, and she'll most definitely stand out in a crowd." she said as Sunghoon rushed off.

. . .

"You wait here- I'm going to head to the men's room quickly kay?" Jungwon said as Rowan nodded. She stood by a bench, smiling as she admired her newly done nails. The school wasn't too keen on makeup and nails, but her brother's Heeseung so the teachers don't care. Row softly flicked the dangling heart charm on her nail as she could see a dark-haired, charming male heading her way.

She's seen plenty pretty boys before, never one this pretty. Dark, perfect eyes, perfect jawline, plump pink lips, and a very pretty nose, a few moles here and there. Then she realized he was actually heading in her direction. Stopping right before her, his glare piercing, as she froze in her spot.

Just like that. One hard, stinging slap around her face, his big watch making it all the more painful. Sunghoon didn't even have the slap planned when he was going to threaten the said girl... he just felt so... mad. The girl stumbled back, her heels not having mercy on her balance. 

"Come near my sister again and I swear you'll never see the end of this." Sunghoon said as Rowan gasped, annoyed, mad, confused. Before she could even ask, the male had already walked off. Who's sister? why? what did she do? What the fuck? "Fuck Row- your face... who the fuck did this to you?" Jungwon asked, noticing the reddened mark on her face "Let's just go home..." she said, exhausted.

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𝕊𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕪

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[baby-yongbok]

Okay so here’s my request: a Hyunjin fic Where Hyunjin needs to pee and y/n keeps teasing him and won’t let him go so she straddles his lap and starts making out with him, he keeps warning her that he needs to go but she doesn’t care. Then she asks him to just…let go as she grinds down on him, and he’s really nervous at first but gives in eventually soaking them both. Bonus points is she jerks him off and makes him cum after, gold stars if he pees more in her hand as he orgasms too.

There, good luck w the challenge soldier, I kept this one tame for beginners 🤭

It took me a while, life has been lifeing but I'm here and I DID IT. Once I got into the flow of writing this is came quite easily and was fun to create 😊 Thank you the challenge! Let me know how I did 😅❣️

New Kink

Boyfriend!Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 1,527

Warnings: Cursing, Cum tasting (That should be it, so sorry if I missed anything)

✨Masterlist✨

"Come on, you just got here and you want to leave me already?" You pull at your boyfriend's arm, trying to force him onto the couch. He only resists a little bit because he wants to give in to you. You and Hyunjin haven't seen each other for a week since your schedules didn't line up and you want to spend every second you can wrapped in his arms. 

"Angel, it's just for a second. I just have to use the bathroom." Hyunjin pleads with you softly. 

"Is the bathroom more important than me?" You tease once you finally get him to sit on the couch. You quickly get on top of him to keep him from leaving you. "I thought you missed me."

You fake a pout and Hyunjin sighs softly.

"I did miss you, my love. I just need to pee and then I'll be right back." He attempts to push you off of him but you anchor yourself, pressing your crotch against his pelvis. A small grunt erupts from Hyunjin’s throat as he struggles to hold his bladder. 

"You'll be fine, just stay with me." You leave a small kiss on his lips. "I missed you, baby."

You kiss Hyunjin again this time deeper, more passionate than before. He hesitates for a second but kisses you back, matching your passion. One of your hands trail down his chest and the other tangles into his hair. You swivel your hips, grinding into him and he breaks the kiss, groaning deeply. 

"Baby, I'm serious, I really really need to pee. I've been holding it the whole way over here. It'll just take a second."

"How about…" You kiss his neck softly, trailing soft pecks up to his ear. "You just go right here."

You can hear Hyunjin's breath hitch in his throat as you kiss over his adam's apple. 

“I don't think.. that's a good idea." Hyunjin's voice is nearly a whisper. You grin slightly, is he turned on by the thought of that?

"Why not?" You grind against him, pressing your hips hard against his. "You have to go, right?"

A groan that fades into a deep moan passes his lips as he squeezes his eyes shut, his head falling back against the couch. You continue to kiss the soft skin of his neck. Biting softly and sucking a bit. Hyunjin takes a deep breath, trying to control himself. 

"I do.. but not here." You grind into him again, a deeper more pronounced moan leaves his parted lips and a small chuckle escapes you. 

"Come on." You pull away from his neck, peering deep into his unsure gaze. "It's fine. Just go ahead, right here."

You continue to grind into him, you can feel his cock hardening underneath you. Hyunjin's thigh muscles contract as he presses them together. You continue to grind into him. Small moans leaving your lips as you get more into it. Hyunjin’s brows knit together in uncertainty, the pleasure you're providing gradually making it more difficult to hold his bladder. 

"Angel.. I can't hold it, are you sure?" You nod, the soft fabric of your cotton shorts and the friction of his denim jeans causing a delicious ache to form between your thighs. 

"Go ahead." You coo softly as you rock into him. Hyunjin whimpers in response, his eyes still shut but the tension in his eyebrows softens little by little as he lets go. 

You can feel the wet warmth of him under you. You grind into him harder, the wetness of his urine meshing with the slick of your cunt. You lean down, attaching your lips to his hungrily. He kisses you back, hard and rough, your tongues fighting against each others. You feel as the warmth under you expands, soaking your shorts and seeping into the denim of his jeans. The imprint of Hyunjin's hard cock straining against the soaked fabric. You moan into the kiss as Hyunjin lets out a satisfied sigh, his cock twitching at the relief mixed with pleasure. 

"Feel better, baby?" You ask breathlessly against his lips. He moans in response, his hands gripping your hips as you rock against him. 

"You're filthy." He mumbles against your lips, smiling into the kiss. A breathy chuckle escapes you as you lightly bite his bottom lip, pulling at it a bit. 

"I am, aren't I?" You lean up, stripping your shirt off and throwing it to the side. "Let me show you just how filthy I am."

You move yourself off of his lap and sink down to your knees in front of him. Your eyes never leave his dark one's, he watches you carefully, hungrily. You reach for the button of his jeans swiftly undoing it and unzipping his pants. He lifts his hips to allow you access and you fight a bit to get the soaked fabric down his thighs. His jeans pool at his ankles and he steps out of them, leaving him in his soaked briefs. You shimmy them down just enough to have access to his cock and balls. A small moan leaves your lips as your forearm rests against the damp fabric of his briefs to stroke his dick. 

"Show me, angel." 

You lean up on your knees, sticking your tongue out of your mouth with a collection of spit waiting to drip from the tip of it. You dip your head down, licking up his member, collecting the taste of him and the mess that he made moments before. A pornographic moan leaves your lips as you reach the head of his cock, sucking on it briefly before pulling away with a trail of spit connecting you to him. 

"Fuck, baby, I'm a bit sensitive." You moan in response as you dip down to taste him again, Your tongue flat against the underside of his cock and swirling around the head before you take more of him into your mouth. The warmth of your mouth makes Hyunjins toes curl in pleasure.

“My filthy little angel.” Hyunjin coos at you, lacing his slender fingers into your hair and guiding you up and down his length. “You like tasting the mess I made? You like being soaked in my piss?”

You groan around his shaft, the vibrations of your throat sending chills up Hyunjins spine. You reach down between your legs and rub yourself over your piss soaked shorts. The wet fabric creates delicious friction against your bare core. You moan at the sensation as you continue to bob your head, taking him deeper down your throat each time. Using your free hand you start to pay attention to his balls, rubbing at the twin globes and covering them with the spit that dribbles down from the hilt of Hyunjins cock. You choke around him when he pushes your head down a bit, holding you there for a second to indulge in the way your throat contracts around him. 

“Oh, fuck you’re gonna make me cum.” You look up at him with your bright eyes. His brows are knitted together in pleasure as he watches you, teeth sunken into his bottom lip and his chest rising and falling quickly. 

You moan as you start to reach your peak as well, bucking against your own hand desperately. The cold and wet sensation of your urine soaked shorts serves as a delicious contrast to the burning in your belly. 

“Fuck, baby, I’m cumming.” You pull back from his cock, panting a bit as you move your hand from his balls to his shaft. You stroke him at the same pace that you were previously bobbing your head making sure to keep him on the edge.

 “Shit.” Hyunjin groans, his head falling back against the couch as he releases all over your hand. Him cum dripping down onto his soaked briefs. You reach your climax seconds after, squirting a bit and soaking your shorts all over again. 

You notice a bit of piss mixed arousal spurt up from his cock, falling against your hand and dripping down. Small moans fall from both of your lips as you come down from your high, your hips slowly rock into your hand, mixing the fluids that are responsible for your dripping shorts. You slowly stop stroking Hyunjin, a bead of mixed arousal escapes him before you let go of his member, allowing it to rest against his clothed stomach. 

“Fuck.” You whisper breathlessly as you rise from your knees. “You okay, baby?”

Hyunjin shakes his head, resting his hand over his chest. 

“That was fucking hot.” He chuckles, a small smirk pulling at his lips. You sit next to him and he turns his head to the side to gaze over at you. You smile back to him and glance down at his cum stained briefs. You take up a bit of his mixed arousal with two of your fingers, he watches as you bring them up to your mouth and taste it, sucking on your fingers like a lollipop. A low moan escapes you as the taste of him covers your tongue. Once you’re satisfied you release your fingers with a slight ‘pop’

“New kink unlocked”

[silassinclair]

Hi!

Can I request Maddox with a darling who lives to read, maybe he catches her reading some old romance books in an abandoned house they shack up in or something like that

Btw I live your writing ♥️

As someone who loves to read I am obligated to write for this req 😤🫡 Thanks for the request tho!! Hope you like it :-)

Yandere Wild West Outlaw x Bookworm Reader

CW// Maddox is annoying, Reader being a little perv Masterlist Here!!

The new house Maddox found was lovely. It had decently okay furniture and a vast collection of old books on the shelf. It's small with only two bedrooms and one bathroom but it was charming. But what caught your interest was the big oak wood bookshelf. You couldn't even remember the last time you picked up a book. Being on the run with Maddox made time fly.

"Who would leave all these books behind? They're all in great condition." You mutter to yourself as you take a blue and purple book with gold trim off the shelf. Tracing your fingers down the spine of the hardcover novel you appreciate the craftsmanship. It was clearly expensive, something you could no longer afford. Your Dad bought you many books like these but now you were pretty much broke. You only had Maddox to rely on now.

Speaking of Maddox you had no clue where he was. Which you didn't really care, he always disturbed your peace. Cracking open the book you sit down on the loveseat and start reading. It was a romance book about a huntsman who fell in love with a duchess. The story was beautiful as it was exhilarating.

"Oh wow, you into that kinda stuff?"

You snap the book shut instantly, a mini cloud of dust poofs from the pages. Maddox chuckles huskily behind you, leaning down and resting his chin on the back of the loveseat.

"Oh don't be embarrassed princess, it was getting to the good part. What did it say again? Oh! Ahem-"

Maddox coughs into his hand and smirks. Deepening his voice he quotes the passage in a deep, British-like accent,

"He caresses the duchess' milky thighs, her womb felt of silk wrapped around his ma-"

"OH HUSH!" You whip around and smack the outlaw's head, his hat nearly flying off. But he only laughs at your flustered state.

"You're filthy." You groan and put the book back on the shelf where it was. But Maddox follows behind you and takes the book into his own hands and opens it up. Skimming through the pages he smirks.

"I'm filthy? Sweetheart you're the one readin' this junk." Maddox shuts the book and puts it back. Putting his hand up on the shelf he leans against it while looking down at your shorter self.

"Well it is a romance book." Rolling your eyes you choose a different book. This time you pick a title you're familiar with, Pride and Prejudice.

"Now leave me alone you brute. I'd like to relax for once." With that you walk away and go outside. Finding a nice tree you sit beneath it and read the book. Reading reminded you of home, the home that was ripped from you. In a way it was escapism which is unhealthy but a girl can dream right?

Hours pass and the sun begins to set, casting an orange glow across the cloudy sky. The words on the page become harder to read as the sun sinks lower and the moon rises. You didn't want it to end. You know you could read inside but that damn outlaw was inside. You just wanted to stay out here forever with the natural ambience of wind and birds.

Footsteps approach you and you already know who it is. Looking up you see him. Black denim jeans, a burgundy vest, twin revolvers around his waist, and a dark brown cowboy hat on his head. And of course that bandana covering the bottom half of his face. Anytime you asked him about his face he got ticked off so you avoided the subject. But you couldn't help but be curious.

"You're starin' sweetheart." His husky voice breaks the silence. There’s a hint of a Spanish accent mixed in with his Southern drawl. You can't help but think about what it would be like if you and him met under different circumstances. Would he save you from bandits? Offer to buy you a drink at the saloon?

Would you two have a storybook romance just like in the books you adore?

"Hey."

He's right in front of you now, crouched to your height. His gloved hand pets your hair and you're frozen. He has you in a trance that you make no effort to free yourself from. His dark amber eyes are crinkled in slight concern over your unusual silence.

"What..?" You say softly.

"It's gettin' dark. Unless you wanna be dinner for the coyotes then I suggest comin' back in. I'll cook up some beans so hurry your little bum up."

Well there goes the moment. You groan and get up off the grass, your back cracking as you stretch. Your eyes watch as Maddox walks back into the house. His hips sway as he walks, you never really payed attention to that before. His ass looks pretty round in those pants to-

"Ugh, what is wrong with me.." Groaning, you follow after him.

[coldfanbou]

Snowball Effect

Here we have the Somi story. Things get a little rough for her. Which reminds me, I did make some changes and had her be your brother's wife. It was just a better choice.

2.9K

Somi x Mreader

Next Part

You park in the dark parking structure and head to the passenger side to open the door. Your sister-in-law Somi comes out; her tight-fitting outfit has your eyes glued to her. Her striped crop top is stretched over her large breasts while showing off her abs. Moving your eyes down, you see her short denim skirt and stockings and marvel at her long legs. You only looked at her briefly, but it felt like forever. Closing the door behind her, Somi skips ahead of you; as she turns around, you watch her breasts bounce. "Come on, slowpoke, I'm hungry," she teases, turning back to face the elevator. 

You jog to catch up with her, "Hey, you gotta slow down." 

"I don't think so; you have to pick up the pace. I'm hungry." 

"Yeah, yeah, We're nearly there, so just hold on." Somi was your sister-in-law, married to your brother; you would take care of her while he was away on business. That would be all the time as his work was constant; he had married Somi and immediately left her alone for over a year now. An elevator ride down and a short walk later, you arrive at the restaurant. 

Checking in at the front, you're led to a table in the restaurant's corner; Somi gets a lot of looks as she isn't dressed as well as the others. "Getting a lot of attention, Somi."

"So what? I'm not going to dress nicely for a meal." She says as she sits down across from you. "Besides, I just wanted to get out of the house." 

"Right, the place is nice, but…." you trail off, not wanting to bring up your brother. You're in luck as a waiter brings you menus at that moment. "So what looks good, Somi?"

"I don't know; you're the one who's been here before. I think I'll start off with something strong, though." She says, looking at the menu with an absent look.

"Drinking before you eat isn't a good idea." You remind her while deciding on your meal. 

"It'll be fine." She says, waving you off. It was not fine. Somi drank a lot during the meal and was utterly wasted by the end. You watched as she went from laughing at her joke to suddenly growing quiet.

"Hey, Somi. You should stop with the alcohol. You've had enough." You tell her with some concern in your voice.

 "I'll tell you when I've had enough!" She shouts while slamming her glass onto the table.

"Hey, hey. Calm down, Somi." You try to calm her down. Looking around the restaurant, you see people looking toward your table. "Maybe we should call it here. I'll take you home."

Her head in her hands, Somi quietly says, "No, I don't want to go back there." Somi shakes her head and stares at you with longing eyes. "I'm sorry; I just don't want this to end." Somi stands up and leans across the table, cupping your cheeks. "I just want this to last a little bit longer."

"Alright, alright. I don't have to drop you off, but you need to stop drinking. Okay?"

Somi nods her head, "okay, that's fine." 

"Good, I'll pay for the meal, and we can go somewhere else." You do as much paying for the food and leaving a big tip for the trouble caused. As you try to exit the restaurant, Somi can only walk up to a few steps before stumbling. Once outside, you make the executive decision to carry Somi. Kneeling on the ground, you voice your order, "You're never going to make the walk back, Somi; let me carry you."

"Oh, what a gentleman." She says with sarcasm before climbing on your back. You feel her breasts press against your back, small nubs making themselves known to you. Somi's hands wrap around you, and she places her head on your shoulder. The faint scent of strawberries hits your nose as you stand and walk back to the car. "He's been gone too long." She says, breaking the silence. "I thought I'd be fine with him going away…but I'm not." Her arms tighten around you, and she digs her face into your neck. "I'm so lonely. Maybe…maybe this was a mistake."

"Somi…" all you can do is call her name, but the words don't come out. You don't know how to respond. 

"It’s been a year, more than a year." Somi kisses the back of your neck, "thank you for being with me through all this."

"Of course, I noticed you were kinda down sometime after he left." You tried to let her action slide. "Is there any place you want to go? I hadn't planned on anything else tonight." Somi stays silent for a moment. "Somi?"

"C-could you stay with me tonight? I'm okay with going home if you're with me." 

"I don't know, Somi-" Somi squeezes you.

"Please? Just for tonight."

"I-fine. I'll sleep in the other room, though." 

"Stay with me until I fall asleep," Somi mumbled as she pressed her body against yours. 

"Somi, come on." You respond, trying to draw a line in the sand.

"It’s just…I haven't slept with anyone in a long time. I haven't been with anyone in a long time. I guess I'm just not attractive; that's probably why he chooses to take extensions." Somi whispers. Though you know she's trying to trick you into staying, your resolve to deny her weakens when you feel crocodile tears on your neck.

"Fine, Somi. Just tonight, though." As you agree to sleep with her, a sly smile spreads across her.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you. I can always reward you with something in return." Somi adds the last part sensually as she rubs her breasts against your back.

"Somi, please stop." The feeling of her breasts pressing against your back is beginning to turn you on. You hurry along to keep from doing anything. As you arrive at the car, Somi gets off you slowly. You open the door for her and then go to drive home. As you drive to her home, Somi constantly reaches for your hand; when she can't do that, she reaches for your thigh. "Somi, please stop that; you're married." She slumps down in her seat.

"I am, really? He left me alone; I've been alone for so long." She states before running her hands through her hair. "You've been more of a husband than he ever has. You were there for me when I was sick, when I was crying my eyes out when I couldn't fix anything." She again places her hands on your thigh, "You've been so much better to me. I want you. I-I love you."

"Don't say that, Somi." You respond, trying to focus on getting her home. You were close enough that you could see the building coming up.

"It’s true, though. If I should've married anyone, it should've been-" You cover her mouth to stop her from finishing that sentence. You get to the building and find a close parking spot. Somi stays silent as you walk her to her apartment. Once she opens the door and steps inside, she looks back at you with sad eyes. "Please come inside." She says in a voice so small you could've misheard her.

"I don't think I should." Somi grabs your arm weakly and tries to pull you in.

"Please." She repeats.

"Somi-" you're cut off when she lunges forward and plants her lips on yours. While kissing you, she undoes her skirt and lets it fall to the floor; following that, she rips her stocking at the crotch. 

"Please, just one night. I'm all yours; just claim me." She rubs her finger against her lower lips and then holds them to your face. "I'm wet for you. I won't tell anyone. Please, just this one night." The alcohol must really be affecting her, you think to yourself.

Against your better judgment, you agree. "Just tonight, Somi, and not a soul hears of this."

"Of course." With a smile on Somi's face, she pulls you inside. As she does so, Somi strips off the rest of her clothes. Her jacket goes off first, then her crop top; she turns around to let you see her breasts bounce as she pulls the top over them. Her small pink nipples stare back at you as you look at the large mounds of flesh. Still in the living room, Somi gets on her knees, unable to wait any longer. "I bet you've thought of these a lot," Somi says as she gropes her breasts, squeezing them in her hands. "I'll make sure to use them for you." It’s clear to you Somi wants this to be a continuous thing. You debate how to handle the situation, deciding in the end that you'll be rough to try and scare her off. For now, though, you'll let her take the lead. You watch her lick her lips as she pulls your cock out from its confines. Her soft hand strokes your shaft before moving a little higher and rubbing the head. You groan as you feel her speed up. She inches her face closer and stops stroking your cock to spit on it. Once she feels it's lubricated enough, she strokes it a few more times before placing your cock between her breasts. 

The soft mounds of flesh surround your cock, and Somi begins pumping your cock with her tits. "Fuck, Somi," You moan instantly. Somi smiles; knowing you're feeling good turns her on and lets her believe she has a better chance of succeeding. As she continues, you slowly cover Somi's tits with her saliva and precum.

"It feels good, doesn't it? Having your hard cock in between my big tits. You could use them whenever you want, you know." Somi says as she continues using her tits. When the tip of your cock pokes out from between her heavenly pair Somi takes licks at the head, getting a taste of your precum. You tilt your head back and moan as you feel her small tongue take licks at your cock. Occasionally you would feel Somi stop her titjob and use your cock to tease her nipples. While she stroked your cock she'd run it back and forth over her small bud, making her moan. Her tits sufficiently slick, Somi looks up at you. "I think I'm missing something. Can you give it to me? I can feel your cock pulsing in my hands." You moan louder as Somi speeds up her strokes; her hand glides along the length of your cock as she continues. "Cum on my big tits. Don't you want to paint me? You can cover more than my tits in your cum if you want to. It's okay, baby."  Somi places you back between her tits and lets you thrust your cock between them. The soft pillowy mounds envelop you and drive you crazy. Your cock throbs quickly as you reach your climax and cum. Semen spurts out, covering the tops of Somi's tits, neck, and bits of her face. Somi smiles as she feels your warm cum on her body. She keeps her new pearl necklace while rubbing your cum into her tits and eating what landed on her face. "You came so much." She says in an amused voice.

As she stands, she takes your cock and leads you to the bedroom. Along the way, you strip out of your clothing. Somi bends over the bed and shakes her ass. "Come on, baby, make me yours." She looks over her shoulder and sees you stroking your cock as you get closer. As you press your cock against her entrance Somi realizes she'll struggle to take you in. As you push the head inside her pussy, you feel her walls squeezing you as you begin splitting Somi in two. "Hold on. You're too big." She says with worry. 

"You asked for this, Somi, and it feels too good." You state before impaling her with your cock. Somi screams as she feels you tear her apart. Her legs and arms go weak, and she falls onto the bed. You pull out slowly before thrusting back in. Somi's entire body lurches forward when you do. 

"Fuck! Give me a second." You give her half a minute before starting your thrusts in earnest. Each thrust draws out moans as Somi finally begins to enjoy it. "Oh fuck, I feel so full." She moans as you slam your body against hers, forcing your cock deeper. Your hands reach around her body, and you play with her tits, circling her nipples before pinching and twisting them. "Shit, I'm going to cum. I'm cumming!" She squeals as her body shudders. You feel her walls clench around your cock, as she climaxes. Somi lays her head on the bed, letting you use her as you wish.

You continue thrusting into her, occasionally spanking her, drawing a slow moan from the small woman. "Is this what you wanted, Somi?" You smack her ass as hard as possible, creating a loud clap that bounces off the walls. "Is it?" You ask in a near yell. 

"I…cock…fuck" Somi mumbles; it was hard for you to make out her words as Somi split her sentence between quiet words and loud moans. Somi's eyes are half-lidded, and she has a delirious smile. You try to pull Somi's lower body from the bed to get a better angle when you feel a prominent bulge created by your cock being buried inside her. Somi's back is in a heavy arch when you start thrusting again. "Mhmm…cock so good," she moans. You broke Somi, by the looks of it. As you continued to move, you felt Somi's walls clamp down on your cock as she came again. This time Somi's nectar would spray onto the bed as she continued to take you. Her orgasm does bring you to the edge, however.

You lean over and get beside Somi, "I'm going to cum soon, Somi."

This gets her attention, and she lazily repeats a few words, "cum inside, cum inside." You continue to thrust wildly as you near your orgasm. You plow Somi into the bed as you add your weight onto her. Somi bites the bedding as she tries to keep from screaming. You slam yourself deep inside Somi, burying yourself as you fill Somi with cum. Somi squirts onto the bed again as she feels your cum fill her. As you pull out, her lower half falls. You leave Somi in her room as you take a shower. She stays in the position you left her, her upper body on the bed while her lower half somehow holds her up. You watch as your cum drips onto the floor, and you get hard again. 

However, you decide to leave. You get dressed and go home. The following day you wake up to a constant ringing of the doorbell. As you walk to the door and check to see who's on the other side, you see it's Somi. She's wearing a trench coat, mask, and hat as if trying to disguise herself. "What do you want, Somi?" you ask through the intercom.

"Your cock, baby." She responds quietly. Knowing you can see her, she opens up her trench coat so you can see her naked body. "I can't stop thinking about last night, and you left me all alone." She closes her coat. "I'll do whatever you want, baby. I can't go back to my husband after yesterday. Please let me inside."

"Somi, it was a one-time thing." You grimace; your plan backfired. 

You watch Somi's hand travel to her nether region as she rubs herself. "Come on, baby; you can use any hole you'd like. You haven't even tried my mouth or ass yet. I'll do anything. Get me pregnant if you want; I'll carry the baby. Just give me your cock." Somi's voice grows desperate as she starts to pound on the door with her other hand. "I'll show you what I can really do, baby. Just let me in. I can already imagine your cock filling me with cum again." Somi's fingers slip deeper inside her as she fingers herself at your door. She rocks her hips as she gets closer to her orgasm. "Come on, baby. Let me in!" The desperation is apparent now. Somi's hips move faster until she cums; she squirts onto the hallway, leaving a large puddle. "I can go again, really, I can!" She says as she continues to pound at the door. 

"No, Somi." You're put in a challenging position. There's no way you can reasonably leave her out there. If a neighbor spotted her, it would cause more trouble than it was worth. You grab some tape before returning to the door. You don't need to check if she's out there, as you can still hear her pounding on the door. As you open it, Somi immediately jumps on you, kissing you passionately. 

As you pull her off, she says, "I knew you couldn't resist me, baby. I'll make you feel good, I promise."

"Sit down," you say, pointing to a chair you set up. Somi does as told, and you tie her down with the tape. 

"Kinda kinky baby, I don't mind, though." As you leave her tied up, you consider your options for a problem quickly growing out of control.

[my-own-walker]

Hiya!!!! I was wondering if you do peter maximoff smut? 😅😅😅 If you do, I have a request-but if you don't maybe you could make it like Tate or Kyle? <3

I was wondering if you could do something like Peter (if you can) like using his vibrations and going down on the reader(fem!) while making her read her smutty diary entries about him after he read what was in it? :) THANK YOU BESTIE MWAHHH

I Warned You

note: forgive me if this sucks. my emotions have been all over the past few days and i burned the FUCK out of my hand last night.

warnings: sm*t, oral f receiving, peter being a slut, etc

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It was a rather oppressive day, heat-wise. One of those sticky hot, thighs chafing, greasy bangs days. The sun shined down in a hazy way on the neighborhood I lived in. As I sat there in my denim shorts and big t-shirt, I reminisced on the days of summer as a child. How I'd spend them with my best friend, Peter.

He was the first person I met when I moved here. I was two, to be fair, so I don't remember much of it all. He's always been a permanent fixture in my life. Someone who was just...always there.

He lived next door. Just like a cliche movie. We would ride bikes and draw on the ground with sidewalk chalk together. He was my second-grade boyfriend. He decided to ‘ask me out’ on the last day of school. He learned in school how to say 'I love you,' in sign language just before he asked to hold my hand on the playground on that day in June. He signed it any chance he could. When his mom drove us home in her minivan that day, he held up the sign. Our little secret.

That summer was pure childhood bliss. Innocence. We really didn't 'break up,' per se. When we entered the third grade that September it was just mutual that we had crushes on other kids. We still stayed friends. I'd hang out at his house after school every day until my parents got home. When the weather was warm, I'd sit outside on my porch waiting for him after dinner. Then, like clockwork, we'd find something to do.

As we got older our activities changed. He taught me how to skateboard. I taught him how to trespass on the baseball fields that were tucked down a back street in our neighborhood. We'd swing on this old tire swing over the stream that ran through our backyards.

In our sophomore year of high school, he bought an old car with dreams to fix it up. A 1965 Ford Mustang. It was rusty, beat up, and had no engine. The windshield was shattered and the inside wasn't upholstered. The only working part of it was its radio. When I walked out of my front door on the day he brought it home, he slapped it on its hood, proudly declaring, 'I'm gonna take you to prom in this thing, baby!' We sat in the old thing all afternoon listening to the radio.

I had known about his abilities the whole time. I never got into foot races with him as a kid for that reason. He would beat me every time. Peter had it under control, for the most part, but only when he wanted to. He started getting brazen with it as a teenager. He'd take me on these wild adventures where he'd steal things. The first time it was just some candy from a convenience store. By the time he got that damned car, he was stealing entire carburetors. These trips took all of 2 minutes. Just the two of us speeding off to create havoc.

Somewhere along the way I fell in love with him. Or maybe it wasn't even that. I can't remember a time when I didn't love him. It changed, though. I started to feel things toward him I'd never felt before. When he'd hold my head to prevent me from getting whiplash as we were making our hasty escapes from his escapades, I'd find chills would run up my spine.

Our beautiful little romance blossomed once he finally got his Mustang up and running. Not that he needed it, really. He was leagues faster than any car. He just wanted to be able to transport more things. And his new girlfriend. We started dating in junior year. He had just gotten his license and took me on a ride one night. We parked down a backstreet in our town and our lips finally met. At long last, his fast fingers were allowed to explore my body in a way I had never allowed him to before. It was wonderful, awkward, and hungry. Everything a teenage love affair should be.

He ended up taking me to the prom in that car, just as he'd promised. He looked so smart in his little tux. We spent that entire summer simply enraptured with each other. Our hangouts transformed from outdoor antics to being tangled in my bed, fan on max speed, windows open to hear the mourning doves sing outside. I can still smell the fresh summer air and the smell of him combining to make something all-encompassing and intoxicating.

It was the next summer on this very hot day. Peter and I had been dating for a year. He was away, hanging out with his friends or something. I was home alone. I sat there on my porch, diary resting lazily on my lap, staring off at the hanging 'FOR SALE,' sign on my yard in front of me . I switched between twirling my pen in my hands and chewing the end of it, deep in thought.

It was always the deal in my house. As soon as I graduated, as the youngest kid in my family, we'd move away again. My parents weren't happy with the town. They knew I had made my life there, but a deal was a deal. I couldn't imagine a life without Peter.

When the sign went up on my front lawn, I began a diary. I was never a writer. I was horrible at keeping up with writing entries in a tiny book. But knowing my life was about to change, I began scratching down every small detail about my life. My time in this house. My childhood. My life with Peter. It was a passion project. I wanted to document everything so I'd never forget.

Peter interrupted my deep inner turmoil. Well, not exactly him. His loud-ass car pulled up, parking in the driveway next door. He stepped out of the car singing, keys jingling in his hands. Like clockwork, his head turned to see if I was on my porch. Our routine since we were kids. In a flash, he was sitting next to me.

'Hey pretty,' he breathed, kissing me gently on my cheek.

'Hey Peter,' I smiled, looking up at him. Whenever he was near me I couldn't help but get wrapped up in him. Swept away in his deep brown eyes and sea of silver hair. There was a palpable feeling between the two of us. Dancing around the topic of me moving away, even though the signs were all around us, literally. It was a tension that colored every moment of our time together, yet we tried in earnest to ignore it.

'Whatcha got there?' he asked, half-taunting, as he usually did.

'Oh, haha,' I blushed, clapping the book shut and tucking the pen inside. 'It's nothing, just a planner.'

'A planner? Y/L/N, when have you ever been the type to schedule things?' he scoffed. 'Gimme that.' He lunged for the diary. I curled my body up tight into a ball, the book nestled safely between my lap and chest. My arms secured it even further.

'Peter! Stop it! I gotta get my shit together,' I whined. 'Like, plan out packing!'

'Packing for what?' he asked sarcastically, still trying in vain to pry the diary from my grasp. In his desperation, he attempted the only trick he had left to get me to let go. He started tickling my sides. It was a surefire way to piss me off, but also to get me to let go. The diary clattered to the ground as I stood up quickly to get away from his hands tickling me at light speed. He paused for a moment to grab the diary off the ground.

'Hey, thanks!' he exclaimed, taking off in a flash inside my house, leaving only the wind behind to prove he was there.

I clamored inside behind him, calling after him as I stumbled up the stairs. He was already laying on my bed, on his side, reading my diary entries when I got to my room.

‘DON’T read those!’ I panted in vain. ‘They’re so bad!’

‘Oh, these little stories?’ he smirked, looking up only with his eyes. ‘I think they’re pretty good.’

My cheeks burned hot. I stepped into the room and slammed the door shut. He held the book up closer to his face and squinted. ‘Peter, please, I’m warning you,’ I pleaded.

‘His tongue slid into me. All of my insides felt warm and tingly…’ he read out.

‘OH MY GOD NO!’ I rushed over to him, trying to pry my diary out of his hands. I was on the bed on my knees doing what I could to get my embarrassing writing back. He and his super speed, though, had other plans. I gave up after minutes of trying, tired of grabbing at a person that wasn’t even there by the time my hands reached him. He stopped his motion and was right back where he started on my bed.

‘I think I got what I needed,’ he smirked. ‘Let me review the highlights with you…’

He moved quickly, without using his super speed, to lay me down my my back. I didn’t object. He was always gentle with me, careful not to use his speed unless I asked him to. Peter hated anything that took a long time, but with me he always had patience. Well, unless it was taking my clothes off.

Peter worked quickly to get every inch of fabric off my body. His smooth hands rubbed all over my skin as he kissed me passionately. He stopped to pick up the diary that had been discarded to the side on my bed.

‘Let’s see…’ he muttered, pinning my shoulder down with one hand, his legs straddling my lap. ‘He spread my legs slowly…okay I can do that.’

The diary was once again dropped so he could part my thighs. His hot breath hovered over my weeping cunt.

‘Right, right, then the tongue part,’ he reminded himself. He kissed all along the insides of my thighs, eventually making contact with my middle. My toes curled and my breath hitched. I was ready for what he was about to do. He slipped his tongue into me and my eyes rolled back. He flicked his tongue over my clit, making me yelp out.

He separated himself from me to grab my diary again.

‘You’re gonna have to read this next part, Y/N, I’m a little preoccupied here,’ he instructed. He passed the book into my shaking hands. I didn’t even have the energy to protest. I just wanted to feel his warmth within me again. His mouth reconnected with my pussy.

‘H-his abilities came in handy when giving me head,’ I panted. ‘He can do this thing- thi- this thing where he vibrates.’ I could only choke out so much in my pleasure.

I felt him take a few deep breaths before beginning to vibrate at sonic speed. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The first time he did it, I thought I would just about die. He pulled away for a moment.

‘Keep reading,’ he breathed. I whimpered, shaking hands once again opening the diary. He reconnected with my middle again and I let out a loud moan.

‘He kn-knows how to make m-me purr like a kitten. There’s n-nothing like it,’ I sputtered out.

I didn’t have much left in me. He, acting as my own personal vibrator, brought me to my limit. I came with a loud yelp, laughing immediately after. Peter stopped vibrating and laid on top of me, his face meeting mine.

‘You are SUCH a dick, Maximoff,’ I giggled.

‘I thought it was sexy, how you write about me and all,’ Peter shrugged. He peppered kisses all over my face and neck as we both caught our breath. For a fleeting moment, nothing in the world mattered. All we cared about was each other. For a moment, I wasn’t moving away. It was us and us only. ‘You’re a million miles away, beautiful. What’s wrong?’

Snapping out of my trance, I planted a kiss on his lips. ‘Nothing at all, Peter. Just really ready for round two,’ I smirked.

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I really enjoyed this one. Thank you so much for this request! I promise I’ll write more this week. It’s been cray cray on my end.