#maybe ur just a fucking asshole in all the ways you are SO convinced youre not

[fairycosmos]

misogyny in the lgbt community is so fucking frustrating. maybe that woman isn't being an annoying bitch for complaining about sexism maybe you just think being oppressed via one dimension of your identity absolves you from doing any sort of work on yourself regarding other forms of marginalisation

[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 [to be released], 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.” 

[blegh-110]

okay i need a part two where she gets her own group and kinda starts acting like sam and she starts partying and hanging out with older boys to cope and sam gets all mad and jealous

unless you already have an idea either way i love ur fic 🙏🙏

fyi, anon is referring to "im not a princess, this aint a fairytale" part of older brother's best friend!sam. Honestly I was going to write this after I was finished with the whole series, but I'm kinda in a little writing rut right now and I've been wanting to write this since I got it so hopefully this will help with it. Anywaysss…

Let's say this happens, and Sam is at one of his high school parties where kids are drinking and doing drugs and all that kinda stuff, and he sees reader there across the room. That boy is beyond shocked!!

 He thinks it makes sense for him to be there, he's been making not so great decisions and hanging out with the wrong people lately. But you? He knows how much you hate big, loud crowds like this, as well as the smell of weed and smoke from cigarettes. He knows because the last time he saw you you had given you a quick side hug after convincing his teacher to let him out of detention, you quite literally scrunched your nose and turned your head when your nose made contact with his shirt. He and his friends had smoked a bit in the parking lot right before. 

So right when he sees you he’s wondering what the fuck are you doing here? And why? Do you have a ride home? Who did you come with?

Then he goes from concerned and confused to really fucking concerned and confused when he sees a boy handing you a drink and putting your hair behind your ears. He’s heard about this other guy and he’s a total asshole. He knows because he sits right next to a group of girls in his math class who absolutely hate him, apparently he cheated on one of them and just treated her horribly. As soon as he sees him touch you he’s storming towards you two, not caring who he shouldered and bumped into. 

“Alright, get the fuck away,” Sam pushed the other boy’s shoulder roughly, then grabbed your bicep and began pulling you with him, “lets go.”

“Sam, what are you doing?” You attempted to free yourself from his grip but he was just going through the crowd of people so fast that your feet couldn’t stop moving with him. Soon enough he had gotten you outside to his car. 

“C’mon.” He looked back at you expecting you to get in but you continued to stand in your place, the very last thing you wanted was to be near him.

“Does your brother know you’re here?” That was what broke you, if he found out he’d blow up on you. With defeated and frustrated tears in your eyes you got in the passenger seat, letting out an annoyed sigh when Sam closed the door for you. 

“I don’t know who you’ve been hanging out with, but you need to be careful around people like him.” You didn’t say anything in response, only staring out the window watching the cars go by and the silence killed Sam. He didn’t like that there was no confusion or worry at his words, so he continued talking, just so he could hopefully get something from you.

“I’ve heard some awful stuff about him, he probably looks like a nice guy but he’s not.” He looked at you, maybe he just didn’t see your reaction.

Nothing. 

“Guys like him, (Y/N), they’re gonna treat you like shit if you’re not careful.” He spit out, thinking if he was aggressive with his word then you would understand what you were getting yourself into. 

“That’s hard to imagine.” Is all you say and Sam is fully ready to stop the car, reevaluate everything he’s done and apologize but he keeps driving. This was not how he wanted it to happen. Not when you were already angry and not when he didn't have his thoughts all together. So he gripped the steering wheel tightly and sighed, trying to let out his growing frustration in silence. 

And when he was back home, he was up for another hour going insane wondering if that wasn’t your first party you’ve been to, and that maybe that wasn’t the first time you were out with the other guy (it wasn’t your first party and it wasn’t your first time with him lol).

[kthecutest]

hi 😘

love ur works so far. May I please request a…story?drabble? Sry not sure what to call it. But a…..thingie…..about Yuma’s kinks or things he’d say during sex along with some places he’d do it or situations the members almost caught u in or smth. Thank u

Yuma's kinks:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

Genre : NSFW (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ 🥕 A/N ೃ⁀➷ MINORS DNI

Degradation

You definitely knew you’re messing with a big shot when it comes to a partner like Yuma. With the amount of teasing he’d do daily to his hyung, it’s already an obvious sign on what goes on in the bedroom. Yuma will just not shut up – this boy will run his mouth with every kind of degrading, humiliating words he could pick up on. Would make you feel humiliating as shit, and would get off on you submitting to his insults thrown at you. Would have you gushing and breaking from the overloaded in-take of his degrading words coated in his sugary voice that you’ve once found adorable – but now beating you up mentally - echoing in your ears while he pumps his fingers as humanly fast as possible, in-and-out of your gaping hole. – “Wonder how the members would think when they see their innocent little visitor’s face, covered in drool and tears~, hm baby?”

Exhibitionism

You’re pissed off, cornered in the boys’ practice room – the other boys focused on their relentless practice while instead a sneaky kitty behind you was practically slacking off – his main focus on something else. It’s been about 20 minutes now, your legs were already wobbly and shaking while Yuma’s hands are still in their constant pace of movement, up and down your folds. As time goes by, you only got wetter and weaker – maybe because Yuma wasn’t giving you the real deal (his finger) or maybe because everyone else was in this clear-view room right now, a whole horizontal mirror plastered across the wall-up-front. And this isn’t the first time that Yuma would get you in situations like these. Would whisper dirty little humiliating comments into your ear while he fingers you until you manage to squirt from all the pressure surrounding you.

Brat Tamer

Yuma HATES it when he gets teased or taunted (evident in the time the kitty got all angy at his K hyung for his teases LMAO) So it’s common knowledge that he won’t be taking any shit from you ESPECIALLY in bed. If you ever get the wonderful idea of teasing him in any way or have an attitude with him, he’ll make sure to fuck that bratty attitude straight out of you. Would probably have his hands wrapped around your neck and pin you by his arm strength alone on the nearest surface. Yuma may not have a stamina comparable to K or his other hyungs but at least you know that it’s unbearable to you. Will fuck your brains out and you’d be left passed out in the morning. Definitely one of the best tamers out there. He doesn’t have any planned out strategy to tame your wild ass like K or Fuma but his wild unpredictable attacks are effective enough.

Pet Play

Normally, he’d be YOUR kitty but when he doesn’t feel like it no more, the tables have turned. You’re now HIS kitty; and being his kitty isn’t an easy job. He’ll have you walking on all fours – just for the humiliating factor – he knows you love it anyway; he can obviously get a good view of your wet panties that just kept getting wetter as time passes from being stared at constantly by his sharp eyes. You’d have your personal choker and would probably be even placed in a sexy lingerie that seemed to do absolutely nothing to cover your perked nipples. The cat ears and the furry tail plugged in your asshole are also a must of course of course. Not that you’re complaining even if the cold feeling in your hole was bothering you when you moved around; you already knew you’re getting an even bigger reward afterwards.

Overstimulation

Overstimulating you is practically like a hobby to Yuma. He’ll be trying to get at it whenever he gets his chance. He tries to convince you to let him eat you out which you kept declining after what happened last time – he wouldn’t stop for hours and you ended up passing out – and his very reasoning was “I’m sorry babyyy I got distracteddd, you know I can’t help myself.” But seeing his pleading kitty eyes, you couldn’t resist which led to giving in. Not 15 minutes in, you’re already regretting your decision because this mans is already signs of his ‘forgetfulness’ Next thing you know, it’s already been over an hour and his head still hasn’t come out from between your legs; staring up at you with doe eyes – an inaudible smirk forming on his face. I guess it’s your fault for being stupid enough to be swayed by his excuse.

Voyeurism

Not that Yuma enjoys the idea of sharing but oh welp he could definitely learn a few tricks or two from his hyungs I guess. Most of the time, he’d find you getting groped or rubbed on by his hyungs whenever he gets back home from work. The only reaction you’d get out of him is a shrug as he drops his bag and relaxes on the couch watching y’all and taking mental notes. You’d sleep over at the boys’ dorm once in a while, it’s fun to hang out with all of them either way; Yuma would take this chance to fuck you under the blankets while the other ‘sleep.’ You swear you could feel eyes set on you for sure but when you bring this up, you always receive a “Love, pay attention to me.” He’s just reallyyyy needy for attention; definitely not distracting your focus to allow his members to beat their cock at the sight (EXCEPT MAKI OFC, THAT BOI GOTTA GO IN THE LIVING ROOM)

Aftercare

Clingy boy. Will do all the clean up and all but he’s just not too experienced on what to do with you exactly. Would just shower you and then put you in his hoodie before he’s already all over you again. Will wrap you around in a thick mattress while he hugs you so tight you think you’d probably suffocate (YUMA LET US BREATHE FR)

Next morning? – Would probably use the fact that you’re all unstable and wobbly because he’s fucked the living soul out of you last night, as a factor to tease you. “Mhm~ who was the one even talking me down yesterday hm~?” You’d probably grit your teeth at him like EXCUSE YOU; but you know that even if you try to hold an attitude at him, you’ll always end up this way – count out the parts where you act all different just to get a fuck out of him.  

[obsessedtomone]

Unravel Yourself Before Me ⛓️ Chapter 12 - Bystander Effect▸Shigaraki x femReader

Chapter Summary:

◤ Shigaraki places a soft kiss on your temple and groans. “See, you could be so fucking good for me, but you always choose to be a mean little bitch instead.”

You shoot him a contempt-filled glare and he just chuckles in return, slipping his fingers out of your mouth and wiping your drool against the side of your reddened cheeks in order to further humiliate you.

“You’re fucking insane,” is all you can whisper, turning your head to look away, but he just grabs your chin between two fingers and forces your gaze to be back on him.

“Thought we already established that? ◢ Setting: University AU - No quirks (unless degenerate personalities count) Tags: Slow burn, Eventual Smut, Very Unhealthy/Toxic Relationships, Humiliation, Mentally Ill Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to ??? Warning: Dead Dove – Do Not Eat | Mind the tags TW: Implied Su/Self H, Dubcon, Past Child Abuse, Bullying, Reader has a super shitty past like actually, Shigaraki Tomura is his own warning.

AO3 Crosspost | Chain Divider by firefly-graphics

Chapters: One • Two • Three • Four • Five • Six • Seven • Eight • Nine • Ten(ko) • Eleven • Twelve • Thirteen

Chapter 12 - Bystander Effect So far, tonight has only been two things. Boring, and incredibly annoying.

Maybe it’s the lack of alcohol in your system that makes you feel like this plane is crashing, meaning you ought to fix that.

Abandoning the idea of going back to the bar entirely, you head out for the open drinks in the living room, the ones available for anyone to roofie. A bunch of people elbow you on the way, but you’re buzzed enough not to mind anymore, focusing on the music pumping the blood in your veins. 

As much as you hate that asshole, the music that’s been playing so far wasn’t the worst. 

You find a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of coke and you pour those motherfuckers into a big cup, swirling it around while praying you’ll have a well-deserved blackout in the morning. God this party sucks.

The plan wasn’t to get wasted, but you don’t think you can stomach waiting for Taylor without being highly intoxicated anymore. And you’re not about to be the party grinch that cuts their best friend’s fun short over some toxic bitches from high school. They’ll make it up to you though, because they definitely will watch that movie they promised to watch with you tomorrow, when both of you are puking your guts out.

Time eventually passes, allowing the alcohol to properly loosen you up and making dancing seem more appealing than sulking in a corner, bored out of your mind while strangers dry hump each other. You get positively lost in the rhythm, until you eventually get tired enough to pull out your phone and check for any updates from your friend.

Taytay – dd ykn w ur th best [Sent 10:19 PM]

Taytay – I f knig lov u nbitch’;’2134 <5 [Sent 10:23 PM]

The random strings of letters your wasted friend spammed you with, brings warmth to your chest, making you genuinely smile—until someone fucking bumps into you and knocks you away from the dancing mass. 

You glare at the assholes (plural), but they pay you no mind and honestly you didn’t have time to dwell on it for much longer. The crowd parts just enough for you to catch a glimpse of a strangely familiar looking group, hanging out on the couch not too far away from where you stand.

Feeling dizzy, you try to get a better look, inching closer and squinting to see better through the flickering lights—until you realize the person you recognized earlier is… Shigaraki?

You swallow hard. Why is he here?

Next to Shigaraki who is manspreading on the couch sits Dabi, the Dabi, not the budget version this time. You’re now ninety percent convinced Mina’s purple-haired arm candy copy-pasted his style from him. And if that wasn’t just your delusion, you’d say Dabi wore it better.

Neither him nor Shigaraki are sitting by themselves, though.

Some slut is giving Dabi the equivalent of a lap dance, basically all but riding his cock in plain view. But that isn't the issue. No, the issue are the talons gripping Shigaraki’s shoulder, fingertips digging into the fabric of his t-shirt and him just fucking staring at her grip in a daze. She looks exactly like the type of girl you’d speculated he’d be into, back when you only thought of him as a creep.

Something indescribable and ugly courses through your blood, clawing at your heart and twisting it in your chest. You shift your gaze from him to the rest of his group, taking note of three other dudes and the blonde chick that looks a little too young to be here, passing blunts and alcohol around.

They’re all enjoying themselves, it seems, while smoking, drinking, getting high and laughing.

He is laughing.

You’re positive you’ve never seen Shigaraki laugh so freely before and that thought nags at you for some reason.

When the girl’s hand casually starts sliding closer to his chest, he seems to snap out of something. He then grabs the girl’s hand, pulling her into him so hard she almost loses her balance and whispers something into her ear with a creepy smile on his face. You watch the interaction and frown, as Dabi’s hands press her closer into him and he angrily shouts something at Shigaraki in return, but Shigaraki only holds her hand tighter, his signature smile only spreading wider.

It’s not a surprise for you to figure out that you aren’t special. 

But seeing it in front of your drunk fucking eyes ends up burning like acid. So much for that fucking confession huh? 

You can’t handle watching them any longer, so you look away and empty the remaining contents of your plastic cup, crumpling it in the process and missing the look of horror on her gorgeous fucking face as you chuck the offending piece of garbage at the floor.

Why the fuck would he lie to you? Why go through the trouble of confessing to you, of attempting to mend things between the two of you?

And why the fuck do you care who he toys with? Shouldn’t you be happy?!

Your bubbling feeling of betrayal threatens to suffocate you, when you notice someone from the group waving excitedly in your direction.

Huh?

He shouts something at his friends, handing his smoke and drink to the blonde chick while you squint your eyes in an attempt to comprehend what the fuck was going on. You thought you were mistaken, but then six pairs of eyes start scanning the room until their gaze finally lands in your direction.

Shigaraki’s eyes visibly widen the moment he sees you and you look around yourself feeling flustered, counting on a miracle that it isn’t you they’re all fucking looking at.

You quickly realize how morbidly wrong you are, when your arcade friend sets off in a rush to get to you, swerving through the mass of bodies.

Fuck.

It quickly becomes clear to you that you’re not ready for another bout of trouble tonight, so you try getting away before your friend reaches you, hoping—fucking praying—to melt with the crowd and lose them. To pretend like there weren’t two pairs of eyes, angry crimson and amused cerulean, both staring holes through your body.

Unfortunately your hopes for a quick getaway are cut extremely short, when a strong buff arm grabs you by your shoulder, effectively spinning you around and pulling you into a sweaty bear hug.

“Holy fuck!” Shuichi shouts happily through the music before slouching to speak into your ear, “Can’t believe I got to see you here! A-Ah, sorry ‘m still high as fuck. Are you by yourself?”

Your drunk head nods at that, trying to make sense of what was going on, but the greeting is cut short when you spot Shigaraki swiftly cutting through half of the room in the blink of an eye, pushing bodies away from him while his flock hurries to follow behind. Shuichi leans in more, body-blocking your vision and his cheeks are pink while he says something to you. You however can’t focus.

A hand appears on his shoulder and Shigaraki violently shoves his friend to the side, tightened jaw and flared nostrils. He’s absolutely livid.

“Fucking my friends now too, huh? Disgusting fucking whore.” Shigaraki actually spits in front of your feet and you nearly get fucking hit if not for your reflexes. 

You take a step back and scrunch your nose in the process. When you look around, you notice you’re surrounded by a circle of his people. People you’ve only heard of from insane fucking rumors.

Shuichi regains his balance and looks at the two of you bewildered. “Y-You guys… know each other?”

Shigaraki finally breaks the intense eye contact with you and snaps his head to his friend.

“Know each other?” he growls through clenched teeth.

The blonde girl starts jumping excitedly, face contorting into a sort of unsettling manic look. Dabi only smiles at you slyly while his slut is in tow, raising his hand to wave at you, wriggling his fingers playfully before crossing his arms.

A million thoughts run through your head and you close your eyes, rubbing at your forehead.

The fuck? Are all his friends insane? They should know that a fight’s about to break out, right? And knowing Shigaraki, it’s bound to get ugly. Are they not concerned at all? 

Unless…

Unless that’s exactly the kind of thing they’re looking forward to.

A tremor runs through your bones. This is not high school anymore and you aren’t a teen fighting other teenagers anymore. These are possible adult criminals, standing around, waiting for something to happen.

And you cannot take Shigaraki in a real fight. You know that much.

Random people are now also turning their heads, trying to figure out what’s going on and eventually pulling out their phones to either text or film the potential shit-show. 

You now realize how badly you’d fucked up to get drunk.

“Answer me, bitch. Are you fucking my friends?” He grabs the fabric of your clothes and pulls you to him, red eyes full of contempt.

“Don’t blame her boss,” a low rough speaks up before you can and adds, “Met her in the store earlier this week, lookin’ at me all starry eyed,” Dabi coos, sending you a kiss and fueling Shigaraki’s fury for no other reason than to get you into trouble, ignoring the obvious disappointment on his partner for the night. “Lemme take a turn after you. I don’t mind fucking cute ‘lil hoes.”

It works like a fucking charm, because Shigaraki looks at you like he was about to set fire to this entire fucking building together with you in it.

Your head spins fast now, anxiety spiking up. There’s too many voices. Too many people. Too much shit going wrong tonight.

You’re scared, you’re pissed, you wanna go home.

You’re tired, you’re tired, you’re tired. You miss your—

Shigaraki snarls at you with narrowed eyes, saying something you didn’t catch, and you—and you snap.

“Fucking—ENOUGH!” you scream at the top of your lungs and straight into Shigaraki’s face, making him flinch and loosen his grip.

Then you do the only thing your drunk, overwhelmed brain can think of. 

You slap the absolute living shit out of Shigaraki Tomura.

The entire room, including yourself, gasps in unison.

He’s completely frozen, one hand placed on the rapidly reddening cheek as he stares into space. 

You hear his friends giggle and see Dabi toppling over in laughter. 

The only person who’s more unamused than you and the guy you just humiliated in front of an entire party of people, is Shuichi. Not only was he unamused, he was shaking, looking absolutely horrified at what you’ve done. And when you look into his eyes, you realize it’s not just out of concern for his friend.

The music died down completely by now and you unwillingly somehow became the protagonist of this room.

When you step away, your back hits the front of one of Shigaraki’s taller dark-haired friends, who’s sporting the smuggest look. It tells you you’re not fucking going anywhere. 

“Uh oh! Creep’s gonna snap her neck!” some random asshole says in the back of the crowd and you frown.

That seems to wake him up. He suddenly lunges forward, forcefully grabbing your arm and dragging you with him… somewhere, but his plans are cut short when Taylor drunkenly steps in to break up whatever this mess was that you got yourself into.

“Ya, okay, enough of that!” They clap their hands twice like they’re talking to some servant and grab Shigaraki’s arm to get him off of you.

He shoves them out of the way, causing your drunk friend to lose their footing and hit the floor hard.

Your eyes widen and you scream at him, kneeing him in the stomach as hard as you could. He groans, letting go of you in favor of clutching his stomach and finally freeing you.

It takes a moment for your brain to register the blonde chick reaching for something, seeing a glint of familiar shaped metal as you stumble to get to your friend who’s now kneeling on the floor with tears running down their face.

Shigaraki shoots his arm out when he notices his friend stepping in your direction and you belatedly realize she held a knife. The blonde bitch was just about to fucking stab you, had he not stopped her. 

You swallow emptily, feeling yourself beginning to shake, all color draining from your face.

“Don’t—Don’t you fucking dare touch them again, you—you s-sick, depraved—fucking—fucking assholes!” you yell at everyone in the room, struggling to help your friend up.

Why is no one doing anything? Where are all of Taylor’s useless fucking friends to help when they needed them?

You look around but all you can see are cold stares. Nobody lifts a finger.

Nobody dares to cross him.

A bead of sweat rolls down your brow and your eyes snap to the direction of a deranged giggle, only to find red irises filled to the brim with unadulterated glee, staring right back at you.

Tomura felt something going off in his brain, the moment he saw your adorably lost and confused face looking for help.

You’re finally, finally realizing it, aren’t you?

He walks over to you, sinking on one knee and you curse yourself for listening to Taylor and leaving your pepper spray at home in favor of this stupid fucking outfit. You consider your odds in a fight, but one look into his terrifying eyes has you second-guessing yourself long enough that he reaches forward first, fingers splayed.

Shigaraki grabs you by your hair and gets up, forcing you to let go of your friend as you’re dragged to your feet. Taylor whimpers from somewhere beneath you, but his tense grip wouldn’t allow you to turn your head and look.

You’ve never seen him this angry, this fucking savage.

The speechless crowd and his cruel amused friends all split, making way for him, as if it’s Moses himself parting the red fucking sea.

You were too dizzy from the alcohol and too focused on the burning roots of your head, but you think you climbed a few stairs and walked a little longer until he suddenly shoved you into one of the rooms in the house, him being right behind you.

Two strangers were caught in the act, but a quick look of recognition over Shigaraki’s form and a barked order from him was enough for them to fuck off faster than you could ask for help. Not that you had much hope they would.

Because he was right. You did finally realize.

You finally realize why everyone flinched when he passed by. Why they whispered behind his back, but cowered if he were to give them a dirty look. Why there were so many wild rumors surrounding him and his shitty friends.

It’s because those aren’t fucking rumors!

Hearing the telltale click of a door locking behind you has you turning around, hand clutching over your other arm in an attempt to stop it from shaking and willing your brain to sober up. 

He’s still holding the handle to your exit, body facing you completely and his demeanor impossibly calm, compared to earlier. 

It must be a facade you think, because you feel the familiar dread you’d always feel as a kid when adults were about to snap and make you wish you were never born. That’s where your anxiety disorder stems from, now serving as an alarm for you to be careful. He’s dangerous.

You hate this. You hate this so fucking much. You hate that all he has to do is stand there and watch you, for you to freeze the fuck up and be unable to further move. The corner of his mouth lifts, smirking at you like he knows.

“Let’s talk, hm?”

Your breathing accelerates, chest rising and falling as your oxygen intake triples and the corners of your eyes burn. 

“You—you literally said—No! You promised!” you choke out, the shakiness of your hand spreading all the way to your shoulders as you speak to the white-haired devil, “You fucking promised not to do this anymore!” You’re sobbing now, fat fucking tears rolling down your cheeks and leaving dark trails of ruined mascara in their wake. “You promised…”

“So I lied. Now answer my fucking question,” Shigaraki growls at you, letting go of the handle and flexing his fingers at his sides. “Did you think it was fun? Telling me you like me, making me run around like some fucking idiot?”

He steps forward and your brain struggles to understand. 

What is he saying? When did you ever tell him that you—

The phone call.

“What? Are you—Are you joking right now? Y-You can’t do this! You’re ruining any chances of—of fixing things, with every second—” Your voice cracks. “With every fucking second that I’m locked in this fucking room with you, Shigaraki!”

But he just takes another step in your direction.

“That’s okay.” He smiles. “Maybe you’re right, for once.” His fingers reach the back of his neck and he rubs it thoughtfully, humming as he advances in your direction, slowly, like a predator and more self-assured than you’ve ever seen him be. “Maybe I am done playing nice.”

You take a tentative step back, rolling your eyes in faux confidence, unable to smother the growing anxiety. 

“T-That so? A deranged lunatic doing something psychotic? W-Who would’ve thought.”

His smirk breaks into a chilling smile at that, but he doesn’t stop stalking towards you. Until the back of your knees meet the frame of someone’s bed. 

“Still so fucking mouthy.”

You glance behind you nervously. “S-So what now.” You close your eyes, biting your lower lip and frowning before turning to look at him again. He’s right in front of you. “Gonna rape me? Teach me a lesson?”

Shigaraki chuckles, amused by your stupid question.

“Nah.” He clicks his tongue disapprovingly before closing the distance and towering over you, placing a hand squarely against your sternum and effortlessly shoving you back. 

You fall gracelessly on top of the bed, immediately grimacing at the thought of someone’s bare sweaty ass being exactly where your head now lays. Your focus shifts back to the man that’s watching you from above with a raised chin.

He looks ethereal like this, you think. Soft warm yellows coming from the dimly lit bedside lamp, illuminating his features only partially. A beautiful monster.

Shigaraki tilts his head. “Now, we’re going to talk.”

“Yeah? Well you better talk fast, because people—” you stutter, feeling angry, scared and ashamed all at once. “B-Because people… Because Taylor will call the cops on you!”

And the fucking second you finish babbling your empty threats, you hear the party come alive once again, music blaring and vibrating through however many layers of brick separated you from the main room. Nobody’s going to be able to hear you.

You curse under your breath.

“Are they now?”

“Shigaraki, stop.”

“God, you look so fucking adorable when you’re scared of me. Gets me really fucking hard,” he groans, brows pinched as he shamelessly starts palming himself through his jeans.

You can’t help but glance at his hand anxiously, feeling your heart beating faster.

“Stop. Don’t fucking do this to me. Please don’t do this to me,” you beg uselessly, screwing your wet eyes shut, trying to mentally separate yourself from him as much as possible.

But Tomura could only revel at the sound of your desperate pleas.

Yes—fucking yes! At last.

He cracks a wide grin, the only regret on his mind being not picking this path sooner. This is something he was used to. So much more efficient to use terror in order to break you down and make you his. How fucking pathetic of him to attempt something like making you want to be with him.

He could barely hold back his delight. You were so close.

Shigaraki climbs up your legs, effectively straddling you and patiently observing your reaction.

“I said relax, idiot,” he tells you, but the way he reaches his hand out and uses his dry, rough knuckles to slowly brush the side of your cheek, does absolutely nothing to help you relax. His touch feels like warm sandpaper, and you can’t help but squirm under it. “We’re just going to talk.”

His fingers uncurl, exploring the planes of your soft face, pads running gently over the bridge of your nose all the way to your lips. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he’s admiring you, by the slightly dazed look in his eyes. The same dazed look he gave that whore.

Shigaraki’s gaze falls upon your lips as he pushes his index finger into your mouth. You go ahead and bite it hard enough to leave a deep reddened dent. It doesn’t faze him in the slightest, and instead prompts him to force a second digit in as he smiles at you wickedly.

“Sho fuhkin’ tawk then,” you mumble around his bitter fingers, words coming out all funny while you feel shame burning in your cheeks and at the corner of your eyes. You place both hands firmly against his chest, looking for a semblance of separation. For any sort of false security.

His sinister smile spreads even wider, before he leans in so close to your ear that you feel his breath fanning against it. He huffs wryly before speaking again, his voice taking on a progressively higher note, “Y’know, you’re a pretty low-level boss.” Shigaraki snickers, “Unique character design, shitty confusing puzzles, but a lot of weak exploitable points I can hit. It’s like you’re not even trying.”

He’s biting his lower lip, pulling back just enough for you to look him in the eyes as he tilts his head. 

Gone were the traces of his softness from the time before tonight, all replaced by what looked like honest malice and bitter spite towards you.

The only way you could reply is with a pathetic whimper. He clicks his tongue at that.

“Do you understand how easy it would be to get rid of that flimsy scholarship of yours? Or use your filthy fucking sex tapes, of you letting some lowlife scumbag fuck you—” Shigaraki grimaces, but his scary smile quickly returns to his lips. “And… your past,” he whispers to you with an upward lilt in his tone, taking his fingers out and resting them on top of your lip, allowing for your reaction to his revelation.

“W-What? How did you—”

It’s his unhinged giggles that cut you off. 

“People talk. You’d be surprised how easily they give me what I want, once they feel threatened enough,” he says, voice dark and foreboding.

You wanted to rebuke him, you really did, but the second your mouth opens again, Shigaraki slips his already spit-covered fingers all the way to the back of your throat, the brusqueness of it prompting you to gag ugly.

You try to reach for his wrist, to push it away, but he’s stronger and he’s faster. He shakes his head at your disobedience, using his free grip to grab both of your hands and effortlessly pinning them to the side of your head, twisting your body in an uncomfortably forced position.

Was every time you could push him around just for show? And are you seriously only realizing that now?

Shigaraki waits for your erratic breathing to slow down before he begins tormenting you, pumping his long, bony fingers in and out of your mouth sickeningly slowly. 

The sound of you gagging over and over and the wet sloppy squelches of your mouth echo throughout the room, complemented by dampened party music and sounds of his increasingly labored breathing.

You choke and try struggling again, but he doesn’t let you.

“Shh, I’ve seen you take worse. That’s right. Like that. Fuck,” he purrs, face close to yours, gaze fixated on the way your mouth clings to his fingers. You cringe when you feel him lick a long and disgusting stripe from the bottom of your cheek, all the way to the source of the bitter tears. “Good girl.”

Shigaraki places a soft kiss on your temple and groans. “See, you could be so fucking good for me, but you always choose to be a mean little bitch instead.”

You shoot him a contempt-filled glare and he just chuckles in return, slipping his fingers out of your mouth and wiping your drool against the side of your reddened cheeks in order to further humiliate you.

“You’re fucking insane,” is all you can whisper, turning your head to look away, but he just grabs your chin between two fingers and forces your gaze to be back on him.

“Thought we already established that?

You spit in his face and he flinches.

Catching him off-guard is a privilege you’ll take, so you quickly free yourself from his grip. Before he snaps out of his stun, you grab his shirt and your fist flies towards his face using whatever leverage you have from this awkward position. 

It’s now or fucking never.

“You little—!” Shigaraki growls at you, immediately dropping his entire weight on top of your body before your punch can even connect, causing you to uselessly smack the top part of his shoulder and making you howl in frustration.

He slides his arms to grab each of yours, now using bruising force to truly render them useless at the sides of your head. 

“Are you fucking trying to piss me off today?” he barks at you, gritting his teeth and getting halfway up to shift one of his knees on top of your stomach, pressing his weight into it.

“Urk—” You almost literally vomit in his face from the pressure, but he lets up before you can.

“Gonna behave now and listen to what I have to fucking say, or are you going to keep being difficult?”

Difficult?! You’re being difficult? You could fucking laugh if this wasn’t quickly climbing up the ranks as one of the worst nights of your life. So you just roll your eyes instead, as if you weren’t a quivering mess. As if he wasn’t scaring you.

Tomura’s gaze narrows. 

He thought he was closer to breaking you, but you obviously still have a lot of fight left in you. After all, you’ve been through worse.

So maybe he has to truly outmatch your greatest monsters then. He should start easy.

“Answer my question, slut. Next time you don’t, I’ll have to start punishing you,” Shigaraki grunts but you remain defiantly quiet.

He scoffs, lifting his knee away from your sensitive stomach, earning him a relieved exhale from you. That moment of reprieve quickly turns into alarm the moment he wedges it between your thighs instead, mere inches away from your cunt. 

He smirks at your horrified expression and begins pressing it against your core experimentally, drawing out a pathetic whimper from you.

“Oh?” he breathes into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine as he bends his body to repeat the motion. That, unfortunately, wins him another distressed gasp from you. 

“Fuck. That’s hot,” Shigaraki groans like the depraved fucking virgin he is, momentarily forgetting that this is supposed to be your punishment. 

An idea pops into your head.

You close your eyes and softly grind yourself up against his thigh, pretending it’s involuntary, that you don’t want him to notice. It should be easy, right? You know what you’re doing, after all.

Except it slightly backfires once you start genuinely feeling a little hot, the pressure of him pressing his thigh against you making your face slightly scrunch up in pleasure. You try to even your expression, to seem unaffected.

When you open your eyes, Shigaraki looks a little more disheveled than before, his vindictive demeanor from seconds ago slightly softened. Hope blooms inside your chest.

And for the first time tonight, he throws you a playful look. 

“Thought you didn’t want to fuck me?”

God, he’s such a fucking loser, it makes you snort.

“You call getting myself off on your leg ‘fucking’ you? Pathetic.”

Something dangerous sparks in his red obsessive eyes. It sends a jolt through your spine all the way to your core, making you swallow. Hard. 

“Okay.” He presses his forehead against yours and chuckles darkly.

“Huh?”

Shigaraki repeats the motion, putting more pressure against your heat. “Go ahead, then. Get yourself off.”

“You’re a fucking freak,” you conclude, moving away from him despite the blush spreading on your cheeks and the disgusting warmth that was growing between your legs. 

The only pathetic idiot in this room is you. You and your stupid fucking plan.

“What’s wrong?” He leans in smugly, nose brushing yours and the overwhelming cigarettes and gin in his breath overwhelming your nose. “Done already? Was even gonna let you cum even tho’ you don’t deserve it.”

You roll your eyes and miss the slight disappointment crossing his features. He licks his lips and you glance at his mouth for less than a split second, but he catches it.

“Wanna kiss me?” Shigaraki tilts his head and the grin on his face spreads.

“In your fucking dreams,” you lie. “Enough. I’m tired of this shit, let me go.”

“Really? See now, here’s the thing. My hunch is telling me that you kinda enjoy being put in your place.” His eyes widened for a second before narrowing again. “Isn’t that why you keep being a bitch all the fuckin’ time?”

“Should I help you schedule an eye exam then?”

“Mmm.” Shigaraki dips his head to the junction between your neck and your shoulder, deeply inhaling your scent like the fucking pervert he is. “So mouthy. If you’re still able to snap back like that, it means I’m being too nice.”

He finally lets go of one of your arms, sliding his hand all the way to your neck, spindly fingers wrapping around it and squeezing experimentally.

“Why… why do you act so—” Shigaraki tightens his grip some more, making you struggle to breathe the words out, “fu—fuh—ck’d u-up?”

His mouth falls open, smile dropping as he looks at you in awe. The sight of you made his cock twitch in his pants.

“Because I want you,” he admits completely unapologetically, then leans in to press his dry, cracked lips to the side of your neck, kissing it softly. The rough texture and the contrast of the oddly gentle kiss makes you shiver. Shigaraki whispers, “And I’ve decided that I’m gonna have you.”

You really didn’t mean to, but the audacity makes you burst into hysterical laughter, which he immediately cuts off together with your fucking airway, using the hand that still rested on your neck. You gasp soundlessly.

“Is it that funny?” Blunt teeth graze the sensitive skin on your neck before his voice becomes low and threatening, “Did you fuck Spinner?”

Shigaraki forgets you can’t breathe, holding your neck with so much force that you start seeing black spots forming around your vision.

Only when your chest starts slightly convulsing does he let up.

“Fu-uck.” you cough, cringing away from him and breathing like it’ll be your last time. “W-Who?”

“Don’t act stupid now,” he hisses. “The fucking nerd with long purple hair.”

“Oh… him?” You grin angrily, slightly inclining upwards and touching noses with him. “That’s none of your business.”

—was the wrong thing to say, because Shigaraki punches the bed with brutal fucking force right next to your head, making you jump.

“FUCKING ANSWER ME!” he screams at you and you flinch again.

“N-No, you asshole. I didn’t fuck any of your friends.” 

“Then why—!”

Shigaraki slumps, face remaining hidden from behind white locks of hair.

You’re staring at the ceiling as long-dried tears quickly burn their way back and you feel a familiar tightening in your chest. He then slowly sits up, looking down at you again and your gaze follows him until his whole body weight lifts from you.

Tomura can see the faint red outline of his hand forming your neck. His gaze hardens and he goes back to his stiff, unemotional self.

“Doesn’t matter,” he resolves in a tone so cold, it gives you goosebumps.

“W-What do you mean?”

“I mean, that starting tonight you’ll become my bitch.” He pushes himself off the bed, fixing his clothes. You can’t help but stare at him in disbelief. “You’ll do whatever the fuck I tell you to do, and if you don’t—” He smirks at you sadistically before continuing, “If you don’t, I’ll just destroy everything you’ve ever cared about. That’s a promise.”

He pats down his arms and clothes as if to dust your filthy presence off.

You lie motionless at first, frowning until the words finally register into your alcohol addled brain. So you’re sitting up, face contorting in anger because you’ve had enough of his shit.

“You’re absolutely fucking nuts if you think I’ll—”

A sharp crack echoes in the room and judging by the position of your head and the painful sting in your face, you realize Shigaraki had struck you across the face. Hard.

You can’t hold back the violent sobs that escape you.

“Got your attention?” he growls at you, grabbing you by the roots of your hair and turning your head to him. You vaguely register his clenched jaw. “You’re a pathetic self-destructive little whore,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “And you should’ve killed yourself when you had the chance to, right after I showed that cute little ass to everyone. But you know what?”

The warmth of his breath brushes over your hurting cheek.

“Now you belong to me. So go ahead and fucking try blowing your brains out. Because not only will I make true on everything I fucking told you, but your precious little friend, your coworkers, your manager, even your fucking therapist will regret the day you were fucking born.”

“No…”

“Just like mommy did. That’s why she left your brother to die and shot herself up with heroin until she fucking left you too. Just like your brother, from under his cozy little grav—”

You don’t remember much, but you feel your throat being sore. It’s weird though, because you don’t remember yourself screaming. Or how you landed in the middle of the street, shoes and your jacket long forgotten.

You don’t remember how long you’ve been walking for, or where you were.

You don’t remember, but you can’t seem to stop trembling or crying hysterically and you don’t know what to do.

You don’t know what to do.

YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO.

— NEW MESSAGES —

Psycho – im acc nice to my toys so ill look past ur little temper tantrum this time [Sent 2:34 AM]

Psycho – u better show 2 class tmr otherwise i promise u really won’t like what will happen if u dont. [Sent 2:35 AM]

Psycho – sweet dreams :) [Sent 2:35 AM]

[gothamslostboy]

Hi!! Can you do Jerome x transmale!reader where they have a height gap in between each other (ex. 4'10 - 6'2 ft)

JEROME W/ A SHORT TRANSMALE READER

A/N: thanks for the request anon and sorry it’s taken literal months. I didn’t know if you meant ur taller or he is so lmk if you want the short Jerome version

——————————————————

Oh he’s such an asshole

Purposely puts things on shelves he himself can barely reach bc he knows it pisses you off

Also one of those ppl that uses shorter ppl as armrests, put like sticks you in his armpit

If anyone makes fun of your height though? Game over

He knows it’s something your insecure about, and he makes it clear he’s messing around

He cut like 3 inches out of one dude’s legs bc he called you short stack

Jerome asks you for help causing mayhem all the time

Mostly fitting into small spaces and planting bombs or stealing things

Or when he loses something under a desk

He low key makes it very obvious he likes towering over you

He’s not going to hurt you more than you consent too, but likes feeling like he could if this ends badly

If you’re really dysphoric about your height, he steals you lifts or platform shoes

Whichever one you’d like more

OOO ANOTHER THING

he’s obsessed with carrying you

Not in like a cute way though

He picks you up like a ladder:

Just sneaks up on you and keeps walking

You both gaslight anyone who sees this into thinking it’s a perfectly normal thing a tall person does

Forces convinces workers at theme parks or waterparks to let you on the rides with a height limit you don’t qualify for

Then gets pissed and kills them if anything goes wrong (bc PSA: height limits are there to keeps you safe)

Don’t worry

You get to fuck with him all the time too

When he goes to far with his jokes you hide his journal in places he never thinks to use bc he’s too tall normally (bottom cabinets, bottom desk drawers, or anywhere else that is naturally below his eye level)

It’s also very easy to sneak up on him, especially if he’s already doing something

And once he’s comfortable in his own home? Mother fucker jumps like 3ft when surprised

You had to take a break from scaring him for a bit bc he almost stabbed you

That’s also when you learned he carried switches blades around to play with

Despite your heights, he likes being the little spoon

Maybe it’s his mommy issues but he needs to be held like a little baby

Also the one time he was big spoon he rolled over and crushed you

——— TAGS ———

@crustyboypix @britany1997 @g4ywastaken @writhingcreature

[darkchocolatedimples]

keeper characters as things my friends and i have texted!

i'm cleaning out my phone and found wayy too many screenshots

———————————————————

sophie: i've almost got keefe convinced that storks drop off babies

sophie: this may or may have not incited a breakdown 3:30 am but i've almost done it

———————————————————

keefe: i'm at the mall with biana she's looking for shoes i'm looking for hot people

———————————————————

sophie: how does one develop insomnia in level 2? don't know but i'll call it endurance training

———————————————————

fitz: shut up you simp for my sister

dex: i'm proud

———————————————————

dex: HOW IS A DEAD PERSON GONNA BE TRAUMATIZED

———————————————————

keefe: i think i kissed my pillow once when i was 12 or 13

keefe: you know, 70 years ago

keefe: when we still lit things with candles

———————————————————

sophie with mallowmelt: rock bottom tastes better than it sounds

———————————————————

dex: idk what it's like to pull a girl i was the one pulled

———————————————————

keefe: bro my brain waves feel like a siren

keefe: yk what i mean

fitz: i do not

———————————————————

dex (with braces): imagine loving someone

dex: ...

dex: who has braces

———————————————————

keefe after sending a picture of himself: omg whos the stylish one i wanna meet him

biana hyping him up: me too he seems so hot wtf

———————————————————

sophie: YOU WANT PROBLEMS

sophie: ILL GIVE YOU SOME

fitz: this doesn't sound good

———————————————————

alden: i'm taking a samoa

biana: okay they're five bucks

alden: what no discount? i'm your dad

biana: six bucks

———————————————————

keefe: i just have the need to be the hottest smarted person in the room at all times to make myself feel valid

———————————————————

dex: i just wasted 20 mintues of my life on a koala i will never get to see

———————————————————

fitz: i'm in a whole foods crying by the bobo's toasters

———————————————————

marella: 420 what's your emergency

———————————————————

biana: ur so bagelicisous

———————————————————

marella: shut up band kid

dex: shut up lesbian

———————————————————

marella: i hope sometimes when the guys at our school are getting a little too cocky they remember that there are literal 2d drawings pulling more bitches than them

———————————————————

sophie: projection>>>having problems

———————————————————

biana to keefe: sugar baby would look so good on you

———————————————————

biana: i love being able to hit men's booties knowing they can't fight back

———————————————————

dex: british people (derogatory) what tf is beans on toast

———————————————————

keefe: i WILL breathe more air than you

tam: is this a threat

———————————————————

dex: this be lookin a little homosexual 🫣

biana: ^us when we see keefe and fitz

———————————————————

sophie: kmsing 🤭🤭🤭🤭

———————————————————

biana to fitz: hate to break it to you, you don't like her, you like the boy you think she has a crush on

———————————————————

grady: maybe getting older is...beginning to like and appreciate bananas

———————————————————

kenric and jolie: i hope i'm important enough to be the main character from my grave

———————————————————

sophie: lmao why should i care about anything i'm 15 and i eat chocolate 🤷‍♀️

———————————————————

keefe: just bc you know you're making me sweat shake and shiver doesn't mean you can or should use that to your advantage (please do) like what the fuck

———————————————————

fitz: i'm not that much of an asshole

dex: this is untrue

———————————————————

dex: good news! no more cannibalism. bad news, beastiality?

———————————————————

keefe about sophie: the way we're twinning

keefe: she drinks red bull and cuts bangs at 2am i impulsively get stitches with no thoughts in my head bc i think its cool

———————————————————

stina: currently about to fight this seagull will update

———————————————————

dex: i wouldn't mind a shorter guy actually if they're too tall i'm gonna have to break their knees to kiss them

biana: that's the fun part! like glowsticks 🤩

[seongminiz]

omg pls jo im so dizzy /pos 🥴😵‍💫😵‍💫

ur so real though,, dom!minhee is really good.. that’s soo crazy (pls i’m so bad at repeating stuff pls but!!) imagine ur riding his cock ur starting to babble cuz ur just so fucked out from how good his long, thick cock feels reaching every inch inside of u :)) so ur leaning into his neck, drooling onto his shoulder while he grips your waist tightly.. ur like “oh god, please.. im so close.. ur getting too good at this..” and he would laugh into ur ear softly, he’d find this to be the best opportunity to tell u that ur definitely not his first.. he doesn’t usually tell his partners, there’s no point and it would ruin his charade but he figures from how things are going so far, this won’t be the last time u end up falling apart like this on top of his cock.. ugh his breath would be all hot on ur neck, tickling ur skin as he explains, adding “you’re such a slut, i probably didn’t even need to lie to you…” and fuck, you’d be clenching so hard around him at the way he degrades you “my dumb little whore, you didn’t need any convincing..” he’d be gripping onto you hard, pinning you down on his cock so you can’t move ur hips anymore, ur still trying to chase ur orgasm but it’s fleeting now, whines spilling from your lips and tears welling in ur eyes “fuck, you wanna cum don’t you? tell me you’re mine now, tell me you’d do anything for my cock..” and maybe for a sec you’d come out of ur subspace because part of u would be a little mad, “min- fuck, please,” you’d squirm and try to roll your hips but he’d just squeeze you harder, you’d groan out in desperation, “you’re such an asshole, what the hell-“ and then idek im insane maybe he’d wrap one his hands around your throat, albeit gently enough so you can still speak “say it” and punctuate his words by loosening his grip on u enough to thrust up into you once, harshly and that would be it. ur done. you’d cry out, “please! shit.. im yours, im a slut for your cock.. minhee, please..” he’d start rolling his hips up into you again, slowly, “yeah? say my name while you cum for me baby” <333333 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

- 🧁 anon

i just flatlined n died im never recovering from this ....

n then just being minhee's fucktoy n his stress relief after a basketball match that didnt go as well as his expectations n hes so mean , always reminding u of how u tried to be in charge the first time n 'look at you now, letting me use you however i want' jehenfng im sorry im not ok rn

all while still keeping up the whole 'pretty inexperienced himbo who is too hot for his own good' act ... god i feel sick

[chonnyjashh]

WARNING: VAGUEPOSTING, RANTING, SICK OF A PARTNER'S BULLSHIT.

Don't read if you're the person this is about— You know who you are. We met on Amino a few years back.

Idk where else to put this shit so people can see it, but here goes. The reason I don't talk to of yall much anymore is bc I am WELL over getting treated like your fucking therapist, or your sex toy, or a vessel for all your god damn mental illness you refuse to get help for. I made a God damm EFFORT for MONTHS to reconnect with some of yall, who will not be named- And you simply cannot be bothered to maintain a God damn conversation with me, the motherfucker who let you talk about literal ILLEGAL ASS SHIPS between content creators who said many times they're uncomfortable being shipped, let you get me involved with actual motherfucking creeps and sexual predators, let you convince me to block SEVERAL close friends bc you didn't like that they were playfully flirting wit me-

EVEN WORSE, I put up with the mcfucking deadnaming and MISGENDERING during a certain thing I was forced into after, once again, I was proven to not be enough- The same thing that led to both me AND you being sexually abused over the internet for a short period, all bc you HAD to have more than just me, bc I wasn't enough-

And yet somehow I fucking know, every god damn time I read your shitty, vague ass statuses, and ur bio, bc I care enough to check ur account and make sure you aren't threatening to jump off a god damn bridge at 4 in the motherfucking morning again- That you have the god damn NERVE to be pissed off at me for not reaching out either. OF FUCKING COURSE I DONT? Your ass doesn't bother to reply when I try to! And the one time I brought this up to the other person who's supposed to be a part of our relationship, he went and blabbed off to you, leading to you CALLING ME SELFISH?

God, how I wish I had let your ass dump me. Or better yet, called you out for being a raging, narcissistic asshole, and left you myself.

ABSOLUTELY FUCK YOU, BRO.

I can't dump your ass. Though I desperately want to. You've paid for a lot of goddamn food and shit for me. Honestly at this point I'm only staying with you bc I feel bad for letting you pay for my meals. Plus 3 years is a lot of time to up and waste on a relationship.

But oh, how I fantasize about blocking you. About ghosting your pathetic self like you ghosted me.

This relationship used to make me happy, bro. Now I am- Beyond fucking bitter. The thing that set me off is stupid. Seeing your fucking vent status, as usual.

What are you even on about. Guessing something bad happened- I don't want to ask. I don't wanna feel sorry for the man who ships fucking Tommyinnit and Techno, even after Techno literally died irl. I don't wanna feel sorry for the man who forced me to act out sexual assault scenes and got bitter and icy with me if I said I didn't want to. KNOWING I have rape trauma.

I don't like you, dude. You know who you are, you know why I'm angry, and I'm tired of you spinning it back on me.

So- All in all, yeah. I'm not making an effort. But ain't that what you fucking wanted? For me to stop trying? The way you ignore me sure makes it seem that way.

Also, the reason I don't DM you is bc we are supposed to be in a poly thing. I'm trying to include him, unlike you. Unless yall shit talk me behind my back. Fuck you if you do.

Signed,

[MY NAME ISNT FUCKING MAWCE YOU IGNORANT CUNT, IT HASNT BEEN FOR LIKE ALMOST TWO YEARS NOW. READ MY PRONOUNS PAGE ONCE IN A WHILE MAYBE.]

Chonny.

[ruralbi]

Ok so lots happened. I've been breaking up with my boy best friend. I told him we ain't having sex no more, gave in twice (asked him to sleep in my bed) and he rejected me twice. Great life. I do choose to believe that he's just respecting my wishes in rejecting me, and not just bein like nah don't feel like it.

It's been a hell of a rollercoaster. But that's just attempt number 1834749 of trying to not fuck him.

What, do u ask, really prompted this post.

This bitch is out there partying with his bros. All good. He texts me "yo wassup" EXACT QUOTE.

I call him all what u want. He says don't call me unless it's an emergency. BITCH YOU TEXTED ME.

Clearly all his douchebag friends got on his case abt him picking up the phone to answer to his house faggot cause a bit later he texted me "can me and my best bro come sleep at yours" and I'm like sure :) CAUSE IM A FUCKIN IDIOT. And I say something like I'll even take a break from my puzzle to come say hi! (Bc I'm secretly the biggest dork)

And he's like oh my best bro (name redacted) wants more than just a break!

And I'm like that sounds kinda sketchy but I'm sure im just being paranoid. So I say whatever come over if u want. He's like send a message to convince him to come over. And i say sorry sir, if he doesn't wanna come over u shouldnt pressure him! Leave the poor man alone to sleep at his house rather than drag him all over the county to drink!

He says nah he wants to come over he just needs motivation. So I, like the absolute clown that I am, send something along the lines of well we got wine and vodka and a fireplace if you boys wanna light it.

Looking back I wanna brain myself. He really says jump I say how high. And he has the gall to text back "yeah but can we sleep with you?"

Bitch YOU'RE not even supposed to sleep in my bed anymore, what makes u think I suddenly a) wanna suck your dick again b) suck your mangy friends' dick on top of it

I can't believe after 4 years of being treated like an absolute sex toy he's finally thought you know what maybe I should share this with the boys.

I'm over here crying my lost love bc I finally accepted that our relationship isn't healthy. Hes not in love with me, I am, we have to stop having sex all the time so I can move on. But i thought well it's not a crime to not b in love with me. He don't deserve to lose his house and living over it. We'll just keep living together all normal, as two friends, the way we should've from the start. It hurts to see him but it ain't his fault and I need to tough it up.

AND HE GOES AND JOKES WITH HIS PALS ABOUT SHARING ME. Bc it's not even like oh I was joking calm down. When I immediately stop answering, first he texted "plz" !!!!!!! AND THEN

"sorry I'm friends with assholes" like oh the good ole trick sorry my friends took my phone !!? So I said oh yeah real easy to blame your friends!!! Stay at your best friend's flat three more days while ur at it. By then I'm livid.

Like okay so for four years ya didn't want to admit ur fucking me publicly but when ur bro wants my ass suddenly you're teaming up???? What an absolute jackass. And then he says "sorry I let myself be influenced"

Meaning he was getting egged on by all his disgusting bros and sharing the messages and making a public mockery of me. Like oh we heard that was an easy peace of ass think he'll take both you and me? He's surely been begging for ur dick for long enough. :( I can just see it I'm crying my eyes out I'm so humiliated.

He swears it's not what happened and he'll explain tomorrow but I don't really care. He's taken me for a joke long enough. I may b a joke but hes officially off the comedy roster. I'll ask him to move the fuck out and not show his goddamn face for a long while. Fuck this dude

[poppy-metal]

Eddie definitely eats ass and in the most vile way possible, he has you all fours with ur chest on the bed, face down and just goes to town on you

the way he doesn't hold back the sounds either </3 he's sloppy and messy and spit is dripping from your hole all the way down your thighs and you're embarrassed but can't stop rocking back against the warm muscle either. you never thought you'd be into this kind of thing, it's dirty and raw, but eddie makes everything feel good. tells you "it's okay to like dirty things, babe. I'll do them all to you with a smile." and he does. you can hear his happy sounds as he laves his tongue over your puffy rim, leaving it with a wet smack so he can palm your cheeks open and hold your hole open with his thumbs, making you burn all over and curl your toes.

you can definitely hear the grin in his voice when he says, "your ass'so wet. such a good hole, sweetheart. keeps dragging me inside, wanna fuck you here one day. would you let me?"

you'd let him do anything. "uhnn" is all you can manage, though.

"I'll take that as a maybe. maybe your asshole needs more convincing? she's winking at me like she's flirting, don't worry, babe. my tongue and you aren't finished yet."

[magniloquent-raven]

Dig that prompt list. Super worried for the new episodes tho so maybe some Harringrove with feeling your partners pulse??? 🖤🖤🖤

ough i hope ur alright after vol 2 lol 💕💕💕 here's a lil fluff, cuz we all deserve some rn

**

“Would you stop squirming, I’m supposed to be checking your resting heart rate.”

“I’m plenty restful,” Billy mutters, shifting in his seat again, eyes downcast and pouting like a petulant toddler. 

Steve huffs, adjusting his loose grip on Billy’s wrist. His pulse jumps under Steve’s fingers, and the muscles in his forearm twitch. “Right.”

It’s like this every time. Every goddamn day since Billy got out of the hospital. It should be getting under Steve’s skin by now, but it’s weirdly getting easier to deal with. Like Billy’s growing on him or something. 

It was rocky at first. He knew it would be when he volunteered to take Billy in, but Max wouldn’t stop fretting over what was going to happen to her brother and Steve couldn’t stand the sad eyes anymore. It took some convincing, for some goddamn reason Steve couldn’t stop the words from falling out of his face when she told him no, like he actually wanted to do this. But he argued for in favor for so long he almost convinced himself as much as he convinced her. 

And so here he is. Responsible for Billy Hargrove’s stubborn ass. Making sure he takes his meds and does his exercises, inspecting his shiny new scars for any signs of complications—whatever that means, half the shit the doctor told him went right over his head—and checking his stupid pulse because his stupid heart got fucked up by the stupid Mind Flayer, and now… And now Steve has to worry about him. Him and his damaged heart.

“It’s too high again,” Steve sighs.

“I’m tellin’ you, I feel fine. It’s fine.”

“Yeah my Uncle was fine too. Right up until he died of a heart attack when he was, like, fourty.”

“Jesus, Harrington.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Well, stop saying.” Billy pulls his arm away, tucking it close to his side, away from Steve. 

Steve flexes his fingers, trying to subtly shake the weird feeling of loss. His palm is cold. Empty. He’s suddenly too aware of his own pulse thrumming, a poor replacement for the heady warmth of Billy’s skin.

Christ, he needs to stop. He really needs to stop. Billy took a risk trusting Steve with his care—something that still shocks Steve if he thinks about it too long—and Steve can’t fuck that up by perving on him while he’s supposed to be helping.

He’s not sure how to stop though. Billy started muscling his way into Steve’s space the second he got to Hawkins, but it was never like this. Quiet. Back when he was being annoying Steve was focused on that. Distracted by Billy being an asshole. Not sitting on their beat-up old couch holding his hand and his heart and trying desperately to keep the numbers in his brain when all his brain wants to do is remind him that Billy’s knee is touching his and he could be counting the freckles on Billy’s nose instead of his heartbeats. 

Steve lets his head fall back against the cushions and stares at the ceiling. There’s a stain in the corner that looks like a whale.

“Fine. D’you wanna watch a movie or something?” 

~~

The next day is, to nobody’s surprise, no different. 

Steve checks and double-checks the pamphlets he was given, just to make sure he isn’t misremembering what a healthy heart is supposed to sound like. 

He wasn’t. Billy’s heartbeat is definitely racing. Again. Still? Maybe it’s been like this the whole time, thundering under the metal plate keeping Billy’s ribs in place, thumping so hard Steve doesn’t need to touch Billy to know how fast it is because he can see it. 

He touches him anyways.

“Are you drinking buckets of coffee while I’m not looking? Jesus Christ, Hargrove.” 

“Yes. Obviously. I’m surprised you haven’t caught me yet.”

Billy picks at a thread hanging loose from the bottom of his cutoff shorts. His other hand hangs limply in Steve’s grip. He stares at his own wrist with a furrowed brow. 

“Very funny, smartass. I think I might have to call the doc, this isn’t—”

“I don’t need another fucking check-up.”

“Your BPM says you do.”

“Oh excuse me, Nurse Harrington.” 

Steve blows out a breath. “C’mon, man. It could be something serious, don’t you wanna know?”

“I do know. I know that an appointment would be a waste of everyone’s goddamn time.”

“You—” Steve gestures helplessly with his free hand, fingers tuat and curled with frustration. “This isn’t normal, Billy!”

“It’s—”

“No, no, shut the fuck up, just—” Before he can actually think it through he pulls Billy’s hand towards him and holds it to his chest, wrangling him into position while Billy stares at him in blank shock. “This is what a normal heartbeat is supposed to feel like, alright?” 

Billy’s palm is flat against his sternum, a warm weight between his chest and his hands, ragged, bitten down thumbnail catching on the material of Steve’s shirt. Crystal blue eyes bore into him, wide and unblinking. 

He really should have thought this through.

No matter how much he tries to will his heart to stay steady, the longer Billy looks at him the more it trips over itself. The longer he stays, touching Steve’s chest, letting him hold his hand, the more anticipation threads itself around his lungs, taut and hopelessly tangled.

“...Is it?” Billy raises his eyebrows.

“Um.”

He should definitely probably be panicking right now. And he is, a little, except Billy’s sitting so close and he’s not moving away, and the look on his face is curiosity more than anything else. There’s something tickling Steve’s brain that he can’t quite pin down. It’s distracting enough to keep him from hitting solid ground, keep him looking up at least, ignoring the weird, awkward reality that he’s pushed a boundary that he told himself he wouldn’t.

Except Billy isn’t pulling away.

He’s…

Oh, wait.

Wait a second.

“Oh my god.”

Billy blinks at him. “What.”

“Do I make you nervous?”

“What?” 

There’s an unmistakable pink tinge spreading under Billy’s freckles, and Steve grins. “Holy shit, that’s why, isn’t it?”

“Fuck off, Harrington.” There’s no heat to it.

“All this time I was worried about your health and it turns out you just have a crush on me, oh my god.”

“I—”

“Dude, that’s adorable.”

Billy lets out an embarrassed huff, “Shut up.” His gaze drops to his hand, still trapped against Steve’s chest. When he glances back up there’s something tentative about the way he does it. He opens his mouth. A beat passes. He closes it again. 

“The answer is yes,” Steve says gently.

“You…”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“So…do you think you and your heart can handle doing something about this, or—”

Billy’s nails dig in as he lunges forward, crashing his mouth into Steve’s. It’s messy and enthusiastic, as much an oh god finally as a yes I can, Harrington, shut the fuck up. By the time they come up for air Billy is straddling Steve’s thighs, gripping the front of his shirt like his life depends on it. 

And it turns out Billy’s heart is just fine. Especially when he has Steve taking care of it.

~~tag list ppls @growup-thatbeautiful @spreckle 💕💕

[neonlights92]

Night Changes: PART TWO

Jeon Jungkook has spent the last twenty years alone.  Single.  Solo.

And that’s just the way he likes it.  That is, until he meets the supposed love of his life.  Suddenly he’s falling over himself at the chance of a real relationship with someone.

The only thing getting in his way? You.

genre: fuckboy!jungkookie, college!jungkookie, romcom, e2l (kinda)

AN: I am so fuckin soft for college Kook you wouldn’t even belieeeeeve

Within days of their ‘truce’, Jungkook realises what a huge dickhead he truly is for not remembering Y/N’s name.

She shares his timetable almost entirely.

“I’m the worst.” He bemoans after a particularly stressful lecture on American poetry, “You weren’t kidding when you said you were in all my classes.”

“Almost all your classes.” She laughs a little at the look on his face and shrugs, “I did tell you.”

“It makes perfect sense now why you hate me.”

Y/N nudges him playfully and shakes her head, “I don’t hate you.” “Yes you do.”  He sniffles dramatically, “And you should.  I’m an asshole.”

She pulls a face, “Now what am I meant to do here?  Tell you that you’re not an asshole?  That would be lying.” Jungkook reaches for his heart theatrically and frowns.

“I deserve that.”

She scoffs playfully, “Shut up, Jungkook.”

It’s been exactly four days since Jungkook and Y/N began to hatch their plan to try and get their respective soulmates to fall in love with them.

And though Y/N’s original idea was to host some kind of movie night at her apartment Jungkook has been slowly persuading her into throwing a full blown party.  Park Jimin is an absolute animal, Jungkook promises her (that’s a huge stretch, but what college student doesn’t like alcohol and loud music?) and throwing a party is a surefire way to get him to agree to coming. 

But Y/N isn’t so easily swayed.

“I’m going to make it up to you,” Jungkook tells her confidently, “I’m going to make sure that you and Jimin get together, and then when you have beautiful babies together you’ll be thanking me.  And we’ll forget all about the incredibly unfortunate way we met each other.” Y/N’s smile is soft, but Jungkook sees it.

“I know you will,” She says, “I have faith in your matchmaking abilities, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Which reminds me….Did you think about what I said, Y/N?”  

Jungkook has to admit - he really likes having her around.  Try as he might at first to have seen the worst in her, he has to admit Y/N’s not half bad. 

“About the party?” 

He winks, “Bingo!” 

“It’s a bad idea.”

“Oh my god-” 

“No, because I’m such a wallflower,” She insists, shaking her head firmly, “Jimin will just think I’m boring.”

“I’ll help you come out of your shell.  I’ve told you that already.  It will be like a life lesson for you - a chance to shine in the spotlight.” 

“I don’t shine,” Y/N is whining now, “It’s stupid to even try.”

“No it’s not,” Jungkook insists, “Everybody shines.  In their  own way.  Everybody.” He feels kind of awful for her. 

How can she even think that way about herself?

“You don’t - it’s not.  C’mon Jungkook I can’t-”

“What about the night we met?”  Jungkook interrupts, as the two round the corner of Jungkook’s street, “You were partying then, weren’t you?  You were shining then?” She flushes, “That’s different.”

“How?” She shuts her eyes for a moment.  Jungkook worries he might have pushed her too far.  He slips his bottom lip between his teeth and just as he opens his mouth to apologise she sighs heavily.

“It’s stupid.”

He brushes a hand over her shoulder, “It’s not.”

Her eyes open and he’s taken aback by the softness there. 

He wants to reach out and maybe pat her cheek but he decides against it.  Fuckboy or not, Jungkook is not the kind of guy to do that.  Is he?  No.  He isn’t.

Besides.  Soomi.

“Okay.  Okay.  I’ll throw the damn party.  But you’re helping me with everything, okay?”

Jungkook feels something like electricity shoot up his ass.  (He won’t ever tell anyone else he thought that.) 

“Yes!  This is going to be perfect Y/N I swear.  Jimin will love it.  So will you,” He grins like he’s hit the jackpot, “It’s the last day of semester in three weeks time.  We’ll use that as a reason okay?  And we’ll plan everything together.  It will be amazing.” Y/N’s eyes dart across Jungkook’s face nervously. 

She seems to be looking for something - what he’s not sure - but after a moment she nods.

“Fine.  Okay.  End of semester,”  Her lips fall into a small smile, “Do you think this will work?”

They stop at the entrance of Jungkook’s building.

“It’s perfect Y/N.  I swear.  Just perfect.”

When her smile widens Jungkook thinks he’s never seen her look better.

“I’m trusting you Jungkook.”  She narrows her eyes playfully, “Don’t fuck it up.”

He crosses his index finger across his chest and nods determinedly.

“Trust me, Y/N.  We’ll have Park Jimin eating out of your hand before you know it.”

And he really believes it, too.

//

The next day Jungkook runs into Y/N at lunchtime.  He hasn’t seen her in any of his classes today and when he texts her to tell her this, she reminds him that Friday is the only day they don’t share a timetable.

He has to admit he’s kind of bummed.  

So when he finds himself wandering into the campus garden with Hoseok trailing less than enthusiastically behind him, his eyes zero in on her immediately.

She’s eating some kind of burrito - probably extra spicy as she’s told him that’s the only way to eat Mexican food - and reading a book.  Of course she’s reading a book.

Nerd.

“Hey Hobi let’s go sit over there.”  He points her out to his friend and Hoseok raises a brow.

“Who’s that?” “Y/N.”

“Y/N?”  His brow raises even higher if possible, “Y/N as in the girl you slept with who’s name you can’t remember and who’s roommate you are in love with?  And who you’ve promised to help set up with Park Jimin?  That Y/N.” Jungkook frowns, “Well when you say it like that…” He rolls his eyes, “Shut up.  Let’s just go.” Hoseok shrugs and follows his friend - what good will it do him to argue anyway? - and when Jungkook reaches his destination he clears his throat noisily.  Y/N looks up and Jungkook notices she’s wearing a pair of thick-framed glasses.  He has to admit… She looks kind of adorable in them.

The moment recognition dawns on her face, Y/N’s lips lift.

“Hi.” Jungkook’s smile widens when she grins up at him.

“Hi.”  She shifts slightly, “What are you uh - doing here?” “Stalking you obviously,” Jungkook takes a seat beside her on the blanket she’s set up to eat on, and gestures for Hoseok to do the same, “This is my friend Hoseok.  The one I said dances with your boyfriend.” She wrinkles her nose and flushes, “Jungkook!  He’s not my boyfriend.”  She turns to Hoseok and smiles softly, “Hi.” 

Hoseok - to his credit - doesn’t seem to mind the Jimin comment.  He smiles back at her.

“Hi Y/N.”

Jungkook unwraps the dismal lunch he’s made himself - a sweetcorn and tuna salad - and gestures to the book sitting in Y/N’s lap.

“What’s that?”

She looks down and then up, “Oh.  It’s uh - god.  It’s stupid.” Jungkook quirks a brow, “C’mon tell me.  What is it.” She hesitates for a second and then rolls her eyes, seemingly accepting her fate.

Jungkook almost wants to remind her that they’re friends - she shouldn’t be embarrassed in front of him - but he stays quiet. 

She lifts the book to show him the cover.

“It’s a book on gaining confidence.”  Her shoulders shrug, “I thought it might help.  Y’know…  With the whole…” Her eyes flit over to Hoseok briefly, “Jimin thing.”

Hoseok chuckles and it catches Jungkook off guard.

He’d almost forgotten his friend was there.

“That’s adorable,” Hoseok comments, “Man if a girl did that for me I’d be beyond flattered.” Y/N’s cheeks flush and she shakes her head, “No - I mean.  I don’t know.  It’s not just for him…”

“Still.” She bites her bottom lip and shrugs, “I mean I guess.  Yeah.  He should be flattered.” Hoseok laughs again and Jungkook has a sneaking suspicion his friend might be flirting.

He doesn’t like that.

Y/N is not for Hoseok.  Not at all.

“Well she’s not reading the book for you,” Jungkook tells him, trying to control his anger, “She’s reading it for Jimin.” Hoseok raises a brow.  He takes a moment and then smiles again.

“I gathered.”

Jungkook spends the rest of the lunch break trying to stop whatever weird energy Hoseok and Y/N have going on.

There is absolutely no way in hell that Jung Hoseok thinks he can just swoop in and ruin all his plans, right?  Y/N needs to fall in love with Jimin. Park Jimin needs to be the one laughing with her and smiling at her and flirting with her.

He’s absolutely livid by the time Y/N scurries off to class.

“What the fuck was that?” Hoseok pulls a face, “What?”

“That.  That… Flirting.  What was that?”  Jungkook has barely even touched his lunch (and it’s got nothing to do with the absolute miserable state of it, he swears.) 

Hoseok seems confused for only a moment later.  Then his face opens up.

“Oh, right.”  He shakes his head, “I wasn’t flirting, Jungkook.” Jungkook hates the look on his friend’s face.  Like he knows something Jungkook doesn’t.

“What’s that look for Hoseok?” Hobi chuckles and shakes his head, “Nothing Jungkook.  Absolutely nothing.” Jungkook spends the rest of the day thinking about that godforsaken look.

//

Jungkook wakes up the next morning (which thank god happens to be a Saturday,) to a text message from Y/N.  He’s been trying to convince her to use more emojis - but she refuses.

Secretly, he finds her texting kind of cute.

But he’ll never tell her that.

Y/N: Are you free today?

Jungkook: as a bird.  what did you have in mind?? :) 

Y/N: It’s my birthday.  Soomi is taking me out bowling.  Wanna come?

Jungkook feels his heart swim all the way up to his throat.

Soomi?  And wait what - it’s Y/N’s birthday? He’s sort of offended she only brought it up now.

Jungkook: uhhh… what?? happy fuckin birthday y/n!!! ur naughty!!! birthday ??? why didnt you tell me yesterday??? 

Y/N: You’re an English Lit student.  Use proper vocabulary and grammar please.  And I don’t know I didn’t think it was a big deal.

Jungkook: u cant change me boo… u just text like a granny.  its your birthday stupid ofc its a big deal.  mind if i invite some of my friends??

It’s a few minutes before Y/N finally replies. 

Y/N: Yeah.  Sure.  Meet us at Blue Pins in an hour?

Jungkook: c u there… birthday girl!!!!!

Y/N: Ugh.

Jungkook smiles at the way she still acts like she hates him even though he knows she doesn’t really.

It really is the start of a beautiful friendship.

//

An hour later Jungkook finds himself sat in a booth with Hoseok, Taehyung and Namjoon, nervously tapping his fingers against the surface of the table.

Hoseok clicks his tongue loudly and grabs his friend's hand from across the booth.  His eyes are narrowed a little.

“Will you calm down?” “Are you kidding?” Jungkook’s eyes are as wide as a pair of saucers, “I’m about to meet the woman I’m going to marry.”

Hoseok scoffs at that and Taehyung scrolls through his phone, bored as always.  

After a moment, Taehyung clears his throat, “He said yes.” 

Jungkook feels like his heart has just fallen out of his asshole.

“What?”

“Jimin said yes,” Taehyung rolls his eyes, almost as if he’s annoyed at this spectacular outcome, “He’ll come to Y/N’s party at the end of the semester..”

“Oh fuck YES!” Jungkook fist pumps the air in joy as Hoseok chuckles in delight.

“You’re overreacting,” Namjoon tells his friend seriously, “Jimin coming does not equal Jimin falling in love with Y/N.”

“It gets me one step closer though,” Jungkook feels lighter already, “And one step closer to that means one step closer to Soomi falling in love with me.”

Namjoon snorts out a laugh, “Stop it.”

“What?” Jungkook takes a swig from the cappuccino he insisted on ordering as soon as they arrived, “It’s true.”

“You’re not seriously thinking you’re in love with this girl Jungkook?”  Hoseok’s eyes dance with mirth, “I know you man.”

“What do you mean?”

Hoseok raises a dubious brow, “You’re the ultimate fuckboy.”

“I am not.”

“Yes.  You are.”  Taehyung tacks on helpfully, “Notoriously so, actually.”

“Shut up.” 

Jungkook doesn’t want to admit it but he knows his friends are kind of right.  Sue him - he’s young and handsome and he’s in college.  Everybody fucks around in college.

“And anyway I don’t actively pursue girls unless I have the intention of taking it somewhere.”  Jungkook crosses his arms, “A fuckboy I may be, but a dickhead I am not.”

“Says the guy who forgot Y/N’s name after a vigorous night of lovemaking.”  Namjoon grins like the cat who got the cream and Jungkook wants to smack him.

“You can thank your dear friend Kim Taehyung for that.”  Jungkook replies sharply, narrowing his eyes at his so-called childhood best friend.

Taehyung gasps like he can’t believe what Jungkook’s just said.

“Seven tequilas on an empty stomach is never a good idea Tae,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, “You kept insisting.”

Taehyung answers with a flippant wave of his hand, eyes finally moving away from his phone, “Whatever.  You’re an adult, right?  You could’ve said no.”

“Not when free alcohol is involved.” “Anyway Kookie, the point is you can’t be in love.”  Hoseok leans back like he’s just discovered the meaning to life.  Always so smug.

Jungkook can’t help but find it a little annoying.

“And how, oh wise one, are you coming to this conclusion?” Jungkook’s tone is dripping with sarcasm.  He raises a brow at his friend and gives him the most pointed look he can manage.

It’s still Hoseok and Jungkook has to admit he respects his opinion the most.

“Because you’re you.  And you barely know this girl.”  Hoseok rolls his eyes, “That’s how.”

“I find that offensive,” Jungkook retorts, “People are allowed to change and grow.  Now I’ve met Soomi I’m different.”

Namjoon shakes his head, “There’s no point, Hobi.  We all tried, believe me.  But he’s decided that he’s in love with her.  Just get on board with it.”

Jungkook sends Hoseok a toothy grin once he swallows the last of the cappuccino and nods emphatically.

He knows what his friends think of him.

That he’s slutty and careless.  That commitment scares the shit out of him.  That he’s incapable of monogamy.  A combination of all of the above.

But Jungkook knows the truth.  He didn’t want a girlfriend before this because he hadn’t met someone that made sense to him.

And what’s the point of being with someone unless you’re all in?

“Anyway when you’re guests at our wedding it’ll all make sense,” Jungkook pushes his empty coffee cup to the side, “We’re meant to be.”

Taehyung laughs at this - despite himself - and Hoseok and Namjoon chuckle too.

“Jungkook?” The sound of someone calling his name causes him to turn quickly, eyes widening when he sees who it is.  Y/N.  She’s smiling at him of course - but that’s not what causes Jungkook to almost go into cardiac arrest.

No.  Of course not.

It’s the beautiful angel standing beside Y/N that causes him to almost forget how to breathe.

“Hi,” He squeezes out despite himself, eyes riveted to Soomi’s beautiful face, “Hi.”

Soomi smiles and Jungkook is immediately breathless.

“Jungkook right?  Y/N’s… Friend.”  The suggestive tone annoys Jungkook - he can’t have Soomi thinking he belongs to anyone else but her - and he nods.

“Yeah.” “But just a friend now,” Y/N pipes up helpfully, “We… Uh… Worked through our differences.  And now we’re friends.  Just friends.  Totally platonic.” Jungkook thinks she’s kind of overkilling the whole thing but he doesn’t say anything.  Instead he smiles at Soomi and watches as her face puts two and two together.

Yes.  Yes.

Jungkook wants her - no he needs her to know that he’s single.

Really single.

Totally single and available and hers.

Namjoon clears his throat somewhere from Jungkook’s left.  He turns to his friends and nods quickly.

“Right.  Yes of course.  My friends - these are my friends.  Taehyung and Namjoon, and Y/N you’ve already met Hoseok.” The two share a small wave.  Jungkook ignores the stab of annoyance that sends to his gut.

“Hi,” Soomi smiles in a way Jungkook is sure is almost too heavenly to be real, “I’m Soomi.” God.  He really is a goner.

//

Jungkook doesn’t want to brag, but he is pretty good at bowling.

Okay.  Who’s he kidding?

He totally wants to brag.

The moment Y/N splits them up into two teams - Soomi, Jungkook and her versus Namjoon, Hoseok and Taehyung - he’s determined to win.

He has to win. 

He has to show Soomi one of his many, many, many talents. 

“You’re pretty good at this,” Soomi remarks as he throws his first strike, “Or is that just beginner’s luck?”

Jungkook shakes his head and shrugs, “I’d say I’m pretty good.”

Her giggle is music to his ears.

“That’s impressive.  What kind of girl doesn’t want a man who can throw a strike?”

Jungkook smirks, “That’s what I always say.” Her eyes crinkle at the side when she smiles and though it's not quite as adorable as Y/N’s - he’ll never admit this out loud - she still looks so sweet his heart constricts almost painfully in his chest.  He forgets for a moment where he is, laying on the charm thick.

“Is that how you seduce poor unsuspecting women then?  With your bowling skills?”

He winks in that way that usually works and his smirk widens, “You know it!” 

Soomi giggles again and Jungkook is surprised at how smoothly this all seems to be going - when the sound of somebody throwing a gutter grabs his attention.

His eyes lift - thinking it has to be the other team - and he furrows his brow when he sees Y/N standing at the very top of the bowling lane, staring at the full set of pins in front of her.

Holy shit.

Jungkook momentarily forgets about Soomi - his competitive nature kicked into overdrive - as he shoots up from his seat and rushes towards Y/N.

“Oh my god,” He’s right beside her in an instant, “Was that you?”

Y/N looks up at him - cheeks flushed - and nods, “Yeah.  I’m terrible at bowling.”

“So why would you choose to come here?  On your birthday?” 

Jungkook is somewhere between disbelief and pure horror.  But he has to admit, the look on her face is sort of funny.  She’s mortified.

“Soomi suggested it.  She said it might be fun,” She looks away for a moment, “For her maybe.”

The sound of someone scoring a strike blares to Jungkook’s left and when he sees Taehyung performing some kind of ridiculous victory dance, he decides enough is enough.

“No.  No.”  Jungkook sets his jaw, “I’m going to help you.”

Y/N’s brow lifts, “What?” “I’m going to help you.  You’re going to score a strike.” 

She snorts out a laugh.

“I don’t think you realise how truly terrible I am at this.”

“And I don’t think you realise how truly competitive I am,” He gestures to the balls, “Grab the lime green.  That’s the lightest.”

Y/N watches him for a moment longer.  She looks behind him and moves her hand in the general direction of Soomi.

“What about Soomi?” He flares his nostrils, “She’ll still be there after I finish helping you.”

Y/N stares at him, and when Jungkook cocks his head towards the row of balls lining the back of the bowling alley, she shrugs and follows his command.  

Jungkook takes this as a moment to teach Y/N how to shine.  

After all, what better way to fell good about yourself than being good at something you always thought you sucked at?

When Y/N comes back with the lime green ball, he grabs her free arm and positions her to stand with her back to his chest, wordlessly.

“Woah.”  Y/N breathes, “What are you doing?”

Jungkook’s mouth is right beside her ear, “Just follow me okay?  I’m helping you, I swear.”

He slides his hand down to the ball and grips her fingers carefully.

“Don’t hold too much tension in your wrist,” He tells her sternly, “You’re too tense.  You’re always too tense.  Relax.” Something strange passes between them.  Y/N takes a long, deep breath, and Jungkook tries to concentrate on the task at hand.

“Now slowly, slowly, bring the ball back,” Y/N follows Jungkook’s movements, “And… Release.”

He helps her flick it onto the lane, and they watch in suspense as the ball spins towards the pins.  There is almost a moment where everything is suspended in time - before the ball crashes with the pins and nine of them fall down.

Y/N squeals in happiness and turns around sharply, throwing her arm around Jungkook’s neck and pressing herself against him in a hug.

“Thank you Jungkook!” She is smiling so widely, his heart turns, “You’re the best.”

“You’re welcome.”  Jungkook finds he’s grinning too, “You deserve it.  Happy birthday Y/N.” He pushes some hair out of her face - practical purposes of course, it was getting in her eyes - and she seems to catch her breath at the gesture. They stare at each other for a moment, before someone clears their throat from behind them and they break apart.  Soomi is standing between them, holding a bubble gum pink bowling ball.

Jungkook wonders almost flippantly if she only picked it up for it’s colour.

“It’s my turn, right?” She turns her smile on Jungkook and he melts.

God.

She’s beautiful.

“Right.”  Jungkook smiles back, “Your turn.”

When he turns to move back to their booth he notices Y/N watching their interaction carefully.  Her eyes flit away the moment she’s caught, but Jungkook knows what he saw.

Strange.

Very strange indeed.

//

Later on that evening, after they’ve all shared a pizza, and Jungkook has spent the rest of the night watching Soomi with hearts in his eyes, Hoseok clears his throat with purpose.

They’re sat in their living room - Hoseok has decided to crash over because, why not? - and playing a midnight mario kart match, when Jungkook’s friend seems to have something to say.

Jungkook pauses the game.  He turns to Hoseok.

“Yes?” There is a brief moment of silence.  Taehyung is forever scrolling through his phone, and Namjoon has long ago gone to bed.  Hoseok clicks his tongue.

“Are you sure you like Soomi?”

The question completely throws Jungkook off.

He raises a questioning brow, “What?”

“I’m just - asking.  I’m just…” Hoseok turns to Taehyung for support.  When his friend doesn’t notice, he smacks him across the shoulder, “Tae.”

“What?”

Jungkook narrows his eyes, “Have you guys talked about this?” Taehyung seems to realise where the conversation has just come from.  He actually locks his phone and sets it to one side.

“Yeah.”  Taehyung answers honestly, “We have.” “I’ve told you guys a million times.  I know I barely know her but -” “That’s not it.”  Hoseok licks his bottom lip, “I mean it’s crazy you think you fell in love at first sight but… Stranger things have happened.” Jungkook scoffs, “So?  Why have you asked then?” Another beat.

Taehyung sighed heavily, “Because we think you like Y/N.”

“What the fuck?” Jungkook snorts out a laugh because really - what else can he do?, “Why the fuck would you think that?” His friends share another look and Jungkook hates that.

He hates that they think they know him better than he knows himself.

Hoseok shakes his head, “Just a feeling.” “A feeling that’s wrong.”  Jungkook states firmly, “Dead wrong.” Taehyung nods and picks up his phone, “Fine.  Alright.  We’re wrong then.” Hoseok seems like he wants to say more but he doesn’t opting instead for something that sounds sort of like a grunt.

Jungkook watches his friends for a moment longer.

“Yeah.  So wrong.”

//

That night, when Jungkook’s just about to go to bed he receives a text message.  He opens his phone, expecting Y/N and finding, instead, an unrecognised number staring back at him.

Soomi: hiiiii jungkook :) it's soomi… y/n gave me ur number. hope u dont mind.

Jungkook pushes his friends’s ridiculous theory to the back of his head, and focuses instead on the fact that Soomi has just texted him.  His thumbs move to answer her but he pauses, moving instead to open Y/N’s chat history.

Jungkook: hey. happy bday again champ. u da bomb!! also thanks for giving soomi my number. u a real one for that, chief!!! :) :) :)

Y/N’s reply comes only a few minutes later.

Y/N: Thank you Jungkook.  I appreciate it.  And no worries… She seemed to really be into you after tonight.  So well done, yeah? :) 

Jungkook smiles at the emoji that he imagines Y/N forced herself to add, and almost misses the part when she says Soomi was into him.

Right.  Yeah.  Perfect.

He opens up Soomi’s chat and starts to write out a reply.

This is exactly what he wanted.

//

TAGLIST:  @cuddleboo @veronawrites @minluvly @severetimetravelnerd @moonchild1 @bunnyjeonjk @multicolourunicorn  @somewhereinthestarss  @jwlmnbt  @jojo-suga @zera10 @ggukkieland @thesugatoyourtae @dxlbts​ @wxndi

[chaeryybomb]

BRUTAL

pairings: female reader x best friend!jungwon

summary: they told you that these were the golden years, but to you "golden" was a rusting metal spray painted yellow. the story of a seventeen year old trying to survive high school when all you do is try your best. but your best friend jungwon makes it worth the while. 

genre: high school au, friends to lovers, fluff, tiny bits of angst if you squint, attempt at humour

featuring: jang wonyoung, kim sunoo & nishimura riki 

word count: 4.5k 

warnings: reader having a existential crisis most of the time, strong language, mentions of insecurity

the sour series masterlist

You slumped forward the moment the bell rang, letting your head hit the table. You could care less if a bruise would form on your forehead, you had much bigger things to worry about. Your teacher left the class wordlessly as the class was busy doing their own thing. And by that, everyone was buried nose deep in studying. You lifted your head to see the different books of the same topic scattered on your desk, a yellow highlighter balancing on the edge of your table.

Reaching over to grab the highlighter, you turned your head over to the side to look at your desk mate. Wonyoung sat there looking straight out from a k-drama, with her hair flowing down her back perfectly and her slender nimble fingers moving as she continuously wrote in her notebook. She was smart too, fluent in English and Korean, great at maths and science. And on top of that she was kind and friendly, everyone loved her. You did too, you had the honour of calling her your best friend. But sometimes you felt insecure around her, everything she did looked flawless and there you were just trying your best.

"Ack!" You yelped as you sat up straight, holding your forehead. Wonyoung rolled her eyes at you with a small smile on her lips, she had flicked your forehead to get you out of your thoughts.

Without taking her eyes off the textbook, she tapped your own workbook with her pen. Silently telling you to stop procrastinating. You pouted at her and looked at the clock, 10 minutes before lunch. Maybe a walk to the girl's bathroom would do you some good.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you whispered to Wonyoung. She nodded and smiled at you before you walked out.

As you strolled towards the girl's bathroom, you passed by the bulletin board outside your class. A bright blue poster stood out with the words "ENJOY YOUR YOUTH" in white. Scoffing at the message, you continued on your way.

"I'm seventeen now, where's my fucking teenage dream?" You muttered to yourself. You were tired of waiting for your life to end up like a coming of age movie. Everyone told you that these were the golden years and you should enjoy your youth, but you swear to god if you hear another one of those cheesy sayings, you might just cry on the spot.

Reaching over to open the stall door, you halt in your actions when you heard familiar voices talking.

"I'm so worried for finals, my parents are gonna kill me if I fail English again," a girl complained. You hear the sound of tap water running. "How are you so calm during this time, Mirae?'

"What's the use of studying hard anyways," the second girl, Mirae, said. "We all know the top spots are gonna be taken by Jang Wonyoung and Yang Jungwon, I just study enough to pass."

The other girl snorted at her reply. "Imagine if those two got together, the power couple of the year," she suddenly said.

"Poor Y/N then, she's gonna be over shadowed by them."

"As if she already isn't. I almost forgot they were a trio until you mentioned Y/N," the girl laughed.

"What can I say? They're out of her league," Mirae joined in with her laughter.

The two voices faded away as you heard the door closed. Finally pushing the door open, you looked at your reflection. Your eyebrows knitted in annoyance and your face was morphed in a scowl. You washed your hands aggressively and poked the inside of your cheek. What bugged you was that they were right. You were the black sheep between Wonyoung and Jungwon. Both of them were smart and amazing, and you're just…you.

You love your best friends, you truly do. But you were constantly compared to them and you hated it. Everyone wanted them, you watched as guys tripped over to confess to Wonyoung and girls squealing when Jungwon smiled at them. The two of them always reassured you that you weren't beneath them but you were sick of their sympathy. You're so caught up in the news of who likes you and who hates them. You just wished people liked you more.

Storming out of the bathroom, someone accidentally ran into you and caused you to fell onto your butt. The student immediately stood up and scurried off, not bothering to even a mutter an apology. All I did was try my best and this is the thanks I get, you thought bitterly.

They said that these were the golden years, but you wished you could just disappear. God, it's brutal out here.

"Y/N, wait up!" Jungwon called after you.

You stopped in your tracks as you watched Jungwon waved goodbye to some students before jogging towards you.

"You heading to cram school today?" He asked you as the both of you fell into the same walking rhythm.

You shook your head, clasping your hands behind. "I moved it to Thursday instead, Wonyoung said I had to many things on Tuesday," you told him. Originally, you would be heading to the library to study before heading over to the cram school. But Wonyoung took one look at your schedule and decided that you did not had enough breaks, so she managed to convince you to take the Thursday slot instead. Thursdays are one of the days where you would not go to the library.

Jungwon seemed to be disappointed to find out that you had switched slots. Maybe he should changed slots too, but does he have any empty spots open for Thursday though? He'd have to check later. Instead, he coughed and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Do you wanna come over later? The new Demon Slayer movie is out," he offered, hoping that you'd accept.

Unfortunately, you once again shook your head. "Sorry Jungwon, I'd want to cram even more later. Finals are really creeping in and I can't afford to waste any time," you told him with a sad smile. As much as you would like to ditch the books and watch Demon Slayer, the glaring C on your last history paper was telling you otherwise.

You stopped walking when you had reached your doorstep. "Thanks for walking me home, Jungwon. See you tomorrow!" and with that you disappeared behind the door.

Jungwon waved goodbye as he watched the door closed. The smile on his face dropped and his shoulder sagged. Jungwon you idiot, of course she would want to study, he scolded himself. With disappointment on his face, he trudged home with a heavy heart.

"Change of plans, guys," he announced as he swung the front door open, unfazed by the fact that Riki and Sunoo were lounging on his coach. He accepted the fact that Sunoo had somehow gotten the keys to his house (suspecting that his mother probably gave it to him due to favouritism or maybe Riki had sneakily made a copy).

Riki's head poked out from the couch. "She rejected you, didn't she," the younger boy said with a smirk.

Jungwon's face ears turned red as he glared at the boy. "No she did not!" He immediately told him. "She rejected the offer to watch the movie, that's different!"

"That's basically rejection, hyung," Riki laughed.

The other boy just glared at him. "Shut up!" he sputtered out before hiking up the stairs.

Sunoo gave Riki a look, to which the Japanese boy just shrugged his shoulders innocently.

Jungwon walked out from the shower, a towel around his neck with one hand running through his damp hair. Sunoo and Riki had left earlier, finally giving him some peace and quiet. His phone screen was flashing from his study table, initiating that someone was spamming him (quite aggressively) with text message. With a raised eyebrow, he picked up his phone

[7:09 pm] wonyoung: JUNGWON

[7:09 pm] wonyoung: JUNGWON

[7:09 pm] wonyoung: JUNGWON

[7:10 pm] wonyoung: WHY DID Y/N JUST MESSAGED ME ABOUT HOMEWORK

[7:10 pm] wonyoung: ISNT SHE WITH YOU

[7:11 pm] wonyoung: I THOUGHT YOU SAID U WERE GONNA WATCH A MOVIE

[7:11 pm] wonyoung: DEMON HUNTER OR SMTG

[7:12 pm] wonyoung: WHY IS SHE ASKING ME FOR HW

[7:12 pm] wonyoung: DID U CHICKEN OUT???

[7:13 pm] wonyoung: omg u chickened out didnt u

[7:14 pm] jungwon: jfc wonyoung

[7:15 pm] jungwon: and no i did not chicken out okay

[7:15 pm] jungwon: she declined

[7:16 pm] jungwon: she said she had to study ;-;

[7:17 pm] wonyoung: omg u suck

[7:17 pm] wonyoung: i told u the movie idea was dumb

[7:18 pm] wonyoung: but do u ever listen to me

[7:18 pm] wonyoung: no

[7:19 pm] wonyoung: and now u suffer the consequences

[7:20 pm] jungwon: yea yea i get it im dumb

[7:20 pm] jungwon: now what's ur solution the great jang wonyoung

[7:21 pm] wonyoung: i am so glad u asked :)

[7:21 pm] jungwon: oh no

[7:21 pm] wonyoung: stfu im giving u a better idea

[7:22 pm] wonyoung: a n y w a y s

[7:22 pm] wonyoung: my ynradar is going off and she's s a d

[7:23 pm] jungwon: how would u know

[7:23 pm] jungwon: she seemed fine today

[7:23 pm] wonyoung: stfu jungwon its best friend things u wont understand

[7:24 pm] jungwon: i-

[7:25 pm] wonyoung: and as her future bf u SHOULD start to train ur ynradar

[7:25 pm] wonyoung: anw its exam season stoopid

[7:26 pm] wonyoung: and its when those kids start to talk abt how the both of us are gonna get top scores

[7:26 pm] wonyoung: and they talk down on y/n while doing so

[7:26 pm] wonyoung: assholes

[7:27 pm] wonyoung: so i propose to u

[7:27 pm] wonyoung: a ✨ study date ✨

[7:28 pm] jungwon: i

[7:29 pm] jungwon: that's

[7:29 pm] jungwon: actually not a bad idea

[7:30 pm] wonyoung: obv i came up with it

[7:31 pm] jungwon: can u not

[7:31 pm] wonyoung: anw a study date

[7:32 pm] wonyoung: she's struggling in maths

[7:33 pm] wonyoung: specifically taxes because she said and i quote

[7:34 pm] wonyoung: "why do we have to do taxes when we pay people to do it for us"

[7:34 pm] wonyoung: so pls help her and try to cheer her up

[7:35 pm] wonyoung: and confess coward

[7:36 pm] jungwon: i make no promises for the last one

[7:36 pm] wonyoung: aFTER EVERYTHING I JUST SAID

[7:37 pm] jungwon: what if she rejects me wonyoung

[7:38 pm] wonyoung: WE'VE HAD THIS CONVERSATION A LOT OF TIMES JUNGWON

[7:38 pm] wonyoung: SHE LIKES U BUT SHES TOO DUMB TO REALISE

[7:39 pm] jungwon: sigh

[7:40 pm] jungwon: fine i'll try thanks wonyoung

[7:41 pm] wonyoung: np i expect y'all to be a couple by next monday <3

[7:41 pm] jungwon: i-

Sighing for the nth time of the night, Jungwon sat on his bed. He allowed the towel to slipped off his shoulders as his thumb hovered over your chat icon. Truth be told, he always thought his crush on you was unrequited love. You never showed any signs of returning of feelings so he thought he would just ignore the feeling until it was gone.

But oh boy was he wrong, because he didn't knew that he would be spending his high school years by your side. And now you occupy his mind 24/7. Wonyoung could literally tell that he was in love with you, but somehow you never caught on. He allowed Sunoo and Riki to convince him to do the whole "movie date idea", but that failed. So Wonyoung's suggestion was his only option left.

He typed out the message, ready to send it out. If only he could just press the button. Come on Yang Jungwon, you can do this. Just press the damn button Jungwon. Suddenly his phone pinged loudly, scaring the lights out of the poor boy as he yelped and his phone landed with a thud on the ground. He peered over his bed, as if his phone was a ticking bomb.

Oh, it was a message from you.

[8:01 pm] y/n: hey do u know where wonyoung is

[8:01 pm] y/n: she isn't answering my texts

Oh no. He realised that your chat was open, the two ticks indicated that he had (unintentionally) read the message. He couldn't just leave you on read. That's just evil. Scrambling to get his phone, he immediately typed a reply to cover for the other girl.

[8:02 pm] jungwon: sorry i don't :/

[8:02 pm] jungwon: what do u need her for

[8:03 pm] y/n: mf was supposed to teach me a maths question but she left me on rEAD

This was his chance! It was the perfect opportunity for him to score a date with you. Okay, breathe in breath out Jungwon. Don't mess it up and just ask her, he mentally prepared himself.

[8:04 pm] jungwon: oh i could help you if you want

[8:04 pm] jungwon: yk with finals coming up and everything, i can help you study

[8:05 pm] jungwon: if you want of course

[8:05 pm] y/n: omg srsly??

[8:06 pm] jungwon: pls help me study my braincells are literally dying

[8:07 pm] jungwon: jdsjkda okay how about this saturday at your place?

[8:08 pm] y/n: yeah sure

[8:08 pm] jungwon: cool its a date then!

You blinked at Jungwon's message. A date? Wait, did Yang Jungwon just indirectly asked you out? Nah, nah. You were overthinking it. Yes, definitely overthinking. Don't kid yourself, why would Jungwon ask you out on a date? Jungwon is just a friend, you tried to convince yourself.

Keyword: tried.

If he really was just a friend, then why did it felt like butterflies were in your stomach when he said "it was a date"? Then why did you frowned when those girls said that Wonyoung and Jungwon would make a good couple?

Oh god, do you have feelings for your best friend?

Saturday came faster than you would have liked it to. Ever since that last chat with Jungwon, it gave you the sudden realisation that you did in fact had feelings for your best friend. You tried so hard to avoid him in school because you don't want the butterflies back in your stomach. It was basically confirming the fact that you like him. Well, avoiding him also confirmed the fact but you choose to be in denial about it.

You didn't tell Wonyoung about your study date but lately she's been sending you outfit ideas on Pinterest. Specifically, date outftis. And whenever you tried to ask her a question about school, she brushed you off with a random excuse. So it left you no choice but to save those questions for Jungwon.

Speaking of Jungwon, he had texted you 10 minutes ago that he was on the way. You were standing in the middle of your room with your hands on your hips. Both of your parents were out for the day, which left you alone at home. You had taken out the low table to be used later and it was currently in front of you. Colourful workbooks were neatly stacked on top of it.

You did a 360 turn around your room. Was it messy? You cleaned it this morning when you woke up. Did you had any clothes out? No, doesn't look like it. For some reason, you were a nervous wreck. You blamed Jungwon. He just had to call this a date, didn't he.

Should you change? Maybe you should finally look through all those pins Wonyoung sent. Wait, no, why would you have to change into something nice. Jungwon was here to help you study, just that.

Yeah, a study date, your mind emphasised on the word.

The sound of the doorbell pulled you out from your thoughts. You immediately went to open the door. Yang Jungwon stood there on the other side, with his signature smile. Had he always resembled a sheep? He just looked so fluffy.

"Hey!" You greeted him with a smile, internally wincing at your way-too-enthusiastic voice.

But Jungwon didn't seem to mind it. "Hey!" he greeted back.

You moved to the side to let him in. "Thank you for having me," he said as he bowed then proceeded to remove his shoes.

"Uh, do you want anything? Water?" You asked him.

He shook his head.

"Ah, cool. Let's head to my room," you started to walk back to your room.

"Where are your parents?" He asked.

"Out," you simply replied.

That was when it dawned upon you, that your parents were not home. Leaving you and Jungwon, alone. Together. In your room. Alone. With the boy you potentially have a crush on.

"Y/N?" Jungwon tapped on your shoulder. You had stopped walking when you were suddenly washed over by your thoughts. Snapping out of it, you sent him a small smile before opening the room to your door.

The both of you shuffled into your bedroom, you sat down in front of the low table while Jungwon settled down next to you. He moved to take out his books then turned to you. "How about we do some studying and if you have any questions, you can ask me okay?" He said.

You nodded and flipped your own workbook open, immediately starting to work on the first question. Jungwon copied your action and a comfortable silence engulfed the both of you. As the time passed, you found yourself stuck on a certain maths question.

You slightly turned your head to the side to look at Jungwon. He was concentrated at doing his work, you felt a sense of deja vu while looking at him. He resembled Wonyoung when she was studying. At the thought of Wonyoung, you suddenly thought of what those girls said at the bathroom.

They would make a good couple, wouldn't they, you thought. The power couple of the year.

The butterflies in your stomach faded away into an uncomfortable feeling. Just the idea of them getting together already made you sick. You bit the inside of your cheek, you really did had feelings for him. And now it scared you because what if he doesn't feel the same. You made a mental note to consult with Wonyoung later, at least you hope that you'll allow yourself to tell her.

Jungwon must've noticed you staring and gently tapped your head with his pencil. A contrast to when Wonyoung painfully flicked your forehead.

"What's wrong? Are you stuck on a question?" He asked.

You leaned back a bit at the sudden action. You were so deep in your insecurities that you had totally forgotten about the literal problem sitting in front of you. Yet you couldn't even bother to ask him so you just shook your head. "I'm gonna get something to drink," you said instead.

Jungwon watched as you stood up, then decided to follow you as well. "I'll come along."

The boy joined you in the kitchen, perched on one of the island stools as you grabbed a can of soda from the fridge. He studied your movement as you worked around the kitchen. Your features were neutral, you weren't smiling nor frowning. But he could tell that your shoulders were tensed. Wonyoung was right, you did seem down. And he cursed himself for not noticing earlier.

"You okay?" His question made you stopped in a mid-pour stance, the can of soda was tilted but not enough for the contents to be poured out.

You brushed his question off and poured the drink into the cup. "Yeah," you hummed.

Unconvinced by your answer, he pried more. "You know you shouldn't care about what they say, right?"

You furrowed your eyebrows at him, pretending like you didn't understand where he was coming from.

"You're not below us, you know that right?"

You couldn't help but scoffed at his words. Jungwon's lips tugged downwards "I'm being serious here, Y/N," his tone was stern. "You shouldn't listen to what they say. You're more than just-"

The sound of the can being slammed down shuts him up. Your fingers tightened around the can as you looked at him. You didn't had the energy to hear him preach the same old "Don't Listen To Them" speech. You don't need his pity.

"I don't want to hear it, Yang Jungwon," you said through gritted teeth. Not sparing him another glance, you threw the empty can into the trash as you grabbed your glass.

As you walked past Jungwon, he suddenly reached out and held onto your forearm. "Y/N," he said softly. "Please tell me what's wrong."

You sighed and slowly turn around to face him, placing the glass back on the counter. You took in a deep breath before you opened your mouth. "I feel like I'm not enough," you finally said. "Everything I do just doesn't seem enough. All I'm doing is my best but it's just crushing my ego because everyone is telling me that you're better than me."

"I feel like no one wants me and I hate the way I'm perceived. It's always poor Y/N this and poor Y/N that's because everyone just sees me as your shadow and I fucking hate it. I only have two real friends," you gestured wildly. "And lately I'm a nervous wreck cause I keep comparing myself to the two of you. I'm not cool and I'm not smart, and I can't even parallel park!" You threw your hands up in frustration, the feelings you kept inside were pouring out like a waterfall.

Jungwon just stood there as he listened tentatively to every word. He didn't knew that you felt this way, bottling up all your emotions like that.

"And I'm so tired of people telling me to enjoy my youth and that these are the golden years. I might just fucking cry if I hear those words again," you finished ranting. It felt good, it felt like a weight on your heart has been lifted. Then you remembered that you just dumped all of it on Jungwon.

You opened your mouth to apologise to him but he surprised you by pulling him into his arms. At first you were standing stiffly at the sudden contact, but it took a millisecond for you to melt in his embrace. His arms were gently around your back and you returned the hug by wrapping your arms around his torso. The two of you stay in that position for awhile, relishing in each other's embrace. You definitely needed this hug.

Tightening your hold on Jungwon, you realised how important he was to you. He was your best friend and he was always there for you. It was stupid of you to compare yourself to him, when all he did was tried his best for you. The taller boy chuckled when he felt you rubbed your face into his shoulder, he involuntarily released a contented sigh. You felt one of his hands stroked your hair, it felt comforting. That action itself was enough for the butterflies to slowly settled back in you.

After a while, both of you finally (unwillingly) released each other. He pushed a strand of hair behind your ears and said, "You're wrong by the way." Which made you tilt your head in genuine confusion.

"You are cool and you are smart. You're like the coolest person I know. And no one thinks of you as our shadow, you don't hear it but I've always hear the juniors praising you for helping them and how enthusiastic you are," the way he delivered his words was filled with pure awe for you.

"And who cares if you can't parallel park. You didn't hear it from but Jay hyung failed his drivers test three times just because he couldn't parallel park," and that got a laugh out from you. Jungwon smiled proudly that he managed to make you laugh. "And you're wrong when you said no one wants you. I want you."

You blinked once, twice and thrice. He wanted you? "You're just saying that cause you're my best friend," you replied.

"No," he firmly said. "I like you, Y/N."

(Jungwon doesn't know where he got this sudden surge of confidence, but the mood was the perfect time for him to confess. It was a one time chance and he had to take it.)

You chuckled. "I like you too, Jungwon. We are friends aren't we?"

"No, Y/N. I like you. More than friends."

"Oh." Oh.

"Yeah," he scratched the back of neck awkwardly. Oh no, did you not feel the same way?

While you on the other hand, were malfunctioning on the inside. Your best friend just confessed to you and you were frozen on the spot. Why couldn't he had done it over text instead. If he had done it over text, then you could've left the message unread and you could've spammed Wonyoung for help. But the thing is that it wasn't over text and you couldn't just tell him to wait here while you panicked to Wonyoung in your bathroom.

Yang Jungwon likes you. And you like him too, right? Because if you didn't, your cheeks won't be heating up right now and your heart would have not be beating rapidly like it was going to break your rib cage any second. If you didn't like him, there would have never been butterflies in your stomach. Yeah. You like Yang Jungwon, you like him a lot.

"Me too," you whispered, it was soft but it was enough for him to pick it up. Jungwon eyes snapped to you, doe eyed filled with hope. "I like you, too," you said, this time louder. And you made sure you looked him in the eye when you confessed.

You watched as Jungwon's mouth morphed into a big grin. He let out a sigh of relief and dropped to his knees, surprising you. "Jungwon!" you squeaked, bending down to help him.

"I'm fine! I'm fine," he assured you as he stood up with your help. The grin on his face was still there. "It's just that … you like me," he breathed out. "You like me back, wow. I-I can't believe it."

Your face was definitely burning with embarrassment. You punched him lightly on the shoulder, turning away to hide your face. "Believe it, you dork. I like you, okay!" Somehow his grin was able to grew wider at your words, Gently, he took your hand in his.

"How about we stop this study date, and I'll take you out on real date?"

© chaeryybomb 2021

a/n: thank you so much for reading this <3

[soulwillower]

friendly neighborhood spiderman • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested: soooo my idea was an e2l spiderman richie x reader. they hate each other at school, but one day while patrolling he sees her with her friends outside and watched her and is like ‘shit maybe she’s not so bad’. then proceeds to be mean to her at school anyways. then a few days later he sees her crying her e yea a out and talks to her as spidey, consoles her, start liking each other. and then at school he’s a jerk and she’s like I can’t take ur shit. make up. friends. lovers. photographer reader.   +    ok so I was thinking maybe her parents are divorced and it’s smth abt how both parents tell her totally different stories abt the divorce. like the mom says we never loved each other, it was arranged marriage, but he abused me and cheated on me. and the dad says she was a psycho always stealing my stuff and bitching at me. we thought shE had schizophrenia. both her parents are ok to her so she gets fed up and leaves home crying. Goes to rooftop sees Spider-Man AND BOOM LOVE. self indulgencE here

warnings: enemies to lovers (my specialty), mentions of a rough divorce, a bit of violence, spiderman!au, slight blood, unedited, she/they pronouns for reader

[losers + reader are 18.]

6.4k words

♡

you're convinced it started when you missed the subway. 

that was the butterfly flapping it's wings; then the chaos of the rest of the day just happened to fall in place because some sadistic twist of fate said it so, and now you're rolling your eyes at your friend in the hallway, backpack loose on your right shoulder with a budding black eye that was throbbing with the pain of a hundred suns. 

you'd snuck up on your classmate in the dark room (first mistake) and then tried to scare him (second), resulting in a metal water bottle to the face. "well if you just ice it, i'm sure the swelling and the pain will go away..." your friend trails off as you sigh, nodding in agreement. "i'm so embarrassed, i'm just hoping it doesn't bruise." 

"-y/n, what's up with you? wh- oh." your other friend says as they join you, eyes landing on your swollen cheek. 

it was this moment that richie tozier, certified asshole, walks near with three of his friends. richie, the bane of your existence. also, the boy whose locker is four away from yours. sensing your fatal hesitance, richie grins, "y/n's still upset because someone dropped a house on their sister." he making everyone snicker. you glare at the ground. 

you don't want him to see your face; any kind of ammo would be enough for richie to take and go miles with, and you're not in the mood for one of your typical screaming matches, as much as the others at this school love to watch. 

"woah, y/l/n, who gave you the shiner?" he asks as he twists his fingers around his locker combination. 

"why? you trying to match?" you threaten, and richie just smiles. he's laughing into his open locker as you roll your eyes, your friends peeling away eventually as you start to search through your locker. 

"so," richie starts just as you thought the silence would stay until you could flee. you groan, leaning your head on the locker as he continues, "did flash finally figure out who's been saran-wrapping his car?" 

you narrow your eyes, "how'd you know that was me?" you ask, certain that nobody had seen you besides three of your friends. it's doubtful they'd tell richie. 

his face pales slightly and a rosy blush blossoms on his high cheekbones as he shakes his head, adam's apple bobbing as he gulps. "because, e-everyone knows." he stutters out weakly. you give him a weird look, shaking your head. "bullshit." you mutter as you brush past him, slamming your locker closed. “creep.” 

- 

richie hadn't meant to stalk them. y/n y/l/n's friend group just happened to be on the route he usually patrolled after classes, so he unintentionally ended up watching them pop in and out of the drugstore.

it was nearing a golden light around the city as richie sits on the fire escape of some building across the way - y/n's distinct figure sliding out of the store, arms wrapped inconspicuously around a bag and smile bright enough that richie can barely see the shiner still catching the light on y/n's left eye. 

he briefly wonders where it's really from, and if y/n was okay. he wonders if y/n was robbed, or if he could've been there to stop it. 

it's not until the three others in y/n's gang of idiots run out of the store that it clicks in richie's head - they definitely just stole those cookies, chips, the bottles of pop, the - richie tilts his head, squinting his eyes. yes, y/n definitely stole that handle of tito's. 

then y/n’s lifting the sheet in their hands - it looks clear, and then it’s being wrapped around a car in the parking lot. he’s alarmed, for a moment - y/n wouldn’t do that to just anybody, he doesn’t think. but then he laughs into his mask when he recognizes the car: flash thompson’s. 

he’s a nightmare, and he makes richie’s life hell just as much as flash makes y/n’s life hell and the rest of richie’s friends. so he leaves her be to saran wrap the car. 

feeling relieved that when he got his powers his vision repaired itself, richie can't help but chuckle, watching y/n's hair glint in the light and the way they tilt back in laughter, the gaggle of friends traipsing away from the store and down the block. richie's lips quirk in a small grin: shit, maybe y/n's not so bad. 

- 

but despite that, richie and y/n's rivalry did nothing but steadily increase for the next week.

maybe it was because you were furious that you and your bio partner, richie's best friend stan, had gotten a b- on your lab, or maybe it was just  because richie was just feeling a bit more testy than typical. 

you're sure it's because when you go to your debate club's meeting, you find none other than richie tozier sitting across from your chair. 

"why is he here?" you ask the teacher, and he nods to richie, "i requested he attend a meeting, try it out. richie's quite talented, you know. i figured we could bring in a new challenge for you." 

“just because someone can talk a lot doesn’t mean they have anything good to say.” you snap. 

you can't even look at the cocky smirk on richie's face, his feet kicked up as he lounges at the desk. "intimidated, toots?" he asks cooly, and you roll your eyes. "never." 

and then ten minutes later, you’re doing a brainbreaking exercise where you’re split into groups of two and debating over a topic given to you. but you and richie were far more distracted by each other. 

“you know, for someone who everyone says is the best intellectual match for me, you’re a straight up douche and i can’t wait to graduate and never see you again.”

“compatible intellect, doll, not personalities. maybe if you stop acting like such an infant and stamping your feet around, we can part ways even faster.”

you glare at him. he glares back. then nothing else happens. 

the stress of the day caught up to you nearly immediately as you got home. you're holding back tears as you ignore your parents, who are screaming at each other; instead changing into sweats and a sweatshirt, brewing yourself a mug of tea, and slinking up to the roof with a blanket, prepared to mope around in the drizzle of rain. at least on the roof, nobody will see you cry. 

but the universe just can't let you have anything as of lately, because as soon as you finally settle down on the roof sitting on the blanket, and nearly letting a tear escape, a figure stands up a mere twenty feet from you, and you jump a bit. apprehensively, your eyes squint, and you're shocked to discover a spiderman suit bright in the dreary lighting of the overcast afternoon. 

the suit-clad person seems to be surprised by you as well, as you stand up, you're wary, unsure of how to act. of course you've heard of spiderman - he's all anyone can talk about lately, but you never expected to see him this close. what do you say?

"are you real?" you croak out. 

"am i- yes, what kind of question is that?"  his voice is way younger than you expected, and you're almost thrown off. he's closed the distance between you now, standing between you and the edge of the building, about four feet away. 

you narrow your eyes, immediately wanting to test him. "well, i don't know, i've seen people around jackson heights just wearing costumes like spiderman-" you argue, shrugging. 

the bickering is unexpected from a literal superhero, but it's strangely familiar to you. frowning, you walk closer to the masked figure, watching as spiderman takes steps backwards. he's at the edge of the building, and so without any thought, you place both of your palms across his sturdy chest and shove as hard as you can. "wait, wait what are you-" and spiderman's voice fades as he stumbles back, falling off the edge of the building with a yelp. 

for a moment, your breath leaves your lungs, and your hands slap your mouth. what did you just do? you can't breathe, tears clouding your vision yet again. 

but then a sticky, stringy substance slaps to the side of the building and the figure comes flying up, having catapulted himself up and back on the roof with a web. you gasp in relief, but the figure is already talking. 

"-what the fuck is your deal?" are the first words from the masked boy as he walks away from the ledge. your eyes are still wide, heart thumping fast and your tears are still there, threatening to fall. "-what if i wasn't actually spiderman, i- you could've killed an innocent person, holy sh-" 

you're tuning him out, though, the realization that you could have just killed someone finally pushing you over the edge. you crumble onto the blanket and let out a short, cut off sob. 

"woah, woah, hey..." spider-man looks hesitant, but then comes towards you where you fall to the gravel. "-hey, what's h-what are you doing, why are you crying?" he says, voice going softer. you frown, wondering why his voice seems so deep and forced. batman did that to conceal his identity, you think before letting out a sob, shaking your head. "shouldn't you be out, like, fighting crime or whatever?" 

"i'm here to make sure people are okay. you're clearly not okay." he argues, and you're too tired to try and argue with this stranger. 

"my parents are getting divorced," you sniff, eyes squeezing shut as more thick tears leak down your cheek. you know you probably look destroyed right now in front of this hero, but you don't care. after silence from him, he sits down right next to you on your blanket, backs leaning against some electrical box.

"and.. i can't tell who's lying. they told me completely different things." you cut yourself off, swallowing thickly. "my mom says it was a l-loveless marriage, that he- my dad used to... hurt her. and cheat on her-" you hiccup, wiping your eyes, makeup leaking on your hands. 

"my dad says she's psychotic. that she steals his stuff, that she always yells at him, and i can't-" you sigh, looking up at the clouds, watching a flock of birds fly away in the misting of the wet weather. "i feel like they see me as a pawn to play off each other. and at my school, i'm just the antagonist. people only like me because they like to see the fights i get into with this other kid." 

"midtown is just like that, i'm sure none of them mean anything by it-" you look at the boy, squinting as you take in the red fabric stretching over sharp cheekbones.

 "-how d'you know i go to midtown?" you sniffle. does spiderman go there, too? or teach there? how old is he, because he certainly seems too young to be a teacher?

he leans back, exhaling in an admission of guilt that flares a feeling of familiarity in you somewhere, something that's on the tip of your tongue. "lucky guess?" he states, choking it out as if he was trying to form the right words. you decide to brush it off, the feeling of being able to vent to a complete stranger suddenly making you feel better. the light mist in the air even feels good, now. 

"i can't deal with it. i just don't know. why should this have to be something they vent to me about? it hurts, i don't know what to believe and i just don't know what to do. i'm lost, i just need to have someone here for me." you hug yourself slightly, "am i selfish?" you finally ask, voicing the thought that's been nagging you for months. it's silent for a moment. a car horn sounds in the distance, a dog barks, people call to each other in the street. below you, the street is dotted with tiny moving umbrellas, concealing people underneath their net of dry safety in mere splotches of yellow, black, pink from how high up you are. 

spider man's nudging you in the ribs softly, then, calling you back to your own body. "listen. i know selfish, okay? i'm the definition of it, but, uh..." 

"y/n." you sniffle. "-y/n. trust me, you're not selfish for wanting to be loved, to be cared for...it's, um..." he scratches the back of his head, and you briefly wonder what color his hair is. what texture, length, how he styles it. 

"you deserve good things to happen, and, uh, it's not selfish for you to be overwhelmed. you're going through stuff that people our age shouldn't go through. especially not alone."

"so you are my age?" you ask, sniffling. sensing him tense next to you, you brush it off. you kind of figured as much from his...immaturity. "and you - spiderman - think you're selfish? do you know how much of a paradox that statement is?" you jest, shaking your head. 

spiderman's head tilts back, and he laughs. it seems to surprise him almost as much as it surprises you, because he shakes his head, trying to stifle it quick. "you forget," he starts, his fingers tapping at the tight fabric on his thighs. "that i also have a life. i'm not just spiderman. so... yeah, maybe spiderman's not the most selfish person ever, but... i am. the real me." 

"you have to care a lot about people to want to do what you do." you say, feeling better after talking to someone and hearing his reassurance. "you're not always spiderman, but... y'now, spiderman is always you. i'd say that makes you a good person." you say simply. you sigh, heart still hurting.  you start with a deep breath, then a quiet, "you ever feel stuck? like..."

"like you're playing two people at once?" he finishes. you swallow, feeling oddly seen by this masked stranger. "yeah, spiderman." you say dejectedly. 

-

and that was the start of an odd, unlikely friendship between you and the masked stranger. he'd stop by your building almost every other day, even if for a few minutes, always to check in on you, to ask how your day was. it made your chest fill with butterflies and the air fill with your laughter. 

despite your new friendship, things at midtown sort of took a turn for the worse. 

it was just richie, really. your black eye was gone but richie seemed to be compensating for something every time he saw you - the person who used to be a challenging enemy turned into a malicious tormentor, who would comment on every single thing you do. it was driving you mad. 

you're just lucky richie doesn't know that you do all the school's photography somehow, or at least, doesn't remember, because he's gone the days that you take photos for the decathalon, the honor society, and the band. each time you asked, someone told you some lame excuse like, 'oh, tozier's at the orthodontist.' 

richie doesn't have braces, though. 

you can’t help but wonder why richie’s never there, why he’s always sneaking off, buying new backpacks... bruises on his eyes...

the last straw is when you and stan are just trying to finish this replacement lab to get a better grade, and richie's sitting at the end of the table with bill denbrough, the two of them playing paper football and laughing loudly like they're fourth graders. 

you resist the urge to beg stan to get his moronic friends away from you, knowing that it would just insult the boy and get you nowhere. 

so, with gritted teeth and a tight grip on your pen, you work in relative silence with stan while the two imbeciles chuckle at each other at the other end of the room, disturbing the quiet peace of the library. 

"so, y/l/n, you goin' to prom?" richie asks out of the blue, feigning innocence. you grip your pen tighter, knowing it's a trap. don't bite, y/n. don't bite. don't bite, don't bite, don't bite-  "it's a little soon to be thinking about prom." you say, trying to skirt around the issue. 

"it's okay, not everyone can get a date, you can still go with friends." he says, also trying to sound nonchalant. you snort, "like you could get a date either." 

bill laughs as he pulls out some homework, having finally decided to make good use of his time. "you can go together, then." bill mutters. stan huffs a laugh at that, too. "i have plans that night." you say immediately, eyes not leaving your paper as stan smirks at you in amusement. 

"no, yeah, y/n. let's go together." richie says, "i can meet the ol' pops and get to see your mom again. that reminds me, i can’t stop by to see her, so give her a big old kiss from me tonight, will ya?"  he asks with a wink. 

"is everything a joke to you?" you ask, trying to hide your irritation by acting bored. you ignore the feelings you get from his wink. 

"only funny things, doll." richie smiles, a crooked grin that, if you didn't know his personality, would make you swoon. it's suddenly no wonder to you why the people at this school always giggle and whisper and laugh with him; he's utterly gorgeous. 

"it's not your fault your mom likes me more than your dad." he jokes, chuckling to himself. "shut up, i'm trying to do homework." bill says, then promptly kicks him under the table, which you're grateful for because the pain that flashes across your face momentarily is concealed from richie's gaze as he winces and ducks down for a second. 

that shouldn't have hurt you because he's obviously just joking with you and doesn’t know, but since the tenseness in your house recently and the ugly divorce, things have just been extremely hard. you cannot stand his audacity; richie thinks he can say whatever he want and get excused because he's too damn pretty. you clench your fists. 

"y/n, i'll give you ten dollars to slap him." stan says, barely paying attention; a pen hangs from between his lips, brows furrowed as he works on your reassignment, eyes calculating. you think, for a moment, how nice it'd be to be real friends with stan. if not for richie. 

and for some reason, in that split moment, you don't think. you're pent up, angry at the world, at your teacher, at richie, at your parents, and because you can't be friends with stan because richie gets in the way of everything - and you whirl around, catching richie by surprise as you land a slap to his face that resonates throughout the whole library. a gasp sounds from somewhere behind you as the librarian startles out of her work. 

suddenly, four pairs of eyes are staring at you. 

you blink back, face feeling as warm as richie's red cheek looks. 

the librarian didn't hesitate to send you and richie to the principal's office, resulting in a suspension for you and richie alike, the two of you not meeting eyes in the waiting room outside the administrative offices. 

the subway trip and then consequential walk home was lonely, rainy, and dismal.

- - - 

besides your parents and your immediate friends, the only other person you told about the suspension was spiderman, when he came to see you on the roof that afternoon. you told him about richie, how you'd decked him for hitting a sore subject with you. 

"you know, he seems like a dick but... i bet he means well. i'm sure he does." is all spiderman had said, acting fidgety before leaving. despite that, it had still felt good to know you could trust him. 

the next monday at school is when you see richie again, face clean and clear of any evidence of your fist. 

you were walking home from school when you passed across the football field. he was with his friends on the turf, seemingly not getting on the subway yet. they're sprawled out, all seven of them, smoking cigarettes or playing a game of travel chess, one of them reading a book. there’s an empty can of coke, one of the glass bottles, filled with gross water and cigarette butts. stan sits with richie, beverly marsh laying with her head in his lap as she smokes, sunglasses red and blocking the sun. 

before you get too close, before they can notice, you snap a photo of them. they just look timeless. 

but then, as you put away your camera, richie sees you. you get ready for a fight; but what comes is just  sheffling feet and fingers fidgeting slightly. "y/n." he starts off with as he walks up to you, all by himself. 

you watch him, your own eyes flowing with guilt. "hey, richie." you say, trying to be better about controlling your attitude. "i wanted to say i'm sorry." he says, and you widen your eyes. he what?

"i sometimes don't know how to stop running my mouth, and i went too far. i usually do. and i'm sorry, i just want to start fresh." he says honestly. you swallow - something about his words, about the way he said selfish...

you shake your head, "no, i'm sorry too. i shouldn't have hit you." richie shrugs, "i deserved it, s’okay." 

it's quiet. 

"being friends is good." you say, shrugging. "as long as i can still tell you that i think you're acting like a three year old."  "as long as i still can act like one." he counters, grinning. and then he's shaking your hand and walking away. 

you feel better the rest of the day. 

- - - 

"you know, i'm a photographer." you whisper that same night in the dark.  "you are?" the boy in the suit next to you sounds genuinely shocked. you beam, "y-yeah, i actually got a few wicked shots of you from a few weeks ago."

"are you the one that's been selling my photos to all the papers?" he asks, and you laugh, head tilting toward the sky. "no, not me." he hums, a laugh escaping that doesn't sound like his usual voice he uses around you. you've accepted that spiderman's been hiding his identity and voice from you because you may recognize him. you've also decided that he's probably from midtown - but there are over seven thousand students at midtown, so chances are still slim. 

why is it that this boy, who you don't even know the name of, has captured your attention? why do you feel like kissing him all the time? 

“oh, here’s a shot i took.” you say, pulling out the photo you’d just finished developing in the dark room today. “couple days ago. i just finished developing it.” 

you show it to him, and you can’t tell his reaction at all. “it’s not really impressive, i just - they’re just some kids in my class, but... i don’t know, there’s something about them that i just really think should be made into art.” 

he’s quiet after that, but holds on to the photo hard enough that you’re worried it may wrinkle. 

“god, y/n-” he stops himself, voice cracking and nearing the closest you’ve ever heard it to being true to him. not the weird, batman garbage. 

“this is cool. you should- you should show them, i bet they’d like it.” 

you scoff, “no, they wouldn’t.” you take the photo back, fingers tracing richie’s face, the way his lips curl around a cigarette, the way his dark hair and eyebrows and eyelashes clash with his skin and clothes. you shake your head, “this is the boy i hit. when i got suspended. i don’t think he’d like this very much. probably call me a freak.” 

you meet his eyes - or, you suppose you do - and then his hand is hovering in front of your face, debating. you don’t dare move, and then he’s combing hair behind your ear, giving you chills that run down your spine.

you clear your throat, smiling softly as he moves his hand away.

spiderman doesn’t say much after that. 

it’s minutes until he speaks again. "shouldn't you be getting ready to leave?" he suddenly asks, and you sigh, beginning to pack up your things and gather your backpack. he follows you to the edge of the building and as you climb down the ladder to the fire escape, he webs himself and falls back, landing above you against the bricks when you stand up. 

you're nearly eye level now as he hangs upside down, listening to you rant. "-maybe i'll just walk to mary's place. it's not that far-" you cut yourself off as you're opening your window, eyes landing on the figure in your room, who looks just as confused as you. 

your eyes widen, "m-mom!" you say, alarmed as spiderman hangs next to you, just barely sealed from your mother's sight by the brick wall.

"is someone there with you, y/n?" she asks, tilting her head to get a look. you shake your head quickly, thankful that it's dark out and she can probably only see you, backlit by the lights from the alley below. she explains something about being unable to take you to your friend's house - and you nod along, willing for her to just leave. "that's okay, mom. i can take the subway." you say honestly. it's harder to drive around here, anyways. 

she finally leaves, and you let out a breath, unsure as to how she'd react to know you were with spiderman on the roof. you let out a small laugh, and so does he. 

"well, walking will be fine. she's just paranoid, and plus - i have you." you say, joking as you nudge his shoulder. but instead of laughing or going off the joke as he usually would, spiderman hums in agreement. 

"no matter what, you'll be safe. i promise." spiderman says from where he hangs upside down from the top edge of your fire escape, face almost level with yours. that makes your heart skip a beat, his words swirling around your stomach in a warm pool of comfort. 

you smile, "okay." you whisper. you believe it. 

then, before you slip into your window and he slips out into the night, you turn to him. you can only hope he's looking at you, the mask always leaving it to speculation.

 "can i try something? just once?" you ask, heart hammering in your chest as you step closer to him. he hesitates, and you wonder if he's biting his lips, or his cheek; if his eyes are wide or narrowed in thought. you wonder, for the thousandth time, what he looks like.

but eventually, it comes. "yes," he whispers.

gently, your fingertips find the edge of his mask down near his neck, and in the barely lit up corner of your fire escape you start to peel away his mask, revealing just his jaw, chin, and lips. goosebumps appear on his soft skin in the wake of your touch. 

you feel butterflies. 

his pale white skin reflects off the moonlight slightly, his jawline sharp as your fingers find their way across his skin, his mouth parting to take in a breath, lips full and red in the darkness. you wish you recognized these lips. 

in fact, a voice somewhere in you screams that you wish it was richie's lips. you abolish that thought before you have time to think about it.

you can tell he's nervous, but you don't know if it's because he doesn't trust you and thinks you're going to whip off his mask, or because he knows what you're about to do. you're pulled toward him by an invisible force, the kind that wishes and hopes and needs you to be closer to him, whoever he is. 

his jaw is structured and you feel it clench slightly under your hand as you cup his cheeks, barely raising on your tip toes as you near his upside-down face. you're not sure if he's breathing but, honestly, you know you aren't either. you just have to do this. so you close the gap. 

his lips are plush and less chapped than you'd expected, his presence warm and protecting and exuding bashfulness yet somehow also emanating confidence. he rises almost as the tide does at your grandma's old house in the east, tilting his head as your nose brushes against the skin on the side of his jaw. 

richie’s face flashes behind your closed eyes, and it makes you take in a sharp breath, realizing that yes, okay, maybe you do want to kiss richie. but you're not - you're kissing spiderman. you feel light, butterflies thrashing around. 

his hand, covered by his mesh suit's fabric, falls to the nape of your neck, upside down so his thumb rests right on the soft of your throat, where your heart thumps hard and quick against him. 

you swear you've never felt more like you're flying. you pull away after a few moments, your face burning even with the slight breeze. his hand stays on your neck for a split moment and then he lets it drop, returning to hold his web that keeps him suspended.

you watch with a small, shy smile as he bites his lip, containing what could only be the most beautiful smile you would ever see. you frown for a moment as you get that inkling again that you should know him. 

"please, what's your name?" you finally ask again. he had to trust you, right? you've had countless opportunities to pry, to rip his mask off, to find out yourself. but you want him to trust you with it, to want to tell you. 

his smile slowly fades, and yours does too. "can't you just tell me your name?" you whisper in desperate frustration. 

his mouth opens, then closes as if he decided against it. carefully, one hand pulls his mask back over his lips, concealing him once again as spiderman. the boy you finally knew for a mere minute is gone, probably forever. "i can't. i wish i could." 

"well, okay." you say, feeling heartbroken and frustrated. angry.  

"okay." it almost gets swallowed up by the breeze as you shut your window behind you. he's gone, swinging across streets and over buildings in the distance by the time you wipe your eyes of the tears. 

- - - -

you don't see spiderman the next week. 

it seems as though only knowing spiderman for a little longer than a month and suddenly not seeing him took more of a toll on you than you'd expected; you watch yourself go through the motions of each day with no complaint, barely any words, the world around you boring.

wake up, get ready, drink a breakfast shake, late for class, leave school, homework, wait on the rooftop for your friend who you know will never show. dinner. back on the rooftop. go to bed. 

you're about to leave school on friday when it hits you, the thing that has been missing from your regular school routine. and for some reason, not having been able to see him is just as painful as not seeing spiderman. 

richie. 

you don't know why you're feeling so emotional - or maybe it's just because as much as you hate each other, the fun rivalry you keep alive with him is what gets you through life at midtown. he keeps you on your toes. 

so you seek him out for what may be the first time in your life, just to find him out back on the turf in his usual spot with all his friends. 

"tozier." you call, halting all conversation with his group of losers as they cease their talking, staring up at you with seven pairs of owl eyes. you have no clue why you're nearly in tears. maybe, in an odd way, he's a replacement, a surrogate. for a friend that you'll never see again. and you're furious at both of them.

"where the fuck have you been?" you ask. 

you watch in slight surprise as the color drains from his face, eyes widening in shock. you didn't expect him to have this reaction, in fact - you came here to pick a fight, to get the opposite of... this. richie looks as if he's been caught in the biggest lie of his life, and it's unsettling. 

he seems to shake off whatever the fuck that emotion was he just had as he stutters, "what-what do you mean?" 

you scowl at him, " did you just give up? that easy, huh? i thought you were better than that." 

richie, for a split second, looks like he might get sick, or cry. it just makes you more confused and, for some reason, more angry. for no reason. "y/n, how did you find-" 

"it's been silent in the halls, tozier. i don't know if i should be thankful or weirded out that you decided to mature overnight. you being nice to me, not being a freak... it's weird, but it's... when i said i was done with your shit and you asked to be friends, i didn't mean that i wanted you to ignore me." 

he blinks his owlish eyes at you, "OH." he states loudly, pressing his fingers to his temples as he shakes his head, "christ, i thought- nevermind. you missed me that much, doll?" he tries to ease back into his teasing attitude but you can tell it's forced. and you don't know why. his friends suddenly all look relieved too, as if they know something big that you don't. 

"forget it. this was so stupid." you mutter, walking past them briskly, barely even catching stan's eye. you don't cry until you get on the subway. 

that night, you almost didn't go up onto the roof. 

why should you? spiderman wasn't your friend anymore, he clearly got scared away when you kissed, or when you asked him who he was. it hurts, you think as you look at the dark skyline of queens, it hurts that he won't trust you with something as simple as a name. 

but you're still up there, staring at the cloudless sky and thinking of the taste of those lips as a whoosh, thud and a groan jolt you from your tranquil misery. 

you don't believe your eyes at first, but when the figure stumbles toward you, arm reaching to its neck, you definitely recognize him. "h-hey?" you say nervously, squinting against the dying light to try and see why spiderman's bent like that, stumbling to you, until he falls nearly at your feet. 

you gasp as you get a closer look; it's hard to see with the red of his suit, but he's got a fair blood stain coming out of his neck area, a slash through the neck that leads towards the collarbone. it's not fatal, and probably won't need stitches, but it sure looks like he's in a lot of pain. 

"y-your neck is bleeding." you say, eyes wide in a panic, "are-are you, do i need to get you to a hospital?" you rush, heart thumping. the boy shakes his head, though that clearly causes him pain. "my wounds- they'll regenerate quick enough. do you-do you have bandages?" he asks, and you nod aggressively, running a hand through your hair. "yes, let's go to my room." you say, trying to stay as calm as he is. with a lot of effort and sharp cries of pain, you finally make it into your room through the window on the fire escape, gently helping spiderman to your bed. 

you allow yourself ten seconds in your bathroom to gather your breaths and thoughts before taking the first aid kit and rushing back to the bleeding boy, whose name is still a mystery. 

your hands are shaking as you undo the box, and his hands suddenly fall against yours and squeeze. you look to him then, willing for the tears of fear to dry up and go away. "it's okay." he says, and then you feel even more rotten because spiderman is hurt in your bed and you're still making him comfort you. 

"no-i know. you just surprised me, is all." you trail off, pulling your hands from his to pull out antiseptic ointment, cleaning wipes and swabs. "what- um, what happened?" 

"mugging, guy had a knife. i was trying to get the purse from his hands and he slashed me. it's really not-" he coughs a bit, a fresh squeeze of blood seeping into the fabric. "-not bad. honest." 

you shake your head, looking at him. "i have to take off your mask." you say solemnly. "or else it'll get bad. infected, or- heal into the mask." 

he nods lightly, "i know." is all he says. his voices is laced with nerves. 

your hands are still shaky when you reach to pull up the mask. he makes no attempt to move except to shift himself on your bedspread. you slowly peel the mask, eyes focused on the wound and not on the boy's face. but then, you can't help it. when the mask slips off, the boy's eyes are screwed tight. 

but your breath catches in your throat when you take in his face. 

it's richie. 

of course it is. you press your lips together, forcing yourself to focus on his wound and not all the thoughts swirling in your mind. you don’t talk to each other, one out of anger and one out of pain, and he grips your arm, hand warm on your skin.

you can barely focus as you go to work on his wound, but you’re glad that by the time you’re almost finished, your anger has ebbed away and you’re strangely calm. 

you don't meet eyes until you've got his cut cleaned out and you're satisfied it won't get infected. his eyes are nervous, anxious, scared. yours are surprisingly calm, and almost emotionless. 

"hi, doll." he says, eyes no longer screwed shut, neither out of pain nor anxiety over revealing his identity. 

"do your friends know?" is all you ask. he gives you a curt not as you shakily wrap the gauze around the nape of his neck, figuring a bandaid would come right off. his hand falls from your arm as you move it around his head. 

"i had all them, but i wanted to see you." 

his words send warm waves through your body and you bite your lip.

"why didn't you tell me? the other night?" you ask shortly, knowing that fighting won't get you anywhere. 

“look, i’m sorry that i didn’t tell you, i really am. but slipping the fact that i developed spider-like superhuman abilities into an ‘are we friends or do we hate each other’ conversation is pretty fuckin' difficult.” he defends. 

you nod, because, after consideration, you think you would have probably done the same. "okay. if your friends know, why didn't you..."  you don't know how to phrase it. 

"why didn't i go to one of them?" he sighs, sitting up as you finish clasping the gauze. he rubs his eyes and you realize you're not used to him without glasses - does he even need those anymore? his eyes are so blue, so warm. his eyelashes are long. 

"i missed you. or, i - i don't know, i just... i needed to show you. to tell you. i was afraid to put you in danger but you deserve to know.” he says, honestly.  

you hum, flicking a piece of rubble from his shoulder and then using that as an excuse to run your hands over the material there, feeling his muscles under your touch. "and you had to get stabbed to work up the courage?" you tease. 

he beams, despite himself. and it's beautiful. 

"how else could i get your attention, doll? i tried everything else." 

you shake your head, huffing a bit. "can't believe you let me kiss you." you bury your face in your hands, feeling hot and embarrassed. "i'm sorry you had to do that." you squeak out, mortified. 

it's quiet, and then, "i would do it again." 

you look at him, from where you sit - both so close, almost touching... his breath almost hits your face. "really?" he looks at you like you've grown three heads. "yes." he deadpans, "obviously. why else could i have been spending so much time with you?" 

you laugh, tilting your head back. "so you only want me for my lips?" you joke even though you're nervous. richie groans, hands tangling in his nest of windswept curls. it's charming and it makes your stomach flutter. 

"y/n, don't make this so hard." he begs. unable to help yourself, you perk up, "that's what she said-" you start, but then richie kisses you for the second time. 

he's nearly crashing into you, lips finding yours desperately through his own smile of disbelief - that you'd said that, or that he's kissing you? you don't care as you kiss back, hands finding purchase on his chest or in his hair. 

then he's regaining his strength as your tongue finds his and he nudges you over, rolling so he lays above you. you pull him between your hips as he bites your lip gently and then moves on to kiss your neck, filling you with heat and butterflies. 

"i'm sorry i didn't tell you sooner." he whispers into the shell of your ear as he bites a soft mark on your upper throat, and you sigh. "god, it-it's fine-" 

but then it's too late, because your bedroom door flies open.

startled,  you and richie break apart, eyes wide and lips bruised; blood staining his spiderman suit as he lays on top of you, your legs fastened around his hips and your hands tinged with his blood and sweat, both of you breathing wildly. 

your mom stands in front of you, eyes wide and mouth agape in near horror - spiderman in bed with you. "hello, ma'am." richie breathes out and you resist the urge to smother yourself with a pillow. 

"just... keeping your daughter safe, y'know, friendly neighborhood spiderman."

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[sheepfulsheepyardinspace]

I posted 1,677 times in 2021

61 posts created (4%)

1616 posts reblogged (96%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 26.5 posts.

I added 4,551 tags in 2021

#sw - 1208 posts

#star wars - 849 posts

#space meme - 685 posts

#sw art - 529 posts

#darth anakin - 312 posts

#swtcw - 287 posts

#swtm - 255 posts

#ahsoka tano - 145 posts

#jedi - 144 posts

#mando - 137 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#will never convince me. becaus everything about padme’s character is that she is someone at 110% all of the time and that is classic anakin

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

[owen lars voice]: mr kenobi. mr kenobi please stop sobbing into my vaporators. there's a perfectly good patch of sand that u can lie facedown in. yeah. any other patch of desert that isnt my front door. please kenobi––yeah of course anakin called you that. that's ur fucking name. christ. god. please get off my lawn

1881 notes • Posted 2021-04-19 03:45:09 GMT

#4

yo nothing will EVER be as batshit in star wars as whatever the fuck was up with darth maul. no questions no answers. so he's split in half & falls down into a never-ending portal. ok, cool. following so far. & tHEN. not only does he miraculously SURVIVE THAT (???)––meanwhile, SOME sith have to have metal organs stuffed into their shellacked shells of life support slash body armor but maul gets straight up shishkebabed through all the important places in COMPLETE SEPARATE HALVES, & can just roll with it. ok. huh.––but THEN. he gets miraculously zoomed away from naboo like st. john's body flying through the winds to santiago de compostela all the way to a garbage dump ten feet underground on an entirely DIFFERENT PLANET, which. ok. inchresting. but NOT ONLY THAT, but maul SOMEHOW accumulates eight extra legs (8!!!! 4+4=8!!!! approximately six (6!!!!) more legs than he requires!!!!) to become some weird landfill mechanical spider amalgam with surprisingly great healthcare despite, y'know, the garbage dump situation. & AFTER TEN LONG YEARS OF LIVING IN A LITERAL HOLE, his long-lost brother (one of TWO long-lost brothers, may i point out) somehow FINDS him on this rando planet that is entirely garbage dump, in a hole, with eight legs, scrawling KENOBI!!!! on the wall in honest to god blood. ok so. one might think: well, where could we possibly go from here? perhaps a rehabilitation center? maury, to deal with the long-lost brother situation? a petting zoo? no. instead, darth maul spends a three-day weekend with a witch who does some bright green toxic joker sludge magic & is then raring to go and build a criminal empire with no after effects re: the vivisection, other then the whole frothing at the mouth KENOBI!!!!!! thing. did i fever dream this? maybe. possibly. what the absolute fuck

2384 notes • Posted 2021-05-13 01:08:46 GMT

#3

people keep saying "jedi r found family!!!" like these people chose each other. no. the infinitely more correct & funny thing is that the jedi order is made up of people who all grew up around each other from birth till death and all the awkward stages in between. this means that every single order member is simultaneously your best friend from preschool, your preschool teacher, that rando neighbor whose name u do not remember, your grandfather, your roommate, ur worst enemy from middle school, that group project member who u want to strangle, ur asshole math teacher, ur super cool older cousin, ur dad, ur son, ur brother, & ur grandfather. at the same time. why else do u think they’re all so bitchy

3040 notes • Posted 2021-07-25 05:38:15 GMT

#2

star wars: the clone wars drives me fucking nuts in a most magnificent way because it’s completely apeshit but also has to aggressively maintain the status quo. u’ve heard of “anakin can’t ever meet general grievous because of one throw away line in rots” but that bar is so low it’s in the center of the earth. nobody knows palpatine’s the sith lord until the final few minutes of rots, so goddamn it all no one will EVER know palpatine’s the sith lord in swtcw!!! palpatine could get on a twitch livestream and eat live babies while cackling maniacally and, miraculously, no one would notice. anakin has a brief, five-second blackout where he cameos as Thee darth vader while partying on mortis but as long as he’s mysteriously brainwashed at the end of the day it doesn’t count, right, dave? every single character not explicitly shown in rots has to be either a) killed b) disappeared into the void or c) personally launched into the sun by sheev palpatine. there’s not a man in a galaxy far, far away that can’t somehow fall prey to this looney tunes logic and/or phineas and ferb unbustable summer hijinks insanity. yoda’s gotta fuck off into his swamp vacay in shame while also somehow being a beloved pillar of the community so he has arcs like “clearly cannot read the room, feat. anakin” and “once again fails to comprehend the impact of trauma, feat. anakin” and “‘friends, are we not?’ feat. anakin”. here, in gffa circa swtcw era, Status Quo Is God. obi-wan could actually physically watch with his own eyes anakin descend into peak vadersanity, paint himself with blood, and declare himself sith lord supreme emperor of all bad things master of destruction & somehow still walk away with the conclusion that Anakin Is Stable And Doing Well! Better Than Great, Actually! anakin and padmé could fall through the roof of the jedi temple while having sex and shouting their marriage vows & it would turn out every single jedi had been sucked into the vacuum of space & conveniently missed the show. also, jar jar is there. welcome to groundhog day, space wizard style.

4425 notes • Posted 2021-06-17 12:12:10 GMT

#1

say whatchu will about the official jedi doctrine of Only Beige Tones and, believe me, i will. but the jedi really did rock the fuck out of beige. mace windu? who else can so eloquently say Don’t Fuck With Me in Premiere Pantone 15-1214 TCX Warm Sand™? can anybody else but shaak ti strut out in Entirely terracotta color palette yet still radiate Pure Working Single Mom Kick Ass Energy for millions of her clone sons? and who can forget obi-wan, who manages to be perfectly slutty—yet his v-necks are chastity-height and general style is mid-2000s suburban house demo? panache. pure, perfectly beige swag

6657 notes • Posted 2021-03-23 00:52:19 GMT

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