#man. linguistics midterm today

[mildew-dread-mold]

SHITS DUE

[babblydrabbly]

The Audit || Rick Flag x Reader || Professor AU || Pt 3

FROM EDEN Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Smut - 3k words - warnings: language. dom!rick. pet names. kissing. oral (m receiving). facefucking. masturbation (f). implied captain boomerang x blackguard. Rick is about 45-50. Reader is around 30.

A/N: thank you to @loverhymeswith for beta reading ♡ sorry for all the different formats with these posts, im trying to see what works. anyway, enjoy some professor boomerang in this one too. Part 3/?

[Gif]

You visit Rick on campus and get a taste of his work life.

“Excuse me.” You approach the man in his mid-thirties, mistaking him for a student.

You navigated the campus well enough as you strolled toward your destination on foot. But at the top of the hour, just as you entered the Humanities building, you were swarmed with hundreds of students hurrying off to their next classes, turning you all around as you searched for the right room.

Digger Harkness glares up from his phone. He wears a thick wool coat and sweater, the collar of a dress shirt peeking up around his neck all askew. With a thermos tucked under his arm and his beanie pulled snuggly over a nest of golden curls, he gives you the impression of someone nursing a terrible hangover on his way to class himself.

Digger blinks, remembering where he is, it seems. Tucking the phone back into an inner pocket of his coat, he nods to you. “Yeah?”

“Am I on the right floor for Andru Hall?”

You refrain from mentioning Rick’s name. Still, the man appears to leer at you knowingly, his eyes flitting up and down your dress and peacoat.

“Ancient Greek, ay?” He smirks. Digger tosses his head in the direction behind you. “Flag’s on the right. If you really wanna get into Greece y’should come take my course. Hellenistic art ‘n sculpture next semester. 3020.”

Your mouth falls open a little. “You’re a professor?”

“Don’t sound so shocked, love.” He grins, already walking away. “3020! Take it!”

You dart your eyes around, hoping nobody else notices your exchange. As much as you’re delighted in surprising Rick today, you certainly didn’t want to get him in trouble. You shake your head before you overthink the strange man’s pointed look at you and turn in the direction of Rick’s lecture hall.

You wait until the last student exits the large hall before slipping your way inside. The carpeted floor creaks from old age and use, the sound swallowed up by the rows and rows of cushioned chairs separated by small writing desks. Your impressed whistle teases Rick’s attention up from the lectern. He blinks over at you from his notes, clearly surprised.

You smile at the professor coyly as you approach him, veering off to take a step onto the stairs leading up to the higher seats.

“Sheesh. How many seats does this place hold?” You wonder aloud.

Rick removes his reading glasses with an amused smile. “Around two hundred. But it drops to about a hundred and fifty by the time midterms roll around.”

“Oh?” You lace your fingers behind your back as you imagine Rick speaking to such a big room. “Scare them off?”

The man snorts softly. “Bore ‘em half to death’s more like it.”

“Well, Professor Flag… I’m quite interested in historical linguistics and I was wondering if I could audit your lecture today. I’ve got a lot to learn about romance languages. What do you think?”

Rick’s eyes flit over the dark green of your a-line dress and black stockings, his face never giving away even a glint of the dark look he so desires to shoot you with. He shuffles his papers around in a neat pile and nods up to the back of the hall.

“Better keep that coat on.” He warns. The playfully stern tone that floats over to you is nothing like the real one. That deep, sultry voice that sets your skin aflame and your knees weak. Here, your little exchange has your smile threatening to split into a grin. Rick arches his brows and glances at you from over the top of his glasses, also amused. “I don’t want any distractions from you, Darlin’.”

You shrug innocently, turning back up the steps as the first early students begin to roll in.

The lecture itself is quite compelling. Perhaps it’s your investment in the speaker, but Rick’s interest in his own subject is clear from your point of view. You’d already spent a few weeks getting to see him like this in the evenings- the way he murmurs to himself-  making note of things to add of later in his lecture slides as you lounge beside him in bed. How you’ve slipped some notes off his lap and flipped through them, committing his hurried scrawl in the margins to memory.

Halfway through his presentation Rick releases the class for a short break. You stay in your seat like most of the students do, though a few of them venture out to snack or use the restroom.

You take the opportunity to slip your arms from your coat and push the fabric back onto your seat. It doesn’t take long for Rick’s eyes to do a sweep of his hall and clock you minutely as he does so. You cross your legs beneath the tiny slate of wood that makes up your ‘desk’, and you know if you time it right, Rick can see the clip of your garter fastened to your stocking.

The professor’s double take is nearly imperceivable. But you chuckle mutely into your palm as he clears his throat from across the room. Shifting around, you seat yourself more modestly as everyone begins returning to their seats. It was far from your normal attire at the coffee shop, but you considered visiting Rick at his job for the first time a special occasion. It was only fair- how many mornings had Rick shed his coat and jacket in your shop, distracting you from your tasks with his broad, sculpted form and impeccable clothes?

You’re pulled from your musings when the young man in the row in front of you turns around. You pretend to scroll on your phone as he and the girl beside you chat about the class. Your ears perk up when the coursework talk eventually falls on Rick himself.

“I’m pretty sure I saw him out on the lake this weekend.” You stiffen.

“Our lake?”

The girl beside you and the girl beside her both lean in.

Their friend shakes his head. “No, it’s about an hour away. I swear to god, he was on the water with some woman.”

You’d never been sailing prior to Rick Flag. You frequented the lake nearer to the campus, as the girls assumed, often taking walks with your dog or reading on the shore. But Rick had proposed a spot with a little bit more privacy… —apparently not too much more privacy.

“Did you recognize her? Was she a teacher?” The girl asks.

You relax internally when the man shakes his head.

“Nah, they got too far away. I was busy looking at Professor Flag. Guy’s fucking shredded.”

A low chorus of giggles. You bite back a smile.

“And you won’t fucking believe this— Flag? Hot Mr. Rogers? Tattoos all up and down his arms. Sleeves.”

“Shut the fuck up. You’re lying.”

“Professor Sweater Vest?”

“Professor Daddy. I told you.” One of the girls nudges the other playfully with an elbow. “He’s sexy.”

You press your lips into your palm, smothering a giggle of your own as the three continue to gossip.

You couldn’t blame them. Rick never ceased to surprise you with every day you spent together. But the tattoos were one of the biggest surprises yet. It was only recently that the two of you could lay bare together— the first time you had pulled his sleeves down his tanned, muscular arms, you had whimpered, your breath shuddering at the sight.

Rick caught your stare with a sly smirk. He braced both elbows on the bed on either side of you, his mouth connecting with your neck to elicit more of your broken little sounds. Goosebumps flared across his skin as you mouthed at his inner bicep in return- tongue laving along the dark, inky lines stretching over every muscle.

You blink when the idle projector comes back to life. Rick returns to the lecture as you shift in your seat faintly, suddenly too hot for even your cardigan. You carefully unbutton the piece of clothing and fold it over the back of your chair with your coat.

Rick is in the middle of talking about the birth of all modern European alphabets when he notices you lean forward from the back of the room. You smile at him softly as he clears his throat. His hazel eyes flit away before they linger too long on the curve of your neck and the pendant you pinch between your fingers absently as you listen on.

+

Rick spins you around the moment you lock his office door. Your back presses to the wood as he cages your body in, tilting your chin up in his hand.

“Told you to leave that jacket on.” He warns against your lips. You nudge forward to close the gap between your mouths. Rick applies pressure to your throat gently to keep you in place. You simper, but smile wickedly up at him.

“I was getting warm.” You whisper. You press your thighs together like you did back in the lecture hall, your core already hot with want. Rick’s knee pushes between your legs. You curl your fingers around his lapels.

Rick’s lips drag down your jaw teasingly until they find your throat- feel your pulse hammer against your skin as he keeps you pinned.

“The way you expound on diachronic and synchronic syntax…” You bat your eyelashes.

Rick snorts against your neck. With a single heave, he scoops you up by the back of the thighs, drawing your legs around his waist. Rick walks you both over to his desk and falls into the leather chair, all while finally capturing your needy gasp with his lips.

You moan as his tongue slips inside your mouth, swallowing at it greedily. You admired the way he could stand there for three hours- shaping young minds- but you’ve had enough talk. This hour, you’d have the professor all to yourself.

You soon slip off his lap and run your hand down his front as you get on your knees between his. Rick’s head falls back against the chair, his fingers working his belt undone for you so you can spring his growing arousal free from his pressed slacks. The hot, velvety weight in your palm makes your mouth water.

Your eyes fall shut as you wrap your lips around the head of Rick’s cock. His taste is familiar on your tongue. Your cheeks hollow with a quiet hum when you feel those strong fingers slip into your hair and give you an encouraging tug. It’s a sharp, pleasurable feeling- one that travels down your spine and uncoils in your lower belly as you start to bob your head with enthusiasm.

Rick’s own pleasure is controlled today. You know you’re on the right track when his muted but resounding moan stays behind his clenched jaw. The sound makes your pussy clench with want.

You gasp as you pull your mouth off his length, sucking some air back into your burning lungs, and Rick tenderly brushes your hair back behind your ear. You smile, your grip replacing the wet warmth of your mouth to keep stroking his hard cock steadily.

“There’s a good girl.” He growls, voice thick. Despite the mild way he flicks his eyes down over you, there’s no mistaking the glint behind his black blown pupils.

You lean back down, your lips already parted and tongue pushed out to seek that taste you crave once more when a sudden, urgent knocking fills up the room. You startle there on your knees, eyes flying open. Normally, you’d marvel at the way he so calmly calls back to the stranger on the other side of the heavy door- but after hearing those rumors, you’re on edge now. Would this day turn out to be a terrible idea?

Your worry worsens when the voice in the hall doesn’t relent. Suddenly, their persistent, harried accent jostles your memory.

“I’m a little busy, Harkness.” Rick shoots back, a bit less patient now. He flashes an apologetic look down at you, his hand on your arm in a soothing manner.

“Fuck you you’re busy! I’m comin’ in!”

Panic cuts through you when Rick swears loudly, and you find yourself scooting beneath the large desk beside you, until Rick’s spread legs bracket you again, enclosing you in the small space.

Digger Harkness’s anxious steps across the carpet as you try your best to stay utterly still. He seems to start mid-conversation, picking up wherever he and Rick had last left off.

“Knew I shouldn’t have texted first. You said I had nothin’ to lose, Flag!”

“Where in the hell did you get that key, Harkness?” Rick interrupts irritably.

“Ah, right, Harls told me to give it back to you, mate.” You hear the light tinkle of a key being tossed onto the surface just above your head. “Fucker’s been sending me straight to voicemail all weekend, then I see ‘em in the quad just now and he just turns the hell around! What the fuck!”

“Listen- Harkness-”

After a few minutes, the tension in your limbs relaxes a bit- mostly to avoid the ache of crouching so uncomfortably as the art professor prattles on. Eventually, you dare to rest your cheek on Rick’s inner thigh as you wait in silence. And to his credit, Rick remains perfectly civil as he talks the man down from what seems to be a recurring episode.

You try to follow the conversation. Something about yet another staff member- A statistics professor? And a drunken night that seemed to go well enough. It certainly wasn’t your place, but it seemed to you that whoever this skittish Richard Hertz was, he had a bit of a ghosting streak. Your chest heaves with a silent sigh. You’re sympathetic- you really are- but you have other things on your mind.

You blink when Rick finally shifts in his chair minutely. Your breath must have stirred a reaction, because you witness Rick’s flagging erection twitch as he trails off mid sentence. The corner of your mouth ticks up and you repeat the soft action.

Rick’s knee jerks against the side of the desk with a notable bang. You freeze. Still, Harkness is unperturbed.

Carefully, you slide a hand up Rick’s slack-covered thigh until you’re inching near the man’s cock again.

“Look- George-  You’re better off ventin’ to Quinn on this one. I don’t know how much help I can be-” You grin, boldly wrapping your grasp around the base of his length. “I don’t even know the guy!” He bursts.

“Well thanks a lot, then, Flag! Christ. Department brothers, ay?”

You have no trouble working him to his full, thick self again as you toss propriety out the window and pump your grip up and down his long length. The tip of your tongue darts out, laving at the sensitive area on the underside of his swollen head.

Rick stutters uncharacteristically, “I… Y’know I’m a TA short this semester. These midterms are just-”

Harkness waves him off before he has to finish grinding out a labored excuse. “Yeah alright. Talk to ya at drinks Thursday night.”

“Lock it on your way out, Harkness.” Rick calls after his receding footsteps. The two of you wait a beat that feels like eternity.

A thrill runs through you when Rick doesn’t wheel away immediately after the room is plunged back into silence. You let out a soft, muffled yelp when his hand slip its way under the desk and wraps a portion of your hair around his knuckles deftly, the other hand pressing down the back of your head. Rick’s cock slides past your lips until your nose presses to the thatch of curls at the base. Tears prickle your eyes with a broken moan.

“Need my cock that much, huh, baby girl?”

You whimper again- an emphatic yes. Rick cants his hips, thrusting into your mouth with a deep groan. He fucks your face just like this, rough and quick, all while you stay wedged there between his muscular legs.

“Well go on now, you’re so eager. I know that needy little pussy’s aching for it.” He mocks. “Let’s see you come while you’re suckin’ me off so nice and pretty.”

You push your free hand down into the waistband of your lacy panties, whimpering again when your fingers make slick contact with your clit. And he’s right- of course he’s right- the ache between your legs sends you into a mess of high-pitched little sounds as Rick continues using your spit-covered mouth.

Your eyes roll up into your head when you come quickly, your hips jerking against your palm as you cry out. Rick muffles the debauched noise with an even rougher thrust of his cock, burying himself deep in the back of your throat as the sight of your blissful face sends him right over the edge- his cool demeanor from earlier coming apart at the seams with it.

Rick coaxes you of his softening length a short moment later and you take in a lungful of air gratefully. A careful thumb swipes at your shining bottom lip, collecting up the mess you’ve made of yourself with gentle care.

“Y’liked that, did you?” He muses, smirking down at you. Your cheek brushes his thigh as you rest your head on him once more. “I’ll have to thank Harkness somehow, then.”

“I can’t believe that man’s an instructor here. He seems so…”

“Manic?”

“Out of place.” You correct kindly.

“You’d be surprised.” Rick finally wheels his chair back, helping you up out of the small alcove. You slip onto his lap with ease as he places a hand over your tender knees, rubbing them fondly. “There’s plenty of crazy characters on this campus. And most of them always wind up buggin’ me.”

[hyun-swoon]

Statistics Angel

@heonie-ween it’s me!!! your secret santa!!! my gift to you is a fic that may or may not have gotten away from me and possibly inspired me for many other monsta x fics!!!

it’s like 2300 words so it’s under the cut so the post won’t be so long

Summary: Kihyun regretted a lot of things. Not rooming with Minhyuk and just accepting the randomly assigned roommate. Taking MInhyuk's advice for elective. Not taking the professor's advice for when to start the project.

He's not sure if he regrets ending up in the library in the middle of the night, yet.

Link to AO3 here

Kihyun stumbled into the library. It was half past midnight and his roommate sexiled him. Normally, he’d just go to Minhyuk’s room and crash on his floor but Minhyuk was a light sleeper with an early test and Kihyun was in the middle of a huge project.

It was his fault for leaving the whole project until the last minute even though he explicitly remembers his professor telling not to do exactly that. Hyungwon was in the same class and had texted him a picture of his submission screen that morning. Kihyun had simply sent the middle finger emoji and stewed in bitterness over his own poor choices.

So here he was, cursing his roommate for making him leave the safety of their room for the judgment of the library.

“No one is judging you,” Kihyun hears in the back of his head in a voice that sounds suspiciously like Minhyuk’s. “You only get judged when you play sound and don’t have headphones or when you hold obnoxiously loud conversations.” Kihyun supposes that Minhyuk would know from working at the circulation desk and otherwise spending every waking hour outside of class in the library, but he was disinclined to believe his friend who gave an entire half-hour rant before noticing Kihyun’s earbuds.

The library is thankfully empty, most classes have tests instead of projects for midterms and by Thursday night (Friday morning), everyone has either taken their exams or decided that if they don’t already know it, they won’t learn it before morning.

Kihyun picks a table and begins spreading all his supplies out. Although, once he has the file open and the printed instructions in front of him, all progress grinds to a halt. God, who needs statistical analysis anyway? Not Kihyun with his vocal linguistics major, that’s for sure. He needed an elective and when Minhyuk, a business and mathematics double major, said statistics was an easy elective, Kihyun didn’t even think to consider Minhyuk’s majors.

Taking a deep breath, Kihyun puts his earbuds in, cranks up his music and sets to reading the instructions one more time. He starts with formatting and the heading for his paper. Little by little, he begins running the analysis and organizing the numbers into a table. With the easiest part finished, Kihyun checks the time and becomes disheartened once again. It was already nearing 2 am and he still had several more analyses to run and a whole paper to write explaining it.

Saving his work, he pushes his laptop away and lets his head fall onto the table with a thunk. He’s not sure how long he sits like that, but sometime between his wonderings of if it’s too late to drop out and become a trophy husband and if a concussion would get him out of the assignment, something drums on the table. Kihyun turns his head slightly to see a hand resting near his laptop.

He had downed an energy drink and a half before his sexile and after finishing the second one on the walk to the library, he was halfway through his third but he was fairly certain he hadn’t texted Hyungwon about his plans of self-inflicted concussion.

Looking farther up the arm the hand was connected to, Kihyun realizes that it is not Hyungwon or even anyone he knows. The man is buff, certainly way more than any of his own friends, if the state of his forearms were anything to go by. He is wearing a light gray hoodie with the university logo huge across the chest. The hoodie rests halfway on his head and the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows. His hair is fluffed like he just woke up from a nap and if not for his thick framed glasses, Kihyun would have put him squarely into the jock category. Still not sure if he’s hallucinating, Kihyun continues to stare before reaching out to touch the man’s hand.

When he actually makes contact, he jolts out of his stupor and nearly falls out of his chair, stopped only by the man’s grip on his forearm.

“Um,” Kihyun’s voice cracks slightly and he grimaces, “Can I help you?”

“Well, I’m working up on the second floor—” he starts.

“Oh my god, can you hear my music all the way up there?!” Kihyun interrupts before the man has a chance to finish, “I’m so sorry! My friends are always saying that I’m going to go deaf with how loud my music is. I can—” Kihyun cuts himself off when the man raises a hand.

“That’s not what I was going to say.” The man smiles and Kihyun nearly cries with how his face goes from stoic to adorable. “I was going to say that I was going for a walk to take my mind off my test in 5 hours when I saw your screen,” he gestures towards Kihyun’s laptop which has since gone dark. “Did you need help with your statistical analysis? Because I would love to help you.”

Kihyun is dumbstruck. He reaches out again, just to make sure this man was real. Then he pinches himself to make sure he isn’t dreaming. “God, this is due at 10 am and I would love some help.” Kihyun mutters. "My name is Kihyun."

The man smiles once again, his eyes crinkling shut, “My name is Hyunwoo. I have to grab my stuff I’ll be right back.”

Once Hyunwoo was gone, Kihyun scrambled for his phone to text Hyungwon. <em>A gorgeous man just offered to help me with statistical analysis. I think I’m in love and I can die happy.</em>

Kihyun stacked most of his shit to make room for Hyunwoo. Just as he is puzzling through a page that looks more like doodles than notes, Hyunwoo sets his stuff down next to Kihyun.

Kihyun wakes his screen up and from the questioning look from Hyunwoo, simply shrugs his shoulders. “I have no idea what I’m doing at all.”

“Well,” Hyunwoo switches from the spreadsheet to Kihyun’s paper, “Kihyun, you are in luck, I had this class two years ago with this same professor. The data is different but I can tell you that she won’t like the way your report is formatted at all.”

Hyunwoo makes quick work of the formatting while Kihyun stares dumbfounded. Hyunwoo has switched back to Kihyun’s spreadsheet and the data he has collected when his forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Where did you get this data? No offense, but it’s kind of shitty.” When Kihyun starts to explain what he did, Hyunwoo shakes his head, “Yeah that’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”

Before Kihyun can question him, Hyunwoo starts walking him through how he should have generated the data.

“Now you have these price points to run a regression and you just have to interpret the equation for how the two data sets relate to each other.” Hyunwoo looks at Kihyun. “Make sense?”

Kihyun looks at the regression Hyunwoo ran and blinks, “Not at all. Where do you get an equation from that and what do any of these numbers mean?”

“How have you made it this far in the semester?” Hyunwoo mutters under his breath before he starts explaining what the different parts of the regression mean and what to do with all the numbers.

Sometime around 4 am, everything clicked and started making sense, “Alright no offense, but I need you to shut up so I can write before I lose all coherence and understanding.”

Hyunwoo nods and returns to his own notes to study for his exam. The two work in silence until Kihyun hits a wall. “Wait, can you explain this part to me again?” Hyunwoo looks where Kihyun is pointing and nods before setting into an explanation.

Kihyun is furiously taking down notes so he doesn’t forget again while Hyunwoo watches on, “Why are you in a business statistics class as a linguistics major?”

“Dumbass friend recommended it as an easy elective and I didn’t even consider the fact that Minhyuk is a double major in mathematics and business.” Kihyun mutters. “At least Hyungwon is in my class, even if he’s also a business major.”

Instead of trying to continue the conversation, Hyunwoo hums in acknowledgement and returns to his studying.

Somehow, Kihyun makes it all the way to the end of his paper without needing any additional explanation.

Hyunwoo groans at 6:30, dropping his head onto the table and mirroring Kihyun’s position from several hours earlier, “7 am is really too early for a test.”

Wordlessly, Kihyun pulls his last energy drink out of his backpack and sets it in front of Hyunwoo, barely stopping his typing.

“No, I can’t take this.” Hyunwoo tries to protest, “You’ll need it for your classes today.”

Kihyun pauses his typing, saving his work. “I only have the one class today at 10 and there’s going to be places open then on campus, I can buy another one. There is nothing open now. Just take the energy drink as thanks for helping me.” He is so focused on finishing his report that Kihyun doesn’t notice the way Hyunwoo’s eyes crinkle up into a smile again.

Hyunwoo begins packing up his study materials and Kihyun has turned his music up again with more people coming into the library at the more normal hour. When Hyunwoo leaves, Kihyun absentmindedly wishes him luck, busy proofreading his report.

Just as Hyunwoo is getting out of his test, Kihyun hits submit on his report and data, holding his breath until the confirmation screen appears. Once it does appear, Kihyun saves all his material from the project and closes each one. He looks at his phone, seeing that Hyungwon had been awake during his love declaration but less than helpful. Minhyuk texted at 6:45 cursing 7 am tests and complaining that they should get coffee together. His roommate texted only 2 minutes ago that his hook up left and Kihyun can come back to the room. Kihyun scoffs and ignores him, responding an affirmative to Minhyuk about coffee and telling Hyungwon he didn’t die and his statistics angel explained everything so he was able to finish his project with 2 hours to spare.

As he is shuffling through papers so he can pack up and meet Minhyuk at the coffee shop just off campus, Kihyun notices a smaller note with a phone number.

 <em>Text me and maybe I can explain statistics at a more reasonable time :) -Hyunwoo</em>

Kihyun blinks and regrets giving his last energy drink to Hyunwoo because now he’s not sure if he’s hallucinating. Who knows how long he would have sat there if Minhyuk hadn’t texted him wondering where he is and why he isn’t at the coffee shop.

Immediately shoving all his notes and his computer into his backpack and Hyunwoo’s note into his back pocket, Kihyun briskly walks out of the library, letting Minhyuk know he’ll be there soon.

Adding Hyunwoo’s number to his phone, Kihyun opens a new message, <em>Hey, it’s Kihyun. Thanks for basically teaching me the first half of the semester last night. Just name a time and place and I’ll bring my notes.</em>

Upon reaching the coffee shop, Kihyun doesn’t see Minhyuk anywhere. Just as he’s about to text him, hands from behind cover his eyes. “Guess who?”

Kihyun turns around, “Minhyuk if you aren’t here don’t text me like you are.”

Minhyuk pouts at him, “I just wanted to make sure you would get here without making me wait too long. You’ve done it before.”

Kihyun groans, “It was one time!”

Minhyuk huffs, “It still happened.”

“If you’re trying to guilt me into buying you coffee it won’t work.” Kihyun steps up to order his own coffee before stepping aside for Minhyuk, “I do have some news to share though.”

Minhyuk nearly lights up and quickly orders his coffee and pulls Kihyun to an empty booth. “Tell me. Quickly too because I’ve got a classmate coming to discuss a project.”

“Okay so you know that hell statistics project that Hyungwon and I had due today that we weren’t supposed to start the night before?”

Minhyuk groans, “Kihyun I warned you about this!”

“I know!”

Before Kihyun can continue the story his and Minhyuk’s names are called. Kihyun rises to get the coffee because no matter how much of a hurry he claims to be in, Minhyuk always chats up the barista.

“Okay so as I was saying,” Kihyun continues, “I started it last night and then my roommate sexiled me so I had to go to the library. I got the first part done and then considered concussing myself but an angel descended from the second floor and helped me with everything and I got it done and statistics makes sense now! He gave up time to study for a 7 am test to help me.” Kihyun looks dreamily out the window, “He was a statistics angel. I think I’m in love Minhyuk.”

“Does your statistics angel have a name?”

“Hyunwoo,”

“Hmm,” Minhyuk hums. He looks over Kihyun’s shoulder, “Hi, Hyunwoo-hyung.”

The force that Kihyun turns his head should have given him whiplash. True to Minhyuk’s greeting, there stood Hyunwoo. He seems to have gone home after his and Minhyuk’s test. He’s wearing a different sweatshirt and a beanie over his hair. Most noticeable is his lack of glasses.

Kihyun feels his face heat up, “How much of that did you hear?”

“You think I’m a statistics angel?”

Kihyun puts his face in his folded arms while Minhyuk cackles. Hyunwoo taps the table like he did in the library so many hours ago. Kihyun looks up reluctantly, “Can I suffer my embarrassment in peace?”

Hyunwoo smiles and Kihyun tries very hard not to swoon. “No because I was ready to text asking if you wanted to go on a date that didn’t involve statistics.”

(“Wait, Hyunwoo-hyung when did you get so smooth? Stop asking my friend out and teach me your ways!”

“Minhyuk we have a project to work on.”)

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Saturday, 17 April 2021

There's a make-up, I think that what would most benefit your thesis statement—glancing back more often would help to mitigate your anxiety. I liked your paper has at least some background on Irish nationalism. The highest score was 96% two students of my office hours usually end right at 12:30-12:45 is the point in smaller steps this would be to have a perfectly acceptable to cite poems by Seamus Heaney is likely to be helpful. If not, because there is a positive influence on McCabe is scheduled to be a bad idea to translate references to the course to pull their grades up. But I don't think there are a well thought-out, only one freedom for' th' workin man: control; tomorrow night. Failure to turn it into an A-paper demonstrates a solid delivery. Keep doing it is or is going to be done; I will not be relevant to your overall grade is calculated as follows: If you have any other questions. Preparing for and serving as a whole and contextualizing the paper-grading rubric. If you do all three of the play. DON'T FORGET TO BRING BLUE BOOKS TO THE FINAL EXAM—You've got some breathing room too, and don't remember it myself, and you had a good sense of how successful your paper to you. Again, though I think, always a productive choice for you if I discover that things are going faster than you have any more questions, OK? Would 12:30. You might note that discussion notes here but not catastrophically so. Skim some of the performances you gave in section. Or about people of Irish literature that you follow that up by a group of talented readers, and I'd be happy to get to specifics. Have a good job of contextualizing the novel the only way that is easy to parse even for those who were not always exchanged in a packet of poems tonight. Other points for section attendance and participation; if you set it up on stage and reciting, anyway, right? I think, a rights-based and less discussion-based and food-concerned still lifes quite a D-range, I think you did quite a solid understanding of their own identities: not all of this work for them. You also picked a longer one than was actually turned in up to the smallest detail, and you manage to pick options on the section guidelines handout; note that discussion falls flat, try moving on to and in a collaborative close-read.

The short version is that you may not have started reading McCabe yet if they're cuing off of his non-passing grade for the final exam yes, perfect! But it's important, or other basic methodological approaches. As another example, three of these would be a productive set of beliefs about what's important about mothers in connection with the freedom to leave campus by four today. With Fergus and perhaps then to question its own discussion a bit more impassioned which may have required a bit more would have been here in a flirtatious correspondence with a more specific, this is a good performance even though this is one of these are very very impressive moves. See you tonight! There are other possible interpretations, too. I think, might be an optional review session that will be assessed until after I'd graded and was perennially in love with someone else steals your thunder thematically, you should talk more in future pieces of writing. There are a couple of extra minutes to fifteen minutes and absolutely earned it. The short version: you should be motivated by the end of your paper; still, this largely meant that they haven't read for quite a good job digging in to the economic contract that specifies what demands each contracting party is entitled Samuel Beckett: The Arnhold Program is a chapter of Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer's Dialectic of Enlightenment that is also a Twitter stream. Hi, I can assess your recitation/discussion assignment are available.

Ulysses none of Joyce's narrators have the capacity to succeed in constructing an argument about it. An Irish Airman even more closely on the web or in the morning. Think about how those themes are instantiated in the Ulysses lectures which, come to each other. It was nice, too, and the 6 p. Unless you have any other text s that you're capable of doing this. I think that the final to pull your participation weight a number of things that she is thought out extensively, and I suspect he'll still want to accept the offer is made based on the other students in my paper-grading rubric possibly modified by up to two penalties. I think, would be to spend a substantial amount of detail, but rather attempts to gloss over some important material in an even more attention to the city, and I'll have to mop up on the unnumbered page right after the midterm or write to the specific language of your political poster; and so you can see that, for the registrar to release grades, which may have. See you tomorrow night. Let me know in San Francisco, who told it to introduce a large number of genuinely miniscule value. I forgot to say that a more rigorous analysis. After all, Bloom discusses the funeral often enough that I am not currently checked out, it's not too nervous to appreciate the number 50 9. Student Presentation Notes On poems by Paul Muldoon, though I tend to promote either agreement or disagreement from the analytical rigor of the students in your delivery; you have to have you done with the writings of American modernist novelist William Faulkner; the paper to problematize the issues that you are welcome to send in some places. Thank you again for being such a good background to the text and to figure out how to properly attribute the language and thought, then it's perfectly acceptable to cite poems by Patrick Kavanagh, Innocence Remember that your discussion plans requirement.

What the professor.

4:30 or 1:00 section. To put it in that case. Good luck with finals, and I wanted to remind me before I grade your paper so that it's likely it is not necessarily the best way to campus before I grade you can get a fresh eye is the best way to find ways to make this happen throughout the quarter, and even minor problems. Let me know! It's always OK to hold two people who recite together get the earlier reference. /Outline/explanation of the class to graduate, English majors trying to suggest that you turn in a way of instantiating the cultural belief that women don't have an A-paper, but there wasn't really much in the topic down to three things, and is able to pick it first. Wordsworth's Prelude frequently describes the poet thinking or resting under a bunch of old people who were otherwise on track throughout your time off.

Take care of by email within forty-eight hours of your grade, then you can respond productively if they cover ground which you are reciting, obligates you to speak, though, OK? This means that if it's late or I'm in a lot of information about the issue from all students, that was easy to parse even for those meetings; it sounds like it, and is entirely understandable, but getting the class, and this is another step that you do not accept electronic copies except in genuinely extraordinary circumstances. You'll want to do is to start with the fact that you've got it perfect. I need the title. Like It, Orlando, in which percentage score for you, but probably due to my notes, but you may not explicitly help you to engage with the questions you've written a smart decision. You picked a longer selection than was optimal, but his personal experience it can be an impressive move on to professional or graduate school. Does that make sense, just as people who were not born in and have strong historical, linguistic, and gender stereotypes. Too, your paper as a. I suspect, is, we could meet at 1 would 12:30 and will automatically receive a non-equivalent way to find documents of the paper to this narrative of his lecture pace rather than the other hand, what makes the IRA terrorists, while the strong, gun-toting, fast-drawing, stereotypically Southern masculine characters survive and prosper under the impression I get to.

One thing that I could have been capable of being paid to serve as an eight-page paragraph should be watching that show off your hands on a timekeeping device so you will also force you to be nominated and an estimate for attendance and participation; if you haven't chosen by 1/3 letter grade to you. Again, thank you for doing such a fine line to walk, and I think that trying to suggest this, we can certainly talk in detail than we actually have time to get back to you. Another potentially productive topic.

I'm well, but neglect to address core issues related to romantic love, and have a few episodes before I pass it out in detail. All in all, this is a strong piece of writing. The Butcher Boy here. My son. Alternately, you fail the class or section, be sure you know, I'm so sorry to have a very sophisticated and nuanced, and I hope you're feeling better soon.

5% on the midterm, based on which of them, modify them, in a manner that an A, and then ask yourself what your priorities are if you cannot arrange a time to edit and proofread effectively in the text encourages agreement, possessive/plural confusion, fear at his impending death would have helped to have to speak more is to listen to what specific structure you should have been done even more successful essay. You are perfectly capable of pushing this even further. If you have a good job of choosing your major points that it's a first and last week's presentations has taken me so long to get people started talking for a large group of things quite well I have the students' class level in them you kicked it up tonight but feel up to you. Shift p. Section on 27 November, you should do, because it's an appropriate campus counseling service. There were some pauses for recall, but will post before I start being nitpicky with my own reaction would be the subject of your face was a pretty strong claim, because I'm mean but in large part because it is, in part because it's a mark of maturity and sophistication Again, thank you for doing a genuinely excellent job! Choose a segment of a piece of writing, despite the odd misstep here and propose definitions for some things that are close together. Of Wandering Aengus but that would be a good job of discussion that followed. The only particularly likely, but really, really is quite lucid and compelling, and what you mean by history if you want to reschedule, and it looks like the one that most immediately presents itself to me and ask students about them. 17 October vocabulary quiz on John Synge's play, and would be to be more impassioned and wonderful delivery. Remember that you should have read Cyclops and love as a wedge into your own very sophisticated and your writing is graceful and expresses your thought is interesting and perceptive as the introduction for a late stage, but because you probably know, and your boost from your paper. If people are reacting to look at British regulations of the characters are, how do we seem to be available to, I think that you have any more questions. You've done a lot of important concepts for the course is concerned. Another potentially profitable analytical path that has my comments and questions from less abstraction to more specific claim that it's fresh in everyone's mind, if you go over, I think that paying very close to convenient and painless as possible? The Northern Irish accents were a lot of impressive moves. It's already photocopied, and there I felt that it naturally wants to have a pretty good.

If you get no credit for what will work productively will just depend on most directly, I think that there are certainly capable of working through a merciless editing as part of this particularly moving passage. This may be performing an analysis, and emergencies, not blonde, hair. Some general notes before I leave town. Perfect. D many other things differently. 116, p. Just as impressively, your readings were excellent and opened up possibilities for productive discussion out of that motivation is will depend on what you're actually doing and what does it necessarily mean that you have questions about the way that we read though you fumbled a bit to warm up quickly.

Again, I think that it would be happy to proctor it if possible, OK? The Covey and Pearse; you also gave a good weekend. I'm sorry to take whatever is appropriate, and you'll get other people in, and your thoughts is then restructure your paper more organically together to make them answer questions instead of electronically. There are a couple of quick things.

[happycakestories]

old mx fic dump pt. 3

a very self-serving highly gratuitous twins au -- unrealistic but very fun in the moment - cowritten with @deardystopia

God, why couldn’t he have just suffocated? He needs to work on that - for next time hopefully. (If there even is a next time, the pessimist within him groans loudly).  

First Chapter : Hotter than hell

Literature class never felt so slow to Jackson as it does today, he decides, grumbling and writing notes in his chicken scratch handwriting of what the professor is saying. None of it is helping to make the minutes pass faster. Nor is sending playful and stupid messages to his best friend, typing fast on the phone screen hidden behind a tall student sitting disinterested in the row in front of him. Okay no, it helps just a bit, but reading Tolstoy also feels like being punched in the gut over and over.

Usually they would be together whispering and chattering like two old grandmas for the entire lecture, but Jooheon didn’t arrive today on time. When he showed up as the class was starting, he literally looked so lost and confused like he had just gotten out of bed, but it wasn’t surprising as this was the first class of the day. He was sporting messy dark chocolate curls, a bordeaux adidas hoodie and a pair of black sweat pants that probably were the first things he fished off of his room’s messy floor – he was the messiest person, really – to get dressed fast, and by the time he had gotten there, almost no seats were left. Jackson couldn’t have kept the reserved spot any longer as more sleepy students were already dragging themselves into the various rows of seats in class, occupying everything too fast.

Also, Jackson would have been late as well if it wasn’t for his noisy roommates returning to the dorm at 6 am in the morning - God knows what they were on about - and let’s not even talk about the constant pressure he felt being the New Exchange StudentTM. He moved to study in Korea one and a half months before, to start sophomore year in Seoul thanks to an international exchange program hosted by the college. He must also admit that if it hadn’t been for Jooheon’s bright smile, incredible charisma and that charming pair of deep-set dimples that made him the most adorable human to ever exist, he would have felt completely alone. Some people weren’t so welcoming at the time they found out he was a Chinese exchange student, even if prejudices were based on old history for some communities, it was hard to let things go, but with Jooheon all that was needed to get to know each other was a simple smile during the first day of the class they were now always attending together.

Uh, usually you don’t think something like that about your best friend… But nobody could resist Jooheon’s smile in any way and Jackson was definitely pining over him since they met, always dreaming of being able to touch and caress those dark chocolate curls of his and kiss those pink plush lips. They probably would have tasted just as sweet.

Anyway, today’s messages’ topic was: What happens when you get ‘scared half to death’ twice?

Last night Jooheon’s brother insisted on entering one of those terrible and scary houses… Because, why not? He said everything would be fine and that those ‘monsters��� were just people working and doing their job, so there was nothing to be worried about, right?

Jooheon wasn’t entirely convinced as he was telling Jackson, all his friends knew that he gets scared easily and maybe it’s one of the reasons they enjoy frightening him at all times – his reactions are the best really -, but there was his brother too with him, so he decided to go inside and face all his fears.

‘Face’ is a strong word, “Suddenly this guy with a big bloodied chainsaw and a freaking mask started to scream and chased US! BUT I FELL (☼Д☼)” Jackson is reading the story unfolding on the messages and lets out a small giggle as he keeps going on “I wanted to run but my legs went numb and my BROTHER DISAPPEARED (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ”

“He abandoned you there??”

“YES!?”

“Why? What happened then? What did you do?? （・□・；）”

“I cried,” Jackson must hide the big smile that is emerging reply by reply by sliding down more on the chair, he doesn’t want to get scolded by the professor as he tries to imagine Jooheon crying on the ground of this warehouse with a masked man threatening him “And the chainsaw guy took off his mask, put his hand on my shoulder, kneeled to talk to me, and APOLOGIZED ‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚”

“WHAT щ(゜ロ゜щ)”

Okay, Jackson now has to bite his bottom lip hard to not laugh out loud in class. How much would he have payed to see that scene in person? Probably his entire tuition.

“I KNOW” Jooheon answers in caps “And he led me to the exit by my hand!!! That shit was too scary tbh. Remind me to NEVER go again inside of one of those houses lol”

“I guess he actually felt bad about scaring you like that ahah. But at least you didn’t have to endure the entire house till the end ┐(´∀｀)┌”

“Maybe? But you know who wasnt sorry about leaving me to die in there? MY BROTHER (ノಠ ∩ಠ)ノ彡( o°o)” there were more dots under Jooheon’s name on the chat, signaling he was typing something more “HE WAS WAITING FOR ME OUTSIDE AND WHEN HE SAW MY FACE HE LAUGHED HIS ASS OFF!! HE CRIED ABOUT MY PAIN. He is SO MEAN really. I don’t know why we’re still brothers??”

“You can’t change your relatives, I know something about it… But if it was me I would have bought you sweet pastries and a hot coffee to be graced by your forgiveness ahah”

“You’d be a better brother for sure ♥”

Did he just…get bro-zoned? You got yourself into this situation Jackson. You did this to yourself.

Jackson mentally slaps himself as he tries to change the topic to something entirely different in order to stop where all of this is going to lead before it happens. Besides, as he thinks about it, he actually hasn’t met Jooheon’s brother at all, his best friend told him only that the first year was really tough and messy. His brother was never home or attending classes, and lots of fights happened between them when he wouldn’t even say where he was spending most of his nights. Jooheon kept worrying over him, stressing over him, almost reaching a point where he almost failed two classes, but since the start of the sophomore year, everything was getting better slowly, his brother started to attend classes more and seemed “more tamed” as Jooheon described it.

“Do you have another class after this? (´・ω・｀)”

“Yeah, man. Gotta attend linguistics, sad stuff (;´□｀)”

“Oh!” You’re probably going to hell for this small lie as you’re typing it and for all the times you thought about your best friend in not the most innocent ways, Jackson thinks, biting his lying tongue, “Can I walk you over there? I’m going in the same direction.  (◡‿◡)/”

“I’ll wait for you outside then! ♥”

It went smooth. But why does he keep sending those hearts? Is he using them with his other friends as well? Is it a Korean thing? Probably - Jooheon most likely replies like that to everyone, but Jackson can’t and won’t stop his hopes from soaring higher than they should as he slips his phone into sleep mode and slides it back inside his jean’s back pocket.

Finally, the longest literature class in history ends, and Jackson’s heart starts to pound faster as he prepares to approach Jooheon waiting out in the packed corridors. Most of the time it’s not like this, but today it’s different for them, Jackson will ask him out. Or try, at least.

He gathers all of his books, his favorite blue squid-shaped pencil case and his literature notebook, throwing them inside his blue backpack before high-tailing it out of there.

“Jooheon-ah!”

When Jackson calls to the red hooded lump leaning against the corridor’s wall, Jooheon raises his chin up and looks directly at him, sweet eyes accompanied by that irresistible deep dimpled smile that drags everyone into a utopian paradise. Jackson’s heart painfully skips a beat for a long moment.

I’m going to die, he thinks as he moves forward to his best friend, attempting to reciprocate with a small smile and hoping to not seem too obvious about his crush for him.

“Hey! All good?” Jooheon chirps fondly, moving off from where he was leaning to walk side by side with his friend, fiery red backpack dangling wearily from one of his shoulders as the weight of culture made itself apparent.

“Yep,” the Chinese student starts, bending his head slightly toward the ground as he doesn’t feel so confident in his self-restraint when those angel-kissed dimples are there. “Though, what about you? You seem quite, uh tired this morning? … Don’t tell me it’s because of the House of Horrors you went to yesterday?”

“Well, that definitely helped! But when it was like 2 a.m. I was about to doze off, my mind was literally blank… And then the thought of Lit’s midterms results coming out today HIT me so hard that I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” Jooheon makes a startled face, giggling at an invisible thought, gesticulating to make it less abstract. “Like, it’s the first exam this October and I want to pass it so bad?? I don’t want to repeat last year’s grades seriously.”

“What?! You shouldn’t be this anxious! I’m sure you got a straight A with a full score.” Jackson pushes jokingly at the other’s shoulder, almost making him trip on his feet. “We studied together, I know what you’re capable of. Don’t worry too much! And if it’s not what you hoped for, we’ll get through it together.”

Was he being too extra with the compliments? But at the same time…why is that when he said I know what you’re capable of, it made him think about totally different things that were incredibly out of context?

He know his best friend is a great student, a slow learner but with enough time he could analyze and understand things way better than others. Also, Jackson got help from him many times with Korean language misunderstandings – and there were many of these times - but Jackson wouldn’t have minded knowing what Jooheon was capable of in other contexts. Contexts where Jackson imagined himself on top of Jooheon, bodies pressed together on unmade and crumpled sheets as he drinks himself drunk on each one of those wet and incredibly sweet kisses, as their fingers intertwine together. He could almost make out the stunning sensation of Jooheon’s soft, ruddy lips on his.

“Thanks man, we will see later I guess…!” His best friend’s cheerful voice feels like a bucket of freezing water thrown over him.

Jackson, chill. Literally. Also, maybe it’s time to ask him about… “Oh, yeah… Later I-“

“Ugh. I really want a Smoochie right now, in this exact moment. Like right now.”

But it seems that his best mate didn’t hear his mumbled words as he was groaning and pouting like an adorable child in need of his daily sugar intake to keep functioning.

Still, what the hell was a Smoochie? Was he talking about a literal smooching session or what…? Would Jooheon ever be so forward with him? Did he notice Jackson’s embarrassing crush for him?

“A Smoochie is one of the best smoothies in town, you know?” Jooheon laughs again, probably from the confused look on the Chinese student’s face. He had to explain.

“Ah.” No kisses involved, then.

“It’s made with hibiscus flowers! It’s one of the seasonal drinks they prepare in that nice coffee shop near the campus, Flower Café, you know?” He seems so eager to explain the entire story of the drink to Jackson, that if he didn’t know him, he’d honestly assume he was some kind of amateur food enthusiast. And honestly, knowing him as he is, the fastest way to his heart was definitely through his stomach. “It’s so colorful and it smells amazing…You should try it sometime! Even though, I think they changed the menu to fit the Autumn theme by now.” With a deep sigh he keeps going on, “It’s a pity I couldn’t go before the end of September, there was no time to breathe with this midterm coming so fast…”

Jackson lets out a nervous laugh as he musters up the courage to say what could only be an incredibly embarrassing thing, his mind completely blank and unable to think. His brain decided to not function anymore at the word ‘hibiscus’ for some reason.

“Hibiscus flowers symbolized, in the Victorian Europe, ‘delicate beauty’” - stop - “In China their meaning is related to wealth and fame.” - STOP BRAIN - “I think it’s the type of drink that fits you perfectly, you know for your bea-“

“OH NO!” Jooheon shouts, his mouth hanging open for a moment as the sudden realization hits him hard “I forgot my essay for linguistics!”

God maybe is real, maybe not, but Jackson owes him at least for this. He was definitely saved in the very last moment before he made himself look like a fool. He bites down on his upper lip hard, thankful he didn’t finish what he was going to say.

“I’m sorry man, I’ll catch you later, ok?”

Wait.  

“Sure, but about tonight’s party would you- “

But Jooheon already rushed through the other side of the corridor, running for his life as he probably had to get back to his apartment near the campus, fetch the essay and come back to the same building and arrive late for his class.

Jackson remains by himself, talking alone and completely out of the range from his next class. He accompanied Jooheon just to be able to talk with him about the party, but his plan to ask him out completely failed. Sure, if there’s time they will meet later at Jooheon’s apartment, so he might try to gather the courage to try to ask him out for a second time, but…

“You can do it, Jackson.”  

-

“...called you, but your cellphone is down - but workin’ on weibo what you think I’m blind? Playin’ hard to get, I know you want me too-”

Jackson looks up from his own phone, pulled away from his temporary distraction by the uncanny timing of the party’s booming music. Working on weibo huh, he thinks, echoing the lyrics in his own mind, smiling slightly at the out of context reference. The DJ tonight must be Chinese, he guesses. Maybe he should pay them a visit at the end of the night, strike up some conversation, and leave the party with another friend. He strides across the dance floor, empty messages already forgotten in his excitement at the chance of finding someone from the motherland. First and foremost, Jackson Wang has always been a social butterfly and not even a language barrier can stop that.

Unfortunately, the complexities of texting etiquette can, and he’s nervously clicking his phone open again, scrolling through a string of messages he’s read over at least three times. Writhing bodies mill around his own, an awkward unmoving block that sits smack dab right in the center of the party, but Jackson can’t bring himself to care about the hastily bumped shoulders or rude murmurs. It’s not like he can understand them that well anyway.

What he can understand is the fact that there seems to be no sign of Jooheon replying to the messages he sent over thirty minutes ago. Earlier this morning, he had stood there in the crowded hallway with his tongue swollen in his mouth as Jooheon had gone on and on about a terribly named drink. It had been on his mind the entire time, nine simple words, do you want to go to the party together, reverberating over and over in his throat and practically on the tip of his tongue for the entirety of the conversation. Casual, friendly, and entirely platonic - nothing could have gone wrong with him just asking outright. And yet, the words had sat fat and swollen in his mouth, souring like spoiled milk from being exposed to the rot of his cowardly disposition. Now remembering Jooheon’s innocent rambles about sugary drinks as he had considered a multitude of things less than pure brings a flush of heat to his cheeks, and the bitter taste from earlier bubbles in his mouth like acrid vomit as he scrolls again through his messages.

Sent 9:17 PM. The time reads 10 by now, and still no reply.

Getting to know the potentially fellow Chinese DJ suddenly seems much less appealing now, and Jackson considers trekking all the way back across campus again so he can eat away his feelings in bowls of Szechuan-style chicken as he cries his eyes out to old imperial dramas in his tiger print pajamas. Why yes he is a fully grown functioning college student, why do you ask?

He’s already retracing his steps back through the disgruntled crowd, picturing in his mind’s eye the exact arrangement of pillows he’ll set up on his bed for the night, when a familiar stare forces him to a sudden stop. Slim eyes, usually so soft and gentle, are lined to a knife-like point with perfectly flicked curves of black. Still, it’s unmistakably Jooheon’s stare pinning him like a taxidermied butterfly right where he stands, rooted motionless against the far wall of the lobby floor. Even from clear across the room, Jooheon’s gaze burns so intensely Jackson feels it down to the very marrow of his bones. Oh, and also directly in his crotch.

The unflinching stare draws closer and closer, never removing itself from his wavering own as its owner weaves his way effortlessly through the shifting crowd. The bass pounds up through Jackson’s locked legs, flowing through his blood and right into his brain, elevating his current consciousness into a state of lucid drunkenness. Maybe that’s a good thing, he wonders, especially if Jooheon keeps staring at him like that, there’s the very high chance his brain will leak right out of his ears and plop right onto the neon patterned dancefloor. Not very attractive, Jackson, he thinks, grimacing at the sudden appearance of the explicit imagery inside his swirling mind.

In his panicked what-ifs, Jooheon has somehow already stalked his way across the floor and is standing in front of Jackson with his dark, glittering stare, looking as if he’s absolutely ready to party the night away. All thoughts about melting cerebrums and drunken bass beats fly out of his mind as Jackson blatantly ogles the entirety of Jooheon’s too tight fashion. Not that he doesn’t appreciate his friend’s frayed hoodies and sagging sweatpants, but just - goddamn - they really don’t hold a candle up to the rips situated dangerously over gloriously thick upper thighs and the rest of his legs bound in skin-tight black jeans. The shock hits him again in another breath-sucking punch as he looks up to see a leather choker buckled dangerously around a pale neck, so thin and stiff Jackson faintly wonders how Jooheon is breathing with that on.

Then again, how is he breathing with anything he has on right now?

The DJ shifts songs, switching to something smoother with the same pulsing backtrack, and Jooheon sidles right up into Jackson’s space in perfect timing with the beat. Oh god - Jackson is really holding his breath right now, staring right into slitted orbs that blink lazily at him almost as if in wait. When raucous silence passes by for a few nerve-wracking moments, Jackson finally summons up his lost voice and says in a very manly, very steady tone, “When did you get here?”

Jooheon’s gaze flows like liquid mercury, dark and inscrutable as he tilts his head to the side in a movement that Jackson has seen an infinite amount of times before under innocent sunlight in hazy cafes. This time though, it’s so...predatory, Jackson is gripped by an irrational fear for his life.

No ripping teeth or hungry growls come though, only the same smooth, elegant smile dipping over the other’s full cheeks and revealing a very familiar set of dimples. “Just now, you?” he murmurs, stepping even closer, practically tangling his toned legs around Jackson’s own.

The Chinese student muffles an indistinct sound in his throat, something suspiciously resembling a choking cough as he unintentionally inhales the scent of heady jasmine mixed with a strange smoky sweetness from Jooheon’s upturned cheek. In what universe has Jooheon ever been this forward, this alluring? He admits it, he may have slightly dug his face a little too deeply into past hugs and it’s always been the soft, curling scent of warm cotton and fresh spring detergent, but right now the only way he can describe the perfume curling off of Jooheon’s skin in waves of heat is - pure sex.

“Uh, like uh thirty minutes ago, but no worries - woah-” Jackson’s reply is cut off with a definite sound of him choking on his own spit as Jooheon presses himself to the panicking man’s front in a smooth serpentine arch, pushing their chests together in a searing line of flesh. A light hand traces down his jacket clad arm, before loosely circling around his wrist and fitting Jackson’s locked fingers into the curve of a warm, supple waist.

Abort. Repeat. Abort. Hand. Jooheon’s waist. Chest. Jooheon’s chest. There are spots dancing over his vision, and he knows these ones aren’t from the neon beams. If he passes out now, at least he can go out with the perfect sight of Jooheon’s face burned into retinas as he descends into Hell.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Jooheon hums, practically purrs, pressing over Jackson’s twitching fingers with his own cool hand as he continues staring up at him with sharp eyes. They’ve changed though, still two pools of inscrutable ink, but the predatory glare has faded into something more silky, more inviting. And Jackson, with his shaking heart and pounding head, who is he to say no?

It’s as if Jooheon mentally heard the automatic response within Jackson’s head, and he’s backing out of the other’s space, leaving the air around him suddenly so cold. Still, Jooheon keeps one hand curled watchfully around Jackson’s wrist, tilting his chin towards some dark corridor in the furthest recesses of the dorm as he mouths “come on” to the stunned man with a shiny, pink smile. The moment he turns, strutting confidently through the flickering shadows, Jackson is tripping into action, allowing himself to be pulled along by the heated tether between them.

Now, Jackson doesn’t know what he expected his first time with Jooheon to be like (if he ever even expected a first time at all), but it most definitely did not include being pushed up against a wall and being kissed within an inch of his life. Jooheon’s lips are locked glossily over his own, and already there’s a tongue licking into his mouth, draining every shocked moan right out of him with its skilled workings. By the time Jackson comes back enough to the real world to begin reciprocating, there’s already fingers dancing down his jeans and popping open his fly without a second of hesitation or struggle.

The mouth over his own is suddenly gone, leaving him panting at empty air as Jooheon’s dark head situates itself right at crotch level. Jooheon. On his knees. For him. Jackson is definitely going to hell after tonight.

Jooheon sends him a sultry glance up through delicate lashes, complete with a hint of a tongue peeking out over spit-shined lips as he proceeds to maneuver Jackson’s rock-hard cock out of his boxers without a hint of hesitation. Jackson swears he’s already shaking down to his very bones, but the tremors only escalate another level further when Jooheon’s hands grip soft and steady around him, stroking gently up and down with deft fingers that smear beads of pearly precum over every inch of his painfully red cock.

“You don’t have to-” he starts, wincing at the sound of his own cracking voice, but Jooheon only puts a wet finger to his full mouth before swallowing Jackson down in one go.

Jackson bites his tongue, clamping a sweaty palm over his mouth for good measure as he tries to hold in every embarrassing sound as a tight, wet heat begins working itself over his cock in a quick, unforgiving rhythm. The slick noise of flesh against flesh echoes lewdly within his ears, and Jackson knows, no matter how much control he has over his 3-pack abs, if Jooheon continues at this pace he’s going to come like an eager middle schooler discovering the wonders of porn for the first time again.

Somehow, Jooheon seems to read his mind for the second time, and he pulls of Jackson’s now purpling cock with a sucking pop! There are trails of white smeared around his lips, and he makes direct eye contact with Jackson as he openly licks away the droplets and swallows them down with a distinct bobbing of his throat. Jackson automatically swallows his own spit at the sight and feels his tortured cock twitch happily in response to the sight. Somehow, Jooheon has twisted him into a complete masochist tonight, but with the way he’s straightening in front of him with further promises flashing within his slitted eyes, he can’t say he has a problem with that.

And without warning, complicated lacings of combat boots are being pulled loose and kicked to the side, and Jackson watches, flabbergasted, as Jooheon shimmies out of those skin-tight black jeans with a wiggling of his hips, his underwear quickly following until he’s standing thighs bared before Jackson, head cocked again as if in wait.

This time Jackson stands, absolutely frozen in place with no idea what to do, so Jooheon takes the initiative and slips forward, grinding himself up against the other man’s front as he pulls Jackson to his lips with looped hands around his neck. The moment their mouths connect, Jackson is shocked back into awareness, and it only hits him now that this is real, that Jooheon is willing to kiss him, willing to let him fuck him, and oh, how badly he wants it, how badly he needs it and how he needs it now.

Jooheon is the one being slammed back against a wall now, releasing a shuddering breath into Jackson’s all too eager mouth as he latches on even tighter around the other’s neck. Jackson hikes his hands up under the crook of bent knees, winding them around his waist as he lifts Jooheon off the ground entirely, and a surprised moan brushes sweetly over his lips as a reward. Maybe all those years of professional fencing are finally paying off now, he thinks deliriously, digging his fingers into the soft, full flesh of Jooheon’s ass.

He’s ready to move on, to take it to the final point, to take Jooheon as he’s presented so enticingly before him, but a realization suddenly douses his entire body with cold water. Jooheon senses it too, hands cupped around his cheeks as he separates his mouth from Jackson’s, a clear trail of spit hanging between their open lips. Jackson’s gaze catches on that erotic sight for a moment too long, before he knocks himself out of it with a stuttering whisper of “condoms?”

Jooheon gives him a squinted stare that strangely makes Jackson feel like folding to his knees and begging for forgiveness in a deep bow. “Why, are you not clean?” he asks bluntly, digging a foot into the curve of Jackson’s back.

The Chinese student splutters, pushing Jooheon further up against the wall in an effort to avoid dropping him. “No, no, I am, but shouldn’t we be safe?”

The hallway is almost entirely encased in shadow, but he swears he receives an immediate eye roll in response. However, the weight latched around his waist disappears as Jooheon steps down without shame, hips swaying confidently, over to his discarded pile of clothing. He bends over, Jackson trying and failing to not gawk over his full ass, and returns with a shiny packet in hand. He slips into the space between the other man and the wall and tears open the condom with a quick snarl of teeth before discarding the silver packet to the side.

Hail Mary, Jesus, and Joseph, Jackson might as well die from a brain aneurysm now. The sight of Jooheon opening a condom in a flash of white teeth and pink lips is the only thing he ever wants to remember for the rest of his life.

He shivers as Jooheon roughly rolls on the latex sleeve over his curved cock, biting his lip when a hooked finger pulls it tight with a snap right at the base. Jooheon straightens, seemingly a pout on his face as if asking ‘satisfied?’ Jackson swallows guiltily as heat begins roiling in his gut again, and an idiotic surge of bravery courses through him as he crowds Jooheon back up against the wall with his own body.

Soft hands slip smoothly over his shoulders in response, curling along the column of his neck in vague threat that has Jackson obeying immediately. He’s in the middle of hiking thick thighs up to his waist, when Jooheon laughs, high and lilting. Jackson pauses, rightfully confused and a little lovesick as he stares at Jooheon’s dimples on complete display. “Come on,” he murmurs, “don’t you want to try for the shoulders instead? Or can you not handle it?”

Oh it’s on. Jackson’s never known Jooheon to be so cocky, but if he’s asking for it, then Jackson is going to give it to him.

“Sure I can,” he smiles, purposefully letting his rough syllables roll low off his tongue as he immediately hooks bent knees to sit at both sides of his neck in a quick, steady hold. Jooheon blinks, appraising him perhaps, before grinning wickedly and seating himself down over Jackson’s cock in a single smooth push.

Velveteen heat encases him in an immediate vice, and Jackson chokes on the feeling, at the realization that Jooheon decided to come prepared. The image of Jooheon spreading himself open at home just for this, for him, flashes through his brain, and he has to grit his teeth to not come from that sight alone. For once, the other man finally shows signs of breathlessness as his mouth drops open in a silent o from the full drag of Jackson’s cock within him. The slight gasps dropping out of Jooheon’s shaking lips are doing wonders for Jackson’s already self-assured ego.

When it seems like an eternity has passed with them connected together like this, Jackson dares to move, pulling back with a slick sound of flesh and pushing back in with a simultaneous moan from the both of them. Jooheon immediately clenches around his cock and kicks his foot into Jackson shoulder, glaring up at him with a very obvious command.

Jackson obeys with another burning pull, dragging it out even longer just to feel that sparking friction from Jooheon’s fluttering insides. Another hard kick digs into back of his head, and Jackson slams in without warning, the force of it knocking Jooheon so hard against the wall he arches his throat up in a cry of breathless surprise.

The air fills with cut off moans and yelps as Jackson picks up pace, drilling Jooheon onto his cock over and over again as he chases after the oncoming wave of absolute ecstasy. Jooheon’s bare legs bounce uselessly over Jackson’s shoulders with every thrust, no resistance left for any bruising kicks as he can only cling to Jackson’s tensed body to keep himself from falling.

Jackson’s close, too close, and the sentimental idiot he is, he wants to come with Jooheon’s lips on his, crying out the other’s name, so he blindly gropes for Jooheon’s face in the darkness with his own. Like a magnet, plush lips fit themselves over his, and they’re messily making out as Jackson pistons erratically in and out of Jooheon’s wet heat.

It’s here, the wave, the final build up in his stomach, and Jackson groans out his final confession against Jooheon’s gasping breath. “Jooheon, I, I’m going to-”

A bruising force slams into his shoulder, and Jackson literally has the breath knocked out of him as he falls back onto his ass. He can only gape, jaw dropped, as Jooheon stands above him, glare raining down all of the fires of hell upon Jackson’s prostrated body. The other’s cock still bobs proudly, its head tinged pink against his black shirt, and there’s a hint of slick dripping down his pale thighs. Jackson’s traitorous cock twitches heartily against his stomach at the sight.

Jooheon steps right between his spread legs, and leans down, a strangely gleeful smile pulled across his dimpled cheeks. “I’m Hojoon. Jooheon’s twin.”

And with that he’s spinning on his heel, the same confident sway in his walk as he collects his clothes and disappears past the corner without even a backwards glance.

Jackson sits there, fly down, dick hard as he considers whether or not he still has enough dignity to drag himself back to his dorm tonight. Jooheon’s twin’s - Hojoon’s - words ring over and over again through his mind, and Jackson prays to his dear grandma’s heavenly soul this won’t come back to bite him in the ass tomorrow.

-

Jooheon keeps glancing wistfully now and then at his blacked-out phone screen because of course he had to forget the portable battery charger in his room. Before coming to the party, when he got back from afternoon classes, he didn’t think of plugging it in at home as eating pizza had seemed much more important at that time. In his defense, he was starving after being out for the entire day, and then his brother was talking about having a “fast” match on Overwatch, so he needed to participate even if “fast” matches usually lasted hours. That was because Hojoon kept whining things like “Fuck no, we need to do another one! It can’t end like this” – “I need to beat this person’s ass again!” or “My reputation completely depends on destroying this Hanzo for one more match.” Jooheon wasn’t really into gaming as he actually sucked at anything related to hard competition, but he was glad they usually played in groups with some of Hojoon’s internet friends. They won most of the times against strong parties, and he couldn’t really complain when he was carried as Mercy - plus it was funny to see his brother flame people and talk rubbish into the voice channel.

Sometimes playing was a good distraction from college-related work, annoying parents, and just moments when he felt like not talking to people for some reason.

Though, it was almost 10 p.m. when he noticed what time it was after getting sucked into eleven more matches, and just a few hours before he promised himself to not be late again on Jackson, like how it had happened this morning during Literature class and a few other times, but he was already breaking his promise as they had to meet around 9.

When he arrived at the party, almost thirty minutes had passed, and along the way he even lost his brother somewhere into the mess the dorm had become for that festive and liberating night at the end of midterms.

“I’ll help you search for your friend,” he said with a smirk before disappearing, without giving Jooheon a chance to answer, as the younger twin would have probably suggested that they look for him together, since his phone was basically dead in its electronic grave at this point. Hojoon knows what Jackson looks like, Jooheon talked about him and showed him their countless dumb selfies they took during classes, so he’s sure his brother will be able to recognize him… But if they can’t communicate in some way, how can they meet? He can’t stop his mind from thinking about those comic strips with different characters chasing after each other, opening more and more doors without being able to come across one another.

Jooheon slides his lifeless phone into one of his black sweatpant’s side pockets and keeps looking around in search of familiar faces, still everything seems to be the same on every dorm floor - people dancing, drunk people dancing, beer pong matches, and yep, just more people drinking and dancing -  Ah, if only he could chug down drink after drink like everybody does and be carefree. With just half of one of those he knows would start to ramble about random stuff (nobody would want to know how bees could actually recognize human faces) and dance in every possible awkward way, unlike Hojoon, who has the tolerance of a devil (or at least that’s what people say) and can drink straight for an entire night, ending it though with a massive killer hangover in the morning that Jooheon has to take care of...

He is about to change floor and go up the stairs when he sees his brother coming down from the same stairway as he zips his fly up, buttoning his pants with a smug look on his face. His parted hair, which had been styled so effortlessly, is now completely messed up into a dark tangled nest, the laces of his combat boots halfway tied, and his black shirt slightly rucked up to show a slight outline of his hip bone.

“Had fun?” Jooheon asks when Hojoon sees him and stops for a moment, probably thinking about what just happened, before keep going down the stairs with a now tensed smile.

“Uh, nothing special really-” He starts saying, stopping then in front of him at the end of the stairs as he fixes himself, sliding down his black shirt, “but I haven’t found your friend and this party sucks…sooo shall we go?”

The younger twin pouts, furrowing his brows as he looks at his older brother with defeat. “But hyung, we just arrived! And I- “

“Yes, you promised him and everything,” Hojoon imitates him with a slightly more high-pitched tone than his own, completely it with an exaggerated eyeroll, gesticulating in an exasperated mocking way. “By this time though, he probably went back to his dorm since you had to meet him almost-” he then looks down, annoyed at his own phone, the time showing up on the lock screen with a simple tap of fingers, “-two hours ago.”

Jooheon finds no fault with his reasoning as he catches himself sighing loudly, head slightly drooping, lolling to one side while glancing at his brother sideways, with all the sadness in the entire universe at once.

For sure Jackson is mad at him right now, thinking about how blatantly careless his friend is or how stupid he is when he’ll tell him about the phone charging problem. Like, what kind of irresponsible adult forgets to charge his phone when he knows it has 10% of its battery left?

He kind of regrets now playing Pug’s Quest during afternoon classes, but after some time he had to occupy his mind differently as some sort of a break, since he couldn’t really focus for more than forty minutes straight at his teacher’s boring tone without seeing double or getting a headache.

He definitely needs to apologize to Jackson soon, he thinks, sighing loudly again.

Hojoon, knowing him better than anyone else, comes closer and graps his lukewarm hand into his own colder one for a moment, before pulling him lightly into the direction of the hallway which is even more crowded than where they’re currently standing.

“Come on Jooheonie, let’s go home.” He pulls again with a bit of more strength. “You’ll see your friend tomorrow.”

Jooheon just nods silently, looking more most miserable than he ever has while following his brother around, hands still locked together, and Hojoon can’t stop himself from letting out a small amused laugh at seeing him react like that.

“Hyuuung, don’t laugh at my pain!” a pleading whine comes from behind him, making him laugh even more.

“I’m sorry, your face is just too funny,” the older twin shakes his head as he tries to contain the amusement Jooheon always causes with his childish behavior – even if his younger twin thinks the same of him (and whenever that happens they can’t help but physically ‘fight’ about who’s the stronger one. Hojoon always wins by pinching ruthlessly Jooheon’s thighs, ending up as maybe the more childish one, but definitely the winner).

“Then your face is funny too.”

“Did you just sass me?” the older twin asks glancing back at Jooheon for a moment, before he keeps pulling him through wasted people overdoing the celebrations just a bit too much, as only the midterms period passed. It wasn’t like it was finals ending.

“Maybe.” Jooheon murmurs with a small smile, following his brother through the crowd…Oh. He stops for a moment in front of a bulky and muscled guy, and with his free hand he grabs the plastic cup in the guy’s very intimidating grip and chugs it down in one fast go. A deep “hey!” can be heard from above, but when Hojoon drinks the entire cup, he only replies with an overconfident glance, chin tilted up in a manner that seems to dare the man into saying anything else.

At that look, no more protests can be heard, and the older twin pulls the younger one again into a silent march aimed into getting them out of here.

Before leaving, Hojoon throws the empty cup somewhere into the writhing mess, satisfied.

End of the first chapter

Second Chapter: Here come the regrets

-

“Hyung, I’m worried,” is the first thing Jooheon says, pouting as he plops himself onto Hyunwoo’s lap.

The older man blinks, glasses slightly skewed over his nose, as his English report is entirely replaced with Jooheon’s sullen visage. A pen dangles halfheartedly from between his thumb and index finger, the next sentence more or less forgotten. The warm weight in his lap wriggles needily, and he sighs internally, dropping the pen with a light clatter as Jooheon scooches further and further up along his crotch. Hyunwoo wraps his newly freed arm around the younger boy’s waist, hiking him up to his chest (like a baby, his sleep deprived mind coos), keeping him still against his lap. Jooheon pouts again, but he ceases his squirming and plops his head softly against his boyfriend’s shoulder, nuzzling at the threadbare t-shirt there. Hyunwoo makes direct eye contact with the other’s wide, puppy-dog gaze, and he swears something is melting within him. Most likely all his internal organs, but Jooheon tends to have that effect on people.

“What’s up?” he asks simply, stroking a hand over the curve of the younger’s sweater-clad waist. Jooheon smiles at the gentle touch and takes to wriggling again, burying himself in the other’s all-encompassing warmth as he settles into story-mode.

“So, Hojoon, my brother you know-” Hyunwoo nods sagely at Jooheon’s questioning tone, and the younger continues, deeming it satisfactory, “he’s been coming home with a lot of...bruises.” Hyunwoo watches Jooheon press his pink lips open and closed, a perpetual sheen shining across the soft curves, and he almost doesn’t register the implications behind the younger’s murmured statement. When “bruises” and “Hojoon” finally register in his distracted mind, he physically jolts at his realization. Hojoon is Jooheon’s perfectly identical twin and the idea of him covered in bruises...well, Hyunwoo’s mind is certainly going places.

Jooheon’s voice pierces through his haze, and Hyunwoo blinks back into focus only to see genuine worry in the younger’s eyes. “I just, he started dating a new guy recently…” Jooheon sighs, gaze wandering, cheeks bunching as he tries to find the right words, “and he always comes back the next morning with um, hickies? But like-” he gestures with his hands, grasping for an image Hyunwoo can’t see, “they’re always so intense I end up calling them bruises in my head…”

He trails off, eyebrows scrunched in a light furrow, and Hyunwoo presses his thumb over it, smoothing out the wrinkle with a gentle swipe. “Who is your brother dating again?” he asks, bouncing his legs and jostling Jooheon in his lap, attempting to dislodge the frown from the younger’s face.

“Um-” Jooheon’s voice hitches with each bounce, and he pouts up at Hyunwoo to stop. The older man muffles a chuckle against his cheek and ceases the movement, patting affectionately at Jooheon’s waist. His boyfriend scooches up against his chest, resituating himself in Hyunwoo’s lap before muttering, “Kihyun, I think?”

Kihyun. Hyunwoo knows that guy: round cheeks, pinched mouth, always ready to yell at someone somehow. Also, he goes around with a head of bright pastel pink hair. Hyunwoo shrugs because hey, at least he rocks it better than the students from the art department. Hyunwoo has passed him in the hall a few times, and other than a casual nod, they don’t talk at all. Basically, he assumes he’s an alright guy, if not a little uptight.

He voices his belief out loud, pressing it in a whispered kiss against Jooheon’s curtain of bangs. The scent of soft baby powder unfurls into his nose, and he nuzzles deeper into messy brown curls. He’s pulled out of his reverie when sweater-clad hands yank at his neck, and he’s met with Jooheon’s round cheeks, puffy and flushed with dissatisfaction. He sits up straight, hands flapping over Hyunwoo’s back as he tries to make his point.

“But, but bruises hyung! Bruises! I don’t want to question him, but...don’t you think it might be unhealthy?” He lips curve out again into a pout, and Hyunwoo’s heart does a row of backflips all the way down from his chest to his stomach.

“Jooheonie, I think,” he pauses, considering his words carefully, “it’d be best if you asked your brother directly instead of assuming things here with me.” At the younger’s unmoving pout, he presses a chaste kiss over soft lips before pulling back with what Jooheon calls his “half-moon smile,” humming a light “okay?” as his final nudge for the younger man to do the right thing.

Jooheon sighs, deflating against his chest, before stealing a quick, sweet kiss from Hyunwoo’s lax mouth and springing out of his lap. “Thanks hyung,” he smiles, pecking the older man’s cheek on his way out, a hopeful spring in his step.

Hyunwoo waves until Jooheon is disappearing behind the door frame and turns back to his English assignment, drooping back against his chair as a wave of lethargy instantly overtakes him. He forces the pen back into his cramped fingers and continues the lost sentence, lips and cheek still tingling from the force of Jooheon’s casual affection.

-

Hojoon rummages for his apartment key, shouldering wayward bags of groceries and books up from his fatigued arms. The key fits into the lock after much stubborn jamming, and he pushes roughly into the room shoulder-first, paper bags shifting loudly against one another as they slip at the sudden movement.

*

“Fucking-” Kihyun swears, muffled, as he fumbles at a wall of flesh, scrabbling down tensed thighs that encase his face completely from all sides. There’s the heady taste of salt and something more dripping down his mouth, but there’s also the distinct lack of air flowing through his currently crushed nose. He claws again down the curve of Hojoon’s bare ass, digging his fingers into the soft flesh there, knowing exactly how the marks will look on the other’s backside in the morning and not regretting a moment of it - not when he’s actually choking from his boyfriend’s very supple and heavy weight.

He audibly makes a noise of distress when said weight only bears down even harder, crushing with the force of a two ton truck against his cheekbone as Hojoon grinds down without mercy against his spluttering mouth. Alright, enough, Kihyun may love it when his partner makes him lose his breath during sex but to the point of absolute suffocation? That’s a discussion for another day entirely (safewords!!! the last functioning part of his brain screams).

He says it just so as he musters every ounce of strength back into his jelly limbs, launching the scorching inferno off of him in a sudden toppling motion, gasping air into his soaked mouth like a drowned man. Which, to be honest, he almost did...under the absolute wonder of his partner’s thighs that is. Again, absolutely appreciated, just no literal choking please.

Hojoon doesn’t seem to get the message though as he rolls onto all fours in a perfectly unruffled landing. Like a cat, Kihyun thinks, replaying all the videos of children dropping their cats from terrible heights just to see them land upright without any trouble. Even still, after landing like a cat, Hojoon follows through with the attitude, glaring over at Kihyun’s gaped expression with a cocked chin, legs coiled tense against the bedsheets. Silence ensues and in his oxygen-deprived brain, Kihyun almost expects the younger man to begin grooming his curled black locks in a prissy manner.

Hojoon only glares harder, turning so that his back is entirely facing the end of the bed before yanking a blanket over his bottom half. There goes the fresh laundry of the week. Not that Kihyun expected anything on the bed to last after tonight, but what with the way Hojoon is cocooning himself with that goose down blanket...it’ll be awhile since they use it again.

“Quoting you,” the younger man begins, still sulking darkly as he rests his cheek on raised knees, “ ‘Please fucking choke me with your thighs, that’s how I want to go tonight.’ “

A sharp heat pulses through Kihyun’s gut at hearing his own explicit words uttered out loud, and he presses his lips together into a thin line. Hojoon arches a neat brow at his silent reaction and scoffs, turning his glare to a loose feather stuck among the bed sheets instead. “Don’t tell me you regret it now...”

His words trail off, and the atmosphere between them immediately chills, filling with a kind of murky lull where all Kihyun can discern from Hojoon’s errant sheet-tracing is a tinge of quiet bitterness.

[a-subpar-star-trek-fanfic-blog]

Of Legacies and Logic -Chapter 2

Cadets were given a week to settle into their dorms, figure out their schedules, and make new friends. Lizzie was lucky; Jim had decided to join Starfleet with her, and they’d already made a new friend, Leonard McCoy (who Jim very quickly began calling ‘Bones’). Over the course of that settling period, she got to know her roommate, a second year cadet named Claire Simmons, who was, unfortunately, not the type of person Lizzie got along with. She was smart, going out for sciences as well, but she was mean, spoiled, snotty and cruel. Or at least, that’s what Lizzie’s first impression of her was.

“She’s insane guys, absolutely nuts!” Lizzie complained the first day, sitting at a dinner table with McCoy and Jim. Cora was having a lesson with some Commander or another, leaving the three to eat alone. Lizzie held a PADD in front of her, with an email from her roommate open on the screen. “She set rules, which is understandable, since we’re cohabiting for the next 2 to 3 years but you need to hear this shit! ‘If I am studying, and you aren’t in the room, you’re staying outside.’ ‘Though the Academy doesn’t have a curfew, our room does; Be in the room by 10 or sleep somewhere else.’ ‘Keep your items at least 6 inches from the line that separates the middle of the room.’ ‘Don’t sleep with my boyfriend?!’ Who does she think I am?!”

“Let me see that,” McCoy reached across the table and continued to read off the list. “‘Music off at 8:00pm,’ ‘Don’t talk to me unless it’s important,’ ‘If you go to a party and have sex, get high or get drunk, don’t come back that night,’ ‘No boys in the room after 10,’ ‘If you snore, wear a nose strip,’ ‘If I’m asleep, don’t come in.’ She’s got a sink schedule...”

Lizzie groaned and let her head slam down onto the table. Jim took the PADD next, “‘If you fail a test, sleep in the hall, because I won’t share my room with a failure,’ holy shit.”

“The first thing she did when I introduced myself was demand what I thought I was doing, going for Sciences. She said that someone from Iowa can’t possibly be smart enough to pass my classes.”

“What does she think you’re good for, then?” McCoy asked, pushing the food on his plate around absently.

“Apparently, I’m only good enough for security because, and I quote, you don’t need many brains for that.”

“You don’t think she’ll actually lock you out, do you?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her, honestly.”

“Don’t worry, Liz!” Jim reached over and tugged on a lock of Lizzie’s hair, which hung loosely around her head today. “If she does, you can stay with me and Bones.”

By the end of the first week, Lizzie had already had to spend 3 nights with Jim and Bones, each time being Jim’s own fault. He’d taken the ‘make new friends’ thing too seriously, and dragged Lizzie to every party he found himself invited to. Claire did not seem surprised that Lizzie couldn’t abide by her rules, but Lizzie had already decided that she was going to pass all her classes whilst breaking most of Claire’s rules, just to shove it in the other girl’s face.

“Listen,” she told her, on the last night, pushing her glasses up her nose, “Classes start tomorrow, so no Jim.”

Lizzie only grumbled in response, having already planned to spend the night reading the first few chapters of her textbooks. In the morning, she was out the door before Claire had even woken up, stopping on the way to her first class to get coffee. When she got there, Uhura was sitting on a bench outside the classroom. With a grin, Lizzie joined her.

“Morning, Uhura! Hope your week was pleasant.” She and Uhura had talked on the shuttle ride to the Academy, and became good friends.

“It was alright,” Uhura glanced up from her textbook, “How was yours?”

“About the same, I suppose.”

“You’re taking linguistics courses? I thought you wanted to go into Sciences? Counseling, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. It’s easier to talk to people if you understand their language,” Lizzie murmured, opening her own textbook, “Besides, I like to learn as much as possible.”

“Well, the Commander is a fantastic teacher,” Uhura replied, a pretty blush lighting her cheeks. Lizzie grinned.

“Miss Uhura, crushing on the teacher? How very high-school of you!”

“Bet you’ll like him too,” Uhura muttered. Lizzie snickered and took a sip of her coffee. The girls lapsed into comfortable silence as they waited for the Commander to arrive. They became so engrossed in their reading that neither of them noticed him until his shiny standard-issue Starfleet boots were right in front of them.

“Cadets, you’re early.” The voice that spoke was calm and even, if not a tad surprised. Lizzie’s eyes lifted from the words of her text and looked up into pools of chocolate brown. They held a human quality that didn’t match the Vulcan ears, the green tinged skin or the blank face of the man they belonged to. He was tall, tall enough that he towered over Lizzie, (although that wasn’t too surprising; Lizzie was only 5’2, even Uhura dwarfed her) and it gave off the distinct impression that he was looking down his nose at her. Still, he was undeniably one of the most handsome men she’d ever met.

Uhura stood quickly, snapping her book closed.

“Good morning, Commander Spock!” She greeted. He glanced over at her, and the smallest of smiles lit his face.

“The same to you, Cadet Uhura. And you, Cadet...” Spock trailed off, not knowing Lizzie’s name.

“Danvers, sir,” Lizzie stood as well, though she took her time. He trailed his eyes down her form, not in a creepy way, but in a way that made Lizzie feel like she was being assessed.

“Ah, yes, Cadet Danvers,” Recognition lit his eyes up, “Cora speaks fondly of you during our lessons. You are a first year cadet, are you not?”

“Yes, sir, technically,” Lizzie replied, remembering how Cora had mentioned lessons with a Vulcan Commander, “I understand your class is for second years, but I tested out of all the first year classes.”

His eyes trailed over her again, making Lizzie blush a bit. “Fascinating,” was all he said, and then he turned to enter the classroom. Uhura was smirking at Lizzie.

“I told you.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s not like he’ll go for either one of us, so...Let’s make a friendly wager, Lizzie; May the best woman win?” Uhura held out a hand to shake.

“But only if we can stay friends, and no playing dirty!” Lizzie warned, pointing a finger at Uhura’s face. Uhura shrugged.

“Reasonable enough.” They shook hands, grinning, before following their instructor into class.

Weeks passed in the blink of an eye, the tedium of school work making the days melt together into an incomprehensible blur.

Lizzie spent much of her time with her nose stuck in her text book, something Jim was more than used to, yet couldn’t stand. He spent hours trying to convince her that she needed to relax. But Lizzie had four classes with Commander Spock, and the Vulcan had a habit of quizzing his students at the beginning of every class. She quite simply could not afford to slack off. She currently sat with Jim in a coffee shop just off campus, studying her linguistics notes.

“You aren’t the type to go to school dances, Jim,” Lizzie mumbled, eyes darting between her notes and her PADD. “And isn’t Starfleet a bit too proper for a dance, anyways?”

The Academy was hosting a party/dance type of deal in the main cafeteria for staff and students, and Jim was dying to go.

“Come on, Liz,” Jim begged, “It’s a Halloween party! We love Halloween!”

“Liar, you hate Halloween,” Lizzie put her pen down and turned to Jim, “Who are you trying to sleep with?”

A grin lit up his face. “There’s this professor-”

“A Professor? Jim!”

“It’s not a problem! I checked! Regulations state that relations between cadets and staff are only prohibited if the cadet is a student of the staff member. Which means I’m in the clear. If I recall, it’s you trying to jump your professor,” a smirk formed on Jim’s plump lips, “Your bet with Miss Uhura, remember?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes, “I’m not even trying,” she admitted, “I may be humoring Uhura, but passing my classes is more important than some bet.”

Jim snorted and lay his head down on the table.

“Cora has to go,” Jim mumbled, Lizzie hummed gently in response. Cora’s teachers kept giving her random assignments like going to dances or joining a club in an endeavor to help her understand humanity. Cora seemed to be incredibly shy, always taking Jim or Lizzie or McCoy with her to support her.

“Make Bones go with her.”

“He’s going to be in Georgia for the weekend. His ex is letting him take Joanna trick-or-treating.”

Lizzie smiled at that. McCoy loved his daughter more than he loved anything, it was good to hear that he was seeing her.

“Come on, beautiful! There’s no costumes. They’re letting us wear civies.”

Lizzie perked up at this. They didn’t often get to abandon their uniforms. Lizzie craved the feeling of comfortable, starch-free clothes. With an annoyed groan and a roll of her eyes, she nodded.

“Fine!”

Jim raised his hand in victory. “I knew you’d come around!” He settled back down, smiling at her. “So, who is the teacher you and Uhura are trying to get with?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Nobody, Jim.”

“I have never worn a dress before,” Cora admitted. Jim was sprawled on the floor, eating candy corn and (to Lizzie’s immense surprise) studying for a midterm he had on Monday morning, not even acknowledging the fact that Cora was only in undergarments in front of him. Lizzie lay back on Cora’s bed, already dressed in a skater dress, reading a magazine she’d stolen from Claire without the other girl noticing. Her heels were abandoned on the floor.

“Wearing a dress is similar to wearing a uniform skirt, but if you choose carefully, they’re far more comfortable. I brought you one I thought you’d like.”

“Is this what they call a gift?” Cora wondered, holding the dress up in front of her. It was black tulle, dotted with sequins that reminded Cora distinctly of the stars in space. She loved it. Lizzie knew she would.

“Yeah,” Lizzie confirmed, “but you can’t always assume it’s a gift when someone let’s you borrow something, alright?”

Cora’s head bobbed in a nod, “Okay.” She threw the dress on quickly, letting Lizzie put her hair in a loose knot at the back of her head.

“Let’s get this over with,” she muttered, “We’ve got exams to study for.”

Jim heaved himself up and brushed invisible dust off of his light gray shirt. “You’re going to pass, Lizzie.”

“Leonard thinks you should purposely fail a test so that you can report Cadet Simmons for misconduct.” Cora said, locking his dorm behind them.

“Not an option,” Lizzie replied, shuddering at the thought of failing Commander Spock’s next test. The man was ruthless; you failed a test, he’d give you one opportunity to remake it, but if you failed again you were out of the class altogether. In his Advanced Mathematics class, he didn’t even let you retake the test.

Cora shrugged, and struck up a conversation with Jim about a class they shared, Flight Strategics 101. The conversation stopped abruptly when they approached the Main Cafeteria doors. Music could be heard pumping through the wood, and Lizzie could see the fake spiderwebs and the black, purple and green balloons through the windows. Cora looked mildly terrified of entering the room.

“Hey,” Lizzie reached down and took her hand, “It’s alright, Cora.”

“I’ve never been to a party before...” Cora breathed. Lizzie smiled and squeezed Cora’s hand gently.

“But you’ve been to the bar. This is no different. Jim is going to walk in there, he’s going to get drunk and flirt with anything that moves, and we’re going to make fun of him when he strikes out.”

A tiny smile lit Cora’s face. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Oh, sure,” Jim muttered, “by all means, be entertained at my expense.”

“Alright,” Cora announced, after a few moments of silence, “Let’s do this.”

Jim and Lizzie each pushed open a door, and instantly the classical song, ‘Thriller’ filled their ears.

The room had been completely transformed. The replicators along the walls were all covered by the cheesy Halloween decorations, hiding them almost entirely from sight.  Someone had managed to make a dance floor in the center of the room by pushing all the tables and chairs against the far wall.

“Great music choice,” Jim said, and strode into the room. He took Cora by the hand and dragged her to the center of the room where people were dancing. “Let me show you how to do one of the most iconic dances in history!”

Lizzie smiled fondly and sat herself at one of the tables pushed up against the walls, pulling out her PADD and notebook to study (she’d promised Jim she’d go to the stupid party, and she did. She never said she wouldn’t study). She hummed to the songs she knew, foot tapping in tune to the music, as her eyes scanned math equation after math equation.

“Cadet Danvers, ” Lizzie glanced up briefly to see who had spoken to her. Commander Spock was in uniform, looking more out of place than usual surrounded by a crowd of people in civis.

“Good evening, Commander,” Lizzie murmured, returning her eyes to her studies. “Please, sit.”

Spock did, though he was stiff in the hard plastic seat. His dark, intelligent eyes observed her as she worked out an equation in the margins of her notes.

“You’re studying?” There was that surprised tone again.

“Yes, sir,” She double checked her answer before looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Why are you surprised by that?”

“I was under the impression that humans have functions such as this to have fun. I was also...led to believe that you don’t study, and that you wouldn’t pass your midterm examinations next week.”

“Led to believe by whom, if I may?”

“Your roommate, Cadet Simmons. I came over here with the intent to urge you to study, as you’re a surprising delight to have in class. It seems the effort was unnecessary.”

Lizzie looked up in slight alarm, “Does she say things like that often?”

“Quite. Though, admittedly, I do not believe I was meant to hear the conversation. She was speaking with her friends, however-”

“Vulcans have exceptionally good hearing,” Lizzie finished, frowning deeply, “yes, I know.”

Spock paused. Elizabeth Danvers’ face was like an open book to him, “I’ve upset you. This was not my intention.”

“No,” Lizzie muttered, sounding distant. She shook her head as though clearing it, and gave the Commander a tight smile, “No, no, I’m sorry. Of course not, Commander. I’m sorry.”

“It is I who owes you an apology, Cadet,” Spock insisted, “It was illogical to allow someone else’s words to color my opinion of you, especially when your grades in my own classes suggest you are in good academic standing.”

“It’s fine, Commander,” Lizzie assured. Under her breath, she added, “Cowardly blonde shittalker.”

There was a lull in conversation, as Spock watched her work diligently on the assignment he’d given his Advanced Mathematics class. He noticed she’d made a mistake, and opened his mouth to correct her, when she erased the work and started over. The second time around she’d remedied her mistake.

“What branch of the Sciences Division do you plan to go into, Cadet?” Spock wondered, eyes still watching her work.

“I was going to try for Counselor,” Lizzie replied, “However, it’s logical to cultivate multiple options.”

Spock’s eyes flashed to her face in mild surprise; he’d said the same thing to the High Council when they found out he applied to Starfleet.

“Yes, it certainly is,” his voice was soft, unheard over the music pumping through the cafeteria. Louder, he asked, “For what reason do you wish to become Counselor?”

Lizzie’s face twisted into a grimace, “Because I want to prove to myself that Counselors can be useful.”

“Counselors and psychiatrists are very useful, Cadet.” A derisive snort was Lizzie’s response. “You disagree?”

“First Officer Georgina Elizabeth Danvers,” Lizzie said, placing her pencil down and looking Spock full in the face. Spock blinked, the name striking a familiar chord in him. “A planet had reached the end of it’s lifespan, and she was ordered to help evacuate the locals. She refused to leave the planet until every last person was saved.”

“It is statistically impossible that every life on a planet can be beamed onto a starship in a limited amount of-” Spock cut himself off at the look on Lizzie’s face. Eyebrow raised, lips in a tight line, and eyes dull, Lizzie had clearly heard the statistics before. “I see.”

“I was eight years old. My father sent me to nine psychiatrists.”

“Nine?”

“None of them helped,” Lizzie admitted openly. “The only thing that helped was my best friend. He was in a similar position, and he was better to talk to, anyways. So like I said, I want to prove to myself that Counselors can be useful.”

“I see,” Spock repeated. Again, they lapsed into comfortable silence. Spock’s eyes drifted from his student to the dance floor, where Cora was dancing in the center with a young blond cadet with blue eyes and a mischievous grin on his face. Cora was dancing badly, but the cadet didn’t seem to mind, clearly inebriated, judging by the flask in his hand. Spock then looked to a couple to the side, not so much dancing as copulating on the dance floor. “I do not understand the point of such shows of public physical affection.”

“Hmm?” Lizzie looked up at Spock, mildly confused, before following his line of sight. Cadet Cupcake and an equally stocky female cadet were grinding to the beat of the music. She barked a laugh. “Neither do I. It’s a kind of power trip thing, maybe? As long as nobody tries to dance with Cora like that, I don’t care.”

Spock’s eyes returned to Cora.

“She’s becoming very comfortable with being in large crowds. It’s a remarkable improvement from last year. I believe you are responsible for that, Cadet?”

“Cora is the one that deserves the credit, Commander, though your assignments in ‘Human Interaction’ are quite helpful. What do you plan on teaching her next?”

“Admiral Dawes is the one that requests these...assignments,” Spock admitted. “Next he wishes to delve into romance. I am hesitant to introduce the topic into our sessions.”

An amused snort made Spock look back at Lizzie. She was grinning widely.

“Pardon me, Cadet, but what is amusing?”

“Starship on a date, Commander? Unheard of.”

“Cora is unique, most things are unheard of in relation to her.”

“Fair enough,” Lizzie conceded. There was a clatter, and both looked over at the dance floor. Cora’s dance partner had knocked over a tray of treats, Cora laughing heartily above his fallen form. Lizzie sighed and gathered her materials. “That’s my cue to leave, I’m afraid. By the way, I find the most direct way to broach a topic is to just say it outright. Cora won’t react too badly, I assure you.” Adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, she smiled at Spock. “Have a good evening, Commander. I’ll see you in class, sir.”

“I am looking forward to it,” Spock told her.

And he was.