#anyway. if i see the word “trauma” in a fic i break out in fucking hives because of this author

[hobimo]

would u guys still like me even if i namedropped the absurdly popular author i fucking HATE . and even better would u keep it just between us so we're besties so that eventually when i finish dragon fic and its the banger fic i want it to be. it might just get recc'd enough that [BTS AUTHOR] reads it. and i hope it makes them realise how awful and damaging their writing is

[gyuswhore]

Statistically Speaking...

part of the svt TA collab

kim mingyu x reader

word count: 21k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

masterlist

Monday

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which was little to none. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday

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

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

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

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

Nothing. 

You knock again.

Silence. 

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

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

Except he’s asleep.

No, that’s not the professor. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could’ve sworn you heard a snore. 

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

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

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

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

“Um, it’s office—”

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

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

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

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

“But—”

“It’s on the portal.”

“No it’s not.”

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

“How—”

A loud slam! of the door. 

“—long…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday

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

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

Regards, YN

Dear YN,

Wednesdays and Thursdays. 4 to 6 PM.

Kim Mingyu, T.A. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you here to see him?”

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

“Are you here to see him? Mingyu?”

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

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

“Yeah he’s a bit…unorthodox.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right. How can I help you?”

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

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

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

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

It stumps you regardless.

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

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

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

“You marked them?”

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

“I thought the professor marked the lab reports.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dr. Cho—”

“Is no help.”

“I understand—”

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

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

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

Help, he did. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pardon?”

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

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

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

You smile, “No problem.”

Thursday

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

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

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

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

“I’ll see what I can do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Help, he does.

Monday

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

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

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

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

Something isn’t right. 

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

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

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

“...Morning.”

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

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

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

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

To Do:

Call mom

Shoot myself

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

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

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

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

What the fuck?

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

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

“Good thing it was just you. Yeah.”

Just you.

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

“Have you seen the time?” 

“Not a morning person?”

“Nope!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And that isn’t happening because…?”

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

“You—”

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

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

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

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“Excuse me for doing my job.”

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

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

“PSYCH101?”

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

“Oh. So you’re a fan.”

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

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

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

“Don’t tell me you offered.”

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

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

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

“Four.”

“Four?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart is in your fucking throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Majority of the class would beg to differ.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday

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

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

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

“I’m not ready.”

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

“How do you know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

“Only the—”

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

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

“I’m assuming…” you start. 

“Hm?” he looks over to you.

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

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

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

“What did you say?” Mingyu smirks. 

“Nothing,” you huff.

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

“Who said I didn’t.”

“Well then, stop being such a worrywart.”

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

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

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

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

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

You sniffle. 

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

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

Monday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mingyu…did you sleep at all?”

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

“Sleep? Rest?”

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

“And you were replying?”

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

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

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

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

“What’re you trying to say?”

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

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

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

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

“Mingyu—”

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

“You have, you’ve been amazing but—”

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

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

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

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

Why on earth do you care so much?

Right. Why do you? 

“Are you asking me that?”

“What?”

“Are you asking me why I care?” 

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

His eyes are bloodshot. 

“I have to get the exam pack.”

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

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

Delusive. Chimeric. Cruel.

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

The null hypothesis of your most elaborate nightmares.

Monday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything. You tried everything. 

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

It’s Wednesday. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Estimation cannot be perfect. 

[_]

It’s Thursday

Class. Eat. Drink. Work.

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

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

[_]

It’s Friday

Eat. Drink. Work.

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

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

[_]

It’s Saturday

Eat. Drink. Work.

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

              ——————

                     P(B)

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

 it gets less complicated

 promise :/ 

[_]

It’s Sunday.

Eat. Drink. Work.

The page is blurry. Your eyes hurt. 

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

you’ve got this!!! < 3

You give up.

It’s Monday.

8:14 AM. 

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

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

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

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

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

Bright pink sticky note. 

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

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

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

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

It’s Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Wednesday.

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

It’s Thursday. 

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

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

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

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

You freeze like you’ve been caught. 

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

You’re off centre. But it’s fine. 

It’s Monday.

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

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

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

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

It’s Tuesday.

Midterm Results for Statistics in Psychological Research.

—  92/100

It’s Wednesday. 

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

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

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

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

“Did you feel bad?” you spit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A bright red 92/100 marks the front page.

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

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

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

Because you know you’ve lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Friday.

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

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

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

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

[Mingyu]: switch to bF10 

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

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

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

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

Do you not miss me?

Do you not want me around?

Talk to me

I miss you

Please talk to me

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

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

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

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

It’s Saturday. 

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

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

“Latte, please,” you voice. “Iced.”

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

“Um, no thank you. Just one, please.”

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

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

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

“He has time to hook up?”

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

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

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

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

“Unless he flirts in variables.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Sunday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bayesian inference…z scores…null hypothesis…

Wait. 

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

no null hypothesis in bayesian approach

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Regards, YN

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

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

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

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

SEND.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RE: Tutorial Error from Kim Mingyu

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

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

Clicking on the notification, the email opens. 

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

Kim Mingyu, T.A.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I–no, I didn’t.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

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

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

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

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

“You were hurt because I hurt you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not in a TA way.”

“Tutor way.”

“Um.”

“Friend way? A human way?” 

“No.”

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

“You know what?” he rasps. 

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorts, “Dressed up for it too.”

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

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

“How adorable.”

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

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

“That might’ve been a little better.”

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

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

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

You give him the satisfaction of an eye roll. 

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

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

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

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

“Who?”

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

“Do you?”

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

“Is it because of the TA-ing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you think they’ll be okay?”

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

“Like we did?”

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

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

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

“This is getting weird,” Mingyu breathes. 

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

“For fuck’s sake.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re paying attention to me.”

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

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

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

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

There’s a ding in the background. 

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

Another ding. 

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

Ding. 

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

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

“Gyu…” you whisper. 

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

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

His phone begins to ring again. 

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

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

The ringing stops. 

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

There’s a ding. 

“Mingyu, I really think—”

His phone begins to ring again. 

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

“You should answer.” 

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

“It might be important.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Go on.”

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

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

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

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

You have to stifle a snort. 

“Is it…plugged in?”

“Of course it is, I’m not an idiot.”

“Is it showing up on your files?”

“Disk…is not…formatted.”

“Erm, it might be corrupted.”

“How did that happen?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I…I don’t know how, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need a shower.”

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

“Do you wanna come in too?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can figure it out myself, Gyu.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm? I think so.” 

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

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

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

“Gyu,” you shuffle closer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm? Has to be what?”

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

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

“For the love of—”

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

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

“What’s that again?”

“You little shit.”

You move your mouth forward to kiss him.

“Analysis of variance.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I might love you too. 

You hide that as well. For now. 

Smiling into the skin of his temples, you sigh.

“Feel free.”

[Mingyu]: class ended early 

[Mingyu]: be there in 5 

[You]: ???

[You]: wdym ended early

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“It’s on the bedside table, baby.”

“No, it’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good thing I came back early, hm?” 

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that for?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a pillow fort.

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

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

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

[You]: where are you

[Mingyu]: where im meant to be?

[You]: office hours?

[Mingyu]: mhm

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

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

[Mingyu]: DONT KILL ME

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

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

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

“Whatever for?”

“For lying.” 

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

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

“Him too.”

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

“Rumour has it,” he starts. 

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

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

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

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

“Take a hike, Kim.”

“...Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mingyu was beautiful either way. 

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

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

“More than okay,” you mumble. 

“Good. Thought I lost you there.”

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

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

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

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

“How happy are you?”

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

“The recommendation? You deserve it.”

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

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

“Not just yet.”

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

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

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

“Girlfriend duties,” you quote solemnly. 

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

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

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

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

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

You can only grumble in mild annoyance. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I think I might love you too.” 

[joemothersfavoritechild]

“across the street” pt. 2

-3k-ish words

-mike schmidt x fem!reader

-no trauma au

an: thanks for all the love on my last post!! i took some inspiration from a few joel miller fics for this one. also, referring to the ending, gotta let it marinate or sum. and if you get the orange reference, marry me.

summary: you have a late night phone call with yk who, and build furniture in the morning.

part one is here!

————————————————————————————

You plopped down in your chair, sighing while rubbing hand sanitizer over your hands. Your shift had been busy as hell, this being the first break you had all day, and it was only halfway over. You wiped your now clean hands over your eyes, trying to rub the tired soreness out of them. At least the pay is good, you thought.

Your coworker calling your name pulled you away from your thoughts.

“25 wants you again.” They said.

“Why me?” You whined.

“I don’t know, I think she prefers women.” They answered your rhetorical, giving you a sympathetic smile.

“Fuck me, I’m going to have to take my lunch after this. I’m never working another Sunday.” You said, standing up on your practically creaking legs.

This was how the rest of your afternoon went, running in all directions like a chicken with its head cut off. “23 wants an ice cream,” “25 pulled out her IV again,” “Call security on 26, he’s trying to leave.” It was an absolute shit show, you hardly had a chance to see the time on your phone, let alone check for a text that you were desperate to receive.

Your drive home was quiet, soft music playing to hopefully decompress you. It always seemed to help. You pulled into your driveway, noticing the lights on at a certain someone’s house across the street, his old Accord telling you that he was home. You turned your car off, trying to stop looking at it from your rearview.

Walking into your house wasn’t as satisfying as you’d hoped, boxes still covering the floor. You took your shoes off as you set your work bag on the ground. You looked at your bed frame again in the dark, not bothering to turn a light on. Was a day too early to expect a message? Was that considered desperate? Probably, you thought. But fuck, you were so desperate. He checked all the boxes,

cute? : check

siblings? : check

caring? : check

a little mean? : check

dorky as hell? : check

abandonment issues? : probably check!

You forced yourself to pull your eyes off the box. As the saying goes, a watched fish doesn’t get caught.

That’s not right, you think. Your tired brain can’t decipher what you were trying to go for, but you knew it would’ve worked.

Anyways, constantly thinking about someone texting you doesn’t help anything. You plugged your phone into the charger near the couch, purposefully ignoring staring at it for too long.

Your eyes fell back to the boxes surrounding you. You passed them all, going straight to your bathroom to shower.

The shower was the right call, you decided. Scorching water loosened your muscles and kept your mind in the present. Washing the outside world off your skin was the highlight of your day.

You got out of the shower, eventually. The warm water didn’t last as long as you had hoped, though it did try. Your nearly hour-long shower would overwhelm any water heater on the market. You quickly dried yourself off, taking the time to brush your teeth and apply your skincare before wrapping your towel around yourself and stepping into your bedroom. You threw on some pajamas from your suitcase that moved with you; pajama pants and an old shirt.

You balled up your work clothes into your towel and put them all in the laundry basket in the corner of your room, already beginning to overflow. You reminded yourself to start the laundry sometime tomorrow as you walked back to your temporary bed, the large green couch in your living room.

You pulled back the covers on the couch, piling into it. You had completely decked it out; two blankets, a comforter, two pillows (one for your head, one for between your legs), and the fan dialed up. You closed your eyes, listening to the white noise of the fan above you.

You were interrupted by the shrill noise of your phone ringing behind you. You groaned, folding your blankets over so you could get off the couch and walk to the charger. You ripped your phone off the charger, taking it with you as you laid back into your bed. You re-adjusted your blankets before pulling the phone under your ear and swiping to accept the call.

“Hello?” You said groggily.

“Hey.” A voice responded. It took you a moment, but eventually, you recognized it. You were suddenly awake with nervousness.

“Hey, Mike.”

“Hi. Um, I texted you,” He said, sounding more like a question than a comment. “A few times, not a big deal. I just wanted to make sure you were alive.” He joked.

You paused, trying to quickly check your messages.

“You there?” He asked.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m here. Sorry, I’ve been working all day. It was super busy, so I didn’t have time to check my phone, and when I got home all I was thinking about was sleep.” You described.

“No need to be sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You’re okay?”

“I’m okay.” You responded.

“Good, good,” He pauses. “So, um, how was your day?”

“Pretty shitty.” You summarize, hearing him laugh in the background.

“Tell me about it.”

So, you did. You proceeded to tell him all the gritty details about your job. What your coworkers are like, the patients that you had to deal with, the frequent fliers, all of it. He asked a lot of questions, making you feel more comfortable rambling on to him.

“What’d you have for lunch?” He asked.

“I had leftover wingstop, I barely have any food at the house.”

“What’s your order?”

“Eight-piece boneless, classic hot. With fries, ranch, and a huge coke. It was amazing,” You said, practically salivating remembering it. “What about you and Abs?” You asked.

“It was very fancy, I don’t know if you’re prepared to hear me talk about it, you might be jealous,” He said sarcastically. “I made cheese quesadillas.”

You laughed a little too long at that, surprised. He was funny, another check.

You talked on the phone for a while, so long that you were talking about the most boring stuff. Like how Abby was a picky eater, and it annoyed Mike because all he wanted to do was eat a good burger now and again. It was sickly sweet and felt like being a teenager again. Whispering as to not wake your parents up, hoping that they wouldn’t catch you up past your bedtime.

You’re not sure when it happened, but you fell asleep on the phone. Mike was talking about something, maybe about the tv show he had been watching. You’re not exactly positive, but you know that you passed out cold.

Your eyes fluttered open, the phone still pressed up against your cheek, warm from the contact. You blinked rapidly, trying to keep your dream in your mind. You had to think hard, as it was delicate. If you let it go, you’d never remember what it was.

It was a good dream, as most of yours tended to be. You didn’t remember a lot, only pieces of it. But you knew Mike was there. You knew that he had led you to your bed, pulling you under the covers with him. You talked, cuddling close to him. God, it had felt so real. You could practically see the lines under his eyes and the pores on his nose. You smiled, but this felt a little creepy at this point. Borderline delusional, your mind added. You barely knew him and you were already dreaming about him.

You grabbed the phone from under your face, groaning as it got unstuck from your skin. Thankfully, it wasn’t dead. You unlocked it, taking the opportunity to look at the texts that you had gotten the night before.

Yesterday, 12:36 pm: hey, this is mike. i’ll need you on the weekends from 8 am-4 pm. and idc that you said not to pay you, i’m building your bed too.

Yesterday, 2:49 pm: you okay?

Yesterday, 5:03 pm: not to be creepy, but i think i’m going to call you. you’re worrying me a little lol

Today, 1:45 am: i think you fell asleep, i’ll talk to you in the morning :)

You smiled, making a contact for him. “mike <3” was now typing. Three little dots popped up on your screen and you quickly swiped out in nervousness. You opened it again when you got a notification.

Today, 10:23 am: i dropped abby off for school and slept in a little, is it okay if i come over to build that bed frame for you?

You smiled again, quickly replying to make up for last night.

Today, 10:24 am: yeah, ofc. give me a few minutes to wake up lol, i need to brush my teeth and clean up for a second.

He replied immediately.

Today, 10:24 am: lmk when you’re ready

You willed yourself to stop smiling, god it had been too long. You hardly knew how to act with a potential date.

“Oh, god.” You muttered to yourself, realizing you had to talk to him. Why did you have to talk to a man to get a boyfriend? Why couldn’t it just happen telepathically?

You sighed, rolling off the couch. You plugged your phone back into the charger, making your way to the bathroom. You completed your morning routine and ran to your bedroom to pick something out to wear for the day. You decided to go for casual, grey sweatpants and a green hoodie. Didn’t want to seem too desperate. You pulled your socks up your feet, laughing at yourself.

You grabbed a quick breakfast from your kitchen, consisting of leftover cookies and a slice of cold pizza. You tried your best to tidy your place up, moving boxes to the corner of the living room. Running down the hallway to your bedroom with your boxed bed frame in hand, you placed it on the floor, taking the other boxes and moving them to the hallway. You scrubbed your toilet and sink, turning on the air fresheners you had placed around the house.

You washed your hands, drying them before returning to the living room. You texted Mike, letting him know that you were ready. He liked the text message, and in less than two minutes he was knocking on your door.

You eyed the door at the noise. Jesus, he was not playing around. You took another deep breath, opening the door to see him standing there with a small smile. He went for casual too, you noted. He wore a black t-shirt and a pair of grey sweats. He held a bag, which you assumed was full of tools.

You smiled at him as a greeting and opened the door wider to allow him to walk into your house.

“Hey.” He said as you walked past you.

“Hi, thanks for coming so quickly.” You responded. “You didn’t have to, the payment feels premature.” You joked, shutting the front door. He looked a you for a second while taking his shoes off at the entryway.

“Shut up, you can’t sleep on the couch for a week”

“I totally can.” You bite back.

“You won’t, where’s your bedroom?” He finished, looking at you again.

You were shocked into silence, feeling your cheeks warm up. The comment made your head spin. Fuck, could he tell that you liked that?

You said nothing, ignoring his little smirk as you walked him to your bedroom. He followed behind you, dropping the bag on the floor with a small thump.

“Do you need any help or something?” You asked finally, breaking the tense silence.

“No, I’m good. I’ve done a lot of stuff like this,” He answered, shrugging. “You could put on some background music?” He suggested.

“That, I can do.”

You nodded, pulling your phone out of your pocket. You hesitated, before choosing a slower playlist of yours. Something calm, that you didn’t have to focus on. He nodded in enjoyment, then began to open the box that held your bed frame. He spilled the contents onto the floor, then kneeled on the ground. He started pulling stuff out of his bag. You guessed correctly, it was full of tools.

You just watched, sitting down against the wall of your room. It was attractive, him expertly putting your bed frame together. He was good with his hands, you wondered what else he was good at. He looked at you after a moment.

“You just gonna watch?”

“If that’s okay.” You shrugged, he nodded at your sort of question. He tried to hide his smile.

He was going to town, drilling, piecing parts together, all while completely ignoring the instructions. He didn’t need them.

After a while, you could tell he was getting hot. His black shirt was sticking to his skin. You hated to admit that it did something to you. You felt a warmth settle in your stomach and tried your best to will it away. Your eyes settled on his back, looking up to his neck when he turned towards you.

“Why’re looking at me like that?” He asked, eyes narrowed out of curiosity.

You made eye contact with him like a deer in headlights. Smiling at you, he laughed a little. Your words were stuck in your throat, embarrassed about being caught.

“Um, do you want some water?” You settled on.

“Sure.” He answered, chuckling at your suddenly shy demeanor.

You stood up off the floor and walked out of your room, closing the door behind you. What the fuck was that? You scolded yourself, internally. Now he was going to think that you were a horny weirdo. I mean, you were, but he didn’t need to know that yet.

You shook your head at yourself as you poured him a glass. This was ridiculous, you needed to chill out.

You came back into the bedroom and handed him the glass. He took it from you gratefully, fingers brushing over yours as he grabbed it. Telling you a small “thank you,” he brought the glass to his lips and began to drink greedily. You watched him as he downed the glass, some dripping down his chin.

When he was finished, he wiped a hand over his stubble. He looked over to you, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He held the glass out to you and you took it, quickly walking out of the room.

You placed the glass in the sink, blinking to try and bring yourself back to life. How did someone make drinking water look so good? How was that even possible? And god, the look he gave you.

You needed to get it together before you blew it. Talk to him, say something, anything other than just fucking staring at him.

You walked back into the room with a mission, you were going to talk to him. Taking your spot on the floor, you cleared your throat.

“So, what’s your favorite food?” You decided on.

He barely paused before answering, “Definitely pasta, like a good chicken alfredo.”

“Shit, that’s a good answer. I’m really into sushi right now. Can’t afford it, but into it.” You said, smiling at his willingness to answer.

The stupid questions continued for a few minutes. The two of you got to know the smallest details of your likes and dislikes. Turns out, Mike can’t stand the color yellow but loves orange. He’s not much of a drinker, mainly because he can’t afford it, but he does occasionally smoke weed. He’s a cat person but would get a dog if Abby asked for one. It killed you when he talked about his sister because it was so obvious how much he loved her.

Eventually, he finished your bed frame. The gentleman that he is forced him to carry your mattress in from the laundry room, helping you set that up too. Mike may have been on the shorter side, but he was strong as hell. The two of you put on your sheets, blankets, pillows, and finally your comforter. It was almost too domestic, too real.

When you were finished, you didn’t want him to leave. You think he felt the same. This was confirmed when he saw the tv sitting in your closet.

“Do you want me to mount that for you?” He asked.

I want you to mount me, you fought against saying.

“That would be great.” You agreed.

Mike probably spent three hours helping you put your bedroom together, setting up shelves, arranging your cabinets, and helping you put your pictures and posters up while you talked his ear off.

Even though you told him a million times that he didn’t need to, he hung your clothes up in your closet while you folded the rest to go in your new dresser. Finally, your room was fully decorated and unpacked.

He rubbed his hands together, settling on the end of your bed. You sat next to him.

“Thank you, seriously. I was dreading doing all of that by myself.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He said.

You both looked at each other for a second too long, the tension between the two of you becoming thick. You took breaks from looking at his eyes by moving down to his lips. You took a deep breath, noticing him moving closer to you.

He hesitated, pushing a stray hair behind your ear instead. His hand lingered on your face, eventually moving down your arm to put your hand in his. He interlocked your fingers together, pulling it close to him and pressing a soft kiss on your knuckles. He held you there, hand resting on his chin. This was almost more intimate than a kiss, you thought.

“Do you not-” You started, getting interrupted.

“I want to, believe me.”

You looked at him, willing him to continue.

“I don’t want you to think that’s all this is.” He explained, you nodded. You know that this was him being respectful, but it made you want to tear his clothes off even more. Forbidden fruit, if you will.

“Let me take you on a date, tomorrow on my lunch break. I know a place you’d like.” He continued.

“Okay.” You said, smiling.

————————————————————————————

**i do not give anyone permission to use my work as your own, respectfully

this belongs to @joemothersfavoritechild **

[madness-combat-confessions]

I need more content of Hank being disabled.

make him talk weird, or not at all! He has no lips, his teeth are exposed. His lower jaw is metal. This man cannot form easily understandable words.

And also the explosion in apotheosis completely ripped him apart.

Reattached limbs usually never work the same afterwards. Regaining 60-80% of use is considered an excellent result! And the guy’s in pieces, so many things need to be reattached, or replaced. And madcom has cloning and MAGs and whatnot, so screw it, pull some cyborg shenaniganary when repairing Hank’s mangled mess of a body!

And then there’s all the head trauma.

This man’s brain really shouldn’t still be functioning, but somehow it is. The parts that appear to have been damaged are, well, all of it really. So that’s probably not great.

and all of the injuries in the series happened in a very short amount of time! In the first five episodes he’s seen to still have the bandages from the previous episodes’ injuries! Meaning he is not giving his body time to heal before going out and killing again! Which is just gonna make everything worse! Like, dude, go lay down! You’re still severely injured! Go take a nap or something! Stop trying to fight people while recovering from multiple traumatic brain injuries, multiple stab wounds, and having your entire body reconstructed after blowing yourself up!

anyway, I wanna see that acknowledged. And I want Hank to please take a break because he desperately needs it.

in my eyes Hank is some guy in his 50s with nerve damage, chronic pain and brain damage. Sorry this is kinda long. Idk why I’m so passionate about this, but I am. And I need to see this in more art and more fics.

YEAA agree

Can I drop headcanons

Ehh fuck it

Hank has severe brain damage and they are selective mute because of 1: anxiety 2: because it kinda hurts for them to talk. They prefer to use body and sigh language. Also headcanon that they can't run for long.

[altschmerzes]

I want to hear about your fics. Tell me about your wips. What are you working on now. What's got you really excited?

OOOOOOOO YOU HAVE UNLEASHED ME, MY FRIEND...

the thing about me that i'm sure you will have noticed by now if you've spent more than five minutes on my blog or in my general company is that i am always working on five hundred projects at once. this is not... like, great, so to speak for my ability to consistently finish one thing but i don't know how much steam i'd be able to maintain if i wasn't constantly playing hopscotch with projects so like. win some lose some?

anyways. i have five hundred projects always. right now i would say the ones i am working on with the greatest degree of dedication/effort, in terms of Major Projects at least and not just like. oneshots here and there are wriggle up on dry land (baby jamie ted lasso fic), history rhymes (ted lasso fic centred on sexual trauma), loneliness into loneliness (the qpr two aces fic and its associated concepts), and the newest of the bunch that i don't think i've really talked about, which is titled 'drive the wedge' (from the tmg song 'heel turn 2'). here is a needlessly thorough explanation of THAT fic. the short version is, in the excellent words of my friend @cartwrong, "Thought River had a bad time in s4? Its about to get to worse."

drive the wedge is a slow horses fic wherein at the end of 4x05, patrice abducts river at gunpoint and when he does so he doesn't drive him to that cafe to meet with frank. instead, patrice takes river to a remote, isolated manor where frank is waiting for them.

it goes downhill from there.

the horses do not see or hear from river again for almost five months. during that time, frank does his level best to break river and rebuild him into a soldier, into a weapon worth using. this... doesn't really work. in fact, the process ends up breaking not river, but patrice, who watches his father torture the only brother he has left until he can't take watching it anymore.

meanwhile, slough house is on overdrive trying to find a missing colleague who the park is all to quick to deem missing (presumed dead) and rubber-stamp his file as such before tucking it away in a dusty corner. louisa almost quits. (she tries to quit. the only reason that she doesn't is because lamb shows up to ask her back, because she's at least almost competent and if they want any hope of getting river back they're going to need her. he also promises that he won't make her do fuck-all that isn't to do with finding river. she agrees to return on these conditions. catherine comes back too, of her own accord, because she can't tolerate the idea of being outside of the loop on this one. she has to be there.)

louisa is generally having a bad fucking time. she is dealing with grief and terror over the maybe-loss of her best friend, and she is also trying to find him, not to mention dealing with his mother. she ends up spending a lot of time working late with lamb, and filling out that dynamic is one of my favourite things in planning this thing out. they're astonishingly similar sometimes, and they inadvertently keep each other afloat during the long, difficult months river spends in captivity. (lamb is not handling this well either. he will not be acknowledging this. he WILL be yelling at the park for trying to legally declare river dead.)

ultimately, everything comes to a head when louisa follows a lead that she knows better than to follow, and comes to in a room in a manor she's never been to before. she is intended to be the final blow that breaks river's resolve, except that it doesn't quite end up shaking out that way, and they're both found alive, if not exactly well.

the following months are hard, too, in their own way, as everyone tries to re-find their footing again. there's endless hours of debriefing from the park, who aren't totally convinced river didn't go dark-side during his captivity. there's what to tell david, whose condition has deteriorated sharply thanks to the sudden and traumatic loss of his grandson. there's the severe physical and emotional trauma river is carrying and trying to recover from. there's louisa's own profound trauma from the whole ordeal - from his disappearance and his absence and everything she had to deal with during that to her own abduction and near-death. lamb tries, with varying levels of success, to be a human being, because they need him to be and because catherine told him in no uncertain terms that this time he has no choice. we all know i'm a rescue and recovery bitch, this is the part i am All About.

anyways. it's a mess, it's so much fun, there's so much going on here. im having a blast. :)

[skeedelvee]

Carry On Countdown Day 20 - Teeth

For this year's COC I've decided to put together daily fic rec lists! Let me know if you find any new favorite reads from these <3

For todays prompt I've gone with fics all involving teeth! Vampire teeth! Werewolf teeth! Goblin teeth! Dragon teeth!

Hungry Like The Wolf by @adamarks and Theflyingpeach

One word: toothsome

This one is incomplete, but I love it and think of it often

Rated E, 18,984 words

I think I’m bad at this. I’m the only one I know that’s not part of a pack. That’s never been part of a pack. How do werewolves get into packs anyway? - Three years ago Simon was changed and left without a family, left to die. He's learning how to live, but tired of feeling alone. At least he's got his best friend to help him find his way. And what's with the mysterious, definitely-not-hot, weird smelling guy that just moved in next door? This is a story about finding love and finding your place... And maybe eating a few dog treats along the way.

Oral fixation by Multifanfic666

Rated E, 2,945 words

Baz has been having too many lollipops and has a cavity and Snow has to put his fingers in his mouth to help him out. Yes this is smutty ;)

I feel by @facewithoutheart

Rated M, 1,813 words

After visiting Oxford for Christmas, Baz comes home to Simon.

come here often? by Xivz

Rated E, 4,289 words

BITE commercializes itself as an adult establishment, but, to those few who know, it’s a vampire club. A place where Normals get glamoured and bitten (or more) and sent on their merry way. Simon Snow knew what he was looking for when he signed the waivers and paid the admittance fees, what he hadn’t realized was that he’d wind up with Baz Pitch.

Bite me by @orange-peony

Rated E, 7,109 words

“What the fuck is this?” he asks, showing me a bag with Lush’s logo on it. “A bath bomb,” I explain. “A bath what?” Or a fic about bath bombs, saying what you want and vampire biting.

Greener Grass by @captain-aralias

Rated T, 39,411 words

Sometimes I try not to look at Baz just because I know that if I do, he might look at me – and he’ll find me out. Realise who he’s with and change his mind. Sometimes I don’t look at him because I know that I’m not going to be able to see him after I break up with him, and I have to get used to it. But today, it’s just because I don’t want to look at myself. Because somehow (thanks to another kind of goblin also taking against me) I’m in Baz’s body. And not in the scary way that I think he was trying to push for a few months ago. In an even more scary way where I actually am him. And he’s me, which is much worse. -- A 'Wayward Son' bodyswap - about vampires, communication, and learning to like yourself. A story for everyone who wished the second book had been about getting past trauma as well as living with it.

Show Me Your Teeth by Poptartsss

Rated E, 4,630 words

We come home from the pub in the unusual way. Usually we get home, get settled. Throw on a movie. Make dinner. Stop paying attention to the movie, slowly find any excuse to touch and taste and be on top of one another. Tonight was a bit different. For no particular reason, we just needed to get on with it. Or: Maybe Simon-- just a little bit-- fetishizes the vampirism part of his vampire boyfriend.

Goblins Fuck by Theflyingpeach

Rated E, 2,221 words

I’ve got two dicks up my ass and one down my throat. Not how I thought I’d be spending a Wednesday after work, but I guess it’s better than heating up a frozen dinner and having a wank.

take a Picture by Humbum

Rated E, 4,001 words

I can’t handle it anymore. Him. Baz. It’s been absolute torture. He’s driving me fucking insane. He’s so cute. Like tooth rottingly, heart stoppingly cute. It’s a lot to take in on a regular day. But these past few days have been a proper test on my nerves.

✨Gratuitous self rec✨

First Moon by me! @skeedelvee with art by @hgari

Rated E, 4,302 words

Set post AWTWB. It's the first full moon since their adventure in America, and Simon is in for a life changing transformation. Or: Simon turns into a were-dragon and has to navigate his growing needs with Baz.

If you have any recs that fit the prompt that I've missed, feel free to leave them in the comments! There's plenty of gaps in my reading so there's a good chance I may not have read it

Also I've had a hard time finding if some people are here on Tumblr, so if you know someone who hasn't been tagged, feel free to leave that in the comments as well <3

@carryon-countdown

[necros-writing-stuff]

Read this fic. Went feral. Decided I needed to write this dynamic in my own way so here we fucking go.

Younger AU (Eden is 19, reader is 18, they're both orphans getting ready to run away into the forest soon).

Male Eden x AFAB reader (they/them and you pronouns).

Warnings: Eden is the victim, its his POV. Dubcon and bad communication. Creampies/breeding. Mentions of past child abuse and the trauma from it. Hurt and only one of you is getting comfort (it's not Eden lmfao). Loss of virginity. My ass did not proofread. Oh, and Bailey mentions.

Every ounce of his body aches as he practically crawls up the main staircase of the orphanage. A twelve hour shift at the scrap yard will do that to you - especially when you're the young grunt everyone knows is desperate for money. Especially when half of them know that if they break him, if he quits and can't placate the caretaker with cash, they could be buying his ass for a few quid.

Eden's a risk to client health. Couldn't be charging much for him unless broken bones were the desired outcome. And the young man had heard enough rumours of illegal fighting rings to be wary of the possibility that he could be heading to one of them, instead.

Eden tries to shake the fears from his mind while cracking his aching neck. Not anymore. He can't be hurt anymore, not now that he's grown so big. The rat that runs the orphanage hasn't beat him in years because of it and any threats are pretty much empty. Toward Eden, at least.

He reaches his room and stumbles through the threshold yawning, almost missing the shape distorting his bedsheets in the dark. His heart doesn't speed up seeing it, the dark haired man barely even flinches. He already knows what it is, can already hear the sniffling whines coming from below.

Carefully, he pushes the door closed, the click of the lock what finally gets them to scramble out from the cheap polyester-blend sheets with wettened wide eyes that scream for mercy even though no harm has come to them.

Your name is soft on his lips as he holds his arms out, letting his friend fall against him as he steps closer. Pride building within himself as those wide eyes sparkle with relief even if the tears don't stop.

"They- they took Emma a-again," you hyperventilate, struggling to describe what had worked you up so badly. Little words were needed anyway.

Emma was situated in the room beside you. A good friend, a kind friend who shared whatever food she could, when she could. A friend who had barely lived through the last time she was sold.

Eden's large hand comes to the back of your head, cradling it delicately, urging it to rest against his chest as he hushes his dear friend, his sweaty work t-shirt absorbing your tears as they fell. Usually he'd rock you side-to-side, but with your legs still kneeling on the bed he instead kept up with his calming mantras, the assurances he must have muttered a thousand times.

He wasn't good with words, but he'd said these ones enough that they came naturally.

A thousand more times he'd repeat them if he had to. At least until he could get you out of here. He'd been searching for the right place out in that forest, searching hard for somewhere safe. Anywhere safe.

"They're going to take me soon," you whimper, voice cracking as your fingers claw at Eden's clothed back.

"Hey - hey, no. No they won't, I'm not going to let that happen. Me and Bailey both, yeah?"

Your pitiful eyes stare up into his, his reflection in them showing the concerned frown etched into his features. Still, the corners of your lips quiver as you continue.

"I just turned eighteen. He'll come for me soon; he'll come for me like he did everyone else."

It had always been the three of you. Him, Bailey, you. Two older brothers with their sweet little sibling they did their best to hide behind them. It had worked, so far.

You were one of the quiet ones. One of the kids who could fly under the radar, one who didn't inspire hatred from the old toad behind the desk. Unlike Eden and Bailey. The threat of being sold had been over their heads for a year - but the beatings had started way before then. Made them much less scared than the others who were moved to this wing. They were already numb to it.

Corraling you to lay back down doesn't take much effort, not when Eden kicks off his steel-toe boots and joins you on the lumpy mattress. Your head immediately rests on top of his chest, face nuzzling against his neck as he continues to let you treat him as your lifeline.

"We won't be here long enough for him to hurt you, alright? I'm going to keep you safe." He whispers it against the crown of your head, your little secret shared just between the two of you in that moment.

There's a non-committal hum from you, the sound making your lips brush softly against the column of his throat. It tickles, and the dark haired man ignores the shiver it sent down his spine. Just an accidental brush.

A silence creeps in while he holds you, your sobs calming until your breaths are mostly even though still a bit shaky. Each puff blows against his skin, tugging on his nerves and threatening another shiver to come forth. It makes his stomach heavy, knowing that you're here, you're upset, yet he's having this horrible involuntary response to the affection shared.

His mind being so lost is what makes him miss your hand inching down his chest until its cupping his half-hard cock through his pants.

Deathly silence. Silence that prickles his skin worse than your little breaths had.

"... I don't want someone taking my first time from me," your small voice strains.

It's clumsy, how your hand palms him. Clumsy how it rubs against him, the friction of his rough clothes unpleasant against his sensitive flesh. It should be unpleasant how its you doing it, yet another shiver stutters Eden's lungs and forces him to gasp for the missing air.

Those soft, sweet lips meet his throat again, playing ignorant to the scratchy stubble that has to irritate the thin skin - Eden's involuntary gasp seemingly being taken as encouragement.

The young man isn't good with words. He knows to curse out abusers. Knows to fight back, to snarl and kick and punch. You aren't an abuser. You're just scared.

"You love me, right Eden?" Reedy is how you sound as your head lifts, peering down into his green eyes you had once said you thought were a pretty shade. He hadn't believed you then.

Something should be coming out of his throat. Something like 'Yes, I love you. But not like this.' What comes out instead is a clicking noise when your palm presses down once more, the dark haired man's eyes blinking shut as an ounce of pre-cum wets his boxers.

Clothes shuffling calls for his attention, it opens his eyes enough to see your hand sliding below his waistband and into his underwear. All he needs to do is gently grab your wrist. Carefully pull it away and just cuddle you so you know he cares, but he doesn't want this. Eden can't really feel his arms right now.

Your pink little tongue wets your lips again before you lean over him, kissing his slightly chapped ones as your hand finds its mark.

Another gasp from him, another misread response you take as permission to keep going and to flick your tongue against his own while your fingers wrap about his now pitifully hard cock. It's not a shiver this time, it's a jolt that makes the muscles in his left thigh seize for a brief moment.

It's hard to say if you're doing good. He hasn't exactly had any positive experiences in this department, regardless of if he was sold or not. It feels good. The heaviness in his stomach deepens, a sense of guilt and nausea rising in tandem.

Slick noises register in his ears. For a second Eden thinks its himself, or perhaps the kiss he isn't really participating in. It isn't, though, not if your weak moans are anything to go by. It's you, your free hand having disappeared beneath your own pants to... to prepare yourself for him.

"You're so big, Eden." Irreverent, whispered, praised.

Tightness pulls on his balls, licks of pleasure making his toes curl in their socks and making it harder to breathe. His mouth is so dry now, without you kissing him. He shouldn't want your mouth back on his own.

'Please be bored,' Eden pleads to himself when you pull yourself fully away from him. 'Please change your mind - I don't care about still being hard. I can't say no to you, please.'

Instead, your pants are shucked off, thrown and discarded on the old hardwood floor along with your shirt as you get to work pulling his clothes off.

Every action has to be involuntary. It has to be, when Eden doesn't even feel like he's here. He can't be leaning up to help you in your quest to make his chest bare. But he is. He can't be raising his hips to free his legs of the clothing. But he is.

Unsteadily, your body shaking, you climb atop Eden, the plush of your thighs pressing down onto his lower abdomen and hips. So soft, so precious. Just like the smile you're aiming down at him, that love you spoke of shining so clearly through your expression.

He can see the wetness of your cunt from here, the slick liquid having spread to your thighs and dampening the hair down there. Most people shave now, when they're expecting things like this. A small comfort, that you didn't plan this. It didn't stop self hatred banging around his skull at how his cock jumped when your fingers spread your lower lips apart.

It feels as soft as it looked when you slowly sink down. Eden was still paralysed, despite the intensity of your heat and how it suctioned him in. He still couldn't move. Until you whined in pain and rose from his lap an inch or two.

That's the trigger that gave him his strength back. You, in pain. You, needing comfort.

Shooting up from his laying position, Eden's arms were around your waist in a second, his voice back to hushing and comforting. Your face back to his neck as you hummed along to his words, relaxing once more as you tried again.

He should stop you. He could have stopped you, this time. He shouldn't have pushed his hips up, shouldn't have let his eye twitch at how fucking good you felt wrapped around his shaft as some part of his brain screamed at him to fuck up into the heaven he found himself in.

The guilt stayed his movements. It stayed them until you cautiously began to bounce, used to the stretch of him now and eager to feel good. Then, Eden's arms almost crushed you against his chest, halting your hips as his own began a bucking rhythm.

'Let it feel right,' part of him insisted, raising the pit in his stomach to a calm plateau.

Pretty is what your voice sounds like in his ear. Pretty as you babble on about how nice it is, how he fills you just right and how you won't let anyone else ever touch you again. How you're his, you promise.

It's not a bad thing, right? It just means you'll always need him, just as you have before. You'll be a constant even as things change. And Eden hates change. But this isn't really change, is it?

It feels too damn good to last long. Too great, too much suction pulling his head further and further away from any semblance of reason.

Wanton noises spill from you, high pitched keening as you take every inch of him you can while your body quivers in his embrace.

What finally pushes Eden over the edge is the predictable, suffocating ever tightening walls of your cunt spasming around him - massaging his length and milking him dry of his seed. Too late now to realise you hadn't used a condom. Too late now to consider that a third might be coming to the forest with them that isn't Bailey.

Exhaustion hits him like a truck, not just his body, but a deep haze over his mind that pushes him back down to his pillow with your sweat glistening body falling on top of his own. The ceiling is so bare. Most ceilings are, he realises, just white voids to stare up at unless they've got that horrible popcorn shit on them. You haven't pulled him out of you.

You don't pull him out of you. You keep him there, even as you snuggle close and almost sing your love to him despite the fact that you're whispering still.

He has work again in the morning. Eden can't sleep. You snore softly, resting on top of him. He tries to reason that it's because his socks are still on, and that's just not comfortable. He tries to keep his breathing calm, even when it's trying it's best to run away from him.

[maddilynmuse]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55890415/chapters/141920194

Huh. I wrote almost 10,000 words in less than a week. When the brainrot hits, it really fucking hits.

WARNING, POST GAME SPOILERS, CONTINUE AT OWN RISK! (And if you do click the link, y’know, mind the tags)

Anyways, hello In Stars and Time fandom! Look what I just finished up earlier today~ For those who don’t obsessively check ao3, it’s a little series I’ve made about Siffrin post-canon having some time loop trauma manifesting as getting stuck in just repeating his lines (well, most lines are his, hehe) and going semiverbal. This here is a prequel to the smaller fic “Line, Please” which is the same basic premise, but later chronologically (so the fam isn’t quite as freaked out).

Do mind the warnings, this is a trauma response after all, but what can I say? For as much as I like to break characters open and see them bleed, I also adore some hurt/comfort and recovery. I think this game and fandom ought to understand, Change is destruction, but can be good too.

… and I wasn’t sure whether to go into it on ao3 or if it’d be weirdly personal and TMI, but fuck it. This was partly inspired by me going nonverbal about a week prior to “Line, Please.” It doesn’t happen to me often (I could count the times on one hand), but the mortal terror and sheer, prolonged dread of hearing people talk about imminent tornadoes all day, hurriedly packing as much as you can into a bag and going to the closest thing you have to shelter only to realize it is closed, it will not accept you, you cannot get in, desperately looking for anywhere else and slowly realizing you have no good options… Well, good news (for me at least), it missed us. I didn’t lose my life, car, apartment, or anything I owned. But turns out an entire day of slowly building terror and helplessness will fuck up your mental state. Im lucky that was the worst though.

… so yeah.

Anyways! Back to fic, there’s a nonzero chance I’ll somehow manage another insane bout of productivity next week, but there’s also a nonzero chance I will once more fall off the face of the earth for months (for more details, see the unnecessarily long author’s note on chapter 3, but good news! Job’s been confirmed, YA GIRL WILL CONTINUE TO HAVE INCOME!!! NO STARVING! YAY!)

Hope y’all have enjoyed, and sorry not sorry for the rant. You chose to click Read More, I wash my hands of responsibility /hj (but seriously, thanks for reading and have a good day).

And zero pressure, especially since I really don’t put too much on there, but link to Kofi.

[jittyjames]

full whumptober masterlist is finished! ehehe it's so great i actually have time to work on these this year! anyway, if anyone wants to know more about any of the specific fics or maybe even a snippet, feel free to drop an ask!

Day 1: Search Party + Panic Attack — Jesus Christ Superstar — When Jesus disappears without a word to the disciples, Judas and Mary take it upon themselves to go looking for him as days turn to weeks. 

Day 2: Role Reversal + Used As Bait (Alt. Prompt)— Twenty One Pilots · Trenchler — The Torchbearer is taken by DEMA as a way to lure Clancy back to them.

Day 3: Wrongfully Arrested — Jesus Christ Superstar · Jesus/Mary/Judas — Jesus rushes to save Judas from being punished in a way he doesn't deserve.

Day 4: Hallucinations + Motion Sickness (Alt. Prompt) — Hamilton — Alexander and Washington find themselves in the clutches of a cruel soldier. His experiments leave the two in quite a predicament.

Day 5: Heatstroke — Hamilton — The heat of battle is only made worse by the oppressive summer sun. Aaron Burr finds himself faltering. 

Day 6: Not Realizing They're Injured — Jesus Christ Superstar— After a violent riot breaks out, not everyone is as unscathed as it seems.

Day 7: "It's Us Or Them." — 9-1-1 — Buck ends up in the hospital after making a choice.

Day 8: Sleep Deprivation — Hamilton · Hamburr — As Alexander and Aaron push through a high-stakes murder case that bring up bad memories for the both of them, the lack of sleep causes something else to brew between them.

Day 9: Obsession — Hamilton · Hamburr · Modern — Aaron runs into trouble when a mysterious man takes an interest in him. 

Day 10: Blow To The Head + Slurred Words + “I Can’t Think Straight.” — Mindhunter — In a questioning gone wrong, Holden is left reeling. Quite literally.

Day 11: Seeing Double + Loneliness — Hamilton — For just a moment, Alexander thinks he's looking at someone who can't possibly be there.

Day 12: Starvation + “Just A Little More.” — Jesus Christ Superstar · Jesus/Judas — Judas takes issue with having when others have not.

Day 13: Team As family + Multiple Whumpees + Vermin (Alt. Prompt) — Hamilton — The British didn't see them as people anymore. They saw them as something far different.

Day 14: Blackmail— Hamilton — When Alexander's secrets are being held by his political enemies, he will do everything he can to ensure they never get out. [Continuation of Keep Me (And My Secrets)]

Day 15: Childhood Trauma — Jesus Christ Superstar (Arena) · Jesus/Judas — Mary reflects on her life as she watches Judas’ fall apart. 

Day 16: "No, I Can't Feel Anything." — Twenty One Pilots · Trenchler — After the final battle, Clancy stumbles.

Day 17: Nowhere Else To Go + Beatdown (Alt. Prompt) — Hamilton — Thomas Jefferson finds a bleeding Hamilton on his doorstep.

Day 18: Revenge + Loss Of Identity + Unreliable Narrator — Jesus Christ Superstar · Jesus/Judas — Judas finds Jesus with blood on his hands.

Day 19: Abandoned Cabin + Blood Trail — Mindhunter — Holden is taken by an unsub.

Day 20: Emotional Angst + Giving Permission To Die — Hamilton · Hamliza — Eliza and Alex have one last conversation.

Day 21: Spirit Possession + Body Horror — Jesus Christ Superstar · Jesus/Mary/Judas — Jesus had cast out demons from many people over the course of his ministry. But it’s just different when it’s someone he loves. 

Day 22: Reopening Wounds — Mindhunter — The aftermath of all the events with that principal leave Holden burning with a need for justice, no matter how obsessive it seems.

Day 23: Forced Choice + Public Display — Jesus Christ Superstar · Jesus/Judas —  Amuse Me (Fuck or Die Fic)

Day 24: “I Never Knew Daylight Could Be So Violent.” — Hamilton — How can the sun still rise when so much horror has come to pass? How can the world still spin?

Day 25: Being Monitored + "It's For Your Own Good."— Jesus Christ Superstar · Modern — Judas meets Jesus in the most unlikely of places.

Day 26: Nightmares + Breakfast Table — Hamilton · Modern — Aaron's daughter is always hanging around that Hamilton kid. He doesn't mind it as much as he pretends to— Philip is a sweet boy, after all, and it gives Aaron the excuse he needs to see his former friend despite bridges being burned to a crisp. But when Aaron get's a phone call one stormy night, everything changes.

Day 27: Voiceless + Communication Barrier ( Alt. Prompt) — Jesus Christ Superstar — Judas had only wanted them to warn Jesus off. He hadn't expected... this.

Day 28: Exposure + Secrets Revealed (Alt. Prompt)— Jesus Christ Superstar — As tensions rise amongst two of the apostles while on a mission, some secrets comes to the surface.

Day 29: Burnout + Shivering (Alt. Prompt) — Hamilton— Everything is coming to a breaking point. Words don't look like words anymore. Alexander doesn't feel like Alexander anymore.

Day 30: Recovery + Hospital Bed + "What Have I Done?" — Hamilton · Jamilton—  After an attempt brought on by something Thomas said, he's left to pick up the pieces of a broken Hamilton.

Day 31: Asking For Help + Therapy — 9-1-1 — No one can understand why Buck is so averse to therapy.

+ ALTERNATIVE IDEAS!!!

Body Swap— Judas' kiss wasn't that of betrayal.

Finding Old Messages + Regret + Forgotten — Aaron Burr finds an old, unopened letter in a coat he wore in his younger years. The coat he wore to Hamilton's wedding.

Friendly Fire + Survivor's Guilt— John hadn't meant to hit him. He truly didn't. But Alexander was still on the ground.

Time Loop— Jesus and Mary don't abandon Judas once the three days have come and gone. Their love perseveres. And they would have followed him anywhere.

Venom— The snakes of the desert were the furthest thing from Jesus' mind. Maybe they shouldn't have been.

[aftgficrec]

Can you post fics where Andrew and Neil argue but make up in the end?

Enjoy this walk through andreil feels, anon. The previous asks mentioned lead to a bunch more asks and fics. -A

also see:

andreil arguing here

new andreil breakup/make-up here

fave break up and make up here

andreil or jerejean kiss & make-up here

miscommunication leading to near-breakups here

angst w/happy ending: miscommunication or pining here

andreil enemies to lovers 2 here

Andrew makes Neil cry here

Neil snaps ‘not nothing’ here

‘quicksand’ here

‘low quay, no pressure’ here

‘transience’ here

‘transmission’ here

‘Tumblr Headcanons - Andreil’ Ch 11 & 12 here

‘Neil worried that Andrew cheated’ here

‘Home for Christmas’ here

‘Wake Up to Your Sunset’ here (completed)

‘All I Wanted’ here

‘Some Kind of Disaster’ here

‘I’m Not Dead Yet’ here

‘Can Nobody Hear Me (I cannot breathe)’ here (completed)

‘nice to see your face again’ and ‘Dawn Won't End the Night’ (updated) here

‘please come back, save me from myself,’ ‘ghostin',’ and ‘I ran out of every reason’ here

‘but i don't think i can ever learn how to love just right’ here 

‘Shared Custody’ and ‘Shared Custody (The Blame the Cat Remix)’ here

if you really love nothing by seasy33 [Rated M, 39713 Words, Complete, 2022]

Andrew finds an interesting piece of paper. He's not quite sure how he feels about it.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: rape/noncon, tw: flashbacks, tw: alcohol 

Undefined Roommates Code by Helpisneeded [Rated E, 56760 Words, Incomplete, Updated Oct 2022]

Punching your roommate is not a very smart idea. Starting a friends with benefits relationship with said roommate is an even worse one. Setting up a string of rules to keep it purely physical and make sure you don’t catch feeling but catching them anyways is certainly the stupidest thing you could do in that situation. Luckily for Neil, he never claimed to be smart.

tw: explicit sexual content, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced suicidal tendencies

Regrowth by Mystrana [Rated E, 4836 Words, Complete, 2021]

It goes like this: Neil's giving therapy a chance. He's dealing with every emotion he's ever pushed down trying to leak back up. When he gets hurt during a game, Andrew gets upset and they get into an argument. And then Andrew apologizes. A fic in which Andrew and Neil work on healing together and cry and have the softest sex in the world.

tw: explicit sexual content

An intimate moment with someone you hate by krasmataz [Rated E, 7414 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil and Andrew have their first fight after trying something new in the bedroom. Hope they figure it out before they destroy too much school property!

tw: implied/referenced self-harm, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced suicidal tendencies

over/under by likearecord [Rated E, 9506 Words, Complete, 2023]

He’d thought Neil, with his smart mouth and his wild eyes, would be satisfied with what Andrew was offering. He guesses he’d thought Neil was used to living on scraps—and Andrew has never had anything meatier to give. He’d been wrong.

tw: explicit sexual content

Only Fools Fall. by Random2002 [Rated T, 19789 Words, Incomplete, Updated Feb 2023]

Neil tests how faithful his clients partners are. Roland is a client; he's worried about his boyfriend. It isn't long until Neil notices some serious rifts in the relationship he is meant to test.

tw: child abuse

Cold Cookies by Preludeno3 [Rated M, 11583 Words, Incomplete, Updated Jan 2023, Locked]

It starts off as an abstract, incomplete thought. Andrew’s on his knees on the rug in his Columbia bedroom, going to town on Neil’s dick. Or Andrew wants to try face fucking, trauma is a bitch and Neil is almost too understanding

tw: explicit sexual content, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon

First fight by Olympyas [Not Rated, 3265 Words, Complete, 2023]

"There is no this, you are nothing and nothing doesn't exist." It hurt. A lot. Especially when you spent the whole day feeling like nothing. So he wanted to hurt Andrew in return. He wanted to get, even the slightest, reaction from him. "Well, at least you can't hurt 'nothing' like you destroy everything around you." —hurt him— "You'll still run away like the rabbit you are. Tell me, Nathaniel, why are you staying?" Neil hated this name in Adrew's mouth "For nothing. I shouldn't have stayed in the first place." And he left.

tw: panic attacks, tw: violence, tw: assault, tw: attempted rape/noncon

A Substitute For Please by cadkitten [Rated E, 1911 Words, Complete, 2018]

Please is a word built to make things easy and life has never been easy for either of them. Please is meant to smooth things over, but they're all rough edges. Please is a final ditch effort when hope is lost and, Neil, he knows there's still hope here.

tw: ptsd, tw: depression, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: alcohol

NB: find more about Nicky’s state of mind here

To Be Close With You Is To Be Close With Myself by jostenskeys [Rated E, 20359 Words, Complete, 2022]

Andrew has always been a protector at heart despite how often he bullies Neil for his martyr complex. The summer before Neil's second year, however, he begins to feel the impacts of his life finally crash down on him just as they were finally safe from harm. Andrew fights with himself and doesn't know how he can help. But he soon realises, in order for him to help Neil, he needs to help himself too. Or The Convincing-Neil-To-Get-Therapy Chronicles. Written by Andrew Minyard and edited by Betsy Dobson.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: rape/noncon, tw: self harm, tw: urge to self harm, tw: blood, tw: suicidal ideation, tw: nightmares, tw: panic attacks, tw: depression

Stay series by jaydreamz [Rated M/T, Collection with 2 complete works, Updated Nov 2021]

Part 1: Was Sorta Hopin' That You'd Stay [M, 25740 Words] Neil and Andrew have HATED each other since an incident in college. They really, really do. The Minyard-Josten rivalry is not a sham. But now Andrew's transferring to Neil's team and all hell is about to break loose.

tw: alcohol, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: explicit sexual content

Part 2: Before I Hated You [T, 5974 Words] Before the Minyard-Josten rivalry was on, there was something else entirely. *** Andrew and Neil's first meeting in college that ended up starting the feud between them.

Bittersweet by Mercey [Rated M, 8370 Words, Complete, AFTG Mixtape Exchange 2021]

‘Why would Neil want to be with someone who can’t even care for him the right way? Why would he want that life for himself? He’s not a runaway anymore, he’s not so desperate for affection that he’ll settle for my meagre offerings, and good for him. It’s better that way.’ Andrew's spiralling with graduation coming up, and beginning to question the very foundations upon which he and Neil are built.

tw: depression

Hold Each Other by exactly13percent_OLD (hymbeaux) [Collection Rated T/E, Complete, 2018]

Chapter 12: Stranger [T, 2854 Words] Sometimes, love comes easily. That's the problem.

I took a breath and took the knife by eeveepkmnfan [Rated M, 2271 Words, Complete, 2022]

Andrew and Neil argue. Or, Neil is still struggling through the aftereffects of being drugged. Andrew is forced to confront the consequences of that decision.

tw: transphobia, tw: implied/referenced sexual assault, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced involuntary drug use, tw: ptsd

Spring Cleaning with a Man on the Lam by SugarLime [Rated G, 2240 Words, Complete, 2019]

Neil glared at the wrapper Andrew had tossed on the floor next to his chair. He stalked over with a nasty frown and leveled a glare at Andrew. Andrew met his glare with an empty expression. “What?” He asked, following Neil’s gaze as it tuned to the discarded wrapper, “it’s a wrapper,” he said wisely. His gut did a small flip as he tried to figure out why his boyfriend was mad.

I Won't Be Home For The Rest Of The Night by CasTheButler [Not Rated, 1039 Words, Complete, 2017]

Neil and Andrew have a fight, Neil learns to let someone new in.

Stars and Moons by sonyathefairy [Rated G, 1111 Words, Complete, 2017]

Neil ponders about the stars and his fight with Andrew. Or in which they both realise that they can't live without the other anymore.

Where We Belong by conniptionns [Rated T, 1374 Words, Complete, 2017]

prompt: andrew and neil get into this huge fight while andrew is driving so he tells neil to get out the car and walk the rest of the way.

Still here by theresnothis [Rated T, 2779​​ Words, Complete, AFTG Summer Exchange 2022]

After a fight with Andrew, Neil ran off into the night (but he would go back). Andrew found him and of course with Neil’s luck a robbery would occur.

flashes of intimacy by mostly_maudlin [Rated T, Collection, Complete, 2023]

Chapter 3: conflict resolution [385 Words] Chapter 4: space [507 Words]

tw: mild self harm

Chapter 16: picking fights [554 Words]

tw: mild self harm

“I don’t want your pity, I want your absence.” by markonasurface (idwir) [Not Rated, 1627 Words, Complete, 2018]

After the freshmen find out about Neil and Andrew, a terrible practice leads to Neil saying things he shouldn’t.

tw: involuntary outing, tw: homophobia, tw: scars, tw: anxiety attack, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: victim shaming, tw: self harm

“So much for not getting involved.” by markonasurface (idwir) [Not Rated, 769 Words, Complete, 2020]

“I don’t want your pity, I want your absence.” pt 2

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa

“don’t call me that”-andreil prompt fill by @markonasurface [Tumblr, 2017]

Neil heard the door to the roof open and knew it was Andrew. Annoyance flooded his chest and he had the overwhelming urge to hit him. Instead he lit another cigarette and let Andrew pluck it from his fingers even though he hadn’t offered it to him.

[intertexts]

since I can't talk about my favorite bits that made me go AUGH bc of things you dont know about yet. give me ur favorite bit. what was ur favorite bit in that fic. gimme the authors notes behind the scenes ramble

AUAUAUAUA.... u r so nice 2 meee godddd what the hell. exploding u💥💥💥!!!!!!!!!!! ANYWAY. OK. OK. AUTHORS NOTES.

things i included that i am VERY IFFY ON but nevertheless went for:

>i think there's like 70/30 odds that they (dakota) try to do the putting ashe's headphones with thank you scientist or smth blaring on him to try & bring him back thing. can't tell you if it'll work or not but it has to come up. nevertheless i think if u were stuck in yr head for a year with the fucking trickster u would appreciate some quiet!!!!!! & its just. idk man. that's what i'd spiral over. what if one day u wake up n u don't even like all the stuff u love anymore. etc.

>I'M ALSO TAKING. A REALLY FUCKING LONG SHOT by explicitly referring to wiwi as alive? honestly? like it's a 50/50, i think that all the stuff w/ the heart etc should continue to have thematic resonance, but also i don't know how that will work with the wisps when they..... return? (<- using this word in the loosest possible way i just don't know how else to say it. when theyre onscreen again??) i'm sure the wisp thing gets some resolution i have no doubt. and i don't know if "whisperer william" and "alive body traits" are mutually exclusive. idk. idk. we'll see!!

>i'm assuming tide will make another appearance b4 the season ends. idgaf if he shows in deadwood or not i fucking HOPE NOT but i just thought man. he Would come to bring them all back n take care of them. i think he and mark should get to have a really long slightly more. real? conversation on how much parenting fucking sucks and is stressful and terrifying and they feel bad at it.

MY FAVORITE BIT. goddd. iiii. ok. i have a lot of Thoughts on wingfics & idk. i guess i always think they're a bit too easy. u have wings that u Never Ever Let Anyone Touch Except Family And Lovers and u Let Someone Preen Them and what-- there isn't even any terrifying indecipherable swirl of emotions about it?? it isn't even scary?? (& also the whole Why Is It Good When People Touch Ur Wings. "because it is" okay??? and why then?? i also am guilty of this but at least theres like. two sentences about it.) & when there's hybrid shit & its like ok suddenly u woke up with Searing Pain in ur back and things writhing around in there breaking through yr skin and bone to get out and-- thats IT??? there isn't even gonna be any lasting trauma about it? you're not even gonna feel weird about being permanently Different now? it isn't even inconvenient and painful?? so ig that's like-- the core of this one, lmao. obviously i have. Thoughts and Feelings on the whole prime nonconsensually and irrevocably changing ur body defenders thing. like. of course. thesis statement of my blog. & i have thoughts about. being a vessel & not getting any say in it, ig. idk. i hate when people take my stuff without asking!! the idea of someone taking my ME without asking is like, viscerally terrifying 2 me. not unpacking that moving on etc.... my favorite bit is ig ashe having conflicting and messy emotions on liking the way it feels. freaking out and trying 2 stonewall it out & eventually just. letting himself have the good thing. oversharing 9pm time but idk... ashe is a little Like Me in that he was a fucking shut in & never had friends until he was a teenager and doesn't really. know much about it? didn't have much experience in it? so he's really satisfying to write not in a projection-y way but an ah! i KNOW what this is like i can write this correctly!! very scary!!!! very 24/7 butterflies in ur stomach!! OH. I LIED. ACTUALLY. my favorite bit is ashe unconsciously using words & such abt capacitors and voltage and electricity etc. bc of growing up with an electrician dad :] very very small and minor but i have a lot of fucking emotions abt it actually!!! anyway. yeag <333

other behind the scenes thing: in my head wiwi is freaking the FUCK out the entire time he is going shit SHIT SHIT i'm so fucking bad at this shittttttttttttt is this what it's like for dakota to deal with me. is this what i'm like. shit. what do vynce and dakota do. hes like. cartoon running putting down the tracks just in front of the train this entire time <33 this is important to me.

[soemthingsparkly]

i would absolutely love to share a rant!

all the characters are so psychologically fucked up in such a realistic way that i didn't see represented much. grian venting to tango about feeling left out. the fact that he felt left out at all over something so small. they're so codependent and i love it.

and then there's scott and jimmy's dynamic. scott kissing jimmy and then jimmy venting to grian and then grian just responding with "HE DID WHAT??????" and then at the cafe. the idea of someone doing something they shouldn't have and then having a panic attack over a third party's opinion on it is so... idk how to say it. like i said, a type of fucked up that you don't see talked about much and i relate so hard to it. it's clear scott's probably trying his best out at least trying a lot to not hurt jimmy but he's failing miserably and i don't think he even realizes it. and like. yeah. ive been there. i don't actually know why scott broke up with him but i get the vibe it was supposed to be like. to help jimmy in some way. like "oh wait ive been toxic maybe i should end this for his sake". but doing that obviously hurt jimmy, especially since he didn't say *why* he did it. and scott obviously did something really drastic and sudden so he's not doing well either and he really wants to go back to jimmy. he knows he's being manipulative and it's not on purpose but in trying to stop and be better he keeps making things worse. and like. this is all a side thing. this fic is mostly about mumscarian and you threw in this flower husbands sideplot but it's still so fleshed out and so *real*.

and speaking of the mumscarian thing the way you write their friendships, especially grian and mumbo's is amazing. it's not like. a stepping stone to a romantic relationship even though they are going to end up in one. very "not more than friends, different from friends" vibes /vpos. it doesn't feel like they're ending up in a romantic relationship. it feels like they're making their relationship romantic and i love that so much.

grian just texting mumbo that he's bored gives such hcs7 vibes and like he yeah they're so codependent and it's so obvious from grian's side my god

and the way you write pearl is amazing, she's got this sibling energy and it's great.

the way you write all of them is amazing actually. i can hear everything they say in their voices. the clockers are on point, especially scar and bdubs.

i could keep going im sure lmao but anyway great fic i love it if you read this ill cry /pos

This has been sitting in my ask box for a while because I just love it so much anon and I was like~~~ how do I respond to such a long ask with the same level of enthusiam?

I wanna break this ask into chunks and there's bits of your ask I wanna respond to directly, so...

all the characters are so psychologically fucked up in such a realistic way that i didn't see represented much.

I'm glad you think so! I definitely feel like I'm being a little bit risky with how I'm presenting some of the, I suppose, human consequences of being human?

I think a lot of what fandom (in general) consumes gets a little over-sanitised these days. Our favourite characters aren't allowed to be flawed like real people, they must be flawed in a way that is either endearing, entertaining (sarcastic or snarky), or easily forgivable.

But that's not always that interesting when it comes to wanting characters we can truly relate to?

Grian gets upset he's left out not just because he has Trauma™, but because he does have a co-dependancy on Mumbo that borders on unhealthy. Tango tells Grian to, in not so many words, get over himself and try and have fun - not because he knew Grian would respond well to it, but because he's blunt and doesn't know how to comfort people gently. Bdubs makes fun of Scar for being disabled, because he knows that everybody in that group chat understands he's joking and that his comments will never leave that group chat (in-world that is, of course, everybody who reads the fic will read them).

And Scott for example, is not a very well-liked character amongst readers at the moment, but he's absolutely one of my favourite to write. You put it pretty well here:

he knows he's being manipulative and it's not on purpose but in trying to stop and be better he keeps making things worse.

Like yes, exactly. He's trying to do better, but the actions he takes that he thinks (or is being co-erced into believing via mental illness) will make things better, keep making things worse and he doesn't really understand how to do it right. And haven't we all been in that position before?

And yet up until chapter 17, we've only ever seen into their dynamic from the outside. We've only ever seen Scott's actions from Jimmy's POV or from the POV of someone who cares about Jimmy.

And somehow it's Jimmy, of all people, defending Scott.

It's absolutely fascinating to see readers reactions and I'd be so happy to talk about this forever and ever and ever, hehehe.

And what you said about Mumbo and Grian's relationship, here:

very "not more than friends, different from friends" vibes /vpos. it doesn't feel like they're ending up in a romantic relationship. it feels like they're making their relationship romantic and i love that so much.

I'm actually SO glad you feel that way about them, because that's exactly the way I feel about them, too. They're not just friends, so much as they're Grian and Mumbo. The idea of them being friends almost suggests an alternative of them being not friends and I just don't there's a way in this world that they can exist and be without one another. So yes, I love this a lot and I love that you feel that way about them.

Thank you so much for this absolutely beautiful message - I am such a fan of analysing characters and their interactions and all that. Frankly, thank you for giving me a space to talk at length about the way these characters are in this fic!!

Here is a tissue for the tears, I hope you don't cry too hard. Remember to stay hydrated <333

Lumi <3

[chvoswxtch]

👋 hi, i'm back again already :)

i'm so glad i'm not alone in being completely feral for those set pictures. like it's insane what just seeing them has done to my brain chemistry. i saw them like an hour or so before i had therapy on wednesday and i felt like i was going insane for the rest of the day. the frank brainrot is real and i will be binge-reading ur fics again (bc i love ur portrayal of frank and i need that man in my life) and just UGH, i can't even explain how this man makes me feel without sounding fucking nuts.

and okay after finishing season two, i just, i have no words. i know that the fandom doesn't always love amy but genuinely, she has such a special place in my heart. and the lengths that frank went to protect her actually just made me want to sob. he absolutely melts my heart and i remember when i watched the start of season 2 all the way back in like september last year, i literally sobbed at the end of the first episode after he had that conversation about maria with the woman he met at the bar. like i am such a simp for this man, it's insane how emotional i get over it sometimes.

also i know you've watched criminal minds (the two fics u wrote were absolutely delicious btw) so i feel like you will understand this but pilgrim's actor being the same as will's just made it slightly hard for me to take him seriously. like the actor did a phenomenal job but i just couldn't help but see him as will. it was so jarring and also just a little bit funny. either way, i didn't hate the storyline as much as i thought but the connection between him and the schultz family did seem a little jarring? or like out of the blue? but i'm not sure if that's because of the writing or because of how long it took me to actually finish the show. but i think it was such an interesting way to connect the two plots even if it confused me?

then okay, like billy this season, he was a complete fucking psycho and usually ben barnes can make psychos be so hot but after he and dumont tried to like break frank by making him think he killed innocents, bro i was not on this man's side anymore. like i honestly was so mad at him. i haven't like been that mad at a character in so long, i was concerned for myself. honestly, i could have strangled billy in that moment. also dumont was just such a kind of dull character? i think the scene in like episode 12 when dumont and madani are having that conversation about like the trauma she (and billy and frank) went through was so good but that was like the most interesting i found her. i'd love to know your thoughts on her!

and like madani? i can't talk about madani without going too feral. like her and frank are my definition of bisexual panic. any time they are on the screen together, i go insane. the thought of the two of them actually is just- it's too much. i feel like madani doesn't get a lot of love in the fandom which always makes me sad because she is (to me) a literal goddess. but anyway.

i have so many more thoughts (mainly about how much i love frank and how fucking good a job jon does at portraying him) but this is already such a long message. i am SO sorry, i can do nothing but apologise

(the only reason it's so long is because none of my friends have actually watched the punisher so i have no one to talk to. sorry court <3)

i'm gonna ramble below the cut with you, please step into my office <3

those set pictures are ruining my life. like it still feels surreal that it's happening?? but i'm so happy they listened to the fans and seem to be taking the reboot seriously. also I know how protective charlie and jon are over matt and frank, so I trust they're making sure it's done right. akjdfhdfh you're too nice to me pls

I loved season 2, personally. it felt a little rushed, but I think that has to due with the fact that they planned more storylines and got cancelled because of the disney plus thing. I liked that we got to see a more fatherly side of frank with amy because it added so many more layers to his personality. we got to see it with the micro's kids, but we got to see it so much more with amy and I loved that

OMG WHEN WILL SHOWED UP I WAS LIKE SIR WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?? WHERE IS JJ??? it's so funny you say that bc the first thing I saw that actor in was a horror movie and then criminal minds but I always think of those two when I see him lmao. the pilgrim/schultz storyline was a little strange but again I think it's one of those things where they planned for more and weren't able to do it with the cancellation

I did not care for dumont's character at all to be candid. I don't really feel like she added much to the storyline. my main complaint about billy in season 2 is he still looked too pretty LMAO. like I get it, it's ben barnes, they can only do so much, but frank rocked his shit too hard for him to have a few scratches. I would've preferred to see him be more evil and psycho and bloodthisty for revenge but that's just me

DINAH MADANI THE WOMAN THAT YOU ARE. she and frank are the definition of bisexual panic. she's just...like that scene of her and karen in the conference room when she's asking her if she knows anything about frank being alive?? karen is a stronger woman than me bc I would've let her bend me over that table. dinah doesn't get enough love in this fandom and that doesn't sit right with me and I feel it is my civic duty to keep the thirst for her alive

pls don't apologize! I am happy to chat about frankie anytime :)

[lavena]

Guess who unlocked a new trauma during the move in to college ✌ twas me your right. Anyway I figured this out cause I was brainstorming 07 Mikey and Don angst cause I need more of that in my life apparently and after working through it I had a moment of "wait that line I just made him say kind of resembled what I was thinking when x happened" and the the moment of realization... any way I decided why not write the fic.

Here we go, dont mind the trash story line there is a reason I don't write much, I can't get the idea on to paper before I changes in my head again.

A light knock was heard outside the lab,

"Hey Dee, I- I have to leave"

Donatello, fully invested in the toaster Leo had managed to break in the less than 3 months he's been back.

"What do you mean Mikey, your birthday gigs don't start till next week, unless Jessie decides Michael really needs a-"

As he turned around removing his glasses he noticed the duffle slung over his only little brothers shoulder.

"Oh you mean- I though we were done" he says, a sad look ghosting over his features.

"I did too, but-" Michelangelo says, a slight hitch in his throat as he look down to the left, biting his lower lip as his eyes become glassy, fingers clenching against the worn soft strap of the duffle.

"Okay" Donnie takes a breath as the word catches in his throat. He forces a swallow before continuing,

"Okay, how long do you think?"

"Shouldn't be more than an hour, two tops," he says shrugging, shoulders remaining by his ears, " It hasn't left my mind since Thursday, its all planned out"

God, Donnie was gonna bang his big brothers skulls together, but that wouldn't help anything.

Taking a deep breath Don placed a small smile on his face, nowhere near reaching his eyes like when Mikey would come home and sneak him a piece of carrot cake back when Leo and Raph would still get on his shell for messing up his eating habits.

"Okay, I'll pop up in about an hour and join you. I'll bring some Antonio's with me, just for me and you, those bozos can have cold pasta,"

Michael's eyes rose again to meet his, a small smile spreading, "and you'll have Woody make it?"

Rolling his eyes Donnie responds, " yes, yes of course just the way you like it, too much cheese for any sane person and a bad of skittles"

A fond look comes over Mikeys features before fading again as a thought crosses his mind.

" I'll- I'll see you then, I love you Donnie,"

Turning on his heel and speeding away Mikey leaves for either of their big brothers can come and ask where he is going.

" I love you too Mike" Donnie says quietly, concern spreading deep into his bones.

Shaking out his suddenly cold fingers, Don turns to finish fixing the damn toaster, quicker this time, like shell was mike gonna be alone for an hour, give him fourty and he'll be out there with his little brother figuring out where the hell his mind was going.

Donnie Slipped out of the layer forty-five minutes later, not noticing the two shadows following him as he called Antonio's and asked for Woodys, Mikey style pizza, a box of garlic bread sticks, and a whole container fit for a family of 6 worth of cinnamon bites because fuck it if his little wasn't going to have a good rest of his night. Mikey deserved so much more than what he could provide, but Donnie was more than ready to compensate in any way he could.

Reaching the manhole cover, he pushed himself out, taking a deep breath of that sweet sweet New York air, pollution and all. Slipping into an alley and beginning his trek to the warehouse district where he knew his little brother would be. Once more unaware of the shadows following after from the rooftop above.

As he stepped closer and closer to his brothers secret spot he could hear faintly Modern Day Cain playing out, most certainly damaging his little brothers ears given he could hear it from down the alley, a spray can on its last dredges, like spray nothing more than aerosol at this point.

Michelangelo stands stalk still as he presses his finger so hard against nozzle that his arm shakes, staring at the point where the deep green should be coming from, as of willing it to refill and let him continue. The sing switched to Until I end Up Dead and he threw against the wall across from him by the time kick drum was hit a third time, managing to hit off the wall and into a bag strategically placed with the rest of the empty cans.

Reaching down Mikey grabbed the same color from his bag of full cans, spraying the spot he was so focused on before just standing there, staring past the wall 5 inches from the tip of his beak, getting lost in his mind again.

By the time the song ran its course and switch to another, Mikey had dropped the can, taking four paces back and letting his shell thump harshly against the neighboring wall and sliding down, dragging his headphones off and letting the clatter to the ground.

"Hey don" mikey says quietly, leaving his head to hang between where he rested his arms and his knees.

"Hey Mike" Donnie said sliding down next to his brother and bumping shells with him.

"Whats eating at you today bud? I though it was better now that they're back"

Mikey looked up into Donnies eyes, water filling them as he stood up with a hurt laugh.

"They might be back, but they're not here Donnie"

Don looks up at his brother a little confused.

" They're here, but they're not with us Don, they're leaving, pulling away, and I-" his voice finally broke as tears streamed down his cheeks.

"I don't think we are enough to make them stay Don,"

Even quiter this time

"I don't think I'm enough to make you stay" as Michelangelo turned around to look at his newest project.

A mural to Donnie, standing in his lab doors, looking past the viewer, as though longing for something far out of reach.

"Its all I can think about Don, they don't want to be here and neither do you"

"Mikey what, no I-"

"No Donnie, No, you don't, you're not meant to be stuck in that stupid lab with those stupid computers and those stupid phone calls,"

"No, I love the lab, Mikey I could never-"

"You used to love the lab, you loved it before it become a chore, before being in that lab meant you had to try to keep this family from falling apart, before when you could make things and fix things because you had the time, not because it was written into your schedule. Donnie you don't deserve that, you should be taking your classes at NYCU and correcting the teacher when they get details about particle fission wrong and you should be happy, but I'm making you stay cause I can't grow up, cause I can't handle when they yell at eachother, and you get this look in your eye sometimes Don, and I know you just want to be anywhere but here, and I can't-"

"Michael! Stop! Breathe please."

Mikey didn't even realize it but he'd brought his shaking hands to his chest as he sobbed, falling into his brothers embrace, sliding to the hard gravel as his knees have out.

" Donnie I can't do it, I can't be alone, I just can't"

Donnie had came to the back of mikeys shell, grabbing it by lip, pulling away just enough to look him in the eyes.

"And you never will, Michael No matter what I will always be here, I am not leaving you ever."

Don hiccuped as tears streamed down his cheeks

"Mikey I could never leave you, never, you are my only little brother otouto, you've been with me since the start of all this stupid shit and never once have I though it would be better to leave you, Mikey I could never"

Anyway I haven't a clue how to end this, and as I said before, I have no clue how to write down whats in my head, so this came out so much different than what originally made me figure out I have another note to add to my eventual therapy list.

Anyway my whole thought process came from me being a Kinship foster kid, meaning I was fostered by a family member, in my case My Great Aunt, I was later adopted by her when I was about 7(I think) so I obviously have some emotional problems regarding family leaving me and I just move into college, my guardian got upset at me and treated to leave even though we had this whole trip planned for her birthday and everything. Anyway this happened 3 time over 2 days and on the third time I begged her to stay, saying I really wanted this trip to go smoothly and for her to enjoy her birthday, or was a whole crying fest for me while her daughter didn't really help the situation by mentioning how she is kind of emotionally abusive. Ended with her leaving for an hour leaving me under the assumption she wasn't coming back, but she did because she forgot her sleeping machine (cpap). In the end while I was thinking out fanfic scenarios in my head I kind of had what the beginning of this story had, up to mikey telling Don that he doesn't think he is enough to make don stay. It kind of hit me I was modeling his feelings after my new found fear that even If I was sobbing and begging her to stay, she wouldnt.

Anywhoodle hope you enjoyed my attempt at a fic

Much love 💘

[writewhatyouwanttoread]

Fic Idea 4

Katsuki coming back to the school cause he left something and seeing Izuku jump off the roof.

He's utterly horrified that he's watching someone falling off a roof and it hits him the split second the person takes the step over the ledge that it's Izuku. Which is even worse cause the nerd wasn't supposed to actually DO it.

He's moving before he can even form another thought.

He hasn't spent much time flying with his quirk because there aren't many places he can practice without getting caught or risking setting a bunch of things on fire. Plus the roof isn't that high so he's racing Izuku to try and get him before he hits the ground so he throws a lot of power behind the blast that propels him forward and up toward the path Izuku is falling along.

He hits him way to hard. It knocks the air out of both of them and is disorienting because 1) Katsuki has never flown holding another person before so he doesn't know how to accomodate the extra weight and 2) it takes away one of his arms because he has to keep his grip on Izuku. Which means that AFTER he catches Izuku, he barely manages to pop off another explosion to kill some of their momentum before they're crashing into the ground and Katsuki can't do anything more than curl around Izuku to try and protect his head and neck.

It's the most adrenaline he's ever had to deal with and he hates it.

It's such a rush but he hates it.

He's scared that Izuku isn't okay anyway because they landed horribly. Katsuki definitely broke an arm and Izuku probably ended up with a concussion and probably some fractured ribs from Katsuki landing on top on him. They've both got pretty decent "road rash" type injuries from the sidewalk. It's bad. Certainly not as horrible as it COULD have been but not GOOD by any means.

Once he realizes that Izuku is like conscious and ALIVE because he answers Katsuki's demanding questions with words, Katsuki is suddenly just absolutely pissed.

How could Izuku be so fucking stupid?! ONVIOUSLY Katsuki hadn't been serious! All of the adrenaline just gets turned into anger and directed at Izuku.

So he screams at Izuku who of course starts crying but also defends himself and says something about "how was I supposed to know you didn't mean it? All you ever do is tell me how useless and stupid and annoying I am. Everyone says it! Why would I think you didn't mean it? You hate me! "

And that kind of hits Katsuki.

Cause like

Izuku literally just tried to kill himself.

Because of what Katsuki said and how everyone but especially Katsuki treats him.

And Katsuki has just never been confronted with the weight of his own actions like that before.

Nothing he's done had ever mattered before this point.

He's never gotten in trouble with anyone but the Hag before. Not with teachers, not with other kids parents, not with his peers, not with anyone. No person in a position of authority had ever punished him for anything he's ever done to Izuku (or anyone else, but he especially targeted Izuku because he felt so threatened by him). There have been no real consequences because all of the emotional trauma Izuku was experiencing was very separate from Katsuki.

Until now.

And when he realizes that he's made Izuku's life so horrible that Izuku can't even stand to be alive anymore it kind of breaks his brain a little. Really forces him into a bit of a new perspective because he had this person in front of him that was about to no longer be alive and it would've all been Katsuki's fault.

Everything doesn't change right then. He's not suddenly and magically a different person but he stops yelling. He tells Izuku again that he didn't mean it and calls an ambulance for them.

He might have saved Izuku but it doesn't taste like victory because the whole thing was all his fault anyway and stopping Izuku from splattering doesn't change anything.

It's all just really confusing.

They sit there quietly and Izuku just cries.

Later. After he's back at home and has spent several hours receiving medical treatment and being congratulated and treated like a hero for saving someone that wouldn't have needed to be saved if Katsuki hadn't made their life hell for the past 10 years, Katsuki sits in his room and just thinks.

He eventually comes up with this: Izuku was never challenging him or belittling him or demeaning him or mocking him or being anything other than sincere and all of the attention Izuku had been showering on him until recently were genuine attempts to make a friend or have SOME KIND of relationship with another person his age. Absolutely everyone had completely shunned Izuku when they found out he was quirkless. He and Kacchan used to be friends. Kacchan would still engage with him even though Kacchan was horrible to him. So Katsuki was really his only chance at having something approximating friendship with someone again.

And it was really just kind of sad to think about and made him feel very guilty.

He wants to be a hero. Like All Might. All Might who wins every battle he fights.

A hero would never push anyone to suicide.

Certainly not intentionally.

He isn't sure what to do about it though.

He doesn't really want to be friends with Izuku

But he also really doesn't want Izuku to kill himself because of Kastuki

And yes Izuku is subpar because he's so affected by Kastuki’s bullying

But also

Now that Kastuki is spending more time actually imagining Izuku's life: it's extremely depressing

And Katsuki isn't actually sure how he'd personally handle all of that either. No friends. No quirk. No future. And the whole world telling him that he's a waste of space.

It'd be pretty brutal.

He decides he owes it to Izuku to try.

This leads to them of course developing an actual friendship that slowly evolves into a romantic relationship when they're in highschool.

[consumed-by-fandom]

DIDude short-ish runthrough (Postal system headcanon)

So I have a more thorough in-depth timeline planned but for now I’m going to just “briefly” cover my interpretation of DIDude since I will be writing more fics abt him/them.

(DISCLAIMER: this shit subject to change now and again with how much i learn abt canon (eg haven't played P4 so its the endgoal for now). Also I don’t count Redux in this since it makes things… confusing. Idk if he’d have the same personality as P1 or not and P1 is kind of vital to the timeline so uhhhh fuck redux for now sorre. also there is a disctinction between P3 and Alt, I see P3 as Alt's source from the coma, but I don't wanna change the names rn so just do P3 = Alt for now)

Starting off with P1, the OG, he was the first alter formed and was host from childhood until the asylum. Went thru a LOT of trauma (family, religion, social issues, mental disorders) and just generally never in a good place. Paranoid as shit.

He did hear voices from a young age, but it was difficult trying to figure out if they were hallucinations, his own thoughts, or something more. At time went on one specific dry voice became more and more talkative, and this was P2. Throughout their teens he would front now and again, or influence their words, but P1 was never the wiser. He thought he’d just get super confident suddenly or he just lost track of time.

Flash forward to Postal 1, he moves out of his hometown and into Paradise, his numerous mental health problems cause him to go Postal, and P2 is forced to help him out with the rampage across town. He co-fronts a lot and takes any sadistic thoughts or feelings P1 has as his own. Some things still stick with P1 though, and show up in his diary for example. It gradually becomes more P2 than P1 in front until the ending, where P2 gets kicked from the front suddenly and P1 realises the shit he’s done and breaks down. They get sent to the asylum.

At this point P1’s mental state is so bad he just completely shuts down. P2 can’t even get a word out of him, and he realises they’re gonna be stuck here for a long time if he doesn’t take the front for himself. He pushes P1 out, but by doing so he allows P1 to become dormant. P2 becomes host and he’s alone. He gets out of the asylum, gets prescribed anti-psychotics to deal with their symptoms, and leaves the asylum after about two years. He gets a job, meets a nice girl, and builds a life for himself. He even gets a haircut. Basically he claims P1’s life as his own and tries to move on. Plural? Nahhh idk what ur talking about.

Except he still has a lot of unresolved anger issues and trauma, and he’s emotionally blunt as hell, with a tendency towards violence. Keeping a job becomes difficult, his wife turns against him, paradise just kinda sucks now. Cue Postal 2.

Smth I add during Postal 2 but isn’t like vital is he begins to see a lot of similarities of what set off P1 in the first place, and as the town gets increasingly violent he starts getting flashbacks and feels P1 returning slowly, so by friday he’s almost co-con and co-fronting and they’re both nearly fully aware of it. Also he’s just goin thru a lot of trauma in one week its a little much yknow. It’s almost nice to have each other again. But then the bitch makes P1 freak out (he has a massive realisation over going dormant for years) and P2 too tired to continue, and they make a terrible decision.

Anyway apocalypse weekend and he’s alone again, P1 basically peaces out in fear and is never seen again for a long ass time. P2 gets to deal with hallucinations again AND brain damage AND losing his shit AND more trauma, so that’s cool, he’s totally coping, yep. Nukes the town, crashes his car, 11 year coma.

When he wakes up he’s greeted by the presence of P3/Alt Dude who’s formed now. He’s what P2 wishes he was, someone able to actually take things in stride and not let things get to him instead of just repressing shit. He takes like, half his memories from that week, maybe some from the past too. But obviously someone who thinks they’re better than the host would also think they’re better than being trapped in this body/head. His disappearance fucking convolutes everything so I’m just going to say that either P2 just hallucinates P3 having a physical form (bullet in the head) and its P3 fronting and doing all this shit, or he does indeed gets a swanky new physical form and just fucking takes those crucial memories. Which makes OD’s role a little harder in the upcoming years. Hmm.

Anyway paradise lost happens and P2’s on the road dealing with the fact he’s older than he is mentally (smth I’ll talk about in another post). During these years of fuck all happening, P1 eventually returns and the two spend a lot of time going through their trauma and sorting their past out, working with each other to survive, try and earn money etc. they get super close and both agree they wanna try and be less violent and more of an everyman, and also that they’d finally be okay being just one identity. It takes a couple of years, but eventually they fuse to form The Dude.

(If we’re going with P3 also sticking around, he takes much longer to come to because he likes being himself and he likes being his own guy and becomes sort of attached to the other two & The Dude when they fuse. He agrees eventually on premise that a) TD would be finally be accepting himself and b) they’d be OP combined. So yeah)

Unfortunately The Dude immediately realises there’s still a ton of violence and anger inside him (as well as repression) and he doesn’t know how to deal with that still, so in fear he splits off another alter, Other Dude, who (in a fit of extreme rage over finding out he exists) goes deep into the headspace and leaves TD wondering what the fuck happened. But he’s calmer now so whatever lol.

Brain Damaged happens, his dream is one long horrible trip into his inner world created by OD in this big plan, and TD finally confronts him. They fight, OD explains how he’s everything TD has tried to repress through every alter, every taken memory, every built persona, and even when fused he still couldn’t handle that part of himself, the part that held all his trauma, so he’s fucking pissed off and he WILL do anything it takes to get it through his head. TD just goes “yeah no” and shoots him, but instead of just like… killing OD, it’s a form of dormancy, and he fucks off for like about a year.

Again, eventually OD returns after an amount of time and tries to get TD to accept his past and his flaws again. Thing is, TD is just realising how old he is and just… doesn’t wanna fight it all anymore, almost. Takes a LOT of yelling and arguing, but eventually TD goes “FINE i accept you you are me” and OD’s like “oh shit fr? Cmere man” and they’re buddy buddy (gradually) and eventually decide to fuse once and for all, no more hiding from the past, no more hiding from himself, accepting complete responsibility and vying for change.

And then drumroll… P4! Which is the final fusion of the Dudes, he’s old, he’s tired, but mentally? Yeah he’s doing alright. Will still cause a shit ton of chaos but like, he’s totally mellow and can process the shit thrown at him now. And best of all, he accepts himself for everything he is. Happy ending :)

Now there are possible timelines, like if P3 leaves Dude has to deal with memories and parts of himself he’ll never get back, and if P2 is a pacifist he could split OD early and then all four of them get to deal with each other, maybe go for a life as a system end goal. But the one above is like pretty much my interpretation. Final fusion also just seems like the choice they would take in their later life, although functional multiplicity probably comes first.

Now take that and make it longer and that's gonna be my in depth runthrough lmao that one will be in parts so uh... stick around if you wanna see that ig.