#author you are so talented and stunning and brilliant for this!!

[motherismotheringggg]

Hi ! Can you do one of Cooper? The reader was actress/actor. The reader was friends with Cooper and the reader sister knew that the reader was/had fan/crush on Cooper and the reader sister told Cooper that the reader had a crush on him?

finally yours 🩵

summary: see the request above, thank you to this lovely anon <3

type: fluff, fluff and more fluff

tags: kissing

author’s note: this was so sweet to write, man i love a lil fluff moment 😭

🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

You and Cooper had met on a red carpet about a year ago, a night that clearly belonged to him. He was dazzlingly popular, sweeping nearly every category, and it felt like everyone wanted his time. Amid the flashing lights and applause, he held himself with a calm, gracious air, even as fans, journalists, and other celebrities flocked around him.

From afar, you couldn’t help but admire him, captivated by both his talent and his looks. Cooper was stunning in that classic way, with sharp cheekbones and a warm, inviting smile that lit up his face. His hazel eyes held a warmth that softened his otherwise chiseled features, making his charm and confidence feel magnetic.

When his eyes met yours, he rushed over, leaving you stunned. Did he mistake you for someone else? “Oh my god, Y/N, I’m a big fan,” he said, towering over you as he pulled you into an embrace. You were stunned; you’d become a bit of a sensation recently, with your latest movie creating major buzz, but for Cooper to call himself a fan truly shook you.

He continued to shower you in compliments, his words warm and sincere as he praised your work and told you how gorgeous you looked tonight. Before you could fully process it, he’d wrapped his arms around you again, his broad hands resting on your back and making you feel small and secure in his hold.

As he pulled back, still keeping you close, he shook his head in disbelief. “You’re incredible,” he said, his voice filled with admiration. Blushing, you managed to say, “Congratulations on tonight—you deserve it. You were brilliant in Monsters,” reaching out to squeeze his arm. You felt the defined muscles beneath his suit jacket, and your heart fluttered a bit.

His smile softened, and he pulled you in for another hug, his hands lingering slightly as if he didn’t want to let go. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low in your ear. “I’ll see you around tonight,” he added with a lingering smile.

Throughout the after-party, you kept running into each other, each interaction feeling warmer and more personal than the last. By the end of the night, he handed you his phone with a grin. “Let’s keep in touch,” he said, his eyes holding a hint of something more. You saved your number, feeling breathless as you handed his phone back.

————

A few years had passed since that unforgettable red carpet-meeting, and you and Cooper had become inseparable. Whether at events, concerts, or casual hangouts, your bond grew stronger with every shared experience. Fans adored seeing you together, dubbing you a “Hollywood dream duo,” and when it was announced that you’d finally be starring in a project together, the internet erupted in excitement over your electric chemistry.

Filming had been underway for a month, and you and Cooper had grown closer than ever. Every long day on set was balanced by shared laughter, lingering glances, and the comfort of having someone who understood you completely. Cooper had a way of bringing out your best—both on-screen and off. He’d always linger near your trailer, insisting his lunch break was better spent in your company than anywhere else. There were late-night runs to the craft services tent, where you’d tease him for his snack choices, and stolen moments in between takes where your banter flowed effortlessly, leaving everyone around you grinning.

On this particular day, you’d invited your younger sister to visit the set, eager to share a piece of your world with her. Though only two years younger, she had a knack for noticing things most people missed and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind—a combination that often led to hilariously blunt observations or moments of piercing clarity.

She was lounging in your trailer, her legs propped up on the small table as she flipped idly through a magazine. “So this is where the magic happens?” she teased, glancing up with a smirk.

“Something like that,” you replied, rolling your eyes but smiling, finishing up your hair at the trailer vanity.

Your sister’s sharp gaze scanned the trailer like she was piecing together a puzzle. “It’s cozier than I expected. Guess I thought movie-star trailers were all champagne and crystal chandeliers.”

“You’ve been watching too much reality TV,” you said, shaking your head.

Before she could retort, a knock sounded on the door.

“Come in!” you called out.

The door swung open to reveal Cooper, his signature grin lighting up the space. “Heard your sister was here,” he said, stepping inside. “Thought I’d come and say hi.”

Your sister immediately straightened, her analytical gaze locking onto Cooper like a hawk sizing up its prey. You couldn’t help but chuckle internally; you knew this was her version of sizing him up.

“This is my sister Jade” you said, gesturing toward her. “And this is Cooper, my—”

“... absolute best friend in the entire world,” he finished for you, extending his hand toward her. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” your sister said, shaking his hand firmly. She tilted her head slightly, studying him with a look you recognized all too well—the “I’m figuring you out” look. “So, you’re the one who’s always monopolizing her time?”

“Guilty,” Cooper said with a laugh, his eyes flicking to yours with a playful glint.

“You’re lucky you’re charming,” she quipped, a small smirk playing on her lips as she went in for a hug.

You groaned. “Ignore her. She thinks she’s hilarious.”

“Because I am,” she shot back, not missing a beat.

The three of you quickly settled into a rhythm, with Cooper cracking jokes and your sister firing back witty retorts that had him chuckling. You chimed in with playful commentary, adding to the lively dynamic, it felt like a comedy routine. Still, your sister’s sharp eye didn’t miss the way Cooper leaned toward you when he laughed or how his gaze lingered on you just a little longer than necessary.

As the conversation flowed, Cooper’s natural warmth shone through, and your sister’s demeanor softened slightly. By the time he was called back to set, she was grinning as she watched him leave.

When the door shut behind him, the trailer fell into silence. You turned to your vanity to touch up your makeup, trying to ignore the goofy grin that had taken over your face.

“Okay, spill,” your sister said, breaking the quiet.

“Spill what?” you asked, feigning innocence.

She raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her seat. “So…that’s your boyfriend, or what?”

You whipped around, startled. “What? No! Cooper and I are just—”

“Absolute best friends?” she interrupted, folding her arms. “Please. I don’t know how you’ve convinced yourself of that, but the energy between you two? It’s practically a rom-com in real life. The banter, the looks, the body language—it’s all there.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but she held up a hand to stop you. “And before you say I’m imagining things, let me remind you: I notice everything. You’re in love with him. Admit it.”

“I’m not—” you started, but the words faltered.

Your sister narrowed her eyes, her tone softening but still direct. “You can’t lie to me. He looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. And you hang on to his every single word he says.”

Her analysis hit like a punch to the chest. You turned back to the mirror, trying to collect your thoughts. “We’re just…really good friends,” you said quietly, though even you could hear the doubt in your voice.

“Sure,” she said, her tone laced with sarcasm. “And I’m just here for the free snacks.”

You sighed letting out a chuckle, your fingers fiddling with a makeup brush. The truth was, she wasn’t wrong. You had been yearning for Cooper for years, hiding your feelings behind the safety of friendship. The thought of losing him—or complicating what you had—had always kept you from saying anything.

Before you could respond, a knock on the door signaled it was time for you to head back to set. “Think Cooper could show me around while you’re busy?” your sister asked, her tone casual but her smirk anything but.

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Sure. But behave.”

“No promises,” she said with a wink as she followed you out.

————

Cooper led Jade around the set, his easygoing demeanor making even the chaotic environment feel inviting. He started with the soundstage, a cavernous space where cameras, lights, and crew buzzed with purpose. “This is where the magic happens—or, you know, where we fake it convincingly,” he quipped, pointing out the massive green screens and intricate camera rigs. He gestured to a detailed house facade, adding, “Looks sturdy, right? It’s just plywood. One strong gust, and it’s game over.”

From there, he showed her the wardrobe trailer, crammed with racks of costumes, and the prop room, a treasure trove of oddly specific items—everything from antique vases to fake food. Finally, they landed at the diner set, complete with retro booths, a jukebox, and gleaming countertops. “This one’s my favorite,” Cooper said as your sister slid into a booth, her eyes roaming over the immersive details. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember it’s not real.” She smirked at that, tapping the table thoughtfully. “Feels like it could be.” Cooper grinned, leaning in slightly, “That’s the goal.”

As they made their way back to your trailer, the air between Cooper and your sister felt easy and light. He paused just outside the door, hands tucked into his pockets, ready to say goodbye as she waited for you to wrap filming. There was a brief, comfortable silence before Jade tilted her head and asked, “So, how are you liking filming with my sister?”

Cooper’s face lit up instantly, and he didn’t hesitate. “Oh, she’s incredible,” he said, his voice full of sincerity. “She’s just… one of those people who makes everything better, you know? On set, off set—she’s so talented, so smart. And funny. Don’t even get me started on how funny she is.” His grin widened as he continued, “She has this way of making everyone feel comfortable, but she’s also so driven and sharp. Honestly, it’s kind of unfair that someone can be that amazing and still look as good as she does.” He chuckled, shaking his head, clearly caught up in his praise.

Your sister raised an eyebrow, smirking as she leaned against the trailer door. “So, when the movie wraps, is that when you guys are going to make your relationship public?”

Cooper froze for half a beat before laughing, the sound slightly louder and more nervous than usual. “What? No, no, we’re just friends,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks tinting the faintest shade of pink. “Really good friends, that’s all.”

But Jade wasn’t buying it. She squinted at him, her knowing look cutting straight through his weak denial. As she turned to open the trailer door, she tossed over her shoulder, “There’s nothing worse than two idiots in love trying to convince everyone else they aren’t.”

Cooper stood there, stunned into silence, watching the door close behind her. His jaw slackened slightly as her words sank in. She knew. And worse—he knew she was right.

————

Later that night, the set had quieted down, and you found yourself back in Cooper’s trailer, sharing dinner like you always did. The meal was simple but comforting, and the air between you was familiar—comfortable, even—but there was a faint, unspoken tension that neither of you addressed outright. Still, it wasn’t enough to interrupt your usual banter about the day’s filming.

“Thanks again for showing my sister around,” you said after a pause, your fork idly poking at your plate. “She seemed like she had fun, which is rare for her. She’s usually not impressed by much.”

“She was sweet,” Cooper said, leaning back in his chair. “Actually, she said she really admires your work ethic. Like, lowkey, she thinks you’re kind of amazing….and she’s not wrong” His tone was easy, but something about the way he said it made your heart skip.

You froze for a split second, trying to keep your face neutral. “Yeah, well,” you began, forcing a laugh, “sometimes she likes to make people feel nervous for fun. She’s, uh, super analytical like that—loves seeing people squirm. It’s kind of her thing.”

As casually as ever, he got up and crossed to the small couch in the corner, motioning for you to join him. “She told me a lot about you, though,” he said, his voice softer now, carrying a weight that sent your stomach flipping.

Your heart dropped, a rush of panic hitting you square in the chest. You set your plate down and crossed your arms, trying to play it off. “Oh, God,” you said with an exaggerated groan. “What’d she say? Because honestly, sometimes she just talks to mess with people.”

Cooper smiled faintly, but his eyes didn’t waver. “She wasn’t messing with me,” he said, his tone more direct now, making it impossible for you to brush him off.

Your chest rose sharply, your breath caught in a mix of panic and anticipation. Cooper’s words hung in the air, so heavy yet so vulnerable. You slowly lowered yourself onto the couch next to him, trying to keep your movements calm even though your heart was racing wildly.

“She said… ‘there’s nothing worse than two fools in love,’” Cooper repeated, his lips curving into a small, almost shy smile as he reached for your hands. His touch was warm, his hands larger and stronger than yours, yet so gentle that it felt like a grounding force. “And if I’m being honest, I’m in love with you. I always have been, and I always will be.”

Your breath hitched, your heart thudding loudly in your ears. Cooper’s thumb lightly grazed over your knuckles as he continued, his voice unwavering despite the tenderness of his confession. “But she’s your sister, and she knows you better than I ever could. So if this isn’t something you want…” His words trailed off, his gaze searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You took a deep breath, the air filling your lungs but failing to calm the storm inside. “Cooper,” you began, your voice trembling slightly, “I’ve loved you ever since you first said my name. And every day since then. You make every day wonderful, and even on my worst days, just hearing from you makes it all feel better—like the world isn’t as heavy.”

Finally, you looked up, meeting his gaze head-on. His eyes were warm and kind, full of something deeper than you’d ever dared to imagine. The way he smiled at you—like you were his whole world—made your chest ache in the best way.

“God,” he breathed, his voice filled with awe, “you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

And then he moved. The space between you disappeared as his lips found yours, crashing into you with a passion that left no room for doubt. For a fleeting second, you hesitated, the weight of the moment overwhelming. But then your instincts took over, and you melted into him.

The kiss was electric, a perfect mix of exhilaration and familiarity. It felt like a first kiss—tingling, new, and impossibly thrilling—but also like the culmination of a thousand unspoken moments, as though you’d been doing this forever.

Cooper’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, his grip firm but protective. His large hands made you feel small, secure, and cherished all at once. Your hands found their way to his jaw and the back of his head, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him deeper into the kiss. Time seemed to blur, the rest of the world falling away until there was only Cooper—his warmth, his touch, his love.

[nightshadeblooming]

well this ruined me.

Statistically Speaking...

part of the svt TA collab

kim mingyu x reader

word count: 21k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

masterlist

Monday

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which was little to none. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday

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

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

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

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

Nothing. 

You knock again.

Silence. 

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

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

Except he’s asleep.

No, that’s not the professor. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could’ve sworn you heard a snore. 

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

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

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

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

“Um, it’s office—”

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

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

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

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

“But—”

“It’s on the portal.”

“No it’s not.”

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

“How—”

A loud slam! of the door. 

“—long…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday

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

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

Regards, YN

Dear YN,

Wednesdays and Thursdays. 4 to 6 PM.

Kim Mingyu, T.A. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you here to see him?”

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

“Are you here to see him? Mingyu?”

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

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

“Yeah he’s a bit…unorthodox.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right. How can I help you?”

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

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

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

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

It stumps you regardless.

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

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

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

“You marked them?”

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

“I thought the professor marked the lab reports.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dr. Cho—”

“Is no help.”

“I understand—”

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

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

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

Help, he did. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pardon?”

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

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

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

You smile, “No problem.”

Thursday

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

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

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

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

“I’ll see what I can do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Help, he does.

Monday

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

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

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

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

Something isn’t right. 

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

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

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

“...Morning.”

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

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

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

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

To Do:

Call mom

Shoot myself

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

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

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

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

What the fuck?

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

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

“Good thing it was just you. Yeah.”

Just you.

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

“Have you seen the time?” 

“Not a morning person?”

“Nope!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And that isn’t happening because…?”

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

“You—”

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

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

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

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“Excuse me for doing my job.”

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

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

“PSYCH101?”

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

“Oh. So you’re a fan.”

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

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

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

“Don’t tell me you offered.”

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

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

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

“Four.”

“Four?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart is in your fucking throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Majority of the class would beg to differ.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday

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

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

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

“I’m not ready.”

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

“How do you know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

“Only the—”

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

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

“I’m assuming…” you start. 

“Hm?” he looks over to you.

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

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

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

“What did you say?” Mingyu smirks. 

“Nothing,” you huff.

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

“Who said I didn’t.”

“Well then, stop being such a worrywart.”

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

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

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

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

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

You sniffle. 

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

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

Monday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mingyu…did you sleep at all?”

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

“Sleep? Rest?”

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

“And you were replying?”

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

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

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

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

“What’re you trying to say?”

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

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

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

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

“Mingyu—”

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

“You have, you’ve been amazing but—”

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

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

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

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

Why on earth do you care so much?

Right. Why do you? 

“Are you asking me that?”

“What?”

“Are you asking me why I care?” 

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

His eyes are bloodshot. 

“I have to get the exam pack.”

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

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

Delusive. Chimeric. Cruel.

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

The null hypothesis of your most elaborate nightmares.

Monday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything. You tried everything. 

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

It’s Wednesday. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Estimation cannot be perfect. 

[_]

It’s Thursday

Class. Eat. Drink. Work.

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

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

[_]

It’s Friday

Eat. Drink. Work.

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

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

[_]

It’s Saturday

Eat. Drink. Work.

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

              ——————

                     P(B)

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

 it gets less complicated

 promise :/ 

[_]

It’s Sunday.

Eat. Drink. Work.

The page is blurry. Your eyes hurt. 

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

you’ve got this!!! < 3

You give up.

It’s Monday.

8:14 AM. 

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

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

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

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

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

Bright pink sticky note. 

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

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

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

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

It’s Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Wednesday.

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

It’s Thursday. 

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

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

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

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

You freeze like you’ve been caught. 

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

You’re off centre. But it’s fine. 

It’s Monday.

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

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

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

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

It’s Tuesday.

Midterm Results for Statistics in Psychological Research.

—  92/100

It’s Wednesday. 

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

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

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

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

“Did you feel bad?” you spit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A bright red 92/100 marks the front page.

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

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

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

Because you know you’ve lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Friday.

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

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

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

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

[Mingyu]: switch to bF10 

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

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

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

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

Do you not miss me?

Do you not want me around?

Talk to me

I miss you

Please talk to me

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

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

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

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

It’s Saturday. 

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

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

“Latte, please,” you voice. “Iced.”

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

“Um, no thank you. Just one, please.”

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

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

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

“He has time to hook up?”

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

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

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

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

“Unless he flirts in variables.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Sunday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bayesian inference…z scores…null hypothesis…

Wait. 

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

no null hypothesis in bayesian approach

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Regards, YN

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

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

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

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

SEND.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RE: Tutorial Error from Kim Mingyu

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

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

Clicking on the notification, the email opens. 

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

Kim Mingyu, T.A.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I–no, I didn’t.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

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

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

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

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

“You were hurt because I hurt you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not in a TA way.”

“Tutor way.”

“Um.”

“Friend way? A human way?” 

“No.”

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

“You know what?” he rasps. 

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorts, “Dressed up for it too.”

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

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

“How adorable.”

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

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

“That might’ve been a little better.”

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

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

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

You give him the satisfaction of an eye roll. 

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

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

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

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

“Who?”

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

“Do you?”

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

“Is it because of the TA-ing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you think they’ll be okay?”

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

“Like we did?”

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

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

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

“This is getting weird,” Mingyu breathes. 

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

“For fuck’s sake.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re paying attention to me.”

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

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

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

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

There’s a ding in the background. 

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

Another ding. 

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

Ding. 

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

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

“Gyu…” you whisper. 

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

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

His phone begins to ring again. 

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

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

The ringing stops. 

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

There’s a ding. 

“Mingyu, I really think—”

His phone begins to ring again. 

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

“You should answer.” 

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

“It might be important.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Go on.”

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

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

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

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

You have to stifle a snort. 

“Is it…plugged in?”

“Of course it is, I’m not an idiot.”

“Is it showing up on your files?”

“Disk…is not…formatted.”

“Erm, it might be corrupted.”

“How did that happen?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I…I don’t know how, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need a shower.”

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

“Do you wanna come in too?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can figure it out myself, Gyu.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm? I think so.” 

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

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

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

“Gyu,” you shuffle closer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm? Has to be what?”

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

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

“For the love of—”

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

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

“What’s that again?”

“You little shit.”

You move your mouth forward to kiss him.

“Analysis of variance.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I might love you too. 

You hide that as well. For now. 

Smiling into the skin of his temples, you sigh.

“Feel free.”

[Mingyu]: class ended early 

[Mingyu]: be there in 5 

[You]: ???

[You]: wdym ended early

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“It’s on the bedside table, baby.”

“No, it’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good thing I came back early, hm?” 

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that for?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a pillow fort.

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

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

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

[You]: where are you

[Mingyu]: where im meant to be?

[You]: office hours?

[Mingyu]: mhm

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

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

[Mingyu]: DONT KILL ME

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

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

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

“Whatever for?”

“For lying.” 

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

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

“Him too.”

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

“Rumour has it,” he starts. 

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

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

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

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

“Take a hike, Kim.”

“...Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mingyu was beautiful either way. 

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

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

“More than okay,” you mumble. 

“Good. Thought I lost you there.”

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

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

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

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

“How happy are you?”

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

“The recommendation? You deserve it.”

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

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

“Not just yet.”

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

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

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

“Girlfriend duties,” you quote solemnly. 

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

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

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

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

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

You can only grumble in mild annoyance. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I think I might love you too.” 

[happyhauntt]

— march fic recs, brought to you by happyhauntt.

a wee fic rec post for a few of the fics i read in march that altered my brain chemistry!! i've put a lil comment next to each rec because honestly writers don't get praised enough for their work these days and i wanted to show my appreciation for these talented souls!!

grishaverse.

➡ kaz brekker.

what do you want from me by @rubysunnday. notes: literally perfect wtf.

dark days by rubysunnday. notes: i reread this literally constantly, it is so perfect, kaz's characterisation is perfect, i adore it.

bloody hands by rubysunnday. notes: i devoured this whole thing like a starving person it was sO good.

when am i gonna lose you? by @crowsmybeloveds. notes: this is so beautiful honestly i have no words.

the lost princess by @ellewritesalright. notes: look it's only part one but elle is a fucking wizard and i'm a sucker for an anastasia au.

you and me (a whole lot of history) by @heliads. notes: this was so cute and such a clever concept i fell in love!!!

schat by @amourology. notes: fully choked this is so adorable.

soulmate by @magpiencrow. notes: KAZ BREKKER SOULMATE AU didn't know i needed this but now i need 100 more!!!!

➡ nikolai lantsov.

nine long years series by @ellewritesalright. notes: i am actively fucking screaming over this fic. i will never stop. this might genuinely be the best thing i've read in a LONG while. everything about it has me sobbing i actively CANNOT COPE. and it's not even finished yet.

one of us by @songofpatrochilless. notes: literally had me sobbing you don't understand the domesticity of it all!!!!!.

come on back to me by @atlabeth. notes: there is a very strong chance that i'll literally never stop screaming about this fic.

dreams of you by @wh0refornikolailantsov. notes: every cell in my body is SCREAMING.

this love by @lantsovsupremacist. notes: did not, in fact, give you permission to hurt me like this do it again.

salt in the wound by @in-my-feels-probably. notes: brain goes brrrr this has everything i need to survive tbh.

wanting was enough by @rubysunnday. notes: beautiful stunning magnificent i want to eat it.

an exhausted smile by @writing-havoc. notes: think i had an aneurysm reading this it was that amazing.

run away with me by @sumsebien. notes: i am still sobbing over this.

in emerald hearts, emerald minds by @undiscovered-horizon. notes: love love love love love. there aren't enough words in any language to describe how much i love this.

➡ alina starkov.

alina starkov x reader by @heliads. notes: alina does not get nearly enough love and this was so fucking sad and cute and brilliant.

➡ nina zenik.

the ten steps to 'i love you' by @sophierequests. notes: this was SO HEARTWARMING AND SWEET i adored it!!!

➡ zoya nazyalensky.

forget-me-nots by @syllvane. notes: not enough zoya fics on this hellsite. but also this ripped my heart out and made me sob so RUDE. i feel devastated.

➡ inej ghafa.

inej ghafa x reader by @heliads. notes: INEJ MY SWEET BABY, this fic is everything to me. everything. and it's so beautifully written!!!

➡ the darkling.

the dark side of the moon series by @myhairpintrigger. notes: this fic is ASTOUNDING. i haven’t cried this much reading something in a long time. i was FULL-BODY SOBBING. i don’t even like the darkling. i am Not a darkling girlie. but i was intrigued by concept of this fic and i can safely say it has ruined my life. this is Emotional Damage Incarnate. i will never recover. author, i salute you.

911.

through the smoke by @borntobewondering. notes: spent twenty whole minutes sobbing after reading this. i felt undone i felt hollow i felt so utterly fucked. author is a genius and that's all there is to say.

not so one night stand by @shmaptainwrites. notes: this was so fuckin adorable i'm in love.

d.c. to l.a. by shmaptainwrites. notes: bobby my guy just doesn't get enough fucking credit and this is so fucking adorable.

criminal minds.

➡ spencer reid.

trouble almost all my life by @januaryembrs. notes: this series is. it's literally. everything. i love bugsy like she's my own child. sister relationships are everything to me. i spent an hour sobbing in my bed over parts 2 and 3. i want this tattooed on my forehead.

➡ aaron hotchner.

found by @benedictscanvas. notes: DADDY i mean what. all jokes aside this was so sweet and beautiful and i'm in love the writing!!!

doctor who.

rage rage (against the dying of the light) by @morganas-pendragons. notes: felt feral after reading this. kayla just gets me in my feels every time.

heartbeat by morganas-pendragons. notes: this was the most emotional devastating thing i've ever read and i fully needed 3-5 business days to recover. rude. i want 100 more.

untitled by morganas-pendragons. notes: PAIN i love this so much.

ache by morganas-pendragons. notes: just scoop my heart out of my fucking chest i don't want it anymore after reading this.

a mind full of blissful terrors by @magiccath. notes: simply fucking amazing.

light in the dark by @i-imagine-my-doctor. notes: screaming please i adore this so much.

baby talk by @kisstherainwriting. notes: THE ABSOLUTE CUTIEST EVER. there's not enough clara fics and this had me squealing and feeling all warm and fuzzy!!!

holding my hand by kisstherainwriting. notes: angst galore this was STUNNING.

in another's eyes by @cas-kingdom. notes: PERFECTION.

where do we go now series by @theetherealbloom. notes: literally so fucking amazing i don't have enough words.

marauders.

the winner takes it all by @ellecdc. notes: brb faye is having a STROKE--

come back, be here series by ellecdc. notes: i think i had a full on stroke while reading this series. the attention to detail is insane. the characterisation is perfect.

i don't know you anymore (maybe i never really did) by @thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels. notes: SCREECHING i'm in love you don't understand.

bridgerton.

➡ anthony bridgerton.

distractions by @peterpparkrr. notes: simply immaculate.

right person, all the wrong times by @wwinterwitch. notes: did you mean one of my favourite tropes bc this is it.

right in front of me by @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69 & @thirteenisles. notes: i felt feral after reading this tbh.

➡ sibling!reader.

reluctant caretaker by @rubysunnday. notes: this fic hit my heart in all the right places okay sibling stuff means everything to me.

did she have a cookie by rubysunnday. notes: a joyous read from start to finish i CACKLED the whole way through.

moon knight.

come back to me by @mgparker. notes: still sobbing. immaculate.

the other sarcophagus by @starryevermore. notes: i literally reread this constantly i adore it so much!!

marc spector x reader by @softlyspector. notes: i had an aneurysm reading this and i haven't been the same since.

more marc spector x reader by softlyspector. notes: i am having an intense emotion hold on. anytime i see autistic stuff in canon content for any fandom i SQUEAK. and this is so well done honestly.

star wars.

heartless by @youvebeenlivingfictional. notes: i reread this constantly, it's so amazing and heartwrenching and beautiful and i want to eat it.

little talks by @light-yaers. notes: you simply do not understand how much i adore everything beff writes. i adore this fic more than i need oxygen to breathe.

right where you left me series by light-yaers. notes: personality-defining series. i LIVE for this fic. every update adds five years to my lifespan. if you're not reading this you are MISSING OUT.

a light, a song, a bluebird by @millllenniawrites. notes: made me SOB 10/10 would recommend if you like emotional trauma.

invisible string by @campingwiththecharmings. notes: pining!!! loneliness!!! i adore!!!

hard landings by @softlyspector. notes: no. no you don't understand. this fic doesn't just own my soul it is my soul. i want it tattooed on my face.

misc.

hopper x reader by @luveline. notes: you don't understand this might be the cutest shit i've ever read and jade is a fellow welsh person which automatically makes them brilliant in my book.

muña by @in-my-feels-probably. notes: alicent means fucking everything to me and this had me sobbing.

mistletoe magic by @writingsbychlo. notes: literally the cutest fucking thing ever, had me kicking my legs and squealing!!

[nwjws]

howlers of love - ksn 🎐

; pairing - sunoo x gn!reader

; synopsis - in which sunoo starts receiving howlers from an anonymous student, professing their love for him in his face for the whole school to watch.

; tags - one shot, fluff, a teaspoon of angst, hogwarts au, hufflepuff!sunoo, hufflepuff!reader ; warnings - none

; wc - 3.3k

; author's corner! this was requested! i just love hogwarts aus and sunoo

it was a normal morning. it was.

walking down to the great hall with your best friend, sunoo, for breakfast - it was your daily routine. it had been for the past 4 years.

you'd wait for each other in the common room every morning, then make your way to the hall for breakfast. sunoo would be complaining about some teacher or classmate while you speed-run some homework due the other day.

then, you'd leave for your classes, but not without sunoo stuffing some toast up your mouth, because you never actually eat much in the mornings. not when you're completing work you should have done earlier. this morning was just like every other - until an owl dropped a red envelope at sunoo's plate.

suddenly, the other students sitting nearby you guys silenced, eyeing the howler in front of your best friend. howlers were never a good thing to receive. they were often sent by parents to their children who had been particularly naughty.

"are you in trouble?" someone asked, but no one could believe it. after all, sunoo was a good student, great even. he was a ball of sunshine, and did well at school. he had no enemies, not when a smile from him could send anyone melting on the inside.

so what the hell was a howler doing in front of him?

"you should open it soon," you told him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. his eyes remained fixed on the letter. "to get it over with."

it seemed like the whole hall leaned away as sunoo slowly reached for it, confused and afraid of what it might contain.

a moment later, the envelope exploded, and a distorted voice started roaring from it, garnering everyone's attention.

"DEAR SUNOO, YOU DON'T KNOW WHO THIS IS, BUT I HAVE TO TELL YOU NOW.

"I LIKE YOU. I HAVE FOR A WHILE NOW, AND IT'S SO HARD KEEPING THESE FEELINGS TO MYSELF. NOT WHEN YOU'RE SO PERFECT, AND AMAZING, AND BRILLIANT, AND TALENTED.

"I'M NOT ASKING YOU TO RECIPROCATE MY FEELINGS, BUT I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW, THAT THERE ARE PEOPLE OUT THERE WHO CARE FOR YOU - LIKE ME.

"SINCERELY, YOUR NOT-SO-SECRET ADMIRER."

a silence fell over the hall, as the howler burst into flames and ashes.

everyone had heard, and everyone was now staring at your best friend - who remained stunned in his seat, a hand over his mouth.

"sunoo?" you asked tentatively. the hand you placed on his shoulder seemed to wake him up.

he was about to say something when everyone burst into chatter about what had just happened, whistles echoing throughout the hall.

"whew!" jake, another of sunoo's friends, clapped his back. "now that's one way to confess." sunghoon nodded with a grin, holding his chuckle in as he stood slightly behind his fellow ravenclaw.

"no," sunoo whined, hiding his face completely behind his hands. "a good way of confessing is telling me who they really are. only cowards hide behind anonymity."

you rubbed his back comfortingly, trying to form words in your head.

"everyone's going to be talking about it for the rest of the day," sunghoon remarks.

"don't remind me," sunoo said, his voice muffled.

"are you okay?" you ask him, bending to try and get a look at his face. he turns his head slightly, and you see his face flushed red.

"oh!" you laugh. "did you like that?"

"of course he did," jake chuckled. "you know our sunoo, he loves the attention." he reached out to ruffle the boy's hair, but sunoo fought his hands away before jake could do anything.

"stop doing that!" he whined. "i'm just a little embarrassed. now everyone's in my business," he mumbled, sitting up and putting his red cheeks on full display.

"i think it's cute," you say, reaching up to comb his hair with your hand. you heard jake grumble about how sunoo only ever lets you touch his hair.

"ah sunoo," sunghoon sighed, patting the younger boy. "ever the lover for grand gestures, aren't you?"

sunoo huffed. "whatever. me and y/n are going to class now. i'm not listening to you two idiots any longer."

and then he up and left, taking you with him by the wrist.

the next week, another howler arrived for sunoo. everyone was curious now.

"DEAR SUNOO, I HOPE YOU'RE SMILING WHEN YOU GET THIS NEXT MESSAGE. IT ALWAYS BRIGHTENS UP MY DAY.

"I HEAR YOU THINK I'M A COWARD FOR REMAINING ANONYMOUS. I THINK SO TOO. BUT, IF YOU WANT TO KNOW SOMETHING ABOUT ME, I'LL TELL YOU ONE.

"I LIKE YOUR SOFT, FLUFFY HAIR, AND THE WAY YOU STYLE YOURSELF. IT ALWAYS AMAZES ME HOW YOU CAN MAKE OUR BORING UNIFORM INTO YOUR OWN. YOU INSPIRE ME.

"SINCERELY, YOUR NOT-SO-SECRET ADMIRER."

sunoo scoffed, but a smile tugged at his lips anwyay.

"is that even a fact about themself?" he asked you with a pout. "everyone likes my hair!"

the other students resumed their previous chit-chat, some trying to guess who the anonymous sender might be. you just shrugged and continued to eat your food, frantically trying to complete an essay for charms later that day.

"your admirer doesn't seem to have any plans of actually revealing who they are, huh?" sunghoon asked sunoo. him and jake had decided to sit with you two at the hufflepuff table this morning.

"no," sunoo sighed. "cowardly on another level - giving me hope, only to pull that on me!"

"maybe they'll reveal more in their next letter?" you try to comfort him.

"they better," he grumbled. "i need to know who it is."

"maybe it's someone you know!" jake says. "if they feel the need to distort their voice so they won't be recognised, maybe you know them."

"that barely narrows the pool of possibilities down! i know practically everyone at hogwarts," your best friend whined.

"it's only the second letter. you can't exactly guess much from two howlers," you tell him, still focused on your essay. you groan as you scribble out a whole paragraph.

"oh my god," sunghoon gasped, staring at your textbook from the other side of the table. "i totally forgot about that assignment."

"you idiot," jake smacked the taller boy's head. sunghoon reached for your textbook to look at the content, but you pulled it back.

"i can't let you see my textbook - i've written notes all over it," you say, embarrassed. sunghoon wouldn't be able to read much over all the post-it notes you've stuck on the pages.

"more like you've doodled all over it," sunoo laughed.

"listen - drawing cutesy little stars and hearts on the page is more interesting than professor kim drawling on about the goblin rebellion of 1612, okay?" you defended yourself.

jake raised an eyebrow. you could tell he wanted to laugh.

"whatever, just let me finish this essay. i'm almost done."

"i'm not! i haven't even started," sunghoon groaned. the three of you laughed as he leaned on jake's side, dragging his hands down his face with a whine.

over the next few weeks, sunoo would continue to receive howlers, garnering everyone's attention every time the owls swooped into the hall to drop off mail. in fact, it's become something the whole school started looking forward to - the only thing that had them excitedly running for the hall at the beginning of another hellish week of school.

waiting for another red envelope to plop onto sunoo's plate had become regular. the usual screaming into his face had become your normal monday mornings.

you realised that there were now several students sending him howlers, because he would receive 2-3 howlers every week, all with distinctly different voices and handwriting.

"seems like your original sender has got competition," jake giggled as sunoo rubbed his ear.

"i'm going deaf with all these letters screeching at me every week," he rolled his eyes, feeding you some fish from your own plate. you were working on more homework that you'd missed out on recently (what's new?). "and besides, none of them will ever beat the original."

"even riki's?" you asked, laughing. the second year had latched onto sunoo on his first day at hogwarts, and somehow joined the group of boys, despite being a lot younger.

he'd joined the trend of sending sunoo howlers one morning, although it was obviously him without the distorted voice. none of the other senders had bothered to cover up their voices.

"riki's 'confession' was him thanking me- actually, more like exposing me for bringing him some butterbeer from our last hogsmeade weekend!" sunoo cries in exasperation. "i had to put on the biggest puppy eyes i could when professor jeon pulled me aside to ask about it."

"i told you it was a stupid idea," sunghoon said solemnly, but the twitching of his lips betrayed his amusement.

"he threatened me to! that brat."

"i heard that!" riki's voice yelled from the slytherin table, next to hufflepuff's.

"that kid's crazy," you gasped through your laughter.

"he's going to ruin the fun," sunghoon sighed. "after his letter, the professors started talking of banning students from sending howlers to each other."

"what?" sunoo gasped. "how am i going to receive letters from my secret admirer?"

"they can just send you normal, written letters," you suggested.

"but it's way more interesting when their deformed voice is screaming about how much they love me," he pouted.

"oh, he's down bad," jake shook his head.

sunoo ignored him. "i miss them," he sighed instead. the original secret admirer hadn't been able to send a howler in 2 weeks, much to everyone's disappointment.

"look at him! he's missing someone he doesn't even know!" jake gawked in disbelief.

"i'm trying to figure it out."

"really? how?" sunghoon asked.

"i have a list of things they mentioned about themself, and other things i've figured out, on my phone."

"can we see?" you asked, curious.

"no!"

"why not?" jake pouted.

"i don't want you guys to figure it out. i want to be the one to do it," sunoo huffed stubbornly.

"but you'd figure it out sooner with all of us!" sunghoon says.

"with you?" sunoo gaped at the tall boy. "you may be ravenclaw, but you do not have the brains to actually be of any help."

"touche," sunghoon folded his arms and shrugged. "but hey, jake can help! and y/n!"

"the answer is no."

"well, you better figure it out soon, before the school actually bans us from sending howlers to each other," you tell him. he stares at you intently for a moment, then nods.

just then, another red envelope is dropped onto his plate. sunoo sighs as he shifts forward to open it, expecting another confession from a newer sender.

"DEAR SUNOO, I HOPE YOU HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN ME YET."

it was the original sender. sunoo switched his full attention onto the howler; everyone else quietened to listen in.

"I'M SORRY I HADN'T BEEN ABLE TO TALK TO YOU THE LAST FEW WEEKS. YOU KNOW SENDING YOU THESE LETTERS ARE MY FAVOURITE THING TO DO.

"YOU SEEM TO BE DOING WELL. I SAW YOU THE OTHER DAY, WITH CUTESY BOWS IN YOUR HAIR THAT YOUR FRIEND HAD PUT IN. THE SMILE ON YOUR FACE WAS HAPPIER THAN I'D EVER SEEN IT. I HOPE ONE DAY TO BE THE CAUSE BEHIND SUCH A PRETTY SMILE.

"ACCORDING TO THE RUMOURS THAT THE SCHOOL IS BANNING HOWLERS, THIS MAY BE MY LAST LETTER. IF IT IS, I'M GLAD THAT I GOT TO TELL YOU HOW I FELT, EVEN IF I'LL NEVER KNOW IF YOU LIKE ME BACK.

"LOVE, YOUR NOT-SO-SECRET ADMIRER."

even after the red letter set on fire and burned to ashes, your best friend's eyes remained fixated on the space in front of him. he stared into nothing, seemingly in a daze after the (possibly) last howler he'd ever get from his favourite anonymous admirer. you wondered what he was thinking.

"sunoo?" you prodded. he turned to look at you, eyes blown wide open.

it's like something clicked. his siren-like eyes pulled you in, engaging you into a staring contest. while the rest of the world continued, you two were stuck in your own timeless little space.

his eyes were always your favourite feature. you wished you could see the world through his beautiful eyes, even if for just a moment.

"hello?" sunghoon tapped you on the shoulder. you finally broke away from the hold sunoo had on you. "we've got to get to class."

"oh, right."

for the rest of the day, you couldn't seem to look directly at your best friend, still replaying the events of that morning.

it was clear sunoo had taken quite a liking to the anonymous sender, no matter how silly it sounded. in the weeks following their first letter, he would talk about them nonstop. his eyes twinkled and his cheeks got especially rosy whenever he did, and he also loved to speculate about who or what the person was like.

you listened whole heartedly, his voice soothing you after a long day of school. even if he was talking about someone else, or at least an illusion of a person he'd created.

sunoo had gotten frustrated with you for avoiding him all day. so he resorted to cornering you in the hufflepuff common room before you two went back up to your dorms.

"y/n. stop it."

"stop what?" you asked innocently.

"don't play dumb. why have you been ignoring me all day?"

"no i haven't."

"you're a terrible liar."

"how would you know?" you crossed your arms.

"you fiddle with your thumbs whenever you lie. you also comb your hair with your hands, fold your arms, stand up straighter, scrunch your nose-"

"okay, okay. i get it," you shook your head. "i'm sorry."

"you should be. i've been missing my best friend all day," he pouted.

you fell apart at his expression, and engulfed him in a hug. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean it. i hope you're okay."

"i would be better if you shared this hot chocolate with me by the fire place. i brought both mugs from the kitchens all by myself - and they're really hot!"

"fine," you laughed, and took a mug from one of his hands.

you two settled into the couches by the warm fire place, and you watched the flickering light from the flames reflect onto his hazel eyes.

"you always look at me like that."

"like what?" you asked.

"like you're obsessed with me," he grinned.

"sounds like you're obsessed with me," you retorted with a giggle. "to the point you even notice the way i look at you."

"why wouldn't i be?"

your smile dropped. you looked down at your cup, your reflection in the drink swirling.

"you can't just say things like that."

"why not?" you stayed silent.

he continued. "why can't i talk about how much i love my best friend? why can't i tell you the little things i notice about you? why can't you just look at me?"

"because!" you exclaimed suddenly. you cleared your throat awkwardly when you garnered a few looks. you spoke again in a lower tone.

"it makes me feel things- things i shouldn't be feeling for a friend."

"well, i would hope not. i'm not just your friend, i'm your best friend."

"but that's the thing, sunoo," you sighed. "sometimes, i feel like i don't want to be just best friends. i look at you and see someone with a sweet smile, and with an even sweeter personality. i've never met someone who's as pretty on the inside as they are on the outside.

"when i look at you, it feels like the world is clearer, easier to bear. when i look at you, i see someone i want to spend the rest of my life with - someone i love."

sunoo was silent for a moment.

and you were so scared that you messed it up, your friendship. you couldn't stand the deafening absence of his voice, overtaken by the crackle of the flames and background voices.

just when you were about to stand up to go hide in your room, he finally spoke up.

"are you the original anonymous sender?"

you froze in place.

"you are, aren't you?"

"how... how did you figure it out?"

"i wasn't entirely sure at first. but like i said earlier, i've been trying to gather details from your previous letters.

"in the second letter you'd sent, you mentioned my hair was soft and fluffy. i don't really let anyone touch my hair, because they'd definitely ruin it," he rolled his eyes. "well, except you. but i figured the sender probably meant it looked soft and fluffy, so i just brushed it off.

"but then things started to add up. one time, the letter smelled like dittany, which we had made in herbology just that previous friday. another time, i noticed that the 'addressed to' writing at the front used navy blue ink, instead of black or blue. you're the only person i know who uses that colour.

"and then, when you fell sick recently, the letters stopped. but i was so worried for you that i didn't even notice, until you mentioned it in your letter today.

"i realised it was most likely you when your letter said the word 'cutesy' in your howler today. i've known you for years, you think i wouldn't have noticed the way you speak?" he laughed quietly.

"so.. you knew this whole time?"

"i suspected it, but not definitely."

"and you never told me."

"i didn't want to force a confession out of you," he admitted. "i wanted you to tell me yourself."

"so now what?" you asked. you still weren't sure where his own feelings lay. sure, he knew that you were the not-so-secret admirer, but did he like you?

every time you saw him smiling at another letter (even if it was howling in his face on a monday morning), you felt even more scared to tell him how you felt. you watched as he came to like the anonymous sender, and not you. he had created his own persona for the sender, and it was definitely not you. you were scared that he would be disappointed to find out it was you after all, and not his dream person.

"you're over thinking again," he said simply.

"can you blame me?"

"for the record, i love you too," he said, setting the cup down and taking your hands in his. "you didn't have to resort to howling at me to get my attention, or something like that. i've only ever looked at you. and i will only ever look at you; in my world, you're the only one in it."

tears leaked out of your eyes. "so i did all of that for nothing?"

sunoo laughed and wiped your cheeks, caressing them with the soft touch of his thumbs. "no, nothing like that! i realised my feelings for you when i got that first howler, because when i pictured who might be behind those red letters, i could only imagine you. the thought of it being anyone else made me cringe."

"what if it wasn't me?" you pouted playfully.

"then i would have rejected them, if they ever confessed to me for real. and i would have loved you with my whole being, even if you never liked me back."

"you would have cried yourself to sleep every night," you laugh, a croak in your voice from crying just moments ago. you know him too well.

"you're right! so thank god that wasn't the case." sunoo hugged you tighter, and you wrapped your arms around his middle. a satisfied sigh escapes your lips.

right then, you also thank whatever being out there let you meet your best friend. and you're grateful that you can give sunoo all of your love without holding back - not-so-secretly anymore.

; taglist - @kflixnet @lovelovelovebts @miyseung

[finleyfenn]

So excited to share this stunning new fanart of my orc Filak, by the incredible @goldenapplegrenade! Who is not only a fabulous friend and spectacular author, but a ridiculously talented artist too 😍😍😍

If you're new to Filak, he first showed up in my newest book, The Beauty and the Orcs! He's a moody, mysterious gem miner who doesn't speak the realm's common-tongue, and we'll definitely be seeing more of him in the future. 😈 It was such a pleasure getting to see Eris' interpretation of him! Thank you, Eris! 🥰

(And if you haven't yet read Eris' books, they are absolutely brilliant!)

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 4.5/5

Book Blurb:

A student will find that the hardest lessons sometimes come from outside the classroom in this stunning dark academia novel from the acclaimed author of The Year of the Witching and House of Hunger.

Lennon Carter’s life is falling apart.   

Then she gets a mysterious phone call inviting her to take the entrance exam for Drayton College, a school of magic hidden in a secret pocket of Savannah. Lennon has been chosen because—like everyone else at the school—she has the innate gift of persuasion, the ability to wield her will like a weapon, using it to control others and, in rare cases, matter itself.  

After passing the test, Lennon begins to learn how to master her devastating and unsettling power. But despite persuasion’s heavy toll on her body and mind, she is wholly captivated by her studies, by Drayton’s lush, moss-draped campus, and by her brilliant classmates. But even more captivating is her charismatic adviser, Dante, who both intimidates and enthralls her. 

As Lennon continues in her studies, her control grows, and she starts to uncover more about the secret world she has entered into, including the disquieting history of Drayton College. She is increasingly disturbed by what she learns, for it seems that the ultimate test is to embrace absolute power without succumbing to corruption...and it’s a test she’s terrified she’s going to fail.

Review:

When Lennon Carter is offered a place at a mysterious academia her entire life is changed... from being gifted with magical powers, deadly classmates who want to kill for their place at the top, and a forbidden romance with an advisor who is holding his own dark secrets. Lennon Carter has lived a mundane, boring life... and on the night she discovers her fiancee cheating on her with her friend she takes his car and plans on overdosing... until she gets a mysterious phone call from the Drayton College, a school of magic that has offered her an invitation to the entrance exam. Lennon doesn't have much to lose and decides to partake.... only to discover that she is gifted with unsettling powers and for a school filled with students who all work with the power of "persuasion" they can all reach into each others minds and do terrible things. With a ruthless curriculum and a cut throat student body... Lennon will have to go to lengths she never knew she had in her to secure her place at the top. Then there is her mysterious and talented advisor Dante, a man covered in moth tattoos who goes from hot to cold with her. The longer Lennon goes through with her studes the stronger her control gets... but the closer she gets to uncovering the dark secrets of her college and why they ultimately wanted her there. With so many secrets and bloody decisions.... nobody said college would be easy. This was a fantastic dark academia journey filled with twists and turns that has you guessing at every turn. I loved just how morally grey everyone was, just how much they all wanted to be the best and the lengths they'd go to to just succeed. Lennon was such an interesting character to read and I liked the subtle blending in of a soft romance between Dante and Lennon. I loved the ending and how it all wrapped up, it just felt right. I had a great time reading this and would absolutely recommend this book for fans of dark academia books!!!

Release Date: September 17,2024

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Netgalley and Berkley Publishing Group | Ace for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[thelordofgifs]

I’m pretty new to Silm! Do you have any recommendations for blogs to follow? You were one of the first and I really like your work <3

Ooooh thank you so much anon! Welcome to the fandom – I’m pretty new myself but I have many extremely cool and talented mutuals to recommend!!

@that-angry-noldo is your girl for Finarfin content!! Also she’s extremely funny and cute and an amazing writer and also an incredible artist (which I am only just discovering?? but her art is all SO GOOD) and she has the best takes and I love her so so much. Also she will ride the Aerin/Tilion train with me til dawn ❤️❤️

@welcomingdisaster has SO many brilliant takes!! Her writing is beautiful and her art is stunning and she has both very deep thought-provoking meta thoughts and also the funniest silm polls.

@swanmaids always delivers with the Elwing defence! Her writing is consistently incredible and she has so many pieces that have stuck with me for MONTHS. Also her OCs are amazing, you will never look at Curufin’s wife the same way again.

@actual-bill-potts is an amazing writer who also has SO many fantastic Arafinwean thoughts, I love all her meta so so much and her fics never. miss. Also she’s really really funny.

@cuarthol has incredible meta (more Arafinwean defence!) and is an amazing author and Appreciates Rarepairs.

@outofangband is absolutely the person to go to for worldbuilding and Elvish languages!! Also anything to do with Húrin and Morwen.

@vidumavi is another one of those fascinating people who is both a supremely talented artist and an wonderful writer!! (Seriously how do you do that??) And she’s a Maglor lover AND an Eldacar appreciator so. 10/10 taste there.

@polutrope is another Maglor enjoyer!! And also SO incredibly knowledgeable about all the details in HoME and an incredible writer and really really really nice.

@tanoraqui is SO cool and funny and an amazing writer and has all the best OCs and premier russingon takes too!!

@dreamingthroughthenoise Gets It about Maglor and has such beautiful writing (although it will bring you to tears be warned) and wonderful thoughts about Finrod and Lúthien too!!

Go forth and enjoy :)

[hinatastinygiant]

8 | The Book of Salvation

Pairing: Sanzu x Fem!Reader

The Book of Salvation

The night finally arrives for Earthpig to take the stage in Osaka. You and your friends, Nairobi and Amaya, have been hard at work organizing the exclusive merchandise for the special concert. You can't help but smile as you look around now, watching as the venue buzzes with the excitement of fans from all over who have gathered just for tonight's performance.

As concert time gets closer, you and your friends manage to break away from your booths and navigate through the gathering crowd to secure the best spot in the front row.

You watch as the last touches of the stage gets set and the lights begin to dim, causing the crowd to erupt into cheers and applause while the members of Earthpig step onto the stage.

Sanzu, the ever-charismatic heartthrob of the group, takes his place behind the microphone, and the first notes of their hit song fill the air. The energy in the venue surges, and you can't look away as you watch them perform. The music reverberates through your chest and you're swept away by their talent.

As the night continues, Earthpig delivers a great performance, playing both their most popular hits and a few new songs. The crowd sings along happily and you and your friends share knowing glances, glad to see your hard work at the Osaka concert come to life, driven partially by all three of your efforts.

It's a night you'll never forget, and as the final chords ring out and the concert reaches its end, you can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. You're sure you'll always remember this moment of pride for everything you've done to make this night become such a success.

While the crowd begins to leave, the three of you use your backstage passes to sneak backstage. With the exhilaration of the performance still in your veins, you are eager to see Sanzu and congratulate him on the show.

However, as you approach, you spot him already engaged in a conversation with another stunning girl. There's a twinge of jealousy within you, but you quickly remind yourself that he's a human with a life beyond your connection and he's free to talk to whomever he wants.

Turning to leave and give them some privacy, you're suddenly halted by a gently yet firm grip on your wrist. You pivot back around to see Sanzu standing beside you, his eyes searching yours. "Where are you going?" he asks, his voice warm and full of sincerity as he speaks.

For a moment, you're left speechless, caught off guard by his unexpected presence. But as he continues to speak, you feel your body begin to relax.

"I can't thank you enough for what you've done tonight. You made all of this possible, and it means the world to me."

Touched by his words, you pull back slightly and look into his eyes, a smile gracing your lips. "I'm really glad I could be a part of this. And the idea for the exclusive merch was brilliant. Look at how much the fans loved it."

Sanzu nods, his gaze never leaving yours. "You've brought us closer to our fans and made this night unforgettable. And there's something else I want to tell you..."

Curiosity tinges your voice as you ask him, "What is it?"

He takes a deep breath, his eyes searching your face for a moment before he continues, "Meeting you, it's brought something into my life I didn't know was missing. You've filled my heart in a way I can't explain."

His heartfelt words send a warm rush through you, and a soft smile graces your lips. "Haruchiyo," you reply gently, "I can't put into words how much this means to me. You are truly amazing."

Sanzu smiles and a soft chuckle escapes his lips. "You know," he begins, "I wasn't sure how you'd react to all of this. I mean, you're a successful author, and I'm just a guy who plays music."

His confession leaves you feeling a bit embarrassed. "Oh, stop it," you retort with a laugh. "You're an incredible musician, and you've accomplished so much. Your talent speaks for itself."

"Maybe," Sanzu replies, "but none of that matters without you. You've become a part of me. You're my inspiration for everything I do."

A warm feeling swells in your chest, and you reach out, your hand settling softly on his. "So what's next for Earthpig?" you ask, changing the subject. "Do you think you could convince the guys to have another concert in Osaka?"

Sanzu nods, enthusiasm lighting up his eyes. "Yes, thanks to you and your friends, we're seriously considering it. And the exclusive merch idea was genius. The fans loved it, and it brought in more revenue than we expected!"

"Well, then, it looks like we'll have to get started planning the next one," you reply, laughing as you realize how quickly you've slipped into your business mindset.

"And we'll have to make it extra special," Sanzu adds.

As you discuss future plans, you can't help but feel a sense of pride in what you've accomplished together. The thought of more concerts, more music, and more shared moments with Sanzu fills you with excitement.

Eventually, the backstage area grows quieter, and Sanzu glances at his watch. "I hate to say it, but I should start getting ready to head out," he says regretfully.

"Of course," you nod. "I don't want to keep you from your bandmates any longer."

He steps closer, his hand finding yours once again. "But before I go," he says, "there's something I want to do."

With that, he leans in, and his lips meet yours in a soft, lingering kiss. It's a tender gesture that catches you off guard, and yet it feels right. As you return the kiss, you can't help but wonder if it's possible for this feeling to last forever.

As you watch him walk away, you're not sure what the future will hold, but you know you'll always cherish the memories you've created with Sanzu. His passion and determination are unmatched, and the way you've been able to help him follow his dreams inspires you in return.

THE END!

The Book of Salvation

Taglist:@bontensbabygirl @ranscutedoll

[phdmama]

Hi. I’m hoping you can help. For various reasons I want to move over to fics that aren’t Larry, the only fanfic I’ve ever read. (Love your writing and always excited when I see you post anything; love fics about actual adults; any shift I make won’t keep me away from your Larry fics!) Do you have a ship you think is similar to Larry and maybe easily accessible? One problem is that I haven’t watched the shows that underlie some of the other big ones I see, like Sterek or Destiel. From what little I’ve seen, Destiel especially piques my interest. Should I watch the show before reading? Any starter/foundational/really well known fics you’d recommend I start with? I’m sorry for bombarding you with questions. 🥴😔 Thank you so much!

First, thank you SO much for your lovely words about my writing!! xox

And I love this ask, but I'll be really open about my own bias, which is that I read ships/fic in stuff where I've never really interacted with canon and I'm fine with that. I'm much less picky about specific ship and much much pickier about writing and stories.

The other thing that might help me would be if you had a specific vibe about Larry that you've enjoyed?

If you are comfortable with Harry Potter, Drarry is an absolutely phenomenal ship and there's such an enormous depth of history and writing and talent in this fandom, I just cannot even. I've written a ton of Drarry, and I tend towards less "being dicks to each other" and much more towards "we've kind of sorted our shit out now let's gooooo" vibe. Even if you haven't read HP but have a pretty good grasp from just the cultural infusion perspective, you should be fine. And again, there's SO much amazing fic there, and I can totally point you towards some of my own favs. This list is woefully out of date, but there's so much good content here!

If you have seen Captain America TFA and the Winter Soldier, those are all you need for one of the most brilliant Stucky series ever, by my darling friend @vmohlere, the Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail. It's brilliant, just amazing, and I can't even tell you how many times I've read it or how much it's impacted me! (Honestly again, if you have sort of cultural knowledge of Steve and Bucky, you will probably be fine.)

I haven't read a ton of Destial, so I'm not sure I have recs there, but I will say, I've never watched the show and had no trouble with the fic!

I've only seen 30 minutes of the first episode of Teen Wolf and I have devoured about 8 billion Sterek fics and can give you so many recs if you want them! There's some absolutely stunning fic in that fandom!

Have you read Red, White & Royal Blue? I 100% recommend the book, I know not everyone loves it, but I really do, and it reads closer to a really good fic to me. And there's SO MUCH good fic!! @clottedcreamfudge is one of my all-time fav authors there.

Let's see. Are you familiar with Check, Please!? Online webcomic, gay college hockey players. Zimbits (Jack Zimmerman and Eric Bittle) might actually be one you'd enjoy. The comic is fantastic in and of itself, it's definitely a "small southern ball of sunshine and grumpy Canadian hockey-bot" (with a bunch of UST and pining and stuff)! So good. Highly recommend. And again, there's SO much great fic! I actually read a lot of different ships there, and there's great stuff!

Buddie seems to trend very much towards no smut/fluffy type fics, which I have to be in the right mood for, but there are some absolutely great writers in that fandom! (Including @hattalove who wrote some of my fav Larry fics!).

Okay, this is a lot, I know!! Please don't hesitate to message me for Sterek recs, and Drarry recs if you want! I'm currently absolutely OBSESSED with gay hockey players, both fictional and rpf, so reach out if you want some recs there!

[infinitystoner]

If you get this let’s spread some positivity 🌈

Link the 4 writers with whom you chatted recently and say what makes their fics special ^D

*cracks knuckles*

@currish-rosewolfe: Where to begin? We've bonded over our in-depth analysis of Hiddles gifs, but she's quickly become one of my favorite writers here (and a dear friend)! If you're craving some healing, comforting, exquisite smut, she's your gal! Seriously, everything she writes is phenomenal and so heart-wrenchingly beautiful. And her insights into Loki's character are always spot-on. (Also, I am incredibly excited for the 12 Months of Killing project.)

@sarahscribbles: Sarah is a master of the craft/queen of smut, and the way she blends softness and intimacy with such delicious, debauched filth never ceases to amaze me. Her sub!Loki fics have slain me more times than I can count, and I am completely infatuated with her soft dom!Loki. Also, her fluff is absolutely divine. And the way she writes banter? OH MY GOD. It's so natural, and the words just flow right off the page screen. I always have such visceral reactions reading her works and she makes me want to be a better writer if that makes sense. (And her ideas for the Sakaar Files? Just bury me already!)

@use-your-telescope: I've gotten quite a few sneak peeks into the world of E's Loki x OC long fic, The Trickster, and let me tell y'all: We are in for a treat! She is such a gifted, poignant writer, and her talent for storytelling blows my mind. The thought and care she's put into this fic is inspiring, and it's nothing short of magic when an author can effortlessly immerse the reader into the world they've created. (I've loved connecting with someone who thinks about Loki's motivations and psyche as much as I do!)

@tripleyeeet: OMG, the sheer talent! From the moment I first read What's the Occasion, I was obsessed and immediately wanted to be their friend. Summer's writing is so sensually poetic and leaves me STUNNED each time. The pacing is brilliant, and I am always fully absorbed in their works. Plus, their explorations into the complexity of Loki's emotions are perfect. (I can't wait to delve into their upcoming Loki x OC long fic, PREY.)

Basically, these are my four whores of the Loki apocalypse and you should follow them if you're not already!

[theotakufiles]

Tokyo Aliens Manga

In the distant future, Earth has become a hub for extraterrestrial life, with Tokyo being at the center of it all. "Tokyo Aliens" is an intense sci-fi series that explores the exhilarating adventures of a group of diverse teenage misfits as they navigate their way through an alien-infested city.

Led by Kaito, a fearless and enigmatic young rebel, the team includes Akane, a brilliant tech genius; Hiroshi, a street-smart artist with uncanny abilities; and Yumi, a fierce martial arts expert. Together, they form an unlikely alliance to protect humanity from various alien threats lurking in plain sight.

Caught between protecting innocent humans and unraveling deep conspiracies involving intergalactic politics, our heroes face thrilling encounters with otherworldly beings ranging from shape-shifting reptilians to telepathic parasites. As they uncover buried secrets about Tokyo's history and its connection to extraterrestrial civilizations, they realize that their battles extend far beyond mere survival – they could determine the fate of both Earth and these mysterious alien species.

"Tales of Tokyo Aliens" showcases adrenaline-pumping action sequences set against visually stunning landscapes infused with futuristic technology. Each episode unveils new dimensions within Tokyo's hidden underworld as our protagonists discover allies among aliens fighting for their own rights and freedom. Blending heart-pounding suspense with humor and captivating character dynamics, this gripping series delves into themes of friendship, identity, acceptance across cultures – ultimately challenging perceptions of what it means to belong in an ever-evolving world.

Embark on this mind-bending journey alongside our resilient heroes as they confront formidable adversaries while discovering their own extraordinary potential in "Tokyo Aliens." Will they be able to bridge the gap between terrestrial inhabitants and extraterrestrial visitors or succumb to the chaos bound to consume them all?

Dear Manga lovers,

Join in supporting the incredible manga author of 'Tokyo Aliens Manga' by purchasing their captivating masterpiece from gekimanga.com! Immerse yourself in an epic tale filled with thrilling adventures, unique characters, and breathtaking artwork that will transport you to a world beyond your imagination. By investing in this talented artist's work, not only do you enhance your own manga collection but also contribute to the recognition and success they truly deserve. So delve into the extraordinary universe of 'Tokyo Aliens Manga' today and show your unwavering support for this exceptional creator!

Thank you for being a part of this awe-inspiring journey.

[booksandwords]

This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

Read time: 1 Day Rating: 5/5 Stars

The Quote: You wrote of being in a village upthread together, living as friends and neighbours do, and I could have swallowed this valley whole and still not have sated my hunger for the thought. Instead I wick the longing into thread, pass it through your needle eye, and sew it into hiding somewhere beneath my skin, embroider my next letter to you one stitch at a time. — Blue

This Is How You Lose the Time War (henceforth Time War) was such a stunning read. A surprise to me as well, I picked this up for its cover, animals to fill a prompt, I really didn't expect such a wonderful story and characters. A joyous way to spend several hours. I did read this is a single sitting between about 11 and 3 in the morning (woo disrupted sleeping patterns). Despite the time of night I was reading this easy to follow, something I was slightly concerned about. The only thing I missed until long after I should have caught it was the seeker following both Blue and Red through time and space as they read their letters.

Red and Blue are the book's protagonists, not their real names (we never learn those). Both women are time-travelling agents for opposing factions in a battle to create the ideal timeline. When the story starts they are both aware of each other already, both can sense each other moving upthread and downthread (the terms used for moving in the timeline) Red is an agent for the Agency, getting her orders from the Commandant. Citizens of The Agency are grown in what I see as Matrix-style tanks of liquid. Blue is a player for the Garden, receiving her orders directly from the Garden. Citizens of the Garden are grown in a garden bed. Red is more brutal in her style for making changes to the thread, Blue specialises in subtly. Though as different as they are they do have similarities. Both of them hate Atlantis, both see the beauty in the world and both are more isolationist than their people would like. Their letters to each other are hidden in creative and fun ways. Volcanos, tea, traditional paper and animals among others.

I really enjoyed the style. Time War is written in a combination of letters and third-person narrative following each protagonist in turn. This is a joint write between Max Gladstone and Amal El-Mohtar, as I guessed while reading each author wrote a character. Max Gladstone wrote Red's letters and her reactions, Amal El-Mohtar wrote the same for Blue. They had agreed on a broad outline of the plot structure before starting but the emotional responses to the letters are organic (source: Strange Horizons). This is key to why the writing works so well. Gladstone and El-Mohtar give Red and Blue different voices befitting their different backgrounds. At least at first, I found that Blue had a beautiful mind and Red had a beautiful language. Eventually, their presentations are evened out as their trust develops and their relationship depends. Their letters are so sweetly flirty sometimes seemingly knowingly, sometimes not. The nicknames Red and Blue use to address each other range from funny to cute. There is a practical purpose to them but they are still really cute references. Some are more easily recognisable than others.

I usually ignore endorsements/testimonials/'puff-quotes' on books but I noticed one on Time War after I'd finished reading, it's from Madeline Miller, author of Cirice (more importantly I would say the legendary The Song of Achilles).

This book has it all: treachery and love, lyricism and gritty action, existential crisis and space-opera scope, not to mention time travelling super-agents. Gladstone and El-Mohtar's debut collaboration is a fireworks display from two very talented storytellers.

I like this quote because for once it does a halfway decent job of summarising the story and my feeling about it. I really do recommend this if the blurb appeals to you. It does a brilliant job of creating a world and really likable characters.

I could add so, so many quotes to the review here. I will try to refrain from going overboard. • "And then we'd be at each other's throats even more." Oh, petal. You say that like it's a bad thing. — It's just the way Blue writes this because both of them know this competition is part of them. (Blue, p.36) • Atlantis sinks. Serves it right. Red hates the place. For one thing, there are so many Altantises, always sinking, in so many strands. — The whole Atlantis thing makes me smile so many time travel books venerate Atlantis, and have it as a point in time to go back to a save. This book is very much is just it fails in every strand, why do we bother? (Red, 47) • We make so much of lettercraft literal, don't we? Whacked seals aside. Letters as time travel, time-travelling letters. Hidden meanings. — Should I explain the whacked seals bit? Red's last letter was concealed in a seal Blue had to kill to access it. (Blue, p.53) • I like writing to you. I like reading you. When I finish your letters, I spend frantic hours in secret composing my replies, pondering ways to send them. — This is intended to be reassuring to Blue and it is. There is also something so romantic about this. (Red, p.82) • There is a small hill from which can watch the sun set over the Outaouais River; every evening I see a red sky bleed over blue water and think of us. Have you ever watched this kind of sunset? The colours don't blend: the redder the sky the bluer the water, as we tilt away from the sun. — This is just such a visual description. It is in a letter from Blue while she an embedded operation, as she is for probably 1/3 of the book. This is what she does to remind herself of Red. (Blue, p.88) • I want to say, now, before you can beat me to it—Red, when I think of the seed in your mouth I imagine having placed it there myself, my fingers on your lips. — I'm not going to spoil this one. It is just a beautifully intimate quote. The longing is so plain to see. (Blue, p.125) • I'll be sent, no doubt, to undo the damage you've caused. And we'll run again, the two of us, upthread and down, firefighter and fire starter, two predators only sated by each other's words. — Does this just feel like a mix of want and content to anyone else? Red knows what she wants to be on the treads facing off against red, and she would be content with that... if she couldn't have more. I also really like the names she uses. (Red, p.128) • "You root in the air, my epiphyte. It's no hard thing to trace the new growth to you, singly." — I had to look up epiphyte, I should have guessed it was a botany term. "epiphyte: a plant that grows on another plant, especially one that is not parasitic, such as the numerous ferns, bromeliads, air plants, and orchids growing on tree trunks in tropical rainforests." It does kinda suit Blue. (Garden, p.145)

[annbobko]

Greetings to all my friends and foes and froes!

Huh, done with serious part, lets get some fun! First I have to confess that my greeting isn't mine( Its free translation of my forever favourite greeting of one of Ukrainian YouTube creators I follow. He is super iconic when destroying this ussr culture heritage and confronting pro-ruzzian media persons. Also his community (me included) are fighting one old crazy lady who instead of some peaseful knitting decided to share her anti-lgbtq pro-religeous views. So we established Homodox Church of Ukraine (instead of Orthodox Church) and that is the only religion I am ready to profess. So if you are with us say "Glory to LGBT! Death to family values!"

Stand up. I can't say much about it except that this is what keeps me sane this days and that Ukrainian stand up comedians I watch are the best people in the world with the most active civil position and the most humanitarian views. I brought you one of my favourite jokes by Anna Kochegura in my non-professional translation: "Nietzsche once said that the woman was the second God's mistake... The fisrt must've been the Nietzsche"

Media. The only tv I enjoy is Toronto TV) That`s youtube news channel with just coolest team in the world. This guys are new style Ukrainian journalists who were fighting ruzzian propaganda and inhumane ideologies for literally all their careers. They post about news, culture and many more. They have second channel in English so you are weclome to enjoy) Ukrainian Toronto Television - YouTube

P. S. Just to make it clear - they are not the only sourse of news I follow cause I am not a ruzzian to blindly believe everything you are told without fact-checking)

Books. Finally, my favourite part) I am absolutely stunned with talent of Ukrainian authors and how easy they are about it. I mean this people write like the coolest stories in the world and take it like no big deal. I will never get used to how easily I can communicate with my favourite authors. I basically can write them on Instagram - and they will read, answer and thank me for reading them. I understand why this happens - because Ukrainian book market is pretty small and private - but considering the level of excellence of this works I just can't believe this people walk the same ground with me and I can meet them somewhere at the market. I found every book I ever wanted on Ukrainian book market and at some point got a little bit carried away to find myself out with 0 UAH on the card and about 250 books to read)

We have like supercool non-fiction publisher Vikhola. I bought almost all of their books) Now I know about paleontology, botanics, psychology, animal psychology, artificial insemination and many many more. Also in my library there are books about spies, space exploring, life of doctors, exploring Antarctica, escape from North Korea, some books about everyday life, other cultures, fantasy, love stories, biographies, thrillers, manchva and something else I can't even remember) Some books are brilliant translations but I believe more than half of my collection to be written by Ukrainians.

I read several books at the time. First is absolutely stunning fantasy about the shadow side of our sities where is magic and forever lasting confrontation of dark and light mages. Sounds pretty basic but lore of this world is hella interesting and complicated with detailed magic system (there are mages, witches and alchemists - each group has its unique way to access Power), political system of different countries and supercharismatic characters. I can distinguish every character just by the manner of speaking and am absolutely in love with every one of them. They are more alive than some real humans and I am 100% involved in their lives. Author of this fascinating trilogy is Natalia Matolinets. She is soon publishing in English for the first time. Her short story will appear in Tales&Feathers Magazines. I am thrilled for her and wish all the luck with publishing her books for the English readers one day)

Second book I am reading now is very big. It's like HUGE. That is the first book of The New Dark Ages tetralogy by Ukrainian author Max Kidruk. The book is 904 pages and the rest of the series are planned to be as big) It weights 1,5 kg! Yeah, I bought this one in paper because ebook will come later and I am eager to read this precious. It tells us about humankind in 22nd century with global climat change on Earth and rebellions at the colonies on Mars. It is basically GoT in space. And all of its aspects are super science accurate. Also Max fills his books with additions such as detailed maps, lists of charachters, schemes and even little apps. This is just exceptional sci-fi book!

And the third one I am reading is pretty basic nonfic for book lovers - How To Read Literature Like A Professor. It is nothing but great and definitely enriches my reading experiences.

Movies. I am not a film fan but moden Ukrainian films are just pure art. I encourage you to watch Pamfir and other Ukrainian films if possible. It will sure be interesting and impressive experience.

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🦇 Will They or Won't They Book Review 🦇

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐

❝ She suddenly understood, with a nauseating surge of regret, what a precious thing she'd been so careless with all those years ago, too blinded by distrust and self-loathing to see it standing right in front of her, if she'd only been brave enough to reach for it. ❞

❓ #QOTD Who is your celebrity crush? ❓

❝ The point was that he loved her now...The kind of love that cast a warm glow back through time, all the way to their first meeting, reframing the past through the lens of the present. Powerful enough to illuminate the protective shell she'd thought surrounded her heart, revealing that it wasn't a shell at all, but a cocoon. Her heart hadn't been calcifying, it had been biding its time, breaking down and rearranging at the molecular level until it was finally safe to burst free and reveal itself, trembling and brilliant and brand new. ❞

💜 From the first chapter, Ava Wilder does an outstanding job at creating the type of sizzling tension and undeniable chemistry of a book you would expect with this title; the type of chemistry that will keep you reading page after page, starved for more. The true feat here is Wilder's tendency to take, restructure, and defy rom-com tropes that easily would have made this story predictable. There's insta-love, but not in the boring, obvious, or nauseating sense we're accustomed to. Focused on the present, the story is an enemies-to-lovers second-chance romance, but when you rewind to the true beginning, it's far more complex than that. There's even a third act break up (which, at the first indication of it, made me put the book down for a second), but NOT; a twist that's so beautifully compromised that I'm shocked I didn't see it. Lilah and Shane have layers upon layers of characterization, making them real and painful and raw in ways that make empathizing with their decisions easy (once you see the whole picture). Lilah's social anxiety gives the story a mental health focus that seems natural amidst the behind-the-scenes chaos of the film industry (and my gf works in film, so I hear about it plenty). Meanwhile, Shane's people-pleaser demeanor is a guise for his insecurities. While they've both earned their fame, we see the double standard between men and women, too. Wilder touches on so many real-world concepts without blatantly telling, instead showing through Lilah and Shane's shared (and separate) experiences. The character growth between them is stunning, but better yet, Wilder leaves them in a place that demonstrates they'll KEEP on growing—whether together or apart.

🦇 Though I have a long list of pet peeve tropes, a miscommunication-powered plot is one of the biggest. The entire story relies on Lilah and Shane failing to express how they're feeling, or saying the wrong things out of anger, or making assumptions because of their failure to communicate. However, I deeply appreciate the solution to put them into couple's counseling, to force them to recognize what they're feeling, and how to communicate it. They progress from therapy to saying the smallest things unprompted outside of therapy—you see their growth and willingness to try as time goes on. However, anyone who's watched Ted Lasso knows good stories don't need to rely on miscommunication; there's real talent in writing adult characters who are beyond that.

🦇 Recommended to fans of sweet, blistering tension, the harsh but tantalizing bite only enemies to lovers can provide, and second-chance romances you can't help but root for.

✨ Vibes ✨ 💔 Lovers to Enemies to Lovers 🎥 Dual POV & Timeline 🎬 Mental Health Focus 🎥 Immediate, Constant Chemistry 💔 Second-Chance Romance

🦇 Major thanks to the author Ava Wilder and publisher Random House for providing an ARC of this book via Netgalley. 🥰 This does not affect my opinion regarding the book.

[chanduu07]

Birthday Theme Party Organisers

Topic parties have become consistently remarkable of late, and among them, birthday subject get-togethers are especially well known. As interest for such party has expanded, so has the need for gifted and experienced birthday subject party facilitators to make fantastic and basic occasions. In this work, I will take apart the fundamental credits and limits that useful birthday theme party organisers in vizag , as well as the significance of persuading arranging and execution.

Leor Media - Event Management Company in Visakhapatnam

Useful birthday, specifically, subject party coordinators have a sharp eye for detail. This dominance is fundamental for guaranteeing that each piece of a sectarian divisions up with the picked subject, from improvements and music to the food and exercises. Leor Media is a refined party facilitators comprehend that the little subtleties can have a huge effect and work eagerly to guarantee that all aspects of the party is impeccably executed. This cautious consideration assists with making a striking and drawing in experience for the visitors, conveying them to a substitute world for a few hours.

One more focal quality for birthday theme party organisers in vizag merriments is imaginative psyche. This authority draws in them to make as of recently unfathomable party subjects that are special and basic. Creativity likewise allows them to start off a new thing regarding party organizing, concocting innovative considerations for games, upgrades, and different pieces of the occasion.

Correspondence is besides an essential piece of useful party sorting out. Facilitators should have the decision to look at actually with all accessories, including the client, merchants, and individuals. Productive correspondence guarantees that everybody is in finished simultaneousness concerning the party's subject, money related game plan, and timetable. It additionally permits coordinators to deal with any unforeseen issues that emerge during the game plan and execution stages.

All things considered, solid status and connection limits are key for a convincing birthday subject party. Experienced party facilitators comprehend that birthday theme party organisers in vizag is a shocking and complex cycle that consolidates various puzzling parts. They should screen various vendors, timetables, and burning through plans to guarantee that all that pushes forward exactly as expected upon the presence of the occasion. This requires specific preparation and association abilities to guarantee that nothing is excused or dismissed.

With everything considered, arranging a birthday theme party organisers in vizag is a brilliant and referencing task that requires a degree of limits and characteristics. Useful party facilitators have a sharp eye for detail, creativity, productive social limits, areas of strength for and connection limits. These qualities connect with them to make stunning and huge parties that are esteemed by all. As interest for subject get-togethers keeps on making, the importance of talented and experienced party facilitators will just expansion.

Leor Media is the principal in class birthday theme party organisers in vizag and convey a broad assortment of occasion the bosses associations expecting you have an occasion we are here to design and make the best recollections for you that can be regarded from this point until the end of time.

Birthday merriments, Occasions, Social gatherings in the whole we the gathering with adroit and experienced people working on Events, Stamping, and Publicizing.

[sitp-recs]

Hidden Gems by @jackvbriefs

Another incredible author I discovered last year, Jack is insanely talented and underrated. Her works are among the most creative, intimate and brilliantly executed short fics I’ve read in recent years, and her ability to create a sharp, detailed, immersive universe with innovative magical theory and heartrending love stories within 3k blows my mind. Let’s not forget to mention the sublime prose, which establishes any kind of atmosphere you could imagine so effortlessly it feels like magic. I get immediately transported and captivated thanks to a strong sense of place, nuanced characters and a much appreciated and compelling emotional arc that resonates deeply. The fics below are unusual and brilliant, sometimes tenderly melancholy, other times just downright creepy, but always a satisfying and arresting journey. I tried to keep my commentary short but apparently couldn’t help myself. I hope you all enjoy these as much as I did!

The Wanting (2021, M, 284 words) - stunning micro with superb prose, gorgeous dream-like imagery and a powerful dive into Draco’s trauma through his physical/emotional scars.

In Draco's dreams after the War, Harry always accepts his hand. Harry’s nails are bitten to uneven ridges, his skin rubs rough, but his fingers welcome Draco as they curl and squeeze back. The handshake loops. Eleven again, Draco doesn’t let go.

Imitation Virtues (2020, M, 364 words) - the hottest bad boy Draco you’ll read today, the amount of character and the atmosphere this gives off is *chefs kiss*

Destructive. That’s what Hermione had called him after seeing the black fabrics, the dyes and ink the Malfoy scion wrapped himself in. "We're supposed to be rebuilding."

The Keepers (2021, T, 3.6k) - love this take on MoD Unspeakable!Harry and his close relationship with Draco. Impressive amount of world building and a distinct magical library landscape make for a quietly immersive, melancholy read.

In the Rare Books Department of the Ministry of Magic, Draco tends to unique texts and, on occasion, a certain Unspeakable.

Limits of Earth and Sky (2021, E, 3.8k) - simply obsessed with this off job concept and how it fits Draco like a glove, it’s thrilling to watch him through Harry’s curious eyes. As always this has impeccable vibes, a quiet severe Draco and delicious “strangers to lovers” tension, including scorching semi-dressed smut with leather & praise kink 🔥

Again and again, Draco Malfoy returns to the public eye only to attempt the most challenging broomriding feats Wizarding Society has to offer. Again and again, Harry Potter watches him do it and wonders why.

Ceremonials (2021, NR, 4k) - once again perfect Drarry chemistry with protective Draco, ritualistic elements and a masterfully executed dialogue hinting at a shared past we crave to learn about. I love how an emotionally contained piece unfolds in such a meaningful way.

“What are you doing here?” Harry said.

“I’m teaching you how to make a drink.”

Inside These Walls (2021, M, 5.6k) - roller blade magic yes please! This courier!Draco fic blew my mind with its tone and creativity, the coolest creepy vibes, intriguing plot and a sexy mysterious Harry I’m dying to know more about. A must read!

The year before Draco moves to Los Angeles, Harry Potter disappears. Draco doesn't mean to find him. He's just doing his job.

Unseen (2020, T, 47k) - Auror partners falling in love in with San Francisco! As per usual this story has rich and detailed world building, plus an absolutely fascinating take on Harry that breaks my heart. Love the building tension with tough, intelligent Draco, and how beautifully these two complex characters come together. It’s about the lingering devastation…

Harry Potter finally has the chance to leave England and its expectations for The Chosen One behind for good. All he has to do is survive one Auror training conference overseas with Draco Sodding Malfoy.