#half of my professors open with hi guys at classes. even when. it's like... 70% women

[hueseok]

it was always you.

for as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.

so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.

or at least, that’s what you think.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 13.2k

rating: 18+

content: fluff, semi-angst, childhood friends to lovers au, pining au | ft. naval aviator!jungkook + brother’s best friend!jungkook; professor!reader + editor!reader | inspired by purple hearts

warning/s: swearing, potentially wrong medical & military information (i’m sorry but i tried to do as much research i can 😭), mentions of having type 1 diabetes, making out, heavy petting, implied sexual content: oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (this is only fiction!)

MINI PLAYLIST: ♫ die with a smile — lady gaga, bruno mars ♫ juno — sabrina carpenter ♫ selfish — *nsync ♫ nandito na ako — benj pangilinan, angela ken

opening note. omg this is my first full length fic in two damn years i think??? certainly took a long time before i had the motivation to write again but i hope y'all like this! to my og readers who still keep up with my shenanigans, this one's for you 🥹💗

“Any questions?”

A boy wearing half-rimmed glasses raises his hand and you gesture for him to speak. “Can we get an extension on the Save the Cat project due tomorrow?”

You sigh, just as several of your students begin agreeing with him and muttering reasons of their own why the extension should be approved. It’s the week before finals, and you’re aware that the class must be packed with assignments and projects for several of their classes because of it, hence the rather last minute request. They look tired and pleading, a complete reflection of how you were when you were the one in their position nearly a decade ago, begging for an extension from a professor who you thought was kind enough to be swayed with the proposition.

You scan the crowd. “How many of you are at least 70% with it, hm?”

More than half of the class raises their hands.

“Okay, that’s honestly unexpected,” you say, pleased to know that they aren’t slacking on your subject. “Does Monday sound good? That’s three more days, to be fair. I don’t want to extend it further because I have to read everyone’s work and you guys know I don’t like rushing it before turning in your final grade.”

A chorus of relief and thanks echoed in the room, all of your students either dramatically sinking in their chair or erupting in an animated conversation with their seatmate or making crying faces to portray how grateful they are.

“Thank you so much, Ms. ____!”

“I love you, Ms. ____!”

“Ms. ____, I will offer my first child to you,” one theatrically adds and you smile a bit, rolling your eyes at students like this one who is now opting to flatter you way too much for your act of kindness.

“Alright, alright. Just get it done and I’m expecting quality work, okay? Class dismissed.”

The whole class begins to gather their things at the cue and you don’t stay there a minute longer after your announcement, exiting the lecture hall to head to the faculty room where you’re certain half of the teaching staff have gone home already. It’s already 8:47 p.m., and all you want to do is head home to get the rest you deserve after an eventful day.

There was a time that having a schedule from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. wasn’t the norm for you. You used to value work life balance so much—it was even a nonnegotiable you used to say in interviews, saying that if you didn’t get enough rest within the week, then the job most likely wasn’t for you. But things have been very different for the past months; you have definitely grown out of that mindset due to the fact that you’re simply in need of another source of income to pay for your monthly rent, utility bills, and now your medication. You’re in a stage of your life wherein you consider working part time as a professor was a blessing rather than a big nuisance.

Making a right turn to where the hallway to the faculty room is, you’re too busy rearranging the papers inside the folder you’re holding to notice a man sitting on the bench placed just beside the entrance. He notices you the second you appear in his line of vision though; he straightens his posture and proceeds on standing up immediately upon seeing you closer, calling your name softly when you failed to look at his direction, too preoccupied with the thought of finally coming home that you’re oblivious that the man trying to catch your attention is Jeon Jungkook.

“____,” he calls again and this time you notice him, your eyes widening instantly.

“Holy shi—” You stop yourself from finishing that sentence. “Jungkook?”

He grins. “Hey, lamb chop.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Is that how you greet an old friend?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He laughs, following suit to you who’s already giggling just by his presence alone, outstretching his arms then. “You gonna hug me or what?”

You beam and step forward to embrace him. He returns it without hesitation, muscular arms circling around you and squeezing tightly that it lifts you up from the ground for a quick second. The faint smell of fabric conditioner on his clothes enters your nostrils and you feel like a teenager again, warmth rushing to your face while your heart hammers loudly in your chest. Regardless of how old the both of you are, you think your hopeless crush on the guy will forever live on and constantly transform you into a middle school girl whenever opportunities like these to have him near arise. You’re just happy you’ve trained yourself to be better at hiding it now compared to when you were younger.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in base or wherever it is that you’re designated?” you ask, the first to let go from the hug.

“Actually, I returned from deployment three days ago. I’m on leave for two weeks.”

“Wow. Two weeks, huh?”

“Yep. It’s the longest break I’ve gotten in a while.”

“That’s good. Everybody needs a break from time to time.”

“Says the girl has a day job and a night job.” He points out with a smirk; your heart does a little leap at how handsome he looks doing that. “When the hell did you get into teaching, by the way? I never pegged you to be the kind who can tolerate it. You hate kids.”

“You’ll find yourself tolerating lots of things in this economy.” You snort. “And my students aren’t kids. They’re in college.”

“Yeah, which you graduated from six years ago. Still technically kids.”

“Are you seriously jabbing at my age when you’re two years older than I am?”

He rolls his eyes at that one, an indication that you won the argument. “Anyway,” he starts again and you grin, “I didn’t come here to compare how old we are—”

“You didn’t?”

He sends you a look. Your grin gets even wider.

“I’m here because I was hoping to treat you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” you repeat, not masking the surprise from your voice.

Let’s get the facts straight before we proceed to this conversation.

It isn’t a lie when you say that you and Jungkook are great friends. You have been since you were 7 and your family just moved into the house next to theirs. He was a natural playmate, a companion when you couldn’t tolerate the antics of your older brother, the boy who looked out for you aside from said older brother, and the person you’ve shared significant history with throughout your youth that you can never seem to forget nor disregard.

It’s just that you never deemed that you were great enough friends for him to go out of his way and visit you at your workplace, offering to treat you for dinner. Gestures like that were reserved for your older brother, Seowon, who’s the same age as he is and who you’re sure is considered as his best friend. Compared to them, yours and Jungkook’s dynamic shifted slightly after graduating from college. What once was a really close friendship turned into a casual one, with mostly just teasing, light talks, and the occasional welfare checks at times you hear certain news from the other that’s worth speaking directly about.

At the mention of that, realization dawns on you on why he must be here.

“Jungkook…” You’re trying not to sound mad but you can’t hide the exasperation from your voice. “That’s not the real reason you’re here.”

“Of course, it is. Why else would I be here?”

“He told you, didn’t he?” you ask, not willing to drag this out. “You’re just going to give me another lecture that I definitely don’t need.”

Jungkook frowns, like he’s dismayed that you caught on pretty swiftly.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You pressed.

“He meant well, ____.”

You scowl. To remark that Seowon is unnecessarily nosy and coddling would be an understatement. That man hasn’t left you alone the second he was aware of your condition. Usually, whenever he gets into his ‘big brother tendencies’, his girlfriend Winnie steps in and helps you lay him off your back. However, it’s different this time; no matter how much you reinstill your independence and insist that you’re fine, it’s like you’re talking to a wall.

“What exactly did you hear from him?” you query.

He seems hesitant in answering that. “That you got diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.”

You wince.

“Look,” he steps forward towards you, “I wasn’t going to bring it up unless you did, okay? I’m just here because I’m genuinely worried about you and I want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.” You murmur. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Worry doesn’t vanish magically just because someone says so.”

“Well, it should—because I’m fine.”

“You sure? I heard that you’re struggling to buy insulin among other things you’re having a hard time paying.”

“Fuck. Seowon told you that too? That’s private.”

“My parents know. He just filled me in because he wants you to have as much support as you can get.”

“I don’t need that. I’m an adult. I’ve lived by myself for years. I can fend for myself just fine.”

“It doesn’t look like it from what I’ve been hearing.”

“All you’re hearing is a warped and exaggerated version of the story told by Seowon who won’t listen to a word I say.” You huff. “I’m fine and I’ve been doing everything I can, alright? I’m taking care of myself. I’m going to the doctor whenever I need to. I’m making ends meet, buying treatment for this goddamn disease and regulating my sugar levels all the fucking time. Why do you think I’ve been working two jobs for the past year? It’s because I’m doing everything I can to stay alive.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, he only remains gazing at you.

“If you’re here to offer me money or whatever because of what he said,” you add, already embarrassed that you can’t even look at him anymore, “then I don’t want it.”

“That’s not what I’m here for,” he says.

“Then are you really just here to treat me to dinner?” you question sarcastically.

He laughs and you dare return your eyes at him, catching him peering at you with a fond expression. “Yes. It’s my way of doing a welfare check.”

“Welfare check.” You echo with squinted eyes. “Well, in that case, here I am—alive and healthy.”

“I can see that, and I’m glad.” He smiles. “But I need more than just seeing you. I need a conversation and an apology.”

“An apology?”

“For being the last person to know about your condition.”

“And we’re still talking about that apparently.” You mutter under your breath. “Sorry. I didn’t think that you wanted to know.”

“Of course, I would have wanted to know. It’s you we’re talking about here.”

Something about how he said you causes your lips to twitch as you fight off a smile. This isn’t a good time to dive into your romantic feelings for your childhood crush, but when he’s letting go of lines like that which are sure to have your heart soaring out of your chest, it’s hard to keep on a cool and unfazed facade. You just convince yourself that he sees you as a little sister and that’s why he’s so worried; you should already be past your ‘delulu’ phase at this age to be affected by such statements.

“I didn’t want to add to your worries,” you reason. “You already have your life to think about. Add to the fact that you’re a naval aviator—so you literally have your own life first to think about.”

“I can make space for you.”

Is he flirting? Is this a normal thing to say between friends?

You blink. “Okay, uh, that’s… that’s completely up to you, I guess.”

“I just like knowing those things first hand. It makes me worry less.”

“Got it. Next time I learn I’m dying, I’ll tell you.”

“____,” he says your name in warning, and you know he’s serious.

“Sorry.” You heat up. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

“I promise that’ll be the last time I make a dark joke, Lieutenant.”

Jungkook’s nostrils flare. You prevent yourself from grinning like a fool again in success of getting on his nerves.

“Are you done here? Because I’m hungry and would really like to get going now.” He changes the subject and gestures to the faculty.

“Yeah. I’ll just get my things and then I can get out of here.”

“Great. You’re letting me take you to dinner, right?” 

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Fine.” You deadpan.

This time, he’s the one who’s beaming at you. “I’ll wait for you here and we can go.”

“Okay.”

****

When Jungkook discovered that you had type 1 diabetes through a phone call with Seowon, he spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, ignoring the snores of his squadmates and overthinking what’s supposed to happen to you now that you had an autoimmune disease which he was told didn’t have a cure. He was assured that you were okay despite it, that there was medication to treat it, and that you had access to them and have been very careful with your lifestyle due to the diagnosis ever since.

He still couldn’t be put to ease though. As ridiculous as it may sound, he had this overwhelming realization that life truly was short, that you had to make certain decisions all the time because you need to adjust to what the universe is only willing to give you. It was funny coming from a person who risked his life for a living. He thinks that perhaps he never understood the philosophy of the quote ‘time is gold’ until he had a loved one on the same trajectory, always one step closer to possible death.

And so that same night, he decided to file a leave for two weeks, effective immediately after his deployment. 

He wasn’t sure what his game plan was exactly in filing that two-week leave. Was he supposed to barge in your life and force you to let him take care of you? Was he supposed to demand why you ended up having diabetes? Was he supposed to act as a big brother like your actual big brother because he was that worried about you? But if Jungkook was going to be truthful, he already had an idea on what he wanted to do in the back of his head—he just didn’t want to execute it because it was absolutely insane.

Until he heard Seowon suggest it himself when they met up at a bar to share a drink together.

“She would never say yes,” Jungkook said, beyond doubt that you won’t be persuaded that easily with a plan like that.

Seowon made a face. “I know. That girl is so hyper independent—she’d rather die than accept help.” He scoffed. “She needs it though. It’ll help with her medication and she won’t have to pay rent for that shit apartment she’s living in. Plus, she'll actually get the chance to take care of her body if she’s not juggling two jobs to have sufficient income.”

“You’re right.” Jungkook shrugged.

“You’ll do it then?”

He took a sip of his beer. “Yeah. I’d do anything for ____, you know that.”

“Even as crazy as marrying her?”

“Sure.”

Seowon stared at him, narrowing his eyes and morphing his expression into a teasing one. “Are you sure you’re not just considering this because it’s a perfect excuse to marry my sister? I know you like her.”

“I don’t like her.” 

“You’re in love with her.”

“I don’t—” Jungkook began to deny but Seowon was staring him down. “Fuck you, man. Don’t make me some kind of pervert who’s trying to lock her into marriage because he likes her. You’re the one who brought the idea up.”

Seowon laughed out loud. “I know, I just can’t believe you’d agree. It’ll benefit ____, that’s for sure—you, on the other hand? It’s career suicide.”

He shrugged. “I’m okay with the thought that she’ll be okay.”

“Because you love her, man.” Seowon pushed. “Why on earth would you consider this if you weren’t? It’s a fraudulent marriage. You’ll be thrown in the brig and be dishonorably discharged if you get caught.”

“We don’t even know if she’ll agree to this whole thing. You said it yourself, she would never say yes.”

“Yeah, unless maybe you’re the one who tries to persuade her.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to buy her a ring and kneel down before her or something?”

“That can work.”

“What?” Jungkook laughed.

Seowon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how she’s been crushing on you since we were kids.”

He barked out a laugh again. That he knew; it was impossible not to when a lot of friends and cousins kept on teasing you before, especially at instances Jungkook was in the very same vicinity. “We’re not kids anymore and I barely see her though.”

“Still, it ought to count to something. It raises the chances of her agreeing.”

“You’re really cool with me marrying your sister, Won?” Jungkook asked.

Seowon placed down the beer bottle he’s consuming on the counter. “Yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not perfect, but I know you enough to know that you won’t do anything that will purposely hurt her. Besides, if this sham marriage ends up to be a real relationship and then for some reason, you fuck up and decide to break her heart—I’ll easily know what to do, where to find you, and then I’ll do everything I can to fuck you up.”

Jungkook pressed his lips together to stifle a chuckle.

“Noted.”

****

It’s always been a big wonder to you how no matter how long it’s been since you saw each other, it still feels like no time has passed between you and Jungkook. You think that’s why you can never get over him; he always had this comforting and familiar aura that you appreciate—something that you sought for in every other person that you liked. Maybe it was impractical, maybe it was the reason you can never hold a relationship for more than two years, but unless you gain the courage to confront your feelings and tell Jungkook about it, then you constantly dispel any doubts you might have whether this was good for you or not.

You don’t want to lose him. Admitting that you harbored romantic feelings for him would just make it awkward for everyone: your brother, your family, and then his family. You don’t think you can ever trade his smile, the sound of his laughter, and all the good things about him for anything in the world. 

“Are you dating anyone?” he asks.

You choke on your drink, having just poured yourself and Jungkook a glass of water after the server arrived with the pitcher. You’re in a Japanese restaurant near the university, aware that the cuisine was a favorite for the both of you hence why it’s what you recommended when he asked where you wanted to dine. The place is packed with people from the workforce and students; you’re thankful that you don’t see any of your students within the mix.

“We’re getting straight to it, huh?” you say.

Jungkook smirks. “I’m just making sure I’m not upsetting a boyfriend by meeting you tonight.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not upsetting anyone.”

He nods in understanding. You don’t want to add more meaning to his actions for the evening but he seems glad about the information.

“How about you?” you ask back. “Are you dating anyone?”

The ends of his mouth lift a bit upwards. “Nope.”

“Why? You don’t have the time for it?”

“Precisely.”

“It must be really hard dating when you’re in the Navy then.”

“Kinda. We’re away a lot and stationed in different places most of the time. It can get really dangerous for us too and people don’t like the stress that comes with that.”

 You bob. “Does it get lonely?”

“Sometimes, but when you’re on duty, you don’t get to think about those things.” He chuckles. “Besides, I don’t know if this sounds fucked up or not—but it can get exciting. Flying a plane can be fun, you know. Not to mention that it helps when you’re surrounded by good men in your squadron.”

“You’ve always been an adrenaline junkie.”

“And you’ve always been a scaredy-cat.”

You scoff at the declaration. “No, I’m not.”

“Remember when Seowon and I forced you to ride that ship in the amusement park that sways left to right and as it goes on it falls from a higher standpoint?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But you do, and Jungkook knows you do, it’s evident by how your expression is trying to feign innocence. That memory is your villain origin story; the whole pretext of why you refuse to ever visit the amusement park or ride an exhilarating ride again. Yet you can’t help but recall that it’s one of the rare instances wherein you got to hold Jungkook’s hand when you two were younger, as his hand was the one you were clinging for dear life when it happened while the other was too busy slapping Seowon in irritation.

He snickers, appearing like he’s replaying the scene in his head. “We should do that again with Seowon during my break.”

“Hell no.”

“I thought you weren’t a scaredy-cat?” He challenges.

“I’m not.” You give him a kittenish glare. “But I am busy. I have to send the final manuscript of this book I’m editing to the chief editor next week and it’s about to be finals week for my students as well.”

He fakes a shiver. “I don’t know how you can do two jobs like that, ____. Truly.”

“You work as a naval aviator so I’d say we’re pretty even.”

The waiter arrives with your orders not long after, and you and Jungkook carry on with your conversation, jumping from topic to topic without difficulty. You’re not certain when was the last time you saw each other like this to have so much to talk about—was it last Christmas? Or was it more recent or longer than that? Nevertheless, it feels good and you find yourself blushing multiple times throughout the night, whether it’s because of how his words can have two meanings or how his eyes are staring at you so intensely whenever you’re the one who’s talking.

You like the undivided attention, the back and forth that’s occurring as you discourse, the subtle touches one of you does when something funny arises, how your knees are touching underneath the table. You wonder what’s so different with this encounter that the energy feels so bizarre in a good way? As far as you’re concerned, you’re positive that you’re acting like you always have in his presence—lively, smiley, sarcastic—and aside from the little touches of flirting here and there, Jungkook’s acting like he always has too.

When dinner was done, Jungkook offered to drive you home. You obliged, no longer in the mood to annoy him for you were tired to make the effort. Before stepping outside the restaurant however, you excused yourself to the restroom first, checking your blood sugar with the glucose meter you brought along wherever you went. It’s a hassle but it’s necessary, largely because you’re still in the middle of saving up for the insulin pump that would help you regulate your sugar levels easier.

After administering yourself with the insulin injection you have, you spend a few more seconds inside the enclosed room. You should be past the point of feeling sorry for yourself, but it’s times like this wherein you’re with a loved one that the dejection hits and you wish that you’re in a better predicament than you are right now. You’re close to being broke, you’re overworked, you’re somehow fatigued all the fucking time—those factors aren’t soothing your worries at all. It’s a miracle how you manage to keep an optimistic mind amidst everything.

“Ready to go?” Jungkook smiles at you once you’re back at the table and you nod, clutching your bag tighter against your body and following him to his car.

He drives you to your place, turning the radio on, and letting it play while the both of you sit in silence. You’re both tired and you almost even sleep during the ride. It’s only when Jungkook gently shakes you awake that you realize that you’ve arrived in front of your apartment building.

“I’ll walk you up,” he insists as you’re unbuckling the seatbelt. 

“That’s no need, Kook.”

“Of course, it is,” he says. “I’ll walk you up. That’s nonnegotiable.”

So, you allow him.

It takes five minutes tops to reach the door leading to your apartment. As you rummage through your bag to grab your keys, Jungkook patiently stands there, occasionally glancing around the hallway and even smiling when the old lady that resided in the same floor got out of her room to throw out the trash. He receives a smile in return which you notice and grin fondly at.

“Well, this is me.” You turn to him, done unlocking your door. “I’d invite you inside but you should probably get going. It’s quite a long drive back home.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out a chuckle. “Hey, tonight was fun. It made me realize how I missed you.”

Your brain temporarily malfunctions; you force yourself to recover quickly. “Me too. I had fun tonight. Maybe we should do this again whenever you’re on a break.”

“Agreed.”

You flash him a smile. “You can go now. Goodnight.”

Jungkook nods, however doesn’t move a muscle. He’s looking at you, like really looking at you, his eyes moving from one feature to another, as if he’s memorizing your face or having a hard time arranging the words he wants to say. You guess it’s the latter, familiar with a tongue-tied Jungkook that it takes you a few good seconds before you’re demanding why he’s impersonating a mannequin.

“There’s something I want to say,” that’s what he utters and you almost snort due to your assumption being right.

“Okay…” The smile is still on your lips. “What is it?”

“Promise me you won’t get mad first.”

“Well, if you’re making me promise that then it’s probably worth being mad about.”

“It’s not as bad as you think.”

“That’s not convincing at all.”

“It’s just…” He begins and trails, biting his lower lip, “it’s… it’s why I went here. Why I went here to see and meet you, I mean.”

You unconsciously recoil at the revelation. It’s certainly a rookie mistake to believe that there was no ulterior motive in Jungkook meeting you today. You just didn’t reckon you’d actually be truly disappointed at that—at the idea that he just didn’t randomly decide to visit and be with you earlier until now.

You draw a long breath. “Well, I knew you weren’t just feeling generous and wanted to treat me to dinner out of nowhere.”

There’s a pause and then he resumes. “Just—before I say it, you have to hear me out, okay? You have to let me explain before you berate me.”

“I can’t promise that either.”

“You have to.”

“Why do I have to?”

“Because what I’m about to say is for your own sake. You know I always have your best interest at heart, don’t you?”

You wrinkle your forehead in further confusion. “Can you just get on with it? The vagueness is making me more annoyed.”

“I just don’t want you to misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand what?”

“What I—and Seowon—genuinely think is the best option.”

“Oh, and Seowon is in on this too?” You bellow. “Have you and Seowon just been conspiring behind my back the whole time?”

“Calm down.” Jungkook puts his hands on your shoulders, a chuckle inevitably escaping him. “I’m sorry for dragging it out. You should know I’m high key afraid of you, that’s why.”

“You should be.” You grumble.

Another chuckle, but he’s back to appearing anxious. You want to shout that this isn’t healthy, that you’re close to giving him a real reason to be afraid of you—yet once he blurts the confession out, you’re speechless, gawking at him and staggering backwards in complete shock. Perhaps you would have bolted as far away from him as possible if not for his solid grasp.

“What?” You hiss.

He swallows hard.

“I want you to marry me, ____.”

You don’t bolt away running. You shake off his hold on you though, and before he gets another word in, you’re hastily rushing inside your apartment and slamming the door to his face.

****

Jungkook was your first kiss.

It happened in a game of truth and dare. You were at a party of a mutual friend and when the bottle miserably pointed in Jungkook’s direction, the person who was tasked to think of his dare when it was his pick said that he dared him to do 7 minutes in heaven with you. 

He profusely refused at first, especially since Seowon was in the same party, but everybody began booing and next thing you know, Jungkook was agreeing as long as it was fine with you. When you nodded to make your consent apparent, your friends were quick to shove you both in the closet, some of them pulling Seowon back who was complaining how it wasn’t right to bully you into doing 7 minutes in heaven with Jungkook. They calmed him down once they bullied him into agreeing too.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jungkook told you in the darkness, his breath fawning over your face. “You don’t have to feel pressured. It’s just a stupid game.”

You blushed.

Secretly, you were hoping that he’d kiss you or touch you. Who didn’t want to do anything with their crush at the age of 15? A lot can happen in 7 minutes. You were aware that sometimes people made out, went as far as third base, and although you didn’t want to go that far with Jungkook, you wanted something to happen while you were stuck in this small closet with him. There weren’t a lot of instances that put both of you in this kind of situation; you wished that you were brave enough to ask him to kiss you or do the first move yourself.

5 minutes in, Jungkook turned towards you.

“Is it true that Taehyung kissed you last week?”

You whipped your head so fast that you might have given yourself whiplash. “That’s—that’s not true. Where did you hear that?”

“During homeroom. Some girls were talking about it.”

Your cheeks burned. “Oh.”

“So, it’s not true?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” You laughed weakly.

It was his turn to seem stunned. “You haven’t had your first kiss yet?”

You shook your head again, then realized he might not see you doing so. “Not yet.”

“Want me to change that?” he asked, grinning.

He said that with a boyish grin and teasing tone, but you sucked at social cues (plus, you really couldn’t see shit that much) that you started nodding.

“Okay,” you told him.

“Huh?”

“You can kiss me.”

“Oh, oh, shit—I didn’t—” He was blabbering, about to take back what he offered. “I mean, I was just joking but—”

You widen your eyes. “You were? Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

“No, it was my fault. That was a little out of line for me. I’m sorry.” He was laughing and you felt like burying yourself 6 feet under. “It was a stupid thing to say. But if you want me to kiss you, it’s cool.”

“It is?” Hope sparked within you.

“Yeah. It’ll just be a peck anyway.” You can tell he was smiling through his voice. “Just don’t tell Seowon because he might punch me in the face for kissing his sister.”

You cackled. “Deal.”

56 seconds before the 7 minutes were up, Jungkook leaned down to match your level and placed his lips on yours. 

****

You’re seething with rage, the embodiment of Godzilla, channeling the God of War, Ares, in your body; you harshly press Seowon’s number on your phone to call him and he answers after three rings.

“What’s up?”

“I will fucking murder you,” you snarl.

A beat. You hear shuffling. Then he answers, “you already talked with Jungkook?”

The nonchalance and calmness in his voice drives you to be more frustrated than you already are. “Yes, I have! What is wrong with you? Why would you plant that idea on his head?” You yell, not caring that your walls are thin and that your voice can probably be heard by the couple that lived next door. You’re feeling a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and every negative emotion that exists at the moment. You’re comparable to a bull who just saw the color red.

“____, it won’t be a big deal if you don’t make it to be.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Did you even let Jungkook explain?”

“I don’t need him to spell everything out. I know why he’s asking me to marry him.”

“Then you know too that it’d be good for you.”

“Marrying him won’t be good for me.”

“Why not?”

“It just won’t!”

“You’ll get health insurance benefits that you don’t get with your current jobs. You can pay less rent once you move in at Jungkook’s place—there’s a huge chance he won’t even let you pay him while you stay there too. He’s away most of the time anyway, so staying there wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, you can start studying for a masters degree like you’ve always wanted.”

You groan. “Not like this. This is crazy.”

“The both of you can divorce once you’ve saved up a little. It really isn’t that complicated.”

“It’s a sham marriage!”

“It’s a sham marriage with Jungkook.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Are you sure? Your grade school diary might disagree.”

“Oh my God, that’s fucking low of you to bring that up. You just gave me another reason to hate you.” You stomp around the living room, acting like a teenager because of your brother’s behavior. This isn’t the first time he revealed that he’s read your diary before; that doesn’t mean it’s less infuriating to be reminded that he has. “I swear, you better fucking sleeping with one eye open tonight. I’m choking you to death.”

Seowon laughs out loud. “Just marry him. He’s surprisingly amicable with the idea.”

“That’s because you’re pressuring him! I bet you and Mom devised this entire thing together.”

“Mom doesn’t know. To be fair, she’d probably have the same reaction as you. It’s all me and Jungkook.”

“Wow. You have two brains and yet none of you thought this was goddamn stupid?”

“It’s not stupid. It’s genius if you come to think of it,” he says. “Jungkook just wants to help you, dude. He wants to make sure you’ll be okay and all that shit. You’re the reason he filed for a two-week leave, did he tell you?”

Your heart does that jumping thing again. “No.”

“Well, he did. He’s on a break for two weeks because he wants to convince you to marry him and actually marry you within that time frame.”

“This is nuts.” You sigh, finally flopping down the sofa and rubbing your face with your free hand. “The both of you are nuts. How are you okay with this?”

“It’s Jungkook. I trust him. Don’t you?”

“Of course, I do, I just—” you cut yourself off and frown, “I just feel like it’s unfair for him. I’m marrying him because of military spouse benefits and what does he get?”

There’s a long pause, and you almost check your phone to see whether Seowon has already hung up on you or not.

“It’s better that Jungkook answers that question,” he tells you finally.

“Why? You can’t answer it on behalf of him?”

“Something like that.” You can imagine him shrugging. “All I know is that he’s genuinely concerned about your health and your financial status right now. So, just think about it, okay?”

“God, fuck it, fine. I’ll think about it.” You grimace.

You hang up and glance at the door.

You don’t think the conversation you just had with Seowon took that much time. The initial rush you had upon having your longtime crush propose to you is wearing off and you’re realizing that it was a dick move to literally slam the door right in Jungkook’s face earlier, leading you to stand up from your seat and look through the peephole to check if he’s still there.

He isn’t, which you sigh in relief at.

As you lean against the door and regulate your breathing, you think how funny it is that Seowon is right about one thing—and that was grade school you would have been delighted at the thought of getting married to Jungkook. He’s your dream guy; your parents loved him, his parents loved you, the both of you got along very well, and his personality and looks are everything that you’re looking for in a partner. It sucks that you live in a world where the only reason he wants to marry you is because he’s afraid you’ll die because of self-neglect. 

Your phone pings and you unlock the screen to look at the message that flashes on it.

Jungkook: hey, seowon just messaged me to say that you two already talked Jungkook: i’m sorry for jumping on you with a topic like that… Jungkook: i’m shit at confrontation lol Jungkook: also it’s the first time i’m proposing so give me some slack

You scoff at his audacity to joke about it this soon.

You: it’s okay You: i’m sorry too for what i did You: the answer is no btw

Jungkook: already??? Jungkook: let’s talk about it first

You: no need You: i don’t want to marry you

Jungkook: oof that’s harsh

You: sorry not sorry?

He doesn’t respond and you think you’re safe. Maybe Jungkook does take no for an answer and you’re confused because you’re a little disappointed that he’s not falling on his knees, begging you to marry him like what your imagination is supplying you.

However, after you took a shower and went to check your phone again, you see that Jungkook messaged you a few minutes ago in response to your last message.

Jungkook: give me 10 days and i’ll change your mind

You have the urge to go take a shower again because of how hot your body is feeling at the statement.

You: hate to break it to you but you’re not matthew mcconaughey

Jungkook: 🤣🤣🤣

****

It’s not part of Jungkook’s branding to chase a woman. Typically, women chase him; they chase him in every city and country that he gets stationed in, flirting with him and hoping that they’ll get the chance to take him home for the night for a mindblowing one-night stand. They never succeed though, for despite their pretty faces and sultry gestures, Jungkook only smiles and declines every offer, saying that he had a girl waiting back home that he loved very much.

He used to think that he only used that as an excuse because he’s not the type to hook up with every attractive girl he meets. There are times when he succumbs, when he gives into the temptation of a little fun, especially after a life threatening or highly stressful mission—but most of the time, he thinks he declines and use that pronouncement of his because his mind reverts him to the idea of you, to what would happen if he just gained the balls to ask you out.

Evidently, although asking you out and asking you to marry him are two completely different things, he’s a bit afraid that your answer will always be a hard no. It’s what you’ve been literally spelling out to him since the day he presented the idea, regardless of how he’s trying his best in swooning you or explaining how this is the perfect plan to help you gain an upper hand with your diagnosis.

“I’ll file a restraining order against you, I’m serious,” you say to him when he appears yet again outside the faculty room, waiting for you to gather your things and head home. You’re wearing a white button up shirt and pinstripe wide leg trousers, an outfit combination that he ogles at before he goes down to business.

“You wouldn’t.” He glares at you. He gestures for you to let him take your backpack, and despite what you said, you let him. “Also, what the fuck is in this thing? You’ll break your back if you keep using this.” He swings your backpack on one shoulder.

You laugh. “My laptop, its charger, a couple of notebooks, books, pens, then the outputs of my students.”

“Aren’t they supposed to submit virtually? What happened to Google Classroom?”

“I still use it, but sometimes I like to have their work printed out so I can write the comments better. How do you know Google Classroom?”

“I have a squadronmate whose kid uses it for class.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding.

You two continue walking forward.

This has been your program for the past few days. Jungkook goes to the university you work at, he’ll wait outside, you’ll threaten him with something ridiculous, he’ll take your bag, he’ll offer to take you to dinner, you’ll decline, and then he’ll drive you home anyways. Before that routine ends, he’ll lean on your door frame and give you his best puppy eyes, asking you to marry him for the sake of your welfare, and you’ll scowl at him, insisting that you don’t need his help to survive.

“Dinner?” he asks, right on schedule.

You glance at him. “No. I want to go home and sleep for 12 hours.”

“Busy day?”

“Yep.”

“You know, if you marry me, you won’t have to work two jobs and overexert yourself.”

He doesn’t need to turn to you to know that you’re giving him a dirty look. “I won’t marry you, Jungkook.”

“Why not?”

“Because marriage doesn’t work that way.”

“It does. Billionaires do it all the time. The mafia does it too. It’s always been some kind of transaction.”

“Well, if I marry you, what do you get?”

“The assurance you’re taken care of.”

“That’s cheesy.”

You share a laugh and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says. “I’ll be fine as long as you are.”

He waits for you to quip back a reply, flickering his eyes to you when it takes longer than usual. Instead of the sneer he’s expecting, you appear to be flustered, an expression that is very recognizable for him who’s known you since forever—an expression that makes it too obvious for Jungkook that the crush you had on him that he thought has been long gone was still there. He’s been seeing it a lot lately, particularly when he’s uttering lines that sound flirtatious on purpose; he’s positive that you’ll threaten to kill him when you discover that he basks on the fact that he can still make you all flustered and cute, which encourages him to do and say anything that would elicit a reaction from you. Was it unethical to seduce you into marrying him? He might have to rethink that part too.

Reaching the parking lot, he unlocks the doors to his vehicle and places your bag inside the backseat. He watches you walk around the car, about to go to the passenger’s side, but then you wobble a bit and his attempt to get inside is instantly forgotten.

“Hey,” he strides to where you are, gazing at you as you now hold onto the hood, “you alright?”

You raise your chin up. “Kook, can you get my bag?”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s swinging the door again and getting your bag from the other end of the backseat while you get on the passenger’s seat, keeping the door wide and placing your legs outside, your feet planted on the concrete.

“What do you need?” he asks, crouching in front of you and zipping the bag open.

“Glucometer.”

He halts. “What does that look like?”

“It’s in the yellow bag. There.” You point at it right when he rummages through a certain part.

He brings it out and you take it from his grasp. Your movements are sluggish but he can discern that you’re doing your best not to be too slow; he’d present to help but he knows that he might prolong what you’re doing due to his cluelessness, so he just observes, noting how you’re pricking your finger with a device and then pressing it lightly to the glucometer which shows that your blood sugar is low.

“Apple juice,” you mutter to him and he finds it faster than the last one.

You grab the juice pouch from his grasp, prying the straw attached on the back, pushing its end for it to pop out of its plastic cover—then your hand shakes, preventing you from continuing and punching in the straw properly.

“Let me do it,” he says.

You don’t fight him, you just slump against the seat as Jungkook picks up from where you left, and the moment he does the job and guides the straw to your awaiting lips, a long exhale through your nose escapes you.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers. He didn’t notice that he was holding his breath the entire duration of the scene.

Another sigh. “Better.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

You seem to hesitate. “Not a lot. Just when life gets a bit too hectic.”

“____—”

“Just take me home.” You don’t give him the chance to lecture you. “Please, Jungkook.”

Defeated, he nods. “Alright.”

“Thank you.”

He helps you position yourself properly on the passenger’s seat. “But we’re talking about this at your place.”

Before you can protest, he closes the door.

****

Lee Hyunwoo was the name of the guy that you brought home for Christmas Eve eight years ago. It was the first time that you did, and Jungkook hated how Hyunwoo was considerably handsome, intelligent, and kind—the exact kind of person he always imagined you deserved.

In the short time Hyunwoo spent with theirs and your family that night, everybody loved him and was already inviting him to the next gathering, all the while Jungkook avoided him at every cost, puzzled by this strong dislike he was feeling for your guest. He was annoyed at the manner in which Hyunwoo had an arm around your waist the entire evening, how you grinned up to him, eyes sparkling and all that shit. Hell, you used to look at him like that.

“Honey, can you get the mango float we have in our freezer?” Jungkook heard your mother tell you, and without thinking, he stood up from his chair and made a beeline to where you were, telling you he’d accompany you to your house.

“That’s fine,” you told him. “It’s literally next door.”

“Yeah, but it might be heavy.”

“It’s not.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

You rolled your eyes and agreed then, excusing yourself from Hyunwoo who was in an engaged conversation with Seowon. The pair were geeking out because of their mutual love for the MCU and the next film slated to be released the following year.

Upon arriving at your home, you dashed to the kitchen with Jungkook trudging behind you. He wasn’t sure what his next course of action should be now; all he wanted was some alone time with you, away from the presence of that college boyfriend of yours, but now that he had that, he couldn’t think of anything that he wanted to say or do. He wasn’t even sure why he was feeling a bit jealous—was it because of that saying? Wherein people are bound to want what they can’t have? Or was it that you only appreciate what you had when you’ve already lost it?

“How long have you and Hyunwoo been dating?” he asked, leaning against the counter as you pulled your freezer open.

“Four months, I think.”

“Four months? And you already brought him home?”

You snorted at his tone. “His family is in another country so I thought it’d be nice to invite him.”

“You must really like him then.”

“Yeah, but I’m not in love with him or anything.” You placed the mango float on the space beside Jungkook on the counter. “He’s nice, and he likes me too.”

“Does he treat you well?”

You flashed your eyes at him, amusement dancing in them. “What’s with that question?”

“What’s with it?”

“Nothing, it’s just that…” you trailed, a smirk etched on your face. “Wait a minute, are you… you can’t possibly—” Jungkook was widening his eyes, ready to deny your accusation once you questioned whether he was jealous of Hyunwoo or not— “are you pulling an overprotective brother skit on me, Kook?”

Fuck, thank God, he thought.

“I prefer ‘overprotective friend skit’,” he said.

“That doesn’t have a nice ring to it.”

“But I’m not your brother.”

“You don’t have to be, I’m just saying that you and Seowon have been acting similar since Hyunwoo and I arrived.”

“Nonsense. Seowon likes him.”

“Oh, so you don’t?”

He pressed his lips into a tight line.

“Did you just admit that you don’t like Hyunwoo?” you asked, chuckling. He was grateful that you didn’t seem to be offended by it.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him.”

“Instead you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You kinda did.”

He heard you laugh and he couldn’t help but allow himself to laugh as well.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Maybe I’m just not used to you dating anyone. You are chronically single.”

“Can’t say you’re wrong.” You snorted and picked up from the mango float, marching back to his house and gesturing for him to follow you.

He did, no words spoken between the both of you once more. Though when you were entering their place again, with Jungkook holding the door open for you, he mentioned something he never reckoned he’d have the guts to mention out loud.

“When you open my gift,” he began, “don’t do it in front of Hyunwoo, okay?”

“Why not?” You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, intrigued by his warning.

“He might not like it. You’ll see.”

That night, at the comfort of your bedroom, Hyunwoo nowhere near but instead sleeping at the coach downstairs in your living room, you opened Jungkook’s gift and saw that it was a necklace with your birth flower as its pendant.

You smiled, rolling your eyes to yourself, and slept with that giddy look never leaving your face.

****

“Not so fast,” Jungkook grunts.

Did he think that you were going to be less difficult since he was helpful earlier? Yeah, he did. He likes to think that if it wasn’t for him, you would have taken longer in feeding yourself with apple juice, so he at least wanted a thank you in the form of your willingness to have an adult conversation with him tonight. However, that clearly isn’t the case because when he walked you up to your apartment like he always did, you’re attempting to lock him out, shutting the door as fast as you can once you’re inside, thus trying to prevent him from initiating that talk he wanted the two of you to have.

“Seriously?” He successfully pries the door open and you scowl at him.

“Jungkook—”

“No, you don’t get to reason your way out of this. I’m done hearing you out. It’s your turn to listen to me.” He steps inside your apartment.

You groan, striding to the sofa and throwing your bag there. “You can’t force me to marry you.”

“Is marrying me so fucking bad that you can’t get over it for health insurance benefits that can really help you?” He demands, infuriated. 

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

“You can get arrested!” you exclaim. “And so can I! Does that not freak you out?”

“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught.”

“I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“I’m not willing to see you die.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Who the fuck said anything about dying? I’m not dying.”

“You almost passed out on me. You almost—”

“It’s an error on my part, I admit.” You sigh. “When I get busy and preoccupied, sometimes I forget to check my sugar levels regularly throughout the day. I’m sorry.”

“And you expect to be convinced that you have everything handled?”

“God, I’m not a child. Stop treating me like I can’t do shit for myself.”

“Please, ___,” he approaches you with the most pleading expression he can muster, and he watches as your hard expression crumbles, “just accept my help. It’s really not a big deal—you won’t even see me often, so keeping up with the whole marriage ploy wouldn’t be difficult. We’ll divorce in two years, we can pretend we never got married after that.”

“You just don’t get it, don’t you?”

“What do I not get? If you think I don’t understand something, then explain it to me—”

“I can’t marry you,” you say. You do so like it’s final, like there’s no point in arguing with you because he can never change your stand on this. As he’s pleading with his eyes to urge you to agree, you’re communicating with your eyes in a similar way that’s wishing he would just drop this. “It’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrow. “This isn’t the time to go on your high horse and decide what’s wrong and what’s not. It’s a fraudulent marriage—of course, it’ll be wrong to some degree.”

“No, I mean…” You turn away from him, rubbing your face in exhaustion. “It’d be wrong of me to marry you. I’m taking advantage of you if I do, and I don’t like that.”

Jungkook shakes his head, frustration worsening at the childlike excuse. Surely, you weren’t that naive, were you? “You’re not. I’m not doing this against my own will. Besides, we get extra pay just for being married. If it makes you feel better, I won’t split it with you.”

“That won’t make me feel better.”

“Then what will?”

You flop down on the coach and lean back, closing your eyes. He knows he’s being a pain in the ass but he can’t just stand here and do nothing. He thinks he’s already come too far in convincing you, he isn’t going to back out now. Every single day spent together, he can feel you warming up to the idea of marrying him for health insurance. Your connection and entirety of your relationship has been off the charts recently that it’ll be harder for him not to be assured that before he leaves for his job, you’ll be taken care off.

Jungkook goes to the spot beside you, sitting down. Your knees bump together, he keeps on gazing at you, waiting for you to focus on him; a minute passes and his gaze moves to your hand that’s laying on the small space between you.

Without overthinking, he stretches out and clasps it, allowing his fingers to play with yours that finally captures your attention. The moment he glances up, he sees that you’re staring at him and he doesn’t let go, he even smiles, a quiet promise that he’s always willing to listen to whatever you want to tell him.

You hesitantly smile back. “You know,” your eyes train back to your intertwined fingers, Jungkook reveling in the warmth of your skin, gaining more confidence in acting out his feelings, “there was a time wherein I would have said yes immediately if you asked me to marry you.”

He smirks, can’t deny how hearing that inflates his ego a bit although this route in the conversation isn’t where he expected to go. “What changed?”

“For one, I grew up.”

“Ouch.”

You laugh. Then you stay quiet for a while before speaking. “Can I confess something?”

That piques his interest. “Anything.”

“But you have to promise not to make fun of me.”

“That’s impossible.” He teases. “What is it?”

You stall, readjusting your position so that you can directly face him. Jungkook doesn’t let go of your hand, he keeps it in his grasp, his thumb rubbing along the expanse of your knuckles.

“I like you, Jungkook. I really really do,” you finally say and he blinks, startled.

It shouldn’t surprise him, considering that it’s been long established that he knew of your crush already, though he doesn’t seem to have anticipated for you to boldly admit it when all these years, it’s only been some kind of unspoken understanding that neither of you downright acknowledged.

You continue speaking. “In fact, I like you so much that maybe it developed into love at some point—I’m not sure. I’m at this stage of no longer being afraid of what I feel, I think? Most of the time, I just let it occur like it’s something so natural. Like it’s a feeling that I can never get away from? Like whatever I do, there’s no way to shake you.” You chuckle half-heartedly. “Though never in a million years would I have thought that I’d confess all of this. What for anyway? I don’t want you to be burdened with what my teenage heart couldn’t rub out.”

His mind is racing; hundred thoughts, hundred scenarios, hundred experiences he’s spent with you since the day you met. Jungkook never realized how much he needed you to say that you liked him—that maybe you even loved him—until he heard it from your very mouth that you did, causing every inhibition and doubt he had to vanish. Now, he only wants to engulf you in an embrace and shout Yes, I feel the same way! Sorry for being a fucking corward and not doing this first!

He would have done all of that in a flash if it didn’t appear that you still had something to say. Based on your rather constipated posture and the hand he’s holding that’s becoming clammy, he discerns that you’re just in the first part of what you wanted to admit.

“Actually, that’s also why I can’t let myself marry you,” you say. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know… it feels really icky somehow. I feel like I’m holding you hostage, or that I’m tricking you because of an ulterior motive, or that I’m defying the laws of the universe by having the chance to marry you. I’m not sure. I just know that I don’t want to marry you if it means I’ll only get to do so because you think you’re doing me a huge favor. I don’t want to be your charity case, Kook—I deserve to be more than that, you know? I’m not traditional or whatever but if it’s not for love, I’m not keen on getting married.” You abruptly pull away from his clutch, embarrassment washing on your features by what you stated. “Plus, two years might not be that long but what happens when you meet someone and you like her? How can you explain that you’re only married to me because I need it for my medication? It’ll just be unnecessarily messy. I don’t want to hold you back from those kinds of things. I don’t want to be a hindrance.”

That’s his cue. That’s when he knows he’s supposed to kiss you and take your breath away, to admit that he’s certain that he has loved you since that one time when he was in the Naval Academy and although the training was hard as fuck, the thought of you gave him strength and he didn’t want to see anyone as much as he wanted to see you after—that when you and Seowon visited him, that familiar urge to have you alone was all he felt the entire time, solidifying the idea that perhaps he didn’t just see you as a friend.

“You’re unbelievably dense, ___,” he murmurs, smirking at the play of events, and you glance at him, expression showing disbelief that he’s somehow treating this matter lightly.

“What?”

“Do you honestly think I go around and offer marriage to every woman out there who can benefit from being a military spouse? Do you think I’m that generous? I’m not. I wouldn’t ask anyone to marry me for the same reason if they weren’t important to me—or if I didn’t like them. I’m not that much of a saint,” he adds. “I mean, I’m taking a two-week break to convince you to marry me. I’m spending time with you every single day. I’m driving for almost an hour and a half, enduring the traffic to get from my apartment to the university you work in to do that—and you think this is because I want to be charitable?”

Silence. Your forehead wrinkles. He thinks you’re still not getting the point.

“I’m in love with you, ____,” Jungkook says.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You’re opening your mouth, then closing it, then opening it again, then pressing it into a thin line. He thinks you look cute, being taken aback like this, and he’s wishing that he’s done this sooner so that the last five days of him chasing you around like a lost puppy was spent with talking more about what’s possibly waiting for yours and his relationship next.

“Are you serious?” you ask after what seems like forever. “Or are you just saying that because you’re that desperate to have me on board with the whole fraudulent marriage thing?”

“God—” He’s inching closer to you now, laughing, watching your lips twitch at his reaction— “I’m convinced that you were born into this earth to drive me fucking crazy.”

And just like that, he no longer restrains himself from kissing you.

It takes you a few good seconds before you will yourself to move. You can’t seem to process the reality of Jungkook admitting that he was in love with you and then taking the liberty to plant his lips on yours. You’re not complaining, of course, but you are a bit overwhelmed that it literally makes you freeze, unaware of what you’re supposed to do now that your fantasies are coming into life.

However, once you feel him angle his head to the side, doing so to deepen the kiss, your reflexes kick in and you’re kissing him back, encircling your arms around his neck and leaning towards him, Jungkook sighing in what appears to be relief. He grips your hips to support you as you try to straddle him, but your movements are so clumsy that you end up sprawling against his chest instead, perched on a leg of his that provides pleasure on the spot you need him the most. He chuckles at your lack of gracefulness, gliding his lips to your cheek and down to your jaw, nipping.

“This okay?” he whispers with a palm drifting to your bottom.

You nod and Jungkook’s mouth is back on yours in an instant. He squeezes your ass, takes his time in fondling with it, cheekily slapping whenever you get brave yourself and push your tongue past his lips, before he skims his hand lower to your thigh and signals for you to mount him. Upon being properly sat on his lap, you get an immediate feel of his hard length through his jeans, prompting your imagination to run wild and induce the filthiest things he can do to you if neither of you stops.

“Holy shit,” he curses, your kisses roaming to the base of his throat where you lap and suck.

It becomes a dirty pattern for a while. The both of you will take a brief pause from making out to remove a piece of clothing or kiss every other exposed skin there is: the cheek, the jaw, the neck, the collarbones, the shoulders. Then one of you hauls the other back for another passionate kiss, hands skating everywhere on your bodies, sounds of arousal echoing inside the room; you’re starting to get lightheaded but you’re positive it’s not because of your sugar levels running low.

“I hate that it took us so long to get to this point,” he mutters.

You grin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m the man—I should have confessed long ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. ‘Was afraid to lose you, I guess.” He draws his head back and admires your blissed out expression. “But then when Seowon told me you had diabetes, I panicked and thought that I might lose you either way.”

You go back to making out, Jungkook guiding your hips in grinding on his clothed length. It’s addictive—the intimate feel of him, how he’s not shy in making sure you know how much he’s craving to be as close to you as you are to him. You think you can spend the whole night just doing this and be okay with it.

“Fuck, Kook,” you groan against his mouth, a hand descending to his stomach and to his manhood, “you’re so… so fuckin’ hard.”

You’re palming him now, tracing the erection evident under his boxers.

He lets out a grunt. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

“Do you… do you want me—” You’re breathless, not able to continue whatever it is that you want to say.

He understands you just fine though. “No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do anything.”

You’re not sure what Jungkook means by that. How are you supposed to do nothing when you want to do everything to him? You soon comprehend what he means when he guides you to lay down on the sofa, when his lips skim lower and lower, passing your breasts, giving them the attention they deserve, until he goes lower than that and discards your underwear, kissing you in between your legs.

It’s like he’s releasing all the pent up emotions he’s been keeping all these years. His tongue and fingers are relentless, his voice is telling you that he’s eager to coax an orgasm out of you, and as he lifts himself up to return to his previous position, face hovering yours, you’re positive that he’ll get everything he wants because without a doubt you’ll give him everything he wants from you too. Hell, if he uses this opportunity to ask you to marry him again, you might answer yes straight away, no longer bearing in mind the worries you expressed to him earlier.

Although did that even matter anymore? Jungkook said he loved you. He said you drove him crazy. You never thought you’d come to see the day he’d utter those words but here you are. The man of your dreams is kissing you, pleasing you, and looking damn enthusiastic as he does all of that.

“Last chance to stop me,” Jungkook teases. His eyes are glassy and you can feel his cock nudging on your thigh.

You giggle, bringing his head closer to press another long kiss on those pink and plump lips of his. “Please never stop.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“I’m going to take you up on that.”

“Please do.”

After this night, you’re certain that you’ll never allow yourself to be with another man aside from Jungkook. At the back of your head, you always thought that you were his, regardless if that wasn’t true or that there was no real relationship to prove that—however, at this moment, as he thrusts in and out languidly, you unquestionably know that you are. You belong to him now and he belongs to you; he lets you know through his love-filled gaze, his passionate kisses, and the manner wherein he moans your name.

“I love you,” he says, like he’s still in deep longing for your touch and affection.

You hum, tangling your fingers through the strands of his hair. “I love you, Kook.” You stare at his eyes. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”

A boyish grin erupts on his features.

Time passes by quickly. In a few more of his kisses, of the intoxicating slam of his hips, of his seductive whimpers, you’re coming beneath him, Jungkook pulling out and jerking his length until he too comes, his seed landing on the base of your tummy. You have the nerve to giggle at that, grinning at him with low-lidded eyes, and Jungkook hastily wipes his cum off your skin, attacking you with another passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.

“There’s no way you’re not marrying me after this,” he murmurs.

You teasingly graze your teeth on his bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”

He groans. “Don’t think about it. Just say yes.”

“At least let me sleep on it, Kook.”

“Fuck—fine.” He grabs your sides and pulls you flush against his body. “Guess I’ll have to keep on convincing you until you agree.”

****

“God, why is this so difficult?” Jungkook whines, keeping you in his embrace, head tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

The air is very humid and Jungkook’s in his naval aviator uniform, which doesn’t look cool in a sense that air is properly flowing through the material. He doesn’t care though, doesn’t care that it’s sticking to his skin as he refuses to let you go, not even when you complain playfully.

“Kook, I’m fucking sweaty.”

“I don’t care.”

You laugh. 

He’s leaving to return to his duty and you’re here with him outside the base before he enters, being with him until the last possible minute because that’s how much of a good wife you are.

Yes, you and Jungkook did get married. Three days ago in fact, at the city hall’s courtroom. Neither of you invited your parents; they didn’t know about the occasion and you refused to tell them, afraid that they may be critical about yours and his choices when they discover the true reason why you’re rushing to be wed. The only people that remained to be aware of it was Seowon and his girlfriend, Winnie, who served as the witnesses, which was fine by you. In your understanding, this was just for the papers and your health, and not the real deal yet to be celebrated lavishly.

“I’ll propose to you again after a couple of years,” Jungkook promised after the ceremony. “Let’s renew our vows and I’ll give you an amazing wedding.”

You would have told him that there was no need, but who were you kidding? You did want a proper wedding with Jungkook. The previous week didn’t even feel like you were newlyweds. Yes, the both of you compacted all of the dates you could have if one of you weren’t such a chicken in five days, and yes, though the honeymoon stage was experienced and practiced—it was only because you were a new couple who after years of hiding their feelings for one another, was now finally free to express it as much as they desired.

“Call me everyday?” you ask when he finally pulls back, Jungkook pecking your lips one more time.

“Definitely.” He smiles. “Visit me whenever possible?”

“Of course.” You kiss him too.

His smile transforms into a grin. “Take care of yourself, alright? Keep me updated all the time. No sugarcoating allowed.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives you another kiss and engulfs you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground that causes you to giggle.

“Okay, pack it up, love birds!” Seowon shouts.

The two of you turn to your brother who’s leaning on his car, the vehicle that was used to transport the three of you today. You’re still in the middle of moving your belongings at Jungkook’s place and Seowon was kind enough to volunteer helping, always dubious that you could do stuff on your own. Despite your reluctance, you let him assist you, mostly because you’re trying to make a conscious effort in not upsetting him again.

Let’s just say that when the judge hailed you husband and wife at the civil wedding, Seowon wasn’t thrilled to see that the kiss shared between you and Jungkook wasn’t as fake as the supposed sham marriage, leading him to the conclusion that in the middle of Jungkook’s ruse of convincing you to be his wife, something must have happened that led to your approval and that rather 18+ rated kiss. Mostly though, he’s just offended that neither of you thought of telling him that you were an official couple before the wedding.

Jungkook unwillingly places you down.

“I think I need to go,” you say.

He nods with a sigh. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” You affectionately caress his cheek, bringing his face down for the very very very last kiss. 

He leans into it. “Fuck, I don’t want to leave.”

“Seriously—hurry up!” Seowon shouts and you pull back.

“I will kill him,” you tell Jungkook.

“He’s your brother,” he says. “And now, my brother-in-law, so I can’t let you do that.”

“That might be your very first red flag, Jungkook, insinuating that you’re choosing my brother over me.” You cross your arms. “Tell me, if the both of us were drowning, would you save me or Seowon?”

“You,” he answers without missing a beat.

You narrow your eyes. “Is that the truth?”

“Of course. Seowon would probably undrown himself anyway and you’re shit at swimming. It’s an easy choice.”

You punch him hard on the shoulder and he feigns hurt, snickering. “For the record, I don’t think anyone can ‘undrown’ themselves—but fine, you pass the test.”

Jungkook faces Seowon’s direction and does a final salute, your brother returning it swiftly, and just like that, you and him share your last farewells. You watch as he goes through the entrance of the base and sends you a wave of goodbye; you weakly copy the gesture and stand there for a few seconds, just watching him fade from your view the further he trudges inside. You don’t think saying goodbye to him ever felt this heavy, and you blame it on the fact that after all this is the first time you’re saying goodbye to him with the assurance that he loves you too—and that alone weighs millions.

You spin on your heel and go to Seowon who’s already in the driver’s seat. As soon as you get in and wear your seat belt, he’s giving you a dirty look.

“What?” you ask.

“Please never do that in front of me again.”

His statement makes you smirk. “Why? Didn’t you want this?”

“Want what?”

“Me and Jungkook to be together.”

“When on earth did I say that?”

“You previously admitted that you were lowkey playing cupid by suggesting that Jungkook marry me for health insurance.”

A short pause. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to watch you two reenact a porno every fucking time.”

“We’re not—”

“You are. Don’t deny it.” He grumbles. “God, every time I see you two, it’s like I’m Ross from that one Friends episode where he accidentally sees Monica and Chandler doing it from the window of his apartment.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” You laugh. “In my defense, you haven’t seen me and Jungkook actually do the deed so—”

“Wait, so the two of you have?”

Your expression drops. His tone is approaching older brother protectiveness territory and you’re quick to attempt diffusing the situation. “I will not dive into that. All I’m going to say is that I’m a grown adult and so is Jungkook.”

He grimaces before starting the engine. “Yeah, never dive into that. I don’t need to hear the details.”

You share a laugh and then silence fills the car.

You press your lips together, looking at him while he backs out from the parking spot. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For driving today, and for offering to help me later, and maybe for also never minding your own business.”

You recall how Seowon was the one who couldn’t stop worrying about you and finding a solution when you told your family that you had type 1 diabetes. Your parents were concerned, they pestered you for months to force you to accept financial assistance from them, but they gave up soon after. Seowon though? He never did. He persisted through every outburst you had; he tolerated your bitchiness and your dirty looks all the time. Out of everyone in your life, you always felt like regardless of how stubborn and prideful you could be, Seowon was worse—in the best way possible.

A crooked smile illuminates his face. “You’re my kid sister. It’s my job to never let you experience peace in your whole life.”

You scoff. “Well, you’re damn great at what you do.”

When you reach Jungkook’s apartment, unloading the boxes and arranging your stuff to its designated places, your heart swells in happiness as the reality sinks in that your life is heading in the right direction after months of feeling hopeless. It drives you to be more thankful to the little things, to the people who were always by your side, to your previous circumstance that although wasn’t ideal was still manageable. A lot don’t get to have that kind of privilege and you promise yourself that you’ll make an effort to find more things to be grateful about from this day forward.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Seowon approaches in the middle of you arranging your books on Jungkook’s near to empty shelf, “Winnie wanted to give you this. She would have handed it over herself but she’s going to be busy for the next few days.”

You take the frame from his hand and see that it’s the picture Winnie took of you and Jungkook after the ceremony. It’s in the restaurant that you ate at to celebrate the civil wedding. Jungkook was grinning at you with an arm around on the backrest of your chair, you were leaning towards him, smiling at the camera—and the absolute selling point of why this was the best picture ever taken was because of how cake icing was scattered on your faces, places on spots in an artistic manner like it was planted there on purpose for the picture and not because the both of you were being silly that instance.

You think it showcases your relationship with Jungkook marvelously. It’s playful, it’s sweet, and most of all, it demonstrates how you two are clearly great friends.

“This is so beautiful, Seowon,” you say.

You immediately send Winnie a heartfelt thank you message for the gift and continue to take a photo of the frame, sending it to Jungkook as well.

Once you hit send, you type out a message to accompany it.

You: look how cute we look 🥹

You’re certain it’ll take hours before he replies so you keep your phone again, going back to staring at the picture which is now placed on one of the shelves. It’s the sole picture frame you have with Jungkook. In fact, it’s the only picture that Jungkook has in his apartment, and you like to think that this might be the mark of the new beginning you’ll have with him. Even though your relationship wouldn’t be traditionally explored given his occupation and how he’s most likely going to be away a lot, you don’t mind.

If there’s one thing you really believe in, it’s that waiting for Jungkook—whether consciously or unconsciously—always brings out the best outcomes.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[barnbridges]

not to engage in gender studies on main, but it was lifechanging when by accident i didn't notice a guy in a group of only women who had long hair and i said "hi girls... " and then added like "and [name]" and he proceeded to berate me for like 30 minutes.

[chemicallady]

Daddy is home

Greg Sanders x Reader

A/N: Thank you everyone for reading this. If you want some fluff with just a little sadness, you're in the right place.

Couple: Greg Sanders/Female!Reader

Category: Mostly fluff with a little piece of angst. Family slice of life for Greggo.

Content Warning: none

Summary:  Reader is use to feel Greg absence.... but what about is own children? And Greg? What's more important? His job or his family?

*****

You are use to feel Greg absence, almost every night and, sometimes, even for days. It wasn't a big deal when you two started to see each other. You were a grad student, looking for a PhD out of town - searching for a new experience- and he was a lab tech at the crime lab in Vegas. Your relationship had worked for 5 years while you were in Salt Lake City, even if you constantly missed him so much and viceversa. He spent a lot of utahns weekends at your apartment and you came back in Nevada for every break.

After your PhD graduation you came back to Vegas and he proposed to you. It was an hard time, Warrick was dead, he had printed is first book on Vegas history and you just settled down at UNLV. You had lived togheter two months and then he proposed. Of course you said yes and the two of you had a small cerimony at the Eclipse, Catherine's casinó. It was an intimate cerimony, with your friends and co workes and relatives from Norway and (your hometown/country.)

You had worked hard on your post doc as a teaching assistant and a researcher and he has continued his job as a csi. You have always prefered working at night the days you didnt have any class, in order to be awake when he came back home in the morning.

It worked since you discovered that you were pregnant. Both of you were so excited to become parents, it has always been something that you desire, having your own kids. Start a family.

After Bjorn birth, by the way, everything changed. You have started to work in the morning and sleeping at night in order to provide the best standard of living for your son. And, after two years and half, Jodie came to the world, complicating thing but coloring your life even more.

You constantly miss Greg, of course. You miss your youth with him, the mornings spent in making love with jazz music in the background before a lazy afternoons sleeping in his arms. The days he came to the University after job to pick you up.

But both of you love your family.

It's stil working.

Because you love him and Greg loves you more than anything.

More than that, he is born to be a dad. He was scared as hell, but he perfect fits that role.

Even more, he is methodical.

He is really good in keeping job separating from his personal life, even if his coworkers are his family. And yours as well.

☆

...But is hard for kids to understand why dad is never home. Especially for Bjorn, who is the eldest. He has started to notice this situation in the last weeks and you have been scared of this moment since you gave birth to him.

《 Why daddy can't come today?》

You look at your baby boy, feeling really sorry for the whole situation. It is his first baseball match with the pre school team as a player in the field from the first minute and it means a lot to him.

Bjorn's really smart for his age, he understand that his parents jobs are important because is a duty... But is natural that he feels so betrayed. He is still too young to even imagine how demanding is Greg's job.

《Because daddy has a case》, you try to explain with a soft voce, caressing his blonde hair with two fingers. He seems totaly like his father in this moment. 《He has to catch this big bad guy and-》

《Why uncle Nick is not catching him for daddy? Just for today! 》

《Because they work togheter, sweetheart... you know that. We already talk about daddy's job...》

Not in a specific way, of course. Greg is more like a super hero to Bjorn.... he is too innocent and young to know how cruel and horrible could be the world sometimes.

《It's not fair. He never came to see me play》

《That's not fair... you know that daddy is so sad for this... he ask me to shot everything so he can see it as long as he will be home!》

That doesn't help.

《And I'll be already in bed》 he snuffles, before running in his room, nearly cry.

You don't know how to manage this. Both of Greg and you are really indipendent.... that's why your wedding is so strong, because you don't need the other around one all the time.

But for Bjorn is different. He needs his daddy as he needs you. Most of that, he wants to make Greg proud of him, shows him how he has improved thanks also to their weekend practices on Sundays.

You are still thinking about a solution, but Jo start to cry from her playbox.

You have to speak with your husband and decide what tell to Bjorn, togheter.

He deserves a good explanation.

☆

It's late when Greg comes home.

He is surprised when he notice that the kitchen lights are still turned on. You are sitting at the table, looking at your laptop as you can't really see it.

《 y/n, baby?》, he calls you, waking you up from your thoughts. 《Are you ok? It's like 3 in the morning, sweetie.》

《Yeah, I was looking over some notes from next week semenary when I realised how late it was, I decided to wait for you to come back.》

《Thanks, after a couple of double shifts, I really need to speak with my wife》, he says with a smile, before kisses your lips and take a sits next to you. 《I've missed home in those last two days.》

《Have you slept a little?》, you ask worried. When a case is so demanding, the team works till they are exhausted. 《Did you have a propel meal?》

《...I ate two sandwiches Dr Robbins' wife made for us.》

《....there is some roast left. I'm gonna warm it for you and then I'll put you in the bed at least for nine hours, bright man》

He laughts a little. 《Yes ma'am.》

You stand up, caressing his hair, after place a kiss on his head. 《Tell me about the cause. Was that bad?》

《More like a nightmare....》

He starts talking about the brutal abductions he was working on those last days. In the meanwhile you are cooking for him. You open a good bottle of wine your father sent to you last week and prepare a couple of fine glasses. Is not a problem for you when Greg talks about his job. For some unknown reasons, it grows on you during the years togheter. You also have helped the team sometimes with you competences. It's quite normal for the two of you speaking about your day. It helps to split away the stress and find always your connection. And is always reliving for you see that even if the job is so demanding physically and emotionally, Greg can totaly handle it. Not only. He loves is job. Even in dark days like this one.

《Poor girls....》, is the only thing you can say, while you're watching your husband eat like he was starving. 《No one deserve this kind of fate...》

《Think at the parents 》, he observes, moving his elbows quickly. 《If someone would have done something like that on Jodie, I'd went mad.》

You stop thinking about the case immediately.

《Sorry for the unhappy connection.... but if you are not too tired, we need to speak about our boy.》

Greg looks at you surprised. 《What about him? Bad day?》

《Yes》, you answer, surprising him even more. Bjorn is really talented in sports, unlike his father. 《He played 10 minutes than he had an argument with the coach and spent the rest of the afternoon warming the bench.》

This is unusual. Bjorn is a good lad. Always smiley and obedient at preschool. Teachers love him because he is so good and he knows a lot about science and stuff even if he is four. Mom is an academic, a college professor and daddy is a scientist. How could be different? He is also responsible and he always take serious the baseball trainings. That's the first time he disobey this much.

《What happened y/n? Oh, no. Let me guess.》 You look him cover his own face with a hand. 《He is mad at me, isn't he?》

《Yep babe, he is really mad at you. And at me as well. By now, I think he is mad at the world because you didn't come today.... I explained him that's not your fault, but...》

Greg sighs 《But it is my fault. When he born I swore to God that I'd be a good father even if my job is.... the 70% of my life.》

《But you are》, you say with a stubborn tone in your voice. 《You are a good father. It was just and unfortunate Saturday. He have never missed a game before. You'd be there if it wasn't for the case. 》

《I know but he deserves more than all those 'if' statements. 》 You look at him, feeling the heaviness of this thoughts. 《I should stay in the lab.》 He finally says and you realise a long sigh. This is not going to be an happy conversation, not with your regretting husband weak moment. 《The moment I met you, I knew you were the one. I wanted to start a family before changing job, work on field. It was a stupid decision. If I continued to work as DNA tech we would have more money and more time to spend all togheter.》

《.... I throught we were out with 'if' statements.》

《Y/n, honey-》

《Don't you dare 'honey' me, Greg Sanders.》 You stop him. You keep his hand in yours and smile. 《You are an amazing father. One day, when he will be older and wiser, he will understand. Now is easy to handle the situation. If you spend a day with him, he'll forget about it. Is just a kid, G.》

Greg seems not satisfied. He feels like an idiot, not thing about how mad is son would be noticed his absence. But he also trust your judgement. He always says that you are an amazing mom and even more, the best of wives.

So he smiles back.

《Maybe you are right.》

《Maybe?》, you ask with an ironical tone. He stand up and comes near to you. He offers his hand and you keep it, staning on your feet.

《Sorry Dr Sanders》, he replies, while you are wrapping your arm on his neck. 《You're completely right y/n. I'm already planning an afternoon, just for boys.》

《He'll love it》, you reassure him, before asking for another kiss, with more passion. You both find a good arrangement so you can clean the kitchen and try to sleep at least three hours.

.....or maybe do something more interesting with you husband, who seems to have plans, looking the way he is lifting the t-shirt of your pijama....

You are use to feel Greg absence, that's true.

But when he comes back, well.... that's the moment you realise how much you actually have missed him. And how much you love him and be loved in return.

○Fin○

[jougogo]

lemon flavored breakfast bars

college au!daichi sawamura x gn!reader

word count: 1.3k

previous chapter // next chapter

a/n: hi guys! this is the first part of a 6 part daichi x reader series called lemons for love. i hope you enjoy xoxo mwah also yes i highly recommend the lemon bars they’re real and you can find them at like walmart

warnings: none!! 

you were in your first year of college when you first met daichi. 

it was the first day of school, and you were lost in the sea of frantic students rushing to get to their lectures. the morning so far has been horrible. not only did you wake up late, but in your rush, you had forgotten to grab the campus map that you left on the nightstand.

"this is nothing like what they tell you in the tours," you muttered under your breath as you stumbled back into the student lounge in your dorm. exhausted from trying to find your way through the crowd, you had turned around and hoped that some sort of a savior will come along and help you. picking a random person to ask for directions was your last resort, and albeit the most embarrassing, but you didn't have any other choice. the boy with the tie standing in the corner? nope, he didn't look like he wanted to talk to anyone. the haughty girl furiously texting someone on her phone? she'd probably walk away while silently judging your mildly disheveled appearance. the boy in a hoodie getting snacks from the vending machine? well, he was your only chance. tentatively, you walked over to the boy and tugged at his sweatshirt. 

"excuse me?" you asked, slightly embarrassed at the fact that you sounded like a lost child. he whipped around, and you froze. oh my god, he was beautiful. the fine male specimen standing in front of you had a strong build, with broad shoulders and toned arms peeking out from the soft cotton material of his hoodie. you could make out the outline of his muscular thighs through his gray sweatpants. his dark hair was slightly ruffled, and his mahogany brown eyes peered at you curiously. it was like this guy stepped right out of a fairy tale, one where the handsome prince lends a hand to help the poor, confused village girl and they fall in love and live happily ever aft-

"yeah, what's up? are you okay?" the beautiful stranger replied, pulling you out of your daydream.

"oh, uh, i was wondering if you knew how to get to room A205? i have a lecture there and, uh, i got lost." you sheepishly admitted, sensing a blush making its way onto your cheeks.

"oh, no worries! i have a lecture there later, so i don't mind walking you over. i’m daichi," he grinned, bending down to pick up the snack he had just purchased from the vending machine. a familiar bright yellow packaging caught your eye.

"lemon bars… so he's a man with good taste." you thought to yourself. seeing that you noticed his snack of choice, he glanced down shyly before explaining 

" i didn't get to have breakfast today, and these…" he paused, turning the little package over to read the nutrition label, "fiber one lemon breakfast bars, which is only, uh, 70 calories with 5 grams of fiber per bar, looked pretty healthy." 

"no worries, i've had plenty of those myself." you laughed. in fact, you had lived off of those practically every time finals week came around. 

"oh? so i guess they must be pretty good." he blushed, staring at the concrete floor as you two walked in the deserted hallway.

"so, professor hendricks...have you had him before?" you asked, surprising yourself at how desperate you were to fill in the silence. there was just something so. . . addicting about his voice. the way they sound so deep, rough, and just a bit raspy. yet, they were like soothing music to your ears.

"yeah, this is going to be my second year. he's decently entertaining, and i enjoyed his other class so i thought it might be fun to pick this one," he hummed. "last year, he treated all his students to a pizza party after midterms. i still don't know how he managed to sneak all that by the dean," he let out a small chuckle. "but that small, insignificant event managed to bring the class together, which made the rest of the year even more fun because now other students were no longer just strangers in the same room. that's what i want to do with my life; bring people together. " his eyes sparkled with marvel and wonder. "sometimes, when i feel like i have no purpose in life, it really does help to know that some time in your life, there was an event that you caused to happen, you know? it could be as simple as picking a certain snack in the vending machine, or even offering to help someone. but to know that you made a difference? that's what i live for." after noticing your curious stare, he quickly apologized. "oh my god, i'm so sorry, i get lost in my thoughts sometimes. it’s probably weird to talk about something so deep with a stranger. i’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable, " he stuttered. 

"no, no it's fine! I actually thought it was really sweet, and i love that you have a clear goal and future that you want to achieve. i wish i was that ambitious. right now, i'm just trying to figure out how i'm going to survive after college, you know?" you looked out the window wistfully, rubbing your fingers together. high school had almost torn you apart, and now that you’re in a new city, with no friends or family? it was going to be hell for the next couple years.

"hey, don’t worry about it. you seem like a capable person so you’ll probably get through it. plus, overthinking won’t do you any good. here, have some food," daichi snapped you out of your sullen state and back to reality. his words were comforting, almost sympathetic. it was almost like he could sense that you needed friends. in his hands, he held out half of the breakfast bar that he had split. the soft cookie was studded with lemon flavored white chocolate chips, and drizzled with a tangy citrus icing. it was enticing, and almost hard to resist. 

"are you sure? this is your breakfast,"

"yeah, its fine! i'm not that hungry"  he reassured you. tentatively, you held out your hand and took the food from his palms.

"thanks." you said before nibbling on the soft cookie. he was so thoughtful, and was definitely boyfriend material. also, his hands were huge. for a moment, you wondered what your hand would feel like enveloped in his calloused fingers and warm palm. "too bad he's out of my league," you thought.

footsteps came to an abrupt halt and daichi stopped in front of a large auditorium. 

"here's A205. have fun in your lecture," daichi waved as he walks off. 

"sawamura, where do you think you're going?" a loud voice boomed out from inside the room. both you and daichi froze. a short old man stepped out of the room. 

"you're trying to skip class? you're in this class, you know." the man, who you assumed to be professor hendricks, jabbed at the paled upperclassmen.

 "oh, my bad. i thought my class was in the afternoon." daichi apologized, bowing his head towards the short man.

"and you must be?" the professor turned to you. 

"y/n. l/n y/n, professor. i apologize, i was lost and, uh, daichi-senpai was helping me." you spoke timidly. it was your fault that he had gotten into trouble, and he was definitely going to hate you now. why did he have to be so damn kind and offer to walk you to the class? you mentally slapped yourself for forgetting that stupid campus map. now he was definitely out of your league.

"ahh, i see. alright. come into class, both of you. just make sure you're not late next time," the professor grinned, opening the door.

daichi couldn't help but fluster at the way his name smoothly rolled off your tongue, and the way you called him senpai. but more importantly, he couldn't get your name out of his mind. 

"too bad you're out of my league." he thought to himself as he strolled into the class behind you.

taglist!! 

@mrs-kuroojinguji​ @gigis-galaxy​

[writing-essence]

Fear - Jonathan Crane

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x (female) Reader

Warnings: Language

Summary: Reader is a student as Gotham State Univeristy and is taking Dr. Crane’s psychology course.

Author’s Note: Hopefully I have the energy to make this a series! I enjoyed writing this one 🥺 -Kelsie

Word Count: 1,536

Gotham State University was your favorite place to be during the spring. Sometimes it felt like the only place in Gotham that had life. Spring was when the cherry blossoms on campus bloomed, flowering the pathways between buildings in a soft pink carpet. Not to mention the campus was always bustling with students and animal life.

Spring term had just started for you, a sophomore at GSU, and you were currently sprinting through the main building on campus. It was the first day of class and you were already running late. Rude glances got thrown at you as you pushed through the crowd of students in the psych hallway but you couldn’t care less. You couldn’t start this term as the girl who was late. First impressions mean everything.

You ended up overestimating how much time you had to get to class, and busted loudly through the door two minutes before class even started. The lecture hall fell silent and all eyes drew to you, panting in the doorway. A deep blush spread over your face and you dropped your head as you quickly made your way to the back of the hall, trying not to draw any more attention to yourself.

“Could I ask you all to sit down at this time? Class is starting,” Whatever chatter had started back up after you entered quickly died down as the professor stood up from behind his desk. He adjusted the mic next to his face awkwardly before making his way toward the front screen.

You squinted from your seat in the back of the hall. He seemed a bit young for a professor. Especially for one at GSU.

“I’m not going to spend the first day introducing myself and going over a syllabus,” He said, monotone, “You don’t need to know about my personal life and I don’t need to know about yours. You’re here to learn,”

You frowned. This guy seemed like a party pooper. It was a slight relief though, you had already done three icebreakers in other classes this week. It would be nice just to jump into the material.

“My name is Dr. Crane and the syllabus is emailed to you if you need to read it,” He mumbled before turning toward the projector with a clicker, “We’re starting off this course with fear, something that I feel as if fuels everyday life,”

“That’s a huge claim,” A student from the front said loudly.

“You can leave if you disagree,” Dr. Crane stated simply, not bothering to even look toward the student, “And you raise your hand in this class if you need to say something,”

Yeesh. You wondered if this scary persona was a part of this lesson on fear.

“Fear is one of humans most important emotions. It’s what kept our ancestors alive from, let’s say, wooly mammoths, and it’s what keeps you from jumping out the window at every one of life’s inconveniences. It’s both biochemical and emotional- which is an important part of today’s lesson,” He clicked his clicker and the projector quickly switched toward a slide explaining the biochemical and emotional responses to fear.

You scrambled quickly to write everything down as quickly as he was saying it but ended up with a page full of unreadable scribbles instead. You were better off just sitting back and listening to what he had to say.

“Biochemical responses to fear are universal while emotional responses are purely individual. This is why some people enjoy scary movies and some people don’t,” He continued, the slides on the projector clicking loudly as they slid in and out of place, “Biochemical responses are part of survival. Without them, none of us would be here today. Some physical reactions to fear include sweating, increased heart rate, and high adrenaline levels. The common “Fight or Flight” response is also a biochemical response to fear,”

You slowly started to zone out as you watched him ramble on more about emotional responses to fear. Every once in awhile he’d readjust his glasses that kept slowly sliding down the bridge of his nose. As he readjusted his glasses his hand would hit the mic causing a soft scratching noise to echo throughout the hall. You couldn’t tell if it was just your boy-less spring break but you were starting to find his awkwardness endearing.

“Now fear is incredibly complex, and the causes of them are purely individual. Phobias can be caused by trauma or just a general lack of control. Other people fear things simply because of the physical response they get from it. Take heights for example: you look down and you feel your stomach drop. Are more scared of being so high or is it just the feeling you get? Is this something that can apply to all fears? Does this make all phobias treatable?”

What he was saying was actually pretty interesting and you would’ve been a lot more focused on it maybe if he wasn’t so damn attractive. Instead, your eyes watched carefully how his hair flopped as he ran his hand through it. Your stomach did a bit of a flip as he turned toward the hall of students.

“That’s all for todays lecture. I’ve sent an email out of a paper I want on my desk before next class on Thursday. Read it carefully,”

Shit. You completely blanked on the last half of the lecture, too busy watching him and not listening. As the rest of the class quickly got up and out of the class, you fumbled awkwardly trying to shove several notebooks into your bag at once. Once everything was inside your bag you brushed your hair out of your face awkwardly before realizing there was only a few students left in the hall and they were quickly making their way out. You glanced over toward Dr. Crane’s desk and made eye contact with him briefly before he quickly looked down at the folder opened in front of him. You blushed furiously before quickly leaving the hall.

-

The paper was supposed to be written about a phobia or yours, but for some reason, you just couldn’t think of one. You sat in just the light of the buzzing computer in your living room for an hour trying to research different phobias seeing if you could find one that you related to, but couldn’t.

The door to your shared apartment opened and closed quickly and you turned around in the squeaky desk chair, watching as your roommate slumped against the wall, defeated.

“How was work?” You asked, noting the grease stains on her apron.

“Great,” She mumbled, “I need a drink,”

You rolled your eyes before turning back toward the computer. What if you went meta? With just one quick search you found it, phobophobia: the fear of phobias. It wasn’t a fear you had but it’s not like that was none of his business.

-

Thursday rolled around quickly and you confidently placed your paper on his desk ten minutes before class started. The lecture hall was empty besides two other students and Dr. Crane who sat behind his desk watching you curiously.

“You’re early today,” You blushed, embarrassed that he remembered you from Tuesday.

“I figured out how to manage my time better,” You awkwardly stated before spinning around and walking toward the back of the class.

That class period he spent reading through the papers that were turned in as a documentary of the Stanford Prison Experiment played on the projector. It made you uneasy, watching the raw clips from the 70s. You could definitely see how fear played into this experiment.

You looked away from the screen and down toward Dr. Crane who sat flipping through the papers. How could he remember you so clearly from Tuesday? There were at least 100 students in this class alone, not to mention his other classes. Did you make that bad of an impression?

He looked up at you, most likely sensing your stare and you quickly glanced back at the screen. Another blush slowly crept across your face.

Near the end of the class, he slowly handed the papers back out. It was only the second day of class- how was he able to know everyone’s name? You finally decided that he must’ve just been really good at associating faces with names. Maybe you didn’t make as bad of a first impression as you initially thought. Maybe he was just really good at recognizing people.

He walked up toward you slowly before sliding your paper in front of you. You avoided eye contact, pretending to be invested in the documentary, but watched as he walked away.

As the documentary ended, the film in the projector started clicking loudly and Dr. Crane finally turned it off.

“I want a paper on The Stanford Prison Experiment on my desk Tuesday before class,” He said loudly as he turned the lights back on, “Try to write it better than this last one, the average score was 70%,”

You looked down quickly at your paper where a neat 100% was written at the top of your page. You sighed, relieved, before noticing the note written underneath it.

See me after class

[mst3kproject]

Curse of Bigfoot

This is a very bad mummy movie from the 60’s which was re-edited and re-released as an unbelievably bad bigfoot movie in the 70’s.  It would belong on the Satellite of Love even if it didn’t have a small part for Jackie Neyman Jones.  Remember her? Debbie from Manos: the Hands of Fate?  Yeah, as far as I know she’s the only member of the cast ever to do any non-Manos-related film work for the entire rest of her life and it was this.

Once upon a time, somewhere in the American Southwest, Primitive Man was terrorized by Even More Primitive Man.  In modern times, a Bigfootology professor is giving a guest lecture to a class of students.  First he shows them a clip of a movie just as bad as the one we’re watching, then we get an inaccurate history of bigfoot, including the tale of two idiots in a pickup truck who get a big, hairy ass-whooping.  Then, half an hour into the movie, we finally get to what’s supposed to be the main plot.  A professor of archaeology takes some of his students into the wilderness to help excavate an ‘ancient Indian campsite’, but along with the expected potsherds and prayer sticks, they find a tomb containing a mummy from a lost prehistoric civilization.  It comes to life and shambles off into the forest to kill people, because it’s a movie and mummies do that.

This movie does not waste time.  It starts sucking right out of the gate.  Almost everything that’s going to be wrong with it is introduced in the first ten minutes, as if the movie wants to prepare us for the ordeal ahead.

The opening sequence is an incredibly drawn-out scene of a woman getting up in the middle of the night to calm her barking dog, only to be killed by a zombie that wanders out of the woods.  This scene is around six times longer than it needed to be. We almost have to watch every moment of the dog drinking a bowl of milk she pours for it.  The woman’s voice was dubbed in post, and neither the voice nor the physical acting is any good.  The sequence is supposed to take place in the middle of the night, but was clearly filmed at high noon, reaching Attack of the The Eye Creatures levels of not giving a shit in having the sun appear in several shots, standing in for the moon!  The actual attack happens off screen, because the film-makers could not afford effects.

Then this part ends, and we realize that what we just saw was supposed to be a clip from a horror film that the professor was showing his students.  This provides a fleeting moment of hope, as we think perhaps its overwhelming badness was intended as parody. No such luck.  We then move into the two loggers getting stalked and killed by bigfoot.  The monster costume is different, but this piece is identical in anti-quality to the zombie scene.  The film-makers were just morons, and these mistakes continue throughout the entire ninety-minute run time.

It’s actually astonishing that the movie is so consistent in its incompetence, because we are in fact watching two different films here. Curse of Bigfoot has a backstory similar to that of They Saved Hitler’s Brain, in that somebody in the fifties made a short movie and somebody else, years later, added useless filler to expand it into something they could show in a late-night TV slot. They Saved Hitler’s Brain feels very bifurcated, the new material being both narratively and stylistically different from Madmen of Mandoras.  But if you didn’t know that Curse of Bigfoot was twenty minutes of extra film sewn onto a 1963 movie called Teenagers Battle the Thing, you might not immediately notice.

If you’ve been following this blog for a while you’ll probably remember that I thought Madmen of Mandoras was a significantly better movie than They Saved Hitler’s Brain (even if it still was definitely not a good movie) – the added footage was distracting and pointless.  These two films, however, I would say are about equally awful.  The footage added to Curse of Bigfoot is still pointless, but it looks exactly like what was originally shot for Teenagers Battle the Thing, the only noticeable difference being a slight change in the film stock! Both are depressingly earth-toned movies in which it takes for-fucking-ever for anything to happen, with night scenes shot in the blazing daylight, and lines dubbed in by bad voice actors over bad physical performances. Both feature shitty monster suits and every possible cost-cutting measure.

This leads me to wonder whether Curse of Bigfoot might be terrible on purpose.  The people tasked with turning Teenagers Battle the Thing into a full-length movie got a couple of the actors back to play their older selves in the added footage.  Making stuff match was clearly on their minds.  Could they have actually thought things like, “we’d better use the wrong filter for this, or it won’t be as bad as the day-for-night in the original footage!” or “we need to pad this attack a bit, to match the pace!”?  If so… I don’t know whether to be impressed, or just to crawl under the bed and cry.

On the other hand, Curse of Bigfoot does at least try to do one thing better than Teenagers Battle the Thing – it wants to have something to say.  It spells this thesis out for us in the opening narration and in the professor’s speech about horror movies: our society has forgotten about monsters.

We in the twenty-first century don’t spent much time thinking about monsters unless we happen to be film-makers, political commentators, or maybe paleontologists trying to figure out what the fuck this bugger is.  It wasn’t so long ago, however, that they were very real to many people.  Archaeological evidence suggests that people in New England believed in vampires as recently as the 1820s.  Nowadays, monsters have been taking out of the ‘scary’ category and placed in the ‘fun’ one, and so when people report things like bigfoot or a sea serpent, we don’t take them very seriously.

Bigfoot, sea monsters, and vampires don’t really exist, obviously, but in losing our fear of monsters we may have lost a proper respect for nature.  Every so often the newspapers in my city carry a story of some tourist who tried to get a better selfie with a grizzly bear and got mauled.  We are so used to thinking that we have tamed nature, that there are no monsters left, that we don’t recognize danger when we’re confronted with it.  This certainly seems to be a theme of the stories we’re presented with in Curse of Bigfoot: it never occurs to the woman in the opening that her barking dog may be trying to warn her of danger, or to the two loggers that the mysterious figure in the woods might mean them harm.

The party of archaeology students certainly don’t think they’re heading into any danger, despite the fact that they repeatedly do dangerous things.  A group of them climb to the top of a cliff to see where a fallen stone came from, and never worry about falling.  When they pry open the tomb entrance, the strange smoke that wafts out might be considered a warning sign, but they ignore it.  They head right into this dark hole without any worries about rodents, rattlesnakes, or cave collapses.  When one character warns the others that the mummy has just moved, they laugh it off. A couple go for a walk through the dark woods at night to get to a vending machine, without a second thought.

Lest you think I’m in any way praising this movie, I’m not – I just like my reviews to be at least a certain length, so sometimes I really dig for material.  This was a dig on the level of saying The Incredible Melting Man is about how we treat the elderly.  My high school English teacher might buy it, but I doubt anyone else would.

One thing I do wonder is why they chose to reframe this as a bigfoot movie.  The footage from Teenagers Battle the Thing makes it very clear that this is a mummy movie, although they couldn’t afford any of the genre’s traditional accessories.  Instead of a museum and a treasure, we get one cabin in the woods and… that’s all. When the characters talk about the situation, they always describe the monster as a mummy, and even when they theorize that it’s the product of a lost civilization, the idea that it may not be human never crosses their minds.  It is not particularly tall.  It is not remarkably hairy.  It looks nothing like the bigfoot the two loggers saw, although it does somewhat resemble the zombie from the opening.  Why the man telling the story decided this being must be bigfoot is an absolute mystery.

The only thing I can come up with as an explanation is that bigfoot movies were popular in the 1970s.  Having seen a number of these, I can’t say I find them particularly inspiring.

Curse of Bigfoot is almost incomprehensibly boring, to the point where I’m not sure MST3K could have done much with it if they had featured it.  In the opening sequence it takes forever for the woman to be attacked and then we don’t see it.  In the logger sequence it takes forever for the guy to be attacked and then we don’t see it.  And in the main plot it takes forever for anyone to be attacked and then we don’t see it! The only attack we see is when the mummy attacks the sheriff at the climax and that really, really wasn’t worth the wait.

Congratulations, Jackie Neyman Jones – you managed to be in a movie worse than Manos.

[psychologyofsex]

The True Story of How I Became a Sex Educator and Researcher

Our professional biographies tend to serve as a “highlight reel”—they only say the great things we’ve accomplished and don’t reveal the struggles, challenges, and uncertainties that went into building a career. To lift back the curtain on this, the Society for Personality and Social Psychology (SPSP) recently asked a number of scholars to submit their official bios along with their “unofficial bios” that reveal an extremely different version of the story with more twists and turns.

You can read some of the examples here. Although I didn’t participate in it, I thought it would be fun to do something similar on the blog. So here goes—I’ll start with my official bio, followed by the real, behind-the-scenes story.  

Official Bio of Dr. Justin J. Lehmiller 

Dr. Justin Lehmiller received his Ph.D. in Social Psychology from Purdue University. He is a Research Fellow at The Kinsey Institute and author of the book Tell Me What You Want: The Science of Sexual Desire and How It Can Help You Improve Your Sex Life. Dr. Lehmiller is an award-winning educator, having been honored three times with the Certificate of Teaching Excellence from Harvard University, where he taught for several years. He is also a prolific researcher and scholar who has published more than 50 academic works to date, including a textbook titled The Psychology of Human Sexuality (now in its second edition) that is used in college classrooms around the world. Dr. Lehmiller's studies have appeared in all of the leading journals on human sexuality, including the Journal of Sex Research, Archives of Sexual Behavior, and The Journal of Sexual Medicine. 

Dr. Lehmiller has run the popular blog Sex and Psychology since 2011. It receives millions of page views per year and is rated among the top sex blogs on the internet. In 2019, he launched the Sex and Psychology Podcast. It ranks among the top sexuality podcasts in several countries and has been named one of “11 sex podcasts that will help you get better in bed” by Men’s Health. 

Dr. Lehmiller has been interviewed by numerous media outlets, including The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times, The Chicago Tribune, The Boston Globe, CNN, The Atlantic, The Globe and Mail, and The Sunday Times. He has been named one of 5 "Sexperts" You Need to Follow on Twitter by Men's Health and one of the "modern-day masters of sex" by Nerve. Dr. Lehmiller has appeared on the Netflix series Sex, Explained, he has been on several episodes of the television program Taboo on the National Geographic Channel, and he has been a guest on Dr. Phil. Dr. Lehmiller has also appeared on numerous podcasts and radio shows, including the Savage Lovecast, the BBC’s Up All Night, and several NPR programs (1A, Radio Times, and Airtalk). 

He is a popular freelance writer, penning columns and op-eds for major publications, including The Washington Post, Playboy, USA Today, VICE, Psychology Today, Men’s Health, Politico, and New York Magazine. He has also interviewed several prominent authors, journalists, and psychologists about their work for his blog and podcast, including Dr. Sanjay Gupta, Lisa Ling, Drs. John and Julie Gottman, and bestselling authors Christopher Ryan (Sex at Dawn) and Lisa Taddeo (Three Women). 

Unofficial Bio of Dr. Justin J. Lehmiller

When Justin’s parents asked him what he wanted to study in college, he said “psychology.” He had taken a couple of psychology courses in high school that he found to be absolutely fascinating; however, his parents discouraged him from this because getting into a PhD program was tough and uncertain and, if that didn’t work out, they didn’t see much potential in a Bachelor’s degree in psychology. They encouraged him to pursue a career in occupational therapy (OT) instead because a family friend said “they needed more men in the field,” and also because his parents saw it as a path to job security with a pretty good paycheck.

He applied to a 5-year combined Bachelor’s/Master’s program in OT at Gannon University and was admitted. Incidentally, he was one of two men in the entire program. He spent a year and a half in it and made straight As in every course, including biochemistry and physics—but he wasn’t happy. He recognized the importance of OT to society, but it wasn’t his passion. After showing his parents that he was taking college seriously and earning good grades, they allowed him to switch his major to psychology.

Upon completing his Bachelor’s degree, he only applied to Master’s programs in psychology because he didn’t think he had the chops to get into a PhD program right away. The inferiority complex was strong in this one, so he didn’t even try. He applied and was accepted to Villanova University’s Master’s program in experimental psychology. He was not competitive enough of a candidate to receive an assistantship initially, although he eventually received one after another student dropped out.  

He really wanted to study social psychology at Villanova, but there was only one social psychologist on staff at the time and several interested students. The only option for him was to beg one of the clinical psychologists to let him do a social psychology study for his Master’s thesis. 

As he began looking for PhD programs to apply to, he met Dr. Chris Agnew at a meeting of the American Psychological Association. Chris was studying romantic relationships and Justin thought that sounded like a fun thing to spend his life doing. Plus, Chris was a super cool guy who seemed like a fantastic mentor. He applied and was admitted to Purdue’s social psychology program, although he was initially waitlisted (and rejected from all but one other program). Justin’s plan was to get his doctorate and become a college professor. Teaching and research sounded like things he could probably do.

Justin was assigned to teach a Health Psychology course at Purdue during his first year. He had never taught a class before and quickly realized that he was very uncomfortable with public speaking. The class was a disaster. Attendance dropped 60-70% within the first couple of weeks. He had no idea what he was doing and dreaded going to class each day—and he received poor evaluations in the end.  

Around the same time, Justin submitted his first academic paper to a journal, it was promptly rejected and came with this review: “This manuscript is fatally flawed and of marginal utility, which is a shame because potentially interesting questions could have been asked given the topic and timing of the research. The tone of this manuscript represents the worst in scientific misconstrual, particularly because the claims are silly, wrong, or not warranted by the data.” Justin clearly sucked at both teaching and research—and if he couldn’t do those things well, how would he ever become a college professor? 

He also started hearing horror stories from advanced students in his program who couldn’t find jobs and were sticking around for 6 or 7 years in the hope of eventually landing a job—any job. All of this led Justin to question what the hell he was doing with his life. Maybe he should have listened to his parents after all? Chris encouraged Justin to stick with it, though, as did his friends and mentors. 

The next year, Justin got assigned to be a teaching assistant for a human sexuality course taught by Dr. Janice Kelly. It changed his life. He had to lead weekly discussion sections with students and answer their sex questions (a subject he knew next to nothing about, having attended Catholic schools most of his life). He read about sex extensively and instantly knew he had found what he really wanted to do with his career. He saw it as something fun and interesting—but also a way that he could make a real difference. He realized how little most people actually know about sex, and how education can correct so many harmful myths and misconceptions. 

An opportunity to teach his own human sexuality class opened up the following year, and he took it. This time around, teaching was different—he was passionate about the subject and the students were, too. He had no problems with attendance. He ended up teaching this course six times before he graduated and eventually received a teaching award for it. He found that he loved being a sex educator. 

He also found a solution to his public speaking anxiety: he started taking a beta-blocker (propranolol) on public speaking days, which removed physiological symptoms of anxiety. This allowed him to feel like himself in front of a crowd and, after just a few months, he no longer needed to take the medication—the anxiety had gone away completely. 

He started conducting his own sex research, too, including a series of studies with Dr. Kelly on friends with benefits. His research skills improved and his studies started getting accepted instead of rejected.   

He eventually landed a job at Colorado State University as an assistant professor, where he stayed for three years and continued his work as a sex educator and researcher. His partner couldn’t get a job in the area and had just taken a job in Boston, so Justin applied for every academic job within two hours of Boston. He was turned down for all of them. As a last-ditch effort, he applied for a teaching position at Harvard but had absolutely no confidence in it. He almost didn’t submit the application, but his partner encouraged him to do so. Justin had applied to Harvard’s PhD program previously and was rejected—if they didn’t want him as a student, why the heck would they want him as a teacher? 

To his great surprise, he got the job at Harvard, where he stayed for three years. However, he had given up his tenure-track job in Colorado for a teaching position in Boston with no job security. So he decided to reinvent himself just in case things didn’t work out. In his spare time, he started a blog, wrote a human sexuality textbook, and became a freelance media writer. Communicating about sex science to the public became his hobby and was going to be his backup career in case the college professor thing didn’t work out. 

Eventually, Justin’s partner wanted to move to Indianapolis for a job opportunity, so they left Boston. But Justin didn’t have a job at first and his backup plan wasn’t yet enough to be a full-time job. He knew the Kinsey Institute was nearby, so he drafted a letter to the director in the hope of establishing a connection, but he never sent it. He had a severe case of imposter syndrome and did not feel accomplished or experienced enough to have anything to do with what he saw as the premier hub for sex research in the world.

Much to his surprise, the associate director of the Institute reached out to him after he moved to Indiana to explore opportunities for working together. It was actually his hobby/backup plan that caught their eye—they were interested in working together to disseminate sex science to the public and were impressed with what he had done with his blog and social media.

Justin affiliated with Kinsey, but also jumped back on the tenure track with a job as the Director of the Social Psychology Program at Ball State University, which fortuitously opened up about 4 months after he moved to Indianapolis. After 3.5 years, he decided to leave full-time academics and do his own thing. His science communication hobby had managed to grow into a full-time job and it was no longer feasible to do that and academics. Plus, he found that the science communication work was really where his passion was. So, the backup plan officially became “the plan.” 

Justin now spends every day finding new ways to help educate and inform the public about the science of sex. He’s still not sure how things ended up this way, but wouldn’t trade his current job for anything. 

Want to learn more about Sex and Psychology? Click here for more from the blog or here to listen to the podcast. Follow Sex and Psychology on Facebook, Twitter (@JustinLehmiller), or Reddit to receive updates. You can also follow Dr. Lehmiller on YouTube and Instagram.

Image Source: 123RF

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[letspurpletogether]

Teasing (m)

→ Pairings: Jungkook x Reader

→ Word count: 3.6k

→ Summary: The one where your study partner is just too cute you can’t resist teasing him.

↳ Warnings: pwp, (like zero plot istg...) explicit sexual themes, fingering, some dry-humping, unprotected sex, inexperienced partner, sub!jungkook, noona kink, some fluff if you squint. I didn’t proofread this so I apologize for any spelling mistakes.

“Are you cold?”, Jungkook asks you after he sees you shudder again.

“I’m good”, you wave a hand in dismissal, you eyes glued to the laptop’s screen where the word document with your group’s assignment is opened, almost done. You’re freezing, actually, but there’s nothing to do about it considering you’re already wearing one of his fluffiest hoodies over your shirt. “Let’s just wrap this up real quick. We still need a better conclusion”.

Normally there is nothing in this world that can drag you away from your bed on a Sunday winter’s afternoon, but this assignment is worth 70 percent of your final grade and if you want to keep your scholarship you can’t afford less than a 4,5 for this essay. It was Jungkook’s idea to meet at his dorm, but he forgot to mention the heating system at his dorm was a little broken.

While you are sitting at the small blue couch right in front of his single bed, the laptop over your legs and a knitted blanket Jungkook had lying around his room threw over your shoulders, your partner sits down on the floor, legs crossed. Books and notes scattered around him and on his unmade bed, a bottle of banana milk half finished in his hand. He looks a lot younger than he is in his oversized black hoodie and the sleepy expression on his face as he sips from the red straw.

“We could finish it tomorrow, noona”, he suggests. But you are quickly shake your head in dismissal. 

“We have to turn this in tomorrow. There is no time”

Jungkooks whines.

“We don’t have class with professor Kim until after lunch, noona. We have time”.

“If you want to sleep be my guest. I’ll see myself out when this is done”, you retort and hear him scoff.

“I’m not going to sleep with you in my room still working!”, he pouts. You can’t help a small chuckle leaving your lips at the sight of him with his pink-tinted cheeks. “Come on, noona... We’ve been over the essay half a dozen times already, it’s good. A single conclusion paragraph is good enough”.

You sigh and close the laptop. He has a point, but your perfectionist ass is always in search for the extra bit. Maybe you can try to polish it up by yourself tomorrow at first hour before leaving for your first class and give the poor boy a break. He’s never been one for academic writing, Jungkook always did better with the arts. He was quite good, even got some of his sketches published on one of the campus magazines.

“Fine...”, you stretch your arm to grab the laptop’s case and then proceed to secure it inside. “If you are that tired I guess I can leave”

“That’s not- !”, he looks down, a hand comes to his face in a poor attempt to hide his obvious blush from you “I didn’t mean it like that... You- you can stay...”. He whispers that last bit, but you still catch it.

“Stay?”, you smirk and look at him with amusement. Jungkook refuses to meet your eyes, he’s so cute when he’s embarrassed like that. “Stay where? Should I sleep in your bed then?”

He shoots his head up, like a deer caught in headlights. His doe eyes stare at you as if they couldn’t believe what you just said. His face’s gone completely red by now.

“I-“, he captures the red straw between his lips to avoid your question but ends up chocking up before he can swallow. 

He puts it aside, coughing a couple times to get his breathing back to normal. Then he gives you a sheepish look.

“If noona wants to sleep here I can take the floor”, you can’t help but chuckle at his suggestion. Messing with him is always easy. He’s too shy, too cute sometimes that it’s hard to resist teasing him a little longer. But alas, you take pity on him and laugh it off.

“I’m just joking, relax”, you tell him and stand up from the couch to gather your things.

You hear him chocke out a forced laugh and turn your face to check his facial expresion. A hand rubs his neck, and there’s that tiny head tilt he does whenever he’s nervous. He notices your eyes on him so he immediately stands up and offers his help.

It’s when you are ready to leave that you remember that you are still wearing his hoodie. A last chance to push his buttons and watch his cute face contort in embarrassment. 

“Oh, hold on...”, you hand him your bag. “Let me give this back to you before I steal it”

You step back to grab the hem of the hoodie and pull it over your head. 

“You don’t-” The motion drags your shirt along a little, leaving your mid drift exposed to Jungkook’s eyes. 

He knows he shouldn’t be staring at you again, but God! You’re so hot sometimes it drives him insane. And the worst part is that he knows you don’t see him as anything more than a kid. It’s not like you’ve rejected him or something, despite your constant teasing and flirting, he is convinced his not your type. He’s seen it: mature and elegant, with their life all figured out. Very much like that Seokjin dude you dated a few months back. Jungkook knows he’s the opposite and he doesn’t have the balls to ask you out anyway.

The last thing he wants is to make things weird between the two of you. If you stopped talking to him, then he’d be devastated. 

You take off the oversized hoodie, and Jungkook notices something odd about the way your boobs bounce softly when you fix your shirt. And is with a racing heart that he realizes you are not wearing a bra.

All this time? Does that mean you walked in here like that? 

”...W-Why aren't you wearing a bra?! , he doesn’t think before he speaks. “This is a boys only floor, noona!”

You look at him a little baffled at his outburst.

Why does he sound so scandalized? You are in your pajamas anyway, a long T-shirt and some joggers. Why would you use a bra when all you want is to be comfortable? 

You smirk and raise one eyebrow.

”And why are you looking at my boobs, Jungkookie?”, you coo.

”I'm not! Well- I am but it's not...” he's completely flustered now, stumbling on his words. He covers his eyes with his palm and lets out an anguish whine. ”They’re just there!”

You chuckle and lean closer to his form. Just enough so you can whisper into his ear. ”Your such a little perv, Kookie... Fooling girls with that innocent act of yours when you are like this... tsk, tsk, tsk”.

“Oh my God! That’s not-”, he takes a deep breath and shies away from you.  “Noona, don’t say those things...”

He plops down on his bed, now covering his embarrassed face with both hands. He blushes even harder, that even down the neck of his shirt you see that he’s completely flushed.

You can tell your little act affected his blood flow in more than one way also, by the way he bring one hand to his pocket to fix his pants. It only makes you want to push him even more, but you don’t know how much he’s going to take before he kicks you out of his room.

So instead, you sit next to him and try to calm him down.

“I’m sorry, you’re just too easy to tease, baby”, you half-joke, a hand goes to pat his broad back. A soft whimper comes out of his lips at your casual use of the term of endearment and you chuckle, delighted “I won’t do it again”

Jungkook takes a deep sigh and lowers his hand from his face.

“You’re so mean sometimes, noona”, he says and looks up to meet your eyes for a brief moment before looking away.

You give him more reassuring pats on his back. 

“Sorry, let me make it up to you. Would you like that?”.

“How?”

“What would you like me to do, hm?”, you ask.

It’s actually an innocent question. You are thinking about buying him some of those lamb skewers he loves, or getting him a new sketchpad, maybe a coffee. But when eyes meet and you find yourself enraptured by the way his pupils visible dilate, obscuring the warm brown from his eyes.

He licks his lips, your eyes follow his tongue’s movements and your are suddenly aware of how close you two actually are.

He smells warm, like a sunny day. All the heat that irradiates from his honey skin you can feel it through your palm. You lick your lips and lean closer, your hand tracing figures of eight on his back. He shudders, but doesn’t draw back. On the contrary, he moves a little closer to your until the outside of his his knee touch yours.

The shift in the mood is obvious the next time he speaks. 

“Noona...”, his voice is a husky whisper.

“Yes, Kookie?”

“Can I...”, his eyes linger for a moment on your lips, as his pink tongue prods out of him mouth to moisture his own. He’s so cute and he has no clue to what that little tongue of his does to you. “c-can I kiss you?”.

Kiss you? Did innocent Kookie really just asked if he could kiss you?

Oh, my...

He doesn’t even know what he’s getting himself into.

Your hand moves from his back to his cheek and you run your fingertips over his soft skin. You cup his cheek and like a puppy he closes his eyes, keening into your touch. So compliant, so cute, you think to yourself.

You don’t answer him. Instead, your body moves forward and you press your lips to his as your other hand comes to cup his other cheek. Jungkook’s breath hitches in his mouth when your lips meet, but he soon melts into you. 

His lips are soft as they start to move awkwardly to match your rhythm.

You bite his lower lip, earning a gasp from him. That’s when you take the chance to prod your tongue past his lips. He tastes sweet like banana milk.

And he moans into your kiss. 

You want nothing more than to ruin him, to hear him moan and beg for his release. But maybe not just yet... you don’t know if he’s ready, if he had any kind of experience. He’s a handsome guy, you know there are half dozen girls in your semester that are after him. But he doesn’t pay attention to them, it’s like he is not interested at all. That makes you wonder if he could be a virgin still...

However, it’s the hand that’s creeping up your shirt and grabs a breast without hesitation that makes you realize he is not. He kneads and pinches one nipple between his fingers making you moan on his lips.

Before he can make you moan again, your hands land on Jungkook’s shoulders and you push him back onto the mattress. He gasps as you move to straddle him, pinning his wrists to the mattress.

Jungkook looks at you with heavy lidded eyes, his lips red a swollen from your kisses. His breath hitches in his throat when you lower yourself on his lap and grind against his growing bulge.

You lean down to press a short kiss against his jaw and pull back to watch his worked up expression.

“What now?” You ask with a playful smile.

“Huh...?”

“Did you just want to kiss me, Kookie?”, you tease him further. He swallows hard.

“N-no...”

“No?” You coo. “What else do you want to do, hm?”

“I want- I want to...”, he can’t seem to find the words, so you have to do it for him.

“Do you want to touch me again, baby?”. A needy groan leave a his throat.

“Y-yes...”

“Where?”, he’s blushing out of control, and bites his nether lip so hard for a moment you think he might draw blood. You release one of his wrists and run a hand down his chest.  “Use your words or noona is going to get her things and leave”

“No! Please... don’t leave... don’t-“

“Then answer me”, you hand slips under his hoodie and shirt, to find his warm skin, rippling with lean muscle. You can’t wait to strip him and cover his skin with love bites. “Where do you want to touch me, baby boy?”

“I- I want to touch your tits, suck at them...”, he admits with closed eyes. You busy yourself with trailing kisses down his neck.

“What else?”

“I want to touch your legs... “, his free hand moves to your thighs. “And your ass...”

“Is that all?”

“N-no, I... I want to touch...”, he opens his eyes, now clouded with lust and need. “I want to touch your pussy... I- I want to fuck you, noona”.

And the cute bunny surprises you again for a second time tonight. He’s bolder than you thought he’d be. 

“You want to fuck me?”, You feign surprise to rile him up a bit more. “Such a dirty boy, baby”

He bites into his own lips and lets out a shaky breath. 

“Noona, please...” he grips the fabric of your joggers, and the hand that’s still trapped in your hold tightens into a fist.  “I’m so into you.. I- I really really like you, y/n. Let me... please let me have you...”, his cute and desperate confession has a streak of arousal shooting through your body, right to your core.

You smirk.

“Then take me”.

He nods and raises his head to capture your lips in his again. You free his wrist and he wastes no time grabbing a handful of your ass, prompting you to grind down against him. God you are so wet, you are sure it’s already begin to leak down your pants. You slide up and down over his clothed length with ease, his hard cock providing you delicious friction.

It’s with great difficulty that you manage to break from his kiss to get rid of his yellow hoodie along with his shirt in one tug. His skin is beautiful: lithe muscle in such a sweet honey color and you can’t help yourself. You want to taste him, and so you lean forward and leave a wet kiss between his pecs, and go down from there. He sighs. You quickly make your way to his left nipple and trap his hardened bud between your lips, while you hand finds the other one and tugs at it. 

Jungkook cries out, you note he’s very sensitive and wonder how well would he do with the toys you have stored back home. You keep kissing, pulling, bitting twisting to elicit more of those beautiful sounds. 

You are no longer bothered with the cold as you keep grinding down on him.

“Ahh... that- that feels good...”, he manages to speak between chocked cries, and tangles his fingers into your hair. “Noona... please...”

You pull back to discard your own shirt and wink at him when you toss it aside. Jungkook lowers his gaze to your exposed breast and licks his lips in anticipation. It doesn’t take too long before you are both naked, hands all over each other. Jungkook is sucking at your nipple whilst he other is being taken care of by his hand. Your hand wraps around his throbbing length, pumping it just enough to make him shudder.

He wraps his arms around your waist and rolls you over the mattress, so that he can feel your body flushed against his. One hand traces the curve of your hips, tracing a beeline towards your core, while he used the other for support.

He uses two fingers to separate your lips, moving them up and down to coat them in your slick. You pull the hairs at his nape when he decided to slip two of them inside your heat at the same time. He moves them in and out, squelching  sounds filling the room along with your own labored breaths.

“Do you like that, noona?”

“Yes, baby... it’s feels amazing. Keep going”, you move your hips in circles trying to follow the rhythm of his hand. He makes you arch your back every time the heel of his hand brushes against your engorged clit.

He adds a third finger.

You are so ready for him, a gush of slick cover his hand and trails down between your butt cheeks. The coil of pleasure begins to tighten at the pit of your stomach with each thrust of his fingers. You need to have his dick now, or you might lose your mind.

“Jungkook...”, you call for him, but he’s too busy working you up over the edge that he doesn’t hear you. His fingers curve inside you, brushing against your most sensitive spot. He curls them again, every time white sparks of pleasure shoot through your body. His lips busy sucking a hickey on your neck. “Ahh... fuck-“

You grab him by the wrist. He raises his head to look at you.

“You need to lay back, now”, you say, out of breath. He grins, his bunny teeth showing making him look too adorable considering what he’s being doing. He nods eagerly and retreats his fingers from your pussy with a wet sound.

He positions himself on the bed, back against the mattress and you crawl up his body again. 

The swollen and red head of his cock already oozing precum when you grab him to pump him a few times, before guiding his cock to your soaking entrance. However, the head just nudges past your lips when he stops you with a panicked expression.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

He takes a deep breath, as you sinking back to your heels. Jungkook sits straight and you examine his face, hoping to read whatever it is that made him change his mind. The red in his cheeks intensifies as he makes a poorly attempt to hide it.

“I- I don’t have condoms...”, he sounds defeated, and you can’t help but chuckle, reaching for his face to brush the fringe from his eyes. “And I’m not sure if I- if I can pull out on time”.

“I’m on the pill, Kook...”, he nods absentmindedly like doesn’t fully understand what you just said. You throw your arms around his shoulders and press your lips to the corner of his mouth. 

Jungkook lets out a pleased sigh. 

“Does- does that mean we can still do it?”, he asks and you align your faces together. 

“Do you want to?”

He nods.

“I am, I haven’t- I mean... “ he mouths something you can’t quite understand. “I’m tested, I’m clean”

“I’m clean too”, you caress his chest and shoulders with a soft smile. You lower a hand between your bodies and circle his length. Jungkook closes his eyes and sighs his pretty face relaxing in pleasure. “Do you trust me?”

“I do”, he breathes.

You tilt your hips upwards, supporting your weight on your knees and guide his cock to your opening. The head nudges at your entrance, glistening with your mixed lubricant, and your hands come to hold his shoulders as you begin to sheath him inside of you. 

You caress his chest, leaving a small peck on his lips before pushing him back on the bed. The stretch feels so good already and he’s not even fully in yet. Jungkook’s hands come to gently fondle with your breasts as you sink down completely with one thrust.

“Fuck... noona...”, Jungkook gasps as his eyes roll to the back of his head.

His thick veiny cock stretches you open, and you start moving. You keep slow pace at first, enamores with the soft sounds spilling from Jungkook’s lips as he moves his hips to meet yours. But a particular hard thrust has you clenching around him and he moans loud. 

“Ahhh, shit... faster, noona... please”.

His fingers dig into the skin of your hips and he thrust up again.

He doesn’t need to ask you twice as you start to bounce up and down his cock, grinding your click against his pelvic bone every chance you get. A slapping sound every time your ass meets the seat of his lap. The bed creaks loud under the movements of your lovemaking, sure the room next door has to be empty or you would’ve heard complains by now.

Jungkook moans your name over and over, the bright flush on his sweat-covered skin tells you he’s probably close already.

“Are you going to cum for me, Kookie?”, You clench your muscles around him again, and he cries out. His breathy moans are the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard, and as you keep grinding onto him you can feel your own pleasure start to peak. But you don’t want to come yet, you want to see his pretty face when he comes firsts.

“¡Ngh...! I- Ahh...”, he swallows hard, taking a deep breath. His hands leave soft touches on your hips and move down your thighs.  “I’m really close, noona... if you keep doing that I’m-“, you clench again and his eyes go blank with pleasure. “¡F-fuck...!”

“Do you want to come inside, baby?”, you push back his fringe that’s already drenched in sweat and keep up a steady rhythm. Jungkook nods fervently in response, unable to speak properly and you lean down to kiss him. You tongue plays with his, and you suck on his lower lip before whispering to his ear. “Fill me up then, baby”.

That seems to be enough to throw him over the edge.

“Noona, fuck, fuck, fuck...¡Agh! ¡Ahhh-!” he chants, holding onto your hips with both hands to keep you still as he starts thrusting up again until his release hits him. 

The coil of pleasure down your abdomen that grew even tighter watching Jungkook come undone is about to snap. The way his cock pulses between your walls sending shivers down your spine. A high pitched moan leaves Jungkook’s mouth, his eyes shut, eyebrows furrowed and his mouth hangs open. Warm stripes of semen coat your inner walls as he keeps bucking his hips to yours, and you start moving again, to help him riding out his orgasm and chasing your own.

You bite your lip when Jungkook’s thumb finds your clit. Using his own release as lubricant that’s now leaking out of you, he circles the sensitive bud before applying direct pressure with the pad of his finger. You’re almost there, almost... “Ah... Jungkookie... Like that, just like that”, Your moans join his breathy whines as he begins to feel the pain of overstimulation.

“Noona, please... ‘s too much- Ngh!”. His voice sounds ten times sexier when he begs, whining and crying for you to come all over his sensitive cock. That’s what finally makes you reach your high. White sparks of pleasure flash before your eyes as your orgasm washes over you. 

You moan your lover’s name and your nails rack down his chest. 

“Shit, shit... Ahh... Ngh...”

You roll your hips, riding out your orgasm until you come down completely. Jungkook is trembling under your touch. Tired and spent, he winces when you slide off his member and let yourself fall next to him in the narrow bed.

For a moment there’s only silence and the sound of your labored breaths.

You bring a hand to your forehead to wipe the cold sweat off your skin. You are suddenly aware of the room’s temperature again and a shiver runs down your spine. Jungkook notices and rolls over to wraps your in his arms before pulling the blanket over your bodies. The warmth of his body pressing against your back makes you feel so contented, more than you’d dare to admit out loud. 

“That was...”, he sighs and his nose nuzzles against the crook of your neck. “I’mma ask professor Kim to give us more assignments like this”

You chuckle and turn your face around to give him a peck on the lips. He grins like a little boy.

“You are too cute for your own good”

“Only for you, noona”

2019 © letspurpletogether.

[cherryyharryy]

Burning Words

Chapter Two: Lunch, Library, and Lady Liberty

WC: 7,400

Previous part

Songs for this chapter

The prickling scratch of my highlighter dragging across a strip of text reminds me of how naïve I really am. I hate the sound, hate how uneven the lime green line sits, jagged over the inked words, with a pool of color where the pen sat at the beginning of the sentence. 

It’s raining outside, and rain in New York is not like rain anywhere else. It’s purposeful, like a painting, like it belongs here. The only difference is that nothing changes—not like back home. In Georgia, people would come out afterwards, drive ten miles to the nearest pit and screw their trucks through the mud. Kids would run outside and look for worms and slugs, puddles to jump in. Dogs would dig holes in the softened earth. But here, no one stops. No one bats an eye, not even the people who forget their umbrellas. I wish rain was still life changing.

I sigh, close my notes, and cap my highlighters. “Any ideas for lunch?”

Jessie dips her head back in thought. I see her lashes flutter and her lips pinch, but then she shrugs. “We could order pizza?” She’s sat cross-legged on a patchwork armchair, laptop balanced across her thighs with a pen teetering between her teeth. I have to tip my head over the back of my chair to see her, upside down. “I’ve got a coupon for that place down the street.”

“We always order pizza.”

“We could learn how to cook.”

I click my tongue. “Bingo.” 

The far wall of the apartment has a generous sized window. The floor creaks like we’re torturing it every time we move across a room, the bathtub faucet leaks when it’s hot out, and I know more about my neighbors’ lives than I really need to. But the window....it’s like a movie. My chair sits beside it. I try to count raindrops but there are too many. 

“Chinese?” I offer. 

“You and your egg rolls.”

“They’re the only thing I want when I don’t really wanna eat. I didn’t eat breakfast. And I only had a handful of popcorn for dinner last night.” 

I can see a park from here, and in the winter when the trees are bare, a neighboring tennis court. Flowers hang limply from their stems along the sidewalk. A cat scrambles across the road, sporadic, and suddenly I envy the lack of knowledge animals have, lack of responsibilities, sense of time, unspoken contracts. At times I wish I were a depressed cat soaked to the bone, thinking if I move quick enough I’ll escape the rain. 

“What?” I miss half of what Jessie asks. 

“How’s your class been?”

“Which one?”

Jessie pauses her movements to assert me with a knowing glare. “You know what class. How’s the British babe?”

“Ugh, Harry.”

“Harry,” she tests his name before I continue. A few students have called him by his name, but he’s quick to correct them, surely enjoying his authority.

“He’s most definitely not a babe. A jackass. And he’s been as jackass-y as ever.” I join Jessie when she starts to laugh. “He calls on me every chance he gets. And I swear it’s just to humiliate me.”

“Well at least he’s nice to look at.”

“That means nothing when he’s a jerk.”

“True.” Jessie shrugs. “What about Truman’s...it’s near campus?”

I loll my head back and narrow my gaze. They don’t have egg rolls. “Yeah that’s fine.”

“My treat.”

***

In Hungarian, there are two words for the color red. Piros and vörös, with different times to use them, and should be used accordingly. When I was a kid I got them wrong; called my mom’s hat vörös, and got a slap on the wrist by my grandmother. 

I spent that evening hiding in my closet, using the sleeve of my Winnie the Pooh pajamas to soak up the cascade of tears. When my cousin found me, I begged him to explain what I’d done wrong. 

“Piros is blood inside the body. Vörös is when it comes out.”

That’s all I was left with. And I never did understand the difference. For years now that night resurfaces in my brain, and I think, I’m older now, I’ll be able to get it.

But now, as I stand on the sidewalk, peering through the window of Jessie’s lunch choice, I’m swarmed with the overbearing realization that age has nothing to do with it. 

Harry’s in a striped button down, a sea foam green that reminds me of how different candy felt when I was younger, and high-waisted navy blue pants that couldn’t decide between flaring out or forming to the shape of his legs. I watch him balance plates and glasses, stacking forks and knives, spoons and mugs, soiled napkins and empty Splenda packets. He shovels his tip into his pocket and then disappears out of view while someone else wipes down the table. 

“We can go somewhere else.”

“No.” I drag in the humid air, freshly washed, and hold it in my lungs until my head starts to spin. “This is fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. We’ll sit in the back. At Brigette’s table.”

I’m not sure if you can call Truman’s a restaurant. It isn’t fast food, fine dining, or even a bistro. It’s always dark. The chairs are pink and the tablecloths are green. There are flowers everywhere, I thought it was a flower shop and was sadly mistaken when I came in for the first time to buy Jessie a bundle of roses for her birthday. Strumming violins fill any silence between tables. It’s old but new, rooted woods, lamps from the 90’s, curtains from the 80’s, cooks from the 60’s and 70’s. 

“Brigette’s not on today, but that table is available if you want it.”

Me and Jessie both blink at the hostess, unintelligible utterances coming out until we give up, give in, and sit ourselves down at the small tea table under the back window. 

“I hope the rain doesn’t start again. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

I hum, more preoccupied with trying to find a better distraction than my ripped cuticles. 

“He’s up front,” Jessie assures, “I think I saw that guy I dated the summer after freshman year...Mack something or other...busing these tables. I’m sure he’ll wait on us.”

“Whitaker.”

“What?”

“His name was Mack Whitaker.”

“Yeah, him. It’ll be fine.” She shrugs like it’s nothing. I can’t imagine being her.

The place is busy, rightfully so on a bleak Saturday afternoon. The sun pokes through the clouds occasionally, carving streams of golden light across our table, Jessie’s face, and I assume mine as well. She compliments my eyes and I thank her, then proceed to detail a hundred abstract thoughts as to why she must pity me enough to lie. Someone—who isn’t Mack Whitaker—brings us each water and apologizes for the wait. They’re swamped, understaffed, and had barreled through a visit from the health department early this morning. 

“Anthony’s pissed again,” Jessie mumbles, pursing her lips when I look up at her. I raise my brows so she’ll continue. “I missed his call the other night. But I was busy, so…” she shakes her head and scoffs a laugh. 

“It’s sweet though, that he wants to talk to you everyday.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighs. 

“He’ll get over it,” I assure her. “He did the last time.”

“I just hope he’s over it before he comes up here.”

“Good afternoon, have you had a chance to look at the menu?” A girl from my class ends our conversation. She wears the same outfit as Harry. When she smiles I have to blink, her teeth whiter than heat, slightly crooked, and I imagine she overdoes the stinging gel against her gums to make up for it. It works. Her lips and cheeks look as if she’d became too friendly with strawberries; a character face, full and round, structured like magazine models with skin to match. I remember her from the previous year: pretty, even at eight in the morning. Boys like her, professors like her. Head of the Spanish club but I bet she can’t count past diez. 

“Two turkey on ciabatta with tomato soup. No mayo on one. Diet Coke aaand…” Jessie raises her brows at me.

“My water is fine, thanks.” 

“No mayo,” our server draws out the syllables while jotting down our order. ”Well my name’s Danielle, if you need anything just—” She points her pencil at me and squints, as if that clears my image and her memory. “You look familiar…” She hums to herself, taps the end of the pencil against her lips before her eyes light up. I gulp. “Oh! You’re in my class aren’t you? The early one on Monday and Wednesday!” 

I nod. “Yeah, World Lit.”

“Yeah! How are you doing on your book report?”

“Um, good I guess. Haven’t gotten too far into it yet.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty stupid right? I heard it was the TA’s idea. I mean, I haven’t done a book report since high school.” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “So—oh! Speak of the devil.”

My face feels as though I’m being stung by a thousand bees. Harry sidles up beside Danielle and nods to each of us. 

“Afternoon, ladies.” He’s holding a pitcher of ice water and flicks his gaze down to my glass.

I regret how much I drank when he fills it back up to the rim. I scrape my teeth against my tongue before I’m able to say anything. “Thank you.”

He nods, opens his mouth, but Danielle beats him to it. 

“We were just discussing our class.”

My veins are filled with wax, dripping at a pace so unoriginal, hardening, crystallizing. I grab my cutlery wrapped in a mauve pink napkin to occupy my hands, twisting and prodding and jabbing. 

“Yeah,” she continues when all he does is nod. “So what are we doing on Monday?”

“I have a surprise for you all, something I’ve been working on with Dr. Pierce—”

“Oh!” Danielle interrupts. “What is it?”

Harry raises his brows and laughs. “Well I can’t tell you, now can I? Won’t be a surprise.”

“Ohh, yes you can. We won’t say a word.”

Harry denies her once more. His eyes flicker down to me. “I’m sure you won’t. But you’ll have to wait for class to find out.”

“Oh my God! Your hand!”

I follow Jessie’s voice to see a small pool of blood decorating the table, my napkin having soaked up some, my skin a bit more. Red reflects in the sparkling silver of a fork and spoon, glistening on the blade of a knife I have carelessly sawed against the tip of my ring finger. I didn’t feel anything until I saw the cut, and now it stings. 

“We have a first aid kit in the back.” I hear Harry say but I look to Jessie. “Here,” he pulls a handful of napkins from his apron and cups them around my finger. “Is this okay?”

I nod without looking at him. He tells me to come with him, and I oblige, weighing my evils as the entire room is now focused on our table and the girl bleeding out right before their eyes. As I walk with him, I selfishly hope I do lose enough to earn a transfusion, amputate my finger, something, anything, so I can leave. If I get to stay in the hospital, I won’t have to go to class Monday. 

“Don’t worry!” Danielle whispers as she passes by us. “He’s great with his hands.”

I see vörös everywhere. 

***

It burns. Really burns. But I’m thankful. It’s the only thing keeping me aware that I’m alive, that I can’t hide away, that I need to mark my movements as always. He rinses my finger under an ice cold water bottle he pulled from a tiny fridge below the staff’s sign-in computer. Someone yelled at him—Ralph. His name is on the bottle. 

���This is cleaner than whatever comes out of the sink.” 

He slips his foot around the leg of a metal chair and drags it over by the sink; the closet door it had held open falls shut. With a nod he tells me to sit. I say nothing, just watch him care for the small wound like my life really is dependent on it. 

“Can I have your hand—er—can I see it? Your hand?” He rolls his lips in and clears his throat when I extend my arm to him. His touch is almost nonexistent. I barely feel his fingers splaying my hand flat and wide while he rinses the blood off. He uses a towel tucked into his waistband to dry me off, and then pops open the lid of the first aid kit. 

“This is just an antiseptic...don’t think it should burn.” He smooths a small bit of opaque gel over the ridiculously tiny split in my skin. “I think the head and the hand...always an extreme amount of blood. When I was a kid, my sister’s cat scratched me, right under my left eyebrow. It felt like someone poured water down my face. Mum thought I was goin’ to die.” He folds a purple band-aid over my finger, frowning when it’s not smooth so he starts again. “There. Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” I whisper.

“Good. Okay. Um, well I guess I’d better get back.” His hand lingers on the bandage, running his thumb over it one last time, and then he finally pulls away. 

“Yeah.” I’m shaky when I stand, and curse myself when I almost trip over the chair when I turn to leave. I pause to speak over my shoulder. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The walk back is long, and I have to fight the urge to look and see what he’s doing. I don’t hear the chair scraping against the floor or Ralph complaining about his water. I’m thankful I threw on my good jeans this morning. 

Jessie is bouncing in her seat when I return—the table beside ours. “Is it bad? It was a lot of blood! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It was really small. The cut I mean.” I look down at my bandage like it’s a secret. “Where’s my stuff?”

“They’re replacing it all,” she waves off. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it throbs a little bit—”

“No, not that! I mean him. Did he say anything to you? Was he mean? Because I’ll go back there if you need me to.”

“No—no, sit down, would you.” I hold back a laugh; she doesn’t need the encouragement. “He was nice.”

“Good. I tried to follow you but the manager came out and asked me what happened. We get our meal free, by the way.”

“Well then I guess this was worth it.”

Our food comes quickly, served by the manager herself. 

“Why aren’t you eating?”

I stir my soup. I can see the reflection of my eyes in the red pool, and I watch myself blink once before rippling my image away. “M’not that hungry.”

Jessie leans over the table and lowers her voice. “What happened?”

“What?”

“With Harry, in the back.”

“No, nothing.” I sigh and slump back into my chair. “I’m just tired. And I have a lot of work to do. That stupid report. And I have a quiz in another class on Tuesday. I’m fine. And he—”

“How are we doing? Is there anything I can get you guys?” Danielle looks prettier each time I see her. I shake my head while Jessie answers, keeping my focus on my untouched food. “Did Harry take care of you?”

It’s a good thing I wasn’t eating or else I would have choked. “Uh, yeah. He did.”

“I knew he would. He’s a sweet one.”

“Mhm.”

How easy it would be, to tell her my name. Tell her that her teeth are too white and her shirt is too tight. I could tell her that Harry’s sister’s cat scratched him when he was a kid and that’s where that tiny little scar above his eye is from. Did you know that Danielle? Or were you too preoccupied with what his hands were doing?

“Alright, well just holler for me if you need anything!”

I ignore her but she doesn’t seem to notice, waltzing off. Harry’s counting menus when she approaches him at the front. I think I hear her call him an angel, but I know I see him smile. I tell Jessie I want to leave. If I’m going to throw up it’s going to be in my bathroom with my best friend holding my hair back. 

***

I've had the Arctic Monkeys stuck in my head all morning. Every clink of the spoon against my bowl of cheerios, every step I took rushing to school because I decided to spend my time in the shower crying, every yawn from everyone stumbling into class. 

And I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky, 

Yours, until the rivers all run dry. 

It’s five past eight. Dr. Pierce stands towards the corner, pointing at paperwork another professor is showing him. Each time a student cracks the door open they smile and hurry to their desk like they’ve won something. Freshmen. He told us twice that he doesn’t care if we’re late, it’s our grade not his, which I appreciate. My pen taps across my notebook. 

And I'll be yours until the sun no longer shines, 

Yours, until the poets run out of rhyme 

In other words, until the end of time

He is late, however. I try to refuse my need to look up at the door each time it opens. I want to dismiss the anxiety of waiting for him. 

I'm gonna stay right here by your side, 

Do my best to keep you satisfied 

Nothin' in the world could drive me away 

'Cause every day, you'll hear me say

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry apologizes, bustling through the door. He did his best to fix the upturned collar of his rose pink button-down, subtly, albeit he fails miserably when a smudge of maroon is revealed. “I uh,” he clears his throat, “had some things to take care of. Got carried away.” He directs his excuse towards our professor, scrambling to pull out today’s materials from his bag. 

Dr. Pierce bids the professor goodbye and welcomes Harry, offering him time to gather himself which he does rather quickly. His lips are pressed together until he’s the center of attention, scanning the room as he always does, finalizing on me and I swear his eyes glisten. 

“So, uh, today we’ll be—”

“So sorry I’m late.” Danielle hurries through the door and takes her seat at the front.

“Right, um, welcome.” Harry’s gaze is trained on the paper in his hands. His brows furrow and he clears his throat before continuing. “As I was saying, we’re doing something a tad different today. Dr. Pierce and I have been talking, and we decided to break up our usual routine And with your reports due soon, offer you all a little added support. So we’ll be heading to the library where you all can work, ask questions, get mine or Dr. Pierce’s advice—whatever you need to finish the final touches before you hand anything in.”

Most everyone appears pleased with this news, proceeding to sling their bags over their shoulders and get out of their chairs. 

“Hold on, hold on,” Dr. Pierce interjects the flow. “You must work on your report and your report only. This isn’t a free-for-all. And I don’t want to hear that you’ve finished it, because I can guarantee that there’s room for improvement from each of you.”

Danielle is the first to make it to the front. She passes Harry on her way to the door and straightens his collar. His face matches the rose colored stain she thumbs over and I think about how if I veer off and go home, no one will notice. 

And I'll be yours until two and two is three, 

Yours, until the mountains crumble to the sea 

In other words, until eternity 

Baby, I'm yours

***

Our library is something out of a medieval storybook. Rich, haunted woods and six tier windows where dust sparkles through the light pushing in. You can lose aged pennies against the floor and get lost behind dusty shelves if you want to. There are microfilms, typewriters, and a spirit machine downstairs and two velvet couches on the second floor. 

I spent the majority of my first semester here, back when Jessie brought a different boy home every Friday night. I’ve missed the smell, the quiet, the disturbed alteration of reality inside its doors. But when I look around at my class tossing their bags on tables and hollering for Dr. Pierce or Harry’s attention, I’m not sure if I’ll make plans to come back. 

Ms. Bortnick, the head librarian, is a stout woman who barely sees over the front desk, but somehow always knows when I’ve come in. When it’s raining, she knows the shake of my umbrella from everyone else’s. And when it’s spring, she knows my sneezes from everyone else’s. She is like a grandmother, only she’d never had kids, so not quite so in that you can’t get away with stuff. She has a bad eye and one good kidney, and sometimes she mixes these two things up, but I gave up on correcting her long ago. That’s how long I’ve been here. 

She is Ukrainian and her accent is thick and aged, much like her mind. “Hello nyuszi,” she says before I’m fully inside. It’s bunny in Hungarian. A nickname from my mom, who tells everyone because she thinks it’s cute. Everyone, including the tiny librarian during the campus tour we took forever and a day ago. 

“Hi Ms. Bortnick,” I say, lagging, like I’m embarrassed, because I am. 

She just waves with a big grandmother-like smile that makes you miss home. 

I take a seat at a small table, behind a section of Virginia Woolf. Most of the voices die down, the clicks of keyboards taking their place, and I  pull out the research I’ve started for my report. The Tropic of Cancer, slightly tattered and worn, lay open beside my notebook, and my laptop sits adjacent. 

“You coming along well?”

Shit. I jump, my ears ringing. “I’m fine.”

Harry nods and paces behind me to look over my shoulder. The air below his body weighs down against my back, so suffocating and harnessing that I’m sure I feel the waves and vibrations his heart emits. I try to swallow but my tongue gets in the way. I should’ve stayed home.

Harry nods and paces behind me to look over my shoulder. The air below his body weighs down against my back, so suffocating and harnessing that I’m sure I feel the waves and vibrations his heart emits. I try to swallow but my tongue gets in the way. I should’ve stayed home. 

“I actually did an analysis on Henry Miller a couple years ago. If you wanna pick my brain, you’re more than welcome to.”

“Oh uh, thanks.”

His voice is grumbly, like rocks turning over beneath tires. Yet smooth, like washing sand off your body. I’m perplexed for a moment, at how these two things meet together so well, but that’s always the case with people. Like how Ms. Bortnick can’t remember anyone’s actual name, but sews that wound up with a pet name she picks out just for you. 

“Yeah, I think I might even have an essay on my laptop. You can look over it if you’d like,” he says. 

“Thank you, but I think I’m fine with what I have.”

“Well if you need anything, just let me know.”

I nod. My eyes blink once he steps away, and it takes me a moment to remember where I am and what I am doing. I’m a bit separated from most of the class, at one of the outlying tables apart from the student section where Harry ambles around everyone. Whenever he bends over to look at someone’s work, the muscles beneath his shirt ripple and contract. I can see his shoulder blades from here, and I’m failing to recall a time when the definition of someone’s spine has ever called for my attention. 

I shake my head, naïvely expecting that to clear my mind. Google is pulled up on my laptop, but instead of searching for The Tropic of Cancer, I press the keys in Harry’s name. 

The first couple links that pop up are social media accounts. I avoid these and move on to the next option, a link going back to our school. It takes me to his name under the directory, nothing more than a profile picture and his credentials. 

Harry Styles

Received his Bachelor of Arts in English Literature at New York University in 2016. He completed a one year internship at the Ann Rittenberg Literary Agency Inc. in New York in 2017, and in 2018, spent a year abroad in France and Italy studying classic literature surrounding the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries. He is currently working on his graduate degree, assisted professional teaching placement, and his thesis on the cultivation of the Renaissance era in regards to English literature. 

I read over everything three times. That’s how long it takes me to grasp it all. He’s accomplished more in three years of his life than I have in my entire existence. It’s weird, being in my twenties and already feeding off the desire of wanting to be young again. It’s not fair how some people are prone to achievements and winning, while the rest of us are left to scramble around, years later to piece together a life that offers a sliver of satisfaction. 

I close the window and ineptly click on one of his social media accounts, and for some reason my stomach twists. There’s a picture of him on twitter, from this weekend. He’s at Truman’s with his arm around Danielle, a smile on his face, and a caption thanking her for getting him his job. They’re both pretty; perfect for each other really. The only thing I can think of being thankful for in this moment is that I was not included in their picture. No one needs to see that comparison; I provide myself with enough pity to feed an army.

And maybe it’s stupid, but I navigate to Danielle’s account. There’s a weird fraction in the self-loathing lifestyle, like my brain needs a reminder of where I stand in this world. It keeps me in check, I believe. I cannot imagine thinking I look good, only to be reminded that I don’t in fact, look anything close to good. That’s a big fall to take, and I prefer to spend my time at the bottom. I’ve earned my place here.

I zoom in to every picture. Have you ever compared your wrist to someone? Or the space where your neck meets your shoulders? She has a big, red birthmark on her hip, but she makes it look necessary. And I’m sure Harry probably likes it. And I’m sure she’s told him how she’s no longer ashamed of it, and she’s not afraid to wear bikinis because she doesn’t care what people think. And she probably thinks that’s what makes her different and that’s the story she tells, how she overcame insecurity and loves her body now. And she would probably tell me that I just need to learn how to accept my flaws and learn to love them and then I’ll finally be happy like her. But that’s stupid, even stupider then me scrolling through her account to find some awkward picture, maybe one where her nose and lips are less perfect and I can start saving up for surgery too. Because if I looked like her, I’d have no problem being happy. I’d post pictures on the beach, and find a boyfriend, and not feel like a pathetic loser who’s done nothing with her life.

“Are you writing your report on Danielle?”

I lurch with stiff bones, and now I can’t remember if I’ve had this headache all day or if Dr. Pierce’s voice triggered it. Shamefully, I close the browser. “No, I’m sorry.” I hope that’s enough, because it’s all I can afford to give right now. Maybe if he knew I was seconds away from crying he’ll leave me alone.

“Get back to work please.”

Just make it ‘til you get home. You can cry there. Not here. Not here. Not here.

***

I tediously lower my body so that the water pulses right below my chin. My knees are covered, but only if I remain motionless, or the water will break against my skin and then my knee caps will appear suddenly. I inch my feet further across the acrylic until they are hidden once again. 

There is a window extending from the floor beside the tub all the way up, over my head so I have a view of the street below as well as the sky, and it’s always quite a contrast. If the street is busy, then the sky is not. But then if the sky has a heavy to-do list, then it’s the road below me that becomes shallow, except when rain is falling in a race to its demise against the concrete. 

I suck in a breath that’s full of my shampoo and bodywash and the rose oil I dropped in twenty minutes ago. I can taste it in my lungs, so before it becomes too much, I push against my heels, my knees forming mountains as they break the surface and my head becomes consumed a moment later. The pressure is light, just enough; I’m more aware that I’m living than I did when oxygen was flowing through my lungs. I count to ten and then release the burn as I crash upwards. It’s a bit dramatic and cinema worthy, but there’s no one watching; even the city-goers are too far below me to care that I live here. 

“Is my phone in there?”

I drag my eyes open and sure enough, Jessie’s phone sits on the counter. “Come in!”

“Oh thank God, thought I left it at that party.” She picks her clothes from last night off the floor and throws them in the hamper. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“And why’s that?”

I shrug, but she doesn’t see me, now straightening up the mess she made of her toiletries, her back to me while she shoves everything into her drawer.

“Just one of those nights I guess.”

She peaks over her shoulder and hums. “You have a lot of those.” She turns fully, looking at me like she is a mother. I rack my brain for an excuse but I can’t find one. If I did, I would’ve tried it out on myself years ago. “Y’know I’m here to talk. I’m your best friend...that’s part of my job.”

I smile at the water, but turn away when I see my reflection. “I’m fine. Just getting used to the semester.”

She lets the defeat show on her face, and I’m glad I know how to mask mine. “Alright then. Well just text me if you need me. I’m always here for you.” Her voice is soft and patient and I feel guilty for lying to her. “I’m late for cello practice.”

“I’ll be fine. Gonna enjoy my day off.”

“And actually enjoy it! No studying, no flash cards!” She laughs when I roll my eyes. “I mean it. Go to the park, eat a pint of ice cream, masturbate, please, anything outside of those notebooks of yours!”

“I’ll add those to the list,” I laugh. “I’m probably just gonna stay home and relax. Watch Uptown Girls or something. Eat cookie dough.”

“And—”

“And masturbate I know.”

She kisses my head and grabs her phone, heading out the door, her voice fading as she leaves. “You can tell me all about it later.”

The tile is cold beneath my feet, and slick with warning as I pull the plug on the drain and take a moment to scan the world outside. The sun is in attendance today, some of its beams make their way into the bathroom and have crawled across the floor all morning. I decide to stand there, on the beams to warm my toes slightly. It’s probably more in my head, the warmth, but I’ll take it either way. The tiles are black and white, a classic checkerboard, and I gave up on choosing a color to step on not long after we moved in. 

The mirror is foggy and I work fast to wash my face and brush my teeth, keeping my towel tight around myself until the last possible second, trading it’s warmth for a sweater and jeans. I slip into my shoes. I haven’t read much for leisure, and pick up my copy of Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl from my bookshelf before I leave. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read it, but each time never fails to reward me with something I didn’t catch the last time. 

***

There’s a park within walking distance from my apartment. I like to go there in the rain sometimes, under my green umbrella, and read literary magazines with a thermos of coffee Jessie made me. I look like the adult that I’m supposed to be. I don’t think anyone ever notices, which isn’t much different then the expectations I lay out for myself the night before. 

Today, however, I am not walking to the park. I am taking a train to the park. The park—Central Park. And it’s not raining and I forgot to bring coffee, but I need today. I need to do something for myself. Something outside my comfort zone. That’s how you become a better person, right?

We don’t have subways back home. There isn’t much of anything back home other than high school football games, car washes, and stray cats that everyone feeds. The first time I rode the train I cried. Jessie told me that it was okay, and that’s why I did it the next time, and the time after that. I’m not going to cry today, though. I am not going to get overwhelmed and worry about when to get on and when to get off and who’s looking at me and how I wouldn’t be able to help anyone if they get mugged or how if I trip and fall on the platform, I’ll start praying for death. 

Light flashes at a rhythm I’m unfamiliar with, but I manage to keep my focus on my book. It shakes in my hands but I keep reading. I’m not really reading, in its true form, that is. I’ve marked this book up so much I could use it as confetti, and those are the parts I’m reading. The parts that meant something to me at each stage of my life: I used a green pen at age eleven, red sharpie at fifteen, blue highlighter at twenty, and ripped sticky notes at twenty-three. It’s less of a commitment this way, but when the screeching travels up my spine and I can smell something other than people when I’m back on solid ground, I wipe my cheeks and they’re dry. 

When I lie in bed at night and think over the many sins and shortcomings attributed to me, I get so confused by it all that I either laugh or cry: it depends on what sort of mood I am in. Then I fall asleep with a stupid feeling of wishing to be different from what I am or from what I want to be; perhaps to behave differently from the way I want to behave.

I have a plan in place. One that I didn’t feel comfortable telling Jessie even though I know she’d be supportive. That’s the conundrum; having a best friend who loves you so much they want to fix you. She would have tagged along today, asked me how I’m feeling a million times and try to rationalize everything. She’d tell me all the ways I can be happy. But she can’t do that. No one should be allowed to, really. Because if you say can then there also has to be the option of can’t. And if people had the choice to pick what state their mind was in every day, I wouldn’t be strolling around parts of New York I’ve never been in, trying to scrounge up some off-handed version of self-love.

I bought a bath bomb and candles, stopped at a stationary store to pick up pens and notebooks that I don’t need, another Beatles t-shirt and chocolate. A farmer’s market was selling fresh fruit and I bought a tomato and ate the whole thing right there. I don’t care that it’s cheap retail therapy. It’s blocking out school and certain people and my age and my lack of success as an adult. And maybe it’s not working, but it’s New York—there’s distractions everywhere. And that’s exactly what I’m doing today. 

***

Liberty Island. That’s where the Statue of Liberty is. I am stupid for thinking Staten Island, but in my defense, that’s where everyone outside of New York thinks it is. When I moved here I wanted to see it. It was going to be this defining moment that solidified me in my new home, this incredible rebirth that validated me leaving my parents. I was going to buy cheap postcards and send them to my mom and I’d say See, I’m here and I’m happy. This was the right choice. I fit in. Please stop crying. At least I didn’t think it was Ellis Island. 

I’m on the right ferry heading towards the right island. Soon, I really see her and I start crying. She’s green but she’s not green, and she’s copper but also not really. She’s this woman and that’s fucking cool, except I know had she not been a gift, she would have been a man. There is someone with a microphone talking about her but the wind burns my ears so I pull up google on my phone. 

The Babylonian Ishtar, Imperial Rome’s goddess Libertas was Papal Rome’s “Mother of the Harlots and abominations of the earth” and the template for America’s Statue of Liberty.

I paid to visit the pedestal but not the crown. I don’t trust my body to climb twenty stories. I don’t wanna know what I’ll think about that high up. I saved up and bought a reservation and now that I’m here, I wish I’d brought Jessie along. I wish I had more people to choose from to bring along because this isn’t Jessie’s thing. But that was the idea, after all, to keep this day to myself, venture out, mark something off a bucket list I haven’t started yet. Distractions, distractions, distractions.

My bags are heavy and it’s hot, but I manage to read a lot of plaques and stroll around intentionally. I do, at certain moments, feel a sort of liberation with myself. Kind of like the first time you go out driving on your own. It’s scary, and a part of you still wishes your mom was behind the wheel, but that kind of being alone is freedom. It’s not the car or the license, it’s the option to be fully by yourself at any time. 

And I can’t help but wonder, compare, really, myself to the woman who I’m wandering around below her dress. She does lonely well. She does it right. All by herself she stands, a beacon, a purified symbol. And this is where I’m at, apparently, scrutinizing my abilities at making loneliness look mature and comparing myself to a statue.

Truly, this is my day. 

I take pictures of everything around me and it must be the sea air, because I do contemplate asking this dad of four kids to take one of me. I push that out of my head rather quickly. I switch the filter to black and white and angle my phone to get a photo overlooking the harbor once I’m back outside, but stop right in my tracks, when a familiar face is in the frame. 

“Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re here! What a small world!”

Dozens of names swim around my head, and my courtesy smile eases into a real one once one of them starts flashing, matching this person’s face before I make a fool of myself. 

“Devon, hey, s’been a while.”

“I know, God,” she shakes her head in disbelief, “high school feels like a century ago.”

She looks the same, only like a new version. Not exactly older or more mature, but like she stopped experimenting with makeup and her acne finally calmed down. All of her features sit on top of her face, warm, eyes just as piercing as when we were seventeen. She was always cute and that quality has followed her over the years. 

“So what are you doing?” she asks and I squint because of the wind, imagining her words rearranging in the breeze into something easier to answer. 

“Um, just sightseeing.”

“Well I figured that,” she laughs. “I mean, your life, what’s up?”

I know my face looks resistant. Everyone pulls the same look when your stuck explaining something that is going to automatically lower the standard in which the other person sees you: nearly closed eyes, barred upper teeth while your top lip pulls up in thought, sucking in a short breath before speaking, stiff neck and chest. 

“I uh, well I’m still in school,” I nod along and loosen my volume to sound like I’m happy. “And uh, working.”

“Oh are you working on your masters?”

“No just um, maybe one day, but not right now.”

“Okay.” It is that ‘okay’. The you-are-turning-pathetic-right-before-my-eyes Okay. She smiles anyway. “I’m thinking of going back next year to get my doctorate.” She shrugs. “So do you live here, or…”

“Yeah, yeah, I got a scholarship—”

“Oh well that’s good!”

“Uh huh.”

“We’re just visiting. Trying to hit all the hot spots though.”

“We?”

“Me and my fiancé. She’s—” she cranes her neck and points to somewhere behind her, “on a work call at the moment. Y’know it’s beautiful here, I wonder if we could have the wedding right here,” she laughs. 

“Yeah that would be something.”

“So, are you seeing anyone?” 

“Not at the moment.”

She gasps like she’s discovered something and points at the air between us. “Wait, weren’t you dating that guy, the uh, really smart one who graduated early? God, what was his name, Mark or Matt?”

“No that uh, that wasn’t me.”

“I could’ve sworn it was,” she laughs. 

“Nope.”

“Aw, bless your heart, well you’ll find someone. The city’s big!”

I am done with this conversation. I force a smile and excuse myself, heading off in the opposite direction so if any tears fall she won’t see, and keep to myself until it’s really cloudy and mist pricks my skin. Not soon enough, we’re boarding the ferry again. 

I wave to Lady Liberty and imagine her waving back when we leave. If I squint, it kind of does. Whether she’s saying goodbye or good luck, I don’t know.

***

Dinner is one of those meals that either means everything or nothing. Tonight it means nothing. I walk past Truman’s, slowly. Harry isn’t in there and I stop right outside the plated glass window, now decorated with orange and yellow leaves, and try to figure out if I would’ve gone in had he been there. A band is setting up along the back wall and that’s where I see Danielle. She’s got a tray of drinks that each member takes. When she spins around she’s smiling and she smiles as she walks towards the hostess’ podium and she smiles when she squeezes the hand of some guy that comes up and she smiles when she sees me. 

I wave because what else am I supposed to do. If I flip her off, she might strangle me with her extensions, or tell Harry that I was a bitch, or spit in my food the next time I come in. I wait till she’s distracted, and then I leave. I stop at a food truck and stuff my face with a taco. Nothing. 

Back down the street, back on the train, back to my apartment. 

“I didn’t cry this time.”

Jessie glances up from sliding the bow across the strings, the last note stinging the air. She looks so small next to the instrument. 

“On the train. I didn’t cry.”

****************************************************************************************

Next Chapter

Let me know what you think!

Thank you to my wonderful beta readers @aileenacoustic and @bathrobesinparadise!!!!!!!!!

[inkdrinkershadowsinger]

Thoughts/Background Prisoner of Azkaban

First all, let me state that without Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban that we would not have had a franchise. We would have had three movies then done. One hundred percent. This movie changed everything from the sharpness that was lacking in the first two, to the creative that stayed pretty true throughout the rest of the series. This made it less wholesome and sweet like One and Two, and channeled just everything into a solid direction that was edgy and new.

No magic outside of school. No wonder the ministry is watching his ass.

I’ve heard that this scene is supposed to represent Harry masturbating, and if that is true, then we sure have gone in a new direction.

No wonder he can’t sleep Vernon, you keep busting into his room every night.

The first two movies, I felt like Harry was rather young looking, but in this one, Harry and all of the others really grow up, and may I say, “Glowed up” as well.

Just look at the sharpness and clarity in this movie. It was filmed wwith a different camera entirely.

Marge is a bitch. I hate her guts. Umbridge is the number one villain, then her, then Voldemort.

Harry thinks he wins, and then he can spell some shit about to pop off.

And since Harry is a Gryffindor, he cannot keep his mouth shut when this horrible woman is insulting his parents.

And Harry has probably heard even at school that his mother just because of her blood wasn’t as good as anyone else, and to have that compounded when this horrible turnip comes to stay was probably way too much for him.

Dudley couldn’t care less. Petunia is very concerned that this is going to ruin her dinner.

See how Harry runs!!! He’s like, “Time to go.”

I love that we get this shot of Lily and James dancing in nearly every movie.

Try me, bitch.

Marge is floating away into the night sky. I would hate to be the person who had to fly up and get her down to be obliviated.

It looks like he is near a park, is the park that is adjacent to the one that Harry is in at the beginning of Ootp?

SIRIUS!!!!!!

Stan is amazing. He just states the obvious in the funniest of ways. If there wasn’t such an age difference with the suspected death eater activity, him and Luna would have been cute.

What does that red sign say above Stan’s head on the bus? It looks like it says, Black Pepper Impi???? I’m sure about the Black Pepper, but I’m not sure about the last or the first word.

Stan says the most iconic thing her, “Don’t you tell me that you’ve never been hearin’ of Sirius Black.” Stan’s incredulity is amazing here because every knows about Sirius. And everyone should, dang beautiful man.

Tom sure transformed for this movie.

I love that he would have a car out front. You could activate the alarm to keep Muggles who got to close to run off.

It looks like that quill is dictating what the minister is saying. He is most likely making a formal decree as he is telling Harry that everything is all well and good and he is getting off with a little slap on the wrist.

Sirius Black. This is one of the best names in literature. It is just perfect. It could be corny and ordinary but it is perfect.

I love that from the windows of the Leaky you can see both Diagon and also the Muggle world. It is a nice meeting point.

You know the shopkeeper was selling what, a hundred of these monster books, and no one thought to tell any of them how to open them without getting ripped up?

I love all the details in this movie. The guy stirring his drink with his hand, the maid here. I love it all. This movie is very detailed oriented.

The only known shot of who is probably the hottest Weasley brother, if not figuratively then definitely literally.

There is art on the walls of the Leaky, but none of them seem to be moving.

The person in the background is carring like 70 plates as they wobble above their head.

The tea is pouring itself.

Let me just tell you that perhaps you may actually get murdered this year, but no big deal, just keep your nose down. This seems to be such a British sort of thing, like keep your head down, and nothing bad will happen.

I hate those wanted posters because they look like they were taken upon intake, and Sirius has just lost everything, and the loss and angry and desperation portrayed here really messes me up. Like I know that they aren’t real people, but dang, those emotions are real.

Percy in the background here. I never noticed him before.

They all look so grown up. My gosh.

Lupin!

You can always count on Ron to tell the truth.

That bottle of water right there by Lupin’s head. I take it two ways. One, that’s legit all Lupin could probably afford on this trip. And two, it would be a good way for him to keep his face hidden, but see inside of it to see whose reflections are present so he can know who took the compartment with him. I also headcanon, that this is after a full moon night which is why he is a bit lethargic.

The reason that Harry passed out, and no others did was because the dementors were feeding off of him. They took at least three pulls from Harry, but not anyone else.

If you have any questions about whether Hogwarts curriculum is up to snuff just look at any movie. These kids should get a crash course in all the crap that could kill them immediately so that they are aware. I wonder what the accidental death rate is at Hogwarts?

The chorus!!! I know that this was an add in from the director, but I love it, and it should remain canon. I also like they copied it, though with a more nefarious sound during Half Blood Prince.

“Something wicked this way comes!”

Snape claps like three times.

Why would they seat him next to Snape in the first place? Dumbledore is a shit stirrer, and completely planned that.

Draco is a punk bitch. But at this point, you can just see that it is teasing more than anything nefarious. He’s a little bully.

Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if only one remembers to turn on the light. This is one of the most iconic quotes of the series.

Everyone is watching the Fat Lady perform. I love that they brought her to life more, but kept that sassy attitude.

This scene is pure gold. It brought a lot of needed MAGIC to this movie about magic.

I love that Hogwarts is this super prestigious campus with bridges and fountains.

The way that the Womping Wilow is used to portray time is amazing.

She has all of the tea cups stacked behind her. Are those from an earlier class that need to be washed?

This whole film was shot using VIVID from Iphone.

Everyone behind her just leans into see what new stuff Harry Potter is going to get up to this year.

Ron, get some glasses, that clearly looks like a fucking dog. Dang.

Ron is keeping track of his girl. It took them too long to get together.

I don’t care what anyone says about Hagrid as a teacher this lesson was amazing.

Some things are just so second nature to Hagrid. It is proof that different types of intelligence are ral.

When your friends are that choreographed to mock your enemies, like that is some commitment. I stan the Slytherins a bit for this.

In the books, Harry actually steps up for Hagrid instead of being volunteered by everyone else.

Drapple, part one.

That girl behind Ron and Hermione looks to be about twenty seven years old. Someone got into Hogwarts from this reality, and I am pissed that it wasn’t me.

Just the scope and grandeur of Hogwarts, and the grounds really just gets me.

Malfoy is such a whiner. But I assume that he isn’t quite used to pain, any pain really.

The ghosts, also, in this movie are way more dynamic then the ghosts in the previous films.

You really get a sense, a subtle one, of blossoming emotions between members of the opposite sex.

I never noticed that there are hands holding Sirius for this mug shot. It looks to be at least two people that are physically restraining him for this shot.

Lupin calls on Neville of all people, and I am obsessed with him forever because of this. It is popular fanon that the Marauders knew Frank and Alice. It would make sense that Lupin had heard something about Neville from the rest of the teachers, and decided to help bolster this child of his friends.

That image is seared into Neville’s mind.

Can a boggart touch people? I made a headcanon about that, but it would be nice to see what you all think.

I would have really liked to have sseen Hermione’s boggart. I know that the boggart scene in Fantastic Beasts left a few people underwhelmed, but I wonder if Hermione’s would have been just as tame.

McGonagall is authoritative. The perfect teacher balance.

I wonder how hard it was for Remus to stand on this bridge with Harry. I wonder what instance he is talking about here. Lily was there for him when no one else was? When? What instance? This is why we need more information about the Marauders era, and why I did a thing. If you want the thing, message me.

Is it weird that I’m a bit thirsty for head boy Percy’s voice?

She said the same thing to Sirius when he was a student. “Eyes like the devil.” But she probably didn’t mind as much then. We all know Sirius is smoking hot. Have you seen that Tumblr posts where Harry Potter series is ranked based on how attractive Sirius is described?

This might be the most beautiful that the ceiling of the Great Hall gets.

Snape knows how to assert dominance even as a substitute.

That projector is amazing looking.

I love that their school books in DADA are separated by creatures who sleep at night verses the day.

Malfoy isn’t even using that sling.

Hogwart’s professors do not give extra time on assignments okay, unless you are litearlly dead. If Harry had rolled up in there as a ghost, Snape would still be like, “Where is my essay?”

Is that supposed to be Cedric?

Why is Harry actually seeing the Grim though? Who is sending him these signs? How? Why?

That was a long way to fall.

We only see Dumbledore use his wand on a handful of occasions. Harry, the boy who will save them all, is literally falling out of the sky, and he still doesn’t use it.

You can see the Hufflepuffs in the background. I wonder who they were visiting. Madam Pomfrey probably can’t go one match without having a room full of patients afterward.

Fred Weasley looking fine.

The music here is amazing and soothing.

I imagine that kids swim out to that little island all the time during the warmer months.

Another reason Harry is not in Ravenclaw: It took him at least three Hogsmeade weekends to figure out that he could use his cloak to get there unseen.

Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs = My boys

I love when Fred and George speak in unison.

It looks like they make their own candy at the bottom of the shop.

Harry just took Neville’s lollipop though he can’t eat it as he walks down the street because it is on the outside of the cloak.

Hermione who grew up in the Muggle world instantly knows that it is Harry. Ron, who grew up in the wizarding world legit thought that it could have been ghosts from the Shrieking Shack.

Harry is someone who values loyalty above all else. It is why he eventually stands up for Neville and Luna because they were there for him at one point in time. To know that Sirius, the person who was his father’s best friend betrayed him is something that would have made Harry feel physically ill. It would be something that he wouldn’t entirely be able to process, and as a teenage boy, his feelings resulted in this show of anger and frustration.

Everything in this movie is visually stunning, and really sets the tone for the other films.

I wonder what Remus is thinking about in this situation. Is he wondering just why Harry doesn’t have many memories that he can draw on? Is he wondering what his life has been like? What his life would have been like if Lily and James had lived and thinking that he would have had all the happy memories in the world if they had?

You can see the instruments tracking the heavenly patterns.

So, does a Boggart take on all of the traits that the creature it is mimicking? If it takes the shape of a lethifold can it kill you? If it takes the shape of a dementor can it suck out your soul for real? What are the limitations?

And a train set? Does Remus have a thing for trains?

I wish that we would have got some more emotion here from Remus. Harry is giving all of himself here, and Remus is just quietly taking it all in.

Crookshanks in the house.

I love Hagrid’s outfit here.

Best Ron/Harry interaction. You kick those tape dance wearing spiders arses, Ronald Weasley.

In the previous two films we have those lights that blaze with fire like motion activated flames, but this hallway is dark and dank for dramatic effect.

At this point, Harry doesn’t believe in the maps infallibility so it would make sense that he doesn’t really go to anyone and explain what he say on the map. Also, how would he know that someone wouldn’t take it from him? He would have seen this as his only way to get to Hogsmeade with his friends, and he wouldn’t have wanted to give that up for anything.

The Marauders were some of the most intelligent students that have ever walked the halls of Hogwarts. They charmed this piece of parchment in what fifth year? They mapped almost the entire school, found several secret passageways, and helped out their friend in one of the most epic ways possible. I love them. (Peter found most of the passageways in his animagus form)

Read: Charming James Potter was one charming mother f-er. BET.

One of the only times Harry was pleased to read in front of a teacher.

Lupin to the rescue.

Snape is not subtle. It’s no wonder Hermione figured it out. Legit half of the Slytherins know, but they are so tired of having subpar defense teachers that they just go on with their business as usual.

I really wanted to see some more emotion on Lupin’s face. I want to see some subtly in the way that he looks at Harry or the way that he plays a scene. I want to see some longing for his lost friends or his friends son. I wanted to see more. I love this character, but I think it could have had more nuance.

Even the amazement at hearing Peter’s name is sort of dulled here. Idk.

Hermione is one hundred percent the person who cheats at board games, and who wrecked the board when she lost as a little girl. Only child syndrome.

This is the most visually pleasing classroom. You can see Sirius’ face in the crystal ball.

And does Harry tell anyone about this prophecy? Nope. No. Not anyone important.

Draco is instantly afraid because he knows that Hermione is a bad bitch. Also, he might be terrified because he knows how easy it is for people to lose control of their wands.

The Stonehenge like structures here are so interesting to me. They reach to the Heavens, they are in a circular pattern. If you’ll notice in movie 5, the chamber that the trial is in looks like it was built on top of an older chamber. It just makes everything feel as if the new is breeding from these old ancestral power lines or something of that nature, and I just love that idea.

Hagrid is the most responsible adult in this movie. Dumbledore and McGonagall are like, “Yeah, go ahead and meddle with time, no worries.” Hagrid is like, “Don’t worry about me and my feelings about Buckbeak, just get out of here, and be safe heading back to the castle.”

You have to think that even though Sirius spent 12 years in Azkaban that Peter’s time as a rat was never really all that perfect either. Being covered in bugs, constantly on the floor, people don’t really care for you, people who forget to feed you, 7 children all wanting your attention and pulling at you being the only pet that can’t fly in a house full of kids.

I always thought that was a very distinctive stone for Hermione to find and throw.

The time loop here always confused me.

The most awkward hug ever captured on film…no, wait....lol

When you are as blind as Harry James and I, losing your glasses means that you can’t see shit. You can’t see anything but swatches of color.

The Womping Willow has not forgotten that Harry and Ron threw a car into her. And she ain’t going to forget anytime soon.

“If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us too.” Loyalty, my friends. Absolutely crazy, we’re going to get sliced up by an escaped criminal loyalty, but loyalty none the less.

Sirius has spent twelve years in Azkaban, but is still a ten. I just read that Buzzfeed list about which HP characters had the most BDE, and I was not surprised to see Sirius Black on the list. Also, Professor McGonagall, who honestly should have held the top spot.

Lupin flirting from the word, “Go.”

Lupin has dealt with manic Sirius before. Several times.

“I did my waiting twelve years of it… in Azkaban!!!” Is one of the most iconic lines ever.

I had not yet read the books when this movie came out, and I remember be literally so surprised. “The rat is a man?? WTF?”

Snape, here, believes up to this point that Sirius is the reason that Voldemort was able to find Lily in the first place. He believes that Sirius is the reason that the only person Snape ever really cared about is dead. If Snape was a Gryffindor he would have went for the immediate gratification of AK’ing Sirius, but instead, Snape is a true Slytherin and that means that he is vicious, he wants to make sure the revenge is as bad as it can be. In that vein, he wants to let the dementors suck out Sirius’ soul. He wants Sirius to feel like he has felt all the years, like a body with no soul. Lifeless. Death, Snape would think, would be too easy for someone who had taken so much away from him.

Remus is like, “Okay, no, no negotiating or touching Severus at all, gotcha.”

Sirius is goading Snape even at wand point. You want to think that this is the Black family madness or Azkaban insanity, but it is just Sirius being a cocky bastard, overestimating himself and underestimating his opponents.

Sirius and Remus argued like this all the time. Snape gets the old married couple vibe, and honestly, me too.

This is how the Marauders argued. All standing, pacing the room is various shades of annoyance with one another, wishing the other would shut up, shouting “reason”, casting spells, Peter crawling under furniture to avoid said spells, aggressive politeness, “We do not say, “Shut up!””

I would kill Pettigrew for the insipid voice of his.

Why would Dumbledore put a piano in the shrieking shack in the first place.

This is one place where Remus shows some nuance. He wants to kill Peter, intensely. He only stalls and reluctantly at that, because Harry says something.

Sirius looking at the castle and saying that one day he wishes that one day he could walk inside as a free man fucks me up. Hogwarts to Sirius must represent the reverse of everything that Azkaban did. The two places that Sirius spent most of his life. The happiest and the unhappiest memories that he has. The place where he had his friends and then the place where he only had their memories.

I hate this. They all just gradually glance at the moon like something has gone wrong. Like they are calling attention to some fun little oddity.

I wonder how many times Sirius tried to talk to Remus in the form of a wolf. Did he really think that it was possible to call back Remus from the wolf? Had they tried that before? Did it work?

Snape still tries to protect the kids even after they stunned him. Snape has a pathological fear of werewolves, and yet, he stands in its way.

I feel like if Remus was honest with everyone, Dumbledore and Harry that he could have told Harry that meeting up with Sirius and James and Peter in their animagus form while he was the wolf and that they kept him from hurting people would have given Harry more confidence in Sirius’ ability to handle Remus and he wouldn’t have run off with him in the first place. Sirius might never have gotten caught. They all might have made it back to the castle. I don’t know. Honesty is the best policy.

What is that little ball of light that floats out and then in of Harry’s mouth? What is that? Is that supposed to represent his soul? Because Sirius’s soul would be blazing red, yellow, and orange.

The way Dumbledore says, “Scabbers”, like he legit thinks that Ron’s rat could have had a hand in the trouble.

Me and Ron are the same. Dumbledore is just so cheery about the prospect of these two kids going back in time to SAVE LIVES. They aren’t going to the store to get milk, Dumbledore, this is serious business.

Buckbeak is living his best life.

Harry really wants to believe that his dad conjured this Patronus. He has just seen Sirius who isn’t a mass murderer at all, but someone who loves him intensely. He thinks that he is going to get away from the Dursleys. He just blasted the teacher that he hates. He has literally just gone back in time to help save his friends and catch the real bad guy. I mean, why wouldn’t he even consider the possibility that his dad could have somehow cast the Patronus? For Harry, it would seem at least possible if not probable.

I hate when Harry says, “He will come.” Harry is someone who has always only been able to depend upon himself, but in this moment, he thinks that he can depend on someone else to come to his rescue. I know that he finds his own empowerment here, and is able to cast a super strong charm to help get himself and Sirius out of trouble, but he, once again, had to stand up and take care of things himself.

The explanation that he gives on how he casts the patronus doesn’t make sense to me either, Hermione, don’t worry. Time loops are tricky business.

Sirius is down for this ride. Don’t tell me he never played Quidditch. I will fight you. He mocked James for it at first, but then was just as fanatical.

The way that Sirius holds Harry’s face just messes me up. It is like he is trying to memorize every detail in his face.

Remus moved so many small personal objects into this office. It gives you the feel that he really thought that he might be able to stay, and I hate that he was forced out. He is using a cane the night after the full because it was so rough.

The twins are beautiful mischief makers and I love them. I wish we had more of them in these films, but they are sprinkled in wonderfully.

Even Percy has to see this broom in action.

This was the best end for this film because while Harry didn’t get freedom from the Dursley’s he did get some fun which is what godfather’s are for, right?

The art for this film is out of its mind. It is creative and wonderful, and really takes you inside of the theme for this movie. I love it, and even the credits draw you further in to this universe. This is one film that makes all the others better just because it exists.

[notasiren21]

The Darkness Comforts Me More (Ch. 2-pt 1.)

(Female Byleth x Felix)

He awoke an hour before sunrise, surprised he slept as long as he did to begin with.

Felix rubbed at his face with his left hand, briefly attempting to yank his right free that felt too heavy for being under a pillow before he felt silk rub against his back. Stilling, he opened his eyes to see that teal hair splayed just underneath the pillow he was on and across the small space on the bed. Even in a sleep induced haze, it didn't take a genius to figure out who was sleeping so soundly next to him that had that colored hair and that small of a frame with faint scars in various places.

He propped himself up slightly with his elbow, briefly remembering the night before that started in fear and ended in the beginnings of the word he refused to acknowledge. Deft and slender fingers gently moved to pull some of her hair back that covered her face, only freezing when she mumbled in her sleep and inched backwards a fraction to subconsciously search for him. He basked in the isolation that filled the room around them as he was the only one awake and let himself watch her in fascination that he always found himself suppressing daily.

He did his share of her efforts and moved closer to her, his left hand carefully grabbing just below her shoulder to guide her to his chest she sought for in slumber.

Something clicked within him faintly. He nearly startled in response to the feel of warmth flooding his entire body and the sense of belonging being found. Mutely -and without much awareness from the newly discovered emotions -he leaned forwards, fingertips skirting up and down her silk, robe cladded arm. His nose nuzzled through her hair and his lips parted as thoughts consumed him.

He was laying in bed with his teacher that was a handful of years older than him (though he never minded since there had been more drastic age gaps among couples across the kingdom and empire and four years seemed to not hold much weight) and breathtakingly gorgeous both on and off the battlefield. It would be a secret he'd take to his grave at the fact that some nights when he had managed to gain a small bit of sleep, he'd bolt up panting at the latest dream of her teal hair swaying in the midst of fire and smoke, matching eyes glimmering with something primal and a hint of survival swimming in them as a predatory look coated her face with a smirk to show it. His mind wasn't one to skimp or half ass details.

All too well did he have memorized her stance with her sword in hand, flames dancing around the blade and her skin. That faint dimple that only appeared on her right cheek was prominent and laid just underneath of some blood and dirt that sporadically covered her exposed skin. Her toned and exposed midriff revealed her panting but the way her body leaned forwards showed the adrenaline kicking in.

He remembered the day the image engraved itself in his mind and haunted his dreams.

~*~

Having been one of her most promising students and soldiers, she placed him and the Boar to cover her front while Sylvain and Ashe were at her back.

Felix had just cut down a bandit headed her way when he looked up -a good 70 yards from anyone headed his way for the time and close to the end of battle-, his breathing was harsh and he wiped the blood from his face when he searched for her to ensure her safety and to watch her fight as he caught his strength and energy once more like he had been taught by her to do for efficiency in fighting.

His breath caught the moment she turned around from a spin move she perfected with grace, seeing the flash of her crest disappear when the man fell, a burned hole in his chest from front to back. He was aware he should be horrified as the smirk slowly tugged on her lip as she stared at the ground. He was smart enough to know it was a battle and death always came with it so he had no reason to be as distracted as he was.

Maybe it was then he realized he was fucked and wouldn't be able to look at her the same way again; not when his heart hammered in his chest and he felt his cheeks grow hot as he raced to commit every detail of her to memory. He startled when she caught his gaze and that damn dimple appeared for the first time ever. He had known she was attractive when she was first introduced to them by Dimitri, and sometimes stared at her longer during lectures and class than intended like the rest of the boys.

But he had finally seen someone worthy of every word meant to describe a woman. One specific word really. A breath escaped his lips as she started walking towards him and time slowed drastically. The way she killed with the strength of a group of men mercenaries but did it with such elegance and grace. The way her stern features put even her father in place when he was being too rough with someone but managed to walk femininely like she didn't just lay around twenty men to rest.

He felt his mouth stutter "beautiful" as smoke shielded his vision of her briefly when she couldn't see him, and then she was there. Her lips parted in a rare toothy smile, pulling more so on the left side as he saw the cutely sharp canine and premolars that followed that just so happened to be more pointed than rounded discreetly.

She came up, examining him from a distance, before grabbing into the pouch of Sylvain's horse he hadn't realized was close behind her with the owner scouting on top. She withdrew a sword and took Felix's to place it back in the pouch to be reforged later on. A new blade was placed in his hands as he stared down dumbly with his mouth open a fraction.

"I'd like to see the glow of your crest bounce off this when you get the chance, stay safe." She flashed her smile again and his eyes quickly searched for the dimple, then the cute and subtly pointed teeth before seeing the glimmer in her eyes that he sucked in a breath for.

Why do I feel elated over someone's smile?

"Sure," he muttered in his usual tone, unable to do anything else. He almost stumbled back when she passed him, patting his chest as she went with a quirk of her lip and flipping her hair from her face.

'Beautiful', crossed his mind a few more times later that day.

~*~

His hand gently cupped her cheek as she laid sleeping besides him, ears burning when she further nuzzled the opposite cheek into his hand that pillowed her head, listening to her briefly hum in contentment as his thumb stroked over her cheekbone to her nose. He felt her two small hands tighten briefly as they held the back of his hand underneath her head, leaving his opened palm free for her to snuggle into like she hadn't just killed demonic beasts not even two weeks ago.

He twirled a lock of her hair in silence as another memory washed over him that further led to his bond with her.

~*~

He had managed to catch her during her morning routine of greeting each faculty member and student, not paying mind to her appearance as he stared in annoyance at the letter in hand discussing his father's desire to see just how abled and worthy Byleth was to be his teacher when Felix already preached enough about her to assure him of her position.

He was stunned when replied with an easy and happy, "Sure."

He finally looked up, confusion replacing the scowl he once had. "Really? Isn't this a hassle for you? You really don't have to take part in my father's requests." He noted her appearance when he finally tore his gaze away from hers. Her neck piece was absent and her armor rested in her hands as her cloak laid lazily above her shoulders. Her hair was in a pony tail and sweat glimmered across his skin.

He thought she might hear the sound of his jaw clenching tightly.

She gave an amused look in response, "Bandits and those who violently oppose the church are a hassle. You and your father? Not a chance." She was now wrapping white tape around her hands, "If he wishes to know just how capable I am, I'm more than happy to satisfy his curiosity and assure him you're in great hands. What's so bad about that?"

He blinked.

"Ok, I'll send word then. We leave as the time he requested?"

"Sure thing, just inform the knights in my battalion before the evening and I'll tell the students tomorrow."

"Alright," he scanned her up and down once more to figure what she just came from. "Were you just practicing?"

"I was as a matter of fact, why?"

He shrugged, leaning back against the wall as he watched her wipe her chest piece down. "Nothing, I just noticed that you typically train later."

She glanced back at him, "Observant as always, Fraldarius." She sat on the edge of the table of the knight's hall, her feet dangling as Felix let loose a twitch of his lip at the sight of her petite frame indulging itself for childish acts. "I do practice later, but I started to train twice a day when I don't have to do a lecture. My break time usually consists of greeting you guys now but the rest I've been avoiding after that food fight in the dining hall last night," she waved off.

He nodded, seemingly pissed as well for the inconvenience and leaving after he helped her, Dimitri, Mercedes, and Ashe restrain the few students who started it. He was fortunate enough that his class was busy cramming for their qualification exams to change their class and positions on the field, meaning the Blue Lions weren't the cause or in trouble as much as the Golden Deer were. If anything, her cutting corners on her schedule was just punishment for the students who worshipped the ground she walked on.

Surprisingly, Claude had been sick in bed then and had nothing to do with it.

"Sorry, didn't mean to be taking you free time." He cut back in his usual tone.

She looked up, "Oh, no you're a blessing in disguise, Felix. I'd rather you keep me busy than me hustling around to say hello to people. It's exhausting, being a professor."

His skin burned at the compliment she unknowingly dropped on him.

"You know, I was planning to practice brawling some more but since you're here, would you like to spar with me later? I have some battlefield techniques I'd like to try out with you."

And he felt his heart start to beat wildly again.

"Sure, I've got the time."

~*~

Swords clang together, sand drifted in the air around them, and their chests laid close to being in physical proximity behind their blades. They both breathed heavily and short, faces and skin flushed with sweat creating a visible sheen.

Felix was beyond the point of exhaustion, left in his pants and white button up, somewhere was the school jacket discarded among the wooden makeshift bleachers where students watched the physical lessons. He was exhausted and tired, but the adrenaline rushed through him as he quickly stepped back and swirled around to her back, teeth baring when she caught on to his maneuvers better than any opponent had and made a lunge for him after ducking his blow.

He felt exhilarated, pleased and elated with how the professor countered his moves. A smile tried making way onto his moody features, the threatening teeth expression he once had now twitching at the corners as he forced it down. He pressed forth, intent to disarm her when he heard her let a girlish, quick huff of laugh out he never thought could come from her.

It sounds so light and carefree.

His gaze left their swords and met her expression; hungry for success and unrelenting. Her crooked and bare smirk showed her teeth he found far more cuter than he should. He faltered when she puffed her cheeks, his own turning a deep shade of red as she pressed her light weight further into his leaning form. Her head titled back as another laugh -was that a damn giggle? Fuck. - escaped her, his teeth unclenched as his mouth opened in surprise and blinked, faltering and sending them both backwards into the sand.

Her laugh rang clear in the air as he ditched the sword, grabbing her waist in a fast reflex to save her from their fall when his body gave way. Their fall took them several feet back from her force.

He coughed several times as the sand cloud cleared around them, hiding his shock in another cough when he realized she was above him with her hands bracketing on either side of his head and her hair creating a curtain around their faces that were inches from one another.

She was still laughing in her secret feminine way only he seemed to know of, mint green tea filling his nose in their shared air as she pushed off the ground. A hand laid over her chest as she continued her giggle fit, the other unknowingly resting on his chest to stabilize herself. He felt his heart leap into his throat, realizing his hand fully rested on her thigh which straddled him.

He quickly yanked his palm back before he caved in and traced the laced tights she wore. His chest was rising rapidly in panic, skin burning in emotions he couldn't name.

Does he push her off? Does he hold her? Take advantage of the distraction and make a grab for the nearest sword? He couldn't believe he was overthinking this. He sparred with people all the time and whenever something similar happened, he'd quickly turn and notch a win.

Fuck, they had even sparred several times together so why was this time different?

His hand went to search blindly for the sword as he stared up at her, a giggling mess on top of him. He touched the cool metal blade when her fingertips drew into her hand, scratching his chest when her nails made contact and sending a shiver through him. Fuck, ignore it. He needed to win this.

Or, he could just watch her?

It's her win regardless, getting her now would just be cheating. Unethical. Unfair.

His arms rested by her legs that caged his hips, eyes watching her intently to sedate the gnawing curiosity that had been getting to him lately.

Fuck, fucking beautiful.

He wanted to touch her, sit up and bring her closer, press her hand further to his chest and taste the remnants of tea on her lips.

Her really pink, soft looking lips.

He blinked out of his awed daze when her hand covered her mouth and shielded those teeth -adorable and slightly pointed cute teeth- from his view. He gave himself a few extra seconds to reel back his personality and gain strength to talk.

"Seems you've won again," he started, sitting up with his hands supporting him from behind. He ignored how the close proximity was trying to chip away his stoic manners. Her eyes opened, tears of amusement making the dark color shine brilliantly he felt his next words catch in his throat.

"Seems so," she cleared her throat, feigning her usual blank expression that he was most certainly aware of now was a mask to ignore people. "Sorry, let me help you up."

He felt confused when disappointment hit him when she detached herself. Shoving it down and grabbing the outstretched hand above him.

Shit, when did he accept simple and helpful gestures such as that?

He should knocked her hand away or held his own up in response and got to his feet without effort.

He gritted his teeth out of frustration, the overwhelming feelings and thoughts getting to him before he could make sense of it.

All I need is my sword. I don't have time for such mundane things.

He dusted himself off, looking back down at her. "You were laughing." He stated dryly.

"Yes, I apologize."

"At me?"

"No, of course not."

"Then what?"

Her eyes flashed with something devious and that damn smirk pulled at her lips before her features returned to their place. "I'll tell you someday."

She patted his chest and showed a smile before walking out and leaving him staring after her with a mixture of feelings.

Well fuck.

~*~

He watched in fascination as the strands of her hair shimmered in the sunlight that leaked through the windows, still twirling it around his finger and feeling the softness of it.

It felt, it felt amazing to let his walls down and explore the confusion he kept getting so angry at. He knew he should leave since everyone would wake up in about two hours but he didn't want to leave her yet. Not when she was sleeping and so close to him.

She stirred in his arms, the motion causing a bittersweet sensation in him as he watched her. Her small frame twisted around to her back, tilting carefully to her left as she blinked blearily up at him, pink lips parted and a breath lost as blue-green eyes peered at him in confusion beneath full, black lashes. Somewhere was his ability to move, breathe, speak. The light hit her eyes and reflected back at him brighter than the sun hitting a clean blade. Felix was mutely aware how close his face had been before she woke, now it pounded in his throat and images of her flashed through his head that made his chest tighten painfully. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, face engulfed in heat, hand flexing on her hip and the other squeezing her entangled one.

And his eyes, like burnt copper and blood mixed together, pierced into her and Byleth felt her breathing fasten. Her pulse and flow of blood thrumming in her ears as she searched for any signs of the Felix he presented to everyone on the daily.

And he was so close.

From where his bare chest pressed to her side and her own burned through the silk nightgown. She felt warm, close to hot and overheated and it was the first damn time she ever felt that in this goddess forsaken icy hell- even the summer had a chill to them and she was close to running into flames to sedate herself.

She wanted him closer, wanted to burn until she couldn’t take it and drown in the comforting darkness he had to offer that was far safer than anything else.

Fuck, she wanted to kiss him.

She missed being immune to emotions, void of them even. The most she ever did was give a short laugh to her dad’s jokes and his forgetful mind trying to offer her a beer at the age of twelve.

Right, dad.

She wanted that immunity, she wanted it now and forever. Felix was the one who damaged her gate that held them at bay: he did unknowingly and unintentionally and beautifully. But she needed to lock it away, part of what she could to pretend the massive and overwhelming pain wasn’t suffocating and killing her.

It hurt too much.

It hurt her beyond words and expression, to the point of living and she was planning to walk away from it.

Or walk off from it.

Jeralt was the only thing to occupy her mind for such a long time, Sothis was gracious enough to keep her watch from afar, always filled with concern and love for the former mercenary.

She could still hear Sothis’ screams in the dead of night when she stepped off the ledge of the bridge before Felix caught her. She could still hear the crying that sounded like a sad, solo symphony from watching Byleth let herself come to ruins.

Felix never heard it last night, but Sothis prayed for his soul to never hurt again and blessed him for his kind heart that laid in complete agony.

Now Sothis was floating somewhere far off, maybe in the depths of Byleth’s soul or in her head.

Felix was, he was therapeutic and a chance to breathe clean air.

Felix is Felix.

He’s a sadistic piece of shit who Sylvain claims is the most “edgiest” person to be. He had a reputation for his incredibly short patience and temper, he was well mannered but never displayed it to his classmates and he was bit as hard has he wielded a sword. He wasn’t capable of feelings or empathy, not even remorse.

But Byleth could feel a tether form between the two of them the moment they met and eyes locked. It was an indescribable feelings that the moment his blunt self-introduction was over, she gave a nod and walked away as quickly as she could.

He was attractive and handsome, sharply so. Several of the boys and men were at the monastery and granted, some of them were considered to probably be more attractive compared to Felix, but there was something about him that made sense and confused her all the same. She could hardly believe he was considered the most unapproachable of the group.

Especially now...as his fingers traced under her bottom lip and he stared at her with concern. What she wouldn’t give to feel how crazy her heart should be beating and what it would feel like.

Byleth’s lips formed a pout she couldn’t control as her arms slid around his shoulders and connected behind his neck, bringing him down with her and hugging him close. It felt like the flames of Hell when his arms wrapped just as tightly around her smaller body, and she shivered at the heat he could soothe her with.

He rolled their bodies until he was on his back, arms holding her protectively as she willed tears to stay within the lashes they escaped from.

“I should leave before the others rise,” his hand skidded up her back, lips pressed into her hairline. “Please, forgive me.”

“Of course.”

A soft kiss touched her head as he rolled her onto her own back, lips making contact with her open palm that he held carefully with two hands. He brushed a few strands of her away from her face before showing a lip twitch and turning to put his uniform shirt and jacket on, along with his shoes.

“Felix,” he tilted his head to meet her gaze, “Thank you. For last night. For everything.”

He let out a huff of air, “That’s typically a line most often heard from Sylvain’s room beyond the walls and door that don’t silence his antics. If you wanted to use it, I would’ve suggested having him over instead.”

He was teasing, he was capable of it and good at it, but she still felt as though it was a slip of insecurity despite his humor.

She frowned, “I didn’t need Sylvain last night, I had needed you, Felix.”

If that didn’t throw him through a damn loop, he didn’t know what would.

“Felix,” she sat up to her knees and moved to the edge of the bed. She held out a small hand to him as he finished the last button, turning and placing his much larger one in hers when he just knew he would’ve slapped anyone else’s away. The indigo haired boy even went as far as interlacing their fingers, tracing the back of her own hand with his free one to feel the softness the armor protected.

“Byleth,” he said with as much seriousness as she did, albeit feigned. A small smirk tugged his lips when her cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

Her skin was comforting, her warmth despite always being cold herself, her touch, her. It was too much and not enough. He felt his head swirling from a fight inside his head, as if the once cheerful and caring part of him he locked away after Glenn died was breaking chains one by one each passing moment.

Her eyes saddened, like she was able to read a synopsis of him that alluded to his current thoughts. His jaw clenched at her expression and she brought him in for another embrace he couldn’t feel an objection to.

Holding her like this, it felt like a missing piece and that terrified him immensely. It wasn’t like he could pull away either, not when that damn belonging sensation filled him.

“Felix, you are exactly the person, thing, I needed. You helped me tremendously even before last night and if there is anyone I trust in this monastery now that my father has passed, it’s you.” She felt the hands flex on his hips but didn’t say anything, pulling back and staring up at his hair instead, she played with the loose tendrils that escaped the tied hair. She refused to look in his eyes so he couldn’t see what she was feelings, so he wouldn’t feel overwhelmed with her words, et cetera and et cetera.

“I, ...Byleth,” he tried.

She gave a sad smile, guiding him to lean downwards an inch and press a kiss to his forehead before she settled back down on the bed. His hand played with her fingers momentarily, staring at her.

“You’re one of my favorites, you know?” She gave him that side toothy grin he adored all too much and he smiled back.

“You’re one of my favorites too, Byleth.”

[veridium]

sweet talk 101

PHEW. OKAY. 

Part ten? HOLY SHIT? We are in part 10 of this thing. I am so delighted. So, here, have some fluff with a light touch of melodrama (as is my specialty). @bitchesofostwick and I love torturing our kids with sweetness followed by sourness, apparently. 

ON THIS EPISODE: Cass and Liv are doing the whole friendship.com thing, though Liv can’t help but still wonder what her new pal’s plans are. One thing she knows for sure is that all her assumptions are quickly flying out the window. A text from her Mom reminds her of the fragility of her privacy and her expectations. Meanwhile, sweet bb Ellinor prepares for a totally casual and not at all scintillating project meeting with her blonde, handsome partner. WHAT COULD GO WRONG?

Episode title brought to you by my falling back down the rabbit hole of Cute is What We Aim For’s music, especially this particular song. 

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // part 8 // part 9 

-- 

A week after Ellinor and Cullen are assigned their project --

2:57pm. Dammit, it’s 2:57pm. Call it already, Professor Lucas.

“Alright, that will be all.”

That is all she hears before her mind goes exclusively to packing up her lecture notebook, pencil bag, and canteen into her backpack. It’s get the hell out of dodge time. Up out of her seat and out the door as the Professor warns about the midterm study sessions coming up. Yes, yes, fine, she’ll ace the practice exam as usual. That doesn’t matter.

It’s Tuesday, and she’s got plans.

Jogging down the steps in her calf-high boots, she searches through the crowds of foot traffic and sees the pixie-cut she’s been waiting to see, against a lamp post. Blue skinny jeans and a t-shirt underneath a leather fitted jacket. A resting bitch face that turns to cordial stoicism, and melts her into smiling. Olivia has a type and she can’t even deny it anymore: women who look like they’d be just as ready to step on you as make you laugh.

“Hey!” she says as she walks up, a perk in her step that makes her ponytail bounce.

Cassandra grins and stands tall, holding her phone. “Hey!”

“You said wear pants.”

“That I did.”

Olivia eyes her, fending off the urge to giggle nervously like a beguiled school girl. “Do I get to find out why? I don’t usually cater to people’s whims, case you couldn’t tell.”

Cassandra’s grin grows. “Really? Last I checked, I am now 5-0 with requests on your time and company.”

OH. Ohoho. OHO. Olivia’s hands go balmy, a visceral response to being hung out to dry with just a simple sentence. She’s right, though. After their meet up at the Church, texting had recommenced at their expedient frequency. That had led to a redemption coffee outing on the following Wednesday, where Olivia sat down in place long enough to actually finish her chai. That would have been bad enough, if not for the wandering into a used bookstore afterward, where Olivia couldn’t resist mock reading from old social science journals to really drive their asinine, outdated theories home. That was the first time she heard Cassandra laugh. Honest to goodness laugh. It made her break character.

But ego does not pay any mind to sentimentality in the moment of injury.

She swats Cassandra on the back of her upper arm before folding hers against her tightened chest. “You got a punch card going or something, asshole?” 

Cassandra chuckles low. A cocky chuckle. The confidence looks good on her, when it overpowers her steady and thoughtful exterior. “Come on, I only got a few minutes loaded on the parking meter.”

She’s unceremonious but charming as they walk down the sidewalk bordering front quad. It had been an odd text to wake up to, a request that she wear close-fitting shirt and pants, and bring something to tie back her hair. It reminds her of when adults would chide her and her friends in high school for letting people tell them how to dress. No one was allowed to do that! Unless, of course, they were your parents, your elders, the federal government…

A few minutes walk to a back parking lot, and they come to the front line of spots. Just down the line, passed the handicap spots, there’s a shiny black and purple bike cocked to the side, and two helmets resting on the seat.

She stops in her tracks. Cassandra walks a few feet ahead, before she turns and faces her.

“No fucking way,” Olivia’s eyes go wide, mouth dropping open. “You’re shitting me.”

“Yes, because I definitely am a prankster,” Cassandra shakes her head. “Come on, you said you spend your weekends on bikes. Or was that you, shitting me?”

Olivia is getting sick of this woman being perfect. It’s nauseating, almost -- and by that, she means increasingly irresistible and that is becoming a problem. In all actuality it would make sense; kids who grew up in families like the Pentaghasts rarely had an interest that wasn’t generously indulged just because they could afford to do so. She probably had a inkling to ride a bike when she was nine, and they groomed her all the way up to being a licensed rider who competed in tournaments or something berserk like that. Just casual. 

She slings her backpack straps onto both shoulders. “Well, shit.”

“What?” Cassandra asks as they resume walking.

“Nothing, I am just rarely rendered speechless.”

“Now that, I believe,” she smiles, a skip in her step as she bounces off the sidewalk onto the asphalt, grabbing both helmets and handing one to her. “Be honest, have you ridden on a bike before?”

Oh, sweetheart. Olivia laughs and takes the helmet, pulling her hair ponytail down to rest at the nape of her neck. “No, never. Absolutely not. I am a good girl.”

Cassandra sits up, back straight as she zips up the jacket she’s wearing. Now it makes sense why it reminds her of a moto jacket in a magazine. “I’m serious, Liv. Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“Ugh, I have, many times in fact.” Olivia sticks her tongue out before slipping her head into the helmet. It’s a bit snug, but that’s not a bad thing when it comes to helmets. “Just sit still and look pretty while I do my backflips on the freeway.”

“And people say I am relentless.” Cassandra smirks before putting her helmet on and standing up, swinging a leg onto the front seat. Olivia is way too besotted by the simple act of her straddling a bike for it to be healthy. A 20-something’s blood pressure is not supposed to spike like that. “Well, let’s go then.”

Olivia’s heart races. It’s a simple request. She’s done it more than a dozen times. Get on the bike, hold the person by the sides of their waist, and enjoy the ride. Holding her breath, she approaches and does as Cassandra did, bringing a leg over -- God, the bike is tall -- and perches herself on the back seat.

Cassandra takes hold of her steering, and Olivia takes hold of her. Leaving room for Jesus, to be sure. Out the corner of her eye she spots a small group of onlooking people outside the doors to the building in front of the lot. They look like a bunch of east coast preps lost on their way to the nearest Hollister, and their faces are anything but pleased. One girl with french braids and a binder to her chest, brow furrowing. A guy, hands on his hips, wearing a knit Ralph Lauren-looking sweater even though it’s a 70 degrees out at least. A couple others, but it’s those two faces that stink the most. 

What’s good, bro? Got milk with fat in your latte this morning, Chadworth? she sneers in her head. Her temper has two gears: territorial pomeranian, and pomeranian gone off the rails. 

Cassandra kicks up the stand and revs the engine. “Ready?” she yells over her shoulder.

Olivia’s hands press harder against her waist, and she refocuses. “Negative, Ghost Rider, the pattern is full.” She then leans against her back, as close as her mouth can get to her ear. “Hell yeah I am.”

They reverse and then blow the popsicle stand. Cassandra rides well, and she doesn’t speed or try things. Corners are careful, speed limits respected. When they merge onto the freeway Olivia leans against her straight rather than do what she likes to do -- tricks like tossing her arms into the air, arching back, feeling the adrenaline race in her veins. Instead, she holds on, and takes in the scene racing on either side of them. No backflips.

Eventually they get off several exits down and pull into uptown where the pho shop is. It’s small, and tucked away a bit, but it’s a favorite among “the students” as the locals would say. They find a table by the window, small and built for two, and go ham on two bowls of soup.

“Oh yeah, toss those babies in,” Olivia teases, sliding her bowl across so Cassandra can drop in the peppers she doesn’t want. “Ah, yes, glorious. Thank you.”

Cassandra grins, throwing in the last piece and then grabbing for more bean sprouts. “Your table manners are compelling.”

“Good, it took me five years of debutante training to get me to stop hanging off the chandeliers.”

“Only five?”

“Five...and a half,” she wags her finger in the air, her other hand stirring her noodles around. Cassandra is spooning some broth to her lips, not a single sound of slurping or crass inhaling. It’s textbook table etiquette.

“So, how was your day?” she asks after she swallows.

“Good. Class was good...a lecture on the Peloponnesian war. I should have known better than take an Antiquated history class without bothering with the prereq.”

“What, is it difficult?”

“Not...exactly,” Liv shrugs, tossing a piece of beef into her mouth. “It’s just involved. Like, everyone there wants to be the next great archeologist or history authority. I just want to know how we got this point in our society, get an A, and move on.”

Cassandra wipes the side of her lip with her napkin, before placing it to the table and picking up another bundle of noodles between her chopsticks. “I can understand that. Some people really get bizarre in those classes. I once got into it with a guy who insisted on his hair-brained reddit factoids being true even though they stipulated that Stalin was like, this nice guy who loved kids and lattes.”

“Agh! What the fuck?”

“I know. I nearly asked him to throw hands on the quad afterward. Tell him where he could put his soviet apologia. I hate it when I’m made to feel like reduced to capitalist swine just for telling Craig whoever-the-hell that all his heroes died despotic cowards, and it’s not an ‘ironic’ fascination if he has a giant U.S.S.R flag hanging in his dorm room.”

Olivia snorts as she’s mid-gulp of broth, her hand going to her mouth and cupping against her lips and wet nose. She turns away briefly to wipe off her mess, while Cassandra looks on with a smile. A habitual concern is smearing her lipstick, but as she’s pressing, she remembers she didn't put on any that morning. In fact, she hardly bothered with anything more than concealer and eyeliner. She could rub her face in a thick towel, and it would be fine.

“I hope that was meant to be a laugh. You okay?” she comments, taking in another mouthful of noodles.

“You know,” Olivia remarks as she presses her napkin to her face, hopefully not smearing her contour or highlight, “you comment a lot on my quirks. You got a problem, Pentaghast?”

“Not at all, Sinclair. Why would I?” she tilts her chin, her hand stilling.

“Uh, I don’t know. You bothered, or whatever.” Maybe you’re trying to tell me to stop doing it by commenting, like my parents do. Darling, you’re mouth breathing. Sweetie, you talk when you can’t improve the silence.

“Nah,” Cassandra chews small, “Just teasing. If anything, your concern should be that I find you too fascinating to be real.”

Butterflies. She’s been causing them more lately ever since they agreed to this ‘friendship.’ Because that was totally what was supposed to happen when you’re good pals.

“Hm,” Olivia nods, preparing another bite in her bowl. “I’ll take that answer.”

“Lofty affirmation.”

“Yep.”

They settle into eating for a minute or two. Her phone had sat untouched on the corner of the table, on silent, too. Texts and calls don’t matter in the moment. It’s her getaway for more reasons than she’d like to admit.

“Speaking of bothered. Cullen’s still trying to pretend he doesn’t care that Ellinor wants to be friends. There’s no living with him,” Cassandra says, breaking the contented silence. “It’s been, what, a week since they got that group project assignment?”

“Ugh, yeah,” Olivia watches her broth as she stirs around the floating veggies. “Ellinor won’t stop not talking about it. But they’re finally meeting up soon, right? They have to. It’s like, the rule of group projects.”

“...Does she like him?”

“Does he like her?”

Their eyes meet, and smiles grow on both their faces. Olivia laughs to off-set her nerves from it. “Shit, obvious answers are obvious.” 

She shakes some more of the hoisin sauce into her bowl, before tossing it up in the air towards Cassandra’s side. Cassandra, in her athletic prowess, catches it without so much as looking up.

“You’re keeping me on my toes. What’s next, another ‘trust’ fall?”

Olivia shakes her head mockingly and upturns her nose. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

“You got the wrong girl if you’re looking for lack of protestation,” Cassandra counters, mixing.

“Maybe you’d find better company with those people watching us get on your bike. They looked full of ideas to protest. Women’s reproductive choice, suffrage, poor people having rights…”

“You mean Daniel and everyone?”

Great. Of course, she knows them. “...Uh, sure?”

“Hah,” Cassandra shakes her head. “They’re opinionated, alright. Just not very good, or original, at it. They go to Church. Our families know each other. All fun friends at the ski lodge and mission trips,” she mocks, eyes rolling a bit.

Church, church, church. It all went back to Church. That was perhaps the most religious thought she had ever had on her own volition.

“So, I take it they’re not very cool?”

“That’s one way of putting it. Insufferable is another.”

“Does that mean they don’t like you being around me?”

Cassandra holds her noodles mid-air hanging on the chopsticks as she pauses to give her a look. “Liv, they dislike a lot of things.”

“Yeah, but, they were giving me shitty glares of death in the parking lot. And I’m not a thing.”

“I didn’t say you where. I just meant that--”

“It’d make sense, I mean...promiscuous witch straddling your bike with her blasphemous thighs, you riding off on the highway to hell,” she starts to choke on her laugh, unable to keep a straight face.

Cassandra smiles smartly. There’s a glimmer in her eye that wasn’t there before. “I try not to worry what other people think. It gets ridiculous after a while, if you let it under your skin. My family brings enough attention to my life as it is. I don’t need to treat everything like tabloid fodder in my free time. But if I did, I’d want it to be written using your flare for vivid imagery.”

She’s eloquent, even when she’s hanging out with no audience. A bit awkward on the delivery at times, but sincere. It’s adorable.

“Right,” Olivia crinkles her nose, “heh, you’re right. I shouldn’t have picked. It’s pointless. I am who I am, anyways.”

“Yes, you are.” She looks up and sees Cassandra admiring her with that quiet, confident stare. A straight mouth, but softened eyes. It’s all in the eyes.

They finish more than an hour later, way passed the amount of time it objectively takes to down a small order of pho. They also take their time walking back to her bike. It’s a partly cloudy day, but warm -- worth the dallying. Olivia will probably get sunburnt, but there’s no reason to care. She does that thing where she pretends she’s walking on a tightrope, and even hops on a couple side-by-side benches to do so. Cassandra keeps to herself, but matches her pace at every slow-down and quickening of steps.

Then, she does one of those things that surprises Olivia just as she thinks she has the situation settled: as she approaches the end of the last bench, Cassandra offers her hand to her. She stops and stares at it, probably longer than she should if the goal is to play it all cool and nonchalant. 

Her eyes flicker to Cassandra’s. She’s looking at her with civil kindness, impossible to read. Olivia tucks her chin a bit, grins, and glides her palm ever-so-quickly against hers. She hops down and feels the bracing strength in her handhold -- it was not needed, but it was something else. Something humbling. With her feet back on the ground, she is the first to remove her hand, so that she doesn’t have to survive the sensation of Cassandra being the first to break away. 

Eventually it’s back on the bike and to campus where they belong. On the way, Olivia leans against her back, inch for inch, but it’s no big deal. Jesus still has room, somewhere, right? At one point, though, when they are rounding onto a neighborhood street -- one she recognizes as being a couple blocks from Rylen’s house of horrors -- she lets her hand go out to the side, fingers spindling through the air. Cassandra looks over, but due to the helmet, she can’t tell whether she’s mad or not. She doesn’t say anything, and Cassandra is the kind of person to say something -- so she takes it as approval.

When they pull into the fire lane behind her dorm and stop, Olivia would rather stick a hair pin in her eye and dismount. But, she makes it look easy as best she can, hopping down and sliding the helmet off her head. She hands it back to her while shaking her hair loose. Cassandra remains on her seat, but sits up. It gives Olivia leave to stand close, for the sake of the engine noise.

“Thanks for the ride. It was a perfect first bike trip,” she teases, thumbs hooking onto her backpack straps.

“No problem,” Cassandra projects through the rim of her helmet.

Olivia rolls her lip. “I’ll...uh, I’ll text you.”

“Please do.”

Dammit with that poker face. What gives? What’s in it for her? What’s got her so smug?

“Okay, well…” she rocks her weight between her toes and her heels, “get home safe!”

“I will. Have a good night, Olivia.”

This is where she is supposed to walk away. Again. She nods and turns for the door to the ground floor. Although, Cassandra does not turn tail and leave until Olivia is fully inside, safe and sound -- as if that were a concern to have, logically.

Oh, she can do that, but she can’t push be back on the bike seat and...

Once inside, she exhales her pent up breath and shoulders the wall, groaning. Everything is great, but yields no decisive result. Cassandra makes being straight look like a corkscrew roller-coaster ride, and feel like it, too. Olivia is signing up for every go-around she can, only to be dropped off and told to collect her bag and loose jewelry from the cubby hole.

Her thoughts go quiet as she gets up the stairs, and onto her and Ellinor’s floor. And who does she meet coming her way but the grunge queen herself, who’s face flushes in the instant they see each other. Ellinor is dressed for public, and carrying her bag. Her book bag. It’s gotta be no later than 5pm. She tries to pivot and go the other way, but Olivia is hep to her antics.

“No no, no you don’t missy!” she calls after her, walking faster to catch up, “get back here!”

“I don’t...I cant...I can’t hear you!” Ellinor mouths while she stuffs her other headphone back in her ear.

“Ellinor Trevelyan!”

She freezes, shoulders bunch against her ears.

“That’s right. Turn around and meet your maker. Where are you going at this temperate evening hour?”

“Uh…” Ellinor side-steps, “I got...homework…”

“What kind of homework? Would that be...Lit homework?”

“No!”

Olivia stops in front of her, and with a swift fist she punches her best friend’s bookbag. It feels like a sack of cinderblocks. “Right. That’s Lit class heaviness. Try again.”

Ellinor sucks on her cheek, folding her arms that are wrapped in hoodie sleeves. “I’ve got Lit homework. Sue me.”

“Oh, you bet your ass you do. A project’s worth. You going to meet with someone?”

“Maybe. I got friends, you know.”

Olivia narrows her eyes. “Bullshit. Who?”

“No one in the vicinity…”

“Hah! You’re meeting up with him! Fucking finally!”

Ellinor slumps and bends her knees, tossing her head back. “Shit, yes okay, fine. I am. We have a meet-up. I’m doing what I’m supposed to. Got it? Had your fun?”

Olivia dances from foot to foot, smiling and giggling with triumph. “Ohoho, don’t stay out too late, child. Curfew it at 9:30pm! Make good choices! Don’t let him get all in your petticoats!”

Ellinor looks ready to astral project out of this dimension and call it a day. But, as Olivia passes her and backwards steps so that she can continue mocking her with giggles and singing words, she surprisingly stays grounded in this plane of existence.

“Stu-dy bud-dies, stu-dy bud-dies, stu-dy bud-dies!” Olivia chants, scooting her boots back towards her door down the hall.

“Yeah, right! Better than noodle buddies! Get enough slurping?!” Ellinor barks back.

Olivia blushes and bites her lip, before turning her but toward her and perking it up. “Never enough!”

“Ugh, son of a--”

“Buh-bye, friend! Have fun! Kiss kiss fall in love!”

Ellinor makes her escape, drawing the line at old anime haunts of their freshman year depression pit. That leaves Olivia at her door, keys rustling in her backpack side pocket. She gets out her phone and makes quick for her messages, typing in Cassandra’s name.

-- I think Ellinor is coming over to your place for their project. Look alive and be prepared to evacuate the premises if necessary, lol. 

Olivia shoves her key in her lock and feels another buzzing sensation. Thinking -- hoping -- it’s Cassandra, she looks quick.  

To her disappointment, it’s Mom:

-- Do not forget the gala coming up! You HAVE to come home before! Mom-daughter time at the spa, LOL! Love ya! XO

Right. God dammit. She lets her arms fall and rocks her forehead into her door, groaning with the bane of a thousand tempers. Right around midterms, no less. Cassandra was right -- it was fatiguing to care about what other people thought. But it was different to overcome that when your entire life was groomed for social climbing, instead of you being born already at the top like she had. It’s easier not to care when you’re looking down at all your critics.

But, Mommy-Daughter spa time! ‘LOL’ was not the sentiment she would have used to describe it. “Fate worse than death she must relive for all time” -- now that, that was an apt descriptor. She gets in through her door, drops her stuff on her desk, and hops into the shower soon after. Once that’s done and she returns wrapped in a towel, her thoughts have spun once or twice around the planet’s equator. Turning the lamp on as its getting dark outside, she unplugs her phone from the charger by her desk, and pulls up Ellinor’s name in her texts.

-- My Mom isn’t dropping the museum trustee gala nightmare she wants to drag me to. I want to walk the plank. Hope your not-study date is going well! Tell Cullen hey for me, and be niceee!!!! 

She’ll probably invite Ellinor to come along so that her Mom doesn’t get to push her onto the arm of one of her girlfriends’ sons, or even worse, one of Olivia’s beefcake cousins. It’s more than annoying, it’s excruciating, and she hates that it is. 

Collapsing back on her bed, she exhales with the daydream of Cassandra by the lamp post wearing that jacket. She wants it all to herself, safe and sound. Fuck.

[justforbooks]

REBECCA CHAPMAN, who has a master of arts in English and comparative literature from Columbia University, hit bottom professionally last summer when she could not even get a job that did not pay. Vying for an internship at a boutique literary agency in Manhattan, Ms. Chapman, 25, had gone on three separate interviews with three people on three different days. “They couldn’t even send me an e-mail telling me I didn’t get it,” she said. 

It’s a story familiar to anyone seeking to break into the New York publishing world. Willie Osterweil, 25, an aspiring novelist who graduated magna cum laude from Cornell in 2009, found himself sweeping Brooklyn movie theaters for $7.25 an hour. And the closest that Helena Fitzgerald, a recent Columbia graduate, got was an interview at a top magazine, during which the editor dismissed her literary career dreams, telling her, “C’mon, that’s not realistic.”

Which explains, in a way, how they all ended up on a crisp November night, huddled together at an invitation-only party at a cramped, bookshelved apartment on the Upper East Side.

It was the weekly meeting of The New Inquiry, a scrappy online journal and roving clubhouse that functions as an Intellectuals Anonymous of sorts for desperate members of the city’s literary underclass barred from the publishing establishment. Fueled by B.Y.O.B. bourbon, impressive degrees and the angst that comes with being young and unmoored, members spend their hours filling the air with talk of Edmund Wilson and poststructuralism.

Lately, they have been catching the eye of the literary elite, earning praise that sounds as extravagantly brainy as the thesis-like articles that The New Inquiry uploads every few days.

“They’re the precursor of this kind of synthesis of extrainstitutional intellectualism, native to the Internet, native to the city dweller,” said the novelist Jonathan Lethem, an early champion.

“They’re not trapped within an old paradigm,” he added. “They’re just making it their own.”

The New Inquiry is edited by Rachel Rosenfelt, 26, who graduated from Barnard College in 2009. Though she had some luck finding work, her exposure to the literary establishment left her unimpressed. “It killed my interest in publishing,” she said of her internship at The New Yorker during her freshman year. “It just felt like they had all ‘arrived.’ It was boring. No one talked. The only real rule was, ‘Don’t mess this up.’ ”

Young, Web-savvy and idealistic, she and two friends — Jennifer Bernstein and Mary Borkowski — wanted to create their generation’s version of cultural criticism, equally versed in Theodor Adorno and Britney Spears. Finding contributors was easy: their social circle was filled with overeducated, underemployed postgrads willing to work free to be heard on subjects like Kanye West’s effect on the proletarian meta-narrative of hip-hop.

After earning a master’s and writing on a farm in upstate New York, Ms. Chapman returned to the city uncertain about what to do next.

“I met Rachel on one of my first days back,” she said, “and she was like, ‘Be our new literary editor.’ ”

There was no thought of turning a profit. But who cared? No one was making any money on the traditional path, anyway.  

“There’s something incredibly liberating,” Ms. Rosenfelt  said, “when you realize that climbing that ladder is a ladder to nowhere.”

Ms. Chapman added: “My whole life, I had been doing everything everybody told me. I went to the right school. I got really good grades. I got all the internships. Then, I couldn’t do anything.”

Ms. Rosenfelt and her collaborators envisioned a kind of literary salon reminiscent of the Lost Generation of the 1920s. So once a week, about 20 of The New Inquirer’s contributors and guests gather at an unmarked clandestine bookstore, a sort of literary speakeasy, in a second-floor, three-room apartment on the Upper East Side.

At 9 p.m. on a recent Thursday, Ms. Rosenfelt, wearing a black sweater, miniskirt and combat boots, appeared behind a blue door in the unimposing prewar apartment building. The door creaked open to reveal a disheveled space that looked like a used-book store in any college town, with shelves of yellowing volumes of Dostoyevsky and Camus reaching to the ceiling and air thick with the musty smell of stale tobacco and old paperbacks.

This space belongs to a bookseller in his 50s, the godfather for The New Inquiry, a man with bushy brows and the affably abstruse mien of a coffeehouse intellectual. (He asked that his name and identifying details not be published because his building prohibits a shop in the space.) He opens only by invitation, when he feels like it.

Ms. Rosenfelt described meeting there as a form of “urban hacking.”

For the first hour, attendees, most in their mid-20s and many dressed in untucked oxford shirts and off-brand jeans, mingled around a rickety table packed with half-empty Jim Beam bottles.

Despite the fact that everyone was young and attractive, no one seemed to flirt or network. Instead, they traded heady banter about the Situationists and reveled in an atmosphere of warmhearted mutual support; it felt like an oral dissertation mixed with a ’70s encounter group. 

At one point, a few debated, only half-ironically, whether a new bank in a former Dunkin Donuts nearby was philosophically akin to the French reactionaries’ construction of the Sacré Coeur basilica on the site of the Paris Commune’s insurrection in 1870.

Then, around 10 p.m., Ms. Rosenfelt called everyone into the main room. The highlight of each salon is a group reading in which each person selects a three-minute reading on the predetermined topic.

“We’re reading about ‘failed revolutions’ tonight,” Ms. Rosenfelt reminded the crowd. She started with a passage from “To the Finland Station,” “in which Edmund Wilson couches the inevitable failure of Marxism in Edmund Wilson’s idea of the national and ethnic identity of Marx.”

The room exploded in vaudeville-style hoots.

Continuing around the circle, Ms. Fitzgerald, the would-be magazine writer, read from “The Cantos,” by Ezra Pound. Mr. Osterweil, the frustrated novelist, read from Guy Debord’s “Society of the Spectacle.” Tim Barker, a junior at Columbia, awkwardly admitted that he, too, had chosen a reading from Debord. (What are the odds?)

One young attendee offered a reading from Gustave Flaubert’s “Sentimental Education.”

“A lot of this book takes place during the revolutions of 1848,” he explained. “The part that I think has a good point for revolutionaries is how quickly a failed revolution can descend into careerism.”

The word hung in the air, as noxious as cigarette smoke.

DESPITE its slacker-revolutionary spirit, The New Inquiry is starting to tiptoe toward the publishing mainstream.

With an audience that understands references to consumerism as “a hedonic treadmill,” many articles in The New Inquiry make The Paris Review look like a beach read. Arch and often aggressively leftist, the articles dance effortlessly from Jacques Derrida to Lady Gaga.

Recent pieces include a review of Ben Jeffery’s “Anti-Matter”; a critical survey of the novels of the French provocateur Michel Houellebecq; an essay on the class struggle portrayed in “Rise of the Planet of the Apes”; and a personal piece by Malcolm Harris, a young writer who recalled growing up in the suburbs and finding sanctuary in Borders.

The journal counts cultural savants like Todd Gitlin, Douglas Rushkoff and Mark Greif, a founder of N + 1, as early champions, and articles have been linked on Andrew Sullivan’s Daily Beast blog and the National Public Radio Web site. Even barbs by the establishment elicit pride, like when James Wolcott of Vanity Fair called Mr. Osterweil’s film criticism “Maoist” on Twitter.

On Sunday, the journal is to make a social debut of sorts among the city’s literary A-list, organizing — in partnership with the publisher New Directions, Google and others — a marathon reading of Frederic Tuten’s novel “The Adventures of Mao on the Long March,” featuring 60 readers, including writers like A. M. Homes, Kurt Andersen and Oscar Hijuelos, at the Jane hotel in the West Village.

And even though staff members routinely serve up gloomy eulogies over the “death of print,” the publication plans to roll out a quarterly print edition next year, along with an iPad magazine for $2 a month. Its breakout stars are even starting to climb publishing’s “ladder to nowhere.”

Atossa Abrahamian, 25, an editor, has written for New York Magazine. Sarah Leonard, 23, is an associate editor at Dissent. Mr. Harris, 22, who was sifting through grad-school rejection notices a year ago, has written for N + 1 and Utne Reader and has been called out by Glenn Beck on television. 

This is not to say that the generational angst fueling The  New Inquiry is likely to vanish soon. At the most recent salon two weeks ago, Will Canine, the operations director, showed up with 5 o’clock shadow after spending 35 hours in jail following his arrest at the Occupy Wall Street protests. 

Tim Barker, a junior at Columbia, said he was drawn to the salons for the chance to “discuss ideas at an extremely high level, without worrying about status or material support of traditional institutions: publishing houses or universities.” He added, though, that while he aspires to be a history professor, he was “extremely conscious of the contraction of job opportunities” in publishing and academia.

Inside the bookstore, however, the turmoil of the outside world seemed far away. The lights were low, the conversation crackling.  

“This is my fantasy: a room full of books, people talking about books — it smells like books,” explained Ms. Chapman, the journal’s literary editor. “It’s the literary community that I had read about when I was younger. It’s Moveable Feast-type stuff.”

Despite her upbeat take on the proceedings, Ms. Chapman admitted she wasn’t feeling chipper. It was her birthday. A happy occasion? For most, maybe — but not, she explained, when you are turning 25, having graduated summa from Cornell, with a master’s from Columbia, only to find yourself unemployed and back living at home with your parents.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[vocallykaix]

Lost and Found {3}

genre: mostly fluff, tad of angst??

requested: @tenjaehyunsehuntaemin

length: 2.1k words

pairing: Johnny Seo x Reader

summary: The best time of the week was the weekend when you can see your 4 year old niece but one close call led you to meeting a certain handsome man

You’d exchanged a few text with Young Ho through the week just getting to know each other better and talking about the plans for Saturday, you found he wasn’t a teacher, in fact he was a radio host and even had his own segment called Night Night or something.

Saturday rolled around quicker then you’d been ready for, before you knew it it was 7:30pm and you were cleaning your apartment like your life depended on it, you cursed yourself for not starting sooner but you’d had class and work so you barely had time to eat. Young Ho said he would be there at 8 and you were almost finished so you began to slow down thinking you had more then enough time to just sweep the floor but you spoke too soon. Just as you finished Sun Hee knocked over the cookie bowl while trying to grab one sending crumbs and broken ceramic everywhere “Don’t move!” You said a little too loudly as Sun Hee’s lip dropped and quivered “what, no I’m not shouting at you, it’s okay, I just don’t want you to hurt yourself on the broken pieces” you panicked. Apparently this wasn’t enough to convince Sun Hee as she started to sob at the top of her lungs. You rushed over and scooped her up, checking her feet for any cuts which lucky for you was all clear, the last thing you wanted was an injured toddler and your sister on your back.

Just as you got Sun Hee sat down there was a knock at the door, SHIT he’s early! “Sun Hee baby, stop crying for a minute, I’m not mad” you stroke her arm trying to comfort her but she just cried harder. You run your hands down your face and go and open the door. Young Ho’s smile dropped when he saw your face and heard the crying from inside “oh no, what happened?” You stepped aside letting him come in “well there’s the cookie jar and I accidentally raised my voice about her not hurting herself and now this” you waved your arms about motioning to everything that was going on.

“Wow... well I guess I’ll go in, wish me luck” he laughed as he made his way to Sun Hee and of course as soon as she saw him her crying stopped and she opened her arms and ran to him.

“Oppa!! Do you have Moanna?!”

“Of course! It’s in my bag” he said picking her up and spinning her. What a snake.

You clean up the mess careful not to leave anything out that she could brake or hurt herself with, before making your way to the sofa. Young Ho had put the movie in the player and just had it on pause “everyone ready? I brought snacks too" he reached into his bag and pulled out a bunch of snacks and settled them on the table in front of the couch.

“Thanks, You didn’t have to, There’s more in the kitchen if you want anything else, I’m just gonna get changed real quick, you can start without me” he nodded and sat on the couch pressing play.

You didn’t know what to wear! You wanted to be comfortable but not sloppy but you didn’t want to dress up because it would look weird if you dressed up while watching a movie in your own house! Would he even notice what you're wearing? It’s going to be dark anyways right? You sigh and just put some sweat pants on with a plain shirt and stomp out of your room. You wanted him to have a good impression of you, the last thing you want is a cute guy thinking your a slob but from how you looked the past two encounters you guess that was already out of the the window.

You made your way back to the living room and found Sun Hee itching closer and closer to the Tv, you don’t even think she knew she was doing it, she was just that into the movie, it would be nice to be a kid again. Young Ho greeted you with a smile which you returned and you sat on the floor in from of them trying to get into the movie with Sun Hee.

“Hey” Young Ho bent down and whispered in your ear “can you pass the chips” he got closer with every word. So you hit him. In the face. With his beloved chips. You heard him laugh and whisper a thank you, it was weird how comfortable he made people around him, you didn’t know him that well yet his easy going aura just allowed you to joke around easily. He was one of those good people to hang out with.

It was around half way through the movie when his phone rang, he looked at the contact and stood up suddenly making both you and Sun Hee jump “umm, give me a sec” he rushed of into the kitchen and you heard him answer the call before he turned the corner, you shrugged it off, it was none of your business but what confused you was the look of on his face when he came back out, it was an unreadable expression.

“I really need to go” he rushed picking up his bag “I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you” he ran his hand through his hair as you got him his coat.

“Is everything okay?” You raised an eyebrow as he followed you to the door.

“Uh yeah” he gave out a clearly fake laugh which brought your attention back to his face and he cleared his throat “yeah of course, just some stuff to do at home” he fixed his bag to his shoulder and stepped out the door you’d opened for him “I’ll text you okay? Bye Sun Hee” he shouted past you.

“Bye” Sun Hee didn’t even take her eyes of the screen.

“Yeah, I’ll give you the movie back then” you said smiling.

“Great, see ya later” he shot you a smile before jogging away.

You wanted to ask more about what happened but you didn’t want to pry in to his personal business and you figured if he wanted to tell you he would have when you asked if he was okay, so you tried to drop it but you still had the same curiosity at the back of your mind every time you spoke to him. He’d text you that night as he said he would, he apologise for leaving so abruptly and asked if he could come over again or if you wanted to go out somewhere on the Tuesday after you finished class and you said you’d love to but Sun Hee was with her presents during the week and that’s when he dropped something you didn’t know if you were ready for. "That’s fine, it can just be the two of us this time lol :)" There wasn’t anything wrong with that of course, you weren’t going to be one of those girls who automatically thought the guy was asking them out, the thing was now that you look back at it you’d never been alone with Young Ho. Would it be awkward? You doubt he’d let it be but you, you were the definition of awkward when you’re on your own. Either way in the end you ended up agreeing, might as well test the waters, plus Young Ho seemed like a great person and you didn’t have too many friends that were free to hang out outside of classes and your best friend Min Seo was on vacation so you hoped this would be the perfect opportunity to make a new friend.

Classes couldn’t have been worse these past two days, you were sure all your professors had made a deal to assign homework all at once making it due the same week. You swear they thought students had nothing else to do with their lives then to take and study their classes. You felt overwhelmed with the amount of work you’d been given and how fast you were expected to do it, but the worst part is your brain had found this the perfect time to just... lag, you just couldn’t get the assignments started and it was frustrating beyond belief at this rate you knew you wouldn’t be able to finish the assignments and go out on the later with Young Ho. It was already 3 pm and you’d written a single paragraph and you were 70% sure it had nothing to do with the science assignment you were trying to write, so you decided you had to text him and say you couldn’t make it.

(Y/N) - “Heyy, I’m so sorry but I don’t think I’ll be able to come later, I have a lot of work to do this week :(“

Young Ho - “Ugh I get it, I hate my class because of all the work they set lol,what are you working on?"

(Y/N) - "Science, biology isn’t my strong point and I have major brain lag atm"

Young Ho - "You take biology? I used to do it but changed courses, want some help?"

(Y/N) - "Since I’m texting you and not doing it, I guess I do need help if you’re offering but if you just distract me I’ll fight"

Young Ho - "Wow so aggressive, if you keep scaring me I can’t help you (y/n)..”

(Y/N) - "Shut up, you coming or not?"

Young Ho - "I get off work in an hour, see you then ;)"

You’d managed about three sentences and a sandwich when you heard the knock on the door where you met with the same goofy smile as always, Young Ho was dressed in a white shirt tucked into his black skinny jeans, wow, must be nice to look effortlessly good in simple clothes. Can’t relate.

You let him in and resumed eating your sandwich

“Wow I know you said you had brain lag but is this it?” He asked sitting next to you and looking at your laptop.

“Hmm mm” you hummed slightly embarrassed “ I really don’t know where to go with this” you out taking another bite. You felt his eyes on you so you turned returned the gaze “... want some?” You push your plate over to him

“mmm (y/n)’s half half eaten sandwich” he chuckled sarcastically still taking the sandwich and taking a bite though “thanks” he said while chewing, You just rolled your eyes knocking him with your elbow

“Are you going to help me now?” You sighed

“Oh, right, show me the task” you nodded and handed him the folder.

He skimmed over the folder raising his eye brows and nodding every so often letting an “ohhh” escape at the end “right so it’s easier then it sounds, this bit” he points to the folder “is talked about in this bit” he said flipping a few pages in your text book and pointing “and this in this” he continues pointing out everywhere you had to read and things you needed to include and before you knew it you’d begun actually making progress.

It was 8:45 when you’d completely finished In between snack brakes and chatting but it was one down and two to go but this was one big weight of of your chest. You lay back against your couch with a sigh

“It’s over, it’s really over” Young Ho lay back mimicking your actions

“And it’s all thanks to me” he laughed

“Sadly, I can’t argue that, I owe you one”

“Don’t worry, about it, it was better then doing nothing” you let out a yawn and slid down the sofa

“You’re tired already?” He laughed “it is getting late” he pushed himself of the sofa and picked up the blanket folded on the counter and threw it over you, you raised an eyebrow and he just shrugged “I’ll see you later, if you need any more help just text me” he said putting on his coat and walking to the door “don’t forget to lock up” he shouted before you heard the door shut.

Spending time alone wasn’t as bad as you’d thought, it was actually pretty nice.

part - 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6

A/N

I know the chapters are getting longer and i have no regrets ,but let me know if you want longer or shorter chapters and i’ll do my best. I promise the series is going to pick up very soon please stay with me here ,Thank youu~ :)

[sterek]

lols legit i just love me my fluff and mutual pining and just all types of that wonderfulness, even with light angst tbh and i love me my HS Aus or college Aus or Human Aus or anything inbetween lmfao XD Ur brilliant and hope this isn't too much of a bother =D

Sorry it took so long, I got distracted! Here are some recs :) [Sorry if I don’t have a lot of light or human fics, most of my bookmarks are heavy werewolf angst oops. I went through half my bookmarks and this is already too long lol enjy!]

I’ve Been Everywhere With You by Leslie_Knope [61k, E]

“Dude, you should totally come with me.”

“What? Like on the road trip?“

“No, come with me. To Austin. Get out of Beacon Hills.”

Derek paused. “What?” he asked again.

He’s Not Mine by Sunnee [68k, E]

Derek comes home to find an abandoned werebaby on his front porch and Stiles volunteers to help him out. Surprisingly, that is just the beginning of his problems.

302, I Love You by paintedrecs [4k, T]

It was a beautiful summer morning—mid-70s with a light breeze, ideal weather for soaking up the sun without fear of overheating. If anyone asked, that was why Stiles was sitting on his balcony with a book he hadn’t touched in the last half hour and a mug of coffee he’d been absently sipping from, his gaze fixed on the parking lot several stories below.

Coincidentally, one of his neighbors—Hot Dude From 302, not that it was relevant—had chosen the same morning to wash his stupidly flashy Camaro.

Shyft by paintedrecs [6k, T]

Derek finally gave the driver more than a passing glance.

He was roughly Derek’s age and surprisingly handsome, despite the ugly plaid shirt he’d rolled up past his elbows. He had broad shoulders, honey-dark hair, a line of moles trailing enticingly along his cheek, and thick eyelashes framing dark eyes that glittered with humor. And he was laughing at Derek.

***

At the end of a long work day, all Derek wanted was to get home as quickly as possible. When his scheduled ride showed up—distractingly good-looking, driving a beat-up Jeep, and full of interesting conversation—Derek felt like his evening might turn out a whole lot better than he’d expected. Until his trust issues flared back to life, telling him "Stiles” wasn’t everything that he’d seemed.

Lovebitten by LunaCanisLupus_22 [10k, M]

The one where Derek gets bitten by a lovebug and Stiles is the first person he lays eyes on. Hilarity ensues.

Bricks by paintedrecs [8k, T]

“Mornin’, love,“ Derek says, and Stiles freezes in his arms. They haven’t exchanged official I love you’s yet, and Derek seems determined to derail Stiles’s plans to say it first. With fireworks. Or bubble baths. Something epic.

The point is, Derek barely even seems to realize he’s doing it, and it’s driving Stiles crazy.

Or: My first time writing a 5 + 1 fic.

remember my love by bleep0bleep [23k, T]

Stiles wakes up and suddenly the war is over, he’s no longer a penniless mage, and living in an exquisite manor married to the man he’s been in love with for far too long.

“It’ll be fine,” Stiles says gallantly. “I am certain I will just fall in love with my husband all over again, and I will find plenty of joy doing that.” He winks at Derek for good measure.Derek blinks.

ritten in the Stars by Quixoticity [26k, M]

Derek Hale is a lucky guy. He’s got a great family, good friends, and a fulfilling job as a tattoo artist.

He’s also one of the twenty-five per cent of the population born with a soul mark.

He likes his life, but he’s waiting for his soul-match. The odds of meeting them aren’t great but hey, Derek’s a lucky guy. He has faith.

He can’t believe how good his luck really is when one day his soul-match wanders right into his studio, all long limbs and copper eyes. There’s just one problem: Stiles is there to get his soul mark covered up. Permanently.

No Homo by RemainNameless [84k, E]

Stiles’ sophomore year starts something like this:3 FourLokos+ 1 peer-pressuring cat- 1 best bro to end all best bros= 1 Craigslist ad headline that reads "str8 dude - m4m - strictly platonic”.Derek is the fool who replies.

Cross our bridges when we come to them by RemainNameless [103k, M]

The five times Derek called the Sheriff “Dad” on accident and the first time he did it on purpose.

Our Hearts Are Tigers by skoosiepants [7k, T]

This is what Stiles figures out after a week of harboring Isaac: he’s kind of a dick, for a ten-year-old.

Turn a Little Faster by skoosiepants [3k, T]

He shifts back and forth on his feet and tries to psych himself up. He can do this. He’s a badass werewolf, he can totally tell Stiles that they accidentally got werewolf married because—because Stiles was thinking about him, and happened to give him a token of his, uh, affection under the silvery light of the last full moon. Platonic affection, Derek thinks sourly, so he doesn’t get why his wolf feels all warm and fuzzy and bonded all of a sudden.

Honestly, it’s like—why aren’t people accidentally getting werewolf married all the time, if it happens this easily?

Filter Out the Starlight by skoosiepants [12k, T]

“Why are you not more curious about me?” Stiles says when Derek’s got the door half open, sun spilling over the dark wood, dust motes spinning about his legs. Stiles is wearing fabric that hasn’t been invented yet, he’s clutching a smart phone to his chest, and he appeared out of nowhere, like an angel.

Softly, Derek says, “We all have our secrets,” and closes the door.

Or-

A heartbroken Stiles accidentally travels back in time to find his one true love. A harlequin-ish Christmas romance.

Under Yellow Moons by skoosiepants [17k, T]

They stare at each other, half-grinning, and Derek knows it’s definitely the absolute wrong time for this, but he wants. He wants to grin at Stiles over dinner every day for the rest of his life, baffled over yams and Moon Pie Day, and, god, crap, goddamn, when the fuck did he have time to fall in love?

Or

The life and times of Deputy Stiles and Supernatural Foster Dad Derek Hale

Lord knows it would be the first time by uraneia [12k, E]

Stiles is home from Berkeley for the summer, but only because he promised the pack. He’d rather not see Derek, because whatever the thing was that they were doing, they’re not doing it anymore, and it sucks.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a choice. The betas tried a magical remedy for Derek’s melancholy, and now Stiles has a three-year-old who looks like Derek. Stiles doesn’t know how to deal with that, and he definitely doesn’t know how to tell the betas he and Derek were secret fuck buddies for a year and a half.

You Smell Like Mine by bleep0bleep [13k, E]

People talk about the alpha instinct, an alpha’s head being swayed by a nice-smelling omega, or the desire to drop everything and show off. Derek’s never felt any of that. He’s just not that kind of alpha.

Then he meets Stiles.

The Prince and His Painter by Dexterous_Sinistrous [8k, G]

Stiles was always a sick child. He was never supposed to live beyond his infancy—shocking many when he reaches adulthood. With his inevitable death looming over his country, Stiles chooses to accept a successor through marriage. His advisors commission a painter to capture the prince’s likeness in order to advertise him to potential candidates. Only, Derek Hale isn’t like most painters—or humans, for that matter.

Certain Kind of Fool by saraubs [36k, M]

Derek, who has been dragged against his will to the same resort his family visits every summer, is determined to spend the next two and a half months sequestered in his room. His only friend, his sister Laura, is preoccupied with her newly-bonded mate, and doesn’t seem to care about anything but making him happy.

When Derek meets Stiles Stilinski, a sharp-tongued waiter, he thinks that this summer might not be a complete waste of time. There are only two problems: First, Stiles is human. Second, he doesn’t believe in mates.

Painful Maneuvers by saraubs [11k, T]

Still, whether or not the nurses want to hear it, Derek has some serious issues with the way Stiles skates around the ward, upending instruments and scattering papers and chewing on pens. His scrubs never fit right and are always riding up to show patches of smooth, pale skin and his hair is frankly pornographic. It’s just so…unprofessional.

Stiles is a hyperactive Obstetrician. Derek is a grumpy Midwife. It’s true love (and babies!).

little spoon by bibliosexual [6k, T]

To save money while attending college in NYC, Stiles and Derek decide to rent one tiny apartment together. With one bed.

you know you’re on my mind by bibliosexual [16k, T]

If there’s one thing Derek’s learned in life, it’s that crushing on someone who lives on an entire other fucking continent is probably a bad idea.

Put Down in Words by paintedrecs [203k, M]

“Oh,” Stiles said, his voice coming out low and breathy, “fuck me.”

“I don’t think that’s on the syllabus, but we can check to see if there’s a spot open in any of his classes,” Scott said, grinning.

“This isn’t an actual professor, though,” Stiles insisted, unable to resist brushing his thumb over the sharp line of the man’s bearded jaw. He was laughing at something off-camera, the shot taken in three-quarters view, his coat collar casually rumpled and opened to reveal a sliver of a simple grey t-shirt. The whole thing was deliberately calculated to lend him a more accessible feel, and god help him, Stiles was falling for it.

*

When Stiles signed up for Dr. Hale’s intro to history class, he had two goals: knock out the credits his advisor was bugging him to complete before he graduated, and spend a few hours a week daydreaming about his sexy professor’s salt and pepper beard.

Derek, a few months away from turning forty and not sure when his life had started feeling so damn lonely, had never encountered someone like Stiles before. Bright-eyed, sharp-tongued, determined to throw Derek’s carefully cultivated world into disarray…and absolutely the last person Derek should be falling in love with.

Somewhere Else, Someone Else by megxmas [19k, T]

They’re sitting in the car, and Stiles’ dad is poring over the scans, gesturing violently at the air. ‘I just don’t understand!’ he says. ‘There’s never been anything out of the ordinary on any of your tests, and yet you always have seizures! How come nothing ever comes up?’

Stiles shrugs, has heard his dad complain about this a dozen times before. Stiles is pretty sure that he and Derek are some kind of magical soulmates and this is the way the world has decided to connect them, but somehow, he doesn’t think that’ll fly as an explanation.

Cupboard Love by mklutz [32k, G]

He’s carefully balancing the sandwiches and the two biggest tupperware containers he could find that both had functioning lids when the front door opens and he almost drops everything right there in front of the stupid fountain.

If that’s Derek Hale, he’s definitely not a mountain man.

The Epic Love Story of Wolf and Twister by KeriArentikai [11k, E]

Stiles has a tiny adorable hyper puppy. Derek has an awesome huge Malamute mix. They both go to the dog park a lot.

So, obviously, Sterek ensues.

One life stand by Vendelin [84k, E]

Stiles is used to selling himself to make ends meet. But it’s getting harder to keep those ends meeting, and there’s only so much of Stiles to go around. Until a too-fancy car shows up in his neighborhood, and he meets Derek Hale.

All Derek wants is Stiles’s time, someone to stay on his arm for events and smile for the cameras. It’s the easiest job Stiles has ever had, the best-paying one he’s ever had, and he’s more than happy to sign up.

Derek is everything and nothing Stiles expects him to be, with his tailored suits, sharp mind and his quiet way of caring. But it’s just a job and Stiles never meant to fall in love.

only fools rush in by decideophobia [13k, T]

Is it an imaginary date?

No. I met him in a coffee shop.

When?

This morning. It was love on first sight.

Millstone by eleanor_lavish [31k, E]

Derek waits until the door is shut behind him before he turns around. He holds out his hand, plants his ‘if you’re not weird about it, I won’t be’ smile on his face and says, “Nice to meet you, Stiles. I’m Michael. What kind of a good time are you looking for tonight?”

In Other Words, Baby, Kiss Me by primroseshows [61k, E]

Stiles has simple goals in life. To successfully complete his secret radar project without getting fired, to get a cottage on the Moon, and to untangle his mess of feelings for Moon Station 3 deputy, Derek Hale. Heck, he’ll even settle for two of the three.

i have always been the storm by stilinskisparkles [25k, E]

“You’re all headed out to Oklahoma in a week.”

Derek snaps his head up, stares at him in horror, “No, boss.”

“Yes,” Finstock insists in a steely voice. “The NSSL have been on at us for a year about some decent exposure, and I think you’re just the team to do it.”

“I haven’t done weather since college,” Derek protests.

Boyd snorts again, presumably because he’s thinking back to the time when Derek and the weather last collided and he…. well, did the guy into the weather for a brief, wonderful, terribly foolish time. But, Boyd needs to shut up before Derek punches him on the nose.

Abominable by Revenant [20k, T]

Where Derek buys a secluded cabin halfway up a mountain, meets a yeti and falls in love with Stiles, but not necessarily in that order.

The Cintron Hall Situation by dragon_temeraire [3k, T]

Stiles is freezing and miserable in his dorm, so he decides to knock on his hot neighbor Derek’s door for help.

nothing ever promised tomorrow today by preromantics [11k, T]

Grocery shopping, waking up, lasagna, and parallel universes. / When Stiles jumps the last two stairs and turns into the kitchen he’s got his mouth halfway open around “Morning, Mom,” before his dad folds down his paper at the kitchen table to look at him.

In a Straight Line Down by standinginanicedress [40k, T]

“So you want to go to Prom with me just so you can get a plastic crown and a fifty dollar gift card to Outback Steakhouse.”

Stiles sets his jaw. He wants to go to prom with Derek because he wants to go to prom with Derek. But, of course, he’s stubborn and prideful and can’t admit to Derek how it’s barely been twelve hours since they officially broke up and he’s already barely handling it as it is, so he just raises his chin in the air and says, “yes.”

Our Puddle is Deceptively Deep by calrissian18 [10k, E]

They start out in a literal tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

In This World or the Next by Lissadiane [20k, T]

Derek wakes up to the smell of frying bacon and brewing coffee on an ordinary morning in his ordinary life, but he can’t help but shake the feeling that he’s forgotten something important. It probably has to do with the three wishes he’d been granted by the fae after saving the life of their fairy prince, and possibly also the sheriff’s missing son.

In which Derek Hale learns that sometimes being given what we want more than anything else has disastrous consequences.

The Socioeconomic Repercussions of Mutually Assured Destruction by alocalband [15k, E]

"The trouble with having the kind of brain that likes to write essays on male circumcision for an Economics class, is that it also likes to turn PowerPoint presentations for Biology into odes on the perfection of notorious bad boy Derek Hale’s backside.”

Five Times Derek and Stiles Kissed For Practice (And One Time They Didn’t) by mikkimouse [5k, T]

In which Derek and Stiles grow up together and practice kissing, roughly in that order.

Little Promises by crossroadswrite [2k, G]

Derek doesn’t really know what happened. He just knows there was a lady and she was pretty but she was also really mean and she was trying to hurt his friends.

“Holy fuck,” Erica mutters and is harshly shushed by Isaac.

“Don’t swear in front of the kid.”

“It’s not a kid,” Erica counters. “It’s just-“

“Derek?”

King of the Road by Stoney [30k, E]

Derek sees the guy–all long lines, furtive glances, hungry–leaning against the diner out in the middle of nowhere. Yeah, Derek’s hungry, too.

tide pulls from the moon by paintedrecs [45k, M]

hen Derek left Beacon Hills, finally ripping the tether free and remembering how to breathe, how to live again, it was Stiles who came after him. Stiles, who showed up at his door with blazing eyes, looking like he wanted to punch him in the face, but wrapping his arms around him instead, making him grunt in surprise at the raw strength of his embrace.

“You asshole,” Stiles said, slapping him heartily on the back as he extricated himself, his voice rough under his bright smile. “You couldn’t have made yourself harder to find, could you?”

The Summer of Snow Cones and Not-Dates by clarkoholic, skywardsmiles [38k, M]

Summer is really boring. Like, mind-numbingly boring. Except for the part where Stiles can’t figure out if Derek’s his boyfriend, or why every werewolf in town keeps approaching him in the bathroom.

Teenage Dream by matildajones [58k, M]

“I’m married. I’m married to Derek Hale,” Stiles says. Everything seems to hit him at once. He pushes aside the fact there’s a celebrity sitting right next to him, and then thinks of why the fuck he can’t remember him, why he doesn’t know who he’s married to, and how much time he must have lost.–After an accident, Stiles wakes up to what can only be a dream. He has money, he has fame, he has award winning actor Derek Hale as his husband. It quickly seems more and more like a nightmare because Stiles doesn’t remember getting any of it - and it’s hard to accept the reality that Derek can still love him.

You look like my next mistake by Vendelin [15k, T]

“So, are you dating someone new? Someone who doesn’t mind that you’re frigid?” Kate cocks her head to the side, smiling as though she just asked him about where he bought his shoes.

His entire body sighs in defeat as his shoulders grow square. Just as he opens his mouth, someone comes up to stand beside him, snaking an arm around his shoulders. When he glances to his side, expecting to see Isaac, his brain seems to malfunction. Because it isn’t Isaac. It’s Stiles Stilinski, the lacrosse talent of the year, a senior who Derek has seen multiple times from far away, but never ever talked to.

In which Derek is a nerd jock, and Stiles is a frat guy, and Derek falls for him even though he knows he shouldn’t.

A Problematic Loyalty by alocalband [4k, T]

The problem isn’t that Stiles is stubborn. The problem is that people keep hitting on him.

Not Quite Lost (Not Quite Found) by alocalband [25k, E]

A year after the nogitsune is defeated, Derek is living a quiet life in the mountains above a small town in Colorado.

Then Stiles shows up.

‘Till You Make It by standinginanicedress [46k, M]

“I’m saying – let’s fake it.”

Derek blinks at him. Hard. Stiles never knew that someone could physically make a blink look hard, but there Derek goes, slamming his lids together like he’s fucking exercising them. “Fake it.”

“Pretend, dumbass,” he backhands Derek lightly on his upper arm. “Pretend like we’re doing as well as our parents want us to and then they’ll be off our backs, right?”

“We don’t have to pretend anything, Stiles,” Derek says evenly, in a tone that suggests he’d much rather be yelling. “We’re literally soulmates.”

“That’s the beauty of it! It’s going to be so fucking easy. I can’t believe we never thought of this before,” he runs his hands through his hair and shakes his head in amazement, grinning from ear to ear. “Holy shit. I can’t believe I just solved all our problems for us, man.”

Kindred Spirits by Stoney [104k, E]

Stiles is the adopted son of the Sheriff, brought to Beacon Hills to hopefully stay for good. A family, a best friend, school, Jackson as Josie Pye (because who else could he be?) and the mystery of a dark haired, green-eyed boy which leads Stiles to discovering a secret within himself.

we’re catching bullets in our teeth (it’s hard to do but they’re so sweet) by prettyasadiagram [12k, M]

Stiles says he’s a Web Developer. Derek says he an Internal Auditor.

They’re both liars, but you can’t exactly tell your significant other that you kill people for a living, now can you?

Insane Chemistry (with Derek Hale) by theroguesgambit [13k, M]

Derek is the popular, varsity jock, prom king of the school, and Stiles is not going to be the cliche that ends up falling for him. (It’s not a cliche if no one else knows about it, right?)

Strut on a Line, its Discord and Rhyme by xiaq [61k, T]

“Carry me,” Stiles says.

“No.”

“But I’m injured.”

“You have a rash,” Derek says. “On your arm. Your feet work just fine.”

“Please?”

“No. You weigh almost as much as I do. And you ate a pound of chicken at lunch.”

"Well, yeah, but I pooped like an hour ago, so.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Don’t play, you love me.”

I do, Derek thinks, relatively horrified. I really do.

But Then What… by Stoney [24k, E]

Senior year is almost over, and all Stiles needs to do is keep his head down to survive. A teacher calls in a favor, leaving him stuck tutoring Derek Hale, one of the most popular jocks in school and a member of a group of douchecanoes who have bullied Stiles for years. He’s someone Stiles totally hates. Totally. Like, doesn’t like him even a little bit. DEFINITELY isn’t attracted to him.

Except that is a total lie. Fuck his life, seriously.

The Great Pretender by talktowater [45k, E]

Stiles is the new kid at Beacon Hills High, class of 1958 and he’s trying to make an impression. Derek can’t figure out why this kid is so set on making such a bad one.

Here’s to the Static by matildajones [80k, T]

Stiles spends most of his college break in a coffee house where he stares after Derek Hale. For some reason, Stiles is unaware of the fact he’s quite the musician, and Derek amuses himself at Stiles’ obliviousness.

Cross a Canyon (with a broken limb) by theroguesgambit [18k, T

“You never graduated,” Stiles says, just to say it. To test it out in the open air. That’s… huh.

–

Stiles spends his senior year battling troll-gremlins, taking on an unexpected tutoring job, and definitely not falling for a certain sourwolf (even though everyone else seems to think he is).

The Rest Is Unwritten by mikkimouse [6k, T]

Once upon a time, the werewolf king and queen invited five fairies to the christening of their only son. The fairies bestowed the boy with gifts—beauty, grace, wit, and the most adorable teeth in all the land.

But before the fifth fairy could give her gift, a wicked fairy from the other Court arrived and cast a terrible curse on the baby prince. He would have a life full of tragedies, she declared, and die young, of a broken heart.

The king and queen were beside themselves with grief. It was very old, powerful magic, so there was little they could do to break it. However, the fifth fairy had yet to give her gift. The curse could not be broken, she told them, but it could be altered.

She bestowed upon the prince the gift of perseverance, so that he would never lose his will to live, even in the face of countless tragedies. And when he found the one who would stand by his side and face those tragedies with him without fail, that is when the curse would be broken. Because the fairy knew there was nothing in all the world more powerful than true love. Not even a wicked fairy’s curse.

Laying Groundwork by LunaCanisLupus_22 [10k, E]

His expression isn’t much to go by but the entire clubs howling gets louder at his appearance and Stiles literally pops a boner watching the guy’s big hands wrestle with the microphone stand.

Or the one where Scott and Stiles go clubbing and there’s this broody Bouncer out to get Stiles-

Or get into his pants. Thank God it’s the latter.

By a Law Divine by mirrorkill [23k, M]

Okay, so, kissing Stiles. That’s a weird thing that Derek’s doing now. He has no idea where it’s even coming from, especially considering bickering and fighting is their usual state of existence.And then he does find out where it’s coming from: A curse that’s making everyone in town kiss someone they have mutual feelings for. …yeah, Derek’s not even sure why he’s surprised by that.

Friends of Early Theory by Nanoochka [23k, E]

In which Derek is a gruff, struggling executive for his family’s sprawling, wealthy company in New York, and Stiles is his quirky, offbeat intern who brings him cold coffee each morning and wears stupid T-shirts to work and generally succeeds at being a thousand times more charming than Derek could ever hope to be. To the outside observer, their relationship is combative but fond, although in private Stiles and Derek have a great deal more secrets, anger, and painful history between them than Derek is prepared to acknowledge or reveal. In retrospect, that might be half of the problem.

The Way to My Heart (French Insults) by KuriKuri [10k, T]

Letting out a long sigh, Derek turns away and braces himself for the next hellish filming segment. After all, apparently he’s going to have to smile while greeting twenty-five contestants. Shit, what if they try to hug him? Or, god forbid, kiss –

He doesn’t get any further with that thought, because a limo pulls into the driveway. He braces himself for the worst. The worst, who… actually doesn’t look that horrifying.

“I’ve been dying to meet you!” she exclaims as she catches sight of him.

Then, she flings herself at him and ensnares him in a bone-crushing hug.

Scratch that – she’s completely horrifying. And Derek’s pretty sure he can hear errand boy what’s-his-face laughing in the distance.

(Or: In which Derek gets roped into being the 'eligible bachelor’ on a dating show and instead falls for one of the show’s interns.)

How I Met My Werebunny by Moku [19k, T]

“This is going to end in tears,” Scott told Derek while he watched the man easily lifting Stiles’ desk up with one hand and driving nails into the ceiling with the thumb of the other. “Probably mine.”

Or:

When a Stiles and a Failwolf love each other very much, they’ll engage in a prank war. Basically, it’s a mating ritual for dorks in love.

Wild Tonic by officerstilinskihale [11k, M]

Stiles nodded and smiled again, his teeth flashing brightly and he signed something again, before looking frustrated with himself.

“You’re welcome,” Derek told him, feeling a wave of relief when Stiles’ face brightened. That would’ve been awkward if Stiles hadn’t been trying to say thank you.

“I had a really good time, so yeah. I’m glad you came with me,” he said, feeling his face grow hot. Derek wasn’t usually like this. He wasn’t confident. Sure, he had the looks and he could flirt shamelessly when he got hit on, but he always got shy around the people he genuinely liked, not that there was too many of those.

But Stiles didn’t let him dwell on that. He gripped Derek’s arm, grinned cheekily and pointed at himself before lifting two fingers. It took a while for Derek to get it but when he did, he couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across his face.

Me too.

Practice Makes Perfect by blacktofade [21k, E]

In his sophomore year, Stiles gets dragged to lacrosse tryouts by Scott and ends up practising alongside the senior captain, Derek Hale. Stiles just wants to live long enough to become a junior.

Feline Persuasion by rensahannou (asmalltigercat) [15k, T]

Derek doesn’t need to worry about the cat living under the porch at his family’s old house, it’s just—Derek’s just used to worrying about things.

Hot Single Dad Derek Hale by WhoNatural [13k, E]

Wherein Derek is a Hot Single Dad, possibly with a little case of martyrdom, and Stiles is the newest client at his publishing house who really just wants to make him happy. Preferably while they’re both naked.

He doesn’t get to talk to Stiles a whole lot - and it’s fine, it’s professional and polite, but there is a little something that lights up in him when he thinks about him, sees him. Derek’s life has been mostly about preschool and Big Hero 6 and extra-curricular activities for so long now that it’s a shock to the system when he finds himself pre-occupied with something so… adult.And there are many, many adult things on his mind where Stiles is concerned.

I Call You Names Because I Love You by Rawren (Zimothy) [13k, M]

Years of touring with Stiles would never have prepared Derek for the day his beloved techie fell in love with someone else.

Maybe Someday (I’ll Be Home For Next Year) by ofherlionheart [16k, T]

AKA, the Grandma Stilinski fic. Derek Hale meets a Mabel Stilinski while living in New York. He learns that she has a grandson. There are miscommunications, scarves, stealth-matchmaking plans, and cookies. Many, many cookies.

my wings a hurricane by kellifer_fic [20k, T]

Stiles had been like any other kid growing up in the era of dragons. He’d watched the cartoons, the news stories, had the lunch box. When his screening at Beacon Hills High had come up negative, he’d been disappointed but unsurprised. His positive results were returned three years too late for it to be in any way convenient or cool.Or, the one where they ride dragons.

Thrill (like white-hot wire) by raisesomehale [4k, M]

Stiles made the decision that Derek was his new best friend (and that he’ll one day marry him) the day he shared his dinosaur chicken nuggets with him.

The Newlywed Game by Captain_Loki [19k, M]

Stiles is (still) single when the pack’s getaway to the Caribbean comes by (oh misplaced optimism); lucky for him Derek is committed to being uncommitted and even after all these years is still powerless against Stiles’ unique forms of persuasion.

Cue a romantic getaway for two: sun, sand, and sarcasm abound…and the two roped into competing in the Resort’s version of the Newlywed game. Only it’s completely obvious it’s going to end in disaster. Probably homicide.

Most probably homicide.

Plot twist: It doesn’t.

[Sleep]Walking After You by relenafanel [59k, M]

Derek is a sleepwalker who keeps wandering into his downstairs neighbour’s bedroom.

Stiles is pretty sure the hot guy from the park is going to kill him in his sleep. He knows he shouldn’t have been so obvious about objectifying the guy’s really fine ass.

Too bad it turns out Derek is easier to get along with when he’s sleeping.

[fabianbutler]

MR. Unfortunately the skies sometimes open up and rain does its best to stop play.

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