#this man has zero lines in the book how did we get this far

[kevinsdsy]

You’ve got me so obsessed w three random ass bg characters but like only your specific interpretation of them im soooo invested in Shawn derrick Derek and it’s such a struggle bc like I can’t even look up fanfic of them 😭

IM SORRYYYYY imagine how i feel— wanting to get content about them but being the dynamic provider :((( i wish someone would get into my brain and write them so i could indulge in my media consumption addiction LMAOSHDNDND

maybe i’ll do a post with headcanons about how i perceive them this week tho ((ive been busy the past few days and im also going to be busy tomorrow and probably the day after too so i sadly know i cant promise anything just yet))

[amelizscribbles]

OK, EXPLAINING DABIS SCARRING because @good-lord-not-books asked

*note these are just my hcs and some medical research

I'm putting this under a cut because it's long as hell, and I apologize in advance for any typos or if it's confusing. I have no problem explaining further♡

His scars are hypertrophic. which 1) explains the discoloration. It's what happens when the smaller blood vessels become partially or fully obstructed with scar tissue. They typcially start off pinkish or light red. (like when he woke up from his coma.)

Typically the treatment for this is laser removal. But if you don't have access the color may naturally shift with age/as it natueally heals. But with continuous damage to the areas.. the scar will get darker as the veins and tissue is further injured (the deeper into the skin and possible muscle it damages)

most hyrpertophic scarring can take a year + to heal. but obviously Dabi just keeps making his worse. The scars themselves are cause by the body over producing collagen for wound healing and not actually being able to break all of it down.

Which leaves collagen fibers in the skin to harden and thicken. Hardened skin doesn't allow much give, lessening the skins elasticity over all. Which can be shown in the way his unscarred skin pulls along the edges where the dermal rings line said scars. (my thoughts on his staples acrually being dermal rings will be at the end)

That's not even going into the nerve damage systemically for him considering hes covered in that kind of scar. So when he says he can't feel a thing it's literal as the nerve endings are shot to shit. And that is only going into skin deep level.

Interal organ nerve damage is a whole other mess due to the scaringbeing from burns. As severe enough burns cause systemic damage. (will also go into atfer the scarring part)

His skin looks TIGHT on him. If he did have and semblance of sensation in his nerves it might feel like hella tight/dry skin. Also I think hypertrophic scars are an inflammation response to the body healing.

His body is literally misshapen from it. (and yes we love him the way he is) You can see in panels where the skin is probably softer where there's lack of muscle definition but can see where it's tighter or pulling over his arms/ shoulders/ribcage because the skins elasticity is non-existent. The instances where it's sifter looking is probably due to his body trying to retain as much body fat it can to keep healthy (or as healthy as it's going to get in his state.)

As far as it going right up to his lower lids and having zero tear ducts. that man has chronic dry eye like it's nobodies business. so itchy and possibly bleeding eyes isn't a shock. he probably has several counts of grand larceny in artificial tears alone.

Ok so as for his scaring being from burns, burns affect the whole body and how it works depending on the severity.

It can effect muscle tissue/muscle mass, bone structure and interior organs.

Given he seems to be perpetually giving himself 3rd degree + burns .. his respiratory system and cardiovascular system are probably shot to shit. Just from smoke inhalation and perpetual injury. (hypertrophic scars fill the veins with scar tissue remember) Assuming how deep the burn and scar tissue goes.

But we haven't seen him with much breathing issues so I'm assuming it's whatever. He has mentioned motion sickness and we've even seen him turning down food. So I can at least go into it's affects on his GI tract.

In the GI tract, burns can result in increased gastric secretions, reduced intestinal motility, decreased nutrient absorption, increased GI mucosal permeability, bacterial translocation and increased intra-abdominal pressure. If it's bad enough he may have ulcers or gi hemorrhaging. Severe burns also cause liver and intestinal damage.

The fact that he's been alive this long is wild if he's been homeless this whole time and just committing small crimes to not die. One thing that irritates me is when people think he would be incredibly unhygienic due to the scars and such.

Like do you understand how CLEAN you have to keep burn injuries to keep them from getting infected?? Even if it's layered over already damaged and scarred skin. He might smell like burnt flesh but I doubt he's letting wounds fester.

Yes he could probably just cauterize himself but that's still just burning burn wounds. Especially with 0% health insurance. I always assumed he kept breaking into the Todoroki family home when he knew no one would be there to do basic things to make sure he didn't die on the street over the years.

Quick add on to my thoughts on his staples just being dermal rings to homd his skin together/as a form of human Kinstugi.

They (the rings) are pretty rounded in the manga, surgical staples aren't nearly that large either so I always assumed human Kinstugi regardless of metal color (between manga gold or anime silver) and it was both decorative and necessary for his skin.

I just assumed wherever the rings weren't, it was just spots he couldn't reach.

it's also shown in the manga that he's adjusting/adding more along his scars.

als, in case anyone is unfamiliar with the term Kintsugi, it's this

Kintsugi (Japanese: 金継ぎ, lit. 'golden joinery'), also known as kintsukuroi (金繕い, "golden repair"), is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with urushi lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. The method is similar to the maki-e technique. Its the Japanese philosophy that the value of an object is not in its beauty, but in its imperfections, and that these imperfections are something to celebrate, not hide.

which I think suits his character very well when his piercings and dermal rings are gold looking in some of the colored manga art.

ok, I'll shut up now, ♡

[genshin-impact-unofficial]

💘~Let me see you~💘

Genshin men brushing your hair away from your face.

Ft. Itto, Diluc, Xiao, Tighnari

Tags: long-haired!reader, pre-relationship, huge crushes, fluff, meet cutes, a little gaslighting for flavor, flustered dorks, extremely PG here just sweet torturous pining.  Note: I'm back! If this looks familiar than it probably is. Other than a few tweaks, this is a repost from my old blog! I will be posting my old stuff and working on new things too! Enjoy!

Itto

Listen…. This man’s impulse control is ZERO. So reaching out and tenderly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear was never a second thought.

Itto has always been a touchy person. You are no stranger to being included in elaborate handshakes, crushing hugs, palm aching high-fives, and the occasional holding of the hand while he leads you to the next bout of mischief the gang is getting into.

This touch tho….. was so much softer than you've ever thought the oni capable of. You'd question whose hands they were if not for the soft graze of Itto’s long pointed nails.

It's not weird unless you make it weird...... Please don't make it weird.

If you point out the gesture, he insists that he was just helping a homie out. Bro is DENSE, absolutely clueless that he has a big ol' crush.

Everyone in the Arataki gang was dying to know what would happen next in the newest adventure novel from Yea Publishing House. This volume of the popular story had just been released and if they weren’t quick enough it was bound to sell out! Sure, it was only going to take a couple days to restock but the spoilers were guaranteed to be all over the streets by then. Itto was at the forefront of the line, insisting the whole gang camp out early to snag one. It became evident that this is where the Oni’s foresight had ended. The rowdy bunch was standing in front of the seller when the realization had hit; you were all too broke to get copies. In an act of impulse desperation, you had the bright idea to ban together. One by one, members emptied each of their wallets of what little mora they had. You could hear the grumbles and complaints from other people waiting in line as you quickly added it all up. Shinobu would definitely scold you all if she there and not caught up in ‘cool ninja stuff’ as Itto calls it. You proudly announced it was enough for one volume.... and a couple snacks.  Overall, a complete success in Itto's book!

“Great going Y/N! We have the next volume of ‘I Stubbed My Toe And Became A Vampire Magical Girl In Another World’ AND we have enough tri-colored dango to go around! See? What did I tell ya? We keep nothing but the best here in the Arataki gang!” The oni bragged with the widest grin stretching from ear to ear. He laughed as he wrapped one beefy arm around you and punched the other triumphantly in the air. Itto’s energy was contagious and soon even you were also holding the book up and exclaiming with the others just how much the Arataki gang rules. 

Broke and happy, the ban of hoodlums cheered for their victory and gathered on the beach. You’ve learned a thing or two since joining the Arataki gang, like how to get comfortable almost anywhere. You handled getting the bonfire going as Mamoru was already poking sticks through lavender melons. The rest of the guys were off grabbing makeshift seats like stumps or big rocks. It didn’t take long since this was far from their first rodeo. Once the fire was big and healthy, Itto boisterously bestowed upon you the honor of storyteller. The boys eagerly sat around the fire to finally enjoy the fruits of their labor. You chuckled at his antics and dove right into the first pages. You barely registered how Itto diligently chose the closest seat and hung off your every word. Everyone was a great audience, ooo's and ahh's were always right on cue. 

The main character just discovered their newest magic vampire power and were heading into the heat of their latest battle when…. you froze. The words on the page stopped computing as soon as you felt a feather soft touch on your skin. Tentative fingers swept across your forehead and lingered for just a moment behind your ear. You must have been so caught up in the excitement that you didn't think to tie up your hair. It was spilling over your face while you were reading. When you glance over, you are met with Itto's complete and utter attention. His intensely crimson eyes are locked on only you, listening intently with a relaxed smile across his features. He looked at ease and entirely oblivious to the fact that he just made your heart skip a beat. 

"Boss you can flirt with Y/N later! The big fight is about to happen!" Genta complained loudly, followed by agreeing groans from the rest of the boys. 

"Pffft flirting?!?!? I was just looking out for my bud here! As a responsible leader of this crew its my responsibility to-... to make sure Y/N doesn't get hair in their mouth and choke! I just saved their life! It’s foresight like this that makes me qualified to be the head honcho around here!" Itto's ramblings got louder and more confident with each word, thoroughly doubling down on his point. The Oni stood at full height and began spewing his facts about the serious dangers of choking and the statistics of deaths by hair per year, most of which you were sure were untrue. 

"Ok! Ok boss! Sure, please can we get on with the novel?"  Akira groaned, not fooled for one second, but wanting so badly for it to end. 

You put the bumbling man out of his misery and cleared your throat loudly. Itto’s ego was stroked enough and took the hint to settle down. The man reclaimed his spot next you without a fuss, his dopey smile returned yet again. You attempted to cover your heated cheeks with your book and willed yourself to forget the tingling on your skin where Itto's touch had lingered. You shook your head up clear your thoughts enough to get comfortable once again. There were still the final chapters to get through and the show must go on!

Diluc

LET ME TELL YOU! This man has TOO MUCH impulse control.

Diluc is so well-versed in etiquette and would never carelessly reach into someone's personal space without permission. Unless it’s a FIGHT. 

Something about you makes all that etiquette go right out the window. He is doing it before he can think himself out of it. 

He would scold himself for overstepping and possibly making you uncomfortable. He apologies earnestly, ever the gentleman. 

Internally flustered, but hides it a little too well. Composure is this man's bread and butter after all. 

Is acutely aware of the fondness they have for you. He often busies himself with other matters to keep from dwelling on it too much.

To say you bit off more than you could chew would be an understatement. The sack of potatoes you bought from Springvale looked deceptively light before. In your rush to get back to Dawn Winery, you didn't even think to use a wagon or bring any help. You were sure Adelinde was going to be so disappointed at how late you were. 

As the newest maid, you were eager to prove yourself. Everyone at the manor was nice, but Master Diluc seemed particularly reserved with you. The master of the house was quite friendly at first, often sharing a few conversations with you as you cleaned around his office. You deliberated whether it was the vases of flowers you switched out in his office. Cecelias just seemed to brighten up the place more. Or maybe it was when you arranged his meals to resemble cute animals sometimes. But you only did that when you notice him having a particularly rough day! Ugh, he must think you're so unprofessional.

You let your thoughts wonder as you miserably carried your potato’s. Soon you felt your steps become sluggish and a slight tremble in your arms, signaling you couldn't go much further. The winery was still another half mile away but you had no choice. You slumped down in defeat on a near by rock. You were sure definitely going to be fired for this, how careless of you to not think ahead. Even if Diluc disliked you, you really enjoyed your time at the winery and getting to know everyone. You hung your head in shame, praying that you at least got to say goodbye to the rest of the staff before getting kicked out the manor. 

"Y/N? Are you hurt?" A hand cut through your curtain of hair that blocked your view of the approaching figure. Gingerly, the gloved hand guided the strands away from your face and tucked them behind your ear. Diluc was crouching in front of you, his intense gaze scanned your features for discomfort. 

"Master Diluc! No I'm alright! I'm so sorry I-" You quickly explained your situation and tried to stay focused while Diluc's gentle touch lingered on your skin. He seemed visibly relieved to learn you were unharmed. It was only then he noticed his encroachment. The man jerkily retracted his hand and leaned away to give you some space. The red haired man seemed alarmed for but a moment before clearing his throat to recompose himself.

"My apologies, I heard you gone alone to Springvale and had still not returned. This path can be dangerous when it gets late. I saw you crouched over and I thought.... Regardless I apologize for my boldness.” Diluc stated awkwardly. Despite his shyness, he still looked every part of a prince when he stood and offered you his hand. 

“Thank you for being concerned.” You smiled and took his hand. “I’m just lucky to have such a thoughtful master! There was no need to come all the way out here for me.” You lied through your teeth and turned to attempt to lift the sack once again. Diluc cleared his throat and visibly clammed up once more. Wordlessly, he lifted the potatoes in your arms and began walking back to the winery. You tried insisting that you could do it, but he stubbornly declined and refused to meet your gaze. It was quite endearing to see the confident master of the dawn winery made such a bashful gesture. Perhaps your boss didn’t dislike you as much as you think....

Xiao

Be nice. Dude doesn’t understand the intimacy of the gesture. Why are you suddenly acting so strange? 

Xiao was just annoyed that it was in the way. As a man of action, it was only natural to moved it. It is nothing more.

He wasn’t going to let a strand of hair keep him from looking at your face. Why is that such a big deal? Why are you red? He’s just telling you the truth.

Nah, it was you and your mortal reactions that is making him flustered. It was you staring at him with those big cute mortal eyes that’s causing this. It has to be, there’s no other explanation. (Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss)

Is either clueless or refuses to connect the dots that he likes you a lot. Its probably a mixture of both.

Working at the Wangshu Inn came with a few perks and stargazing after your shift was by far your favorite. The view, sounds, and atmosphere were wonderful. And it wasn’t just anywhere that you also get a quality companion to share it with. You had just settled in and laid the two plates of almond tofu next to you. It took but a few moments from when his name left your lips for Xiao to appear. The stoic man wordlessly walked over and took his usual seat nearby. Routine took over from there but getting to this point was akin to pulling teeth.

Xiao was annoyed when you initially took a liking to his vantage point. The adeptus could see all the surrounding hillychurl camps from the spot you insisted on sitting at for hours. He took no joy in intimidating humans, but his looming presence usually worked to deter mortals from he didn’t want them to be. Imposing aura or not, everyone has to share. You stubbornly stood your ground and stated the roof was plenty big enough for the two of you. Xiao would never resort to physically moving you, therefore was forced to relent. He remained out of sight but you sometimes caught glimpses of him when he would arrive there first. You couldn’t help the small inkling of guilt in your chest from forcing the other out of the spot. You really didn’t mind sharing. As a peace offering you began to leave small gifts behind. Sometimes they were small trinkets, some folded origami, or occasionally fruits and other snacks. When you saw your gifts still there, you would simply take it and replaced it with something else. It took nearly two months but when you returned to see your gift gone for the first time, you couldn’t help but smile the rest of the night. It became like a habit, not unlike befriending a crow. 

Learning Xiao took a liking to almond tofu was the real game changer. You made your best effort to cook the dish yourself, cutting no corners. When you left the meal box there you expected it to be like the other gifts that disappeared into the night. It was a shocking to see something in return the next day. It took only a few more days for the yaksha to finally cave and joined you. He primarily insisted that you didn’t have to keep making your offerings. You laughed when the realization hit you. You spent the last months quite literally making offerings to an adeptus, praying for forgiveness. 

Over time, the company became expected on the rooftop and the silence was comfortable. When conversation was sparked it flowed naturally and cemented an unlikely friendship. Although friendlier, Xiao could still be blunt and dismissive at times. It happened especially when he became frustrated with understanding mortal’s ever changing customs.

“You can’t just hold people’s faces like that!” You squeak, hiding your burning face in your hands. 

“I wasn’t holding your face. I was moving your hair away, its blowing everywhere. I can’t even see you when its this windy. You should be wearing it up so I can look at you while you’re talking.” Xiao responded defensively but his tense tone didn’t match the words leaving his mouth. It especially contrasted the way he had used both his hands to smooth down your hair on each side, pausing to look back into eyes. When his stare hadn't let up, you were the one to break away. Your heart was damn near about to beat out of your chest. 

“That’s something that.... lovers do! It’s embarrassing in this context.” You try to explain, noticing his frustration. Xiao’s eyes widened just a tad before avoiding eye contact altogether and crossing his arms.

“That doesn’t make sense. Just forget it happened then and keep telling your story about the inn guest.” The yaksha stated, grabbing his plate and turning away as he listened. The moon was just full enough for you to spot a small dusting of pink on Xiao’s ears. You decided to show him mercy and didn’t push it further. After all, it would probably take weeks of offerings for him to forgive you for teasing him.

Tighnari

No sweat. Doesn’t even bat an eye at the physical contact. He’s just being practical.

It doesn’t stop there. This dude will give you a whole up-do. It’s dangerous to keep your hair loose like that in the forest. He’s seen plenty of cases.

Your safety comes first and foremost. As soon as Tighnari notices it obstructed your vision he is on it. He’s surprisingly good at styling it too. Its not unlike braiding ropes and vines.

More insistent than normal on the matter. He claims it’s because you’re still relatively new to the forest. But other forest watchers may beg to differ.

He considers you a good friend, but it does confuse him when he notices these odd waves of protectiveness. It’s something he’s going to have to research further before coming to any solid conclusions. 

There is extensive in-depth training that each forest ranger must go through before being allowed to step foot outside the marked trails of the Avidya Forest. It was grueling, but totally worth it when you saw you were finally scheduled for your first real patrol! As part of training, Forest Watcher Tighnari was assigned to accompany you and show you the ropes. You meticulously poured your lesson notes and made sure you had all necessary equipment on hand. Tighnari was the best there was and there was a part of you that really wanted to impress him. He was sure to quiz you right? There is no way he would let someone into the dangerous parts of the forest without being sure that you knew your stuff right? Nerves were definitely getting the better of you.

In hindsight it was quite silly to have worried so much. Tighnari was surprisingly easy to get along with and not afraid to get straight to the task at hand. As the week went on, you eagerly accompanied him on his routes and witnessed first hand just how brilliant the forest watcher was. 

You didn’t expect how down to earth the revered Chief Forest Watcher Tighnari turned out to be. It was common for him to go off on tangents and lectures here and there, but it never felt like he was just trying to flex his knowledge or question yours. He was kind of excitable in that way, and you couldn’t help but find it quite endearing. You picked up on the quirks that indicated that was become accustomed to rangers spacing out while he talked on and on. Tighnari even seemed surprised that you had follow up questions about the topics he was just rambling on about. His ears were always a dead giveaway that he was caught off guard. Even someone without a big ol’ stupid crush would have found it cute. 

The tall fluffy ears in question may or may not have added to your carelessness on this particular hike. Perhaps it was why a tiny little branch sent you tumbling down into a ravine. Later you would be corrected that the ravine in question would more accurately be labeled a gully, though that specific fun fact was far less welcomed. 

“Y/N?!? Are you alright? Don’t move, I’ll be right there.” Tighnari called out urgently and hurried over to you. 

“I’m okay. I don’t know how well you can treat a bruised ego though...” You called back. Attempting a joke to hide how embarrassed you felt. It wasn't your smoothest move. Tighnari was there in moments to help you sit up. His nimble fingers began untangling your hair from your face so that he could to get a better look at you.

“This isn’t a time for jokes Y/N. That could have been a serious fall.” You've heard this tone before. It was usually reserved for reckless forest visitors or rangers that didn't heed his instructions and cause trouble. This was your first time being on the receiving end and to make things worse you looked a mess with twigs and dirt covering you from head to toe.

“I know. I’ll be better next time.” You replied dejected. Tighnari managed to brush your hair back to take a look, but your eyes darted anywhere else while he examined you. 

“You're lucky enough to walk out of that with just a couple minor abrasions. Just be careful alright?” Tighnari concluded, his tone softened considerably. You braved yourself to sneak a small glance up at him and he offered you a comforting smile. “Although, I do have an inkling of what caused you to misstep in the first place.” The forest watcher continued.

“And what would that be?” You asked far too quickly. The only way you were ever going to admit to ogling over your boss’ cute fluffy fox ears was over your dead body god damn it! 

“Having your hair loose at this length can prove quite hazardous while paroling. I must have overlooked it before. Here, come sit I think I have a solution.” A careful hand guided you over to a nearby log. Next you felt the small tugs and pulls of the remaining twigs being dislodged from your hair. Tighnari was gentle but efficient while he worked behind you. 

The ambiance of the forest made the silence quite enjoyable. It became so relaxing you could fall asleep if you wanted. You probably would have too, but you became hyper-aware each time Tighnari's gloved fingers brushed past your skin. After some time he announced he was done and you reached behind your head to feel what you could only describe as an intricate braid leading down your back.

“Wow! I didn’t expect.... thank you!” You said, in awe at his handwork. 

“All in a day’s work. Come on we should be heading back before dark.” Tighnari led the way back to the trail. “And uh, watch your step.” He added with a sly grin. You rolled you eyes and chuckled at the playful sass. There’s plenty interesting specimens to learn about in the Avidya Forest and you were sure you just found your favorite. 

<A/N: Thank you for anyone still here support my little writings! Replies and feedback always appreciated as I'm starting again from scratch!>

[poetry-protest-pornography]

Okay, Love Sea ep 1, finally!

This place is so pretty, I wanna go

Rak is going to this island to be a supermodel, I guess

Jfc Fort is so attractive, ugh

Did he just push that man overboard because of a pen?

Seriously, why is he so fancy?

Side note: I actually love that Rak looks expensive. It not only sells the "rich guy on vacation/fish out of water" thing, but it also places him apart from this tight knit island community and from casual tourists. It makes it clear that he's not comfortable in himself here, because he's dressing specifically to hold himself apart from the rest of them.

It also gives fun opportunities to see him relax through his wardrobe. Also, Peat is just really beautiful, and he wears it all so well

Rak is so grumpy 😆 I love rich bitch Peat already

The casual "I'm borrowing this" and Mut being zero percent fazed by Rak's bitchiness is so attractive and also immediately introduces and characterizes the setting and Mut both. Super well done

Baby those are not island shoes

I love that Mut clocked that Rak needed to be knocked down a peg and spoke so he couldn't understand him. He's establishing right off the bat that he's not intimidated or particularly impressed with Rak's attitude, and I love it. They're doing characterizations so well so far? Honestly really impressed to get this from Mame

The knocking a little tune on the window 🤣🤣🤣

Oh. I already don't like Vi. Like. A lot don't like her

JA IS HERE?!

A lovely surprise Ja!

Baby is stressed

I love that everyone who looks at Rak is like "this guy is sooo pretty". They're right and they should say it. Just look at him

This waiter is just like "oh, you know my friend? Let me tell you all his business (because you're his type, shh)"

Rak's momentary disappointment at the "women" part, and then his incredulous "that guy?!" when the waiter pointed out the guy who's staying because of Mut were incredible. Peat's acting is excellent here

I love that literally the whole island is just "that's our boy, isn't he wonderful!" about Mut. He deserves all that praise

"more like a cat, you'll know when you see him" Yep. That's like, 5 "Rak is a cat" references so far

35,000 bath is only like, $1000usd. I know money is different in Thailand than here, but idk if I'd put up with that grumpy man for a whole two weeks for that little

I was very concerned that this was going for some really gross colorism, and I'm very glad that it very quickly established that Rak is being made fun of for being an uptight rich jerk and projecting superiority all over the place

Rak: *seduction mode activated*

Mut: wow, where did all your hair go?

Thank goodness.

"don't you feel anything at all? I'm way hotter than that guy getting the bar!" Oh baby, this i didn't want you act is not fooling anybody

Rak just sent him another line, thousand dollars over breakfast. "You had me at 5k" 🤣🤣🤣

What a great fucking line

"Keep being arrogant and you'll hurt yourself". Mut is a king, actually

The caught punch and the "I can do more" while he laced their fingers was A Lot. Wow. These two do tension SO WELL

Oh I really don't like Vi

I feel like a lot of GL now is at where BL was a couple years ago. Which is to say a lot toxic. But this is a shitty way to introduce a character. Instantly unlikeable. "I'm going to be so shitty to you and use class politics to use you, but it's okay because I have a crush on you". I haaaaate it

Oh no, Fort looking at his hand and smiling softly is giving my PaiSky flashbacks and I'm gonna cry (I know someone made this side by side gif, please tag me)

What Mame book is Rak writing rn? 🤣

God Fort is so hot, how dare he (had a conversation with @hotasfahrenheit about how hot he is, and I've been informed that we get to see stretch marks at some point and that makes me feel crazy, actually? I love that he's visibly tan, I love that he has imperfections. He's so insanely attractive and it's so much hotter when he's a real person -- and not whitewashed)

Rak running around this boat like an excited puppy is adorable

And now, pouty time because he got yelled at for leaning too far over the edge 😆

Oh no

That hug and little kiss on the temple are going to haunt me. What a beautiful moment. And absolutely bonkers for two people who have known each other for five minutes

Their acting has really grown, I'm so proud of them

Are you hungry for clams or for me? Lol. The "hungry" metaphor for sex never fails in BL. Never miss an opportunity to make the joke

Ughhhh:

He's so beautiful what the fuck

Well. That was a hell of a first episode. Cannot wait for more

[amazing-spider-man-book-club]

The Amazing Spider-Man #5

Published: October 1963

Containing: "Marked for Destruction by Doctor Doom!"

Synopsis: Doctor Doom hides away in NYC in an effort to use Spider-Man as a means to strike the Fantastic Four, and Flash Thompson is captured in Peter's place forcing the latter to take action.

Read alongside us here:

@frankendykes-monster : I had to look up if spiders actually communicated through radio waves or whatever given that Doctor Doom is the second villain in the series to now contact Spider-Man through frequencies attuned to spiders. I did find out that spiders can communicate through every available means you'd assume from animals aside from radio waves, probably a predictable end but whatever I needed to see if it was a real thing.

The Amazing Spider-Man has now been bumped up to monthly publication status, with #4 having been released in September of 1963. It's a quick way of realizing that the character was almost immediately becoming the crown jewel in Marvel's line-up, and frankly what a great issue to celebrate this milestone. You can tell we've settled into a groove given that all of zero new characters are introduced here, but we do get Flash Thompson and Liz Allen *and* Betty Brant as fully named cast members with their respective relationships to Peter also having been settled in; though I think it might be some time before Liz and Betty realize that they're romantic rivals. I love the subtle dichotomy between Peter and Spider-Man; Peter figures it would be cool to let Doctor Doom just kill Flash but knows he can't stand aside, more and more subtle hints at the character's eventual emotional breakthrough near the end of this run.

Something funny to me is that Jameson admits so casually that he's in the news business for money which is the reason for nonstop Spider-Man coverage. Funny because even in-story, Spider-Man is the little guy, surely The Fantastic Four or The Hulk are more newsworthy items. A reasonable critique on my part given they didn't *have* to make Spider-Man have three crossovers with that team so far.

This isn't a fan blog for the Kirby/Lee Fantastic Four run so not much to cover with Doctor Doom beyond him being the definitive comic book supervillain. Everything about him is marvelous and on display here. It's interesting that this issue takes place immediately after Fantastic Four #17 (Ditko was a noted comics reader, Kirby wasn't, hence when the latter handles Spider-Man in other titles, Peter just shows up disregarding anything actually happening in this series), but Lee doesn't leave a little editorial note pointing readers to that issue. Doom being able to whip up multiple new lairs in NYC is beyond hilarious to me, he's easily the most stereotypical character Peter has had to face so far but that's probably more than anything a showcase of how low the relative stakes have been so far. Remember when The Vulture was just hiding out in a barn planning petty thefts? Doom has a right to gloat about his prowess on multiple levels given that that's what we've seen so far.

One thing I'm not keen on is that we've fully entered an era where Spider-Man's webbing can do things just because an action scene calls for it, like here where Peter can make web balls that break open that reveal thicker webbing inside or creating huge shields to defend against ice attacks. There's a general rule of thumb on Spider-Man does with webs and this goes far beyond that, a rare instance of this reminding us that this is still the earliest portrayal of the character and not everything stuck (no pun intended).

This is our first issue where Spider-Man's suit is finally colored blue instead of using a soft purple as the secondary color. Lee's narration has started to enter that self-aware era that people constantly associate with him, and while it by no means detracts from the issue I can't say I'm a huge fan of the fourth wall breaking by highlighting that there may be better comics out there or apologizing for taking so long to get to the final fight, for example, but I digress.

@duel1971 : This story pits Peter against Doctor Doom, arch-nemesis of the Fantastic Four. The FF themselves don’t appear for more than a cameo, allowing the story to focus on the conflict between Doom and Spider-Man. In typical bombastic fashion, the narration boasts that the fight between Spidey and Doom will be the “gol-dangest, ding-bustedest, rip-snortin’est super-characters fight you’ve ever seen!” I don’t know about all that, but the fight is in fact really cool, featuring some innovative panel layouts by Ditko and creative use of Peter’s webbing.

I love Doctor Doom but the moments in this issue that really stuck with me all involved ASM regulars. Liz Allan, who Peter struck out with previously, speculates that Spider-Man is a dreamboat under his mask. J Jonah Jameson admits explicitly that his feud with Spider-Man is a tactic to sell more newspapers and magazines, revealing how hollow he is beneath his bluster. And, most notably, Flash Thompson dresses up as Spider-Man to try and prank Peter and ends up getting kidnapped by Doctor Doom.

Doppelganger Spider-Men are a recurring theme by now, and putting Flash in the role is interesting to me given how he would develop in later years under different writers. In terms of this story, however, we just get to laugh at the bully’s expense for once, and Peter has a devilish moment where he considers just leaving Flash to die. He does, in fact, forget to actually save Flash at the end after defeating Doom, leading to a very funny scene where Ben Grimm threatens to beat him up after the Fantastic Four find him cowering in the wrecked lab.

[salarta]

Wherein we're reminded that the upcoming X-Factor will be trash and should die as quick a death as possible.

And below is everything I have to say about it. As usual, deliberately not adding tags as I don't really want to give this garbage fire any promotion.

It's interesting, how these interviews always avoid inconvenient and difficult questions and stick to things that tow the company line. I wonder why that is.

His description of "telling a new story using the old ingredients" is pretty apt because that translates to the exact same awful taste, just giving it a different presentation. It's also not lost on me how he talks only about Havok. That betrays where the focus is when it comes to using Lorna here: all on how it benefits Havok, not at all on if it's appropriate for Lorna or benefits her in any way.

It also astounds me how comic books are the one place where editors and writers feel it's perfectly appropriate to treat a character like it's okay to screw a character over and treat them like they're merely an extension of another character, particularly doing this to a female character in service to a male character. All other mediums recognize that even supporting character deserve respect and a spotlight of their own, where who they are isn't defined exclusively by how helpful they can be to the main characters.

So far, this book's attitude toward Lorna is making a great case for not even getting into comics. Why read them when all you'll get is poor treatment that went out of fashion last century?

It's pretty bold of Russell to think the sole problem for depiction of this relationship has been how Havok comes off. It's bold in how it completely ignores the aspect in which Lorna was depicted poorly for his benefit. In doing that, Russell implies that all the worst treatment of her is accurately depicting her. Lorna cowering behind a rock while Sabretooth chases her, saying how she wishes Havok was there to kiss her and chase the boogeyman away? Sure. Lorna locking herself in an apartment and obsessing over Havok's costume? Why not. Lorna getting tortured purely so we see Havok's manpain at having to hear her getting tortured? Great writing all. Just truly. Perfect. No notes.

You will notice I did not mention anything about Austen there. Because contrary to what some Havok fans like to think, the problems with how Lorna's treated in this relationship pre-date Austen by decades and persist with multiple writers.

I've always had zero faith in this book from the second I heard Lorna would be forced onto it. Everything that comes out only further proves me right. But in the extremely absurd hypothetical scenario where Russell somehow pulls gold out of a garbage can, it wouldn't last. Because the goal here isn't really one of making the pairing good and viable. It's about forcing people to accept it, then going back to the full-fledged trash it always is. Every single time they're paired back up, without fail, it always results in Lorna getting treated like shit to benefit Havok. Having everything about her destroyed for the briefest of bumps in mediocre interest in Havok.

Because to people like Tom Brevoort, completely destroying the massive potential of a character like Lorna is worth it if it makes a cis straight blonde white man a period of a percentage point more popular.

Anyway, that's what I have to say about this trash at the moment. Again, here's to hoping it dies fast.

[isekai-crow]

Doctor Elise Ep 2

So much for trying to do individual episode posts every week! We gonna do them in clumps and queue-away instead because life gets in the way some times! Trying to still break them up by episode though~

If episode 1 was the introduction to how the reincarnation stuff works and her previous life, episode 2 is the introduction to Fantasy Britannia/Germany/Russia before the Fantasy Crimean War, and setting up the premise of the show. The royal family are the de Romanoffs but they're blond haired and blue eyed, and the world feels more German than British, so FANTASY EUROPE IT IS YALL.

BY THE WAY Elise is from the de Clorance family which is hiLARIous play of FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE!!!

Also. We get a character that WAS NOT IN THE MANHWA and LOOKS LIKE HAKU FROM SPIRITED AWAY. I didn't completely forget this man from the manhwa did I???? It's been a year or two since I read it but I wouldn't forget a long haired man.

Spoilers and Pictures below the cut

HELLO WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU??? THE SNARKY KING'S GUARD??? (IS THIS GOING TO BE A RARE PAIR SHIP because I'm here for it. A guard who demands that everyone respects the king but keeps interrupting the man himself??? yes, hello, thank you lmfao)

MAN I wish I had hair as gorgeous as this king. (Who is voiced by Inoue, Kazuhiko who plays Kakashi (Naruto), Madara(Natsume), and fricken YUKI FROM GRAVITATION BTW LMFAO)

and HERE he is.. Prince Sparkly Himself!!! Prince Linden de Romanoff.

He looks like he's going to be your typical Ice Prince, but this man blushes SO DAMN MUCH ITS REALLY CUTE.

I was trying to figure out why he has two voice actors and... Well. His main voice actor is Azakami, Youhei who plays a ton of supporting characters, including a dozen of small roles in Aggretsukko which is hilarious to think about.

Anyways, we get a lot of set-up about who Elise was before she died in her first life, and a declaration that she no longer wants to marry the crown prince and instead wants to be a doctor, setting up the stakes for the story, and gives us some fun Doctor flavored power fantasy tidbits, with a fairly accurate(?) diabetes diagnosis!

She's not trying to hide her knowledge at all, including knowledge about what's to come like war tactics, but the hand waving of (OH, I read about it in a book! Oh, I was just thinking about the topic very hard!) is very powerful magic in this world it seems.

Elise makes a wager with the King that if she can pass the medical exam, she gets to call of the engagement. Everyone thinks she's craycray, but this girl has a one track mind that has jumped of the rails of PrincePrincePrince and on to ScalpelScalpelScalpel.

But also. This girl legit smiles at him while thinking about surgery and doctor stuff, and has him blushing. This man has zero interest or experience with women up until now, and it shows, or will show in later episodes.

ELISE is also oblivious to this as she apologizes for everything she's done up until now, and everything she hasn't dont yet in this time line. And is like.. "I know you don't want this engagement, so sorry for forcing you and always stepping over your boundaries."

YOU DID BRUH. IN YOUR PAST LIFE.

It feels like your typical self sacrificing female protag in a shojo. BUT. She's self-sacrificing for the selfish (positive) sake of CUTTING PEOPLE OPEN!!! It's cute to know the romance will have a base to build off of though, and hopefully be realistic.

My favorite take from this episode, and in the series so far though is...

Capybara: THERE IS NO CULTURAL TOUCH STONE IN THIS WORLD FOR MOTHER TERESA!!! Crow: YOU DON'T KNOW THAT. Capybara: ...I don't know that. But there's no Christianity in this world!!! Crow: You don't know that. Capybara: ...I don't know that. NO CHRISTIANITY IN MY ISEKAI PLEASE!!!

Moral of the story: Anything goes in an Isekai. Just don't look to closely or you'll break it. lolol

[iliiuan]

I'm going to make a running list of things that make little to no sense in A Memory of Light. Things that unleash fury in my heart.

So far, I've got:

The Dragon's Peace

No really. This treaty is such nonsense I can't even articulate fully how bad it is. Add on top that Rand saved two thrones for his girlfriend and then turns around and says "No one get greedy now! Only one country per ruler!" Just gross.

Elayne running the Last Battle

Excuse me, what? She has zero experience. Again with the favoring your girlfriend nonsense. (From a character standpoint, she does make sense, being the skilled diplomat. But she's presented as war leader, which is not really her skill.) Anyways, it should have been Mat, obviously, but Sanderson couldn't manage that one simple plot point.

Ok, now she's in the Braem Wood being a pest because she can't believe the capabilities of the Two Rivers archers. WHY IS SHE EVEN THERE? She should be at the central command post, not running sorties on one of the battle fronts. What a complete disregard for chain of command.

Everyone deciding that Caemlyn absolutely must be rescued

I... don't get it. It's lost. It's far south, providing a magnificent distraction to the Shadow. Set up a kill net around the city, like whatever Rand had used on the Waygate in Shadar Logoth. Trollocs leave the city, trollocs get dead.

Perrin saying that there's no way to destroy the Waygate

Um, excuse me, were you not paying attention AT ALL to Loial's lectures? You remove both Avendesora leaves. Like what is even going on here.

Rhuarc and Amys insisting that the Aiel can do whatever the fuck they want at Shayol Ghul.

They just signed the Dragon's Peace and agreed that Elayne would lead. There is no way under ji'e'toh that they would immediately ignore their pledge.

Not inviting Seanchan and Shara to the party

Yes, I'm still bitter that not a single Aes Sedai thought to go check on Shara.

Also, Tuon definitely should have been there. My need for thoroughness and consistency demands it.

The numbers don't seem right

I haven't done the math, but there seem to be too many trollocs (where was there space for so many? And what did they eat?) and too many armies of the Dark, with a very small showing of forces for the Light. And then the small matter of so many channelers being turned. Like, I get that it would be a difficult war to win, but the numbers seem really skewed to me.

The Horn of Valere

Rand really didn't put together that Mat wasn't bound any longer? (Maybe not, ok ok, but still seems like he would have pondered it more.) Egwene really went to the Field of Merrilor to prepare for The Last Battle and didn't bother to bring the Horn of Valere with her? What level of unprepared bullshit is going on over here?

The Ogier

The world doesn't have enough food, so the most important thing the ogier can do is... fight? NO. Sure, send the warriors out, but have the rest sing food to life. I just. What a waste. (And a rather large lack of creativity.)

Pevara and Androl

An Aes Sedai (you know, the women who perfected the art of not responding to emotion) who's been alive over a hundred years (so she's definitely practiced) and is in the Red Ajah (you know, the Ajah that oddly doesn't have Warders), in a moment of panic, bonds a man who can channel.

I also was annoyed on my first read by having these randos all of a sudden occupying a rather large portion of the pov. After 14 books with a rather breathtaking cast, why are we exploring new people? I don't get it.

Cannon Misuse

They lined 100 cannons in four ranks across a road. That's 25 cannons across. That many cannons *might* fit across the monstrous 14 lane freeway behind my neighborhood. Maybe. That's *way* too many cannons for a forest road to nowhere.

Perrin Hesitating

You know, we finally have Rand being rational about female combatants, and now Perrin is hesitating over a fucking Forsaken? He didn't hesitate over the Shaido, so I'm calling bullshit. He would have taken Hessalam out immediately. Moonhunter maybe not, because he didn't put together who she was until it was obvious she was helping him. But going after Heartseeker is like starting a hunt, and my boy would NOT squirm just because she's a woman.

Dreamwalkers Abandon the Dream

The Aiel Wise Ones, for all their bluster, turn out to be neither particularly wise, nor particularly brave. "Ooh, the Dream is so scary now! We better stay away!" Meanwhile, the Forsaken continue to roam. Did they ever even consider hunting their enemy? Did they even notice the purple domes? Do they care at all about anything beyond the end of their noses?

And Egwene isn't any better. Instead of being on a battlefield pretending to be a warrior, she should have been in the Dream, hunting with Perrin.

The whole thing was really disappointing.

Gareth Bryne

How, exactly, is Graendal able to compel Gareth when he's Siuan's Warder and they're always together? She should have been noticed and rebuffed.

Plot Lag

Yes, it's a problem through the entire series, but The Last *Battle* ended up being a book and a half political mess plus lots of blood and gore. The whole Black Tower debacle? Should have been resolved already. Perrin hunting Slayer? Should have been resolved early, so that he's leading the Hunt as Rand *enters* Shayol Ghul. Mat getting fitted with Seanchan attire? Should have happened instead of sitting in Caemlyn for a month, because there's no way that letter doesn't just fall open after a few days, bellowing smoke and yelling that trollocs are about to invade.

Moiraine

She is constantly expressing emotions. This is not my Moiraine. What alien did the Finn return to us?

She's also back to giving really bad advice. I thought she had grown out of that? Le sigh

Story Imbalance

I sincerely thought that the war part would be maybe a third of the book, and then we'd get into the aftermath. I guess I was naive.

The Last Battle

Who the fuck approved a chapter over 150 pages long? WHO? Absolute insanity.

[navree]

What do you think about the greyjoys characters in the book?

Balon - I think he's an ass. That's really all there is to it, I just think he's an ass and I don't feel all that much about him.

Victarion - I'm gonna be honest I find Victarion to be extraordinarily fucking funny. He's stupid as all Hell and he's got levels of self delusion to rival Cersei, but with none of the gender issues that make Cersei toe the line between hilarious and heartbreaking, so he's just hilarious. Victarion's chapters are always a nice bit of breathing room for me because it's just him Being Victarion while everything else is getting dark and heavy.

Euron - As a person, Euron is godawful, as a person he's my least favorite Greyjoy just because of how horrendous of a person he is, he's so incredibly vile and evil that I want to beat him to death with a hammer. As a character, he's fantastic. He's genuinely scary (reading about him through Aeron's eyes can be honestly terrifying), and he's such a chaotic element that we haven't seen before. He's as unrepentant as the likes of Ramsay or Joffrey, but without their disorder, yet he's not as calculated politically as someone like Littlefinger, though he's certainly not a buffoon in that regard. He's got a plan, but it's crazy and no one's entirely sure what it is and he's definitely crazy but he's just got zero morals, no sense of anything other than what he wants, and he's definitely going to somehow raise up a giant fucking sea monster at some point. And also fuck the show for what they did to him.

Theon - He's an interesting one for me. Like most people I think, I found book 1 and 2 Theon to be completely insufferable. He's an asshole with delusions of grandeur and he's just kind of a dick who throws temper tantrums and cannot admit when he's wrong or doing something he shouldn't. His entire "Prince of Winterfell" arc is just being in the head of this annoying brat who wants me to feel bad for him cuz he murdered people and Daddy didn't love him, I just wanted to shake him and yell "grow up!". But now, I'm curious about Theon. We haven't actually seen a whole lot of Theon after ACOK, we've been seeing the war between Theon and Reek, and he's only recently managed to shake off some of that conditioning, but he's still fascinating from a character perspective. To have fallen so far and to watch him claw his way back up to being himself, to see how his experiences have shaped him, it makes me interested in seeing how he'll be in the last two books of the series (I'm keeping the faith that we'll get them one day). And how that relates to the story's overall themes of identity and the self is always very interesting to keep in mind when reading his chapters.

Asha - I like Asha, I think she's neat. Like, I genuinely enjoy her, I enjoy her character and I enjoy when her point of view chapters show up, I like her personality and her arc in the story thus far and I especially appreciate how unabashed she is. She's bold and she's willful and she's going to do her own thing no matter what anyone says, she's got a strong sense of self and a strong drive to do what she wants and how she sees things, without being reckless or stupid. She's earned what she has, the loyalty of people around her and the respect of her crew and the positions she has, and I like that. And I like her defiance of Westerosi gender roles, that she not just knows what she wants but what she doesn't want, and fuck society for trying to enforce that on her, she's going to live her life the way she sees fit. I'm rooting for Asha, I hope she gets everything she wants.

Aeron - Listen, I do not know why Aeron is such a top character for me. I don't know why he leaped out so strongly, but he did and I genuinely adore him. For one, his scenes in ACOK are incredibly fun, because Theon's just being a little asshole and Aeron is not taking it and just being the perennial straight man, which I love. And then once we get to learn more about him, I just...For one, Aeron, like a lot of my fave ASOIAF, tends to break the mold of what we tend to see from this world. A lot of POV characters in ASOIAF are situationally religious, they believe in the gods that they believe in because that's just the societal custom of the time and don't seem to actually feel all that much about faith, a lot of them bordering on being atheist. Aeron is one of the very, very few people who not alone believes in what he believes, but believes wholeheartedly, is incredibly and fiercely devout to his religion and lives his life in direct service to not only propagating the faith but also living by it himself as best he can (Melisandre's the only other character that fits that description, I think), and that's a new perspective we don't get in this series that I enjoy. Aeron's also an incredibly complex character that is fascinating to read about and think on. He started out as a fun loving guy, and then when he almost drowns he turns himself around and is incredibly serious about dedicating his life to being a priest of the Drowned God, and all the lifestyle and personality changes that entails. He doesn't do thing by halves, when he has goals he sticks to them no matter what, and he does have beliefs that he clings to wholeheartedly, not just his faith but also in genuinely wanting what's best for the Iron Islands and the Ironborn, the entire reason he calls the Kingsmoot is to make sure that Euron doesn't become king, oh Aeron. And there's a fierce heartbreak in his story, in what he went through at Euron's hands when he was just a kid, and how that's shaped him throughout his life, how he probably went with being amiable and debaucherous to try and cope with his trauma, and then turned completely to religion later on (that quote about him searching for the Drowned God within him when Euron wins the Kingsmoot and finding nothing, only the sound of the door hinge.........God it tears me up). And he won't compromise himself, he won't join Euron even to save himself, even when Euron's torturing him in the released TWOW chapters, he tries his hardest to stay true to himself. And even with all his seriousness and hardness and the fact that anyone who had to deal with Aeron dealt with as a child would be well within their rights to be incredibly embittered, he still tries to look out for people best as he can, not just his drowned men but even strangers, he does genuinely try to give Falia warning to get away from Euron as quickly as she can, even though Falia means nothing to him, just because he knows what Euron is. He's an incredibly fascinating and deeply tragic character and I am going to be weeping into my pillow when he dies.

[smbilodeau]

Killing Machine

I wrote the following essay five years ago today, on the 84th anniversary of my mother's birth. It's five years later and we have made zero progress. Think about why that is while reading this, please.

-----

I don’t talk about guns much. I don’t own one, after all, and they don’t play a part in my day-to-day life.

It’s not because I’m afraid of them. It’s not because I don’t know how to use one. It’s not because I don’t know how to take care of one. I’ve known how to safely use a gun since I was eight or nine. I was on the Rifle Team in high school. I’ve had many instructors over the years, but the first person to teach me how to use a gun properly was my father.

For those who don’t know him, I’ll provide a little background information. He was a Marine combat medic during the Korean conflict. He served on the front lines during that conflict. Earned a Purple Heart there, pulling soldiers out of harm’s way to treat them, despite the shrapnel embedded in his arm. Kept pulling them out of harm’s way for days while wounded without getting treated himself, because he was in better condition than they were.

It took me decades to get the story of the scar on his arm from him. He doesn’t talk about that time in his life much. He also doesn’t own a gun. He knows what guns do to the human body, has had to deal with that first hand. He taught myself and my brothers that a gun isn’t a toy, it’s not for fun. It’s a tool designed with one purpose in mind: to kill. I don’t think that lesson really took for us, when he first told us. I know that it didn’t take for me. Do you know how much fun it is to fill a two-liter soda bottle with water, screw the top down tight, and then watch it explode when you put a round through it?

We had guns in the house when I was younger. My brothers and I each had our own single-shot .22 rifle. Used for plinking at the soda bottles I mentioned more than anything else. My dad had a shotgun for the annual Thanksgiving time deer hunting he and his brothers did. I don’t remember him ever bringing a deer home, so I’m not sure if he ever really used it for more than an excuse to spend time with his brothers. I know that I wanted to get old enough to go hunting with him and my uncles.

That was the gun my mother used to commit suicide.

That was when the “guns are not toys” lesson finally sank in.

My father hasn’t owned a gun since.

Today should have been my mother’s 84th birthday. I would love to be able to call her up and wish her a “Happy Birthday, Mom!” but I can’t. A gun took that away from me.

There is a fetishization about guns in this country. They’ve been romanticized since the founding of the country. The image of the backwoods patriot with his squirrel rifle fighting off the Redcoats in iconic. As is the image of the tough, good man with the fast draw, defending himself and his loved ones from the bad guys in nearly every western ever made.

Part of the problem, I suspect, is that the people who want guns the most are the ones who understand what they really do the least. They don’t protect you from your government. They don’t keep you safe in your own home. [Statistics say that you’re far more likely to kill yourself, or a family member, if you own a gun, then if you don’t. How is that safe?]

What they do, is give frightened people the illusion of safety. And for those people to be able to maintain that illusion, they’re willing to let our nation’s children be sacrificed regularly, and more and more frequently.

You know that it’s fear driving them, because you can NOT have a rational discussion with them about gun control, about the need for proper laws, and proper access, and proper training. There are more laws on the books for vehicle ownership, safety, and licensing, than for guns. Than for a tool whose only purpose is to kill. Think about that… It takes longer to buy a car than a gun in many states. AND you have to already be trained and licensed to operate the vehicle. The gun? Not so much.

How many of you who love your guns more than you love other people’s children have ever seen first hand what a gun can do? I’ve known what a gun is really used for, and what it can really do, since my mother’s death. Since I saw her corpse laying in its coffin, with its reconstructed face that bore almost no resemblance to her.

You want your guns so you can feel safe? Fine. I want sane gun laws to feel that my grandsons are safe when they leave for school. I want guns at least as tightly regulated as automobiles. Years of training. Licensing. Background checks. Limited amounts of ammo per person. Limited clip size. You want to keep a killing machine in your house? Fine. Then know how to use it. And know what it can do.

What it can do is destroy lives.

[thelonesomequeen]

Anons thoughts and opinions:

Sharing the asks we got about relationship status from yesterday. Please note these are the opinions and comments of our anons, and not necessarily ours. Some things we agree with, some things we don’t. We wanted to give a space to share those

🌷🌷🌷

🌷🌷🌷Anon 1

There’s not an ounce of doubt in my head that this is a real relationship, you can argue what type of relationship; or how much it’s lasted and in what terms, but not that’s only PR

People around here love running around like “oh nothing makes sense, no theory fits all this” yes yes it does make sense, it’s a real thing going on with them and they’ve told a few lies maybe or maybe not, it changes absolutely nothing.

The answers to the questions:

1. Does Chris have something to gain from this?

2. Is this strictly PR?

It’s the same answer. No.

N

O

Whatever you answer to the first question answers the second one and viceversa. Simple math.

If you answer the first question with a YES and give a concise firm IMPORTANT answer of what he has to gain, then the its strictly pr answer is a yes too BUT SO FAR no one has been able to answer that question with a logical yes; the most people have come up with is that the SMA title requires for the man to not be single; which sounds dumb he’s doing ALL OF THIS for a title he looked blatantly uninterested in and that no one is talking about anymore. The other thing they’ve been saying is YES but we don’t know yet what he’s gaining, THATS NOT A VALID ANSWER.

Let’s not be in denial and accept we just don’t like this girl at all. I DO NOT LIKE HER and I hope they break up soon.

🌷🌷🌷Anon 2

This is clear PR. I don’t understand how others don’t see it.

🌷🌷🌷Anon 3

Whilst I agree with everything you said. I do think Chris would’ve been a little peeved at that shower video considering she’s linked to him and ‘supposedly’ his girlfriend of over a year and it really doesn’t look good because of the fact people are aware she leaked that video herself lol. Like I don’t think he was like ‘oooo yeah a white vest and it’s all wet yeahhh’ hahaha do you know what i mean?

🌷🌷🌷Anon 4

Love your last post!

Even though I think this is a real relationship (not sure how serious) used for PR so many things surrounding this situation are so odd. But the PR angle makes no sense to me. Like you said this type of PR relationship has done him ZERO favors and anyone can tell that. And I also think it is not favoring her at all. Yes she gained more followers but she hasn’t done anything with this newfound recognition. She hasn’t booked any interviews, barely promoted her show. She even ended up deleting her account. The whole point of a PR relationship is to be constantly in the public and have people talking (think Pete Davidson and his relationships). This is not like that at all. If he wanted to promote her show, there was no need to confirm a relationship. He could’ve just posted a friendly message did a puff piece with People about how he’s supporting his friend. Honestly, I think at this point we just need to wait and see

🌷🌷🌷Anon 5

What does Chris stand to gain from this relationship if it’s actually PR? A new image. The fandom knew something was up between them at the beginning of the year and nothing came from it except a few interactions on IG. Nothing really happened until October. The fans were prepared for something, the GP weren’t. Creators on the internet who never spoke about him went on long rants about how he’s another Hollywood cliche going through a midlife crisis. Maybe he really wanted to shed the internets boyfriend, dog dad, Disney loving image in hopes of reinventing himself and the way the public sees him. He’s had that good press for years. My mom watched TGM over the summer and she said she didn’t like Lloyd or Chris playing a character like that. He’s Cap and should stick to roles along those lines. Maybe this is him entering his villain era in hopes of getting more drama heavy roles. Maybe he doesn’t want to be known as Prince Charming anymore.

🌷🌷🌷Anon 6

I’m going to play devils advocate here and say that CE knows that his appeal and “sell” to his fans and public is the sweet, handsome bachelor in Hollywood who can’t find love. And that’s why it’s been crickets from him regarding her show (not even a mention), any photos of them or even him talking about her in SMA. Nope, nothing. I believe after it was made known they are an item, to quickly bury it and get back to “look at handsome Chris” mode. And I think he likes being viewed that way too.

🌷🌷🌷Anon 7

I’ve seen y’all and a few other people question “Why Alba?” if it’s just for PR and I have some thoughts.. Why not go with someone you already know? Why out another hookup when you have one that people have already been speculating about for a year? It gives them a built in timeline with NYE as proof and a LDR also gives an excuse for why there are no photos of them and no one has seen them out together. It also lets them do the bare minimum for PR since they’re not really expected to be in the same place. Why wasn’t she at any big events like family and friends’ weddings, or premieres? Well they’re both busy working and LDRs are tough. Plus a long distance relationship where he’s traveling to go see her kind of lines up with his character in Ghosted, just more realistically. No one outside of the fandom is really going to question the relationship or timeline. We’re in a bubble. People don’t care about Chris Evans as much as we think they do. His career will be fine. I promise.

Whether it’s PR for Ghosted, a PR cleanup from the pumpkin photo leaking their situationship, or an actual relationship, it will eventually end, and people will eventually stop talking about it. It’ll just become a messy, chaotic blip in his history. I know that sounds bleak if it is real, but honestly just don’t see this working out for them in the long run.

🌷🌷🌷Anon 8 (@andnowwedance)

The no pictures thing is just the weird part for me.// for me the no pictures thing just shows hes learning from his past. They way this fandom has treated the women is his life is shameful. If i was famous and someone treated the people i dated like that i would def try and keep it as secret as possible for as long as possible. I would have a rule about not putting putting pics on the internet. People would not have known they we’re together if his fans weren’t super stalkers looking up real estate listings and property taxes and tracking tail numbers. If they we’re together for over a year (which I absolutely DO believe) I think they did the best that could be expected in keeping it private.

🌷🌷🌷Anon 9

The problem with CE and BA “Relationship” os there isn’t any old pictures of them // yall do realize it is possible for people to live a life off the internet and out of public view right? It’s privacy. We rarely see chris doing anything anywhere, especially since he no longer lives in la most of the time

🌷🌷🌷Anon 10

i think i’m of the mindset that they’re totally legit and he’s probably really into her just because why else would you add that stereotype onto yourself? of being a man with a midlife crisis, soothing his ego with a girl in her early 20s.

OR he really just is a man in a midlife crisis soothing his ego with a girl in her early 20s. (but surely he must know how desirable he is to the general public?) idk. i’m really not totally invested either way i just like checking your page! love the way you approach these topics.

🌷🌷🌷Anon 11

Chris hasn’t publicly dated anyone for almost 5 years now, right? Perhaps it was just time to reup the desirability with a relationship. He can back up his standard “wife and kids” talking points with something recent

🌷🌷🌷Anon 12

But how many “in the wild” SOLO pics of Chris did we get in 2022? Just out to eat, at the store, walking down the street style pics? If we don’t think the relationship is real because they haven’t been snapped by random people while out, well, by that logic Chris himself ceases to exist when he isn’t being photographed or spotted by the public. Honestly, with a baseball cap and a sweatshirt he’s just too average to stand out in public. And no one knows who she is.

🌷🌷🌷Anon 13

I have a theory was the “relationship” isn’t thrilling the tabloids, it’s the wrong timing. Had this happened around Endgame or even Knives Out it would have been everywhere. The things he’s done since haven’t exactly been world wide phenomena. She’s gaining a little visibility but only though people who already keep close watches on Chris, the general public.

🌷🌷🌷Anon 14

The PR rs is done. There are more important things to worry about. Tara's mother in law passed away a few days after Thanksgiving. Condolences to the Bidwell family & friends. Death has a way in reminding people what matters most, the relationships you make with the people you love the most.

🌷🌷🌷Anon 15

Yep. That’s the part that’s remained weird to me too 🦎// I mean if they spent the nye party together which is 99% (minus 1% because I’m eyewitness) probable I can’t believe there’s no the whole group together type of photo. And we know he and his friends pose for these type of photo on these parties and they post. Also, remember that DM post of him being “spotted” in Martha’sV in those same days for a nye trip with friends. Imo, at this point everything is possible regarding this whole thing🤡

🌷🌷🌷Anon 16

I know more than likely it's a real relationship, but there's still just this little part of me that wonders if Chris and Alba are just a casual hookup turned long PR play for whenever Ghosted comes out. If he's playing a hopeless romantic chasing after Ana's character, a LRD could make it more relatable.

🌷🌷🌷Anon 17

These two will be done by the new year. Her show was just canned. It's not gonna last beyond next year. But LOL at people thinking they're getting engaged.😂

[ayuki-ikuya]

Dorms and Archons

Twisted Wonderland x Genshin Impact

Part 2 of 2

Part 1

Dendro Archon

The Recluse Scholar

𝓚𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓶 𝓐𝓵-𝓐𝓼𝓲𝓶

Kalim was excited to have a new friend! Oh the parties they'd have! The fun! The food!

When he met you, you were... distant. Did he do something wrong? Did he upset you?

He really did try to find out what he did wrong, and often sent you invitations (Malleus eyeing the invitations) you some of the parties he makes, but you don't show up nor reply, making him sadden.

Jamil low key face palming

During a normal sunny day at school, he and Jamil headed to the library to grab some books, and during the process, he found you, tucked in a corner with mountains, upon mountains of books around you, and you? You were reading.

"Ah? S/o??"

"HEEEEK!!!!"

he startled you so badly that plants from outside grew. which of course caused a commotion.

Kalim apologised for startling you, but he asked a question about your attendance, your reply was to fiddle with your sleeves before answering with a small voice that you were afraid of people despite being a deity.

Kalim immedietly thought of Idia, but he crossed the line of no return, but Kalim smiled warmly, held your hand, making you choke, and said a more softer voice that he'd throw a smaller party, just the three of them. (Don't tell me you forgot Jamil, HE MAKES THE DANG FOOD)

You accepted.

Several parties later, you two were unsurprisingly in love with each other that the students of NRC were rolling their eyes at the moments the two shared. COULD YOU TWO DATE ALREADY!?!?

When you two started dating, Kalim made a celebration, but kept you in a more secluded section, that way you could be apart of it, but not near a large crowd of people. And you were thankful for it.

As a couple, Kalim practically adores you. And he's super affectionate too! Jalim is glad to have someone more tameable and it also makes it easier to locate Kalim if he ever goes off by himself.

𝓙𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵 𝓥𝓲𝓹𝓮𝓻

He thought nothing of you at first.

Until you had full scores on everything.

He had requested you to help with Scarabia's studying, in offer of full meals, which you complied with due to living in a run down dorm and doesn't have a lot of money to support themselves with.

However, the study group went wrong due to the amount of people.

Jamil then figured that you didn't work too well with large numbers of people, and he found that you were slightly dependent on him when it comes to speaking.

He ended up planning smaller groups, working on those who had the worst grades then up.

And thanks to you, their dorm gradually got better.

Jamil spent time with you whenever he was free from following Kalim, and he was fairly fond of you.

You were soft, very soft, but highly reliable in terms of knowledge. So he'd often vent to you which is surprising.

But your presence and advice helped him grow better.

Jamil fell for you when he found you smiling at a Scarabia student showing you their improved grade, you looked like a warm hearted maternal parent, and his heart skipped at the sight.

When you two began dating, it was a bit rocky due to Jamil's family duty to serve the Al-Asim family. But Kalim was very kind to allow Jamil more free time, in exchange that he brings you over for more study parties!

You figured since Kalim wasn't fond of studying and more for partying, that you'd make a study party which improved Kalim's grade by ten folds. Jalim practically wept tears that the seven sent him this angel.

Geo Archon

The Consultant

𝓐𝔃𝓾𝓵 𝓐𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓷𝓰𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓸

Azul was greedy for the power you possibly possess. and your money.

Azul underestimated you since he witnessed your lack of brains in terms of money. You forget about having your wallet on you, and whenever someone offers to pay for you, you attempt to buy everything without a single thought.

This was going to be an easy contract, Azul thought. They're an idiot, Azul thought. They can't complete this contract, Azul thought.

"I've completed my end of the contract. Now you must do yours."

"Huh? Nani?"

Azul was stupefied by this, he whipped his head towards the Leech twins, both begrudgingly nodding their heads in confirmation at the archon completing their conditions of the contract.

Azul had tried to change the details of the contract, you of course allowed it the first time.

But when you returned with the conditions once again completed, Azul tried to add more.

However, you weren't having it.

You stood up and leaned down to Azul, towering over him. A sudden pressure weighed the three mercreatures, it was heavy and foreboding. Your eyes glowed a gold with the amber ombre in your hair glowing gold as well.

"I was lenient to allow you the first time. Either fulfill your end of the deal or break the contract. But if you break the contract, you will suffer the wrath of the rock."

Azul was terrified.

When Azul fell for you, he questioned himself. How in the seven did he fall for a person like YOU!? He will never remember how, but all he knows is that he's in waaay to deep.

When you two became a couple, you were far more charasmatic and charming than before, it was like it was turned up a notch. Or two. or more...

The contract loving couple have been making more money than ever thanks to the Geo Archon, the avatar of contracts. It's either fill the conditions or suffer the wrath of the rock. Or just, don't make a contract. Simple.

But then we got the one brain cell trio doing their dumb sh**.

𝓙𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓛𝓮𝓮𝓬𝓱

Oya?

What an intriguing being.

Jade was the first to be interested in you. But he couldn't exactly find you that well since you practically mixed with the crowd a little too well than he'd like. [Bro, Zhongli and Venti has statues of themselves around Liyue and Mondstaft, AND NO ONE MANAGES TO THINK "hmmm.. You know, he looks like one that statue there.. Wait a minute-" LIKE, SRSLY!!! Venti is more obvious, I can understand Zhongli since he wears more funeral consultant clothing, but he still somehow blends in with the crowd. Unlike a Lil wind spirit.]

But when the moment came where you made a contract, Jade was more than happy to hinder you, only for you to complete the conditions before he could figure out your plan.

"... What?"

["OSMANTHUS WI-"]

After that fiasco with you giving a very large heavy warning, Jade was by your side whenever he wasn't with Floyd, questioning your knowledge, in which you were more than happy enough to comply.

Jade fell for you when you showed how competent you were unlike the other miserable guppies in school. Sure you had a few problems, but nothing with a little Jade there and everything is perfect. He also favored your knowledge, specially about fungi.

When you two became a couple, it was.. Strange to say, a air headed but scary consultant with a sadistically calm eelman? That's ringing bells for everyone.

𝓕𝓵𝓸𝔂𝓭𝓮 𝓛𝓮𝓮𝓬𝓱

Floyd had zero, zip, non, 100% no interest in you. Why? You looks, sound and seem boring. And he stand corrected.

it was later when you completed the conditions, which, not gonna lie, spooked Floyd.

"Hah?"

Later, he began to go after you like he did with Goldfish (Riddle), and when he tried to squeeze you, he found himself squeezing a shield instead.

He found himself utterly thrilled and had did several attempts at you, which failed.

His interest in you and your abilities heightened.

Then your relationship bloomed.

It was hard to say if it was romantic or platonic, but either way, Floyd was perfectly happy. Happy to have a partner who continues to show things or tell him things about their world.

As long as Floyd kept out of trouble and/or content, Jade and Azul didn't say question their relationship.

Pyro Archon

The Warlord

𝓛𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓪 𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓻

Who are you? What are you? Why are you here? What are you doing? Get out.

Leona didn't care for you, not one single bit. Until you messed with his sleep schedule due to your chaoticness.

Whenever your around, you just bring trouble with you. And he doesn't like it one bit.

And when you bring trouble, you bring noise.

Which officially ruins his nap times.

However, Leona praises and respects your prowess in battle. You always gave it your all, which he liked. You weren't holding back, which allowed him to gauge how powerful you were as a deity with or without your element.

As it turns out, you're stronger than what you make yourself out to be, but what catches Leona's attention the most, was how calculating you were. It was as if you were analyzing him

To be honest, he felt violated.

At most times, you're energetic, but when your quiet or serious, it's either pack your sh** and leave or get out of their way.

Because when your either if those, you will either send someone to the nurse with severe casualties or some of the schools property will be destroyed. And of course, there is a justified reason for this.

Other than to make Crowley very upset of course.

Leona fell for you with your strength. He loves a woman who can lead and he could just relax. Unless it comes to some other type of leadership, like in the bedroom, then that will change. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

These two are dangerous as a couple when Leona's awake and active. And when Leona's on the move, expect a gremlin to be tailing after him, and be sure to clear out of their way. Mercy didn't in their vocabulary.

𝓡𝓾𝓰𝓰𝓲𝓮 𝓑𝓾𝓬𝓬𝓱𝓲

Huh? Do I know you? No? Goodbye.

Ruggie, quite literally, didn't give a rats ass about you.

To him, you were like any other beast man, rowdy and rough, other than your form that is.

But thankfully, you knew how to take care of yourself. Less work for Ruggie. I guess.

Not only that you knew how to cook. That was a god sent gift to Ruggie. Sadly though, you only know how to make mostly meat dishes. If it contains vegetables, expect the veggies to be over seasoned.

Leona was scared when he saw you in the kitchen, only to calm down seeing you being calm and not rowdy.

Ruggie fell for your cooking. He is literally the term "To get to a mans heart, you go through their stomach". although you should work on cooking vegetables better for a more healthier lifestyle.

𝓙𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓗𝓸𝔀𝓵

Strong? Strong.

You two are 100% besties.

You two are glued to the hip whenever you guys are free or share classes.

You both like to exercise and spar, so you two mostly go for each other.

To say the least, Jack mostly saw you as a sibling. Sorry, no romance.

Jack often scolds you for not eating more vegetables.

Which makes you pout and huff.

Cute lil tyke - Leona

Hydro Archon

The Judge

𝓡𝓲𝓭𝓭𝓵𝓮 𝓡𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓼

Nice, another rule setter like me. We're gonna be great friends.

"Explain why two cubes of sugar should be in a lemon tea? It's blasphemy."

I see you have chosen violence 😌

Riddle at first liked you, until you learned about the rules of the Queen of Hearts, did he start to hate you.

"BE QUIET OR IT'S OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!"

He loathed you.

He thought that since your a judge, you'd understand the rules, much like him. But no, you judged the rules as well, evaluating if they are fair or not.

Whenever you call out on the rules that appeared ridiculously stupid to have (like the two sugar cubes in lemon tea. That's bs to you.)

After the overblot, you were more nicer when he changed.

He stand corrected.

But he didn't mind it, he low key enjoyed arguing with you, without him screaming at you of course.

You two as a couple sends fear in everyone. A judge and a tyrant? That's a deadly combo.

𝓣𝓻𝓮𝔂 𝓒𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻

Trey had taken a liking to you, seeing how similar you are to Riddle.

He enjoyed answering your questions about rules, but if there were rules he can't remember, he'd look at them with you to not only answer your question, but to commit them to memory in case.

What he's scared of is when you give trials regarding about incidents. Riddle would present his case then the 'innocent' or innocent would present theirs.

If the person is guilty, you ensure punishment, because like Riddle, you detest rule breakers unless in reason. You didn't mind them bending the rules as long as it doesn't break.

Trey is envious of your abilities, but you reassure him the his Doodle Suit is superior if you can use it against others magic.

You often praised him as well.

You admitted to thinking about a scenario of if Trey was born in Tevyat, he'd receive a hydro vision.

He flushed in response, secretly happy to have caught your attention.

You two as a couple puts everyone, minus Riddle because it's you, at ease.

𝓒𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓭

#ohmyseveniminlove #calltheambulance #loveatfirstsight #goddescendingfromheaven #pinchme #PLSNOTICEMEANDLOVEME #foryoupage

He practically fell for you.

To him, you were perfect.

"You have flaws? I only see perfection!"

He's a smooth talker, albeit feminine due to having a lot of sisters, but smooth nonetheless.

He's a simp for you, willing to use his unique magic to do anything and everything for you.

Literally fell at first sight of you.

As a couple, Cater often takes couple photos with you, at first you were content with the pictures, but at this point they kinda peeved her when he takes pictures on every occasion.

"Smiiiile~"

"Cater, I love you, but please, stop."

"If you give me a kiss I might~"

𝓓𝓮𝓾𝓬𝓮 𝓢𝓹𝓪𝓭𝓮

You're his role model.

Literally the Geno to your Saitama.

He carries a notebook with him to take notes on you since he strives to be like you. A model being.

Even if he looks smart, he still has a split braincell between Ace and Grim.

Don't hold it against him if he's trying to know almost EVERYTHING about you.

More platonic than romantic.

𝓐𝓬𝓮 𝓣𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓵𝓪

Complete opposites.

And completely disliked each other.

You rubbed him the wrong way, maybe it was because you were more justified than him, better at things than he was.

He didn't know what, it was just you being better than him. He understands he's not smart, because he foes dumb sh** with the other two.

But whenever you have to deal with their messes on their own, he feels irritated.

He often tries to get after you as well.

"Oh wow, such a god you are. Pathetic."

*cue angry archon noises with an 8 feet tall wave behind them, ready to flood Ace's ass.*

Yeah, your relationship is very... Rocky and slightly concerning.

Here's part 2! I'm happy that you read this! I will have a link to the first part after connecting the links to certain parts. Feel free to request or refer to the main master list pinned on my blog if you wish to see other choices to make! Happy reading!

[lustbile]

My Sin, My Soul

JohnnyxReader

Word Count: 26k+ (woof sorry)

Warnings: PhD student!Johnny, Undergrad!Reader. Loosely based off the premise of the movie/book Lolita but minus gross predatory old men. Oral (giving and receiving), footsie, & penetrative. Implied age gap, but both johnny and the reader are of age. Mentions of smoking. And strained relationship between mother and reader. Also reader is a little all over the place and emotionally inept but its fine! What they lack emotional intelligence, they make up for in wildly misplaced confidence :) Also,

*short line: ——, means a short time cut

*longer line:————————,,, means a longer time cut

*This story is meant to span about an entire semester of school

Requested

——

——

“I have no idea what I ever did to make you hate me so much!”

“Oh please,” the exhausted, exasperated voice of your mothers rings from the kitchen as you barge through the front door. Your heavy backpack lands with a thump in the middle of the entrance, and your feet stomp loudly as you try to find where she stands.

“You’re always so dramatic. I don’t hate you,” she doesn’t spare a glance up, even as you stand and glare at her from only a few feet away. She only continues to chop at her vegetables and hum quietly along to the radio at her side as you fume with anger behind her.

“Oh well you could have really fooled me.”

Ever since the moment you read her text, you had been like this. ‘A rampage’ your friends had teasingly called it, but not even a single time in the teasing did they invalidate the way you felt. Once they saw the confusion in your eyes and read through the thoughtless message your mother sent you, they were nothing but understanding. Actually, they were just about the same amount of upset as you.

At exactly 3:06 pm, right towards the tail end of your lecture that was scheduled to finish at 3:15, you received a message from the contact listed: Mother. The eye rolling emoji stuck at the end of the title mirroring the exact face you pulled when you opened the text. And that message read:

‘Hello my sweet child. I've hesitated to tell you this for far too long now and I fear that I’ve run out of time to avoid it. Later today, around an hour after you are meant to be arriving home today, we will be having a visitor. This visitor is a very lovely man named John Suh. He has been hired recently at your school as a professor and is in need of temporary accommodations. I’ve selflessly offered the spare room here for him to use, and he will be staying with us for as long as he needs. I’m unsure of how long that will be exactly, but isn’t this exciting! A new fresh face around the house hm? Maybe he’ll help bring some new life to our little family. Regardless, I’m asking you to be on your best behavior once he arrives, and I mean it. You come home, and you are expected to immediately go and clean your room. I want zero arguments from you today, and preferably at least until he leaves. You know how you can get just as much as I do, so I’m expecting better. He’s your guest as much as he will be mine. Much love. - Mommy <3’

Your nose scrunched and your lip curled when you reached the end of the long winded text, a fire lighting in your chest as you glared at the little heart she had tagged at the end.

It was all an act, the sweet tone she applied, and started to lose towards the end. She hesitated because she knew, boy did she know, exactly how you would feel. This wasn’t out of character for her, doing things that she knew would crawl under your skin, and she only ever used it as a step up on you, but inviting some strange man into your home was a new angle.

Your relationship with your mother was never exactly “good.” She was never neglectful, in the physical sense at least. You always got the food, shelter, and things you needed, but the emotions is where she fell flat.

You knew the story from your grandmother. Your mother was dumb, and in love. Let the boy’s hold on her heart spread to her mind and lapse her judgment. She fell pregnant with you young, and ever since, had held a weird grudge against you for taking what she felt was her prime years. Now instead you feel like, instead of a mother, you got a roommate that feeds you but also competes with you at any given moment. You only call her mother as a formality, your grandmother having taken the place as your source of comfort a long time ago, but she still held you under her claws everyday.

“Tell me it was a joke,” you finally spit after a beat of silence and challenging staring from your end, “you were just messing with me to get a reaction.”

“I’m not a grade school bully,” that’s what earns you a heavy glance, but with a shaking head she returns to her task, “it’s not a little prank child, now go to your room and clean before Mr. Suh gets here.”

“Mr. Suh,” you repeat with a scoff as you finally budge from your spot and move to sit on the counter you know your mother just finished wiping down, “what is he like some crusty sixty year old man? Why would you ever offer him a room here anyways? He could be some pervert or smell like old cheese for all you know! Oh but wait! I know exactly why you’d invite him. Because. You. Hate. Me.”

With every beat you leave between your words, you lean closer to her face, hoping the loaded bagel you ate for lunch earlier plagues your breath and burns her nostrils as you invade her space.

You jump back immediately when she hits the cutting board with the knife in her hand, the sharp end biting and getting stuck in wood, standing tall on its own when she lets go.

“Now listen you little brat,” her eyes are as lit up as yours now, her finger pointing at your face as she begins a rant, “you will go to your room and clean it before you get me mad for real. Mr. Suh is a good man, I’ve spoken to him myself and I promise you if you get even remotely in his way you’ll have to answer to me. He is staying here and you will show him perfect hospitality and that’s final.”

You swat her hand away, your fingers smacking against the side of her fist a bit harder than intended, but you’re standing and walking up to your room before you can even see the annoyance pull across her face.

——

You don’t clean your room. It’s not even noticeably messy minus a few water bottles and candy wrappers, but you don’t change a thing purely for the principle of the situation. Instead you paint your nails with the door that connects your room and the guest room, soon to be occupied by an unwanted guest, wide open in hopes to leave some lingering bothersome fumes and to plot where you could easily steal some of his belongings. If he had any that interested you.

It's been about an hour since you arrived home, and just as your mother promised, you hear the sound of knuckles tapping against the wood of your front door.

There’s fumbling noises that come from the kitchen as your mother scrambles for the door, and you roll your eyes hard enough to make them ache when you hear her swing the door open and greet the man with a fake sweet tone.

There’s a rumbling murmur between the two, and you stand to get closer to the door to eavesdrop just in time to hear her calling your name. You don’t like the way that hearing your name from her mouth makes your stomach turn, so you choose to ignore her.

Instead of joining them in the entrance of your home, you slip out of your room and sit to peek over the farthest edge of the stairs. It’s a place you’ve used since you were little, the layout of the second floor making the spot hidden from your mother’s view from where she stands, but let’s you see her, and whoever her guests were. It’s never failed you, and has given you a perfect place to view all the lack of action, until now.

You can see them both as always, no matter the amount of twisting and turning your mother does in her spot allowing her to see you. But you’re so caught up in the devious enjoyment you get from her struggling, that it takes you a moment to realize, for once her guest can see you.

His height is perfect for giving him the best angle to stare directly into your eyes, and the way they dance in entertainment makes your heart skip. He knows what you're doing, and he knows you’re surprised that he can see you, this only makes it more fun. For him at least.

You, on the other hand, are struggling. One, you feel betrayed by the universe for allowing someone the height required to find your hiding spot. Two, you again feel betrayed when you see what Mr. Suh looks like.

The version of him you’ve created in your head is dead. A shriveled old man with prying eyes is laid to rest in the recesses of your mind and is replaced by the man who locks your eyes onto his. His lips are full, chapped from the trip here, and curled into a slight grin. He’s much younger than you anticipated, though still visibly older than you. The button up and slacks he wears makes him look clean and mature, and he only has two decently sized suitcases at his side. He can tell you’re thrown off by his looks by the way your eyes dart around his form, but it only adds to his enjoyment.

Your mother calls your name again, and again, each time getting shriller, and you can’t help the wash of smugness you feel when you see the man flinch at her volume. Even with her sharp tone though, the calls fall on deaf ears as you find yourself purely enthralled by the man who shows no sign of wanting to look away from you.

“This kid,” you mom lets her arms fall to her side with a huff when you don’t respond, and she turns back to the man with a hungry smile, “always so busy and in their own world they are hmm? But you’re a professor no? You know how they get when they’re this age, think they’re all grown up but they have so much more to learn.”

“Yes they can be like that I suppose,” he trails off awkwardly, his words going almost ignored by your mother as she still cranes her neck to try to catch and hint of movement, “but it wasn’t too long since I was there myself so I wouldn’t say I have much room to talk.”

You want to hit yourself for the way you swoon at his voice. His quiet tone and the sleep that still tugs on his features from his trip gives him a soft rumble to his words, and the way he still looks at you when he speaks makes you feel warm. It’s almost disgusting the way your heart flutters in your chest from the attention, and right then you decide you want to give this gorgeous man nothing but trouble.

“Well I suppose it's for the best,” your mom finally turns back to him with her hands propped on her hips, and she thankfully only reads his wandering eyes as him taking in his new surroundings, “i'm not sure where they could be but maybe that means they will stay out of your way.”

“Hmm maybe,” he responds fully aware that her words are far from the truth, and he even offers a sly wink in response when you hold your finger up to your lips to shush him and gently shake your head.

“Well it's not important,” the soft smile you wore drops when she pulls his attention away from you when she grabs his arm, he himself even looking a bit disappointed at the interruption, “what is important is you getting comfortable as soon as possible, so let me show you your room.”

You take this as your cue. You jump up, and dive back into your room just in time to close both doors leading to your room as they climb the stairs. You tuck yourself under your desk just as a precaution, and you're fully settled in the corner when you hear the guest room door open and they walk in.

There’s thumps and sounds of small wheels as they drag his suitcases in, and hums of curiosity and appreciation as he surveys the room.

“You have a desk here for all the work I imagine the school has you doing,” your mother starts and you’re now able to tell she’s adopted a more flirty tone so much you almost gag, “and then your bed is in the corner over there. I know it's not a whole lot but I’m sure you can make it your own especially once you’ve unpacked.”

“It’s perfect, thank you ma’am,” he says in a way that sounds so genuine it makes your heart thump a bit, “just the right amount for me.”

“Wonderful,” she happily sighs, and you hear her feet move across the floor a bit more before she stops, “oh my, I should also warn about that door.”

You can only imagine she’s pointing at the door that you now have shut, and your assumptions are proven right when it slightly jiggles as she pushes in its lock.

“It connects this room to the bedroom next door. Unfortunately that’s the room my child uses, but luckily you can lock it so that shouldn’t be too much of a problem, but I fear there may be a few issues with noise. But if that’s ever the case, you tell me immediately and I can make sure that there’s something done about it.”

“Aw no ma’am I can't imagine it being an issue,” his heavier footsteps walk closer to the door and you find yourself holding your breath for a moment, “trust me when I get into my work I’m laser focused, nothing can disrupt me.”

“Marvelous,” her hands clap softly together to punctuate the word, “well, since that’s cleared away, I need to step out only for a moment to go run and get a few things I forgot to grab for dinner tonight. I apologize for needing to leave just as you’ve arrived, but I’m sure you can use that time to get settled?”

“Absolutely ma’am, and again thank you immensely for letting me stay here.”

“Not a problem at all Mr. Suh, you make yourself at home.”

—

It’s quiet.

Your mother going down the steps, grabbing her purse and wallet being the only hints of sound in the house. He seems to remain in one place, not moving in a way you can hear at least, until the sound of your mother closing the door behind her rings throughout the home. Then,

*click*

Your back stiffens and straightens far quicker than you would have liked when the small noise hits your eardrums, you head thumping quietly on the bottom of your desk and making a small groan leave your lips.

It’s only after the small spell of dizziness disperses do you finally crawl out from your hiding spot and tiptoe quietly over to the shared door, your legs shaky from how long you sat with them folded beneath you. Using your best spy skills, you press your ear against the dark wood once you reach it, years of analyzing the volume of your mother’s footsteps actually coming in handy to tell that he’s moved away and now stands somewhere closer to his desk, the sound of shuffling paper that follows only confirms this assumption.

The next thing you do, you’re glad you stand in your room alone. You squat for a moment, peaking one eye into the small hole in the doorknob. You’re not sure exactly what you’d be looking for, but you’re hoping you’ll gain some sudden lock science knowledge and be able to tell if the clicking truly was the door being unlocked. Otherwise you’d have to visibly and audibly mess with a locked door knob, and even the idea of him seeing you do such a thing makes you want to pack up your things and move to the other side of the globe.

With another huff, you deem the door handle usable, or you at least hope it is, and you stand to full height with your hand wrapping around the cool brass.

‘It’s just a man,’ you remind yourself, starting to develop an immense disappointment in yourself for allowing yourself to become so flustered at the idea of seeing him, ‘a man who’s life I’m going to make a living hell purely for my own entertainment.’

The second reminder is what lifts your spirits, an overly sweet grin filling your face and your eyes fluttering into a natural flirty glitter, a state of yourself that your mother has repeatedly scolded you for, but due to the fact that it sometimes comes on naturally, you’ve learned to exploit greatly.

You have the decency to fake a soft pout when you turn the handle agonizingly slow, your lashes fluttering as the door opens just wide enough to stick your head into the room.

Your assumption is immediately proven correct when you see him standing behind his desk, shuffling through papers that lie within a black leather briefcase, before his head darts up when he registers the noise you make.

You jerk back only slightly when he locks his eyes onto yours, and every fiber in your being desperately tries to push down the heat that tries to crawl up to your face and devour every butterfly that tries to develop in your belly when he places the papers down to give you his full attention with a warm smile on his handsome features.

“Well look who it is,” he sighs quietly, his words slightly muffled by a sucker he’s stuck in his jaw at some point while you were contemplating a doorknob and your still hidden legs wobble just a bit at his voice still rough from his travels, and the way his string of words make your belly swirl.

“You’re Mr. Suh?” You ask with a tilt to your head, slowly stepping into the room when his eyebrows dart up in encouragement, almost as if he’s coaxing a wild animal or a shy child.

“Um,” he glances down quickly, playfully tugging on his button up that's now opened slightly with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, before reaching up to pop the candy from his mouth, “last time I checked, but you can call me John. Or Johnny, I guess whichever.”

He laughs quietly to himself, but you don’t show interest in giving a verbal response. Instead you leave him to trail your form with his eyes as you step in and start to circle the room that, until now, had been left empty and perfect to take golden houred selfies in.

You let your fingers trace over the few things he has, his still unopened suitcases being the only things aside from the coat he left on the end of the bed, before you stand leaning against his desk across from him, a bored look taking over your features.

“Why are you in my house Mr. Suh?” You ask, breaking the awkward air of silence you let take over the room, and his smile falters at the reuse of formalities and confusing question paired with your still sweet tone, but he’s quick to hide it by clearing his throat

“I um, got a job at the college down the road?” He speaks it more as a question than a statement, clearly thrown off a bit from the unreadably heavy stare you lay on him as he talks, “your mother mentioned on the phone it’s the one you're attending right? Well, they’re allowing me some tuition relief while I study for my PhD if I teach a few intro english courses and assist in the library, you know how it is.”

He laughs again, but it stops sooner than before when he sees the look on your face is unwavering, “but why are you here,” you ask again, the nail of your index finger tapping harshly into the wood of the desk, “specifically here.”

“Um well,” he huffs quietly, his unwavering patience with you being either annoying or endearing, you haven’t decided which, “there’s some construction happening in the housing I was meant to stay at. Nothing too extensive, but it just happened so suddenly there wasn’t much they could do, but you’re mother is supposedly good friends with the dean so,”

“Good friends is one way to put it,” you mutter under your breath, causing him to stumble over his words a bit, as ‘good friends’ isn't the exact label you’d put on what your mom and the dean got up to behind closed doors.

“Excuse me?” His thick brows stitch together as he tries to catch up with the words you muttered, but you brush it off with a shake of your head, and he hesitantly begins again, “anyways, he apparently called around and you two were generous enough to let me stay here for a bit.”

“My mom,” you interject once he’s finished, the lack of explanation behind your words making his own head shake in confusion as a question ‘hm?’ leaves the back of his throat.

“It’s not ‘us two’,” you correct with your hands lifting to show air quotes, “I had no say in you staying here Mr. Suh. I didn’t even know you existed until a little over an hour ago.”

He has the decently to look apologetic, his lips curling in between his teeth as he lets out a deep sigh through his nose, “I wasn’t aware of that,” he admits, using his free hand to reach up and scratch at the back of his neck, “if I had any other option… ack regardless I can understand that this is probably an annoying situation for you, but I promise I’ll try my best to not be any trouble alright?”

His sincerity makes you feel gross, but only for a moment. Being an insufferable brat would be admittedly easier if he was rude or even a creep, but the more you turn his genuine personality around in your mind, your evil plan begins to almost rewrite itself. He may not be mean or malicious, but he’s in your space and stupidly handsome, so what would be the harm in tormenting him and entertaining yourself for however long he’ll stay.

“You can do that all you want, but I’m promising you, Mr. Suh, that I’ll try my best to do the complete opposite,” you punctuate the newly aired promise to be on your worst behavior with a grin, your tone beginning to drip with a fake sweetness that's probably more artificial than the candy in his fist.

There’s only a moment of pause before a lightbulb so bright lights above your head that you worry he might see.

You love the way he slightly jumps when you reach towards him, the confusion on his face when your hand wraps tightly around his wrist. You try to advert your attention from the way his hand looks much larger now that it’s next to yours by flicking your eyes up to lock with his, and as you watch him through your lashes, you slowly wrap your lips around the bright red sucker he holds between his finger, letting just the smallest amount of drool drip down the paper stick, before you pull it out of his hands with a grin.

The sweet flavor of cherry spreads across your tongue and you can’t help but imagine the same taste lingering on his tongue before you speak again, “enjoy your stay Mr. Suh,” you stand up straight again, turning slow with a dramatic sigh, “while you can at least. Because the next time you see me, I’ll be your living nightmare.”

Your hand swipes across his desk before you start to stride back to the door you entered through, your fingers successfully brushing two small stacks of papers fluttering onto the floor. There’s an extra spring to your step as you walk away from the sugar that now fills your mouth and the exasperated sigh the man behind you let’s out as he bends down to collect his papers, but you stutter a bit when he surprises you by speaking up again, your ego only slightly bruised from your unusual inability to get the last word.

“I doubt that,” your hand is wrapped around the knob of the door again already, and it tightens almost painfully as you turn to glare at him. His eyes are on you, and they match perfectly with the soft and amused smile he wears, “you seem like quite the handful. You, and what your mother tells me, make that perfectly clear. But the image of you all cute and mischievous up there in your little hiding spot is always going to be my first impression of you, you know that right?”

Your eyebrows furrow tighter, as well as the grip your hand has on the doorknob, as you turn to glare at him, and it’s not long before it morphs into a petulant scowl, “and so what? I was only having fun because I was pissing off my mother. You’ll learn soon that I’m rather seasoned in that department.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he sounds almost impressed when the words leave his lips, his eyes only shifting away from you for a moment to place his newly organized paper down in front of him, “she’s a bit of a shrill one isn't she? But hell, she’s giving a place to stay so I’d say it’s more in my best interest to keep my thoughts to myself. Anyways, I’m sure with time I’ll break through that feisty shell you’re wearing, even if it looks adorable on you. You’ll warm up to me, and that’s my promise.”

You don’t see the wink he throws at you when he finishes speaking. Well, you do, but you’d rather eat glue than admit that to yourself or anyone ever. Instead you roll your eyes dramatically and hard, taking the dull ache it causes in the sockets of your eyes gladly, before muttering a weak ‘whatever’ and ducking back into your room with your tail on slightly tucked between your legs.

Once you’re back to the safety of your own room, the door slams loudly behind you and you're faced with the task of ignoring the way the sincerity in his voice and the memory of his use of the words ‘cute’ and ‘adorable’ made your chest tighten. The fear of losing your grip and ending up actually liking him, and not just his stupidly handsome face, was already present from your little moment at first sight. You can only hope him claiming it would happen so confidently would jinx it, and the universe would be on your side.

———————————————————————————

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

Mr. Suh loudly coughs from his seat across from you, as the question left your lips right as he took a long sip of his water as well as it being the first words you’ve spoken to him in the last few days. The silence that had existed between you two for the past half hour that you had been seated across one another had given him a false sense of security that you were still a little burned from your first reaction and had no interest in speaking to him, but if there was something you really loved, it was pouncing when someone had their guard down.

The night he arrived, you were quick to leave to crash at your best friend's apartment for a few nights. It was completely personal at first, not really having any interest watching your mom drool over the man that lit you up hotter than any fire, so you ran off without a word, but then you ended up having so much fun with your friend that you lost track of time and just forgot to show back up.

That was until you got a heated text from your mom threatening to cut off your phone if you didn’t attend her “famous” spaghetti family dinner night and now here you sit. A now dead cell phone tucked between your seat and your thigh, and perfectly ripe man to bite into and play with sitting oblivious across from you.

Your mom still loudly clatters in the kitchen, mixing together her bland homemade sauce as Johnny tries to catch his breath, his pretty eyes darting up to you in confusion as your blank look makes him start to question if you really did just ask him such a question.

“Pardon?” He questions with his voice still rough and watery, but the only explanation he gets from you is a dramatic eye roll and an expectant shake of your head as you know he heard you perfectly loud and clear, “do I think you're pretty?”

“That's what I asked,” you offer him a bratty smile as you start to pick at your peeling nail polish and tap your toes against the tiled floor, and you try to not let it falter when he returns a similar grin.

“You don’t really seem like the type to need that type of reassurance,” he admits with a shrug to his shoulders, and you begin to chew on your bottom lip when he reclines as well as he can in the tacky dining room chairs.

“I didn’t say it's  for reassurance,” you correct with a click of your tongue, “I fully subscribe to the idea that I’m the most gorgeous creature that’s ever walked this earth, I’m just asking for your opinion.”

“Well in my opinion,” he leans forward again as he speaks, his beautifully large hand reaching to brush against the back of your own as it rests palm down on the table, “I’d have to agree.”

“What are we agreeing to?” your mother’s voice breaks the tension Johnny had created between you as she enters the room with a large bowl of pasta and makes Johnny jerk away. And it’s with a confusing combination of pride and annoyance, your amazing perception allows you to recognize the flash of disappointment on the man’s face and the slight air of nosy jealousy that coats your mother’s words. And for once the appearance of your mother isn’t enough to wipe the giddy little smile the interaction had stitched onto your lips.

“Nothing,” you start to mutter in slight annoyance, but Johnny is quicker at saving face and interrupts.

“Just that we’re both starving isn't that right?” he grins in your direction, and it’s a grin that’s warm and sincere aside from the dancing playfulness in his eyes, but it’s this that finally tugs the corners of your lips down and into a frown, “it just looks as delicious as it smells.”

You don’t try much to hide the way your eyes roll at his words, especially when his eyebrow twitches up in enjoyment from your annoyance.

He and your mom fall into conversation quickly, your mother not so discreetly choosing topics that leave you out of the loop and makes you wonder why she was so adamant about you showing up tonight. All you can do is twirl the pile of noodles around your fork as you know the amount of salt and lack of garlic in the sauce is nauseating, and playfully pout and pull faces at Mr. Suh every time he glances in your direction to make him have to stifle a laugh while he throws you a sympathetic look.

“So how’s your studies going along John?” your mother questions, putting emphasis on the shortening of his name as she’s picked up on your continued use of formalities with the man but not the teasing reasons behind the choice, “you said you were working on some…. novel of some sort?”

“Ah I wouldn’t say novel at this stage,” the just slightly bashful laugh he lets out is loud enough that it covers the scoff you let out, but the turn of conversation only works to annoy you into doing the first thing that pops into your mind.

“Right now it’s just a very lengthy research paper,” he clears his throat, and you feign interest in his words to not draw attention to the way you scoot closer to the table. He takes a moment to pause and collect his thoughts, more than aware of any little movement you make around him, and you take the moment to search for the leg of his pants with your bare toes. You're impressed by his poker face, as when you find it, and begin to trail your foot up past his knee, he manages to look like nothing is happening at all.

“Um, I still have a lot to collect and I oh um,” he starts to crack and stutter a bit when your toes dig into the clothed flesh of his inner thigh, the size of the muscles that build his thighs being something you’d rather die than admit has become a main role in the way you fantasize about the man, “but yes it’s coming along nicely, just maybe more than I anticipated.”

“Yes but isn’t that the fun, keeps you busy and on your toes and all,” you mother’s words play too perfectly into what she’s unaware of is happening beneath her table, and when his rough grip wraps around your ankle when you start to press against the bulge forming in his pants, you know he can’t help but agree when he shows zero intention in pushing you away.

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” his voice is just enough strained now for you to notice, and you add to it by starting to wiggle in his hold and drag the bottom of your foot up and down the length of him. It takes more self control than you’d like to not gasp quietly at what you feel, the size of him making your chest warm and your thighs tense.

He notices your reaction though, even if it’s just in the way your face shifts, and you see in his eyes that he’s taken the upper hand as his own. His hand moves now to brush against the top of your foot, and even begins to guide your movement to really feel the entire length and size of him, and with a gnawing worry you wonder if there’s any way he’s not fully hard beneath your touch.

And with an even more gnawing impatience, you have to stop yourself from shoving your hand down to relieve the sudden warmth that’s growing between your thighs.

“Oh John,” your mother interrupts again, making you jump slightly, but his hold on you keeps you from halting your movements even the slightest, “you’re looking a little flushed, are you feeling well?”

“Ah yes,” he nods quickly as he turns to look at her. The flush of jealousy in your chest pisses you off more than you’d ever like, and with a petulant huff you arch your foot and press the front of it harshly into the dampening fabric over the tip of him to force a rough groan from his throat, “maybe it’s just the mention of work you know, just my body thinking it’s time to be stressed.”

You admit you're impressed at his quick thinking, and you're more than thrilled at the way his hips jump towards you and his neck turns red.

“Here let me get you some more water, you’re almost out as it is,” your mother stands without a response, but regardless Johnny looks slightly relieved at the idea of her leaving the room even for a moment so he just nods and hands her his glass with a surprisingly genuine ‘thank you.’

Once you know your mother is out of ear shot, his eyes close tightly and his head tilts back to allow himself to feel the stimulation without distraction. His neck stretching out causes your saliva to pool slightly in your mouth, and the feeling of his hips shifting forward and up into your touch makes you feel like the room has gotten at least five degrees warmer. It’s all of him combined that makes it kill you a little to do what you do next, with the way his veins begin to pop and his slightly parted lips makes you aware of how damp the space between your thighs had gotten and the idea of making him cum so easily making you feel like a god, but right as he starts to pant and scrape his blunt nails across your ankle, you dig and curl your fingers against the edge of the table, and tug your foot away abruptly to bring it up to rest in your seat.

His eyes are wild when they open and find you smiling like nothing has happened. You tilt your head innocently when he throws you a hard glare, and you want to scream in triumph when you see his face soften almost immediately at the sight of your pouting lips. He’s so twitchy in his seat that you think that this is what it must feel like to win the lottery, and with a pissy grunt he reaches quickly under his belt to adjust the problem you’ve created.

“Are you sure you’re okay Mr. Suh?” you ask before leaning forward and copying the action of laying your smaller hand across the back of his that presses stiffly into the top of the table, “your face is getting redder and you’re looking a little warm. Do you think you’re coming down with a fever?”

“So you’re sticking to your promise?” he clears his throat again, sitting up slowly as if he’s in pain and you poorly conceal your grin with faux sincerity in your eyes, “just when I had thought I won you over.”

“I’m not someone who breaks promises, Mr. Suh,” you pat his hand a few more times before leaning away at the sound of your mother shuffling back towards you, “but I’ll be sure you break yours.”

——

For days that you have later classes, you like to stay up later working on whatever needs working on, and then wake up later in the day. You consider it a special treat you allow yourself when you’re not ridiculously busy because there’s something wonderful about sleeping in late, is there not?

When you’re allowed to.

Instead of the soft bird noises of your alarm that usually rouse you from your slumber, you’re awoken from your dreams of puppy dogs and glittery wine by a rough hand on your shoulder and harsh whispers of your name.

Your mother shakes you, and shoves your blankets from your body in the process, and regardless of the way your eyes snap open in shock, she doesn’t stop her assault until you start to swat her away.

“Get up child,” she whispers rudely as you start to sit up. You have enough awareness to glance at the door of your room that you swore you locked before falling asleep, only to come to the conclusion that she snuck through Mr. Suh’s room to get to you, ”you think you can run off for a few days without saying anything and I wont do anything? I said get up.”

Your leg kicks out towards her when she swats at the back of your thighs and you unfortunately, or fortunately you’re not sure which, only brushes her hip as she walks to the other door.

“I made breakfast, not for you,” she shoots daggers at you through her eyes as she starts to open the door and step into the hall, “but for Mr. Suh. Now I’m trying to clean the kitchen up, so you come down and get his tray and take it to him before it gets cold.”

You take your time, grumbling and huffing and whining with every unnecessary move you make, and once you’ve picked the perfect pajama shorts for the morning, you grace the rest of your home with your presence.

The metal tray that holds his food is colder than you’d like to feel so early, but the food and coffee that rests on it is still hot and your surprised you don’t trip and tumble down the stairs from the way it hypnotizes you.

Your mother was never a professional chef, her spaghetti that still sits like a rock in your belly regardless of how little of it you ate is more than proof of that, but if there was one thing even she could mess up, it was breakfast.

Admittedly it was only fried eggs, bacon, and toast, but as you bump the door of his room open with your hip, you almost want to claw his eyes out in jealousy that he gets to enjoy the food and you don’t.

“Breakfast is served, my liege,” you speak sarcastically, dropping the tray directly in front of him and on top of whatever papers he was leafing through, before you lean your hips against the lip of the desk opposite of him, “it’s not five star meal, but I’d fight you for it if i'm being honest.”

He took the time you spent rambling to tug the papers out from under the tray, quickly flipping through them to check for whatever, before he looks up at you with a disturbingly genuine smile, “well if there’s one thing I can trust you to do is be honest isn't it?”

“I only lie if it's to get myself out of trouble Mr. Suh, otherwise what’s the point of beating around the bush y’know,” you shrug turning your head to try to discreetly check out his now more lived-in room, before you turn back to lean over and eye his food.

“I suppose you have a point,” his tone doesn’t match his words, as he slowly trails off in a way that tells you he’s not really in the position to get into any trouble to lie about anymore, “but anyways, I’m more of just a coffee guy in the morning, no one was stopping you from taking your share.”

“The wrath of my mother watching me be like a hawk on my way up here was stopping me a little,” you nod with a pout, “and either way, you are the guest I could never take from you like that.”

“God, they can probably hear how sarcastic you’re being from down the street,” he playfully scoffs, and it’s only after a split second of a lapse of judgement do you realize you're smiling as well, and you quickly drop your face in an attempt to hide it.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” you ask with a snottier tone than was probably necessary, and the confused look he wears and a gesture towards the papers around him makes you huff and stomp quietly, “I mean at the school. You said you were teaching or working in the library or whatever.”

“You remembered that?” he rhetorically asks as he leans forward to pinch at the soft skin of your wrist, laughing quietly to himself when you jerked away in irritation, “I just assumed you wanted to tell me your little promise to be a terror so bad that you just heard white noise the whole time I was talking.”

“I can listen Mr. Suh,” you defend yourself immediately, ready to list about a hundred examples if he dared to question you.

“Ah so you’re saying you can listen to what you’re told,” his voice drops slightly, his eyes forcing yours into locked contact so you don’t miss an ounce of how suggestive he’s meaning to be. Regardless of the activities that happened last night, and how they ended, you cant help the way your chest burns and your heart begins to thud at how cocky he could be so early in the morning.

The door to his office opens silently enough to go unnoticed, but the sound of your mother sharply clearing her throat makes you jump and straighten up. Your hands immediately lace together behind your back and a faux sickeningly sweet grin pulls against your lips. Your chest roars in pride when you see his eyes harden just slightly, whether it be from anger in being interrupted or enjoyment in how immediately obedient you just proved you can be, but now you really didn’t care.

“Now,” your mother starts, her eyes tight and dancing with a competitiveness that makes you roll your eyes, “you know better than to be bother Mr. Suh. I told you to bring him his breakfast, nothing more nothing less”

“I wasn’t bothering,” you start to defend with a whine, but Johnny beats you to it.

“It’s not bothering,” he corrects, his back also straightening as he goes to pick at the previously ignored food placed in front of him, “just having a conversation about school.”

“Last time I checked you weren’t in any of Mr. Suh’s classes are you?” her tone is cutting into you in a way that tells you she wants you out of the room, and she wants you out now.

“I’m not,” you confirm, your smile growing more taunting as you shrug and move to sit on the corner of his desk, “but he’s still a professor and I’m a student so…”

“Along with a few questions about the stock at the library,” he interrupts again, tossing out another white lie to cover you, “but I’m glad you’re here so I can thank you for the breakfast ma’am.”

His final words and the way he begins shuffling through his things to make more space to eat is a sign the conversation is over, and the way you lean back onto your hands and start to kick your feet tells her you have no intent on leaving, especially not since the ‘ma’am’ he tacked onto the end felt almost like he was personally handing you a cookie with a pat on the head.

There’s a silent battle between you and your mother as Johnny starts to organize his plate, your mother’s eyes dancing over you in disappointment and unhealthy jealousy. But you only grin and wiggle your fingers in a childish wave in response.

“Well anyhow,” she huffs, finally accepting her silent defeat as she moves over to the door to leave, “I have a few bills to pay and then I have to run out to run a few errands so have a nice day John.”

He simply nods in response, a gentlemanly smile tugging on the edges of his curled lips as he’s oblivious to the sharp glare she shoots at you along with the emphasis she once again places on her use of his name.

“And you,” she adds right before she closes the door, her finger pointing accusingly towards you, “don’t be bothering him all day, he has important work to do and I know for a fact that you have at least one class and homework.”

You scoff after the door clicks shut, your eyes rolling petulantly as you shift onto your hips to look at him over your shoulder. You wait only a moment for him to lift his cup of coffee to his lips before you speak again.

“She wants to fuck you y’know,” you say bluntly, a amused puff of air escaping you when the drink splashes over the edge of the mug as he chokes at your words.

You lift your feet as he tries to catch his breath, your heels digging into the wood of his desk as you turn yourself to face him and scoot until your legs hang over the side next to his chair.

With a rattling cough, he looks back to you, his eyes hardening with a disappointment only a teacher could hold, “don’t start,” he warns.

“Oh come on,” you whine, moving your foot to dig your toes into his side. A giggle bubbles out of you when he swats at your ankle, but it does nothing to deter you, “you know I’m right, and I should know. I can always tell when she wants to jump someone’s bones.”

“Is that so,” his tone is bored, but still slightly strained from the coffee in his windpipe. You can tell he doesn’t want to have the conversation but you can’t help but keep antagonizing him, and you can also tell there’s a slight enjoyment he gets from your suddenly hyper mood.

“Yeah, she gets real lonely. Plus, she kind of has a thing for men she shouldn’t have,” you sigh, partially for the dramatics, but also because you feel somewhat called out by your own words, as you too wouldn’t turn down a night with the man picking at food next to you, “yeah she was fucking Mr. Peters next door for so long, but that went down the drain about a month ago.”

“Is that so?” he asks to humor you as he begins to chew on one of the pieces of toast on his tray, “what made them stop?”

“His wife shot him after she found out,” you say nonchalantly, as the shock of the event had worn off already, “and it’s kind of hard to fuck someone once their six feet under.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t a joke,” you counter with a quick scowl as you hop off the desk to stand, “but anyways I don’t really blame her.”

“Who the wife?” he asks, his eyes wary as he notices you start to move closer to his side, “I can’t really say I blame her either.”

“No not Mrs. Peters,” you shake your head gently as you bend to put your face close to his, the breath of air he lets out at the proximity making you smile and giving you one last push to lay all your cards out on the table, “my mom.”

“What are you on about,” his voice deadpan for the most part, but you eat up the slight shake of his voice like candy.

“I mean,” you turn your head long enough to pick the bacon off his plate, your teeth breaking off a small piece of one strip as you turn to look at him again, “I can’t really say she’s the only one who’d fuck you given the opportunity.”

You give him no chance to respond before you’re straightening up again, but he doesn’t seem to be able to collect his thoughts and create a rebuttal quick enough as you start to walk out of the room.

“Have a good day Mr. Suh,” you throw over your shoulder with a dazzling smile, and right before the door shuts behind you, you add, “and thanks for the bacon!”

And in a courageous act of kindness, your decide to not to re enter to room to taunt him for the deep groan he lets out, loud enough to be heard through the thick wood of the door, and instead you skip off to your own room with part of his breakfast between your fingers, and a win mentally ticked on your side of the board.

———————————————————————————

“So run this by me again,” your friend waves her hands around in front of her as she tries to catch back up with your rapid pace, her eyes squinted and confused, “you’ve been doing what now to get his attention?”

“Cracking the door between our rooms open and masturbating,” you answer as casually as you would have if she had asked you a question off a test review, and it’s enough that you know it makes her blood pressure jump.

“Okay,” she huffs, her brain almost audibly turning as she tries to come up with a response as you two walk through the library doors, “and why the fuck would you do that?”

This question is the one that finally gets you to stop, a small thoughtful but disappointed pout pulling on your features as you form a thought that, at least to you, makes perfect sense,

“I want him to dream about me.”

“You want him to what now?” you stare blankly over her shoulder as you still turn your own words over in your mind, but every time you try to think of something else, you just fall back to the original statement making the most sense.

“Well, you know,” you shrug, your hands twirling in front of you as you think, and the look on the face of the girl in front of you tells you she, in fact, does not know, “I torment him all day. A lot too. Like my mom, for whatever reason, still makes me take him breakfast even though I know she has a thing for him and whenever I’m with him I know it pisses her off.”

“That's weird.”

“Yeah I know,” you grumble and roll your eyes before continuing, “I think she’s like hoping if she sends me up there enough that he’ll get annoyed with me and hate me, but that’s not happening. Trust me I’ve tried.”

“But anyways,” your eyes scrunch and you shake your head for a second, getting you mind back on track to the original conversation, “I also take some of his shirts here and there, and wear them when it’s just us in the house. And I’ll play my music too loud, I go into his room to ask stupid questions. Sometimes I bother him at dinner, you know like the way I did that first night,”

Your reminding her of that night pulls a groan from her chest as the first time you told her of the incident, which was immediately after it happened, she has expressed how reckless she thought it was and how you ‘might not know what you’re getting into.’

“I also just steal random stuff sometimes just to piss him off, but he just knows I have them now so that’s not super fun. And for awhile my thing was writing little love notes on his papers that looked semi important, but eventually…. I don’t know I needed something else. Something that I knew for sure would have me on his mind twenty-four seven.”

“You’re ridiculous you know that?” her arms cross tightly in front of her chest and her bottom lip finds its way tucked harshly between her teeth as she glances at the space around you two, “I just don’t get you sometimes and I mean that in the nicest way possible. Like you genuinely fascinate me sometimes.”

“Listen I wouldn’t do it if I thought it would make him uncomfortable,” you start walking again, your arms mirroring hers as they fold across your chest as well, “but I know it doesn’t, and I personally find it pretty hot, so might as well right?”

—

It started about three weeks after the breakfast conversation and thievery, and at first it was an accident.

You had done another one of your little stunts. Stealing one of the poetry books off his desk while he was on campus and you were at home, and while it was initially just to mess with him, you’d be lying to say that some of the poems the book held didn’t make your heart flutter in your chest. Especially the ones he had either dog eared or marked with a blue colored tab.

But when he got home, and saw it was missing, it was just a usual song and dance of him peeking his head into your room and telling you that you could return his property whenever you seemed fit, but the twitch of his brow told you it was an important book, so you returned it pretty quickly. But not without another one of your pointless conversations just so you could have his attention on you for however much time he had before he really needed to work.

And you thought that you closed the door all the way.

You curse your mother for investing in whatever it was that made the doors of your home open and close with very minimal noise. You thought it had closed all the way, you genuinely did, and you had no reason to double back and make sure it had. So you got ready for bed, co-existed in your respective rooms, as you were completely unaware that every movement you made was suspiciously easier to hear than usual.

At the end of the day, you blame twitter. Twitter with all it’s horny user base and lack of content control. Maybe the video one of the more racier accounts you followed just happened to post a video that featured a couple that looked more like you and Mr. Suh than you’d like to admit, but even if they didn’t resemble you two, it was still hot and you just couldn't help yourself if you wanted.

You had barely gotten started. The volume of your phone only about halfway up as you watched the amazingly built man fuck the person beneath him like it was the last thing he’d ever do, your breathing heated and slowed as you trailed your hand down your belly as you shamefully imagined the man in the other room was doing it rather than yourself.

You didn’t think you were loud, but the distance from your room and your mother’s admittedly did probably give you the ability to be a little louder than completely silent. And when you go so long with no one around to hear, it makes sense that you’d get just a little carried away and forget about the man next door.

You were reminded of him quickly when the video ended.

You curse twitter for their video limit of only two minutes and twenty seconds, the video you were drooling over ending much sooner than you’d like, but at that point a fantasy of Mr. Suh grabbing your hips and shoving your face down into your sheets to force you to grind against the prominent bulge in his nice slacks while he makes you beg for him to fuck you stupid was being fully realized in your mind. And your eager fingers were pushing down into your pajama shorts to coat them in the arousal you could feel making a mess in your underwear.

You had just started rolling your middle and ring fingers against your clit, and you hand had just found its way shoved under your shirt to grope at your chest, your mind desperately trying to feel it as the larger and more callused fingers that you’ve only gotten the pleasure of feeling wrapped around your ankle and wrist, and patting the back of your hand.

You’re sure you let out a whimper or two, maybe even a huff and pathetic whine, but you were more than oblivious. Your mind was worlds away forming false memories of him shoving finger after finger slowly inside of you, stretching you gently for the impressive size of him that you’ve only gotten to gauge by what you feel when you tease him under the table or when he occasionally wears a pair of grey sweatpants on the weekends.

When it first happened, you thought maybe you were just so deep into your own little world that you had imagined it. A deep rattling groan happening perfectly at the same time as you imagining him whispering filthy praises to you for taking him so well.

It was only when he groaned your name rather than the sweet but degrading pet name that you had picked for your fantasy, did you come back to reality.

You shot up straight, like you had become suddenly possessed. Your hands were still pushed under your clothes, and your body was hot and begging for the release that you personally just ripped away from, but your mind was spinning a million miles a minute as you strain to hear it just one more time. Just once to prove that your imagination wasn’t that wild.

You didn’t have to wait long, a quiet grunt followed by a harsh swear was all the proof you needed. Your eyes darted to the door when it happened, and that’s when you noticed it was just slightly opened.

Everything suddenly became much louder, the white noise of the universe roaring in your ears as you pant and squirm at the noises coming from his pouty full lips and the soft rhythmic wet noise you now hear coming from him as well.

You can’t even begin to imagine how he looks with his fist wrapped around himself. You had never seen him in less than a tshirt and sweatpants, but you’d be completely oblivious to not notice how sturdy and well built he was beneath the fabric. And while you’ve never gotten to see the size of him with your own eyes, you knew from what you’d feel on the dinner nights you were, for one actually present, but also feeling feisty enough to see how much he could take from underneath the table and directly in front of your prying mother.

You’d also never gotten the pleasure of seeing him come. You always pushed him further and further to the edge every time you played your little game of cat and mouse, but you’re not ashamed to admit that you’d rather the first time you make him come to not be from footsie under a dining room table.

Another groan of your name and a quiet sigh of encouraging words breaks you from your rambling thoughts and it hits you like a brick that you are, regardless of not being able to see him from where you lie, mastubating with and for the very man of your dreams.

You fall back with a huff, your hand slowly creeping back to collect your arousal as you close your eyes and try to focus on the noises coming through the space in the door. You can tell he’s becoming a little antsy from your lack of response from the noises he makes but he’s almost immediately reassured when your fingers brush your soaked skin and you let out your own whimpered out call of his name.

You were already a bit close from before you were aware of your audience, but it had subsided in your time of confusion and realization. But you could tell from his groans and panting breaths, and the borderline growls he’d let out alongside your name, that he was only getting closer and closer, and you wanted to be right on that edge with him.

Your fingers were quick, rolling your sensitive clit beneath your fingers again while you pinched and pulled at your own chest and nipples. The noises you let out became just slightly louder than usual now that you know you have an audience, and they mix with the noises he happily makes for you.

You don’t think when you whimper out his name, formalities and all just like usual, but it’s met with great praise when he swears loudly and tells you with a strained voice not to tease him.

This added communication lights a fire under you. Something about him speaking to you directly, aside from just groaning your name and other vulgar comments he was making without thinking, made everything feel much more real, and it did nothing but make you want to tease the hell out of him.

It was happening. There was no denying that. You were into it, he was into it. There was absolutely no reason to not have some fun, aside from him telling you directly not to but whatever.

“Mr. Suh,” you draw out, pitching your voice to be airy and almost pathetic, the frustrated hum that follows telling you he hears you, but it’s also absolutely killing him, “mmmm I need to come so bad.”

You whisper it so casually, that your own audacity makes your chest and cheeks burn. You’re grateful that he can’t see the way the words make you struggle a bit after you say them, but the closer you inch to getting to finish doesn’t allow you to dwell on it for too long.

“You can come,” he says in the same encouraging tone he used when you asked him to look over a paper once, the same reassurance and confidence he had when he told you you seemed like a bright and talented student making your thighs start to tremble and your toes curl, “you can come as much as you want for me.”

There’s no way he doesn’t hear the way you loudly gasp at his words, or the desperate whining the slips from the back of your throat when your fingers speed up in the responses and the muscles of your stomach start to spasm and tense.

Your nails dig into the skin of your sternum when he continues to coo and encourage you closer and closer, his own voice becoming noticeably strained though as he follows not far behind.

“Are you about to come?”

You can only muster to respond in swears in your voice that’s become much rougher since you first started messing around, and you can tell he’s becoming disappointed in the lack of response when he speaks again.

“I’m letting you come,” he follows the reminder with a stern spit of your name, and such blatant acknowledgment makes your thighs clamp tightly around your shaking wrist, “the least you can do is answer me.”

“Fuck, yes,” you finally groan out when the last bites of electricity shoot up your spine, “yes, yes I am, please please please.”

“No ones stopping you,” he reminds you again, the quiet creaking of his bed adding to the noises that crawl in from under your door and fueling the wild images that your imagination paints in your mind to push you over your edge even more, “I just want to hear you loud and clear when you do. You sound like heaven to me.”

He groans the confession so genuinely and with such a winded tone, you can’t help but give him exactly what he’s asked for.

Your back arches harshly up towards your ceiling, your head tilting back to push into your pillow, and beads of sweat quickly travel down the center of your back and down the dip in the center of your chest in tandem, almost as if they're racing to the death.

Your moans and calls of his name spill from you over and over like a mantra as your eyes and thighs both close tightly enough to make your head and muscles ache, and you twist in on yourself until you’re rolling over to your side as you try to keep your fingers moving enough to push through the whole thing.

Your vision is slightly blurred when you calm down just slightly, and you're gaining enough awareness just in time to hear the orgasm he has that was triggered by you. You never thought such a usually calm man could speak so vulgarly for you to hear, but as you imagine the way his face twists and his hips jerk towards his own touch, he speaks swear after swear in a voice so rough and gravely that you could almost mistake it for a stranger.

You think for just a second that you could probably get off again just on these sounds he makes alone, especially the way he seethes your name through clenched teeth like he’s damning a god. You would think in any other situation, hearing him speak like that, that you were in trouble with him. But the way he huffs in relief after a beat of a second, and starts to scrape around in his things for something to clean himself up, reminds you that anger is probably the last emotion he feels, towards you at least.

After the dust is settles though, you feel frozen.

It shouldn’t hit you as hard, considering you’ve done sexual things with the man before and the fact that those other things required you two to be face to face. You expected there to be more of a detachment from something that you weren’t even able to experience visually, but you feel like an angry bird has taken the place of your heart and the only emotion that there’s space for in your brain at the moment is confusion.

You wait, sitting in almost dead silence for a moment, before you hear him stand and with your hyper aware ears strain to listen to every step he takes across the surface area of his room. And it’s not until you hear a quiet scratching and the beginnings of the soft jazz record he’s put on, do you feel like you can fully breathe.

You wait another moment before you scamper out of your room and duck into the bathroom that sits across the hall, the idea of running into him now having you bouncing as you try to sprint as quietly as you can.

You take your time in the bathroom, giving yourself a solid look over and pacing around as you let the recent events play over and over, and over, in your mind. A pep talk of some sort brewing in your brain as you stop again to stare at yourself in the mirror over the sink.

You didn’t love the idea of him getting the upper hand, you don’t love it now and you don’t love it every time it happens when you mess with him under the table. You say you don’t love it, then why do you keep letting it happen?

Your face scrunched up, and it almost starts feeling like you're negotiating with someone you’ve known your whole life but also just met seconds ago. You know every last thought that passes through your mind is a bit dramatic, but you let it happen anyways.

Acting like that wasn’t the hardest you’ve came in a long time would be a lie, your body and mind both know this, especially your still trembling thighs. You can’t act that every word that left his mouth didn’t fill every space under your skin and you definitely can’t act like the knowing that you could make him come just by the sound of your voice didn’t make you feel like you were floating on air.

You did that. You started it, and you definitely were the one to finish it, so maybe you really did have the upper hand in the end.

You feel almost like you were experiencing your villain origin story at that exact moment as you watch the devious smile creep it’s way onto your face, but it was impossible to suppress as you twist the circumstances until you can hold them like a prize given to you to follow through with your promise to absolutely make his life hell.

You do hesitate one last time though, when you press your ear to the bathroom door, waiting for any little noise that would indicate him waiting outside. And it’s when you deem it safe enough to return, you sprint back to the familiar space of your room. Not because you were still hiding from him, but just because you want to get back into your warm bed. That’s what you tell yourself at least.

It gets a little harder to hold the pride in your shoulders and the deviant glint that you know is dancing in your eyes when you see what waits for you when you enter.

Nothing seems out of place, not at first glance at least, but there is an air that something has changed in your longer than necessary absence. It’s not until you start to creep slowly over to your own bed do you finally find the added decor, and your lip finds itself tucked between your nibbling teeth.

It’s from the same stack of light blue sticky notes that he keeps at the front of his desk, the ones you see every time you enter and the ones you like to steal form whenever you want to leave him a taunting note or ridiculous doodle. But for once it’s odd to see one actually written on in the man’s handwriting.

You snatch it quickly, and curling your legs underneath you as you crawl back into bed before laying down on your side and pulling the small piece of paper close to your face to read.

His handwriting is nicer and cleaner than you’d ever credit him for, especially considering you can only assume he wanted to be quick to write it before you returned and possibly caught him placing it on your pillow.

You can’t imagine what it actually says, your eyes dancing around it as you try to wrap your mind around him leaving you a note and you try to block out what any of the letters spell out before you finally bite the bullet and skim it with your eyes again and again.

‘I left a glass of water on your nightstand. I hope that’s fine, and I hope you get enough rest.

Mr. Suh’

You grit your teeth once the words fully sink it, and it’s both exactly what you’d expect to read on a note like this but also somehow the complete opposite.

You glance over and see, he did in fact leave you a glass of water, and with worms of confusion returning to the pit of your stomach, you drink down about half of the liquid to drown them before you shove the note quickly into a jewelry box that also rests on your nightstand, and curl up to fall into a restless sleep.

The view of the door still just slightly agape, the last thing you see before your eyes become too heavy to hold open anymore. ——

“I don’t know,” your friend had always been the more hesitant of you two, and on more than one occasion the voice of reason, “I mean, is that it? Just getting off through a door? Is that like, the only way you’re interacting with him directly?”

“Oh god no,” you’ve started to walk again, your voice unknowingly dropping more to a whisper as you get closer and closer to the reason you walked into the library in the first place, “like I said there’s the whole messing with him at dinner, but that’s more just me having fun and trying to see if I can make him break in front of my mom.”

“That’s so evil,” she shakes her head, pausing a moment before asking, “but that’s it right?”

“Well…,” you’re not sure why you hesitate with telling her more, but you do. Maybe, and only maybe, you still want the situation to seem like it’s fully in your control, but the rest of the story could definitely put a ripple in your game.

“Well what? What are you doing to that poor man?”

“Well sometimes…,” you abuse your bottom lip with your teeth, your brain running laps in your head as it comes to terms with the idea that, if you’re going to be vulnerable to anyone, the girl that’s interrogating you is definitely the easiest, “I only do it when my mom’s at the grocery store or just running errands or something.”

“Are you two fucking or something,” she says with a gasp, seeming only one notch of dramatics away from clutching her pearls, “your mom is a really fast shopper, I remember when we’d go with her to try to get her to buy us snacks in high school. That woman treats shopping like she’s got Jason Voorhees himself on her ass.”

“No we’re not fucking,” not yet, you choose not to add, “it’s more embarrassing than that.”

“I can’t imagine anything that could embarrass a monster like you.”

“Well maybe you should invest in a more vivid imagination,” you spit sarcastically before huffing and deciding to just rip the bandaid, “but sometimes when she’s out, and I’m really really bored…. I like to go to his room and talk about poetry.”

All your words come out in a rush, but you know she heard every word when her eyes light up and her hand darts out to grab your elbow just slightly too tight.

“You two talk about poetry!?” she yelps, drawing a few glances from passing students.

“Shut up oh my god,” you grab the hand that holds onto you, and rip your arm from her grip, before winding your arms around her elbow and pulling her arm to your chest, “but yeah. I mean we talk about other stuff, like school and what’s happening in the world. Normal stuff you know and sometimes I get him to help with my homework, but yeah… poetry.”

“Well, isn’t that so cute! And god and he sounds so mature and sexy,” she teases, her teeth reminding you of a hungry shark the way she smiles at you with malicious glee, “it also sounds like you’re getting a little soft for this guy, you know the guy you were supposed to be torturing this whole time.”

“Hey I uh, well,” you stutter, a fire lighting in your belly at such an accusation, as well as the man in question being now in your current line of sight, “I find ways to tease him and stuff. Like brush his hand or his side or just any excuse to touch him when he's looking over my work. I also tricked him into letting me put his finger in my mouth by asking if I could taste this sour candy he was eating one day.”

“Okay dude, you need to stop lying to yourself,” she huffs, shaking her head as if she’s finally getting over teasing you as instead now saying what she really wants to, “you keep going on and on about how this is all to make his life hell, but admit it. This is your own little fucked up method to seduce him.”

“Excuse me,” you try to pull the most offended face possible, but you know it doesn’t fit right on your features, why doesn’t it fit right?

“Listen I’ll admit it, the sexual stuff is fun, I mean what’s not to be fun about that, but I do have an end goal I swear.”

“And that is exactly?” she sounds confused, concerned, and judgmental all with four words and you don’t like how it makes your palms sweat.

“I do get on his nerves, a lot actually,” the look he throws you when you know you’ve pushed one of his buttons just a little too much flashes in your mind, and you can’t help the bratty little smile it puts on your face, “and it’s just until his housing situation with the school is figured out, but I want him leaving the house not enjoying a second of it.”

“Yeah and him getting you to rub on him and make him come in the middle of the night is the most miserable experience,” her eyes roll so hard that you're surprised they don’t fall out of her skull, “ come on dude.”

“Okay I’m sensing a lot of doubt and even some hostility here,” you toss your hands between the both of you before you untwine yourself from her hold, “but if you want to see him annoyed then get ready. Trust me, our little games are his only moment of peace.”

“If you can even call it that,” you add under your breath as you turn on your heel, your back straightening and face morphing into a bratty and taunting mask as you approach the man you entered the library to find in the first place.

“Good afternoon Mr. Suh,” you say brightly, smacking your hand down against the desk he stands behind, making him jump and his eyes dart quickly up and away from the papers stacked in front of him.

“Hello,” he huffs out, his eyes trailing unamused between you and your friend who poorly stifles a laugh behind you before going back to leaf through the stack and place some sheets to the side, “is there a reason you’re bothering me at work?”

The exhausted tone that coats his words is unfamiliar, and realistically should be your hint that he’s stressed and not in the mood to be messed with, but you have something to prove now. So you only continue and try not to take his cold shoulder to heart.

“Yeah there is,” you nod, pouting as you push a piece of paper with names of books written on it towards him, “see my friend here needs these books but we don’t have the slightest idea of where we’d even start to look for them.”

You throw your hands up dramatically with a sigh, glancing back at your friend, and grinning almost maniacally when you see she’s adopted a pout to aid in your shenanigans.

“Isn’t that what the librarian is for?” he eyes your friends again before locking his eyes onto you, “you know how much work I have to do so I’m not understanding why you decided to ask me.”

“Well Mrs. Lane was busy,” you explain tilting your head. Your heart rate picks up at the idea that he might actually be irritated with you. You tell yourself it’s the thrill of it that does it, but the slightly biting guilt in your belly is refusing to be ignored, “that plus she’s kinda scary… but you’re not.”

He lets out a deep sigh, his hand falling over yours only for a moment to take the piece of paper from your fingers, and you try to ignore the way you shiver at the feeling of his skin on yours.

“Fine,” he relents, pushing the papers to the side, “ I’ll find the books for you, but after that you leave me alone to work, understand?” his eyes take one last journey towards the space where your friend stands, shooting her a warning as well, as if you’re mischievous little children.

“Of course, we wouldn’t want to distract you Mr. Suh,” your tone drops as you take advantage of the proximity of his hand near yours to dance the tips of your fingers across his wrist, his hand jerking away almost immediately at the sensation.

“Behave,” he says sternly, but quiet enough that you’re the only one to hear, “you’re just lucky you’re cute and I was looking for an excuse to take a break anyways.”

You don’t get the chance to respond, or to pick up your jaw from the way it slightly hangs at him so casually calling you cute, before he’s ducking away to search through the shelves. But you try to quickly collect yourself in his absence before you turn around.

“Now we wait,” you weakly grin at your still giggling friend as you walk to sit at the closest table available and try to mask the sudden shakiness you feel in you knees.

——

It’s not a long amount of time before he returns, the small stack of books being slapped onto the table in front of you and making you jump. You’re sure the action is his little dig of revenge on his part, but you can tell your friend is probably more miffed at the action than he probably intended.

You get ready to playfully scold him for scaring you, your brows already threaded together and you index finger shooting out ready to point directly in his face, but he immediately counters the rough action by laying his large hand on your shoulder, his strong fingers kneading the muscle and skin and making you melt back.

“Now please,” he starts, looking down at you with a look strong enough to make you shrink and smile, “leave me to my work, I have to keep up with you enough back at home.”

“Of course,” you grin as you shoot up to stand, a spike of disappointment hits you at the loss of his touch, but his startled look from the sudden close proximity of your faces fills the hole it leaves in you, “wouldn’t want to get in the way of you very important work Mr. Suh.”

You pick up the books in front of you before you brush past him and start to walk away, your friend trailing closely behind, completely oblivious to the hand he reaches out in your passing to tug quickly at the belt loop of your pants.

You turn, using your back to push the door open when you reach it to catch one last look at him, “see you at home, Johnny!” you add, fluttering the fingers of your free hand, making your friend smack your shoulder with a laugh as you tease him with the rare use of his first name. The way he flinches and his skin warms at the implication makes you swell with pride, but the eyes of strangers darting between you too is heavier than you had anticipated.

“Just so you know,” your friend starts, when you step out into the warm sun and she recovers from her spell of giggles and secondhand embarrassment, “that did very little in convincing me that you’re not just trying to seduce him.”

“What are you talking about,” you ask rhetorically, your voice cracking a bit towards the end as you become flustered, “I just showed you didn’t I? Bothering him during work, making him do something that we could have done just as easily. How could I possibly get more on his nerves?”

“I’m just saying, all you did was make me realize that you’re not only trying to seduce him, but you also have the stupidest massive crush on him ever,” she snorts she’s so tickled by her accusations, and you pinch her on the soft skin of her bicep until she yelps and starts to giggle once again, “but you’re in luck, he’s somehow found a way to be much more infatuated with you regardless of how obnoxious you are!”

“Shut up,” you hiss, “he’s not infatuated with me at all, he wanted us out of there before we even walked in.”

“Oh is that what you’re telling yourself,” she glances over with a mocking pout, her voice morphing into a degrading baby talk, “you must be a fool, a liar, or both because I could see it in his eyes and every move he made. You have him wound tight around your little finger and he doesn’t seem like he’s interested in letting go.”

The only thing you can offer in response to that, is the bile of concern that rises in your throat and a shameful curl taking over your shoulders. And a long and loud groan of protest.

—-

When you return home later that night, you frown deeply at the sight of the ‘Do Not Disturb’ signs that he’s hung on both doors leading to his room.

One sign on the door from the hall is fine. It usually means that you’re welcome to come in at your own will, but also not so secretly means he’s interested in having a night of poetry and parallel working with you without the interruption of your mother.

Two signs meant that not even you were allowed to bother him.

You tried to test it once, you wouldn’t be yourself if you didn’t. Defiantly barging in and asking him obnoxiously if you were considered a disturbance or not, but that little episode only ended in a very visibly irritated Johnny and a half hearted threat to lock you out next time if you wanted to test him like that.

It also led to some of the dirtiest talking he’s ever mustered during your late night mutual activities, but regardless of how fun that was, you decided you probably shouldn’t pull another stunt like that.

So with an annoyed flick to the handmade paper sign, you land on your bed with a huff, and start to play on your phone until your eyelids become too heavy to wait for the removal of the sign.

——

You’re not sure what time it is exactly when you awoken, it’s dark out and the streets seem quiet, and perhaps the only thing that still causes any ruckus for miles, is your mother’s rough hands shaking you awake.

“Wake up, we need to talk,” her voice is a quiet but sharp whisper, the holding back of her volume amongst her seething anger another hint to you how late it must have been, “come on right now. I want to make this quick.”

“What could you possibly want,” you groan, visibly shaking her a bit at your lack of volume control and you hand reaching to push the power button of your phone until it lights up and shows it’s clock that reads 12:32 pm, “what are you doing up so late?”

“I had to wait until John went to bed,” she offers as a very confusing explanation as she adjusts herself to sit on the edge of your bed, “you already bother him enough as it is, I don’t really want to enable you. Besides, you seem well rested, so you shouldn’t really care should you?”

“Is this about something or did you really just come in here to be passive aggressive?” you finally sit up, leaning back against the head of your bed as you cross your arms, your face drawn up in a scowl as you drag your eyes over her uptight form, “is it because I didn’t come down to dinner? You just had to get into just one argument to be able to sleep well or something?”

“Don’t be a brat,” she shoves her finger towards your chest, getting visibly more irritated with you when your only reaction is swatting her away, “I’m here to tell you, one last time, to leave. John. Alone.”

“What are you on about? I haven’t even spoken to him since I got home.”

“Not since you got home, no,” she agrees in a way that somehow feels belittling and prideful, “but he told me all about your little visit to the library today.”

‘I doubt he told you everything’ you think as you scoff. Your shoulders sink deeper as you curse him for babbling every time he tries to be polite, and your stomach churns at the idea of having this conversation.

“God, Mom I wasn’t doing anything, I just wanted help finding books for a friend. The librarian was busy and he was the only staff I knew, I told him that.”

“That might be what you told him maybe,” she lifts her finger to shake it in the air, almost as if she’s cursing the air of your room, “but I’m still your mother and I know exactly who you are. Now it’s bad enough that he can’t keep you out of his hair here at the house, the least you can do is give him some peace and quiet while he’s trying to work.”

“Whatever Mom, think whatever you want,” you meant to stop there, you really do, but maybe it’s the half sleep you can still feel your body being pulled into, or just the irritation of her not having a clue about what’s happening in her own house, but you mouth off before you can stop, “I was just wanting some books from the man, it’s not my fault he won’t fuck you.”

If you thought it was quiet earlier, it’s an eerie dead silence now. You’re sure you could hear a pin drop in the house down the street, and this combined with the blank stare she shows you makes your blood run cold.

“You’re lucky Dr. Arnold told me the best way to deal with you is to not give a reaction, she says it just enables you,” she stands with a huff, turning in time that she thankfully doesn’t see the way your eyes roll at the mention of her therapist.

“But let me say this,” she starts as she opens your door and steps halfway out into the hall, “you know nothing about the type of relationship I have with John. I promise the only thing that could possibly be between him and I is you.”

You try not to laugh at how ironic her choice of blame is, but once the door is closed and you can tell she’s gotten a little more than halfway down the hall, you can’t hold it in anymore.

It’s a weak laugh, exhausted and frazzled by the production your mother is as a person, but you laugh regardless. And you keep laughing and laughing, until you can’t use it to ignore the ache that’s settled into your chest.

The idea of just laying down and going back to sleep is a perfect one, if it was in any way possible, but your brain is fully awake and electrified with the words she spat in your face.

Causing Johnny problems, getting on his nerves and “getting in his hair” was your plan. It was your plan from day one, and you thought for sure you were doing exactly that. So why does your mom acknowledging it make you feel like you did something wrong?

You do nothing, not moving an inch, except for staring at the door connecting your room to his. Your eyes were glazed over, your jaw clenched, and roaring silence abusing your eardrums. You almost felt like you were having an out of body experience, especially when it took your brain a beat to catch up with your legs that have started carrying you to the door.

There was about a 98% chance he was asleep. He tried to not be a night owl too badly, but the 2% of chance came from the few times you woke up to him shuffling papers and swearing to himself. Those few times ended in you getting flushed and antsy from how frustrated and gruff he sounded, and turned to you getting off together like normal. The only change in routine being him uncharacteristically saying he’d ‘kill to have you wrapped around him to make him forget his frustrations’ as he comes into his fist, but something about the intensity in his voice made you feel skittish for whatever reason, and you’d duck out into the safety of bathroom to avoid the conversation of possibly making it a reality.

When you push the door open, you see the odds are in your favor, and he’s knocked out asleep.

His hair had gotten longer in his stay here, laying against the back of his neck and falling to frame his face in a way that made you feel like Rapunzal daydreaming about Prince Charming in her secluded tower. And now as he lays stretched out like a lazy house cat on his bed, the longer locs fall into his face and even tickle his nose enough for the muscles in his face to twitch.

You think maybe one day you’ll walk in, and he’ll have been too exhausted to finish changing. Getting only as far as putting on the flannel pajama pants he seemed to prefer, or maybe even just his underwear, before falling into bed completely bare from the hips up. But for now he’s wrapped in an old worn shirt that has little holes scattered along the collar and hem.

You consider maybe just leaving him alone, getting your eye full for the night and then returning to your own bed. But the words of your mom loops continuously in your mind, and regardless of whatever plan you put in place, you needed confirmation that he did not in fact consider you a nuisance.

You do it, before your brain can catch up with your body and heart, before you can scare yourself enough to turn around and sprint back to the safety of your room. You walk slowly to the edge of the bed and slowly sink down until you're sitting down on your knees, your head tilting until the side of your face rests on the cool sheets.

You feel almost irritated at how handsome he is up so close, his eyes fluttering behind his eyelids as he dreams and his curled lips open slightly. There’s no question why it’s so entertaining to you to test his patience, he makes it so easy to enjoy every one of his reactions.

You sigh after a moment, coming to the realization that maybe it’s a little weird to just be sitting and watching him, so before you wake him with your heavy stare, you reach over until your finger rests between his thick eyebrows. Slowly you drag the end of your finger and your nail down the bridge of his nose, stopping at the highest point and tapping on it a few times until his eyes start to flutter open.

You pull away when he becomes aware of his surroundings enough to squint at you and rumble out a confused noise. And it’s at this moment that you realize you never thought past waking him up, and as he looks down at you peeking over the edge of the mattress, you suddenly feel very small.

“Are you okay?” he starts to shift under the blankets that trap his legs, and something about the way he asks the question makes a lump form in your throat and is almost enough to calm the worries your mom planted in your mind.

“I…” you hesitate, unsure of how to answer the question but also just flustered at the way his eyebrows stitch together with concern, “me and my mom kind of got into an argument.”

It’s his turn to hesitate, his head turning away from you as he surveys the rest of the room, before he looks at you again, “c’mere.”

He motions for a moment towards the empty space on his bed by his side, pulling the blanket up and lifting it to invite you into the warmth his body has created.

Your muscles jump as you start to stand, before you sit back again with a racing mind. He must notice your apprehensive motions, because he’s quick to clarify.

“Only if you want to obviously,” he coughs and reaches to scratch at the back of his neck in a shy demeanor you never imagined you’d see on his face, “you’re totally at liberty to tell me to fuck off, but you look like you need to talk.”

You whine without thinking, the small and weak noise pushing past your lips against your control as you stand just enough to crawl into the bed. He turns to lay flat on his back, and once he’s fully rested back, you curl into his side and lay your head on his stomach right below where his rib cage ends.

You feel the tension in your body subside when, the moment you finish shifting around to get comfortable, he reaches down and begins scraping his fingers gently against your scalp.

“You wanna tell me what you two argued about?” he asks cautiously, and honestly, the answer is yes. You’re more than a little upset that he even went and told her about your visit to the library, and you want to grill him about it even if it’s just a little bit. But you decide that can happen later, as now, laying here in the warmth and smell of his room, you feel calmer than venting would grant you at the moment.

“Do you know any poems off the top of your head?” you ask, choosing to answer his question with your own, knowing he’s smart enough to get the hint without needing a cut and dry answer.

“Maybe a few,” he lets out a quiet and tired laugh, moving his fingers down to knead gently into your temple and making your eyes flutter shut, “I can probably remember one or two, just for you.”

“Tell me one please.”

He hums, seemingly taking a moment to think of one to recite, but unknowingly to you, he’s grinning like a madman at the back of your head as his heart starts thumping in his chest at how polite you can manage to be.

“I have one I think you’ll like,” he clears his throat, both of you shifting a bit before he begins, and you even take a leap of faith and reach your hand to rest on the span of his stomach right in front of his face, your fingers pushing slightly under the soft fabric of his shirt.

I carry your heart

He starts, his voice still grumbling with sleep as he brushes his fingers softly against the side of your face.

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in

my heart) I am never without it (anywhere

I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

Your breathing deepens the more he speaks, your heart thudding picking up more and more and you fear he might be able to feel it if you move any closer.

I fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want

no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

You close your eyes as tightly as you can, your throat still lodged with what you can only assume is your heart trying to escape the cavity of your chest.

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

Your nails dig gently into the skin of his hip, the quiet hiss between his words being the only thing he does to react. Even though the words aren’t his own, and you know it, something about every syllable that slips past his tongue makes it feel like a vice is wrapping tighter and tighter around you and your lungs.

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

The silence of the room is blaring in your ears when he finishes speaking, your whole body becoming very aware of every particle that surrounds you in the room. You don’t want to talk about the poem, or what it means or what he thinks about it or the poet, but you’re terrified of every second that you two leave void of words and the idea of him saying something you’re too scared to hear.

“Can you tell me another?” you finally ask, hoping he’ll ignore the way your voice cracked slightly at the end and the way your body twitches with anxiety.

“Um okay sure,” he taps his fingers against the shell of your ear and down your jaw and neck as he thinks, and when he circles over the skin stretched across your jugular, you think you might pass out, “I think I got one.”

i like my body when it is with your

body.

You try not to gasp at the beginning words, or at the way his hand continues down the side of your neck until it’s resting against your shoulder and under the neck of your shirt.

It is so quite new a thing.

Muscles better and nerves more.

i like your body.  i like what it does,

Instead you follow his lead. Matching his pace with your own hand as you move closer and closer to the band of his pants. His own hand taking your motions as encouragement to pull out from under your shirt, and trail down the fabric shielding him from your back.

i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine

of your body and its bones, and the trembling

-firm-smooth ness and which i will

again and again and again

kiss,

He pairs the words that fill the room with his wandering hands slipping up the back of your shirt and his fingers gently trailing up the curve of your spine in a way that tickles you enough to make you shake and curl more onto your stomach, forcing your hand to dip deeper under the elastic that presses against your wrist. The feeling of wiry hairs brushing your fingers making your body flush as you find he doesn’t wear anything underneath.

i like kissing this and that of you,

i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz

of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes

over parting flesh… And eyes big love-crumbs,

He says the words slowly, the same way he speaks filthy words when he knows you’re touching yourself to the thought of him. His own hand starts to brush against the entirety of your back, and when it curls over to brush the skin of your hip, you feel like your entire body is on fire.

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

The silence is there again, feeling suffocating and too real for you to face. The small bulge that’s formed underneath the thin fabric of his pants is unignorable, and you thank the universe and the human anatomy because as much as you love the next move you make, it’s also the perfect distraction.

You’re teasingly slow as your fingers brush softly over the base of his length, his labored breathing distracting you from the tension the words he poured into your mind.

His hand tenses against your skin, hesitantly brushing against your lower belly as his other hand reaches up and takes the job of brushing against your hairline. Your head moves with every breath he takes and as you scrape your nails against his sensitive skin, you feel like you’re almost seconds away from melting into one another.

“You don’t have to do that,” he reassures, but his voice pitches as he chooses the exact moment you wrap your hand around him to speak.

You don’t respond, not verbally as you're unsure of how to and afraid to break the shell the silence and his voice has created around you. Instead, you use your elbow to push yourself up, and you shift further down the span of his torso.

His hands don’t stop petting at your skin, eager and clearly unhappy with you moving farther away. His fingers twitch and curl around you without any thought from him, and when you pull him out and level with your mouth that’s begun to slightly water.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warns again, his tone tilting towards an air of arrogance against his will, and when you look up at him with your eyes wide, he lets out a deep groan, “you’re always ten steps ahead of yourself you know that?”

His hand falls as you start moving your hand against him, trying to hold back your shock at the size of him at what seems to only be half hardness as his thumb brushes over your bottom lip. You don’t think you have the total right to be shocked at his size, you’ve felt it more than a few dozen times at this point, but holding him in your hand and close to your waiting mouth feels worlds different than teasing him under the table.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he starts to ramble, deep swears following the question as you brush your tongue softly against his tip.

This begins one of the few times you’ve felt any true power over the man. Sure you taunt and tease, but you know any glare hard enough, or a strong hand wrapped around your wrist or ankle, would have you backing down. But now, as you wrap your mouth around him, and start to slowly bob your head in tandem with your still moving hand, you’re sure you could ruin his life.

You turn until you're flat on your stomach, his hand losing the touch of your torso and instead joining the other in brushing against your temples and helping you guide your motions. Your own free hand finds its way trailing slowly up his stomach, and when your nails scrape along the taunt skin, you suppress a grin around him at the way he shivers.

You feel your spit pooling on your tongue, slipping past the way he fills your mouth, and trailing down until it hits your hand. The quiet wet noises that follow makes you shiver, and as you hold his eyes with yours, you feel as if you’re falling into your own universe.

You reluctantly drop your eyes, tilting your head down until your lips bump your fist and his tip presses towards the back of the roof of your mouth. The groan he lets out shakes you and the bed below you, and as you curl your tongue around him, you hope his brain is melting in his skull.

You lift up after a moment, releasing him from your lips with a soft pop, and when you look at him again his eyes are shut tightly and his head pushes back into his pillow.

“Mr. Suh,” you call out to catch his attention, and when he jerks to look up at you, you’re shaken by how dark his eyes and how flushed his skin has become.

He only hums in encouragement, telling you that you have his full attention, regardless of how your soft hand moves and your thumb rolling circles on his tip.

“Will you come in my mouth?” you ask as innocently as you had when you asked if you thought you were pretty, your eyes wide and lips forming in a pout, the only difference now is the small bead of saliva that trails down your chin and the way you tap him softly against your cheek and lips, “Mr. Suh, I want you so bad.”

“You have me,” he promises, his voice gruff and his eyes warm as he brushes his hand down the side of your face, and it takes more self control than you’d like to admit to not lean into his touch and start to purr, “I’ll do whatever you ask me.”

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down on the soft flesh as you softly smile and bat your eyes up at him, but after a moment of giving him your best puppy eyes, you move down again to put him back into your waiting mouth.

He kneads at the muscles of your shoulders as you work him with your tongue and hand, brushing his fingers against your neck and scalp and it’s almost enough to lull you out if it wasn’t for the task at hand.

He tries to control his hips as you whine and moan around him, not wanting to gag or disrupt you, but the way you lean in hollow your mouth around him makes him jerk and twitch.

“Careful,” he warns, his words tense and his breathing short. It was meant as a way to tell you to slow down, that he was nearing his edge, and from the nights you’ve heard him through the door, you knew just as well as he did how close he was. And you didn’t care.

You feel your heartbeat pick up in your chest, your jaw aching and your fingers cramping just slightly as you move faster against him. His usually polite and jovial mouth turns vulgar and crude as you push him more and more, and before he can speak another warning, he finishes hot and messy on your greedy tongue.

You don’t slow down as his come slips down the back of your tongue, the bitter taste unfazed you as your brain and heart just revel in the long groan he lets out and his rough hands pushing as gently as possibly at the back of your head. It’s almost embarrassing how, the way he tries to stay gentlemanly even in a situation like this makes your chest blossom with heat.

Your heart thuds faster as you pull away from him, and as he tries to even out his breathing, you’re forced to acknowledge the slight wash of panic that’s filled your veins.

You let him fall from your hand, and try to ignore the way small drops of his come and your saliva that coats the length of him, before you place your mouth down on his pelvis and hips. You trail his heated skin in small kisses, trying to calm both him and yourself, and when he drapes his arm over his eyes and your heart and constricting chest don’t show interest in giving you a break, you take the moment to sit up as quickly as your wobbling limbs allow and dart back into your room.

Your body is still on auto pilot, but the pilot that steers your bones and flesh now is manic and scared. It’s also fully aware of the hiding spot you have that keeps the cheap bars you bought online that barricade your door.

It was a rash purchase you made after your mom barged in after a rather venomous argument, and up until now, they had only been used on her.

If you were working on a logical mind, you’d assume that Johnny was sympathetic enough to know that the running off and slamming door was enough of a hint that you’d want a moment alone, but as you shiver with worry and confusion, you don’t want to take any risk on him trying to talk it out.

So after both doors are successfully wedged shut, and tears of confused and bitter tears of frustration are slipping down your cheeks, you crawl into bed and curl as tightly as you can. Wondering and asking the universe what you’ve just done.

You wake up at about noon.

The house is quiet and your lack of alarm and your mom barging into your room made it a perfect breeding ground for sleeping in, and in your tired state you wonder how no one’s come to wake you, until you turn and see the bars shoved below the door nobs.

Every frame of the night before floods into your mind at once, and the dryness of your mouth makes you cringe. You feel like you’re only made of half of your soul, and your bones feel hollow and you dramatically flop with your face pressed into your sheets.

Unlike last night, you find yourself wanting to talk to the man you hear shuffling around in his room. His quiet hums to himself reminding you of how he sounded loud and clear without the door to block you from him. And the weight he left on your tongue sparks a fire in your belly that makes your thighs twitch and press together.

You hate the idea that starts to slip into your mind, you hate how on brand it is and how bratty it will make you seem, especially after your little episode. But you hate mostly, the fact that you choose to drag a friend into such a messy and confusing situation.

You don’t know what changed in you. What killed the panic, or maybe the panic wasn’t killed at all. Something has you vibrating with energy, like something shocked you in your sleep. And you need to get whatever reaction he was willing to dish out today if it only meant you could see his face again without the weight of a silent night and a heart cracked from an argument.

You don’t give yourself much time to mull over the moral implications the idea presents, you’re grabbing your phone and opening your contacts because you can talk yourself out of being too dramatic, and it’s ringing on speaker as you climb out of bed step over to the door to take away the barricade and lean your shoulder against the wall to its side.

“What?” your friend mutters when she hits answer, and from the quality of her tone, you fear she didn’t wake up much sooner than you.

“I have something important to tell you,” you clear your throat, keeping a neutral volume as you don’t need to tip off the man before it was necessary, “well, a few important things.”

She grumbles in annoyance, but you know she’s not going to deny you and she only means it to tease you, so you start the cliff notes of the night you experienced.

You tell her about your mother grilling you about your visit to the library, and she only interrupts to scoff and wonder aloud why your mother behaves like a jealous teenager. You stutter explaining why the idea of your mom thinking Johnny hates you stung so badly, when just the day before you were swearing up and down that hatred was the end goal, and she sighs in loving endearment while you ignore her playfully calling you a moron.

She’s the easiest person you’ve ever explained your confusing anxieties to, and this time is no different. She calls your rundown of how confused and panicked and incredibly turned on you felt with your mouth wrapped around him the “most worrying but entertaining hoe story” she ever heard, and it pulls a laugh from you that lifts the fog from your mind.

“So,” she starts when your rambling comes to a close, “you do like him and you’re not going to deny it because if you try I’ll reach through the phone and smack you.”

“And if I do?” you hesitate, your chest aching as you admit this to not only her, but also yourself, “am I a bad person?”

“Why would you be a bad person,” she scoffs, and you can perfectly form the mental image of her shaking her head, “he's just some guy. You're perfectly within your right to like him dude, especially with how handsome he is? Don’t let your mom or yourself get into your head. You might have been pissed when he first showed up, but your feelings are allowed to change.”

“Okay, thank you. Seriously,” you pause, chewing harshly on your lip as you think how to ask, “will you help me with getting him to talk to me?”

“Can you not just go talk to him,” she asks amongst the shuffling sound of whatever she does on the other end, “I mean you literally share a door.”

“I want him to initiate it,” you pout and whine, making her let out a dry laugh and most likely roll her eyes.

“Okay, live your life I guess,” she laughs again, and lets out a huff that tells you whatever she’s doing, she’s getting comfortable, “what do you need me to do?”

You sigh loudly, turning your face toward the seam of the door to help your voice carry into his room, and a wide smile pulls on your lips when you hear him pause while shuffling his papers.

“He’s all bark and no bite,” you speak as loud and clear as you can while still sounding casual, and you can only hope he’s listening as attentively as you know he can, “your think after everything, all I’ve done to provoke him, he’d do something about it.”

“Oh okay I see what you’re doing,” she says around a mouth full of whatever snack she’s gotten her hands on as she lets a rush of air out through her nose, “do you think he can hear me or do you want me to play along regardless.”

“Play along, he might be able to hear you but I want to be humored too,” you whisper.

“Okay cool,” she clears her throat, she’s always been one to get too far into her method acting, and when she speaks with a raised voice directly into the microphone of her phone, you know she’s into it, “yeah that’s pretty ridiculous, after you sucked his dick and let him hear you come and everything, you’d think he’d take a hint eventually.”

“That’s what I’m saying, ugh,” you kick the back of your foot back, to smack your sole against the wall in hopes of getting him to jump, “just, how much more am I going to have to do before he just takes the hint and fucks me?”

Your heart beat skyrockets when you hear him stand up, his footsteps heavy and slow as he gets closer to the door and the girl on the other end of the phone lets out delighted peels of laughter.

“He’s so hot dude,” she starts, and you know the words hold sincerity, “if I were you I’d just take matters into my own hands like you did last night. Let him know what he’s missing out on.”

“Maybe I will,” you stumble over your words when the door beside your swings open with more force than he probably intended as he might have assumed he was still locked out, “maybe I’ll just tell him to his face. I want you Mr. Suh and every second you don’t take the bait you look like a fool.”

Your chest is filled with white hot fire as the words fly off your tongue as you stare darkly into his eyes, and the blank and unamused glare he wears on his features is enough to stoke the warmth between your thighs.

“Oh fuck is that him, ah wait,” she blabbers without thinking, and your face almost breaks into a cringe when she clears her throat and almost speaks to the man directly, “you should. Give him the medicine he’s been refusing to take like some kind of toddler.”

You almost gape at her choice of words, but you force yourself to hold neutral, especially when you see the way his jaw clenches and his fingers impatiently tap against the door frame in response.

“Can I speak to you?” it's worded like a question, but it doesn’t feel like one when he spits it at you, and when he returns to his room with a slam of the door, your friend begins to giggle maniacally.

“Okay maybe that was harsh, but I’ve never spoken to him directly before so I kind of panicked,” she explains with slurred speech and a pitched tone, “but sounds like it worked. He sounded mad though, so have fun in the principal’s office I guess.”

“Ha ha,” you dryly respond, but the fluttering in your chest forces a smile on your face.

You say your goodbyes, and she wishes you good luck one last time, before you hang up and are faced with the taunting door shut in your face again.

You let out huffs and sighs, your stomach turning at the lack of sound he makes on the other side. You toss your phone back onto your bed, and take a minutes to pace around until you build up the confidence and most likely resting his nerves in the process, but you can’t help but feel that it will only make what’s to come more fun.

When you peek your head into the room, you get deja vu of the day you met him. He stands tall behind his desk, the papers on his desk just as cluttered as always, and the only difference is his longer hair and tense posture.

“Were you having fun with you and your friend’s little conversation?” he shows no hesitation in grilling you as slowly enter the room, and the pout that lands on your features is automatic, “is that all this is? Just you messing with me to have something to entertain your friends with?”

“No,” you snap at him, walking until you’re leaning the palms of your hands against his desk as you try to match his posture and irritation, “since when did you start thinking that lowly of me?”

“What else am I supposed to think,” he says your name, and for whatever reason the syllables pierce your heart and makes the air around you feel much too intimate, “especially after the way you ran out last night, and now talking like that to your friend? Please tell me what that was supposed to make me think.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes in a way that always visibly irritated him, “whatever,” you breath, tapping your nails against the wood below you, “you act like I killed someone. You initiated a lot of what happened last night, and you can’t act like you didn’t. Like did you hear the poems you told me or was that just my imagination?”

“I- listen,” he stutters and his eyes shut tightly as his shoulders pull towards his ears, “it doesn’t matter now. You’re right, I did start it but I shouldn’t have.”

“So you regret it?” you don’t mean to sound as broken as you do when you speak, but you can’t help it, and his eyes snap open in response.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying?” you came in for fun, but now find yourself getting hurt and just as irritated as him.

“I’m saying,” he leans forward, his hand ready to brush against your cheek, but he thinks twice and pulls away, “I’m the older one between the two of us. And as the older one, I can’t take advantage of you like that.”

Your mouth opens, but no noise comes out. You’re confused, and shocked, and then finally just annoyed.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” your eyes must be wild as you trace the features of his face because he only looks concerned in response, “Advantage? Johnny you’re not forty, you're a grad student and I’m in undergrad. What you think I’ve never fucked a grad student before?”

He stiffens, more than he already is and with a pout you realize you want nothing more than to reach out and help him relax. The look that dances across his face is the only indicator that you need to tell you he didn’t love the idea of you being with other people, and you take it as a good sign and cling on.

“I’m not a grad student any more,” he shoots you a slighted look, grasping at straws now to get an argument, ”I’m getting my doctorate.”

“Oh your doctorate ooo,” you taunt as you flick at the papers he had neatly stacked in front of you, “whatever you’re still a student stop acting like you’re middle aged. If you’re not interested, just tell me.”

“I can’t tell you that, because that’s not the truth,” he starts to try to explain, but your irritation and annoyance boils over.

“Then fucking tell me the truth John.”

“I just did,” he circles the desk, taking your shoulder in his hands and forcing you to look in his eyes as he speaks, “look at the scenario. I come in, claim my space in your house and just throw off your whole life. Letting you do what you do at dinner and what happened last night, I don’t want you to be making these reckless decisions just to get at me anymore.”

“You’re an idiot,” you speak bluntly, “you think this all just to fuck with you? You must be stupid as a rock, or maybe your brain is just to overfilled with poetry to form a coherent thought.”

You move your hands to wrap around his wrists, ready to push him off of you and rush back to your room, but the feeling of his skin and the warmth of his hands feels too nice and just makes you sulk.

“You’re so much of a brat,” he shakes his head and confuses your heart when he says it in such an endeared tone, “you amaze me with how much you can make me obsessed with you while just messing with my head. And now just standing here trying to say there’s no a power imbalance amazes me.”

“Johnny, I’m getting sick of this. I like you, and you’re not going to change that,” you’re too busy seething at him to notice his hands slowly moving to hold onto the side of your neck, but your own hands follow his every move, “There’s no power imbalance, you’re not my teacher and I’m a fucking adult. I can want to like and fuck whoever I want. It’s just up to you whether or not you want to do something about it.”

He doesn’t respond, his features fall to a rest and his shoulders sink as the gears turn in his head. The only other times you’ve seen him as deep in thought as he is now, is on the few occasions he’s let you in his office while he works on his thesis, and you get to see him analyze poetry and literature like it holds the secrets to the universe.

“John-“ you start to speak again, your body and soul shrinking as he stares down at you with such intense and unmoving eyes, but you don’t get another second to speak before his mouth is finally slotting against yours.

He doesn’t give you a moment to think before his tongue shoves itself into your mouth, flicking at the back of your teeth and brushing against yours as he steps around you until your tailbone pushes harshly into the edge of the desk.

You feel dizzy and your heart slams against your chest when he starts to press his thumbs into the sides of your neck and into your jugulars.

Your hands scramble behind you, shoving the papers you made a mess of out of the way to your best ability, until there's space for you to push yourself up to sit on the edge.

He groans into your open mouth in delight, his hips stuttering until they press into the crotch of your pajama shorts as they bunch up at the apex of your thighs. His hands fall from your neck, moving to wrap around your back and pull you to grind into him as yours reach to wind around his shoulders, keeping him pressed to your hungry mouth and tongue.

Kissing him had been a frequent daydream of yours. One you’d find yourself drooling and dazing over, until you’d catch yourself and huff at the idea of mooning over a man like that. But now that it’s happening and the taste of him is permanently burned into your mind, you never want it to end.

“I was so cruel to you last night,” he confesses between deep pulling kisses that he uses to silence your whines, and you grumble in confusion, “you were so pretty with your mouth wrapped around me and then you ran off. I didn’t even get to do the gentlemanly thing and return the favor.”

“You wanted to return the favor?” you whisper, almost afraid to speak out loud after how fired up you were just moments ago.

“Is that even a question,” his right hand trails up the outside of your thigh before wrapping around your knee and using it to pull you tighter against him, “it would be an honor to make and watch you come sweetheart.”

He dips his face into your neck after he breaks your last heated kiss, his mouth leaving only a few unassuming kisses to the side of your neck before his teeth sink into the sensitive skin until you yelp.

“Will you let me make you come baby?” he asks, and the way you gasp and moan at the way he punctuates the question by thrusting his growing bulge into you is enough of a response for him.

He shushes you quietly as he starts to guide you down to lay flat on the desk behind you, his own hand reaching behind you to clear more space and you can only anticipate the complaints you’ll have to hear later when he has to reorganize.

He tries to follow your neck with his lips, but once you're laying flat, the leaning starts to strain his back and he instead pacifies himself by trailing his tongue down the center of your collarbones and into the dip of your chest.

His hands push up the hem of your shirt as he bites and sucks small hickeys on your chest, his fingers calloused and rough as kneads the flesh of your hips and sides, and after he gets his fill of decorating your skin, he moves to lave his tongue flat against your stomach, dipping the end of it slightly into the dip of your belly button to tickle you and make you squirm.

The pace in which he pulls your shorts and underwear down your thighs is torture, but he seems unbothered by your whines, your fingers pulling at this hair, and your toes pressing into his sides as just continues to bite and suck on the skin of your hips and belly.

Once they’re past your knees though, they fall and pool in a pile on the floor, and your skin damp with arousal is exposed to the cool air circulating through the room. His hands move to both of your knees, and pulls your legs farther and farther apart to expose you more.

He lifts your knees, pushing them to your chest as he sinks down until he’s kneeling in front of you. Your thighs flex involuntarily as they try to close, but all that movement accomplishes is him biting harshly at the skin of your inner thigh.

“Don’t tease me please,” you beg with a pout as you lean up on one elbow to look down at him, and your chest burns in delight when he looks up at you with devious eyes and curled lips, “I didn’t tease you.”

His head jerks to a tilt at your words, “you didn’t?” he asks in disbelief, as if he wasn’t present for the moment you were referencing. His tongue clicks when you shake your head in response, “that sounds very out of character, are you sure that was you.”

“John,” you huff in protest, tugging on his head harshly enough to make him grunt, and fueled by the spark of irritation he feels at you, he leans forward and drags his tongue flat against your skin and collects the taste of you on his taste buds.

You stay propped up on your elbows to the best of your ability with the way your head falls back onto your shoulders. But when he crudely spits on your clit and mutters a vulgar comment of how pretty you are, you almost stumble and lose your support.

You mirror the motions he took last night, rolling your hips up towards his mouth as he dips his tongue shallowly into your entrance before wrapping his full lips around your clit. His tongue drags over the buzzing nerves every time he pulls at you and pops the skin out of his mouth, and you desperately want to guide him like he did you with your grip on his hair, but the way he leans into you, the muscles of his shoulder shifting under his shirt visibly with effort, makes it hard for you to keep up.

Your legs fall over his shoulders as he releases them from his hold, one hand trailing up to press into your lower belly while he wiggles the other between your thighs and his face until his middle and ring fingers start to prod at your dripping entrance.

You already were on the verge of losing your sanity from the feeling of his tongue, but as his fingers slowly start to sink into you and stretch you out around their girth, you think you might see heaven.

Your seconds away from swearing loudly without a thought, his fingers curling inside you and pushing you closer and closer much quicker than you ever could in your late night activities, when a knock rings out from the door and you both freeze.

There’s a beat of silence, his mouth detaching from your skin in this time but his fingers still slowly pushing and pulling inside you, before a shrill voice calls out to the man.

“John,” it was your mother, and if it wasn’t for his hand still pushing you down you would have scrambled away at the sound of her voice, “you had a call from some people in the English department dear.”

“Oh is that so,” he tries to reply in the most even tone he can muster as he stands to mutter something about not worrying because he put up his ‘do not disturb’ sign this morning, and that’s usually enough to keep her out, “um well, did they say what they needed?”

“Oh yes they did,” she raises her voice as she gauges now how far he is from the door, and if it wasn’t for her presence you’d probably scream at how he picks up the pace of his fingers and shows zero concern in giving you a break aside from wrapping his free arm around the back of your head until he can clasp his hand over your agape mouth, “they didn’t go into much detail, but they said something about an emergency meeting and you needing to get to campus as soon as you can if possible.”

“Ah okay,” he turns to nod at you with a smile, as if his curling fingers aren’t making you clench and squirm around him. His thumb joins in now to roll over you clit, and when you thrash and cry out under him, the smile only grows wider, “thank you so much for relaying the message ma’am, I’ll be out once I finish up with what I got laid out on my desk right now.”

You kick him, not hard enough to inflict any pain but enough to make him laugh and fuck you harder on his fingers. You can tell he loves every second of the situation from the mischievous glint that’s popped into his eyes and you can only start to try to form revenge plans as you try to hold off your orgasm in hopes you don’t hit it with your mom still within ear shot.

Thankfully, she lets out a content hum, and begins to walk away, and even when he moves his hand away from your mouth, you wait until you hear her hit the last step to begin to scold him.

“I can’t fucking believe you, you dirty old man,” you swat at him the best you can with shaking limbs, “I should just-“

You interrupt yourself with a pathetic whine when he gets fed up with your choice of words enough to reel back and land a stinging slap directly on your cunt. You thighs jump, and when he shoves his fingers back into you, you cling to the sleeve of his shirt and whimper.

“Would you believe, now who’s all bark and no bite now? Just like I thought. Just put your hands in the right place,” he pauses, for the dramatics mostly, but also to press the heel of his hand into your clit as he fingers you roughly, “and you just turn into the prettiest little puddle of come don’t you?”

“Please,” you plead without thinking, “please let me come before you leave.”

“It would be a crime against the universe to leave such a pretty little angel like you hanging. I could never do that to you my love.”

He pressed his mouth against yours one last time, his tongue pushing the taste of your skin onto your tastebuds and making you moan. He seems addicted to your lips and tongue, as he pulls away more than a few times, clearly intent on moving, before he has to dip in for one last taste.

Once he’s finally gotten his fill, he returns to his place kneeling on the floor. He pulls you open with his fingers, spreading your open for his tongue, before he pulls your clit between his lips and sucks and licks until your nails are scraping into the old wood.

You rock your hips gently against his mouth as your orgasm creeps closer and closer, and he only follows the motion with happy groans. If his mouth wasn’t occupied he’d be babbling about how sexy you look with your mouth hanging open and your eyes rolling back, so instead he tries to use his eyes and tongue to express himself.

You thought the first night you made yourself come to his voice was the most intense orgasm you’ve ever experienced, and up until now maybe that was true. But the smell and feel and taste of him surrounding you and how eager and unrelenting his tongue is against your skin has you reeling.

You’re panting fast, so fast you fear you might start to hyperventilate. You use his hand that lays on your stomach as an anchor, and when he flips it over to intertwine your fingers, you think your heart might stop.

The muscles in your back tense, your thighs shake around his head, and as you cry out and come around his fingers, he continues to lick at you until tears start to build on your waterline and the muscles of your stomach teeter on cramping.

He works you over until your brain is incapable of forming words, the aftershocks he delivers to your nervous system making you squeak and push at him until he finally relents.

You take in a rattling breath of air, filling your lungs until you have to let out a rough cough, and he stands up with a pleased smile as you slump back onto the palms of your hands.

“I’d do anything to fuck you right here right now,” his hands return to wrap around your thighs, tugging you to sit flush against him again, “if work didn’t interrupt your life at the worst possible times.”

“Go,” you huff, shoving your finger into the scruff of his hair and pulling him into a chaste kiss, “I’ll always be waiting here for you. Just like I do everyday.”

——

You feel like an anxious puppy waiting for him to get home.

Your nerves on fire and your skin burning as, surprisingly, the mind numbing orgasm he gave you before he left somehow ended up not being enough to calm the rabid animal that nested in your belly the day he showed up.

You expected to hear him walk through the front door, come immediately to your room, but when you look through your window and see him walk through the gate leading to your backyard and sitting down on the steps leading to your house, you jump up quickly and stumble down the staircase and out to where he sits.

When you walk up to him, you can tell he’s stressed from the way his shoulders are tensed. The smoke that billows up from the cigarette that he holds in his fingers adds to the context clues and makes your nose wrinkle.

You step quietly over to him, ignoring the way he looks up to go down a few steps below him to sit.

You think for a moment, hesitating before you lean your head and side into his leg, and you can’t help the content sigh you let out when he responds by reaching out to gently pat the top of your head.

“School sucks,” you blurt out without thinking, confused slightly at your choice of words regardless of the fact they came from your own mouth.

“Bold thing to say to a teacher,” he chuckles quietly in response, petting your head and temples gently as he speaks, “but I’d have to agree with you on that one kid.”

“Why’d they call you back to campus?” you tentatively ask, turning your head to rest your chin against his thigh, unsure if that’s something you can ask.

“Nothing too important,” he sighs, taking another drag of his cigarette in a way that tells you that he isn’t fully telling the truth, “there was some blips in the department’s budget and unimportant shit like that and…”

“And what?” you ask as your eyebrows pull together at the way he waves his hands as he speaks.

“And they’ve shortened the deadlines for some of the required materials for my thesis,” he finally admits with a groan, “which isn’t a huge deal, I was doing pretty well with staying ahead and finding good references in the library. It just feels like such a bullshit thing to spring on me.”

“I’m sorry,” you say with full sincerity, as you reach up to tug on the leg of his jeans, “that sounds annoying as hell.”

He looks down at you, and when you eyes meet, his features soften.

“You can ask me if you want,” he encourages, his eyebrows darting towards his hairline as he pushes the pad of his thumb between your furrowed brow.

“Ask what?”

“Whatever it is you’re wanting to ask,” he leans down for moment to snuff out his cigarette on the stone of the steps before sitting up to look at you again, “I can see it bouncing around in that cute little head of yours, and if it’s what I think it is, I can guarantee you’ll probably like the answer.”

You like the silence that surrounds you now. The rays of the setting sun shining down on you and the warm color making his eyes shine. You can’t suppress the soft smile that crawls onto your lips and your heart starts to flutter when he mirrors the look.

“Are we…” you hesitate, fumbling at the last moment and becoming weirdly shy as he stares at you, “are we cool?”

“Are we cool?” he repeats sarcastically, “damn you make it sound like you're a drinking buddy I had a falling out with or something. You know, instead of the person I’ve been falling in love with since the day I met you.”

“So we are cool,” you sit up as you speak, using a joking tone to smother the anxiety that’s attacking your heart.

“We’re cooler than cool,” he leans forward against, placing his lips softly against the tip of your nose and you can only sigh in content at the act, “baby we are fucking ice cold.”

——

Johnny sneaking into your room isn’t uncommon.

It’s more common for you to sneak into his, of course, but on the days you get home before him and you pass out after a stressful lecture, he’s quick to crawl into your bed and wrap you up until you feel like nothing in the world could hurt you.

It was the best you had, aside from the times he’d hang up the abused ‘do not disturb’ sign so your mother would leave you in peace as, for as far as she was concerned, you were still just annoying him.

She didn’t know you had him on a leash, had him dedicated and infatuated and just all together stupid with love for you. She didn’t know about tense feelings that led to wandering lips and tongues that happened in his room. And you both agreed that it was easier for both of your stress levels to keep it that way.

So sneaking between two rooms was common, and even a bit thrilling at times, but tonight you were so deeply sleeping, you didn’t hear him enter the room.

You don’t twitch when he pulls back your blankets, you don’t even stir when he pulls down your thin shorts down to your thighs and rolls you on your stomach with your legs falling apart.

What finally stirs you awake, is his rough fingers that have been coated in his saliva reach down and push between your thighs until they glide against your velvet skin.

Your back curves, pushing your hips towards him from muscle memory, and your arms stretch out like a napping cat.

He laughs quietly at your immediate response, regardless of the sleep that pulls heavy on your eyelids. The idea of stirring you awake by touching you was always running through his mind with excitement, and you’ve come to love just as much as him.

He doesn’t speak much, cooing in encouragement and spilling filthy pet names into your ear being the only thing he says as he sinks his fingers into you and pushes his other hand between your shoulder blades to keep you down.

You can feel that it doesn’t take long for you to start to gush around his fingers, you level of responsiveness to his touch being something that always inflated his ego and made him taunt you when you wanted to do nothing but come.

And he does that exact thing now. His voice is rough from a day full of his own lectures, and his hands equally rough from calluses and scars from his constantly gained and healing paper cuts. It takes more self control than you’d like to have to reach down and see if you can roll your clit fast enough to make you come, but you know he’d just swat you away and scold you if you did.

You whine when he pulls his fingers away, trying to push back into him, until he swings his leg over to straddle your thighs and shoves his hand into the center of your back to hold you down.

“John please,” you ask as sweetly as you can muster with your brain still trying to dip back into a half slumber, and he catches the shell of your ear between his teeth in retaliation.

You can hear the metallic clanking of his belt as he undoes his slacks, the pressure of him fully hard length pressing against the seam of your thighs make your feet kick up and hit him on the back of his thighs.

He shushes you, asks you to be good and stay quiet for him, and you’ll get exactly what you want from him.

He follows through with his promise when he starts to slowly sink himself into your drenched and fluttering walls, and when he’s only halfway in, and already stretching you enough to make your eyes roll, his now freed hand joins the other in pushing you down into your sheets and keeping you still as he starts to rock into you.

“Look at how pretty you are my love,” he’s in the moment enough that he starts to make sense again, forming sentences instead of just degrading and praising you with broken speech, “always ready and warm to take me aren’t you.”

“Yes, always,” your voice is airy and if it was for the way he tilts his head down towards you, he may have not heard at all.

“Yes, who?”

You back back into him at the question he asks, the words he’s asking you to speak making you delirious and hot.

“Yes Mr. Suh,” you cough the words with a hiccup and a sob, his thrusts picking up once the title is in the air and digging his tip directly into the spot that makes your vision blur.

He swears loudly at the state of you below him, and he’s sure he can come just from holding you down and having his way with you, but you learned quickly when you two finally started screwing around that he’s a suck for eye contact when he comes in you.

He makes this obvious when he pulls out with a frustrated ‘fuck’ and wraps his arm around your stomach beneath you. He only gives you a second to find grounding before he flips you over quickly, and shoves your hands into his hair.

You cling to him immediately, pulling him down to latch your mouth to his and he shoves you knees up his hips and pushes himself back inside of you.

He fucks you deep and quickly, his pelvis brushing against your clit as he leans his weight down into you until your chest is flush against his.

“Are you going to come for me?” he asks as if he doesn’t know every way your body twitches and turns.

“Yes, Mr. Suh, please, please don’t stop,” when you're out of the moment, you hate how he can make you beg for him, but when he’s surrounding every one of your senses with every inch of him, begging is the only thing you can muster.

“You’ll do anything I ask won’t you baby?” he asks, his teeth looking sharp as he lets go of one of your thighs to wrap his fingers around your throat until his fist pushes up your chin to force you to look into his eyes.

You can only nod frantically as he pushes you closer and closer with his body rocking yours up your mattress.

“Then run off with me.”

It takes more than a moment for the words to make sense in your clouded brain, but you’re still confused when they click. He repeats himself again, adding new pet names and rolls of his hips every time, and finally after a nip to your cheek, you nod frantically again.

“Yeah?” he asks, his excitement over whatever you agreed to enough to not need a verbal response, “of course you will. Now be good for me and come.”

You’ve told him a million times that he must have untapped super powers that he’s just blissfully unaware of, because every time he tells you to come, it’s as if your body is desperate to comply. Of course whenever you say this he adopts a shit eating grin and tells you that he doesn’t have super powers but rather, he’s “just that good.”

But regardless of how much you want to scold him for being cocky, he doesn’t seem to be wrong, and when the command slips his tongue, your legs lock around him to pull him close as the beginning of you orgasm starts to zip up your spine.

You fist at his hair as you back arches up into his torso, and the hiss he lets out in pain is muffled by his teeth latching harshly onto your jaw.

You destroy your bottom lip with your teeth as jumbled sounds escape your scratching throat. Your clenching walls lock around him as you come, and after only a few stubborn moments, he follows suit and pushes into you until he can’t go any deeper.

The feeling of him spilling into you makes your orgasm wash over you in more powerful ways, something you’ve tried to explain to  him is a thing that happens, and even though he couldn’t fully understand, he was more than happy to comply.

His button up sticks to his clammy skin, and the thin t-shirt you stole from him so long ago does the same to yours.

You rock against each other as the aftershocks plague your cores, and he nuzzles his nose into your neck as he lays his full weight on top of you.

You sit in silence for a while, the only sounds being your panting breaths as you stare down at him to admire the way the string lights you use to decorate your room illuminate his skin.

You think for a moment that he’s fallen asleep. His eyelashes brushing against his cheeks, and his soft panting breath hitting your neck. So when he peeks one eye open to catch you in your admiration, your skin warms in embarrassment.

“Did you mean it?” he asks softly, but all you can do is hum back in confusion, “when you said runaway with me somewhere. I know it was in the heat of the moment and maybe you didn’t really know I was asking but y’know…”

“I’d go anywhere with you,” you reassure, reaching down to brush the hair from his eyes, “but what are you getting at?”

“My housing at the school is ready.”

If it wasn’t for the weight of his body on top of you, you would have probably sat up, the earlier question and the news not connecting fully in your brain and making a wash of panic come over you.

“And,” he continues quickly, noticing your confusion and concern, “I emailed the housing director, and he said it’s very common for the PhD students to live with their partners there.”

“So you’re saying…” you bait him into continuing, even though you start to understand what he’s asking you now.

“They’re offering me housing long enough for me to finish out my PhD and for you to finish your bachelors,” he pushes his hand under your shirt as he talks, his hand laying warm and flat as his drags up and down your back.

“Are you asking me to move in with you Mr. Suh?”

“Are you willing to move in with me?” he adds a taunting flare to the question by mocking the polite manner you use to refer to him, “I mean I can’t help but wonder. Finishing my PhD, publishing my research, and then maybe fucking off to New York with the most gorgeous and amazing person I’ve ever met.”

“New York?!” your mind is so blurred by your still subsiding orgasm, that you can’t help but lose your way a bit and cling onto the mention of the city.

“Is that a yes? Is that your way of telling me yes?”

“Johnny Suh,” you start, filling the space between you with intensity at the use of his full name, “I’d follow you to the end of the world.”

[vvienne]

RANWAN FIC RECS

Absolute Zero by jitterati

Pathologically solitary academic Chu Wanning left behind a life of research to enlist with the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps Jaeger team when giant monsters began to emerge from the Pacific ocean, eager to leave his personal entanglements behind him and join humanity's collective battle against the threat of extinction.

His goal is to build an artificial intelligence that will allow a pilot to operate a Jaeger mech solo - eliminating the need for pilot compatibility and the mortifying ordeal of being totally known by another person, a "neurological handshake" known colloquially as the drift.

He didn't expect his former students to follow him all the way to front line of the war against the kaiju.

Featuring lots of side character interaction, pining, yearning, questions on the nature of personhood, friendship between jerks, people coping badly with loss, snarky AI, and giant robots. Illustrations by Saika & Daru

Husky and his White Kitten Disciple by JustAMoon123

Within a lonely heart, the seeds of hatred start to grow.

-A 2ha Age and Role-Reversal AU.-

NOTE: This Story is Now E Rated!

[Before meeting Chu Wanning, Mo Ran had drawn his power exclusively from the Wood side of his dual Spiritual Root, and his Qi had always glowed green.

Now, only when in battle did it do so, with Bugui’s blade encased in a tyrannical green light.

Outside of battle, like when he set barriers of warmth; or made Crystal Butterflies to tease golden flowers; or cast a small array to keep a box of food warm, his Qi manifested with a gentle red glow.

Mo Ran’s Wood was destructive, while his Fire was protective.

Ah, Mo Weiyu, Mo Weiyu. Even your power betrays you.]

Burn, Pine, and Perish by moonqueenmaia

It’s been two days since Taxian-Jun’s last visit, and Mo Ran hasn’t touched Chu Wanning at all, beyond gentle and fleeting caresses. Chu Wanning decides to take matters into his own hands by surprising Mo Ran when he comes back to their home after a trip down the mountain.

it's no coincidence (it's a kitty-incidence) by lanzhan (gothguk)

There’s a white cat lounging in the middle of Mo Ran's bed.

to touch you with bare hands (even if it burns) by moonqueenmaia

Chu Wanning is a renowned professor of mechanical engineering at Sisheng Peak University. Beautiful, lonely, and talented beyond belief, he has spent his 32 years mostly by himself, silently and secretly yearning for affection and companionship. Yet Chu Wanning has resolved to himself that he will spend the rest of his life alone, no matter his hidden fantasies.

Enter Taxian-jun, an unruly, arrogant, and struggling student, fiery and domineering, who comes in and shatters the calm of Chu Wanning's life. They enter into an agreement, both burying their feelings underneath a storm of lust and lies. Yet amidst it all, something deeper may be helplessly and slowly blooming.

It is up to them to cultivate it, or destroy it for good.

cursed by devilsoupe

Chu Wanning and his disciples are sent to investigate an abandoned village, and Chu Wanning is hit with a curse.

Mo Ran was determined to treat his shizun respectfully in this life, but what choice does he have?

liar liar cock on fire by lofikv

I (32M) walked in on my roommate (23M) masturbating in our living room. Ever since then I couldn't erase the image of his penis in my mind but I found a sex toy online that is almost as big as him, so I bought it and tried it on myself so that I can imagine how he would feel inside me. I have also been romantically attracted to him ever since we started living together. How can I cope with this?

UPDATE: He caught me in the middle of an emergency.

(Absolute) Unit 311 by devilsoupe

Chu Wanning doesn't have a soulmark.

Neither does Mo Ran.

ducks entering highway by Sectionladvivi

Mo Ran finds out his well-respected, MILF-coded, tears-of-angels-tight-ass robotics professor moonlights as an erotic novelist. He immediately leverages this knowledge for an opportunity to play tonsil hockey.

to yearn by devilsoupe

Chu Wanning starts to cough up flowers. Taxian-Jun is angry. Chu Wanning is not allowed to die pining for someone else.

When it starts happening again in his second life, Mo Ran knows enough to worry.

from blossom to blossom to impossible blossom by Wildehack (tyleet)

Taxian Jun is the victim of a flower curse.

sticky fingers by fakeplasticlily

The man tosses the towel unceremoniously back at Mo Ran’s chest, like he’s personally offended by it. And the fact that his hands had just been all over said chest barely minutes earlier, maybe. “Please pack a box of egg tarts with extra custard filling, a box of red bean paste buns with extra syrup, a rice pudding with extra candied fruit garnish, and a box of osmanthus cakes with extra sweet pear jam.” Mo Ran’s eyes grow progressively wider as he lists the items. It’s him. Not the suburban mother of four, not the elderly guy dealing with a midlife crisis, but quite possibly the hottest guy he’s ever seen. Who also happens to have the highest sugar tolerance Mo Ran has seen in a human being in his two years of running this bakery. 

Hard to Love The Lonely Night by bloodsongs

Chu Wanning glares up at him, adjusting his women’s robes. “Still, why couldn’t you have been the wife instead?”

Coughing politely, Mo Ran looks to the side, avoiding his gaze. “Shizun’s skills with the illusion barrier far surpass this humble disciple’s, and, well…”

He doesn’t need to complete his sentence—it’s infuriating, but Mo Ran is now taller than him, broader than him, larger than him. Very much so. The young sapling he raised in Sisheng Peak is now a full-fledged tree, a man built like the mountains Chu Wanning has seen in his travels.

Chu Wanning and Mo Ran pretend to be a married couple visiting a small mountain town to investigate some suspicious disappearances. Mini Canon AU casefic. Contains spoilers up to Chapter 130 or so of the novel.

Purple Ink by jeejaschocolate

Chu Wanning is a robotics engineer who lives a life of isolation and loneliness, only partially due to his chronic illness. Eventually he gets so sick that he requires the help of a full-time medical assistant.

Of course, these days, all those jobs are given to CyberLife androids.

Chu Wanning resents the android they give him. From his fiery eyes to his long black hair, to his incomparable tenderness and consideration for Wanning’s feelings.

He resents him. All the way until he falls in love with him.

Fallen Flowers in Swallows' Nests by bloodsongs

You deserve better—I refuse to disrespect you ever again. I want to be better. I must be better.

But I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do.

I don’t know where Taxian-Jun ends and Mo-Zongshi begins.

I only know now that I cannot lie to myself: I want you so fiercely that I burn with it, I am consumed with the desire to make you mine and mine alone. To become one with you, feeling your fire twine with mine.

Or, Chu Wanning finds letters from Mo-Zongshi that were never shared with him.

These hitherto undiscovered letters cover a range of emotions that weren't present in the book he gifted his Shizun: contrition, yearning, and desire.

Counterpoint by senchafloat

Five years ago, Mo Ran was just a boy who loved playing piano—there were many things he didn't know. He didn't know how capricious and unforgiving the world of classical music could be. He didn't know just how lucky he was to have Chu Wanning as his teacher.

Five years later, Chu Wanning is now a renowned concert pianist, and Mo Ran is an upstart conducting student. When Chu Wanning shows up unannounced at his alma mater, Mo Ran has plenty of questions, along with a desire to prove his worth to his old teacher. But as it turns out, Chu Wanning isn't as invincible as he once seemed. As old secrets come up to the surface, the two of them are forced to reinvent the ways they'll make music together.

impatient to adore you by riverdanceeee

At some heartbreaking point in his life, Mo Ran accepted that Chu Wanning would never reciprocate his feelings, so he dealt with it as any other person would. He'd rid himself of his affection, respect their friendship, and learn to move on. But Mo Ran's affection runs too deep, and when any opportunity to spend time with Chu Wanning knocks on his door, he goes running to answer and accept. Even if it means he has to break up a potentially dangerous dog fighting ring.

To Bow Before A Willow Vine by bloodsongs

“I…” Mo Ran hadn’t thought that far. He shakes his head, lowering his head in deference, resting his forehead against Chu Wanning’s knuckles. "I'll do anything you want of me."

The silence stretches on for a beat too long.

"Anything?" Chu Wanning says eventually, tilting his head.

Written for 2Ha Week, Day 4: Reverse AU for the 0.5 timeline. When Chu Wanning storms Sisheng Peak and crowns himself the cultivation world's new emperor, Mo Ran trades his life for Xue Meng's. Contains spoilers for up to the end of the novel.

Call me by my name by rinsled05

When the man called Taxian-Jun arrives, years later, it’s the coming of a storm.

He sweeps into a dinner appointment between Chu Wanning and a client, clad in black, a smirk tugging at his mouth. Over the spark of irritation, Chu Wanning can’t help but admire his lean frame, the way his hair, cut rebelliously short, falls over smoldering, dark eyes. The way he towers over him, even when Chu Wanning rises to full height.

Chu Wanning’s heart races as Taxian-Jun leans in close, ignoring the shouts and gasps around them.

“Sakaki of Ran,” he purrs in their native tongue. “You’re mine.”

Chu Wanning lifts his chin. “I don’t know you.”

“You will,” Taxian-Jun says, and leaves.

In which Chu Wanning is a courtesan serving Chinese merchants in Nagasaki, Japan, and Taxian-Jun decides to make him his.

荷官牌型 ♠️ The Croupier's Hand by bloodsongs

In deep financial straits after losing his job as a teacher, a desperate Chu Wanning becomes a croupier at Sisheng's new casino.

The once sleepy town of Sisheng Peak grows busier by the day as the casino draws more and more tourists to their mountains. Consumed by his lingering regrets over the worst mistake of his life that destroyed his teaching career, Chu Wanning is too distracted to worry about anything else but his next shift, his next paycheck.

Except that's when Mo Ran, the reason Chu Wanning lost everything, returns to Sisheng Peak.

As the heir to the casino.

White Rabbit Club by minkit

Desperate to rid himself of a few pesky things called virginity and desire, Chu Wanning waltzes into a world he knows little about and right into the embrace of a mysterious stranger who reminds him of the student he's been dreaming about all year. The lust fueled dreams his student stars in are the very reason Chu Wanning applied to the sex club in the first place, and now he's desperate to get rid of these filthy impulses once and for all.

Congratulations, Chu Wanning, on your acceptance into the White Rabbit Club. We hope you enjoy your stay.

Risk and Restraint by purloinedinpetrograd

There is nobody Mo Ran works with who does not love him. He’s worked hard to cultivate this image while he climbs the corporate ladder at Sisheng, and it’s paid off in dividends. He’s in every WeChat group. He can call in favors with any division of any department. He can make even the tightest of deadlines relax their stranglehold on his team.

That is, there is nobody except, of course, Chu Wanning.

A Lingering Sweetness by theherocomplex

Chu Wanning is now all too aware of what he looks like: a dry stick of a man, never handsome, angular and cold and pale. A drab, short-tempered creature, as appealing as a splinter in one's foot. But Mo Ran looks at him as if he will never get his fill, and part of Chu Wanning thinks, What if —?

At the end of the line by PearlAquaBlue 

“So … I reckon someone thought you needed to loosen up a little bit. Now that you’re here, want to try it?”

Chu Wanning hangs up. Throws her phone on her pillow with a disgusted glare after it. Stands up and paces to the kitchen in long, angry strides. Her cheeks are burning. With trembling fingers, she grabs a glass and pours herself some water, gulping it down in one go. It doesn’t help much. She grips the kitchen counter tightly, then marches back into the bedroom to glare at the phone again. Her fingertips itch, and it’s as if some kind of magnetic force draws her closer and closer to her bed until her fingertips are but an inch away from that tempting black mirror. Before she knows it, she’s unlocked it unsteadily and pressed “repeat” on the last call.

“Welcome to Sisheng Peak – ”

“And what would that entail?” she asks, a little too breathless.

Let's Fall in Love for the Night by purloinedinpetrograd

Chu Wanning could only stare in horror as a large cloud of sickeningly yellow pollen rose from the field, blanketing the place where Mo Ran stood in a heavy fog. “Um,” he said lamely.

“Fuck,” Mo Ran cursed, and Chu Wanning didn’t even have the heart to chastise him for his coarse language, because he was too preoccupied wrestling the surge of fear at seeing his disciple disappear behind the haze of that indeterminately threatening dust.

A million terrible possibilities raced through his mind, each one more dramatic and gruesome than the last. His heart hammered against his ribcage, threatening to crack the bones. “Mo Ran,” he said slowly, “I think you should tell me what that does, now.”

Xue Zhengyong sends Chu Wanning and Mo Ran on a mission to find a specific ingredient for some concoction of his wife’s. Chu Wanning is torn between rejoicing at the chance to spend time alone with Mo Ran... and grieving over the very same thing.

But, well, it’s just flowers. What could go wrong, right? (Spoiler alert: it’s sex pollen.)

the day dawns in your hues by localshabba

2ha Week 2020 Day 1 prompt - Haitang

---

Schoolteacher Mo Ran is having an ordinary day until he has an awkward encounter with the notoriously rigid school librarian, which leads to the start of something new.

Also features: flowers, dinosaurs and lots of tenderness and pining.

helping hands by verity

When Mo Ran was but a young, innocent, virtuous grad student—well, one of those things—she built that couch from a flatpack box with her own two hands. Over the years, the smell of polyester and cheap foam padding has given way to an equally aromatic blend of Chu Wanning's haitang blossom perfume, spilled coffee, and white lithium grease. Chu Wanning herself is always perfectly dressed without a stain in sight. Even right now, her head tucked onto one folded arm, the other loosely gripping her tablet, she looks so formal.

Mo Ran gently rests a hand on Chu Wanning's socked ankle where it peeks out of those tailored white trousers. She really should behave herself.

She really should... behave herself...

in plain sight by localshabba

Written for a prompt fill in the 2ha Kink Meme.

---

"I have a surprise," Mo Ran breathed, coming to stand so close behind him that his breath landed on Chu Wanning's nape. Not touching Chu Wanning any other way, because he likes to make Chu Wanning lean back just a little bit, to seek out that contact himself.

"I think Chu-laoshi will enjoy it."

Chu Wanning is sure he agreed to the whole idea; he's just unclear on when. Things got hazy around the point when Mo Ran turned him around by the shoulders, got down on his knees and...well. Apparently he'd skipped breakfast that morning.

When he returned to his senses, his clothes were all neatly tucked into place, not a stain on them, and a charmingly pink sexual aid was nestled comfortably up his--ahem, inside him.

---

Now available in Spanish!

casually acquainted by tagteamme

Chu Wanning knows what he is and what he isn’t. And where he lacks in pleasantries and outward appeal, he makes up for in untouchable grace and dignity.

It threatens to unravel once he meets a familiar face in an unfamiliar city.

“So quick to run away from me, Chu-laoshi,” Mo Ran says, voice gently teasing as Chu Wanning refuses to make eye contact with him. “After you came all the way from…”

He trails off, waiting for Chu Wanning to let him know, but he sees the map open on Chu Wanning’s phone and grins wider. “You want directions?”

Chu Wanning clears his throat, and shakes his head. He should say something— instead, he stays silent as he looks down at his phone and punches in the hotel name again.

Happily, his phone tells him to try again when he has signal.

The Right Hand of Light by gedsparrowhawk (FaceChanger)

Chu Wanning is asleep on the bed, clutching his hands tightly to his chest and curled in on himself. He’s still wearing the same robes he was in in the water prison. On the writing desk, a bowl of water and clean linen for bandages sit untouched, and a tub of bathwater has cooled without being used. Mo Ran sighs to himself. Wanning is truly hopeless.

He sits on the side of the bed and touches Chu Wanning’s shoulder. “Wanning,” he says. “Wanning, wake up.”

---

Rare 0.5 tenderness, after the water prison.

nothing can consume you by tagteamme

Mo Ran’s violent history has never had to catch up to him.

It’s already embedded itself into him as scars on his body, as a tattoo on his forearm, as the lingering taste of blood in his sleep and finally, as the searing brand pressed against his chest before he’s thrown into the sea as punishment. He knows that this is where all his chances come to an end.

But as the deep fathom of the water swallows him up, something else saves him and pulls him to a tiny cove tucked away off the coast of an overlooked port town. When he wakes up under the care of a mythical creature wearing a familiar face, an even older and more distant past finally finds him.

[hansolmates]

busted in busan 

summary; you’re snowbound at the airport, when the only thing you want is to be homebound. your anxieties heighten as the snow rises, worried that you won’t make it in time for christmas where your fiancé and his parents expect you—picture perfect. when all flights are cancelled due to a massive storm, you have to turn to the hands of an unlikely, hard-headed hero who knows the fastest way out of busan (and into your heart) pairing; jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; a christmas detour!au, fluff, angst, slice of life, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, pining, this is a total romcom, hallmark movie galore! tw–microcheating (or not however you look at it) mentions of sex, making out, profanity w/c; 10k   a/n; for @suhdays​ holiday hallmark event! this event was totally up my lane, i couldn’t wait to post it! a huge thank u for @eerieedits​ for making this wonderful fic banner! this is totally unedited, i’ll to go back to it tonight but pls enjoy! for those of u who need a little more christmas charm this year, this is for u

if you loved this icy couple, please consider giving it a like n’share!⛄⛄⛄

“The Korean Air 1102 flight from Gimhae International Airport to Incheon International Airport will be delayed six hours due to the intense weather conditions. Please be on standby for any further updates.” 

You’re twitching, fighting the urge to nibble on your nails because you’ve just got them done for Christmas. They’re a sleek champagne gold, because your fiancé insisted that they’re far more mature than your usual red and brown reindeer art. This is awful, and is only going to get progressively worse as the snow builds and builds. Right now the weather isn’t that bad, the snow isn’t even sticking to the ground and—oh. 

Gnawing at your lip, your fingers brush over the cold window, a clear view of the landing strip you should currently be boarding. The touch is icy, and the pads of your fingers are enveloped in little rings of fog at the sudden warmth nudging the glass. Upon closer inspection and a squint of your eyes reveal that in fact, the snow is now sticking to the ground. Big, fat clumps are covering the freeway and destroying your Christmas plans. 

Your fiancé will understand if you’re a little late for their Christmas Eve party, but you’re not sure if his parents will. You’ve been on livewire all week, wanting to at least spend the morning of Christmas Eve with your family back home. Knowing that your fiancé’s Christmas Eve party would run until very late, you booked a noon flight with enough time to get ready and impress his parents. Evidently, it was an ill-prepared idea. 

Immediately falling into your terminal’s line, you hope that you can talk with the receptionist in hopes they could put you at ease. 

“How soon will you announce our flight’s departure?” A sad smile. 

“Is there any way you can put me on the next possible flight?” A shake of the head. 

“Will the weather let up?” A frown. 

Every bit of rejection weighs you down, and you’ve run out of questions to ask. For a receptionist, she’s not very receptive. 

“C’mon lady, you’re holding up the line,” a voice tugs you from behind, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta get down to the city on Christmas.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, wanting to slap the rudeness off this man’s face. Instead of falling back in line, you move to the side to glare at him. He’s unfortunately attractive, albeit in a rugged sort-of way—nothing like your fiancé. The leather jacket that he carries tall is worn and crackly at the collar. Wavy dark hair he constantly has to hold back, a gesture that looks flirtatious and to your chagrin the receptionist is definitely recepting to him. 

“Your refund should be processed in about two to four business days, Mr. Jeon,” the receptionist murmurs, the simultaneously sultry and chirpy voice making you twitch in your spot. Maybe if you drank a cup of tall, dark and handsome you’d be getting the same kind of treatment. 

“Thanks,” he replies shortly, and it’s then you notice the extremely large luggage next to him. It’s the size of you, and despite the broad shoulders under the baggy jacket, he lugs it with careful force, making sure not to bump into anyone as he wheels it away from the counter. 

It seems that your trainers have a mind of your own as you follow him down the terminal. He side eyes you as your feet pick up the pace to match his long legs, but he waits for you to say something first. 

“Why did you ask for a refund?” you ask, frowning at him, “the flight is only delayed.” 

He scoffs, “Do you see the snow? They’re just saying it’s delayed so they can hold onto your money a little longer. Besides, it’s a win-win. I get my refund sooner and some other poor sap can take the ticket and wait until five in the morning.” 

“Five A.M.,” you exhale to yourself, slowing down. 

It would be too late by then, far too late. Your shoulders slump, people start to bump into you without a care. 

“Besides,” you hear his voice say from your stricken form, “I had a backup plan.” 

That’s when your feet start to burn up, and you whip around to pump your legs, catching up with the man who’s already far down the hall. “What kind of backup plan?” you blurt, raising your voice because the crowds are starting to get noisier and deeper the further you follow him. 

He hooks his lips into a confused frown, “You’re awfully nosy.” 

“I’m in a pinch, my fiancé’s parents will kill me if I don’t show up to their party tonight.” 

“Your fiancé’s parents… will kill you?” 

“That’s an exaggeration,” you cough, immediately feeling self-conscious, “they’d kill me with their eyes. They’re really big, really pretty corporate people. They have high expectations for their future in-law.” 

“Ah, and you're the country pumpkin who managed to sweep the rich guy off his feet?” 

“Something like that,” you reply, rocking on your heels, “my dad was his dad’s former secretary, and we grew up together.” 

The stranger with a plan stops in front of a long line. It’s so long that you’re not entirely sure where it leads to. People are piling out the door two at a time, and you can see they’re trying to get through the process as fast as possible. The window leading outside is blurry and caked in white ice. He hooks one leg over his luggage, the metal and plastic case is so high that his feet barely touch the ground. Like a kid with a flat scooter, he wheels himself through the line. 

“These lines are for busses going in the direction of our flight,” he jabs a finger out the door, “if the flight got cancelled I was just going to ride one of these,” out of his pocket he pulls out two tickets, flicking it in front of your face.

“Are there any tickets left?” your eyes bug, and you immediately pull out your phone to reserve a spot. 

“Nah, been booked since last month.” 

It’s then that your eyes zero in on the second ticket he has in hand. Both tickets are addressed to the same name. You lower your phone in your pocket, narrowing your eyes. “Why do you have two for yourself?” 

He pats his luggage as a response. 

“That’s not fair!” 

“It is when you buy it, sweetheart.” 

“A literal human could be in that spot, wanting to go home for Christmas!”

“You’re just salty you don’t have a ticket, don’t take it out on my luggage,” he feigns a pout, rubbing the handle of the heavy container, “you’re hurting it’s feelings.” 

It doesn’t take long for you and the stranger to reach the end of the line. To others in line the two of you look like two companions bickering good-naturedly, but in reality the only thing you want to do is slap that smug smile off his face. 

“You want my ticket,” he states. 

“I want your luggage’s ticket,” you bite back, staring petulantly at where he sits comfortably between the handle. 

Unbeknownst to you, the man’s face morphs into a teasing grin upon seeing you glare a little too hard at the silver and black case. It just so happens that your eyes gravitate to the middle of the luggage, at the apex between his long legs leading up to a pair of black sweats. Despite the soft, baggy fabric you can see how the bulge of his thighs outline the thin cotton, looking large and inviting which—

Fuck. You’re engaged. Why are you checking out some stranger’s thighs? Your fiancé also has nice thighs, think about those! 

“How much do you want for it?” you cough, crossing your arms and turning to the side to hide your flaming cheeks. 

“Who said I was offering?” 

“I’ll pay that and then some.”

“With your rich-boy’s money?” 

If your hands were not digging into your elbows and you weren’t so concerned about your gold-foiled manicure, you’d deck him. Do the holidays normally make this person so snappy? He simply flips his hair, and you catch the shaved ends of his sides. 

“Three-hundred,” he says easily, and if he notices you staring he doesn’t say anything, “including any extra fees for my luggage.”

“Done,” you hold out your hand for him to shake. 

“I’m Jungkook, if you care,” the man named Jungkook adds wryly, practically swallowing your small hand with his larger one. You shortly reply with your name, and he merely nods, “a thank you would suffice.” 

“Thanks,” and it’s then that you manage a scarily pretty smile, one that Jungkook finds both alarming and amusing. It’s a catered smile, one that you’ve trained yourself to accomplish after hours in the mirror in fear of your fiancé’s parents seeing right through you. It’s the smile you give during work when you don’t give a shit but you need to suck it up. It’s a 9/10 success rate. 

“Scary,” he shivers, and then you realize he’s the 1/10. 

The only bus for you two to pile on is one of the smallest. Probably half the size of a regular coach bus, but at this rate you don’t care. You’ll fly by hot air balloon if the weather wasn’t so crappy. 

“Taehyung!” you startle at Jungkook’s sudden belt, and he does a big, beefy-chested bro-hug to the driver. Ah, so he has connections. You watch the two interact from your corner, pulling up your hood to stop the rapidfire snowflakes from pelting your eyes. 

The driver is a classically handsome thing, dark eyes and dark fluffy hair. His paperbag pants look absolutely frigid however, and his teeth are chattering as he regards Jungkook with annoyed eyes. 

“Listen, so plans have changed—”

“As always, Kook.” 

“—and I need you to do me another solid. Do you have room in the compartment for my babies?” 

“The answer is, and always no. That’s why you bought two tickets.” 

“I know but,” he gestures to you with a jab of his thumb, “like I said, plans have changed.” 

“Jungkook,” Taehyung frowns, “trying to do some Christmas miracles? In this snowstorm?” Taehyung shakes his head, eyes flickering to the running bus. Most of the ticket holders are already on it. “I can save you two a three-seater, but there’s no room in the compartment. It’ll be a tight fight but—” 

“It’s perfect. You’re dynamite, Tae,” Jungkook even has the audacity to reach his hands out and squish the driver’s cheeks, much to his distain. 

The two of you are ushered quickly into the bus, leaving you in the very front diagonal to where Taehyung is sitting. The three seats are tiny, it probably barely fits Jungkook’s thighs with the large luggage nestled in the other two seats. The two of you suggest to put the luggage out in the aisle and take turns holding it, but Taehyung interjects that the luggage is a fire hazard. 

“But not a human,” Jungkook decides, and he gestures for you to sit down in the available seat. You’re practically shoved against the window as Jungkook manages to squeeze his gargantuan luggage in the other two seats. He’s tall enough to grab the metal rungs of the bus, steeling himself in the middle of the aisle.

Taehyung doesn’t fight with that, and finally puts the bus into drive. Pulling out of the airport feels akin to leaving the eye of the storm. It’s going to be a long journey, and it makes you worry as to whether you’re going to make it on time or not. 

Your favorite pastime is watching the window on a long car ride, especially when the snowflakes crystalize and melt away through the warmth of the vehicle. However, you’re irked. You thought Jungkook was a bit of a wank, a little too full of himself and far too mysterious for your own good. 

Exhibit A, the luggage that’s currently threatening to wheel over and crush you against the glass. You wonder what’s so special about this luggage that Jungkook so desperately wants to protect, even so far as to buy its own seat. Sneakily, you lean over to smell the zipper. Surprisingly, it smells a little vinegary, the fumes getting you a little lightheaded within seconds. Your eyes dart to Jungkook, who’s currently engaged in conversation with Taehyung. You tilt your head and sniff again, confirming the slightly rancid smell. 

It’s then you take in Jungkook’s form once more. He dresses a little schlubby, his clothes are old, his eyes are sunken in, and his luggage is filled with weird-smelling things. 

Oh no. Is Jungkook a drug dealer? 

Your fiancé’s parents would surely have a fit if this man gets arrested and you come up in the report as an accused accomplice. It makes sense, he would want to make sure that his goods are in his view at all times, and it explains why he so easily gave you his ticket for triple the actual price. 

A giggle interrupts your thoughts. Yes, a tired, yet bubbly giggle. Jungkook’s face is pressed against his bicep, and you catch the fluttering of his eyes as he tries to keep up with Taehyung’s rambling. His grip is starting to loosen on the metal bars, and you’re worried that he might accidentally slip, or not hold tight enough in the event the car takes a sharp turn or slips on black ice. 

“J-Jungkook,” it’s the first time you’re saying his name out loud, tasting it on your tongue as you regard him steadily, “why don’t we take turns sitting? I don’t mind standing for an hour while you sleep.” 

He regards you with a sleepy smirk, shaking his head against the fabric of his jacket. “You’ll be flung in two seconds, besides can you even reach the handles?” 

Good point, but Jungkook is far more muscular and if he does end up flying he’ll crash through the window and further hinder your commute. It’s why you choose your next words carefully, and you convince yourself it’s the only reason as to why you propose your solution. 

“I’ll sit on your lap,” and since it sounds super weird coming out of your mouth, you tack on, “I’ll put your jacket over your lap as a barrier.” 

He slacks, regarding you with a scrunched face. “Is the jacket supposed to make that situation any better? I’m fine standing like this.” 

“This ride is going to take hours and you’re barely on your own two feet,” your point is made when the bus topples over a speed bump, and Jungkook looks awfully small as he moves to grapple the top bar with both hands, “my fiancé doesn’t get jealous, I’ve sat in plenty of friend’s laps before.” 

“We’re not friends,” he blurts with a raise of his brows.

“Yes, I know that,” you’re a little insulted by the curt reply, but he still looks rather horrified that you’re proposing the following, “I don’t like it either, but I’m sitting in your seat and now I’m feeling guilty as hell.” 

It’s a lot of shuffling and shifting after that. You try not to laugh as Jungkook rips off his leather jacket, folding it into a perfect square, ironing out the corners of the crinkly fabric as he gestures for you to take a seat. You try not to take note of how sturdy his thighs are, or how the muscle stretches across the seat so well that there’s no way for you to fall between the cracks. 

“You’re going to sleep anyway,” you try to assure him, side eying him as he presses his forehead against the window, “it’ll be like being with a dead body.” 

“Didn’t know you were into necrophilia, but whatever floats your boat,” Jungkook mumbles, eyes immediately fluttering shut. 

At first it was easy, ignoring the fact that you’re sitting on top of a human. The drive seems endless however, Taehyung driving further and further into a sea of white ice. You force yourself to thread your fingers together, sitting on the very edge of his knees with your back ramrod straight. Eventually, you tire out and relax against Jungkook’s lax body. Your face is centimeters away from Jungkook’s. Long, dark lashes, and a strand of equally dark hair falls in front of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed from the blaring heater, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. 

Hm, for a drug dealer, he smells pretty. 

Despite the weird-smelling luggage that looms over the two of you, the white long-sleeved shirt he wears is soft to the touch and smells fresh. 

You huff, and shift in your seat. 

“Stop,” Jungkook mumbles into your shoulder, and you don’t have the heart to look at him. 

“I’m sorry, it’s cramped,” you reply. 

“I get that, but you don’t have to—hike yourself so far up here,” he sounds almost embarrassed saying it, and his hand shuffles to adjust his belt. “Literally can’t sleep because you’re making me pop a boner.” 

“Why, I’m engaged!” 

“God, I know. It’s like your personality trait or something,” Jungkook retorts, “just because you’re engaged doesn’t stop my body from reacting. I’m sure your fiancé has reacted like this, stop acting like a blushing virgin.” 

You tense, your eyes glued to the window in front of you. How do you even make a comeback to that? Wringing your hands in your lap, you feel your palms sweat with nerves the longer it takes for you to reply. This causes the gears to run in Jungkook’s mind. 

“Holy fuck, have you two not—” 

“Shut up,” you hiss, turning your body around to slap him in the chest, “shut up shut upupupshutup!” 

You make seething, burning eye contact with Jungkook. You expect him to have a shit-eating grin on his face, teasing you for your relationship. Instead, Jungkook is wide-eyed, mouth parted open like a confused guppy and his big bug-eyes looking stricken. He says nothing. 

The road starts to get bumpier, and the drive swerves from time to time to avoid black ice. Neither of you are relaxed. Combined with the heart of the storm, your heart is currently wrung on electrical wire, pumping blood with a fervor you cannot stifle. 

“I’m going to put my arms around your waist,” Jungkook murmurs softly, and you lift your arms slightly to see him lace his fingers over your belly button. “Like a seatbelt.” 

You sigh, relaxing in his hold. Now it’s awkward. He feels compelled to hold you to keep you safe, even though he clearly finds it awkward you’ve already put him in this position. 

Jungkook isn’t so bad, you think as you let your gaze linger on his hands. They anchor you to his lap, making sure you’re not jostling during the ride. He may have a razor sharp tongue and gets under your nerves just for the heck of it, but he’s kind of nice. Under the prickly leather jacket, there’s a softness to him you can’t help but gravitate to. 

It’s dark outside, save for the speedily descending flakes and the dim lights of the highway. You’re sitting on the lap of a total stranger, yet it’s a stranger who’s holding your waist like he’s a seatbelt, a stranger who’s making you feel safe to say the words that have been haunting you for the past few months. 

“I’ve tried to initiate sex,” you finally say. “I don’t know why he doesn’t want me, it’s already been two years.” 

Your eyes turn red with bloody horror. Your vision blurred by the insanity of what you’ve just blurted out to this surprisingly kind stranger who’s offered his seat (both times) to you. 

“I didn’t mean to word vomit like that. Forget I said anything—” 

“Must be his loss,” Jungkook cuts you off, and when he says it doesn’t feel impolite at all. However, Jungkook doesn’t continue on, doesn’t give you rhyme or reason, just lets you linger on his reply like a madwoman. 

Maybe it’s because you’re so touch starved, maybe you’re just seeing things, but for some reason Jungkook’s fingers feel more apparent against the seam of your jacket. They tighten a fraction, drum around the metal zipper that holds the thick fabric together. Your palms feel like a fountain, and you try to ignore the burn between your legs, the liquid heat betraying the commitment that sits on your finger. 

You’re engaged to be married, you chastise yourself. All eighteen carats that symbolize that bond glare at you, bright and eager to make you feel guilty. The whole reason why you’re on this cramped bus ride is to get to your soon-to-be husband. Some pretty stranger with strong hands won’t change that. 

“We’re here! Finally!” Taehyung cheers, and you realize now that you’re parked into a tunnel surrounded by other buses. 

Jungkook and you wait until everyone steps off the bus. The pads of Jungkook’s fingers play an unsung tune, absentmindedly drumming to a song you can’t put your mind to. 

“God, you can’t just pay the extra money for someone to take care of this?” Taehyung hauls the large luggage in the aisle seat, and you feel like you’re being revealed under a curtain, doing something you’re not supposed to be doing. 

You hop off his lap, scoop your backpack in your arm and scramble off the bus. The cold, winter air bites into every available pore in your body, replacing the warmth that Jungkook gave in the tiny bus. You hike the collar of your oversized turtleneck higher up your chin, prickling in shivers as you wait for Jungkook. 

“I don’t remember Seoul being this, empty,” you say to yourself, frowning at the lack of humans past the bus station. You peer curiously at the dark, dark road off the terminal. There’s no flicker of light, or a skyline filled with bustling sounds and flickering head beams. 

“That’s because we’re only halfway there,” Jungkook walks past you, luggage in tow. 

“What?” you pull out your phone, it’s already 4PM and it’s pitch dark outside. 

The snow is beating down as you two speed walk out of the hangar, reaching a nearly vacant parking lot save for a pure white minivan. You barely notice the vehicle with all the snow, blending in perfectly as wave after wave of ice beats down on it. The pops of rust by the tires, gaudy orange stripes is the only thing you can focus on as you try to make it to the car as fast as possible. 

“Get in and start the car,” Jungkook practically shoves the keys in your hands, gesturing for you to take the passenger seat. 

When you enter his car, you’re hit with a scent scarily identical to the one in Jungkook’s luggage. You nearly gag when you inhale too much, and your eyes flicker over to the lemon air freshener attached to the exhaust, trying its best to mask the smell. You vaguely remember all the warning stories your parents told you as a kid—never enter the white van. 

Ohmygod, you’re in a white van and all of Jungkook’s drugs are in the back. 

You shake your head, willing the car to start as you arch your back over the console to start it up. You’ve been around your fiancé’s parents too long, letting them fill your head with judgemental gab and crazy assumptions only rich people have about people lesser than them. 

Once the car spurs to life, soft holiday music plays from a pop station. The front window of the car is absolutely covered in snow, you can’t even budge the windshield wipers to scrape the layer of ice off. 

Suddenly, a blanket of ice slides off the window, swept to the concrete. You’re met with Jungkook’s toothy smile and horror-esque stare, and you have this jerk reaction to nervously laugh and jump in your seat. Your nails dig into the cheap fabric of your seat as Jungkook’s scary expression melts into a more softened one, as if happy to have gotten you to laugh in such sucky times. Jungkook continues to brush your windows, meticulously making sure no ice can cause any damage as you two go into the night. 

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Jungkook whips the door open, throwing the snow brush at the space between your feet. 

As soon as he shuts the door, your stomachs growl simultaneously. 

The two of you break into a quick laugh, giggles that overlap the twinkly holiday chimes and the packed snow crunching under Jungkook’s boots. 

“After McDonalds,” Jungkook declares, setting up the GPS for a quick pitstop to the nearest fast food joint. 

Ten minutes into the drive, you pull into a generic food joint, too starved to find gourmet McDonalds. You make it a point to flick your card and lean over his body to meet the cashier, telling him you’re spotting the meal. Jungkook doesn’t complain, and tells the cashier to add in a vanilla sundae for good measure. 

Color yourself impressed, but you can’t help but gawk as Jungkook expertly sets up his food on the dashboard like a five-star meal, with fries in the cupholder and a burger unwrapped perfectly to catch any spills and to keep his fingers from getting greased up. For such a terrible snowstorm, he pulls out of the joint gracefully, a brief intermission in your long journey. 

“So, is my fiancé’s place far from where you need to be?” 

Jungkook shrugs, a stray fry hanging from his mouth. “It’s not far, not close either. I don’t mind, I like driving.” 

“Do you drive around a lot?” 

“Yeah, for work. It’s a little annoying that I have to spend Christmas alone, but it is what it is.” 

Pausing on your speculation, you take a big bite of your burger. You were hoping that your conversation would spur on a little more detail about his drug-esque job. However, all you start to feel is the heaviness of your fast food meal, stemming from your chest and filling your grease-filled stomach. 

“You’re spending Christmas alone?” you say, and you don’t mean to sound so sad saying it, but the thought of him being alone tonight makes you feel pinched with pain. 

“I can practically feel your puppy-eyes,” Jungkook shakes his head, not even needing to look at you as he focuses on the road. “I’m fine, don’t you worry.” 

“Do you wanna come to the party?” you offer, trying to sound as neutral as possible as you throw the suggestion on the dash.

“Not my thing,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “with my line of work, I prefer to lay low.” 

Trying not to feel a hurt by the sudden (but expected) rejection, you practically eat your burger whole, eyes glaring on the road. You surmise it’s a valid excuse, drug dealers aren’t exactly one for highly-populated areas and with your fiancé’s reputation, you’re sure his parents would smell Jungkook’s reputation in a micro-minute. 

The drive isn’t anything special. You’re sure if it were spring, the foliage would be pretty and the sun would be setting into melty orange hues by now. It’s all black and white, boring shades that are aggressively pelting at the van and hindering your evening. 

“So, what other character traits do you have?” Jungkook cuts through your semi-brooding, as easily as one slices through butter, “other than the obvious that you’re engaged, and that you’re getting married. And oh yeah, you have a fiancé!” 

You scoff at his cheesy joke, folding your arms together. “I like spending time with my family. Watching movies under a weighted blanket. Plants.” 

His stare dips away from the road for a fraction, enough for you to catch that he’s rolling his eyes, “Fascinating. Not a plant person myself. I like those cute little succulents though. Had a bunch of those in college.” 

“I am also a ramen connoisseur,” you say pointedly, turning up your nose. 

“Ah, are you?” you smile a little when you see Jungkook’s eyes light up at the mention of food, “what’s the criteria for good ramen?” 

“Deep, creamy broth. Also, the egg. Gotta look like a custard-y, eggy sunset. It’s just,” you smack your lips together, mimicking a chef’s kiss, “perfect.” 

He chuckles, and goes on to tell you a story about a ramen shop he’s visited on his travels. It’s one he declares that you need to visit, one he still dreams about often. It takes a ferry and it’s a bit of a trek, but he says it’s worth it, and the eggs are as custard-y and sunset-y as you’d like. 

It’s between pockets of his story and pulling yourself out of this little bubble of a van you realize:  are you flirting with Jungkook? 

The longer this trip goes, the more your stares linger. They linger like the snow that sticks to the ground, unable to do nothing but cling. Layer after layer of confusing feelings, building up to a blizzard that you’re unable to quell. 

“So, your family’s also going to be at your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook asks, poking at yet another one of your personal facets. He’s being blatantly nosy, yet neither of you seem to mind. 

“Oh, no,” you shove your hands in your pockets, “they wanted to stay back in our hometown with the extended family. Y’know, the older members can’t really travel as much as they used to.” 

“Ah, so you’re splitting up your time,” Jungkook drums his hands on the wheel, eyes drooped slightly as he continues along the monotonous road, “your fiancé couldn’t make it?” 

“Couldn’t,” you reply lightly, “just, y’know, work.” 

“Been there, done that,” Jungkook replies, “I’m sure he missed out though. What’s your family like? Are they the type to bake cookies until 3 A.M.? Oh, or do they get wine drunk and talk shit about their annoying cousins—” 

“Jungkook,” the words fly out of your mouth before you can even think, “I’m engaged.” 

The weight of your words holds differently now. A whole day has passed with this man, and you’ve developed an attachment that simultaneously scares and thrills you. Not an hour goes by that you have to think to yourself that you’re taken, to the point that you can’t even tell what’s in your head and what’s being spoken out in the air. 

Instead of a snippy comment, a snarky retort of, “I know, I know!” like you anticipate, Jungkook stops the car. 

There’s no human trace for miles, so it doesn’t scare you when he slows down and pulls off to the side. He gears the car into park, roughly pulling the handle. He lays his arm over the steering wheel, turning his body so he can face you fully. The heat in the car suddenly feels too cloying, and you shrink in the seat as he leans in on you. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, and from the looks of it, he’s genuinely hurt. 

“I—Jungkook,” you plant your feet on the ground, trying to find some power in this situation, “I mean I, we—you just can’t keep doing this.” 

“Do you feel like I’m trying to steal you away? Or, seduce you or something?” Jungkook is starting to talk himself into a stupor, eyes flickering from the window, to you, to behind you, and back to you. It’s almost jarring, seeing how self-conscious he starts to get without the presence of an audience. Gone is the smooth talker that you met at the terminal, willing to haggle it all for your cash. “Are you uncomfortable? Is it weird I have a crush on you?” 

“Wait, you have a crush on me?” 

He reels back, nearly pressing his head against the window. Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deep from his lungs. “Adults still get crushes, y’know.” 

“Yeah, but not to people you met eight hours ago.” 

Jungkook arches a brow, “People fall for people in the most unlikely of ways.” 

That singular statement hits you, hard. 

Jungkook looks like he wants to get out of the van. He seems stuffy, and he unzips his coat and shoves it under his legs. 

“You’re cute,” he echoes the statement like he can’t believe that in a short amount of time, he’s attached to you, “you seem to have good taste, you love family, and your personality isn’t half bad,” the last bit is meant to be teasing, a lighthearted way to end his bout of emotion, but it only makes you ache further, “And it makes me upset knowing that you have to keep convincing yourself that you’re in a relationship that isn’t as fulfilling as you hope. This whole drive, you’ve been anxious about going to his parents, worrying that you’re not going to make it on time instead of relaxing with your family. Where you actually want to be.” 

“I also want to be with Jimin,” you say weakly, a half-hearted attempt to defend yourself. 

You never mentioned your fiancé’s name until this point. It makes Jungkook stiffen a little, finally putting a name to the man that’s supposed to have your heart. It makes the relationship concrete, palpable. 

“I’m sure you do,” Jungkook smacks his lips, evidently sealing the conversation to suffocate under the snow. 

Jungkook puts the car into drive, sliding back into your current route. 

“And to answer your question, Jungkook. No, you having a crush on me is not weird,” and smaller, quieter, you reply, “because it’s weird that I might have a crush on you, too.”

You know that Jungkook catches your statement, because he cranks the volume of the radio harder, effectively shutting you out.  

The first thing Jungkook says when you finally reach the Park’s house is: “Wow.” 

His van looks completely out of place, parked on the side as limos and Escalades drop off more and more people into the large estate. It’s pouring with elegant piano music, and the large window in the middle of their home reveals a century-old chandelier, crystals beaming and winking against the hundreds of guests that lie underneath. 

The rest of the way driving was almost painfully fast. After that awkward wave of emotion, neither of you said anything. Well, you didn’t at least. Jungkook attempted to clear the air by singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio, but it only further attracted you because to your chagrin—Jungkook’s a pretty good singer. 

The estate isn’t in Seoul persay, it’s a sizable plot of land that definitely comes from old money. It’s decked up like the North Pole, lit up and tiny crystal lines dotting the expanse of the rooftops. The snow certainly adds to it, and many guests are outside taking pictures of the picture-perfect holiday show. The blizzard has finally subsided, leaving a clean blanket of snow across their yard.

You scoff to yourself. What they find to be a Christmas miracle only derailed yours. 

Jungkook stares at you while you send a quick text to Jimin. You tell him he needs to come fast, because you don’t want his parents to see you all sweaty and dressed like you’ve been traveling for hours. 

“Oh, uh,” you finally take a look at him, and you immediately regret it because you’re getting sucked into his gaze, “I think you put my bag in the trunk?” 

“Right,” he shakes his head, “follow me.” 

He tilts his head down when he’s outside, as if the snow’s going to start back up and drown him. Your thumb scratches the ring on your finger as you hop out of the van, effectively popping the bubble the two of you have been sealed in for the better half of the evening. Is this going to be it? Is the last you’ll see of Jeon Jungkook? 

All those thoughts evaporate when Jungkook opens the trunk. 

There’s no drugs. 

In fact, you don’t even know what to think. The van is absolutely filled, wall-to-wall art supplies and canvas carefully lined up like Tetris blocks to avoid damage. The floor of the van seems to receive the brunt of the messes, and you catch recent paint stains and spray cans stacked to the side. It explains the smell. 

There’s some clear cases in a corner, protecting completed prints that are already framed. Your eyes cling to a vibrant hyacinth, coral and satin blue petals bunching in the middle of a black background. It’s absolutely gorgeous, if it wasn’t for all the paint lying around, you’d think it’s real. 

Jungkook’s an artist.��

“Holy shit, I thought you were a drug dealer,” you blurt, and you want to smack yourself in the face. 

 “Excuse me?” Jungkook jerks his head towards you, “did you think I was a drug dealer this whole time?” 

“N-no,” you frown petulantly, letting Jungkook loop your arms through the straps of your backpack. “Maybe. You were very shady.” 

He laughs, a genuine laugh. It confuses you, the way he tucks his hands in his pockets and bends his back over to look up at you through his dark lashes. It’s like nothing’s wrong, like he’s trying to erase the past eight hours and leave with no qualms. You don’t know if that comforts you or terrifies you. 

“So, you were willing to let a potentially dangerous man be your travel partner for eight hours so you can make it to your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to the front door, “you must really love him.” 

“I do,” you say the phrase like it’s second nature. Rehearsed. Practiced. 

“Merry Christmas,” Jungkook pulls out his hand, and you don’t hesitate to grasp it. 

Liquid heat sparks through your skin, one that tingles from where his large palm encases yours, all the way to your heart. 

“Merry Christmas,” you echo, and your feet feel like lead as you back away from him. 

Jungkook waits until you go inside the house, even though the valet is side eyeing him and mentally telling him to leave already. Turning your back to him is rough, like you’re without snowshoes and you’re trudging through snow. 

The goodbye feels rushed. Your heart is cold and heavy. Unfortunately, by the time you realize you haven’t paid Jungkook for his bus ticket and the ride, it’s too late. Jimin has already pulled you in his awaiting arms, and Jungkook has peeled out of the driveway. 

“You look awful,” Jimin coddles you, dusting the invisible dirt off your jacket. You know Jimin means well by the statement, but you can’t help but feel a little unsupported by his words. You did all you could to make it to Jimin in time for this party full of faceless, nameless people. And yet, Jimin inadvertently manages to put you down for finally making it. 

The hallway is relatively empty, save for one staff member who cleans the wet linoleum floors whenever someone with snow steps in. You can easily make out where the heart of the party is, the tinkly holiday music playing from the speakers, along with all the bodies huddled by the extra large Christmas tree that is brimming with presents. 

You do feel like a wet noodle, in comparison to Jimin and Namjoon’s complementary pinstripe suits. Jimin’s deep burgundy suit pops in the endless hallway of marble and light wood as he quickly leads you upstairs to a spare room for you to change. Namjoon’s more muted grey still looks stunning on him, cutting his tall figure nicely. You think it’s cute that Jimin made an effort to match with his assistant, not making him feel out of place in this big party. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Namjoon interjects softly, gesturing to the garment bag hanging on the boudoir, “I picked out your dress.” 

“I’m sure whatever you bought is beautiful,” you assure softly, stepping fully into the room. It’s an extra bedroom, you’re assuming it might be yours. 

“We’ll give you some time to freshen up and get ready,” Jimin squeezes your arm, a touch you can barely feel due to the puffiness of your down jacket. It’s just an awkward escape of air to you, a sssttt that you catch Namjoon hiding his smile for, “we’ll walk around a bit and bring you some food.” 

“I want cupcakes,” you blurt impulsively, and the two of them laugh on their way out the door. 

Once you’re finally alone, you strip yourself bare. Jacket, shirt, socks, underwear. You make quick work of taking a hot, damp towel to wash your arms and legs, scrubbing your face of any oil and dirt from the day. You wrap yourself in an indulgent fluffy robe, the plush material comforting you as you flop on the bed. 

It’s been a day. 

You take a five minute cat nap, the weight of the day taking its toll on you. When you finally flutter your eyes open however, you see him. 

It’s not exactly him, it’s his art. It’s mounted right atop the headboard, a large blown up painting of a tiger lily. The orange and gold flecks flicker and go perfectly with the decor of the room. The piece is longing, aching for you to go back to two hours ago when you could’ve phrased your words better, balm the situation into something to salvage. This must be a sign, you think. Upon closer look, you see the signature Jeon JK etched in silver in the corner. Who knew the Parks were buying Jeon Jungkook’s work, the world is smaller than you’d originally thought. 

It ignites you. You rip the zipper of the garment bag, pulling on the slinky glittery gold dress Namjoon picked out for you. It’s gorgeous, and you don’t know how he managed to find your proportions, but you figure an assistant of his caliber has access to many things. You don’t have much time, so you slap on some light makeup and swipe some highlights across your eyes. By the time Jimin returns, you’re pulling your hair up and out of your face. 

Jimin walks to the bed with a pretty red velvet cupcake, “You look beautiful,” he says immediately, and you follow to sit with him at the foot of the bed. 

You don’t hesitate to grab the cupcake from his tea plate, nearly shoving it in your mouth. You definitely need a rush, something to curb you over for the plans you have tonight. “Sugar sugar,” you chant like a mantra, and you don’t care that your lipgloss is smudged and crumbs cling to your cheeks. 

Jimin just rubs circles onto your thigh, letting you eat and relax. He knows you’re not a fan of these kinds of parties, preferring to wallflower it, preferably at  a wall closest to the buffet. His touch is comforting, and you chew slower in order to prolong the inevitable. It takes a beat for you to finish your cupcake. 

“I need to talk to you,” the two of you blurt at the same time, and you point and giggle at each other like you’re still five year olds tinkering in the sandbox. 

Jimin pouts, “Can I go first? Mine’s kind of important.” 

“Mine’s also really important,” you don’t mean to invalidate Jimin, but you really need to get this out. “I might explode if I don’t say this now.” 

The blonde scrunches his nose, obviously weak to your unusual distress, “I guess I wouldn’t want that.” 

You clutch his hand, the hand that holds the plain wedding band he picked out for himself two years ago. Your eyes flicker to how your ring kisses his, “Jimin. I love you, like really love you. I can’t imagine my life without you, you’ve been my best friend since we could crawl. But as I traveled down here, I realized that even though I love you, I think I’m not in love,” you wince at how cheesy that sounds, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not good enough, but the whole trip down here made me realize I don’t think I can commit to this.” 

“Oh, thank fuck,” you gasp, watching relief wash over Jimin’s features. You’re not even done with your whole spiel and he’s already unbuttoning his blouse, “this makes what I’m about to say a whole lot easier.” 

“Jimin,” you trail off, squeezing his palm, “what do you mean?” 

“I mean, I think I’m in love.” 

Your jaw slackens slightly, seeing the sweat that lines Jimin’s slicked back hair. He must’ve been thinking about this all night, waiting for you to tell you this. Your chest aches, weighing in on all the sudden facts. “Who is it?” you ask. 

Jimin shrugs, “The man who does my taxes and makes sure I sleep at least seven hours a night.” 

“Namjoon,” you conclude, eyes moving to the sealed door. You think Namjoon is waiting out there right now, silently supporting you two as you go through this. Of course, Jimin’s parents would be livid if anything would tarnish his reputation. A broken engagement would be sticky to cover up, and Jimin falling for his assistant is a headline right for the books. 

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers, despite the room being vacant he feels the need to keep his words short, “You came all this way to hear this. But I guess we’re on the same page, huh?” His soft fingers make a beeline for your ring finger, removing the diamond band, “And by the way, I love you too. Which is why we’re going to come clean in the morning and work this out with my parents, together. I’m sorry if you felt obligated to follow me all this time just because our parents did.” 

“Hey, like you said, we’re in this together. Both in and out,” you chastise, pulling your engagement ring from his grasp and holding it to the light. “Can I keep this? Instead of an engagement band, it can be our best friend band. I’ll even get it re-sized so it can go on another finger.” 

Jimin pulls you into his arms, crushing you. The silky material of your dress bunches and rides, but you don’t care. The two of  you can’t help but be a little crybaby-ish about it, feeling much like your younger-selves when you had to pull each other out of trouble. 

The two of you walk out of the bedroom hand-in-hand, and Namjoon is leaning against the banister in the hallway, a soft smile melting on his tanned skin. 

“I’m so happy for you,” you gush, hugging Namjoon tightly. You’ve only known the man for a few months, but you can tell he’s taking care of Jimin and that’s enough for you. 

“I… really thought you’d be more upset.” Namjoon marvels, patting your back. 

Jimin interjects, “I think she’s found someone hotter than me.” 

“Impossible!” 

You could stay at this party, lay low until you and Jimin have to confront his parents in the morning. They suggest to get all the food they need and sneak out to the home theatre. The three of you hustle it down the stairs to another part of the house, in order for you to make your getaway and avoid Jimin’s family. 

“Hey,” you stop in front of another painting, pulling the two men to a stop. Your eyes lock on a framed droopy peony, tipped with pink dye. You realize you can’t stay here, not when someone’s home alone tonight. “Namjoon, I need you to locate someone for me.” 

Jungkook does not expect to see you at his front door. 

You’re stunning, and look as breathless as he feels. The liquid champagne number that hugs your frame does things to him, and he’s strangely attracted to the fact that you paired this expensive dress with your snow-drenched trainers. 

You showing up at the wee hours of the morning was the last thing Jungkook thought would happen. It’s nothing short of a holiday event, you look like you’ve just walked out of a gala and then ran a marathon to reach him. 

He thought when he said goodbye, it would be the last time you’d cross paths. At first, he was okay with that. After all, feelings come and go, and spontaneity only works a percentage of the time. Seeing you presently however, throws all those half-hearted concedings out the window. 

“Hi,” you finally say, drinking from the fact that you actually found him. 

“Hey,” Jungkook breathes, “you look, beautiful.” 

“Thanks,” you smile. 

“So, is this about you not paying me back for the ticket?” Jungkook suddenly feels guilty, having dipped out of Jimin’s manor once he saw him appear at the door. It was unrightful jealousy, and because of that he needed to drive away as fast as possible. “Because honestly, it was me messing with you. I really don’t need the money.” 

“I figured, from the fact that I had to take the elevator up to the penthouse of the building.” 

“So then why are you here?” Jungkook wobbles on the balls of his feet, unsure of what to do with himself. 

“My ex-fiancé is in love with someone else,” you lay your cards out just like that, and Jungkook’s unprepared to deal.  

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry—” 

“Let me finish,” you cut in gently, “my ex-fiancé is in love with someone else, and that’s okay. We’ve been best friends since we were little, and we want nothing but happiness for each other. And for me? Happiness is right in front of me.” 

You bite your lip, and Jungkook fights down the urge to run up and pull you into his arms. You must be so cold, running out without a jacket and rushing to his home. However, he lets you finish, and he holds himself down by clutching the door frame as casually as possible. 

“I also have a big, fat crush on you,” you say boldly, “and I had to tell you as soon as I could. It took a twenty-minute phone call and some serious leverage from Jimin’s company to figure out where you lived. That receptionist is definitely not letting me use my frequent flyer miles next flight.” 

“You harassed an airport receptionist just for me?” he smiles wanly, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m touched.” 

“You make me excited to try new things, to be spontaneous and do things for myself,” with every statement you take a step further, and soon enough you’re in his dimly lit apartment. The plush couch in his living room looks awfully warm and comfy, and the light music that plays from his speakers is soft and soothing. “So, let’s spend the holidays together and see where this goes. And go to your art gallery tomorrow, because I did research you on the drive and found out you had to rush here because of a big show.” 

“So you’re actually a stalker?” Jungkook teases, tugging you over to the couch. 

He takes the lead, plopping himself on the couch first and inviting you to sit next to him. You take a detour and plant your body atop of him, and with an ‘oof’ the two of you are sinking. 

“A stalker and a potential drug dealer does sound like a promising pair,” Jungkook jests, his hand palming the silky material of your ruched up ball gown. 

“I’m sorry,” you pout, wrapping your fingers around the long tresses of his hair, “can you please stop bringing that up? It was judgemental of me.” 

“I like when you’re judgemental,” he pokes your puppy-faced cheeks, ruddied with embarrassment. “I like picking fights with you and getting you all riled up.” 

“Will you rile me up now?” 

Sexy, he thinks. He figures a vixen has been hidden under you, one suppressed by a complicated engagement and many other factors he’d love to learn about in the near future. The situation at hand however, is far more pressing. Your body is finally warming up, and Jungkook tries to ignore the weight your body is causing, re-igniting an ache he felt hours ago when you two were squished against each other in the coach bus.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you declare, and you look a little frustrated that Jungkook is taking so long to process this information, “and I hope I take your breath away.” 

You taste like sugar and the softness that comes with the holidays. It’s tender and oh-so comforting, and Jungkook can’t help but squeeze your hips closer as your lips brush fervently against his. The feeling is both new and old, and Jungkook figures you’ve finally uncoiled a flame that you can no longer quell. 

Soon enough your kisses turn hungry, and Jungkook has to remind himself that you two have only known each other for a total of twelve hours, and he isn’t sure of what’s appropriate to jump to due to the speed of your relationship. Once he feels the first roll of your hips, a liquid heat that Jungkook can’t help but return back, he pulls away from your soft lips. Not too far, but a few centimeters apart so that Jungkook and you can catch your breath. 

“We should take this slow,” he starts, trying to make a reasonable impression now that you’re a guest at his home and finally settled from their long trip. “I really, really want to get to know you. And you’re so beautiful and I really do want to have sex but—” 

“Jungkook, I have not had sex with someone in two years,” you speak with a depraved tone, as if it’s been centuries since you’ve been touched. He can’t help but throw his head back and laugh, “a night full of sex sounds like the best last-minute present ever.” 

You bring his hand over to your core, the shiny glassy material of your gown doing nothing to hide the glimpses of pleasure you’re minutes away from experiencing. You whine desperately at the thought, and Jungkook’s a goner. 

“Well, I guess I’m about to pull a Christmas miracle,” he murmurs against your lips, ready to work his magic. 

[no-reply95]

The Power Of Framing: John and Paul

Over the last few days I've been posting some quotes of interest that I'd bookmarked from Mark Lewisohn's Tune In book.

Tune In's reputation preceded it, every Beatles podcast I listened to mentioned it, Lewisohn's name either came up in conversation or the man himself would turn up for an interview so it got to the point that Tune In was so ubiquitous that I had to read the book and form an opinion for myself.

There are a lot of opinions I have on Tune In, both good and bad, but I'm not going touch on all of that here, at least not in this post.

The aspect of Lewisohn's narrative style that I want to get into is the way he frames the "bad" behaviour displayed by John and Paul.

There are two quotes from the book that I want to analyse, I'll start with John first:

John

“George was second only to John in the swallowing of Prellies and knew better than most the sum effect of taking too many for too long, how the combination of pills plus booze plus several sleepless days caused hallucinations and extreme conduct. He’d describe one occasion when he, Paul and Pete were lying in their bunk beds, trying to sleep, only for John to barge into the room in a wild state. ‘One night John came in and some chick was in bed with Paul and he cut all her clothes up with a pair of scissors, and was stabbing the wardrobe. Everybody was lying in bed thinking, “Oh fuck, I hope he doesn’t kill me.” [He was] a frothing mad person - he knew how to have “fun”.

Handling John was something his friends were well used to doing. If he didn’t murder them in their beds there was no greater buddy. They might fear for their lives but they loved him still. No way would they walk out and join another group. John was just John, and Paul and George’s hero-worship stayed fully intact.”

The above passage comes from the stint in Hamburg directly after Stu's death. John had always been the one to take the most prellies, as Lewisohn highlights, but he relays the fact that John was even more messed up than before subsequent to Stu's sudden death. I've highlighted a couple of lines from the extract to highlight how John's behaviour is framed by Lewisohn:

"the combination of pills plus booze plus several sleepless days caused hallucinations and extreme conduct"

From the outset Lewisohn is careful to outline the fact that John is under the influence of both bills and booze as well as being exhausted as a result of "several sleepless days" which has the sum impact of causing hallucinations and "extreme conduct" so in short, Lewisohn suggests that this behaviour from John is atypical and directly related to the substances and conditions he is under, the subsequent behaviour he displays, therefore, isn't a function of his innate personality, just a reaction to the chemicals and circumstances he currently finds himself beholden to.

"he, Paul and Pete were lying in their bunk beds, trying to sleep"

In terms of those impacted by John's actions, it isn't one individual that Lewisohn highlights, it's George, Paul and Pete, which to me suggests that anyone could have been on the receiving end of John's outburst. When describing the bedroom scene prior to John's entrance, Lewisohn describes the three guys as "trying to sleep", so a picture is painted of a quiet room where there's a lack of activity as everyone is tired and, either on their way to or currently, asleep.

"some chick was in bed with Paul and he cut all her clothes up with a pair of scissors, and was stabbing the wardrobe"

Firstly, the story that George relates (source Anthology, 2000), unlike the scene Lewisohn sets, makes it clear that there was only one target for John's outburst, not George, Pete or even Paul but an unnamed woman whose only crime was to be "in bed with Paul" so, far from trying to get to sleep, Paul was in fact having sex with this woman when John barged into the room. John, in the altered state that he's in, zeroes in on this woman by cutting up her clothes and stabbing at the wardrobe - it's a scary scene that George describes, so what is the lasting impression Lewisohn leaves us with?

"John was just John, and Paul and George’s hero-worship stayed fully intact.”

Despite the shock of the scene that George describes, ultimately John's behaviour has no lasting impact on his relationships with the others or on the future of the band. Lewisohn confirms that "Paul and George's hero-worship stayed fully intact" so not only was their view of John unharmed but they continued to hold him in the highest possible esteem, but how did they rationalise the unpredictability of John's behaviour? Well, "John was just John" the others knew that this was how John got from time to time, this was nothing new for them and their hero worship continued on, the core relationships were unaffected and the operation of the band was unscathed because there was no way that George and Paul would ever leave and join another band so, all in all, no harm done.

Paul

“Brian, John and George went to the Beehive and John used a public box to call Paul, returning with the message ‘He says he’s not coming.’ Brian must have been apoplectic: they’d be unable to play the booking, letting down the university and their paying audience, embarrassing him, ruining their chance of a rebooking, and undoing his repair work to the Beatles’ old bad reputation. He went back to his office to phone Paul, but Paul refused to speak. Jim informed Brian that Paul said he wouldn’t be turning up, and that was that.

Recalling the night five years later, Paul told of how, having discovered Brian and the others hadn’t waited outside his house for him, he decided ‘Fuck them - if they can’t be arsed waiting for me, I can’t be arsed going after them. So I sat down and watched telly.’ Jim was unable to persuade Paul to change his mind. Paul said he’d felt he’d always been ‘the keen one’, so now he’d go sharp the other way and make no effort at all.

John saw a bigger picture, and it would be surprising if it wasn’t equally obvious, or made obvious to Brian and George. He likened Paul’s enduring snag with Brian to his other long-standing difficulty: ‘[Brian] and Paul didn’t get along - it was a bit like [Stuart and Paul] between the two of them’.”

The above passage comes from a time in the Beatles' career, not long after they've agreed to take Brian on as their manager. Brian's hard work on their behalf is starting to pay off and they're getting the opportunity to do loads of gigs for good money. Lewisohn discusses an instance where Brian goes to 20 Forthlin Road to pick up Paul for the night's gig only to be told that he's running late and won't be able to get going for a while. As with the first passage, I've highlighted a couple of lines to highlight how Paul's behaviour is framed:

"Brian must have been apoplectic"

In this passage Lewisohn provides his interpretation of how Brian must have felt to turn up at Paul's house only to find that he'd defied his instructions to be on time. Right from the beginning of this story we are able to empathise with Brian, as the principle victim of Paul's actions.

"letting down the university and their paying audience, embarrassing him, ruining their chance of a rebooking, and undoing his repair work to the Beatles’ old bad reputation."

For the avoidance of doubt, Lewisohn details the wide reaching impact of Paul's behaviour and the list of the aggrieved is long: the university, the paying audience and ultimately the band, all the hard work that they and Brian have put in has been undone by Paul's actions and the tarnished reputation of old is back with a vengeance.

"John saw a bigger picture, and it would be surprising if it wasn’t equally obvious, or made obvious to Brian and George. He likened Paul’s enduring snag with Brian to his other long-standing difficulty: ‘[Brian] and Paul didn’t get along - it was a bit like [Stuart and Paul] between the two of them’.”

If the reader was left wondering if this was a one-off incident or if Paul was just having a bad day that he'd taken out on Brian, Lewisohn suggests that this was, in fact, part of a pattern of behaviour as "John saw a bigger picture" and Lewisohn remarks that "it would be surprising" if both Brian and George weren't equally aware of the bigger forces at play here. To reinforce the lasting implications of Paul's actions, Lewisohn talks about "Paul's enduring snag with Brian" and then likens it to Paul's other "long-standing difficulty" with Stu, which triggers the readers' knowledge of Paul's jealousy of Stu's closeness to John and invites the reader to also view Paul's relationship with Brian through that lens. The extract is then capped up by a quote from John (source, McCabe and Schonfled interview, 1971), seemingly, supporting Lewisohn's premise by linking the clash between Paul and Brian to the clash, that Lewisohn has already expertly laid out in his book, between Paul and Stu.

How the framing differs

In both excerpts I've pulled Lewisohn uses direct quotes from the principles as well as his own interpretation, both to varying impacts.

In the first excerpt, Lewisohn provides a context for John's behaviour, it's not long after Stu has died, John is under the influence of a cocktail of drugs and substances, so we're led to feel sympathy for the state that he's in and to excuse the frightening behaviour that subsequently follows. Lewisohn doesn't offer any context for Paul's behaviour, we assume that Paul is sober and of sound mind so there's no confusion as to the fact that Paul is in full control of his actions so we're less likely to excuse or able to rationalise his actions.

The preamble that Lewisohn writes prior to George's recounting of John barging into the room, mentions George, Pete and Paul being present, so Lewisohn gives us the impression that John's later actions are almost random, maybe it could have been Pete, or George, it just happened to be the woman in bed with Paul who triggered John's anger. We never hear about how the woman reacted to having her clothes torn to shreds just because she slept with Paul, Lewisohn doesn't offer any thoughts to Paul's reaction to having John barging into the room and raising hell while he was sharing an intimate moment with this woman. In stark contract, we're told precisely by Lewisohn about how he presumes Brian felt in the face of Paul's obstinance and the seriousness isn't lost on the reader because every possible group of people negatively impacted is called out with evocative language (i.e. embarrassing, ruining).

Lewisohn frames the Hamburg scissors incident in such a way that it's clear that this was just a blip on the band's radar, the "hero-worship" of George and Paul is undimmed and we're given the framework, either by accident or design, by which to view any similar outburst in the future, it's just John, he may overdo it from time to time but his negative actions will never be consequential because the love and worship the others have for him will never be overcome "no way would they walk out and join another group" because no matter what John did, Paul and George would condone it, stick by him and love him regardless, so why shouldn't we?

However, Lewisohn couldn't be clearer that Paul's disobedience of Brian was part of a larger pattern of behaviour that was detrimental to the band, John could see the bigger picture, the same bigger picture that was "obvious" to Brian and George. Rather than startling an unnamed German woman (Lewisohn leaves this to our imagination) Lewisohn carefully plots out how Paul's actions directly hurt the band and the good work they'd been doing with Brian's help. Far from a moment of chemically induced madness, Paul's behaviour is familiar, we've seen it before with Stu, now we're seeing it with Brian - Lewisohn is clear that the seeds of the break up are sewn in Tune In so is he suggesting that the behaviour Paul displays here can also be traced to 1969?

Was this difference in framing called for?

These two stories outlining John and Paul's behaviour aren't identical, one takes place in Hamburg in the privacy of a bedroom and directly impacts two people while the other takes place in Liverpool and directly impacts several people as well as the band, it could be argued that on this basis these situations Lewisohn was justified in framing these two incidents differently.

However, there are several similarities that I can spot between the behaviour John and Paul displayed:

Pattern of behaviour - Lewisohn appears to be making the case that John's outburst was purely circumstantial while Paul's clash with Brian was part of a longstanding jealousy issue Paul had of anyone close to John. I do think that jealousy may have been a factor in the clashes Paul had initially with Brian (as referenced briefly in my Jealous Guys post) but in my opinion there are complexities that exist with Paul's relationship with Brian (namely around Paul's dislike of authority figures and need for control) that don't exist in Paul's relationship with Stu or, further down the road, Yoko as neither Stu nor Yoko were ever in a position of authority over Paul, John didn't bring them into the band as a manager or producer so I think the more natural comparison is Stu and Yoko not Stu and Brian. Further, despite Lewisohn's descriptions to the contrary and lack of relation to a bigger picture, John's behaviour here was in fact part of a pattern of behaviour, this woman wasn't the first and would not be the last of Paul's love interests that John reacted negatively to; Jane Asher, Peggy Lipton and ultimately Linda would feel the brunt of John's negative attention throughout the Beatles and post-Beatles years, this was an opportunity for Lewisohn to lay the groundwork of that but unfortunately he didn't want to connect these particular dots.

Impact on the band - Lewisohn is at pains to outline how George and Paul weren't going anywhere and there's no suggestion that John's actions would have any impact on the band or its future but, with the hindsight we have, is that correct? Even before Hamburg, John is abusing alcohol, largely to numb the effects of the sudden death of his mother, then in Hamburg, he's now abusing drugs too which negatively impacts his behaviour. For the rest of the Beatle years John's substance abuse issues appear again and again (Bob Wooler incident at Paul's 21st birthday, destruction of ego and fall in productivity due to prolonged LSD use, increase in the communication issues in the band in the wake of John and Yoko's heroin addiction). If Lewisohn was really interested in giving us the bigger picture, why didn't he outline the detrimental impact that John's substance abuse issues were having on the band, all it would have taken was for him to help the reader to understand how the woman and Paul felt as a result of John's actions but instead he uses this story as another opportunity to reinforce the idea that Paul and George hero-worshipped John.

Links to the break up: In many of his podcast interviews (Nothing Is Real and Fabcast spring to mind) Lewisohn is clear that, although the events of the break-up are years away from being committed to paper, the roots are laid out in Tune In. Paul's clash with Brian is framed in such a way to underscore how it fostered long difficulties between Paul and the band's manager in a way that was obvious to the others, does that sound familiar? If we sub Klein in for Brian, we've suddenly been transported to the summer of '69, I believe this is intentional and given the pretty uncharitable way Paul's actions are described (Paul should have been on time but leaving without him so that he had to take several buses instead only made everyone later and poured gasoline on an already open flame, neither Paul, Brian or the band won in this situation which I think all parties came to realise at a later stage) we're already being conditioned to believe that by the time it's 1969 this reckoning for Paul has been a long time coming and we should be glad that John, George, Ringo and Klein are finally stand up to Paul's immature power plays. However, can the break up also be traced to John's actions. As already discussed, the first excerpt outlines one of the first instances of John's substance abuse negatively impacting the band, in 1961 he's destroying a woman's clothing, cock-blocking Paul and terrorising everyone, in 1969 he's in a heroin haze with Yoko which hinders the already frayed communication links with the rest of the band and fosters an environment where, to John, only "JohnandYoko" matter ("I mean, I’m not going to lie, you know. I would sacrifice you all for her [Ono]", Get Back Sessions, 1969) to the extent that they're able to be wooed by Allen Klein who knows exactly what John and Yoko want so they allow him to give it to them, irrespective of what the rest of band need or want.

In the end, I have no problem with either story being included in Tune In, neither John or Paul were saints and in these instances we can see aspects of their personality that will feature, for better and for worse, over the course of the rest of the Beatles' career and, in John's case, his life. However, it is a shame that time and time again, when given the opportunity to frame John and Paul's actions Lewisohn opts to minimise John's misdeeds via his emphasis on Paul and George's love and patience for him, while for Paul almost no context is provided for his negative actions and Lewisohn subtlety begins to plot the lines that will eventually lead to the 3 to 1 split and the lawsuit that, not only breaks up the band but ensures they never reform again. The part Paul plays in the break-up does have roots in his personality, which we see glimpses of in his interactions with Brian in 1961 (he won't be pushed around and his reaction to being pushed is to fight back not fall in line) but we also see John's role start to take shape too (the unpredictability of his actions under the influence of substances and the chain of events that would occur as a result i.e. LSD - loss of ego - jealousy of Paul's output and his loss of dominance - openness to Klein who identifies John as the leader and reinforces his belief in his supremacy in the Lennon-McCartney partnership as well as filling John with misinformation like reminding him he wrote most of Eleanor Rigby). It's a problem that only Paul's negative reactions and missteps are framed in the wider context of the band because this skews the story and fails to accurately plot the role John also played in the band's demise. If Lewisohn's aim is to provide us with a balanced, definitive take on the band's story then, based on this evidence, he's falling short.