#I've been on the receiving end of that behavior just not exactly in the same shape

[titenoute]

♥️ Rise of the Tmnt

(From : Headcanon meme)

♥ - family headcanon

I’m sorry it took so long. It’s just something that I realized recently and I didn’t have the time to properly put the observation on paper. And I’m not even sure it’s a family thing and not just Leo-centric. I can already hear a “water is wet” on that one but bear with me ? Anyway.

Leo clings on Mickey whenever he is scared and none of their other siblings are around. Look, yeah I know they’re all pretty clingy with eachother when something weird/scary happens. But Leo .... Leo has a thing going on. Whenever Raph and Don are out of commission or not around, Leo always keeps Mickey at arms length when he’s scared. In The Gumbus, neither Raph and Don are around. The whole time he’s scared, Leo always has Mickey close by.

*Hugs his baby brother the moment he’s out of his shell*

In Flushed But Not Forgotten, Leo is “fine” at first.

He’s doing his usual “I cope with jokes” shtick and put the usual cocky facade. He is with his bros ! They can handle that problem without telling Splinter !

Easy peasy !

But what happens the moment the Brain and the Brawn are out of commission?

Well...

Things aren’t so fine anymore.

And there goes Mr Confidence with his emotional support brother. And in the movie ? “Ohmigosh ! My big brother is nowhere to be found and last I saw my other brothers, they could have been crushed to death. So I’m a bit relieved to see them again ! Who am I going to hug first, I wonder ?”

YUP.  I remember someone saying that Raph and Don were both the protectors of the family. That while Raph will defend, Don will provide means of defense to the others. And that headcanon ? When you see how Leo does a 180 when his bros aren’t around ? It makes sense. When these two are not there during a bad situation, suddenly, the sidelines aren’t safe anymore. His two heavy hitters (Don wields a HAMMER ffs) and protectors and most importantly, his brothers aren’t there. Things are scary but his baby bro might be terrified too. And clinging on Mickey provide two things : 1) Making sure he’s there and okay. He’s the youngest and the smallest. Leo is older, he gotta make sure Mickey’s safe. 2) If he’s there, Leo is not alone. And idk...Somehow, even after the Movie, I don’t see him stopping doing that completely. IMO, old habits like these die hard.

#(Honestly I think this is why we subconsciously dubbed Don older than Leo) #(because he pulls this when Don never does) #(but irl it's more of a personality thing ) #(also I think Don may have trouble to ask for help to begin with hence why he doesn't do it usually) #on a personal note the reason this particular thing just tilted in my head is bc #well #I'm the youngest in my family and uh #I've been on the receiving end of that behavior just not exactly in the same shape #so whenever Leo does the thing I get nostalgic #tmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt headcanon #eh I tried #rottmnt theory #tmnt theory #leonardo

[lena-after-dark]

Pairing: Dark!Namor x Reader

Prompt: "I'll follow you to the ends of the earth. No matter where you run, I'll catch you."

Requested By: Anon

Warnings: Stalking, obsessive behavior, obsession at first sight.

You were on vacation the first time you felt him near. Of course then you didn't know what it was that haunted you through the waters.

The warm waves of the Atlantic washed all around you as you swam from the beach. You went as far as you felt safe to go, pausing to enjoy the sunshine and to sneak a peak at the marine life below. You were unsure how long you were in the water before you felt it. You knew there was a presence near you. You felt the pressure shift in the water, closing around you. Upon inspection, you saw nothing that would cause such a disturbance. But each time you stepped into the sea, you had the feeling that something was there - watching you.

That looming feeling of eyes upon you didn't let up, even after you were home. Though it was gone for a while, it came rushing back one rainy evening. It was enough to make you double check the locks on every door and window in your home. You peered outside and saw nothing. Always nothing. Except when the lightning flashed and there was a figure seemingly floating in the air. You only saw it once, and shrugged it off as your imagination.

Always when it was raining. That's when you'd feel it. That's when you'd see things. It was maddening. The figure only appeared when you were home - and when it was dark. Never when you could find proof that something was there.

Until you started receiving gifts, that was. Handcrafted jewelry and ornate shells appeared at your doorstep. And once on your windowsill - inside. That was enough to make you leave your home. And once again, the occurrences halted - for a time. Then you saw it again, not long after you'd moved. The figure floating in air. The shape of a man. You tried to capture an image, but it was gone before you could.

You had to get out of town again. This time to the mountains. The snow was a welcome distraction.

"Beautiful evening, isn't it?"

You were alone on the balcony of the lodge - sipping a hot drink and enjoying the setting sun. Something about him seemed familiar, though you didn't think you'd met him before. The glare of the sun obscured your view slightly.

"Yeah, it is. You're staying here as well?"

"Not exactly." The rich timbre of his voice was soothing. And yet something felt off. "Just visiting. It's very quiet around this lodge. You're the first person I've seen. Forgive my intrusion. I'm... Namor. May I ask your name?"

You told him your name out of compulsory politeness. He turned to face you, repeating your name with a smile. You could see him clearly now. He looked out of place - as if he were uncomfortable in the clothing he was wearing. Nothing in the style of his sweater or hat matched his earrings - and they unnerved you at the sight of them. They looked to be the same craftsmanship of the jewelry you'd been receiving. Or perhaps it was just a coincidence. You complimented them, testing the waters.

"You like them? Perhaps I'll have to get you a pair." You let out a nervous chuckle. It was time to leave. You made up a quick lie about needing to go and stood, noticing that he wasn't wearing any shoes.

"I'll see you again soon," he said as a goodbye. He sounded so charming. But there was something dark in the phrase. It was a promise. You dared a last glance at him and saw that he hadn't taken his eyes off of you. That familiar feeling was back tenfold.

Namor kept his promise. When you returned home, a pair of green earrings was waiting inside. You weren't delusional. This man - or whatever he was - was following you. Could he fly? What was he? There were so many questions, and no answers to any of them. And now that he'd appeared before you, certainly things were going to escalate. You had to leave again. You moved only when it was bright and dry as a bone outside. You were careful - leaving no trace of where you might've gone. You installed a camera, extra locks, everything you could think of.

You thought you were rid of him. Through stormy nights you didn't see or feel anything out of the ordinary. No gifts were left for you to find. No figure floating outside your window.

Apparently he just needed time to find you.

Your face to face meeting had made him bolder. You saw him again - hovering outside your window as the rain fell. This time he didn't disappear. This time he flew to the glass, placing his hand against it as he looked inside at you.

You scrambled away, trying to alert the authorities. It didn't matter if they didn't believe you. You needed to know someone was on the way to you.

Namor was inside before you could give dispatch your address. He was behind you with his hand wrapped around yours, pulling the phone from your ear and ending the call. The other was around your mouth, preventing you from yelling. He shushed you when you yelled into his hand - as if he were attempting to soothe you.

"I have to admit, I am enjoying our game of cat and mouse."

You pulled away from him, and he let you. When you faced him, a grin had spread across his lips.

"Did you like the earrings," he ended his question with something in a language you didn't understand. Most likely a term of endearment.

"Get out. Now. The cops will be here any moment." He chuckled at that, and paid the thin threat no mind.

"I think I'll keep our game going a little longer," he said as he stepped closer. You instinctively stepped back, and he continued forward until you were against a piece of furniture and couldn't retreat any further. He reached his hand out and ran his knuckles against the side of your arm. The touch sent shivers down your spine.

"I'll give you two weeks this time before I look for you again."

No matter what you said, or what questions you asked, he had no interest in elaborating. Whatever his intentions were in the end, he kept them from you. He wouldn't tell you why he was there, what he wanted from you, nothing.

“I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. No matter where you run, I’ll catch you.” 

He left through the window, flying into the darkness so quickly that he barely looked like a shadow across the sky.

Buy Me a Coffee?

#namor #namor x reader #dark!namor #dark!namor x reader #darkfic #stalking #obsession #tw: stalking #cw: stalking #kukulkan #kukulkan x reader #k'uk'ulkan #k'uk'ulkan x reader #reader insert #marvel reader insert #black panther #black panther darkfic #black panther fanficiton #black panther reader insert #marvel fanfiction #black panther 2 #black panther wakanda forever #wakanda forever

[pinkie-pop]

"We've Seen The Devil—He Was Hiding In The Mirror."

Part I Part II Part III

Featuring: Gender-Neutral Reader, Twisted Wonderland Various x Reader, Self Aware AU, Yandere TWST

Synopsis: The second oath revealed, a new character appeared.

Word count: 3k.

Includes: Obsessive and possessive behavior, PTSD, nightmares

"You are no savior—nor purpose nor God. You are damnation—a phony and fraud."

--------------

You flip to the first page and begin reading.

Entry 001: Names.

The Ramshackle Ghosts have informed me that they do not have names. Or, more accurately, that they have long since forgotten them. Grim says it is peculiar for someone to not have a name. I will have to trust his judgment on this. 

Entry 003: You.

Grim asked about you today. I, quite unfortunately, did not have much to tell him. Or rather, there was not much I was allowed to tell him. Whenever I try to speak your name out loud, my lips firmly close, like a flower blossom at night. 

When we are alone, you are all that he asks about. Not that I blame him for it, of course; I am just as curious as he. The ghosts are strange, though: they have never once asked about you. Perhaps they simply do not understand. 

Entry 005: 

Grim has revealed the truth of your existence to Heartslyabull. It was an accident, of course, but even so, I gave him a rather stern talking-to. They have directed all of their attention onto you. It’s true that I did not exactly like being on the receiving end of their “affections”, but at the very least I did not have to share you with anyone.

Entry 015: Fate.

I've been thinking more about names lately. Everyone seems to have one. I am no different. My name, Yuu, indicates that I am a stand-in for someone else. A blank slate for you to imprint upon. The others have similar names. Each one is an indication of our role. With just the names, you can figure us out. Are all names like this? Is each person's fate dictated by their name? 

What about yours? Your name is different. Your name is not a play on words, nor a foreshadowing of things yet to come. Your name says nothing. You are simply yourself. 

You are the only thing real in this world. You are the only thing who is not bound by the threads of fate. 

Entry 017: Love.

I had a very interesting conversation with the Heartslyabul students today. It was about you, obviously—for, what topic besides you could ever possibly be interesting? I had asked them about what they felt for you (rather accusatively, if we are being honest here. After all, how could they possibly feel anything, when they are nothing but code?) They responded that they felt love. Naturally, I had been expecting this answer, however, something about the way they said it made me pause. Perhaps it was the matter-of-factness of it all that caught me by surprise. They answered my query in the same tone of voice one would use to say that the sun will rise in the East and set in the West, or that the sky is always blue except for evenings and mornings. 

They said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. They said it as if they believed no other answer could possibly exist. I do not believe them to be worthy of your gaze, but even so, they have earned my respect. 

Entry 020: Real.

Some of those worthless NPCs doubt your existence. It is of little consequence, however, for your influence is all too real. Even those maggots cannot deny that much. You have changed this world without ever once stepping foot in it. 

Entry 027: Devil.

The characters you love are a complete mess because of you. They stretch themselves thin trying to win your affection. They pull all-nighters, throwing themselves into researching to bring you over to them. They destroy themselves when you’re away, and they ruin each other when you are here. 

They claim you are their savior—their purpose. Because of that, they put you on a pedestal. They worship you as if you are some god. But you are no god. You are its reverse.

You are a devil.

But don’t fret, my dear [Name], for I still love you all the same. When the others learn of your true nature they may abandon you, but I will always be there. 

You slam the book shut. 

“Hasn’t anyone told you that it’s rude to go through another person’s things?” Your surprise registers in your mind, but your body does not react. You do not flinch, though all of your senses are screaming at you to move. You recognize this person immediately, their silhouette is illuminated by the moon’s glow behind them. You had seen them before, but this is different. You are not just seeing the body, colorless and without soul—you are seeing the person. Now, you had seen their thoughts, their hopes, you had heard their voice. 

“Yuu…” Your voice trails off. You have nothing to say. What could you say? 

“[Name]...” They echo, voice eerily similar to yours. They smile at you—and what a smile it is! It is the kind of smile you only see in portraits. It is cheerful yet mysterious. Cunning yet serene. It is the kind of smile that betrays nothing of the smiler’s intentions. Pretty does not even begin to describe it. They are not just beautiful—they are beauty itself. 

Instinctively, you step back, unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of such an intense gaze. They close the distance easily. Before you can even blink, their nose is almost touching yours. You can feel their heartbeat on your chest as they reach behind you, hand slithering across your arm. Goosebumps rise on the skin where they touched you and linger even after they take the journal and step back. You think, for a second, that your response is out of attraction, only to realize faintly that you are afraid. It is the way they look at you, you think. Their gaze could be compared to that of a predator stalking its pray. 

The only difference being that no predator would dare make its intentions quite so clear.

They are still donning that smile of theirs. Only now it is wider, crueler. It vanishes as soon as it appears, leaving you to wonder if perhaps it was nothing more than your imagination all along. “Goodnight [Name],” they say, although it is far too late to properly be considered night, you suppose the distinction is not very important.

After all, they have already left.

———

Grim is standing over you. It is morning, you realize. The rendezvous from last night sits in the forefront of your head as Grim goes on about something or another. You are only able to catch the last part of what he is saying. ”Ya' got some wellness packages from the students—and letters. A lot of letters." 

Great. 

You step into your house slippers (when did you get those?) and head downstairs. Honestly, you were not expecting much. A few baskets with candy and first aid, get-well-soon cards and maybe, maybe a teddy bear—if they were really splurging. 

It’s like you were born yesterday. Of course it would turn out like this. Didn’t you see the offering room? And that was before they even had a reason to send you gifts. 

A mountain of gifts looms over you, casting a large and foreboding shadow across the dorm. Just looking at the giant amalgamation of well-wishes and apologies has you feeling overwhelmed. It takes you a few long seconds to gather the courage and determination needed to move it all indoors, luckily, you have Grim to help you with that (although, inexplicably, some of them had already made it inside even without the two of you). It is around the time you are dragging the fourth package indoors that you wish you had more people to help. 

Actually…

“Hey, Grim?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are the ghosts?” Grim pauses. Then, with a nonchalance completely unbefitting of the situation at hand, he replies:

“Dunno. They’ve been missing ever since Yuu shut down.”

“Excuse me?” Grim shrugs. “Three people go missing, right as a fourth turns black and white, and your response is to just…shrug it off?” Grim, at the very least, has the decency to look a little embarrassed at this. He tucks his ears flat against his head. Avoiding eye contact, his eyes dart around the room, likely looking for an excuse to change the subject. 

Grim picks up a letter from a pile. “Here! Why don’tcha read this one?” You take the letter from his hand, rather unimpressed with his attempt to fool you, but willing to look the other way for now. After all, suspicious as it is, the ghosts’ disappearance really has nothing to do with you.

“This one’s from Riddle,” you say, turning the envelope around in your hands. It’s white with a red rose seal. The address has been penned impeccably in red ink. The others in the pile are not nearly as fancy as this one, but they each follow the same formula. You suppose there must be a rule about letter-sending. 

You glance over at the other piles. Each has their own quirks that distinguish them from the rest.

Pristine white envelopes with red seals and red ink, courtesy of Heartslyabul.

Kraft paper envelopes tied together with string, “from Savanaclaw” penned plainly in black ink.

Grayish blue wrapped gifts with letters laid neatly on top, no doubt from Octavinelle.

Scarlet envelopes with what you suspect to be actual golden seals—an elephant and a scarab, surely from Scarabia.

Royal purple with silver encasings, long elegant calligraphy giving away its Pomefiore origins (although, one letter is drawn more sloppily than the others, you notice).

Most uniquely of all, a tablet that appears to function solely as a voice recorder, ready to be played at any moment, surely something one can only find in Ignihyde.

Gothic-style calligraphy and black envelopes with green seals, unquestioningly from Diasomnia.

You stare at the baskets of letters for a while, debating yourself on whether the energy of opening and reading each letter would be worth the effort. You decide that no, you’d rather not go through the ordeal, and instead, opt to stand up and stretch your legs, only to end up right back on the floor, reading through the letters you had just sworn to avoid. 

You really are hopeless, huh? 

———

“That’s the last one,” you say, tossing the letter aside and flopping down to lay flat on the floor. Getting through all of them had taken you hours, despite only having skimmed them.

“Jeez, they’re really persistent.” You nod, or you try to. It's actually rather difficult to make the nodding motion while lying down, but Grim seems to understand your sentiment, regardless. Your mind feels hazy; your vision is starting to blur. Perhaps you ended up straining yourself. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to rest your eyes, just for a moment.

You must have drifted off, because when you came to, you were on a couch, and not the floor. Just as well, you suppose, lying on hardwood for too long would hardly be comfortable. 

"Morning!" You feel a weight on your chest as your eyes shoot open. Yuu is laying on top of you, head resting on their hands and elbows digging into your ribs. Their face is entirely too close. You open your mouth to speak, but the words never leave your body. 

"Aw, I know you've got a lot to say to me, but it looks like we'll have to cut this conversation short. You seem to be waking up," they say, gracefully getting up and walking out of sight.

"Wait hold on—!" 

———

"—Wait, Yuu!" Your eyes shoot open as a feeling of Dejá Vu washes over your body.

"Hey, hey! Myah! Calm down!" A familiar weight settles on your chest as Grim stands over you, watching your expression worriedly. 

"I guess I must have dozed off. Sorry, Grim." 

"You okay? You were screamin' bloody murder." 

"Just a bad dream. I'm fine." Grim doesn't look entirely convinced, but doesn't seem interested in pressing the issue.

"You were screamin' about Yuu. Speaking of…where are they, anyways?"

“What do you mean?” You ask, a feeling of unease creeping its way into your stomach.

“They’re not in the bedroom anymore. So, where’dja put ‘em?”

“I…thought you moved them?” You bolt up the second that Grim shakes his head, frantically running around in search of something you know does not exist.

You are searching for the library.

It is then, as you are running, that something peculiar catches your attention.

It is a door. Now, that on its own is not at all a concern. There are doors everywhere, but this door…this door is different. This door is not supposed to be there. This is a door you have opened before. It is distinct from all the others—this door leads to the library. It was exactly the thing you had been searching for, and yet, now, standing in front of it, you hesitate. 

Your shoulders tense as you stare at the door. You look at it as if you are waiting for it to jump out and frighten you. But it does no such thing. It is, after all, nothing more than a simple door. This knowledge does nothing to lay your anxiety to rest. If anything, it only amplifies the growing pit in your stomach. 

You gather up as much courage as you can muster and twist the doorknob, even if only to lay your unease to rest. It is unfortunate, then, that your unease only grew upon entering. The door disappears behind you, and a feeling of dread crawls from you, emanating out in waves. 

This room isn’t supposed to exist—but you are very much here. 

“Come to read?” Yuu’s disembodied voice calls out to you. You silently scan the library for any signs of life. You find nothing. Perhaps there is nothing to find. “Looking for something?” You whip around, Yuu now standing behind you. They are smiling. It is that same cruel, bewitching smile from last night. Your throat feels dry. You are shaking. 

“You must have really missed me. We were only apart for a few minutes, you know?”

“What is this place?”

“I call it the Wraith. I don’t know exactly how it works, only that it has something to do with the subconscious. I came here when I shut down, and you come here whenever you lose touch with reality. It’s really fascinating stuff.” 

Lose touch with reality? As you ponder over Yuu’s words, images of your previous visits float through your mind.

And just like that, you are alone. It takes a moment for the realization to sink in on you: you are alone. And it is by your own doing, no less. What a terrifying lapse in judgment! What an egregious oversight!

Grim is standing over you. It is morning, you realize.

Your mind feels hazy; your vision is starting to blur. Perhaps you ended up straining yourself. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to rest your eyes, just for a moment.

You are searching for the library.

“But you know,” Yuu’s voice pulls you away from your thoughts. “a room like this doesn't just pop into existence. Someone has to make it.”

“And in order to make it, something has to be sacrificed.” They take two steps closer, and you take four steps back. It isn’t long before you are running out of space to hide. It isn’t long before your back is pressed to the wall, with their hands to either side of your head. 

“Want to know something funny?” They cock their head to the side as you stare at them, their grin only widening when you remain silent. “When I first shut down, everyone thought that something was wrong with me. But, really? I felt better than ever. It was like I was awake for the first time in my life. I was aware the whole time, I could hear everything. I saw the whole hunt, you know?” You are so still that you are not even breathing. When Yuu steps back, you suck in a breath and sink to the floor. They pay it little mind and continue on with their story. 

“Of course, I hated to see you so mistreated—but even so, I was a little glad. You finally saw them for who they really were, and I finally got to see you for who you really were. It was beyond frustrating, you know? Watching you get kicked around by filthy, vile creatures that could never be deserving of you.”

“Although, I suppose it was you who made them that way, wasn’t it? You’ve ruined them, you know?” The aura they’re emitting is nigh unbearable. Your body is screaming at you to run, but the fear has rendered you deaf. They smile. That same damned smile. Your breath hitches. Images replay in your mind as your head swirls

The mouth widens as storm clouds gather and swirl around you. Dancing around in a cruel ballet. Thunder cracks in the distance as acidic rain hits and sears through your skin. The flowers turn to gravestones, and the songbirds begin to scream in human voices. Thorny vines reach up and take hold of your limbs, cutting through your flesh and bones as if they were made of nothing more than paper. 

You are already halfway to being buried alive when you realize you’re being pulled in. Desperately, you try to claw your way out of the soil that threatens to swallow you into its suffocating embrace, but it's of no use. It isn’t long before you can no longer fight back. It isn’t long before you—

“You…what are you? You’re not…human.” 

“Does it matter what I am?”

“It does.”

“Then just call me yours.” They hold out a hand to you, urging you to take it. “I know that your presence ruins people, but I don’t mind.”

“Because I love you.”

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere vil schoenheit #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere x reader #yandere cater diamond #yandere trey clover #yandere ace trappola #yandere duece spade #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere floyd leech #yandere jade leech #yandere jamil viper #yandere jack howl #yandere leona kingscholar #yandere ruggie bucchi #yandere kalim al asim #yandere rook hunt #yandere epel felmier #yandere idia shroud #yandere malleus draconia #yandere sebek zigvolt #yandere silver #yandere lilia vanrouge

[pinkaditty]

Cater Diamond Thoughts

hey hey part 2 of my insatiable brainrot. been sitting in my drafts for like. weeks. it's Cater's turn. he's gyaruo (and im gyaru if u didn't know!) so i've been obsessed with him for like. months now.

summary: a small collection of thoughts about Cater Diamond that has no chance of curing my permanent unending gyaruo brainrot. help me please. content warning: suggestive content, implied sexual encounters, creepy (ish?) behavior, gn!mc, proofread once or twice at best. a/n: Cater's turn raaaaaah! this isn't exactly nsfw but all the same I'd really prefer it if MINORS DIDN'T INTERACT! thanks! also a reminder that I WILL NOT WRITE NSFW FOR TWST CHARACTERS CANONICALLY UNDER 18. thank you very much for respecting my boundaries! and i promise part 3 of the pervert obey me thing is in the works! <3

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI IM SO SRS.

thank you! enjoy the read!

Cater Diamond who is aloof.

He finds himself not caring at first, especially when you decide to spend all your time with other people when he could’ve been the perfect upperclassman. He finds himself not caring when he watches you get swept away by the hotter, older upperclassmen. He finds himself not caring when you can’t come by Heartslabyul as often anymore.

And then, very quickly, he starts caring. He doesn’t know why or how, but you somehow managed to become an object of his desires when he tries very hard to not let that happen with anyone, ever, at all. Sure he’s liked people, but he has never been spurred to act on it. So he doesn’t know why he goes out of his way to speak to you, to do things with you. Why does he invite you to go for tea and take cute pics? Why does he text you out of the blue just to share a silly thought or idea? Why does he jump for joy whenever he’s invited over to Ramshackle Dorm? And why do you go along with it every time?

He's mystified at how you've managed to break his aloof structure in so little time. But he's not going to let you get away with it. Now that you've caught his attention, he's going to ensure that he catches yours. 

Cater Diamond who is secretive.

He's the kind of person to keep things casual on his end, regardless of how committed the other party may be. He wants to know everyone's deepest secrets and desires, but prefers to keep his under multiple layers of locks and keys. Most of his relationships were almost always one sided, mostly because he could never keep himself tied down. He didn't like to be owned, but he liked to be desired.

After growing up in a house with two older sisters, he hadn't had much privacy, and hadn't had much secrecy either. But once he was exposed to different worlds, he made it a point to keep himself a secret. Talking about home was stressful, and working through the stress surrounding it was even worse, so he always kept his emotions a secret. His sunny disposition and eager attitude was more than enough to catch interested stares, so he kept it up. He was a bit of a tease, but people liked that. The problems came when people grew close to him and expected him to open up in return. That is usually when things would end or grow stagnant. The terrifying ordeal of being known and owned was too much for him. No commitment, no permanence, no promises. Just silly temporary flings, hookups, and infatuation. He was never tempted for more. 

And yet, with you, he finds it hard to not want to be yours. He craves your attention and will do anything to receive and retain it. It is especially satisfying when he manages to draw you away from others and instead towards him. It gains him more than a few displeased glares, but who cares? The only person whose attention he cares about anymore is you. 

Cater Diamond who is clever.

It may not seem like it, but he's got more than a few tricks up his sleeve. 

He will first ask you for your schedule, under the premise of wanting to spend more time together. When he has it, he memorizes it until he knows it off the top of his head. He keeps a close eye on your social media to track your favorite places, and asks you to go there with him, saying he wants to try something new. He plans out random encounters, few and far between enough to make them seem coincidental. He doesn't follow you, but he does show up. And because of that, he begins to stick out in your mind. 

He'll fish for your attention every chance he can get. He'll post the most random, silly things just to get you to like it. He'll click his pen a few too many times in class just to get you to glance over at him and watch him click it repeatedly. He'll fake a stumble if he's walking in front of you just to get your help. He'll put up his hair differently in flight class just so he can catch your questioning stare. He'll do all these things just to feel your eyes on him, so that he can feel like you've noticed him. And if he's brave enough, when he catches your gaze, he'll smirk knowingly, his eyes creasing up at the edges and say "You're staring," as though that wasn't exactly what he wanted. 

He can't bring himself to confess first, so he'll bait you into doing it, by planting the idea in your head in perhaps not-so-subtle ways. He'll mention the incoming Valentine's Day and how badly he wishes for a confession, or he'll bring up the topic of crushes often as though he's dying to know who you've got your eye on - all the while knowing it's him. When you finally crack and cave, admitting your feelings for him, his heart soars. Of course he accepts your feelings, and while the fear of commitment eats at him just slightly, it's muffled by his fulfilled want to be yours.

Maybe you fell first, but he definitely fell harder.

Cater Diamond who is prideful.

He's never been proud to be tied down, ever. But it's with you and he's learning to enjoy it. All he does is talk all of Heartslabyul's ears off (and anyone else who will listen) about how wonderful you are, or how beautiful you are, or how he adores every little thing about you. And while he does indeed love you, there is something satisfying about the palpable jealousy that hangs in the air when he mentions staying the night at Ramshackle Dorm or going out on cute little photogenic dates with you. His eyes glimmer with pride every time someone sucks their teeth or rolls their eyes or lowly growls. He doesn't even remotely feel threatened. 

He tries not to flaunt you too much, for fear of being overly zealous, but he offers his arm to you every time you walk together. He kisses your forehead sometimes when he sends you off to class. He takes as many pictures as he likes of you in your cutest outfits. And he always makes a show of it if you sit near him at lunch. He can't help it. He's just so proud. The question is, is he proud to be yours or proud to have you?

Cater Diamond who is capable.

It doesn't take long for you to bed each other; romance wasn't the only thing blossoming between you two. Cater very quickly proves himself to be far more than adept at such activities, but recognizes that there is love in this too, this time.

In the past, he always did it how his partner liked it to keep them interested, ensuring both parties were happy, but only to his own benefit. He never said "I love you" or anything as flimsy and daunting as that. It was always whispered moans and whines from him and his partner, various curses, vulgar descriptions, and a cry to signify release. Nothing more, nothing less. If such committed words were uttered, he'd stop seeing them. He always made it clear that that's never what he wanted to hear. He only wanted to hear how good they were feeling, how close they were, or what they wanted him to do or what they wanted to do to him. It was always just to get off or satiate a burning attraction, never to demonstrate love. 

Like the past, he wants to make you, his partner, feel good, but unlike the past, it is a demonstration of love. He will do everything in his power to ensure that you know that he loves you through every technique he knows. He thinks of you first and him second. Whatever you want done is done, however you want it, whenever you want it, all to show that he loves you. He doesn't care. As long as it satisfies you, anything's worth it. And he does satisfy you. Every time. 

He never gets tired of hearing his name moaned out on your tongue, and he never gets tired of the taste of yours, sweet as honey, lingering on his lips like a whisper.

Cater Diamond who is devoted.

He's been tied down, slowly but surely. Whether you planned it or not, you've simply got him wrapped around your finger. Of course he knows this, but can't bring himself to want to tear away. He is safe and comfortable with you, and all the things you've shown him. He quickly finds that, instead of being proud to have you, he's proud to be yours. He's proud to be loved in the way he's learned to love. Whatever residual fear he has of commitment, or loss of control, is all dissolved when he looks at you, your hand curled around his, your eyes watching him.

He takes pictures of you all the time to remind himself that he's yours, and he curls into your chest at night to remind himself that he's yours, and he bathes in the jealous stares of his peers to remind himself that he's yours.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Cater Diamond who is in love with you. 

------------------------

a/n: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Cater Diamond my beloved?!?!?? anyways. thanks you guys for reading. genuinely I hope you all appreciate Cater Diamond as much as I do, especially after reading this! take care, and stay tuned for the other adult characters!

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland smut #twst x reader #cater diamond #cater x reader #twst cater #cater twst #cater twisted wonderland #cater diamond x reader #cater diamond twst #minors dni #minors do not interact #cater diamond x yuu #cater diamond smut

[cambrioleur]

In the interest of making this blog a bit more intelligent and less of a collection of dumb memes, here's an actual "hot take" that I have...

Ben is likable but he's also jaw-droppingly underdeveloped in the official canon of the show. Basically he's what TV Tropes terms a Satellite Character, in that he's almost always shown in the context of his interactions with other characters, with these scenes being from their viewpoint and not his. He never gets a real arc or storyline of his own: Claire and Guédira are consistently the central POV figures of the assorted B and C plots, while Ben appears in the A plots but in an exclusively supporting role.

The show actually DOES have opportunities to expand on his character a bit more but for whatever reason it never takes advantage of them. You'd think that Ben getting sold out by Assane and tossed in prison would have been a perfect candidate for this, but he appears in like three scenes in the last few episodes of Part 3, with these once again being mainly from the perspectives of Guédira, Claire, and Assane (not to mention that the audience still doesn't know exactly how he sustained all those injuries).

An additional issue is that so far, Ben hasn't had any meaningful conflict in his relationship with Assane, which seems unrealistic given what an utter mess Assane is a lot of the time. Claire has the obvious conflict of desperately wanting to believe in Assane but being let down by him over and over again, and also having to deal with how his antics are negatively affecting their son. Guédira is an Assane Diop stan while also being a police officer who's supposed to be trying to jail him, which is a comedic conflict but it's a conflict nonetheless. We never get any of that with Assane and Ben; their friendship is fun but it's weirdly smooth-sailing. We don't know if they can survive the kind of turmoil that arises between Assane and Claire on a regular basis, because up until Ben gets thrown to the wolves at the gala, he's never been on the receiving end of Assane's dishonesty and erratic behavior. (This is why I actually think that the betrayal was a good narrative choice.)

So Ben's characterization is that he's the technically-competent friend who's also a loyal, solid dude...and that's it. We don't really know who he is in the same way that we know who Assane, Claire, and Guédira are. And the result is that the fans can project pretty much whatever they want onto him. If they want to say he's in love with Assane, fine, because there's nothing canonical that obviously confirms or refutes it. (In contrast I think it's fair to say that any notion of Assane reciprocating these potential affections is 100% fanon; the showrunners clearly view him as someone who can charm anyone he wants to while also being completely heterosexual, although one could argue that they're attempting to have their cake and eat it too.) The same is true if they want to say that Ben is in love with Claire, which is a theory that I've seen crop up a few times. My own opinion is that he's probably aroace or something along those lines, but at the same time I find the interpretation that he loves Assane to be plausible enough, although I have absolutely no emotional investment in it.

Anyway, bottom line...Ben's character should be developed more. Also I personally think he should turn on Assane. But that's just me.

#lupin netflix #benjamin ferel #hot take #assane diop #claire laurent #youssef guedira

[a-mag-a-day]

MAG 58 - apple cutting

Oh, somewhen around the time I first listened to this statement I also watched Miracle Workers - Oregon Trail and it made me think, if this was a common trope for stories with the Oregon trail? To have misjudged snowy weather and being forced to cannibalism?

I have heard that people from Oregon pointed out that Jon (as Archivist) pronounced "Oregon" wrong (like a non-Oregonian) and during the statement (as Mrs. Carlisle) he pronounced it right. I've tried to compare it (1:10 and 2:56) and I don't hear any difference xD Then again, I'm not a native speaker. Anyone here able to shine a light on that?

Carlisle, same name as the man upstairs, Toby Carlisle, in MAG 18. Which was also a Flesh statement.

"The settlers of Oregon country, he said, had offered land to those who might follow. 320 acres of land for the unmarried, he said, but a married settler could claim 640 acres." - Marrying for the sole purpose of receiving benefits. A tale as old as time xD

"I realized how ill-prepared he for many of the hardships of the trail. I never asked him exactly where he was from, or why he wished to settle in Oregon. Those few times I broached the subject, he would talk all sorts of circles around it, and I had some inkling that he might have been fleeing trouble back east." - That is interesting. Does this make Benjamin sus? Was it somehow already his goal to end up mingling with the Flesh? Or was he really just a bit of an impulsive, but goodhearted guy?

"All told, I feel I more than earned my bacon." - And yet she didn't want that bacon in the end xD

"So I just had to sit there, watching Eustace Wick building a fire as Benjamin tried to suppress his shivers and make conversation with the man who he still did not realize had turned from our guide into our captor." - This behavior could well play into the question, whether Benjamin wanted all this to happen.

Oh again my favorite ambiance track! That one makes me so happy!

"I wept for my beautiful, stupid Benjamin" - RIP himbo

That climax in the cave, Eustace killing Benjamin, Mrs. Carlisle killing Eustace and the dead Benjamin pleading his wife to eat him is soooo good!

"What interests me most is how this unsigned letter, if it is to be believed, made its way from an icebound cave in Wyoming or Idaho all the way to the personal collection of Jonah Magnus." - Hmm… unused foreshadowing? Or does anyone know where this leads?

Oh no… This is when Tim starts to get angry…

"though does go some way to reassure me that Martin is unlikely to be the culprit" - How? Why? Because you want him to be innocent, right?^^

I mean, Jonny does pronounce Gerard two different ways in the same episode so I’m not sure the mispronunciation of Oregon is intentional. It might be though, I have no idea what goes on in his head.

#a mag a day #tma #the magnus archives #episode asks #tma spoilers #mag 58 #lycanlovingvampyre #mod elian

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

june 11, 2021 2:45 p.m. newcrest counseling center

[grant] that was, um, actually really helpful. i've definitely been feeling like a complete fucking loser and about a whole lot more than slipping up in recovery and letting my mental health symptoms get out of control. and all these feelings started before päivi. it all started a while back when everything went down with my health and my old job. but when you frame everything like that…

[grant] it’s just–no, it’s really depressing to imagine saying all this stuff to little child me. it’s fucked. it’s so fucked. why didn’t someone give me this analogy a long time ago?

[margot] people just aren’t aware of the whole “inner child” concept. that and there’s a time and a place to explore that ground. if you hear it before you’re ready, you’re more likely to re-traumatize yourself and cause a lot of damage than you are to gain benefit. but it is very important and i consider it essential to my work with PTSD and trauma sufferers. it’s something that you, now that you’re in a safe and stable place to receive the idea and work with it, will greatly benefit from.

[grant] i've been angry for so long because of what happened to me when i was younger and i've been doing the same stuff to myself. what the fuck? why would i ever do that?

[margot] unfortunately that is how it happens. we’re trained to think in a certain way by the people who hurt us and even though we’re angry and bitter and destroyed over it, we can’t help but repeat the same behaviors and look at ourselves through that lens. it’s maladaptive but we learn to do it anyway. it’s second nature. we start to believe all those terrible things about us are true.

[margot] the same reasons you’re driven to hate yourself for a little negligible relapse are the same reasons you blamed yourself automatically and unfairly for being cheated on, for thinking you’re an idiot or a loser for suffering the effects of trauma, and so on. most things you’ve struggled with as an adult are because you’ve adopted the thought methods of your abusers.

[margot] i'm sure you knew all this anyway because this part isn’t really news–of course we end up hating ourselves after we’re taught to–but sometimes you have to hear it to understand it. plus it’s hard to reverse that negative thinking without going back in time. i'm sure you’ve also heard before that you should just “stop thinking that way and love yourself” but we don’t know that when we think negatively, we’re wounding that same hurt child over and over again. we often lack empathy for our current selves because of the need for detachment to survive trauma, but if you think about that child and about them still being part of you, you’ll remember you have value. it really is hard to imagine doing or saying the same cruel things to a child, isn't it?

[margot] and if you don’t mind, i'd like to give you a homework assignment.

[grant] sure. i'm down.

[margot] since it seems to be time for inner child work...i’d like you to write a letter to yourself, to your inner child. it doesn’t matter what you say, where you write it, how you write it, or how long it is. just write something. whatever you have to say, say it. it sounds hard and it is, but when you sit down to do it, you’ll find that you’ll know exactly what you need from this. it’s also very likely going to be painful, one of the most painful things i could ask you to do, but as you already know, being acquainted with that pain as you work through it properly is a necessary part of the process.

[margot] and if it helps, you can look through items from your childhood. photos, report cards, drawings...whatever you have. sometimes people have trouble remembering in detail who they were when they were younger and visual cues can be useful. either way, just write a letter. i won't ask to read it or know its contents for now. this is for you and you alone.

#ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims 4 story #ts4 screenshots #simblr #hlcn: everything the stars promised #holocene.docx #holocene.png #hlcn: grant #hlcn: margot

[unrestrainedego]

What if you aren't a [GENDER] everywhere?

I found out that I was an enby pretty recently. Since I found out, I have been looking into a lot of the gender stuff, with my first step being That's Gender Dysphoria FYI.

On their page of Biochemical Dysphoria, they actually mention a type of dysphoria that's caused by crossed wires between the brain and body (the brain expects this hormone but receives another).

I dunno if that's true or not (they mention a couple of times that their research is primarily anecdotal), but it does open up a pretty interesting question that I've been mulling over for a while now.

What exactly is Gender Identity?

Gender is an easier question. It's a social construct, so it's defined by social norms, not exact definitions. All we have to do is compare to that.

However, Gender Identity doesn't seem like a social construct to me. There's so many aspects of it that seem too real for it to just be social convention.

This was super interesting to me because it then led into a small thought experiment:

What if Gender didn't exist?

Gender Absolutionism (I think; I'm new here so please don't stab me). In a world where everyone is nonbinary, would gender identity still exist?

YES, I think it would.

Gender wouldn't, but the way you identify yourself in the way of masculine, feminine, or androgynous expression probably would still exist. In fact, I think over time the gender binary would end up coming back, since the majority of those born experiencing a particular sex hormone will tend to exhibit behaviors that relate to that. That's probably how the binary came to exist in the first place.

HOWEVER, would the gender binary be the same as it is now?

We can take this a step further.

Different societies have developed entirely different from one another. The social hierarchies and the like have many differences. It's entirely possible that the gender binary that has been developed in different cultures are actually a bit different from each other.

Unfortunately, most societies will just look at your physical traits and assign gender based on that.

But what if everyone was blind? What if everyone was forced to determine your gender purely from your personality (likes, dislikes, preferences, expression).

Would you be the same gender in all countries? Or would you change gender, becoming a [INSERT_GENDER_HERE] depending on where you were placed?

#transgender #thoughts #nonbinary #unrestrainedego #theory #i'm new here

[came0dust]

happy pride month, everyone! i've been drawing a lot more recently, as you've probably seen, and i've been enjoying the direction my work is going in general. so, i wanted to try something. i would like to take some art requests, specifically to do with lgbtq+ subjects (tis the season)

disclaimers (for lack of a better word) and other conditions detailed under the cut

CLOSED

i'm not particularly fast (it might take some days for something to get done)

i reserve the right to simply not do a request for any reason, including but not limited to: "my hands hurt so i'm taking it easy", "i don't think i can fulfill this request satisfactorily", and "i'm simply not interested in doing it". no hard feelings, but it's my time, my effort, and my blog. you understand, i think 👍

you can request things like characters who are lgbtq+ (headcanon or otherwise. and feel free to specify design headcanons too!) or drawing ideas to do with lgbtq+ identities (something like, for example, "two male hummingbirds huddled together on a tree branch and colored using a rainbow palette". be as descriptive as you want, but try not to get too complex. expect the result to be relatively simple)

you can request your ocs! please provide visual reference if possible, however. my brain is a little silly so if i'm left to just kind of guess at details, it might end up different from what you're expecting from me just misinterpreting things

probably goes without saying but hateful behavior and sentiments aren't going to be given the time of day. i'm not interested in any form of di///sco//urse (attempting to avoid people searching the word directly), this is just something i want to do for fun

in that same vein, actually, please try to keep things light in terms of tone. the world is scary right now, so i'm not particularly jazzed about drawing something gruesome or depressing. please be niceys 👍

i'm still going to be working on my own things. this is basically a reiteration of the first point, but i feel it's worth mentioning that i'm not planning on exactly becoming an art request machine for the month. expect this to be a side-ish thing by default

i plan to post requested art as a reply to requests sent through the ask box (and please just Only the ask box. i'd like things to be in one place), but you can also send asks if you want clarification on anything mentioned here (or not mentioned! i might have glossed over a detail that needs further elaboration without even noticing it)

i would say anticipate receiving a cleaner "sketch" or "colored sketch" (see tags, linked) drawing as a baseline, maybe with some shading, but i might take it further if i really enjoy how the piece is going

you can use the requested art as things like icons or banners, but please provide credit somewhere. i'm just a little guy!

#not art

[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.”

#Nct smut #johnny smut #nct imagine #Johnny imagine #nct 127 smut #nct oneshot #Nct fic #kpop smut

[whysojiminimnida]

Hi, JK's shoulder grab that your man Kev read as possessive/top… I mean it could be instinctual – we all have erogenous zones & couple power dynamics. But the way Kev took it as a specific gay coded gesture - it’s something that’s learnt by being in collective space with other people using this kind of body language. We often use the expression “they’re part of the community” but this makes me think of JKK really being physically in long term community with other gay folks & that makes me 🥰.

And HERE WE ARE AT THE COLLARBONE POST YO Hi @onthecuterside, please forgive me for taking fucking DAYS to get to your well-reasoned question. I was... doing research. Something. Anyway. That shoulder grip/collarbone thing has been poking at my synapses for awhile. Because, well...

It's kind of an unusual hand placement. And while there isn't always obvious pressure on Jimin's collarbone happening, sometimes there definitely is. It's like Koo is pressing his fingers into the area just above the bone, close to the juncture of Jimin's neck and shoulder. And as someone who has very sensitive collarbones I found that... interesting. Like WHY would you deliberately press into an erogenous zone in public in front of people when you know what it does to the person on the receiving end? Jeon Jungkook is a little shit, I said what I said.

It's not a move I see being done with other members, really. So I decided I was delusional and that it was just that Jimin is little and has rather narrow shoulders, and Koo has large hands. Which: true.

See, this is not really the same move at all. It's much more casual and chill, and you can definitely see the hand/shoulder proportion thing. So I mentioned it to Kev and sent him some pics mainly so he could tell me to calm tf down. This doesn't really mean anything, right? Right?

Like this pic, above. I think it's from, maybe, Brazil (?). That's not a sexual grip, really, to me. Jiminie is crying ffs and was, before Kookie got there. And when I came back at Kev with this shot he had to agree. But what it does indicate is a similar "Babe, I've got this, stay with me, I'm handling it" vibe that, honestly, is every bit as intimate as a sexytime power play, if not moreso. And it's not a hold we saw until 2016 or later. In fact the earliest indications of it I can find are from 2017-2018 and it has become more frequent since 2019. Let's be honest I am bad at running down exactly when my stolen internet content was shot. I try but I sleep or get distracted, you know how it is. But prior to 2017 that hold did not exist that I can find. At least, not from Jungkook as the guy doing the gripping.

Oh. Will you look at that, Park Jimin. Also, Jungkook didn't really get into shoulder massage as a hobby until after that time and I do think there might be a correlation, like one little sigh and he went "A-HA let's try that again".... not to be gross but some things are best learned with positive reinforcement, is all I'm saying.

Jimin has a long history of chronic neck and shoulder issues directly related to dance injuries that are aggravated by repeated motion. We been knew. And Jungkook really began taking it upon himself to learn and provide the necessary support for those injuries, which are best helped by stretching and massage, fairly early in their relationship as I see it. He's a caretaker, our Kookie, except that he kinda is NOT that with anyone not named Park Jimin.

And I'm not at all sure that this hold, or behavior if you will, was learned by watching others as much as I think it was one of those "this works for US" things. That other people recognize it isn't weird though. I recognized it because I was married to a dude who used that exact move on me. Kevin noticed it because, I suspect, he's used it himself or at least seen it done. I didn't ask too many questions, he's already kicking my ass for messaging his boyfie so I have to be a good dongsaeng and mind my manners for a minute. TL;DR, I really think this is a bit of a fun/sometimes risky/occasionally possessive or even protective move that Jungkook in particular brings out when he is feeling some type of way.

It seems to get good results for him so go off, Jeon, enjoy your man and make sure we all know he's YOUR man, not our man, and you got him handled. Balls Out For Jimin-ssi indeed, sir.

And sometimes, once in a while, the Park half of the household goes full Kitty Gang and

And I ran out of post room before I even got to Seoul Tourism or even Antler Fetish Jimin. I could do like six more posts just like this one with all different photos because apparently if something works the Jeon-Parks are not afraid to bust it out on the regular. It's just another one of those interesting little dynamics that set Jungkook and Jimin apart from any other "ship" between members. Collarbones are intimate. Kind of like, I dunno. Earlobes, maybe? Neck hickeys? I've clearly got my work cut out for me. It's cool, I'll take this one for team Jikook. It's a sacrifice, you know, but someone's gotta do it.

#hi moot #sorry i'm so late i got um distracted #shoulder #collarbone #must be monday at the jeon-park house #jeon parks jeonparking again #jikook just jikooking nbd #jikook be wildin again #minggukie supremacy #jimin #jungkook #kookmin #also a whole park jimin exists #and a jeon jungkook #kfi #that whole shoulder grip thing

[rreyie]

k. (eren j. x reader)

summary; you're well aware by now that your feelings of eren have blossomed into something more than a fuckbuddy. but you're not quite sure if he'll agree.

content warnings; smut (18+), fingering, oral (f. receiving), vaginal, unprotected sex, unestablished relationship, degrading, use of pet names, creampie, slight dumbification, hurt at the end i’m sorry.

word count; 2.2k

a/n; the fic that has been sitting in my drafts for 2 months has been completed! anyways i’m sorry i’m advance

you're well aware by now that eren jaeger isn't just a one night stand you had a week ago. you couldn't quite call it a friendship now, but perhaps fuckbuddies- or people who banged on the low with no strings attached.

well, you wouldn't say you didn't have feelings for him by now. you couldn't tell if it was his mischievous personality or his nine inch long dick, but there were certainly more than platonic feelings on your end.

you two had met when armin, mikasa and eren bought a house to rent out for college. you were a friend of mikasa's and had nowhere to go except to the house they rented, so you moved in. you and eren clicked almost instantaneously, as if you were best friends your whole life.

the sexual tension between you two was inexplicable. and you both knew it. and that's why one day, eren chose to make his move when you two were watching "finding nemo: blu-ray dvd edition" on the couch in the living room.

you two fucked during the scene when the little red-headed girl was terrorizing the other fish. but you two don't talk about it. all that mattered was that it was good sex- and by good, you meant really. fucking. good. you had no clue how he gained all this experience, but that didn't matter either.

now you were here, nearing the end of your sophomore year. this little rendezvous with eren had lasted five months now. you two definitely fucked often- sometimes sucking him off while he was studying for is psychology course, other times bending you over the bathroom counter with a death grip on your asscheeks.

this time he had walked into your room while you were clicking away at your laptop while you sat on your bed, doing your best to study for the exam you had next week. he didn't say a word, just laid down on the bed next to you and stared up at the ceiling.

you tried your hardest to ignore him, but your train of thought was lost when he cleared his throat unnecessarily loudly as if you couldn't already tell that he was right next to you.

you shut your laptop in defeat, and turned your head over to eren, a smile ever so slightly curling on his lips. you were unamused at his behavior.

"yes, eren?" you ask, eyes locking with his jade orbs. he clearly hasn't slept in a while, telling from the dark circles under his eyes, contrasting his somewhat tan skin. his brown hair was in its messy bun like normal, tied up sloppily with some baby hairs poking out here and there.

"dunno", he responded. "just seeing what you're up to."

"mhm? well, that sounds like bullshit to me, mister jaeger", you scoff. "you always come in here and make yourself at home when you're horny."

eren sighed, and sat up from his position. "fine, you caught me red handed. but i know you're as horny as i am."

"...you're right", you admit, before he flips over so he's on all fours and crawls over so he's in front of you. the several rings that adorned his fingers glistened in the ceiling light above, his grey sweatshirt hanging loosely around his body. though what he always wore was so simple, he never failed to look breathtaking in it.

tugging at the waist of your sweatpants, eren growled a "take it off" before you slid your hands down to your waist and did as he told you, leaving you in your panties. you didn't wear nice ones today assuming you weren't going to be fucking somebody, but here you were.

the rest was done by him as he pulled down your panties, breath hitching at the sight of your wet cunt. eren licked his lips hungrily.

"wet? already? what are you, some kind of whore?"

when you only looked at him with doe eyes, he rose his voice. "well? give me an answer, slut."

his very words made something awaken in your core, and you responded with a "y-your whore, eren."

eren nodded in satisfaction, content with your answer. "you're learning."

in past experiences, you had been quite a brat to him- as he would say. constantly going up against what he wanted, trying to dominate him. but every single time he ended up pushing you back down and pounding you into the nearest surface, making you state exactly who you belonged to. but since you were being good this time, he relented.

dipping a cold finger into your folds, he collected the juices that wetted the outer lips of your cunt, savoring the warmth it provided him in contrast to his hand. in response, you jolted at the cold temperature, only for eren to hold you down by the waist to prevent too much movement.

working his fingers inside your impossibly tight cunt, he pushed in one, swirling it around in an attempt to find your sweet spot- in which he succeeded. with a hum of approval, he pushed through another finger past the bit of muscle and into your walls, placing it in the same spot the other finger was. curling his digits around that spongy spot and placing the gentlest pressure upon it. letting a pathetic whimper escape your lips, eren is quick to stop what he's doing and reach for your panties.

"w-what are you doing?" you croak, voice weak from the recent stimulation.

"shutting you the fuck up", he snapped back in response. balling up your pair of soaked panties, he stuffed them in your mouth, making you gag a little. he only smirked at the fact you were struggling. "you're just too fuckin' loud. if armin and mikasa weren't downstairs i would let you have at it, but we've gotta keep this a secret baby."

resuming what he was doing a minute ago, he moves his mouth closer to your cunt, ever so gently wrapping his lips around your delicate little clit. your hips bucked upwards as he put his two fingers in their previous spot, pumping slowly in and out.

you're only able to mumble in approval as his pumping turns languid and rough, and before you know it you're already feeling that knot that's all too familiar in your stomach. you yelp into your balled up panties that occupied your little mouth, the sound coming out muffled. erens brow raises as he removes his fingers from your fluttering cunt.

you're about to mutter something in disapproval, but eren starts talking before you. "i told you to stay quitet, princess. what don't you get about that? are you that stupid whore i thought you were? yeah, i thought so."

"'m not a stupid whore", you say, making your statement clear even though there was a piece of fabric in your mouth.

"then show it", eren demands as he slides his fingers back in, his thrusting become too quick for you to resist an orgasm, but still staying quiet so he would let you cum.

you gush all over his fingers, creamy white liquid coating his fingers as he pulls out, and places his fingers in his mouth, licking off the substance. you're reduced to a panting mess on your bed.

"that tired, are ya?" eren mocks you. "too bad. i still've got a hard cock and you're gonna take care of it." he isn't wrong. his print is easily visible in his grey sweats, at its full length and glory.

"more", you pant out. "want your cock, can handle it, eren..."

"i know you can, princess", he coos as he practically rips down his pants and boxers at the same time, exposing his hardened and flushed cock. the tip was tinted red, a few veins protruding through the skin on the side. he had a pretty cock indeed.

"bend over", he commands. shakily, you comply and get on all fours so that your head is near a pillow in case your legs give out. "that's'a girl."

you can feel him come up from behind you, and rub his warm tip over your cunt, making a shiver run down your spine. his size never failed to make you at least just a little bit nervous, it always hurt a bit when it went in but he prepped you well enough that it would slide in easily.

with his right hand, he grabbed the sturdy frame of the headboard, and with his left, started to push his cockhead into your tight little hole. you squealed as you felt his flesh enter you slowly, but soon sheathed his whole self in with one thrust.

"fuck- you're tight", he grunted, and removed his left hand so it was now gripping your ass. you could feel his fingernails digging into the supple skin, likely leaving red crescent marks. after eren took a deep breath or two, he started his movements. and he didn't relent.

the pace he was moving at was almost dizzying, making you let out a few high-pitched wails. his balls slapped up against your behind, lewd noises of skin on skin filling the room. he held onto the headboard, making the bed shake and creak with every new thrust he took.

"eren, eren, eren", you mumbled, completely cockdrunk by him. "more, more please".

eren smirked, his hair starting to fall out of his bun. "liking that? i knew it, you're just a whore. begging for my cock like always, just like the slut i've always known."

his words were mean, but they made you clamp around his dick, making him release a stuttered moan. were you perhaps sick for liking the way he degraded you? you didn't know and didn't care.

"s' good, 'ren", you gasped, wanting him to keep calling you these names and degrading you down to the bone. you would never let any man talk to you like that- only eren could, he did it the right way.

"i know baby, i know", he purred. "m' gonna cum, you gonna cum with me?"

"y-yes!" you shriek, feeling your second orgasm creep up on you, making your stomach do a somersault. "please 'ren! make me cum! need you filling me up!"

eren gave a dark chuckle, and threw his head back into a moan. your orgasm hit you like a truck, the pleasure taking over your entire body and making you shake uncontrollably, squealing into your pillow as your legs gave out. eren knew this was coming, so he removed his right hand from his headboard and put both of his hands under your legs to hold you out as he rode out his high. he jackhammered into you, balls tightening as the knot in his stomach finally snapped, making his cum spurt out of his tip and into your cunt. you were left immobile and speechless, drooling into your pillow as he pulled himself out and let his semen leak out from your hole and all over your sheets.

after he finished panting, he looked over to you. "you good?"

"mmph", you mumble, eren barely hearing you. you meant for that to be an affirmation.

he flipped you over so you were on your back, your sweatshirt still on your body. he cursed himself for not removing it, but there was always a next time. he smiled at your state, knowing he fucked you that good.

“you did good, princess”, he grinned, and pulled up his boxers again, and searched for his phone which he left somewhere in the room.

“eren”, you ask. “where are you going?”

“there’s a party at jeans dorm tonight. you going?”

you sigh. “no, studying for the exam. i need to pass it, maybe i’ll go next time.”

eren nodded, and walked out the door. “thanks again.”

staring up at the ceiling, you wondered how eren could always treat the fact you two fucked on the regular so casually. he always went around and flirted with other girls at parties, but never took them home.

well, it was now or never that you were going to make your move.

you grabbed your phone from your nightstand and unlocked it, your home screen being a photo of you, eren, armin and mikasa all huddled around the couch for a movie night. you opened your messaging app, and clicked on erens contact. this is where you began drafting your message.

| You: um okay hi eren! so thanks for today, it felt really good as always. but i was wondering if maybe you would want to take things further? we can go out to dinner thursday night if you’re free :)

reading it over once before sending, you pressed the blue button that sent the message to him. it took two minutes for him to read if.

the three dots in a bubble popped up on his end of the conversation. you internally panicked, wondering if this was the right choice.

| erennn: i mean don’t we fuck? don’t get me wrong u cool but i mean idk man

your heart quite literally froze at the sight of his message. the dots popped up again, and you held your breath waiting for an answer.

| erennn: so like fuckbuddies basically, that’s all i want rn so uhhhh yeah 💀

this was the exact moment you felt your heart physically sink. fuck, now you’ve embarrassed yourself. would he think your weird?

wanting to act calm and unaffected by his answer, all you wrote was one letter.

| You: k.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #aot hcs #aot headcanons #snk headcanons #aot smut #snk smut #eren jeager #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x y/n #eren smut #aot eren #eren aot #snk eren #eren snk #eren x reader smut #choking on my water

[srivsblk]

strange theories to keep the boys away | george weasley;

summary: after you created a “strange theory” to find a date for the Yule Ball and have fun, George Weasley, your best friend Ron’s brother, is sure that he’s the right guy;

warnings: —;

—

“What are you doing?” asked Ron Weasley sitting right in front of me.

The library had never been this noisy. All the students arrived with the intention of studying for those few subjects in which the professors continued to give homework and inevitably ended up talking about the Yule Ball.

“What do you mean what am I doing?” I asked looking at him confused. “Studying.”

“Well, everyone is talking about the Yule Ball,” Ron shrugged while Harry sat next to him. “You probably already have a date.”

I sighed and placed the quill on the table, paying my attention to Ron. “Actually, no,” I said observing Ron's expression, which went from calm to shock. “Oh, don’t look at me like that!”

“You- You don’t have a date!” Ron exclaimed wide-eyed pointing at me. “How?”

“High expectations regarding boys, I guess,” I shrugged looking around the room. “I mean, it's not like nobody asked me.”

“Did you know it?” I heard Ron asking Harry in a whisper receiving a simple ‘no’ as an answer.

“Have you seen Hermione, by any chance?” I asked frowning and still looking around. “I thought she was with you two.”

Harry shrugged. “Actually, we thought she was with you.”

I nodded with my brows furrowed and realized that Hermione was probably somewhere around the castle talking about her beloved S.P.E.W. Although Hermione remained my best friend and the only one I could talk to about women's issues, lately I found myself spending more time with Harry and Ron. And when I needed Hermione, I went to the library hoping to find her and sometimes failing. For this reason, I had now spent so much time in the library and alone that I had finished my homework and devoted myself to taking notes on future topics.

“How much time did you spend in the library?” asked Ron observing the open page of the Potions book in front of me. “I'm pretty sure Snape hasn't explained those things yet!”

“Well, long enough to be able to say I’m ahead of the schedule.”

“Ahead?” Ron said shocked. “Blimey, Y/N, either Hermione has infected you or you are terribly bored!”

“Thanks, Ron, coming from you it's a real compliment!” I said sarcastically. “And how's the date you don't have because you're too chicken to ask someone to come to the Yule Ball with you?”

Ron, visibly offended in his pride, was about to argue but was suddenly cut off.

“Yes, Ron! How's your date?”

Turning slightly I noticed that Fred and George Weasley were behind me and had probably overheard the last part of the conversation. Being one of Ron's best friends and having spent a lot of time at his home, seeing Fred and George was nothing new. In fact, in the last year I was sometimes surprised not to see them more often, but Ron kept repeating that they had become suspicious since we arrived at Hogwarts. As Fred sat on my left and George on my right, Ron rolled his eyes and sighed.

“I thought you two were busy.” Ron muttered looking between the twins.

“Exactly,” Fred said smirking. “We were.”

“But a little break doesn't kill anyone,” continued George who was mirroring his brother’s expression. Meanwhile, Harry had a smirk on his face and was exchanging amused glances with me.

“Oh, me and my date are perfectly fine,” Ron said with a forced smile, “but let’s talk about Y/N who still doesn't have a date!”

I looked at him tilting my head confused. “I think you didn't listen to me, Ronald,” I sighed. “It was a choice!”

“I can’t believe you,” Ron said shaking his head. “Nobody goes alone to the Yule Ball by choice!”

“What do you mean?” asked Fred curious.

I sighed and turned to Fred explaining myself. “Someone has already asked me to go to the Yule Ball with them and I refused saying I already had a date.” I calmly said before glancing at Ron who was shaking his head. “However, it's a good choice I've made this past week and I have no second thoughts.”

“I still don't understand it!” groaned Ron frustrated. “From what other guys say you are one of the prettiest girls at Hogwarts and even Malfoy would not care about your house and social status to go to the Yule Ball with you. You're wasting your luck, Y/N!”

“What is your choice based on?” asked Harry over Ron’s muttered words.

I looked at him and noticed that he was genuinely curious and so I started telling him what I kept telling myself every day. “The guys who asked me to go to the Yule Ball with them were from Durmstrang. I have nothing against them but... I mean, I didn't know them enough! You know how sad it is to go to the Yule Ball with one of them and spend a boring evening or discover that maybe they are like Karkaroff! I have decided that I will go with a person with whom I know I can have a pleasant evening. Besides, I'm not afraid to go alone.”

I caught my breath after my words and took the time to observe the reactions of the other boys. Harry struggled to understand my reasoning, but Ron had given up as soon as he heard the news and was waiting with his arms folded for a reaction as exaggerated as his. Fred, however, looked at me confused and George, who had listened carefully to my words, was thinking hard about something.

After twenty seconds of pure silence, Ron decided to interrupt the confusion. “Blimey, Y/N, there is no need to make up strange theories to keep the boys away.”

Ron's words sparked a deep rage that caused my body temperature to rise dramatically. My cheeks were probably tinged red with anger because I noticed Harry looking at me worriedly as if I was going to explode. Ron, however, did not notice the effect of his words. He had behaved like this with Harry before the first task, with Hermione more than once and now with me too. I had enough. With all the anger still inside, I got up from my chair causing a noise that attracted the attention of some people in the room and quickly collected my books. I took the bag and looking at Ron with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, I left. At that moment even Hagrid could have mistaken me for an angry dragon. Keep the boys away. How dare he? He knew me well and I would have accepted such words coming from Pansy Parkinson or Draco Malfoy, but not from Ronald Weasley. Was he jealous? Well, it wasn't my fault that he hadn't found the courage to ask Hermione to be his date! Yet it was not a plausible enough excuse to blame me for not accepting two proposals!

“Y/N!” I heard a voice calling me, which made me turn around and stop.

George Weasley had probably run from the library to follow me and was slightly out of breath. His hair slightly longer than last year was disheveled due to running. His bag was about to fall off his shoulder and there was a slight flush on his cheeks. After waiting for him to say something, I looked at him confused.

“What is it, George?” I asked in a kinder tone, regretting the brusque behavior of before. “Listen, if it’s about Ron-”

“Ron?” he asked frowning. “No, nothing about Ron, love! I just had to ask you something.”

I shrugged. “Go on, then.”

He looked around and was struggling to find the right words, but nonetheless he took a deep breath and became serious. “You and I. The Yule Ball. Together.”

George tried not to show his insecurity and was waiting for an answer from me, but he probably noticed my confusion because soon after he started to move his mouth looking for the right words, perhaps afraid of having said something wrong.

“Are you asking me to be your date, George?” I asked slowly understanding.

“Only if you want to!” he said hopeful adjusting the bag on his shoulder. “And don't think it's pity or something. I want to take you to the Yule Ball.”

I watched George closely and noticed small details that I had always overlooked in recent years. George had become a handsome boy and his fame as a prankster had made him known throughout the school. But I only knew him as Ron's brother who had always been nice to me, even defending me from some bad Slytherin pranks. “Yes,” I said satisfied of my choice. “I'll go to the Yule Ball with you!”

The expression on George's face went from nervous to relieved and enthusiastic in less than a second. He kissed me on the cheek and ran away screaming through the halls as if he had won an important Quidditch match. The place where George left the kiss on my cheek was warm and when I touched it I suddenly smiled. Then I turned and continued walking - this time more slowly and cheerfully - towards the common room.

What happened in the following days was a succession of events and voices that created a sort of pause between the moment when George had asked me to go to the Yule Ball and the evening that everyone was waiting for.

Although Hermione was shocked when I told her that same evening that I had accepted George's proposal, she told me that she should actually have foreseen it. However, she told me that I hadn't chosen badly since at least with George I was sure I could have fun. As for her date, Hermione had finally told me that she had agreed to go with Victor Krum and that he wasn't as bad as everyone thought. George, on the other hand, kept an impassive attitude when he met me with Harry and Ron. He had only told Fred and Lee Jordan that I was his date, as only Ginny and Hermione had heard from me. Harry and Ron had not suspected anything, although they had known that I had finally found a date. Apparently, neither Ron nor I wanted to resume that discussion because he was merely commenting on the Yule Ball matters with Harry. Just a few days before the event, I discovered that my two best friends were planning to bring the Patil twins to the Yule Ball. I thought it was a choice to save themselves from the inevitable loneliness, but I never told them. Hermione still didn't talk about her date in front of Ron and she preferred to avoid any conversation about the Ball.

“Who is he?” asked Ron two days before the Yule Ball while playing chess with Harry.

I sighed closing the book I was reading and looked at him. “No need to keep asking, Ron! You'll see him in two days.”

However, even though I kept refusing, Ron was so curious about my date's name that he repeated the names of all male Hogwarts students from our year and up. Still, it was interesting how he skipped his twin brothers, probably sure that neither George nor Fred saw me as a real girl.

On Christmas day, just after waking up and opening the presents, Hermione and I met Harry and Ron and went to breakfast together. Although the general excitement for the Yule Ball, we decided to spend the morning in the Gryffindor tower, where everyone enjoyed their presents, then returned to the Great Hall for a magnificent lunch. The afternoon passed quickly between walks on the grounds of Hogwarts and snow fights. Hermione and I watched Harry and the other Weasleys having snow fights, while Hermione occasionally sneaked a glance at the smiles George and I exchanged. Around five, Hermione checked the time and took my arm as she rose from the ground. Apparently it was already late and we had to get ready for the evening.

“What, you need three hours?” said Ron, looking at Hermione incredulously, and being hit by George with a snowball. “Who’re you two going with?” he yelled after me and Hermione, but she just waved while I smiled at George and shook my head. Then we disappeared up the stone steps into the castle.

It had taken three hours to prepare both me and Hermione. She had been having some problems with her bushy hair as I kept pacing the room, trying not to panic. Hermione, as soon as she noticed my nervousness, tried to calm me down ("Oh, George is a great guy, Y/N! You'll definitely have fun.") and she helped me put on my dress. Looking in the mirror I had never felt this way. Suddenly, Christmas at Hogwarts took on another meaning. I looked at Hermione smiling and we finally headed for the Great Hall.

Arriving at the Great Hall Hermione left me with a hug and walked over to Krum. I peered around looking for George or at least Harry and Ron so as not to feel completely alone. Finally, after a few moments, I found George talking animatedly with Fred, who had a splendid Angelina beside him. As I walked towards them, Angelina said something to George making him turn in my direction and he finally noticed me. My smile widened further and I saw it was the same for George. He walked away from Fred and Angelina and arrived in front of me.

“You’re-” George couldn’t find the words while looking at me. “Merlin, Y/N, you’re wonderful!”

“You're not bad too, George!” I smiled taking his arm. “I've spent the last three hours preparing myself and I'm not going to lie, I'm nervous.”

“Well, no need to be nervous, love,” said George smirking. “It will be an unforgettable evening, trust me!”

“Oh, I trust you,” I said looking around. “Why are they all looking in our direction?”

George shrugged smirking. “Actually, they’re looking at me. They always do like this when they see me, don't worry!”

I laughed and held his arm tighter. “For a moment I had forgotten that you are the funny one.”

“Never forget that, love,” said George closer to my ear as we entered the Great Hall.

I noticed that Harry was nervous next to one of the Patil twins and Hermione was talking to Krum smiling. Many people needed more than a glance to recognize Hermione Granger, but I smiled at her as she did the same when she noticed me not far from her.

The first part of the evening passed quickly between laughter and an exquisite dinner. Fred kept throwing jokes at Angelina who pretended to be angry for a while and then laughed with the others. George and I had relaxed so much that being this close after a while felt more natural. He kept one arm on my chair and I squeezed his hand when he complimented me. When dinner was over and the Champions started dancing with their dates, George kept holding my hand before smiling at me and taking me to the dance floor. We may not have been the best dancers, but dancing with George just made me happy. After more dances together, George and I walked off the dance floor laughing and, noticing Harry and Ron near a table, we walked over to them.

“Why aren’t you two dancing?” I asked frowning and still holding George’s hand.

“We’re bored.” Ron muttered looking between me and George and trying to change the topic. “So you two-”

“What?” I asked curious.

“Nothing,” shrugged Ron sighing. “I didn't know you had a crush on George. That’s all.”

“I-” I tried to find the right words but felt my cheeks flush. “What are you talking about?”

“And you, George,” Ron said narrowing his eyes at George. “I didn't know you were interested in my best friend! Because that's what Y/N is, a sort of sister.”

As my cheeks became more and more red, I felt George boil in anger beside me at Ron's tone. “Well, Ron, maybe she is your sister, but not mine.”

“Whatever,” mumbled Ron sulky. “However, you remain two traitors. You haven't even told me anything about it.”

Harry stood next to Ron watching the scene. He was too smart to criticize us and agree with Ron, but he was too afraid of losing his best friend again to go against him. So I realized that Ron's only intention was to ruin the evening for all his best friends just because he didn't get what he wanted so much.

“You know, I had enough, Ron,” I said firmly looking at him. “Just because you can't have the best night of your life because of your bad mood doesn't mean you have to ruin my night too! For once I'm having fun and you ruin everything. I can’t accept it, I'm sorry.”

I walked away from my two friends and George with my heart pounding with anger. I didn't want to ruin anyone's evening, so my goal was to go outside and get some air and then find George and continue the wonderful evening. I noticed that the air outside was too cold for how I was dressed, so I sat on a sheltered bench observing the people around me. I recognized a fifth year girl walking with a boy from Durmstrang, and a seventh year couple sitting on a bench not far from me.

“Excuse me, is this seat occupied?” asked someone and turning around I found George smirking. As soon as I shook my head, George sat down beside me.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled feeling guilty. “I had a wonderful evening with you and I feel I ruined it by talking to Ron.”

George slightly smiled and took my hand in his. “If anything you made this evening better by silencing Ron in less than two minutes!”

I laughed and looked at him. “Still, I’m sorry.”

“Well, no,” said George frowning. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“For what?”

“You deserve someone like Diggory or Krum, and instead you end up with George Weasley, the prankster,” George shrugged looking down.

“I like George Weasley,” I smiled holding his hand. “I don't think I would have had more fun with Diggory or Krum tonight. Or any other night.”

George looked at me smirking. “So did you have fun?”

I laughed nodding. The couple of seventh year students looked at us for a second before turning around. “I had a wonderful evening and you, George,” I pointed a finger towards him. “you were wonderful.”

George stared at me without saying anything for a few seconds. He had a satisfied smile on his face and his eyes were moving from my eyes to my lips. Suddenly he brought his face close to mine and kissed me. It was a small kiss and it didn't last long. But it had stayed on my lips like a tattoo on someone's skin. A golden but small tattoo. I noticed that George's cheeks had turned red to his ears covered in long hair and he seemed eager to have a reaction from me. But all I did was get closer and kiss him more deeply than before. It didn't matter if it was cold and winter or if anyone could see George and Y/N kissing in the courtyard. It was something I wanted to do instinctively when I never did anything instinctively. After years of rational choices, kissing George Weasley was instinctive.

“Do you want to go back to the Great Hall?” George asked after the kiss. “Let's dance a little more and then I'll take you back to the common room.”

I nodded standing up still holding his hand. “What a night,” I said smiling and shaking my head.

“And you haven't seen anything yet, love,” said George walking and hugging me. “George Weasley can do better! Ask me for the moon and I'll bring you the entire galaxy. We still have time, after all!”

And that was true. We still had time. We were young and free and at the start of something which we would later call love. But in that moment it was still too soon. Two young students not knowing what is that feeling when you hang from the lips of the person you like and wait for their proposal or opinion, when you think that no sad moment can ever get over this happy moment. Because that person is your happy moment. And George Weasley became all of my moments.

#Harry Potter imagines #Harry Potter #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george weasley #fred weasley #fred weasley imagines #george weasley headcanon #george weasley one shot #Hogwarts #hermione granger #Ron Weasley #ginny Weasley #yule ball #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley x reader #george weasley fanfic #fred and george weasley #cedric diggory #goblet of fire #Harry Potter and the goblet of fire #golden trio #marauders #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #srivsblk #george weasley yule ball #weasley twins #weasley family

[exosmutfactory]

It's really heart breaking to read this. I can't begin to imagine the exhaustion you must feel. It's sad to know that something that you used to give so much drive and joy became this toxic and just ends up consuming you because of others. I'm sorry to hear that from you. I don't know if you will continue to write even if you don't decide to publish and just write for your own entertainment. But I really hope you do! I created my ff blog after anonymously reading Six Phases and it had such huge impact of on me. As did many of your works... You are a really gifted writer. Thank you for everything I can only hope things go right for you. Sending strength and compassion your way.

I spent the last 2 weeks taking a break away from here and AFF. The only way to not stress is to not see anything, so I make sure to stay away as much as I can.

I remember how active and happier I was in January this year. I wanted to start the new year right and full of positivity. Yet for the past two months, I'd wake up every day wondering: which story will they report this time? Did I block all their suspicious accounts? Why are these strangers I've never seen before laughing then deleting their weird replies to me?

It took me this long to stop feeling hopeless when I had to delete a blog post on AFF expressing my frustration. I posted the same one here as well, when someone reported my story for having smut when it didn't have smut. 5 days or so after I received that report, I had published a new smut-free story. That same day, of all days, a reporter came and reported my blog post. One where my readers were "bashing" the reporter. "We do not tolerate this behavior, reporters are doing their job." Yet I am held responsible for other people's actions? I simply said I might not update often because I was upset over it, yet when my supportive readers react more intense than me, I get the blame.

-Anyway, I learned not to say sh*t on that site coz it is crawling with people ready to report me for everything and nothing. Its very uncomfortable to be watched 24/7. That's exactly why I turned off my "online" green dot on Tumblr, because some people wait for me to Be Online before they come in with their trash talk :) months ago someone came into my Tumblr inbox in September like "for someone on break, you sure are clogging the tags with your shit posts" ??? BLOCK me? Or come off anon so I can do it for you, seriously, it takes 2 seconds.

Sorry this is so long, I've been holding this in for a long time and every time I get upset over it, I ask myself if I'm overreacting or too sensitive. I had a breakdown 2 weeks ago because someone reported my story on AFF for "violation of content guidelines" because:

hahaha. It's hard. The stress makes it impossible to write. I feel like a lot of my readers there hate me because I am inconsisitent with posting and I can't even tell them what is happening because I'll just be reported again. It's funny seeing writers with big followings throwing my name around in their public conversations with their friends. It's so nice to know how hated I am and a relief because I could disappear from the internet any day and never hear from them again. Because a hobby, a passion, causing so much stress is never worth all these sleepless nights.

I barely interact with anyone anymore because I feel like a failure. I can't even write fanfics and post often without hating every word I write. I always wonder how unreliable and selfish I must seem to other people, but those are all my problems. I wanted to spread happiness with my stories, and now, my stories are the ones sucking the joy out of me.

I'm trying my best, but I have to look after my health first, and all of this isn't helping.

Sorry for all of this (>.<) thank you for sending me this message, anon. I will finish my stories no matter how long it takes. My works are supposed to be happy vibes, not full of my personal pains. It's hard to write things when I don't feel them. Honestly that's how Six Phases came to be (>////<) good luck with your blog!!! Share your unique writer voice with the world 💕🌸✨ I wish you the best, love 💖

#❣ #I've already forgotten half of what I typed here #oof (>.<) #sorry for the angsty vent/rant #I'm doing better this week than I have in a while #... #I swear if I jinx my luck- #thank you lovely anon 💕 #might as well bear my heart since I don't feel numb anymore #still keeping my guard up coz ✨trust issues✨ #I avoid these writing sites so much coz I get anxiety attacks when I see messages like a mofo and I don't need that

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

What are your thoughts about how Dean's being treated in the narrative this season? I was excited starting out but so far, I've just been disappointed by how he just seems superfluous to the plot. And I don't understand why the writers seem to be taking shots at him in almost every episode. The Achilles' heel thing, putting responsibility for the rift on his shoulders (while Cas' part is handwaved away), Garth's snub in naming his children, his undisputed claim that Sam is better than him (1)

at everything, Fortuna’s insult…it’s just a lot. Maybe it wouldn’t be so jarring if Dean wasn’t the only character being consistently treated like that. To be fair, it hasn’t been all bad. I’ve liked some of his character development (although I find his new tendency to not voice his dissenting opinion a little worrisome, given his natural intuition) and there have been some awesome scenes like standing up to Chuck. But I just don’t know…(2)

Thank you for this ask! I think it’s an interesting thing to explore. I have been feeling a little iffy about some things this season, too, so I want to use this opportunity to sort through my own thoughts. It’s gonna get long so I’ll put a read more…

Let’s start from the easy part. 15x11: I don’t think that Fortuna was genuine when she made that comment about Dean, and we’re not supposed to take the beach read comment as a reliable perspective. All she does is a sort of test to read them; she lets both Dean and Sam win a match against her at first, as a sort of test but also as a trick to make her opponent confident and make him play again. Except that Dean’s second match is against a very talented player, and he wins not because he’s lucky, but because he’s genuinely skilled. He proves that his skills at pool - a shorthand for his skills in general, which they had been doubting of, wondering whether it was all Chuck - are real. 

Could skills beat luck? Probably not when luck is the goddess of luck herself, but I wonder whether Fortuna picked Sam as her opponent when stakes got high instead of Dean because she wanted to play against the less skilled of the two. I think that she’s playing them on and also off the pool table, and Dean realizes this when she goes “this one could be interesting”, you can tell from his reaction that he’s like “hey that’s a trick to play with the less skilled one of us” but Sam takes the bait. She also pretends to fall for Sam’s trick of distracting her by making her talk, just to reveal she can win whenever she wants to when the stakes are final. From what we’ve seen of her, I think we can infer that her modus operandi is to make people confident, so they’ll play again, higher the stakes, and then lose, not necessarily against her, just against someone, and lose their luck - she plays first with Dean when she doesn’t know who he is, and I assume it’s a common trick - let the newcomer win to stroke his confidence. (In gambling, the idea is to give players smalls wins to make them gamble more, and lose more.)

So, the narrative doesn’t give us any reason to believe that Dean isn’t right when he says that he is better than Sam at pool, and the point of the “beach read” comment is that he is not a beach read. Fortuna is supposed to be an unreliable narrator at that point, because she’s testing them. In fact, at the end, she rewards them on the ground of being “heroes”, which invalidates her previous statement, be it genuine or not.

Also consider that “sexy but skimmable” i.e. a pretty idiot, is the sort of taunt that Dean has received often in his life. If Fortuna is truly skilled at reading people, then she picks exactly something that has a history for Dean, and also something that has a history for Sam, i.e. that he’s more “interesting” (smart, skilled, whatever) than his brother. Coincidence?

That he’s pretty but otherwise worthless is something Dean has internalized by being told, not necessarily in words, over and over in his life. That reminded me of John’s old hunter friend who was like “didn’t you grow up pretty” and “if your father could see you now”. It took Dean a long time (and with plenty of fallbacks) to realize he’s more than a pretty face who follows orders. On the other hand, that he’s a more interesting “read” to Dean’s “beach read” is something Sam’s always had in his mind (he was the one who questioned the orders while Dean acted as John’s faithful little dog…) and it took him a long time, and some big blows to his own ego, to get out of that mindset.

So I don’t think it’s random that Fortuna goes for, you know, down with Dean and up with Sam, so to speak.

Dean’s statement that Sam is better than him at everything except pool - I read that as a very parental thing. It’s a very parent thing: telling your child that they’re proud of them for surpassing you. It should be the goal of a parent, you know, that your child is a better person than you - and a parent being like, you’ve become more skilled than me at my skills (except this one non-fundamental thing I can still kick your ass at :p) and I am proud of you, is a common trope.

So I read that as a small but very strong Dean-as-Sam’s-parent moment. Recently Sam also mentioned out loud that Dean raised him, so the writing team has not dropped this very important piece of characterization.

15x10. I think that the point is that Garth is Dean’s friend first and foremost. He doesn’t name his kids after his friends plural, he names his kids after the most important people for his friend singular. That’s how I read it at least. It’s weird because Dean hears one twin is named after Sam and assumes the two siblings are named after the two siblings, and the dissonance between his expectation and reality is what makes the humor. Also… Garth and Dean are a “who knows maybe in another life” kind of duo, you know…? They have a chemistry. Garth is Dean’s type, once you go past the appearances, and judging from Garth’s choice in wife, Dean’s pretty much his type too. You don’t name a child after that kind of person in your life.

Also, from a extra-diegetic perspective, Dean’s mirror is Gertie (from the name Gertrude meaning “strong spear/spear of strength”), the girl, because he’s always aligned with the feminine.

15x09. Now, this is the episode I’ve struggled the most with. Not sure if the problem is the episode itself, or the fact that the episode came after a season of the fandom acting a certain way towards Dean and Cas and their conflict, and that colored the episode a certain tint for me.

I’m kind of suspending judgement as I wait to see how the rest of the season goes and how Dean and Cas’ relationship develops, but my fear is that the narrative never really allows Dean to have emotions, so to speak, nor addresses Cas’ side of the issue(s). 15x09 itself is telling of a certain problem - Dean is experiencing certain emotions and going through a certain thing with Cas, but bam something happens that makes him terrified that he’s lost Cas again, and that forces him to scrap what he was going through. I’m not sure I’m explaining myself well here but bear with me.

He doesn’t get to sort through his emotions, he just goes in emergency mode again and the emergency just gives a yank to his emotions. I suppose the intent was “situation makes Dean realize he doesn’t want to lose Cas/he was wrong at making Cas the emotional scapegoat of his anger” but I don’t think it really worked. Dean was grieving and experiencing one of the most severe traumatic things in his life (actually, multiple at the same time). There’s no “right” or “wrong” in his emotions. I’m not saying that grief/trauma gives you a free card to be mean to others but… I mean, it does?? I think we’ve sort of created a culture of yelling “that’s abusive!!” at what are normal human experiences and expect that a person should act “properly” at all times. There’s a refrain of “x experience explains the behavior of y but doesn’t justify it!” which, sure, is valid with certain kinds of behavior, but there’s a whole jumble of normal human experiences in between “good” behavior and unjustifiable behavior.

Maybe I’m just culturally Catholic to the core, but all this pressure on Dean to beg for forgiveness for being harsh to Cas feels… iffy to me.

I guess I see forgiveness a bit differently, too, because I don’t think forgiveness - and especially when and how quickly you get there - is a choice. If Dean wasn’t emotionally ready to forgive Cas and open up emotionally to him again, then making him feel guilty for not being quick enough to get there is not exactly my idea of a healthy process.

Then there’s the “you didn’t stop me”, which, I get the whole thing behind it - Cas’ deepest fear is that Dean doesn’t care if he leaves, Dean’s deepest fear is that Cas is better off if he leaves, so, draaaama~~. But Dean has a history of people leaving him and feeling he can’t (isn’t worth) ask them to stay instead. Sure, it’s good drama. But I’m not sure that the narrative is allowing the space for understanding that Dean needs the emotional security of feeling like he’s worth to ask to stay just like Cas needs the emotional security of feeling like he has a place where he belongs and isn’t just a guest.

Again, I think it would be unfair to draw judgement of a narrative that is ongoing, and I hope that my fears are unfounded and the narrative will address what I wish it addresses! Of course with a little less than half a season still to go, emotional conflicts and character development can’t be wrapped up yet.

Another point you bring up is Dean’s reluctance to express his dissenting opinion. I do not think we have a pattern yet - his acceptance of Sam’s decision not to trap Chuck was intended, I guess, as a moment of growth in the sense that he acknowledged that Sam is a grown adult capable of drawing his judgement and make informed decisions, so he trusts Sam’s judgement and doesn’t drill him with questions. We still have to see how they all react to Jack’s revelation about Billie’s plan, so I would say to wait and see about that. Dean’s face at the end is not a “well this is excellent news” face, nor is Sam’s (who is framed after Jack talks about getting stronger, which is something Sam has a history with). Considering this season brought Lilith back, I’m sure they haven’t forgotten about Sam’s demon blood arc... I do wonder if Dean will avoid getting too confrontational with Cas, though. We’ll see.

Now, you say that he seems “superfluous to the plot”. I would normally say, well of course he’s superfluous to the plot, he’s the protagonist, he’s the one that reacts to the plot that happens around him. But I understand this is not the kind of answer you’re looking for. Honestly, I might be wrong, but I think that the first roughly-half of the season is the Male Part. The second part of the season should be the Female Part. In the first part, Chuck is rampant, Billie’s plan is dormant, Amara is minding her business and not being relevant to the plot, the plot is Sam-heavy, Rowena dies and reverts to playing a game of power, Mary is dead, Eileen is a piece played by Chuck. Now, with Billie’s plan being put in motion (although I don’t believe that’s the endgame or a Good Thing™ in unquestioning terms, but it’s still Death entering the game), I think a new phase should start. Dean confronting Chuck was already a start, and also how they got some support from a female deity that expressed negative opinions about Chuck -- I think that we’ve entered the second part of the season, and things are going to change. I’m looking forward to see what will be Amara’s role in all of this... especially considering that’s inextricably related to Dean’s role.

Feel free to ask for any clarification or addition or argument!!

#anon #my spn thoughts #spn meta #spn 15x09 #spn 15x10 #spn 15x11 #dean #dean and sam #dean and cas #dean and garth #spn

[etlunainmorte]

Very brief mention of abuse and bullying. Read with caution. Thank you!

***

📷 Memories 📷

***

"I'll be home soon, Kyrie. I promise. Okay." Nero placed his cellphone back to his pocket just in time to see Nico's mysterious black - haired friend glancing at something outside the window of the trailer.

"See something you like?" The young Devil Hunter asked, his eyebrows knitted in confusion at the way the man stared.

"She has been at it for almost an hour and a half,..." The man answered with a low voice.

"I told ya, don't mind what she does." Nico, who was fixing the broken camera at the back of the trailer where her messy workplace was situated, answered almost harshly. She gave a quick look at her friend, saw him still staring outside the window, and rolled her eyes in defeat. Then, with a slightly irritated look at Nero, she added, "See? He just won't listen!"

"What are you looking at, anyway?" Curious, Nero finally gave a glance outside the window to see what the man was staring at. And lo and behold, he saw Mary sitting at one of the old benches outside not far from where the trailer was parked, doing something really,... unusual. "Oh, this is something new. What's she doing?"

"I saw her taking out a sketchbook from that bag of hers. And she started,... scribbling." The man answered.

"Huh. Really?" Nero scoffed and collapsed at the chair opposite V. "Well, that's something new. At least she's doing something really productive for a change."

"Meaning?" It was V's turn to ask a question.

Ever since he arrived at the location, V couldn't help but feel that there really was something very odd about what was happening. At first, he thought that Nico was only exaggerating things to make him come out of hiding, hysterically saying stuff like Demons appeared here and there, did this and that, and that she needs his knowledge to get to the bottom of this. Now, years of extensive studies on Demonology has taught V that the evil creatures would not appear and wreak havoc on the surface unless they are ordered to do so by a higher, sort of high - ranking, Demon. Or if they are seeking something of utmost value. Regardless, when V arrived, he proved Nico's words to be the truth. Demons did appear here and there and did this and that.

However, he can't say that his knowledge about Demonology is enough to solve this mind - boggling issue about these creatures appearing out of nowhere.

And Mary's odd behavior, and most probably his guilt of wrecking the damn camera, didn't help with the situation, at all.

"You see," Nero began. " ... Mary was - "

"Hey,... " Nico interrupted all of a sudden. The two men both looked at her and saw her pointing at something right outside the window next to her. " ... that's Morrison!"

Morrison? Thought V as the Artisan went out to greet the new visitor,...

***

It's unmistakable. Marsha heard the girl crying. And she has never even heard or seen the child do so.

The tall and perfectly poised woman abandoned her knitting and sped towards the living room to see her niece trying to patch up what looked like wounds on her palms with bandages.

And not just any wound,...

"Mary?!" Marsha called. The little girl almost jumped in fear as she heard her name being called and tried to hide her hands behind her back.

And this only made Marsha even more suspicious.

The woman sighed, strode closer towards the girl, bent down and grabbed her niece's arms. "You don't hide things from me, young lady!"

"But, Marsha, it's nothing!" The girl hopelessly argued, for she knew she was losing. Marsha finds out about everything, and that was a fact.

But, the older lady was having none of Mary's arguments. Marsha pulled her niece's arms from behind her back, held out her little hands, and saw, in utter fright and disgust, the lashes and blood painting the girl's little palms.

And the sight infuriated Marsha to the bone.

The next morning, Mary found Marsha knitting again on her little space in the huge library.

"I'm going to school." Mary announced with a loud voice over the Doris Day song that was being played on a vintage record atop one of the antique tables next to the shelves to her left. It was Marsha's favorite song.

And to what Mary just said, the older lady looked up from her handiwork and only raised an eyebrow. Raising her wire - rimmed glasses above her pointed nose, she said, "Oh, you're not going to school today, young lady."

Mary furrowed her eyebrows in disbelief. "Why?"

"Because, I said so!" The woman answered, her facial expression as stoic as ever. "Now, do come here and keep me company."

The little girl, although doubtful of Marsha's decision to not drive her to school that one particular morning, obeyed, putting her bag on the floor next to the iron table and sat across her aunt. 

Looking at the many colorful yarns and several unfinished projects on the table, Mary asked, "How about tomorrow?"

"No." Marsha answered, her eyes never leaving her craft. Her answer remained the same for a week that Mary finally took up the courage to pick up one of the green yarns and a pair of darning needles from Marsha's knitting kit.

And this did not go unnoticed by Marsha, herself. Looking at Mary's freshly bandaged hands, and the needles she's holding, she nodded, and said, "Very well. I could teach you if you want. ONLY if you want."

Mary gave a sheepish smile and placed the yarn and the needles back to the basket before her. She, then, took out her sketchbook and some coloring materials from her bag and went on to finish that Venus art she's been working on for a week since Marsha forbade her to come to school.

It was not until another week when Mary finally found out that Marsha tried to press charges to the school and that awful teacher who gave her those wounds. Getting little to no justice after what happened, Marsha gave up and, instead, had Mary enrolled to a different school that was very far from that accursed place full of bullies, not to mention that devil Burns ( who only received penalties so light it's ridiculous, considering what he's done ) still on the loose and freely roaming about that campus.

It was also during that time when Mary almost memorized all of Doris Day's songs about love and heartbreak, and how not to question Marsha's decisions ever again.

***

" ... please, call me, Mary. I'm so worried about you - "

With furrowed eyebrows, Mary ended the voicemail from her aunt and made her way back to the trailer where she found, yet, another visitor sitting on a chair across that tall, black - haired man who stepped on Nico's camera.

Stuffing her cellphone back to her pocket, she saw the new visitor standing up and offering his hand to her.

"I'm Morrison." The man graciously introduced himself as he shook Mary's hands. "And you must be Mary Suermann! New accomplice of Nico?"

"Ah, yes, you might say that." Mary answered quietly as she took her hand from his, trying to ignore the fact that she could feel someone staring at her from behind her back. She carefully turned around without having to face V and stood next to the door, seeing that her companions were discussing something.

"So, let me get this straight," Morrison began as he settled back to his chair. " ... strange Demons began appearing randomly in some specific locations in this city? And not just any Demon, you say?"

"Yeah." Nero, who was sitting on the sofa next to V, answered. "Ahh, V, what did you say that Demon's name was, again?"

"Niddhogg." V answered, his low voice sending shivers down Mary's spine. She would never, ever, forget that voice, no. "But it wasn't particularly a Demon. It was a parasite that lives in an evil tree called the Qliphoth, which thrives on Human blood."

"And this Qliphoth tree," Morrison spoke. " ... are there any of those growing around here?"

"If there is,... then this city could very well be done for." V answered, successfully drawing all eyes on him in curiosity. "You see, this,... demonic tree,... grows quite,... let's just say,... rapidly. But, never mind that. The point is: there should be no Niddhogg if there is no,... Qliphoth,... to begin with."

"Niddhogg,... " Morrison mused as he rubbed his stubble. "I'm not gonna lie with you but, that is the first time I've heard of that thing. I don't even know what that looks like - "

"Exactly why Mary had to take pictures of it!" Nico added, emphasizing on the name like she was some kind of a criminal who committed such atrocious deeds. "Isn't that right, huh Mary?"

With a deep sigh, she took out her sketchbook from her bag, opened it, and handed it to Morrison, who gazed at it with such unmasked awe.

Not that the Demon illustrated in it was such a looker, no.

"Magnificent!" Morrison exclaimed. "Are you the one who drew this, Mary?"

With a little sheepish smile, she nodded, and answered, "Yeah."

Morrison looked up from the sketchbook, held it up for the others to see, and asked, "Is this the one?"

And to this, V's eyes widened for a fraction of a second. It truly was an exact and very detailed drawing of the demonic parasite Niddhogg.

Who knew this girl had some kind of a hidden talent?

"Indeed." V answered, a bit of admiration getting past his monotonous voice, which Mary didn't miss.

Nico, who was leaning against her jukebox, took the sketchbook from Morrison's hands and stared at it with widened eyes full of wonder and disbelief. This made Mary smile a bit, and V, who was observing this entire scene, didn't miss the little gesture.

"Whoa. Ya really are an artist!" Nico exclaimed.

"Why?" Nero butted in. "Don't believe her?"

Even before Nico could fire up her own response, Morrison cleared his throat and said, "I want to take a picture of that illustration, if I may. I would show it to my associate in the Devil Hunting business and see if he could crack any sort of thing, anything, regarding this demonic parasite."

Seeing that Morrison's statement was directed at her, Mary nodded, giving her full consent. And as the man began taking photos of her Niddhogg art with his cellphone, Nero asked, "Where were you going, anyway?"

"To the office of the said associate in the Devil Hunting business."

"You mean, Dante?"

"Right you are." Morrison handed the sketchbook back to Mary and placed his cellphone back to his breast pocket. "I have some things to discuss with him. About a man who was found dead in his own house just this morning."

"What happened?" It was V's turn to ask a question.

"Reports say he died of cardiac arrest. Not that big of a deal, to be perfectly honest. Except that this man was linked to the disappearance of a few children in the last decade. There are no sufficient evidence to prove his crimes but, investigations are underway after they found some curious things in his home right after his body was taken."

"And those are?" V pried even further, and it was honestly making Mary a bit nervous.

"Some trinkets and clothes that belong to children. Apparently, they were hidden in a small compartment just behind his fridge. The authorities found the man's body, and some emptied bottles of water, right next to it."

"Maybe they belonged to his kids, or something?" Nero tried to explain.

"Yes, except that this man had no children, or relatives living close by. And the only people he knew were his colleagues in a school he was teaching at. Now, don't you worry about this thing. You have your own problems to deal with. But, just to be sure that my hunches are wrong, I will speak to Dante regarding this - "

"This man," All eyes, including V's, all turned to see Mary looking wide - eyed and horrified as she stood near the door. " ... who was he?"

"His name," Morrison began as he stood up and gathered his things on the table. " ... was Roger Burns. He was a teacher at - "

"I know." Mary heard Nico's little gasp at what she just revealed. "He was my teacher."

"Oh!" Morrison exclaimed and put a hand on Mary's shoulder. "I'm so sorry for the loss of your teacher - "

"Actually, I'm not in the least bit sorry. In fact, he - "

"He?" Morrison and the others waited as Mary held out her hands to show them something. But, then, something made her stop as she somewhat stared in disbelief at her own hands.

V, who stood just in time to see what Mary was looking at, saw nothing but her smooth - looking palms.

"Girl, what are you trying to say?" Nico, who was getting a bit impatient, questioned.

Mary looked up, smiled, and brought her hands down. "Nothing! Just,... nothing."

"Alright, then! I'll take my leave. I'll see you around." Morrison, who pretended to not be weirded out by what just happened, tipped his hat and finally left the trailer with more questions than answers.

"Are you alright?" Nero, who placed a hand on Mary's shoulder, kindly asked.

With a smile, she answered, "Never better."

However, V knew that was a lie. Mary was hiding something from them. It was very clear to him. But, what was it?

And why should Mary open up to them in the first place? They wouldn't believe her if she told them that the scar caused by her now dead teacher was all but mysteriously gone!

***

📷📷📷

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#vitale #devil may cry 5 #vitale sparda #memories #mary suermann #v and oc #v and mary #chapter ii