#I think if you asked him. home is not there and has not been for a long time but it’s just. not anywhere else either

[madamechrissy]

Endless Summer

Pairings- Yandere! Caleb x F!reader

Summary- You are staying home from summer break before Senior year of college with your Gran, Josephine, when a huge surprise happens, after over a year of being unable to see Caleb, he comes back to stay. You're so happy, but there's just a couple problems - one, you want him in ways you shouldn't, and you're just starting to get over it with the distance. And two, Caleb is pretty fucking pissed that you have a date, isn't he enough for you!?

Warnings- eventual smut, idiots in love, light angst, taboo relationships, TW- stepcest, mutual pining, yandere Caleb, him being obsessed. This chap - light angst, resolved sexual tension (yay!) oral sex (f and m receiving) fingering, overstim, breed kink, creampie, lost of virginity, possessive Caleb, Yandere behavior- WC 8.2k

Comments/Reblogs appreciated if you enjoyy

<<<Part Three - Part five (final) (coming soon)

Part four

Caleb stands by your door moments later that night, gently rapping on it, to see you open the door in tears, streaking down your cheeks, the sight breaking him. Knowing he just caused this, caused your eyes to glimmer, your lips to tremble, the Caleb who never let anyone make his pip squeak cry, had made her cry instead, the guilt eating at him.

Torn between doing what’s right, and doing what is ‘right’-  what is it?! What’s the ‘right’ move, the safe move, the one that doesn’t hurt you? What does he do, be selfish and devour you, make you leave everything to live on a base alone, away from all your friends and gran? Change the entire trajectory of your life - or does he let you go and hurt you in that way too?

Losing the years and years of friendship, it’s already been tense because he crossed that line, he let his jealousy wreck his mind. Years of holding his composure, of being in total control, of smiling and patting your head like he truly just thought of you as ‘family’ or a ‘childhood friend’ and not what it’s always been.

Since he saw you he fell in love, there was never one moment of Caleb’s life that he didn’t feel that way. The love grew and changed to something obsessive, but the moment Gran brought you home he knew it even then, that he had to protect you, keep you safe. That he needed you, and the need just kept evolving, until it reached the most dangerous obsession.

How would he ever say he stole your fucking panties, that he’s jerked it to you since he knew what it was, that he never even got hard to anyone but you. And you’re begging to suck him, god to fuck him, and he turned you down. It makes not only no sense, he has hurt you, he saw it on your face, your glittery tears with the moonlight filtering in.

It’s what he never, ever wanted.

It’s why he held back - ruining your relationship.

Was it better to absolutely never know what it was like, kissing your lips, to taste your sweetness from its source? To have watched you cum for him is the stuff he’d never even been able to picture fully, and he was so close to having it all. So close to being inside you, with you, only to now have you crying.

“What?” Your voice is harsh and quiet, he swallows then, swiping a tear off your cheek gently.

“I’m sorry, fuck… please…” He leans down and rests his head on yours, you feel your heart shattering when he cups your face, whispering your name gently in the quiet night. “Pips…”

“No,” it hurts to deny him, when all you want is him. “I’m tired of putting myself out there.”

His eyes narrow. “What!?”

“I am, just to get rejected,” you sniffle again, barely holding your composure, body trembling now as his lips that just touched yours hover precariously.

“You think there’s a world I reject you in?” His desperate words are hushed, his violet eyes dark in the night.

“You just did, Caleb.”

“I didn’t want to, I just…”

“Well, you did,” you step back, catching a breath. “You never thought to just ask me if I’d come? Don’t you know I’d follow you anywhere?”

He opens his mouth to speak, before shutting it, swallowing nervously then, knowing he’s waited his entire life for this very moment, and he’s fucked it completely, he’s made you feel rejected when it’s the last thing he wants. He keeps trying to find the words, on the tip of his tongue, chest tightening with how much he needs you, how much he craves you - loves you.

Hopelessly in love since he saw you as a kid.

Say it, Caleb - just say it.

“I didn’t want to ask that of you, I didn’t want to take you away from everything you know and love.” You take a shaky breath, eyes locking with his.

“I can’t take feeling any more, doing any more, if you’re just going to leave me, forget me.”

“I’d never forget you,” he whispers, holding you so close, your hands grip his wrists then, biting that lip as you two stand there, shadows of your figures cast along the expanse of the highway. “I’ll never fucking forget you, how could I? But I don’t want to ruin everything over this.”

“How would being honest ruin anything?” He sighs now, violet eyes dark as they tenderly take in your face.

“It already has. Look at how we’ve been since I came back?”

“You don’t understand anything, Caleb. You think I’m sacrificing something being with you, when I always wanted you to be my first, that's why I waited.” He swallows down the guilt, the torture of your words then.

“And you think I don’t want it? To be your first?”

“You just told me no,” you step back and put your hand on the knob now, looking away from the face you love, the man you adore. “Just leave me alone please.”

He walks away without another word, but you see it - his own tears, as you shut the door and lean against it, an arm wrapping your own body, struggling not to break down completely. You’re a mess of tears, the sorrow building in your heart, the dread of having to say goodbye - and now you can’t even pretend things are fine the way they have been.

Now it’s all fucking out there.

Maybe he’s right, maybe this would ruin everything, but you’re just so tired of lying to yourself any longer. 

*****

“Why so quiet, you two?” Josephine asks, tiredly looking between you both as you sit at the breakfast table.

Caleb’s hands tense on his thighs, staring and not touching a bite of food, the veins pressing up under his skin, looking at you now. “I guess I’m a little sad that I’ll have to be so far away.”

“And I’m sad he’s leaving I suppose.” you murmur, she smiles sadly, nodding to each of your plates then. 

“You two still need to eat, you know.”

“I know, my appetite isn’t here.” You sigh, poking your fork around, you’re too close to Caleb, yet so fucking far from him, the distance agonizing. This morning you both hadn’t said a fucking word.

After you embarrassed yourself last night damn near begging for him, even after his apology you just felt stupid. You get it, why he is afraid to cross the line further, but how were you just supposed to be okay with it? He’s infuriating, just acting like shit is normal, even now he gives you a small smile, as if you can return it.

You don’t want to waste the last couple days with him like this, but you also can’t bring yourself to act like everything is just fine. That he didn’t shatter your heart turning you down, that he didn’t completely destroy you for anyone when he devoured you on his knees. Like you could ever move on now.

Maybe before you could move on, you could make it work, but now?

Your cell phone starts going off, and you sigh, looking at it now. “Ah, there’s a get-together tonight with my classmates.”

“Where at?” Caleb asks casually, you resist the urge to tell him - why bother asking - knowing at this point you’re being petty.

His rejection stings so badly, and not just because he rejected you, but his reasoning just made no sense.

“The club out by the college.”

“Ah, isn’t that a pretty rowdy place?”

“And?” You raise a brow, and his violet eyes narrow, as the sunlight filters in the large kitchen windows, brightening them.

“And, are you sure you wanna go?”

“Well it’s all my friends, so yes.”

“Maybe Caleb should come along?” You both look at Josephine then, who is sipping on her coffee. “You two want to spend more time together before he has to leave, right?”

“Right… but Caleb would find the scene pretty boring.” He raises a brow now, looking at you. “And I’m fine by myself.”

Those words stab him, he wonders if it’s your intention, to fucking hurt him by pointing out that you’re fine by yourself - that you don’t need him. Whether it was straightening your hair, driving, or just sleeping alone during the storms, you did not need him anymore. And he should be happy, since he’ll be gone for so fucking long, that you’re self sufficient.

But a part of him wants you to still need him.

A part of him wants to take you up on your offer, selfless as it is, and bring you with him, make you a pretty stay at home wife that he consistently keeps pregnant. It��s a fucked up thought track but all he can think, when he sees you the possessive instincts are far worse. It’s why he pushes you away, it’s why he tries so hard to keep his control, his composure that’s been shattered.

Now he can tell you want a rise out of him, but it works far, far too fucking well. “You’re right Gran, we should spend some time together while we can.”

“Is it really important, spending time with me before you go? Maybe you can play Bingo with Gran tonight.”

“Bingo?” He demands, his voice low, brows raised, you sip on your orange juice, smiling a bit.

“I think Caleb should go with you,” Gran’s words make you pause, looking over at her. “I don’t think he’d enjoy Bingo, all the ladies will terrorize him.”

“They wouldn’t leave me alone last time,” he grimaces, running a hand over his face, you laugh a bit at the memory, the first time he’s seen you truly laugh today, brightening your face so prettily. His heart stops as you clear your throat then, staring back at your plate. “Think I’ll cramp your style, chase off your little boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend, and I don’t know if he’ll be there.”

You’re clear about it - he’s not - but would he be, when Caleb left?

He has so much to say, so much he’s just dying to speak - how much he loves you, has always loved you. How deeply his feelings run, and how they’ll never fade, how they’ve just grown every moment in your presence, and every one in your absence. But to make it worse, the hurt, the possibility it doesn’t even work out, and you all lose everything.

“You can come if you want,” your voice is a little softer now, that sweet caress to his ears that fills him with even more longing. “I want you to go, it’ll be fun.”

“Yeah?” You nod, feeling how awful you’re being, and you can’t, you don’t have enough time to act this way.

If Caleb wants to be your friend, you will be his friend.

“Yes.” He brushes your hair back with a soft smile. It's familiar, it's a ruffle of your hair like you're still kids, that smile that always makes you ache.

Maybe going back to how you were would be the best thing, to forget the feelings eating you alive. The way everything stopped when he had finally kissed you, maybe you can forget it happened. It's clearly what Caleb wants. Later when you’re getting ready, and he walks by the bathroom he falters, eyeing your skirt and top, his lips parting as you pin an earring in.

“You’re wearing that?” He asks gruffly, you step out and do a little spin, showing off far, far too much skin and smiling.

“I am! Do you like it?”

He scoffs, stepping closer, your back pressing against the old wooden wall of the hallway, when a palm comes right on the other side of your head, his other letting his fingers trail across your shoulder. “Do I like it? Ya asking me that?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t, don’t want you trying to be nice-”

“You look slutty.” You gasp, smacking him then, and he exhales, gripping your chin and almost moaning.

“Fuck you for that.”

“See what happened? Can’t even get along, can we?”

“You know I’m not slutty, but maybe that’ll all change, hmm? Since the person I keep waiting for doesn’t want me - ah!”

“Don’t want you!?” He grabs your face then, his cheek still stinging, you bite back a whine when he leans low, his voice a whisper. “You know that’s the biggest fucking lie there is. I didn’t want to ruin it, everything we have - and what’s happening now, that we kissed?”

“You’re causing this,” you push him off then, tugging at your top, showing even more of your pretty tits as his jaw locks. “There, that’s better, right?”

“I swear to god-”

“Let’s go.”

The car ride was brutally quiet, his fingers kept hovering, itching to touch you over your bare knee, but you just looked out the window at the lights flashing by, fucking saying nothing. The tension and divide keeps growing with every breath, until you feel like you can’t breathe, it’s all him, all Caleb, and for him it’s all you. But the two of you make no move to speak, not even feigning casual conversation.

Caleb knows many of the people there, the two of you were only a couple of years apart in age and were always so glued together it was just par for the course that you spent time together. At times, Caleb’s friends would complain he always brought you everywhere, sometimes they would convince him enough and you’d stay home, but he’d miss you so badly it was hard to even have fun.

The nights spent waiting to see you again will be worse - further away - but also the looming thoughts of what he’d come back to. Quickly separated, he’s having a drink with a couple of the guys from his college days, and you’re downing a shot with one of your girls. That boy who’d marked your neck has the audacity to come up to you again, and Caleb’s hand clutches his glass tightly.

He almost can’t breathe, the lights suddenly flashing too quickly, there’s too many people, too much noise, his pulse races while he watches him tug you to the dance floor, something he wishes he could do. But how could he, in front of everyone, what would they say? Not about him, he couldn’t care less, but about you?

He can’t help but wallow in his own self made misery, picturing spinning you in his arms instead, it’s hard for him to hear what anyone is saying over the blaring music and his pulse racing in his ears. The thoughts keep flashing through his mind, over and over - his, his, his. Thoughts he has never been able to stop, the ones that are unbearable.

Caleb watches you over his glass now, he isn't drinking alcohol just soda, he'd rather make sure you're safe and okay. He almost needs a fucking drink though when he sees you, rolling your hips, that boy's hands on your hips as you dance. You’re giggling, drink in your hand, and he would think how pretty you were if he wasn’t contemplating breaking his fingers.

Is this what it would be when he leaves between the two of you? You moving on to some loser who could never, ever deserve you. You being with someone - fuck losing your virginity to some little idiot, when you begged for him to take it. Is that what he has to get in his head, the natural way of things, what's ‘right’ to do?

Caleb is so fucking tired of it.

Your eyes catch him across the dance floor, glassy as you never could handle your drinks. He remembers many nights of saving your ass when you'd sneak out, coming back tipsy from two little drinks, and he'd have to cover for you with Gran. Those were the moments he'd hug you a little tighter, let his hands linger, hoping you'd never notice.

But you'd cling to him, kiss his neck, giggle in that maddening way. Torture, you torture him. There is no other explanation for it, for what you do, but torture, and tasting you was just the sweetest form of it, having you beg him to be inside you, yet he turned it down, like a fucking idiot. He finally has what he wants and he’s terrified, now left to watch you as the lights illuminate your skin.

Each sway of your hip is painful to Caleb, knowing how badly he wants to grab your hips, when finally he can’t fucking stand it anymore. He can see by your mean little smile you want him jealous, you want the reaction - and he’s right. You do want that reaction, you want him to crave you, need you, in every single fucking way. You want him to desire you like you do him.

You don’t care about this boy, you almost feel sorry, you feel petty doing this, but you want to show Caleb what he is missing, shoving aside. For what? To be whatever he deems as okay, safe, the ‘right thing’, when all you want is more of him, all of him. Every movement is for his gaze, every casual role of your hips is thoughts you’re craving to tell him.

But you’re so scared of his rejection.

He starts walking your way, for a moment you think you’re in some delusion, that you’re just actually in your room still, crying yourself to sleep. In some wet dream where Caleb will take control, where he’ll beat your ass with that firm hand, tell you how bad you’ve been, filthy things that almost make you cry out loud, until he’s standing right in front of you, tugging you from the boy’s grip.

“We're leaving,” Caleb's tone is dark as he grabs your wrist, the boy fucking runs off from one look from Caleb, his long fingers wrapping your wrist tightly. He leans low, so close he can taste the sweet liquor on your breath. “Now, pipsqueak.”

“You can go, I'm having fun, Caleb,” you're giggling and sipping down your fruity drink, earning his deeper scowl under the lights, and people start watching you two curiously. “Something wrong?”

He laughs without humor then, shaking his head and taking your drink out of your hand. “Everything's fucking wrong.”

“And whose fault is that?” You lean up then, on your tiptoes, your hand on his shoulders, burning his skin even under the layer of his jacket, he inhales sharply at the sensation, his hands resting on your bare waist. “What exactly is wrong?”

“You shouldn't be out looking like this,” his grip tightens, and you gasp. “Only I should see your pretty body, in your slutty little fucking dress.”

“You don't even want to. I'm tired of your games.” You turn and he tugs you back to him, bringing you right against his chest in front of everyone, many who murmur to themselves a bit at the sight.

Caleb sighs, looking around and hesitating, but then sets your glass down with a cling, and tugs you closer, scowling right down at you. Your heart pounds in your chest, thrumming against his while he towers over you, a huge hand spread across your skin. “I’m not the one playing games, you are.”

“Don’t you care that they can see?” You whisper, he tilts your chin up then, shaking his head. “Haven’t you always?”

“I only cared because I worried what you thought, that’s it, that’s all I’ve ever worried about. You. Only fucking you, do you understand!?” He’s too close, you smell the scent of him, overpowering all the other mixed scents in the room, it’s all just Caleb now, the heat spreads through your body at his words, at his touch.

“I’ve never cared what anyone thought, I’d tell them all what I really feel,” he shakes his head, leaning lower now. “We’ve wasted all this time pretending, do you want to keep on with it? Should I go back and dance with him, and we go home to our separate rooms? That’s the ‘safe’ idea, right?”

“You think I’m letting you fucking dance with him again, his hands all over you? Your ass, your waist, your hips…” He trails off, fingers working their way, across the thin little crop top, down your skirt, your nipples press against the material of your top, soft on your skin, you can’t hold back your whine.

“Then show me - stop holding back. God, just show me what you actually feel, even if it’s for tonight,” your little whisper ends him, Caleb pulls back however, and you feel the emotions burning your eyes, until he’s tugging you away. “Caleb… what’re you doing?”

He says nothing, it’s humid and sticky outside, after passing the sea of curious onlookers - some smiling curiously, others with raised brows. Caleb - who sees you as a ‘little sister’ they all say, grabbing at you, leaning so close he could kiss you, perhaps they’re all murmuring right now, just what are you both to each other?

Caleb never, ever wanted anyone to hurt you with a rumour, it’s another reason he’s held back so long, but as he drags you to his car now, he’s quick in his strides, his mind lost completely. He’s torn between fucking you right in the car and realizing it’d be the worst fucking place to take you the first time. He’s tugged in two directions, an angry desire and an aching tenderness.

You’re quiet when he puts you in the car, when he comes to the other side and revs it up, the soft music playing one of your favorite songs, the air starting to blow cooly on your skin. Before you can speak, he’s leaned over the seat, that insane look in his eyes barely visible in the darkness, the quietness of the car, just that gentle hum of music and his heavy breaths.

He cups your face, thumbs slipping across your cheeks, your own hands come to grip his wrists as he just looks at you, breaths heavier and heavier. It fans across your lips, your skin, burning you as he’s so close to kissing you, so close you can taste him, a hand entangling in your hair and tugging, making you cry out, your head falling back.

“Did you like making me jealous?” His voice is dark now, tugging harder. “Asked ya a question, pips.”

“Yes,” he scowls deeper, you shift your hips, cunt aching from the sweet pain, from the need. “It shows your real feelings, the one you fucking bury.”

“So you did it all to make me angry?” You nod, you’re past pretending, he chuckles then, just a scoff of a laugh, looking down at your lips. “Should I show you just how fucking mad I am?”

“Show me - mnh!” Caleb slams his lips on yours then, the kiss is hot, hungry, brutal, not a gentle peck or a seductive caress, he takes over everything you are in that moment.

“Acting slutty when you’re mine, showing off your body when it’s for me,” you’re whining out, trembling when he kisses you in between insults, ones that are just making you throb, making you ache, his teeth sinking into your lips now. “Mnh, why do you torture me?”

“Torture you?” Caleb’s kissing down your throat, a hand gripping your thigh and pressing them apart, earning a ragged gasp from your lips, your hand grips his jacket, the denim of it against your fingers. “Ah!”

“You’ve tortured me for so long, fuck…” he’s lost in you, in your taste while his tongue licks a stripe right under your jaw, feeling your heat when his fingers press against your thigh. “Since I met you, haunting me, fucking up my head just by existing, don’t you even know!?”

You shake your head, and he moans, nipping your ear, his lips against it, murmuring your name so softly as you shift in the leather of his seats, head falling to the side for more of his greedy kisses. “Caleb, please.”

“Just say it, and I’ll give it to you. I swear I will.” He pulls back, swallowing nervously, studying your beautiful face in the dark, the heat decorating your cheeks, the way your lashes cast shadows on them. He feels the heat burning his hand, he knows you want it, but he has to hear it.

“I want you to let me touch you,” he moans, shaking his head. “I want to suck you.”

“You’re talking like that!?” He glares now, and you bite your lower lip, already swollen from him. “I’ll make you cum.”

“You can, after I taste you, Caleb,” he sighs, pulling back, sitting back in his seat and making you glare. “Really, thought you’d give me anything?”

“I’ll give it to you, on the way back, because I’ll cum inside that pretty fucking cunt,” you blush then, and he smirks just a bit. “Now ya nervous? Take what you want, pips, think I’ll stop you?”

He starts driving when you precariously lean forward, he’s unzipped in moments, moaning as your hair falls to the side, and you touch him over his boxers. “Caleb… y-you’re huge…”

“Can you take it all?” His voice is a challenge, your cunt is leaking against your panties when you tug him out, and he’s driving, the car gently swaying, his free hand gripping your hair.

“I want it all,” your whisper brushes his blush tip as you free him, a dusky rose pink, leaking pearly precum. You bite back a gasp at just how big he is, thick and girthy, straight cock all veiny as you press a kiss to the tip. He jerks, gasping and gripping your hair.

“Fuck…” He can’t barely handle a fucking kiss, let alone your little tongue along the slit, tonguing out his salty liquid leaking. “Honey…”

“You’re yummy too,” your little whisper is met with you sucking his tip in your mouth now, never having done it before. He’s tugging your hair tightly, but not moving you, almost pulling you back. “I want you to feel good.”

“I want you cumming, god it’s all I want, you cumming till you fucking pass out - mnh,” you suck him then, as he struggles to keep his hands on the steering wheel, your mouth feeling so fucking good he can’t stand it. “Pips, fuck, don’t take too much.”

“Mnh,” is all your response is, as you suck him deeper, saliva dripping down his cock, bobbing up and down, pressing your thighs together. His fingers slip down your spine, to the curve of your ass, slipping up your slit now, feeling it sticky and drenched to the touch. “Ah!”

“You’re this wet from sucking me?” He taunts, only making you suck him harder, the suction causing you to drool, while your hand grips his jeans, trying to balance yourself while the car drives. “I can’t wait to be inside you, fuck every thought of anyone out of your head. It’ll be just me, won’t it?”

“Mmhmm!” You’re so wet you hear it in the car, when he’s running his fingers back and forth over your clit, over and over, wetness pouring as you drool down his length, feeding off his little whimpers, his breaths catching. You’re sucking more and more, until he comes to a stop, yanking you off. “Caleb!”

“No, I’m cumming inside you,” he whispers, you realize you’re in front of your home in a daze, as he kisses you, tasting his salty cum off your tongue, tugging you against him. “Let’s go.”

You’re following him around the back yard, to the little poolhouse you all haven’t been inside in ages, the quiet one that you used to spend time in together as kids, less and less as the years went. He’s quietly stepping inside of it, littered with memories of every encounter when he shuts the door, turning you and pressing you against it.

“You’re all mine, don’t you know?” His whisper is dark, he cups your chin, turning it now, your lips part as your ass arches back, feeling his hard length when he presses you closer against the door. “Say it.”

“All yours,” it’s what you’ve always wanted to be, he kisses you again, moaning into your lips, when you feel the skirt unzip, falling into a pool at your ankles. “Caleb, please.”

“Let me take my time,” he’s this mix of needy, whiny and sexy, fucking self sure, hands tremble for just a moment when he slips your straps off your shoulders. “Lift your arms.”

You do just that, letting him tug your top off, leaving you in ruined, soaked panties. He turns you now, eyes studying your tits, hands gripping them, covering them, thumbs brushing your nipples. Your head falls back, while he kisses up your collar bone, your throat, and your panties are just nothing, stuck fabric pressed up between your lips now, you’re shoving his jacket off, he pulls back.

Caleb lets it fall, then you eagerly unbutton his shirt, pressing a kiss on his chest, right next to where his dog tags and that little apple lie, he sucks in a breath, picking you up then like it’s nothing. Your thighs are around his hips, when he carries you, lips only leaving for a quick breath or two, his hands gripping your ass now, as you grind eagerly on him.

Caleb carries you to the little bed you two used to cuddle on, watch movies on your phones under the blankets, giggle as he’d tell you a story, the memories of every inch of this little house feel perfect. You never, ever want to let them go, just mixing with new ones while he leans over you, your hand comes to his chest, eyes locking, and he holds in against him, drinking in the sight of you.

“Stop me now,” he whispers, and you shake your head. “Pips, before we cross this line, before I fuck your insides up, fill you over and over.”

“I want it, I want all of you- ah!” He’s kissing you again, teeth clicking, your noses bumping as he tilts his head, drinking every cry, one arm braced against you, his hard body sweating just slightly, dripping a bit on your bare skin, when he rubs you again over those panties. “Please, in me. God please.”

“Fuck,” he should be begging you, but he instead desperately kisses lower, sucking a pretty nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around one. “Perfect, beautiful, look at you.”

“Caleb!” He’s still rubbing that sad little strap of material against your cunt, pulsing around nothing with need, his teeth scraping an areola, so sweet and painful the pleasure fucks your mind. “Take 'em off, ngh!”

“Impatient, you put me through that much tonight and think I’ll give you what you want that quick?” His lips quirk at the corner now, watching the flushed mess you are. “I think I’ll take my time.”

Your answer is another whine as he sucks your other nipple, harder, cheeks hollowing as his soft brown hair falls over his brow. “Ah!”

You’re so beautiful under him then, when he eyes you, mouth a slutty o, tits bouncing just so when your hips jerk, overstimulated from his teasing over the lace and cotton. “Are you gonna be a good girl, pips?”

“Promise,” he chuckles, kissing lower then, tip of his pink tongue trailing between two breasts, right between your ribcage. You’re arching for more, when his kisses move lower, hands gripping your hips tightly. “Oh my god!”

He’s nipping your hip now, leaning up and slipping his hand down your thigh, your calf, slipping off a heel and tossing it to the floor. The other follows, when he finally grips your waistband, tugging them down achingly slow. You’re a writhing mess under him, as he kisses lower, breath ghosting your cunt, he sees it’s soaking wet and glistening.

“Your cunt is so wet already, is it only for me? Huh pips, just me?” You’re nodding, when he smacks your cunt, making you gasp. “Answer me, use those words pretty girl.”

“Only you, Caleb, god just you. Always you.” He lets out what sounds like a soft growl, broad shoulders spreading your thighs as your hands entangle in his hair.

“What do you need, how can I make you feel good?” He kisses up your inner thigh, torturing you, teasing you. “How can I make you forget anything but me?”

“There’s nothing but you, n-nothing, oh!” He presses a hungry kiss right on your hood then, your eyes roll back.

“Tell me what you need, use your words honey,” he urges you on, slipping a long finger, calloused from the amount of training he’s done, rough on your gentle, slick cunt, feeling even more delicious. “How can I make you feel better, where do you need me?”

“Mouth on m-me, please,” he moans now, already dying to have you back on his tongue, slipping it up your slit ever so slowly. “Ngh!”

“Do you know how many times I tasted you over the years?” You blink rapidly, confused and fucked out from his teasing, brain trying to register as he parts your puffy lips, tongue slipping up from your hole to your clit.

“Huh? How?” He chuckles then, the tickling alone having you gripping the sheets underneath you, gasping out when his teeth are against your cunt.

“You really wanna know?” You nod desperately, brushing his hair back gently, his fingers slip inside your hole now, filling and stretching you out, curling right on your spot. “Aw, can’t talk?”

“Y-yes, tell me. I wanna know - f-fuck!” He’s curling his fingers inside your gummy, slick walls, which quiver around him as his mouth kisses messy and filthy over your clit.

“Well, pips,” he watches as your body jerks, feeling you tense while his fingers work you like they’ve learned so quickly, your juices pouring down his wrist. His tongue slips some of it up, groaning. “Took your panties.”

“You w-what… ah!”

“Licked you off them, mnh,” he’s rutting his cock against the mattress now, while you’re arching up for more, head falling back in ecstasy as the pressure builds. “Buried my face in them.”

“Caleb you d-didn’t even, you’re - ah!” He’s sucking your clit into his mouth, humming as his fingers move up and down, over and over, and you feel it all building, the heat in your core, the slickness of your cunt louder and louder. “Lying!”

“Not lying, god I use them to jerk off once I’ve sucked all your wetness off them, they’re just not enough, not as yummy as your pretty pussy is from the source. Soaking, dripping wet - there you go, feel good?”

“Y-you jerked off in them!?” He’s chuckling again, leaning up, his chin coated in your slick arousals, you’re so close, when his thumb rolls on your clit, right with his middle and ring finger rocking up and down over and over, making you scream out, hands locked in their death grip of the cotton.

“Sure did, every pair I could find,” he leans over you now, rocking his hand with so much pressure you can’t stand it, writhing and gasping out at it. “You sure you really can handle me? Can you handle what I’ll do, when I lose it, finally inside you?”

“Caleb, god just, yes I want it! I do, stop teasing me.” You’re done for when he rocks them over and over, pressure exploding until your orgasm rocks you in waves, a messy, sloppy cunt pouring, pulsating around his thick digits.

“That’s it, cum f’me, just me, only me,” he’s lost now, kissing your cries up, while you gush embarrassing amounts of wetness down him, dripping onto the sheets beneath you until it leaves a wet spot on the white. “That’s it, you’re so beautiful, god pips.”

He’s kissing you now, letting you taste yourself, while his fingers continue to glide, making you jerk now, while they’re between now puffy lips, messy and soppy with the juices spilling. He slides down his pants, his boxers then, cock slapping his bare stomach, precum dripping on his flat belly button, finally laying on top of you, and that’s when he pauses.

He brushes your cheek with his fingertips so tenderly it makes your throat close with emotion, swallowing nervously when you reach down, stroking his thick cock with your little hand, barely wrapping the girth of it. He sucks in a breath, still brushing your cheek softly, his other arm so tense you see the veins pressing up from his thin, pale skin, decorated with faint freckles.

“Honey, are you sure?” He asks then, thumb brushing your swollen lip, plump under the pad of it. “This is your first time.”

“I always wanted it to be you, Caleb,” you blink back tears now, sniffling just a bit, because for every bit of desire there, in equal parts was emotions. “I want this, I want you inside me.”

“Fuck,” he’s letting you put it there, before he takes his cock, running the pale pink tip up your slit, bumping your clit, making your eyes roll back, your thighs jerk now. “It’s… it’s my first time too.”

You pause, looking up at him in surprise now, your mouth opens just a bit, hand slipping up his bare chest, where you feel his heart hammer. “You’ve never?”

“No, never, you just thought so. And I… was…”

“Embarassed?” You finish, he pauses, leaning on an elbow now, pressing in just a bit, enough to make you cry out. “Caleb, don’t be. Please don’t be.”

“I’m not here with you. But I want this perfect, so perfect for you, and… what if I can’t…”

“Shh,” you cut him off now, hips arching up, his tip pressing inside, stretching you. “With you? It’ll be perfect.”

He moans and slams his lips down, cock pressing past that tight ring of muscles, so thick he’s stretching you out so much it burns, it hurts. The first prick of pain causes a little cry, and he pauses, worry filling his amethyst eyes, even as the desire to shove his entire cock inside your cunt fills him. He rests his head on yours, pausing there, not moving, hands on your hips now.

“Are you all right? I can eat you out more - I could do it all fucking night,” he says softly, pulling back now, you cry out in pain again, and he frowns, immediately worried. “Am I hurting you!?”

“No, n-no just give me a minute, you’re really big,” he flushes, thankful you can’t see in the dark, letting you adjust, pressing little kisses along your brow, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “I want it, I want you. I need you - ah!”

Caleb’s done then, slamming his cock half way, that alone is so many inches stuffed in your perfect cunt, and you take it so perfectly. “Made f’me, aren’t you? Say it, pips, say it.”

“M-made f’you,” you’re hardly able to talk, so sensitive that when Caleb bottoms out, you feel an orgasm hitting, you’re gushing, tight muscles contracting, as his big hands grip your hair, and his lips move over yours. “Mnh!” 

“That’s it, mmm she’s so wet, so fucking tight - ah fuck…” Caleb’s lost then, in the cries filling his ears, in your gummy walls just gripping him so tight he can’t take it, a hand entwines with yours as he sinks in fully, pressing your cervix. “So tight.”

“C-Caleb! You’re so deep!” You’re gripping his back, nails pressing in as his drooly tip hits your cervix, looking to see his eyes have gone black. 

“God I wanna fill you, breed you, fuck you so much you can’t walk,” he’s lost now, lifting your thigh and fucking you harder, delicious strokes that destroy you with every thrust of his hips. You’re shaking underneath him, lost in his words, filling your mind with filthy images. “Have you dripping my cum, next time you dance with someone - hah - it’ll be slipping down your little hole.”

He’s mean with his strokes, but his fingers are entwined with yours, your tits are jiggling as he shoves deeper, so deep. You’re so full, tummy tensing as you feel him everywhere, yet his kisses are gentle, for every brutal thrust there’s a caress of his rough fingers, a murmur of beautiful for every slutty little cunt. The duality of him, the love and caring, then the filthy desire is impossible to handle.

You’re so close again, and he sees it, he knows it, shoving your thighs up and fucking you harder and harder, the sounds filthy, while your nails sink in and leave marks he hopes last forever. His fingers leave bruises as he fucks you hard, skin slapping, heavy balls hitting your ass where your cum is dripping down it, making a mess of you both.

“So messy, god you love it, being filled by me, huh?” You helplessly nod, while Caleb pounds harder, your cunt is struggling to adjust, stretch and accommodate, and he’s lost again. “Need to cum, honey? Need me to play with your little clit?”

“Pl-ease Caleb, please,” you’re whimpering, the sound mixed with your fluttering eyes and flushed skin too perfect, Caleb shoves your thighs up high then, thumb finding your clit. “Ngh!”

“That’s it, only I know you, only I will ever know you like this, say it,” he’s running circles now, torturous ones with slower strokes, hard ones that make those filthy wet smacking sounds. “Say it, Pips.”

“Only you will, g-god there! Please!”

“I’ll give you anything beautiful, anything,” his cock shoves in so deep, you can’t breathe with the fullness, his finger working in tandem to push you right over that edge, letting out a shaky moan. “That’s it, cum for me, just me, only me.”

Your orgasm crashes hard, spreading throughout your body once that coil in your tummy releases. You’re shaking, body tensing and twitching, cunt spasming around the thick invasion in your cunt now. Caleb moans as he watches you, pausing for a moment, as you murmur his name, almost drunkenly. The pleasure is so intense - even more so than his mouth, than his fingers.

You feel tears fall from the sweet release as Caleb continues to fuck you, his thrusts slower, easier, whispering your name. Not pipsqueak, not honey, no he says your name like a love declaration, eyes never leaving yours, so full of everything you know he wants to say, the things you’re holding back even with him inside of you, making you feel like you’re falling apart.

It’s too much, so much pleasure you can’t even think, can’t do anything but feel him, as he keeps up those little circles now, watching you twitch and spasm underneath him. “C-Caleb, it’s too much, s-sensitive…”

Your cunt grips him like a vise, and he chuckles now, not sweet Caleb, no he’s insane. “You can cum again, can’t you pips? Waited forever for this, I need you cummin’ till you can’t think, can’t see, can’t form a word.”

He’s relentless, his thumb on your clit now faster again, more insistent as it twitches under him, making you scream as you come apart, muscles spasming around his cock, juices spurting out onto his stomach with the force of it. The sight is too much for him, you don’t even see it, you're squirting all over, your head is thrown back, your mouth wide open in a cry.

“That’s it, look how messy you are, you want it - me to fill you?” He asks softly, husky voice so deep, like a soft growl, leaning back to spread your thighs now, letting them fall and tremble to the side. “God, look.”

He’s enamored with the bulge, you’re too fucked out to answer, while he moves slowly, savoring every inch, your juices falling all over, making a squishy mess of your hole now. You’re taking him easier and easier, hips arching where they bucked back before, hands shaking when he takes one, kissing the back of it, so tender you almost cry.

How would you ever let him go now?

He brushes your hair back, kissing you again, exhaling as he feels the love declaration on the tip of his tongue, still so terrified to cross that line, but he knows it then, what he’s always known. You are his everything, you are the only thing in this world that means something, and now your fucked out, lidded gaze hits him, the beauty gripping his heart.

“You’re s-so perfect f’me, so beautiful,” you blink more tears, god even those make him thicken, make the head of his cock swell, while he feels your aftershocks. “You’re mine to breed, only mine, mine to fill with all this cum. I need you to say it, Pips, say you want it all.”

He’s insane, you know it then, his possessive eyes glinting. “Breed?”

“Yes, put so much cum inside you, fuck put babies in you,” he grips your chin, as the words terrify you as much as they make you wetter. “Hide you away from anyone, never let a man fucking touch you.”

“C-Caleb-”

“Say it, say it, you’re mine all mine,” he’s whining out, pleading, even as his cock wrecks you - how the fuck Caleb was a virgin you can’t even fathom. He cups your face tightly, eyes black with desire. “Say it.”

“Yours, yours too breed, yours to fill, y-yours,” you finally manage the words, and he moans, lips slamming down, when he shoves in one more time, flooding your cunt with so much cum, it’s ridiculous the amount of white, puffy ropes that shoot up and coat your walls then. “Caleb!”

“Wanna put babies inside you, so fucking many, you’ll never ever leave me, will you? Never,” you’re just nodding, crying hot fat tears as his cum pumps more and more, his cock pushing it deep, your thighs press into his narrow hips, heels against the dimples on his back as he rolls them again. “Never leave me. Never let anyone t-touch you, h-have you.”

“C-caleb,” you’re shushed with his kisses, as he says shit you don’t even understand, as you watch him fall off the edge with his possessiveness, he kisses up your jaw in the quiet poolhouse, the fan overhead swirling, cooling your sweat slicked skin. “Mnh!”

“Sore, honey?” You manage a nod, your cunt is sore, achy and throbbing, he pulls back, looking down at you with such affection and love your heart clenches. He sighs softly, kissing your forehead, exhaling, his breath blowing the baby hairs on your brow. “I got carried away, you felt so perfect.”

“N-no, no I loved it.” He sighs again, this time in relief, as he leans back, kissing your lips, cock slipping out and dripping with both of you down to the blankets.

“You need me to make you feel better, don’t you? I was too rough.”

“You weren’t, it was perfect,” you give him a tremulous smile, seeing his relief mix with concern when he eyes your abused hole, fingers slipping down it and making your hips jerk just a bit. “I just can’t… this can’t be just once.”

“You think I’d do it just once? I don’t want it just once tonight,” you’re blushing so pretty, he chuckles a bit, before focusing again. “I need to clean you up. Wait right here, okay?”

You nod, heart pounding, soon Caleb has you all cleaned up, the evidence of your first time apparent, tugging on his heart as he worries he was too rough, but you’re blissfully smiling when you sleep in his arms, wearing his dress shirt and nothing else. As Caleb holds you in his arms, everything starts crashing - reality, that you’re both in a pool house, that your relationship has changed forever.

Could everyone accept it?

He would never care, but again he thinks of you - always of you, smiling as you cuddle him, snuggle him. He brushes your hair back, wanting to figure out everything as much as he can, the logistics, what he should do, what wasn’t just ‘right’ for everyone, but right for you.

Another part of him is thrilled your cum is slipping out of your cunt, he hadn’t even asked you if you’re on anything, he hopes you’re not actually. The sick, twisted desire and possession fills him, he could eat his cum out while you sleep soundly, put more cum inside you, it takes everything to hold back, to just kiss your head, his eyes fluttering shut.

That’s when he hears it.

A murmur, a whisper, in your sleep.

‘I love you, Caleb’

Do you… feel the same for him?

yes they FINALLY made progress lol, their end next chap will be happy dw, thanks for everyone reading this one :') It's my first Caleb chapter fic and I def am enjoying it hehe

Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine 🍷

tags- @blitziwitch @mcdepressed290 @hyunjifilm @mentaltrouble2201 @aquarianbeat @tartartagliaboo @trishiepo0 @virtualityhome @slytherin-min99 @plzdonutpercieveme @taebvby @jlynns-posts @coralbae @thejujvtsupost @deathrye @tsumoorin @mynsan @lostfracturess @dummiebunny @ashirelle @ilovesugurugeto69 @ilovechanyeol16 @sylusqt @liluvtojineteyam @lunaryasha @maisiefrancesca @ravenbc @straows @callme-amaya @yandereaficionado @wordsgodeep @bandomonia @ellexamor @sukunasunflower @wooasecret @kithyyy @yizhouge @dreamingoftomorrow @sylvieisoffline @whiteghostt @szafficat @lhhlver @sanzy4 @chaoticbardlady99 @mistress-daddy-nyx @pinksaiyans @webshooterrr9 @mynsan @bluerskiees @keylimepiebby

[mooningningg]

Extra Credit - Megumi F. (2)

about. you're flunking all your subjects. He’s a virgin. So you strike a deal—he tutors you academically to win a girl he has a crush on, and you tutor him in sex, simple.

parts. chapter 01, chapter 03

pairings. nerd!megumi x popular girl!reader

words. 16.04k (long ahh)

content. virgin!megumi + experienced!reader, Explicit sexual content – dry humping, making out, handjob, semi-public tension, teasing, dirty talk, reader guiding Megumi through his first sexual experience. Power dynamics. Smug, experienced reader. Slight humiliation kink if you squint. Megumi is flushed and wrecked and learning. This is a part of an ongoing tutoring-for-sexual-experience fic. Reader is not kind. She is hot and she knows it. ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP I DON'T WANT NO SMOKE OR SOMEONE BEING A HATER IN MY COMMENTS.

notes. we're heating up yalllll!!! and please give me feedback, i need to know what you think...

The hallway was nearly dead. Final bell rung, students scattered like roaches, and the only sounds left were the squeaks of custodians’ shoes on waxed tile. You checked over your shoulder before stepping around the corner—god forbid anyone saw you doing what you were about to do. Megumi was at his locker. Alone. Perfect. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, tapping the toe of your heel on the linoleum like it owed you money.

“So what time are we gonna start?” you asked. Megumi barely looked at you, sliding a textbook into the pit of his backpack like he’d been expecting this exact confrontation. “Tomorrow after lunch sounds good,” he muttered, shutting his locker.

You opened your mouth to agree—until he added, “Except Fridays. I’m not free Fridays.”

“Why not?” you asked, tilting your head. That made him stop. His hand tensed a little at the strap of his bag, and his jaw tightened.

“I said I’m not free,” he replied, curt and bitter. No explanation. No eye contact. Like the subject was shut down, dead, buried six feet under.

You blinked. “Okay... geez.”

There was an awkward silence before you straightened up. “Where?” Megumi finally looked at you.

Expression flat. “The library?” he offered—except he didn’t offer so much as mock your own question back at you in that deadpan way that made you want to strangle him.

You rolled your eyes so hard it nearly gave you a concussion. “No. Obviously not. Everyone’s at the library. You think I’m gonna sit there and let people see me get tutored? Fuck no.”

He tilted his head at you, slowly. “You asked me three times to tutor you,” he said, unimpressed, “and now you don’t want to be seen with me?”

You scoffed. “It’s not like that.” Except... it kind of was. You scratched at your nail polish. “I just... don’t want people knowing I need tutoring. That’s all.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie. You just left out the part where the worst thing imaginable would be the entire school finding out that you—the hot, put-together, braincell-deprived queen of hallway dominance—were being saved academically by none other than Megumi Fushiguro. The social suicide would be irreversible.

Megumi studied your face, and for a split second—tiny, barely-there—his expression softened. Then it disappeared. He sighed through his nose. “Your place?”

You nearly gagged. “No way in hell.” He raised a brow. “Then my place.” You hesitated. “...Will anyone be there?”

“My dad’s never home.” A pause, you weighed it, it was private. No foot traffic. No one you’d run into.

Fine.

“Okay. After school.”

“Fine,” he echoed, slinging his bag onto one shoulder.

“DM me the address.”

“DM you?” he asked, like the phrase itself was in a different language.

You blinked. “Yeah. On Instagram?”

“I don’t use Instagram.”

Your jaw dropped. “What the fuck are you made of?”

“I don’t need social media,” he replied, monotone, already turning away.

“Okay what about Snapchat?”

“No.”

“Tiktok?” He blinked at you like you just asked him if he sacrificed animals.

“Twitter?”

“No.”

“BeReal?”

“What even is that?”

You groaned dramatically and yanked a pen and notebook from your bag. “Oh my god, just write it down like we’re in the 1800s.” He took the pen and jotted something quick and sharp. You snatched the paper back and stared.

A home address. Somewhere in a quiet residential stretch near the edge of Tokyo. You didn’t recognize the neighborhood, but it didn’t seem too far. “5PM,” he said as he adjusted his glasses.

You looked up. “Don’t be late,” he added, voice flat. “Or I’m not answering the door.” And before you could reply, Megumi was already walking off, hoodie pulled over his head like he hadn’t just completely dictated your entire life schedule without blinking.

You stood there in the hallway, staring at the little piece of paper in your hand. Megumi Fushiguro’s house.

What the fuck were you getting yourself into?

You hated when the day dragged like this.

That sticky, post-class limbo where everyone slowly trickled toward freedom, chattering, laughing, slamming lockers, making plans. You walked through it all like you were underwater, like every sound passed through cotton. Your heels clicked against the tile, echoing faintly behind you as you made your way toward the parking lot.

Your mind wasn’t quiet. Not even close. No plan. No clarity. No relief.

Just the endless cycle of circling grades, your future slipping out of your manicured hands, and the ghosts of things you didn’t want to admit still mattered. Like him.

Noritoshi fucking Kamo.

You hadn’t seen him in days. Not really. Glances in hallways didn’t count. The silence since the breakup had felt like both punishment and relief. And yet— There he was.

Across the parking lot, heading toward his car. One hand holding his keys, his expression unreadable in that impossibly calm, infuriatingly composed way. The soft amber sun carved highlights in his hair, golden against his blazer, his steps easy. You didn’t know why your feet moved. Didn’t know why your voice rose above the wind.

“Noritoshi!” He stopped. Turned.

You instantly regretted it. And yet… you were already walking toward him. Too fast. Too desperate. He looked surprised at first, taken aback that you—of all people—were approaching him now. But then his expression softened. Slightly. That dangerous softness, the one that had always undone you.

“Can we talk?” you asked, crossing your arms in a pathetic attempt to look casual. You hated how breathless you sounded. A long pause.

He nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

You stood there, face tilted up to him, the silence stretching like a blade between you. “I know we ended…roughly,” you said. You could still hear the screaming, the slamming door, the way his words punched into your ribs like fists.

Noritoshi didn’t say anything. Just watched. “But I… I miss you.”

The words came too fast. Too raw. You hated how small they made you sound. How you felt like you were trying to hold water in your hands, and it was slipping through every finger. He blinked once. His jaw twitched. “We can’t keep doing this, Y/N.”

Something in your chest cracked. “We’re not doing anything,” you replied quickly. “We’re—we’re just talking.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. Not angry. Not cruel. Just distant. Cautious. “This isn’t just talking and you know it.” You swallowed. “So what, you just pretend I don’t exist now?”

“I’m not pretending.” Your breath hitched. Your voice sharpened.

“No. No, you don’t get to just disappear from my life like I was some… phase. You knew everything about me. Every dark, fucked-up part I hide from everyone else—you knew it. You held it. You used it.” Noritoshi flinched at that, just barely.

“Don't do that,” he said quietly. “Don’t rewrite what we had.”

“I’m not!” you snapped, tears threatening behind your lash extensions. “I’m telling you that you knew me better than anyone ever has and now you’re acting like none of it matters. That I don’t matter.” You were spiraling now, grasping at anything to slow your own descent.

“This is just… this is just another fight, right?” you whispered. “It’s just a thing we’re doing again. We’ll be okay. We always come back. Right?”

“Y/N—” You stepped forward, voice barely stable. “Please, Toshi.”

You hadn’t said his name like that since before the last fight. The worst one. The one that ended it. His expression shattered—just a little. You could see the conflict, the guilt, the damn ache in his eyes. But his feet didn’t move.

“You know I’ll always care about you,” he said, quietly, slowly. “But we weren’t good for each other. Not in the end.”

“That’s bullshit,” you hissed. “You think I didn’t try? You think I didn’t bend until I broke just to keep us okay?”

“I know you did. And I know I didn’t always meet you halfway. But we’re toxic. You know that. You just don’t want to admit it.” You blinked. He wasn’t yelling, He didn’t need to. His voice was calm. Too calm. Final, and that was worse.

Because this time… he meant it. You felt yourself slipping—emotionally, physically, everything unspooling in front of him like you were standing naked and broken in public.

“I can’t do this again,” he said, a little softer now. “I won’t.”

And with that, he turned, opened his car door, and got inside. You stood there. Watching. Heart squeezed. Chest hollow. He drove off. And that was it.

You were still in the parking lot. Wind pushing your skirt. The sun dipping lower behind the trees. And you were just standing there like an idiot. No. Like a girl who loved someone who never really came back the way she needed him to. This time… this time, he really was gone, and for once, you didn’t chase. You just stood there and let yourself feel it.

Every. Last. Second. Of it.

You were five minutes late.

Exactly five.

And yet, despite all that tough talk and his passive-aggressive little warning about “not answering the door,” guess who still opened it?

That’s right. Mr. Rules-And-Rigidity himself.

Megumi Fushiguro stood at the threshold of his surprisingly clean, quiet, borderline nice house like the human equivalent of a sigh. Hoodie on. Glasses still in place. Sweatpants slung low and baggy on his hips—and okay, not to be dramatic or anything, but they definitely had one or two stains that looked like they’d been there since 2017.

Still, you were more concerned with the house. Not that you were gonna say it out loud, but…damn. It was actually kind of big. Not “my dad owns half of Shibuya” big, but “I have a stable home life and a functioning family” kind of big. Neat. Quiet. A little cold maybe, but it didn’t reek of Axe body spray or gamer chair sweat, which was already more than you could say for 90% of the male population.

He stepped aside with a small exhale that absolutely reeked of judgment.

“You’re late.”

You walked in without a word, brushing past him like you owned the place. “Door was still open.”

“So much for empty threats, huh?” you added under your breath.

His living room was muted, borderline minimalist. A coffee table sat in front of a long couch, already stacked with books, folders, and enough academic paperwork to give you a stress migraine just looking at it.

And there he was—Megumi, sitting on the couch like some moody little student council rep, flipping through pages with all the excitement of a dead fish.

“I talked to your teachers,” he said without looking at you. “Asked them what you’re missing. What you don’t turn in. What you fail at.”

You blinked. “Wait—you talked to them?”

He nodded, still focused on the paperwork.

“Like, you… went up to adults voluntarily and asked about me?”

“Yes,” he said, voice clipped, like he regretted it deeply.

You couldn’t help it—you snorted. “Kinda stalker behavior, Gumi.”

“Don’t call me that.”

You dropped your bag to the floor with a thud and finally flopped beside him on the couch, ignoring the fact that you were still in your uniform skirt and he was probably sitting way too close for comfort considering what this whole arrangement actually was.

“So,” you drawled, tugging your socks up lazily. “What’d they say?”

He turned a page. Didn’t even glance your way.

“Not good things. That’s for sure.”

You scoffed. “Wow. You got anyone in your life who actually says nice things about me?”

“Do you?” he deadpanned.

Your mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

He finally looked at you, eyes narrowed behind those damn glasses.

“You’re not very self-aware, huh?”

“Oh my god,” you snapped. “You’re, like, so annoying. You do realize I could’ve picked anyone else to tutor me, right?”

“But you didn’t,” he said simply, flipping another page. The audacity.

You rolled your eyes, arms crossing dramatically as you shifted to the side of the couch. “This is abuse. Academic abuse. I’m being mentally tormented.”

“Good,” he muttered. “Maybe then you’ll learn something.”

You gave him your best glare. He didn’t flinch. Not even a little.

And then, like he was done indulging your tantrum, he picked up the textbook with a sharp clap and flipped it open like it weighed five tons.

“Today,” he said, “we’re starting with Physics.”

You blinked. “Why the fuck would we do that?”

“Because,” he said calmly, “you’re very, very bad at it.”

You groaned. Audibly. Dramatically. Full-body exorcism style. “Ugh. I already hate this. I hate this, I hate this, I hate this. I should’ve just begged the board for extra credit or bribed Gojo or something—”

“Shut up and open your notebook.”

“This is going to be hell, I swear to god.”

Megumi didn’t respond. He just handed you a pencil like he was preparing to babysit a toddler. And you?

You took it—reluctantly, bitterly, and with the elegance of a girl who would rather be literally anywhere else. Because this was the beginning, Of schoolwork. Of tutoring. Of whatever this cursed partnership was becoming.

And for the record? You were already planning your escape, or at least, your next move. Because tutoring was only half the deal. And soon enough? He was gonna learn that the other half had way more interesting lessons.

An hour of mental agony.

An hour of squinting at numbers, scribbling down equations you didn’t understand, and pretending to care about some dude named Newton.

You slammed your pencil down like it had personally offended you and flopped sideways with a dramatic groan.

“I’m done,” you mumbled, shoving the practice sheet toward Megumi like it burned.

He didn’t answer. Just took it, adjusted his glasses, and started reading in dead silence. Pencil in hand. Methodical, boring little ticks as he checked things off—or didn’t.

You watched him while you waited.

He was close. Closer than usual.

His hoodie had slipped slightly, revealing his forearms. You stared at the small flex of muscle when he wrote, the subtle dip of his throat when he swallowed, the way his glasses sat low enough on his nose to give you the perfect view of his lashes.

Had his skin always looked that soft?

His hair was still a mess, sticking up at weird angles from earlier, and yet—you could see it. The potential. If he just let someone style it. If he wore literally anything but hoodie-and-sweats-on-laundry-day.

He had… a face. An actually nice one. And then he turned to you, eyes unreadable, and held the paper out.

A three. A fucking three out of twenty. You grabbed the paper. Stared at it like it personally insulted your bloodline.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I mean, you got three right,” he said calmly.

You looked at him, scandalized. “You’re supposed to be good at this! Why the hell do I suck so bad if you’re my tutor?”

“You weren’t going to magically get it in one hour,” Megumi replied. “And it’s not my fault you didn’t pay attention the past three months.”

“I am paying attention now!”

“Are you?”

“Yes! Kind of! This is supposed to help me.��

“It is helping you. I’m honestly shocked you got any right at all.”

“Oh, haur haur. I’m laughing so hard right now, Gumi.”

He looked at you like you were deranged. You groaned and flopped back again. “I think that’s enough for today.” You stood, stretching, and turned to look down at him. He was still sitting on the couch, arms crossed, textbook on his lap.

He stared up at you, one brow arched. “What are you doing?”

“My part,” you said with a smirk. “It’s my turn… to tutor you.”

“Oh.” A beat. “Right.” You plopped back down on the couch, this time with intention. You turned your full body toward him, crossing one leg over the other as you stared, eyes sharp and studying.

“Okay. Topic of the day: Kissing.” Megumi blinked once.

You didn’t wait. “It’s more important than you think. Seriously, you could look like a goddamn Greek statue, but if you’re a bad kisser? You’re done. Over. Dead in the water.”

“…Okay.”

You continued, all hand gestures and head tilts like you were giving a TED Talk. “It’s about pressure. Pacing. Not too much tongue, not too little. Your lips gotta feel intentional. Like you know what you’re doing, but not like you’re trying too hard. And when you’re kissing someone? Your hands matter.”

Megumi looked… oddly focused. He was listening, genuinely, nodding slowly like he was absorbing everything.

“Girls remember that shit,” you said. “A good kiss stays with you. A bad one? Unforgivable.”

You leaned back slightly, tilting your head. “So. Have you ever kissed a girl before?”

Silence. He didn’t answer right away, then, quietly, “…I mean. When I was eight—”

“That doesn’t count.”

You cut him off with a laugh and a sharp look. “No way. Actual kissing, Gumi. You’re seriously telling me you’ve never kissed anyone?” He looked away, flushed faintly pink at the ears.

You blinked once. No fucking way. That actually explains so much. You smiled to yourself, eyes narrowing. He didn’t even know what was about to hit him.

Megumi blinked, and then—God help you—he started defending himself.

“I mean, it’s not like it’s a big deal,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “It’s not like I’ve never thought about it or anything. It’s just—like—why would I practice kissing? It’s not like you can just study that, and it’s not exactly something you can wing, and it’s not like I ever—”

You rolled your eyes so hard your soul almost left your body. “Jesus Christ.”

And before he could spiral into another long-winded monologue about why he’s never kissed someone, you grabbed his face with both hands—firm, smushed his cheeks between your palms, and pressed a fast, slightly messy peck to his lips.

Megumi froze. Like entire body stiff, full system-shutdown level frozen.

You pulled back casually, dropping your hands with a shrug. “You weren’t gonna shut up, emo boy.”

He stared at you like you’d just committed a federal crime. “What the fuck?”

You smirked. “Oh relax. That was just a preview. Call it a jumpstart.”

“That was my first kiss.”

You blinked. “Wait—that counts?”

He looked at you like you’d stepped on a puppy. “Well,” you said, tilting your head. “You’re lucky it was with me, then.”

Megumi exhaled, sharply. Like he wasn’t sure if he was angry, confused, or about to combust. “And anyway,” you added, already getting comfortable again, “that wasn’t even a kiss-kiss. That was baby shit. If you want to actually learn, you gotta stop being a pussy.”

Megumi scoffed. “I’m not—”

“You are.” You leaned in slightly. “But that’s okay. I’ll fix you.”

He opened his mouth to argue again, but you waved a hand to cut him off. “Don’t make this weird. I’m literally helping you.”

“You kissed me.”

“And you’re welcome.” More silence. More glowering. He looked so serious, it was borderline pathetic.

You exhaled, soft and sure, then rested a hand on his knee. “Okay. Now, for real.” His breath hitched slightly.

“You’re not going to get it on the first try, and that’s fine. Just… relax. Let me lead.” You turned to face him completely. His knee brushed yours. His arms dropped to his sides. He looked nervous. But—intrigued. Definitely intrigued. You leaned in slow, just enough to give him time to process. And when your lips met his this time, it was softer. Slower. You didn’t push, didn’t smother—you let it melt.

Megumi’s lips were surprisingly soft.

A little stiff at first—unsure. But he moved with you. Carefully. Cautiously. And then a little more confidently when your hand slid to his jaw, thumb grazing the edge of his cheekbone, he smelled good—like clean laundry and mint gum. His breath fanned over your skin when you broke for air just slightly, and it was warm, intoxicating.

You kissed him again. Deeper. Pressing in. Tilting your head just enough to change the angle and whisper against his lips, “Good… just like that…”

He swallowed, and moved with you again. No tongue. Not yet.

But his lips stayed on yours, hesitant but obedient. And for someone who hadn’t done this before—he was catching on way too fast. When you finally pulled back, he was dazed. Eyes half-lidded. Lips a little pinker than before.

You smirked. “You’re not completely hopeless.”

“…Thanks?”

“Don’t sound too grateful, Gumi.” He blinked, still processing.

The air between you and Megumi thickens, and you can almost feel the discomfort radiating off him. His body’s so rigid—like he’s trying to hold onto whatever scrap of control he’s got left.

You have no intention of letting him keep it.

You lean in close, just enough to make his breath hitch, just enough to see the way his lips part when you make the slightest move.

“You know,” you start, voice low, a playful lilt hanging off every word, “if you’re gonna impress Miwa, you have to do more than just look cute and smile awkwardly. She wants a guy who knows what he’s doing.”

Megumi's hands twitch at his sides. He doesn't speak. Doesn’t even make eye contact. Too busy pretending his heart isn’t racing. Too busy trying to look composed, but failing miserably.

“Girls like me? We love a guy who knows how to use his mouth,” you continue, grinning as his eyes flicker towards your lips for half a second. “You wanna know how to kiss with tongue, don’t you?”

His throat bobs as he swallows, voice tight when he speaks. “I—I mean, I guess?”

“Oh, you guess?” You chuckle darkly. “Let me be clear: Miwa won’t even look at you if your kissing is weak. You know how to use it, Gumi?”

He bites his lip, and for a second you can’t help but notice how charming that slight vulnerability is. You could tease him for it forever, but instead, you press on.

“No?” You ask with an exaggerated pout. “I guess I’m just gonna have to teach you then, huh?”

You shift closer, your knee brushing his, and his body goes stiff again. But you’re too close now, and there’s no way he can pull back without making things worse.

You catch his eye again. “I’m serious about this. You need to feel it. The tongue is everything.”

Megumi’s breathing hitches, and the tension is suffocating now.

You smirk and slide a hand to his jaw, tilting his face toward you. The soft heat of his skin is so close—so close—that you feel it in your core. Slowly, carefully, you press your lips to his once more, testing. It’s light this time. Just enough to see if he’ll melt under your touch, if he’ll respond to you.

And oh, does he.

His lips part with hesitation, but he follows your lead, moving just enough to match the rhythm. It’s still clumsy, but you feel the difference. The awkwardness isn’t there anymore. There’s something deeper in this kiss.

You pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze.

“You’re getting better,” you murmur. “Now, let me show you how to do it right.”

His eyes widen, his breath shaky, but he nods, giving you all the permission you need.

With one smooth motion, you guide his hand to your waist, settling it on your side as you shift even closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of his chest against yours. He’s still unsure, but his hand remains firm on your waist, a silent sign that he’s trying. You guide him to press in a little more, lips brushing against his once again, this time deeper.

You slide your tongue along his lips, just enough to tease him. He hesitates, unsure, but when you kiss him again, you nudge him. He opens up for you—just a little—his tongue brushing lightly against yours.

You groan inwardly. He’s actually not bad. He’s still shy, still holding back, but the potential is there. The way his body moves with yours now—fuck, he’s catching on quicker than you thought.

“Good,” you murmur against his lips, guiding his hand around your waist to pull you in closer. “That’s it, Gumi.”

You move your tongue deeper, sliding it against his with more confidence, the kiss deepening as you coax him to follow. His hands twitch again, unsure, but you guide them, running them up your sides, showing him how to touch, how to pull you closer. The tension crackles between you, and you feel the faintest brush of his body against yours, his muscles tense, then relaxing as you show him exactly how to kiss.

You pull back slightly to catch your breath, your lips still hovering above his. He’s panting lightly now, eyes heavy-lidded and flushed from more than just the kiss. His breath brushes your skin in soft, uneven pants, and you catch the faintest glimpse of how his body reacts to the closeness—how it wants more.

"See?” you whisper, voice dripping with satisfaction. “That’s how it’s done. Not so hard, is it?”

Megumi’s hands are still on you, but now there’s more confidence behind his touch. He’s following your lead—hesitant, yes, but growing.

“You’re… better than I thought,” he admits, his voice low and a little rougher than usual.

You smirk, sliding your hands to his chest. “Keep going, Gumi. You’ve got this.”

His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you even closer, and you let him. You know where this is headed. And with how hot he’s looking right now, there’s no way you’ll stop this kiss from turning into something way more intense.

He leans in again, this time with more urgency, pulling you closer, as his lips crash back to yours. This time, he’s the one that guides you. You can feel it: his confidence is building with each slow, deliberate kiss.

And damn, you're loving every second of it.

The coffee shop was buzzing with its usual mid-afternoon energy, the chatter of students and the smell of burnt espresso filling the air. You sat across from Nobara, stirring your drink absentmindedly, trying to avoid meeting her eyes.

“So,” Nobara started, a smirk tugging at her lips. “How’d it go with Mister ‘I’ll Break Your Heart’?”

You let out a sharp sigh, leaning back in your seat. “I ran into him... in the parking lot.”

Nobara raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. She set her cup down and leaned in. “You ran into him?” she repeated, her tone dry. “I’m guessing it wasn’t just a ‘Hey, good to see you’ kind of thing.”

“No. It wasn’t. I... I don’t even know what I was thinking,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I saw him walking to his car, and before I knew it, I was already calling out to him. It’s like he still... has this effect on me, you know?”

Nobara gave you a deadpan stare. “Are you serious right now?”

“I... I don’t know,” you groaned, rubbing your forehead. “I miss him, Nobara. It’s like... every time I think I’m done, he comes back and I let him in. I let him hurt me again. And I don't know why I keep doing it.”

Nobara’s expression softened slightly. She looked at you like she wanted to say something comforting, but her tough side always came out. "You know you're not the only one who’s had their heart fucked up by someone, right? But damn, girl, you’ve gotta stop playing with fire. That guy—he—isn't good for you."

You stared at the table, biting your lip. “I tried talking to him. I... told him I missed him.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nobara shot back, her voice sharp. “Why are you chasing him, huh? Why are you begging for someone who doesn’t deserve you? You’re fucking amazing, Y/N. You’re that bitch. You don’t need that shit.”

You blinked, her words hitting you harder than you expected. Nobara’s eyes were fierce, but there was something softer there, something real. She wasn’t just being the usual loud-mouthed, badass Nobara. She was trying to protect you.

“I don’t know,” you muttered again, running your hand through your hair. “It’s like... I can’t stop. I let him back in, and every time, he just pulls away. He says we’re not good for each other, and maybe... maybe he’s right. But I just want him.”

“Fuck that, Y/N,” she said, slamming her hand down on the table, making a few people glance over. “No one—no one—should make you feel like that. You deserve someone who doesn’t make you chase. You deserve someone who actually knows what the fuck they’re doing.”

Her words wrapped around your heart, squeezing it tight. You tried to push back the lump in your throat, but it didn’t work.

“I’m tired of feeling this way,” you whispered. “I just want it to be okay. But... it isn’t, is it? He doesn’t want me anymore. Maybe he never did.”

Nobara gave you a look that was pure fire. “You don’t need him, Y/N. You’re strong, smart, and fucking gorgeous. And if he can’t see that? His loss.”

You chuckled softly, wiping away the tear that had threatened to fall. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

Nobara grinned, a little smugly. “Damn right I do. You don’t need some dumbass to define you. You’re Y/N, the girl who doesn’t need a man to validate her. Fuck that noise. You’re above that.”

You took a deep breath, finally lifting your eyes to meet hers. There was something in her gaze that softened, just a little bit, as if she understood. And for the first time in a while, you felt like maybe you could let go of the past.

“Thanks, Nobara,” you said quietly.

“No problem, babe. Now, let’s go fuck up some more boys with that attitude of yours, huh?”

You both cracked up, the tension in your chest easing as you took another sip of your coffee. Maybe it wasn’t all lost. Maybe, just maybe, you could start to move on. And maybe, just maybe, you were going to listen to the badass bitch sitting across from you who knew what was best for you—even if you didn’t always want to hear it.

You hated history.

No, hate was too soft. You loathed it. You’d rather eat your own acrylics than sit through another second of whatever crusty-ass war Megumi was droning about, but here you were again—on his couch, legs curled under you, pencil chewing at dangerous levels of dramatic frustration.

“Who gives a shit about the Meiji Restoration?” you huffed, throwing your head back like the weight of 1868 was personally trying to kill you.

Megumi didn’t even look up from his book. “People who want to pass.”

You shot him a glare. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re the one who asked me to do this. Three times, actually,” he replied flatly, flipping the page. “So I guess you’re stuck with me.”

“Don’t remind me,” you groaned.

He side-eyed you from over his glasses, calm, unreadable. “I wouldn’t have to if you actually read the material.”

“I did read it,” you said, grabbing the worksheet and waving it like a flag. “It’s just boring. Why do I care who opened up Japan’s ports or whatever? I’m not gonna write a love letter to Matthew Perry.”

“That’s not the point,” he said, tone sharper now, still annoyingly calm. “It’s about understanding cause and effect. How one shift in policy opened Japan to Western imperialism—”

You made a gagging noise and flopped back dramatically against the couch cushions. “You are literally sucking the life out of me.”

Megumi snapped the textbook closed with a sigh. “You’re not meeting me halfway. I can’t magically fix your grades if you won’t try.”

You looked at him, all stoic and unbothered and infuriatingly pretty in his usual hoodie and sweats, like he hadn’t just committed academic homicide.

“God, you’re like, so emotionally constipated.”

“I’m teaching you history. Not therapy,” he deadpanned.

You sat up, poking him in the arm with your pencil. “You don’t have to be such a robot about it.”

His gaze dropped to where your pencil touched him, then dragged back up to your eyes. “And you don’t have to act like failing is cute.”

You scoffed. “Rude.”

“Honest,” he corrected.

There was a pause. The kind that simmered just under the surface. You hated how close you were sitting again. Not that you moved. Not that either of you did.

Megumi picked the textbook back up. “We’re doing this again from the top.”

“Nooo,” you groaned, dragging the word like a dying breath.

“Yes. You don’t even know who Saigō Takamori is.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Isn’t that the guy from the Last Samurai?”

“That’s a Hollywood movie. It’s wrong.”

You blinked. “...I liked that movie.”

Megumi stared at you. “Of course you did.”

“Ugh, you’re such a buzzkill.”

“And you’re unbelievably loud for someone who knows nothing about the Tokugawa shogunate.”

You pouted, flopping again onto the cushions. “You're not even trying to make it fun.”

“It’s not supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to be retained,” he replied, firm.

You stared at him. He stared right back.

The silence hung, thick and heavy. Not quite hostile. Not quite… not.

You hated this. Hated that he was kind of right. Hated that you were the one who asked for this. Hated that his hair was a little messy and his voice did that low rumble when he got serious. You hated a lot of things right now.

Mostly history.

But maybe also the way your heart picked up just a little when he leaned forward to open the book again, pages rustling like a challenge.

“Chapter six,” he said. “Pay attention this time.”

You didn’t roll your eyes this time. Not because you were cooperating, but because—goddamn it—you kind of liked arguing with him.

Even if he was a buzzkill.

One hour later, you were emotionally six feet under.

History was officially banned. Cancelled. Abolished by executive decree—your decree. Megumi had made you read aloud, like some Victorian orphan in a Dickens novel, then quizzed you like it was his life's work to make you suffer. Your neck hurt. Your brain hurt. You were one Saigō Takamori fact away from throwing yourself into traffic.

You let your pencil drop to the floor with a heavy clack, followed by the thud of your body as you flopped backwards on the couch, arm thrown dramatically across your face like you were dying in a Shakespeare play.

“I’m literally brain dead,” you groaned.

“No, you’re just dramatic,” Megumi muttered, still flipping through the textbook like some sleep-deprived college TA. “You lasted fifty-six minutes without screaming this time. That’s a new record.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He raised a brow. “Charming.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, groaning louder when you saw he’d moved on to the next chapter. “Are you seriously trying to get to chapter seven?”

“We didn’t even finish six,” he said flatly.

“Well maybe you should try teaching in a bra and thong next time. See if that helps me retain it better.”

He blinked at you over the top of his glasses. “Do you think I’m enjoying this?”

“Obviously. You’re the only weirdo on Earth who gets off on tax reform and isolationist policies.”

“I don’t get off on—what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing a frontal lobotomy couldn’t fix,” you mumbled, still sprawled out like a corpse. “Ugh. I’m so done. I’m drained. I’m dying. Do you want me to actually pass or be found unresponsive with highlighter stains on my corpse?”

“Dramatic and ungrateful,” he sighed.

You sat up slowly, eyes narrowed. “You’re lucky you’re kinda cute or I’d have bailed day one.”

Megumi paused mid-page turn. “Wait. What?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

He adjusted his glasses slightly, then looked at you—less irritated, more… thoughtful.

“I just realized something,” he said slowly.

You stared. “Uh-oh. That’s never good.”

He turned slightly toward you on the couch, one hand resting on the cushion between you. “It’s your part of the tutoring now.”

You blinked again. Brain lagging. “My what?”

“Your half of the deal,” he said, matter-of-fact. “I tutor you. You… do that.”

You stared.

Then sat upright like you’d just been hit with a water balloon of horny confusion. “Wait, that was today?”

He blinked at your sudden jolt of energy. “You literally said it’d be after every session—”

“Oh, shit, I did, didn’t I?”

He blinked again. “Did you forget?”

“No! I just—well—maybe.” You waved a hand. “You can’t expect me to remember anything after being violated by Japanese imperialism facts for an hour.”

Megumi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So… what exactly are you teaching me today?”

You paused.

Brain stalling.

Because yeah—what was next? You’d kissed him already, well made out with him.

And now he was looking at you like he expected something.

“Uhhh,” you drawled, glancing at his sweatpants.

No, you decided. It was too soon to go down on him. You were hot, not insane. You didn’t suck dick for boys who corrected your historical analysis mid-sentence.

But you could—

You grinned.

“Have you ever heard of dry humping?” you asked sweetly.

Megumi looked like you’d just offered to kill his dog.

“…Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” you said, crossing your legs and leaning toward him like a corrupt school counselor. “It’s basically PG-13 sex with clothes on. Grinding, kissing, moaning—stroke game training, Gumi. Very important.”

He just stared at you, absolutely scandalized.

“I’m not going to—grind—on someone just because—”

You cut him off with a dramatic scoff. “You’re such a buzzkill. I’m trying to help you. This is literally for Miwa’s benefit.”

His nose wrinkled. “How does this even help?”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, listen: girls don’t just get off from dick, okay? It’s all about rhythm. Friction. Hip movement. How you build it. You think she’s gonna get wet if you just lay there like a fucking anime boy cardboard cutout?”

Megumi’s face flushed instantly. “I—I wouldn’t—!”

You smirked. “Exactly. You wouldn’t. Because I’m here teaching you. You’re welcome.”

He opened his mouth to argue, probably to say something logical or stupidly moral like this isn’t necessary or I don’t need to learn this like a test—

So you shut him up the only way you knew how. You swung one leg over and straddled his lap.

Megumi’s whole body locked up. “Wha—wait—”

“Relax.” You tugged at his hoodie strings, voice syrupy and dangerous. “It’s just dry humping, not a blood pact.”

His hands hovered mid-air like he had no idea where to put them. You could feel the panic radiating off of him. And underneath you? You could already feel how hard he was getting.

Oh, he was so fucked.

“You ready, Gumi?” you whispered.

His throat bobbed. “I—I think so.”

You tilted your head, smirking. “You think?”

He looked up at you with wide, hesitant eyes—flushed already, poor thing—and you felt that little rush again, the one that always hit right before you did something reckless.

And fuck.

You hadn’t even moved yet—hadn’t grinded, hadn’t kissed him—and already, you could feel it. The heat. The shape. The size. Your lips parted, just a little. Your body adjusted automatically. And there it was again.

Jesus Christ.

He was hard already. And not just hard—big. Like, shockingly big. Stupidly big. Bigger than you’d expected from the quiet, history-obsessed boy who couldn’t even say the word "porn" without blinking too fast. You kept your expression neutral—barely—but inside?

Oh my fucking God.

You forced yourself to breathe, forced your voice to stay cool. “Okay,” you murmured, fingers curling into the front of his hoodie. “Step one. Kissing. You’re not gonna be hot if you kiss like a sixth grader.”

“I don’t—”

“You talk too much.” You cut him off with your mouth.

Your lips pressed to his, slow and deep. No peck this time. No trial. You kissed him—like he already belonged to you. Your mouth moved with purpose, teasing his, coaxing it open. And when his hands twitched at your sides, you reached down, slid them firmly onto your hips.

You grinded forward. Barely. And Megumi whimpered. The sound punched heat straight between your legs. He kissed back, breath hitching, hands holding on like he didn’t know what else to do. You bit his bottom lip, tugged, then soothed it with your tongue, just to feel him shudder beneath you.

You pulled back, breath brushing his lips. “You’re allowed to use your tongue, you know.”

He blinked at you. “I—really?”

You smirked. “Gumi. That’s the whole point.” This time, he leaned in first. His mouth met yours, warmer now, hungrier. It wasn’t perfect—still a little too careful—but his tongue brushed yours and God he tasted like spearmint gum and nervous energy. You rolled your hips, slow and deliberate, and his hands clenched on your waist, pulling you closer with a quiet desperation he probably didn’t even notice.

You shifted against him again, dragging your heat along the ridge of his cock, and fuck—there it was again.

So big.

You weren’t going to say it. Wouldn’t dare—his ego didn’t need it, and it’d just make things messy. But holy shit, the idea of how clueless he probably was about what he was working with made your head spin.

You pressed your forehead to his, voice low, teasing. “Just like that, Gumi…”

He groaned, pulling your hips down more firmly, grinding up into you once, twice— “Like this?” he asked, voice raw, a little too innocent.

Your breath caught. His cock slid against you again, thick and perfectly placed through the layers, and it made your clit throb.

“F-fuck—yes,” you gasped before you could catch yourself.

He did it again. A little deeper this time. His mouth landed on your neck, clumsy but warm, and your body arched forward into him, chasing the friction. His hips jerked once more. A little stuttered. A little too hard.

Then he froze. Like really froze. “…Megumi?”

You pulled back. He wasn’t breathing. Then— “…Shit,” he whispered, face going red. “Shit. I—I didn’t mean to—”

You blinked. “Wait. Did you—?”

His hands flew off your waist like you were made of lava. “It just—it happened—I didn’t think—I wasn’t going to—”

You stared. Then burst out laughing.

“Oh my God,” you wheezed, clutching your chest. “Did you just cum in your pants?”

He looked like he wanted to evaporate on the spot. “I didn’t—mean to! I’ve never—I didn’t even know that could—”

You were still cackling. “Oh my God, you really did. You just—boom. Pants. Game over.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Get off me and stop laughing.”

“I can’t! This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I said stop—”

“Wait,” you cut him off, suddenly narrowing your eyes. “Megumi. Have you ever even jerked off?”

He looked personally offended. “I don’t even have time for that!”

You gawked. “You’ve never masturbated?”

“I’m busy!”

“Oh my God. You’ve never even watched porn, have you?” He looked away, face going bright red.

“I—I don’t need that kind of distraction,” he muttered. You stared at him.

Then bit your lip, grinning slow. “Well. That explains so much.”

He scowled. “I don’t see why it matters.”

“Because,” you said, crossing your arms and eyeing him up and down. “You’re packing, Gumi. And you’ve got no idea what to do with it.”

“I am not—” You cut him off again. “Don’t argue with me. You just dry humped me into an accidental orgasm. You need training.” He went silent.

You leaned forward slowly, conspiratorial. “…Nobara has tapes.”

Megumi’s soul visibly left his body. “What?”

You were already reaching for your phone. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you,” you said sweetly. “Homework’s over."

“I’m just saying—it wasn’t that deep.” You said it for the fourth time in ten minutes.

And Nobara? She was giving you that look. That are-you-hearing-yourself-right-now? look, standing across her room in pajama shorts and a crop top, holding a DVD case that literally had the words “Butlers in Heat 3” printed in metallic font.

“Not that deep?” she repeated, lifting a brow. “Babe. You just told me he came in his pants from dry humping.”

You flopped onto her bed like the drama queen you were. “It wasn’t that dramatic. He didn’t like—scream.”

Nobara narrowed her eyes. “Did you scream?”

You hesitated. “…Maybe.”

“Aha!” She spun in triumph. “See?! You’re into him.”

You scowled, chucking a pillow at her. “I am not. Don’t be stupid.”

She caught it with one hand, smirking. “Girl. You straddled his lap. You made out with him. You got off while teaching him how to thrust properly—”

“I was instructing him,” you snapped, sitting upright, scandalized. “That was for educational purposes.”

Nobara gave you the driest look in recorded history. “And his dick had nothing to do with it?” You crossed your arms, refusing to meet her eyes. “Okay. Fine. Maybe he’s a little… y’know.”

Nobara tilted her head. “No. I don’t know. Say it.”

You sighed like you were being waterboarded. “He’s… not small.”

“Not small?”

You grabbed the pillow and screamed into it. “He’s packing, okay?!”

Nobara snorted, cackling as she tossed another smut DVD into the pile on her floor. “Oh my God, I knew it. I knew he was hiding something under those ugly sweatpants.”

You groaned. “Stop. You’re making it worse.”

“What, that you’re lusting over emo boy with a sword complex?” she teased. “Not your fault he’s secretly got a third leg.”

“Nobara.”

She flopped down beside you, dramatically flipping open a dusty book labeled Advanced Body Language for Confident Girls, Vol. 2. It had a lipstick kiss on the cover. You hated that you knew it was hers.

“Okay,” she said, cracking her knuckles. “If he’s never watched porn, never jerked off, and his only sexual contact is you grinding on him like you’re doing CPR with your coochie—then we need to build a curriculum.”

You blinked. “Curriculum?”

“This is a project now.” She pulled out a pink notebook and labeled it Gumi: The Re-Education. “Day one: Visual stimulation. We start with classics. Something soft. Relatable. Build his palate.”

“Palate?”

“His taste, bitch.”

You stared at her. “Are you hearing yourself right now?”

She waved a hand. “Don’t even pretend you’re not gonna go back tomorrow and grind on him again the second he breathes near you.”

You crossed your arms. “I don’t like him like that.”

“Sure.” She gave you a pointed look. “That’s why you came over here panting like a housewife whose pool boy just moaned her name.” You threw a slipper at her. She dodged it effortlessly.

“I’m serious,” you grumbled. “I don’t like him. He’s—he’s still Megumi. You know. Broody. Quiet. Judgy. Probably would call a girl’s outfit ‘impractical’ in the middle of foreplay.”

“Yeah, and now he’s got you on his lap making out like it’s prom night,” she deadpanned. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

You looked away. “It’s just… physical. That’s it.”

“Mhm.”

“I mean, he’s cute, I guess.”

“Mhm.”

“But like—not my type.”

“Oh yeah, your type is clearly ‘emotionally unstable ex who breaks things during fights.’”

“Nobara.”

She cracked open the DVD case and handed it to you. “Here. Show him this first. It’s got a solid plot, decent pacing, and a blowjob scene that changed my life sophomore year.”

You took it reluctantly, eyeing the cover. “This is so weird.”

“No,” she said seriously, “what’s weird is that your nerd boy’s walking around with a baseball bat in his pants and thinks missionary is just a church word.” You covered your face.

She patted your leg. “Don’t worry. We’ll teach him.”

You groaned into your hands. “I cannot believe I’m tutoring him in this while he’s teaching me about feudalism.”

Nobara just grinned. “Bitch,” she said. “That’s balance.”

You didn’t even knock this time.

Just barged into Megumi’s house like you owned it, arms full of very questionable materials: a pink plastic bag stuffed with romance novels, vintage DVDs, and one extremely worn-out copy of “Seducing the Shy Guy: A Visual Guide.”

Megumi looked up from the kitchen counter, a water bottle halfway to his mouth. He blinked. Once. Twice.

“What the hell is all that?”

“Supplementary materials,” you said cheerfully, kicking the door shut with your heel. “For your tutoring.”

He stared as you flopped down on the couch, books spilling out beside you like you were setting up for a smut-themed TED Talk.

“You brought porn to my house,” he said flatly.

“I brought educational erotica,” you corrected, holding up a DVD titled Pleasure Principles II. “It’s basically Sex Ed. But with better lighting and actual orgasms.”

He blinked again. “You’re insane.”

“And you are severely underexposed,” you said, tossing him a glossy book. He caught it with one hand, squinted at the cover, and immediately dropped it like it had burned him.

“That one’s good,” you offered. “Chapter six is about dirty talk. Very hands-on.”

“Why would I want to read about that?”

“Because, Gumi,” you said, as if it were obvious, “you literally didn’t know tongue was allowed until I explained it to you. You need visual aids.”

His jaw twitched.

You grabbed one of the DVDs and held it up. “Go. Take this. Watch it. It’s a softcore intro—great for virgins, emotionally repressed guys, or anyone who thinks socks during sex are normal.”

“I am not watching porn while you sit here on the couch.”

“Then go watch it in your room.”

“I’m not going to excuse myself like I’m committing a crime!”

You blinked at him. “You literally cum in, like, four hip thrusts. This is for your benefit.”

He turned red instantly. “Don’t say it like that!”

“I could’ve said it worse.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose like he was fighting demons. “You are the most aggravating person I’ve ever met.”

“And you’re welcome,” you chirped.

Megumi glared at you for a beat.

Then—completely ignoring your pile of smut—he walked over to the coffee table and dropped a worksheet in front of you.

“Here.”

You squinted. “What’s this?”

“Your actual tutoring.” He pointed to the top. “Physics. You bombed the quiz. You don’t even know what an inclined plane is.”

You recoiled like it was radioactive. “Ugh, you’re so predictable.”

He crossed his arms. “You’re the one who agreed to this.”

You stared at the worksheet. Then at him. Then at the porn DVDs. Then back at him.

“I could be teaching you how to eat a girl out right now,” you muttered.

“And I could be teaching you how to find the coefficient of friction, but here we are,” he deadpanned.

You huffed, grabbing the pencil like it had personally offended you. “This is abuse.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“I’m gonna tell Nobara you’re bullying me.”

“Do it. I’ll show her your failing grade.” You scowled at him. He looked smug. The tension between you simmered like always.

You glanced once more at the DVD sitting beside you, then back down at the worksheet. Sighed like your life was over.

“…What the fuck is a pulley?”

You made it approximately twenty-seven minutes into that physics worksheet before your brain started leaking out of your ears.

Inclined planes. Pulleys. Some dumbass named Newton. Why the fuck did anything need to be this complicated? You didn’t care what angle a box slid down a hill. If a box wanted to fall, it could fall. You hoped it would.

You let your pencil drop onto the coffee table and slumped dramatically against the couch cushions, throwing an arm over your forehead like a dying Victorian widow. Your voice echoed in your head:

“I could be teaching you how to eat a girl out right now.”

You groaned. Loudly.

Silence answered you. Megumi had disappeared upstairs nearly an hour ago after muttering something about “needing to shower” and “getting away from your noise.” He took the DVD, too. Which meant you were stuck here, unsupervised.

Big mistake on his part. Naturally, you got up to snoop.

You weren’t gonna do anything weird. Just—wander. Browse. Maybe see what kind of nerdy little books he hid in his shelf. Possibly dig through his desk drawers if the urge got too strong. But then your attention snagged on something else entirely.

A photo frame.

Sitting on a small table near the wall. Half-tucked between stacks of books, as if he didn’t know what to do with it but couldn’t throw it away.

You stepped closer. It was a candid.

Three people, standing outside in the sun. One of them was Megumi—smaller, probably around twelve, scowling at the camera even back then. Beside him, a man—tall, dark-haired, handsome in a gruff, unshaven way, with a hand on Megumi’s shoulder and a tight, almost strained smile. But it was the girl that made you pause.

She looked older than Megumi. Maybe sixteen. Brown-haired, bright-eyed, laughing like she didn’t have a care in the world. Her arm was around his other shoulder, pulling him close despite his awkward body language.

You didn’t know Megumi had a sister. You blinked at the frame. Tilted your head. It felt… strange. He never talked about his family. Ever. And it wasn’t like you cared—except you kind of did. You were curious. You liked details. Personal things. Even if they weren’t yours.

“Hey.”

You jolted like you got caught stealing.

Megumi was at the foot of the stairs now, hair damp and falling over his forehead, shirt clinging to his chest like it was freshly thrown on. He was in a plain black tee and grey sweats—same as earlier, but somehow... different.

Because this time? You knew what he’d been doing upstairs.

Your gaze flicked over him once—quick, instinctive. His forearms looked leaner. Veins visible. His collarbones peeking where the shirt collar tugged loose. He looked—Flawless.

And of course, you said nothing. You just smiled sweetly, like you weren’t staring at a boy who definitely just jacked off to softcore porn in his room and then took a cold shower to repent.

“Hey,” you said innocently. “You never told me you had a sister.”

His body stilled. You pointed to the photo still in your hand. “She’s cute.” Megumi’s eyes dropped to the frame. For a second, something unreadable crossed his face. Then he came over, slowly, and gently took it from you. Set it back on the shelf.

“She’s not… technically my sister,” he said, voice quieter now.

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. Leaned against the wall like this was a question he’d been avoiding for years. “She’s… Tsumiki. My stepsister. We’re not blood related, but—she raised me, kind of. After everything.”

“Everything?”

“My dad… wasn’t really around. She was older. Always had to pick up the pieces.” You nodded, watching him. He wasn’t looking at you—eyes fixed on the floor, jaw tense.

“Was that him in the photo?” you asked, careful now. “Your dad?”

Megumi nodded once. “Yeah. For, like, ten minutes. He wasn’t exactly the type to stick around.”

You said nothing. Not because you didn’t know what to say—just because you weren’t used to him saying anything. Especially not something this honest. “I didn’t mean to pry,” you said finally.

He glanced at you, and something in his expression softened. “You’d dig through my trash if I left you alone long enough.”

You smiled. “Only the top layer.”

His lips twitched—barely—but it was there.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s away now. Tsumiki. Boarding school. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

You nodded again. Then leaned in slightly. “She looks like she made you smile back then.”

“I didn’t know how to smile back then,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” you said lightly, stepping closer. “And now you just know how to cum in your pants from dry humping.”

He choked. You burst out laughing. “Why—” he looked away, red in the ears, “—why would you bring that up right now?”

“Because I know what you were doing up there,” you sing-songed, flopping back on the couch like a smug little gremlin. “Came back all clean and wet-haired like I wouldn’t notice.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re hot when flustered.” That shut him up. Completely. His ears went scarlet.

You bit your lip, victorious, but said nothing more. Let him marinate. Instead, you grabbed the physics worksheet and sighed like your life was ending. “Fine. I’ll finish this dumb inclined plane problem. But after that, we’re watching that blowjob scene together.”

Megumi blinked. “What?”

You looked up at him. Deadpan. “I'm kidding."

You were halfway through the worksheet—dragging your feet, doodling in the margins, completely miserable—when Megumi sat down beside you on the couch again, freshly showered, hair still damp and curling slightly at the ends. You didn’t look up, but you felt it: his body heat, the shift in the air, the way he was just looking at you.

Too quiet. Too thoughtful. You glanced over.

He wasn’t even pretending to read anymore. Just sitting there, expression unreadable, eyes lingering a little too long on your face like he was turning something over in his head.

“…What?” you asked.

He blinked once. Then said, carefully, “I don’t mean to ask, but—” Danger. “—you and Kamo…” Danger. You froze. Completely still.

The pencil stopped moving. Your jaw tightened. You didn’t turn your head, but your heart did this little involuntary lurch—like someone had just pulled up a trapdoor under you.

“…What about us?”

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly hesitant. “I just… I don’t know. I didn’t think you two were over.”

You forced your voice out, flat. “We are.” Silence. Not disbelief. But not acceptance either.

“You seem pretty… locked in,” he said, after a beat. “The hallway. The looks. The kisses and stuff.” You didn’t say anything. Just kept staring at the worksheet in front of you like if you focused hard enough, it’d all go away.

“I saw it all the time,” Megumi continued, tone quieter now. “It was… kind of annoying.” Your eyes flicked up. He wasn’t looking at you now. He was looking at the table.

“…Why would it annoy you?” you asked. He didn’t answer right away. And maybe that should’ve been your first clue that this wasn’t just about Noritoshi. Not really.

Eventually, he said, “I guess I just assumed you weren’t the… real love type.” That hit you harder than you expected. Harder than it should’ve.

You blinked. Sat back slowly. Let the weight of that land. Because he was right, that was what people thought about you, wasn’t it?

Hot. Popular. Shallow. Fun. The girl who flirted because she could. Who dated because it was convenient. Who used her mouth for teasing, her body for leverage, and her feelings for nothing.

No one really expected you to fall in love.

Not for real. Not like that. And maybe you’d leaned into that. Maybe it was easier to be the girl who looked good in photos and said the right bitchy thing at the right time. Maybe you let people believe you didn’t care.

Because if you admitted you did? You’d have to admit how bad it had hurt. You swallowed.

“He didn’t love me either,” you said finally, voice low.

Megumi looked at you now. You didn’t flinch away.

“He liked the idea of me,” you continued. “The mouth. The legs. The attitude. The girl on his arm. But not the… actual stuff. Not the parts that cry at night or need too much or don’t let go when they should’ve.”

The silence was thick. And you hated how raw you sounded. How honest.

“I was a fucking mess with him,” you added, a bitter laugh under your breath. “He made me feel like I had to keep being her all the time. The version he liked. And every time I cracked, it was a fight. Or worse—he’d go quiet. Like I was a burden.”

Megumi didn’t say anything. Not at first. Just sat there, watching you unravel in real-time. And then—his voice, soft, like he was stepping on glass: “I never assumed you were a burden.”

You turned your head sharply. He didn’t look away.

“I assumed you were smart,” he said. “Annoying. Loud. Stubborn as hell. But not fake.” Your chest clenched.

“And definitely not someone who deserved to be treated like that.” You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until it left you all at once.

Megumi shifted closer. Only slightly. Like he wasn’t sure if he should. Like he was still trying to figure out where he stood with you in this strange, halfway-there space between academics and… everything else.

“Sorry,” he murmured, voice just above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”

“You didn’t,” you lied.

His eyes flicked down to your hands—clenched in your lap. Tight, trembling.

“I don’t like talking about it,” you admitted. “People make assumptions. They always have.”

Megumi nodded once. “I know the feeling.”

You glanced at him. “Yeah?”

He shrugged. “People think I don’t feel anything. That I’m just this grumpy, emotionally stunted robot with too many books and a stick up my ass.”

You huffed. “Well, to be fair…”

He smirked faintly. And so did you. “…You’re not a robot,” you said. “You’re just emotionally constipated.”

“And you’re not shallow,” he said. “You’re just dramatic.”

You smiled, for real this time. Not because you were trying to impress him. But because for the first time in a while—you actually felt seen.

You didn’t mean to say it.

It just slipped out, low and tired, somewhere in the middle of that heavy, unbearable silence.

“Even then… he’s still the one who knows every part of me.”

Megumi didn’t speak.

And for once, you didn’t fill the silence with a joke. You just sat there, slouched on his couch with your legs curled under you, pencil forgotten, voice quieter than usual.

“He saw everything,” you said slowly. “Not just the pretty shit. He saw me cry. Scream. Shut down. The whole fucking mess. He saw it all.”

Megumi tilted his head, listening. Not interrupting.

“I’d get overwhelmed and just… spiral,” you continued, your voice slipping into something more bitter. “And he’d try to fix it. Bring food, text too much, get mad if I didn’t answer right away—he cared. I know he did.”

You exhaled sharply.

“But people only saw the fighting. The yelling in hallways. Him breaking things. Me walking out. Again. And again. Everyone just thought it was some dramatic high school bullshit. Toxic couple of the week.”

You let your head fall back against the cushion, staring at the ceiling like it might give you the right words.

“But no one saw the good days. No one saw the way he’d carry my bag when I was too tired. Or when he brought me soup when I got sick. Or when I didn’t say a word for a whole weekend and he just… stayed. Quiet. Right next to me. People don’t remember that part.”

You blinked hard, the back of your throat tight.

“I know it was fucked up. I know we were a mess. But sometimes… when someone sees every broken piece of you and still chooses you? Even if it’s ugly, even if it’s wrong… it’s hard to walk away from that.”

Still, Megumi said nothing, but his silence didn’t feel like judgment.

It felt like permission.

You leaned forward, elbows on your knees, voice quieter now. “Letting him go—it’s not because I don’t care. It’s because I do. I keep thinking if I loved him, I’d stay. But maybe if I really loved him, I wouldn’t keep letting him hurt me.”

You let the words hang.

And Megumi finally said, very softly, “You don’t seem like the type to give up on people.”

You looked at him.

He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t teasing. He was just watching you, eyes serious, voice steady.

So you asked, carefully, “Why does that surprise you?”

“I guess I thought you didn’t do… real love,” he said, brows knit. “That it was all surface. Flirting. Fun. Games.”

You let out a sharp laugh—quiet and bitter. “God. Everyone thinks that.”

Megumi didn’t argue, and you didn’t blame him.

You leaned back, arms crossed over your chest, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “I can’t count how many people have said that. Or implied it. That I’m just good for a fling, a kiss, a picture on their arm. But love? No. That’s too deep for me. That’s for serious girls. Quiet ones. The ones who don’t have reputations.”

You looked away, eyes on nothing.

“You act like you don’t care for long enough… people start to believe it.” There was a beat of silence.

Then Megumi spoke, quieter than ever. “I know what that’s like.”

You glanced back at him. He wasn’t looking at you now. His hands were clasped between his knees, tense.

“My sister—Tsumiki—she’s sick,” he said. “Not a flu or cold. Not something you can take pills for. It’s… long-term. Terminal.”

Your breath caught.

“She’s in a care facility,” he continued. “Three hours away. I try to go when I can, but it’s… it’s hard. I’ve watched her get worse over time. Her hair’s thinner. Her voice is weak when she even speaks at all. The doctors say it’s just about making her comfortable now.”

You sat up straighter, slowly.

“She was the strong one,” Megumi murmured, almost to himself. “She used to look after me. Cooked for me. Dragged me out of bed when I wouldn’t go to school. She was the one who held everything together. And now…”

He blinked, jaw tightening. “Now I just sit there and watch her fade. And I can’t do anything about it.”

Your chest ached.

“I don’t talk about her,” he said. “Because people always say the same shit. ‘I’m so sorry.’ ‘You’re so strong.’ ‘Let me know if you need anything.’ And they don’t mean it. They don’t want to deal with it. With me. So I stopped trying.”

You didn’t realize you were reaching out until your fingers brushed his hand. Just a touch. Nothing dramatic. Just… there.

“I’m not gonna say I’m sorry,” you said, voice steady. “Because I know it won’t fix anything. But I won’t pretend I don’t give a shit.”

He didn’t pull away. Didn’t say anything either. But his fingers shifted—just slightly. Brushing back.

The moment held. Not confessions. Not resolutions. Just two people sitting in the quiet, cracked open at the edges. And maybe that was enough.

The study session ends with another snide remark about how the Tokugawa period was “such a snooze-fest it probably made people die of boredom before the swords could,” and Megumi’s exasperated sigh practically shakes the room.

But then—he smiles. Barely. Just a twitch at the corner of his lips. Like he hates that you’re funny.

You’re sitting a little too close now, knees brushing his. The banter's softer lately. Less biting. Still sharp, but it feels like fencing now instead of war. Controlled. Predictable. Dangerous only if you let it be.

You stretch your arms overhead like you’re done pretending you care about anything that happened before Instagram, and tilt your head. “Can we go to your room?”

Megumi’s spine straightens like a rod jammed down his back. “Wha—my… my room?”

You blink at him. “Yes, Fushiguro. Your bedroom. The one in your house. That we’re in right now.” You roll your eyes for effect. “Don’t make it weird.”

His ears flush. Not just his cheeks—his ears. You stifle a smirk.

“…Sure.”

His bedroom is smaller than you imagined, but cleaner. Quiet. He follows you in like he’s bracing for an ambush.

You stroll in unbothered, heels clicking softly against the floor as you drag your fingertips over the edges of his desk, his bookshelf. His space feels untouched, like he’s scared to actually live in it. No posters. No photos. No Miwa.

Good.

You stop in the middle of the room and turn. He’s standing stiff near the bed, unsure, blinking at you like you’re some unpredictable lab experiment.

“Sit,” you say, folding your arms.

“Why?”

You give him a look. Just tilt your head slightly—Really?—and say, “Just sit, Gumi.”

And he does. Right at the edge of the mattress, legs spread a little, posture painfully stiff like he’s being prepped for execution.

You step between his knees. Your hand settles on his thigh, and his whole body flinches.

You smile.

“We’ve covered equations,” you say, voice soft and smooth. “Memorized dates. Recited treaties and political reforms and chemical bonds.”

He nods slowly, still frozen.

“So now we’re doing something actually useful.”

His eyes dart to yours. Wide. Confused. Like he knows what you mean, but can’t believe you’re really saying it.

You lean in, resting your weight on your hand against his leg. “Sex isn’t just penetration, Gumi. It’s not ‘stick it in and hope she makes noise.’ You have to know how to touch. How to start.”

Your fingers slide up to the button of his jeans, and you pop it open without breaking eye contact.

He chokes on a breath. “W-wait—what are you—”

“Teaching,” you murmur. “This is what a handjob is for. It’s the easiest thing in the world, but you’d be shocked how many guys fuck it up.”

You tug his zipper down slow. His chest rises, lips parting slightly like he’s already forgetting how to breathe.

“It’s about rhythm. Pressure. Confidence.” You wrap your fingers around the waistband of his boxers and pull everything down in one practiced motion. “And most of all—awareness.”

You free his cock from the confines of his pants, and fuck—yeah. You blink once. He’s thick. Heavy. Hard already. The head flushed, wet at the tip.

Soooo fucking big, your hand wraps around him slowly. He gasps. Actually gasps.

“See?” you whisper, stroking once, fingers tight but not too tight. “You’re not doing anything. But you’re feeling everything.”

His hips twitch. You stroke again, dragging your palm down his length, then curling back up—slow, fluid.

“You can’t skip this part. You skip this, she’s dry and frustrated and faking it before you even get your pants off.”

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“Touching is everything,” you continue. “If you don’t know how to use your hands, you don’t deserve to use your dick. Understand?”

“Y-yeah,” he stammers, voice barely there.

You hum approvingly, then circle your thumb over the tip, collecting the precum and slicking it down the shaft as you stroke a little faster.

“Girls want to feel wanted,” you murmur. “Like you need them. This—” you squeeze gently near the base, “—is how you show them that.”

His jaw clenches. His thighs tremble under your grip.

“You have to build it. Make it last. Make it burn. And just when they’re about to lose it—then you go harder. Then you give in.”

His head drops back, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck—” he moans. “Shit—”

“You’re close already?” you tease, pumping him faster now. “Tch. You’ve really never had this before?”

“N-never—fuck—”

“God,” you laugh, leaning in. “No wonder you’re always so tense.”

His cock twitches in your fist, leaking down your fingers. You adjust your grip—faster, tighter, more deliberate. Your wrist flicks with every stroke, rhythm perfectly brutal.

“Right under the head,” you say, letting your thumb swirl there again. “That spot? Yeah. Memorize it. That’s where her hands’ll go when she wants to break you.”

“F-fuck—” he gasps. “I—I—shit—”

“Let it go,” you breathe. “Don’t hold it in. I want to see it.”

He groans—loud, breathless. His hand flies up to your wrist, holding you there as his cock jerks violently in your grip. Cum spills over your fist, hot and messy and so much, coating your fingers as his whole body shudders through it. You don’t stop until he’s twitching, gasping, overstimulated and ruined.

Then you finally let go, slick and smug and glowing with satisfaction. You lift your hand like you’re examining it in science class.

“Hands,” you say simply. “Step one.”

He exhales shakily, head falling forward like he just got hit by a truck. You wipe your hand on his shirt without asking.

“Hey—” he protests weakly.

You grin. “You made the mess, baby. Own it.”

Your heart was still doing backflips, your breath still a little uneven—but you cleaned yourself up like nothing happened. Even touched up your gloss in the mirror, finger-combed your hair, tried to get rid of that hazy, cock-drunk look from your face.

It didn’t help. Because you’d just finished pretending you were still a functioning human being when the front gate squealed open.

A car door. Then another. Then keys.

Your spine stiffened like a corpse in rigor mortis. “Megumi.”

He was already zipping up. Calm. Too calm. Voice flat and casual, like you hadn’t just had his dick in your hand. “That’s my dad.”

“Your what—”

“I didn’t know he’d be home. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” you hissed, grabbing your bag and spinning around. “I’m literally full-glam after jacking you off and he’s going to walk in and see me glowing.”

“You wiped it off.”

“That’s not the point! My mascara’s smudged and my knees are weak.”

“Try not to look guilty,” he murmured, slipping on his hoodie like this was just Tuesday.

You glared. “You’re not even panicking.”

“I don’t need to panic.” His voice stayed maddeningly steady. “You’re going to walk down. Smile. Say hi. Leave. Done.”

You were still fuming when he grabbed your wrist, you blinked down at his hand, warm. Big. Callused at the base of his fingers. You felt that same little jolt shoot straight through your chest. Electricity. From your palm to your spine.

He didn’t notice, or if he did, he ignored it completely.

He opened the bedroom door, pulled you along—quiet, calm, dead behind the eyes—and started leading you down the stairs just as the front door creaked open, and then you heard it:

“Yo, Megumi.” his voice was deep. Lazy. Like he didn’t give a fuck about anything.

You glanced up and immediately wished you hadn’t. There, standing in the entryway with keys in one hand and a takeout bag in the other, was Toji Fushiguro. Tall. Broad. Black button-down rolled to the elbows. Scar on his lip. He looked like he bench-pressed people for fun.

He looked at his son. Then at you, then back at Megumi again.

“This the girl you told me about?” he asked, cocking his head just slightly. “The one you’re tutoring?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Megumi, without missing a beat, said, “Yeah.” That was it. No awkwardness. No explanation. Just yeah. Like you weren’t standing there feeling like your soul had just evaporated.

Toji raised a brow. “She’s pretty.”

You almost choked. Megumi didn’t react. Didn’t even blink. Toji stepped inside, placed the bag on the counter, and gave you another once-over. “You always study in that outfit?”

You plastered on a brittle smile. “Only when I want the equations to submit to me.”

Toji let out a quiet laugh. “You got bite. I like that.”

You wanted to disappear into the drywall. “I was just about to leave, actually,” you said quickly. “Didn’t realize Megumi lived with someone—”

“You’re welcome to stay,” Toji interrupted.

You blinked. “I’m fine, really—”

“Sit down,” he said, not looking at you. He was unpacking the food. “We’ve got enough.”

“I really should—" Toji didn’t even lift his head. Just said, too casually:

“Unless you wanna explain to your parents why a grown man saw you sneaking out of my son’s room looking like that.” That shut you up.

Your mouth opened. Then closed. You turned to Megumi. “He’s bluffing, right?”

Megumi just shrugged. “He’s not.”

You turned back to Toji, who was already pulling out plates. Like the whole thing was settled. “You’re staying,” he said. And you did.

You sat. Quietly. On the barstool next to Megumi, who—of course—looked completely unbothered. His hair was still a little messy. His glasses slightly crooked. But otherwise, you’d never know he’d just come in his pants fifteen minutes ago.

“Don’t make it weird,” Megumi murmured under his breath.

“You made it weird,” you hissed back.

Toji plopped a plate in front of you and smirked. “So. How long you been tutoring her?”

Megumi stared ahead. “A few weeks.”

You smiled stiffly. “It’s really productive.”

Toji looked amused as hell. “I bet.”

Megumi sighed. “Dad.”

“What? I didn’t say anything.” You looked at Megumi’s face—red ears, clenched jaw, one long exhale like he was already regretting everything—and had to bite the inside of your cheek not to laugh.

God, you thought. Maybe this was the real lesson. Not the history. Not the chemistry, but this, damage control. Dignity salvage. Post-nut performance.

And Megumi? Megumi was aces at it.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

You sat at the small kitchen table with your legs crossed, trying to appear composed while your brain was still tap-dancing in trauma heels. The table was warm wood, the lights were dim, and the clink of silverware was the only sound for a long, awkward minute.

Megumi passed you a bowl of rice. You blinked at it.

“…Thanks,” you mumbled, still not looking him in the eye.

He spooned more onto his own plate like this was any other night.

Toji dropped into the seat across from you, arms spreading along the chair like he was lounging in a booth and not sitting next to the girl who had just given his son a handjob upstairs.

“You allergic to anything?” he asked casually.

“Nope,” you replied, way too quickly. “No allergies. Totally healthy. Blood pressure’s great. Iron levels are solid.”

Toji blinked once. Then smirked. “You’re nervous.”

You stabbed a piece of chicken. “I’m fine.”

“She’s not,” Megumi muttered beside you.

You kicked his shin under the table. Lightly. He nudged your knee back. Casually. Like he wasn’t trying to make it obvious. You didn’t know what was worse—getting caught, or the fact that Megumi wasn’t even sweating it. He looked so calm. Like he wasn’t fully aware his father was three feet away from the exact place he came in his pants not thirty minutes ago.

“So,” Toji said, gesturing toward you with his chopsticks. “What’s your deal?”

You blinked. “My… deal?”

“Yeah. What do you do when you’re not harassing my son in his own house?” You coughed. Megumi set down his glass with a sigh.

“She’s failing chemistry,” he deadpanned. “And history. And math. And she can’t focus for more than ten minutes at a time.”

“Rude,” you muttered, nudging him harder.

“She’s also loud. Dramatic. Obsessed with her phone. And thinks the Meiji Restoration is a band name.”

You glared at him. “You’re so lucky I like you.”

Toji snorted. “Hah. Like him?” Your jaw snapped shut.

Toji leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. “You know he used to get into fights in middle school?”

You blinked. “Megumi?”

“Yeah,” Toji said, like he was just talking about the weather. “Kid had a temper. Silent rage kind. Didn’t talk much, but if someone messed with his friends or got on his nerves—bam. Straight for the throat.”

Megumi stared at his rice. “We don’t need to talk about that.”

You turned to him, eyebrows high. “You? Fighting people?”

“I had a lot of energy.”

“You had rage issues, apparently.”

“I don’t anymore,” he said calmly.

Toji grinned. “Only because he started channeling it into studying. Got obsessed with winning tests instead of fights.”

You looked at Megumi again, this time a little softer. “You’re such a nerd.”

He nudged your foot again under the table. This time—gentle. You felt your shoulders slowly lower. Just a bit.

Toji turned to you again, chewing thoughtfully. “You two dating?” Megumi stiffened slightly. You choked on your water.

“No,” Megumi said after a beat.

“No,” you echoed, wiping your mouth.

“Shame,” Toji said. “You’ve got decent banter. Would’ve been a power couple.”

You both looked at your plates. It was quiet again. A little too quiet. Then, suddenly, Megumi reached for the last piece of grilled eggplant—and slid it onto your plate.

You looked at it. Then at him.

He didn’t say anything. Just kept eating like it didn’t matter. But it did. Because Megumi noticed you’d been eyeing it earlier. And he gave it to you without saying a word.

Your heart tripped. You swallowed. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Toji saw it. You knew he did. But he just huffed, shook his head like he’d seen this movie before, and went back to eating.

You were one hallway away from freedom.

One hallway.

After forty minutes of Satoru’s so-called lecture—which included three unrelated tangents, a metaphor involving ramen, and him nearly falling off his desk while impersonating a Tokugawa shogun—you’d packed your bag, slipped on your sunglasses, and made a beeline for the exit.

But he was faster.

“Yo, heartbreaker,” Gojo called from behind, voice sing-song and annoying. “Wait up!”

You didn’t. But he still caught up, striding beside you like he wasn’t the bane of your academic existence.

“Was my class too stimulating today?” he teased, hands in his pockets. “You looked real focused. Even took notes.”

You blinked. “Oh. Right. The notes.”

Your spiral-bound notebook held exactly three lines: “i hate this man”, “meiji these nuts”, a dramatic drawing of Megumi’s glasses with hearts around them you’d already scribbled out

“Uh-huh,” Gojo hummed. “So. How’s tutoring going?”

Your spine snapped straight.

He didn’t know. He couldn’t. There’s no way he knew.

“Fine,” you replied, too fast.

He tilted his head. “Just fine?”

You added a smile. Too wide. Too fake. “Amazing, actually. Megumi’s a really patient teacher.”

“Patient,” he repeated. “He yelled at me in middle school for calling the mitochondria ‘the powerhouse of the cell’ too many times.”

You shrugged. “He likes me better.”

Gojo snorted. “Doubtful. But cute try.”

You were already halfway to the stairs when he called after you— “Don’t forget the midterm’s tomorrow”

You stopped. Your heart dropped. “Midterm?”

He grinned. “Yeah. Multiple choice. Bonus essay. Covers the last six weeks of stuff you definitely weren’t paying attention to.”

You turned around slowly. “Since when is that tomorrow?”

“Since always. I announced it three times.”

You squinted. “You also said Napoleon invented Nutella.”

“Which is true,” he said, clearly lying. “Anyway, Megumi’s smart. I’m expecting results, yeah?”

You nodded, stomach curling. “Totally. Results. Coming right up.”

He gave you a wink, then disappeared down the hall, humming like this wasn’t the beginning of your academic funeral. You sighed. Megumi was going to be so smug about this. And worse? You were going to have to actually study. Or… at least pretend to.

You failed.

Twenty-two percent.

One out of twenty-five multiple choice. One barely coherent paragraph on the essay. And a stupid smiley face sticker Gojo slapped on it like it wasn’t the nail in your academic coffin.

It should’ve been funny. Hell, it used to be funny—failing things, fucking off, shrugging through it with a toss of your hair and a flip of your skirt. But now?

Now it just felt pathetic.

Now you were standing in front of Megumi’s house again, glossing your lips in your phone’s camera like everything wasn’t falling apart. Like you weren’t seconds from spiraling. Like your ego wasn’t barely stitched together with fake confidence and denial.

You didn’t knock this time.

Not when your phone was buzzing with Gojo’s “yikes” text. Not when your report card sat crumpled in your bag, screaming 22% at you like it was carved into your skin. You fixed your lip gloss in your reflection—because if you looked okay, maybe it wouldn’t feel so pathetic.

Megumi opened the door five seconds later.

And yeah, you knew.

You knew instantly that he knew.

He didn’t say hi. Didn’t scowl or raise an eyebrow or let out that bratty sigh he always did when he saw you. No, today? Today he looked done. Cold. Like every inch of warmth he’d ever barely shown you had frozen over.

“I brought boba,” you said, stepping in anyway like you weren’t dying inside. “Taro, obviously. You looked like a taro guy.”

Nothing.

You set the cup on the table. His arms were crossed. His hoodie hung off his frame like a threat.

“Gojo told me,” he said flatly.

Your stomach dropped.

You kept your tone light. “Told you what?”

“That you failed.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow, so he’s doing the morning announcements now—”

“You told me you were studying.” His voice was razor-sharp. “You told me you cared.”

“I do care—”

“Bullshit.” His voice cracked through the room. “You didn’t study. You didn’t even try.”

“I did!”

“No,” he snapped, eyes narrowed. “You flirted. You scrolled Instagram. You half-assed everything I gave you and then lied to my face.”

You scoffed. “Jesus, dramatic much?”

“I wasted my time.”

“You volunteered!”

“You begged me!”

“And you said yes!” you shot back. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t enjoy it—finally getting to feel smart and smug and better than me for once.”

His fists clenched. “I’m not better than you.”

“Oh really?” You laughed. Bitter. “Because you act like you are. Like I’m just some dumb bitch who doesn’t deserve to pass.”

“If the shoe fits—”

“You motherfucker—”

“I gave you everything,” Megumi cut you off. “I planned lessons, I asked your teachers, I gave you my notes—hell, I let you in my house!”

“Oh please. You liked it. Having me here. Made you feel special.”

“You used me.” You flinched. He wasn’t wrong. But it still stung.

“Don’t turn this around,” you snapped. “You think I don’t notice how you look at me? Like I’m just some project to fix. You’re just pissed because I didn’t end up being your little success story.”

“You’re pissed because you failed and you didn't even try,” he growled, stepping forward. “and you wonder why gojo or me doesn't kiss you on the forehead and give you a gold star on your homework at the end of the day."

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck you,” Megumi shouted. “You want to play victim? Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you keep failing everything you touch.”

You clenched your jaw. “At least I’m not some emotionless virgin nerd who thinks being good at math makes you better than everyone.”

Silence. His mouth parted slightly—just enough for you to see it land.

He looked away. And for a second, you felt bad. But you were angry. And embarrassed. And spiraling.

“You know what?” he said, voice lower now—hurt. Quiet, but dangerous. “I should’ve known. Should’ve listened when everyone said you were just a shallow, spoiled brat with not enough brain cells.”

You froze. That one dug.

“That’s what all of you do, isn’t it?” you whispered, voice trembling. “Assume. Judge. You think I don’t hear what people say behind my back?”

Megumi didn’t respond. “You think I don’t know I’m the joke?”

His throat bobbed.

“I let you in,” you hissed. “I trusted you. I let you see me when I didn’t let anyone see me. And now? You’re just like the rest of them.”

Megumi flinched — but only for a second. Then he barked a humorless laugh. “Oh, fuck off.”

Your jaw dropped. “What?”

“You let me in?” he repeated, eyes wide, voice rising with every word. “You let me in? You show up here with excuses and think that’s vulnerability?”

Your chest twisted. “Don’t twist my words—”

“No,” he cut you off, stepping toward you, furious. “You don’t get to play that card, not after lying to me over and over. You didn’t let me in. You used me. Like everyone else. Like I’m disposable the second you’re bored.”

“That’s not true!”

“Isn’t it?” Megumi shouted. “You didn’t give a shit about learning. You cared about passing long enough to get people off your back. You cared about looking like you were trying. And I was the idiot who actually believed you meant it.”

Your throat burned. “So now I’m a liar? A manipulative bitch?”

He didn’t say anything.

“Say it,” you dared, voice cracking. “Go ahead. Call me a bitch, a slut, say it like everyone else does.”

“You said it first,” Megumi snapped. “Is that what you think of yourself?”

You blinked. That landed too hard.

Megumi ran a hand through his hair, pacing, seething. “I tried so fucking hard, and it still wasn’t enough. Nothing’s enough for you. Not effort, not time, not me.”

“Then why’d you say yes?” you screamed. “Why’d you let me stay? Why the fuck did you let me touch you if you were just gonna throw it in my face the second things got hard?”

For a moment—just a moment—Megumi looked stunned. And then he laughed. Not a funny laugh. A bitter one. Quiet and venomous. “You wanna know why?” he said, stepping forward, every word sharp enough to cut. “Because I was fucking stupid.”

Your stomach dropped. “I was stupid enough to think there was more to you than a pretty face and a loud mouth. Stupid enough to think if I just gave you a chance, if I helped, you’d prove everyone wrong.” His eyes burned into yours. “But they were right. You are exactly who they said you were.”

The words hit you like a slap. You blinked. Once. Twice. Heart in your throat. And then— “You’re a jerk,” you whispered, voice shaking. “You’re a fucking asshole.” He didn’t flinch. “You—” you pushed him hard in the chest, palms slamming against him, “—don’t get to say that to me.” Another shove. “You don’t fucking know me!”

“Don’t I?” he snapped, not backing away. “I know you’d rather look hot than be smart. I know you’d rather lie to everyone than admit when you’re struggling. I know the second things stop going your way, you throw a tantrum.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“You flirt your way out of everything and call it confidence. You coast by on being pretty and mean and then cry victim when someone doesn’t bend to you!” You hit his chest again, harder.

“Fuck you!”

“You said you let me in?” he shouted, grabbing your wrists. “You didn’t let me in. You let me orbit you. You let me touch the surface just enough to feel like I mattered. But I didn’t, did I?”

“Let go of me!”

He did—instantly.

And when he took a step back, his voice came out quieter, but no less cutting.

Megumi’s chest rose and fell, too fast. His fists were trembling at his sides. “I wanted to help you,” he said, softer. “And I thought maybe—fuck, maybe if I did, if I stuck around, you’d actually see that.”

You stared at him. He shook his head. “But all you saw was a hopeless case. A virgin. A joke.”

You swallowed.

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “Should’ve known better.”

There was a long pause. Then you laughed. Cold. Bitter. “Poor Megumi. Got feelings. Got rejected. Welcome to the real world.”

His jaw clenched. “Get out.”

“Gladly,” you snapped, turning around.

“Next time,” he called after you, voice shaking with rage, “ask someone else to clean up your mess.”

You spun halfway around, eyes blazing. “Next time, I won’t waste my time on someone who can’t even handle a kiss without falling apart.”

He didn’t reply. Didn’t look at you. Didn’t have to. Because the damage was done.

And when you walked out the door this time—slamming it behind you so hard it rattled the frame—you didn’t look back, but god, you wanted to. You wanted to look back so fucking bad. And that’s how you knew this wasn’t over. Not really. Not even close.

parts, chapter 03

taglist, @crispycatt @littlevoidfairy @bookfreakk @1-rxse-1 @starzfaerie @zephyairies @moonmaiden1996 @simonexxx1 @pinkmeatball218 @evii1e @xavisbabie @maeviees @justanotherasiangirl @tiasd1ary @shioribuns @allysainz @mwrgwt

[darkbluekies]

Stay close to me

Yandere!mafia oc x reader x kind of yandere brother?

Summary: You and Silas have been invited to his parents summer house ... but that also means dealing with his little brother

Warnings: jealousy, possessiveness, mentions of crimes,

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: FINALLY. It only took a year to get this oneshot done.

He's tenser than you have ever seen him before, looking angry and troubled, muscular arms crossed over his chest, black brows deeply furrowed. Almost making you scared. You keep your eyes on the islands in the horizon, admiring the beauty around you. The motorboat jumps over the waves. The poor hired driver has shrunken under Silas’s murderous gaze.

“Silas”, you say in a desperate try to get him to have better thoughts before you reach the island. “It won't be that bad …”

“‘Won't be that bad’?” he repeats and scoffs. “Spending a week with my ass of a brother with you in his reach ‘won't be that bad’? He's going to be all up in my ass while we are there.”

“Then ignore him. And you should probably not use those words in front of your parents.”

“They disowned me, I have the right to talk however the fuck I want. They should just be happy that I decided to fucking come.”

“Silas …”

He sighs, lifts your hand and kisses it.

“Fine”, he mutters. “I'll behave.”

“No violence. Please. At all.”

He rolls his eyes. “I won't do anything, Ares-”

“You are a thirty five year old man, you should be able to control your emotions when your little brother nags you.”

He gives you a warning gaze. “Such a smartypant you are when you're let out.”

For once, you’re not intimidated by that look. You know that Silas would never ever step foot in his parents' summer house while they’re there if you weren’t by his side. From what you know, their house on the small island is their vacation home, their actual residence is an apartment in Athens, where Silas grew up. 

You can tell by the way that his jaw is clenched that he's not looking forward to meeting his family. They had disowned him when they realized what kind of business he's doing. You wonder what they would say about Ares who's scamming poor old people out of their savings.

The hired driver offers a hand to you when getting out the boat, but Silas snarls at him in a foreign language before helping you himself. You thank the driver in english as Silas drags you away.

“You couldn't have thanked him a bit more flirtatiously?” he mutters while starting to walk. “Asked him if he wanted a kiss while you're at it?”

“Silas …”

He groans and sighs. “Yes, yes, I know. I didn't mean that. I'm not thinking clearly. I legit think that I'm going to throw up.”

Their house is situated further up a mountain, in a small village of white stone houses, surrounded by extraordinary views. Silas stops a few meters away from the house, hesitating. It wouldn't be too late to turn around and go home. He sighs and pulls you into a hug, sighing heavily as he rests his chin on the top of your head.

“If they do as much as make you the slightest uncomfortable you let me know, okay?” he mumbles. “I will take you away from there in an instant. I will never let them hurt you.”

“Why would they hurt me?” you ask. 

His voice grew harsh. “My parents don’t like what I’ve done with my life … they disowned me and started to treat me coldly. I don’t care if they treat me as if I am a cockroach, but I will not let them do that to you. You haven’t done anything.”

“They invited us, why would they be mean?”

Silas sighed frustratedly. “I don’t know.”

He lets you go and cups your cheeks, kissing you as if it will give him the strength he needs. 

“Alright, let’s get this shitshow on the road”, he mutters and grabs your hand, turning to walk towards the house.

He opens a short white gate for you and you find yourself in the front yard of the white stone house. Silas walks before you and knocks at the door. His hand finds yours again. It takes a few moments before the door opens and a woman stands in front of you. Silas’s brother is a complete copy of their mother, you realise. The woman smiles, her eyes sticking to you. You smile and holds out your hand, presenting yourself. Silas’s mother shakes your hand before turning to her son, suddenly hesitating. The says something and Silas replies, but it’s all in a language you don’t speak. You can only imagine what they’re saying. 

“It’s been a while”, she says in Greek. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I didn’t think you’d invite me”, Silas answers in Greek.

The woman gestures for the two of you to come inside. Silas leads you into the house by your shoulders. In the living room you see two men situated on couches opposite each other. One you recognise and one you haven’t met before. The older man is an older version of Silas and the other one … Ares. Upon seeing him Silas tenses behind you and is quick to switch your positions. Ares smirks and rises from the couch. 

“Silas, my brother”, he smiles. 

“I’m not going to pretend that we’re friends for mom and dad”, he says in english, sounding monotone. “We can be civil at most.”

Ares looks at you, smile widening. “Nice to see you again, Y/N.”

“Ares”, Silas warns. “While we’re here you’re not going to talk to them.”

“They’re my sister/brother in law.”

“They’re nothing to you, because I don’t consider us family.”

“Silas”, you whisper in an attempt to stop the situation from escalating. 

Silas glances at you and sighs, letting his shoulders fall. 

Their father rises and shakes your hand. You smile at him. When he starts to talk to Silas, you feel a pair of hands on your shoulder and turn to see his mother wanting you to follow her. You come with her out to eh garden where she shows you around the well kept bushes and flowers. You use your limited Greek to tell her that it’s beautiful. Because it is. You can tell that the family takes good care of the house. The woman claps her hands together and gives you a bright smile, thanking you. Even though you don’t speak the same language, you feel like you understand her fully. 

“Y/N, come”, Silas says with his arms crossed over his chest. “We will have to decide the sleeping arrangements.”

You walk over to him and Ares. Their body languages are stiff, the air thick.  

“We are taking the guest room”, Silas says coldly to his brother, “and you are staying out of it.”

“Where am I supposed to sleep?” Ares questions. 

“Fuck do I know? With mom and dad?”

Ares scoffs. Silas grabs your arm and pulls you upstairs before any of them have time to say more. He opens a door and lets you go inside. He closes the door behind the two of you. The room lacks pretty much a personality, the only thing in here being a bed and a wardrobe. There are a painting of the sea and a succulent, nothing more. Silas sits down on the bed and runs his hand through his black hair. 

“Fucking hell”, he breathes out and looks up at you. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive a week with him!”

“It’ll be fine”, you reply and stand in front of him. “He’s probably winded up because it’s been a long time since you’ve met. He’ll probably calm down.”

Silas rolls his eyes. “I doubt it.”

He grabs your waist and pulls you down towards him. He stretches his neck to let his lips meet yours. His hand moves from your waist to the back of your neck, trying to bring you even closer, although he never seem to be close enough. He kisses you in his usual steady way, as if you ever could forget who was in control. 

The door suddenly flings open. You flinch away from Silas and bump into Ares who’s standing in the opening. Silas is quick to shoot up from the bed and snatch you right back to his body.

“What the fuck, Ares?” he almost shouts, unable to contain his anger any longer. 

“Mom wants you downstairs”, he says. 

“Fine”, Silas mutters and turns to you. “Wait here.”

You notice a certain anger in Ares eyes that you very well recognise from Silas when he’s jealous. You shiver. Maybe staying at the house isn’t such a good idea after all?

Your first night in the house is fastly approaching. You sit on the side of the bed in your pajamas, watching Silas walk around the room without a shirt, ready to sleep, fixing the blinds and turning off the ceiling lamp. 

“Why are you looking like that?” Silas asks and walks over to you, crouching down in front of you. “Like a lost puppy. Are you feeling okay, baby?”

“Yeah”, you say. “I’m just tired.”

Silas cups your face and kisses your cheeks, nose and lips, never too soft, always steady.

“We’ll sleep”, he promises you between kisses. “And when we wake up tomorrow, I will show you around. How about we go swimming?”

You nod. Silas smiles. He seems to be unable to take his hands off of you, hands drawn to your body like they belong there. You hope that he is not going to try anything filthy now that they’re in the same house as the rest of his family. You could never live with the shame if he did. Maybe it is a good thing that he is disowned. If anything happens … you’ll not have to look them in the eyes again. 

“One day done”, he mutters. “Six days of hell remaining.”

You lay down in the bed with Silas closely nearby. His arms are around you in an instance, laying you on top of his chest. He moves you around like a doll, his personal teddy bear. 

The hours go by, but you can’t fall asleep. Your mind is filled with worry. This might be the only opportunity for Silas to reconnect with his parents, but you're afraid that Ares is going to ruin it for him. You're worried that Ares is going to try something, knowing how much it'll irritate Silas. You're also worried that Silas is going to lose his mind thanks to everything. 

The clock beside the bed says one am in red glowing digits. You grab Silas’s shoulder softer, shaking gently.

“Silas”, you whisper. “Please wake up.”

He groans before opening his eyes. He rubs them tiredly and lets his sleepy eyes wander around in the darkness until they lay upon you.

“Hm?” he mumbles with a newly awakened, raspy voice. “What's wrong, little thing?”

“I can't sleep, you say quietly. “I think I need fresh air.”

“Come here.”

Silas throws the blanket to the side and reaches for your hand. As he takes it, he pulls you close to him and leads you out of the room. He signals for you to be quiet as you walk down the stairs and holds his rough hand over your mouth when you pass Ares who's knocked out on the couch in the living room. Silas opens a glass door to the garden and lets you out. You sit down on a patio made of stone and hug your legs to your chest.

“What is wrong, baby?” Silas asks concernedly and wraps his arm around your shoulders. “Why can't you sleep? Do you want to go home?”

“No, no, no …”, you reassure him. “I just feel weird. I’m worried.”

Silas frowns in concern. 

“What are you worried about?” he asks.

“Everything”, you say. “That you and Ares will do something, that your parents will be mad at me for some reason, that this is the only time you actually have time to reconnect with them …”

“What have I said about that, hm? It is not your responsibility to be worried about that.  I'm the one that takes care of things, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. You should just stay by my side.”

“I don't want anything to go wrong so that you can reconnect with your family. ”

“Oh, baby, you shouldn't think about that. I couldn't care less about them. You are my one and only priority.”

“But you should—at least your mom and dad.”

“They disowned me. They told me—to my face—that I was no longer their son nor a part of their life. I don't know what they think that they're going to achieve this week, but I'm only here because you insisted.”

“I like your mom. She is really nice.”

“I'm glad you think so. I think she likes you too, think that she invited me just to have an excuse to meet you. Maybe she's happy I didn't marry someone like me.”

Silas turns his head up towards the starry sky and sighs. He sits still for a moment, admiring the constellations.

“Let’s go for a walk”, he decides and gives your back a gentle pat. “It’ll help you sleep.”

He takes your hand and leads you through the silent house, out to the front yard and out the white gate. His hand never leaves yours. 

“It’s beautiful at night, isn’t it?” Silas asks. 

You nod. The stars twinkle above you, like they do in fairytales or children’s movies. The wind is warm. For the time being you can pretend that Silas is someone else, someone that doesn't hurt people or live in the shadows. The thought perplexes you. You almost feel bad for wishing it. 

“Did you spend much time here?” you ask. 

“Every summer in my childhood”, Silas answers. “It was nice to get ot of the city and come out to this island. It’s so peaceful. It has its fair share of tourists too, but they’re respectful.”

“Are we safe here?”

Silas stops in his tracks and gives you a confused look. 

“What do you mean?” he asks. 

“You never travel without your second in command or bodyguards … do you really trust no one to find you here?”

“Yes, I do. No one has ever found me here … and I know that Ares wouldn’t leak this location because it would put our parents in danger, and he doesn’t want that. We are totally safe here.”

He squeezes your hand. You continue to walk for a few more minutes before returning to the house.

“Where are you going?” his mother asks the following morning.

“I'm going to show Y/N around”, Silas replies. “Give them some real food.”

“Take your brother with you.”

“What? No.”

“He has no one to be with, just bring him along.”

Silas opens his mouth to protest, but you tug at his arm, giving him a look. If you talk back you'll ruin your relationship even more. Please, just this once. 

Silas clenches his jaw hard enough for you to hear a popping sound.

“Fine”, he mutters.

You squeeze his hand just a little tighter than normally. His hand grips yours painfully.

“But we won't babysit him”, he tells his mother. “If he doesn't keep up with us we'll not go get him.”

Ares follows the two of you out to the car parked in the driveway. There’s something lazy in his walk that seems to piss off Silas even more. 

“I call shotgun”, Ares smirks. 

“Like hell, you do”, Silas grits back. “Be happy I’m not stuffing you in the trunk.”

“I don’t fit there.”

“No, your fat ego would spill out.”

You roll your eyes. How could Silas become a mob leader being this easy to annoy. Silas holds the front car door open for you and you sit. He slams the door shut, making you flinch. He walks around the front of the car and you can see him growl something at Ares, but the closed windows drown it out. Two pairs of doors open. Silas sits down behind the steering wheel and Ares in the middle seat behind the two of you. Silas turns on the car, fixes the mirrors and turns on the AC while Ares smirks, leaning back in his seat. 

“I could get used to this”, he says. 

“I don’t want to hear a single word come out of your mouth until we’re there”, Silas growls. “And when we’re there, you’re not going to bother us.”

“But mom said I had to be with you.”

Silas turns around in his seat, glaring at him. “I'm going to bash your fucking skull in.”

“Silas”, you say quietly.

It seems to bring him back to reality. He sighs and sits down right, starting to back out of the driveway.

“You're a good thing to have, Y/N”, Ares says, way too pleased. 

You keep your eyes out the window as Silas drives, admiring the beauty of the island. Silas glances at you from time to time and smiles fondly. It’s weird, somehow, to see you here. In a space that his old life has been. But he likes it. Likes to rewrite his memories. 

The car stops in a more touristy area. More people, more reason for Silas to be pissed. He grips your hand tightly as you walk.

“There's a market I want to show you”, he says. “You'd love it.”

“Can we buy fruits?” you ask. “I'd love some in this heat.”

“Yeah sure, we can buy multiple. Make cocktails.”

“Cock-tails”, Ares snickers behind you.

Silas twists his neck backwards. “What are you? Five?”

“Just ignore him”, you whisper.

“Sometimes I think he grows on me like some kind of devil on the shoulder thing.”

“Can we buy watermelon? I want to make one of those watermelon baskets i saw online. You cut it like a basket with a handle, carve it out and fill it with fruit salad.”

Silas nods, liking the idea. Maybe a bit too much.

“Why don’t we pour some vodka in it and make a fruit drink thing?” he suggests. “I fucking need it.”

Silas leads the two of you through the market with his hand in yours, Ares trailing off behind you. He talks to women and men, both locals and tourists in both Greek and English, flirts and exchanges numbers. 

“Maybe you should tell him to stop”, you whisper to Silas. 

“I’ll talk to the poor victims and tell them not to meet up with Ares”, Silas mutters. 

Silas helps you buy the fruit you need for your work of art. You listen to him talk Greek to the sellers, smiling at them. He carries the plastic bag for you, his other hand clutching yours. He decides to buy you a soda to make sure you get some sugar and hydration in the Greek sun. 

“Silas”, Ares says and switches to Greek, making sure you wouldn’t understand. “You feel really superior, don’t you? In a place where your precious little spouse can’t understand what you’re saying and has no choice but to rely on you? Your shoulders are as high as your ears.”

“Keep your fucking mouth shut or I’ll shove your face down into the rocks outside”, Silas answers in Greek, hissing. “Mom won’t even be able to recognise you.”

“Ohh, I’m so scared. You wouldn’t dare do a single thing as long as Y/N’s here. Keep playing happy family, big bro.”

Silas stops and turns to him. “I knew it’d be like this. You think I want to be here and play civil? The only reason I am here is because Y/N told me to come, because they’re so good hearted they want to fix the relation our parents messed up.”

“I think you did that by yourself, actually. They didn’t tell you to go to jail.”

“Normal parents don’t disown a teenager for that. At least I don’t lie to mom and dad. How about you tell them about your scamming business and see how loved you are after that? How you trick old people into giving you their entire life savings and then have them die because they can’t afford what they need? You have no spine, Ares.”

“And you do?”

“I don’t hurt innocent. That’s all you do.”

Your voice cuts their conversion short. “What are you saying?”

Silas clenches his jaw and looks down at you, your confused innocent eyes that doesn’t understand what they're saying. His heart breaks. Why did he bring you here? Into a place that none of you should have anything to do with?

“Nothing”, he replies shortly, now back to English. “Ares’s just being dumb. We’re going home tonight.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m done here.”

You don’t say anything, you can already tell that something happened between them, more than just normal bickering, and you don’t want to make it worse. 

Back home, Silas lets you do the watermelon basket before he insists on packing and going home. He calls a childhood friend asking him to get them to the mainland so you two can catch the next flight home. 

Silas doesn’t say anything to his parents as he puts the bags in the car, but his mother comes over to you and gives you a hug. You hug back, sighing. She turns to Silas, and what he says hurts his heart. 

“Take care of them, Silas”, she says in Greek. “I see how they make you softer. Gentler. Cherish them.”

Silas nods, sighing. “I know, mom. I do. I try.”That’s the last words he tells her for a long time. As you get into the car to make your way down to the harbour, you see that his dark eyes are glassy. Maybe he got in worse contact with his brother during the week, but maybe—just maybe—there’s still a chance to repair the relationship between him and his mother.

[lillilybells]

DAMIAN'S GIRLFRIEND HAS TO MEET TALIA!!

Family dinner V✧₊⁺

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing|damian wayne x reader (feat. Talia Al Ghul)

summary|getting ambushed by.. your boyfriend’s mother.

word count|790

warnings|blood! Kidnapping, mentions of world domination, teen romance.

notes|I’ve been thinking about this meeting for like forever!! I thought this was funny nd cute, hope hopefully yall like it<33

Family dinner masterlist

It was supposed to be a simple, drama-free day.

Damian had insisted on taking you to the mall—shopping, photo booth pictures, overpriced iced coffee (which he still didn’t understand your obsession with), and dinner. No patrols. No emergency calls. Just you and him being teenagers for once.

And it had been perfect. Right up until you decided to walk home under the moonlight instead of letting Damian call a limo. You were laughing, teasing him, piggybacking through the empty street—until it all went black.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

You came to consciousness with a pounding head and the blinding sting of fluorescent lights overhead. A thick mat was beneath you, the air smelled faintly of incense—and metal. You sat up quickly, chest tightening when you realized your surroundings: not a hospital, not the manor.

A dojo.

You weren’t alone.

A woman stood in front of you, tall and poised. Her posture was rigid, arms folded over long green robes with gold embroidery, her hair sleek and dark, her face expressionless—but her eyes.

Those sharp, beautiful emerald eyes. Damian’s eyes.

“(Full name),” she said. Not a question—an assessment.

You swallowed. “Yeah... that's me.”

She tilted her head slightly, surveying you. “So you are the one occupying my son’s attention.”

Your heart dropped. “You’re... Talia,” you whispered. Damian’s mother.

The woman gave a faint, almost amused smile. “He doesn’t mention me, I assume.”

You didn’t answer, and she didn’t wait.

“What does my son see in you?” she asked, stepping forward. “Besides.. looks, You are ordinary. No League training. No lineage of note. Civilian blood. Can’t fight..” Her eyes narrowed.

You flinched slightly. “I—Damian says I don’t need any of that. He’s been training me a little.”

She raised a perfectly shaped brow. “Training you?” Her voice held the same tone Damian used when disappointed. “And what will that accomplish? Do you think a few sparring matches in the manor gym make you his equal?”

You stayed quiet. Frowned, What could you say?

“He is the heir to the Demon’s Head. He has been trained by masters since he could walk. He was raised in fire and blood—and yet he chooses you?”

“I love him,” you blurted. Almost defensively, “More than anything.”

Talia’s eyes gleamed. “Love,” she repeated, almost to herself. “A foolish word. Do you know what it costs to love someone like my son?”

You hesitated.

She didn’t.

“Would you follow him if he embraced his destiny? If he chose the League over Gotham? If he conquered a nation instead of protecting it?”

“I—” You stumbled. “If he asked me to stand by him, I would. No matter what.”

She held your gaze, unblinking.

A voice exploded beyond the metal doors.

“MOTHER!”

Your head snapped around.

Screaming. Metal clashing. A thud. Then—

The door was blown clean off the hinges.

Damian stood in the doorway, bathed in shadows and blood—none of it his own. His sword dripped red. His eyes immediately locked onto you.

“Beloved—!” He was at your side in two strides, cupping your face. “Are you hurt? Did she touch you?”

“I—I'm okay,” you said, dazed. “I was just... interrogated?”

He frowned, pulling you close. “She’s insane.”

Talia stepped forward slowly, folding her hands behind her back.

“Still dramatic, I see,” she said.

“Still kidnapping people?” Damian shot back dryly.

“You would prefer I text?” Talia countered, and then her eyes shifted to you. “She’s soft. But not useless. And she didn’t cry.”

“Wonderful. Can we leave now?” Damian said flatly, grabbing your hand.

“I approve,” she added abruptly, ignoring him.

He froze.

You blinked. “You do?”

“She’s loyal. And perhaps... exactly the kind of weakness my son needs.”

Damian scowled. “Your compliments are always backhanded.”

“And your girlfriends are always unprepared,” she said, brushing past you both. “But... she has heart. That’s rarer than you think.”

You left with Damian before she could say more, his hand gripping yours tightly. The cold air hit your skin as soon as the temple doors shut behind you.

“Tt. I can’t believe her,” he muttered. “She’s out of her mind. And you—you should never have had to deal with that. I should’ve seen it coming.”

“It’s fine,” you said, still a little shaken. “Well, not fine, but... she wasn’t that bad. Could’ve done without the League goons though.”

“at least I met all the in-laws” you teased, giving a cheeky smile.

Damian scoffed. “You think. You’re lucky Grandfather wasn’t there.”

You blinked. “You mean Ra’s al Ghul?”

He gave a humorless chuckle. “Yes. Compared to him, Mother’s practically a saint.”

You looked at him. “Your family's wild.”

“Tell me about it.” he said, but a small smirk played on his lips.

sorry about how short this is guys☹️ but it didn’t feel right adding more and I can’t even lie it’s almost 4am rn, yeahh😭 sorryyy💗

[ainsworthluv]

wisdom tooth | lando norris

Lando has his wisdom teeth removed and you need to take care of him.

“What if I die?” Lando asked, full dramatic mode activated, eyes slightly teary as he looked at Y/N like he was heading into battle.

“Lando, babe, you’re just getting your wisdom tooth removed.”

“I’m too old for this.”

“Exactly. You should’ve done it years ago, but you kept putting it off. Now the dentist says if you don’t get it out, it’ll hurt like hell and could mess up all your other teeth.”

“I don’t care about that. I just don’t want surgery.”

He crossed his arms, utterly offended by reality. Y/N had to fight the urge to laugh—he looked like a sulking child.

“You race at 300 km/h in the rain without blinking, but you’re scared of a tooth being pulled?”

“It’s not a tooth. They’re taking out three! And I don’t need someone digging a hole in my mouth with a giant wrench while I’m driving, do I?”

Before he could go on with the dramatic monologue (which had been nonstop since he got the news), the dentist called his name.

“Come with me,” Lando said, clinging tightly to Y/N’s hand.

“I can’t go in, but I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

“If I survive, that is.” He let go of her hand like he was being sent off to war.

The surgery was over. Y/N stepped into the recovery room and had to stifle a laugh. Lando was lying there with ice packs on both cheeks and the dazed look of someone completely out of touch with reality.

“Hey, handsome. Was it that bad?”

“Who are you?” he mumbled, his voice slow and slurred.

“It’s me. Y/N.”

“Y/N?” He squinted at her.

“Yes, your girlfriend.”

His eyes widened.

“Damn... you’re hot. I’m dating someone hot?”

Y/N laughed, brushing his hair gently.

“Apparently, yes.”

“Wow... nice job, me—” he started, then winced and grabbed his cheek with a soft whimper.

“Ow... what happened?”

“You had your wisdom teeth removed.”

“Why’d they do that to me? Why’d you let them?”

“Because it was necessary, love.”

“Was it for the black market? For organ trafficking?”

“Absolutely.”

“Are we broke?”

“Completely.”

“What do I even do for a living? Why am I poor?”

“You drive cars.”

And that’s when he burst into tears.

“Lando? Are you in pain? Should I call the dentist?” Y/N knelt beside him, worried.

“No... it’s not that,” he sniffled. “I’m an Uber driver!”

“Oh, sweetheart. That’s okay. You’re the best Uber driver in town.”

“But I don’t wanna be an Uber driver!”

“What do you wanna be, then?”

“A basketball player.”

“I don’t think you have the height for that.”

“You’re right. I’m way too tall to be a basketball player.”

“Of course you are, Shaquille O’Neal.” She giggled. “Come on, let’s go home.”

“You’re taking me home?”

“Yes.”

“Can I trust you? My mom said not to trust strangers.”

“Lando, I’m your girlfriend.”

“Right... and you’re hot. I trust hot people.”

Y/N helped him up and walked him to the car. Lando had insisted they take his Ferrari Purosangue, but since she knew he wouldn’t be the one driving home, she convinced him to go in her Fiat 500 instead.

The second he saw it, he frowned.

“What is this thing?”

“My car.”

“You drive this?”

“Hey! Respect the Fiat.”

“I don’t wanna ride in this tin can.”

He crossed his arms again.

“Lando. Get. In. The car.”

“You’re not my mom!”

“Now.”

“Ugh. Pretty girls are so mean.”

They got in. On the way, he stared out the window like a disappointed toddler. A few minutes later, she pulled into a pharmacy.

“I need to grab your meds and some ice cream. What flavor do you want?”

“Why meds? Am I dying?”

Cue third round of tears.

“I DON’T WANNA DIE!”

“Lando! Shhh! You’ll pop your stitches!”

“They stitched me up? What is this, Saw? Are you Jigsaw?”

“No, I’m your girlfriend. Ice cream, Lando. Choose.”

“All of them.”

“I can’t buy all of them.”

“Right... forgot I’m poor. And an Uber driver.”

“Yes, tragic. Now pick one.”

“Strawberry.”

“You hate strawberry.”

“I want strawberry!”

“Okay, fine. You get your teeth pulled and suddenly I’m babysitting a five-year-old.”

She sighed.

“Stay still. I’ll be quick.”

“Hurry back, sexy Jigsaw. I’m scared to be alone.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh as she kissed his nose and left. When she returned, he was passed out in the passenger seat.

“Hey, we’re home,” Y/N whispered as they arrived, gently waking him.

“This is our house?”

“Yep.”

“But we’re poor.”

“Very. We bought this place with a popsicle stick.”

“Inflation’s wild.”

She helped him out of the car and into the house, laying him down on the couch. Within seconds, he was fast asleep. Y/N smiled, brushed a bit of hair from his forehead, and kissed his nose softly.

“I’m telling everyone in the Paddock how you acted under anesthesia,” she whispered.

“Just so you know.”

[staticthread]

Hangman

Phainon left that day throwing you a blinding smile as he said, 'see you tomorrow!' A day later he did come back but you're sure that this Phainon isn't your Phainon.

pairing: phainon x reader (gn.)

tags & warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamics, mentions of blood and implied murder

masterlist 𝄂 ao3

The first thing you noticed was his missing smile.

Phainon never not smiled. No matter the circumstance, no matter what he felt, Phainon always smiled. If you couldn't see it on his face, then you'd see it in his eyes.

That smile.

That shining smile.

It was a constant, a piece of Kephale's dawn within your Deliverer.

You hated seeing it on his face.

Yet it chills you to see it gone.

You don't bring it up during your reunion, nor do you do so in the following days.

Because he has the flame-chase in mind, you'd attempt to justify. You won't bring it up for his sake. The burden of the flame-chase is heavy, and you don't need to make it heavier.

You blame your suspicions in the heat of the moment, never bring it up, even if your mind screams Wrong! Wrong! WRONG!

Affection came easily to him. Hugs, kisses, cuddles, he'd always be the one to initiate. It made it look like Phainon loved you more than you love him.

You, yourself, wondered if that's the case.

It's only in the weeks following his trip into the abyss that you realise it wasn't.

He's more withdrawn, quiet. Conversations are shorter, less mundane. He'd talk to you when he needed something, and you would do the same.

This should be a none issue. The solution is right infront of you. Talk. Talk his ears off. Talk until you start a conversation. Talk until you fill the silence. Just. Talk.

You don't do any of that.

Talking had never been your strong suit.

Instead, you double your affection. You give him more kisses, hug him a little harder goodbye, squeeze his hand when you hold it.

None of it works.

He remains cold, like his heart had frozen over. He tries to fake it, forcing a smile here and there, awkwardly returning your embrace. It's obvious, though. Phainon's a terrible liar.

Thankfully, he still is.

You try to push your doubts away, find a reason to justify why. It doesn't work.

Your suspicions only increase.

It boils over one night, when you wrapped your arms around him, seeking his warmth.

He doesn't pull you closer, no.

He grabs your arms and tosses you off the bed.

You don't even realise what he has done until you see him watching. Your dazed mind screams danger, but you stay, because despite what just happened, you still trusted Phainon.

"I'm sorry," is all he says, before picking you up and returning you to your side. He goes back to sleep, back turned to you and never asks if you are alright.

The next morning, you kiss him as usual and go about your day.

You never bring it up, but now you suspect that Phainon isn't Phainon.

You get your confirmation when he returns home covered in blood. Golden blood.

"Do you still believe in Era Nova?" he asks.

"I do."

He lets out a shaky breath, ichor-stained hands held out in front of him.

You reach out for them, intertwining your fingers with his. You try your best to ignore the shimmering gold, to not think of who he killed.

"I know, you'll bring it."

He tenses.

You force yourself to look up, to look him in the eye, "And I know you're not him."

And despite your disgust, you kiss him because the alternative is accepting that your Phainon is gone.

[gaypirate420]

Witch Trial// Dream*

Dream* of the Endless x fem!witch!reader.

Summary: The Lord of Dreams has to rescue his witch from her demise at the stake.

A/N: 1675 Morpheus lives in my head rent free. This might be ooc. And it's long and maybe not historically accurate linguistically speaking.

Angst/Fluff. Slow burn? Pun not intended.

1680, London.

Your breath was ragged as you pushed a chair against your door, trying to prevent anyone from getting inside. You heard their whispers earlier, you knew their plans, the village you've been living in for the last two decades has found you out and you will be burned because of your secret.

Your hands are trembling as you brush your hair back, almost too hard, without much thinking you took a leather bag, taking things that you deemed important, you could still flee, make a run for it and live.

Books, diaries, cards and amulets, you wished you could take it all, all the memories but there is no time.

Shivers ran through your back as you heard them, the mob, the shouts, someone must've known you wanted to escape. Your gaze roamed around your home searching for something, anything.

So you knelt.

"Dream Lord." You called to the air, clasping your hands together.

His steps are slow, walking with no rush, clothes blend with the shadows. The Lord of Dreams has heard your callings, he has told you many times that he was not at your beck and call, that he cannot save you for any small inconvenience you come by. And for the most part of the century you've stuck to those rules, if you were so insisting this time it meant trouble.

Leaves crush against his shoes, everything is silent as he opens the door of your home. The raven perched on his shoulder ruffles her feathers, sensing the heavy energy.

His expression doesn't change much, his starry eyes only took into the scene, your home was wrecked, everything you owned was broken and there was no sight of you. His jaw clenched as he saw the small altar you have for him undone and ruined.

"Please, my lord. Please." He could feel your calls at the back of his mind, they were now more desperate, pleading. Jessamy caws at him, catching his attention before she took flight again, guiding him.

"I do not deserve to be put in the pyre!" You shouted, everyone in the trail looking at you. "I am not a follower of satan!"

"You have lived in this village for twenty years, yet you hold no signs of aging and have no children, you look younger than any woman in here, but you are older." The judge says, his gaze is scrutinizing.

"Much more older." The man continued, something was handed to him, a piece of clothing, he stepped closer, you could sense anger but there was fear, everyone in the room was afraid of you to some degree.

"This fell from your blouse one day, is this not you?" He asks as he unfolds the cloth, revealing a small portrait of you, he turns it around, the date in it reads 1568 following with a small legend of your name. One of your lovers was a painter, you remember feeling so cherished when they showed a painting of yourself, now you only feel cold sweat running down your skin.

"That is my grandmother." You said confidently, your chin up and gaze not waving from the judge's. But he did not believe you.

"Your name is in this portrait. You are over a hundred years old." He stated before walking away. "I have never harmed anyone in this village!" You plead with a crack on your voice. The judge turns around, meeting your gaze again.

"You are a temptress, seducing women to do your bidding, making innocent men suffer from the most bizarre dreams after meeting you."

It was true, mostly, the women were pretty, those that were unhappy with their husbands found themselves in your home more often than not. And the men were insufferable, they made you angry with their ignorance, with their attempts at courting you, perhaps one or two suffered your wrath in the form of nightmares. But you were already lectured about that by your patron.

"You shall be burned, return to hell with your master!"

"They will burn her tomorrow." Morpheus said to his sister, who stood in his gallery after being called.

"Humans have done that recently, it is quite a shame." Death spoke softly, a soft sympathetic expression on her face, her brother wasn't pleased, in the slightest, she would dare to say he was angry about your demise. Dream knows your nature as a witch doesn't grant immortality, only longevity, and he doesn't know of any mortal that survived being burned alive.

"She has been working for me for eighty years. I granted her protection in exchange for her loyalty and work. She has not failed me." His star filled eyes looked away.

"She became important to you." Death says with a small smile, leaning her body against a wall. Morpheus let out a small huff, side eying her, instantly, almost burning holes into her.

"I shall keep my word. As she kept hers." He said simply, almost offended at the claim from his sister.

"And how do you plan to do that?" She asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"I have a favor to ask from you, my sister." He stepped closer, his eyes meeting hers.

Everything is a blur. You haven't slept all night, but who would in a dark cold cell. You could hear your heartbeat on your ears, merging with the screams of insults and the occasional rock being thrown at you as they dragged you around the village.

They tie you. You don't understand what the preacher is saying, if he is condemning you or asking God to have mercy on your soul, you cannot concentrate, your eyes look down as the wood piles around you.

"Dream Lord... please, help me." You whispered with trembling lips, you thought of yourself as strong, you cannot help but weep now.

And so it begins, soft crackling cuts your thoughts, the smell of wood burning fills your lungs, the smoke starting to rise and cloud your surroundings. You looked up at the sky before closing your eyes.

Gasping.

Erratic gasping for air, your eyes shoot open, your body trembling frantically as you choke on tears, making you cough, you sit up, hugging yourself.

A soft cawing noise makes you lift your head. The now familiar raven with a white chest hops onto the bed you now realize you're resting in.

"Calm yourself." His voice reverberates through your mind making you jump a bit.

"My- my- mas-ter." You choked out the words.

His fingers found their way to your chin, the touch is gentle, just a small coaxing for you to look at him.

"That was no dream." The dream lord spoke, almost like he could read your mind at the moment. "And yes, you are still alive." He reassured, his tone laced with a discreet softness that wasn't there before. But the lord of dreams wasn't sure you even understood him.

"I burned. I could feel it." You whispered out, trembling slightly at the memory. His fingers lingered for a moment but he caught himself and pulled away, tucking his hands into his pockets "They said some vile things about me." You sniffle.

"Do not let their ignorance harm you further." That was all the comfort he offered before silence fell upon the room.

"Those are yours." Morpheus pointed with his eyes, making you look at the leather bag on the nightstand. He could feel the relief in your expression.

"Thank you, master. I am in your depth." You mumbled out, bowing your head in gratitude, your hands still caressing your own skin in seek of comfort.

"There is no need to thank me. I merely kept my word, so you do not have to give me anything in return." Morpheus said before walking to the door. "I will send someone to fetch you for dinner, in the meantime I suggest you rest." With that he left, leaving you and Jessamy alone, she tilted her head at you before hopping onto your lap, your hand resting on her body as the feeling of her feathers grounded you.

Morpheus closed the door of your room, he walked away, his hand pulling from his pocket, looking down at the small portrait of you for a moment before tucking it back into his coat, keeping it safe, and most important, a secret.

"What a weekend, literally end up dead."- Reader, 1680.

A/N: (Divider 1) (Divider 2) hiiiii, heeeyyyy, we're SO BACK Sandman girlies and theys, omggggggggggg, send requests as always I might take some time to do them. Also I do not support NG, idk if it needs to be said, but now u know.

[screamlet]

reunion cuddles? 👉👈 (also yay you're working on layla and bailey)

a happy one!!! my god!! in this economy!! (and layla and bailey are chugging along, can you believe difficult conversations are difficult to write? surprised the hell out of me) anyway: 850ish words of post s8 fix-it. inspired by @rcmclachlan's recurring tag "a three-minute conversation could fix them." this is like. idk. seven to eight minutes max.

---

As Buck and Tommy unpack their flea market and garage sale findings, Buck looks around his new apartment. He's been here a month and a half and it already looks so much like a home, a place where he wants to spend his time.

He knows in his gut that's because he can see so many pieces of Tommy here. The dark teal vase he said looked better than a navy one. A pair of framed sketches of backyard bugs, where Buck had found one and Tommy had dug around for its match, finally found it for him.

And there's the most obvious: Tommy standing in his kitchen gently cleaning a new vintage serving dish they'd found that Buck can't wait to cook in. Fuck, this is—it's what he wants.

Buck has been thinking and staring long enough that Tommy's finished drying off the dish. He catches Buck's eye and smiles. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, kinda." Buck moves into the kitchen and stands across from him on the other side of the island. "Can we talk about something?"

He can see the way Tommy's shoulders immediately tense. "Yeah, of course. You can tell me anything."

"I know, but as I want this to go both ways," Buck says. He waits until Tommy's done drying the dish and Tommy's done when he realizes Buck isn't talking until he is.

"So what's up?" He looks so terrified already that Buck wants to back off; he doesn't want to be responsible for putting that expression on his face. But the only way out is through, and Buck has to get this thing moving.

"I want to try again. Us. Being together. Dating." Buck doesn't look away. "Would you want that?"

Tommy looks at him like there's a catch and, honestly, he's right to do it. There's lots of catches, Buck's going to make sure of that. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

They say it in unison: "What's the catch?" Tommy rolls his eyes, smiling, and Buck can't help tilting his head to follow his smile.

"We have to talk to each other," Buck says slowly. "I want to know you, Tommy. All of you. I mean it."

He can tell that a dozen self-deprecating jokes want to punch their way out of Tommy's mouth, but he's holding them back. He's digging. They might actually do this. Buck really hopes so.

"I think," Tommy says, "that when you scratch past all this, you're gonna find a whole lot of nothing."

"Yeah, well. Let me decide, would you?" Buck tries his best not to look away. "Maybe what you call nothing means more to me than everyone else's something."

Tommy nods, still unconvinced. Buck asks, "What do you want? What do you need? I want you to stay with me. What can we do to make that happen?"

The silence stretches out and Buck lets it. He can do this—he can make space for Tommy. He's just relieved that Tommy's trying. He's trying to try. He's digging and that's all Buck wants. He wants more Tommy.

"I listen to you, Evan," Tommy says, "and I think you're used to letting your words roll off people's backs. I'm not like that. I hear you. I take you seriously, so you have to watch what you say. You have to think about what you're saying before you say them to me. And if you promise to do that, then I'll promise to stay. I just—" Tommy drums his fingers nervously on the counter. "If I show you my feelings, I don't want them to get hurt. So don't hurt me with things you don't mean."

Buck nods. "Okay. Okay, I can try to do that."

"Okay." He's going to drum the kitchen island to pieces at this point. "And you have to give me time. Like." Tommy laughs and motions to himself. "The excavation process here? It's a long one. A long one. So just. Let me." Tommy smiles. "Like you're doing now. Like this."

"Okay. I can do that." Buck smiles back. "I like hearing things about you. I can listen, Tommy. I want to hear you. So talk to me."

"And we have to talk," Tommy says. "I don't want to bury things because I think you'll leave. I don't want to leave because I think you want me to bury things."

Buck nods, then grins. "I'm getting a notepad. We should write this down."

Tommy laughs. "Really? You can't remember this?"

"Now? Yeah. When we need it, in the moment? Maybe not! So: terms and conditions."

The only paper Buck has is a 5×5" notepad with a crate of vegetables printed in the corner. Tommy shakes his head as Buck comes around with a pen. "Okay, so."

"Come here," Tommy interrupts. He hugs Buck, his hand resting at the nape of Buck's neck. "We're doing this?" he asks quietly.

Buck hugs him back tight, pen and paper in one hand as he sways in his arms. "Yeah, we are. As soon as we finalize our contract."

Tommy hugs him tighter. Buck sighs with relief, the newest piece of his new life finally in place, exactly where he wants him to be.

[augustjoy]

Is it my turn now?

Based on the following ask: Find the ask here! Basically Haley isn’t dead, she and Hotch had a civil divorce. Little baby Jack doesn’t understand that you (Hotch’s girlfriend) aren’t coming to the house for him, rather than his dad. With split parenting, Jack assumes that you are also not at Aaron’s house while he’s at his mom’s, because you come and go, unlike Haley who’s remarried.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader Fluff   Word count: 2344

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, unspecified age gap, mention of Jack, mention of Haley, divorce, coparenting, custody agreements, Jack being confused, use of y/n (listen it made more sense for the story!) mention of food/eating, let me know if I missed any. You are responsible for your own media consumption - if these warnings are triggering or potentially harmful, DO NOT READ.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

“Hey dad, when is y/n coming over?” Jack asked.

“Oh, buddy she’s working today. I think she’s going to come by tonight.”

“Can you ask her?” Jack pressed.

“Sure bud.”

Aaron: Hey baby, you stopping by tonight? I miss you. Jack does too.

You: I miss you guys too! I’m off in an hour, I’ll bring dinner!

Aaron: You spoil us. See you soon.

You: I love you!

Aaron: I love you more

“She’ll be here soon Jack. She’s going to bring dinner.”

“YAY!!!” Jack cheered, running off to his room.

--

Nearly two hours later, you walked into the Hotchner home, takeout bags hanging from your arm. You’re barely in the door when Aaron comes over to you, placing a kiss to your lips and taking the bags from your hands.

“Hi sweetheart.” He greets you.

“Hey baby. I am so, so glad to be off for the weekend.” You sighed, kicking off your shoes.

“Well, the good news is, I am also off this weekend. Jack will be at Haley’s, so we will have the house all to ourselves.” Aaron pressed his lips to your neck teasingly.

“Y/N!” Jack shouted, running down the hall towards you.

“Jack! What has my little adventure partner gotten himself up to this week?” You laughed, picking him up and spinning him around.

“I made slime, and at school in art we made clay pots, they’re called pinch pots. And then Mike took me to see the new Spiderman movie, and it was so cool!” Jack rambled.

“You saw the new Spiderman, without me?” You gasped in mock hurt.

“That’s okay! I can watch it again with you! That way I can warn you about the scary parts!” He offered.

“Oh well that’s perfect, because you know how I hate scary movies.” You smiled and ruffled his hair before setting him back down.  “Alright cutie, I picked up food from Maggie’s diner and you know what that means.”

“Grilled cheese and French fries!” Jack cheered.

“That’s right bud!”

The three of you sat and ate dinner, Jack would ramble for a while before getting lost in his food, and in those moments, Aaron and you would catch up on your days.

“So, what do you want to do this weekend?” You asked Aaron.

“Wait. What do you mean?” Jack asked.

“What’s wrong bud?” Aaron looked over at Jack, confused.

“Why would Y/n be here this weekend?”

Aaron and you looked at one another, confused by Jack’s questioning.

“I’ll be at mom’s house, so why would you come over?”

“Oh, sweetie, I’ll be here to spend time with your dad.” You explained.

“But why?”

“Jack, buddy, Y/n is my friend remember, so she and I are going to spend time together this weekend while you’re at your mom’s house.” Aaron explained further.

“That doesn’t make sense. She’s my friend.”

“Yeah, sweetie, I am. But I am your dad’s friend too.”

Jack seemed displeased but ultimately let it go. For now.  

--

That weekend you and Aaron barely left the house, spending every waking moment wrapped up in one another. It was rare for you to have aligning time off, and Haley had been generous enough to take Jack for an extra weekend just so the two of you could spend time together.

Haley had liked you from the moment you met. She saw how good you were with Aaron, how you grounded him and kept him young. When you’d asked her if things would be weird she reassured you, telling you that the two of them had been so young and in the end they’d only been together out of convenience, so they called it quits when jack was about a year old.

That was about six years ago now, and you and Aaron were going on two years together. Haley married a nice man named Mike; he’s a realtor. Everyone got along really well, things were amicable all around. Aaron made sure he was serious with you before introducing you to Hayley and asking if she’d be okay with Jack meeting you…he followed the same courtesy she’d offered when she met Mike.

--

“Hey mom?” Jack began.

“Yeah sweetheart?” Hayley replied.

“Yesterday at dinner, Y/n and Dad said something confusing.”

“What did they say baby?” Haley asked.

“They talked about hanging out this weekend. But why would Y/n do that? She’s my friend and I’m not there.”

“Oh, well sweetheart, you know how I’m with Mike, well, your dad, he’s with Y/n.”

“No! You and mike are married; I was there. Dad said that Y/n was his friend.” Jack huffed.

“I know honey, but before Mike and I got married, we were friends.”

Jack stomped his feet before storming off to his room. Haley shook her head, slipping her phone out to text Aaron.

Haley: Hey, sorry to interrupt your weekend. Jack seems upset that you two are hanging out without him. It might be time to explain that Y/n is your girlfriend.

Haley: I tried to tell him how Mike and I were friends before we got married, but he didn’t seem to like that answer.

Aaron let out a breathy chuckle at Haley’s messages, leaning across the couch to show you. You shook your head, unsure of how to reply. Aaron and you had been together for some time, and sure you’d talked about moving in and getting married and all the things, but you didn’t want to push, there was plenty of time and things were good.

Aaron: I’ll talk to him when he gets back.

Aaron: You and Mike are going out of town this week, right?

Haley: Yes!

Aaron: Just in case – if we get called away, you’re okay with Y/n looking after Jack?

Haley: Aaron, we’ve talked about this. Y/n is wonderful, I adore her, Jack loves her. I’m kind of shocked you haven’t proposed yet.

Haley: But yes, I am perfectly happy with her watching him.

Aaron: Thank you. I just wanted to check.

He shook his head. Haley had been bringing it up more lately, how he had yet to invite you to move in or propose. Truth is, he had the ring. He just wanted to make sure the timing is right. You’re younger than him, bright, just starting out, Aaron wanted to know that you were sure about this. About him.

--

Jack and you spent the week together. Haley and Mike had been on a little vacation, and Aaron was away on a case. That left you to pick him up from school and hang out with him at Aaron’s for the week. Things had been going well, you’d made a fort, baked cookies, gone swimming, bike riding, and today you were going to take Jack to a trampoline park.

“Hey there adventure buddy!” You called, rolling down your window.

“Hi adventure pal!” Jack giggled, slipping into the back seat.

“All buckled?”

“Yes!” Jack smiled

“Alright bud, today, we are going to the trampoline park!”

“Really?” Jack was shaking with excitement

“Heck yeah! Are you ready?”

Jack and you played at the trampoline park for a few hours before going to grab dinner at Maggie’s. You’d gotten him a grilled cheese with French fries and when he asked for a milkshake you didn’t have the heart to say no.

When you got back to Aaron’s, you saw his car parked in the driveway. You pointed it out to Jack and his expression soured, just a hair.

“What’s wrong buddy?”

“If dad’s here, are you gonna spend time with him?” Jack asked.

“Well, yeah, but you can hangout with us too sweetie.”

You parked and helped Jack out of the car, he held your hand until you got to the door. When you opened it, Aaron was coming back from the bedroom. A smile took over his face as he saw you.

“Hey guys!”

“Hey baby.” You walked over to him and gave him a tight hug. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too sweetheart.” He pulled away and turned to Jack. “He buddy! Did you guys have a good time this week?”

“Yeah, we had so much fun!”

That evening the three of you watched a movie, and when Jack fell asleep, cuddled into your side, Aaron scooped him up and carried him to his room. Closing the door gently before returning to the living room. You were sat on the couch, your legs bent at the knees, feet resting on the center cushion. You had long since changed into comfortable clothes and were just waiting for some alone time with Aaron.

“Is it my turn now?” Aaron asked.

“Your turn for what?” You laughed.

“To be your boyfriend?” He laughed. “It seems like my son is trying to steal that title.”

“Oh baby, maybe you should talk to him.” You pouted lightly. “He’s so sweet and we had such a good week, but we need to talk to him. To avoid breaking his little heart.”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to him in the morning.” Aaron looked over at you. “Now come here baby.”

You slid across the couch and into Aaron’s arms. He held you tight for a while, just the two of you. When your breathing started to even out, he suggested the two of you head to bed. You agreed with a sleepy nod, letting him pull you up and lead you to his bedroom.

You were a little more awake now from moving around, admiring Aaron from across the room. He turned to meet your gaze.

“C’mon sweetheart, let’s go to bed.”

Aaron walked over and pulled the blankets down, allowing the two of you to slip under. You were quick to curl up to him, resting your head on his chest and your arm across his waist. His arm curling around your shoulder, just before he places a kiss you your temple.

“I love you Aaron, more than anything in this world. Jack and you are the best things that have ever happened to me.”

“Marry me.” Aaron blurted.

“What?” You shifted, resting your weight on your elbow so you could look up at Aaron.

“Marry me?” Aaron asked again.

“Are you serious? Because if you’re not, we can just pretend this never happened.” You rushed.

“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t serious. So, I’m going to ask one more time. Would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife and marry me?”

“Yes!” You straddled his lap and kissed him. “One hundred times yes!”

Aaron kissed you then moved to shift you off his lap. He moved swiftly across the room, reaching into his sock drawer. Your gaze followed him, jaw dropping the second you saw him pull the velvet box from the back, tucked neatly into a pair of his socks.

Aaron walked back over to you and sat before you, he held the box in front of you and opened it, revealing the most beautiful ring. A center, brilliant cut stone, with three smaller stones hugging either side. He pulled the ring from the box and slid it onto your finger, glancing up to see you looking, not at the ring, but at him. Tears rimmed your eyes, and a watery smile lit up your face.

“So would now be a good time to also ask you to move in?” Aaron laughed.

You sniffled through a laugh and nodded your head, throwing yourself into his arms.

--

The next morning, Aaron and you woke up early to make breakfast, that way you could talk to Jack together. You’d gone ahead and shared the news with family and friends via text, and Aaron had done the same, making sure to let Haley know as well.

You were just talking about the congratulations you’d been receiving when you heard the unmistakable sound of little feet padding down the hallway. Aaron shot you a pointed look as if to say we will talk more about this later. You knew that right now, you were going to have to have a tough conversation with Jack.

“Good morning buddy!” You greeted him.

“Hi Y/n! Are going on an adventure today?” He asked

“Maybe! But sweetie, your dad and I want to talk to you, is that okay?”

Jack nodded.

“Jack, you know how your mom married Mike?” Jack nodded again. “Well, I am going to marry Y/n.”

“You can’t.” Jack shouted. “She’s my friend!”

Aaron moved to speak but you cut him off. “I am your friend honey, but your dad and I, we’re dating. Like how your mom dated Mike before they got married.”

“No that’s different. Mommy and Mike live together; they share a room. Y/n you come here, and we play and watch movies and go on adventures.” Jack argued.

“Oh buddy. Y/n is here when you’re at your mom’s too. When she sleeps here, she and I share a room too. Y/n is going to come live with us here soon.” Aaron explained.

Jack crossed his arms and pouted.

“Sweetie, Mike is your stepdad right?” Jack nodded, his pout deepening. “Well honey, I’m gonna be your stepmom.”

“NO! You’re my friend!” Jack ran off to his bedroom.

You slumped down into the barstool at the counter, feeling defeated. Aaron walked over to you wrapping his arms around you and offering reassurance. He’d told you that Jack was just going to need some time, but that he’d come around. It’s a lot for a seven-year-old to comprehend.

--

It took about three hours for Jack to exit his room; he’d found you and Aaron on the couch. Some show playing long forgotten on the TV.

“Are we still gonna go on adventures?” Jack asked.

“Of course, sweetie. You will always be my adventure buddy!” You smiled, opening your arms to him.

“Okay.” Jack said, moving into your embrace, hugging you tight.

Aaron smiled and moved in to join your hug, holding you both tight.

“Can we go see the Spiderman movie later?” Jack asked.

Aaron and you just laughed, ruffling his hair and agreeing to go.

Hotch Taglist: @bernelflo @pastelpinkflowerlife @just-moondust @khxna @crimesthatnooneaskedfor @juninnyxriddle

[mononijikayu]

the first time you tasted alcohol was with geto suguru. both of you were seventeen. both of you had just gotten home from a miserable mission. it was something of a thing, you breaking into the boys dormitory on the other side of the campus without yaga's cursed puppets seeing you.

but you couldn't let the moment pass. your brother had sent you this lovely little gift. and it would be quite a sin to not share it with others. not when these are the last moments of your experience as an seventeen year old. and suguru, at the very least, has drank rice wine before.

"i can't believe you're abetting to the distribution of alcohol to a minor." suguru teased as he looked at the cup of rice wine.

"oh shut up." you rolled your eyes at him. "you really shouldn't be a goody two shoes about this. you hid from your mom that you drank before."

"well the less my mother knows, the less i get in trouble. more i become my mother's lovely son!" he cheered as he downed the drink.

"hmm, but not in yaga's eyes."

"you're acting like you won't be in trouble either." he raises a brow.

you laughed at him, holding your own glass of rice wine. "well, if i go down, you go down with me. its a win for me!"

he watches you down the wine, having quite a cute reaction as you sigh. you called the wine too sweet for your liking. but suguru's glad your brother had the due diligence not to send a strong one.

"hey, [name]?"

"hm?" you wordlessly hummed as you poured yourself and suguru another cup.

"if we make it to thirty and we aren't married, would you consider marrying me or satoru?"

you nearly fumble the bottle to the ground but miraculously caught it. you sighed, feeling flustered as you looked at him.

"w-where did you even find the thought to ask that, 'guru?"

".....i don't know, just curious." he mumbled absentmindedly as he looked at his glass. "i mean, would you not?"

"i-its not that i won't! just.....i can't think all the sudden!" you pout at him. "its all your fault, 'guru."

he laughs at your words in a way that was genuine and soft, real. the kind that tugs a little at your chest. the kind that makes your seventeen-year-old heart flutter even if you pretend it doesn’t. he looks at you with a fondness he usually hides under teasing remarks and too-easy smirks.

“you’re cute when you’re flustered you know that.” suguru says, and this time, you nearly spill the wine.

“shut up.” you hiss, cheeks hot.

“see? cute.”

“i swear to god i’m going to throw this bottle at your head.”

“not before we finish it.”

you end up sharing the rest of it cross-legged on his bed, backs pressed against the wall, speaking about the future like it’s something promised. the years ahead look like open roads.

all full of maybe’s and one day’s, and cities you’ve never seen. suguru talks about opening a school that doesn’t treat sorcerers like tools. you talk about maybe writing one day. stories that don’t end in tragedy.

you fall asleep leaning against each other, all those glasses still in hand. that night, you dream of nothing but peace. and that peace, being held in the hands of someone as warm, as loving and as kind as geto suguru.

the second time you tasted alcohol with suguru, you were twenty-two.

he found you in a crumbling temple outside miyazaki. you’d been waiting. someone had tipped you off he might pass through, and you knew him well enough to guess where he’d go. it was the place he once mentioned in passing to you.

"a quiet spot, real peaceful. used to go there with my mom when i was a kid." he has said with a fond smile. he always did that at the mention of his mother. "i liked it there a lot."

you should’ve reported it back to headquarters. but you didn’t. you couldn't. not when a part of you still longs for him. he came at sundown. slow steps. purple eyes like smoke, shoulders heavy with the weight of something irreversible.

you met his purple gaze. for a moment, you could feel your heart in your throat. you didn’t ask why he was here. you already knew what he had done. and what he had come here to do.

"hi." he said simply.

you nodded, voice failing you when it mattered most. your hands shook as you pulled the bottle of rice wine from your bag. the same kind from your youth. unopened. untouched. you had just bought it, at the street market. he stared at it.

“you remembered. how nice.” he murmured.

you handed it to him. he sat beside you, just like before. the silence between you was older now. sadder. everything felt suspended in the amber of memory. he uncorked the bottle. poured two swigs in those paper cups. he gently handed one to you.

"to our pact." he said with a bitter smile.

you didn't say anything as you drank your drink. the rice wine you drank years ago was sweet. it was smooth as it went down. but this one, this was too bitter. too damn aching as it flowed down. but you didn't want to say anything.

"i don't think we'll make it to thirty."

you toasted your paper cups anyway. "is that so?"

"hmm, i know so." he drank. so did you.

"mind reader, aren't you?"

he doesn't say much after that. instead, he looks onto the city as the lights started to flicker on one by one. and you didn't bother to say anything either. not that you could when the bitter feeling of alcohol remained as bitter as the thought of not having him by your side anymore.

“why?” you asked quietly, not looking at him. “why them, suguru?”

he exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the cup. “because if i didn’t, someone else would have. because no one would’ve saved them. because this world doesn’t let us live unless we become monsters.”

“so you became one.” you whispered.

he didn’t deny it. not one sound, not one word. yet he didn't need to say anything. his actions were all too much of a proof. they were enough. you gulped. the wine was too sweet. your chest ached.

“you know, i still see you sometimes.” he said, voice cracking. “in dreams. laughing. stealing wine. you were always braver than me.”

you looked at him now, really looked. not at the curse user. not at the murderer. not even at the traitor. you looked at the boy who once leaned against you and asked if you’d marry him someday.

“i would’ve said yes.” you said.

he froze at your words. “you asked, remember? if i’d marry you or satoru if we were thirty and alone. i would’ve chosen you. always you.”

geto suguru closed his already weary purple eyes. weary from all the crying. a long silence passed. the cicadas outside the temple cried like grief. his paper cup lay abandoned beside your own.

“i’m sorry." he said, and you believed him. it didn’t fix anything. but you did believe him.

“you should go now.” you said.

he nodded back at you, soundlessly.

he left the bottle behind.

and you never saw him again.

the third time you tasted rice wine, you were twenty-nine.

it was on your lips as you knelt at family his shrine. satoru saif there wasn't any body left to be had. but he was kind enough to leave a memorial. something to mourn. at the very least. it was what you deserved.

you weren't in jujutsu society anymore and yet you truly felt that this was another life which had been taken from you by that life all over again. even now when life has gone on, this was tragedy lived over and over again.

it was summer once more, though it will never be like those nights you had with him ever again. everything no was too hot and too heavy with memory. memories you didn't yearn to remember.

you poured two cups.

drank yours.

left his untouched.

and you didn’t cry until night fell.

it was your final hours as a twenty-nine year old.

soon enough you would be thirty.

and there will never be a wedding.

[fairestwriting]

Can i request for ruggie, jamil, kalim, and idia a gn reader who gifts them homemade food and desserts when they have a crush? :3 i just think its cute

𐙚 Ruggie Bucchi

Honestly. It's probably not the best strategy to take if you want to drop hints that you like him— Not because he doesn't care about it, of course! He'll accept any gift you give him with a big, bright smile.

It's just that he's done similar things for friends back home, so if you're already somewhat close, it doesn't strike him as anything that's too unusual. "You gotta tell me what kinda food you like best, so I can repay you later." He says, happily digging in.

If you do tell him, as soon as he gets time inbetween his part time work, he'll show up at your doorstep with the dish. Because he just had to properly show his gratitude, you know!

He also insists to wash the utensils the food you give him come with. Tupperwares, bowls, whatever it is. He'll have them returned to your dorm in a timely manner, probably cleaner than they've ever been.

𐙚 Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim's history with food gifts is, to say the least, complicated. But when he sees the look on your face as you hand over the food you make, he can't help but smile himself. "Aw, that’s sweet of you! Thank you so much! I just gotta take it to Jamil first…”

Things get just a little awkward then, with Jamil right between the two of you for a moment, because Kalim will drag you along when he takes the food to him — He wants you to see his reaction when he tries it, after all! And the Jamil thing is just a formality, you’re his friend, he trusts that you wouldn’t want to hurt him.

…The whole process might feel a little discouraging to you. It happens every time you give him anything, and Jamil is never thrilled over Kalim being so trusting of you. Or anyone else, really. Kalim feels a little bad for you, deep down, having to witness all of that. Though if you do have the patience to get through that ordeal every time you want to give him some food, it definitely won’t go unnoticed.

Because while he does love your food, pretty much regardless of what you’re gifting him, what makes Kalim feel the most appreciated is how willing you are to still make him food despite that whole situation... And while he might remain oblivious to your crush on him for quite some time, you might notice how, one day, the way he looks at you suddenly becomes even warmer…

𐙚 Jamil Viper

Goes quiet for a second. It takes a moment for his brain to process what's going on. "Thanks, I didn't know you were into cooking." Jamil says after the pause, just to keep the conversation going. He feels a little flustered while he goes for the first bite, hesitating a little on instinct.

He takes another brief moment to think when you ask him how it tastes... he does already like it, just because it's a gift— But he does also have a lot of opinions about food, so if he thinks it could use more spice, he will let you know.

Of course, he's nice about it. Even if he doesn't love the food itself, Jamil still finds himself enjoying it. He might even ask if you want to cook with him sometime, if it sounds like something you'd like to do.

Maybe he'll make you something in return, or maybe you could make something together? He quickly realizes that his proposal might sound a little sudden, but you don't seem to mind it, so...

𐙚 Idia Shroud

It's for him? Really? Are you sure? He stutters out a thank you before he even knows what it is. All his brain has registered so far is that it's a gift. "Uhm, I'll take it to my dorm... a-and eat it later. Thank you." He mumbles, saying he's not hungry, but it's really just because he's too flustered to eat in front of you.

...Unless you prompt him to do it. Like asking him to try some of your food instead of just handing it over. He might just internally explode on the spot, but in a good way.

Idia is honestly a really picky eater, he doesn't really feel like eating anything other than candy unless he's really hungry... but if you're making the food for him, it's different.

He does start kind of wondering if it's a romantic thing, because some characters do that in romance anime. But he's probably just overthinking it, right...? You're just a really nice person. Of course.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[yasministration]

don't move - harry potter

wolfstar!daughter au summary: when harry learns that you're skipping class due to your period, he decides to give you some friendly (?) company. (pre-relationship) wc: 1.2k+ cw: 'platonic' cuddling

You haven’t been in classes all day, and Harry has not gotten a single explanation from you.

He had to sit through double potions without his favourite partner — scratch that, he had to sit through all of his lessons without his favourite classmate, his favourite person in the entire castle. Hermione eventually got sick and tired of Harry’s complaining, rolling her eyes over the rim of her teacup at break time. She placed the cup down, leaning across the table to angrily whisper at Harry. “You’ll be fine. But your 'favourite partner' is on her period and she’s been suffering since yesterday. She hasn’t slept a single minute, and has been whimpering in pain all night. So stop complaining.”

“Oh.” Harry felt his cheeks go hot, feeling quite humbled by his friend. “What lesson do we have next?” He asked, and Hermione rolled her eyes, standing up. “I’ve got Arithmancy, you have a free period.” Pleasantly surprised, Harry nodded, racing away from the Great Hall to begin his little mission.

When the door to your dorm creaked open, Harry found that Hermione was not exaggerating. You were frozen in a curled position underneath your bedsheets, a small whine leaving your lips at the pain engulfing your body.

“Hey.” He whispered, softly closing the door behind him, watching as you weakly lifted your head up as a sign of acknowledgement. You dropped it back onto your pillow with a quiet thud, and Harry smiled softly as he approached you. He sat at the foot of your bed, placing a hand on your arm over the duvet. “I got you some things… To cope.”

You were silent as Harry pulled your favourite sweets from his bag, gathered from his leftover stash from Honeydukes under his bed — the rest from the elves’ freshly baked goods. “Do you want a cookie?” You nodded, reaching a hand out from under the covers to accept Harry’s offering. He dug out a warm chocolate chip cookie from the paper bag the elves gave him, placing it in your open hand.

Harry stared with mild worry as you chewed on the cookie, bringing a hand up to softly brush your hair back. “You okay?” You shrugged at Harry’s question, glancing down at your hand, now smeared with melted chocolate from a chocolate chip. Harry snatched a tissue from the box on your bedside table, grabbing your wrist so he could wipe down your hand with the tissue.

“Thanks.”

Harry smoothed his hands down on his trousers, chewing on his bottom lip as you went quiet again. He stood slowly, clapping his hands together once. “Okay then.”

“Stay.”

Harry’s face snapped towards you, and he nodded wordlessly, thinking of where to sit, but you solved his silent debate for him. “Lay down with me. Please.” Immediately, Harry was kicking his shoes off and pulling his jumper over his head before climbing into the bed behind you and laying down on his side. He shuffled closer to you, and you shuffled backwards, letting Harry’s body meld against yours.

Harry wrapped an arm over your waist, pulling you flush against his front as he dug his face in the crook of your neck. “Can’t stay for long, though. ‘ve got McGonagall after.”

You hummed absentmindedly, fingers curling around the hand Harry had splayed over your stomach, dragging it down to rest on the lowest area of your belly, just over your pelvic area, where cramps were hitting you hardest. Harry slid his fingers just under the waistband of your sweatpants, letting the warmth of his hand meet your bare skin. He felt a smile tug at his cheeks when you let out a sigh of satisfaction.

“You going home for dinner tomorrow?” Harry asked, eyes shutting tiredly. “I don’t know. I’ll see how I feel.”

“Well, let me know. If you don’t go, I’ll stay with you. We’ll let the parents get together back home, and we’ll get together here.”

“M’kay.”

From where Harry had his hand resting under your sweatpants, he began moving his thumb back and forth in a soft caressing motion. He could hear your breathing grow steadier and feel the way you tangled your legs with his. “Should I get you a potion for the pain?” Harry asked quietly, but you shook your head stubbornly.

“Don’t want you to move.” Harry smiled at your words, moving his head to the side so he could press a kiss to your cheek. He frowned at how hot your skin felt, bringing his free hand up to brush some hair away from your face. “You’re awfully warm, love. Do you want to take off your jumper?” But again, his question was just answered with a shake of your head. So Harry resorted to laying down next to you in complete silence, only continuing to rub circles into your skin.

He had no perception of time as he laid there with you, his body relaxing against yours. It was only when the door to your dorm creaked open that Harry’s eyes blinked open again, unaware that he even closed them in the first place. He broke his gaze from you, finding Hermione standing in the doorway with raised eyebrows. She silently closed the door before making her way over to her own bed, tossing her book bag onto her mattress.

Harry sighed deeply, but then his body involuntarily jerked as he realised that Hermione was supposed to be in class. “What are you doing here?” He asked, and her face instantly morphed into one of disbelief.

“Don’t tell me you’ve lost track of the time. I thought you’d skipped class on purpose.” Harry’s eyes widened and he moved his body away from you so he could turn around on the bed to face Hermione. “I missed Transfigurations?”

“And Potions. It’s lunch time in twenty minutes.”

Harry’s jaw fell slack in shock, but he felt warmth engulf his body as you flipped over to your other side on the bed, throwing an arm over Harry’s waist and hugging him tightly to you as you nuzzled your face in his back. Harry instinctively placed a hand over yours, mumbling “Did I fall asleep?” to Hermione, though it wasn’t really a question. Not when Hermione was smirking at Harry amusedly, arms crossed over her chest as she popped a hip to the side.

The door opened again, much less quietly as Lavender filed into the room with Ron right behind her, looking for his three best friends who had suddenly disappeared on him. Lavender didn’t blink at the sight of you and Harry cuddled up on your bed, slumping onto her own bed in exhaustion. Ron closed the door behind him, eyes trained on you and Harry before his gaze moved to Hermione.

He shot her an exasperated look which she smiled in response to.

“The two of you have got to do something about this.” Ron grumbled under his breath, kicking his shoes off and sitting on Hermione’s bed. “Could say the same about you.” Harry retorted, going silent when he felt you move against him. You threw a leg over his thigh, and he chuckled quietly as you mumbled something incoherent in your sleep.

Hermione fished her wand out of her book bag, sticking it into the pocket of her trousers, and nodded towards the door. “You don’t want to come for lunch?” She asked, and Ron stood up in an automatic response to the word ‘lunch’.

“No, it’s alright. We’ll grab something to eat when she wakes up.”

Hermione hummed, eyes twinkling as her lips tugged up into a smile. Lavender followed up after Ron and Hermione, stopping by the door and staring at you and Harry for a long moment.

“You’re not going to have forever to make a move, Potter.” And with that, she was gone.

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[seospicybin]

COVET.

CHAPTER ONE

Felix x reader x Bangchan. (s,a)

Synopsis: When a friend of your dad set you up with his son, you hope to see the man you used to love— but it was his stepbrother who showed up instead, Felix. He is your student. Too bold. Too young. But also impossible to resist. Then Chris returns—gentle, steady, still the same man you once dreamed of. Now you're stuck between the past that once had your heart… and the boy who’s learning how to break it. (17,5k words)

Author's note: You guys been asking for a Felix fic so here ya go (also, adding a dash of Chan just because I'm in the mood for some chanlix hehehe) pls enjoy it nonetheless and tell me what you think of it ♡

You’ve been in the city for exactly seventeen days.

Seventeen days of unpacking boxes, adjusting to the new water pressure in your apartment, forgetting which cabinet holds your coffee mugs, and waking up two minutes before your alarm like your body still doesn’t trust it.

It’s not bad. It’s just… not home yet.

But today is your official first lecture at the university. You’d spent the entire weekend reviewing your materials, making sure your notes were flawless, your syllabus airtight, and your first impression unforgettable. A fresh start—you could feel it humming in your veins as you stepped into the classroom, the low buzz of anticipation like something electric.

Your heels click against the polished floor, laptop tucked under your arm. The room quiets down the second you arrive—at least, mostly.

You give your students a quick once-over. All young, bright-eyed, some still blinking sleep away. You introduce yourself, establish expectations, try to make your voice firm but warm.

And then there’s him.

He’s sitting all the way in the back, golden hair catching the late-morning sun, one knee bouncing lazily, a lollipop tucked between plush lips like this is some high school drama. His name rolls off your attendance sheet like a warning bell: Lee Felix.

You’d recognize that smirk anywhere now—he’s had it on since you walked in.

Ten minutes into your lecture and he hasn’t looked up from his phone once.

“Mr. Lee,” you say, loud enough for it to cut through the room like a blade.

Heads turn but Felix glances up with deliberate slowness, like he didn’t just get caught red-handed. He doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t flinch. He just quirks an eyebrow and drawls, “Yes, Professor?”

There’s something about the way he says Professor—just enough edge, just enough mockery, just enough heat to make your grip on the whiteboard marker tighten. You take a breath. You’re not going to lose composure on your first day.

“I’m sure your phone can wait until after class,” you say coolly.

“I was just Googling a term you mentioned. Trying to keep up,” he lies so smoothly it almost sounds real.

The class snickers under their breath. You don’t let it show, but irritation prickles down your spine. It’s clear: he’s one of those. Smart enough to coast, cocky enough to test you, and pretty enough to think he can get away with it.

You’ve handled worse. But you also didn’t move cities, start fresh, and build a reputation from scratch to be toyed with by a smug, lollipop-sucking troublemaker. Your eyes lock with his for just a beat too long, and he has the audacity to wink.

You move on with the lecture, but you already know one thing for sure: Lee Felix is going to be a problem.

-

You’ve just dismissed the class when you hear it—

The lazy drag of footsteps that don’t belong to anyone in a rush to leave.

You keep your eyes on your laptop screen, fingers clicking quickly across the keys as you save your lecture notes and power down. Maybe if you act busy enough, he’ll change his mind. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

“Professor,” comes that infuriatingly smooth voice, so much softer now that it’s just the two of you in the room.

You glance up slowly, only to find Felix leaning against your desk, arms crossed, expression smug like he knows something you don’t. You hate how good he looks up close.

No—not good. Just… young. Reckless. Golden. Dangerous.

His lollipop is gone now, replaced with a slightly lopsided smile. “Just wanted to say, great first class. You really know how to command a room.”

You blink at him. “You didn’t seem too interested in it.”

“Oh, I was interested,” he says, and there’s a deliberate pause before he adds, “Just not in the material.”

He’s playing a game. Testing how far he can push before you push back.

You meet his gaze, cool and calm, no room for flirtation. “Mr. Lee, I’d advise you to choose your next words carefully.”

“Wouldn’t dream of saying anything inappropriate,” he says with a flash of his teeth, and that voice of his drops just a little—low, teasing, like a dare. “Unless you’re into that.”

You don’t flinch. You don’t blush. You don’t give him the satisfaction of reacting at all. Instead, you close your laptop with a soft snap, stand slowly, and lean your hands on the edge of your desk as you face him head-on.

“Listen closely, Mr. Lee,” you say, voice low but clear. “If you want to pass this course, I suggest you drop the act. I’m not here to be entertained. And I’m not here to entertain you.”

He straightens up just slightly, eyes flicking across your face, and for a second—just a second—you think you might’ve caught him off guard.

“If this continues,” you continue calmly, “I’ll have no problem removing you from this class. Permanently. Is that what you want?”

There’s a pause. You can almost see the calculation happening behind those deceptively warm eyes and then he smiles again—smaller this time. Slower. More careful.

“Not at all, Professor,” he says smoothly. “I like being in your class.”

You say nothing, and the silence stretches between you like a taut string.

Eventually, he steps back. “See you Wednesday.”

You watch him walk out the door, and only when he’s gone do you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Trouble. He’s going to be trouble.

-

There are only a few places in the city that feel familiar yet. The walk to the faculty lounge. The tiny bakery with the quiet owner who never talks too much. And this golf course—the green stretching wide under the open sky, the scent of cut grass and the satisfying weight of a club in your hands. But mostly, it’s him.

“Still swinging like a beginner, huh?”

The teasing voice makes you glance up just in time to see the man approaching, half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and a golf glove already in place.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Please. I’m still the only reason you don’t come in last in tournaments.”

He laughs—a full, warm sound that rumbles out of him and melts some of the stress clinging to your shoulders.

Mr. Bahng, as everyone else used to call him, but to you, he’s just Chris’s dad—and practically a second father of your own.

You’ve known him since you were a little, back when he was a partner to your father at work until he got transferred to another city but he’d visit your family during business trips or holidays and always bring you a snack from the airport like you were still ten. Now, he just sends books or gift cards for takeout, but the energy’s the same. Steady. Supportive. Familiar in a way this whole new city still isn’t.

You shake hands, and he pulls you into a quick side hug like always.

“Still keeping those city boys on their toes?” he asks as you walk to the tee.

“Trying to,” you reply, giving him a mock glare. “They’re just harder to scare.”

“Bet you’ve scared at least one of them,” he says with a chuckle. “You always had that look.”

“What look?”

“The ‘don’t-test-me-unless-you-want-to-lose-your-ego’ look,” he grins. “Your dad told me you used that on a boy in high school. What was his name? Lee?”

You scoff. “He tried to kiss me in a stairwell and spelled Nietzsche wrong in his essay. I stand by my choices.”

He laughs again and steps up to take his shot—too wide on the angle. You make a noise of disapproval.

“Left your wrists back again,” you point out. “Still trying to brute force it instead of—”

“Relax,” he mutters, straightening up. “You always get mouthy before you lose.”

“I never lose to you,” you say with a sharp grin, taking your place behind the tee. “And today’s not the day.”

The rest of the game flows easy, the two of you bantering between swings, correcting each other’s posture, talking about everything and nothing. This kind of familiarity is rare. Comforting. He doesn’t ask about your dating life, doesn’t push you about making friends. He just exists beside you like a tree you could lean on if you needed it.

However, by the 14th hole, he clears his throat and says, “Actually… I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

You glance over. “That sounds ominous.”

“Nothing bad,” he says quickly. “Just—seeing you out here today, all grown up and holding your own. I was thinking…”

You pause mid-step, eyeing him carefully.

“I know someone I think you’d get along with,” he continues, tone light, like he’s testing the waters. “He’s smart. Ambitious. Got a good heart. A bit overworked lately, honestly. Reminds me of you when you first started teaching.”

You raise a brow, half-amused. “Are you trying to set me up?”

He grins. “Would it be the worst idea in the world?”

You open your mouth to say something sarcastic—but pause.

He said someone I think you’d get along with. Smart. Ambitious. Overworked. And you know he has a son.

Your thoughts go straight to Chris. Chris, who used to help you carry your books after class. Chris, who told you not to cry when you didn’t get into your first-choice university. Chris, who was always kind and quiet and maybe just a little too good-looking for his own good. You haven’t seen him in years, but if he’s back now…

You clear your throat. “Is this your way of recruiting me into the family?”

He laughs. “What can I say? I’ve always wanted a daughter like you.”

It makes your chest warm. He means it. You can feel it. You pretend to think it over, but your heart’s already made the leap. “Alright,” you say, trying to sound casual. “I’ll meet him.”

He claps you on the shoulder with a proud smile. “You won’t regret it.”

You smile back, and for the rest of the game, you let yourself imagine what it might feel like to see Chris again. To be looked at like that. To belong to something… someone… that’s always felt a little out of reach.

You line up your next shot, but your mind drifts—

what would Chris wear to the date? Still gentle and quiet like you remember? Would he still have that soft voice, that shy, dimpled laugh? The idea of sitting across from him again after all these years tugs a smile onto your lips before you can stop it.

You swing but the ball hooks left—wild.

Mr. Bahng laughs behind you. “You were doing so well until I mentioned a certain boy.”

You blink at him, embarrassed. “I'm not,” you weakly defend yourself.

“I know that look,” he teases, eyes twinkling. “Don’t go falling in love just yet. Save that for the date.”

-

Studying bores him. It always has. It’s not that he’s stupid—God, no. Felix could probably ace half his classes with his eyes closed if he wanted to. That’s the thing—he just doesn’t want to.

Too many hours trapped in a chair listening to the same tired voices drone on about things that don’t light anything up in him. Too many papers, too many expectations. It all feels like white noise most days.

He comes to campus for one reason: to hang out. To be with his friends. To flirt, skate through the day, maybe sneak a smoke behind the student center or sleep through the late lectures if no one notices.

That’s all it was. That’s all it ever was. Until you show up like a glitch in the pattern. A brand new lecturer with no patience for bullshit and this fire in your eyes that makes Felix sit up straighter without realizing it. You dress sharp, speak sharper, and carry yourself like you’ve got the whole world under control. You don’t laugh at his jokes. You don’t flinch when he teases you. You don’t look at him the way others do—like he’s just the golden-haired boy who always gets away with things. You look at him like you see through him.

And that? That’s interesting. For the first time in years, he’s showing up to class early. He’s staying awake. He’s listening—to you, specifically. Not because of the material. Not because he cares about grades or degrees or whatever future everyone keeps pressuring him into chasing.

He shows up because you’re there. Because you challenge him. Because you ignore him. Because you look like you should be untouchable, and somehow that just makes him want to touch even more.

He knows he’s pushing it, knows the lines you draw, the rules you hide behind. Knows you’d probably throw him out of class if he pushed too far. But he also knows one thing for certain— No one else on this campus makes his heart kick the way you do when you walk into the room like you own it. No one else makes him want to show up.

You’re the only part of his routine that’s not boring and if he’s being honest with himself, you’re the only reason he’s still coming to class at all.

-

As usual, Felix lounges on the edge of the stone steps, half-listening to whatever Jeongin’s rambling about beside him. It’s something dumb. Something about a failed group project or a girl who ghosted him after two texts. Seungmin chimes in now and then with his usual dry sarcasm, and Hyunjin’s too busy scrolling through his phone to contribute more than the occasional “damn, that sucks.”

Felix laughs at the right moments, leans back on his elbows, sunlight soaking into the leather of his jacket. It’s easy. Effortless. But he’s only half there. The other half is watching the lot. Waiting.

“You’re staring again,” Seungmin says without looking up.

Felix doesn’t bother denying it.

Jeongin follows his gaze. “The new professor?”

Felix hums. A little smile tugs at his lips. “She’s not my professor. She just… teaches the class I’m currently tolerating.”

Hyunjin snorts. “Sure. Is that what you’re doing? Tolerating her?”

Felix shrugs, but the grin spreading across his face gives him away. He thinks about that first day. You walked in like the room belonged to you, like the floor knew better than to creak under your heels. No hesitation. No nerves. Just sharp eyes and a sharper mouth, dressed in soft fabrics and clipped words.

Everyone else had gone quiet. But him? He couldn’t stop staring. You’d called him out within ten minutes and he still thinks about it.

No professor had ever done that—not like you did. Not with heat behind your gaze and ice in your tone, like you were daring him to cross a line just so you could destroy him for it. And yeah, maybe that should’ve turned him off, but it didn’t. If anything, it flipped something in his brain. Because suddenly class wasn’t boring anymore. Suddenly, showing up felt like chasing a high.

“Why don’t you just ask her out already?” Jeongin says, kicking a pebble with the toe of his shoe.

Felix scoffs. “Yeah. ‘Hey, Professor, wanna grab coffee after you finish grading my half-assed essay?’ Real smooth.”

Seungmin shrugs. “You’ve pulled off worse.”

“But she’s…” Felix trails off, frowning.

Different. That’s the word he wants. Different from anyone he’s ever wanted. Different in ways that make him want to push and pull and figure you out just to feel what it’s like to have your attention for more than five seconds at a time.

Before anyone can say anything else, a car pulls into the lot and just like that, his whole body sharpens because it’s you. Hair pinned back, sunglasses perched on your head, dark dress hugging all the right places as you step out of your car like you’re stepping onto a stage you were born to own.

He sits up straighter. Slides his phone into his pocket. Brushes a hand through his hair. This? This is the best part of his morning. Maybe his whole week.

The others go quiet as they follow his gaze.

“Go get your fix, lover boy,” Seungmin mutters, already standing. “I’m out.”

Felix grins, but doesn’t respond. He just leans back into place, he eyes the curve of your waist, the soft sway of your dress as you stride toward the building and when the time is right— When he’s sure you’re close enough to hear him—

He says it: “Morning, Professor. That dress looks real good on you today.”

You freeze for a second. Just long enough to confirm what he already knows—you heard him. But you don’t look at him. Don’t smile. Just a clipped, nearly inaudible, “Thank you, Mr. Lee,” and you keep walking like you didn’t just lose for a second there.

Felix grins. God, you make it too easy.

The way your jaw sets when you’re trying to stay professional, the way your hand tightens around your bag strap, like you’re holding yourself back. The way your spine straightens like it’s him you’re bracing against.

He laughs as you push open the door without looking back, the sound rolling low in his throat, just loud enough for you to hear it if you’re still listening. You always pretend you’re not but he knows better.

You’re already in his head—he might as well return the favor.

-

Class ends.

You dismiss everyone with your usual calm, collected tone—sharp enough to keep them in line, soft enough to keep the room respectful.

Most students pack up and shuffle out. But Felix? He lingers. Always the last to leave. Always with something to say.

You’re collecting your papers at the front, eyes skimming your notes like you’re already ten minutes ahead of the moment. But he walks right up to your desk anyway, slow and easy, with that same crooked smirk that got under your skin the first week.

“You got any plans tonight, Professor?”

You glance up, brows raised. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugs, tone casual. “Just wondering. You strike me as the type who doesn’t know how to have fun on a Friday night.”

You give him a flat look, the kind that usually ends the conversation. But this time, you surprise him.

You slide your notes into your bag, your voice calm and detached when you answer, “Actually… I have a date.”

It’s not the words—it’s how effortlessly you say them. Like it’s not meant to hit him. Like it’s not supposed to matter. But surprisingly... it does. His stomach dips, almost unnoticeable, like hitting a sudden drop in the road you didn’t see coming.

The smirk on his face falters for half a second—barely there—before he recovers. “Oh yeah?” he says, grin stretching back into place, like it’s all just a joke. “Lucky guy.”

You don’t respond to that. Just offer a tight smile, and a pointed glance toward the door. You don’t have to say it—he knows the conversation is over.

He tosses his bag over one shoulder and walks out with that same swagger, head high, like nothing’s changed, but something has.

The word date sticks in his head. Over and over. You never give him anything. Never let him in. But now… you’re going out with someone? Who?

Felix doesn’t even realize how deep in his thoughts he is until his phone buzzes in his back pocket.

Mom.

He answers without thinking. “Hey, mom.”

“Felix darling,” her voice comes through warm and familiar. “I need you to do something for me tonight.”

He exhales, already rubbing a hand over his face. “What is it?”

-

It’s just a date. You’ve been on dates before—awkward coffee meetups, polite dinners with forgettable conversation, half-hearted setups from friends who didn’t know you at all.

But this one? This one buzzes under your skin like something electric. Maybe it’s because it’s him. Chris. Or, at least, that’s who you think it is.

You’ve spent the entire week trying not to overthink it—how many years it’s been, whether he’ll remember the things you used to talk about, whether the way he smiled at you back then meant what you thought it did.

You told yourself you weren’t going to go overboard and yet, here you are, standing in front of your mirror for the third time, adjusting your necklace, smoothing the soft fabric of your dress over your hips again like it’ll make a difference.

You spent hours getting ready. Hair, makeup, choosing a shade of lipstick that wasn’t too bold but still enough to make him look twice. You hate that you care this much. You hate that your pulse quickens every time you glance at the clock, that your hands feel a little clammy, that you’ve changed your earrings twice already.

But god, the thought of seeing him again—the boy who used to lean in and whisper things only you could hear, who made you feel like you were more than just someone’s daughter or a mere friend— It makes your stomach flip.

You want him to see you and see how much you've grown. You want to impress him. You want him to want you.

You take one final look at yourself in the mirror, exhale slowly, and grab your bag. This is ridiculous. It’s just a date. One dinner. But still—

You can’t shake the feeling that this night might change something and you're right. It will. Just… not in the way you think.

-

The café is warm and quiet, tucked into a corner of the city where everything feels slow and curated. Jazz plays softly through the speakers, and the hanging lights above each table give off that soft golden glow that makes everything feel more intimate than it should.

You chose the booth by the window. Partly for the view, partly so you could look like you weren’t desperately scanning the room every time the front door opened and it's thirty-seven minutes past the appointed time.

It’s not like him to be late.

Chris—at least the Chris you used to know—was punctual. Thoughtful. Someone who would’ve shown up early and probably brought flowers and smiled that boyish, dimpled smile that made your stomach do flips.

You’re on your second latte now because the first one went cold while you kept glancing at the entrance like an idiot. This one’s mostly foam, but your hands need something to do. You pull out your compact and reapply your lipstick. Again.

God, this is ridiculous.

You keep telling yourself he’ll walk in any minute now. That he probably just got caught in traffic. That maybe he’s circling the block trying to find parking. That he’ll be here, and it’ll be worth it. That all this effort—all this nervous energy and too-tight hope—will mean something.

The bell above the door rings and you don’t look up. You’re tired of looking up. Tired of the tiny jolt of anticipation that always dissolves into another stranger, another group of friends, another barista returning from break.

You take a sip of your latte and slump slightly into your seat, letting your shoulders relax for the first time in an hour. And that’s when you feel it. A presence. Eyes on you.

You glance up, expecting… no one. Expecting just another unfamiliar face. But what you see is a black leather jacket. Tousled blond hair. And that unmistakable, shit-eating smirk.

Felix. He’s standing near the entrance, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jacket, head tilted just slightly like he’s amused. Like he meant to find you here.

You blink, completely thrown, stomach dropping as your brain tries to piece it together. He sees your confusion—and it only makes his grin deepen. He walks toward your table like he belongs here. Like this is a game and he’s been playing it longer than you realized.

And the worst part? He looks good. Too good. The kind of good that makes your throat dry.

You sit up straighter, every nerve ending suddenly on high alert. What the hell is he doing here?

This was supposed to be a date with Mr. Bahng's son. Chris. Not with the boy who makes a habit of testing your patience. Not with your student. Not with Felix.

You duck your head instinctively, hand lifting to shield your face like you’re invisible behind a half-full latte and a smear of lip gloss.

But it’s too late. Felix has already seen you.

You hear his boots before you see him—the confident thud of them crossing the café floor. You keep your eyes locked on the swirls in your coffee, praying he’ll just pass by, that this is some bizarre coincidence.

But of course it's not. Felix stops in front of your table. Then, without asking, without a shred of hesitation, he sits right across from you. One arm slung over the back of the booth, legs stretched comfortably, as if he’s been doing this with you every Friday night for years. And that smirk. That goddamn smirk. That smug, lazy, self-satisfied smirk that tells you this isn’t just a coincidence.

You stare at him, jaw tight, but before you can get a word out, he speaks. “Your date is here.”

You scoff. Audibly. “Felix, just because we’re off campus doesn’t mean you can do this.”

He raises his brows, all innocence. “Do what?”

You narrow your eyes. “Whatever this is. Showing up, sitting down—ruining my night.”

“I’m not ruining anything,” he says easily, resting his chin on his hand. “I am your night.”

You blink. “You’re—what?”

“I’m your date.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Nice try.”

But your heart stutters because he’s not joking. He’s not being sarcastic. He’s dead serious.

“No,” you say quickly, voice sharp. “No, you can’t be. It’s supposed to be—”

You stop yourself because you never actually said Chris’s name aloud. You just assumed because who else would it be?

Felix shrugs. Then, slowly, he pulls his phone out of his jacket and turns the screen toward you. There it is. A message thread from someone labeled Mom.

One message in particular, sitting bright and brutal on the screen: "Felix sweetie, don’t forget. Café Verona, 7PM. You’ll be meeting her there. Be nice. Your dad will be so happy if this works out."

No. No, no, no.

Your breath catches in your throat, your lips parting but no words coming out. Your brain tries to string together logic—maybe it’s a prank, maybe he hacked a phone, maybe—

But your name is there. The café’s name. The time. It’s real.

You stare at the message again, then at him, your voice cracking when you finally manage, “But—Mr. Bahng said—his son…”

Felix lets out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly. “Yeah. His stepson.”

He watches you with something gentler now beneath the smugness, like he knows the floor has just been pulled out from under you. “You didn’t know?” he asks casually. “He married my mom eight years ago.”

The air around you thins. You grip the edge of the table like it’ll keep you grounded.

Mr. Bahng. Your second father. Your comfort in this city.

And Felix—the boy who’s made it his mission to get under your skin—is his stepson.

You feel it all at once. The burn of humiliation. The dizzying confusion. The heavy drop in your stomach like the whole night has collapsed under its own weight.

Your voice barely makes it past your lips. “This… has to be a mistake.”

But you know it’s not.

Felix leans back in the booth, watching you unravel with maddening calm, and that smirk returns—less teasing now. More… inevitable.

“Guess you’re stuck with me tonight, Professor.”

-

Felix watches you come undone. Not all at once—no, not the dramatic kind of breaking. It’s quieter than that. Subtler. A slow unraveling behind your eyes as everything you thought you knew about this night flips upside down.

God, it’s beautiful.

Not because he wants to hurt you—he doesn’t. But because for once, you’re not composed. You’re not hiding behind that perfectly neutral expression or snapping at him with rehearsed professionalism.

Right now, you're just you—confused, flustered, vulnerable. Human. And he can’t look away.

You’re staring down at the table, lashes low, jaw clenched like you’re trying to find a way to salvage what’s left of your pride, but there’s nothing to save.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do here,” you finally say, voice low and uneven, “but this can’t happen.”

Felix raises an eyebrow, like he hasn’t heard that a dozen times before—but this time, it feels different.

“This,” you gesture vaguely between the two of you, “isn’t going to work. You’re younger than me.”

“So?”

“And you’re my student.”

“At least for the next two semesters.”

You shoot him a glare. “That’s not the point.”

He leans forward just slightly, resting his forearms on the table, eyes locked on yours. The smirk on his lips curves slow and deliberate.

“No,” he says, voice low, smooth, “the point is… those are just excuses.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out because you know he’s right.

He watches the way your throat moves when you swallow hard, the way your fingers tighten slightly around the cup in your hand. And then, like twisting the knife with velvet hands, he says, “You forgot the most important reason why you can’t say no.”

Felix grins, cocking his head just a little. “My stepdad will be really disappointed if you walk away from this.”

The effect is immediate. He sees it hit—hard. Your spine stiffens, your face goes still. You look down like the guilt weighs too much to hold in your chest.

“It's just a date,” he says softly, not pushing, just planting the seed. “Talk to me. Laugh. Pretend I’m not ruining your life.”

“No. You’re not listening,” you say, quieter now. Firmer, but not nearly as steady as you want to be. “This isn’t going to work.”

But Felix isn’t even blinking. He just watches you—closely, carefully. You think you’re convincing him but all he sees is conflict. You’re still holding on to your rules, but not because of him. Not because of who he is or what he’s doing. No, it’s because you’re scared. Scared of being seen with him. Scared of liking him. Scared of what it would mean if you let go. And more than anything—you’re scared of disappointing his stepdad.

That part is written all over your face.

Felix leans back in the booth, tapping his fingers once against the side of his glass, as if weighing something, pretending to think. But the truth is, he already knows exactly what he’s going to say.

“Okay,” he starts, and your eyes flick to him with something cautious. “How about this.”

You say nothing, just stare at him.

“Three dates.”

“What?”

“Three,” he repeats, holding up three fingers. “We go on three real dates. No weird tension, no professor-student labels, no excuses. Just two people. That’s it.”

You narrow your eyes. “And after three?”

“If you still think this is a bad idea,” he says with a shrug, “I’ll tell my stepfather myself. I’ll say it didn’t work. That we weren’t compatible. That I blew it.”

You hesitate but he sees it. That twitch in your jaw. The soft crease between your brows. You’re not rejecting the idea—you’re fighting the part of you that already wants to say yes. It’s almost too easy.

“And you’ll actually tell him?”

Felix smirks. “Promise.”

There’s a long beat of silence. You look away first, eyes darting toward the window like the answer might be outside. But all you find is the reflection of yourself next to him—and the growing weight of something you can’t explain.

Finally, you exhale, barely above a whisper. “Fine.”

Three dates. Three is more than enough. Because Felix has already made up his mind— He’s going to change yours.

Felix hides his smile behind the rim of his glass. Got you.

-

You tell him no. Twice. But Felix is already unlocking the passenger side before you’ve finished your sentence, leaning on the door like he’s doing you a favor, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to drive you home after ambushing your date.

“You’re not walking home alone after dinner,” he says, cocky as ever. “What kind of gentleman would I be?”

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “You’re not a gentleman.”

He grins. “I am when I want to be.”

Still, you get in because the night has already gone to hell and honestly, you don’t have the energy to argue anymore. The car smells faintly like his cologne—clean, warm, and frustratingly pleasant. You fasten your seatbelt in silence, eyes fixed on the windshield as he pulls away from the café and into the quiet of the city night.

The ride is… quiet. Thankfully. You expected teasing. More smug comments. Some joke about how “charming” he is or how you were “clearly impressed.”

But for once, Felix keeps his mouth shut and you’re grateful for it because your mind is still a mess. You can’t stop thinking about how wrong tonight felt—how you built it up in your head, how you thought you were going to see Chris, how you’d imagined every version of what he’d look like now. How your chest had fluttered just thinking about him walking through that café door.

But it wasn’t him. It was Felix. And you hate that part of you isn’t as disappointed as it should be.

You reach your building too fast and the car slows to a gentle stop in front of the entrance, headlights washing over the brick steps.

You’re already reaching for your bag when he puts the car in park. “Thanks for the lift home,” you mutter, eyes still forward.

But before you can push the door open, his voice cuts through the quiet. “Don’t forget,” he says, lazy and low. “We still have three dates left.”

You pause and lare at him over your shoulder. “Two. After tonight, it’s two.”

He just grins, tilting his head like he’s about to break some tragic news. “This doesn’t count,” he says.

You blink. “And why is that so?”

He shrugs. “It’s not a date unless we kiss at the end of the night.”

Your jaw drops slightly. “You’re joking”

“I’m just saying,” he smirks. “I’m a really good kisser. Would’ve made it count.”

And you hate it. You hate that your brain stalls for a second, that it pictures it—his mouth, his hands, the taste of something dangerous and warm and off-limits. You hate that your fingers curl a little tighter around your bag. That your heart skips, just once.

You scoff instead. “Have a great night.”

“I already did,” he simply replies with his annoying smirk.

You throw the door open and step out before he can say another word, but just before you shut it—

“Goodnight, Professor,” he says, voice warm and velvet and full of satisfaction. “Dreams of me tonight.”

You slam the door harder than necessary. Your heels click furiously up the stairs as you make your way into the building, face hot with embarrassment and something else you don’t want to name.

And you know. You just know— He’s still watching you. Smiling like he already knows how this is going to end.

-

The morning air feels too bright.

You sip your coffee in slow, careful mouthfuls, the steam curling into your face as you stare at the slice of toast you haven’t touched. Your plate’s barely warm. Your stomach? Uneasy.

You barely slept because every time you closed your eyes, you’d see his—gold-flecked, too sure of themselves, that damn smirk that still burns at the back of your brain.

“It’s not a date unless we kiss.”

You rub at your temple like you can scrub the memory out.

This was supposed to be simple. One polite dinner. One quiet, grown-up “thanks, but no thanks.” Then you’d call Mr. Bahng in the morning and tell him it didn’t work out. That Felix was… impossible. Inappropriate. Not what you’re looking for. But just as you’re mustering the resolve to make the call, your phone lights up on the kitchen table.

Mr. Bahng.

Perfect timing. You swipe to answer, exhaling softly as you press the phone to your ear. “Hello, sir—”

“Sweetheart!” he beams, and you can practically feel his smile through the line. “Ah, I was just thinking about you.”

You sit up straighter, fingers curling slightly around your mug. “Oh?”

“I just had to call. Felix told me all about last night,” he says, voice filled with delight. “He said you had a wonderful time!”

Of course he did. You say in your head as you roll your eyes. You don’t know why you’re surprised. Felix probably hung up the phone after dropping you off and painted the whole evening in stars and candlelight. Told his stepfather you laughed. That you blushed. That you kissed. Who knows what he said.

You try to correct him. “Actually—”

“He’s really taken with you,” Mr. Bahng cuts in gently. “I always thought there was something different about that boy, but it’s nice seeing him this serious about someone.”

Your lips part but no sound comes out.

“Now, I know he’s a little younger,” he continues, “and yes, one of your students—but he only has, what? Another semester? Maybe less?”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “Just under a year.”

“Exactly!” he says. “By the time anything serious happens, it’ll be completely appropriate.”

You open your mouth again to speak—but the next words from him feel like a train hitting your chest.

“I just can’t wait to welcome you to the family one day.”

You go still. “What?”

He chuckles. “Too soon? Ah, forgive an old man. I just—”

His voice softens. “I’ve always thought of you like a daughter. And to have you officially… well. You’d make this family better. You’re the kind of woman I always hoped my son would bring home.”

You bite your lip so hard it hurts.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. You’ve done so well. You deserve to be loved the way I know Felix will love you.”

And just like that—

Whatever words you’d planned to say are gone.

Because how can you tell this man, the one who made you feel at home in a city full of strangers, the one who’s always been kind, who beams like a father when he sees you—how can you tell him no?

You swallow thickly. “Thank you, sir.”

He hums, satisfied. “Give it time. I know it’ll work out.”

You end the call with a numb sort of silence and the second your phone hits the table, you slump into your seat, burying your face in your hands.

Three dates. That’s all you agreed to. That’s all you owe. And then you’ll walk away from this—walk away from him. Three. Just three.

-

Class ends with the usual shuffle of feet and rustling of papers. You wrap up your lecture with a clipped reminder about the upcoming assignments, your voice cool and clear, carefully measured. It’s the only thing keeping you grounded these days—structure, professionalism, the boundaries that say you are not getting swept up in this mess.

You stay at the front of the classroom, organizing your notes, half-hoping for a moment of peace before the next meeting on your calendar. But the second you lift your head, you see him.

Felix. Leaning against the doorframe, one hand gripping the strap of his backpack slung over a single shoulder, the other shoved casually into the pocket of his leather jacket. His blond hair catches the light, and that same damn smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth like he’s been waiting for this all day. He doesn’t move right away. Just looks at you like you’re the main event.

“Hey, Professor.”

You roll your eyes. “How can I help you, Mr. Lee?”

He pushes off the doorframe and strolls up to your desk, the classroom now thankfully empty except for the two of you. He gives you that annoyingly charming smile—the one that probably works on half the campus—and says, “I figured you can help decide where we’re going for our first date.”

Your eyes widen a fraction. “What are you—shh!”

You glance toward the hallway as if anyone might be listening.

He laughs, delighted. “What, scared someone’s gonna overhear the scandal?”

“This isn’t funny,” you hiss, low and stern. “As long as you’re still enrolled in my class, I have to remain professional.”

He leans in a little, eyes gleaming. “You being all proper is kind of hot, you know that?”

Your glare sharpens. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, not at all sorry. “Secretly dating your lecturer? Feels like something out of a fantasy.”

You take a step back before he gets too close, shoving your notes into your bag with a little more force than necessary.

“We are not dating,” you snap, voice clipped.

“Not yet,” he replies easily.

You scowl, push past him, and make your way toward the door. “Please don't bother me with such questions unless it’s academic related.”

But he follows, relentless. “But we still need to choose a place for the first date,” he says behind you, like it’s already set in stone.

You say nothing. Don’t look back. You won’t give him the satisfaction. Still, as you step out into the hallway, you hear him call out after you, voice playful and smug:

“Don’t worry—I’ll pick somewhere that’ll impress you.”

-

You told yourself you wouldn’t care. You told yourself this was just an obligation—something to get through. Three dates. That was the deal. Nothing more, nothing less.

But here you are, standing in front of your mirror again, adjusting the neckline of your dress for the third time. You want to look put together. Sophisticated. Effortless.

You want to look good—but not for him.

God forbid you look like you tried. Still… you try.

Light makeup, just enough to make your features pop. A dress that hugs you in the right places, but not too tight, not too obvious. Hair soft, perfume subtle. You want to look like you always look like this. Like this wasn’t a big deal. Like this wasn’t Felix.

You’re fixing the strap of your purse when you hear the low rumble of his car pulling up outside.

You let out a sigh. You don’t even know if it’s from annoyance or nerves—or some messy tangle of both—but it crawls up your chest all the same. You refuse to be standing at the door like you were waiting for him. So you sit and wait.

When the knock comes—three knocks, bold and unhurried—you wait a little longer, just to make him sweat. He deserves that much. Then, finally, you open the door.

Felix stands there in a black button-up, sleeves rolled halfway to his forearms, silver rings glinting on his fingers. His blond hair is tousled, like he styled it with careless perfection, and he looks up at you as if he wasn’t expecting to actually be stunned. His eyes drag down the length of you slowly, drinking you in like he’s afraid to blink.And then—

He exhales sharply, eyes blown wide. “Holy shit.”

He leans one hand on the doorframe, the other over his chest like he’s been winded and slowly, he leans in close enough you can smell his cologne.

“You’re not even real,” he breathes, gaze flickering down to your legs, then back up—lingering at your lips before locking onto your eyes. “How the hell am I supposed to behave tonight?”

You fight the twitch in your lips. “Maybe start by not saying things like that.”

He whistles softly and shakes his head. “You’re dangerous.”

“And you’re annoying,” you mutter, grabbing your purse. But the way he’s looking at you—it rattles something. Makes your pulse shift in your wrist.

“Ready?” he asks, voice suddenly lower, deeper.

His tone does something to your stomach—something unwelcome.

“Y-Yeah,” you say, clearing your throat and adjusting your strap again to buy yourself a second of control.

He steps back and gestures toward the stairs. “After you, Professor.”

He opens the car door for you like a proper gentleman, and you hate the way that gesture makes your chest tighten. Once you’re seated, he rounds the car and slides in behind the wheel, flashing you a sideways glance as he starts the engine.

You glance at him. “Where are we going?”

He grins. “You’ll see.”

You cross your arms. “I don’t like surprises.”

He throws the car into drive, eyes on the road now. “Good thing I’m not trying to impress someone easy.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to hide your smirk. One date. One night. You just have to survive this without losing your mind.

Or your heart.

-

Felix slows the car as the dock comes into view, headlights cutting across the worn wooden path and rows of moored boats gently rocking against the water. He parks at the edge of the lot and throws it into neutral, then glances sideways—just in time to catch the crease forming between your brows.

Perfect.

You’ve been quiet most of the ride, arms crossed, lips pursed, trying your best to look unimpressed. But he’s seen the way your eyes flick toward him when you think he’s not looking. He knows you’re curious.

And now? Now he’s going to give you something you really weren’t expecting.

He steps out and makes his way around to your door, opening it before you can even reach for the handle. You arch a brow at him, but say nothing as you step out, heels clicking softly against the pavement.

You glance at the rows of boats ahead, a little suspicious now, a little cautious. You adjust the strap of your purse, scanning the horizon like it’ll give you answers.

Finally, you ask, “Where exactly are you taking me?”

There’s something in your voice—hesitant, unsure—and he lives for it. He likes you best when you’re like this: sharp on the outside, unraveling just beneath the surface.

He grins as he gestures toward the dock with a tilt of his head and starts walking, hands in his jacket pockets. “Well, since you’re all about professionalism and secrecy,” he says, “I figured I’d give you exactly that.”

You hesitate before following him, eyes narrowing. “What does that mean?”

He shrugs. “Means I borrowed a friend’s boat.”

You stop walking. “A boat?”

Felix turns, walking backward now as he faces you. “You didn’t want to be seen in public with me, remember?” he says, voice light, teasing. “So… I figured I’d bring you somewhere private. Quiet. Away from the curious eyes.”

You just stare at him for a second, and he can’t quite tell if you’re horrified or impressed. Probably both.

He leans against the dock rail, hands gripping the edge behind him, and lets his smirk tug slowly across his lips. “I mean—romantic sunset boat date? That has to earn me a few points.”

You shake your head, lips pressed together, visibly fighting off a reaction. “Do you even know how to ride it?”

“Most of it, yeah,” he laughs, already stepping down the planks toward where the small cabin boat is tied. “Don't worry. It floats.”

The boat rocks gently beneath his boots as Felix steadies it, reaching a hand out toward you with a grin. You stand at the edge of the dock like you’re still considering running, arms folded, skepticism practically radiating off of you—but you take his hand anyway. That’s all he needs.

“Careful,” he murmurs, guiding you on board, steadying your waist as you step down. “Wouldn’t want to lose you before the wine comes out.”

You scoff but let him help you.

The second you’re both aboard, Felix moves to untie the ropes and start the engine, navigating the small boat out onto the water with practiced ease. The city gets smaller behind you as the boat glides into the open, far enough that the buildings blur into the soft purple of dusk.

Once they’re alone with nothing but sky and water around the two or you, he heads below deck briefly and returns with a picnic basket tucked under one arm, a bottle of wine tucked under the other.

You watch him cautiously from your seat near the railing as he spreads a thick, navy picnic mat across the deck, anchoring it down with a few carefully placed cushions. He opens the basket and begins to arrange everything with the kind of care that makes you narrow your eyes like you’re waiting for the joke, but he’s serious about this.

A neat charcuterie spread: cured meats, brie, fresh figs, crackers, olives, sliced strawberries. A bottle of red. Two stemmed wine flutes he sets down gently beside the basket. Everything carefully packed. Nothing cheap. Nothing half-assed.

He’s never done this for anyone. Not like this. And when he finally sits back on his heels and looks up at you, it’s with a small, crooked smile.

“Well?” he says, extending a hand toward you again. “Gonna join me or just watch?”

Felix sees the internal war flashing across your face. But eventually, you sigh like you’re doing him a favor and slide your hand into his.

He helps you kneel down beside him on the mat, adjusting one of the pillows so you’re not sitting too close, even though he wants to. He pours the wine carefully, offering you your glass before taking his own.

And for a moment… neither of you speak.

The boat sways gently, slow and steady like a lullaby. The breeze is soft. The water reflects gold and violet, and the sun hangs low over the edge of the world, bleeding into the sea.

It’s beautiful. But Felix doesn’t look at the view. He looks at you. The way your eyes catch the light. How your features soften when you’re not frowning at him. How your fingers wrap around the glass just a little too tight like you’re trying to remind yourself you’re still in control.

You don’t notice him staring until you shift your gaze—and catch him mid-sip, lips curved around the rim of his glass, still watching you.

You blink, instantly suspicious. “What?”

He lowers the wine, leans his elbow on his knee, and smirks. “Sunset’s not even the prettiest thing on this boat.”

You roll your eyes, muttering, “Jesus Christ.”

But he sees the way your cheeks warm. You turn your face slightly like you’re annoyed, but you’re smiling now. Barely. That’s all he needs to keep going.

“You always look at your lecturer like that?” you say dryly.

He tilts his head. “Only when they show up looking like they walked out of my dreams.”

You shoot him a warning glance, but it’s too late as you sip your wine again. And again. And you stop correcting him after a while.

You sit there beside him as the light fades and the world quiets—and Felix can’t stop watching you. Because somewhere between the teasing and the lines you keep drawing between you, he knows that you’re slipping and he’s going to make sure you fall.

-

The sun is dipping below the edge of the water now, casting everything in shades of gold and blood orange, and the warm breeze dances across your skin, lifting the hem of your dress just enough to make you shift self-consciously.

You don’t mean to relax but with every sip of wine, your shoulders lower just a bit more, your limbs a little softer, your glare a little slower to come.

It’s the wine. The atmosphere. Felix. And you hate that he was right.

This is beautiful.

You’re swirling the wine in your glass when he suddenly leans toward you, slips off his leather jacket, and drapes it gently over your shoulders.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing, like you didn’t just freeze at the feel of him so close. “You looked cold.”

“I’m not,” you lie.

“You are,” he insists, settling the collar against your neck. “And besides, don’t act so shocked. I can be a gentleman.”

You scoff. “Since when?”

He laughs, lounging back on his side and propping himself up on one elbow. “Since now.”

The weight of the jacket feels heavier than it should. Like it’s trying to pull you toward him. And maybe it is.

You sip again, letting the silence stretch, but something’s been itching at the back of your mind since this morning—and you can’t pretend anymore.

You turn your gaze toward him. “What did you tell Mr. Bahng?”

Felix raises an eyebrow, like he’s surprised you brought it up now, like you’ve only just remembered the other half of your mess. “What?” he teases. “You didn’t like how I told him we had a magical night?”

You narrow your eyes. “Exactly that.”

He holds up a hand. “Relax. I didn’t tell him everything. Just that you enjoyed yourself.”

He pauses, lips twitching. “Which you did. Still are.”

You exhale, trying not to give in to the pull of his smile. “That’s not the point.”

He leans in slightly. “No, the point is—” he tilts his head, eyes dropping to your lips—“you still owe me a kiss.”

Your breath catches. “That again?”

“It’s part of the deal,” he shrugs, all innocence. “It doesn’t count as a real date otherwise.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you deflect—like always. “Why are you so interested in me anyway?”

He blinks, thrown for a second.

“I’m your lecturer,” you continue, words low and rushed. “You could date any girl your age. And let’s be honest, it wouldn’t be hard for you. You’re… popular and all.”

Felix pauses, and then—just like that—he gives you the most straightforward answer he’s given all night.

“Because they’re not you.”

It’s not even the words—it’s the way he says them. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s fact.

You glance down at your wine glass, trying to ground yourself, but nothing feels real. Not the boat rocking gently. Not the jacket over your shoulders. Not the heat slowly blooming in your chest. You feel hot and it’s not just the alcohol. You shift your gaze back to him—and he’s already watching you.

“So... should we kiss now?” he asks, voice low, smooth, almost careful.

You don’t answer. You can’t. But your eyes flick down to his mouth. Just briefly but enough for him to see it. And maybe that’s answer enough.

“We just need one,” he murmurs, inching closer. “One kiss. To make this a real date.”

There’s no avoiding him forever, right? Sooner or later, it’ll happen. Might as well be now. So you nod and close your eyes

He doesn’t dive in. Doesn’t rush. Instead, he lifts his hand and brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, tucking them gently behind your ear. His fingers linger at the side of your head, warm against your skin, and you lean into the touch without meaning to.

And then— He kisses you. Soft. Barely there. A press of lips so careful, so unexpectedly tender it makes your heart stutter. It’s nothing like you expected from someone like Felix. It feels like the first kiss you had when you were still young and naive, full of nerves and promise. It makes your chest tighten, makes your hands clutch the edge of the picnic mat for balance. But then, slowly, he deepens it. He leans in closer, tilts his head, breath brushing your cheek, and the kiss melts into something warmer—something heady and patient and intentional.

Your hands drift up without thinking, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, and suddenly you’re not just kissing him—you’re wanting it. Wanting him.

You feel yourself sink, cushions soft beneath you, and before you can catch yourself, your back hits the mat with Felix hovering over you, lips still pressed to yours.

And you hate it. God, you hate that he’s right. That he is a good kisser—too good. The kind that leaves you breathless and warm all over, like oxygen suddenly doesn’t matter as long as his mouth is on yours.

You never imagined this. Not like this. Not with him. But now that you’ve had a taste… You’d rather not breathe than not kiss him again. And just when you start to chase him back with your lips, he pulls away.

Your body instinctively leans up, trying to follow—but he stops you with a quiet breath against your mouth. You frown before you can catch yourself, but quickly smooth your expression, swallowing hard.

His face hovers just above yours, close enough that you can still feel the heat of his breath. Then his eyes trail down. Slow. Lingering. His gaze drags down your neck, over your chest, down the curves of your body pressed beneath him—like he’s undressing you with just his eyes—and it shouldn’t make you feel as hot as it does.

But it does because you suddenly feel too exposed. Your skin prickles, heart slamming inside your chest, breath shallow.

Then he brings his eyes back to your face—and the stare is even worse. Too intense. Too real. He’s not smirking anymore, not entirely. Just this soft, knowing pull at the corner of his lips, like he’s watching something slowly crack open in you and loves every second of it.

You look away, cheeks burning. “Don’t stare at me like that…”

“Why not?” he says, voice lower now. “You’re beautiful to me.”

You curse him silently for saying it so easily. So genuinely. You want to say something clever, to brush it off like it didn’t hit you straight in the chest—but then his hand is on your face, fingers light against your cheek, tilting your chin gently until you’re forced to meet his eyes again.

He smiles, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “So?” he asks. “What did you think of my kiss?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Because what are you supposed to say? That it wrecked you? That you’ll never forget the feel of his mouth on yours? That you can still feel the ghost of it against your lips like he’s still kissing you?

You look away again and he chuckles. Low, smug, warm. “Come on. Tell me,” he murmurs.

Then his thumb brushes across your lower lip—soft, slow, lingering. Your breath catches.

“I’ll just give you another one,” he whispers, “so you can figure out your answer.”

And then— He kisses you again. But this time, there’s nothing tentative or slow about it. He kisses you hard. Lips crashing into yours like he’s waited years instead of weeks, like he’s finally allowed to show you what’s really been hiding under all that teasing. His tongue slides into your mouth, warm and hungry, and you respond before you can stop yourself. Your hands are in his hair, his shirt, anything you can grab onto to hold yourself together.

He shifts his weight fully over you, an elbow propped beside your head just to keep himself from crushing you—but god, you want the weight. The press of him. The heat of his body, solid and steady and burning against yours. You arch slightly, chest to chest, and he fits over you like he belongs there. The kiss grows messier, deeper. Teeth graze lips, your nails curl into his shoulders, and your breath is short and shallow between the drag of your mouths.

You can't tell when you stopped thinking. Maybe it was when his tongue slipped into your mouth. Maybe it was the way his hands started roaming—confident, warm, sure. Or maybe it was the moment you stopped pushing him away.

You’re not even sure where his jacket went—just that you’re burning now, every part of you, and the cool night air does nothing to help it.

Felix is all over you now. His mouth trails down your jaw, across your cheekbone, and to your neck. He kisses like he means it. Like he’s wanted this for a long time. And the worst part? You let him. No—you want him to.

You tilt your head without meaning to, baring your throat to him as he presses soft, open-mouthed kisses there—then bites, gentle but claiming. His hand is on your waist, then your thigh, then everywhere at once. Exploring. Possessive.

Your breath hitches as he shifts over you, one knee between your legs, pressing just enough for you to feel the heat of him through the fabric.

It’s dizzying. Too much. And at the same time... Not enough. Then his mouth finds the opening of your dress—his breath hot against your skin—and you feel his lips trail down, slow and deliberate, until he’s mouthing at the swell of your chest.

It doesn't take long until he gets impatient. You feel it in the way his hands move—rougher, needier. With a tug, the neckline of your dress gives way, falling enough to bare your breasts to the night. The air rushes over your skin, cool and sharp, but it's nothing compared to sensation of his mouth meeting your flesh. The hot of his tongue swirling around your nipple. The wet press of lips on your soft mounds. The way he focuses on you like there’s nothing else in the world.

You arch into him, your hand flying to the back of his head, anchoring him there. His tongue flicks—his lips close around your nipple—and suddenly your stomach clenches, heat coiling deep.

Your thoughts blur and you only come back to yourself when you feel his hand again—sliding lower now. Slower. Deliberate. Fingers skimming your inner thigh, teasing along the edge of where you want him most. Not touching. Not yet.

Your body reacts to his touches. Your hips shift, seeking him. Inviting him.

His mouth returns to your neck, voice low, muffled, intoxicating. “Does it feel good?”

You open your mouth, but all that comes out are breathless whimpers.

His hand moves again, and you feel the press of his palm against your sex—over the fabric, light but maddening. He draws slow, lazy circles on your clit right where you’re pulsing for more, and your body shivers beneath him.

Still, you can’t answer. Still, he doesn’t stop.

Then his lips are at your ear again, the heat of his breath skating over your skin. “I’m going to touch you now,” he murmurs, so quiet you almost don’t hear it. “Really touch you.”

Hearing that only tightens the knot inside your stomach and worse is he makes you wait—just long enough to make you tremble—before his hand slips beneath the fabric. Beneath your last barrier. You suck in a breath at the first contact of his hand on your wet cunt.

The way his fingers explore, the way he learns you—he’s not teasing anymore. He’s focused. Intent. Working you open with every glide, every press, every calculated movement like he’s mapping you with his hands.

“Still can’t answer?” he whispers against your skin.

You shake your head. Maybe in protest. Maybe in surrender. You don’t know anymore.

He chuckles softly, like he’s enjoying every second of your unraveling. “Don’t hold back,” he says. “Let me hear you,”

And then—

The tension snaps. You moan, soft at first—then louder, fuller. You can’t contain it. Not with the way he’s touching you, kissing you, covering you like you belong to him. Your head tips back and then you feel it—your whole body winding tighter and tighter until—

Everything explodes.

Silence, except for your breath and the gentle lap of the water around the boat. But somewhere in the haze of it all, your dazed eyes flick upward—and for a second, you catch the stars.

Tiny, glittering specks scattered across a black sky. The soft rock of the boat. The smell of the sea. The jacket around your shoulders. His weight, his mouth, his hands…

You hate it. Because this—this whole thing—it’s beautiful. And Felix? Felix was once again right.

-

Felix can’t believe himself. Scratch that—he can believe himself.

What he can’t believe is how easily you came apart for him. How your body arched, how your moans spilled, how your fingers curled into his shoulders like he was the only thing anchoring you to the world.

He just made you come with his hand and God… you were so beautiful like that. Unglued. Unfiltered. Yours.

You’re still beneath him when he lifts his hand, fingers glistening in the soft light. Without thinking, he slips them between his lips, tasting the evidence of how badly you wanted him—how badly you still do, no matter how much you pretend otherwise. You taste like the ocean and sin. Sweet and sharp.

Felix sighs through his teeth, the heat in his chest simmering slow now. Satisfied, but not done. Not even close.

“You’re so beautiful like that, Professor,” he murmurs aloud, almost absentmindedly.

Your body tenses instantly. It’s subtle, but he feels it. The way your legs clamp shut. The way your arms cross over your chest like you’re trying to erase what just happened. Like you’ve suddenly remembered who you are and who he is.

Shit.

You don’t even look at him when you speak. “I don’t want to do anything more than this.”

The words hit like a slap—cold and clipped—but Felix doesn’t flinch. He blinks, sits back, gives you space.

“Hey,” he says softly, “I wasn’t planning to.”

You still don’t look at him.

So he smirks. Just a little. “Besides, we still have two dates left, remember? Enough time to try a lot of things.”

That makes you glance his way—only to shoot him a glare sharp enough to kill a lesser man.

Felix just grins wider. He lives for that look on your face now. The one that says you want to strangle him and kiss him at the same time. He lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. We’re taking it slow.”

Then he flops onto the mat beside you with a dramatic sigh, tucking his hands behind his head, eyes toward the sky like he didn’t just completely ruin you five minutes ago.

“I happen to like it slow,” he adds casually, “makes the payoff even better.”

Your sharp exhale beside him tells him you’re glaring again, and it makes him smile into the stars. Because the truth is he’s not sorry. Not even a little.

He knows you’re back to building your walls again, wrapping yourself in professionalism and distance and control. But it’s too late. He’s already seen what’s underneath.

And now? Now, he’s never wanted anything more than to crack you open all the way—slowly, thoroughly, sweetly.

He’s going to take his time. And you? You’re going to let him. Even if you don’t know it yet.

-

The ride back is quiet.

Not the awkward kind of silence—more like the weighty kind, heavy with everything that was said without words. Everything that happened. Everything that shouldn’t have.

Felix grips the steering wheel with one hand, the other resting on the gear shift, stealing glances at you from the corner of his eye when he can. You’re turned toward the window, face unreadable, lips pressed into a thin line.

You haven’t said a word since you pulled yourself together and climbed into the passenger seat, cheeks still flushed, your arms crossing like they’re trying to hold in all the heat he coaxed out of you.

He gets it. He knows what this is. It’s embarrassment. Guilt. Confusion. And again—he’s not sorry. Not even for a second. Not when he can still feel the shape of you in his hands. Not when his jacket is still draped over your shoulders.

He parks outside your apartment building and kills the engine. The car dips into silence again.

You reach for your bag, already halfway out the door—still trying to flee the moment—when he leans over the console slightly.

“Hey,” he says, just loud enough to make you pause. “You can keep the jacket. Looks good on you.”

Your hand immediately flies up to the collar like you only just remembered it was there. And the moment you do, you’re shrugging out of it like it’s on fire, shoving it into his lap without even looking at him, then you’re out the door. No “thank you.” No “goodnight.”

Felix doesn’t take it personally. He watches as you march up the steps, heels tapping fast against the pavement like you can’t get inside fast enough.

Just before you disappear through the building’s front door, he rolls the window down and calls out. “Goodnight, Professor! Sleep tight. Dream of me.”

You don’t stop. Don’t turn around. But he swears he sees your shoulders tense.

He waits until the door shuts behind you. Waits until he sees the faint flicker of light from your apartment window upstairs—just to be sure you're safely home.

It’s only when he’s alone again that he brings the jacket up to his face, presses it to his nose. It smells like you now. Soft, floral, faintly sweet—your perfume clinging to the fabric in a way that makes his stomach twist and settle at the same time. He smiles to himself in the dark, fingers tightening around the collar of the jacket. He’s not going to wash it. Not yet. Then he turns the engine back on, and the car hums back to life as he drives off into the night—already thinking about what he’ll do with the next date.

Because now he knows exactly how close you are to falling for him and he has every intention of pulling you the rest of the way down.

-

Felix walks through the front door of his parents’ house and is instantly hit with the scent of something warm and sweet wafting from the kitchen. Cinnamon, maybe. Apples. Something homey. It’s the kind of smell that sinks into your skin and makes you feel like a kid again.

He kicks his shoes off by the hallway, but pauses when he notices something new—several boxes stacked by the wall near the coat rack. Some labeled with marker. One of them is slightly open and reveals a pair of heavy-looking boots and what looks like a rolled-up poster tube sticking out. His brows pull together as he aware that these boxes weren’t here the last time he visited.

He brushes it off for now and heads into the dining room, where his mom already has the table set—placemats, cutlery, homemade pie resting under a net cover at the center. She greets him with that familiar warmth and tells him to sit while she finishes up the last of the side dishes.

Mr. Bahng walks in not long after, clapping Felix on the back and sliding into his seat like it’s been a long day already. “Glad you’re here, son.”

Felix grins. “Wouldn’t miss mom's cooking.”

“Smart boy,” she calls from the kitchen.

They dig in not long after she joins them—grilled chicken, sautéed greens, roasted potatoes. Comfort food at its finest. And for a while, it’s just peaceful. Familiar. Family.

But curiosity keeps tugging at Felix so he sets his fork down. “Hey, uh… what’s with the boxes by the door?”

His mom looks up at Mr. Bahng, who chuckles around a bite of chicken. “Oh, that’s Chris’s stuff,” he says, like it’s nothing. “He’s moving in for a bit.”

Felix blinks. “Wait, seriously?”

“Mmhmm,” his mom nods, reaching for her glass. “He just got a placement in the city. Starting work soon. He’ll be staying with us until he finds a place of his own.”

Felix leans back in his chair, letting the news settle.

Chris. Moving in. He hasn’t lived under the same roof with Chris in a while—not since college holidays. But the thought instantly makes him grin.

Chris is… Chris. The kind of older brother who never treated Felix like a nuisance, even back when they first met. Always patient, always willing to listen. Even when Felix was a kid who didn’t know where he belonged in the sudden shuffle of a new blended family. Despite not being related by blood, Chris feels more like a brother than anyone ever could. He’s solid. Reliable. Always there when it matters.

“Man,” Felix says with a chuckle, “that’s awesome.”

His mom smiles, clearly pleased. “I thought you’d be happy. He should be back from overseas next week.”

“I can’t wait,” Felix says. “It’s been too long.”

There’s a warm buzz in his chest now, a genuine excitement he hasn’t felt in a while. Not the same kind of heat he feels when he’s teasing you, not the thrill of chasing what he’s not supposed to have—but something steadier.

He’s missed having Chris around and maybe this whole year’s going to be more interesting than he thought.

“Thanks for lunch, Mom. I’ve got class in an hour, I should head out,” Felix calls out as he pushes back from the dining table, rubbing his stomach.

His mom waves him off from the kitchen sink. “Take some pie with you!”

“Already packed it,” he says with a grin, lifting the foil-covered plate as proof.

He heads to the front door, crouching down to shove his feet into his sneakers. But as he balances on one foot, he loses it—just slightly—and his elbow knocks one of the boxes stacked by the wall.

The lid pops open and its contents tumble out across the floor—books, folders, a pencil case, a couple old notepads with their corners bent.

From the kitchen, his mom’s voice floats out, slightly alarmed. “Everything okay out there, honey?”

“Yeah!” Felix calls back. “Just me being clumsy.”

He sighs and crouches to gather everything back inside. Most of it is harmless. Academic stuff. Some sketchpads. The kind of things that live at the bottom of someone’s closet and don’t see daylight for years. He grabs a weathered notebook and flips it shut, about to toss it back in—when something slips from between the pages.

A photo. It flutters to the ground, landing face-up on the hardwood. Felix immediately reaches for it and holds it in his hand.

There’s a boy in the photo—about nine or ten, cheeks round with youth, arms skinny. He’s grinning ear to ear, dimples sunken deep into his cheeks, the kind of smile that hasn’t yet been weighed down by the world. Chris. Definitely Chris.

But what makes Felix’s breath catch is the girl standing next to him and holding his hand. She looks about the same age. Bright eyes. That same shy-but-curious smile you sometimes wear when you’re not pretending to hate Felix. He knows that face. Knows it too well.

It’s you. There’s no mistaking it.

His chest tightens with something sharp and unfamiliar as he flips the photo over. Sure enough, there it is. Scrawled in faded pen at the bottom corner:

“Chris & Y/N – Summer 2004”

Felix stares at it. Something shifts in his gut. A dull thud against the inside of his ribs. He remembers what his stepdad said about introducing him to a “daughter of an old friend.” How proud he was. How eager he was for Felix to meet you. He didn’t think much of it at the time. Just assumed it was some business acquaintance. But now…

It clicks.

Your dads are friends. Longtime friends. You and Chris? You were childhood friends.

Felix tucks the photo back into the notebook and shoves it deep into the box. Closes the lid tighter than before. Like it might stop his thoughts from racing.

The ride to campus feels longer than usual. One hand on the wheel, one drumming against his thigh, restless. He should be brushing it off. Laughing it away like he usually does.

But something’s different now.

Instead of feeling closer to you, like he’s found another link in the invisible thread tying you to him, Felix feels like he’s trespassing. Like he’s stepping into something that was never meant to be his.

Then his thought drifts to that time he came to that café thinking he was just part of a harmless setup. A playful matchmaking attempt. But now, he wonders.

That night…

When you sat there in that dress, checking the door every few seconds, lips pressed together, nervous as hell—

You weren’t waiting for him. You were waiting for Chris. And when Felix walked in instead? Your disappointment had nothing to do with the date. It had everything to do with who showed up.

The car turns down the familiar campus road, and his grip on the wheel tightens. Felix isn’t sure what stings more—

The lie he didn’t know you were telling. Or the truth that’s starting to settle inside him.

-

Class is nearly over, but you’ve barely registered half the things coming out of your own mouth. You wrap up the last of your lecture with a few half-hearted sentences, distracted by the empty seat near the back of the lecture hall.

It’s the first time Felix's missed class since the semester started.

It shouldn’t bother you. Really, it shouldn’t. You’ve had students skip before. It happens. Life happens. But something about his absence unsettles you more than you’re willing to admit. Maybe because he’s always there. Always in your peripheral, always smirking, teasing, leaning just a little too close when he talks to you after class.

Or maybe it’s because after everything that happened on the boat, part of you expected him to show up today—maybe act smug, maybe act like nothing happened at all—but at least be here.

But he’s not and instead, you’ve spent the entire hour distracted, stumbling over your words and overcompensating by overexplaining theories that didn’t need elaboration.

You tell yourself it’s fine. Better even. That space will do you both good. That last night was nothing but a heat-of-the-moment lapse in judgment and him being gone today is a blessing. Still, as you pack up your things, you feel the smallest pang of something you don’t want to name.

With a sigh, you sling your bag over your shoulder and head toward your office. The halls are mostly empty now, the soft hum of end-of-day quiet settling over the building.

By the time you reach your door, you're already mentally sorting through the stack of ungraded papers and files you shoved into your inbox tray last week.

You’ll focus on work. That’s what you need. Something to ground you. Something predictable.

You open the door to your office and step inside, setting your bag down beside your desk. The room smells faintly of paper and coffee, and it’s quiet. Peaceful.

Finally.

You roll your sleeves up and start organizing the scattered papers across your desk—mind slowly settling, your thoughts just beginning to clear.

Until the door creaks open behind you. You're not expecting anyone, so when your office door swings open without a knock, irritation flares fast.

“Excuse me—” You spin around, ready to scold whoever it is.

But the words never make it out because it's him. It's Felix.

And before you can ask what he’s doing here, why he looks like he hasn’t slept, or what that look in his eyes means—

He’s already crossing the room. Fast. Determined. Jaw clenched, eyes dark.

You barely have time to suck in a breath before his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is hot. Hasty. Desperate. It’s not soft or teasing the way it was on the boat. This one is rough—nearly frantic—like he's trying to prove something. Like he’s trying to erase something.

Your back hits the filing cabinet behind you as he leans in closer, his hand gripping your waist tight. You push at his chest just enough to part your lips from his.

“Felix—” you pant, breathless, “We can't do this here. You—”

Felix swallows your words with another kiss, even deeper than before, mouth hot and hungry against yours. And you try to resist—you should resist—but every time you try to push him away, his hands slide over your body like they already know you’re bluffing. Because they are. You are.

Every second of hesitation only makes him more relentless. Your body betrays you first, melting into his again. Then your hands, wrapping around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. And finally your mouth—kissing him back, just as desperate, just as needy.

You’re not sure when it happens, but he’s steering you backward. One slow step at a time. Until the backs of your thighs bump into the edge of your desk. Your palms find the wood behind you, bracing yourself as Felix presses into your space. His mouth doesn’t leave yours, but his hands have already started to wander—fingertips skating down your waist, tugging at the hem of your blouse like he wants it out of the way.

You break the kiss with a gasp, heart pounding, and your voice comes out weaker than it should. “Felix—someone could walk in—”

He dips his head into the crook of your neck, breath hot as it ghosts over your skin. “Then tell me to stop.”

But you don’t. You can’t. Because right now, with the way his mouth finds that sweet spot under your ear, the way his hands slide up your thighs, slow but firm—you don’t want him to.

Felix kisses you again and again and you’re still trying to catch your breath when he finally pulls away, lips swollen, eyes wild. Your heart is hammering, your back still against the edge of your desk, and everything feels too hot—too exposed.

“This is wront,” you whisper, voice trembling. “We shouldn’t be doing this here—”

But he isn’t listening. Instead, he looks at you like he can’t hear anything but the beat of your heart.

His hand slides to the front of your blouse, fingers slipping over the first button. You catch his wrist, but it’s weak—your grip is nothing more than a suggestion. He undoes one button. Then another.

“Felix—” you warn again, quieter this time.

Sunlight pours through the office window, washing over your chest as he parts the fabric, slowly, reverently, like he’s unveiling a masterpiece.

When your skin is bare to him, he sucks in a breath. His hand lifts, fingers grazing lightly over your skin—barely there, but enough to make you shiver.

“I can’t believe,” he murmurs, gaze fixed to the lines of your body, “you stand in front of a whole class looking like this underneath.”

He says it like a confession. A sin he’s desperate to keep committing. “I'll think of this heavenly body when you stand in the front of the class.”

Before you can stop him, his mouth is on your neck—warm, open kisses trailing lower, over your collarbone, down to the edge of your bra. And then he’s pushing it down. Not gently.

You gasp when the cups fall away, your breasts spilling out, exposed to the cool air and the sun pouring through the window.

“Felix—”

But his mouth is already there. Heat rushes to your face as he latches on, tongue circling one sensitive bud while his hand kneads the other, fingers rolling your nipple between them with maddening care. His teeth scrape just slightly, enough to make your knees threaten to buckle.

You bite your lip to suppress the sound that builds in your throat.

He glances up at you, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Shh,” he whispers against your skin, “if you’re not quiet, someone might hear.”

You clench your jaw, trying to stifle the gasp that escapes anyway when he drags his tongue across your breast again—slow, deliberate, wicked.

His other hand is relentless, teasing, squeezing, coaxing more of your body’s reactions. Every nerve feels raw, hyperaware. You're trying to stay still, to stay sane, but the feel of his mouth, his hands, the sunlight on your bare skin—it’s too much and not enough.

You brace yourself against the desk, lips pressed tight, hoping no one walks past your office door. But the only sound in the room is your own ragged breath and Felix’s low voice, murmuring things you’re too overwhelmed to process, with his mouth still on your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

And God help you, you’re letting him.

Your back arches again—instinctive, helpless—as Felix's mouth works your chest and his hand roams lower, setting your nerves on fire. The motion grinds you just slightly against his thigh, creating friction that shoots lightning up your spine.

Felix pulls back just enough to look at you. His lips are red and wet, his breath warm against your cheek. “Do you want me to touch you there now?” he murmurs, voice thick, slow—like velvet dragging across skin.

But he doesn't wait for your answer.

One hand stays at your chest, gently squeezing on your breast as he leans forward, while the other glides down your side, over your hip, until he reaches the hem of your skirt. He slips under it with practiced ease.

His fingers find their way between your thighs, spreading warmth and promise as he presses his palm against your cunt through the thin barrier of your underwear. Your breath stutters as he starts to move it, slow at first, the pressure teasing—deliberate.

“Want me to make you cum again, mmh?” he asks, lips grazing your ear. “Don't you want to feel good like before?”

You can’t speak so your body does the talking, hips arching again to meet the slow drag of his hand on your dampness. The friction makes your legs tremble.

Felix smirks. You feel it against your neck. “Then tell me,” he whispers, “tell me where you want me to touch you.”

His fingers slide down again, shifting under the fabric, brushing past the heat of you. He traces between your folds, drawing a quiet gasp from your throat. You grip the edge of the desk behind you, fingers curling.

His thumb presses against your clit—bare now, exposed to his touch. He moves in gentle, maddening circles. “Here?” he teases, breathless against your cheek. “Or…”

He moves lower, two fingers dragging down, hovering just outside your entrance. “Or do you want me to touch you here instead?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Every thought in your mind has collapsed into sensation. But he knows. Of course he knows. So he sinks his fingers into you and you fall apart almost immediately.

His breath catches against your skin as he groans softly. “God,” he murmurs, “you’re even wetter than the other day.”

He starts moving—slow, deep strokes—his fingers curling just right, finding that spot inside you that makes you tremble all over again. Your jaw slackens. Your body clenches.

Felix presses kisses along your neck, then your jaw. Between strokes, his lips hover by your ear. “Does that feel good?” he breathes.

You nod, but it’s not enough. His thumb returns to your clit, working in sync with his fingers, and your legs begin to shake.

Felix pulls back just far enough to look down—watching, breath hitching as his fingers disappear into you over and over again. “You’re tightening around me,” he mutters, voice dropping into something dark and hungry. “Like you’re going to swallow my fingers whole.”

Your head tips back, but he catches your mouth in a kiss—hot, open, consuming. “God, I want to put my cock inside you,” he groans against your lips. “So. Fucking. Bad.”

The words shatter something in you. Everything—his fingers, his mouth, his voice—it’s too much. You feel yourself teetering on the edge, breath shortening, body winding up so tight it hurts.

“Going to cum, huh?” He innocently asks as if he's not making you a moaning mess as he speaks. But he knows. He always knows.

“Go on,” he whispers, right against your ear. “Let go for me.”

With a soft, broken cry muffled against his shoulder, you let go—clenching around his fingers as pleasure crashes through you in sharp, trembling waves. You let yourself fall—no resistance, no pretense. Just heat, and light, and him.

-

As the last waves of pleasure fade, so does the haze that clouded your thoughts.

The warmth of Felix’s body still lingers against yours, his breath ghosting over your cheek, but your hands reach instinctively for your blouse. You fix the buttons in silence, one after the other, your fingers trembling as you adjust your bra back into place and smooth down your skirt.

The silence between you grows heavy.

Felix doesn’t say anything at first, but when you refuse to meet his eyes, he speaks—quietly.

“Are you okay?”

Your fingers pause mid-button. You look up at him finally, and the question tumbles out of you before you can stop it. “Why are you doing this to me?”

His lips part like he wants to speak, but nothing comes out. His brows draw together. He opens his mouth again, then closes it. Struggling. Hesitating. That alone shakes you more than anything else.

Then finally, he asks, “That night at the café... were you expecting someone else?”

Your heart drops to your stomach and he’s looking at you like he already knows the answer—but still needs to hear it. Needs to hurt himself with the confirmation.

You open your mouth, trying to come up with something to smooth it over, to spare him. “I was only there because your stepdad invited me—”

Felix shakes his head, a hollow laugh escaping him. “No. No, that’s not it.”

You look away as if it would hide you from the truth.

“You were expecting Chris.” His voice is calm. Too calm. It cuts deeper because of it.

“I found the photo,” he continues. “At my parents’ place. You and him, when you were kids. I figured it out.”

Your throat tightens. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” he says, voice rising slightly now, eyes locked on yours. “You looked crushed when you saw me walk through that door. You didn’t even try to hide it.”

You inhale sharply. “Felix, let me—”

“So what was that night then?” he asks. “The boat, the wine, the way you let me touch you... the way you kissed me back. Was that all because you felt bad for me?”

“No,” you whisper, too quickly.

“Then why?” he demands, stepping forward. “Why me?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because you don’t even know yourself.

His gaze flickers across your face, searching. “Is it because I’m not him?”

The question hits you like a slap because a part of it is true but at the same time, you don’t want to hurt him.

“I’m not stupid,” he says, softer now, but his voice is taut with something sharp—hurt or anger, or both. “I know he’s older. That he’s a lecturer now, too. That he’s... respectable. But you think I'm... not worthy of you?”

You shake your head, but no words come.

Felix gestures between you. “You think this—what just happened—that wasn’t real? You didn’t feel that?”

You want to say you did. But the guilt. The shame. The confusion. It’s all too loud.

He exhales, chest rising and falling as he tries to rein himself in. “I’m just as good as him,” he says bitterly. “Maybe better. I see you. I make you laugh. I make you feel.”

His voice lowers. “I’m the one who knows how to touch you right. I’m the one who made you come like that. Not him. Me. So why can’t that be enough?”

You look at him, lips parted, but nothing comes out. Nothing but silence. And he hears it loud and clear.

“Yeah,” he mutters, almost to himself. Then he bends down, grabs his bag off the floor, and slings it over his shoulder without another word.

The door creaks as he opens it and when it closes behind him, the sound is deafening. And the worst part? You don't even try to stop him.

-

Felix slams the car door shut with more force than necessary. The engine's dead—again. The third time this week. He leans his forehead against the steering wheel and exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tight with irritation.

Of course it won’t start. Of course the world is against him this morning.

His mom had texted him earlier, asking him to come home for breakfast. Nothing special, she said. Just family. Just something warm to start the day. But Felix is cold inside and out.

He curses under his breath, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and stomps down the street to the nearest bus stop, hands shoved deep in his leather jacket pockets. The air smells like burnt toast and traffic fumes. Everything feels grating today.

The bus comes late. And it’s crowded. He squeezes into a seat by the window and slumps into it, earbuds in but no music playing. He doesn’t feel like drowning anything out—not today.

Instead, he just watches the city blur past the glass. But it's not the city he’s really looking at as his thoughts wander and bouncing around from one thought to another.

First, to that day at the café. He remembers the exact look on your face when you saw him walk in—like someone flipped your entire world upside down. You didn’t even try to hide the disappointment. That stung. It still does.

Then the boat. The wine. The stars. The way your lips tasted like something forbidden—like something that never should’ve happened but did anyway. You let him in. Let him touch you. And he thought maybe, just maybe, you saw him. Chose him.

But then... that day in your office. Your silence. Your hesitation. That damn look in your eyes like you’d made a mistake letting him get too close. Like you regretted every second of it.

It’s still there—that pressure, that ache he’s been trying to ignore. He leans his temple against the window, the cool glass grounding him. Sort of. He doesn’t know why he’s letting this get to him so much. He’s not the type to mope or sulk.

But this? This is different. Because he likes you. He wants you. And it’s not just physical. It hasn’t been for a while.

-

The second Felix steps through the front door, he kicks it shut behind him with the heel of his boot and mutters a flat, “I’m here,” loud enough for anyone in earshot.

He doesn’t mean to sound so drained, but he doesn’t bother correcting it either. He leans down to untie his shoes, tugging at the laces like they’re personally offending him. His fingers are stiff from the morning chill and the ride over didn’t help. He’s just about to straighten up when he hears footsteps—quick, familiar ones—and then—

“Hey, little bro.”

He looks up and there he is. Chris. He’s standing just past the hallway, grinning wide like nothing’s changed. Like the last few months apart didn’t matter. Like this is how things have always been.

Chris opens his arms. “What, not gonna hug your big brother?”

Felix just blinks at him. His body stays frozen in place, shoes half-on, his backpack still hanging off one shoulder.

Chris’s grin falters slightly when the silence stretches. He cocks his head and raises an eyebrow, still joking but with a touch of genuine concern underneath. “What, you didn’t miss me or something?”

Felix knows he shouldn't compare. He knows Chris is everything he’s not—polished, dependable, the golden boy. But it’s not his fault that he’s everything people compare Felix to—without even trying. That the woman Felix wants... might’ve wanted him instead. It’s not Chris’s fault he’s the one you used to dream about.

Felix swallows thickly, forces his shoulders to relax, and steps forward. He walks into Chris’s open arms and pulls him in for a hug. And weirdly—weirdly—it helps.

Because Chris hugs him back strong and easy, like he always does. Like he doesn’t notice the heaviness sitting behind Felix’s ribcage. And when he claps a hand against Felix’s back, steady and warm, the tension in Felix’s chest eases—if only a little.

Maybe it’s just been a rough morning. Maybe he’s just in his own head too much. Maybe he’s projecting all of this onto Chris when he shouldn’t. Because Chris isn’t the enemy. He never was. He’s just Chris. And he's back.

-

The kitchen smells like warm butter and toasted bread, the scent of home wrapping around Felix like a familiar blanket. His mom is bustling around the counter, plating eggs and pouring orange juice like she’s hosting a royal brunch instead of a small family breakfast.

Felix takes his usual seat at the table, Chris sitting across from him with the same casual energy he always carries—like he belongs anywhere, like nothing could ever shake him.

“God, I missed this,” Chris says, mouth already full of toast as he gestures with a fork toward the spread. “You guys don’t even know how hard it is to get a real breakfast where I lived.”

“Maybe if you stopped ordering delivery at 2 A.M.,” Felix mutters.

Chris grins, unfazed. “Hey, a man’s gotta eat.”

Their mom laughs, giving Chris a playful tap on the back of the head as she sets more food on the table. “He never changes.”

Everything feels normal. The clink of silverware. The sound of Chris rambling about his last few months. His stepdad throwing in occasional dad jokes. His mom glowing with joy now that both her boys are under one roof again.

“So,” Chris starts between bites of scrambled egg, “I’ve got some good news.”

Felix raises a brow as he sips his coffee.

“I’ll be teaching at your university starting next week,” Chris announces, tone light and proud. “They needed someone in the department and my name came up. Perfect timing, right?”

Felix freezes, coffee halfway to his mouth.

Chris beams. “Guess that means I’ll be seeing you around campus a lot, little bro.”

Felix lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Can’t get rid of you, huh?”

Inside… something curls. Not quite jealousy. Not quite dread. Just something uneasy. Because suddenly, the world he’s built with you—quiet and slow and maybe still figuring itself out—feels like it’s going to get crowded.

Chris will be on campus. With you. Around you. And the two of you already have history. A history that Felix now knows runs deeper than he originally thought.

He takes another bite of toast and nods along as the conversation keeps moving, but his mind is elsewhere.

He knows Chris. Chris is kind. Charismatic. Considerate. A genuinely good man. He’s not the type to hurt people. Not the type to steal something that isn’t his. Not the type to steal someone Felix wants. Right?

Still, Felix can’t help it—he glances across the table at his older brother, who’s laughing at something their mom just said, eyes bright and warm. And for the first time that morning, Felix doesn’t taste his food. He tastes something bitter instead.

Once he's finished with his breakfast, Felix stands from the table, brushing crumbs off his jeans and slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “I gotta head out early. Bus won’t wait for me.”

His mom frowns, mid-sip of her tea. “Why didn’t you say something earlier? We could’ve packed you some food—”

“I’m good,” he says quickly, offering a reassuring smile. “Really. Breakfast was great as always, mom.”

As he moves toward the door to put on his shoes, Chris rises too, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn. “You taking the bus all the way there?”

Felix nods without turning around. “Yeah. Car’s still being a dick.”

“You sure? I can drop you off,” Chris says, ever casual, ever kind.

Felix pauses, foot halfway into his sneaker. “It’s fine. You just got back, you should rest.”

Chris shrugs. “I’ve got some files I need to hand over at the admin office anyway. Might as well kill two birds with one ride.”

Felix opens his mouth then closes it. He’s out of excuses now and Chris is looking at him with that easy smile, the kind that makes people say yes without thinking twice.

“Alright,” Felix says eventually, trying to sound more grateful than tense. “Thanks.”

“No worries.” Chris grabs his keys and his messenger bag like it’s nothing. Like this is nothing.

-

The hum of the engine and Chris’s occasional humming to the radio fill the car as they cruise down familiar streets. Felix stares out the window, head propped against the glass, the ache in his chest growing with every passing second.

“You’re quiet,” Chris notes, glancing over from the driver’s seat with a half-smile. “That’s not like you. What’s going on in that pretty blond head of yours?”

Felix forces a chuckle. “Just tired.”

Chris doesn’t buy it, not entirely. “How’s school? Finals coming up?”

“Yeah. Busy.”

Chris hums, eyes back on the road, and there’s a beat of silence before he throws it casually: “You seeing anyone?”

The question hits like a sudden gust of cold air and Felix straightens slightly, forcing a nonchalant shrug. “Not really.”

Chris raises an eyebrow. “Not really?” he echoes, voice teasing. “So there is someone.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to,” Chris grins, nudging Felix with an elbow. “You’ve got that look—like someone’s got your stomach in knots. Mysterious, broody, lovesick Felix. Who is she?”

Felix laughs, tight and hollow. “You watch too many dramas.”

Chris lets it go—thank God. The rest of the ride plays out in easy small talk and music until they pull into the university parking lot.

“I’ll drop you off by the entrance,” Chris says, already turning toward Felix’s department building before he can object.

“It’s fine, I can walk—”

“Don’t be weird,” Chris waves him off. “I want to see where I’ll be working soon anyway.”

Felix swallows the lump in his throat. “Sure.”

As the car rolls forward, Felix leans back in his seat—until he sees movement from the left. You. Just stepping out of your car, your figure unmistakable even from a distance. Your hair catching the sunlight. The slight sway in your stride.

Felix’s heart stops. He doesn’t move. Just watches, something cold flooding into his chest as your presence fills the parking lot like a warning.

Chris is still talking beside him, something about grabbing food together soon, but Felix hears nothing except the rush in his ears.

You cut through the lot, headed right toward the building. Toward them.

Shit.

Felix debates it. Should he say something? Distract Chris?

It's too late as Chris puts the car in park and opens the door. He steps out and then, in the worst twist of fate—

“Hey!” Chris calls out, voice bright. “Is that you?”

Felix’s eyes widen as you keep walking, one, two, three steps... and then you stop. Your hand pauses mid-swing, your body freezing for a split second before you turn around.

Your expression says it all. The way your eyes widen, lips parting in silent disbelief.

Chris grins like the sun as he strides toward you. “Wow… it is you.”

Felix watches, frozen in the passenger seat, as Chris walks straight into your orbit, completely unaware of the undercurrent crackling in the air. Of the past. Of everything.

You blink at Chris, stunned. A polite smile plays at your lips, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. And behind it—behind the professional front—you’re unraveling. Felix knows it. Because he is too.

He watches from behind the windshield, stomach tight, heart clenching as he suddenly, vividly, desperately doesn’t want to know what happens next.

Because in that moment— in the way you look at Chris… in the way Chris lights up seeing you… Felix realizes something he’s been trying not to. You were never supposed to be his.

And now… he’s no longer sure if you ever will be.

-

✨ COVET: CHAPTER TWO is available on my Patreon ✨

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

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[enviedear]

JASON TODD and a mean!gf…

and it’s not that she’s cruel or hateful, she’s just navigating some issues with control and disorganized attachment. she’s hot and cold—sometimes at the same time. she’s draws him in just to feel suffocated. she presses for signs of weakness in their relationship like they’re bruises.

jason, for all his flaws, does love deeply. truly. earnestly. he broods, he definitely has issues with trust, and tends to not be able to let go—he needs to talk things out, seriously—but he’s perceptive. he can see echos of himself in her, in ways. she challenges him, pushes him, brings him to his wits end…but she also loves him like so right. he feels it in his bones.

he knows she need her space from time to time. that she operates best when given ample opportunity to examine her own mind and emotions. he’s fine with that—he enjoys the restraint she exhibits in that way, making time for herself. he loves her, and he never wants her to feel or get lost in the dynamic she shares with him.

say she’s particularly stressed. a mix of everything hitting all at once. all she wants is time to indulge in herself and her own mind—divulge into her own activities, maybe see friends she hasn’t spent time with in a while, or maybe catch a movie alone—something that’s just about her, what she needs. so she brings it up to jason, “babe? can you find something to do for the evening? i need some time.”

and it’s as simple as that. jason respects when she’s up front.

only—she’s not always up front. sometimes she tries too hard to mold herself into what she assumes he wants or needs. maybe he had a bad patrol week, got hurt, and is doing that silent sulking only he can do so well around the apartment. she doesn’t voice much, but she’s there. ignoring her own issues and feelings in hopes he’ll feel better. trying to play the role of perfect—not that jason ever asked. and besides, that’s not how it works—she gets too overwhelmed—it’s just not sustainable.

it always reaches a breaking point. something boils over. a snap. she’s fine and gentle until she’s not. she suddenly feels like she’s been asked too much of—and there’s a guilt with that feeling as well. the nagging idea of, ‘he deserves peace. be that for him’.

but despite the guilt, the feeling remains, and she feels a need to test and scrutinize the relationship. to make problems before he can notice she feels like one.

like when he comes home bloodied from patrol and she’s had a day from hell. her boss was a condescending prick, her friend canceled plans last minute, and she’s running on three hours of sleep—but jason’s lip is split and there’s that look in his eyes that means someone died tonight.

so she swallows it. make him tea, starts his shower, lets him hold her while he stares at the ceiling processing whatever fresh trauma gotham served up.

three days of this. three days of being what he needs while her own shit festers.

then he has the audacity to stare at her. notice her. say, “you seem off lately.”

“off?” her voice could cut glass.

“yeah, distant. like you’re not really here.”

she slams her coffee mug down hard enough that the counter echos, “not here? i’ve been nowhere but here, jason. wiping blood off your face, pretending i don’t have my own problems because, god forbid, you have to deal with anything that isn’t your own guilty conscience.”

“baby, that’s not—”

“no, shut up. you want to know what’s off? what’s off is that i’m so tired of shrinking myself into whatever shape you need that i can’t even remember what i actually feel anymore. it’s all just you.”

his jaw ticks. the vein that appears when he’s fighting his temper mares his forehead, “nobody asked you to do that. that’s all you.”

“didn’t they? because every time i even think to bring up my own shit, suddenly there’s some new crisis. some new reason why your problems are bigger and more important than mine.”

“that’s not fair.”

“fair?” she laughs, and it’s ugly. mean, “you wanna talk about fair? fair would be dating someone who doesn’t treat me like an emotional support system with tits.”

and that’s when jason’s patience snaps. because he can take a lot—has taken worse than she could ever dish out—but that particular accusation hits every insecurity he has about being too much, too broken, too damaged, and too dependent for anyone to love.

“you know what? fuck this.” he’s off the couch, grabbing his jacket, eyes glaring into her own, “you want space so goddamn bad? have all the space you want.”

“oh, so now you’re leaving? because…what? i’m right? perfect. very mature, jason.”

“what do you want from me?” he rounds on her, shadowing her, and there’s something dangerous in his voice now, “you snap, pick a fight, tear me apart, then get mad when i don’t stick around for more. it’s fuckin’ exhausting.”

“i want you to notice before i have to snap—and stop running away the second i’m not perfect!”

he tugs at his hair, eyes rolling, legs moving toward the door, “you think this is me running? baby, when i run, you’ll know it.”

the apartment door slams hard enough to rattle the windows.

he’s gone for two days. doesn’t answer texts, doesn’t come home. her disorganized attachment goes into overdrive—half convinced he’s never coming back, half planning what cruel thing she can say if he does.

she gets through it the way she always does—detachment. short responses to everyone, cutting remarks that leave people emotionally bleeding. her coworker with no sense makes a joke about her hair, and she smiles sweetly just to ask how his divorce is going. a guy at the coffee shop tries to buy her drink and chat her up, and she looks him up and down like he’s something rancid she stepped in.

because if jason’s not coming back, she’ll be in hell—and everyone else can go to hell too.

except he does come back. walks in like nothing happened while she’s aggressively reorganizing her (their) bookshelf.

“we need to talk.” he says, tone like he’s trying to diffuse a bomb.

she doesn’t even look at him, “do we? or are you just here to grab more of your shit before you disappear again?”

“i wasn’t disappearing. i was thinking.”

“how very enlightened of you.”

“jesus christ, would you just—” he runs a hand through his hair, “look, i get it, okay? you’re pissed. you can be pissed. but we can’t keep doing this.”

now she turns around, “doing what?”

“this thing where we hurt each other just to see if the other person will stay.”

she wants to argue, but he’s right and they both know it. so instead she deflects, “maybe some of us are just too much for other people to handle.”

“maybe. but i’m still here.”

“for now.”

“no, not for now. period.” he steps closer, “you think you’re the first person to try to push me away? sweetheart, i’ve been rejected by everyone i’ve ever cared about. if i was going to leave because you’re difficult, i would’ve been gone after the first week.”

“i’m not difficult, i’m complex—”

“you’re mean as fuck when you’re scared.” his voice is matter-of-fact, “you go for the jugular. you say things specifically designed to make people give up on you. and you know what? sometimes it works.”

her throat feels tight, “even with you?”

“no. not with me.” he cups her face, forces her to look at the broken man that loves her, “i’ve been dead, baby. i’ve been tortured, betrayed, abandoned, replaced. you think a few nasty words are gonna break me?”

the thing about jason is he doesn’t just love her despite the mean streak—he loves her because of it. because he knows what it’s like to be sharp edges and defense mechanisms. because when she bares her teeth, he doesn’t just see a snarl—he sees the hurt underneath.

“you know what your problem is?” she says later, when they’re both calmer, sitting on opposite ends of the couch like fighters in neutral corners.

“enlighten me.”

“you think you deserve to be treated like shit. so when i’m awful to you, part of you thinks it’s justified.”

he’s quiet for a long moment, then shrugs, “maybe.”

“and you know what my problem is?”

“tell me.”

“i think everyone’s going to leave eventually. so i try to control when and how, even if it means burning everything down myself.”

“and how’s that working out for you?”

she gestures between them both, “jury’s still out.”

but here’s the thing about loving jason todd—he doesn’t stay because it’s easy. he stays because she’s worth it. even when she’s testing every boundary, pushing every button, daring him to prove her right about being unlovable.

especially then.

because jason knows something about being too much for people. and he’s decided—fuck those people. he’d rather have all of her—sharp edges, and mean comments, and midnight fights—than some watered-down version that fits into other people’s idea of comfort. she fits his.

“come here.” his voice is low, gentle in his own way.

“why?”

“because i love you when you’re mean. i love you when you’re scared. i love you when you’re picking fights just to see if i’ll stick around.” he holds out his arms, “and ‘cause i’m tired of sitting on opposite sides of the couch like we’re enemies. c’mere baby.”

she doesn’t take his embrace immediately. because this is the part that scares her most—not the fighting, but the making up. the moment when he proves, once again, that she’s not too much, that he can handle all of her.

“what if i’m always like this?” she huffs, burying her face into his side.

“then you’re always like this.” he shrugs, “i knew what i was signing up for.”

“i’m serious, jason. what if i never get better at this? what if i’m always going to be the girlfriend who says terrible things when she’s scared?”

“then i guess i’ll always be the boyfriend who leaves for two days instead of dealing with his feelings.” he pulls her closer, his hand at her waist. “we’re both fucked up, baby. might as well be fucked up together.”

and finally—finally—he feels her relax.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

a/n: this is my first time really giving reader a set personality or personal issue…do we hate it? also trying something a bit different for how i structure thought drabbles—idk if i like it. i may delete this LMAO, tbh i just wrote it mostly for personal comfort. but shoutout the mean!gf’s of the world and our disorganized attachment. we will prevail. love is not always scary or meant to be analyzed like a true crime case. speaking from experience.

🖇️ masterlist | askbox | recent works

[liaflowrr]

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — caleb and you have been dating your whole lives, and you know each other like the back of your hand. you know everything about each other— except, the fact that you two are dating.

pairings: caleb x mc / caleb x reader

cw: pure fluff, oblivious reader, suggestive/hinted, lovesick caleb, possesive caleb, jealous caleb, caleb himself at this point. second person pov, female reader

first post ever… like + reblogs are so helpful ! if there are any mistakes.. heh just ignore😅

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

Having a man like Caleb in your life is truly incomprehensible, it’s hard to describe how much he means to you in such words that don’t fully grasp how amazing he is.

Waking up to texts from him, voice messages, and sometimes voicemails, those are the things keeping you going everyday. He is the reason you keep going everyday. Starting your morning hearing his voice is how you want to start every morning for the rest of your life, even better if you could wake up next to him, smelling him, seeing his true self all for you and you only to keep.

That’s why it’s hard to even imagine wanting anyone else with Caleb around, especially since he knows you better than anyone else. Caleb is just perfect, beyond perfect even, you can’t even begin to express how grateful you are for him. Caleb’s also super sexy, like his face, his body.. his…

A flick to your forehead knocks you out of your daydreaming.

“Helllooo Pipsqueak? How could you daydream with me right here? Could I be boring you?” Caleb’s voice fades in with a charming smile, his eyes showing slight concern, yet overall his face has a teasing look.

“Wh-I’m not bored! I just got side tracked, you said something that reminded me of something else—but what were you saying?” You quip, feeling your cheeks get hot in embarrassment for letting your mind wander into such provocative thoughts right in front of him. You give him a playful nudge with your foot, kicking into his ribs to distract him from your face, knowing he’d notice.

You’re currently at his place, laying on the couch with your feet in his lap as he rubs your ankles, occasionally trailing further up to your knee and underneath. You’re wearing an old oversized t-shirt (probably his) with no shorts on underneath, while he wears a grey tank top with black boxers. (You pretend to not glance occasionally. Wearing underwear around him is normal, but when he does it, it makes you feel all warm in your stomach.) You come over every other week, switching between your place and his whether or not you’re too tired to travel to Skyhaven and vice versa. (Even though you know Caleb has mentioned you moving in with him or buying a place together.) Caleb pulls you closer, practically pulling you onto his lap, holding you up with his right arm that leans on the couch. His left arm lays on top of your legs, his hand splays over your stomach, and his thumb rubs your belly.

“I was asking you what the plan was for tomorrow, but I guess a certain hunter got sidetracked. What was it I did that made you..distracted?” Caleb tilts his head and rests it on his arm, looking at you with his gorgeous deep eyes and a smirk on his face, as if he knows what you were thinking. Which he probably knew, he’s like a super-freak-mind-reader, and knows everything, probably read your face and watched every single detail with such precise detail.

Ignoring his question and letting out a huff, “I want to go down by that restaurant we used to go to with Granny, by the fountain? There’s going to be a street event and I want to see all the pop up food places and eat.” Just the thought of all the potential food has you salivating, but it’s nothing better than Caleb’s home cooking. You shuffle to get comfortable in his hold, placing your hand on top of his and lying your head against his arm.

His touch makes your insides warm, and you can’t help but feel so excited yet relaxed to have his hands on you and just be so close to him. You want to be as close as possible, like a newborn baby when they do skin-to-skin contact with their mother. You smile, looking up at him, admiring his face, his beautiful smile. His eyes never leave yours, tracing your features as you gaze upon him. Nothing else matters when you’re with him, except Caleb.

Caleb hums, thinking for a second to process what you’re saying, before he smiles. “Of course, that sounds like a great idea. I’ll make sure we prepare before to feast on all the food. I hope we can try some new things, too.” He shifts a little, his ears turning a slight red at your stare, almost feeling a bit embarrassed at how deep you were gazing at him. You don’t notice the effect you have on him, or the fact that from an outside view you appear as a loving couple.

Gosh, always killing the vibe. ‘I have got to control myself!’ You scream internally.

You stand up and brush your hair behind your ears in embarrassment, clearing your throat and trying to ignore how cold your skin is now with the loss of his warmth. You avoid eye contact and start to head to his bedroom.

“It’s getting late, we should head to bed. I’m gonna go brush my teeth. I’m starting to get tired. I want it to be tomorrow already.” You don’t even make it three steps before you hear Caleb trailing behind you.

“Well what’s the big rush? Don’t leave me behind, you know you cant sleep without me. Let’s brush our teeth at the same time so that we can get in bed together.” Caleb says, quickly catching up and getting ahead of you, turning his bathroom light on and handing you your toothbrush while he gets the toothpaste.

You blush at the mention of sleeping together, it being such an occurring thing yet still not used to the fact that you sleep with him. It’s not like back then, when you were younger and had sleepovers, it’s different now, because you want to be able to kiss him and hold him without possibly ruining your friendship. You wish you were more than friends. You wish this meant more to him.

“I can sleep totally fine, it’s you that needs me!” You mutter, brushing your teeth. You feel him poke your sides occasionally, and you bump him with your hip in retaliation, before focusing and brushing again. When you’re done, you turn off the lights and get under the covers with him, immediately being pulled by a large hand on your hip and into a warm bare chest. Wait, didn’t he have a shirt on?

“When did you take your shirt off weirdo? Get your man boobs out of my face.” You yelp, as your face burns a deep red. Your words say the opposite, because inside you love being face-to-face with his glorious chest, it’s the next best thing to his glossy bread rolls—abs.

“I took it off because I wake up hot, you warm me up during the night. I might as well sleep naked, you’re like a human furnace.” Caleb tuts, and you turn even more red at the thought of him naked next to you, but you just shove at his chest and squawk in embarrassment. You turn over and face away from him, closing your eyes and going to sleep. Caleb tuts, and you feel him rest his head on top of yours, pressing a kiss on your head before pressing his body against the curve of yours. Caleb takes a deep breath, smelling your hair and the shampoo you two share, before smiling to himself and closing his eyes. He tightens his hold around you, and your heartbeats sync. Eventually you relax, his soft gentle breathing lulling you. You fall asleep within minutes.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

Twenty minutes before the street festival, you spend your time in his bathroom getting ready. You’ve already prepared a simple yet cute outfit to wear when you go out. You’re wearing your favorite earrings and your favorite shoes, along with a touch of eyeliner, mascara and lip gloss. You also stole borrowed Caleb’s jacket, which you wear unzipped. You smile at yourself in the mirror, excited to see what Caleb would think of you.

You invited Tara to come along, and she mentioned bringing a date with her so she wouldn’t feel like she was third-wheeling, but you insisted that you and Caleb weren’t even dating so she’ll be fine, but you missed the way Caleb froze while he was buttoning up his shirt. He pretended like he wasn’t eavesdropping, but you didn’t care either way, he’s always wanted to know everything that was going on in your life, insisting that it was important because you are important. Whenever he said that it always made you look away, flustered by his words.

“You’re not a third wheel! Caleb and I are basically besties, it’s not gonna be awkward, plus, you know I would never treat you like a third wheel, if anything Caleb is!” Tara laughs at your joke. “Haha, totally, how dare he steal my girlfriend?! But it’s okay, I wanna invite him, he’s really cute and he said he’d bring his friend so it’ll be a bigger group and he won’t be as shy. Personally, I wish he wouldn’t because his friends kinda weird… But you didn’t hear it from me. I gotta go though, I think he just pulled up! See you soon!” Tara hangs up after you say goodbye, and you look up from your phone and see Caleb adjusting his bracelet you gave him on his wrist. Caleb looks you up and down, chuckling when he recognizes his jacket before he brushes away a stray hair in your face.

“You ready, honey? You know, some wanderers might have already eaten all the food by now, we gotta hurry up before it’s all gone.” You roll your eyes and let out a small laugh as Caleb wraps an arm around your waist, the two of you walking out of his room and heading out the door.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

When you arrive and turn the corner, your eyes sparkle from all the lights and food on the street, the smells of sweet and savory snacks hitting you. “Caleb, look! They have your favorite! We should go get it!” You cheer, pointing at the vendor across from you. Caleb nods, and he grabs your hand and walks towards the stand with you.

Tara calls out your name when you pay for the treat, and you turn and see two guys standing next to her. Her nervous yet happy smile makes you smile to help calm her nerves.

“Hey Tara, it’s so good to see you, how are you? Who are they?”

“I’m good! Let me introduce you, Y/n, Caleb, this is Teo and his friend Finn!” Teo waves and smiles, greeting you and Caleb, while Finn nods his head, staring straight at you and purposefully ignoring Caleb.

Calebs eye twitches, before plastering a smile on his face to pretend he doesn’t want to slap the shit out of this dudes face for blatantly ogling you. The hell does this guy think he is? Is it not obvious that you two are dating? You’re wearing Caleb’s clothes, you have Caleb’s scent on you, and Calebs holding your hand. What else is there to say? Caleb lets out a deep exhale through his nose.

You smile and nod at the two, oblivious to the way Caleb grips your hand tighter and stands closer to you. You turn to look at the place. “Isn’t this awesome?! I love how pretty it looks at night! I totally didn’t expect this many people and food, but I’m not complaining! Tara, what should we go eat next? I’m soo hungry, I didn’t eat anything for lunch to prepare for this!”

“Ah, I’m so down to get some tanghulu! You remember that video I sent you? I heard they have a stand where you can choose the fruits you want! And then we definitely have to get some haw flakes, I am craving some so badly! What do you think, Teo?”

“Oh definitely! I eat so many in one sitting! Caleb, do you like them?” Teo’s nervous look disappears at the mention of candy, and he has a huge grin on his face as we make our way to the next place. Finn walks behind Teo and Tara, glancing at me before looking at Caleb.

Caleb shakes his head, “No, I wasn’t a huge fan, I’m more of a sour candy fan, pips always made me eat the sourest candy from the bag whenever they got anything, so I grew to enjoy it.” Caleb looks at me and smiles, nudging me with his shoulder and unlocking our hands to place his hand on the back of my waist. You giggle to yourself, remembering the first time you made him try something super sour.

“I really like guava candy, Caleb had to hide the bag to stop me from eating it.” You add, as Tara giggles. Finn huffs, putting his hands in his pocket. “I was a fan too, ain’t that a coincidence? We should try and find some later and share.” Finn speaks for the first time, and immediately you glance at Tara in agreement to her past statement. Sending a half smile, “Totally, but I think I’ll get sick if I eat too much candy. Let’s find something else to all enjoy.” You all arrive at the stand, immediately you and Tara rush to pick your favorite fruits from the selection, and you squeal in excitement when it’s handed back to you.

“Oh my goodness this is so good!” You’re the first to take a bite and you moan from the taste, a big smile forming on your face. Caleb whips his head when he catches Finn nudging Teo’s shoulder, whispering something only the two can hear. Caleb grits his teeth, before he wraps an arm around your shoulder and takes a bite out of your tanghulu.

“Caleb!”

“Mm—, you’re right, baby, this is delicious, I should’ve gotten one, but yours is better.” Caleb says, licking his lips as he finishes his bite, glaring at Finn. Finn rolls his eyes.

You blush at how close Caleb has gotten, before you take another bite of your fruit and lean into Caleb. Tara sends you a knowing look before you roll your eyes and turn your body (including Calebs since he refuses to let go) and look for food.

“These snacks are nice but I’m wanting some real food, let’s go look for some! And since I just got a huge bonus.. foods on me!” You exclaim, as you and Tara cheer in celebration over your little bonus.

“Pretty and you pay for the first date? Man, you’re basically my dream girl.” Finn jokes, walking next to you and giving you a creepy grin. You deadpan at Tara, before turning back to say some snarky comment to him in response. You’re cut off by Caleb as he switches places with you and shoulder checks Finn.

“Who said this was a date? You’re just a double third wheel, y’know? Pipsqueak isn’t interested in men like you.” Caleb practically growls, his hold on you tightening, as if he’s worried you’re gonna disappear if he’s not actively holding you.

“Dang Caleb! Let’s calm down, okay? I don’t want us to fight. I think we’re all just suuper hungry, look, let’s get some food from there and find a place to sit down inside.” Tara says, rubbing the back of her neck and sharing a nervous glance with Teo. Teo nods and mouths “sorry”. The group walks towards a small restaurant and looks at the menu on the screen to order.

“Y/n! We totally have to try their smoothies, they have all kinds of flavors! I’m going to get the dragonfruit and mango, that sounds soo good.”

“Oh my gosh they have a pineapple smoothie! And an apple?! Oh my gosh, what is a pink unicorn?!”

“Scratch that, we have to get the unicorn smoothie!”

“I thought you guys wanted food, we’re just talking about smoothies now. Honey, I’ll order the food and drinks and cover you for the cost of the food. You can pay for everyone’s smoothies, okay?” Caleb chuckles and moves to the front to order food, Teo following along to order something for him and Finn. You start to protest, but Tara cuts you off by pointing at a the best table by the window to sit down and wait.

Finn stays behind with you and Tara as you sit a the table by the window. Finn sits in front of you while Tara sits next to him, an empty chair next to her for Teo.

Eventually Caleb and Teo come back with the food and drinks and hand them out to everyone.

“Tara, let’s try these smoothies at the same time!”

“Okay! Teo, share with me?” Tara asks, her cheeks turning pink as she looks at Teo. Teo blushes and nods in agreement, unwrapping two straws for them.

Caleb grabs unwraps two straws as well, pushing them into your smoothie. Caleb opens his mouth to ask to share with you, before—

“Y/n, let’s share too, yeah?” Finn cuts him off, catching Caleb off guard as his eyes dart over to him.

“Uh, sorry I don’t like sharing my drinks or my food with just anyone..” You respond, before Caleb can say anything.

Finn’s eyebrow perks up, “Caleb ate your tanghulu earlier.”

“Well—“

“Because I’m her boyfriend, clueless. Isn’t it obvious? I’m not just anyone. Back off before I do something I won’t regret.”

Silence falls over the table, before Finn abruptly gets up and curses to himself, muttering something to Teo about texting him later, and storms off. You blink, your face turning red at Caleb’s words. You whip your head and look at him.

“Caleb?! Why’d you say that! I’m so sorry Teo, I didn’t mean to offend him—“

“It’s alright.. I told him that you weren’t going to be interested but I guess he changed his mind. He said he wasn’t gonna really follow us around when I first brought it up. I’m really sorry, I only keep him around because I owe him one.” Teo apologizes, and he offers to pay for the food to express his guilt, before Tara insists it’s fine.

“Teo and I will go make sure he doesn’t do something dumb, I’m sorry Y/n, enjoy the rest of your night!” Tara adds, the two get up and ask for their food to go and leave together, off to find Finn. You and Caleb sit in silence, your thoughts running wild.

‘That guy was so weird, but what the hell was Caleb saying? He really keeps getting my hopes up whenever he protects me from guys like Finn, but he seemed like he meant it this time.’

“Caleb.. did you really mean what you said? Or were you just trying to get Finn to leave me alone? I mean, I appreciate it but it’s just..”

“Y/n, what are you talking about? Of course I meant what I said, I mean, I am your boyfriend, why would I not—“

Your facial expression explains to Caleb what the situation is. Realization dawns on him, and he pouts.

“Y/n, y’know I’ve considered you my girlfriend for years now, right..?”

You blink, your face turning red.

“Clearly not! Caleb— wh- what do you even mean?! You’ve never even asked!”

What side of the bed did Caleb wake up on?! G-Girlfriend?! Years?!

“I didn’t think I needed to! We’ve kissed and slept in the same bed so many times! You know you’re the only one I treat like this!”

You stutter at his words, realization hitting you. Yeah.. there’s no defending that, but still—

“We’ve acted like that since we were kids, of course I’m just going to assume that was just how our relationship was!”

“Is that why you told Tara we weren’t dating? I thought you were joking!”

You groan, and a frown etches onto your face. How stupid could Caleb be? You thought maybe he had a girlfriend in the academy or something, or at least a fling once or twice in his life, considering how many times he was confessed to in high school on Valentine’s day. Why didn’t you realize this sooner? Where were any of the signs?! Why didn’t he say anything sooner?!

After a couple minutes of silence, Caleb breaks it. He huffs, pulling you into his arms and resting his forehead against yours.

“Y/n, I’m sorry I assumed. I’ll ask properly now. Can I be your boyfriend?”

You look up into his eyes, a nervous expression on his face as his cheeks are flushed, and he has a small pout on his lips as he asks. You sigh, smiling.

“Yes, even if you’re kind of dumb, you can be my boyfriend, Caleb.” You tease, the pout disappearing immediately from Caleb’s face as he grins, pressing a soft kiss on your nose. Caleb squeezes you and rubs your head, making you whine in annoyance.

“You’re so cute Pips! Man, I just wanna eat you right—“

—“Order for Caleb?”

You push Caleb off in embarrassment, turning your head to see the waiter standing at your table and holding a tray of your soups. Caleb whines at you ignoring his affection, before thanking the server and taking your food from her hands. Caleb sets the tray down and makes sure to scoop out the vegetables you don’t like in the soup. You sigh in happiness, your stomach reminding you of how hungry you are, and you give Caleb a napkin and spoon to try the broth.

“Caleb, let’s try these together, okay? As boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Caleb grins, pressing another quick kiss to your cheek, as the two of you share your delicious meal.

[mrsmanofthemonth]

⋆˚꩜｡ 𝐁𝐨𝐛 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭?

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢs - ʙᴏʙ ʀᴇʏɴᴏʟᴅs x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ғᴛ. ᴘʙ&ᴊᴊ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ - ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴘᴇᴛᴇʀ, ᴊᴏᴀǫᴜɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ғɪɴᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴏʙ ᴡᴀs ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴡᴇɪʀᴅ. ʜᴇ ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ʟʏɪɴɢ. ʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ɢɪʀʟғʀɪᴇɴᴅ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs - ғʟᴜғғ, ᴅᴏᴍᴇsᴛɪᴄ ᴄʜᴀᴏs, ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀᴛɪᴄ ʙᴏʏ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴏs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ǫᴜᴀᴅ.

ᴍᴀʏᴏʀ ᴍᴀɴᴅʏ’s ɴᴇᴡs ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ 📮- ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ғᴏʀ ʙᴏʙ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴏᴀǫᴜɪɴ sᴇᴘᴀʀᴀᴛᴇʟʏ, ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅᴏ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ sᴏᴍᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ ɪɴᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴜᴀʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴀss ᴀᴛᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ғᴀɴᴛᴀsᴛɪᴄ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘ ɴᴀᴍᴇᴅ ᴘʙ&ᴊᴊ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ sᴀɪᴅ, “ᴡʜʏ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ?” ᴇxᴄᴜsᴇ ᴍᴇ ɪғ ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ sᴘᴇʟʟɪɴɢ ᴇʀʀᴏʀs ᴏʀ ɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴀʀ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇs. ɪ’ᴍ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʀᴜsᴛʏ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴀʟsᴏ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴀᴅ sᴇʟғ ɪɴᴅᴜʟɢᴇɴᴛ ɪ ᴀssᴜᴍᴇ. ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪғ ᴛʜɪs ᴀʙsᴏʟᴜᴛᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ɪs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴜᴘ ᴏғ ᴄᴏғғᴇᴇ.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ - 𝟹,𝟶𝟻𝟶+

sᴜɴɴʏʙʀᴏᴏᴋ ʟɪʙʀᴀʀʏ ⛅️

For a man who glowed gold was and one of the most powerful beings on earth, Bob Reynolds had an exceptional talent for going unnoticed.

It wasn’t that the others didn’t care—Peter, Joaquin, and Johnny were deeply invested in the man’s life, if only because they lived with him, breathed the same air, and occasionally panicked when he muttered to himself or some out, hoping he was still holding on to his sanity. But Bob had always been a bit of a mystery. He’d drift in and out of rooms in silent patters, bud in conversations, half-listening and half-lost in thought, his eyes always a few seconds slower than his smile.

So when he said—offhandedly, between bites of cereal one Wednesday morning—that he might be seeing someone, none of the boys really heard him. Or, paid attention rather.

Peter was fiddling with a malfunctioning gadget of his that he made out of an old toaster. Joaquin was working the blender, making his morning protein shake and doing that thing where he whisper-sang reggaetón lyrics. And Johnny was shirtless, eating flaming hot Cheetos puffs from the family size bag, his fingers beat red while the other hands scrolled his phone.

“I think I have a girlfriend now.” Bob had said, blinking once, spoon halfway to his mouth.

Peter, without looking up, mumbled. “That’s great, man.” But he was barely heard over the sound of the blender at Joaquin didn’t stop, and they weren’t even sure if he heard the conversation happening.

“Is she physically real or, like, some celestial being in your mind?” Johnny asked, wiggling his fingers around his head before wiping Cheeto dust on a dish towel that very much did not belong to him.

“Ha ha, funny.” Bob monotoned, glaring over at the man across from him. “She’s very real, if you must know. And it feels celestial.” Bob said firmly.

Joaquin simply smirked but didn’t take it seriously, more satisfied with the fact that he got under Bob’s skin. And then the conversation ended there, all the men going back to their shared task within the kitchen.

It’s not that the men didn’t believe that such a thing could happen to their friend. It was simply something none of them have just thought about. Bob soent his free time, which was all the time since the guy was unemployed, dressed in flannel pajama pants and an oversized hoodie, buried under a weighted blanket. He loved messy reality tv and sometimes stared out the window at birds that would land on the fire escape. Joaquin even slightly remembers a story of the man befriend a crow or something through animal crackers.

But they adored him. He was their roommate. Their teammate. Their unique and lovable Bob. Their Bob.

And according to Bob himself — he was now someone’s boyfriend.

About a week after that, he stood before them in the kitchen again, dressed in grey sweats and hoodie, nothing new from his usual wear, besides his tennis shoes. “I won’t be home tonight.” He mumbled, spooning Cap’n Crunch into his mouth with unbothered serenity.

Peter, eyes still crusty with sleep, had looked up as he scratched his bottom through his boxer briefs. “What? Where are you going?” Be grumbled in his morning voice.

“Out.” The man answered simply. He didn’t even have time to register his own response and how rude it kind of sounded, before Johnny, who was making himself some sunny side up eggs, shirtless behind an apron with a skillet in his inflamed hand, turned to him. “Out?” He questioned.

“With my girlfriend.” Bob said, looking over at him.

The room had then gone quiet. Peter pausing with his nana halfway out of his mouth while Joaquin raised his head from his laid position on the couch.

Johnny had snorted loud enough to shake the pan, almost dropping it from his hand. “Okay, sure, Bob. Your girlfriend. The same way I’ve got a pet unicorn and Joaquin’s got a gluten allergy.”

“…I actually do have a gluten allergy.” Joaquin mumbled, flipping through the channels on the television with a dull look of interest.

Bob just blinked at them as he finished eating. “Her name’s Y/N.” He stated, moving over to place his dishes in the sink. “She’s actually really cool. We met in the park where she was walking her cat.”

This only caused the boys to not believe him more, squinting at him. “Who walks a cat?” Peter questioned, which was a bit muffled due to the banana he was chewing. He then looked down at the empty peel in his hand, before simply tossing it behind him, the moist peel hitting the wall before sliding into the trash can.

“A lot of people, actually.” Bob stated a bit enthusiastically, turning back around to look at them, as if he was ecstatic to tell a new piece of information he’s recently learned. “But it’s her grandma’s fat calico. He needs a daily trek.” He said with a nod, looking between them all.

And they gave Bob their usual stares of a look that was a mix between pity and slight confusion before mumbling words of simple acknowledgement and moving about their day.

And that was that.

But now it had been weeks of him mentioning her every now and then. And Bob kept disappearing.

It started innocently enough. Jaquan was the first to notice.

“Bob?” He called, walking through the loft with a mug in hand, still bleary-eyed. “Have you seen my—wait. Where’s Bob?” He questioned, stopping in the open floor between the kitchenette and the living room.

Johnny, stretched across the couch in pajama pants and nothing else, barely opened one eye. “Bedroom?”

Joaquin checked the room on the other side of the loft, up the stairs and in the first room on the right. Empty, with a bed that was perfectly made. Too perfectly. Meaning he was either in a chipper mood or angry. Which was hard to tell if he wasn’t here.

Peter came in next, hoodie slung over his shoulder as he waked out of his room, looking down the hall at Johnny. “What’s up?” He questioned the slightly confused man.

“Bob’s gone.” He said, a subtle frown on his face. “Like, not here gone.” He emphasized as they walked back downstairs.

“He’s probably on the roof.” Johnny shrugged. “Somebody needs to use the perks of this penthouse.” He mumbled.

“But he didn’t say anything.” Joaquin muttered, concern tugging at his brow. “He always leaves a note. Or, like, sends a text.”

“Bob texts you?” Peter stopped at, turning to the man from the kitchen pantry, coming out with an adornment of snacks in his hands. “He doesn’t even have my number saved.”

“Bob has a phone?” Johnny questioned, raising his head from the couch. “Is that the number that’s been sending memes in the group chat?”

Joaquin ignored them as he walked into the kitchen and sat down his mug on the island. “Maybe he just went to get coffee.” He shrugged, not wanting to dive into his friend’s unnecessarily convoluted patterns.

And it continued, the celestial like altered man would shuffle out of the penthouse apartment in his usual hoodie, a dreamy twinkle in his eye, smelling faintly of lavender and something else that was spicy and warm — not his usual scent of floral laundry detergent. Hers, maybe?

Peter raised the question gently over tea that Joaquin made after training, and Johnny refused to entertain the idea at all.

“Bob can barely open the front door without panicking.” He insisted. “He’s either lying or she’s some sort of chatbot at an Internet cafe.”

And then, one Sunday morning, the universe answered all their questions that…weren’t really weighing on them, to be quite honest.

The apartment was quiet, too quiet, which was rare in a household where Joaquin never stopped dribbling a soccer ball and Johnny did everything loudly on purpose. Peter wandered into the kitchen mid-yawn, looking for Bob, only to find an empty table. No cereal. No discarded slippers left in the middle of the floor. No soft humming of ’70s soul music coming from the hallway.

“Huh.” Peter mumbled. “Bob’s not here.”

Johnny looked up from where he was organizing and cleaning his rings, while the baseball game played loudly. “Maybe he went to the corner bodega again to feel the oranges before he buys them.” He said, his eyes bouncing between the tv and his roommate. “Remember that phase? Man loves a citrus, I guess.”

Joaquin poked his head out from the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. “Didn’t he say something about a picnic?”

Johnny groaned. “Right, the girlfriend. Again. Sure. He’s been dating this mystery woman for, what, a month now? Never brings her around? Doesn’t, I don’t know, spend the night at her place?” He listed dramatically, waving his hands.

Peter shrugged. “He might just be private.”

Johnny scoffed. “Bob tells me his dreams every morning over breakfast. He’s not private, he’s just weird.”

Then they heard it — laughter — muffled, through the front windows and the sound of fans yelling and commentators on the tv.

The three of them froze.

It wasn’t their laughter. Or that of anyone they knew. It was light, feminine, soft and genuine. It was then followed by the soft thud of a bag, the click of a door, and another laugh, deeper this time, unmistakably Bob’s.

They ran to the window next to the door like nosy neighbors in a sitcom, scattering across the hardwood floor in their socks.

Outside, in the sun lit hall from the window down the hall of the penthouse building, was Bob.

And a woman.

She had her hand in his — fingers laced tight — and was laughing at something he said as she leaned into his shoulder. Her smile was wide and radiant, the kind that made you feel warm just looking at her. Mauve cheeks with a matching lip shade. Her curly hair was pulled into a loose pony at the back of her head, some pieces hanging to frame her frame, gold diamond earrings flashing in the sun, and she was wearing a ‘Coolsville’ hoodie far too large to be hers.

Bob’s hoodie.

Their Bob.

Johnny dropped the curtain like it burned him, which was a bit ironic considering he was the Human Torch™️. “No. Freakin’. Way.”

Peter’s mouth was slightly open. “That’s her?” He asked, his eyes glazing over as he gazed at the woman his roommate had on his arm.

Joaquin was still pressed to the glass. “She’s hot.” he breathed out, breath fogging the glass.

“I know!” Peter exclaimed.

“She’s holding his hand! Like she likes him!” Johnny added, an excited and almost proud smile on his face.

“He’s smiling!” Joaquin cried. “Look at him! He’s, like, glowing!” He grinned. And they gave themselves a millisecond more to celebrate before they scattered like roaches when the doorknob turned.

Bob walked in with a dreamy expression, cheeks slightly pink, hoodie hood pulled halfway over his curls. And he wore jeans, with sneakers. Behind him, she entered too, her gaze bouncing around the shared space with casual curiosity.

The guys stood in a weird line, shoulder to shoulder, each one with a matching look of disbelief that they were trying to mask.

Bob blinked. “Hey.” His gaze burning between them.

Y/N smiled, cheeks still glowing from the walk. “Hi.” She said, giving them a wave.

Johnny pointed an accusing finger. “You have a girlfriend.” He stated bluntly, not even trying to beat around the bush. Bob’s face heated more, red risking up his neck while both Joaquin and Peter winced at their friend’s words.

“Johnny.” They hissed.

“It’s fine.” The girl spoke up, a bashful smile on her face. And her voice was as beautiful as she looked, gentle but deep and sultry. She glanced over at Bob, who was already looking at her. Her eyes seemed to shined, his the same as they made eye contact, before he looked back over at them. “Uh… yes?” He answered.

Peter pointed dramatically. “When were you going to tell us?”

“I did tell you.”Bob replied mildly, sipping his drink. “Over cereal. Weeks ago. And again last Wednesday.”

“You said you might be seeing someone!” Johnny accused, pacing. “You didn’t say you were dating a daughter of Aphrodite!”

“Oh, stop it.” The girl said, her smile widening a bit as she waved him off. Bob tightened his hand around hers, eyes the blonde across from him. “Yeah, stop it.” He said, glancing between the girl and his friends.

Joaquin then stepped forward, gaze flicking between her and Bob. “You’re really with him?” He questioned, crossing his arms, and neither of the pair could tell if he was posting fun or trying to be intimidating.

She nodded, still holding Bob’s hand. “Six months now.”

Joaquin audibly choked. “SIX MONTHS?!”

Peter, who had moved over to the kitchen, nearly dropped his mug. “Bob! You’ve been sneaking out?!”

“I do not sneak out!” The man was quick to add, sparking a glance with the woman next to him. “I am a grown man.”

“Yeah, well, you forgot to do the dishes before you left, grown man.” Johnny sassed, giving Bob as look as he placed his hands on his hips. “Now, come, you almost missed the game.” He said, not wanting before he turned around, waving them over to the couch he was walking towards.

Bob stepped beside her and gently touched her waist, a quiet gesture that said she’s with me, and be nice.

Y/N leaned into him, easy and unbothered. “You must be Peter, right? And you”—she pointed at Joaquin—“Joaquin, are the one who puts socks in the freezer?”

Joaquin flushed. “How did—?”

“Bob talks.”

“My feet run hot, okay.”

She then looked at Johnny last. Her eyes glinted. “And you must be the one who thought I was some chatbot.” She said, amusement clear in her tone.

Johnny almost turned crimson at the smile he gave him, but it didn’t show, because he was always one to keep things cool. Which was funny consideri— “I mean, I just didn’t—he’s—you know—Bob.”

Bob just raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“It means we didn’t think you could pull.” Peter blurted out. “Sorry.”

To everyone’s surprise, Bob just smiled, though there was still a slight look of confusion on his face.

Y/N leaned over and kissed his cheek, lips brushing warm and soft over stubble. “I told you they wouldn’t believe me.” Bob said, turning his head towards her, their nose brushing.

“Well, I’m here now.” She shrugged, looking Bob in his deep blue eyes. They stood there, smiling and giggling like two people wrapped in their own little world, completely at ease.

Joaquin crossed his arms. “Six months you say?”

“Yup.” Y/N nodded.

Johnny blinked. “That’s way longer than when Peter dated the girl down at the bodega.”

Peter mumbled, “Let it die, Johnny.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried about this Amber story?” She asked, looking between them all.

Bob, very seriously, said “Not even a little.” And the guys couldn’t help but notice that there was something different about him now — almost softer and more grounded. He wasn’t floating in space within his own mind, or mumbling about the void. He looked like a man who had somewhere to be, something to hold. Someone.

“So.” She said, glancing around. “Is anyone gonna show me the lizard I keep hearing about?”

Peter pointed. “That’s Picante. He lives in Joaquin’s room but has no respect for guests. Or anyone besides Joaquin.”

“Oh, great.” She muttered. “I was surprised to hear you guys had a beaded dragon considering Bob’s afraid of geckos and such”

“I’m not—okay, I screamed once.” The shaggy hairs man insisted.

“You climbed onto the clinic table.”

“It startled me!”

The guys just stared at them, still stunned, still processing, still watching Bob — their Bob — fall in love right in front of them like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Y/N caught their expressions and smiled. “I’m a vet.” She explained, gaining subtle nods from them. “And when I gave Bob a tour of the black and showed him some of our office animals, he freaked out.” She said. “But he was good with the horses.” She nodded, and Joaquin’s eyes widened a bit.

“Horses?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “They loved the guy. Don’t look so surprised.” She uttered before looking back over at him, connecting eyes once again, a favorite pastime of hers. “He’s kind of incredible once you get past the sleep-talking and thirty-seven pairs of gray sweatpants.”

“Forty,” Bob muttered.

“And now.” She said brightly, “I’m stealing your boy. For picnic plans and all.”

“Speaking of, we have reservations.” Bob said, standing with her hands in his, and that shocked his roommates more, their eyes watching his every move they began to walk back to the door.

“You guys have reservations? You have reservations?” Johnny cut in, causing the pair to stop, particularly eyeing his friend. “Bob, you tried garlic bread for the first time last week.” He said, and she let out a small chuckle at that while Bob sent Johnny a deadpanned look. “We’re having dinner at her grandparents house on their ranch, so don’t wait up. Her grandfathers a really great cook. And funnily enough, he’s an Italian man who loves garlic.” He explained, his tone a bit firm, causing their heads to jerk back in slight shock at the man putting his foot down.

She grabbed Bob’s hand again and led him toward the door, pausing only to flash a dazzling smile at the three stunned men left behind.

“Bye, boys.”

The door closed behind them, laughter echoing down the hallway.

Johnny blinked. “Bob’s got a girlfriend.”

Peter nodded. “Bob’s got a girlfriend.”

Joaquin flopped onto the couch, dazed. “We’ve entered a new timeline.” He breathed out.

Johnny only scratched his head. “I feel weirdly… proud. And a bit betrayed.”

“She really is out of his league.” Peter said, crossing his arms as he propped his feet up on the couch, leaning further into the cushions.

Joaquin frowned. “Hey. Maybe we’re the problem.”

They sat there in silence for a long beat.

“…Nah.” They said in unison.