#but maybe more comforter than i’ve ever felt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nanaslutt · 1 year ago

Note

gojo and vibrator overstim??? he pleasures u like crazy after u guys go to a party and he sees a lot of guys checking u out, but instead of taking it out on u he decides he just wants to worship u😭😭 and he makes u cum a lot of times dkslmds idk

When your girlfriend is too hot for her own good ft. satoru gojo x reader

this is the longest thing i’ve ever written i absolutely loved this prompt..

contains: fem reader, established relationships, whipped!gojo, jealousy, perv!npc’s, vibrators, sooooo much dirty talk, praise, like a ridiculous amount, body worship, cockwarming, overstimulation, mating press, multiple orgasms, no condoms in sight, breeding kink if u squint, squirting for the first time, domestic af

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

After Gojo finished zipping up your dress and hooking the clips at the top to secure it for you, he slapped your ass, grabbing the fat in his palms, “Goddd, i’m so fucking lucky,” he sighed dramatically.

Sliding his large hands around to the front of your body and cradling your hips, resting his head on your shoulder while he admired your current look.

Makeup applied just right, not a glitter of highlight out of place, hair styled in a way that gave his intruding eyes free roam to admire back of your neck, dress fitted perfectly to your body, accentuating every curve and dip of your perfect stature.

Opting to wear your shorter heels because knowing satoru, you two would be at this “party” for a very long time.

Everyone always wanted to talk to Satoru every time he showed himself in public. It was no suprise, considering his popularity throughout the jujutsu world from his incredible technique and strength; maybe a little from his blunt and childish personality too; and non jujutsu sourcerers we’re quick to swarm him from just his handsome looks alone.

Eyes that lit up any room, a perfectly symmetrical and slim face that looked like it had been hand chiseled from the finest stones, and his snowy white hair to top it all off. Satoru always getting asked the same question from girls and guys alike, flirtation laced in their voice when they spoke, “So, is that your natural hair color??”

His height sure didn’t help in making him any less invisible than he already wasn’t.

You two didn’t attend parties or anything of the sort too frequently though, usually only making an appearance at certain events when you had to.

This time it was a little different. Shoko had insisted on Gojo trying out this new club she started to frequent, rambling about how the ambience was just perfect; of course she didn’t fail to mention the high quality liquor they housed in the process.

Satoru hadn’t been to a club in a minute, since he started going out with you. Not seeing the need to anymore.

He only went to clubs before to let off steam after a particularly hard mission, letting some stranger dry hump him on the dance floor, or drinking some too-sweet non alcoholic drink with shoko at the bar, complaining about his day.

He never took any of the strangers home though, he just needed to get out of his head, letting the lights, shitty blaring music, and sweaty bodies overstimulate his mind for a night.

Then he found you. Perfect, sweet, little you. He found that he much rather would wrap his arms around you in the comfort of his quiet, familiar home, and lay on your breasts while you ran your fingers through his hair.

Nails raking comfortingly over his scalp as the stressors of his day melted from his brain. Why was he even stressed again?

See? This was a hundred times better than the club.

But when shoko was insistent, she was thoroughly insistent.

When you stepped through the thick doors of the establishment, guided by satoru’s comforting palm on your lower back, you couldn’t help but notice this felt a lot more lax than what you were expecting.

Music not overbearing, people mingling with each other, and weirdly seeing a lot of familiar faces in the crowd.

“Satoru, where are we right now? I thought this was a club.” you asked, tilting your head up at him while he led you in the direction of the bar, to get you something to loosen you up; he knew how you got antsy at these things sometimes.

“Ah, I didn’t explain very well did I?” he giggled, “Thisss,” gojo paused to splay his arm out in front of him, “Is where Jujutsu sourcerers come to relax!” that explains why you saw so many familiar faces…

“I think that’s why Shoko loves this place so much, people tend to stay away from her here..” pursing his lips pretending to think, “She can be quite intimidating when you know her..” he finished, shaking his head dramatically like he was trying to forget a scary memory.

“Anyways, how are you feeling sweet thing? wanna get a drink first?” Your handsome boyfriend asked you, hand still resting against your back as he gave you a little smile.

“Yeah I uh-“ looking over Gojo’s shoulder before continuing, “I think that blonde guy is trying to get your attention.” pausing your response to your boyfriend as you tipped your head forward, signaling behind gojo.

He turned his neck, shoulders perking up when his eyes focused on the man, “Yooo! How’s it goin!” Gojo waved his free hand at the man as he chirped cheerfully at him. “Was sent on a mission with him once when i was a third year, some ‘rival school bonding’ activity.” he explained.

“Looks like it worked,” you laughed, bringing your hand down to pat him on his firm behind, “You should go talk to him, it sounds like you haven’t seen him in a while.” Encouraging him, starting to slip out from his hold.

“You sure baby?” he asked, slightly pouting, not wanting you to feel awkward or neglected by yourself. God satoru was so sweet. You laughed at his antics before smiling fondly, reassuring him, “I’ll be okay toru, jus’ gonna go make myself at home on a bar stool.”

Gojo gripped your waist, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he started off for his old acquaintance. Your heels clicked on the ground as you made your way over to the bar in the other direction satoru had gone off in.

You ordered yourself a drink, something sweet, and not too strong, just something to relax your nerves as you were now by yourself in a space you’ve never been before.

Just when you started thinking you should go make small talk with someone there, a tall man walked up to you, noticing the few buttons on his shirt undone. For some reason this made him look less intimidating; you were already walking around like there was a stick up your ass, so seeing someone look a little more laid back eased your nerves a bit.

He introduced himself, giving your figure a quick one over that you missed as you stuck your hand out for the man to shake, introducing yourself politely back.

The two of you got lost in conversation, talking about how harboring your jobs were, the only common subject you thought of to talk about with the stranger.

Gojo had made himself comfortable on the halfmoon sofa adjacent to the bar, conversing with a small crowd now, all catching up and laughing with each other.

After maybe half an hour or so, when the conversation was diverged away from him, he averted his gaze to you, watching you giggle at something the dark haired man said.

He didn’t recognize him, but he did recognize the hungry look he had on his face. The same one gojo had whenever he looked at you.

You looked completely oblivious to the man’s gaze as you continued ranting, the alcohol obviously having some affect on you, looking so relaxed while you talked to him.

Gojo couldnt take his eyes off of the scene in front of him for the life of him. People around gojo’s voices starting to become distorted at he channeled 110% of his focus onto you.

Giving a quick glance around the room and catching two guys staring at your ass. The way you were perched on the stool, body leaned into the counter a bit, making your back arch, poking your backside out in association, made you look incredibly seductive.

One of the men elbowed the other in the ribs, making him look at the sight he was witnessing; that of which being your body.

Gojo stared at them like if he tried hard enough, he could make them go blind with his mind.

Satoru would never in a million years stop you from wearing something you wanted out of the house; scandalous or not.

He loved seeing you feel good in your body, so if that meant wearing nipple pasty’s and a fishnet bodysuit out of the house? so be it, he would be in his rightful place on your hip the whole time.

But right now, he really wished everyone would stop looking at what was his.

He knew you looked good, you always did, but that didn’t give these sleazeball’s the right to oggle you like a piece of meat.

Bringing his attention back to you and the man you were conversing with, he noticed his hand had placed itself on the side of your stool, dangerously close to your thigh.

His lip twitched at the thought of his filthy hands touching your sacred body.

Giving a one over to the people around him once more and realizing that a lot more than just the man you were talking to and the 2 sluts objectifying you in the corner were passing glances at you.

“Gojo? you good?” His old acquaintance asked skeptically when he realized the veins looked like they were threatening to burst in gojos hands as he squeezed at the arm of the sofa.

Satoru stood up without saying so much as a goodbye to the people he was with, not caring about how rude or disrespectful he came off, as he quickly made his way over to your side of the room.

“Haha, I agree,” the man laughed a little to hard at something you said that truthfully wasn’t all that funny, “Mind if I get you another drink cute thing? Looks like you finished that one.” he flirted.

Finally picking up at his flirtations you started to reply, “Oh! uh.” uncomfortably shifting in your seat at the pet name, suddenly way to aware of his hand on your stool next to your leg. When did it even get there?

Looking over to where Satoru was supposed to be, eyes widening slightly, when the familiar face was nowhere to be found.

“Sorry cute thing, did i scare ya?” gojo mimicked the man across from you, staring daggers into his eyes with his intimidating orbs as he wrapped his arms around your body, large frame towering behind you.

“Satoru! jus’ figured you went to the bathroom or somethin’” you said, rubbing his hand that was placed on your torso with your thumb affectionately.

“Uh we were having a conversation.” the man interrupted your affections to one another, not listening to Satoru’s very obvious hints that you were not on the market. He figured he would make it a little more obvious for the strangers dense little head.

“Sorry buddy, i’m not feeling too well right now, so I need my cute little girlfriend to take me home.” emphasizing the nature of your relationship as he pouted his lip fakely at him.

“Not feelin good toru?” you asked, turning your neck around to look at him, face full of concern.

He felt his heart skip a beat at your worried tone. “Yeah ‘m sorry baby, you looked like you were havin a good time, but I really wanna get outta here.” overwhelming eyes glancing over the room, scaring off each and every last person’s ravenous stares on your body.

You stood up, smoothing out your dress as gojo fell into position like always, hand on the slope of your back as he crouched down to lay his head on your shoulder dramatically, trying to get you to baby him.

It worked, your hand coming up to ruffle his hair, “It’s alright toru, my conversation here was just wrapping up.” you referred to the man who unbeknownst to you was trying to come onto you throughout this whole interaction.

Sticking his tongue out childishly at the man when you weren’t looking, the two of you started for the door.

Gojo never got self conscious about himself, but you were different. He didn’t realize how much he really hated people looking at you like you were nothing but a body until you were in situations like these.

He wasn’t scared you would leave him for someone else but…ok maybe he was slightly scared you would leave him for someone else.

He’s the great Gojo Satoru!! The strongest sorcerer of the modern age!! People think he wasn’t aware of how obnoxious his personality got sometimes, but he was. He was aware of it being a turn off for many people.

He never thought that you would feel like that about him though, but seeing all of these admittedly attractive people who possibly had less annoying tendencies than him made him hold your body against him tighter.

“Are you feeling alright satoru? you never wanna leave these things early.” you asked, coming to stand in front of him when you finally exited the building. Standing on your tippy toes to reach his forehead, placing the back of your hand against it to feel if he was coming down with something.

Gojo relished in your warm hand against his soft skin, closing his eyes at the contact and groaning when you pulled away. “M fine, people just have fucking staring problems.” he mumbled under his breath.

“Huh?” you asked confused when he didn’t elaborate. Gojo grabbed your hand, dragging you in the direction of the car.

The walk was a short one. When you finally arrived, he opened got door for you, helping you into the car as he shut it behind you, walking around to his respective side of the car and sliding in before turning on the ignition, pulling out onto the dark street.

You rubbed your hand on his thigh comfortingly when he stayed silent.

“You love me right?” He spoke up, uncharacteristically insecure.

“You big dope, did you get jealous watchin me talk to someone else all night? You left me first remember?” hand coming up briefly to pinch his cheek, making him groan, before dropping back down to his thigh.

“Course I love you.” you admitted truthfully.

“Ugghhhhh” gojo groaned loudly, slightly tipping his head back, being sure to keep his eyes on the road when he did so, “but he was practically fucking you with his eyesss.” drawling our his words childishly, pouting over at you.

“He what?” you asked in bewilderment.

“So oblivious baby, you need to be more careful, someone besides your big strong boyfriend might try to eat you up one day” grimacing slightly as he shook his head at your lack of picking-up-when-people-wanna-fuck-you radar.

“What kinda of weird things are you imagining in that head of yours, huh?” letting out a short laugh at his ridiculousness, retracting your hand back into your own lap.

“I’m seriousss,” he whined, glancing over at you, “He was lookin at you like he could fuck you better than I do.”

You almost choked on your spit at his words, “Satoru gojo!” you chastised at his bluntness.

Now it was his turn to drop his hand onto your thigh, squeezing the fat there when he spoke, “I’ll prove him wrong when we get home, gonna show him how much better I can make you feel.” He said, determination, laced in his voice.

“Satoru I don’t even remember his name.” You replied honestly, not denying that his promise sounded very intriguing though, still internally scoffing at his childishness in the current situation.

“Bet he remembers yours.” Making a point to slide his big hand higher up your thigh.

“Bet he memorized every inch of your body too, fucking undressing what’s mine with his eyes, who does he think he is.” gripping your thigh tightly as he got angry at his own words.

You gasped quietly, thighs squeezing together almost unnoticeably at gojos rough treatment of your leg.

"T-toru you're making stuff up again. You stuttered out, watching his jaw clench under the pressure of his teeth pressing tightly together inside his closed mouth.

Satoru ignored your words completely as he kept voicing his thoughts, "He wouldn't have any idea how to touch you like I do."

"Satoru, please." You begged, starting to feel yourself grow wet at his dirty words.

"What is it princess? The thought of me touchin' you getting you all excited?" Finally stopping his chatter about the unwanted man.

"Yes, please for the love of god stop talking." you gripped his wrist connected to his hand that was still tightly on your thigh.

"But I love making you feel good baby, wanna make you feel good all the time." He wines. You drop your gaze down to his lap and notice the massive tent in his pants, twitching every so often.

He really wasn't lying when he said he loves making you feel good. Figuring that part of the culprit for his huge boner was gojo's own words, working himself up for no reason. Not like you were complaining, as it was sounding like you were about get the best dick of your life soon.

Satoru had nothing to prove to anyone in your eyes, but in his, he had multiple faces burning into his retinas of people from the club that he wanted to line up in front of his king bed, and make them watch while he showed them how to properly treat someone like you.

"You make me feel so good satoru, dont think anyone's denying that, but ur makin' me feel all needy, please shut ur mouth till we get home. Don't know if I can take it." You whine, rubbing your thumb on the back of his hand.

He giggled, retracting his hand from your thigh, opting to place his elbow agasint the center console, grinning as he shut himself up, cock still throbbing for attention against his zipper.

The rest of the car ride was silent, air palpable, and thick with the need you both had for each other. When the car came to a park in his garage, he calmly slid out of the car, shutting the door behind him. Walking at a steady pace over to your side of the car while you waited patiently, hands crossed in your lap as you swallowed harshly.

When he slung your door open his hand came into your view, placing your palm in his larger one, he assisted you out of the car, shutting the door behind you. He let you walk in front of him, trailing closely behind you.

Getting your keys out of your purse, you flipped through them, trying to find the one that led to satoru's garage door, shaky hands trying to steady themselves when you felt Gojo press himself against your back.

You felt his clothed boner press against your ass first, followed by his hands sliding over your lower stomach, eyes rolling back at the feeling. Then you felt his plush lips against your neck, leaving soft kisses down the sensitive skin as you fought your brain to work properly so you could insert the key into the door and get on with him.

He whimpered your name into your neck, followed by a "hurry" right when you successfully cracked the door open.

Gojo swiftly spun your body around, pinning you against the door and shutting it in the process, pressing his chest to yours as he assulted your lips with kisses, moaning against you.

He slotted his thick thigh between yours, forcing a whimper out of your mouth as he undid the hooks to your dress on the nape of your neck.

"Bedroom" you managed to get out in between kisses. He started removing his tie, quickly undoing the top 2 of his dress shirt buttons, and pulling you backwards with him when he started for the bedroom.

The light of the night seeping in from his floor to ceiling window wall being the only light the two of you had to be able to navigate through his large house.

You whimpered his name into his mouth, cursing when he slid your zipper down your back while you made your way to the bedroom. You kicked the fabric off your body and he leaned down to scoop you up in his arms, now having unobstructed access to your body.

Wrapping your legs around his hips, panty-clad cunt grinding into the rough material of his pants when you bounced along his body as he walked. "Need you," he muttered against your lips between kisses. while he reached a heavy hand around your back and expertly snapped off your bra.

Bumping you both into the wall quite a few times, easing the tension a bit and making you both giggle into the kiss, before he finally made it to the destination of his bedroom.

Plopping your back down on the bed, legs still tightly wrapped around his hips. Gojo started needily humping against your heat, hand coming down to undo his belt quickly.

"Fuck me satoru." you moaned into his mouth. Gojo had to slap himself mentally at that, gaining a sliver of his rational brain back. He had something he wanted to do before he fucked you good.

"I will baby, I will. don't worry" gojo left his promise all over your lips.

Finding his zipper with ease he slid the metal down, leaning back from your frame to try and slide his pants off, proving to be a challenge when your legs stayed wrapped tightly on his hips.

"Gotta let me go so I can get ready for you princess." He smirked. Your eyes were lidded, face flushed, and lips swollen from his lips assault. Breathing heavily you whispered out an "ok" before dropping your legs against the mattress.

"Such a good girl." Gojo praised, sliding his pants and boxers off in one swift motion, long curved cock flopping up against his abdomen with a wet "plp" sound from he dripping tip. His cock looked so angry, the tip a darker shade of pink than it usually was from how aroused he was right now. Nothing but the thought of pleasing you on his brain.

You pressed your knees together in front of him, trying to relive some of the neediness you were feeling between your thighs at the sight of his thick cock. Your eyes flitted between his deliciously curved member, and his beautiful eyes when he leaned over you again, sliding his fingers underneath the fabric of the panties resting on your hip, and sliding them off of you.

Satoru groaned out loud when the cloth peeled away from your cunt. The part that cupped your mound sticking to your skin from how your wetness had seeped through in anticipation.

"Haven't even done anything yet and you're so fucking wet." he moaned, balling up the panties in his hand and throwing them in the pile he was creating, currently made up of just his pants and boxers, making a mental note to keep that specific pair to himself after this.

Undoing the last couple of his dress shirt buttons he let it drape off his large frame sensually, joining the mess on the floor, leaving him completely nude. You yourself were not fairing any better, having been stripped naked in the hall, expensive dress forgotten somewhere in the living room.

Placing his hands on your kneecaps, he spread you open for him, staring hungrily down at your cunt, shaking his head at his disbelief when he saw the slick practically gushing out of your little hole, clenching around nothing.

"Please do something." You begged. Gojo didn't waste any more time, he wrapped his hands around your hips, and placed his back against the headboard in a sitting position, plopping you down on top of him, smaller hands pressing themselves against his pecs.

His cock throbbed, hovering right under your pussy. If he just thrust his hips up slightly, it might accidentally slip in.

"Want you to face away from me, and sit yourself on my dick." He requested, "Dont worry about movin' jus want you to take it all in yourself." He comforted.

Gojo never got tired of watching you struggle to take in his ridiculous size, little moans and cries slipping out between your lips as your face scrunched in pleasure, tears forcing their way down your cheeks. The latter reaction he unfortunately wouldn't be able to witness this time, as you started into action.

Turning your naked chest away from him; much to his dismay; bracing your feet on the bed, one hand coming back to stabilize yourself against his hard abs while you used the other to align his impossibly hard cock with your tiny hole.

Rubbing the tip and his precum alike against your enterance, before your other hand came down to hold your weight against his abs, cock sliding into you with litte resistance thanks to how wet you both were.

"F-fuuuuck 's so big," You whined, tipping your head back and squeezing your eyes shut at the stretch. Gojo bit his lip, hand gripping bruisingly into your hip, relishing in your warm walls constricting around his cock.

"I knoww, takin it so good though princess, just like you always do," He praised, rubbing his fingertips against your skin as he kept talking you through it. Both of you letting out a groan together when you finally bottomed out on his cock.

You let your weight off of your feet and hands when Satoru placed his own on the bed, slinging your legs over his thighs, and making you hold your legs open for him as he placed kisses to the back of your head, "Did so good baby, took the whole thing so fucking good." His words made you clench around him, a feeling he didn't miss, as he smiled against your scalp.

"Satoru...move," you pleaded, noticing how he was staying still. He told you not to move, so you didn't, but you didn't know if you could take it if he only wanted to cockwarm you right now.

"Patience baby," Your body moved with his slightly when he leaned his body sideways, cracking open the bedside drawer and pulling out a baby blue bullet vibrator, clicking the toy on to make sure it was charged, before clicking it beck off when it successfully vibrated strongly between his fingers.

"Gonna make you feel so good princess," Confused at the brief buzzing sound you heard, about to voice your question when you felt the buzzing this time.

Gojo had pressed the vibrator against the inside of your thigh, slowly dragging it up and down your skin teasingly.

“T-toru- what are u doin?” you asked in a small voice, legs twitching, threatening to close in on themselves if it wasn’t for your hands keeping them open.

“Gonna worship you baby, just lay there n keep those legs spread for me ok?” His tall stature meant that even sitting, he still towered over you. This gave him a great view of everything.

Staring down at you he could see the side of your face; and the blush that covered it; the way your body folded, your wetness sticking against your inner thighs. Gojo was in heaven.

Using his free hand, he splayed his massive palm out right under your breast, keeping you pressed against his body.

He felt your pussy twitch around his cock steadily, feeling the heartbeat in your walls as you continued rubbing the soft silicone that coated the vibrator, over your skin.

The continuous pulsing around his shaft was making him dizzy, eyelids drooping heavily on his face, body buzzing with warmth and arousal at the situation.

His teasing finally ceased when he heard you whimper out his name sweetly, begging for the last time without words that you needed him to do something.

Placing the vibrator on its lowest setting against the hood of your clit softly, rubbing it in small circles over the nub. Gojo alternated between the latter motion and pressing it directly against your clit, pushing the hood of your clit out of the way, being forced to make room for the toy.

Your stomach clenched, body jerking in on itself when the toy touched a particular part of your pussy, and the stimulation became a little too much.

“o-oh my go-d toruuu,” you whined. Gojo’s watchful eyes never left his ministrations on your clit, absolutely enthralled with the scene in front of him. “looks like that feels so fucking good,” he moaned into the shell of your ear, wincing when your walls squeezed around his cock like you were trying to milk him for all he was worth.

“s-oo good f-fuck.” your breathily moans filled the air as you tipped your head back on his shoulder. He quickly started pressing little kisses all over your cheeks as you shut your eyes, letting him take care of you.

“That’s right, let go for me baby, I got you.” he softly whispered against your cheek, diverting his eyes back on your pussy. If he looked close enough he could see the way your opening squeezed around him, the sight being almost too erotic to handle.

“Keep your body against me baby,” he said before he left his hold on your torso and joined it down between your thighs with his other hand.

Using a couple thick fingers, he traced around the opening of your cunt, feeling how the soft flesh was pulled taught to make room for his girth.

“That t-ickles,” you wined, feeling him make a V shape with his index and middle fingers, rubbing them around where the base of his cock and your pussy met.

“Does it only tickle?” he asked, proving your words wrong when he pressed the vibrator harder against you, the buzzing sensation making your toes curl.

“So erotic..” he let out a little giggle, “Wish you could see this right now.” he continued, drawing little shapes on your clit and rubbing around the rim of your cunt, “Pussy is stretched to the limits while she’s huggin my cock.” he spoke, amazed.

You whined at his dirty words, silently wishing he would shut his big mouth, but not daring to say it out loud. His words not-so-secretly making you even wetter.

His cock had been leaking steadily into you throughout this entire interaction. Balls tightening with the need to release his seed inside you, to really fill you up and mark you internally as his.

Gojo closed his eyes, relishing in the intamacy, pressing his plush lips to your neck and sucking, leaving little bruises all over the expanse of your neck that he could reach.

After a while, he noticed your breath had started to pick up, cunt squeezing him continuously now instead of pulsing, “T-toru, think i-i’m gonna cum.” you whined softly, tilting your head towards him, making his raise his from his place against your neck, and stare into your eyes.

He smiled, already knowing from what your body was telling him before you spoke. “Go ahead baby, want feel you cum around my dick, you deserve it.” he spoke sweetly.

As much as he wanted to watch your pussy when it gushed out around him, right now he was so enthralled with your face. The both of you staring at each other, breathing heavily, your expression was pulled in an aroused pout, while his lips were formed in a smile.

You knew this orgasm was going to be a big one, stomach tingling with a stronger sensation than normal. Internally panicking slightly before you spoke, “f-feels d-ifferent toru.” you warned.

“Feel kinda like ur gunna pee?” he knowingly questioned. It took every molecule in his body to not cum when you nodded your head twords him, “Aww ‘s ok princess, just let it out okay? promise it’s gonna feel so fucking good.” he encouraged.

You were about to squirt. This was something he thought about in the back of his mind every time he fucked you. Always wishing that when you came, something else would come out too.

You were squirming around in his hold at the unfamiliar feeling coiling itself in your tummy. The steady buzzing and delicious circles he was keeping up on your clit only increasing the intensity of it.

Feeling yourself begin to tip over the edge, you hurried out your words, “T-toru, kiss meee, p-please,” needing him to help you through the sensation that was about to come.

“I got you, I got you.” he giggled, pressing his lips to yours, messily tonguing the inside of your mouth while your moans raised it pitch, whimpering into his cavern.

“mhm, mhmmm,” he encouraged, as he started thrusting his hips up, fucking his dick in and out of you, helping you feel even better as his tip beat repeatedly against your gspot.

Your mouth stopped cooperating, jaw going slack as you felt your orgasm start to wreck you. Eyes rolling back in your head as the waves of your high washed over you, “yesyesyes,” gojo groaned out laughing, feeling the first trickles of your squirt spray out around him.

You were moaning so loud, broke cries of his barely coherent name leaving your mouth as he quickly rubbed the vibrator back and forth across your clit.

Balls finally releasing his seed into you at the feeling and visual of your squirt absolutely drenching the sheets underneath the two of you.

He groaned into the air, breathy laughs mixing in with them while he humped each and every last rope of his cum into your womb, pressing his balls hard against your ass when he thrusted inside.

“Holy shittt,” he dragged out when he started to come down from arguably one of the best orgasms he’s ever had in his life.

“That was so fucking hot, good job baby,” bringing his attention back your face, leaving sloppy wet kisses all over your cheeks, licking up the tears that had fallen.

You looked so fucked out, chest heaving, and cunt twitching around him in the aftershocks, eyes fluttering at the intensity in which you just came.

“You did so fucking well, how did that feel?” he asked? Giving yourself a second to catch your breath before you spoke, you mumbled out, “intense.”

“Awww I bet, looked like it felt so good to let it out though, pussy almost snapped my dick off with that one.” he giggled into your cheek.

“Thank you toru, needed that.” you spoke breathlessly.

“Don’t thank me just yet sweet thing” he said. You cracked your eyes open when you felt him slide out from underneath you, situating you in the missionary position.

Gojo placed the breifly forgot about vibrator back on your oversensitive clit, making your legs squeeze around his hips as he used the tips of his fingers to guide his still hard cock back into your warmth.

“Fuck! S-satoru what are you doing?” you panicked as painful pleasure started wracking your body, trying to jerk and jolt away from the stimulation.

“J-jus came ‘m s-sensitiveee.” you whined, fat tears rolling down your face as he started a rough pace, fucking his cock into your gspot, making your words break up when you spoke.

“Cuming just once isn’t enough for my pretty babyyy, you deserve more than that,” abandoning the vibrator for a second to push your thighs against your head, and placing your ankles over his shoulders as he put you in a mean mating press.

“C-cant t-take it.” you voiced in between thrusts, pussy spasming uncontrollably around his fat cock. Once gojo had manhandled you where he wanted you, he placed the bullet back on your puffy clit, making you scream out.

You were feeling so overwhelmed, thighs burning from being pushed to the limits in flexibility, feeling his weight crush you while he bullied his cock into your drenched walls, and the toy? You swore this would be the night gojo killed you during sex.

“Just let yourself feel it baby, relax your body for me let me do allll the work.” he spoke, trying to reassure you as he dropped his gaze to where the two of you were connected, loud squelches emitting from him fucking into you at how wet you were, gojo feeling lightheaded seeing the thick ring of cum at the base of his dick.

Without warning he felt you squeeze around his length impossibly tight, feeling something spray against his abdomen, realizing you were squirting again.

“Yeaahhhh fuck, that’s what I wanted to see.” He brought back his hips before slamming them into you harder, feeling impossibly aroused seeing this new orgasm crash over you a second time.

Your moans and protests were incoherent at this point, tears and drool covering your face as he fucked you through another intense high.

Satoru started to feel himself reach his peak again but he needed to see that one more time before he allowed himself release.

“Good girl, gooooood fucking girl.” he praised at your lack of resistance when your body went lax against him.

You gave up on fighting the pleasure, really letting your brain go numb at the feeling of, well, everything. There was so much going on, his lips would be on your neck one second, tongue in your mouth the next, babbling some dirty talk you were too fucked out to comprehend.

The vibrator was being slid all over your folds with no rhythm, but it felt so fucking good.

“Cmon you can do it, one more time baby just one more time, need to feel you squirt around me, please.” he begged.

Gojo was fucking you both stupid at this point, he was drooling, feeling so fucking pussydrunk as he mindlessly thrusted his cock in and out of your wetness.

Quickly and sloppily sliding the bullet over your clit one last time before he heard you whimper out a warning of your orgasm, impressed you were still able to form words at this point.

His jaw dropped as he came with you, electricity zapping down his spine feeling you gush around him while he stuffed you full, his moans were so needy and high pitched, overstimulating himself by rolling his hips into yours, making sure your cunt swallowed every drop of his cum.

“F-fuck, loveyousomuch.” he slurred, dropping his entire weight against your folded body, making your tendons scream at the stretch.

“S-satoru..hurts.” you voiced, successfully getting him to lean back, letting your legs drop onto the sheets, thighs and toes tingling when the blood started to circulate through them again.

“God you’re fucking amazing, hope u felt as good as I did.” He murmured into your chest.

“are u kidding? almost died.” you whispered, brain still tingling while you gained your braincells back slowly.

He wrapped his strong arms around your body, keeping his softening cock snug inside you, his chest pressed against your was firmly.

You both relished in the feeling for awhile, intertwining your legs and feet together against the bed, wanting to feel this intamacy for a little longer before you ultimately had to clean up.

“So…think club guy could make you cum harder than that?” he spoke into your breasts.

Using your arms to gather all of the strength you had left, placing your sweaty hands on his cheeks, making him raise his head to look up at you, “Satoru,” you chastised, “don’t ruin this.” falling into a fit of giggles when he groaned in defeat, sending vibrations through your lungs.

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adelheidvonschicksal · 1 month ago

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Frowny Face

Summary: Nobara and Itadori try to figure out the similarities between Megumi and his son. They manage to find that the infamous Zen'in frowny face is a dominant trait.

Tags: Megumi x F!Reader, Humor, Fluff, SFW, 1200 wc

Notes: I had this drafted for weeks. After seeing the epilogue and the grandkids, wish I had posted sooner, I felt there wasn't a more appropriate time for this. Happy belated-birthday 'gumi.

“No, no, look again, he definitely has his eyes,” Itadori points out.

Nobara lowers her face towards the baby currently blinking at the two of them from the comfort of his plush crib. Megumi stands off to the side, arms loosely crossed over his chest and an increasingly spreading scowl as his two friends, if he could call them that right now, poke and prod at his kid.

Nobara was the first one to point out how much his child was growing and starting to resemble his parents before noticing that his new emerging features leaned heavily to your side of the family, leading to this search to pick out their similarities.

“I’m not seeing it,” Nobara disagrees, failing to find the hint of dark blue that Itadori swears he can see in the baby’s right pupil. To her, all she can see is black all the way through both eyes, like the majority of the Zen’in clan geezers from those centuries old family books she helped Maki trash; unfortunately, this didn't include Megumi so they couldn't even count it. With a hand on her hip, she turns to Megumi. “Sheesh, he doesn’t resemble you at all. The misses really said copy and paste, huh?”

Megumi huffs, about three seconds away from shooing them into the kitchen where you’re making dinner. That’s until Itadori pipes up, “Sure he does.” And for a second, Megumi thinks they’ll finally drop this silly discussion. “He has the same grumpy face his dad does.”

Megumi sighs. He should’ve known better.

“Now that you mention it,” Kugisaki can barely contain her laughter as she reaches into the crib and gently pinches a chubby cheek. Your son makes no expression at her playful squeeze or poke to his belly. His tiny legs kick the same way any other baby would when tickled, but the flat line on his face refuses to budge. “This is the least smiley baby I’ve ever seen,” she concludes while Itadori nods in agreement as he goes in to tickle the baby’s foot – just to make sure.

Megumi knows the two idiots don’t mean any harm by it, being the person to receive the brunt end of their jokes and observations over his life, the kind that can only be made out of innocent obliviousness and overconfidence, but he can’t help but feel more defensive when it’s his kid.

“Do you two have nothing better to do than to shame a baby?” he gripes. “It’s late, go home.”

“Oh, lighten up, we were only teasing. He’s adorable,” Nobara dismisses as she notes how much bigger her future-partner-in-crime has become over the past few months. Looking back on it, she can’t recall any time she’s heard him laugh or much of anything. Sure, she’s seen him get fussy while babysitting, but she’s rarely heard him cry. “But you have to admit he isn’t very expressive…for a baby,” she mentions with a hint of concern, concern that isn’t needed from Megumi’s point of view.

“Maybe you two just aren’t funny,” he says, watching the way Itadori attempts to get his son to laugh by making silly faces; it results in little more than a fist full of pink hair getting tugged.

“I’m being serious. I mean…” she tilts her head, trying to word it delicately. “Does he smile at all?”

Megumi nods. “He smiles.”

“Does he?” Itadori presses, craning his neck as he struggles to free his hair.

“He does,” Megumi repeats, his eyes softening at the memory of that innocent and joyful giggle he first heard like an unimaginable dream come true. “It’s just when you’re not around.”

Nobara rubs at the back of her neck apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean any offense by it. He’s a good baby,” she compliments before moving to help free Itadori’s hair from his iron-like grip. “And strong too,” she adds, looks at him, and clicks her tongue when she once again fails to find the bit of blue Itadori mentioned earlier, but it provides an opportunity to cut through the awkwardness they unwittingly created. She fakes a sigh. “Unlike your genes. I don’t think they even had a battle plan.”

“Very funny,” he puffs out between their chuckles then he hears another voice coming from the direction of the kitchen.

“That’s not true,” you say as you pad into the room with a milk bottle in hand, the grin on your face trembling as you try not to laugh with them. “They have a lot in common.” You begin to list off on your fingers. “They both like the same fruit and animals, he really likes books when you read to him, and do you think his hair maintains itself?”

Nobara breathes out an "oh" at your explanation. “So, he gets mom's good looks to balance out dad's aloof personality? Makes sense."

Your resistance breaks as you let out a giggle, ignoring the pout on your husband’s face. “Are you guys staying for dinner?”

“No, we should really get going,” Nobara states with a small yawn. “Mission reports won’t write themselves.”

You nod, handing Megumi the bottle of milk as you walk the others to the door and wave them off.

“Have a good night,” Itadori calls out while Nobara makes you promise to phone her tomorrow and to come hang out if you’re free.

Locking the door, you walk back in and head towards the crib.

“You really shouldn’t entertain them when they get like that," Megumi reminds you.

“You know they only do it to mess with you. It’s how they show they like you.”

“You mean they’re idiots.”

“Yet you open the door right up every time they come over.”

Megumi gives you a doubtful look. “Not by choice. It’d be like trying to stop a rampaging bull from barging in,” Megumi states, and you let out an amused huff.

No matter how much he complains and comments that they haven't changed one bit after leaving school, he enjoys them. You remember how excited he seemed when Itadori called to ask if it was okay to pop in since they were nearby. Well, excited in that he immediately started to straighten out the house even though he had already cleaned earlier that morning. It's cute little quirks that often gives him away and the ones that make you like him even more.

“If it makes you feel better, I think you have a great personality and good looks,” you compliment with a brush of your hand over his hair. You look down at your son, who still seem unmoved by all the events of the evening. It makes you laugh because Nobara and Itadori were right. Your son does have Megumi’s ever-dull facial expression.

“And both my boys have the cutest frowny faces,” you say, holding up your son to your face to nuzzle his nose. As you pull him away, your eyes brighten at the wide smile that flashes on his face followed by a warm giggle. “Hello to you too,” you coo and cuddle him again, causing another fit of giggles to fill the room, and the sound resonates in his chest and makes him forget any problems that arose on the way to getting to this point in his life.

“You forgot to tell them one thing,” Megumi says, coming forward to kiss your temple. As he told the others, his son does smile, and Megumi does too. “They both smile when they see mommy.”

#megumi x reader #jjk x reader #megumi fluff #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro

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brunchable · 4 months ago

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The Marriage Bet

Pairings: Best Friend Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Themes: A bet. A bit of comedy but mostly fluff and Bucky treating his woman right ;)

Summary: If in three years time both of you were still single, you will marry your best friend, Bucky. That's the bet.

A/N: For those of you who voted for 'Calm Down, Dad Mode' I've added it to this story. This has got to be my favorite fluff FML. Also let me TELL YOU, the cravings in pregnancy and the emotions are real because I lived it lmao. PART 2

Three Years Ago

"You know what we should do?” Bucky said out of the blue, his gaze fixed on you with a seriousness that made your stomach flip. The two of you had been lounging on his couch for hours, talking about everything and nothing. It was a lazy night filled with laughter, shared memories, and the kind of comfortable silence only you and Bucky knew how to savour.

You glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“If we’re still single in three years… let’s get married,” he announced, as if it was the most logical suggestion in the world. His tone was light, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t joking.

You stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was serious. “Bucky, have you lost your mind?”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug, his lips twitching up into that familiar smirk that made your heart skip. “But think about it. No more crappy dates, no more getting your heart broken by idiots who don’t deserve you. Just us. You and me. We already know each other’s worst habits, and we get along. It’d be a good marriage.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You make it sound like we’re signing up for a business merger.”

He laughed at that, the sound deep and genuine. “Maybe. But at least you’d know you’re stuck with someone who’s never going to walk out on you. Someone who’d fight for you.”

The way he said it made your throat tighten, and for a second, you allowed yourself to picture it. A life with Bucky, the two of you navigating the ups and downs together. No more failed relationships, no more loneliness. Just the comfort and security of someone who knew you better than anyone else.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” you murmured, still stunned by the idea.

He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah, I am. So, what do you say?”

You hesitated for just a beat, then broke into a grin. “Deal, Barnes. If we’re still single in three years, I’ll marry your crazy ass.”

He grinned back, his hand shooting out to seal the promise with a firm handshake. But as your fingers clasped around his, the energy between you shifted — playful and yet, inexplicably serious.

“Deal,” he echoed softly, a knowing look in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

× × × ×

Present

You leaned against the railing of the rooftop, your eyes skimming over the city lights below as the faint notes of Taylor Swift’s break-up songs filled the air. You and Bucky had been up here for hours, talking and drinking, the night air crisp against your skin.

It had been a rough few months for you — the breakup still felt fresh, the sting of rejection and disappointment lingering. But being here with Bucky made it easier. He had a way of grounding you, of making you feel like everything would be okay, even when it didn’t seem that way.

“Y’know, you’re the best,” you murmured, your words slurred slightly from the champagne. “I mean it, Buck. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiled softly, his gaze warm as he watched you. “Good thing you don’t have to find out, huh?”

You nodded, letting out a sigh as you turned back to the view. “Still, I feel like… I don’t know. Like I’m destined to be alone or something.”

“That’s not true,” he said quietly, setting his glass down and turning to face you fully. “And you know it.”

You shrugged, glancing over at him. “Yeah, well, sometimes it feels like it. Everyone I’ve ever dated just—”

You stopped mid-sentence as Bucky suddenly shifted, reaching into his pocket. Your eyes widened as he pulled out a small blue velvet box and, without hesitation, flipped it open. The soft light of the rooftop glinted off the 1.5-carat diamond ring nestled inside — simple, elegant, and undeniably breathtaking.

“What’s that?” you asked, your breath catching in your throat.

Bucky arched an eyebrow, giving you a pointed look. “An engagement ring, Y/N. What else?”

“Yeah, I know it’s a ring!” you sputtered, your mind reeling. “But why—how—what are you doing with it?”

Bucky sighed, muttering under his breath, “For someone so smart, she really can’t see what’s right in front of her.”

You barely had time to process the words before he got up from his sitting position and slowly knelt down on one knee. The movement made your heart jump into your throat, your breath hitching as he looked up at you, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I want to marry you, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm and sure. “Not because of some bet or joke we made all those years ago, but because… I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be the one you come home to. The one who makes you laugh when you’re sad. The one who fights for you.”

You felt your chest tighten as the weight of his words sank in, the sincerity in his voice making it almost impossible to breathe. “Bucky… this is—”

“I know this is crazy,” he continued, cutting you off gently, his gaze never leaving yours. “But when have we ever been normal, huh? I’m not asking you to feel something you don’t or to change anything between us. But I am a man of my word, and I’m keeping the promise we made.”

Your mind raced, memories of that night flashing through your mind — the promise, the shared laughter, the way he’d looked at you back then as if you were the only thing that mattered. And now, here he was, years later, kneeling in front of you with an engagement ring, ready to turn that promise into something real.

He took a deep breath, his hand trembling slightly as he held out the ring, his expression almost pleading. “So… will you marry me? Not because you feel like you have to, but because you want to?”

You stared down at him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. The world seemed to fade away, the only thing anchoring you being his blue eyes, filled with nothing but hope and determination.

“Well? Say something, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper now. “Because I’m dying here.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the tears welling in your eyes spilling over as you shook your head in disbelief.

“You’re really going all out, huh?” you teased, “Getting down on one knee and everything… how could I say no to a man with such dedication?”

Bucky blinked, caught off guard, and then let out a soft laugh of his own. “Is that a yes, or are you just stalling to make me sweat more?”

You glanced at the ring, then back at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “I guess… if I have to be stuck with someone for the rest of my life… it might as well be you.”

“Yes,” you added quickly, your smile widening as you looked at him with all the warmth and affection you felt. “Of course it’s a yes, you idiot!”

Relief washed over his face, his grin so wide it could’ve lit up the entire rooftop. “You really know how to keep a guy on edge, don’t you?”

“Gotta keep things interesting,” you replied with a laugh, reaching out to brush your fingers against his cheek. “I can’t make it too easy for you.”

His chuckle was deep and genuine, the tension melting from his shoulders as he slipped the ring onto your finger, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can be so mean you know that?”

“Mean?” you scoffed, giving him a playful look of disbelief. “You’re proposing to me, remember? I’m just making sure you know exactly what you’re getting yourself into.”

Bucky shook his head, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Oh, I know. And I’m still all in, even if you make me work for it.”

You grinned, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Bucky didn’t hesitate, his arms coming up to hold you close, his chin resting gently on top of your head. The warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

Slowly, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your chin resting on his chest as your eyes locked with his. The sound of the music drifted softly through the air, wrapping around you both like an embrace.

You could see the tenderness in his gaze, the way his eyes softened as he looked down at you. There was something indescribable in the way he held you, his hands warm and secure against your back, as if he never wanted to let go.

“You know,” you murmured softly, a small smile playing on your lips, “I completely forgot about that bet.”

Bucky’s lips quirked up at the corners as he started to sway gently, rocking you both back and forth in time with the music.

“Yeah? Good thing I haven’t.” he agreed quietly, his voice low and filled with something that made your heart flutter.

You let out a content sigh, closing your eyes for a moment as you swayed together under the soft glow of the rooftop lights, the melody of the song weaving its way into your soul. There was a peace, a sense of rightness in the way his hands rested on your waist, the way your fingers curled into his shirt.

Opening your eyes, you tilted your head slightly, the corners of your lips curving up into a playful smile. “I’m really going to make you regret this, you know.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing gently against your side as he gazed down at you. “Doubt it. But you’re welcome to try, sweetheart—I mean what else could I possibly not know about you?”

Your smile widened as you looked up at him, chin resting on his chest. “Oh, you’ll find out. Just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean I’m not full of surprises.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned down slightly, his lips brushing against your temple. “Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Just remember you asked for it,” you teased, your voice soft as your fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt. “You’re the one who’s committing to a lifetime of never quite knowing what I’ll do next.”

“Yeah?” he murmured, his gaze dipping to your lips before meeting your eyes again, a smile playing on his own. “I guess I like keeping things interesting, too.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, and you felt the tension melt away as you both swayed gently to the music. It felt like a new beginning — a promise that whatever came next, you’d be facing it together.

× × × ×

A few months later.

The garden was alive with soft laughter and murmurs as the afternoon sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves. The air was filled with the delicate scent of roses and jasmine, and the gentle rustling of leaves provided the perfect backdrop for the small, intimate gathering of friends.

Bucky stood under the floral archway, his suit somehow both perfectly fitted and slightly askew in that way only Bucky could pull off. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers drumming absently on his thigh. When you turned the corner, your eyes met his, and you couldn’t help but smile at the exaggerated sigh of relief he let out.

“Thank God you showed up,” he teased, his voice carrying over the gentle breeze. “Thought I’d have to marry Sam instead.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you made your way down the short aisle, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest. “Yeah, yeah, keep it up, Barnes. He’d leave you at the altar, you know.”

Bucky grinned, his shoulders relaxing as you stepped up to him. “True. He couldn’t handle my morning breath.”

The officiant cleared his throat gently, drawing soft chuckles from your friends. Bucky’s gaze stayed locked on yours, a playful twinkle in his eyes as if you were sharing a private joke no one else could understand.

“You ready for this?” he murmured softly, his tone light but his smile genuine.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, giving him a small nod.

The ceremony was simple and sweet, with your closest friends standing in a loose circle around you, their smiles reflecting the joy and camaraderie that had always defined your relationship with Bucky.

When it came time for the vows, Bucky cleared his throat dramatically, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.

“I’m not good at this stuff,” he began, waving the paper around, “so I wrote it down. Just so I don’t forget the important parts. Like promising I won’t eat your fries without asking.”

You let out a snort, shaking your head. “So that’s why you’re marrying me? For my fries?”

“Partly,” Bucky said with a wink, earning a few laughs from your friends. “But seriously… I promise to always be your partner in crime. To watch bad movies with you, to be your go-to plus-one for all those events you hate, and to be the one you can call at 3 a.m. when the world feels like too much.”

His voice softened slightly, his gaze never wavering from yours. “I promise to be your best friend, to listen, and to support you. And yeah, to not eat your fries — unless you’re not looking.”

You chuckled, blinking back the unexpected prickle of tears. “Damn, Barnes. Setting the bar high for husband material, aren’t you?”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he replied with a smirk.

When it was your turn, you took a deep breath, glancing down at your own slightly crumpled paper. “Bucky, I promise to keep being your reality check, to make sure you don’t take yourself too seriously. I promise to help you with your crazy woodworking projects, even when you refuse to read the instructions. And I promise to be your partner in all things — the weird, the good, and the unpredictable.”

Bucky’s grin softened into a small, genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I think we’re gonna be pretty good at this whole marriage thing.”

“I think so too,” you murmured back.

The officiant’s voice broke through the quiet moment, his smile warm. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Bucky, you may now—”

“Wait,” Bucky interrupted, holding up a hand as he turned to you, his expression half-serious, half-teasing. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

“You know,” he said, shrugging a shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. “This is technically our first kiss. I want to get it right. So… how do you like it?”

A burst of laughter escaped you, the tension in your shoulders melting away as the sheer Bucky-ness of the question made you grin. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Come on, humor me,” he pressed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Slow? Gentle? Or should I just go for it?”

You shook your head, still laughing softly. “Just… kiss me, you goof.”

Bucky grinned, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Alright, Mrs. Barnes,” he said softly, leaning in. “I’ll make it good.”

His grin widened and shifts a little closer to you, Bucky dipped his head and you felt your noses brush. His breath is on your lips, and you quiver a bit at the odd sensation. Without another moment to spare you realise that he's pressing his lips to yours—it was nothing like you’d expected. His hand slipped to the small of your back, drawing you closer, his eyes fully closed. Bucky was concentrating on the kiss, and you realised that your eyes were wide open. Slowly you close them, hiding away your brilliant orbs.

Bucky’s lips are oddly doft in this kiss and it stays slow and sweet. He wrapped his arm around you more, lifting you slightly off your feet. The veil fluttered around you like a soft cocoon, and then everything disappeared as his mouth moved insync with you, his kiss remained slowly, his mouth molding against yours in a way that made your knees weak.

His fingers gently tangled in your hair, his thumb brushing softly along your cheekbone as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

But then he shifted, tilting your head just slightly as he deepened the kiss, his hold around you tightening. It was then that you felt him let go completely — every barrier, every wall he’d kept up around himself crumbling as he poured everything into that kiss.

Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint cheers and whistles of your friends—Sam being the most obnoxious—but it all felt like background noise. It was just you and Bucky, wrapped up in this kiss that felt like it had been building up for years. His lips slid over yours with a kind of sweet intensity, a silent confession of everything he hadn’t said — of everything he didn’t know how to say.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting gently against yours, both of you were breathless, hearts pounding in unison. He didn’t let go, his arms still wrapped around you as if you might disappear if he loosened his grip.

A soft cheer went up from your friends—Sam being the most obvious— and Bucky’s grin turned almost smug. “How was that?”

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands clutching his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself. “Yeah, Buck. I think you got it just right.”

“Good,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours for a long, lingering moment before his smile widened into something boyish and relieved. “Just wanted to make sure.”

“Don’t worry,” you teased gently, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You’re not getting rid of me after a kiss like that.”

Bucky’s laugh was soft, his nose brushing against yours. “Guess I should keep practicing, huh?”

You nodded, your grin matching his. “Yeah. Keep practicing, Barnes.”

And as he pulled you in for another kiss, slower and just as sweet as the first, you knew that this — all of this — was exactly how it was meant to be.

× × × ×

1.5 years later

You were pacing back and forth in the bathroom, your heart hammering in your chest. Every few seconds, your eyes would dart to the three little sticks sitting ominously on the edge of the sink — three white, plastic harbingers of potential chaos.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you whispered frantically to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as if willing the tests to disappear — or at least show some clarity.

How did it come to this? You were supposed to be life partners — partners in crime, best friends — no strings attached, no expectations. Just two people who promised to be there for each other. Sure, you got married, but it was all because of the bet. A way to keep each other from loneliness, you both said. Nothing more, right?

Except somewhere along the line, late-night talks had turned into stolen kisses. Comforting hugs had turned into tangled limbs. And now… this.

“Oh my god, he’s going to flip,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair as you stared at the still-blank screens on the tests. “This isn’t how we were supposed to—”

“Supposed to what?”

You jumped about a foot in the air, letting out a small squeak of surprise as Bucky’s voice filled the bathroom. You whipped around, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest as you spotted him leaning casually against the doorframe, an amused smirk on his lips.

“Bucky! Don’t—don’t just sneak up on people like that!” you stammered, instinctively shuffling over to the sink to block his view.

His smirk widened. “I didn’t sneak. You’re just too distracted, sweetheart.” He pushed off the doorframe, crossing his arms as he stepped closer. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing!” you squeaked, your voice a little too high-pitched.

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh-huh. So, you’re just hanging out in the bathroom, talking to yourself?”

“Yes!” you answered quickly, nodding like a bobblehead. “Yep, just a totally normal conversation with… myself. Very productive.”

He eyed you, suspicion etched all over his face. “Uh-huh. And why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“I don’t!” you lied, crossing your arms over your chest as if that could somehow shield you from his scrutiny.

Bucky took another step closer, his gaze flicking over your shoulder. “Then why are you standing like that?”

You moved subtly, trying to casually scoot to the left, but your back hit the edge of the sink. “Like what?”

“Like you’re hiding something,” he said, leaning down slightly to look your directly in the eyes. “What’s behind you, Y/N?”

“Nothing!” you insisted, but your hand twitched involuntarily, knocking into one of the sticks. It clattered onto the counter, bouncing once before rolling to a stop right at Bucky’s feet.

You froze.

Bucky’s eyes flicked down to the test, and his entire expression shifted — from curiosity to confusion to wide-eyed realization.

“Wait… is that a—?”

“No!” you yelped, diving forward to snatch up the stick and hide it behind your back. You stood there, breathing heavily, your face flushed with a mix of panic and embarrassment.

Bucky’s gaze slid back to you, his lips quirking into an incredulous smile. “Y/N, are those… pregnancy tests?”

You glanced around desperately, as if you could conjure up some kind of diversion to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Uh… no? Maybe?”

“Sweetheart…” Bucky stepped around your easily, and in one quick motion, he plucked the other two tests off the sink. He held them up, his eyes wide and eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline. “There are three.”

“Yeah, well… you know, the first one could be a fluke, and the second one too, and…” you trailed off, wincing at how ridiculous you sounded.

Bucky blinked, then let out a bark of laughter. “Three tests, huh? You’re nothing if not thorough.”

“Bucky!” you hissed, mortification washing over you. “This isn’t funny!”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, though his lips were still twitching with amusement. “But you’re freaking out over here, hiding them like I wasn’t gonna notice.”

“I wasn’t freaking out!” you lied, folding your arms across your chest again. “I was just… assessing the situation.”

He raised an eyebrow, waving one of the tests in front of your face. “Assessing, huh? And what’s the situation, then?”

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “I don’t know, okay? I haven’t looked at them yet!”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“Wait, you haven’t looked?” Bucky’s voice was filled with genuine disbelief. “You’ve been pacing around in here, stressing yourself out, and you haven’t even checked?”

“I’m not ready!” you snapped defensively. “I mean… what if they’re positive?”

Bucky’s grin softened into something more genuine, and he stepped forward, gently cupping your cheek. “Then they’re positive.”

Your eyes met his, the sincerity and calmness in his gaze making some of your panic ebb away. “But we’re not even— I mean, this was supposed to be—”

“A bet?” he finished softly, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. “Yeah. I remember. But bets don’t always go the way you plan.”

You swallowed hard, your heart still hammering wildly. “You’re not… mad?”

“Mad?” he repeated, his expression incredulous. “Why the hell would I be mad? I mean, sure, this is unexpected. But mad?” He shook his head, chuckling softly. “C’mon, Y/N. You really think I’d be mad about having a family with you?”

The words made your heart stutter, and you stared up at him, wide-eyed. “Bucky…”

“Let’s just see what they say, alright?” he murmured gently, stepping back and nodding toward the tests. “No more freaking out until we know.”

With trembling hands, you turned each test over, your breath hitching as you looked at the results.

Positive.

Bucky’s grin had barely faded before the reality of the situation seemed to really hit him this time. His gaze drifted back to the three tests lined up on the sink, and you watched as his face slowly drained of colour.

“Bucky?” you asked cautiously, noticing the way his grip on your arm loosened slightly.

He blinked, his eyes darting between you and the tests like he was trying to solve some impossible puzzle. “So, uh… positive. All three?”

You nodded slowly, worry beginning to creep back in. “Yeah, Buck. All three.”

“Oh… Oh, wow,” he muttered, his eyes widening. “That’s… that’s a lot of positive.”

“Bucky—”

“I mean, I knew one was a lot, but three—positives?” he rambled, swaying slightly on his feet. “That’s… that’s a whole lot of… baby.”

“Bucky, are you okay?” you asked, reaching out to steady him as his face turned even paler.

“I’m—yeah, I just—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes rolling back slightly as his knees buckled.

“Bucky!” you shouted, grabbing for him as he crumpled to the floor in a faint.

You managed to catch his weight just enough to keep him from completely knocking his head on the tiles, though it took every ounce of strength you had to keep him semi-upright.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” you huffed, looking down at his unconscious form with a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “You’re the one who said you’d be fine with this!”

He let out a soft, incoherent groan, his head lolling to the side as you carefully lowered him all the way to the ground and raised his legs above his head for bloodflow.

“Of course you’d faint, you big drama queen,” you muttered, crouching down beside him and lightly patting his cheeks. “Come on, Buck. Wake up. I’m not doing this alone, you hear me?”

After a few more pats and murmured reassurances, his eyelids fluttered open, and he blinked up at you, dazed and confused.

“Y/N?” he mumbled, his voice slurred. “What… what happened?”

“You fainted, you big idiot,” you said, the frustration in your tone softened by the overwhelming relief that he was okay. “Over three little tests.”

Bucky stared at you blankly, then his gaze drifted back to the sink where the tests still sat in a neat row, mocking him with their tiny positive signs.

“Oh… right,” he murmured, his face scrunching up as he tried to process it all again. “So it wasn’t a dream?”

“Nope.” You shook your head, giving him a half-smile. “Definitely not a dream.”

“Damn,” he breathed, a small, disbelieving laugh escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I really fainted, huh?”

“Yeah, you did,” you replied, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice. “And you’re lucky I didn’t let you hit your head.”

He chuckled weakly, his gaze still lingering on the tests. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently.

“I love you, Y/N, you know that?” he mumbled, his voice soft and a little slurred as he still looked dazed. “Not like a friend, but y’know… like, love love.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the sudden confession. A laugh bubbled up in your throat, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting you all over again. “Bucky, you’re still out of it.”

“Yeah, probably,” he murmured, blinking up at you with a lopsided grin. “But doesn’t make it any less true.”

Shaking your head, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, your smile softening. “I know, Buck. We’ll talk about that later when you’re not busy fainting over pregnancy tests, okay?”

“’Kay,” he mumbled, his eyelids drooping slightly. “But just… so you know.”

“I know,” you repeated gently, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “Just rest for a second, and then we’ll figure this all out together.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes drifting shut for a moment before he opened them again, looking at you with a sleepy smile. “We’re really gonna be parents, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, your heart swelling with affection. “We really are.”

“Cool,” he murmured, his head lolling back against the bathroom tiles. “Love you, Y/N… love love.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you sat beside him, holding his hand. “Love you too, Bucky. Now, no more fainting, okay?”

“No promises,” he mumbled, but his grip tightened around your hand, as if even in his half-conscious state, he didn’t want to let go.

And as you sat there on the bathroom floor, Bucky still looking a little woozy but smiling up at you with that goofy, endearing grin, you couldn’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — everything was going to be just fine.

× × × ×

First Trimester.

The clock on the kitchen wall glowed a soft, accusatory 2:37 a.m. as Bucky shuffled groggily into the dimly lit space, scratching at his head. He was half-asleep, dressed in rumpled sweatpants and a t-shirt that had seen better days, and still trying to figure out why he’d been dragged from his warm bed.

He paused mid-step when he spotted you sitting at the kitchen table, your shoulders hunched, face buried in your hands. He blinked, his brain struggling to catch up with the situation. “Uh, sweetheart… what’s going on?”

Your only response was a pitiful sniffle, followed by another one. Bucky’s brows shot up in alarm, and he quickly moved to your side, crouching down in front of you.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked softly, peering up at you with wide, concerned eyes. “Did something happen?”

You shook your head, letting out a small, hiccuping sob. “I… I really wanted… chocolate chip pancakes… with whipped cream and strawberries…”

Bucky blinked again, glancing around the empty kitchen as if he expected a stack of pancakes to magically appear on the counter. “Okay… uh… we don’t have any of that stuff right now, but I can go to the store—”

“Everything’s closed!” you wailed, cutting him off with a fresh wave of tears. “And I really wanted it now!”

The sheer devastation in your voice made Bucky’s heart clench in sympathy — but a very tiny, very unhelpful part of him also found it hilariously absurd. He had fought aliens, Hydra agents, and all manner of nightmares… but he’d never faced down a pregnant wife in the throes of a pancake craving at nearly 3 a.m.

“Oh,” he said lamely, scratching his head again as he tried to think of a solution that didn’t involve breaking into the nearest IHOP. “Okay, um… we can make pancakes without chocolate chips, right?”

“But I don’t want plain pancakes!” you cried, your voice wobbling dangerously. “I want chocolate chip pancakes! And… and I want whipped cream on top, but we don’t have any!”

Bucky swallowed, his panic rising as you continued to cry. He was the Winter Soldier, damn it. He could handle this. There had to be a way out of this. “Okay, alright. Just breathe, okay? How about… uh… what if I make you some toast? I’ll put some Nutella on it? It’s kind of like chocolate.”

“It’s not the same!” you sobbed, burying your face in your hands again. “I want… pancakes…”

Bucky let out a helpless laugh, running a hand down his face as he glanced at the empty fridge like it was somehow betraying him. “Baby, you’re killing me here.”

You sniffled, peeking out from between your fingers with watery eyes. “You don’t understand, Buck. I can taste the pancakes. I can taste the strawberries… I can feel the whipped cream…”

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it again, at a complete loss for words. “Yeah, uh, I can’t pull that out of thin air. But…” He glanced around, his gaze falling on a tub of vanilla ice cream in the freezer. “What if I make you a sundae? It’s kinda like a pancake… just cold.”

“No…” You shook your head, another tear rolling down your cheek. “It’s not pancakes…”

Bucky let out a long, dramatic sigh, his hands resting on his knees. “Okay, okay. Here’s the deal. Tomorrow morning, I’m gonna wake up, and I’m going to go get you all the chocolate chips and whipped cream and strawberries you want, alright? I’ll make a pancake buffet.”

“But I want it now,” you murmured miserably, rubbing at your eyes.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” he cooed gently, reaching out to pat your head awkwardly. “But unless you want me to bust into some diner and get myself arrested, I’m gonna need you to hang in there for a few more hours.”

Your lips trembled, and you nodded reluctantly, sniffling again. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”

Bucky smiled softly, his heart melting a little. “Nah. You’re growing a tiny human.” Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he added, “Although, I gotta say, if I can handle your craving meltdowns, I think I deserve some kind of medal. Or at least, like… superhero husband status.”

A small, watery laugh escaped you despite yourself, and Bucky’s smile widened triumphantly.

“There she is,” he murmured, leaning up to press a kiss to your temple. “Look, we can’t have pancakes right now, but how about we get creative? Maybe I can whip something up with what we do have? I’m talking PB&J sandwich sculptures. Or,” he gasped dramatically, “a waffle made out of popcorn!”

Your eyebrows furrowed, but the corners of your mouth twitched. “Popcorn waffles?”

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he said with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “This could be a revolutionary invention, Y/N. We could change the breakfast game forever.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, wiping at your tears as Bucky’s ridiculousness slowly chased away the lingering sadness. “You’re such a weirdo, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you married me,” he shot back, a grin spreading across his face. “So who’s the real weirdo?”

“Still you,” you teased softly, shaking your head.

Bucky let out a mock gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wow, so rude. No respect for the man who’s about to go MacGyver your snack cravings at 3 a.m.”

You smiled despite yourself, reaching out to take his hand. “Thank you, Buck.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmured, squeezing your hand gently. “Now, what do you say we get a little creative in this kitchen and see if we can’t make something that’ll make these pancake cravings shut up for a bit?”

“Okay,” you agreed, the warmth of his hand in yours grounding you. “But I’m holding you to that pancake buffet tomorrow morning.”

“Pancake buffet with extra chocolate chips, whipped cream, and strawberries,” he promised with a mock salute. “You’ve got my word.”

And as Bucky scoured the pantry for the weirdest possible combinations — “How do you feel about a peanut butter, banana, and potato chip sandwich?” — you couldn’t help but laugh, the weight of your cravings lightening in the face of his relentless optimism and willingness to do whatever it took to make you smile.

“World’s best husband,” you murmured fondly as he started arranging sandwich slices into a goofy face.

“Damn right,” he replied with a wink, holding up the plate proudly. “And this? This is my masterpiece.”

You took one look at the ridiculous sandwich sculpture — a lopsided smile made from pickle slices and a beard of crumbled crackers — and the tears came flooding back, but this time they were unstoppable.

“Bucky… you’re… you’re the best husband… in the world!” you sobbed, your shoulders shaking as you buried your face in your hands.

“Whoa, whoa, wait—hold on!” Bucky stammered, his eyes widening in alarm as he quickly set the plate down and moved back to your side. “What… why are you crying? Sweetheart, it’s just a sandwich! A really ugly sandwich, but—”

You let out another wail, shaking your head as more tears spilled over. “No, it’s not that! It’s you! You’re just so—so good, and sweet, and—and I don’t deserve you!”

Bucky froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Wait, what? Where did that come from?” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around as if he expected someone to pop out with a manual for how to handle this. “Hey, you deserve everything, okay? Even pancakes at 3 a.m. if I could make it happen.”

“I just… you’re always trying so hard, and you’re just… you’re amazing,” you whimpered, reaching out to grab his hand like it was a lifeline. “And I’m crying because I can’t have pancakes, and I’m a mess, and you’re making me a weird pickle-beard sandwich…”

Bucky stared at you, completely lost, before he finally let out a helpless, incredulous laugh. “Okay, okay, I’m officially out of my depth here,” he muttered, gently pulling you into his arms and patting your back awkwardly. “But hey, let’s save the compliments for when I’m not half-asleep, yeah?”

You nodded miserably against his chest, your sobs starting to subside as his steady heartbeat grounded you.

“Good, because you’re gonna make me cry if you keep this up,” he joked softly, running a soothing hand through your hair. “And no one wants to see the Winter Soldier ugly-cry over a pancake buffet.”

You let out a watery giggle at that, sniffling as you pulled back to look up at him. “You’re really gonna get me all the pancakes tomorrow?”

“Every last one,” he promised, his smile gentle and reassuring. “Now come on, let’s see if we can make this popcorn waffle thing work. You’ll need to tell our kid one day that their mom ate the weirdest thing ever while pregnant,” Bucky finished with a grin, his hand sliding down to gently cup your cheek as he wiped away the lingering tears with his thumb. “That way, when they give us a hard time as teenagers, I can say, ‘Hey, kid, I made your mom a popcorn waffle at 3 a.m. She bettered have loved me.’”

You laughed again, hiccupping through the tears as you tried to calm yourself. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

Bucky shrugged, his lips twitching up into a lopsided smile. “Maybe. But you married me, so what does that say about you?”

“That I’m a glutton for punishment,” you teased softly, feeling some of the tension start to ease as his thumb continued its gentle, comforting strokes on your cheek.

“Or just smart enough to know when you’ve got a good thing,” he murmured back, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “And I’m gonna keep being that good thing — even when it means making bizarre snacks and wrangling your tears at stupid o’clock in the morning.”

You let out a shaky breath, smiling up at him as you looped your arms around his neck. “I love you, Bucky.”

His eyes softened, his gaze locking onto yours as he leaned in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “I love you too, sweetheart. And we’re gonna figure out this whole craving thing. Even if it means starting a midnight pancake truck or something.”

The image of Bucky in an apron, serving pancakes from a food truck, was so ridiculous that you let out a genuine, hearty laugh. “A pancake truck?”

“Why not?” He smirked, his fingers playing with a lock of your hair. “I’d be the hottest pancake chef around. We’d have a line out the door.”

“Because everyone’s desperate for pancakes at three in the morning?” you asked, still smiling.

“Exactly,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “They’d be calling me the Pancake Soldier instead of the Winter Soldier.”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter again, your earlier tears completely forgotten. “I swear, you’re impossible, Bucky Barnes.”

“Impossible and all yours,” he said with a wink, then glanced at the kitchen. “Now, how about we whip up some sort of Frankenstein snack to tide you over until the morning, huh?”

With another sniffle and a smile, you nodded. “Alright. But I’m still holding you to that pancake buffet.”

“Wouldn’t dream of backing out,” he promised, kissing your forehead again before guiding you to a chair. “You sit right here, and let Chef Barnes work his magic.”

You watched as Bucky moved around the kitchen, his clumsy efforts at ‘creative’ snack-making bringing a smile to your face despite the ridiculousness of it all. He muttered under his breath, concocting weird combinations — “What if we crush some pretzels on top?” — and talking to the food like it would reveal some hidden trick.

Eventually, he managed to cobble together another makeshift treat: a peanut butter, banana, and honey sandwich with a few random M&Ms sprinkled on top for good measure. It looked as chaotic as you felt, but the effort and love behind it made your heart swell.

You stared at the messy sandwich, your lips trembling again — but this time with a whole different set of emotions.

“Hey, no more tears,” Bucky said quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m running out of ideas here, babe.”

“I’m not crying,” you sniffed, reaching out to take a bite. “It’s just… you’re really, really sweet, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, reaching over to give your knee a gentle squeeze. “Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, your heart feeling lighter than it had all night.

“Good.” He smiled, leaning back in his chair as he watched you take another bite. “Now eat up, because come morning, I’m getting up at dawn to get everything we need for that pancake buffet. You’re gonna be the happiest pancake-eating pregnant lady in the world.”

“And you’re gonna be the best pancake-making husband in the world,” you replied with a soft smile, warmth spreading through your chest.

“Damn right,” Bucky murmured, his voice filled with so much affection it made your heart skip a beat.

As you finished the bizarre snack and Bucky continued to ramble on about potential pancake flavors and topping combinations, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly grateful.

Because, bizarre cravings and all, there was no one else you’d rather navigate the chaos with than him — your best friend, your partner, your ridiculous, wonderful Bucky Barnes.

× × × ×

Third Trimester

Bucky’s overprotectiveness had started out in small, endearing ways—like lingering in doorways or making sure you had an extra pillow at night. But as your pregnancy progressed, so did his paranoia, turning him into an almost comical shadow of your once-confident, battle-hardened husband.

It began with the shoelaces.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He practically skidded across the living room to kneel at your feet just as you were about to bend down to tie your sneakers. You straightened up, raising a brow, watching him fumble with the laces like it was a complex puzzle rather than a simple bow.

“Bucky, it’s just tying my shoes. I can do that,” you pointed out gently, but he shook his head fervently.

“Not risking it. What if you lose your balance?” His words were muffled as he double-knotted the laces, his shoulders hunched like he was shielding you from some invisible force.

“I’m not gonna lose my balance,” you murmured, amused. “I’ve been tying my own shoes for decades.”

“There’s a first for everything.” He tightened the bow a little too firmly, making you flinch. He winced in apology and adjusted it again, softer this time, before peering up at you with those intense blue eyes, a mix of worry and resolve. “Humor me, okay?”

You sighed, relenting with a small nod. “Okay. But just so you know, you’re not going to be doing this every single time.”

He grinned—victorious, as if you hadn’t noticed how he conveniently “lost” all your slip-ons just last week.

Then there was the laundry basket incident.

It happened when you were carrying a half-full basket of towels from the dryer. You’d barely made it halfway down the hall when Bucky materialized out of nowhere, intercepting you like you were carrying live explosives.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—what do you think you’re doing?” His voice was all mock-seriousness, but there was genuine concern underlining it as he gently pried the basket from your hands.

“Laundry?” you deadpanned, trying to tug it back, but he held firm.

“Not anymore, you’re not.” He shot you a look that dared you to argue as he held the basket up high, well out of your reach. “You don’t need to be lugging this around.”

“It’s not even heavy!” you protested, exasperation seeping into your tone.

He scoffed. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll take it. Just point me to where you want it.”

Grumbling, you pointed down the hallway. “Our bedroom.”

“See?” he said with a self-satisfied smile, striding down the hall like he was conquering new territory. “No big deal.”

You had to fight back an eye roll. “You’re gonna be like this until the baby is born, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” he called over his shoulder, unashamed.

It didn’t stop there, of course. In the kitchen, he’d barely let you near the sink.

One morning, you’d decided to tackle the breakfast dishes—something you could usually manage without too much hassle. But as soon as you set the first dish into the soapy water, Bucky’s hand appeared out of nowhere, lightly shoving you to the side.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, though it was clear he wasn’t asking for permission. “Your belly’s gonna bump into the counter. Let me do it.”

“Bucky—”

“Let. Me. Do it,” he insisted, holding a soapy plate hostage as he gazed at you, lips set in a stubborn line.

With a sigh, you threw your hands up in surrender. “Fine. But I’m not a porcelain doll, okay? I can do dishes just fine.”

“Sure,” he replied, but he was already washing the dishes with focused precision, occasionally glancing at you to make sure you hadn’t slipped or stumbled in the two feet he’d moved you back.

It was both infuriating and endearing, and it made you love him even more—though you’d never admit it when he was acting like a hovering mother hen.

The grocery trips were almost unbearable. He’d insisted on coming along, despite your reassurances that you were perfectly capable of picking up a few items.

“We need milk,” you pointed out, motioning toward the far end of the aisle.

“Got it,” he said immediately, guiding the cart forward with one hand and slipping his other arm around your waist as if to support your entire body weight.

You shot him a look. “I can still walk, you know.”

“Of course you can,” he agreed with a grin. “I’m just… helping you waddle.”

“Waddle?” You narrowed your eyes, smacking his arm lightly. “Did you just call me a waddler?”

“Um…” He glanced at you sheepishly, realizing his mistake a second too late. “No?”

“Yeah, nice try.” You huffed, crossing your arms.

“Alright, alright, bad choice of words. I’m just keeping pace with you,” he corrected, slowing his stride even more so that the two of you were practically moving in slow motion down the aisle.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of it all. “If we go any slower, we’ll start moving backwards.”

Bucky just chuckled, his arm tightening around you protectively. “I’ll take my chances.”

By the time you reached the milk, you were almost tempted to ask him to sprint the rest of the way just to get it over with. But the truth was, there was something undeniably sweet about having Bucky hover around like this.

“Let me guess,” you teased as you plucked a carton of milk off the shelf. “You want to carry this too?”

“Of course,” he said, already reaching for it, his expression deadly serious.

You held on to the carton just long enough to make him sweat before handing it over. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he replied easily, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple.

“Smooth,” you muttered, your lips twitching into a reluctant smile.

With Bucky being his overprotective self, you had no doubt that he’d be like this for the next few months—and likely long after the baby was born. But as much as you complained, deep down, you knew you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

× × × ×

“Bucky, for the last time, it’s just a shoe box,” you emphasise, glancing at your husband as he carefully hoists the empty box off the couch like it’s made of glass.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, eyes darting suspiciously to the plain cardboard. “You shouldn’t be carrying anything in your condition.”

“Condition? Bucky, I’m pregnant, not broken.” You cross your arms, watching as he tucks the box under his arm like it’s a rare artefact. The man is a walking, talking fortress of muscle, but right now, his overprotectiveness is reaching absurd levels.

“And nearly at your due date,” he points out, placing the box on the counter with a sigh of relief as if he’s saved you from imminent danger. “I’ve read all the books. I know how this goes.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, yeah? So what’s the worst that could happen if I pick up a shoe box?”

Bucky turns to you with a dead-serious expression.

“It’s not about the weight. It’s about…” he falters, eyes scanning your swollen belly, “…stability. Your centre of gravity is off right now. A box could trip you.”

“A box could trip me?” You arch a brow, incredulous. “Really?”

“Yes!” His tone is insistent, and you have to bite back a laugh. This is the same man who once told a pack of HYDRA agents they were outnumbered—just because it was him and Steve versus a dozen of them. But now, he’s reduced to eyeing an empty cardboard box like it’s a mortal enemy.

Sighing, you sit back on the couch, deciding it’s not worth the argument. Besides, there’s a certain charm in seeing the Winter Soldier so worked up over an inanimate object. You lean back, letting out a small groan as you shift your weight.

Bucky’s been hovering around you all day like a lost puppy, eyes following your every move. The moment you make the slightest sound, his head whips around, concern flickering in his eyes. So when you groan, immediately, he’s by your side, eyes wide, hands hovering over your belly.

“What? What’s wrong? Is it time? Should I get the bag?”

“Calm down, Dad-mode. I’m just stretching.” You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’ve gotta stop panicking every time I make a sound.”

“Every time you make a sound, it could be something serious!” Bucky exclaims, sounding almost affronted. “Do you know what it’s like hearing you groan and not knowing if it’s ‘I want ice cream’ or ‘I’m about to go into labor’?”

“Sounds like a personal problem,” you tease.

He huffs, muttering something about ‘pregnancy hormones,’ and kneels down in front of you. Strong hands lift your foot gently, and he starts massaging your arch. You sigh, instantly melting under his touch.

“Better?” His voice is softer now, concern etched in every syllable.

“Much better,” you mumble, letting out a little moan as he presses down on a particularly tight knot.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bucky freezes, eyes wide again. “What’s that? Pain?”

“Relax,” you say, though your voice is slightly breathless. “It’s the good kind of pain. Keep going.”

You lean your head back, closing your eyes as Bucky continues the foot massage. The man has hands that could crush stone, but right now, he’s so gentle you almost feel like you’re floating. It’s hard not to feel a little spoiled under his doting care.

But just when you’re getting lost in the bliss of his hands working away the tension, you catch his face out of the corner of your eye. Bucky’s brow is furrowed, and his expression is one of fierce concentration, like he’s facing down a particularly difficult opponent. You stifle a giggle—only Bucky could make a foot massage seem like a high-stakes mission.

“Alright, alright, enough of that,” you say, reaching down to tug on his hand. “If you keep looking at my foot like that, you might set it on fire.”

Bucky blinks up at you, clearly having forgotten where he was. He chuckles, the sound low and almost shy. “Can’t help it. I just… I want to make sure I’m doing it right.”

“Bucky, it’s a foot massage, not defusing a bomb.” You roll your eyes again, but your heart swells at his concern. “You’re doing it perfectly.”

A faint blush colors his cheeks, but he lets out a small huff, pretending to be grumpy. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Then, without warning, he shifts beside you on the couch, a determined look settling on his face. “Now, hold still.”

Before you can ask what he’s up to, Bucky leans down, pressing his ear gently against your belly. You’re about to ask him if he’s comfortable, but the sheer look of wonder on his face stops you short. His eyes close, and he inhales deeply, as if trying to capture every little movement your baby girl makes.

“Hey, there, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs softly, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper. His fingers splay across your belly, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles. “It’s your dad. Just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re being good for your mama.”

You bite your lip, warmth spreading through your chest at the sight. The fierce Winter Soldier, the man with a list of enemies longer than most people’s grocery lists, reduced to talking softly to your baby girl like she’s the most delicate thing in the world.

“She’s probably plotting her escape already,” you joke quietly, and Bucky grins up at you.

“Nah,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. “She’s too busy practicing her karate kicks. Isn’t that right, little one?”

Right on cue, a small flutter against your belly answers him, and Bucky’s eyes light up like fireworks. He leans down again, pressing his lips gently against the spot where your baby kicked.

“Whoa, easy there, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Save the punches for when you’re out here. We’ve got plenty of training sessions ahead of us.”

You snort, shaking your head at his words. “Bucky, she’s not even born yet, and you’re already planning training sessions?”

“Gotta start ‘em young,” he says seriously, but the way he softens his voice when he turns back to your belly is anything but tough. “But don’t worry, we’ll take it easy. I’ll make sure you get to be a kid and have fun first. No one’s gonna mess with you. Not when I’m around.”

He pauses, his eyes misting over for a brief moment, and you know he’s thinking about everything he’s been through—everything he wants to shield your daughter from. Slowly, he rubs his thumb along your belly again, his touch featherlight.

“And you’re gonna love your mama,” Bucky continues softly. “She’s strong, and she’s funny, and—” He glances up at you, his smile turning mischievous. “She’s a little bit stubborn sometimes. But you’re gonna be just like her, I bet.”

“Great,” you mutter, faking a groan. “Two of you plotting against me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bucky promises, but the glint in his eyes tells you he’s already imagining all the ways he’ll spoil his little girl.

He shifts again, his head still resting on your belly, and you have to stifle another laugh as he starts a running commentary, complete with exaggerated gestures.

“Okay, so here’s the plan,” he whispers conspiratorially to your baby. “When you get here, you’re gonna kick a lot. Cry a lot. But not too much. Your mama needs her sleep. Then, we’ll team up to get you extra dessert when she’s not looking.”

“Bucky!” You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. “You can’t be plotting behind my back already!”

He grins, looking up at you with mock innocence. “Hey, it’s not my fault if she wants ice cream. Right, sweetheart?”

A few more soft kicks seem to echo his words, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“I’m doomed,” you say, shaking your head fondly.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky murmurs, his voice softening again. He presses one more kiss against your belly before shifting to sit up beside you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you gently against his side. “You’re gonna be the best mom. And I’m gonna be right here, making sure you both have everything you need.”

You lean into his warmth, smiling as his hand drifts back to your belly, tracing idle patterns.

“I love you,” you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder.

“And I love you,” he replies, voice deep and steady. He leans down, kissing the top of your head. “Both of you.”

With Bucky holding you close and whispering to your daughter, you feel your heart swell with a contentment so strong it almost aches. It’s moments like these that remind you just how lucky you are to have this overprotective, sweet man by your side.

Even if he does go overboard sometimes.

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with-my-calamitous-love · 4 months ago

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LEAVE THE WARMEST BED I’VE EVER KNOWN

katsuki bakugou x reader

on a cold winter night, you gain news that your ex boyfriend and pro-hero dynamight has returned from a work trip out of the country. coincidentally, he’s calling your phone right now.

part 1/2

inspired by ‘tis the damn season

everything you learned about katsuki while he was away was against your will.

following in all might’s footsteps, and right after one messy, icy breakup, katsuki left to do hero work in the united states. if you wanted to know who he was hanging with, what girls he was supposedly kissing, or who he was replacing you with, you could have asked. seeing his life in footnotes, on instagram stories and through headlines was the kind of cold that fogged up windshield glass.

theres a lingering ache in your heart, put there by the ache in katsuki’s.

your breakup felt inevitable, more than anything. circumstances, timing, stress… one second, he’s loving you. the next, he’s telling you he needs to think things through. and right after that, he’s on a plane to los angeles with kirishima.

it was almost nice, not having to see him at the agency or anywhere else. you wouldn’t be tempted to call his phone, since the international bill would only break your heart more. you couldn’t go to his apartment because it’d be empty- if you’re not counting the phantoms of lost love.

the 2 weeks he was gone felt like an eternity on your end. you blamed the time zones, though you knew they weren’t capable of freezing time and making your heart ache more each minute.

and with the first snowfall of the season, katsuki bakugou lands back in his home country.

he thanks the attendants in his private jet, shoving his already warm hand into his pockets as he steps out into the brisk air. its colder than he remembered, as if the world felt the same loneliness he was experiencing.

its 10pm, and the snow is glistening against the moonlight like a mirrorball. the sky is blanketed by clouds, a pink hue washing over katsuki as he steps out of the airport and into the night.

he stares at his contacts for a second. he intends on calling an uber.

but either his thumb slipped, or he missed you too much to care about the cold pricking his fingertips. each could be true.

you’re in the process of turning up your heater when your phone lights up through the dark. fingers peeking out the sleeve of your sweater grasp the device, nearly dropping it to the floor when you see who’s trying to reach you.

as if on instinct, your thumb hovers over the green button, before ultimately letting it go to voice mail.

after a hot shower to drown out the chill, you find him calling again. this time, you sit on the edge of your bed, finally resigning to pick up.

you don’t say anything first, wanting to hear him first. maybe you had to make sure this wasn’t some twisted dream.

“…hey babe.” katsuki says, his gruff voice lingering with a soreness in his throat that can only come from prolonged exposure to the cold. that, paired witb the familiar nickname despite the circumstances, makes you clutch your phone.

“hey, kats.” you say, shifting on your bed to get comfortable. after all, any emotional night with katsuki bakugo was destined to be long.

“when did you land?” you ask, fiddling with your fingers. you hope he doesn’t hear the trepidation in your voice.

“an hour ago.” he says, stifling a sniffle like a child would. you almost laugh, knowing him too well. he wasn’t the kind of guy you could forget easily.

“i just needed to hear your voice.” he admits, more to himself than to you. crimson eyes watch the way the snowflakes fall to the ground, dancing around in the wind. he remembers how much you love snowflakes. how you’d always try to catch them on your tongue, and how stupid he thought it was. the things he’d give to go back to that.

the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his voice makes your eyes water. it was something about the cold that brought out the aches in people. like holidays that linger like bad perfume, you both could run from the hurt before getting lost in the snow. you escaped into your warm apartment, away from the world, while katsuki escaped into crowds of adoring fans away from home.

whats funny is that both of you remember how the other left.

the cold air pricks at katsuki’s fingers while he waits for a response. he almost thinks the connections gone out, when in truth, your holding back tears.

with a shaky sigh, you speak. “lets… call it even, then.” you whisper, but he’s captivated by your words like a firework show. “i wanted to hear you, too.”

the breath of relief katsuki lets out can be seen in the cold, night air.

there was about 100 thrown out letters you wished you could send him. you could vomit words onto paper, send them out into the winter air and let the wind deliver your confessions to him.

and honestly, he wants you to. more than anything, he wants to sleep in with you, pull the blankets over that shield you from the cold just for old time sake. and if you don’t want him to stay this time, then he won’t ask you to wait.

if this doesn’t work out, he’ll go back to LA. he’ll let his so called fans write books and stories about him, about his heroism and his nobility without knowing how much his heart hurts on the inside. they’ll wonder about the only soul who knows what that hurt feels like. the only soul who knows all the smiles he’s faking: you.

he hopes that he only breaks his own heart, wanting to spare you from it. if he could, he’d leave you the warmest bed you’ve ever known. he’d call you babe for the weekend, and love you warm against the winter chill.

if somewhere, in his heart, katsuki’s love for you despite the breakup remained the same, then it was the same for you, too. if its okay with you, its okay with him. you could call it even. you’re missing his smile, and you want him to hear you out.

you might have to, with what he’s about to say next.

“…i’m outside, babe.”

part 2 soon 🫧

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featherandferns · 21 days ago

Text

colour in the lines (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | enemies-to-lovers, tutor!reader concept set around season 1 era (no gold hunt) | not yet proofread so apologies!

content warning: dr*g use (weed, drinking); references to s3x; unique family dynamics

word count: 20k. (she's a slow-burner, but it's worth it)

blurb: When Mr Sunn hires you as JJ Maybank's tutor for the summer break, neither of you have high hopes for success. But as the lessons stretch on, maybe JJ isn't as much of an asshole as you thought, and maybe you aren't as much of a brown nose as he assumed.

The Arrangement

“You ain’t serious.”

“As the plague,” Mr Sunn nods.

JJ groans and tosses his head back. He’s lounging in the wooden chair as if it’s a comfortable Lay-Z-Boy. “Mr Sunn, can we just admit to each other right here and now that me getting a diploma ain’t ever gonna happen?”

Mr Sunn’s eyebrow quirks. He clasps his hands together atop of his desk. “You might be willing to give up on your education but I’m not. And until the day comes around that I am, you’re going to have tutoring.”

JJ stares begrudgingly at Mr Sunn like a sulking child. Tutoring? Come on, man. It felt as laughable and as useless as gifting a paralysed person a treadmill.

“When’s this tutoring gonna be?” JJ reluctantly asks.

“Every week on a Wednesday.”

“In September?”

“Starting next week.”

“Next week?” JJ gapes. Mr Sunn nods. “Mr Sunn, next week is the start of summer vacation. I ain’t gonna be educating myself during summer vacation. I think that’s actually against one of the human rights or something.”

“It isn’t. Maybe you’d know that if you actually attended class,” Mr Sunn remarks, almost smug. JJ rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath.

“Summer vacation?”

“If you stop your moaning and bitching, you’d hear more about the conditions of it.”

“Oh, goody. Please do tell.”

There’s a warning in the look Mr Sunn shoots JJ that has him rolling his eyes again. Glancing off out the window, he sighs. The football field is devoid of life save for the birds pecking at the grass. There’s no bustling in the halls, no students in the classrooms. JJ was the lingering student on Friday after school, subject to the conversation with Mr Sunn per request at the end of class. It had been almost thirty minutes; the start of the discussion had been a delightful monologue delivered about JJ’s failing grades and concerning marks. That had followed into this downright hideous discussion of tutoring.

“I’ve assigned a student who’s more than happy to give you tutoring. Like I said before, every Wednesday at one in the afternoon - unless exceptional circumstances occur.”

“Like me not wanting to get outta bed?”

“Like being in the hospital for a traumatic brain injury,” Mr Sunn corrects with a levelled look. JJ scoffs. Close enough, in his head. “She’ll tell me if you’ve attended the session, and if you stayed for the full time allocated–”

“--Wait, she? Who the hell–” Another pointed look that has JJ clearing his throat. “Who the heck is this tutor?”

Mr Sunn glances down at the papers laid out in front of him (many of which are evidence of JJ’s poor grades). “A Miss L/N.”

JJ’s brows furrow as he flicks through his mental rolodex of classmates at his school. The last name rattles around his brain until he finally finds a picture. His face falls. “Y/N?”

Mr Sunn nods. “She’s a stellar student.”

“She’s a brown-nosing bore.”

“Don’t think comments like that are very necessary, Maybank,” Mr Sunn warns. JJ doesn’t much care.

JJ used to be in the same class as you last year but you had been in the background of JJ’s life since kindergarten. Kildare was a small county. Nearly every classmate traced back to the beginning of childhood. New students were rare and most seemingly went to Kook academy. He hadn’t interacted with you much, if at all, but he could place you pretty well. You always abided by the dress code; always attended class; always handed in your homework on time; always stuck up your hand in class; always got the answers right; and always aced the exams. You were on some of the nerd teams at school - chess and mathletes - and JJ was certain he’d seen you in the marching band at a football game he was dragged to a few years back. A textbook goody-two-shoe know-it-all: that’s what you were. The only defining story that JJ had of you was from Pope, who held a half-joking, half-serious grudge against you following a loss at a spelling bee in middle school. You’d won and JJ wondered if it was Pope’s villain origin story. The word ‘chromotosis’ was still a tender spot (and one JJ liked to poke from time to time).

JJ laughs humourlessly, becoming increasingly annoyed with the situation. “Mr Sunn, you can’t be serious! I’d rather have you just tutor me instead!”

“Well, I’m going to enjoy my summer vacation after spending the year teaching your classmates.”

JJ doesn’t let the omission of ‘you’ from his sentence bother him too much. It was valid. JJ was a failing student. He attended school fleetingly. Homework was nothing more than a theoretical concept in his world and tests were his mortal enemy. The letter ‘F’ had become a best friend, with ‘D’ and ‘C’ close companions. Learning didn’t come easy to him, not in the way it did for John B and Kiara, and especially not in the way it was for Pope. Everything took him longer. Reading, writing, equations, retaining information. It didn’t help that most of it didn’t interest him, either. Besides, JJ found it hard to sit still for long in the classroom. He got fidgety and restless. The outside world called to him through the window: the song of the waves, the tweeting in the trees. JJ was good with practical things like handiwork and mechanics. That was the profession he’d venture into more than likely, so what was the point in breaking his back over a pointless high school degree?

Sighing, JJ rakes his fingers through his unruly hair. “Look, Mr Sunn, I’m gonna level with ya. I don’t think there’s much point in me getting a degree. I don’t give a crap about history or English or maths or any of that bullshit. And I don’t need it, a’right? I mean, you gotta know that, surely?” Before Mr Sunn can answer, JJ’s leaning in and digging through the papers. He retrieves one of his report cards and points at Mechanics. “Look! See! I’m pretty decent at stuff like that! Why can’t I just drop the rest and focus on that and be done with it?”

Mr Sunn sighs and smiles sympathetically at JJ. He takes the report card back and talks as he straightens out the papers. “I wish I could do that for you, JJ, but the state requires you to take all the core classes to graduate with a diploma. It might not mean much to you now, but trust me when I say that you’ll open so many more doors in your life if you apply yourself and finish school.”

There’s an unfamiliar sincerity in Mr Sunn’s words when he tells JJ, “You might not think you can do it, but I know you can. With some extra help, you can graduate, JJ.”

JJ holds Mr Sunn’s gaze for a long moment. Swallowing, JJ is disbelieving of the next words that leave his mouth in a resigned sigh. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

The First Lesson

Your pencil taps rhythmically on the table as you glance at the clock on the wall for the eleventh time. Ten minutes late. Sighing, annoyed, you pick up your phone and text your best friend, Esme.

Huffing out another breath, you return the phone to the table and busy yourself with reviewing the resources you’d brought.

When Mr Sunn offered you the summer part-time job of tutoring, you thought - frankly -that it would be a piece of piss. Give some lessons to some snotty little stressed out middle schooler and earn fifteen bucks every Wednesday? Where do I sign? But that fantasy was soon broken. Instead of an innocent child struggling with algebra homework, it was JJ Maybank. JJ’s reputation preceded him like Jay Gatsby. He was a prolific class skipper. When he did attend, it was usually to disturb the lesson with childish jokes until he wound up in the principal’s office and, most likely, detention. He spent quizzes blowing raspberries, tapping his pencil and gazing out the window. Teachers stopped bothering to ask him if he finished his homework. Outside of that, you knew him to be a womanizer, a petty thief, and an adrenaline junky. The only notable interaction you had with JJ had left a bad taste in your mouth. You tried to forget about it, pushing it into the back of your mind, but the name always brought back the memory of that one day in class. That one passing remark that changed your opinion of JJ in a split-second. Following all of that, fifteen dollars - whilst still enough to have you agree to tutoring - did not feel like an even trade for dulling your brain cells for one hour in his company.

Good news was that he wasn’t going to show, it seemed. Silver linings. Bad news? No JJ - no payout.

As your eyes glance over the textbook photocopy to ensure it didn’t cut any information off, the door to Mr Sunn’s classroom swings open. You startle and look up, half expecting to see the security guard asking you what the hell you’re doing here. Instead, your eyes land on JJ Maybank. He’s talking as he walks over to the table you’ve claimed.

“You would not believe how good the weather is out there today, holy shit,” he rambles as he pulls out the chair opposite you. “It’s fucking golden, Goddamn.”

You’re unsure what to say. Instead, you watch as JJ sighs and relaxes in his seat. One of his arms is tossed over the back of it; his legs manspread comfortably. Hair pressed under a beige cap, scruffy on the lip, his t-shirt and shorts are appropriate for the scorching weather outside. His combat boots that you’d noted when he walked over, not so much.

Seemingly at your silence, he quirks a brow. “So? We gonna get started, or?”

“You’re late,” you say, annoyed at his urgency. “Ten minutes late. Actually-” A quick glance at the clock. “-eleven minutes late.”

JJ shrugs. “I was hungry. Had to stop by in-n-out.”

“You went to in-n-out?”

His brows raise. “Did you want something from there? Didn’t peg you much as the, uh…fast food type.”

You’re not sure what he means by that but you imagine something unfriendly. Rolling your eyes, you level him with a glare. “You were eleven minutes late to our lesson because you stopped at an in-n-out?”

“Yep. So, what we starting with?” Before you can even formulate your next sentence, JJ’s interrupting you. “Actually, can I just– D’you mind if we wrap this up early today? Maybe do a half-session or something?”

“A half session?”

“Mhn,” he nods. JJ grins as he says, “the swells today at the beach are insane. It’s perfect surf weather. I gotta get a piece.”

Anger bubbles in your throat. Exhaling sharply through your nose, you grit your teeth. “Well, since you were eleven minutes late to the start of the lesson, we gotta make up for lost time. ‘Sides, Mr Sunn said that you had to attend the whole hour.”

“Yeah, but, like…He ain’t here, is he? So…” JJ leans forward on the table, closing down the space between the two of you. His biceps push against the sleeves of his short sleeve top when he rocks his weight forward and you’re quick to avert your eyes back to his face. There’s a boyish charm shining through his smirk. His eyes are half hooded as he scans your face and figure. You shift and square your shoulders, sitting back in your seat, trying to reclaim the gap. “What’d you say you do me a solid and tell a little white lie ‘bout it, huh? No harm in that, right?”

Oh. You see what’s happening. JJ thinks you’re just another one of the girls bewitched by his beauty. That all he has to do is bat his pretty eyes and flash you that gorgeous smile and you’ll fall at his feet and do as he asks.

You try to bite back your smirk as best as possible when you lean forward. You leave the smallest gap between you, forearms almost touching, and you get a thrill at the flash of surprise in his eyes.

“Listen, blue eyes. I get paid for the hour and, unlucky for you, I don’t enjoy lying to people. So here’s what gonna happen. We’re going to sit here and do the full one-hour session, making sure we don’t lose those lovely eleven minutes. Sound good?”

JJ’s smile falls quickly. He grits his teeth and clenches his jaw. You sweeten the deal with an overly sugary smile before returning to how you were sat before.

“We’re starting with biology.”

JJ slowly unfurls himself to retain into his seat. You dig out one of the worksheets and slide it across the table to him.

“What’d you remember from this semester?”

JJ sighs as if he’s bored and slowly raises his hands to count on his fingers. He takes his time as he recounts, in a dull tone of voice, “monkeys masturbate and…that’s about it.”

Rolling your eyes, irritated, you look down at your twinning worksheet. You push your glasses up the bridge of your nose when they slip down. “Right, okay, starting from square one then. If you look at the first paragraph, give it a quick read and then I’m gonna ask you some questions about it, ‘kay?”

JJ doesn’t say anything but grunts. It’s hard to restrain from rolling your eyes a third time. When a substantial amount of time has passed, you glance to see if he’s still reading. JJ sits, head rocked back, arms folded across his chest, eyes closed. You see red.

“Done reading?” you manage out. He doesn’t open his eyes when he hums ‘yes’. “Okay then…” You look down at the questions you’d prepared and take a sigh before reading out the first one. “The powerhouse of the cell is called the…”

JJ doesn’t say anything. Clearing your throat to prompt him, he cracks open an eye, observes you leisurely, and then closes it again. “Heart.”

“The Mitochondria.”

“Right, yeah, that’s what I meant. Same thing.”

Your teeth grate against each other. Another cooling breath and you read the second, third, fourth questions. Each answer given by JJ raises your blood pressure by another degree. This is going to be a fucking pain in your ass. At the forty minute mark, you’re repeating the mantra ‘think of the money, think of the money, think of the money’ like a religious prayer in your mind. JJ has managed to make an almost impressive amount of crude jokes about cell anatomy, gave some brain-cell killing answers to pretty basic biology questions, and yawned enough times to have a doctor concerned for his well being. You’re relieved when your eyes find the clock reads that an hour has passed.

“Right, well. That’s everything for today.”

“Oh, damn. I was just getting into it, too,” JJ sardonically says. You glare at him. He stands and stretches, his shirt riding up as he extends his arms above his head. He fixes his cap as he asks, “same time next week, then?”

“One in the afternoon.”

“Can’t wait,” he mutters. He wanders to the door, giving a fleeting ‘see ya’ as he slips out the classroom. You’re amazed the door doesn’t burst into flames with the heat of your stare.

The First Complaint

The sun bathes JJ in blisteringly warm rays of daylight. He revels in it like a gecko in the desert. Arms tucked underneath his head, he lounges on the front of the boat. Sunglasses sit on his face, eyes closed behind them, and a toothpick sticks out from his lips. The water laps at the boat, rocking it gently from side to side. An old-school R&B song hums out the speaker near the cooler.

“I’m telling y’all, the fishing out there is crazy. Worth the trip, for sure,” John B tells the Pogues. He’s probably where JJ last saw him; stood by the end of the boat, shirtless in his swim shorts like Pope and JJ, fishing.

“I’m down. Could go next week,” Kiara says. She’s probably scrolling on her ipod to cue the next song.

“My dad’s got me working shifts but I can do Wednesday,” Pope adds, likely reading.

JJ blows a raspberry. “Wednesday is a no-go.”

“Why not?”

“I got class.”

He can hear the shared confusion in the silence. He props himself up on an elbow, jutting his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose enough to scan over his friends. They’re all exactly where he pictured them, staring at him blankly.

“Class?” Pope finally asks.

“Yeah. I’ve got tutoring.”

John B barks out a laugh and Kiara rolls her eyes, looking back to her ipod. “Yeah right,” she mutters.

“Dude, I’m so serious right now,” JJ loudly defends, throwing his arm out.

“The day you get tutoring is the day hell freezes over,” Pope declares.

JJ shrugs. “Alright, then it’s frozen, cause I am.”

“How’d they get you to go? Gag and bind you?” John B sniggers, making the others laugh.

“Hilarious. Thank you for caring about my education, assholes,” JJ grumbles. He isn’t actually offended. It tracks that the Pogues think he’s bullshitting. It isn’t as if JJ has valued books and pop quizzes at any stage in his life. Returning to his previous position, he grins as he says, “you’re not gonna guess who’s my tutor.”

“Mr Sunn?”

“Nope. He did allocate her, though.”

“Least we know it’s a she,” Kiara says. “Helps with the guessing.”

“Well, go on. Guess.”

“Just tell us,” Pope sighs, in no mood for games. JJ’s grin grows.

“Your mortal enemy.”

John B and Kiara let out a gasp and snigger. JJ glances through his sunglasses to make out Pope’s face. In his disbelief, JJ nods. “Yep.”

“She still as brainy as she was then?”

“More,” JJ mutters. His memory flicks back to yesterday; the way your glasses slipped down your nose just slightly when you leant forward on the table. The shimmering of your eyes as they glared at him. The sneer on your lips. You clearly think rather highly of yourself. It had been pretty entertaining seeing how far he could push. He’s impressed that you didn’t lunge at him before the session was up; he was certain you’d come pretty close several times. Sighing, JJ sits back up on his arms and looks to his friends. “We’re going to that kegger tonight, right?”

“We could,” John B shrugs. “Not doing much else.”

“It’s Touron season,” JJ grins boyishly, making Kie roll her eyes.

“You guys are gross.”

“Come on! Just trying to get little Pope’s dick wet for a change,” JJ lies, getting up and smacking a hand reassuringly on Pope’s shoulder. He’s shrugged off, making him snigger.

“My dick is perfectly fine as it is, thank you,” Pope mutters, looking back down at his book. Rolling his eyes, JJ retrieves a beer from the cooler.

“Whatever man. Lemme know when you want to learn how to get girls.”

“Yeah. JJ’s a scholar now, afterall,” John B jokes. At the heckling laughter of his friends, JJ rolls his eyes mirthfully and goes back to enjoying his summer break.

The Second Lesson

You’re not sure why you’re surprised that JJ is late yet again to his lesson. This time you’ve found better ways to entertain yourself than clock watching. Sending memes back and forth with Esme and doomscrolling Instagram was working well to keep you from counting the minutes wasted in the empty classroom. You can hear people outside, playing in the fields, chattering on the streets as they walk to and from their summer day plans. There’s an itch under your skin to leave and make the most of the beautiful weather. It feels a shame to spend your time cooped up in a dusty classroom, making anagrams out of the history posters lining the walls. But the posters make you think of Mr Sunn, reminding you of the promise you’d made to him before the vacation started.

“You’ll be paid for the tutoring and your trouble. But I’m trusting you to be honest. I don’t want to be paying out for an hour spent on Call of Duty or whatever it is you do in your spare time.”

“Definitely not Call of Duty.”

“Either way: if Maybank doesn’t show, then I need you to be honest with me. I’m trusting you.”

“I promise, Mr Sunn. You can put your faith in me.”

Your phone begins to ring. Picking up, you don’t have the chance to say ‘hi’ before Esme is talking.

“What a fucking loser.”

“I mean, he has my number. He could at least message to say he’s running late,” you complain.

“He could at least bother showing up on time,” Esme corrects, making you laugh. “He’s probably not even doing anything anyway.”

“I honestly don’t give a shit what he’s doing. Just wish I had a heads-up if he’s not going to show so I can actually do something with my day,” you sigh, rubbing at your forehead. “Mom’s got another night shift tonight and I hate leaving Leo alone all day.”

“I thought he was going to that summer day-camp thingy? The scholarship deal didn’t get cancelled, did it?” Esme worries.

“He’s not going anymore. Not because of the scholarship - that’s still fine. Just…” Your voice trails off, heart tugging at the memory of his crestfallen face, muddled with confusion when you had to tell him he wasn’t going to be going back.

“The usual stuff?” Esme guesses. She’d known you for almost six years now; she knew Leo for just as long. She shared that same protectiveness for him.

“Yep.”

“Kids are shitheads.”

You bark out a laugh. “You can’t say that about children, Esme.”

The two of you laugh quietly. You sigh and fiddle with the corner of one of the worksheets. Just as you’re about to tell her that you’ll leave in the next five minutes, the door pushes open. “I gotta go, Esme.”

“Wait - did he actually show up?”

“Yep.”

“Holy shit, someone call the media,” she mutters. You give a sheltered laugh, eyes scanning over a sunglass-donning JJ. “Alright, message me after. Love ya.”

“Talk soon,” you hum before the line clicks off. Placing your phone down on the table, you watch as JJ shuffles into the room lethargically. He’s dressed similarly to last week: combat boots, shorts, t-shirt. The cap this week is red, equally as well-worn as the beige. The sunglasses are new though. “You seem lively.”

“Not so loud, please,” JJ groans, bringing a hand up to his forehead as if nursing a headache. He collapses into the chair opposite you with a grunt. A silence lingers between the two of you. JJ is so still you half question if he’s passed out. Eventually, he shifts enough to tug his sunglasses down, revealing a slither of his eyeline. He’s looking at you.

“You gonna start with the lesson, then?”

“You gonna stay awake for it?” you ask in return. He pushes the sunglasses back up.

“No promises.”

“You’re hungover,” you observe. JJ makes a ding-ding-ding noise under breath. The momentary peacefulness that came from your quick phone call with Esme is soon dissipating. “You’re hungover despite knowing that we had tutoring today?”

“I don’t know what ‘despite’ means, a’right? Can we make a ban on big words when my brain feels like it’s gonna explode?”

“Might need you to define big words. Have a feeling most words qualify as that with you,” you mutter. JJ scoffs.

“Get off your high horse, brown noser. Just cause you’ve read a few books don’t mean you know everything.”

“As opposed to you?” you quip back.

JJ snuggles in his seat, folding his arms over his chest in an echo of his posture last week. “Just start with the schooling, huh? Thought you needed to report back to Daddy Sunn that you’ve done your duties.”

Your nose turns up at the nickname. Not bothering to argue, you dig through the worksheets and hesitate in passing one across the table to him. Your eyes scan over his figure. His carelessness in his appearance; his indifference to this generous opportunity he’s been given; his dismissiveness of your valuable donation of time. It irritates you. A lot.

“You don’t realise how fortunate you are, do you?” you snap.

JJ visibly stuns at your tone. He doesn’t hurry his movements as he sits straighter in his seat, turning to face you, sliding his sunglasses off his face. His eyebrows rise, bloodshot eyes zeroing in on you. “What was that, brown nose?”

“You have no idea how fortunate you are to be here right now,” you repeat, holding your ground. You clear your throat and correct your glasses on your nose. “Mr Sunn put a lot of effort into organising these sessions. Letting us have access to the building out of hours. Access to all these resources. He put a lot of faith into you. He genuinely believed that you’d give enough of a crap to at least try tutoring. But instead you stroll in her like the sun shines out of your ass and you’re God’s gift to earth and waste everybody’s time.”

JJ watches you after your outburst. His eyes flit over your face, taking in every inch of your disgruntled expression, and his lips twitch downwardly. Leaning forward on the table, he raises a finger to point in your face.

“You don’t know shit about my fortune,” he remarks darkly, in a tone that you’ve never once heard from him. He’s unrecognisable as he warns you, “you stay in your lane and I’ll stay in mine, a’right? I ain’t needing you preaching on your soapbox about how good I got shit when you ain’t know anything about anything. So either get on with teaching, or I’ll get on up and out that door.”

It’s unnerving, JJ’s demeanour and tone. It’s unnerving but it isn’t enough to make you back down. Narrowing your eyes, you sit proud and tall, hands clasped politely atop of the table.

“Be my guest. The door is behind you, in case you’re too drunk to find it.”

JJ’s chair pushes back from the force he gets up with. He mutters under breath curses and cusses as he makes his way to the door. Your voice is polite and cheery as you call, “One o’clock next Wednesday.”

The door slams closed. Another successful tutoring session. Another migraine to go home with.

The First Check-In

“JJ! Answer your damn phone!” John B hollers from the bathroom.

JJ jogs through the Chateau in search of the cell. It’s the third call he’s missed. It isn’t on purpose: he can’t find where he put the damn thing. It’s as if it’s fallen into a pocket of the universe that ceases to exist. Digging through the couch cushions of the pull-out, JJ’s fingers finally make contact with the buzzing device.

“Aha!” he cheers, pulling out. He swipes to answer, tumbling back on the sofa-bed. It must have fallen down there when he was fooling around with some Touron he met at the kegger last night. “Yo.”

“Maybank.”

JJ’s eyes press shut and his mood significantly drops. “Sup, Mr Sunn.”

“Not much, not much. Just calling to check in on how the tutoring is going?”

“How’s it going?”

Terrible. It’s awful. JJ has never known a bigger waste of time. He’s learnt a total of zero things from the hour and ten minutes spent in your company, apart from the fact that you’re the most aggravating girl he has ever met. You might be the first female that JJ hasn’t enjoyed spending time with. Rather impressive, actually.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s great,” JJ lies easily. He rubs at the sleep in his eyes as he continues, “learning a ton, feeling really smart. Gaining all that knowledge, y’know?”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“That’s interesting. Cause your tutor couldn’t agree less.”

JJ grits his teeth. Of course, you’re a rat as well as a shrew. You just seem to cover all areas of dislike in JJ’s books, it’s as if you’ve read all of JJ’s least favourite things.

“Oh really? What’d she say?”

“That you’re not engaging with the work. The last session was cut short too, apparently,” Mr Sunn recalls, disapproval dripping from every word.

“Yeah, well, you see, there was those exceptional circumstances you were talking about for that one, Mr S,” JJ half-arsedly defends.

“Really? A traumatic brain injury?” Mr Sunn checks, unconvinced.

“Yeah, yeah. A really brutal one, too,” JJ says, wincing at the memory of the banging headache he was awarded for going a bit too hard at the kegger the night before.

Mr Sunn’s sigh cuts deep. It’s parental. That sentiment of ‘I’m not angry, just disappointed’ is translated through the exhale, and JJ hates how much of an effect it has on him. JJ liked Mr Sunn: all of the Pogues did. He was a good teacher and cool guy. As annoying as your preaching was, JJ was reluctant to admit there was some truth to some of the things you said. Mr Sunn did believe in JJ. God knows why or what for, but he had put all of this together to purely benefit the blonde haired boy. Maybe you were somewhat right in him taking that for granted. Maybe.

“Look, JJ, if you’re not gonna take this seriously then we might as well call it off now,” Mr Sunn hedges.

“No, no, wait, look, Mr Sunn…I’m gonna level with you…” JJ takes a sigh and braces himself. “I haven’t been taking it seriously but I will now. I’ll start, y’know…Trying. Like, actually trying.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” JJ reassures. “Just gimme one more chance, yeah?”

Mr Sunn hesitates before sighing once more. “Alright. Fine. One more chance.”

“Thanks, Mr S,” JJ says. He’s surprised with himself for willingly signing on for more of your boring-ass lessons, but something in his gut tells him this is the right call. “I won’t let you down.”

“Alright, Maybank. You got one more chance. Wednesday, one o’clock. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t be,” JJ promises. As the phone call ends, JJ makes a secret deal with himself to give the tutoring a real chance. To give himself a real chance.

The Third Lesson

The feeling of your heart pounding in your throat is uncomfortable, to say the least. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on your forehead as you race around the house. In your head, you’re mentally juggling a million and one thoughts. Need to do this, need to do that. The checklist spans over several thoughts and derails every line of logic. It doesn’t help that it feels like Satan's asshole in the house right now. It is so hot. You think you might have seen something on Instagram claiming it was the hottest day of the year. Your family home is noisy with the sound of life: the washing machine and dryer are both on, rattling loudly in the utility room; the blender is going for your mom’s protein shake; the television and radio are both on and Leo refuses to turn either off. Overstimulating children’s cartoons bellow out into the stuffy living room.

You’re standing in the bedroom, packing your bag frantically with school supplies for the tutoring session that’s near approaching. A holler of your name from downstairs has you groaning. At first, you try to ignore it, but it only gets louder and louder, until Leo is practically screeching for you. Your mom starts to call for you, too, beckoning you to go to him from her bedroom. With a frustrated huff, you ditch your mess of belongings on your bed and rush out of your room.

“I’m going, mom!” you loudly tell her as you hurry down the stairs.

Leo is sitting on the living room floor, a broken mechanical car in his hand. He holds it up to you, pouting, as he demands, “fix it, sissy! Fix it!”

“Leo, I really don’t have time to fix it,” you sigh tiredly, leaning down to take it from him. You inspect the damage and shake your head, “can’t you play with something else until I get home?”

“Fix it! Sissy! Fix it!” Leo continues to command. His eyes well with tears and his lip begins to tremble, and you know the signs of one of his episodes well. Overwhelmed, you sit down on the sofa and try your best to remedy the toy. It’s useless. It requires some sort of tool to get everything back together and functioning. Leo comes over and tugs on your t-shirt as you work, murmuring ‘sissy, fix it. Fix it, sissy,’

“I’m trying, Leo. Sissy is trying,” you mumble. You feel your own lip tremble and tears starting to form, and you internally curse yourself and will them away. You never cry in front of Leo. It’s your duty to keep him protected; to shelter him from the stresses that come along with your life. It isn’t his fault that things are different with him. But the more you try and fix the toy, and the louder the washing machine and dryer and blender become, and the hotter the room gets, and the more insistent Leo’s tugging and pulling becomes, the harder it is to hold back your brimming emotions.

Leo begins to cry and you curse under breath. You place the toy on the coffee table and get down on your knees.

“Leo, honey. Don’t cry. I will fix it, okay? Sissy will fix it. I just need a bit more time, m’kay?”

“Fix it, fix it, fix it,” he wails. His small hands ball into fists and he pummels the sides of his head, and your heart lurches. Your hands scramble to gently cup his own, ceasing the action as much as possible.

“Don’t do that, baby. Please don’t do that.”

“Fix it, sissy,” he sobs.

“I will, I will,” you promise. Anything, you think. I’d do anything for you. You’re relieved when he lets you pull him into an embrace. You let him cry and smack his hands against your back. Emotions are big in his tiny body. They overwhelm him. It isn’t his fault. You press a kiss to his cheek, hoping you can somehow communicate that thought to him. When he’s settled, you give him one more squeeze before pulling away. Taking the toy from the coffee table, you tell him, “I’ll have it fixed by the time I get back home, m’kay?”

“Sissy fix it later,” Leo sniffles, nodding. Your smile is brimming and bright as you nod encouragingly.

“Yes, yes. Sissy fix it later,” you reassure. Your eyes dart to the grandfather clock that stands in the hallway. Shit. “I really need to go, Leo. You need anything, you tell mom, yeah? Wake her up only if you need to, though.”

Leo nods.

You jog through the house, scrambling up the stairs. The toy is shoved into your tote bag alongside the rest of the supplies, and then you’re racing down the stairs. The blender is finally finished; pouring it into a glass, you’re hurrying back to your mom’s room and leaving it on her bedside table. She’d finished a 32 hour shift at the hospital about two hours ago. Asleep, buried in the bedsheets, you lean down and press a kiss to her forehead.

“See ya later, mom. Love ya,” you mumble softly. Closing the door gently behind you, you return downstairs to find Leo peacefully playing with a stuffed animal. Thank God. As you unlock the front door, you relay your usual farewell: “there’s carrot sticks and bell pepper sticks in the tub on the coffee table. Wake mom if it’s an emergency. Don’t touch the fireplace. Sissy will be back soon!”

Leo’s farewell is cut short by the closing front door. The pulsing heat slows you down as you speed walk to the high school. Children playing soccer and couples sharing picnics and surfer bros and girls loading up cars and vans and trucks blur into pictures of fantasies that you wish you could indulge in as you make your way down the streets. Finally, finally, you arrive at the high school. The air con is as relieving as heroin as you rush down the isolated corridors. JJ’s head whips to the opening door when you make it to the classroom.

“Wow. You did show up.”

Your eyes squeeze shut with suppressed emotion as you bee-line to your chair. JJ doesn’t lose the opportunity to lecture, though. You suppose you have it coming from how much grief you’ve given him from being tardy.

“I mean, you’d think that you’d at least practice what you preach. After all the shit you gave me for being late and you’re nearly twenty minutes over. Even I’m not that bad,” JJ goads. “Could at least take it seriously, y’know? Ain’t Mr Sunn putting all his hopes and dreams on you or some shit?”

Your hands freeze in your tote bag, midway through unpacking yourself. Tears rush to your eyes and you panic, pressing them shut, begging for them to go away. Crying in front of somebody was one thing. Crying in front of JJ Maybank was another. Your teeth sink into your lower lip to keep it still. The tightness in your throat keeps growing, with that horrible lump and scratchy dryness. Come on, get it together.

“Hello?” JJ asks impatiently. “You gonna do something or…?”

That’s the breaking point.

The tears fall in fat, ugly drops as a shaky sob rattles out of you. And then it’s as if the floodgates have opened. You can only imagine the horrified look on JJ’s face as you sit and cry in an empty history classroom. You cry, and cry, and cry. When you’re not crying, you’re gasping for air, sniffing back the snot, wiping aggressively at your nose and your eyes and your cheeks. Every attempt to slow the sorrow seems to bring about a new wave of waterworks. Until, finally, it seems to ease up.

“God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you mutter, taking off your glasses and wiping furiously at your face. It’s red hot, mostly from embarrassment, and you blink up at the ceiling. “Shit, sorry. I don’t know why…Sorry.”

When you brave a look at JJ, you’re surprised to see no look of horror or humour. Instead, he’s frowning. He looks sympathetic, even. You can’t bare that expression. It feels as though people have looked at you like that for most of your life. Wiping at your wet cheeks, you take in a deep breath. With a violent sniffle, you return your glasses to your face, damp fingers trembling as they flick through the papers.

“Where, uh…Where should we start?”

JJ mumbles your name.

“Maybe Biology?”

He repeats it, slightly louder. You can’t stomach looking at him.

“Or History?”

It’s with a stern voice, JJ has your attention. He holds your gaze unapologetically. Then, he’s glancing down at the papers in your hands, out the window to the spotless summer, and back at you. He nods, a decision apparently made, and gets to his feet.

“A’right, come on,” he says. You blink at him.

“Huh?”

“Come on, get up. We’re getting outta here.”

“What are you…JJ, no, you have a lesson. I need to teach you about…”

“Teach me it in the car,” JJ tells you, not waiting for you to finish your thought. He’s walking around the table into new territory. His extended hand is like an olive branch. You eye it as if it might be laced with arsenic. But when you look up at his face, the smile on his face is new. It’s friendly. Reassuring, even. Your still quivering hand out stretches to land in his. His palm is warm and slightly clammy. He helps you up from your seat. You shrug your tote bag up your shoulder and JJ releases your hand to gather up your papers. Holding them out, you return them to your bag, and then you’re blindly following JJ out of the classroom and down the corridors.

His black shorts look like swim shorts. They end around the mid-thigh. His shirt is sticking to his back with a thin veil of sweat. It’s sweltering in Kildare County. You’re surprised by how attractive you find it. In your frantic fragility, you hadn’t realised JJ wasn’t wearing a cap. Instead, his blonde hair sat atop of his head, longer strands hanging slightly over his forehead. You think that’s the first time that you let yourself admit how attractive JJ Maybank is.

“Where are we going?” you ask, picking up the pace to walk beside him.

“The beach.”

“Why?”

“Because,” JJ says, pushing open the door and holding it for you to step through, “it is officially the hottest day of summer,” the two of you make your way down the stairs, “you just had some weird, psycho freak-out,” you follow JJ to a brown, banged-up campervan, “and nature is the best healer.”

You can’t argue with much of anything he’s said, so you don’t. Instead, you walk around to the passenger side and climb into the van. It smells of seasalt, men’s cologne and remnants of cannabis. There’s empty beer cans at your feet that you kick out of the way. Crumpled up in-n-out paper stuffed into the wings of the door. JJ sighs as he drops into the driver’s seat. You watch as he brushes his hair from his face, fingers running easily through the locks. He turns the key in the ignition and his silver rings glint in the sunlight. The van rumbles to life, vibrating the seat, and JJ puts it in gear.

“Wind down the window, would ya?” he asks, meeting your gaze. You nod and do as he asks. JJ does the same on his side, and then he’s putting the van into reverse, and soon enough you’re on an impromptu road trip with JJ Maybank.

It’s difficult not to look at him. He’s so different from the guy you’ve been trying to tutor for the past two weeks. He’s also different from the image you’d built in your head of him. Some suave, ladykiller. Cruel, phony, dismissive. In the bright glow of sunlight, he’s rather gorgeous. His arm is propped on the window ledge. The wind brushes at his hair. His fingers tap on the steering wheel rhythmically with the beat of whatever song is playing from the stereo. Scared to get caught staring, you turn and watch the view out the window. JJ was right: you needed this. It’s hard to find excuses to relax and have fun when your mom and Leo need you so badly at home. Any time spent just for you without any benefit behind it feels selfish. But this was like a ‘get out of jail free’ card. An excuse dressed up in combat boots and dreamy muscles.

There’s no conversation made as the two of you drive. It isn’t uncomfortable, though. It feels strangely natural, sitting side-by-side in shared silence. When the shoreline comes into view, you’re weirdly disappointed that the journey is over so soon. JJ parks and gets out with a ‘come on’ that has you following. You linger and look around as JJ digs about in the back of the van. He’s proud as punch when he emerges with two cans of seltzer and a towel (you don’t want to know the last time it was washed, if ever). The waves sound delicious in their susurrus against the sand as the two of you walk through the sand dunes. It was fairly busy: people surfing, others lounging with music playing from speakers, children playing volleyball. Girls lay on their fronts and backs, reading, tanning, relaxing. Guys bob their heads to the music and watch people dip in and out of the waves on their boards, nodding in approval. Seabirds call out afar and crickets chirp in the reeds. You feel like you’ve taken your first breath of fresh air in years.

“Here seems good, huh?” JJ says, slowing near a more secluded patch of beach. You nod. He lays out the towel horizontally, leaving space for you to both sit side by side. JJ smells like sunscreen and cologne and a touch of sweat. The crisp cracking of cans opens the conversation. “Cheers.”

Your can tinks against his. You have a sip. It’s tangy and refreshing as you swallow. Toeing off your trainers and socks, you sink your feet into the hot grains of sand. JJ copies. The two of you lean back and lounge.

“So,” JJ says. The two of you turn to look at one another. “You feeling okay?”

Laughing, you shake your head and have another sip of your drink. JJ grins. Looking out to the water, you sigh as you reply, “I was just overwhelmed. Sorry ‘bout the…y’know…”

“Snot?”

You laugh, facing him again. “Yeah. And the tears.”

“I was a little freaked out, I’m not gonna lie,” JJ tells you mirthfully, making you laugh more.

“Mhm. Same here.” The two of you sit in a jovial lull for a moment until you feel the need to clarify, “I promise that isn’t a usual occurrence.”

Laughing, JJ nods. “Yeah, well, did seem out of character. Used to you giving me hell for…Well, shit, for anything.”

“You make it pretty easy to do that, in my defense,” you grin. JJ cringes, rocking his head as if to say ‘is that true?’ “Mr Sunn said something ‘bout you wanting to take the tutoring more seriously?”

“Damn, news travels fast here,” JJ mutters, making you smile.

“For the record: you were right.”

“That’s rare.”

“I bet,” you snigger. JJ shoves your shoulder and you giggle. “But, you were. I didn’t have any right making any assumptions about your life. Your fortune, as you said.”

“Nah, don’t take it personally,” JJ says, dropping his head slightly. He swings his can between two fingers. “I’m a dick when I’m hungover.”

“You hungover all the time then or…?”

“Damn, mama! I’m tryn’a make amends here!”

The two of you share a laugh. It sinks away like footprints on sand. Nodding your head, you hold his gaze as you smile.

“Well, we could start fresh.”

“I’m down.”

“Hey - to new beginnings,” you announce, holding up your can. JJ smiles at you, nods, and clinks his can against yours. The two of you have a drink. A kid races across the beach in front of you, chasing a stray soccer ball. “Can’t remember the last time I came to the beach.”

“Really? I go all the time,” JJ replies.

“My parents used to take us on picnics here every Sunday,” you say, smiling to yourself. You watch the little boy return to his sister. She takes the ball from him and they continue their game. The smile changes. “We stopped going after my brother was born, though.”

“How come?”

You swallow. Remembering yourself, you blink out of your thoughts and flash JJ a smile. “Just new routines, I guess.”

Nodding, JJ digs about in his pocket as he talks, “me and my friends surf a lot so we’re at the beach most of the time, really. John B lives right near the marsh though so sometimes we just go out on the boat, y’know?”

You watch as he retrieves a small metal tin. He opens it to reveal a joint and lighter. Instinctively, your eyebrows raise slightly. His eyes flash to yours and he falters. “D’you mind?”

“No, no, uh…Go for it,” you say, gesturing lamely to his blunt. He doesn’t hesitate as he brings it to his lips, guarding the flame for the breeze with a cup of his hand. The smell is fruity and poignant when he takes a few starting drags. You watch the ash building on the end as if mesmerised by fire, like you’re some kind of cave person. Then you realise JJ’s offering it to you. “Oh, um…I’m good. Thanks, though.”

JJ takes another hit. “You smoke before?” You give him a look of ‘what do you think?’ JJ coughs out his vapour with a laugh. “You wanna try?”

“Um…” You hesitate, eyeing up the joint. “I don’t know. What’s it feel like?”

“Depends,” JJ replies. “Usually makes you feel relaxed. Less aware of yourself. Loosens up your shoulders, calms you down, that kind of thing. Can make you laugh too. Hungry. Talkative. Pope on weed - Jesus Christ - you should see him. It’s like he took speed or something. He won’t shut the hell up, for once.”

You smile, having a vague memory of Pope. You went head to head with him at a spelling bee back in Middle School. He always seemed like a nice guy. Intelligent, too; he definitely gave you a run for your money that day.

“Can you have a bad trip?” you wonder, curious. JJ shrugs.

“Sometimes. I’ve only had a couple. Mostly depends on what state of mind you’re in before you take it, or if it’s a bad batch. Smoking’s the best way to start, though. You stop smoking and it’s out of your system a faster than if you have an edible. With an edible, you’re in it for the ride, y’know?”

“Hm,” you hum in deliberation.

“It’s safe. I mean, it’s legal in a bunch of places now,” JJ reassures.

Snorting, you say, “that means nothing! Cigarettes are legal too, don’t stop them from giving you cancer.”

Rolling his eyes, amused, JJ replies, “can you just not overthink everything for one second? Look, I ain’t gonna pressure you into anything, but I think it could help. Especially if you’re feeling a bit overwhelmed, like you said.”

He doesn’t press it any further and you don’t ask more questions. The two of you sit for a couple minutes before you find yourself reaching out to take the joint. JJ’s happy to oblige. You bring it to your lips, heart beating nervously in your chest, and you hesitate. Looking at him, you ask, “how’d I do this, again?”

“Just bring it up and inhale,” he says, mimicking for you. “Try and hold it in for a bit and then exhale. Don’t freak if you cough. Most people do, first time.”

Murmuring an ‘okay’, you swallow your anxieties before following JJ’s instructions. The air gets caught in your lungs and throat and you splutter out a cough. JJ laughs lightly as you do and you flip him off, smiling despite your hacking. Once it’s passed, you take a few more drags, getting better with every attempt.

“Now what?” You ask, handing it back. “Should I feel something?”

Laughing, JJ leans back on his elbows. “Relax. You’ll start to feel it in a minute. Might need a few more hits.”

“Alright,” you say. You shadow his posture. A thought occurs that has you giggling. JJ quirks a brow, curious. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just…I’ve only ever had, like, one glass of wine at Christmas and Thanksgiving. Just a bit new.”

“Aw, man, don’t say that,” JJ groans, tossing his head back. “That makes it sound like I corrupted your ass or some shit.”

Sniggering, you can’t help but glance at him and tease, “maybe you did.”

The look JJ returns hits somewhere new inside of you.

Turning to your bag, you dig for your bottle of water. Leo’s toy car tumbles out onto the sand. “Shit,” you mutter, picking up and dusting off the grains.

“What’s that?” JJ asks.

You turn and show him the broken car. He takes it from you and studies it as you tell him, “it’s my little brother’s. He was asking me to fix it but I don’t even know where to start with that kind of thing. It’s meant to move, see?”

JJ nods, looking at the motor you point to. He turns it over in his hands, inspects some parts, before announcing, “I can fix this.”

“What?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s pretty simple, really. Just need to fix this part here,” he points at somewhere on the car, “and then change out the batteries, glue a few things, and should be good as new.”

“For real?”

“Sure,” JJ shrugs. He smiles at you. His eyes are blue, decorated with green flecks. You smile back. A fuzzy feeling builds in your chest. Your eyes dart down to his lips. They probably taste like seltzer and cannabis. He probably tastes like seltzer and cannabis.

A scream has you both jumping, drawing your attention away from JJ. You look across the beach to find a kid screeching with laughter, screaming as their dad chases them through the wake of the water. You smile. In your peripheral, you see JJ smiling too. Maybe you had him wrong. Maybe the two of you can actually get along. Perhaps even be friends, of sorts.

As the rest of the day stretches on, you and JJ pass stories and tell jokes. You churn up hilarious theories and stories about fellow beach goers as you smoke your way through his joint. The weed takes effect after a few minutes of smoking, like promised, and you get the giggles over something JJ says. You like his laugh. It’s bright and youthful, yet still somehow raspy. He gets rather philosophical when he’s high. Starts spewing ideas about the universe and fate and plans. That opens up a path to talk about daydreams and castles in the air. Fantasies of lives with high grossing jobs and Kook-sized homes and vacations every month. As the hours pass by and the topics come and go, you find yourself free from thoughts of studying and cleaning and cooking and caring for others outside of yourself. You find yourself present and in the moment for maybe the first time ever. That to say, when JJ eventually drives you home, the sun finally beginning to set, your heart deflates with the thought that the day is almost over. That you’re going to have to get out of the car and say goodbye to him, even if it’s for a week.

The Sixth Lesson

JJ never thought that the day might come when he enjoys school. However, whenever Wednesday rolls around, this wave of energy washes over him, putting some pep in his steps like he’s in a Saturday special. Mr Sunn’s classroom had become this sanctuary; this garden of Eden that only you and JJ knew about. You had this way of explaining things that made it click for JJ. It was if you were a translator, taking complex terms and working them into analogies that fit into JJ’s head. You showed him tricks to keep notes which saved his paper from becoming a stressful, confusing mess of scribbles. You recognised his need for taking breaks, splitting up sessions with stories, taking the chance to show him memes that your friend Esme had sent you. There was a sweetness to you, underneath the bossy, business-like exterior JJ was first met with. And with that sweetness came JJ’s sudden realisation that you’re really fucking beautiful.

He’s not sure why he didn’t notice it at first. Maybe he did, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. He was too busy cursing you for taking up his summer vacation. But now that’s noticed, he can’t unsee it. It’s like watching a movie and realising your favourite actor is in it; they take all the attention. And you took most of JJ’s, during your tutor sessions. He’d steal glances when he was reading through worksheets or filling pop quizzes. Snippets of your head bent forward, reading, your glasses slowly slipping down your nose until you push them back up. Glasses suited you. Framed your cherub face. Your laugh was melodic; tuneful like you were singing. But your lips might have been JJ’s favourite thing about you. You’d gnaw at them, chewing on them when you concentrated. You’d pamper them with lip gloss and balm, making them taste like strawberry or raspberry or cherry cola. A flavour JJ dreamt of licking off. On the downside, it made his already ADHD-ridden mind even harder to concentrate on the work.

“You done?”

“Hm?”

“You finished with the quiz?” you ask, nodding down to his papers. You’d caught him looking at you and assumed he was finished.

“Almost,” JJ says, glancing back at his answers to remind himself where he was. “Kinda stuck on this one though.”

“Which one?” you wonder, leaning across the table to have a look. JJ points at it and does his best to look at your face and not your cleavage as you read the question. But he has to steal a glance. Fuck. You smell fucking delectable. In a truly desperate and pathetic strain of thought, he considers asking what perfume you wear so he could spray his pillows with it. Jesus Christ, get a grip. It’s terrifying, the hold you have on him by doing so little. It’s like you have a voodoo doll stashed in your tote bag; potions that you drip into his water. It’s the only explanation. JJ Maybank has never been pussy whipped for a pussy that he hasn’t even seen. I guess you really do learn stuff at school.

“Okay, so,” you say, sitting back in your seat. You push your glasses up your nose: it’s adorable. “You remember learning about adaptation, right? Like how animals change themselves–”

“--to fit in with their environment and survive, yeah,” JJ finishes, surprising himself with how easily he plucks that knowledge from his memory. Your smile is beautiful, full of pride.

“Right. Exactly. So, if you think about a camel - like the question says, yeah? - and where they live, why would they need to store water in their humps?”

JJ looks down at the paper and reviews the picture of the camel. “They live in the desert,” he thinks aloud, watching you nod in her peripheral vision, “so there’s not much water. So they need to store water so they don’t become…thirsty?”

“Another word for thirsty?”

“Dehydrated?”

“Yes!” you grin. “Yes, that’s it.”

JJ laughs despite himself, shaking his head as he writes the answer down. “Never thought there’d be a day when I’m actually decent at school but here we are.”

“Well, never thought there’d be a day when I smoke a joint,” you counter teasingly. JJ flashes you his smile. “Alright, come on. We got ten more minutes. Finish the quiz.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it, brown nose,” JJ mutters, sniggering when you flip him off. He fills in another answer before stealing another glance. You’re reading. Focusing intently on the page, knees brought up near your chest, book resting on the back of your thighs. “How’s the book?”

You look at him, visibly debate telling him to focus on his work, before answering. “It’s good. It’s the third in the series.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s a fantasy. The usual stuff: witches and elves and stuff like that. Dragons, sometimes.”

“Fancy,” JJ mumbles, returning his attention to the paper. “Read something out-loud from it.”

You don’t say anything. Frowning, JJ’s eyes dart up to you. You’re staring at the page, clearly not reading. He starts to smirk, bemused. “What? Why don’t you read something?”

“It’s just, uh…Pretty boring, y’know?”

“Mhm,” JJ hums, unconvinced. He waits until you’re distracted before he quickly swipes the book from out of your hands. You shriek, jumping out of your seat.

“Give it back, JJ! Give it!”

“Come on! Just wanna see what you’re reading!”

“No!” you screech, chasing after him. The two of you perform some sort of dance around the tables of the classroom, white walls bright in the sunlight streaming through the wall of windows. JJ steps up onto one of the cabinets and holds the book high above his head, open on the page so he can read. You helplessly hop up and down below him, trying to swipe it from him. Through his laughter, it takes a moment to stop shaking and focus on the words. JJ begins to read. Then his eyebrows raise so high he’s surprised they don’t fly off his forehead.

“Holy shit!” he sniggers.

“JJ! Give me the book now, Goddamnit,” you demand, returning to the version he knew of you from week one.

He loses control a little when he comes, his grunts deep and unusually rough, his grip viselike, and she feels his orgasm course through her as if it were her own. She sucks him gently through the end of it, and when she looks up at him she’s wet and swollen and she feels empty, trembling, a messy lump on the floor.

“Open your mouth,” he rasps.

She blinks up at him, confused. He cups her cheek.

“I want you to open your mouth and show me.”

She complies, and the sound he makes, possessive and hungry and pleased at last, travels through her like a wave. He massages the back of her neck while she swallows, his thumb caressing her jaw, and when she smiles up–

The book is suddenly ripped from JJ’s hands. He’s in hysterics, doubling over, grabbing at his knees.

“Holy shit! That’s insane, I had no idea people wrote shit like that,” he manages out through gasps of air. But when he looks at you, his humour quickly fizzles out. You’re closing the book, eyes downcast, visibly upset. “Hey, shit, I was just messing around, okay? I didn’t mean to–”

You turn and walk back to your bag, shoving the book inside of it. JJ jumps down and follows, grabbing your wrist to get your attention. You reluctantly look up at him. Tears tease your waterline. Shit.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft, “I’m sorry. I was just messing ‘round. I just didn’t think books had stuff like that in them.”

“Yeah, well, they do,” you say, tugging your arm free and crossing them over your chest. “Didn’t have to be a douchebag ‘bout it.”

“That’s fair,” JJ hums, nodding. “M’sorry. Is it, uh…Is it good? Y’know? Book-porn?”

That has your lips quirking upwards. He smiles too. Rolling your eyes, you mumble, “it’s pretty good, yeah.”

“Yeah? I mean, seems pretty detailed,” JJ remarks, recalling the paragraph he read. You laugh quietly, shrugging.

“It is. That’s what girls like ‘bout it, y’know? It’s more focused on the girl. About her…y’know, pleasure and stuff.”

JJ hums, thinking. It seems like more work to him than just putting on porn or even finding someone to hook up with, but considering what he’s learnt about you, it makes sense that you prefer it. As the two of you return to your respective seats, and JJ returns to his quiz, his mind can’t help but wander. Did you have a boyfriend? A girlfriend? Did you hook-up with people whenever you felt like it, like he did, or were you a one-person kind of girl? Were you a virgin? JJ warily lets his eyes wash over you. You’ve given up on reading and are now scribbling on some print-out, probably preparing next week’s class. Your head is propped up in one hand, the end of the pencil pressed against your lips. His eyes trail down your face, over your chest, lingering. It was hard to get a read on you. He felt like you were either one of two extremes: a virgin, perhaps never been kissed, or a hardcore freak. He wasn’t sure which he liked more. Probably both. Either. Any. If JJ had his chance with you though…Holy shit. He wouldn’t let you out of bed for hours. He’d show you things you didn’t know, make you feel things that you’d only ever read about and daydreamed in the darkness of your bedroom. He’d have you screaming, close to tears, desperate to come again and again and–

“That’s time.”

JJ quickly focuses on the page, reads the last question, and ticks a random box. Clearing his throat, washing his thoughts away down the gutter, he sits back in his seat. You take the test from him and read over it. JJ watches you nervously, teeth nibbling at his lips, as you start to mark. For the first time in his life, he cares about this quiz. It isn’t a mock exam, doesn’t hold any real weight, but he’d like some proof that maybe he’s worth a shit. Maybe his brain isn’t a complete waste of space in his skull. Maybe, just maybe, JJ might be smart.

“Jury’s in,” you say, a mischievous glint in your eyes. You hold the paper back out to him, face down, and JJ eyes it nervously. “Go on.”

Sighing, he takes it and flips it over. His eyes quickly scan over the ticks and cross before honing in on the numbers outlined in a neat red circle. His lips part. “Eight out of ten?”

“Yep.”

“Eight out of ten?” he checks, meeting your eyes.

“Well, if you want to be really harsh with yourself, it’s more like 7.5 because I gave you that hint with the adaptation-camel thing, but everything else was all you,” you smile, nodding.

JJ can’t help but laugh in disbelief. He feels like he just passed his SATs. And if it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t have gotten hardly one answer right. He wouldn’t have even tried. As if reading his mind, you gently remark, “you’re smarter than you think, JJ. Just gotta believe in yourself.”

“That’s the corniest shit you’ve ever said,” JJ snorts. But the look he gives you speaks volumes. Speaks of his thanks. You smile back, pretty like a magnolia in May, and JJ is petrified by the way his heart yearns.

The First Warning

“Whose turn is it?”

“Who’d you think?”

“Girl, she’s barely looked away from her phone.”

“Yo!”

Fingers snap in front of your face. You jump then frown at Esme. “The hell was that for?”

“It’s your turn, dipshit,” she playful replies, rolling her eyes.

“Oh. Sorry,” you mutter, turning off your phone. You ditch it beside you on the sofa and lean forward, grabbing the dice. They clatter against the vinyl board, bouncing over colourful squares and claimed buildings. “Alright, seven.”

As you move your counter around the Monopoly board, your phone buzzes with another message. Eyes drifting over to the screen, your lips instinctively twitch when you read JJ’s name. Esme narrows her eyes at you in suspicion and, quick as a cat, grabs for your phone.

“Esme! Give it!”

“Who are you texting so much?” she wonders. Lily and Palma giggle, scooching in to gather around the screen. You roll your eyes. These were your closest friends, you didn’t much mind if they found out - which they were bound to, considering Esme knew your passcode. Her voice isn’t particularly happy when she asks, “JJ?”

Rolling your eyes, you take your phone back and scan over the messages.

“Oh no.”

You look over the top of your phone and meet Esme’s eyes. You know that look. “Esme, it’s not like that.”

“You like him.”

“Esme–”

“You have a crush on JJ Maybank,” she announces. Lily and Palma gasp like they’re in a courtroom drama.

Shaking your head, you laugh as you say, “can you not use the word ‘crush’? Makes us sound like we’re in junior high.”

“Girl, this is serious,” Esme warns, shifting on the sofa so she’s facing you head on. “This is JJ Maybank we’re talking about here. Need I remind you who he is?”

“Fuckboy?” Lily offers.

“Asshole,” Palma chimes in.

“How about surprisingly nice person who is also really freaking hot?” you give as a rebuttal.

“Are we forgetting what he did to you?” Esme wonders, genuinely alarmed by your change of tune. “I mean, not more than a month ago he was enemy number one and now, what? You’re sending him cute little dad-jokes?”

“He’s not like what I thought, a’right? He’s actually pretty sweet,” you meekly reply.

“Wait, what did he do to you?” Lily asks, frowning.

You roll your eyes. “Literally nothing.”

“Nothing? You cried in the bathroom stalls for, like, twenty minutes!”

“It was ten minutes, and that was over a year ago,” you argue. “Jesus, you’re acting like he skinned my cat or something.”

“Hello!” Palma interrupts, throwing up her arms. Her cornrows sway off her shoulders as she asks, “are either of you going to tell me and Lily what he did?”

Sighing, you force yourself back to English class last year.

“I’ve got to say, guys. Not your finest hour,” the teacher, Mrs Halls, remarks as she paces the aisles of the classroom. You chew nervously on your lower lip. You’d spent hours studying for this test; even pulled an all nighter just to cram in as much content as possible. You’ve read Romeo and Juliet enough times to recount almost every line. Recited the sonnets in your sleep as if you’d written them yourself.

As she makes her way between the desks, your foot thrums against the vinyl flooring. To your left, she delivers a quiz paper onto a desk. JJ Maybank’s desk. He was hardly ever in class. Sometimes he’d get up and leave halfway through and not bother coming back. You’d never shared a word.

“Poor work, Mr Maybank. I want you to see me after class,” Mrs Halls berates. JJ tugs off his cap and runs his fingers through his hair, huffing, rocking back in his seat.

Then, your test sheet is returned to you. “Nice job. Top of the class - as always,” Mrs Halls tells you proudly, finishing with a wink. You smile, relieved, satisfied, and look back down at the neat A+ staring up at you. But your joy is short lived. JJ snorts, scoffs more like, and you glance over at him.

“Fuckin’ virgin.”

The girl behind him overhears, as does the boy in front, and they both snigger underbreath. Your face burns hot and your eyes dart back down to your paper, head hanging with shame. Tears sting your eyes and you try desperately not to let them fall. And they don’t, at least not until you’re out of class and in the bathrooms with Esme.

Lily and Palma’s sympathy is palpable. You roll your eyes. “Look, who cares? He was probably pissed with himself and took it out on someone else.”

“Oh, yeah, so I really want you to catch feelings for a guy like that - y’know, now that you’ve put it that way,” Esme sardonically replies.

Sighing, you reach out and meddle with your game token. “I’m not stupid, okay? I don’t like JJ like that. There’s no point. So, you don’t gotta worry ‘bout anything.”

Guys like JJ Maybank did not go out with girls like you. It was as simple as the alphabet. The maths was easy: he was a commitment-phobe, heartthrob with a craving for adrenaline and adventure; and you were a rule-abiding, goody-two-shoes with an affinity for a good book and cup of tea. Hell, you’d smoked your first joint for the first time a few weeks ago and had your first casual drink outside of a holiday celebration. Skipping class was practically a religion to JJ whereas just the thought made you feel sick. The two of you were opposites, and whilst it might be true for magnets, the world of romance was quite a different story. It may attract, but that doesn’t mean it’s viable.

But despite the logic, you knew you were lying. You had fallen for him, hard and fast. How could you not? He was funny and charming and attractive. He had a tenderness that he hid beneath the surface, like a tortoise cocooned in a shell. There was a sweetness to JJ, the kind that made the memory of his cruel remark feel false. But Esme’s disapproval and your own insecurity were poignant. You don’t text JJ back for the rest of the night.

The Ninth Lesson

Since that day on the beach, you have never been late for another tutoring session. Now that JJ had made friends with you, if either of you were running late, you’d send a text message and the whole thing would be put to rest. That to say, when you were late to the session by an entire hour, JJ knew something must be wrong. You hadn’t replied to a single message he’d sent. Forgetting things was not your style, especially your tutoring sessions with JJ. He hadn’t outright asked, but something told the blonde haired boy that you enjoyed his company as much as he enjoyed yours. He wasn’t blind. He’d seen you taking peaks at him during the lessons the same way he did with you. As arrogant as he could be with his looks, JJ knew you weren’t like the others girls who fell at his feet. You were complex, contradicting, and chemical.

The debate to go to your house is brief in JJ’s head. He’s given you several rides home after tutoring. The drive was always something he looked forward to, as well. You had a similar taste in music and the conversation flowed like a fresh water spring. It’s starting to feel second nature when JJ takes a left onto your street. You don’t live in Figure Eight but it’s a nicer area than where JJ resides. Somewhat of a middle ground, your neighbourhood is something of a suburban dreamscape. Children play in the streets and some front lawns even have sprinklers, when the drought isn’t around.

JJ parks outside your door and sighs, checking his appearance in the rearview mirror. He fixes his hair under his cap and checks his teeth. God knows when that started becoming a habit. Then he’s hopping out the Twinkie and wandering up to your front door, hands in pockets. He raps gently on the red painted wood and waits patiently. He glances up and down the street and rocks on his heels. The door swings open and JJ turns, jumping into his introduction before he has a chance to see who it is.

“Hey, I was wonderin’–” When he comes face to face with nothing, his head tilts down to find a little boy looking up at him. JJ’s breath catches in his throat. The child’s face is disfigured. It isn’t ugly and it isn’t horrifying in any way, but it is enough to notice. Enough to have a person take pause. JJ tries not to stare at the strange patching of skin and the protrusions of flesh. Instead, he ducks down so they’re more level at the eye. “Hey little buddy. Your sister home?”

He’s visibly nervous. “My sissy?”

“Yeah. Your sissy home?”

“Mhm,” he nods. He glances behind him, down the hallway, then back to JJ. “Are you her boyfriend?”

JJ eyes widen slightly. “Oh, uh, nah, little dude. Just someone she’s helping out.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, could you do me a solid, little man, and go get her for me?” JJ wonders. The little boy studies him for a moment. His eyes don’t seem to focus, one tracking a little slower than the other. JJ waits patiently.

“Why aren’t you her boyfriend?”

“Well, that’s a pretty long story,” JJ chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Are you a surfer?” With that, the little boy points at JJ’s t-shirt. It’s one of his graphic tees from a local surf shop in town. Grinning, JJ nods.

“Yeah, I sure am. Are you a surfer?”

“Sissy won’t let me,” he replies through mumbled words. He rubs at his arm, one hand still holding tight to the door handle. “Says it’s dangerous.”

“It can be,” JJ replies. “Pretty dope though. I bet you’d make a cool surfer.”

“Leo, I’ve told you before to pick up your toys when you’re finished playing!” Your voice comes from some far room in the house. JJ glances over (what must be) Leo’s shoulder to spot you walking into frame. You look pretty frazzled, clearly working through some sort of mental checklist. “Leo?”

“Here, sissy,” Leo calls back. Your head turns and you notice your brother first, then the open door, and then JJ. Visibly startled, your lips part. Hurrying over, you lay a protective hand on your brother’s head, taking the door in your hand.

“JJ. What are you doing here?”

“You, uh, didn’t come to the school so I wanted to check you were a’right,” JJ explains, raising back to his full height. “Little dude here said you were home so…”

“Sissy,” Leo says, tugging on your t-shirt. You glance down at him and this smile comes over your face that reminds JJ of a warm blanket. “Is this your boyfriend?”

“Oh, uh,” you’re flustered, glancing quickly at JJ before returning your focus to your brother. “No, honey. This is just, uh, a friend that I’ve been tutoring.”

“Oh,” Leo says. He tugs at your shirt again. “Sissy?”

“Yes, Leo,” you say with undying patience.

“You should ask him to be your boyfriend,” Leo tells you. The two of you manage to hold back your laughs.

“Really? Why’s that?”

“He’s a surfer. Said I could be a surfer too,” Leo says.

“Oh did he now?” you wonder, looking up at JJ. He smiles apologetically. Oops. Shaking your head, you recall what JJ said prior to Leo’s interruption. “Wait, what’d you mean I wasn’t at school? Class isn’t ‘til one.”

“Yeah…It’s nearly three in the afternoon, now.”

Alarmed, you grab at your phone and groan. It’s dead. JJ shows you his. Your horror is borderline hilarious. “Shit, I’m so sorry, I don’t even…God, I just lost track of time. Um…Come in, actually. Come in.”

You and Leo make space for JJ to walk through the doorway. He closes it behind him. Leo grabs quickly at JJ’s shirt and pulls him with surprising strength through the hallway and into the living room.

“Look, look!” Leo exclaims, grabbing at any and all toys in sight. One is familiar to JJ when he takes it in his hand. It’s the toy car he fixed for him. His eyes drift to yours to find you watching everything unfold with a strange expression on your face. Something tells JJ that this is a little overwhelming for you. He’s amicable when he places the car back down on the floor.

“Listen, little dude, those are some sick-ass toys. But I really need to start this lesson with your sister, huh? Maybe we could play some other time?”

“Teach me to surf,” Leo seemingly demands. Your face falls.

“Leo, honey, we’re not learning to surf today,” you gently say.

Leo looks between yourself and JJ and his face begins to contort. His lips tremble and your eyes slant with concern. His fists clench at his sides and he stamps his feet.

“Teach me to surf! Teach me to surf! I want to surf!” Leo shouts. His hands begin to thump against the sides of his head and you rush over, dropping to your knees.

“JJ, can you wait in the kitchen please?”

JJ does as he’s asked, quickly leaving the room, overhearing your pleading with your little brother. Through the muffled door, he can follow some of the conversation despite his trying not to. He occupies himself by looking at pictures on the wall and on the fridge. A drawing that Leo must have done - of him on a surfboard - and a picture of you and him from Christmas. You look sweet like cinnamon in your reindeer pyjamas. There’s an impressive collection of report cards and certificates and rewards, all addressed to you. A framed photo on the wall has JJ taking pause. The man in the frame is striking in similarity to you. He’s dressed in army formals, staring stoically ahead before a grey background. The ones around it are more casual. A family vacation. You in the marching band (so he was right, you did used to do that). The infamous spelling bee victory.

“How ‘bout this: tomorrow, me and you go to the beach together, huh? Sound fair?” your voice creeps through the walls.

“Sissy take me to the beach tomorrow?”

“Yes. Sissy take you to the beach tomorrow,” you say. The relief is evident in your voice. JJ cracks the kitchen door open, sensing an end to the conversation. “How ‘bout you tidy up your toys whilst I hang out with my friend, hm? Sound fair?”

“M’kay.”

“Gimme a hug.”

JJ catches your embrace through the crack of the half-closed door. He smiles to himself. He’s never seen this version of you. It’s like you’ve transformed into a different person. When you reappear in the hallway, closing the door behind you, it’s as if you struggle to meet JJ’s eyes.

“Come on, we can study upstairs,” you say, leading the way.

Your bedroom is not how JJ imagined it. Parts of it are - the Jellycats and the candles and the motivational quotes on the wall - but he’s startled by how little possessions you have. There’s not a lot of books, like he was expecting, and your bed is simple with a duvet and two pillows. Your desk is a mess: papers and pens and highlighters and sticky notes. JJ closes the door behind him as you clear some clothes off your bed.

“Sorry I forgot,” you say as you clean. “I had to sort out Leo’s dinner and he’s decided that he doesn’t like pizza now, he only likes dinosaur nuggets. And they have to be dinosaur shaped, or else all hell breaks loose. And then the laundry needed doing cause my mom needs her scrubs and–”

You stand upright and sigh, bringing your hands to your face. If JJ wasn’t in your family home, he’d offer you a joint. Instead, he stands and waits, unsure whether he should hug you or not. You haven’t crossed that line yet, although somehow standing in your bedroom feels miles more intimate. Another steadying breath and you’re pulling your hands from your face, fixing your glasses.

“Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?” JJ frowns.

“Y’know. For being nice to Leo,” you reply, gesturing to your door.

JJ’s frown deepens. “Course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just sometimes people can be…” You shake your head, drop onto your bed, and sigh loudly. “Assholes. They can be real assholes. Kids especially. Which, fair enough, they’re kids, but come on.”

JJ chuckles quietly. He sits beside you on your bed, sinking into the plush comforter. “He’s a cool kid. And I honestly don’t mind teaching him to surf. Might be cool to have a little apprentice.”

You laugh at that, smiling at him. “A little protege?”

“Sure,” JJ shrugs, not fully knowing what that word means. He wants to tell you how pretty you look right now, despite being a little flustered from rushing around. You’re clearly busy. Busy in a way JJ didn’t know about and could never relate to. The question catches in his throat. It doesn’t feel appropriate to ask but it’s hard to keep it at bay for long. “Can I ask…What…What is it?”

You take a small breath before replying, looking down at your hands. “It’s a few things, really. Doctors aren’t even sure they can give it one name. He’s neurodivergent, so he likes routine and familiarity. Emotions are pretty big for him. They can be hard to manage. He’s getting better at compromise, though, which is nice. Uh…There’s also something developmental there. He’s nine, but he acts more like he’s seven, and his language is more at that stage too. He’s smart though. Really bright. The kids at school aren’t always so nice so sometimes I give him lessons, to help, y’know, bridge those gaps.”

JJ listens intently, nodding. Rolling your shoulders back, you let out a relieved sigh. He wonders if you’ve ever spoken to someone about this stuff before. If you have someone to lean on, vent to. He imagines Esme might fill that role to some degree.

“The physical stuff…That’s because of a gene. Well, two genes, that my mom and dad both had, and it was luck of the draw. In another life, in another world, I would look like him. He had a shitton of surgery when he was little so he could breathe better, talk better, look better. Some helped home with mobility too. His tongue, uh…was too big for his mouth? They had to sort of…reduce it? It was a rough few years. Mom had to pick up extra shifts to get better health insurance and help cover the bills. My dad was in the forces and he’s deployed a lot. He is right now, in fact. I guess I learnt how to grow up fast.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head, and meet JJ’s eyes. “I feel like I’m five different people. Sometimes more. I have to be the sister, and the daughter, and the mom, at times. I have to be the best friend and the star student. And then, I have to be the teenager. Even though most of the time I feel like a mini adult, trying to keep everything in order. I don’t know, maybe that’s why I’m so neurotic. Shit, I’m probably a psyche major’s dream case study.”

JJ laughs along with you but the words hang heavy in the air and in his heart. He could relate, though, to some of it. “I get it.”

“You don’t have to say that,” you solemnly reply, smiling sadly.

JJ shakes his head. “No, I really get it. A bit, anyway. Having to grow up fast. Being different people.”

It feels empty to leave it at that, like faux empathy to defuse an awkward situation. Sighing, JJ’s fingers meddle with a stray thread on your duvet cover. “My dad’s in and out of trouble a lot. Jailtime and stuff, y’know? I learnt pretty fast that if I didn’t wanna go hungry, I gotta fend for myself more. Started working. Started stealing. Just had to survive, right?”

You nod sadly. ‘I’m sorry’ falls silently from your lips as you offer him a smile, and JJ’s heart drops down through his ribcage, into his stomach, because nobody has ever looked at him like that before. Looked at him as if they can see right through him. Through the facade and into his soul, into his mind. Look at him like they understand him. It’s terrifying. JJ’s throat feels tight and dry and his brain feels full. Butterflies tickle at his intestines as his eyes slowly, slowly, fall to your lips. It feels like a temptation when your tongue darts out to wet them, your teeth rolling over your lower lip, and he wonders what lip balm you’re wearing today. He wonders what you’ll taste like.

JJ isn’t sure which one of you begins to move first, but soon enough, he can feel your breath on his lips. When his mouth presses to yours, his eyes sink shut and his heart nearly explodes from how fast it’s beating. Your fingers slip over the top of his hand as if holding him in place, keeping him close. JJ’s head tilts and so does yours, and you deepen the kiss. You taste like cherry cola. Cherry cola and lemonade. You sigh against him and one of JJ’s hands comes up to your cheek, fingers tracing the soft skin before cupping your jaw, guiding your movements with his. Your own hand creeps further up his hand, along his arm, until it’s looping over his shoulder, keeping him near. It’s sighs and hums and pure, simple pleasure as the two of you make-out. It’s never like this. Never this patient, exploring, wading through the waters, finding out what little move makes the other person react. The brush of teeth on lower lips, the shadow of tongues dancing against one another. JJ’s used to fast and fiery, rushing to get to the next part. This, right here, feels like JJ could kiss you forever and never once grow tired.

The two of you are so consumed in one another that neither hears your mothers voice down the hall. It isn’t until a floorboard creaks just outside your door that you’re springing away from him, wide eyed. JJ’s still in a daze when the door swings open. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and JJ strategically sits so his crotch isn’t in view.

“Honey have you–” Your mom’s words die on her tongue. JJ musters up some courage to look over to the doorway to find a blank expression on her face. “You’re not one of my kids.”

“No, uh, mom this is the guy I was telling you about. The guy that I’m tutoring, I mean,” you stumble through your words, gesturing to JJ. He gives a nod and tense smile.

“Hiya, ma’am.”

“Ugh, don’t call me ma’am when I’m not on duty,” your mom groans, rubbing tiredly at her forehead. You chuckle and JJ realises it’s a joke, faking a laugh of his own. Then her eyes narrow as she looks between the two of you. “Tutoring, huh?”

“Yeah, uh, your daughter’s been helping me get my grades up over the summer. Mr Sunn hired her, actually. It’s all legit,” JJ reels off. Her eyebrows raise.

“Okay, well…Sure. If you say so,” she says. She doesn’t sound particularly convinced. Her eyes train back onto you. “What I was gonna ask was, did you wash my scrubs?”

“Yeah. They’re in the dryer right now. Should be good to go in an hour.”

“Perfect,” she sighs, relieved. “Oh, and Leo?”

“He’s had his dinner. I had to run to the shops cause I thought he liked the unicorn shaped nuggets but it’s actually the dinosaur shaped ones, and we didn’t have any of those.”

“Nuggets? I thought he liked pizza. Thought he hated nuggets?”

“No, no, he’s done a complete one-eighty. Decided yesterday that nuggets are the new meaning of life; pizza is out,” you explain with a too-cheery laugh.

“You said you bought some? How much were they?” Your mom worries, but you brush her off. She rubs at her head and laughs self-deprecating. “Jeez, some mom I am, huh? Can’t even remember what my own kids like to eat.”

Before you can say anything, she’s plastering on a smile and reaching for the door handle. It seems as though she just woke up from a nap. “Alright, well, I’m gonna get ready for work. You kids, uh, have fun…studying.”

“Thanks mom,” you smile, nodding.

She begins to close the door, but lingers when it’s a crack open. “And use protection.”

“Mom!” The door slams shut. Groaning, mortified, you drop your head in your hands. “Sorry ‘bout her.”

“She seems nice,” JJ chuckles. Shaking your head, you look up at him.

“Don’t indulge her,” you say jokingly. The smiles linger on your faces as you look at one another. JJ wants to kiss you again. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to be able to think about anything else now that he knows what you taste like. Those fantasies are back, the ones he shoved down in a box, and he wants to fulfill all of them. But you’re back to your usual ways: duty-focused. Getting to your feet, you slap your hands together. “Alright! Lesson time! Let’s start with…Romeo and Juliet.”

“Are you going to the kegger on Friday?” JJ asks out of the blue.

You look over to him from your desk, where you’re flitting through the impressive stack of papers. “Kegger? What kegger?”

“This kegger on Friday. Meant to be a good one. Down at the boneyard.”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, turning back to the papers. “I’ve never been to one before. Wouldn’t even know what to do.”

“Come find me and I can show you,” is JJ’s suave reply. You snigger, rolling your eyes. “I mean it. It’d do you good to get to wear the ‘teenager’ hat or whatever you called it.”

Sighing, you venture back to him with the worksheets for the day in your hands. “Maybe. How’s that?”

“Good enough for now,” JJ relents. Before JJ can try and make a move, you’re thrusting papers into his hands. He groans, disappointed, and you only pretend not to care.

“Okay, so: Romeo and Juliet. We all know what a shitshow that was…”

The First Kegger

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You look it.” You toss a Jellycat at Esme’s head. “Hey!”

“That’s not very supportive of you,” you mutter, glancing at the mirror. You fiddle with the hem of the skirt and try to shimmy it further down your legs. It feels ridiculously short and revealing. God help you if you drop anything, there’s no way in hell you can bend over to pick it up.

“Why’d I be supportive of this? You’re going to a kegger purely to appease the patriarchal nightmare that is JJ Maybank.”

“You don’t have to use his full name every time, y’know?” You reply, choosing to ignore her complaint.

“Girl, this ain’t you.”

“It might be me. I can go to keggers.”

“Sure, okay, go to keggers - that don’t mean you have to cosplay as somebody else,” Esme sighs. She gets up from the bed and walks over to you. Her fingers meddle with the straps of the rather skimpy top you’re wearing. You’ll spend the whole night crossing your arms to try and cover your chest. Meeting your gaze, she sighs once more and takes a step back. “Look, if you really think this thing with JJ Maybank has legs then at least be yourself. I thought we agreed that as feminist women we wouldn’t conform to society’s brainwashing of what an attractive, ideal woman is.”

“You’re giving me a headache,” you mutter. But as you glance back in the mirror, you can’t help but agree. This isn’t you. The skirt, the top: it feels unnatural. Wordlessly, you walk over to your dresser and dig about through the drawers. The outfit that replaces the ‘hot-girl starter kit’ eases your anxiety in a second. An adorable skort and crochet style cropped sweater that sits pretty over a tank top. Yes, that’s more like it. Esme seems to agree, as she nods approvingly from the bed where she’s taken purchase once again. The reflection you’re met with smiles back at you. But then the thought of actually going to the kegger makes reality weigh heavy. “I don’t know…Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

“You look cute. It might be fun, you never know,” Esme shrugs.

Sighing, you flop down on your bed beside her and stare up at the ceiling. The glow-in-the-dark stars you pasted there when you were thirteen have lost their shine, but they still have a dull illuminessence that feels like safety. “What if I’ve got this all wrong?”

“Didn’t you say he kissed you? How could you get that wrong?”

“I don’t know, I just…What if he’s doing it to mess with me?”

Esme thinks for a moment then groans. She sits up and huffs. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to defend this douchebag but,” she mutters, before meeting your eyes, “I think he might really be into you. And if you’re going to let some silly self-loathing stop you from being happy, then that’s pretty depressing. And sad. And pathetic.”

“Thank you,” you deadpan. She grins. You give a small smile back. “You’re right. But you know what would make this miles better?”

Realisation dawns upon her and her reaction would make it seem liek you asked her to go bungee jumping with you. Esme’s head begins to shake as yours begins to nod. “No. Nope. No way.”

“Yes! Come on, we can go together! Solidarity in numbers and all that!”

“I would do anything for you, but wingmanning you at a social event that reinforces incorrect assumptions that excessive alcohol consumption is synonymous with being cool is–”

You plaster a hand over her mouth. Glaring, you say, “shut up and get changed, will you?”

She stares at you as if challenging you to break, but you don’t. Rolling her eyes, Esme pushes your hand off her mouth and begrudgingly gets up and off the bed. Mutters and complaints fall from her mouth as she rifles through your clothes. ‘You’re lucky you’re my best friend’ is the most common.

After the time spent debating whether or not to attend, changing outfits, and convincing Esme to join you, the two of you walk up to the kegger almost three hours in. It’s bustling and boisterous. Groups of friends are scattered across the beach and the dunes. People sit on the driftwood and chat animatedly. Boys wrestle and jeer at one another near a makeshift bonfire. Girls gossip and giggle amongst themselves as they catch eyes with classmates across the way. Tourons huddle nervously together and try their best to appear at ease and at home in the boneyard. The Kooks tend to keep their distance from the Pogues, a strange invisible divide drawn in the sand. Keggers and coolers are stacked up beside some speakers, with R&B and hip-hop music thumping out across the seashore. It’s nearly completely dark outside, save for a thin line of navy just above the shoreline. The bonfire works well in illuminating the sand with a warm, orange glow.

“Holy shit,” Esme mutters. You snort. This was a first for the both of you. “This already blows.”

“The music’s pretty decent, at least,” you comment as the two of you weave through gaggles of teenagers. It seems you’re both naturally gravitating towards the keg to grab a drink. Red solo cups are stacked precariously beside the beverages and you grab one each. As Esme chatters and fills up your cups, your eyes scan the beach in search of a certain blonde haired boy. You’d texted JJ before leaving but had yet to get a response. Glancing down at your phone to double-check, you notice that the service is appalling, and sigh, pocketing the device again.

“You found him yet?”

“Nope. Holy crap, can you believe how busy it is?”

“Look out!” someone shouts. With that, you and Esme stumble back as two guys tumble in front of you onto the sand, wrestling. Esme rolls her eyes and mutters into her cup, ‘imbeciles’ before taking a sip. Your fingers nervously press into the plastic over and over as you scan the beach over and over. It’s so busy and in the darkness, it’s hard to make out faces. Everybody looks the same (save for the Kooks, who are dressed in designer threads). You and Esme find yourselves in what feels like a safe spot on the beach. Sitting on an old tree trunk, you sip at your beers and people-watch whilst discussing the gossip you knew of your classmates. It’s nice to have her company; you’d have no idea how you would have coped if you had come on your own. Checking your phone once more, there’s still no text from JJ. Just as you’re about to recommend leaving - already an hour in - Esme is suggesting to get a refill and give it a bit more time. You’d made the journey and the effort, after all.

Approaching the keg, you vaguely recognise the boy refilling his cup. Smiling, you call out, “Pope!” and watch as he startles and turns around. His smile is amicable.

“Hey! Uh…YN, right?”

“That’s the one,” you smile. The alcohol gives you a boost of social confidence, what with your tolerance so low. “You remember Esme, right?”

“How could I forget? Mathlete reigning champion,” Pope smiles at a rather smug Esme.

“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know where JJ is, would you?” Esme asks on your behalf. Your face burns hot at the directness of her question.

Pope doesn’t seem to be phased, however. He looks around as he says, “he is here somewhere. I’ve been hanging with Kie though so I lost track of him. He’ll show up.”

Esme gives you a nudge and you roll your eyes, smiling into your cup to try and hide your glee. He’s here.

“JJ says you’ve been tutoring him at Mr Sunn’s request?” Pope asks you. You nod.

“Yep. Once a week for over a month now.”

“Honestly, you deserve a medal for that. I gave up trying a long time ago,” Pope remarks joshingly.

“He’s actually doing pretty great. I think it’s making a difference.”

The rest of the conversation stretches on with Pope. You start to exchange stories from the chess team and Mathletes and Model UN and, eventually, the Spelling Bee tale comes up. Unaware of the secret vendetta Pope held against you following your victory, it’s fair to see you have a good laugh when it’s revealed. The three of you become more giddy and familiar as the conversation continues and you wonder why you and Pope had never hung over before, when you seemingly have so much in common. When Esme wanders off to go find somewhere to pee, you and Pope sit side-by-side on some driftwood and discuss the latest fantasy book you both happened to be reading.

“I gotta say, I did not see Eldmore and Scarlett getting together,” Pope tells you. You scoff, gaping at him.

“How could you not!? He was practically falling at her feet in the second book!”

“I don’t know, I just thought he had more chemistry with Mistress Londar.”

You consider this as you take another sip of your drink. You’re three beers in now and can certainly feel its effects; probably best to quit while you’re ahead. “I guess. Mistress Londar is in too deep with the alliance, though. I think it would have been too much of a conflict.”

“Maybe. Still. That one chapter when Eldmore and Scarlett…y’know…do it,” Pope’s voice trails off and the memory has you laughing. Smiling brightly at him, you’re far too excited to have the opportunity to mention JJ.

“That was the chapter I was reading when JJ stole the book from me. I think it might have scarred him for life,” you snigger.

Pope laughs, shaking his head. “The stuff he gets up to? I doubt it.”

As the laughter dies down, Pope goes to take another drink only to find his cup empty. Smiling apologetically, he rises to his feet. “I’m gonna get a refill. It was nice talking to you though. See you ‘round?”

“Sure,” you smile, nodding. With that, Pope walks away. You stay put for a moment, considering what to do. The interaction with Pope had distracted you from your search for JJ. Upon checking your phone, you realise you’d been conversing for over an hour. Oops. Esme had also vanished. You better go look for her. Getting back up, you ditch your cup and walk around the boneyard. You thought it would have started to die down with how late it was getting but, if anything, it seems busier than ever. The alcohol has your head slightly fuzzy and you concentrate on not tripping over. You’re not drunk - not by a long shot - but it’s probably best not to have any more for the night. Pulling out your phone, you try texting Esme despite the poor cell service: Where are you? When you look back up and glance around the beach, your heart stutters.

There’s JJ, as gorgeous as ever, stood talking to some random girl. He’s leaning against an abandoned, rusted watch tower, nursing a red solo cup, and staring at her as she talks. He seems to be listening rather intently to the story she’s telling, nodding his head, as her hands move as she speaks. When her fingers brush against his forearm, you suddenly feel very sick. And then, he laughs.

The tears kick in with the embarrassment and disappointment. How could you be so stupid? Of course he doesn’t want to be with you. Of course he isn’t going to change. Of course he’d want somebody else.

A hand on your back has you jumping and spinning around. Esme. You sigh in relief. She frowns at your expression, spotting the tears in your eyes.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

You shake your head and grab her hand. “Let’s just go. I wanna leave.”

“Hey, what–” Her voice trails off and you know she must have spotted JJ. You remain with your back to the interaction and try tugging on Esme’s arm to prompt her to move, but her feet are welded into the sand. “That filthy, slimy little toad of a man, I swear to God–”

“Esme, please,” you beg. Your voice cracks and gives you away. She meets your gaze. You shake your head desperately and a tear falls. “Please, I just want to leave.”

Huffing, she takes one last look at JJ talking to the girl before reluctantly appeasing you. The two of you walk down the beach, hands interlocked, and you sniffle pathetically as you try to wash the image from your mind. Why would he invite you just to get with somebody else? Why would he kiss you if he didn’t want anything? Why would he do this to you? Why? Why? Why?

Your mind jumps back to that day in the classroom. The sneer in his voice when he muttered those two words. The sniggers from the classmates that felt like elephants trampling on your chest. The shame and the embarrassment that overcame you. You were so convinced that he was a different person. That you’d merely caught him on an off day and you didn’t know him, not truly. The day at your house was so special: it felt like finding gold in the attic. Nobody had ever seen your life up close apart from Esme. Not even Lily or Palma. Nobody had ever met your brother apart from Esme, either. Had heard your fears and anxieties and seen your exhaustion not once, but twice. You’d trusted him. You let him into your home and gave him a snapshot of your life and you thought he understood. But you must have thought wrong.

Esme doesn’t try to spark a conversation as the two of you walk back to your house. She gives you a long, lingering hug at your front door before bidding you goodnight. Slipping into the house, you keep your footsteps light and your cries quiet as you make your way up the stairs. Your mom’s bedroom door is shut and you can hear her snoring through the walls. Leo’s bedroom door is open by a crack and you wipe your tears and sneak inside. He’s lying in his bed, bundled up in his dinosaur bed sheets, cuddling his stuffy. He looks so peaceful like this. So safe from other children’s whispers and other parent’s horrified stares. So safe from the world and its cruelty. The cruelty that you were exposed to tonight. Ducking down beside him, you brush your hand lightly over his hair and press a kiss to his forehead. Climbing into bed has never felt like such a relief before now.

The Final Lesson

You haven’t texted JJ since the kegger on Friday. His message he sent last night went without a response but JJ’s sure you read it. He was clarifying that the lesson was still on for today, in the usual spot in school. At your lack of response, JJ simply assumed that it was routine as always, and packed up his backpack for his lesson. He isn’t sure how to explain it, but when JJ passes through the threshold of the building, something feels off. It’s as if the air is thick like molasses, study and heavy, pushing against his throat. A bizarre feeling of unease washes over him with every step he takes. The classroom door is shut and JJ pushes it open, finding you sat at the desk. Your head is down and you’re reading something laid out in front of you. There’s less paperwork than usual stacked by your side. You don’t look up or smile at him as JJ walks in. You don’t even acknowledge that he’s there. JJ suddenly feels nauseous. What the hell is going on?

“Hey,” he says, unsure, as he walks over to the table. The glance you give him is brief.

“Hey,” you mumble.

Frowning, JJ takes his seat. You’re focusing pretty hard on whatever it is before you. JJ takes a long inhale and waits. Eventually, you clear your throat and push over the paper.

“This is, uh, your scoresheet from all our lessons. Y’know, so you have physical proof of what we covered and how you performed in the different quizzes.”

JJ’s frown deepens with your words. He slowly takes the paper from you and scans over it.

“You can give it to Mr Sunn if you like, but I’ve already emailed him a copy so he has it. He’s aware that you’ve attended every session, save for the one in week two, but–”

“Wait, what the hell is going on?” JJ interrupts. His heart is starting to beat faster, his anxiety building, because this sounds an awful lot like goodbye. “Are the lessons done?”

When you meet JJ’s eyes, he hardly recognises you. You haven’t looked at him with that level of nonchalance since the early weeks. Pushing up your glasses, you say, “yes, the lessons are done.”

JJ blinks at you and waits for you to drop the act. He waits for you to make a joke and tease him like always. He waits to see your expression melt with that smile that he likes to think is saved just for him. But instead, you just look at him. It pisses him off.

“The fuck d'you mean ‘the lessons are done’?”

“JJ–”

“You never told me that we were finishing the lessons. I mean, shit, I just walk in here and suddenly it’s over? I don’t understand!”

“We’ve covered all the content that you need to cover before the next semester starts–”

“--Bullshit we have!”

“JJ!”

“No, no, I don’t know what the hell is going on,” JJ argues loudly, “but you’re fucking with me.”

“JJ, please,” you plead. It’s the first crack in your icy exterior. Your lip quivers as you try and steady yourself. There’s little power behind your voice as you say, “please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

JJ’s heart squeezes and he rubs at it through his t-shirt. He feels like you’ve just shoved him off a cliff and he’s falling and falling and falling, and you’re just standing there and watching it happen. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s as if you’ve both been reading the same book and then you’ve skipped ahead three chapters. He tries to calm himself down, taking a few slow, shaky breaths. His eyes press shut and in the darkness behind his lids, he sees your face, moments before he kissed you. Shaking his head, he opens his eyes and looks at you.

“You could at least give me a reason.”

You’re visibly uncomfortable. Swallowing, you look down at the papers before you and meddle with the corner of one until it starts to split. JJ utters your name and you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut.

“I don’t know why you’re making a big deal of this. It’s not like it means anything to you,” you tell him quietly. JJ’s brows furrow.

“What're talking about?”

Sighing once more, you lift your head and meet JJ’s gaze. There’s a sadness behind your eyes that he’s never seen before. “I saw you at the kegger.”

JJ’s frown deepens as his brows tug closer together. “Huh?”

“The kegger, JJ, I saw you there,” you say, firmer. Shaking your head, you busy your hands with anything and everything as you ramble. “You have every right to get with whoever you want to get with and mack on any girl you like, but you could at least, y’know, clarify before doing it. I was just confused. It felt like a sick joke or somethin’ and I really hope that you wouldn’t be that cruel but…But it just confused me and I don’t think I can compartmentalise this dynamic if that's the case...”

JJ’s shaking his head frantically. He holds up his hands in mock surrender as if trying to ease traffic. “Woah, woah, slow down, you lost me. What d’you mean you ‘saw’ me?”

“With that girl, JJ.” Your voice is thick with despondency. “I saw you at the old watchtower talking to her and…I don’t know…”

Oh.

JJ isn’t a genius at most things, romance being one of them, but he had a sense for when things were deeper than a fling. He knew his own emotionality enough to recognise when he liked someone, even if he was reluctant to admit it. It didn’t take a scientist or therapist and even a mere scholar to read you right now. The way you’re looking anywhere but him; the way your hands are practically tearing the paperwork, that seemed to follow you like a shadow, into shreds; the way you’re so desolate and so vulnerable in your words, strategically saying so much without saying anything at all. It’s like how you taught him during Romeo and Juliet: ‘you have to read between the lines’.

“You’ve got it all wrong,” JJ says, suddenly calm.

“JJ, you don’t have to–”

“I was looking for you all night,” he interrupts. You seem unwilling to accept this, sighing and shaking your head, refusing to meet his gaze. “I was. I swear it. I was looking for you the whole night and then, when I found you, you were talking to Pope.”

That has you taking pause. Your fingers finally cease their relentless vandalism. JJ sees your eyes flicker over to him warily. He takes the gap to continue.

“You were talking for an hour. Maybe more. And you were laughing and…And I’m not an idiot, a’right? I know that you and Pope have a million more things in common, and that he’s actually got a hope in hell of making something out of himself. You’re both smart. It’s probably fucking fate. And I’m not gonna stand in the way of that, a’right? I ain’t gonna stop two people from being happy and shit just because I like you too. It ain’t fair. Pope’s a good guy. He’d be good to you.”

The hopeful part of JJ’s psyche is leaning heavily on your pure look of confusion. JJ’s face feels burning red from his clunky confession. But he perseveres and takes another quick breath, preparing himself to talk up his best friend, but as JJ’s lips part, you’re talking.

“I don’t like Pope.” The two of you stare at one another. The table has never felt so wide. Shaking your head, you repeat, “I don’t like Pope. Not like that, anyway. We just have a few things in common and started talking about that book I was reading, and lost track of time and– I had no idea you even saw that.”

“Yeah, well…I did…so,” JJ mutters.

“JJ, I was looking for you all night, too,” you tell him. The smile on your face is solemn when you say, “and when I found you, you were talking to that girl. And…she’s beautiful, JJ. She seemed really nice and, of course, you’re welcome to–”

“--Didn’t you hear what I said?” JJ can’t help but cut in. You frown slightly. JJ doesn’t mean to laugh when he repeats, “I like you. Like really like you. Like holy shit what the fuck am I supposed to do like you. Like you’re all I can think about sort of like you. It’s fucking terrifying and pathetic and I know that there isn’t a chance in hell but–”

“--You like me?” you whisper. JJ laughs softly, almost under breath, and shrugs. He feels stripped off his confidence; bare without his boyish façade. This was real, genuine, organic. This was honest.

“Course. Why else would have I invited you to that damn kegger in the first place? I mean, shit, I full-on kissed you. Thought it was pretty obvious,” he says, his voice trailing off.

“I…I just thought…”

You’re in disbelief, it seems, and it makes JJ’s heart want to bleed. It’s as if you can’t fathom the fact that somebody might have an interest in you. Someone might want to care for you like you do for so many others; to be the one who helps look after your brother; who helps you study for your exams despite the fact that you’ll inevitably ace them either way; who helps you remember how to relax and let loose and just be. JJ wants to be that person. He wants to be the one that you can cry to and the one who makes you laugh. He wants to be the guy that you spend your mornings sleeping in with and your nights wide awake. He wants to make you smile and scream and moan and– All of it. JJ wants it all.

“That girl was my cousin. Well, step-half-cousin– It’s get confusing, a’right? The point is:” He takes a sharp breath before laying his hands palm down on the table. He’s determined to hold your gaze when he says, “I don’t want anybody else - not one person - but you.”

JJ’s patience has never been more impressive as he waits for you to process what he’s said. He can practically see each word working its way through that beautiful brain of yours. As the meaning sinks in, your smile finally begins to show like the first sunrise after winter. Brilliant and full of promise and hope. No more dark days, no more cold nights, no more dull mornings. Just sunshine - through and through.

“I want you too,” you confess.

His heart feels like it’s about to bust out of his chest. JJ’s not sure he’s ever smiled so hard in his life. There’s a faint worry that his skin might split from how wide his grin is. But he can’t help it. This is better than any high he’s ever had. It’s euphoric because you want him too. Despite all his misgivings, all his stupidity, all his hopelessness: you want him. And not just the version that he might be able to become, but the version he is now.

“Come over here right now,” JJ demands in a breathlessly chuckle.

The giggle that falls from your lips is adorable as you get up from your seat. JJ’s laughing too as he pushes his chair back to make space for you. You drop down onto his lap with a laugh and JJ tastes them on his tongue when he kisses you. It feels like coming home as your hands lace into his hair, pulling him nearer. The graze of your tongue against his, sensually tasting him the same way he does you, has him quietly moaning. The moment he takes your lip between his teeth, you’re whining, and it’s as sweet as syrup. His hands run down and along your thigh, fingers digging into the flesh just enough to remind himself that you’re real, this is real, and you want him too.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” JJ murmurs against your mouth. Your sheltered moan drives him on; JJ kisses you with new fever. The scratch of your nails against his scalp is orgasmic in itself. It’s never been like this: never has something so simple made JJ feel like he’s been brought to his knees. Pulling away, JJ stares up at you, panting lightly, and waits for you to open your eyes. Pupils blown wide, you look like an angel, the sun casting yellow behind your back. His fingers slowly lift until he’s taking the frame of your glasses in grip and easing them from your face. JJ’s never seen you without your glasses on; not up close. His lips quirk at the edges. “I think I like you more with them on.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, smiling despite your words. He makes sure not to be careless when he puts them on the table. His hands cup your face, fingers brushing over your soft skin, fuzzy like peach lining, and you lean into his touch, gazing into his eyes, and JJ thinks this. This is what true happiness is.

“What?” you ask, voice barely louder than a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” JJ smiles, losing his nerve. Nobody’s ever looked at him like that. You look at JJ like he’s somebody. “Just happy s’all.”

Your lips are slightly damp when you tilt your head enough to press a kiss to the pad of his thumb. JJ’s breath catches in his throat from the tender action. He’s serious about this. Serious about you. He’s as serious as the plague.

“Same here,” you murmur, leaning back down as if to meet his lips. Before they reunite, you let one last thing slip. “M’happy too, blue eyes.”

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miumura · 3 months ago

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WAiTiN’ ON CALLS — S. JAEYUN 𓂃 ⭑

( 엔하이픈 제이크 ) : jake misses you — too much for his own liking. he tries to move on, and by doing so, he gives you one last call. usually it would go directly to voicemail, but instead, he was greeted with you on the other line.

──── ex!jake x gn ! r . . . ⌕ ex 2 lovers, second chance, angst, fluff ∿ 𝔀ord count 2.1K+ ( 2196 ) ╱ HAPPY BF JAKE DAY 🤍 i’ve been dying to write a fic using this pic of jake ever since it got posted … so this is for me and my jake baes 🤍

Jake knew he was beyond exhausted—so tired that all he could manage after work was to head straight for his bed, not even bothering to take off his suit.

But despite the dim lighting and the comfort of sinking into his mattress, sleep refused to come. He tossed and turned, tried counting sheep, but nothing worked. Frustrated, he sat up, turning on the radio to a soft, quiet tune as he stared at his phone.

He already knew what was on his mind.

His gaze settled on his contact list, focusing on one name—yours.

He missed you, more than he cared to admit. His eyes lingered on your icon, a picture he’d secretly taken during one of your dates. You’d demanded he delete it, but he never did. Instead, he kept it as a reminder of you, proudly showing it off whenever he got the chance.

A small, bittersweet smile crept onto his lips as his eyes trailed down to your name, the ache in his chest growing a little heavier.

My Love. He never bothered changing it—that name was reserved for you, and only you. Was it strange for him to keep it that way? He wasn't sure, but what he did know was that no matter what, you’d always be his love, even if he was the only one who still believed it.

Should he call you again?

His finger hovered over your name, hesitating—a rare feeling for him. He’d always called before, whenever he had a free moment. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, just a way to clear his head, but it had become a habit. Strangely enough, he found relief in those calls. They always went straight to voicemail, and he was certain you never listened to them.

That’s where he poured his heart out, leaving messages that no one would hear. It was sad, but in a way, comforting—like shouting into the void, knowing there'd be no echo, no response.

He often wondered why you hadn’t blocked him yet. Maybe, if you did, it would finally force him to move on.

Maybe that would give him the push he needed to let go.

But deep down, he knew it wasn’t that simple. He was the one holding onto the past, the one clinging to old habits. Why did he think calling you, of all things, would help him get over you? Even if someone asked him, he wouldn’t know how to explain it.

Maybe he didn’t really want to.

Maybe, just maybe, he was still hoping for something—anything—from you.

He just wanted to hear your voice again, even though it felt impossible at this point. Pressing his lips together, he finally tapped the call button. Placing the phone on his thigh, Jake ran a hand through his hair, unable to look at the screen as the rings buzzed in the quiet room.

As usual, he fully expected you wouldn’t answer.

Normally, the sting of disappointment would hit him when you let his calls go unanswered, but tonight felt different. Tonight, everything was going to change.

This would be the last time he stared at your contact, the last time he pressed your number, and the last voicemail he'd leave. Tonight, he was finally going to say goodbye.

Tonight—

"Hello?"

His body went still.

For a moment, Jake couldn’t believe it. Your voice, so familiar yet distant, cut through the static of the call. He had rehearsed this moment over and over in his mind, but now that it was real, his words were trapped in his throat.

"Jake?" you repeated, sounding confused, maybe even concerned. "Are you there?"

He swallowed, trying to collect himself. "Hey," he finally managed, his voice barely a whisper. "I... I didn’t expect you to pick up."

There was a brief silence on the other end, making his heart race, before you spoke again. "I didn’t expect to get so many calls... or all the voicemails."

"You... you listened to them?" he asked, barely able to believe it.

“Caught up on all of it yesterday,” you admitted, your voice surprisingly calm. “You really sent a lot, huh?”

Jake’s heart was pounding so loudly that it drowned out his own thoughts. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The plan to say goodbye, the resolution he had built up in his mind, seemed to dissolve the moment he heard your voice.

He didn’t want to mess this up—he couldn’t.

“I still didn’t expect you to actually listen to them,” he said, his voice shakier than he wanted it to be.

“How could I not?” you chuckled softly, attempting to ease the awkward tension. It was strange, both of you knew it. Talking to your ex, someone you swore you’d never contact again, felt surreal.

And yet, here you were—on the phone, waiting for him to say something more.

Jake took a breath, the weight of his next words heavy on his chest. "I was planning on this being the last call,” he confessed. “Since you never really picked up... I figured I was just bothering you."

There was a pause on the other end, and he held his breath, wondering what you’d say next.

"Would it be wrong to say I had a feeling?" you finally replied, voice soft.

"How could you tell?"

"Just... a gut feeling," you said, as if searching for the right words. "Or maybe because… I knew you."

His heart couldn’t help but falter—he knew you were not lying. You did know him, deeply once. But that closeness had slipped away when life had led you down different paths.

"Yeah," was all he could muster, the simplicity of the word masking the storm of emotions within him. He wasn’t sure how to move forward, or if he even wanted to.

“Do you mean every single voice message?” you asked, breaking the silence that had settled between you two. Jake’s eyes widened, caught off guard by the question.

“Of course I do,” he replied, gripping his phone tightly, as if it could somehow bridge the distance between you. His heart was pounding; he needed to make this count. “There isn’t a single thing I’ve sent to you that I’d ever want to take back. Every word was real. It’s exactly how I feel about you... about us.”

For a moment, vulnerability hung between you, both knowing this conversation could change everything. Jake could only hope you’d feel it too, that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to turn this into something more.

“Come see me then.”

“Huh?” Jake’s breath hitched, unsure if he’d heard you right.

“You’re not going to leave me hanging this time, are you?” you asked with a light chuckle, though your voice held a hint of nervousness. You hoped the laughter would mask how your heart was pounding, racing in anticipation.

Jake barely registered the words before he was scrambling to grab his keys, his phone pressed tightly to his ear. “Not this time,” he stammered, his voice shaking with excitement and a touch of panic. He could feel his pulse hammering as he fumbled with his shoes, trying to keep his hands steady.

The thought of seeing you, of finally closing the distance he’d been feeling for so long, filled him with both anticipation and nervous energy.

"Take your time," you teased, though he could hear the faintest tremor in your voice, as if you were trying to calm yourself, too. But he knew he wouldn’t—couldn’t—wait.

He barely managed to lock his door, nearly tripping as he rushed down the stairs. His mind raced, playing over every word, every message he’d sent, wondering if this was finally his chance to make things right.

As he reached his car, hands fumbling for his keys, he took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus, to drive safely. But his heart wouldn’t slow, each beat pushing him forward with a desperate urgency.

Jake barely remembered the drive over, his mind racing faster than the car itself. As he pulled up in front of your house, he felt a fresh wave of nerves settle over him. He sat there for a second, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady his breath.

This was it.

With a final deep breath, he stepped out of the car and walked up the path to your door, his heart pounding with every step. He hesitated before raising his hand to knock, his mind swirling with questions.

But before he could overthink it, the door swung open, and there you were, standing there in the soft glow of your porch light. For a split second, neither of you spoke, caught up in the quiet intensity of the moment.

“Hi,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips, though he could see the same nervousness reflected in your eyes. “Still in your work attire?”

Jake looked down, realizing for the first time that he was still in his slightly rumpled shirt and loosened tie, his rushed appearance suddenly feeling a bit ridiculous. He let out a small, embarrassed laugh, reaching up to grab his tie as if he could somehow hide it from you. But when he looked back up, he wore a shy smile, his eyes creasing in that gentle way that had always made your heart skip.

Before he could say anything else, you stepped closer, reaching up to fix his tie, your fingers brushing against the fabric with a delicate touch that sent a shiver down his spine. He swallowed, feeling his pulse quicken. It was such a simple gesture, yet it felt like slipping back into something deeply familiar, a memory that had never truly faded.

“There,” you murmured softly as you adjusted the tie, smoothing out the collar. Your hand lingered for just a second longer, and in that moment, Jake felt everything—the unspoken words, the history, the quiet yearning.

“Thank you,” he managed, his voice a little rough.

"I didn’t realize you wanted to see me that badly… especially after just finishing your shift,” you said with a hint of surprise. “You’ve always loved your job.”

Jake let out a small, wistful laugh, meeting your gaze. “Even after a long shift, that isn’t enough to distract me from you,” he admitted. You both knew how deeply he was dedicated to his work, how it had once been the thing that drew him away from you, consuming his time and energy. Something he loved had taken his real love away from him. But he couldn’t dwell on regrets now, not when this chance was standing right in front of him.

“Every time I get back from work, I have to leave a voicemail,” he confessed quietly, his words hanging between you both.

“Every night?” you asked, startled. You hadn’t realized just how much he’d been reaching out in those messages, hadn’t counted the days it had spanned. “That’s… a lot, Jake.”

He nodded, his gaze steady and sincere. “There hasn’t been a single day I haven’t thought about you, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice raw with honesty.

You looked at him, noticing how he pressed his lips together, a nervous habit he’d never quite outgrown. His hair was neatly parted, and his suit fit him perfectly, accentuating the small changes time had brought to him. Somehow, he looked even better than you remembered—or maybe it was simply because you’d missed him more than you’d realized.

“Jake,” you murmured, almost as if testing his name again, letting it fill the space between you both. “I really missed you too.”

At your words, Jake’s face lit up, his cheeks lifting with a smile he couldn’t contain, no matter how hard he tried to keep his composure. He quickly looked away, clearing his throat, but when he turned back, his grin only grew wider as he saw your own smile mirroring his.

“Then… would you let me stay the night?” he asked softly, his voice hopeful, though almost immediately he seemed to second-guess himself. His smile faltered as he began to backpedal, a nervous laugh escaping. “Or, if that’s too much, we could just sit outside, or… in my car? Just to talk, to catch up—or maybe just to let me finally say all these things I’ve kept hidden.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, finding his nervous rambling unexpectedly endearing. It was hard to remember the last time you’d seen Jake like this—unsure, almost shy. Without another word, you reached out and grabbed his arm, gently tugging him inside.

“You can stay,” you said, a warmth in your voice that eased the lingering tension in the air.

Jake blinked in surprise, his nervous expression melting into something more tender as he stepped inside. The familiar warmth of your home wrapped around him, but it was the simple presence of you that truly eased him. He hadn’t realized how much he'd longed for this—just to be near you again.

As he looked at you, a quiet realization washed over him, clear and undeniable. He wasn’t just here because he needed to be; he was here because he wanted to be.

Wherever you were, that was where he wanted to be too.

‘💬’ ─── may active soph come back after this one 😖!

ENHA PERM TAGLIST (1) — @flwoie @ixomiyu @haruavrse @shinsou-rii @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @starikizs @wonioml @chirokookie @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @en-chantedtomeetyou @millksea @enhaz1 @eundiarys @hyeosi @ja4hyvn @judeduartewannabe @j-wyoung @thia-aep @vampcharxter @softpia @officiallyjaehyuns @itsactuallylina @hsheart @sweetjaemss @ahnneyong @hanienie @jwnghyuns @kpoplover718 @jiawji @rikizm @haknom @yeokii @wvnkoi @whoschr @teddywonss @shinunoga-iie-wa @isoobie @skzenhalove @misokei @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @miercerise @litttlestars @enhapocketz

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xo100 · 5 months ago

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Baking cookies pt. 2- LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: Lando confesses his feelings for Y/N after years of friendship and raising Nina together. They share a tender moment, embracing the possibility of something more.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1035

previous part ౨ৎ next

୨ৎ

It had been a few days since the cookie-baking afternoon, but Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of Lando’s hand brushing against hers or the way his voice softened when he thanked her. She had thought about it far more than she cared to admit. Sure, they had always been close, but something about that day felt different—like the air between them had shifted ever so slightly.

Today, she found herself back at Lando’s place. This time, it was a quieter evening. No baking, no rushing around. Just a casual dinner with Lando and Nina, who was currently playing in the living room, her laughter echoing through the house as she entertained herself with her toy cars.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Lando’s voice brought her back to the present. He was leaning against the kitchen island, his blue eyes fixed on her with that familiar playful glint.

Y/N shook her head, smiling as she stirred the sauce simmering on the stove. “You’d need more than a penny for these thoughts, Norris.”

“Oh? That intriguing, huh?” he teased, moving to stand beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed again.

She chuckled, trying to focus on the cooking rather than the way his presence made her stomach flutter. “Maybe.”

“Tell me,” he nudged her gently, his voice dropping slightly.

Y/N bit her lip, keeping her eyes on the pot. She had never been great at hiding things from Lando, and now was no exception. But before she could respond, a small, excited voice interrupted them.

“Daddy! Auntie Y/N!” Nina called from the living room. “Come see my race track!”

Lando grinned, giving Y/N a look that said we’ll continue this later, before he walked out to join Nina. Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her mind spinning as she finished preparing dinner.

The evening passed in a comfortable rhythm. They ate together, sharing stories about their day, with Nina animatedly telling them all about her adventures with her toys. Y/N and Lando exchanged playful banter like they always did, but the undercurrent of something more was still there—quiet but impossible to ignore.

After dinner, Nina’s energy finally started to wane. She climbed onto Y/N’s lap, snuggling into her with her favorite stuffed animal clutched in one hand. “I’m sleepy,” she mumbled, her eyes drooping.

“Looks like someone’s ready for bed,” Y/N said softly, running a hand through Nina’s curls.

Lando smiled at the sight, his gaze lingering on the two of them for a moment before he spoke. “I’ll get her tucked in.”

He lifted Nina into his arms, and Y/N watched as he carried his daughter upstairs, the gentle way he spoke to her making Y/N’s heart swell. Lando had always been a natural with Nina, but watching him now, it was clear just how much he had grown into his role as her father. He was thoughtful, patient, and always put her first. It was one of the many reasons Y/N had fallen for him, even if she hadn’t fully admitted that to herself yet.

By the time Lando returned, Y/N was sitting on the couch, absently flipping through her phone. He plopped down beside her with a sigh, his arm casually draped along the back of the couch. “She’s out like a light.”

“She had a busy day,” Y/N smiled, setting her phone down.

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the soft glow of the living room lights casting shadows on the walls. Then, Lando spoke, his voice quiet. “About earlier…”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She had been wondering if he’d bring it up. “Yeah?”

He turned slightly to face her, his expression more serious than usual. “I’ve been thinking… about you. About us.”

“Us?” Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper.

Lando nodded, his eyes searching hers. “You’ve always been there for me, for Nina. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you these past few years. And I’ve been wondering if maybe… there could be more between us. If you feel it too.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The words she had been too afraid to say were now hanging in the air between them. She had always felt something more for Lando, but she had never wanted to risk their friendship—or complicate things for Nina.

But now, with him sitting so close, his eyes so sincere, Y/N realized she didn’t want to keep pretending anymore.

“I do,” she said softly, her heart racing. “I’ve felt it for a while.”

Lando’s face lit up with a smile, one that made Y/N’s heart soar. He reached out, gently taking her hand in his. “I’ve been wanting to say something for months, but I didn’t want to push you… or mess anything up.”

Y/N shook her head, her fingers tightening around his. “You’re not pushing me. I… I want this too. I want us.”

For a moment, they just sat there, hands intertwined, the weight of their unspoken feelings finally released. It was as if everything had fallen into place—like all the years of friendship, support, and love had led to this moment.

Lando leaned in slowly, his gaze flicking to her lips before meeting her eyes again. “Can I kiss you?”

Y/N smiled, her heart fluttering as she nodded. “Yes.”

With that, Lando closed the distance between them, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tender kiss. It was gentle, unhurried, but filled with the promise of so much more. When they finally pulled apart, they were both smiling, their foreheads resting against each other’s.

“So,” Lando murmured, his voice still soft, “does this mean I can look forward to more cookies?”

Y/N laughed, lightly smacking his chest. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, but you love it,” he teased, his eyes twinkling.

“I guess I do,” Y/N admitted, her heart swelling with happiness.

As they sat there, the warmth of their newfound connection wrapping around them like a cozy blanket, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like this was where she was meant to be—by Lando’s side, with Nina, in this little family they had created together. And now, it wasn’t just a friendship anymore.

It was so much more.

୨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it and that this was what you expected for part 2 if not let me know! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

*:･ﾟtags; @barcelonaloverf1life @fanficweasley @obxstiles @missnxthingg

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ofbatsandballads · 2 months ago

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so this has been in the drafts for a hot minute now, but today felt like a good day to post it as my dash is filled with thought pieces on if Jason would kill for his lover (the answer is and always will be yes). so here, have some Jason killing for you.

tw: reader is assaulted and kidnapped by Black Mask (includes being pistol whipped and threatened with a gun in a slight implication of sa), Jason beating and killing Roman in retaliation. this is darker than anything I’ve written thus far so please heed the warnings and be responsible for your reading!

Jason Todd would kill for you. In some ways, he already has killed for you. Every bullet embedded in the skulls of Gotham’s worst has taken on a new meaning since you came into his life like an angel from the heavens. He’s always been about evening the odds, cleaning the filth from the city. But now? Now it’s personal. Now every life he takes is one less person that could do harm to you. So, yeah, you knew Jason Todd would kill for you.

It is something else entirely to see him do it. You could do nothing but watch as he put three bullets into Roman Sionis’s head. Roman had gotten the harebrained idea to use you as a negotiation tool. He orchestrated the invasion of yours and Jason’s shared home and attended it himself, participating with an enthusiasm that marked him for death. He had pistol whipped you when you shot him in the shoulder with one of the guns taped under your coffee table. He’d shoved the gun in your mouth while promising Hood’s gonna find his favorite doll in pieces, and left you gagged and bound in a warehouse. And for all his effort, he had been beaten within an inch of his life, body traumatized by the brute strength of your lover’s fists. When he had finally had enough, when Red Hood had hit him so hard that the Black Mask cracked and begged for his life? Well, Jason put the animal out of his misery.

You’re in shock. You’ve come within inches of death tonight. Your whole frame shakes like a leaf in the wind, not from the chill of the warehouse but from the fear of what’s happened to you. The sight of your lover, who you’ve only ever seen be gentle and soft firsthand, being the embodiment of violence should scare you more.

It doesn’t. You watch Red Hood–no, not Hood–you watch Jason kill the mob boss and you’re comforted. The thought of that scares you a bit, that you find his willingness to attack and kill like a loyal guard dog so calming. It makes the ties he’s bound around your heart pull harder, stronger. You think maybe you should be beyond this feeling, above it. Maybe you should be horrified by all this brutality. But when he’s done it for you, to protect you? You’re not sure you’ve ever loved him more.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #red hood x reader #remy writes 🖋️

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theonottsbxtch · 4 months ago

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PRIVATE | LN4

an: requested by @bhuijnbhuijn-blog this was so fun to make! it feels to good to make a smau after a few days of straight writing

fc: random girls on pintrest and isabel larosa

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriend, gracieabrams, ekat19 and 984,284 others

thank you london and thank you to my beloved

*tap to load more comments*

userone: seeing her live changed my brain chemistry

usertwo: oop- the flowers?

userthree: god she is stunning

yourbestfreind: mi amorrrrrr

yourusername: chiquita 😽

userfour: beloved??? has our man hater girl got herself a boyfriend

ekat19: hermosa

yourusername: ethan, basta.

userfive: is her beloved carl gallagher?????!??!?!?!?

appartment in monaco

You were perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, barefoot, legs dangling as you watched Lando move around the open kitchen. The soft click of cabinet doors and the muted thud of a cereal box landing on the counter are the only sounds, apart from the faint music playing from your speaker. It was your calm playlist, just background noise, a playlist you curated 100% but one Lando pretended he created to wind you up. He didn’t mind—he hummed along sometimes, absentmindedly, just like now. The late afternoon light filtered through the windows, casting a warm, golden hue over everything, making the moment feel even more private, more intimate.

Lando was shirtless wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. It was a version of him few people ever get to see. No fireproof suit, no helmet. No world watching his every move. Here, in this quiet corner of your shared world, he was just... him. And you loved him like this, more than anything.

As he fumbled with the coffee machine, you leant back on your hands, your fingers curling against the cool granite of the counter. The smell of coffee mingled with the lazy warmth of the afternoon. You were both settled into this comfortable rhythm of being together, the kind of domesticity that felt almost foreign when you thought of your lives outside these walls—your career, his racing, the flashing lights and the fans.

But here, it was different.

You’d been thinking about it for a while now. The thought had been on the tip of your tongue for weeks, and today felt like the right time to broach it. Or maybe it was just that the stillness of this moment made you feel brave. You took a breath, voice soft as you broke the quiet.

“I’ve been thinking…” Your words drift into the space between you, casual but with a certain weight that you know will catch his attention. Lando looked over at you, coffee cup in hand, waiting for you to continue. You smiled, trying to keep it light. “Maybe it’s time we go public… on Instagram.”

He froze for a beat, his eyes locking on yours as if he was trying to read your face, gauge how serious you were. Slowly, he set the cup down on the counter, his brow furrowing in that familiar way that meant he was already thinking too much.

“Public?” he repeated, like he was testing the word, feeling it out. His voice was calm, but you could sense the undertone of concern, the hesitation that came with anything that involves exposing more of your lives to the world outside. “You sure about that?”

You nodded, even though you knew he was not just asking for the sake of it. There was more behind his question than the words. It was not just a simple post to him—it was a line you were crossing, a step into a world he was all too familiar with, and not in a good way.

“I am,” you said softly. “We’ve been so careful, keeping things private, but… I don’t want to hide us anymore. I don’t want to pretend we’re not a part of each other’s lives.” You watched him as you spoke, searching his face for any sign of agreement, but he was still quiet, arms folded across his chest, his gaze drifting somewhere just past you.

Lando shifted his weight, leaning against the counter, his fingers drumming lightly against the granite, a telltale sign that his mind was working through what you’d just said. After a moment, he sighed, running a hand through his curls, the kind of movement that let you know he was trying to choose his words carefully.

“I get it,” he said finally, his voice softer now, but there was still a trace of reluctance. “But… it’s different for you. Your fans, they’re supportive. You’re already used to the attention. My world… it’s not like that. It can get ugly fast. And once we put it out there, it’s out there. We can’t take it back.”

You slid off the counter and moved toward him, your bare feet silent on the floor. Standing in front of him, you reached for his hands, threading your fingers through his. “I know, love. I know how hard it can be for you. But I’m not asking for some big, dramatic reveal. Just something simple. A photo. Something that feels like us, something quiet.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. You could see the conflict in his eyes—the protective instinct he’d always had when it came to the life you’d built together versus the part of him that wanted to trust in your strength, in the fact that you could handle it.

“I don’t want them coming after you,” he said quietly, almost more to himself than to you. “I don’t want you to deal with the kind of hate I get.”

Lifting one hand to his face, cupping his cheek gently, your thumb grazed over his skin. “I’ve been in the public eye for years now. I’ve had my share of negativity, too. But we’ve got each other, right? We can handle it. I can handle it.” You paused, letting your words sink in. “And I’m tired of hiding something that makes me so happy.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment, as if he was trying to imagine what it would be like—the backlash, the media storm. But when he opened them again, there was something softer there, a quiet surrender. He still looked hesitant, but there was an acceptance in his expression now, like maybe, just maybe, he was willing to trust you on this.

“A photo,” he repeated, his voice almost resigned but not unkind. “Something simple.”

You nodded, your smile growing. “Just one.”

He chuckled softly, pulling you into his arms, his chin resting on the top of your head. “You really want this, huh?” His voice was a little lighter now, though you could still feel the weight of the decision lingering between you.

“I do,” you murmured into his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him—clean and warm, like home. “We don’t have to make a big deal out of it. Just something that feels like us. Something honest.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands resting on your waist. “Alright,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “But if it all blows up in our faces, you’re the one dealing with the PR disaster.”

You laughed, the sound soft and full of relief. “Deal. I’ll take full responsibility.” You leant up and kissed him, your lips brushing his with a gentleness that said more than words ever could. “Promise.”

landonorris

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enjoyed the final show of the break, time for austin

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maxfewtrell: sick hoodie where's it from

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yeah, my boyfriend's pretty cool but he's not as cool as me

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appartment in monaco

It had been a few weeks since you had gone public, and the house felt the same. The kitchen still smelt like coffee in the afternoons, and Lando’s laughter still echoed through the rooms. But outside, in the world that wasn’t contained by these walls, things had shifted.

The first few days after you had posted that picture—a simple, candid shot of you two tangled on the couch, laughing at something neither of you can remember now—felt like a blur. Your Instagram blew up instantly, flooded with comments, some gushing, some not so kind. The had media picked it up, headlines spun their usual stories, and of course, his world—Formula 1, with its intense, relentless scrutiny—had its own opinions. Most of it was harmless, but some of it... wasn’t.

Lando was standing in front of the window, staring out at nothing in particular. You could tell from the way his shoulders were tense, from the way his hand kept moving to rub the back of his neck, that something had been weighing on him. He’d been quieter these last few days, not in the way that shut you out, but in the way that let you know he was overthinking, worrying about things he didn’t need to.

You were sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, pretending to scroll through Instagram, but your attention was on him. You watched as he checked his phone again, probably seeing another headline or some new wave of comments. His jaw tightened, and that was when you knew it’s time to say something.

“Lan,” you called out softly, trying to break the tension in the room. “Come over here.”

He hesitated for a second, like he was debating whether to pull you into his worry or let it be, but then he walked over, his feet dragging slightly on the wooden floor. He sank down beside you on the couch, letting out a long, tired breath. His arm came around your shoulders instinctively, pulling you closer, but his mind was clearly somewhere else.

“Talk to me,” you said gently, tilting your head to look up at him.

He didn’t meet your eyes at first, he just stared at the floor. “I’ve been seeing some of the comments,” Lando admitted, his voice low, as if he was trying to keep it casual but couldn’t quite manage it. “There’s a lot of hate. A lot of people saying… awful things. About you, about us.” He paused, running his hand through his hair. “I didn’t want this for you.”

You felt his arm tighten around you, like he was trying to protect you from something that was already out there, something he couldn’t control. It broke your heart a little, the way he carried that weight, like he was responsible for every cruel word thrown your way.

You shifted in his arms, turning to face him, one hand reaching up to touch his cheek. “I know,” you said softly. “But, darling, it’s not getting to me. Not even a little.” You smiled, trying to get him to see the truth in your eyes. “I’ve been in this business long enough to know that people are going to say whatever they want. But they don’t matter. You do.”

He finally looked up at you, his brow furrowed, still sceptical. “But some of it’s brutal,” he insisted, his voice tight. “They’re dragging you through the mud just because we went public. I didn’t want you to deal with this part of my life, the ugly part.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head, and the sound seemed to catch him off guard. “Honestly? I’ve dealt with worse. You should’ve seen the comments I got after that one music video,” you teased lightly, hoping to ease his worry. “But this? This is nothing.”

He didn’t look convinced, but you could see him trying to process what you were saying, like he wanted to believe you but couldn’t quite let go of his own guilt. So, you decided to prove it to him in a way you knew would get through that thick head of his.

With a sly smile, you grabbed your phone and opened Twitter, your fingers moved quickly over the screen as you pulled up your account. He watched you, confused, until you glanced up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked, suspicion lacing his tone.

You bit your lip, pretending to think about it, then you tilted the phone toward him so he could see the tweet you’d just typed out. In bold letters, it read:

"how i sleep knowing i get to sleep with this hunk of a man at night and you don’t "

Below the text was the picture you’d been sitting on for a while—one of him sleeping in the paddock last season.

His eyes widened as he read it, then flicked to the photo. “You’re not serious,” he said, though there’s a laugh hidden in his voice now.

“Oh, I am very serious,” you said, grinning at him as you hovered over the “Tweet” button. “If people want to hate, let them. But I’m going to remind them who I get to come home to every night.”

He stared at you for a second, then shook his head, a small, incredulous smile finally tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

You shrugged, your finger tapping the button before he could say another word. “It’s out there now,” you said, holding up the phone in triumph. “Let them come for me.”

He leant back against the couch, running his hands over his face, but you could see the way his shoulders had finally relaxed, the tension ebbing away. He laughed, a real, genuine laugh, and it warmed you from the inside out. “You’re actually insane,” he said, pulling you into his chest, kissing the top of your head. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

You looked up at him, beaming. “Sweetheart, they can say whatever they want. It doesn’t change anything. I’ve got you, and that’s all that matters.”

For the first time in days, the worry in his eyes faded completely. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly, his breath warm against your hair. “I love you,” he murmured, the words soft but full of meaning.

“I love you more.”

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haters gunna hate, anyway check out my new song x

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saythenametotheworld · 4 months ago

Text

Backburner | k.mg (18+)

There is a rule of thumb for casual relationships: do not fall in love with the other. Yet with Mingyu, it felt easier to watch the world burn than to stop yourself from falling for him.

one | two | three | four | five

Genre: friends with benefits, smut Pairing: Kim Mingyu x afab!Reader Warnings: angst, explicit content (18+) Notes: 21k words. Part 2 of the Heartbreak Hotel series, but can be read as a standalone fic. Listening to Backburner by NIKI. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know them personally and do not claim they would ever behave like they were portrayed in this story.

Playlist: Backburner by NIKI, Say Don't Go by Taylor Swift, Another You (Another Way) by Against the Current Taglist: @scoupsjin @iarayara @gaslysainz @silvermist002 @ssmebody @katfaceu

It was midnight, and what was usually a quiet evening was shattered by the persistent ringing of your phone—tucked inside the drawer of your nightstand. You shifted from your comfortable position on the bed, laying on your back to stare at the ceiling, your ringtone still playing and making the nightstand buzz faintly.

“You gotta be kidding me,” you muttered, groaning as you moved to grab your phone. The backlight made your eyes sting. Squinting at the words on the screen, you recognized the unique caller ID: ‘R18+++’

One week of nothing and here he comes, calling you in the middle of the night. The audacity.

You shouldn't pick up. You were mad at him after all. But what if he had something important to say? Even if he didn't, would it really hurt if you pick up?

Not you trying to justify the desire to talk to him.

“Hello?” you answered, against your better judgment (or not).

“Hi…” said Mingyu from the other line, his voice more dragged out than usual. Deeper. Lonelier. “Did I wake you?”

He did. “No. Not at all.”

He hummed on the other side. “Can't sleep? What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing important,” you sighed, sinking deeper into your soft pillow. “What’s up with you?”

“Me? I was just working on this paper,” he replied. You could hear him groaning as if he was stretching his limbs. “This course is kicking my ass.”

“Professor Jung?” you asked, remembering how he often complained about the same professor.

“Yeah. He’s the worst,” he chuckled but there was no humor in it. “I’ve been staring at this screen all night, trying to make sense of it. You know when you read the same line over and over, and it still doesn’t click?”

You hummed in acknowledgment, shifting on your bed. “Sounds like every assignment I’ve ever done.”

He let out another laugh, soft and hollow. “Right? This one’s on some theoretical nonsense. I keep typing, hoping something’s gonna make sense eventually, but it’s like... whatever. I’ll probably just wing it.”

You could hear the faint tapping of keys on his end as if he was still half-distracted by the work in front of him. But something felt off, and somehow, you knew exactly what it was. He didn’t really want to talk about the homework, he was just stalling. The words were just filler—something to pass the time, to keep the conversation going.

“Maybe I’ll just email the professor and tell him the universe swallowed my homework. Think he’d buy that?” Mingyu joked and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Probably not,” you replied with a soft smile of your own, but your mind was elsewhere now, sensing the unspoken heaviness behind his casual complaints.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he chuckled followed by a soft groan and the sound of him falling back on his bed.

Another pause settled between you, and this time you didn’t wait for him to fill it with more empty chatter. “Wanna come over?” you asked instead, and he was quiet for a moment.

“Well… yeah, I’d love to. I mean…” he paused and then chuckled. “If it’s alright.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course, it’s alright. You'd always taken it in stride when he ghosted you and returned like nothing happened. Sometimes you wonder if he was genuinely oblivious or pretending not to know. “Sure. You know where I’ll be.”

After hanging up, you let the phone slip from your hand, staring at the ceiling. You weren’t supposed to do this. Mingyu was someone you should’ve been keeping at arm’s length, a complication you couldn’t afford. The smart thing would’ve been to ignore his call. But you didn’t. No matter how much you tried to keep your distance, you would always find yourself waltzing back towards him.

You thought about how easy it would be to send a quick message, tell him not to come, maybe even block his number if you really wanted to make a clean break. You should. A single text, a few words, and it would all be over. Your fingers hovered over the screen, but you didn’t type anything.

Then the knock came, gentle but firm, and you abandoned all protests, tossing them aside as easily as you tossed your phone back into the drawer. You didn’t hesitate as you crossed the room, your hand already reaching for the doorknob.

When you opened the door, there he was—tall, tousled hair, a lopsided smile, as if he wasn’t entirely sure you’d actually let him in.

“Hey,” Mingyu said softly, standing in the doorway like he’d been there dozens of times before—he had.

“Hi,” you replied, your heartbeat picking up pace, louder now that he was here, standing in front of you.

Without another word, he stepped inside, scooping you up by the waist like it was a habit, crashing his lips into yours. For a split second, your mind screamed at you to stop, to push him away, but your body betrayed you.

You kissed him back, letting yourself sink into the feeling. His hands moved to your back, pulling you even closer, and any remaining hesitation crumbled as the tension between you both sparked to life.

He was completely unaware, lost in the moment, and you let him be—because pretending felt easier than confronting the truth. It felt easier to let him kiss you like this, to let him believe everything between you was simple—as if you weren’t standing on the edge of something much heavier.

Mingyu pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with a grin. “Is Mina here?” His voice was teasing and light.

“You wouldn’t be here if she is,” you replied, breathless, your words barely forming as you watched him tug his sweater off, the urgency in his movements sending a fresh wave of heat through you.

For a moment, you stood there, watching as his sweater hit the floor, your heart racing against your better judgment. Here you go, again. You could stop it right here—send him home, tell him you don’t want to see him again even if that was a lie. Again, you didn’t. You reached for him, pulling him back toward you, his lips meeting yours with a kind of hunger that made you forget everything else.

The door clicked shut behind him, and with it, any resolve you thought you had.

“Wait, hold up. Let me just—” You made a rolling gesture with your fingers, trying to gather your thoughts. “—roll it back a bit. I think I went straight to the intense part.”

Seungcheol’s calm demeanor didn’t budge. He leaned back. “Didn’t feel intense to me.”

“Yeah, well…” You shifted in your seat. “I should’ve started by telling you how we met, right? Or how we even ended up in… this kind of arrangement.”

He nodded. “Context would help.”

You paused, sipping your water. “Okay, so… I first met Mingyu in freshman year. Second semester, to be exact. We had one class together—gen-ed history. I was late the first day.” You smirked, remembering how rushed you’d been, shoes squeaking against the floor as you slipped into the back row, heart pounding from running across campus.

The only available seat was next to Mingyu. You didn't notice him at first because the room's quietness was the first to catch your attention.

You tugged his sleeve. “Hey, sorry to bother you.” You told him your name. “I just came in. Did I miss anything important? I feel like I did.”

He glanced at you, brows slightly raised. He looked half amused, half confused. “I'm Kim Mingyu. And… yeah, you missed a bit. Professor gave us five minutes to pray for the diagnostic test.”

“Pray?” you’d repeated, your disbelief clear, eyes wide as you stifled a laugh. “How hard could a gen-ed diagnostic exam be?”

Very hard.

You cringed at the memory of that test and how you didn’t know the answers for most of it. Mingyu was grinning beside you, walking in easy strides. “Still think you didn’t need those five minutes to pray?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no bite to it. “Alright, fine. I’m humbled. But you don’t have to be so smug about it.”

He chuckled, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I’m just teasing. Anyway, don’t worry about it. The test won’t affect your grades or anything.”

Before you could respond, another classmate who overheard had stopped to join your conversation. “Actually, it does count. It goes straight into your record.”

Mingyu snorted, clearly doubting it. “No way. It’s just a pre-assessment.”

“The professor said so herself. You probably didn’t hear because you left too soon.” She looked at you with a sympathetic smile. “But hey, I bombed it too, so… you’re not alone.”

You felt a strange sense of closeness with her, but mostly, you were trying to process what that meant for your grades. “Great,” you muttered, but you weren’t sure if you were saying it sarcastically or just in defeat.

“I'm Mina,” she said, offering her hand for a shake.

“Nice to meet you,” you chimed, shaking her hand and telling her your name.

“I know. See you around!”

When Mina walked away, you expected Mingyu to say something mocking, but instead, he just laughed lightly. “Guess I should’ve prayed too.”

Over the next few weeks, Mingyu became someone you interacted with mostly during class. You’d sit near each other by default—mainly because the two of you are often the last ones to arrive, you being late most of the time. You exchanged quiet jokes when the professor wasn’t looking and sometimes teamed up when group discussions were required. But outside that lecture hall, you led entirely separate lives.

In the hallways, you'd pass by each other every now and then. He’d nod or smile—never stopping, never lingering. Just a brief acknowledgment as you walked in opposite directions. Sometimes, you’d give him a quick wave, or he’d send you a lazy salute with his fingers.

During class breaks, when the professor let everyone stretch their legs for a few minutes, you’d talk. Mingyu liked to complain about how boring the lectures were, though his grumbling always seemed exaggerated, more for humor than actual frustration.

“Think I might pass out,” he’d groan, letting his head drop to the desk dramatically. “I don’t know how anyone stays awake for this.”

“You’d stay awake if you actually took notes,” you’d tease back, scribbling in your notebook as you spoke.

“Ah, but see, that’s what friends are for,” he’d reply, flashing you a playful grin. “You can lend me yours later.”

“You’re lucky you’re funny,” you’d retort, shaking your head with a smile.

But that was it. When class ended, he went his way, and you went yours. He wasn’t someone who crossed your mind outside of that classroom, and you suspected it was the same for him. Mingyu wasn’t a constant presence in your life, just a classmate who made lectures slightly more tolerable.

There was a comfort in that distance. He was easy to talk to, someone you didn’t have to think too hard about. No expectations, no complications. Just small moments of shared boredom, passed with lazy smiles and half-hearted complaints.

For a while, that was all he was—someone who filled the pauses between lectures. That is until the night of your first off-campus party for the semester.

The music pulsed around you, louder than it needed to be, vibrating through the floor and into your chest. You were seated at the edge of the crowded party, a half-empty cup of something strong in your hand, watching as your ex-boyfriend paraded his new girlfriend around like she was a shiny new toy. Every touch between them felt like a jab. You couldn’t care less about him, not really. But watching him be all giggly and touchy with her after he’d cheated on you with her, no less—yeah, that was annoying.

You took another sip from your drink, trying to keep your irritation in check. It didn’t help that they were standing close enough that you could hear snippets of their conversation—his low, stupid laugh and her breathy giggles.

“Someone’s pissed.”

The voice came from beside you, startling you out of your thoughts. You turned, finding Mingyu standing there with a half-smile, hands tucked in his hoodie pockets as he glanced over at your ex and his new girlfriend.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, though your sarcasm was clear.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, amused. “Come on. I’ve seen you shoot daggers at them from across the room.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and staring into your cup. “I’m not pissed. Just... annoyed.”

His eyes flicked over to the couple again, then back to you. “I get it. Ex-boyfriend?”

You hesitated but nodded. “Yeah. Not that it matters. We broke up ages ago.” You bit your lip before adding, “But he cheated on me with her. So, you know... watching them be all gross together isn’t exactly fun.”

Mingyu winced in sympathy. “That’s rough. Sounds like he’s not worth the headspace, though.”

“He’s not,” you said quickly, and you meant it. “But it’s still annoying.”

He snorted. “I don’t blame you. If it makes you feel any better, they look like a bad reality show couple.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Yeah, they kinda do.”

Mingyu shrugged, leaning a little closer, his voice dropping. “If it’s bugging you that much, want me to help you take your mind off it? We can head somewhere else, or... just stay here and make fun of them quietly. Your call.”

You hesitated, glancing at your ex one more time, then back at Mingyu. The idea of staying here, stewing in the background while they flaunted their new relationship, made your stomach turn. Maybe leaving was the better option.

“Actually,” you said, standing up and finishing the last of your drink, “let’s get out of here. This party’s boring anyway.”

Mingyu’s eyebrows shot up, clearly surprised but pleased. “Alright. Lead the way.”

The two of you slipped out of the crowded party and into the cooler, quieter night. The noise faded behind you as you stepped outside, the crisp air was a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of the party. You hadn’t really thought about where you were going, just that you needed to leave.

“Any place in mind?” Mingyu asked, falling into step beside you, hands still casually tucked into his pockets.

You scoffed. “I don’t know. This was your idea.”

He shrugged, glancing at the sky briefly before turning back to you. “We could walk a bit. Sober up.”

“I barely drank.”

Mingyu nodded. “Okay, fair. If you want, I’ve got some soju and beer at my place. Not much, but it’s better than whatever was in that cup you were drinking.”

You glanced at him. There was no pressure in his tone, no hidden motive—just a suggestion. Still, something about the idea of going to his place made your heart beat a little faster.

“Exactly how many ulterior motives do you have right now?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him in mock suspicion.

A grin spread across his face. “For now, zero,” he replied, showing a zero with his fingers.

“For now?” You rolled your eyes. “Better keep it at zero.”

Mingyu winced with a mock-hurt expression. “Do I have to make promises too? Man, this is a lot of work.”

“Kim Mingyu!”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, raising his hands. “Come on. It’s this way.”

The walk to Mingyu’s apartment wasn’t long, but the conversation between you was comfortable. He was funny, as always. By the time you reached his door, your cheeks were red and slightly hurting with how much you were laughing.

His place was a studio, small and cozy with a few mismatched pieces of furniture. It was tidy, except for the couch, which was covered in a pile of unfolded laundry.

“Oh, crap,” he muttered, laughing awkwardly. “I forgot about that. Let me just—”

“Oh, it’s okay. I don’t mind at all,” you said, waving your hand dismissively.

“Nah, there’s nowhere else to sit,” he insisted, kicking off his shoes and quickly tidying the couch.

While he put his clothes into a basket, you took a moment to look around. The tidiness of his home was unexpected. You rarely judge people’s living spaces but it was surprising for a man to be this clean. Then again, that was just the stereotype speaking.

Mingyu grabbed two beers from the fridge, tossing you one as you settled onto the now-cleared couch.

You raised an eyebrow, inspecting the can. “You promised me soju.”

He chuckled, opening his own drink. “Well, you told me to keep my motives in check, so soju is out of the table.”

“You’re no fun.”

As you sipped your drinks, the conversation flowed easily. You talked about class, made fun of the test you’d failed, and joked about the people at the party. But somewhere between the laughter and the quiet moments, the atmosphere began to shift. The space between you felt a little smaller, the eye contact a little longer. It wasn’t forced, just... there.

At some point, Mingyu’s arm stretched across the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against your shoulder. You didn’t move away. Instead, you leaned into him slightly, the warmth of his presence comforting.

“I think you should go,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Wow, okay. There’s no need to shoo me away. I’ll go,” you scoffed, offended. You stood up instantly, reaching for your jacket but he grabbed your wrist.

“No, I don’t mean—” he paused, sighing as he looked at your annoyed expression. “I’m sorry. Come sit. Don’t go.”

You didn’t answer, instead, swatted his hand away and put on your jacket. Mingyu stood up, taking your hand and squeezing it.

“Please,” he sighed, holding your gaze.

You were exasperated. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you acting so confusing all of a sudden?”

There was a glint of hesitation on his face. “Can I be honest?”

You retracted your hand and crossed your arms over your chest. Then you raised an eyebrow, urging him to speak.

Mingyu leaned back slightly, his expression shifting to something more serious. “I have at least six ulterior motives.”

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Six? What are they?”

“Are you sure you want to find out?” he asked back, but it didn’t seem like a question to know how curious you were. Somehow, it sounded as if he was asking for permission.

You held his gaze, feeling the warmth radiating from him, the air around you charged with an intensity you couldn’t ignore. Time seemed to slow as you considered his question.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice steady but low. “Yes.”

Before you could think about what came next, he leaned in, closing the distance between you. His hand slipped around your waist, pulling you just a little closer. There was no hesitation this time, no second thoughts. The tension that had been building all night finally found its release as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a tentative kiss.

You kissed him back, slowly at first, as if testing the waters, but it didn’t take long before the hesitation melted away. You know where this was going—but whether it was just the alcohol, the moment, or something more that drove you to do this, you didn't know. But for now, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way Mingyu’s lips felt against yours, the quiet hum of desire building between you as you let yourself get lost in the moment.

Your fingers drummed rhythmically on the table, eyeing Seungcheol as if trying to gouge out his thoughts. His head was tilted slightly, thinking about your question: ‘What do you think happened next?’

“You became friends with benefits,” he said with certainty.

Your fingers stopped abruptly. “Really? You didn’t think we’d started dating after that?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Did you?”

“No,” you replied sheepishly. “But you seemed so sure that we were gonna be friends with benefits.”

“I had a hunch. It didn’t seem like your connection was building up to a romantic relationship just yet.”

You scowled, confused. “What do you mean? You didn’t think our connection was romantic?”

“Not at all. You were just friends. There was nothing that hinted any romance until the night you went to his flat.”

“Ah, I see what you mean.”

Seungcheol nodded, not smiling but he seemed pleased with himself. “So, what happened next?”

What happened next? You and Mingyu became friends with benefits, that’s what happened. Despite that arrangement, Mingyu was thoughtful in ways that made it hard to draw a clear line between what was casual and what wasn’t.

At university, nothing changed. You were still just classmates—maybe not even that close. You’d smile at each other in passing, maybe sit near each other in a lecture like usual, but that was it. To anyone else, you were barely acquaintances. But behind closed doors, it was different—passionate, fervent, and surreally euphoric.

Soon after that first night, you moved your rendezvous to your place. Your apartment was bigger than Mingyu’s tiny studio, with enough space for both of you to comfortably exist, though most of the time you didn’t bother with space. Whenever he came over, it didn’t take long for his hands to find you or for you to pull him in. There was something magnetic between you, like a spark that kept reigniting no matter how many times you tried to cool it down.

The passion was always there, and you were always eager to touch each other. Sometimes, you wouldn’t even make it to the bed—his lips on yours, your hands tugging at his shirt, and before you knew it, you’d be tangled in each other, the sheets forgotten. Other times, when the heat had subsided, you’d lay there talking, conversations flowing easily about anything and everything.

It was odd, in a way—how effortless it felt when you were alone together. You could laugh, joke, and even sit in silence without any discomfort. Yet, in public, it was like nothing existed between you. Mingyu never brought it up, and neither did you. It was easier that way. You weren’t together, after all—just two people who couldn’t get enough of each other when no one was watching.

Sometimes, the heat was so consuming, that it blurred the lines between passion and affection. And yet, after the fire died down, there was always this: Mingyu, showing up with bread that you loved, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“You’re here already?” you asked, surprised to see Mingyu standing in your living room, browsing your bookshelf like he had all the time in the world.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greeted, flashing a smile as he carefully returned a small ceramic bear to its place.

“How did you get here so fast? You texted me like ten minutes ago,” you said, dropping your bag on the sofa as you walked toward him.

“I was nearby,” he said with a casual shrug, wrapping his arms around your waist. His lips met yours in a soft kiss, the familiar spark flickering between you. When he pulled away, he said, “I picked up some bread on my way here.”

“No way, is it the same ones you brought last time?” You couldn’t hide your excitement as you reached for the bakery bag he’d left on the coffee table.

He nodded, looking pleased with himself. “Yep, that’s the one.”

You sat in the living room that afternoon, talking over warm cups of chocolate and bread. You barely paid attention to the football game on the TV, giggling and pawing at each other, feeling cozy despite the cold weather outside.

At some point, Mingyu’s hands moved to your shoulders, and you sighed in contentment. “Thanks, I needed this,” you murmured, closing your eyes as his skilled fingers worked through the tension. It was one of Mingyu’s many skills, massages.

He leaned closer, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. “We should take this inside.”

You opened one eye, pretending not to understand. “Take what inside?”

Mingyu chuckled, his lips curving against your skin. “Well, if you want to do it here, that’s fine too but we should probably turn off the TV. I don’t feel comfortable having my idols watch,” he replied, making you turn to face him.

“Your idols?”

Mingyu shrugged and then nodded towards the TV where the football game was still on. Scoffing, you grabbed a throw pillow and hit him with it. You both laughed about it for a while, but eventually decided to lock yourselves in your bedroom.

Later that night, you stirred, the quiet glow of a laptop screen pulling you from sleep. Blinking, you realized Mingyu was no longer beside you. He was sitting on the floor, his back resting against the bed, fingers tapping rapidly on the keys.

Reaching out, you squeezed his shoulder. “What are you doing?” you asked, your voice thick with sleep.

Mingyu paused, turning slightly to kiss your knuckles. “Go back to sleep, baby. I just need to finish this.”

“Can’t it wait till morning?” you mumbled, burying your face in the pillow.

He shifted closer, wrapping an arm around you. With a soft shush, he ran his fingers through your hair. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ll be done soon. Just sleep.”

You sighed, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed your forehead. At that moment, it seemed so normal, so typical of him. But you didn’t realize at the time—it was a sign that Mingyu had trouble sleeping through the night.

Mingyu had a quiet way of making you feel seen. It wasn’t grand gestures or romantic proclamations, but in the little things he did—thoughtful acts that slipped under the radar until you realized just how much attention he paid. One time during class, he came over holding a tiny ceramic bear, almost shy as he handed it to you.

“What’s this?” you asked, turning the figurine over in your hands.

“I noticed that your bear family didn’t have a dad, so,” he said with a small grin, watching as your eyes lit up in recognition.

It was such a simple thing, but the fact that he remembered your collection, that he’d thought of you—it left you feeling touched.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you murmured, smiling. “But thanks.”

“It’s a grizzly, not a polar bear. Is that okay?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s perfect,” you giggled. “He’ll have to take up the responsibility of taking care of kids who aren’t his though.”

Mingyu shrugged, though there was a quiet satisfaction in his expression. “He’ll be a good stepdad to them. I can vouch.”

“You barely know the guy,” you laughed, playing along.

It wasn’t just gifts. Mingyu had a habit of taking care of the little things in your life without even asking. Like the time the lightbulb in your bathroom had gone out. You didn’t mention it to him, but the next time he came over, he had a replacement bulb in his bag.

“Didn’t realize you were an electrician now,” you joked as he stood on a chair, screwing in the new bulb.

He laughed. “Just figured you’d forget to buy one.”

“I wasn’t going to forget,” you protested, even though he was right. “But… thanks.”

It was like that often with him—effortless, natural.

“Alright, let’s see,” he said, stepping down from the chair and reaching for the switch to test if it worked. When it did, he let out a satisfied hum. “There you go. Good as new.”

“How much for your labor, good sir?” you quipped, wiping away the tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

The grin Mingyu gave you was menacing, shamelessly checking you out in your tank top and shorts. “I’ll have you know I do not accept monetary fees.”

You knew what he meant and he made it especially clear when he casually pressed his palm on your left boob. You just scoffed and swatted his hand away. “I see you work pro bono. Thanks a lot.”

With a teasing grin, you walked away. In the kitchen, he cooked dinner while you sat on the counter, munching on an apple. You found it amusing that the wok he used was something he had brought from his own flat. It's been in your kitchen for a while now. Today, he brought his own kitchen knife.

“You might as well move in at this rate,” you teased after he warned you to be careful with his sharp knife. “What’s next? A drawer for your clothes?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll consider it.”

“You might as well do since you’re here almost every day,” you jeered. “You should bring your own toothbrush too.”

“Ah, that reminds me.” He moved toward you, placing a kiss on your cheek as he rummaged through the paper bag resting on your lap. From there, he fished out two toothbrushes, holding them up like a peace offering. “Look. They came in pairs.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I use an electric toothbrush, you know.”

“Then keep it as a backup,” he shrugged, still grinning. “Or don't. It’s not a big deal.”

You’d joked at first, but eventually, you started using the toothbrush he brought. It felt like a small connection, something that tied him a little more closely to you, even if neither of you talked about it.

And he remembered everything. When you ordered food, he always knew exactly what you wanted without asking. “Chicken katsu with extra sauce,” he’d say, already placing the order. He’d put on music that matched your mood perfectly, like the playlists you loved but never had to mention. Even the book you had been reading—he remembered the title, asked if you’d finished it yet.

Those little moments kept piling up, making it harder to separate the physical nature of your relationship from the real deal. Every time he remembered, every time he took care of something small, you wondered if maybe this wasn’t just friends with benefits after all.

But then there were moments of uncertainty that made you question how much you really knew about him. Sometimes, in quiet moments, he would zone out, lost in thought. You vividly remember one evening when you were curled up together on the couch, a movie playing softly in the background. You had been laughing at the antics on-screen, leaning into him, when you glanced over and found him staring blankly at the flickering light of the television.

When he slept over, you’d sometimes wake up to find him staring at the ceiling. His face was relaxed, but there was a tension in the way his jaw was set, a hint of a furrow in his brow. You reached out to touch his face, hoping to draw him back into the intimacy you cherished.

“Mingyu?” you whispered, your voice thick with sleep. He’d blinked, as if waking from a dream, and he turned to you then. For a brief moment, you saw a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes before he masked it with a smile. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I was just… thinking,” he replied, his voice trailing off. You could see it in his eyes—something was weighing heavily on him, a thought he was wrestling with that he didn’t want to share.

“About what?” you prodded, trying to gouge out something—anything that he’s willing to share. He shifted slightly as if the question made him uncomfortable.

“Just stuff. Don’t worry about it,” he said, a noncommittal answer that only left you more curious. He pulled you closer in a warm embrace. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

The way he shrugged it off felt like a wall going up between you, and for a moment, the warmth of his embrace dissipated. You didn’t push further; you never wanted to pressure him. Instead, you closed your eyes, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

You wanted to know, to understand what made him so distant at times, but every time you tried to get closer, he would slip away like sand through your fingers. You had asked about it in passing, and while he always deflected your inquiries with a joke or a change of subject, it left you wondering if there was more to his silence. You didn’t want to overthink it; after all, it didn’t happen often. Or so you told yourself, hoping that with time, he would open up.

But instead of that, Mingyu disappeared, leaving behind an emptiness that echoed in the spaces where he once filled your days with warmth and laughter.

“Are you keeping up?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow at Seungcheol who seemed to be quite slow at processing what you’d just told him.

“Yeah, of course. Though, I’m not gonna lie. I’m a little lost,” he admitted, arms crossed and holding his chin. “If you don’t mind, can I ask why he disappeared?”

You smirked, standing up at once. “I’m gonna need a drink for this.”

Seungcheol’s understood. “By all means.”

Mingyu’s disappearance wasn’t sudden or unexpected; there were signs you hadn’t recognized until he was gone. It began with him replying late to your messages, then not replying at all. You’d see him in class, and when you approached, he didn’t avoid you outright but dodged your questions and made excuses to avoid conversation. Eventually, he started sitting on the opposite side of the lecture hall, far from you and even missed a handful of classes.

You were upset, not just because he chose to stop seeing you but because he didn’t give you any warning. You had been easing into it, getting used to the idea of something more. But when he left so abruptly, you felt foolish.

Still, you had to come to terms with the fact that there was no commitment between you—what you shared was temporary, and he was free to walk away just as you were. It didn’t change the fact that his action was a total jerk move.

“It’s okay. We were just fooling around anyway,” you told yourself after almost two weeks of silence. You forced a smile at your reflection in the mirror. “That’s right. You’ll be fine.”

You tried to push Mingyu out of your mind, diving into a busy social life—going out with friends and meeting new people. At one party, you were in the midst of flirting with a cute guy when you spotted Mingyu across the room. A wave of warmth washed over you at the sight of him, but you played it cool, pretending to be engrossed in your conversation.

“So, are you always at Jinwoo’s party?” you asked, trying to sound charming but feeling more like a dork.

“Only when there’s free food,” he replied, a little too eagerly.

You forced a laugh, trying to play along. “Well, they do have snacks... and drinks.”

He leaned in closer. “You know, I’m really into snacks. Like, I could talk about snacks all night.”

Your stomach turned slightly at the sudden wave of ick. You couldn’t tell if he was serious, or just saying it to be funny. What the hell does that even mean?

You caught a glimpse of Mingyu from the corner of your eye, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching the exchange with an amused expression. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you realized how embarrassing this was—Mingyu was listening, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him hearing you flounder like this.

“Right, snacks. That’s... cool.” You shot him a tight smile, glancing around the room in a bid to escape. “Speaking of snacks, I’m gonna go get me some more. Excuse me,” you smiled and slipped away from the guy, the weight of Mingyu’s gaze following you as you headed outside.

“Wow, that was awful,” Mingyu said, appearing beside you just as you stepped into the cool air.

“You,” you spat, glaring at him.

“Hello to you too,” he replied, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms. “What’s your opinion on people eavesdropping on other’s conversations instead of minding their own business?”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” he teased, though the grin on his face suggested otherwise. “I can’t help it if you guys were loud enough for me to hear, can I?”

“That doesn’t change the fact that it’s none of your business,” you replied smartly, looking away with a frown.

Mingyu’s laugh was deep, the kind that made your stomach twist in a way that was all too familiar. “Alright. I’m sorry. How about hanging out with me so you need not deal with all those lame guys?”

“Pretty sure you’re much much lamer,” you scoffed.

He called your name softly, a teasing smile playing on his lips but his eyes were more serious than before. You failed to ignore the way your heart began to race. “Lighten up. I missed you, you know.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Do you now?”

“I did.” Mingyu’s gaze flickered to your lips for a split second before he grinned again. “I missed you so much, I thought I’d go nuts.”

The confession caught you off guard but your annoyance was stronger. You scoffed, struggling to hold back and trying not to just go ahead and smack him. “Then you shouldn’t have ghosted me like that.”

His smile faltered slightly. The air between you shifted again, the playful banter fading into something heavier. Mingyu didn’t respond right away, and the silence that followed wasn’t awkward—just filled with something unspoken.

After a long pause, he finally nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry about that.”

You smirked, looking away and fixing your gaze into nothing. He should be sorry, it’s only right to be. But the fact remained: you were not in the kind of relationship where you could hold him hostage for something he was allowed to do. Yet here you were, feeling more hurt than you were allowed to be.

You let the silence hang between you, thick with unspoken tension. It went on for a while before it was broken by the sound of people clambering out of the main door, their drunken laughter echoing in the cool night air.

“Wanna get out of here?” Mingyu finally asked, breaking the spell.

“Took you long enough to ask,” you replied, striding toward the street with him following closely behind.

As you were passing by the parking lot filled with cars, Mingyu suddenly grabbed your hand. “We’re not walking to your apartment. That’s like a mile-long hike.”

“What?” you asked, confused but still allowing him to lead you toward a black SUV.

He opened the passenger door and gestured for you to get in. While he rounded the car to the driver’s side, you glanced around the unfamiliar interior, a fleeting thought crossing your mind that maybe this wasn’t his car. But as soon as he slid into the seat and turned the key in the ignition, you relaxed a little.

“Please tell me this is yours and you didn’t just steal it.”

Mingyu chuckled, his smile easing some of your lingering unease. “Why would you think that?”

“Because last time I checked, you didn’t have a car,” you replied, watching him navigate the vehicle out of the parking lot.

“Oh, this is my dad’s. He’s letting me borrow it while I’m staying with them.”

You blinked, surprised. That was the first time Mingyu had mentioned his family or anything about his life outside of university. Naturally, curiosity sparked in you.

“You moved back to your family’s house?” you asked, hoping to finally get some insight into where he’d disappeared to.

“Yeah, had to,” he said casually, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

“Why?”

He hesitated, fingers tightening on the steering wheel for just a second before he shrugged. “Just some stuff came up. Nothing major.”

There was something vague about his response, and you could sense the conversation wasn’t going to go any deeper. He’d always been good at deflecting when it came to his personal life.

You nodded, accepting the explanation without pressing further, even though the curiosity still lingered in the back of your mind. It was frustrating, but at the same time, you’d gotten used to the fact that Mingyu shared only what he wanted, and nothing more. Maybe it was just his way of keeping distance—emotional distance, that is.

When you arrived at your apartment, you barely had time to take a breath before Mingyu’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into him. It was like being caged, but in a way that made you feel safe, wanted. You couldn’t explain how much you had missed this—missed him. His warmth, his touch, the way his presence alone seemed to fill the space around you.

As you moved together from the living room to the bedroom, it felt inevitable, like gravity pulling you into his orbit once again. You knew you were letting yourself fall, diving headfirst into the abyss of passion and euphoria that was Kim Mingyu. And yet, even knowing that, you didn’t stop yourself.

You couldn’t.

“You missed me, didn’t you?” he whispered as he took your breast in his mouth.

Yes, you wanted to scream out, but all that ever left your mouth was a lewd moan. And when he heard that, he slid a hand under your dress, moving down to your hips and slipping inside your lace panties to put pressure there. He caressed your sex slowly, and then urgently in circling motions while his kisses trailed up from your breast to your neck, nipping at the supple skin before they found your lips.

Your hands had a mind of their own, greedily removing his jacket, and then running your fingers on the firm muscles and warm skin underneath. As the pleasure grew, it clouded your brain and you clung your arms around his neck in fear that your trembling legs would collapse under you.

“Lie down, baby,” he rasped in your ear, pushing you gently towards the bed.

You let yourself fall on the mattress, bouncing slightly. You watched as he undid his belt and kicked off his jeans before moving to undress you out of your dress. You saw how he ogled your body with those beautiful lustful eyes before he hovered over you and traced the outline of your face with his fingers.

“Do you have any idea how amazing you are?” he whispered. He slid a finger into your mouth and you sucked it, making him exhale sharply and dive in to kiss you feverishly.

You were almost breathless with desire, your skin prickling with anticipation of what was about to happen—of what Mingyu was about to do. You could feel him against your thigh, hot and hard, so you spread your legs open, welcoming him.

And then with one push, he was filling you—stretching you in the most exquisite way possible. His body pressed against you as he thrust in and out in a rhythm that sent ripples of pleasure through every single nerve in your body.

And all of a sudden, he stopped, leaving you momentarily confused. He stood up and said, “Come here.”

Without a word, you obliged, walking toward him in a haste. He then spinned you around so you were facing the full-length mirror in the corner of your room. “Take a good look at yourself.”

You saw yourself in the mirror; messy hair, flushed cheeks, and your lips swollen from kissing. You could see him in your reflection, standing behind you with fire in his eyes. You watched as he reached for your breast, while his other hand cupped your sex, collecting the slick in his hand before bringing it to his tongue.

You gasped at how hot he looked, and seeing your reaction made Mingyu grin. Without warning, he pushed you back on the bed, lifted you by the waist so your ass was sticking out. Then he pressed your face on the mattress before you felt a sharp, delightful pain on your buttcheek where he smacked you with his palm.

“Oh, Mingyu!” you cried out.

He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “That’s not loud enough, baby.”

“Mingyu, please!” you begged, needing nothing but to be filled again.

Once again, he pushed his cock inside you, making you whimper in the most obscene manner.

“Fuck,” he grunted. His fingers dug hard into your hips as he thrust deeply and vigorously. Your hand held onto the sheets, pleasure so intense that you couldn’t think anymore—you couldn’t even see your own naked, sweaty self in the mirror in front of you. But you could hear the sound of bodies slamming into each other again and again and a breathless moan that must have been coming from your own throat.

When the ecstatic high engulfed the two of you, he loosened his hold of your waist and your legs felt so weak you could barely hold yourself up. So you collapsed on the bed, followed by Mingyu, panting beside you with a satisfied look on his face.

“How was that?” he said smugly, knowing damn well how wonderful he made you feel.

You just laughed, snuggling into him as you put off washing up for a few more minutes.

The heated passion gave way to a quiet intimacy as you both settled into bed. The sound of rain tapping against the window filled the silence, soothing and rhythmic.

You chatted lazily about random things—music, classes, friends—until you finally gathered the courage to ask, “What happened to you? Where’ve you been?”

“I’m really sorry. I got busy with school and stuff at home,” Mingyu replied, his tone casual. But you could sense something unspoken beneath his words, as always. “Did you miss me?” he added, trying to keep it light.

You had missed him. A lot. But you weren’t about to admit that. “Barely. Didn’t even notice you were gone.”

Mingyu chuckled, clearly not buying it. “Is that why you were out there flirting with every cute guy you meet?”

You raised an eyebrow, grinning. “You seem to know an awful lot about me. One might think you’re interested or something.”

He laughed softly, the kind of laugh that made your stomach flutter. “You’ll find that I am, in fact, very interested,” he said with a quiet conviction. And suddenly, the air between you shifted again, filled with tension—desire mingling with uncertainty.

“Say,” Mingyu began, his voice lowering as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you want to be exclusive?”

Your heart raced at the word. “Exclusive…? Like—”

“Like not sleeping with other people,” he clarified, though that wasn’t quite the question you were about to ask.

You were about to ask if he meant dating. Thank God you didn’t.

“Oh…” you trailed off, unsure how to respond. “Why?”

Mingyu shrugged, his tone still casual. “No reason. It’s okay if you don’t want to. You’re free to do whatever you want. But… it’d be nice, don’t you think?”

There was no reason to say no. The truth was, you’d stopped considering other guys long ago, the moment this thing with Mingyu began. Still, his offer made your heart race—both giddy and nervous. But there was no way you’d let him see that.

“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem like a fair deal,” you quipped, hiding behind banter.

Mingyu narrowed his eyes at you, curious. “Wait, what does that mean?”

You shrugged again, refusing to elaborate, though it didn’t really mean anything.

“Hold on—what?” He sat up, feigning shock, and flexed his arms dramatically. “You don’t think this is a fair deal?”

“Where?” you teased, squinting at his muscles like you couldn’t see them.

Mingyu grinned and started flexing even harder, pointing out specific muscles like they were on display. “You seriously don’t see this? Look closely and tell me this isn’t a fair deal.”

You giggled, reaching for him with your toes. Grinning, he grabbed your foot and pulled you toward him. The sudden tug made you squeal.

“Come on, baby, take it back.” He leaned down, hovering over you, eyes soft. “Take it back while I’m still being nice.”

“I didn’t ask you to be nice,” you taunted, your coy smile daring him.

Mingyu chuckled low in his throat. “You’re extra beautiful when you’re naughty, did you know that?”

“No idea,” you replied, grinning as he leaned in, capturing your lips again. When his hand cupped your boob, you pulled away from the kiss and pushed him off. “No.”

“Aw, fine,” he sighed in defeat, falling next to you on the bed. Quietly, he settled behind you, wrapping an arm around your torso and sliding his other arm under your head. “Get some rest.”

He didn't say much after that, but there was a warmth in the way he pulled you closer, an unconscious act of intimacy that made your chest tighten.

It hit you then—how much you’d come to crave moments like this, not just the passion, but the feeling of being with him, of having him there with you in the silence. You’d never felt this way before, not even with past relationships, and the realization made your heart race. You were falling for him, had already fallen. It wasn’t the way he teased you or the way he kissed you, but the quiet moments in between, where you felt like he saw you, really saw you.

It had been a long week. Between schoolwork, dealing with your chaotic schedule, and pretending like everything with Mingyu was still as casual as it used to be, you were exhausted. The tension gnawed at you—this thing between you two was starting to feel like more than it should. It wasn’t something you were ready to acknowledge yet, but it lingered in the back of your mind.

You walked into your apartment after a particularly grueling day, half-expecting the silence to greet you. When you walked into the kitchen for water, you found a small plastic bag filled with food on the table. Next to it was a tiny ceramic panda bear, about half the size of your palm.

You blinked, trying to process it. It wasn’t there this morning. Mingyu must’ve stopped by.

You walked over to the counter, looking at the items. Inside the bag were a couple of your favorite snacks—nothing big, just the kind of things you liked to nibble on when you were too tired to cook. There was no note, but the panda felt like something only he would give you. It was cute in an oddly sentimental way, like he knew you’d smile at it.

You heard a knock at the door and quickly set the bear back on the counter, hurrying to open it. Mingyu stood there, casual as ever.

“Hey,” he said, flashing you that familiar, easygoing grin.

“Hey,” you replied, smiling back. “Did you stop by earlier? Or do I have a creepy psychopathic stalker who’s obsessed with me and thinks it’s romantic to leave food for me at home while I’m away?”

Mingyu laughed heartily. “What are you gonna do if the creepy psychopathic stalker was me?”

“I’m calling the police,” you told him, closing the door to his face. He didn’t stop you, nor did he knock for about thirty seconds after you closed the door so you opened it again. “Come on in, then.”

“I was in the area so I thought I’d drop by and surprise you but you weren’t home,” he explained, kicking his shoes off at the foyer.

“Snacks and a panda?” you asked, raising an eyebrow but smiling. “That’s quite a combination.”

Mingyu shrugged, a soft laugh escaping him. “I saw it in this shop near campus. And I figured if it was you, you wouldn’t leave it alone in that shop.”

“I don’t go around adopting every bear figurine I see, Mingyu,” you snorted, picking up the panda again.

“Maybe, but since he’s already here, you should have it up there with your little bear family,” he beamed, taking the panda from your hand and placing it up on the shelf with the rest of your bear collections. “She can be their Chinese aunt.”

“Because she’s from China?” you asked and saw him nod his head. You both laughed. “I’m sure they appreciate you making their family bigger.”

“Thanks for saying that,” he smiled, not the mischievous kind of smile that he usually sported, but a sincere one—as if he was touched by your statement. “I’m glad I could make them happy,” he added, staring at the bear family.

You stared at him for a moment, something warm and unfamiliar swelling in your chest. This wasn’t just some casual fling anymore, was it? You tried to play it cool, but the way he just knew—the way he quietly showed up in your life, making you feel special in small but wonderful ways—made it harder to keep pretending you didn’t care. You could only hope he’d open up to you and let you into his world. That way, you could love him properly.

“Thanks,” you said softly. “It’s cute.”

“Yeah?” he asked, turning his gaze back at you. “You’re cute.”

You rolled your eyes, though your heart skipped a beat. “Shut up.”

Mingyu chuckled, leaning against the wall, watching you with an unreadable expression. It was like he wanted to say something but was holding back. You were holding back too, both of you toeing the line of something you could not bring up.

“I’ll make you dinner,” you offered, trying to fill the silence.

“You don’t have to,” Mingyu replied, but you were already walking toward the kitchen, grateful for the distraction.

The rest of the evening was spent with each other’s company, sitting together on the sofa with your head resting on his chest as he absentmindedly stroked your hair. The silence wasn’t awkward or strained; if anything, it was soothing, the kind of peace that made you feel safe and whole.

It is in moments like this that you realize you need not fill every moment with words. Being with him like this was comfortable and nice.

Mingyu shifted slightly, one hand holding your shoulder as he reached for his phone on the coffee table. You glanced up at him, watching as the light from the screen cast soft shadows across his face. You’d memorized every detail of how he looked by now—the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, that playful smirk he always wore. But tonight, something about him felt different. His dark hair, slightly disheveled, framed his forehead just the right way, and you couldn’t help but think of how soft it looked—how soft it felt the mornings you ran your fingers through it when he was half-asleep. He always looked good, like some kind of casual perfection, but right now, with his face relaxed in the glow of the phone, he looked almost unreal.

You’d thought he was handsome the day you met him—he’d always had that charm that caught you off guard—but now, now that you’d spent nights tracing every inch of him, mornings laughing at how messy his hair could get, and afternoons like this where he seemed so unaware of how much space he took up in your thoughts... it hit you all over again. He wasn’t just good-looking. He was beautiful in a way that made you ache a little, like your mind couldn’t fully comprehend that someone like him was sitting here with you.

His voice broke through your reverie, a gentle reminder that this wasn’t some dream you’d conjured up. He really was here. “Ah, I almost forgot. Exams start tomorrow. Are you ready?”

You pressed your lips together in a tight line, suddenly reminded of the real world. “I’ve gone through all my notes, but I’m not sure,” you muttered, the conversation feeling trivial compared to what was really on your mind. You weren’t thinking about exams. You were thinking about how, with him beside you like this, nothing else seemed to matter.

“We could pray,” he snickered. “For our grades.”

You rolled your eyes. “As if you have to. You’re gonna ace everything and graduate with flying colors.”

Mingyu chuckled. “We’re freshmen—ages away from graduation.”

“Yes, but if you continue at your current pace, you’d really graduate with distinction.”

He hummed, kissing your forehead. “You think too highly of me. I like it more when you used to call me a himbo. Less pressure.”

Without thinking, you let out a soft sigh, turning to look at him. Really look at him. His focus had shifted back to his phone, his long fingers casually scrolling through whatever app he was on, but there was a subtle tension in his jaw, like maybe he was thinking about something too.

“Let’s go to bed. I’m tired,” you said, nuzzling into his shirt.

Mingyu sighed, pulling you closer as he placed his phone down. “Sorry. I have to be home tonight.”

“Oh.” You didn’t mean for it to sound so disappointed, but it slipped out anyway.

Mingyu rubbed the back of his neck, clearly sensing the shift. “I just have to help out at home tonight. My parents…” He trailed off, leaving the explanation half-formed, and you didn’t press him for more.

“Right. Of course,” you said, forcing a small smile. “You don’t have to explain.”

There was an awkward pause before he kissed the top of your head again, his voice soft. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” You sat up as he rose from the couch, the warm space he left behind feeling a little colder already.

Mingyu grabbed his jacket from the chair, glancing at you with a small, apologetic smile. “I’ll text you.”

You nodded, watching as he left, and once the door clicked shut behind him, the silence of the room felt a little too loud.

“He’s just busy with exams,” you told yourself, sitting in your living room with your elbows propped on your knees, chin in your hands. You stared at the bears on the bookshelf, speaking to them as though they could somehow offer an answer. “Or maybe he had stuff to take care of at home.”

It had been four days, and you hadn’t heard from Mingyu. He texted after he left your apartment like he said he would, but after that—nothing. The last thing he mentioned was that he was spending time with his father. But then, radio silence.

“He should at least check in on me, right?” you muttered, leaning back into the sofa. “It’s been four days.”

Just as you were spiraling further into your thoughts, your phone buzzed in your hand, making you sit back up with a jolt. Your heart raced at the thought of Mingyu finally texting you, but your excitement died down as quickly as it came. It was just Mina.

Mina: otw to pick u up. U ready?

“Oh, shit,” you cursed, bolting upright. You scrambled to your bedroom, throwing on the first outfit you could find that was semi-decent for a party.

You spent the next five minutes getting ready, knowing Mina lived nearby and would be here in less than ten minutes. By the time you heard the knock on your door, you were almost done with your makeup, except for the lipstick that you decided you’d do in the car.

“Coming!” you called out, rushing to slip on your shoes as you headed for the door. But when you flung the door open, it wasn’t Mina standing outside.

Mingyu stood there, his hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, wearing the faintest of smiles. “Hi.”

“Mingyu!” you exclaimed, gripping the doorknob to resist the urge to leap into his arms. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d drop by. Is now a bad time?”

“No! I mean, yes—kinda! I’m going to Hoshi’s party,” you rambled.

Mingyu nodded, a flicker of realization crossing his face. “Ah! I was supposed to go there too. Should we go together?”

“My friends are already on their way to pick me up,” you said quickly, wincing. “Come inside for a bit.”

You pulled him in by the sleeve, shutting the door before Mina could catch you in this whirlwind of confusion. Mingyu was here—after four days of nothing—and suddenly, all those unspoken thoughts came rushing back. Why hadn’t he reached out? What was going on?

“You said you’re supposed to go to the party?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Yeah,” he answered, walking closer and resting his forehead on your shoulder. His sigh was long, deep, and heavy. Much heavier than you expected.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, placing a gentle hand on his back.

“Yeah, it’s just… I’ve been exhausted these days,” he confessed, sighing again. He wrapped his arms around your waist. “Let’s just stay like this for a while.”

And you did. You let him stay there, gently stroking his back in hopes that it would bring him comfort from whatever it was that was bothering him. It was as if you could sense the weight of his worries pressing down on him.

In that silence, your mind raced. You wanted to ask what was wrong, but something in his demeanor urged you to hold back. Instead, you focused on the rhythm of his breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest. He needed this comfort, and for now, it felt like enough to be there for him. You didn’t move, not even when you heard the first series of knocks on your door. You just stood there, giving Mingyu the warmest hug you could offer.

When the second knocks came, followed by Mina’s voice calling your name, Mingyu pulled away. “Is that your ride?”

“Yeah,” you replied softly, almost in a whisper.

He smiled at you, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear, lingering for a moment—thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw. “I’ll see you there, then.”

“Alright,” you whispered, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. “I’ll go first, okay? You can stay for as long as you need.”

“Thanks,” he said, kissing your lips softly.

In the car with your friends, your mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Mingyu. Is he okay? What happened? Why did he seem upset and sad? Where was he these past few days?

“Where’s Mingyu these days?” Mina asked, tugging on your elbow to get your attention. “You guys are close, right?”

“Huh?” you asked, surprised by the question. What you have with Mingyu wasn’t a secret, but you didn’t openly tell other people about it. Whenever someone noticed that you seemed close, you always told them that you were friends. And in a way, you were.

Mina tilted her head slightly, confused. “Was I wrong? I thought you two got along.”

“Oh, yeah. We’re friends.”

Mina said, “I haven’t seen him around campus in a while. Is he okay?”

“I think he’s fine, yes. Why’d you ask?” you replied.

“Well, something happened a few days ago,” Mina said, hesitating. She turned to Jill, your other friend who’s driving. “Jill, tell her what happened.”

You met Jill’s gaze in the mirror briefly. “Lea and I saw him getting slapped outside the campus.”

Your heart ached. “When was it? Who hit him?”

“It was probably his mom,” said Lea, glancing at you from the shotgun seat. “She looked like it and Mingyu got in her car after. Luckily there weren’t many people there and I think only a few noticed. But he seemed really depressed at the time.”

You leaned on the backrest of your seat, crossing your arms over your chest as you wondered about Mingyu. Is he having problems at home? Is that why he was upset?

“You’re worried. You must be close,” Mina said, probing for answers about your relationship with him.

“He’s my friend. Of course I’m worried.”

When you reached the party, you were stuck with your friends for a while, playing a round of drinking games with other people. When that was over, and you’d managed to slip away unnoticed, you searched the crowd for Mingyu.

You leaned against the wall, holding a half-full cup of punch, scanning the crowd. You spotted him nearby, talking to a group of friends, his usual easy smile lighting up his face. You smiled too, watching him. It was almost effortless with him, how he could make everyone around him feel comfortable. You’d noticed it before—Mingyu was always the life of the party wherever he went.

But then you remembered what your friends told you, and the smile faltered from your lips. How much pain was he hiding behind those sweet smiles? Were they fake the whole time? Or were they real and was he only able to smile this much outside his home? What was going on with his life? With him? At this point, the most fitting question would be, ‘Who is he really?’

You were about to join him when you noticed someone approach him—some girl you hadn’t seen before. She was tall, pretty, with perfectly styled hair and an outfit that screamed confidence. She touched Mingyu’s arm lightly, leaning in to say something that made him chuckle. It was a small, polite laugh, the kind he gave when he didn’t want to be rude, but that didn’t stop the knot from forming in your chest.

You tried to ignore it, reminding yourself that it didn’t mean anything. But when she took another step closer to him, her fingers lingering on his arm, you felt a strange tightness, a familiar sensation that crawled under your skin.

Jealousy.

Jealousy was a strange thing. You had never felt it before—not like this. The idea of losing him, even though you weren’t “together,” made your stomach flip.

Mingyu’s eyes flicked over the room, and then they landed on you. For a split second, you thought about looking away, playing it cool. But the look in his eyes, the way his face softened when he saw you, stopped you in your tracks. He smiled—his real smile, the one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners—and the knot in your chest loosened a little.

Without a word, Mingyu took a small step back from the girl and made his way over to you. You tried to act casual, leaning against the wall as if your heart wasn’t racing.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm and familiar. He stood close, the heat of his presence drawing you in.

“Hey,” you replied, trying not to let the relief show on your face.

“Enjoying the party?” he asked, leaning in slightly so you could hear him over the music.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you said, shrugging. “You seem popular tonight.” You couldn’t help the slight edge in your voice, even though you tried to play it off as a joke.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the subtle tone. “You mean her?” he asked, tilting his head toward the girl who was now talking to someone else. “She’s just being friendly.”

“Friendly, huh?” you replied, taking another sip of your drink. “Looked like she was being a little too friendly.”

Mingyu laughed softly, stepping even closer. His hand brushed against your arm, sending a familiar warmth through you. “Did you know I like my women territorial?” he teased, but his tone was gentle.

You scoffed, trying to hide the sudden rush of embarrassment. “Go find yourself someone territorial then,” you said, bumping your shoulder against his when you pushed past him.

Mingyu chuckled, turning to grab your wrist and stop you from leaving. “I don’t need to find one.” He tugged you towards him, hugging you from behind and planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek. “I have my territorial girl right here.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered. “Get off me. Why are you doing this in public?” you chided, shaking him off but not putting in any strength to actually get away from him.

“Oh, is this not allowed?” he asked and you were about to fire a retort when you caught your friends’ gazes from across the room. You felt your cheeks flare, looking away to avoid Mina’s teasing grin.

“Get off.” You pushed him away and straightened your clothes.

Mingyu chuckled heartily, tugging your shoulder so you’d face him. He was smiling softly, a softness that made you feel seen in a way that was more intimate than anything else. “Don’t worry. I’m yours exclusively.”

You stared at him, trying to read what was on his mind. You wish you could, but it was impossible.

The words hit you harder than you expected. Exclusively? He must be talking about the fact that you were exclusive fuck buddies. You wished he wasn’t, but you’d rather not have false expectations.

“I know,” you said, your voice quieter now.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension hung in the air between you, thick and unspoken. You didn’t need to say anything more. You both understood.

“Mingyu!” shouted someone from across the room. You both turned your heads in the direction of the voice and saw a guy waving for Mingyu. “Come on, man! It’s your turn!”

Mingyu chuckled, waving back. “You guys continue without me!” he shouted back. Then he took your hand, fingers lacing through yours, and gave it a small squeeze. “Wanna ditch?”

You shrugged.

“Come on. I know you want to leave and go for burgers right now.”

You felt a smile tug at your lips. “Did you just read my mind?”

“No, but I have a manual in my head with your name on it, and that information is saved here,” he replied, pressing an index finger to his temple.

“You’re so obsessed with me. Aren’t you embarrassed?” you quipped, pushing off the wall and walking toward the door, feeling the familiar warmth of Mingyu’s presence right behind you.

The night ended in your apartment, as expected. In the heat of the moment, you set aside everything—your confusion, the questions, everything. There was only you and him in this moment of passion. Once more, you let yourself spiral into the momentary distraction of pleasure. And when the high slowly dissipated, you found yourself in the warm bathtub, with your back leaning on Mingyu’s chest.

“Are you staying?” you asked softly. “Over, I mean. Or do you need to go home?”

“I’d love to stay,” he replied. “Is that okay?”

“Of course it is.” You closed your eyes, content with his answer. “I don’t even want you to leave,” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

Mingyu chuckled lightly. “I don’t want to leave either. I wish I could just stay here. Forever, if that’s even possible,” he said and it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Oh yeah? Then why do you—” You bit your lip, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden. You weren’t used to confronting things like this. You looked up to meet his gaze, looking into his eyes. “Where will you disappear next time, Kim Mingyu?”

For a second, his expression shifted—just a flicker of something in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite read. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice filled with a quiet certainty. “Not unless you want me to.”

Your chest tightened. His words were simple, but the weight behind them hit you harder than you expected. How long had you been waiting to hear something like that? To know that, at least for now, he was yours, and he wasn’t going to slip away without warning like he had before.

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice again. “No. I don’t want you to go.”

Mingyu smiled, that same easygoing grin that always seemed to make everything feel okay, even when it wasn’t. “Then stop worrying,” he said, his thumb still tracing those soft circles on your skin.

He didn’t make a promise, and maybe you should’ve asked for one. Because even though he stayed for a while, it didn’t stop him from fading away all over again.

You were at Mina’s apartment, sitting on the edge of her bed while she packed her things. Beside you, Jill was cradling a bag of chips, pointedly refusing to share.

“I still don’t get why you’re moving out,” Jill grumbled, slapping your hand when you reached for a chip. She shot you a glare and continued, “Can’t you just tell your parents you don’t want to live with them?”

“Asian parents,” Mina sighed, shaking her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Exactly! I don’t understand why they’d move to another state just to follow you here,” Jill said, incredulous. “That’s some next-level parenting!”

“They moved because they can’t stand being away from their daughter,” you chimed in, swiping a protein bar from Jill’s stash. “Also because they can.”

“Yeah, and that’s why it’s so confusing,” Jill scoffed, gesturing toward Mina. “My parents love me too, but they wouldn’t move out of their hometown just to keep me close. Are all Asian parents like hers? Do they really want their grown-ass kids living at home?”

You shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it happens more often than you’d think.” Your mind briefly wandered to Mingyu, remembering how he’d moved back in with his parents.

Before you could say more, music blared from outside the bedroom, cutting through the conversation. You looked up to see Lea entering the room, a towel draped over her shoulders like a makeshift cape. She carried a speaker in one hand, which she promptly set down on the nightstand.

“You say!” she belted, voice dramatic as she launched into the opening lines of a Hamilton song. “The price of my love is not a price that you’re willing to pay!”

The three of you groaned in unison.

Mina rolled her eyes, standing up to shove Lea out of the room. “Get out, nerd,” she said, feigning annoyance but unable to hide her smile.

“She’s sad. Let her grieve,” you teased, glancing toward the door where Lea continued knocking persistently.

Mina sighed and switched off the speaker, silencing the music. “She’s just overdramatic, that’s what she is. It’s not like we won’t see each other anymore.”

“Maybe you won’t,” you said, shrugging. “Who knows? Some people like to disappear and not say a word. Only to show up out of nowhere and act like nothing happened.”

Mina crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head slightly as she observed you with a hint of suspicion in her eyes. “Where is this coming from?”

You shrugged, glancing at Jill who was giving you the same look. The chuckle you let out was awkward and defensive. “Nowhere. I’m just yapping for no reason. You know me.”

“Yeah, we know you,” Jill said, grinning playfully. “We know you’re hiding someone up at your apartment.”

“WHAT?” you exclaimed, backing away and laughing incredulously. “No. When did I ever! You’re crazy," you denied, snorting.

“Uh-huh? Then why haven’t we been invited there in like, six months already?” Jill interrogated.

You looked away. “I didn’t know you guys were keeping count.”

“Who is it?” Mina pressed, a teasing smile on her lips.

“No one,” you said briskly. “We haven’t talked in like, a week.”

“Oh, is it over before we even found out who it was?” Mina asked, appalled.

Before you could respond, Lea’s voice rang out from outside the door, full of flair. “You’ll be back! Soon you’ll see! You’ll remember you belong to me!”

Yeah. Mingyu will be back. Like always.

You went on with your life, like always. You’d learned to adapt. Classes came and went, each lecture merging into the next. On the first few times that Mingyu would disappear, you used to be distracted. Now you just went on as usual. Each day passed in a blur of classes, late-night study sessions, and the occasional laugh with friends.

“You still haven’t told us who this mystery man is. He’s not a professor, is he?” Lea questioned while you were at a cafe one evening.

“No! What the heck?” you said briskly, shaking your head at the ridiculous accusation.

“Is it Mingyu? You guys seem... close,” Mina teased.

“No,” you lied, blatantly.

Mina nudged your elbow. “Then why won’t you tell us?”

You hesitated, glancing down at your plate. “It’s just… it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Jill asked, leaning in, her eyes glimmering with curiosity. “He ghosted you, right? You’re better off without him.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you said, but the words felt heavy in your mouth. You could not bring yourself to tell them that he’d done this before, and that he’d be back. When he does, you’d take him back like you always did.

You didn’t want to tell them how much you craved his presence, even if it was a source of confusion and pain. The idea of him laughing and teasing you again, the thought of being held by him, being one with him in body and mind—it all felt like a drug you couldn’t resist. How could you tell your friends that? They’d kill you if they can’t kill Mingyu first.

Mina reached out, squeezing your hand. “You deserve someone who’s all in. Not someone who just pops in and out of your life.”

“I know,” you nodded, appreciating their concern. You know they were right, but you still wanted to wait for Mingyu.

Just as the ache began to dull into a familiar rhythm, you were in the library, buried under a pile of textbooks. The quiet hum of studying students surrounded you, but you were in your own world, focusing on an assignment.

“Hey, stranger,” said a familiar voice that made your heart race. You looked up to find Mingyu and your stomach flipped as you caught his eye. He looked goofy—exactly as you remembered. “Missed me?”

“More like I forgot what you looked like,” you retorted, trying to play it cool.

He laughed, that warm, infectious laugh that always made your heart flutter. “Oh, come on! You know you missed my face.”

“Not as much as I missed your annoying habit of interrupting my study sessions,” you shot back, though you couldn’t suppress the smile creeping onto your face.

Mingyu grinned, leaning closer. “I can’t help it. What’s more interesting than me?”

Your heart swelled at his playful confidence, and for the first time in weeks, the tension in your chest eased a little. “A lot of things, actually,” you teased, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

“Lies,” he said pouting as he slid on the seat next to you, scooting so close that your shoulders were squeezed together. “So, any plans tonight?”

You rolled your eyes, but inside, you felt the warmth of his presence filling the void he had left.

Mingyu started to integrate himself back into your life seamlessly. He would swing by your apartment with snacks, distract you with silly anecdotes, and make you laugh until your sides hurt. You need not mention that most of these nights were spent with your limbs tangled underneath your sheets—half his weight pressing on you, your fingernails digging into his skin, as your moans blended with his soft grunts, creating a beautiful melody that made you lose your mind.

One afternoon, you found yourselves in the park, lounging on the grass under the fading sunlight. “So, what’s new with you?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbow to look at you.

“Not much. Just the usual—classes, studying, hanging out with the same friends,” you replied, your gaze drifting to the clouds above.

He raised an eyebrow. “Just that? No wild adventures? No spontaneous trips?”

You laughed softly. “You’re my wild adventures, Mingyu.”

Mingyu’s expression shifted, his playful demeanor softening as he studied your face. “I’m sorry for disappearing like that. I just needed some time to take care of stuff,” he explained, playing with the ends of your hair. “I wish I didn’t have to.”

His words hung in the air, and your breath caught in your throat. The way he looked at you made you feel special again—loved even. You could feel the warmth spreading in your chest, a blend of relief and yearning.

“I’m glad you’re back,” you said softly, your heart swelling with hope.

“I know,” he replied with a teasing smirk, but his eyes were sincere. You stayed like that for a while, just staring at each other, not quite understanding what your eyes were trying to tell each other, but content nonetheless.

“I should go,” you said, sitting up. Mingyu followed, holding your hand and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Go where? I was hoping we could hang out again tonight. How does steak sound? I’ve gotten good at it recently.”

“I am tempted, but maybe next time. I made plans with the girls.”

“Can I sleep over tonight, then? I don’t wanna go home,” he pleaded.

You winced. “Mina’s sleeping over tonight.”

“Didn’t she sleep over the other day, though?”

“Yeah, well. She doesn’t have an apartment anymore. It’s a long story.”

Mingyu gasped playfully. “Is she moving in with you?”

“No, not really. But she’d be sleeping over sometimes.”

“Not your friend cockblocking me.”

You threw your head back laughing. “Dumbass. Go away.”

As the days turned into weeks, you settled back into the regular rhythm with him. Mingyu seemed lighter, more carefree. Every moment felt precious, as if you were both making up for lost time.

But behind the lighthearted moments, you could feel it—the underlying tension that often accompanied Mingyu’s presence. You pushed it aside, choosing to savor the time you had together instead of dwelling on what might come next.

Then, one chilly evening, it happened.

You’d heard somewhere before that one should expect disappointment. That way, the said disappointment would hurt less once it comes. They were only half-right.

“What’s your opinion so far?” you asked, watching Seungcheol lean back in his chair.

He shook his head slowly. “I’m not really in a position to comment.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. I’m the one asking.”

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I think you’ve got yourself stuck in an impasse. And honestly, it’s a frustrating one, because you knew what was going on, you didn’t like it, and you knew exactly what you could do to get out of it.”

“And your point is?”

“My point is, you could have spared yourself the trouble. You could have chosen differently—confront him, walk away, tell him to leave if he’s just gonna keep doing what he’s doing,” he replied.

You shot him a teasing smile. “Notice how you’re listing all the things I could have done, instead of what Mingyu should have done?”

There was a flicker of realization on Seungcheol’s face, clearly caught off guard. “Oh…”

You chuckled softly. “Exactly. That’s because people generally don’t trust men to be capable of picking up after their messes.”

“That’s actually a good insight,” he admitted with a nod. “So what happened after that?”

“You know what happened. It’s where I started when I told you this story. He called me after a week of radio silence, complaining about his annoying professor. Then I invited him over, we had sex, and we fell back into the same cycle of pretending like nothing was wrong. With him. Or with us. Then he vanished again.”

Seungcheol nodded quietly as he refilled your empty glass. For some reason, the gesture felt like a pat on your shoulder. In your mind, you thought that maybe this was his way of comforting you. That is—if he cared at all.

“That was the first time we fought,” you added, smiling bitterly at the memory.

At that point, you’d recognize the cues. You’d had Mingyu memorized and knew exactly from the way he was beginning to get detached that he was about to disappear again—late replies, making excuses and avoiding you at the campus. The thought of being abandoned by him once more struck a chord in you. Before you know it, you were confronting him, demanding to be heard.

“You’re doing it again,” you said, just as he was reaching for the doorknob.

Mingyu stopped, looked back at you, and blinked, confused. “Doing what?”

You gestured at him at the door. “This. The avoiding, the excuses.” Your voice was sharper than you intended, but you couldn’t hold it back anymore.

He shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “I’ve been busy—”

“Stop!” you interrupted. “Just stop it! Don’t lie to me, Mingyu. You think I don’t notice? You’re pulling away, and you always do this right before you disappear!”

Mingyu sighed, backing away from the door and facing you fully. He uttered your name—softly, pleadingly. “Come on, baby. Let’s not do this right now.”

“What? Am I supposed to just take it in stride while you disappear to God knows where without so much as a word? No. We’re doing this right now,” you demanded. The corner of your eyes began to sting with the tears threatening to fall.

He reached to touch you but you recoiled, and he could only clench his fist then withdraw his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Is that all you have to say?” you asked, appalled.

“I don’t wanna make excuses.”

“Who said you have to?” you asked quietly, your voice unsteady. “You just have to be honest.”

“It's easier said than done!” he snapped, exhaling sharply as he held your gaze. You could see the hesitation on his face before he looked away and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“What do you want from me, Mingyu?” you croaked out, trying to steady yourself on your feet. “Why do you keep doing this to me?”

“I don’t mean to hurt you,” he said defensively, reaching out again but you backed away.

“But you do! And I feel like absolute shit because… because…” The words got stuck in your throat. How were you supposed to explain the constant tug-of-war inside you? The feeling of wanting more but being too scared to ask for it? “Am I just someone you use when it’s convenient? Someone you need when you’re lonely, then toss aside the moment you’re done?”

“No! Don’t say that!” Mingyu growled, grabbing you by the shoulders and pulling you into a tight hug. You tensed at first, but then you felt it—the way his arms wrapped around you, not in anger, but in desperation. “I care about you. I care a lot about you.”

The force of his hold spoke louder than anything he’d said. His grip tightened slightly, but it wasn’t suffocating. It felt… conflicted, as if he was holding onto you for dear life but didn’t know how to tell you why. You felt his breath, unsteady against your hair, like he was battling with words that refused to come out.

But it wasn’t enough.

You stiffened in his arms, resisting the urge to melt into his warmth like you always had before. “Mingyu,” you whispered, your voice barely holding together, “if you care about me, why won’t you just be honest?”

He didn’t let go, but his grip faltered, his fingers loosening just enough for you to feel the uncertainty. His silence stretched on, filling the air between you, but he still couldn’t say it. He couldn’t give you what you needed—a promise, a reason, something to hold onto.

“Go,” you said, your voice raw with pain.

Mingyu faltered, his arms falling to his sides, his eyes pleading as if you’d just said something he wasn’t ready to hear. “Please…” he whispered, reaching out again.

You turned your back on him. “Just go, Mingyu,” you repeated, voice cracking as you struggled to keep your tears at bay. “Go. I can’t do this right now.”

With your back turned you didn’t see him linger by the door, hand hesitating on the knob. You didn’t catch the sadness clouding his eyes, the way his fingers twitched as if to reach for you one last time. And you missed the way he looked at you—torn, broken—before he slipped out of your life once again.

And with Mingyu gone, he didn’t see your legs give out beneath you. You collapsed onto the living room floor, where the two of you had spent countless hours together, making memories that now felt like they belonged to a different time. Your sobs filled the silence of the empty room, the weight of everything crashing down on you, and for the first time, you let yourself break at the place where you had once felt whole.

You went on with your life, almost mechanical now with its repetition. Classes, study sessions, dinners with friends—it was all about keeping your head above water, distracting yourself from the void Mingyu had left behind. You had been through this before, so in some twisted way, you were used to it. He always came and went, and every time he left, it hurt less. The only difference was that this time, you weren’t sure if he’d ever come back.

You missed him in the morning. Your eyes searched for him around campus all day. And your soul ached to be held by him at night. Your friends noticed your distracted state, and they had asked once but didn’t press on when you’d hinted that you didn’t want to talk about it. They figured that, eventually, you'd open up. In the meantime, you stuck to your routine, pretending everything was fine. And in a way, it was. Your tears eventually dried up and the restless nights decreased. The pain had dulled, and you were starting to accept that maybe this was for the best.

But it seemed like fate wasn’t done toying with you yet. One evening, you were lounging on the couch with Jill, Lea, and Mina. You were halfway through a movie you’d been meaning to watch, a quiet evening like so many before when your friends had kept you company so you weren’t left to your sad thoughts.

Then your phone rang. At first, you thought it might have been a mistake, that you were hallucinating when you saw Mingyu’s nickname on your screen.

“R18 plus plus plus? Who’s that?” Mina teased, noticing the name flash on your phone. “A fling?”

“It’s no one,” you muttered, still staring at the screen.

“Aren’t you gonna pick it up? It’s kinda loud, love,” said Jill, motioning to the TV.

You stood up, heading to the kitchen to answer the call. You knew you shouldn’t, but a part of you—the part that still hoped, still craved his presence—wanted to hear what he had to say.

“Hello?” you answered, your voice shaky.

“Hi.” The voice on the other end was unfamiliar, and they said your name uncertainly.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“This is Dan. Your number was on the phone so I called. Can you come to the bar downtown? It’s right across from 00 University. The owner of this phone had a little too much to drink. Can you come pick him up?”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. Mingyu? You hadn’t heard from him in weeks. “I… yeah, I’ll be there,” you managed, glancing at your friends. “Give me twenty minutes.”

You ended the call and stood, grabbing your coat. Mina raised an eyebrow, but you avoided her gaze. “I have to go,” you said quickly.

“Now, now. You’re not ditching us for Mr. R18 plus plus plus, are you?” Mina teased again, but you weren’t in the mood for jokes.

“R18? Is that a booty call?” Lea chuckled.

“It’s not what you think, guys.” You sighed, offering a quick, apologetic smile. “I’ll be right back.”

Without waiting for their protests, you rushed out the door, your heart pounding. You were confused and surprised. Mingyu drunk and alone in a bar? This was so out of character for him. He’d never done anything like this before.

When you arrived at the bar, you spotted him immediately. Slumped against the counter, his head hanging low, he was a mess. His hair was tousled, his eyes half-closed, and his cheeks flushed with alcohol. The confident Mingyu you knew was gone, replaced by this hollow, drunken version. You approached him, appalled at the sight of him looking wasted.

“You must be her,” asked the bartender.

You nodded, glancing at Mingyu. “How long has he been like this?”

Dan sighed. “A few hours. He was drinking alone, staring at your number. Said he wanted to call, but wasn’t sure if he should.”

Your heart twisted at that. He wanted to call? He was thinking about you? But then, why hadn’t he?

“How much did he drink?” you asked, eyeing about a dozen bottles of beer in front of him and hoping he didn’t drink all of those by himself.

Mingyu stirred at the sound of your voice, his head lifting slightly. He tried to focus on you, but his eyes were hazy. He mumbled your name. “...is that you?”

Dan gave you a sympathetic smile. “He’s all yours.”

“Yeah, it’s me.” You sighed, wrapping an arm around him, trying to lift him to his feet. He leaned heavily against you, his body sagging.

He whispered your name again, slurring the syllables, and for a moment, something inside you softened. But no. You couldn’t do this again. Not like this.

With a struggle, you managed to get him outside. “Kim Mingyu, you’re gonna have to pull it together, or I’ll leave you here.”

Mingyu groaned, trying to straighten up. “I missed you,” he mumbled, his words barely coherent. He stumbled, reaching for your face but missing, his hand landing on your shoulder instead. He rested his head on your shoulder, taking a deep breath. “Missed you so much.”

You winced at the words, unsure of what to feel. Did he mean it? Or was it the alcohol talking? “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

In the cab ride back to your apartment, he kept trying to pull you closer, his head resting on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. Every time he said your name, it felt like a knife twisting in your chest. How could he hurt you so easily, and yet make you feel so needed at the same time?

When you got him inside, your friends were still there, their faces full of questions. Jill stood first. “What’s going on?” she asked, though the answer was obvious.

“He’s drunk,” you said simply, guiding him to the couch. “I’m sorry. Can we call it a night? I promise I’ll explain later.”

They exchanged looks but didn’t argue. Lea gave you a quick hug before leaving, followed by Jill and Mina. “Text us if you need anything,” Mina said quietly, her eyes lingering on you as if she wanted to say more.

Once they were gone, you turned to Mingyu, who had collapsed onto the couch. He was mumbling your name again, his eyes barely open.

You knelt beside him, brushing the hair from his forehead. “You’re a mess, Mingyu.”

He smiled lazily, his hand reaching for your face. Then he chuckled. “Dan, you bastard, what did you put in my drink? Why am I seeing things?" he drawled out the words.

“You’re not seeing things,” you chided, albeit softly, as you pushed his hand away.

You sighed, pulling away from his touch. You started to help him out of his jacket, his body warm and damp with sweat. As you worked, he kept trying to pull you closer, his hands wandering over your body, his lips trying to find yours but clumsily landing on different spots in your face.

You swatted his hand each time, and pushed him away as much as you could. You stripped him down until he was left with only his boxers. Afterward, you gave him a blanket and were about to leave when he grabbed you by the waist.

“Stay,” he whispered.

Just like that, the tears you thought had dried up started welling your eyes again. You stood there, letting yourself get enveloped by his warmth again. If only he could stay like this—open, vulnerable, needing you. But deep down, you knew this wasn’t real. Tomorrow, he’d be gone again.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and gentle. You stirred awake, feeling a familiar ache settle deep in your chest. The first thing you did was rise out of bed and go to the living room. Mingyu was still asleep on the couch, his arm draped lazily over the edge, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths.

Quietly, you walked over to the couch. You sat down on the floor next to him, folding your legs beneath you. Your eyes traced the familiar lines of his face, softened in sleep. He looked peaceful—vulnerable even, like he wasn’t the same man who’d disappeared for weeks without a word.

How many times have you told yourself not to expect more? That he wasn’t yours to keep. He was only yours in stolen moments—when the world outside didn’t exist, and it was just the two of you, tangled in each other. But those moments were fleeting, like a breath you couldn’t quite hold on to.

You sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his forehead. “Damn you, Kim Mingyu.”

What if this time was different? What if, just once, he stayed? Hope was a dangerous thing. Every time you thought you were free from him, he pulled you back in, sometimes with nothing more than a look, a word, or the weight of his presence.

Mingyu stirred, his eyelids fluttering open slowly. His gaze found yours almost immediately, bleary but aware. For a long moment, neither of you said anything. You just looked at each other, the silence heavy with unsaid words, with everything you were too afraid to admit. The hurt. The longing. The quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, he wanted you as much as you wanted him.

His eyes lingered on your face, as if he was trying to read your thoughts. You felt exposed under his gaze, like he could see through the walls you’d built to protect yourself from him.

Then, without a word, he reached for you. His hand, warm and tentative, cupped the side of your face, and you leaned into his touch instinctively, closing your eyes for a second as your breath caught in your throat. When you opened them again, his gaze was intense, searching.

His lips brushed against yours, soft and familiar. Then, his grip on you tightened, and you found yourself sinking into him. For a few moments, it felt like nothing else mattered. The pain, the confusion, the nights spent wondering where he was—none of it existed here.

You knew this wasn’t safe. Letting him back in, letting him hold you, kiss you—it was a cycle you couldn’t break. But you didn’t pull away.

He guided you to the bed, his hands sliding over your skin with tenderness, as though he was afraid you’d slip away from him. You weren’t sure who needed who more in this moment—whether he was seeking comfort from you, or whether you were the one hoping he would stay, if only for a little longer. Maybe it didn’t matter.

Your clothes fell away slowly, piece by piece, until there was nothing left between you. His touch was familiar, yet it felt different somehow—softer, more cautious. You shivered as his lips trailed across your collarbone, your breath hitching in your throat.

He then lay on his back, guiding you to straddle him. You’d miss everything about him these past few weeks, but you didn’t know how much you longed for him until he was deep inside you. It hurt a little, but you didn’t falter, you just stayed there for a second, adjusting to the stretch that you hadn’t felt in a while.

Mingyu sat up, his hands supporting your back as he pressed his forehead against yours. “You okay?” he asked, his lips ghosting over your skin. You nodded, moving ever so slightly. Mingyu kissed the side of your head. “Good girl.”

You didn’t reply, too caught in the moment to think beyond the feeling of his hands on you, and his manhood inside you. Soon you were breathless on top of him, grinding rhythmically, back arching with each motion. His hands were as strong as they had always been, gripping your hips as he guided your movements. You did not contain your moans, knowing Mingyu preferred hearing them—that he loved hearing you.

Just as you were nearing release, Mingyu shifted your positions, pinning you underneath him. He stared into your eyes for a moment, caressing your cheek before he kissed your open mouth. And once again, he thrust into you. The room was filled with soft sounds—quiet breaths, gentle whispers of each other's names. Everything felt slow, like time had stretched out just for you two, giving you space to exist in this fleeting moment.

There was no rush, no frantic urgency. Just two people, tangled together in a slow, deliberate, and passionate sex driven not solely by lust but by something more powerful.

Love. You felt it in his every push, every kiss, and every touch. It was different this time. His hands lingered longer, his lips sought yours more often, and the way he whispered your name—it wasn’t just desire. It was more, and you felt it deep within your chest, like an ache that had finally found its release

And when it was over, you lay together, his arms wrapped around you, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. You traced lazy circles on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. His body was warm, his presence grounding you in a way that made you want to believe he could be yours.

“I love you,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but clear.

You froze, your hand still on his chest as the words hung in the air. You weren’t sure if you’d heard him right. Slowly, you lifted your head to look at him, your heart hammering in your chest. “What did you say?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu’s eyes softened, a faint smile playing on his lips as he repeated the words that made your breath catch. “I said, I love you.”

Your heart swelled, but with it came a surge of doubt. Could you believe him? Could you trust these words from the same man who had vanished from your life without a second thought so many times before? It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, one step away from free-falling into something that could either break you or save you.

You wanted to say it back. The words were on the tip of your tongue, but they felt too heavy, weighed down by all the times you’d convinced yourself that this moment would never come. Instead, you settled for leaning up and kissing him, slow and soft, your lips lingering against his. Maybe this kiss could say what you couldn’t. Maybe it could be enough to bridge the gap between hope and reality.

When you pulled back, you looked at him again, the uncertainty gnawing at your chest. “Do you really mean that?” you asked, your voice smaller than you intended. “Or are you just saying it because… because of what just happened?”

Mingyu’s eyes darkened with something unreadable. He reached up, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “I mean it,” he said, his voice rougher now, like the words were harder for him to say than he let on. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but there was something else there too—something softer, more vulnerable. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. You both knew what this was, even if neither of you was ready to admit it.

You pressed another kiss on his lips, your hand cupping his face. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe.

Or maybe not.

Seungcheol’s eyes stayed locked on you, you could see curiosity and concern written on his face. You just stared right back, keeping your lips tight.

“That’s it?” he asked, his voice soft, almost disbelieving.

You nodded. “That’s it.”

He blinked slowly, clearly not satisfied with your answer. He’d been so engrossed in the story that neither of you had noticed how late it had gotten.

“It can’t be,” he murmured. “What happened after?”

You let out a breath, shrugging as if it didn’t matter. “We talked. Well, fought, mostly. I asked him what he wanted—if he’d finally commit. In the end, he didn’t pick me. After everything, I thought he would. You know confessing his love and all that. But… meh.” You rolled your eyes. “That’s how it went.”

Seungcheol leaned in, his eyes narrowing. “So you walked away?”

“I don’t wanna go into details anymore, but yes I walked away with my dignity intact. I mean,” you paused to laugh. “I couldn’t keep letting him do that to me, could I? I had to stop it. I was better than that, though it took a while for me to finally grasp that fact and walk away.”

Seungcheol nodded slowly, but there was something unsatisfied in his expression. “Well, good for you. You deserve that. You deserve better.”

“I know,” you chuckled, but the laugh felt forced. “It’s funny, looking back. I acted so stupid for him. But I’m just glad it’s over now, you know? That chapter is closed.”

He tilted his head, his brow furrowed in thought. “That’s good. Although I dare say, your storytelling is a bit, I don’t know… anticlimactic?”

“Is it?” you asked like it wasn’t something you already felt too. You forced a shrug. “Maybe. But that’s how it went. Things kept circling back to the same pattern and this part is basically the same. There’s only so many times you can replay the same argument, you know? I just skipped it,” you added with a forced smirk, hoping it would distract him from prying any further.

Seungcheol observed you for a minute, and you wondered if he could see right through you. Seems impossible. He didn’t really know you until today, and you were a pretty decent liar.

“Right,” he said, his tone softening, though the doubt hadn’t entirely left his face. “What’s next then?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I mean, who’s next?” he clarified, leaning back in his chair. “Kim Mingyu is not the only guy you’d ever dated, is he?”

You let out a short laugh, but it was strained. “No, there were others. But it’s late, Mr. Choi. The lady needs her sleep.”

He shot to his feet, his face immediately contrite. “Ah, of course! I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

“I’m sure you didn’t. If you want to hear more, you can ask the front desk for me. Tomorrow’s my day-off so I have time. We can also discuss the fee you promised,” you said, smiling and then narrowing your eyes at him. “That is, if you haven’t forgotten about it.”

“I remember.” He smiled. “Good night then.”

“Thanks for listening,” you said with a small wave as you turned to head toward your room.

As you made your way back to your quarters, thoughts of Mingyu swirled in your mind. You’d lied to Seungcheol. The ending between you and Mingyu wasn’t anticlimactic at all. It had been messy, filled with bottled-up anger and days wallowing in misery. But you’d never admit that to Seungcheol. Sharing a failed romance with a stranger was one thing; baring the ugly truth of just how miserable and pathetic you felt back then? That was something else entirely.

At the time, you thought he’d finally let you in. He did, for a moment. Mingyu had opened up about the weight of familial expectations, how it crushed him to follow a path that wasn’t his. He talked about the people and dreams he had to leave behind. And he confessed that the reason he couldn’t choose you, after all this time, was that same fear—that one day, he’d have to turn his back on you too.

“You don’t have to,” you said, placing a hand on his arm. “I’ll be here. Wouldn’t it be easier if you had someone to rely on?”

He’d smiled at you then, a smile filled with gratitude and maybe something like love. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

And so, you stayed. And Mingyu? He stayed the same—thoughtful, goofy, always consistent. Sometimes, he’d come to you in low spirits, and you’d let him lean on you in silence, even though he never fully shared his feelings. You fell deeper in love with him, slowly realizing that everything felt emptier, harder without him. You barely noticed time fly by, but you did notice that Mingyu no longer disappeared. He no longer detached himself from you. He was there all the time, even on days when he didn’t feel like himself.

Freshman year passed and you went up with him at his family’s estate to spend the break. He lived in a big house but his parents weren’t home the whole time you were there. It was nice to get a glimpse of his life, of the place he grew up in and the person he was before you met him. You spent time hanging out, making love, and being each other’s support system.

But despite how wonderful it was, despite the burning passion, the cloud of uncertainty loomed over you while you were there. The happiness you felt was so overwhelming, it scared you. It felt too good to be true, like the calm before an inevitable storm.

This storm would come earlier than either of you expected. And it came in the mail.

“What is it?” you asked, wrapping your arms around Mingyu’s seated figure. You tried to peek into the letter, but he put it away.

“Nothing important,” he replied, holding your arm and rubbing it as he looked up at you. He smiled at you and then pressed a soft kiss on your lips. “Where were you?”

You pointed at your head, wrapped in a towel. “In the bath,” you said, straightening up and walking toward the bed to undo your hair.

“You were gone for an hour.”

“Yeah. I was actually waiting for you to join me,” you said, not hiding your disappointment.

He groaned. “Oh, man. You should’ve told me.”

You grimaced. “No, you should’ve looked for me when you noticed I was gone.”

He tucked the envelope in the drawer before jumping in the bed with you. He pinned you down, making you squeal. Then he started peppering you with kisses all over your face. When he caught a whiff of your neck, his expression immediately shifted from goofy to naughty.

“I’d love to do it in the tub, but the bed isn’t such a bad idea too,” he lilted, undoing the ribbon of your robe.

“The bed is the best place to do it, dumbass.”

Mingyu hummed in satisfaction. “I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he said, making you laugh.

That afternoon was spent being one with each other too, like the previous ones. When you fell asleep, Mingyu was beside you, his head leaning on your chest while you play with his hair. But when you woke up, it was already dark and the spot where Mingyu laid was cold.

You pushed yourself upright, wrapping your robe around you as you padded across the room, calling out his name. “Mingyu?” The sound echoed back in the silence. You checked the bathroom, the living room—every corner of the house, each step feeling heavier than the last. No sign of him.

You tried his phone next, only to find it sitting on the nightstand. Thirty minutes passed, then an hour. Your calls for him became more frantic, though still unanswered. It was only when the housekeeper returned that she offered some explanation.

“He went out earlier, ma’am,” she said, smiling kindly. “He didn’t say where, but I’m sure he’ll be back soon. Mr. Mingyu would never leave you alone.”

Right, he wouldn’t. Yet that wasn’t reassuring at all. This housekeeper might have watched Mingyu grow up, even took care of him during those years, but she had no idea what Mingyu had put you through. Still, you wanted to believe in him.

The hours passed, and the next morning came. He hadn’t come home yet. You waited until the evening, and the following evening on the next day, and the next, and the next. Still no Mingyu. The house felt hollow without him, as though the walls themselves knew something was wrong.

It was on the fourth day, when your frustration turned to desperate curiosity, that you found the letter tucked away in the drawer of his desk. Your fingers trembled as you unfolded it—an acceptance letter to a university abroad.

He hadn’t mentioned this. Was he planning to leave? Had he already left?

You’d looked for him and asked everyone at his house for help but no one seemed to know where he went. They even had to contact his parents and you didn’t really expect them to know either, but it was frustrating to hear them say it.

“Have you checked his flat, ma’am?” the housekeeper asked.

You blinked. “I thought he moved out of his flat?”

The housekeeper shook his head. “No, ma’am. He’s been living here again, but that place in the city still belongs to him. Maybe he’s there?”

It wasn’t like him—not anymore. Ever since the two of you had gotten closer, you thought the days of him pulling away without warning were over. You had let yourself believe that, anyway. But now, you felt the creeping sense of something breaking, something final.

You commuted back to the city and went straight to his flat. You hated this feeling—the waiting, the uncertainty. It felt like standing on the edge of something crumbling beneath your feet.

And now here you were, in front of his door, heart pounding as you knocked. You didn’t expect him to answer. But, he did.

Mingyu stood there, looking disheveled, dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in days. The sight of him was both a relief and a frustration, all the hurt and confusion swirling inside you.

“We need to talk,” you said, pushing past him into the apartment before he could say anything.

He closed the door behind you but didn’t move. “I know,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

You turned to face him, crossing your arms. “What’s going on, Mingyu? You disappeared. Again. After everything we talked about. After you said you didn’t want to keep doing this.”

He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking anywhere but at you. “I’m sorry,” he said, but there was no conviction in his voice.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Your voice cracked despite your efforts to keep it steady.

Mingyu finally looked at you, his expression torn, like he didn’t know how to put what he was feeling into words. “I don’t know… I needed time. I couldn’t—”

“You always need time, Mingyu,” you interrupted, your frustration boiling over. “You say you don’t want to do this alone, but then you push me away every chance you get. Do you even want me in your life?”

“I do! I’ve never wanted anything else! But I can’t… I—” he paused, running his fingers through his hair. “I can’t keep dragging you into this.”

“You’re not dragging me, Mingyu. I’m here to stay! But if we’re gonna keep having this… if you’re gonna keep doing this to me, then what’s the point?” you asked, the words heavy with your anger and frustration. “I’m sick of this, Mingyu. Aren’t you?”

His eyes widened, and you could see the conflict in him. But he didn’t answer. He didn’t say anything, and that silence hit you harder than anything else.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, taking a step closer to him. “If you don’t want me, just say it. Tell me to go, and I will. But if you want me to stay…” Your voice faltered as you searched his face, desperate for any sign. “Tell me to stay, Mingyu. Say it.”

For a long moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of your uneven breaths. You waited. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

“Mingyu, please…” you pleaded, holding back your tears. “Just say ‘don’t go,’ and I won’t,” you added, shaking your head.

Mingyu reached for your face, staring at you with tears in his eyes. Then he pressed his forehead against yours as he sobbed. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart sank, the answer clear even though he never spoke the words. You took a shaky breath, nodding to yourself. “Okay,” you whispered, wiping away a tear that rolled down your cheek. “I get it.”

You backed away and then turned toward the door, your chest aching with every step you took. But before you could reach the handle, you stopped, glancing back one last time, hoping—praying—that he would say something, anything, to stop you.

But Mingyu stayed silent. And with that, you walked out with finality in your stride.

To say you were a mess after that was an understatement. You were a wreck—miserable and sad, wandering through the days like a ghost of your former self. You ran to your friends, crying in their arms for hours, the kind of raw, gut-wrenching sobs that left you breathless. You thought you’d only cry about it for a few days and get over it. But it went on for a whole month.

Some nights, after too many drinks, you’d find yourself dialing his number, the alcohol loosening the grip of reason in your mind. “Mingyuuuu,” you’d whine into the phone, your voice slurred and pathetic. “I love you so much! Take me back!”

The next morning, you’d wake up to the shame of your drunken confessions, staring at the ceiling with the weight of regret pressing down on you. You’d replay the conversations in your mind, cringing at how desperate you sounded, wondering how you let yourself fall apart so completely.

Your friends did their best to pull you out of the darkness, but every attempt felt futile. You’d join them for outings, but you were barely present, laughing too loudly at jokes that didn’t register or staring blankly at the world around you. One night, they dragged you to a party, insisting you needed to have fun. But there you were, clinging to your drink, watching everyone dance and laugh, while the memories of Mingyu spun in your mind. Once the reality set in that he was no longer there to ditch the party with you, you stumbled to the bathroom and locked yourself in, sobbing into your hands as the beat thudded through the walls.

Even the simplest tasks became challenges. Your studies slipped away; assignments piled up, and your grades plummeted. You’d sit in your lectures, staring at the board but absorbing nothing. Friends would express their concern, but you brushed it off with a half-hearted smile, not wanting to burden them any more than you already had.

Eventually, you hit a breaking point. On one particularly dark day, you sat alone in your room, surrounded by empty cans and bottles and crumpled tissues. The realization hit you like a freight train: you couldn’t do this anymore. You weren’t just grieving—you were drowning.

In the haze of your despair, you made the impulsive decision to skip the semester and move back home with your family. The thought of facing another day in the city without Mingyu felt unbearable. Packing your things felt like burying a part of yourself, but it was your only option. Every corner of your apartment did nothing to help your move on anyway.

You took one last look of the place where you made the most memories with Mingyu. And as you closed the door, you hoped it would also close that chapter in your life.

Your parents welcomed you with open arms, concerned and confused by your sudden return. You pretended everything was fine, but they noticed the shadows under your eyes, the way you flinched at the slightest mention of your time at university.

In the quiet of your old room, you often found yourself staring at the ceramic bears on your nightstand, remembering the small joy of building a family for these inanimate decors. Your friends tried to reach out, but you brushed them aside, too ashamed to admit how far you had fallen. They understood, giving you the time and space that you needed, knowing you'd be back once things were all better.

And as the weeks passed, something began to shift. The sun shone a little brighter, and the weight of your grief slowly lightened. You spent time with your family, rediscovering old hobbies and connecting with friends who reminded you of who you were before Mingyu. Slowly, you started to feel like yourself again. You laughed more, shared stories, and realized that life still held moments of joy, even in the absence of him.

One day, while cleaning your room, your eyes caught your little bear family, focusing on the grizzly and panda Mingyu had gifted you. Their faces seemed more cheerful now and you felt a bittersweet pang in your chest.

Where could Mingyu be right now? How is he? You had no idea, but you wished he was in a better place than before. Somehow, you wish you could at least extend a hand to comfort him, even as a distant friend.

Then an idea came. You picked up the grizzly and the panda, memories flooding back—of laughter, of warmth, of love. But you knew that holding onto them was holding you back. And right now, you didn’t really need them anymore.

You wrapped the figurines carefully in bubble wrap and wrote a short note:

“I’m sending these with a happy heart and I hope that instead of bitterness and sorrow, they will bring a smile to your face, just like they did when we first met them. Thank you for the memories. Know that I do not regret meeting you, and if I had to do it again, I would. Although, maybe I’d make better decisions then. You’ll always have a space in my heart, Gyu. I hope you’re in a better place—both in your heart and mind. Love, me <3”

As you dropped the package off at the post office, you felt lighter, liberated. The storm that had raged within you had dissipated, replaced by the gentle promise of new beginnings. You smiled to yourself, knowing that while the past would always be a part of you, it no longer defined you. You were ready to embrace whatever came next. You’re young, you have a whole life ahead of you.

And if you happen to run into Mingyu again in the future, you hope he will be in better circumstances. Whatever he was going through, you wished he’d get over it and be genuinely happy.

[fin]

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