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jameui · 2 months ago

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A PERFECT MISUNDERSTANDING

PAIRING: Sim Jaeyun x M!Reader

GENRE: Smut, Angst, Fluff

HASHTAGS: #boyxboy #bottommalereader #teacher'spetxstudentleader

SUMMARY: Your supposedly enemy showed you a picture of your conversation with your friends and you had to make an excuse. Fast. But you would never have known that things will escalate quickly.

Your class beadle, Sim Jaeyun or preferrably Jake, as per what everyone calls him, has his phone up in front of your face with a screenshot of your chat messages with your supposed friends last night flashing on his phone's screen. You are so definitely letting them pay for selling you out. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?" His Australian accent rings throughout the walls of the classroom.

Right. You forgot you are talking to him. The ways how you wanted to murder your friends made you all caught up in your head.

You look at him with a faux smile, laughing gently. "You must have gotten the wrong person," you start while you continue to sweep the floor in hopes that it will distract Jake from whatever he is trying to get out of this. "I would never talk that way about you," you added, but Jake is not convinced. He knows about all of the things you tell everyone behind his back. The lies you spread, the stories you make—well, he knows about all of them.

He raises a brow, adjusting the glasses he has propped up by the bridge of his nose. He retracts his hand and zoomed in on a specific message that will definitely put you into a hot seat. "I hope you're not lying, Mr. L/N, because if I'm not mistaken, this is you on the profile picture and your friends are certainly referring to the person as 'Y/N'," Jake said and your actions come to an instant halt.

You look back towards him, before dropping the broom and the dust pan to the floor as you immediately make your way back to Jake, grabbing his phone. You read all the messages and sure enough you do see another screenshot of your friends calling your name multiple times in chat. "This little imbeciles..." you muttered, more to yourself than to Jake, but he still heard it.

Jake folds his arms in front of his chest, looking straight at you as though it would suck the right answer out of you. Lucky for him, it is working, because you are running out of any excuses to throw at him.

Why can't you just tell him the truth, you might ask? Well, you are a student leader, the class president at that and one of the top lister in the cream of the crop. It would definitely hurt your ego if you tell him his accusations towards you is correct, he still is, but you just can't admit that.

A student leader should be a great example, upholding the reverency of a good role model to lead and guide your people to manifest their full potential in their skills and abilities, not talk behind their back because you dislike them. That's certainly unlawful.

But, in this case, you have denied that law you purposely put upon yourself and risk the consequence of tarnishing your image for such a petty behavior.

In context, you have always been jealous of Jake and his relationship towards each of your teachers. It seems that he makes it look so easy to establish a unique student and teacher relationship. He is easily approachable and has natural leadership skills, especially when having to work with a team or group. It's almost as though he's an automated switch that whichever group he lands on he instantly becomes the leader.

Teachers, professors, higher-ups, students—they all look up to Jake and expect of his good nature and the way he is people-oriented and loves to let students feel they are welcome.

Everyone who knows Jake like that about him. His personality is surely the cherry on top of his good-looking face. It makes him the perfect role student that everyone must follow. He even got quite the attention from other schools. He's almost like a celebrity.

And you? You dislike that. You despise that. You should be the one seen as a good leader. YOU are the class president of your section after all and he's just a stupid, good for nothing, useless teacher's pet and if you admit the truth, that would be disastrous.

After thinking, you reduced your choice to two and it's either you admit he's right about his assumptions and tell him the truth why you did that or still lie about it and protect your image as the perfect leader. In the end, after thoroughly thinking, the latter would be the best possible choice to save yourself from embarrassment.

You let out a sigh, your shoulders slumped before handing Jake his phone back, all the while pretending to be dejected, like you have been betrayed. You keep your head down to try and provoke the impression of looking really pitiful.

Jake knits his brows at your sudden behavioral change. 'Is he on period? Or something?' he thinks to himself.

"Alright, fine, I'll tell you everything you need to know," you tell him, raising your head softly to look at his beady eyes that look like marbles with the way they shine. "But, I just have to let you know that this is all just a misunderstanding, because... I... because.." you start to beat around the bush to make your plan look more convincing and it seems to be working because Jake is anticipating your response.

"Because what? Spit it out, L/N. I don't have all day," he spits out with impatience lingering in his voice. He notice your movements become more restricted, counted as though you are being watched.

You gulp down a huge lump forming in your throat—still an act—then, you look up at him and told him, "Because I like you, Jaeyun. I did for a long time now," you said, but Jake remained still, expressionless. This isn't the answer he is looking for. "I'm mad because you give your attention to everyone else, but me. So, I kept on making ways on how to get your attention, so I—"

"If you like me so much, why don't you suck me?"

Upon that, you can practically hear glass shatter in your ears as though the very fabric of reality got broken into tiny little shards. "E-Excuse me?" you let out in pure disbelief, an off-putting, forced smile eteched onto your face.

You see Jake smirk at you, now suddenly so timid under his gaze. "You said you like me? You want my attention? Suck my cock," he repeats with a much stronger tone, his smirk turning into a wicked smile, taking the situation into his own advantage. Does he do this to everyone else who has a crush on him?

Your eyes locked into his hazel brown orbs, before you awkwardly laugh while patting his shoulder, your movements almost like it's stuttering. "Very funny, Jaeyun. Haha. We still have to finish cleaning," you say, still feeling off about Jake. "I said, I like you, not I want to fuck you."

Jake's brows knit harder if it is still even possible, still looking deeply into your soul through your eyes. It feels like you have ran straight into his trap with the way his eyes stuck to you because the moment you looked away, not even a second after, Jake locks you into place with his arms.

Your eyes move up to see Jake whose eyes are literal in feral, similar to how a predator would intimidate his prey before it devours it. Jake's attention never left you, now stuck in between him and a table desk. He looks really angry. Why is he making such a big deal out of this? Is it something you said? Besides, he's being irrational right now, so you don't understand why he has to act this way towards you and it makes you dislike any of this even more.

"Look, Jaeyun. Please, I don't have time for this," you told him, putting a hand on his chest out of pure instinct to suggest that Jake should keep a good distance from you, but Jake isn't planning to back down, not even a tad bit when he moves a little closer to you. You have to think of something and quick. You can't blow your cover right now. So, you take in a deep breathe, preparing yourself with what you are about to say next. "Being all sexually involved with you will not measure how much I like you." your words slides past your mouth smoothly like water. Almost too natural. Too real.

Jake looks at you before he mutters something under his breathe and moves away from you, his back now turned against you as he plants his hand on his mouth. You look at him very confused, but at least the problem has been averted, but the way he's acting like he's holding something back makes your brows meet at the center of your forehead.

He's clearly trying to say something. It's like he's keeping a lion in tame while trapped behind a cage. "Hey, Jaeyun... you alright?" You ask him feeling a little bit concern for the foot taller male. "You can, uh, just pretend that I never said anything," you tell him while feigning a sad expression.

You are opting to get back on track with the room chores, but Jaeyun stood very still in place like he's frozen in place and it's starting to scare you. "Jaeyun?" You call his name, making a bee line towards him. You put a hand on his shoulder and you hear his words in a small, whisper-like voice.

"...me," he starts. He said something before that, you are sure, but you didn't hear him the first time, so you cautiously leaned in closer to him. He takes the initiative to move nearer, his warm breathe hitting the skin of your neck. "Help me, please," he says, a little louder now. Only do you notice that he is slightly crouching over when you see his arm holding on to his stomach.

And that's when it happens. That's when you see the sharp outline of his bulge in his pants, the obvious tent stirring something inside you as you quickly look away, pushing Jake away from you with one shove. "What the fuck?!" is the only thing you can muster to say as Jake sweats profusely in front of you. "You... you weird dumb shit! You got hard over a fucking confession?!"

Jake turns his head towards you, eyes furrowed. "Because it's you." His voice is gentle and the threatening tone he had minutes ago, vanishing completely. It happens too often that you might start to think that this kid has different personalities.

It took you some time to process his words, blinking for just a minute or so, silence engulfing the both of you before, "...WHAT?!" You yelled at him, disliking what he's implying. "Look, Jake. Okay, I'll tell you the the truth. I don't like you and that picture, it's all true. That was me!" you point towards yourself, in hopes that whatever is going inside Jake's head will fortunately turn your fate around, but it's like your own words are feeding him even more when another smirk appears and you hear a low chuckle.

Your hand start to grab whatever is the nearest thing you can take and it was a board eraser. You throw it at him with so much force, but Jake manages to easily dodge it. "Y-You must be insane!" You yelled.

He takes a few steps towards, slowly. He is using his whole presence as means of intimidating you more, to make a way for you to falter. You can only look at him even as he drew closer to you. He scoffs at you. "It doesn't matter because I already knew you were lying the moment you said you liked me," Jake says as your face distorts into an expression that went all 'This bitch is crazy'.

“I got turned on when you looked into my eyes, Y/N,” he said, voice low and smooth, like honey with a sharp bite.

You blinked, your mouth parting slightly. “What the hell did you just say?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, cocky as ever—but behind that glint in his eye was something more dangerous. Desperate. “Please, hyung,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Just help me this one time. After that, I won’t bother you anymore. I swear.”

You narrowed your eyes, stepping back just enough to keep him at bay. “You think I’m that easy to get?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Hyung…” he drawled, dragging the word out like a weapon, eyes big, lashes fluttering with practiced innocence. “Please.”

“Jaeyun,” you warned, heart thudding traitorously in your chest. You knew that tone—he was trying to melt you down, and you hated that it was working.

He took another step forward, close enough now that you could smell the faint hint of his cologne—crisp and clean with something dark underneath.

“I said no,” you repeated, standing your ground.

His bottom lip jutted out slightly. “Pretty please?”

Your defenses cracked. Just a little.

“Do you always beg like this to get what you want?” you asked bitterly, eyeing him.

“No,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “Only when it’s you.”

Your brain short-circuited. And for a second—just one—you actually imagined him meaning it.

You huffed, dragging a hand down your face. “God, you’re such a manipulative little—”

“—adorable guy who really needs your help,” he interrupted with a sly grin.

You opened your mouth to argue. Closed it. Opened it again.

“…ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT!” you snapped finally, throwing your hands in the air.

Jaeyun lit up like the damn sun, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“But just this once,” you warned, jabbing a finger at his chest. “You don’t get to pull this stunt again.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, grabbing your hand before you could pull it away. His grip was warm, grounding—and a little too firm for your liking.

Jake howls loudly at the sight below him. His hands are tightly interlocked with your H/C locks, as he ravaged your throat with his ferocious thrusts, completely forgetting the fact that you have never done this before and your first time. So, every time his tip hit the back of your throat, it jerks tears into your eyes. "Ah, fuck! FUCK, YES! SWALLOW MY COCK!" Jake groans with his head pushed back.

You hear noises from above you as he continues to abuse your untrained throat, you tap his thigh three times as he suggests you do if you want him to stop, but all that always goes down the gutter. You moan out at the way Jake denies your signal and endlessly rocks his hips into your mouth.

Jake has the upperhand here and he's the one taking control of the situation, so the second you gave him a tap the third time. He rolls his eyes and angrily pulls out, purposely throwing your head back as you fall to the floor turning you into coughing fits. "Fuck you," you rasp out, wiping your mouth. "I told you to slow down, asshole!" You yell at him, but Jake remains unfazed.

"Please?" Jake

"Why should I listen to you?" Jake said, while he grabs his massive cock and starts to stroke it in a slow, sensual manner as if seducing you into submission; to succumb to his countless need for pleasure. "Besides, if we have only this one time, why not make the most of it?" Jake adds, which horrifies you at how casual that came from his mouth.

You glare at him in anger and weakly stand up. "You're such a disgusting creature, Jaeyun. The worst one there is," you say with such wrath laced in your voice. You opt to just take your bag and get out, but Jake takes you by the arm and looks at you with big doe eyes and it scares you how fast this man changes in just a snap of a finger. "Let go of me," you tell him.

"I'm really orry, Y/N. Please, I promise I'll take it easy on you. Just give me this one time," he begs you like it's some kind of take it or leave it chance, which in his case, it is, but it's not that big of a deal. With a face like his, he can grab all the boys and girls he likes if he wants to.

You let out an annoyed groan. "No, Jaeyun." Your voice sounds harsh and certain. You don't want to get involved in any of this guy's shenanigans.

You feel his grip on you start to get loose. You look at him with brows still meeting at the center and he has the most pitiful look on his face that it almost completely fools you. You know this man enough to know that this is just a trick. A trap he likes to set and lure people into falling into it.

And once you fall, you won't stop. It's like an endless abyss, you don't stop falling.

But, if there's one thing you've heard from others, is that he's completely mastered the arts of manipulation and trickery, because the moment he hangs his head low and lets go of your wrist, you're compelled to comfort him, like you've done something wrong. "J-Just... be gentle, you dumb fuck," you tell him and the guy just lights up almost immediately.

He gives you a one sided smile and taps his lap, gesturing for you to sit on it. You gulp loudly considering that his cock is still standing tall in its full glory in front of you. "Come here, angel. I promise not to hurt you," he says, his voice leaving no space for any malice nor threat. Only gentleness and genuine care.

Your head snaps up towards him when the new found nickname falls from his lips. Angel? When did your name become 'Angel' and when did Jake start calling you that? Is he trying to manipulate your head again? Because if that is his plan, it's working out way too well for him.

You can feel your heart beat so loudly in your chest that you feat it's going to pop out at any time now. You look away from him and cross your arms. “Don’t call me that,” you mutter, barely audible, your voice wrapped in a sheepish plea.

Jaeyun leans forward, elbow resting on the desk behind him. “Don’t call you what?” he asks, smirking slightly, like he knows exactly what he did.

You stare at the floor, cheeks hot. “That nickname. It makes me feel—tiny.”

He grins. “You are tiny.”

You scowl, smacking his shoulder lightly, but he catches your wrist mid-air, fingers gently wrapping around it. “But you’re cute when you're mad,” he adds, softly.

Your heart stumbles again, and you hate how easily he disarms you.

Without thinking too much, you move closer, placing your small hands gently on his shoulders. He doesn't move. His expression falters for a second, as if he wasn't expecting that.

You take a shaky breath. “I swear, if someone walks in right now…”

“I’ll take the blame,” he says simply, looking up at you.

You shoot him a glare. “You’ll die first.”

He chuckles, and then you lower yourself onto his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. His breath catches, and you hear it—just for a second. His hands hover in the air before settling gently on your waist, hesitant, warm.

Jake whispers something in your ear, but the warmth of his breath makes you focus only on what he is doing to you. You don't even know if you're thinking right now, because everything blurred into nothing and all you know is that Jake has you on his lap, with his lips and tongue scattering hickeys all over your neck.

Your poor pink pucker is begging for the bigger male to stop while Jake only handles you like you are some type of light material that he can use to satisfy his own need for pleasure. He is so drunk in euphoria that he doesn't even notice the voices incoming, drawing ever so close as his thrusts don't die down.

"J-Jake... people..AH!" You let out a moan of pure bliss as Jake endlessly hits that sweet bundle of nerves inside your gummy walls that always seem to remember to send an electrifying sensation over your body down to your untouched cock, but overstimulated with how much Jake isn't giving his rough handling with you a break.

The taller male's sweat trickles down your back, wet imprints on his white uniform visible around his chest. "No, can do, slut," he grits out, putting all his strength into his thrusts that only gets deeper and deeper every passing time. Instinctively, it is starting to get too hit for the male, he starts to unbutton his polo with one hand. Then, a wild idea moves past his mind before he leans in closer, his hard abdomen coming in contact with your back that's littered with love bites and hickeys. "Say... how about you make me cum before they get here, that wouldn't be so hard, would it? Especially with how you take my cock so well, I might just be nearing my chase," he whispers darkly into your ear, his voice an octave deeper than usual.

He's already got you so fucked up in the head that you can't even form coherent words anymore. Your pride? Gone. Ego? Down the drain. Your dislike towards him? Still there, but apparently his sex drive is driving you crazy enough to even forget you ever hate the man who has his dick buried deep within your walls.

Jake buries his face onto the crook of your neck, taking in your sweet natural scent that he will never want to get rid of. Your scent makes his cock twitch inside you, before a sharp pain course through you making you moan out in both shock and bliss, when he dug his teeth into your neck. Crimson red liquid seeped out from it while Jake sucks it all up like it's his usual choice of drink.

Then, you whimper out in exhaustion, feeling as though you have already been used up of everything; stripped off of your very own dignity. You start to dig your nails into the wooden edge of the table as pleasure overwhelms your whole body, all the while Jake is already pinning you down the desk with his own weight on you, his abdomen pressed against your back as he continues to paint the already broken canvas that you are with marks that will for sure leave his imprint on you.

Soon enough, you hear again the same voices, gruff and the other one tiny, all speaking at once. You feel yourself start to get anxious again, but all is lost the moment Jake snakes his hands toward yours as he loosen your grip on the table and intertwine your fingers together. "Don't hold on to it too tight. We don't want any of your nails to get broken, do we?" You absentmindedly nod at his words, as a smirk appears on his face. The expression of success knowing he's wrapped you around his finger now.

But, then the voices only got closer, your anxiety getting the best of you as you let go of Jake's hand tap him from behind you. "Jake, please... nnnahh, stop for a... minute," you try to warn him about the incoming danger, but he doesn't listen to you, instead he only starts to buck his hips forward even harder; rougher as though he's trying to chase a deadline while your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

"I will, but you have to make me cum first, yeah? You'll do that for me, right?" his question is always rhetoric, leaving you no choice, but to comply with his wants and needs as you let yourself just get completely used like a sex toy, your mind getting a little hazy.

He straightens up, the weight on you is now gone, but his thrusts do not falter and you're only left with the pleasure. No more thinking of other things, your rational thinking vanishing like dust in the wind. "Fuck," he drags on with gritted teeth. "I'm about to cum, slut and I'm gonna pour it all inside you," he groans out, his hold on your hips getting tighter. It will leave bruises for sure.

"Yes, yes! Jake give me your cum, I'll be your personal masturbator from now on! Use me all you fucking want! AH!" The words only drove Jake into hysterical, just when you are starting to think he couldn't go any faster, he does and it's driving your cock into madness as you cum again untouched.

"What a slut," he chuckles. "Cumming from just behind, now you've completely turned this ass into a real pussy, huh? And it's all..." he huffs, that same feeling of recoil in his stomach begging for some type of way to get out, "..for me!" He groans out, as he takes you by the arm and pulls you close to him. One arm hugs your chest, while the other has his hand covering your eyes, the back of your neck resting on his shoulder.

You hold on to his arm for dear life out of instinct, as you feel yourself get completely broken, tongue rolling out of your mouth, panting heavily while chains of needy moans move past your throat. Your body bounces at the same rhythm as Jake, the latter only screwing your abused hole with all his lower body strength.

You could feel him swell inside you and your senses are telling you that he's about to cum. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he repeats the same word over and over again like it's his favorite mantra. Together, the voices are now only a few distance away while Jake drills his huge cock deeper, harder, even more needy inside you. "Get pregnant, I'll get you pregnant, Y/N. You're mine, Y/N. My Y/N," he says like your name is the only drug in this world that will make him calm down, before he gives you one last thrust, burying his cock deep within your walls as ropes of white semen fluid decorates your insides.

"He told me that I wasn't enough, like can you fucking believe that?!" Sunoo says with overdramatic gestures, while Sunghoon only laughs at him. "God, the audacity of this guy," he added before he steps inside the last classroom in the hallway and catches an unexpected sight in front of him.

You are completely all dressed up in a uniform that's almost a whole size bigger than you that you're practically drowning in it, while you rest your head on top of Jake's lap who looks up at the two newcomers and puts a finger on his lips. "Stay quiet. He had a really rough day, today," he said with the most genuine smile Sunoo and Sunghoon had ever seen.

tags: @acidangel-fromasia @seulaidn @king-of-kistune @s1llygo0s3

#male reader #x male reader #fanfiction #bxb #idol x male reader #enhypen x male reader #bottom male reader #enhypen jake x male reader #jake x male reader #sim jaeyun x male reader smut #enhypen jaeyun x male reader #sim jaeyun x male reader #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #jake smut #enha smut

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simjaexy · 10 months ago

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𝙊𝙪𝙧 𝙇𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙎𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩 𝙎.𝙅

pairing — professor! sim jaeyun x (f) student! reader

synopsis — you always knew your professor was attractive, so it wasn’t new when girls would try to gain his attention. what you didn’t know though was that he only had his eyes on you. what comes as a friendly teacher-student relationship takes a turn when you find yourself thinking differently about him with your private lessons together.

genre — smut, angst

warnings — MINORS DNI!, lower case intended, four year age gap (jake is 22 and reader is 18), tons of jealousy, cursing, jake is obsessed with oblivious reader, dom! jaeyun x sub! reader, name calling (slut, whore, and etc.), (f) receiving, pussy eating, unprotected sex, cum eating, choking, multiple orgasms

w.c ⇀ 5.4k

a/n ⇀ i don’t know why but this was and on and off fic i was doing cause i didn’t really like but i’m glad i finally finished it. i can’t tell if this was good or not because i was stressing on how to put the ending so bear with me on that. reblog, like, comment, etc.! lmk if i missed any warnings! not proofread.

masterlist here

the first time you saw professor sim was during the orientation week. you were a freshman, nervous and excited about starting your journey in college. the campus was bustling with activity, and you were trying to find your way to the science building for your first lecture.

as you walked through the crowded hallway, you accidentally bumped into someone, "oh, I'm so sorry!" you exclaimed, looking up to see a tall man with a kind smile.

"no worries at all," he replied, adjusting his glasses. "are you lost?"

"uh, yeah, actually. I'm trying to find the science building," you admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"you're in luck. I'm heading there myself. i’m professor sim, by the way," he said, extending his hand.

you shook his hand, feeling a bit more at ease. "nice to meet you, professor sim. i’m l/n y/n.”

"well, y/n, follow me. i'll show you the way," he said, leading you through the maze of hallways. as you walked, you noticed his broad back through his suit. the suit fitting perfectly on him. you blushed watching him strut confidently past students and teachers watching him walk past.

you definitely won’t lie and say he’s not handsome. his glasses framing his face perfectly. you never knew you would like guys with glasses. he suddenly asked about your interests and what drew you to study science. his genuine interest in your answers made you feel welcome.

fast forward to the present, you were now in your second semester, and professor sim class had quickly become your favorite. his enthusiasm for science was infectious, and he had a knack for making even the most complex topics seem approachable. however, the latest homework assignment was proving to be a real challenge.

as you packed your notebooks and computer you saw a girl bluntly flirting with him. batting her eyelashes at him. it wasn’t new seeing different girls trying to talk to him, purposely saying they need help just to see him up close. you cleared your throat you gathered your courage and approached his desk. "professor sim, could I ask for some help with the homework? i’m really struggling with the concepts."

he looked up at you, a warm smile spreading across his face, completely ignoring the other girl in front of him. he probably knew what she was trying to do, "of course, i'd be happy to help. why don't you come by my office later this afternoon?"

the girl huffed at her non existence and walked away, leaving the both of you alone. you nodded, feeling a wave of relief.

later that day, you found yourself sitting across from him in his office. the room was filled with books and scientific models, and the faint smell of coffee lingered in the air.

"alright," he said, pulling up a chair next to you, "let's take a look at what you're having trouble with."

you pulled out your notebook, showing him the problems that had been giving you headaches. he patiently explained each step, breaking down the complex ideas into simpler terms. his explanations were clear and concise, and he used analogies that made the material more relatable.

"see? you're getting the hang of it," he encouraged, his eyes twinkling with pride. "sometimes all it takes is a different perspective."

as you worked through the problems together, you found yourself gaining a deeper understanding of the subject. you also couldn’t help but look at his side profile, his plump soft lips moving with passion for science was evident in every word he spoke, and it was impossible not to be inspired by his enthusiasm.

"thank you so much, professor jake," you said sincerely as you packed up your things. "i really appreciate your help."

"anytime, y/n. don't hesitate to reach out if you need more assistance," he replied with a smile.

you gave him another smile. you left his office feeling more confident and grateful for his guidance. professor sim had not only made the subject more accessible but had also shown you that with the right support, you could tackle even the toughest challenges.

over the next few weeks, you continued to visit his office for help, and each time, you left with a better understanding of the material. his encouragement and patience made all the difference, and you began to see science in a whole new light.

even though you guys only talked about science and just science, you couldn’t help but notice when sim would ask you questions outside of science. like ‘what do you think about your teachers?’ or ‘who’s your favorite teacher so far?’, and each time he’d ask, you would always say him.

one afternoon, as you were wrapping up another productive session, he asked, "so, y/n, have you thought about what you want to do after college?"

you paused, considering his question. it was new for him to ask that, "i'm not entirely sure yet. i know i want to do something in science, but I haven't decided on a specific path."

"that's perfectly fine," he said reassuringly. "you have plenty of time to figure it out. just remember to follow your passion and stay curious. the rest will fall into place."

you smiled, feeling a sense of reassurance, “thank you professor sim. i really appreciate that.”

you watch him push his hair back with a smile. you felt your heart skip a beat and immediately looked away, “i-i think i should get going. it’s getting pretty late.”

“you don’t need a ride do you? it’s pretty dark out since we practiced a bit longer than usual.” he reasoned. you thought for a moment. it is dark out and you don’t know who’s outside at this time. so, you nodded your head.

“great. i’ll tidy up before we go.” he said. you watched him put a few books away and tidying up his desk for tomorrow before grabbing his keys from his drawer. he then walked you to the door.

you both left the college and went to the parking lot. you felt yourself feeling nervous. it was your first time going with sim anywhere but his class. he went to a mercedes car making you hum in acknowledgement.

he chuckled at your reaction, “like it?” he teased. you nodded your head and giggled.

“i don’t really know cars that well, but i just know this one is expensive.” you said. his laugh causing a stir in your stomach.

you both entered the car and buckled up. he backed from the parking lot, “do you live on campus or somewhere else?” he asked.

“i live on campus, but the other one.” you spoke.

“you live pretty far? you walk here?” he murmured. he gazed at you curiously.

you chuckled, “it’s a good walk. i wake up a bit earlier so i’m not late for your class.”

he smiled at you, “if i would’ve known you go that far i’d spare you.” you shook your head and smiled back.

the car ride was silent, you let out a sigh and lay your head on the window. the past few days you haven’t been getting much sleep. you felt your eyes get a bit heavy.

“tired?” sim questioned. you opened your eyes back up and nodded.

“a little. sorry, haven’t really got much sleep. i’ve been so stressed out that i couldn’t sleep.” you joked, but it wasn’t really a joke.

sim hummed, he understood how tiring college could be, “you can take a nap. i mean if you want too. i’ll wake you up when we’re at the campus.” he said.

you smiled gratefully. soon your eyes became heavy and that’s when you fell asleep. your soft breathing soon filling the silence.

jake looked at your sleeping figure. you really were the prettiest student he’s ever seen. he knows it’s wrong to think of you like that. you’re supposed to be just a student to him, but he can’t help but think of something more.

your smile that makes him feel a type of way inside. your pretty laugh that he can’t help but adore. those thoughts were just something he thought weren’t bad, but his other thoughts were a bit more mature.

the way your outfits fit your body perfectly. your breast sitting perfectly in your bra, jiggling when you walk towards him. it’s hard for him not to get rock hard and stare. your fingers so pretty to him that he wonders if they're just as pretty inside your pussy. your glossy lips so pretty when they pout, he wonders what they would feel like around his dick. he just knows they’d stretch so pretty.

he soon parks the car in front of the campus. he shakes you softly, “y/n. we’re here.”

you groaned and turned away from him. he tried shaking you awake again, but you didn’t budge. he sighed and looked around. maybe he could just pick you up and take you to your dorm. that wouldn’t be weird right?

he got off his car and went to your side, opening the car door. he grabbed your backpack and slung it over his shoulder. he unbuckled your seatbelt and picked you up swiftly. he was hoping no one was awake at this time. he opened the door with his free hand and entered the building.

as soon as he unlocked your door he set you down on your bed with your bag on the chair. he couldn’t help but curiously look around. your room filled with collage photos of you and your friends. there was a photo of you and your parents. he slowly picked up the photo and smiled. you looked happy unlike the times you were in the halls.

he set it back down and was about to head out until he heard you making a noise, “sim please. down there.” you moaned out.

jake paused his walking and looked back at you. you were still sleeping, but your breathing started to become uneven and heavy. wait, were you having a dream about him?

he slowly prodded towards you and slightly shook you. you really were a deep sleeper. just then you let out another noise. it sounded like a whimper.

“fuck me sim.” you whispered.

what. the. fuck.

jake nearly choked on his spit. there was no way you talk this clearly in your sleep. were you joking with him? his breathing became unsteady with the uncomfortable feeling between his legs. he cursed at himself for still standing here and quickly left. locking the door on the way out.

he would just pretend he never heard you.

he couldn’t pretend. the whole day he was thinking about what you said last night. with him having to solve his little problem himself. you acted normally the way you did. you remembered he took you back to your campus cause you thanked him first thing when you saw him. if only he didn’t make it seem awkward.

you on the other hand was confused why professor sim was acting strange. were you snoring really loud in his car? you really hoped you didn’t.

as class came to an end, you packed your stuff. as you were packing you couldn’t help but look over at professor sim. your eyes went wide when you saw him talking to another female teacher. you didn’t even notice she came in.

they seem to be chatting about something funny cause sim was laughing a lot to what she was saying. you felt a weird feeling in your chest that you couldn’t describes. was it jealousy?

you sighed and put your bag over your shoulder and left the class without sparing another look. as you were walking you suddenly heard your name being called. you turn around expecting a specific person, but you saw that it was riki.

you gave him a fake smile, “hey riki.” you said. riki smiled once he caught up to you.

“are you okay? i tried texting you last night but you didn’t answer.” he asked. you pushed your hair behind your ear suddenly remembering last night again.

“o-oh i came home pretty early and fell asleep. did you need to talk about something?” you spoke.

riki nodded, “actually i was gonna talk to you about the project-“ “y/n.”

your eyebrows furrowed and looked behind riki, only to see none other than professor sim. he came closer to you guys, “you guys should head to class or you’ll be late, especially you mr. nishimura.”

the tone in professor sim kinda intimidated you. his voice bitter and sharp towards riki. riki nervously nodded his head and gave you a tight smile before walking past you. you looked at professor sim only to see him looking at you.

“did you need something professor sim?” you mumbled, feeling small under his strong gaze.

“don’t waste your time talking to guys and focus on your classes.” he suddenly said. his voice coming more harsh than he intended. your eyebrows furrowed felling a bit offended.

“excuse me?” you said “you should know i don’t waste my time on guys. riki isn’t just any guy, he’s my friend.”

before jake could say something you walked away. jake sighed and pushed his hair back. he didn’t mean to come out like that. he couldn’t shake that feeling of jealousy when he saw how close riki was to you. he’d have to apologize later.

you sighed when your last class finally finished. you were supposed to have your tutoring lesson with sim, but after that incident you don’t think you could go. you’ll just email him saying you’re sick. you left the college and walked to your campus.

you listened to a few playlists while walking. the cool breeze with the sunny sky made you feel relaxed. once you came to your campus you said hi to the lady up front and went to your room. you set your bag on the floor and sighed. a shower sounds good. before you went in the shower you emailed sim about your canc and shut your computer.

you took a quick shower and finished up. you wrapped a robe around your body and dried your hair with a towel, but before you could grab your phone you heard a knock at your door. you frowned, nobody barely knocks on your door, so who could it be. you opened the door and your eyes widened in surprise. it was sim.

“professor sim? what are you-“ “are you that mad at me?” he cut you off. you closed your mouth. is that why he came all the way here?

“professor sim im not mad-“ “so why are you ignoring me?” he said. you didn’t know it mattered that much to him.

“i-i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to cancel last minute.” you said. maybe that’s why he was upset. he doesn’t like when people cancel stuff last minute. he shook his head.

“i’m not mad if that’s what you’re thinking. i’m asking if you’re mad about what i did earlier.” he admitted. oh. that’s what he was talking about. to be honest you don’t know if you were really mad anymore. so, you shook your head.

“it’s okay. i’m sorry for being rude.” you muttered.

“i should say sorry too. i know you don’t do any of those things. i was just in a bad mood.” he said. was he really in a bad mood if he was talking to that female teacher happily?

you gave him a fake smile, “it’s okay professor sim. was that all you came here for.”

just as he was about to say something, he averted his gaze down and noticed you were in a robe. he felt his face burning and looked back up at you, “o-oh i’m sorry. did i interrupt your bathing time?” he stuttered.

“huh?”

you looked down and also noticed you were still in your robe. you gasped and moved the door in front of you, “i’m sorry!”

he tried shaking his head, but you just kept apologizing, “no it’s fine really! it’s my fault.”

you stopped apologizing and stared at him, awkwardness filling the air. he cleared his throat and looked back at you, “i-i’ll get going-“

“wait. i know this might sound weird, but do you wanna come in for a moment? we can do the lesson here if you're still up for it.” you thought. jake pondered for a moment before nodding.

you got done getting dress in your bathroom and came out. you saw sim sitting on the floor with textbooks on the wooden table you had in the middle of your room. he was looking around your room before staring at you.

you smiled at him and sat next to him, “we can start where we left off yesterday if that’s fine.” you said. he nodded and flipped the page to where you guys left off.

as you he taught you easy ways to get the answer, you felt yourself getting distracted once again by his visuals. you didn’t know what you were feeling at this point, it was a feeling you hated, but wanted to know more about. all of a sudden sim looked at you. you felt your breath get caught in your throat. he was staring at you with a questionable linger in his eyes. you felt his breath against your face. you guys were so close that if you moved a step your lips would touch.

“sim-“ “push me away if you don’t want this.” was all he said when you suddenly felt lips on yours.

you gasped and held tightly on his shirt. his lips molding against yours perfectly. you moaned when you felt his hand grip your ass, making him have access to enter his tongue. you felt your room getting hot as you lay on the ground with sim on top of you.

you took off his jacket while he helped you take it off without breaking the kiss. the dim lighting of your fairy lights making it seem darker than usual. he took off your shorts, only leaving your underwear on. he kissed and sucked along your jawline to your chest, kissing it gently. the sexual tension you guys had finally snapping in him. he lifted your shirt up and unclasped your bra. you felt the cold air hit your nipples and made a noise.

he smirked against your chest before gripping one breast and sucking the other. you let out a moan and gripped his locks. he groaned and pinched your nipple making you jerk.

“sim.” you whimpered. he looked up at you and departed from your breast.

he started unbuttoning his long sleeve button up, “call me jake.” he said. you bit your lip when you finally saw his toned body. god if you would’ve known he had that body under his suit you would’ve made a move sooner.

he leaned back down and kissed you gently, biting your lip making you sigh. you felt his right hand slowly going down until it made contact with your cloth pussy. you threw your head back when you suddenly felt him rub your folds up and down.

he dipped his hand in a second later and confused rubbing your folds, “fuck you’re so wet.” he murmured.

you nodded and kissed him again. both of your lips swollen. you wouldn’t want it any other way though. he took his fingers away and put them in his mouth. you watched intensely as he smirked at you. he got up and lifted you up bridal style before putting you on your bed. he unbuckled his pants and pulled them down revealing his boxers.

you gasp at the outline of his dick. you know it’s big. he got on top of you again and slid down your underwear. you felt yourself blushing with how he stared. you felt the urge to close your legs but before you could jake dipped his head down to your pussy.

“j-jake wait.” you moaned when you suddenly felt his hot tongue lick your folds.

he groaned as you gripped his hair again. he licked your folds again but this time he sucked on your clit. you thrash around at the new feeling as your eyes rolled back.

the sound of wet slurping noises was the only thing heard in your room. jake couldn’t get enough of your pussy. he was a completely pussy drunk man at this moment. your sweet juices leaking out, he knows you love it just as much as he does.

you felt a tight feeling in your pussy and patted his head, “j-jake m’gonna cum!” you cried out. he didn’t stop making you feel your climax coming. you let out one last moan before your orgasm finally hit. your legs shaking on the side of his head. he drummed up your cum like he was a dehydrated man.

you panted harshly and whined when he finally pulled away. he licked the rest on his chin, “fuck, you taste so good.” he says. he pulls his boxers down and that’s when you finally saw his dick. it was veiny and hard, precum at the tip.

“do you need to be prepped?” he said. you shook your head. you needed his dick in you now.

he positioned himself at your entrance before slowly pushing in. he groaned while you whimpered and held him tightly. he hissed when he felt you scratching at his back. slowly, he backed up and pushed back in so you could get used to the feeling.

a few minutes later you felt a pleasure tingling in your body, “j-jake faster. please.”

he didn’t need to be told twice. he started going at a faster pace and that’s when you were out of it. his tip hitting your g-spot.

“yes! right there! oh fuck!” you cried out. the sound of skin slapping, panting, and bed creaking was heard. you had a feeling people could hear you, but you could care less. especially with the way jake was fucking you.

he gripped your neck with a free hand, “such a little whore for dick. gonna be a good bitch for me?” he rasped out. you nodded your head frantically.

he felt you squeeze his dick and moaned. your pussy was a match made in heaven just for him.

you felt another orgasm coming and arched your back. he gripped your hips and snapped his hips harder. your orgasm hit you hard and you saw white. jake snapped his hips three more times before pulling his dick out, stroking himself on your stomach before cumming.

both of you panted uneven and hard. he got off your bed and grabbed the towel you used for your hair and wiped your stomach and wiped your pussy. you whined from sensitivity.

he grabbed another pair of pajamas for you and helped your put them on.

he put the towel in your dirty basket and went back to you, pushing your hair back, “i should get going.” he said.

you pouted, “do you have to leave?”

jake hated that he did, but he can’t get caught with his own student, “it’s for the better. you’ll see me tomorrow.”

you finally nodded your head. he covered you with your blanket and kissed your head, “goodnight beautiful.” he whispered. you soon dozed off into dreamland.

jake got dressed and looked at you one last time before shutting your door with a soft click.

you groaned feeling an ach in your body. you got up and went to your bathroom. you looked at yourself in the mirror and gasped. your neck was covered in hickeys from your neck to your chest. you traced your fingers along them and slowly smiled.

you took another shower and got dressed for the day. you out on a crew neck to cover your hickeys. good thing it was cold out today.

you soon got to the campus and entered your class to see jake already there typing on his computer. he didn’t notice you so you decided to sit down at your seat. once the bell ring he looked up from his computer and spotted you. he gave you a knowing grin before standing up, getting ready for the lecture.

“alright guys, did you finish the homework from yesterday?” he chimed. students began taking out their notes and handed them in. you turned yours in too. jake continued his lecture until the bell rang. students left the class while you waited until everyone left.

you went up to his desk and gave him a smile. he got up and gave you a hug. you giggled and stuffed your face in his neck.

“your not hurt anywhere are you?” he asked. you shook your head. he sighed in relief before letting you go.

“same time at my place?” you said. jake chuckled and quickly pecked your lips.

“i can’t today. i have a meeting to attend.” he spoke. you pouted, but understood.

“okay. i’ll see you later though right?” you said. he chuckled at your urgent question and nodded.

“of course you will beautiful.” he replied. you smiled cheerfully before leaving his class so he could attend his meeting.

over the next few days it would be the same. jake would come over to your dorm and would spend time with you, either having loving sex or just spending time together. everything was going just the way you wanted it too. until an incident happened.

rumors started to spread around campus. whispers of favoritism and inappropriate relationships between you and professor sim filled the halls. despite your best efforts to ignore them, the pressure was mounting.

one evening, after a particularly stressful day, jake asked to meet you in his office.

you opened the door to his office to see him already there in deep thought. you let out a gulp before going towards him, “jake?”

he looked up at you, but it wasn’t with the same loving look he usually gave you. “y/n, we need to talk," he began, his voice heavy with emotion. "i think we should stop what we’re doing. what we had was nothing but satisfaction we wanted to get off our chests.”

your heart sank, where was he coming from with this? satisfaction? getting it off our chest? you couldn’t help but feel tears pricking your eyes, “w-what do you mean? don’t you love me?”

jake stared at you as if you were just a regular person to him, “y/n, what we had wasn’t love. you were just a way to relive my stress. whatever you thought we had ends here. you may be dismissed.”

the lack of emotions in his voice finally made your tears fall freely.

you let out a sob, “i hate you! don’t ever talk to me again!” you screamed out before leaving his room, slamming the door shut.

weeks went by, and the pain of the breakup lingered. you threw yourself into your studies, trying to keep your mind off jake. even though you had him first period and he was your professor, you made a good route on ignoring him. none of it was easy, but you found solace in your friend, riki, who had always been there for you. his presence was comforting, and slowly, you began to smile again.

“are you gonna have that?” riki asked. you rolled your eyes at him before smiling. you gave him your cookie which he happily accepted.

you both were currently waiting at a bus station. after riki found out you walk a long way to the college, he insisted on paying for your bus rides as long as he gets to go with you.

“it’s way too cold out today.” you commented. riki nodded his head as he munched on the cookie. you shivered when a gust of wind blew at you guys. riki noticed your freezing state.

“come closer to me.” he said. you scooted a bit closer to him and lay your head on his shoulder. you sighed at somewhat of a closer warm feeling. as you guys continued waiting you saw a familiar car stopping in front of you guys. your eyes widened when the driver door suddenly opened revealing jake.

before you could think, jake yanked your wrist and pulled you away from riki. you yelped and tried taking your wrist away from him.

“what the hell are you doing?” you snapped at him. riki got up and tried to help you but jake stopped him.

“get the hell away or you’ll regret it.” he gritted his teeth. riki stopped and looked at you worriedly. you shook your head at him not to come any further. jake took you to his car, opening the passenger door and setting you inside. he slammed it shut before going to the drivers seat and entering.

you silently watched him start the car, leaving riki in the cold. you felt guilty and angry and looked at jake, “let me go jake! i wanna be with riki!” you yelled.

jake ignored you. you scoffed, “jake seriously. let me go!”

“stop talking or i’ll find a way to make you.” he said. you immediately stopped ranting and stared at him. you decided to stay silent. you knew you couldn’t fight him when it came to this.

in all honesty jake never felt so jealous before until now. you were so close to riki that something inside him snapped. at first he was gonna let it go since he’s the one that initiated the end to your relationship, but he saw a spark in your eyes that he hadn't seen in a while.

a pang of regret hit him hard. he realized that letting you go was a mistake. the rumors and the pressure seemed insignificant compared to the happiness he saw in your eyes.

you arrived at a building. you assumed it was an apartment building. jake opened your door when he came out. you stepped out when he grabbed your wrist and took you inside.

when you finally got to a room he unlocked it with a pin and entered it. the first thing you saw was shelves lined with scientific journals and textbooks, a whiteboard covered in equations and diagrams, but amidst all the science, there was also a comfy reading nook with a big, plush armchair and a collection of classic novels. you noticed how he had a nice window view of the city night. now that you thought of it, it was your first time at his place.

“you can take your jacket off.” he said. slowly, you took off your jacket. he grabbed it and settled it on a rack.

you stood there awkwardly and waited for his next move. he extended his hand out for you to grab. you took it as he walked you to the couch, “i’ll go get us some drinks.”

you sat down on the couch and waited. you didn’t know what to talk about to him. he came back with a drink and handed it to you. you grabbed it and took a small sip. he sat down next to you and that’s when he made he contact with you, but this time he had that same old look he gave you back then.

"y/n, I made a mistake," he confessed. "seeing you with riki made me realize how much i miss you. i thought i was protecting you, but all I did was hurt you. can you ever forgive me?"

you took a deep breath, the memories of your time together flooding back. you wanted to just drop everything and forgive him, but you knew it’s best to face reality.

“professor sim-“ “jake.” he cut you off.

you sighed, “jake, i forgive you, but i don’t think we can go back to the way it was. what you said really did hurt me that i couldn’t even eat or sleep. i don’t wanna go that same route again.”

jake looked at you regretfully. you just wanted to hug him and hold him forever. he stared down, “i understand. i don’t blame you at all. i really did fuck it up cause i was a coward.” he admitted.

“you’re not a coward jake. you just didn’t wanna lose your job.”

“but i lost you instead.” he said. now it was your turn to stare down. jake slowly lifted your head up with his hand under your chin.

"I promise y/n, i’ll do anything to get you back." he promised.

you gave him a smile. you know it’ll take time to work things out, but you knew if you did it together, nothing would stop you guys from being with each other. so, you cupped your hand on his and gave him a reassuring smile.

“i’m counting you on that sim jake. and if you do get me back, it can be our little secret.”

1K notes · View notes

fckmebarnes · 19 days ago

Text

honeybee

professor!bucky barnes x student!reader

bucky convinces you to stay in his class

18+ men and minors dni! smut — fingering (r). oral (r & bucky!)

w/c — 4.6k

a/n — iykyk <3 @professor-james-buchanan-barnes you are heavily on my mind with this one <3

the drone of the professor at the front of the theater had your head falling to the side of your shoulder, your pack back sitting tightly in your lap. your shoe tapped anxiously as the orientation went on, checking the clock every so often to see if time had passed by any quicker. but it hasn't, it only passed by in five’s and you wanted to groan out loud with how long and boring this orientation was going.

you had been to plenty of these, it was your third year earning your bachelors in art history, but for some reason the college made all students go to one each year. it was a pain in the ass, but you did what you had to do.

you focused back into the professor at the front and caught the tail end of the lecture, “that’s a wrap! if you need any help your counselors will be in the student offices.” as soon as the words left the man’s mouth, the theater roared softly with hushed conversations with students, and the shuffling of feet and zipped book bags.

you left out a sigh as you looked down at your schedule. you had a new class you wanted to add to your already 4 classes, but you knew it would be worth it. art history with a very profound and well known professor barnes.

you did your research on the man over the summer, your friends telling you to take his class not only because he was unusually handsome for a professor, but the way he spoke made everyone want to drop their panties. your friends had a bet that by the third class you’d dress like the rest, see through button up white blouses and the shortest skirt that you knew you didn’t have.

you could only roll your eyes, shooing them away as you read about him. he was top his grade in his graduating class at college, his father was an alumni at the college you were attending and was one of the first people on campus to make an art history department. before, the campus didn’t see too much of a need for history classes on old art, just people being hands on. but after they added a few courses with professor barnes being one of the options, enrollment for the courses boomed.

you had only seen a picture of him online in the catalog for the rest of the professors. he had short hair, the top a little longer so you could see his curls. and a full beard adorned his face, the sharpest blue eyes you had ever seen. it was no wonder people thought he was handsome, because he was. he was someone people would talk about through the halls and at lunch and even in other classes. you did your best to drown out the conversations, but the ones you did pick up on were heavily sexual

you walked through the art building and went up a few flights of stairs until you reached professor barnes’ classroom. you peered in through the window and only saw a few people taking up seats, and the man himself sitting behind his desk, eyes glued to the screen. you turned the handle, the squeak on the door announcing your presence and all eyes including his turned towards you. you knew you weren’t late, class started in ten but the way he stared you down made it seem like you missed all of the lesson.

“welcome, grab a seat anywhere you’d like. we’ll begin shortly.” you could only nod as you gulped, taking the first open seat at the front closest to the door. it gave you a better way to leave the class first, so you didn’t have to wait behind. you settled in your seat, pushing your backpack onto the table and unzipped it, taking out a notebook and a pen. you weren’t sure what the first day of his class would look like, so you prepared lightly. knowing that you’d read over the syllabus and maybe take a few notes. as you zipped up your backpack, you could see from the corner of your eye he stood up from his seat.

his black dress shirt sleeves were rolled to the middle of his arm, right above his elbows. he had two buttons undone at the top, and his black slacks and dress shoes topped off the all black look. he shook his right wrist to center the silver watch that sat against his skin and checked the time. you took note of the way his black and gold arm shone in the light, how the soft whirring of the plates shifted as he shook his wrist.

you nervously hit your lip, glancing between him and the clock right in front of you. your knee shook, you weren’t sure why you were so nervous, maybe it was the course itself. or maybe it was because you had the sexiest man as your professor for the next five months.

you shook your head to try and focus on something else other than the fact that this 6’4 giant man was your professor. he shoved his hands in his pockets as he stood in the front of the class and cleared his throat.

“good afternoon everyone. i will be your professor for the next five months. you’ll learn everything that has to do with dutch and flemish works and how the folks in the 1600’s lived life in the dead of winter. i will be focusing on a few artists such as Vermeer and Rembrandt and the impact that had with their oil paintings.” you could feel the nerves that were buzzing in your body dissipate as he spoke, the low and soft tone reverberated throughout the silent and mostly empty classroom. you watched as he walked back and forth in front of the room, but your mind had already started to wander. you couldn’t help your eyes as they trailed over his face down to his neck, where the slope of his neck met his broad shoulders and how tight the black dress shirt fit on his chest. you watched how his arms moved as he spoke, making sure to announce anything he was saying with his hands.

and his hands. his flesh right hand that held the silver watch, the veins protesting as he moved his fingers. and his metal hand? the fingers moving on their own and the secrets they held on how he came to have a metal arm? you wondered if it went only half way to his elbow or even further to his shoulder. you wondered exactly how long he’s had it, and imagined how the coolness of the metal would feel against your throat.

you snapped out of your thoughts as you heard him clearing his throat, eyes locked directly onto your face. your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as your leg came to a halt, and started to tap your pen lightly on the notebook. his eyes searched through yours and you swore you saw the corner of his lip turn upwards into a smirk.

“uh, sorry. can you repeat that?” you felt your face heating up, the warmth spread through your cheeks and down to your neck as he shook his head

“stay after a few minutes.” could only nod in response, looking back at the clock and seeing there was still a whole 40 minutes left of the class.

this was going to be a long class.

***

as the students shuffled quickly out of the classroom, you looked over and saw professor barnes sitting in his chair, beckoning you over to him. you shoved your things in your bag and slung it over your shoulder, head dipped down and embarrassment radiating off of you.

“it seems like you were lost in thought today. may i ask, what about?” oh god, there was going to be absolutely no way in hell you were going to tell him you were thinking of him choking you out with his metal hand. you shook your head and shrugged your shoulders the best you could.

“nothing important, i’m so sorry.” you hoped that he didn’t detect the nerves in your tone, and how your voice cracked just slightly because you knew you were bad at lying.

he noticed.

“hm.” was the only response he gave you as he sat forward and rested his forearms on the edge of his desk, shuffling some papers. his hands lay flat on the papers and looked up at you, a small smile against his lips. you felt that shit in your tummy and in your pussy.

“i suppose while you were daydreaming, you didn’t catch onto the assignment i gave out.” you shook your head.

“due by friday, i would like a short essay on the artist Vermeer, a little autobiography if you will.” you nodded, making a mental note do plug your laptop in when you got back to your apartment to do some research. “if you need any assistance, my office hours after class are posted on the paper outside the door. see you wednesday, y/n.”

***

“you’ve got to be kidding me.” it was the next week of the new semester, you turned in your essay and looked back on your graded work. a bold C stood out to you, and a frown etched onto your face. you weren’t sure what prompted professor barnes to give you a C, you busted your ass on that research, you knew that it was worth of an A.

it was after class hours and you marched right down to his classroom, looking at the times on the paper he told that was posted out front. you knocked on the door twice, and heard a gentle ‘come in’ from the other side. you turned the handle and closed it behind you, walking right up to his desk.

“why’d you grade me a C?” you couldn’t handle having a grade lower than a B-, you didn’t want to put pressure on yourself but the thought of failing your semester really was daunting. you pushed yourself to do better, you needed to do better. he looked up from his phone, setting it face down and sitting back in his chair, lacing his fingers together on his lap.

“that’s what i think you earned. is it not fair?” the tone in his voice felt condescending, hating the way he gave you a pointed look, licking his bottom lip quickly. you shook your head and crossed your arms.

the entire last week of having classes with him, there was nothing short of passing glances and subtle looks here and there. you could tell by the way his eyes raked over your body, he was thinking about you more than just a student. the thought made your core ache just slightly, and you were beginning to find that the rumors of girls throwing themselves at him were true, you just weren’t ready to do that just yet. the brat in you was telling you to prolong it, and boy could you.

“is that not the answer you wanted to hear?” you shook your head again, rolling your eyes and tapping your foot. he sensed the attitude coming off of you, and cocked an eyebrow, leaning forward. he had to admit, he was pretty impressed with you standing there. he was normally known throughout the student like for girls to just kneel and beg for a good grade. usually, he waved them off. he didn’t want that kind of reputation.

but you.

you were different. you were a different kind of attention seeker. you thrived off of getting told what to do and praises. he noticed each lesson he had so far, that when you raised your hand and got an answer correct, his praise would make you smile and a satisfied grin would come across your face.

this, this attitude was different though. you weren’t happy with your grace, and he thought of a good way to get that grace bumped up a bit.

“you know, y/n, you’re the first student to not throw themselves at me.” he paused, watching as your features relaxed, your foot tapping slower. “but don’t think i don’t notice each thigh squeeze when i praise you,” he stood up slowly, rounding the corner of his desk so he stood just next to you, leaning down ever so slightly with his face mere inches next to you.

“each lip bite you do that drives me insane when we make eye contact and you pretend to look away. i notice the way you squirm under my gaze.” his lips brushed the outside of your ear, biting on the shell softly, before pulling away.

“don’t think i don’t notice how much you want me, honeybee. just as much as i want you.” he leaned back and crossed his arms against his chest. you could feel the slick on the inside of your thighs under your jeans, a shudder falling through your spine as you watched him bite his lower lip. he thought for a second, wondering what exactly you would do for him and how far you were willing to go to be a brat just for a better grade.

between you and him, you didn’t know he was a brat tamer.

“so, are you going to be a good girl and tell me why you deserve a better grade than what you got? or, are you going to be a little brat and make it harder for you? it’s your choice, love.” the nickname went straight to your pussy, rolling your bottom lip in between your teeth you gulped and shook your head. you were prepared for his reaction, weren’t prepared for him to be so /prepared/ for your attitude.

you shook your head, biting your lower lip hard enough to draw some blood and the metallic taste spread across your tastebuds. he bummed in response, nodding and his hand outstretched to cup the side of your face ever so gently you weren’t even sure he was caressing your face.

“see you in class on wednesday, love.” you could only nod as you turned on your heel and gripped the strap of your bag so tight you swore you would rip it off. as soon as the soft click of the door was heard behind you, you leaned against the exposed brick wall of the hallway and let out the longest sigh you hadn’t been aware you were holding.

you were royally fucked.

***

you had done your best to not steal glances to your professor as he spoke no matter how close he usually walked towards your desk as he gave his lecture. it didn’t matter how good he smelled each time he walked by, how the sound of his voice went straight to your core, how he wore those tight fucking shirts each class. you weren’t going to cave.

it had been a few weeks since you had that little talk with professor barnes, and quiet frankly he had it. he coulndt stop thinking about how you looked each day when you came into class, the way you always gave him doe eyes everytime you swore he didn’t see you sneaking glances an how you shifted in your seat afterwards, your cheeks glowing red. he thought of a way to have you stay after class, just so he could play with you. there wasn’t a night that had gone by where he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night with his sheets covered in him cum from a wet dream he was just having of eating your sweet pussy out.

he was tired of dreaming. he wanted the real thing.

this week you seemed exceptionally fed up and tense. you had been biting your fingernails for the last twenty minutes of class and it was driving him mad seeing this nervous tick he didn’t realize you had.

“next class we will go over the dutch golden age. there, i will be explaining more in depth why Rembrandt was exceptional in his day and age. class is dismissed.” you huffed as you gathered your things in your bag, jumping softly at the tap on your desk. you looked up and saw professor barnes motioning towards his desk, telling you to stay after. you slumped your shoulders, just wanting to go home and go to sleepy. reluctantly you nodded your head and watched the last student leave the classroom and shut the door behind them.

“what can i help you with, professor?” you walked over to his desk as he sat down, one strap over your shoulder and your arms crossed, tapping your foot just wanting to leave. he lifted his hand and stuck out his pointer finger, telling you to come around the side of the desk and face him. you dropped your bag, rounding the desk and stood in front of him as he turned towards you.

“whats up with you? you seem.. on edge.” you were pretty shocked that he had even noticed your odd behavior. you sighed softly, dropping your arms to your sides and playing with the end of your shirt.

“just having a hard time in other classes.” you hated to admit it but you were falling behind, and you were normally really good at keeping up with homework and projects. but truth be told, you over loaded yourself. you were in between dropping your statistics class or this one, and you really didn’t want to drop this one. “i might drop a class, it looks more like this one im going to have to drop.” a frown etched onto professor barnes face as he realized what you just said. there was no way he was going to have you drop this class.

his hands lifted gingerly from his lap and settled lighting on your hips, your breath hitching in your throat at the contact. he pulled you forward towards him slow enough for you to turn around and leave the classroom, but you didn’t. instead you willingly walked towards him until you were standing in between his legs, your hands placed on his shoulders. he was looking up at you, and the view from over him was breathtaking

“i would hate to lose you as a student, love.” his fingers made small little circles on your hips, catching his bottom lip in his teeth, rolling it in thought. you could feel your heart skip a beat as you watched his eyes travel from your gaze, down the side of your face to your lips, down your neck and cascading down your chest before quickly up to your eyes again.

“let me try and convince you to stay, will you?” you felt your pussy throb at his words, knowign exactly what he meant by that, but you wanted to hear him say it, fuck you wanted to see him do it. instead you merely nodded, the lust in his eyes growing bigger as you gave him consent and he went for your face, his hands gripping the sides of your head and pulling you down to his lips. it was heavy and heated, desperation with each movement of his lips against yours, and you kissed him just as needily. he pulled away, his lips glistening with spit, red and swollen. he stood up, and as soon as he cowered over you, you felt small.

his hands went to your waist and he picked you up with ease, pushing all the papers on his desk to the side as they flung onto the floor. the back of your bare thighs from wearing shorts made contact with the cool wooden surface, his hands travelling to your knee and pushing your thighs apart.

“tell me to stop.” he breathed softly, his fingers hovering over your clothed cunt, eyes flickering back to yours searching for any indication you didn’t want this

“want you to convince me, professor.” the softest sigh came from your lips as soon as the words left your mouth, his thumb pressing against your clothed clit. your hips immediately responded to his touch, and he couldn only let out a lowe chuckle as he watched your thighs flex with every move of his thumb against your clit.

“so responsive..” he mumbled more to himself than you, sinking down to his knees and pulling your closer to the edge of the desk. you let out of asoft shriek until your thing stung from a small smack from his metal hand.

“try and stay quiet, love. dont want anyone to hear us, now do you?” you shook your head, cant believing you momentarily forgot you were in a fucking classroom, on your college campus.

the thought left as soon as you felt a cool blow of breath on your now exposed pussy,panties behind pushed aside, dripping just for him.

“shit.” he groaned softly as he dragged his knuckles through your folds and loved how his metal fingers glistened with your arousal. this was a sight he only wanted. his eyes flickered up to yours as he pushed the tip of his metall finger only barely into your cunt. his mouth opened with yours as you let out a small gasp, licking his bottom lip as he pushed his finger all the way in. you hummed in satisfaction as soon as he bottomed out to his knuckle.

but he was dissatisfied, pushing a second finger into your cunt, and the quiet moan in return made his cock harder than it already was, straining against his dress pants.

“fuck..” was all he could say as he pumped his fingers in and otu of you, slowing down every so often to see your arousal coating both of his fingers. you whimpered as soon as he pulled his fingers out of you all the way, your hands splayed out on the desk holding your wait.

before you could beg for his fingers again, he pushed his fingers back into your cunt and his lips attached to your clit, you couldn't help but let out a soft moan as soon as he started sucking on your clit, pumping and curling his fingers inside of your sweet cunt. he was addicted, and he hadn’t even made cum yet. you threw your head back as his fingers curled in your cunt, hitting your g-spot just soft enough that you felt a small coil in your tummy. you clenched his fingers and he swore he busted a nut as soon as he felt your pussy gripping onto his two metal fingers.

“fuck love, your cunt is gripping the shit out of my fingers. you gonna cum, honeybee? make a mess on your professor’s fingers?” he cooed softly, attaching his lips once again on your clit and sucked the swollen bud, making your thighs clench and you bit your bottom lip to suppress the loudest moan you think it was going to be.

he hummed against your clit as you came, taking his fingers out and pushing his tongue in your dripping pussy, his fingers going up to your mouth and you instantly wrapped your lips around his two metal fingers, tasting your cum on your tongue. you both let out two soft low moans as his tongue assaulted your cunt, lappin gup every single drop of your cum.

he pulled away and took his fingers with him, looking down at your pussy and licking his lips, his beard shining in your slick.

it was one of the hottest things you have ever seen, and he noticed that something about that moment turned you on because your cunt clenched around nothing.

“you taste so fucking sweet, honeybee. the most forbidden flower, only for me.” his eyelids were hooded as he pulled his hand away from your panties and shorts, putting them back in place. he sat back and could see his hard cock pressing tightly against his dress pants. you wetted your lips at the sight and before he could even say anything, you hopped off the desk and got on your knees in between his legs.

his hand instantly went to the back of your head, panting softly as your hands went up his thich, cloth covered thighs, reaching the zipper of his dress pants. slowly, you unzipped the zipper, your eyes never leaving his. the sexual tension between the two of you was thick enough you could cut with a knife.

as you popped the button on his dress pants, you pulled his cock out from the confines of his boxers, the tip leaking gpre-cum and you noticed a small damp spot against his dress pants. “see what you do to me, honeybee?” you could only nod as you gripped his cock, the hottest moan leaving his lips as his felt your soft and delicate warm skin on his cock. he watched as your eyes traveled from the bottom of his shaft to his throbbing and leaking tip.

“go on, honeybee. show your professor how you actually use that mouth. must be good for something other than giving attitude.” you licked your lips and sucked on the tip of his cock, moaning at the taste of him on your tongue. he sucked in a sharp breath, the grip on the back of your hair tightening causing you to moan. he checked that kink off on his mental list of things you were into.

you sat up straighter, leaning over more of his cock and taking more in your mouth, your hand gripping the base of his cock before you pumped a little as you went deeper. your spit was trailing down the sides of his cock and making a damp spot on his boxers, but you knew for a fact with the curses and mumbling he did under his breath, you knew he didn’t give one shit about his clothes.

“just like that, baby. doing so good for me. youre such a good girl.” you moaned softly at the praise, and finally he was able to get an actual noise from you instead of the sight of you shuffling your thighs together.

his other hand went to the back of his head as he leaned back and thrusted his hips a little up into your throat. you stilled your movement and that had him put his other hand on the side of your face as he fucked up into you, your hands gripping his thick thighs.

“like when i fuck your throat, honeybee? course you do. only want to please me, dont you?” you nodded as best as you could with his cock down your throat but he already knew the answer. he knew you only wanted to please him, and with the way your lips were wrapped around his cock, he knew you had already made up your mind about not dropping his class.

you opened your throat more for his cock, and the second your hnd moved from his thigh to his ballsack and fondled them in your hands, you felt his balls tightened and a low groan coming from his throat. his hot cum shot down your throat and you swallowed it all, sucked on his cock as he emptied his load into your throat, not wanting to waste a single drop.

you sucked him off a little longer to prolong his high until he rested his hips back onto the chair, your lips leaving his cock with a lewd pop. you licked your lips and your hands went back to his thighs.

“good girl, let me see. did you swallow all of your professors cum?” you nodded, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue to show him you did exactly what he asked of you. he nodded in approval, his hands going to cradle your face. you leaned into his touch and a smile played against your lips.

“ill drop statistics.”

402 notes · View notes

carlislefiles · 16 days ago

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someone to come home to | nanami kento ╰►for the first time in a long time, nanami had started to imagine a future. something domestic, something soft. you, in his kitchen. your socks on his floor. it wasn’t a dream he spoke aloud, but he felt it growing roots. it’s not that nanami can’t survive without you—he’s survived many things. it’s that everything is worse. food doesn’t taste right. his bed is cold. the silence is heavier. but when you stir, when you lean into his touch even in sleep, he knows: things can be good again. not easy. not painless. but better. and he will do whatever it takes to keep you here, with him, where life still makes sense. 13.8k words

a/n: about halfway through writing this, it dawned on me that there is genuinely no point to it...but one of the joys of writing is getting to force your selfships to dote on you, so that's exactly what I did hehehe hopefully you like it as much as I did :]

it hadn’t been a grand decision. there were no dramatics, no cinematic declarations, no final straw. just a morning like any other, a quiet sip of coffee in his overpriced penthouse, and a soft ache in his chest that had never quite gone away.

the corporate world was never meant to last. nanami had always known that. he wore the suits because they fit, not because he felt at home in them. the meetings blurred together, the deadlines grew stale, and even the money—once a seductive whisper—grew tired in his hand. he had clung to it for a while, hoping it could buy the life he wanted: breakfasts for two, slippers by the door, children’s laughter trailing through the halls like wind chimes. a wife with flour on her cheek and perfume on her wrists. nothing extravagant. just...quiet. love. stability. but the office lights were cold, and his apartment colder. the money sat untouched, meaningless without someone to spend it on. without someone to come home to. so he left.

he called gojo. begrudgingly. got reinstated. he didn’t tell anyone right away. there was no party, no “welcome back,” just the low hum of cursed energy pulsing through his fingertips again, like remembering a language you never truly forgot.

for a while, it helped. there was purpose in fighting. there was clarity in the blood and the bruises, in the moment a life was saved. sorcery was cruel, but honest. he had missed that. gojo and shoko took him out once a week—drinks, food, a movie if they could convince him. nanami went, mostly to humor them, partly because he was afraid of what he might do if he spent another evening alone. sometimes, he brought someone home. they never stayed. their perfume clung to his sheets longer than their presence ever did. it was transactional, fleeting, and each time he swore it would be the last. eventually, he stopped trying. the dates dried up. the hope did too.

he began teaching again. missions during the week, lectures on the weekends. ino became his apprentice—rough around the edges, eager, the kind of good-hearted idiot nanami begrudgingly admired. he didn’t say much. he wasn’t one for pep talks or hand-holding. but he showed up. he always showed up. when missions went south, when curses hit harder than expected, when ino needed backup—nanami was there. silent. steady.

for the first time in years, he felt useful. not just as a blade, but as a blueprint. gojo, naturally, took credit for this too. and then you arrived.

it was supposed to be ijichi giving you the tour. the man had a laminated itinerary and everything. but gojo, in all his loud, sunglasses-clad glory, intercepted halfway through and declared himself your “unofficial orientation guide.”

nanami had a list of things to do that day. a stack of mission reports to read, a student evaluation to file, a meeting with the kyoto branch. but he stopped. he stopped because he saw you. you weren’t extraordinary in a way that could be easily described. it wasn’t one thing. it was everything. the warm way you tilted your head when gojo spoke, eyes wide and curious. the color in your clothes—soft, rich tones that made the hallway seem less gray. the way you smiled, like it cost you nothing. you glowed, and nanami, long accustomed to shadows, stared longer than he should have.

later, in the teacher’s lounge—a place he rarely entered—you sat alone at the corner table, sipping tea and annotating what looked like lesson plans with pastel pens. he introduced himself. stiff. too formal. awkward, even. you smiled at him like he’d told a joke. he hadn't. “you’re nanami-san, right?” you said. “I've heard about you.” you sip your matcha.

“have you?” he asked, bracing for whatever disaster gojo had likely shared.

“all good things,” you said with a teasing grin. “though gojo says you wouldn’t know a good time if it bit you.” nanami didn’t respond. but your laugh stayed with him for hours after.

you were…bright. unapologetically so. you decorated your classroom within the first week—posters, cozy lighting, a snack drawer that gojo discovered immediately. you knew all the students’ names before your second monday. you asked megumi about his dogs, even though he never gave you more than a nod in response. you watched horror movies just to talk to yuuji about them, even though they made you cover your eyes half the time. you didn’t just teach. you cared.

nanami didn’t understand you. not at first. you were a capable sorcerer. strong. your cursed technique was subtle but deadly. yet you kept your distance. you only went on missions when asked, and even then, you preferred ones with low risk. gojo told him why, eventually. your entire family—gone. friends, colleagues, all eaten up by the same world you refused to let consume you. you had known loss. you had learned to live beside it. and still, you smiled.

nanami began to linger more. he’d bring you your exact matcha order from the shop down the street, even though he hated the place. pack an extra snack in his bento, just in case yours got eaten. offer to accompany you on missions you didn’t need help with. you didn’t notice. or pretended not to.

gojo teased him endlessly. whispered conspiratorially about “love blooming in the rubble of battle,” earning a tired glare each time. but nanami didn’t mind. because something in him had shifted. something old, buried beneath years of quiet despair, stirred again. he didn’t know it yet—not fully—but something had begun the moment he saw you. something soft. something permanent. it would take time. of course it would. nanami was patient. and you…you were still healing. but that first day, in the fluorescent glow of the teacher’s lounge, with tea in your hand and sunlight catching in your hair—nanami allowed himself the thought. maybe I won’t end up alone.

the life you and nanami built together was something like art. it was beautiful, you were beautiful. for fear of them becoming sorcerers, you may never have a big family, but that isn’t something nanami’s terribly concerned with. you love him and that is truly, genuinely all that matters.

nanami changes. he shifts. he’s never quite the same man he was when you met him—tired and alone, barely clinging to a sense of purpose. there’s a lightness to him now, subtle but perceptible, like steam rising from a fresh cup of tea. he starts accepting invitations to faculty dinners and weekend brunches with gojo and shoko, not because he enjoys the noise, but because it means he gets to walk in beside you, hand on the small of your back, watching people do double takes. is that nanami kento with a soft smile? yes. yes, it is.

he’s still himself—structured, composed, fiercely principled. but the edges of him are rounded now, sweetened with you. he compliments ino’s performance during missions more readily, even high-fived yuuji after a particularly clean exorcism. the memory haunted him for a week. gojo was insufferable about it, miming high-fives every time he walked into a room. but even that—gojo’s endless teasing—bothers him a little less than it used to. you’d kiss his cheek, hide your smile behind your hand, and he’d let it go.

everyone at jujutsu tech knows. they talk. the whole school’s in on it, really—the way nanami hovers in the doorway of your classroom like he’s forgotten how to leave, always showing up with a fresh cup of your favorite drink or a new book you mentioned once in passing. they know how he drives you to work, how you never seem to carry your own lunch, how your coffee somehow always arrives in your hand, still hot, without you ever having to ask. they see the way he brushes your hair from your face like he’s scared to disturb a masterpiece. how his eyes soften—really soften—when he looks at you.

and you, in your bright clothes and warm perfume, your always-full candy jar and open door—you adore him right back. you leave notes in his bento box, each one folded into a little origami shape. “remember today is takuma’s birthday. <3” or “come see me on your break—I miss your face.” he keeps them. every single one. he tucks them into his desk drawer and pretends not to read them during meetings.

he’s not particularly expressive, not publicly. but when he slides your heels off at the end of the day, kissing the slope of your ankle, pressing his forehead against your shin like he’s praying—that’s when you know. when he carries your exhaustion like it’s his to bear. when you come home with a fresh bruise and he can’t stop pacing the kitchen, can’t stop thinking about how close he came to losing you. that’s how you know. he worships you, yes. but he also worries. deeply. constantly. it’s love. big, dangerous, real love.

he hates when you come back from missions hurt. even small things—cuts on your knuckles, a limp in your walk—rattle him. he bandages your wounds himself, always. his fingers are deft, precise. he takes his time with it, methodical as ever. but his mouth is tight, his eyes a little too wide. you try to make jokes, to lighten the mood. he never laughs at first. but later, when you’re curled up on the couch and he’s got you tucked beneath his arm, when he’s kissed your temple and your shoulder and your wrist, he’ll whisper something like, “don’t scare me like that again, sweetheart.” and you’ll kiss him back and promise nothing, because you both know better.

you tell him once—offhandedly, a passing comment—that you’re worried about dying young. that you’ve lost too many people, that sometimes it feels like a curse in and of itself. he doesn’t respond right away. just looks at you with this quiet devastation in his eyes, like he wants to rewrite the world just to make sure it keeps you safe. that night, he holds you tighter than usual, arms wrapped around your middle, chin resting on your shoulder. he murmurs, “you won’t die before me. I won’t allow it.” and he means it.

sometimes, he wakes up in the middle of the night just to watch you sleep. you’re soft in sleep, peaceful in a way that hurts him a little. he touches your cheek with the back of his hand, marvels at how lucky he is to have found you—you, of all people. he kisses your forehead and thinks, this is what I was working for. this is what I was waiting for. this is it.

the other teachers notice the change in him. even ijichi, who’s too polite to comment, lets it slip once: “nanami seems…different. happier.” gojo, of course, never shuts up about it. claims full credit for your relationship, as if he didn’t find out about it from shoko, three months late, after walking in on you both sharing lunch in the faculty lounge like teenagers. he was offended that you hadn’t told him. said something like, “I'm the whole reason you two eve met, dammit, I should’ve officiated the first date!” you threw a paper cup at him. nanami looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and die.

still, gojo’s theatrics don’t matter. not really. not when nanami comes home and sees you curled up on the couch with a blanket around your shoulders. not when you wrap your arms around him like he’s the best part of your day. not when he gets to press his mouth to your pulse point and feel you exhale into his neck, like being with him is a kind of peace. and maybe it is. you made him soft, in all the best ways. and in turn, he gave you strength again. taught you to trust. to hope. to live in the present and not just the past.

some nights, after dinner, he’ll rest his head in your lap while you read aloud from whatever book you’re working through together. he closes his eyes and listens to your voice, calm and certain. your fingers card through his hair. he sighs like he’s found the meaning of life. other nights, he cooks. you sit at the kitchen counter and sip wine, kicking your feet like a kid, and he lectures you about knife safety like you haven’t survived two decades of cursed spirits and exorcisms. you smile at him and say, “yes, chef,” just to make him roll his eyes.

you joke that he’s a househusband in training. he tells you you’re not wrong. because the truth is—if he could, he’d retire tomorrow. trade missions and bloodshed for grocery lists and morning walks. he’d do it for you. only for you.

but for now, this is enough. coming home to you is enough. loving you, being loved by you—it’s more than he ever thought he’d have. he keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the world to remember who he is and what he’s done. but every morning he wakes up and you’re still beside him, warm and real and breathing—and that’s how he knows he’s lucky.

it’s terrifying, how much he loves you. but it’s also the only thing in the world that’s ever made him feel truly, unquestionably awake, alive.

……

nanami had been having a good day. which, retrospectively, should’ve been the first warning. it had been one of those rare mornings when the light didn’t feel like an affront to his senses. the sun had slipped through the slats of the blinds in golden slivers, cutting across your sleeping form like god’s own paintbrush. you’d rolled into his side the moment he stirred, still half-asleep, mumbling something unintelligible before nuzzling under his chin like you always did when you didn’t want to get up. and he—stupid, stupid man—had thought this was the kind of peace that could last.

getting you to move in with him had been like negotiating a treaty with a foreign power. every reason you had not to do it came dressed in layers of self-deprecation: I don't want to be a burden; what if you get sick of me; I'm so messy you’ll hate it; you live too far from the subway—“absolutely not,” you’d muttered when he brought up driving you every day. “no way am I just going to let you chauffeur me around like I'm some high-maintenance—” he'd kissed you to shut you up. not for romance. out of frustration. out of please, for once, just let me love you the way you deserve.

and then finally—finally—one perfect day off had melted your resistance. a date that shouldn’t have been special but was: his favorite bakery, a long walk through the city just because you liked watching the people, making dinner together. you’d ended up sated and soft and nestled into him, legs draped across his lap, head buried into the crook of his neck, your fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt like you always did when you were content. that was when he’d asked again, gentle but firm. offered you pictures of the life he wanted to build with you—coming home together, never sleeping alone, no more duffle bags stuffed with half your life and shoved into school cabinets. and you’d said yes. he had not cried, not jumped for joy, not had some big dramatic reaction, though something deep and vital had cracked open in his chest. happiness, unadulterated, unbridled happiness, the kind he was sure he’d never have, never deserve, never earn, and yet here it was, being offered up on a silver platter to him.

and now—now that life was slipping through his fingers like water. now you were in a hospital cot in the dim, fluorescent-humming basement of jujutsu tech. and nanami couldn’t breathe.

it started that morning. your name had come up during the debrief. a mission restructuring. your class with the students was reassigned—something about gojo being occupied, yaga pulling favors. you were to take a handful of students out instead. nanami had looked up sharply at that. you? on a mission with students? you barely went on missions.

you were backup. reinforcement. a historian of curses and spirits, not a frontliner. you always said there was nothing you could teach the kids in the field that gojo or nanami couldn’t teach better. but you didn’t argue, and that—that—was what left his stomach twisting. you never argued with authority, even when you should. you followed orders like it was a moral code, even if it put you in harm’s way.

and nanami hadn’t fought back. he hadn’t insisted. he had swallowed his concern like always, told himself you were capable—brilliant, even. smart enough not to make reckless decisions.

except when it came to the kids. you would never let a student get hurt. he knew—knew—without needing to be told, that you’d thrown yourself in front of yuuji when the curse blindsided him. you would have done it without hesitation, with no thought of consequence. when the call came, he was still on campus. sparring with ino. a routine day, going through the motions of a job he barely believed in anymore, until gojo appeared, white-faced and solemn. nanami had never seen gojo look like that. not even when haibara died.

he didn’t remember the sprint across campus. didn’t remember the doors he flung open or the hallways he tore through like a man possessed. just—you. there. unmoving. unhealed. pale in a way that you should never be. a sheet of gauze pressed to your side, already browning with blood. scrapes across your cheeks and temple. breathing—yes—but slow and fragile. all that light he used to complain about, the way it used to suffocate him in the best of way, that light—the sunlight in your laugh, the moonlight in your eyes, the firefly glow that clung to you like warmth—gone.

shoko’s voice was distant and cruel. “she’s been unconscious since she was extricated.” “…can’t seem to heal her…” “she’s stable for now, but—”

he didn’t hear the rest. just a buzzing roar behind his ears as his knees went numb and the world tilted sideways. this can’t happen. not to her. not to her. he didn’t speak. couldn’t. just stared. at your body. at your stillness. afraid to touch, afraid to even breathe wrong.

“she’ll stay here until we know if the curse’s residual effects wear off,” shoko said gently, dragging a metal chair to the side of the cot. “you should stay with her.” as if he had anywhere else to be.

he didn’t sit. not right away. he just stood there. rooted. staring at you like if he blinked you might disappear. and then he did sit. cold metal biting into him, grounding him in a way nothing else could. his eyes never left you. not for a second.

he didn’t know how much time passed before gojo came. he didn’t care.

gojo spoke softly, too softly, offering reassurances he had no right to give. said something about how shoko thought maybe you could go home soon. that your injuries weren’t that bad. nanami had heard enough. the growl came unbidden, low and rumbling from the back of his throat. “you can leave now, gojo.” to gojo’s credit, he didn’t argue. he just nodded, offered his help, and backed away.

once he was gone, nanami’s restraint shattered. he leaned forward, took your limp hand in both of his, and pressed your fingers to his lips like he was praying. and maybe he was.

his thumb brushed your cheek. so gently. just under the row of stitches shoko had placed hours ago. "I should have been there,” he whispered. "I should have told them no. I should have—god, I should have fought.” he was drowning. drowning in the “should haves.”

he should have noticed the debrief was off. should have told yaga he’d take the mission instead. should have followed his gut instead of silencing it. should have screamed when gojo dared to suggest your injuries weren’t bad. should have demanded more. but he hadn’t.

and now you were the one paying the price. he looked at you—your perfect face, marred by bruises and dried blood—and he hated himself. you’d been living with him for two weeks. together for half a year. six months of light and laughter and slow, soft love. and he’d let himself believe it was forever. now he could lose you.

nanami had always been composed. stoic. a man of logic. but there was nothing logical about love. there was nothing rational about watching the only good thing in your life bleed out on a cot. so he let himself fall. fell into the grief, into the guilt, into the ache. you cannot die. you cannot leave. you cannot give him heaven just to rip it away.

the tears came in slow, silent streams. he didn’t sob. he just wept, hands trembling around yours, as the weight of every choice he didn’t make crushed him. and still—still—he whispered to you. promises he couldn’t keep. deals with gods he didn’t believe in. I'll make it up to you. I swear, I'll take every mission. I'll train twice as hard. I'll do anything, just—come back to me. I'll never raise my voice. I'll never ask you for a thing you don’t want to give, I'll spend the rest of my life making sure you never hurt again. and then softer, desperate: “you can’t leave me.”

the hours blurred. shoko came back once to check on you. said the curse’s effects were resisting healing, but that it wasn’t worsening. that was the best she could do for now.

nanami didn’t sleep. he couldn’t. he just sat there. hand in yours. bent over your bedside like a man keeping vigil for a lost god. and when he couldn’t hold the silence anymore, he let himself dream.

dreamed of you in his kitchen, dancing barefoot to some ridiculous song. dreamed of you, pregnant—glowing and annoyed, swatting him with a dish towel. dreamed of you kissing his bruises, muttering about how he “had to stop bleeding on the good towels.” dreamed of quiet, ordinary days. coffee. laughter. your hand in his.

he’d spent so long convincing himself he didn’t need these things. that love was a distraction. a danger. but you had made it easy. you’d made it holy. he was never going back. not if you didn’t wake up.

and still—you didn’t stir. so he sat. a man made of grief and guilt and hope. waiting for the light to come back. waiting for you.

it’s during this particularly horrific bout of self-loathing that you come to.

the room is dark—dimly lit by the blue glow of machines and the faint, flickering overhead light that someone forgot to turn off. it’s sometime in the early morning, hours before the sun even considers rising. you feel…weightless and weighted at once. dizzy. the pain is everywhere, dull and throbbing, blooming like ink in water beneath your skin. your body is heavy with ache, but your mind is cottoned over with fog.

where are you? what happened? why does it hurt so fucking bad? you let out a breath trapped in your lungs, and even that small effort sets your ribs alight.

but then—he’s there.

your eyes, fluttering sluggishly open, land on a figure beside you, a familiar silhouette haloed in sterile light. he’s hunched over you in that horrible hospital chair—spine curved unnaturally, broad back too big for something so poorly made. he’s been there for hours. days, maybe. decades, in his mind.

kento. his name flutters in your chest before it can form on your lips. you try to call out to him, but your throat is raw, dry as paper. all you manage is a whisper of breath.

he’s not even looking at you. his head is bowed, forehead resting against your knuckles, hands wrapped tightly around yours like they’re the last real thing in the world. you’re struck by the way his whole frame seems suspended, like he’s carved from tension and silence and guilt. he’s not a religious man. you know this. but in this moment, you would swear he’s praying. to you. for you. with you.

you can’t speak, so you do the only thing you can: you move. just slightly. just enough. your fingers twitch and slowly, painstakingly, your free hand lifts and brushes into his hair. his whole body shudders. at first, he doesn’t move. then he leans—leans into your touch like it’s the first kindness he’s been allowed to feel in years. his breath catches. you watch, silent and still, as his eyes open and lift to you, disbelieving.

“you…you're awake,” he breathes, like a broken hymn. “you’re alive. you’re here.”

his voice cracks on the last word. he says it again, again, again, like if he doesn’t keep speaking it into the world it might not stay true. a chant. a plea. a sacred truth. you smile at him—slow and crooked, soft with pain—but it’s real. so real. you would tell him you love him if you thought the words could make it past the gravel in your throat.

instead, your thumb moves gently to the edge of his face, brushing the damp corner of his eye. you tut quietly at him, coaxing. he leans into the touch again, trembling, blinking furiously. you’ve never seen him cry. not really. not like this.

“don’t—” he chokes. “please don’t do that. don’t be kind to me right now.” your brow furrows faintly. his hands tighten on yours.

"I should’ve protected you,” he whispers. "I should’ve been there.” you shake your head—barely, but enough—and he moves instantly, almost frantically.

“does it hurt?” he asks. “I'll get shoko, I’ll—” but he doesn’t move. he can’t move. his body is rooted beside you, eyes glued to your face like the world might fall apart if he looked away.

you squeeze his hand. “it’s okay, kento,” you rasp. “I'm okay.” you’re not. not really. the pain laces your every breath. but the way his face shatters—utterly, visibly—at the sound of your voice? you’d say it a hundred more times just to undo the devastation in his eyes.

“don’t talk,” he pleads, fussing instantly, voice low and tight. “you’re not supposed to talk yet. your throat—your ribs—darling, please.” he moves quickly but gently, fixing your blankets with shaking hands, brushing your hair from your forehead, lips brushing against your temple. his tie is loosened, his shirt wrinkled, his eyes red-rimmed. you’ve never seen him like this. he looks utterly undone. fragile, like glasswork.

still, he moves like a man with purpose. a man remade by grief and given a second chance. “I'll be right back,” he says finally, reluctant, like the idea of leaving you is a foreign wound. “I'll get her. and some water.” he forces himself away, fingers trailing off your wrist like it pains him to let go.

out in the hall, megumi sits hunched in a chair, face in his hands. yuuji is curled awkwardly in the corner, asleep and snoring softly. nanami pauses.

he doesn’t blame them. but he doesn’t quite not blame them either. which is ridiculously irrational, and he knows that, he parades on and on about it, how he’s the responsible adult and how it’s his job to keep the students safe. that’s your job, too, but this situation is just so fucked up, the wires are crossed in his mind, and he finds himself absurdly pissed off at anyone that isn’t you.

he clears his throat. megumi bolts upright, wide-eyed. “i-is she—? what can we do—?”

“go find shoko,” nanami says shortly. the boy obeys without hesitation, dragging a bleary yuuji along with him. nanami finds the water cooler, fills a flimsy plastic cup, and walks slowly back. each step aches. everything aches.

when he returns, you’re trying to sit up. his heart nearly stops. “stop,” he says immediately, rushing forward, placing a steadying hand on your chest. “you’ll tear your sutures. let me—just—lay back down, please. please.”

you obey him with a frown and a sigh, lips chapped, eyelids heavy. he raises the cup to your lips. but you brush your fingers against his instead. as if he isn’t already watching you like a dying star. as if he isn’t holding the weight of you in every breath.

“I'm alright, kento. really. you don’t need to fuss.” that smile again. gentle. kind. completely unearned, as far as he’s concerned. it shatters him like glass on tile. he closes his eyes. breathes once, slow and frayed.

you don’t need to fuss.

if only you knew. if only he could explain that he no longer understands how to exist without orienting his every breath around you. that his hands only know peace when they’re on you—soothing your fevered skin, brushing your hair from your face, holding you still and here and alive. that he would gladly make a life of this. of serving you. worshipping at the altar of your continued survival. but he says none of this. he can’t. it would overwhelm you, and worse—it might frighten you.

so instead, he reaches for simplicity. for gentleness. “let me,” he whispers. just that. “please.” your lashes flutter. the silence stretches. then, a tiny nod. and he presses the water to your lips.

shoko arrives a few minutes later. she’s clinical, calm. assesses your wounds with a precision honed by necessity. your injuries are serious, but not critical. you should be okay to go home sometime this week, pending tests. she offers nanami a cot. he doesn’t hesitate.

“I'm fine here.” she doesn’t argue. but you do.

“kento. you can’t sleep in that chair again.” he opens his mouth to protest, but you beat him to it. “please,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “just…hold me. just for a little while.” and that’s it. that one word. please. it crushes him.

“okay,” he breathes, almost tenderly. “okay.”

he climbs into the cot carefully, awkwardly. it’s too small, but he fits himself around you like you were made to be there. he holds you as delicately as possible, arms tucked around your fragile form. his tie brushes your collarbone. his hands shake.

you fall asleep like that. safe. sheltered. he doesn’t. he watches you for hours, memorizing the way your chest rises and falls. the little tremble in your lashes. the blood in your hair, where he won’t touch. the soft exhale against his collarbone. he wants to scream. to cry. to rage. to protect you in all the ways he failed to. but instead, he runs his fingers through your hair. presses kisses to your crown. whispers your name like a benediction.

this will never be okay. but you’re here. and that’s enough. for now.

……

he’s awake well before you are. the lights are dimmed now, not the piercing fluorescents from the first night, but softer—still institutional, still cruel in how they flatten every warm color into gray, but gentler than before. still, they make your skin look paler than it is. waxy, he thinks. too quiet. too still. he’s already adjusted the blanket three times by the time your fingers twitch faintly in your sleep. it’s your blanket—the pale blue one with worn edges, the one you drag over the two of you on the couch, toss across your lap when grading late into the night. you claim it smells like safety, like lavender and faint detergent, but nanami suspects it just smells like home. like you.

he sent gojo for it—reluctantly, because trusting gojo with tasks that required subtlety was usually a mistake. but miraculously, gojo had returned with the blanket, one of your pillows, and—unprompted—a change of clothes for nanami himself. slacks, a soft sweater. even socks that matched.

nanami hadn’t thanked him. hadn’t said much of anything, really. just took the items with a quiet nod and disappeared into the staff bathroom to change, where the man in the mirror looked like someone else entirely.

he sits now, hunched awkwardly in that cold metal chair, the blanket tucked up to your chin. he checks your iv. again. and again. then your temperature, his hand on your forehead as though his own skin could tell him something the machines couldn’t. then your pulse, two fingers against your wrist, breath catching in his throat each time he feels the gentle thump beneath your skin. still there. still beating. still with him.

you make a soft sound in your sleep—half a whimper, half a sigh—and he’s immediately on his feet. “sweetheart,” he breathes, crouching beside the cot. “is it the pain? are you awake?” you aren’t. or maybe you are, but the drugs make it impossible to tell. your brow furrows. your lips part. but no words come.

he presses the back of his hand to your cheek. warm. too warm? he stands again, checks the drip. still flowing. still steady. he makes a note in the small spiral-bound notebook shoko left by the bed. she told him it wasn’t necessary. told him she’d be tracking your vitals. but he takes notes anyway. writes the time down every time he changes your iv, every time you so much as murmur. every breath you take feels like a gift he might forget to be grateful for.

if you were awake enough to speak, you’d probably tell him he was being ridiculous. dramatic, even. maybe you’d call him your mother hen. and when you were less loopy, less pain-stricken, he’d grumble about that. but secretly, he’d like it. secretly, he’d wear it like a badge of honor.

you shift again. a wince this time. a full-body tremor. and nanami’s fingers twitch helplessly at his sides. he’s becoming something else in these moments—less man, more machine. more caregiver than combatant. he hasn’t thought about curses since the moment he saw you lying in that cot. hasn’t checked his phone. hasn’t gone outside. he doesn’t remember the last time he slept. or ate. or exhaled fully. his hair is a mess—no longer parted neatly, no longer combed back in that careful, corporate way. he’s raked his hands through it too many times. it clings damply to his temples now, sweat gathering at the nape of his neck. he hasn’t noticed. he doesn’t care.

the rings beneath his eyes are deepening, blooming into something almost bruised. his hands shake when he pours water into your cup, when he tries to spoon soup into your mouth. but he does it anyway. asks if you're alright every fifteen minutes. asks if you need shoko, though he never knows what for.

you tell him you’re fine. over and over. that he doesn’t need to hover, doesn’t need to worry. but the very suggestion makes him laugh—quietly, bitterly. not at you. never at you. just at the absurdity of the thought.

leave you?

you’d nearly died. you'd almost—he doesn’t finish the thought. because he had. he had left. had let you out of his sight. and when he’d found you again, the light was gone from your eyes, your body broken open like a thing discarded. he can’t let that happen again. he won’t. still, you try to reason with him. always so damn calm. even when you’re pale and shaking. even when you can barely lift your head.

“kento,” you rasp, “you need to rest. please. just for a little while.” he only strokes your hair back from your face. presses your knuckles to his lips and says nothing.

when you manage to talk him into sitting for longer than a moment, into actually sitting, into letting the stress coil itself out from his spine for even half an hour—he’s the man you remember. your kento. warm and quiet. attentive, dutiful. he feeds you slowly, spoons broth to your lips like it’s the most sacred ritual of his life. he helps you sip from the straw. he adjusts your pillow, your blankets. always touching you like you’re made of porcelain. like something fragile and irreplaceable. and when he finally sees you close your eyes, when you aren’t grimacing, when your breathing is even—he reads to you.

your book had been in your school bag. he doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t really care. he just opens to the bookmarked page and reads in that soft, even voice of his. and you listen. not to the words, not really. but to him. to the cadence. to the sound of him here. you ask for distractions when the pain is too much. you ask about high school, about gojo, about silly things. what his part-time jobs were like, if he ever failed a class, what music he listened to when he was your age. he always answers. always.

but when shoko walks in, or you make a soft sound of pain, he forgets mid-sentence. snaps upright. abandons the story to check your iv, your pulse, your temperature. always cycling through the same desperate checks, always one step from panic. you try not to show how much it hurts. you try not to wince. but you’re not a good liar. not with him.

……

the first visitors arrive the next morning. yuuji and megumi come in with their shoulders hunched and their eyes wide, like boys walking into a funeral. megumi holds a bouquet of grocery store flowers that looks like it’s been clenched in a death grip the entire way down the hall. yuuji fidgets with the hem of his hoodie, eyes darting from you to the floor and back again. neither of them says a word at first. just stands there, a little awkward, a little guilty, like they’re waiting to be scolded.

nanami stiffens in the chair beside you—protective, alert. he doesn’t say anything either, just watches them with careful eyes as you blink up from the bed, tired but curious.

“stop looking at me like that,” you joke, but they both immediately avert their gaze to another part of the room. you laugh with a wince. "I didn’t say you had to completely look away.” your voice is chastising and painfully kind, all at once.

yuuji flinches. “we almost let you—”

“don’t,” you cut him off, voice firmer now. “don’t you dare.”

his mouth opens again, some sweet, stupid apology on the tip of his tongue, but you hold up a hand—shaky, weak, but still commanding enough to silence him.

“this wasn’t your fault,” you say. “it was a bad mission. things went sideways. it happens.”

“but we—” megumi tries, probably to apologize.

“stop,” you say again, softer this time. “I'm okay.” you aren’t. not really. your body is aching and heavy and every breath feels like dragging yourself uphill, but you’re alive, and that has to count for something. and you won’t let them carry the guilt for something they couldn’t have stopped. they’re kids. brave and powerful, sure, but still learning. still vulnerable. you love them too much to let them carry this kind of weight.

they settle beside your bed eventually, yuuji on the floor, megumi in the stiff plastic chair in the corner. yuuji babbles about a new manga release, megumi interjects with his usual deadpan corrections, and for a moment, it feels normal. like any other afternoon at school. like you're not half-broken in a cot in the bowels of jujutsu tech.

nanami doesn’t say much, but he watches you. watches the way you soften when yuuji says something funny, the way your hand drifts toward megumi’s arm when he speaks. like you’re trying to remind him you’re still here. still real. they leave reluctantly, but only after you promise—three times—that you’ll be okay. nanami walks them out. thanks them. tells them it’s not their fault, though his voice is tight when he says it. he’s trying.

gojo shows up two hours later. he’s loud, of course. drops his sunglasses on your bedside table like he owns the place, immediately helps himself to the chair megumi had used. he talks nonstop—about the mission he just got back from, about the girl he met last night, about a new limited-edition dessert he insists you have to try when you’re better. nanami scowls at him. visibly. but you laugh. not much, just a huff of air through your nose. but it’s something. you let gojo ramble, let him paint the room in noise and distraction. for a little while, you don’t have to think. don’t have to feel. it helps. more than you want to admit.

ijichi comes by later with a clipboard in hand, looking entirely too official, but his voice is gentle when he asks how you’re doing. you thank him with a small smile, and the blush that covers his face is laughable.

nobara and maki arrive together just before dinner. maki brings snacks—nothing healthy, all crunchy and salty and deeply frowned upon by any real medical professional. nobara pulls a nail polish kit from her bag and insists you need a color change, saying something about how healing faster is all about aesthetics. nanami sits quietly in the corner while they laugh, while nobara holds your wrist delicately in her hand and paints soft, even strokes of polish onto your nails.

he watches you the whole time. eyes heavy with something like awe. this, he thinks. this is who you are. this is who the world sees, who they love. you, bright and stubborn and brave. you, with paint on your fingers and silly teenage girl gossip in your mouth. even in a hospital bed, even pale and stitched and hurting—your light is blinding, and somehow, that light has chosen him. he doesn’t understand it. never has. never will. but he feels it, deep in his chest. like something precious cupped between trembling hands.

nights are harder. the chatter dies. the hallways go still. the beeping machines fill the silence, and nanami can feel the weight settle again, heavy and thick in the space between heartbeats. you don’t sleep well. too much pain. too much nausea. but you try. and he won’t speak, not at night. not when he thinks your body needs rest. instead, he holds you—gently, reverently. like he’s afraid he’ll break you if he moves too quickly. his arms cradle you, his hand moves slowly up and down your back, or across your brow, soft and methodical.

every time you grimace, he shifts. sits up. checks your forehead, your pulse, your expression. murmurs little comforts into your hair. brushes strands away from your cheeks. you grumble that it’s not so bad. insist you’re okay. but your hands clench the sheets. your body flinches when the pain creeps in, and he sees it. he sees all of it.

you try to talk, one night. try to explain. “I'm really okay,” you whisper. “it was just a mission. they go bad sometimes. it’s not going to happen again, I—”

but he doesn’t let you finish. his hand finds yours, squeezes gently. and then he shushes you—softly, but with a finality that surprises you. that shakes you. he never interrupts. never. you can count on one hand the number of times he’s spoken over you. but he does now, because he can’t bear to hear it. can’t bear to let the words form. because he knows what you’ll say, and he can’t take it. not tonight. not like this.

because yes, maybe it was just a mission. maybe you are going to be okay. but he’s not. he’s still seeing you on that cot every time he blinks. still tasting the copper in the air. still hearing shoko say she couldn’t heal you, like the world was unraveling in real time. and if he lets you talk like it was nothing—if he lets you shrug it off like you always do—he’s going to break.

he wants to march to yaga right now. wants to demand you be benched indefinitely, wants to argue that he can protect you better if you never leave the apartment again. wants to keep you wrapped up in his sheets, feed you with his hands, watch over you until the end of time. but he knows you. he knows that kind of love would undo you.

you’re already skittish with affection. always have been. you flinch when it’s too much, not because you don’t want it, but because you don’t know how to carry it. because you’ve always lived like it could be taken away. so he swallows it down. all of it. every desperate, all-consuming plea to keep you tethered to him. every vow that he’d sacrifice everything just to make sure this never, ever happens again.

he just shakes his head instead. spoons another bite of soup toward your lips. says, “we’ll talk about it later. when you’re better.” and you hate it. hate how gentle he is. how good. you don’t know what to do with that kind of love. you’ve never been allowed to keep it. but he gives it anyway. over and over again. like he doesn’t know how to stop.

you hold his gaze for a long time after that. say nothing. just breathe. and then, because you don’t know what else to do, you go back to picking at the skin around your nails. he notices. of course he does. he doesn’t speak. doesn’t scold. just reaches out, warm and slow, and takes your hands in his. thumbs brushing over each knuckle, each tiny wound. his eyes fixed on your palms like they’re scripture.

and when he lifts your fingertips to his lips, presses a kiss there like a promise—you feel something in your chest give way.

……

“you need to go home,” you tell him one afternoon, voice hoarse but insistent.

it’s been a few days. three, maybe four—it’s hard to tell in the basement infirmary with its flickering lights and recycled air, the sterile scent of antiseptic clinging to your hair.

he doesn’t say anything, and you know that the silence is his answer, that he’s not going anywhere. a sigh pushes out of you as you sink back into the pillow. you’re exhausted. not just from your injuries, though they still throb with a vengeance, but from the sheer weight of his concern. the way he hovers. how he hasn’t left your side. not once. it’s sweet, it’s grounding, it’s everything you love about him—but it’s also starting to crush you.

“kento,” you murmur. "I need space.”

his shoulders jerk, just slightly, like the words sting more than they should. and they do. god, they do. because he knows what you mean. he does. you’re tired. you need a real bed, a real shower, a moment where someone isn’t watching your every move in fear that you’ll fall apart. and he knows, in the rational part of his brain, that giving you that space is necessary. healthy, even.

but still—it feels like a blade slipped beneath his ribs. he says nothing at first. just stands there, silent, hands flexing at his sides. he looks like he’s preparing for battle, though the only thing he’s fighting is his own instinct to keep you within arm’s reach for the rest of time.

you sigh again. softer this time. "I didn’t start dating you so you could be my personal nurse. you know that, right?” he does. but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to be.

you reach for his hand—his big, calloused hand that has held yours through so many quiet storms—and give it a squeeze. “just a few hours,” you say. “go home. change. breathe.” he doesn’t move. you groan. “please?”

he nods, eventually. relents in that quiet way he does, where he’s clearly still calculating every possible outcome in his head. he checks your iv drip again, frowns at the number even though he knows it's fine. he checks the fluid levels, reads the monitor three times. he asks shoko a half-dozen questions she doesn’t even blink at.

“are you sure she’s okay?”

shoko gives him a look. tired. unimpressed. “if she wasn’t, I'd say so.”

“but her temperature—”

“nanami.”

he shuts up. lets her finish. but not before you have to reassure him again. again. again. until your voice is dry and your throat hurts from repeating I'm fine and I love you and you need to take care of yourself, too.

he finally leaves. you should’ve timed it.

the drive is quiet. unsettlingly so. no radio, no traffic, not even the sound of his own thoughts, really. just a dull, buzzing pressure in his ears and the thudding of his heartbeat against the steering wheel.

he pulls into the parking garage like a ghost. unlocks the door without thinking. steps inside.

and that’s when it hits him. the silence. real silence—not the kind you learn to live with on solo missions, or in hotel rooms between red-eye flights. this is the kind that aches. the kind that used to feel familiar. comfortable, even. but now—now it just feels wrong.

he walks into the kitchen. everything is where you left it. your tea mug beside the sink, your sweater folded over the back of a chair, your shoes tucked haphazardly by the door. you’ve been here. you live here. but the apartment feels hollow without your voice bouncing off the walls, without your laughter slipping down the hallway. how did he ever live like this? how did he ever live without you?

he thinks back—tries to. and he can’t. not really. not in any meaningful way. there were years here, entire years he spent alone in this space, eating bland takeout in front of the television, sleeping in a bed that felt like a coffin. he was alive, sure. working. moving. but he wasn’t living.

you changed that. you came in with your books and your perfume and your endless capacity for love and you woke him up. and now that he’s tasted that life—with you in it—he doesn’t know how to exist any other way.

he showers. doesn’t remember turning the water on. scrubs his skin until it’s raw, trying to rinse off the smell of fear clinging to him like smoke. he eats something. probably. he finds a leftover container in the fridge, heats it up, eats it with a fork he forgot to wash first. it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t taste like anything.

and then, before he can stop himself—he’s grabbing his keys again. maybe an hour has passed. maybe. he doesn’t remember the drive back. doesn’t remember parking, or walking in, or passing ijichi on the way down. he just remembers the moment he sees you again. you’re still there. right where he left you. pale, bandaged, bruised—but smiling. and it guts him.

“there you are,” you whisper.

he crosses the room in three long strides, drops into that metal chair like it’s magnetic. his hands reach for yours on instinct, gathering them in his own, cradling them like something precious. his thumbs press over your pulse points—feel the steady beat.

you’re alive.

you smile at him, warm and soft and devastating, like you’ve been waiting for him all day. like it hadn’t only been an hour. like you’d missed him more than you knew what to do with. that smile—so familiar, so disarming—it nearly floors him. again.

shoko is across the room, calm as ever, flipping through the chart at the end of your cot. she’s unreadable, as usual, her brow furrowed in clinical concentration. nanami watches her with held breath. as if every movement of her pen might rewrite your fate.

“good news,” you say, voice light but steady. it carries in the sterile stillness of the room. “tell him, shoko.”

shoko glances up, eyes darting between the two of you. you, bruised but smiling; nanami, rigid and terrified.

“clean bill of health,” she says. “more or less. tomorrow afternoon, you can take her home.” there’s a beat. and then the sound that escapes nanami is closer to a laugh than a breath, except it’s dry and trembling and half-choked in his throat. the weight doesn’t fall off his shoulders—it shifts slightly. just slightly.

your smile widens. you look over at him like you're not covered in bruises and fatigue, like you're not stitched up and held together by borrowed time. and he wants to crumble. because you shouldn’t be the one smiling. he should be. he should be smiling for you, beaming, cheering, crying with joy—but all he can manage is to hold your hand a little tighter, like that’ll be enough to convey everything roaring inside him.

relief. guilt. love. so much love. he still doesn’t feel like enough.

rationally, nanami knows better. he knows he did everything he could. he knows this wasn’t his fault, that you’re a sorcerer just like he is, that danger comes with the job. he knows. but logic doesn’t live in the same place that love does, and right now, they aren’t even speaking.

he follows shoko into the hallway the second she closes the chart.

“is she really okay?” he asks, voice low. urgent. “completely stable?”

shoko exhales slowly, leaning her back against the wall. “she’s banged up. but stable. her vitals are consistent, scans look clean. no internal bleeding, no residual cursed energy.”

“but the side effects from the curse—”

“will pass,” she cuts in gently. “it’ll take time. but she’s on track. nanami, she’s going to be fine.”

he nods, barely. stares at a spot on the tile like it might blink back at him. but his hands are still shaking. and his chest still feels like it’s full of broken glass.

he doesn’t answer. just looks through the window, where you’re sitting upright now, sipping water slowly. when your eyes meet his, you tilt your head, confused by his absence. he nods once and steps back inside.

it’s later now. hours, maybe. the lights are dim, and the hallway is quiet. he’s sitting next to your cot again, more calm than before, watching you pick half-heartedly at your dinner, coaxing you into at least a few more bites. you humor him. he praises you like you’ve moved mountains. you sip water. he adjusts your blanket. he takes the empty cup from your hand and sets it on the side table, brushes your hair from your eyes. all small things. but they keep his hands busy. keep his panic at bay.

when you’re settled again, tucked and warm and vaguely annoyed by how tucked and warm you are, your hand starts to move. you don’t even realize you’re doing it. your fingers are pulling at the skin around your nails. little tugs, soft scratches. it’s old muscle memory. you’ve done it for years—since school, since grief, since the first time someone you loved didn’t come home. it’s a nervous tic. you’re not even in pain right now, not exactly. but your brain is louder than your body.

nanami notices instantly. he always does. he doesn’t say anything at first. just reaches for your hands and gently pulls them into his lap, turning them over, inspecting the little raw spots forming at your cuticles. he rubs his thumb over the worst of it.

“what’s wrong?” he asks quietly.

your throat tightens. because of course he knew. of course he always knows. you swallow. blink down at your hands in his. his grip is so warm. so steady. your hands look small there. like they couldn’t possibly do the damage they’ve done.

“kento,” you start, voice cracking a little. you don’t know where you’re going with it. you just have to say something. he waits. doesn’t rush you. never rushes you. "I don’t want it to be like this,” you say eventually, the words halting. "I know this was scary for you. but...we’re sorcerers. this isn’t new. it’s going to happen again. you can’t—” you don’t get to finish.

“no,” he says sharply. too sharply. his voice cuts through the room, firm and final. you freeze. eyes wide. again, he almost never interrupts you. he thinks it’s rude, always listens, always gives you space. but this—this he cannot let pass.

he leans forward, holding your hands tighter, anchoring you both. "I went so long without you,” he says, his voice low and steady but fraying at the edges. “you have no idea. I was sleepwalking through my life. until you. you woke me up. and I can’t—” he breaks off, jaw locking. "I cannot bear the thought of losing you.” your eyes sting.

he swallows, eyes flicking to your blanket, your bandages, your still-pale face. he knows he’s said too much. been too heavy. he’s trying to back off, to keep from collapsing under the weight of how he feels. but you’ve always made it hard to hide anything. “we can talk more about it,” he says, softer now. “eventually. but for now...please. just focus on healing. and let me take care of you.” you try not to look away. you try not to flinch at the devotion in his voice. it scares you sometimes, how much he cares. how much he��s willing to care. and he knows that. he always has.

he sees you flinch. sees your eyes dart to the side. your fingers twitch like they want to go back to their habit. so he tightens his hold. not too much. not too tight. just enough. his thumbs sweep over your palms, over every callus, every scar. he brings your hand to his lips and kisses your fingers. one by one. don’t you know? don’t you know that you hold his heart in your hands, too?

……

the drive home is quiet. not peaceful, not companionable—quiet in the way cemeteries are. dutiful. heavy. nanami’s hand is a vice on the steering wheel, the other resting gently over yours where it sits limply in your lap. your fingers twitch occasionally, the only thing reassuring him you’re still with him. he glances over every chance he gets. not subtly, either. it’s shameless, obsessive, each flick of his gaze a silent prayer—are you breathing? are you grimacing? are you okay?

you don’t say much. not because you’re mad, or tired—though you are both—but because you can feel the tension radiating off of him like a heatwave. his knuckles are white. his jaw tight. and if you opened your mouth now, you might say something cruel. something like, “kento, stop looking at me like I'm going to die.” so instead, you let the silence stretch. you watch the road. you count how many times he glances your way (eleven, just between the hospital parking lot and the first red light). it’s maddening and it’s sweet, and it makes your chest feel too full and too empty at the same time.

when he pulls into the parking garage and shuts off the engine, he doesn’t move right away. just sits there, staring out the windshield like it might offer him answers. you open your mouth to insist that you can walk. you’ve been walking around the hospital fine for a day now, albeit slowly. but before the words can form, he’s already out of the car, door slamming shut behind him with more force than necessary.

you don’t even get the chance to reach for the handle. your door opens, and there he is—silent, suit wrinkled, sleeves rolled, eyes tired in a way that makes your heart clench.

“don’t argue,” he murmurs, already slipping his arms beneath you, “please.” you sigh, weakly, but don’t protest. it’s not worth it. and if you’re being honest—you don’t mind the way he holds you. like you’re something precious. like the thought of putting you down physically hurts him. he lifts you with ease, cradling you against his chest like a bride in an old painting. his suit jacket falls open and brushes your cheek. you press your nose into the lapel. he still smells like the hospital, antiseptic and stress and coffee—but beneath it, there’s still him. always him.

inside, everything feels foreign and familiar at once. the apartment is exactly as you left it—books on the coffee table, your slippers by the couch, a mug in the sink—but it feels changed. heavier. like it held its breath while you were gone. he takes you straight to the bedroom. the sheets are fresh. your blanket—the one gojo retrieved—is folded neatly at the foot of the bed. your pillow is fluffed. the curtains are drawn to keep the light soft. of course it’s perfect. of course he’s thought of everything. he lays you down with the same gentleness one might use to place flowers at a grave. his hand lingers on your shoulder. he doesn’t say anything.

you shift slightly, trying to get comfortable. he straightens the blanket around you automatically. hovers. steps back. starts to turn toward the door. “kento,” you say softly, reaching out. your fingers curl around his forearm. “stay, please.” he stills. there’s a beat. then he nods. he sits beside you on the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap, body tense like he’s holding himself together by sheer will. you slide your fingers from his forearm to his hand, tuck yours between his like it’s the easiest thing in the world. because it is.

you fall asleep like that—his fingers wrapped around yours, his eyes on your chest, watching every single rise and fall like they might stop at any moment. he doesn’t sleep much that night either. he sits there long after your breathing evens out, long after your fingers go slack in his. he watches the way your mouth twitches in your dreams. the furrow in your brow. the half-healed wounds peeking from beneath your collar.

he can’t stop imagining what this room would feel like without you in it. what the sheets would look like untouched, your slippers unmoved. he imagines lying in this bed alone, staring at the ceiling, begging to remember the sound of your voice. and then he gets up—suddenly, quietly—and goes to the kitchen.

he returns a few minutes later with water, your medication, and a bowl of something bland and warm. he sets it all on the nightstand, then brushes your hair back from your forehead, fingers reverent, like he’s afraid to wake you and afraid not to. he stays like that until dawn.

……

the next few days blur together.

he becomes almost a robot. a caregiver. a sentinel. there’s a schedule written on the fridge in his neat, meticulous handwriting—your meds, your meals, your bathroom breaks. he sets alarms. he stocks the nightstand with tissues and hand lotion and that lip balm you always lose. he refuses to let you lift a finger. not for water, not for food, not even to change the channel on the tv. it’s…a little much.

he helps you bathe, too. insists on it, actually, even though you argue that you can do it yourself. and maybe you can—but when his warm hands are on your shoulders, gently helping you out of your clothes, his eyes trained firmly on the tile, you realize you don’t mind. not when he’s this careful. not when his voice is soft and steady, guiding you through it like a dance.

he dresses you in one of his shirts afterward—soft and worn, down to your thighs. it smells like him. he says it’s because it’s easier than your usual pajamas. but the way he looks at you afterward, like he’s trying not to cry or fall to his knees, tells you it’s more than that.

every morning, he wakes you gently for your medication. he tries not to stare at you all the time, though he’s not entirely aware of it. when you grimace at a bite or sigh that you’re not hungry, he doesn’t push. just tuts and says, “try a little more, sweetheart,” and somehow, you always do.

you walk together, eventually. slowly. carefully. once around the apartment, then down the hall, then down the block. you pass a stray cat sunbathing on the curb and you crouch to pet it, smiling as it nuzzles into your palm—only to wince, softly, as pain shoots through your side. nanami is at your side instantly.

“that’s enough,” he says, helping you up. “we’re going back.”

“kento,” you start to protest. he doesn’t answer. just walks you home in silence, one arm around your waist, the other carrying your dignity in both hands.

at night, you curl into his side while he finishes the chapter he’d started in the hospital. you fall asleep to the sound of his voice. peaceful. content.

one evening, nestled against his chest, you murmur, “you’re my favorite version of yourself like this.”

he pauses. “like what?”

“like this. here. home.”

he exhales slowly. presses a kiss to the top of your head. doesn’t say anything. but you feel his arms tighten around you.

you don’t talk about the mission until the fifth night. the light is low. dinner is finished. your stitches itch and your chest aches, and you find yourself staring at the ceiling, heart too full to hold it in anymore. "I went on a mission when I was a teenager,” you begin. “back in school. supposed to be routine. clean. easy. but of course it wasn’t. people died. people I knew. people I…loved.” nanami looks over at you. doesn’t interrupt. “my efforts didn’t matter. not the way I wanted them to. I started taking less missions after that. until I left altogether.”

you swallow, voice soft. "I came back because I wanted to make a difference. for the kids. not for…this.”

you don’t have to say it. he knows what you mean. he’s quiet for a long time. then, "I want to stop you from ever doing anything like that again.” your throat tightens. you’d worried it would come to this. “but I won’t ever hold you back from what you want.” his voice is steady. raw. “it just…seems like maybe this isn’t what you want.” you don’t respond. not right away. not with words. but you know he’s right.

from then on, his care softens. not in quality, but in intensity. he still wakes you gently for your meds. still stocks the fridge with things you like. but the worry that once bled from him like a wound is quieter now. steadier. he’s still yours. but more than that—he’s here. not a sword. not a shield. just a man. tired and healing. loving you in all the ways he knows how. and somehow, that’s enough.

……

after two weeks, you have to come back to the school to get your stitches removed. the smell of rubbing alcohol burns at the back of your nose. nanami is at your side, of course, seated just slightly too close, his knee brushing yours every time he shifts. you can feel the nerves humming off him, like static. it’s almost funny, really. if you weren’t the one getting stitches removed from your stomach and shoulder, you might’ve teased him about it.

“you can sit back, kento,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear. “I'm not about to die in shoko’s office.”

he doesn’t look at you. just says, "I know,” like he’s trying to convince himself. his hands are folded in his lap, but you know the tension in them would snap bone if he wasn’t careful.

shoko walks in moments later, clipboard in hand, expression unreadable as always. she gives you a small nod, then glances at nanami. “you look like hell,” she says casually, flipping through her notes. "I thought she was the patient.” you stifle a laugh. nanami doesn’t respond.

“he’s taken to the nurse routine,” you say for him, smiling. “turns out, he’s a natural.”

“not surprised,” shoko replies. “he was the only one in our class who actually read the textbook. alright.”

the process is quick. methodical. shoko’s fingers are deft as she leans in, tweezers catching the first black thread. she doesn’t even warn you before she starts. it doesn’t hurt, not really. the healing has done its work, what little your body could manage. but you feel every motion, every gentle tug. and you feel nanami’s gaze even more—burning into your skin like a second pair of hands. he watches you like he’s memorizing the way you wince. like every flinch carves itself into his chest. you glance at him once, and it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. he’s all sharp edges and furrowed brows, eyes wide and solemn and worshipful. like this is a religious experience. like watching you be sewn and unsewn is some kind of penance.

you shift your focus back to the ceiling. any longer and you might cry—not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming weight of his love.

“this curse really did a number on you,” shoko mutters as she leans in to inspect the last row of stitches. “resistant to healing techniques. scarring’s pretty deep. can’t say I've seen many like it, but you’ll be fine.”

nanami exhales. not relief, not exactly. more like a breath he didn’t realize he was holding finally escaping against his will.

shoko steps back, tugging off her gloves. “you’re free to go. rest. move slow. hydrate. try not to fall down the stairs or anything.”

you shoot her a look. “you always make me feel so special.”

"I try.” you both smile.

as you pull your shirt carefully down over the bandaged scar on your shoulder, the door swings open. of course. it’s gojo, followed by megumi and yuuji—all crammed in the narrow hallway like a fanclub waiting to meet their idol.

“hey, you’re alive!” gojo beams. "I mean, obviously. but still. nice to see it with my own eyes.”

you raise a brow. “weren’t you the one who told nanami I'd be fine the whole time?”

“yeah, well, it was mostly for his sake.” he jerks a thumb toward where nanami stands, still silent, hands now clenched at his sides. “he looked like a ghost for two days straight.”

megumi steps forward, subdued but clearly relieved. “we were worried.”

“so worried,” yuuji adds, eyes wide. “like…actually scared.”

you wave a hand. “I'm fine now. all good.”

“when are you coming back?” yuuji asks, all hope and brightness and completely unaware of the way nanami’s whole body seems to still beside you. you pause. feel his breath catch. feel the world stutter.

you smile, smooth and sweet. charming. practiced. “I'm not sure yet. still resting. maybe soon.” soon. you don’t miss the way nanami’s fingers twitch. how he leans ever so slightly forward, like he might be sick. he doesn’t speak. doesn’t breathe. just…sits with that word festering inside of him.

you finish up the visit without issue, fielding more questions, deflecting gently, laughing when gojo starts a fake countdown for your triumphant return. but nanami doesn’t laugh. not once. not even a smile. he stands behind you like a ghost, one hand on the back of your chair, too quiet for someone who usually speaks volumes just by being present. on the way home, he doesn’t hold your hand. not because he doesn’t want to, but because it’s clenched tight around the steering wheel again.

……

he tries to give you space, now. or he thinks he does. it’s laughable, honestly. he still brings you every meal, still insists on fluffing your pillows and laying out your clothes, still stands just outside the bathroom when you shower in case you slip. but he doesn’t hover. not quite. he lets you wander into the kitchen on your own. lets you reheat your tea without intervening. lets you walk the hallway once without shadowing your every step.

you notice the difference. and you know it’s not because he trusts you to be fine. it’s because he’s afraid if he touches you too much, he’ll never be able to stop.

you try to be gentle about it. you appreciate his care—god, you do. but you don’t know how to sit in that kind of love for too long without it feeling like drowning. it’s too much. too deep. you’ve spent your whole life learning how to survive on scraps, and now this man is feeding you banquets of affection and expecting you to know how to digest it.

but still, you take the walks. short ones, under his strict supervision. your bruises have faded from deep violets and angry blacks to a pale, mottled green-yellow. they no longer hurt when you move. the pain that once seized your ribs with every breath is now a dull whisper, easily ignored. the scars remain, of course. thin and pale and permanent. but they don’t ache. not anymore.

you sit beside nanami on the couch one afternoon, feet tucked beneath you, sipping miso he made from scratch. he pretends not to watch you while you eat. pretends not to study your every expression, your every twitch. “I'm fine,” you tell him, softly. he nods. doesn’t answer. you didn’t expect him to. you wonder if he’ll ever believe you again.

……

things start slow. neither of you have the heart or the energy to rush back into the routine like nothing happened. it’s not avoidance, not really—it’s caution. like life suddenly became something delicate, something to be handled with care.

he goes back to work first. it’s inevitable. responsibility clings to him like a second skin, always has. he’s needed—by students, by colleagues, by the job itself. he can’t say no to duty, even if it leaves you tangled in the sheets he’s still warmed with his body. even if it feels like leaving you behind again.

ino asks about you almost immediately. nanami deflects, of course. the usual clipped answers. she’s recovering. resting. none of your concern. we’re not here to gossip. focus on your form. but after an hour of drills and corrections, he finds himself saying something about the way you tried to pet a stray cat last week, even though you winced the whole time. how you laughed when he scolded you. how you called him insufferable and kissed his nose. he tells ino that you’re tough. that you’re smart. he doesn’t say you’re the love of his life, but he might as well have.

you return to work eventually. gradually. not with any big announcement, no fanfare or dramatic entrance. just one morning, you’re there. in your classroom. a mug of tea in hand. your name on the whiteboard in that same messy script. students blinking at the sight of you like they’re not sure if it’s real. they swarm. megumi hides it better than the rest, but yuuji hugs you too tight. nobara demands to paint your nails again. even gojo claps obnoxiously, offers you a homemade coupon for one free dinner “with the sexiest teacher on campus,” which you promptly rip in half. everything, it seems, is exactly the same. but it’s not. and nanami feels it in his marrow.

you’re here, yes. smiling, teaching, living. but he knows the scar tissue you don’t talk about. he knows what your breath sounds like when it catches in your throat as you pass by the infirmary. he knows what your eyes do when you think no one’s watching. and maybe you’re better now. physically. outwardly. but in nanami’s mind, you never fully came back. or maybe he never did. he doesn’t know.

he drives you to work each morning, without fail. waits for you at the front with a thermos of your favorite drink. drives you home every afternoon, listening with something between fascination and devotion as you recount each tiny, ridiculous detail of your day. you once told him you spent fifteen minutes mediating a fight over who took the last strawberry milk in the vending machine, and he’d nodded like you were delivering a lecture on international politics. he needs to hear it all. it makes him feel close to you. tethered to you.

he files your paperwork. reorganizes your classroom supply closet. eats lunch with you in your office every single day, knees bumping under the table. you share a sandwich and he listens to you talk through lesson plans and theory debates and new teaching methods. you say you’re trying to find joy in the little things. he thinks you are joy, and that the little things are only worth anything because they happen with you.

in some ways, it feels like everything is back to normal. but nothing is meaningless now. not a single thing. not the way your pinkie hooks around his in the hallway. not the way he watches you sleep, even when you’re fine, even when he knows you’re okay. not the way his heart clenches when he hears your voice echo down the halls. this isn’t just a relationship anymore. it’s not a phase or a fling or a soft chapter in an otherwise gray book. he’s rooted here. deeply. permanently. and he knows you are, too.

it happens without announcement.

just a quiet meeting behind a closed door—yaga’s office in the early hours of a thursday. you go alone. come back the same way. say nothing.

you fold laundry. skim your book. eat a quiet lunch. you sit beside nanami on the couch like always, lean your head against his shoulder like always. he doesn’t ask. doesn’t need to. he senses the shift—feels it like a change in barometric pressure. the air around you feels...lighter. like something heavy’s been quietly set down.

he doesn’t push. just presses a kiss to the crown of your head and lets you rest.

it isn’t until three days later that he finds out.

he and gojo are leaving a joint training session—ino’s still wiping sweat off his brow, grumbling something about pushups being a war crime—when gojo hangs back, strides lazily at nanami’s side, mouth twisted into a thoughtful frown.

“so,” he says. “she really pulled herself from active duty?”

nanami stops mid-step. turns. “what?”

gojo blinks. “you didn’t know?” nanami stares. gojo raises his hands like he’s warding off a tantrum. “not gossiping. yaga mentioned it in passing. said she turned down a mission this week. asked to be removed from field ops altogether.”

the world slows. a long breath escapes nanami’s lungs, something tight in his chest unspooling so quickly it nearly hurts. the world rights itself, slightly, softly.

gojo keeps talking. "I mean, I get it—she’s good, but that last mission was...rough. thought maybe it was a temporary thing, but she signed the paperwork. she’s out.” nanami doesn’t respond right away. his heart is a strange, uneven thing in his chest. part disbelief, part awe. gojo watches him a second longer, then squints. “she’s okay? like—actually okay?”

“physically? yes.”

“and otherwise?”

nanami’s voice is steady. “she made a choice to protect herself. she’s okay.”

gojo nods, a little softer now. “then good. that’s good.”

and—for once—gojo doesn’t push further. doesn’t crack a joke. just walks a little quieter beside him the rest of the way back. he never asked you to quit. but he’s so glad you did.

that night, nanami gets home before you. he tidies a little, starts dinner. when you walk through the door—hair tousled, cheeks slightly pink from the cold—he doesn’t even hesitate. doesn’t say a word. he meets you halfway, wraps his arms around your waist, and buries his face against your stomach, kneeling there like he’s come home from battle.

you let out a breath of laughter, your hands sliding into his hair. “what’s this for?”

he doesn’t answer at first. just holds you like he’s still afraid to let go. then: “thank you.”

you hum softly, resting your cheek on top of his head. “for what?”

“for staying.” and it’s everything.

after that, the world moves a little softer. you’re still healing in ways neither of you can name, but at least now there’s no pretending that you’re not. there’s only space—made for you, held for you, by a man who would bend the universe if it meant keeping you safe.

each night, nanami pulls you into his arms and murmurs how much he loves you. how perfect you are. how grateful he is that you came back to him. that you stayed.

you used to flinch a little. shrink beneath it. you’re still not used to the weight of being loved like this—unconditionally, unapologetically, all-consuming. but something’s changed. you don’t squirm as much now. don’t duck your head or wave him off. instead, you touch his cheek. you kiss his temple. you whisper back, I love you, too.

nanami notices. of course he does. he always does. he notices how your shoulders don’t tense when he brushes his fingers down your spine. how your breath stays steady when he worships you with words, not just touch. how you let him love you like it’s a given, not a question.

your relationship is different now. deeper. messier. more real. the bubble popped the moment he saw you bloodied on that cot. the honeymoon phase shattered the moment he thought he might lose you.

and he doesn’t miss it. not really. because what you have now is built from something harder to break. something stronger than fantasy. love forged in fire, carried on broken backs and sleepless nights and whispered devotions in the dark.

he hates that it took something so terrible to get here, but he loves you now more than he ever thought possible. and you finally let him.

#filed under: jjk fics <3 #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk comfort #jjk fluff #jjk hurt/comfort #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento fluff #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami fluff #nanami comfort #nanami hurt.comfort #nanami fic #nanami headcanons #nanami jjk

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blumineck · 1 year ago

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Your videos are so awesome! Question about pole dancing:

I'm a trans man, and before I transitioned I did some aerial silks and trapeze at a school near where I lived. Then I transitioned, moved, and after a few years have wanted to get back into something similar. There are plenty of pole places around my house, but they're heavily oriented towards women. One's even marketed for ONLY women. I feel really weird about trying to attend classes as a man. Any advice?

OK, this is a tricky one. As this is anon, I need to post publicly, so here's some context for passers-by:

Pole dance is a heavily female-dominated activity, and because it's also frequently sexualised (either by design or by association), and requires fairly revealing clothing, many women feel less comfortable in classes with men. Some studios might then attempt to foster a safer environment by excluding men altogether (and even if they don't, the vast majority of students are usually female anyway, so pictures on the website, etc rarely feature men even if there's no actual policy).

And I GET all that. But also, I feel like it's ok for men to want to do pole too. I was literally drawn to pole in the first place BECAUSE it defied traditional gender expectations. So here's my advice, to you and any other men who might want to start:

1) Ask. Drop the studio an email, see if they take male students. The way they respond will tell you a lot about whether this will be a safe/welcoming space for you. It might feel weird and scary, but they don't know you yet, and if their answer is off-putting, they never have to!

2) Be prepared to be in a minority. Even if the studio is welcoming, you are unlikely to be in a class with more than 1 or 2 other men (at most!) and reasonably likely to be the only one. You may find different moves easy/hard, and you may find it takes a little longer for other students to relax/open up around you. This can be hard for some men who aren't used to that dynamic, but it /is/ a predominantly feminine space, so it's worth being thoughtful in how you approach things.

I'm not saying this to put you or anyone else off! IME most studios are happy to take male students, and most students are reasonably open and welcoming, and once you get settled, you can have a lot of fun and make lots of friends. As long as you check in and make an effort, I absolutely recommend giving it a go!

#pole dance #advice #this is based on personal experience and some trial and error #it's not to be taken as some kind of difinitive rule set or anything

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cheesus-doodles · 6 months ago

Text

A Twist in the Tale

Leona Kingscholar

Masterlist

‎

well that took a lot longer than I expected...glad for this to be done to completion though! merry christmas and happy holidays everybody, I hope you have a good time <3

Piercing, half-lidded green eyes watched you from across the bustling cafeteria, lion ears occasionally twitching as Leona picked up on your ongoing conservation with Ace. “....urgh I can’t believe there’s so much!” The red-haired whined, ruffling his hair in dismay as he dropped onto the table. “Crewel is a monster, I swear.”

“There is quite a bit,” came your rather sympathetic answer, unnecessarily kind if you asked Leona. “It will definitely take a while.”

On any other regular day, you, Grim and those two annoying Heartslabyul flies that you hung around were hardly worth his attention, let alone being eavesdropped on - mundane, brainless chatter that actively lowered his IQ with every passing minute. Crewel’s class wasn’t particularly difficult, not by a long stretch. Yet here he was. Clearly, today was as far from a regular day as possible.

Because there had always been something off about you, Leona mused to himself, his tail whipping from side to side, observing with as much discretion as a predator stalking its prey as you took another bite from your sandwich, covering your full mouth with your free hand in an attempted politeness when Deuce’s crass remark had you chuckle. He had known as much since orientation, when you failed to be sorted by the Dark Mirror - there was just something fundamentally different about your smell compared to everyone else that couldn’t simply be chalked up to otherworldliness.

It’s just that he never bothered. You had been just another nobody, hardly worth his notice or time to investigate.

Up until his overblot incident, of course.

‎‎

A steaming plate of hamburger steak clankering down onto the table in front of Leona was enough to startle him out of his train of thoughts. “Leona, why ya glaring like they owe you money?” Ruggie quipped, thumbing in your general direction as he fell into the seat with a sigh, lazily lounging across and occupying the entire bench - not that anyone else dared to share. “Wait, do they actually owe you money?”

Despite it being well past peak-lunch hour, the cafeteria was still rather packed with students milling about, the cacophony of noises from loud and hushed conversations alike only adding to the growing headache Leona felt starting to pound from the depths of his mind. Far from his ideal environment of a quiet, peaceful area where he could nap undisturbed, the constant din was one of many reasons the Sunset Savannah’s second prince avoided this wretched place as much as going home.

And the rest of his dorm certainly took note of his unusual appearance in such a public area, whispering among themselves even as they kept a respectful distance, picking a careful semi-circle around the table where Leona and Ruggie sat - easy enough to ignore, really. They knew better than to prod where they weren’t welcomed, if not risk learning the hard way that their housewarden was lazy, not weak.

Leona picked up his fork, stabbing it into the minced patty rather viciously, tearing his gaze away from you and down to the plate. The food looked especially unappetizing today. “He smells different.” The words slipped from his lips before the lion beastman could stop it, surprising both himself and Ruggie in the process, the sandy-brown haired boy whipping his head up to stare at him in disbelief. Right before said hyena thought it appropriate to dramatically turn to look at you, immediately earning him the prince’s ire. There was no denying who Leona was referring to, but why did he have to be so obvious about it?

You, fortunately, did not notice.

”The Ramshackle prefect?” Ruggie wondered aloud, nose tweaking, before turning back to face his housewarden. “I suppose so, given he’s from another world and all. What about it? If they don’t owe you money then it doesn’t really matter what they smell like.” A pause, the gears clearly turning behind the other’s blue-gray eyes, before he leaned forward, a cheeky grin plastered on his face, eyebrows wriggling. “Unless…”

He should have guessed where this was going. “Forget it.”

“Come on Leona, I ain’t a blabber.”

“If you keep flapping your lips Ruggie, you’re about to find ‘em sewn shut.”

The hyena beastman simply smiled knowingly even as he threw his arms up in defeat, instead turning his attention to his feast of sandwiches.

Rubbing his forehead in annoyance, the rough texture of the glove dragging across his skin did not help in the slightest with his headache. Why was he bothering with this again? Whatever he could learn surely wasn’t going to be worth this amount of irritation.

But two weeks on from having you thrusted straight to the centre of his life and much to his dismay, Leona finds himself unable to get you out of his head, well after you seemed to have moved on rather easily. It’s not that he liked you (perish the thought). He just had to find out, Leona assured himself, and then he could put this whole fascination behind him and move on with his godforsaken life. He needed to know what made you different.

‎

He watched you stand, your empty tray in one hand, the other waving to the group. His ears stood up instantly, his attention returning to you. Were you going somewhere?

“... be heading out to the town, do you guys want anything?”

Town? A quick think, and he understands. Memorizing your group’s class schedule wasn’t difficult, and as a non-mage, you wouldn’t be able to attend any of the usual classes that your friends would have that involved magic. The first year Heartslabyuls were having flying class next, which meant that you weren’t attending.

“Again?” Grim whined, slouching to rest his head on the table top. “How come you always get to go and have fun without me?”

Chuckling softly as you held your history textbooks to your chest, you shrugged. “I’m just going to pick up some supplies since I have a bit of free time.”

It seemed Ruggie had joined in on the eavesdropping. “Planning to follow him?” Said shameless hyena smirked, propping his two hands behind his head, though that move made him wince slightly; seems like Ruggie hadn’t yet fully recovered from the whole Spelldrive incident just yet. Serves him right though.

Leona scoffed, standing from the bench. He wasn’t hungry anymore. “I need a nap.” Stalking wasn’t quite his thing, and you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, given how your way home was literally dependent on that dirtbag of a school principal. He’ll solve this nagging puzzle at his own leisure.

A look of alarm washed over Ruggie’s face. “Wait, Leona! Can I have your plate if you’re not eating it?”

‎

His opportunity came sooner than expected.

The sky above Savanaclaw Dorm had turned dark an hour ago, the moon hanging above the darkened desert illuminating the swirling sand blown along by a gentle breeze. Outside his closed room door, the dorm was still lively with activity, students mulling about the corridors discussing the recently past final exams and Spelldrive tournament or gathering by the waterfall in the lounge to enjoy some peace and quiet.

Leona, however, was locked away inside his room, his brain still annoyingly fixated on you. He hadn’t been able to follow you out to town from NRC yesterday, not without having to answer some very uncomfortable questions about his motive. Tapping one nail rhythmically on the hard wood top of his desk, the second Sunset Savannah prince continued to think and brainstorm - not mull about like some lost little lover, mind you - all the possibilities to the mystery that was you. He had a few theories, a few ideas, but none of them fully made sense with all the information he currently had.

Letting out a sigh, the man leaned back, running one hand through his mob of brown hair. He had to be missing something somewhere, a piece of the puzzle. Right then, as if on cue, as if there was some divinity out there who had decided to shine down on him, lion ears picked out an unusual stir of disgruntlement emulating from outside. Leona tried to ignore it, as he always does, but the commotion refused to die down even after a few minutes. So with great reluctance, he stood from his chair.

It was your begrudgingly familiar smell wafting through the otherwise still air that his sensitive nose instantly picked up the moment Leona opened his room door, quickly followed by your mob of hair amidst the rest of the beastmen that he spotted as he made his way over to the lounge. Well well well. “Of all the places to find you in,” he drawled out, his tail flickering behind him as the room fell silent, the murmurs quickly dying out in his presence. “Savanaclaw ain’t no place for herbivores.”

You scratched the back of your head awkwardly. This clearly wasn’t your first choice.

Jack stepped forward, almost as if to shield you from the housewarden’s line of sight with his larger stature. “Leona, they-”

“We got kicked out of Ramshackle!” Grim wailed out, clutching onto your leg, the purple anemone sticking out grey fur a dead giveaway to the lead up to this conundrum.

“Not a chance,” Leona drawled out, crossing his arms even as his mind whirled behind those half-lidded green eyes. This was it: his chance.

You had always lived alone - or rather with Grim, though the fiery racoon hardly counted as a proper roommate - at Ramshackle Dorm since your arrival in Twisted Wonderland. Out of reach from him and any potential other students that Leona could have intimidated for information. But now, it seems you made a deal with that cephalo-punk Azul Ashengrottel, and Jack had delivered you directly to him like a good little puppy, unknowingly helping you straight right into his grasp.

The white-haired beastman blinked. “You didn’t even pause before answering…”

“No pets allowed in the dorm,” the Sunset Savannah prince shrugged. “They shed all over the place.” He hadn’t quite figured out where he could put you up temporarily (three days was more than enough for him to solve his little vexing puzzle, hell he’ll take one day and hopefully kick the two of you out by tomorrow evening).

Leona couldn’t roll over so easily, no matter how much the pit in his gut yearned for it. He had to at least put up a decent fight in front of his dorm’s students, and most of all, Ruggie. He’ll never live this down otherwise.

‎

Okay, so perhaps you sharing his room wasn’t ideal, nor was it really part of his spontaneous plan. But what was done was done. It’s temporary anyway.

Your footsteps, light as a fae’s, were easy enough to pick up against the otherwise silent dorm. Picking your way carefully through the dark room, you made your way out, the room door clicking shut behind you and blocking out the little light that poured in momentarily from the dim corridor. If you had been the slightest bit more observant, you might have noticed Leona’s green eyes sliding open to watch you, lion ears twitching as they followed the ambient sound of your rustling clothes.

It was the middle of the night, way past his usual bedtime - and it should be way past yours as well. Grim was fast asleep on the spare bedding at the foot of his bed. Very telling that you didn’t take your little minion with you.

Waiting for a few more seconds, the lion beastman carelessly tossed off his blankets, following you out of his room. And your telltale smell led him past closed doors and loud snores that echoing down empty hallways, straight towards the bathroom.

Interesting. Time to find out what you were hiding.

‎

You hummed a light tune under your breath, allowing the warm water to run over your body. You had expected Savanaclaw Dorm to be different from what you were used to, with the sneakpeek you’ve gotten before the Spelldrive tournament hinting that it was different enough from the life you knew back at Ramshackle, but you had to admit to yourself you hadn’t expected it to be this different. Imagine your surprise upon realizing that there was only one communal bathroom - and only learning that fact as you entered. You hoped no one noticed how fast you turned and left.

Shaking your head, you focused on rinsing off the shampoo from your hair, the stall walls though open at the back at least giving some privacy from the side. The water splashing down onto the tile from the showerhead echoed through the otherwise empty room; exactly as you had planned. It was only at this time of night that you would be able to get any semblance of privacy, and you silently pledged to yourself to never take Ramshackle Dorm’s silence for granted again.

You scrubbed down, trying to shake the thought of losing Ramshackle to Azul out of your head. You would do everything to make sure that didn’t happen, and you weren’t going to forgive Grim, Ace or Deuce that easily for all this mess they got you in.

Lost in the what-ifs, you failed to notice the patter of footsteps entering the shower room, right up till a deep voice piped up from behind you.

“So that’s why you don’t smell like the others.”

You froze.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the water cascading down your body and your very obviously female chest. You didn’t know what to do, didn’t dare to breathe, racing to think.

Fuck.

In a snap, you screamed, picking up the nearest object and hurling it straight at the intruder without looking, your other hand immediately reaching for the towel you had hung over the stall wall. The shampoo bottle was narrowly dodged, bouncing off the wall behind him and clanking to the floor. “W-what the fuck- get out!” You squeezed your eyes shut, your face beet red as you grabbed another bottle, throwing it with all the strength you had. Someone saw you. Some guy’s seen you. You should have been more careful, maybe you shouldn’t have showered at all, maybe you have-

“Shut it!” One large hand was quickly slapped over your mouth, the other grabbing your hand and stopping you from flinging your third munition. “Do you want the entire dorm to wake? Just breathe, dammit.”

You shook off his hand, moving to secure your towel around you before you took a deep breath, looking up to see who had walked in on you.

Leona Kingscholar, the Savanaclaw Housewarden himself, looking mighty amused at the revelation that you were, in fact, of the opposite gender. A red-faced lady in the house of men.

“Does that crow know?”

“Crowley? Of course he does,” you snapped, clutching the towel wrapped around you tightly. “Now can you get out?”

The lion beastman only leaned onto the stall door, crossing his arms. “So how have you been hiding that all this time?” He drawled, pointing at your chest with his chin. You picked up another bottle threateningly, and Leona immediately raised both hands in surrender, taking a step back and behind the stall door.

“Peace,” he drawled. “I’m just here for answers.”

“And I’m here to bathe,” you barked back. “Chest binding is what I do, now out.”

The chuckle as the second prince strolled out reverberated through the still bathroom. You groaned, sinking to a squat and hiding your face in your hands. You were never going to live this down now, were you?

595 notes · View notes

enjakey · 3 months ago

Text

The University and the Dorms We Hate

Pairing: [Jake x Fem!Reader]!University!Found-family au

I LOVED WRITING THIS FIC (14K) like it's so funny and loving and sweet and cute- yeah just read it guys. Can you tell I incorporated Loose? Try and find it, lol. I love writing 02z, they're so adorable.

So, I don't want to call this fic dark because it deals with some heavy things like depression, bullying and suicide (in context of sunghoon) and death in general. Mentions of ghosts, if you're scared of that. Lots of crack tho, It's all very funny. And soft. And found-family esque with Jake, Jay, Sunghoon and Y/N.

Please enjoy reading guys. I always appreciate feedback! Can't wait to talk and meet some of y'all. Would love making friends on this app. I can't think of anymore warnings to give so- enjoy! Also does anyone hate the whole tags thing? I swear it takes so long.

Summary: in which everyone that went to your university hated it- it was low budgeted and whoever ended up there made the worse decision of their lives. They were so out of funds that the boys dorm building collapsed, leading them to move into the girls’ dorm. Jake and Y/N hover in each other's lives before finally crashing into each other- protecting each other and their friends, Jay and Sunghoon.

Everyone hated Remnant University- the students, the faculty, the janitors, the registrar, even the pigeons that occasionally dropped dead on the quad. It was a cursed place, built not from vision but vanity- the brainchild of a man with too much money and far too much cocaine. He’d once called it his ‘gift to the people.’ The people, in return, had cursed his name into oblivion.

After his death- a coke-fueled heart attack in the university sauna, if the legends were true- the institution limped on. Tuition was cheap, admissions were easy, and something about the place drew in a strange crowd: brilliant minds with nowhere else to go, the kind of people the world chewed up and spat out.

As years passed, graduates clawed their way out through fake recommendation letters, falsified research papers, and internships that didn’t exist. Meanwhile, the next batch of the naive and desperate arrived- wide-eyed, hopeful, and doomed.

‘To all the students of Remnant University — welcome home.’

Y/N remembered staring at the banner during her orientation, its letters in gaudy bubble font, fluttering above the cracked main gate. She'd felt a flicker of awe then. Two years later, she couldn’t look at it without imagining setting it on fire. Home, my ass, she thought almost daily. She hated her classes. She hated the professors. She hated the eternal mildew stench that clung to the dorm walls and the way the lights flickered like a horror movie just before someone dies.

The campus itself was a patchwork nightmare- brutalist buildings long past their expiration date, lecture halls with ceilings that leaked when it didn’t rain, and an willow tree near the western edge that, according to campus lore, was cursed: a student had hung themselves from it every decade like clockwork. The library was missing half its books, the science lab still ran Windows 95, the food in the mess hall tasted like regret, and the only working coffee machine was in the faculty lounge, guarded like a sacred artifact.

Still, somehow, the place endured. Professors- the decent ones, anyway- stayed not out of loyalty, but out of pity. They knew Remnant had no soul, only suffering, and tried to ease the burden where they could.

And so, another semester dragged on, the sun too harsh, the wind too bitter, the future too far. And Remnant University, like a dying star, continued to pull in the lost and the brilliant, one pitiful student at a time.

That year, the boys dorm had given up, its foundation perishing.

It started with the water- or rather, the lack of it. Then came the black mold that bloomed across the ceilings like ink stains in a Rorschach test. The final straw was the collapse of the third-floor corridor during midterms, taking down three bathrooms, two residents, and the only functioning Wi-Fi router in the building.

Facilities blamed the students for “reckless behavior,” the students blamed the university for “being held together by asbestos and prayer,” and the administration issued a memo with bold Comic Sans that read: “This is an opportunity for community building!”

And so, with nowhere else to go, the boys were moved- en masse- into the already half-empty girls’ dorm.

It was chaos. Instant ramen wrappers multiplied like cockroaches, and hallways began to reek of Lynx body spray and unwashed laundry. Someone brought a pet iguana named Carl that no one could prove they owned- he just roamed freely, occasionally found sunbathing under the corridor light fixtures like he paid rent. Room assignments were haphazard; some girls returned from class to find unfamiliar boys lounging on their beanbags, raiding their snacks, or claiming, “oh, I thought this was 3B.”

The fact that each room had its own bathroom did little to soften the blow. Instead of fighting over communal showers, the wars shifted to noise complaints, door-slamming at odd hours, and passive-aggressive sticky notes about ‘the walls are thin- I can hear everything.’

One girl woke up to find her mirror fogged with the message “YOU’RE NEXT :)”- it turned out it was just her neighbor playing a prank with a Sharpie and a blow dryer, but the girl moved out the next morning anyway.

Y/N had to share her hallway with a group of engineering boys who mistook deodorant for optional and thought whispering at 2 a.m. counted as being quiet. One of them set off the fire alarm trying to microwave a boiled egg. Another kept trying to convince everyone he was the reincarnation of Tesla. The hallway now smelled like socks, rejection, and desperation.

“Community building,” Y/N muttered as they stepped over a broken chair in the common room. “They should rename this place Lord of the Flies: Campus Edition.”

Still, no one left. No one ever really left.

The university had a grip on people- not because it was good, but because once you were here, it was like the outside world forgot you existed. Transfer applications got “lost.” Emails to other universities were mysteriously flagged as spam. Even the local newspapers referred to it as “that place near the quarry” like it didn’t deserve a real name.

And perhaps it didn’t.

Remnant wasn’t just a university. It was purgatory with a vending machine and barely functioning plumbing.

Y/N just didn’t realise this shift was some sort of ironic blessing in disguise.

A few months later, the chaos mellowed out.

The loudest, messiest ones either dropped out, transferred, or mysteriously stopped showing up- whether from burnout, academic probation, or just giving up and going home was anyone’s guess. The dorm slowly emptied again, and for the first time in a while, Y/N could hear her own thoughts past 10 pm.

The air felt different- less like a frat party gone wrong and more like a hospital wing during visiting hours. Quiet, but laced with an odd sense of shared survival. The broken furniture in the hallway had been cleared. Carl the iguana had found a permanent home in someone's terrarium (rumor had it, he'd been registered as an emotional support animal). The scent of chaos was replaced by something eerily neutral detergent, maybe. Or resignation.

Just a few rooms down from hers lived Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon- three boys who, unlike most, had managed to settle in without turning the place into a war zone. They were quiet, mostly. Not the awkward kind of quiet, but the observant kind. The kind that made Y/N wonder if they were secretly plotting to escape this university and hadn’t yet told her how.

She didn’t know much about them then- just glimpses. Jake had the habit of doing late-night runs down the corridor with music blasting in his headphones. Jay always walked like he had somewhere important to be, even if he was just carrying laundry. And Sunghoon, well… Sunghoon gave off the unnerving energy of someone who was either extremely kind or extremely dangerous, and no one had quite figured out which.

Y/N and Jake didn’t really meet at first. Not properly. They just… existed in each other’s periphery.

It started with ramen. Y/N had a ritual- 11:30 pm, kettle boiled, seasoning packets dumped in without reading, and a long sigh echoing in the kitchen like a ghost with finals. The dorm’s shared kitchenette was useless, claustrophobic, and smelt vaguely like burnt cheese, but it was all she had.

That was where she first saw him.

Jake didn’t say anything. Just stood by the fridge, half-asleep and barefoot, pouring chocolate milk into a chipped mug like it was whiskey. She glanced up from her noodles; he met her eyes for a second, then looked away.

No nod. No smile. Just shared exhaustion, briefly acknowledged.

After that, it happened more often. Hallway crossings, leaving the dorm at the same time- same shoes, different direction. One would always pretend to check their phone. The other would act like the floor had suddenly gotten really interesting. But neither of them turned back.

Once, she was walking down the corridor holding a stack of textbooks too tall for her arms. He was coming from the opposite side with a wet towel over his shoulder. Their eyes locked. For a second, Jake looked like he might say something. But then he didn’t. He just shifted to the side, brushing past her like she was smoke.

Y/N told herself it was nothing. Just dorm life. Just bad timing.

But still, whatever corner she turned, he was there- leaning against a wall, tying his shoelaces in the lobby, digging through the vending machine like it owed him money.

Then, the air-conditioning in the dorms stopped working. It was bound to happen eventually- the units had been blubbering like dying whales for weeks, dripping puddles of water and emitting an odd smell that lingered like guilt after a bad decision. But for them to break down exactly when the weather decided to become an inferno? That wasn’t just bad luck. That was spiritual punishment.

The dorm quickly descended into a version of hell Dante probably left out for being too pathetic.

People started dragging their mattresses into the hallway where it was marginally cooler. Fans were hoarded like black-market gold. The guy in 207 tried to build a swamp cooler out of a mop and an old table fan. It worked. Briefly. Until it didn’t. And then the smell got worse.

The warden and management were flooded with complaints, threats, and one very poetic hate email that ended with, “This is not an institution of learning. It is a slow death simulation.”

Y/N tried ice packs. They melted. She tried sleeping on the floor. It gave her a backache and a sudden understanding of her mother’s sciatica. And of course, that was when she started running into Jake more- always shirtless, always looking unbothered by the heat, as if his body had negotiated a secret deal with the sun. And she knew he noticed her too- always in her training bra, always in her shorts, always with her hair up and neck sweating, mouth apart from panting.

It was probably the sixth day of the heat-wave. Y/N felt like she was boiling alive inside her own skin. Her shirt clung to her back, her legs stuck to the sheets, and the tiny desk fan in the corner had just given up with a sad, final wheeze. The water bottle she’d frozen earlier had melted into a lukewarm puddle beside her pillow. She had tried everything- a cold shower, lying on the floor, holding ice cubes to her neck- and still, the heat sat on her chest like a curse.

It was 02:57 am when she finally gave up.

She pulled on the first shirt she could find- which might’ve been slightly damp from sweat, but everything was- and slipped into the hallway, craving movement, breeze, anything other than her room’s still, suffocating air.

The hallway light flickered.

As soon as she stepped out, she heard a soft click- another door opening just down the corridor.

Jake- shirtless, barefoot, hair a mess of curls sticking to his forehead. He held a can of something cold- maybe soda, maybe hope in liquid form- and looked just as defeated as she felt.

For a moment, they just stood there, both caught in the dumb surprise of seeing each other again like this- past midnight, wilted by heat, lit by that awful yellow dorm light. Their eyes met. And unlike the usual glances they shared- quick, embarrassed, almost performative- this one held.

Jake lifted his chin slightly. “You heading somewhere?”

Y/N didn’t trust her voice, so she just jerked her head vaguely toward the stairwell. “Roof,” she said. “Maybe it’s less hell up there.”

He gave a tired, crooked smile. “Mind if I tag along?”

She shrugged. “Sure”

They walked in silence. The stairwell was even warmer, but there was something about the quiet- the hum of bugs outside, the faint creak of the building- that made it bearable. When they finally pushed open the roof door, a wave of hot-but-moving air greeted them.

It wasn’t cool. But it wasn’t still. And that felt like enough.

They sat on opposite ends of the low concrete ledge, legs dangling, watching the silhouettes of nearby buildings flicker in and out of the haze. The city lights blurred at the edges, like everything was melting.

Jake reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a popsicle- already halfway melted, the wrapper sticky and threatening to fall apart.

“Mango,” he said. “Don’t ask where I got it.”

He held it out halfway to her.

Y/N stared at it for a second, then leaned over, broke it in half with her fingers, and took her piece.

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence, eating sticky, sun-soft popsicle halves at 3 a.m. on the roof of a university that everyone hated.

After a long pause, Y/N said, “This place is a dumpster fire.”

Jake exhaled a laugh through his nose. “Yeah. But sometimes the fire’s kind of pretty.”

She looked at him sideways. He wasn’t smiling, not really, but his eyes had softened.

Y/N didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. The night felt suspended- like even the heat had paused, waiting for something to happen. They sat there until their popsicles were gone, until their sweat cooled into goosebumps, until the roof didn’t feel quite so unbearable. And when they finally stood up, heading back down the stairs without a word, something had shifted. They weren’t the awkward kids that bumped into each other in hallways anymore; they weren’t strangers who shared glances near the kitchen anymore.

“I need your help with this essay.”

Over the last month, as the heatwave dragged on like some biblical sentencing, Y/N and Jake had made a habit of barging into each other's rooms with whatever excuse they could make up. Sometimes it was batteries, or help with the half-dead Wi-Fi router. Other times, it was Jake showing up at her door with that half-grin, asking her to suffer through a regrettable movie because Jay and Sunghoon wouldn’t.

It had become an unspoken routine- something neither of them remembered initiating. It just… happened. Like the way dust collects on the windowsill, or how sweat clings to your back before noon. Natural. Unavoidable. Comfortable.

Now, standing at the doorway of Jake’s room was Y/N, clad in shorts and her usual training bra, waving her laptop like it was proof of a dying emergency. Jay and Sunghoon, shirtless, slouched on the floor with their phones and half a pack of chips between them, looked up with matching expressions of surprise. Not the “what are you doing here?” kind- more like the “we’ve seen this before but we’re still not used to it” kind.

Jake, catching their gazes and the sudden silence, didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed the first shirt in arm’s reach- one that had been lying crumpled on his bed for at least three days- and launched it at her face.

“Put on a shirt,” he grumbled, not meeting her eyes.

Y/N peeled the shirt off her face slowly, one eyebrow raised, and then looked down at herself like she was only now registering what she was wearing. “You’re the one with no AC. If I die from heatstroke, I’m haunting this room specifically.”

“You already live here anyway,” Jake muttered, trying and failing to suppress the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He put on the shirt that she had discarded and stood up from the floor.

“Essay, please! It’s urgent.”

Jake rolled his eyes but followed. No socks, no phone, no hesitation. Just him, trailing behind her like it was a habit carved into muscle memory.

Y/N’s room was already open when they got there. She didn’t wait. She just dropped onto the bed, cross-legged, her laptop opened before the fan like it might keep the overheating processor from catching fire.

Jake didn’t ask what the essay was about. He just sat beside her, back against the wall, shoulders barely touching, both pairs of eyes fixed on the open Word document on her laptop. She handed him the laptop, letting him take a few moments to scan the contents of her half-written, unplanned essay.

“This looks fine,” Jake raised a brow in confusion, handing her the laptop back. “What’s your doubt?”

She paused, hesitant. Then she glanced over her shoulder, hair falling in front of her face, hiding the sheepish curve of her smile. “I don’t know how to finish it,” she admitted, voice low, almost guilty.

Jake leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes with a sigh- the kind of dramatic groan he saved just for her. It was half-annoyance, half-performance, and all affection. “You, a literature major,” he said slowly, turning to face her with mocked disappointment, “are asking me, an engineering student, how to end a paper on Jane Eyre?”

“You know the best AI tools,” she shot back, defensive but grinning. “I just need help with how to use them.”

Jake gave her a look- that look- the signature one, all teasing arrogance with a hint of theatrical suffering, like helping her was both the bane and joy of his existence.

“And what do I get in return?” he asked, head tilted slightly, eyes glinting.

“Nothing,” she replied, without missing a beat, eyes not leaving his gaze, offering just as teasing a smile.

The first time Jake had said that line- what do I get in return?- she’d just asked him to grab her an egg from the communal fridge. He had said it with that same boyish grin and mock-serious tone, and Y/N, completely unprepared, had felt butterflies scramble in her stomach. She’d stammered, completely thrown off, her tongue fumbling against her words.

Jake had caught on instantly, and with wide eyes and flustered hands, rushed to explain that he hadn’t meant anything weird by it- that it was just a joke- harmless, playful. Ever since, whenever he threw that line at her, she’d shoot back with a dry “Nothing,” and he would always chuckle, always let it slide, like it was their little inside joke sealed in silence.

This time was no different. He just shook his head, a smile curling at the edges of his lips, and pulled the laptop onto his lap to open a fresh browser.

That night, during dinner, Y/N sat in Jake’s room, Sunghoon and Jay accompanying them like they do most nights. Jay cooked ramen for everyone to share, some protein and vegetables to bring out flavour. Silence, but the slurp of their ramen buzzed out the space of their room. A movie played on Jake’s laptop, some contemporary drama Jay had been dying to watch so they barged into his screening.

“Did y'all realize it’s the fourth decade,” Y/N said, mid-slurping her noodles, eyes fanning across the faces of the three boys that turned to look at her with bewilderment. “Who do you think the next victim will be?”

Jake and Jay passed each other a glance- a glance only the pair could decipher- and then looked at Sunghoon who was staring at Y/N. Sunghoon only gave her a shrug and finished the last of his ramen. “What, that willow tree-suicide thing?”

Y/N nodded.

Jake would never admit it, but he feared that the next victim of the university’s willow tree curse would be Sunghoon. He and Jay only followed Sunghoon to this godforsaken university for the safety of their friend- their friend who had been struggling with depression and suicidal tendencies since they were in middle school.

The three grew up together- the same neighbourhood, same school since kindergarten, same course interests and same love for each other as they grew up. But, in middle school, the dynamic between them shifted when Sunghoon was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder after a suicide attempt and suddenly, Jake and Jay were constantly in touch with Sunghoon’s parents to make sure he was safe and not a danger to himself.

When high school began, the two made sure, with all the power that they had, that Sunghoon wouldn’t succumb as a victim to their school’s increasing bullying issue. They were often put in positions where they had to trade their lunch to some of the bullies for Sunghoon’s safety or sleep with girls they didn’t want to, just to keep peace.

Then, it was time to apply for universities and Jake and Jay applied to every university Sunghoon had applied to, even if their ambitions were different. When Sunghoon first said he wanted to go to Remnant University, Jake and Jay shouted “same!”- like it was muscle memory, like they had been practising, rehearsing. But they didn’t really know much about the university.

Its website looked decent, offering all the courses they wanted and saying all the right things with words like world-renowned, engaging, innovative, expansive. The pictures that appeared with a quick Google search were hypnotising- a sprawling campus with expensive architecture students studying on patches of grass and canteens. It wasn’t until the day they had to move into campus that they realised they’d been baited.

As their time in the shitty university went on, the amount of rumours and legends they heard never stopped. There were rumours about the founder of the university and how he died a coke-addict and a student rapist. Then, there were the legends about the haunted computer lab and how the second computer to the left of the third row had never been used for two decades because the last time someone used it, they got hit by a bus and died in a tragedy. There was also a rumour about how the library was haunted and no one dared to stay in it past 2 am. Then, there was the legend they dreaded hearing about the most- the willow tree suicides and its ten year clock.

This was a conversation Jake and Jay had an ample amount of times after they heard the rumours. Words of concern and fright spilling out in hushed tones when Sunghoon wasn’t around to hear them- either sleeping or doing laundry. They hated thinking about it, to even visualise a world without their best friend- but their thoughts were often uninvited, like a nightmare they couldn’t sleep out of.

But was it truly a curse? Was it really something worth worrying about? It felt ridiculous, honestly- to lose sleep over an urban legend tied to a run-down university. The last so-called victim, according to the story, had died a decade ago. That meant ten batches had graduated since, and a hundred more rumors had spun into existence. No one even remembered the names of the last three. They were just stories, passed around during late-night conversations when there was nothing better to talk about- like ghost tales shared over a dying campfire.

The first victim, according to their university’s confessions account, was a girl whose name was marred with rumours and scandals of slutty behaviour and leaked sex-tapes. She had hung herself on the willow tree, her neck snapped in half with no note, no warning- just hanging there like an abrupt full-stop to a sentence. The media- or the newspaper articles, said that it was due to sexual exploitation and no one believing her. Others said that the story was bigger than that- bigger than them.

The second victim was an engineering student- much like Jake, Jay and Sunghoon themselves- who had failed his courses and had no money to pay for tuition. His scholarship was taken away from him, so he took his own life. He, too, left no note or no warning which left the public and his family in a spiral of bewilderment and confusion- no one really knew what the real story behind his death was.

The third victim was a boy in his final year of interior design. Unlike the others, there was no clear tragedy leading up to his death- no grades slipping through the cracks, no scandals or whispers of wrongdoing. In fact, most said he was the perfect student: brilliant, well-liked, always the first to show up and the last to leave. One morning, his body was found hanging beneath the willow tree, his shoes neatly placed beside him, as if he didn’t want to dirty the branches with a mess. No suicide note, no indication of struggle- just silence. Some said he was cursed with guilt, others said he saw something- something he couldn’t unsee.

In fact, they found him with his eyes open- dead and empty, horrifyingly still, like the life had been drained out from him mid-thought.

Three deaths. Three decades. Three stories, told and retold in hushed voices, embellished by fear and the passage of time. Would there even be a fourth death to add to the list of stories?

“That’s just a stupid rumour,” Jay dismissed Y/N quickly, cutting in before Jake could say anything- his loose tongue and panicked expression already halfway to betraying him. Stress had never been Jake’s strong suit, and Jay knew that better than anyone. Once, back in high school, Jake had tried talking Sunghoon down from a wave of sadness but fumbled his words so badly, it only confused Sunghoon more and triggered a full spiral. Jay had to step in, damage control already a familiar role by then.

“You don’t think it’s true?” Y/N asked, surprised.

“Nope,” confidently, Jay nodded, maintaining eye-contact like his life depended on it- like Sunghoon’s life depended on it.

Perhaps Sunghoon was too distracted, but Y/N felt the atmosphere shift around her. Her eyes darted between Jake and Jay, a question forming on the tip of her tongue, cautious and apprehensive yet curious and personal at the same time.

Jake, sensing her peaked senses, dragged her away with the empty pot of ramen and bowls in one hand and her forearm in his other. He led her into the kitchenette, two floors below their room, in the name of dish-washing duty while she struggled against his impossible grip.

“What was that?” When Jake finally let go of her and moved to wash the dishes, pretending like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, Y/N leaned against the counter with her arms crossed, staring at him like he owed her an explanation.

Jake tutted, tilting his head and staring at the remnants of ramen in the dirtied dishes, soapy water filling the basin. With his sleeves rolled up, he submerged his hands into the sink to start cleaning. “It’s just… it’s a sensitive topic for us.”

Jake refused to look at her, as though looking at her would make the conversation real, serious, heavy. He could still feel her gaze on him, now softened and apprehensive.

“Oh,” she sighed, letting her arms dangle to her sides. “Am I allowed to ask questions or do we move on?”

“It’s just,” Jake wasn’t sure what he could say- he wasn’t sure if he was even allowed to talk about it. This worry and fear for his friend was something he lived with for over seven years now, buried between blankets of secrecy between him and Jay. And now, for him to say the words out loud to Y/N almost felt wrong, illegal- like openly telling people who he voted for in presidential elections. “Sunghoon…”

“Oh,” Y/N nodded, chewing on her lips as the pieces clicked into place. It didn’t take a genius to understand why the topic was sensitive… she just kind of understood.

Sunghoon. Of course. The quiet, aloof, lost kid who looked like he carried the burden of the world most of the time- alright.

There was a moment of silence between them- just the hum of the old fridge, the soft slosh of water against porcelain, and the faint creaking of pipes somewhere in the walls. It wasn’t awkward, not quite. Just delicate.

Y/N straightened up, nudging his elbow gently with hers, her voice lighter this time. “You missed a spot,” she said, pointing at a stubborn noodle stuck to the bowl he was scrubbing.

Jake huffed out a breath, almost a laugh. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re a terrible dishwasher,” she grabbed a sponge and joined him at the sink, her presence a quiet reassurance that she wouldn’t press further.

For a moment, they just stood there, shoulder to shoulder, warm water pooling over their hands and silence settling like a truce. Their hands sloshed against each other, consciously pinching and swatting, a grin cracking against both of their lips.

Y/N had a stash of mango flavoured candy that Jake had become addicted to when she first shared some with him. She didn’t know if it was a brand or if it had a name- she told him that she’s simply grown up eating it and her parents would buy it in bulk everytime it ran out. It was sweet and sour, a mix of tangy spice settling in as the aftertaste and Jake was absolutely smitten by its flavour. Seeing how obsessive he had gotten over them, she told him that she’d ask her parents to buy extra for him but for now, he had to suffice with the single piece she’d give him everyday.

However, it meant waiting for Y/N to come back to the dorm, which she usually did really late after standing around the college canteen with her friends, gossiping or complaining about their university. By the time she’d come back, he’d get impatient and complain. There were times he even wandered back into campus in search of her and her room key and her friends would find that weird about him.

“How are you that obsessed with this candy? We’ve all had it. It’s not that great.”

“You’ve got no taste.”

So, annoyed, Y/N gave him her spare key, along with her trust in him that he wouldn’t use it for anything other than taking her mango candy. No snooping through her things, no stealing her expensive packets of ramen and no playing pranks. Jake agreed, comically desperate.

His classes had ended early and he returned to the dorm, an overheated oven as the heatwave refused to subside even after two months. They were in a dry spell- it hadn’t rained since their airconditioners had broken down and the whole town was in a water crisis. This meant that the dorm only got a limited supply of water. If someone woke up too late, all the water would be used up and they’d have to suffice with walking around sweaty and sticky, wafting with the scent of heat.

Absentmindedly, like it was in his second nature, Jake walked towards Y/N’s room instead of his own, his bag slung over his shoulder and her key already ready in his hand. When he unlocked her door, however, he wasn’t expecting to find her still in her room, sitting on her floor still in her underwear. Her back rested against her bed, hair strewn across the mattress and clinging to her neck. When she saw him, she didn’t panic in her half-naked state. She had a pillow on her lap, hiding the parts of her she was most embarrassed of, scanning her laptop screen perched on the pillow.

“Didn’t you have class?” He asked.

Jake blinked, his brain buffering, but he didn’t say anything about her state. He didn’t need to. That was the unspoken rule now: you don’t acknowledge it. Not when everyone in the dorm had seen each other wilt under the summer heat like dying houseplants. Modesty had long surrendered to survival. Shirts were optional. Doors were left ajar for cross-breezes. Even the warden had started walking around shirtless, like he'd finally accepted the heat as god.

“Class got cancelled,” she said, leaning her head against her mattress like she was fighting for her life. The evenings were the worst when it came to the heat. She squinted her eyes close, feeling sweat dribble down her already wet neck and she reached to adjust her tangled hair on the mattress.

Chewing on the candy, Jake sauntered to sit on her bed, right behind her. “Let me,” he said, crossing his legs and gathering her hair in his fist. She leaned forward to give him more space, allowing him a brief glance at her glistening back. Silently, he started raking through the strands of her hair with his fingers, eyes slyly glancing at the Reddit tab open on her laptop.

“Why are you reading that?” He asked, referring to the r/remnantuniversity tab she had open. It was about the willow tree suicides, a whole discussion on theories and rumours and urban legends that surrounded it. He wondered if those contributing to these online forums belonged to his class- it could be the quiet kid that sat in the back like he was harbouring a familial secret or the overly enthusiastic girl who acted like she knew everything.

“It’s for an essay,” she said. “For my literature and sociology class- something about Verstehen.”

“And that’s the topic you chose,” his voice was calm, unwavering. He wasn’t bothered or angry, only a little scared and wary, like she was trending unexplored and dangerous waters. His hands moved to section her hair into three, attempting to braid it.

“Yeah, I just- I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It’s kind of perfect for our topic,” she sighed. “There’s an entire subreddit, everyone’s shit scared about it- look!” She pointed at her screen and Jake squinted, leaning forward to read what she was referring to.

Then she scrolled through the subreddit and there were huge paragraphs of what he assumed were explanations or speculations, newspaper clippings of what seemed to be reports of the suicides which he couldn’t decide if they were real or AI, and a video of a new channel reporting on an unexplained suicide by hanging in an unnamed university.

While Jake looked through everything she was showing him, his hands slowly braiding her hair, she chewed her lip in caution. “They’re saying all the suicides took place on April twentieth.”

“That’s barely a month away,” Jake said.

“Yeah.”

“Y/N, there’s really no way any of this is real,” Jake sounded like he was convincing himself more than her. “You know the internet, it’ll go lengths to make their lives interesting. All those creepypastas that were debunked- I’m sure this is one of those.”

“That’s exactly what many people are saying,” she nodded. “The sane ones, at least.” Y/N reached behind her to feel her hair that he had partly braided. He wasn’t struggling, just taking his time, working with care and warmth. “Hey, you didn’t mess it up,” she pointed out, teasing him.

“You’re annoying,” he rolled his eyes, continuing to braid her hair.

“Where’d you learn to braid hair?”

“My mom, I think,” Jake hummed. “My brother and I used to love braiding her hair.”

“You have a brother?”

“Yeah, he’s in Australia now,” Jake’s eyes sparkled at the thought of his family, his smile mirrored on the glassy screen of her laptop. She watched him through the reflection, arms crossed on her chest, lips spreading a smile herself. “He’s married with kids and everything.”

Y/N, turned around to pass him the rubberband on her wrist, expression of awe. “You’re an uncle? That’s adorable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes, shuffling to lay down on her bed, his arms crossed under his head. He turned to look at her, watching her as she went back to her research.

Almost unapologetically, his eyes trailed down her exposed neck, admiring the braid he did for her, before locking onto her arms and her chest. This wasn’t the first time Jake looked at her like this, confused whether it was lust or just the fact that he was a boy staring at a half-naked girl in front of him- if it was passion or second-nature to him as a man. When he thought about it, he’d almost feel disgusted, to ever wonder what was under that pillow on her lap, what more could be discovered under those black panties she thought she successfully covered. Then there were her legs and her hands, slender and welcoming, like they were waiting for him to slide into.

Jake cleared his throat and pulled out his phone, attempting to distract himself. The heat didn’t help him and he knew if he took his shirt off now, his brain would run into overdrive.

“Jay and Sunghoon want to go bowling,” he said upon reading his missed messages. “Do you want to go?”

She didn’t say anything- just hummed like she was considering it, but was already reaching for a shirt. He knew that hum. It meant yes.

And a few hours later, they were standing under flickering neon lights in a bowling alley that smelled like bad nachos and better memories. Jay and Jake ended up destroying them- like, embarrassingly. Jake wasn’t even trying that hard. He bowled like it was something his ancestors trained him for. Sunghoon was busy trash-talking instead of actually aiming, and Y/N kept getting distracted by her opponents’ coordination- and the way Jake’s muscles flexed, the way his smile overpowered the room and the way his hair matted to his sweaty forehead made him look like something out of a magazine. But Y/N wouldn’t admit this, not to anyone, not to herself.

“Don’t laugh,” she said when the ball slid into the gutter with a tragic thud. “It curved. I saw a curve.”

“Yeah, it curved straight into failure,” Jay said, bumping Jake’s shoulder like they were on the same team in a war. They high-fived like idiots.

Later, they went out to eat at this cramped little diner Jay liked, the one with flickering menus and sticky tabletops that smelled like ketchup and some kind of old, overused oil. It was half nostalgia, half heartburn. Thank god both the bowling alley and this diner had air conditioning, because they swore they would’ve melted if they had to sit through one more minute of sticky air and heavy clothes clinging to their backs. Jake kept dramatically fanning himself with the laminated menu, Jay had unbuttoned his shirt two notches down, and Sunghoon was debating sticking his head in the freezer behind the counter.

Y/N, like clockwork, ordered ice cream mochi- the same kind she always got when they went out. It didn’t matter what mood she was in or what place they were at. If mochi was on the menu, she was getting it. She pulled apart the sticky rice covering with her fingers like it was a ritual, the cold mist clinging to her fingertips. She popped one half into her mouth and let out a small hum, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

Jake watched her without meaning to, elbow propped on the table, chin in hand.

“You’re really acting like this is gourmet cuisine,” Sunghoon said, deadpan, as he unwrapped a sad-looking cheeseburger.

“It is,” Y/N replied, all wide eyes and pure belief. “This is the good kind. The outside’s chewy and the ice cream doesn’t taste fake. Jay, taste this.”

Jay held up both hands in refusal. “I’m not about to get emotionally attached to frozen rice balls, thanks.”

Jake didn’t say anything, but when she wasn’t looking, he stole the other half from her plate and popped it into his mouth. Cold exploded on his tongue, sweet vanilla cream wrapped in the soft, elastic chew of mochi.

She caught him mid-chew. “You’re so mean,” she said, flicking a wet napkin at him.

He just grinned, cheeks full. “You’ll live.”

Then the conversation drifted, as it always did, to the three boys groaning about their engineering classes- Jay going off about a professor who mumbled formulas like they were lullabies, Sunghoon lamenting the four-hour lab that ruined his Thursdays, and Jake trying to convince them all that thermodynamics was a scam invented to humble mankind. Y/N didn’t say much, just listened, her eyes darting between each of them as they spoke, like she was watching some low-budget sitcom unfold right in front of her. She forked through her pasta lazily, twirling it around her utensil with quiet interest, smiling to herself at the way they all spoke over each other- complaining, defending, occasionally throwing fries across the table like punctuation.

Jake had a habit of overpowering his thoughts with his loud voice, like volume could somehow make his point more valid. There was always a grin on his face, dimples peeking through as he defended his case with the same stubborn energy he applied to everything else. He’d shake his head when he got frustrated, flinging his hair out of his eyes in that dramatic, boyish way that made him look like he belonged in some coming-of-age film. Jay, naturally, would shout back- voice rising almost on instinct- calling Jake delusional or dumb or both, words laced with exasperation and fondness. Their arguments were always the same mix of chaos and choreography, like they’d done this a hundred times and had the rhythm memorised.

Sunghoon would just sit back with his drink in hand, lips curled into a crooked smile, chuckling as he watched them bicker like an old married couple. He’d throw in dry commentary about how they could channel all this passion into actually studying, but that only made him a target. The teasing would shift seamlessly to Sunghoon, Jake and Jay now joining forces to poke fun at his notes or his caffeine addiction or the way he took forever to reply to messages. Sunghoon would roll his eyes, flipping them off, but his voice would get just as loud, defending himself with the same fire he mocked them for. And through it all, Y/N just watched, resting her chin in her palm, half-amused and half-softened by the sheer comfort of it all- how familiar and stupid and warm it was.

Then, like clockwork, their voices would taper off- first Jay slumping back in his seat with a huff, then Jake sighing dramatically like he’d just won a war, and Sunghoon smirking into his drink as if he’d been above it all from the start. They always found their way back to quiet eventually, their chaos softening into something slower and easier. One of them- usually Jake- would nudge Y/N with an elbow or flick a piece of napkin her way, and ask, “What about you, nerd? How’s your academic crisis going?”

Y/N perked up slightly, spearing a piece of her pasta and chewing it slowly, as if deciding where to start. “I have to write a new essay for my literature and sociology class,” she said between bites, shrugging. “I thought I’d write about our university and all those legends and rumours. There’s a lot on Reddit.”

Jay blinked. “Why?” he asked, already picturing the tab on her browser- r/remnantuniversity, a whole rabbit hole of conspiracies and dark theories, deep dives into campus lore. The willow tree suicides being one of the most talked-about topics on there, wrapped in layers of myth and fear. Jay remembered seeing the posts himself once- some of the comments read like ghost stories, others like diary entries from students who claimed to have seen strange things, heard whispers, felt watched. He found it oddly fascinating in the way only things that unsettled you at 3 am could be.

Y/N nodded, holding up her phone to show them a post she’d saved. “It’s perfect for what we’re studying. There’s so much there- collective fear, urban myth, ritualised grief. And people are still so scared of that place. Look at this: Reddit says the library isn’t actually haunted, it’s just psychosomatic, like mass suggestion. One of the seniors said they slept there overnight and nothing happened. But then someone else said their roommate went missing for four hours and turned up outside the willow tree. Like, how does that even happen?”

Sunghoon’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. “Why would you want to write about something like that? Aren’t y’alls essays meant to be filled with research paper citations and shit? You can’t cite Reddit.”

“I have my ways,” she rolled her eyes. “Besides, it’s interesting. I’ve always found conspiracies fascinating- that’s all I watch on Youtube.”

“You’re one of those girls,” Jay commented, letting a chuckle past his lips as he brought more food to his mouth.

“Screw you.”

Jake shook his head slowly, voice low and steady. “Now you want to test it out?”

Y/N didn’t say anything at first, only reached for another mochi, her fingers brushing against the cold plastic. “Just for a bit. Past 2 am, that’s when the weird stuff is supposed to happen. But I won’t go alone,” she added quickly. “I mean, unless none of you want to come.”

“You’re actually dumb,” Jay muttered, leaning in. “Like, stupid in the head.”

“She’s possessed,” Sunghoon mumbled, rubbing his temple. “This is how horror movies start. Girl writes a paper, disappears in the library, we all get haunted. No thank you.”

But Jake didn’t say anything right away. He just stared at her across the table, lips pressed together, something flickering in his gaze that wasn’t quite fear, but wasn’t exactly comfort either. Because even if he thought she was being reckless or ridiculous or completely out of her mind, he already knew it in his gut- he was going to follow her anyway.

“If I die in that library, I’m haunting you first.”

Y/N and Jake arrived at the doors of their university library at midnight, a bag of snacks and their study materials tucked under their arms, gripped not just with fear, but with the strange thrill of doing something they weren’t supposed to. The campus was quiet in the kind of eerie way that made your ears ring from the silence- no motorbikes revving in the parking lot, no late-night couples giggling behind the hostel blocks, not even the occasional scream of someone who'd just finished an assignment. The whole place felt still, like it was holding its breath just for them.

It had taken Y/N two whole days to fully convince him- two full days of persistent poking, half-hearted bribery, the promise of free candy, and a dramatic monologue about academic integrity and sociological curiosity that made Jake pretend to gag. Still, he showed up.

She had texted him “you don’t have to come, it’s okay” more than once, but he always replied with some version of “shut up, I’m already on my way.”

The library loomed ahead, grand and cold under the fluorescent lamps. The old sandstone walls cast long shadows, and the columns looked more imposing at night, like they belonged to something older than the university itself. Jake glanced sideways at Y/N as they stepped closer, her face lit by her phone screen as she reread one of the Reddit threads, eyes wide, smile crooked.

“You’re still reading those?” he asked, amused but tired.

“Just refreshing my memory,” she whispered. “Someone said if you walk in after midnight and ask the librarian’s ghost to help you find a book, you’ll see a girl in a red scarf standing in the philosophy section. But if you follow her, you disappear.”

Jake rolled his eyes, trying to hide his growing fear. “And you still chose this over writing a boring essay about Durkheim.”

“It is about Durkheim,” she grinned, holding the door open for him. “Just the cursed, Reddit version.”

They entered with hesitant steps, the automatic doors hissing behind them. The air inside was cold and clinical, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. The security guard was either asleep or didn’t care- they had a green light to wander. The library looked the same as it did during the day: rows and rows of tall shelves, the study desks with their tiny lamps, the far-off corners cast in deeper shadows. It wasn’t as hot inside, enveloped by cool wiring of a half-broken cooler.

Jake exhaled slowly and reached for a Kit-Kat from their snack bag, unwrapping it as loudly as possible just to break the silence. “You know,” he said, “if a ghost shows up and asks me about APA or MLA, I’m out,” he joked, trying to lighten his nerves.

Y/N snorted, nudging his arm as she pulled out her notebook. “Shut up and help me figure out if I’m insane or if sociology is.”

“Both,” Jake said, mouth full of chocolate. “Definitely both.”

They picked a long wooden table near the back, one with uneven legs and names scratched into its surface- past students immortalised in ballpoint pen and frustration. It was the kind of spot no one really liked during the day, too far from the outlets and close enough to the vent that it got way too cold, but tonight it felt perfect. Quiet. Tucked away.

Y/N opened her laptop and got to work, fingers tapping against the keys with the rhythm of focus, eyes scanning Reddit threads, cross-referencing journal articles, her screen glowing dim blue in the otherwise sterile yellow light of the library. Jake pulled out his textbook with the face of a man who had already accepted his own fate and flipped it open to the chapter on thermal systems. He highlighted in pink and underlined in green, switching colours like it meant something, mumbling equations under his breath that didn’t make sense to either of them.

Every ten minutes or so, Jake would glance at his phone and say something like “One hour and ten minutes till we die,” in a mock-dramatic tone that made Y/N flick a pencil at him. Sometimes, he’d whisper the most absurd lines from his textbook like it was poetry- “Entropy is a measure of disorder,” he whispered once, “just like your essay outline.” When she didn’t react, he’d nudge her ankle with his. “Laugh,” he’d whisper, “or I’ll actually start crying.” She snorted and kept typing.

Every ten minutes, they’d count down the time. Jake would glance at his phone, tap the screen, and announce the minute like they were waiting for New Year’s. “1:20,” he’d say. Then, “1:30.” Then, “1:40,” a little more hesitant each time.

By 1:50, the jokes slowed down. The air felt… weird. Not cold, exactly, but too still. Like the quiet had layered itself on their shoulders. Jake was no longer reading- he just stared at the same page, eyes unfocused. Y/N’s fingers hovered above her keyboard. The laptop’s fan hummed a little louder.

At 1:59, they looked at each other. Nothing dramatic. Just a glance.

And then, 2:00 a.m.

The moment it hit, the lights didn’t flicker. The shelves didn’t creak. No whispers crawled through the air. Nothing dramatic happened- not even a gust of wind from a cracked window or the soft echo of footsteps from an unseen hallway.

The library remained stubbornly ordinary. Books stayed tucked in their places, monitors blinked patiently, and the only sound was the quiet hum of the air conditioning and their ragged breathing. Y/N stared at the time on her laptop- 2:00 am sharp- and then looked up, almost disappointed.

Jake leaned back in his chair, stretching with a yawn. “I was kind of hoping a book would go flying off a shelf,” he muttered. “Or like… the ghost of some stressed-out PhD student would show up and slap me for not citing properly.”

Y/N snorted, pressing her fingers to her temples like she was trying to read the silence. “I’m so disappointed,” Y/N murmured, smiling a little. “Should we stay longer?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “God, no. I came for the haunting, not an all-nighter.”

Still, neither of them packed up. Not yet.

They waited until 3 am, just to be sure. Just to say they’d really done it. That they’d stayed past the hour of whispers and shadows and all those ridiculous Reddit warnings. They didn’t speak much, just packed up their things in a hurry- it felt like they were kids again, afraid of the dark and needing to run to the kitchen for water in the middle of the night to escape whatever monsters were under the bed. The air still held that heavy stillness, like the library didn’t want them to go. But they left anyway, pushing the tall doors open with a little too much caution, stepping into the cooler, quieter night like survivors of something no one else had witnessed.

Their walk back to the dorms was quieter, too. Not tense. Just… quieter. Their hands brushed more than once, knuckles bumping awkwardly in the half-lit path, and for a while, neither of them moved away. Eventually, Jake gave in. His arm came up slowly and draped around her shoulders like it was something he’d been meaning to do all night. She didn’t say anything, almost relieved- just leaned a little into him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You know there’s gonna be a shooting star tomorrow?” He said, voice low, almost sleepy. “Well, a meteor shower. Something like that.”

She hummed, looking up at the hazy sky.

“Everyone’s gonna be up on the dorm roof to watch it,” he added. “Jay and Hoon are bringing snacks and everything. You should come.”

She smiled without looking at him. “Are you inviting me, or telling me?”

Jake grinned, tightening his arm around her shoulders just slightly. “Both.”

The next night, Y/N climbed the rusting fire stairs to the dorm’s roof, drawn by the distant hum of music and the smell of sweet soda gone sharp with alcohol. The entire rooftop was full- blankets sprawled across the concrete, bodies tangled into lazy heaps, everyone dressed in their pyjamas like it was some kind of unspoken theme. Their university might’ve been falling apart at the edges, but somehow, they always knew how to make the best of it. Laughter echoed into the night, soft and unbothered, like the rooftop was a world of its own. People were singing, laughing, hugging and swaying with the music, glasses of alcohol lifted into the air. Somewhere, she saw the domestic Carl the Iguana perched politely on someone's shoulder.

She didn’t know who handed her the cup of spiked fruit punch- one moment her hands were empty, the next, something cold and red was slipping into her fingers. It tasted too sweet, a little too strong, and sticky like childhood. She moved through the crowd, eyes scanning for anyone familiar.

That’s when she saw them- Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon, walking over with the same crooked grins and half-lidded eyes. The night had painted everyone softer.

Jay raised his drink in greeting. “Congrats on surviving the haunted library,” he said, bowing slightly. “A scholar and a ghostbuster.”

Sunghoon snorted into his cup. “So… can we conclude all the legends are untrue?”

Y/N shrugged, the corners of her lips tugging up. “Probably,” she said, but she didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“Told you so,” Jake grinned and nudged her shoulder with his.

The heatwave had finally started to let up. The air was breathable again, and the rooftop was cool in that perfect way that made them forget how miserable the days had been. The sky above stretched wide and navy, dotted with slow-moving clouds and the faintest glow of city light bleeding into the edges. The first streak of silver split across the sky like a knife, sharp and sudden and dazzling. A soft gasp rolled through the rooftop, voices falling quiet as everyone tilted their heads upward, caught in the spell of it. More followed- long, brilliant trails of light cutting across the darkness, each one different. Some quick and flickering, others steady, glowing like they were made to be seen. The stars looked close enough to reach, like if you stood on your toes, they’d fall into your palms like warm coins. It was the kind of sky that made you feel small in the right way, like you were part of something old and beautiful.

Jake stood behind her, arms curled easily around her waist, the curve of his body slotting into hers like they were puzzle pieces. His breath was slow, brushing against her temple in warm waves, and when he rested his chin lightly on the top of her head, it was without hesitation. His glasses had slid halfway down his nose but he didn’t care- he was smiling too wide to notice, one of those real smiles that crinkled his eyes and pushed his cheeks up high. There was something boyish in the way he watched the sky, like all of this reminded him of something he’d once dreamed about.

Y/N leaned back into him, soft and quiet, her body folding easily into his. Her pulse, which always seemed to buzz around him, slowed into something steadier. Their hands weren’t even touching, but the closeness was warm and whole. She could feel the steady thump of his heart through his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing against her spine. It wasn’t new, the comfort, but it felt like something had settled.

Eventually, the sky quieted again, and the spell broke- softly, like waking from a dream you weren’t ready to let go of. The crowd shifted, people stretching their arms above their heads or collapsing into conversations, their voices warming back into the air. Someone from her literature class- Priya, maybe?- tugged Y/N into a half-circle of people sitting cross-legged on the rooftop floor, laughing over something mildly stupid. She smiled, nodded, and added a comment when she needed to. Her fingers were still a little sticky from the punch, and her cheeks felt flushed, but not from the drink.

Still, every few seconds, her eyes would stray- like clockwork, like gravity. Across the rooftop, past the swaying silhouettes of friends in old pajamas, through the mess of curls and blankets and blinking fairy lights tangled along the railing- until they found him.

Jake.

Leaning back against the concrete wall, hair a little messy, arms crossed. His glasses were back in place now, pushed up lazily with the back of his hand. He wasn’t smiling this time- not in that big, goofy way- but there was something soft in his face, his gaze heavy and quiet and locked onto her.

He didn’t look away. And neither did she.

It wasn’t dramatic or loud, no fireworks, no slow motion movie moment. Just a series of glances. The kind that made your stomach curl. The kind that felt like your whole chest had been pulled a little tighter. The kind that made you feel seen.

Her heart fluttered against her ribs like wings, like something light and dangerous had taken flight. And when he tilted his head at her, just slightly- like he was asking, “you good?”- she smiled. Not a big one. Not one meant for the crowd. Just a small, secret thing. And he smiled back.

The night came to a gentle, sleepy end. Laughter started thinning out as people yawned and stretched, peeling away in twos and threes, voices fading down stairwells. The rooftop cleared like a tide going out, and soon only the distant sound of someone’s playlist humming from a dorm window remained.

Y/N padded back to her room, still barefoot from the rooftop, pulse soft from the stars. Her door creaked open and the quiet inside was immediate, a contrast to the noise they’d just left. Behind her, Jake followed- not invited, not uninvited either. He leaned against the frame of her doorway, arms crossed over his chest, one shoulder raised slightly like he wasn’t sure if he was staying or just passing through. But he didn’t move.

He watched her tie her hair into a bun, the movement familiar and unbothered, like he wasn’t even there. She pulled her shirt over her head with a lazy yawn, tossing it to the chair by her desk, and moved to sit cross-legged on her bed. The room was dim, a pool of moonlight stretched across the floor, and she looked up at him like he’d been standing there forever.

She grinned. “Candy?”

Jake huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head as he stepped further in, finally letting the door close behind him with a soft click. He crossed the room, slow and deliberate, and stopped in front of her.

“Why do you seem so tense?” he asked, voice low, like a secret passed through a crack in the wall. His fingers twitched like they wanted to reach for her but didn’t.

Y/N tilted her head. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

She shrugged but didn’t argue. There was something in the way she looked at him then- barefaced and tired and warm- that made his chest pull in strange, careful ways. Like he wasn’t sure what line they were walking, only that he didn’t want to step off it.

She shifted, patting the space beside her. “Then sit. Maybe I’ll feel better.”

He sat down, his hands brushing her shoulders before he started to knead the knots there- careful, light, like he was asking permission. “You gotta let loose a little,” he breathed, eyes lingering on her exposed skin, words hanging between the space between his lips and her ear.

Y/N knew where this was headed- she wasn’t stupid. It was all the eye-contact in the hallways, the brushing on their hands, the way he hugged her, the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her like she was the most important thing in the world. And somewhere along the way, she fell into the little game he started, grinning back with tease, letting her hand snake around his arm when sitting together and watching movies, leaning into his touches.

Softly, she tilted her head towards him, eyes lowered and focused on her navy bed sheets. “You know, you don’t need to use cheesy lines, right?” She murmured, still not meeting his lines.

Jake’s hands stilled for a second on her shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the dip of her back before sliding down, slow and tentative, like he was testing gravity. His voice followed after a pause, low and uneven. “Oh, yeah?”

That made her look at him.

And he was already staring- like he always was. Like he couldn’t help it. His gaze swept over her face, soft and deliberate, until it landed on her lips and stayed there just a little too long. He’d been patient, perhaps too patient, all this while, waiting to touch her the way he was now, fingers ghosting against the clasp of her bra, lips just about to touch the curve of her neck.

There was a flicker in her chest- sharp and golden, like something about to ignite. She bit her lip, pulse stammering, and Jake exhaled like he felt it too.

“You’re not gonna kiss me, are you?” she whispered, teasing.

He leaned in, the tiniest bit, until their foreheads almost touched. His breath was warm, sweet from the leftover punch. His hands were still on her waist now, grounding them both. “Not unless you want me to.”

The silence between them was louder than music, thicker than the night. She could feel his heart pounding through the space between them, or maybe it was hers. They were close enough now to share breath, to blur edges.

“I can tell how bad you want it too,” he said, and it wasn’t cocky- just honest. The way she pressed her thighs together, fisted the bedsheet, chest heaving silently at the thought of whatever he was about to do next.

And at that moment, she wanted to close the distance. Wanted to crash into him with all the force of those stolen glances, those unfinished sentences, that first night in the library when his hand brushed hers and neither of them moved away.

But instead, she smiled- slow and lazy, like the heat of the night had melted her bones. “Then, what are you waiting for?”

And that was it. That was all the sign he needed.

Jake moved without hesitation, like he'd been holding his breath for weeks and finally got the chance to exhale. His lips crashed into hers, not rough, but urgent- hungry in the way someone is when they’ve wanted something for too long. One of his hands slipped into her hair, the other stayed anchored at her waist, pulling her in like she was gravity and he was done fighting it.

Y/N responded just as fiercely, threading her fingers through his hair and tugging him closer, chasing the warmth of his mouth, his neck, every inch of him that had lived in the corners of her thoughts. She barely remembered shifting onto his lap- just the way his hands found her hips like they’d been there before in some dream, the way he murmured her name against her skin like it was something sacred.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t messy. It was everything that had built up between them- every brush of a hand, every late-night stare, every almost-kiss, every heartbeat that stuttered when they were alone. He touched her like he was memorizing, like he was afraid she’d disappear. She kissed him like she’d been waiting for the world to stop just long enough to feel this.

They kept their voices low, stifling laughs and gasps against each other’s skin, the thin dorm walls reminding them that the world was still asleep just beyond the door. The sheets twisted under them, breaths hot and tangled, every touch deliberate- like they had all the time in the world but couldn’t bear to waste a second. It wasn’t rushed or clumsy, it was careful and full of heat, the kind of night that felt inevitable. Like the universe had been pushing them toward this moment all along, and they had finally stopped resisting. And when it was over, when their skin was slick with warmth and the room was quiet again, it didn’t feel strange or wrong. It felt like destiny.

Jake and Y/N fell into dating the way you fall asleep on a train ride home- slowly at first, then all at once, like it was the most natural thing in the world. They weren’t flashy. They didn’t need grand declarations or picture-perfect Instagram posts. What they had was quieter, deeper, built out of real things: shared glances, inside jokes, sleepy conversations at midnight when the rest of the world was still.

Most of their dates were just the two of them- Jake was big on “quality time,” as he liked to say. He’d take her to cozy little restaurants tucked away in corners of the city, the kind with dim lights and too-good desserts. They’d sit in booths for hours, sometimes just talking, sometimes just existing in the same space- knee brushing knee, his thumb tracing patterns into her palm beneath the table.

Bookstores became a frequent spot, too. Jake had a soft spot for poetry (though he’d never admit it to Jay or Sunghoon), and Y/N loved the feel of worn-out covers and marginalia. They’d walk through the aisles shoulder to shoulder, flipping pages and pointing out titles to each other. She’d lean into him as they read the backs of paperbacks, his hand resting on the small of her back like it belonged there.

Arcades were chaotic in comparison. Jake was competitive and loud, and Y/N loved the way his eyes lit up when he won. She’d laugh so hard when he lost at air hockey that she’d nearly fall over, and he’d spend far too many tokens trying to win her that one lopsided bunny plushie she swore was “ugly cute.” She still kept it on her bed.

And then there were the days they weren’t alone.

Jay and Sunghoon had a sixth sense for crashing dates. They’d text “wyd” ten minutes after Jake and Y/N sat down somewhere, and somehow always appear wherever they were, drinks in hand, ready to clown.

One night, they all ended up at a rooftop café with fairy lights strung across the beams. Jake had his hand on Y/N’s thigh, their legs tangled under the table, and Jay groaned so loud the waiter turned to look.

“Do you two have to be so disgustingly in love all the time?” he asked, sipping his drink with way too much judgment. “I came here to eat, not to watch The Notebook: Live Edition.”

Y/N just grinned and stole a fry from his plate. “You’re just jealous.”

Sunghoon leaned back, arms crossed. “Y’all make me wanna throw myself off the side of this building.”

“You love it,” Jake shot back, completely unfazed.

“Unfortunately,” Sunghoon muttered, but they all laughed.

Still, despite the teasing, the group hung out constantly. Movie nights on the common room floor, late-night walks to the convenience store in pajamas, sharing playlists and trading clothes and collapsing into each other like family.

Jake never stopped being soft around Y/N. Whether they were alone or not, he always found her hand, always kissed the top of her head, always listened like she was the only voice in a crowded room.

One night, as they sat on a park bench eating ice cream- because Y/N insisted night walks deserved dessert- Jake turned to her with a look of adoration. He had a lot he wanted to say, all sappy words of love and affection and things she loved calling “cheesy filmy lines.” But he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“What is it?” Y/N coaxed, eyes wide with curiosity, tongue poking out to lick her popsicle. A chilly breeze went past them and they welcomed it, pushing out the heat wave successfully.

“It’s the twentieth in a few days,” Jake reminded her.

“Oh, yeah,” she nodded. “Don’t wanna risk not believing it?”

“Yeah,” Jake admitted. “It all feels so stupid.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she looped her arm with his, moving closer to lean her head on his shoulder. They sat that way in silence, eating ice cream and watching the leaves of trees rustle with the wind. Cicadas grew louder and their chests rose and fell in the sync. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just a few more weeks ‘till summer break.”

April 20th fell on a Saturday.

Jake didn’t say anything when he saw the date on his phone that morning- just stared at it for a beat longer than usual. The sun was already warming the floorboards under his desk, and somewhere in the building, someone was blasting a bad remix of a pop song that had been stuck in his head for three days. But even with the normalcy, the date sat heavy in his chest. He knew Jay slept in Sunghoon’s room that night, just in case, just to protect him or make sure he didn’t go off wandering into the campus.

But the rest of the day was still left.

He sent one message to the group chat- movie night in my room. 7pm. mandatory. no excuses.

Jay replied in all caps complaining about how he had plans (he didn’t), and Y/N sent back a heart. Sunghoon left it on read, as usual.

By 7:03, they were all squished into Jake’s too-small dorm room, the air already thick with the smell of popcorn and the low hum of some indie movie playing in the background. The lights were low, a throw blanket covered every surface that could physically hold a human, and the window was cracked open just enough to let the cool evening air slip in. A quiet playlist hummed beneath the noise of Y/N complaining that Jake had no good snacks (he did, she just liked to say that) and Jay dramatically tried to balance six cans of soda in his hoodie pocket.

Y/N had kicked her shoes off the second she walked in and claimed Jake’s bed like it belonged to her. She was now half-buried under one of his sweatshirts, legs tucked underneath her, hair messy and smiling softly as she scrolled through his playlist. Jake was on the floor by her feet, back against the bed frame, watching her like she was the only thing worth looking at.

Sunghoon, oblivious as ever, plopped beside her with a bag of chips and a hoodie that clearly wasn’t his (Jake’s, of course), already halfway through the first movie of the night. Jay sprawled across the carpet like a Victorian fainting woman, holding a worn-out deck of cards in the air.

“Okay, I’m gonna need full participation,” Jay announced dramatically, flicking cards across the floor like a magician. “If I’m giving up my imaginary date night, we are playing.”

“We never said we wanted to,” Y/N grinned, but reached down to grab her hand of cards anyway.

“You never want to,” Jay deadpanned. “And yet, I’m here. Suffering. With all of you.”

Jake snorted, leaning back against the wall beside the bed, one foot propped on the edge of his desk chair. “You’re so dramatic. You love us.”

“No,” Jay said flatly. “I love cards. You’re all collateral.”

The night went on like that- easy and dumb and warm. They played two rounds of Uno before Sunghoon started cheating just to piss off Jay. Y/N made Jake pause the movie at least three times to change the playlist. Someone spilled soda on the rug. No one got up to clean it.

Then they played Speed, then Jay’s own twisted version of Poker that had way too many rules and made Sunghoon suspiciously good at bluffing. At some point, they forgot the movie was even playing in the background. Laughter bubbled out of the room like it was overflowing. And it was enough. Not a grand gesture, not a revelation. Just the four of them, tangled up in a night full of stupid games and old music, and the simple magic of still being here. Y/N fell sideways against Jake, clutching her stomach at something stupid Jay said. Jake leaned into her without thinking, resting his chin lightly against her arm, grounding himself in the closeness.

But beneath the noise, beneath the ridiculous banter and snorting laughter and snacks spilled on the rug, there was a quiet kind of watching. Jake’s eyes flickered to Sunghoon every so often- not too much, not enough to notice, but enough to make sure he was still here. Still with them. Still laughing. The way his head tilted back when Jay said something dumb. The way he wiped chip crumbs on Jake’s hoodie sleeve like it was his birthright. The way he didn’t seem to know that today mattered at all.

They didn’t talk about it. Didn’t even hint at it. There was no heavy moment, no obvious pause in the night. Just warmth. Just presence. Just staying.

As the night dragged on, Jay announced he was going to physically die if he didn’t get water, and Jake followed him out to the vending machine. When he came back, he had two bottles, one he handed to Y/N wordlessly.

She blinked, reaching out and taking it. Her fingers brushed his. “You okay?”

Jake sat beside her again, this time close enough for his thigh to press against hers. “It’s past midnight.”

Y/N looked at the clock on his desk. 12:17.

Behind them, Jay was yelling about reverse carding his own reverse card, and Sunghoon was fake-snoring on the bed.

That night, out of pure fear and dissatisfaction, Jake had pretended to fall asleep hugging Sunghoon, forcing him to fall asleep too. Jake hugged onto him so tight, he was sure he wouldn't be able to breath for the rest of the night. Y/N covered the pair in a blanket before leaving the room with Jay. They shared a glance, a small understanding and gratitude before parting ways to go to their respective rooms.

The airport buzzed with that familiar kind of chaos- luggage wheels scraping the floor, boarding announcements echoing overhead, and the constant shuffle of people going places. But in the middle of all that noise stood the four of them, frozen in their own little bubble of time.

Finals had wrecked them. Jake looked like he hadn’t slept in three days before this morning. Jay had nearly cried over his last theory paper. Sunghoon dramatically claimed he forgot how to read halfway through exam week. Y/N's fingers were sore from typing essays and projects until 3 a.m. every night, fueled by vending machine coffee and bad lo-fi playlists. But they made it.

Somehow, they made it.

Now they stood in front of the departure gate, suitcases stacked on trolleys, backpacks slung over tired shoulders, the weight of an entire semester pressing softly on their backs.

“Well,” Jay said, clearing his throat like he didn’t want to admit he was getting emotional. “Don’t die.”

“Wow. Inspirational,” Y/N snorted.

Jake laughed, slinging an arm around her and pressing a kiss to her temple like it was the most natural thing in the world. “He means: we’ll miss you. Come back in one piece.”

Sunghoon was leaning dramatically against his suitcase. “Same floor, same rooms next semester, right? I can’t have anyone else stealing my shampoo. It’s personal at this point.”

Y/N reached over to smack his arm. “I only borrowed it twice.”

“Twice a week,” he muttered, but his smile was soft.

“I’ll bring my mom’s kimchi when I come back,” Jake announced, remembering an old bet between Sunghoon and him. “You know, to prove that it’s better than the dorm’s kimchi.”

“That’s a low bar, Jake,” Jay deadpanned. “A literal shoelace would taste better than dorm food.”

There was hugging after that- tight ones, lingering a little too long. Someone may or may not have cried a little (Jay denied it firmly), and for a second it felt like a weird coming-of-age movie ending, the kind that faded out into a bittersweet pop song.

Jay and Sunghoon wandered off after that, joking about who’d forget the group chat first (Sunghoon swore it would be him, and no one argued). Jake pulled Y/N aside for one last moment before their flights were called.

Y/N looked up at him, taking in the soft mess of his hair, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes from too many sleepless nights, and the way his lips parted like he was trying to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Her throat burned, feeling her eyes water.

“Hey,” Jake, noticing her lips quivering downwards, stepped closer to her, a hand on her shoulder and head leaning closer to her face. “It’s just the summer,” he tried.

“But I won’t see you every day. Or at breakfast. Or brushing your teeth with your eyes half open.”

Jake laughed, that small, breathy kind. “You’ll miss me brushing my teeth?”

“I’ll miss all of you,” she whispered.

Jake reached out, gently tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. His touch was warm, grounding. “Y/N,” he murmured, like her name was something sacred. “I know I joke a lot, but I really mean it. I’ll come visit. I want to see your town, meet your friends, and walk the streets you grew up on. And I need that goddamn mango candy.”

Laughing, Y/N but back a sniffle. “You’re not just saying that?”

“I don’t lie about such things.”

She smiled, watery and small. “Then I’ll visit yours too. I want to see where you had your first kiss.”

“That was awful,” he laughed. “But sure, I’ll take you to that playground.”

And then he leaned in.

Not rushed, not like he was trying to prove anything. It was soft, slow, and sure- the kind of kiss that tasted like every unsaid word, like laughter under moonlight and movies shared at 1 am, like late-night card games and secret glances across the room. It was the kind of kiss that said I’ll miss you and I’ll wait for you and I’m so damn glad I met you.

Around them, the airport moved on. People passed, announcements echoed, planes took off. But for a second, they didn’t move. The world didn’t exist. There was only the warmth of his hand and the feel of her lips and the way their hearts beat just a little too loud.

When they pulled apart, her forehead rested against his.

“Go before I cry,” she whispered.

“You cry, I cry,” he muttered, trying to smile, but his voice cracked just a little. “Group breakdown in the airport.”

She laughed, even as she blinked hard. “I’ll text you when I land.”

“You better.”

And then, she turned and walked toward the gate. He stood there until she disappeared past the security check. Only then did he finally exhale, breathing words of love she couldn’t hear. Behind, Jay and Sunghoon were hollering for him to their gate, paying they needed to board “before the plane fucking leaves.”

And then there were final waves from Y/N, airport glass doors sliding shut, security checks and goodbyes swallowed by distance. But something about it didn’t feel sad.

Because they knew they’d be back.

Same floor. Same rooms. Same people. Just a little more grown.

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