#if you even do that in the first place in 2 seconds and then move on forever it's so easy

[jordyn14]

can you please write jealousy joe??? I would love to see that 😁😁

Pairing: Joe x fem first person

Words: 2,020

Notes: I’m loving these requests, please keep sending them in! I hope you enjoy!! <3

Taglist: @wickedfun9

I reached forwards and grabbed the alcoholic drink I’ve been sipping on periodically while laughing and having a great time with some friends. Like every night after the Bengals first win of the season, Joe, my best friend and her husband, and me all go to our favorite bar in Cincinnati to celebrate the win, and today wasn’t any different.

The bengals first game of the season which was a home game was pretty much a shutout. Joe threw for over 400 yards and threw for 4 touchdowns, 3 of which were to ja’marr chase. It was everything we could’ve hoped for the first game of the season, so in celebration, we all came to this bar in the quieter part of Cincinnati.

We all sat at a small table in the back together while Joes hand rested on my thigh, squeezing and trailing his hand up and down it periodically, which sent shivers down my spine. As I sipped my drink, I got to the very end of it and then set it down on the table. “Alright, I’m going for another drink run. Anyone need anything else?” I asked the 3 other people at the table who were still laughing at something Joe said a few seconds ago.

From next to me, Joe patted my thigh. I looked over to him with a flustered smile on my face, the alcohol somewhat taking an effect. Damn, I was a lightweight. “I’m good, baby, but thank you.” Joe said and leaned over to me and placed a kiss on my cheek. My face flushed red and I looked over to my best friend, Serena, and her husband jonny. I let out a little giggle as Joe slid his hand up my skirt jokingly, knowing how it affected me. Once I contained myself, I cleared my throat and waited until they both said they could use another drink before I walked away.

As I walked away, I could feel Joe’s stare on me the entire time. Ever since we first met at LSU when he transferred, I was totally taken aback by him. The first thing that drew me in were his looks. Those locks that fell onto his forehead and those bright blue eyes. His body wasn’t bad either. What made me stay was his personality. Before I met Joe, I didn’t know a man could be so amazing, inside and out. I mean we’re talking about a nerdy, Lego and SpongeBob loving, funny, kind, thoughtful man. What more could a girl ask for?

When I got to the bar, I found a place to squeeze myself in and placed myself between two people. After a few seconds, the bartender walked over to me so I put in all of our drink orders and started to sing along to the music quietly, wanting the time to pass quicker. “Oh my gosh…is that really you?” A familiar voice asked from next to me. I raised an eyebrow and looked over to the man before my mouth practically dropped open. “Luke? What the hell are you doing here?” I asked in a shocked tone and instantly wrapped my arms around him. The both of us just laughed, shocked to see one another.

Back at LSU, Luke and I used to hang out pretty frequently. It was never anything more than two friends getting together, getting high, or getting drunk-even studying in some rare cases. Our little friend group consisted of me, Luke, anna who was Luke’s girlfriend, and Serena, my best friend. But, since Luke was 2 years older than me, by the time Joe came along Luke had graduated, which means I never got to introduce Joe to him and the friend group kind of broke up and became Serena, me, Joe, Ja’marr chase, and Justin Jefferson.

“Since Anna grew up here, we decided to move back. What are you doing here?” He asked me as we pulled away. “I followed my boyfriend here after college. When I get my drinks you’ll have to come meet him, he transferred right after you left.” I told him. After hesitating for a few seconds, he nodded and flashed me a smile. “Yeah, I definitely will have to meet him. So how have you been? How’s your writing going?” He asked me. “I’m good, writings been good too. I actually published my second book a few weeks ago. What about you? How has your business major been going?” I asked him with laugh, knowing back in college he had no idea what to do with it. “I actually didn’t do anything with it. I’m a police officer how. I love that I found out what I was passionate about after I spent thousands of dollars on college.” He laughed. I laughed and grabbed the drinks the bartender set down in front of me as was about to invite Luke over to our table so Joe could meet him.

All of a sudden, I felt a hand slide around my waist and looked to the side to see Joe practically hovering over me and Luke, who was shorter than me. I couldn’t help but notice the angry expression on Joe’s face and how he was clenching his jaw. I was about to open my mouth to introduce them but Joe spoke right over me. “Hey, I’m Joe, Her boyfriend. And you are?” Joe said abruptly, giving Luke a fake smile in the process. I looked up to Joe with a glare on my face at his rudeness and was about to say something yet again when Luke talked first. “Hey, Luke. It’s good to meet you, man.” Luke said and held out his hand for Joe to shake it.

Joe just glared down at his hand and then looked right back up at his face, not shaking his hand. “Excuse us, Luke. It was great seeing you again.” I said. I flashed Luke a smile before grabbing onto Joe’s arm and tried to pull him with me, but he wouldn’t budge. Why did he have to be so strong? I could feel his arm muscles as I gripped onto his bicep before I said, “Joe?” In a somewhat pissed off tone. I saw Joe look Luke up and down before grabbing two drinks in his hand while I grabbed the other one and started walking with me.

I scoffed a little bit and stopped walking before we got to the table so Serena and Jonny couldn’t hear us. I turned to face Joe as we both set our drinks on the nearest table. Joe was just looking down at me with a pissed look on his face. “What the hell was that, Joe?” I asked him. Joe looked like I was the stupid one before he gestured over to Luke and said, “What the hell was that?” I looked at him like I was missing something. What was his fucking deal? “Me catching up with a friend from LSU and you being a fucking dick before I was able to introduce the two of you, that’s what it’s called, Joe.” I said.

Joe just looked me up and down while biting his lip slightly and said, “I don’t care what it’s called. I don’t like the way he was looking at you. I’m your fucking boyfriend, not him.” I let out a small laugh and shook my head, taken aback. “What, do you not trust me now or something? When have I ever given you a reason to not trust me.” I practically spat at him, getting even more annoyed as we talked. Never in our time as a couple have I ever been unfaithful. “It’s him that I don’t trust. If you haven’t noticed, you’re the most gorgeous girl in this entire bar.” Joe said.

What reason would he have for not trusting Luke? Could he not see by the way I reacted that we were only friends who haven’t seen each other in a while? And anyways, he overreacted before he even got the whole story. I couldn’t help but laugh at him a little bit. “He has a fucking girlfriend, Joe. Why are you so jealous?” I asked him. “It doesn’t matter that he has a fucking girlfriend,” Joe said quickly and looked over at Luke before he looked even more pissed and gestured angrily over to him, “I mean look at the way he’s staring at your fucking ass right now.”

Without even looking at Luke, I scoffed while shaking my head at him and said, “you’re unreal.” Joe squinted down at me. “So now I’m not allowed to be pissed when a random man is drooling all over you?” He asked me. I put my hands on the top of my head for a few seconds before letting them slide off, shocked at how he was acting. “You are blowing this way out of proportion, Joseph. We were friends back at LSU.” I said. “Why, because I don’t want a man who used to be your friend flirting with my girlfriend and staring at her ass? You’re mine.” Joe said.

“Exactly, I’m yours. I’m yours and you are mine, so who the fuck cares that someone I was friends with a few years ago was flirting with me?” I asked him. Joe looked over in the direction of our table and grabbed my arm gently and moved us a few feet away. While he was moving me, I looked back at the table to see Serena and Jonny staring at us, knowing something was going on.

When we stopped, Joe looked right into my eyes. For the first time during this entire conversation, my face flushed red and I could feel myself getting turned on slightly. Why was this so hot right now? “I do. I care. I am the only one that should be flirting and looking at you like that.” Joe said. I tried my hardest to hide my smile because despite how much I was annoyed with him and his jealousy, he was really fucking hot.

After a few seconds, I couldn’t hide it any more and smiled up at him. Joe glared at me in confusion while butterflies flew around in my stomach. “You’re honestly pretty freaking hot when you’re jealous.” I said, my face heating up a little bit from the dirty thoughts in my head as I admired Joe and his pissed off state. Joe started to smirk a little bit but when he realize what he was doing, he cleared his throat and the smirk was gone just like that. “It’s not funny. Do you know how much I wanted to smash his fucking face into that bar?” Joe asked me. With a little glare, I wrapped my arms around his neck and tried to pull him closer, but he wouldn’t budge. So, I tried to go closer to him, but all he did was back up.

I stopped moving and then stuck out my bottom lip jokingly, knowing one of his weaknesses was when I looked sad. With an annoyed look on his face, he wrapped his arms around my waist, hating the effect I had on him. We both pulled each other in closer so I leaned forwards and kissed Joe’s lips. Not expecting it at first, Joe pulled back slightly and gazed into my eyes before smashing his lips against mine. Joe breathed in the kiss as I arched my back. Joe kissed me back hard and right before we pulled away, Joe bit my bottom lip gently. “Was he watching that?” I breathed out with a smile. Joe looked up at the bar past my head and then nodded with a small smile. “Good.” I said and turned around to look in the direction of the bar with our arms still around each other. My eyes caught Luke’s who immediately looked away with an embarrassed, awkward, and nervous look on his face. I looked away and to Joe while running my fingers through his hair. “Let him be the jealous one, I’m not going anywhere Joey. Ever.” I said.

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

It took 2 people to fully convince Crosshair to do a 180 on the Empire - but neither of those people were Bad Batch members.

They couldn't be. What would a squad of defective clones who had been disobeying orders since day 1 know about loyalty to an institution determined to establish order for the good of the galaxy? What would they know about finding purpose in being "good soldiers"?

Now, I DO think the seeds of Crosshair's eventual defection were planted by his brothers. Hunter pointing out that "Blind allegiance makes you a pawn" and then telling Crosshair "All you'll ever be to them is a number" are statements that are proven later to be true. But it takes Cody and Mayday to drive the lessons home.

Cody and Mayday share several characteristics that place them in unique positions to influence Crosshair:

Both are regs who accepted and befriended Crosshair - Cody says he specifically asked for Crosshair for the mission, and Mayday is upfront and friendly to Crosshair right from the start. (Contrast this to the other regs getting up to move tables when Crosshair sits to eat, or the other clone troopers who walk past Crosshair to get onto the shuttle without even sparing him a glance.)

Both are commanders. (I believe Crosshair ultimately respects authority for the most part: even when he was arguing with and challenging Hunter in "Aftermath," he still deferred to Hunter's orders until his inhibitor chip was intensified and he was then promoted to commander.)

Both are loyal soldiers who have served the Empire well - again, these regs are still commanders even under the new government. And we all know how important loyalty to the Empire is to Crosshair at this point.

Both save Crosshair's life during their missions.

In short, both are regs, but they are still soldiers Crosshair can quickly identify with and trust.

I think it's key that Crosshair encountered Cody before Mayday, though. And despite their similarities, both soldiers drive home different points.

CODY

Cody is one of the few regs we know Crosshair already respected - and still respects, given that Crosshair almost smiles when he recognizes him.

(Some proof in case it isn't apparent: Crosshair goes from frowny face...

...to relaxed almost-happy-if-you-squint-just-right face)

Anyway, while Cody does drop some hints early on that he has doubts about the Empire, he is willing to carry out the mission to rescue "Governor" Grotton, showing he will follow orders to a certain extent. However, he shows more restraint than Crosshair might have: he doesn't attack the civilians despite their obvious mistrust of the soldiers, he comes to an understanding with Tawni Ames, he's NOT willing to follow an order to execute her, and he is clearly dismayed and disappointed by her death.

And so, at the end of a "successful" mission, Cody more plainly reveals the depth of his dissatisfaction with following orders against one's own moral scruples:

Hunter had said "Blind allegiance makes you a pawn." And Cody, unwilling to blindly and unquestioningly be a pawn - or act like a battle droid - any longer, goes AWOL.

But that lesson alone isn't enough to make Crosshair turn on the Empire. Instead, he needs Mayday to give him the final push.

MAYDAY

First, Mayday indicates how appalled he is by the idea of anyone leaving their own behind - which we know is a sore spot for Crosshair. But most importantly, Mayday has demonstrated since he was first introduced that he strongly believes in soldiers being loyal to and looking out for each other (which is far different than just being loyal to the Empire).

Second, Mayday unknowingly challenges Crosshair's belief that serving the Empire provides meaningful purpose. (Remember that one of Crosshair's main arguments to his brothers about joining the Empire was so they could "find purpose again.")

Then, he unwittingly goes for the jugular and rips apart the motto Crosshair had adopted.

And then, in case Crosshair has any lingering doubts about the answer to Mayday's rhetorical question, Nolan decidedly answers the question for him.

Hunter had said "All you'll ever be to them is a number," and he is proven right in the most heartbreaking way.

Crosshair had accused his brothers of not being loyal to him; unfortunately, now he sees what true disloyalty looks like. And for Crosshair - severe and unyielding - realizing that he has misplaced his loyalty by giving it to an entity that mocks him and casts him AND those he cares about aside for doing so... this is the final straw.

Thankfully, Crosshair has now rediscovered the people who are worthy of his loyalty.

[penelopepine]

Don't be a stranger! Pt. 3

Part 2 Part 3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x FemReader

Content: Neighbors AU, fluff, developing relationship

For the first time in a long time Simon wasn't glad to be leaving his flat. Every other time he would have already been out the door and on his way back to the base. Instead he's sitting at his table nursing a cup of tea at 5am; trying to take in as much as he can before leaving for who knows how long. 

You and Simon had said your goodbyes to each other last night per his request. He didn't want you having to be up this early when you still had to wake up for work in just a couple hours. Which was something that made him worried to think about. He had been walking with you everyday, and this was going to be his first time not doing that with you. You were going to start doing a lot of things without him now though. 

Simon was sure in just a couple weeks of him being gone you'll have forgotten all about him and moved on in life. Sure he had your phone number now, but he's not going to be able to communicate with you for long periods whenever he's out on a mission. He'll become the neighbor who shows up every once in a while, and no longer your friend. He just knew it. 

A sudden knock at his door broke him of these thoughts. He cautiously approached the door; there were only two options he could think of for who was at the door. Either it was someone who was here to try and hurt him or it was you. 

He looked through the peephole and once he had confirmed who it was he opened the door.

It was you. Of course it was you, as much as he wished you had listened and were instead asleep right now; Simon was happy to see you. Standing in the doorway with a wide grin on your face, and holding a box. 

"Simon! I'm so glad I managed to catch you before you left," You hold out the box towards him, "here this is for you as well!" 

Simon softly says your name before grabbing the box from you and letting you step inside, “What’s this? Also shouldn’t you be asleep right now. I thought we agreed to say goodbye last night.” 

“You did say that, but I never agreed to it!” You step inside giving him a soft shoulder bump, “and that is a gift that you are not allowed to open until you get back to base.” 

With a small smile on his face Simon gives a huff, “I suppose I should’ve known better to think that you would’ve listened.” 

“I’ll listen when it’s important, but you never could’ve stopped me from being up and walking you out to the car. It’ll be like our normal walks except I’m walking you to work this time.” 

Simon will deny it to everyone, even himself, but he felt so cared for in that moment. Here you were at 5am wanting to be with him to the last second. Not because you had to or worked together, but simply because you wanted to. 

"Should I expect an escort from the car to the building when I return as well?"

"Just tell me when to be there and I will." 

He hopes you keep your word on that. Before anything else can be said his phone pings, "It seems my car is here." 

You give him a sad smile as the two of you head to the door. "I'm going to call and text you by the way; you're not going to get rid of me this easily." 

"I won't always be able to reply." He wasn't going to lie and say the two of you would always be in constant communication. That would only lead to hurt for both of you, "but I'll try to when I can." 

"That's ok, besides who else am I going to get to listen to me ramble about my day?" 

"Then I look forward to your 20 minute voicemail messages then, love." 

The rest of the walk to the car is passed with you telling Simon what plans you have coming up, and that he shouldn't worry about his place since you'll hold down the fort for him while he's gone. 

You stood silently now standing by his side as he put his bag in the trunk. Looking at you he can clearly see a glassy look in your eyes as you look up at him. 

"Can- can I get a hug before you go?" You nervously ask. 

You and Simon had exchanged shoulder bumps, back pats, and side hugs at most. Never have the two of you given the other a real hug. It took just a moment to think before Simon was opening up his arms towards you. Instantly you rush forward and you both stand there for a moment holding on to each other. 

“Be safe.” You whisper before letting go, and taking a step back. Letting Simon get inside the car. 

He watched up for as long as he could; memorizing you to mind. When he couldn’t see you any longer Simon took a deep breath, and slipped back to what he was most comfortable with. Being the ghost he was once more. 

-

“Aye, Lt. good to see you again! How was your time off?” Johnny of course was there right as soon as he stepped back on base. Normally he’d appreciate it, but right now all he wants is to get to his room. You said he couldn’t open the package till he got here, and he didn’t want to wait any longer than he had to. 

“It was fine.” Simon says as he walks past the other, “I’ll meet up with you later Johnny.” 

“You better! I have a lot of gossip that I need to catch you up on.” 

“Copy that.” 

He didn’t stop walking till the door to his room was firmly shut behind him.  Placing his bag down he sat at the desk and opened the box. 

Inside was a small container, a bracelet, and a letter. Pulling out the container first he opened it to find the little thing filled with cookies and a note on top. 

“I know you have a secret sweet tooth! Hope you enjoy these!” The note read. It was hard for him to not smile at that. He didn’t know that you had noticed that about him; it was actually something he tried to hide from you. 

The bracelet was clearly homemade by you. It is made up of black and gray beads, and a small silver pendant the shape of a heart. He runs his fingers over the pendant feeling the smooth cool surface before he slips the bracelet onto his wrist. He’ll cover it with his sleeves or put it in his pocket when he’s not in his own personal space. 

A thought pops into Simon’s head as looks at it; taking out his phone he takes a quick photo of the bracelet and sends it to you. Along with a text thank you for the cookies as well. 

Looking back in the box there was only the letter left. This was the item that made him the most nervous to look at. Very carefully though he opened it. 

“Simon,  

The very first day I met you I was so worried that you were there to yell at me. That I had already messed up a relationship with one of my neighbors, but you had surprised me. You offered to help me, and I said yes. 

That was the best decision I could have made. Having you as my friend will never be a mistake. I’m going to miss you while you’re gone, but rest assured as soon as you get back home I’ll make you whatever you want!

Make sure to stay safe out there and bring me back any cool rocks you find!

Sincerely, 

Your favorite neighbor!”

Reading the letter he couldn’t help but think about every moment he spent with you; noting to himself how different everything seems to be now in his life. He never thought he would meet someone like you that made him feel a certain way. 

With something akin to horror Simon realized what that feeling was, he liked you, he wanted you to be his. Somehow you had dug yourself into his heart, and made a home. 

Taglist:

@nexthyperfix @spicyspicyliving @yourdaydreamerfan @tf141gloryhole

[alwaysshallow]

single mom x price; PART 4

you try to stay away from john. and, surprisingly so, it turns out that it's not an easy job.

AO3 VERSION

part 1 || part 2 || part 3

You know that you usually keep your promises. 

When Janice had to leave for a week and asked you to water her flowers religiously three times a day, you didn’t skip any watering. You stood there, cursed multiple times under your breath with a more or less excited kid on your hip, but you did it. Even if your son was a pain in the ass and tried to destroy every little plant that Janice had because watering three times a day was stupid for him.

When Cassie’s mom came to you, telling you she’s pregnant, scared of having kids in her forties, you were the one that drove her to the abortion clinic and promised not to tell anyone. Because she was terrified of doing this alone, not to mention asking someone else. 

Information like this in a small town spreads like weeds in the garden, no matter how hard you try, and you knew it too well. So, as her best pick, you tried to take it like a hero.

And you didn’t even flinch when you heard that they thought you were the one that got rid of the baby, not her. You just stared blankly, acting as calm as ever, even if their stares were too much to bear when you shopped, talked with others. Easy enough, they watched you like hawks.

Eventually, it all calmed down, like the weather after the storm. Everyone started living their own lives again, got invested into another drama, forgetting the situation with abortion clinic. And, Cassie’s mom was eternally grateful for that. Probably still is.

You’re known for keeping your promises and getting the job done, so you really can’t be surprised when the neighbors choose you to be responsible for this year’s neighbors BBQ, something that this town is obsessed with, when it gets warmer. Can’t really blame them, as the town is dead during the winter months.

What is surprising in this situation is the fact that you have to break a promise—but the promise that you made to yourself. 

Just because you’re in a committee with John Price. John Price that you wanted to desperately avoid for some time, but right now, he’s looking down at you with a smile, patting your back with encouragement.

“We’re gonna have so much fun with this,” he murmurs, right to your ear. It’s nothing naughty, but it’s enough to make your whole body feel hot, like your body is full of lava. He knows you can’t say no to organizing this BBQ, and if you would, he’d find a way to get you back on board. 

And, he for sure noticed that you spoke to him less lately. As you learned, he’s not really a fan of that behavior, so when you go home, you have only one thought in your mind: you’re terrible at keeping distance from John Price. It’s either a terrible coincidence, or he has the help of God to make you run into him every time.

Ironically, the second option sounds more real than the first one, even if it should be the other way.

Planning with him feels easy, though. He’s quick to make a whole concept of the party with you, where exactly the BBQ needs to take place, what can be brought so it will be better than the years before. He’s ambitious enough that he makes small jabs towards the neighbors that hosted years before, saying something about not having a sense of style and stuff that shouldn’t make you laugh, but they do.

When it comes to the practical stuff of the job, it’s a bit different; John doesn’t let you touch anything or lift something by yourself, god forbid you try to say that you’re going to help him with moving things. The irritation because of it is enough for you to try to confront him, but he just shushes you. He says something about having “the boys” for that, and you’re not invited to the physical part of the job. 

However, you asking him for help? He seems to love the fact that you need him.

When you are trying out the recipes, he’s magically around you. Appears in the most random moments, just to annoy you a little, whisper some encouraging words, like “you got it, love”.  He’s more than eager to try out the food, always licking the spoon clean with such focus, like it was a military job, not his neighbor asking him for his opinion on BBQ food. Not only it makes you satisfied, but flustered as well.

Whatever you want to say to him about it, you forget it right away. You’re far too gone in his praises, slight suggestions, and so much more that has you wondering if this man is just nice, or he really means it. Because you truly believe that he does; no one could fake the glimmer in their eyes, lips twitching in a playful manner and this damn look of approval, when you do the right thing. When you think about it, you could easily get used to it if it would mean he’d be around more.

Hell, you never liked cooking that much. It was mostly something to do, so you won’t starve. With John? With John it feels like you want him to admire your food, so you try as thrice as you did in the past. 

What is also satisfying in this whole “planning” thing, you’re the commander if it comes down to decorations—you tell him if something needs to go to the left side, if it’s in the right place, or maybe it doesn’t fit the vibe at all. It's good fun for you, a lot of bickering with John, a lot of him actually respecting what you have to say. Sheer contrast to the contact that you normally had with other men, and the dad of your son. Constant problems, give me this, give me that, nothing really came from them. And if it did, you had to ask for it.

And John? John is just the epitome of a perfect man. The kind one that you like seeing on the street because he’s helpful and considerate. Always willing to help you, no matter what the hour is, or what the problem is, like—

Like a real husband, you think, trying to push that thought away the second you see that you’re losing yourself a little too much in it. Just because someone is nice to you, it doesn’t mean that they have a romantic interest in you. 

John isn’t helpful with making your thoughts go away; he’s so close to you, like he doesn’t know the meaning of personal space. At some point, you think that he has to do this on purpose. It’s not possible that he’s like this with everyone—so touchy, manhandling every time someone stands in his way, whispering little “I need you to move,” before moving the person somewhere else. It’s unnecessary, you would move if he’d only ask you to do it, but…

But you’d lie if you’d say that you do not like this. Because you do, with all of your heart, even if normally you’d be irritated by behavior like this. But, this is John Price that you talk about. He’s so delicate in this, joking around so much that you don’t even pay attention to the amount of times that he does that. 

The closeness doesn’t bother you; not until you realize that a bunch of people are observing you with sharp precision; they’re talking about something too, but it’s clear for you that they are watching the two of you. It’s even more obvious when they gasp right in the moment when John kisses you in the temple, squeezing your hip, silently thanking you for the help. Like you were doing it out of simple kindness, not because you two are responsible for it anyway.

“I’m gonna go,” you murmur under your breath, almost jogging to your house, just so no one will notice the flustered look on your face. 

You’re not free of John here either; after an hour, he asks you over the text if you have a minute because he has a sudden epiphany. So, like a good neighbor you are, you stay on the phone with him for another hour, when he tells you how a “kids friendly” zone is needed. Because some parents don’t have a nanny or anyone to leave their kid with; and it seems reasonable.

He makes a monologue about inflatable castles, houses, everything that excites kids.

“I already have a guy to buy it from. I just need your word,” he says. You can almost hear how he smiles on the other side from his tone. “So, what do you say?”

So, even if it seems a bit fancy for your town, you agree, thinking it would be his way of saying a proper “hello” to the neighbors. You even regret that your kid is currently at his grandma's place, as you dropped him a few days before the preparations, because he’d love this idea. More than anything.

Yet, you bet that with John being here, in your neighborhood, he’ll have multiple occasions to do fun things. 

The day you have to host BBQ, Price is here for you from the early morning. Making final touches, speaking like a motivational coach because he sees how big of a mess you are; he even helps you to do your hair before you two go outside and start everything properly. 

You’re the equivalent of a stress ball, when he’s literally the calmest person alive in the same moment. Water to your fire, easing your nerves in the moments that you’d consider as trivial, extinguishing the heat when you need it. Making you actually feel seen with your feelings, with how he acknowledges them and treats you the best he can in the moment. You feel less dumb for being so nervous, and automatically you feel better as well. 

Hours feel like minutes by his side. You greet your neighbors, make small talks about food or their families, asking how they are; you can easily leave any negative thoughts behind you, without caring about your emotions before the BBQ. All you care about is right now, and how John is literally around you at every moment possible—because this man does not leave your side, even if you’re talking with someone that he doesn’t know personally.

“Oh, she’s responsible for all of it,” he says, grinning like a devil, when you talk with the Smiths about the preparations. It’s so easy for him to sneak an arm around you, and you can’t even find in yourself the want to push him away. “I was just Santa’s little helper, ‘s all.”

“Stop that.” You laugh, shaking your head. “He was very helpful, actually. I wouldn’t know what to do without his help.”

“Only on her command.” John shrugs, looking down at you. For some reason, you feel your stomach tightening on the size difference that you two have. “Without her, it probably would look like a brothel. Maybe worse, so she is the real brain of the operation.”

He’s like that all night. Praising you, even if he’s not directly speaking next to you; him pointing a finger in your direction, sending a wink, it all makes you feel like you suddenly have your wings again. Like you can actually do anything with him by your side. He charges your batteries, and you’re thankful for that.

What also charges your batteries is alcohol—normally you wouldn’t be a drinker because of your son, but when you know he’s in your mother’s house, it’s a different situation. Drink goes after a drink when you have lots of food, shots come down your throat way easier with your favorite neighbors. It’s easy to lose yourself in the atmosphere of freedom, when you haven’t had that in a while, too busy, too focused on your son. 

Just like you thought, you have your wings again.

You don’t even feel like you’ve gone too far. Not when John accompanies you in the experience, asking if you need another beer, so casually, nudging you with his elbow. Taunting, like he wants to say that you won’t do it anyway. Maybe you wouldn’t, if you weren’t so drunk, but now, when there’s not a single coherent thought in your mind…

Things start to get fuzzy after that beer. You don’t even know when you put the alcohol away in order to dance with Price; you don’t know when his casual touches become something entirely different. It feels like he’s trying to help you, support you, as your legs start to feel more wobbly, but when his hand lands lower, fingers play with the material of your dress—a dress that right now seems like something you’d rather get rid of in the heat of the moment—you feel that something else is in the air. 

The “don’t do anything stupid” side is flooded by waves of excitement, by the thought that you feel like you deserve a bit of fun after so many times you told yourself “no”. Maybe that’s why you agree to him walking you to your house, maybe that’s why you invite him over for a little “drink”, to end the success of the neighborhood BBQ that you two “hosted”.

Even if you have enough drinks for a few months, if you’re being honest with yourself.

You really had everything innocent in mind about this. You even came up with the speech about how late it is in your head, but the brakes fail you just in the moment when you stand right in front of him. It’s all happening in slow motion, like a catastrophe that was supposed to happen and everyone knew it from the beginning—but that catastrophe is you kissing him.

He doesn’t say anything, at first. The potential consequences of your actions dawn at you, making you sober up almost immediately, when you see his face. Darkening with every second, making you doubt what you did. Because if it was good, why is he like this?

“I’m so—”

“—Don’t even try.”

And that’s all what he says before kissing you. Kissing you so deep that you forget to breathe for a second, and you just stand still, letting him pick you up like a doll and go upstairs because what can you do about this?

He doesn’t let you do anything by yourself. His lips are everywhere, just like his hands, when he finds the bedroom—you’re already out of your dress and lingerie, but he is fully dressed. You almost want to complain, have a protest that it’s not right, as you waited maybe even more than him for this exact moment, but any word that wants to come out from your mouth is gone when he sinks his finger into you.

It’s slow, at first. Deliberate, making you feel like he’s trying to know you before he does anything more, before he loses himself in you—because that, oh, that happens fast. Faster than you’d thought it would take, but you do not mind that; not in the moment when his two fingers pump into you, while his thumb is taking care of your clit. 

The moment his tongue replaces his thumb though, this is the moment when you see stars and all the restraints you had, completely break under the influence of his movement. He knows what he does, how to make you scream, and how to make you beg—because that’s what you want to do, when he suddenly stops.

"John—” 

He chuckles, amused. His eyes are glimmering, when he meets yours. "Patience, honey. Patience."

And when you finally come with his name on your lips, you know you have it.

He gives you maybe a fifteen second break—it’s enough for him to strip out of his clothes and pounce at you again; it makes you realize that is the main course you needed from him.

It’s far from casual sex, far from the scenario that you’ve created in your mind. It’s something deeper, as he intertwines fingers with you, insisting that’s the only way you’re gonna do it; and he doesn’t want to hear anything about it. Before you can ask any question, he shushes you with a heated kiss, his hips moving, but at a much slower pace than you expected, like he’s trying to devour the moment. Enjoy it until it lasts, maybe show you something so you’ll miss him in the future.

It’s almost like he wants to prove something here and you let him do it. Because for the first time, it’s nice having someone to take the initiative. Lead you, lure you into the mindset that you need him for that piece of heaven he’s busy to give you. Fixated on that, you plant bloody crescents on his back, not caring about the outcome.

It’s just you and him, at this point. You and him, no one else really matters. 

Afterwards, you pay no attention to the fact that he insists on staying. He, in fact, doesn’t say anything; he just states a fact when he puts his big arm around you, squeezing you tight and you just know he won’t leave. You think it’s only right—he’s drunk, after all. It wouldn’t be very neighborly to you to ask him to leave in that state, even if he lives right across the street. And, it wouldn’t be very neighborly to ask him that, considering that he fucked the shit out of you.

Because he'll probably leave in the morning anyway. Everyone leaves before the sunlight, it’s just the way the world is. It was nothing… serious, right?

But, he doesn’t. Oh, of course he doesn’t. 

He brings you coffee in the morning, right to your bed, sandwiches on the plate. You can’t quite put it when he had the time to make it, or when he got up—because you’d normally sense someone walking around your house, you’re used to being on high alert. Yet, there is John Price, smiling from ear to ear.

“Your mother called,” John says, which causes your heart to drop immediately. “Said that she’ll drop your son later.” 

“...and what did you say?”

“That I’ll tell you this, as soon as you’ll wake up,” he informs you, kissing the top of your head. Like it’s nothing, he sits next to you, pulling out his phone and typing something; as you peek, you can see the news website popping up.

Great. Now even your mother knows about him. It’s not like he is that important right now, but you know your mom a little too well, so it’s easy for you to assume that she’ll make a big thing about him and you’ll have to tell her something to blow her off. And, for now, you’re out of ideas of what exactly you should tell her.

Something other than “it was just casual sex because he’s my hot neighbor”, something other than “I actually don’t know him that well”. Words are spinning in your head; a massive hangover doesn’t help to form anything, so you just nod in acknowledgement, watching him for a moment, bewildered. He acts like he owns this bed, and doesn’t even think of leaving. It’s a potential threat, when you think about it. 

You’re not even surprised when you see text from your mother on your phone.

You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.

You decide it’s best not to reply to that, so you just grab the cup of coffee that John made you.

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Cookies | Kim Hongjoong

-> Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader

-> Request: No. This is a repost from my old account. It was from my Christmas celebration but it doesn't mention Christmas.

-> Synopsis: Baking cookies goes wrong.

-> Warnings: pure domestic bliss.

-> Word Count: 772

-> Requests: Open.

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©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead.

Likes, comments & reblogs are welcomed and appreciated, thank you. 

“Are you okay?” Hongjoong asks his girlfriend as he walks into the kitchen after hearing her let out a string of curse words. He’s unsure if he should have asked anything when he spots the tray of burnt cookies in on the kitchen counter.   

“I was trying to make cookies for our movie night and for you to take back to the dorms for the guys,” she rambles. When she looks at him defeated and about to give up, he steps in, grabs a tea towel and picks up the tray of burnt cookies. He makes his way over to the rubbish bin and tosses the cookies into it.  

“Let’s try again,” he says placing the tray back on the kitchen counter and rips off some baking paper from the roll lying beside the ingredients. “Where’s the recipe?”   

“I was going by memory of how eomma makes them,” she tells him, going through the ingredients.  

“Why don’t you just ask her for the recipe?” he asks looking over the ingredients.  

“I did have the recipe,” she admits with a sigh. “I lost it.”  

“How did you lose it?” He questions as he starts searching for the piece of paper covered in ingredients from all the other times she’s used it. When he can’t find it, he goes back to over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders he looks deep into her eyes. “We’ll just have to wing it. Are you willing to give it one more shot?”  

“Only if you help me,” she nods, feeling slightly better that he wasn’t making a big deal about the missing recipe and the last batch of burnt cookies.   

“That’s what I’m here for,” he says pulling her in for a hug and kisses the top of her head. “Now what’s the first step?” He says, moving to the sink to wash his hands.  

“2 cups of flour,” she says remembering that part clearly. She grabs the bag of flour and pours it into the measuring cup.   

While she does that, Hongjoong grabs the sieve and puts it over the bowl. Y/N then pours the flour into the sieve before measuring the next couple. Relief filled her when there’s just enough flour to fill the second cup. Hongjoong sifts the flour as she moves on the sugar and salt before moving on to soften the butter.  

An hour and a trip to the grocery store later, both Hongjoong and Y/N have batter smeared on their faces, their clothes are covered in flour, salt and sugar, two burnt batches of cookies are in the bin and they’re looking skeptically at the gloop that is meant to be cookie dough in the bowl.   

“I think we should ask your eomma for the recipe again,” Hongjoong scrunches his face up, feeling gross and in need of a shower. “I need a shower.”  

“I’ll call her tomorrow,” she agrees, feeling the same. “I have cookies in the cupboard we can have instead.”  

Hongjoong eyes widen as a look of frustration crosses his features. “Yah! Why have we been trying to make cookies this whole time?”  

“Homemade cookies always taste better than store bought,” she shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “And I thought it would be fun. And then you decided to help me out so I thought that could be even more fun. But I lost my eomma’s recipe and now we’re both a mess and have to use the store-bought ones,” she pouts slightly.   

Hongjoong lets out a breath. “Let’s clean this up, go shower, get into something comfier, and eat those store-bought cookies while watching a movie?”   

“Sounds good to me,” she agrees again.   

They quickly clean up and have a shower and get dressed into some pajamas. As Hongjoong makes them some hot drinks, Y/N grabs the chocolate chip cookies she has stored in her pantry. She takes them into the lounge, places them on the coffee table and takes the blanket hanging over the back of the couch and unfolds it.   

Hongjoong joins her in the lounge, carrying both cups of hot chocolate. He hands her cup to her once she’s settled on the couch and sits down next to her. She turns on the tv and finds a movie they both like to watch.   

“Thank you for helping me try to make cookies when you didn’t have to,” she rests her head on his shoulder, quietly thanking him a few minutes into the movie.   

“I had fun,” he smiles kissing the top of her head. “And I’d do it all over again. Let's just make sure we have the recipe next time.” 

TAGGING: @staytiny2000 - @kpopmenace143 - @treehouse-mouse - @alexxavicry - @jedi-dreea

@rainydayteacups - @green-agent - @tinyelfperson - @yeonjunnie – @hollxe1

@laylasbunbunny – @deltamoon666 - @skz1-4-3 - @pinkies-things - @everythingboutkpop -

@trinxt

RED means I wasn't able to tag you or that your blog didn't come up when I tried to tag you (sometimes it happens after the post is posted - if that's the case please let me know if you got the notification). please make sure to check your settings. I have a post on my pinned post if you need help.

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

How to Writing multiple characters in a scene!!

Writing tips w/ Sunny (part 1, because I ramble and im positive ill end up doing this again if people want or for my own satisfaction)

This is just my methodology put in a way I think makes sense, if this doesnt apply to you thats okay everyone has different stradegies that work for them <33

SO lets begin.

"Rules" of writing multi character scenes + arcs, (First half is how to add them into a scene, second half is maintaining and not letting them vanish)

AHEM- Well there are four ways to place a character in a scene

Narration POV Aka the protagonist, this is the perspective ever present unless you CLARIFY the story is now through the lens of another character (Take for example my fic, while I play with multiple perspectives- a bulk is from Tims POV)

Secondary POV This is the character that DIRECTLY interacts with the narrator aka their "first point of contact" so to speak, they ground the narrator in the scene as not alone and is actually interacting with other people. (This DOES NOT have to be a speaking role, it can be purely observational if need be- but its the character that gets the most attention via the narrators perspective SIDE NOTE- THIS CAN SWITCH AS WELL)

Interactive POV Now we get to the "filling"- since Secondary doesn't need a direct tie to the narrator, you can have another character interact with the secondary character. But since they are not the focus of the scene its good to have a REASON they "Enter" or else if you spend so long giving the narrators perspective on #2 then you risk having someone "Materialize" in thin air. (This isnt really a concern unless you wait too long into the scene to go "Oh this guy exists-" you have time as you paint the reader a picture of the new enviornment/scene)

Enviorment POV Last but most certainly not least (and the one i've seen people struggle with the most) is the character that is PRESENT A N D NAMED- But serves no plot importance/relevance (to the narrator) during the opening part of the scene.

To put in better perspective- think of being in a room, The Narrator is you observing your surroundings (depending on POV style how "into the mind" of the narrator we go)

Secondary is the person you focus on, you hear their conversation, see their body language, expression, clothing, etc. They are the personal "focus" (there can be multiple as well)

Interactive is people SURROUNDING the focus, those who still play a semi active and visible role. They can either be within your line of sight interacting with the enviorment or speaking to a secondary/narrator character.

Enviorment is the person in the back of class that you know, but don't really register unless they do/say something- but you are still AWARE of their presence. CAREFUL NOT TO INTRODUCE THEM TOO LATE, OR ELSE YOU HAVE THE "MATERIALIZE" PROBLEM AGAIN

Now into a scene(aka recycling an old one)

Tim starred ahead silently from his side of the couch, watching Jason fidget with the soda tab on his shitty off brand Doctor Pepper he always insisted on getting. Around and around over and over, it was giving him second hand anxiety.

Thankfully they weren't forced to stay in the moment as Dick leaned over and pressed his shoulder into Jasons with a beaming smile "Oh come on it'll be fun"!

"Says you golden boy" Steph teased, half hanging off her chair and a foot almost knocking over Cass chip bag, only stopped by the fact Duke snatched it and moved it further along the table.

Well at least Damian seemed to be reacting rationally, seeming intent on slouching in on himself the more Dick tried to pull him and Jason together into a "group hug". It was a wonder his arms could even reach that far- even more so that they were still intact.

But Jason, like the rest of them, was weak to Dicks puppy dog eyes. Tim saw the moment he gave up a losing battle and his shoulders slumped in defeat, though his scowl ever present. "If I say yes will you fuck off"

"Ah ah language, we have children here"! Dick gasped, placing his ears on Damians ears which only earned him a snarl in return.

"I don't think Damian counts as a kid- and I just turned 16 which is basically an adult" Duke tried to defend, but his 'fierce glare' had less effect with his hand stuck in a bag of gummy worms.

Tim huffed- if Dick kept it up, they would end up with "family night", and he doubted all of them would come back alive.

(END SCENE)

Now to break down- Tim was of course the "Narrator" perspective that was viewing the scene, we get his insight even while not directly interacting with the characters just by his description tone.

Jason was of course the main "Secondary"character (though Dick was a mix as well) where the scene introduced by Tims perpective and tone by someone else in the enviornment.

Then you have Dick who is a perfect mix of Interactive character (how he entered the scene via movement, placing himself in perspective to the established other two) while shifting to have the most "scene impact" whilst still not being Tims focus.

Finally you have everyone else serving as Enviornment characters, with either a simple Line-action (ex-Steph) or a name drop in general placement (Cass) or establishment through movement, and only relevent later in the scene (Duke).

Damian kind of floats between, he is introduced via a reaction + Narrator observation, but then is mostly just an eviornment character. He is THERE but not really awknowleged beyond that.

NEXT- If that doesn't help much you can rely on "Environment rule"

Aka everyone is always doing something in any space they occupy- apply that to your characters. It can be as simple as when you have one character speak loudly to the narrating POV, another character shifts away or laughs.

They didn't need to speak nor did you need to detract from the tension/pacing of a scene by describing in detail their expression, positon, etc.

BUT in that moment your reader just clues in to "Oh okay x is here-" that is established, and whether or not x plays a role in a future scene within that enviornment doesnt matter much.

This is also the PERFECT oppertunity to give characterization. If a tense moment is going on you can have the narrator notice another character stiffen/flinch (aka affected by the conflict, even if not an active participant)

FINAL PART- MAINTAINING

This is where shit can hit the fan f a s t- getting a bunch of characters in a scene is one thing but keeping them there?? Hell at times.

But once again this all relies on "Narrator perspective" and unless you are switching narrators, you need a "cone of vision" to determine what is or isn't important unless you might break the tension of a scene.

Methods include-

Reactions

Two+ background characters interact (verbal or not)

Interact with enviornment

Enter/Leave a space (of note)

A sound registered but not explored (a chair creaking back, a glass dropping, snack bag rustling, or even my favorite which is the sudden absense of sound implying an audience)

"Incidents" (Someone drops something, attention goes to them for a sec- apology/oneliners, then switch back)

Check ins from NON NARRATOR, (or narrator, but usually works better to keep track of who is focused on who)

Characters don't need to be "ever present" just remind your reader they exist somewhere generally in the scene (and keep them in your back pocket)

But The best possible tool at your disposal?? BANTER.

Let characters interact, feel out their dyanmics- If you dont know how they interact in non tense situations, how does that change when tension amps up. Have a background character throw in a one liner- or the narrator observe a conversation they aren't a part of.

LET PEOPLE BE PEOPLE- And they basically write themselves

Last but not least- if you feel stuck or lost?? Treat EVERYONE like a narrator.

Who are they paying attention to? What are they seeing? How do they REACT to that? Do they speak up, do they tense, do they try and slip away or stay strong?

You don't need to know this for EVERY scene- but sometimes it helps out of a rut moment

ANYWAYYSS- This is my rant and personal methodology of how I place/maintain multiple characters. I hope this helps for anyone interested, if not find what works for you!!

My Asks are open if anyone wants me to give any other advice, tips, or just general ramblings about writing.

Otherwise,

Happy writing!!

[wexhappyxfew]

24. whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin

For Annie and Brady please!!! I adore them and your writing!

HI ANON!!!! thank you so much for stopping by the askbox!! greatly appreciated, especially when it is annie and brady!! :) these two have my heart and deserve all the best things life has to offer. please enjoy this take on the prompt and these two just being so soft on each other (and brady well....brady being BOLD). lmao! ENJOYYYY!!! thank you for all the love on them! :D

you in my A-2

(a/n): partially inspired by the prompt, partially by an ask i got earlier. just....annie x brady getting more and more comfortable and slowly realizing things about this war that they didn't realize earlier. them. them them them. i need them to be the happiest they can be when this is all done :')

Ever since that first night in the Stalag that she'd crawled into the bunk with Brady, it had become a nightly thing that she'd evacuate by the time morning came, but yearned for with each passing day.

Where it was just the two of them, side by side, curled into one another's bodies, their eyes the only innocent thing held between one another in this horrid place.

Sometimes they'd talk, whispering quietly between another about random things, about some of the sad things of the world, about their lives back home that would be entirely different if they ever got out of here. Sometimes they'd just stare at each other, with what little light there was from the moon outside or the lights from the guard huts outside.

And by that point, Brady would usually thread his fingers into her somewhat tangled hair and she'd apologize for something she could hardly control and he'd whisper all the sweet things that it was fine, he just wanted to be there with her. And that usually lent to her fingertips brushing against his stubbled cheeks, her pointer finger tracing all those stress lines that popped out when it was just them, or she'd let her hands dip into his hair and brush it back in a calming motion that usually got him right to sleep.

And so by morning, when she was back in her bunk, curled in her blanket, looking across the way as people would start moving about, waking up, rubbing their eyes, yawning and stretching, she'd meet Brady's gaze from across the room and they'd share that silent look that meant more than whatever words either of them would manage to find.

It never went past that - the longing looks, the occasional forehead kiss. Maybe they were both scared to go over that line they'd drawn. That maybe if there was anything more, they'd lose it just as quick.

As Annie slid out of her bunk and crossed the small room towards where Brady was, she couldn't help but feel her heart bit a little faster just at the sight of him asleep there - his face scrunched up in a way that made her heart ache. The visible stress on his face even in his sleep made her want to pull him right into her arms and tell him over and over that everything would be okay, that they'd make it out, that she was okay beyond anything. Because he cared so much, that he stopped taking care of himself sometimes. And she always would pick up what pieces were lost and stitch them back together again and hold him in the darkness.

As she approached, she softly bit back her lip and reached out to prod him awake, which always made her feel guilty for doing such a thing, but he welcomed it and told her it was fine, despite her want to make sure he got a full nights sleep. Brady woke with a shake awake and turned to look towards her and smiled softly in the darkness.

"Hey," he whispered, before opening up the blanket, "hop in." Annie watched him for a moment, before her cheeks warmed - they always did when he looked at her like that - and she slid in beside him and let him engulf her in a mixture of his arms and blanket.

The second she felt her body pressed against his in the cocoon of blankets and warmth, her worries were stripped away, as they normally always were. She curled herself against the heat from his neck, her body begging for some sort of comfort in all of this, as he pressed a kiss against her temple, something he'd grown more akin to recently it seemed. It's not that they didn't want people to see them, it was more of the fact that they finally were back with each other and trying to keep things like they had been back at Thorpe Abbotts - friendly, maybe dancing the line of flirting but not nothing more. But here at the Stalag, they were anything but. And they both seemed to recognize that.

"You doing okay?" he whispered softly against her ear as she cuddled further into him the best she could and sighed, "That cold finally going away?" She nodded against him.

"Yeah," she whispered, "just a little bit of a stuffy nose, but can't complain. How about you?" She leaned back from him, from his warmth and smiled at him as she leaned a hand up against her head. Reaching forward, she ran her hands through his hair and watched a sense of calm wash over his form for a minute as she did so. And it did settle Annie's own nerves and worry for Brady that she constantly endured day in and day out. She always worried about him and seemed, but it was always mutual for the two of them.

"Okay," he said quietly, before the corner of his lip turned upward, "better now that you're here, I gotta admit." Her cheeks warmed and she shook her head before holding his gaze in her own.

"You're too sweet on me, John Brady." she whispered softly to him, cupping his cheek for a minute and brushing her thumb across his cheek as she grinned at him with her rosy cheeks. Brady watched her, that slightly far-off look in his eyes, a hint of a smile. He grinned.

"You deserve it, Annie," he whispered back to her, reaching up his own hand and brushing his fingers against her warm cheek and grinning, "that and you blush red like a tomato."

"You a fan of that?" she whispered back quickly with a laugh and she watched him bit his lip and smirk.

"I'd say I'm a big fan of that," he whispered back, "'specially when you look like this." Annie watched him - she could probably be covered in mud and he'd be staring at the way he currently was. And now, stuck in a Stalag camp, looking slightly malnourished and sickly, with slightly matted hair and sunken in eyes and he still looked at her like that and said things like that.

"I could say much of the same," she whispered back to him, turning her head slightly to nuzzle into his hand against her cheek, "you look cute when you blush." John Brady did in fact blush when she said that, even though she couldn't even really see much of his face in that darkness of the room. She grinned and then leaned forward and cuddled into his neck again, Brady chuckling the slightest bit as he curled into her as well.

"You're so warm." Annie whispered against his neck as the rumble from his throat echoed in her ear and made her grin like a loon,

"You're like a personal blanket." That got him to chuckle quietly again as her lips danced near her ear and she could practically hear each and every breath that left his lips - a mixture of knowing he was alive and right there next to her - and even more so; knowing that all they were in that moment right now were two people dying for an ounce of comfort in this world.

"Consider me your personal blanket," he whispered back as his lips continued to ghost over her ears, "I was thinking….." Annie listened to him trail off and gulped for a moment as his breath trembled and his heart pounded.

"I'd give anything if it was me and you back at Thorpe Abbotts, just you in my A-2 jacket and nothing else." he whispered and her body grew hot - whether from his soft, husky voice in her ear or the way his hands had found their way underneath her clothes, fingertips grazing her bare back, traversing her battered and hot skin, her thoughts were suddenly in a blunder and all she could think about well was….that. Annie pulled back from her spot curled against his neck and met his gaze.

"Just your A-2?" she whispered softly, looking at him shyly from underneath her eyelashes, a small smile growing on her face as a look dawned on his features that almost seemed like he hadn't meant to let that slip from his lips, but it had, "What does that mean for you?" Brady watched her, the look in his eyes matching the touch of his fingertips on her skin and she suddenly couldn't focus on anything else but that gentle touch of his fingertips. He leaned closer and brushed his lips against her forehead again with that tender touch.

"You can have me anyway you want me." he whispered against her forehead and her eyes instinctively shut as he pressed up against her and she overwhelmed with him. His presence, his touch, the way he held her so gently and close to him, but with a level of protectiveness and care that made her know that this was safe, that she was safe, just like this.

Annie reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, slowly running her fingers up into his hair as his head fell to the inside of her neck and he pulled her close, like a warm, tender hug that you never wanted to pull away from. Gleefully his hands raced along her bare back as she curled against him, feeling the way his hands explored underneath her coat and wooly top, dancing across her skin and making her feel things she hadn't quite felt in some time.

"Can I tell you something?" Annie whispered softly to him, rubbing slowly again through his hair as he sighed against her.

"What is it?" Annie listened to his heartbeat for a moment before blinking.

"This is the safest I've felt in years." And to even say a statement like that, in a place like this was ironic even in it of itself. She hadn't even felt the safest at home, a place that was supposed to be safe. No, no, she felt safest in the arms and embrace of someone she had only met a couple of months ago and had proved himself to be more of a home to her beyond anything.

"With me?" Annie nodded against him.

"Right here." she whispered back to him, "You and me." His grip didn't loosen, he only held her tighter and it seemed in that moment, the realization and the weight of whatever was going on between them seemed to hit. Her truth spilling from her lips quietly into his body, his grip tightening, their bodies pressed against one another in a way that should've felt foreign. Brady seemed to want to say something, she could tell, but when he stayed quiet and instead pressed another soft kiss to her forehead, she didn't question it. Because whatever they had here was okay for right now.

"I feel safe with you too, Annie." he whispered back and Annie was convinced even she wasn't so comfy, that she wasn't sure what she would've done if they'd been looking right at each other, inches apart. For now, she cuddled closer to him, enjoying his hands on her stomach and his lips near her ear, their soft breaths, mixing into deep slumber as they laid in each other's embraces until the world went quiet.

[statementlou]

hi it's just me being nosy and asking a follow up to your vinyl anon--what are some of your non-1DCU favorites? collection tour please 😇

hiiii gosh and look you even put the link on for me to make it easy! The question itself is NOT EASY though I was like BUT WHAT IF I FORGET ONE?? Like what CATEGORY of favorite?! But the timing couldn't be better, I am currently as previously mentioned in the process of moving all of my stuff around, a huge project that 1) is perfect for listening to records while I do things like move books from one shelf to another and 2) means I just today moved my record player to a far better place where I am actually using it again for the first time in ages (for one thing onto an actual properly non wobbly surface) so I listened to records today and picked a few that will do sorry to all the others I forgot and love even more I'm sure

I picked first up Daydream Nation by Sonic Youth not just because it's so good (IT IS THOUGH) but also because it's an album that having it on vinyl feels SO right and it makes me happy just to handle; the pretty Gerhard Richter painting cover, a little crackle and pop with the music, the aesthetic of it all! I mean Sonic Youth probably literally birthed the indie hipster luddite aesthetic, it seems Right™ Second is The Bonny by Gerry Cinnamon, because being able to listen to the songs The Bonny and Ghost specifically on vinyl feeds my soul in deep and important ways. Also the 4th side is blank and etched with lyrics, like the JHO single, very cool. And last the record/album I've almost certainly played the most times in my life, even though the copy I have has skips now (to be loved is to changed and all that yk) and I haven't to date been able to bring myself to buy a reissue or pay $$$ for another original: 24 Hour Revenge Therapy by Jawbreaker. It's just important in like 15 different ways okay? Tip, if anyone is like huh! I will go listen to this album I've never heard it (DO!! also then tweet it at Louis a lot, he would REALLY LIKE IT) I think the best way to do this is to skip the first song the first time, it's a whole different vibe than the rest. Also right now my fave is LTLIVE on vinyl 😭 playing records makes me want to put it on SO BAD :((( also bonus content, one of my favorite things about records for some reason is seeing who goes next to who idk I just find it fun and if I were naming a band it would totally be a big consideration... so for extra tour of the shelf, Gerry Cinnamon is between the Germs and The Gits (listen the Cs are crowded, it's my shelf I can do what I want), Sonic Youth was between The Snuts and Social Distortion- which the astute may notice is not correct, she will be going back other side of Social D- and Jawbreaker nestle cozily between Japandroids and Jerk With A Bomb. Louis, for the record, lives between very twee girl band Tiger Trap and very fast hardcore band Tragatello, lol. A weird bill, that, but they do have one thing in common- all feature queer musicians

[strawberryblue-blog]

Disaster. Part 2. —Joao Felix.

summary: second part of disaster.

warnings: YES. +18. smut. unprotected sex, some choking kink, cursing, role play.

words count: +1.9k.

tag: @yourknightinshiningarm-or

Yes. It was too late.

Kissing him had not been a good idea, it was clear. Nothing had been a good idea. Not the date, not having him bring you home, not letting him touch you, not kissing him in the first place.

It had all been a disaster. You shouldn't have listened to your friend. Now there were consequences and the consequences were going to eat away at your head for life but you couldn't help but run back to him and kiss him desperately before you locked yourself in your house.

Damn. You couldn't even think about it when he himself also ran to you and took you in his arms. You had missed his touch, his mouth, his warmth so much. You hated him so much. So much that every time you felt him near you, you wanted him to take you right there.

Your body longed for his touch, the fire in your chest could only be quenched by Joao, the thirst you had could only be quenched by him.

His kisses were going to your neck when he slammed you against the door of your own house, moans escaping your lips like desperate cries. And yet he hadn't really touched you yet. You were desperate. His hands moved across your belly, back and ass, they went back and forth, they couldn't stay still.

You wanted to hit yourself, to curse yourself, to scold yourself. But you were enjoying his mouth, you were lost in the feeling of pleasure and power. Everything had been a disaster from the beginning, at least you wanted to have some reward at the end.

You took his hand guiding him to your couch and with your arm you pushed him until he fell onto the cushions. His eyes were a jet black with a special glow that made you bite your lip, his mouth swollen and red and his body tense and needy for you. It made you feel powerful. You climbed on top of him, taking his jaw to kiss him. Hard and hot. Just like he was underneath you. Needy.

Your legs were at his sides and when his hands slipped into your shirt, you gasped as you felt his cool fingers caress your skin. He caught your lips as one of his hands went to your chest and squeezed it making you cry out in his kiss. On the fabric of your lace bra, he played with your nipple, giving it little deep touches, which drew moans from your throat. He had power over you too. And he knew how to show it.

His lips become like an addiction for you, you can't stop kissing him, his sweet taste has you cloying and you feel like you'll die to have them. His hands grab the hem of your shirt and lift it up your arms, so you help him take it off. Within seconds his fingers are on the clasp of your bra and he hurriedly removes it. His gaze focuses on your breasts and you try to cover them with an embarrassed look but he stops you and looks at you.

You have never felt ashamed of your body but with Joao it was different. It always was. Now you are an adult but deep inside you are still that teenager who lost her virginity to the same man who is touching her and vague memories come back to your mind.

Fuck him. You don't have to be ashamed of anything, so you gain confidence and show him that you've matured too. That you are not the same girl you were before, the one who let him take a part of you and break you. You want to forget about that Joao, the immature teenager who treated you like just another one and you want to enjoy this new Joao for your own pleasure. You can do it, you can also enjoy without feelings.

His mouth goes to your breast and when his lips take your nipple, you squeal holding his hair tightly. His tongue works wonders on your nipple while his fingers squeeze the other one free.

The wiggling in your hips seeks friction as you moan his name over and over, you are eager to feel him inside you, so much so that you can feel your wet heat soaking your underwear. Joao's bulge beneath your center makes you gasp. There are no words to describe what is happening, you can't find the ideas in your head to think.

The clothes on your body end up lying somewhere in your living room, your hands can't get enough when it comes to touching each other, your voices moan in tandem as you sit. Your body is on top of his at every moment, as you kiss, as you touch, as you look at each other.

He himself helps you settle on top of his lap preparing you to position yourself on top of him, you grasp the base of his cock and line it up at your entrance, stroking it a little on your wet lips, making you both gasp loudly. His gaze meets yours and he holds you tight as you sink into him, moaning as you feel his hard and hot cock opening up room in your tight walls. The connection between his eyes gives off pure sparkles that light up the atmosphere, gasps beginning to sound as he continues to try to settle inside you.

Your hands rest on his shoulders as his hands help you move over him. The movements are relaxed at first, taking time to feel, to enjoy, his lips placing small kisses on your neck, chest and breasts as you move up and down on his cock, holding onto his muscular shoulders. The sensation leaves you lost in a world apart, you can't see clearly, the atmosphere feels suffocating, so much so that you can smell the fluids of your bodies, making it more exciting.

Your voices sound in unison, moaning as the movements become harder and faster. You pull away from his mouth as the pressure in your belly begins to grow, you stretch your body backwards helping to support yourself with your hands on his knees as you continue to jump on top of Joao, who with his hand runs down your body, starting from your lower belly, up your belly and chest, until he anchors himself on your neck.

You let out a cry as his hand wraps around your neck, exerting a little pressure, making you explore a pleasure you've never felt before.

"That's it baby, move" he gasps at your intense frenzy.

You bite your lip so hard you feel the metallic taste in your mouth and squeal again and again as his hands press on your soft spots.

Damn it. Your vision blurs, your ears are dazed and the air starts to go out of your lungs. Your legs start to burn from the exhaustion of riding him but you can't stop not when you're so close to climaxing.

"Fuck, Joao, i'm going to come..." you scream moving even faster, so close to your orgasm.

"Hold on a little longer, baby" he asks at your near tremors.

You do your best to hold on, stopping your movements a little to settle back into him, your chest are pressed against each other and you feel his hands on your back, hugging you.

Your movements are slow, torturous, he is suffering, you can see it in his eyes. You want to make him understand that you have the power and that if he wants to come with you he has to give you something in return.

"Kiss me, baby" he says teasingly, panting but enduring your torture.

You try to hold on but you know you won't last long, you need it, you need to explode.

"I hate you, Joao Felix" you spit so close to his mouth you can feel him smile over your lips.

He opens his mouth to receive you but you don't kiss him, you just stand there, brushing his lips against yours as you start to vehemently jump on top of him again. You can't hold back as your walls begin to contract, as his cock feels so good inside you. Your movements are erratic, unrestrained.

You scream as your orgasm hits your center but Joao's lips take over to take your mouth and shut you up long enough, starting to kiss you fiercely. You feel his penetrations start to become violent, desperate to reach his spot as well and it's a matter of seconds when you feel his liquid spill out of you. Juices begin to drip down your thighs as his mouth continues to kiss yours. Your body feels weak, dazed and shaky, you fall limp in his lap, holding onto his hard chest.

You both lie there, Joao still inside you, as you try to regulate your breaths and settle your thoughts. Your chest rise and fall as his hands caress your lower back, warming you.

You have so many things to say, so many things to think but you can't move from there. Every second that passes you long for Joao more and you don't want to let go.

You were a disaster, literally.

The blind date was a disaster but at least you ended up fucking like the gods, now you feel it was worth everything. You're still mad at him though, you want to hit him and curse him but you want him to fuck you non-stop. Joao had always had that effect on you.

You really hated everything about him.

So much that you couldn't stop thinking about kissing him.

«Damn you, Joao»

He had turned you into a disaster.

[mousydentist]

I'm trying to decide if I want to send you an unreasonable number of asks for the prompt game... :)

Let's start with The Polaroid Dates™️

hi im so sorry these are taking so long i pinky promise im gonna get to all of them eventually 🙏🙏🙏

the whole idea: some kind of a 5+1 with the polaroid dates and a +1 from post canon

ok so this is one that i actually have something for so im gonna add to it and then post what i wrote on top of it. im not totally sold on actually making it a 5+1 anymore but eh we'll see. also these snippets are kinda just cut out from the middle of scenes so they're not toally complete

ty for the asks fern ilysm 🥰🥰🥰

2.  At some point Kim goes to the bathroom, but really he's watching the live feed of the camera in the living room, just to see what Chay will do. It takes no time at all before Chay’s sneaking around, checking down the hallway for Kim then scurrying around and picking things up. No, he’s placing things?  A bug? Right. This is what Kim was expecting. This is exactly why he started investigating the Kittisawad’s in the first place. They’re clearly up to no good, and here’s proof of it. Kim swallows a lump in his throat.  He's a target. The name Porchay means nothing to him other than a name in a folder next to an age and a photo. He braces himself on the counter for a minute, eyes carefully averted from the large mirror in front of him. He splashes cold water on his face, and it helps. He needs to be Khimhan now. No, he’s always been Khimhan. He’s been Khimhan this whole time. The smiles and laughs, the little gifts, agreeing to bring Porchay here, those were always Khimhan. They were tactical moves to make the target let down his guard and reveal his true intentions. Khimhan had walked into the bathroom, and he has no problem walking out to get Porchay out of his home.  Chay Porchay the target is fidgety when Kim returns, no doubt worried he was caught. Khimhan gives him a Wik smile, and says, “Sorry, I’m not feeling very well. can I drive you home?” As soon as Kim is back to his own apartment, he goes to the large chair in the corner where he remembers the target messing around. Just in case he planted cameras, Kim walks casually, planning to sit in it while he runs a bug detection program on his phone. But when he’s in view of the chair, he pauses. There’s something on the arm of it. He gets close enough to make it out before he picks it up.  A… polaroid? He flips it over, and it’s a tiny picture of Chay making a heart with his fingers and wearing a goofy expression. At the top, he’s written, “Thank you for spending time with me!!!” and on the bottom, “You’re the #1 guitar tutor EVER!!”

3.  Do it. This is the kind of relationship you were looking for, this will tell you everything you need to know about him. He’ll let his guard down completely. Or, don’t do it. You already have most of the information, and if you do this he’ll be expecting even more from you. You have no obligation to this kid. Dump him here and now. It would… be… Kim’s thoughts fuzz out for a second, as he watches Porchay giggle and shuffle around awkwardly. For the first time in a long time, Kim lets himself ask what he wants. His life is not one that regularly awards him the privilege of acting illogically, and given that this could go either way, he thinks it’s been long enough since he’s been selfish. He doesn’t think about how he’s been selfish with Chay this whole time, and he doesn’t think about the way their relationship will inevitably end. He doesn’t think about how this will ruin Chay, or about the exact scar he knows this will reopen on his heart. He pulls Chay into a hug, and presses a kiss to his cheek, because that’s what the emotional part of his brain, the part that he’s handed control over to, decides he wants. He doesn’t think about after, not a year, not a week, not ten minutes. He thinks about Chay’s arms around his neck, and his laugh ringing in his brain, and he thinks, maybe, he’s finally found something he wants. And now, he has it.

(send me a prompt!)

[alexcabotgf]

this isn't a hot take by any means but a lot of you would be so much happier if you stopped having parasocial relationships with celebrities oh my god

[fakeoutbf]

.

[ambrosiagourmet]

I've been thinking about Laios' succubus lately. Mulling it over a bit.

Because I've seen these pages brought up a fair bit, but almost entirely in the context of shipping (on all sides, really). And I really want to understand what they are doing for the story beyond that.

When I went back to reread the scene and section, a few things caught my interest: the way Laios responds to both forms of his succubus, the themes of the volume the chapter is found in, and the other events of the chapter itself.

So let's dive into those three things, and what I think they say about the succubus scene's purpose.

Laios is never fully frozen by the succubus

So. If you compare Marcille and Chilchuck's reactions...

to Laios':

-

There is a difference. Sure, the basics may look the same once it turns into Scylla Marcille, but even then, it functions differently.

Chilchuck and Marcille are completely frozen once they catch sight of their succubus. Izutsumi, as well, isn't able to look away, and completely freezes up once her 'mom' starts talking to her. As Chilchuck describes, "just looking at them makes you unable to move."

And yet, Scylla Marcille has to actively convince Laios to comply. He even looks away from her at one point!

Laios accepts this succubus, but he is never actually helpless to it in the same way. Taken in? Convinced? Sure, at least enough to let things happen that he probably should question more than he does. But magically compelled? Not really. Not the same way as everyone else is. So that's interesting. But let's move on for now.

2. Volume 9 is all about drive and desire

I don't often look at chapters within the context of the volume they are included in, but I think there's some really fun things to be found with that perspective in mind.

For one, volume 9 starts with an exploration of what desire brought Laios to the dungeon:

And ends with a question of what desire brought Laios to the dungeon:

It's also very concerned in general with questions of why people do what they do. Why they are in the dungeon, why they are with the people they are with, why they stay, what they fight for.

In addition to Laios, we see it with Marcille...

Izutsumi

Kabru

and Mithrun

Hell, we even get it for the demon!

It's certainly not the only volume concerned with desires and motives, but it is particularly focused on these ideas.

The succubus scene fits quite well into the ongoing question about desires, especially Laios' desires. It is even placed at an interesting spot within the volume. The volume is six chapters long, and the scene takes place at the start of the 4th chapter. It's almost smack-dab in the middle.

With all this in mind, it is interesting that, with both versions of the succubus Marcille, it's not totally clear which parts of her Laios is rejecting.

The first version of Marcille looks human, but Laios attacks when he identifies her as a monster. The second Marcille looks like a monster, but he seems to believe that she is the real (human)(ish) person that he knows. So is he rejecting the monster at first, and then accepting the person? Or is he rejecting humanity and only interested in the monstrous?

Something to consider as we look at the next point...

3. the rest of the chapter is a seduction, too

This is one of those things that might not be apparent on a first reading, but is crystal clear on a revisit. We see the succubus try and charm Laios over 7 pages, and then see the Winged Lion do the same thing for the next 19.

Much like the succubus, it offers the mingling of monsters and humans. Much like the succubus, it offers belonging.

(and this is the point where I absolutely must also link this post by fumifooms on the succubus, which has some great ideas on how the scene is informed by Laios' trauma and desire for acceptance!!!)

But, back to the point. The Winged Lion wants to feed on Laios just as much as the succubus did, and it uses similar strategies to try and make that happen. Though this chapter isn't really the turning point for the next Lord of the Dungeon (it is Marcille who will, eventually, become the Lion's next victim), it certainly behaves like it is.

Laios is convinced. The succubus gets its meal. By the end of the volume, the reader begins to understand how concerning his desires are. Together, it is all very good at building up that sense of dread and pending disaster, as we see exactly how and why Laios might just fall into the Lion's open arms and bring about the end of the world.

-

So that's the three things I noticed. But there's still something I want to touch on by looking at the way these observations overlap, and what they reveal, together.

As I said, by the end of the volume, you can feel the tension growing. Just as Kabru and Mithrun do, you look back for an answer to the questions that have been built, chapter by chapter: why is Laios here? Where will his loyalties fall? This chapter, and scene, seem to prove the inevitable truth: he will choose the monster, of course. He will choose the seductive, easy power of the Winged Lion.

But the details of what actually happens tell different story: one in which the Lion is wrong.

First, as a reminder - even in Scylla Marcille mode, the succubus never fully entrances Laios. It convinces him, but it doesn't have him completely under its thrall.

Similarly, in the dream, the Lion does convince Laios to embrace the world he is offering. But even within that dream, Laios continues to ask questions that will be vital to him later. It is because of those questions that Laios comes to a new understanding about Thistle.

And it's this realization that he cites later as part of his reason for refusing the Lion's offer.

He is thinking through things the entire time, just like he continues to question the succubus even after it turns into Scylla Marcille.

Laios also expresses an interesting reason for why he wants to see the future of this world. He's not just invested because it would mean people liking what he likes, or him getting to spend time with monsters. The thought that comes immediately before his acceptance is about what he wants for monsters and people.

I don't think it's a coincidence that this statement - "we're living beings that share the same world, but all we can do is keep killing each other" - can apply to the various humans races just as much as it does to humans and monsters. The thing he is thinking about here isn't just a matter of his personal daydreams. It's an idea that underpins every conflict in the story.

Laios caring about how people as well as monsters in this manner is something that the Lion gets wrong every time. Even at the end, he still frames Laios' desires entirely around hating people and loving monsters.

The Lion has heard him express an opinion about the future of the world! It happened right there in the dream, right in front of him! He just didn't take it seriously, and didn't view it through any lens other than "Laios likes monsters more".

He's convinced that he understands how to get to Laios. Maybe the Lion can't truly see everything, or maybe his vision into everyone's deepest desires has made it hard for him to realize how much choice still matters. That people can, and do, choose which desires to act on, and how to act on them.

Whatever the case, he's wrong about Laios, and the story shows us this over and over again.

After all, look at how the succubus interaction plays out:

A monster uses Marcille to appeal to Laios...

He realizes that something about the situation is wrong, and rejects her.

It changes strategies, and makes new offer: to turn him into a monster.

It also assures him that his friends are, or will be, taken care of.

He accepts. Or rather, allows the monster to have its way with him.

But Laios is not as helpless as he initially appears, and what the Lion thinks is a successful seduction also contains the seed of an idea that will allow Laios to later resist him.

We even get to see Izutsumi playing a similar role in both instances, as the one person fully able to take action in the face to the illusion.

The story lays out what is going happen, and then explicitly tells us that the demon and the succubus are thematically related.

The chapter performs a great sleight of hand here - everything about it seems to indicate that Laios is doomed give in to the option to have his deepest desires realized. But if you look closer, it also contains the evidence that he won't. There's a lot more going on for him.

Yes, he still falls for obvious tricks. He is still extremely into monsters, and he still doesn't feel like he fits in with other people. He may, deep down, crave to surrender to the monstrous - to let it absorb him. But he questions more than he seems to. He considers more than people realize. He cares so much more than anyone gives him credit for.

And I think this is part of why we see the succubus called back to so many times, especially with the wolf head addition to his Monster Form, which he specifically added due to his encounter with the Scylla Marcille.

This all stays with Laios. It doesn't just foreshadow the path of the story, it is fundamental to how and why he walks that path. It's not about him choosing monsters, and it's not about him choosing people. It's about how he considers both, and cares about both.

And it's about the forces that think they already know his answer. Mithrun and Kabru. The Winged Lion. The succubus.

It's about how they are wrong.

[moonjxsung]

Lost in Translation

Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader

W/c: 26.5k

Warnings: accidental nudity, hospital visit, mention of masturbation, use of pet names, breast/nipple play, clitoral stimulation, unprotected sex, bulge kink, sexual asphyxiation, breeding kink, creampie, oral sex (male receiving), brief mention of pregnancy

Synopsis: The older brother of the boy you babysit is an enigma, in every sense of the word- and you’re determined to figure him out.

[this work was based off a request by @antoniorhinothethird - thank you for requesting!]

18+. Mdni!

•

The idea of babysitting isn’t some brilliant proposal you conjured up in a day- but it’s not exactly a choice, either. The idea isn’t even yours, in fact, the advertisements you published on the colorful inquiry site at your mother’s behest. But “college courses are virtual these days” and “you’ll be a mother at some point in your life,” according to her. So two months into the semester, you’ll now spend the majority of your time in a new place you’ll call home, just 30 minutes out at the Lee Household.

The Lee household is considerably larger than you’d originally anticipated it to be, spanning a sizable amount of grassland and standing nobly tall at 2 stories high. The exterior of the flashy home is surrounded by paved gravel driveways, lining the neat rows of bushels and vines that surround the off-white architectural build. Giant glass windows reflect sunlight in nearly every room of the house, with the exception of the dimly-lit library on the second floor, which flaunts colossal cherry wooden bookshelves that line the walls and cover most of the smaller windows.

“Joon is usually very mellow in the daytime,” Mrs. Lee tells you as she walks you through a tour of the garden. “You’ll only have to worry about his feeding schedules, which I’ve already written and posted on the refrigerator.”

She pivots in front of you, stopping for a moment and gesturing to the stone fountain by the rose bushes. “Do you like it? It was a gift from my husband. When he’s not running the furniture business, he works in restoration a lot. This was his first project.”

“Wow,” you say, your lips parted at the sight of the koi fish and the cascading waterfall from its lips. “It’s very beautiful.”

Mrs. Lee smiles at you in response, turning on her heel and continuing to the iron gates in the front.

“Do you have any other questions?” She asks, clasping her hands together and shooting you a saccharine smile. She’s intimating, not because of her personality, which you quickly clock as rather warm and inviting. But rather, because she’s so elegant, her navy silk dress perfectly complementing the chunky pearl earrings she wears, making her look like a character from an old film. You’re not sure you’ve ever crossed paths with such an interesting woman before.

“I think that covers everything,” you say finally, giving her a small bow. “I’ll be sure to provide updates throughout the day.”

“Oh, no need,” she says quickly. “Unless it’s an emergency, l know you’ll have your hands full doing your work while watching Joon. Feel free to just give us a little summary when we’re home for the evening.”

She shoots you a little wink when she finishes speaking, clasping her hands together again and smiling down at you.

“We’ll see you tomorrow for your first day!” She exclaims warmly, opening gate doors as you make your exit out of the garden. When you begin down the paved road, Mrs. Lee suddenly gasps, calling out to you again in a frantic manner.

“Oh! Y/n, wait please!” She calls, pulling the skirt of her dress up to her ankles to jog over to where you’re standing.

“My other son will be home from school in the afternoon tomorrow. Don’t be alarmed if you hear him moving about the house. He’ll just keep to himself.”

You ponder the words for a moment, a little frustrated when you realize there will be two kids in the household instead of one, like she’d previously mentioned. But you just nod and smile at her, seeing yourself out of the driveway once again and beginning the journey back home to prepare for your first day here tomorrow.

*

This castle-at-end-of-the-road is eerily quiet when no one’s home, a once lively sight of rose bushes and marble statues appearing like something out of a horror movie when you’re by yourself. At every corner you turn, your brain runs rampant with paranoia, placing shadowy figures and silhouettes of people where there are none- except for when you’re in the presence of Joon.

At just a year old, Joon is considered one of the cutest ages, only being able to babble incoherent noises and flail his little hands around when he wants something. His closet is full of matching neutral tones, per his mother’s styling, and his sparse black hair is combed neatly to one side.

Mrs. Lee is right about him- he doesn’t cry. Nor does he ever make a fuss, really. He simply sits quietly, in the comfort of his crib, or his high chair, and he curiously peers at the world around him. You’re certain he’s taken a liking to you already, judging at how he smiles when you spoon-feed him mashed carrots and mimic airplane noises. And he only cries briefly once in the day, stopping almost immediately when you put him down for his nap.

This may be an easier gig than you thought.

While Joon naps, you take the opportunity to get some work done in the library, settling comfortably on the velvet armchair in the corner and running through a few of your online class assignments for the week.

Although you’ll be babysitting here for the next few weeks, you’re also completing your final year at university this year, your last semester being completely remote. Which gives you time to take on the babysitting task as a side hustle, and hopefully save enough money to travel a bit after university like you’ve always dreamt of.

At half past noon, Joon is still peacefully asleep in his crib where you’ve left him, the ambient sound of waves echoing softly from his baby monitor as little snores emit from his curled lips. He looks like an angel when he sleeps, and you can’t help but feel your heart swell to twice its size at the sight of him.

The gentle breeze of the October wind travels through the open windows of the library, sending chills up your spine when you sit down to work again. You get up from where you’re sitting on the armchair to latch the windows shut, making sure to lock them, before turning around to take your seat again- quickly startled by the figure standing in the doorway.

“Jesus,” you yelp, one hand clutching your chest in fear as you nearly drop your laptop.

The figure- or man, rather, says nothing, scanning the room like he’s searching for something, before turning on his heel and exiting the room once again.

He’s tall, with a slim yet muscular build, honey tanned skin complementing his chocolate brown tresses. He’s also dressed rather casually in a pair of light-wash jeans and a black top, a black leather jacket thrown over his broad shoulders and left unzipped.

“Sorry, did you need something?” You call out, perplexed by his demeanor. You can’t remember if the Lees warned you of potential visitors, but you’re suddenly panicked for Joon, remembering you left his door open.

“Nope,” the man calls out over his shoulder, not turning around to face you. And then you see it- a black backpack, slung over one shoulder and seemingly filled to the brim with textbooks.

Their other son.

This must be the son Mrs. Lee warned you would be making appearances in the afternoon. But you had assumed him to be much younger, especially considering he’s definitely old enough to be watching over his own brother.

Before you can gather your thoughts to introduce yourself, he’s gone again, disappearing down the hall the same way he so mysteriously appeared. And you wonder, briefly, how he can be so much colder than his own mother.

*

The first day of your new job is a success. When Mrs. Lee returns home for the evening, she pays you in cash, true to her traditional style, and sends you home with a tin of shortbread cookies as another ‘thank you’, though she’s already voiced it a million times. But the second day is rougher than the first, reminding you of why babysitting isn’t always an easy task despite what it may seem.

Joon is particularly antsy today, flailing his arms around when you try to spoon feed him and whining relentlessly when you pick him up. He needs several diaper changes in just your first few hours of working, and when you finally do get him clean, he’s a crying, screaming mess.

Fortunately, he still goes down for his nap at noon, which means you have a narrow window of time to complete your work for the day and get freshened up. The windows in the library are propped wide open again, a cold breeze coming through as you settle in your new favorite spot and open your laptop.

There are a myriad of assignments to complete today, and you’re briefly panicked that you won’t be able to complete the necessary few pieces if Joon suddenly wakes again. But still, you try, skimming through textbooks and typing away as much as you can to make steady progress. And at the hour mark, Joon begins to cry. Rather he wails, loudly, from the other room, startling you when you’re already in deep concentration working through a practice quiz.

You make your way down the hallway and to the right, where Joon’s room is, approaching the crib and catching a glimpse of his anguished state. His face is a robust shade of red as he wails loudly, bubbles of saliva forming at his nostrils and his eyes squeezed shut. You guide him out of the crib and into the safety of your arms, shushing him gently and rocking him back and forth the way Mrs. Lee taught you. And Joon calms instantly, hiccuping through tears as he locks his gaze on yours and fists at strands of your hair.

“That’s okay,” you coo at him, grazing your finger along his chin and cleaning some of the drool that dribbles from the corners of his lips. “I’m here. Look at you! You’re okay,” you continue, giggling at him when his quivering lips pull into a small smile. He softens in your arms, smiling and babbling with hushed sounds, clutching tightly on strands of your hair as you balance him in your arms.

“You want to come do some work?” You ask, nodding your head as if to coax an answer out of him. “That’s a good baby, huh? Let’s go do some work.”

And you travel back to the library with Joon in your arms, giving him gentle pats on his back as you hoist him tighter into your embrace and balance your laptop with one arm.

When you’re starting on your last task of the evening, you’re interrupted again today by Mrs. Lee’s eldest son, who pokes his head in the doorway and observes as you coo down at Joon’s sleeping figure while working on your computer with one hand.

“Do you want me to take him?” You hear from the doorway, and you crane your neck to look where he’s standing, his hands shoved in his pockets and his backpack slung lazily over one arm.

“I’m okay,” you respond, typing out a word with one hand. He furrows his eyebrows at your failed attempt, approaching you and reaching out his arms to take Joon from your embrace.

“You can’t work like this,” he says, as he peacefully transfers Joon to his own arms. “He won’t wake up if I put him back, I promise.”

“Thanks,” you reply, taking note of his features now that he’s at a closer proximity to you for the first time. He has large round eyes, and long eyelashes that make even you jealous. His nose bridge is sharp and straight, and when he chuckles softly at Joon, you notice his skewed front teeth, ones that make his smile seem sweeter- softer.

As he begins out the doorway, you try to think of what to say to him, not wanting to have another awkward run-in with him like your last one. But nothing comes to mind that won’t be just as awkward as the encounter itself, and you settle on painful silence once again.

As you unlock your laptop, continuing on to your last assignment, you hear the faint noise of Mrs. Lee’s elder son putting Joon back to sleep.

Except he sounds different than he has during your two previous encounters. He’s laughing, babbling, even cooing at Joon as he puts him back to sleep. And though you really shouldn’t intrude, you make your way to the doorway again, where you peer down the hall to listen in on the endearing noises he makes.

“Are you sleepy?” He asks, his voice two octaves higher than usual. “Let’s sleep now, okay? No, you can’t have my shirt. That’s mine, remember? Let’s have good dreams now. I love you!”

You hear Joon giggling from the end of the corridor and you smile to yourself, wholly moved by the tender little moment he shares with his baby brother. He might not be his full-time caregiver, but he certainly knows what he’s doing. As you stay pondering his behavior for a moment, you don’t even notice when he exits the room again, turning to watch you standing around the doorway. Your ear is still leaned into the corridor, clearly having listened in on the private moment.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, straightening your posture, a wave of embarrassment quickly washing over you. “I was making sure Joon got to bed okay.”

He just nods once, looking you over briefly before meeting your gaze again.

“Minho,” he then practically mutters, averting your gaze as he waits for you to speak.

It’s his name, you realize, barely even having registered what he said to you. He’s telling you his name.

“Y/n,” you respond quickly, giving him a small bow and smiling nervously.

And Minho says nothing, pivoting on his heel to exit the corridor and disappear all over again.

*

For two weeks, your job runs smoothly, no glaring problems or hangups. Joon remains fond of you, obedient at mealtimes and when he’s put to bed. And the system of completing your college coursework goes smoothly, being able to get through several assignments a day while Joon takes his afternoon nap. If anything, you might be more productive than you were before this job, despite balancing it between university.

It’s an overcast Tuesday afternoon, and you’ve spent most of your day working in Joon’s nursery on the rocking chair next to his crib. He’s been a little fussy today, but you find that he calms down a little at the repetitive clicking noises of your laptop keyboard. Once you’ve confirmed he’s asleep, little snores emitting from his lips, you gather your belongings and sneak away to the library again. Only this time, it’s not vacant.

Minho sits in your usual spot today, his legs propped up on the footrest in front of him and a book in his lap. He doesn’t even notice you in the doorway, strands of hair hanging loosely in front of his face as he scans the page of his book. He also looks significantly more casual than other days you’ve seen him around, wearing a plain black t-shirt and gray sweats, a pair of round wireframe glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

He feels your gaze on him, shuffling about suddenly and closing his book.

“Sorry,” Minho says. “I was just… reading.”

He realizes how awkward he sounds, verbally conveying his actions to you like this, but he’s too caught off guard to form a more coherent string of words.

“It’s okay,” you say politely, setting your bag down on the floor and occupying the chair across from him.

“What book?” You ask, cocking your head at the small red novel he clutches in his lap.

“Hm? Oh, uh… it’s Love and Limerence. By Dorothy Tennov.”

You nod in response, studying the cherub painted on the cover, wielding a bow and arrow.

“Big romance fan?”

“No,” Minho says, chuckling at your words. “It’s a required read for my class.”

“How neat,” you reply. “What class requires romance novels these days?”

“My philosophy course,” Minho says, running the pads of his fingers over the raised text on the cover. “The psychology of emotion.”

“PHIL 105,” you say, knowing very well the course he speaks of.

“Yeah- you’ve taken it?”

“No, but I had a friend who did in freshman year. I’m in my last semester now- my remaining classes are virtual, though.”

“It’s my last semester, too,” Minho says with a little smile, fiddling with the lobe of his ear as he talks.

“Well best of luck to you in the final stretch,” you reply, shooting him a small smile back. “I hope it all goes smoothly.”

Minho gives a half nod, and then furrows his eyebrows together, like he’s just remembered something.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he says suddenly, sitting up and gathering his belongings.

“Oh, I really don’t mind-”

“Catch you later,” He interrupts with a nervous tone, almost jogging out of the library and back down the corridor.

And just like the first day you met him, you maintain the same idea of him- he’s such an enigma. Appearing in and out of the household, not one to voice his thoughts or his opinions, no eagerness to know the stranger sitting in his house watching over his baby brother. But somehow, like the rest of the household, you can’t help but have a lingering curiosity for Minho, too.

*

“My husband and I might be late getting back today,” Mrs. Lee says one morning as you feed Joon his breakfast. His tongue dodges the plastic spoon, dribbling mashed food out from the corners of his lips and laughing when you go to dab his face clean with a napkin.

“That’s alright,” you reply, loading up the spoon with more food. “I can wait until you’ve arrived.”

“You will?” Mrs. Lee asks, a kind of sparkle in her eyes as she speaks. “That would mean the world to us. It’s just that my husband has an auction to attend today. And sometimes these events run longer than they’re meant to.”

“No problem at all,” you say, smiling at her as you turn your attention back to Joon. “Joon and I will just hang out a little longer today. Isn’t that right?”

He babbles something in response, a string of saliva trailing from his lips, and Mrs. Lee laughs at the sight.

“He’s really taken a liking to you!”

As she fixes Joon’s hair, Minho enters the kitchen, dressed for the day with his backpack already slung over his shoulder.

“Minho,” his mother says in a scolding tone. “No gum for breakfast. Have a fruit.”

“Can’t,” he replies curtly. “My philosophy exam is today.”

“What does that have to do with depriving yourself of food?”

“It’s bad luck to eat before an exam,” Minho retorts, coming around the granite island to kiss her on the cheek. “Besides,” Minho continues. “I’m ditching my second class, so I’ll be home a little earlier.”

When he turns around, his gaze meets yours, and he instantly stiffens.

His gaze turns cold again, his hands shoving in his jacket pockets as he says nothing to you. He just bows, once, and then turns to exit like he’s suddenly in some rush.

“Bye,” he calls out, and you’re not even sure who he’s addressing it to at this point.

“I should get going, too,” Mrs. Lee says to you. “I’ll call you when we leave the event tonight. And please, feel free to make yourself comfortable after Joon gets put to bed. There’s cash on the table if you want to order something for dinner, and extra blankets are in the upstairs closet if you get sleepy.”

“Thank you,” you say to Mrs. Lee as she gathers her car keys and handbag. And the house is quiet again when you’re all alone, with the exception of Joon’s heavy breathing as he stares at you curiously.

“It’s like a mansion here,” you say to your best friend as you balance Joon in your arms and crane your neck on your shoulder to hold the phone against your ear. “Mrs. Lee is so nice. I thought she’d be stuck up or something, but she’s like a second mother.”

“You hit the jackpot,” your friend voices on the other end of the line. “Any idea how long they need you around?”

“Not sure,” you reply, wiping the granite counter with a rag as you finish up the dishes. “Probably until their son is done with the semester.”

“Son?” She says excitedly. “Is he cute?”

“Please,” you echo, rolling your eyes. “His looks mean nothing considering he doesn’t say a word.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. He just doesn’t talk. We go to the same university and it’s like pulling teeth trying to figure out something as simple as what his major is. I think he despises having me around.”

“I mean, to be fair, I wouldn’t love someone in my space 24/7. It’s probably a territorial thing.”

“He’s not a cat,” you respond, laughing lightly. “He’s a grown man. I just get the feeling he doesn’t like me.”

“Well I highly doubt that,” she says, and you can hear her shuffling about on her end of the line.

“Hey, I have to go,” she chimes in. “But I’ll talk to you later. Good luck with baby Joon and the cat man.”

“Thanks,” you reply, chuckling to yourself.

As you hang up the phone, you turn around to gather the last of the dishes, stopping in your tracks when you’re met with Minho himself.

He’s standing in the kitchen, popping a bubble of gum with his teeth, his gaze locked coldly on yours as he observes the place.

That’s right- he did say he would be home a bit earlier after his exam today. Was he standing there for the entirety of your conversation? You can’t recall how long the phone call lasted, or even the specifics of what you said. But you do know it certainly wasn’t good.

“Hi,” you say nervously, scanning his expression for a hint of what he’s thinking. But he provides you none, kicking off his boots and making his way up the stairs again.

The guilt is still eating away at you two hours later- Minho hasn’t descended the staircase once since the incident, and you can hardly focus on your school work at the thought of what he’s thinking of you.

Here you are, complaining about him seeming “cold” or “off”- the whole time you’re the one talking about him behind his back and stirring up drama. If he hated you before, he definitely despises you now. And if he's as close with his mother as he seemed this morning, you could be out of a job by tomorrow.

In reluctant steps, you ascend the wooden staircase, clutching a small mug of coffee and a stack of buttered toast. You remember Minho saying he’d have breakfast after his exam, a task he wasn’t able to complete due to your impolite conversation earlier. And while you’re not even sure he’s going to give you the time of day anymore, it’s worth a shot to try.

At the top of the staircase, you realize you’re unsure of which room even belongs to Minho. There are rows of doors down the corridor, which you peer into, looking for any sign of him.

A closet, another closet, the laundry room… it feels like a futile task at this point- not to mention, the sinking feeling that you’re intruding, poking into every room in the house like this.

But at the end of the hallway, just across the staircase from Joon’s room, lies one more closed door you haven’t tried yet, and you’re sure this one has to be his.

With a deep breath, you balance the mug of coffee on the plate you’re carrying, bringing your free hand up to knock, just once.

No answer.

You pause for a moment, debating whether to just leave and drop the idea of an apology altogether. But you don’t, instead forcing yourself to knock once more this time, a little harder than the first.

And after muffled sounds of shuffling about, the door finally opens again, Minho standing with a confused expression on his face. He has a pair of earphones in, one side pulled out to hear you, his glasses sat on his face and a number of textbooks on the bed behind him.

“Is Joon okay?” He asks, looking down the hall in panic as you meet his gaze.

“What? Oh! Yes, he’s fine. He’s sleeping.”

“Oh. What are you…”

“I… made you some breakfast. I know you didn’t have any before your exam this morning. And no, gum isn’t a breakfast food.” You chuckle lightly as you hold the items out to him, and Minho looks down at them, blinking a few times before speaking.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no problem. Should I leave them with you?”

“Oh, you can put them on the desk over there,” Minho replies, and it’s then that you notice his hands are full with papers. He steps aside to let you in, gesturing to the desk with a piece of paper, and you oblige, clearing the space of a few scattered items and setting down his breakfast.

When you turn around to look at the place, your lips part in awe at the sight of the grandiosity of it. Minho’s room has bigger windows than any of the others you’ve seen, concave around a crescent-shaped seating area that boasts tall ceilings and large glass windows. There are books lining the floors, the desk space and even the window sills, many of them left bookmarked or lying open where they sit.

His giant wooden bed frame is almost hidden behind a hanging curtain, and his desk is nearly inhabitable at the amount of university paraphernalia that lives on its surface.

“Wow,” you say, craning your neck to look around the room. “It’s really nice in here.”

“Thanks,” Minho says awkwardly, toying with a loose hem on his pants.

“You really like reading,” you comment, taking note of the books he has lying around. When you say this, Minho seems to stiffen a bit, shutting some of the books and lining them on their spines along his shelves.

“Yeah,” he mutters, dropping a few books and kicking them away from him.

You nod at him, pursing your lips, well aware that you’re in the midst of yet another awkward interaction with him, but wanting to fulfill the reason you came up here all the same.

“Listen,” you begin. “I wanted to apologize. I don’t know how much you heard of that, but I assume it was enough to be hurt by it. And you’re justified in being hurt. It was totally uncalled for of me to say those things- and sure, you might be a quiet person. But that doesn’t make it okay for me to go around airing it out like it’s my business. In fact I shouldn’t even be on my phone on the job. I’m here to watch your brother, and I get paid for that service, and it’s completely unprofessional-”

“It’s cool,” Minho says, an unchanging expression on his face.

“Oh, um… I mean, if you want to fire me I totally understand.”

Minho chuckles softly, and then shakes his head. “I’m not going to fire you. I am quiet. It’s cool. Really.”

“I mean, I totally get that-”

“Unless you want to be fired?” He inquires with a half-smile, and you chuckle softly in response.

“I really don’t. I love watching your brother.”

“Good,” he replies. “Then we’re all good.”

And although you want to say something else to him, you don’t, feeling as though you should be satisfied with the state of the conversation. You apologized, he forgave you, and you haven’t lost your job. And he’s still quiet, but that’s just who he is.

When Joon wakes from his afternoon nap, it’s nearly 3pm. He’s a crying mess when he’s up again, flailing his arms around to beg for a bottle, which you promptly prepare for him after a diaper change.

With Joon in your arms, you get some chores around the house finished, including vacuuming the rugs, dusting off the furniture and tidying Joon’s toys that are usually scattered about his nursery.

Doing chores wasn’t an agreement between you and Mrs. Lee- in fact, she usually urges you to focus on your schoolwork and take breaks when you’re not caring for Joon. But you want to, feeling compelled to take care of the space as much as you care for Joon. Although tensions are still somewhat present between you and Minho, the Lee household feels comfortable to you by this point, almost like a second home now.

After chores, the library calls out to you again, evening beginning to fall over the neighborhood and painting the sky with vibrant hues of an autumnal sunset.

The windows are still rolled open from earlier, and your velvet couch looks particularly inviting at this hour, beams of sunset setting it aglow and luring you to choose a book from the cherry wood shelves around you.

So you do, selecting a children’s book about animals, comfortably sprawling out on the chair with Joon in your arms. He eyes the book curiously, spreading his short, chubby fingers over the cover and tapping repeatedly, as if asking you to read to him.

And you do, setting the book on your knee to angle the pages toward him, as you begin to vocalize the choppy sentences to him.

“A is for apple, hanging from a tree,” you say, caressing his stubby fingers as he pouts in focus. “B is for buzzing bumblebee.”

Joon’s lips curl into a smile, making his best attempt to clap as you point out the colorful images to him.

“C is for crab, walking in the sand… D is for dolphin, swimming toward the land!”

Joon laughs hysterically now, clapping his little hands and rocking back and forth in your lap. You laugh, too, at his darling reaction, and give him a little kiss on the head as he fiddles with the cover of the book.

It’s moments like this that reaffirm the notion for you that this job was the right idea, after all. You’re inexplicably happy alongside him like this, seeing the world through his eyes and rediscovering things you would otherwise take for granted, like silly picture books or doing chores with him in your arms. You feel so protective of him, eager to make his mom proud and provide a safe, nurturing environment for him as his babysitter- not because you’re paid to do it, but because he now holds a special place in your heart.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles you from the doorway, and you look up to find Minho standing there, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

“Did you… want something to eat? I was going to order takeout, unless you wanted something else.”

“Sure,” you reply, propping Joon up a little closer to your chest. “Anything’s fine with me.”

“I’ll get Chinese, then,” Minho says nodding. He averts your gaze a little, but you can tell he’s just a little awkward when he’s face-to-face with you like this. And perhaps your best friend is right- perhaps it’s not unusual of him to feel territorial over his household. After all, you are here almost every hour of the day, making yourself comfortable in almost every room, tending to the chores here and eating food from their kitchen. You suppose you would be irritated at the thought of it, too.

As Minho leaves to place an order, you take Joon back to the nursery, where you gently put him to sleep for the evening and program his baby monitor to play calm ocean noises again. It’s like clockwork- he’s out like a light, and the minute he leaves your arms, you’re exhausted, too. The stress of watching over him while balancing your school work might finally be getting to you now- you’re undoubtedly tired, your limbs aching from sauntering about this big house all day with Joon in your arms. And although you’re on a good track, you can hardly remember which assignment pertains to each of your classes these days.

When Minho returns almost an hour later, he holds a thin plastic bag in hand, his other one clutching a fistful of cutlery and two plates. He gives you a small nod when he enters the library, and you put away your laptop to join him on the floor in front of the coffee table.

For a moment, he says nothing as he prepares a plate for you, sliding a cup of wonton soup toward you and dividing portions of chow mein and tofu with wooden chopsticks.

You watch as he breaks a spring roll in half, holding both sides up and comparing to make sure they’re even.

“You’re very precise,” you say with a soft laugh, and a breathy chuckle emits from his lips, too.

“I’m trying to make sure it’s even.”

“However you cut it is fine,” you respond, pleasantly surprised at how polite he is.

When he’s finished dividing your portions, he slides a plate to you, setting a plastic fork down on the napkin beside you and ushering to the food.

“Enjoy,” he says, shooting you a small smile.

And the two of you eat in silence, the room quiet, aside from the sounds of slurping soup present between you two. Although it’s quiet, it feels comfortable, having him keep you company like this. It’s a change of pace from your usual days babysitting in the Lee household.

“How is your school work?” Minho interrupts your thoughts, and you’re momentarily taken aback by him initiating the conversation first.

“It’s good,” you respond, poking at the vegetables on your plate with a chopstick. “It’s on my own time, so I mostly just have to make sure I’m staying on track. But I’m finding it easy to get through despite watching Joon in the daytime.”

Minho nods in response, keeping his gaze set on the bowl of soup in front of him.

“How did your exam go?” you ask, and Minho cocks his head a little. “I got full marks,” he responds after a moment of silence.

“That’s great! I guess you were right about skipping breakfast having something to do with your academic success, then.”

And Minho laughs for the first time- not a chuckle or a giggle, but a laugh, holding one hand up to his mouth as he does. His laugh is gentle and melodic, filling the room around him with its sound, and you can’t help but laugh, too.

“I suppose,” he responds. “I also go nowhere without those philosophy books, so I have them memorized like the back of my hand.”

“Philosophy major?” you voice back, and Minho nods.

“So Love and Limerence is like second nature to you at this point.”

Minho gets a little awkward at this, his smile fading a little as he pokes around his chow mein. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “You could say that.”

And fearing you’ve somehow offended him, you change the subject again.

“Well I’m a business major,” you chime in. “So we don’t get interesting reads at all. And I’m not lugging around a six-pound textbook about returns on investments in my backpack.”

He laughs again, and you feel satisfied at the motion. Making him laugh feels like an exciting feat, like you’ve succeeded at something after trying so hard to. And considering how hard you’ve been trying to break down his walls these days, maybe it is an exciting feat, getting to know the stranger you’ve been sharing a home with for one month now.

“Business is a great field,” Minho says, slurping down the remainder of his soup. “Your parents must be really proud of the direction you’re headed.”

You shrug in response. “They’re indifferent. I don’t have a great relationship with them. They mostly just want me out of their hair once I graduate.”

“You have any post-college plans?” Minho inquires.

“I finished an internship before this whole babysitting gig, actually. I want to travel a bit after graduation, and then I’ll really settle down for the whole 9-5 working life.”

“Where are you hoping to travel to?”

There’s a glint in Minho’s eyes as he presses you for answers, like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. It makes you feel all warm inside- not many people usually care what you’re up to these days, your family trying their hardest to send you away to work another job and your most of your friends having drifted apart when you began university. Even the friends you do have are more distant these days, considering their classes are still in person, and you don’t have a need to be back on campus anymore. It’s a bit of a lonely life you lead, so being here beside Minho feels different, but pleasant.

“I’m not sure,” you say with a smile. “I’m not really sure where I belong yet.”

“Hey, I don’t know where I belong, either,” Minho echoes. “So that makes two of us.”

When the two of you are finished with dinner, Minho takes your plates downstairs, despite you offering, and you’re briefly left alone in the library. It’s much later than usual now, nearing 9:00, when you’re usually home by 7. The house also has a different vibe to it this hour, many of the rooms feeling much dimmer despite the same lamps being on, and the corridors feeling much quieter and more haunting. You feel a wave of sleepiness wash over you, and though you don’t want to be asleep when Mrs. Lee arrives, you can’t help but shut your eyes for a few minutes. You can still make out the shape of the bookshelves behind your heavy eyelashes, trying your best not to close your eyes completely, but your mind has already wandered off to slumber, and inevitably, your body follows shortly after.

You’re somewhere between sleep and consciousness when you feel Minho enter the room once again, looming over you like he wants to ask you something. But he says nothing- instead, he unfolds a knit blanket above you, sprawling it out over your legs and pulling it up to your torso. And you hadn’t realized how cold you were before he did, because you’re almost instantly with a wave of warmth and comfort over your listless body.

It feels almost uncharacteristic or Minho to carry out an action this polite- but as he takes his seat across from you, watching as you doze off peacefully, you think he may finally be coming around to you.

*

“I’m ditching my second class again today,” Minho announces the next morning at breakfast. He doesn’t eat much, you notice, as he bites into a single apple and hoists his backpack further up his shoulders.

“I’ll be home a bit earlier,” he then continues, eyeing you a little, and you give him a little nod.

“Then help with lunch,” Mrs. Lee says, gathering her own briefcase for work. “Y/n shouldn’t do it all by herself when you’re here.”

“Oh, it’s no worry at all,” you quickly chime in, not wanting to be the reason Minho refutes his mother’s words. “It’s what I’m here to do, after all.”

“No worries,” Minho says back to you. “I’ll be home around noon and we can prepare something together.”

For some reason, your heart flutters a little at the implication of doing something alongside Minho- something so planned and seemingly intimate. You normally just take the days as they come, so having a commitment hanging over your head like this is a little nerve-racking. And in all your worrying, you don’t respond to Minho, realizing only as he’s exiting the house with his apple in hand.

“I might be late again today,” Mrs. Lee turns to you, snapping you out of your trance. “But Minho can stay for the remainder of the time. I’ll still pay you the full amount like I did yesterday-”

“I’m happy to stay again,” you reply to her. “Like I said, it’s what I’m here to do.”

She smiles in return, clasping her hands and gesturing to the food on the table.

“I can’t get Minho to eat for the life of me, but help yourself to whatever you’d like. And thank you again, for staying.”

You’re reading to Joon in the living room when Minho arrives home from school. He kicks off his shoes dramatically, tossing his bag on the floor and breathing out a heavy sigh while you thumb through the pages of a new picture book.

“Hi,” Minho says first, his expression remaining stoic and unchanging.

“Hey,” you reply, hoisting Joon a little further up in your arms. “How was school?”

“Terrible,” he responds, making his way around the granite island to collect another apple.

“Why’s that?”

“Professor Kim,” he says curtly, polishing the apple on his button down shirt before taking a generous bite. “A three hour lecture on a Friday really wasn’t a smart choice. ”

You chuckle a little to yourself, adjusting your position on the floor and trying to balance Joon in your embrace. Minho takes notice of your struggle, abandoning his apple on the counter to come take Joon from your arms.

“Thanks,” you say, dusting off your legs as you stand again. “I’m going to get started on something for Joon to eat if you want to wait around. Unless you’re sticking to this exclusively-apple diet.”

Minho chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “I’ll help. We don’t have much prepared right now and I really need to go grocery shopping.” He secures Joon in his high chair, cocking his head toward the fridge.

“Could you just grab his orange juice? It should be the blue bottle on the right.”

And you comply with his request, promptly locating the blue sippy cup and handing it to Minho.

“Thank you,” he says, setting it down on the white tray in front of Joon and twisting it open. “This should be enough to hold him off until we can whip something up with the few ingredients we have. I want to do something with those sweet potatoes, they’re reaching the end of their time.”

Joon is a little fussy as he reaches for his sippy cup, flailing his arms around and sliding the cup across the tray to the edge. The cap seems to loosen as he does, tilting dangerously to one side.

“I got it,” you say to Minho, as you approach Joon. You retrieve the cup from the edge of the tray, twisting off the cap again to secure it properly. And as you do, Joon lets out a particularly loud yelp, knocking his hand toward you and letting the bottle fall off the tray entirely.

As you realize what’s happening, you bring two hands up to push it away from you, but you’re too late- the entirety of the bottle’s contents are spilt onto your shirt, completely soaking you and dripping onto the floor with loud, wet noises.

Minho doesn’t see what happened, but he turns around at the sound of your loud gasp, his eyes widening at the sight of you. Even your hair’s gotten wet, stringy pieces falling into your face, damp with the tangy scent of orange juice and dripping down your shirt. His mind races with guilty thoughts, feeling as though he should have stayed watching Joon, being the one to have been caught in the crossfire of his tantrum instead. Joon’s always fussy before meals- he knows this very well. As his mind races with the urgency to grab a towel, a rag- something, his eyes graze to your t-shirt, and he practically freezes.

Your thin white t-shirt is soaked like the rest of you, painting a clear outline of your black bra as the cold contents drip down your chest and torso. The see-through fabric sticks to your body like a cellophane wrapping, outlining every inch of you, every curve and every raised goosebump as you shudder at the sensation. Minho’s eyes remain locked on your dampened breasts for an embarrassing amount of time, taking careful note of the way your hardened nipples practically protrude through the thin white fabric, almost appearing increasingly noticeable with every passing second. The delicate curves of your stomach are accentuated with your skin-tight shirt, even your navel now visible.

A shake of your hands finally snaps him out of his trance, and you wrap your arms around yourself in a futile effort to cover yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you utter to him, at a loss for words at the notion of being so exposed to him. And Minho is quick to shake his head, now scrambling for a towel.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, pulling a towel off the oven handle and sliding it to you. “Here, use this and I’ll go get a larger towel from upstairs and a change of clothes.”

You want to deny the offer, feeling shameful for having already intruded this much on the Lee household and still needing more from them. But as you look down at your t-shirt, you know you don’t have a choice, the fabric now feeling cold and uncomfortable as it sticks to your flesh.

“Thanks,” you say to him, giving a small nod and not moving your hands from your chest.

And Minho retreats upstairs quickly, trying his best to avert his gaze as you remain in the kitchen.

As Joon babbles incoherently next to you, you can’t help but feel stupid, a sense of shame and embarrassment replacing the excitement you had to be preparing lunch alongside Minho for the afternoon. You’re in disbelief he’s practically seen you half naked like this, and you feel inadequate at not being able to stop Joon from committing the incident in the first place. As you run your hands up and down the raised goosebumps on your arms, you do your best to hold back tears, hoping Minho won’t think less of you for being caught in such a humiliating accident.

Minho is gone for a little while, and you blot at the wet patches on your shirt as you wait, Joon now laughing at your messy state. You can’t help but laugh a little, too, admittedly amused at what a disaster the afternoon has been- and you haven’t even begun the cooking part of it yet.

When he returns, he tosses you a large white bath towel and a gray t-shirt, still keeping his gaze on the floor instead of on yours.

“Here,” he says simply, his veiny arm scratching the back of his head. “I can also get a sweater if you’re cold.”

As you observe the t-shirt, you realize it’s one of his, not one of Mrs. Lee’s. For some reason, you’d assumed Minho would opt for a woman’s clothes as your change, but the t-shirt has clearly been pulled from his closet, and you blush a little at the idea of wearing his clothes.

“This is fine,” you reply, wrapping the bath towel around your body and excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You peel the sticky clothes off your body, crumpling them into a pile and changing into Minho’s t-shirt. It’s a bit large on you, but it’s much more comfortable, hanging loosely off your body and covering every bit of you that was previously exposed. His shirt smells like him, too, a pleasant scent of laundry detergent and his musky cologne.

When you exit the bathroom, you gesture to the change of clothes, your wet crumpled clothes balled in your hand. “I kinda look like you now,” you say, and Minho chuckles.

“You can keep it,” he responds, giving you another once-over and nodding shyly. “It looks better on you, anyway.”

He holds his hand out to you for the wet clothes, which he kindly takes from you to put in the wash. As he does, you go to the fridge to retrieve more orange juice for Joon- except there is none. You desperately search for milk, orange juice- any form of a snack that will keep him busy until his mealtime. But the kitchen is void of anything he can consume, and you begin to panic a little, knowing Joon hasn’t eaten in a good while now.

“That was the last of his orange juice,” you say to Minho when he returns. “And there’s not much else for him to snack on.”

Minho searches the kitchen too, digging through cabinets and moving around jars in the fridge to check for expiration dates. But he quickly realizes you’re right- the fridge is even more sparse than he’d assumed it to be.

“I guess we’ll have to make a trip to the store, then. How do you feel about strapping him into a car seat?”

“I’ve never done it,” you reply nervously.

“I can show you,” Minho says, grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter and spinning them around his index finger. “We can do it together.”

*

The nearest grocery store is just 20 minutes out from the Lee household. Minho drives a fancy black SUV, and he guides you through how to strap Joon into his car seat, which you carry out with no issues. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the center console as you chat with him about your university courses. For the first time, you notice how Minho seems much more comfortable around you now, cracking jokes occasionally and smiling at your stories about your afternoons alone with Joon. When Joon chimes in from the back seat with his excited babbling, you and Minho babble equally in response, sharing laughter at the ridiculous exchanges among the three of you.

You opt to carry Joon inside the grocery store while Minho walks alongside you, checking off a list he routinely uses to stock up on all of Joon’s favorite foods. And the atmosphere around you is homely, instilling the same sense of comfort in you as your afternoons alone with Joon. One that reminds you why you’re doing this job in the first place- you feel respected here, like your efforts don’t go unnoticed, and like you belong. It fills the lonely void inside of you with the sounds of Joon’s laughter, Minho’s tales of his classes and the trivial tasks of grocery store runs and learning to maneuver a baby car seat.

“I think that’s it,” Minho says as he checks the list one last time. “Milk, juice, bread…” he reads the items one by one again, and then nods affirmatively when he’s ensured they’re in the basket.

“That’s it,” he repeats, shooting you a small smile. “Let’s go pay.”

An older cashier gestures you to her lane at the registers, beginning to scan your items as Minho places them down on the conveyor belt. And then she gives a little wave to Joon, who curiously stares back at her.

“What a beautiful baby,” she says, pausing from scanning with a jar of mashed carrots in her hand.

Joon smiles in response, a trickle of drool escaping his lips.

“And what a beautiful family,” she continues, looking back and forth between you and Minho. “It’s not easy being young parents, but I can tell the two of you are doing a fine job at it.”

“Oh,” you say, chuckling lightly. “We’re not-”

“Thank you,” Minho interrupts, placing an arm around your waist and pulling you a little closer to him.

“We don’t get told that very often.”

You almost freeze at the contact, butterflies erupting in your stomach as he keeps his hand on the small of your back. This woman thinks the two of you are a couple- and worse, Minho is playing along with it. You can’t figure out why he’d entertain such a blatant lie, but you don’t interrupt him either, curious to see where he’s taking this little bit.

“People can be so unfair,” the cashier replies, shaking her head. “As long as the child is cared for, your status shouldn’t matter.”

“Exactly,” Minho replies, throwing his hand in the air like she’s making a point that pertains to him. “You know, when we got married, everyone told us it would never work. And now look at us- our child just turned 1 and we’re already making plans for a second honeymoon.”

“That’s amazing!” The woman says, clasping her hand over her heart like she’s touched by the bogus story.

“It is, isn’t it honey?” Minho says, turning to you.

Thoughts swirl your mind about this performance he’s putting on, but you’re undoubtedly entertained by the whole thing, stifling laughter as you nod in response.

“It is amazing,” you say finally. “We eloped and had a shotgun wedding- booked it to Italy right after and now we’re thinking of taking the little one to Paris for a real ceremony.”

The older woman removes her glasses now, wiping her eyes and shaking her head in disbelief. You can’t help but feel bad for her, seeing how easily she’s falling for your blatant lies, but Minho shows no remorse, grinning ear to ear and keeping his hand on the small of your back.

“Well I’ll tell you what,” the woman says, putting her glasses back on and shifting her eyes around the store.

“Since you guys just made my day, I’m going to provide you with our senior discount. It’s not everyday I see a young couple so beautiful raising such a darling little child.”

“Oh, you really don’t-” you start to say, and Minho interrupts you before you can finish.

“That would mean the world to us,” he says in an exaggerated voice, giving the cashier a little bow. “It would help us out a ton.”

You want to protest, to slap Minho in his pretty little face and ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing lying for a discount like this, but you’re afraid the cashier will see right through your whole stunt and reprimand both of you. So you just nod and let Minho take the lead again.

“Thank you,” you echo back to her,” holding Joon’s stubby little fingers as the woman types a lengthy code into the computer.

And Minho smiles at you, shooting you a little wink as he gathers boxes of cereal and jars of food in his arms.

“What was that?” You practically yell as you exit the store, balancing Joon in one arm and a bag of groceries in another. “You totally lied to her.”

“I didn’t lie,” Minho says. “I told her a different reality.”

“That is literally what a lie is,” you echo back to him, securing Joon in his car seat and lining grocery bags on the floor. Minho slides into the driver's seat again, putting his keys in the ignition but not yet starting the car as he waits for you to get in, too.

“I mean, that was like a 10% discount,” you continue, huffing frustratedly as you wait for him to speak. “How is that worth telling someone a whole list of lies?”

“You know, there’s this really cool theory called the anthropic principle,” Minho begins, looking straight ahead through the windshield. “Suggests the existence of a multitude of universes.”

“What?”

“So,” he continues. “Philosophically speaking, maybe in one of those we're married, and we have a child, and our honeymoon was in Italy.”

You stay quiet for a moment, pondering his words, completely unsure of if he’s flirting with you or teasing you right now.

“And maybe,” he chimes in again. “In one of them, we robbed the store and killed the cashier. And in another, we don’t even know each other.”

“What are you getting at?” You say, narrowing your eyes in confusion.

“It’s not lying,” Minho says with a smile as he finally starts up the car. “We just told her about a different reality.”

“So it’s lying,” you say with a smile, unable to hold back the giggle that escapes your lips.

“A little,” he finally says. “But it was fun, right?”

And you start to say no, but you can’t get the words out, aware you’ll be lying twice today if you do.

Minho takes your silence as confirmation, a grin plastered on his face as he rests one arm behind your headrest to pull out of the parking lot. And you can’t help but smile, too, the spontaneous thrill of lying to the cashier admittedly being some of the most fun you’ve had all week. And the conclusion stands- Minho’s a little odd. But he’s great company.

*

Mrs. Lee is late again tonight, the second hand on the clock ticking in slow intervals as it nears 10pm. You yawn for the umpteenth time tonight, exhausted from having done so much today, wanting nothing more than to sleep in the comfort of your own bed at home and mentally recharge for another day of this tomorrow. But you’ve promised to wait for her, always eager to wait it out until the last second, because Mrs. Lee always expresses her sincerest gratitude when you wait for her.

“Sorry, she’s really late today,” Minho says as he lowers the volume on the television. You completed a few more chores around the house after dinner while Minho powered through his schoolwork, putting Joon to bed before settling on the sofa and watching old cartoon reruns. Now you’ve been in and out of sleep for the better part of an hour, Minho remaining close by watching infomercials again, peering at your tired figure and feeling guilty that you’ve been here so long.

“It’s okay,” you reply quietly, letting out another yawn. You cross your arms over yourself, still dressed comfortably in Minho’s t-shirt, and do your best to keep your gaze on the television.

Tonight Minho is stuck on an infomercial for artificial plants, the dull narration lulling you to sleep even further as he checks the time on his watch and glances nervously at the front door.

Minho cranes his neck at your figure again, not missing the way gray bags hang heavy below your eyes, your lashes half-lidded as you feign sleep and force your gaze onto the infomercial.

“Don���t you have an early exam tomorrow?” You say to Minho, another yawn escaping your lips as you speak. “Don’t wait up on my account. You should get some sleep.”

Minho shuts off the television, standing up from where he’s sitting and dusting off his pants.

“I’ll take you home,” he announces, fishing around on the table for his car keys.

“It’s okay,” you reply, not wanting to inconvenience him anymore than you already have today. “I can walk to the bus stop.”

“You’re not walking,” Minho retorts, scoffing as you sit up and rub your tired eyes with the back of your hand. “It’s pitch black outside.”

“It’s fine,” you say, gathering your book bag and rushing to put your shoes on. It’s a race between the two of you now, Minho scrambling to locate his car keys while you get ready to leave for the evening.

“It’s really not a problem- where are my keys?” Minho mutters to himself, patting the pockets on his jacket and rearranging stacks of papers on the coffee table.

“I’m fine, really.”

“No, I’ll drive you,” Minho says, still tossing aside the mess he’s made to locate his keys.

“I’ll walk,” you reiterate again, and Minho finally exhales frustratedly.

“Then I’ll walk with you,” he finally announces, ditching the car keys altogether and stopping to look at you. He looks tired, too, evident bags under his eyes and his hair tousled from running his hands through it frustratedly.

“Minho, I really don’t want to burden you-”

“It’s not a burden.”

As he speaks, you hear Joon’s baby monitor alerting you that he’s awake for the evening, wailing loudly when he realizes that he’s alone. It’s perfect timing, too, Minho already having planned to wake him up so he can walk you back.

“Wait here,” Minho says to you as he begins toward the stairs. “I’ll get his harness.”

The dim street lights illuminate the dark paved roads, a crisp chill in the air as you walk alongside Minho with your hands in your pockets.

Joon sits comfortably in his harness against Minho’s chest, curiously taking in the atmosphere around him as you walk in silence to your bus stop. It’s not a long walk, only 20 minutes from Minho’s, but you feel admittedly much safer with Minho by your side, his and Joon’s presence feeling homely even at this hour. For nearly the entirety of the walk, the two of you say nothing, too tired to engage in conversation, but still comfortable in the presence of each other, and not needing to say anything. Joon babbles saliva every now and then, Minho bringing a finger up to wipe his chin, and the only other sounds are that of crickets and the gentle sway of the trees.

“This is me,” you say to Minho when you reach the familiar blue bench of your stop.

You sit on one side of the bench, slinging your book bag over beside you and crossing your legs. And to your surprise, Minho occupies the other side, one hand resting gently on the back of Joon’s head while the other pats his back gently.

“You don’t have to wait,” you tell Minho quickly, and he just shakes his head silently in response.

The silence between you remains, Joon toying with the collar of Minho’s shirt as you wait for the bus. There’s so much you want to ask Minho, so much you still want to find out from him. You’re well aware that you haven’t quite figured him out yet, but you’re undoubtedly sure that he is a nice guy, after all. From lending you his t-shirt, waiting up for you on late nights, even walking you to your bus stop and waiting for the bus with you. You think briefly back to his little joke at the grocery store, smiling to yourself when you remember he’d chosen to pretend you were a married couple for no other reason than to make you laugh after having had such a rough day. And his innate fascination with looking at everything through a philosophical lens, the passion for his favorite subject so robustly present wherever he goes.

“What’s that theory again?” You ask Minho as your thoughts verbalize amidst the silence.

“Hm?”

“The one about the universe.”

“The anthropic principle?” He questions, and you hum in response.

“Yeah, that one. Do you think there are like, a million versions of us right now, just…sitting here?”

“Sure,” Minho replies. “But the conditions would have to be just right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the theory states that conditions have to be just right for us to coexist in the universe we’re in right now. It’s sort of like a coincidence that this one evolved so that we could thrive in it. So there might be other versions of us, just not as definitive. We might be rocks, or bugs. Or maybe there’s a more advanced version, where we’re still on our honeymoon in Italy.”

“Or the one where we killed that cashier,” you chime in.

“Exactly,” Minho replies, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You ponder his words for a moment.

“Do they all follow the same timeline?” You ask him.

“What do you mean?”

“Do they all last forever? What if we got divorced? Would we part ways in every universe?”

Minho stays quiet for a moment, thinking back to the philosophical theories tucked in the back of his mind.

“I don’t know,” he finally replies. “I’d like to think some versions have a happy ending, but maybe some of them don’t.”

As silence falls over you again, your bus finally turns the corner, making its way down the street toward your stop.

“That’s me,” you say, getting up and gathering your belongings again.

Minho stands up, too, saying nothing as the bus finally halts in front of you, the brakes screeching to a stop with the loud exhaust of the doors as they open.

“Thanks,” you say to Minho before getting on. “For walking me.”

“It’s no problem,” he replies, shooting you a tired smile.

Minho watches as you board the bus, taking your seat toward the back. He scans the aisles momentarily, making sure you’re sat somewhere safe, away from anyone he might deem sketchy at this hour. And when he feels confident you’ll make it home okay, he brings Joon’s hand up in front of him, giving you a little wave as he watches you smile back through the tinted windows, sending him off with a wave back.

*

From then on, things shift between the two of you. Minho is a constant, always offering to walk you home on late nights to engage in discussions about your university work or his favorite theories. When he’s home early from his classes, the two of you enjoy cooking for Joon together, making trips to the grocery store where the cashiers are now fully convinced you’re a married couple. On late nights, the two of you often engage in lighthearted philosophical debates while you wait for Mrs. Lee to get home for the evening. When he’s walking you home for the night, doing homework alongside you or just passing by, Minho indulges you in all his favorite philosophical questions, and you entertain them, using the opportunity to get a better glimpse into his mind and how he thinks.

It’s exactly this that tears down Minho’s walls, you find- he, in all his philosophically-educated glory, sharing his perspective while you poke holes in his arguments and reach a conclusion together. Sometimes you’ll reach a stalemate, the argument fizzling out with no clear answer. And sometimes he can change your mind almost instantly, the arguments leaving his lips like second nature, always quick to persuade you in the opposite direction and provide clear reasoning. He’s very skilled at his work, and you quickly realize why he’s so passionate about philosophy in the first place.

It’s not something Minho’s used to yet- having a companion like this, one who actually cares about anything he has to say. Someone to come home to, somebody to bask in the simplicities of life with and affirm that he’s not completely incapable of making real human connections. And admittedly, maybe he loves playing house with you, coming home to your home-cooked meals and caring for the baby together.

Maybe this version of the universe deems you a babysitter, and he, just an outcast. But sometimes Minho swears he can see different versions where you’re so much more than that to each other.

In late November, you take your first week off, leaving on a small family trip to a city just a few hours out to go see extended family.

You tell Minho of your little excursion the week prior, and he pretends to be disheartened, but you know deep down he must be relieved to have some space to himself again. Of course you’re not able to watch Joon, and Mrs. Lee has a friend watch him in your absence, but you’re surprised at how much you miss the Lee household when you’re not there. The trip to the city is filled with repetitive questions from family about your major, your internship, your potential salary in an entry-level position and general university questions. And yet all you catch yourself thinking about is Joon, and Mrs. Lee and especially Minho.

You wonder what he’s doing in the comfort of his grand room all by himself, surrounded by books and tall windows. Minho once told you that he can go a whole day without talking when he’s not having philosophical debates with you over coffee. You wonder if he’s talked today, or if he attended his classes or how his exam on Tuesday went. Thoughts of him plague your mind every waking second- whether Minho would like a certain food, if Minho would agree with this statement, even what the people around you would think if you dragged him along and played house with him like you do back home. In this version of the universe, maybe he’s reading a book or watching a movie, but in another, he could be right here, telling his string of lies to your extended family.

On the last day of your family vacation, you find yourself in an old bookstore, and all you can think about is Minho. He’d love it here, you think, grazing your fingertips along the old cracked spines and yellowing pages. And as you scan through the philosophy section, several of the books already piquing your interest, you spot it.

The small familiar crimson book, just barely larger than your hand, delicate to the touch and painted with the same Cupid depiction as the one you know so well. A first edition copy of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence. You can’t help but smile to yourself, scanning the book’s contents briefly before closing it again and bringing it up to the counter. It’s not like you’re trying to worsen this little developing crush you have on Minho, but he seems to be everywhere you go- and candidly, you just want to have him figured out.

*

When you return to the Lee household from your vacation, the atmosphere is calm, sunbeams shining through the large glass windows and illuminating the house with a romantic glow. Joon eats his breakfast well, downing his orange juice and causing you little trouble throughout the day. And Minho arrives just after 3, his backpack slung over his shoulder and a book in hand.

Your heart beats erratically to see him again, trying your best to avert his gaze as he enters through the front door and kicks off his shoes. When he makes his way through the kitchen, you attempt to look busy, wiping down the counters with a kitchen rag and balancing Joon in your arms.

“Hi,” Minho says, a little shyly as you keep your eyesight on the granite counter below you.

“Hey,” you respond, pretending like you hadn’t noticed him enter the room, when in reality, you’ve been well aware of his arrival since he parked his car out front.

“How was your trip?” Minho asks, setting down his backpack and loosening the collar of his sweater.

He’s dressed for the chilly weather outside, a simple black knit sweater paired with blue jeans.

“It was good,” you reply, folding the rag with one hand and setting it aside. “I kinda missed it here.”

Minho smiles at you nervously, toying with the hem of his sweater as he hears you speak.

“It was pretty quiet without you here. I think Joon missed you.”

“Did he?” You question excitedly, poking at Joon with your finger and cooing at him. “Is that right? You missed me?” And Joon giggles excitedly, smiling between the two of you.

When the room falls quiet again, Minho clears his throat like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, instead keeping his gaze fixed on yours. The room is teeming with awkward tension between the two of you, two hearts clouded in desire to act on this conflicting emotion of fleeting lust and a mutual understanding of each other, but neither one of you say anything, letting it die with your silence and circle your minds aimlessly again.

“I got you something,” you say suddenly, and Minho’s heart quickens a little.

“Me?” He questions, pointing to himself as if you need clarity of who he speaks of.

“Yes, you. It’s in my bag upstairs.”

And you begin your ascent to the staircase, motioning for Minho to follow you as you bring Joon with you.

“Close your eyes,” you tell Minho when you‘ve entered the library again.

“Should I be scared?” He asks, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

“Close them!” You exclaim, and he finally puts his hands out in front of him, shutting his eyes, a big grin plastered on his face. You place the book in Minho’s palms gently, making sure to position it so that the cover is facing him properly.

“Now open.”

When Minho opens his eyes again, he doesn’t even need to read the words before knowing what it is. He’s immediately familiar with the first edition of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence he holds in his hands, uniquely characterized by the contrasting art style to his, and the much older, yellowing pages.

“My book,” Minho says, biting his lip as he holds back a bigger smile, one that will most definitely point to the incriminating fact that he’s smitten.

“Your book,” you echo, leaning on the wall across from him. “It’s a first edition. The bookkeeper said they’re pretty rare to come by.”

“You didn’t have to-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, fixing Joon’s hair and averting Minho’s gaze. You’re afraid if you make eye contact with him, this whole nonchalant front will crumble down in front of you, because you’re embarrassingly smitten with him, too.

“Thank you,” Minho says, thumbing the raised gold-foiled cover outline of Cupid. “I’ll go put it with the rest of them.”

And he disappears down the corridor, his book tucked in the endeared clutch of his hands.

While Minho adds his book to the rest of his collection, you put Joon down for his nap, gently placing him on the soft blanket in his crib and adjusting the baby monitor. He blinks up at you a few times, his lips pulling into a shaky smile as his lashes finally flutter shut and a wave of sleepiness washes over him. You exit the room quietly, closing the door just halfway like you always do, and then make your way down the corridor to Minho’s room. The door is left ajar, but you hear him shuffling about, and you enter after giving a gentle knock.

Minho seems startled at this, jumping up from where he’s standing, in front of his bookshelf with Love and Limerence held open in the palms of his hands. He shuts it quickly, shoving it on the top with another stack of books, and then almost shields his bookshelf as he turns to face you.

“I didn't hear you come in,” he says, nervously shifting his eyes to more stacks of books on his window sill and nightstand.

“I put Joon down for his nap,” you reply, cocking an eyebrow as he stands there awkwardly. “Is… everything okay?”

“Yes,” he says quickly, blinking nervously when he sees you peer over his torso at the bookshelf.

“Where’d you put it?”

“Can’t remember,” Minho says, a breathy chuckle emitting from his lips as he tries his best to avoid talking about it. But you catch on- and you’re certainly not going to let him evade the subject.

“What are you hiding?” You finally ask, eyeing him with a small smile. Minho’s face drops a little, sighing once as he steps aside and grants you full visibility of his bookshelf. There’s nothing out of the ordinary- books of all colors and sizes lined neatly on the shelves, some of them left open or bookmarked. A good amount of them appear to be philosophy books, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you.

“It’s just your books,” you say flatly, and Minho scratches the back of his head before he speaks again.

“Love and Limerence isn’t a required read for university.” He says in a low voice.

“Oh,” you reply, unsure of why it should really matter to you.

“None of them are,” he continues. “It’s just my personal… collection. Of romance novels.”

And then you finally understand.

Minho- the stoic, otherwise quiet being, in all his philosophical studiousness and awkwardness, is a sucker for romance. Once the cogs begin turning in your head, they don’t stop, everything about him now making a little more sense to you. Why he stays locked up in his little tower all day reading book after book, why he’s so hopeful when he speaks of the human condition and of love, why he loves taking care of people so much. He’s just a big softie underneath it all.

“There’s nothing weird about that,” you chime in. “In fact, it’s really cool.”

“Yeah right,” he retorts.

“I’m dead serious. I’ve never met someone with so many copies of Thorns and Roses before.”

Minho shakes his head, moving to sit on his bed with his palms tucked under his legs. His gaze remains locked on the floor, an expression of shame still visible on his face. And when you see him exhale deeply, like he’s been nervously holding his breath all this time, you feel bad for him. If there’s anything you’ve learned about him since meeting him, it’s that he’s really a bit of a dork. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him look so vulnerable before.

“Which one’s your favorite?” You ask, skimming your finger along the neat row of spines.

He shrugs. “Pride and Prejudice, maybe. But these days it’s Love and Limerence.”

Minho’s voice is trembling, just above a whisper as he reads off his list of favorite novels to you. And you chuckle softly in reply, pulling the little red book out of its respective home on the shelf and tossing it to him.

“Read me your favorite passage.”

He furrows his brows a little, like he thinks you might be making fun of him. But when you take a seat next to him on the bed, wide-eyed and gesturing to the book in his hands, he realizes you’re genuinely asking him to.

“Go on,” you say, gesturing to the book once more.

Minho opens the book to the middle, flipping through yellowing pages with small font. Most of the pages are littered generously with blue sticky notes, Minho’s messy handwriting annotating all his favorite passages. When he finds the page he’s searching for, he eyes you cautiously, as if waiting for permission to begin reading. And with a deep breath, he begins, his voice shaking a little as he finds his footing.

“Now by these presents let me assure you that you are not only in my heart, but my veins, this morning. I turn from you half abashed--yet you haunt me, and some look, word or touch thrills through my whole frame--yes, at the very moment when I am labouring to think of something, if not somebody else.”

At the last words, his gaze meets yours again, eyelashes trembling as he waits for your reaction. He waits for you to laugh, or to dismiss the words, or leave altogether. But you just stare back at him, your heart beating erratically at the poetry he utters, completely in awe with him.

He feels otherworldly at this distance, this intricate fascination with love and human connection. The way his brown tresses fall loosely in front of his big eyes as he speaks, his plump lips pulling into a nervous smile to reveal the row of skewed teeth you find a home in every time. He’s like the passage reads- thrilling your whole frame, consuming you whole and filling your mind with thoughts of him, and his poetry and his kind demeanor. You find yourself a little closer to him, your eyes darting to his lips and then back to his curious eyes, fantasies of him running rampant in your mind.

And Minho keeps his gaze locked on yours, too, leaning in a little closer to you, the book closing on its own as his hand slips away from holding it open and onto the bed beside you. The implications are there, the atmosphere around you heavy with desire and uncertainty, and just as you wield the courage to bring your lips a little closer to his, you’re promptly interrupted.

“Minho-ah!” A voice calls from downstairs. You quickly clock it as Mrs. Lee’s, who must be home early from work.

“I’m home early!” She calls again, confirming your theory, her footsteps getting louder as she makes her way up the stairs.

You sit up promptly, smoothing down your shirt and standing to bow when Mrs. Lee pokes her head in the doorway. Minho stands up too, making the whole situation look unbearably obvious, and you pray she can’t tell what’s going on between the two of you.

“Y/n,” she says with a warm smile. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you I would be home a little earlier today. Joon has a doctor’s appointment.”

“No worries at all!” You voice back, bowing again as she smiles. “I was actually going to leave early today. I have a bit of a headache.”

“Oh, do you want a cup of tea?” She asks, heavy concern present in her voice.

“No thanks, I think I just need some sleep.”

You turn to Minho, who’s standing with his hands in his pockets, looking a little disappointed as you give him a small bow.

“Take care,” you say to him, pivoting to head back to the library and gather your things.

Minho hears his mom see you out of the front door, chatting briefly with you about your trip and sending you off with a little wave.

He shuts his bedroom door and locks it, sprawling out on the duvet of his bed and running his hands over the book still beside him.

He’s not sure what happened- whether you were about to kiss him, or whether it was just wishful thinking. But every way he interprets the encounter, Minho swears he can feel your yearning for him, too. Is he crazy to think you might feel the same? Maybe he, too, finds it laboring to think of something- if not, someone else, besides you.

*

Joon is a particularly picky eater in afternoons, making a big fuss of foods he usually devours in the mornings and evenings. He skillfully dodges every spoon, every bite and feigns his interest in even his favorite snacks and desserts. And while you’re usually patient with him, today you’re frustrated, having mentally scolded yourself several times since yesterday’s events.

A part of you wants to ditch all of this, reminding yourself that you’re here to work a job, not lust after the son of the person who hired you. But the other part of you can’t help but imagine how things would be different if you just let yourself fall gracefully into him- he’s so much more than a fleeting thought to you. You want to understand him, having challenged yourself to figuring him out from the moment you came across him. But maybe you want him to understand you, too. You want him to understand that you feel at home whenever he’s around, his philosophical discussions and this game of house you play making you feel like you belong here. You want him to understand that although you know he feels like an outcast, none of his odd quirks matter to you when he’s reading his favorite love stories across from you in the library, catching glimpses of you when he thinks you’re not looking. And that maybe this universe conditioned itself just right so that you took up this job and crossed paths- and that has to mean something bigger.

There’s nothing different about the afternoon following yesterday’s, except for you spending a considerable amount of time on your hair and makeup, the anticipation bubbling inside you at the idea of seeing Minho again. You have no definitive plan, no script of how it’s going to go when he arrives from school. But you also know there’s something in your throat that wants so desperately to get out, and you won’t let it. As Joon toys with the cereal in his bowl, he looks up at you with big, curious eyes, and you wonder what he’s thinking, if anything. He doesn't know anything beyond the simple tasks of eating and sleeping, living with the comfortable knowledge that he’s being cared for. And although it seems much easier, you can’t help but sympathize. What a gift it is to feel- what a gift it is to carry emotions so deeply they eat away at you like this.

You’re infatuated with Minho- that fact stands true. And whether or not it benefits you to do anything about it, you’re determined to do something with all of this feeling, lest it slips through your fingers like he almost did.

You don’t hear Minho come home when he does, busy in the garden tending to Mrs. Lee’s plants when the usual alert of his car pulling into the driveway passes you by. So when he wanders the corridors searching everywhere for you, you don’t take notice.

Minho’s desperate, hoping to ask you to stay just a little bit longer tonight, having also had the epiphany that he’s completely fallen for you, too. And what he hopes to do with it, he’s unsure- but he does know that every romance novel on his shelf would refute the idea of letting this feeling dissipate. Kiss her, tell her, do something. Anything.

He strides down the halls with purpose and vigor, a nervous smile pulling at his face at the thought of seeing you again. It’s all he’s thought about today, having had just two hours of sleep as he sorted out what to say to you. And while he’s not well-versed in the practice of confessing his love, he feels his whole life has been devoted to the very purpose of being here and finding you. The debates you share, midnight walks to the bus stop, the book- he’d be a fool not to reciprocate what you yearn for. And when he doesn’t find you, Minho feels the familiar pit of worry form in his stomach. He’s not accounted for a change of plans, or even what might happen if you reject his admission. He wants to believe so badly that the answer is yes, risking everything just to say something.

20 minutes after he’s been home, Minho receives a phone call, answering in a rush while he checks the upstairs rooms for you.

“Hello?”

“It’s Sujin from class,” the phone at the other end says plainly. “I’m here for our project.”

And Minho freezes, remembering very well that he has a project due very soon, and his partner is here tonight to work on it with him. He sighs heavily into the line at the change in plans, knowing he’ll have to bottle his emotions another day and act on them tomorrow when he can get you alone.

“Oh, right,” Minho responds, making his way to the stairs and jogging down them. “The door should be unlocked.”

He stuffs his phone in his back pocket, making his way to the door to meet Sujin, and as he passes the sliding door to the backyard, he finally sees you. Knelt on the ground in a white sundress, your hands tainted with soil as you tend to the tomato plants and hum to yourself. Minho smiles at the sight of you, the urge to tell you right now stronger than ever. But before he can call out to you, Sujin’s already made her way inside, peering curiously around the place and clutching her purse in hand.

“Wow,” she says, chuckling lightly. “You didn’t tell me you were rich.”

Minho scratches the back of his head awkwardly as she grazes a marble sculpture with her fingers. His eyes remain on you through the glass door, transfixed by the way you tuck your hair behind your ears and pat your dress as you stand up again. Sujin takes note of Minho’s evident distraction, briefly glancing out the window and back to him.

“Where are we working?” She asks, pursing her lips together.

“We can work upstairs,” Minho explains, as you finally make your way inside.

At first you’re confused at the sight, Minho looming over a girl much prettier than you, her long hair styled neatly over one shoulder and a matching formal two-piece hugging her curves beautifully. And then as you see her begin up the stairs in the direction of Minho’s room, you finally understand.

Of course there’s another woman.

Of course there was a catch to all of this, because why else would things condition themselves so perfectly that you’d win him over?

And suddenly everything feels pointless- confessing to him, feeling any ounce of emotion regarding all of this, even working this job. He has a girlfriend, and she’s much prettier than you are. And he's trailing behind her after giving you a shy nod, likely embarrassed at the fact that you’ll be here tending to his household while he fucks her in his upstairs bedroom.

You can’t help but think that perhaps something got lost in translation, because Minho evidently never liked you, and unless this version of the universe magically conditions to work in your favor just once, it’s going to remain that way.

*

When the tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes, they don’t stop. You can’t feed Joon without hiccuping through a hot rush of tears that fall from your cheeks onto his tray below him. Joon seems to sense something is wrong, pausing the task of dodging his food to observe the way your face contorts as you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. And when you do stop to look at him, all you can see is Minho, his eyes and lips resembling exactly that of his elder brother’s.

The chores feel like a futile task now, and you let them sit there for the remainder of the evening you’re working for. In fact, the only thing you do complete is the task of getting Joon to bed when the sun begins to set, marching carefully upstairs to not interrupt Minho’s time with his girlfriend. And the word makes you sick, to think that he’s been stringing you along all while having a girlfriend- a fact he so conveniently left out.

Joon goes down without a fuss, and when he’s finally asleep, you escape the confines of the second story to lock yourself in the downstairs living room and complete your school work. How much of that is spent crying instead, you can’t quite remember.

It’s just after 9 when Sujin leaves for the evening, but you’re not awake to take notice when she does. You wake to the familiar sound of infomercials playing quietly on the television in front of you, Minho sitting on the floor in front of the sofa you occupy. His head hangs as he holds a book in his lap, probably some cheesy romance he projects onto him and his girlfriend, and his thin wireframe glasses rest on the bridge of his nose.

The dull narration on the television advertises jewelry tonight, and you let out a sigh as you feel your swollen eyes adjust to the bright screen in front of you. At this, Minho turns around, giving you a sheepish smile as you try to shut your eyes again. But it’s too late- he’s already seen you awake for the evening.

“Hi,” Minho says for the first time today, bookmarking his page and lowering the volume on the television. “She’s late again today, but I saved you some takeout.”

“I’m not hungry,” you reply quickly, sitting up and reaching for your bag. “In fact, I need to go home.”

“Oh, sure,” Minho replies, a little hurt at your rushed tone. “I can walk you-”

“No need,” you say to him, pulling on your sneakers and doing everything in your power to avert his gaze. He furrows his brows a little, knowing you never reject his offers to walk you home.

“Is everything-”

“Fine. I just need to get home,” you reiterate, finally sitting down and smoothing down your wrinkled dress.

Every part of him is annoying you right now, your mind teeming with the reminder that you’ve been wasting your time trying to know him better while he’s been entertaining a whole girlfriend these past few months.

“Y/n, wait,” Minho calls, still intent on telling you tonight, while the feelings remain stronger than ever. But you’ve already crossed the room to the front door, where you avert his gaze so he won’t see you begin to cry again.

“Bye,” you call to him, not even looking back before you’re turning the knob and seeing yourself out. “Tell Mrs. Lee it was an emergency.”

And he wants to ask if it was, but he can’t, staring at your rushed figure jogging down the street as you distance yourself from him before he can string you along any further.

*

Thus begins the game of avoidance.

It starts through keeping your conversations with Minho as short as possible, not engaging him when he tells you about theories he’s studied this week or what his days on campus were like. When he asks about your day, you give him one-word responses, muttering a simple “fine” before turning your attention to Joon again.

When Minho asks to go to the grocery store, you pretend you have a headache- for three days straight. So he makes the trips solo, balancing bags on one arm and telling you about how the cashiers have begun to ask where his pretend wife’s been. You give him no reaction, nodding as you feed Joon his dinner and glance at the clock for the umpteeth time, desperate to get away from him.

And the mystery woman remains, marching into the Lee household in afternoons like she owns the place, already having memorized the path to Minho’s room as she makes her way up the stairs and doesn’t acknowledge you. She’s beautiful everyday that she’s here, short skirts and long ponytails you can’t seem to look away from. And she’s even more hypnotic when she’s in the presence of Minho, the two of them as a couple certainly a sight for sore eyes. If they were a married couple, you’d reckon they'd be much more distinguished than you and Minho would.

“Do you want a coffee?” Minho peers into the library one night to ask you. You keep your gaze locked on the computer in front of you, trying your best to keep your guard up as he waits for a response.

“No, thank you,” you say coldly, continuing to work on your essay.

When he realizes you’re not going to say anything else, Minho enters the room reluctantly, his hands shoved in his pockets as he leans against the doorframe and gives you a once-over. You say nothing, still, holding back your emotions so as not to cause a scene. And Minho can tell something’s wrong in the way that you shift your eyes to him briefly and shake your head as if scolding yourself for doing so.

“Did I do something?” Minho finally asks, his voice a little shaky.

“No,” you say quickly, skimming the same sentence on your laptop screen over and over again.

“Are you… sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

He fiddles with a loose thread in the pocket of his pants, keeping his gaze on the floor and thinking about your differing behavior toward him the past week.

“We just haven’t talked much. And you never really leave here anymore. I wanted to make sure I didn’t overstep any boundaries-”

“Overstep?” You interrupt, scanning your eyes over the screen of your computer. “There’s nothing to overstep. I get paid to watch your brother, not hang out with you.”

You feel guilty the minute the words leave your mouth, but you feel even worse knowing he’s just been stringing you along with a girlfriend this whole time. The atmosphere feels akin to when you first met him, awkward and cold, and with tensions high like this, you don’t feel at home in the Lee household anymore.

“Sorry,” Minho says, nodding. “You’re right. I guess I’m overstepping by asking.”

You only look up at him when he leaves, his shoulders sagging as he leaves you alone once again- only this time, you have a feeling he’s going to stop making an attempt to rekindle things anymore.

And you’re right- Minho stops trying entirely. There are no more offers to walk you home, no philosophical debates over coffee or grocery store trips where you act as a married couple. You’re still covered in knit blankets when you fall asleep accidentally on the couch, but Minho doesn’t stick around watching his infomercials to wait up for you anymore. And he still saves you his takeout when he orders, but he leaves it neatly packaged for you in the fridge instead of bringing it up to you like he used to.

You’ve gone from a mutual infatuation for each other to complete strangers once again. The house feels lonely and cold like it once did, your only real human interaction occurring in the few minutes you have with Mrs. Lee at the start and end of the day.

Minho doesn’t talk to you at all, locking himself away in his room like he did when you first started caring for Joon. And when you see him in passing at late hours of the night, he looks indifferent, sagging his shoulders as he averts your gaze with a book in hand and disappears down the corridors again. At some point, you begin to see his girlfriend less- in fact, his stoic composure makes you wonder if something’s happened between them. But as time goes on, you start to realize this is less about his girlfriend- and more about you.

What a gift it is to feel- but also what a curse. To let something consume you so entirely you can barely breathe without it. It’s laboring to think of anything else, of anyone else besides Minho and what he means to you. And as you replay your last interaction in your head for the nth time this evening, you think back to the day you started here. You knew the fundamentals of caring for a baby, having trained just enough to land a job doing it. All you wanted was to be liked by Mrs. Lee, and by baby Joon- and by extension, Minho. This household quickly became someplace you felt like you actually belonged in. But your purpose here has completely diverted from its original path, having prioritized Minho’s complexities and his feelings toward you above what you were hired here to do. You’ve experienced a roller coaster of emotions trying to understand him, and just when you thought you’d cracked him, you realized his heart belongs to someone else. So with the comfortable knowledge in mind that perhaps the universe isn’t, in fact, conditioned for you to mean anything more to him than just a babysitter, you understand it’s time to stop forcing any other version of it.

*

There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary two weeks into your avoidance of Minho.

You still haven’t talked, he still keeps his distance and you get paid to perform the job you’re here to do. But one afternoon before Minho’s even home from school, Joon refuses to eat. It starts with a tantrum he throws at breakfast time, which you consider typical as he knocks his cereal onto the floor and waves his hands around restlessly. You can only spoon feed him a couple spoons of yogurt before he’s put down for his afternoon nap. And when you wake him for his post-nap meal, he’s just as fussy. He seems to be bothered by something, crying loudly as you offer him different snacks and try your best to calm him down. But nothing seems to work, and when he begins refusing his bottles late into the afternoon, you start to panic.

Mrs. Lee isn’t home for a few hours, you’re unsure of when Minho gets home and you don’t have any way of getting to a hospital right now. The guilt and the fear eat away at you as Joon cries loudly, his face turning a bright shade of red as snot dribbles from his nose onto his shirt. He must be hungry, and clearly uncomfortable by something, only you’re entirely unsure what. His pacifier doesn’t calm him, nor does his favorite stuffed animal or his favorite television program. When his crying reaches the 10-minute mark, you feel hopeless, well prepared to drag him onto the bus to the nearest hospital yourself, fully convinced you’re going to lose your job. And as you begin to cry, too, the front door opens, Minho walking in with his backpack clutched casually in one hand and his car keys in the other. His girlfriend is with him this time, her head hanging as she uses her phone, completely oblivious to the atmosphere around her.

“Minho,” you call helplessly from the kitchen, and his head snaps instantly to look at you. Your eyes are nearly bloodshot from crying, your sleeves drenched in tears from wiping your eyes and your voice shaky as you speak. It’s the first time you’ve said his name in weeks, you realize, feeling your heart race as you call for him.

“What happened?” Minho asks when he turns the corner, throwing off his backpack and approaching a very fussy Joon.

“He won’t eat,” you reply through hiccups, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweater again. “I’ve tried everything. He won’t stop crying.”

Minho takes Joon in his arms, rocking him gently back and forth, to no avail; Joon starts crying even harder now, dribbling snot onto Minho’s sweatshirt and hitting his chest repeatedly.

“I’ll have to take him to the clinic,” Minho says in a rushed tone, fishing his car keys out of his pocket and making his way toward the door.

His girlfriend finally turns the corner into the kitchen, putting down her cellphone and huffing frustratedly.

“What’s going on?”

“Sorry,” Minho replies, shoving past her with Joon in his arms. “I have to go. We can work on our project another time.”

Your heart drops at the words- project. Project, as in a project for his university. With a classmate.

You want to cry more now, for being so stupidly angry with him over nothing, but you still have to help Minho take Joon to the clinic. Sujin doesn’t protest, quick to exit without so much as a goodbye as Minho scrambles to fetch Joon’s car seat.

“I’ll get him in the car seat,” you say, pulling your sneakers on as he balances Joon in his arms.

“You’re coming?”

“Of course I’m coming,” you scoff, already taking Joon from his arms and ushering him outside. “Go start the car.”

*

“Lee?” A nurse calls, holding a clipboard close to her chest as she scans the waiting room.

You and Minho both stand up, Minho balancing Joon in his arms as the nurse gestures you to the door.

“Please, follow me.”

Both of you walk side-by-side down the corridor as she double-checks papers on her clipboard, making a sharp right and leading you into a private room.

Minho sets Joon down on the examination table, holding his arms to steady him, and you stand beside him as you wait for the doctor.

“She’s just reviewing the results,” the nurse says, referring to the x-rays Joon took earlier. “She’ll be in shortly to discuss them.”

Minho nods silently as the nurse leaves the room, leaving the two of you alone once again. You say nothing, unsure of how to break the awkward silence as Minho wipes a string of drool from Joon’s mouth and avoids eye contact with you.

You feel awkward, embarrassed and so, so stupid, for having treated Minho like absolute scum because you assumed the worst of him. It breaks you to see him avert your gaze like this, treating you the same way he did when you first crossed paths. He has his guard completely up again, and you’re not sure he’s ever going to let it down around you. As you lose yourself in doubtful thoughts, the door opens, Joon’s doctor sauntering inside and wiping her hands with the strong scent of hand sanitizer.

“Hi there,” she says cheerfully, giving you both a warm smile. “Are we here for baby Joon today?”

“Yes,” you both say in unison, and she laughs a little.

“You two are very synced. They say it happens in the first year of marriage.”

“We’re not married,” Minho chimes in quickly, and you turn to look at him, feeling a pit in your stomach all over again.

“No?” She questions. “My apologies. Is mom here today?”

“I’m just his babysitter,” you say quietly. “This is his brother.”

“I see,” the doctor says, eyeing you both. “Well you may notice I’m fairly calm, and that’s because there’s no terrible news I have to share. Baby Joon is just suffering from a little mucus buildup. He’s probably feeling the impaction, and the discomfort has caused a loss of appetite.”

You feel a weight off your shoulders instantly, relieved that this isn’t a more serious matter. He’s going to be fine, you think to yourself. He’s going to be his normal self as soon as this is over.

“… Just be sure to use a syringe to drain the mucus a couple times per day, and make sure he gets plenty of sleep.”

As the doctor writes Joon a prescription for his saline syringe, you catch Minho’s gaze briefly, shooting him a relieved look. He gives you a small nod in response, as if to say he’s glad you came along. And he is, he just can’t say it out loud.

*

“I think he’s finally sleeping,” Minho says, patting Joon’s back gently as he stands up from his chair. The two of you have been sat in the library for nearly two hours since getting back home, in complete silence as you read your books and wait for Joon to fall asleep. You take breaks every now and then to drain Joon’s mucus, alternating roles between holding his face still and using the syringe on him. And when he’s finally comfortable again, he dozes back off to sleep, little snores escaping his lips.

Minho leaves the room to put Joon to bed, and while he’s gone, you take the opportunity to pack your stuff and prepare to leave for the night. You feel guilty, not having said much to Minho this evening, especially with the newfound knowledge that this mystery woman was just a partner for his project. But you’re not sure what to say, well aware that he’s probably already decided you hate him, and there’s not much else you can do to fix things.

“He’s down,” Minho says as he re-enters the library.

“That’s good,” you reply with a solemn smile, packing your laptop in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“I should get going.”

“Do you… need me to walk you?” Minho asks a little shyly, and although the offer is tempting, you shake your head no.

“I’ll be fine. It’s really not as unsafe as you’d think.”

Minho just nods, understanding that you still don’t want to be close to him. And he gives you a little bow, before he exits the room and makes his way up the stairs to his own.

As you begin to leave, an object left on the chair across from you catches your eye.

It’s Minho’s book- the first edition copy of Love and Limerence you gifted him. You take the small book in your hands, scanning its contents briefly and examining the pages. He’s already annotated several of them, despite having read the book numerous times now, and you can’t help but smile at his scribbled notes circling all his favorite quotes and underlining them twice. You know it’s valuable to him, despite coming from somebody he probably despises right now, but you decide to take it up to him anyway, not wanting him to lose it.

When you’re outside his door, you give a small knock as it’s left ajar, and Minho hums in response.

You enter quietly, holding the book out to him and shooting him a small smile.

“You left this downstairs,” you say, and Minho reaches for it quickly, embarrassed you might’ve seen some of his annotations.

“Thanks,” he replies, setting it back on his bookshelf of romance novels.

He takes a seat on the edge of his bed, patting the spot next to him, and you join him at a comfortable distance as he keeps his gaze on the hardwood floor.

For a moment, no one says anything. And then he sighs deeply, before finally speaking.

“I’m sorry. If I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” you’re quick to reply.

“I clearly did,” Minho retorts. “And I know I’m quiet, and I kind of shut myself off from the rest of the world. But I never meant for it to affect you.”

“It didn’t affect me,” you reiterate.

He scoffs lightly in response.

“Why won’t you just say it? You haven’t talked to me in weeks. You don’t even look at me. I clearly did something to push you away.”

You don’t reply immediately, pondering what to say. And ultimately, you let your emotions speak for themselves.

“I was jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Of the girl. The one who’s been here almost every night.”

“Sujin?”

“Look, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know who she is or what she is to you-”

“My project partner,” Minho interrupts. “One who hates my guts.”

“Project partner,” you continue. “It doesn’t matter who she is- I like you, Minho,” you finally emphasize, turning to meet his gaze. His lips are parted in shock, his eyebrows furrowed as he hears you speak.

“I’m fucking infatuated with you, and it drives me crazy. I can’t go on vacation without seeing you in the books at the stores, I can’t sleep at night without your stupid theories replaying in my head. And I jump to the worst possible conclusions when you’re even near another girl. I’m going crazy trying to be liked by you- trying to look at everything through the lens of your romance theories or your book quotes, or whatever. But it’s so scary to like someone this much.”

Minho says nothing for a minute, collecting his thoughts as you let go of the breath you’ve been holding. He’s not used to people liking him- let alone being this intrigued by him. And especially when it’s in the form of reciprocation, from the one person he’s infatuated with, too.

“Why is it scary?” Minho questions, facing you now, his eyes darting briefly over your lips and then back up to your worried gaze.

“Because I’m here for a job. I’m not supposed to be feeling all this. You’re not supposed to be part of this.”

“How do you know that?” Minho retorts, leaning in a little closer to you now.

“I just…”

“You’re allowed to feel, y/n. You’re allowed to want this.”

And before you can protest his words, his lips are on yours, kissing you passionately like he’s pacifying the arguments before they can come to fruition. Your heart beats erratically in your chest, your mind racing with a million thoughts about what you’re doing, and what this whole thing even implies, but you shut them out with the rest of your concerns, pressing your thighs together as he brings two hands to your face and cups your chin gently. His lips work against yours so beautifully, so effortlessly, like the two of you have done this several times before. And maybe you have, in all his alternate universe theories- on your honeymoon, on the run from the police- right here in the comfort of his grand bedroom, his hands snaking up to pull off your cardigan as you tug desperately at the fabric of his t-shirt. Minho says nothing between passionate kisses, afraid if he talks you might realize what’s happening and leave. But you won’t leave, especially not when you’ve been dreaming of this, too.

When your cardigan is off, Minho moves a little closer to you on the bed, letting one hand guide itself onto your waist and trace the gentle curve of your body there. He’s delicate with his movements, careful not to startle you with his touches, but he’s also admittedly thought about this for weeks. The thought of you confessing was never something that crossed his mind- he was so sure he’d driven you away after that night. Never in his wildest fantasies had Minho considered the possibility that you were this smitten with him, too. But he did have thoughts of your lips on his, thoughts of your hands intertwined with his and ungodly visions of you under him, right here in his bed. Visions of his mouth on your breasts after you’d accidentally exposed yourself to him in the kitchen and he was forced to give attention to the massive erection that grew in his pants. And after you’d gifted him his favorite book, attentive to the details he’d indulged you in which he never otherwise shared with people, visions of making love to you ran rampant in his mind, filling you up over and over again with remnants of him as a form of saying I’m infatuated with you, too.

Minho’s kisses become needier as your words replay in his head, darting his tongue out to dance against yours with the sounds of exchanging saliva present between your plump, eager lips. He pushes you back gently so that you’re now lying on his pillow, the angle so intimate, the view of his room from here like something you’re not supposed to see. The ceilings appear even larger when you’re flat against his bed, the curtains that drape over his bedpost seemingly miles high.

Minho’s kisses trail down to your neck now, eagerly peppering your flesh in wet kisses as your hands reach up to tangle in his hair, holding him closer to you and letting him graze his lips wherever he desires. You can’t help but feel guilty having him all over you like this when you remember how you’ve treated him these past couple months- criticizing his tendencies to be quiet, intruding on his space and pushing him away because of a girl you’d assumed to be his girlfriend. But you also know most of it has been because you want him to mean more to you- perhaps you’ve just been trying to change things so that in this version of the universe, he’s not just an enigma to you. You want all of this- his lips on yours, his body pressed into you and to give yourself completely to him.

“Just so we’re clear,” Minho says suddenly, pulling away from you to hold eye contact with you. “I’m crazy about you, too. I really like you.”

And you can’t help but smile back in response, pulling him in again to press his lips on yours. He smiles into the kiss, too, satisfied you’re both on the same page. And although your now eager movements imply something more is about to happen, you don’t have to verbalize anything, his fingers snaking up your shirt serving as answer enough.

“Is this okay?” Minho asks, grazing your flesh with his big hands as he toys with the hem of your shirt.

You nod in response, sitting up a little and completing the task of pulling it off over your head and discarding it beside you. You waste no time on your bra, either, reaching around to unclasp it and rid yourself of the fabric without him having to ask. His eyes widen again at the sight, having remembered every curve of your body since that incident in the kitchen. But now in front of him again, he feels his cock swell in his pants, desperate to act on the urge. In nimble movements, his hand cups the mound of your breast, kneading it gently and sighing at the sensation of your soft skin against his. His mouth finds yours again, indulging you in a slow, passionate kiss, and then he trails down until he meets his hand at the mound of your breast, pressing a chaste kiss to your flesh before finally latching his lips around your nipple.

He starts with gentle kisses while your nipple rests between his lips, a string of saliva dribbling down to coat your hardened bud. And then he takes it between his lips with more force, beginning a gentle sucking motion as he gives your other nipple attention with his free hand, circling the tip with his thumb in tender movements.

You sigh beneath him, the sensation sending a shiver up your core, your nipples hardening even more in his touch, now eager for him to give your soaking core some attention. But he takes his time stimulating you, moving to your other breast to take your nipple in his mouth and leave a trail of saliva. Your body shivers when the cool air grazes your wet nipples as he pulls away, and he meets your lips again to kiss you passionately.

While he kisses you, your hands now toy with the hem of his shirt too, signifying for him to take it off. And Minho reciprocates with a little nod, finally pulling his shirt over his head and revealing his bare chest to you. It’s a marvelous sight to see more of his honey-tanned skin, his toned muscles and his broad pectorals practically begging for you to touch them. And just above his stomach, a horizontal pale pink scar, one that he eyes momentarily and then gives you a shy shrug.

You run your fingers along the scar briefly, tracing it in its entirety and bringing your hand up to caress his face.

“I didn’t think I could be any more attracted to you,” you say to him sheepishly, tracing the scar again. “You look like the poetry you’re so obsessed with.”

Minho feels an involuntary smile pulling at his face as he leans in to kiss you again, this time intent on giving himself fully to you the way you deserve.

Your kisses both grow hungrier, needier, as your bodies tangle into each other, and Minho loops a finger into the hem of your panties, tugging them down so that he has access to your sopping cunt. As your hands tangle further into his soft brown hair, his finger traces down the length of your stomach, dipping into every curve and over every inch of flesh he only got a brief sight of. And when he finds your mound, you arch up into him, parting your legs slightly to give him access. Minho doesn’t waste another second, attaching the pads of his fingers to your clit and working you in circular motions as he kisses you. Little gasps escape your mouth as he does, breathing heavily into his kisses and grinding your core closer to him as he quickens his pace, smearing your arousal around your aching clit and circling two fingers around to massage you gently. His cock is now fully erect against his abdomen, prodding into your upper thigh as he trails his kisses down your neck again, but he’s patient, forgiving with his movements, eager to pleasure you first.

As his kisses graze your neck, you tug his boxers over his cock, pulling them down so you’re equal parts undressed. Minho winces a little at the sensation, a bead of precum already dripping down the head of his cock, and you feel yourself clench around nothing at just the sight of him hard for you.

When he takes note of your anticipation, he glances down at his own erection, locking his gaze with yours again as if to confirm again that this is okay. You nod in response, reaching your hands around to loop them behind his neck and pull him a little closer. And then your gaze falls to his cock again, waiting for him to make the next move.

The two of you say nothing as Minho’s hand finds the base of his cock, pumping himself gently before leaning in to kiss you. He lets himself hover closer over you, until his cock is kissing your entrance in the same gentle, wet movements as your lips. You lift your leg up slightly to grant him access, and then in gentle movements as your eyes remain shut, you feel him push his tip inside of you, stretching you out around his girth and causing you to gasp. He’s bigger than you anticipated, even the dripping arousal of your cunt having trouble taking him wholly. But he brings his fingers down to your clit again, massaging you slowly to ease the pain. And it works, your body relaxing around him as he pulls back a little and thrusts in again, this time pushing further until he’s completely bottomed out inside of you. You let out a fervent moan at the sensation, his cock pulsating inside of you as he holds it there, feeling every inch of you clench around him and take him so well now. And then with a gentle kiss to your lips, he begins to move, his hips pulling back slowly to thrust back inside of you.

You feel so full of him, having him exactly as you’d always imagined him- circling your thoughts, hovering over you and finally inside of you, his cock brushing against your cervix so delicately with every thrust. Your labored breaths become one as you pant into each other’s mouths with overwhelming pleasure. Minho steadies himself with one hand on the mattress beside you, quickening his pace a little as he feels his cock twitch inside of you in response to a particularly pornographic moan of yours.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes as he continues to slip in and out of your soaking cunt. “You’re so full of me, aren’t you?”

He brings his lips to your neck again, nibbling the flesh between his teeth and letting it bruise as you moan beneath him.

“I’ve thought about you everyday,” you respond, angling his lips to yours again as he fucks you. “I’ve thought about this so many times.”

“Yeah?” Minho says with a satisfied smile, working circles back onto your clit.

“Yes,” you breathe back, toying with his hair as your arms wrap around his neck. “I wanted you to fuck me like the characters in your romance novels.”

Minho feels his cock twitch again, wincing and slowing his pace so as not to finish just yet.

“I can’t help it,” you whimper underneath him. “I think about you all the time. I think about you fucking me all the time.”

Minho intertwines his hand with yours, pressing it down on your abdomen and letting yourself feel when his bulge fills you up at every thrust, the motion visible beneath your palms.

“Feel that, baby?” He asks between kisses to your drooly lips. “Feel how good I fuck you? Is this what you imagined?”

You gasp at the sensation once you feel it, the bulge of his cock protruding against your palm with every pump inside of you. You nod breathlessly, almost unable to reply to his words now.

“I imagined it, too,” he says, picking up his pace now. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to bend you over the couch and fuck you right there the moment I met you.”

He groans a little as you clench around him and moan in response.

“Minho,” you say breathlessly, not missing the way his cock twitches inside of you once again. “Will you finish inside of me?”

He pauses for a moment, scanning your expression for a sign of whether or not you’re being serious.

“Please,” you beg, as if reading his thoughts. “I’m on birth control. Just want to feel your seed inside of me.”

He shuts his eyes briefly as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in a little closer.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Minho asks, locking his gaze on yours again. “I want to, but I want you to be sure about it.”

“I’m sure,” you say quickly, the last syllable hitching in the back of your throat as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. “Please, just wanna feel you fill me up.”

He thrusts harder into you now, the room teeming with the squelching noises of your pussy taking him so effortlessly.

“You like it when we play house like this, huh?” He says, wrapping a hand gently around your throat. “You like imagining me as your husband, don’t you? Fucking you like we’re married?”

And it doesn’t take you more than a second to think before you’re nodding desperately at his words. You do love it, this sense of belonging when you’re in the Lee household. But you also get aroused at this second life you lead alongside him, caring for the baby like it’s one of yours and being fucked by Minho when no one else is around to hear your lewd moans.

“Yes,” you reply, your response muffled by his grasp on your throat. “You make such a good dad.”

“We’d make such good parents,” he emphasizes, kissing you breathlessly. “What do you say I fuck a baby into you and we find out for real?”

You feel yourself contract around his girth at the words, not having considered it seriously, but turned on at the idea of carrying a child just for him.

“Is that what you want?” Minho asks, nearing his orgasm as he thrusts even faster into you now, panting into your mouth above you.

“Yes,” you reply with a whimper. “Want you to fill me up so bad.”

“Yeah?” He cuts you off, pressing your abdomen harder with his hand. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Want you to feel it.”

Your senses hone in on the feeling of your palm over his bulge, pulsating rhythmically as he nears his orgasm.

“I’m cumming, fuck, I’m gonna finish,” Minho says, shutting his eyes in pleasure as he moves at his fastest pace now, his grip around your throat holding you steady as you lose yourself underneath him. He’s never finished inside someone before, but he has no intention of pulling out now, the conversation of impregnating you sending him over the edge as he reaches the cusp of his release.

You contract around his breathlessly now, eager to take his load, never having taken someone’s either, but desperate for Minho to be your first.

And with a few more harsh thrusts, Minho’s cock twitches once inside of you, finally letting out a generous load of his cum inside of you, the gush of his release filling you up so fully, the warm sensation of his milky white release thrusting deep inside of your pussy as he fucks the rest into you.

He feels his head spin, his eyes shutting instinctively at the sensation as he lets go fully inside of you, no urgency to pull out or stave off his release like he usually has to. And it takes a while before he’s begun to soften again, the knowledge of giving you his cum almost rousing him again and lengthening the period of his release inside of you. Minho already knows he’s going to be addicted to finishing inside of you from here on out- and he doesn’t want it any other way.

The warm feeling is all it takes for you to finish in mere seconds, contracting around him as he fucks you through his orgasm, your release mixing with his and dribbling down the side of your thighs as he begins to slow down. Minho doesn’t pull out immediately, instead caressing your face to gauge your reaction as he softens inside of you.

“Was it okay?” Minho queries, tucking sweaty strands of hair behind your ears and loosening his grasp on your throat.

“It was more than okay,” you say breathlessly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he smiles down at you. “I feel so full of you.”

Minho kisses you sweetly, rubbing his thumb along your hand soothingly as he pulls out of you, a string of his cum connecting to you still and dribbling onto the sheets as he rolls over to lay on his side.

For a moment, the two of you say nothing, your chests rising and falling as you catch your breath and ponder the day’s events. It’s not what you expected was going to happen when you saw yourself up to his room again, but it is what you’d hoped would happen eventually. And the atmosphere feels much lighter around you now, completely void of the lingering sexual and emotional tension that’s plagued you for so long.

“Minho?” you say quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Philosophically speaking, how many versions of us do you think are lying next to each other like this, right now?”

Minho thinks over your words for a moment, and then he chuckles lightly.

“Well if the universe was conditioned right, I’d hope for an infinite amount. But considering how long it took us to get here in this version, I’d say just one.”

And he sits up, leaning in for another kiss as two fingers tuck his arousal further into you, holding his release inside of your still-sensitive body.

*

“Have some bacon, honey,” Mrs. Lee says to you as she scrambles to get her things together for the day. “I made a lot, so help yourself.”

“Thanks,” you reply, strapping Joon into his high chair and smoothing down your skirt.

Ever since that evening, you and Minho have been inseparable. The two of you wait until Mrs. Lee is gone for the morning, desperately grabbing at each other and giggling between kisses until Minho has to leave for his classes. And when he returns, it’s much of the same, the two of you helping put Joon down for his afternoon nap before escaping up to his bedroom and making love until Joon wakes again.

Minho is completely and utterly obsessed with you, the same way you are with him, but you both know this game of house you play can’t go on forever. Mostly because you feel the guilt eating away at you day by day, every waking minute you’re tending to your duties as a babysitter or conversing with Mrs. Lee. It’s hard to be in the same room as Minho when she’s around, the urge to just confess even more present when she attempts to facilitate conversation between the two of you and you’re forced to act like he’s still a mystery.

But you have him more figured out than you ever have before, memorizing the freckles on his body like the back of your hand, reciting his favorite quotes like prayers and replaying the melodic giggles that escape his lips. You don’t want to be apart from him, but the point still stands- it’s scary to like someone this much. He consumes you more than he ever has before, filling every waking second of your life with remnants of him. You love when he reads romantic philosophical theories to you, or when he cooks you and Joon dinner after a long day. But you feel guilty when you’re alone with Joon again, hoping he can’t somehow tell that you’re only thinking of his brother when you’re preparing his bottles or feeding him. You hope Mrs. Lee doesn’t notice when your hair is a little too tousled to have just been from a nap, or the time you had to cross your legs to keep Minho’s release inside of you when the two of you had finished just in time for her to make it home. It’s selfish, and it’s unfair. And with no sign of this fling stopping anytime soon, you don’t see any other option to be fit.

“I’m leaving,” Mrs. Lee finally says, grabbing her car keys off the kitchen table and pulling her heels on. “Make sure to get Joon his medicine!”

The two of you watch as she shuts the front door behind her, and then you wait until her car starts, holding your breath as she pulls out of the driveway and begins down the street in what feels like an agonizing amount of time.

The minute she’s gone, Minho turns to you again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you lean back against the counter.

“Morning,” he says with a shy smile. He wastes no time leaning in for a romantic kiss, which you reciprocate, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling into him.

When he pulls away, the two of you say nothing, holding each other in a comfortable embrace as he rubs little circles into the small of your back.

“I guess it’s just mom and dad home right now,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your neck. “I’ll ditch class right now if you want me to fill you up again.”

And his offer is tempting as he presses his erection into you, working more kisses down the nape of your neck and trailing his hands up your skirt.

“No,” you finally say, pushing him away and collecting your thoughts. “You need to get to class. I have a lot of stuff to do. I’m working, in case you forgot.”

“Okay, okay,” Minho says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I digress.”

He pulls back to caress your face with a visible smirk as your eyes graze his thighs, so beautifully sculpted under the fabric of his jeans. You’re not sure you’ve ever been so sinfully tempted by somebody before, like Eve to the apple, like a moth to a flame- he’s intoxicating, but you know you shouldn’t be indulging this while you’re here to fulfill your role as a babysitter.

“You should go,” you say to him, swallowing nervously as his hands trace the outline of your lips.

“Yeah,” Minho replies, a hint of disappointment present in his voice.

And without another word, he gathers his car keys off the table, sending you off with a little wave as he disappears for the day.

You may have Minho mostly figured out now- his fascination with romance and philosophy, his soft interior under the stoic exterior he presents everyone else with, his astounding levels of emotional intelligence and unwavering kindness for the people he loves. But now that things have become a little more complicated between the two of you, you fear all of this will come to an end as fortuitously as it all began.

The reality is, this isn’t one of Minho’s romance novels- you’re both real people, with emotions and convictions and reservations. And though you want this fleeting thing to last forever, you’re well aware that things don’t work that way, especially when you’re just a babysitter at the end of it all. Sure, Minho sees you as much more than that- but you were hired to be here in the Lee household, paid to fulfill your role here, and once this comes to an end, your relationship with Minho likely will, too.

… and thus, the decision to quit your job isn’t one you take lightly. It succeeds hours of thinking, weighing your options and planning out exactly what you’re going to tell Mrs. Lee when she asks why you’re leaving so suddenly. You want to do another internship, you decide on telling her, hoping she doesn’t poke enough holes to get the truth out of you- “I think far too much about your eldest son and it’s eating me alive.”

*

All day long, you try your best to shut Minho out of your thoughts, focusing on your online courses and caring for Joon like you used to. But it feels futile, this task of pretending things are the way they used to be. They’re not- you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back and hooking up with her eldest son. When all’s said and done, you’ll be right back in your own home, with your parents desperate to send you elsewhere once again, and your own life to tend to. This double life you romanticize isn’t real, nor is it attainable anymore.

Your phone call with Mrs. Lee to announce your decision doesn’t set anything in stone yet, her words urging you to speak with her later this week when she has some free time. But you know once you do speak with her, you’ll only have a few evenings left with Minho until this is all over. And you don’t have the heart to tell him just yet, but if things go anything the way they did when you first brought it up to him, you know he’s going to be heartbroken.

When Minho arrives home that evening, he can already sense something is wrong. You’re sat in the garden, where you typically don’t go, your legs crossed neatly over one of the sunlounger chairs as you let your thoughts consume you. Mrs. Lee’s koi fish fountain stands nobly in front of you, a robust stream of water trickling from its lips and into the concrete bowl below. You’re mesmerized by it as you always are, the steady sound of water coupled with the birds chirping in the sunny greenery around you as peaceful as ever.

“Hey,” Minho says, sliding open the screen door and stepping outside to meet you.

“Hi,” you reply, holding a hand up over you to shield your eyes from the sun. You’d forgotten how divine he looked today, his white button up now folded up at the sleeves and exposing his veiny forearms to you.

“How was your day?” Minho asks, pressing a small kiss to your temple as he occupies the spot beside you and stares at the fountain.

“Okay,” you respond, though you’re lying through your teeth. “Joon went down about an hour ago.”

Minho nods, and then he furrows his brows together as he speaks again.

“Why are you out here?”

You shrug in response, keeping short with your words as he pushes you for answers. And you want to tell him it’s because you made the most painful decision to call Mrs. Lee and forfeit all of this, but you know it’ll only hurt more, so you divert from the truth.

“It was stuffy inside,” you voice back, shooting him a small smile.

Minho seems to relax beside you, his shoulders sagging a little as he takes notice of your calm demeanor. He doesn’t have reason to believe anything’s wrong, judging by the way you converse so casually.

“You want me to cook you something?” Minho asks, placing his palm up next to you, and you let your hand intertwine with his.

“Will you read to me?” You ask, eager to indulge in your favorite activity alongside him.

“I can read to you,” Minho echoes back, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of your hand. “Which book?”

You’re both in the cozy atmosphere of the library later that evening, Minho sat on his favorite velvet armchair as you occupy a spot in his lap with his arms wrapped around you. The book is positioned in front of him so you can both see, his fingers holding open the thin pages as the poetry leaves his lips, pausing in between lines to press kisses to the crook of your neck when he’s reminded of you in his favorite characters.

And you hold back tears in the moment, wanting so badly to tell Minho that you’ll be letting go of all of this, running back to the monotony of your old life, one where Minho doesn’t exist and you don’t have to balance the complicated feelings of liking someone to this degree. But you bite back your words, careful not to ruin the intimate moment you share while he loves you in an ignorant state of bliss.

“The pleasures of love are always in proportion to the fear,” Minho begins a new chapter, grazing your neck with his lips.

He trails a bit lower to graze your shoulder now, pressing a small trail of kisses as he pauses his reading. You giggle softly in response, feeling his fingers find the strap of your tank top to pull it down your shoulder so he can pepper kisses there, too.

“Minho,” you say softly, writhing in his embrace as he tickles every inch of your skin with his kisses, now shutting the book and setting it on the arm of the chair.

“Can’t help it,” Minho responds, shutting his eyes as he snakes his hands up the back of your tank top. “You look so beautiful right now.”

As you adjust in his lap, you can feel he’s now rock-hard in his jeans below you, his thighs flexing underneath you as he wraps two hands around your waist and runs them up and down your sides. You take the hint, turning around in his lap to face him, and let your arms wrap around his neck to steady yourself.

“What are you thinking about?” Minho asks, bringing his lips to yours as he feels his hardened cock graze against the fabric of his jeans, eager to pleasure you.

You want to express your fears, your doubts, to tell him the truth about what you spoke about on the phone with Mrs. Lee earlier today. But you can’t, not when he looks so tantalizing in front of you like this, his bulge perfectly outlined in his tight jeans and his veiny arms flexing below the fabric of his collared button-up. You’ve been roused for him since he left in the morning, his offer swirling your mind coupled with his appearance, like something out of a wet dream.

“You,” you voice back, whimpering pathetically into another kiss and rocking your hips gently over him so that he’s practically whimpering for you, too.

Neither of you have to say much, knowing already where the evening is headed, as you unzip his pants and palm his erection through the fabric of his boxers. Minho watches as you slide off his lap, dropping to your knees in front of him and tugging the fabric of his jeans. He complies with your urges, pulling them down to his knees and freeing his erection from his boxers, exhaling deeply as the cool breeze of the room grazes his leaking tip.

Without a second to waste, you take him in your mouth, letting your saliva coat his shaft as you kiss his tip tenderly and then guide him down your throat, the base of his cock just barely meeting your lips as you struggle to take him fully. Minho groans at the contact, bucking his hips off the chair to guide himself further into you, feeling his cock twitch when you gag a little at the contact. You stay like that for a good while, bobbing your head in rhythmic motions up and down his hardened length, your saliva allowing you to graze his shaft with ease.

Minho’s thighs contract desperately below him, trying his best to stave off the orgasm he’s been longing for since the moment he saw you this morning. His hands find your hair, pulling your locks into a makeshift ponytail and gasping as you take him a bit deeper now, pulling back again to pepper the tip of his wettened cock in drooly kisses.

“Fuck,” Minho breathes out, clutching the arm of the chair so desperately. “Baby, stop, I don’t want to finish yet,”

And you release him with a gentle pop, knowing exactly what it is he wants so badly. You never deny it, sitting back up again to position yourself over his cock you intertwine his hands with yours. He uses one hand to tug your panties to the side, and then in one swift motion, you guide his cock inside of you, sliding down the slick of his length and bottoming out with ease. You take him so well now, always able to adjust to his girth instantly as your cunt is always dripping in anticipation when he’s near.

Minho’s hand moves to push your tank top up, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking harshly as you begin to bounce on him with gentle movements. The room fills with sounds of panting, sucking and desperate moans as his cock fills you fully with every thrust, brushing against your cervix as he moves to your other nipple and kneads your breast desperately.

“What was that quote again?” You ask in labored breaths as he comes back up to kiss your lips.

“The pleasures of love,” he begins, breathlessly working his lips against yours as you clench around his length. “Are always in proportion to the fear.”

Minho feels his cock twitch inside of you, always nearing his finish much faster when you make him recite all his favorite quotes and book excerpts to you.

Except this one speaks much louder to you, directly aligning with your present-day emotions, circling your mind relentlessly as he fills you. Maybe this is what his book speaks of- the pleasures of love, being filled so fully and lovingly by Minho, two pieces of one whole like you’re both made for this, to make love into the late hours of the night while he recites poetry to you.

And all of this in proportion to the fear- this constant fear that he’s just a fleeting entity, that you’re both naive to play house like this and pretend it’s anything more. The fear present while you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back, letting him fuck you like he’s married to you and indulge you in all of his deepest secrets, as though you’re the only one allowed to know him this intimately.

The love and fear and indeed in proportion to one another- you love him as much as you’re afraid of loving him.

“I love you,” you say suddenly, bringing him in for another kiss before he can respond. But the way his kisses work against yours, hungry and passionate, there’s not a hint of reluctance in his response when he pulls away to speak again.

“I love you,” Minho breathes back, working his kisses against yours as his cock pulsates inside of you, desperate for release. “And I hope every version of the universe is conditioned for us to be right here.”

You smile into him, slowing your movements as you feel him contract inside of you, and then his thighs flex as he finally finishes inside of you, shooting hot white ropes of his cum into your still-clenching cunt, his release already beginning to dribble back down his length as he feels you slow down over him.

You bring a hand between the two of you, gathering his cum on the pads of your fingers to circle your clit in gentle movements, stimulating yourself to your release, too, as you contract desperately around him and breathe labored kisses back into his mouth. Your juices mix with his as you catch your breath, keeping him inside of you as your chest rises and falls with gentle movements. But the two of you say nothing, pressing your lips together to indulge in more passionate kisses for the few minutes you have left before Mrs. Lee makes it home for the evening.

*

The garden is particularly beautiful the next afternoon, teeming with the sounds of birds chirping and trees swaying in the gentle autumn breeze. Mrs. Lee let you know she’d be home a little earlier to have a chat about your decision to leave, and when Joon is put down for his afternoon nap, you receive the call that she’s in the garden waiting for you. You enter hesitantly, worried Minho might catch you and question what you’re doing out here. But he’s not home from school yet, you remind yourself, glancing around the tall grass and neat rows of potted plants for Mrs. Lee.

“Y/n!” A voice calls from one of the patio chairs. “Come, sit!”

Mrs. Lee sits with her back facing you, a large white sun hat atop her neatly styled hair and complementing her matching white jumpsuit. Her gaze remains locked on the koi fountain you’re always transfixed by, too.

“Hi Mrs. Lee,” you say, giving her a small bow as you take the seat next to her. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

She nods with a smile. “So good to see you when we have a little more time. I’m sorry I’m always such a mess in the mornings.”

You shake your head quickly, brushing off her words. “Not at all! It’s always nice to greet the family before I start my day.”

She just smiles in response, turning to nod at you, and then she turns back to the fountain.

“I was a little surprised when you called the other day. I hope things are going okay.”

“They are,” you interrupt quickly. “They absolutely are. Joon is so pleasant, and the job is great. I really love it here.”

“I hope everything at home is okay,” she moves on to say, and you quickly reassure her.

“Yes, everything is fine! Everyone is doing great.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Lee says, eyeing the ground before turning to face you now. “You’ve done so much for us, I’d be lying if I said I’m not going to miss having you around here in the mornings.”

You shoot her a sympathetic look, feeling a pit form in your stomach, too. You feel the same, probably tenfold, at the idea of leaving behind the household you’ve called home for so many days.

“I’m going to miss it here, too.”

“And I know Joon is going to be heartbroken,” Mrs. Lee says with a chuckle.

You chuckle too, giving her an understanding nod.

She pauses briefly, furrowing her brows together, before continuing her speech.

“You’re such a bright young woman, and I know you’re destined to do amazing things. If there’s a way I can help in this transition, please don’t hesitate to let me know, okay?”

You nod at her words, and watch as she smooths down her top before standing up. She seems to wait for a moment, as if hoping for you to say something, and when you don’t, she begins to make her way back inside.

“Well, I’ll let you go for the evening. Thank you again, for everything. And you have my phone number if-”

“Mrs. Lee?” You call out suddenly, catching her before she can get much further. She turns around at the worry present in your voice, her face shifting into that of concern.

Without having to voice anything else, Mrs. Lee sits down again, waiting for you to continue. But you can’t, your heart beating wildly in your chest at the thought of even bringing up the topic of Minho. I’m in love with your son, you want to say to her. I’m so in love with Minho and I hope you understand I don’t have a choice but to leave this all behind me.

“You know,” Mrs. Lee interrupts your thoughts, breaking the silence that fills the air. “This koi fountain was my first gift from Mr. Lee.”

You nod at her, remembering when she introduced it to you on your first day here.

“We weren’t married yet. It was his first restoration project, and my dad hated him. So he had a lot of trouble getting it over to me.”

You chuckle lightly, amused at her story which seems to calm you down a little.

“Luckily his parents adored me,” she continues. “And they offered to house it in their backyard until we married. For the 15 years we dated, my koi fish lived in their garden. And when we did marry, they rented a big truck to help haul it over. It was such a project! But it’s my favorite part of the garden.”

You shoot her a saccharine smile, well endeared at the way she speaks of Mr. Lee. You can tell she’s in love with him, even this many years later.

“Sometimes I wondered why they would do something so nice for me. But as I grew closer to them, I learned not to question what was meant for me. They loved me, as did Mr. Lee. And I wasn’t going to run from any of that, no matter what I felt I deserved.”

Your head snaps in her direction at her last words, realizing how they apply to you. But she doesn’t know about Minho- at least not to your knowledge, or Minho’s. She gives you a sheepish smile as you furrow your brows, and then she takes your hand in hers, giving it a little squeeze.

“I hope you won't run from what you deserve, either.”

You nod a little bit at her words, finally understanding the weight of them, and then you look back at her with a confused expression.

“Mrs. Lee, are you talking about…”

“Minho?” She finally says, with a warm smile. She takes your other hand in hers, too, tilting her face to yours so that she’s making proper eye contact as she speaks.

“I had wondered why he was so happy these days. Minho’s always been a bit of an outcast. But I haven’t seen this spark in him since he started his obsession with all those romance novels and philosophy studies of his.”

You chuckle lightly, a weight off your shoulders as she finally speaks of what circles your mind so heavily.

“But how did you…”

“I knew it when I saw it,” she says. “I knew it, because he had the same look in his eyes as when I met his father.”

You feel your heart swell in your chest, your shoulders relaxing as she continues to speak.

“He speaks of you like poetry,” she tells you. “And for that alone, I’m thankful for you. Now what you choose to do is your decision- but I hope you know you will always have a home here with us. Not just as a babysitter, but as family.”

When Mrs. Lee finishes her speech, she gives your hands a little squeeze, smiling at you and back at the koi fish fountain. It feels much more sentimental to you even now, the beautiful waterfall that cascades serving as a reminder of its permanent restoration rooted in the infatuation Mr. Lee had for Mrs. Lee. And watching it stand so beautifully like it did all those years ago, you’re reminded that love can be a lasting thing, no matter the circumstances. The universe can condition itself to make things last, affirming the philosophical notions Minho’s always told you. And that perhaps you do deserve this, a sense of belonging here in the Lee household, right here alongside Mrs. Lee and Minho, and even baby Joon.

As you watch the fountain together, the sound of the sliding door makes itself known behind you, and you turn around to find Minho entering the garden, baby Joon sitting comfortably in his arms as he makes his way over.

“Hi,” Minho says, coming around to give Mrs. Lee a kiss on her cheek. “What’s going on here?”

He looks visibly worried, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Mrs. Lee, as if to silently ask you what she’s told you.

But Mrs. Lee just smiles at him, as she gets up from where she’s sitting and smooths down her jumpsuit.

“We were just having a girl chat. I’ll leave you two alone.”

And she disappears behind the screen door again, shooting you a little wink as she does, her anecdote circling your mind, still.

“What happened?” Minho asks, settling down next to you and balancing baby Joon on his knee. Joon fists at the fabric of his shirt, babbling incoherently as you smile down at him.

“Nothing,” you say, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. You refrain from saying anything about leaving, not wanting to interrupt the tender moment you share with Minho and Joon in the sunlight of the garden.

“You have a really cool mom,” you settle on saying, smiling at Minho as he chuckles softly in response.

*

The afternoon sun beams through the glass windows of the library as you lie comfortably in Minho’s lap, his book positioned in front of you as he presses a small kiss to the back of your hand before turning the page.

Outside, the birds chirp songs of early spring, the steady stream of Mrs. Lee’s koi fountain audible as you peer down at the garden.

Mr. and Mrs. Lee sit in the tall grass, fiddling with a box of tools as Mr. Lee repairs a new project for Mrs. Lee. This one’s a much larger fountain, one he’d told you would take several months, perhaps even years. But Mrs. Lee sits beside him, relishing in stories of his restoration process and laughing with him as he works. You can’t help but smile at the sight, her stories about him playing in your mind whenever you catch a glimpse of them together.

“Do you think they could be us in another universe?” You ask Minho, turning to face him as he peers out the window, too.

“I hope so,” he says with a smile.

You settle closer to him in his lap, pressing a small kiss to his hand as he continues reading.

“And think not that you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.”

At his words, you hear baby Joon cry out, having woken from his afternoon nap.

“I’ll get him,” Minho says, shutting the book and setting it aside to go tend to the baby.

And as you peer back out the window, the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Lee’s laughter filling your ears, baby Joon’s voice calling to you, Minho’s philosophy book perched on the chair beside you and the sun beams shining their light through the windows, you know that this is belonging, this is love.

[caxde]

bright eyes | eddie munson x reader

summary you're a new neighbour in the trailer park, on a sunny day Eddie's daughter bumps into you. (4.1k)

warnings fem!reader, girl!dad Eddie!!!!, fluff, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn strangers to lovers, idiots in love!!!, , english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read! 

a/n: i think i might make this a little series if you guys would like that <3 part 2 part 3

It was warm outside. 

Early spring had its advantages, flowers started to bloom, the sun shone brighter and longer, and the rain fell only at night when you had trouble sleeping. 

You had just moved here, and you still weren’t sure or knew that much, so you tended to keep to yourself. You’d go to work, to the little shop on main street, back to your little trailer. 

You were sitting down on your little kitchen floor, looking at the way your washing machine turned around, waiting for your hair to dry after the shower, so you could sleep with fresh sheets tonight. You enjoyed this sort of calmness, a new found happiness that you weren’t aware you could achieve. 

You placed the white sheets on the little laundry basket that you had lying around, cloth pins scattered on its bottom. You held it, against your waist, your left hand grabbing it while you struggled to open the door. 

You whispered along the words of a song that was playing from a beat up radio from across the street, taking your time, as you placed every sheet perfectly, enjoying the sun shining on your face. It was all going as well as it could. 

“Hi.” 

It startled you, not as much as it could, the little voice coming from down below you, it forced you to look down, a little girl looked up at you, half hiding behind your sheets, she was wearing a black faded black sabbath shirt that didn’t belong to her, the seam of it well past her knees, white socks on her feet, her hair was black and curly, half hiding her eyes. 

“Oh. Hi.” You smiled at her, the sweetest tone you could fathom came out of your lips. She became shy for a second, as she grabbed one of your clothes pins and handed it to you. “Thank you, buddy.” You smiled as you grabbed it, placing it on top of one of your cushion covers, even if it didn’t need an extra one. “You’ll get your socks dirty.” You point out. 

She smiled in a shy manner, covering her face with her hands as she nodded. 

“Bug?” She turned around as soon as she heard his voice. Her arms went up, demanding to be held by him. “There you are!” He had a soft and playful tone, as he grabbed her. 

You felt stuck there for a second. He was tall, with curly dark hair, strong decorated by tattoos arms that flex when he held her, close to his chest. The same smile she seemed to have was imprinted on his face. It’s not that he is attractive -which he undeniably is- but he seems to shine, in a beautiful light, warmer than the sun. 

“I’m sorry if she annoyed you, we were playing hide and seek.” His words come out way too quicker than he had wanted them to, with an apologetic look on his face as he swayed his body, her giggles invading the space between you. 

“She didn’t, not at all.” You smiled at him, before looking back at her, she was giggling at you now, and a soft spot was found deep inside your heart. “She was helping me do laundry, actually.” You point out to the extra wood clothespin that she had given you. 

“Oh, so you can help the pretty lady and not me?” He jokes as he tickles her belly, the infectious laughter growing louder and stronger as he holds his face closer to hers. 

But you don’t really listen, the only thing in your mind right now is his voice calling you pretty. 

pretty, pretty, pretty. 

Your cheeks become warmer, pinker. 

As soon as he notices, he realises what he had said. 

He had called you pretty before even introducing himself. He feels like a fool, he meets a pretty girl and is only focused on the one in his arms. 

He tries to fix it, a soft grin dedicated to you as a nervous scoff leaves his lips. 

You don’t really mind the silence, or the opportunity to look at him, and his dark chocolate eyes, but you have the impulse to tell him your name, and you do, with an upside down smile that passes down to him. 

“I’m Eddie.” He says in return, grabbing your hand not thinking much of it, though he didn’t think he’d feel a sort of sparks as soon as your hand met his. To be fair, neither did you. “This little bug is Lua.” He adds, as he lets go of your hand, slowly, so his fingers can tickle her again, making her giggle once more, her tiny hands grabbing his hair in a playful manner. 

“Hi Lua.” It’s not that your voice comes out shy, but the high pitched baby voice makes your tone come out with a bit of a treble, as if nervousness that she wouldn’t like you took over. “Thanks for helping me with laundry.” You add, as she hides, pushing her face against Eddie’s chest, the pureness of that gesture makes your smile wider. 

If you weren’t so focused on Lua’s reactions, you would have caught Eddie lost into you, as he had never experienced such kindness or softness from someone that wasn’t already close. 

He was used to the stares, and the silent judgment from everyone, way before Lua came into his life, and mostly it came from people around his age, or way older. His constant thought behind a string of ‘shut up grandpa’ and ‘go back to your retirement home’ that he never said out loud. The world could be mean, but he would never let her little girl know that. At least not yet. 

He wasn’t used to this though. 

A kind stranger, around his age, that doesn’t really judge, and interacts in a playful manner with her. It was more than he could fathom. 

“‘r welcome.” Lua mumbled as she looked up from her hiding spot for a second, before burying herself back into his arms. 

Eddie’s heart felt full for a moment. Lua wasn’t used to strangers, and she didn't really like to talk out loud to people she wasn’t used to. Though these days she was only used to uncle Way and Stevie, or aunt Rob. So seeing her, not only talking back after you told her something, but having seen her approach you out of her own will, it made his mind stop worrying for just a second. Lua’s social ability was just as good as his in that moment. 

The thought made him smile to himself.

“We should check if our’s is done.” He mumbled to Lua’s ear as he started swinging his chest again, hugging her tightly as he felt how she was starting to get heavier. “That way you can stop wearing dada’s shirt.” He looked attentive at your face, waiting for your reaction. 

He felt better when he didn’t see nothing but a compassionate smile. 

Eddie was also used to people thinking he wasn’t the dad, maybe an uncle, maybe an older brother. Eddie was also used to people opening their eyes wide as soon as they hear dad when referred to him. 

But you didn’t. 

Truth be told, it did shock you a bit. But the little girl was a carbon copy of him. The same wide smile and wild hair. And the world was mean and complicated enough, you didn’t need to make it harder for someone you had just met. 

“We’ll see you around?” He asks, with a hopefulness on his voice that you’re not too sure what it means, or what you actually want it to mean. 

“Yeah, I moved in a while ago so…” He nodded as he pointed at the little trailer right in front of yours. 

“That’s us.” 

“Way!” Lua blurted out as she looked back at where she called home, and Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle and give her a kiss on her temple. 

“Yes! And uncle Wayne too.” You noticed that his tone is sweeter, calmer and a bit higher when he talks to the little girl on his arms than when he talks to you. “If you ever need anything…” 

He doesn’t finish his sentence, the end of it implied, and you’re left nodding, telling him that if they ever need anything you’re here too, waving bye to Lua as she looks over Eddie’s shoulder, her little hand waving back. 

You finish hanging your laundry dry, as you think about what just happened. 

You had finally made friends that weren’t work related, and one of them was a baby. You sort of chuckle to yourself. It felt stupid, but it also felt good, knowing someone here, and that someone being nice, and kind. 

It felt as if you were finally on the right path. 

-

“Bug, please?” Eddie whined for the fourth time, while Lua was still on the higher part of the couch, looking out the window. 

She shook her head again, Wednesdays were always the longest days in the Mudson household. Eddie took another big breath, while he looked at his wrist watch once again, afraid he’ll be late if he doesn’t leave soon. 

“Okay… You can either stay here with uncle Way, or you can come with dada to the garage. Please?” He bargained, for the last time, begging to some higher power she’ll climb down the sofa. 

He could scream out of excitement once she finally did. 

“friend?” She asked, in a mumble as she pointed out of the door. 

She had been doing that for a while now, ever since Eddie had found Lua in your yard, she kept asking to go see you, for some reason that escaped Eddie’s mind, her little girl seemed to have an infatuation with you. 

Eddie sat down on the floor now, and Lua started walking closer to him, he laughed in defeat as she giggled, her little steps approaching him. 

“Once I get back from work, deal?” 

Eddie held his hand out, waiting for her to shake it as she usually did when she knew she had won whatever she wanted -which happened frequently- but accepted with glee once she tried to hug him, with her usual clumsiness. Her arms not quite reaching the back of his neck until he helped her up. 

He enjoyed this little moment. 

Holding her close while nothing else was going on. A long day ahead of him that he wasn’t totally ready for, but then again he wasn’t really ready for a lot of things that he ended up being capable of. 

Wayne’s steps broke the small intimate moment. 

“You made a friend, Lua?” He asked as she giggled at the sight of him, even if he still was half asleep, Wayne always seemed to have more than enough energy for her. 

“She did.” 

“Who?” 

“New girl.” Eddie nodded at the trailer that could be seen through their window. 

“Huh.” Wayne had never been a man of many words, but the way his facial expression changed usually left nothing to the imagination. In this case, it was a warning. An overprotective warning. 

“She seems nice. Lua approached her.” She smiled, as she always did when she heard her own name. Eddie knew that she liked to be included, no matter what. Maybe that’s why he tried so hard. 

“You did?” Wayne’s eyes opened wider, as he squatted down to meet her eye level, she wobbled her way into him, as she giggled once again. She had a secret power, or at least that’s what Eddie thought, to make everyone happy. 

“Friend!” She said again, pointing at where she had last seen you. 

“Okay bug, see you in a bit?” 

“Lo you.” She muttered as she waved bye, Eddie’s heart warmer as he opened the door and blew her a kiss. 

“Love you too, bug.” Eddie opened the door, stopping on the frame as he always did, checking his pockets, making sure he had everything he needed with him. 

“Kid, if you plan on going over, make sure she’s okay with it. Not a lot of people are.” It was another warning, his left eyebrow raised, his tone sharper. Eddie just nodded. 

And before he knew it, he was already on your door, knocking and hoping you’re actually home. 

You were, and the nocks on your door wake you up. You had always been a light sleeper. You found your way out of your bed, and you didn’t care if your hair was a bit knotted than usual, messier or that your eyes were still adjusting to the light creeping through your windows. You opened the door and there he was. Tall, handsome Eddie, in his washed up jeans and his white shirt that had some small car grease marks on it. His opened blue short sleeve shirt with the little name tag made you smile internally. 

“Sorry.” He muttered, as soon as you made eye contact with him. 

He took a second, you stood there, sleep still present on your face and overall demeanor, but what caught his attention -even if he tried not to- were your naked legs, barely covered by an oversized shirt that you evidently used as a sleep shirt. Still, you looked pretty, he thought. He also felt bad that he had woken you up. 

“S’kay. Morning.” You half joked as you smiled up at him, your head resting against the door frame, your arms crossed over your chest, the air making you feel a bit colder than you were deep in your sheets. 

“Yeah, morning.” He was left speechless. He wasn’t sure why, but all of a sudden he wished he hadn’t knocked. So you could be resting, being face to face with you, he could see the little bags under your eyes, and he imagined how much you were enjoying getting to sleep in. 

“You knocked to tell me good morning?” If you hadn’t had a smile on your lips, or your voice wasn’t as sweet and soft as it was, Eddie would have felt even worse. When in reality it made you inexplicably happy that he was the reason you had woken up. 

“No, yeah, sorry.” He chuckled in a nervous manner once again. “Uh, Lua has been asking for you, and uh… I’m done at work early today, and if it’s not too weird and if it’s okay we could come for a bit after, don’t worry if you don’t feel like it i-” 

“I’d love that.” You cut his nervous and anxious rambling off. “I’m free today, so I can go pick up some things for her?” 

Eddie relaxed, his shoulders dropping and his smile finally appearing. 

While you had to try hard to hide your excitement. 

“You don’t have to…” 

“Shut up. She deserves it.” 

Even if you weren’t aware of it, that was the best thing you could have said to him. But truth be told, you were actually excited, you had been thinking about him, and the promise of a new friendship since you had met him, so this? It felt like the perfect excuse. 

“What time were you thinking?” 

“Uh, I dunno, my shift ends at around six, so maybe…” 

“I’ll have snacks ready by six then, don’t worry.” 

He was way more thankful than he could express, but he tried his best anyway. 

“Thank you princess, it means a lot. Truly.” That nickname rang in your ears for a while, the same way it did when he had called you pretty. It was made obvious that you had liked it by the way you were starting to blush. 

“Don’t worry Edds.” You stayed just like you were for a second longer. Looking at him, and the way his dimples were showing when he smiled as wide as he did, and a spark in his eyes he seemed to reserve for you. “Hope you have a good day at work.” 

He was the one blushing now, and the one he was left with the way you had called him Edds, the sound of your voice present on his ears for a while after he had started driving. It wasn’t until he arrived at the garage, when he realised he was smiling at nothing, like an idiot. 

-

You might have gone a bit overboard. 

You had gone into town, and before you knew it your fridge was now filled with various juices and milk. The good ones that you usually didn’t buy for yourself. You had thought about baking a cake, but you ended up deciding that that felt too much as a birthday type of treat, so you went for your comfort recipe. 

The cookie dough was already done, and you were chopping up the chocolate bar into smaller bits. You hated dark chocolate, so milky sweet one was the only acceptable one. 

Morrisey’s voice kept you company as you mutter along the lyrics. 

You looked over your little home, you had cleaned, deeply. Afraid that Eddie would judge you, or that Lua would somehow hurt herself or something could happen to her. You tend to do that, over worrying about things you can’t really control. 

Then again, Eddie was doing the same thing. 

A quick shower, fresh clothes, and hair almost dry. Lua looked up at him with excitement, as he tried to find something else for her to wear. She had a tendency to steal his shirts when he wasn’t there, in an attempt to be close to him, or at least that’s what he thought. So the negotiation began. 

“Bug, which one?” On his left hand he had a light blue dress that Joyce gave him a few years ago, on his right he had a newer pair of overalls. She stood there, shaking her head as she hugged the shirt she was already wearing. “You need to get dressed if you want to go see your new friend, bug.” He couldn’t help but chuckle, as soon as she realised they were going to see you, she pointed at the overalls and had no issue getting ready. 

Thank god for you, he thought. It had never been that easy, normally Lua hated changing clothes, especially when she was already comfortable. But this time, she didn’t only do it, she helped, and was excited to. 

Lua wasted no time, her hands hitting your door as hard as she could, which resulted in soft knocks you still heard. 

“Hi.” She beamed up at you, holding her arms open for you, her voice higher than you remembered. It might be her childish excitement, or at least that’s what you think. 

“Hi Lua.” You met her level of excitement as you squatted down so you could meet her, her arms trying to hug you, waiting for you to help her get up so she could do it. Used to this type of hug with her dad. 

Speaking of, Eddie was speechless. Mainly because Lua doesn’t really hug people that are not him, or Wayne. Steve maybe had gotten two or three hugs, she usually blew kisses. Also he wasn’t sure if you actually wanted them there, or were just being nice, but that doubt went away as soon as he heard your voice, and saw the way you smiled at her. 

He also was pretty sure that he could smell cookie dough. 

Lua found her way in, passing you by as you greeted Eddie. She didn’t have time to waste, her curiosity always winning. In her defense, your house was full of colour, and she wasn’t used to it. Every pillow was a different colour, and they were everywhere. Your couch was green, which she didn’t even know that was a possibility. Your walls had photos, and posters, and drawings. She had so much to look at she was grinning from ear to ear, laughing as she moved around. 

Eddie did the same, in a more discrete manner. He found his way in the middle of your living room, he looked at the stacked shelves, they were full to the brim, various fantasy books that he recognised -mainly because he had already read them- cassette  tapes and vinyls also shared a big portion of space. He smiled to himself everytime he knew a group that you seemed to like. Your vhs collection also caught his eye. You, on the other hand, were left there, holding your hands in an anxious manner, not too sure what to do now. Seeing how father and daughter act the same in different ways. 

“You’re listening to the Smiths?” He asked, once he caught on to what was playing. 

“Oh, yeah, I’ll uh… turn it off.” You became embarrassed, knowing that probably he didn’t like that type of music, or maybe it was too loud. Eddie smiled, shaking his head no. 

“No, it’s fine. Lua likes them, that’s all.” You looked down at her, and relaxed once you saw her dancing along. She was moving up and down, kind of in tune with the music. 

The little timer started, letting you know that the cookies were now done.

“Lua, you like cookies?” She didn’t even need to say anything, her eyes opened as she heard the word, she walked next to you, Eddie following closely. 

He grabbed her up, letting her sit down on the counter. He was grateful all the trailers were the same, that way he knew -kinda- where everything was. 

“Carefull, bug. It’s hot.” 

“Hot.” She repeated, pointing at the baking sheet that you took out, fresh golden chocolate chips came out. “For me?” 

“Well, not all of them.” Eddie answered, with an amused tone in her voice that made you chuckle in response. 

“We have to wait for them to cool down a bit.” You told her as you placed them on a plate, the tips of your fingers slightly burning. 

“Why?” Her eyes opened in wonder, not really following you. 

“‘Cause when they’re too warm, they can give you a belly ache.” You explained to her, earnest in your tone, as you touched your own stomach. 

“Only five minutes, bug.” Lua turned around, looking at Eddie with a confused look. “You can wait five minutes right?” She looked at him, slowly. You couldn’t help but chuckle, seeing the way they share the same look between them. 

-

You were on the couch. 

Eddie didn’t count it as cuddling, not really. 

You were just sitting down next to him, his arm brushing yours, as you both looked between the T.V that was playing ‘Arthur and the Stone ’- you had a tendency to collect VHS, and the style and drawings had pulled you to buy it. You didn’t have an excuse until now to watch it, so you were just enjoying it as much as Lua did- and the little one, who was enamored by the story, while she colored in one paper lazily. 

Eddie had become a bit too comfortable. His body feeling heavier, warmer, he was on the verge of falling asleep. That same feeling shot sirens on his head. This felt too nice, too normal, too usual. He could get used to this, and that wasn’t good. 

He didn’t really know you. 

Eddie knew where you lived, how your living room looked, that you worked almost everyday -though he still didn’t know where-, and that you were incredibly nice. And sweet. 

Eddie also knew that Lua trusted you, and for now, that was enough. 

It was enough that you had taken time out of your day so you could bake them cookies, or buying the expensive juice that you had taken them in as if they had always belonged there. 

Lua giggled and Eddie’s eyes opened, seeing how she was pointing at the T.V when the boy turned into a squirrel, and the way she looked up at you, wanting to see your reaction. He was happy, more than he had been in a while. 

You were sinking deeper into the cushions. Deeper into him and this familiarity. You could get used to this, but you weren’t unsure if you should. You enjoyed spending time with them, and this was fun, but then again, it was scary. It scared you, the thought of it going wrong, or you doing something you weren’t supposed to, it was a bit too much. 

While you were sitting down there, with him that close, his smell lingering in the air, his warmness by your side, the risk of this crush evolving into something else was too much. 

You didn’t care. Not at all. 

Neither did Eddie. Not even a little bit.

-

part 2 is up!

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