Dinner at your parents’ house was always a little… tense.

Your mom loved JJ — she always had snacks waiting for him, always asked about surfing and the Pogues, always gave him a hug when he came in. Your dad, on the other hand? Not so much.

So, you sat at the table, your hand on JJ’s knee under the table as if to silently reassure him, while your dad grilled him like he was being interviewed for a job he didn’t apply for.

“And what’s the plan after the summer, JJ?” your dad asked, not even bothering to hide the skepticism in his voice.

JJ’s jaw tightened. “Not sure yet, sir. Just… taking things one day at a time.”

Your dad hummed, clearly unimpressed. “Taking things one day at a time doesn’t pay the bills.”

“Dad,” you warned softly, shooting him a look.

JJ just gave you a small smile, like he was used to it. He went quiet after that, answering only when spoken to, which only made your chest ache.

Halfway through dinner, his hand slid up your thigh under the table, resting there. You almost choked on your drink.

“JJ,” you hissed under your breath, trying to keep your face neutral.

He just smirked, rubbing slow circles into your skin with his thumb while carrying on casual conversation with your mom. Every time your dad asked him something, JJ would squeeze just a little tighter, clearly enjoying how hard it was for you to keep it together.

By dessert, you were practically shaking, your face hot, biting your lip to keep quiet.

When dinner was finally over, you grabbed JJ by the wrist and pulled him down the hall to your room, shutting the door behind you.

“Are you crazy?” you whisper-shouted.

JJ just grinned, leaning back against your bed. “What? I was just… entertaining myself.”

You sighed, running your hands through your hair. “JJ, my dad—”

“Yeah.” His grin faded, replaced by something softer, more guarded. “Your dad thinks I’m a screw-up. Probably wonders why you’re even with me.”

Your chest ached at the way he said it so casually, like he already believed it. You crossed the room and cupped his face in your hands.

“Hey. I’m with you because I want to be with you. You’re not a screw-up, JJ. You’re… you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

JJ swallowed hard, his hands finding your hips. “Sometimes I think you deserve better.”

You shook your head fiercely. “There is no better. There’s only you.”

That was all it took — JJ kissed you slow, deep, like he was trying to pour every word he couldn’t say straight into your mouth. His hands came up to cradle your face as he walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

“Sit,” he murmured, voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You sat down, heart pounding, watching as he knelt in front of you, sliding your dress up over your hips.

“Let me take care of you,” he said, almost pleading, and you nodded wordlessly.

JJ’s hands were gentle, almost reverent, as he undressed you piece by piece, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin. He didn’t rush — not when he kissed your inner thighs, not when his fingers traced the waistband of your panties.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your hipbone before hooking under the fabric and sliding it down your legs.

When his mouth finally found you, you gasped, hand flying to his hair. But even then, JJ kept it slow — long, languid licks, teasing, taking his time like he wanted to savor every sound you made.

By the time he crawled up over you, you were a trembling mess, reaching for him.

“J,” you whispered, your voice almost breaking. “Please.”

He kissed you again, pressing you back against the pillows as he lined himself up. When he finally pushed in, you both let out matching gasps — not loud, just quiet, shaky breaths that filled the room.