#aisling might though | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saintobio · 9 months ago

Text

sincerely yours. (11)

↳ gojou satoru/reader

when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after.

genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+

tags/warnings. depression, cheating, trauma, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationships

notes. 12k wc. we're so close to the finale <3 thanks so much for the continued support and for the patience you guys have with this series :')

series masterlist -> episode twelve

For better and worse.

Weddings are funny things. Despite the strict adherence to ceremonial traditions, they didn’t guarantee a happily ever after. Exchanging vows and the signing of marriage certificates could become meaningless when a couple faces challenges that would drive them apart. Consider the high-profile divorces of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, Jennifer Garner and Ben Affleck, or Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise. Divorce had become so common that it almost seemed inevitable for many couples, even the ones with the most fairytale-like relationships. No one was safe from the idea of a divorce. So, was having a wedding really that important? Would it really define the quality and longevity of a relationship?

Satoru might have been thinking bitterly about it, given that his own marriage wasn’t exactly a shining success. However, he was also being rational when he said that weddings weren’t necessary to prove your love for each other. Early in his marriage, he certainly wasn’t the best husband, but over time, he learned to genuinely become a good partner to his ex-wife. There was no specific time frame for loving someone. You could be together for weeks, months, or years, yet the depth of love you share might remain unchanged. This constancy can be either a blessing or a curse, depending on how deep your love was from the beginning.

Well… On the topic of marriages, Satoru had no good thing to say. But that didn’t mean he shouldn’t participate in it. Weddings were still considered a special celebration for families and close friends, and He would be selfish not to share in such a beautiful event with his best friends. Besides, wasn’t it always expected that Suguru and Shoko would end up marrying each other? They were lucky—fortunate because their marriage was built on a foundation of genuine love. In contrast, Satoru’s marriage began out of convenience, which ultimately led to all the terrible things that followed.

As the best man, Satoru strode confidently alongside Suguru down the aisle, both adorned in princely tuxedos, drawing the eyes of the guests as they followed their procession. There were teasing remarks, smiles all around, and even a comment from one of the groom’s female cousins about how handsome they both looked. Despite the gentle commotion, Satoru understood why Suguru remained nervous as they reached the end of the aisle. He comfortingly stood by his side, offered a reassuring pat on the back, silently communicating to his best friend that everything would be alright.

“Don’t tell me you’ll back out now,” Satoru jested, whispering in Suguru’s ear as they observed the guests entering in accordance with the processional order.

Suguru, with his once long hair now neatly trimmed and slicked back, cleared his throat in an attempt to appear less anxious. “What if she gets cold feet?”

Gojou couldn’t help but tease. “Shoko? You really think she’d have cold feet?” he chuckled. “She’d be the one dragging your ass back to this garden if you tried to run away.”

“Fair enough.”

Just the night before, they had checked into the Hoshinoya Fuji to celebrate Suguru's last night of freedom. While there was drinking involved, one of the groomsmen insisted it wouldn’t be a proper bachelor’s party without some female company. So, inevitably, there were women in the hotel room, one of whom even gave Suguru a lap dance even though he showed no interest whatsoever. It was amusing to Satoru, considering his best friend used to be the biggest casanova, and now he was a committed and loyal man who, not only was terrified out of his wits on his wedding day, but was also afraid that the one woman he loved might run away from him.

Such genuine, pure love.

As Satoru pondered, his gaze landed on Akemi, who was seated a couple of rows back among the other guests. She had just arrived, her hair tied elegantly in a low ponytail and her silky sage dress accentuating her womanly figure flawlessly. She was wearing the diamond Tiffany & Co. earrings he had gifted her, which made her stand out among the rest of the people in that garden. Their eyes also met at the perfect moment, her gaze sparkling upon seeing Satoru in his tuxedo. He offered her a smile, one that silently conveyed ‘I’ll be there with you later,’ and she immediately understood.

How fortunate was Satoru to have her? Perhaps the reason for her late appearance was because she had been looking after Sachiro back home, fulfilling the duties that his ex-wife should have been doing. She was truly a mother who stepped up, especially during a time when both he and his son felt most abandoned.

And what about you? Who knew if you would even attend the wedding? You were meant to be Ieiri’s maid-of-honor, yet you were conspicuously absent. Perhaps you were still in Monaco, enjoying your time playing house with Toji, making a wedding like this seem insignificant to you. You would have informed Miwa in advance and picked up Sachiro if you had returned to Tokyo, right? Suguru also hadn’t mentioned anything about your arrival at the accommodation, hinting that someone else would have to step in as Shoko's maid-of-honor.

But who would it be? Shoko’s cousin? One of her other female co-workers? Her high school friend?

“Look, mom! She’s beautiful~”

Satoru was rendered speechless, utterly captivated by the sight before him. His fingers tingled with anticipation, his heart raced in his chest, his feet felt rooted to the ground, and his eyes remained fixed on the next lady gracefully making her way down the aisle. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what struck him the most: was it the sight of you in a stunning light green dress, resembling an angel descended from the heavens, or was it the haunting reminder of his own wedding day, when you walked down the same aisle as his most beautiful bride?

His breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening with each step you took down the aisle. Satoru felt like a statue, frozen in place, unable to tear his gaze away from you. You had become the sole focus of his attention, the rest of the world fading into a blur around him. He couldn’t comprehend it. Why was it so effortless for him to let his guard down around you?

This woman, he thought. This woman is Sachiro’s mother. This was the same woman that carried his flesh and blood for nine months, now appearing as radiant as a freshly bloomed flower, as if untouched by the stresses of unexpected motherhood. What had transpired in Monaco to transform you into this vision of beauty?

“You’re drooling.” Suguru nudged him on the chest. “This isn’t your wedding. You had your chance.”

Yes, he was well aware. This wasn’t his wedding, and he needed to maintain composure. Yet, it felt as though he was being drawn inexorably towards the mesmerizing goddess before him. With each beat of his heart quickening, he struggled to remind himself: No, Satoru. She's nothing to you now.

And because he was lost in a trance, he remained oblivious to the bride’s entrance and even Suguru’s emotional reaction to seeing his bride. His attention was solely fixated on you as he stole glances your way whenever he could. It wasn’t until the exchanging of rings, when you two had to stand side by side to assist the bride and groom, that he snapped back to reality. With you so close yet seemingly distant, Satoru felt a pang of disappointment as you never returned his gaze. The whispers and side comments from the guests also added to his discomfort, making him acutely aware of the scrutiny placed upon the best man and maid-of-honor.

“Aren’t they divorced?”

“Yeah, their marriage was a wreck.”

“They’re bad luck. I hope they don’t pass it onto the couple.”

For the first time in a long time, Satoru was gripped by an unprecedented desire to retort, to refute the misconceptions surrounding his marriage. Yet, he knew it was futile. Engaging in a verbal sparring match with another guest would only ruin his best friends' special day. Moreover, he might risk causing unintentional hurt to Akemi by defending a marriage that had long ceased to exist. So, despite the internal turmoil, he remained silent, allowing the whispers to persist unchecked.

And, with that, the wedding ceremony ended. Shoko and Suguru were now declared husband and wife.

— —

The reception was a time for socializing, enjoying drinks and hors d’oeuvres, and congratulating the newlyweds. For Suguru and Shoko, this part of the celebration felt effortless and their energies were seamlessly complementing each other’s. Unlike arranged marriages, there was no sense of haste or coercion; theirs was a union born of genuine affection. You couldn’t help but feel foolish for ever entertaining the notion that this was merely a conventional wedding experience. Here, before your eyes, unfolded a true celebration of love between two people.

Did Satoru share the same sentiments? You wondered what thoughts raced through his mind during the proceedings. Did the event trigger memories of his own past, or stir feelings of longing for what could have been?

You refused to subject yourself to the torment of dwelling on your past. If anything, your time living alone in Monaco had been a crucial step in your healing journey. While the process was far from complete, that solitary retreat had provided a much-needed respite from the source of your stress. It afforded you the opportunity to contemplate the life you were destined to lead, albeit alone for the foreseeable future.

By allowing Sachiro to spend more time with his father, you not only facilitated the rebuilding of their fractured relationship, but also acclimated your child to your absence. It was a necessary adjustment, one that would prepare him for the reality of your impending solitary existence. At least, Sachiro had a chance to live in a loving household with Satoru and Akemi, instead of a miserable and lonely way of living together with you.

In the end, it was all for your child.

As for the potential emotional minefield of attending this wedding, you were there for Shoko, who had always been a steadfast and understanding presence in your life. Her genuine friendship meant more to you than mere familial bonds ever could. Even at the risk of stirring up unhealthy emotions by being in a room full of people who hurt you, you couldn’t bear to disappoint Ieiri.

Admittedly though, navigating the wedding crowd was a delicate balance of warmth and formality. Ieiri’s side of the family, who were doctors heavily acquainted with your family, greeted you with genuine warmth. While Suguru’s relatives, who were more closely tied to the Gojou family, maintained a polite distance. Although there were occasional moments of discomfort, you knew how to maintain composure throughout.

As for Toji’s absence, while a part of you wished he could have been there as a supportive presence, you also recognized the value in learning to handle situations involving your ex-husband independently. He had an unavoidable business trip, but that also provided an opportunity for you to stop relying on him and navigate such occasions like these on your own. He was nothing more than a friend now.

While that ex-husband, Satoru, was here with your best friend. It didn’t surprise you that he had brought Akemi as a plus one. In fact, you had expected it to happen. It just wasn’t the best feeling to be the maid-of-honor when the best man clearly had another lady for it in mind.

It was quite amusing, too. Not once had Akemi approached you during the reception. You understood that she wanted to keep her distance, but you found it disrespectful that she was ignoring your existence. Was she scared to talk to you? Scared of what you had to say? You had heard over a million hurtful things from other people, yet she was afraid to hear a few pieces of advice from you?

Forget it. Forget her and Satoru. Focus on the reception, Y/N.

But really, how could you? As the moment arrived for the newlyweds’ first dance, tradition dictated that the best man and maid-of-honor should also take to the floor. You sensed the tension in the air as Satoru hesitated, surrounded by urging groomsmen, deciding whether or not he should ask you for a dance. He looked like he was battling with what was right and wrong in his mind, yet ultimately he chose to pass by you, extending his hand to Akemi instead.

It wasn’t feelings of shame that slapped you to reality. It was seeing Satoru holding Akemi’s hand, another on her waist, as they slowly danced to Can’t Help Falling In Love, a song that was played on your wedding day.

Take my hand

Take my whole life too

Oh, for I can’t help

Falling in love with you

It shouldn’t hurt anymore. You were doing better. You were doing so good, you were doing… you were okay. You should be okay. Or did you overestimate your emotions a little too much? Because this, seeing the man you loved with all your heart holding another woman in his arms, was tortuous to your soul. You could feel the pains of your past tugging at your heart, wondering why he never danced like that with you on your wedding day? Why he never stared at you like you were the most beautiful girl in the world, why he never showed you off in a room full of curious people, why he never respected you enough to treat you with such… with such love.

“Everything okay?”

You didn’t expect Nanami, out of all people, to be offering you a handkerchief. You hadn’t even realized that your eyes were already pooling of the tears if he had not cut you out of trance, offering a comforting and sympathetic smile. You had to blink multiple times just to push your tears back in.

“Yeah,” you answered with a grateful expression. I’m strong. I’ll be fine. “Thank you.”

Nanami took that as a sign to offer his hand. “Care for a dance, then?”

Wiping your eyes, you nodded, smiling at the man. “Why not?”

After the dance, the reception continued as follows. The cake cutting, the dinner service, then the toasts and speeches. If it wasn’t for Nanami, you wouldn’t have been able to pick yourself back up after the humiliation of seeing Satoru and Akemi dancing together. You just needed a decent amount of air to breathe and gather yourself together again. It was a nice help from someone who wasn’t a personal acquaintance of yours, that despite being Satoru’s right hand man in the company, Nanami still had some kindness in him that you would forever be thankful for.

And when it was time for you to do your speech as the MOH, you didn’t let a single vulnerable emotion slip out of you. For that short moment, you tried not to think about who was in the audience, about what they thought of you, and about what other preconceived notions they had of you. You focused on the newlyweds as you stood in front of the mic stand, eye-to-eye with Shoko and Suguru, who were holding each other’s hands.

“Shoko,” you began, smiling genuinely at the couple, “Through the laughter and tears, you’ve been my constant, my confidante, my rock. And today, as I watch you embark on this new chapter of your life, I’m honestly a bit overwhelmed with emotion.”

The bride returned your smile, and you can tell Shoko was holding back tears of her own as she glanced between you and Satoru.

You continued your speech, observing Suguru’s supportive gesture towards his wife as you spoke. “Shoko, I recall our late-night conversations, the tears shed over broken marriages, and the pain of shattered relationships. Yet, through it all, you’ve remained steadfast in your belief in love, in hope, in the possibility of a happily ever after.” Turning to Suguru, although he still had that lingering discomfort around you, you offered him nothing but heartfelt words. “As I look at you and Suguru, I’m reminded that true love exists—a love that is patient, kind, and enduring. My wish for you both is a lifetime filled with laughter, joy, and unwavering support for each other. May you cherish each other’s hearts, protect each other’s dreams, and weather life’s storms together, stronger in your love. Suguru, during your challenging days as a married couple, I pray that you always look at Shoko and remember why you love her. I pray that you will always have the capacity to cherish and respect her as your wife and the future mother of your children. May you keep her in your heart, no matter what challenges may come your way.”

As tears welled in Ieiri’s eyes, your voice faltered, the magnitude of your wishes for their marriage weighing heavily on your own unfulfilled desires. You weren’t trying to make this about you, and you hoped they thought that, too.

“As I raise my glass to toast this beautiful union,” you said, raising the champagne glass on your hand, “I do so with a heart full of love and a silent prayer—that your love story will be one of triumph, of healing, and of endless happiness. Congratulations, Shoko and Suguru!”

— —

Satoru was deeply affected by your speech. Both in good and bad ways. On one hand, he was touched by the sincerity of your words and the genuine wishes you extended to the newlywed couple. On the other hand, he couldn’t shake off the pang of guilt and remorse that accompanied your words, knowing all too well the history behind them. When you expressed your hopes for Suguru to always cherish and respect Shoko, Satoru couldn’t help but reflect on his own behavior during your marriage and the ways in which he may have fallen short.

Each action he did definitely had a lasting impact on you.

But what about the good ones? Had you forgotten about the times he treated you well? Had you forgotten the lengths he took just to prove to you that he was a changed man? That at one point in his life, he would do everything in him just to show you how much he loved you?

It was unfair. Why did you only ever look at the bad things he did and never the good ones? Why did you still see him as a villain in your marriage when he knew he had paid his dues after he lost you?

It was truly, honestly unfair, that you get to be happy with Toji, but he ought to feel guilty for being with Akemi.

“I think they’re about to do the bouquet and garter toss,” spoke Akemi, tugging at Satoru’s arm while they sat on their designated table. She held a napkin on her other hand to wipe her partner’s chin, smiling in excitement. “You should go and join.”

Where were you? After your speech, Satoru couldn’t seem to find you anymore. Where had you gone off to? Did you leave already?

“Y-Yeah,” Satoru answered, looking around the venue before turning to Akemi. “What about you? Won’t you join the bouquet toss thing?”

She shook her head, hesitantly. “Isn’t it only for bridesmaids?”

He grabbed her hand and urged her up. “No, it’s for all unmarried female guests. Come on.”

The reason Satoru dragged her along was because Akemi loved weddings, and she especially enjoyed the traditions that came with it. She herself once dreamt about the picture perfect wedding, but never got to fully have her own, so attending such occasions made up for the lack of personally experiencing it.

Gojou couldn’t exactly remember if he did the garter toss in his own wedding. If so, who had caught it? Who had caught your bouquet? His eyes swept across the entire venue once more, searching for your familiar figure among the guests. He was too occupied to realize that Shoko had already tossed her bouquet, and the frenzy of eager ladies ensued until it landed in Akemi’s hands.

He genuinely felt happy for Akemi. The joy in her eyes upon catching Shoko’s bouquet was unmistakable. Yet, as the playful teasing about a potential wedding for him shifted in his direction, Satoru couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pressure. It wasn’t supposed to weigh on him like this. It was too soon to have that expectation of him.

“Looks like someone’s getting married next!”

And while he was feeling suffocated from the pressure placed upon him, the receiver of the tossed garter happened to have been Nanami.

Immediately, the teasing ensued, with the other guests urging Nanami to wear the garter on Akemi’s leg. Out of respect, Nanami looked at Gojou for permission, but honestly? He was just grateful he didn’t have to do all that and be pressured about another wedding that he had not yet thought about. Fuck it, thank God Nanami had caught the garter because Satoru was sure as hell starting to feel uneasy there.

“Go for it,” was the only thing Satoru said to Nanami, gesturing his chin at Akemi’s direction.

While everyone was focused on the situation between Nanami and Akemi, Satoru took that opportunity to escape from the crowd and find his peace at the balcony. He hastily made his way out of the reception hall, feeling a sense of relief as he could finally breathe.

And there you were, standing alone, lost in contemplation, and your gaze fixed upon the tranquil expanse of the lakeside. The chill breeze caressed your hair softly, as if mirroring the calm that enveloped your countenance. In another universe, this would have been an opportune moment to hug you from behind, sharing the warmth of his embrace around your figure. But he was living in a universe where you and him weren’t meant to be together.

In fact, you were probably thinking about another man as you stared at the lake, hoping that he was there with you.

“Did you have fun in Monaco with Toji?” Satoru was crazy for going straight to the point, and he knew it was a blunt inquiry, bordering on intrusive, but it tumbled out nonetheless, revealing the thoughts that had been plaguing in his mind. His words spilled out before he could rein them in, a question born of curiosity and perhaps a touch of jealousy.

As for you, with your peace in the balcony now ruined, you briefly opened your mouth to respond, but held back against it as you met Gojou’s eyes with a distant stare. You were even quick to look away and sigh, like he was not worth the conversation. You had not spoken a word to him since the wedding ceremony and you were definitely going to keep doing it.

And man, did that hurt his ego.

So, for a very stupid reason, he felt the need to hurt yours in return. “Do you know Sachi calls Akemi ‘mama’ in his sleep?”

Your eyes remained empty. “Good for you, then. You won’t have a hard time getting him accustomed to it.”

“Y/N.” Satoru’s voice came out as a warning, and he was about to start an argument on why you were abandoning him and Sachi over Toji, but he was interrupted at the appearance of Akemi carrying Shoko’s bouquet as she tried to search for her lover. This meant that the conversation with the ex-wife was over.

But as he glanced between you and Akemi, his bitter past and his sweet present, why did Satoru’s heart still lingered with you when it shouldn’t?

“You should go,” you briefly muttered, walking in the opposite direction, “Your future wife’s looking for you.”

Satoru’s sudden grip on your wrist halted your steps abruptly. His voice carried a bitter edge as he reminded you of the agreement you had made. “Y/N, we agreed to co-parent Sachiro properly. Why are you choosing Toji over your own son?”

The accusation left a tense atmosphere, eliciting a sharp response from you as you yanked your hand away, a flash of anger igniting in your eyes. “You have no idea what you're talking about, Satoru.”

— —

“Welcome to Hoshinoya Fuji, Ms. L/N!”

You stepped out of the car, taking in the serene beauty of the lakeside cabin that would be your sanctuary for the next three days and two nights. Nestled among towering pines and sturdy oaks, the cabin exuded a rustic charm that blended seamlessly with the natural landscape. Its weathered wooden exterior, adorned with a green tin roof, seemed to have grown organically from the earth itself.

The cabin sat on a gentle slope that led directly to the water’s edge. A wooden deck wrapped around the front, offering a perfect vantage point for gazing out over the tranquil lake. Your room also had the best view of Mount Fuji, which you thought was the highlight of this luxurious accommodation.

After the newlywed send-off, you were quickly ushered in by Shoko and Suguru’s staff, who were in charge of attending to the special guests staying a few extra days at the cabin. Though the couple wouldn’t start their proper honeymoon until their 6-month long cruise trip in two weeks, they wanted their guests to enjoy the accommodations they had arranged. You were relieved to hear that, despite Satoru and Akemi also being among the friends staying, each guest had their own private cabin reserved.

The thing was, you could leave any time if you wanted to. Shoko also reassured you that it would be okay and that she would understand if you wanted to go home right away. She knew that the situation may be uncomfortable for you, and that she felt bad you even had to deal with it during the ceremony, but you made a promise to her. You were her maid-of-honor for a reason, and part of your duty was to help with the post-ceremony tasks to ensure that Shoko can focus on enjoying her pre and post-wedding activities.

So, in some ways, you felt obliged to stay. You didn’t need to interact much with others during your stay, anyway. You were content staying in your room, perhaps taking some occasional walks outside. Satoru could do whatever he wanted with Akemi; you were determined to avoid crossing their paths.

Besides, inside the cabin was a cozy retreat. The main living area featured large windows that framed the picturesque view, allowing moonlight to spill in and illuminate the space. A stone fireplace, complete with a rustic mantel adorned with pinecones and candles, stood as the centerpiece of the room. Plush armchairs and a worn leather sofa invited relaxation, while a handwoven rug added a touch of warmth and color.

As you moved towards the bedroom, you found a comfortable queen-sized bed covered in a soft, plaid quilt. The scent of pine mingled with the faint aroma of fresh linens, creating an atmosphere of peaceful haven. An old-fashioned dresser and a bedside table, topped with a simple lamp, completed the room. The windows here, too, offered a glimpse of the sparkling lake, ensuring that the beauty of nature would greet you each morning.

Stepping outside, you walked down a short path to the water’s edge, where a small wooden dock extended into the lake. A pair of Adirondack chairs sat invitingly at the end of the dock, perfect for soaking in the sunset or stargazing at night. Nearby, a fire pit surrounded by stones and logs as seating promised cozy evenings under the stars, with the gentle sound of lapping water providing a soothing backdrop.

On your first night there, you ended up falling asleep right away. The physical and emotional exhaustion, combined with jetlag, knocked you out. However, the next day promised a few tasks to complete the post-wedding cleanup.

The second night, however, was a different story.

When you returned to the cabin, the cool evening air was crisp against your skin. The temperature went down a couple of celsius compared to yesterday, so as you walked down the path toward the lakeside, you were drawn to the flickering glow of a fire pit illuminating the area near the water’s edge. Drawing closer, the soft sounds of laughter and conversation reached your ears, mingling with the gentle crackle of burning logs.

The fire pit was surrounded by a group, their faces lit by the warm, golden light of the flames. They sat on a circle of logs and foldable chairs, leaning in to feel the comforting heat. Some held mugs of steaming cocoa, while others toasted marshmallows on long sticks, their tips glowing bright orange before transforming into gooey, sugary treats.

You paused for a moment and took in the scene. Was it a safe space for you to be in? You noticed familiar faces among the group—some of the couple’s old friends from the wedding, now relaxed and enjoying the peaceful night. One of the guests strummed a guitar softly, the melody adding to the cozy, inviting atmosphere. Another guest told a story, their animated expressions and gestures causing bursts of laughter from the listeners.

There was no sight of Satoru and Akemi. Perhaps, it might be okay to join in.

As you approached, Suguru emerged from a nearby cabin, smiling in a way that felt unusual. Why was he being friendly all of a sudden? Last time you checked, he still held a grudge against you. But now, he showed no signs of antagonism, and was even approaching you with his usual friendly demeanor.

“Y/N,” he said, the fog of his breath visible in the cold air, “I never got to thank you properly for helping us with everything here. I didn’t think you’d make it last minute.”

You wrapped your shawl tighter around yourself to ward off the chill. “It’s no trouble. I’m glad to help out and be here for you guys,” you replied warmly. And while glancing around, you noticed the absence of Shoko. “Where’s the missus?”

Suguru’s smile took on a mischievous edge. “Sleeping. She’s still pretty tired and…”

You interrupted him with a laugh, catching onto his suggestive tone. “Alright, you two. You’re wild.”

His grin softened into a sincere expression. “No, seriously. I never got to properly thank you. I never got to apologize to you either.” Suguru looked down with guilt. “I’m sorry for being an asshole to you. I was focusing too much on Satoru’s point-of-view, dismissing how it must be like to be in your position amidst all that mess. Shoko helped me understand why you made certain decisions, why you had no other option. She helped me see things from your perspective, to realize the extent of your suffering. We all knew that, I guess. We all knew you were constantly dealt a bad hand, yet you remain kind and resilient. You continue to show empathy to others, even when the world hasn’t been fair to you.”

In the ensuing silence, your heart seemed to thunder in your chest. His words carried weight far beyond what he might have intended, and you genuinely appreciated his apology. Even if he didn’t need to say them.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, you’re a gem, Y/N.” Suguru gave your back a gentle pat. “You deserve to be happy in your own special way. And just like how you wished us well with our marriage, I hope you’ll find your own path to a happy marriage, too.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking down with a forlorn smile.

“We’re here for you, okay?” he offered, “Shoko and I. You can count on us if you need us, if you need help with Sachiro, if you need help with life in general.”

“I appreciate it, really.”

And by then, he cleared his throat, opening up a topic that caught you off guard. You didn’t expect it from Suguru out of all people. “Y/N, I know why you were in Monaco.”

Of course. He’d know it from Shoko.

“I also know,” he continued, dark narrow eyes staring straight at yours, “why you left Sachiro with his father.”

You were a deer caught in the headlights. You wouldn’t say it felt invasive to have someone be aware of the reasoning behind your personal decisions, but it was just an altogether different feeling to know that it was your ex-husband’s best friend who knew.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” he asked, referring to Satoru, “That you broke up with Toji?”

You took a deep breath. “I don’t see the point of telling him.”

“What if I were to tell you that he’d come running desperately to you the moment he finds out?” he posed another burning question. “You still love him, right? You and him would likely get together without much difficulty if he were aware. So, why hesitate?”

“Because I don’t want that,” you answered, feeling words caught in your throat in a moment of vulnerability. “Because I’m scared to get back with him. Because he has Akemi now. Because I don’t wanna keep ruining the lives of the people around me. We’re better off this way, Suguru. I don’t want to mess up the second time around, and I definitely don’t think Satoru would be able to fully move on with his life with me still in the picture. He seems to be happy with Akemi already.”

Suguru smiled sadly. “You don’t even wanna get your revenge? Don’t wanna get back at your best friend for dating your ex?” he paused to correct himself, “Well, dating is the wrong term. Satoru insists they’re not exclusive, you know?”

You shook your head, sighing. Satoru, you haven’t changed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine with the way things are.”

He was on the verge of continuing, poised to persuade further, but the arrival of the very individuals in question brought an abrupt halt to his words. Descending the cabin steps was Shoko, trailed by Satoru, who, in a gesture of warmth, had draped his jacket around Akemi, with his arms encircling her.

All five of you found yourselves in an awkward situation, now faced with two couples, one of which was at the core of your distress. The tension was palpable, and it didn’t help that Satoru’s vivid blue eyes met yours, seemingly trying to decode the conversation between you and Suguru. That was none of his business. He could continue his affectionate display with Akemi, while you had other matters to attend to than be part of an awkward quintet.

“I should go,” you declared, avoiding eye contact with everyone, unwilling to play the fifth wheel. You were hoping to evade Satoru and Akemi’s presence, but both Shoko and Suguru already caught your arm.

“Y/N, please,” Shoko urged, her arm reaching out to you. “Don't isolate yourself tonight. Come join us.”

The memory of Bora Bora flooded your mind, a painful reminder of a similar situation when Shoko had extended the same invitation, leading to the discomfort of witnessing Sera’s closeness with Satoru. You knew that wasn’t Shoko’s intention, but it was your ex-husband who couldn’t stop catching himself in these situations.

This was a bad idea. You knew that.

So, why did you agree?

Despite your reservations, curiosity got the best of you. You would vehemently deny it if asked, but deep down, you pondered whether Suguru’s words held any truth about Satoru’s lingering feelings for you. It wasn’t out of pettiness, but rather a desire to confirm if Satoru was truly committed to Akemi. You knew this could potentially hurt you, but after enduring so much pain, you couldn’t imagine anything worse.

“Hey, you guys!”

“It’s nice of you to join us!”

“What’s up newlyweds?”

Upon joining the group at the fireplace, you were partly grateful that you weren’t exactly a fifth wheel in the situation. There were about ten or twelve people in total, with the earlier group still remaining in their seats. It just so happened that you were seated right across your ex-husband, who was too busy trying to keep Akemi warm and cozy.

“So, Y/N…” spoke a man from the group, who appeared to be Suguru’s colleague. “Are you single?”

The unexpected question caught you off guard, especially the tension it seemed to create, particularly with Satoru who sat stiffly next to Akemi. Even Shoko and Suguru seemed apologetic for their friend’s behavior, but you brushed it off, recognizing that he had probably indulged a bit too much with beer. He was harmless enough when sober.

“Don’t be asking questions like that,” Suguru intervened, tapping the back of his friend’s head in a playful scold. “That’s rude.”

The friend protested, still oblivious to the discomfort he had caused. “I was just asking! She’s attractive. I have the right to know.”

You forced a smile, accepting the can of beer he had offered. “Thanks, but I—”

“Even if she’s single, she’s not interested in you,” Shoko chimed in, keeping a casual mien. She had to keep things cool, especially with an explosive Gojou around. You were just thankful that she didn’t exactly reveal the status of your relationship with Toji, and that she was doing her best to divert the attention away from you.

In this little scene, you caught a glimpse of Akemi tugging at Satoru’s arm, like she was uncomfortable with the conversation. Why? Did it trigger an insecurity within her? She couldn’t even return eye-contact, constantly avoiding your eyes and reacting to any conversation remotely related to you. But Satoru was there acting like a concerned boyfriend, whispering reassurance into her ear, and rubbing her knee in a comforting fashion.

“You two make a lovely couple,” remarked one of the girls, directing her compliment to Satoru and Akemi.“Weren’t you the girl who caught the bouquet? Looks like there might be another wedding on the horizon.”

“Oooh!”

“They’re an attractive couple, too.”

“You guys planning for any children?”

Just like Bora Bora. A bitter smile lingered on your face, but you decided not to look at Satoru anymore. He must be enjoying this.

Shoko leaned in and placed an arm around you to whisper her apologies. “I’m sorry, Y/N. This was a bad idea.”

“It’s okay,” you assured, not wanting to ruin the moment. “I’ll leave after I finish my beer so it won’t be awkward.”

As the night wore on, conversation flowed easily at first, with everyone exchanging stories and laughter, and eventually more beers and liquor were passed around. Shoko and Suguru were lost in the glow of newlywed bliss, while you found yourself increasingly uneasy as memories of the past mingled with the present.

Satoru’s presence beside Akemi was a constant reminder of your failed marriage, and you struggled to suppress the weakness in your chest that threatened to surface. They held hands and watched the fire together, her head resting on his shoulder, his lips on top of her head. She was trying to voice out a specific concern to him, and he was sweetly listening to her. Did they even realize the ex-wife was in the same area with them? It was insensitive. You never knew Satoru could be this insensitive around you, no matter what his reasons were, his romantic gestures towards her was a clear slap to your face. And he succeeded, because you would be foolish not to admit that it broke your heart in half to witness him choosing another woman over you.

Again, Satoru. Here we go again. You tried to stop the pounding on your chest. Here we fucking are the second time around.

Desperate to ease the tension, Shoko and Suguru attempted to steer the conversation toward lighter topics, but their efforts only served to highlight the underlying tension in the air. You forced a smile and nodded along with the conversation, but inside, your heart was heavy with unresolved emotions.

And then someone had to bring up that stupid truth or dare game.

“Satoru-kun, I dare you to kiss the prettiest woman in this group.”

“Whoo! Do it! Do it! Do it!”

Satoru was initially hesitant as he clearly found himself at a crossroads. He had two options here. Should he risk hurting Akemi by refusing to kiss her? Or should he risk hurting you by kissing another woman in front of you?

The clear winner was Akemi, because as soon as Gojou pressed his lips onto hers, you were already walking out of there. You had already excused yourself from the group, your footsteps as heavy as your heart. And unbeknownst to you, Satoru watched you go with a flicker of remorse in his eyes, but it was too late for apologies or second chances. The fire continued to crackle and pop as you left, its flames casting long shadows across the empty space where you had sat.

It was game over. Satoru had won his game.

— —

Satoru was puzzled by your behavior since the wedding. You seemed determined to avoid him, which made sense with Akemi constantly by his side, but there was also an air of desperation to your avoidance. What baffled him even more was the jealousy you exhibited, as if you weren’t involved with another man, to the point where you even flew to another country just to spend more time with him.

Like you said, you two were no longer married. It was about time you moved on. Yet, how come you were acting heartbroken over seeing Satoru with another woman?

Did you really think leaving the fire pit so abruptly had gone unnoticed?

Did you really think he had taken his eyes off you?

If not for Akemi telling him that she was having pelvic cramps, Gojou would have run off to follow you the minute you left the fire pit. Clearly, you still had an issue seeing him with another girl and he wanted you to voice it out. But if there was anything he learned during your time together, you would never be the first one to admit that you were jealous. Heck, didn’t you even allow him to bring Sera to Bora Bora that one time?

Look, he didn’t want to hurt you all over again. And if you had walked up to him and called him an asshole for having Akemi around, he would even agree with you. But it was your decision to choose Toji, it was your request for Satoru to find someone else, so why did it seem like you were suddenly changing your mind?

“I’m sorry for being a party pooper,” Akemi groaned in discomfort as Gojou helped her back to their cabin. He quickly refocused on their conversation, reminding himself not to dwell on thoughts of you when Akemi needed his attention—it wouldn’t be fair to her. She was suffering from a terrible illness that he wouldn’t wish upon anyone and he had to be her rock. “It’s been hurting quite a bit lately. I really should start with my treatment.”

Once inside their room, he swiftly settled her into bed. “Where does it hurt?” He applied a gentle touch to her pelvic bone, massaging the area to alleviate her discomfort. “Here?”

“Mhm. Thank you,” she lightly spoke, her soft hand caressing his cheek. “I’ll be fine.”

“You look really pale, though. I’m worried,” he remarked, sympathizing with her. Her complexion betrayed the pain she was holding back, though she likely hesitated to admit she wanted to go home and rest. “Do you wanna go home? Even if it’s in the middle of the night, I can have my driver pick us up.”

She shook her head quickly. “No, no. Please, I'll be fine. You won't get to see Shoko and Suguru for a while once they’re on their honeymoon, so I want you to spend time with them here.”

“You sure? But you always come first.”

“I’ll be okay.”

As Satoru continued to massage the area where Akemi felt pain, his thoughts inevitably drifted to you. He recalled the time when you were pregnant with Sachiro, experiencing frequent lower abdominal pain as your body adjusted to the baby. Each night, Satoru stayed up, gently rubbing your belly until you drifted off to sleep. It was one of his happiest memories during your marriage—the domestic bliss of being your husband and the memory of him caring for his wife. He wasn’t sure if he was missing it, or if he was just recalling a past memory, but looking at Akemi, Satoru wondered if he was prepared to have all that again but with another woman.

He couldn’t give himself an answer.

“I’m such a terrible person.”

He should be telling himself that, but it was Akemi who said those words out loud as her brown doe-eyes stared at him solemnly, an expression that reflected guilt and remorse in equal measure.

“How come?” Satoru’s voice was barely above a whisper as he asked, gently tucking the sheets around her while perching on the edge of the bed.

Her smile held a touch of sorrow, yet there was a glimmer of relief in her eyes. “I feel like I’ve failed Y/N. She treated me like family, like a sister, and now I can’t even face her properly. I’m just terrified, you know? I don’t want to keep letting her down. I never meant to cause her pain.”

For a moment, Gojou fell silent at her admission. “It’s all my fault. You two never would have been in this position if it wasn’t for me.”

“Absolutely not,” Akemi persisted before leaning in to plant a tender kiss on his cheek. “Tonight, you’ve shown me that you’ve truly moved on from her. I was starting to worry, afraid that I could never fill the space she held in your heart. But since the wedding, you’ve never sidelined me or made me feel like an afterthought. You’ve never made me feel like second best. You’ve always prioritized me. I understand it’s hard seeing your ex-wife, but I appreciate your efforts more than you know. You make me feel incredibly special.”

Satoru swallowed hard. The mention of your name sent a pang of guilt coursing through his chest. He knew he had hurt Akemi with his lingering attachment to his past and his inability to fully let go of the woman who had once held his heart in her hands. He wanted to agree with Akemi, to reassure her that he had chosen her, but the truth remained elusive, buried beneath layers of denial and self-deception. He even had to close his eyes for a minute, unable to meet her gaze as a tumult of conflicting emotions swirled within him. He wanted to tell her the truth, to confess the depth of his feelings for his ex-wife, but the words were caught in his throat.

In that moment, Satoru felt more lost and alone than ever before, trapped in a web of his own making, and unable to confront the truth behind his true feelings. Moved on? Had he truly moved on from you, or had he simply buried his feelings beneath a facade of indifference?

“You should rest your eyes,” was the only thing he could tell her, planting a kiss on her forehead before he had turned off the lights.

With the clock ticking past 11 o’clock and their recent conversation still echoing in his mind, Satoru felt an urgent need for clarity. He knew he had to confront his thoughts alone. So, without disturbing Akemi’s peaceful slumber, he quietly slipped out of the cabin, seeking solace in the night air. Immediately, as he got out, he was met with the apologetic eyes of his best friend.

“Hey,” Satoru greeted, confused by the urgency in Suguru’s expression. “What’s up?”

Suguru took a deep breath before he rubbed the back of his head. “There’s something I ought to tell you.”

— —

You had been standing at the edge of the lake for a while now, the cool night air sending shivers down your spine as you gazed out at the shimmering expanse of water before you. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the tranquil scene, its soft light dancing on the surface of the lake like a thousand tiny stars.

The temptation to dive into the dark waters below tugged at your heart like a siren’s song, beckoning you to leave behind the pain and sorrow that had plagued you for so long. You longed to feel the icy embrace of the lake envelop you, to lose yourself in its depths and wash away the memories that haunted you every waking moment.

Is this how it feels like to finally let go?

As you stood on the shore, your toes just inches from the water’s edge, a wave of despair then washed over you, threatening to pull you under like the undertow of a riptide. You thought of Sachiro, your sweet, innocent son, asleep in his bed back in Tokyo, his laughter and smiles serving as an antidote to the pain in your heart.

And then him…

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you thought of Satoru. Despite the pain he had caused you, it was impossible not to yearn for him still, because his memory was a ghost that haunted you in every waking moment. But you knew that you couldn’t continue to live in the shadow of your past marriage. You had to escape being trapped in a cycle of longing and regret. You owed it to Sachiro to be strong, to find the courage to let go of the man who had once been your everything.

With your empty gaze, the calm lake shimmered in the moonlight like a blanket of liquid silver. You had come to the lake seeking solace, seeking escape from the unbearable pain that gnawed at your heart like a relentless tide. But as tears left your eyes, your emotions threatened to drown you in a sea of despair.

Without hesitation, you dropped your shawl to the side, shedding yourself off of the cloth with a sense of reckless abandon. The fright of swimming in open water, especially at night, could have you passed out in a matter of seconds, but you paid it no mind as you waded into the water.

Is this how it feels to finally give up?

The lake embraced you like an old friend, enfolding you in its cool embrace as you swam out into the darkness. Each stroke brought you closer to the center of the lake, closer to the heart of your pain, and yet you felt strangely at peace, as if the water itself held the key to your salvation. You took time floating on your back, staring up at the stars that glittered like diamonds in the night sky, you felt a sense of clarity wash over you. You knew that your love for Satoru was a burden you could no longer bear.

But more than that, you knew that you couldn’t let your own pain dictate the course of your son’s life. Sachiro deserved better than a mother consumed by sorrow, better than a life overshadowed by the ghosts of the past.

With a deep breath, you let go of the pain that had held you captive for so long. You submerged yourself into the depths of the lake, watching as the night sky vanished beneath the surface like a wisp of smoke in the wind.

In that moment, you felt a sense of freedom unlike anything you had ever known. You just had to stay still. You had to keep yourself underwater, hold your breath until you no longer needed it, and…

And…

You struggled to breathe, your mind consumed in panic telling you that you would die if you had kept yourself submerged for another minute, but you were adamant on staying there. You fought battles in your own mind, despite your body fighting back to keep you alive.

At least soon, you would finally meet your mom again.

“...”

“......”

“....Y/N!”

“.......Y/N!”

Feeling your vision blur and your limbs growing limp, you surrendered to the natural sway of the water. Bubbles escaped from your nose, your mouth tightly sealed shut. And the next thing you knew, you were back on the water surface, drawing breath like a fish out of the water. You could feel someone tugging at your arm, could feel the presence of another person dragging you out of the water, his arms pulling you into an embrace.

“Y/N! What the hell are you thinking?!”

You sobbed uncontrollably, your heartache pouring out as Satoru cradled you in his arms, his white hair damp from his efforts to rescue you from the water. How and when did he arrive? Your mind couldn’t process the details amidst the turmoil. All you could do was surrender to the flood of tears, feeling paralyzed from head to toe as you cried into his embrace.

Is this another dream?

Is this another hallucination?

You released a bitter laugh. Please. You closed your eyes, laughing and crying like a mad person. Please stop the pain.

“Y/N, please,” his whispers were tender, yet tinged with a sorrow that amplified your heartache. “What about Sachiro?” He, too, shed his own tears, his ocean-blue eyes shimmering in the moonlight as they filled with tears, his voice breaking. “What about me?”

Your face was pressed against his chest, anguish coursing through you, feeling as if your very soul was being torn asunder. “Th-That’s the... the same thing... I’ve been asking myself,” you managed between sobs, struggling to draw a steady breath. “I’m... I’m always th-thinking about other people... and never myself.”

He fell silent, his response lost in the weight of your words, perhaps laden with guilt or his own sorrow. But his presence there, holding you close, as if he still harbored love for you, tore another piece from your already battered heart. He shouldn’t be here. He should have been with Akemi. He should be anywhere but near you. With a surge of adrenaline, you began to push him away, propelling yourself through the water, racing toward the shore despite the weakness in your limbs. Satoru called out your name, his voice a desperate plea, as he followed after you, his movements slower but filled with urgency.

“Stop!” Your voice rose, echoing against the night as you stood on the shore, water cascading from your body in sync with the tears streaming down your face. “L-Leave me alone... Please. Why are you here?”

You knew Satoru well enough to understand what had driven him to chase after you. Perhaps he had grown concerned, either from noticing your absence or from someone informing him of your uncharacteristic nighttime swim. His actions were undoubtedly unusual; he knew all too well of your fear of open water, prompting him to leap into action to rescue you.

But you didn’t need him to be here. You didn’t need him anywhere. He wasn’t yours anymore.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice carrying the weight of confusion and concern, his steps cautious as he approached you. He looked at you with tears in his eyes, his expression vulnerable and pleading, like a child seeking comfort, desperately hoping to be understood, to be heard. “You’re not with Toji anymore.”

“Why should I?” You struggled to compose yourself, wiping away the tears that blurred your vision. “It doesn’t matter—”

“It fucking matters, Y/N!”

“It shouldn’t matter!” Your voice cracked with emotion, your heart pounding painfully against your ribs. “Why should it matter, huh?”

“Because I love you!” His words echoed through the night, raw with emotion that had never been confronted until now. “Because I can’t fucking get over you. Because I’m a fool for you!”

You pushed him away, a surge of anger and hurt rising within you. “H-How dare you,” you choked out, your fists trembling as you struck his chest. “How dare you say that to me when you’re with someone else! You n-never truly loved me, Satoru. Y-You never did!”

“You wanted me to find someone new, Y/N,” his voice cracked with emotion, pained by his own words, “I just did what you asked me to do, even if that wasn’t what I truly wanted.”

You vehemently denied his assertion in your mind, shaking your head in refusal. “Stop saying that. Just stop. Please.”

He already had his grip on your hand, pulling you closer. “Y/N—”

You jerked your hand away sharply, but then a wave of despair washed over you. “Every time I see you with her, I convince myself that I’m fine with it, that this is what I wanted, what I chose.” Tears welled up in your eyes as you recalled every heartbreak. “I tell myself that I deserve it, that you deserve to be with someone who can make you happier. But then I remember our past…” You paused, closing your eyes to stem the tears. “And then I compare it to your relationship with her now. I can’t help but wonder, why didn’t I receive that kind of love and respect from the beginning? Why did it take me nearly drowning in an ocean for you to realize and try to make things right three years ago?”

His grip on your hand tightened, as if he wanted to hold onto you and never let go, as if he wanted to reassure you with his touch that he was there, listening, understanding, feeling every word you uttered.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible amidst the crashing waves and the heavy weight of your emotions. “I’m sorry for everything I did wrong, for every moment I failed to show you the love and respect you deserved, Y/N.”

You hated it. You hated hearing his words now, because it was three years all too late. You had already gone through so much suffering, so much anguish that you didn’t deserve, just because you wanted a happy marriage. Just because you wanted to love and be loved. By him. By the person you married.

“It d-doesn’t change anything,” you murmured, your voice breaking with sorrow. “I can’t undo the pain, the heartache. I can’t erase the memories.”

“I know,” he replied softly, his eyes filled with remorse. “But let’s try again. Let me try again, Y/N. Please.”

You wanted to believe him, to believe that he meant every word, that he was sincere in his intentions. But the wounds of the past were still fresh, and the memories of betrayal were still lingering in your mind.

“You know what hurts me more?” you asked, “It’s the fact that you didn’t lose your memories of me, but you still ended up falling for her,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru’s silence felt like a confirmation to you. Perhaps he had indeed fallen in love with Akemi, and you were the obstacle standing in the way of his complete commitment to her. You were just a relic of his past, a piece that he needed to discard in order to embrace his future with Akemi. It seemed that fate had already decided that you and Satoru would never find happiness together, and this should serve as nothing more than a closure.

But god be damned, it was tearing you apart.

You tugged at the necklace around your neck, the pendant bearing half of his heart, and in your trembling hand, you ripped it off. As painful as it was, your next action was to hurl it into the darkness of the lake, discarding the last remnant that linked him to you, watching as it disappeared beneath the surface of the lake with a soft splash.

You know the difference between us, Satoru? You thought silently. I dove into the ocean just to find our wedding ring, but you would never plunge into that lake to retrieve that necklace.

With determined steps, you turned away before he could react, walking away from that place, walking away from him. You resolved that this would be your final encounter with Satoru Gojou in your lifetime, because there was no need for him in your life, just as he no longer needed you in his. You two would remain in the past, a memory best left behind.

This was you letting him go.

But then, just as you were about to walk away, you heard a faint noise from the darkness behind you—a splash, followed by the sound of another frantic splashing.

Your heart pounded heavily in your chest. You turned back toward the lake, your eyes widening in shock as you saw Satoru thrashing in the water, his arms flailing as he searched desperately for the necklace you had thrown away.

“Satoru, you idiot!” you cried out, your voice filled with disbelief and concern and pain and overwhelming heartache. Without a second thought, you ran back to the cold water, your feet sinking into the soft sand as you waded into the lake. “Satoru, what are you doing?!” you called out again, your heart racing as you reached out to him, your fingers brushing against his arm as he struggled to stay afloat.

“I have to find it,” Satoru gasped, his voice strained with exertion. “I have to find the necklace you threw.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked into his eyes, seeing the desperation and determination that burned within them. You knew then that you couldn’t let him risk his life for a piece of jewelry, no matter how sentimental it may be.

“Satoru, please,” you pleaded, your voice trembling with emotion. “It’s not worth it. Let it go—”

But Satoru shook his head, his gaze fixed on the dark waters below. “I have to find it," he insisted, his eyes tearful. “It’s my heart. I gave it to you.”

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

The tension between you crackled like electricity in the air. In that moment, all of your walls came crashing down, your heart laid bare before the man you had once loved with all your soul.

With tears streaming down your cheeks, you reached out and pulled Satoru into your arms, your lips meeting his in a desperate, longing kiss. It was a kiss filled with years of pent-up emotion, a bittersweet union of love and pain that left you both breathless and raw. Your lips moved together in a tender dance, each kiss a silent plea for forgiveness, for understanding, for a second chance at the love you had lost. It was a kiss that spoke of regrets and what-ifs, of dreams left unfulfilled and promises broken.

For years, you had been strangers, your hearts closed off to each other in an attempt to shield yourselves from the pain of your past. But in that moment, as you clung to each other in the darkness, you couldn’t deny the truth that still lingered between you—that your love for each other had never truly died.

As you finally pulled apart, gasping for air, you looked into Satoru’s eyes, seeing the depth of his pain mirrored in your own. “I hate you,” you whispered, your voice laced with grief and surrender, "so much."

Satoru reached out and brushed a tear from your cheek, his touch gentle and tender. “I hate me, too,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes shining with guilt, “for hurting you.”

You couldn’t erase the past, nor could you predict the future. But as you stood together in the middle of the lake, your hearts entwined once more, you found solace in the simple act of being together, of sharing your pain and your love in the darkness of the night. And as you held each other tight, the gravity of your connection pulled you to kiss him again.

Once more, you met his lips in a deeper kiss. His lips moved in perfect sync with yours, and the taste of his tongue was met with the familiarity you two shared. It was as if your bodies were moving on its own, and you allowed it to dictate whatever action it desired. Forget everything for now, was all you could think of in your head. In your mind, it was all Satoru. It was the man you love. The man you married. The man you share a child with.

You were too engrossed with the feeling of his lips that you didn’t even realize he had your legs wrapped around his waist. And with your arms around his neck, you could feel him lift you up, never breaking the kiss as he carried you out of the lake. With each step he took, your kiss only got deeper and deeper. You had never felt such intensity throughout your marriage, and you were intoxicated by the feeling of kissing him again.

Of feeling his lips around your jawline. Your neck. Your chest. You were gasping on his mouth, had his lips completely enveloped with yours, not realizing you were stumbling inside your cabin, desperate to find somewhere to lay on.

And before you knew it, the night had played way differently than expected.

Both your wet clothes were on the floor in a tangle of fabric, forgotten in the heat of your passion. And now, with your bare body on top of him. His arms caressed the smooth skin of your back, his lips feathering kisses along your bust. As you moved your hips slowly, you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your lips. Satoru’s member was warm inside you. Your bodies were tingling from the intensity of your lovemaking in the dimly lit room. And when you pulled away, your eyes were locked in a silent exchange of yearning.

Without a word, Satoru reached out and gently cupped your breast, his touch sending electricity down your spine. You leaned into his touch, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you felt the heat of his body pressing against yours.

Your lips met once more, a tender exploration of each other’s mouths, and he was taking that chance to shift the position you were in. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he began to enter you again. You were whimpering under him, melting into his passionate movements. You have had sex with Satoru multiple times before, but it was never this emotional. It was never this passionate. You could feel the difference with the way he kissed you, with the way he looked at you, with the way he touched you.

“S-Satoru—!”

“Mmm… I missed you so fucking much, Y/N.”

And then, finally, you came together in a flurry of hands and lips and skin, your bodies melding into one as you gave yourselves over to the exquisite pleasure of your lovemaking.

At that exact moment, as you moved together in perfect harmony, you knew that you were home.

— —

When Akemi woke up, she could tell something felt wrong.

It didn’t help that Satoru was not by her side as she opened her eyes, blinded by the sunlight that peeked through the window. Was he out for a morning run? Or perhaps he was indulging in a leisurely bath? She entertained the idea of joining him, wanting to express her gratitude for his care and support.

Her heart swelled with love for him, despite all the risks and uncertainties. He was her rock, her confidant, her everything. In him, she found solace and strength, and she couldn’t imagine her life without him. Despite the troubles of his past, she felt blessed to have crossed paths with him. She longed for the kind of deep connection and lasting commitment that she saw in others’ marriages, a dream she harbored for her own future. And in Satoru, she saw the perfect partner to share that dream with, to build a family and a life together that she had always yearned for.

Akemi wasn’t ashamed by how smitten she was with him. In fact, she was beginning to have more confidence in her decision to pursue a relationship with him. She just hoped you would understand, that you would eventually let go of the grudge in your heart. At the end of the day, she wasn’t trying to hurt you. She was only trying to pursue her happiness.

And the exact source of her happiness was someone she endeavored to find that morning. She put on a robe and searched every room in the cabin, calling out for his name, wondering why she couldn’t hear his voice.

With no response forthcoming, Akemi decided to exit the cabin in search of Satoru. Assuming he had likely been with Suguru all night, she scanned the vicinity, expecting to spot his tall, white-haired figure. Yet, after several minutes of fruitless searching, she couldn’t find him and instead, encountered a hotel staff member. That was when she decided to finally inquire about his whereabouts.

“Excuse me,” she began, halting the staff member’s stride, “Have you seen my boyfriend? He’s tall, with white hair and blue eyes.”

“Ah, Mr. Gojou?” the hotel staff responded, scratching her head as realization dawned. She then gestured toward the last place Akemi wished him to be. “Um, I think he’s in there.”

Akemi’s heart raced as if she had seen a ghost. Her complexion drained of color, her heart pounding in her chest as she realized that the cabin she had been directed to was yours. And in a twist of fate, just as she stood there in shock, the man she loved emerged from the cabin, equally wide-eyed.

“‘Kemi…” he began, frozen in place, “Let’s talk first—”

But she cut him off with a scoff. Her hands trembled with a tumult of emotions—anger, pain, and betrayal—threatening to overwhelm her. She was on the verge of collapse, her mind reeling with questions. Was he going to explain his actions? No, there was only one question that demanded an answer.

“Did you… did you do it?” she asked through gritted teeth, her voice laced with accusation.

Satoru didn’t need to respond. As Akemi pushed the door open, her worst fears were confirmed as she saw you standing behind him, draped in nothing but a blanket. Tears welled in her eyes, and before she could think, her body reacted, her hand connecting with Gojou’s cheek in a resounding slap.

“You never changed!” she cried out, her voice cracking with anguish. “You’re still a cheater!”

Satoru struggled to deflect each fist she hurled at him, but her rage and despair overwhelmed any attempt to reason with her. She was consumed by her pain and the looming betrayal she anticipated, unable to comprehend that her worst fears were coming true before her eyes.

“‘Kemi, please,” Satoru pleaded in vain.

“...Akemi, I'm sorry,” you interjected, your voice heavy with remorse as you wiped your tears. “It’s not his fault. It’s mine.”

Upon hearing your words, Akemi erupted. She disregarded your friendship, cast aside your shared memories, and denied that she had ever considered you a friend. Her tear-filled eyes bore into you with accusation. “Y-You,” she began, her voice choking with sobs, “You’re a hypocrite, Y/N!”

You remained silent, absorbing her words.

Akemi pressed on with her onslaught. “You’re a hypocrite! You’ve become the person you despised the most when you were married,” she accused, recalling the anguish you endured during Gojou’s affair. “You’re no better than Sera! And that’s why you’re miserable, and you’ll forever be miserable! If this is your way of getting back at me,” she paused, betrayed by the anguish in her voice, “Then jokes on you, because Satoru will never be faithful to you. He’ll keep cheating on you, just like he did now with me! You two belong in that cycle!”

She fled before she could hear your response, but Satoru’s whispered apology lingered in the air, unclear of who its intended recipient was. At that moment, she didn’t care anymore. She raced back to her cabin, tears streaming down her face as she hastily packed her belongings.

She moved mechanically, tossing her belongings into her luggage while grappling with the overwhelming pain of his infidelity. Try as she might to focus on the task at hand, her tears flowed freely, and she surrendered to her grief, cradling her face in her hands.

Amidst her anguish, she couldn’t ignore the escalating pain in her pelvic region, a physical echo of the agony in her heart. Each sob seemed to intensify both sensations, leaving her feeling utterly shattered.

With that confrontation, Satoru faced a pivotal choice: to stay with you or to pursue Akemi.

While Akemi had anticipated that he might choose you, she was taken aback when she swung the door open,

bags in hand,

only to find Satoru Gojou standing on her doorstep.

#series: sincerely yours #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo angst #jjk x you

2K notes · View notes

ja3yun · 18 days ago

Text

The Sun that Always Burns | S.JY

chapter 1: beginnings

sim jaeyun x fem!reader warnings: smut (mdni), multiple sex scenes, protected sex, first times, oral (m&f. rec), fingering, throat fucking, angst, fluff, arguments and reconciliation,mentions of alcohol, they are tooth-rottingly in love with one another, pet names (baby, princess), strangers to lovers, anything else lmk! w.c: 29k synopsis: the day you met sim jaeyun was the beginning of your life truly starting. you share everything together, first date, first time, first fight, first love. you couldn't be happier....for now. a/n: hi! if you have ever read tstab then this will look very different from the first time, though, the plot remains almost identical to what it was before. thank you for all the support! i promise this is the longest chapter and the others will be significalty less so i hope the 29k doesn't put you guys off! also, i will warn you now, this series does have some morally-grey choices woven in and ynjake are not saints in any way so please bare that in mind when reading the upcoming chapters! as always, comments, feedback, and reblogs are all welcome <33

masterlist | chapter 2

The first time you meet Sim Jaeyun is on the number 18 bus, headed to your first day of high school. It’s August, the sun blazing in a cloudless sky. Little did you know that the brightest light wasn’t emanating from the burning star.

The bus is busy, students new and old gracing the seats and aisles, and a sea of navy blue and black floods your vision. Then you spot it, a tiny seat at the back gone unnoticed. As you push your way to the back of the bus ignoring the disgruntled travellers cursing under their breath at your intrusion, you take a seat and huff a breath, victory curving slightly on your lips.

You are observant of your surroundings, it’s one of the many traits you got from your mum. Not so observant as first thought, however, as you miss the way a certain boy beside you eyes you up and down, smiling fondly as his hot gaze takes you in. As the bus pulls up to your new school, people flocked to the tall, almost rustic building. The stones are yellow ash, letters missing from the sign that sits slanted above the entrance doors, and there are cracks on the pavement from neglect.

You begin to wonder if this is a foresight into your academic career. Out of all the schools in Seoul, why did your parents pick this one?

“I heard it’s haunted on the third floor, y’know,” a voice echoes behind you, pulling you out of your trance. Twisting your head, you come face to face with a pretty boy, and suddenly, the sun seems to get warmer. “Hi,” his hand raises slightly to give a small wave, his head tilting to accompany a Cheshire grin spread so wide you can’t help but mirror it back to him.

"Hi," you murmur, your voice barely steady as nerves creep up on you once again, the smile that reflected his now faltering. It’s partly the boy’s disarming presence, partly the weight of his words sinking in. You glance back at the building, the air around it now eerily heavy. “Is it really haunted? Because if it is, I’m not going anywhere near it.”

He shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Rumour has it there’s a girl on the third floor in the girls’ bathroom. A fox scratched out her eyes, and no one helped her. Now she haunts the place, looking for revenge. If you see her reflection and make eye contact…” He pauses, letting the silence stretch as he leans into you. “She’ll take yours, too.”

You shudder, your stomach twisting with horror. “Nope. Nope, absolutely not.” You start to retreat to the bus stop, determined to get as far away from the school and the fox girl as possible. But before you can get too far, he stops you, his hands firm but not forceful as he turns you back to face the building. The sun beats down, and you feel its heat more intensely, though it might just be the proximity of him behind you. His chuckle, low and soft, brushes against your ears.

“If you can face this place for one day, you can handle it for the next few years. Yeah?”

You stare at the school and throw the pros and cons of his words in your hands. He’s right in some capacity; if you get through today and face your fears, perhaps then everything won’t seem so daunting. Plus, how will you ever explain to your parents that you didn’t bother going to school because of an old ledged that a stranger told you in passing? They would laugh and then drag you into the old building themselves.

With a little hesitation, you look at the boy for some reassurance - and there it is. His plump smile and warm, encouraging eyes do everything to settle the unease in your chest. He is so ethereal, with his tanned skin, thick nose, and bright eyes. You’ve never seen a boy look so…perfect. Even in a slightly creased navy polo and baggy beige trousers, he somehow looks like a teen heartthrob.

Catching yourself staring at him, you shake your head and inhale a deep breath to settle the remnants of your apprehensions. You can do this Y/N. Ghost or not.

What you don’t realise is that the story isn’t even real. It’s something he has made up on the spot. He doesn’t know why but he just needed a reason to speak to you. There’s a glow about you, he saw it on the bus as you stared out the window in awe at the scenery. Once he clocked that you were standing transfixed with hesitation, he took his shot.

Granted, there may have been a better way to grab your attention than telling you a story about an eye-scratching ghost, but it was the perfect excuse to get close to you. Next time, he’ll tell you a nice story about a friendly ghost in the first-floor bathroom who gifts sweeties and tampons upon arrival.

“Y/N,” you say quietly, introducing yourself and drawing him back to the present.

His eyes, warm and curious, meet yours. “Jaeyun. Or Jake, if you prefer.” He grins again, though this time a little more sheepishly, scratching his forearm.

You finally take him in - his dark hair, slightly tousled; his thoughtful eyes; the way his lips curl into a subtle pout as the silence envelopes you both. He studies you just as intently, and for the first time, you feel truly seen.

That day, the sun wasn’t the only thing that warmed your cheeks.

As the day unfolds, you learn so much about him. He loves football with a passion that lights up his face. He’s so smart that it catches you off guard, and creative in ways that inspire you to try new things and find a light of your own. He adores his blonde loyal dog, Layla, more than anything in the world. And although he hates being scared, he can’t resist the thrill of haunted houses.

By lunchtime, he’s your best friend, and it feels like he always has been.

The weeks that follow teach you everything else about Jaeyun. You notice how he bites his lip when he’s thinking or flustered, how his fingers habitually comb through his hair. His eyes widen with excitement and he gets a soft twinkle in them that resembles stars in the midnight sky, and even more when curiosity takes hold. When he smiles wide enough, his gums show, and it’s so unguarded, so him, that it makes your chest tighten. You notice all these little things, the details that most people might miss.

By Christmas, he’s become your first love.

But you never tell him. Why would you? Why risk ruining something so beautiful when you’re convinced he doesn’t feel the same? For a while, you think maybe he does, that there is a spect of hope of something more than just being best friends. But then you catch him flirting with the class rep one too many times and your hope crumbles. It makes you tuck your feelings away, sharing them only with the moon as you lie awake at night, pondering what could be.

The truth, though, is much different than you think. His playful teasing with the class rep, the touch of his hand on her arm - none of it means what you imagine. Those moments are nothing more than Jaeyun’s natural warmth, his easy way of making people feel seen and listened to.

What you fail to see is how he treats you compared to others. While you work yourself up about his passive flirting with others, you miss the way his hand lingers on your thigh as he laughs at your terrible jokes, or the way his head leans against your shoulder even when he’s wide awake, just because he wants to be as close to you as humanly possible.

You overlook how his fingers absentmindedly stroke your hair while you’re talking to someone else, craving your presence even when he’s surrounded by a dozen others. You miss how his hugs linger just a little longer, tracing his fingers along your spine with his eyes closed like he’s memorising the feel of you until he can hold you again. And you don’t notice the mushrooms he always takes from your pizza, already knowing you hate the texture.

All these quiet, unspoken gestures of care - so clear, so telling - slip past you, just like his lingering gaze did on the first day.

Before you realise it, a year has flown by, and you and Jaeyun are inseparable. There isn’t a moment you’re not by his side or at least texting him, sharing every little thought and detail of your lives. You’ve never been happier. Your crush on him lingers, still strong but carefully restrained, tucked away where it can’t harm the bond you’ve built. He’s like a constrictor knot, holding you close through everything, keeping you afloat. The last thing you want is to unravel it with something as fragile and messy as unrequited love.

While you feel content, Jaeyun is quietly begrudging. Tonight, you have a date - with someone who isn’t him. It’s become a pattern since you turned sixteen. You meet someone, believe they might be the one, and when it inevitably falls apart, you cry to Jaeyun, convinced you’re unlovable. To you, it’s just teenage naivety, silly and fleeting. To him, it’s a slow ache that twists deeper each time.

There is nothing Jaeyun wants more than to treat you the way you deserve. All those boys you date don’t hold even a match to you. You shine so brightly that you might as well be a massive neon sign in the pitch darkness and they’re just soaking up your rays, dimming you as you run out of battery.

Still, Jaeyun helps you. He always does. And tonight, he helps you pick out a dress, one that makes you look as though you’re the only girl in the world. His only girl. The pink sundress fits perfectly, flowing gently around your frame.

Should he consider giving you terrible recommendations to make you look unappealing? Suggest wearing a pair of his sweatpants and the food stained tshirt you like to wear when you’re lazing about in his room? He would, of course he would, but the problem is you.

You look fucking beautiful in everything you wear; doesn’t matter if it’s a beautiful dress or the comfiest Sunday lounge wear, you look like an angel in it all, and unfortunately every man can see that too - even sixteen year old boys who don’t know how to handle you the way you deserve.

“Is this okay?” you ask, turning to the mirror as you scrutinizing and overanalyse your reflection. You’re not delusional - you know you’re not the prettiest girl in the world. But in moments like this, you just hope to look good enough.

Jaeyun watches you, noticing how your gaze lingers a little too long on your insecurities, the way your lips press together in doubt. It’s not the first time he’s noticed this - how the dates and rejections are wearing you down, little by little. And he hates it.

He steps closer, his presence solid behind you. “You look like a princess,” he says softly, his voice unwavering. “One any man would go to war for. Please never forget that.”

You pause, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone, and the way each word kisses your chest. The sunlight spills over you as you turn to him. “Be serious, Jake,” you scoff, a touch of irritation in your voice. “Can you just be serious for once?”

But he is serious. He’s never been more serious.

And then, like a sudden blow, it hits him - you don’t believe him. You never have.

For a year, Jaeyun has seen you, every single version of you: the confident you, the self-doubting you, the you in every shade of lipstick, every dress, every blush. He’s memorised the way you move, the way you smile, the way you try to hold yourself together even when you feel like falling apart. To him, every version of you is perfect.

He is borderline obsessed with you and he just wishes - no, begs - you to see how breathtaking you truly are. Angels come from heaven and tour earth just to catch a glimpse of someone as ethereal as you.

“I am serious,” he says firmly, his hands finding your shoulders, holding you steady - just like he did on the first day you met. His eyes search yours in the mirror, his voice low but resolute. “You look fucking beautiful.”

But the words don’t land the way he hopes. You tut dismissively, breaking the moment. “Yeah, well, if I were, I’d have a boyfriend by now, wouldn’t I?”

The words sting, sharp and cutting. Jaeyun feels something deep and visceral rise in his chest - an urge to yell, to shake you out of this cruel narrative you’ve built for yourself. To dispel and dismantle every horrible thought you have about yourself. But before he can find the words to truly hammer his sincerity into you, your phone buzzes.

You pick it up, slipping from his grasp. His hands fall empty at his sides as he watches you, frozen in place. You glance at the screen, a small smile forming. “Mark’s here. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

You hug him quickly, a fleeting gesture that feels too light, too thin to hold him together. Then you’re gone, descending the stairs, leaving him standing there, staring at the mirror.

He doesn’t move. The sun dips lower, overtaken by thick clouds, and as the sky fades into night, Jaeyun stands in the quiet, a hollow ache spreading through him.

He wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s not enough - not for you.

The moon rises, casting pale light over a boy who feels more like a shadow.

_____

“This is so nice,” you comment as you glace around the diner Mark has taken you to. It’s not particularly fancy or romantic - just a small local spot with red vinyl booths and flickering fluorescent lights. But it’s fine. You’re teenagers, after all. Neither of you has the budget or the means to splurge on a five-star restaurant, so this is…nice, you suppose.

But it feels even nicer because you’re sitting across from Mark Lee - the most popular boy in school. When he asked you out, it felt like the world shifted slightly on its axis. You’d barely known he was aware of your existence let alone interested in taking you out on a date. For the first time in a long time, you feel seen. Wanted, even.

Of course, you know better than to let male attention dictate your self-worth. You’ve been trying to unlearn that instinct, slowly watering the feminist flower bud that you’ve been cultivating inside your chest. But tonight, that budding awareness is eclipsed by the thrill of being here, across from Mark fucking Lee.

He leans back in the booth, one arm draped casually over the top of the seat, not giving you a second glance. “Yeah, I guess it’s alright,” he says casually, glancing at the menu like he can’t wait to get this over with. His tone isn’t exactly dismissive but it’s not enthusiastic either. You chalk it up to nerves or that he’s trying to ‘play it cool’, kind of like Danny Zuko in Grease when he doesn’t want his friends to know that he is excited to see Sandy again.

And although you scream at Danny everytime the scene comes on, wishing Sandy took that as her warning to never speak to the loser again, you let it slide with Mark.

“I like it,” you offer again, trying to fill the silence. “It feels cozy. Like something out of an old movie, y’know those ones from the 60s?”

Mark raises an eyebrow, smirking faintly but not exactly intrigued. “You’re one of those artsy types, huh?”

The comment lands awkwardly, but you laugh anyway, brushing it off. “Maybe a little. I just think it has charm, you know?” So does Jaeyun, you think to yourself, suddenly missing his presence beside you.

“Sure,” he says, but he’s already looking past you, his attention pulled by something - or rather someone - near the counter.

You follow his gaze, but there’s nothing remarkable in the direction he’s staring. Just a couple of kids from school picking up takeout. One of them is Sojung, the girl every man wants to date and all the girls want to look like. It’s almost laughable how much this entire scenario feels like a stereotypical American high school movie.

As Sojung waves to your date, a faint unease settles in your chest, but you push it aside.

The waitress arrives, setting down two glasses of water and taking your orders. Mark orders a burger and fries without looking up from his phone, and when it’s your turn, interjects, saying you’ll have the same, not letting you speak for yourself.

You hate burgers, they’re gross and you’re borderline vegetarian, but he doesn’t know that. In fact, he hasn’t even asked you one thing since you’ve sat down. He doesn’t know you and you would think if you’re on a date, now would be the perfect time for him to question you about your likes and dislikes? Fuck, even if he asked you your favourite colour right now it would at least be something.

“So,” you begin, trying to stir up a semblance of conversation, “how’s soccer going? I heard you scored the winning goal last week.”

He grins, finally looking at you. “Yeah, that was fucking sick. Everyone went crazy, obviously. Coach even said it was one of the best plays he’s seen.” His tone is smug, pride and arrogance beaming over his face.

“That’s amazing!” you exclaim, genuinely impressed. Jaeyun plays football too but he’s defensive midfielder so he doesn’t get many opportunities to play a goal. Mark being the striker means he gets seen as the star player even though sometimes you do think Jaeyun is slightly better. “You must’ve been on top of the world, huh?”

“I mean, yeah,” he says, shrugging nonchalantly, going back to his previous lounge position, conversation inconvenient to him once again. “But, like, it’s not a surprise, y’know? When you’re good at something, people expect you to deliver. And I always deliver.”

You nod, unsure how to respond. His confidence borders on arrogance, but you tell yourself it’s part of his charm. After all, confidence is attractive, right? Jaeyun is confident, and he’s hot…so, so hot-

Before your brain goes down a dangerous path, the food arrives. The chips are perfectly crispy and you nibble at them slowly, hoping he wont notice that you’re not even entertaining the stacked burger. You wonder if you can box it up for Jaeyun.

For a while, the conversation flows a little more easily. Mark talks about soccer, his plans for college, and his favourite music. You listen intently, asking questions and laughing at his jokes, even when they’re not particularly funny or slightly rude.

But as the night wears on, cracks begin to show, suddenly finding it more difficult to see the good in him and the evening.

When you mention a book you’ve been reading, his eyes glaze over, almost rolling. “Not really my thing,” he says dismissively, cutting you off mid-sentence. You didn’t even got the author’s name out of your mouth. He doesn’t care. If it’s not about him, he could not be less bothered in paying attention.

But again, foolishly, you try to get him talking and make this dress worth it. You ask about his family, trying to get to know the man a little deeper. Yet, he shrugs. “They’re fine, I guess. Nothing exciting.”

Still nothing. Who doesn’t like to talk about their family? Good or bad.

You try to keep the conversation light, but his responses grow shorter, his attention drifting to literally anywhere but you. He checks his phone a few times, typing out quick replies to someone from under the table. You wonder who he’s texting but don’t dare ask, not wishing to upset him when it seems you’re already hanging onto him by a thread.

By the time the waitress brings the check, which you split, you’re doing most of the heavy lifting in the conversation, trying to keep things pleasant. You tell yourself he’s just tired or distracted, that he’s not really this disinterested. You’re delusioning yourself because how many dates do you have to go on before anyone actually gives a single fuck about you or wants to be here with you.

You don’t understand how these boys can ask to date you, then be so cold and distant when you agree. Granted, you aren’t exactly picking them well. They started off as dating anyone to distract you from your feelings towards your best friend, but now you’ve been more selective, and Mark was one boy you really wanted to have a connection with.

He’s funny and charming in school, kind and generous to teachers and those in the years below him. Of course, that’s why he is popular. But this boy in front of you is not the Mark you thought you knew. Even Jaeyun says nice things about him, being on the same team and all.

“Thanks for dinner,” you say as you step out of the diner, the cool evening air brushing against your warm skin.

“No problem,” he replies, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks at you a little more intently than any other time this evening. “So, what now?”

The question hangs in the air, loaded with implications. You glance at him, unsure of what he means. You for sure thought that he was going to drive you home and that would be the end of it. He obviously isn’t interested, so why would he wish to continue the night?

“I don’t know,” you say cautiously. “I should probably head home. It’s getting late.” It’s the politest way to tell him that you don’t want to have to keep conversations going that are drier than the dessert during a wind storm.

Mark smirks, stepping closer. “Or…”, he places a hand on your waist as he steps closer, his presence now overwhelming all of your senses, and not in the nice way that Jaeyun’s were earlier. “We could hang out somewhere more private.”

Your stomach twists uncomfortably, stomach dropping as his face inches towards yours. “Private?” you echo, trying to keep your tone light, feigning ignorance.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice low, dangerous. “My place is empty tonight. We could…you know, have some fun.” Marks eyebrows wiggle and you feel a dizzy.

You’re heart and mind is screaming for Jaeyun.

The meaning is clear and it sends a jolt of panic through you. You’re not naive - you knew this was a possibility, but hearing him say it so casually feels jarring. It’s not like you gave him any hints that you’re down to fuck on a first date. You’ve never even fucked anyone at all, so the last thing you want is to lose it to a man who barely remembers your name.

“Mark, I don’t think-”

“Come on, lovely,” he interrupts, his tone shifting to something a little more foreceful. “It’s not a big deal. We’re both here, we’re both into each other, right?”

No. I’m not. We are not.

You take a step back, your heart pounding. “I just…I’m not ready for that, y’know? I don’t…do that.”

He exhales sharply, his smile faltering and shoulders tensing as he begins to feel the rejection wash over his body. Clearly, he’s not used to such a thing. “Seriously? You’re not one of those girls, are you? Haven’t you been on like a million and one dates?” His words spit across your cheek like you’ve just been slapped. “Not one of those guys has managed ti hit it?”

The question rocks you and for a moment, you’re too stunned to respond. Is that why he asked you out? Just for a quick fuck? This happened once before, with a guy from band but at least he made his intentions clear as soon as the date started and he left you alone once he knew you weren’t going to lay on his navy sheets.

“I think I should go,” you say finally, your voice shaking as you step back from him.

Mark rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he follows your steps. “You’re for real a fucking virgin? You’re not playing?” You don’t know why he doesn’t believe you and it makes you wonder about the rumours echoing in the hallways of your school. “So I just wasted my fucking time?”

It’s poetically ironic how he is finally asking you questions about yourself. But this isn’t exactly what you wanted. This is belittling, as if being a virgin is anything to be ashamed of. You don’t really care about your virginity, you just want to have sex with someone who loves you, or at least could give a single fuck about your existance. Clealry, two things he doesn’t possess in his heart for you.

He doesn’t wait for a response, turning and walking off without a backward glance. “Whatever, man. Don’t fucking lead guys on like that.” He laughs bitterly before getting into his car and driving off without you, leaving you stranded and hurt.

You stand there for a moment, the night pressing in around you. A cold, hollow ache has replaced the warmth and excitement you felt earlier. Is this all you’re worth?

As you make your way home, you replay the evening in your mind, trying to find something good to hold onto. But it’s hard. Mark wasn’t who you thought he was, and you can’t help but feel foolish for ever thinking otherwise. Part of you wonders if you should have just given in, went to his place and fucked him to get all of this over with.

But that’s not you and that is not how you should think. You are not defined by your sexual experience and Mark should see the person you are past your body and what it can offer him. You are a real person who wanted to get to know him, understand him and if all went well, get into a relationship with him.

Since when was that so wrong?

Your mind turns and twists with thoughts, a mixture of relief and sadness swirling your insides as you begin the long walk home, desperate to see the one boy who can make this all better.

_____

It’s 9pm now and Jaeyun hasn’t heard a word from you. Not a text to say it’s going well or one to say you’re home. He begins to imagine the worst; kidnapping, death, falling down a ditch, a Scooby-Doo villain coming to snatch you from Mark’s arms. His worries are not unprecedented - you’re always back by 8 pm latest, knowing that your family don’t like you out late. So he texts you, trying to come across as casual and not like a possessive best friend who jumped to worst-case scenarios.

Jaeyun: Y/N, are you okay? Did everything go well? Text me when you can

An incoming call flashes on his phone almost immediately after he presses sends. Princess. You don’t know that’s your name on his phone, but for some reason having just your name feels insincere and distant. Jaeyun doesn’t like that feeling, plus, it gives him a second of delusion.

He clicks the answer button and is immediately met with your shaky voice, the effects of being out of breath and stranded in the cold.

“Jaeyun?” you ask as if you didn’t hit the call button yourself. You were in the middle of writing a message when he sent one instead.

Jaeyun’s heart sinks at the sound of your voice. Shaky, uncertain, and laced with something he can’t quite place - fear? Sadness? Either way, it’s not good, and his grip on the phone tightens as he sits up in his bed, alert and alarmed.

“Y/N? What’s wrong? Where are you?” His words come out rushed, his mind racing as he hears the faint rustles of cars and the wind crackle through your receiver. It means you aren’t home and are in high chance of being in danger. Maybe he was right to worry after all.

There’s a pause on your end, long enough to make his chest tighten. Then, you exhale shakily. “I…I’m fine,” you start, but the tremor in your voice betrays you. “I’m just…not where I want to be right now.” You want to be beside him.

He glances at the clock. 9:03pm and his knee begins to bounce with restless energy as he tries to piece together what’s happening. “Are you still with Mark?”

“No,” you say quickly, almost too quickly. “I- He left a while ago.” Another pause, and then a bitter laugh escapes you. “He ditched me after possibly one of the worst dates of my life.”

Jaeyun’s chest floods with relief at the fact Mark is away from you. Although you’re alone and that sets unease into the pit of his stomach, there’s reassurance with the fact that you’re not with the striker. Mark is a nice guy - as far as Jaeyun knows - but that doesn’t mean he isn’t still cautious about the boy. He is still a man after all.

“Are you walking? Y/N, it’s late, and it’s fucking freezing. Why didn’t you call me sooner?” Jaeyun immediately stands to attention and grabs his jacket, already anticipating that he will be running to wherever you are.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you admit softly, and the words hit him harder than he expects.

“Bother me?” he echoes, already grabbing his keys and slipping on his shoes. “Y/N, you could never bother me. Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you.”

“Jaeyun, you don’t have to-”

“Don’t argue,” he cuts you off firmly, his voice leaving no room for debate. “Just stay put, okay? I’ll be there in ten minutes. Send me your location, yeah?”

You don’t reply, but the faint sound of your sniffle on the other end makes his chest ache. “Okay,” you finally whisper, and he can hear the gratitude in your voice. You really didn’t want to disturb him, but if you can’t turn to him, who can you run to?

It’s selfish, but you need him.

He hangs up, shoving his phone into his pocket and bolting out the door. The cold night air hits him and it only enrages him more; how could Mark leave you like this? Shaking the thoughts away, he focuses his mind on what matters right now. You. Finding you and making sure you’re okay. He can deal with Mark another day.

And trust that he will.

—

The sharpness of the wind cuts through your thin jacket as you drag your feet along the pavement, your arms tightly crossed over your chest. Anger and sadness bubble and twirl inside of you, fueling your steps and helping to keep the cold at bay. Adrenaline acts as an electric blanket under your skin and for the first time in your life, you’re thankful that your body gets overly attached to your emotions.

Then you hear it.

“Y/N!”

That familiar, sweet Australian accent drifts through the night as it dances past the whistle of the wind, laced with a mix of relief and frustration. You glance up to see Jaeyun running toward you, his breath visible in the frosty air. There’s a small smile on his face, but you can see right through it, of course you can; you’ve known him long enough to recognise the worry etched into his features, the simmering anger in his eyes.

Your legs instinctively quicken and as he gets closer, you feel the tension in your body begin to dissolve. By the time you meet him halfway, your arms are already reaching for him, and he’s there - steady, warm, and exactly what you need.

Jaeyun wraps his arms around you without hesitation, pulling you close. His hoodie smells faintly of laundry detergent and that musk that is so distinctly him. His embrace is firm, possessive, and impossibly comforting. The heat of his body seeps into you, melting the ice that had taken root in your chest.

“What the fuck were you thinking walking out here alone?” he murmurs, his voice gentle but laced with exasperation. His hands rub up and down your back, trying to chase away the cold. “It’s freezing, Y/N. And dark, you don’t know who is lurking in the shadows.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” you admit, your voice muffled against his chest. “I couldn’t stay there and I didn’t want to have you catch a bus all the way into the main city.”

Jaeyun’s arms tighten around you, and he lets out a soft sigh. “You should’ve called me. I would have gotten a taxi and come to pick you up or got Jay to drive me. He’s got his permit now.”

You simply look down, ashamed that he even had to come to your rescue in the first place. You would say you’re quite independent, so to rely on him so much feels shameful all of a sudden. It’s different when it’s a slight inconvenience, you don’t mind pestering him to come help you with homework or to go shopping with you. But this is pulling him out to come save you. That’s embarrassing…Perhaps you shouldn’t have called.

But you need him. Only him.

Jaeyun studies you for a moment, his eyes softening as he takes in your flushed cheeks and trembling frame, the cogs in your mind working overtime with little payoff. “Here,” he says, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders. The warmth is immediate, and the scent of him envelops you completely. “Better?”

You nod again, clutching the fabric tightly around you. “Yeah,” you bite your lip, the burning in the back of your throat raw and overwhelming.

He tilts his head toward the direction of your house, noting how you’re two seconds away from bursting into hysterical tears. “Come on, let’s get you home, Y/N. Your mum’s probably worried.”

Nodding, you let him take your hand as you fall into step beside him, the sound of your footsteps filling the quiet night. Even this simple touch instils some peace into your overworked body. You still can’t get over Mark and his comments, his expectations of you to just drop your pants and let him…

“I thought he liked me,” you say softly, your voice tinged with bitterness and hurt.

Jaeyun’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he lets out a slow breath before speaking, making sure he doesn’t say something he regrets. “I’m sorry, Y/N. Really. I know how excited you were about tonight. But just think about the bullet you dodged, yeah?”

You stare down at the pavement, his words sinking in. “I just…I thought he was different,” you admit, your breath fogging up in the cold air. “But he wasn’t even listening to me. And then he…” You trail off, not wanting to say the rest out loud.

Your trail off causes Jaeyun to pause his steps, his hand squeezing yours tightly to halt your own feet. “What do you mean? What the fuck did he do?” Jaeyun doesn’t get angry. The only instance you’ve ever seen him get mad was on the pitch after he received a red card and got subbed.

But this is also a different kind of rage, it’s more abrupt and sudden. His eyes search yours to make sure anything you tell him in the next few minutes isn’t a lie to protect Mark or downplay anything that happened tonight.

Seeing his rage begin to build, you shake your head vigorously. “No! No, no, nothing like that I promise,” you bite your lips together. “He wanted to, but I told him no.”

“What a fucking cu-”

“Jaeyun, it’s okay. He didn’t force anything but he was pretty pissed,” you further explain, hoping the heaving in his chest subsides. Jaeyun isn’t violent but you can see a lust for blood as his mind spirals.

“I should kill him,” he begins, stepping closer to you. “You deserve way better than that. So much fucking better, Y/N.”

A bitter laugh escapes you, sharp and self-deprecating. It feels like every ounce of doubt you’ve tried to bury is clawing its way out. “Maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m just not-”

“Don’t.” His voice cuts through your words with a finality that makes you stop. The intensity in his gaze is unyielding as he reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his, as if tethering you to the truth he wants you to believe. “Don’t say that. You’re amazing, Y/N. And if some guy can’t see that, then that’s his loss. Not yours. Who gives a fuck if it’s Mark Lee or Mark Henry?”

The unexpected humour in his words pulls a reluctant laugh from you, easing some of the tension knotting your chest. He always seems to know just the right thing to say. You envy him for that, and adore him all the same.

“You deserve someone who wants to be with you with zero expectations,” he continues, his voice soft but firm, willing you to understand his point of view. “Got it?”

You manage a faint smile, but the weight of his words settles heavily in your throat, forming a lump you can’t quite swallow. He means every syllable - you can hear it in his voice, see it in the conviction in his eyes. Yet, no matter how much you want to believe him, these part few months of disappointment and hurt have left you too bruised to take it to heart. His words sound like a lie whispered into the wind.

“Why can’t I just find someone to love me?” you murmur, the vulnerability in your voice surprising even yourself.

At that, Jaeyun’s hand loosens from yours, the reassuring warmth slipping away. His entire demeanour shifts, and when you glance up at him, his eyes are no longer fierce with determination. Instead, they glaze over with something raw and unspoken, a sheen of unshed tears.

“Jaeyun…what’s wrong?” you ask, your voice tentative as you try to piece together what’s happening. He doesn’t usually switch emotions so easily, so randomly. Honestly, you were expecting him to tell you to shut up and behave yourself, the way he sometimes does dismissively to stop you talking about being unlikable. He doesn’t wave it off cruelly, but rather because he knows you’ll just overthink and get even more upset.

Little do you know he just does it to protect himself. The thought of you with anyone else enough to spiral him into despair for at least two days.

He exhales shakily as the weigh of his feelings becomes too difficult to shoulder. “Am I not enough?” he whispers, his voice barely audible, carried to your ears only by the breath of the night air. The desperation in his tone sends a jolt through you, leaving you momentarily speechless.

“What…?” you begin, confused, the pieces of the puzzle slipping through your fingers.

“Why is it never me you choose?” he continues, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession. “Why is it always everyone and anyone else? Why can’t it ever just fucking be me?”

His jaw clenches as a single tear escapes, tracing a glistening path down his cheek. It’s a rare sight, his sadness, usually so determined to bottle it all away and deal with the consequences once it gets too much. And that seems to be tonight. They’re spilling over, months of buried feelings breaking free. He doesn’t mean for the words to sound bitter, but they do, tinged with exhaustion and a quiet plea for understanding.

You’re stunned, stuck to the spot as his confession echoes through you. It’s as though the air has been sucked from your lungs, leaving you grasping for clarity amidst the absolute carnage of your mind. He inhales deeply, trying to steady himself yet the silence that stretches between you is deafening, making him that much more self-conscious.

You know you need to respond, to say something, but the words catch in your throat, refusing to come.

Jaeyun mistakes your silence for rejection. His shoulders slump further, and he looks away, his gaze falling to the ground. “I…I shouldn’t have said anything. I…” His voice trails off, broken, as he takes a step back.

“Jaeyun,” you manage as your voice comes out as a whisper. He doesn’t look at you, already gearing himself to lose you forever. After all, how many times does this happen? The guy ruins a friendship with a girl because they’re unable to just keep things platonic. It’s not like he wanted to develop these feelings, but you’re his true love and he knows it deep down, that’s why this hurts so much.

He would rather have you in his life as a friend than not at all, and he might have just royally fucked that up.

“Jaeyun, please. Look at me.” When he doesn’t respond, you step closer, your voice firmer this time. “What are you saying?” When he finally glances up, the anguish in his eyes steals your breath.

It’s not or never, Jake. Might as well go all in, he encourages himself despite his doubts.

“You give everyone else your time, your attention. You put on those cute dresses for guys who don’t even deserve to look at you. I’m not saying I even deserve the honour of looking at you, but…” His voice falters as he struggles to find the right words. Then, with a renewed intensity, he meets your gaze. “Can’t I at least get a chance to prove that might?”

There’s a quiet longing in his expression, an innocent yearning for something real and pure. The sight of his tears, the jagged edge to his breathing, the raw vulnerability he’s showing you now - it’s overwhelming for both of you. Your heart aches for him, for the boy who’s always been there, quietly waiting for something you never realised was possible.

Jaeyun likes you.

Without hesitation, your hands reach for him, cupping his face gently. You wipe the stray tears from his cheeks, the warmth of his anguish a contrast to the cold breeze that washes over you both.

“Sim Jaeyun,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you pluck the courage to tell him your feelings. It’s only right to lay yourself bare just as he has. “You are everything I have ever wanted.”

The truth spills from your lips like a revelation, as clear and beautiful as the moonlight bathing the two of you in light. You’ve never told him why those dates never worked out. Mark may have been a particular kind of awful, but the others? The others failed simply because they weren’t him. They weren’t Jaeyun. With every small gesture he made, every thoughtful word he spoke, he set a standard no one else could meet. And you compared them all to him, unknowingly sabotaging every potential chance of getting a boyfriend because they fell short of the boy standing before you now.

“I didn’t think I was an option for you,” you admit, your voice cracking slightly under the weight of your honest emotions. “So I kept looking for someone who wanted me back. But none of them were you.” The last words are barely audible, but the quiet of the night amplifies them like a shout.

Jaeyun’s breath catches, and he feels the tightness in his chest ease for the first time in what feels like forever. He can’t speak, doesn’t trust himself to find the right words, so instead, he pulls you into his arms. His chin rests on your shoulder, one hand gripping your waist while the other finds its way into your hair, holding you close. Disbelief and shock course through his veins at your confession, so he clings to you tighter, scared that he might wake up.

Because in what world does Y/N L/N like him back? Since when? How? Why?

“You’re so stupid,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your shoulder. The words make him wince as soon as they’re out but you thankfully laugh softly, not taking them too harshly to heart. When he pulls back, his hand moves to your cheek, thumb brushing gently across your skin as he searches your eyes for something - permission, perhaps, or reassurance.

And then you kiss him, giving him everything he could want within this moment.

It’s soft and a little apprehensive, your lips barely moving against his. But it’s enough. Enough to convey your deep thoughts, enough to make the world fade away until it’s just the two of you. The air around you feels warmer as if the moon has been replaced with the blazing sun.

The kiss is so sweet and innocent, your mouths telling each other all the times you missed out on confessing, each time that the words of your feelings reached the tip of your tongues. You slowly lick his bottom lip and he groans, finally snapping out of his trance and pulling you impossibly closer by your waist as his tongue caresses yours.

From the very moment your lips meld with his, Jaeyun shares every first with you.

—

The next day carries a completely different energy, a newness in the air that’s almost tangible. Everything feels brighter, saturation turned up 100%, as if hope has stitched itself into the fabric of your life. It could be the overwhelming joy of finally being with Jaeyun after all this time. It feels surreal like a fever dream you’re afraid to wake from, having lived so long in the liminal space between delusion and denial.

But Sim Jaeyun is yours - officially yours. You wonder if you’ve ever jacked off a leprechaun in a past life with how impossibly lucky you’ve gotten.

Walking into school together that morning, you hold his hand. Jaeyun has taken your hand plenty of times before, but this is different. This time, his fingers weave through yours with quiet confidence, declaring to the world that you are his. His love. It sends a thrill through you, enough to plant a shit-eating grin on your face so wide it feels permanent, as if even the toughest mix of Pink Stuff and a Scrub Daddy couldn’t remove it.

At first, no one notices the shift in your relationship; you’ve always been inseparable and clingy. But when Jaeyun kisses you so tenderly outside your first period maths class, it catches people’s attention. Whispers ripple through the hallways: "Finally" and "Weren’t they already dating?" follow you both throughout the day. Jaeyun doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he takes every opportunity to kiss you - soft, fleeting pecks on your cheeks, your forehead, your lips, anywhere that he can land his mouth on you, trying to make up for all the times he wanted to but didn’t.

All those sleepovers when he stayed awake, watching you sleep peacefully beside him - he didn’t kiss you. The times you edged closer to him at the cinema during scary or tense moments - he didn’t kiss you. Even at family gatherings, when it was just the two of you swaying on the dance floor as your drunk aunts and his uncles disappeared into the night - he held back. Now, though, he doesn’t have to. And he won’t let his lips forget the feeling of yours.

“Go on a date with me,” Jaeyun says suddenly, his tone leaving no room for refusal.

Pausing outside of your physics class - his favourite subject but arguably your least - you look up at him, curiosity tilting your head. “A date?” Your fingers remain interlocked with his, and you begin to swing them gently back and forth. Your heart flutters at the idea of a date with Jaeyun, one where you don’t feel the pressure to impress because he already adores you just as you are. He’s made that abundantly clear. “When?”

“Tomorrow. There’s an outdoor cinema that just opened, and they’re showing ‘Labyrinth.’” His eyes sparkle knowingly as he mentions your favourite film. “I already bought the tickets, so you have no choice but to come with me.” He seals the deal with a kiss on your forehead.

While the gesture makes you smile, your brow furrows. “But you hate ‘Labyrinth.’ You said it’s too weird that David Bowie is trying to seduce a teenager.”

The first time you showed him the 1986 classic, he had been eager to dive into your favourite fantasy world. However, that enthusiasm evaporated quickly, replaced by incredulity at the abundance of crotch-shots and bizarre farting bog. Suffice to say, he didn’t share your affection for it.

“True,” he admits, his lips curling into a sly smile, “but it’s your favourite movie. And as your boyfriend, I think I can look past the unnecessary bulges and questionable age gaps for you.”

Your head tilts in amused disbelief. “You know they don’t actually date, right? He’s just infatuated with her innocence.” You pause, and then it hits you. “Oh...okay, now I see what you mean.”

He laughs at your realisation, the sound bright and unguarded - the kind of laugh that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Well,” he says, his voice softer now, “this time, you can watch it with fresh eyes.” He kisses you again, his lips lingering against yours as he whispers, “So, come with me?”

It doesn’t take you a second before you nod, pecking his lips in return as a definite sign of agreeance. “You’ve ruined my favourite movie for me, but since it’s you, I’ll allow it.”

“Good. The tickets are nonrefundable.” He pulls you into his arms, laughing as your head rests against his chest. You feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek, fast but comforting. The same heart that holds a space for you inside of it.

This - this is what you love. How nothing between you has really changed. Emotions have simply heightened, blossoming into something more profound. Jaeyun is still Jaeyun, but now he’s yours. The shackles of both of you keeping your feelings buried held you back from all of this love, all this time you could have just been with one another unapologetically. No guilt about feelings or potentially ruining your friendship, now it’s freedom.

“I’ve got practice,” he says, pulling back slightly to look at you, warmth blushes over his cheeks as he sees the adoration for him in your pupils. “I’ll text you when it’s over and we can walk home.” He kisses you for the nth time, his gaze lingering. “Don’t miss me too much, baby.”

The unexpected pet name turns your cheeks crimson, and you swat his chest playfully, still not sure how to handle the giddiness in your chest every time he does something slightly romantic. “I think it’s more likely you’ll be the one missing me.”

“I always do,” he replies without hesitation, his voice rich with sincerity.

_____

As the day of your first date approaches, anticipation bubbles in your stomach. Thirty minutes - just thirty minutes stand between you and an entirely new chapter with Jaeyun. Your nerves tangle as you try to steady your breathing, your mind racing. You’ve been on dates before, but there was always the comfort of reminding yourself, At least it’s not Jaeyun.

But now it is Jaeyun. And that changes everything.

The sundress you spent hours picking out suddenly feels wrong. What if he doesn’t like it? What if you look frumpy when you sit down? The issue with going on a date with Jaeyun and not some random boy is that you can’t ask his opinion on your outfit. He always helped you out and now when it matters most, you need to decide for yourself and trust yourself. Not very fair.

You stand in front of the mirror, scrutinising every possible angle he could see you from, tugging at the hem, twisting this way and that to see which lines and folds are more prominent than others. Jaeyun has seen you in every state - from sleep-deprived to sick - and he’s never batted an eye. It couldn’t be worse than that, right? But somehow, those thoughts don’t ease your anxiety.

Just as the golden sun begins to flood through your window, a firm knock echoes from the front door. You cast one last glance over yourself in the mirror, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles before a final spritz of perfume. Jaeyun’s favourite is something light and citrus, he says it makes everything feel effortless, and that’s exactly what you need this first date to be.

Another knock follows, this time a little sharper. You dart down the stairs, your heart pounding, and open the door in a hurry. “Sorry, I was just finishing getting ready,” you say, the words spilling out before the door is even fully open.

Jaeyun’s breath catches. He stands there, rendered speechless, his eyes sweeping over you in quiet awe. The sundress - a blue as soft and endless as the June sky - drapes over you perfectly, your hair cascading past your shoulders, held back by two delicate white bows. He’s grown used to tucking the strands they held behind your ear, knowing how much they annoy you. But now that excuse to touch you has vanished. Then again, he doesn’t need an excuse anymore, not now that you’re his.

His gaze lingers on your neck, catching the faint shimmer of your perfume’s dewy mist, and suddenly he feels absurdly underdressed in his beige trousers, white top, and denim vest. The outfit that had seemed so effortlessly cool this morning now feels naively foolish.

You shift nervously under his gaze, mistaking his silence for something else entirely. Is he trying to think of a compliment because he hates it? The thought ties a knot in your stomach. Is he disappointed?

You’re both stupid. Stupidly in love as you overthink.

“You look,” he finally begins, his voice softer than usual as he tries to collect himself, his accent thick and heavy, “you look like you’re the muse for the stars.” He pauses, his words feeling inadequate for the way you’ve left him feeling. It isn’t everything he wants to say, but it’s all he can manage. He wants to write you Shakespeare-level sonnets, to tell you everything you have ever needed and wanted to hear but he’s fumbling hard as he watches you nervously shift your feet and bite your lip.

A flush warms your cheeks, and a flutter runs up your spine. You glance at him, expecting him to meet your gaze, but his eyes are busy drinking in every detail. There’s a strange intensity on his face - something you’ve seen in films but never truly believed you’d experience in real life.

“Thank you, Jaeyun,” you murmur, your voice catching slightly as you reach for your jacket hanging on the wooden rack. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah.” The word escapes him in a whisper, carried on a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. He doesn’t take his eyes off you, though he avoids direct eye contact. It’s as if he’s afraid meeting your gaze will betray all the things he’s too scared to say. He watches you shrug on your white jacket, slightly creased but perfect to him all the same. That jacket - he’s always loved it on you. Then again, there isn’t anything he doesn’t love on you. You could wear a burlap sack, and he’d still think you were the most beautiful girl to grace the earth.

—

The walk to the outdoor movie theatre is filled with random snippets of conversation, the kind you’d expect from two people who have been friends for years yet feel the exhilarating newness of calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend. Still, Jaeyun never quite meets your eyes. His gaze flickers to your profile when he thinks you’re not looking, admiring the way the evening sunlight dances off your hair or the soft curve of your smile when you laugh at one of his god-awful jokes.

His thoughts are a mess. She’s too beautiful. Is this real? Am I staring too much? And every time the wind catches your hair and brushes it behind your ear, his lungs forget that they have an important job to do, and he has to force himself to refocus on not tripping over his own feet.

“You’re quiet tonight,” you tease as you nudge his arm. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

Jaeyun’s ears burn at the passing compliment - secretly enjoying being called pretty more than hot or handsome - and he quickly shakes his head, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “Nothing,” he lies, but his grin betrays him. It’s embarrassing enough that you’ve caught him acting weird, never mind him spilling his guts out and telling the reason for his awkward chuckles and lack of eye contact is because you’re too beautiful that his brain short-circuits.

“Liar,” you quip, giggling softly but letting him keep his secrets.

Before either of you realise, you’ve arrived at the outdoor theatre. Fairy lights are strung around the area, draping the venue in a warm, golden glow as the sun begins its descent. A soft murmur of chatter fills the air, mingling with the faint scent of popcorn and freshly cut grass. Jaeyun hands the tickets to the attendant, and you both scan the crowd for a spot.

It’s busier than he thought it would be; people must really like hobgoblins and nonces.

“Over there,” you say excitedly, pointing to a small patch on the left. It’s snug and as private as an outdoor venue can be. A tree curves over the spot, creating a romantic setting as the leaves blossom and some fall around you.

Jaeyun pulls a blanket out of his bag as well as a packet of strawberry laces - your favourite. The sight of them, along with some other of your desired snacks, makes your heart swell. “Thanks, Jaeyun,” you say softly, settling into a comfortable position and draping the blanket over your legs.

“You’re welcome.” He smiles, placing the sweets between you two. As he rifles through his bag for the drinks, you catch yourself staring at him. The soft denim vest he’s wearing accentuates his broad shoulders, and the way his jaw flexes, while he concentrates, sends your heart into a free fall.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you murmur, your voice almost shy.

Jaeyun quickly glances at you, his smile soft. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, just say the word,” he replies, his tone casual but the sincerity in his words is undeniable. He has such a beautiful way of making you feel like loving you is effortless. Even as your best friend, his love for you was second nature.

You never thank him enough for that.

The movie begins just as the sun dips below the horizon, casting the theatre in red twilight. You shift closer to him, your knees brushing his thigh as the blanket falls. Without thinking, Jaeyun places his hand on your knee, his thumb grazing under fabric of your dress. The contact sends a jolt through you, and your breath hitches, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

It’s an innocent gesture, one that he isn’t a stranger to. But this is a little different; now you can really take notice of each touch he gives you, no longer having to bottle up how it makes you feel to have his skin on yours.

As you try to focus on the film, your eyes flicker downward to his arm and fuck was it a bad decision. The veins in his forearm protrude, dancing with the subtle flex of his fingers against your knee. It makes your stomach knot in ways that have nothing to do with nerves. You swallow hard, but your mouth feels dry - all the moisture from your tongue now dripped down to your heat.

You have never been so horny in your life.

Jaeyun notices you shift beside him and leans in to whisper, concern evident in his voice. “You okay, Y/N?”

You nod quickly, your cheeks burning as you force yourself to look at the screen. But now, all you can notice is Jareth’s outfit - and more specifically, the…prominent tent of his trousers.

Was it always that in-your-face? you wonder, squirming slightly.

Jaeyun’s voice cuts through your spiralling thoughts as he nudges your shoulder. “You think I could pull off that outfit?” he asks, pointing to the screen with a smirk. He can sense something wrong with you - what that is, he doesn’t quite know - but the one thing that always dissipates any unease within you is humour.

Normally, you’d laugh and fire back a sarcastic remark, but the thought of him in those trousers, of what they’d accentuate, well that makes heat flood your face and panties stick to you.

It’s not that you’ve never thought about Jaeyun sexually, of course, you have. You’re a girl at the end of the day and your hormones are all over the place, sad, horny, excited, depressed, hyper, you experience all the emotions mountains high. And as much as you’re telling yourself not to get too carried away - after all, he just became your boyfriend yesterday - your mind has other plans. It’s been waiting for him, your body has been craving him as it tries to work out how to control the lust you’ve decided to develop.

You manage a weak chuckle, hoping the inner turmoil your facing doesn’t show on your face. But your lack of response doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Babe, are you sure you’re okay? You look a little pale,” he says, his brow furrowing as his hand slides up your thigh.

The sudden pressure is too much, his fingerprints kissing your sensitive skin. So you do what any girl would do; you jolt upright, nearly knocking over the strawberry laces in your haste and avoid the situation altogether.

“I-I’m going to get a drink. Do you want one?” you stammer, not waiting for his response before grabbing your bag and practically bolting to the concession stand.

Jaeyun watches you go, confusion etched right across his face. What the fuck was that? As he replays every single second from the past few moments. You sat down, grabbed the blanket, and watched the movie. He noticed you were a little off and trailed his hand up your thigh-

His eyes widen in horror. Oh no. No, no, no. I crossed a line, didn’t I? I made her uncomfortable. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He buries his face in his hands, groaning quietly. After what happened with Mark a few days ago, after explaining how you deserve someone with no expectations of you to give anything like that in return, he goes and makes you uncomfortable.

He didn’t even mean it like that, but how else are you meant to take his groping of your thigh if not hormonal horn?

Meanwhile, you’re dealing with your own panic as you stand at the brightly lit stand, trying to cool down. What is wrong with me? you think, tapping your card against the reader as you order two drinks - grape for him and strawberry for yourself.

This is Jaeyun. My boyfriend. My best friend. The person I’ve known for years and yet, somehow, tonight feels different. It’s as though every wall that’s ever been between us has crumbled, leaving nothing but raw vulnerability and an unbearable awareness of him.

Why are you suddenly just so…aware of him? The way his shirt clings to his chest, the slope of his jaw as it tenses when he laughs, and the way his hair falls just slightly into his eyes, make you want to reach up and push it back. Maybe this is why people say bottling things up only makes them spill over. Because once the cap comes off, it’s impossible to stop the flood.

And right now years of want and need are flooding. Overflowing.

When you return from the stand, two drinks in hand, Jaeyun’s waiting, his leg bouncing slightly as though he’s nervous. The moment you hand him his grapeade, his fingers brush yours, and he mutters a soft, “Thanks, Y/N.” His smile is polite but stiff, and he shifts slightly, leaving a noticeable gap between you on the blanket. The movement is subtle, but it feels like a canyon has opened between you. Your stomach twists uncomfortably.

He thinks I’m uncomfortable. The realisation hits like a punch. He thinks he did something wrong, and now you’ve ruined the date.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s focused on the screen, but his posture is rigid, his hands clasped tightly around the bottle. He looks like he’s trying too hard to blend in, to take up less space, and it makes your heart ache. You know he’s overthinking, blaming himself for a moment you caused by being incapable of keeping your thoughts - indecent and overwhelming as they are - under control.

Perhaps if you were a little more confident, you could play it off. Flirt back. Create some playful tension. Isn’t that what people do on dates? But instead, you’re stuck in your head, wrestling with your own feelings and second-guessing every move.

The rest of the movie passes in silence, save for the blare of the soundtrack and the occasional rustle of Jaeyun reaching for snacks. You try to focus on the film, humming along softly to familiar songs, but your thoughts are louder than the speakers. You can feel his glances, those fleeting looks that linger for a second too long before darting away, and they remind you so much of the way you used to look at him before you were together. The way you’d steal glimpses, full of longing, wondering if he’d ever see you the same way.

Now, it feels like you’re back there again, standing on opposite sides of an invisible wall. The distance between you feels unbearable.

As the credits roll and the crowd begins to disperse, you both stand, brushing crumbs from your clothes, your dress creased and suddenly all that fuss earlier in the evening feels wasted.

The walk home is quiet, the tension so thick it feels like you’re wading through it. Neither of you speaks, both lost in your own twisted thoughts, blaming yourselves for something none of you are aware of. Your hands swing awkwardly at your sides, never quite brushing his but longing to lock your fingers into his, and it’s enough to drive you mad.

When you finally reach your doorstep, the words come spilling out simultaneously. “Jaeyun, I—-” “Y/N, I’m sorry.”

You stop, blinking at each other in surprise. His head dips, his gaze fixed on the ground, and he shuffles his feet. “Y/N, you don’t have to say anything. I know I messed up.”

“What?” you ask, frowning.

“I shouldn’t have touched you like that,” he continues, his voice strained. “I mean, on your thigh. It was stupid and inappropriate, and I made you uncomfortable. I-I should’ve known better. Especially after what happened with that prick.”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. When they do, your heart sinks. “Jaeyun, no,” you say softly, stepping closer. You reach out, taking his hand in yours, and he looks up, his eyes filled with guilt. “I wasn’t uncomfortable.”

His brows furrow, confusion evident. “Then why did you-”

“I was turned on, okay?!” you blurt out, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them. Your hand flies to your mouth, your eyes wide in horror. Did you seriously just admit that so blase? You have zero shame apparently, but deep down you know you have to tell him the truth or else he will continue to blame himself for something he didn’t even do.

There’s a beat of silence, your horny confession sucking the cold air away from you and filling you both with burning heat.

Then, Jaeyun’s lips twitch, and before you know it, he’s laughing. Not just chuckling, but full-on doubling over, his hands on his knees as he lets out a loud, hearty laugh. All the anxiety and apprehension totally vanished and replaced with relief and amusement.

“Jaeyun!” you groan, your face burning. You swat at his shoulder, but it only makes him laugh harder.

“Wait, wait,” he gasps, straightening up. He’s grinning now, his cheeks pink from laughter, and his eyes sparkle in the dim light. “You were turned on?”

You glare at him, your embarrassment reaching new heights. “Stop saying it!”

But he’s not done. He steps closer, his hands cupping your face, and suddenly all the teasing is gone. His expression softens, his eyes searching yours. “Baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, “I thought I crossed the line.”

You shake your head, your hands slipping around his waist. “You didn’t, I promise. I just got…” you whisper, trailing off as to not repeat it again.

Before you can say anything more, his lips are on yours. The kiss is nothing like the ones you’ve shared previous. It’s urgent, almost desperate, his lips moving against yours with a fervour that leaves you breathless. His hand slides to your throat, his thumb grazing the curve of your jaw as his silver ring presses coolly against your skin. You gasp, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his wet muscle teasing yours.

The mix of all your emotions swirls as his tongue laps yours in reassuring strokes, his hand tightening on your neck, grounding you in the moment. If it wasn’t for his touch, you might float away, all of your insides turned to flames as your body acts like a hot air balloon.

“Y/N,” he groans against your lips, his voice filled with need.

You nod, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, as though the space between you is too much to bear. The world around you fades, and all that exists is him - the taste of his lips, the warmth of his body, the sound of his ragged breathing.

Jaeyun snakes one of his arms around your waist, pulling your hips to his as you feel him growing against you. The sensation causes you to both harmonise a moan as you completely meld into one another.

If you weren’t horny before, you certainly are now.

And then, just as you both begin to get excited about what the night could hold, the porch light flicks on, flooding the driveway with a blinding light.

“Shit,” Jaeyun mutters, pulling back as he glances at the door. “Your mum’s going to kill me if she sees us like this.”

You try to pull him back, not really caring about the impending danger of your mother’s scolding. It’s not like she would care if you are both dating, but being caught while you practically try to hump him might cause her to never let Jaeyun in your house again. Goodbye sleepovers, goodbye midnight hangouts on the weekends, and certainly goodbye to closing the door.

Pulling him back, you shake your head adamantly, muttering a soft ‘nu-uh’ as you capture his mouth with yours. Jaeyun can’t help but give in for a second, gripping your waist tightly as he groans in both frustration and pleasure.

Once he hears the loud, heavy footsteps of your mum padding down the stairs, Jaeyun reluctantly pulls away, his breath mingling with yours as his forehead rests against yours for a fleeting moment. He doesn’t leave you hanging, though. Instead, he peppers your lips with a series of soft, teasing kisses - each one lighter than the last, as if he’s trying to wean you off him. A playful smirk tugs at his lips when he plants a final, lingering peck.

“To be continued, yeah?” he whispers, his eyes sparkling with mischief and affection. There’s something about knowing the effect he has on you, it really makes him realise that this is definitely more than just friendship for you, that line crossed so quickly. His words linger in the air, filled with promises of what’s to come.

Before you can answer, he darts off, bolting down the driveway, and just in time, your mum appears at the door, her brow furrowing as she spots you standing there, rooted to the spot, cheeks aflame.

“Y/N? What are you doing out here?” she asks, her voice laced with suspicion, as she looks past you towards the street.

“Nothing, Mum,” you reply, your voice light and breezy despite the flush still colouring your cheeks. You try to keep the grin tugging at your lips at bay, but it’s no use. You watch Jaeyun’s figure disappear into the distance, his silhouette illuminated briefly by the streetlights, and your heart feels as though it’s been set alight, burning in the most beautiful way - there’s no danger, only passion.

He is everything. Everything you could ever want, everything you never knew you needed. His laughter, his touch, the way his voice wraps around you - it’s all etched into your skin, into the very fabric of your atoms.

With your heart fit to burst, overflowing with the weight of his adoration and your own, you step inside, heading upstairs. Each step feels light and easy, as though you’re gliding, feet barely touching the ground.

Later that night, as you lie in bed, his scent still lingering faintly on your skin, your phone buzzes on the bedside table. You grab it instantly, your pulse quickening when you see his name lighting up the screen.

I’m so happy I get to kiss you like that forever. x

________

For the next three months, you and Jaeyun kiss like your lungs will collapse without one another’s breath. It becomes a routine; you steal moments before either of your mums get home, tucked away behind the stairwell during class breaks, or hidden between the library shelves when study periods drag on too long. Any opportunity, no matter how fleeting or risky, you grab it by the balls.

Even now, you’re leaning against the faded cream wall outside your classroom with the metal lockers nearby doing little to shield you and Jaeyun’s actions. You’re really meant to be inside the class by now, diligently sitting at your seat like the semi-good student you are. Instead, Jaeyun’s hands are in your hair, fingers delicately brushing past the knots he has created. His lips are warm, firm, and insistent against yours.

God, those fucking lips.

A low, breathy groan escapes him, reverberating against your mouth and it sends a shiver from your head to your toes. The sound is a pretty reminder that he’s just as caught up in this as you are. His palm finds the side of your neck, his thumb brushing over your pulse in a way that makes your knees feel dangerously weak. You’re vaguely aware of the world outside the bubble you’ve created together, but it feels distant and unimportant right now. The heat pooling in your stomach, the way his teeth catch your bottom lip - something Jaeyun figured out you like very quickly - that’s all that matters.

“Excuse me, Mr. Sim, Miss L/N,” a sharp, exhausted voice cuts through the haze, and you both jolt apart like guilty children caught red-handed. Your teacher, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, looks both annoyed and resigned. You glance at Jaeyun, who dares to grin, his lips still slightly swollen and his hair deliciously mussed.

“Sorry, sir,” Jaeyun says, not sounding sorry in the slightest. Why would he be? He takes kissing you far more seriously than any lesson. Jaeyun presses one more hasted kiss to your lips, whispering a silent promise that it won’t be long before his mouth is back on yours, breathing in your lifeline. He shoots you a quick wink, and you have to bite back a laugh. The teacher’s glare sharpens.

By now, everyone in school is sick of the two of you. Teachers sigh audibly whenever you walk into a room together already knowing neither of you will pay attention, and students roll their eyes like it’s a chore. “You guys are so disgusting,” someone groans one day when you’re perched on Jaeyun’s desk, your fingers tracing patterns on his forearm as he squeezes your thigh. “Can you please keep your lovey-dovey shit out of my face?”

Another time, during a particularly heated make-out session in the back of the class, your history teacher’s patience finally snaps. “Mr. Sim, could you kindly relocate yourself to the front of the room? Some of your peers are trying to learn.” Jaeyun barely suppresses a laugh as he grabs his things and saunters to his new seat. When he passes by your desk, he leans down just enough to murmur, “They’re just jealous,” in that teasing tone that makes your heart race.

All you do is exchange heated makeout sessions and quick fondles, but the more it happens, the more you crave him in ways that go beyond the tangle of your tongues. You start to push more and more when you guys hang out; grinding on his lap, marking his neck with hickeys, even palming him through his trousers, silently asking for permission.

It’s not just the kisses that make you want to take it to the next level though. It’s the way he looks at you like you’re literally the only person worth seeing in a crowded room. The way his laughter feels like sunlight on a cold day. The way he seems to know you - really know you - in a way that no one else ever has. He is your best friend, your everything.

Why wouldn’t you want him to have every piece of you?

You can tell he’s apprehensive. Not because he doesn’t want to have sex with you, in fact, you can certainly see how it’s the opposite. The whines and the frustrated groans as you both roll around his bed tell you how badly he wants this. But something else is holding him back.

He’s careful, always so careful with you. It’s not hesitation, it’s patience. The kind that comes from someone who believes there’s a million and one minutes to be shared with you. He knows you’re both still young, and in his eyes, forever stretches way beyond the both of you, allowing you endless opportunities to feel and explore one another in every detailed way possible. So why rush?

That doesn’t mean it’s easy for him, he just doesn’t want to risk pushing you and doesn’t want to make you feel like you have to give more than you’re ready to.

But it’s also undeniable how much he and his body are yearning for you. You see it in the way his eyes cloud over with desperation as you trail kisses along his jaw, hear it in the way he breathes your name like it’s both a plea and a promise. He’s aching to have you, to feel you in every way possible. Yet he’ll wait. For you. As long as it takes.

There is one thing, though, that he can’t wait to do.

Late on a random Wednesday night, your phone pings, tugging you away from the textbook sprawled open on your desk. Jaeyun’s name lights up the screen, and just like your phone, your face brightens. Normally, if he wasn’t spending the night, he’d be fast asleep by now - the boy is practically religious about his eight hours. The text is unusual, but not enough to send alarm bells ringing.

Jaeyun: are you awake?

Y/N: yeah, just studying. are you okay, baby?

Jaeyun: can i come see you?

Your chest tightens slightly as you exhale, that quiet calm you’d settled into now dissolving at his unexpected question.

Y/N: sure! i’ll sneak you in. everything okay? :((

The three dots of a reply don’t appear and your last message hangs there, unanswered, leaving your brain to start spinning its anxious gears. Why does he need to see you now? What’s so urgent it can’t wait for school tomorrow - or, at the very least, a video call?

Minutes feel like hours as you wait. The silence from him is deafening, and it’s so unlike Jaeyun that it sets your stomach twisting. He’s not the type to leave you hanging, especially knowing your overactive imagination rivals his own. He’s always careful with you, considerate of your worries. Yet here you are, left to wrestle with every worst-case scenario your brain can conjure.

Foremost among them is the thought of a breakup.

You and Jaeyun have been amazing - like something out of a clichéd teen romance; but even in a love story, things aren’t always perfect, and you know that. Still, nothing has happened recently that could explain this sudden, out-of-character visit. Nothing, at least, that you can think of.

The vibration of your phone jolts you, and you find yourself holding your breath as you glance down.

Jaeyun: out front x

The kiss. That’s a good sign…isn’t it? If someone was breaking up with you, you wouldn’t put a small ‘x’ at the end of a text.

Your heart pounds as you tiptoe downstairs, just as you had the very first date with Jaeyun. Except this time, there’s no bubbling excitement, only a mix of nerves and curiosity as you silently glide down each step, ensuring you don’t wake up your parents. You unlock the door with careful hands and pull it open, and there he is.

Clad in grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, he stands there looking impossibly soft against the dark. His feet are adorned in the Timberland boots you - well, technically your parents - bought him last Christmas. His denim jacket, likely shrugged off for the walk, rests over his arm. His hair is slightly dishevelled, curling at the nape of his neck in a way that makes him look both boyish and heartbreakingly beautiful.

The sight of him standing there, illuminated faintly by the porch light, makes your breath hitch. Whatever reason he’s here, whatever words are about to leave his mouth, you know they’re important.

“Hi,” he murmurs, his voice soft and subdued with emotions you can’t place.

You don’t reply, instead stepping aside to let him in. His movements are automatic, muscle memory from all the times he’s been here before. Although tonight feels different. Without so much as a glance back, he makes his way to the stairs.

You follow him, and the ascent feels like an eternity. Each step echoes faintly in the stillness of the house, the sound amplified by your racing thoughts and the need to stay quiet. What is with him? Your stomach churns with the kind of anticipation that resembles dread. Jaeyun’s shoulders are tense, you can see that as you’re faced with his back, his hands jammed into the pockets of his sweatpants. Normally, you’d be looking at the veins on his arms and begin to mentally remember each curve, however, this isn’t a moment you want to remember.

Or so you think.

When you reach your room, he steps in first, the familiar space suddenly feeling foreign to him as his mind bounces along his cranium with doubt and excitement. You shut the door quietly, twisting the lock with a soft click, and turn to see him already sitting on the edge of your bed, hands scrunching into the fabric of your teddy blanket.

“Jaeyun, what’s wrong?” you ask, your voice low and laced with worry. It’s so quiet the world almost doesn’t hear it - but Jaeyun always hears you.

He stops fidgeting, his hands resting limply on his lap as his gaze drops to his fingers. “I just…” He trails off, his voice cracking slightly. He begins tracing the lines of his palm like he’s counting his fingers, his movements slow and soothing. “I needed to see you.”

He doesn’t look up.

The weight in the room settles a little heavier now, pressing into your chest as you swallow hard. “Talk to me,” you urge softly, watching as his posture stiffens due to your words. His entire body goes rigid, and the vulnerability in his silence sends a pang straight to your heart.

Jaeyun has always been open with you, an easy book to read. His laughter, his thoughts, his heart - all of it handed to you without hesitation. Since the first day you met, he gave you the key to his emotional safe. So to see him like this, closed off and guarded, it feels so wrong.

You quickly close the distance between you, sitting beside him, close enough that your knees touch. “You can tell me anything, Jaeyun. I promise whatever it is we ca-”

“I love you.”

The words cut yours short like a sharp blade. Quick, almost too quick, and for a moment, they don’t fully register any of the syllables. You blink, stunned, as your own words fall silent. Probably not the best reaction to have but it’s all so sudden that your brain’s crossing some wires as it fights to say something.

Jaeyun’s eyes remain locked on his hands, but there’s panic in the tightness of his jaw, the way his fingers grip his sweatpants as if he’s bracing for impact. Yet, you remain silent.

Say something, you think. Anything.

“You…do?” The words leave your lips before you can stop them, fragile and uncertain. You did ask your brain to say anything, but perhaps a rebutting question about the genuineness of his confession isn’t the way to go.

He nods slightly, his head tilting to the side but still avoiding your gaze. “Of course I do,” he says matter-of-factly, even if it comes out between shallow breaths. “I’ve loved you since I met you, I think.”

His honest words hover stagnant between you, and they make your chest ache in ways you can’t quite define as black and white. It’s not an ache that feels like fear, though there is something scary about the three words - it’s more like the kind of ache that comes with holding so much joy in your hands and wondering if it’s really yours, if you can really grasp it and never let go. A holy shit, this is real, isn’t it? kind of ache.

It’s the kind of feeling that makes your throat dry and your lungs tighten, yet your heart swells all the same. It’s painfully beautiful.

You knew deep down. Of course, you did. How could you not? You’d seen it in the way he looked at you, felt it in the way he breathed out your name as though he would be happy with it being the last thing he ever said. Yet, hearing him say it out loud was entirely different. His confession, spontaneous and real, shakes you alive.

And you feel it too. You love the boy who is nervously biting his lip as he waits patiently and apprehensive beside you. You love him so much that the world genuinely feels as though it can do you no wrong; the sun and moon align to create the perfect love casted eclipse.

So why can’t you just say them back? You’ve felt them for so long. You’ve dreamed of saying them - you’ve even practised in the mirror for when the perfect time arose. And yet here you are, struggling.

“Y/N?” His voice is soft, cracking slightly with the weight of the moment. “Please…say something.”

There’s a plea in his tone that makes your stomach churn. His eyes, usually so steady and confident, are now dimmed with hesitation. He’s bracing himself for you to shatter him with rejection and that gets your tongue moving.

“I-” Your voice falters. The single syllable hangs in the air, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard. You’re killing him with the quiet, his heart thumping as it wishes to be anywhere but in this room with you, scared you’re about to take a hammer to it.

When Jaeyun decided to tell you tonight, it was impulsive - he knows - but his tongue and heart couldn’t help themselves. He loves you. He loves you like Jack loves Rose, like Gomez loves Morticia, and like his dad loves his mum. He’s so certain that although his feelings are scary, the most terrifying part is you not feeling the same.

You’re searching for the right words, but none seem worthy of what you’re feeling. This isn’t just love - it’s something bigger, something that spills out beyond the English language. But you know you need to say it, even if it doesn’t feel like enough. Because you need him to know, even a fraction.

“I-”, you begin again, finfing your voice, “I love you too, Jaeyun. The whisper comes out at last, and the words hit his chest like a fragile secret you’ve been holding onto for far too long.

You just hope you said it with enough sincerity that he doesn’t doubt you. You would hate if he thought you were simply returning the words back to him out of obligation.

His head snaps up to meet your gaze, his dark eyes wide and searching, and when you see the way they light up, your heart nearly stops. He’s like a puppy seeing a bone, not quite believing it’s his but anticipating the treat.

Slowly, as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear, he cups your cheek. His palm is warm against your skin, grounding you in this moment that feels almost too perfect to be real.

“Really?” he breathes, fighting the smile until he hears you say it again. Half refusing to believe it.

“Yeah,” you murmur, a smile drawing itself across your cheeks. “Really, really.”

The tension in the air shifts. It doesn’t dissolve, but it changes - transforming into something softer, something heartstopping. You barely have time to register the shift before he’s leaning in, pressing his lips to yours.

His kiss is tentative at first, still testing the waters, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. Soon, the tenderness gives way to desperate love. You can feel it in the way his body magnitises to yours, each cell of his body begging to be joined with yours. His hand moves to your waist, his fingers splaying against the fabric of your t-shirt like he’s anchoring himself to you.

Your hands, almost on instinct, clutch at the fabric of his white tshirt, pulling him closer. It’s not enough - fuck, he’s so close and yet it feels like there’s still too much space between you. Your chest presses against his, your breaths mingling as the kiss deepens.

“I love you so much,” you murmur against his lips, loving the feeling of the words falling so freely from your tongue.

Something in him seems to snap just as you finish the sentence because before you know it, he’s guiding you back onto the bed, his hand gently pressing your shoulder until you’re lying beneath him. The mattress dips under your weight as he hovers over you, his lips never straying far from yours.

The kiss shifts the atmosphere from relief to greed, growing hungrier, needier, and you feel his fingers tightening on your skin. The hand that had been on your shoulder trails upwards, his thumb brushing just below your jaw, tracing the delicate line of your neck. His hand is so big it encapsulates almost all of your neck, your pulse thruming against his palm.

It’s overwhelming in the best way. Your skin feels hypersensitive to every little movement. His lips leave yours eventually, trailing a path down to your jaw, then to the curve of your neck. You tilt your head almost instinctively, giving him better access as his mouth brushes your skin, and you feel the faintest hint of teeth grazing to tease you.

“Jaeyun,” you whisper, not even sure what you’re trying to say - maybe you just want to remind yourself that he’s there, that he is the one making you feel like you’re flying.

He pulls back just enough to look at you as your breathy moan calls out to him. His gaze is wild, unfocused, like he’s caught in some trance he can’t manage to break. But when his eyes meet yours, they soften instantly and you see the Jaeyun you know, his worry of pushing you too far settling to the front of his mind.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice hoarse as he starts to draw back. “I got carried away-”

“Don’t apologise,” you interrupt, grabbing the front of his shirt to stop him. His eyes widen slightly at your words, his lips parting as though he’s about to speak, but you don’t give him the chance. Instead, you cup his face, your fingers brushing over the bumps of his faint acne scars. “I want this,” you say, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. “I need you. I have for fucking ever.”

The genuineness of your words seems to reach him, though, it doesn’t stop that nagging in his subconscious. He doesn’t want you to regret your first time, to make this decision because you’re riled up by the confessions. But as he looks into your eyes, he sees no hesitation, only pure love and want.

It only takes a moment before his lips are back on yours, his hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer. His touch is gentle if not urgent, his lips soft and warm against yours. The sound of soft whines against your lips sends pleasurable vibrations down your spine. You need him, more than you did at the outdoor movie, more than literally any other time you kissed him.

This feels different.

This feels like you’re completely in love.

His mouth trails down your body, not hurried but rather purposeful. He doesn’t remove your clothes just yet - instead he lifts your t-shirt to your breasts and begins kissing a gentle line from your valley to the soft curve of your belly. Once he’s reached his destination, his lips linger just where your shorts meet your hips, spending extra time just being there.

The heat between you both is palpable. You instinctively shift your hips, a silent invitation for him to remove your shorts, but he doesn’t. Not yet.

He teases you, kissing along the line of your lower abdomen, his hands caressing your calves with slow, deliberate strokes. He knows exactly what he’s doing, drawing this moment out, making you ache for him even more.

"Jaeyun, please don’t," you whisper, your voice a breathless plea as your eyes lock with his. His are half-lidded, already drenched in lust as his lashes graze his cheek, a twinkle of joy sparkling in the dim light of your room.

"Don’t what, baby?" he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss just under your belly button, his lips continuing their slow descent. His fingers brush against you, skimming lightly over your covered slit. You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily at the foreign feeling, eliciting a teasing smile to play on your boyfriend’s lips. “Don’t tease?”

His finger gains more stength as he applies some further pressure to your cunt, you clit screaming out for his touch. Surprisingly, he finds it even with the barrier of your shorts. You’re not experienced in this department but you’ve read enough magazine columns to know that men have a hard time with locating your precious gem.

Jaeyun must really just be perfect. Or lucky.

The soft moan that escapes you is a sound of pure need that you hadn’t realised you’d been holding in. Jaeyun’s grin widens with pride as he continues to rub your sensitive spot over your shorts, each movement coaxing another response from you.

“So fucking pretty like this, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady.

You haven’t seen this side of him before - the way he’s so in tune with your body, so confident in his touch. This is new to you, to both of you. The Jaeyun you know has always been playful, carefree, but tonight, he’s different - more in control.

What you don’t know, though, is that just a day before, he sought advice from his friend Heeseung about, well, everything.

"Have any of you ever...you know...eaten a girl out before?" Jaeyun asks, his voice laced with uncertainty. His friends snicker, but Heeseung, the more mature one, is the only one to respond with any real insight. He’s the only one with enough experience to even answer his question anyway.

"It’s all about listening and responding," Heeseung says, a knowing look in his eyes. "You’ve got to read the room. If you do something and she moans, you do it again. If she doesn’t like it, you try something else. It’s all about learning each other’s bodies."

Jaeyun looks at him with wide eyes, as though Heeseung has unlocked the mysteries of the female body. Heeseung’s advice becomes his guide, and now, it seems like he’s ready to put it into practice.

“How do i do it right though? You always see those tiktoks about girls blasting guys for not being able to get them off,” Jaeyun pauses, “what if I can’t?”

“You will, just listen to her, Jake. Let her control the situation without her even knowing she is.”

And that’s exactly what Jaeyun is doing now. He’s paying attention - listening to the sounds you make, reading every move of your body as if it’s the bible, every unspoken need his hymn sheet.

He hears the soft whimper you let out when he pulls his fingers away, his own breath catching as he watches your thighs tremble. Without hesitation, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pyjama shorts and pulls them down, his movements desperate but deliberate.

His eyes darken as they settle on you, bare and exposed beneath him. A quiet moan leaves his lips, his restraint hanging by a thread. He’s see pussy before, through the screen of his phone as he jerkily pumps his cock in the midst of the night, but yours…fuck, yours is artwork. It’s like finally seeing the Mona Lisa in person.

Right now, the only thing stopping him from burying his face between your thighs and devouring you entirely is the need to hear you say it. To know, without question, that you want this as much as he does.

"Can I?" His voice is low, clogged with need. The words alone send your brain into orbit and your hips lift instinctively, offering yourself to him, but that isn’t enough. He needs more.

"Use your words, baby."

"Please, Jaeyun," you whisper, breathless. "I need you so bad."

That’s all it takes.

His hands grip your thighs as he leans in, dragging his tongue between your folds in one single stripe. A deep groan rumbles through his chest as he tastes you for the first time. Honestly, he wasn’t expecting the tang to be so intoxicating, your slick making his buds dance with joy. He has a sneaking suspicion that he’ll get addicted to this. To you.

His lips envelop around your clit in a way that makes your entire body contract. He’s eager, but not rushed - at least he’s trying his hardest not to be. His tongue moves with purpose, seeking out every spot that makes your breath hitch.

"Yunnie…oh my god," you gasp, fingers threading through his messy brown strands, pulling roughly. "Baby, don’t stop."

He doesn’t. If anything, your plea spurs him on. Heeseung’s advice plays in the back of his mind, and he follows it without hesitation. He listens, he adjusts, he learns. And when he hears the way you whimper when he flattens his tongue against you, when he feels the way your thighs squeeze around his head and muffle the world around him, he does it again.

Jaeyun groans against you, completely undone by the way you react to him. He’s so glad Heeseung sent him those videos, so fucking grateful he paid attention because now, he knows exactly what to do to elicit pleasure from you. And the fact that he’s the one making you fall apart like this? It only makes him hungrier.

His lips brush over your clit, his voice a husky whisper. "Baby…can I?" He traces a single finger along your entrance, waiting for the green light.

"Do it," you manage to huff out, the need in your voice making his cock twitch.

He doesn’t make you wait either. He slides his middle finger into you, groaning at how tight you are, the feeling of your walls also not what he was expecting. It’s warm - obviously - but those ridges of your walls, the way the flutter even around a simple finger, it’s making him feel feral. "Fuck, baby…you’re gonna be so tight around me."

The stretch is new, different. You’ve never used anything more than your fingers before but his feel nothing like yours. His are longer, thicker, reaching places you didn’t even know existed inside of you. He curls his digit just enough to press against a soft spot inside and you have to cover your mouth with how loud you mewl out. He grins against your skin, pressing his lips back to your sensitive bud as he watches you wriggle under his orchestrated touch. He circles his tongue in slow, lazy strokes, his pace unhurried but devastating for you.

"More," you breathe, and the word alone puts him on the verge of losing it.

He doesn’t hesitate, slipping another finger inside you, and the when you’ve become accustomed to that, he adds another. He uses his nose to nudge your clit with every movement, his breath hot, his tongue relentless. He can feel it - your body tightening, signalling to him that you’re ready. And you don’t even realise it yet.

But he does. He knows you better than you know yourself.

"Are you gonna cum, Princess?"

Princess.

The nickname catches you off guard, but god, the way it rolls off his tongue has you spiralling into orbit.

"So close," you admit, anchoring yourself to earth long enough to know and understand what’s happening. Your voice is shaky as pleasure rumbles in waves, beginning to drown you.

Jaeyun drinks you in like you’re the last drop of water in the desert. His grip tightens, his movements never faltering. And when you finally come undone, his fingers don’t stop, his tongue still lapping up everything you give him.

Oh, he is definitely going to get addicted to this.

You’re panting, your hands still tangled in his hair yanking at his roots as your mind fogs with euphoria. Jaeyun begins to slow down his ministrations, not taking away a second of this from either of you. His eyes roll to the back of his head, savouring the last drops as they leak from your cunt.

He looks up at you, his lips glistening in your essence, his eyes soft yet undeniably starving. "You okay?" he asks, almost innocently despite the sin over his features.

"I’m fantastic," you huff out in a laugh, still trying to catch your breath.

Jaeyun chuckles, pressing one last kiss teasingly to your clit, making you shudder with that ache.

"Jaeyun…" you whisper his name so softly that it gets swept by the air circulating you both, a feather floating as love carries it.

He takes off his tshirt before slowly climbs up your body, his bare chest brushing against your skin, his face hovering inches from yours. "What is it, love?"

And that’s when it hits you. So suddenly. So earth shatteringly obvious. The overwhelming, undeniable realisation that there will never be anyone else. Not after this. Not after him.

You reach for him, pulling him into a kiss that’s deeper and more desperate than any that came before it. Your fingers thread through his hair, your body arching against his as you whisper against his lips, "Jaeyun, I love you so much. I need you."

He stills, his forehead pressing against yours as he takes in your words, his breath uneven as his mind jumps in anxiety and his cock leaps for joy.

"Are you sure, baby?" His voice is thick with restraint, his eyes pleading, hopeful. He wants this, but this is a big step for both of you. Giving you head is one thing but losing your virginity - he needs to make sure this is everything you want.

And you’ve never been more sure of anything in your life.

"I’m so sure, Jaeyun," you whisper, your hand slipping between your bodies. Your fingers trail over his slightly -toned stomach before slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. The direct contact of your hand around his dick makes his breath stutter, then completely stop as you begin to stroke him gently, feeling his weight and warmth. "Let me have every bit of you."

A strangled groan leaves his lips as his head falls back. His grip on your waist tightens, his body trembling under your touch.

"Baby, stop before I-" He catches your wrist, his voice strained. "I’ll cum in my pants if you keep doing that…at least let me be inside of you," His eyes are desperate, his body yearning out for you.

"Jaeyun-" you start to protest, but before you can finish, he pulls away just long enough to strip himself of his sweatpants and boxers.

Your breath catches at the sight of him.

His cock stands thick and hard against his stomach, the head flushed a pretty shade of pink. A prominent vein runs along the underside, disappearing beneath the ridge of his tip. He’s big - bigger than you expected - but all you can think about is how badly you want him. No - need him.

Jaeyun swallows hard at the sight of you on your knees, your legs tucked beneath you, your gaze locked onto his cock. The strap of your pyjama top has slipped down your shoulder, exposing the soft curve of your breast. The sight is enough to make his stomach tighten.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

He shakes his head clear of the lust-drunken state he’s in before leaning down to kiss you, capturing your lips with his once again. You’re so melded together that it’s impossible to tell where you end and he begins, your mouths moving together in a perfect, delicious rhythm.

He lowers you back onto the bed, his body settling over yours, his hand slipping between your legs once more. The moment his fingers brush over your core, your breath catches and your body trembles from oversensitivity.

"Are you ready for me, baby?" His voice is soft, careful. "Or should I open you up some more?"

Jaeyun’s question was meant to be innocent - he really did want you to be ready for him - but in your heightened state, it was the filthiest thing he had said so far. You were too lost in sensation to string together a proper sentence, yet you knew he needed to be careful. The last thing you need is to walk out as a cast member of Teen Mom.

“Condom,” you manage to point towards the nightstand. “Second drawer.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he reaches over. “Did you expect this to happen or something?” His tone is amused but the heaving of his chest shows how turned on he is, even just by the prospect of a condom.

You let out a breathless laugh, still coming down from the intensity of it all. “Got them at the doctor’s office when I was there. You know I can’t pass up a freebie.”

Jaeyun lets out a loud, genuine laugh, his forehead resting against yours for a moment before he presses a soft kiss to your lips, then, just as he opens the drawer, his hand stills.

“Y/N?” His voice shifts, a teasing lilt creeping in.

You prop yourself up on your elbows to see what caught his attention, only for heat to rush to your face as he holds up a small bullet vibrator between his fingers, a slow smirk spreading across his lips.

“Is this my competition?” He raises an eyebrow, his smile downright wicked. He knew you would have masturbated, but for some reason he just expected you to use your pretty fingers. At least, that’s the thought that got him through his own wank sessions.

You groan, shoving at his chest, embarrassed that you didn’t do a better job of hiding it. Jaeyun tosses the toy aside and leans in again, his breath warm against your lips.

“I’ll make sure you never need that again,” he murmurs, voice dropping to something impossibly low. “Only I get to make you cum from now on, yeah? You need to get off, you call me.”

A whimper escapes you, and the sound alone has his smirk deepening. You don’t doubt his words for a second. His expression softens as he tilts your chin up. “You ready for this?” His voice is a whisper now, careful to convey his sincerity. “We can stop whenever you want, okay?”

You swallow hard, nodding. “I’m ready.” It’s scary, all the warnings about how it hurts suddenly suffocate your mind. Why now?

Jaeyun takes himself in hand, dragging the head of his cock between your folds, spreading your wetness before tapping it lightly against your clit. A sharp gasp leaves you, your body arching instinctively, suddenly forgetting about your worries. Oh, how simple your horny body is.

“Fuck, Jaeyun. Need you.”

That familiar wetness from earlier coats your thighs, the sheets, and him all at once. He keeps teasing you, watching the way you writhe beneath him, how you gasp and whimper at every slow drag of his length as his head snags on your hood and plays with your bud. Heeseung had told him it was important to make sure you were relaxed, that it would hurt less if you were wet enough. He’d even sent videos explaining it and for the first time, Jaeyun took interest in Biology.

Exhaling to steady himself, he lines up at your entrance. “Breathe out for me, baby,” he murmurs, his free hand stroking up your thigh. “And if it hurts too much, tell me and we will slow down.”

You nod, eyes locked onto his. “Okay.”

Slowly, he pushes his tip in. Your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, and he stills immediately, his thumb rubbing smooth circles on your thigh. “Princess, you okay?” His voice is tight, his concern cutting through his haze of arousal.

You nod, but he doesn’t move. Not until you say something. “I’m okay, Jaeyun.” You exhale, fingers trailing down his arms to reassure him. “Just give me a minute?”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, nodding. He leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. But as he does, his cock slides a little deeper, and you wince as he moans out.

“Shit, love, I’m sorry,” he breathes, guilt flashing in his eyes.

Love.

He’s pulling out every pet name he can think of, and god, you love it. You pull him back into a kiss to let him know it’s okay, that the discomfort is bearable, that you trust him. The stretch even from his cock is a lot, but it is to die for. It sends you excitement racing ahead of the pain.

“This is really boosting my ego, y’know,” Jaeyun jokes, looking lovingly into your eyes as he lowers himself further, making his position more comfortable to hold.

The laugh you let out is accompanied by an eye roll. Your boyfriend, so sweet and caring, knows exactly what you need to relax and distract you from the burn. Even as you laugh, you loosen up a little for him, allowing his cock some room to breathe.

“I’m glad, you should be very proud.”

“Bigger than that vibrator, huh?”

“Wait until you see my dildo collection.”

You and Jaeyun both giggle, placing lazy kisses over each other’s faces as you wash each other in love and adoration, each word, each look, each touch of your skin is securing the bond you share, nothing unable to tear it apart.

You take a deep breath after a moment and smile softly at your lover. “I’m good. You can go.”

Jaeyun nods, laying a final peck to your nose before moving slowly, deliberately, pushing in inch by inch. It’s new for both of you, but there’s no awkwardness, no tension - just quiet understanding, a deep intimacy that makes your chest feel impossibly full.

“Baby, you feel so fucking good,” he groans, his forehead pressing against yours as he bottoms out. His eyes squeeze shut, his whole body trembling. “I can’t believe you’re real.”

You cradle his face, watching the way he’s completely unravelled, how he’s totally lost in the feeling of you. A surge of confidence swells in your chest. You’re doing this to him. You’re making him feel like this.

Your hips lift, finally doing some work as you silently urge him to move, and his eyes snap open, wild and dark with need.

“Princess… fuck,” he gasps when you clench around him on purpose.

You smirk, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, “Is it good, baby?”

The second the words leave your mouth, Jaeyun lets out a strangled moan. His body tenses, his rhythm faltering, and before you can process it, he’s cumming. His jaw slackens, his breath stuttering as pleasure overtakes him.

If you could retain one moment for the rest of his life, it would be this - Jaeyun, undone, lost in euphoria, his chest rising and falling in heavy pants, sweat beading at his temple. He’s beautiful like this, more breathtaking than you’ve ever seen him.

His arms shake as he tries to hold himself up. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, cheeks flushing. “I didn’t mean to…that was too fast.” He could curse himself over and over again because why the fuck did he bust his load so quickly? His cock is his biggest enemy right now, embarrassing him by getting too excited too fast.

You laugh softly, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead. “Jaeyun, it’s okay. It was perfect.” And it was. You don’t expect your first time to last all night; just experiencing this with your boyfriend is enough for you.

But it’s not enough for the boy above you. His lips press into a plump pout, the one he always adorns when he’s dissatisfied. “No, I should have made you finish.” His eyes burn with determination, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head.

“Bab-”

One quick thrust knocks the words right out of your mouth.

The pleasure spreads through you in an instant, making your whole body jolt. “Jaeyun, you don’t have to-oh, god.”

He doesn’t slow, if anything, he picks up the pace, his fingers finding your clit.

“Princess, I promised I’d make you feel good,” he rasps, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m gonna make you cum again, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

Jaeyun has always been determined - when he sets his mind on something, he sees it through. And if his goal is to have you falling apart beneath him, he’s going to make sure he achieves it.

You try to keep quiet, mindful of your parents down the hall, but it’s impossible. The pleasure is too much, your moans spilling out uncontrollably. His thick cock kisses each bump of your walls so beautifully, any pain is washed away with pure ecstasy.

Jaeyun smirks, rolling his hips in a way that makes you cry out. “Baby, you gotta be quiet.” His voice is teasing, but when he thrusts harder, pulling another loud moan from you, his smirk widens. “I know I’m good, but try.”

You can’t even muster a glare - too lost in the way he feels, in the way he’s taking you apart. You’ve suddenly found a new love for his stubborn need to achieve the best.

“Jaeyun…I’m so-”

“I know, princess. I can feel you.” His lips trail down your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses on all your sweet spots. “Need you to cum all over me, yeah?” His voice is wrecked, his desperation bleeding through. “You love my cock, don’t you?”

“I love you.” The words slip out, tangled in a breathy moan but it doesn’t deminish the sincerity.

Jaeyun stills, his eyes softening, his smirk melting into something more tender. “God, I love you too, Y/N. So fucking much. I’ll love you forever if you let me.”

His movements grow more focused, more purposeful. He ignores his own overstimulation, his only goal to push you over the edge. “Baby, cum for me.” He brushes a thumb over your cheek, voice thick with adoration. “Just for me, give me everything.”

The intensity is overwhelming - the pleasure, the emotion, the weight of his love wrapping around you like a blanket. He is your soulmate, you know that now.

Your orgasm crashes into you, shattering you completely. You barely register the sounds you’re making, Jaeyun swallowing them with a desperate kiss. And when it’s over, when your body trembles beneath his, Jaeyun holds you close, pressing lazy kisses to your skin.

His voice is a whisper, reverent. “Mine.”

First times in novels and films always seemed impossibly perfect - moments so breathtaking, they felt unattainable. But now, lying here in Jaeyun’s arms, those depictions feel dishonest, pale imitations of the reality you’ve just experienced. Nothing could ever compare to this. Nothing could ever compare to him.

You wouldn’t trade this moment for the world. And you wouldn’t trade Jaeyun for anything. He’s beautifully perfect.

As the lingering waves of pleasure subside, you open your eyes to find him already watching you, his fingers threading gently through your damp, tangled hair. He smiles, warm and adoring, and strokes his thumb across your temple.

“Princess, you did so well,” he murmurs, voice thick with tenderness. “I’m so proud of you. I wasn’t too much, was I?” His brow creases slightly, genuine concern written all over his face.

A sleepy giggle escapes you as you shake your head. “Never…I’m so in love with you, Jaeyun. I’m so serious.” You pull him into a kiss, soft and unhurried, a contrast to the mess still lingering between you.

Jaeyun groans against your lips, then laughs as he pulls back. “Babe, I swear to god, I’ll cum again if you keep saying stuff like that.”

You grin, only half-aware of the way your body protests as he slowly pulls out. The emptiness he leaves behind feels unnatural, like something has been stolen from you. You don’t know how you ever lived before him - not like this, not without being completely wrapped up in him.

And now? You’re certain you can’t live without him.

Jaeyun hisses as he carefully removes the condom, then crawls off the bed, padding over to the bin. You take the opportunity to admire him, his bare skin still flushed, his muscles shifting as he moves, his perky ass so soft and pretty. That’s all mine, you think hazily, a lazy smile tugging at your lips.

He turns just in time to catch you staring. Tilting his head, he narrows his eyes playfully. “Y/N? What are you smiling at?”

You blink up at him, still dazed. “You,” you admit, voice soft. “Just…smiling at the fact you’re mine.”

A sudden shyness creeps in, and you cover your face with your arm, giggling. Never have you been so happy, your heart content and just filled with pure innocent joy at the idea of finding love like this.

Already striding back to the bed and hovering over you, Jaeyun gently tugs your arm away so he can see your face. “Always,” he whispers, brushing his lips over your forehead. “I’m always gonna be yours. Until my last breath on this earth, I’m yours.”

The two of you stay tangled together, bodies pressed close, as the first hints of dawn begin to filter through the curtains. You don’t move. You don’t need to.

The world can wait. Right now, there is only Jaeyun.

___________

To say everything is going well with you and Jaeyun over the past year and a half would be an understatement. You've never felt so deeply cherished or loved in your life - not by your parents, not by your friends, not by anyone. Only Jaeyun makes the world feel more vivid and bright, as if the saturation has been turned up just for you; the sun has a habit of making life look brighter like that.

Your eighteenth birthday party is tonight, something you’ve spent months planning. It falls perfectly after exams, giving you the excuse to gather everyone and let loose. Now, do you have an endless sea of friends? Not quite. But you have your group - the ones who stay through every season. The ones who have been there for your highest highs and lowest lows. But that doesn’t stop you from inviting half the year group anyway, just to make the party feel more alive. The more, the merrier.

The house hums with excitement as preparations fall into place. Fairy lights drape across the walls, bottles of drinks line the kitchen counter - supplied by your parents and Yeji’s - and music thrums in the background, setting the vibe for the night ahead. The air carries the scent of vanilla candles mixed with anticipation.

Ryujin and Yeji, your two closest friends, are with you as you get ready, their voices a steady hum in the background as you check your reflection for the nth time. The dress you chose is deliberate: a short, black, sleek dress with red lace edging the hem. It’s bolder than your usual style, more daring. A declaration of some sorts.

“Y/N, you look amazing,” Ryujin says, appraising you with a knowing grin. “Jake isn’t going to be able to keep his hands off you.”

You smile, her excited words confirming exactly what you’d hoped. She doesn’t know you bought the dress for that reason alone - for Jaeyun to see a new side to you. There is something about turning eighteen that - at least for you - feels so…freeing, different. Like the girl standing in front of you is more than just plain old Y/N who does semi-badly in school and collects cute keyrings. Tonight, you are stepping into a new era and although you don’t quite know what that entails just yet, it thrums beneath your skin like electricity.

Yeji claps her hands, eyes alight with excitement. “Now, it’s time to fucking party.” She pours the three of you a shot, the bright lime liquid gleaming under the bedroom lights.

You take the glass, fingers tightening around it. This moment feels like like standing on the edge of a rooftop, wind in your hair, heart racing. You glance at your friends, their faces mirroring your own exhilaration and relief of letting their hair down. So, with a grin, you clink your glass against theirs and knock back the shot, feeling the warmth spread through you.

The night is only just beginning.

Hours later, the party is in full swing. The house is packed, your parents are nowhere in sight, the music pulses through the walls, and people seem to be having the best time, each making a point to wish you a happy birthday along with appreciative thanks for hosting. You should be enjoying yourself, it is your party after all. But there is one integral piece missing. Jaeyun is still missing. You glance at your phone for the hundredth time, staring at the text he sent earlier.

Jaeyun: be there soon, baby. can’t wait to see my girl! x

That was two hours ago.

“Hey.” A voice from behind pulls you from your thoughts, dragging your eyes from the bright screen as you turn. The sight of him steals your breath for a moment. Sleeked-back hair, perfectly carved features - he’s the kind of beautiful that makes entire rooms pause.

“I’m Sunghoon.” His voice is smooth, almost amused. “You’re the birthday girl, right?”

“H-Hey. Yeah, that’s me,” you manage, feeling unexpectedly flustered. “Thanks for coming.”

The moonlight slips through the windows, catching on the sharp lines of his face, the constellation of moles dotting his skin, the gleam of his canines as he smiles. He’s striking, hypnotic in a way that unsettles you. This is Park fucking Sunghoon.

You have never spoken to him before, nor did you think he even knew that you existed until this moment. He is never one to turn down a party but he keeps to his friend group. He’s popular, bright, has girls fawning at his feet 24/7, and yet he’s speaking to you.

Maybe this dress had more powers than you thought.

“You’re Jake’s girlfriend?” he asks, tilting his head slightly as his eyes dart the crowded room. “Where is he?”

Where is he? You’ve been asking yourself the same thing. He’s always with you, always on time. Always here. And suddenly, you miss him even more than ever.

You force a light chuckle, shrugging. “No idea, actually.”

Sunghoon’s gaze flickers over you, assessing the situation. When his hand brushes your arm, your body tenses involuntarily. You don’t move away, but something inside you twists, an unspoken warning sounding in your mind. Jaeyun, where are you?

Sunghoon notices your hesitance and merely nods, understanding your sudden apprehension. He’s not one to force it.

“If I were Jake,” he murmurs, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine, “I’d never let my pretty girlfriend stand alone at her own party.”

And then, as if to make a point, he leans in and presses a kiss to your temple.

He’s right, isn’t he? Jaeyun should be here. Shouldn’t you be angry and not wallowing, waiting for him? Instead, you’re swallowing another shot of Cherry Sourz - Jaeyun’s favourite, a habit ingrained in you. Yeji’s words echo in your mind, the ones she exclaimed enthusiastically a few weeks ago as you were planning the night. If you’re going to celebrate your 18th birthday, you might as well have no regrets.

So you do just that. Four hours in and your sense of time is gone, your head pleasantly light and airy, your body warmed by the alcohol and humidity of the packed house. Nine shots in, and you’ve forgotten what you were even upset about.

And then the air shifts.

Jaeyun walks through the door with Heeseung and Jay, his usual easy grin in place. He greets people in the hallway, his energy relaxed - until his eyes find you.

The smile fades. His body stills. His jaw tightens.

You, in that dress, your hair tousled from dancing, the flush on your cheeks. But most of all, the hands on your waist.

Sunghoon.

Jaeyun clenches his fists, inhaling sharply through his nose as jealousy laces through his veins like wildfire. He isn’t naive. He knows Sunghoon is dangerous - not in the way that means trouble, but in the way that makes him a threat. He’s handsome, perhaps the best-looking guy in school, and more infuriatingly, he’s interested in you.

When he was getting changed for practice a couple of days ago, he overheard Sunghoon and his friend Sunoo talking about you. About his girl. Sunghoon was talking about you, describing how you’re really catching his attention lately, and he had zero quips about your relationship status as he said ‘I don’t think Jake is competition��. That riled up Jaeyun more because how dare Sunghoon see you as something of a prize that he could win.

Jaeyun moves before he can think. One moment, Sunghoon’s hands are on you, and the next, Jaeyun is there, pulling you flush against him as he slips his arms around your waist. He buries his face in your shoulder, the scent of your perfume dulling the fury roiling inside him. You always had a way of making him calm, even if you didn’t say a word.

“Baby,” he breathes, his voice soft but laced with possession. Sunghoon steps back, but the smirk lingers in his gaze, knowing Jaeyun feels even a hint of threat. “Happy birthday, my love.”

You should be furious. You are furious. But Jaeyun’s touch is grounding, familiar, something you’ve always craved. Still, the soft part of you that folds for your boyfriend any chance it can is being dropkicked out of your senses, alcohol now fueling you into anger.

And for the first time, Jaeyun might not be able to charm his way out of this one.

You brush his hands off, ignoring him as you continue your conversation with Sunghoon. Jaeyun is hurt. He understands why you’re acting this way - he let you down. Football practice ran far longer than he intended and there was literally no way his coach was letting him leave early, but that reasoning doesn’t make it any easier to watch you give your attention to someone else. To Sunghoon, of all people.

“Princess,” he whispers, the nickname curling off his tongue like a plea, begging you not to be too harsh on him.

You can’t ignore him anymore, your bones melting at his tone, yet, the alcohol has you rolling your eyes, a dry, exasperated sigh jolting out your lips.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I feel like such a dickhea-”

“Good,” you snap before he can finish. Your voice is sharp, not loud, but it slices straight through him. “I hope you feel worse than that.” You turn to face him now, arms crossed tight, barely able to keep still with the anger running hot through your veins. “I waited for four hours, Jaeyun. Four. Do you have any idea how humiliating that is? Standing around like an idiot, making up excuses for you when people asked where you were? All so you could do what? Kick a fucking ball around?”

Jaeyun’s breath catches in his throat. You’re really fucking mad.

“And for all I know, it wasn’t even that,” you continue, your voice trembling with something heavier than just anger. “Maybe you were with someone else. Maybe football was just an excuse.”

That makes him still, his spirit leaving his body completely. Cheat. That’s what you’re implying. That word, even unsaid, shatters something in him.

His stomach knots painfully, bile rising in his throat at the mere suggestion. It feels like a slap, like a betrayal, even though he’s the one being accused. How could you think that? How could you even consider it? Had he not been obvious enough? Had he not loved you loudly enough? The thought alone makes him sick.

“Baby,” he exhales, forcing himself to stay calm, to keep his voice even despite the panic pressing against his ribs. “No. I swear, I was at practice. The coach wouldn’t let me leave-”

“Whatever, Jake.”

It’s not the words that cut him open. It’s the name. Jake.

Everyone calls him that. His friends, his teammates, teachers, even strangers. But you? Never. Not since the day he told you he liked being called Jaeyun better, especially from your lips. It was something small, something intimate, something that belonged only to you. But now, you’re just like everyone else.

“Go enjoy yourself,” you say coolly, turning back to Sunghoon. “I’m in the middle of a conversation. Can’t you see?”

Jaeyun follows your gaze, his jaw clenching when he sees the satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of Sunghoon’s lips. The guy looks pleased with himself, like he’s already won the game he’s been planning all along.

Jaeyun’s hands curl into fists at his sides as he walks away, defeated and charged with anger he doesn’t think he has ever felt flow through his bloodstream.

___

An hour or so later, he watches as Sunghoon shifts closer to you, his fingertips barely grazing your arm, his voice dipping lower as he says something that makes you laugh, tilting your head back just enough for it to sting. That laugh belongs to Jaeyun. He knows every version of it - the soft, sleepy one in the mornings, the unrestrained one when you find something so hilarious, the breathless, lovesick one you give only to him.

Except, tonight, you’re seemingly giving it to someone else.

He should walk out. He should let you cool off, let himself cool off. But when Sunghoon leans down, his lips dangerously close to yours, something inside Jaeyun snaps.

Without thinking, he strides forward, his arm sliding around your waist, tugging you against his chest before Sunghoon can move any closer. His lips find the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. It’s an act of possession, yes - but also a silent apology, a plea for you to stop this, to stop hurting him.

“Baby,” he murmurs, stretching the syllable out deliberately. He knows what it does to you. Knows you can’t ignore the sultry tone. “Can I give you your present now?”

You almost melt into his touch, the way he breathes out the petname makes your knees weak, and the press of his plump, pink lips on your neck makes you almost forgive him. But unfortunately for you, the shots are infiltrating the sensible part of your brain, no longer thinking clearly.

“Is it to leave me alone? Because I would love that.” You spit at him, causing the boy to loosen his grip and fall back slightly.

As soon as you turn around to look at him you instantly regret the words that escaped your lips. Jaeyun’s eyes are wide, his brain working overtime as his chest moves heavily, trying to calm his anxiety-shaken heart.

The alcohol in your system is making you react in a completely opposite way to how you would. If sober you was alert she would be comforting Jaeyun and giving him a thousand kisses to apologise. But unfortunately drunk you is in charge and she is dangerous.

“I need you to stop being so clingy, it's embarrassing.” Stop talking you scream at yourself, “Can’t you see I’m talking to someone?” For the love of god please shut up and apologise.

Jaeyun doesn’t move. Transfixed with hurt at your pointed words. You know his insecurity when it comes to being clingy, often told from everyone how he is too much and too overbearing. Yet, you never thought that, not once.

Well, until today apparently.

“Oh.” It’s the only word that leaves his lips, and then suddenly, his expression shifts, his lips curling into something that almost resembles a smirk - but there’s no humour in it. Just something bitter, something cold. He nods, tongue pressing into his cheek before letting out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

“Hope you have fun fucking him.”

The words are low, venomous, and before you can even process them, he’s turning on his heel and walking away.

Your heart lurches. You’ve fucked up big time.

“Jaeyun,” you call after him, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even turn back to see how close you are. You push through the crowd, your heels clacking against the floor as you reach for his wrist, pulling at him. “Babe, please.”

He yanks his arm away as if your touch burns him as he continues his way out of your house and beginning his descent home. He can’t fucking believe this. Any of it.

“I’m sorry,” you rush out, breathless. “I didn’t mean it, Jaeyun.”

“Mean what?” His voice is low, but it holds an edge sharp enough to cut. “That I’m clingy? That you’d rather talk to Sunghoon? That you think I would ever cheat on you?”

The anger in his voice is a quiet thing, controlled, but it shakes you more than if he had yelled. You’ve never seen him like this. Never heard him sound so…broken.

“Okay, yes, I was late for your birthday, and believe me, Y/N, I am so fucking sorry. I tried to get away, and I couldn’t. But you? Flirting with him right in front of me?” His voice tightens, and he runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “That’s a low I never expected from you.”

Your stomach knots. Shame creeps up your spine. Because he’s right. You knew exactly what you were doing. You bite your lip, willing yourself not to cry, not to fall apart in front of him. You want to reach for him, to kiss him, to take it all back.

But the alcohol makes you reckless. Makes you cruel. It makes you not see sense.

“How am I supposed to know you aren’t going around with other people?” The words slip out before you can stop them. For fuck sake Y/N. Control. Your. Self. “Half of your football team was here on time, but suddenly the coach only wants you to stay behind? Fucking funny, that, isn’t it?”

Jaeyun lets out a humourless laugh, shaking his head. “I fucking love you, Y/N. That should be enough for you to understand I’m not fucking anyone behind your back.” His voice softens slightly, but it’s strained, exhausted. “Do you not trust me? Have I ever given you a reason not to?”

Silence. He’s met with silence from your end as you stare blankly at him.

And that makes him furious. He had an ounce of faith you would deny it, to ensure him that you do trust him and none of his previous actions have ever made you doubt him or his love for you.

His jaw clenches and he swallows hard before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a small, gift-wrapped box. The black box with a white ribbon looks less celebratory than it does pitiful now. With a sharp, forceful flick of his wrist, he throws it at your feet.

“Happy fucking birthday, Y/N.”

You flinch as the box lands with a soft thud. If only you had kept your fucking mouth shut all of this wouldn’t be happening. Tears wouldn’t be flowing down your cheeks and Jaeyun wouldn’t be feeling his heart break down into a million pieces.

Your hands tremble as you crouch down, fingers fumbling as you unwrap it slowly. Inside, nestled carefully, is a gold sun-shaped necklace with a rose quartz centre. Handmade, delicate. The date engraved on the back isn’t your birthday. It’s the day you first met.

Your throat and eyes feel like they are on fucking fire.

And by the time you lift your head, Jaeyun is gone.

He’s gone.

For the first time tonight, you feel completely and utterly sober.

___

You stand before Jaeyun’s front door, your breath uneven as your fingers tremble around the small black box in your grasp. The night air is biting against your skin, but the heat of regret burns hotter inside you. Each step you took here had been slow, your legs growing heavier with the thoughts circling your mind. But as much as guilt and sadness eat you up, you need to make things right. You cannot lose Jaeyun over this.

So, you don’t hesitate and your fist begins to pound against the wood with urgency, not caring who it woke up in his house.

You hear his footsteps almost immediately, quick but fed up, each one thudding against the stairs inside. His voice comes first, irritated but muffled through the door.

“Oh, my days-” he groans. “It’s like three in the bloody morning. What do you want?”

The lock turns before he’s even registered who it is. But when he sees you - red-faced, chest rising and falling too fast, dress bunched up at your thighs so short you might as well be wearing a belt to protect your dignity, tears spilling freely - it makes his entire body stiffen.

“Y/N?”

You break.

It starts with a sharp inhale, a choked sob forcing its way out, and then suddenly, everything you’ve been holding in rushes forth.

“Jaeyun, I’m such a fucking idiot,” you cry, the words tumbling over each other in your haste to get them out. “I don’t even know why I said what I did - I know you would never cheat, I’ve always known that I was just drunk and - and stupid, and I was so mad that you were late, but it wasn’t even a big deal, not really, and I-” Your breath hitches between sobs. “I love you so much, please don’t break up with me.”

The pleas and explanations come out so fast that there is a delay from your lips to his brain. The silence between you leaves the words to marinate and your guilt to rise up again. Saying it outloud, how you acted like a baby all because he was late, really isn’t how you want to start this ‘new mature era’.

You don’t know what you expect. Maybe the slam of the door, another dent in your pride. Maybe for him to look at you with the same intense fire in his eyes that he had hours ago. Maybe for him to tell you to fuck off back to your party which you consequently left behind because pretending to be happy in a room full of people you don’t know sounds less appealing than being sad in the presence of someone who knows you.

But Jaeyun just stands there, eyes softening as the corners of his lips lift into the smallest smile - fond, understanding, forgiving, like he’s already made peace with this somehow, even though he was the one that got hurt.

“Princess,” he murmurs affectionatley, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around you in an almost crushing embrace.

The warmth of him is immediate, all-consuming. He smells like bitter citrus and patchouli from his perfume. He smells like home. His embrace is tight, unrelenting, like he’s scared that if he lets go, you’ll slip away.

“I will never break up with you, baby.” A kiss to your forehead, lingering. “I’m not angry at you.” A kiss to your temple, reassuring. “I’m sorry if i’m too clingy.” A kiss to your cheek, gentle. “I love you so much.” A kiss to your lips, slow and unhurried, letting each sentence sit with you as a reassuring linger.

You let yourself melt into him, hands clutching at his bare chest, grounding yourself in the steady rhythm of his heart against your own. The idea of never being able to hold him like this again haunts your anxiety; you almost lost him.

When you finally pull back, you shake your head, adamant that he has no reason to apologise. “You aren’t clingy, Jaeyun. I’m just an idiot.” Your voice wavers. “I love when you’re like that. I love it all the time. I was just…mad that you were late.”

He nods, biting his lip in thought - a habit of his you’ll never quite get over.

“I’m sorry I was late.” His forehead presses against yours, his breath fanning across your lips. Up close, you can see the remnants of tears in his eyes, the same way he sees them in yours. The weight of tonight sits on both of your chests, but the silence isn’t suffocating. It’s understanding. You both know there was better ways to handle the situation.

You don’t speak. Neither does he. You just look at each other, wordless, as if afraid saying anything more will break whatever fragile peace you’ve finally reached. Both of you are so scared of having the others heart ripped from your grasp.

Then, after a moment, Jaeyun leans in again, pressing another kiss to your lips, deeper this time, his hands finding purchase at your waist as he slowly guides you backwards into the house.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispers against your mouth.

You nod, barely parting from him. “Okay.”

He leads you up the stairs quietly, careful not to wake his parents - though, it’s a miracle they slept through everything - shutting the bedroom door behind you as softly as he can. His room is only lit with the warm glow from his bedside lamp casting pretty shadows across his walls.

Jaeyun looks down and notices the small black box still clutched in your hands.

“Did you like it?” His voice is hesitant, almost boyish. He spent so long picking out the perfect piece for your birthday. The sun represents everything you are to him. Bright, warm, electrifying, and his motivation to keep going because no matter the cold and rain that come, the sun will always come out to wash it all away.

You follow his gaze, then nod as you left out a breath. “I love it,” you whisper. “Can you put it on me?”

He nods without a word, taking the box from you and carefully undoing the clasp. “Turn around, Princess.”

You do as he says, your back to him, lifting your hair out of the way as he fastens the delicate chain around your neck. The gold is cold against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. But the chill doesn’t last, because before you can even react, Jaeyun’s lips press against the nape of your neck, featherlight and tender.

Another shiver racks over your body, but this one has nothing to do with the cold.

“Jaeyun,” you murmur, turning to face him. Your fingers trail down his chest, his toned stomach, stopping just above his waistband. Only now do you realise he’s only in his black boxers, his skin still slightly damp from his earlier shower. “Let me make it up to you.”

His breath stutters.

You glance up at him beneath your lashes, fingers toying with the lining of his underwear, waiting. His jaw tightens and his head tilts back oh so slightly, exposing the sharp lines of his apple. He wants this. You can feel it in the way his muscles contract beneath your touch, in the way his lips part ever so slightly, his breathing coming quicker as he processes your words.

“Baby, I don’t need you to do that.” Jaeyun’s heart is beating fast as you trace the outline of his cock with your pointer finger. He’s trying to defuse this situation without hurting your feelings.

Trust, it’s not that he doesn’t want to, it’s the opposite. But he doesn’t want to take advantage. Your emotions are pent up high, you might be feeling like you are obligated to do this as some sort of consolation act - also paired with the fact that you’re drunk - it doesn’t really mix well in his stomach.

“Y/N, I forgive you, there is no need to-”

What he isn’t aware of is that you aren’t listening to him, not a fucking syllable, because yes, you might be tipsy - mostly sober from the walk and adrenaline in your veins - you are also horny and need to just feel him. To be close to him.

And how much closer can two people get with a cock and a mouth?

Your hand trespasses his boxers and begins to lightly stroke his shaft, making him mutter an almost inaudible ‘fuck’, his lip finding it’s way between his pretty teeth.

Once you see him give way to apprehension, you use your free hand to guide him to sit on the gaming chair, letting him fall back with a thud as he tries to focus on balance rather than your hand wrapped around his growing member.

“Relax, Jaeyun. Let me do this. I need to taste you.” Your voice is low and has a hoarseness to it that lets him know you’re more than needy. He could cum right there and then as his mind conjures up images and fantasies of what you’re about to do.

You slide his boxers off, slapping the side of his thigh so he will lift his bum off the chair. “I’ve missed your cock so much.”

Jaeyun laughs at that, huffing it out with a breath he was holding in, obliging to your request. “We literally fucked yesterday.”

“Technically,” you point at the clock sitting coincidentally on his desk as it reads 3:27am, “it was 2 days ago. And I didn’t even get the celebratory cliche birthday sex.”

Pouting, you look up at him in an almost begging gesture, knowing the scene in front your boyfriend is enough for him to shutdown and implement meltdown mode. You are so beautiful in every way to him - even spite of the tear-stained cheeks and mascara smudging - but right now you look so deliciously irresistible.

His hand comes to cup your cheek as his thumb wipes away some of the running makeup from your face, his gaze locked onto yours with admiration and pure love. It’s so innocent despite the lust weaving into his blood.

“You’re so lovely” he whispers, smiling gently at the love of his life. “Lovely people deserve to get fucked on their birthday, yeah?”

There it is, the Jaeyun you were waiting for. And the permission you needed to take his cock in your mouth. With a smirk, you kiss his bell before engulfing it, letting the taste of him simmer on your buds.

It catches him off guard and his hands instinctively move to your hair, gripping like a lifeline. “Fuck, Princess you’re so beautiful like this.” He looks down at you with hooded eyes, admiration and desire flooding his pupils as they dilate, love evident.

You bob your head up and down, going faster with the praise. Each time you work your lips up his length, you swirl your tongue around the tip, dipping into his slit every second time to create a teasing and torturous rhyth. You know everything that make Jaeyun feel pleasure; every vein that’s more sensitive than the other, every flick of your tongue or tantalising bite of your teeth just to keep him on edge.

Over the past few years, you’ve learned and memorised each other's bodies, likes and dislikes. You are convinced no one could ever know you the way Jaeyun does. Not in body and certainly not in spirit.

A few weeks ago you walked in on Jaeyun jerking off, phone in hand and ass levitating off his bed as he lost himself in the pumps of his fist. Once his eyes locked with yours, he threw his phone away and apologised a million times. You’re not the type of girlfriend that has an issue with her boyfriend watching porn, you have obviously done it too sometimes, like if he’s away for the weekend to football training. Jaeyun watching porn wasn’t exactly shocking or upsetting.

What you did feel though was curiosity. As you picked up the phone, the girl was giving overly enthusiastic head, gagging and dribbling as the man fucked his cock into her mouth. You have never done anything like that before, Jaeyun always holds back thrusting his hips up so as to not cause you pain or discomfort.

But seeing the lewd act on the tiny screen…you wanted it.

So today, you were going to give him everything you got. Apologies can’t be half-arsed, right?

You smile and lift your bum from your feet so your mouth is hovering over his cock at a higher angle, trying. Smirking, your eyes meet his and you take his full length in your mouth, gagging as the tip breaches the back of your throat, kissing your tonsils like they were long lost lovers.

“Baby, be careful,” he hisses, gripping your hair as he tries to pry you off. Jaeyun is always attentive, always caring, but right now you need to see him lose control.

So, despite his attempts to separate you from his shaft, you don’t budge, Rather, you sit with his dick in your mouth and swallow, closing your throat around his head - a trick that wasn’t easy to master, many attempts on a plastic dildo failed, but you knew you had to try.

And thank fuck you did because as your throat pinches the tip and it sucks at his slit, he moans so loudly you’re scared his parents will hear from their room. He groans, legs elivated slightly as his body tries to reach the pearl gates, not understanding that heaven is between his legs right now. He has never felt anything like this before.

“Fuck, baby, where did you learn that?”

Instead of giving him an answer, you work your mouth up and down his cock again, not giving him that euphoria again and only teasing it every so often. You can’t let him get used to it, not just yet. You have a funny feeling that this will come in handy for the years to come, a bargaining tool of sorts.

You pinch his thighs a little, eliciting a his from his mouth and a jerk from his hips. Jaeyun slams his cock into the back of your throat, unforgiving and totally by accident. He’s so gone in the haze of your warm mouth enveloping him that he takes a second to realise what he done.

“Shit, baby, I’m so sorry,” he apologises, resting his ass back on the seat and patting your head to soothe you. Yet, surprisingly, you don’t protest or grumble - you simply moan, trying to let him know that's what you want, what you need.

So, you pinch him again and thankfully, he gets the memo. “Oh? Does my baby want me to fuck her pretty little mouth?” His tone is cocky albeit breathless in composition, his semi-fucked out flush only adding to his filth.

You’re dripping at even just the thought and hum around him in acknowledgment, the vibrations going straight to his heart.

He leans down and pulls you off his cock gently, a fist full of hair that could easily hurt you, yet, his touch is so tender the roots hardly yank from the scalp. “Tell me you want it. Say it.”

You blush, biting your lips together as you gather the courage to utter the words into the heated air. You’re confident, especially around him, but there’s something so vulnerable about wanting to be used like that, that makes it a little harder to speak.

“I-I want you to fuck my throat until I can’t speak anymore.”

A groan leaves his body and his jaw tightens in primal desire. You’re perfect. He will never understand where you came from, or how he has the honour to live out this lifetime with you, but he is so thankful and makes a silent promise to anyone above that he will never ever take it for granted. “If it gets too much just tap my leg three times okay, baby? No matter what. If it hurts, if you need air, let me know,” he mutters into your lips as he kisses you gently. It's so tender and loving. But you know you’re about to get a completely different Jaeyun in two seconds.

You could not be more excited.

Standing up, he squeezes your cheeks with his middle finger and thumb to get your mouth to open once again. His dick is red and frustrated, multiple veins protruding around the shaft. You’re starving for it even though you’ve been devouring him for the past 15 minutes - that’s just how addicting he is.

Placing his cock in your mouth you take him all in as he slowly thrusts. You can see he is trying to be gentle, testing the waters of how much you can really take. Sometimes, your eyes are bigger than your belly, and he has no problem giving you just enough to satusufy this craving without overfeeding you.

But he is going too slow, too careful; so you meet his thrusts, sucking up and down at an altered timing so his cock jabs your throat forcefully..

“My baby,” he breathlessly moans, watching you work for more. As much as he loves to see it, for both of you to truly experience this for all that it should be, he needs to let go of his apprehension of hurting you and just give you everything he has.

He picks up the pace, his tip battering against your throat with fervour - and you love every second of it. You hum in pleasure around him as he pounds faster into your mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head as each thrust indicates the loss of control from the boy powering over you.

“Y/N you’re so fucking good to me, such a perfect girl,” he moans from the depths of his chest and his thrusts become erratic, sloppy, as he gets closer to his high. Your mouth is a miracle worker but your throat is a devine intervention. He can feel the stretch of your canal around him, barely fitting him in as you gag and gurgle.

Your hands reach around to to his ass and squeeze, causing him to sink further into you - if that is even possible. The tip of his cock is sitting in the middle of your throat, like a caterpillar waiting to bloom into the butterfly it’s destined to be.

That’s when you try to swallow again - although with some difficulty - and clamp around him. Your boyfriend’s reaction is immediate as he hunches over, fingers twisted in your hair as he roars out in pleasure. “Jesus, fuck…fuck!”

He quickly draws you from his cock, taking a few steps back himself just as you were about to taste the sweet tang of his cum. Your anxious nerve peaks once again, scared that you’ve done something to upset him or taken it too far.

“Jaeyun what’s wrong?” Your voice is as steady as you can make it as you utter the question.

Every perspective, he sees your worried stare and shakes his head. Within a second, he is bent down so you are eye level, patting your hair in a reassuring gesture. “I need to cum inside you, princess, that’s all. You did so fucking well…you’ve been holding out on me all these years.”

His words which are laced with humour and certainty calm you instantly, body no longer running cold with regret or guilt. Cupping your cheek with his roasting palm, he slowly guides you both up to stand, his mouth never leaving yours as his tongue strokes yours messily. He breathes new life into you, beautiful and serene.

“Such a pretty dress,” he states admiringly as he lays you down on the bed. “As soon as I saw you in it I knew I had to fuck you while you wear it.” Jaeyun hikes up the dress so it sits above your hips, exposing your red underwear, his favourite. “All for me, yeah?” His fingers lightly graze your slit over the lace.

“Everything is for you,” you exhale earnestly, a smile etching onto your face as you take in his puffy features. He looks so delicate and vulnerable, wearing all his emotions on his skin.

The loving confession makes his heart swell in his chest. He loves you with every fibre of his being and he will until the end of time.

Pushing your panties to the side, he slips his finger between your folds, not quite pushing inside of you but teasing - much to your dismay - and he can feel just how wet you are. It’s like he’s just set off a firehydrant in the summer; and he is more than ready to get soaked beneath it.

Just as he goes to slip his middle finger inside of you, you grab his wrist, whining and shaking your head, pausing him in his actions.

“Just fuck me, Jaeyun. Please.” Your eyes land on his cautious ones. He hasn’t prepped you yet and you both know it’s already a struggle to make him fit when he’s stretched you open, nevermind plunging in without some semblance of stretch. “I can’t wait for your cock any longer.” Frustration is laced within every word and your body acts as a tangible demonstration of your need as it writhes or some attention.

Seeing you so depserate, Jaeyun can do nothing but yield to you, nodding as he immediately takes a condom from his stash and slides it on with urgency. His sensitive tip colliding with the rubber makes him wince. With the way you’re splayed out below him, mixed with the cum sitting right at the barrel of his dick, he’s not convinced he wont bust as soon as your tightness encapsulates him.

Nevertheless, he looks for lube but can’t find his usual tube, the crystal blue bottle evading his sight.

You watch him search, frustration building as time ticks by. Impatient and leaking, you take the opportunity to shuffle down on the bed, grab his cock, and guide it to your entrance.

Whipping his head around, Jaeyun has shock plastered on his face, but it is quickly switched to one filled with pure lust as you push down on his tip. “Princess can’t wait ,huh?” His question is rhetorical and mischievous as he relishes in how worked up you’re getting.

You eagerly shake your head as you push him in further, the bell sinking past your hole and opening you up for the rest of him. The stretch isn’t as painful as you thought due to how turned on you are, your walls so fucking eager to be filled that they glad accept his presence.

“You’re the death of me, Y/N,” your boyfriend moans as he pushes himself fully into you, bottoming out slowly, still cautious of causing you pain.

“I need you to fuck me so bad, baby,” you mewl in a high pitched breath.

And who was he to deny you? It was your birthday after all, even if it wasn’t technically within the time frame. The blur between the late night and early morning allowing you both to still celebrate together.

His hips begin to quicken, ass tightening with each sharp thrust as he pierces right through you. Your back is arched off the bed as he grips your hips and picks you up, hitting at that angle he knows gets you to the peak of your mountain.

“Right there, baby! So, so good.” Your encouraging words spur him on to find a smooth albeit forceful rhythm as he jackhammers into you. His bed snapping against the wall with his brutal force.

He hovers over you, one elbow on the bed to hold him steady while his free hand pulls at your dress and yanks it down, exposing your bouncing tits. He gasps at the sight; jiggling and inviting, faint red marks from the last time he marked your body with his signature.

For some reason, his mind takes him back to the party - how Sunghoon’s hands were all over you, touching you and trying to claim you. It makes him mad, hurt, down right deranged.

He will never let anyone touch you every again. It’s only him. It will only every be him.

“Tell me I’m the only one,” he mutters as he kisses your neck, vulnerability goosepimpling over every part of his skin. To think that you could be taken away by someone else makes his heartbreak, he needs the reassurance, the promise, that you won’t leave him.

Bringing his head up and cupping his cheek you stare lovingly into his eyes as your guilty ones gaze back. “You’ll always be the only one. I don’t want anyone else. I need you. Only ever you.”

Jaeyun’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he practically growls at your words, picking up the pace again, hammering into you all of his love and staking claim over you. You are his and he is yours.

You’re trying not to moan loudly but he’s hitting all the right spots and it’s got you gasping for air, your lungs begging for a lick of oxygen that has been stolen due to your boyfriend’s touch. His hands are roaming your body, gripping and grasping at every part of you as he grounds himself with the feeling of you. The action will leave bruises and he’ll apologise in the morning but right now he just needs to feel you.

“Even if Sunghoon wanted you?” he asks quietly, still feeling that anxiety sit at the tip of his heart. He believes you, he knows when you say that he is the only one you want - you mean it. But his head speaks before he can stop himself, craving constant reassurance despite his trust in you.

You shake your head immediately. Never for a second would you even spare any time of day for the other, not when you had Jaeyun. You were going to have serious words with yourself once you’re done and curse yourself for even entertaining Sunghoon for a second - drunk or not. You made Jaeyun feel insecure, you’re the reason he’s doubting himself like this.

“He could never love me the way you do,” you bring your lips to his ear, “and he certainly couldn’t fuck me the way you do.”

Pure fire and passion rise through Jaeyun’s body and he piledrives into you at an unrelenting spead, eliciting a high pitched whine from your lips. He places your legs on his shoulders and drives in deeper, kissing your deepest crevice with the tip of him.

“You take me so well, princess. I love you so fucking much.” Jaeyun might have been fucking you like he was a man possessed to ruin you, but his kind and nurturing personality will always come through.

He was perfect.

You clench around him, “Jaeyun, babe, I’m so close,” you pant out in ache as your nails begin digging into his arms, clawing at him to find some semblance of reality. You’re losing yourself to the stars with each stroke.

“Me too, baby.” he kisses you gently, “cum around my cock, show me how good I make you feel.”

His dirty words strum the last string of your banjo as you come undone around his cock, your cunt squeezing and sucking him in like it needs him to be a permenant fixture inside of you. You chant his name into his neck as you bury your head, inhaling his scent as you finally lose yourself to your orgasm.

Not letting up, Jaeyun still pounds into you, determined to fuck you though your high. “Good girl.” he mumbles into a kiss he plants lovingly into your hair.

It doesn’t take long before he’s spilling into the condom, filling it up the way he wishes he could you. “Fuck, Y/N. I’m cumming, baby,” he bellows out, his grunts loud and swimming in an aching desperation as his hips still, holding you firmly onto him.

Jaeyun’s lips move lazily against your damp skin, whispering soft I love yous in between the featherlight kisses trailing down your neck. He doesn’t want this moment to end - the warmth, the closeness, the way your bodies are tangled together in a haze of love and breathless exhaustion.

His hold on you tightens as he exhales shakily, his body shuddering as the last waves of pleasure run through him. His cock twitches one final time before he slips out of you, discarding the used rubber to his bin, aiming half-hazardly. He doesn’t like even this tiny bit of separation, so he quickly recovers, nuzzling against your chest, mouth ghosting over your heart as though he can soak in every ounce of love you have for him through the mere touch of his mlips.

Your fingers slip into his hair, stroking gently. “I love you, Jaeyun,” you murmur, voice still heavy with sleepiness and satisfaction.

Jaeyun lifts his head, his puppy brown eyes locking onto yours, filled with overwhelming love. Unwavering, unfiltered, and so deep that you can feel it crawl into your bones.

He smiles softly, almost shy, like he’s just as caught up in the weight of this moment the same as you. “I love you too, angel. So fucking much.” His voice is thick and before you can say anything else, he kisses you, slow and deep, sealing a silent promise between you both. “Let’s never fight again.”

You giggle against his lips, arms looping around his shoulders. “Never like that again.”

Just as Jaeyun presses his forehead to yours, basking your shared, tender moment, the door slams open.

“Sim Jaeyun, if you have a girl in here-”

Jaeyun’s dad’s voice cuts through the air like a knife, and time itself seems to halt.

Jaeyun yelps, moving at a record speed to grab the blanket and throw it over you to hide you completely, his body shielding yours from his dad’s intrusive gaze. Your entire face burns with mortification as you scramble to tuck yourself into the covers and laying still, wishing more than anything that the bed would just swallow you whole. You knew you were being loud but jesus fuck you thought Jaeyun would have at least locked the door.

His dad freezes in the doorway, eyes flickering between his son’s horrified expression and the very obvious lump beneath the blanket.

“I told you, no girls in your room except, Y/N!”

Oh, the irony.

You peek your head out just enough to meet his gaze, offering the world’s most awkward wave. “Hi, Mr. Sim. How’s it going?”

Shocked, his dad stumbling back slightly. He was oblivious to your relationship even if he did have a sneaking suspicion. He just never thought this would be how he confirms it.

Jaeyun groans. “Dad, can you please leave?” His voice is strangled, his hands clutching the blanket for dear life. He’s always been so careful; made sure to be quiet, to lock the door, to never get caught. But you both just got too caught up in the moment that every other thing that existed outwith the two of you just…evaporated.

His dad pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. “How long have you…how long has this been going on?”

Jaeyun swallows, refusing to meet his father’s eyes. “Uh. Two years.”

“Two years?” His dad’s voice pitches slightly, incredulous. “You’ve been dating for two years and you never told us?”

You chew on your lip, feeling the heat of embarrassment settle over your skin. Jaeyun, sensing your discomfort, slides his hand under the blanket to squeeze yours reassuringly.

“Dad, we weren’t trying to keep it a secret,” Jaeyun says, voice calmer now, steady. “It just…happened. And then the longer we waited, the weirder it felt to bring it up.”

Mr. Sim scoffs, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. You know we wouldn’t have stopped you from dating, right?” His tone softens as his eyes drift back to you. “And Y/N-”

You stiffen slightly, bracing yourself whatever scolding he has in store.

But instead of a lecture, a small smile tugs at his lips. “You know you’re like the daughter I always wanted.”

Your chest tightens with fondness. You’ve always been close to Jaeyun’s family - you practically live at his house at this point. His parents know your favourite food and snacks - keeping an army of them in their pantry. They understand your weird little habits like having thin cutlery or a certain glass depending on the drink and temperature. They invite you over for Christmas Eve, they comfort you when you’re upset. They love you. And deep down, you’ve always known you had their approval.

Still, hearing it out loud makes your eyes sting.

“Thank you, Mr. Sim.” Your voice is small, but sincere.

He nods, before letting out a tired sigh as he turns his attention back to Jaeyun. “Alright, get some sleep. I’ll talk to your mum about this. Hopefully she wont burst in with wedding books.” The joke lands flat because all of you know that it is not a joke. Jaeyun’s mother is typically fond of you and all three of you know that if she can make you officially part of her family, she will do it in an instant.

Mr. Sim turns to leave but pauses, glancing back at you. “And Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“Please tell your parents.” He raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure they’ll take it well…”

You open your mouth to protest, but he’s already gone, closing the door behind him.

For a second, there’s silence. Then Jaeyun breaks it with a wheeze..

“Oh my god,” he gasps, clutching his stomach as laughter shakes his entire body. “That was…that was-” He dissolves into another fit of laughter, eyes tearing up in hilarity.

But you fail to see the funny side as you smack his chest, mortified beyond belief. “I am never coming back here again.” You bury yourself under the blanket, groaning.

Jaeyun grins, pulling you closer. “You’re literally my girlfriend. You have to come back.”

“Not if your dad kills me first for waking him up.”

He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Nah didn’t you hear? You’re the daughter he never had.”

It tickles your heart as he mutter the words into your hair. Despite the embarrassment, your heart feels giddy - full. All the weight you’ve been carrying regarding the sneaking around and also the fight between you and the boy holding you close is all vanished. Gone.

It makes you realise that you can overcome anything with Jaeyun.

You spend the rest of the night curled up in Jaeyun’s arms, tangled together beneath the sheets, whispering drowsy confessions of love until sleep finally pulls you under.

When you wake up the next morning, sunlight spills into the room, casting a golden glow over Jaeyun’s peaceful, smiling face. His lashes flutter slightly, his lips parted as he breathes in and out steadily. You watch him for a moment, warmth blooming in your chest like daffodils in spring.

Jaeyun’s phone vibrates at the desk and you quickly crawl over to retrieve it. You’re not one to pry but you see the seconder of the text before the content and immediately run cold.

Your mum.

2nd mumma: Your mum called and told me about you and Y/N. You are NEVER allowed to sleep over again, do you hear me? I am so angry that you both kept this from me

…Three dots appear. Then another message.

2nd mumma: I’m happy for you both. I love you. Come to dinner tonight so we can celebrate.

A small laugh escapes you as you snuggle deeper into Jaeyun’s embrace, letting the moment wash over you.

You’ve never been happier.

Lets hope you can keep it this way…

______

taglist: @yzzyhee @dollyyun @sunpov @dreamy-carat

@ioveseong @katarinamae @viagumi @jakeswifez

@shuichi-sama @m1kkso @no1likeneo @pshfan0812

@fancypeacepersona @hoonieyun @jaepen @lovingvoidgoatee

@parksunghoonsgf @capri-cuntz @yvnempire @mei3425

@enhastolemyheart @ikeulove @riribelle @nshmrarki

@firstclassjaylee @ikeuwoniee @ang0308 @jaykesgirl @addictedtohobi

#enhypen smut #enha smut #jake smut #jaeyun smut #aj writes #enhypen x reader #enha x reader

763 notes · View notes

mywritersmind · 3 months ago

Text

NOT SO HAPPY HOLIDAYS - LN4

↳pt.2

christmas special

previous part next part

summary : Lando Norris’ teasing doesn’t stop on the slopes. With cold weather, bad skiing, lots of unwanted flirting (or at least that’s what lando thinks), and a soothing hot tub, another day in your new favorite christmas town is done.

og summary : Spending Christmas with my brothers best friend isn’t my ideal way to celebrate. With my parents in the maldives and my ex calling me non stop, I was hoping for a small town cozy christmas! I was going to get that with Max and his girlfriend until Lando Norris worked his way into the mix.

listen up : suggestive comments! dual pov! swearing! i’m starting to love this fr! comment to be on tag list <3

words : 3885

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“Morning, Sunshine!” Lando Norris swings my door open, leaning against the door and smirking at me.

Max pops out behind him, “Time to hit the slopes!”

P is the third in my door frame, “Up and at ‘em!” I loudly groan and push my face back into my pillow. Fuck my weird friends and their urge to piss me off.

⋆༺

lando

P forces us all into a shop to look for hand warmers before we go on the slopes. I find a candy cane and pop it in my mouth while looking around mindlessly, not truly caring about the small things.

I find Y/n looking at the Christmas cards. I tug on her braid, her head dipping back as she yelps slightly. Turning to me with a stern look on her face she says, “Can’t you go bother Max for once?”

I grin, the candy between my teeth. “You’re so much nicer to look at though.” Her eyes roll and she turns back to the cards. I get closer, looking over her shoulder, “Late shopping?”

She eyes me, “Just looking.”

I hum to the Christmas music playing and reach over her shoulder to grab a card, “I like this one.”

She scoffs, looking at it with me, “Of course you do.” I laugh as I read the piece of paper.

It has a little Santa stuck in a chimney and reads, ‘I might not come down the chimney, but will surely go down on you.’

She does not find this as funny as me, but I still clock the smile on her face. She smells like cinnamon and peppermint, but that could also be my candy.

“What did you ask Mr Claus for christmas?” I ask her as she turns to face me fully.

“Definitely not dirty Christmas cards.” She scoffs, motioning to the others on the shelf, “My ex to stop calling me? My work to pay better? A trip to Paris?”

I raise a brow, “You know there’s a great little feature called ‘block’, right?” I only really heard the first thing she said. I joked about her ex but am not liking the sound of him calling her still.

She sighs, crossing her arms over her sweater, “What’d you ask for, then? A good start from pole?”

“Mmm, there’s my little comedian.” I feel like I'm in F1 twitter when I'm around her. Biting the end of my candy cane, I answer her question, “I asked for Someone to go down on.”

She lets out a genuine laugh, “You mean someone to go down on you?”

“No.” It’s quick because I mean it. Her brow raises slightly as I look her up and down before leaving her in the paper aisle. I’m serious too, but I left out the part that I’d hoped would be her.

“Bob!” Max says as I walk up to him and P, they’re staring at gloves. “Need your help mate, pink or yellow?”

“God I was better off with your sister.” I quickly turn, making my way back to Y/n.”

She’s still next to the cards, I see the back of her as I approach. But something’s… off. There’s a man I do not know, making her laugh…?

Fuck no.

I can’t see her face but I can see his, definitely not her type. Blonde, blue eyes, swedish? Who cares.

I switch my candy cane to the other side of my mouth, walking up with one hand in my pocket and an annoying smile on my face.

The guy sees me and his smile instantly fades. I stand behind Y/n again as I hear her sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You’re Lando Norris.”

I blink, pulling the candy cane out of my mouth and looking him dead in the eye, “I don’t know who that is.”

He says an awkward goodbye and just as I think Y/n is going to yell at me, she turns, laughing. “You’re an ass.”

Her laugh makes something inside of me warm, “Yeah, I know.”

Max and P pop into our aisle, “I chose yellow!” Max smiles as his eyes move between the two of us.

I step around her, getting far before Max senses anything, “Perfect bro, really your color.” Y/n says sarcastically as she follows me out.

P gives us both a look as I stare down the blonde one last time.

⋆༺

I’m snowboarding with P while Max and Y/n are Skiing. I try not to laugh at Y/n as she falls on her ass but It just comes out! I ended up halfway down the hill while halfway on my board after she pushed me.

The snow last night was perfect and Max and I cruised for some time after losing Y/n and P. “I’m calling P.” I say after they stopped responding to us.

It’s Y/n who answers. She sounds panicked, “Lando!?”

“Y/n? What’s wrong?” I look at Max who sees my face and gets just as nervous as me. I can hear her heavy breathing, “Hey, seriously, what is it?”

“P got hurt and we’re in the lodge and-” Max stops breathing as Y/n sniffles, “And you two are so fucked and tell Max he’s sleeping on the couch!” Her change in tone makes my heart slow and my eyes roll.

“So she’s fine?” I ask, a little sassy now.

“Yes you asshole! We’re getting hot chocolate because you two ditched us!” Max grabs the phone and starts yelling at his sister.

I can’t help but laugh at the scene unfold. Max starts walking away, carrying his board as I struggle to unlock my boots to go after him.

P is most definitely is fine, and Max is most definitely laying it on thick. “My love!” He hugs me from behind as she rolls her eyes, bringing her drink to her lips.

I slide a chair next to Y/n and lean close to her. She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t say anything, barely even moves.

“You’re evil, Sunshine.” I see the smirk on her face as her shoulders lift up and down softly.

“Not evil, just motivated.” The corner of my mouth lifts, something that’s out of my control when I'm this close to her.

P and Max giggling force me to look away from her and focus on the loving couple. P has her hand on his face as he stands behind her chair still, “Alright! Who’s up to hit the slopes?”

I keep learning more and more things about Y/n on this trip and today is no different. This woman cannot ski.

“Christ, Y/n!” Max yells at her from the top of the mountain. We all just watched Y/n fall on her face while getting off the ski lift. “Should I even trust you to go down this mountain alone?”

“Don’t worry Maxie!” I grin, slapping my hand on Y/n’s head, “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Right like you’re any better! If I leave her with you then she might just end up getting pranked on your instagram story.” P laughs at this.

“Why doesn’t she just chill on a bunny slope?”

“Um excuse me! I am not that bad! I can handle myself!” Right as she says this, she slips but catches herself, clearing her throat. “It’s fine.”

Besides my slight concern for Y/n slowly following behind us, it’s a great day on the slopes. None of us are experts so we keep it chill and fun. Plus I know i’ll be sore if I do too much.

P races me to the bottom for the third time and just when I'm about to tap out, I see some guy talking to Y/n. Her gloves and goggles are off and I'm so distracted that I almost get knocked over by Max trying to stop.

Max and I are both about to walk over to her but P stops us in our tracks, holding us by the hoods of our jackets. “You two are the absolute worst, she does not need this right now!”

“I’m not letting her have some holiday fling after her heart was ripped out by that idiot!” Interesting reaction from Max.

He’s always been passionate about his sister's safety and has not once liked any boyfriend. But this is new and a bit threatening.

“You don’t have to ‘let’ her do anything! She’s a grown woman who’s pissed off and deserves a good man.”

“Like he’s a good man?” I mumble, watching the guy bite his lip and flip back his stupid fluffy hair that falls in his eyes.

I can feel P staring at me. “Both of you shut up and go get in line for the lift.” Y/n turns back to us, clearing seeing us watching and looking away quickly.

She excuses herself, blushing a bit and it’s definitely not from the cold. I know there’s a disgusted expression on my face and I don’t even try to change it.

I know she’s pretty.

Scratch that, she’s beautiful. Like actually the sort of stunning that makes her feel like a magnet. I know this about her! I tell her often.

But I do forget that she actually is seen by everyone else around us. I see the turning heads, the guys going up to her, I've just chosen to ignore it. Twice in one day is a little too much for our wholesome Christmas week though.

Maybe it’s too much for me because I hate every man that even looks her way.

P breaks the silence, “He was cute.”

Max groans at his girlfriend's comment, “Don’t encourage her!”

“Chill out! He was way too old.” Max looks shocked that this is his only flaw, “And i’m spending christmas with you guys blah blah blah, come on! I’m ready to ski again.”

Max drops a glove off the ski lift and we fall back into our usual friendship banter. I do love my friends, even if Y/n won’t admit she likes me in the slightest.

I laugh the whole way down the snow, racing all three of my friends as Max tries to sabotage his sister.

“I’ll eat your fucking gingerbread house, Max!” Is Y/n’s threat to her brother as she zooms past me.

The Fewtrells are very serious when it comes to gingerbread.

I slow and grab some snow to throw at Max, I unfortunately miss him and hit P.

The blonde screams at the snow stuck on her goggles and beanie, “Oh you’re gonna get it-” I'm suddenly being chased by an angry girl in all pink.

I can hear Y/n laughing as Max almost gets taken out by a kid going faster than all three of us combined.

We all have a smooth run, and just when I actually believe that Y/n may be getting better, I'm shocked once more at her clumsiness.

She was ready to Ski again! She was not ready to be back on flat ground.

In fact, as soon as we start to move back to the ski lift, she twists her ankle.

“I’m fine!” She fights me, pulling her mask back up over her nose so I can’t see her facial expression.

“Lovely you’re clearly in pain.” P pulls off her goggles as Max asks for directions.

“I’m fine! Let’s go again.” When she starts to move forward, she winces. Max yells at her which makes her more upset and P more distressed.

“It’s probably just a sprain, let’s go to the medic.”

“No!” Y/n fights me again as she argues with Max and a very worried P, “I’m seriously f-”

If I hear her say ‘fine’ one more time, I might cut my ears off. She’s over my shoulder in an instant, her skis clicked off and in Max’s hands now. She hits my back but I can barely feel it through my layers.

“Let me down you cunt!” I’ve had Y/n on me far more times this trip than I expected.

“There’s that sunny personality I know and love.” I mumble as I maneuver my way through the crowd, smiling at the people who give me weird looks for having a screaming girl over my shoulder.

The medic area is small and already taken up by three crying kids. The look that Y/n gives me when I set her down might just be enough to catch me on fire.

I pull her goggles off her face as Max and P explain what happened and repeatedly explaining that she wasn’t actually skiing when she got hurt.

I wipe the snow off and smile at her pouty expression, “How much does it hurt?” I’m squatting in front of her as she’s sitting on a small bench.

She argues immediately, “Not even-” I unclip her boot and she makes a noise that is nowhere near pleasant.

“Tell the truth, sunshine.” something in her face changes when I say the nickname i’ve had for her since childhood. I don’t get to dwell on it because a woman in red and white smiles at us as she approaches.

Max and Y/n argue so much that we both get kicked into the hallway. I pull my beanie off and shake out my hair, “I know I get mad at you a lot.”

I raise a brow at my friend, one that’s rarely serious.

“But I do appreciate you caring for Y/n. Even when she’s a pain-”

“I can hear you!” Y/n tells from the room as I let out a dry laugh.

I whisper, “Just wanna keep that christmas spirit up.”

He narrows his eyes a bit, mumbling, “Right…”

⋆༺

Turns out, Y/n is fine. A bit sore but comfortably on Max’s back as we look at the reindeers, “Shit this really is a Christmas hallmark town.” Y/n says as P laughs at the creatures.

“I always thought reindeers were fake.” Max frowns as it eats a carrot from his hand hesitantly.

“What’s hallmark?” I say innocently. Little did I know I would be attacked by the three people standing next to me.

“Oh mate…” Max shakes his head, “You’re so single and it’s so obvious.”

P sighs, “And uncultured! We need to have a movie night.”

“It’s only the best TV Christmas program ever! There’s a million movies and they all loosely follow the same plot line with a couple of opposites and a small town and a failing business and an old man with a white beard who might be santa.

I laugh at them, “The fuck…? I have to watch now.”

“Not tonight!” P groans. It’s already pretty late, we grabbed dinner and are now walking through the town.

“Or tomorrow!” Max shrugs, “P and I are going out, date night!” Y/n’s jaw drops at this while I smile. “Please don’t kill my friend while we’re gone.”

Y/n rolls her eyes, still on Max’s back, “No promises.”

“Let’s get back.” I shiver, “P looks like she’s about to snap in half.”

She glares at me, “You’re the one whose teeth are chattering!”

⋆༺

you

“My whole fucking body hurts.” I groan as we walk into the house, the warmth comforting me instantly. Max throws the keys into the catch all and yawns.

P is practically asleep next to Max and Lando is not even out of the car yet, “I think I'm just gonna go up.” She hums, her eyes already closed.

“No!” I frown, pulling off my puffer, “Come in the jacuzzi with me, i’ll bring wine!”

She shakes her head, “Sorry, Y/n. I’m wiped.”

“Max?” I look to my brother as he brings his arm under his girlfriend to hold her up. He’s looking at her with such love even as she’s half asleep and practically drooling. “Whatever. I might snap in half if I don’t go in.”

I say goodnight to Max and P as I walk up the stairs alone. He was quiet the whole ride home which was definitely new but not unwelcome.

I change as quickly as possible into a brown bikini and wander into the cold with my uggs and a towel. The jacuzzi is already hot and soothes my aching legs and back.

I take in the cool air against my face and look up to the dark sky. It's absolutely covered in stars, the moon is most definitely the focal point.

I switch the jets on and close my eyes, breathing in slowly. Today was chaotic and all I needed was a good soak and some quiet.

As soon as I sink deeper into the water, the door creaks open and Lando appears. He’s listening to music and pauses when he sees me, pulling off his headphones.

“Oh.” Is all he says.

He steps into the jacuzzi, his arms bracing himself as he slowly sinks into the water. I can see every muscle in his body and am trying to hide the feeling I get as he lets out a moan. He sucks in a breath and leans his head back, his adam's apple bobbing as he sits down in the hot water.

“Shit that feels good.” His voice sounds tired and content with the steam.

I’m almost speechless at his casual display of what, to me, is deeply sexual. Then again, a lot of things Lando does are sexual.

“How’s the ankle?” he asks.

I cringe at the memory of us on the mountain, “Better.” I know he came here because he knew I would be. I sigh, “My legs hurt.”

“Want a massage?” His grin is promptly back on his face, cheeky as ever.

“Max is gonna beat your ass someday.” It’s true, the amount of times he’s yelled or thrown something at Lando because of his remarks is astounding. And hilarious.

He swings his arms around the sides of the hot tub, “I’d like to see him try.” He sounds cocky just saying it.

I sigh, looking out at the land beyond our house, “So would I, trust me.”

He sinks his arms back down in the water, “Oh please, don’t pretend you don’t like my teasing.”

“I hate it.” I say it to his face, a face that looks unconvinced as he dips under. He comes back up, wiping his face and pushing his curls out of the way.

He changes the subject and floats around a bit, “I thought you knew how to ski.”

I swear his sole purpose in life is to aggravate me! He’s sitting across from me, looking all innocent with those green fucking eyes that I can see even in the shitty light.

When I don’t answer, he turns and rolls his shoulders back. My eyes trail down his back… until his voice rings out again.

“Stop checking me out and come here.” I don’t know why I do it, there’s just something about his tone that urges me to float across the hot tub and rest my arms on the side.

“I got Max a present… but I don’t know if he’ll like it.” I raise a brow at Lando’s soft words.

“Um… what is it?”

He turns around so we’re facing opposite ways, my knees resting against the all around seat, “I can’t tell you.”

I sigh and lean my head against my arms, “Well how am I supposed to help then?”

“Ask Max what he wants.”

I roll my eyes, “He said he wants the Mclaren championship and that sort of happened so…”

Lando smiles at this, sighing softly and looking at me, “Well, what are you getting him?” His eyes are so sincere, one of the few times he isn’t flirting or teasing me. He must catch my odd pause because he furrows his brows, “You okay, Sunshine?”

I look back at the trees, “Stop calling me that.”

“I have other nicknames I'd be happy to use.” I can hear the smirk in his voice as I rub my eye and bite back a smile. I hate when he makes me laugh.

“So do I. They're all race related, sure you’d like to hear?” It’s like my words go completely over his head, his eyes go soft.

“You watch my races?”

I roll my eyes again, “That’s what you got from that?”

He scoots closer, teasing, “You watch my races!”

“I watch F1 races!” I retort, “Don’t act all high and mighty, you’re definitely not my favorite driver.”

“Who the fuck is your favorite then?”

I shrug, egging him on a bit, “Oscar and Lewis.” I can see him fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Nuh uh. I saw you on Max’s stream wearing my merch once!”

I scoff, “Once! I was cold and he gave me your hoodie. Apparently I can’t wear anything of Max's so I had no choice.”

“I knew he was my friend for a reason!” He acts like his life goal was finally figured out before smiling softly, “You looked good in it.”

I eye him solely because I know he’s watching me and I won’t give him the chance to not be intimidated, “I look good in a lot of things.”

His eyes rake down body, or at least as much as he can see with the jets still on. “I know.” I feel sick, but not nauseous, more like butterflies.

With one last smile, Lando tilts his head back and looks up at the sky. My ears are cold but I could care less. I feel weirdly at peace, even with the man who won’t stop bugging me.

His nose is red and It feels oddly endearing. I tear my eyes away from Lando and back to the snow that’s started slowly falling over us.

There’s a quietness here, one you don’t get in the city. I can hear Lando breathing and music far in the distance.

I don’t realize he’s staring at me until my eyes find his again. How long has he been watching me?

“Stop that.” I say quickly.

His head tilts back ever so slightly, a curl in his face and the corner of his lip turning upwards, “Stop what?” He blinks, as if he’s the most innocent man in the world.

I motion towards him and breathe out, “Thinking…”

“What do you reckon I'm thinking, Sunshine?” He’s making me angry and I don’t even know why.

“Nothing good…” I whisper it, It feels illegal to say it any louder than that.

His eyes flick to my lips, his nose scrunching a bit just as my heart starts beating faster, “It’s good. It’s about you.”

I hum, stretching my arms out in front of me, not caring about the cold against my fingertips, “I figured, you seem to have that theme often.”

He laughs at this, shaking out his hair and standing. I watch his toned body leave me in the water all alone. The heat is the exact same yet I feel much colder without him.

Lando grabs his towel, wiping off, not looking at me.

“You're not gonna tell me?” I can’t help but say it fast to get it over with.

He looks back, wiping his chest and shrugging, “Maybe later.”

#fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris #lando x reader #lando imagine #f1 christmas #christmas fanfic

730 notes · View notes

oceantornadoo · 1 month ago

Text

ch4 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: some mild dubcon groping but reader is into it she just hates him. (or does she????)

masterlist | next

Your mother doesn’t come to your wedding, understandably so. Her lack of presence makes the day seem less real. However, one Johnny MacTavish decides to become the Scottish mother hen you’ve been missing.

“Everyone decent in ‘ere?” A chorus of yeses ring out. Johnny opens the door to the bridal dressing room with a smile, looking suave in his tuxedo. “Shite, was hopin’ to sneak a look.” He winks at your nearest cousin and she flutters her eyes. Even as a married man, Johnny likes to flirt and fluster women. It helps hide his marriage to Simon and provides you with much entertainment.

“How’s the blushin’ bride?”

He walks over to your vanity, taking in your bridal makeup and hairdo. Johnny whistles low, reaching out to ruffle your hair, which you stop by smacking him. “The bride is hungover and not in the mood.” He shrugs, then takes a sip of your champagne on the vanity desk. “Y’r fault fer doin’ a hen do the night before. Nice job slippin’ the hag, though.” It’s your codename for Aunt Riley. She’s always been suspicious of him and Simon, making little comments here and there that have put her on his shitlist over the years.

“Thanks. I can say, the London nightlife didn’t disappoint. I might throw up at the altar though.” He snorts and takes a seat in the empty chair next to you. “Price was pissed last night. Called Simon while we were mid-” You cover his mouth with your hand. “Don’t finish that sentence. As far as I’m concerned, you guys haven’t even kissed.” Johnny licks your hand, making you squeal. “Can’t believe he called Simon like I’m a little kid and not a grown woman.”

Johnny doesn’t answer, instead popping a chocolate-covered strawberry offered by a passing waitress into his mouth. She’s been the one supplying you with Gatorade until you switched the champagne half an hour ago. Can’t believe the bridal suite has a waitress. John Price is too rich for his own good.

“The Shepherd family’s gettin’ bolder. Can’t blame ‘im fer not wantin’ ya to die before the weddin’. Would be bad publicity.” You scoff. It might be true, but John has never seemed too concerned about your health. Except that night in the park, when- never mind.

“Ya nervous?” Johnny asks. You shake your head. “Trying not to think about it. I’m more focused on not tripping in front of multiple mafia families. I’d never live it down.” He smiles, then squeezes your knee over your white dressing gown. The look he gives you is too knowing and you hate it. Instead of holding his gaze, you turn to the mirror and will any stray tears away. “You probably need to go soon. I think they’re putting me in my dress in a few minutes.” He nods, dark eyes full of understanding.

“Ya look real bonnie, doe. Gonna make a beautiful bride.” You nod, swallowing down the thickness in your throat. “Thanks, Johnny. You look handsome in your pink bowtie.” It’s the same color as the bridesmaid dresses, a horrid shade your aunt insisted on. He winks, then rises out of his chair. Johnny squeezes your shoulder, then kisses the crown of your hair like Tommy used to do. “Simon’ll walk ya down the aisle. I’ll see ya on the other side.” And just like that, he’s gone.

“You know you’ve turned my life upside down in only a week, right?”

“I know.”

“And you know a small part of me will always blame you for it?”

“I know.” Simon sighs.

It’s five minutes before the ceremony. You’re all dolled up in your poofy dress with perfect makeup and a bouquet in hand. A phantom weight is heavy on your left finger, waiting for the ring you tried on only a few days ago.

“Ya know I’ll always be sorry yer father is mine.” Simon murmurs. You nod stiffly, swallowing down any emotion as you look at the closed church doors in front of you. The ones that will open in a few minutes, leading your path down the aisle and to your new husband.

“I didn’t have to come back. I could have hung up on you all those years ago.”

“I know.”

“I think a small part of me wishes I had.” You whisper, like a confession. He takes your free hand and wraps it in his own. “But I think a bigger part would do it all over again.” Simon squeezes your interlaced fingers.

“Best thing tha’ ever happened t’ me, ya know that?” Your smile is weak, eyes watery as you catch his gaze. “What about Johnny?” He smiles under the mask. “Tha’s a different category, love.” You laugh, small and hollow.

This feels like goodbye. You know it’s not, you’ll only be 200 miles away, but you’re both aware of the new boundaries around this marriage. London will be your home now, and any visit to Manchester will have to be approved, and probably accompanied, by John. That’s all it’ll be - a visit. A few days at most, doing the rounds and seeing friends and family. You’ll never live there again, never run your bookshop, never chat with regulars, never- you stop that line of thinking before you ruin your makeup.

“If he hurts ya, you call me.” You nod, but that’s not enough for Simon. A gloved hand tips your chin in his direction, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’ll call me. An’ Johnny if I don’t answer.” You nod again, firmly, which finally satisfies Simon.

“C’mere.” You hug your big brother with all your might. He’s careful, turning your face to the side so you don’t ruin your makeup. His hands tighten around your shoulders while yours can barely wrap around his torso. He’s always wearing suits but this one feels different, more structured and finely woven.

“Simon, are you wearing designer?” He stiffens, pushing you off him as you start laughing. “‘M alway wearin’ designer, comes with the job.” You shake your head vehemently. “No, you’re always wearing Fred Perry. This fabric is fancy, it’s like Dolce and Gabbana.” Your brother decidedly does not answer.

“Simon! Are you wearing Dolce to my wedding? Are you trying to upstage the bride?!” Only you, his all-knowing sister, would be able to tell he’s blushing under his mask. In an uncharacteristic move, he scratches the nape of his neck, looking off to the side like he’s suddenly interested in church architecture. “Johnny picked it out.” You slap his arm and he moves to ruffle your hair, before remembering it’s in a fancy wedding do. “You’re an absolute git, this is completely unfair. I demand you go to the nearest mall and pick something off the rack.” That comment finally dismisses the dark cloud that’s been hanging over you, sending you two into a laughing fit.

“I wish Tommy was here. He’dve torched that suit.” His eyes crinkle in a sad smile. “I know, love. I know.” Simon kisses your forehead and you lean into his shoulder, wishing the moment would never end.

But all good things must.

A frazzled assistant, one of your Aunt Riley’s minions, practically sprints over to you. “Doors,” he wheezes, “doors opening in thirty seconds.” And just like that, he’s gone. Probably a cake emergency or something of the sort.

“Do I look okay?” You take one last glimpse in a nearby mirror. You’re wearing a traditional veil, something Simon turns up over your head to hide your face. Despite the hideous dress, the rest of your look turned out quite nice. The flowers are decent, your makeup looks great, and you were even allowed to pick out your own jewelry. A win is a win.

“Most beautiful bride th’ church’s ever seen.” Simon puts out his arm like a gentleman, letting you wrap your own around it. “I love you, Si.” He takes a second, and you swear he’s holding back tears. “Love ya too, kid.”

Most of the ceremony passes in a blur.

Lots of flowery words, preaching about commitments you’d rather not think about. Some scripture or Latin thrown in there, but you’re really not paying attention. You’re more concerned with the man in front of you.

Your veil is a little sheer, allowing you to see him in all his groom glory. His eyes are dark, fixated on yours, and you’d be an idiot not to notice how handsome he looks. His tuxedo is sharp, and he’s got a flower tucked into the pocket. A heliotrope, a purple that matches well with the pink bridesmaid dresses. A half memory comes to you, something about heliotropes and eternal devotion, but you tuck that away under your might be mad box.

Finally, it comes to the vows. You haven’t written any and neither has John, instead deciding to use the olden ones. It frightens you, to have this surly man swear you such promises.

“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

He takes off your veil and you swear his breath hitches. It’s just a split second, but the muscle of his throat freezes and you’re captivated by how manly he looks. All bitter thoughts of enemies can be paused for a moment, you reason.

“You may now kiss the bride.” And he does.

It is not a polite kiss. You don’t know why you thought it would be.

He’s hungry. He catches the small of your back in one hand and your waist in the other, dipping you back in a picture perfect moment. His lips devour yours, delivering small bites and licks before pulling back so suddenly you think you’ve imagined it. You blink and you’re standing, your hand wrapped in John’s, as you look out at the cheering crowd. Mr. and Mrs. John Price.

You try to avoid John during the reception, which takes place in the backyard of the local country club. It’s hard to do when you’re supposed to thank everyone as a couple. You greet mafia and community leaders and business owners and politicians, all with the same sweet smile and John’s hand on your back. Do they know this was arranged? It’s hard to tell from the venomous sincerity dripping from their foaming mouths, eyes scanning the four-carat rock on your hand like it’s a prize to be won.

At least you’ve been allowed to change into a lighter dress. The reception dress is shorter, falling respectably right above your knees with long sleeves and a low back. Not low enough to show off the temporary tramp stamp smudged on your back. You keep the veil in, a cute detail that the inner little girl in you adores. If only this was a wedding you wanted.

Thankfully, champagne is in constant supply. You must have drunk at least four flutes now. That, plus your lack of food due to your hangover, makes you sway. John, who has not spoken to you directly at all since maiming your lips at the altar, notices. He tugs you away from the crowd, finding a secluded bench tucked away behind a tree. It reminds you of the garden you met him in a few nights ago.

“Thank god. One more sweaty handshake and I would have keeled over.” You murmur, mostly to yourself. He grunts, taking a seat next to you on the bench and loosening his tie.

“Who said you could sit next to me?” Uh oh. Drunk you is talking.

“‘S gonna be like that? We’re barely five minutes in, sweetheart.” He drags a hand down his face in an exhausted and adorable manner. No. This is the enemy. You must remind the both of you of that fact.

“You’re the enemy.” You poke him sternly in the shoulder, which sort of ruins the effortless effect you were going for. “You finally gonna tell me wha’ I did t’ you? Or is this our next ten years?” You frown at his words, crossing your hands over your chest. He’s acting like you did something wrong, not him. Out of the corner of your eye, you see John avert his gaze as you inevitably (and accidentally) push up your tits. Interesting.

“You ruined my life.” He barks out a laugh. “‘Ve ruined a lot of people’s lives. Need ya t’ be more specific.” Instead of answering, you slide down awkwardly into the grass beneath you, leaning your head back on the bench. It’s nighttime now and the only thing in the sky is the North Star. John’s star.

“You told my father I was a weakness and,” you hiccup, “and you told him to send me away. And lookwherethatgotme…” You trail off, eyes fluttering. Your eyes feel a thousand times heavier than normal, and everything hits you at once. Your lack of sleep from your night out, the stress of the day, the emotional conversations - they all boil over like a pot on the stove. “Think I’m gonna sleep now…” John hums, still next to you, and you drift off to the sound.

When you wake up, your head is throbbing. Why are you sitting on grass? There’s a suit jacket covering your front, keeping you warm from the night’s chill. Your neck throbs from laying back on the stone bench. There’s a stink in the air, a nasty smell, and when you turn to your right, you see your new husband smoking. Jacketless.

“Nice nap?” You nod, embarrassment coursing through your veins like a drug. “How long was I out?” He flicks the ash of his cigar onto the grass. “Long ‘nough people thought we were consummatin’ the marriage.” Oh. That was…not something you needed to think about.

“You feelin’ sober? Remember anythin’ you said?” You shake your head. Unbeknownst to you, John is frowning. The last few hours are a blur, a black spot in your memory. There’s still alcohol in your body, but a headache is starting to form as well.

“Let’s get some food in ya. Can’t have my new wife droppin’ dead at the weddin’.” You let him help you up, slipping on his jacket to cover the grass stains on your dress. That’s the only reason you don’t take it off.

The rest of the night gets easier. Dinner saves you, but then Johnny’s putting drinks in your hands and your cousins are pulling you to the dance floor. You have an emotional dance with Simon, a not-so emotional one with John, and then you’re passed to a slew of people to make nice with.

It’s 2am when the party finally settles down. People have gone home, thankfully including your aunt, and you say your goodbyes. John takes you back to the Ritz, a silent, quick car ride. You’re thankful for the quiet but confused all the same. The air is charged, like you just had an argument and lost. Is he mad? Regretting this? You don’t know him enough to tell, and that irks you.

The elevator takes you to the penthouse this time. Only the best for the king of London. John stands beside you, no hand on your back. It’s entirely businesslike: the walk to the room, shutting yourself in the bathroom, donning pajamas and a dressing gown. You would shower, but you need to finish your routine at the vanity.

If this were a real wedding, maybe he would have carried you in his arms over the threshold. Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to keep his hands off you, ravishing you in the entryway. Maybe he’d whisper in your ear, “Mrs. Price”.

Instead of that fantasy, you’re tipsy and angry about the fact that you are now Mrs. Price. Maybe that’s why you say it.

“I’m not a virgin.” You’re at the vanity, taking out the mountains of jewelry that pour out of every crevice of your body. It’s the last thing to remove before the weight of your wedding is off your shoulders. The mirror is giant, big enough so you can see John stop unbuttoning his shirt when you say the words. “You’re not?” You shake your head. He frowns. “Might as well send ya back now, get my money, and-,” he stops. Maybe it’s because you’re staring hard at his reflection. You don’t even like him, but the champagne and sting of rejection cut deep.

“Was jokin’, sweetheart. Didn’t expect you t’ be a virgin. Too much pressure, honestly.” Oh. Oh. He’s always called you sweetheart, spit it out like poison designed to kill. This is the first time he’s said it kindly and your heart curls around the word like a sleepy cat. Which will absolutely not do.

“Will make it easier, I reckon. ‘S a tight fit.” He winks jokingly and you scoff at his insinuation. He’s being oddly jovial, a 180 from the car ride, and you need to ruin this truce before it becomes permanent.

“Sure, that’s probably what your exes have said. It was probably a ‘tight fit’ because they weren’t wet, John. Ever heard of foreplay? F-o-r-e-p-l-a-y, look it up. I expect-”, except you don’t get to tell him your expectations because he’s shut you up with a calloused hand around your throat. It’s not violent and you know he wouldn’t hurt you, but the shock factor hits its target.

“Yer used t’ yer brother an’ his men, crude jokes an’ the like. I get it. But I demand respect an’ you’ll respect your husband now. Got it?” He isn’t blocking your airway, just holding your throat with his hand like a collar around it. He stands behind you with his unbuttoned shirt, giving you a glimpse of his hairy torso, hard with muscle. “The same way you respect me?” You mutter. He straightens in the mirror, his hand loose. A thumb caresses your jawbone, one stroke then two, before he pulls it away completely like it never happened. “I’m tryin’ to. Let’s agree on that, yeah?” You nod stiffly, sobered and treading with cautious feet. Is this how he’ll be? Acting like a military captain, an all-consuming force?

“And, sweetheart.” He grabs your free hand, the one lying on the desk. His large paw engulfs your own, bringing it to the outline of his cock in his boxers. You can feel the weight of him and, against your will, you squeeze. He’s thick, no, girthy. The fabric is thin, allowing you to feel the ridges of his cock, the veins, and its shape. Your hand acts of its own accord, sliding down until your thumb brushes the mushroomed tip. His cock twitches in your hand and you jump in your seat, snatching your hand away like it’s on fire. His chuckle is low and bruising, a damning caress.

“Thought so.” And your new husband walks away.

When you toss your silk dressing gown into the hamper for housekeeping, neither of you comment on the wet spot that’s soaked through. That’s the closest you get to consummating your marriage tonight.

i dont care if this is in london, im using miles. deal with it

@heretoreadanddrinktea

@peachyxrosie

@joufrance

@galactict3a

@exactlyyoungchaos

@trulovekay

@alleycc

@abox-of-rocks

@orangehibiscus

@mismatchsposts

@nova-willow-541

@throwing-up-butterflies

@grossitsluca

@evans-dejong

@popcornlauncher

@earthcole

@backfromthedeadhehehe

@baduzzxy

@thegreyjoyed

@cutelibrariangf

@dearghostling

@mrsmalfoy1005

@all-by-myself98

@snburntandsad

@baklovers

@rmikaelson01

@leon-thot-kennedy

@the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned

@barcelonaaababe

@brokenandemptyhearts

@sleep101

@ontopofthefridge

@lilynotdilly

@teenagellamaangel

@harperdoodle

@ii-angelsrolltheireyes-ii

@violetisheresworld

859 notes · View notes

theonottsbxtch · 4 months ago

Text

I LOVED YOU FIRST PT3 | FC43

part one | part two |

an: this is the most requested part three. i fell asleep so many times writing this but i’m waiting for tate’s new song so it gave me something to do. not proof read.

wc: 8.3k

It was nearly dawn when Franco turned off the engine, but the silence felt hollow. He sat motionless in the cockpit of his car, his hands still gripping the wheel even though he had finished his lap over an hour ago. The empty track stretched before him, a stark grey line splitting the waking sky, and for a fleeting moment, he considered taking off down it one more time, just for the noise.

That had been the only reason he'd even bothered coming out this morning. Noise. Anything loud enough to cut through the thick numbness that had settled over his life the last two years. Even racing—his childhood dream, his only real thrill—felt distant, just another repetition in an endless loop of things he used to care about.

He let go of the wheel, his fingers stiff and aching, and slumped back into his seat. The inside of the car still smelled new, though he’d driven this car all season. But everything in his life felt new in the wrong way, like he was breaking in someone else's skin.

Franco closed his eyes, but there was no escape there either. As much as he tried to avoid it, the image still came easily: two years ago, his wedding day. The hushed gasp of the guests as he had walked back down the aisle alone, the weight of his father-in-law’s hand on his shoulder. And her eyes—his childhood best friend, his first love, his confession to her still raw in his throat. He'd bared his heart, thought he was finally doing the right thing, only to watch her turn him down, her gaze steady and unwavering.

It was strange how clearly he could remember it. She had moved on. He was too late.

And yet here he was, two years later, sitting in the emptiness his choices had carved out. His marriage was the result of the aftermath—inevitable, unstoppable, once her father had coerced him into making it right. He’d been a fool to think he could live with it, that he could somehow build a life out of that hollowed-out choice. But every day he woke up, and every day it was the same. A stranger beside him, a public charade. He was trapped in a marriage more binding than he had ever imagined, one that had closed off any other life he might have had.

A tap on the side of the car startled him out of his thoughts. His agent, Eddie, looked at him expectantly, his face creased with concern. Franco forced himself to meet his gaze, pulling on a blank expression he’d perfected over the last two years.

"You good, man?" Eddie's voice sounded so distant for some reason.

Franco forced a nod. “Just getting in some practice.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "You finished over an hour ago."

Franco shrugged, not offering any other excuse. What could he say? That he no longer felt the rush, that even the raw thrill of racing at 200 miles per hour left him feeling nothing? It would be admitting too much. He wasn’t sure he could handle what Eddie would say if he knew.

As he finally climbed out of the car, his gaze drifted toward the track, that endless stretch of asphalt, and for just a second, he felt a flicker of what it used to mean to him. Freedom, purpose, maybe even love. But that had been before her—before he had thrown it all away, thinking he could have her back. And now all he was left with was this: the shadow of a life he hadn’t chosen, the memory of a love that had been real once, and a future he couldn’t bring himself to face.

Franco shook his head, stuffing the thought away. "Let’s just get through today" he muttered to himself, the words a quiet vow.

Tomorrow, he’d put on the act again.

The house was silent when Franco walked in. He closed the door softly, slipping off his shoes out of habit rather than any real desire to keep the peace. She was there, sitting in the dimly lit living room, curled on one end of the couch with her legs tucked under her. A book lay open on her lap, though her eyes weren’t moving over the words.

They hadn’t spoken much in days, maybe even weeks, except for the occasional small-talk exchange over morning coffee or at some public event. When they were alone, it was as if they were two strangers who’d agreed on a routine. She looked up as he walked in, and he wondered if she was waiting for him to speak first.

But he didn’t. He simply nodded, moving past her as if it were just another evening in this quiet, loveless house. He heard her shift, a quick intake of breath, and he paused, feeling her eyes on his back.

“I cheated,” she said, her voice flat, almost as if it were a statement she’d practised a thousand times, something she needed to let out before it grew stale.

Franco slowly turned to face her, letting the words settle, though he didn’t feel anything sharp or raw. Instead, there was just the dull, familiar weight of something like resignation. He studied her face, waiting for the anger or betrayal to come, but there was nothing. Just the same emptiness that had been there for two years.

“Okay,” he said, his voice calm, resigned.

She blinked, her expression faltering. “Okay?” she repeated, as if she hadn’t expected that response. Her brow furrowed, and she set her book aside, sitting up straighter. “That’s it? Just… okay?”

He shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. “What do you want me to do about it? You’ve already done it.”

She searched his face, a flicker of frustration and hurt sparking in her eyes. “Why aren’t you angry, Franco?” Her voice was louder now, cracking slightly. “Why don’t you care? Why don’t you… love me? What did I do wrong?”

For the first time that evening, he felt something stir. Not anger, exactly, but a kind of distant ache. He looked at her—really looked at her—and saw the exhaustion in her face, the years of pretending, of building a life on a foundation that had never been real. And he knew, somehow, that she felt as trapped as he did.

“This isn’t about what you did wrong,” he said quietly. “I just… I don’t have it in me to love you, not in the way you want.”

She shook her head, her eyes brimming with frustration. “But we were supposed to be in this together. My father… Your team. The whole world expects it. I have tried, Franco. I’ve done everything I could to make this work. I just wanted you to see me, to try…”

He sighed, looking away. “We’ve been pretending for two years. It’s not that I haven’t seen you—I just don’t think we were ever meant to see each other this way.”

Her shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her. She stared at her hands, twisted together in her lap. “So what now? We just keep living like this, sharing the same house, putting on a show for everyone?”

Franco didn’t have an answer for her. He didn’t know what they were supposed to do, what the next step would even look like. They were bound together by more than their vows—by the expectations, the pressure, the image of a life neither of them had chosen. He knew she deserved better than this emptiness, the hollow echo of what might have been.

After a moment, he sat down across from her, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What do you want from me?”

She looked away, biting her lip, and for the first time he saw the loneliness in her eyes. "I don’t know," she murmured, her voice quiet. "I don’t know if I ever knew."

She looked down, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater, and then let out a long, quiet breath. "I’ll speak to my father," she said, her voice steady. “We’ll break it off. There’s… someone else. For me, I mean.”

Franco nodded, feeling only a strange sort of relief. “Okay.”

She gave a small, sad smile, as if she’d expected more—anger, maybe, or regret. “I’ll make sure he keeps the sponsors on your team,” she added, her voice softening. “It’s the least I can do.”

Franco shook his head. “He doesn’t have to. I don’t want you worrying about that.”

For a moment, she looked at him with something almost like sympathy. “Franco… it’s not your fault,” she said.

He frowned slightly, unsure what she meant. “What isn’t?”

She looked away, gathering her thoughts, and then back at him, her gaze unwavering. “It’s not your fault you still love her after all these years. Some things… they just don’t go away.”

His throat tightened, and he couldn’t find the words to respond. Her words hung between them, exposing something he’d tried to bury, something he hadn’t even admitted to himself. His silence was answer enough.

“She was a very lovely woman when I met her,” she continued, her voice softer, almost wistful. “I’m sure she hasn’t changed. I’m sure you two would be perfect together.”

He looked down, swallowing the ache in his chest. For all their distance, she’d seen more of him than he’d realised, even if they had never truly belonged to each other. Maybe she’d known all along. Maybe that’s why they’d been drifting from the beginning, like two people playing their parts, waiting for the script to finally run out.

He stood up, running a hand over the back of his neck, his voice low. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.”

She nodded, her eyes full of an understanding that somehow made this harder. “Okay. Goodnight, Franco.”

He gave her a brief nod, then turned and headed down the hall, his footsteps soft against the hardwood. The walls of the house felt like a cage, closing in with every step, but he knew that maybe, for the first time, there was a way out—for both of them.

Franco closed the door to the guest room, feeling the weight of everything settling over him. He felt like a visitor in his own life, just as he had every day for the past two years. He slipped off his watch, set it on the nightstand, and reached for his phone to set an alarm.

Just as he did, his mother’s name lit up the screen. She called him every night, their routine barely wavering since he’d left home all those years ago to chase his dream. He answered, feeling a bit of the tension ease from his shoulders.

“Hey, Mama.”

“Oh, finally, you picked up! I thought I’d missed you tonight, hijo.” she said, her voice bright and warm, filling the room with a bit of comfort he hadn’t known he needed.

“Sorry. It’s been… a long day,” he replied, not sure where to start even if he’d wanted to.

“Oh, mi amor, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, sympathy lacing her voice. She paused, her tone shifting to something lighter. “Well, you’ll never guess who I ran into today.”

He smiled slightly, settling back against the pillows. “Knowing you, mama, it could be anyone.”

“You flatter me,” she laughed. “But no, this one you’ll want to hear. I ran into your chiquita's mama at the market this morning.”

At the mention of his childhood best friend, Franco’s heart gave a small, involuntary jolt. He kept his voice casual, though he could feel his pulse quicken. “Oh yeah?”

“Guess who’s moving back home?” she said, her voice bright with excitement. “She’s coming back without that boyfriend of hers—what was his name, Angelo or something? Anyway, I don’t know what happened there, but her mama didn’t say much, just that she’ll be moving back in soon.”

Franco fell silent, her words sinking in. She was moving back. Back to the same town, back to where they’d both grown up. It was strange hearing it now, after all this time—especially tonight. He tried to imagine her there, close by, after years of being nothing more than a memory, a lingering ache. She hadn’t been in touch since his wedding. They hadn’t spoken, not really, since that day he’d confessed everything.

“Franco?” his mother asked, her voice pulling him back. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I’m here. Just… surprised, I guess.”

“Well, I thought you’d be pleased to know,” she said gently. “I don’t know why she’s moving back, and I suppose it’s none of my business, but I hope she’s doing alright. I always liked that girl.”

“Me too,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

He wondered what could have happened to bring her back. She’d seemed happy, at least in the few times he’d seen her in the public eye over the last two years—smiling, vibrant, that spark still in her. Whatever had drawn her back, he doubted it was anything good.

“Anyway, I just thought I’d tell you,” his mother went on, a hint of cheer in her voice. “I’m sure you’ll see her around when she’s back. Goodness knows you two could catch up. I’ll let you get some sleep, though. You sound tired, love.”

“I am,” he said honestly. “Thanks, mama.”

“Goodnight, mi amor,” she said softly. “Try not to worry so much. Things have a way of working out.”

He hung up, setting the phone down on the nightstand, but his mind kept circling back to her, the unanswered questions piling up. Why was she moving home? Why now, after everything?

He lay back, staring at the ceiling, feeling the quiet gnaw at him. For the first time in a long while, he felt something stirring beneath the emptiness—something that he hadn’t let himself feel since that day two years ago. A flicker of hope, of curiosity. And maybe, just maybe, the faintest hint of longing.

Franco woke up to an unsettling silence the following morning. The kind that felt thick, heavy, and somehow different from the usual quiet he’d grown accustomed to in this house. He rubbed his eyes, groggy, his mind still tangled in the remnants of last night’s conversation with his mother. She was moving back home. The thought had settled somewhere deep, like a stone sinking to the bottom of his chest, and he hadn’t stopped wondering why she’d come back.

He rose slowly, crossing the hall toward the master bedroom to grab his things, but as he reached the door, he noticed it was open just a crack. There was an odd stillness inside, an emptiness. Pushing the door open fully, he froze.

The wardrobes were wide open, their shelves bare, nothing left but empty hangers. He scanned the room, taking in the strange absence of her things: the jewellery stand, her perfumes, even the photos from the dresser—all gone.

On the bed, her wedding band glinted in the morning light, sitting atop a folded sheet of paper. Heart pounding, Franco walked over and picked up the note, her familiar handwriting scrawled across the page in clean, deliberate strokes.

"Go live a life you’ll enjoy. Go get the girl."

He read the words over and over, the reality slowly sinking in. She had really left. It was over, finally—no more strained conversations, no more pretences, no more empty rooms they shared out of duty. She had made the choice for both of them, letting him go in a way neither of them had been able to until now.

He let out a slow, deep breath, feeling a strange mixture of relief and regret. She had given him a way out, but he felt a twinge of sadness for the life they’d tried and failed to build, and for the woman who’d known him well enough to let him go.

After a moment, he picked up his phone and scrolled to his agent’s number. It rang twice before Eddie answered, his voice thick with sleep.

“Franco? It’s barely morning. You okay?”

Franco ran a hand through his hair, still processing everything. “Yeah. Listen, Eddie, I need you to book me a flight.”

“A flight? Where are you going?”

“Home. To Argentina.” He paused, and for the first time in two years, the words felt right. “I just need to go home.”

Eddie hesitated on the other end. “You sure about this?”

“Yes. I’ll figure everything out when I get there,” Franco replied, feeling a resolve he hadn’t felt in years.

Eddie sighed, but there was something like approval in his voice. “Alright, I’ll get it sorted. You’ll be on a plane by tonight.”

“Thank you, Eddie.” Franco hung up, glancing around the room one last time. He pocketed her note, her words still echoing in his mind.

True to Eddie's word, Franco was on a flight six hours later. The journey was a blur of cramped seats, stale air, and the faint taste of regret that clung to the back of his throat. The turbulence was relentless, like some cosmic joke, as if the universe itself wanted to remind him that nothing had ever been easy. He tried to sleep, but the aching pull of everything he’d left behind in that house—his marriage, his choices, his dreams—kept him awake, staring out at the dark sky, thinking of all the roads that had led him here.

By the time he landed in Buenos Aires and caught a car for the long drive north to his family's old village, the exhaustion had crept under his skin, weighing him down like a thousand unspoken words. But the quiet beauty of the countryside—the sun setting over fields that stretched on forever—started to soothe him, even if just a little.

The car ride seemed endless, every minute dragging with the weight of his thoughts. But when the familiar sight of his family’s village finally came into view—cobblestone streets, thatched roofs, the scent of freshly baked bread hanging in the air—something inside Franco began to shift. The city felt miles away, the noise, the crowds, the weight of his past life all falling away as he crossed into the place that had always felt like home.

The moment he stepped through the door of his childhood house, all of that exhaustion seemed to vanish. The house was exactly as he remembered it—warm, full of life, and alive with the kind of energy he hadn't felt in so long. His mother’s soft humming from the kitchen filled the air, the scent of her cooking familiar and comforting in a way nothing else ever had been.

“Mama?” he called, stepping into the kitchen.

She looked up from the stove, a warm smile spreading across her face as she caught sight of him. It was like the years had slipped away in an instant, and before he could even move, she was across the room, enveloping him in her arms.

“Oh, hijo,” she said, pulling him in tight. “You’re home. You’re really home.”

Franco closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling the comforting smells of garlic and simmering stew. It was the same as it had always been. His mother’s embrace felt like a balm, her steady, familiar presence filling up the spaces in his chest that had been empty for so long. He let himself relax into the hug, feeling like he could finally breathe again.

“Yeah, mama,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m home.”

She pulled back, looking at him with concern now, her gaze soft but knowing. “You look like you’ve been through a storm. What happened, Franco?”

He shook his head, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “It’s… been a hot minute.”

She stepped back, eyes still lingering on him as she turned toward the counter, gesturing for him to sit. "Come, sit. You must be starving."

As he slid into the chair at the table, his mother’s eyes flickered to his left hand, where the ring had once sat. The absence of it didn’t go unnoticed.

"Franco," she said softly, her voice delicate but insistent, “Where’s your wedding ring?”

He froze, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the spot where the band had once been. The question hit him harder than he expected, like a weight on his chest.

He took a deep breath, his words coming out slow, almost reluctant. "I… I never loved her, Mama. Not like I should’ve. Not like I should’ve loved the person I married."

His mother didn’t flinch, didn’t offer a shocked look or try to comfort him with false reassurances. Instead, she simply nodded, as if she had known all along. The silence between them was calm, understanding.

"I knew," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "I knew from the start, Franco. I could see it. You were never... you were never right with her."

He exhaled, a small weight lifting from his chest. His mother didn’t judge him. She hadn’t expected him to make some fairy tale of a marriage. She had always known him better than anyone.

"Why didn’t you say something?" he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

She smiled softly, her hand brushing his cheek. "You had to learn it on your own, cariño. I couldn’t take that from you."

He sat back in his chair, letting her words sink in. This was home. The quiet understanding, the unconditional love. The very things he had been running from for so long. And now, in this moment, he felt like he was finally allowed to come back to it.

His mother leaned in, brushing the hair from his forehead as if he were still that little boy who had left for the big city years ago. "You’ll be alright, Franco. I know you will. You always find your way back."

He smiled, his heart full, and reached across the table to squeeze her hand. "Thanks, Mama," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I think I’m ready to find it now."

His mother studied him for a moment, as if weighing whether to say more. The comfortable silence stretched between them before she finally spoke, her voice casual, but with a slight undercurrent of something he couldn’t quite place.

“You know, she moved back this morning,” she said, a soft note of curiosity in her tone.

Franco looked up sharply, his stomach tightening at the mention of her. “She did?”

His mother nodded, stirring a pot on the stove. He shifted in his seat, trying to steady the flutter of emotions that were beginning to rise in his chest. She was back. The thought of her living just next door made his heart ache in ways he wasn’t prepared for, especially after everything that had happened. It felt like a sign, but it also felt like a question—one he didn’t know if he was ready to answer.

“I don’t know what’s happened,” he said, the words coming out quieter than he intended. “But I’m sure it’s for the best. She’s probably just trying to figure things out.”

His mother gave him a thoughtful look before turning back to the stove. "It’s not easy, you know. Coming back here after all those years. Maybe she just needs some time. Things haven't been easy for her, either."

Franco nodded absently, his mind already racing, a thousand thoughts flooding his mind. He’d always wondered what it would be like if they were close again—if the years between them could just vanish, and they could pick up where they left off. But that was before everything had changed.

Before he’d made a mess of everything.

“I’ll give her space,” he said after a long pause. “She clearly needs it if she’s come back home. I don’t want to crowd her, not like this.”

His mother looked at him for a long moment, her gaze soft and full of the kind of love only a mother could offer. She didn’t press, but Franco could tell she was seeing more in him than he was letting on. She always had that way of reading him, even when he didn’t want to be read.

“I think that’s wise, Franco,” she said quietly. “But don’t wait too long. Sometimes, the right things—people—can slip away if we don’t take the chance when we can.” She gave him a small smile, her eyes gentle but full of a mother’s wisdom. “Don’t make the same mistake twice.”

He swallowed hard, looking down at his hands. The right things... people. Was she talking about her?

He wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that he had already lost so much—lost the girl he had once called his best friend. His true love. That much was clear.

But he couldn’t make the same mistake again. Not with her. Not now.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I won’t. I’ll give her the time she needs… and then, I’ll figure out what comes next.” He forced a small smile, looking back up at her. “But first, I think I need to settle in here, Mama. Just for a bit.”

She smiled warmly at him, nodding as she moved to set the table. “Take your time, cariño. You’ve earned it.” Then she added softly, almost to herself, “And when you’re ready, you know where she is.”

Franco nodded, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a promise he wasn’t sure he was ready to make. He had to sort through the years of distance, the pain, the confusion, and the mess he had made before he could even think of approaching her again.

That night the house was quiet as Franco prepared for bed, the kind of quiet that settled deep into the bones. The weight of the day’s emotions, of the journey—of everything—pressed on him like a physical force, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was still missing.

He stood in front of the mirror, his eyes scanning the reflection—a man who hadn’t truly looked at himself in a long time. His face was a little more worn, the years of racing and the strain of the past two had carved lines into his features. And yet, there was a boy in those eyes too—the one who used to laugh freely, who used to dream of more than just what life had given him.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the quiet ache of the past two years swirling in his chest again. Where did it all go wrong? He’d asked himself this so many times, but the answer had never been clear. His life had seemed like it was on track, until it suddenly wasn’t. Until it all came crashing down, leaving him here, in his childhood home, looking at a version of himself he didn’t recognise.

Where did it all go to shit?

He turned away from the mirror, needing a moment of peace, a change of scenery. The night air felt crisp as he stepped out onto the balcony, the soft night breeze brushing against his skin. The village was quiet, the distant sound of crickets filling the silence. The stars above him were impossibly bright, as if they had been waiting for him to step out into this space to show themselves.

For a moment, he just stood there, taking it all in. The vast sky, the deep silence, the comfort of being home, of being away from all the chaos of the life he’d left behind. He closed his eyes for a beat, letting himself breathe.

Then, he froze.

From across the yard, on the roof of the house next door, a figure was sitting—her silhouette outlined by the soft glow of the stars.

Franco didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there. The sight of her—after all these years—was like a jolt to the chest, a flood of old memories and emotions crashing over him.

At first, he considered turning back into the house, pretending he hadn’t seen her, pretending the universe wasn’t trying to push him into a conversation he wasn’t ready for. But his feet stayed rooted to the ground, his eyes locked on her figure, so familiar, so her. He hadn’t expected to see her tonight, especially not like this. Not sitting on the roof, in the same place they used to sit together as kids, watching the stars and talking about everything and nothing.

He had no idea how to approach her.

Before he could make up his mind, she spoke, her voice drifting through the night air, quiet but unmistakable. “Staring’s rude, you know.”

Franco’s breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening at the sound of her voice. It had been so long since he’d heard it, and yet it felt like no time had passed at all.

He stayed where he was, still unsure, a little frozen by the way his heart was racing. “I didn’t think you’d notice,” he finally said, his voice coming out quieter than he intended.

She tilted her head slightly, but didn’t look directly at him. “I always notice,” she replied, a faint smile playing on her lips, though her tone was more playful than anything else.

He let out a small laugh, a bit surprised by her nonchalance. It was just like her to act so casual, even in the middle of something heavy.

“I wasn’t planning to interrupt,” he added, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Just thought I'd leave you to it."

She didn’t respond right away, but he could see the way her gaze flickered toward him, though she didn’t move. After a beat, she spoke again, her voice quieter now. “You came home.”

“I did,” he said, his heart racing as he stood there, not knowing where to go from here. “Took me a while, but I’m here.”

She nodded, the soft rustle of her hair catching the starlight. "Good. I didn’t think you would."

Franco swallowed, the weight of the unspoken words hanging thick between them. "I... didn’t think I would either."

There was another pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just... heavy, in a way that felt like they were both waiting for something. Waiting for the moment when they could go back to being what they once were. But Franco knew, deep down, that it wasn’t going to be that simple. Too much had happened between them, too many years spent apart.

Her voice broke the quiet, her words soft but inviting. “There’s space next to me. You should come up here.”

Franco hesitated for a second longer, unsure, but something in her tone, a subtle pull, urged him forward. He glanced around briefly before deciding to take a chance.

Carefully, he climbed over the small stone wall dividing their balconies, his fingers finding familiar purchase as he pulled himself over. The moment his feet hit the roof, the memories of their childhood came rushing back—sitting on the very same roof, talking about everything and nothing, watching the stars as if they were the only two people in the world.

It felt surreal, like no time had passed at all, even though everything between them had changed.

She was already sitting cross-legged, her back turned slightly toward him, but she patted the spot next to her, silently urging him to join her. He moved toward her, then sat down, the cool roof beneath him grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

When he finally reached the top, she shifted to make room, and before he even fully settled beside her, she was resting her head on his shoulder. It was as natural as breathing, a comfort he hadn’t realised he’d been starved for.

The night seemed to stretch on forever as they sat together, not speaking, just sharing the same space, the same memories that lingered between them like a soft, delicate thread. It was as though the silence held all the things they couldn’t say out loud.

Finally, it was her who broke the quiet, her voice low and tinged with regret. “Sorry I never replied to your letter.”

Franco’s heart stuttered in his chest at the mention of the letter. He hadn’t expected her to bring it up, not after everything that had happened. Slowly, he turned his head to look at her, his voice barely a whisper. “You... you received it?”

She nodded slowly, lifting her head from his shoulder but not fully pulling away. She stared up at the stars, her fingers absentmindedly tracing shapes in the air. “Four days ago,” she said, her voice soft and distant, as though the words were hard to say.

Four days ago.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. The letter. The letter he’d written years ago, before everything spiralled out of control, before the wedding, before he called it all off. The letter where he had laid bare his feelings for her—telling her everything he’d never had the courage to say before. Telling her that he loved her. That he’d leave his fiancé for her. That he wanted to be with her.

The letter had been the final step, the desperate confession that he couldn’t hold inside any longer.

“I… I didn’t know,” Franco muttered, his throat tight. “I sent it because I thought you needed to know. I thought you needed to hear it.” He paused, looking down at his hands. “I didn’t expect you to just—ignore it.”

Her breath hitched slightly, and she looked over at him, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that made him ache. “I didn’t ignore it,” she said softly. “I didn’t know about it. Angelo hid it from me.”

Franco froze. Angelo. The same guy she’d been with all those years, the one who had kept the letter from her. The weight of it hit him hard, a cold knot in his stomach. “He hid it?” His voice barely came out above a whisper.

She nodded, her eyes not leaving his. “I only found it four days ago when I was packing.” She paused, as though weighing whether or not to say more, then sighed. “He kept it from me, Franco. Told me it was nothing, just some silly thing from the past. But it wasn’t nothing. It was you. It was everything you were trying to say. And I didn’t even know until hours before your wedding.”

Franco could feel his chest tighten, the words he had written, the words that had been locked inside of him for so long, echoing in the space between them. He had no idea she’d never received it. No idea she had been living in that oblivion, thinking that nothing had changed when, in reality, everything had been laid out for her years ago.

Franco closed his eyes, the weight of her words settling over him. His entire life had been built around the lies he’d told himself, and in the end, he had only hurt the one person who had always been there for him.

When he opened his eyes again, he was staring at the sky, the stars so far away. “I never stopped loving you,” he said quietly, the confession falling from his lips before he could stop it. “I never stopped thinking about you, even when I thought I should. Even when I tried to move on, I always... always thought about you. About Monza.”

Her voice was soft but steady, a quiet confession in the night air. “I shouldn’t have come to that wedding,” she said, her words hanging in the space between them like a breath held too long.

Franco blinked, his heart stuttering slightly in his chest as he turned to look at her. “Why?”

She sighed, her eyes focused on the distant horizon, her expression unreadable in the soft glow of the moon. “Because I thought I was over you, Franco. I really did. I thought that seeing you get married to someone else, someone who wasn’t me, would help me move on. But when I watched you declare your love for me in front of everyone... it hit me all at once. I felt like I was coasting through a lie with Angelo for two years.”

Franco’s chest tightened at the mention of Angelo again, but he didn’t interrupt. He knew this was something that had been simmering beneath the surface for a long time, something they had never really spoken about. She took a slow breath, her fingers playing with the hem of her shirt as she spoke again.

“I couldn’t give him all of me,” she continued, her voice wavering for the first time, just the slightest crack in her calm demeanour. “When you still had half my heart.”

Franco felt a lump form in his throat at her words. She still loved him. Despite everything, despite the time apart, despite the man she had been with, a part of her had never truly moved on.

He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t find the right words to express the swirl of emotions inside him. The guilt, the confusion, the longing. All he could do was listen, his heart aching with each word she spoke.

“Amor…” His voice faltered, and he cleared his throat, trying to find his grounding. “She cheated on me. My wife.” He added as though she needed clarification.

Her head jerked up, her eyes wide with surprise, but she said nothing. She waited for him to continue, her breath catching in her throat.

Franco stared out at the stars, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t feel much at first. I think I expected it. In some way, I always did. I’d been living in a marriage where I wasn’t really present for a long time.” He paused, his eyes distant as he recalled the feeling of his world unravelling. “But... when I found out, I couldn’t feel anything. It was like I had already shut myself off from it all.”

She studied him, her gaze soft but piercing. “Really? You didn’t feel... anything?”

Franco’s heart twisted, “I felt guilty,” he admitted, his voice low. "I didn’t feel hurt or anger. I just felt... guilty."

She frowned, the confusion and concern evident in her eyes. “Guilty? Why? You didn’t cheat. You weren’t the one betraying her.”

Franco chuckled bitterly, a hollow sound that felt foreign to him. “No, I didn’t cheat. But I’ve been mentally cheating on her for years now.” His voice cracked slightly, the admission slipping out before he could stop it. “With you. I’ve been thinking about you. Wanting you. Wondering... what could have been.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she stared at him for a long moment, the weight of his confession hanging between them like an invisible force. The air was thick, heavy with the things they hadn’t said, the things they had both buried for too long.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the distant rustle of the trees, the wind whispering through the leaves. Then, she shifted slightly, her fingers brushing against his, tentative, like she wasn’t sure if it was okay to reach out. But Franco didn’t pull away. He let her fingers weave through his, and for a moment, they were back to the way they used to be—close, without words, just a connection that had never truly faded.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking the silence again. “I didn’t mean to make things more complicated for you. I never wanted you to feel guilty.”

Franco shook his head, his fingers tightening around hers. “You didn’t. It’s my fault. I should’ve been honest with myself. With you. With everyone.”

Her hand found his, her grip soft but reassuring. “We can’t undo the past, Franco. But maybe... maybe we can stop running from it.” She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for something—maybe a sign that they were on the same page, that this wasn’t just a momentary lapse, but the beginning of something else.

Franco’s heart skipped a beat. The ache inside him—this pull, this longing—felt more real now than it ever had before. But he couldn’t let himself get lost in it. Not yet. Not before he figured out what came next.

“Maybe,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Maybe we can.”

But for now, they stayed there, hand in hand, watching the stars as the night stretched on—together, but not quite ready to bridge the distance between them. The future was uncertain, but in that moment, with her close to him again, it felt like the possibility of a new beginning was still there.

And maybe that was enough.

She shifted slightly, pulling her knees closer to her chest as she stared up at the night sky, the stars scattered above them like little pieces of a puzzle they couldn’t quite put together. Her voice broke the quiet again, this time more introspective, tinged with a kind of sadness that Franco couldn’t shake. “Why are we like this?” she asked softly, the question hanging in the air between them. “Why can’t we ever get it right? Why does it feel like we keep missing each other?”

Franco felt a lump form in his throat as he turned his head to look at her. He had no answer. No easy explanation for the years of missed opportunities, the broken promises, the things left unsaid. All he could do was let the silence stretch for a moment before he spoke, his voice thick with regret.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, his words barely audible, but full of the weight of everything he had kept buried for so long.

Her hand tightened around his, her fingers warm and steady against his skin. She didn’t look at him immediately. She just stared at the stars, letting the night take them both in. But when she did speak, her voice was clear, almost a little too sharp, as if she were trying to distance herself from the ache inside.

“I know,” she said, her words simple, yet filled with the unspoken truth between them.

Franco exhaled slowly, his chest tight with the unrelenting guilt that seemed to follow him wherever he went. “I really don’t,” he added, his tone heavier this time, the words more raw, like they were scraping against his very soul.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes soft but steady as she met his gaze. “But you’ll always have me anyway,” she said, her voice gentle, almost a whisper, but strong in its promise. “All of me. Even if you think you don’t deserve it, even if you feel like you’ve lost me, I’m still here. I always will be.”

Franco closed his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to reach out and pull her into him, to hold on to the promise she was offering, but he knew that he had to fix everything first. He had to prove to himself, to her, that he was worthy.

After a long moment, his mind shifted, a question bubbling up to the surface, something that had been nagging at him for a while now. “What happened to Angelo?” he asked, his voice quiet, but urgent with curiosity.

Her gaze flickered away, her expression becoming unreadable for a brief second. She didn’t speak at first, but then, she sighed, her voice small as she turned her head back toward the night sky.

“He proposed,” she said softly, her words hitting Franco like a punch to the gut. “He got down on one knee, right there in the middle of a restaurant, and asked me to marry him.”

Franco’s heart sank. He had imagined the two of them together, but hearing her speak those words, hearing the finality in her tone, made something inside him shift. His breath caught in his throat.

“And you didn’t say yes,” he whispered, the realisation washing over him slowly, painfully.

She shook her head, her fingers grazing the edge of her sleeve as she gathered her thoughts. “I couldn’t bring myself to say yes,” she murmured, her voice distant, like the memory still held weight over her. “I couldn’t lie to him, and I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Not after everything. I just... I couldn’t. And when I looked at him, I knew something wasn’t right. I knew that the whole time, I had been lying to both of us, pretending that he was enough when I wasn’t even sure of myself.”

Franco felt his chest tighten, his heart aching with understanding. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He wasn’t sure if he was apologising for Angelo, for her, or for himself, but it felt like the right thing to say. “I’m sorry for everything.”

She didn’t respond right away. She just sat there beside him, her head back on his shoulder, her fingers still twined with his. The night stretched on, both of them lost in their own thoughts, but there was something in the air that felt different now. It wasn’t just the weight of their shared history or the unsaid words that hovered between them. There was something else.

Something that, for the first time, felt like the beginning of something new.

After a while, she spoke again, her voice barely audible. “I never wanted to hurt him. But I couldn’t pretend anymore. Not when you’re still here, not when you’ve always been here, Franco.”

Franco closed his eyes, his fingers tracing the curve of her hand. “I understand,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure if he did. He wasn’t sure of anything right now except that he needed to make it right—whatever that looked like.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, the quiet stretching between them, neither of them in a rush to break the stillness. The night air was cool against their skin, and the stars above seemed to twinkle with the same quiet understanding that hung in the air. For the first time in years, it felt like they were both exactly where they were meant to be—together.

But slowly, the rhythm of her breathing changed, softening, slowing. Franco felt it before he saw it, the gentle shift in the weight on his shoulder. He glanced down, his heart softening at the sight of her—her lashes fluttering closed, her face serene and peaceful in sleep. She was completely relaxed, as if the weight of everything had been lifted, even if just for a moment.

He didn’t move, didn’t want to disturb the quiet that had settled between them. But as minutes ticked by, he knew it was time to move her. Carefully, he slipped his arm beneath her, lifting her gently, cradling her close. Her head rested on his chest as he stood, her body instinctively curling against him. She felt weightless in his arms, and for a second, he couldn’t believe how natural it all felt.

As he carried her through the door to her room, the familiar smell of her childhood home wrapped around him—the scent of lavender and old wood, a place both foreign and intimately familiar. The room was just as he remembered, simple and cosy, with little traces of her scattered throughout. He looked down at the floor he used to sleep on when they were young The soft, pale light of the moon filtered through the window, casting everything in a gentle glow.

He placed her gently in the bed, tucking the covers around her small frame. For a moment, he just stood there, watching her, his chest heavy with emotion. Everything about this felt so right, so painfully wrong at the same time. He should have been here years ago. He should have never let things get so far. But now, he was here. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

He leaned down, brushing a strand of hair away from her face before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. His lips lingered there for a second longer than he meant to, his heart aching with all the things he never said.

Just as he turned to leave, to head back to his own house, her voice stopped him.

“Don’t.”

Franco froze. His hand rested on the window frame , his heart stalling in his chest. He turned slowly, not sure if he had heard her correctly.

“What?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost unsure.

She looked up at him, her eyes still heavy with sleep, but there was something in her gaze—vulnerable, raw, but full of longing. “Don’t go,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I can’t watch you walk away again. Please don’t.”

For a moment, Franco stood there, his chest tight as he processed her words. Don’t go. It was all he needed to hear. She didn’t want him to leave. After everything that had happened, after all the distance between them, she still wanted him here.

He walked back toward the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn’t need to say anything; the weight of the moment, the look in her eyes, said it all. He carefully slid under the covers, settling beside her, the warmth of her body so familiar yet so new.

Without a word, she shifted, curling into him, her head finding its place on his chest, her hand resting gently against his side. Franco wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close, and for the first time in a long time, he felt at peace. It wasn’t a perfect moment, but it was real. And it was theirs.

They stayed there, the rhythm of their breathing slowly syncing, the quiet of the night wrapping around them. No more words were needed. No more distance. Just the two of them, together, holding on to each other like they were afraid to let go.

And as they drifted off to sleep, tangled together beneath the covers, Franco realised that this moment—this feeling of being home—was everything he had been searching for.

Home.

Her.

It was all synonymous.

She was his home.

the end.

taglist: @sp1rl @yennasaurusrex @ellen3101 @firefirevampire @directioner5life @littlegrapejuice @obxstiles @scopeiguess @newlifeforus @justsisse @zestytimbit @taygrls @charlosvibesonly @sparkleofpizza

660 notes · View notes