#i say all of this with nothing but love and affection in my heart for both iterations | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hanniebaeee · 5 months ago

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The Secret Hwang

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: reader is pregnant

Genre: exes to lovers?? angst, fluff

Summary: Hyunjin breaks up with you after the company thinks your relationship is affecting his work. What he didn't know was that you were also gearing up to tell him something very important. But then swoops in two angels in disguise, helping you through the tough time, before it all blows over.

You’re breaking up with me?” The words left your lips before your brain could catch up.

Your heart thundered against your ribcage, like it was desperate to escape what was unfolding right then. And your boyfriend of three years, Hyunjin, looked as miserable as you felt.

Hyunjin stood in front of you, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders sagging. He wouldn’t look at you - that was even worse.

“Yes,” he whispered, voice so low it barely registered. “I'm so sorry.”

You take a step closer, his words not making any sense.

“You have to? What the hell does that mean, Hyunjin? Did I…did I do something? Did I hurt you-?”

His head snaps up, his eyes wide and glossy, horrified at the mere suggestion.

“No! Of course not! You’ve never - God, Y/N, no. It’s -” His words faltered, and he looked away again, his hands shaking as they grip his hoodie strings. “It’s…they think it’s affecting me. My work.”

“Who? The company?”

“They said…” He swallowed hard, the words clearly tearing him apart as he forced them out. “They said if I don’t end this, they’ll fire you. They’ll make sure you never work in this industry again. And they’ll…ruin it all for you...”

You stared at him, utterly speechless. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

“So what? You’re just going to do what they want? Throw away three years like it means nothing?”

“It’s not like that,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? By breaking me?” You laughed bitterly, even though it felt more like choking.

You knew he wanted to reach for you, to pull you close like he always did when you were upset, but he didn’t move.

“Baby, I don’t have a choice. If I don’t do this-”

You didn't stay to hear the rest. You took a step back before saying, “You’re a coward,”

Hyunjin’s head snapped up like you slapped him, but you pressed on.

“You’re letting them control you. Letting them decide what our love is worth. You’re not even fighting for me.”

Hyunjin’s face crumpled, and for a second, you thought he would reconsider. But he didn't. He just looked really sad. And lost.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Goodbye, Hyunjin.”

And then you ran. You didn’t look back. You couldn't. Because if you did, you’d fall apart completely, and you just couldn’t afford that. Not with the tiny life growing inside you.

The three months that followed were hard, no doubt. But relatively less harder than you thought, considering the fact that the boys were on tour. You didn't have to see him everyday as you taught your heart to ‘unlove’ him. If such a thing could be done.

You had decided to go ahead with your pregnancy - bad call probably, because you obviously couldn't tell anyone that your baby was Hyunjin’s. Of course. So you'd have to come up with a creative lie to cover the gap - a non-existent boyfriend or a husband?

It was exhausting.

---

You stood at the kitchen counter, staring at your ultrasound scan result. The sight of your little bean on the screen earlier had brought tears to your eyes - happy bittersweet ones. But mostly, you’d felt so terribly lonely.

Moments like that were meant to be shared, weren’t they? Your heart ached so much. So damn much. You sighed as you gazed at the little form in the black and white image.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Setting the report on the counter, you get the door. What you didn't expect was Felix’s sweet smiling face. You hadn't seen him or any of the boys since the break up (they'd left for the tour), so seeing Felix, your close friend, made you freeze.

“Lix,” you said, your voice more tired than you’d like.

He immediately pulled you into a warm hug, and you had to control that strong urge to just weep.

“Hey,” he said, squeezing you tightly. “I missed you! How have you been?”

“I'm alright. You guys had a good tour I heard,” You managed, stepping aside to let him in.

“It was good,” He said with a smile, and held up a bag. “I brought you a little something from Australia.”

“Lix, you didn’t have to -”

“Oh, hush. I do it all the time.” he said. “You look... tired…you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied, waving him off.

“You want me to get his stuff? I have it packed and ready.” You said, wanting to get that out of the way as soon as possible.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “ Is that okay?”

Your stomach twisted unpleasantly, but you nodded and said, “Yeah, of course. Let me grab it.”

He followed you into the house, and as you went into the bedroom to get Hyunjin’s things, Felix walked into the kitchen to put the things he got for you away.

When you returned with the bag, however, you saw Felix in the kitchen, uncharacteristically quiet. You walked in and completely froze in the doorway.

Felix stood by the counter, holding your ultrasound result, and his usually bright expression was completely blank, his eyes glued black and white image.

“Lix…” you said softly, panic rising in your chest.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice eerily calm, “what is this?”

You didn’t answer, your hands trembling as you clutched the bag of Hyunjin’s things. Tears pricked your eyes, and you knew there was no use pretending or coming up with a lie.

“Please tell me this is not what I think it is.” he said, his voice wavering as he turned to face you with the paper in his hand.

Your silence spoke louder than words. Tears spilled over, and you quickly wiped at them, trying to keep it together. But it was of no use - Felix took one look at your face and let the paper fall onto the counter.

“Oh my God.” His voice cracked as he crossed the room in two giant strides, pulling you into a tight hug.

His arms wrapped around you like a safety net, holding you together.

“Y/N, please don't tell me Hyunjin knocked you up and then broke up with you. Tell me I’m hallucinating. Please.”

You laughed weakly through your tears, the absurdity of the situation hitting you all at once.

“He didn't know, Lix. He didn't know-” You whispered and Felix pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still on your shoulders.

His mouth opened and closed a few times, like he was trying to form words but couldn't. Finally, he let out a strangled laugh.

“He doesn’t know?!” He shook his head, his freckles standing out against his flushed skin. “Are you kidding me, Y/N? You’re telling me that man broke up with you because he wanted to protect you, and the entire time, you’ve been carrying his baby?”

“I was going to tell him, Lix, I was. That's why I went to meet him, but didn't give me a chance to say anything…he just…he just broke up with me!” you cried, wiping your face. “What was I supposed to do? Tell him and ruin everything?”

“Yes!” Felix shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “Yes, sweetheart, you’re supposed to tell him! He deserves to know. This is big, like life changing big!”

You shook your head, your voice trembling as you said, “Lix, you don’t understand. This is about his career, his dreams. He’s worked so hard to get where he is, and I won’t be the reason he loses it all.”

Felix stared at you, his face a mixture of disbelief and heartbreak.

“Y/N,” he said softly. “You can’t do this alone.”

“I have to,” you whispered, looking down at the floor. “I will.”

“Yes, you do.” His voice was firm, his hands gently cupping your cheeks and tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “But don't have to. I’m here. Whatever you need, anything at all, you’ve got me. You’re not allowed to say no, okay?”

Your breath hitched, the warmth of his hands and the sincerity in his voice had you crumblung all over again. “Lix…”

“I mean it,” he said, his eyes shining with determination. “You’re not doing this alone. I don’t care what it takes. We’re going to figure this out. Together.”

You nodded, sniffling as he wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Thank you.”

Felix didn’t say anything to Hyunjin. True to his word, he kept his mouth shut, but the secret was eating him alive to say the least. The man had gone full protective mode - literally adopting you, and by extension, your unborn child, completely.

And his possessiveness manifested in the most Felix way possible: constant texting. Constant.

Also, he changed your contact name to George. Why? Because no ones gonna get suspicious about a George he's talking to 24*7, right?

---

7:32 am

Felix: Good morning, sunshine! Have you eaten yet? If not, DO IT NOW. Don’t argue with me.

Felix: I will come over if you don't obey me, George!

You: Felix, it’s 7 in the morning. I just woke up. Also, who's George?

Felix: You’re George. That’s your name now. It’s safer this way.

Felix: And don’t dodge the question: HAVE YOU EATEN???

You: I literally just rolled out of bed, Felix. Give me a second to breathe.

Felix: No time to breathe, go FEED THE BABY.

You: This baby isn’t even hungry yet. Can you chill?

Felix: Fine. But just so you know, I won't hesitate from force-feeding you myself.

---

12:45 PM

Felix: Hey, did you go to your appointment today?

You: Yes, I went.

Felix: Pics or it didn’t happen.

You: I’m not sending you pictures of me at the doctor’s office, Lix

Felix: Why not? What if I need to fight the doctor? I need evidence.

You: Why would you need to fight my doctor?

Felix: I dunno, what if they're bad at their job? I’m not taking chances, George.

You: Please stop calling me George.

Felix: It's your name.

---

7:48 PM

Felix: Are you home? Did you eat dinner? Did you lock your doors?

You: Oh my God, Felix, can you give me a second to exist without you breathing down my neck?

Felix: No. I’m invested now.

You: Why are you like this?

Felix: Because my best friend knocked you up and then left you, and now I feel morally obligated to act like your baby daddy by proxy.

You: Please don’t say that again. Ever.

Felix: Too late. Also, how’s George Jr.?

You: Felix, we are NOT naming this baby George Jr.

Felix: Why not? It’s a great name.

You: I’m blocking you.

Felix: No, you’re not.

---

Hyunjin on the other hand was completely unaware of everything that was happening around him. He was completely shut off, pouring his entire self into practice and his work outs.

He missed you. He missed you so damn much. He would randomly take a walk in the building, hoping he'd get a glimpse of you. But seriously, you were nowhere to be seen.

Hyunjin was on his way to the practice room after a particularly unsuccessful attempt to run into you, when he heard the voices. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but the venom in their tone caught his attention.

It took him a minute to figure out that they were actually talking about you, and he couldn't help but feel that rage bubbling up inside him.

“She’s gained so much weight lately,” one of the girls snickered. “I mean, have you seen her?”

The other girl laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t know what happened to her. She used to be so put together, but now? She’s just… bloated and tired all the time.”

Hyunjin’s jaw clenched so hard it felt like his teeth might crack. How dare they?! He felt the overwhelming urge to whirl around and to let his emotions loose, to say something.

But of course Hyunjin couldn’t do that. Not really. He was an idol - a carefully constructed image, a brand - and he's already sacrificed way too much for the sake of it. He couldn’t afford to screw it all up now.

So instead, he swallowed his rage, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and started walking again. And then, as if it was a cruel joke, he saw you.

You were walking down the hallway, dressed in a dark-colored sweater, your hair tied back, wisps escaping to frame your face. You looked tired, yes. But, as always, to him, you looked absolutely beautiful.

But Hyunjin couldn't help but see that something was different. His eyes lingered a little too long on the soft curve of your body. Your face seemed rounder, your stride slightly slower, more careful.

His heart ached as he watched you pause at the corner, adjusting your bag before disappearing around the corner. He missed you so much it physically hurt. Shaking his head, Hyunjin turned and walked away, trying so hard to hold it all together.

He couldn’t keep doing this to himself. He had to move on.

If only he knew that a mini Hyunjin was quite literally baking inside you, tucked away and growing strong under that sweater. If only he knew.

3:40 pm

Felix: How's the nausea?

You: I can't understand why it's called morning sickness if it's gonna last all day and trying to murder me

Felix: Don’t worry, George, I’m gonna make you the perfect meal. Zero vomit potential.

You: Omg

---

Meanwhile in Felix’s kitchen:

Felix was in deep. The counter was a disaster of herbs and half-cut veggies, and a pan bubbled ominously on the stove. His laptop sat precariously on the edge of the counter, streaming a cooking tutorial that Felix was utterly failing to keep up with.

“Chop the ginger finely,” the video said.

Felix frowned down at the mangled, uneven chunks of ginger on his cutting board.

“This is fine, right?” he mumbled to himself, throwing them into a pan.

“No, it’s not fine,” a voice said behind him, calm but dripping with judgment.

Felix jumped, yelping as he nearly knocked the pan off the stove. He whirled around to see Minho leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed and a single eyebrow raised.

“Hyung!” Felix squeaked, his voice an octave too high. “What are you doing here?”

“We're having dinner together. Forgot I see ?” Minho asked flatly, his sharp eyes sweeping over the culinary battlefield. He nodded at the laptop screen.

“What’s this? I thought we were ordering?”

Felix scrambled to close the YouTube video but fumbled, sending a spatula clattering to the floor.

“No! I just…uh…thought this recipe looked… yummy?”

Minho’s other eyebrow shot up as he read, “Ginger and lemon soup for nausea relief? That’s not exactly your usual vibe, Lix.”

Felix froze, his brain scrambling for an excuse. “I…uh…”

Minho tilted his head, his gaze locked on Felix. He gestured toward the mess. “Who’s it for?”

“No one!” Felix blurted out too quickly.

Minho smirked - like a cat cornering a mouse. He strolled into the kitchen, plucked up the laptop, and read the YouTube title aloud: “Pregnancy-Friendly Meals, huh?”

Felix groaned internally. He was so dead. Minho set the laptop down and turned to Felix, his face unreadable.

“You’re cooking for Y/N, aren’t you?”

“How…what…why would you -” Felix blinked at him, jaw dropping.

“I saw her going into a maternity hospital last week...and now this? It’s really sweet of you,” Minho said, his tone soft and kind, as he started clearing the counter. “She’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

Felix stared at him, absolutely flabbergasted. How did Minho know? He stayed silent, unsure if confirming or denying would make things worse.

“Relax, I’m not going to say anything. But…” His sharp eyes flicked to the pan on the stove, then back to Felix, a smirk forming on his face. “You’re doing a terrible job. Move.”

Before Felix could protest, Minho rolled up his sleeves and took over. Within minutes, the chaos Felix had created was transformed into a very professionally prepared meal.

Felix hovered awkwardly, torn between relief and panic. “You…you won’t tell anyone, right?”

Minho snorted. “Of course not. And if you’re serious about helping her, then I'll stand right by you.”

He packed up everything in containers and handed it to Felix with a raised eyebrow.

“Now go. She needs to eat.”

---

Felix was at yours in record time, and when he set the food down on the coffee table, you looked up from the couch, sighing softly.

“Did you burn the kitchen down?”

“Nope,” Felix said quickly. “Minho saved me.”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. “What? Minho? He knows?”

Felix flopped onto the couch beside you, looking absolutely defeated.

“Yeah, apparently he’s known for a while. He saw you going into the maternity hospital one day.”

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “Oh my God.”

“He promised not to say anything!” Felix said defensively, holding his hands up. “And he even helped cook this. So, technically, you can’t kill me.”

You glared at him but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Thanks for being here, Lix.”

Felix grinned, nudging the plate toward you. “Eat, George. Minho will haunt me if you don’t.”

You rolled your eyes but dug in, and for the first time in days, the food didn’t immediately send you running for the bathroom.

---

The next morning, you woke up to the doorbell, in the early hours. It was still dark outside, as you stumbled out of your bedroom, still half-asleep, and a scowl firmly planted on your face.

“Took you long enough,” Minho mumbled as he walked into your apartment, going straight for the kitchen.

You were trying to understand if you were hallucinating or if Minho was actually in your kitchen.

“Minho, what are you doing here?” You asked, trying to tame your hair.

“Sit,” he commanded without looking up, focused on flipping something in the pan.

You frowned but obeyed, collapsing into a chair at the table. “It’s not even sunrise.”

“Just making sure you eat,” he said simply. “Lix said you're struggling,”

“You're here to cook for me?”

“Yes?”

Before you could respond, the door swung open, and Felix stepped inside, carrying what looked like a bag of groceries. He stopped short, staring at Minho with the same confusion you felt.

“What is he doing here?”

“I could ask the same about you,” Minho shot back without missing a beat, sprinkling a pinch of salt over whatever masterpiece he was working on.

Felix stormed into the kitchen, setting his bag down with an unnecessary thud. “What are you doing, hyung? And what are you even making? George doesn’t even like eggs that much!”

Minho scoffed. “It’s not for you, so why does it matter?”

“It matters because I’m supposed to be taking care of her!” Felix snapped, crossing his arms like an angry puppy.

“Clearly, you weren’t doing a great job,” Minho retorted. “I saw the mess you called cooking yesterday.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands. “Not this.”

---

Over the next few days, it became a full-on battle between Minho and Felix. It started with each trying to one-up the other in ways that were more amusing than helpful.

One morning, Felix insisted on making pancakes, painstakingly arranging blueberries into a smiley face on each one. “See, George? They’re cute and delicious!”

Minho, unimpressed, countered by making a three-course breakfast complete with fresh juice and perfectly folded napkins. “Pregnant women need nutrients, not art projects,” he said smugly.

Felix glared at him like he wanted to fight. “Pregnant women also need to smile, and my pancakes are adorable.”

But for all their ridiculousness, their constant presence was a comfort. They kept you distracted from the gaping hole in your chest where Hyunjin’s absence had settled. But no amount of blueberry pancakes or perfectly cooked meals could fill that void.

Felix had barged into your apartment one evening with a box of cookies that he'd baked.

“George! I baked you something!”

Minho, already in the kitchen chopping vegetables, glanced over his shoulder with a look that screamed, not this again.

“What are those?” Minho asked, gesturing to Felix's box with his knife.

“Cookies,” Felix said proudly, setting them on the table in front of you. “Pregnancy-safe, gluten-free, sugar-free, full of love.”

“Full of what?” Minho deadpanned, clearly unimpressed.

“Love!” Felix shot back, hands on his hips. “Something you wouldn’t understand, obviously.”

“Love isn’t a substitute for nutrition, Yongbok. Try again.” Minho snorted.

“Oh, here we go,” you muttered, already bracing for the impending argument as you sat at the table, nibbling cautiously on a cookie.

“You’re just jealous because George Jr. is my baby,” Felix said, crossing his arms and glaring at Minho like he’d just won the argument of the century.

Minho paused mid-chop, turned slowly to face Felix.

“George Jr.?” he asked flatly. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

“What’s wrong with George Jr.?” Felix said defensively. “It’s a strong name! Unique even!”

Minho scoffed. “Unique isn’t always a good thing, Felix. You might as well call the baby Lemon or Carrot.”

“Wow, okay,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

“And besides,” Minho continued, turning back to the stove like the conversation was settled, “I do the majority of the cooking, Y/N is thriving on it, so I'm the rightful Appa.”

Felix gasped like Minho had just slapped him.

“Excuse me? Cooking doesn’t make you the dad! I’m the one who gives her all the cuddles and emotional support!”

“You’re like a clingy golden retriever,” Minho shot back, not even turning around.

“Say that again, hyung, I dare -”

“Enough!” you shouted, cutting through their bickering. Both men froze, wide-eyed, and looked at you.

“I'm sure Hyunjin would probably like a say in this whole ‘who’s the dad’ debate.” you said, and the room fell silent.

And then Minho shrugged casually.

“I mean, sure, if we’re counting his five seconds of contribution to this whole thing.”

You and Felix both turned to stare at him, your mouths dropping open in identical expressions of disbelief. It took approximately two seconds before all three of you burst out laughing.

The laughter started light, then turned uncontrollable, your giggles mixing with Felix’s loud snorts and Minho’s chuckles. You laughed so hard your sides started to hurt, but then, without warning, the giggles morphed into something else.

The tears hit you before you could stop them. One moment you were laughing, and the next, you were crying, the overwhelming mix of emotions crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Felix’s smile faltered, and he rushed to your side, wrapping an arm around you.

“George, hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said softly, his usual sunshine dimmed by concern.

Minho was there a moment later, kneeling in front of you and gently resting a hand on your knee.

“Breathe, jagi,” he said quietly. “You’re okay. We’re here.”

You sniffled, trying to compose yourself, but the weight of everything - the pregnancy, the secret, missing Hyunjin - was too much.

“I miss him…a lot,” you managed between sobs.

“I know, I know…but we're here for you, George. You’re not alone in this, okay? We’ve got you.” Felix hugged you tighter, his voice steady but emotional.

Minho nodded as he said, “He’s right. You’re stuck with us now. You and George Jr.”

That earned a watery laugh from you, and you wiped at your eyes, looking between them.

“I don’t deserve you two.”

“Yes, you do,” Minho said firmly.

“Absolutely,” Felix added. “And so does George Jr.”

---

Hyunjin was losing his mind.

It wasn’t just the lingering ache of your absence or the fact that he hadn’t heard your voice in what felt like forever. But it was also Felix, his best friend, his other half, his partner-in-crime. Felix was suddenly a closed book. The guy who usually shared everything, from dumb cat videos to the tiniest gossip about their members, had turned into a human vault. A sketchy human vault.

Felix was constantly disappearing. After practice, during breaks, even in the middle of game nights. When Hyunjin asked, Felix always had some vague excuse.

“Oh, just running errands!”

“Helping out Minho-hyung with something.”

“Had to grab something for George!”

Who the hell was George?

Hyunjin squinted every time Felix made one of these excuses. Since when was his best friend suddenly so obsessed with running errands? And why was Minho always involved?

Hyunjin didn’t like it.

At first, he chalked it up to paranoia. Maybe he was overthinking. Obviously, losing you had him extra possessive and clingy. Maybe Felix and Minho were just…hanging out more? It wasn’t a crime. But then Hyunjin started noticing things.

Felix and Minho were inseparable. They’re always whispering about God-knows-what. They’d vanish together after schedules, not even bothering to invite Hyunjin to join.

So naturally, one evening, after a particularly grueling practice session, Hyunjin cornered Felix in the locker room.

“Lix,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall like he was interrogating a criminal. “Where have you been going all the time?”

And to his credit, Felix didn’t even flinch.

“Oh, nowhere. Just hanging out with Minho-hyung. You know how it is.”

“Since when do you and Minho-hyung have this…whatever-this-is?” Hyunjin narrowed his eyes.

Felix shrugged nonchalantly, pulling his hoodie over his head and saying, “We’ve just been vibing.”

“Vibing?” Hyunjin echoed, incredulous. “You disappear every day to vibe? And what’s with all the whispering during practice?”

Felix zipped up his hoodie and slung his bag over his shoulder.

“You’re being dramatic, Hyun. It’s nothing.”

Hyunjin stared at him, trying to gauge if Felix was lying. But Felix’s face was completely blank, a perfect poker face.

“What about Y/N?” Hyunjin asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “Have you…seen her?”

At that, Felix paused, just for a second, but it was enough for Hyunjin to notice.

“I'm sure she’s good, Hyun. Busy probably.” he managed, giving him a smile.

Hyunjin frowned, but before he could press further, Felix clapped him on the shoulder.

“Don’t overthink, mate. Get some rest, yeah?”

And just like that, Felix was gone, leaving Hyunjin standing in the empty locker room, more confused than ever.

---

The next day, Hyunjin had been lingering suspiciously around the studio after practice, pretending to stretch while trying (and failing) to overhear Felix and Minho’s latest hushed conversation.

Chris, so so used to all the bullshit his boys pulled on the regular, had noticed this constant whispering between Felix and Minho, and also Hyunjin’s not-so-subtle attempts to loiter. He clapped his hands loudly.

“Hyunjin, go home. You’re exhausted, mate.”

Hyunjin, startled, stammered something about finishing up but Chris gave him a hard enough glare that had him reluctantly packing up and storming off (throwing one last suspicious glance at Felix, who pretended to be engrossed in tying his shoelaces.)

Once Hyunjin was out the door, Chris turned to Felix and Minho, his arms crossed and his leader gaze set to high alert.

“Okay,” he said, his voice stern, “what’s going on with you two? You’ve been sneaking around like teenagers, and I have a bad feeling about it. Spill.”

Felix and Minho exchanged a glance, before Minho shook his head.

“Nothing’s going on, hyung,” Minho said coolly, leaning against the wall like he wasn’t sweating internally.

Felix, on the other hand, immediately started babbling.

“Oh, you know, just chilling and cooking and - did you know George is a big fan of pumpkin soup? I’ve been learning how to make it. Minho hyung’s been helping…he’s such a perfectionist in the kitchen, but that’s beside the point -”

But the moment ‘George’ left his mouth, Minho sighed.

“Who the hell is George?” Chris interrupted, his sharp eyes narrowing.

Minho sighed, muttering, “Great work, Yongbok.”

Felix blinked rapidly, his face heating up. He could do anything, literally anything in the world. But that anything didn't include lying to Chris.

“Oh, uh, George is just…you know…a friend!”

“A friend? You’ve been disappearing every day, and sneaking around because of a friend?”

Felix opened his mouth, probably to launch into another nonsensical explanation, but Minho cut him off.

“George is Y/N,” he said flatly, like he was tired of the charade.

Chris froze.

“What do you mean George is Y/N?” he asked, his voice rising slightly. “What the hell is going on?”

Felix started flailing, his words tripping over each other.

“It’s not like we didn’t want to tell you, hyung, but it’s complicated, and she’s been going through a lot, and she needs all the help and support with George Jr. -”

“George Jr.?!” Chris exclaimed, his voice now echoing off the walls.

Minho, as calm as ever, pointed at Felix. “You’re making it worse.”

Chris threw his hands in the air as he said, “What is George Jr.?!”

“You mean who is George Jr.? It’s the baby. She’s pregnant.” Minho sighed, rubbing his temples.

The room went silent. Chris blinked several times, his expression cycling through shock, confusion, and then something that could only be described as 'Dad Rage'.

“She’s pregnant?! SHE’S PREGNANT, AND YOU TWO KEPT THIS FROM ME?!”

Felix, now thoroughly panicking, looked at Minho like he was begging for help. Minho just shrugged.

Chris glared at both of them. “You’re taking me to her. Right now.”

---

Ten minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You waddled over and opened it to find Chris standing there, his arms crossed and his eyes full of emotion.

Before you could say a word, he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug.

“Y/N,” he said firmly, his voice laced with both worry and frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Behind him, Felix stood pouting like a scolded child and Minho looked like he regretted everything.

“Chris,” you gasped, trying to pull back from his hug. “I can’t breathe!”

He released you but kept his hands on your shoulders, scanning your face like a concerned dad. “You should’ve told me. We’re family, Y/N. You thought of doing this alone? Does he know? Oh my god, he doesn't know, does he?!”

From behind him, Felix muttered, “She’s not alone. I’ve been taking care of her.”

Chris whipped around to face him.

“Oh, you’ve been taking care of her, have you?!”

Felix folded his arms, his pout deepening.

“George Jr. is mine. None of you fake dads are gonna ever-”

Minho, who’d been quiet up until now, rolled his eyes and interrupted him.

“Please. You think you’re the dad just because you baked her cookies? Please.”

Felix turned to him, affronted. “You’ve been helping me! And my baby!”

“Oh, for the love of -” Chris groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, before glancing at you. “We're gonna get through this.”

You smiled at them, nodding. But deep inside, guilt gnawed at you. Everyone except Hyunjin seemed to be catching up.

You'd started working from home more and more since you started your sixth month. You came over to the company only when you had something important to do.

This afternoon was supposed to be uneventful. You had planned to drop by the company, grab a few files, and leave quickly. But apparently, fate had other plans.

You were leaving one of the offices when you heard it.

“Y/N?”

The voice was soft, almost hesitant. You froze in place, gripping the files tightly against your chest. Slowly, you turned to see Hyunjin standing a few feet away, his eyes wide as saucers, his gaze locked on you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His gaze flickered down to your stomach - the not-so-subtle curve of your six-month baby bump that your sweater absolutely failed to conceal under closer scrutiny.

Hyunjin’s face drained of all color.

“What…Y/N…are you…?” he stammered, his voice breaking.

You panicked, taking a step back. “Hyunjin, I -”

But he was already closing the distance between you, his voice rising into a frantic whisper.

“Are you pregnant?!”

You winced, glancing around nervously, but the hallway was thankfully empty. Still, Hyunjin’s voice, even when hushed, completely floored you.

“Hyunjin, let’s not -”

“Are you pregnant?!” he repeated, his voice breaking. His hand gestured toward your stomach, and he looked so utterly wrecked that you couldn’t bring yourself to lie.

So you nodded.

His reaction was immediate. Hyunjin stumbled backward, his eyes welling up with tears, his hands clutching his head as if trying to keep himself from falling apart.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Oh my God. Oh my God, it’s mine, isn’t it?”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening at the sight of him falling apart. “Hyunjin -”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was louder now, no longer a whisper. “That’s my baby! Our baby! And you didn’t tell me?”

“Hyunjin, please,” you begged, trying to calm him, but he was a storm you couldn’t contain.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded again, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I would’ve left everything for you! Don’t you know that? I would’ve -”

You shook your head fiercely, your own tears spilling over now.

“Hyunjin, I couldn't -”

“I don’t care!” he shouted, his voice cracking painfully. “None of it means anything if I don’t have you!”

Before either of you could say more, Chris appeared, obviously having heard the chaos from the other end of the hallway.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded, his eyes flickering between you and the sobbing mess that was Hyunjin.

“Hyung,” Hyunjin sobbed, clutching Chris’s arm as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. “She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant, and she didn’t tell me. That’s my baby.” His voice broke again, and he leaned heavily into Chris, tears falling freely.

Chris’s expression softened instantly, and he glanced at you as you stood rooted to your spot, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Hyunjin, calm down. Let’s talk about this somewhere else, okay?” He tried to guide Hyunjin back toward the practice room, but Hyunjin was not taking orders from anyone at this point.

“No,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m not going anywhere until she tells me why she didn’t tell me.”

You stepped closer, your heart breaking as you cupped his tear-streaked cheeks with trembling hands. His skin was warm beneath your touch, his eyes red and raw as they searched yours for answers.

“Because,” you whispered, your voice cracking, “I love you. I love you too much to let you give up your dreams for me.”

Hyunjin’s tears fell harder.

“You think I’d regret it?” he choked out. “You think I’d ever regret choosing you? Choosing our baby?”

You shook your head through your tears.

“I couldn’t let you make that choice, Hyun. Not when I knew how much this means to you.”

Before he could respond, Felix and Minho arrived, their worried faces appearing at the end of the hallway. Felix took one look at the scene and immediately rushed to Hyunjin’s side, wrapping an arm around him.

“Hyunjin,” Felix said softly, his own voice shaking. “Come on, breathe.”

Minho, meanwhile, approached you, his arm going around your shoulder, and then glancing at Hyunjin.

“You’re not going to solve anything by falling apart here,” he said calmly. “Pull yourself together.”

But Hyunjin was inconsolable, his sobs growing louder.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know. She’s been going through this alone, and I didn’t know. What kind of person does that make me?”

You stepped closer, your voice firm as you said, “Hyunjin, stop. You’re not a bad person. This isn’t your fault. If anything, it's mine. For keeping this from you.”

“I want to be there. Oh my God, I love you! Don’t shut me out again,” he whispered brokenly. “Please.”

You nodded, squeezing his hand. “I won’t.”

As Chris and Felix finally led Hyunjin away, Minho stayed behind, pulling you into a hug.

“Well,” he said dryly, “that could’ve gone worse.”

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping your tears. “Could it?”

Minho sshrugged

“At least he knows now. He’ll come around. And when he does…” He smirked faintly. “You’re going to have a hell of a time keeping him out of your hair.”

You sighed, your heart heavy but hopeful. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The company meeting was the stuff of legends. Chris had marched in like the leader of a revolution, Hyunjin trailing behind with fire in his eyes. By the end of it, the higher-ups had no choice but to relent. Hyunjin wasn’t going anywhere. Neither were you. And most importantly, Hyunjin was going to make damn sure his family - you and George Jr. were going to be happy, and with him always.

Now that he was officially back, Hyunjin wasted no time slipping into full-time ‘husband’ mode. His mission? Make up for every second he’d missed. And maybe, just maybe, remind Minho and Felix that while they had been excellent stand-ins, it was time to hand over the reins to the rightful husband.

But, of course, Felix and Minho had no intention of stepping aside without a fight.

---

You and Hyunjin were finally having some well-deserved downtime - he had you nestled against his chest on the couch, his hand resting protectively on your bump. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt calm. Peaceful.

And then Felix appeared.

“Move,” Felix announced dramatically, striding into the room and pointing at Hyunjin like he was accusing him of a crime.

“What?” Hyunjin asked, frowning.

“I said move,” Felix repeated, already wedging himself between the two of you (particularly experienced with this as he'd done it a hundred times before).

You couldn’t help but laugh as Felix threw an arm around you and placed his head on your shoulder.

“Just so you know, Mr. Biological Father,” Felix began, glaring pointedly at Hyunjin, “George Jr. is mine. We share an emotional bond that transcends DNA, okay? And, George? She's mine too. You being back changes nothing.”

Hyunjin’s jaw dropped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“What are you even talking about?! Why are you still calling her that?!”

Felix huffed dramatically, clutching you tighter.

“Because she’s my George! And I will not stand for you disrupting the sacred trust we’ve built. Now go be useful and bring George her smoothie.”

Hyunjin looked at you, utterly baffled. “You’re seriously letting him call you George?”

“It’s a thing now. I’ve stopped fighting it.” You shrugged, trying to stifle your giggles.

Felix gave Hyunjin a smug grin.

“See? She’s accepted her destiny. Now go.”

Before Hyunjin could fire back, Minho’s voice floated in from the kitchen.

“Yongbok-ah, I’m the one making the smoothie. I know how to serve the smoothie I made. Hyunjin, if you’re so desperate to help, why don’t you go fold the laundry or something?”

Hyunjin groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“Why am I suddenly the errand boy in my own house?”

Minho appeared in the doorway, smoothie in hand, his expression deadpan.

“Maybe because we’ve been doing all the heavy lifting for months while you were busy, I don’t know, not knowing she was pregnant.” he said, and Hyunjin flinched, clutching his chest like Minho had shot him.

“Okay, low blow.”

“I call it the truth.” Minho smirked.

“Minho hyung and I have carried this team for far too long. You’re going to have to earn your place here, buddy.” Felix said with a grin.

Hyunjin threw his hands up in exasperation and said, “She’s literally my girlfriend! How do I have to earn anything?!”

“George belongs to us, Hyunjin. Now go fold the laundry.” Felix said, waving Hyunjin away.

You burst out laughing, clutching your belly as Hyunjin huffed in annoyance before stomping off. He came back with a basket full of freshly washed and dried clothes, and started folding.

“I’ll fold every piece of laundry in Korea if it means overthrowing these two clowns.”

“You guys are all insane, you know that?” you said, shaking your head.

“We prefer devoted.” Felix grinned.

“Dedicated. Loyal.” Minho nodded.

“Whatever they are, I’ll beat them at it. Just watch.” Hyunjin rolled his eyes but threw you a wink.

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127

#skz #stray kids #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin angst #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin x you #hyunjin scenarios

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celestiamour · 7 months ago

Text

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ me & my husband ]❜

ft. moon ki-yong (the salesman) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ you don’t need your husband to be perfect, you just want him to be honest┊3.3k words; part two (here)

contains: written before s2 came out!! probably ooc or inaccurate, angst with spots of fluff & a bittersweet ending? reader’s pov mostly, suspicions of cheating, lack of communication, mentioned age gap, random inaccurate lore for the salesman

➤ author's note: yeah, i saw the sudden uptick in notes on that gong yoo post i made and realized season 2 came out which i completely forgot about. i intend to watch it soon as possible and write fics for it as well as (probably) add new characters to my writing list, but for now, please be content with this!!

₊˚ʚ 💌₊˚✧ this fic was heavily inspired by “emotionally intoxicated” by aurasaurora!

moon ki-yong is the poster image for the ideal husband. he’s always been like that from the moment you met him, and you can’t help but feel like you’re the luckiest woman in the world when he calls himself yours. he’s tall and handsome, someone who catches everyone’s eye despite his only being focused on you. he’s wealthy and hard-working, able to call a luxurious mansion your home, and willing to buy you anything your heart desires as long as you ask for it. he spoils you rotten with that money, gifting you expensive things even if you didn’t ask if it reminded him of you. he’s doting, always sure to smother you in affection with kisses and cuddles whenever together to make it known how much he adores you. the sex is great too, he makes you feel wanted and desirable without ever leaving you unsatisfied.

most importantly though, you love him, and he loves you. the last two years of marriage have been so blissful, and there isn’t a single thing you would change.

at least that’s what you believe most of the time.

you like to think you know a lot about him, and in a way, you do. you know his favorite color, how he likes his coffee, what he usually orders at restaurants, the type of wine he prefers over beer, the exaggerated shocked fasces he likes to make, how his favorite chore is folding the laundry, how his least favorite is doing the dishes because he doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, the name of his childhood pet, what positions he likes to cuddle or fuck in, the names he’s thinking of giving to your child when they are finally born— there are so many little details you know about him, yet at times you feel like you don't know anything at all.

you don’t really know much about his childhood aside from a few random stories, he claims there’s nothing really notable and that it was as standard as can be. you don’t know who his parents were or what they were like because he said they died when he was young, but surely that’s an important loss which must have impacted him and made youth difficult in some way? you don’t know about his past partners if he even had any, but you doubt you were his first as he was yours with a face like his. you don’t know any of his secrets, like an embarrassing moment or something sinful he might have committed in the past.

he knew all of these things about you and the little details of your life, so why don’t you know any of the most basic things regarding your own husband?

these periods of uncertainty are few and far, but once the icy tendrils of doubt creep in, it’s difficult to shake them off when you realize you only know these things through observations and not him actually telling you. it’s a miracle your stupidity allowed you to make it this far in falling head over heels for him, getting married, and carrying his child (not that you completely regret it, you still love him, but you wish you had given it more time).

they say there are no such things as stupid questions, yet the main question you have is exactly that as it’s something every wife should know even before the marriage. it would be impressive how long you’ve been clueless about this matter if it weren’t for how often and how skilled he is in managing to evade your curiosity and steer the conversation elsewhere. you didn’t want to press on it since he seems to shut it down every time the topic is brought up and you don’t want to fight over something you technically didn’t need to know, but it weighs on you and presses into your chest with the knowledge you were being kept in the dark.

what did your husband do for a living, exactly?

his schedule is always unpredictably changing with little rhyme or reason and it confuses you. sometimes you’ll go an entire few days without seeing him, sensing him wake up in the morning before the sun is even up, feeling him kiss you on the cheek before getting ready, and not coming back until long after you fall asleep with no communication aside from a note on the table telling you he’ll be gone for the day along with a wad of cash for you to treat yourself while he’s gone. other times he’ll be chilling at home for an entire week, waking you up with aggressive cuddles (or morning sex), making you breakfast with the morning news on in the background, and taking you out to wherever you want to go on his card in his rare casual clothing and messy wavy hair rather than the typical fancy suits and hair styled with gel.

as far as you’re concerned, he’s a businessman of sorts, although you don’t know what company he works for or what position he has in terms of hierarchy or how an occupation of that type allows such flexibility in hours or anything at all.

“what if he’s having an affair?”

you paused for a second before continuing the motion of slicing the cheesecake with a fork and savoring the taste in your mouth. “that’s ridiculous,” you stated simply after swallowing. “he loves me very much, and it doesn’t explain his weird schedule either.”

today was spent with some friends you met back in high school, but honestly, you were only attending out of politeness and tradition since you honestly feel like you’ve disconnected from these girls long before the current. still, you treasure the memories shared in your more formative years and wouldn’t ever say no to them if they wanted to hang out like old times. ki-yong doesn’t bother to hide his distaste for them, calling them a miserable lot who try to drag you down at every opportunity out of jealousy for your happiness. you laugh it off, but you know deep down he’s right and yet you’re still sitting here at the cafe with them with bright smiles like their words don’t cut deep.

“maybe he’s dating the boss— a sexy office siren type— she gives him plenty of days off and he stays with her at her beach house at jeju island or something to keep her company, and then she gives him lots of money in exchange.”

“oh my god, could you imagine?”

“can you be realistic? it sounds like you’re just writing a plot for a new drama,” you giggled, not allowing the feeling of a twisting blade in your abdomen to show on your face or the venom to drip from your words at the mere thought of the man you loved being stolen away a faceless woman who was everything you wished you were more of: more beautiful, more wealthy, more experienced, more intelligent—

“you don’t know because he’s your first love or whatever— and you’re so lucky to have been able to marry him— but men are dogs, and i don’t see why he would be the exception.”

“but he treats me so well—”

“maybe he only treats you well because you’re pregnant— he probably just feels guilty. i mean, when i was pregnant and had my first, my husband wasn’t attracted to me anymore and demanded a divorce unless i lost the baby weight.” she shrugged like it was so simple, so common, like the notion of marriage wasn’t something so deeply important and could be thrown away so easily.

“we aren’t suggesting you get a divorce, but we’re just saying you should keep an eye on him— you know? a handsome guy like him was always bound to get a lot of attention…” her laugh was shrill and high-pitched, making goosebumps erupt on your skin.

“right… thanks guys…”

that night, you couldn’t stop twisting and turning on the large sectional couch with thoughts rushing through your head of your husband with some other woman. the jealousy from these fictional scenarios without evidence of existence plagued you. it made you want to vomit up the negative feelings and go back to the person you were a few hours ago without the images of him cheating planted in your mind, which didn’t go unnoticed by him and caused him to ask what was bothering you as it wouldn't be good for the baby.

you hesitated for a moment, “could you tell me about your exes?”

“why are you suddenly curious about that?” he chuckled, knowing damn well that it was because of those stupid snakes masquerading as people (it truly takes one to know one) running their mouths again, but still feigning obliviousness for your sake.

“just wondering,” you muttered. “i mean, you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, but you’re a bit older than me so…”

“and i hope to be the only one too,” he smirked confidently, making you laugh as he plopped down on the ground and rested his head on the cushion next to yours.

it was such a casual setting in such a vast space, bringing you back to the days in your little apartment inviting him over for chicken and beer before you knew about your immense wealth and got embarrassed over your cheap dates when he was so used to expensive restaurants. he found it very endearing though, knowing you liked him for him and not his money.

“well, if you’re so curious…” he trailed off, but you weren’t quite sure if it was because of hesitation or because he simply didn’t know where to start. you can’t remember the last time a conversation like this was held to learn more about him since it was usually about you, maybe back when you first started dating and briefly discussed his late parents.

he started with his crush when he was in middle school since that was his earliest recollection of feeling love, who didn’t really count as a girlfriend or love because nothing was established and because of their age, but she was his first kiss that he ran away from right after because of how nervous he was, and it was never addressed again. apparently it was his second girlfriend who taught him everything he knew before he met you, saying she basically “trained him like a dog” to create a gentleman out of an inexperienced boy who still wasn’t quite sure how to treat a woman like a queen. she was a bit mean though, and he didn’t realize he dodged a bullet until later after realizing she was unnecessarily cruel to him for no reason multiple times if he didn’t do things exactly her way.

you suppose you always knew your husband wasn’t always the suave charmer you know him to be, but the image of younger him being clueless on matters of romance made you burst out laughing because of how you could hardly picture it.

he reached over to pinch your cheek affectionately, “are you of all people really making fun of me when you were too scared to hold my hand for me to escort you out of my car?”

“oh my god, that was on our first date, i can’t be blamed! i was shaking like crazy on that day— you had to tell me that you didn’t bite.”

“i was actually thinking about calling off our date last minute because of an emergency at work,” he confessed, “but i’m glad i didn’t and met the love of my life instead.”

“aw, you flirt.” the memory made you smile and feel all giggly inside, all the fears you had about him possibly having an affair falling away, yet there were still some lingering at the back of your mind with the mention of his job. “what happened at work?”

“nothing that important,” he said instantly like clockwork. “just some boring business things.”

you didn’t push it, not wanting to ruin the mood, but once again, your curiosity was just itching to ask more questions about his work life even if it was truly as boring as he says. you wanted to know every mundane detail whether it was what his office looked like or what the annoying co-worker did on a daily basis, anything to satiate your need to know more about this mysterious man you had made life-long vows with.

it all came to a head one night while you were cooking dinner, you heard the doorbell ring a dozen times in quick succession and answered it to find an older man with fiery red hair that seemed to match his temper. when he addressed your husband by name and verified your relationship with him, he began spewing all kinds of insults about the blood he had on his hands by luring innocent people to their deaths and you felt your heart drop. you tried to reason with him that there must have been some sort of mistake, barely able to get your words out in a fit of confusion and surprise at the absurd accusation, but he wouldn’t hear you out and pointed a finger in your face, asking if you had any idea what moon ki-yong was doing behind your back.

at that very moment, he was suddenly seized by two anonymous men in all black, causing him to yell out in panic as they dragged him away and stuffed him in the back of a car before quickly driving off into the night without a trace. it all happened so fast, you just stood there with your mouth open in shock, wondering if you should call the police on what looked like an abduction.

then your husband comes running up the steps with his locked briefcase in hand, shouting out your name, asking you if you’re okay, pulling you back inside the comfort of your shared home, and checking you all over to make sure you aren’t harmed in any way. when you ask about who that man was and what he was talking about, he simply told you he was some crazy customer who was dissatisfied with the company, was looking for someone to blame, and promised to tell you the details later.

you didn’t tell him that you didn’t believe him, just pursed your lips and furrowed your brow for a second then let go of the topic like you always do, taking his coat off his shoulders with a peck on the lips asking how his day was. he reciprocated the kiss, said it was fine without anything special, and that he would shower before having dinner, something he didn’t really need to say since you already knew but stated anyway as per evening routine.

as he headed up the stairs and disappeared from sight, you stared at the locked briefcase resting crookedly on the little entryway table and paused for a moment. if you did this, it would be a breach of privacy and a sign of growing distrust in your husband, but it could also answer all of the questions that never cease.

your hands wouldn’t stop shaking involuntarily as you felt the cold black metal underneath your fingertips, marveling at the smooth material clean of any scratches or dents. fidgeting with the built-in combination lock, six number sequences started rushing through your mind as you started to hastily run through your options with a focus on dates. you were determined to only do this three times since you had no idea if an alarm would be set off or if it would close off permanently.

his birthday?

an electronic beep went off indicating you were incorrect, making you nervous.

your birthday?

wrong again, you only had one attempt left. you swallowed, shaking the accumulating sweat off your hands.

the date of your wedding?

you gasped as the locks suddenly flipped open and lightly knocked against the briefcase. it was undone, you could open it at any moment now and see it all.

and yet you still hesitated during this golden opportunity. was it the fact that the passcode to his most secret possession was the day you got married? was it guilt for going behind your husband’s back for answers instead of directly asking him? was it because you were afraid of what you would find if you discovered the red-haired man was telling the truth?

whatever it was, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and locked it again, leaving it looking untouched and went back to playing dinner.

there was a heavy tension present at the dinner table that night, the only conversation present being him interrogating you about what the red-haired man talked about word-for-word. not really interrogating since his tone of voice was still calm and gentle as he asked questions, but you could see him fidgeting with his fork and not leaving much room for any other topic until he was sure you told him everything. he then sighed and claimed the man was insane, a gambling addict who was too deep in debt to afford treatment and was trying to drag him into his misery after meeting at the subway station.

“ki-yong?”

he froze for a second, not used to hearing you use his real name rather than a pet name. “yes?”

“what do you do for a living, exactly?”

a pause, you watched him fidget with his chopsticks and shift the grains of rice around. “you know, business stuff— nothing you need to concern yourself about—“

“but i don’t know! that’s the thing!” you felt tears starting to well up behind your eyes, letting two years of frustration trickle through. “i know it doesn’t seem that important for me to know, but is it really so important that you leave me in the dark about it for the three years we’ve been lovers? and now some guy comes to our doorstep and tells me about how your job is playing games with people at the subway station to make them participate in death games?!” you took a deep breath, calming yourself down, “please, be honest with me, that’s all i want…”

“i-i…” that was the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter, and if the situation wasn’t so tense, you would be proud you finally got one-up on him. “i can’t say… it’s for your own safety and mine.”

“so he was right?”

he remained silent, trying to think of some way to counter what seong gi-hun had told you, but if you didn’t believe the elaborate lie he already told you and wanted to learn more, then he knew this was the end of the road.

“i-i need some time to think…” you looked defeated and it broke his heart. “i’m going to my mom’s house tonight, i’ll be back tomorrow—“ you got up, not bothering to pack anything aside from your phone and your wallet.

he had prepared for you to start screaming and crying (not that he would blame you, i mean, who would willingly stay with a man who was complicit in mass murder), demanding a divorce and packing your things to shut the door for him never to be seen again with your unborn child. the strangely calm reaction was both a relief and extremely unsettling to him.

“i won’t be mad if you decide not to come back” he stated plainly, defeated in a state you’ve never seen him in before. “whatever choice you make, i’ll support you, just know i love you— more than anything else in this world.”

you stared at him blankly through the open doorway. perhaps your husband isn’t the perfect man you believed him to be, but he was as honest as he possibly could have been with you regarding the matter, and that’s enough.

“i love you too, i’ll be back in the morning.” that’s how you feel at the moment, but you don’t know if you’ll feel the same way tomorrow morning when it sinks in.

#📜. her works #the salesman #the salesman x reader #gong yoo #gong yoo x reader #squid game #squid game x reader #moon ki yong #moon ki yong x reader

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missdynamighttt · 5 months ago

Text

if husband! katsuki had a dream that you served him divorce papers, he would be SO mad at you.

katsuki woke up with a start, his chest heaving as the remnants of the vivid dream clung to his mind. in the dream, you had stood in front of him, utterly calm, as you handed him his worst nightmare: divorce papers.

“it's not you, its me,” you said, your expression indifferent as if breaking his heart meant nothing. "i'm just bored, katsuki."

it wasn’t real, he knew that. but the image of you walking away from him felt too real, too painful. the words echoed in his head as he sat on the edge of the bed, his fists clenched. bored? how could you say that after everything you've been through? even though it was just a dream, it shook him to near death.

and when katsuki saw you later that morning, smiling and greeting him like usual, he couldn’t help but scowl. normally, the sight would calm him, but instead, a strange sense of betrayal bubbled up inside him. how could dream-you say something like that? and why couldn’t he shake the feeling?

“morning, katsuki,” you said cheerfully, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

he turned his head slightly, causing your lips to brush his jaw instead. you blinked, confused. “uh… everything okay?”

“fine,” he muttered, getting up and leaving you all alone in the bed.

all day, katsuki avoided your texts, kept his responses curt, and barely looked your way when you crossed paths at home. you quickly realized something was off but couldn’t figure out what. by evening, you had enough.

"okay, whats your problem? you've been sulking all day,” you said firmly, standing in front of him while he sat on the couch. “you’ve been acting like i killed your damn dog. what did i do?”

katsuki glared at you, his emotions finally bubbling over. “you left me! that’s what you did!”

you stared at him, completely baffled. “what are you talking about? i didn’t leave you. i’ve been here all day!”

katsuki exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “fine. i had this stupid dream, alright? you—” he hesitated, the words catching in his throat. “you divorced me. you said you were bored and just... left me.”

for a moment, there was silence as you processed what he was saying. then, to katsuki’s annoyance, you started laughing.

“you’re mad at me... because of a dream?” you asked, your laughter bubbling out uncontrollably.

“it felt real!” he barked, his cheeks flushing slightly. “you don’t get to laugh! this isn't fuckin' funny! do you know how shitty that felt?!”

“i’m sorry!” you gasped between giggles, clutching your stomach. “it’s just… do you really think i’d ever do that?”

katsuki’s scowl deepened. “its not that. its just... you said it so casually in the dream. like i didn’t even matter.”

you tried to stifle your laughter, but your amusement was clear as day. “katsuki... you’re everything to me. i would never leave you. ever. especially not because i was bored. you’re the opposite of boring. you’re the most stubborn, infuriating, incredible man I’ve ever met.”

he grunted, looking away. “tch. doesn’t change the fact that it felt real.”

you bit your lip, guilt swirling in your chest. you could see how much the dream had affected katsuki, even if it wasn’t real. determined to make it up to him, you climbed onto his lap, straddling him, and cupped his face in your hands.

“i’m sorry your brain decided to torture you like that,” you said softly before leaning in to pepper his face with kisses. “but let me remind you of how much i love you.”

your lips pressed against his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and finally, his lips. each kiss was light and playful, drawing a reluctant smirk from him.

“sweets,” katsuki muttered, trying to keep up the tough act, but you didn’t let up.

you continued your attack, kissing down his jaw and back to his lips, murmuring between kisses. “i'm so happy you're my husband.”

katsuki finally relented, his hands settling on your hips as he let out a low chuckle. “you’re fuckin' weird.”

“and you’re grumpy,” you teased. “but i love you anyway.”

“hmph. i love you too,” he admitted, his voice softer now as his arms wrap around you, brushing your nose against his. “sorry for being an idiot today.”

“you’re not an idiot. just... talk to me about it next time, okay?”

"fine. be my fuckin' wife for forever, 'kay?"

"i promise," you cut him off with a kiss.

and katsuki kissed you back, finally letting the tension melt away, drowning himself in the taste of your and your presence. you're here. you weren't gonna leave him because he was bored. you never would.

"tch. i’m still blaming you for my bad dreams though."

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

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almadelsur · 9 months ago

Text

💋 The Secrets One Keeps

summary: You're in love with jj but he's with kie, so in moments of pure desperation you often find yourself turning to the person he hates the most...rafe

warnings: some good old angsty pining, very very slight smut if you squint, fem!reader, one or two uses of y/n, plz let me know if I missed anything

a/n: SHE'S BACKKKK, so I've decided to completely reformat and re-post this fic with a few tweaks and editing considering i first wrote this like 3 years ago, and yes for those of you who have been asking, I fully intend to finallly continue this fic....more info on that later ;)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

JJ’s eyes change the moment Kiara steps into any room. Immediately his presence is ripped away from your immediate atmosphere, popping the little bubble you'd spent all afternoon crafting as he sprung up to greet the olive-skinned enigma that captured his affections.

“Kie!” The joy in his tone was incomparable to anything he’d directed at anybody else. Nothing could draw out such happiness from the blonde. You hated that about her.

In an attempt at self-defense, your brain shut itself off. Shielding you from processing the scene in front of you, your emotions ran cold like cement pouring down and across your neurons. It was the only way you could survive such a beating to your heart.

You figured that by distancing yourself mentally, you wouldn’t have to raise suspicion and distance yourself physically. In reality, you knew the real reasoning was your inability to stay away from JJ but the facade helped you cope.

“Hey J” she embraced him and his body relaxed around her as if she was the only source of his happiness. The only way he’d find alleviation from what he perceived as a shitty life being through her. “Sorry I’m late my parents had me running like crazy at the wreck today.”

Scattered greetings filled the air from the rest of the pogues, yet you could only focus on the way his eyes fixated on her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Here come sit baby” he offered her the seat he had just previously been place holding. What you thought had been quality time with your best friend, presented itself to you now as momentary attention to pass the time until his actual desire arrived.

Settling herself down and offering you a wide smile, her shoulder bumped against yours gently as a sign of acknowledgment.

“Hey dude” she directed at you, but you didn’t reply. You just couldn’t bring yourself to pretend. Not today anyway. Instead, you offered her a small smile, it was minimal but it was the best you could do under the circumstances.

“Yo" A crumpled tissue paper flew at your head, jj attempting to refocus your attention on him, "didn’t you say you were gonna get some water or something?” He spoke up, the scheme evident in his tone.

“um yeah I guess” You lifted yourself up and took a few steps before jj used the opportunity to slump himself down where you had been sat and sprawled his arms across his girlfriend’s shoulders.

“snooze ya loose sucker” he joked as he turned to Kiara to start up some mindless conversation. Leaving you behind in the dust.

Your teeth gritted as you focused on making your way to the kitchen hoping the distance from the scene unfolding would lift the iron grip on your heart.

You made the fatal mistake of glancing back and you were met with the image of jj nuzzling up to kiara in a picturesque display of love. The lump building at the base of your throat indicated that it was your time to get the hell out of there before you broke down in front of everyone.

“Shit guys, y’know what I just realized I gotta go” You spoke quickly, your tone matching your pace as you rushed to the exit of the chateau.

“You’re still coming to the party later though right?” John B asked, not tearing his eyes away from the screen in front of him.

“Mhm yeah sure” you opened the door ready to depart.

“Shit I forgot about that! Me and jj are gonna be late, we got dinner at the wreck tonight.” kiara added as you stepped out, unable to control the escape of a rogue tear.

“Date night babyyyy” You heard JJ cheer before you slammed the door behind you.

“Is Y/N okay? She seemed a bit off.” Kie nudged JJ as she questioned.

JJ furrowed his eyebrows momentarily. Glancing out the window, he saw you jog away from the house, and a brief flash of worry flashed through his mind. As quick as it came, it dissipated. He shook his head figuring that if there had been something wrong, he’d have been the first to know.

“Nah she’s okay don't worry.” he offered to kie.

Boy was he mistaken.

——————————————————————

“Fuuuck me” you moaned out, sinking into him one last time. You were hot, sweaty, and heaving as you pulled him out of you.

“I thought I just did” Rafe taunted leaning back to lie down, arms crossed behind his head causing his taut abdomen to flex.

You scrambled off the bed, picking up your garments and shoving them back on your body forcefully.

“What, no pillow talk?” He tried again.

“Rafe..” you trailed off. Whenever you’d finish fucking, you’d struggle to even look at him. The self-hatred flooded your body as soon as the orgasm poured out.

“Hey you called me” he eyed you intently but you knew he didn’t actually care. To rafe cameron everything was just a game. At this point it was pretty much common knowledge. “In fact” he moved closer to you so that he could speak directly into your ear “It’s always you that calls me.”

“Don’t be a dick” you stood up and eyed your heels contemplating whether you could face the walk back in them. “You know it makes me feel like shit.” It might have sounded brutal but that’s how things were with rafe.

“Yeah, it’s like you punctuate your orgasms with self-hate.”

“I'm a pogue, rafe.” You argued back as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“So? Kooks and pogues can fuck you know.” You couldn’t comprehend why you were even having this conversation. Why now, why tonight.

“Yeah maybe, not you though.” You didn’t want to tell him the reason explicitly.

“I fuck pogues.”

“You fuck anyone.” The words came out almost instantly and without thinking, yet rafe took no offense.

“Exactly so what’s the issue?”

“The issue is, rafe.” You paused trying to find the words without actually having to say the words. “The issue is that if my friends found out they’d hate me, probably more than I already hate myself.”

He just chuckled, the look in his eyes changing as he figured you out.

“What's funny?” You challenged.

“You don’t have to bullshit me princess.” He looked up at you with a devilish glint in his eye. “You just don’t want jj knowing about your little escapades huh?” Bingo.

“He’s with Kiara.” You shrugged him off.

“Uh huh, you like him but you can’t have him.” Every word he spoke striking a nerve deep within you. “So you’re fucking me to fuck him over.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You grabbed your heels and shoved them on, wincing as you buckled them up.

“Don’t I?” He threw his joggers on lazily as he stood, the level dynamics changing significantly. The older boy towered over you. “Where are they tonight?”

“Back at John B’s, we had a little get-together.” You crossed your arms. More often than not you usually called rafe after a few drinks left you feeling lonely. “Sorry, your invite must have gotten lost in the mail.” You attempted to jab at him with sarcasm yet he clearly held the upper hand with his line of questioning.

“So all of them are there now?” He stepped towards you.

“Mhm,” You lied.

“Even jj?” Moving closer until your neck was craned upwards to meet his eyes.

Taking your silence as an answer, he reached up and ran his palms across your upper arms, prompting you to uncross them.

“He was uh- him and kie should be getting there soon” You mumbled.

“So would i be wrong in guessing, that might have prompted your call then?” You let yourself be guided by his movements leaning your neck further back as his hand trailed up to your jawbone.

“rafe…” you called out insignificantly.

He leaned in and pressed his lips against your neck, right over where he could feel your pulse, and pressed down.

You couldn’t help the gasp that left your mouth. Because as much as your heart belonged to jj, rafe was just so fucking good at raising your temperature.

“Round two?” He mumbled against your neck.

“Yeah..” you attempted yet it came out as a whisper. He grabbed you swiftly and lifted you, moving you across the room and throwing you down onto his bed, crawling on top of you in a predatory manner as he did so. As your back hit the bed, the ringing of your phone brought you back from the haze he had you under.

“Wait rafe stop stop” you pushed him off and grabbed the screeching mobile, pressing it up to your ear. “Hello?”

“Dude, where are you?” The sound of jj’s voice came through over the pumping sound of music and party chatter. “Me and Kie just got back and John B says no one’s seen you for like over an hour.”

“Oh I’m uh, I had to go do something for my mom” The lie pouring out of your mouth caused rafe to chuckle which was of course met by a slap from you signaling for him to be quiet.

“Oh well, when are you getting back? I have to tell you about this date. You’re gonna be so proud of me I actually think I’m ready to tell Kie I love her” you screwed your eyes shut as he spoke.

“Yeah I- you know what I can’t make it back my mom needs me to stay and help out but uh I’ll see you tomorrow or something.” You hung up before he could even reply, throwing your phone down uncaring of its state.

“What’s wrong? They getting hitched?” Rafe spoke up from behind you.

You turned to Rafe, the fire in your veins pushing your arms to grab him, roughly pulling him back onto you.

“Just shut up and fuck me rafe.”

And fuck you he did.

——————————————————————

The next morning you woke up to the sight of rafe’s bare back. Not much of a cuddler, you figured.

Quietly you pushed the covers off and began to dress yourself back up. As you got to your shoes you sighed and shook your head, as if there was any way in hell you were going to walk home in heels. You scooped up your shoes and your now-cracked phone shaking your head, slightly ashamed at your outburst.

Without even a second glance at the sleeping body you were leaving behind, you made your way over to the door. As you turned the knob and stepped out to leave, a husky voice spoke up.

“I’ll keep my ringer on for you babe.”

You rolled your eyes looking back at him, “Fuck you rafe.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m counting on.” He didn’t even open his eyes as he answered, instead just rustling around in the bed and turning to the other side, once again facing his back to you.

You scoffed as you exited. Your internal rant clouded your vision, body on autopilot with an excellent self-navigation of the Cameron house from the countless times you’d made this exit.

“Y/N?” The gentle voice wiped your thoughts clean as the shock stilled you dead in your tracks, slowly turning to come face to face with none other than Sarah.

“Sarah” you drawled out. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my house?” Her head was cocked to the side, equally shocked to see you.

“No I just mean- I thought you were spending the night at John B’s.” You forced the small talk, avoiding the topic of why you were here, sneaking out at 8 in the morning.

“He had to work today, did you spend the night here?” She glanced up at the door of rafe’s bedroom.

“Umm-“ There had only been two other instances where you had been at a complete loss for words. The day jj told you he and Kiara were dating, the morning after your first sexual encounter with rafe, and now this.

“Are you sleeping with my brother?!” She whisper-shouted, eyes wide as the realization hit her. Busted.

“No?”

“Oh my god!” She grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you to her room, slamming the door as soon as you were both inside. “How long has this been going on?!” Her tone was loud and her hands wild as she interrogated you.

“Just a little under a year.” You sat on her bed and looked at your lap as you spoke. Reminiscent of a child being scolded.

“A year?! Oh my god!” She repeated. “Who knows about this?!”

With that, you looked up at her desperately. “No one. No one knows so please don’t tell them.” You didn’t have to name names for her to know who you were referring to.

“Are you two like” she paused “together?” She scrunched her nose up, disgusted at the thought of her bully of an older brother dating anyone.

“No god no. It’s just sex” you were just as uncomfortable as Sarah was, having to tell her about boning her older brother.

“Disgusting.” She turned away from you with her arms crossed, looking out the window.

“Look I’m not proud of it okay? Just-“ You sighed “Just please don’t tell anyone” pleading again.

Sarah let out a long sigh and uncrossed her arms. She walked over to you and joined you on the bed, her eyes showing concern mixed with something you couldn’t quite place your finger on.

“I thought you were into jj” she spoke softly, there it was. Pity.

“Yeah well, jj is with kie and instead of sitting around wallowing in self-pity, I decided to do something about it.” As the words left your mouth, you realized how weak the explanation was.

“So you just use rafe to bang the jj out of you.”

“It’s not like Rafe cares, if anything he’s also using me.” You tried to reason.

“I don’t doubt that. But I mean, that’s- It’s not healthy, you’ll never move on if you don’t actually process your emotio-“

“Look Sarah, I don’t need to do any of that shit okay? What I have here works, when I fu- when I’m with rafe, I don’t think about jj.” Tears began to swell in your eyes “Sleeping with rafe helps me forget about everything, even if it’s only for a little while he uh- he makes me feel good.” To an extent, there was truth behind your words, while you and rafe fucked the rest of the world went away. It was only after, that the crippling self-hatred hit you along with the return of your immense feelings for jj.

Sarah shuffled over and threw her arm around you. “That’s not good for you, it’s just momentary. It’s easy and it's a cycle, you’re never going to get better going down this path. Especially not with rafe.”

“Rafe he’s- he’s not that bad.”

“Yes he is. But i bet it gives you satisfaction fucking him knowing jj hates him. Feels like revenge right?” She’d always been so perceptive your Sarah, you hated how she could see right through you.

Tears ran down your cheek silently. “You’re not gonna tell anyone right?” You sniffled.

She gave you one of those classic salt-of-the-earth Sarah Cameron smiles, the kinda smile that would light up any room she walked into. “Takin' it to the grave babe.”

A loud beeping caused both your heads to whip towards the window. “Shit, I completely forgot I was supposed to go on the HMS with pope and jj, we were gonna chill there until John B and Kie finished work.” She rose to her feet and extended an arm towards you. “Wanna come? Or we could drop you home if you’re not up for it.”

With a sigh you took her hand and pulled yourself up, walking beside her as you mentally prepped yourself to face the blonde you desperately pined for.

“Well rise and shine campers.” jj yelled out of the window of the drivers seat.

“Y/N! Where you been dude? you totally bailed last night.” Pope was next to speak as you and Sarah filed into the Twinkie. As JJ began to drive you avoided any form of eye contact in his general direction.

“I had to go help my mom out, blackout at mine again.” You didn’t even look at pope either, instead focusing your attention on the blur of trees and houses pacing by the window as JJ sped down the winding roads.

“Isn’t that what you were wearing last night?” pope, observant as always, pointed out.

“Uh yeah, I didn’t really get any time to change cause…”

“I called her last night when I got home, I was so drunk I don’t think I was ready to stop the party.” Sarah covered for you.

“Yeah I wrapped up helping my mom out and then this one calls me talkin bout a sleepover or something so I didn’t exactly have much time to change.”

Thankfully pope had lost interest as soon as he had asked the question, otherwise, your overcompensating ass would have been caught out straight away. You always had to add to the lie until you felt like you had sold it completely.

Keeping your eyes trained on the outside meant that jj’s frown directed at you through the windscreen mirror went completely undetected. He always knew whenever there was something up with you and right there and then he knew something definitely was.

“Hey, you okay?” He didn’t need to address you explicitly for you to know he was talking to you.

“Yeah just tired.” You shrugged him off in an attempt to distance yourself from him yet again.

He knew you were lying but he didn’t understand why, you never lied to each other. Apart from John B, the pair of you were closer to each other than with anybody else in the group. You’d been best friends since kindergarten, and since then you’d sworn 3 things to each other.

1- You’d always share your snacks.

2-You’d always be best friends even if you argued.

3- You would never ever lie or keep secrets from each other.

Of course, as the both of you grew older the rules became more and more lax. The snack sharing was limited only to when you felt nice enough and sometimes you’d go for days without making up if you had argued particularly badly. Having kept two friendship-breaking secrets from him, the childhood rules seemed pretty insignificant by now.

“Mhm,” he responded, flickering his eyes between you and the road. “Are we taking you home to change first?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if I’ll join you guys afterward though.” You chewed down on your nail anxiously as the tension from being in the same space as jj paired with the guilt from having fucked rafe prior, suffocated you.

JJ made a face as he focused on the road, something was wrong with you and he’d be dammed if he wasn’t going to put his everything into finding out what that was.

#back on my shit #jj Maybank #Rafe Cameron #jj maybank x reader #rafe cameron x reader #love triangle #obx #outer banks #outer banks fic #jj maybank angst #jj maybank smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron angst #jj maybank x you #rafe cameron x you #tsok #the secrets one keeps

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thecoochiefairy · 15 days ago

Text

sonder. suguru.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 11.4K word count. southerncoded!au, semisoutherncoded!suguru, mechanic!suguru, originalblackfem!reader, fiancè!suguru, grumpy!suguru, sweet!suguru, dominant!suguru, slightlysubmissive!suguru, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough sex, foreplay, fingering, clit rubbing, kissing, sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, choking, squirting, praising, LOTS of dirty talk/aggressive dirty talk, pet names, condomless sex, creaming, slapping ass/face, riding, laying sideways sex, oral [f] [m], deep talks of religion/non—religion practices, family problems, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ i missed my suguru. i know some of y’all did too. this one is a little emotional, so tw to that, lol! not gonna say too much, hope you enjoy. no nasty twitter links ‘cause they all sucked :/ so just—use your nasty lil’ imaginations, close your eyes and think. hehe.

visual.

YOUR LEFT PALM STAINED WITH INK, BLEMISHED AS YOU FINISHED OFF THE FINAL SENTENCE IN YOUR JOURNAL. You had a lot on your mind at this moment, hoping that gathering your words on paper would help for a future conversation—one that you knew you’d disagree with your fiancè about.

You enjoyed the early morning of Sundays. It felt like the opportunity to clean your slate of everything that happened a month prior, forgiving yourself of all the mistakes you made, hoping blessings would come in return. But nothing felt more rewarding than the love you received when meeting him.

Maybe it was his looks—dark, long midnight hair that fell past his shoulders, wafting with the scent of his cologne that was a mixture of patchouli and tobacco. The fullness of his eyebrows that furrowed in a natural glare, piercing within his left side glinting each time he frowned. Big, broad body that was inked up like a flash sheet at a tattoo shop, just coaxing you in.

But no, it was more than that. It was the cadence of his deep voice, the puff of smoke that released his full lips with every cigarette he smoked, the way his large palms raked through his hair when he was frustrated—the way he peppered you in affection despite his attitude, the way he fucked you despite his attitude, the way he loved you despite his attitude, the way he protected you despite his attitude—He was yours, as you were his.

Of course you had to marry him.

But with every love, came a price. A sacrifice. One thing you knew about your fiancé, as much as he worshipped the ground you walked on? He always told you where you were wrong.

Back to the point of enjoying Sundays, you’d read a new scripture from your Bible, closing it with a soft hum as you finished. Your eyes flickered to the door leading downstairs—his territory, never yours. The industrial architecture of your condo was built by the hands of your fiancè, who’d structured the second level to be the house itself—sleek black interior, soft dim bulbs hanging from the ceiling to give a more vintage feel. He’d known your wants of a home that looked as if you lived in New York, as you were settled within the city of New Orleans.

The first floor, a garage. Your fiancè spent most of his time down there—customizing, repairing, or maintaining vehicles brought to him as downtown's most known mechanic. You were used to the rumble of alternative metal music trembling the walls upstairs as he worked, and oftentimes you could endure it—but at this moment? Not so much.

The deep red slip dress you wear flows on your body perfectly, the round of your ass peeking from the bottom as you stand within the kitchen—your curls clasped onto a dark cherry claw clip, Vera Wang glasses tilting at the bridge of your freckled nose, heart shaped engagement ring shining on your finger like a silver heartbeat.

Palm wrapping along the knob of the garage door, a whoosh of motor oil consuming your nose as you pad your feet down each step—and there he was.

My Own Summer, by DEFTONES echoed within the walls of the halfway opened garage, sun of the morning attempting to peek in from under. His back was facing you, tattoos sunken into his entire upper body—black ink traced beneath the white wife beater he wears, having a bit of oil smudged across the material. His arms flexed as he kneeled further into the hood of a Ford F250, hair draped in a messy tie at the back of his head.

“Workin’ hard?”

He didn’t even flinch—he could always tell when you were near.

“‘Truck is old as hell,” he grunts, “My customers expectin’ a miracle.”

His fingers tugged at the bolts within the truck’s hood, the low murmur of a cigarette hung between his lips as he spoke to you.

You hum, “You’ve always been good with your hands—I’m sure you can work somethin’ out.”

A puff of smoke, and then, a chuckle.

“Babydoll,” he husks, “Always the optimistic one.”

Hazel irises flick up, taking his hands away from the hood.

“You hate comin’ down here. You’ alright?”

“Just missed you.”

He was a silent killer, undressing you with his vision in milliseconds. They traced everywhere—the dark tresses of your curls, your heart shaped lips, snubbed nose and deep brown freckles on your caramel face—your nipples mirror your complexion through the thin cotton material of your slip, curved figure full as if you’d given birth.

He could damn near smell it on you, that you wanted something.

“‘Missed me, huh?” his voice lowering, “You sure?”

Your glasses slide a bit lower on your nose, an annoying habit as you push them up—you ask in the most innocent way, “Want some company?”

“C’mere.”

You make your way over to him, giggling softly as he instantly cuffs you by the fat of your ass. Your arms wrap along his neck, his large frame looming as he has to lower himself a bit to your comfort.

Your nose scrunches from the smoke that hazes against your face, “You have to do that this early in the morning?”

He smirks down at your little scrunch. That only makes him pull you closer, hands squeezing your flesh through the slip, the other pulling his cigarette for another puff.

“Open.”

Your mouth obeyed, parting your lips for him. He flicks his ashy cigarette between finger and thumb, blowing a thick plume of smoke at you—the puff of sharp smoke billows into your mouth, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks in return.

You take the bud from him, “You need to quit.”

“‘Gives me a big knoggin’,” he exhales, “You gon’ smoke it, or keep talkin’ shit?”

A roll to your eyes comes at that. You place it back between his lips, tightening your arms around his neck as you question, “Did you sleep well?”

“Slept just fine, darlin’,” he pauses, taking another puff, “You?”

“Like a baby,” you inhale the scent of his cologne, exhaling as you say, “Come upstairs. I made breakfast.”

“Oh?” he cocks an eyebrow, “You made breakfast?”

He’s already pulling you away from the truck, keeping an arm secured around your waist as his free hand shuts off the music from the speakers.

“Didn’t burn anythin’, did you?”

“I poisoned it.”

He could feel your body going to pull away, but a grunt has him tighten his arm around you, making you grin as you try to hide your amusement.

“Where’re you goin’?”

He spanks your ass, “What happened to breakfast, huh? Not gonna’ feed a growin’ man?”

“Be nice, Suguru,” you pout, “I’m sensitive.”

“You’re a brat is what you are,” he counters, clutching your chin.

When he sees the genuine frown on your lips, he dips his mouth down—his hair nearly brushed against the cheeks of your face as he murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

His grip then softens on your jaw, “Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, doll,” he assures, “I promise.”

It was rare to get an apology out of him. Not like this, at least. You figured, maybe he really was in a good mood.

“‘S okay—I love you, bunny.”

You called him by a nickname that wasn’t his favorite, something you found yourself saying as he showed his sweet side. But of course, your tongue laps out for a kiss that might’ve overshadowed that.

A mixture of a groan and huff follows as one hand tangled into your dark tendrils, holding you still as he slotted his mouth against yours in return. He loved you right back.

Suguru then carried you up the stairs as he closed the door with his foot, attempting to persuade you into taking a shower with him before he ate breakfast. He promised kisses, and much more, but you were more into journaling to accept such an exciting offer. So, he promised to see you after.

You’d made him French toast sprinkled in sugar powder, scrambled eggs and bacon alongside a cup of coffee. When you hear the hefty thump of his returning steps, his long hair was now damp from washing it, grey tee snug on his muscular upper body, enhancing the ink on his ivory complexion—your left hand continuously scribbled off, full lips twisting a straw in between as you drank your morning matcha.

“You’re too good to me, you know that?”

You hear that grunt before you feel it, a soft hum sounding from your nose as you feel his arms wrap along your hips from behind. The scent of his cologne masks your senses as he buries his face within your neck, smelling the vanilla oil you dabbed along it.

“I’m still gon’ be good after I tell you there was no pancake batter?”

You lean into him, continuously writing cursive letters on paper, “You forgot to pick some up last night.”

“You forgot to remind me.”

His nose nuzzled into the space of your neck, inhaling the rice milk scented soap, a deep sense of satisfaction settling within his chest.

“What’re you writin’?” he murmured, attempting to peek at the open journal.

“You know my rule—no peeking,” You reach forward, tugging a newspaper behind yourself, “Go eat.”

“Yes ma’am,” he grumbles, pressing one final kiss to the side of your neck, before begrudgingly pulling away.

Suguru’s broad shoulders stretched against the fabric of his shirt, emphasizing the strength beneath—He wore it like a second skin, his physique evident through every stitch—The dark material hugged tight around his frame, matching sweatpants giving no modesty as you could easily find the weight ot his dick between his spread legs. The chair groaned under his body, his imposing presence making it seem almost miniature in comparison.

Even when he was eating, he was loud, taking huge bites out of the French toast, food crunching between his teeth before he washed it down with a swig of coffee. The newspaper you offered to him was already sprawled open, fingers flipping through the pages as he ate.

“Cat stuck in a tree?” You tease, taking another sip of your matcha, “What’s in the news today?”

“Funny,” he sarcastically drawls, completely engrossed in the section he reads, “Shooting,” he then mumbled, “Down by the Garden District. Three dead, one injured.”

He pauses, expression sobering.

“They were kids, Baby. Not even twenty yet.”

“Jesus,” you sigh, “By the Garden District? You sure?”

“I’m sure,” he confirms, “It was a drive-by, happened around two in the mornin’. Probably some college kids fuckin’ around.”

“How’s your parents’ market doing Uptown?” You question, your voice carrying more concern, “Any trouble around there?”

“Uptown’s fine,” he assures, his tone firm as he shakes his head, “They’re always busy. Nothin’ too bad happens in the gentrified areas, you know that.”

You have the urge to feel his touch at your anxiety—you’re walking over to where he sits, wrapping your arms along his shoulders from behind—your palm slides across his hair, “I’m not so sure—somewhere like the Garden District having crime? It’s gettin’ scary being here.”

The second you made contact, he was leaning back into your front, allowing you to run your fingers through his hair.

“It’s always been scary,” he points out.

Suguru’s free hand settles along your forearm, anchoring you close against his back. His thumb rubbed a soothing circle against your skin as he continued eating.

“That’s why we live in Lakeview—I got you, remember? You’re safe, stop worryin’.”

This seemed like a good transition into what you really wanted to bring up.

You peck the side of his face as you lean forward, right against his ear as you hum, “‘Wasn’t really worried about me.”

You give it a second of silence, “I spoke to my parents today.”

“You should talk to them. It’s First Sunday.”

Okay, here was the thing. Your parents lived about twenty minutes away from you—but it’s not like they knew that. You’d run away from a pious environment years ago like a thief in the night, going a long time without talking to your family. Despite the resentment you held, Suguru’s Japanese background made him an extremely prideful man—keeping a bond with your family was important regardless of the issues you had with them, he said.

Your voice draws a bit of irritation, “I’m shocked you’re pining for them, considering they don’t know you.”

“You chose to hide me from your family. Not the other way around.”

You frown, “I have my reasons, Suguru. You know that.”

“What’s the excuse? You haven’t even told them we’re about to get married, ‘cause what? The shit isn’t happening in some church with a pastor?”

Yup, there it was.

Growing up in a religious home the way you did was overbearing, overwhelming, and closed you off to the life you could’ve had as a young adult. It created a resentment of others not like you, with your parents, with God, and kept you entirely shelled up until your late twenties.

Eventually you found your way back to the Bible. Meeting Suguru wasn’t too long after, who was nothing like you—being an Asian man growing up in Louisiana, his parents were different from the traditional culture they provided back home. With that insouciant upbringing, your fiancé was in fact atheist, and had no belief of a man up above.

It caused a lot of disagreements between you two when it came to certain topics—but you were always understanding of each other in the end, and he always appreciated your prayer over him, no matter what he felt about it.

But this wasn’t about how you felt—your domineering parents were the concern when it came to you being married, and although you did a good job of keeping your life private—this time, you wanted them to be included. Their blessing, essentially.

But that didn’t come too easy when you had a man that didn’t think God was in between your relationship, or parents that seemed to think otherwise.

Your arms slide from his chest, “I’m gonna go finish writing in the room.”

“So you’re mad now?”

You’re nearly halfway down the hall as you hear him call, “You walkin’ away from me?”

That had you turn around, “Why are you tryna’ make me do this? You want me to be good with my parents, but you refuse to not bring up the fact that you’re atheist, knowing they’re gonna have a problem with that!”

“I don’t need your parents' approval. I wouldn’t give a fuck whether they accepted me or not,” he reminds you, “This marriage is between you and me—but I know how you feel about keepin’ this from them.”

You frown, “And that’s not what you’re seeming to understand, Getou. They’re not gonna accept this at all if they hear something like that.”

“So I’m Getou now?”

He was exhausted with this ongoing argument, the same one you’ve both had numerous times over. The subject was a delicate balancing act, teetering on the edge of the emotional. No matter how many times you tried to find a resolution, it always ended up in a heated discussion.

“You think I don’t know my own parents?”

“Baby—for so long, all you’ve ever wanted to do is mend shit with them.”

“It’s not just about me, Suguru!” you exclaim, cutting him off, “This affects us both—“

“I don’t need no blessing. I’d kill for you, die for you. None of that has changed since the day we met.”

Your jaw clenches at his words.

You sigh, “All I’m asking is that you not bring all that up to them, Suguru. Why do you have to be so prideful?”

“Prideful?”

His jaw was now clenching in return.

“The shit is called honesty—Somethin’ you’ve already failed to do by keeping this from them. Is it prideful to not want to change who I am? Me being atheist' isn't gonna be the first topic of conversation.”

“It’s prideful when you have to rub it in somebody’s face,” you cross your arms over your chest, “What would you get out of that argument?”

“You think I’m tryna’ go there intentionally startin’ an argument? That’s what you think?”

Your shoulders slouch, “I didn’t say that, Suguru.”

The way you soften your tone had him releasing the built up tension in his own jaw, hazel irises following your form. He huffs, standing from the chair to cross his arms over his chest as well.

“Let’s talk, baby. I’m not tryna’ argue,” his voice is just above a murmur—softer.

“I’m saying—“

You halt, your fingers fidgeting against your forearms. His eyebrow piercing shifts, sculpted face watching you, anticipating the rest of your sentence.

“My parents are strict. You know that. I’m trying to learn to forgive them and myself for the distance we have, and upsetting them isn’t gonna help the situation. I respect your morals, you know that. But they won’t. And the one thing I want is for them to love you just as much as I do.”

He couldn’t stay away from you any longer, taking a step closer.

“…They don’t gotta’ love me,” he finally murmurs, “You do. That’s all I need. I’m not tryna’ cause trouble between you and your parents, baby—I’d never do that. But I’m a grown ass man, and I’m not gonna’ put up a front for anybody.”

This wasn’t necessarily the answer you wanted—but one thing about your fiancé, he loved you more than the world, and he loved himself enough to be true to his word.

Your arms wrap around his hips, burying yourself within his chest as you exhale, “You’re warm.”

“Warm?” he repeats, a chuckle escaping him as his arms wrap tight around your shoulders, “You’re always cold.”

You give yourself a moment of silence, just being with him.

“They wanna meet you.”

“When?”

“…Tonight?”

Suguru’s body tenses.

“They said First Sunday would be a good time to bless our relationship, pray over new beginnings, stuff like that—I told them okay,” you rush by your own words, as if you didn’t know what his reaction would be.

And in return, your fiancé said—

“Shit.”

A couple of hours had gone by, and you were now sitting at the edge of the bed, watching Suguru swim through his articles of clothing as you tried to find something—presentable.

You shook your head, “Absolutely nothing short sleeved. You look like you’re in the Yakuza.”

He had been attempting to pull on a white tee, which you immediately tugged off his arms, tossing the material aside, “Next.”

“You sayin’ I don’t look presentable?”

“I’m saying I need you to look less like a bad boy,” you mutter, swimming your arms through his clothes on the floor—you stop, “How about a V—neck sweater, yeah? Does that say sweet boy?”

“I could still fuck you in a V—neck.”

You glare, “Are you trying to help? Or just be a smart ass?”

“Help.”

The best thing you could find was a long sleeve black tee, a sigh pulling at your lips as you question, “Got any slacks?”

“Did you forget everythin’ ‘bout me right at this moment? Slacks?”

“Suguru,” you whine, “Please just help me.”

The sound of your whine has him suck his teeth, pushing himself off the wall to begin rummaging through the clothing piled along the floor.

He crouched down to where the pants were, pulling out a pair of dark jeans as he tossed them on the bed, “That’s all I got, baby.”

The outfit you had to settle on was a long sleeve that unfortunately clung to his muscular build, equally dark jeans, boots and a belt along his waist.

Suguru stood below the ventilation in your bathroom as he lit a cigarette, leaning his head back as you attempted to brush his hair up into a more neat bun. When your eyes flicker to him in the mirror, the sight of smoke exhaling from his full lips, his Adam’s apple throbbing beneath the tattoos on his neck—you nearly facepalm yourself, murmuring, “This is hopeless.”

“Why are we even dressin’ nice? We’re sittin’ at the dinner table—or would you just be happier if I got naked?”

“I’m ignoring you,” you deadpan, “Just go sit on the bed while I get ready. Can you do that? And not make fun of me?”

“Gotta’ give me a kiss, bunny.”

He called you that in return when you were the opposite of sweet.

“And then you’ll leave me alone?”

“Promise.”

A palm comes to grab your chin, thumb gently grazing along your bottom lip as he plants his mouth against yours, “You’re cute.”

“I bet I’ll be adorable once I put you in a chokehold.”

The unfortunate issue was that you also didn’t have the best clothes to see your parents. So you settled for a black halter top secured by one shoulder, strings tying the material to your elongated waist similar to a corset, jeans molding your full hips, heels on your French tipped toes to pull the look together. You decided not to go heavy on the makeup today, your freckles sprucing heavily upon your nose—curls spiraling around your face, enhancing the natural flush of your caramel cheeks.

You did a spin within the mirror as you called out, “Baby? You like it?”

His eyes were already locked onto you the second you emerged from the bathroom, scanning over your curves clad in the form fitting material. A slight nod of his head comes in response, hands buried deep within his pockets, “You look good, pretty girl."

“Aww—you’re so sweet today,” you pout, hearing his grunt as you plop down onto his lap.

You hold his cheeks within your palms, “Today’s gonna be a good day, right?”

“Best day of my life.”

“Mhmm—And you’ll be good today?” You kneel your forehead against his, “‘Cause you love me?”

“You know I’m always good,” he murmured against your lips, a smirk at his mouth, “You doubtin’ me?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Yeah, okay.”

The Garden District was one of the most picturesque areas in all of New Orleans, situated in the heart of the city. Known for its nineteenth century architecture, the neighborhood is filled with the smell of freshly cut flowers and the sight of grand gardens—hence the name. The houses were known for being beautiful, almost like works of art themselves.

Your fiancè leaned back against the seat of his black Subaru, twisting the wheel effortlessly as his GPS took him in the direction of a gated house—no, a mansion.

“Damn,” Suguru murmurs, eyes peering up as he pulls in the circular driveway of the home, the outside of the house looking like something out of a movie. The mansion was made of bricks and granite, surrounded by massive oak trees sitting on a perfectly manicured lawn.

You sigh to yourself, “The fortunes of being a well known pastor.”

“You sure he ain’t a drug lord and just ‘kept it from you?”

“Suguru.”

“Damn, tough crowd.”

An older woman wearing a lemon patterned dress exits the house, hands clapping together when she sees the two of you stepping out the car.

“You made it!”

The woman’s voice was laced with a distinct creole accent.

You shriek, wrapping your arms around the neck of your family’s housekeeper—Hazel, who’d been in the house as long as you’d been born.

“I’ve missed you,” you sigh, squeezing her tighter, “And your delicious cooking.”

“I’ve missed you too, baby,” she returns the hug with a laugh, clucking as her hands rest against your shoulders, “Have you been treating yourself? You look wonderful,” she playfully taps the fullness of your hips, laughing once more.

The elder woman’s gaze shifted to your fiancé, dark brown eyes trailing over his built figure, “And you’re the young man who’s stolen my sweet babydoll away, ain’t you?”

Despite being a towering figure looming over the smaller women, a boyish grin spread along his face, gauges within his ears swinging as he extended a large palm for her to take, “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Hazel nearly yanks him down as she takes his face within her palms, squeezing his cheeks, “Mwen pa t 'konnen ou te renmen gason Japonè—“

“Pa gen kreyòl devan lòt moun ki pa ka konprann li,” your face flushes as you rush through the creole dropping from your own lips, “Please, Hazel.”

She clicks her tongue, crossing her arms over her chest, “You’re big, huh?”

“Guilty,” he answers, a slight smirk upon his face, “Always makin’ sure to eat all the food your babydoll cooks.”

She merely huffed at the smugness of his tone, “Cocky, too.”

You roll your eyes, “How are you doing, Hazel?”

“I’m exhausted, honey girl, but I can’t complain, y’know?”

She sighs nonetheless, walking back towards the front door, “C’mon—let’s get you inside. Your parents are dyin’ to see you!”

A nervous knot formed within your stomach as you followed close behind Hazel, Suguru’s footsteps heavy as he walked beside you. You hadn’t seen your parents in years.

They could be the same.

But they could be completely different—

No.

You had to remain optimistic.

Your palm felt shaky beneath your fiancés, eyes peering at the golden trimmed ceiling—you felt a small tug as he pulled you closer to him, “You good?”

“Yeah,” your voice is soft, pressing your palm into his chest, “Just a little nervous.”

The inside was something out of an interior design magazine; white painted walls to offset the various floral rugs spread along the hardwood floors, framed family photos, and a tabletop filled with fresh cut roses.

“You got nothin’ to worry about, babydoll. Just breathe, a’right?”

“You’ll love me? Even if this is the worst experience ever?” You question, your finger rubbing at the gauge of his ear, pushing the tendrils of fallen hair from his jaw.

“You think you got’ enough reasons for me not to?”

You sigh, giving a weak laugh.

“You’re a dork.”

“Ma chérie?”

That name—one you were called all the time as a child.

Your eyes flick over, and that’s when you see them—your parents.

Your father stands over six feet—a height you hadn’t adorned, soft brown waves dusted with strands of silver and a well kept beard, a slight paunch to his stomach. He’s dressed in casual beige slacks and a button up, a Rolex watch along his wrist.

Your mother is inches shorter in height, wearing a floral patterned dress under a cardigan. She’s adorned with a tennis bracelet and pearl earrings, bob curled perfectly above her shoulders.

Your mother, ever the sunshine, gives you a warm smile as she steps forward, “Baby—look at you,” she croons, cupping your cheek within her hand, “You’re as lovely as ever.”

“Momma.”

You don’t know why you feel tears within your eyes, but you instantly bury yourself into the brace of your mother, your body shaking as you tremble, “Hi.”

Your mother’s arms wrapped around you tightly, hushing a soothing noise to calm your tears, "Shhh—mon chou, you’re okay.”

“I’ve missed you so much,” you murmur to her, “I love you so much.”

She presses her hands against the sides of your face, her thumb swiping away the tears that streamed down your freckled cheeks, “I love you too, cheri,” she gives you a reassuring smile, “It’s been too long—“

“S’bout time you come home.”

You stiffen. Your eyes slowly pull away from your mother, finding your father’s displeased ones.

Your mother takes your hand in hers, “Ignore him—how about you introduce me to this handsome man of yours?”

You briefly swipe the tears from your face—Your free hand takes hold of Suguru’s, “Momma, this is my fiancé—Suguru Getou.”

“Your what?”

A loud swallow came from your throat as you gulped, “Yeah, we’re getting married in September—how about we talk about this at the dinner table, yeah?”

Your father’s mouth opened to speak, but was shut off by your mother’s hand covering his palm—she gave you a slight nod, lips pressed together in a tight smile.

“Right,” she manages, “Dinner.”

Here was the thing. Suguru was a man that didn’t say too much—he just observed—like now. Your father hadn’t acknowledged him, greeted him, even asked for a handshake. Suguru could tell that he was a man full of pride, and having his daughter come in with news as big as marriage? Probably wasn’t off to a good impression. But that didn’t irritate Suguru any less.

Your mother and father sat next to one another as you and Suguru sat across the dining table—It began awkwardly, nothing but the noise of silverware scraping against the plates as Caesar salad was the appetizer.

You couldn’t bear to have this entire dinner be silent and uncomfortable.

So you push, “What’s Hazel cooking tonight?”

“Gumbo.”

That was the only word that came from your father, and you found no interest in trying to add anything else. Though, you could feel the agitation rolling off of your fiancé without having to look.

“Your father helped Hazel in the kitchen a bit,” your mother smiles, attempting to keep the conversation going by any means necessary—she was trying.

Hazel thankfully waltzed into the room, the rich scent of gumbo wafting in the air with its warm aroma—A smile adorned her lips as she approached the table, beginning to fill each bowl with the soup.

“Mmm,” Hazel lets out a hum of contentment, “That smells good, doesn’t it?”

Your mother couldn’t help but agree, “It does, Hazel.”

She then adds on, “Your father did a sermon in Houston not too long ago, babydoll.”

You raise your eyebrows, “Really? How was that?”

“Fine,” is the word you received from your father.

Fine.

“Just fine?”

You see your mother make a face—one that you usually gave your fiancé at times, almost like a warning.

“It went well,” he then murmured, picking up the glass of his wine to take a sip, “It was for a big family’s church. They’re a generous group.”

“Right,” you hum softly—at this point, you’re not even sure what to say. So you end up circling back to the first topic of conversation, “Suguru is really good at making Gumbo too, Dad. His parents own a Market in Uptown��right, baby?”

The moment you mention Suguru, your father’s eyes flick over to his form, observing him from head to toe.

Nothing.

Somehow, your fiancè seemed relaxed. His expression was calm, a forced grin upon his face as he nodded, “I’m pretty good in the kitchen, yeah.”

“Sounds like you’re feeding my ma chérie well,” your mother smiles, “Is she feeding you the same?”

He nods once more, hand tightening on your thigh for a short moment, “More than well, ma’am. She’s real good to me—probably tryna’ fatten me up.”

You giggle, lightly swatting his chest in return. You say, “I’m not—“

“So you work in a market?”

The attention is pulled away between you and your fiancé, hearing the question come from your father.

You answer, “Um—no, Daddy—Suguru is actually a mechanic.”

“Mechanic?”

There was something within your father’s tone that sounded almost disgusted. Your back straightens at hearing it.

“Yes, sir. My parents own a market up town—not that anythin’ would be wrong with me workin’ under their business—“ he looks directly to your father, “I own an auto shop. ‘Specialize in Japanese imports to Louisiana.”

“I see.”

Your mother, however, seemed more pleased, “My—You have a business? That’s wonderful—my husband still doesn’t know his way around cars too much, it’s good we now have a mechanic in the family, huh?”

“Family?”

Your father’s brows furrowed.

“This one here”—he refers to you— “Hasn’t mentioned anything that sounds like a wedding date, so I’d be careful throwin’ the term ‘family’ around.”

Your father’s words left a silence hanging over the entire room. You felt the grip of Suguru’s hand on your thigh, fingers digging into the flesh as if to calm down his irritation.

“September 22nd, actually.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, “We’re tryna’ find a venue in Kyoto.”

“As in Japan, Kyoto?” your mother repeats.

“Yeah,” you smile, “I’ve always wanted to go there, and—Suguru figured it’d be the perfect opportunity to bring our family’s together,” you nod, slipping your fingers between his own, squeezing for comfort.

Here comes the main topic of discussion. Your father asks—

“Have you found a church?”

Your lips pressed together.

Your voice is soft, “No, Daddy. We um—we decided not to do it within a church.”

Both of your parents’ eyebrows shot up in surprise at your statement—But it was your mother that voiced the question, “You’re not?”

The air around the table was growing tenser by the second.

“I want somewhere outside—a pretty, full garden.”

“There are plenty of church venues with gardens in their backyard, cheri. Have you not liked any of the ones you looked at?”

“There’ve been many,” you murmur softly, “But—“

“I’m not a religious man, sir.”

Your eyes pop from their sockets.

Your mother nearly choked on her food, your father’s frown heavy over your fianc��— a slight pause of silence hangs in the air before speaking, “You’re not a Christian?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve never been able to get behind it,” he replied simply, “Never clicked with me.”

“You believe religion is a lie?”

“Dad—“

“Not necessarily a lie,” Suguru replied easily, “‘Just ain’t a factor in my own personal beliefs.”

“Suguru—“

“Let him speak.”

The sharpness in your father’s tone had you immediately snapping your mouth shut, shoulders visibly tensing—this wasn’t going how you wanted it to.

Your father’s jaw clenched as he took in Suguru’s words, “You’re aware you’re marryin’ into a religious family, right?”

“Absolutely. And I love your daughter more than anythin’ in this world, but that doesn’t mean I have to agree with her beliefs, just like she doesn’t have to agree with mine.”

“So you think my daughter is going to change her beliefs just to please you?”

Suguru’s eyes narrowed, “I didn’t say nothin’ like that.”

“Sure sounds like that’s what you’re implying,” Your father hissed, “Converting others isn’t too far after abandoning a religion.”

Your mother tries to step in, “Honey—“

“Your daughter’s an intelligent woman, sir. Nothin’ is gonna’ change my relationship with her—including religion, or lack thereof.”

“And that’s where your problem lies, Suguru. You don’t think religion is relevant, even though it’s the cornerstone that humans built upon—you don’t think it’s a factor in what drives us as people? How do you think you got that shop of yours? How your parents' market is still in business? How any of your successes come into your life? God did that.”

You see the way Suguru’s jaw clenches, “I don’t need religion to keep me goin’. I got your daughter, my family, myself. The same strength I always had—It has nothin’ to do with some metaphorical bullshit up in the clouds.”

A fist slams down against the table.

Your father’s palm nearly made the dishes jump, “You don’t speak about God that way in this house!”

Hearing Hazel push through the swinging door of the kitchen from the commotion, your mother places her hand upon her husband's chest, “You both need to calm down!”

“I need to calm down?” Your father hissed, “This is your daughters doing!”

“I didn’t come here to make you upset,” you try to intervene, “I just wanted you to accept—“

“You thought this was the way you’d get my blessing? Disappearing for years, coming back with a man that spits in the face of my morals? Disrespecting me?”

You frown, “I never disrespected you, Dad.”

Your father’s eyes were nearly bulging.

“You chose him over God.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, stifling. Hearing him say exactly how he felt was painful, and it nearly clasped your emotions by the throat.

Your head slowly shook from side to side, voice shaky, “I didn’t choose anyone over God— nothing is wrong with him being different from me!”

“He’s supposed to be on your level,” your father snaps, eyes flashing with anger, “You’ve chosen a future with this man—With this—low life!”

“Daddy!—“

“I ain’t no fuckin’ low life,” Suguru snarls, “You don’t know shit about me. You don’t even know your own goddamn daughter.”

“Don’t you dare lecture me about my own daughter!”

The chair legs shriek against the floorboards as the men both stood from the table—your father stood at his full height, but he was nowhere near as physically imposing as Suguru.

You were in absolute shock—your palms tug at Suguru’s arm, pleading for him to calm down, your mothers creole echoing across the room as she tries to calm her own husband, “Sispann sa! Ou pa ta dwe goumen ak pitit fi ou yo—“

“You did this.”

Your father looks directly at you.

A mixture of absolute disappointment and betrayal was carved all over your father’s face as he spoke, the words hitting you like a truck, “You chose this.”

The silence felt like an eternity—Your face remained blank, completely frozen in shock as the words registered within your brain.

“Dad—“

“Mon chou,” your mom interrupted, “Please.”

Your mouth clasps shut. This was all your fault, it had to be. All the years you could’ve opened yourself to them, all the apologies that could’ve come before. They were hurt.

The kitchen door swung as your father exited through there, leaving the three of you standing in place.

Suguru frowns, “I wanna apologize—“

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Suguru.”

Your mother’s voice was soft, hand placed within a gentle hold at your shoulder, trying to sooth you as much as she was capable of, “I wanted to calm the situation down before it got worse. It’s just—different. It’s very different.”

She could feel you nearly trembling under her hand. Another beat of silence, she then asks, “Do you smoke, chou?” she questions your fiancé.

You could feel the anger burning off him. But out of respect, he gives your mother a nod, low voice responding, “Yes ma’am.”

“How about you get comfortable in cheri’s old bedroom, hm? I can’t allow you to drive home after an upsetting situation—there’s a terrace for you to smoke, Suguru.”

Your voice is tired, “Momma, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking,” she smiles, “You’re too old to believe anything should come from you asking me to do so.”

Her fingers brush at your hair, pushing it back from your face—she could see the frown in your eyebrows, rubbing your cheeks as she hums, “Pa gen devan, lanmou mwen.”

She then turns back to Suguru, “How about you get a head start? Hazel will show you up, provide towels if you’d like to prep for bed—I’d like to speak to my daughter, alone.”

Even if the request was phrased as a soft command, there was no room for refusal, and he knew that. He merely nodded, glancing towards you one last time—the grip he had on your hand was tighter as he looked over your face. Then, he let go. It felt cold without him.

Once being left in the dining room by yourselves, your mother sits in a chair beside the table—she pats the one beside her, “Come sit, chou.”

The moment you sit next to her, she presses her palms against the floral of her dress. She hums to you, “Do you remember the story of Joseph and the Colorful Coat?”

“I don’t know if I’m in the mood to hear a sermon, momma.”

An airy laugh comes from your mother, “You’re not getting a sermon, I’m simply reminding you.”

She leans back in her seat, a reminiscing look coming to her expression as she spoke, “Joseph is one of the most important figures out of the Bible. Do you remember why?”

You shake your head, “Not really.”

Your mother sighs, fingers curling gently around the hem of her dress, “Joseph was favored by his father. This favoritism, however, was hated by his brothers—and out of anger, they sold him as a slave. He was taken to Egypt, where he was then raised up as a servant, and grew into a man of success and power—even while being under the control of someone else, his life had a purpose.”

Your brows furrow a bit, taking in her words.

“I don’t really know where you’re tryna’ take this story, Momma.”

Your mother smiles once more, tilting her head so that her face rests against her palm, “Patience, babydoll.”

She exhales, “One day, he reunites with his brothers. Even after they did him wrong—he forgave them—but he didn’t just forgive them. He helped them.”

Her next words were delivered with soft intonation.

“He was able to turn a hardship into something so beautiful.”

Her hand rested on your own, “You’re just like Joseph, mon cheri.”

“Momma…”

“You’re not perfect,” she admits softly, “And neither am I, neither is your father—None of us are. Everyone in this world has a story— with those flaws being reminded, you have to forgive those who hurt you in order to move forward.”

You didn’t realize your vision had blurred—all of the pain you felt over the years, the strain of your parents—you had to remember that they also hurt from the distance you’d put between them.

You wrap your arms around your mother’s neck, your tears burying within her shoulder. You cry, “I’m so sorry, Momma. I just—“ you sniffle, “I just didn’t know how to come back. I wanted to live for me, and Dad wouldn’t—“

“I know, baby—“ she held you, gently rocking you side to side beneath her chin, “But your father loves you, and he’s sorry too. He’s just—a dummy, as you kids say.”

That makes you giggle through your tears, hugging her tighter than before.

She then says, “You’re marrying a man just as stubborn as him, you know.”

You keep your cheek within her shoulder, swiping your tears as you murmur, “I’m sorry about dinner tonight.”

“Don’t apologize,” she insists softly, voice tender and filled with reassurance, “You did nothing wrong, and neither did Suguru.”

“You don’t think he did?”

“Suguru spoke the truth, and—he’s right. You shouldn’t be forced to live your life the way your father would want you to. And as much as he loves you, he will come to his senses.”

“You think so?”

She taps your chin, “Look—it’s late, baby. Go on upstairs. You have time to talk to your father tomorrow. And once that settles over, we can start planning a wedding.”

You wipe the tears from your face, “You’re already planning a wedding and my father can’t stand him.”

She presses her palm over your hand, the other wiping gently at your tears, “And I’ll make sure it’s the most beautiful, gorgeous—the most magnificent wedding Kyoto will ever see.”

You smiled.

“I love you, Momma.”

She smiles in return, pressing a kiss on the crown of your head, “I love you more, babydoll.”

Closing the door to your old bedroom, you leaned your back against the wooden surface, letting out the breath of air you had been holding. You stared at the deep blue walls of the room, the furniture made of white, duvet covers and frills—The angel statuettes and artwork hung all across the ceiling like heavens within the sky.

You pushed yourself off the door, stepping towards the glass sliding door that led out to the terrace, finding your fiancé standing just in view—Your hand rests at the white sheer curtain, parting it slightly with the pads of your fingers as you looked out—Suguru had his back leaned against the ledge of the patio, cigarette raised to his lips as he smoked.

As he stood facing away from you, you could see the muscular outline of his body in the shadows cast upon him—every contour on display beneath his top. His hair was a beautiful mess. Some strands fell from the bun he had it in, falling over his face and along the nape of his neck.

“Needin’ a little company?”

His head turned towards the glass door, spotting you standing beneath the sheer curtains—the first thing he can discern is your eyes. His expression visibly softened, pierced eyebrow furrowing with concern.

He eyed you, “You were cryin’ again.”

A beat of silence.

You nod gently, “Yeah.”

Suguru’s silent for a long moment. He comes forward, eyes fixed on yours as he pulls you by your waist, “Talk to me.”

It’s another long stretch of silence before you break it.

“My father…” you trail off, trying to put your words together, “He can be stubborn.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

You nod along as well, taking in the silence of the night—the crickets that sounded around, the soft wind that brushed against you.

You feel his grip on your waist tighten as he asks, “You all right, though?”

He then sighs, “Baby, I wanna apologize for how I acted earlier—“

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. I wanted my father to meet you—to give us his blessing, not for him to start an argument with you.”

Your fiancé’s thumb rubbed gently at the curve of your hip, his brows furrowing just a bit, “It’s not my place to get into it with your father, but he was sayin’ shit to—“

His chest rose and fell, taking another inhale off the cigarette—he then exhaled out into the air, the smoke disappearing with the wind, “It just didn’t sit right with me.”

You rub your fingers against his bicep, trailing it up to the ink of his neck—you sigh, “I know that. I’m not mad at you, Getou.”

“I’m supposed to be apologizin’. You’re not supposed to be consolin’ me.”

Your fingers reached for the back of his neck to scratch gently at his hairline, “So stop apologizing.”

You reach to grab the cigarette from his fingers—taking a drag of the smoke, the burn tickles your throat, nearly satisfying.

Suguru then murmured, “You seem to get that soft shit from your momma, bunny.”

A small smile played at the corner of your lips, “You’d be the first to say so.”

The taste of nicotine stuck to your tongue as you ran your thumb along the back of his neck, his eyes slowly shutting as your fingers moved in small circles.

He then asked, “You feel better now?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, “I wanna go cuddle.”

He chuckles lowly—deep and rough—just how you liked it, “You’re spoiled.”

A grin pulled at his lips when you nod in response, your smaller body leaning into his. He reached to pinch the base of the cigarette, pressing it to his lips for one last inhale before tossing the remnants away.

"C’mon.”

The moment you made contact with the soft comforter of your bed, your upper body leaned against the frame—your journal was sprawled against your thighs as you had your knees close to your chest, Suguru’s arm wrapped behind you in a way that kept you close as his face laid within your shoulder—your smaller form almost seemed to sink into his.

“You ever gonna’ tell me what you’re writin’ in there?”

You smile, glancing to the nightstand before you answer—an angel structured night light gleams the darkness of the room, stars glowing atop of the ceiling.

“You really wanna know?”

His chin rested upon your shoulder, nose buried within the skin of your neck, breathing you in—He nods, “Yeah.”

One of his hands rested atop your thigh as he spoke, palm rubbing along the skin in slow motions. The oversized shirt you wear smells of him.

You hum, “Unicorns, rainbows, babies. All the things I want in this lifetime.”

There's a grin pulling at his expression, “A baby, huh?”

You look back at him, nodding, “A boy, Keiji,” you scribble down within your journal, “‘Means peaceful.”

Suguru’s lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck, nose just right over your pulse point, “You put thought into all of this.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, your answer a whispered, “M’always daydreaming.”

“I know.”

You pull your journal a bit closer to your chest, continuing to write your thoughts of the entire day. As you do so—you’re noticing something. Your fiancés fingers are circling at the top of your knee—but that’s when he slowly takes your thigh closest to him, raising it atop of his body in a way that has your legs spread open.

At first, you were too absorbed within your journal—but the moment his fingers draw closer on your inner thigh, his body looming above yours, your grip on the pen falters. Your face flushes, dropping your journal as you reach for his hair.

You giggle shyly, “Suguru.”

A low chuckle spouted from his lips —He leans down to nudge the tip of his nose against yours, “‘Thought you were writin’?”

He grunts the words to you.

His aura, his size—the giggles from your lips die down the moment his forehead pressed against yours, glaring down.

Suguru drops his lips onto your mouth, sucking them in between his before snatching them back, a popping flesh sound coming in return.

At the same moment, he spreads your legs just a bit more. His palm grazes up your leg, down to your thigh, following the sway of your hips as you gently squirm—then, his fingers make contact with your clit. They don’t move. They just—stay there.

Your fingers are the current comb in his ocean of hair. The moment you feel him below, you graze his scalp, a small pout forming at your lips.

“Whatchu’ poutin’ for?”

His fingers stay pressed between your legs, unmoving. His nose brushed against yours, lips still a few centimeters close to your own.

You could never hide your emotions from him—nor how sensitive you were.

And then, he’s rubbing—it’s slow, but it’s so intense. Your eyes shut as you weakly gasp into his mouth, thighs trembling in response.

He can feel the way your legs begin to respond, your grip on the back of his neck only gets tighter—He groaned out huskily, “Look at you.”

His tongue licked at one of your parted, panting lips.

Your teeth sunk into the flesh of your mouth—hard. But it fails to muffle the little mewl of his name that comes from your lips, all four of his fingers just rubbing.

“‘Bunny’s just too sensitive, huh?”

His voice sounds like a deep grumble to your ears.

Your lips part, another soft, breathless plea of his name comes from your mouth. He can feel how heated you are from below, how drenched you’re getting from just the simple touch of his fingers.

“Yeah—Yeah, you’re right there, ain’t you?”

Your head just nods so feverishly, your hand pulling him closer at the back of his neck.

His voice is rough, “Just listenin’ to your pussy, baby. She’s so loud.”

And it was—you could hear how wet you were, feeling the secretion beginning to build on your inner thighs. You pout even more, your mouth trembling—you say so softly, “Ohmygodbaby.”

“She fuckin’ missed me.”

The moment he said that, your breath left your lungs in a heavy, husky moan, a low slur of, “Suguru,” coming from your trembling lips.

His middle and ring finger suddenly sink in so slowly—Suguru lets out a moan, feeling as you tighten around his knuckles. Your mouth drops against his, cheek burying into his shoulder as you pout, “Ughn,” whining into the comforter to mask your reaction.

“Makin’ a fuckin’ mess already,” he mutters against your neck, sucking just beneath your jaw—His fingers curl inwards—Suguru grumbles a little moan, “You gotta’ open up more, baby. Gonna’ hurt when I go in.”

You whimpered, feeling his fingers sliding in and out of you, that all you could do was hold onto his hair.

You felt like you looked pathetic. His lips brush against yours and you try to capture them, mewling, “Suguruu.”

“You’re so fuckin’ whiny,” he grunts—“Agh,” you moan against his mouth, and he swallows it with a moan of his own, his fingers sinking even deeper.

“Look at you, baby. Look.”

The hand cradled behind you finds its way into your hair—it’s yanking your head up to peer down—you see his fingers going in and out, dropping deeper each time. You frown up to his face, pleasure so within your eyes as you squeal, “You’re so deep, baby.”

His fingers hit right at that little spot that made your back arch, “There we fuckin’ go.”

“Fuck, baby—“

“”Can’t wait ‘til I’m inside, bunny.”

You whimper, “I need you now, baby. Please.”

“There you’ go with that beggin’ shit.”

His fingers slide against your folds, slapping against your pussy—your thighs tremble, “C’mon, Suguru.”

When he gets you to a place of begging, it never stops. You take his large palm, clutching it around your throat as you lay on your side—your back presses to his chest, your palm now reaching down to spread your folds from behind as you whimper, “Please, ‘guru. Please.”

A growl comes from behind you, his jaw buried within your shoulder as his face pushes to the side of your head, pressing his mouth to your ear, “Keep sayin’ that shit. Keep sayin’ you want it.”

“Please,” you were so pouty, “I want it.”

His palm left your neck for a second, his hand coming down to grip onto the curve of your leg, lifting your thigh to adjust himself behind you, rubbing the fat tip of his dick against your folds, “How deep?”

“So deep.”

“Goddamn. I’m finna’ give you this shit.”

His tip sinks in just a little, spreading you apart in a discomforting pinch. And then—

Deep.

A grunt is ripped out of his mouth, his fingers digging into your thigh, finding their way back to your throat, “Fuckin’ hell, girl.”

The way you grip around his dick would’ve left another man falling apart, but—Suguru—he just kept going, his hand spreading your thigh further.

It hurt—but you loved it. This was the hurt you wanted. The pleasure is so violent that it courses your entire body, voice so whiny as you rock your hips back, “Yeah, baby. Uh—huhhh.”

Your little mewl only causes his fingers to tighten around that neck of yours—he’s tugging and yanking you back onto his dick, “Shit,” he groans out huskily, “Feels tighter every time I’m in you.”

He sounds drunk, so lost in the wet, warm feeling. You grip onto his fingers at your neck, nails sinking into his hand, “Itssobigbaby. So big.”

“Yeah?” he’s stroking into you, “This all you’ been wantin’?”

You are in fact so whiny, “Uh-huh,” your fingers grasp at his hand, “Yes.”

“Bounce back on it,” he grunts, “Move on me.”

You’d do anything he’d ask of you.

Your ass claps on his pelvis, bouncing back against his abdomen. His forehead knocks into the curls of your hair from behind, his palm tight on your throat, “Uhfuck,” he moans to you, “Just like that. Keep doin’ that.”

He’s letting you set the pace, “Goddamn,” His fingers twitch around your neck, “You’re so fuckin’ good.”

His moans against your ear are so much louder every time he sinks into you, balls drenched in your folds in such a nasty way, “—I feel you clampin’ so hard, girl. I can feel you all around me.”

“I’m so full.”

Between those words, you could barely catch your breath in a repetition of, “You’re so big.”

“You’re so small, girl,” he’s moaning into your ear, “I’m fillin’ you up.”

But something in him feels—hungry—like he’d lost his appetite hours before and found it in this moment. It’s like the blink of an eye, and his long, dark hair spills across your stomach—his mouth is now between your legs.

Your fingers are in his hair, pulling against him. His tongue is warm, sliding up and down your folds, wagging along your clit that saliva parts lines from the sides of his lips.

His name comes from your mouth in moan, and he only moans back, feeling the way your legs are clamping around his face, his hands pressing your thighs to keep you from moving away, “Pussy so pretty in my mouth—keep movin’ for me.”

His mouth was so good, he moans on your clit, able to taste all of your arousal—he groans into your core, “Uuunnhhh,” he moans into you, “I could eat you forever, baby.”

His hands are clamping down at your thighs, keeping you spread wide open, you could hear how sloppy his tongue was getting, “So fuckin’ wet for me, huh?” he asked, “All for me.”

He’s evil—the way his hair falls around his clenched jaw, eyebrow piercing glowing beneath the light—His pink tongue spreads out to show you the cream on it, straight teeth white as he grins above your pussy, “You see that? How you’re creamin’?”

He’s licking it up like it’s a treat, “You taste so good,” He moaned into you, “Can’t get enough of you.”

The feeling was mutual—you couldn’t get enough of him, either. You find yourself tugging him up, pulling his mouth into a kiss that wraps your tongue around his, his large body looming above yours—his hair shadows the both of you into a deeper kiss, tongues sinking in and out of each other's mouths.

His tongue laps your own, “You want me this fuckin’ bad?”

You don’t necessarily answer—but instead, flip yourself to where his back is against the bed—your tongue glides up the flesh of his abs, slender eyes coaxing his vision deeper into yours.

“Where you’ think you’re goin’?”

But he didn’t have to ask again—now, your mouth was on his tip.

Suguru groans—Your tongue laid flat, slowly lapping at the base of his length—his fingers sink into your hair as his head hits the headboard, “Shit, baby.”

Your fingers grip the base of his dick, stroking him up and down as your mouth works the head—he’s so big, he stretches your mouth wide, but you love it. You’re drooling spit onto his tip, the sexiest smile on your face as saliva coats your full lips—your freckled face is flushed, curls sprawling around your head so prettily—you whimper to him, “I miss you inside me, baby.”

He grips your hair, fisting your tresses as he tugs you back upward, “You wanna’ be on top that bad, huh?” His fingers grip the flesh of your waist, “Come fuck me.”

“That’s how you want it?” you slide your fingers against your swollen nipples, “Tell me.”

You keep your weight on him with one hand at his shoulder, the other gripping his tip as you slid it on your dripping folds.

“You’re too big.”

“Quit playing,” He moaned into your throat, “You’re tryna’ get me to beg.”

You grip the clench of his jaw—your palm connects with his face, the grunt he gives in return making you giggle—you whimper at the smack he gives your ass, “I know you’ll beg.”

“You’re a brat.”

His hips grind along yours, and you repeat, “Lemme’ hear you beg, pretty boy.”

Your hands find grip within the mess of his hair, yanking against the tresses. His jaw clenches, “Mmnnngh,” he moaned as you slapped his tip against your folds, “Fuck.”

His voice is low in your ear, his grip tight and hard on your waist, “I want you so bad.”

His tip is back to sinking in, curls hanging above his face as you whimper, “You want me this bad, baby?”

“I need you, fuck.”

Your fingers rake through Suguru’s hair—He’s so deep, he’s spreading you open—you moan, “I’m so wet—just stay here,” you beg him not to move, smacking your lips against his for a moment.

“So good,” he’s panting to you, kissing you back, “You’re just so good.”

His hand slides down your back, finding the curve of your ass to hold. His other hand clenched around your thigh, beginning to lift you up, “Look at that, baby.”

Your thighs are clapping onto his, bouncing. Your mouth falls open at the feeling of him, your back curving forward, “Fuck.”

You whine to him, “I love bouncin’ on your dick, baby.”

“Yeah?” He’s grunting, “You take it so fuckin’ good. You must love that shit.”

Your curls are in your face—your eyes peer back to watch your ass jiggle and bounce with the rhythm of your tits —that you mewl, your head falling back as you groan, squeezing your arms tighter around his neck.

“There you go.”

He’s watching you with dark, glazed eyes, fingers coming up to your lips to wipe away the spit around your mouth, dragging it across your nipples, “Don’t you fuckin’ stop.”

It happens before you realize—you’re squirting on him, your eyes watering all at the same time, rolling, face pouty as you grind on him, feeling the rupture of your body’s release.

You’re drenching his tip—You’re so over sensitive, he’s just grunting and moaning, like something out of a dream, “Goddamn, your shit is leakin’, baby,” he thrusts, “Let it all out.”

”I made a mess on you,” you’re sobbing, your body trembling in his arms as your sensitive clit aches. Suguru’s hand comes around and lands a smack that echoes off your ass. You moan as he snarls, “You’ made a fuckin’ mess, girl. You and that pretty little pussy.”

“Cum with me, pretty boy,” you whimper, “Cum in me.”

That name, it makes Suguru huff in return—but the sound is weakened by a whimper he does, “You’re so fuckin’ wet.”

His fingers grip the back of your neck as his body tensed beneath yours, “I’m gonna’… fuck…” He whined, burying his face against your shoulder, rocking you through the cum warming your insides, you’re panting in each other's mouths, moaning, so full of passion you’d never have for anyone else. He was yours, and you were his.

There’s silence for a moment in your shared bliss—your foreheads rest against each others, fingers brushing through hair, your chests rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Both of you laugh softly, feeling eased and content. He looks up to you, pressing a kiss to your chin, "You alright?”

“Yeah. I’m…”

You’re unsure—maybe it’s the moment—maybe it’s the fact that you were already crying. But more tears begin to fall from your face, your hands flying onto your flushed cheeks—you’re sobbing once more.

His face twists in panic, hands immediately coming to wipe at your tears, “Woah, baby, you’re good. Why you’ cryin’?”

He’s so gentle, sitting up straighter, keeping you close on his lap as you cling onto him.

“You’re okay,” he repeats, “Was it me? Did I do somethin’—“

“No,” you sniffle, “I just—I’m so sorry for keeping you from my family this long. I love you so much, Suguru. I wanna marry you a thousand times,” you whimper to him, “I wanna have your little babies and everything.”

When you press your face into his chest and cry harder, your fiancé can’t help but chuckle at your emotions—he cradles your head to his body, “You make a good case. But I’m not mad at you, baby.”

He lowers his neck, peeping your eyes through your covered face—he murmurs, “You gonna’ let me in?”

You sniffle, lowering your fingers from your face.

After a second of comfortable silence—just the sound of your breathing and Suguru’s soft laughter, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, “You had to connect with your family before I came in, and now we got’ all the time in the world to make shit right. I can’t wait to see you all pregnant, and married—I’m gonna give you a whole damn clan, girl.”

Your arms wrap around his neck so tight that you feel a grunt, squeezing as you repeat, “I love you so much, Suguru.”

“I love you so much more, pretty girl.”

“More than automobiles?”

“More than a damn car lot.”

Of course, you giggled.

When your eyes open again, a ray of sunlight peaks through the slit of white curtains, dancing across the bedsheets to greet your body the next morning. As your vision adjusts, an arm shifts around your waist—the ink on the strong, defined muscle holds a grip, fingers digging just slightly into your flesh.

Your heart was so warm, that it nearly had forgotten about the day before. But you were quickly reminded seconds later, as a soft knock came to the door of your old bedroom.

You frowned.

Slowly, your body turns towards your fiancé, mouth raising over his ear as you murmur, “I’ll be back, okay?”

He stirs just slightly, his thick fingers reaching to clutch onto your side when you move—his eyes cracked open, “Don’t forget ‘bout me.”

You smiled softly, reaching to brush the hair out of his eyes, “Promise I won’t.”

The moment you throw Suguru’s shirt onto your head and slip on some sweatpants, you quickly tug at the door in anticipation of Hazel—instead, a more familiar face.

Your fathers.

You glance around the hallway, narrowed eyes going back to him, “Good morning—you okay, Daddy?”

He clears his throat, hands resting behind his back. He looked exhausted.

“Can we…” he began softly, “Talk?”

You’re quick to nod, “Of course,” opening the door a bit further to step out, closing it gently behind you.

You stood opposite of him in the hall, face showing no emotion as you waited for him to begin. He exhaled silently, hands folded behind his back, “About yesterday…”

He shook his head, “I’m sorry to both you and your fiancé for the way I acted. I shouldn’t have—behaved the way I did.”

He takes another breath, “From not seeing you in years, to finding out you’re getting married—I just couldn’t admit to myself that you had grown up without me, baby girl. And—if you left home, it must’ve been my fault.”

Your eyes soften as you watch your father. He’s being completely vulnerable, and that wasn’t something you expected of him. You can’t help it—your hand reaches for his, gripping it tightly in a comforting gesture, “Daddy, that’s not true.”

He shook his head, fingers tightening around yours, “I messed up, baby,” a small sigh left his lips, “I messed up, not you. You wanted to see the world and spread your wings. That’s something I had to respect, even if it hurt me. I’d do anything for you, you know that.”

Your fingers are still wrapped around his, your free hand coming up to rub his shoulder affectionately, “Of course I know that.”

You sigh, “I have to apologize too. Being an adult, I should’ve been communicative with how I felt about leaving home—I just didn’t think you’d be receptive to it, so—it was easier to just leave. And—meeting Suguru, he made me realize how important family was.”

Your father’s eyebrows raise.

“Despite your moral differences—Suguru is amazing, Daddy. He loves me more than I could express to you, and wants nothing more than for me to be happy. He encouraged me to come here yesterday.”

“He told you to come here?”

You nod, “He did.”

Another beat of silence.

“You’re happy, mon chou?”

Your hand squeezed his, your voice a soft whisper, “Happier than I’ve ever been.”

“Then that’s all I want, baby girl. I’m happy for you, I’m so proud of you.”

A few tears welled up in your eyes, your fingers gripping onto his back so tight that you were afraid you’d leave a mark underneath his button up, hugging him. You buried your face into his shoulder, “I’m sorry for leaving, Daddy.”

“Don’t be sorry, princess,” his hand rubbed up and down your back, “You can always come home.”

You smiled, “I’d really like to make up for the missed years.”

He let out a soft hum from his chest, hand coming up to graze your cheek affectionately, “We can start by planning this wedding together—Tell me everything you want, and how much my pockets gonna break from it.”

He then sighs, “And—by letting me know when your fiancè wakes up, so I can talk to him as well.”

Your head tilts at that, eyes wide, “Really? You’re ready to do this?”

“As ready as I can be.”

Your face lights up, excitement spreading through your body as you cling onto his arm, “Good—I have so much to tell you! C’mon, you can treat me to some beignets— Then, you and Suguru can be besties, yeah?”

“You’re pushing it, babydoll.”

You sigh, “Thought I’d give it a shot. Let’s go!”

#suguru geto smut #suguru getou x reader #getou suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #suguru fluff #suguru getou #suguru geto #jujutsu kaisen suguru #geto suguru #jjk suguru #suguru x y/n #suguru x you #jjk smut #suguru jjk

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fromrory · 11 days ago

Text

𐔌 ⋮ “It’s not humiliation, it’s love.”

let's pretend damian is wearing a batman pjs pls

The pajamas arrived in a box.

A very pink box.

With glittery tape and a small handwritten note that read:

"For Justice. And Cuteness. ♡ — Your pretty girl"

Damian stared at it like it had personally offended his ancestors.

“You ordered... matching pajamas,” he said slowly, holding up one of the offending garments by the collar. “That combine Batman… and Hello Kitty.”

She—utterly unrepentant in her fleece robe and fuzzy socks—beamed from her spot on his bed. “I designed them myself. It’s a collaboration. Symbolic, even.”

“There is nothing symbolic about a cartoon feline perched on Father’s logo.”

“On the butt, Damian. The Hello Kitty is on the butt.”

His soul left his body.

It takes twenty minutes of negotiation. (“This is emotional warfare.” “This is love.” “I’m being blackmailed with affection.” “Exactly.”)

And another ten of silent glaring while she makes him change behind the bathroom door.

When he finally steps out—scowling, barefoot, and very pink—she gasps so loudly it echoes.

Because there he is.

Damian Wayne, 5’10”, deadliest teen in the tri-state area, wearing a pair of black pajama pants with Hello Kitty holding a Batarang printed across the thighs,and the btman logo across his butt. The top? A soft, black tee with the Bat-symbol shaped like a pink bow.

He looks like a sanrio vigilante.

She clutches her heart. “Oh my god.”

“This never happened,” he growls.

“I’m in love,” she sighs. “I’m gonna frame this memory in my mind forever.”

He crosses his arms, but the sleeves are so soft and slightly too long it just makes him look huggable. “If you take a picture, I’ll dislocate your thumbs.”

She holds up her phone anyway.

He glares.

And then—

He sighs. Long-suffering. And walks over to wrap an arm around her waist. “Fine. One photo.”

The photo is chaos.

Damian looks like he’s being held hostage by feelings. Her face is pure gremlin joy. They’re holding hands. Hello Kitty glows triumphantly in the background.

They think it’ll stay private.

They think wrong.

Enter the Batfam.

Dick: immediately breaks down laughing when he opens the group chat. Batbutts + and the demon's gf bcs she's cool

Dihh: “My baby brother... in Hello Kitty jammies... hugging his girlfriend… I’m gonna pass away.” zombie uwu: “I always knew there was a softcore anime prince under all that stabby rage. 🥲” Timmytomby: “Things I’ll Show the Press if Damian Ever Tries to Take Over Gotham.pp” Blondie: “PLEASE tell me there’s a matching scrunchie involved. I need this for science.” Cassie: Cute. Very soft aura. Must protect. Lightbulb:“Yo can I get a pair in yellow tho???”

The worst part?

Batman sees it. Bruce. Father. Unblinking, stoic, chaos-proof Bruce Wayne.

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at the photo. Then at Damian. Then back at the photo.

A long silence.

“…Functional fabric?” he asks.

Damian closes his eyes. “Please leave, Father.”

Later, as they're curled up under fleece blankets in the Manor’s media room—She's in her matching set, Damian half-covered in popcorn, both of them squished onto the same beanbag chair—she leans over and whispers:

“You know, this means you’re officially part of the Hello Kitty resistance.”

He groans softly.

She kisses his cheek.

He mutters something about “tactical softness.”

But his hand never leaves hers.

And when she dozes off halfway through Ponyo, head on his shoulder, breath warm and slow—he presses the softest kiss to her hairline and whispers:

“Mine.”

Bonus: Alfred finds the discarded pajama packaging the next day. He does not speak of it.

But later that week, two mugs appear on the breakfast table.

One with a Bat-symbol.

The other with Hello Kitty.

Both say: “Gotham’s Cutest Couple.”

Damian drinks from his without a word.

Taglist🏷️: @simpingmyassoff , @shootingstargirl2001 , @dreamerwhofell , @gothamwing , @amiratheangel (if you want to be added,comment down below!)

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sttoru · 9 months ago

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clan leader!satoru, whose smile isn’t actually a. . . smile. it serves as a gentle (yet not-so-gentle) threat to whomever it is dedicated to. a lot of the gojo clan members, as well as members from other noble clans, have heard of that infamous smile and know of its true meaning.

ever since marrying you, that smile often finds its way onto his lips. it’s not because of you, but rather because of the ones interacting with you. satoru didn’t ever expect to feel so possessive about someone he initially didn’t care for.

a marriage of convenience is all that your relationship was for. it purely existed for the sake of a connection between two famous families. your first weeks together have been awkward. any form of affection - any touches or loving words - were for the sake of his image.

however that all was fated to change: satoru eventually found himself falling for his wife.

your kind personality, your subtle smiles, the embarrassed expression on your face whenever he teased you in front of others even if it was all a faux display- an act of being all lovey-dovey. your inner and outer beauty was slowly becoming more apparent to the white-haired man.

you don’t know when it started. you can’t recall why satoru is suddenly acting affectionate even behind closed doors. usually, he’d drop the act the second you’re in your chambers. now he continues to compliment you, pepper you with chaste kisses as long as you allowed him to… even refer to you as his ‘dear’, ‘pretty girl’ or ‘sweetheart’ to your face like it’s nothing.

you shrug off your own guards and maids when they curiously inform you about their lord’s sudden change of personality, which was supposedly all because of you.

“ah, my wife,” satoru’s voice echoes above the loud chatter in the main hall. you turn your head and find your heart racing for some reason as he addresses you in that gentle tone.

he makes his way through the crowd, eyes never leaving your face, even as other important figures try to catch his attention to talk business. “i was greatly worried about you,” your husband sighs.

a gloved hand cups your face and satoru leans in, his glossy lips inches from yours. you’d think this was part of the fake arrangement, but there’s this genuine hint of adoration behind his cerulean eyes that you cannot ignore.

“i— my apologies,” you murmur softly, eyes darting around the room while you try to ignore the loud thumping of your heart. “i was simply talking to one of the guards,” you explain and nod your head to the bulky man standing next to you.

the guard respectfully bows to satoru the second you introduce him. your husband doesn’t respond for a single second, his fingers twitching lightly at his side. he can’t stand the thought of you talking to another man while he isn’t around.

is it for your own safety? or is it because he’s jealous and immediately wants to get rid of any man who dares speak to his precious wife? perhaps it’s a mixture of both.

“i see,” satoru replies. his eyes darken for a second before he catches himself. the corners of his lips curl upwards, though the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

that familiar sight makes you nervous. you’ve seen it before, when your husband would subtly threaten others for whatever reason, while hiding his true feelings behind that smile.

“well,” satoru continues, his arm wrapping around your waist. he pulls you against his side and places a kiss on top of your head while glaring at the guard through his white eyelashes.

“thank you for keeping my wife safe,” the clan leader says through that tight smile, trying to keep it as ‘genuine’ looking as possible. he has a reputation and image to uphold after all.

you’re about to say something, but are cut off as satoru adds another comment. “i’m here now, so you can return to your post.”

it isn’t a suggestion. it is an order— a command. a disguised threat.

the guard immediately picks up on the subtle hint and nods without saying a word before walking back to his spot at the doors. you can hear the faint whispers from others as they also seem to recognise that change in satoru’s demeanour.

it’s not like you’re totally oblivious to what’s happening either. you look up at satoru and place a hand on his chest, trying to catch his attention. “satoru,” you whisper his name.

the white-haired man immediately snaps out of it and excitedly shoots you that boyish smile of his instead of the fake, cold one he wore on his face just a second ago.

“you called, my dear?” satoru tilts his head, bringing a hand to rest over yours on his chest. your eyes widen a bit at the way he seems to relax and look at you with that same devoted gaze.

you don’t think it’s an act anymore. the words die on your tongue and you can’t recall what you wanted to say anymore. those sparkling blue eyes and charming smile have you rendered speechless.

“…it’s nothing,” you mutter under your breath. you have no clue how you’ve managed to turn that once, cocky, overly confident and cold-hearted ruler into a total softie for you. it’s something you still need to process yourself.

satoru doesn’t leave your side for the rest of the night, glaring at the men who pass by, shooting them that fake, threatening smile if they looked like they desired to converse with you.

you’re his wife, and that’s that. he silently wonders when you’ll realise that he actually fell for you. perhaps you are already aware of it, but hide it from him on purpose.

whatever the case is, satoru will make sure that you know his true feelings for you. one day he will tell you those three words explicitly— if it wasn’t obvious enough through his sudden change of behavior.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #jjk x you #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x y/n #jjk x female reader #gojo x female reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #is this a tease to my other clan!leader gojo fic? perhaps.... :D

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chastiefoul · 10 months ago

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jjk men coming home and finding you crying

ft. gojo, geto, nanami, toji fluff and comfort

gojo satoru

you wiped your eyes quickly as you heard the door opened. you took a deep breath, making sure your voice didn’t come as shaky as you said, “welcome home, toru.” with a big grin and the usual paper bag filled with sweets on his right hand he planted a kiss on your head. “i’m home baby.”

you were just about to let out a sigh of relief when satoru suddenly knelt in front of you who’s on the couch, blindfold off as his blue eyes stared as if seeing right through you. “what’s wrong?” he said softly, his knuckles brushing over your cheek with such a careful gesture. “what do you mean?” you tilted your head, cringing inside at the bad feign. “you can’t fool my six eyes, baby. also what kind of boyfriend i’ll be if i can’t even notice when my girl is sad?”

you tried to form a sentence to say as an excuse but the kisses he peppered across your face wasn’t really helping. you chuckled as you whine softly, “toruu.” the white-haired man cupped your face, a gorgeous smile on his face. “my favorite sound, baby,” he said, kissing your lips. “tell me? pleaseeee.” you laughed once more at his emphasis at the last word. “it’s really nothing, toru.”

“i love listening to nothing. we even have some sweets here as snacks,” he said, opening the paper bag excitedly. “i think you just want an excuse to eat it at 8 pm,” you raised an eyebrow, as he grinned. “nonsense, baby. now c’mere, let me hold you while you tell your story.” he put you between his legs, your back resting on his broad chest comfortably. you sighed out of wonderment, thinking how you could be so lucky, being this loved by the man.

“here, pick whatever. this one is my favorite,” he rummaged through the bag that’s on your lap. you looked at him with fondness as his face leaned in beside you to see better. “yeah? you’ll give me your favorite?”

“there’s nothing in the world that you can’t get, baby.” he kissed the side of your face. “now start from the very beginning.”

geto suguru

“if you thought you were doing a great job hiding those tears i have some news for you sweet girl,” geto’s voice was gentle on your ear as he wipe the wet residue underneath your eyes with the inner sleeve of his robe. “i wasn’t really hiding it,” you frowned, somehow not liking the fact that he noticed your little moment of weakness. “yeah? so you were just rubbing your eyes all rough like that for no reason?” he gave you a little smile.

yeah, it was a battle you had lost from start.

he put his arms around you, rubbing your back in a soothing pattern. “what’s wrong baby, everything okay?” you melted right into his touch, resting your head on his chest right on the calming beating of his heart. “yeah, it’s not really a big deal,” you mumbled, your low spirit was really affecting him more than he would ever let you know. his hand kept moving as he once again kissed the side of your head, a low chuckled escaped him. “you’re cute when you think you have a choice on telling me what had upset you.”

you laughed softly at his playfulness, knowing full well to you’ll end up telling your boyfriend everything. “you’re right. but can i tell you later?” you asked, wanting just this peaceful moment to last just a little longer as you held him tight.

“’course baby, got all the time in the world for you.”

nanami kento

nanami already knew that something was off when the house felt a little quiet as he arrived. and then he found you hunched over as you stood behind the kitchen counter. “honey?” you wiped your eyes with what you thought was the speed of sound but it was clear to both of you that you had been crying. “hi ken, how was work?” you replied with a small voice, a smile nanami didn’t particularly like plastered on your face; only because it seemed forced.

“oh no, we’re not breezing past it. come here my love.” and his embrace enveloped you like a dream, all warm and perfect. he stroke your hair ever so softly as he whispered sweet nothings. when you calmed down a little he sneaked a hand under your jaw, rubbing his thumb on your cheek gently, a gesture with amount of love you could only guess. “what’s wrong, hm?” he questioned you, his eyes shone with adoration; there’s only you in that moment.

“i’m okay, ken. more importantly aren’t you tired from work?” there’s a deep crease between the blond’s man eyebrows he heard you say this, as if that was the most offensive thing he had ever heard from you. “’more importantly?’ there could be nothing that’s more important than you, dear,” he said, knowing that concern was from a good place, like he was worrying over you, of course you would fuss over him who just came home from work.

“still…” you hesitated, but he kissed it out of you quickly. “want me to prepare you a bath, love? you know i can get the perfect temperature for you,” he whispered, coaxing you. and he was right, even sometimes he would get it right more often than you. before you could even mumble out another excuse he continued. “and while you do that i’ll prepare dinner, okay? i’m sure there’re still some ingredients left to make that nice meal you like.”

“no, i couldn’t possibly let you do all the work ken-“

“love, i’m here. you can relax, okay? you always do so much for me, let me do this for you,” he reassured you, cupping your face as he trailed your cheeks with soft kisses. you’re still not convinced, as he smiled over your great concern. “do this for me, please?” he tried once more and there’s no way you could refuse that. you nodded, feeling another wave of tears coming out of gratitude for your boyfriend., “thank you ken, i love you so much.”

“i love you too. and when you’re ready to talk, i’m here okay? always.”

toji fushiguro

he lifted you up, your leg instinctively wrapped themselves around his waist as he grabbed both of your thighs to support you. you tighten the hold of your arms around his neck, resting your head on your shoulder, nuzzling closer to his neck; not wanting him to see your post-crying face.

he sat you on the kitchen counter, putting both of his hands on the hard surface, on either side of your body practically refraining you to run away. “what’s wrong pretty girl?” he asked you who’s currently staring at the fingers on your lap as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. he kissed your shoulder blade, intentionally lingering a little long to hopefully calm your nerves. “nothing, i guess,” you answered nonchalantly, like detaching yourself. “you’re shit at lying babe, you know that right? look at the frown that you’re wearing right now, it’s almost touching the floor,” he said as he kissed your neck next. “mean,” you meant to frown, and you realized you were already doing that for the past hour. fine, maybe he had a point, so what?

“nah, what’s mean is when my girl won’t even tell me what made her upset,” he said, tilting his head confidently, his big hand on your waist as he rubbed your side. the look on his face was enough to make you relent. “fine… you’ll force it out of me sooner or later anyways,” you mumbled as he smiled, knowing that you needed a little push is all to sound your worries. “atta girl.”

“tell me all ‘bout it yeah? don’t leave out a single detail. then maybe if you’re up for it, i can show you that i got many ways to cheer you up,”

#jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #suguru fluff #suguru x reader #geto x reader #nanami fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #jjk toji #toji x you #toji x reader #toji fluff

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verstappenverse · 1 month ago

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Waiting Game

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: You’ve been in love with Max for years, silently watching him date the wrong girl, until walking away makes him finally realise you were the one all along. (Requested)

3.9k words / Masterlist

The first time you met Max Verstappen you knew you were doomed.

Not in a he’s-going-to-ruin-my-life kind of way. No, it was quieter than that. Deeper. It was the kind of knowing that settled into your bones and never left. The kind that whispered, I will love him for the rest of my existence, even if he never loves me back.

And you had. Hopelessly. Silently. Faithfully.

You’ve never known a world without Max.

From sandbox castles to celebratory podium hugs, you’ve always been there. When you think of home, it’s not really a place, it’s him. The way he throws popcorn at you during movie nights, the way he remembers how you take your tea, the way he always texts “landed” the moment the wheels hit the tarmac.

You were inseparable. The kind of closeness that made people tilt their heads and ask, Are you sure you’re just friends? You brushed it off with a laugh, a shrug, a carefully rehearsed, Yeah, just friends. But you knew better. You felt it every time your hand brushed his and he didn’t pull away. Every time he called you at 2 a.m. because something was heavy on his mind and you were the only person he trusted enough to hold it with him.

There was never a clear moment when friendship turned into something more for you, it was just a slow unraveling. A shift in the way you watched him. The way your heart stuttered when his name lit up your phone. The way everything softened when he looked at you, even if he didn’t know what it meant. The time he flew across three countries just to bring you soup when you had the flu. You’d laughed, voice hoarse, swaddled in blankets and tissues.

“You’re insane,” you said, but your heart was already halfway gone.

You memorised him like a religion. The furrow between his brows when he was focused. The way his voice softened when he talked about things that scared him, the future, family, not doing enough. You traveled the world with him, race weekends blurred into hotel rooms and midnight drives and laughter spilling out of overpriced restaurants.

And at night, when you’re apart, FaceTime is your safety net. You fall asleep more times than you can count, with his voice crackling through your phone, tucked on your pillow. Sometimes it’s quiet, just the sound of his breath syncing with yours. Sometimes it’s laughter, or whispers about things he’d never say out loud during the day.

Still, you said nothing, because Max was Max. He had dreams to chase and tracks to conquer and a world to carry on his shoulders. And you? You were his best friend. The keeper of secrets. The one he called when everything else fell apart.

It’s always him.

Always.

And that was enough you thought.

That’s probably why it hurts so badly when he chose her.

It was one night, when you were sitting on the couch with him, legs folded, laughing about something dumb. And then, just as the moment quitened, he said it.

“I’ve been seeing someone by the way.”

So casual and unbothered, and you smiled like it didn’t split you open.

“Oh,” you said. “That’s nice, I’m happy for you.”

She wasn’t outright awful.

Not in a way you could call out directly. Not in a way that gave you permission to hate her.

She was sleek and polished and knew exactly how to pose for the cameras. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it looked good on magazine covers. She knew how to charm a crowd, how to toss her hair just right, how to smile for the cameras and nod politely at press events.

She never reacted to his frustrations, because she didn’t care enough to be affected by it. She didn’t ask about his bad days. Didn’t know the way his fingers twitched when he was nervous or the sound he made in his sleep when he was too exhausted to dream.

You wanted to believe she loved him for his sake. But it felt like she loved the image more, the icon, the podiums, the press, the power. Not the boy who forgot to eat when he was stressed. Not the man who kept every letter from his mother in a shoebox under his bed.

You watched from the sidelines, clapping the loudest, smiling the widest, standing just close enough. Pretending that your heart didn’t fracture a little more each time she showed up wearing his jacket. Each time he kissed her forehead. Each time he introduced you as his best friend, like that word wasn’t slowly bleeding you dry.

You didn’t ask for more. You never had. Because loving Max wasn’t a choice, it was an inevitability. And you knew, deep down, he was never really yours to lose.

But God, it still felt like he was.

The longer she stuck around, the more cracks you began to see. Not gaping ones, just tiny fractures only someone who truly knew Max could notice. Subtle, quiet things that dug under your skin until they bruised.

It was in the way she watched his races, when she even bothered to show up. Sometimes she’d arrive midway through, sunglasses still on indoors, distractedly scrolling through her phone while his car kissed the barriers. She never flinched. Never held her breath when he went wheel-to-wheel.

That was the thing, her indifference wasn’t malicious. It wasn’t loud. It was just careless. Passive. It came out in the small things, the way she dismissed his nerves before qualifying with a flat, “You’ll be fine, babe.” The way she laughed when fans screamed his name, muttering, “They’re obsessed with you. It’s creepy.”

Max didn’t see it.

Or maybe he did. Maybe he caught glimpses of her disinterest and shoved them deep enough that they wouldn’t threaten the stability he’d convinced himself he needed. Maybe he stayed because it was easier to be with someone who never demanded the truth.

And you?

You smiled through it.

You were polite. Friendly, even. Because Max was your best friend, and the last thing you wanted was to be the reason for a wedge between him and someone he cared about. So you bit your tongue when she interrupted him. You offered her a drink when she showed up late to the paddock. You complimented her shoes. Let her lean on your shoulder for a group photo you didn’t want to be in.

You did it for him.

And still, people noticed.

The fans weren’t blind. If anything, they saw it more clearly than he did.

@maxarmy33: I don’t care what anyone says, Max’s gf is just NOT it. It’s actually wild how Max can’t see that Y/N has always been the one. She’s been by his side through everything. That kind of loyalty isn’t fake.

@redbullfan1: Max doesn’t just smile around Y/N LOOK at how he lights up around her.. You can’t fake that kind of connection. They’re meant to be, and everyone sees it but him.

@dutchlion26: The fact that Max still isn’t dating Y/N despite their perfect chemistry is a crime.

@maxy4stappen Y/N has been in Max’s corner since day one. She knows him better than anyone, and he’s out here dating someone who barely even watches his races?? Be serious.

You knew they weren’t kind comments. Fans never know the full story, they only saw what was on the surface. Still… you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel a little vindicating.

You thought maybe, maybe, one day he’d see what everyone else did.

But he didn’t. He chose her.

Things changed slowly after that.

He called less. You didn’t always answer. You made excuses when he asked to hang out, not because you didn’t want to, but because every mention of her name was like pressing on a bruise that wouldn’t heal.

You watched him wrap his arm around her waist at events, post pictures with captions you assumed she wrote. You watched him smile at her like she might be everything.

You told yourself it was fine. That it was enough to love him quietly, from the background. That your place, constant and steady, just a little to the left of center, was still better than not being in his orbit at all.

But deep down, you hoped. Hoped that the weight of your love, quiet and unconditional, would finally register. That maybe one day he’d turn around and realise you’d been there all along.

The intervention happened after Monaco.

You’d watched from your usual place, tucked into the Red Bull hospitality suite, just close enough to feel like part of the chaos, just far enough to know you never really would be. The routine was muscle memory by now. Headphones looped around your neck, heart thrumming in sync with every lap. You could trace the corners of the circuit with your eyes closed, every turn etched into your bloodstream from years of watching him fly through them.

Max had been brilliant. Fierce and unrelenting. He’d carved through the streets of Monte Carlo like the track had been built for him, like it was always meant to be his. You felt every gear shift like a jolt in your ribs, every overtake like a breath you couldn’t quite finish.

His girlfriend had sat two chairs down from you, legs crossed, thumb lazily scrolling through her phone. She hadn’t flinched once. Hadn’t looked up when the entire suite held its breath. You’d barely heard her speak.

You stood in the paddock afterwards, soaked in golden light and champagne mist, your ears ringing with celebration. Cameras flashed. People screamed his name. He threw his arms around his team, his smile wide and breathless. She kissed his cheek and he didn’t even glance your way.

You should’ve felt proud. Happy. Triumphant, even. But instead, you just felt… hollow. Like you were watching the best moment of his life from behind glass.

That was when your friends stepped in.

You didn’t even notice them closing in until you felt a firm hand wrap gently around your wrist.

“You need to stop.”

“Stop what?” you asked, forcing your voice to sound casual, light. The kind of tone that might fool someone who didn’t know better.

“This.” She gestured vaguely, helplessly. “Hanging around like this… waiting for Max to finally wake up and realise you’re the love of his life.”

“I’m not—” you started, but your voice cracked and gave you away.

“You are,” she said quietly, cutting you off. “You have been. For years. And it’s killing you.”

You opened your mouth, closed it again.

She stepped closer. “You think we don’t see it? The way you look at him? The way you never say no when he needs something? You would rip yourself in half to make his life easier.”

Your throat ached. Your chest felt too tight to breathe in.

“I just want him to be happy,” you whispered, and it was the closest thing to the truth you could say out loud without completely breaking.

“Yeah?” Her eyes softened, but her voice stayed firm. “And what about your happiness? When’s the last time you even thought about that?”

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t know.

It started small. Innocent. A slow, gentle push toward something else, something that wasn’t him. Saying yes when someone asked for your number. Letting a date buy you coffee. Letting someone else ask you questions and actually listen to the answers.

The first date was forgettable. The second, slightly better. You started saying yes more often.

And suddenly, Max was paying attention. Longer glances. A missed text here, a delayed reply there and he started asking more questions, Where were you last night? Who were you with? when you posted a photo of a drink across from you at a candlelit restaurant. Did you not fly out this weekend? when he didn’t spot you in the paddock.

His voice stayed easy, but there was something sharp beneath it. Something unsettled.

One night your phone buzzed with a message from him.

Max: Who’s the guy in your story?

You stared at the screen, pulse skipping. Your photo had only shown two hands over dinner, one of them yours.

You: Just a guy I met. Does it matter?

It took him five minutes to respond.

Max: No. Just curious.

You didn’t reply.

For the first time in a long time, Max is the one feeling left behind.

He calls on a Thursday night.

You’re halfway through applying mascara when the screen lights up with his name.

“Hey,” you answer, brushing your lashes carefully.

He sounds tired. “You free to talk tonight? Facetime like always? I can’t sleep.”

You hesitate.

There’s a silence you’ve never had with him before.

“I have a date,” you say softly.

“Oh.” He sounds surprised. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Did I have to?” you replied, and instantly felt bad about it.

Max is quiet. Then, “Right. I guess not. Sorry.”

You hesitate. Then add, “Maybe this is something your girlfriend should be doing anyway.”

He doesn’t say anything.

You don’t say goodbye. Just end the call gently, then stare at your reflection in the mirror until the ache in your chest settles into something bitter and familiar.

Max doesn’t sleep that night.

Not because of the race, not because of jet lag, but because your voice won’t leave his head.

Maybe this is something your girlfriend should be doing.

You’d sounded tired. Guarded. Like you were hiding yourself from him.

And for the first time in his life, Max realises he has no idea what’s going on in your head.

It’s terrifying.

He calls the next morning.

You ignore it.

He opens his camera roll without thinking. Starts scrolling through old photos. Ones he’s probably passed a hundred times before without thinking. You in hotel lobbies, laughing at something he said. You wrapped in scarves on cold race weekends, clutching a takeaway hot chocolate. You curled up on his couch at 1 a.m. after some terrible horror movie, half-asleep, legs tangled in his.

And suddenly, it hits him how constant you’ve been.

Not loud. Not demanding. Just there. Always.

You never asked for anything. Never made him choose. You just showed up. When he was exhausted, when his dad said something that cut too deep, when the media turned cruel or the pressure felt suffocating, whether he won or lost, you were there. Not trying to fix it. Just holding space for him in a way no one else ever had.

How had he not seen it?

How his apartment feels colder without your socks drying on the radiator. How he still buys your favourite cereal without thinking, even though you haven’t been over in two weeks. How he used to FaceTime you after races if you couldn’t be there, win or lose, just to hear your voice while he fell asleep. He never does that with his girlfriend.

It’s never been the same.

He thinks about the last thing you said.

Maybe this is something your girlfriend should be doing.

And it lands like a punch to the gut.

Because she’s not the one he wants to call at night.

You are.

You were trying. Trying to mean it when you smiled at someone else. Trying to accept that Max had chosen someone who wasn’t you.

Which is why you brought Jake to the next race.

He wasn’t serious. Just kind. Simple. He asked about your day, laughed at your dumb jokes, and held your hand like he meant it. He didn’t know much about racing, but he tried.

You entered the paddock with his fingers laced in yours and felt the storm hit before you even made it to hospitality.

Max was standing by the Red Bull garage mid-conversation, but he went still the second he saw you. His eyes locked on Jake’s hand in yours like it was a threat. Like it didn’t belong there. His jaw clenched. Shoulders squared. A barely visible storm gathering behind his eyes.

You smiled like you didn’t notice, but your pulse fluttered in your throat all the same.

After the race, another podium, another photo-op, he found you.

Cornered you, really.

It was quieter outside the motorhome, the hum of the paddock fading behind you, tension heavy in the air.

“What’s going on with you?” he asked. His voice wasn’t soft, it was guarded. Accusing.

You turned to face him slowly. “What do you mean?”

“This.” He gestured in the general direction Jake had gone. “You and what’s his name? James? Jason?”

You blinked. “Jake.”

He scoffed under his breath. “Right. Jake.”

You folded your arms. “I don’t see why it matters.”

Max’s eyes narrowed. “Of course it matters.”

“Why?” you asked, harsher than you meant to. “Because you don’t like him? Or because you don’t like the idea of me moving on?”

He flinched, actually flinched. That small, involuntary pull of guilt across his features.

“That’s not—” he started, but you cut him off.

The words came spilling out before you could stop them. “Don’t you dare say that this isn’t fair. You don’t get to tell me what’s fair. I spent years waiting for you, Max.” Your voice shook, the truth finally cracking through the surface. “I waited while you ran to me for everything and still gave your heart to someone else.”

You took a breath. Swallowed the lump rising in your throat.

“I was your best friend. Your person. And I thought… maybe one day you’d finally see me.”

Max opened his mouth, barely, but nothing came out. His expression twisted, like your words physically hurt. Like they were the truth he’d buried too deep to admit.

“But you never did,” you whispered.

He looked lost. Like he didn’t know how to hold onto anything without holding onto you.

“I’m done waiting,” you said, voice steadier now. Stronger. “I deserve someone who actually chooses me. Who doesn’t need to lose me to realise I was there all along.”

He swallowed hard. The kind of swallow that hurts going down. His jaw clenched. His fists curled like he didn’t know what else to do with his hands.

And for once, he had nothing to say.

You come home the next day to flowers on your doorstep, express delivery.

White tulips your favourite. No note. But you know who they’re from.

You stare at them for a moment too long, heart thudding unevenly, before finally unlocking your phone.

Thanks for the flowers, you text, hitting send before you can overthink it.

His reply is instant. Like he’s been waiting.

Can I see you?

You hesitate, thumb hovering, nerves buzzing just beneath your skin.

Okay.

He comes straight to your place. Baseball cap pulled low, hoodie drawn up, not to hide from paparazzi, you suspect, but to hide from you. Or maybe from whatever truth he’s only just beginning to face.

There’s a hesitation when you open the door, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be here anymore.

Once he’s inside he finally speaks. “I didn’t know,” he says, voice hoarse.

You frown. “Didn’t know what?”

Max exhales, slow and heavy, like dragging the truth to the surface is painful. “I didn’t know it was you.”

Your brows draw together, confused, lips parting, but he keeps going.

“I’ve been chasing all these things, titles, wins, people, and I didn’t realise I already had the most important one right in front of me.”

You blink, caught between disbelief and the ache of wanting to believe it.

He steps closer, carefully. “You’re the one I want to talk to at 2 a.m. You’re the one I want next to me when I fall asleep. You always have been. I just didn’t see it. Not until I thought I’d lost you.”

Your chest tightens, breath catching. “Max…”

“I think…” he cuts in, voice raw, “I think I’ve been in love with you this whole time.”

You freeze.

“What?” you ask, stunned. The word barely escapes.

“I didn’t know what it was,” he says, his hands shaking slightly as he rakes them through his hair. “I know I’ve been an idiot, but you have to know I never meant to do anything to hurt you, I was just blind. I thought… fuck, I thought it was just how we are. I thought everyone had a best friend like you. I didn’t realise it until I saw you with someone else, and it felt like the air got ripped out of my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t stand it.”

You step back on instinct, the pain too fresh, too tangled with old wounds. “Max… don’t do this. Not because you’re jealous.”

“I’m not,” he says quickly. “I mean, I am, obviously, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I can’t keep pretending I’m not in love with you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, so longed for, so impossible, and yet, somehow, not enough to steady the storm inside you

His voice breaks on the next part. “I ended things. I don’t love her. I don’t think I ever did. She was easy and safe. But she’s not you. No one is.”

And God, the way that splits you open. The way it taps into something buried but still bleeding.

He watches you, eyes wide and full of fear. “I know I’ve hurt you. I know I don’t deserve a second chance. But tell me…”

He swallows hard.

“Tell me it’s not too late.”

You stare at him.

Really stare.

You see it. The boy who once held your hand under a table because you were nervous. The one who stayed on FaceTime with you for hours after a race just to hear your voice. The boy who didn’t know how to love you the right way until he almost lost the chance to try.

And there’s a part of you, raw and wounded, that wants to say no. That wants to tell him it’s too little, too late. That it’s not fair it took you walking away, took someone else’s hands on your waist, for him to finally look up and see what had been in front of him all along.

But the love runs too deep. Deeper than pride. Deeper than reason.

“I love you,” you whisper, before you can think about stopping yourself.

Max goes completely still.

“I have for a long time,” you add, voice trembling. “I just didn’t think you’d ever feel it back.”

For a beat, he’s stunned. And then he laughs, a quiet, breathy sound, and crosses the space between you, pulling you into his arms like he never wants to let go.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into your hair. “I love you.”

You smile, eyes burning, burying your face in the soft cotton of his hoodie, heart pounding loud enough to echo in your ribs. When he pulls back, his hands linger at your jaw, brushing your cheek with a kind of reverence. And then, finally, finally, he kisses you.

It’s soft at first. Careful. As if he’s still not sure he deserves it. But when you sigh into it, arms tightening around his neck, he deepens the kiss with a low, shaky breath.

When he eventually pulls away, he’s grinning, eyes soft and voice rough.

“No more falling asleep on FaceTime okay?”

You tilt your head, confused. “Why not?”

Max squeezes your hand.

“Because I want you next to me for real.”

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