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mrsfancyferrari · 1 month ago

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This Christmas

Summary: LN4 + “There’s no way I’m letting you spend Christmas alone.”

Song: Last Christmas by Wham!

Author’s note: Just Lando being the best boyfriend to his girl. Well done to Lando and McLaren for getting the constructor championships! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 5.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

Lando wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer as the credits rolled on the movie you had been watching. The couch was warm, the atmosphere cozy, and even the remnants of the loud celebration from earlier felt distant.

It had been an incredible season for Lando and his team. They were the constructors' champions now, a victory that had led to a night of wild celebrations with friends and colleagues.

And here he was, still buzzing with excitement, while you tried to suppress a yawn.

“So, what should we do over Christmas?” Lando asked, breaking the silence. His voice was laced with anticipation, as if he had been savoring the question throughout the night.

You shifted slightly, your throat still sore from cheering too much, and murmured, “I thought I should stay over at my apartment and study for my exams.”

It was a practical thought, one conditioned by years of solitary holiday experiences. A part of you felt guilty even thinking of the studying when there was so much joy around.

“Studying? On Christmas?” Lando’s brows furrowed, and his expression turned into a dramatic pout. “So we’re staying over at yours then?”

You blinked in confusion, your heart skipping a beat at the thought. “Aren’t we having Christmas separately?”

Memories of past boyfriends flooded your mind, each one marked by their own traditions and expectations that rarely included you.

“God, I hate your exes so much,” Lando muttered, his tone shifting from playful to serious in a heartbeat. “You’ve never had a good boyfriend, have you?”

You turned to him, meeting his gaze. His eyes were sincere, a vibrant green that seemed to pull you in.

“I’ve never spent a holiday like that with anyone before,” you admitted quietly, biting your lip. “They always had their own family commitments.”

Lando shook his head, clearly frustrated. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be. Christmas is about spending time with people you care about. It’s about making memories together.”

You couldn’t help but laugh lightly, shaking your head. “And what about your family? Don’t you want to spend it with them?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll see them on Christmas Eve. But Christmas Day? It should be with you. I want you with me. We can have breakfast together, open gifts, maybe even start our own traditions if you want.”

He nudged closer, his brow furrowed in genuine concern. “You deserve that kind of love and happiness.”

His words warmed you, sparking something inside you that had been buried for so long. “You really mean that?” you asked, searching his eyes for any hint of doubt.

“Absolutely,” he replied, his voice steady and unwavering. “I want to make you feel everything your exes never made you feel. You deserve to feel cherished and loved, especially during the holidays.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his sincerity. “Okay, let’s do it,” you said softly. “It sounds perfect.”

As the realization settled in, a jolt of excitement coursed through you. This would be your first holiday together, the first time you could allow yourself to build a beautiful memory rather than keeping your emotional barriers up.

“Awesome! What do you want to do? Should we decorate? I know I’m not the best when it comes to that kind of thing, but I can try,” He grinned broadly, his enthusiasm infectious.

You playfully rolled your eyes, imagining Lando with glittery decorations and a lopsided Christmas tree. “Only if you promise to keep it from turning into a competition,” you laughed, knowing his competitive spirit all too well.

“I can’t promise that,” he replied with mock seriousness. “But how about this? We can make it a team effort. I can provide the muscle, and you can provide the creativity. We’ll create a beautiful Christmas masterpiece together.”

“Okay, deal,” you agreed, captivated by the spark in his eyes. “And maybe we can even bake some cookies or something?”

“Baking? You mean I get to eat too? Count me in! But, full disclosure, I might need your guidance in the baking department,” Lando chuckled. “Last time I made cookies, they turned into rock-hard, unidentifiable shapes.”

You laughed, picturing Lando in an apron, mixing flour and sugar, and it filled you with warmth. “We’ll have to do some research then. It’s not Christmas without cookies.”

“Great! This is going to be the best holiday ever!” He exclaimed, squeezing you tighter.

Resting your head against his shoulder, you felt the warmth of his body, the rhythm of his heartbeat matching your own.

There was a sense of safety in his embrace, something you had longed for but never quite attained in your past relationships.

“Lando?” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for wanting to include me,” you replied, your heart full. “You really do make me feel special.”

He leaned down, brushing his lips against your forehead, his breath warm against your skin.

“That’s all I want for you, always. You deserve to feel special; I’ll show you how great it can be.”

In that moment, you both silently agreed: This Christmas would be different. It would be filled with joy, laughter, and the kind of love that made holidays unforgettable.

And as Lando pulled you closer and promised to make memories with you, you knew in your heart there was nowhere else you’d rather be. . . . .

The gentle rays of sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft golden hue across the cozy bedroom. You stirred beneath the plush duvet, feeling the warmth radiating from your partner beside you.

A lingering smell of something sweet and buttery wafted through the air, pulling you from the realm of dreams.

You blinked a few times, taking in the sight of Lando, still half-asleep, propped up with a tray on his lap. He smiled widely as he noticed you waking up, his green eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said, trying to suppress a yawn but failing miserably. “I hope you’re ready for the best Christmas breakfast ever!”

You rubbed your eyes to clear the sleep, instantly caught up in the delicious array of treats laid out on the tray—fluffy pancakes drizzled with maple syrup, crispy bacon, perfectly scrambled eggs, and a couple of steaming cups of cocoa topped with whipped cream.

It felt like a scene from a holiday movie.

“This… this is amazing,” you said, genuinely touched. “You didn’t have to do all of this!”

A teasing smile crept across his face. “Oh, but I wanted to. It’s Christmas, after all! Plus, you deserve it. You work so hard.”

As you propped yourself up on your elbows, he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. You felt warmth surge through your body at the contact, and suddenly, the holiday spirit felt even more alive.

“I can’t believe you’re actually mine,” you muttered against his lips, still a little dazed by the sudden sweetness of it all. The very thought still felt surreal sometimes.

He chuckled, pulling back slightly, amusement dancing in his features. “As much as I love you, please let me kiss you in peace. I’ve worked hard for this breakfast, and I don’t want to risk it getting cold over kiss-tastic moments.”

You pouted playfully and attempted to frown, but it was impossible with Lando’s infectious grin in front of you. “Fine, but only because you made me breakfast.” You settled back against the pillows, eyeing him.

“Let’s dig in, shall we?” He lifted the syrup with a flourish, the motion exaggerated as if presenting a trophy. “The pancakes are the star of the show today, after all.”

You laughed, anticipation bubbling in your chest as he handed you a fork. “Feast your eyes, babe! And your stomach!”

As the two of you savored the delicious meal together, exchanging bites and laughter, the room was filled with a sense of comfort that felt right at home.

Lando would occasionally steal little tastes from your plate, and the playful banter arose naturally—making silly sound effects when he took a huge bite or pretending to be too full for dessert after just one pancake.

“I’m saving room for the pie later!” he said dramatically, clutching his stomach.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “Are you actually planning to eat pie after this?”

“Of course! Christmas is all about indulging, isn’t it?” He leaned closer, his eyes mischievous. “Besides, I have to make sure I can out-eat you. It’s a matter of pride, you know?”

“Pride? Since when has food turned into a competition?” you replied, laughing.

“Ever since I met you,” he shot back, leaning in for another quick kiss before you could protest. “You bring out the competitive spirit in me!”

The banter continued endlessly as you finished your breakfast together, the moments effortlessly turning into cherished memories. After breakfast, he proposed the plan of opening gifts.

“I can’t wait for you to see what I got you!” Lando said excitedly, his childlike enthusiasm palpable.

“Oh, really? You’re that confident in your choice?” You teased, arching an eyebrow playfully. “You didn’t just get me socks or something, did you?”

“Hey now, socks can be super thoughtful, but no. I went all out. You’ll love it,” he said, his eyes twinkling with a secret.

“Okay, Mr. Mysterious. Let’s see then!” You hopped out of bed, excitement mixing with a hint of curiosity.

Lando jumped up too, leading you to the small pile of gifts artfully arranged under the twinkling Christmas tree, adorned with ornaments that sparkled like stars in the early morning light.

After a whirlwind of tearing through wrapping paper, playful giggles filling the room with joy, you finally held the gift in your hands—the one that made your heart race a little faster.

You unraveled it carefully to reveal a delicate silver necklace. It glimmered in the light, a tiny star shaped charm dangling gracefully from it.

“It’s beautiful,” you gasped, turning to him with wide eyes. “Lando, this is perfect!”

“I remember you saying how much you loved stargazing,” he grinned, standing behind you as you clasped it around your neck. “So I figured, why not wear a little piece of the night sky with you everywhere you go?”

Tears brimmed in your eyes at the thoughtfulness of his gift. “You’re seriously the best boyfriend,” you said, your voice trembling slightly as you turned to face him.

“And you make me the happiest guy ever,” he replied softly, wrapping his arms around you. “Now, about that pie…”

“Not until you give me a kiss!” you laughed, finally slipping back into the moment's warmth and charm.

You tugged him closer, pulling him in for a series of sloppy, heated kisses. You couldn’t help but tug a bit too hard on his shirt, the thrill of the moment sending jolts of energy between you.

“Okay, we have to stop, we can’t be kissing the whole time,” you said breathlessly, pulling back slowly to catch your breath.

“...nooooooo!” Lando exclaimed, chasing your lips. His eyes sparkled with mischief, and his laughter echoed in the night air.

You giggled, enjoying the playful energy that surrounded you both. “Lando,” you began, a teasing glint in your eye, “we can’t just keep making out. What about the pie?”

He raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth lifting into a boyish grin. “The pie will wait. What’s more important? Dessert or a moment with you?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you felt a wave of shyness wash over you. “You know it’s not just about the pie...” you said softly, looking down at the ground.

But the warmth in your chest told you how truly valued you felt in that moment.

He took a step closer, his gaze locked onto yours. “I know, but moments like these? With you? They’re rare. And I want to savor every second,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity.

You smiled, feeling your heart swell even more. “Okay, maybe just one more kiss… and then we can eat the pie,” you relented, your voice laced with laughter.

“Only one?” he asked, feigning disappointment. “What kind of boyfriend do you think I am?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his playful demeanor. “The type that can wait fifteen minutes for pie,” you teased, leaning in for another kiss.

His lips were warm and inviting, and you melted against him before reluctantly pulling away.

“Alright, you win. Let’s have some pie,” Lando said, finally stepping back towards the kitchen.

As he reached for the pie wrapped in a cloth, you couldn’t help but appreciate how warm, intimate, and genuine the morning felt.

After cutting a generous slice and serving it on two plates, Lando nudged you playfully. “A taste of sweetness to go along with the sweetness of the moment. What do you think, my lady?”

You laughed, taking a bite. “Perfect! But you know, this still doesn’t compare to the sweetness I get from you.”

With a grin, Lando took a bite of his own slice. “Too mushy?” he chuckled, wiping a bit of whipped cream from his lip.

“Never,” you said with a soft smile, and before you knew it, you were both in a playful food fight—laughter ringing through the night as you tried to dab each other with creamy spoons.

Lando leaned closer, lowering his voice dramatically. “Well, get ready for a full day of mushiness. This is going to be the best Christmas.”

“Besides… you’ve already made this Christmas special just by being here with me,” he said, his tone unexpectedly sincere. “I wanted to create memories that we can look back on and laugh about for years.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. “You know, you’re really good at this mushiness,” you said, pretending to contemplate. “Are you sure you’re not hiding a secret poet inside of you?”

“Only if you promise to be my muse," he shot back, puffing out his chest theatrically.

The crisp winter air whipped through the city, curling flakes of snow into delicate spirals as they drifted lazily from the sky.

Lando had suggested a day out in the snow, a break from the mundane, and while he had every confidence in the warmth of layering up, you were still determined to make a splash and resolve the winter blues.

In the mirror, you surveyed the finished look; a long, teal woolen dress that hugged your figure gracefully and flowed just above your knees.

It had a deep V neckline, trimmed in a subtle silver, but what made it really stand out was the shimmering overlay—it sparkled just enough in the light, suggesting a hint of magic.

The back had a modest plunge, which you hoped would garner Lando’s approval while still keeping the winter chill at bay. You had paired it with thick, knitted tights, soft leather knee-high boots and the necklace Lando had just got me, intertwining style with practicality.

As for layers beneath? A snug thermal top kept you warm, unseen beneath the gorgeous fabric.

You stepped out of the bedroom, feeling like a princess bound for an ice kingdom. “Are you ready?” Lando called from the living room, his tone bright with anticipation.

You paused, taking a moment to admire his grin before approaching him. His casual outfit, a thick navy overshirt paired with dark jeans, looked effortlessly stylish.

But as you turned to present your dress, you noticed his expression change.

He fell silent, eyes wide as he surveyed your ensemble. “Wow,” he finally managed, his breath catching in his throat. “You look… stunning.”

“Do you like it?” You twirled playfully, causing the silvery accents of your dress to shimmer in the soft light.

Lando’s cheeks flushed a light pink as he tried to muster a composed response. “It’s beautiful. Really. But…” his brow furrowed slightly as he took in the lack of snug winter wear. “Are you going to be warm enough?”

You smirked, feigning indignation. “I have layers, you know. Underneath. And these tights are pretty thick. Plus, it’s all about the confidence, right?”

He chuckled, a warm sound that filled the room. “Confidence is great, but you’ll lose that confidence pretty fast if you end up freezing out there. I refuse to let you turn into a popsicle.”

“Lando,” you laughed, shaking your head. “I promise I am layered up. It’s a winter wonderland, not the Arctic. I’ll be okay!”

Yet there was something in his eyes, a protective flicker that made you warm in a different way. He stepped closer, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Please promise you’ll be careful. I’m literally all about the thrill of winter, but I’d hate to see you uncomfortable.”

You sighed, your gaze softening. “Alright, I promise I’ll stay warm,” you said, your voice teasing. “But only if you promise to enjoy this day with me without fussing over my dress!”

Lando rolled his eyes, his shoulders relaxing. “Deal. But I’m still going to make sure you stay warm.” He extended his hand toward you, a silent invitation filled with assurance.

Taking it, you felt an electric pulse of warmth flow through you, igniting excitement for the adventures ahead. “So, what is the plan for our day in the snow, Commander?” you inquired playfully.

“I'll keep it a secret for now,” he declared, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Okay, only if you promise to have food ready,” you chimed in, raising an eyebrow challengingly.

As you headed outside, laughter bubbling between you, the winter air wrapped around you like a cozy, albeit brisk, embrace. The world was a tapestry of white, and every step was punctuated by the delightful crunch of snow beneath your boots.

The air was crisp, filled with the soft scent of pine and cinnamon wafting from nearby holiday markets. You and Lando strolled down the bustling street, twinkling lights above illuminating your path in a kaleidoscope of colors.

The excitement was palpable, but you were still in the dark about where exactly he was leading you.

“Seriously, Lando, where are we going?” you asked, glancing up at him with a mix of curiosity and playful suspicion. His signature grin widened, revealing a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“Patience, my dear!” he replied dramatically, throwing an arm over your shoulder as he pulled you closer. “Good things come to those who wait.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. Lando had a talent for making even the simplest outings feel like an adventure.

“Are we going to see some kind of massive display of lights?” you guessed, your eyes sparkling at the thought. “Or are you just dragging me to some random holiday market?”

“Not just any holiday market,” he corrected, feigning seriousness. “This is the holiday lights tour of the season.”

“Oh, really?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “And how did you know I’d like that?”

“Let’s just say I have my sources,” he winked, pulling you into a crosswalk as the light turned green.

As much as you wanted to prod him for more details, the mystery was building a sense of anticipation that was hard to resist.

After a few more blocks of chatting and light-hearted teasing, Lando led you toward a charming park you had never seen before. Towering trees draped in white lights sparkled like stars, and colorful displays lined the pathways.

The sight was breathtaking; every glimmering ornament, twinkling string, and spirited figure crafted a wonderland of joy.

“Wow,” you breathed, taking it all in. “This is incredible! How did you find this place?”

“I have my ways," he repeated with a laugh, leading you deeper into the enchanting landscape. “But I know you appreciate the beauty of the season, and I wanted to share this with you.”

You shot him a grateful look, your heart warming. “Thank you, Lando. This is really amazing. The lights are so beautiful.”

As you meandered through the park, laughter and joy enveloped the atmosphere.

Children ran around, marveling at the displays, while couples strolled hand in hand, immersed in romance. The soft sounds of holiday music floated through the air, weaving together the spirit of the season.

“Look,” you pointed excitedly. “They have a giant snow globe! Can we go inside?”

Lando chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “If that’s what you want, then of course!” He took your hand in his, guiding you toward the globe adorned with shimmering snowflakes.

Inside the massive globe was a scene of animated holiday cheer, complete with faux snow falling gently from above and cheerful carolers. You both stepped inside, and for a moment, time felt suspended.

“This is ridiculous,” you laughed, playfully swatting some of the fake snow away from your face. “But also kind of magical.”

“Just like this evening,” he said, glancing at you, moments of quietude settling into the laughter. “You bring the magic, you know.”

You felt your cheeks warm as you met his gaze. “Stop it, you’re making me blush.”

“Good!” He grinned, relishing the moment. “Watch your step, it’s slippery in here.”

Just then, Lando pretended to slip, theatrically flailing his arms before catching himself, and you couldn’t help but break into hysterical laughter.

Once you exited the snow globe, you strolled back onto the path, your fingers still linked. The sparkles from the lights danced around you, and there was an indescribable warmth in your heart.

“Lando,” you said after a moment, “I really appreciate you planning this. It’s exactly what I needed.”

“Glad you’re enjoying it. Honestly, I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it,” he confessed. “I just wanted to create some holiday magic for us, you know?”

“Yeah, I do,” you whispered, your heart swelling with affection.

As you walked, you found yourself lost in thought, the atmosphere so serene you almost wished you could pause time. The lights twinkled brighter above, like stars in a perfectly clear sky.

“I heard they have hot cocoa near the entrance,” Lando mentioned, breaking your reverie. “How about warming up with some?”

“That sounds perfect,” you replied enthusiastically. After all that magic, a cozy drink felt like the ideal way to cap off the evening.

The two of you shared laughter and hot cocoa, the warmth of the drinks a comforting companion to the aesthetic beauty surrounding you.

As you sipped and recounted funny stories from the past, the world around you faded, leaving just the two of you amidst the holiday splendor.

“What do you wish for this holiday season?” Lando asked suddenly, his eyes casting a thoughtful glance toward a nearby light display.

You considered it for a moment, glancing at him. “Honestly? I wish for moments like these to never end.”

He turned to you, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Me too."

And as the night wore on, surrounded by the magic of the lights and the warmth of shared laughter, you couldn’t help but feel that perhaps this holiday season held even more possibilities than you had ventured to imagine.

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of lavender and deep orange, you and Lando returned home from a day of holiday festivities.

The air was rich with the sweet scent of pine from the Christmas tree you had picked together earlier that day. Lando opened the door to your apartment, letting you walk in first.

“Ladies first,” he said with a playful bow, a grin spreading across his face.

“Chivalry isn’t dead!” you laughed, glancing back at him with a smirk.

He followed you inside, shutting the door behind him. The warmth of the room enveloped you, contrasting sharply with the chill outside.

You sighed contentedly, taking in the decorations, the twinkling lights casting a soft glow throughout the living room, and the faint sound of carols playing in the background.

“Alright, movie time!” you declared, rushing to the couch. The soft throw blankets piled up beckoned you to snuggle in.

Lando plopped down beside you, the couch suddenly feeling smaller. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him, his warmth radiating against your side.

“What’s our movie choice tonight?” he asked, scrolling through the streaming service with a look of concentration.

“How about one of the classics? Maybe ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’?” you suggested, settling into his embrace.

Lando nodded, a smile creeping onto his face. “Perfect choice. It never gets old, right?”

You grinned back, tucking your head against his chest. “Exactly. You can always count on a good old Christmas movie to set the mood.”

As the opening credits rolled, Lando absentmindedly began drawing circles and patterns on your back, his fingers tracing a gentle rhythm.

It felt soothing, calming your racing thoughts from the day's excitement. You closed your eyes and let out a small sigh of contentment.

“Do you ever think about how different our lives would be if we didn’t meet?” you mused softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Lando paused in his drawing, his voice thoughtful. “Sometimes. I can’t imagine it, to be honest. You’re like my favorite Christmas gift,” he teased lightly, earning a playful elbow to his ribs.

“You’re ridiculous,” you chuckled, nudging him playfully. But you could see the sincerity in his eyes. “But really, I’m so grateful for you. You make everything better.”

He smiled softly, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I feel the same way. You’ve brought so much joy into my life.”

The movie played on, but your focus shifted more toward Lando, feeling the warmth of his body protectively enveloping you. It was as if the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in this cozy cocoon.

After a few moments, you whispered, “You know, you hold me like you’re trying to shield me from the world.”

He chuckled, squeezing you a little tighter. “Isn’t that my job? To keep you safe and sound?” His voice was teasing, yet there was a sincerity beneath the playful facade.

“Okay, but are you planning to fight off any villains if they come bursting in here?” you joked, tilting your head to look up at him.

“Ab-so-lutely. I’ll grab the nearest snow globe and defend us,” he said, a mock-serious expression on his face. “That’ll show them!”

You laughed, imagining the scene. “Oh no, whatever will I do without my brave knight?”

“Don’t worry, Princess. I’ve got you,” he declared dramatically, his serious tone breaking into a laughter.

With the movie’s plot winding through timeless moments and familiar faces, you found yourself lost in the feeling of Lando’s fingers tracing gentle patterns across your back, each stroke lulling you into a serene state of mind.

As the film reached its climax, his embrace felt like an anchor in a world of chaos, as though nothing could ever shake you both from this moment.

The room was dimly lit, save for the soft glow of the fairy lights wrapped around the bedpost. You nestled comfortably on Lando's lap, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest acting as a lullaby.

Just as you were drifting into sleep, you felt a gentle hand brush through your hair.

"Right, it's time for my last surprise," Lando said, his voice playful but urgent.

You stirred slightly, opening your eyes to meet his cheeky grin. "What is it?" you asked, the drowsiness still thick in your voice.

"Just follow me," he replied, standing up slowly to let you slip off his lap. Your heart raced with curiosity as he took your hand, guiding you upstairs.

The two of you ascended the staircase, Lando's excitement palpable. You could feel a peculiar thrill in the air, something almost electric. When you reached the balcony, he turned to face you, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips.

"Okay, close your eyes," he instructed softly.

You complied, trying to suppress your giddiness. Lando covered your eyes with his warm hands, then whispered, "Okay, 3... 2... 1... look!"

With a light laugh, you opened your eyes, and your breath caught in your throat at the sight before you. The moon hung majestically in the sky, brightening the velvety darkness. The stars twinkled like a million tiny diamonds scattered across an ebony canvas, and everything felt almost surreal.

“Lando…” you murmured, your hand instinctively reaching to touch the star necklace he had given you, one that had been a symbol of many cherished moments you both had shared.

“I had to wait for the exact time that it would look like this,” he said excitedly, stepping closer. “The moon is at its peak, and the sky is clear. It’s perfect!”

You gazed at him, a mix of awe and love swelling in your heart. “This is incredible. How did you know?”

“I’ve been watching the weather and the moon phases all week,” he confessed, grinning sheepishly. “I wanted tonight to be special—just for us.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to you, planting a tender kiss on his lips. “I love you so much,” you whispered against his mouth, filled with a warmth that radiated from deep within.

Lando held you tighter, the melody of the night wrapping around you like a soft blanket. “I love you too. More than you know,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours.

The two of you stood in a comfortable silence, mesmerized by the night sky.

Occasionally, you would point out a particularly bright star, and Lando would respond with a playful commentary about its imaginary backstory—as if each one had its own history worth telling.

“Look at that one!” you exclaimed, pointing to a star that seemed to shimmer more brightly than the others. “What do you think its story is?”

Lando squinted up at it, deep in thought. “That star is called Stella,” he began, adopting a theatrical tone. “She was once a lonely star shining in the void of space, but one day she caught the eye of a comet—and now, they race around the galaxy together, leaving trails of stardust behind.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his impromptu storytelling. “And what about us?” you asked, leaning into him as the cool breeze brushed against your skin.

He looked down at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, I suppose we’re like two stars in the same galaxy, always pulled towards each other, destined to shine together.”

You smiled, heart swelling with happiness. “I like that. It’s poetic.”

“I’m glad you think so. I just wanted to create a moment that we could cherish forever, something that would remind us of how special our time together is,” Lando said, his voice softening.

As you gazed back up at the night sky, you imagined the two of you, forever intertwined in the cosmos, like the very stars above you. The calmness of the moment enveloped you, and you felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude wash over you.

“Thank you for this, Lando,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You always know how to make me feel loved.”

“I’d do anything for you,” he replied earnestly, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Every day with you is a new adventure, and I can’t imagine a better way to spend my life.”

The two of you leaned back against the railing of the balcony, watching as the stars twinkled and danced across the night sky. You found yourself lost in thoughts of the future, of all the moments yet to come, under the same moonlight.

“Promise me something?” you suddenly asked, your voice taking on a more serious tone.

“Anything,” Lando answered, turning to face you fully.

“No matter where life takes us, or what challenges we face, let’s always find our way back to nights like this. Together.”

His smile was warm and reassuring. “I promise. We’ll always find our way back to each other, no matter what. Always.”

“Merry Christmas, Lando,” you whispered, the words slipping through your lips like a long-held secret finally shared.

“Merry Christmas,” he replied, and in that moment, you knew that the world could change, and perhaps it would, but whatever came, you’d made a promise together under the stars.

With that vow hanging in the air between you, you both returned your gaze toward the sky.

As the night deepened, the stars continued to blink high above, bright and steady, just like the love that blossomed between you. . . .

654 notes · View notes

meiieiri · 10 months ago

Text

𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: in which toji hears the words “happy birthday” for the first time.

pairing: toji fushiguro x reader | song inspo: cliché | visuals: keychain | hidden inventory: the lost tapes series masterlist

warnings: brief mentions of physical and emotional abuse (toji’s painful past, really, i just wanna give him a big hug). inspired by the works of @/ddub1618 on twt!

He could get in trouble for this, now, normally, he doesn’t sneak out of training but Toji’s curiosity got the better of him this time. Being one of the taller kids, he stays close to the ground so his hair doesn’t stick up from the bushes. He holds his wooden katana close, peeking when he hears delighted laughter coming from the engawa of the estate, a sound that’s a little rare here in the Zenin estate.

“Happy birthday!”

Toji’s breath hitches in his throat when he hears the happy giggles of one of his younger cousins, and he stealthily sneaks over to a tree that’s just a few feet from one of the estate’s buildings, hiding behind the trunk, peeking from time to time to see what’s going on. He watches with a glittery look in his eyes when his aunt presents his third or fourth cousin, Toji doesn’t really know at this point, with a gift box, happily urging the little one to open it.

A thousand thoughts were running through his head as he inquisitively watched the toddler open their presents and have some of the sweet colorful mochi his parents must have requested from the estate kitchens for this special day. The sweet smell of osekihan lingered in the air, and Toji’s stomach growls at the decadent aroma of the slow-cooked red bean rice. He doesn’t get to have sweets often, so he is left wondering if his parents would allow such a thing for him on his own birthday.

“Toji, what are you doing here?”

Toji stiffens at the sound of his older brother’s voice. “Shh, I’m trying to watch.” He says, pressing an index finger to his lips, making a shushing sound. “Look there.”

Jinichi momentarily places his hands over his hips, indulging his younger brother. “It’s just a birthday. What’s so special about it?”

The younger Zenin huffs at the arid response. “I’ve never had one of those before.”

Toji looks down at the broken fingernails on his hands, worn out from the grueling training regimen today, he imagines what it would be like to hold a present and not sharp edged rocks for once. He can only imagine the excitement he’d feel as he slowly pulls the green gift wrapper off the box, being extra careful with it because it looked too pretty and expensive to haphazardly tear apart. As for the tooth-rotting mochi he’ll be receiving, he’ll do his best to only eat tiny pieces of it at a time, making sure to leave some of the sweet treat for later because who knows when he’ll ever get to eat such a luxury again?

“Say, why don’t I get a birthday? It’s always just you getting one every year.”

Jinichi rolls his eyes. “Everyone has a birthday, dimwit. But not everyone celebrates their birthday.” Toji scowls in displeasure at that, his bottom lip curling up in a pout. At his brother’s petulant silence, Jinichi taps out of the conversation, turning on his heel to go back to the training grounds. “I’m heading back, I’m not about to catch another beating because I went to go look for you.”

“Go do whatever you want. I’m staying.”

And with that, Toji turns his attention back to the joyous occasion, looking longingly as the little birthday celebrant receives a loving peck on the cheek from his mother. He doesn’t even notice the familiar ache in his heart that accompanied how his fingers touched his cheek longing for the day his own mother does that for him.

In a perfect world, all children are wanted; they’d have warm beds to snuggle in at night in place of a rundown storehouse’s cold hardwood floor, their cheeks would be showered with kisses and not harsh slaps, they’d be lulled to sleep by warm lullabies and not the sound of their parents arguing why their child turned out this way like they’re some factory defect, they’d be given toys and not weapons that they need to master.

In a perfect world, Toji would have spent his sixth birthday with a plate of nerikiri in front of him and not some random rocks he found in the garden and lined up in a neat row to make it resemble the white bean dessert. He’d be surrounded by the people he so painfully loves and not the sympathetic ants that crawled on the grass in a tucked away corner of the Zenin estate’s compound on the day he was born into this world.

In a perfect world, Toji wouldn’t have to sing himself a ‘happy birthday’ because no one else ever cared to do it for him.

“Happy birthday, Toji…”

“Toji!”

He must have been zoning out. You told him to meet you outside Shinjuku station today for your date and he doesn’t really know how long he’s been sitting in the waiting area, but it must have been long enough for his mind to wander to the agonizing recollections of his childhood. Toji looks up to see you hurrying to tap your train card on the turnstile with a tired smile that’s pretty hard to miss.

Toji stands up to meet you halfway and you giggle, launching yourself in his arms. Toji loves it when you do that, it shows how you trust him completely that in any and every given second, he’ll always catch you. Burying his face in your hair, he inhales the floral smell of your shampoo, the haze in his mind dissipating ever so slightly.

He frowns when you’re the first to pull away and he opens his mouth to whine about it, but he instantly drops it when he sees you holding up a little gift-wrapped box in front of him. Toji blinks. “This for me?” He almost couldn’t believe it. “You actually remembered?”

You’ve been casually pretending this entire week that you didn’t know what was coming up because you’ve been trying to keep your little surprise low-key until today. Nodding, you kiss the scar on his lips.

“Of course I did! That’s why I was late, I was looking for some…uh…well, never mind! Just open it!” You tap your toe against the floor shyly as his fingers nimbly and painstakingly unwrap the present.

As if he had stepped into a time machine, Toji pictures himself back in the Zenin estate, his knees pulled to his chest as he celebrates his birthday alone, a solitary tear streaming down his face. Except something’s different like the time-space continuum hit a snag or something. The difference being a miniature version of you, smiling adoringly at him, as you plop down next to him on the dirt ground, not caring if your little dress got soiled. In his hands, in this version of events gone by, is a half-opened present wrapped in a beautiful blue gift paper.

Oh, how it would have been nice had that been the case all those years ago when your gentle hands would cup both his cheeks, your thumbs gently rubbing his bruised cheeks. How you would have brightened his days with your warm sunshine.

After what seems like an eternity of gazing into your orbs, seeing his modified past play like a montage from the light reflecting off your eyes, Toji opens the gift and he picks up a crocheted keychain, his index finger flicking the metal hook.

“A frog.”

You chortle as he points out the obvious. “It was the easiest thing to crochet,” you said defensively. “I was late today because I was looking for these,” you point to the black beads serving as the little frog’s cute eyes.

“There’s a…” Toji trails off, his voice wavering. You know what he’s talking about, so you take his bigger hand in your delicate ones. The two of you gazing at your little masterpiece.

“Sorry, I kinda ripped it when I pulled the yarn a little too hard. Guess I was getting sleepy.” You rubbed the back of your head sheepishly. “Then, I kinda ran out of green yarn to fix it, so, I had to improvise. I’m sorry if it seems a little offensive—“

Toji cuts you off with an abrupt kiss, not caring if the two of you were attracting a crowd of commuters as the two of you kiss in the middle of a crowded train station. “It’s not half-bad, squirt. Don’t worry.” He ruffles your hair, eagerly suppressing his smile as he looks at the frog keychain that’s meant to resemble him with the tiny pink scar you knit on the corner of the frog’s smiley lips.

Your heart practically leaps out of your chest and you nudge him gently as he continues to stare at the keychain. “Don’t lose it now.”

“You kidding? I’m putting this in a damn safe.”

The two of you share a laugh at that, your fingers interlacing with one another as your lips brush against each other once more.

“Happy birthday, Toji.”

2K notes · View notes

princessbrunette · 11 months ago

Text

HOLD ME, KISS ME ♡

♪ the little dippers — forever ♪

WANTED: JOHN BOOKER ROUTLEDGE - SUSPECTED MURDER - $1000 REWARD - DANGEROUS! IF SPOTTED DO NOT APPROACH!

pairing: outlaw!johnb + sheltered!reader ⋆₊⊹♡

synopsis: your wishes come true when a beautiful boy is found sleeping peacefully in your barn. much to his surprise, you don’t care about who he is or what he has or hasn’t done — you just want to ensure he stays forever.

cw: mentions of prayer, religion and god (for plot purpose) reader has two parents, western!au, innocence kink, slight manipulation, mentions of crime, breeding kink, smut ♡

“Please deliver me a man, save me from this loneliness. Make him kind, and strong, and handsome. I vow to make him the happiest man alive.”

Your forehead rests against your clasped hands where you kneel beside your bed, speaking out loud as there was no one else to speak to. Your parents had gone on a trip for two weeks, leaving you in charge of the farmhouse all by your lonesome.

Isolated didn’t feel like the correct term. You were grateful, happy to live off the fat of your father’s land in the middle of nowhere, but sometimes you wished you had someone to share it with. Someone your own age who was there to see you. You had become the perfect host, thrilled when your parents would bring home guests once in a blue moon. You’d tie ribbons in your hair and pick the perfect dress and set the table like your mother taught you. You often imagined setting the table for a family of your own.

Your own farm house. The thought sent you off to sleep each night, walking through the home in your mind as if it were really real, feeling the creaking of the painted wooden porch beneath your feet as you enter, the distant cooing of your baby being comforted by your husband in the next room. White shabby-chic panels across the walls with oak furniture and knitted throw pillows and lots and lots of warm light. The kitchen table would have the perfect lace floral embroidered table cloth draped across it which you’d serve the heartiest dinners on each night. The babies room would be painted mint green, no— maybe pastel yellow, with handmade toys and a music box that played your song and oh, the master bedroom… where you and your husband rest your head would be flooded with natural light. A haven. All yours.

The details to the decoration often changed, new inspiration plucked from the papers that father would bring home and new favourite colours integrating themselves into your home plans but one thing remained the same each time. Your husband. He never had a face, but it wasn’t important. He was warm, strong without having to prove just how macho he was, kind— you could feel his love from the next room on. That was all you really wanted. You could forget the house, forget the land, live in a barn for all you care — you just wanted to experience a love like the ones in the fairytale books stacked high in your room.

It had been a week already of this routine you’d grown used to. You wake up, feed yourself and then the chickens, come inside, clean yourself and then the house, paint, crotchet or read — however the mood takes you, eat lunch, tend to the crops, brush the horses, maybe milk a cow, come inside and cook dinner, bathe, think about your dream husband and grind your wet messy cunt into a pillow, feel guilty, beg for forgiveness and then sleep. It was an easy life, and you couldn’t complain— but you couldn’t help feel the world had more to offer.

Your mother often told you that gifts from above come when you least expect it, you just had to keep your eyes open. You always wondered how one might find these gifts with no idea where to look.

Your gift arrived bright and early the next morning.

Well, not technically as early as it should have been, infact you probably nearly missed it. The roosters calls at 6AM each morning, but on that very day you had decided to sleep in. A few hours wouldn’t kill them, you think as you pull a plush white pillow to lay over your ear— it’s not like the chickens would starve.

At 11:45AM, you stumble bare foot onto the grass outside, setting out on your walk to the barn a little way up the land. Your pert nipples harden, awakened by the cool morning breeze as the thin white fabric of your nightdress blows in the wind. With the sunlight shining directly on it, it was sure to be totally and utterly see through— and you suppose that was one upside to living in the middle of nowhere, yards upon yards from civilisation. No one would see you. Sigh.

You feed the chickens, totally blind before it even occurs to you that anything might be astray. Infact, you don’t even seem to notice that the barn door was left ajar, as opposed to how you usually leave it bolted by a wooden slab to prevent the animals from wandering off or being massacred by foxes. You suppose that’s the price you pay for sleeping in, you live in dreamworld for the next few hours.

The Earth seems to stop turning for a moment when you see him.

You’re more curious than anything, wide eyed, holding your breath as to be totally silent despite having been humming and speaking to the chickens only a moment prior. You tiptoe through the hay, shards of straw sprouting between your painted toes and pin-needling your sole as you draw closer to the man. A fallen angel, your first thought.

He’s half curled up onto his side in the hay behind the stable for your white pony. He has thick-ish arms crossed over his chest, his hat laying over his face seeming to be serving as a purpose to block out the light. You figure as you hadn’t woken up him before, a closer inspection couldn’t hurt. Unhurriedly, you sink down into a squat beside him, knees pointed upwards and feet taking your balance. A real man, in your barn? It couldn’t be. You chew on your bottom lip, goggle-eyed and inquisitive as you cautiously lift the hat away from his face.

He doesn’t wake and you’re for some reason thankful. It gives you time to observe him, the breath all but knocked from your body as you take in just how beautiful he is. He was perfect, and just like what you were hoping for when you wished to be delivered a husband.

Dark eyelashes kissing at the rim of his closed eyes, pale lips and freckles, sunkissed across his nose. Your eyes trail over and across him, now with his face in mind taking in account what he looks like as a whole. You were still in disbelief, a real man sleeping in your barn. But then again, as your eyes skim lower and you notice the blood seeping through his shirt over his stomach — you wonder if he was sleeping. Surely he wasn’t dead? Only God could be so cruel to deliver you the perfect man without a pulse.

So, you press two cold fingers to his neck, searching for the rhythmic beats signifying life. As soon as you do so, the man jolts awake — wide brown eyes meeting yours.

“Jesus.”

This is where the stare off commences— you were sat in a squat giving him a straight shot up your night dress with dome like eyes and parted lips, observing him like he was some sort of alien life form that had happened upon your barn infront of your very eyes. Your chest rises and falls, and his gender fails to betray him as his eyes fall there for a moment, subconsciously noticing the way your bare tits strain against the thin fabric with each exhale. Somewhere in the back of his mind he can’t help but acknowledge that you’re a pretty thing, totally his type. In any other scenario, he might’ve seen you at a local tavern and introduced himself, getting you tipsy and loose, making you giggle beneath his soft gaze and coarse hands in some dimly lit booth before realising he’s far too respectful to take advantage of you like that.

With his eyes open, the picture is complete — and he truly is as beautiful as you thought. He had a puppy like quality to his eyes, they were big and brown but from the sunlight streaming in you could see specks of orange which intrigues you. You wish to look closer, but you feel it’s not the time. His adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow and he tears his eyes away from yours to look around, still disorientated from sleep. He touches his wound with gentle fingers and he winces, going to push himself up on his elbows.

You open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it, warm deep voice raspy from rest as he dives into a sequence of begging.

“Does anyone know I’m in here?”

“No, I—”

“Okay, that’s— okay, please — hey, please don’t tell anyone. I won’t lie to you, I’m in a little bit of trouble with the law, nothing super bad I swear just — I needed somewhere safe to sleep so I ended up here. Didn’t take anything and uh— and I’ll be out of your hair now that I’m up.” He rambles, continually glancing at the barn doors, expecting Sheriff Shoupe to bust them down and take him in at any moments notice. You say nothing for a moment and he pushes himself to his feet, eyes squeezing shut at the soreness of his injury. “Think it’s easiest if I just—”

He cuts himself off this time, because you slip your hand into his— stopping him from going anywhere. His eyebrows jump up and he freezes on the spot, staring down at your doe eyes with a wide and confused gaze of his own.

“…Hi?”

“You just got here? Why’d you have to go?” You sound sad, and he actually can’t believe what he’s hearing. Not only did he break into your barn, on private land — but he’d totally overstayed his non-existent welcome, and now you didn’t want him to leave?

“P—pardon me? Ma’am?” He tries to be respectful, when what he really wants to ask is along the lines of ‘What the fuck?’.

You scramble to stand up and he helps you using the hand that you’re grasping. “Well, you won’t get far with a wound like that. It could get infected. Maybe you could come inside, let me dress it. You can refuel… maybe stay a few days?” The last part sounds wrong coming from your mouth. He’s a stranger for goodness sake— everything your parents had taught you about safety went against this and plus you were practically begging. You might have been embarrassed, if there wasn’t such a nagging feeling in your stomach telling you that this was meant to be.

He scoffs out a chuckle, because he thinks there’s no way you’re serious— but when he sees your wide eyes bouncing between his own, searching for something he couldn’t quite put a finger on— he realises you’re being completely genuine and his expression melts into a more worried gaze, shuffling a little closer on his feet.

“Look, I really appreciate your hospitality, but you have done more than enough, really. Just the fact you didn’t have the sheriff busting in to drag me away is something I will be very grateful for. Believe me. But I can’t drag you into this. Anyway, don’t you have family? That you live with?”

You sigh, looking down at your intertwined hands that you had yet to release, staring as if you were trying to memorise the feeling of a man’s touch incase you really couldn’t convince him to stay.

“Well yes, but they’re on a trip you see — and they’re going to be away for another week and I’m not sure how much more I can take. I’m awfully lonely, and I know you’re a stranger and all but I could really use the extra set of hands… plus it’s the least you could do… for breaking in…” You feel you’re pushing it with that last part, but decide to proceed with it anyway, any means necessary to get him to stay. He bites his bottom lip in thought as you stare up through your lashes and he thinks screw it. He’s sure you’re not setting him up, a little thing like you would be far too weak to pull that off.

“Okay, I… don’t see why not then.” He doesn’t sound certain, but you make such a good offer he’d be a fool not to accept. He bends down and swoops his hat off the floor, holding it to his chest and you take his hand once more, guiding him out of the barn.

He presses his lips together in an awkward smile at the way you confidently lead him, almost having to break into a jog to match your eager pace. Once nearing the house, you tell him your name and he nods — taking in the scenery.

You’re sitting him down in the living room before he can blink, and he takes in the setting around him. A real cozy place, a family home for sure — with a pale blue couch, a scratchy patchwork blanket draped over the back and floral cushions. There’s photos of you in multiple spots around the room, an only child — he gathers. The main photo sits on the mantelpiece, framed, a set of parents curtaining your smiling face in the image. You seem to be a few years younger, fuller in the face, still cute as a button.

He doesn’t quite realise you’d gone anywhere until you’re returning — the contents of an old first aid box rumbling in your grip. You give him a reassuring smile and lower to kneel by his feet, opening up the container and fishing around for some cotton pads.

“Do you have a name, mister?”

He clears his throat, trying to gage your reaction once he speaks, attempting to work out if the name rings any bells. “Uh, yeah. John B. John B. Routledge. You might’ve… actually heard of me. If you have, uh— I’m sorry.”

You don’t seem to react in any kind of alarming way, a smile grazing your face as you pour rubbing alcohol onto a soft white pad.

“Heard of you how? Are you famous?”

“…You’ve never seen those big ‘Wanted’ posters up in town? Kinda got my picture up on one of them.”

You peel up his shirt revealing tanned, toned skin and a wound that had crusted over with blood. You press the pad to it and he winces, knuckles turning white in his lap and head lulling back against the seat for a moment.

“Sorry.” You furrow your brows apologetically before continuing to mop up all the dried blood. “Oh, and I’m not allowed up in town. Not by myself anyway. So, I don’t keep up to date with all that… stuff.” You pull away, rifling through the box for another clean pad. He nods, eyes jumping to look at his wound and then back to you, watching your face for any discomfort regarding his presence. Oddly, there was none. If it wasn’t clear before, it’s wildly apparent now that you’ve truly been sheltered your whole life. There was this innocence you carried that was hard to come by, a lack of judgement that was sweet but made him worry for you slightly. You were lucky he had a good heart.

“That’s… probably for the best, actually. You know, they like to tell lies. I’m being falsely accused.” He speaks a little slower, and enunciates the last part as if you might not understand, and as expected— you hang onto every word, lips a little parted and wide eyed. It’s pretty cute, albeit inappropriate considering he’s a stranger.

As he speaks, you wrap his wound, pressing the sticky part down onto his skin before gently pressing the cotton covering his injury. “Well I’m really sorry about that John B. You don’t have to worry about that anymore.” You chirp, before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss over the dressing, pulling back to offer him a sweet smile. The lines on John B’s forehead smooth out, his concerned expression melting into his own gentle smile of disbelief.

He wonders what the odds are that he’d stumbled upon a real life angel. Well, it was that — or you wanted to chop his body into tiny pieces whilst he slept and add it to your cauldron. He couldn’t quite figure it out yet, but you were pretty — and he was a total loverboy, so stupidly he was willing to take that risk.

He pulls his shirt back down over his now dressed wound and you begin to clear your things back into the first aid box.

“Is there anything I can do for you? Like, anything you need help with around here?” He offers and you look up at him, brows furrowing with adoration.

“Goodness, no— I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“Said you needed an extra pair of hands earlier.” He challenges with a smile.

“I only said that to get you to come inside. With your injury, I couldn’t possibly put you to work.”

He scrunches his face a little with a half scoff, half smile and shrugs one shoulder. “Please, this thing? It barely even stings. Come oooon.” He croons with a smirk, and you really feel the full effects of his charm now— the warm timbre of his voice headed straight to your clit giving it a heartbeat of its own.

“Fine.” It comes out airy with a giddy smile and you take his hand yet again, almost getting distracted by the coarseness against your palm, the sight of bulging veins along the backs of them.

Your bare feet are treading lightly over soft wood chip once more as you lead him toward the destroyed fence round the left side perimeter of the farm.

“So… I suppose you could carry all the planks back from the fence that fell down in that awful storm last week. I was gonna wait for my daddy to get home to get him to do it ‘cus I’m much too weak for something like that.” You point, and John B’s brown fluffy head follows your finger to the destination at hand. He nods, a doable task.

“Well a girl like you shouldn’t be lifting a finger anyway.” He turns his head back to face you with a smile, eyes squinted in the sun. He looks radiant, no sign of pain anymore and you look down at your night gown, scrunching it in your clammy hands with an uncontrollable grin at the floor, harbouring such an innocent crush on the boy already that you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

His gaze stays on you for a tick whilst you step quietly and he speaks up again, tilting his head a little inquisitively. “I really, really hope this doesn’t sound rude… ‘cus I don’t mean to be. But… are you not… married?” He trails off, thinking of all the times he’s been walloped round the head in taverns for asking questions of a similar nature. Your smile doesn’t go away, your gentle nature not retiring for a moment.

“Oh no, no. I don’t meet boys often. Thats why I’m happy you came!” You chirp, hand reaching out to softly squeeze his arm. “Can be like husband and wife whilst you stay round.”

He just laughs in response. Not necessarily in a mean way, but the same way you laugh when a child tells you they’re going to be an astronaut when they grow up.

The brutal beating of the sun does nothing to stop the honest work you’d put the self proclaimed outlaw up to, he seems to be deep in thought often — carrying the planks to and fro. You slip inside for a while to change into something more appropriate, a sweet and floral sundress that ties up at the straps and hugs you in a more womanly way. You’d rubbed your lips together as you fixed your hair in the mirror before bringing him a sandwich in the early afternoon. “You are adorable.” He grins when you do so, and it wasn’t quite the reaction you’d hoped for on your dress but it still made you warm in the face. He simply brought out a true primal bodily reaction from you— that’s why you’d skipped the panties under your dress. He was making you excited and slippery down there and you just didn’t see the point. You stay out for hours at a time to chat with him. Your affections grow.

John B. Routledge finally returns back to the house when he’s all finished and you let him lay down for a nap on your couch, finally getting some real rest in. Whilst he does so, you spend hours preparing a hearty meal — the type you reserve for when mama and papa have guests round. As the pie browns off just a moment longer in the oven, you come to the man’s side, kneeling beside him and stroking his fluffy hair back.

“I made dinner. Sure you’re really hungry.” You whisper and his eyes flutter once more, the arms that were crossed over his chest stretching out as he wakes. You sit back to give him space, and when he opens his eyes you’re there with a smile — the orange beam of sunset haloing your head. Something about an angel drafts through his mind once more and he stretches.

“Oh boy, I slept longer than I was meant to huh?” He sits up and you shrug, leading him through to the kitchen where you’d laid the round table. Steaming seasoned vegetables in a bowl, freshly picked by you. Warm bread, baked and scored by you with flowers the centrepiece of the table. A jug of gravy there too. There’s a tray of mashed potatoes waiting, creamy and delicious looking. Routledges stomach audibly growls and he chuckles at this as he sits down, taking in the scenery you’d laid out. “You… have spoiled me. All this for someone who breaks into your barn?” He chuckles as he lowers himself into the seat.

You follow him round the table with a giddy smile. “Told you I like havin’ guests.” You perch your bottom on his leg, an arm wrapped around his neck as your feet swing. It felt right. You’d always wanted to sit with a man this way, you’d seen it before in the picture shows. Man and wife, domestic bliss. His brows jump up and he clears his throat awkwardly.

“Oh… sweetheart, you shouldn’t do that. I am a— a stranger, after all.” He tries to do the responsible thing, even though there was something about your innocent brashness that was turning him on beyond belief. Your eyebrows knit in the centre, a line between them and your bottom lip seems to have doubled in size from how it pushes out.

“But I like you?” You mewl, rejected. It all seems so simple to you, which is probably feels super unfair. No one had taught you how to address men because you were so sheltered, and now it was giving you all of these complicated feelings that John B would have to deal with.

“And I like you — a whole bunch. You know I’m super grateful for you taking me in and… all that good stuff. But sitting right here is gonna… make me excited. Because I’m a guy. Go ahead and hop off for me.” He taps your lower back gently and you huff, feeling upset and rejected about the whole thing. His eyes are all wide and hopeful as he stares at you, like he wanted to make sure you were okay. The way he handles you so sweetly made your stomach stir despite your current mope.

You drag your feet to the oven comically and he stifles a chuckle at how dramatic you were, despite his sympathy. You place your hands into oven gloves and take out the pie— perfect and golden. You walk it to the table and John B sits up a little straighter, eyes darting between you and the food.

“Did this all by yourself? You have got a real knack for cooking. Should put you on the TV.” He grins, switching on the charm to attempt to loosen up your silent sulk. You nod, eyes casted down childishly and he reaches out to touch your arm. “Thank you, pretty girl.”

A small smile slips out, and he flickers his eyes over to the heart shape you’d scored onto the pie, his own lips twitching up into a smirk. “That for me?”

“Maybe.”

“Hmm.”

You end up giggling, his smile too infectious and your bad moment is all forgotten as you serve him a slice, plating up for him and then yourself before you eat. John B digs in ravenously, it’s almost erotic — the way he’s groaning at how good it all tastes, gravy dripping from his lips as he licks more off his fingers. He was clearly less proper-mannered than you, but you liked that. Table manners were for boring old people anyway. Maybe everything about him got you going, but you had to really concentrate on getting some food inside you instead of just watching the show of eating he was putting on.

Once you’re finished, and he’s finishing up on his third helping — you let your giggles die down from the wild goose chase story he relayed for you, one where he of course wound up the hero which only made your heart beat harder for him. Your socked foot begins to prod at his ankle, sliding up his leg until it rests in his lap. He doesn’t seem to mind, the food having lowered his guard just that bit as he leans back in his chair, undoing his belt. He adjusts his hips on the seat as he does so and your thighs clench.

“So what did you think?” You ask, though you think it’s clear that he liked the meal from the empty plates and unbuckled belt. He lets out a long satisfied sigh, gazing at you for a moment with a kind smile.

“I think, whoever gets to marry you is a lucky son of a bitch.” He presses his lips together, almost like he was disappointed about the idea of you with another. You blink, the hands resting beneath your chin dreamily slowly falling to play with eachother on the table.

“Why not you, John B?” You question sadly, giving him those eyes again. The ones that tug on his heart and made him wanna give you everything and anything you ask for. He lifts a napkin, bringing it to his mouth as he shakes his head dismissively, closing his eyes with a frown.

“Mm—mm.” The tissue fabric muffles the sound. “You don’t wanna marry me, believe me — okay, I’m an outlaw. Your parents would never in a billion years accept me. Anyway you… you deserve someone less rough and tumble, you know? Like a prince from a storybook. A bubblewrap life. Not… whatever this is.” He gestures to himself, more so the browned blood stain on his shirt.

You sigh, determined. “My parents would understand. They’re — they’re generous people.”

“Really? ‘Cus they don’t even let you leave the house.” He quips quickly in response, smirking at your naivety and you fall silent for a moment. His face flattens just a tad from guilt. You were far too soft for that kind of tone.

When you look up at him again, your face is more solemn — wide eyes searching his for a shred of understanding. “You don’t understand, John B. There are actual scary, dangerous men out there that would take me and do terrible things to me.”

The outlaw leans his elbows on the table, his lips stretched into an amused smile at the irony. There wasn’t an inkling of threat about the gesture, pure amusement coursing through the energy between you from his side alone. “And how do you know I’m not one of those scary, dangerous men. Hm?” His voice is warm, it seems to rumble straight from his chest. You release a shaky sigh.

“Well you haven’t hurt me yet?” Your voice lilts out, and you engage in a long stare off. There’s a different kind of tension in the air now, it’s hot and feels heavy on you. It oozes into the nooks and crannies of your balmy skin and slithers between your thighs. You can’t take the heat and you stand, beginning to bring his dishes to the sink to wash. It’s quiet for a while, John B watching you with this thoughtful and almost knowing smile as you tidy up around him. Even he couldn’t run from how good ‘domestic bliss’ felt.

You let yourself indulge in the fantasy too. Wife cleans up, husband sits behind at the table and sips at the drink she poured him. You wanted nothing more than to experience this everyday, and your heart sinks sadly at the fact that this will probably be the last. You lose yourself to thoughts and daydreams as you scrub away, to the point you nearly don’t hear him stand up, slowly walking to lean against the sink beside you.

You smile at him politely as he eyes you, and return your gaze to the plate in your hand. You mustn’t dwell. He moves, and soon he’s behind you, a hand resting against the sink beside your hip, head craning round to look at you from the other side. “You’re really serious about this husband and wife thing, aren’t you?”

“Very serious, sir.” You bat your lashes at him earnestly and his cock stirs in his pants at the title, unexpected but not unwelcomed. Bless your heart, you were only being courteous. He presses his lips together in thought and the side of your face warms with his slow exhale. Turning your body, you face him fully now. “I just think it was divine intervention that you wound up in my barn. You’re like an angel sent to take away my loneliness.” You’re shy, a little bashful about your beliefs and without thinking he cups your cheek in reassurance, thumb swiping slowly over the skin.

His eyes take in your every detail, and your lips part with a wobbly breath, nervous. “May I kiss you, John B?” You address, just as his thumb strokes the delicate skin below your eye. He grins, slightly amused by your formality and simply nods his head.

You stand on tip toes to reach him, socked feet almost knocking at his boots as your body presses to his, lips meeting. You’re a little messy, inexperienced— which comes as no surprise to the boy as he tilts his head, welcoming your mouth at another angle and taking control in order to guide you. You’re mostly a quick learner, slowing your pace to something much more sultry and he nearly can’t contain his excitement. He wants to be a gentleman, but as soon as he introduces his tongue — you lose composure, needy and all but panting into his mouth right then and there in the kitchen. He pulls away and breaks the string of saliva that connects your lips with his thumb, stroking it over your moist bottom lip as you stare at him readily.

He tilts his head, eyes wide and almost innocent as he gestures away. “You… want me to show you what husbands do with their wives?”

You nod so hard your eyes nearly roll back like one of those baby-dolls.

John B is the one to take your hand this time, leading you slowly and carefully through the house. You partially think he’s giving himself time to rethink what he’s about to do, but from the way your pussy is drooling into your panties — it feels set in stone. He finally reaches your bedroom and you watch his head move left and right as he takes it in, cheek lifting with a smile at the China dolls on the wall and the frilly white bedsheets. It’s clear your room hasn’t changed since you were a little girl. The sun is just starting to disappear behind your lace curtains and he switches on the lamp, sitting you down.

The man joins you, easing himself down at your side and cupping your cheek as he begins to kiss you again. He takes it slow, but the passion and need only grows as the splayed hand on your back begins to slide upwards until its cupping the back of your head and he’s beginning to slowly lower you to lie down like you’re made of glass.

Naturally you shuffle up the bed and he follows, hovering over you and leading with his tongue this time — the wet muscles wrapping around eachother languidly making you moan, legs falling wider apart.

“I wanna make you feel really good, okay? That okay with you?” He asks gently and you nod, sucking in a breath. You’d waited for something like this since you knew what pleasure was, craved the touch of a man with strong coarse hands and a wet mouth. Routledges thumbs swipe across your tits through your dress, massaging them until your nipples were poking painfully through the fabric as he burrows into your neck, licking and sucking.

Your whole body feels like it’s on fire as he tugs gently at your dress, eyes meeting yours once more.

“Let’s get this off, yeah?”

He tugs the garment up and over, puffing out his cheeks as he blows air out his mouth, brows raised at the sight of your naked body. You look so soft, so pliable beneath him. He was already hard just from kissing you, but this made him feel like he might combust. “Took your underwear off?” He smirks, pressing kisses to your stomach and between your tits before bringing his face up to eye level with you, same kind but teasing smile on his face. “Have you been needing me aaall day? Hm?”

You turn your head to the side, flustered and clammy with a whine— eyes screwed shut. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Oh, now you’re shy?”

“No, s’just — when you speak like that— n’say stuff like that… makes me hurt…” You’re breathless, hips twitching and bucking slightly as he grins, pearly whites showing.

“Aw.” Is all he manages before continuing his descent down.

He’s a real tease, spending an ungodly amount of time on your tits— sucking, licking and biting your nipples until you’re arched off the bed, teary eyed and wincing from sensitivity. It’s then, and only then he starts to kiss lower, pushing himself down your pristine sheets until he’s settling between your legs, gently easing your ankles upwards so that your knees faced the sky, your cunt fluttering and open right infront of his face.

“Well she’s very pretty.” He smiles up at you, thumbs coming up to spread you. He leans in slowly, hot breath fanning over your heat before he simply presses the softest kiss to your clit. He draws back again as you whimper, running the pads of his thumbs up along your spread folds. “Hear that? So wet, pretty girl.” He marvels in a whisper.

“Just want you to make it better.” You mewl and he nods slowly in understanding, tongue swiping over his lips as he observes you.

“That I can definitely do.” He confirms before leaning in, licking and sucking at your clit as his thumb automatically rolls downwards to massage your hole. You gasp, knees shooting up towards your chest as he eats you, similarly to the pure fervour and passion he only recently devoured the meal you cooked for him. You wondered how any appetite remained.

When he sinks his middle finger inside you, your stomach tenses — a high pitched noise of relief and utter devastation leaving you. You had no idea how badly you’d craved fullness to this very moment, and you weren’t even halfway there. He’s smiling against you, glancing up as you flutter around his single digit and make plenty of noise for him. “Yeah? Think you’ve really been needing some of that, little girl.” He nearly laughs at your extreme reaction. He had to admit, it was fun doing this with someone so inexperienced. Everything to you seemed like the best thing ever.

He eats and eats away, proving himself to have quite the monstrous appetite for your slick . Your feet rest on his shoulders at one point, lost in pleasure as you whine and writhe and to keep you out of the way, the outlaw pushes your legs up and pins them there, nose deep in your gloss.

“Feels too good— feels— hurts!” You cry, because you don’t know how to put that you’re simply aching to cum.

“Doesn’t hurt, sweet girl. Just let it happen.” He corrects in that low reverberation that you’ve grown to love. After a series of ‘Uh’ and ‘Mm’s, you feel yourself hitting that peak — the one you usually reach all over the soft cotton of your pillow, but ten times the strength.

As soon as he senses this happening, he doubles down and continues repeating the same action with his mouth over and over until you’re squealing and pushing him away, curling into a ball as your completion dribbles out of your quivering hole.

He grins, real proud of himself as he pushes up on his hands to near you, gently shushing you the same way you would to soothe a baby to sleep. “I know, that was a lot huh?” He coo’s, rubbing your back with his warm hand as you suffer the aftershocks, clenching and whimpering, a smaller clammy hand reaching out to his shirt to grab a fist of it.

He forces you softly onto your back, stroking a hand over your warm forehead. For someone so convinced the two of you shouldn’t be together, he sure did look at you like you were his entire world. By the gaze shared, you would never know the two of you only met that morning.

“What now, hm?” He smiles, quiet. You open your mouth to speak, and your voice rasps from the loud and explosive release that had you calling out.

“Wanna… make you feel as good as you made me feel, John B.”

He licks his lips, thinking over it. If it wasn’t already clear, his dick was throbbing in his pants just from pleasing you— and had you wanted to end things there he would be sure to take a trip to the bathroom to finish in his hand. Maybe swipe a pair of your underwear from the basin for inspiration, but that made his stomach tense with guilt.

“Think I can manage that, yeah.” He nods before reaching slowly for his belt. “Sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Good, good.”

His belt is still undone from after dinner so he slides the snakey leather from its loops with one hand, the act more attractive than you anticipated which made you clench once more with need. He sits on the edge of the bed and you usher up beside him, pressing your naked body to him and ghosting your drooly lips over his jaw line as he sighs, working his length out of his pants.

“Oh my.” You breathe, as soon as you look down. Now you hadn’t had much experience in dealing with the male anatomy, clearly — but you knew for certain John B had to be miles larger than the average man. His cock stood tall, straight — slightly mauve towards the tip with a beautiful blue vein drifting down his shaft like a river on a mountain. His balls sat beneath, heavy and pink — inviting in a way that made your mouth water primally.

“Yeah? This is… what m’working with.” He chuckles, sounding a little nervous.

“How do I…” You mutter after a moment and he’s quick to take your hand, pressing your fingers so that it forms a cup and bringing it to your mouth.

“You wanna spit for me, pretty? Right here.” He encourages and whilst you don’t understand, you do as he wishes, letting a bubbly glob of saliva drool out into the cupped crevice of your hand. You look up at him with wide unsure eyes, searching for praise or reassurance that you’d done as he asked. He presses his lips together at the sweet and submissive expression, shifting his hips a tad in excitement. “Mm, fuck.” He punctuates with an airy chuckle, ticking his head in a single shake.

He brings your hand down and begins to smear it all over himself, releasing a shaky exhale as he does so. “So, uh… you’re gonna wanna move your hand. Just like this.” He sighs as he works your hand up and down his shaft, slowly jerking him off. Your eyes flicker between his face and pretty dick to make sure you were doing it right. As you do so, he presses a lingering kiss to your lips, muttering a “So sweet, bubba.” Against your mouth.

This only encourages you to gain confidence, doing whatever feels right. You twist your hand— squeezing just a tad harder towards the tip as that seemed to be what made him release that heavenly groan, jaw constantly agape as he watches your hand.

“Theeere you go sweetheart. Easy right? Like milking a cow.” He kisses your temple briskly once more before his eyes screw shut, chest heaving with quicker breaths. You get carried away, fascinated by the pearly precum that seeps from his slit as you work him with your hand and following your own judgment you lean down. You figure if he used his mouth on you, you could return the favour.

His eyes open with a loud shudder when you tentatively wrap your plush lips around his tip, working your hand up and down to try and squeeze more of the interesting salty flavour from him. You let out a long drawn out moan of your own as you feel your clit throbbing with desire, liberating his precum from your mouth to let it dribble back down his shaft in messy bubbles.

He winces, placing a hand on your shoulder and removing you with such an abrupt speed that you nearly flew off the side of the bed. You sit up straight, slick mouth pouting as your eyes flicker between his, worrying that you’d done something wrong. There’s a second of just looking at eachother, before you stumble over some words.

“S—Sorry. Did I hurt—”

“No, no God no. I uh— I just wasn’t sure if I should make a mess all over that pretty face just yet.” His wide eyed expression melts into a reassuring smile, thumb rising to swipe lovingly at your cheek. You lick your lips, savouring the taste of him and nod — not quite sure where to go from there.

Your silence makes him question, and he eyes you. “Is there… anything in particular you want now?”

You think, blinking your doll-like eyelashes off into the distance before nodding once more— pushing off away from him and scurrying to the head of the bed where you lay yourself gently on the pillows.

“Hm?” He follows up in confusion, craning his neck round to watch you.

“Would… like a baby now, please.” You spread your legs a little, shy and bashful in your request like you wasn’t sure if you’d asked impolitely. His face falls as he stares at you for a moment before closing his eyes, rubbing over his face with an exasperated chuckle, elbows on his knees.

As you stare at him with with an upset little pout, already ashamed by your forwardness. “Like husband and wife?” You try to justify and he sighs out his nose, turning his body fully to you.

“Oh sweet girl.” He tugs you gently lower toward him by your hips, rubbing his thumbs at your waist. “We just met.”

You launch into full fledged begging, whiny and high pitched with tears threatening to dive over their trough. “I’ll make you so happy John B, I’ll make all your problems go away and you won’t have to run anymore. Please?” You were deadset on this man giving you your dream life, and you’d officially pushed shame to the side in order to get this. His brow is permanently creased, staring with those big wide puppy dog eyes, continually stroking your skin in hopes to calm you.

“Are you… sure that’s what you want? You’re still young. So much time for all that.”

“Just want it now. I’d never be lonely again.” You sound defeated, staring down away from him now. He felt bad, he’d always hated disappointing people. Once upon a time he was a fixer, always running to his friends aid to make their problems go away. That urge never died, just burned low and quiet like an old candle flame. He wanted to make your problems go away too.

“Okay.” He presses his lips together. “I’ll give you what you want, sweetheart.”

He watches your devastated expression lift into a radiant grin, and it was like watching the sun appear from behind a grey cloud after weeks of downcast weather. “Yeah?” You chirp toothily as he crawls over you, leaking tip grazing your tummy and then your folds as he buries his face into your neck.

“Uh-huh.”

When he pushes his tip inside, John B says a prayer for the first time in his life.

He’d never really followed any religion. His father had been the type to say it was all a bunch of ‘Mumbo jumbo’ and that he should believe in the human psyche instead, or something like that. But as your wet folds swallow him and you release that high pitched mewl at the inevitable stretch — he finds himself asking God — please, please don’t let me knock this young girl up.

There’s a warm blanket of chills that cover his spine as he slowly sheathes inside of you, feeling like he was pushing deeper and deeper into a black hole that would selfishly keep sucking him inside for the rest of his life. It felt too good, calming — like falling asleep. He was euphoric.

“So — so big inside me!” Your cry knocks him out of his thoughts and he kisses your shoulder before looking down to watch himself push in all the way to the hilt.

“Feel okay, gorgeous?”

You nod, a pained whine falling from you as you dig your nails into his skin, walls fluttering around him like they were constantly trying to accommodate for this thickness. “Fuck.” He groans, before sliding back a little and starting to thrust. Yeah, he wasn’t gonna last too long— he needed to get to work on you fast.

As he gently fucks into you, your plush tits recoil with the movement and he can’t close his mouth, sounds and sighs leaving him without permission. A hand slides between the two of you, the other pulling his shirt up to grip between his teeth— giving himself a better view of the way he strokes at your clit — your legs being spread exposing it, making it easier for him.

You clench, and shudder — that sweet face contorting with each time his tip ever so slightly grazes your cervix, careful not to bruise it. You really were beautiful, that type of homely beauty he’d thought of marrying in his lonely nights of travelling through desert and grass. The type of girl you work for, the type that deserves spoiling, princess treatment. The more he fucks, the more he’s convincing himself that impregnating you might not be the most awful thing after all. Why should he chase away security?

Your fingertips grace his chest, and he takes your hand — pinning it to the bed as your fingers intertwine, using the grip to aid his rolling thrusts— speeding up the pace and force now he knew you could take it like a champ. His mouth opens to speak, and his shirt drops out of it.

“Taking me real good baby. You like getting fucked, don’t you?” He coo’s and you can only nod, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes before rolling down to your temples. Poor thing, lost for words.

There’s a wet slapping sound with each thrust, your cunt equally gushing as it was thirsty — hungrily welcoming each inch of his, and even demanding more by locking your ankles around his lower back. Perhaps you did it for comfort, or perhaps because you suspected a hesitance, the threat of him pulling out last minute too much for your baby-crazed brain.

“Jesus. Sweet little puppy.” He breathes like it’s a revelation beneath your ear, the curly tuft of hair above his shaft tickling you as he continues to rub your clit.

“S’gonna happen again, John B. The big feeling.” You strain, eyes clamped shut and sniffling— too overwhelmed by your impending orgasm. He kisses each eye lid and watches you closely, experiencing you unfold once more.

“Thats my good girl. Let me have it, pup. Gimme a good one.”

You’re an explosion of whimpers and moans, thrashing under his firm grip once more— and he’s not sure when your orgasm ends, if it even ends at all— he doesn’t care, the release pushing him close to his own. He speeds up his pace, hand that was at your clit now wrapping around your lower back, forearm pushing your lower half up and against him, forcing you to just keep taking him.

He was like a beast from a fairytale book, fucking wildly into you with a primal determination that had you struggling to breathe. You’re crying now, full out crying because it’s just so much. There’s still one last thing you require, and only he can give you it.

“You wanna make me daddy, huh?” He demands, that gentleness in his voice gone. It’s nearly unrecognisable from him, and you preen beneath the rough touch.

“Mhm!”

“Words.” He barks. He didn’t mean to be mean, he just got a little bossy when he was close. You’d come to learn that.

“Please give me a baby. Please just — make you a daddy! Need it!” You’re squealing, voice shaking from the hard ‘plap plap plap’ of his balls slapping against you. You feel you might pass out if this goes on much longer.

He releases with a long groan, lips dropping to the centre of your chest and back arching upwards. You register his sounds before you feel it, hot slimy ropes of him— shooting up inside you, warming your walls. You moan too, because it feels so good to be full. It feels right, like this was what had been missing after all.

Everything is a blur for the next few minutes. It’s like you black out a little, because maybe you forgot to be breathing like you should have been. You briefly recall John B scooping you up and helping you through that, ignoring the gooey seed dripping from you to cradle you like a baby, humming a calm “Breathe, sweetheart. In and out. With me, c’mon.” Your gentle boy was back, and through your haze you smile.

Once you’re tucked at his side beneath a soft cotton blanket, his hand stroking over your head after cleaning you up, a whispered conversation ensues.

“Do you really like me John B? Like, you really think I’m beautiful?” You inquire, gazing up at him with stuck together black eyelashes. The question was so innocent, yet he could tell it was so meaningful.

His expression doesnt falter, a gentle smile sat comfortably on his lips as he continues to pet you. “Baby, I think you’re the ponds swan. Just… gotta get to know you a little better, okay? ‘Specially if I really did put a baby in you.” Only then his smile falters, brows knitting as the reality sets in. Oh Lord.

“Okay.” Your eyes flutter closed, happy to leave it at that, happy to fall asleep right by his side under his watchful eye. It was unnerving how safe a lonely girl could feel with a stranger.

“Okay. Good girl. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out.” He quietly reassures, watching you drift off. He’s not sure if he’s trying to dispel your fears, or his own.

#outlaw!johnb #john b fic 🎀

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eideticmemory · 3 months ago

Text

LATE NIGHT TALKING | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

The best man and maid of honor hooking up? How cliche!!

Word Count: 8k

Warning/Includes: Ridiculous amounts of flirting. Very “omg just fuck him and get it over with” vibes. The wedding of a fictional couple that I got way too invested in! Smut! Named after this song because I was listening to it when I got the request lmao.

Shout out to Matthew for literally being in someone’s wedding while I was writing this. I love you, baby ❤️

Hattie Welsh is a city girl. She was born and raised downtown where she would walk herself to school during the week and had a route for maximum weekend shopping. An only child to two parents, a dad who stayed home when it was Not the norm, she got anything and everything she ever wanted. Her dad would meet her on the front porch with her bike after school and they'd cruise around the neighborhood. On weekends, all three of them would take the 10 minute drive to the local park where they'd bike the same 8 miles every Saturday. At the end of the trail was an ice cream shop. Birthday cake was her favorite. She'd get three scoops in a cone but her dad would always end up finishing the last scoop for her.

It was memories like these that inspired Hattie to use her business degree to open an outdoor supply company. She named it after her parents. Alan & Eva's Co-op. It started very local. But Hattie was always good with promotion. She had an excellent marketing team and connections formed around the state. A year into business and Alan & Eva had three locations.

With this sudden growth, Hattie had to seek out more intensive financial advisement and she requested the services of LF Corporation - financial consultants of companies like North Face and REI.

This is how she met Cole Briggs.

Cole was sent to meet with Alan & Eva's CEO. He knew her name, he knew her qualifications, he knew the context of their meeting. He did not know how gorgeous she was so he was immediately caught off guard. His palms were sweaty by the time they shook hands.

"Oh, wow!" he remarked as he saw the bike mounted on her wall. "A Schwinn? I had the same one as a kid but in green!"

"Oh my gosh, yes! That's actually my childhood bike!" she beamed. She leaned over her desk with a bright smile. "I've kinda outgrown it."

He laughed, "I grew up in Pullen Park neighborhood so my friends and I would ride the trail at-"

"Warren park?" she gasped. "My parents and I used to go every weekend, still do!"

"No way! Where-where are your parents?"

"Downtown, near the natural science museum."

"Ah, yeah, yeah. We didn't get downtown often but we would occasionally have family dinner nights at Kaleidoscope."

"Oh, we love kaleidoscope. The lobster-"

'Mac and cheese! Are you kidding? I can inhale it in one bite. Sometimes my dad would pick it up for me on the way home.”

She cackled. She looked at him lovesick. "How have we never met?"

"What high school did you go to?"

"Hollis. You?"

"Ah, okay. I went to the Day School."

"Ooh, fancy pants."

Blush crept over his face and flustered, he set out his briefcase and took a deep breath. "So you're looking into financial assistance for all three locations?"

She stared at him for a moment, "That's right."

And that was it.

Immediately after Cole left the room, she called you. Her best friend, her confidant, her person. You had your hands busy at work so you tucked the phone between your ear and shoulder, “Hello?"

"[y /n]! Hi, you busy?"

"Uh, a little. But I can chat. What's up?"

"I think I just met my husband."

You paused. "Okay, I'm not busy."

Cole proposed while they were on a hike. A week before, he had asked for your blessing. He said, "You'll be the first one she calls so I just didn't want you to be surprised."

Though, when she facetimed you to show you the diamond rock, you still pretended to be surprised.

A formal ask to be her maid of honor was completely unnecessary. You were born to do it. Who else would it be? Still, she made you the cutest basket, filled with perfume, a travel mug, some candles, some candy. You happily accepted.

And happily planned her engagement party and bridal shower and bachelorette party. You got the dress she wanted you to wear. And when the weekend finally arrived, you traveled nearly an hour into the country to get to the wedding venue.

10 acres of privately owned land sequestered down a dirt road. The ceremony site was a simple platform with an arbor placed in front of rows of benches. Surrounded by trees. Hiding right beside it is a wooden home designated for the newlyweds. The reception site is about a mile away, covered by a tent. There is a garden of roses and daisies. Further down the property is a large barn with rows of tents. It is absolutely everything Cole and Hattie wanted. It is so them.

You help set up for the rehearsal dinner. The parents of the bride and groom have arrived. Your friends and fellow bridesmaids are mingling with the groomsmen. Hattie would be so much more stressed without Opal. Opal is a an older woman, short but strong and a prolific wedding planner. She ushers the men around like pieces on a chess board and directs the caterers without so much as a glance.

As you chat with the happy couple, she calls, "Cole." It's not exactly friendly. She marches up and takes a firm hold of his arm.

"Yes, ma'am?" Cole shakes and Hattie glances over at you with a small smirk. You have to contain your laughter.

"Where is the best man? We are way behind schedule and losing daylight."

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. He had to fly in but last I heard he was on the road from the airport."

"Okay, can I get an ETA on that?"

"I, uh...I don't... have one."

"Babe!" Hattie whines.

"Hey, I'm sorry! Look," he glances at all three of you, intimidated by your pressed faces. "T'll give him a call."

"Wonderful idea," Opal watches closely as he steps away, his phone in his hand, quickly pressed to his ear. She turns away from Hattie, mumbling,

"You update me on that, okay?"

"Yes, Opal," she nods and turns to you with a huff.

You giggle, "Are you sure this guy's real?"

"Oh, I'm sure."

"Okay, well," you throw your hands up in a shrug, "Can't we just start without him? It's hot and we're supposed to be eating already."

"No, we can't. It throws off the flow of the ceremony. Plus, Cole really wants him here."

"Mhm and where is this guy coming from again?"

"Matthew."

"Huh?"

"His name is Matthew."

"Okay. Where is Matthew coming from?"

"New York. I told you he's an actor."

"Yes, yes," you roll your eyes. "Surprised he could find time in his busy schedule to come to his friend's wedding."

"He loves Cole. Cole loves him. More than me, I think. They've known each other forever."

'Mhm. Quick question, does Matthew know Cole's getting married tomorrow?"

She shakes her head and laughs, beaming at Cole as he walks back over. "Hi, baby. Did you talk to him?"

"Uh...no..." he feels bad saying it. "But! I'm sure he'll be here any second."

"Cole!" it's a shriek from the distance that instantly silences the crowd. The crunching of leaves under hurried feet, rustling through the trees, "Cole! I'm here! I'm here!"

"See?" Cole says to Hattie with the brightest smile. "I told you, I told you! Matthew!" he waves.

And out of the trees comes what you can only describe as a colorful slenderman. He's tall and dressed in a sage suit, in accordance with the dress code. He nearly trips coming down the steps but he catches himself, just in time, stumbling over on the tip of his toes. The center of attention, pulling all eyes towards his entrance, which you think would annoy the bride and groom. But no, you look at them and they're just delighted. Grinning ear to ear, Cole's arms outstretched to catch Matthew in a great, big hug.

"Oh, man!" Matthew huffs. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. My flight got delayed and then I couldn't get a rental and then I got lost, I'm so sorry!" he instantly releases Cole to give Hattie a kiss on the cheek and a hug, "I'm so sorry, please don't kick me out of your wedding."

Hattie cackles, “Oh, we could never!”

You watch as his expression transfers from guilt to a sweet smile. You watch him rub your best friend's back and give her one final squeeze before his eyes cut up and accidentally meet your gaze. He couldn't help but wonder where the pretty sandals and pretty dress would lead, but once he sees your face, he can't look away. He stands up tall and takes a small step around Hattie just to get to you. "Hi," he holds out his hand.

"Hi," you smile and your hand fits in his like a glove. You only take a second to memorize the features of his face, the tip of his nose, the stubble on his chin, the light in his eyes. But it feels like an eternity.

Behind him, Hattie and Cole watch the spark catch flame. She nudges his arm and they look at each other with knowing smiles. Cole nods, "Uh, Matthew, this is Hattie's best friend and maid of honor, [y/n]. [y/n], this is my best friend and best man, Matthew."

"ly/n]." Matthew says breathlessly. "Hi."

"Matthew. Hello, nice to meet you."

"Now," he slyly puts his hand over yours to keep it in place. "That is maid of honor, right? Not matron?"

You giggle, "Yes. I'm completely and totally unwed."

"Good, good. Excellent. Love to hear it."

You giggle, again, and it's the most ridiculous sound. Cole and Hattie could not enjoy the show any more. "You two will actually be walking down the aisle together," Hattie says.

"Oh, wow," Matthew exclaims. "Had I known that, I would've been here way sooner."

"So not funny, dude," Cole shakes his head but you think it's hilarious.

"You're laughing?" Opal's voice cuts the laughter short. "The sun is setting, the food is getting cold and you're laughing?"

"Sorry, Opal," Cole frowns. "This is Matthew, the-"

"Matthew, [y/n], I need you two right here," she interrupts and with a hand on Matthew's shoulder, she gently pushes him to the side. She pushes him directly into you and it's almost instinct for his hands to take hold of your waist. Just as much so for your palms to fall on his chest.

"Oh no," he whispers. "This is... terrible."

You laugh and take a step back but he holds onto to your wrist, places your hand around his bicep as he faces forward.

"You feel at home being directed all over the place?" you ask, anxiously straightening out your dress.

"Um, actually I prefer to do the directing."

"Oh, have you considered wedding planning?"

"I offered to plan for these guys but they turned me down. I mean, what the fuck?"

"Well, I think that would've required you to be on time. Early even."

"Oh, then I'm out."

You cackle, a lot louder than you mean to, and once again here's Opal. "You two need to switch sides."

"Hm?"

"Switch."

"Oh."

You feel Matthew's hand linger on your back as you step around him, your hand instantly latching onto his opposite arm.

"We're so good at this," you shrug.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, right? Right? You'd think she'd cut us some slack."

Despite all the fuss leading up to it, the ceremony rehearsal itself is only 10 minutes at most. You and Matthew are the last to make your entrance and it is an odd feeling to separate. He stands on the opposite side of the arbor and as the flower girl practices her walk, he catches your eyes and mouths: miss you.

"Wonderful!" Opal cheers. It's the first time you've seen her smile all night. Once Cole and Hattie have finally taken their places right in the center. "Absolutely wonderful. Now, if everyone will head over to the reception hall for dinner. There is a lukewarm meal awaiting you all," and she cuts her eyes at Matthew.

"Again, Opal, so sorry about that," he shakes his head. You seem to be the only one who finds it funny.

Hattie gives Cole one big kiss and turns to you, "How weird was that? Me walking down the aisle? Did I look stupid?"

You take her hands in yours, shaking your head, "You looked beautiful. It's gonna be beautiful."

She shrieks, a long "eeeek!" of excitement that ripples amongst you and your friends. The group steps down from the platform, followed closely by the groom and his party. Matthew takes the opportunity to grab Cole's arm and whisper, "How long have you known [y/n]?”

"Uh, pretty much as long as I've known my fiancée." he laughs.

"And you were... what? Just hiding her from me? Not cool."

"You were hardly in the proper condition for someone like [y/n]. She's, uh, how do I say? Very grown up. Very focused, like her best friend.”

"And now? What condition am I in now?"

"The kind of condition where...I literally had no choice but to let you meet her?"

"Fuck off," Matthew shoves him and Cole stumbles with a cocky laugh.

"Sooooo," Hattie says as she interlocks your arms. She notices you looking back and she knows exactly who you're looking for. "Little lady?"

"Yes, little miss?"

"What do you think of Matthew?"

Your stomach flips at the sound of his name. "What do you mean?"

"Don't do that."

"What? What are you talking about?"

“This was you the whole rehearsal.." she sticks her finger between her teeth and mocks your giggle, "Tee-hee. Oh, tee-hee-hee-hee.”

"I was not!"

"Oh, but you were. You're quite smitten."

"I am not!"

"He's smitten with you, too."

"Whatever," you roll your eyes. But after a brief pause, you ask, "You think so?"

Clink-clink-clink.

You watch as Hattie rises from her seat, her doting fiancé standing beside her, to give a toast. You look up at her and it's not until this moment that you realize she's getting married. Not when she tried on her dress, not when she did a practice run down the aisle. Here. Now. With Cole's arm around her waist.

"Thank you all so much for being here. We're so grateful to have all our closest friends and family by our sides through this crazy weekend. I know some of you traveled very far and some of you are probably wondering when this whole thing will just be over but," she laughs along with the crowd. "Soon. Very soon. Thank you all for being readers in our little fairytale. Particularly these people sitting up here beside us, I know my friends have gotten an earful about Cole over the years."

"What did she say?" Cole interrupts, jokingly cutting his head towards all of you which earns him a burst of laughter.

"Seriously. Thank you all. Tomorrow wouldn't be possible without you and we can't imagine any other way. So…" she raises her glass glass and, because she's the bride and everyone must obey, everyone raises theirs as well. She looks Cole right in the eye and gives him that same lovesick smile she gave them the day they met. You glance away for only a moment and Matthew is looking at you the same way.

You tilt your head at him, furrow your eyebrows.

"To you," Hattie says. "To me. To us. Cheers."

"Cheers!" you toast, looking directly at Matthew who raises his glass to you, you alone, before taking a sip.

At the end of the night, the bride and groom are meant to retire to their respective areas. Cole and his groomsmen have a cabin on the other side of the property. Hattie and the girls have reign of the barn and an array of tents just in case they're feeling particularly outdoorsy. Yet, when the time comes, you and your friends sit on the barn's porch and watch Hattie and Cole embrace each other for a long time.

"I change my mind," she tells him. "We should just spend the night together. Let's go to our tree house."

He giggles and gives her a gentle kiss, "Ah, you just wanna get in my pants."

"So?"

A cackle now, "Goodnight, future wife. I love you."

"Noooo!"

"I love you!"

Hattie waits until he's out of sight, and even then, she stands there and wishes for him to come back.

"H! Come on, honey," your friend calls to her. "It's late. Big day tomorrow!"

So she reluctantly walks up the stairs and begins the process of unwinding. It's not easy. Every second something pops into her mind and she hops up, ready to spring into action. It's a group effort to reel her in. Eventually, it's just you and her, lying in a cozy bed and she can barely keep her eyes open. She's trying though.

"Okay," you sigh. "I should probably get going. You gonna be alright?"

She nods, "I'm getting married..."

You grin, "Yes, ma'am. You are. So you need to get some rest," you kiss her forehead and rise out of bed, groaning as you straighten yourself up. "You need anything?”

"Mm-mm," she shakes her head. "I'm okay. See you in the morning."

"See you in the morning."

You're one of the few who chose to rough it in a tent for the night. There's a small heater and a platform bed. It's not a whole lot but the bedding is comfortable. You snuggle in and despite all your exhaustion, you spend the next chunk of time scrolling on your phone. When you hear a faint knock on the scaffolding of your tent, you’re suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you're in the middle of the woods. Alone. Quite a distance between you and the next tent. You sit up slowly, unsure if your mind is playing tricks on you. You take timid steps towards the opening and flinch as a shadow passes by.

You hesitantly pull down the zipper and when you see Matthew wondering around, you breathe a sigh of relief. “Fuck, dude. You scared the crap out of me."

"I'm so sorry," he instantly returns and lowers himself down to your level. "I didn't mean to."

"Um..you do know this is the bridal side of the property, right?"

"Mhm. I was looking for you."

"Me?"

"Mhm. Wanna go for a walk?"

"A walk?"

"Yeah, with me?"

"With you?"

"Okay, just assume I mean everything I say from now on."

You giggle, "I just met you a few hours ago...you want me to walk some random trail with you in the middle of the night?"

"All true, yes."

You tilt your head at him, "Fine. Okay."

"Don't sound too excited."

You turn around briefly to grab a hoodie. You throw it on and step out of the opening, taking Matthew's hand as you step off the platform. He takes your hand and he doesn't let go. He'd hate to lose you in the dark.

“So,” he says as you start down the trail. Your face is gently illuminated by the lights along the pathway and he can’t stop staring. “How do you know Hattie?”

“Technically high school, but I think we were separated at birth.”

He chuckles, “Best friends, huh?”

“Oh, best friends. Went to college together, too. Lived together for a while, didn’t kill each other.”

“That’s rare.”

“I know. I don’t see her nearly as often as I’d like but that’s my girl. How do you know Cole?”

“Drama camp.”

You stop in your tracks, stop both of you in your tracks. Still, Matthew doesn’t let go of your hand. “Drama camp?”

“Yes? You didn’t know Cole was a theater kid?”

You continue walking but your face is absolutely flabbergasted. “Cole? Finance bro Cole? A theatre kid? You’re fucking with me.”

“Oh, I am not. He was quite good actually,” he laughs. “He could’ve been a star.”

“Wow…” you shake your head. “Wow. You think you know someone.”

“And then you find out he was in a summer production of Fiddler on the Roof.”

You stop again. You feel like you could fall to your knees. “Matthew. Please. Please tell me there are pictures.”

“My mom recorded the whole thing, there’s a cassette tape somewhere.”

“Oh my god!” you cackle. “You’ll have to show me.”

“Fly out to Vegas with me at the end of the weekend. I’ll show you all the good stuff.”

“Oh. You’re planning on taking me to your hometown already? To meet your mom and everything?”

“You can meet my mom, you can meet my dad, you can meet my stepparents, you can meet my sister, my brother, her husband, his wife, my nephews.”

“Woah!”

“Oh, they’d love you.”

“I just wanna see Fiddler on the Roof!”

You’re not sure how long you stay out with him. The trail lights make it seem like no time has passed at all. You fill the air with so much chatter that it’s a shock when you loop around to the barn. As you near your tent, Matthew’s steps grow smaller. Slower, following close behind you with your hand still tight in his.

“Well,” he sighs. “Thank you for accompanying me. I was scared to walk alone.”

“Oh, is that why you invited me?”

“I just thought I’d get lost by myself. Needed backup.”

“Mhm,” you nod. “You do seem quite helpless.”

“You have no idea.”

You giggle and as you step up to your tent, you’re not ready to go inside just yet. So you turn to him and he is dangerously close to you. You can feel the heat radiating from his chest.

“Well, I had a nice time,” you smile. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

It’s going to happen. You raise yourself on your toes. He takes a firm hold of your forearms. His nose touches yours. Then you hear the sharp sound of a zipper slashing open. You both flinch and look over to see your friend, poking her head of wild hair out the opening of her tent.

You bashfully step away from Matthew, crossing your arms. “Hi, Gina.”

Gina squints, yawning, “[y/n]?” She rubs her tired eyes and looks at you. Then at Matthew. Then you. Then Matthew. “Uh…what the hell are you two doing?” she smirks.

“Nothing,” you tell her. “Go back to sleep.”

She looks at you. Then Matthew. Then you. You. And she ducks her head back in.

You chuckle shyly and shake your head. Moment’s gone but he still looks pretty under the moonlight.

“It’s late,” you whisper. “I need my beauty sleep.”

He scoffs, “To get even more beautiful?” he shakes his head jokingly as he backs away. “[y/n], that’s just greedy.”

You laugh, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes. You will,” he waves as he walks away. Blowing you a kiss, “Goodnight, [y/n].”

You wait until he's out of sight, and even then, you stand there and wish for him to come back.

“Ahhhh!” Hattie screams once you rise in the morning. You step into the barn, groggy and sluggish, but when you see her rushing towards you, you can’t help but smile. “Hi! Good morning!”

“Good morning, beautiful bride!” you give her a tight hug.

“We’re having a little breakfast. Here’s your mimosa.”

You glance down at the glass, taking it from her hesitantly, “It’s eight in the morning?”

“Hey, everyone has to do what I say today!”

“Okay, okay,” you take a quick sip and she beams, sitting down beside you at the table.

You fill your plate with food and seamlessly fall in conversation. None of it about the wedding, ironically. You have the rest of the day for that. Right now, in this moment, it’s gossip. It’s silly. It’s so relaxing that you don’t even realized you’ve finished your mimosa.

“I thought it was pretty cozy,” Gina shrugs. “Not sure what [y/n] thinks but then again she was out with Matthew all night.”

There is an immediate halt. Forks hitting the plate, a stunned silence falling over the room and all eyes on you.

“You were?” Hattie gasps.

You stutter, “It…wasn’t…all night. We-we just went for a walk.”

“Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?” a friend chimes in.

“We went for an actual walk!” you exclaim. “It was nothing.”

“Ohhhh, yeah,” Gina laughs. “It sure looked like nothing when I caught you two making out.”

Instant gasps.

“We did not make out!” you insist. “We didn’t even kiss!”

“H, how do u feel about making this wedding a joint thing?”

You look down, picking at your food as your face burns red and Hattie is just grinning at you.

Across the way, Cole receives a text from his bride, saying: Ask your friend wtf he was doing last night

Cole raises his eyebrows and spots Matthew shaving in the bathroom mirror. He slyly walks in and crosses his arms. He tries his best to be nonchalant, leaning back against the wall, eyeing Matthew in the mirror, “So. You have a good night?”

Matthew furrows his brows at him, “Yeah? Bed was comfortable.”

“Mhm. And…you didn’t…didn’t sneak off anywhere?”

Matthew completely turns his body around, “You and the wife talking about me?”

“My wife and her wife are talking about you, I think.”

He can’t help but smile to himself, “Well…cool…”

Cole laughs, “What’s the plan here, dude?”

“The plan is…to see [y/n] again as soon as humanly possible.”

Cole shakes his head, breaking a smile, “You do know that this is my wedding, right?”

Matthew laughs as he pats his face clean, “Yeah but…I don’t know, I was kinda thinking we could make it a joint thing?”

Once everyone’s hair and makeup is done, it’s silly to you that you have to pretend to do it all for photos. The makeup artist holds her brush to your full glam face just so the photographer can take a shot and it takes everything in you not to laugh. But it’s what the bride wants. You and the girls get into your dresses. You twirl and giggle like a game of dress up. Until Opal announces Hattie’s entrance. Then suddenly it’s very real.

Hattie walks downstairs in her gown, a ballgown specifically. Poofy, but not too big, a corset holding up her breasts, a diamond necklace on her chest to match her earrings. Her hair is put up and curled. Her makeup is done to perfection.

Oh. She is just perfect.

It moves everyone to a fit of squeals but you clasp your hands over your mouth and just stare at her. You go to wipe the tears from your eyes but remember your makeup so you fan your face. She laughs as she walks directly to you and takes you a tight hug. The photographer captures your sobbing face in all it’s glory. Hattie will frame that one for sure.

When Hattie’s dad comes around to escort her to the ceremony site, you take her hands in yours.

“It’s not too late,” you tell her. “We can still run.”

She laughs. “You know…I thought I might for a second there but…nah, I don’t wanna. I wanna marry him.”

You have to shake your head to keep from crying, “Okay. Okay, then let’s get you fucking hitched.”

Guest have arrived. Each chair is full and the forest around them is positively buzzing with excitement. The florals accentuate the atmosphere beautifully and now all that’s missing is the blushing bride.

You walk down the pathway with your friends, each of you holding up your dresses to protect them from the dirt. Your dress is by far the shiniest. Though all of yours are a variation of green patterns, yours is solid and laced with golden glitter tulle. The maid of honor must stand out. Matthew catches sight of you immediately but not just because you’re the maid of honor, not just because you’re shiny. But because it’s you.

And you look amazing.

It’s like everyone and everything around you fades away. Like he’s watching you walk towards him in slow motion. Your hair flowing in the wind, your lips stretching out into a smile just for him. When you step up to him, he has to take a moment because you just smell so good.

“Wowww,” he breathes out. “Look at you.”

You blush, “Look at me? Look at you!” you don’t even think about it, you just touch his clean shaven face. Run your knuckles over the smooth skin and he revels in it, closing his eyes for just a second. “You clean up nice.”

“Thank you. I only do it when absolutely necessary.”

You laugh and lean into him a bit, totally fixated until you notice the other bridesmaids watching you both from the sidelines. You cut your eyes at them and take a step back. You’re grateful when Opal comes in with her iron fist, arranging you all in order and demanding you stay there.

The music starts, you take a deep breath. You gave Matthew’s arm a squeeze, “You remember anything from rehearsal?”

“Nope, not at all. Just winging it.”

There is not much to say about the ceremony itself except that everyone - everyone - is in tears by the end. It is only thirty minutes but after it all, Cole and Hattie are married and nothing has ever felt so right.

Matthew links your arms as you make your exit behind the newlyweds and you can help but laugh at the tears staining his cheeks. You grin as you wipe them away with your thumb.

Pictures.

So many fucking pictures. So many poses. So many arrangements. So many beautiful backdrops to stand in front of and smile and live in awe of the bride and groom. Eventually, Cole and Hattie go off to take their own portraits and unsurprisingly, you wind up eating a plate of hors d'oeuvres with Matthew.

“You know her?” he asks you, nodding his head towards a guest who stays seated, fanning herself with her wedding program.

“Yeah, that’s Mia. We went to college with her.”

“It’s, like, not that hot out here, right? Am I crazy?”

“Asshole,” you swat his arm. “She’s pregnant.”

“Oh…oh. Oh, she is?”

“Yes!” you giggle. “You just can’t tell because she chose the poofiest dress to wear today.”

“Oopsie,” he cringes. “Hey, is that something you might consider?”

“Hm?”

“Getting pregnant?”

You nearly choke on your bite of food but promptly clear your throat, “What the fuck? Is that a threat?”

“No. No, it’s an offer,” he grins.

You shake your head at him, ducking your hesd down so he can’t see your heated face. Your smile. “You have your speech prepared?" you ask him.

"Speech?"

"Uh, yeah. Your best man speech?"

"I was supposed to write a speech?" he exclaims.

Your jaw drops in shock and horror and you're dangerously close to scolding him until you see a smirk form on his face.

'That's not funny!"

"Of course I have a speech. You think I'm nuts?"

"Yes!"

"I have a speech prepared that is going to bring absolutely everyone in attendance to tears. They might as well go ahead and pass out the tissues now."

"Oh, real confident there, huh?"

"My speech is gonna kick your speech's ass."

You cackle, "It's not a contest, you freak. We're declaring our love for our best friends and their new spouse!"

"Sounds like you're nervous. Sounds like you can't take the heat."

"What heat? You know what? I'm not doing this with you. I'm gonna deliver my speech and as long as Hattie loves it, I'm content."

He nods, “…bawk-bawk-bawk-bawk."

"Stop it!"

"[y/n]!” you hear from behind you and you whip your head around. Hattie is running up to you, dress lifted, feet fast. "[y/n]!"

You run right to her, catching her in your arms as you collide, "What? What is it? What's wrong? What are you doing? You're supposed to be getting ready for your grand entrance!"

She huffs, catching her breath, "I know. I will. I am, whew..." she catches her breath. "I just had to tell you," she pants. "I just got fucked in my wedding dress!"

"Oh!" you cover your mouth to conceal your burst of laughter. "Oh my god! I thought this was a classy party!"

"Well, we wrote it into the schedule. We even finished with three minutes to spare. Both of us!"

"Oh my god!" you repeat, hunching over in laughter as she runs off.

You and Matthew hadn’t prepared anything especially elaborate for your reception entrance. But the DJ makes the best man and maid of honor sound like such a big deal that you have to do something. Anything. And utimately, he just ends up twirling you around in front of him. Your dress flows through the air, this wide smile on your face and he so casually wraps his arms around you to prevent you from tripping in your heels.

Seriously. Could you two make it any more obvious?

Cole and Hattie are greeted with an uproar of applause and cheers, the photographer right in their faces, an outpour of love coming from all around them. You clap your hands incessantly and right in your ear is Matthew cheering, his hands on your waist, your back against his chest like it’s no big deal.

You sit down to eat with your friends and it’s one big round table of alcohol, gushing, yelling and laughter. Matthew’s called up to give his speech and he makes sure to walk by you on his way up. “Watch and learn,” he whispers.

You shake your head, roll your eyes, but you’re watching him. You’re watching the way he instantly takes control of the room and radiates this light under the night sky. You’ve got to give it to him. It’s a good speech. From beginning to end, it’s captivating. The emotional cadence in his voice ripples across the room and there is actually, literally a box of tissues being passed around.

He’s applauded by every guest and he immediately runs up to Cole and Hattie to give them a tight hug. He walks over to you and holds the microphone out for you, “Beat that.”

You eye him as he walks off and the giddy smile on your face quickly disappears when you make eye contact with Gina. She pinches her fingers and knocks her hands together, puckering her lips and making kissing sounds.

“Stop it,” you whisper.

You’re not as used to the spotlight as Matthew so when you stand up in front of everyone, you freeze for a moment. You struggle to get the words out. It’s not a contest, but you’re already losing. So you look at Hattie, the one person you are doing all of this for. It makes it a lot easier to just, speak your truth, “Hi. I’m [y/n] and Hattie is my very best friend.”

Hattie’s a mess instantly.

That’s the fun part about being the bride’s best friend. You know all the best parts of her relationship. You also know all the worst parts but those don’t need to be spoken today. You know how it’s made her happier, stronger, glow in a way she never thought possible. You know better than anyone that this is where she’s meant to be and who she’s meant to be here with.

She can hardly wait one second after you finish to run up to you and give you a big hug. She squeezes you so tightly that you think she’ll never, ever let you go. You escort her back to the sweethearts table and throw a smug look towards Matthew’s way. He puts his hands up in surrender. You win.

After a while, when the grandparents and kids have left and the hour for the fun adults has arrived, you’re just buzzed enough to dance. And you do. You let Hattie shake her ass on you a bit and for a while, you’re just girls again. No one’s wife, no one’s employee. Just girls. It wears you. You take a seat just to down the rest of your wine and catch your breath.

“You all danced out?” Matthew asks as he approaches you. He holds out his hand, “Or you got one more left in you?”

You tilt your head, drunkenly smirking at him, “I think I can squeeze you in.”

“Yeah?” he pulls you to your feet and into his arms. “Squeeze me into where?”

You giggle. You shamelessly fall into his chest, “Take me to the dancefloor.”

He does, he lead you right to the center. He puts his hands on the small of your back and cradles your hand against his chest. He breathes in the scent of your hair and sighs.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do once I have to part from you tomorrow.”

“Just put me in your pocket,” you whisper. “Take me to the big city.”

He chuckles, pulls you closer, putting your bodies flush together. “I will, in a heartbeat. Just say the word.”

You grin. You stare into those beautiful eyes of his and inhale the center of his chest and exhale with a soft hum, “The word.”

He smiles. You smile. You take a look around and then you two make your exit.

Off to the side, the bride and groom are slow dancing. The rest of the world has faded away. Though their feet are a bit uncoordinated, everything feels properly in place.

“Sooo,” Hattie puts her nose to his. “You’re thinking the same thing I am, right?”

“Thaaaat we have three more minutes of fun time? You wanna go now?”

She cackles, “No! About Matthew and [y/n].”

“Ohhh, right. Them. You were right. I owe you five bucks.”

“Mhm. For the rest of your life.”

He smiles softly, rubbing her back. He looks around the area and furrows his eyebrows, “Where…are Matthew and [y/n]?”

Hattie giggles, singing, “I know where they are.”

“No…” Cole gasps. “No…you think?”

She shakes her head at him. Sweet, dumb Cole. “Oh you are just so cute!” she kisses his nose.

In the solitude of your tent, Matthew stands behind you and slowly unzips your dress. He plants soft kisses on each spot of your skin as it’s revealed and you hum under your breath at the gentle contact. His hands latch onto the thin straps and pull them over your shoulders. He kisses your neck and runs his hands over your chest as he pushes the dress down your body. All that’s left of you is a strapless bra and seamless panties that he sticks his hands in. You step out of them and turn to face him.

You touch his face and look at him with these hooded eyes, smiling softly as you push his jacket off of his shoulders. You undo the buttons on his shirt and touch all over his exposed chest. He nuzzles his nose into yours as you take off his pants and he falls back on the tiny bed, letting you pull them off his legs.

He stretches out his legs but his feet hang off the edge so he bends his knees, “I don’t think I fit,” he chuckles.

You grin as you casually straddle his lap, running your hands over his arms. “We’ll just have to make you fit,” you whisper.

He gives you the faintest little whimper, leaning in to you with his mouth open. And just like you had meant to last night, finally, you kiss him. You kiss him. You touch his tongue to yours and place your hand on his throat, engulfing his entire mouth in yours. Both of you release these deep, guttural moans and Matthew gasps as you roll your hips on him.

He grips onto your waist, readjusts to get the right angle and you can feel him getting hard between your legs. It's almost juvenile, the way you both get so hot from dry humping. The way your mouths are so hungry that there's no coordination.

There's moments where you go in for his lips and catch his cheek instead and he pushes his face into yours so quickly that he only catches your bottom lip. He goes to grab your hair to keep you in place but he doesn't want to mess it up so he holds the back of your neck. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, take a tight grip of his hair and lean your entire body on his. There, the friction is perfect and you moan directly into his mouth.

Matthew shifts his focus to your jaw, gently nibbling on the skin from your ear to your neck as he unhooks your bra. You whine quietly, rocking your hips against him and leaning your head back to expose your throat. He wants to fucking bite you. He has the quickest impulse to sink his teeth into you but he doesn’t want to leave a mark so his hands land harshly on your ass as he groans in your ear. You gasp, your back arching and you think: fuck this.

You put your hand on his chest and push him back on the bed. He lets you but he whimpers. He wants to be kissing you. Needs to be kissing you. He looks up at you with wide eyes, his jaw dropping when you free his cock from his briefs. He licks his lips, nodding, begging, “Mm…mhm, mhm, mhm, mhm.”

You giggle at him, but that giggle is cut quickly by the ease in which his cock slides into you. You both gasp and he catches you as you fall into his arms. You feel just as good as he thought you would. Better. Even better. You watch his eyes roll to the back of his head and you try to kiss but your mouth are wide open. It’s mainly just heaving breathing and teeth on teeth.

He takes full advantage of the angle in his knees, keeps his hands on your ass to spread you open and push all the way into you. He likes the sound you make so he does it again. Again. Pulling all the way, pushing all the way in. Again, a little deeper. Again, a little harder. Harder and harder until you’re squeaking against each other’s lips uncontrollably, the one thing that’s louder than the sound of his skin slapping into yours.

He looks into your hooded eyes and begs, “Kiss me.”

So you do. You kiss him with a sloppy mouth and once again, there’s no coordination. You’re rocking around the tiny bed so carelessly that it might break. But even then, you wouldn’t stop. It’s hard to breathe. It’s hard to think. You just push yourself back on his cock, meeting him at just the right time that you’re entire body twitches violently.

“N-not…fuck…” you stutter against his lips. “Not…gonna…last…long…like this…mm, fuck.”

And he grins, delighted at the thought of getting you off. So quickly, so easily. Still, he pleads, “Oh…” he bucks his hips up into you. “Can’t we just…m-make it last forever? P-please…please, please, please…”

You shut him up with another kiss. You grab onto his hair and grind on him eagerly, chasing your high for what feels exactly like forever. The way the tension builds first in your thighs and then your belly and radiates throughout your entire body, you can hardly comprehend it. You tighten your grip on his hair and breathe out, “Matthew.”

“[y/n],” he breathes out and it sounds so helpless that you can only reply with a whimper. You increase your speed, your rhythm becomes sloppy but Matthew is rock solid. He cups your face in his hands and repeats, “[y/n].”

“O-oh, fuck. Oh…god…” you latch onto his wrists. You can’t take it anymore, “Mm…” and you come on his cock with a loud and visceral moan straight from the back of your throat. The way your pussy tightens around him has him matching your volume and the kiss you give him is so dirty that he will taste it for weeks.

He doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it until your body is all but convulsing. He only stops to prevent himself from coming inside of you, instead raising your hips to shoot his load all over his stomach. His knees tense up and tighten against you as the weakest groans escape his lips. You hum softly to yourself and you lower yourself down the mattress, licking the mess off his stomach as you make your way back to his lips. He’s stunned but rewards you with a kiss. He wishes the kiss could last forever. He tries his best to make it so.

But you crash on his chest, panting loudly and allowing your body to finally relax. Your head rises and falls with every heavy breath he takes.

“Let’s get married,” he huffs and you laugh, sitting up to look at him. “No?”

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head.

“Ugh…worth a shot.”

It’s so peaceful. A calm after a storm - a hurricane. Until your phone illuminates the dark space and you reach over his body to check the text. It’s from Hattie -

As soon as youre both done, my husband and i would like to make our outro! :)

“Oh, shit!” you exclaim and that’s all Matthew needs to hear.

You both hop up at lightening speed. You somehow get dressed even quicker. You rush out of the tent, nearly tripping over your feet, hand in hand.

“Wait,” Matthew says and when you pause to look at him, he fixes the clip in your hair and then he gives you a kiss. You look back at him with a smile as you run back to the reception.

You catch Hattie and Cole just in time. They are already lined up and ready to go when you two reappear. Matthew grabs Cole’s shoulder and laments, “Sorry about that, dude. I-I got caught up. Sorry.”

“Oh yeah,” Cole smirks as he keeps walking. “I can tell. Your jacket’s on inside out.”

After Matthew remedies that, you two casually clap and cheer as the newlyweds walk through the crowd of excitement. They promptly load themselves up on a golf cart and you watch them disappear into the night.

Matthew sighs, turning to you, “So…I guess our jobs are done for the night.”

You sigh in return, shrugging, “I guess so.”

“You gonna be lonely in that tent tonight?”

“God...” you shake your head. “I hope not.”

And that night, you are far, far from lonely in that tent.

You wake up together. Matthew made himself fit in that bed once again. You get dressed together. You both clean up the tent and step out together. And once again, there’s Gina, catching you in the act. She doesn’t say anything. But when she walks past you two, the tiny smile on her face says it all.

Back at the reception site, Hattie and Cole serve a light breakfast and deliver a toast that is short and sweet. Blah blah blah, thank you all for coming. Blah blah blah, we love you so much. Blah blah blah, we have a plane to Cabo to catch. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!

They go around to say their goodbyes and while Cole is distracted, Hattie intentionally saves you for last. She gives you a long hug, “Missed you last night.”

“Yeah, uh…” you blush. “I am so sorry about that.”

“Oh no, don’t be,” she gives you a quick kiss on the cheek. “It all went according to plan.”

“To-“ you stutter. “Hattie Jane Welsh…”

“Aht-aht!” she grins as she walks away from you to join her husband. She flashes her rings, “Hattie Jane Briggs. I already changed it on instagram and facebook!”

You jaw is dropped in absolute shock and you can’t pick it up. In fact, your mouth is still wide open when Matthew approaches you.

“So, pretty lady, what are you doing after this?” he asks.

“Got a train to catch back home.”

“Oh, a train? How far is the drive?”

“About an hour.”

“I have an hour…” he says. “And a rental car.”

A sweet smile spreads across your face. He mirrors it right back to you. You take hold of your suitcase, step over to him, stand straight up and wrap your hand around his bicep. You’ve had a lot of practice.

“Okay,” you nod. “Let’s go.”

#mine #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler fluff #matthew gray gubler smut #Spotify

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nanamiscocksleeve · 3 months ago

Text

When The Snow Melts

Warnings: MDNI, soft sex, virginity loss, angst, and some spoilers for those who aren't familiar with Zayne's lore. A/n: Curiosity got the best of me. I wasn't playing LaDS when the Master of Fate card came out so I went to YouTube and immediately regretted it. Like can this man not catch a break? He sacrifices himself again? I couldn't leave it, so this me, correcting the wrong. A fix-it fic if you will. Because I need Zayne to win, at least once. Also, since Zayne appears according to how MC perceives him, I do believe he will have aged exactly as she has.

The night is bright, and the small cobbled lane you walk on is lit with lamps. The streets are bustling with life. The feeling of excitement, togetherness, and aromatic food graces the air as you wander closer to the town square. Another festival, similar, yet not similar, to the countless ones you’ve seen with your keen eyes.

You’d wanted to be in company, maybe see the world when you were young, and the curse that was also a blessing was granted. Your body, now wispy and weathered from the years spent wandering cannot move as quickly as you used to, the ever-reminding aches in your joints, the beginning of arthritis weighing down in your bones. Yet you still had a zest for life. Because what else could you do but seek, and take in everything that life had to offer? How could you not? Because it was the grace of the god that allowed it and the terrible price that was paid for you to experience it.

It had been decades since you had last seen the god. You had traversed as far as you could, carrying your umbrella with the everlasting snow coating it like wool on a freshly birthed lamb. The things you had witnessed! Ships with sails as tall as oak trees, strangely flavored meats and delectable sweets, festivals where people had danced, music from instruments brought in from faraway strange lands. You had eaten, traveled, danced, and sung, picking up small jobs to afford simple pleasures. You were a quick learner. Once you were a seamstress helping a small garment shop, another time a jewel polisher. You had even worked as an errand maid for an elderly couple who were profuse with their thanks and offered you a roof over your head for a short while. But staying in one place wasn’t an option. You had to keep looking after all. How else would you find him again?

As your feet carried you into the square, a burst of light and color filled your vision. It’s so lively, as the people flock to the different food carts, admiring the small handicraft booths, and singing folk songs well known to all those who grew up in this region. Children joyfully chased each other, dressed warmly in bright clothes. A hint of winter was already in the air. Based on what you had observed, this festival was celebrating the end of the harvest season, probably one of the last for this year until the harsh snowfall of winter faded. The breeze, not quite chilly enough to make you shiver, felt comforting on your face.

You supposed you could work as a midwife again. Midwifery was good work, reliable since winter did not stop the delivery of children into the world. It could also guarantee a place to stay if you played your cards right, though you hated staying in one place. The nomadic lifestyle you had adopted suited you. And the winters made you nostalgic.

It made you long for those days before you had picked up this umbrella and set off to see the world. Of amber eyes flecked with green, like the jars of whiskey at the inns when the early morning sunlight brushes against them, bringing forth colors hidden in the dark glass. Or of soft hands, covered in scars, and whispers in your ear of sleep, of priestesses calling gods down to earth to make love to them. Sometimes the memories consume you to the point of anger. How dare he leave you? With no explanation as to what his blessing was.

You vaguely recall those days, back when your fingers weren’t gnarled and wrinkled, your face unblemished by the years in the sun. All spells have limitations, he had said. But he also said he had taken care to make the spell extra strong since you were particularly clumsy. The snow had to melt sometime…didn’t it?

A drum begins to pound in the distance, and the crowd gathers around the stage that had been set up at the far end of the square. You halt at one of the carts to buy some fried chicken skewers. The vendor looks curiously at your umbrella, something you have grown accustomed to over the years. After all, snow that doesn’t melt was bound to bring questions. You had woven a different story for each city you had passed through, sometimes recycling them when you didn’t have the creativity to spin a new one. Initially hesitant to reveal how the umbrella with the everlasting snow had come into your possession, you had tried to pass it off as a novelty accessory, crafting tales of snowy mountains and how it was all the rage in those areas.

As the years passed by, your tongue had loosened. Or perhaps the indignation of him disappearing had made you reckless. Although you still hadn’t said the full story, you’d managed to finally say it was a blessing from a god, shocking the non-believers by letting them touch the snow, their gasps of awe as the cold, wet, powder clung to their fingers falling satisfyingly on your ears. Tonight, however, you were in no mood to entertain strangers. You smile politely as you hand over your coins to the vendor, take the food, and walk away towards the stage.

The sounds of a flute and an erhu accompany the drum. Elaborately dressed dancers are swirling in coordinated grace on the stage, enacting a scene from an old tale; the common man sending off the goddess of harvest, thanking her for her blessings that year, and praying to the god of winter, that he be merciful to them and allow them to live to see another spring.

You were skeptical if these rituals really worked. The first autumn after you had been gifted the umbrella when the air started to show signs of change, you had danced, danced amongst the trees that were close to shedding their vividly colored leaves of red, mustard, and yellow. You had prayed your heart out, prayed so hard, danced so long that the soles of your shoes had almost worn out. You had danced till you had collapsed with exhaustion, falling asleep on the leafy floor. You had been so sure that it would work, that he would show himself, and when you awoke, it was with a heartrending pang that you realized you were alone. It hadn’t worked. Wherever he was, the god of the snow wasn’t visible to your eyes. It was the first time you had allowed yourself to cry in all those months. Had he really believed this was the better choice? That to leave you behind without telling you what was going to happen to him would make you happier? That was the worst part; not knowing if he was alive, existing somewhere you couldn’t journey to, or if he had given all his power into making the snow that had fueled your existence, and lost himself with it.

The music becomes faster and the dancers move until the stage is a blur of color. The audience claps as their movements become sharp, with an artistic precision that only years of practice could hone. The last note quavers from the flute and rises into the night air. Cheers and whistles erupt all around you. It was a beautiful performance no doubt, but despite finding it captivating, it also left you feeling hollow. Finishing the last of your fried chicken, you begin to wander amongst the townspeople, enquiring about work that could be had for the winter.

By the time the square had cleared up, and the last of the festival-goers had returned home, you had secured a job; a bakery was in desperate need of an extra set of hands. The pay wasn’t much but the woman had offered food and board and you had accepted graciously. As you sit on the stone steps of your latest lodgings, you gaze at the moon.

You want to not blame him, to not feel this heavy weight that you’ve carried inside your chest. You know you should be grateful for his sacrifice which enabled you to see so much of the world, and at the least, you weren’t alone. The incident with the people in your village was a distant memory, replaced with so many more pleasant rememberings. Plucking apples from an orchard with trees growing as far as the eyes could see. The feeling of a newborn baby, screaming with the rage of life and the mother wiping tears of joy while offering you her thanks. The herbalist with his toothless smile as he showed you which plants were medicinal and which were poison as you plucked various flowers and leaves and dug the earth for rhizomes of turmeric and ginger.

You were a well-traveled woman, knowledgeable in all aspects, a rare luxury during this time, you knew. Yet for each memory that stayed clearly in your mind, there was a sense of loss. Everything tied back to him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to forget him, even in your old age, and even with the passage of time.

The spicy bun the baker had offered you was good. You savored its flavor on your tongue, naming the constellations visible in the sky as you did so, the short astronomy lesson from a young scholar in some past time proving useful. It must be close to midnight based on how still the night is, the whispering rustle of dead leaves as they skitter across the ground audible in the background. With a sigh, you carefully get to your feet, your joints creaking as you rise. As you reach for your umbrella, you pause, fingertips hovering over the handle.

Surely you were imagining it? It must be a trick of the moonlight. The last of the lamps were dying, the faint light casting shadows across the walls of the dwellings. Yet your aged eyes couldn’t shake off the feeling. You stare intently at the umbrella, more so, at the snow perched on its upper slope. A fine sheen of condensation coated the umbrella, surrounding the powdery snow. Had you somehow gotten the umbrella wet? You kneel, observing with fascination as some of the condensation gathers, becoming fat droplets of precipitation, and rolling off the sides.

You’re awestruck. In all your years, the snow had never melted. It had never lessened nor increased but always stayed the same. But now you can see how the powder was turning watery, steadily dripping down into the cold ground. You trace a fingertip on the trails of moisture along the sides of the umbrella, and that’s when you hear it; the unmistakable twang of a guqin.

You had never encountered a guqin again, not since the night he had played one while you danced for him. The unmistakable notes now begin to form a melody. You look out into the empty street and see nothing. But the song was filling your body like the warmth of a fireplace. Your limbs involuntarily stretch out as your eyes close, remembering the movements you had learned so long ago and sworn to never repeat after the failed attempt to call down the god. Your legs feel unsteady, your hands clumsy, a far cry from the controlled accuracy of the stage dancers. Your joints begin to sear as you move, unable to stop the actions. Oh how sweetly the instrument sang to you!

There’s a sharp pain in your heart, not from the ache of moving your tired extremities, but from the grief bottled up, adding on year after year. There’s resentment, but underneath it all, there’s a strong yearning you’re unable to put into words. How do you describe it? The loss of the only person who seemed to understand you, who helped you control your power?

You knew he did something when he placed his spell because, since that day, you hadn’t been able to harness your powers ever again. He had ensured you could live your life as a normal human being. Before knowing him you would have done anything to not have the power. But the cost that came with it was too much to bear. You weren’t alone, yet you were alone. So of all the days, why was the guqin playing now?

Tears roll down your cheeks as you dance, letting loose your sorrow to the crisp night breeze. You feel like each nerve in your body is frayed, all consumed with the bits of memories you had of him. It takes you a moment to realize you’re not dancing anymore. The guqin has stopped playing. You’re standing in a pose, your head lowered, facing the steps you had been sitting on, and the umbrella leaning against them. Shock passes through you.

The umbrella was completely devoid of snow. The only evidence it was there was the puddle of water that had gathered beneath it, muddying the grass.

“Why are you so surprised?”

Your heart skips a beat, then begins to hammer in your chest like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The deep baritone voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm calls out to you gently. You can’t seem to be able to move.

“It can’t be.” You murmur, gripping your elbows, trying to calm yourself. “It can’t be. I’m dreaming.”

“What are dreams if not another reality?”

It takes all the effort in your body to not collapse to the ground as a sobbing mess. You turn slowly, as though giving the voice a chance to admit it was a figment of your imagination but it doesn’t happen. Your breath catches in your throat as you see him, at last.

His dark hair has tinges of gray in it, and crow’s feet are visible near the corners of his eyes, but the gentle upwards curve of his lips, the broad shoulders, and his pointed chin are all recognizably familiar.

“Zayne?” You let his name fall from your lips, sounding like a strange word, lost to your vocabulary from the years of disuse.

He nods, then stretches out a hand to you. At first, you’re at a loss about what you should do, then, with as much speed as your wizened knees allow, you run to him. He’s solid and grounding, his arms wrapping around you tightly. A brief lick of rage crosses through you, but when you open your mouth to let loose your diatribe, all that comes out is a sob. Your tears flow freely, staining his robes, and you feel his gloved hands gently combing through your hair.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, his chin resting on top of your head.

“Why not tell me?” Your words are choked, your body shivering as you cry.

Zayne leads you to the steps and helps you sit before occupying the space next to you. He leans you against him, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder as he takes one of your hands between both of his. He sighs deeply and his voice, though calm, is filled with regret as he speaks.

“How could I tell you? What would I have said? How do you tell someone special to you that their life was in danger?”

You blink back tears. “Danger?”

“There was a powerful entity after you. I did what I needed to do to protect you.”

“Why was it after me?”

Zayne pauses, as though considering how to word his response. “It was convinced you would bring about a cataclysm, and the only way to prevent it was to take your life.”

“But… I don’t understand. How did your spell prevent this? Now that it’s worn off, won’t it come after me again?”

“No.” Zayne wraps his arms around you, his body bringing warmth into yours. “Even cataclysms go away if given enough time. But the harder part was figuring out how to suppress your abilities until that time passed.” He sighs deeply, gathering you close. “The spell on the umbrella was the only solution I could think of, without restricting your freedom. Regrettably, sealing your power meant taking away your ability to perceive me. I never intended to make it permanent.”

“Why not tell me?” You repeat the question. Zayne raises an eyebrow.

“If I had told you the spell would wear off, would you have left the mountain?” He brushes your cheek with his thumb as he takes in your face, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “I know you. You would have spent all these years in isolation, waiting for me. I didn’t want you to miss the opportunity to live. A normal life seemed like the best option I could give you until enough time had passed.”

You’re silent as you let his words sink into you. After a gap, you whisper, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” His thumb caresses each of your fingertips in turn. “But know that I watched over you every day. I saw the world through your eyes and felt your sense of wonderment in my heart. The day you danced so hard for me that you almost fainted from exhaustion-” Zayne draws in a breath and his voice quivers as he continues. “I was in tears. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort you. I was there, separated by a veil, but I felt your pain.”

“That was the year the frost came early.” You recall the memory.

“Indeed. I couldn’t control my grief. I didn’t know how else to let you know I was there, except to cover the world with snow.”

You glance over at the umbrella. “Will you disappear again?”

“Not unless you want me to.” One of his large hands rests on your knee. “I understand I’ve angered you by acting without telling you everything. Is it enough that you don’t want me around?”

You shake your head no. Your momentary anger with him had faded, like the night giving way to the sunrise. “There’s nothing that could keep me from wanting you. I made many acquaintances throughout my life, but the one person’s companionship I yearned for was yours.”

“My beloved snowflake.” Zayne embraces you tenderly. “It was fate that led you to me on the mountain that day. And It was fate that finally broke the spell. We’re all bound by it, even me.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. Otherwise, do you think I would have kept you sealed for so long? Even gods must play by fate’s rules.”

Silence falls between you both, the breeze ruffling your clothes. You become acutely aware that he’s gazing at you, and when you turn to look at him, there’s such tenderness in his eyes that it makes you blush, even at this age.

“You’re beautiful,” he utters, tucking strands of stray hair behind your ears. The amber in his eyes glows as you stare back, captivated by how handsome he is. Your memory didn’t do him justice. You cup his cheek.

“Is this our happily ever after?”

“It can be if we choose it to be.”

“I do. Wholeheartedly.”

Sparks fly between you and almost as if the both of you are following a rhythm, your lips find each other in the darkness. It’s odd because, in the passing years, you hadn’t imagined what his lips would feel like against yours. You had fantasized about lying next to him, listening to his heartbeat, about taking long, leisurely strolls while holding hands, and about the possibility of letting him rest on your lap while you played with his thick locks of hair.

Now you’re glad you hadn’t tried to imagine it because the reality was sweeter than any dream you could have conjured, the warmth and softness of his mouth, the taste of his tongue as it slips past your lips, the possessiveness in his grip as he molds your body against his, as though silently claiming you. There wasn’t an inch of you that didn’t ache for him. When he pulls away, there’s desire flickering in the depths of his eyes.

Wordlessly, you take his hands and get to your feet, quietly pulling him inside your new quarters. You’re careful to not wake the baker; it was quite improper to invite a man into your room, but you didn’t care. You lock the door and allow Zayne to sweep you away.

Clothes slide to the floor, a whisper lost to the dark. There’s no shame as you reach for each other, hands relishing the feeling of skin, enjoying the contact between your bodies as he gently pulls you onto the bed. His lips leave trailing kisses on your skin, no longer supple like the young woman you once were, but worthy of being worshipped irrespective. You wonder if this moment would have felt different if you had consummated this relationship when you were younger but realized you had little choice in it. If the Master of Fate couldn’t control when things happened, then what good was it to think about what could have been?

Instead, you focus on him, on his skin flushed with vitality as you nibble his ear, shyly running your tongue down his neck. He suckles at your nipple, and pleasure, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced radiates into every part of your being. You feel his erection graze your belly as he patiently kisses you, moaning into his mouth as his fingers stroke your sex, finding the little knot of nerves that makes you close your eyes in ecstasy.

It’s all slow and unhurried, and when you finally gasp out your climax, he eases his body into yours. There’s pain, but only for the briefest moment, then as your body stretches around him, you feel a powerful sense of intimacy as he thrusts, his movements passionate and loving. He gathers you tightly against him whispering the same thing over and over as he empties himself.

“I love you. I love you I love you I love you.”

A weak ray of sunlight peeks through the window when you wake up, and you panic for a moment when you see the bed is empty.

“I’m here my love.” Zayne’s voice immediately reassures you and you see him stoking the fireplace. The small flames crackle merrily as he makes his way back to bed, pulling you against him and stroking your skin. It had snowed overnight, and the landscape was now unrecognizable, covered in a fresh coat of it.

“It appears grief isn’t the only thing that can cause the god of winter to make it snow,” you tease and Zayne good-naturedly smirks at you.

“Indeed. All thanks to you.”

You giggle, a soft sound that fills him with joy.

“I suppose we’re stuck in this village until winter ends. Makes no sense to wander for now.”

“Agreed. I suppose I can set up shop as a fortune-teller, or maybe as a herbalist.”

“We’ll decide what to do when spring comes.” You settle against his chest, finding comfort in the scent of his skin.

“The snow has to melt sometime. But we’ll survive. Together.”

“Together.” You agree, and lay your lips over his.

@theimmortalbuns @otomegamesforlife @sweets-kozume @supernaturalbaesduh @ladyparamount

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ophelieverse · 6 months ago

Note

if you are still taking requests I have one:Jace returning to Winterfell to reader,who is Cregan younger sister,to make the “song of ice and fire” become true after his mother told him😌please and thank you❤️

✩ ‧₊˚ and his will be the song of ice and fire

Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader

-Summary:during his first stay at Winterfell,Jace and Y/n got much closer than they should.Now,after knowing the prophecy about the song of ice and fire from his mother,Jace is determined to make it true with the most beautiful lady he had ever seen.

-Warnings:spoilers of the last episode,reader is a Stark,Jace cheats of Baela(him and reader pull a Rhaegar and Lyanna)smutty time,asoiaf classic warnings.

•-thank you so much for requesting and let me know what you guys think,sending you lots of love

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

On that night in early Winter,as a milky moon shines white above the hills,the snow falls soft to whitewash the gentle slopes and the houses in the valley of Winterfell.The air smells of the last breath of smoke blown out of a fireplace,ice,earth and wood.

It's late,and many lights are already off,but the fire of torches along the streets still shine.The tavern lanterns are also still lit,as are some fireplaces or oil lamps in homes.The world is immersed in the peaceful quiet of that cold night,which already brings with it the algid squeeze of winter now closer and closer.

In the secluded area of the cold godswood,in the gardens of the castle of Winterfell,silence envelopes the floral landscape like a lover embrace and Jacaerys worries that the unrequited sound of his beating heart could be heard throughout the whole realm.

The blood-red leaves in the branches of the weirdwood tree danced calmly in the breezy wind,the snow had stopped falling from the black sky leaving only the white stars to shine.The torches lights were too close and too bright,Jace eyes were hurting and his cold hands were trying to warm up in the ones of his future bride.

The young prince is really trying to focus on the soft words,the promises of eternal love and loyalty,of the Septon that works for House Stark.But they sounded so foreign to him,almost as if they were another language.It’s impossible for him to focus on anything else outside the fact that he’s really getting married.

During his life,Jacaerys has never knew well how weddings ceremonies actually worked,but he was pretty sure that this one,his,wasn’t what people would call a normal one.He has a vague memory of his mother second wedding,just the day after the worst night of his life,but he still could remember a loving couple becoming one in the heart and soul.Promising each other,in the house culture,love and devotion,eternal loyalty.

He also remembered the wedding of his uncle and aunt,Aegon and Helaena,in the big and bright Temple in King’s Landing.How two children spouted oaths that they didn’t believed in,framed by perfect swaths of red,green and yellow.Smiling faces of their families,proud to be reunited for such a joyful moment.Then the celebration after in the castle,the people dancing and laughing,the melodious music and singing,the delights of the night.

Meanwhile this wedding,his,was quiet and rushed.Reserved and in the dark shade of the forest.There are no wonderful colors for decorations,no smiling families members or friends,aside from Cregan who was chosen as a witness to the union,and Jacaerys is in the middle of an icy tundra of suffocating silence.

Y/n is standing in front of him,adorned in pure pearly white just like the snow at her feet.She wasn’t just beautiful,she was otherworldly and vaguely threatening.Bright eyes,rosy cheeks and red lips,hair falling in the wind,the smile of and enchanting enchantress and the nature of a young she wolf.Blue winter roses crowned on her head,she looked like a religious icon,someone people sacrificed themselves for.

Jacaerys had spent weeks with her during his stay in the North and he couldn’t forget her for days.He had engraved her name in the palm of his hands,the way she would laugh with him,the way she carried herself and looked at him,forever in his heart.It was impossible to not grow to love her,the beautiful lady was made of magic and stardust.

The logics and sermons,the words and phrases of the Septon weren’t the one to convince him to swear his allegiance and love,the way she held his hands and softly smiled at him driven deeper into his soul.Y/n had wrapped herself into his ribs,crawling right inside his heart,to keep him warm.

He was born for her and she was born for him.The ice and the fire,it was written in the destiny.

His mother words still echoed in his mind as he looked at Y/n.The song of ice and fire would be the product of their love,a son or a daughter that would have ruled and kept the realm together and safe.Someone who would inherit the blood of the old Valyria,the blood of the dragons and gods,fire and warmth from their father.And the blood of the first men,the old gods,the ice of the true north from their mother.

Y/n was his truth,Jacaerys was the dream,she was the ice and he was the fire.

She made him sick with desire,she always did since the moment he was first introduced to her.With the desire to have her,to possess her,to have her around him forever.And now he had the perfect opportunity,the perfect excuse for his betrayal to Baela and his mother who had betrothed them months ago.

Now he could still believe that he was a good person with a purpose,not only because of his own selfish dream to be with Y/n and to marry her just because her figure hunted his memory and his carnal needs.Because he was growing to love her and wanted to grow old with her.It was for the realm,he was repeating to himself over and over to shut down the guilt,and it would be what he would tell his mother and cousin when he and his new wife would go to Dragonstone after their wedding.For the realm,for the world and the Targaryen dynasty.

Jacaerys is dressed in pure black,trembling in his furry cloak,he’s trying to calm down his breathing that relies heavily through his nose in forms of little white clouds.Idly he wonders if this was a funeral ceremony instead of a wedding,but this was the best they could manage in such short time.

The young prince had came to Winterfell,flying on dragon back,with the last lights of the sun and everything was orchestrated in secrecy as fast as they could.The child that would be born from him and Y/n needed to be fully legitimate,he didn’t wanted to risk a bastard just like he was,not when the child wouldn’t have become the protector of the realm,the one from Aegon the Conqueror dream.

Y/n was promised to Lord Jason Lannister eldest son and Jacaerys was promised to his cousin Baela.Everything of this was the highest of treason but the war was already there and they couldn’t go back now.His mind couldn’t help but circling around and back to the empty and oddly depressing atmosphere around them.

Before them a old and solemn man was going through some chants about the gods witnessing the union and behind them a grand total of just two whole guest.Cregan stood there,wrapped around his cloak,still and silent like a statue,Vermax was a few feet away looking at the scene like he could understand what was going on.

«In the sight of the Seven,I hereby see you these two souls,binding them as one for eternity.Look upon one another and say the words.»the Septon words were spoken with decision under the torches fire.

Jacaerys swallows thickly and feels like he’s been choked by the cloak that now is heavier on his shoulders.A beads of sweats drips down on his forehead and make his hair stuck on his neck even in the cold air.He wants nothing more than loose his collar and breathe deeply.All that clothing is far too stiff and uncomfortable and he feels like a stranger in his own body.He has to tell himself,as he close his eyes,that this would be over sooner that he’ll realize.

His mouth feels dry as he wet his lips before speaking his vows«Father.Smith.Warrior.Mother.Maiden. Crone.Stranger.I am hers,and she is mine,from this day,till the end of my days.»his voice was firm as he held her hand tightly.

Y/n smiled at him,she tried to be brave just like he was.Her hands were shaking in his,her nerves had eaten her alive the whole night,from the moment she had put on her mother old dress,to this very moment.Now she couldn’t go back.

She really started to love Jacaerys,how could she not?He was so gentle with his words,so kind with the way he touched and looked at her,perfect in everything that he did.And the fact that him,such a beautiful and loving man,had chosen her as his wife and future mother of his children,was dream coming true.As a child,she often dreamed of becoming a princess and to marry a prince,just like the ones in her fairytales.

But now she would’ve had to be the future Queen in a kingdom divided in two,with a war that was screaming outside their door.Jacaerys seemed to read her mind,squeezing her hands lovingly and nodding his head to reassure her,in a way to tell her that she wasn’t alone and that they would be together in the bad and the good.

«Father.Smith.Warrior.Mother.Maiden.Crone.Stranger.I am his and he is mine,from this day,till the end of my days.»Y/n pronounced every single word softly without taking her eyes off her husband.

Maybe this was really a funeral because,as she spoke,Y/n realized that there was no turning back now,they would not be just a prince and lady anymore.When did everything became so complicated?She started to get melancholic as she started to register how much her life had changed in few seconds,that the best part of her new life was also the hardest.

Just a few weeks ago she was running around the godswood with Jacaerys as she was teaching him about the old gods and the legends in the north and now all of her dreams and ambitions were threatened by her husband family.A family that she was part of now.

They were supposed to change the world by bringing their child into it,but the world was about to change them and it certainly wasn’t a change for the better.The greens usurping the throne,prince Aemond killing prince Lucerys proves that.

Y/n head was hurting as she thought about that.And she couldn’t forget about the part where both her and Jacaerys were promised to other people.They would be viewed as traitors among his family,his uncle Daemon wouldn’t take the news kindly and he certainly wouldn’t congratulate them.Y/n father also didn’t knew about any of this and she still feared his reaction.

Regardless all of that,of having the world against them.Both Jacaerys and Y/n didn’t cared about all the venomous things people will say about them or the things that they would have to go through,because if they were given a second chance they would do it all over again.They were loving each other too much to let the other go.

«With this kiss I pledge my love.»Jacaerys said to her,moving his hand to caress carefully her freezing cheek.

His lips felt soft and surprisingly warm against her cold ones.And just like that they were officially married in the sight of the Seven and law.

There is no time for celebrations,no music and tables filled with joy,decorations and all sort of foods.Instead they found themselves in Y/n chambers,the one she grew up in,the one that saw her going from a little girl that played with her dolls to a married woman.

The sheets were changed clean,some fresh flowers were put to adorn the headboard and right on the small table at the center of the table there was wine and some fruits.Cregan had to be the one organizing the whole thing as a small gift.

Y/n takes off her cloak and picks up a small red berry.Jacaerys does the same,moving around the room quietly,he raised his eyes and caught her attention with a sweet smile,so tender and yet so seductive,his lips shiny and wet with a clear juice that slowly dripped down his chin.

«Let me help my wife.»his voice sounded more confident now that it was just the two of them and no one else.

The word,wife,made Y/n feel hot against her chest and down her legs.Standing behind her,Jacaerys wrapped her in his arms.She shuddered when she felt his lips on her neck and along her shoulder:she closed her eyes and abandoned herself against his chest,sighing.

«Jace,husband.»whispered the beautiful lady,her eyes closed and her head slightly tilted back.

«From our love will come the child that this world needs.»Jacaerys had said between the kisses«And I will take care of both of you.»he continued.

«You promise?»Y/n voice was just breathless whisper.

«Nothing will happen to you,»his hand crawled down her stomach leaving shivers on her clothed skin,only to stop at her lower belly.

«But…your family…your mother and uncle-»she tried,biting her lip when he started to suck gently behind her ear.

«Our family will understand.»he corrected her«My mother knows the truth and she will grow to love you just like I do,especially after we will make her a grandmother.»he reassured her sweetly.

A shiver flashed down her back and inflamed her loins.The young prince lowered her shoulder strap to discover her breasts and squeezed it slowly between his fingers,flaring in turn as he felt the nipple turged against his palm.

Y/n staggered,her heart throbbing,her breath shortness and her legs were already trembling but Jacaerys was quick to support her:he lifted her in his arms and took her to the thalamus,on which he gently laid her,a splendid candid flower that seemed to fill that place of shadow with light and of which it was impossible for him to do without.

«My beautiful princess,my beautiful wife.»he murmured against her lips kneeling above her,her eyes shiny,her face turned on despite the pallor.

Y/n took his head in her hands,dipped her fingers between his long curly black hair like a crow's wing;she felt his whole body quiver himing,his heart beating fiercely,and like every time he made her understand that he wanted her,a glance was enough for her to make sure of his devotion:she beat her eyelashes darkening the beautiful irises for a moment,licking her lips;she barely curved them,aware that that gesture drove him crazy,she slowly pulled a flap of the dress to herself by uncovering one leg and flexed it,letting the toe of her foot slide down his thigh,continuing to look at him intensely.

Below the fabric of his pants,Jacaerys felt the delicacy and sensuality of her touch.The tremor of excitement that attacked him was violent, lightning-fast:he stared at her for a moment and couldn't resist any longer.He impatiently freed her from the gown leaving her naked and just as quickly he undressed himself,the look that ran longingly on every corner of her body,unable to give up admiring her as the first time and like every time.

«I’m yours.»Jacaerys promised her,whispering against her lips«Nothing will ever take me away from you.»he kissed her sweetly.

She whimpered and her heart started to beat faster«I’m yours.»she repeated.

He sank with his nose and mouth between the curves of her chest,grabbed her soft hips,stroked her thighs and bottom.Y/n flared all up as she felt his lips pop greedily on her breasts,squeezing volupously around one of his nipples as he brushed it with his tongue and teased the other with his thumb.Pervaded with chills,she widened her legs and clawed her fingers on the sheets;she lifted her pelvis sighing,longing for it anxiously.

The pleasure exploded when he began to draw with the arabesque index finger in the center of her body:she moaned,her breasts shaken by palpitations,her nipples turgid and sore from the pleasure of kisses and caresses,the groin and lower abdomen on fire.

Jacaerys stretched out on her,wrapped her every horizon in darkness:all her muscles were pulsing, the heartbeat that became gradually more frenetic from the burning need to love her,to get drunk on her.He looked at her again he could never have satiated himself to admire her beautiful face - and as soon as she returned his gaze,sweet and sensual every time more,the voluptuousness clouded his mind.

He sank between her thighs,tearing a lament from her that he suffocated with his lips;he clinged her tightly in his arms and kissed her with trepidation,proud and passionate as he pushed himself into her.Y/n clung to his shoulders pressing against his chest with her breasts and belly,her thighs squeezed to his hips:she felt like screaming again, but her tongue danced unbridled in her mouth,the movement of the hips energetic against her,providing her with each push a pang of intense,deep,absolute enjoyment.

The prince hands ran over her body with ardor,she felt his fingers demanding and sweet at the same time on the flesh,in the throes of estasy,she could do nothing but indulge in passion,following the fast pace with which he was moving inside,shadow inside the light,light wrapped in shadow.

«Jace,oh my gods!»Y/n had breathed closing her eyes and pulling the hair at the nape of his neck.

Going crazy with pleasure to hear his bride enjoy,Jacaerys pushed with greater vigor,eager to increase her enjoyment to a great demour,excited by her moans and delighted by the fervor with which she clenched herself by scratching his back with her nails.

«Y/n,oh my sweet little wife.»he groaned against her her,sweat covering his forehead.

He loved her,impetuously and madly,letting himself be stunned by her sighs,her heartbeats,her scent,similar to a flower that spreads his fragrance moved by the north wind caress.

Y/n quivered below him,the breast prey to his incessant caresses,the mouth half of his insatiable kisses;she felt his love to pierce her with tenacity,the pleasure to become more and more powerful and intoxicating and when she reached her peak she screamed,overwhelmed by the intensity of that embrace:this time Jacaerys did not hold back her scream and in turn could not hold back a moan as he made sure to release inside of her.

Appealing to the last forces Jacaerys had left,he bent down to kiss her and finally overturned at her side,panting.Exhausted,Y/n abandoned herself against the bed,her long hair spread in waves on her pillows.

Jace hurried to cover her with the sheet so that she wouldn't get cold and smiled at her,as soon as he felt her fingers touch his cheek.For a moment he stood to contemplate her eyes,her lips,her smile...she was even more beautiful,after love.

«Y/n,»he whispered as he came back to hold her tenderly to himself«I love you.»

She sought shelter in his arms,fulfilled and satiated with strong emotions but still eager for him.She placed her head on his chest and let his caress her hair«I love you too Jace.»she answered.

He smiled,placing a hand on her warm and sweaty skin of her lower belly where he hope a new life would start to grow soon«I promise you,our child will change the world.»he whispered.

They fell asleep together,ice and fire united.And the next day they would still be like this,in each other's arms,bound by passion,seduced by love.Creating a new life together that would have changed everything.

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almostempty · 6 months ago

Text

self esteem part 2 - want you bad (joel x f!reader)

wc: 4.8k | masterlist | rating: 18+ | read on ao3 |

part 3 ⎯ part 4

Summary: Joel ignores you at the lake until he can't. Loosely inspired by the song Want You Bad by The Offspring (to stay on theme, ya know?).

tags/arnings: fuckboy!Joel, dub con, smut, pwp, unprotected piv sex, fingering, creampie, dirty talk, public sex, reader is still sippin' on some dumb bitch juice for Joel (me), smash and dash, get railed against a truck, emotionally manipulative but sexually proficient Joel, toxic breadcrumbing Joel fucks, dirt, no use of y/n, AU no outbreak,

a/n: please leave feedback! open to constructive criticism or delusional inspiration

thanks: major thanks to everyone who read part 1, as well as my muse @auteurdelabre , and my co-chair of the horny4joel club @lovely-vamp-princess for encouraging me

Your fingers hover over the brightly lit screen of your phone. Your friend, Katie, invited you to a barbecue at Toad Lake and assured you it would be a relaxed group. Just food, drinks, sun, and swimming. But how can it be relaxing if Joel is going to be there? If he was even invited. If he even shows up. He drives you insane. It’s her fault anyway.

Katie’s boyfriend was friends with Tommy. Tommy invited Joel to some karaoke night at a bar a few months back. That was the catalyst for your personal hell. You don’t even know why he showed up; he refused to sing anything. But he did offer to give you a ride home so Katie could leave with her man.

You were surprised by the gesture. The way he’d barely said anything to you all night made you think he wasn’t interested in remembering your name. But the way his shoulders filled out the green flannel he wore and then when he rolled up the sleeves? He was like The Brawny Man come to life. And that paper towel mascot lookalike was so your type. In fact, the way he nearly flat-out ignored you was also a turn-on but not one you thought your therapist would approve of. So when he offered a ride, you accepted.

You tested the waters on the ride home, attempting to make some small talk. He was different one on one. Charmed you with his sharp wit and some flirty compliments. You couldn’t tear your eyes off him, his hands, his arms, his profile, and his dark features in the glow of the streetlights. You lingered when he pulled up to the curb in front of your place.

“I’m glad you drove me home,” you said, “it was nice to get to know you a little bit.”

“Was nice,” he agreed dragging his thumb under his bottom lip, pulling your attention to his mouth, “I’d like to get to know you a little more.”

You felt your cheeks warm at that and smiled back. “Would you like to come inside?” you floated the offer, and the look on his face sealed the deal.

But today, you haven’t heard from Joel in over a week. He doesn’t usually last much longer than two weeks before you find him at your door. He disappears just long enough that you start to build up the courage to tell him off for being a flake. The only reliable thing about Joel, though, is that when he does show up, he always leaves you feeling completely spent. What’s the harm in enjoying what he can do with his body? You don’t think you spend an unhealthy amount of time daydreaming about him.

You don’t want to anticipate seeing him at the lake and get disappointed if he’s a no-show. Instead, you’d rather your chest constrict with anxiety until Saturday while you debate sending him a text to ask him yourself. You decide against it. You don’t want to double-text since he never answered your last message anyway.

Saturday arrives quickly, and it’s the perfect day to be at the lake. Clear skies and hot sun. Your car is an oven as you slide your beach bag and cooler backpack into the backseat. You sit in the driver’s seat and roll down all the windows. You flip down the visor to look in the little mirror at your reflection.

It’s casual, you remind yourself. Just friends, food, and floating in the lake. You put on some waterproof mascara anyway, definitely not because Joel might be there. You look casual. You found your favorite black bikini last night and tried it on to make sure it still fits the way you like. Basic triangle top and bottoms with strings that tie on your hips. It still fits snugly but without cutting into your back or shoulders. It hugs everything in the right places and displays all the right skin. For your friends. At the casual barbecue.

You stare at yourself, practically pointing a finger at your reflection to drill the idea into your head. If he’s there, it doesn’t mean anything. If he wants to be nonchalant, you’ll be nonchalant even harder. And you’ll look good as you do. Give him a taste of the same rejection you keep experiencing.

Toad Lake is almost a secret. It’s small, outside of town, and private except for one small area with access to swimming and a small dock. When you and Katie lived together, you used to hit it up after work. Jumping off the dock unless there were people fishing. Or just floating near the shore with pool noodles while debriefing about the day.

You pull off the main road onto the winding gravel road that takes you to the public access. It’s dense with trees and full of potholes. You bounce along in your car, listening to the gravel crunch under the tires.

Parking is tight. The first lot only fits five or six cars on the gravel spots, and past that, maybe another seven or eight would fit in the dirt spots. You recognize most of the cars already parked as you pull into one of the furthest spots. You don’t see Joel’s truck, and your stomach drops with a wave of disappointment as you pull in between someone else’s truck and a jeep. You don’t want to think about him or feel let down.

There’s a short but steep and winding path that leads to the water. You round the corner, finally able to see through the trees to the beach, and recognize him immediately. The unmistakable frame of Joel Miller. The shape of his body and that signature stance. You’d recognize him by the back of his head in a crowd with one eye closed. Butterflies stir in your stomach, and at the same time, your throat feels dry.

He’s such a dick, you think as you trudge down the path in your sandals. Maybe you should ask him if his phone still works. No. That would blow up in your face. You’d just be broadcasting that it hurts when he rejects you. You do not want to face that fear. Maybe coming here was a total mistake. Regret and fear claw viciously at your throat with each step you take.

Joel seems to dance around you, just avoiding being on your path as you greet everyone and catch up. Tommy is friendly and chats with you for a moment before getting Joel’s attention, forcing you to interact.

“You remember Joel, right?” he asks.

You laugh brightly. “Of course, the one and only,” you say with a smile.

Joel nods at you. Doesn’t even say a fucking word. His dark brown eyes just bore into you for the longest second before giving you a curt smile. Tommy laughs at something while Joel turns away to find something to look busy with. Or someone. You gawk briefly as you watch him turn to chat with some woman you don’t know.

Blowing you off on your attempts at dates is one thing, but acting like he doesn’t even know you? What the fuck is with this guy? Who’s the woman he seems so friendly with?

You remember how to close your mouth and decide to set up your spot along the beach. You strip off your T-shirt and adjust the straps on your bikini. Rifling through your bag for some sunscreen, you find the lotion first. Smiling to yourself, you imagine asking Joel to help get your back. Would he refuse? Would his lady friend be jealous? You actually don’t want to know. You dig around until you find the spray sunscreen. You don’t need a man applying any cream to your back.

You swear you feel his eyes burning into you, but when you look around, he’s turned and talking to her. Whatever. You figure it’s safest for your sanity to head straight for the water. You grab your pool float and start to blow it up. You feel that burning sensation again, but you turn, and he’s busy swigging down a drink. You grab one for yourself, and with a drink in one hand and the pool float under the other arm, you march right into the water. It’s perfect. Just warm enough, it doesn’t shock your system. Cool enough to ease the oppressing heat of the sun.

“The water is perfect! Why am I the only one in here?” you call to Katie.

“Alright, I’m coming!” she calls back.

You laze in the water for most of the afternoon. Chatting with friends, cheering on a wobbly friend learning to stand on a paddleboard, and just resting peacefully.

Joel sits in a beach chair, observing. You stare back under your sunglasses, hoping it’s not noticeable. Your thoughts spiral again. What is his issue? You aren’t good enough? He doesn’t wanna get caught talking to you? You consider cornering Tommy to dig up some dirt, but it’s too late. Joel is pulling his shirt over his head. You’re locked on. You fight to keep from reacting. His sun-kissed frame strolls towards the lakeshore. You watch as he gets waist-deep before he pushes off and glides through the water. When his head re-emerges, and he shakes the water from his hair, you feel your mouth drop open. You quickly fill it with the beverage in your hand.

You keep staring. Watching the beads of water roll down his shoulders. You’d like to sink your teeth into the skin on his neck. You’d like to wrap your legs around his hips under the water—“oh, shit!” you yelp.

A kid swimming behind you got a little too excited, kicking water and splashing it all over your face. You grimace. You didn’t mean to swear at the kid. It was just the shock of it. No big deal. Since your hair is wet now anyway, you might as well get all the way in the water.

You drop off your floaty and empty drink on your blanket. Tossing your sunglasses off, too. You walk back into the water and dive under yourself. It’s refreshing. You’re close to Joel when you pop up again. He looks at you this time. Acknowledges you’re a real, live human in front of him.

“All wet now, huh?” he smirks.

“Oh, fuck off, Joel,” you scoff at him. You swim away before he can say anything else.

You lay out, letting the sun dry your wet skin. Until you’re ready to leave. The idea of a shower and aircon sounds pretty good to you. You gather your things, say your goodbyes, and hike up the path to your car.

With your bags in the backseat, you grab your towel. Your bikini and hair are still dripping wet. You squeeze your hair with the towel when you hear someone approaching. You look over your shoulder, and of course, it’s him. You turn away, continuing to towel at your hair. You can feel his body hovering behind yours.

“Hey, baby,” he says, low and syrupy.

“Are you joking?” you spew incredulously, not bothering to look at him. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

“My what?”

“I didn’t catch her name.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, baby. It’s not like that.” His large hands wrap around either side of your hips. “Y’look nice in this,” he coos, ignoring your spite and toying with the strings tied at your hips. You turn and shove at his chest. He leans against the truck behind him.

“Why are you up here, Joel? You want to ignore me around our friends, then follow me to my car like a dog? You’ve got fuckin’ problems, man. Why are you looking at me like that?”

He’s smiling at you like it’s endearing that you’re telling him off.

“Oh my god, let me guess. You think I look sexy when I’m mad?”

“No,” he defends and steps closer. He runs his fingers under the strap on your shoulder. His touch burns white hot against your skin, branding you. You shiver. “You always look sexy,” he rasps. It’s not charming. He’s still an ass. But it feels so good when he says it. He’s so close you can smell the sunscreen and sweat on his skin. Everything about his presence chips away at your defenses.

“Could barely stand watching you in the water,” he adds. When did his mouth get so close to you? His hot breath runs over the shell of your ear. “Want you bad.”

“Liar,” you argue with less venom.

“Am not,” he hums. A hand slides up your neck, thumb under your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. His eyes are heavy with lust. He’s still smiling. You wonder if that’s how he’d look if you woke up next to him. A dreamy smile with his tousled hair and scruffy cheeks.

He takes your hand, so delicate compared to his. Slowly, he brings it towards his body and wraps it around the stiff bulge in his swim trunks. “Feel like I’m lying?” He watches the tiny muscles in your face twitch as you suppress your reaction. Then your brows pull together, and you glare.

“You think you can just follow me up here, get your hands on me, and then what? You’ll have me on my knees in the dirt for you? You think I wanna catch some dirty lake water disease from your cock in my mouth?”

He squeezes your hand harder like his dick will argue for him. Maybe you’d hear it out.

“You gonna tell me you don’t want this?” he asks, narrowing his eyes, “bet you’re wet from more than just the lake, pretty baby.” He’s not wrong, but you’re not going to admit it. Wait, did he say pretty? A laugh, shriek, and loud splash from the lake below breaks you out of his trance. Your tunnel vision expands. You pull your hand from his grip.

“Why are you up here, Joel?”

“Couldn’t just watch you leave.”

You scoff at him and whip back around. You’re quick, but he’s bigger and stronger. His hands pull at your hips, slamming your body back into his. The damp skin of his chest sticks to your back.

“We’re not fucking in the parking lot,” you snap. You can feel how hard he is. Pressed against the curve of your ass. His swim trunks and your wet Lycra bikini are the only barriers between you.

“Maybe s’what you get for being a filthy fuckin’ tease,” his gravelly voice rumbles in your ear.

“How am I a tease?” you squirm against him, but the friction only makes both of you more pathetic as you gasp and he groans.

“Wearing this.” He pulls at the string of your bikini on one shoulder and lets it snap back. “Laying on that towel, ass up, like you were waiting for me to fill it,” he squeezes a cheek for emphasis, “floating in the water with these perfect tits barely hidden.” He pulls at the triangles of fabric covering them, sliding them apart until your breasts pop out. Exposing you under the shade of the trees.

“You’re delusional,” you accuse. But all the venom is gone. The words come out breathy. His body is wrapped around you, constricting. His hand travels down your stomach, slipping under the bikini and between your legs. His fingers find exactly what they were searching for. Your slick folds part easily, welcoming his fingers deeper.

“Doesn’t feel like a delusion to me, baby.” Wretched man. Always has to prove a point. You’re running out of the mental fortitude to argue. You also feel ridiculous, standing between someone’s truck and your car, tits out, his hand between your legs.

“Isn’t someone gonna wonder where you are?” you try to find a reason you should stop.

“No, said I had to make a call.”

“A call? So your phone does work,” you chide, using your last brain cell. He plunges two fingers into your aching pussy, effectively shutting you up. A moan is the only noise you can form.

“Thought I already taught you to quit arguing with me.” His irritation is muffled by his lips pressed into the skin of your neck.

“Fuck you, Joel.”

“You wanna try askin’ nicely?” he goads in your ear. His fingers curl as he drags them in and out of you. You let yourself focus on the sensation. Your head falls, chin to your chest, and you watch the muscles and tendons in his arm flexing and rippling while he works you into a needy mess. It’s hot. His arm is firm and tan from days spent working in the hot sun. Against the soft, cushiony flesh of your curves, it’s almost menacing, but it provides you with support. Like he could balance you forever against his one arm. He might have to if your knees give out.

The noises coming from you both are obscene. You feel his chest rising and falling against your shoulder blades, slowing down time. Joel moves shamelessly, his hips roll and grind into the swell of your ass. He’s curled around you like a wild beast claiming his prize in the forest. It gives you some kind of sick ego trip; he hurt you, but now he’s here attached to you with desperate want. You slide a hand behind your head, feeling for his soft, damp hair on the back of his head, confirming this whole perverse scenario is real. You tug at his hair, eliciting a rough groan from his lips. He seems to have forgotten his own question, entranced by you.

Joel watches the sweat beading on your chest and runs his hot tongue up your neck into the hinge of your jaw. He savors your sweat-salted taste with a deep hum that vibrates from his chest into your spine. It lights sparks along your nerves.

You grind back against him as his palm presses firmly into your clit, and his fingers keep stroking at just the right spot. The pressure building feels overwhelming. He’s all consuming the way he surrounds you. The sound of his breath, his scent, the way your skin sticks against one another, it floods your senses. Your breath quickens, and your muscles coil tight with tension, buzzing with need.

“Give it to me,” his words scrape across gravel. The tension in your core snaps, abdomen spasming, and your pussy clenching at his fingers for more. The hand you have on the back of his neck clings tightly for support. He loosens his grip around you and slows his movements as you start to take deeper and deeper breaths of air. Fresh air. Because you’re in the parking lot at the lake. Your senses sharpen, and your vision clears. You fix your bikini top in a rush, adjusting the fabric and straps fighting through your tangled mess of limbs crossed with Joel’s.

You can hear other footsteps on the path. Turning to face Joel, you flash a smile on your flushed face at him.

“Good timing,” you quip as you look beyond Joel and past the bed of the truck to see who’s coming up the path. You wave at a couple of friends as they carry their bags to their vehicle. Joel doesn’t turn to look. Doesn’t seem to move a muscle. You look back at his face.

One brow raised; he looks like he knows something you don’t. A frown pulls at your face. He executes his maneuver before you can devise a retort for his expression. He yanks hard on the ends of the bows that tie your bikini bottoms together. Your jaw drops as the fabric falls. Your hand flies out to slap his chest at the audacity, but he grips your wrist in his hand.

“Not nice to hit people, baby,” he condescends as if you were the one in the wrong. You’re fuming. Blood boiling.

“What–” you’re cut off by his other hand grabbing your jaw with a vice grip.

“Quiet,” he snaps. You hear the sounds of the car backing out and pulling away. Tires kicking up a cloud of dust. You can’t see past Joel’s wide frame as he holds your head in place. You grab at his forearm, but it’s useless. You’re defenseless in his grip. Vulnerable between the vehicles and the trees. Why does that make your cunt ache and throb? You squirm. “You gonna behave?” he asks, but you know it’s not a question.

“Uhuh,” you respond through your clenched teeth, your lips unnaturally squished and parted between his fingers and thumb. You give up on prying at his arm and run your hand down his bare chest towards his swim trunks instead. Your touch brings a smirk to his face.

“Yeah, you are,” he agrees. Reading your sordid motives like a love letter, he carries on. He drops your jaw and readjusts your positioning. Joel moves you with ease. He lifts you and backs you into the window to the backseat of the truck, his hands under your thighs. If you had any sense left, you might consider it vulgar to be fucked wide open in a parking lot, but the animalistic expression on Joel’s face wipes your mind blank. You lock your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck as if he were the one caught in your trap. He looks at you like he’s trying to etch all the details of you in this position into his mind. It stirs that depraved sense of pride in your chest.

“Take it out,” he orders. You obey. Snaking a hand between your bodies to free his cock from his swim trunks. Both of you watch, chins tucked to your chests as your hand wraps around his stiff shaft. The sight makes your mouth water. He seems similarly affected. You think you’ll have hand-shaped bruises on the back of your legs the way his grip tightens and his fingertips dig into your skin. He leans closer, seeking your slick, wet entrance. You guide his leaking tip with your own pleasure in mind instead. He watches as you use him like a toy. You swirl the head of his cock around your swollen clit. The pressure and heat blur your vision. You slip him through your folds until he’s coated in your glossy arousal. You keep playing, creating lewd noises between your legs. He’s talking to you, you realize, and tune back in.

“Keep teasin’ like that. Gonna fuck you til you can’t walk. Give it to this needy little pussy the way no one else can, right, baby? Stretch you out and fill you up. Send you home dripping.” He rambles on with his threats. They make you dumb.

“Fuck, please, please, please,” you respond with tight exhales.

His head shoots up.

“You hear that?” he asks, and you freeze. Straining to listen. You can hear the birds in the trees. The muffled voices down at the lakeshore. You listen for voices or footsteps getting closer, but they don’t exist.

“Hear what?” you pant.

“The sound of you begging for my cock.”

Your face heats. You feel another surge of arousal flood your already-soaked center.

“Fuck off, Joel.”

“It’s a pretty sound, baby. Want you to be bad.” His words light something fierce inside of you. You need him inside you, now. He doesn’t help as you wiggle in his grip, trying to slip him inside of you. He exhales a puff of air in amusement at your struggle.

“Do it again. Beg.”

“Please, Joel.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, fuck me. Need you to fuck me hard.” A twisted wave of humiliation and need for approval courses through you. Begging for him, trying to tug him closer. You’re a mess for him.

“There she is,” he smiles. It’s devious, but it makes your heart flutter and your pussy throb even harder.

You line him up with your entrance, and he fills you in one motion.

“Fuck,” you mouth as your head slides back against the truck. He fulfills his threats and splits you around his cock over and over. His hips snap into you with a force that sends shockwaves rippling across your body. Joel fucks you like a man possessed. Driving into you brutally, rocking the truck behind you. You try to stifle the cries pouring out of your throat, focusing on breathing, squeezing your eyes shut, and digging your nails into his shoulders. Pinning you with his body frees his hand, and he wastes no time using it to grope at every inch of you he can.

He slows and rocks into you more tenderly, confusing you. He peers around the cab and waves at someone. Oh, shit. They can’t see you through the cab windows, right? Fuck.

“Hey, put me down,” you hiss.

“It’s just Tommy,” he replies. How is that better?

Then you hear him calling to Joel.

“Hey, you see my sunglasses on the dash?”

Joel looks through into the driver’s window as if you didn’t even exist.

“Yeah, you want ‘em?” Joel calls back to Tommy.

“Yeah, you comin' back down?”

“Yep, be there in a minute if you want me to bring them.” He calls back to Tommy. Still rolling against you, just grinding at a mind-numbingly slow speed.

“You’re sick,” you whisper at Joel while you grind back into him, and Tommy shouts a thank you in the distance. Joel thrusts up into you more harshly. Your breath catches as his eyes lock onto yours with his full attention.

“Felt to me like you enjoyed the risk.” His voice sounds like a taunt, but he’s not wrong. Joel talking to Tommy like you weren’t wrapped around his cock sent a rush through your veins. You decide not to admit that out loud.

“This is Tommy’s truck?” you ask between gasps.

“Yep.”

You had some snarky comment to make, but you give up as he resumes his pace, and your thoughts fade away. Joel’s filthy stream of consciousness starts up again between low grunts and groans. His voice and the noises he makes bounce around in your skull. He makes you feel weightless.

Each time his hips meet the cradle of your pelvis, you nearly burst, complimenting his movements with an enthusiastic rhythm. You arch your spine, angling just a little deeper, chanting out breathy prayers of fuck, fuck, fuck, and yes, yes, yes, when he slips a hand down to draw circles around your clit.

“That’s it. Let me feel it,” he demands as you writhe.

You give in, and it drives him crazy. The way your nails dig into his shoulders, your brows pinch, your mouth hangs open, and your body involuntarily shudders against him. He feels the way you start to relax, but your body jerks and clings tighter to him a few more times. He can’t slow down. It fuels his unbridled urge to come inside you as deep as he can.

“That’s my baby,” he husks. My baby? You feel butterflies as you try to catch your breath while he ramps up his force.

“Gonna fill you up. Fuck you full.”

“Yes,” you reply, not sure he’s even listening with the intensity of his look as he barrels towards his release. When he stills, and you feel it, you can’t stifle the sounds in your throat. You feel his cock pulsing inside you, and his hips lurch into you as if he could fuck his come any deeper. He smothers you as he comes down. With his chest crushing you into the truck, you can feel when his breathing starts to slow. You rake your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp and breathing him in. Your pussy might be sore for a day, but your ego is full, and you feel sated.

Joel pulls out of you with a barely audible pained noise and asks if you can stand before releasing you fully from his grip.

“I still have two legs,” you joke. But you look like you might topple over if he lets go. He hugs you into him for a tender kiss; it’s quick, but you drown in it. He props you up and presses another kiss to your sweaty temple.

Then it’s happening again. He pulls his shorts back up, opens the truck, and grabs Tommy’s sunglasses. You grab your towel to wrap around your naked lower half. The truck door slams, and you turn. He’s already walking away.

“Drive safe,” he calls over his shoulder while you pick up your bikini bottoms from the dirt.

An empty feeling starts to shroud your satisfied glow as the sound of his footsteps fades away. He did call you “my baby,” though. He doesn’t say that to just anyone, right?

-> NEXT

450 notes · View notes

xuchiya · 4 days ago

Text

unfair nostalgia || song mingi || one-shot

|genre: ex-husband! mingi. ex-wife! reader. angst. |mentions: divorce (mingi and reader). accident. temporary amnesia. seonghwa appearance in this. it mentions a lot of rain-- aftermath of the rain.

summary: After a tragic accident, Mingi's life inexplicably rewinds six years into the past. Believing he is still living in those days, he calls out to you—his ex-wife—convinced that you're still by his side as his partner.

word count: 19.8k

Your days dragged like a snail navigating barbed wire—slow, agonizingly slow and painfully. Each moment felt stretched thin, a painful reminder of the life you used to know.

Placing your bag down on the couch as you make your way towards the kitchen and pull out the wine from the cabinet. Taking your favorite glass as you returned back to the living room.

Time had lost its meaning, blending one day into the next like an endless gray fog. Tonight was no different. You found yourself perched on the windowsill, a half-filled wine glass balanced between your fingers. The city outside pulsed with its usual rhythm—lights flickering on and off in distant buildings, traffic lights cycling from green to yellow to red and back again. It was all so mindlessly repetitive, yet you sat there, watching as if the monotony might somehow offer solace.

But it never did.

Your eyes, hollow and unfocused, stayed fixed on the scene outside as you took another slow sip. The wine, bitter and stale, barely registered on your tongue. This nightly ritual had become an empty habit—a way to pass the hours until sleep claimed you. Most nights, you didn’t even finish the glass before slipping into bed, leaving it abandoned on the windowsill like an afterthought.

Tonight was no exception. With a sigh that felt heavy in your chest, downing the last bits of your wine before you stood and shuffled to the kitchen. The sound of running water echoed in the quiet as you rinsed the glass, the coldness of the tap biting at your fingertips. It was only as you placed it on the drying rack that you heard it—the shrill, invasive ring of your phone coming from the bedroom.

Your head snapped toward the sound, your brows knitting together in faint confusion. Phone calls this late were rare, and never good. Reminding you of what happened six years ago. A simple sigh, still, you dried your hands on your pants as you made your way to the nightstand. Titling your head to read the caller.

Unknown number.

Your stomach twisted, a subtle unease creeping into your chest. With a hesitant swipe, you answered, lifting the phone to your ear. "Hello?"

Your voice sounded foreign to you—raspy, unused, and weary.

"Is this Mrs. Song?"

The words hit you like a slap. For a moment, you froze, the air in your lungs turning cold. You blink several times, clearing your throat in the process. "You must have the wrong number," you said quickly, your voice tight. "Look, I’m not in the mood—"

"Is this number 010242018?"

A chill ran down your spine. Your heart stuttered, then picked up in an erratic rhythm. "Yes... Yes, that’s my number. Who is this?" There was a pause, a moment heavy with something you couldn’t quite name—comforting, desperate, yet utterly unsettling.

"I’m sorry for the sudden call, ma’am, but we’d like to formally address this at Medic Hospital."

Your breath caught. The glassy haze of your evening shattered as your mind raced. "What? What happened? Who’s hurt?"

"One of our patients woke up just today and is asking for you. They gave us your name and number."

For a brief moment, you considered ending the call—brushing it off as a mistake or a cruel prank. But something in the caller’s tone, in the way your name had been spoken, compelled you to stay on the line.

"Who is it?" Your voice wavered, your grip on the phone tightening.

The answer came, cutting through the air like a blade, regret washes over you as soon as you heard who it was.

"Song Mingi. He said you’re his wife."

The words slammed into you, knocking the breath from your chest. Your knees felt weak, your stomach churning as if the ground had fallen out from under you. The name that haunted your dreams, the one that turned your days into an endless loop of heartbreak, was suddenly back—alive and demanding your attention.

And just like that, the numbness shattered, leaving only the raw ache of everything you had lost.

You could have told the caller that you were no longer his wife—ex-wife, to be precise. That he had remarried and moved on, leaving behind the pieces of what once was. It would have been easier, cleaner—a way to shield yourself from the storm of heartbreak you knew was waiting to engulf you.

You could have told them to call someone else his best friend since middle school, or band mates, his family—anyone who had more right than you to be by his side now.

But you didn’t.

Somewhere between the logical protests of your mind and the aching emptiness in your chest, your body betrayed you. Your feet moved, your heart thudded, and your brain chose silence over sense. Before you knew it, you were standing at the hospital’s reception desk, a name on your lips that felt foreign and bitter, like a taste you hadn’t revisited in years.

“Song Mingi,” you murmured, the syllables trembling as if they carried the weight of every sleepless night and unspoken thought. The name that brought has opened so many wounds that you have soullessly stitched back, how many times you closed your eyes and his crescent smile appeared before you, and the amount of tears you’ve cried silently that night he decided to step out of the door. Without looking back.

The nurse at the desk looked up, her face a mixture of concern and relief. She exchanged a glance with the doctor beside her before both of them rose to meet you.

“Mrs. Song…”

The title hit you like a knife, sharp and precise, cutting through whatever composure you had managed to muster. You raised a hand quickly, shaking your head as if to ward off the name. “No. No, that’s not me. I’m just… I’m just a friend.” The words felt heavy, a weak shield against the truth pressing against your ribs. “Call me Tulip.”

The nurse’s brows furrowed, glancing at the doctor as if silently questioning your response. But she didn’t pry. Instead, she nodded and gestured for you to follow.

“Let’s discuss the situation in my office, Miss Tulip,” she said, her voice calm and professional.

You followed her through the sterile hallways, your pulse pounding in your ears with every step. The name you’d chosen—Tulip—felt like a flimsy mask, a desperate attempt to separate the person you were now from the woman you had been when the name Mrs. Song was yours.

But no matter how hard you tried, the memories surged forward.

Each step toward the nurse’s office felt heavier, as if the weight of the past was dragging you down. And yet, some stubborn part of you carried on, pushing through the pain, the questions, and the overwhelming sense of dread.

Because no matter how much it hurt, you had to know.

“…So, he’s suffering from retrograde amnesia due to the impact on his brain, and his memory only stretches back to six years ago?” you repeated, your voice strained with disbelief.

The doctor nodded, adjusting her computer screen to show you the MRI results alongside the CT scan evaluation. The bright, clinical display only deepened the pit forming in your stomach.

“What about his…” The words clawed at your throat, desperate to escape yet refusing to form. Your lips parted, trembling as if even uttering the phrase would break you further. The doctor, noticing your visible struggle, finished the sentence for you, her tone gentle but firm, “His wife is still unconscious. There’s no telling when—or if—she will wake up, unlike Mr. Song.”

The room felt like it had shifted, tilting slightly, leaving you grasping for something to steady yourself. That word—wife—hit you like a punch to the gut, sharp and unrelenting. You blinked rapidly, your throat tightening as you tried to suppress the surge of emotions rising within you.

“I see,” you finally muttered, your voice hoarse and barely audible. The phrase was hollow, void of meaning, as if saying it would distance you from the gravity of the situation.

The doctor continued to watch you carefully, her face a mask of professional composure, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of sympathy. But no amount of sympathy could soften the blow or untangle the knots forming in your chest. Unconscious. His wife. You swallowed hard, the bitter taste of those words lingering on your tongue, a cruel reminder of the distance between what once was and what could never be again.

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your forehead as the weight of the situation bore down on you. “Do his parents know about this…” You waved your hand in a circular motion, grasping for the right word. “…mess?”

The doctor let out a weary sigh, leaning back in her chair. “Yes. His parents are fully aware. They’ve asked if it would aid Mr. Song’s recovery to stay with someone familiar—someone who might help stabilize his sense of self until his memory returns.”

Your brow furrowed, and you crossed your arms, a clear ‘what-does-that-have-to-do-with-me’ expression etched on your face. Silence filled the room, heavy and oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of the hospital’s fluorescent lights.

The doctor took another measured breath, removing her glasses and setting them on the desk. Her eyes met yours with a seriousness that made your chest tighten. “While it’s true that his memory loss is temporary, there’s something else you need to know.”

The pause stretched uncomfortably long, and you felt the air shift—the kind of moment where you instinctively knew what was coming but still prayed you were wrong.

“He could stay with his family, it is every patient's right to choose and that would be more than enough for his recovery,” she continued, her tone careful. “But Mr. Song…” She hesitated, as though the next words would solidify an irreversible reality. “…has specifically requested to stay with you. He acknowledges his parents but insists that he needs you. His wife.”

Your heart lurched violently at the word, an invisible dagger twisting in a wound you’d spent years trying to heal.

“No,” you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady. You clenched your fists, knuckles whitening as you tried to ground yourself. “That’s a mistake. He…he knows I’m not…” You trailed off, the word wife too bitter to say out loud.

The doctor’s gaze didn’t waver. “To him, you still are. His memory hasn’t reached the point where he remembers anything beyond that.”

You felt like the walls were closing in, the carefully constructed defenses around your heart beginning to crumble. The reality of his condition pressed against your chest, suffocating, as the doctor’s words echoed in your mind.

‘He still thinks I’m his wife.’

A low groan escaped your lips as your hands tangled in your hair, the frustration clawing its way to the surface. You had every right to feel this way. Six years ago, life had been entirely different. Six years ago, you and Mingi were a newly married couple, barely a month into your union. It was the first year of 2019, and you both believed tying the knot of a new year would make it all the more special—a symbolic start to a lifetime of shared milestones and growing together.

The memories came rushing back, unbidden and relentless. The dates that turned into adventures, the quiet evenings spent in each other's arms, and the tender, intimate moments that spoke of love deeper than words could ever convey. All of it played out like scenes from a movie you couldn't pause, set within the walls of the house he bought for both of you—a house meant to hold your dreams, your laughter, and your forever.

Now, here you were, forced to relive it all, the continuation of your adventure begins on the month of your marriage and throughout the years left such significant memories to the both of you. Every moment, every memory, was like a jagged shard piercing through the fragile layers of healing you'd painstakingly built over the years. The metaphorical scab that had formed over your wound was being peeled away, piece by agonizing piece, leaving the pain raw and exposed once more.

Your chest tightened as the weight of it bore down on you. How could something so beautiful, so filled with love, now feel like a ghost haunting you with the echoes of what you’d lost?

DAY 1:

The door clicked shut behind you as you stepped inside your small apartment, your movements heavy, like an anchor tied to your ankle. You flipped on the lights, the soft glow illuminating the modest yet warm space. Stepping aside, you gestured Mingi in, giving him room to take in his surroundings.

He lingered in the entryway, his eyes darting around the room. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he noted the simplicity of it all—cozy, unassuming, you. Yet, beneath the surface, his heart twisted, a subtle ache he couldn’t place.

“It’s… nice,” he said softly, his gaze sweeping across the room once more. His steps faltered when he realized what was missing. The walls were bare, the shelves sparsely decorated. No framed pictures of you and him. Not a single trace of the life you had built together.

His heart sank, and a small pout formed on his lips. “Did we move?” His voice carried a hint of sadness, as though the realization was too heavy to mask. You froze for a moment, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter. Turning to face him, you forced a casual smile. “Yeah,” you lied smoothly, though your voice wavered slightly. “Yeah, we did. Work, you know? I had to relocate to be closer to the office. I’m still… in the process of unpacking.”

His brows furrowed, his head tilting slightly, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he simply nodded, a faint shadow of disappointment crossing his face. “Oh… okay.”

The weight of his gaze followed you as you busied yourself preparing a snack. It wasn’t just the lie that gnawed at you—it was the memories. The house he had bought for both of you, the home that once felt like a sanctuary, now a distant, painful echo of what could have been.

Placing the snacks on the table, you glanced at him. He sat on the couch, his broad shoulders hunched slightly, his fingers grazing the armrest absentmindedly. It was as if he was searching for a comfort he couldn’t find. You sat across from him, handing him a glass of water. His fingers brushed yours as he took it, sending a familiar warmth through your skin. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice quiet yet sincere.

“Don’t mention it,” you replied, your tone light, masking the storm raging inside you. You could feel his gaze lingering on you, searching for answers you weren’t ready to give.You focused on the small moment—sharing a quiet snack, pretending the weight of the past wasn’t suffocating both of you. It was all you could do to hold it together.

A thought hit you like a freight train once you offered to clean up (even though Mingi insisted). You only had a week. A week to help him recover, to guide him through this fragile state. After that, if it felt too much on your plate, his family would step in, as they had promised during that difficult phone call. They had been kind, their gratitude genuine, despite the invisible scars you bore from the past.

The understanding that this arrangement was temporary didn’t bring relief. It only deepened the ache in your chest.

That night marked the beginning of something fragile and undefined—day one.

You had already marinated some pork earlier, intending to have your usual samgyeopsal for dinner, the plans for yourself were last minute change on the sudden changes of event. But knowing how your landlord frowned upon cooking indoors, you decided to take everything up to the rooftop. The cool evening air would help clear your head, or so you hoped.

Mingi, ever the helpful presence, joined you in setting up. His broad hands moved with a quiet purpose as he arranged the small table and chairs beneath the soft glow of the hanging orange bulbs strung across the rooftop. The lights swayed gently in the night breeze, casting warm shadows across the space.

You took charge of the grill, laying strips of marinated pork neatly across the metal grate. Now, the pork sizzled on the grill as you placed the strips carefully next to each other. The faint crackle of fat meeting flame broke the silence, and you used a hand fan to coax the fire higher, the smell of smoky marinade already making your stomach grumble.

Behind you, Mingi moved with quiet determination. You heard the faint click of a portable speaker, and a soft melody filled the air, one that sent a shiver down your spine. It was that song. The notes carried a haunting familiarity, weaving through the moment like a thread tying you both to a time when things were simpler, happier. Your breath hitched, and for a second, the world felt suspended.

Before you could turn around to glance at Mingi, warmth enveloped you—a strong arm wrapping securely around your waist. Your heart skipped a beat as his touch pulled you back into the present.

“Careful,” Mingi murmured, his voice low and steady, as though grounding you. He was close enough that you felt the faint rumble of his words against your back. His other hand lightly grasped your wrist, stilling the fan in your hand. Your mind is clawing at you as the thought of you have to share some dinners with Mingi, cook breakfast with him— and most painfully of all, to reminisce some memories with him.

You froze, the weight of the moment pressing against your chest like a vice. The music played on, and instinctively, he began to sway, guiding you with an ease that mirrored the rhythm of the song. It was a move from the past—a small, almost imperceptible dance you once shared under different circumstances. His grip on your waist was steady yet hesitant, as though testing boundaries he didn’t quite remember crossing before.

And just like that, the melody pulled you back—back to a morning that now felt like another lifetime.

You could almost see it, the hazy sunlight spilling through the kitchen window, warm against the wooden floor. The smell of fresh coffee and burnt toast lingered in the air, remnants of an overly ambitious breakfast attempt.

Mingi had been there, standing behind you as you flipped pancakes with clumsy precision. The ache of the night before still lingered in your muscles, and in between your legs—a pleasant reminder of tangled sheets and whispered confessions. His arms had wrapped around your waist then, too, steadying you as you nearly dropped the spatula.

“You’re gonna burn them if you keep flipping like that,” he teased, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“And you’re distracting me,” you’d replied, though there was no bite to your words. Instead, you let yourself lean into him, the rise and fall of his chest against your back grounding you. When he swayed you gently in the kitchen, humming the very same song now playing on the rooftop, you laughed, swatting at him with the spatula. “Mingi, stop. The pancakes—”

“Pancakes can wait,” he interrupted, spinning you around to face him. “This? This is more important.”

The memory faded as quickly as it came, leaving a dull ache in its wake.

Back on the rooftop, Mingi swayed to the music, guiding you with an ease that mirrored the rhythm of the song. His grip on your waist was steady yet hesitant, as though testing boundaries he didn’t quite remember crossing before. The orange glow of the bulbs cast flickering shadows on the rooftop floor, painting the moment with a bittersweet intimacy. You could feel his breath, warm against your neck, as he whispered softly, “This song… it feels important.”

You swallowed hard, the ache in your chest swelling as you managed a faint nod. “It is,” you replied, your voice barely audible over the hum of the music.

In that instant, it was as if time folded in on itself—past and present colliding in the tender pull of his arms and the bittersweet chords of a melody neither of you could forget.

That night, you lay awake.

How could you forget? Of all things, how could you forget that your tiny apartment only had one master bedroom? It wasn’t like you hadn’t spent months adjusting to the space—living alone, needing only one bed. Yet, here you were, stuck with the reality that you’d now have to share it with Mingi. Now, the prospect of sharing the bed with Mingi felt like an unbearable weight pressing down on your chest.

The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a single lamp, casting long shadows that danced eerily on the walls. You could hear the faint hum of city life outside, a stark contrast to the turmoil within you. Every creak and sigh of the building seemed amplified in the silence of the night, echoing the unease that gnawed at your thoughts.

The soft rustle of sheets beside you snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts. You turned to glance at Mingi, who was already asleep beside you. His presence was both comforting and suffocating. Memories of your past life together flickered through your mind—late-night conversations, shared dreams, the warmth of his embrace. Each recollection was a double-edged sword, bringing both solace and pain.

You glanced at the edge of the bed, contemplating if you could somehow sleep on the floor instead. The idea quickly felt absurd. You were already here, tucked under the same blanket, with no way out. Your heart pounded in your ears as you lay there, staring at the ceiling.

Mingi suddenly murmured something, his voice low and muffled. Your breath hitched as you turned your head slightly to look at him. He was still asleep, his expression soft, almost boyish in the dim light of the bedside lamp.

You reached out, your hand trembling as it brushed against his arm. The contact sent a jolt through your system, awakening a longing you had tried so hard to suppress. You pulled your hand back, staring at your own reflection in the mirror across the room. The person looking back at you seemed distant, hollow, as if the vibrant spark that once defined you had dimmed. It has always since the beginning.

Sleep felt like an elusive sanctuary, slipping further away with each passing minute. You buried deeper into the pillow, hoping to drown out the thoughts that refused to let you rest. But even in the darkness, the memories lingered—fragments of laughter, whispers of love, the promise of a future that now seemed like a fragile illusion.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you stared into the void.

Your mind raced with questions and fears. How could you help someone you barely understood anymore? How could you navigate the delicate balance between compassion and self-preservation, when every moment with him felt like walking a tightrope over an abyss of unresolved emotions?

The night stretched on, each hour dragging longer than the last. The minutes seemed to crawl, each second a testament to the fragility of your existence. You lay there, torn between the desire to protect him and the fear of losing yourself in the process.

Then he whispered again, and your heart stopped.

“...Tulip,” he said, your name slipping from his lips like it belonged there.

You froze, the sound of his voice stirring something deep inside you. He hadn’t called you that in years, not since—

You shook your head, willing yourself to forget. This was all temporary. Just a week. That’s all you had to endure.

Turning onto your side, you faced away from him, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. But the heat of his presence, the steady sound of his breathing, and the lingering echo of your name in his voice made sleep feel impossibly far away.

As dawn's first light began to seep through the curtains, you remained wide awake, staring into the new day that mirrored the uncertainty of your heart. The challenges ahead loomed large, but so did the remnants of a love that refused to fade entirely. In that fragile balance, you found a sliver of hope—a determination to navigate the storm, no matter how tumultuous the journey ahead might be.

DAY 2:

When the morning sun peeked through the curtains of your room, it painted the space with a soft, golden glow. The warmth did little to chase away the exhaustion clinging to your body, but you stretched anyway, muscles protesting against the motion.

As the blanket pooled around your lap, your gaze drifted to the figure lying beside you. Your breath caught in your throat as familiarity tugged at your heartstrings. His lips were slightly pursed in a soft pout, his hands curled into loose fists beneath the pillow. For a moment, he looked untouched by the weight of the past, his broad shoulders free of burdens.

A quiet sigh escaped you as you gently pulled the blanket higher, tucking it around his ears, recalling his playful complaints about waking up with frozen ears. "They'll fall off," he'd grumble dramatically, drawing a reluctant smile from you.

Slipping on your fluffy slippers, you padded toward the kitchen. The clink of utensils and the scent of pancakes filled the air as you worked, each flip of the spatula grounding you in the present. But the familiar sound of heavy footsteps echoed behind you, accompanied by the deep rasp of his morning voice.

“‘Morning, love,” he murmured, and your heart stuttered at the endearment. The grip on your spatula tightened, anchoring you back to reality. You glanced over your shoulder, offering him a small, hesitant smile. “M-Morning, Min… Mingi.”

The words felt foreign, a mix of old habits and new hesitations. You could almost smack yourself for the stumble, but he didn’t seem to notice, his expression easy and warm.

You served the pancakes in silence, the clatter of plates and the scrape of chairs filling the space. “Thank you,” he said, flashing you a grin before diving into his breakfast with his usual unhurried pace.

You couldn’t help but watch, your own plate long emptied, as he savored each bite. His methodical movements were endearing—a rhythm you had once known by heart. With your coffee cup cradled in your hands, now cool and untouched, you let the quiet moments of the morning settle over you. The hum of the ceiling fan blended with the occasional scrape of his fork against the plate. But the tranquility wasn’t enough to keep the exhaustion at bay. Your eyelids grew heavy, last night’s restlessness catching up to you.

As your head began to nod, you jolted awake, your coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

“You okay?” Mingi’s voice broke through the haze, his fork pausing mid-air as he looked at you with concern. You forced a smile, shaking off the lingering fog. “Yeah, I just didn’t sleep much,” you admitted softly.

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment longer than necessary, before nodding. The unspoken understanding in his gaze was both comforting and bittersweet, a reminder of the connection you once shared and the fragile peace of the moment.

“Figured,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his tone laced with quiet concern. “You kept tossing and turning. Something bothering you?”

You blinked, heat crawling up your neck and settling in your cheeks. Of course, he’d noticed—how could he not when you’d been forced to share the same bed? The situation felt both inescapable and unbearably awkward, every shared breath and subtle movement magnified in the silence of the night.

Your mouth opened, but the words refused to come, faltering under the weight of your swirling thoughts. "It’s been… a while, you know," you finally managed, the words stumbling out clumsily. “You’ve been in the hospital for weeks, and… yeah.” You trailed off, internally cringing at your own awkwardness, your attempt to downplay the turmoil inside you.

He nodded, his gaze softening with something that looked like understanding. Before you could process it, his hand reached out, enveloping yours in a firm but gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry, love,” he murmured, his voice low and heavy with sincerity.

Your breath hitched, the air in your lungs freezing as the word love echoed in your mind. That nickname—it was a relic of your past, a tender reminder of a time when everything felt whole and simple. But now, it was a cruel specter, dragging you back into memories you weren’t ready to face.

The pressure of his hand on yours felt like a burning weight, and the rising tide of anxiety threatened to engulf you. The doctor’s words surfaced unbidden, sharp and unrelenting: Mingi and his wife, their second anniversary, the plans for a getaway in the east province that had been violently interrupted by the highway accident. The knowledge clawed at you, tearing open wounds you thought had scarred over.

“I’ll clean up,” you blurted out, your voice tight as you pulled your hand away, retreating before the walls you’d carefully constructed crumbled entirely. You stood abruptly, gathering the plates in a hurried attempt to escape the suffocating moment.

Mingi was taken back by your actions but Mingi also stood up. “Nope. Sit.” He gently but firmly took the plates from your hands, his expression leaving no room for argument. “You cooked. I’ll handle this.”

“It’s really fine—”

He turned to give you a pointed look, one that felt too much like the old Mingi, the one who had always insisted on splitting chores despite your protests. “Sit,” he repeated, softer this time. You relented, sinking back into your chair as he moved to the sink. Watching him was surreal—his movements so natural, as though he belonged in this space, as though nothing had changed.

He rolled up his sleeves, his tall frame somehow managing to make your tiny kitchen seem even smaller. The sound of running water and clinking dishes filled the room, a strangely domestic symphony that stirred something bittersweet inside you. The gentle clatter of dishes being washed filled the kitchen, a sound so familiar it tugged at your chest like a forgotten melody.

Mingi was a whirlwind of unconscious domesticity—moving with an ease that made it painfully clear he didn’t just fit into this space. He fits into your life.

It felt wrong. It felt right.

You rested your chin on your hand, observing him. The way he washed each dish with precision, the way he hummed a tune you recognized as one of his favorites, the way he smiled to himself when he caught you staring—it was all so familiar. And yet, the reality of your situation hung heavy in the air. But he didn’t know. He didn’t know that every swipe of the dishcloth brought memories flooding back. The mornings you spent together, him insisting on cleaning up while you teased him about his overly meticulous ways. The playful arguments about who made the better breakfast. The laughter, the love, the heartbreak that followed.

He didn’t remember the arguments, the pain, the long nights spent trying to piece together a marriage that had already fractured. All he knew was the version of you that existed in his mind six years ago, the version he still believed was his wife.

And the happily new married life he is in.

Your fingers tightened around your coffee cup as the weight of it all pressed down on you. Of all the people he could have chosen to stay with during his recovery, why did it have to be you? The ex-wife he didn’t even remember leaving behind.

He glanced over his shoulder, catching you staring, and his face lit up with a grin so pure, it almost made you forget how this all ended the first time.

“What?” he asked, drying his hands on a dish towel.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, averting your gaze.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he teased, leaning against the counter. You forced a laugh, the sound hollow even to your own ears. “Guess I’m out of practice.”

Mingi shrugged, completely oblivious to the storm raging inside you. He surveyed the kitchen again, his eyes lingering on the bare walls and countertops. “You’ve really changed things up, huh?”

You tensed. “What do you mean?”

“Just... it doesn’t feel like us, you know?” He gestured around the room, his expression a mix of confusion and longing. “Where are all the pictures? The ones from our trip to Jeju? Or the goofy ones we took on your birthday?”

You scrambled for an explanation, your heart pounding. “I... uh, have asked Seonghwa to come and bring it from your—our house,” you lied, forcing a laugh.

Mingi nodded, accepting your answer without question. “Well, don’t take too long. This place could use a bit of ‘us’ again.” The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache, his words hit you like a freight train, and you had to look away. The difference of “us” is where the fights, the sleepless nights, the way you both unraveled until there was nothing left to hold onto unlike his is somewhere you guess is full of happiness and affection.

As he left the kitchen, whistling a tune, you exhaled shakily. Sharing your apartment with Mingi felt like stepping into a dream and a nightmare all at once—a cruel trick of fate that blurred the lines between the past and the present. Your hand trembled as you set the coffee cup down, the weight of the past and present colliding in a way you hadn’t prepared for.

So when the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the city streets. The day had been a whirlwind, filled with moments that teetered between awkward and oddly nostalgic. You barely had time to process any of it when Mingi, with his boyish grin and an eagerness that made your heart ache, suggested dinner at a noodle shop.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at him. “Why? I mean, I can cook for you—”

He raised a hand, halting your words mid-sentence with a gentle but firm gesture. “You’ve already cooked for me twice today. Why not let me treat you for a change?” He reached for your jacket, draped over the rack, and held it out to you.

You hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest. It had been a long time since you’d gone out—especially with him. The idea felt foreign, almost surreal.

“I—”

Before you could finish, he sighed, crossing the room to where you sat on the couch. He eased himself down beside you, the sudden proximity causing a jolt of heat to rush through your body. His warmth seeped into the small space between you, igniting a flush that climbed up your neck and settled in your ears.

“Take it as a date,” he said softly, his voice tinged with a playful charm that only made your pulse quicken. “For all the days I missed while I was in the hospital. What do you say, love?”

The nickname cut through your resolve like a whisper of the past, stirring emotions you’d worked hard to bury. Your mind raced with possibilities, weighed down by the unfairness of reliving memories you hadn’t asked to revisit. Was this wise? Could your heart withstand the bittersweet sting of nostalgia?

But when your gaze met his, every carefully constructed barrier began to waver. His eyes held the same spark you remembered—curiosity mingled with unspoken hope, as though he had just stumbled upon something new and couldn’t wait to share it with you. And then there was that smile, the one that always had the power to unravel your overthinking.

A quiet sigh escaped your lips as you felt your body relax against your better judgment. The battle between your heart and mind ended with a truce neither was happy about.

“Okay,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

His grin widened, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of the past seemed to lift, leaving only the quiet promise of a single evening.

When Mingi said that he wanted to try some noodles that he just saw some streets up where you both passed yesterday, you weren’t expecting it would be some other ramen house.

Not just any noodle shop—Home Ramen House.

The ramen house that you and Mingi frequently go to whenever he feels like it. You hesitated, the weight of the memories tied to that place pulling at you. But his excitement was contagious, and before you knew it, you were sitting across from him in the cozy little corner booth you both used to claim as your own. Mingi scanned the menu, his eyes lighting up as though discovering it for the first time. “We’ll have the spicy seafood ramen and the dumplings,” he told the waiter, his voice filled with conviction. You blinked, startled.

It was second nature to him, a detail woven so deeply into his muscle memory that he hadn’t even realized it. The smell of broth wafted through the air, stirring emotions you had buried long ago. As the waiter brought out steaming bowls of noodles and a plate of golden-brown dumplings, the atmosphere shifted. The familiar clatter of chopsticks, the hum of quiet conversation from nearby tables, the way the condensation on the glasses trickled down—it all felt like stepping into a memory.

Mingi leaned forward, inhaling the aroma with a satisfied sigh. “This smells amazing,” he said, his eyes crinkling in that way that used to make your heart skip.

You nodded, stirring your noodles absentmindedly. “It does,” you murmured, trying to focus on the present. The first bite was pure nostalgia. The flavors exploded on your tongue, and you couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips. Mingi noticed, grinning triumphantly. “Glad you still love spicy ramens after you let me sleep on the couch for a week.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. Indeed it was true, it was the first time you tasted spicy food and it took you a lot of milk to calm down your tongue that was numb from the intense spice in it. Because of the influence of Mingi and him laughing at your red face, which he thought is cute, you told him to sleep on the couch.

Conversation flowed easily, much to your surprise. He talked about the food, his thoughts on the day. You found yourself laughing at his terrible joke about dumplings being “wrapped gifts for your stomach,” despite the ache in your chest.

You had been too focused on picking up a particularly slippery noodle, and a rogue strand of sauce had made its way onto your cheek. Mingi notices it and chuckles, without missing a beat, Mingi reaches across the table, napkin in hand. “Hold still,” he said softly, dabbing at the spot.

The gesture was so natural, so tender, that it left you momentarily breathless.

His fingers lingered for just a second too long, and you caught his eyes—warm, familiar, and filled with a fondness that felt achingly real. Your pulse quickened, and you quickly turned your attention back to your bowl, muttering a quiet “thanks.”

As the meal went on, you couldn’t shake the sensation of déjà vu. The way he teased you for eating too fast, the way you both reached for the last dumpling at the same time, the shared laughter—it was all too much and not enough, all at once.

When the bill arrived, Mingi grabbed it before you could protest, his lips curling into that familiar playful grin. “I’m your husband,” he said, his tone light but laced with a deeper emotion you couldn’t quite place. “I should be treating you to the greatest things in life.” He added a playful wink that made you roll your eyes, but the warmth in his voice lingered, disarming you in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

Deep down, it was almost too much—the familiarity of the moment, the ease with which he slipped back into old habits. It felt like walking into a dream you knew would shatter the moment you woke up.

As you stepped out into the crisp night air, the world seemed quieter, the stars scattered above like a tapestry of fragile hope. Mingi tilted his head up, his hands buried in his pockets. The glow of the restaurant’s lights illuminated his face, softening the lines of worry and regret you had grown used to seeing since his accident.

“This feels nice,” he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of wonder, as if he were rediscovering something long forgotten. “Like I’ve found something I didn’t know I lost.”

His words pierced through the fragile walls you had built around your heart. You bit your lip, the ache in your chest swelling.

You did.

It was a truth you couldn’t say out loud, one you weren’t sure you were ready to admit even to yourself. Yet in the stillness of that moment, it hung in the air between you—unspoken but undeniable.

DAY 3:

The day began like any other—quiet, unassuming, and unremarkable. You woke early, your mind preoccupied with a client meeting about revisions to a blueprint. The sharp scratch of your pen against paper and the hum of your laptop filled the air as you scribbled down notes, entirely absorbed in the task.

The faint clink of porcelain pulled your attention. A steaming mug appeared beside you, its rich aroma filling the room. Startled, you looked up to see Mingi, holding his own coffee and offering a soft, familiar smile.

“Have a coffee first, love,” he said, his voice a soothing balm to your busy thoughts.

You took the mug, fingers brushing his briefly, and nodded your thanks. The nickname rolled off his tongue effortlessly now, as if no time had passed since he last used it so freely. It wasn’t just the words, though—it was the way he said them, laced with warmth and something deeper, something unspoken.

But the kisses? Those you hadn’t quite grown used to.

There was the time, just last week, when you’d been rushing around before a meeting, juggling your bag, phone, and scattered papers. Mingi had stepped into your chaos like an anchor, hands firm on your shoulders as he steadied you. He’d kissed your forehead so gently, it left you stunned. Without a word, he handed you a brown bag of snacks and ushered you to the car, driving you to work while you sat in quiet disbelief, his thoughtfulness lingering far longer than the ride.

Now, as he left a kiss on the crown of your head and stepped out of the room, your heart did what it always seemed to do around him these days—it stumbled, tripping over feelings you weren’t ready to name.

Yet, beneath the warmth that spread through your chest, a shadow loomed. With a soft sigh, you returned back to your work.

Later, when your meeting concluded, you found yourself sprawled on the couch, half-laying and half-sitting, as Mingi flipped through Disney+. He eventually settled on an Avengers marathon. The easy camaraderie, the quiet moments together—it felt so natural, so right.

And so unfamiliar.

Just as the movie’s opening credits rolled, a knock at the door echoes. Both of you turned toward the sound simultaneously, like startled meerkats. Mingi paused the movie and moved toward the small monitor connected to the doorbell cam.

“Oh, it’s Seonghwa-hyung,” he announced. Your ears perked up. The memory of your impulsive request to Seonghwa came rushing back. After Mingi had offhandedly mentioned that the apartment did not feel like “ours,” you’d acted on instinct, reaching out to your best friend and asking him to retrieve a box of old photos from your attic.

The door opened, and there he was—Seonghwa, effortlessly chic as always, with his silver hair and the familiar box in his hands.

“Hey, babe!” he greeted, his grin infectious as he breezed in. You smiled back, leaning in for air kisses before he set the box on the coffee table.

“I’d stay and catch you up on all the office gossip,” he said, glancing at his watch, “but my baby mama’s in the ER—she’s about to give birth!”

Your eyes widened. “Oh my gosh, Seonghwa! Go, go, go!”

He chuckled, pulling you into a quick hug before turning to Mingi with a firm handshake and a knowing smile. As you walked him to the door, he shot you a look—one filled with silent understanding and something unspoken. As you walk Seonghwa to the door, Mingi had caught Seonghwa’s knowing look given to you before he left.

The moment Seonghwa was gone, the apartment felt quieter, but in a strangely comforting way.

You turn around with a small smile on your lips, “Well the picture is here, let’s get started?” Mingi had helped you hang up the picture frames, most of them old photos of trips they had taken together. Mingi holding each of the frames made his hand tremble for no reason or that one reason why he suddenly had a flashback of where the same photo shattered on the ground, glass shards glinting like jagged tears in the sunlight. The arguments. The silences. The distance.

“Mingi, you okay?” Your voice, soft with concern, broke through the haze. He blinked, snapping back to the present. Forcing a smile, he nodded and placed the frame on the shelf. “Of course, love,” he said gently.

But you saw it—the flicker of something unresolved in his eyes. A shadow of a past neither of you dared to name but both still carried. You didn’t press him, though. Instead, you continued working side by side, filling the quiet with small, easy conversations. The unspoken truths could wait for another day. For now, this—rebuilding, frame by frame—was enough.

The golden afternoon light filtered softly through the windows, casting a warm glow across the room. You were curled up on the couch beside Mingi, your head resting against his broad shoulder, the toll of the early morning meeting plus the small clean up around the apartment made you tired.

The lingering hum of your morning on-call meeting still played faintly in his mind. He had watched you work earlier, eyes fixed on your focused expression as you scribbled notes and responded to clients, your determination unwavering even through the early hours. Now, it was just the two of you, cocooned in the quiet intimacy of the moment. The world outside felt distant, irrelevant, as if it had been locked away somewhere far beyond the safety of your small apartment.

The silence between you wasn’t heavy. It was peaceful, almost sacred.

Beside you, Mingi shifted slightly. His fingers reached out, adjusting a photo frame on the coffee table without thinking. His gaze lingered on it—a snapshot of laughter frozen in time—before wandering toward the bookshelf by the window. The sight of the cluttered shelves, books stacked without rhyme or reason, brought a small, almost imperceptible smile to his lips. Some of those books he recognized as ones you’d read until the pages frayed; others were strangers to him, spines barely creased.

Then, like a wave crashing without warning, the memory hit him.

The bookstore.

His hand froze, mid-movement, gripping the edge of the couch as the vivid recollection unfolded in his mind. He could feel the chill of that rain-soaked day, the dampness clinging to his skin as you guided him through the streets after picking him up from the hospital. The weight of the moment had pressed heavy on his chest—uncertainty, exhaustion, and the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.

You had found refuge in that tiny, unassuming bookstore. Its wooden shelves lined with worn books and the comforting smell of paper and ink offered a sanctuary neither of you had expected. You’d both lingered there, surrounded by stories belonging to others, as if searching for something in the words you didn’t yet know how to say to each other.

The memory of your hand reaching for his, tentative and warm, surfaced with startling clarity. It was a touch that had pulled him out of his own head, grounding him in the present, in you.

“Hey,” your voice now pulled him back to the room, gentle and curious. He blinked, his grip on the couch loosening as he turned to look at you. The concern in your eyes was subtle but unmistakable. You always seemed to notice when he drifted too far into himself, and for that, he was endlessly grateful.

“Just remembering something,” he murmured, his voice low but steady.

Your head tilted slightly, an invitation for him to share if he wanted to. He didn’t, not yet, but the way you leaned into him, your warmth so close, was enough to soothe the tightness in his chest.

The photo frame sat untouched on the table, a silent witness to the weight of the past and the fragile beauty of the present.

The memory of the rain, the bookstore, and your hand in his still lingered, but now, it felt less heavy. It wasn’t just a memory of pain anymore—it was one of quiet strength, of a moment where everything else had fallen away except for the two of you, finding your way back to each other in the most unexpected places.

Mingi sighed, his hand settling lightly over yours. “Thanks for being here,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your skin in an unspoken promise. The quiet sincerity in his voice hung between you, tangible and real.

Your eyes fell to his hand resting on yours, tracing the way his fingers seemed to fit so naturally. Without thinking, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze. The warmth of your touch sent a flutter through him, “Thank you for letting me stay,” an inexplicable yet familiar feeling, like a forgotten piece of a puzzle finally sliding into place.

For a moment, the world seemed to shift, the sunlight filtering through the window growing softer, warmer, as if the connection between you had become the room’s very heartbeat. Quiet. Steady. Unbreakable.

And yet, beneath the tranquility, a faint ache lingered.

Why did he feel like something was missing?

“Do you remember the library we went to?” His voice broke the silence, soft and tentative, as though reaching for something fragile.

You looked at him, noticing the way his gaze wavered, a flicker of something unspoken glinting behind his eyes. Hesitation? Longing? It was hard to tell, but you could feel it—something pulling at him, tethering him to a memory his heart wasn’t ready to let go of.

You sat up slightly, your movements drawing his attention like a moth to a flame. His eyes followed you, searching, waiting.

“Do you want to go to the bookstore, Min?” you asked, your voice gentle, careful.

The nickname rolled off your tongue, easy and familiar, but to Mingi, it was both a comfort and a quiet reminder of something he couldn’t quite grasp. The corners of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, as his heart reacted before his mind could catch up.

He nodded, almost absentmindedly, his eyes still on you as if the answer lay in the way you moved, the way you spoke. There was a dullness in his chest, a faint shadow of the vibrant emotions he once knew, but even in its muted state, it yearned for something more.

As you stood and moved toward the bedroom to grab your things, Mingi stayed rooted on the couch, watching you disappear through the doorway. His hand lingered on the cushion where yours had been moments ago, his thoughts a quiet storm.

The memory of rain-soaked streets and the quiet sanctuary of the bookstore flickered to life in his mind, tugging at the edges of his consciousness. He didn’t fully understand why the thought carried such weight, but the pull was undeniable. He exhaled softly, the sound almost lost in the stillness of the room. Maybe, just maybe, revisiting that moment would help him find what he felt was missing—something intangible, yet so profoundly important.

The rain caught them off guard. One moment, the sky was a dull gray, and the next, a torrential downpour had them sprinting down the street, their laughter mingling with the sound of splashing puddles. By the time they ducked into a small, tucked-away bookstore, both were drenched, water dripping from their hair and clothes.

The rain stopped a few hours ago and the blue sky was enough evidence to not bring any umbrella yet they should have still brought it. Mingi shook his head like a dog, sending droplets everywhere and earning a half-hearted glare from her as she squeezed the water from her sleeves. He grinned sheepishly, running a hand through his damp hair as he took in their surroundings.

The bookstore was charming in an old-world way—creaky wooden floors, overstuffed chairs, and the comforting scent of aged paper. His gaze wandered over the shelves, the rain outside creating a rhythmic backdrop.

“This place…” His voice trailed off as something stirred faintly in the back of his mind. “It feels familiar.” She glanced at him, her expression guarded, but said nothing.

Mingi meandered through the aisles, his fingers brushing the spines of books until one caught his eye—a worn-out copy of a novel that made his heart stutter.

Why this book?

He pulled it out and stared at the cover. A wave of warmth and nostalgia washed over him, but it was laced with something he couldn’t quite name, like trying to remember the details of a dream slipping through his fingers. Turning to her, he held up the book, a small smile playing on his lips. “Didn’t we read this together? I think I remember… something about this story. It’s special, isn’t it?”

Her eyes flickered with an emotion he couldn’t place, but it wasn’t the joy or excitement he expected. Instead, it was heavy, almost bittersweet. “You… you said it reminded you of us,” she replied softly, her voice tinged with a sadness she tried to mask.

Mingi frowned, his thumb brushing the frayed edge of the book’s spine. “I did?”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, her tone carefully neutral. “You did.”

His gaze remained fixed on her, studying the way her eyes avoided his, the way her smile didn’t quite reach them. Something about her felt different—familiar, yes, but distant. Her eyes, he realized, didn’t shine the way he remembered. There was something missing, a light he couldn’t name but that he was sure used to be there. He had always told her that her eyes were like stars, vibrant and full of wonder. Now, they were like stars lost behind clouds.

The thought sent an uncomfortable ache through his chest.

“Are you okay?” he asked, stepping closer. She nodded quickly, too quickly, and busied herself with flipping through the pages of the book. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He wasn’t convinced, but he let it go, turning his attention back to the book. Sitting down in one of the overstuffed chairs, he motioned for her to join him. She hesitated before settling into the chair across from him, and they both fell into a comfortable silence.

The sound of rain against the windows, the scent of old paper, the warmth of the tiny space—it all felt so… intimate. As if they were stepping into a memory.

Mingi began reading aloud, his deep voice filling the space. He didn’t understand why the words felt so familiar, why they tugged at something deep inside him, but he didn’t question it. When he looked up, he found her staring at him, her expression unreadable. He grinned, holding up the book. “You always said I read too slow.”

Her lips twitched, and for a brief moment, there was a spark of something—something that reminded him of the past, of those star-like eyes. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the same guarded look.

Mingi leaned back in his chair, the ache in his chest deepening. Something was missing, something important, and it wasn’t just the gaps in his memory.

The rain had finally stopped, leaving behind a serene stillness that seemed to blanket the world in a gentle calm. The two of them stepped out of the bookstore, the sound of their footsteps splashing against small puddles on the cobblestone street. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the earthy scent of rain-soaked ground and the faint aroma of nearby flowers.

Mingi glanced around, taking in the scene. The streetlights cast a warm, golden glow that reflected off the rain-slicked surfaces, making the entire place shimmer as though it were draped in a thousand tiny diamonds. It was breathtaking, the kind of beauty that made him feel small and yet deeply connected to the world around him.

He turned his gaze to her. She was walking slightly ahead of him, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the streetlights. The way her hair caught the light and the way her steps seemed to glide over the wet pavement—it all felt so familiar.

A tug in his chest pulled him closer to her. Without even thinking, his hand reached out, his fingers gently brushing against hers. She turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting his in the dim light. He hesitated for a moment, his hand lingering, unsure if she would pull away. But then, her fingers curled around his, and Mingi felt a warmth bloom in his chest.

To him, it felt like home.

Her hand in his was soft and warm, fitting perfectly as though it had always belonged there. He squeezed gently, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. There was a comfort in the gesture, a sense of belonging that he couldn’t quite put into words.

For her, the touch was bittersweet. It felt like a memory, distant yet vivid, as though it were something she had dreamed of many times before. She glanced at him, her heart catching in her chest at the way he looked at her. His eyes held a softness, an affection that seemed unguarded, almost innocent.

The quiet between them wasn’t heavy or awkward. Instead, it was filled with unspoken emotions, the kind that didn’t need words to be understood.

The streets around them seemed to come alive in the aftermath of the rain. Raindrops clung to the leaves of the trees, catching the light and sparkling like tiny jewels. The occasional chirp of birds returning to their nests added to the tranquil ambiance. It was as though the world itself was holding its breath, watching them, waiting for something to unfold.

Mingi finally broke the silence, his voice soft and contemplative. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The way everything sparkles after the rain… It feels peaceful.”

She nodded, her eyes drifting to the shimmering reflections on the ground. “It does. Like everything’s been washed clean.”

His gaze lingered on her, a small smile playing at his lips. “You always used to say that, didn’t you? That the world looks brighter after the rain.”

She stiffened ever so slightly at his words, the smile on her face faltering for a brief moment before she quickly recovered. “Maybe I did.”

He frowned, his brow furrowing slightly as he studied her expression. There it was again—that fleeting look in her eyes, as though she were hiding something. It was like a veil had been drawn over her emotions, keeping him at arm’s length.

But then, she turned to him fully, her hand still in his, and smiled softly. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Home.

The word echoed in his mind, and he held onto her hand a little tighter. The apartment they were heading to didn’t feel like the home he remembered, but her presence made it feel closer to what he thought home should be. As they walked side by side, the cool breeze brushing against their skin, Mingi couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this moment than he could understand. Her hand in his, the glimmer of raindrops on the leaves, the gentle hum of the world around them—it all felt so right, so familiar, yet tinged with an unspoken melancholy.

And for her, each step they took together felt like she was walking through fragments of their past, pieces of a life they had once shared but could no longer fully claim.

The rain had stopped, but the storm within them lingered, quietly shaping the path they walked together.

DAY 4

The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the small apartment. You woke to the soft clatter of dishes in the kitchen, the familiar sounds weaving comfort into the quiet morning. Stretching lazily, you padded out of the bedroom, your footsteps light as you made your way toward the source of the sound.

And there he was.

Your feet slowed, hesitating as your eyes locked onto his figure. For a moment, the world seemed to blur, leaving only him—the man standing in the kitchen, framed by the warm glow of morning sunlight. A wave of nostalgia hit you, so sudden and raw it almost stole your breath. Your throat tightened as memories clawed their way to the surface, unbidden yet familiar. How many times have you stood right here, watching him? The way he swayed softly to the music playing from his phone, completely unaware of how the light kissed his side profile, softening his edges and making him seem almost otherworldly. Majestic, yet achingly human.

It was so vividly him. And yet, it wasn’t.

Because now, the unspoken weight of six years—years filled with pain, silence, and the harsh reality of your separation—stood between you. The barriers of divorce and his amnesia loomed like shadows, carving a chasm between what was and what could never be again.

You wanted to step closer, to reach out and shatter the invisible wall that had formed over time. But the ache in your chest reminded you that the past was no longer yours to claim, and the present...

The present felt fragile, like the sunlight itself—beautiful but fleeting, slipping through your fingers no matter how desperately you tried to hold on. And yet, you stayed there, rooted to the spot, watching him as if the act alone could bridge the gap between your pain and his.

You brought yourself back to reality, sighing as you made your way to the kitchen. Mingi stood at the counter, his back to you as he brewed coffee, his movements unhurried. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the aroma of sizzling eggs, creating a symphony of warmth that filled the air.

“Good morning,” you greeted softly, your voice still touched with sleep yet a hint of heaviness in them. He turned at the sound of your voice, his grin easy and familiar. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

You nodded, stepping further into the room. “I did. Coffee smells amazing, by the way.”

“Help yourself,” he said, gesturing to the counter as he flipped an egg in the pan with practiced ease. “I figured I’d return the favor this morning.”

Your heart gave a small flutter at his words, a sensation that left you momentarily speechless. Grabbing a mug, you poured yourself some coffee, the rich aroma filling your senses as you watched him move around the kitchen. There was something almost mesmerizing about the way he carried himself—calm, assured, and so at ease.

“You always wake up this early?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Old habits,” you replied, shrugging. “And someone has to make sure the coffee gets made properly.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and contagious, as he turned to set two plates on the table. “You really do make a great wife,” he said offhandedly, his voice casual yet filled with something unspoken. Your hand froze for a fraction of a second, your heart tripping over itself before you forced a small laugh. “Maybe… I did.”

The two of you sat down to eat, the conversation flowing effortlessly between bites of food and sips of coffee. Mingi asked about your day, your work, and the little details you often overlooked. Yet, hearing his interest in the mundane felt oddly comforting, as though he wanted to be a part of every piece of your life, no matter how small.

When breakfast was over, you reached for the dishes, but he stopped you, his grin playful but firm.

“You cooked. I’ll clean,” he said, already gathering the plates before you could protest. Your eyebrow furrowed, “But … you cooked,” You whisper but he ignores your words and proceeds to lean against the counter, you watched as he rolled up his sleeves, his movements unhurried as he rinsed the plates. He hummed softly under his breath, a tune you couldn’t quite place but that filled the space between you with warmth.

And in that moment, something inside you tightened.

He looked so natural, standing there with soap suds on his hands and the morning sunlight catching the curve of his smile. So much like the man you remembered, but lighter now, as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Yet, there was a bittersweet edge to it—a gentle ache that reminded you how fleeting these moments might be. You couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too, the quiet push and pull of time and memory, weaving something fragile yet undeniably real between you.

As he turned back to you, drying his hands on a towel, his smile reached his eyes, soft and knowing. “Thanks for letting me stay,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent.

You offered him a small smile, your chest tightening. “Thanks for being here.”

And for a moment, it felt like the sunlight wasn’t just streaming through the window—it was radiating from the two of you, filling the small apartment with something unspoken yet profound.

Later that day, you find yourself walking through the bustling streets with him— Mingi wanting to walk around to memorize the place— the two of you weaving through the scattered crowd. The sun shines brightly overhead, and the remnants of yesterday’s rain glisten on the leaves and pavement, creating a shimmering path beneath your feet. As you turn a corner, his gaze shifts, locking onto an elderly woman struggling to carry several heavy bags of groceries. You watch as he pauses for only a moment before stepping forward, his long strides quickly closing the distance.

“Let me help you with those,” he offered, his tone gentle and reassuring. The woman looked up at him, surprised but grateful, as he effortlessly took the bags from her. “Thank you, young man. I didn’t realize they’d be this heavy.”

Mingi carried the groceries to her car, his movements easy and practiced. It was as though helping others was second nature to him, something he didn’t even have to think about.

You watch from a few steps away, your heart aching at the sight of him.

He’s always been like this—fiercely kind, endlessly giving. It’s one of the things you loved most about him. Memories flood back unbidden: the countless times he’d gone out of his way for you, fixing a broken appliance late at night, or carrying you in his arms when you sprained your ankle during that unforgettable hike. His kindness was a constant, a thread woven through every moment of your shared life.

When he returns to your side, his smile is radiant, his mood seemingly lighter. “Ready to go?” he asks, his tone so casual, so familiar.

You nod, forcing a smile. But as you fall into step beside him, the bittersweet ache in your chest deepens. The man beside you feels like a dream you once lived in—a beautiful, fleeting thing you can’t quite hold onto anymore.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks suddenly, his brows furrowed in confusion.

You blink, startled. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been quiet,” he says, his voice softer now, tinged with concern. “Is something wrong?”

The words catch in your throat. You hesitate, searching for a response that won’t betray the truth. “No, it’s just… you remind me of someone I used to know.”

He tilts his head, a teasing grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Someone as charming as me?”

Despite yourself, a laugh escapes, lightening the heaviness in the air for just a moment. “Maybe,” you reply, shaking your head.

But as the two of you walk on, your smile fades. Watching him help the elderly woman had stirred something deep within you—a longing for the man he used to be, and for the love you once shared. To him, it was just another act of kindness. To you, it was a glimpse of the man you still love, even if the cruel truth of reality says he’s no longer yours to love.

Later, the afternoon sunlight pours through the apartment window, painting everything in a soft, golden glow. He sits cross-legged on the couch, flipping absently through a magazine he picked up from the bookstore. Across the room, you busy yourself at the kitchen counter, organizing the groceries, keeping your hands moving so your mind doesn’t linger too long.

“Can I ask you something?” His voice cuts through the comfortable silence, startling you.

You pause, glancing over your shoulder at him. “Of course.”

“Back there, when I helped that woman… You looked at me like I’d done something surprising,” he says, his tone light but his gaze steady, searching.

You set down the box of tea bags, turning fully to face him. “I guess I was just reminded of how naturally kind you are,” you say carefully. “You’ve always been like that—helping people without expecting anything in return.”

He tilts his head, his expression softening into something you can’t quite decipher. “I don’t think that’s anything special. Isn’t that what anyone would do?”

You move toward him, settling on the couch beside him. “Not everyone,” you reply, your voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “You’ve always had a way of putting others first, even when you didn’t have to. It’s… one of the things I admire about you.”

He holds your gaze for a moment longer, something unspoken flickering behind his eyes, but neither of you says more. You wonder if he feels the weight of what you’ve left unsaid. Or if the truth, the one you’ve been carrying alone, will shatter the fragile peace of these moments when it finally comes to light. He watched her carefully, the faintest hint of a frown tugging at his lips.

“You talk like you’ve known me forever. Like we’ve been married for a long time.”

Her breath caught in her throat, the weight of his words pressing against her chest. Because honestly, it was true—every single word. Way back then, when your love was untainted by time or circumstance, the two of you had been inseparable. Two years of dating felt like an eternity and yet not nearly enough, as if every moment was still just the beginning.

Mingi had been everything—your best friend, your partner, your home. He had this way of looking at you, like you were the answer to every question he didn’t even know he was asking. And on your third anniversary, he did the one thing that solidified the depth of his love.

He proposed.

It wasn’t grand or extravagant, but it was perfect. The way his hands trembled, holding the ring box, his eyes shining with a mixture of nerves and joy. His voice cracked when he said, “Across all these universes, may my soul search for yours, destined to find you, to love you in every single one.”

He used to say your love was stronger than gold. To him, it wasn’t just a sentiment; it was a promise. He saw a future so vivid, so tangible—one filled with laughter, shared dreams, and the quiet comfort of growing old together. He had been excited to spend his life in your arms, to build something lasting and unbreakable.

And yet, here you were now, standing in the fragile ruins of what once was. The man who once held your world in his hands now looked at you with the same hopeful eyes, completely unaware of the truth that would break him.

The truth that your love, though still stronger than gold in your heart, had been twisted and reshaped by time. That his future, the one he envisioned so clearly, now belonged to someone else.

The ache in your chest grew unbearable, your breath hitching as the memory of that proposal flashed behind your eyes like a cruel echo. How could something so beautiful, so full of life, turn into this? How could you bear to look at him, knowing what you know?

And yet, you smiled, hiding the storm raging inside you, because this wasn’t about you anymore. This was about him, his recovery, his healing. The sacrifice of pretending, of playing your part, weighed heavily on your soul, but you’d carry it for as long as he needed.

Even if it meant breaking your own heart in the process.

DAY 5

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, but the weight of yesterday’s conversation still lingered in the air. You moved about the small apartment with a practiced rhythm, avoiding looking at Mingi too directly. He seemed more pensive than usual, his usual chatter subdued, as if he were trying to process something just out of reach.

The knowledge that he’d be returning to his family in just three days gnawed at you. The purpose of his stay was clear—these days together were supposed to help him recover before transitioning back to the care of his parents. But your heart ached at the thought of him leaving, even as your brain screamed at you to protect yourself, to not let him back into the fragile pieces of your heart you’d painstakingly put together after the divorce.

“I’m going for a walk,” Mingi announced suddenly, breaking the stillness of the afternoon.

You had come to terms with yourself, silently agreeing that this moment might be your only chance to recreate a life you once cherished. It was fleeting, you knew, but being with this version of Mingi again—so unburdened, so much like the man you had fallen in love with—made you feel like the person you had been six years ago. Even if it tore at your heart, the thought of reliving those moments, even for a little while, was worth the pain.

“Do you want some company?” you asked before you could stop yourself. He paused, his boyish grin spreading across his face in a way that sent a pang through your chest. “Always.”

The two of you wandered through the lively streets, the world around you a gentle hum of activity. The buzz of conversation from passing strangers, the distant laughter of children playing, the occasional bark of a dog—it all blended into a comforting symphony. At first, the silence between you was tentative, but as the minutes passed, it softened, giving way to something familiar.

Mingi seemed more relaxed, his long strides unhurried as he pointed out little details that caught his attention—a street performer playing a wistful tune on a violin, a quirky storefront painted in bold, mismatched colors, the way yesterday’s rain sparkled like diamonds on the leaves of a tree. His enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself smiling, your heart lighter than it had been in days.

Then, as you passed a photo booth bathed in colorful neon lights, he stopped abruptly.

“Oh!” His exclamation startled you, his face lighting up with a mischievous sparkle that made him look impossibly young. “Let’s do it!”

“What?” you asked, blinking in confusion as he tugged at your hand.

“The photo booth,” he said, already pulling you toward it. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

You barely had time to protest before you were crammed together inside the tiny booth, your knees brushing against his as the screen flickered to life.

“Pose!” Mingi commanded, throwing up a ridiculous face that made you burst into laughter.

The countdown began, and for the next few minutes, the two of you dissolved into pure, unfiltered joy. Silly faces, exaggerated poses, and moments of shared laughter filled the air. You forgot everything—the pain, the truth, the weight of what you were hiding. For a brief, blissful moment, it was just the two of you, exactly as you had been.

As the timer ticked down to the final shot, Mingi’s laughter faded, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. Before you could process what was happening, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss.

It wasn’t rushed or hesitant—it was tender and full of longing, as though the six years that had separated you had never existed. Your mind reeled, your heart hammering in your chest. The world outside the booth seemed to vanish, leaving only the sensation of his lips against yours, soft yet insistent, familiar yet new.

It was the same as the first time he kissed you—the same warmth that spread from your chest, the same dizzying sensation of the world tilting on its axis, the same undeniable certainty that this was where you belonged.

The flash went off, its light momentarily blinding, but you barely noticed. Your world had narrowed to the feel of his hands and the taste of the kiss that lingered, soft yet searing. Your fingers had moved instinctively, gripping the fabric of his jacket, as if holding onto him could stop time, could keep him from slipping away again. His fingers lightly cupped your jaw, grounding you, pulling you closer as if he, too, was afraid to let go.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours, the faint warmth of his breath ghosting over your lips. His eyes, soft and searching, met yours, and in them, you saw everything you had once known—love, hope, and the promise of forever.

But the ache in your chest only deepened. He looked at you as though no time had passed, as though the years of separation hadn’t carved out pieces of your soul. Yet here you were, on opposite sides of a chasm you’d helped create.

He pulled away slightly, his gaze lingering, filled with an almost unbearable tenderness. It made your heart ache—an ache that spread through your whole being, a longing to pour out the words that had been locked inside you for so long.

You wanted to tell him how much you regretted signing the papers, how you had spent countless nights replaying every moment that led to that decision. You wanted to confess that you should have fought for what you had, that you should have held on tighter when everything was falling apart.

But everything was too late. Six years too late.

You blinked back the tears that threatened to spill, forcing a fragile smile as the photo booth’s mechanical hum brought you back to reality. And as the moment passed, slipping through your fingers like sand, you realized that some wounds, no matter how much time passes, never truly heal.

The booth fell silent except for the faint hum of the machinery spitting out the photo strip. Your emotions were a whirlwind—confusion, longing, hope, and a pain so sharp it was almost unbearable.

Mingi’s eyes searched yours, his expression soft yet unreadable. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

“For what?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“For forgetting,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “For making you carry this alone after the accident.”

Your breath was caught in your throat, some tears threatened to spill in the corner of your eyes. The accident. Not the divorce, not the heartbreak you thought he meant. His words held the weight of sincerity, of regret for memories stolen rather than choices made.

Your heart clenched, the ache deepening as you realized he was apologizing for something entirely out of his control. “Mingi…” you whispered, your voice barely holding steady.

The machine beeped softly, a sound that felt louder in the confined space, breaking the spell of shared laughter and fleeting joy. Mingi turned slightly, retrieving the freshly printed photo strip from the slot. As his eyes scanned the series of images, a small, almost wistful smile tugged at his lips, a mix of nostalgia and something unspoken shimmering in his expression.

“Look,” he said, his voice soft as he held the strip out for you to see.

Your breath falters as your eyes fall on the final frame. It wasn’t a silly pose or a playful expression like the others. Instead, it was a moment you hadn’t expected—a soft, unplanned kiss. His lips touched yours, the emotion behind it was unmistakable.

It was hauntingly familiar, a mirror of a moment from years ago—the tender kiss that sealed your vows on the altar. The memory crashed over you like a wave, unearthing a rush of feelings you thought you had buried.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air felt heavy, charged with a mix of longing and heartbreak. His thumb traced the edge of the photo strip absently as though trying to etch the memory into his mind.

“Mingi…” you began, your voice trembling. He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for something—perhaps understanding, perhaps forgiveness. “I don’t know why,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “But this… it feels like something I should never have forgotten.”

His words hung between you, pulling at the threads of your carefully guarded heart.

For now, you let him fold the photo strip and tuck it into his pocket. As you stepped out of the booth, the cool air hit your face, grounding you. Mingi walked beside you, his boyish grin returning as he pointed out a street performer nearby, as if nothing had changed.

But something had.

As you walked back home, the atmosphere felt quieter, almost solemn, as if the world had slowed just for the two of you. The rain from yesterday had left everything glistening, tiny droplets clinging to the edges of leaves and the curves of streetlights. The golden afternoon sun filtered through the canopy of trees, casting a soft, ethereal glow that felt almost too perfect for a moment like this.

Without warning, Mingi reached out and took your hand.

His fingers laced through yours, warm and steady, grounding you in a way that sent a ripple through your chest. You glanced at him, startled, but his gaze remained fixed ahead, a slight furrow in his brow as though he were lost in thought.

“It feels right,” he murmured, his voice barely louder than the whisper of the wind. The words settled between you, simple yet profound, leaving you unsure whether he was speaking to you or to himself. Your steps faltered slightly, but his hand tightened, a gentle reassurance that he wasn’t letting go—not now, not yet.

The warmth of his touch lingered as the two of you continued down the glistening path, your heart a conflicted mess of emotions. You wanted to pull away, to keep your walls intact, but the pull of his presence was undeniable.

That night, as the city outside settled into its usual hum, you lay awake, staring at the faint patterns of moonlight on the ceiling.

The memory of his hand in yours, the quiet conviction in his voice, echoed in your mind. The fifth night had come and gone, and still, your thoughts revolved around one question.

Was this fleeting comfort worth the risk of reopening wounds that had never fully healed?

Day 6

The tension from the previous day clung to you like a second skin, heavy and unshakable. It had been impossible to look Mingi in the eye that morning, his boyish charm and newfound tenderness pulling at strings you thought were severed long ago.

As you finished tying your shoes near the doorway, you glanced at him hesitantly. Mingi was standing by the window, a book in his hand as his eyes skimmed on the letters inside, the golden morning sunlight casting a warm glow across his face. He seemed lost in thought, his fingers tapping lightly against the spine of the book.

“I’m meeting Seonghwa for coffee,” you said softly, your voice careful, testing the waters.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable at first. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Okay,” he said simply, his tone gentle but distant.

You blinked, surprised by the lack of resistance. “Okay?”

Mingi’s gaze softened, his hand snapped the book close as he walked toward you. “Okay,” he repeated, and for a moment, you thought that was the end of it.

But then he stopped in front of you, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him. Before you could say anything, he leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. The tenderness of it made your breath hitch, your heart lurching painfully in your chest.

“Be safe,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “And enjoy your time with Seonghwa-hyung.”

You stared up at him, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity in his words. The warmth of his touch lingered long after he pulled away, leaving you standing there, feeling as though the ground beneath you had shifted.

“I… I will,” you finally managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He offered you a small, boyish smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but still carried a trace of the man you once knew. And as you stepped out the door, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gaze on your back, a silent tether that refused to let you go.

You were desperate for clarity, for a sense of balance, which was why meeting Seonghwa now felt so vital. As you slid into your usual seat at the café, your chest tightened, and the weight of everything threatened to pull you under.

Seonghwa arrived moments later, his presence as steadying as it was piercing. His warm gaze swept over you, concern evident in the slight downturn of his lips.

“Hey,” he said softly, sitting across from you. His voice was gentle, but it carried an edge—a readiness to say what you weren’t ready to hear. You forced a smile, wrapping your hands around the warm coffee cup in front of you. “Hey.”

The soft hum of the café enveloped the quiet between you, but Seonghwa didn’t let it linger. He leaned forward, his elbows settling on the table, his fingers grazing yours with a touch that sent sparks up your arm. His voice was steady, yet his gaze carried the weight of unspoken truths. “Are you doing this for yourself, or for what you think you could have saved?”

His words hit like a jolt, unraveling the fragile composure you had carefully held together. Your pulse raced as you turned away, pretending to find solace in the rain-streaked window. “Seonghwa…” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the soft patter of rain.

“I’m not mad at you, babe,” he interrupted, his voice faltering on the last word, betraying the calm facade he was trying so hard to maintain. His eyes shone with a mixture of anguish and desperation as he leaned forward. “But I’m terrified. Terrified that you’re tying yourself to the past again, to him, when it nearly destroyed you the first time.”

The sharpness of his tone cut through you like a blade, leaving a dull ache in its wake. Your chest tightened as you fought to steady your breathing, to keep the tears threatening to spill at bay. “It’s not like that,” you whispered, though the tremor in your voice gave you away.

“Then what is it like?” he pressed, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity. The air between you crackled with unspoken truths and heavy silences. “You could’ve told the truth—” He exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a brief moment as if bracing himself for the storm his words would unleash.

He opened his eyes, his gaze locking onto yours with a quiet pain that made your heart shatter. “The truth that his wife is now conscious in that hospital room. Why didn’t you?”

The night after you and Mingi shared a quiet walk under the stars, your phone buzzed with a message. It was from the doctor—the one who had delicately outlined Mingi’s condition, her words laced with a cautious hope that had felt fragile but comforting.

"Mingi's wife has regained consciousness. She’s currently in surgery, slowly recovering from the head trauma."

The words blurred as your eyes scanned them again, your breath catching in your throat. At first, they felt distant, like they belonged to someone else’s story. But then, the meaning sank in like a weight dropping in your chest.

Mingi’s wife.

The words struck you like a lightning bolt, jolting you into a reality you had somehow let yourself forget. His wife—the legal wife. The woman whose place you could never fill, no matter how fleeting the moments you shared with him had been.

Your heart plummeted as the realization hit you with earth-shattering clarity. For days, you had let yourself sink into the illusion of being close to him, of stepping into a role you had no right to play. And now, like heaven and earth colliding, you were reminded of the truth you had buried so deeply.

Mingi was never yours and no longer yours.

The thought tore through you, an ache blooming in your chest as you tried to steady your breathing. The walls of the room seemed to press in, the space shrinking with every passing second. Relief warred with despair, confusion tangled with longing, and you could barely grasp at the threads of your own emotions. Somewhere, the rational part of you knew this was how it was supposed to be—that Mingi would return to her arms, to the life he had built with someone else. But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

The question struck like a hammer to your chest, robbing you of breath. You turned your head away, your eyes squeezing shut as if that could block out the weight of his words. The ache of emotions you had buried deep within clawed its way to the surface, and you felt the sting of suppressed tears.

“Because…” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, raw and broken. “Because he needed someone.” You forced yourself to meet his gaze, your eyes swimming with unshed tears. “He woke up not knowing anything, Seonghwa. Not even himself. How could I just leave him to that kind of emptiness?”

His jaw tightened as he searched your face, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his frustration and fear. “And what about you?” he asked, his voice trembling, barely holding together. “What about your emptiness? What about the nights you couldn’t breathe, the times I had to hold you together because you couldn’t stand on your own? What about everything you’ve been through?”

You couldn’t answer. The words lodged in your throat like shards of glass, too sharp to speak.

He reached out, his hand hovering near yours before retreating, his fingers curling into a fist. “How do you think this ends for you?” His voice cracked, and the vulnerability in it made your chest tighten further. “Do you think this fixes anything? Or are you just breaking yourself all over again for someone who might not even give a second look the moment they remember?”

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you met his gaze, his expression so raw, so full of love and worry, it almost undid you. “I don’t know,” you said honestly, your voice barely a whisper. “But he’s not the same, Seonghwa. He’s… different. He doesn’t remember the fights or the divorce. He doesn’t remember why we fell apart. He only remembers me—us. And it’s…” You trailed off, your voice breaking under the weight of unsaid words.

“It’s what?” Seonghwa prompted, his hand reaching across the table to hold yours, grounding you.

“It’s killing me,” you confessed, the tears spilling over now. “To see him like this, to see him not remember the life we had—or the pain that ended it. It’s like I’m living in this cruel, beautiful lie.”

Seonghwa inhaled sharply, his grip tightening on your hand. “You’re not responsible for fixing him,” he said firmly, though his voice trembled with emotion. “You’ve already given so much of yourself to him. I’m scared you’ll lose what’s left.”

The rawness in his voice shattered something inside you, and for the first time, you let yourself feel the full weight of his words.

“I just…” You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. “I needed to be there for him. Even if it’s only for now.”

The weight of the unspoken hung heavily between you and Seonghwa, a reminder of the ticking clock counting down the days until he would leave. You tried to ignore it, burying the ache deep within, but it clawed relentlessly at the edges of your resolve.

Before either of you could say more, your phone buzzed against the table, the sound jarring in the heavy silence. You glanced down and froze when you saw Mingi’s name flashing on the screen.

Seonghwa’s eyes flicked to the phone, his expression calm but his jaw tight. “Answer it,” he said softly, though the tension in his voice betrayed him.

With trembling hands, you swiped to accept the call. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Mingi’s voice came through, warm and familiar. For a moment, it felt like coming home. But there was an edge to his tone, a weight you couldn’t quite place. “I was just thinking about you. Can we talk when you get back?”

Your heart clenched at his words, his longing bleeding through the line. “Yeah,” you managed to say, your voice thick with unspoken emotions.

When you hung up, Seonghwa was watching you, his dark eyes searching yours. “He remembers you,” he said quietly, each word measured. “But not the pain. Not the fights. Not the divorce.”

You nodded, your fingers trembling as you wiped at the tears threatening to fall. “And I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”

Seonghwa reached out, his hand finding yours again. His thumb brushed softly against your knuckles, grounding you in the present even as the past threatened to overwhelm. “I’ll support you, no matter what,” he said, his voice steady but laced with quiet anguish. “But promise me, if it gets too much, you’ll walk away. You deserve a future—not a life trapped in the shadows of what could’ve been.”

You nodded, but the promise felt fragile, like a thread stretched too thin. “I’ll try,” you whispered.

His gaze softened, though the worry lingered in his eyes. “That’s all I ask.”

“A drive?” you repeated, startled. On the way back home and after bidding goodbye to Seonghwa, your nerves were everywhere, anxiety rising as to what Mingi wanted to talk about. Your mind races with many thoughts and one of them were the conversations you just had with Mingi and dread washed over you.

“Yeah,” he said, already standing. He was already in his sweater and jeans, the keys juggling in his palm, “It’s been so long since I’ve just… gone somewhere for no reason. You in?”

The logical part of you wanted to decline, to keep the boundaries clear, to protect your heart. But the part of you still tethered to him—the part that had never quite let go—nodded. “Okay.”

The car hummed softly as it came to life, the familiar sound filling the quiet. Once you hit the open road, Mingi rolled down the windows, letting the cool night air rush in. It carried the scent of damp asphalt and distant pine, and for a moment, you felt like you’d stepped back in time. He fiddled with the radio, flipping through stations until a familiar melody filled the car. A smile spread across his face. “Remember this?”

You nodded, the song tugging at memories you thought you’d buried. It was your song—the one that played on countless late-night drives, the soundtrack to a thousand shared moments.

Mingi’s grin widened as he sang along, his voice exaggerated and dramatic. His arms gestured wildly, just like he used to, and you couldn’t help but laugh. The sound bubbled up, surprising even you, cutting through the heaviness that had settled in your chest.

“Your turn,” he said, glancing at you with a teasing smile.

“I don’t sing,” you replied, shaking your head.

“Your voice is my favorite song,” he said, the words slipping out so naturally they caught you off guard. Your laughter faded, replaced by a quiet ache. You turned your gaze to the window, watching the darkened trees blur past. “I hope you still do.”

The miles stretched out beneath you, the city lights fading into quieter, darker roads. The wind whipped through your hair, wild and untamed, but you didn’t bother to fix it. For a fleeting moment, it felt like nothing else mattered—just the open road, the music, and him.

But the memories crept in, unbidden and sharp. The countless nights spent in this very seat, his hand brushing yours on the gearshift. The shared dreams, the unspoken promises, the way you’d believed you were untouchable.

“Mingi,” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the engine’s hum.

He turned to you, his expression curious.

“Why did you want to go for a drive?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the road ahead before answering. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I do remember, this is our sweet grand escape.”

You nodded, your throat tight. “It is.” And in that moment, with the road stretching endlessly ahead, you wondered if you’d ever truly move forward—or if some part of you would always be here, caught between what was and what could have been.

The road ahead stretched out in silence, the hum of the engine blending with the soft whispers of the wind. By the time you turned back toward the city, the air had grown colder, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. The stars above were scattered like fragments of light against the inky blackness, their brilliance mirrored in your quiet longing.

Mingi reached over, his hand finding the console between you. His fingers brushed against yours—light, tentative, as if testing the boundaries of something fragile. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, and your breath hitched before you could stop it.

“I don’t know what it is,” he said, breaking the silence. His voice was quiet, as though he feared the weight of his words might shatter the delicate moment. His eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, but you could see the tension in his jaw, the vulnerability etched into his profile.

“But being with you…” he continued, his words catching slightly, as though they carried more than he could say. “It feels like I’m home. Like I’ve been away for a long time, and now I’m finally back where I belong.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and unfiltered, seeping into every crevice of the space between you. Your chest tightened, the ache blooming anew. You wanted to hold onto his words, to let them wrap around you like the warmth of his touch, but they carried a bittersweet weight that was impossible to ignore.

You swallowed hard, your gaze drifting out the window as you struggled to steady the storm of emotions inside you. The city lights glimmered in the distance, but they felt impossibly far away—like the future you’d once dreamed of with him, now nothing more than a faint glimmer on a distant horizon.

He took a quick look at you, his eyes held so much love— like he was carrying the entire aurora borealis in his eyes, “You’re my home.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of his words crashing over you like a wave. You wanted to tell him the truth, to let him know that this wasn’t his home anymore—that you weren’t his home anymore. But the words refused to come.

Instead, you let your hand slip into his, your fingers intertwining as naturally as they always had. And for the rest of the drive, you let yourself believe, just for a little while, that you could still be his home.

Day 7

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” You nudged Mingi gently, your voice soft but insistent, fingers brushing against his arm. He stirred, blinking up at you with groggy confusion. “What time is it?”

You gave him a soft smile, “Just get up.” He groaned but sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Without protest, Mingi followed you, the two of you making your way out into the quiet stillness of the world before it woke; yet the weight of what was to come pressed heavily on your chest.

Last night had been a sleepless one. After the late-night drive, you had returned to the stillness of your shared space, the echoes of his laughter and the warmth of his presence lingering in the room like a ghost of the past. But the peace you so desperately wanted to hold onto eluded you. Instead, your mind raced, caught in a storm of emotions that refused to settle.

The entire week with him had felt like an unraveling—his presence a salve to old wounds that had never fully healed, yet at the same time, it had torn open scars you had worked so hard to seal. Being near him again, feeling his touch, hearing his laugh—it was everything you had once dreamed of. Everything you had wished to return to, even when you told yourself it wasn’t possible.

But the truth loomed over you, undeniable and inescapable. Mingi deserved to know it, deserved to have the clarity you had ignored for so long. As the hours dragged on and sleep remained a distant hope, you had spent the night removing the shards embedded deep in your heart, one by one.

The memories were sharp, cutting with each recollection: the way he looked at you with those eyes full of unspoken longing, the touch of his hand brushing yours in the car, the sound of his voice when he said you felt like home. Every moment was a reminder of what you had lost—and what you could no longer pretend to have.

Your tears had soaked into the pillow as you wrestled with the decision, the battle between selfishly holding onto these fleeting moments and doing what you knew was right. You couldn’t let him live in the illusion any longer. He deserved the truth, even if it shattered the fragile connection you’d rebuilt.

The air was crisp, carrying the biting chill of dawn that made you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself. Above, the sky remained a canvas of deep navy, stars beginning to dim as the first strokes of orange and pink teased the horizon. The world felt suspended in a quiet hush, the stillness amplified by the faint rustle of leaves in the cool breeze.

You led Mingi to a secluded hill overlooking the city, the spot you’d discovered during one of your solitary escapes. It was a place of solace for you, where the sprawling cityscape seemed small and far away, swallowed by the vastness of the sky.

Neither of you spoke as you sat side by side on the damp grass. The cold seeped through your clothes, grounding you in the reality of the moment. The faint hum of distant traffic mingled with the melody of birds waking to the light. Slowly, the darkness began to yield, giving way to the soft warmth of the approaching sunrise.

Mingi’s breath fogged in the air as he spoke, his voice quiet, almost reverent. “It’s beautiful.”

You nodded, your gaze fixed on the horizon. The first rays of sunlight painted the edges of the sky in hues of gold and pink, chasing away the night. “I thought it’d be a good way to end things.”

He turned to you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “End things?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Mingi’s heart thudded unevenly in his chest, a gnawing sense of unease creeping through him. Your tone wasn’t cold—it was resolute, distant in a way that felt unfamiliar and wrong. He opened his mouth to respond, to ask what you meant, but the words tangled in his throat.

His mind raced, flooded with fragments of emotions and half-formed thoughts. What’s happening? Why does it feel like something’s slipping away? He searched your face, looking for answers in the curve of your lips, the downward tilt of your gaze.

Is this why you’ve been so quiet? Why your smiles seemed forced? He thought of the past week, the stolen moments of warmth that felt almost too fragile, too fleeting. His chest tightened. Were those memories or just illusions of something we used to have?

Were those moments we shared just days ago … were my memories?

And then there were the flashes—images that didn’t make sense but stirred something deep and aching within him. Your tear-streaked face, eyes red and swollen, though he couldn’t recall ever seeing you cry. The ghost of your voice, trembling with words he couldn’t quite grasp.

Mingi wanted to ask, to demand why this felt like goodbye when he wasn’t ready for it. But fear held him back, rooting him in silence. What if asking makes it real? What if I lose you all over again?

You exhaled slowly, breaking the silence. “Mingi… you’re going back to your family tomorrow. This…” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “This was temporary. A way for you to heal. But it’s not real. Not anymore.”

His breath hitched, and he turned his gaze back to the horizon, unable to meet your eyes. His thoughts screamed against your words, but his voice refused to cooperate. The truth loomed like a shadow he wasn’t prepared to confront, a storm he couldn’t outrun.

The sunlight began to spread, illuminating the city below in soft, golden light. Mingi clenched his fists against the damp grass, the weight of the moment pressing against his chest. He wanted to reach out, to tell you that it was real, that you were his anchor in a sea of uncertainty.

“I love you…” he said suddenly, his voice soft yet firm, like a whisper of truth he couldn’t hold back any longer. His hand finding yours, squeezing it as if telling you to stop joking yet none of your eyes says that you were.

It felt like a dam had broken within you. The walls you had so carefully built to protect yourself crumbled, and the flood of emotions hit with brutal force. Your shoulders trembled, a sharp inhale escaping you as your head shook, denying the reality of his words. You fought with everything you had to stay composed, but your heart betrayed you, a painful ache spreading through your chest.

“No…” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of everything you had buried deep inside. It was more than just the words, more than just the confession— it was everything you couldn’t say, everything that had been left unsaid for far too long.

Tears brimmed in your reddened eyes, threatening to spill, but you willed yourself to hold them back. Every part of you screamed to push him away, to refuse him, but a deeper part of you— the part that remembered the love you once shared, the tenderness and joy— fought against the words that had already formed in your throat.

“No, you don’t.”

The words left your lips in a breathless rush, the weight of them heavier than anything you had ever spoken. Your chest tightened with the unbearable pressure of it all, a battle raging inside you. The pain, the confusion, the loss.

Mingi tilted his head, confusion clouding his expression as he tried to make sense of it all. “But I’m married to you.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, sharp and hollow. It was a sound of disbelief and pain, born from the weight of everything that had happened. Your gaze fell to your intertwined hands—a fragile semblance of connection in a world that had shattered between the two of you.

You pulled away with sudden resolve, the movement decisive. It felt like a necessary break—like something had to give for you to survive this moment.

“Was,” you corrected softly, your voice trembling but steady. “I was married to you—before we divorced.”

The words hit the air between you like an invisible force, heavy and unrelenting. His mouth opened as if to argue, to hold onto something that didn’t belong to either of you anymore, but you stopped him before the denial could take form.

The quiet strength in your voice broke through his confusion. “You left me, Mingi.”

Your tone softened, the bitterness giving way to something raw, something vulnerable. The weight of years—of heartbreak, of unanswered questions—had finally found their voice. “You said you didn’t feel the love between us anymore. That you found it with someone else. And now…”

Your voice faltered, breaking like the tender thread of a once-beautiful memory. You balled your hands into fists at your sides, trying to hold onto what little strength you had left. “You already belong to someone else. Someone who isn’t me.”

The silence stretched between you as the sun climbed higher, its golden rays casting light on his face. But the clarity in his eyes wasn’t there—only the raw confusion, the hurt that mirrored your own. He struggled to process your words, his fingers twitching as if to reach for you, but they stopped short, hanging in the air with unspoken regret.

“I don’t remember that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, the pain in his tone cutting deeper than anything before.

You nodded slowly, your heart aching as the tears you had tried so hard to hold back slipped down your cheeks. “I know,” you whispered back, the sorrow in your voice thickening with each breath. “And that’s why I wanted to do this—because I needed to let go. I needed to find closure—for the both of us.”

Mingi stared at you, his eyes locking onto yours as if searching for the pieces of himself that had slipped away, hoping they were hidden somewhere inside your gaze. His lips parted, but no words came out at first. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, as if trying to reconcile the weight of his feelings with the reality of what had been lost.

“But I feel it,” he said finally, his voice breaking with desperation. “I feel like I love you— No! I love you, you’re my home. How can that not be real?”

The words—those words—shattered the last vestiges of your composure. You smiled through your tears, the smile that came from a place of bittersweetness—an expression that was both tender and laced with pain.

“Because sometimes, love isn’t enough to keep something whole,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “And sometimes, it’s about knowing when to let go.”

The finality in your voice hung in the air like a heavy fog, and the truth of it sank in, sharp and undeniable. You were letting go. You were finally releasing everything you had tried so hard to hold onto.

You looked at him one last time, your gaze lingering, as if you were trying to memorize every detail—his mole on the left side of his cheek, the sharp curve of his nose, the way his eyes crinkled into that crescent-shaped smile that always made you feel like the world had melted away. In that instant, you allowed yourself to drown in the present, to feel the weight of everything that had once been yours.

But it was fleeting. Too fleeting.

This—this moment—was all that was left of him, the man who had once been everything to you. The man you loved so fiercely, so completely, and yet, whose love had faded as quickly as it had come.

As you stood there, watching him in all his vulnerability, you finally allowed the tears you had been holding back to fall freely. There was no more hiding, no more pretending. This was the end. The closure you had been yearning for was finally here.

“I’ll miss you, Min,” you whispered, your voice cracking as the weight of your words took hold of your chest.

The name—his name—felt like a dagger, sharp and bittersweet, as it slipped from your lips. You closed your eyes for just a moment, and in that second, the rush of memories hit you like a wave. The laughter, the tenderness, the warmth that used to fill every space between you two. But as quickly as the memories came, they were replaced by the painful reality that this was no longer your life. He wasn’t yours anymore, and you weren’t his. Not in the way you once were.

“I love you, Tulip,” he whispered, his voice breaking like shattered glass, his hand reaching for yours with a desperate kind of tenderness.

But you pushed his hands away, the motion sharp, your heart aching at the rejection you had to force upon him. “Stop, Mingi,” you said, your voice trembling with raw emotion, your bottom lip wobbling as tears streamed unchecked down your cheeks. “I’m no longer your wife.”

The words fell like a gavel in a silent courtroom—final, undeniable. They echoed in the small space between you, shattering whatever fragile illusion of reconciliation had lingered in his hopeful gaze.

Mingi stood there, frozen, his hand still hovering mid-air as if waiting for a different outcome, one that would never come. His lips parted, and for a moment, it seemed he might argue, might plead, might try to close the gap between you. But then he saw the anguish in your eyes, the pain you carried, and it stopped him in his tracks.

“I don’t understand,” he murmured, his voice laced with confusion, his gaze darting between your face and the floor as though searching for answers that didn’t exist. “I feel it, Tulip. I feel this love—so real, so strong. How can you say that we’re not—”

“Mingi.” Your voice cracked as you interrupted him, your tears falling faster now. “The love is there. I know it is. But it’s not enough anymore. It died six years ago.”

His shoulders slumped as if the weight of your words had finally crushed him, the realization dawning painfully slow.

“I don’t remember the fights,” he said quietly, his tone almost childlike in its confusion. “The hurt, the divorce… I don’t remember any of it. All I know is what I feel now. And it feels real. It feels like I love you— No! I love you and I’ve always loved you.”

Your breath hitched, the raw vulnerability in his words cutting through you like a knife. You reached up, covering your mouth as a sob escaped.

“It’s not about what you remember,” you said, your voice trembling. “It’s about what we’ve both lived through. The pain, the betrayal, the breaking of something so beautiful—we can’t just erase that. We can’t rewrite the past, no matter how much we want to.”

His eyes filled with tears as he took a tentative step closer. “But Tulip…”

You shook your head, the motion small but resolute. “You might not remember the scars, but I do. They’re a part of me now. A part of us. And I— We can’t keep living in this unfair nostalgia, holding onto something that’s already gone.”

Mingi’s face crumpled, his tears finally spilling over as he stared at you, helpless. “So that’s it?” he whispered, his voice breaking. You looked at him for what felt like the last time, your gaze lingering on every detail of the man you once called your everything. His mole on his left cheek, the sharp bridge of his nose, the way his crescent-shaped eyes still managed to smile even through the tears..

Your hand reached out, trembling, to settle on his cheek. He leaned into your touch without hesitation, his eyes fluttering closed as though savoring the moment. Your breath caught in your throat, a lump of sorrow and love you couldn’t swallow.

Maybe untying the fragile, fraying knot that held together your broken strings would set you both free—free to be bound to something stronger, something whole.

“I’ll miss you, Min,” you whispered, your thumb catching some of his tears, the words so soft they almost dissolved into the air, but their weight carried the entirety of your heart. Mingi’s lips parted, his gaze snapping to yours, as though he wanted to protest, to hold you there with him forever. But no words came. He simply stood, frozen, as you turned away.

He watched you walk away, each step you took feeling like it carved pieces out of him. The silence between you was deafening, each footfall heavier than the last.

The words weren’t just a goodbye—they were a love letter to the life you had shared, the dreams you had built, the memories you would carry forever. The unfair nostalgia lingered in the air between you, thick and suffocating, a reminder of what once was and what could never be.

Again.

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez atiny #xuchiya #mingi ateez #ateez song mingi #song mingi ateez #song mingi #song mingi angst #ateez mingi #mingi x reader #mingi #mingi angst #ateez angst

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hwaightme · 18 days ago

Text

In your eyes

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR CAPTAIN’S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut)

(masterlist)

📚 pairing: postgrad!bf!hongjoong x afab!gn!reader 📚 genre: smut, established relationship, so much fluff 📚 summary: time is nobody's friend, and hongjoong often finds himself wondering how much he has lost. thankfully, you always remind him of how beautiful the present and future can be, how full of love, how intimate, how true. 📚 wordcount: 4.0k 📚 warnings/tags: MINORS DNI, semi-edited (do let me know if i missed something), they are so in love, teaching assistant joong, so many pet names (love, darling, etc), he is down bad, mention of time anxiety, mild relationship worries, mention of winter holiday season, y/n is an office worker (nothing specific), mention of exams (joong grading), sort of from joong's perspective 📚 taglist: below 📚 a/n: something about academic joong makes me feel many types of ways... anyhow- hope this is enjoyable and gives warm feels <33; live laugh love joong; any notes, reblogs, comments are highly appreciated! thank you

📚nsfw tags: sub-leaning switch joong, service top energy joong, lovemaking, handjob, fingering, dry humping, praise, begging, piv w condom, missionary, mating press, overstimulation, light cuddling, implied aftercare but not described

Tired eyes. Paper after paper decorated with green ink, subsequently joining the pile that was starting to take over the dining table. The persistent glow of the laptop screen, reflected in a pair of tortoiseshell-frame glasses that kept threatening to slide down an elegant nose. While grading papers was not exactly something that Hongjoong would dream of doing during the winter holidays, it came with his job, and so was not entirely abysmal. Perhaps the only issue was that he had grossly underestimated how much time and focus this task would take. Morning rapidly turned into day, and day equally as quickly trickled into evening, leaving him without as much as a moment to spare for the things people usually occupied themselves with at this time of year. Though, perhaps it was important to note that it was not the actual festivities that he longed for and felt apologetic that he could not partake in thanks to his own decisions, but rather a certain someone.

After finishing grading yet another paper, Hongjoong set his pen aside and roughly rubbed his eyes, careful to not send his glasses flying. Only now did he notice just how dark the room had gotten, barely a sliver of light crawling in through the windows, with no thanks to the gloomy weather outside. He rose from his chair, rolling his shoulders from having been in the same position for an uncomfortable number of hours, and ambled to one of the many floor lamps that were neatly stationed around the living room, each with its own story. He picked a particularly whimsical one right in the corner, squinting when it burst to life, revealing its curious design of frosted flowers, branches, and songbirds. Reluctant feet carried him back to the chair, now turned into an instrument for torturous isolation.

“Enough, you know what, enough…” Hongjoong’s whisper cut through the eerie silence of the apartment. Pushing the rest of the papers away, he leaned back with a huff and slid his phone out of the back pocket of his trousers.

The journey to his home screen was swift, only to end in a deliberate pause as he studied it with a sorrowful smile. He was unsure as to why a pang of melancholy had taken a sudden hold on him, but seeing your happy face as you were looking at a bungeoppang neatly tucked into a tiny white bag - a precious moment from a casual date you had gone on - had him irrationally spiraling. You lived together, and yet, he missed you. He longed to hold you in his arms for longer than a few seconds before pulling away. He dreamed of staying in the same room for what could be ages, sharing the quiet atmosphere, or maybe listening to your favorite songs together. The dark winter nights were taking a toll on him, and in utter solitude, the natural tendency to ruminate reigned supreme and let his worries wander freely from his mind and straight to his fragile heart.

When Hongjoong and yourself had discussed winter vacation, the conclusion was reached without much back and forth. You were not taking any days off, and Hongjoong made the most of his time off, well, doing more work. In retrospect, it might have been a silly idea on his part, but much like how you had explained it back to him, if it meant solidifying his position by being on the good side of his supervisor and being responsible for more things as a teaching assistant, it was worth it. But now, seeing couples roaming the streets around the city whenever he commuted into university, and generally the mere notion of having only the evenings and odd parts of the weekend to spend with you started to make him sick to the stomach. Without realizing it, he had driven himself into a corner, and he wanted out.

Before he could get any further than the usual perusal of social media, he heard the muted rattling of keys, and in a matter of seconds, the front door opened, revealing a familiar form. His eyes immediately settled on you, noting how you shrugged off your messenger bag and coat, leaving them on the ottoman in the corridor rather than hanging them up—clearly, he was not the only one tired. Nonetheless, when you raised your head after having freed yourself from the confines of your dress shoes, a smile spread across your face.

“Hi Joongie,” and just like that, his heart picked up its previously lethargic pace.

“Welcome home my love,” the endearment slipped off his tongue, earning him an amused chuckle.

“Mhm, missed me?”

“Maybe a little,” he played coy, knowing full well that you could read him like an open book no matter what front he put up. He returned your gleam, keeping his undivided attention on you as you sauntered off in the opposite direction.

“I just need to change and I’ll be right back, alright?”

“Of course.”

Suddenly, the laptop and exams on the table irritated him. Hongjoong rose and tidied the papers into neater piles, shut his laptop, and arranged them all on the other side, as far away from him as possible; in his mind, should you two decide to have dinner in this room instead of the kitchen, you could sit closer to him. A win in any book. He pushed the sleeves of his shirt further up and carded his fingers through his hair, undoing a couple of unruly knots. What was he readying himself for? Maybe the answer was something beyond him, but he could not deny the warmth in his chest that grew and grew when he spotted you across the corridor once again, only now in a pair of pajama bottoms and one of the band t-shirts that he owned and you constantly borrowed.

Caught in a miniature mental disarray, he remained where he was, only slightly moving to allow for your arms to snake around his torso, and his hands to settle on your waist. Your embrace was grounding, boundless in affection, and Hongjoong gave up to the floaty sensation as he leaned in and buried his face in the crook of your neck. Surrounded by the remnants of the light, daytime perfume that you used, he found himself in paradise. He sensed a hand trail up his spine and start to toy with the longer hairs at the back of his head. This was a habit that you had only recently picked up, seeing as, for once, he was letting his hair grow longer, and he would be lying if this was not motivation for him to keep the mission going indefinitely. A warning hum erupted from somewhere deep in his chest when you lightly tugged. In a feeble attempt to mask his response to your playful caresses, he murmured:

“How was work?”

“The usual, though it was quieter now that most people are off,” Hongjoong lifted his head and was immediately dazed by the adoration pooling in your eyes. You looked at him as if he hung the stars in the sky. Inadvertently, he pulled you closer, and yet still wasn’t quite satisfied.

“How’s everything for you?”

“Been focusing on the exams today, got through most of them actually.”

“Oh look at you, my scholar,” you whispered in response, tapping Hongjoong’s nose with your own. Meekly, he smiled and attempted to look away, only to be guided right back with your steady hand that had now let go of his hair, instead resting on his jaw.

“I should be the one praising you… who closed that insane project that was initially expected to be postponed into the new year, hm?”

“That I did, indeed, but doesn’t take away from how proud I am of you,” your words were honey, trickling into his ears and coating his very soul like a soothing balm.

“And I am proud of you.”

“We did well, didn’t we, Joongie?” The nickname had him wavering, tip-toeing on the edge of rationality.

“Mhm,” his next words came on their own accord, raw, vulnerable, barely audible, “I really missed you, darling.”

“But I am here, aren’t I?”

“I’m sorry, I might be getting greedy,” his hands ghosted over your hips until one hand pushed you into him by the small of your back. You let out a gasp, but quickly regained your composure, clearly not taken aback.

“Not that I mind it… Ah, is my poor Joong lonely?” after a few seconds of silence, you continued, “you are so precious, you know that?” He loved that expression you got when you basked in the glow of knowing. Knowing just how far gone Hongjoong was for you. It was embarrassing at times to reveal and admit how pathetic he could become just to see that little smirk, even just to himself, but he did not dwell on it for the reward was far too great, “tell me what you mean, baby.”

“I-... I know we agreed to keep things busy this winter but I can’t help but want… yeah, I miss you.”

“Can’t help but want me, you mean?” you detangled his intricate web in no time. Hongjoong walked in circles, while you cut straight to the chase. Maybe this was why he did not care for much at all except for your understanding and your reciprocation. He nodded, finding solace in hiding his face in your neck once more.

“Well, baby, what’s got you so pensive? Hm? Tell me?” your voice shifted from allure to sweet concern as you checked in. Hongjoong was all the more exposed, every move less calculated than the one prior, and your infinite devotion towards him, his thoughts, his everything was making him too dizzy to stand up straight.

“I just… hm, I don’t know-”

“You do, maybe are just too shy to tell me?”

“I want to spend more time with you, just us, you know? Little dates, we don’t have to do much… but I want us to be present, ah what am I even saying-”

“You were saying something that I would love to do, Hongjoong,” you were quieter than before, more tender, “we have definitely been a little relaxed after moving in together, haven't we?”

“Mm, I wouldn’t say that-”

“I would. And that won’t do. So, how about we start now, then?”

All too delectable were the images that flashed in Hongjoong’s mind, and he felt bashful and helpless under your steady scrutiny. With your pointer finger resting under his chin, he could not do anything except stare back, a task proving to be increasingly challenging as heat rose on his cheeks. His head moved on its own accord, response shallow, almost a tremble rather than agreement.

“Words, Joongie, good boys use words.”

Oh how he craved you. His stomach coiled at your dangerous reminder. Instead of any coherent phrase, vulnerable, shallow breaths danced between you and him. Nobody was his audience except you, nobody knew him like you did, and yet the sheer weight of his infatuation with you was preventing him from saying a single thing, despite any fears being irrational. As soon as he were to say what was yelling at him in his mind, you would be satisfied, and allow him to drown in everything that you were.

“Yes…” he choked out, relieved upon detecting the beginnings of a feline grin.

“Yes what? Do elaborate.”

“Yes I- want this. I want us, I want you.”

“How?”

“I want you to do whatever you want to me,” heart hammering in his chest, he stammered.

“In that kind of mood, are you?”

“Oh please-” he wanted to disappear, shrinking back to free himself from your hand to no avail. Your chest again his, lips a mere tilt of the head away, and his senses were flooded.

“I’d love to, Joongie, I’d love to take care of you.”

Soft lips moulded perfectly with his, like freshly fallen snow. Hongjoong’s senses went into overdrive as the kiss built up into a sultry, addictive rhythm. Teeth grazed his lower lip ever so gently, and before he could react,you deepened the kiss by resting your arms on his shoulders. Immediately his hands responded by finding purchase on your lower back. He was grateful that your mouth muffled the whine bubbling in his throat as you purposefully shifted your body into his. But somehow, it was still not enough.

“Mh- sorry-” Parting for air was simply an excuse for Hongjoong to fish for his glasses with a trembling hand and set them down on the nearest surface. Apparently, it was not a distraction to you in the slightest.

Your onslaught continued past his plush, reddened lips and across his jaw, ending on a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. He jolted, but when you chased him to nip at the same place again he took no time in giving you better access. You moved again, leaving quick pecks on his lips and pressing your forehead against his. In the breathless euphoria any chances to overthink had disappeared, and he allowed himself to let go, to be completely yours. He was willingly leaving himself to be at your mercy, knowing that he was going to be safe, going to be adored. In a flurry of emotion, he bared his soul.

“I love you,” he did not notice the shakiness in his own hands until you raced to clasp them with your own.

“I love you too, Joongie.”

It took one step for him to start following you to the bedroom. You appeared as the very notion of calm, guiding Hongjoong. You let go of one of his hands to switch on a bedside lamp, making haste to return your attention to him. He melted under your touch, half-lidded eyes following how your swift fingers undid the buttons of his shirt. You treated him like he was priceless porcelain, a touch here, another there, skillfully ghosting over the places you know, from experience, would send him reeling and falling to your feet. But it was obvious that this was not the night for such a progression. Tonight was about connecting beyond the physical, about exploring intimacy as more than just some flimsy term.

As soon as you gave the sign, Hongjoong shrugged off his top, shivering momentarily until your hands were back, roaming his chest and waist freely. Enthralled, he mumbled your name. His eyes roamed ceaselessly as you got undressed, standing proudly before him, almost fully bare, beautiful. While you had told him you changed, evidently that included a conscious decision to dress up in the most enticing lingerie - he thought it was impossible to keep falling in love like this, but he kept on proving himself wrong whenever you were with him. Even though he had seen you like this many times over, every time left him wondering how he could possibly have found someone so lovely. Words escaped him.

“Leaving me alone like this?” you asked, a smirk etching itself into your features. You did not need to ask Hongjoong twice for him to clumsily begin undoing his trousers and settle on the edge of the bed, face flushed.

“So precious, so good to me,” you cooed, carding your fingers through his wavy locks.

When you straddled his lap and inched dangerously close to his boxers, Hongjoong swore his head was spinning. Prompted by another gentle tug at his hair, he kissed the soft skin of your breasts, one hand making quick work out of undoing your bra while the other played with the lacy fabric.

He followed your sighs, your sharp inhales and exhales, the sounds you bit back and he would tirelessly do anything to hear. His teeth grazed you ever so lightly as he travelled from one breast to another, a trail of kisses remaining anywhere he went. You grinded your hips into his with more purpose, feeling that delicious heat starting to rise in your core. Hongjoong responded with a flick of his tongue on your nipple, humming when he could finally rid you of pesky material, leaving him with every chance to show his love for you. Fingers stimulated the one he had shifted away from, while his other hand returned to its rightful place on your lower back.

It was as though a fire had enveloped him. There was not enough space, not enough air, and yet his only wish was to be so close to you that he could simply disappear. He was painfully aware of his hardening length, the continuous friction leaving him with half a mind to start begging. For what? Perhaps, for anything. Anything that you would give. You pulled yourself even closer, now sat directly on top of the growing wetness on his boxers, putting all the more effort into your hips. Airy mewls spilled from his lips, and he lunged to hold you, hands on your ass encouraging you to continue to untangle him at this agonising pace.

It was a game of lips, tongue and teeth. You returned to kissing him, foregoing whatever stability you tried to contain to completely sink into his form. Taken as he was by you, Hongjoong tried his best to keep up, lewd, slick noise that echoed in his ears only spurring him on.

Your limbs were cotton, thoughts preoccupied by a carnal want. Palming his erection, you smiled against Hongjoong’s lips when he moaned.

“How’s that baby, hm?”

“Don’t stop-”

“Want more? Is that right?” feverish nods, resulting in you pulling at the elastic of his boxers, “Off,” you sat up a little to help him, balancing with your knees on the bed as he shimmied the fabric off just enough for you to push it further down to his ankles, “so pretty.”

You covered your palm in his dripping pre-cum and smoothed it down his length in a couple of skilled pumps, amused by Hongjoong’s adamance to be obedient, pursing his lips to remind himself that he shouldn’t buck into you. His gaze was fixated on your caresses, just enough to drive him mad, but not enough to take him over the edge, only ever wavering to glance at your still-clothed pussy. Judging by your momentary spell of quiet, you were trying to focus on him at the expense of your own desires.

With another groan, Hongjoong slipped your panties to the side, calloused fingers immediately being coated in slick. Rhythmic circles over your clit turned to music to his ears as you mewled, leaning forward to find his shoulder, biting it ever so slightly. With every breathy moan his body kept on screaming for you, your warmth unbearably inviting. When he dipped two fingers into your core your movements faltered and you squeezed around his base in warning. He could lose himself then and there, sheer power of will leaving him one thread to hang by.

“Baby, can I please-”

“Say it, Joong,”

“Can we take it to the end? Please, please I-”

“If we don’t I’d be upset. I, want, you, so, bad-” you punctuated your response with pecks across his face, an ecstatic grin meeting his own.

You and him were a mess of limbs and pleasure falling onto the bed, him helping you over and pulling the panties completely off, humming at the sight. He was eager to please, ensuring you were comfortable with how you were lying down. Adjusting the pillows, placing one under your hips to avoid any strain, checking that you would not hit the headboard, stretching towards the drawer to take out a condom, speedily tearing the packaging and rolling it on. You watched him, enamoured. Beauty, inside and out, ethereal in the honey-coloured light.

He positioned himself at your entrance, gliding his tip a couple of times over your sensitive clit before pushing in. You sighed, head falling back at the relieving fullness. Your walls clenched around him as he bottomed out, making him let out a low growl. He shifted his weight forwards until his arms were on either side of you and he could indulge in your every expression.

It was a delightful stretch. Your every sense was filled by him, and only him. Then, he began to move. He started agonisingly slow, pulling out almost his entire length only to drive it back in, punctuated by the sound of skin against skin. He dragged his hips almost lazily, but you knew better than to assume that this was going to continue for much longer, given his shallow breathing.

Hiis thrusts became more accentuated, faster within a few minutes, and you searched for anything that you could hold, all too quickly losing yourself. In a feeble attempt to reach for him you lifted your arms upwards. More often than not you did not need to explain to Hongjoong what it was you wanted - he read you and understood, just like now. With a strained chuckle he edged forwards until he was close enough for you to wrap your arms around his neck. The feeling of your digits back in his hair had him biting his lower lip, barely containing his building high.

A particularly deep thrust made you tug at strands, and he moaned, rolling his hips with newfound vigour. Every time you clenched around him he became more frantic. The glide against your walls was perfection, the familiar coil tightening at a frightening speed towards a crashing release. Your arms collapsed when Hongjoong cursed under his breath, tapping your thighs to angle them upwards. You shifted upwards, legs barely wrapped around him as the new position gave him even more depth and freedom to pound into you.

The wetness embracing him was downright vulgar, noise enhancing the redness of his cheeks. You tensed around him, previously quiet pants transforming into a mantra of his name. He gripped your thighs in a last attempt to remain grounded, but as waves of your climax took over you and you pulsed around his cock, limbs trembling, all he could do was give in. Give into you, give into white hot euphoria. You were soaking him, he was rapidly getting overstimulated but he could not careless, remaining exactly where he was even though his muscles were screaming.

He was completely spent. Nothing but adoration towards you remained. He winced as he pulled out and hastily took off the condom, far too sensitive to function. Falling to your side, he watched the rise and fall of your chest, entranced by how even the smallest details that you possessed had their own brilliance. After a few moments you shifted, pushing the pillow from underneath you and turning to the side, facing Hongjoong. Your sleepy, but totally mesmerised gaze made his heart hurt. You. It was you who he loved, you who he lived with, you with whom he could make love like this.

“Hi,” you whispered with a giggle.

“Hi,” he brushed your cheek and kissed you again. You lifted your arm, suggesting that he were to move closer to you. Much to his dismay, a surge of stimulation pulsed through him, making him gasp. Thankfully, you took it with good humour, eyes travelling down his body, seductive even in the afterglow.

“I am not sure I should move just yet,” he suggested with a chuckle, astonished with himself.

“Hm… then let me get us all cleaned up and I-”

“-you are not moving either,” powering through, Hongjoong stretched his arm until it was lying across your torso. There was no force behind the action itself, except maybe in his pouting lips that you could not help but want to kiss again and again. You chuckled and feigned annoyed acceptance.

“Fine, I guess we can stay.”

“Love you.”

“Love you more,” you countered.

“Impossible.”

You shifted closer until all you could see was Hongjoong’s face, and all he could see was yours. And yet, somehow, in each other’s eyes, you could see the world. Those plans you mentioned, those worries, those wishes, those desires all collected in miniature universes of the soul, reflections and projections of a life lived and to be lived together. Dreamy eyes.

📚perma-taglist: @charreddonuts @preciouswoozi @http-gyu @my-loves-my-life @yeonjunnie @wooyoungjpg @wowie-hockey @ren-junwrld @hongjoongs-patience @miriamxsworld @innsomniacshinestar @jaehunnyy @maddkitt @marsstarxhwa @asjkdk @northerngalxy

enjoyed? i would love to hear from you, it means the universe to me. thank you.

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kingkat12 · 1 month ago

Text

fuck-me eyes and first times (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, loss of virginity, inexperienced sex?, oral sex (female receiving), mutual masturbation, awkward real moments lol, dry-humping, use of contraceptives, drunk driving, Roman using his powers for good?, blood, FLUFF, a dash of angst

summary: you've been unlucky with your first times all your life-- but tonight, you're sleeping with the equivalent of your shooting star.

word count: 12,140 (i love you guys, do u see)

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11

a/n: FINALLY THEY’RE FUCKING ISTG?? tihiii this is a bit of a different chapter!! i'm dead tired of reading smut where everything goes perfectly the first time and they barely communicate, so hopefully this will be a bit more realistic (hopefully!!) sorry for the wait, and hope you enjoy!!!!!!;)

The first time I broke a bone, I kicked my foot into the wall in a fit of rage.

The first time I got an A on a test, I cheated by writing the answers under my skirt.

And the first time I lost a friend? That was the story of how I got here in the first place.

To say my track record for first times was bad, was an understatement. I didn't see myself as an angel of the world. However, as I glanced to the side for a brief moment at an intersection, I looked directly at the man who'd often joke he was the devil. Roman had spread out in the passenger seat, still a little drunk as his long legs rested against the dashboard. It didn't matter how many times I told him to take them down, that if I were to crash his car he'd fold in two and die-- he didn't care.

We were still a little intoxicated from the party, but I was in a better condition than him, which was why I was driving; something he'd never let me do if he wasn't in this state. Roman's head lolled back against his seat, his eyes closing as he hummed along to the music. Space Song by Beach House was always my favorite song to drive to at night, and I was glad he seemed to like it as well.

The first time I heard this song, I had been driving home after getting introduced to Letha at a party. I was over the moon, happy to have finally found a person in this wretched town that I could enjoy the company of. I had been so dreadfully bored of all the others.

Letha was a good hugger. A good listener-- never scared to tell the truth, especially as we grew closer.

"Roman is my baby cousin, I love him to death, but damn he can be annoying," she had said, smiling at me as she leaned against the kitchen counter. "The amount of friends I have lost to him is just crazy. Every single one seems to fall over like dominoes whenever he's around, and honestly? I don't get it. Maybe it's because we're related and all, but there has to be a fucking limit to how many times something like this can happen? How many times can he sleep with my friends and get away with it? Him doing that is the same as me sleeping with Peter, it's just not okay! I would never fucking do that! This situation is becoming hysterical, to be honest."

I remember frowning-- "Hysterical?"

"Yeah... If I wasn't so pissed at him, I'd just laugh at the absurdity," Letha's green eyes remained kind despite the heaviness of the topic. "But at the end of the day, I'm glad I get to keep you to myself. My previous friends were nothing compared to you."

Letha's words were sweet, but something felt off. I smiled as I spoke, hoping to keep my query a light one; "What do you mean, keep me to yourself? Gonna chain me up, Letha?" I gave her shoulder a nudge as she laughed.

"Not like that, you freak! I mean that Roman doesn't seem interested in you at all, so I feel safe that you'll stay. And if he were to be, you'd never do anything like that to me," She put away her empty can of beer, and something in her eyes shifted just a smidge-- I wouldn't have caught it if my senses hadn't been sharpened by the mention of his lack of interest in me.

"... Right?" Letha asked, urging a response. It seemed to dawn on her that she sounded on the brink of bitterness, and she broke out into an even wider smile to compensate; "You don't seem like the type to sleep with my cousin, but maybe I'm wrong?"

"Never," was what I had answered that night.

Never... Gosh, I was delusional to think I could behave.

Once again, I glanced at Roman at the next red light, watching the way one strand of hair strayed from his stylings and laid in a soft wave over his forehead. He opened his big, green eyes, smirking as he realized he was being watched-- "Eyes on the road,"

It was embarrassing how fast I blushed. I quickly nodded, gripping the steering wheel harder as I fixated on the red light above us. "Was it the next intersection I needed to get off on?" I asked, hoping not to linger on the subject of my peeking. "Could you maybe turn on the GPS on my phone just in case you fall asleep?"

"I'm not sleeping," Roman prompted, holding out his hand to take my phone.

As I reached for it in my back pocket, I felt it vibrate as the lights turned green. I gave Roman my phone, in a rush to not miss the light even though we were the only ones on the highway. "Who's calling?"

Roman didn't answer me-- I pieced together who it was when he started greeting my mom.

Oh no.

I freed one hand from the steering wheel, trying to get a hold of my phone as Roman quietly laughed at my attempt. I didn't succeed; "Yeah, she's here," he said, grinning as he motioned for me to keep driving. "I hoped to have her stay over at my place tonight, as my mother is desperate to meet your lovely daughter."

I rolled my eyes, mouthing a simple fuck you. Roman had to bite down on his lip to suppress a laugh-- we both knew his mom was out of town and that his intentions were far from anything as pure as to introduce me to her.

My mom seemed flustered by his pleasantries on the other side of the phone, but I couldn't make out the specifics of what she was saying. It didn't sound like she was objecting, though.

Roman nodded along as he turned down the music on the stereo and (finally) removed his legs off the dashboard. "No, of course, I wouldn't dream of giving your daughter any alcohol! Yes-- Yes, we were at a party just now, but we're both sober as rocks!" He glanced at me, mischief dancing in the green of his eyes.

The look on his face now was priceless. Although he was lying to my mom right up her face (her ear?), he still looked damn charming as always.

"Uh-huh..." Roman mumbled, now reciting his phone number at her request. "We'll probably be up having dinner, so you can call me anytime if you have any questions!-- Yes, I know it's late to have dinner, but my mother is European like that. Your daughter is in good hands, don't worry!"

I rolled my eyes once more, knowing how fond my mom was of him and how easily she'd eat all of this up. When Roman finally got off the call, he broke out into a string of laughter-- "Your mom is so damn sweet, but I can tell she's terrified we'll have sex. It seems you've taken after her,"

"I'm not terrified!" I whined, turning left to get off the highway.

He snorted; "I was two seconds away from telling her I have a stash of condoms, and that she shouldn't worry about having to take care of a mini-me when you leave for college,"

I did my best not to blush-- this conversation was getting more and more suggestive. "Shut up," I mumbled. "I'm not terrified."

Roman's eyes softened as he sat back in his seat and watched me drive his car. I knew I was giving away my true feelings regarding the matter with the way I was anxiously tapping my fingers against the steering wheel. I continued; "I just had you locked in a closet trying to convince you I'm not. It's not that big of a deal,"

"Relax, I'm just teasing you," Roman ran his fingers through his hair, gazing into the rearview mirror to check how messed up it had gotten. His red car had an open roof, after all. He sighed, trying to choose his next words wisely. "Not a big deal, you say?"

"Well..." I was unsure whether to be honest or not.

Roman nodded, looking out at all the trees passing us by. His silence was unnerving, and I turned up the music to tune it out. I couldn't stand this. Something in him switched; Maybe he was upset that I said it wasn't a big deal? Or maybe he was realizing it was a big deal to him? I needed to change the subject; "This is the right direction, no? I feel like I'm just driving deeper into the forest--"

"I've never told you this, but after the first time we kissed, I kept having the same dream where never left the seven minutes in heaven closet," Roman placed his head in the palm of his hand as he leaned his elbow against the car door, sighing. "Over and over, every night. Nearly drove me mad. And in the dream, there were no seven minutes, no time limit. So it was just you and I, and we were going at it like fucking crazy."

I held my breath, my eyes widening further with every sentence. What? Was he drunk-rambling or was this something else?

Roman sighed again, attempting to relax as he closed his eyes and stilled in his seat. Like this, I could nearly mistake him for being asleep. "It all started with me wanting to fuck you," he mumbled. "But every night, at the end of the dream, I got greedy... Because suddenly, I also wanted you to love me."

Had I not been good at keeping calm, I would've probably crashed the car into the nearest tree. I didn't get much time to process, to feel the weight of his confession, until Roman snapped out of it like a character taken straight out of an animation, now sitting up; "Turn here,"

I drove up to a huge gate, stopping the car as I tried to steady my breathing. "Roman--"

"Two seconds," he said, getting out of the car to walk up to the intercom. He was as good as normal now.

I was left still gripping the steering wheel for dear life, my mouth opening and closing as I tried to find the right words. I watched as Roman typed in a code, and the massive gate slowly opened as he jumped back into the car.

My breath was still held in my chest as I turned to him, eyes wider than plates of expensive china.

Roman glanced back at me with an innocent smile; the mood had completely switched. "Breathe," he cooed, reaching forward to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "It's just a mansion." With a sharp intake of air, he glanced at the backseat and the crumbled-up hot pink crop top we had brought with us (stolen, actually) from the party-- "A mansion with a possibility to put that anomaly in the fucking laundry."

I turned towards it as well, returning to my mind at the sight of the obnoxious colour of the top-- Knowing I had made him cum into the fabric of it merely an hour ago still felt like a triumph.

... Was it maybe my turn, now?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

And he was right-- this was an absolute castle of a house. I had suppressed the truth about Roman's wealth for as long as I could, not wanting to think about it in case my mind went haywire about it, but now it was smacking me in the face.

Still, Roman's hand on the small of my back was a comfort as he led me through the mansion on the most impromptu show-around I've ever witnessed. "This is the room where I learned how to shoot darts," he mumbled, pointing at the small dents in the wall. "I didn't know the darts were actually stuck to the wall and not the printed dartboard I hung up..." He bent down, picking up the painting his mother had hung up to cover the indents.

I couldn't help but laugh, clinging to his arm as we moved from room to room. The mansion was gothic, vampy, but that might've just been my imagination playing with me. The tall ceilings were intimidating, yet beautiful-- judging by my surroundings, there was no denying that everything around me cost a fortune.

I was yanked out of my trail of thoughts when Roman led me behind a red curtain by one of the big windows in the next room, and I giggled as he wrapped it around us. My back was pressed against the wall, engulfed by both the curtain and Roman's embrace; "This is where I learned how to French," he whispered, smiling as he pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. "And it was horrible. She fucking bit me and I squealed like a girl."

If Roman was trying to distract me from what he had said in the car, he was certainly doing a good job. The mental image of his first French kiss kept me beyond entertained, and we both continued laughing as he got us out of the wrap of the curtain.

However, it was the walk up the circular stairs that truly made it dawn on me who I was dating-- Roman Godfrey, the future heir to a billion-dollar company. Fuck. I stared up at the painting above us, the one of him and his mother posing with a rather regal-looking background. He couldn't have been more than fourteen in that picture, and I could see his classic intimidating stare through the painting and the way he clutched the chair his mother was posed on. It was clear that the boy in the painting didn't want to be there at all.

Roman turned, realizing what I was looking at; "I fucking hate that one," he grumbled, giving my hand a squeeze. "I refused to smile at that age. I look like I'm on the brink of killing myself."

"Not true," I squeezed his hand back. "Give yourself some grace. How old were you?"

"Fourteen,"

There you go. "Judging by the painting, I think we could've been friends at fourteen,"

Roman stopped in the middle of the curved stairway, his brows drawing together. "How so?"

I shrugged, trying not to focus on how much taller he was than me. If I thought about it for too long, I'd jump him. "Because I wore all black for about a year. If you refused to smile, and I refused to show any joy, I think we would've been a killer duo,"

Roman blinked twice before cracking into a chuckle. "That's unexpected,"

"Bet,"

"You're all... cute and bubbly now,"

"You think?" I wasn't sure how much I agreed. "The girl that's fucking around with her ex-best friend's cousin?"

Roman had to bite down another laugh. "What do you mean, fucking around? I haven't as much as touched you compared to how I could've,"

Oh.

Oh God.

I held back a shiver, staring up at him as he resumed leading me up the stairs. "But... you have touched me,"

"Sure," Roman proceeded to get a proper look at me in the darkness of the night when we reached the second floor. The green around his widened pupils practically shone-- it was impressively cat-like. "Impossible not to, with those fuck-me eyes of yours."

"Hey!" I wasn't sure why I was protesting, but I knew his snicker egged me on. "I don't have... that!"

I could see that Roman was on the brink of cooing at me, and he sucked in a sharp breath as he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. I hadn't seen him this amused in a while. "Right," he purred. "You don't. Not a trace at all." With a short kiss on my forehead, he moved away from me and started walking down the dark corridor. "Keep those fuck-me eyes in the hallway, and I might let you sleep tonight."

I sighed before gearing up into a walking sprint to catch up with his long strides-- If only he knew that sleep was the last thing on my mind.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

When we finally reached Roman's bedroom, I couldn't believe the size of it. My room was nothing in comparison. I had certainly not expected the posters-- there were many rare classic horror films and some bands I was sure his mom probably loathed. However, I was surprised by the lack of half-naked models on his walls which I had always imagined; I let out a short, relieved breath. "Your room is nice,"

Roman hummed, throwing his jacket on a chair nearby. "Not too boyish for you?"

"Nah," I mumbled, walking up to the posters on the opposite wall. There were a lot of movies I hadn't seen yet-- still, I couldn't help but laugh a little when I saw The Godfather. "It's very you."

"How great that you like me, then,"

"Lucky for you, yeah," There was something about this room that I couldn't help but love-- this was where Roman woke up and fell asleep. This was where he probably spent most of his time. I wondered whether the pillows smelled of his going-out cologne or the lighter one he usually wore to school. I wondered whether he'd been caught smoking in here, whether he'd done coke with Peter on his desk, and how many girls he'd had up here. By the likes of it, I somehow doubted anything like that ever happened at his place. If he had waited this long to have me over, I decided it was highly unlikely he'd invite someone he didn't know very well.

I clasped my hands behind my back, taking long strides as I scanned the many posters on his walls.

Roman sat down on the chair by his desk, spreading out as he watched me with a smirk. "Not what you expected?"

I turned to him, my brows drawing together; "Why? Are you nervous or something?"

"I'm not nervous," Roman huffed, folding his arms over his chest. Now that I was looking straight at him, it was clear that he was. "I'm simply asking."

A knowing smile crept up my cheeks-- it felt like I had the upper hand, for once. "You're nervous,"

"Am not!"

"And now you're fidgeting,"

I was correct; Roman's right leg had given into a slight bounce. He rolled his eyes, muttering curse words under his breath. "It's not every day that I have girls up here, okay? I'm never here, stuff always happens at someone else's-- well, now your room. Because this is, like... my lair,"

I had to bite back an amused smirk; "Your evil lair?"

"Bingo. This is where I dissect people and stuff," He pointed to the table next to him. "So... yeah. Your opinion matters to me, I guess."

"Oh, does it now?"

"On some things, sure,"

I nodded, focusing on how the moonlight was dipping into the dark brown of Roman's hair. He didn't have to be so pretty all the time, did he? How rude. "Such as...?"

With a shrug, Roman now gazed at the tall ceiling. Like this, he almost looked bored. "Your opinion of me is the one that comes to mind, I guess,"

"My opinion of... you?" That was new.

Roman met my eyes again, this time with a new emotion-- his head was slightly tilted to the side, and he was looking at me through his brows. I had a feeling he didn't intend the look to be as intimidating as it was. "It fluctuates,"

"My opinion?"

"Yep," he said. "Some days, you look at me like I'm everything. And then, the next day, I'm the biggest asshole in the world."

My lips drew together in a tight line-- this was unexpected. "And here I thought I was the only consistent thing in your life," I mumbled. "I don't know, Rome, every couple has its ups and downs, no? But I don't want them to make you doubt what I feel for you. Because... you know, right?" I started taking wary steps across the room. "You know I adore you, there is no way you've managed to miss that?"

With a sigh, Roman sat back in his chair with a smile. "Sure, I know that," he murmured, watching my every step with anticipation. "And I bet that tree you carved our initials into can attest."

Goddamn it. "You're never going to let go of that, are you?"

As I finally approached him, Roman led me between his legs with a gentle hold around my waist. "Nope," He pressed his lips against my clothed chest, his fingers slowly digging into my top. My arms draped around his neck, and my next words were muffled against his hair; he reeked of his usual cinnamon-flavored cigarettes-- "But sure, if the tree ever starts talking, it will agree. You know I'm crazy about you,"

"Crazy is the keyword here,"

"Oh, shut up," I muttered, pulling away to get a proper look at him. Roman was so damn beautiful-- I had missed the sight of him in the past twenty-four hours I had been unsure of the state of our relationship. "I still can't believe you thought I was going to break up with you... Do you know how shitty you would have to be to drive me to that point?"

Roman pulled me back in again, enjoying the scent of my perfume with his next deep inhale; he pressed a short kiss to my neck. "Let me be paranoid," The next kiss lingered for longer, the warm exhale through his nose grazing my skin.

"But I don't want you to be," I tried. "I don't ever want you to doubt us like that. Never, ever again."

Roman stilled. With a sigh, he spoke; "Okay... but that's where you step into what people in my family call a deathtrap," He motioned for me to sit down in his lap, and with wary movements, I draped my arms around his neck and sat down, allowing him to place a sweet kiss to my cheek. "Deathtrap?" I echoed.

"Deathtrap," Roman shifted, placing one arm around my waist as his free hand traced small circles into my thighs. "Otherwise known as... hope." And just like that, it was as though his mind went elsewhere, as though something in his eyes shifted.

However, I'd had enough of that-- I wasn't having any of it tonight. Knowing Roman saw hope as a deathtrap made my heart burn. Wary of not being too abrupt, I slowly placed a finger underneath his chin, catching his attention. "If you don't want to harbor any hope of your own, I'll lend you mine," I whispered, gently nudging his nose with mine.

Roman's pupils dilated as his hot breath fanned against my upper lip. I could smell the beer on him, the cigarettes, yet the most prevalent was the anxiety-- it brushed upon my skin, and caressed my heart. "All of it, Roman," My hand went back into his hair, stroking through the softness of his locks. "All my hope, all my love... it's all yours to borrow. To keep, to mold, to steal, to hold, for as long as you like. It's not a trap of any kind. You're safe with me."

That was all it took, and so he gave in; with the smallest of sighs, Roman closed his eyes, relishing in the moment. "You make me feel... you make me feel," he echoed, almost in disbelief. "It's a painful thing, is it not?"

I dared to let my hand brush down the side of his face, my thumb gently ghosting over his closed lid to feel the softness of his lashes against the pad of my finger. "It doesn't have to be. It could feel really, really good,"

Roman let out a shaky breath against me; "I want that for you," he said, opening his eyes. The green in his eyes shone in the white shimmer of the moonlight, illuminating the intent in his words. "Want to make you feel good... in every way possible."

Something about the drop in his voice nearly made me shiver-- I couldn't allow myself to, not in his lap. It took a few seconds for me to notice that I was holding my breath, staring back at him with a look on my face which I hoped didn't give away too much. Maybe I had misinterpreted his words? Maybe Roman meant that in a romantic way?

However, with the following upward curve of the corners of his mouth, so small I could barely notice it, I knew my intuition had been right. Roman definitely meant that in a different way.

... I needed to listen to my intuition more, didn't I?

Roman's hand on my thigh lifted, now removing the vial of blood around my neck to place it on the table nearby; he proceeded to put his palm against my cheek with the gentlest touch, softly caressing my skin with his thumb. This was when it dawned on me that we were alone. Completely alone. Possibly for the first time ever. No interruptions, with no one to hear anything. Had this been a month ago, that fact alone would've been enough to make me jump off his lap, and I would've probably paced up and down along his room with nervous steps to soothe my anxiety. Being alone with him meant that I wouldn't be able to contain my need for him, I was sure of it.

But now? I believed Roman could do that for me. Soothe me. He could calm me down like no other. Now, I knew he wouldn't run off after getting what he wanted-- because now, I knew that what he truly wanted was me.

"Could you let me do that?" Roman breathed, the green of his eyes finding my lips. I was confused as to how I hadn't melted into his lap already. "Make you feel good?" He leaned forward, just a few inches, now brushing the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip, transfixed. "Or... are you sure you want to do this? Have your first time with someone like me?"

There was something about the fact that he was even asking-- the old Roman would never. "Who else would I have my first time with? It's always been you," My lips parted in a soundless intake of breath, my gaze darting to his plush, pink lips. Like this, I could almost feel them against me; we had kissed so many times that my body remembered the sweet push of his lips simply by gazing at them. Still, I was afraid it would never be enough, and every kiss was as thrilling as the first one. "Just being with you like this feels good already."

Roman hummed, absentminded. "Not what I'm getting at,"

"I know," I breathed. "But I can't help but worry that--" I had to clear my throat, swallowing. Why was I getting so damn nervous? It was getting harder to breathe, and I was sure my cheeks were flushing. "Well... That I won't know what to do."

With a sigh, Roman bit down on his lip to hold back a laugh. "It's your first time, you won't have to do much," Despite his lids hanging heavy over his darkening eyes, I could see the want building in him. "I'll take the lead, okay? You just relax." He steadied me with his palm over my cheek before leaning forward-- my body hitched with caution as he brushed his lips across mine, slanted, until I allowed myself to give in.

The soft pillow of Roman's lips was the sweetest pressure I had ever known. I could feel my blood heat with the intent of the kiss, and I suddenly got the urge to cross my legs to calm myself down-- I knew I couldn't. Roman's breath fell softly against my cheek as my hands went up into his hair, tugging gently at the tips of his dark locks as I kissed him back with my lips slightly parted, moving against his as though he was whispering me a question.

Maybe I didn't hear it-- maybe it was a warning? Had he actually whispered something, or was I imagining things? Because with the next second, Roman hooked his arm under my knees, lifting me off the chair as I yelped into the kiss. It didn't take long before I eased, telling myself he had lifted me many times before, and that he would never drop me. Never, ever. Roman smiled against my lips, humming just slightly as he carried me bridal-style across the room. It felt silly, cliché, until it dawned on me-- was he playing the cliché out for me? Was this what he perhaps imagined I wanted, something pure, something classically virginal?

In the few seconds our kiss was broken, Roman placed me down on the bed and watched as I giggled; it was impossible not to laugh as the recoil of the springs threatened to bounce me up in the air again. He tsked, now grinning as he made space between my legs, drawing me closer before he kissed me once more. It was bolder this time, pressing the soft fullness of his mouth against mine-- there was nowhere else for me to go but to him.

My hands wove into Roman's hair again, pulling him closer as my heart thumped hard in my chest. Was this really happening? Or was this maybe something I was imagining, maybe the alcohol hadn't left my system yet? "Rome--"

Before I could continue, his lips were on mine again like a magnet, drawing us together, unable to separate the magnetic forces long enough to let me speak. It was confirmed; he was definitely here. This was real. There was an urgency to Roman's stubborn kisses-- you're mine, just accept it. Being kissed into submission was something I had never imagined was possible, yet here I was, my lips parting with a soft whimper, feeling his tongue against mine; it filled me with a complete and utter satisfaction, a final statement.

I wanted him to devour me. As I coiled my fingers around Roman's dark hair, tugging him closer, I so desperately wanted only that. To melt into him, to become one-- was that maybe the core concept of sex which I had misunderstood all up until this exact moment? Just the thought of being connected with Roman like that, knowing he could possibly be inside me-- that thought had never evoked the physical reaction in me before as it did now.

Well, fuck. I realized I was screwed before it had even happened.

Sucking in a sharp breath, the silk of Roman's expensive duvets kept me grounded as he softly groaned into my mouth. His tongue circled mine before gently sucking the tip of it into his mouth, and he listened to my whimpers as he withdrew shortly after, a lone string of saliva still linking us. I was unsure why I was left so speechless, why every little thing he did made me feel like my body was on fire, but I knew there was no rationality in need. The innate need ravaging through your veins. There was no way to make sense of it, and I was certain Roman was aware of that too. Yet suddenly, he was near-motionless, blinking twice as if he was a little lost on what to do, which I immediately thought was odd--

Oh. There it was. I was wondering when that would happen.

So... Roman wasn't lost. Far from it. Flustered might be a better word-- I felt his erection poke into my stomach, and it made me realize how big his pupils had gotten. That was quick. "Uh... Surprise?" He awkwardly cleared his throat as his green eyes nearly devoured me whole. "Fuck it, there's one thing I want to do before we go on. It'll take a second."

I held my breath-- with Roman, that could mean anything. "... Okay?"

"Don't look so scared," he teased, getting off the bed and walking to his nightstand. In my head, I wondered whether he was grabbing condoms, or whether he was about to impose something kinky on me. I was ready to start my rehearsed lecture on going slow with me, that it was my first time and everything, until my mind blanked at the sight of a... candle?

Roman got a lighter nearby, looking back at me with a trying smile. "You once said that me and sweet don't go together," he explained, lighting the candle. "On our first date, I believe, if we can call it that. The blackmail part of it was probably not ideal, but it counts in my head. Anyway, I thought you might be right about the sweet part... but it doesn't mean I shouldn't try to be."

I was afraid I'd melt much, much faster than that candle. "Don't tell me you went out and bought that candle just for this?"

Roman shrugged, hoping to brush it off. "Well... I was determined to prove you wrong. And I had a candle for my first time, and I guess it eased me a little. But, uh... I think this is actually a funeral candle,"

"I see," I had to contain a laugh. Sitting up, I reached for his fingers as I longed to touch him again; "Well, no one's dead yet, but the night is still young."

Unable to hold it, Roman snorted, placing the lighter back on the nightstand before he interlocked our fingers. "I'm never doing anything like this again, so I suggest you cherish it,"

"What? But now I'm growing fond of the funeral candle, you're breaking my heart!"

Roman rolled his eyes, sinking down on the bed again, and he brought our intertwined fingers above my head. "If that's what I need to do to get you in my bed, I'll buy the whole fucking candle company,"

There was something exciting about the fact that Roman genuinely could. It wasn't just an empty threat. If he got high enough one night, I was sure he'd know who to call. I was surprised to feel he was still hard now that his erection was pressed up against me once more, but I didn't get much time to think about it-- Roman freed one of his hands, and he managed to make his way under my top as he kissed me once more.

My breath hitched against the soft push of his lips as it hit me that I might have to get fully naked for this. Fuck. Okay. Yet my anxiety eased at the thought of him being fully naked too-- I found my hips keening up against him, my need for friction growing with my arousal.

Roman smiled into the kiss; it was a ravenous feeling. "Impatient?" he asked, barely leaving my lips.

"Yeah," It was merely a breath-- I felt his hand ghost over my bra, slowly tracing the hem. I could barely think, too excited to function anymore.

"No need," Roman pulled away, letting go of the remaining hand above my head as his fingers now toyed with the edge of my top. "We have all the time in the world."

His tone was enough to bring scarlet to my cheeks, but I nodded, swallowing when he bunched the fabric up in his hands and lifted it up and off of me. I raised my arms, pouting just slightly at the loss of contact-- who would've thought I'd get more drunk from kissing Roman than the beer Peter gave me earlier?

With a sigh, Roman's eyes consumed me; the smirk with which he looked down at me only made me more flustered. "Rome," I whined, reaching my hands out for him. "Stop that, get back here. This isn't anything new." That was true-- me in my bra wasn't a sight he hadn't seen before.

Roman tsked, sending me a stern look. "You're disturbing my thought process,"

"Your thought process?--"

"Yep," he said, shrugging. "I'm just thinking about how I want to cum right..." Roman trailed a line across my lower abdomen with his finger, using a touch so light it immediately made me squirm. "... here."

The squirming quickly turned into a small shiver, and my hands went straight to my face as my blush deepened.

There was a change in Roman which was noticeable by the way he lost his smile, lost in whatever images he had in his head as he now leaned back down, pressing eager kisses to the apex of my collarbones. His lips trailed down my body, his fingers digging into the sides of my waist-- his mind was gone. I tugged at his hair as he inched further away, and I whimpered at the sensation of his tongue tracing a circle around my belly button. I never expected myself to like anything like that, but damn-- heaven. This was heaven.

I was reminded of how much bigger Roman was than me when I was suddenly yanked to the edge of the bed, and I could only yelp as I did nothing to fight it. His hands trailed down the sides of my hips, now hooking his fingers around my panties, not yet taking them off-- instead, he was kissing me through my soaked underwear, humming.

Christ, this was something I could get used to. I managed to register the fact that he wasn't on the bed anymore, and I propped myself up on my elbows with the last remaining power I had to confirm my suspicions. Roman stopped for a moment, pulling away to glance right back at me; "What?"

"You're... kneeling,"

"... Yeah?"

It didn't register in my head. "You don't kneel for anyone," The Roman Godfrey didn't get on his knees for anyone in the world. In my mind, he thought the world should be kneeling to him, and that he would never stoop so low.

However, the look he gave me in return told me everything I needed to know. Come on, now. Roman pulled my underwear off as he spoke, peeling it down my thighs; "I kneel for you," To him, that was as simple as a fact. The most logical thing in the history of the universe. He didn't even seem to deem the subject worthy of a further conversation, now grabbing my hips to bring me even closer to the edge of the bed as I let out a small squeak. Roman led my legs to hang over his broad shoulders as he leaned forward, rings of desire around his eyes as he licked a broad, flat stripe up my sex.

Fuck-- I did my best not to mewl as my fingers reached for his hair once more, twirling into the soft curls of his hair. "Rome--"

At this point, I was sure he wouldn't hear me no matter how loudly I spoke. Roman sensed I was about to start keening against him, and he pulled my legs back and held my thighs in place as he slicked his tongue in between my slit, mouth moving as though he was pressing deep, heavy kisses against me. I whimpered, my grip on his hair loosening as I felt my conscience slip into its usual drugged-on-Roman state. A very, very dangerous state of mind, if you ask me.

Giving me some time to breathe, Roman moved to leave soft kisses up along the crease of my thighs. "Keep your legs like this, okay?" he said, slowly trailing one hand up my thigh. Roman's finger teasingly tapped my clit, and he turned to watch the thin line of slick connecting the pad of his finger to me. It was hard not to squirm, and I brought one hand up to my mouth to hopefully suppress any noise. "Rome, what are you?--"

Oh. My breath hitched as he eased his slicked middle finger into me, careful to go in with slow strokes. I whined against my hand when Roman's mouth returned to me, sealing his perfect lips around my swollen nub, adding pressure. It was almost too much-- I felt myself clench around his finger when he curled it upwards, just as his lips covered my mound, sucking me in.

"Christ," I breathed, reaching down to grab a hold of Roman's hair, the slick sounds of his mouth making goosebumps appear along my skin as I contained a shiver. "Shit, Rome, it feels-- so, so good--"

My mindless ramble came to an end with the next hitch of my breath; Roman added another finger, humming against me as an answer. With how nervous I was, it was a tight fit, and the sting that followed made me instinctively tighten my fist in his hair, my skin straining over my knuckles. It was hard to keep still, a string of whimpers escaping my lips.

My hands shook as Roman continued slowly stroking his fingers into me. I wondered whether he could feel my anxiety seeping into my lust-- it was becoming so real. Roman's green eyes darted up at me, stilling his fingers, giving me time to adjust. He pulled away from me, leaving his digits in me as he spoke; "I'm not gonna last long if you tighten up like that later,"

His words conjured a deep blush to my cheeks, and I brought my hands up to my face to hide. "Sorry," I breathed. "I don't-- don't know what's happening."

Roman shrugged, placing a wet, gentle kiss against the inside of my thigh. "You're nervous. It's normal," His hot breath ghosted over my soaked sex as he moved to the other thigh-- "I think it'll help if I make you cum like this. You'll relax more. And I'll keep my fingers in, get you used to the feeling... Unless you want them out?"

For a man who said he didn't deal with virgins, he certainly knew how to talk one down from the cliff. I let out a shaky breath, peeking down at him past my fingers; "N-No, it's okay,"

Roman seemed to be holding back a laugh; "You look a little spooked,"

"I... do?" Knowing my boyfriend, I knew he probably found that incredibly hot.

"A bit. Wanna stop?--"

"No!" That was a little too quick. Fuck.

Roman chuckled as he proceeded to bite down on the inside of my thigh with a teasing smirk-- I squeaked, clenching around his fingers. "Good," he purred, leaning forward to press a short kiss to my clit, drawing out another squeak from me. Something told me he liked the sound of my pleasured panic. "It's been some time since the last time you let me do this. I've missed the taste of you."

"... It's been, like, four days,"

Roman let out a groan, and I could see in his eyes that it was building in him-- the innate lust. "A fucking eternity," he breathed, a new rasp appearing in his voice. With that, Roman didn't lose a single second leaning back down, slicking his tongue between my folds, returning to suck down on my clit with a moan.

Oh, well-- I knew I was done for. Still, knowing his goal was to make me cum, knowing I didn't have to hold back, I let my hands wander back into his hair with a whimper of pleasure. It didn't take long before I clenched around his fingers again, the burn of the stretch subsiding with every flick of Roman's tongue.

"Fuck," I breathed. "Fuck, fuck--"

Any attempt to speak dissolved into incoherent cries, teetering on the edge while pleasure surged through me like a relentless wave. Still, it didn't take more than two more sucks to ease me over, and I felt my climax drawing out long and slow against Roman's mouth, tightening around his fingers with a whimper.

My head lolled along the duvets as I tried to catch my breath. With every time Roman did this, it only got better-- it was hard to believe that was even possible. I came to my senses when I felt his fingers slide out of me, the twinge of pain having long passed.

"Fuck," Roman said, a laugh to his voice as he pressed kisses up along my stomach, getting up from the ground. "Best fucking pussy in the world."

God-- I hid my face again, my blush deepening. That dirty mouth of his. "That was so good," I purred, reaching out for him; "Come here, Rome. I miss you up here."

Chuckling, Roman shook his head, motioning for me to scoot further up the bed. "Just a sec," he said, walking back over to his nightstand, opening his drawer again and shuffling around. I did as told, watching him with a sigh; he was right, that orgasm had relaxed me. However, my zen didn't last long-- I suddenly felt all my muscles tightening when I watched Roman bring the fingers he just had in me to his lips, absentmindedly sucking on them as he now held up a silver wrapper with his free hand as though that was the most normal thing in the world. I also spotted a clear bottle which I could only assume was lube.

What the fuck? The sight of him doing that made me want to disappear into the bed-- why was the sight so... thrilling? It must've been the look of enjoyment on his face. "Oh, that's hot," I mumbled, my eyes immediately widening with the realization of what I had just blurted out.

Roman cocked a brow as he unclasped the vial of my blood around his neck, placing it next to the candle before he got back on the bed, now trailing the residue of spit and slick on his fingers across my thighs. "Well, you taste nice,"

"Not that nice?"

A hum; "Wanna try some, make up your mind?" he asked, a teasing smirk spreading across his plush lips as he brought his hand up to his mouth, wiping off the remnants of my slick to coat his fingers.

I shivered, grimacing— "No, thanks," Hoping to distract Roman from trying to convince me, I sat up, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. Frankly, I had enough of being the only one that was undressed.

Roman hummed, following my hands with his eyes, grinning from ear to ear as he threw down the condom and the lube somewhere on the bed. "More for me, then," he mumbled, licking my slick off his fingers as he kept his gaze on me-- it didn't take long before he pushed me back down on the bed, unbuttoning the last of his buttons with ease I could never match.

My heart had probably never worked this hard before in my life. "Rome," I tried, watching him discard his shirt. Fuck-- he was gorgeous. I could feel myself blushing in an instant, shamelessly looking him up and down; I knew he didn't mind. Why was I reacting like this? Roman being breathtakingly handsome wasn't news? "I think... I think--"

"You're still thinking?" Roman's hands gripped my waist as he leaned down, kissing up my torso as I whimpered beneath him, reaching for his hair again. "Stop thinking. No thinking."

"No thinking?" I echoed, giggling as his eager kisses reached my neck, getting ticklish. "You're asking for too much." Now that he was finally close again, I draped my arms around him, trailing my fingers across his broad shoulders with a sigh. Being skin-to-skin like this was my favorite thing in the world-- being connected.

Roman hummed, his erection once again pressing into my lower abdomen. "Either you stop thinking of your own volition..." he said, pulling my chest up against his. "... Or I'll have to fuck your brains out. Your choice."

I shivered, feeling my mind start buzzing. That was a damn easy choice. "That sounds rough," I mumbled, my breath hitching as Roman pressed a kiss to my ear. "You said you'd be gentle..." To be completely honest, this was the part I was nervous about-- would he maybe not be able to be? I was a little scared he'd be like one of those horror-story guys Letha had told me she'd been with, one of those guys that just slap you all of a sudden or start choking you cause they've seen it in porn and think that's normal behavior.

Roman pulled away, hovering barely an inch above my lips; his breath grazed my cheek, and the green of his eyes were glazed over with a look of confusion. "Am I not being just that?" he asked, nodding to the candle.

Oh-- I turned to the supposed funeral candle.

It allowed a sweet kiss to my cheek, the tip of his upturned nose pressing into my cheekbone; "Trust me. I wouldn't want to hurt you, you know me,"

He was right-- from the very first moment we got together, he had told me just that.

Still, it was only when I felt Roman's lips against mine with the softest of pressures, that I pushed my concerns away. It was the sort of kiss that made my heart burn, the sort of kiss that made my hands trail up into his hair to keen him closer. I pushed all my thoughts of horror into a heap, churned it in my mental grinder, processed it, and allowed the product of it to slip past my lips; "I want you," I breathed, feeling myself grow needy against him.

Roman hummed, a small roll of his hips onto mine following-- I didn't expect it to make my breath catch in my chest. "I want you too,"

Something in me ignited; I wanted him to do that again. Disoriented, I reached down for the zipper of his jeans, moaning into the kiss that followed. "Want you more,"

Roman smiled; "Not possible,"

At this moment, I was thankful to be made up of solid matter-- if not, I was sure I'd have melted straight into the bed, a puddle of pure horny. I wasn't sure when Roman lost his pants, too consumed in the kiss to function. My state of arousal only heightened when my hips bucked up, feeling the hard outline of his cock between my legs; I was suddenly reminded of the time we did something similar in an alleyway on our first day. But this was different-- this was a direct contact of his clothed length brushing up against my clit with repeating strokes, a motion which had my breath hitching as my nails dug into his shoulders.

Roman let out a soft groan, nipping at my neck as he ground down against me. "This," he breathed. "This is what you do to me. I wanna be in you so fucking bad."

With the next roll of his hips, I whimpered; the buzzing of my mind refused to still. "Have me, then," was all I managed to say, tugging at Roman's hair as the tips of my fingers burned.

What followed happened so fast, I barely registered it. I heard the ripping of the silver wrapping in the midst of our heated kiss, adrenaline and dopamine coursing through my veins as every little sweet word rolling off Roman's tongue filled me with that familiar warm feeling I always got around him.

For this, it was all worth it. All the drama with Letha, all the tears, all the pain-- it was all worth it.

"You're everything," Roman whispered, rubbing the head of his cock along my soaked sex as my hands skimmed the muscular range of his back. "You're my everything, do you know that?"

God, how I wanted to be one with him. Wanted him in my head, wanted him in me, wanted to melt into him and become one single entity, never to part. From the first moment I met him, from the first moment I laid eyes on him in class, from the first moment he smiled at me, I knew it was Roman. It would always be Roman, it would always, always be Roman for me, and knowing he thought the same of me as well, that I was his everything-- all my longing, everything, had been worth it. Because I was his everything too, finally, just like he had always been mine.

However, as Roman angled his cock and gently pushed the head in, kissing my cheek with the sweetest touch, I didn't expect the painful, sharp sting-- I wasn't sure how loudly I gasped, how far my nails dug into his back, but I was really damn certain that this hurt.

Roman was out of me within the blink of a second; "Shit," he breathed, a panicked look in his eyes. "Should've-- Should've warned you."

The sting remained as I did my best to breathe through it. "That's a stretch," was all I managed to say, stroking over where I had scraped his back.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Roman mumbled, scanning me. He didn't seem bothered by the crescent moons my nails were leaving behind. "You okay?"

"Yeah..."

He cursed under his breath, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead. "I forgot about this part... My brain doesn't work when you're naked," Roman sighed, reaching for one of the hands I had on his back. "If you want to go on, I might know a way to make it a little easier."

I met his eyes as he brought the back of my hand to his lips; "I guess it's supposed to hurt a little, Roman, just... just do what you usually do, I trust you," Maybe I needed to push through it? I could take a little pain, couldn't I? That was until I remembered the pain again-- it made me clench. Ouch.

With a certain look I knew too well, he shook his head as he now wrapped his fingers around my wrist. "No. It's not supposed to hurt," he said. "And I said I wouldn't hurt you, so..." Roman trailed my hand down along my body, watching as my eyes widened. "In my experience, it helps if you... help."

"Help?"

"Help yourself, so to speak," Roman purred, his signature cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Cause I doubt this will be your first time doing this."

"Doing what?-- Oh," As he placed my hand over my sex, he slid two fingers above mine, guiding me to rub my clit. Roman was right; it wasn't my first time doing that to myself. Still, this was a different feeling-- My hips immediately bucked up into our hands, and when Roman leaned down to kiss me, I knew I was done for.

Everything felt warm, everything felt right. "Just keep doing that," he whispered, sinking his teeth into my lower lip. "Wanna?-- Again?"

Roman didn't need to use more words than that; I knew what he meant. I nodded, feeling my cheeks redden at the fact that I was touching myself in front of him like this-- however, I didn't have time to think much about it.

Soon, I wasn't the only one touching myself, anyway.

"Should've used this from the start," Roman mumbled, cursing under his breath as he poured a dash of lube on his cock from the clear bottle nearby. "Got too excited... fuck." With a lazy grip, he wrapped his hand around his length, spreading the lube with slow strokes.

My mind was buzzing. I watched as Roman's lips parted, a shaky breath escaping him. "It's okay," I tried, rubbing mindless circles around my clit. "It's just me."

"Yeah, and I care about you," Roman's eyes were halfway closed as they met mine, darkened with growing lust. "Ready?"

I nodded-- yeah.

This time, when Roman's cock pushed into me again with the slowest of strokes, the pleasure from my clit dulled the sting. The only thing left to adjust to was the stretch; my breath hitched as my free hand went back up into his hair, wincing against his lips as his thick length stroked me open.

Roman cursed as his parted lips hovered above mine. He held me tightly against his body, watching out for any signs of discomfort before he spoke; "Shit... This feels better than I--thought,"

My head rolled back against the duvet, breathing against Roman with small heaves. "Rome," I whimpered. "Fuck, this is--" I didn't expect the feeling, didn't expect the tips of my fingers to burn more as I grasped at his hair, didn't expect the way my whole body reacted-- it was different from anything else I had ever felt or thought I could feel. Being filled up by Roman was...

It was everything.

Everything I had ever dreamed of.

It felt good, it felt right-- I moaned, clenching at the feeling of his cock slowly sinking into me at a steady pace, my body aching with love. This was as gentle as I bet anything like this could possibly be, and I squirmed a bit beneath him, adjusting to the feeling of having his cock inside of me.

Roman let out a shaky breath, containing the urge to pound into my warmth like I supposed he usually would. "Hurts?"

"No, no-- Ah,"

With his next thrust, Roman kissed up my jaw, keeping every stroke careful. "Want me to put it in all the way?"

"The-- There is more?"

"Baby..." he breathed, containing a choked laugh. "I'm only halfway in."

I was sure I was about to faint. How the fuck?-- No, I couldn't think clearly in this state. No more thinking. I decided to trust him; I knew Roman would pull back if it hurt, anyway. "Okay... Let's try,"

As Roman pushed in more of his length, the quiet moan escaping him blended in with my string of panicked whimpers. I didn't even know I had space inside me for more-- my eyes sprung open, my legs giving into a tremble. "Rome, I-- a-ah, this is--"

"Shh, look at me, breathe," Roman brought his hand to my face, guiding me to look into his eyes. His voice was soft, caring; "You okay? Is this too much?"

The shock was the thing that had gotten to me, I was sure of it. Because after a few more deep strokes, a few tighter circles around my clit, my fear eased as I realized this was a sensation I would be chasing for the rest of my life.

"Feels good?" Roman asked, his voice nearly breaking-- I imagined it was hard to not give in to the pleasure of the tight embrace around his cock.

Still, I could only nod, twisting my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him towards me to smother him with a heated rush of my lips against his, moaning into the kiss as I pulled my hand from between my legs-- it was starting to brink the line of overstimulation.

"Good," Roman muttered against my mouth.

The kiss didn't last too long; my shock was still coming and going in waves. "I'm-- we're having sex," I blurted out, my cheeks flaring red. The truth was hitting me like a blow to the head. The thing I had dreamed about since the first day I laid eyes on him was actually happening.

Roman contained a laugh, looking rather endeared by my realization; "Yeah, you're doing it, you're having sex... I'd give you a high five, but-- hah, that wouldn't work,"

Why were we laughing? Why was this... fun?

Caught between the fire in my chest, the twinge of humor, and the ache pulsing low between my legs, I whimpered as I realized I wanted-- no, needed more. Still, a small, meek call of his name was all I managed to stutter out.

Roman shifted, pushing my body so that my knees were bent at his sides; "Speak your mind,"

How was I supposed to conjure a cohesive sentence in this state? "I want-- you, more--"

"We're going-- hah, back to that?"

"Not that! More, Rome-- just, more, I need--"

He let out a breathy moan, smiling back down at me; he knew exactly what I meant. "Thank God," Roman's cock filled me over and over, his thrusts growing harder, faster as he found a steady pace to rock into me. "You're taking me so good, aren't you?"

My head felt like it was spinning. This couldn't be real. I couldn't possibly be as lucky as to finally sleep with Roman Godfrey.

His voice brought me back; "You're doing so well," he murmured, burying his face into the crook of my neck, muffling a quiet moan against my skin. It was the most magical of sounds-- my heart was threatening to beat out of my chest, and I was sure the warmth of skin against mine probably helped with the overheating of my brain. "Doing so, so well for me... I've wanted you like this for so long."

"Me too," I breathed, my hips keening to take his thrusts. "Wanted you-- since forever."

My words only seemed to reel him on; Roman hips snapped harder into me as I whimpered. "Forever?"

"Forever-- a-ah,"

Something in Roman's breathing changed. It was almost as though I could read his thoughts, feel his new reality form. Was it maybe the last push he needed to believe I was his till death? That there was a person out there walking this earth, breathing the same air, that could possibly want to be with him for an eternity? "Forever," he breathed, latching onto my neck with repeated needy kisses in an attempt to drown out the noises threatening to spill past his lips. "You and-- and I, forever."

As Roman's cock repeatedly pushed into me, I could only whimper; the stretch was still something to get used to, and my nails bit into his back as I tried to steady myself. "Forever," I managed to breathe out, hearing him moan into my neck at the sharpness of my nails against his back-- I knew he'd like that. I knew Roman too damn well.

"Forever," he echoed, breath washing warm against my ear as he raised himself, his cheek nuzzling mine in an intimate embrace.

I clenched around the girth of his cock, shivering. This was so unbelievably sweet, nothing I had ever expected from him. Roman was so much taller, and his broad build served as a comforting weight through the wave of new pleasure my body tried to comprehend. With the next surge of love washing over my chest, the next pump of Roman's cock, I felt my chin give in to an involuntary quiver as I gripped him tighter.

It was at this moment that it truly dawned on me;

I loved him.

I loved Roman Godfrey.

Tears swarmed my eyes as one of my hands went up into his soft hair, hoping he'd take it as an urging for him to kiss me again. I didn't want to have a chance to talk, to blurt it out and scare him away-- which is why, when Roman shifted and crashed his lips against mine, I only felt relief.

I was safe. I was cared for. And damn, I felt good.

However, what I hadn't expected, was for the shift of angle to brush past a spot inside of me I had only ever felt when Roman's fingers curled into me. But this was far greater, far more stimulating-- I let out a choked moan against Roman's lips, my eyes springing open as my head tilted back into the duvet, heaving for air as my legs gave in to a tremble.

I didn't have to look up at him to know the exact look on his face, yet I dared to take a peek; he was too hot to resist. And there it was, those parted, perfect lips paired with that dark look in his green eyes of victory. This is exactly what he had wanted to reduce me to all along, wasn't it? Roman's hair had never been this messed up (courtesy of my hands), and the sheer look of it nearly made my heart swell. "Good tears?" he asked with a whisper, scanning the look in my eyes.

Fuck, yeah. I could only nod.

Knowing Roman, I was wondering when he'd-- oh, hello, you. I was waiting for the eventual switch. A man like Roman Godfrey couldn't stay sweet forever.

At the sight of my tears, I knew something new in him ignited. He placed a hand over my mouth, placing more of his weight on me as his other hand pulled me tighter against him, the wet snaps of his cock pushing into me growing louder as I moaned out against his palm. "Listen to this," he purred, a sinister smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he made me listen to the sound of our union. "This is sex, you're damn right. This is what you'll be craving from me."

God-- I squeezed my eyes shut, the continuous push of the tip of Roman's cock against my sweet spot inside sending my brain into a frenzy.

"I get why you've been reserved... You'll never be who you were before this again," With a grunt, the next snap of his hips only grew harder, knowing I could take it and adjust. It certainly didn't help the tremble of my body. "Gonna get you fucking addicted to this feeling. To me. Cause you've given yourself to me now, do you-- do you realize that?"

My wet lashes fluttered as I slowly dared to open my eyes, my heart thumping harder than ever before. If only he knew how addicted I already was.

"This is it," Roman breathed, the green hues of his gaze engulfing me; "This is us. This is you. This is who you are from now on. My girl... Only mine. Forever. Gonna help you cum on this cock, okay? Gonna give you the first time you deserve, h-hah--"

Something about the look in his eyes unnerved me, despite the hot nature of his words-- What? There were many ways for him to make me cum, surely, but the second my fingers started numbing up, my mind started flaring red with a passage from my most hated book;

The upir's ability to mesmerize is an ancient and powerful form of psychic influence, capable of bending a victim's will. This control often manifests subtly, with suggestions that feel like one's own thoughts. If one is being mesmerized by a upir, it is often accompanied by a stilling of one's inner monologue, or a numbing sensation. Prolonged exposure can lead to disorientation, memory lapses, and a gradual erosion of autonomy. The key to resisting lies in anchoring oneself to reality—through pain, strong emotions, or focusing on a meaningful object. Beware: once under an upir's thrall, distinguishing truth from illusion becomes a perilous challenge.

Beware.

The last time my fingers had numbed up like this, was the time Roman forced me to tell him what had happened between Jasmine and I. It felt like the autonomy of my thoughts evaporated, seeped out of my ears, and disappeared into Roman's grasp.

However, at this moment right now, this moment of blinding pleasure and complete rapture of my soul and love, I wanted nothing more but this. I knew I wasn't being mesmerized of course, because upirs weren't real-- but as Roman kept my face still and my eyes on him, it felt like it. It was almost like I heard him telling me to cum. A few more thrusts were all it took, the complete transfixion of Roman's unnaturally dilated pupils swallowing me as I only saw green, green, green-- his hand quickly left my mouth to hear me cry out, a choked moan escaping me as the fear toppled me. This was an orgasm unlike anything else I had experienced, and I felt myself pulse around Roman's length, practically milking his cock as I struggled to grapple with the most intense climax of my life. "Fuck-- Fuck!" I whimpered, my nails digging further into his back as tears welled in my eyes.

The mere sight of it was enough for Roman to nearly buckle over, and I was ripped out of the trance, heaving for air as he spilled into the condom, teeth grazing my shoulder as he tried to bite back his moans of pleasure, hips keening into my tight warmth.

I slowly slid my hands off Roman's broad back, realizing we had both dripped sweat onto each other's skin as I hoped my breath would soon go back to normal. My body ached in a way it had never ached before, and I winced as Roman eventually pulled out of me with a sigh.

There was a long moment after he rolled off of me where we simply gazed at each other. I watched the heave of his chest, the way his brown hair laid over his dangerous green eyes, and wondered how on earth I had been so lucky as to have him fall for me too.

However, suddenly, amid my awe, a small droplet of blood gathered at Roman's nose. To my surprise, he was completely unbothered. The look in his eyes told me he had an inkling this would happen, and it further confused me.

I leaned forward to wipe away the blood pooling at his upper lip with my thumb. "You're bleeding," I echoed, aware that I was stating the obvious.

Roman's eyes softened; "Are you, though?"

"... What do you mean?"

Shifting, he wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer as his other hand slid between my legs, sliding a finger against the wetness of my sex as I squirmed, a short giggle escaping me as I nuzzled up against him. Roman then scanned his finger as I continued to wipe away the stream of blood coming from his nose, watching as it smeared against his cheek. He hummed; "You didn't bleed. At least that's good?"

"I guess?"

Roman kissed my bloodied thumb, a shaky breath escaping him at the taste of the iron; "How was that for you? You okay?"

If only he knew. "You were great," I purred, nipping at his jaw. "It was lovely, Rome."

He let out a breath; "Thank fuck," Roman murmured, visibly relieved. "And you were really damn sweet. I knew those fuck-me eyes would be the death of me... Sorry if it got a little intense at the end, there."

"No, no, that was-- fuck, that was so hot,"

Roman smiled. My sweet boy. Another kiss; "But now, there's one thing I wanted to do." He propped himself up on his elbow, and I closed my eyes as he made sure I laid with my back against the bed-- I was too tired to focus. The ache between my legs refused to subside, making me worried about the state of my thighs tomorrow. They better not fucking cramp up with every step, similar to the day after a hard session at the gym.

And just as I was about to ask him to return to me, to stop doing whatever the fuck he was doing, I suddenly felt a warm, slick substance drip onto my lower abdomen. With a gasp, I snapped out of my drowsiness, only to be met with the sight of Roman holding the condom above my stomach with a devilish grin, letting the content pour down on me.

He chuckled at the sight of my widened eyes, my speechless state-- "Didn't manage to cum here, as I said... so this will do,"

"Roman, for fuck's sake!"

"What? You look good with my cum all over!--"

"Roman!"

"Fine!" he huffed. "Gonna go grab some wipes, I'll be right back. Anything else you need? Water?"

I wondered whether Roman realized how sweet he was being-- I glanced over at the candle flickering in the moonlight, the vial of my blood lying neatly next to it. The sight made my heart swell; God, how I loved him. It killed me that he couldn't know. I knew he'd run in the other direction if he did. "Water would be nice," I breathed, watching as Roman got dressed again.

It all hit me like a wave, now;

The first time I got my heart broken, I had been at fault.

The first time I got a black eye, I had swung the first punch.

But the first time I had sex? It had thankfully been with the man I loved. Still, I was sure the cosmic imbalance would catch up to me again and drag me back down into the dirt soon enough.

But not right now.

Not right now.

Here, I was safe with Roman. The universe couldn't get me now, no-- not with the equivalent of the moon lying next to me. He had returned to me in no time, holding me close in his nearly immediate slumber after having lent me a shirt of his to sleep in. The cosmos wouldn't dare to touch me now.

I adjusted the cover on top of us, kissing Roman's forehead; "Are you sleeping?" I whispered, poking his cheek with the gentlest of touches.

No response. Phew.

And just as I started to fade into sleep as well, I ran my thumb across the softness of his cheek. I connected our foreheads with a content sigh before I pressed my lips against his in a loving kiss. Roman looked so peaceful-- the universe wouldn't dare to take me now, wouldn't dare to wake him up.

"I love you," I whispered like I would be put to death if I awoke him. With one last glance at the candle, my heavy lids fluttered as my heart cried;

"I love you,"

(a/n: thank you SO MUCH for reading this monster of a chapter!!<33 if you've made it all the way down here, here are all the other chapters if you're interested!!<33 MWAH)

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11

tagging those that seemed interested!!<333

@mentallyscreamingsincebirth @putherup @corawithfanfiction @vladsgirlxx

@iamaslytherin0 @sexualparkour @the-universe-is-complicated @heavenly-bratt

@lafemme-nk @namiusedbubble @useyourwandbro @strmborns @literally-lani

@virgosapphire79 @star-girl-04 @veyzus @ddipotassium @pecxiebu

@mil88691 @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @katifefe @sn0wybowie-blog

@lilithskywalker @likecherriesinthespring @sadheartjellyfish @vadersangel

@shehangsbrightly @burningmiraclekingdom @dollforaswan @austinswhitewolf

@nico-velvet @shiiiii-okayyyy

#roman godfrey #hemlock grove #roman godfrey x reader #x reader #bill skarsgård #fanfiction #oneshot #bill skarsgard #fluff #angst #fanfic #highschool!au #hemlock grove fanfiction #THIS WAS SO LONG #I'M SORRY #AND I WANTED IT TO BE AWKWARD I'M SORRY #ARRRGHHH

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