joonrecs - Tumblr blog

joonrecs · 4 years ago

Text

SECOND HEART - KNJ

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers, Smangst

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 5.3k

Warning: Sex, Oral Sex (f. receiving), Namjoon in a beanie

A/N: I’d started this weeks ago, abandoned it, and then picked it up after Namjoon went to DIA: Beacon and I lost my mind. This is the bar they go to on Valentines Day. Thank you @btsarmy9593 and @vyduan for reading and feedback. And @arizonapoppy for the encouragement to actually finish writing this. And thank you thank you possums for listening to me screech about this all last week.

“The past beats inside of me like a second heart.” John Banville

Mittens Masterlist

——

The sight of his email in your inbox is surprising.

From: [email protected]

Re: FWD: SALE! Flights between JFK and ICN Less than $800

That’s the only way for you to describe this feeling, sweat pricking at your hairline. Your heart is in a vice grip.

It has been 6 months.

You didn’t break up. That would imply there was something whole to begin with. Something sealed, agreed to. Something more than your still beating heart. That is the only thing here that was once intact and is now broken.

When he left New York you’d emailed and texted. Your messages brimming with feeling, the desire to connect. His were sporadic, inconsistent; his work as a carpenter by day, sculptor when he could meant most of his time was spoken for. You guessed. You didn’t want to think about someone else occupying his time.

Then two weeks ago, your one missed phone call when you’d been asleep and he’d been out for something, with someone. His voice low and rumbly on the voicemail.

Anyeo _______ [you can hear the sound of the party in the background] Someone just put on Bright Eyes and I wanted to tell you. And to hear your reaction, hear the sound of your voice. It’s lost over text. And I really miss it. [He pauses and you can hear ‘The First Day of My Life’ in the background’]. I just wanted to talk to you. Again.

You call back twice and when they both go to voicemail and he doesn’t call back, your dignity insists that you stop. But you, like a fool, still forward an email about an airfare sale. And now, an actual response is sitting in your inbox.

You don’t open it.

A week later the box arrives, four vinyl albums neatly packaged, the craft paper wrapping with your address in Namjoon’s handwriting. You’d seen it once on some notes he scribbled lying next to you in bed. Covered in postage - actual stamps - to get all the way from Seoul to Brooklyn.

A small note inside: All of these remind me of you. I want to be sitting next to you when the needle touches down. I want to place the headphones on your ears and feel your heart race at the first notes of something new. I want to be right next to you.

You open the email.

——

Six months earlier…

You are a reluctant participant in this happy hour. Your roommate got the bar wrong so you’re trudging from the W 4th Street station to the East Village in a silk cami and flats and a winter coat that’s more cute than functional. The warmth of the crowded bar is like a hug. Those crosstown blocks feel like miles in the February air. Really looking for a place across the street, but this is closer and across the street seems too cold and too far to go.

Waiting at the bar to order your round, the most objectively handsome man comes to stand next to you. Tall, broad - very broad shoulders - shaggy brown hair, he smiles at you. It’s like looking at a magazine ad that’s come to life.

And since you've been stuck inside for weeks in the terrible winter weather, a combination of overworking, travel for more working, and everyone’s favorite seasonal depression - you shoot your shot. Flirting with strangers in bars is one of your favorite hobbies. It never goes anywhere; it’s for the sport, for the fun, the occasional free drink and sloppy dance floor make out. As you sidle over, you don’t miss his appraising glance.

“Sorry I was here waiting, but if you pay for my drink I might forgive you.”

His eyes widen when he turns to you.

“Are you hitting on me?”

“Yes, I definitely am.”

“Well I can’t blame you, I know what I look like. But that was a weak line.”

You shrug and laugh; this is just part of the fun. “This is my first time out since last November, so I’m a little rusty.”

He gives you a cheeky smile. “Well, Rusty, I’m Jin. And I am flattered and you are very hot, but I am also married.”

“Ah, well shit happens, sorry about that.” You grin and give him a wink.

He returns your grin, and takes your arm. You glance down at his hand and back up at him in confusion.

“I want to introduce you to my friend Namjoon, he's visiting from Korea. He just split up with someone. You’re single, he’s single….”

He leads you over to a group of men and gestures to one standing in the back.

The moment happens in slow motion in your memory. Your vision working counter to your heart, which starts to race.

Namjoon is standing talking to another man with hand tattoos, his face is serious. When he looks up towards Jin, he glances at you, then cocks an eyebrow. These small movements are elegant, smooth, you weren’t expecting that from someone so tall, with limbs so long.

But when he turns to fully face you, he’s smiling. His eyes run over your body. When they make it back to your face, there is that quick feeling of attraction, strings between you snapping into place. He takes your hand to kiss you on each cheek and his fingers are rough, calloused.

“Hi. I’m _______, Jin thought we’d get along.”

“I bet he did. I’m Namjoon.”

You both just stand there not saying anything. It’s not awkward, but it’s not a moment for three people.

Jin claps his hands. “Okay. So. Well done me. Anyone want a drink?” With this, Jin starts to talk to their larger group and your hand is still joined with Namjoon’s.

He’s a sculptor, who does carpentry on the side. He’s here doing work for Jin, his oldest friend, who is married to an American. The evening passes in a haze of drinking and talking. You split off from the group at some point, deep in a discussion about Olafur Eliasson - he is obsessed and you are unconvinced. You start listing all the places you want to take him, all the art he needs to see while he’s here.

It is also a cliche to say that the conversation flows. It’s more like it takes over your words and your body, like he’s plugged into your own internal monologue. Instead of persistent worrying and editing, the thoughts just come out and they fit seamlessly with his.

At some point, you’re gesturing wildly about Louise Bourgeois and how you can never stop looking at her work, even when it feels like it’s crawling under your skin. He plucks your hand out of midair and holds it in his. You stare at it, then back up at him.

The dim bar light reflects off his eyes, one partially covered by his soft hair. He’s staring at you, huffing out a little chuckle as his other hand comes to your face, his thumb gentle on your lips. You keep talking for a bit, but your words slow to a trickle and then stop. His thumb drags across your lips - a caress - to your cheek. He moves so quickly, you don’t remember the first press of his on yours.

The kiss starts out slow, just lips tasting and moving, your hand firmly clasped in his. You open your mouth a fraction wider and the air between your mouths shifts, becomes more insistent. This is kissing with intent, this is kissing at the trailhead of fucking. Your hands fly to his face, his mouth opens more, his hands start to rake over your back, your leg swings over his knee.

The desire to climb on top of him in the middle of this bar bubbles to the surface. And the small part of you that isn’t drunk, or completely intoxicated by this man, taps you on the shoulder. You pull back breathing heavily; you’d never felt a shift like that.

Kissing strangers in bars was just what you did for fun on a Friday night in New York City. But this, he talks to you like he can see inside your brain and kisses you like a lover and you are too young and inexperienced to have ever mixed the two.

The lights come up, it must be 2. Namjoon comes back from the bathroom looking at his phone.

“Jin left hours ago and he’s way uptown so I’m coming home with you.”

“What? Ummm, okay.” You are far too tired and smitten to object, and you don’t really want to.

In the cab he rolls down the window to smoke a cigarette, the cabbie asking if he can bum one too. The residual smoke calms your nerves, the ice cold air sobering you slightly.

You both stumble into your second floor walk-up, fumbling to get your shoes off. He backs you against the door, his hands are still cold from the trip, and the sensation burns through your thin top. His lips press into your skin, your neck, your cheeks, the tops of your breasts. All movement and giggles as you shed clothes moving towards your bedroom.

“Sorry,” he says as you’re kissing. “I always have to sleep naked.’

Your eyes widen as his hands go to his shirt. You turn and go to the bathroom to pee and assess your face. It's past midnight on a Friday, so who knows what it looks like.

When you return, it doesn’t matter. There is a pile of clothes on the floor and a Kim Namjoon face down in your bed, mercifully under the covers, snoring.

You slide into bed making sure to not disturb the covers around him.

—

The next morning, he’s up and cuddly. Hands around your waist, face pressed to your arm.

“I need to get back to get some work done.” He’s doing the cabinets in Jin’s new apartment.

“Okay. Thanks for coming all the way out here.”

You are hungover and just want him to leave so you can eat oatmeal in bed and go back to sleep.

But the morning and its cold light haven’t dulled him. His smile only improved by the pillow lines on his face, his soft hair a mess. The sheet slides down his chest, and you try not to stare.

Today is Saturday the 12th of February.

“Can I take you out for Valentine's Day? It will be my first one alone in a while. And I’d like to spend it with you.”

It’s direct, it’s earnest; it doesn’t make you feel like a runner up, though maybe it should. You vaguely remember Jin saying something about a break up.

“Sure.”

—

To reach the bar, you have to walk through a very crowded sushi restaurant, your work bag hits a woman in the shoulder but she doesn’t notice.

Behind the unmarked door is a long, low lit bar. You sit perched on a stool, legs crossed. You’d taken extra care with your skin, all the parts that he might see, might place a stray hand on. The sliver of skin between your knee-high boots and pencil skirt, your hands, the delicate skin of your neck.

You’d come from the photography lab. Your pictures aren’t great, but you needed to know how to develop film. A true need. This isn’t for work; you already have a degree, just for your own knowledge. You might slightly smell of fixer.

He arrives with a handmade card, a squeeze of your arm, a kiss on your cheek. He smells like cold air and cut wood. His hat pushes all his hair back, and you’re seeing his whole face for the first time.

The full picture flashes before you. This small speakeasy bar, this absolutely stunning man, you feel comfortable in your own skin, in your own clothes, in this city, beside him. Everything fits, everything works together. This is a dream, the summit. This is it.

He talks passionately about this drill he just bought; it’s German, prohibitively expensive to ship to Korea. You explain — complete with hand gestures — how to unravel and spoil a roll of film in the dark. Squeezing your eyes shut for effect. His hand comes to your elbow as if you needed steadying. It moves to your knee, thumb tracing along that exposed skin. Just like you knew it would.

Just like you knew it would?

One drink turns into three, turns into a plan to walk in Central Park. The heat from the alcohol and between you is enough to sustain you walking through a soft, dusting of snow. It starts falling as soon as you walk out, pulling on your hot pink bucket hat.

“Have you ever noticed how New Yorkers wear hats so well?”

You peer up, the hat is low and he is so tall. He called you a New Yorker. Then he’s kissing you, he tastes like gin and tonic with lemon, not lime. He pulls away and you raise your hand to hail a passing cab.

“Wait.” His hand on your arm holds you back, his dimples deepen. “Again?”

Your hat is so low now you can’t see his face just the bottom half. Lips, the center pink and a little shiny from kissing you, stretched taut in a smile. Breaking away only when another couple walks out and takes the taxi you’d flagged.

The park is too cold to stay for long. The snow turns to rain. On the drive back to your apartment, you cruise through an empty Times Square. With no traffic and no people, it’s brilliant, shimmering. Namjoon’s mouth opened slightly at the spectacle.

It’s the first time in living in New York that you’ve felt removed from its baser realities. Times Square is usually teeming with people and smells and inconvenience. Tonight, it looks absolutely beautiful.

—

In your apartment, you light candles. This is not advisable. This entire place is barely to code and 90% of what you own is definitely flammable. But this is a momentous occasion, the first time you sleep with someone, no? You don’t know, he’s only your second first time.

You head to the bed and lie down next to him. He starts kissing you, but it feels all wrong. A little like being lost in the woods, everything looks the same, but not quite right. You're in two different places and he can tell.

“We can stop, I just want to be here with you. We don't have to do anything.”

“Yeah, I- I don't think I'm ready.”

“Okay.” He smiles softly and rolls onto his back, pulling you in towards his chest. A small kiss on your head.

—

Your eyes ping open at 6am as usual. The sky is still dark, and you orient yourself with the street lamp light coming in through the window.

Namjoon is still asleep, curled up behind you, forehead touching the top of your back. You wiggle out of bed to the bathroom. When you get back in, Namjoon moves back to you, head now resting at the top of your hip, one hand on your thigh. It’s a full size, so the two of you are a tight fit. He’s so broad when awake and moving or sitting or holding you. Seeing him all folded up to sleep is so endearing, your heart aches. His golden shoulders curled forward, his jaw relaxed and soft.

You won’t go back to sleep, you never do. So you start reading, the streetlight outside just bright enough to light the page.

Namjoon rouses an hour or so later, lifting his head up looking kind of confused, smiling when he sees your face. He doesn’t say anything but gets up and walks to the bathroom. You look away, to what? Preserve his modesty? It’s just you don’t feel like you have the right to blatantly ogle him even though he slept next to you naked of his own volition.

He comes back and puts his head on your chest, just above your right breast. Can he feel the way your breath stops?

“Read to me?” His voice is gravely, you can feel his chest rumble against your arm.

So you do. It’s Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet.

“You are so young, and I want beg you…”

He starts kissing the back of your hand, you move the book to the other. He takes a fingertip into his mouth, plush lips forming a gentle seal.

“… as much as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart-”

He sucks. You pause.

“Don’t stop.”

You briefly close your eyes and start again.

“And try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them.”

His mouth moves to your chest, kissing around the edge of your thin, white tank. He takes your nipple in his teeth through the fabric. You keep reading, voice climbing, your breath like you’ve been sprinting.

“And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without-“

He sits up, his erection brushing your bare thigh, and pulls the covers back. He moves between your legs and spreads them, you’ve dropped the book now.

“I said, don’t stop.” He raises a single eyebrow.

The rest of him is still, like a statue, everything hard. The light from the window casting chiaroscuro shadows over his body, the dull gleam of his skin makes him look like marble.

“Without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”

He lies down, pulls your panties to the side and licks. Your college boyfriend was not so into this. It’s probably for the best cause if he’d ever made you feel like this is you might not have broken up with his dumb ass.

You toss the book aside, your mouth can’t form words, grabbing his hair so tight you can feel him grunt as he continues to do whatever the fuck he’s doing. Two fingers slip in, thrusting and stroking. You cannot take this much longer. You never understood descriptions of ecstasy, of bliss before this. Now you get it. You shatter; coming so hard, you hear ringing in your ears. Eyes squeezed shut so tight, like you’re hurtling down the first hill of a roller coaster.

When he kisses you, when he slides in, when his hand comes to your cheek, the two of you are of a piece. Only then do you feel put back together.

—

Three weeks pass like this. You hit all of your known mile markers. You have coffee, he spends the night. He steals kisses from you behind a pillar at The Guggenheim near the Brancusi, the only piece of art you care for in this building, aside from the structure itself. From what you know of relationships, this is progress.

But some nights he and Jin go off with other people. He is here to work to see his friend. You have no claim in him or his time really. He extends his trip, claiming he needs more time at Jin's place but says so with his hand on your bare thigh as he presses into you.

Despite the date change, the end of his time in New York looms over everything. All of your interactions are focused on now, you never discuss what will happen later. You want to think something is being accomplished with all of this. But what? Where could this possibly go? Knowing the answer doesn’t stop you from running towards it.

—

The Sunday before he leaves, you go to DIA in Beacon. He meets you at Grand Central. Beanie and sunglasses on at 9am.

“Jin and I went to his local last night. I feel surprisingly okay considering the amount of alcohol that was in my body.” He wanted to spend his last night in town with you, but Jin wanted to give him a proper send off too. Namjoon didn’t invite you.

“It’s a slow burn, you’ll feel like shit at 3pm.” Your heart lurches. He takes your hand and the coffee you got him. That smile coming out, he plants a kiss on your hand.

“No I won’t.”

—

You enter the museum hand in hand and then go your separate ways. He comes across you standing in front of an Agnes Martin you’ve spent ten minutes slowly moving towards. Stopping at different distances to try and see all its permutations, how it shifts and changes shape depending on how far you are.

Later you see each other near the Robert Smithson, both of you eyeballing a toddler who is walking towards a pile of broken glass. Their mother swoops in and gets them before they’re too close.

You walk into one of the torqued ellipses as he’s walking out. The sunlight through the windows is noticeably lower.

“Ready to leave?”

—

When you get on to the empty train car, you just want to lie down. The early morning, the cold, the trying to keep yourself in check so you don't let all of your feelings rush out of you. Your heart beats so fast every time he comes near you, a full day of this has worn you out.

He sits by the window in one of the three-seaters and you stretch across the empty seat, placing your head on his left thigh. His hand alights on your lower back where your sweater has ridden up a bit, at first trying to pull it down and then lightly pressing his palm into it to keep that small slice of skin warm, away from the cold pleather train seat.

"You can't put your feet on the seat." The conductor has come by to check your tickets. Namjoon hands them to him and without moving any other part of your body, you put your feet on the floor. And immediately put them back on the seat as soon as he walked away. Namjoon huffs out a laugh and takes out the Richard Serra book he bought. You hold one corner and him the other. His hand is still on your back, so when he's done reading, he lightly taps so you can turn the page.

The rest of the trip passes like this, the two of you reading about the torqued ellipses. The complex calculations that designed them. The heavy machinery that pressed and rolled the steel. The end result is something that looks trapped in motion, impossibly rolling towards you and moving away in the same breath. The hand on your back starts to trace those ellipses, the same patterns over and over. He's drawing them, imprinting them on your skin.

When the train descends into the Grand Central tunnels, you sit up and stretch your arms overhead. The hand on your back curving around your waist, pulling you close. You kiss him without reserve, some of that feeling in your heart pouring out of your lips.

Because you’re alone in the train car. You straddle his lap, hands in his hair, running along the stubble on his chin. His fingertips drag up and down your thighs, ghosting over their apex. The two of you stay like that, till you hear the same conductor opening the door. Scrambling away from each other like guilty teenagers trying to avoid another scolding.

At the restaurant, which like most in New York only takes cash, Namjoon pats at his pockets.

“I need to go and get cash to pay.”

“Joon, it's okay, I can cover it.”

“No, I don't want- I want to take you out. I'll be right back.”

You see him asking the maitre'd for directions, probably to the nearest ATM.

He's gone for nearly 20 minutes. The waiter keeps hovering over your table, once coming over to ask if your date is coming back because he held the table for you and others are waiting.

Namjoon rushes back in the door, looking harried.

“None of the ATMs would take my card since it's Korean, so I had to go to one like ten blocks over. I'm so sorry. You must have thought I'd left you here.”

“No, no, it's fine.”

You smile, trying to will the small tears behind your eyes to go back where they came from.

The rest of the meal passes.

“Some of Laurie’s friends were at the bar last night.” Laurie is Jin’s wife.

“Oh.”

“Yeah one of her friends, Rachel? Jennifer? She insisted on drinking Cosmopolitans, they weren't too bad.” He's giving you a look, is he trying to see how you'll react to him spending time with someone else? He doesn't even live here. This isn't really a thing.

“Ah, yeah, they're all right.” Your heart feels like a cat trapped in a burlap sack. Why is he telling you this?

“Anyway, I was telling her all about the plan to go to the museum today. About the art, about the Judd room and the pile of glass and she just didn't understand. 'Does _______ get it? She must get it and that's why you're spending time with her.'”

You preen at this compliment. You are not amongst the elite of the art world. You're a worker bee, spending more time with the actual pieces than you are at the openings, the galas, the women in Moschino, the Art Basel Miamis that surround them.

That doesn't interest you.

What interests you is the fine layer of dust on the MoMA Lee Bontecou. Wondering what the hell happened to Louise Bourgeois to make art like that. Trying to look anywhere but at your own reflection in the grey Gerhard Richter mirrors at DIA.

“Is that why you spent all this time with me?” You’re smiling slyly, miming flirtation, but really you are absolutely desperate to know.

He stares at you, saying nothing, the edge of his lips twitch.

“Yes.” He’s grinning now. “Just that. Nothing else about you.”

—

Outside he kisses you, full mouth taking yours, arms wrapping around your shoulders. Broad hands pressing your close as he slants his lips against yours, tongue gaining entrance. You can't be close enough, nails raking through his hair.

You’re at the top of the stairs leading to the south bound Q train, near that random gas station on Houston Street, cabs, people, streaming around you. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters but him and his mouth and this moment.

The next day you're awake before him, slipping out to brush your teeth, you get back into bed and he barely moves. When you lift the covers you can see the broad expanse of his back, his golden skin leading to a soft swell.

You reach out, pulling the sheet back a little, running your hand from his shoulder to his waist and back again. With each pass relishing the texture of his skin, the muscles underneath, pressing gently at the soft dip below his ribs.

This movement wakes him. He turns to you with sleepy eyes, hand going right to your cheek, fingertips tangled in your hair. He pulls you in and kisses you. Like you never stopped. Like it is the only natural thing to do. The hand on his hip slides across his taut stomach, across the ridges of his hips, brushing the hair below his navel and the tip of his hard cock.

At that featherweight touch, his hands tighten, his lips become more insistent. He sits up slightly, hand now cradling the back of your head to lay you down on the pillow.

Sheets slipping down the curve of his ass, he mimics your movement, hand running up and down your side, pulling up your thin sleep tank, ghosting the side of your breast.

On its final downward pass, his thumb hooks into the top of your panties, pushing them down. His hand gripping and kneading your hip as soon as it's bare. His length rocking into you, still covered by the thin material, but pressing hard enough that you could come from this closeness alone. From the impression of him.

Your shirt is off now, his lips on your breasts, your nipples, your hands in his hair, pulling caressing, causing pain and instantly soothing. His hand removes your panties completely. Stopping just enough to pull a condom from your end table, he's back on you, inside you. So slowly that at first you don't notice the stretch, the delicious burn of him until he's fully seated.

You pause, millimeters away from each other, lips barely touching, eyes connected, til he moves and you press back into the pillows, overcome. Thrown back, like Saul from the horse, landing as St Teresa in ecstasy.

The wordless dance is anything but silent, your breath filling the room the way that he fills you. Your leg is wrapped around his hip, his hand pressing you into the bed, trying to give you what you need and not necessarily what you want.

You want to fuse into him, to have no separation. You're chasing him, but he's holding you back. Because he’s trying to sculpt the golden mean between your bodies, the perfect ratio between your hips and his cock, the angle of his thrusts and your eager cunt.

And he's right.

He pushes you off the ledge and you’re flying. Seeking pleasure makes you vulnerable, the orgasm shattering whatever defenses you had left, your body racked with feeling. When the pulses slow, you’re laid out beneath him like the map of broken glass, in pieces, a siren and also a warning. His hand grips you so hard when he comes, it mars the tableau. Your face contorts in brief pain as he shouts your name over and over, his voice getting quieter. Til he’s just lying still on top of you, whispering.

—

You get coffee and bagels en route to the train. It’s still early, but he needs time to get to Jin’s, to get to the airport. His flight leaves at 6.

“Come with me.”

You grab his hand and take him back up the stairs to the Coney Island bound train. The two of you finish your coffees shivering on the beach at the end of the line. Huddling together for warmth, but your coats are in the way of getting the heat you really need to make this bearable.

You trudge back to the train that’s now full of rush hour passengers. Namjoon places his hand over yours on the railing to try and keep you steady. The movement of the train slaps your hips together making the two of you giggle. Despite all the people, he kisses you softly in the crowded car. Emotion bubbles up to the surface, you want to say something to mark this occasion, to notarize what’s happened between you. You don’t do anything but kiss him.

Instead, he hops off the train at the W. 4th Street station, giving you a quick peck, so he can make the train that’s pulling in across the platform. The doors close and he’s gone.

——

A week later, you’ve sent him three emails and he’s returned only one of them. You meet your brother for coffee and you can see the look on his face. You are all dark circles, skin spotty, clothes rumpled enough to denote you’ve not changed them as often as you should.

“I’m okay! I’m not devastated!” You use the word first.

“You’re not devastated? ______… It’s okay if you are.” His face is somber, he knows you too well.

“It’s fine, we’ll email and text and visit. And it’s fine.”

“And he’s committed to that too? To you? Korea is a long way away.”

You don’t say anything.

He hugs you so tightly when you leave.

——

Six months pass and here you are.

Carpenters Workshop Gallery wants to include me in a show, so I’m coming out to work on the pieces and finish Jin’s apartment. I’d like to see you. I understand if you don’t want to see me. I know I messed up. Or I think I did. I’ve missed you so much. I didn’t know what to say.

There is an attachment for a one way ticket to New York from Seoul for November 13th, which is in two days.

You click ‘Reply’ and start to type.

The End.

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joonrecs · 4 years ago

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idealizations concerning real life relations | jjk (m/nc17)

>>pairing:jungkook x reader / fuckboy!jk x hopeless romantic!oc

>>genre:s2l, fwb, smut, angst

>>word count: 40.9k besties i am so sorry

>>warnings: jk is so sweet, but also so evil lmao, oc lives in her little noggin, angsty fwb, drug and alcohol use, tattoos, multiple smut scenes that include: oral (m/f), fingering (f), light face slapping (with hand and cock??), praise, degradation, marking, dirty talk, so many creampies yum, multiple orgasms, kissing :(, cumming in pants :), probably more but i cant think of it, ok other stuff now, manipulation, infidelity, oc thinks jk is made of stars :(, jk thinks she is so pretty :(, misunderstandings, some fluff if you squint, brunette jk, blonde jk, n blue jk, 1 mentions of: howls moving castle, too many mentions of: stars, the color pink

>>notes: bruv i do not have anything to say for myself EXCPET that i worked v hard on her and i really hope u like it <3 beta: @birbdae tysm for dealing with this, she is long lmao

this is split up by seasons, so if 40k is a lot for one sitting, you can read one season at a time if that is easier :)

>>summary: jungkook loves to be loved, but he doesn’t love in return.

Keep reading

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joonrecs · 4 years ago

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whipped - JJK

↣ another day, another trend that you’re forced to participate in with your boyfriend. It was his idea but he somehow gets sidetracked, with his head between your thighs.

pairing — tiktoker!jungkook x reader

genre/rating — R | fluff, smut, crack, pwp

word count — 5K

warnings/tags — college au, sorta established relationship, strong language, barista!reader, thigh kink (ofc), kinda famous jk, explicit smut — big dick jk, manhandling, exhibitionism, dirty talk, biting/scratching, hickeys, fingering, oral (f & m), hair pulling, clit biting, degradation, spanking, pussy slapping, squirting, deep throating, cum eating, choking, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, doggy style, unprotected sex, cum on chest?, aftercare

a/n — if you don’t watch tiktoks, that’s fine, he kinda explains it in the fic. I couldn’t get tiktoker!jk out of my head.

∞

Rubbing at the itch on your forehead, you’re scrubbing down the counter with tired arms, switching from one to the other while your co-worker sits at one of the tables, giggling at her phone screen now and again. If it was any other day, you would ask her to help but you’re not in the mood for another argument. Today had been one of those days, the kind that made you regret ever begging for a job here at the café. You were forced to deal with two elderly woman who chewed your ear off about not having oat milk. Despite you telling them – multiple times – that you don’t handle inventory.

Then you messed up two orders, which was entirely your fault. But you know that it could’ve been avoided if Mina got off her phone for a minute and remembered that she had a job to do instead of taking advantage of the free Wi-Fi here.

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joonrecs · 4 years ago

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A Holiday Snowdown (M)

Author: @kpopfanfictrash as part of the Happy Ho-lidays collab with @floralseokjin , @suga-kookiemonster , @sugaurora , @underthejoon, @winetae and @btssavedmylifeblr

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader (female)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Ski Resort!AU / Snowboarder!AU

Word Count: 36,333

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for sexual content. Fingering, oral (female receiving), hand job, mutual masturbation, breast play, some face riding, dirty talk, orgasm denial, clit smacking (is there a non plural form of this?), cum shot on chest

Mentions of past death (does not occur during story). Ankle injury (non-graphic). Min Yoongi is an enthusiastic MC. Bam is adorable. Jungkook has both lip and eyebrow piercing

Summary: The Inn on the Hill is in trouble. Or that’s what your boss, Namjoon, says during the last-minute All Staff holiday meeting he calls. You need money, and you need money fast, or his parents are planning to sell the resort. When no one can think of an easy solution, Namjoon proposes his parents’ idea: a weeklong social media blitz with a celebrity guest. The celebrity? None other than Jeon Jungkook himself: two-time Olympic gold medalist, world-class snowboarder and the nation’s sweetheart. What’s the problem? You happen to have met Jeon Jungkook before, and sincerely hoped you’d never see him again.

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joonrecs · 4 years ago

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love, lust, and life mushrooms | ksj

pairing: seokjin x f reader

genre: smut, humor, crack, the barest hint of angst, oneshot

summary: Jin has had a very specific fantasy for a long time, and he’s decided that he wants to make it a reality. Will your relationship be strong enough for the strain this puts on it? Or will the two of you come out of it stronger than ever?

rating: 18+

word count: 7k

warnings: explicit sexual content consisting of role-play, oral sex (m & f receiving), face-fucking, dirty talk, use of a pet name, unprotected penetrative sex within an established relationship, squirting, mild degradation, inappropriate use of a princess peach costume, and use of a vibrating mario mustache. also contains jokes about kink-shaming, swearing, minor domestic disputes, embarrassing gifts and phone calls in a work place, and discussions of bowser’s dilf status. no goombas were harmed in the making of this fic.

notes: Here it is!! My first completed fic! This would not have been possible without the support of the NaNoWriMo server group! What started as an off-hand quip ended up turning into this whirlwind drafting process and um … this is the result. I fucking appreciate every single on of you, and I hope you enjoy reading this. Much love!

read on ao3

You and Seokjin had been dating for almost two years, and it had honestly been phenomenal thus far. You’d moved in with each other, you’d bought plants together, and had even considered adopting a dog together. While it wasn’t perfect (indeed, no relationship is), it was definitely your strongest and most resilient relationship to date. You thought that the two of you could withstand any and all challenges that presented themselves to you. During a lazy Saturday breakfast, however, your boyfriend came to you with an absurd proposition that you couldn’t quite wrap your head around.

“You want me to pretend to be Peach. So you can fuck me as Mario.”

“Yes!”

“This is what your deepest, darkest fantasy is.”

“Yes.”

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joonrecs · 4 years ago

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bad boy good thing | jk's birthday drabble | m

WARNINGS. fluffy fluff, smutty SMUT, filming during da nastay o_o, nudes-ish???, our couple are just so soft for each other, oral (m receiving), ms oc is BOLD, yena as oc's number one supporter as usual, they're in love that's all that i can say

NOTE. oh MYYYYY it's finally done !!!!! T___T this bday drabble took waaay longer than i anticipated LOL. but happy belated birthday to our lovely boy, jk <3 one of our virgo kings !!!! i hope u guys enjoy this ^_^ (also, Nawt edited at all so ... ignore the grammar mistakes TT)

WORDS. 8.6k

You were comfortable in your comfort zone (go figure). But you weren’t exactly opposed to untether the standards you’ve set for yourself every once in a while. Especially when you had a supportive friend group that you did and a boyfriend that was the epitome of ‘try everything once’.

Point is, you were comfortable but you were receptive to change, typically when you knew that you were able to sow the fruits of your efforts.

But right now, you couldn't even recognise the person staring back at you through the mirror.

“Bitch, you better do it if not I’ll strap you to a chair and send it myself!” Yena’s voice bellows from outside of your compartmentalised brain as you snap out of your daze, eyes still unfocused when they rest on your appearance through the mirror.

“I … I don’t know—”

“You do! We bought this together, remember? For this exact reason,” she reminds you with a flail of her arms, earning your hesitant stare while you nibble on your lips.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea. What if he doesn’t like it?” you murmur.

Yena shoots you a dumbfounded expression, and you know it’s one that she only reserves for you when you were acting exceptionally dumb. But you had valid concerns! You never did … this.

This being the get-up you were wearing or lack thereof.

The lingerie set was beautiful, to say the least. It wasn’t too provocative that you would cower even behind Yena’s eyes, but dainty enough to highlight the curves you never knew you had. It was a pretty pale yellow, paired with small lilac flowers that littered across the cups that covered your chest.

The underwear that strapped itself around your waist didn’t leave little to the imagination either. It was just the right amount of risqué, the sheer lace of the fabric exposing just enough skin to make anyone go a little breathless.

You felt … sexy. But you were still scared shitless.

“Are we talking about Jungkook?” she deadpans as you shoot her a scowl. “The same Jungkook who literally painted a portrait of you sleeping—in the most unforgiving angle—just because he thought you were cute?”

“It was an anniversary—!” you defend, cheeks flushing but Yena is having none of it.

“Or, is this the Jungkook that literally shouted ‘this is for my girlfriend!’ at their qualifying match for the next season before scoring the final goal?”

You remember the moment so vividly, and how mortified yet flattered you were when his voice bellowed with exertion through the stadium. You don’t even know how he had the energy to shout that loud after an intense game, but the hollers from the audience were enough to have him take it home.

“That’s different,” you hiss, “What if like—he doesn’t think I’m sexy?”

Okay. That was a little irrational, and even Yena knew that. Especially now that she’s glaring at you with a sense of purpose to smother you with the pillow in her grasp as you pointedly avoid her gaze.

“Bitch! You breathe a little differently and he thinks you’re the sexiest motherfucker out there! He pops boners like nobodies business just because he’s thinking of you!” she exclaims as you flush, chucking your t-shirt at her in embarrassment.

“You don’t have to be so … crude,” you say through your embarrassment as your eyes drift to your phone, the picture already in the text box, ready to be sent.

“Come on,” she groans, flopping onto your bed. “Give him something to think about. It’s his birthday, right?”

Exactly. That was the entire reason why you bought the get-up in the first place after seeking advice from Yena, and even Jennie herself.

You were busy, and so was Jungkook. The two of you understood that your schedules wouldn’t necessarily coincide, especially when you were in you final run for your dissertation while Jungkook was actively being scouted by recruiters from sports team all over the country. The two of you had other priorities that weren’t each other, which meant that you couldn’t spend as much time together as you usually would be able to.

You still made an effort to FaceTime him whenever you could, and you communicated your feelings to him vice versa. The two of you were in university and in a committed relationship. It was a given that you had to compromise certain things from time to time, and that was okay.

But it was his birthday. And the Gods above must be on your side because you had just submitted your final draft to your professor to proofread, and Jungkook has his last intensive training for the month and the two of you were able to see each other again.

You wanted to surprise him a little. To give him something a little extra to look forward to before he came over tonight to celebrate.

“Fuck, this is so scary,” you whine, flailing your limbs while you lay next to her, staring at the picture on your phone.

Yena looks over and sighs. “Babe. You look sexy. People would pay good money just to be able to nut to that. You’re going to be doing Jeon a favour, trust me.”

You flush, nibbling on your lip as you take a deep breath.

Jungkook was your boyfriend. He’s seen you in less—literally no clothes. Why was this so different?

Maybe it was because that your pose was intentionally erotic, the way that your knees are spread while you lean forward, breasts pressed together to highlight your assets. You tried your best to put on your best sultry face, even if it felt awkward. But with Yena’s (surprising, but not so) advice, you think the picture came out really good.

“Fuck it,” you declare, abruptly sitting up before you hear Yena let out a whoop.

“You go, girl! Make him cream his pants!”

You take one last deep breath before you type in a message to go along with the picture, and press send.

“I did it, oh my God,” you ramble, feeling the adrenaline coursing through your bones. While you were nervous, you had to admit that you were a little … excited? Knowing that Jungkook was in the middle of training and would only see the message after.

“Let me see, let me see!” she cheers excitedly, looking over your shoulder as you show her the message you attached with the image.

She lets out a low whistle, nodding her head, impressed as she pats you on your back with a gleam in her eyes.

“Oh, he’s going to die.”

You bite away from a grin.

“After tonight,” you giggle, sharing giddy laughs with Yena before the two of you continue to rave about the intricacies of your lingerie set.

To: Jungkook 🐰

your first present of the day :)

[image attached]

tell joon to take it easy on you today. i need you in one piece tonight 💗

love you !!!

You adjust the strap of your dress, ensuring that your bra strap wasn’t visible while simultaneously ensuring that everything was in place. The aromatic scent of Korean food permeates each corner of your quaint apartment, and you admire the little set-up you made do with on your dinner table.

It was a yearly tradition that you and Jungkook had with each other on his birthdays, even before the two of you were officially dating. You would always prepare him some of his favourite Korean dishes, allowing him to indulge himself while the two of you settled comfortably in either his or your apartment.

This year, things worked out in your favour and you were awaiting Jungkook’s arrival any second now.

However, you were still a little nervous about your stunt in the morning. You had half expected Jungkook to reply right after his training, but when you last checked your message was just left on read.

Now that was peculiar for Jungkook. You weren’t that type of person that expected their significant other to constantly reply and be on their toes at all times when it came to you, but you knew Jungkook. He loved texting, whether it was just a good morning message, a link to a slightly concerning Buzzfeed article—or even updating you on random things about his day—Jungkook always texts you.

So him leaving you on read was enough to have your nerves on edge. You don’t try to dwell too much on it. Maybe he forgot? Maybe a reply was in the works and Taehyung distracted him, or something. You don’t know and you don’t want to think too much of it. Especially when your evil mind tries to convince you that he doesn’t find yous sexy and was too abhorred to formulate a proper response.

You curse at yourself, shaking your head and reminding yourself that you were past these thoughts. You wouldn’t allow yourself to suffer twice before something happened, so you’ll just deal with Jungkook head-on when he came.

Just as you’re rearranging the cute little flower piece in the middle of the dining table into place, your doorbell rings as you squeal, excitement filling your body.

Your feet patter against the ground, taking quick strides towards your door as you wait to see the face of your boyfriend who’ve you missed dearly over the long and gruelling month.

“Happy birth—!”

Before you could properly take him in, in all of his comfortable glory after training, his muscular body bulldozes into your tinier frame as you squeal.

“You’re real,” he murmurs into your neck, hands already on your hips as your eyes widen at the immediate deep tone he takes. He pulls away ever so slightly that you’re able to see his hooded gaze. “Wanted to check if you were a figment of my imagination.”

“Jungkook, what are you even saying,” you snort, finding amusement in your boyfriend’s words despite the way he looks like he’s undressing you alive.

“Don’t act coy with me. That’s mean, baby,” he snaps, hugging you tighter to his chest as you squirm under his touch. You feel him press his nose at the junction of your jaw before he lets out a big sigh.

“Not doing anything,” you mumble, “Kiss me. I miss you.”

“So demanding,” he teases, right before he slots his lips against your own.

You all but melt, your body falling limp into his strong hold while you press your lips deeper against his own. You forget everything, the food on the table, the fact that any one of your neighbours could walk out and get an eyeful of your tongue down his throat—and the picture that you sent him.

The two of you kiss the frustrations of the month away, you tugging the collar of his shirt that he seemed to have hastily thrown on after training before rushing over, and him pulling your hips until they were flushed against his pelvis.

Only when his hands start wandering upwards to risqué territory only do you pull away, panting.

“I haven’t properly wished you,” you pout, lips swollen as you tug him away from your entrance to shut the door behind him.

“You look so pretty,” he says softly, taking a whole one-eighty with his character as you flush. Only then does his eyes peer to what lays behind you as he groans. “Fuck.”

“Our tradition,” you smile, grasping a hold of his hand before leading him towards the table. You let him take a seat, allowing him to salivate over the food before you’re bending down to reach his face level, and pressing a loving kiss to his lips, soft enough to have him reeling for more. “Happy birthday, Jungkook.”

“You’re unreal,” he says breathlessly, smiling up at you in a way that has your heart stammering against your chest like it’s the first. “You’re so mean, you know that?”

“What, why?” you frown.

Suddenly, his eyes darken as yours widen. Your lips part ever so slightly when he presses a large palm against your abdomen, forcing you to lean against the edge of the table while he cowers over you like a predator approaching its prey. You knew that Jungkook was bulking up, based on his complaints through the messages you shared over the month when he’d tell you how much his coach was making him hit the gym.

But now, you see all of his efforts in all their glory. The way that the fabric of his shirt accentuate the broadness of his chest and shoulders, the way you can clearly see the outline of his biceps through his sleeves—and the way he looks so … big.

“You look so cute and innocent right now. Playing my sweet girlfriend,” he taunts as your ears flush while your head ducks down. “But you’re not. You’re a little minx.”

“D-Do you not want the food?” you ask with furrowed brows, confused.

He laughs, shaking his head before he leans closer, pressing a little harder against your abdomen as you gasp, legs already parting on instinct.

“Oh baby, I love the food,” he concedes, right before his lips graze your jaw, “I just wanna eat you up.”

“Jungkook!” you scowl, pushing him away with a pout as you see his own eyes widen.

“Baby—”

“Food first, be horny later,” you huff, pinching his cheek as you see your big boyfriend flush at your words.

“That’s not fair,” he complains, slumping into his seat while you glare at him. “Do you know how hard it was trying to not pop a boner in front of the guys?”

You blink.

“Yeah, don’t look so confused, baby,” he sneers, “You know when I got a text from you, I was sooo excited. What could my pretty baby have sent me? I wanted to know that.”

You swallow, watching the way Jungkook shakes his head, chuckling ever so slightly as he recalls the exact moment he saw what you’ve sent him.

“Thought it was a cute selfie wishing me happy birthday at first,” he admits, mostly to the ceiling. “Then you sent me that.”

You wince.

“Was that … too much?” you ask hesitantly.

Jungkook’s head immediately snaps to your face, taking in your timid expression before he lets out a loud snort.

“Too much? Baby, get your cute ass on the table and spread your legs. I’ll show you too much when you’re crying on my tongue,” he says dryly.

“Jungkook!” you hiss, swatting his chest in mortification. He looks at you straight in the eye, expression deadly serious.

“Sorry,” he sighs, but you doubt he actually feels bad. Only when he wraps his arms around your face and forces you to look at him do you see the telltale signs of guilt mark his face.

“I love you,” he murmurs as your heart grows when he presses a kiss against the fabric over your hip, “I missed you so much that my brain can’t function. I want to smother you with kisses and wrap you in a blanket for my own, and at the same time I really want you to smother me with your pussy until I pass out.”

Your jaw slackens. “Jungkook!” You cry, covering your face with your hands as you hear his boyish laugh echo.

“Point is,” he says softly while prying your hands away. His eyes look so pretty up close, especially when he looks like he’s trying to tell you an entire story just with his irises. “I love you. I appreciate you so much. I’m the luckiest man ever. I really appreciate the meal you made for me even if my brain just short-circuits whenever I’m with you. I’m not a barbarian—or maybe I am, but I’m your barbarian so—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt him as he stares at you with his doe-eyes. You melt at how adorable he looks, guilty as he rambles on about his feelings and thought process. You brush away the hair from his face before cradling his cheeks in your hand and pressing a kiss to the mole on top of his lip.

“I know,” you say gently as his shoulders sag in relief, “Let’s eat first. Okay?”

He nods his head obediently, suddenly returning to the boyish Jungkook you’ve always known. You laugh at his eagerness, especially when he complains how much he missed samgyeopsal, noting that coach banned him from eating too much because it would interfere with his attempts at bulking.

“By the way, Jimin says good job,” he mentions off-handedly, already deep into a bowl of rice.

You raise a brow. “For?”

Jungkook swallows, redness rising to his ears as you wait intently for his response, curious.

“Well, I had to explain to the team why I was sporting a hard-on after our runs when everyone had their shirts off.”

You blink, taking in his statement before you burst out laughing, your hands clutching your stomach.

“Oh my God.”

“You’re evil. That’s why he said good job,” he sniffs, poking into his meat as you snicker. Then, you meet his eyes and they’re dark again.

“And you’re gonna see how evil I can get,” he threatens, voice a deep rumble as you clench your thighs together in excitement.

Cleaning up is never fun, but when you had Jungkook by your side, it made the trivial task all the more entertaining.

“Okay, let me just—!”

Clearly, Jungkook had other plans than to let you wipe down the last bit of your dishes, along with your still wet hands as he tugs you by your waist, back coming into contact with his chest before he spins you around.

“Later, bedroom now,” he demands, pressing his impressive semi against your thigh as you gawk at him.

“My hands are still wet,” you exasperate, even if you find yourself giggling.

“Well I need other places wet, so that can wait,” he huffs, wrapping his arms around your thighs before he’s lugging you over his shoulder with absolute ease.

You squeal, shrieking when he doesn’t pay any mind to your retorts before he’s practically sprinting towards your bedroom.

He effectively snaps open your door with a free hand, the other cheekily squeezing your ass as you attempt to glare at him from where you hang. And before you know it, he’s dropping you onto your plush sheets, chest already heaving in exertion.

“Missed me that much?” you tease, smiling up at him with a glint in your eye as he stares at you from where he stands.

You’re mildly taken aback at the softness in his eyes when you meet them. “So much. I thought about you every day, you know? How things would be better if you were by my side.”

“I was, though,” you murmur shyly, reaching your hand out in a grabby motion so that he’d intertwine his fingers with yours.

Before Jungkook, and frankly, in general—you never considered yourself a romantic person at all. It wasn’t that you detested all forms of a typical romance, but you were rather timid in your affection. The way you loved was very much by doing things for the people you cared about, whether it was going out of your way to tutor them, support them in their little wins—or even just forwarding catalogues on interior design because it reminded you of them.

You also hypothesised that you would be the same in a relationship, even when your heart was only ever meant for Jungkook.

But then, the two of you started dating and you were completely disproven.

All you wanted was to be romantic with Jungkook. Whether it was holding his hands, kissing him, telling him how much you adored him at random intervals—you wanted it all. It took some getting adjusted to, but when you realised that he was equally as invested as you were, you knew that there was absolutely no shame in how you felt and how you were displaying it.

Though, you would admit that Jungkook was definitely the one that initiated these romantic acts in the first place, rivalling the love interest in every rom-com ever made.

“I know. But … having you next to me is just like having my personal good luck charm, you know?” he mumbles, knee digging in between your thighs as he hovers above you. “Just seeing your face makes life a little easier.”

You flush. “You’re exaggerating.”

He shakes his head before he gently crawls above you, pinning your hand by the side of your head as he squeezes it, causing your heart to melt when he peers down at you with an earnest gaze.

“Really. You’re the best,” he tells you, “Sometimes I wonder how I got so lucky. I’m pretty mediocre. I’m good at what I do but that’s it. It’s nothing worthy of the blessings that I have in my life. Especially when you do the things that you do for me.”

“You deserve it all,” you say, cupping his face with your free hand.

“Do I?” he laughs, but it’s more reflective than deprecating, and the sound only makes you grin at him. “I don’t know if I do but I’ll never take it for granted.”

Jungkook finally leans in closer, lips brushing just against yours as he stares into your eyes so intently that you feel nervous. Even after intimately getting to know Jungkook in ways that you haven’t before, you still feel nervous around him. It was anxiety, but it was just how intensely he made you feel.

“It’s your birthday. I’m supposed to me saying all of this,” you complain, regaining some control over the situation by rolling the two of you over when he was caught off guard.

You straddle him, offering Jungkook a cheeky smile when he shakes his head in disbelief.

“A birthday is meant for self-reflection. I’m simply reflecting,” he snorts, getting comfortable as he keeps his gaze heavy on your figure and the way your dress rides up your thighs. “Thank you. For tonight. For everything—for the picture.”

You clear your throat despite the redness that rushes up your neck.

“Did you … did you like it?”

He blinks, staring at you long and hard as you nibble on your lips while you anticipate an answer.

Jungkook’s a little too silent for your liking, and for the anxiety that rumbles in your chest.

“I-I wanted to try something different, but if you didn’t like it then—“ you ramble, just as Jungkook pushes you down onto the bed, earning a squeal from you.

“Spread your legs,” he demands with a grunt as your head spins at the sudden impact. “Gonna show you how much I liked it.”

“Jungkook!” you scold, “I’m supposed to be treating you!”

“Babe,” he says dryly, “Trust me, your pussy is the greatest gift.”

You gasp, when he pushes your dress up, exposing your laced panties. Jungkook stutters in his ministrations, mind attempting to make sense of what he was seeing. You feel shy under his blatant ogling, especially when his jaw slackens and his fingers dig harder into your thighs.

“You—“ he swallows, sounding pained, “Fuck. Baby, I’m gonna fucking die. You’re so mean.”

“Do you like it?” you ask shyly, squirming under his gaze.

“Do I—? Baby,” he deadpans, “I love it. I love you. Shit, you’re perfect—so pretty. So perfect for me. I love you.”

He rambles on, a little crazed when his eye sticks to the triangle in between your legs, especially when the lace does nothing to hide your mound to his eyes.

“Your favourite colour,” you mumble softly, hand reaching out to squeeze his wrist, “I’m yours, Jungkook.”

Jungkook groans, head lolling to the back as his eyes drift to the ceiling.

“I’m gonna cream my pants like a teenager,” he sighs, his hands simultaneously working to slip the rest of the material of your dress off your body.

“I mean, it is your birthday?” you say through a giggle.

“Yeah but I want this to last forever,” he pouts and the act is a stark juxtaposition to the way he hovers above you with a determined glint to his eyes. It’s dangerous and dark, and you feel your stomach clench in anticipation when he rubs his hands across your stomach, to your ribs and eventually around the cups of your breasts.

You gasp, head falling back as Jungkook hovers above you, face inches from yours when he shoots you a striking grin. One that makes your heart soar in your chest, with the thought of how much you love this boy filling your head.

He squeezes your tits in his hands, grunting above you when you let out a tiny whimper. His eyes are glazed over and you note his eyes are darting everywhere from your face to your chest and in-between your legs as if he wanted to be able to look everywhere at once.

“Later, Kook,” you mumble, gently nudging his hand away as his eyes widened in protest.

“But baby—”

“I wanna make you feel good,” you say shyly, peering up at him through your eyelashes. “Will you let me?”

Jungkook groans, head tilting back as you shoot him a demure grin.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he sighs dreamily, causing you to flush harder in embarrassment. Jungkook’s dopey grin doesn’t fly over your head since he makes a keen effort to ensure that his eyes remain trained on your face.

“Stop it,” you scold, your head falling forward when you hear his laugh. God, even his laugh made you feel soft on the inside. Just what was he doing to your poor heart?

“Just wanna appreciate my girl,” he murmurs, brushing a hair out of your face when you glare at him. There’s no malice, especially when your hand instinctively reaches to the zipper of his pants to give him the next part of his birthday present. Weren’t you just generous? “Wanna burn this to memory.” He adds as an afterthought.

Jungkook had a way of muddling your mind. Making a bright woman like yourself turn into absolute mush whenever you were around him. It was as if whenever you had Jungkook right next to you, on top of you or beneath you—all you wanted to do was please him. To let him have his way with you until he had his fill. You didn’t even feel sick. You felt … wanted.

And now, all you wanted to do was to give him something to remember.

“You can,” you say softly, mindlessly massaging his thickening girth over the fabric of his pants before your eyes innocently meets his own. “Use your phone.”

Right now, you wanted to burn his expression to memory. The way his jaw slackens and his eyes widen in an almost comical manner. Jungkook looks absolutely baffled. The hand that lovingly held your hair back freezes along with his entire body, and all you can muster out is a giggle. An evil, coy giggle that has Jungkook spluttering above you.

“M-My phone?” he repeats, so starstruck that you almost felt bad for him.

You nod your head, finally managing to undo his buckle in the midst of his hazed state. Your hand naturally wraps itself around the base of his cock after you pull off his jeans, him mindlessly complying as his eyes bore a hole straight through the crown of your head.

“What—why—what’s my phone got to do with anything?” he asks, and you shoot him a dry look from where you jerk him off, a rather sharp twist of your wrist that has him gasping with his head thrown back. God, he was so hot.

“It means …” you trail off, a tilted smirk appearing on your face before lean up to allow a glob of spit to coat the crown of his head. All Jungkook can do is stare at you. “Take a picture. Or a video. You seem to like them, don’t you?”

Above you, you’re sure the birthday boy’s brain is short-circuiting once again within the span of just a few minutes. He’s gawking at you, hips still involuntarily jumping when you spread your spit all over his cock, coating every inch so it could lubricate your movements.

“Are you serious?” His words are choked when you decide to finally descend your mouth onto his dick, staring up at him in a way you know drives him crazy.

You pull off with a plop, licking your lips as you quite literally see Jungkook’s face crumble at your action. “It’s your birthday. Do what you want,” you say with a shrug.

Jungkook all but scrambles upwards ever so slightly, nearly knocking your chin with his knee when he reaches to the side where he left his phone on your bedside table. You keep your giggle to yourself, watching the way he stabs his fingers onto his phone in a hurry.

Once he has the camera app open, you see a blink of hesitation on his face.

“Are you … sure?” he asks tentatively, “Are you comfortable with this?”

Your heart soars, observing the way that Jungkook genuinely looked concerned. You knew most guys would jump at the opportunity if their girlfriend ever gave them the green light to record them during sex. Jungkook sincerely wanted you to be comfortable.

You crawl up to him and place your hands on his chest to place a peck onto his lips before pulling away with a smile.

“If only you could feel how comfortable I really am,” you purr, your legs surrounding his thigh as you grind your dampened panties against his bare skin.

“You’re fucking evil,” he breathes, shaking his head as he attempts to regain control of the situation, almost forgetting what you suggested him with.

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head, returning to in between his legs, “You said you wanted to burn this to memory, right? So do it.”

Seeing the way Jungkook’s face looks absolutely bewildered at your boldness makes pride bloom in your chest. Truthfully, you were still feeling a little awkward about trying to take control of the situation because, well, you were a rather docile person by nature. You came to terms with the fact that you were just malleable in this aspect.

But there’s a certain sort of power that you feel when you see Jungkook’s eyes glaze over you with his phone in his shaky hand, almost in disbelief that you were the one proposing the thing that you did.

“Get a nice angle,” you say, and Jungkook can’t even retort before you’re descending your lips over his cock, suctioning your cheeks in a manner that you just know has Jungkook’s head spinning.

Jungkook falls back onto the bed, head tilting upwards while a groan bubbles in his throat. The camera angle is a little off, probably due to tot the fact that he wasn’t used to filming you when the two of you got intimate.

Your tongue works hard against the underside of his cock, paired with your nimble fingers while you jerk off the remaining length that you’ve yet to have down your throat. Above you, Jungkook looks torn between staring at your face, gripping your hair back with his free hand or ensuring that you were within the shot.

“Oh fuck, baby—“ he chokes when you push his cock deeper down your throat, your hands stabling yourself against his thick thighs as you bob your head up and down. “H-Holy fuck—!”

The way you slobber over his girth is obscene, and the knowledge that it’s all being recorded only makes you dig your thighs together, pushing yourself further against him until all you can feel is Jungkook’s cock down your throat.

His heavy breathing, along with the occasional grunts, permeates the air. You make it your duty to get Jungkook wrecked because even if your jaw was aching in exertion, you wanted to treat him. You wanted to make him feel good like he does to you.

“You’re so—shit,” he gasps when you drag your tongue against his cock while swallowing around the crown of his cock. “Oh my fucking god, you’re insane.”

You grin around his cock, nearly giggling at his befuddled voice but you remember what you were meant to be doing.

Giving him something to remember.

Your hands immediately reach up to cup his balls, and you feel Jungkook’s hips jerk against your lips, his cock bruising the back of your throat as you gag. It’s absolutely lewd. The way that spit pools at the corners of your mouth while tears form in your eyes.

Jungkook lets out a deep groan, one that resonates in your belly as you whimper around his cock. There was really no reason that your boyfriend had to be sex personified.

“Fuck, baby—you’re going to kill me,” he grunts, eyes finding the strength to peer down at you.

Your eyes peer up at him as you flutter your eyelashes at him. Jungkook bucks into your mouth, cock twitching as you gauge the way his jaw slackens.

“S-So fucking gorgeous,” he rambles, “You look so pretty—choking on my cock, yeah?”

You hum around his cock, pulling off ever so slightly with a lewd pop before rapidly jerking your wrist over his length.

Jungkook throws his head back, fist tightening around his makeshift ponytail in your hair. “F-Fuck—I’m gonna—!”

You smile, mostly at the camera, before you stare straight at the lens and let your spit mixed with his precum dribble over his cock as you brush a thumb over his slit.

“You can cum, Jungkook,” you say sweetly, jerking his cock even harder as you hear him release a whine. Your throat is sore and your jaw aches but seeing the way his face contorts in pleasure only drives your ambition even further.

“W-Wanna cum in your pussy,” he complains, but he makes no effort to shove you off his cock when you descend once more.

This time, you’re both messy and quick, working quick circles against his cock as you continue to bob your head with a sense of determination that makes you breathless. His cock is heavy on your tongue, precum oozing out while it twitches in anticipation. Jungkook’s gasping above you, hand pushing your head further down his cock while you let him.

The sounds that fill the room are downright obscene, and you know that it’s all caught on camera. The gentle reminder that you were being filmed makes you act quicker, lewder, as you hollow your cheeks as far as it could go before you’re massaging his balls in your palm.

“O-Oh fuck, holy shit—b-baby—” he moans, hips stuttering as you hum around his cock, urging him to cum with the vibrations along his shaft.

“F-Fuck—I’m gonna—shit—” and before he can warn you, or vice versa, you’re shoving his cock further down your throat before swallowing around it, salaciously choking around the pulsating member as you feel his grip grow more delirious against your hair.

Jungkook cums and it’s so fucking sexy. His face is scrunched up in pleasure while you watch him through a teary gaze, cheeks stained with your tears and the spit that spreads across your jaw. He releases his load in your mouth, hips jerking when you let him fuck your throat through his high.

It’s almost uncomfortable, the way he cums so much—but he’s still hard. You’re surprised yourself, but all you can focus on right now is the way that Jungkook looks absolutely heavenly above you, chest heaving in exertion as he slowly comes down from his high.

Jungkook slowly pulls out of your mouth, releasing a shaky breath when you take the initiative to make a show for the camera, dropping your jaw open to reveal the pool of cum he released into your mouth.

You make a noise, and Jungkook still looks too dazed to understand what you were trying to imply—but when you jerk your head towards his phone, he gets it immediately.

You swear you see Jungkook’s cock jump in interest, but his hand moves first by bringing the camera closer to your face and likely getting a good shot of how fucked-out you looked, along with the load in your mouth.

He stares at you with hooded eyes and a gaping mouth, swallowing as he reaches his other hand out to hold your cheeks.

“Fuck,” he whispers breathlessly, “You look so fucking hot.”

You grin virtuously, and before he can say anything—you’re leaning over this cock and letting his cum fall over his (still) erected length. Jungkook looks like he’s about to have a heart attack, purely due to how he’s gawking at you like you’ve grown a third head.

Frankly, you couldn’t believe it either—but you were so unbelievably turned on that you weren’t thinking straight.

“You need a break?” you murmur, lightly tracing the tip of your index finger over his cock as he shivers.

“Evil,” he laughs breathlessly, “Absolutely evil.”

You smirk. “So? Yes or no?”

“Hell no,” he snaps as you giggle at his eagerness. “Lie back and I’ll—”

Before he can get his way, you’re crawling over him and straddling his hips, your hands splayed over his chest in a way that tells him that you wanted to treat him tonight. That you were going to call the shots.

Jungkook gets this, even with the tick in his jaw that usually only appears when he was annoyed.

“You can have fun with me later,” you tut at him, hand brushing a hair away from his face before you’re leaning down until you were inches apart. “This is my treat to you.”

“I don’t know if you love me or if you hate me,” he mumbles, and you roll your eyes at his tone before you’re pecking his cheek in a way that contrasted the stickiness of his cock that calls for attention.

“I love you,” you chirp, and Jungkook shoots you with a lopsided grin that makes both your heart and your intimates flutter.

Jungkook settles back, and you just note that his phone resting by his side. Your eyes flicker to the device before they’re returning to Jungkook’s inquisitive state.

“You can still go, you know,” you remind him gently, moving your hair back as his eyes trail down your exposed cleavage, even with your lingerie. “For memories.”

He blinks.

“Once we’re done, I’m gonna need to have a talk with Yena because what the fuck did she do to you?” he deadpans.

You giggle, rubbing your hands all over his chest before you return to the matter at hand.

You shoot him a sincere smile, one that’s softer despite the dirtiness of the atmosphere. Jungkook senses your change in expression, just like he always has. He’s always in tune with you, and you with him. You wonder if this was temporary? The feeling of the immense love that you had for him. You were so scared, but when you look at Jungkook—grinning up at you equally as soft—you’re reminded that you weren’t alone.

“Happy birthday, Jungkook,” you whisper, keeping eye contact with him as you tug your panties to the side with one hand.

You reach out to hand him his phone that he hasn’t made an effort to reach for just yet, and you smile. “I’m gonna ride you till we’re both crying.”

Jungkook swallows, hand shakily steading your hips as you line his cock up against your entrance. You’re wet enough, you and him both know that, especially with the given addition of his own cum.

You tease the tip against your sodden folds as he groans beneath you, hips jerking ever so slightly as you frown playfully at him.

“Baby please,” he whines, “You can’t do this to me on my birthday!”

You roll your eyes but slowly start sinking down onto him, and you let out a whimper once you feel his thick cockhead breach your hole.

Jungkook grunts, fingers squeezing your hips as he keeps his eyes locked at where his cock disappears into your pussy.

You’ve gotten all too familiar with Jungkook this way that the discomfort is never there anymore. Especially when you were as worked up as you were—wetness clinging against the material of your panties, and lubricating the movement of his cock into your warm cunt.

Once he’s finally sheathed, the two of you let out a shaky breath as he averts the camera down to an angle that captures your bottom halves.

“S-Shit,” he swears, “S-So fucking warm, baby.”

You bite your lips, hands resting against his pecs before you’re leaning down again—the urge of needing to kiss him rising once more as you press a gentle kiss against his lips. He keeps his eyes trained on your face, and you wonder if it was just you—but there was love reflected in his gaze that you were sure came from your own.

“I-I love you,” you say, rocking your hips forward experimentally as you immediately feel so full. Jungkook groans and you note that he’s extra sensitive.

You sit up, bracing yourself against his chest before you’re swivelling your hips around his cock, ensuring that he reaches every corner of your walls. Jungkook gasps when you lift yourself up and slam yourself back down, causing the tip of his cock to breach against the entrance of your cervix.

You gasp, hips moving like crazy while your face contorts in absolute pleasure while you focus on riding him like your life depended on it. You don’t hold back, letting all your inhibitions let loose as you acted on your pure instincts while your hips roll back and forth like they’ve never done before.

The sounds that fill the room are the pieces of evidence of your desire mixed with his, the desperation of two lovers who just wanted to feel each other to the hilt. It’s been a long time—well, to you and Jungkook’s standards after the two of you started dating—and it feels euphoric. His cock grows harder, nudging the spot within you like it seeks its home as you find your mind going hazy at how good it feels.

“Baby, oh my God,” he chokes, eyes darting between your face, the camera and your pussy that devours his cock whole. It’s new, seeing Jungkook lay down while you do all the work.

It’s times like these that make you wish that you worked out a little more so you could ride the fuck out of your boyfriend.

You jump up and down on his cock, throwing a swivel of your hips into the mix when you feel your thighs burn. But it’s so worth it, especially when you notice that the camera is swinging everywhere at how overwhelmed Jungkook was feeling. You don’t care anymore. All you want to do is make Jungkook feel good.

You clench around his cock as you feel Jungkook let out a deep groan, one louder than you expected as your eyes widen. Your delirious gaze lands on his, and you note that his eyes are impossibly dark.

Your wetness all but drips down his balls, the squelches of where your pelvis meets his own reverberating against the confines of his bedroom. Your legs are aching, but you’re more determined than anything, so you lean back and rest your palms against his thighs before you’re riding him with even more vigour than before.

“H-Holy fuck—!” he hisses, eyes fluttering shut as you feel him meet your thrusts. You let out a cry when he chucks his phone aside, uncaring where it lands before he’s sitting up and wrapping a strong arm around your waist.

“You’re a fucking demon, you know that?” he growls, but it’s all affectionate when he rests his forehead against your own as your heavy breaths mix together.

“Your demon,” you say breathlessly.

Before he can respond, he’s slamming up against your g-spot as you let out a sob while you cling onto his strong shoulders. His tattooed arm is wrapped firmly around your body, moulding you against him while you’re taking the brute force of his thrusts. The sound of skin against skin is blaring, especially paired with your desperate wails of pleasure.

“Fuck, this cunt is so perfect,” he growls, tilting your head back with his hand as he looks at you with an animalistic expression. You sob when he pushes you down onto the bed, taking full control.

“My perfect, beautiful, girlfriend,” he says manically, hovering over you with his entire frame. Your voice is stuck in your throat at how good he’s fucking you, and you knew that you never stood a chance against his pure strength and stamina. Said strength only makes you grow wetter, especially when he brings his hands to your hips and lifting your pelvis up so he can angle his cock deeper into your cunt.

“O-Oh my—f-fuck, J-Jungkook!” you wail, his cock repeatedly hitting your g-spot as you feel the coil in your belly begin to unravel at a dangerously quick pace.

Jungkook doesn’t relent, his hips working faster against your own as he holds you into place to take everything he’s giving you.

And you do. You repeatedly take all that he gives, and you want to give him the world, too.

“Kiss me,” you beg pathetically, tears forming at the corners of your eyes at how intense you were feeling. The heat in your stomach. The throb of your cunt. The stammer in your chest. Jungkook. “P-Please—?”

“Fucking perfect,” he grunts, slamming his lips against yours as you gasp. His thrusts are deeper now that he’s pressed tightly against you, but he doesn’t slow down at all. You almost want to thank his coach for making Jungkook train as much as he did, because you know that his insane stamina was attributed to his athleticism. “So fucking pretty. Mine. You’re mine, right?”

His words spur you on as you nod, gasping into his mouth when one hand reaches down to rub your clit.

“Nnnngh—!” you sob, “Gonna cum gonna cum—p-please—?”

“Cum for me, beautiful,” he eggs you on, grunting against your lips as you feel his own hips lose slight momentum. “Love you. Fuck—I love you.”

Your heart soars.

“I-I love you,” you cry, clinging onto him as if you were afraid he’d slip away. The impending feeling of your orgasm draws closer, and you feel like you’re going crazy with how good he’s making you feel. You know, that no matter where you go, only Jungkook could make you feel so complete. So whole even when you were only half a person. Love. It was scary. “H-Happy birthday, my sweet boy.”

Jungkook moans into your neck, and with one final thrust—you cum. You cum, and your body locks in pleasure as you convulse around him. You’re practically shaking, taking Jungkook’s cum as well as he fucks his orgasm into you.

The both of you are spent and sweaty, and only the pants of your exertion can be heard when he loosely thrusts himself into you, allowing you to ride out your orgasm as your body still shakes.

Jungkook practically collapses on you, his heavy body crushing you with his weight as you squeal despite your hoarse voice and sore throat. Your body is numb but satiated. Your legs are shaking, and your mind feels clear despite the strain that your body was put through.

Jungkook’s still breathing heavily, but his arms are still wrapped around you.

“You …” he starts, as you stare at the ceiling in an attempt to catch your breath. You feel instead of seeing him lift his head, and you can only imagine the face he’s giving you. “You’re insane.”

“So I’ve heard,” you say through a giggle, finally looking at him as you brush away the strands of hair that stick to his forehead.

Jungkook can only stare at you, and you let him. The air smells like sex, and his cum is oozing out of your cunt—but neither of you could care less. Not when your heart refuses to let you look away.

You wonder if it’s just you feeling this way. As if you never wanted him to leave you, not right not and not ever. You wonder if he can feel the rapid beating of your pulse, the way it makes your body feel warm. Not because of what you did, but because of how you feel.

It’s so indescribable that you feel overwhelmed. You feel so much love. And Jungkook’s right in front of you.

“Happy birthday, Jungkook,” you say again, softly. You run your fingers through his hair as he rests into your touch. His eyes are still trained on your fatigue expression.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you too,” you reply, equally as gentle.

He shakes his head before he’s sitting up, wincing when notes the cum on his cock. But neither of you could care less, not when he pulls you into his arms, allowing you to bask in his warmth.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world,” he says, and it’s to no one in particular because he stares at the ceiling despite his wrapped arms around you. “How could I have bagged a stupidly hot and smart girlfriend?”

You snort, shoving at him weakly with a tired smile on your face.

“I’m gonna let you off the hook because it’s your birthday,” you huff as he presses a wet kiss against your cheek.

“But really …” he mumbles, leaning in to nudge his nose against your jaw as you sigh in content. “Thank you. For everything. For being with me, for what you do for me—for this birthday. For your support—for staying. I can’t … I can’t thank you enough.”

“Jungkook,” you murmur, cupping his face in your hands as you urge him to look at you. His eyes are wide and so pure. It’s the Jungkook you’ve grown up with, the Jungkook you love. The Jungkook that’s yours. “Thank you for giving me the chance to do all of those things.”

He stares at you, long and hard.

“You’re perfect,” he whines as you raise a brow at him. “Like—that’s not fair. You’re kind, intelligent, super funny—and you’re hot as fuck? What the hell!”

“Jungkook …” you say with an unimpressed look, but all Jungkook does is pout at you.

He wraps a leg around you and squeezes you tighter against his chest.

“I love you,” he mumbles against your hair. “Thank you.”

You smile.

“I hope this was a nice birthday for you,” you say softly.

He pulls away, dumbfounded.

“Nice? Baby,” he deadpans, “I got food, my dick sucked and a sex tape in one night—of course it’s nice!”

You glare at him, despite your flushed ears at his crude words.

“I like knowing that that’s the list of things that made your birthday nice,” you say sarcastically.

He laughs heartily, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you turn your head away from him petulantly.

“What made my birthday perfect—” he whispers huskily, “is my beautiful and loving girlfriend.”

“Kiss ass,” you mutter.

“Just super in love,” he corrects dreamily before he rolls back onto his back.

You roll into him this time, drawing circles against his chest while the two of you lie in silence. It’s calm, and there wasn’t a need to say anything. Not until Jungkook decides to break the silence with his voice—

“By the way, there was an angle in the video that made your double-chin look really obvious—”

You kick him in the shin.

To: Yena my love

[image attached]

From: Yena my love

Girl you look fucking WRECKED LMAOOOO

Told u the lingerie was worth it

Hope that idiot destroys ur pussy even more <3

One of us deserves to get laid

Also

Happy birthday Jeon … I guess :////

1K notes · View notes

joonrecs · 4 years ago

Text

with you | ksj | m

marrying your childhood best friend was not the love story that most painted it to be. you knew that better than anyone else.

PAIRING. kim seokjin x reader

GENRE. marriage!au, divorce!au, childhood friends2lovers!au, angst, fluff, smut

WARNINGS. dilf jin, mentions of divorce (it's literally the plot😭), marriage problems, jin is kind of an asshole (who redeems himself!!!-ish), slight jealousy, soft sex, crying during sex, oral (f receiving), bigdick!jin, oc is a crybaby who tries not to cry 99.9% of this fic

WORDS. 22.1k

NOTE. it's here!!!!! I've been working on this fic for a while and im somewhat pleased with how it turned out!!!! i apologise for any errors/edit mistakes bc I run through it on my own so I may overlook some grammar issues etc ...

anywho, I hope you enjoy this fic!!!! as always - my asks are open to let me know how you felt about this fic <3

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

“What is this?” he blinks.

“Divorce papers,” you say softly, smoothing out the surface while you avoid his eyes.

“You want,” he says slowly, eyebrows furrowing as he attempts to process your words. “You want a … divorce?”

You hate that he sounds so nonchalant like you weren’t mulling over this decision for the past three months as you found yourself losing hope in your marriage with each passing day. But for as long as you’ve known Jin, he’s always been like this. A little hard to understand, straightforward but never intentionally malicious. He just somehow ended up hurting people without him realising it.

“Yes,” you say.

“What about Jiho?”

The reminder of your son makes your heart drop to the pit of your stomach, but you were prepared for this question. In fact, your son was the only thing that made you hesitate your decision for another month because divorces were messy and even if Jiho was just four years old and probably too young to understand—he was perceptive and you didn’t want to put him through the taxing emotions of having his parents go through a divorce.

But you were exhausted of fighting alone and returning to a home that feels more isolating than welcoming.

“We’ll share custody,” you narrate the exact words you’ve been mulling over for the past few months, even if it breaks your heart to say them.

“What prompted this?” It hurts even more when Jin flips through the papers as he would with any other of his business contracts, and it’s a harsh reminder that your marriage was reaching an invincible expiry date that you wanted to ignore.

“We …” you hesitate, fingers clutching the fabric of your dress as you purse your lips. Was there a reason to justify your decision anymore, when you’ve fought tooth and nail for the past four months to be heard? To be seen as someone who wasn’t just his wife on paper but a person to be nurtured? You force yourself to look ahead, even when Jin raises an eyebrow at your silence. You settle for a soft response instead. “I think it’s for the best.”

Jin opens his mouth to say something but decides against it before he slides the papers towards him, and you half-expect him to sign it and tell you to leave. The thought only makes your heart shatter even more—because four years of marriage, a child—gone, just like that.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he offers you a curt nod with a look you can’t quite decipher.

“I’ll get back to you,” he says.

You blink, especially when he pushes himself off his desk and extends a hand towards you as if he’d expected you to grab it. The gesture doesn’t fit in with the context of the conversation, much less the emotions that thrash wildly in your heart.

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

“Lunch,” he says, “I haven’t had it with you in a while.”

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

“That took a while,” Taehyung points out when you clamber back into your office.

“I had lunch,” you respond curtly as you hang your jacket on the coat hanger while you attempt to ease the pressing headache between your temples.

“Alone?” He raises a brow.

“With Jin.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen as you plop onto the empty seat next to him. Your son’s fidgeting in his lap as your assistant types away at his laptop, and you’re absolutely exhausted so you extend your arms towards Jiho, who immediately turns to you with a toothy grin and leaps off Taehyung’s lap.

“Hi baby,” you press a kiss to his cheek, immediately seeking warmth in your son’s chubby body.

“Hi mama,” he returns, pressing a plush cheek into your chest when you squeeze him.

You try to keep your tears at bay, even if it’s just having your son in your arms. He doesn’t know the day you had or the meal you shared with his father. The man you married and decided to have a child with. Jiho doesn’t know that it’s over—and it hurts. It hurts because he deserved a family filled with love.

“How did it go?” Taehyung asks tentatively, swirling in his chair until he’s facing you.

You know he’s concerned. He was probably the person that received the news with the most shock, granted he was currently the only person that knew besides Jin. Taehyung has been your assistant before you relocated to this larger office and before your business set its course, and even when you and Jin were just dating. So, he knows—he knows how hard you’ve tried and when you decided that it was over.

“He didn’t even try,” you croak, eyes fluttering shut as you attempt to level your breathing to not alarm your son, “Just took the papers and said he’d get back to me.”

“He didn’t sign it?” Taehyung asks in slight surprise.

“No,” you murmur, peering down to see your son fiddling with a ribbon that sticks out your dress, “I didn’t want to ask why.”

Taehyung purses his lips before he reaches out to squeeze your available hand. The gesture is enough to remind you of what you just did—the conversation you just had with Jin, and it’s enough for your entire facade to go crumbling again.

But you don’t cry because your son is unaware of the conflict that exists between you and his father, you don’t cry because one of you needed to be strong and it had to be you.

“I’m sorry.” His apology is sincere but frankly, useless. But you don’t tell him that even if that’s all that plagues your mind. You know Taehyung knows this too, but you suppose it’s the best either of you can offer right now.

“Don’t be,” you laugh humourlessly, “You’re not the one that failed in this marriage.”

“You didn’t fail, ____,” he says sternly, “It just—some things don’t work out.”

Your lips wobble again, looking up so your son doesn’t spot your tears.

“I thought we would,” you croak, “I tried. I tried—so hard. But it still wasn’t enough.”

Taehyung stays silent, and your son is mumbling something under his breath. When you peer down, his smile remains innocent and oblivious to the world that’s falling apart right in front of his eyes.

“Mama, look,” he squeals as he lifts up an arm that he’s somehow managed to scribble on, “Mama, daddy, me!”

Taehyung has to take Jiho when you excuse yourself to the bathroom.

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

“What do you mean he hasn’t signed it?” You hiss, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you attempt to shove old documents into the shredder.

“He … hasn’t,” Jimin, Jin’s assistant, says lamely over the line as you feel your headache return.

“Jimin, you’re his assistant,” you remind him sternly, “It’s literally your job to make sure he gets shit done.”

“I know!” He exclaims before he’s sighing, “He’s just—he keeps putting it off. I really can’t do much, ____.”

You chuck the last bit of papers aside before you’re grabbing your phone from in-between your ear and shoulders before you’re leaning against a desk, pinching the bridge of your nose in irritation.

It’s been a week since you visited Jin at his office propositioning him with a divorce, yet, the papers remain vacant from his signature that solidified the termination of your legal union. You were more so irritated than hurt right now, purely because you wanted actual documents to present to your lawyer and your parents before you told them that you and Jin were getting a divorce.

It’s also been a week since Jin’s came home, and you’re partly thankful that he did that on his own because that was another painful conversation you weren’t quite ready to have. Not that he came home at an acceptable hour anyway. But it’s almost daunting at how the bed remains cool where he used to lay, even if he’d disappear hours before your awakening.

“Just,” you exhale, “Please get him to sign it, Jimin. I’m tired.”

You can hear some shuffling on the other end and you assume it’s him moving to another place with the way the office chatter gets distinctively quieter the longer time passes.

“Do you,” he starts, “do you really have to do this?”

You sigh, already bracing for his comment.

If Taehyung knew you and Jin before you got married, Jimin was the person that got the two of you together. The instigator that insisted that the feelings and mutual, and that the chance should be taken. You believed him ten years ago when you were younger and in high school, oblivious to what the future held. You wanted to resent him for how things out but you knew it was irrational. You would’ve fallen in love with Jin with or without Jimin’s intervention.

He was that easy to love.

The bitter reminder that the divorce seemed easy for him to accept, even without the signature, plagues your mind as you hear Jimin call your name once more.

“Do you think this was my first option?” you snap, and immediately the silence is tense. “I was backed into a corner, Jimin. There’s no point in Jin and I remaining married if—if nothing about our relationship feels like a marriage anymore.”

“What about Jiho?” he throws back the same question Jin posed at you when you first came to him with the divorce.

You grit your teeth, your heart inevitably clenching at the guilt that’s yet to subside. It only hurt more because you knew Jimin didn’t mean it to hurt you, but it did—it did because it wasn’t easy.

“I’m not taking him away from Jin,” you whisper, “I can’t—I would never do that.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Jimin says softly.

“I know,” you reply, equally as soft as your eyes dart to the ground, “I hate this, Jimin. I do. But I rather Jiho grow up with two parents who aren’t together than two parents who live together but not even talk.”

Jimin stays silent, and you know that he’s heavily contemplating his next set of words.

You beat him to it with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, “I didn’t mean to unload.”

“Please don’t apologise,” he says, “I just … have you tried speaking to Jin?”

You scoff bitterly at the suggestion, and you know that you shouldn’t be taking it out on Jimin, who’s both Jin’s assistant and your close friend—but the nudge to recall the times you’ve tried, tried so hard to patch things up by planning mini-dates that he rain checked more than enough times for you to want to try again—only leaves you feeling sour.

“He clearly doesn’t mind if he says he’ll get back to me,” you say bitterly.

“Have you considered that maybe he only said that because—”

At that moment, your intercom goes off and you briefly hear Taehyung’s static voice filter through the speaker.

“Hold on, Jimin,” you rush as you put your hand to the speaker to lean forward to press the intercom. “Tae?”

“You have an appointment,” he says slowly, and your eyebrows furrow at his odd tone.

“I do?” You say with a puzzled expression, “I don’t remember scheduling an appointment—”

“Well, this isn’t really an appointment,” he laughs tightly.

“Tae,” you frown, “What are you saying?”

“She’s already—”

And at impeccable timing, a rapt knock is delivered to your door as you further scrunch your eyebrows in confusion.

“Jimin, I need to go. I have a visitor,” you bring the phone back up to your ear as you begin heading towards the door.

“No worries,” he clips, “Take care, okay?” He says softly.

You mumble a word of gratitude before you’re hanging up, hand already reaching out to turn to the knob to greet your guest.

You’re still confused before you come face-to-face with them, but the moment the door opens as you plaster a smile to greet your guest—your grin immediately freezes as you spot the one person that you surely didn’t expect to visit your workplace on a weekend, let alone at all.

“E-Eomeonim,” you stutter, eyes briefing landing on Taehyung’s apologetic expression behind your guest's elegant posture.

“Myeoneuri,” she immediately beams, leaning forward to embrace you into a hug that you’re still too stunned to properly returned, and it’s not until she pulls back with furrowed brows that you return the gesture, still frozen in shock as you lean your head against her shoulder.

“What brings you here?” You ask, forcing a smile at the sudden grant of her presence as you shut the door behind you, immediately guiding her towards the empty couch as you head towards your cupboards to bring out the glasses for drinks.

“Ah,” she laughs, gently and polished as ever as you keep your head-trained over your shoulder to engage in eye contact as you pour her some water, “Can’t I visit my daughter-in-law?”

The term doesn’t fall on deaf ears and you force yourself to laugh, even if you know that the term wouldn’t be applicable for much longer. You feel like a fraud, inviting her into your office and offering her water as if you weren’t over at her son’s office a week ago with papers that would immediately terminate any relationship you had with him—or her. Legally, at least.

She was still your son's grandmother and overall, a lovely person.

You grew up with her right next to your house, being the second mother in your life especially when she used to house you on nights where your parents were out of town as you integrated with her two sons and their antics. She cooked for you and treated you like you were her own daughter. Those things didn’t go away just because you were divorcing Jin.

“Of course,” you smile softly as you pass her a glass with two hands, “It’s nice to see you.”

She chuckles politely before taking a sip and setting the glass onto the table, eyes travelling around your office as she takes in your interior.

She’s been here on a few occasions, but they’ve been sprawled out over the years so there have definitely been some changes from when she last came. She doesn’t visit often—to your office, at least—she never had a reason to. So it’s all the more startling and nerve-wracking when she appeared today, conveniently after you proposed a divorce she’s yet to know about.

“I was thinking about you,” she says softly, peering up through her lashes as you gulp, fingers shaking ever so slightly when you take a sip of your drink yourself.

“You’re always free to visit, eomeonim,” you return politely, bowing your head.

She scoffs playfully, waving you off as she leans backwards into your plush couch.

“Don’t be so stiff with me, ____,” she teases, “I’ve changed your diapers.”

You flush at the reminder, and it’s both in fondness and in relative hurt because your family and hers were tight-knit from the very beginning. Your mother and she were best friends even before the two of you were born, and it’s only natural that their children ended up becoming friends. It was always a running joke that they’d hope you and Jin would fall in love and marry—and when it happened, the both of them were ecstatic.

It wasn’t as if they planned it, but fate worked out funnily sometimes. Even when you dated other people in the midst of unsure feelings in high school, you always found yourself returning to Jin. Whether it be in the form of comfort, or a laugh, or just a shoulder to lean on—you always found yourself on the front of his porch, eagerly waiting for another moment with him.

“I know,” you sigh with a small smile, “It’s crazy how long it’s been.”

“Thirty-two years,” she reminds.

You exhale, remember that you were in fact thirty-two this year. The thought that settles is one that is intrusive and annoying, purely because you couldn’t go a moment without remembering the divorce. Your age is another bitter reminder that you’ve really hit the mark with it, essentially starting over when you and Jin promised each other forever.

You take another sip to keep your tears behind.

“Anyway,” she continues as she rests her eyes on you. Her gaze is concerned and you’re stuttering, wondering if you were that obvious—if your face held all your emotions or if she was just that observant. When she speaks, you brace yourself for the worst. “I’ve been trying to contact that son of mine but he keeps sending me to his darned assistant.”

You relax ever so slightly as your lips twitch in a smile.

“Jiminie?” You ask amusedly.

“When he’s getting in the way of talking to my son, he’s a darned assistant,” she huffs, crossing her arms across her chest as you laugh.

“Even now, they’re inseparable,” you comment mindlessly, remembering all the times they used to get into trouble together in high school.

“For the wrong reasons,” she sighs, “That’s why I’m here, actually.”

You raise a brow, “Oh?”

“Seokjung’s planning on proposing,” she informs with an excited grin as your eyes widen.

“Oh my God,” you breath, equally as pleased to hear the news, “Finally? I’m so happy for him and Ah-reum.”

Your mother-in-law sighs wistfully as she smiles tenderly at you, reaching a hand out to squeeze yours as her eyes turn solemn.

“I am too,” she says softly, “My two son’s—Gosh.”

Your hand stiffens under her touch, but you don’t make an effort to correct her. She looks far too happy and emotional at the thought itself that you don’t have the heart to ruin that dream for her. You swallow the lump in your throat and the visual of the divorce papers that plague your mind as you offer a weak smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly, “I’m really happy for Seokjung.”

She nods, smiling at you before squeezing your hand again.

“I wanted to let you know myself,” she says, “I was meant to tell Jin but clearly, he’s caught up in whatever work he has,” she rolls her eyes before shooting you a pointed stare. “Make sure you make time for each other, even if he’s busy. That boy always drowns himself in work.”

Your face falls for a split second, but you immediately correct it when you realise the look of concern that marks her face.

You know her comment was made in good faith, she had no idea of your impending divorce … did she? But despite her voice mulling slightly under a whisper, you find that your heart betrays your blank face when it clenches. You should’ve made time for each other. Even if he was busy. You tried—and you failed.

“O-Of course,” you say, squeezing her hand in return.

“Make sure that the three of you spend time together,” she says softly, and you’re terrified that she knows when she mentions your son. “A relationship requires constant effort and dedication.”

“Of course,” you swallow, “I will.”

You hate yourself for lying to her, but you hope that she knows that you tried. That you really tried to pick up whatever that was lost—but some things would inevitably remain shattered.

“Tell Jin to take it easy,” she murmurs, “I worry for him sometimes.”

You nod your head mutely, agreeing silently.

“I’m”—she chokes, suddenly teary as your eyes widen in alarm—“I’m really glad that you have each other.”

It’s another blow that you receive, but force yourself to smile through.

“Eomeonim …” you say quietly, the guilt nabbing away at your heart.

She waves you off, laughing softly before she’s swabbing gently under her eyes to rid of the tears. And as always, she remains stunning as ever—the stark features of Jin apparent on her face, and the resemblance only makes your heart clench even further.

“Your mother and I would always joke about having our kids get married,” she reminisces as you smile tightly at her. “We never thought it would actually happen—but you and Jin …” she trails off with a fond smile, “It made sense. Like it was always meant to happen.”

You can’t take it anymore, but you weren’t allowed to pick your battles this time. You swallow the lump in your throat and hold her hand a little tighter as if an apology was worthy enough to be traced into the wrinkles of her palm. For now, this was all you could offer.

“Thank you, eomeonim,” you whisper, and it’s more than just the words she’s said, but how she’s treated you up until now. An apology also rests on your tongue, but that’s for a later date. When you and Jin no longer share the title of married.

“Don’t thank me,” she scoffs, “Thank you for making Jin’s life brighter. For bringing Jiho into this world.”

You swallow.

“Of course,” you smile, “He’s made mine too.”

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

“You’re here,” Jimin blinks, opening the door to let you in as you give him a tight smile.

“I wish I wasn’t,” you mutter under your breath as the two of you walk side-by-side down a familiar hall.

“Listen—” he begins but you cut him off, already too tired to engage with him attempting to convince you otherwise on the divorce.

“I really can’t do this right now, Jimin,” you say quietly and he looks at you with an apologetic look that you ignore to save your heart from more tears. “I’m only here because Jin isn’t answering his mother’s damn calls.”

“He’s in the middle of an important business deal,” Jimin says weakly.

“When is he not?” You roll your eyes as you huff, feet clacking against the marble as you turn into a familiar corridor where your eyes rest on the plague with the name of your husband, a name that you’ve welcomed into your life and in your son's name—a name that you’ve grown up with. You push aside the ache in your heart as you reach towards the door to knock. “Listen, I know you’re his best friend and his assistant but … tell him to remember that his job isn’t the only important thing in his life, yeah?”

Jimin doesn’t say anything but waits with you, and you briefly hear the shuffling of feet from the other end. You can tell Jimin wants to say something with the way that he’s impatiently tapping his feet against the ground, and you don’t placate him like you usually do because you know that you weren’t ready to hear whatever he had to say.

“Jin’s—”

The door swings open, and it isn’t Jin that you see. It’s—

“Isa,” you smile tightly.

“____,” she exclaims, immediately trotting over in her heels as she towers over you, arms wrapping you into a hug that you don’t expect. When she pulls away, you see her bright teeth in between her red lips. “You’re glowing! Are you pregnant?”

You shoot her a blank look, and you feel Jimin’s eyes widen.

“I’m not,” you say dryly.

“Oh,” she blinks, “Could’ve sworn you were,” she says off-handedly before she moves out the way, only for Jin to appear behind her with a vacant expression on his face, eyes immediately falling onto your unimpressed figure.

“____?” He furrows his eyebrows, “What are you doing here?”

You push past Isa, who you briefly see from the corner of your eye, press two rather friendly kisses onto your husband—well, soon to be ex-husbands—cheeks. She’s always done that, claiming that it was from her French roots even if you knew deep down that she had the hots for her husband. You don’t want to know why she’s here, appropriately right when you and Jin were in the middle of a divorce. Unless she’s representing him as his lawyer, you didn’t want to humour the thought.

“Your mother says you aren’t answering her,” you don’t spare him another glance, or Jimin, who is all but offering you a timid smile right before he shuts the door to the office, leaving you and Jin alone.

“I’ve been busy,” he replies.

“You couldn’t even just send a damn text to your own mother?” you ask irritatedly as you plop into a seat in front of his desk.

“I had Jimin do it,” he says with a frown.

You roll your eyes, bitter that you had to be here—bitter about the divorce—bitter about gorgeous Isa who just left his office. You were bitter about everything, and now you were here, with your soon-to-be ex-husband.

“Really, Jin,” you deadpan, “You couldn’t even spare two seconds to let your mom know that you were—I don’t know—alive?”

He sighs as if you were pointing out irrational facts and not attempting to get him to do things himself for once. To maintain relationships with people without a damn middleman. You were a victim once, and you sure as hell wouldn’t let his mom suffer the same painful fate as you did.

“It’s been hectic at the office,” he says curtly, “I did eventually get back to her.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, “After she visited me at my office.”

“She visited you?” he furrows his brows.

You roll your eyes, “It doesn’t matter. She told me that your brother is planning on proposing and she’s expecting us to be there at the engagement party.”

“I know,” he sighs, “I don’t think I can make it.”

You still.

“What?”

“The investors planned for a meeting that same week and I—”

“He’s your brother,” you splutter in disbelief, rage slowly assimilating in your blood when Jin shoots you with another blank look that you’ve grown to resent, especially recently.

“I can’t do anything about the investors, ____,” he frowns.

“You’re the CEO!” you balk, “You call the shots. You literally make the rules. He’s getting engaged and you can’t even try to make it?”

His brows turn downwards at your harsh tone, but you were unbothered. The disbelief that marks your face is reflective of how your heart slowly burns in anger, the way that your fists clench by your side. Even now, as you attempt to knock some sense of rationality into Jin—you find yourself exhausted. It’s because—this—is familiar. It’s the same routine you found yourself fighting against, now only applied to his direct family. If you weren’t considered that.

“They’re flying in from the States,” he says pointedly.

“And that matters more than your brother because?” You scoff, narrowing your eyes at him, “Don’t be fucking selfish, Seokjin.”

You don’t think you’ve referred to him as his full name in years. Even before the two of you dated. You always called him Jin because it was more intimate that way. Only business associates that he was professional with called him Seokjin. It was an unspoken rule that Seokjin was the persona he adapted with people that he needed on his side, not people he wanted by his side.

You’re too busy seething to see the way his face drops ever so slightly, but he’s quick to correct himself when he purses his lips at you.

“I’m at crossroads, ____,” he snaps, “On one hand, it’s my brother who I’m going to disappoint, or—it’s the ten investors that are eager on investing in this company. I can’t win—and right now, I need them on my side.”

“I can’t believe that you actually need to choose who’s more important right now,” you laugh humourlessly, eyes meeting his for a split second as you frown. “It’s your family, Seokjin. It’ll always be your family. You choose your family—you—you choose the people you love.”

Your words are venomous and purposeful when you spit at him, immediately pushing yourself off the seat. Your words refer to more than his brother, or his mother. It’s personal—and it hurts. You didn’t want him to see you cry, you don’t think he’d care anyway.

“Wait,” he sighs, following you until he’s at your door, hand blocking you from leaving, “I …”

You turn around, eyes fluttering shut as you even out your breathing. When you open them, it’s intuitive for you to believe that you were able to read him, especially after a decade of being together—but you can’t. Your eyes are blurred with more than just your fatigue, but it’s disappointment too.

“What?” you sigh, “I don’t—I don’t care what you do Seokjin. But just know that when you’re closing whatever damned business deal you have for profits—your family is missing you.”

You turn to leave, not expecting him to do anything further than where you’ve left it at—but his hand reaches for your shoulder to stop you, your body tensing at his touch that you haven’t felt in a long time.

“I’ll,” he begins, nibbling on his lip when you raise a brow at him. It’s the most you’ve gotten out from him in a long time, but it’s not enough for you to read what the hell is going on in his mind. “I’ll be there.”

You roll your eyes, “Whatever. I’ll believe it when I see it happen.”

You go to push his hand off but his grip remains firm on your shoulder as he furrows his brows at you.

“We’ll go together,” he says.

You blink.

“I can go there myself,” you clip back curtly.

“They don’t know,” he blinks, “Right?”

He’s talking about the divorce.

Your body stills under his grip as you scowl.

“Of course they don’t,” you snap, “I won’t do that to your mom,” you say softly, “Not now.”

He doesn’t ask you to elaborate, even when your eyes turn sad as they dart to the floor.

“Then we’ll go together,” he says simply, “It’s easier that way.”

You don’t argue anymore because your mind just recalls the conversation you shared with his mother, the woman who’s simultaneously raised you along with your own mother. The woman you’ve shared fond memories with, and the woman whose heart you were inevitably going to break with the news of the divorce.

“Fine,” you sigh, finally shrugging off his hand as you turn towards the door to finally leave.

The door opens, and you’re already halfway out when his voice interrupts you.

“Your dress,” he says softly.

You stop, turning your head slowly as you raise a brow.

“… my dress?” You look down at your attire and you note that it’s a simple knee-length dress that you’ve had for years. It was strapless, but casual enough for you to wear on a daily basis—and definitely nothing noteworthy about it.

“You wore it during our honeymoon,” he states as your body locks at the mention of the memory.

You don’t even remember if you did—so you can’t confirm whether or not he was pulling your leg. But the look that Jin sends you is … you can’t quite put a word to it but it looks soft. Gentle, almost fond. But it goes as quick as it comes before he’s offering you a small smile.

“I don’t remember,” you say bluntly.

His face remains blank, even if there’s a slight drop at his lips.

“Well,” he clears his throat before he steps out of the way to make space for your departure, “You look beautiful.”

The compliment steals your breath away, not because he’s never said it before but because it’s unexpected. It’s unexpected because you were divorcing him, and you haven’t heard those words leave his lips in a long time—directed to you, at least. You’re breathless because your heart is ramming against your chest, and there’s a painful feeling lingering.

You also remember the woman that’s left his office. You know it’s irrational for you to feel this way when you were the one that suggested the divorce. But it’s only proof at his options, especially when he was … he was him.

It’s hope—but you’re not an idiot to allow yourself to burn twice.

“I,” you croak, shaking your head as you manage a tight nod, “Thank you.”

When you leave, you have to force your tears back—without sparing another glance at Jin. When Jimin passes by you, he knows well enough not to ask.

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

“Have you got everything?” Taehyung asks, helping you with the bag filled with Jiho’s things as you snort at his overeagerness of getting you out of the office.

“Yes, Tae, I have,” you say with an amused grin. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you actually cared about my well-being.”

He gasps with a faux sense of offence as he places a hand on his chest, shooting you a look that you roll your eyes at.

“Of course I do!” He pouts, “My boss is getting the break she deserves,” he says before peering down to Jiho, who’s tiredly dozing off in your arms since it was in the wee hours of the morning, “But I’ll definitely miss this one.”

He pokes Jiho softly on the cheek but your son doesn’t even so budge. He’s exhausted, and you were too—but you were more used to staying up late packing last-minute than your son was so you brush his hair gently before placing a soft peck to the crown of his head.

You know Taehyung will miss Jiho, purely because you’ve been at the office more than your home through the past week. You couldn’t bear to return to a space that was void and only had the title of a home when it didn’t feel like it anymore. It was the most difficult explaining to Jiho, who sought his dad’s attention and you couldn’t give it to him. A business trip was the best you got.

“Thank you, by the way,” you smile gratefully at your assistant as the three of you are taken down to the lobby of your office via the lift.

“Don’t,” he says sternly as you giggle softly at his tone, “Thank you for leaving.”

“I knew it,” you narrow your eyes as you stick your tongue out at him. “You’re just happy that I’m gone.”

“It’s four days,” he reminds, “You need a longer break. You’ve been working non-stop.”

You know his jibe is stern despite his light tone, purely because he’s aware of your tendency to ignore your problems by overworking yourself. He’s seen you devote all your energy to reports and analysing data than acknowledge the impending shatter in your heart.

“That’s long enough,” you sigh, “Make sure you—”

“Yes,” he groans as the two of you finally reach the lobby, offering a polite smile toward the receptionist as he returns the gesture. “Did you forget that I’m your assistant? God forbid I’m incompetent.”

You sniff even if you don’t disagree. You didn’t hire him just because he was your friend, but because he’s proven himself over and over again on his capabilities, you needed someone that was lax enough to balance out your perfectionist tendencies but also precise with his work. Taehyung was the perfect mixture of that—so it made sense that he’s stuck with you since you first hired him.

“Call me if you need anything,” you remind as the two of you spot Jin’s car, a sleek range rover fit for the rather long travel. You let out an exhale at the prospect of being in a car with your own husband for the next four hours as you travel out to his family vacation home, but your son needed you—and he needed his dad, so you brace yourself.

“Yes,” he sighs, and you see Jin step out of the car, a t-shirt and sweats combo that you adored him in. You look away.

“Taehyung,” you hear Jin greet your assistant as the two males engage in a rather amicable bro-hug.

“Hey, hyung,” he smiles softly, “How are you?”

You busy yourself with making sure that Jiho’s head doesn’t slip off your shoulders, but you note that your son’s awake this time—sensing the presence of his father as he groggily flutters his eyes open to search for him.

“Could’ve been better,” Jin returns, though not unkindly as his eyes dart towards his son, eyes softening immediately when Jiho calls for him through a mumble.

“Daddy?” He mumbles, immediately shaking out of your grasp as he extends his arms to be held by Jin. You swallow, but you allow Jin to take him from you. He hasn’t seen your son in over a week, and you would never be the person that deprived him from his own blood.

“Jiho,” he whispers, “Tired, bud?”

Your son nods his head, immediately snuggling into the comfort of his father’s chest as you force yourself to look away, distracting your mind as you help Taehyung load your belongings into the boot of Jin’s car.

“Where were you?” Your son asks innocently, “Mama said trip.”

“Yeah,” Jin says breathlessly, eyes meeting yours for a split second as you look away. “Missed you so much.”

“We miss you too,” Jiho pouts, and you don’t correct him when he alludes to you either.

“You okay?” Taehyung whispers, hand clasping your shoulder as you blink away the heat behind your eyelids. It was too early to cry, and you’ve spent the past week crying at random intervals so you were tired of shedding tears.

“I’ll survive,” you smile tightly as Taehyung finally loads the last bag, closing the boot with a button before shuffling back to the curb where Jin continues to cradle your son in his arms.

You’ve known him before you could properly speak, and you intimately recognise the expression on his face. He looks … sad. And it’s the most emotion you’ve seen on his face ever since you approached him with the divorce. You know that the worst part of it all is that Jiho is caught in the crossfire, and what hurts the most is that you didn’t want him to be.

“Thank you,” Jin looks over to Taehyung before he reaches out to give him a semi-awkward hug due to the little boy in his arms. “For taking care of the both of them.”

You almost don’t catch it, but you do despite the hushed tone he takes. Your eyes dart to the ground before you head towards the door to the passenger seat, already too overwhelmed at the break of dawn.

You enter the car, taking a deep breath to even out your breathing and force your tears back. You hated yourself for crying so easily but you knew that it wasn’t just your crybaby tendencies, but it was the pent up emotions that you’ve suppressed for months resurfacing after months of repression. You catch the two men through the side-mirror in a rather intense conversation, though you don’t hear anything of what they’re saying. You know they’re not raising their voices because Jiho finds it peaceful enough to drift off into slumber.

When Taehyung catches your eyes through the side-mirror, he offers you a smile, one that you can’t quite read before he’s patting Jin on the back and giving him one last solemn look.

He’s quick to set Jiho at the backseat, fastening him in the booster seat and placing a soft pillow to support his neck. Your heart both grows fond and tighter when he places a soft kiss on your son’s forehead before carefully shutting the door, quickly entering the driver’s seat as he fastens himself in.

“There’s pineapple juice and gummies, by the way,” Jin breaks the silence as your eyes snap to his figure.

“Oh.”

“I know you don’t like travelling without them,” he mentions while he simultaneously setting up the GPS.

“I—thank you,” you reply softly, eyes dropping to the middle console, and in fact, spotting your favourite brand of pineapple juice and gummies sitting comfortably, waiting for your consumption.

You swallow, deciding against digging in immediately.

“My phone’s already connected to the Bluetooth so you can play any song,” he tells you, “The password’s the same.”

Your breath hitches. His password, the one he’s kept since college even if you’ve berated him for it on multiple occasions because of how predictable it was. Your anniversary date, the day when he first asked you to be his girlfriend. Even after you got married, he never changed it to your wedding anniversary date because he didn’t need to. He was that sentimental, proposing to you on the same day as when he first asked you out.

God, what was he doing to your heart?

You don’t say anything when you reach for his phone, and it’s like the universe is dead-set on reminding you of all the memories you shared with him when you spot the picture at the back of his clear phone case.

A polaroid of the both of you on your wedding night, face smushed with cake as the two of you double over in laughter.

Don’t cry, you tell yourself.

You type in the password when Jin finally ignites the engine, pulling out of the lobby as you finally start your four-hour journey. When you scroll through his phone to find the music app, you’re also surprised to see a familiar playlist.

“You still listen to it?” you find yourself asking, despite your heart clenching again.

Jin looks over his shoulder to catch a glance at his phone that was in your hands to see what you were talking about before he nods.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “I don’t really listen to anything else.”

It’s the playlist the two of you made when you were rather drunk one night during your marriage. A random playlist filled with songs that didn’t really go well together, from upbeat tracks to mellow ballads that have your heart weeping and to R&B songs that set the mood.

It’s the millionth time that you swallow your tears, and you know it’s not going to be the last. It’s because it’s been less than twenty minutes back in close vicinity with Jin when you’re reminded that your lives are both so intertwined with one another that every aspect of his and your lives have remainders of your essences. Whether it be the scarf you precariously spotted at the back of the seat you remember leaving, or whether it was the keychain that dangles from his rearview mirror—or the damn playlist.

It was everything, and it hurt that you had to let it go.

You play a song that’s in the middle. Safe. A quiet tune that filters through the speakers as you turn the volume lower so that it wouldn’t startle your son awake.

“If you get tired halfway just let me know and I can take over,” you inform him.

You’re surprised to hear Jin scoff with a shake of his head, though when you turn to look at him, there’s a small smile on his face.

“You’re a terrible driver, so no,” he laughs.

You gasp, squinting your eyes at him.

You’ve gotten … better. Though your better was still debatably worse than the average person, it was progress nevertheless!

“I won’t get us killed,” you hiss at him, pouting as you cross your arms across your chest, “Besides, I don’t trust myself to drive if you’re not around, anyway.”

You don’t realise what you said, or the implications behind it. But you think Jin does when he flicks his eyes over to you, staring softly as you blatantly miss it to continue pouting while you stare forward, grumbling about being a better driver as he can’t take his eyes off of you.

“Don’t worry,” he says so quietly that you almost miss it, “Get some rest. I’ll drive us.”

You open your mouth to argue but the look he gives you makes you clamp your mouth shut in defeat. In all the times you’ve travelled by car with Jin, you don’t think you’ve ever driven the both of you, or even when Jiho became an addition to the family, because Jin was always so insistent on doing the heavy loaded things.

It was something that both annoyed you, but you were grateful for. You knew when Jin offered to do stereotypically husband things such as carrying the groceries, building furniture or driving you everywhere—it never came from a place where he believed you couldn’t do it. He knew you could because whenever he wasn’t around you did those things yourself, and dare you say, even better than him (with the exception of the driving). It was because he wanted to do these things for you, to have you worry about nothing but just yourself, him and Jiho.

The thoughts plague your mind, and suddenly everything is bitter again. You almost deluded yourself into thinking that things were normal and this was a normal family trip. But it wasn’t. Because you were inevitably going to get divorced, once he signed those papers.

“Hey, Jin?” you call.

He hums noncommittally as you fiddle with your fingers.

“When are you going to sign the papers?”

The question stills in the tense air, and you don’t catch the way his shoulders lock into position at your question.

“Soon,” he says curtly.

You nod your head slowly, eyes drifting out the window as you keep your sigh to yourself.

Yeah, it’d be over soon.

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

“You’re going the wrong way.”

“I’m literally following the GPS,” he says dryly.

“Then the GPS is wrong,” you snap, “The service is horrible here—god—make a left.”

“I’m not going to be listening to a person who gets mixed up with East and West,” he deadpans.

“That was like—ages ago! I’ve changed!”

“Not taking the chance,” he snorts, going against your very orders of turning left as he makes a right, shooting you a smug look over his shoulder as you glare at him.

“Pull over, I’m driving because I clearly don’t remember taking this road the last time.”

“Roads change, ____,” he groans, “Infrastructure and public goods! It’s government-funded so our tax money damn well better be used for good.”

“Still,” you say petulantly, “You’ve been driving the entire time—it’s time to switch.”

“I never agreed to that,” he says pointedly as you hear your son humming along to the song, giggling every once in a while when you’d get particularly frustrated with Jin.

“You’re going to cramp,” you say.

“I won’t,” he sighs before looking over to you, then into your lap where the gummies lay. “How about you feed me instead?”

You still at the suggestion, the rather intimate one in fact. Though you’ve done this a million times before, bickering during road trips and feeding him—it feels different now. But you know your son is watching, even if he doesn’t understand the severity of the situation, and you didn’t want to throw him off.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” you grumble before pouring out some gummies into your hand and shoving it towards him.

His eyes briefly cast downwards before ignoring your hand, eyes returning to the road as you gawk at his blatant dismissal.

“Um, hello?” you say in disbelief, “Gummies?”

You wiggle your hand in front of his face but he’s still ignoring you, a somewhat smug expression on his face as you scowl even further.

“Do you want gummies or not?” You snap.

“I do,” he shrugs, “I asked you to feed me, didn’t I?”

You give him a bland look.

“They’re literally right there.”

“You know what feeding means, right?” he sighs dramatically, “You do that with Jiho. You know—feeding someone. Putting food in their mouth.”

“I’ll put something in your mouth all right,” you grit as he grins, “My fist.”

“Please,” he whines as you roll your eyes, “My hands are on the steering wheel. You’re always telling me to keep two hands on the wheel yet you’re making me feed myself?” He pouts and you can’t believe this is a thirty-five-year-old man that’s speaking. “That hardly seems—”

You’ve had enough of his complaints as you begrudgingly smack your hand towards his mouth, effectively feeding him a gummy as he nearly chokes while his eyes bulge out of his sockets.

“Ow!—what the f—?” you glare at him at his near slip up as he clears his throat, “That hurt.”

“Oh, really,” you hum blandly, “Would you like another?” You smile plastically at him as he pouts.

“Yes please, but spare my lips,” he mutters.

You roll your eyes but listen to him anyway. You didn’t want to startle him into swerving off the road so you feed him the next gummy gentler. But you’ve underestimated Jin’s ability to be exasperating as he ends up biting your finger in retaliation for your previous stunt.

“Ow!” you hiss, glaring at him as you go to flick his forehead.

All he does is snicker, even if he does manage to dodge your finger.

“Revenge,” he says childishly, sticking a tongue out at you.

“You’re so annoying,” you seethe.

“You love it,” he smiles over his shoulder—and you freeze.

He realises what he’s said only when he spots your frozen expression. He’s about to rectify the mistake and dissipate the tension that arose, but your son is intercepting before Jin can make the shot.

“Love!” he giggles, innocent and childlike, “Love mama and daddy.”

Your eyes filter to the back as you see your son giggling, cheeks bulged as he smiles widely at you. For a split second, you’re reminded of Jin when he was a toddler, with puffy cheeks and a cheeky grin as your eyes soften at him. He really did look like Jin, much to your initial disappointment when he looked more like Jin’s child than your own. Even if your parents and in-laws said that Jiho had your eyes.

“Love you, bubs,” you coo, reaching out to squeeze his chubby fingers as he smiles wider.

“Love you,” Jin replies as well, eyes soft when he catches his son’s expression through the rearview mirror.

“Say it!” he babbles, huffing as you raise a brow.

“Love you, Jiho—”

“No no no,” he harrumphs, cutely folding his arms across his chest as you attempt to figure out what his toddler mind was getting at. “Each other—mama and daddy.”

You get it soon enough, and your expression drops completely as you feel the anxiety rise in your throat.

You were getting a divorce. Your son had no idea. He asked you to declare your love to Jin. Why did you feel oddly targeted right now, by a four-year-old, no less!

“Jiho—” you laugh, attempting to distract him but your son is persistent.

“Mama,” he scolds with a frown and you curse yourself for giving him the one trait of your own that you couldn’t bear to deal with yourself, “Say.”

You glance over to Jin who’s already giving you a passing look, a rather earnest expression marring his face as you clear your throat. Suddenly, everything’s more intense, and all you can see is his face. There was a time where the two of you abused your I love you’s that it was the first thing you heard in the morning and the last thing you heard at night. So why was it so difficult now? Why was it difficult to tell a little white lie in front of your son?

Perhaps it’s because the love never disappeared, from your end at least. And maybe that’s why all of this is all the more painful.

Before your son can throw a tantrum at your silence, Jin is reaching over the console to grasp your hand in his in a familiar manner as he brings your knuckle up to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to it.

When your head turns to him with your eyes wide in shock, he doesn’t break eye contact even as you’re about to yell at him for not looking at the road.

“Love you,” he whispers, and you don’t know if Jiho had even heard it with how soft he’s said it, but you think he does because he stops whining.

All you can do is stare at him, especially at how earnestly the confession leaves his lips. But you remember that it’s fruitless to keep hope, to have your heart flutter at his low voice—because the divorce papers existed, and it’s the first time in a while that you’ve heard it, and it was only because your son demanded so.

You pull your hand away, albeit roughly as your eyes dart out the window to distract yourself, to suck up the tears again.

You’re looking away quick enough that you don’t catch the crestfallen expression on Jin’s face.

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

“Jiho-yah,” Jin’s mother immediately runs up to your son rather than greet you or Jin as your son excitedly receives the hug, squeezing into his grandmother’s arms as he lifts him up.

“Halmeoni,” he giggles, “Miss you!”

Your face softens as you see the way Jin’s mother presses wet smooches on both of your son’s cheeks, accompanied slowly by your father-in-law, who’s far more mellowed down than his wife, as he greets you with a wide grin.

“Is this a way to greet your father-in-law?” He jokes when you simply smile at him as you roll your eyes at his light jibe.

“Come here,” you sigh playfully, opening your arms to embrace him as you feel the comfort of a familiar father figure.

“Yes, let’s ignore your actual son, right?” Jin snorts, huffing as he lugs your belongings onto the porch.

His mother’s ears perk up as she shoots him a stern glare that still doesn’t fail to have him cowering. Mother’s really are terrifying when they wanted to be.

“At least she responds to messages,” his mother narrows her eyes at him as Jin smiles meekly in response, probably regretting his words, “I know you’re grown but I’m still your mother—I’ll take you out of that damned company and put you under house arrest."

“Mom,” he exasperates, ears flushed as you snicker at him.

“House arrest?” Jiho repeats, confused.

You pick him up before pressing a kiss in between his brows to soothe the furrow.

“Daddy’s being dumb,” you explain.

“Gang up on me, all right,” Jin snorts, already heading towards the door to bring your stuff in.

His father pats him on the back before shooting him a pointed look.

“A word of advice son,” he murmurs with a low voice, “you’re never right. Your wife is.”

Jin sighs, and you can’t help the amused grin that makes its way onto your face. Even if he had referred to you as his wife—and you knew that it wouldn’t be the case for long, it feels nice to be with them again, even if your utopia would eventually get destroyed.

“The guest room on the second floor is for the kids,” his mother informs, “Jin’s cousins are bringing their children along as well so Jiho won’t be alone.”

You smile gratefully towards her as you guide Jiho towards the home, while the rest of them follow slowly behind.

When you enter, you’re immediately greeted by Jin’s older brother, another familiar figure that you’re grinning widely at as he enthusiastically extends his arms that you immediately jump into.

Jiho’s following close by, tiny figure wrapping around his uncle’s legs as Seokjung picks the little one up with ease.

“Ah, my favourite sister,” he coos playfully, pinching your cheek as you roll your eyes.

“Your only sister,” you correct pointedly.

He’s always referred to you as his sister, even before you married Jin—purely because he was there for you like an older brother was. Since he was two years older than Jin, meaning he was five years older than you, he always looked out for you and took care of you when you were children—and you were immensely grateful for that.

“Semantics,” he waves you off before pressing a kiss to Jiho’s cheek, “Missed you, buddy.”

“You too samchon,” Jiho quips back cheerfully, “Noona?”

He’s referring to Ah-reum, and Seokjung only grins wider.

“She’s coming in two days,” he informs in a hushed whisper, “I’m going to propose to her.”

Jiho tilts his head to the side cutely in confusion.

“Pro-propose?” He mumbles as you laugh softly, patting his head in fondness.

“I want to marry noona,” he whispers with a wink.

“Like—mama? Daddy?” he gasps.

“Like mama and daddy,” Seokjung nods as you swallow.

You look away, feeling like a fraud, especially when at that very moment, Jin brushes up against you with a gentle hand to the small of your back that you flinch at. The look he sends you is concerned, but you know it’s because of what his brother had said. Of course, it was, it couldn’t be anything else.

“Come Jiho,” you say softly, “Let’s get you into your room, yeah?”

He nods eagerly before you’re shooting Seokjung an apologetic smile.

“Hey,” he calls right as you turn, Jin close by your side. “Are you … are you okay?”

The question makes you freeze for a moment as you attempt to school your face and power through the grimace that almost appears.

“Of course,” you clip, “Don’t worry about me. You’ve got a girlfriend to propose to,” you say through a tight smile before squeezing his shoulder before you’re turning on your heel, face immediately dropping.

Jin almost chases after you, but he decides against it when you distract yourself by fiddling with the hem of your son’s pants. It was a habit of yours, finding solace in your son because he’d never do you or anyone wrong, though you could’ve been biased because you played a part in creating him and pushing him out of your vagina.

He wouldn’t do you wrong, you think as he mumbles about marriage under his breath. You really wished he wasn’t so curious.

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

“I forgot how big your family was,” you say a little breathlessly as you escape the fifth aunt of the hour asking about your life and work. That was fine, small talk was okay. Not asking when baby number two was coming along when you were divorcing their precious nephew.

“Sorry,” Jin winces, moving over so that you could plop onto the rattan chair, “it gets bigger every year because of the kids.”

You know that’s true because, for some reason, Jin’s family was as fertile as a fertility clinic. You were sure that they could single-handedly repopulate the human species if Thanos really did snap half the universe away. It’s also probably the reason why Jin managed to get you pregnant three months into your marriage, four years ago.

“Jiho’s trying to break up an argument between the twins,” you sigh when you tilt your head ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of your son helplessly standing in the middle of two older kids as they banter back and forth. Your son was too sweet for his own good, but it was also way too amusing to see his eyebrows furrow as he attempts to get their attention.

“Maybe we should tell our son to not waste his time doing impossible things,” he snorts.

“It’s good character development,” you reason, “It’ll teach him to acknowledge his potential.”

Jin shoots you a dry look before turning his head to the scene where the twins were now tugging at each other’s locks like they were in the tug of war as your son can only watch the scene unfold. You really should tell him that that wasn’t how you resolved conflict, even if their parents humourlessly stand by and allow it to happen.

“I’m not giving our son ammunition for his villain origin story,” he scoffs, “I’m going there—”

“Relax,” you stop him from moving any further with a gentle hand to his bicep out of habit, even if your brain stutters for a split second as you clear your throat, “Your mom’s got him.”

As you’d also like to call her, the heroine of the day, Jin’s mother picks up her grandson before cooing something that you can’t hear from how far you are. You’re thankful when she makes eye contact with you, offering a wink before she’s showing him off to her family members.

The sight makes your heart fond because everyone seemed to love Jiho, you really don’t blame them. You fell in love with Jiho before he was born and you would love him until you didn’t know love anymore. You never knew that being a mother would be this monumental for you, in fact, you never knew if you wanted children anyway.

But when things were … brighter. Jin was the only reason you needed. Then, you wouldn’t have wanted to do this parenting thing with anyone else. The bitter thought of co-parenting plagues your mind and the anxiety of attempting to explain the situation to your son doesn’t ease your nerves at all. Even thinking about telling Jin’s family has you feeling nauseous—you were the real villain. The heartbreaker of it all.

“It’s been a while,” he says, snapping you out of your thoughts as you blink up at him.

“Sorry?”

“It’s been a while since we,” he looks down to his cup before throwing back the last bit of orange juice in it, “Since we had a vacation.”

You snort, “I’d hardly call this a vacation. There are screaming kids and your brother is having ten mental breakdowns a day before the actual proposal.”

“I mean, I guess,” he shrugs, “We just haven’t had the time—to take one. This is nice.”

You don’t know what he’s implying but you know it makes your heart clench at the insinuation. You almost wanted to bitterly add that you tried to make time despite your own busy schedule. It was him that put it off. It was him that didn’t have the time.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, too tired to fight, “It is.”

“Why”—he hesitates for a second as his eyebrows furrow while you raise a brow at the sudden jerk of his tone—“why did you suggest—?”

“Jin?”

Your head turns, and you recognise the voice before you see the approaching figure and you already feel sick to your stomach. Not because you knew what Jin was going to say before he was cut off, but because of the person that comes into your vision. You should’ve seen it coming, really, because this was Seokjung’s engagement party and it wouldn’t make sense if—

“Chahee?” Jin greets in confusion before he’s being pulled into a tight embrace.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she whines, “Weren’t you going to come to say hi?”

Your jaw ticks as you look away from the scene before you.

When there was you and Jin, there was also Chahee and Jin. They’ve never dated, though you knew that if the opportunity presented itself, she’d be the first person up in line anyway. But with every relationship, also came with relationship troubles and unfortunately for you, Chahee was the instigator for most of your relationship insecurities with Jin.

It’s because you weren’t the only person that was a constant in Jin’s life—she was too.

Of course, she’d be here, and of course, she’d still look at Jin with a determination to make him hers. Even if you’re here, face blank as you wait and see if she’d actually acknowledge you this time.

“I,” he swallows, eyes darting to you, fully aware of what her presence implies. But your head is trained to the side, pointedly ignoring it for the sake of your sanity. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

She scoffs as if he’s said something absurd, which in retrospect, he did—because clearly, she’d be here. Where he goes, she’ll try her best to be there.

“Of course, I am!” She chirps, “It’s Seokjung’s big day—and besides, I missed you.”

You nearly roll your eyes to the back of your head and the audacity of this fucking chick. Sure, you were divorcing him, but to everyone else—you were his wife. And you were very much still together, even if it felt like it’s ended months ago.

“It’s good to see you,” he smiles politely, not making much effort to pull away when she rubs at the back of his neck. You’d clock her if you weren’t civilised, but instead, you take a sip of your drink and hope it doesn’t end up in her face.

“You too,” she smiles flirtatiously before she decides to finally acknowledge you. You think it’s a new record. “____, you’re here.”

She sounds much less enthusiastic than before, and you don’t blame her—nor do you plaster a smile on your face. Instead, you tilt the drink up to her and nod your head, giving her a less than a satisfactory greeting. You couldn’t even bother clarifying the obvious because you were Seokjung’s sister-in-law, Jin’s wife; and the mother to the adorable boy who’s currently stealing the show. Silence was a pettier option.

Her fake smile drops when she realises that you weren’t bothered, and you’re glad she doesn’t attempt to be plastic with you anymore when you’re fully aware that she’d sleep with Jin if given the chance.

“What’s up with her?” You hear her mutter to him as you roll your eyes, pushing yourself up to leave the two of them alone.

Alarmed, Jin hastily grabs your arm before you can leave, “She’s—uh, not feeling well.”

“I’m feeling—”

“Acting up at a family event?” Chahee scoffs. You would seriously slap her.

“Listen—” you sigh.

“Pregnancy,” Jin blurts as you nearly stumble from how flabbergasted you are, “You know hormones—not easy.”

You would seriously slap him too.

“You’re … pregnant?” she says slowly, jaw slackening as you see her eyes darken.

“Don’t listen—”

“We need to get you indoors,” Jin smiles tightly, “The sun—yeah. Not good for the baby.”

Before you can even get another word in, Jin’s dragging you into the house as you yelp, spotting the last glare that Chahee sends you before she’s downing the alcoholic beverage in one-go and stomping off somewhere.

When you’re settled into a private corner in the kitchen, only then do you yank away your arm from Jin with a menacing glare.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you snap.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he sighs, “She was—she’s crazy.”

“And you had to be crazy too?” you ask incredulously, “How the fuck would telling her that I’m pregnant solve anything?”

“It’s to get her to back off!” he hisses.

“If a baby would get her to back off then she would’ve done that when I was pregnant with Jiho,” you say dryly.

“I panicked, okay,” he exasperates.

You scowl.

“Well fix it,” you snap, “We’re getting divorced, Jin. Chahee’s going to run her mouth and if it gets to any of your family members then there’s no way we can break our split to them.”

You sound much more bitter than you’d anticipated, but who would sound neutral or happy when speaking about a divorce? With someone you still cared deeply about, no less. But you’re slightly surprised when you see Jin’s face harden at the reminder.

“Is that what you care about?” he blinks.

You give him a weird look before sighing, turning your back to him as you find yourself a glass to pour some water.

“Jin, it’s due time,” you sigh, “I don’t want to make this harder for your family—”

“For them,” he laughs humourlessly, “You’re thinking about how the divorce is going to be hard for them.”

You blink at his sharp tone.

“… yes?” you say slowly, “We grew up together, Jin. Obviously the divorce would crush them.”

“You”—he blinks—“you’re thinking about them but you didn’t for one second to wonder how I felt?”

You freeze.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” he exhales with a tight chuckle, “You really decided that it was over by yourself, didn’t you?”

You don’t appreciate his tone, nor do you appreciate the accusation. Not when you’ve spent literal months and sleepless nights agonising over your decision while you mulled every possible solution, crying over the demise and when you finally decided to take that step forward. You don’t appreciate it—especially when you did your best.

“You didn’t say anything!” you seethe. “You never say anything! You took the damn papers and flipped through to them like it was one of your business contracts.” “How did you expect me to react?” he exclaims, throwing his hands into the air as his voice raises. “I was caught off-guard!"

You scoff, “Really? That’s your excuse?” You narrow your eyes at him as you jab a finger into his chest. “Don’t give me shit for not considering how you felt when you’ve given me no indication that you gave a shit about this marriage at all.”

“Of course I give a shit about this marriage!” He says in disbelief.

“Do you, Seokjin?” you say bitterly, and the name returns along with the drop in his expression. “You don’t. I don’t know what you feel about anything anymore. It’s stopped being a marriage a long time ago. The divorce would’ve come either way.” You finish in a whisper.

“And you decided that for us?” ye snaps.

“Yes, Seokjin, I did,” you sneer, “I decided for us because we don’t even talk anymore. Every time I try to reach out to you—I took ten steps backwards from where I started and I can’t do this anymore. I can’t continue feeling like a placeholder in this marriage instead of your wife.”

“You’re not—” his eyes soften as he reaches out to you while you flinch, eyes darting to the ground.

“Don’t,” you whisper harshly, “Don’t you dare comfort me now, Kim Seokjin. Not when it took the actual divorce for you to be apologetic.”

The kitchen is silent, and it’s deafening, especially when the outside chatter filters in through the slips of the divider. You know they can’t see you through the tinted windows, but it’s a stark contrast with how people are outside laughing while your marriage falls apart under the same roof.

“So that’s it?” he says softly, “Ten years of dating and four years of marriage?”

“Don’t you dare,” you repeat again, weaker, “I wanted this to work out more than anyone else.”

“Then why aren’t you fighting,” he hisses, stepping closer as he attempts to get you to look at him.

You can’t.

“I’ve been fighting,” you return vehemently, though your resolve is weak at best. “I’ve been fighting on my own for the past four months to save this marriage and you—you just …” your eyes flutter shut as you feel the first tear fall. You don’t want to look at him. “You didn’t fight, Seokjin. You were the one that did this to us.”

“____,” he calls your name.

You step away, furiously swiping under your eyes as you attempt to keep the last few bits of your tears back.

“No more burdens, Seokjin,” you smile sadly, “Stop making this harder than it has to be and sign the papers.”

“I—”

“You should go look for Chahee,” you say softly, and you know your words are purposeful with its double-meaning.

You’re already excusing yourself to your room, the godforsaken room you were forced to share with Jin before you catch the way his face drops completely.

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

It’s been radio silent between you and Jin ever since your conversation from yesterday, and you’re both thankful and frustrated. It’s proven difficult to maintain an amicable distance from him when you were meant to be in love and married, along with your son who’s none the wiser.

Seokjung’s nervously pacing back and forth in the living room, but it’s not because of how large his family is—or that he has an audience to please with his grand show. It’s the prospect of proposing to Ah-reum, even if he was madly in love with her.

Right now, he’s not listening to anyone, even his own mother, the same person that would play the level-headed role in situations like these. It’s almost concerning when he mutters incoherencies under his breath, a slip-of the tongue that revealed his fear and desire to leave.

Your eyes widen as you walk towards the anxious man, leaving Jiho with your father-in-law who only smiles at you gratefully.

“Hey,” you say softly, reaching out to clasp his shoulder as he nearly stumbles from being startled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” he exhales, rubbing a hand across his face before his eyes are nervously darting towards the door where Ah-reum could enter at any moment, according to his cousin, “God—I’m going to puke."

“You’re okay,” you reassure him gently, eyes searching for his as he nearly doubles over in anxiety, “You’re good.”

“Am I?” he chokes, “God, I haven’t felt this nervous ever since I had to submit my Master’s thesis.”

You snort, even if you pat his back affectionately.

“It’s normal to feel nervous,” you promise.

“Is it?” he says softly, “I love her—I do. But … but why does this feel so scary?”

You give him a small smile while he peers up at you with panicked eyes. Despite him being relatively older than you were, he looked very much like his younger self right now. Nerves and wide-eyes as he contemplates a decision that would very much change the course of his life.

“It’s because you love her you’re scared,” you explain, “Change will always feel scary, and proposing to Ah-reum is a huge change in your life. Nothing will make this easier, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it. Once you overcome that initial barrier, you’re going to thank yourself for taking that leap of faith.”

He groans, cradling his face into his hands as your eyes widen alarm, afraid if you said the wrong thing.

“You know,” he says suddenly, eyes darting up, “It’s a little reassuring to know that Jin went through this before I did.”

At the mention of his brother, your hand tenses on his shoulder—but you don’t think he notices. Or at least you hope he doesn’t.

“Way to throw your brother under the bus,” you chuckle.

“No, really,” he snorts, shaking his head fondly as if he was recalling those days. “You know, at first I thought it was too early for him to be proposing.”

Your eyes widen at the new set of information.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly, “Don’t tell him I told you that, though. He’d kill me,” he says in a low whisper as you laugh, a little sadly purely because he didn’t have to worry about that. You weren’t even talking to Jin. “I knew the two of you were endgame—but getting married? That’s next-level commitment.”

“I mean,” you say bashfully, eyes darting to the ground.

“But now, looking back …” he trails off wistfully, “It made sense.”

He’s the second person who’s told you that within the span of the past week and you’re left more conflicted than ever. His words came during a time where you were contemplating on splitting up with Jin, so you have no idea what to feel, especially when you’ve convinced yourself that the divorce was the decision that made sense.

“Everyone keeps saying that,” you mumble.

Seokjung snorts, “Because it’s true. You ground each other, you know?” He murmurs with a smile, “I mean more so you to him,” he finishes as you giggle at his hushed whisper.

“I’m clearly the more level-headed one,” you say jokingly with a small smile.

“Yeah,” he agrees easily as the two of you share a laugh. “Early or late, the two of you are meant for each other.”

You ignore the way your heart pangs, the reminder that you once thought that was the case too until reality hit you hard.

“Maybe we did get married too early,” you mention quietly.

Seokjung raises a brow at your statement, and you realise the little slip-up too late as you purse your lips in a moment of panic.

“Are the two of you okay?” he asks with a concerned gaze, taking your hand into his.

You let out a shaky breath before smiling at him, the gesture not quite reaching your eyes.

“Don’t worry about us,” you tell him, “It’s your day.”

He frowns.

“Yeah, but you’re my sister and he’s my—”

“I’m fine,” you say curtly, realising your tone as his face drops before you sigh. “I—I am, really. Please don’t worry about us, okay? You’ve got a girlfriend to propose to.”

You nudge him on the shoulder to cock your head towards the door where you see his aunt frantically waving her arms, indicating that Ah-reum was near, and all retort that was about to leave his lips dies on his tongue as his eyes widen while he vigorously pats down his pants to search for the ring.

“God—fuck, shit godamnit,” he curses, fumbling ever so slightly as you giggle, squeezing his shoulder one last time before you’re shooting him a thumbs up along with a cheeky grin.

Good luck, you mouth—but he doesn’t see it.

The door opens and Ah-reum enters; Seokjung cries before he can get the words out but she knows. She knows because they’re in love.

You suppose love makes you know things. You look away because you’re starting to cry too, and when you do—you search for Jin on instinct, but he’s already looking at you.

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

“Did daddy cry when proposing to mama?” Jiho asks Jin innocently when you’re close enough to catch it.

“No,” Jin says honestly, brushing a stray hair away from his face as Jiho snuggles into his chest. His sigh is clear as day. “Was too happy to cry."

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

“Hey,” you whisper, nudging Jin with your knuckles as he stirs in his sleep, groggily fluttering his eyes open as you shoot him an apologetic smile.

“____?”

“Your back,” you say quietly, “Sleep on the bed.”

“But—”

“I’m not sleeping yet,” you say before your eyes are darting to anywhere but the face you yearn to hold. “Just … please. It’d make me feel a lot better if you were sleeping on your own bed than on this couch.”

He doesn’t argue with you, likely too exhausted from the events of the day to find it in him to challenge you like usual. You’re thankful for the sense of normalcy, even if you’re still tiptoeing around him. Even if the remnants of your conversation is the reason why you’ve encountered yet another sleepless night.

You don’t tell him this because it’s been months since you’ve confided him. Telling him what was bothering you didn’t fit in the context of your situation right now, and besides—he was too tired. He needed to drive.

Jin stumbles off the couch and you’re grateful that the room you were sharing had a couch inside, to begin with. You had no idea how to explain the fact that you and your husband weren’t sharing a bed to your in-laws, and you didn’t want to. It saved the hassle.

(Even if he’d take a part of you to sleep every night when he rests his head against the throw pillow than on the bed.)

He shuffles into the room, quietly shutting the door behind him to not wake anyone else up. The kids' room was a good distance away, but some of them had really acute hearing and he likely didn’t want to risk that. You didn’t need to spend another half an hour trying to get Jiho to sleep.

You sigh deeply, brushing a hand through your hair as your feet takes you towards the second-floor kitchen (and yes, Jin’s family was that wealthy to have a kitchen attached to each floor) as you prepare yourself a cup of hot milk. It’s a drink you’ve made over and over throughout the years, the same brand of carton milk always remains in the fridge—and you knew it was about the Kim’s had relatively picky eating habits.

It’s different this time because you’re making one instead of two, a lone cup that’s usually accompanied by another makes you sadder. It makes your heart hurt all over again and you’re exhausted. You’re drained but you can’t sleep because your body remains active due to the way that your mind runs miles.

You focus on the milk because maybe it’ll hurt less when you don’t think. But it doesn’t—because the stupid fucking milk only reminds you of him. The man in his room, snoozing away while you lose sleep all over again.

You’re momentarily absorbed in the way that the residue from the milk swirls in the cup to notice or hear the shuffling of feet beside you, but it’s too late because when you turn you nearly scream.

“Sorry.”

You’re surprised to see Jin’s mother standing there as you place a hand to your chest to ease your racing heart.

“I nearly screamed,” you confess, shaking your head as she smiles apologetically at you.

“I tend to do that,” she says, “My husband’s always telling me I move like I’m avoiding a footprint.”

You laugh at that, not disagreeing as you mindlessly stir your drink.

“It’s late, eomeonim,” you say with a concerned look, “Is everything okay?”

She gives you a kind smile before she looks over her shoulder.

“Heard something in the kitchen and woke up,” she tells you as your face grimaces in embarrassment, “Shall we head to the office to talk?”

You nod your head mutely, unsure on why she’s decided to stay away even if it nearly approaches two am, but you don’t argue with her. Instead, she guides you towards the study, a comfortable room where you can speak freely without worrying too much about waking others. Your thoughts run a lot more liberally in here, despite the ache in your chest.

You take a seat on the couch, noting that it’s changed. You haven’t been here in a while, yet it remained homey with a much-needed replacement.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

She waves you off.

“I couldn’t sleep anyway,” she says.

Your eyebrows furrow in concern. “Is there something wrong?”

She sighs, staring wistfully to the side as you see her throat move as she swallows. The longer the silence ensues, the antsier you grew. Was she okay? Did something happen to her? Is she—?

“You and Jin are getting a divorce.”

You nearly drop your glass as you spill some of the contents on your t-shirt, hissing at the stain. But you can’t even be bothered to reach for a tissue to clean at it when you’re looking up with a horrified expression to meet your mother-in-law's face.

“I—eomeonim—how?” you splutter, cheeks flushed in mortification.

“I overheard the two of you,” she says simply, “And Jin left his laptop open and I saw an email from Jimin regarding the papers.”

You don’t know what to say because you’re absolutely mortified. More importantly, you feel ashamed. Ashamed because she found out due to you and Jin’s shouting in the kitchen and his carelessness. Not from you yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, emotions slowly overwhelming you as she looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“Why are you apologising, my sweet girl?” she says softly, immediately reaching out to you to wrap her arms around you as a mother would. And right now, she wasn’t your mother-in-law—but a woman who’s seen you grow alongside her own two children. You weren’t disappointing your mother-in-law but your second mother.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” you choke, tears immediately falling the tighter she holds you, “I-I’m s-so sorry. I-I tried—I didn’t—want to but—I-I’m sorry.”

Your words are slurred the harder you cry, pathetically shoving your face into her shoulder as she holds you. The dam breaks, unleashing the emotions you’ve held in for so long in the arms of a mother. She doesn’t say anything but brushes your hair, holding you a little tighter when your tears stain her nightgown.

You don’t know why you’re crying so hard. Maybe it’s because it seems all too real now, with Jin’s mother knowing. Her words only solidify the fact that your marriage was nearly over and you couldn’t do anything. The ghost of Jin’s words from a day earlier still remain clear to you, and maybe—it was really your fault.

You decided it was over.

“____,” she calls you softly as you continue to sniffle in her arms, frustrated at the fact that your tears weren’t stopping. “Look at me, dear.”

You force yourself to obey even if you can’t bear to, the humiliation of her finding out this way still tormenting you.

“I’m sorry, eom—”

“Please don’t say sorry,” she holds your face in her hands, forcing your puffy eyes to look at her.

“But it’s,” you choke, unable to look at her without wanting to cry. “It’s—my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” she replies vehemently, swiping at your tears for you, “It’s not your fault.” She repeats in a softer tune.

“I wanted the divorce, eomeonim,” your lips wobble when you speak, words shakily escaping past your lips, “It’s all my fault.”

“I’m sorry,” she says instead as you nearly knock your forehead with hers at how fast you try to pull away, appalled that she was the one apologising.

“Why are you—?” your brows furrow in confusion when she holds onto you a little tighter.

“I’m not just Jin’s mother or your mother-in-law,” she says softly, “I’m a person and I see that you’re hurting. I’m apologising because you don’t deserve this.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as your eyes look up to the ceiling to stop your tears.

“I know mothers-in-law will side with their son,” she says, “But I won’t. Because Jin made a mistake and now you’re suffering because of him.”

“It’s not his fault,” you reply quietly.

You know that you blamed him earlier, but deep down—you could never blame Jin. You were the one that brought forward the divorce, and if you decided to keep fighting then maybe … maybe it wouldn’t hurt this much.

“I don’t know,” she sighs, “I don’t want to invalidate your feelings, that’s the last thing I want to do but …” she trails off as you stare at her expectantly, “I don’t know who he is without you, ____.”

You bite your lips to prevent yourself from crying again.

“Please don’t think of this as me trying to convince you to stay with him,” she begs, “If you’re unhappy, I rather you leave him than punish yourself.” You nod your head, eyes darting to your lap as she continues. “But I spoke to Jin.”

Your eyes immediately dart up in surprise as your eyes widen.

“You—?”

“Right after,” she continues softly, “I caught him before he went to bed and …” her eyes begin to water and you think you’re about to break again. “I haven’t seen him cry since your wedding day.”

Her confession knocks the wind out of you as you find yourself gasping, tears immediately leaving your eyes. The realisation that Jin cried, to his mother makes your heart clench. You knew that Jin wasn’t much of a crier himself—he didn’t even cry when Jiho was born. Nor was he the type to cry in front of his mother. He held his ego at a high level even if that irked you at times, so the news only makes you more devastated.

“I don’t know what he said to you per se,” she whispers, “But he loves you. He loves you so much—and that goddamn idiot doesn’t know how to do anything but work and I’m sorry for that. I shouldn’t be apologising on my son’s behalf but I want to. I want to because I love you as my daughter and I want to see you happy.”

“Eomeonim …” you croak, reaching your hand up to cover hers that lay on your face.

“Please, if you call me that I think I’m going to bawl,” she laughs quietly as you find yourself giggling along, despite the way it gets stuck in your throat. “My son is stupid. So stupid. Please—please talk to him. If it …” she swallows, “If it doesn’t work out—I’ll support you, either way. Just please, don’t leave whatever questions you have unanswered.”

You nod your head, chest feeling slightly lighter but burdened nevertheless.

“I will,” you say softly, “I promise.”

You walk her back to her room after, hugging her tightly at her door as she pushes past it, sniffling ever so slightly before retreating into the dark room.

You make your way quietly back to your room, mind weighed with different thoughts plaguing every crevice of your brain. You didn’t know what to make of her confession or statement. You wanted to believe her that Jin still loved you—but you didn’t know. You couldn’t know because you don’t remember the last time he held you, or maybe you did and it was months ago.

Your feet stop right in front of the door as you hesitate to reach for the knob. He was asleep, anyway. You decide to push, slowly turning as you slip into the dark room.

It wasn’t dark.

And Jin was awake.

He’s awake and sat in his bed, something resting on his lap as he uses the nightlight beside him to flip through it. He hears the intrusion as you stand, frozen, and his eyes lift to meet yours.

You think this is the first time in a while that you’ve seen him like this, in bed and comfortable with a slight puffiness to his eyes while his shirt remains wrinkled—the proof of his comfort. Your heart clenches because you missed this—missed returning to him in bed, soft and warm as you press against him.

And the dam breaks for the second time that night.

You don’t know what compels you to run to him, or allow him to hold you while you sob into his arms—but you do. You practically leap onto him, body curling pathetically into his side as he holds you like he’s afraid you’d slip away. He lets you cry your eyes out, he lets you cry until snot is unattractively running down your nose and staining his t-shirt. He lets you, because he hasn’t let you feel him for a long time.

You instantly melt into his hold, missing his warmth. And when your eyes briefly fall into his lap to get a glimpse of what he was staring at, you cry even harder.

It was a banner you made for his twenty-ninth birthday, right after the two of you got married. Your then favourite pictures of Jin stained every surface of the banner, some edges wearing off due to age—and you remember each moment so vividly.

From taking a picture of him when he was taking a picture of you, to when he was making you breakfast in the morning, to his birthday as you smashed cake into his face, the flowers he got you when he broke your favourite cup, your fishing trip—everything. You remember it.

You sob harder, clutching onto his t-shirt as he tucks your face into the crook of his neck, pressing a soft kiss into your hair. You were so tired of crying but it was all you could do.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers after your sobs turn into tireless chokes, “I’m so sorry.”

“I hate you,” you cry, hitting his chest while he lets you, “Why are you so stupid.”

“I know,” he sighs, “I’m stupid. Hate me. Do anything you want to me.”

“I-I”—you croak, still slamming your fists into his chest weakly as you helplessly flutter your eyes shut—“I don’t hate you.” You finish quietly, your truth surfacing as you note that his eyes soften at your defeated tone.

Your emotions are everywhere and frankly, you can’t really think with how you’re pressed against his body like you never wanted him to let go. Right now, you didn’t. You wanted to be held, vulnerable and teary while he soothes you with his gentle touches.

You can’t stop the tears, way too overwhelmed to even process the fact that Jin doesn’t shift away one bit, hand clutching the back of your head as he rubs circles against your scalp. Who were you to pull away?

You sniffle pathetically before you pull away ever so slightly, flushed and embarrassed at the sudden loss of control over your emotions.

“Are you done?” he asks softly, referring to your tears as you pull away to swipe under your eyes.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, “I still feel like crying.”

“Then cry,” he replies gently, “I’ll be here to hold you.”

You want to hit him because his words only spur the tears on.

“I just wanted you,” you whisper, “I only wanted you …” your lips wobble when you look up at him.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, “I know sorry won’t erase the pain I’ve caused you but that’s all I can offer for now.”

“Why did you—why did you just”—you sniff pathetically—“why didn’t you fight me. Why didn’t you stop me.”

“I thought it would make you happy,” he pulls away, and you both know how absurd his excuse sounds but you’re too tired to fight. “I only wanted you to be happy.”

“You idiot,” you hiss through a clogged nose, “You would’ve made me happy.” You say softly. “I wanted to be happy with you.”

“You make me happy too,” he says softly into your hair.

You’re still angry, and you’re tired. But even if there were things you were unsure about, you missed being close to Jin more than anything.

“Your mom said you were stupid,” you murmur.

He laughs quietly, pulling you closer to his chest.

“I am,” he agrees.

The silence returns but it’s no longer as suffocating as the past few days have been. It’s more reflective than not and you’re thankful, even if your eyes are uncomfortably swollen—you allow yourself to be held. The weaker part of you is unable to say no to him.

“Why …” you begin softly, eyes looking up to already see him staring at you. “Why didn’t you sign the papers?”

He blinks at you for a while before he sighs, resting his chin atop your head.

“I didn’t want it to be real,” he says so softly you almost missed it. “I thought—I thought if I dragged it out then …”

“… it wouldn’t have happened?” You finish quietly.

He groans, frustrated as your eyebrows furrow at his sudden change in demeanour.

“I know it sounds pathetic,” he admits, “I was a coward, ____. I was stressed and overwhelmed and—suddenly … you wanted a divorce, I just”—he takes a deep breath to collect himself and you’re mildly alarmed to spot his glassy eyes—“I didn’t know what to do …”

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” you ask timidly, fingers gripping his shirt tightly. There was really no need for you to cling onto him, but you couldn’t do anything else right now. Especially when he returns the gesture.

“Would you believe me if I said it’s because I didn’t want to burden you?” he brushes your hair out of your face as his hand cradles your cheek, “I wanted to be the one you could rely on and … I didn’t know what to do.”

Your face crumbles when you note the sincerity behind his voice. Rationally, you knew that a relationship required communication but you knew Jin, and you knew that he always tried to plaster this mask to the world that depicted him as a reliable and unshakable fortress. All this time … he was struggling and so were you.

The realisation only makes you sadder, and you feel all the more horrible when you remember that you brought up the divorce in the midst of all of this.

“I’m sorry!” you wail, face burying into his chest as his eyes widen.

“_____—” he murmurs.

“No—I just,” you say frantically, rushing to get your words out, afraid if you’d forget as if he’d disappear. “I didn’t know—and I thought—I thought you didn’t … I thought we were—fuck. I’m so sorry, I just wanted you—I—”

You have no idea what you’re saying but Jin doesn’t look confused. He understands, and you know that because he shoots you a gentle smile before rubbing his thumb across your cheek.

“Please don’t apologise,” he whispers, forehead resting against yours as you blink away your tears. “I don’t blame you. I could never blame you.”

“But I …” you protest.

He shushes you with a kiss to your forehead and you instantly melt into his hold.

“You did what you thought would make you happy,” he tells you honestly, “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I asked for a divorce, Jin,” you exasperate.

“Are we?”

You blink, startled as you pull away, heart nearly shattering until he grabs you by the wrist.

“Hey, no,” he whispers, “That’s not what I meant,” he cups your face in his hands as your lips wobble all over again. God—you fucking despised being a crybaby. “Look at me.”

You do, and you see how tired he looks. How have you not noticed before? His cheeks look duller, and his dark circles are more apparent than ever. You just want to reach out to touch him.

And you do. Your hand shakily reaches out to caress his face in a way that you weren’t able to for the past few months. It’s almost like a new feeling, but your fingers find their way home relatively easy, tracing each pore and wrinkle, memorising his face to memory all over again.

“Are we getting a divorce, ____?” he repeats firmly, never breaking eye contact with you.

Your lip tremble.

“I don’t—” you warble, as he leans his forehead against yours again.

“Because I don’t want a divorce,” he says, and it’s the first time he’s explicitly admitted it.

“I don’t either,” you say weakly.

“I meant it when I said I want to be with you in sickness and in health,” he whispers earnestly, breath tickling your cheek, “And till death do us apart.”

“I’m sorry, Jin,” you say timidly, eyes darting to your lap.

“Don’t apologise to me,” he says sternly, not unkindly as your eyes flutter up. “Not when I’m the one that has an entire lifetime worth of apologies to give you.”

“I just …” you trail off softly, “I just want us to be okay.”

He’s still staring at you, and there’s a pained expression behind his eyes.

“Can I kiss you?”

His question stuns you, purely because you weren’t expecting it and because you’ve nearly forgotten what it felt like to have his lips pressed against yours, or even the nervous waver of his voice when he looks at you so earnestly that you can’t find the words to respond with. So, you settle for actions instead.

You nod your head mutely, heart ramming against your chest when he begins to lean in.

You don’t remember the last time he’s kissed you, or held you, or looked at you like this. There’s a dull ache in your chest when you recall the nights you’ve spent agonising over the downfall of your marriage, but Jin distracts you from your thoughts when his lips tickle over yours.

There’s no rush this time, even as your eyes are swollen while you flutter them shut. There’s no desperation to kiss you, and you aren’t desperate to be kissed either. It’s as if the both of you wanted to savour this moment—to remember what it feels like to have almost lost. It hurt—but it was necessary. A necessary reminder to you and to Jin that fighting was tiring but it was worth it.

When he finally presses his lips to yours, you nearly cry. You immediately melt into his hold, especially when he cradles your cheek with his palm and pulls you closer to his chest.

You kiss him with a mission to tell him how much you’ve yearned for this—for him. But you’re distracted when you feel something hot against your cheek.

It’s not your tears—it’s his.

You pull away, alarmed when you realise that Jin’s body is shaking.

“Jin?” zYou clutch his shoulders, eyes searching for his as he covers his face with his shoulder, effectively shielding his tears away from you.

“I-I’m sorry,” he chokes, furiously wiping his eyes with his shirt as your face falls.

“J-Jin, please don’t—” you say shakily, going to embrace him, but to your displeasure, he refuses, breathing deeply to collect himself.

You don’t think you’ve seen Jin this uncollected ever. Not even when he was crying during your wedding. His body shakes with the ferocity of his tears, the intensity of his breaths only causes his shoulders to heave up and down and all you can do is stare at him with sad eyes.

“I know an apology won’t fix anything,” he says vehemently, managing to get some of his words out as he peers up at you with red-rimmed eyes, “But I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you question this marriage—for—for not loving you the way you deserve.”

“Jin …” you say softly, reaching out to hold his hand as his own tears continue to fall from his eyes.

This time, it’s you who allows him to nuzzle his head into the crook of your shoulder as he sobs. It’s quieter than you, but no less painful.

“I was so scared,” he confesses, “I was terrified when you showed me the papers. I really thought—this is it. It’s over.”

You stay silent, biting your lip to stop your own tears from escaping when you recall the memory.

“I was so scared what would happen,” he croaks, “I thought I was going to lose you, forever. I thought—I thought I was going to lose Jiho.”

“I’d never do that to you,” you say shakily.

“I know,” he returns, “But I was the most afraid of who I was going to be without you.”

You look down at him when his eyes dart up, pained and sunken when he clutches your hands in his larger ones, squeezing your fingers in a way that you assume he hopes to translate his desperation. You feel it, and you squeeze back.

“You’re Kim Seokjin,” you murmur, rubbing your thumb across his chin.

“That’s just my name,” he scoffs, shaking his head, “I’m nothing without you.”

“That’s not—”

“You and Jiho were the only one’s that got me through each day, you know?” He murmurs as your heart clenches. “Every day, when another deal failed to follow through and ended up bringing losses—or when the stockholders went against me—I could only think of you and Jiho.”

You couldn’t stop the tears that return this time around, choking on your own sobs.

“I wanted so much to give you both the world that I,” he swallows, “That I got greedy—and I ended up … I ended up losing the both of you instead.”

“I’m here, Jin,” you say softly.

“I know I don’t deserve it yet,” he says quietly, “But please don’t leave me.”

You realise belatedly that even with the divorce, you could never have left him the way you thought you could.

You don’t answer him, instead—you provide your answer through your actions by kissing him. Harder than before but just as earnest. Both of your tears clash against your skins, but you can’t be bothered to care when he returns your kiss with an equal amount of desperation and affection.

“I love you,” he breathes into your mouth as you gasp. “I love you more than love itself.”

You want to hit him in the way he’s making you cry harder.

“I love”—you choke on your words when he presses a kiss to your jaw, his confession raw and honest—“God, I love you.”

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life loving you,” he says vehemently, kissing every inch of your face, your jaw and your neck as you cling onto his shirt desperately right before his dark eyes look up to catch your flushed expression. “Will you let me?”

“Yes—God—please,” you beg, pulling him closer to your body as he peppers open-mouth kisses down your sternum and across your chest.

“Can I love you tonight, ____?”

You nod your head desperately, heart fuller than it’s been in a long time. You know the consequences, and you couldn’t give a damn right now. You still needed to heal, and so did he—but when he holds you a little tighter, you know that neither of you was going anywhere.

“Love me,” you gasp, “Please, Jin.”

“I’ll love you,” he hisses, trailing down your neck, his words juxtaposing with the tenderness of his touch as his hands slip under your shirt. His touch is molten, especially when you’ve missed the feeling of having him like this—close, desperate and yours for the moment.

“I miss you,” you confess while he drags his fingers across your abdomen and rests right under your breasts. He looks up at you with soft eyes as you return them, eyes swollen. “I really miss you, Jin.”

He leans up to kiss you, hands multitasking as they cup your tits while you gasp into his mouth.

“I miss you,” he returns with a heartfelt tone, “I’ll never let this happen. Ever again.”

Now, all you can do is trust him, trust him and his words and that he’d take care of you. His hands tickle under your shirt but you can’t be bothered when he finally cups your breast with his large hands, gentle yet steadfast when he tweaks your peaked buds.

“O-Oh,” you gasp, head lulling back when his lips trail down to your neck, hands already helping you out of your shirt.

“Will you let me see you, beautiful?” he murmurs.

“Please,” you say breathlessly, lifting your arms up to ease the process.

You should’ve felt vulnerable, being more than just physically naked in front of him. But throughout the hurt and the pain, he’s never made you doubt yourself for once. It was as if you were held captive by him, even when your heart was slowly shattering. It’s also why when he gives you a once over with hunger behind his eyes, you don’t shy away. Instead, your back arches, giving him more than enough to see—to feel.

“I missed you,” he repeats, pressing a kiss to your nipple as you whimper, hands curling around his hair as his head dips lower, “Missed you—missed how gorgeous you looked like this.”

He tells you more by painting the truth on your breast, lavishing each bud with pert attention as you find yourself growing wetter in arousal. His tongue is hot against the cool air of the room, the juxtaposition of the temperatures only sending your head into short-circuiting.

“J-Jin please,” you breathe, staring down at him when his dark eyes lift up to meet yours. His stare is enough to have your thighs clenching together. “M-More.”

“Of course,” he croons, “I’ll give you everything you want.”

You mewl as his hands trace fluttering touches against your stomach before they’re reaching your mound. He doesn’t drag this out as he’d normally, the distant memories of your nights spent tangled together as he edged you till you were crying. No, this time—he’s gentle, he’s soft and careful with the way he handles you, spreading your legs as you pliantly obey, eyes fluttering with every move that he makes.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your mound as you whimper at the contact, needy in want. “I’m gonna eat this pretty pussy, hm?”

You nod your head in desperation, lifting your hips to aid him in the process of slipping off your pants along with your panties, baring your slicked pussy to his face. You catch a brief glimpse of his expression, especially when he unabashedly ogles your wetness with desire behind his eyes. You’re a little flustered since it’s been a while, so your legs naturally threaten to snap shut but Jin doesn’t let you get too far.

“Don’t hide from me,” he says quietly, eyes peering up at you as you can’t find it in you to respond with how your throat clamps shut. “Want to see you. Always do.”

Your heart tugs in your chest, but you aren’t able to dwell on the feeling for too long when Jin dives into your heat, tongue immediately flattening against your pussy as he tracks your wetness up your slit to where your engorged bud lies. Your back immediately arches while your hand finds purchase in his hair, grounding yourself at the way your stomach immediately heaves inwards at his ministrations.

Jin doesn’t relent, nor does he tease. He’s quick and precise with every flick of his appendage over your clit, rapidly swirling the bud in the way you like as he alternates between harsh sucks and tugging at the pearl, causing sobs of pleasure to leave your lips. It’s a product of how long you’ve been together and how he’s learned every pulse and shiver as a sign of your pleasure.

“Pleasepleaseplease,” you mewl, “D-Don’t stop.”

“You taste so good, love,” he moans into your pussy, the vibrations immediately causing your toes to curl as your head tilts backwards. “A pussy like yours should be eaten every day, yeah? As your husband—I should do that.”

When he calls himself your husband, you feel yourself whine in pleasure, the term causing fondness to bloom in your chest. You don’t know if he’s said it on purpose, but he doesn’t stop with his actions, instead, one of the hands that presses your stomach down to keep you in place reaches up to where your hand clutches his hair and brings it away.

“J-Jin,” you whine, hips bucking when he swirls his tongue over your clit, slowly while his eyes peer up to lock with yours.

The act is all too intimate, and your poor heart can barely take it with how sensitive you are all over, emotionally and physically. But Jin takes your flushed face as a good sign, and he ruins you all over when he intertwines your fingers together.

“Can feel you clenching,” he hums teasingly, “you going to come for me?”

You nod your head vigorously, fingers pressing tightly against his larger palm as he laughs into your pussy at your eagerness. Once he gets the confirmation for you, it’s like he was holding out the entire time despite him causing your legs to shiver by the side of his face.

This time, Jin presses his face tightly against your pussy as you squeal, louder than you expected as he flicks his tongue over your bud so rapidly that your mind is blank in pleasure, legs shaking uncontrollably as your body quivers in pleasure.

“Oh oh oh! J-Jin—fuck, I-I’m gonna—please let me cum, please please please,” you cry desperately, hips grinding against his face as he slurps your clit like he was parched.

“Come for me, beautiful. Wanna feel you drench my tongue,” he encourages you softly, yet his words send a wave of pleasure all across your body as you finally feel the last bit of your coil snap.

“J-Jin!” you sob, back arching as his large palm splays over your stomach to keep you rooted in position, forcing you to take all the pleasure he was giving you. Your legs shake by his face as he keeps his mouth open with his tongue out as you ride the aftershocks of your orgasm away.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pulling away with a parting kiss to your clit that as you jumping. “I missed this. Missed your pussy.”

“Miss you,” you mumble dazedly, your fingers carding through his hair as he peers up at you.

“Come here,” he whispers, inching up as he gently holds your cheek in his palm while you immediately lean into his touch.

While you lay on his bed, relatively boneless, Jin stares at you with devout affection, his eyes softening when he holds your gaze. His lips glisten with your wetness, mouth slightly parting while he rubs a thumb against your cheek.

“I love you,” he says quietly, “I really—I’m so in love with you.”

“Jin,” you say shyly, eyes darting away when he doesn’t look away.

“You’re the love of my life,” he divulges gently, leaning his forehead against yours as you take in every freckle that marks his skin, and the dulcet curve of his lips when he presses it against yours.

You can’t find a response that would indulge in what you truly felt, so you settle for reciprocating his kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as you learn all about the way he feels all over again. You miss this, and you’d admit it over and over again—until he reminds you just how much of a home his touch was.

“I want you,” you whimper, pulling away to peer up to his dark eyes.

“Gotta be quiet, okay?” he murmurs as you nod obediently. “Need me to prep you? It’s been a while.”

Ever the gentleman and the considerate person he was, although you reckoned it was the most sensible option—you missed the feeling of having him feel you whole.

“No need,” you say, “Just—fuck me, please.”

He chuckles, leaning down to press hot kisses against your jaw and the nape of your neck as he uses his palms to spread your legs, feeling the way his hardened cock presses against your thigh. You take the time to card your fingers through his hair, gently pressing against his temple, then his cheek, and finally his bottom lip while you attempt to let your actions display what you feel.

As if Jin senses this, he leans up to press a soft kiss to your lips. One that’s both desperate and longing, a greeting from the past that blooms in the present.

“Ready?” he murmurs, fist clutching his cock while it prods against your quivering hole.

He swiftly removes his shirt, chucking it aside as he presses the tip against your quivering hole. You nod eagerly, wrapping your arms around his shoulder as he finally pushes through the first barrier. Your breath hitches, mostly because Jin wasn’t average-sized by any means. He grunts from above you, face contorted as he slowly inches his way in, careful to not hurt you.

Frankly, you were wet enough from your previous orgasm and how much your body craved him—but as you mentioned, he was big. But the pleasant burn of his girth stretching you out have you gasping, eyes peering up at him in desperation.

“M-More,” you whimper, hips chasing his as you encourage him to sheathe himself further into you.

“Are you sure?” he asks, lips pressed against your jaw as you nod.

“I’m good,” you assure him, pulling away just to shoot him a small smile that he returns.

Finally, he bottoms out, the last bit of his length in you as you whimper at the feeling of being so full, so whole. Jin remains still, to allow you a few seconds to adjust to having him in you. While you were desperate for more, you appreciated the gesture.

There’s something oddly intimate about having him in you but not moving at all. There’s no rush to thrust into you with hot pleasure and love, but just the comfort of having him here—with you. Your heart squeezes in fondness, mostly because you missed him. Missed having him so close to you and in your reach.

“Y-You can move,” you pant, hips already moving at their own accord as he groans from above you.

“God,” he sighs, “I missed you. Missed you so much.”

“I-I missed you too,” you say in between pants as he begins to thrust into you, pulling his cock out until the hilt before slamming back home.

It sends your body up the bed as you indulge in how good it feels. Both emotionally and physically. One of your hands clutches at his hair while he builds up his pace by occupying all the space in between your hot walls.

“Fuck,” he grunts, “You feel so—good.”

You nearly forgot how strong Jin was, and how effortlessly he was able to send white-hot pleasure coursing through your bloodstream with the way that his hips move. He’s relentless with his pounding, the squelches of your wetness echoing in the room with every single purposeful thrust, your gasps of pleasure tangled with the way the slap of his hips meet yours—it’s all too stimulating and it feels so good.

“Oh my God, J-Jin, fuck, oh,” you sob, clawing at his back when he speeds up his thrusts, the tip of his cockhead scraping against the spot within you that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

You feel so full, and your pussy is attempting to accommodate his thick and long length. Your clit is throbbing in want as your hand reaches down to deliver some reprieve, but before you can do anything meaningful—Jin’s slapping your hand away to replace it with his own, and a determined expression on his face.

“Fuck, this pussy’s so wet,” he hisses, rubbing vigorous figure eights on your swollen bud as your mouth falls open into a silent moan, “Would die for this pussy. Always.”

His words send your stomach clenching, paired with the way he doesn’t falter at all with the rhythm of his brutal thrusts.

“Oh oh—ngh, p-please—don’t stop oh my God you’re so fucking—good,” you scream, right before Jin captures your mouth with his lips, swallowing your moans.

“As much as I want to hear you, we’re not home,” he reminds you softly, eyes swirling with amusement as you flush a deeper shade of red, a chortled squeal caught in your throat when he emphasises his point with a particular thrust that has your chest jostling.

Yet, it’s not his cock that has you burning.

Home.

Your home. The home that hasn’t felt much like one.

“Ohhhh,” you wail, muffled by his lips, “Don’t stop oh my god, I’m gonna fucking cum again—shit.”

“Yeah, gonna cum for me again?” he eggs you on with a grunt, leaning his chest against yours as your sticky body meets while his hips continue working its way into your pussy. “God fuck, I’m so lucky—you’re so beautiful.

“J-Jin,” you mewl, your glassy eyes peering up at him as he returns. Somehow, he knows—he knows even if all you’ve uttered was his name.

“I got you, my love,” he says so ardently that you feel a tear fall, both in pleasure and in overwhelming love. “Look at me.”

You do, and Jin decides to intertwine the free hand that isn’t abusing your poor clit into blazing pleasure with your own, squeezing your hand. It just so happens to be his left hand, and you feel the familiar squeeze of his wedding ring against your empty finger.

The realisation that he never took it off only makes you cry harder.

“J-Jin, I-I’m—” you blubber through a moan, feeling the coil in your stomach grow tenfold when he rams into you at a speed and a sense of determination you’ve never felt before. “I—oh fuck—I’m going to—!”

“I love you,” he confesses, squeezing your hand as it lays by the side of your head. The heat grows, and you feel yourself grow light-headed when Jin leans in to press a hot kiss to your lips, his own grunts caught in between your teeth.

“I love—fuck, oh,” you struggle to form coherent words, not when your pussy clenches erratically around his length, your wetness dripping down his balls while he attempts to focus on battering your g-spot with a snipers precision.

“Cum for me,” he grunts, “Cum for me and look me in the eye. Wanna see how fucking gorgeous you look for me.”

You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut momentarily as more tears fall, and when you open them—you see a manic look in Jin’s gaze, paired with his own stray tear falling.

“I love you—I love you I love you I love you,” you chant frantically, cunt pulsing as your legs shake, “I-I’m cum—cumming—”

“Me too, love,” he murmurs, hips stuttering when you clench around him. “I love you so much. You’re the—best thing. I’m so fucking—lucky.”

His own words are slurred, and you feel the coil snap, your eyes trained only on his expression as you feel your orgasm overtake you with an acute force that has you nearly blanking out. You gush around his length, and that stimulates Jin’s own release, his cum painting your walls white with its heat as you shudder at the feeling of being so wholly full.

“Oh oh oh,” you mewl, clutching his hand tighter as you choke on your sobs of pleasure and tears. “Kiss me. Kiss me please.”

Your pleas are granted with a desperate kiss to your lips, your arms immediately wrapping around his shoulders while he shoves his cock further into you, plugging his cum as you whine into his open mouth. He releases loads of his cum into you that it threatens to slip past your swollen folds.

Jin kisses you, and you kiss him back. You don’t dare to let go and neither does he. The desperation between the two of you is an accumulation of nights spent apart, spent agonising the death of your relationship, the potential of a future without each other—the hypotheticals of what-ifs. You feel his ring against your jaw when he curls his hand around it to push himself deeper into your mouth.

“I love you,” he says again, and yet your heart flutters like it’s the first.

You pull away to catch your breath, forehead resting against his as you sniff the remaining of your tears away. A croaked laugh leaves your lips as Jin smiles softly at you, thumb rubbing against your cheek with immense tenderness and affection that you can’t do anything but lean into his touch.

He’s still in you, and yet—there’s no rush to move despite the cum that leaks out of your hole.

“I love you,” you echo.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, regret staining his words as his eyes flutter shut. “I—I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness just yet—”

You stop him by pressing a kiss to his lips, soft. Pleading.

“We’ve got all the time to learn,” you say quietly, “Now, I just want you.”

He pauses for a second just to observe your face, to take in your earnest eyes as he sighs, both remorseful and thankful. Thankful that he’s met you, and thankful that you’re still here despite his shortcomings.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you,” he says with a determined gaze as you smile softly at him.

“I’ll take your word on that,” you say with a giggle.

He pulls out of you as you wince, immediately feeling his cum drip out of you. You’re about to whine a complaint, but he interrupts any ripostes from your lips with another kiss.

You’re not complaining.

“And I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you,” he says as you flush at his words. “Being next to you. Learning with you. Growing with you. I want to do it all—only with you.”

You want to slap him. You do. It’s the only thing you can think of when you feel your tears burn behind your eyelids.

“God,” you sniff as he grins at you.

“You’re such a crybaby,” he teases, leaning over your body to pick up his t-shirt before he’s wiping at your folds.

You scowl, ready to nag his ear off for using his own shirt, but before you can do any damage, he’s chucking it aside once he deems you clean enough before he’s suffocating you with a death grip around your body.

“My baby,” he murmurs into your neck as you flush.

“Jiiiiiiin,” you whine, “I need to—I need to pee.”

“Let me carry you,” he immediately says, swooping your naked body up with his arms as you yelp.

“I’m not—I can walk!” you squeak.

“Don’t think so,” he smirks as you roll your eyes at him, your eyes still puffy from your tears. “Your legs are shaking.”

And shaking, they were. You knew that you had no way of walking to the bathroom without collapsing with how good Jin had fucked you previously. But you were prideful as you stick your nose up snootily, looking away when he leans in to kiss you.

“Does the queen not want to kiss her king?” he pouts childishly as you roll her eyes.

“More like a peasant,” you mutter.

You squeal when he threatens to tickle you, blowing a raspberry into your neck while your boisterous laughter echoes against the wall.

It’s late, and people were sleeping, but the way that Jin holds you so gently as you’ve remembered—makes you forget about reality, about everything else. You can only focus on him, the way he’s making you feel and the way you see your best friend, love of your life—and your husband—return to you.

“Hey,” he murmurs once you’re done peeing and draped over one of his large t-shirts as the two of you cuddle in bed.

“Hm?”

“I love you,” he whispers, your eyes nearly drooping shut in fatigue.

“I love you too,” you say softly, snuggling into his chest as he holds you tighter.

“Once we go back …” he murmurs, “I want—I want us to go for couple therapy.”

You pause.

You look up at him, noticing his nervous expression as you smile. You wrap your fingers around him before brushing your thumb over his knuckles comfortingly.

“Okay,” you agree, “We will.”

“And … I want to take you out,” he says before clearing his throat. “On a date.”

“We’re married,” you giggle.

And it feels to good to believe it.

He rolls his eyes and you spot the slight flush on his cheeks.

“I know,” he says, “I missed going out with you.”

Your face softens before you sigh to yourself, happy.

“Me too,” you say.

“I love you,” he repeats again. You won’t ever get tired of hearing it.

You return it with a kiss, and finally, allow yourself a comfortable sleep after months.

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It’s both simultaneously all too hot and too cold when you arise from your slumber.

Your body aches in satisfaction from the events from last night, and you vividly remember the hot touches and long-awaited, teary-eyed confessions that were shared between you and your husband (and yes, your heart does bloom when you refer to Jin as his rightful position in your life rather than … that).

But the indent of where his body lays remains cool, as your body attempts to search for warmth that wasn’t the duvet absolutely suffocating you but in a touch of the love of your life. Still drowsy from sleep, you pat down on the mattress to find not what you were looking for, but a sick feeling of anxiety that stirs in your stomach.

The worst permeates your mind, and for a moment you’ve wondered if you dreamt it all—the reconciliation that promised retribution and a better future just a figment of your imagination and deepest desires. The mound between your thighs aches when you push yourself into an upright position, blinking as you attempt to search the room for his whereabouts.

Before your mind can continue to think the worst of the situation, the door creaks open—and Jin enters, face still slightly puffy from sleep but no less handsome than he’s always been. Your shoulders droop in relief, and just as you’re about to call to him—you note the third guest that joins you.

“Stole Jiho from the kids' room,” he whispers in consideration of your still snoozing son as he wraps himself around his father’s broad body.

“Thought you left,” you confess softly, making space when his knee pressed against the mattress, only for him to lay Jiho softly on the plush surface as he joins his son by his side.

“Never,” Jin says, reaching a hand to brush a stray hair away from your face before he reaches to hold your hand to press a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

At that moment, your son’s eyes slowly peer open, probably due to the fact that you and Jin were staring at him with full adoration. When he realises it’s just his parents, he grins, wide and with his bread cheeks before he lets out a giggle that has your heart soaring.

“Mama,” he smiles, chubby arms reaching out for a hug as you indulge in his affection. You lay back, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he snuggles into your warmth.

“Just wanted to hold the both of you,” Jin says as you rub gentle circles on Jiho’s back.

Your heart softens exponentially, free hand reaching out to Jin’s so that he’d wrap an arm around you and your son.

“Warm,” Jiho mumbles, pressed between the bodies of you and Jin’s love while the two of you stare, hopelessly and utterly in love with the person you’ve created—and each other.

“I love you, Jiho,” Jin whispers, hugging him impossibly tighter as your son smiles innocently.

“Love you!” he chirps back, eyes fluttering shut the more comfortable it gets for him.

As you run your fingers fondly through the strands of your son’s hair, Jin’s voice interrupts your love-dazed gaze with a soft confession, a record of the years you’ve known each other and the many more years you had to learn about each other.

“I love you,” he murmurs, leaning over to capture your lips in a kiss.

You smile even with the crust in your eyes, happy and content. You don’t respond because Jin’s already beginning to doze off, cheeks puffed and pressed against the pillow.

For a moment, you allow yourself to be selfish, to wallow in the love of your small family and the warmth that they gave you today, and every other day that was to come. You and Jin still had a long way to go before you could properly say things were okay, but the fact that either of you had given up, was more than enough to give you hope—to give you a vision of another thirty years, and more.

You’d do it all, with Jin.

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