Maybe This Time; COMPLETED

“is that your way of asking for my number?”

summary:  after moving to south korea, you never expected learning the language would put you right in min yoongi’s sights… pairing: min yoongi x reader genre: meet-cute, fluff rating: g word count: 1.7k tags/warnings: idol!Yoongi, international student!Reader, italicized font indicates Korean is being spoken while regular font indicates English, idk man but this made me feel so fluffy

a/n: for anon, ahhhhhh! okay just had to get that out. i have been waiting to write yours and gosh, i hope i did it justice. manifesting your meet-cute with honey suga bear one of these days. just promise me you’ll come back and tell me all about it loll~ (i channeled @btsroyalwilds meet-cutes into this one <3)

the request

october drabble event mlist

It was a rare occurrence when Yoongi would leave his studio or apartment for some personal time in public. As contradicting as that sounded, he enjoyed the very few times the option was his, normally settling to rest at home. But given the winter season, the city was a little less congested this time of year, and a coffee at a little hole-in-the-wall café sounded nice to him. Being that it was also later in the evening, Yoongi felt mostly at ease.

He still remembers this iced americano from a place their staff ordered from once, it was made to perfection. A balanced ratio of sour and strong. Walking into the café, the peaceful ambiance welcomed him, drawing him in further without question. The owner was an older woman, her smile was thin as she greeted him, eyes widening for a second when Yoongi pulled his mask down to order. It was a gentle argument to get the woman to accept his money, insisting he didn’t need to pay before she accepted his offer to at least pay half. When she turned to start his drink, he stuffed the remainder of the money into the tip jar.

While he waited for his iced americano, the only sounds that surrounded him were the coffee shop equipment and hushed mutterings of the two people occupying the quaint place.

He peered around, coffee in hand, in search of a seat. His eyes ghosted over you, nestled into a corner he wished was open but decided on a spot near there, in front of the window.

“Oh my god,” you sit back in a huff, muttering to yourself, “by the time I master Korean, it’ll be time to retire.” You tap your fingers against your coffee cup, re-reading the same phrase in your head.

The recordings made by your tutor also replayed through your earbuds, and given how focused you were, you couldn’t hear how loud you were speaking, just enough for the visitor who occupied the seat near the window to hear you.

Yoongi bit his lip, trying to concentrate on the book Namjoon lent him. The story itself was intriguing, but even more was the way he could hear you switch between languages.

English.

Korean.

And, was that Spanish too?

His eyebrows lifted, impressed by you and he hadn’t a clue who you were. Turning his head slightly, he scanned you quickly before darting his eyes back to his book.

“Ugh okay,” you lean forward again, taking a sip of your coffee and going back with determination, “come on-” you encourage yourself.

Keep reading

bread cheeks → kth

✳ fic type: social media au

✳ pairing: taehyung x reader

✳ genre: enemies to lovers, college au, crack, fluff, humor, lighthearted (i prOMISE)

✳ warnings: explicit language

✳ status: completed

✳ updates: Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at 10 PM KST/9AM ET

SYNOPSIS:

kim taehyung is so painfully cliché. popular, godly looks, a casanova reputation, and yet adored by everyone. everyone but you, of course. he knew your secret and it allowed him to constantly have his way with you. with your banter-laced exchanges, everyone knew you two did not get along. but what happens when you find out that this “bad boy” is secretly a cinnamon roll? even better, a bad boy who bakes them.

→ parts:

note: links may not be working on mobile so refer to the master list for upcoming/previous parts! ❤️

reader & friends’ profiles

taehyung & friends’ profiles

🍞 prologue

🍞 one | sweet of you

🍞 two | if you wanna be my lover

🍞 three | interesting

🍞 four | maid kink

🍞 five | vitamin d

🍞 six | oh how the turntables

🍞 seven | bread cheeks

🍞 eight | make a group chat

🍞 nine | car texts

🍞 ten | operation namjoon

🍞 eleven | he has a what??

🍞 twelve | i don’t need a man

🍞 thirteen | cinnamon rolls

🍞 fourteen | it’s not a date

🍞 fifteen | never gonna happen

🍞 sixteen | chaotic

🍞 seventeen | burnt cookies

🍞 eighteen | what is this feeling

🍞 nineteen | another set-up

🍞 twenty | just date already

🍞 twenty-one | jungkook holmes

🍞 twenty-two | beloved celine shirt

🍞 twenty-three | a big deal

🍞 twenty-four | crush behavior

🍞 twenty-five | because???

🍞 twenty-six | time to shine

🍞 twenty-seven | perfect (lab) partner

🍞 twenty-eight | flours for you

🍞 twenty-nine | just a pawn

🍞 thirty | tagging you

🍞 thirty-one | leave them alone

🍞 thirty-two | trapping you with me

🍞 thirty-three | secrets

🍞 thirty-four | nervous wreck

🍞 thirty-five | neither have confirmed

🍞 thirty-six | what happened in ninth grade

🍞 thirty-seven | baked you a cake

🍞 epilogue

a/n: hellOOO IT’S FINALLY HEREEE a taehyung sm au I’ve been working on!! i’m in love w taehyung’s bread cheeks and it inspired me to make this au. if you’ve read (or if you’re currently) reading fan identity, i promise this’ll be more lighthearted w much less drama (but the crackhead idiot characters remain) HAHA hope you enjoy!!

Pick You Up

Max Verstappen x reader

Masterlist

Summary: when Max has one too many gin & tonics, you’re the one who picks (him) up, every time he calls. Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: alcohol, intoxication, maybe an unhealthy relationship with alcohol??, mentions of Max’s shitty childhood, incorrect taylor swift lyrics

It’s 1am, and your phone is buzzing on the nightstand. You groan and shove your face into the pillow. You were having such a nice dream. Something about an island and a very attractive man. You let the phone ring until it stops, and then you hold your breath. Maybe it was a butt dial. Maybe it’s not what you think.

The buzzing starts again, and you blindly slam your hand onto the nightstand, grabbing for it. You swipe to answer without even looking at the contact. You already know who it is. Or at the very least, who they’re calling you about. It’s never anyone else.

“Max needs a ride,” a friend of his says.

You’re already rolling out of bed. “Yeah. Where?”

You could complain, you suppose, as you pull on a pair of sweatpants and a jacket. You could ask them to find literally anyone else, or beg them to have a designated driver for once, but instead you just slip your shoes on. You rub the sleep from your eyes and grab a Red Bull on the way out the door. Someone sends you an address from a number you don’t even have saved in your phone. Worry claws at your chest.

The truth is, you’ll never complain about Max calling you in the middle of the night, because if he stopped calling you’d worry about who he was relying on. Max is… popular. He’s got a lot of people trying to ride his coattails. He gets invited to events and people buy him drinks and offer him things and then it’s 1am and he’s too drunk to get home on his own. And then he calls you. Or, more often, someone calls you for him.

You pull up in front of the club, and Max is already outside, stumbling on clumsy feet. He lurches towards your car when he sees it, which is a relief, because you hadn’t exactly wanted to get out of the car. You find yourself resenting whoever he was out with for leaving him all alone, but he opens the door and climbs in and you plaster a smile onto your face.

“Hi, schatje,” he slurs, and you muffle a laugh into your shoulder.

“Hi, Maxie,” you say.

This is the only time he calls you things like that. It’s also the only time you can call him Maxie without earning yourself a warning glare, or worse, an elbow to the rib cage. You’ve known him for years, and yet it’s only when he’s wasted that he doesn’t mind the nickname.

“Seatbelt,” you remind him.

He nods and tugs at the belt. You end up having to help him buckle- that happens about 70% of the time. His fingers fumble with the latch as you do so, and he lets out a little huff when you brush his hand away. Once he’s all set, you pat his shoulder lightly and lean back into your seat.

“I’m drunk,” he warns you.

“I know,” you answer.

“So no crazy driving. I don’t want to be sick in your very nice car.”

You laugh and cock your head at him. “This morning you called this car a shitbox.”

He nods. “It is. But it is your shitbox.”

You laugh again, putting the car into drive. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

He rambles the whole drive to his apartment, about all the people he was out with tonight and what they did and who they did. Drunk Max is a bit of a gossip, and his gossiping to you won’t get him in trouble, so he takes full advantage of it. You listen eagerly the entire time, though you keep your eyes focused on the road. He’s not the most drunk you’ve ever seen him, still too drunk to be in a cab or an Uber by himself but coherent enough that the journey up to his apartment shouldn’t be too difficult. You park your car in his parking lot and climb out.

Max is halfway out of his seat when you come around to meet him. You take his hand and help him the rest of the way up. He stumbles a bit, laughing as you catch him. Then he throws his arm around your shoulder and follows you to the elevator.

His head bumps into yours in the process. You lean into the weight of him, the two of you standing like a badly built lean to. If one of you topples, the other will too. You try not to think about that too much.

You stay the night, the way you always do when this happens. Because the only thing a hungover Max hates more than the sunlight is waking up to an empty apartment. You’ll be there in the morning to take care of him. He’ll promise he won’t do it again.

By this time next week, he’ll be out at a club, and you’ll have the volume on your phone turned up.

…..

The next time someone calls you on Max’s behalf, it’s someone you actually know. It’s 2am this time, and your eyes are closed. You’re drifting in that space between consciousness and dreams. Your ringtone almost becomes a part of a half dream before you realize what it is. You turn the phone over. NoRizzz, it reads. You think Max added the contact for you.

You answer. “Hi, Lando. S’it Max?” You ask.

“I swear to god I lost track of him for one second-“ Lando rushes out.

You pause halfway out of bed, feeling a jolt of worry at the frantic tone in his voice. “Lando?”

“He’s gone, he-“ He sounds panicked. “I turned around and he’s-“

“Did you call him?”

“Of course I called him-“ Lando scoffs. “Look, I wouldn’t be so worried if I hadn’t already been thinking about having you pick him up-“

“Hey, hey, slow down,” you say, though your heart is racing as you head for the door. “Where are you? How long has it been since you lost him?”

“We’re at Jimmyz, it’s been a half hour,” Lando admits. “I didn’t want to bother you, but-“

A half hour is a long time for Max. He could be anywhere in the city right now. He could’ve walked, or taken a cab, or… anything. Sober Max is great at self preservation. Drunk Max is easily persuaded. You’ve used it to your advantage more than you’d like to admit. Not in any bad way, just- Max, sing karaoke with me! Max, come dance with me! Max, we should order pizza!

You head for the front door. “Okay. It’s okay. I’ll come meet you, and then-“

You swing the door open and nearly scream when something heavy tumbles into your apartment. Someone, actually, upon further inspection. It’s Max, lit only by the dim hallway light and a beam from the kitchen light that you always leave on. He’s blinking up at you from the floor, a soft smile on his face. He has his arms wrapped around himself, like he’s cold. His skin is damp with sweat.

“Never mind, I found him,” you say into the phone.

“What? How?” Lando asks, bewildered.

“He was sitting in front of my door,” you answer as you crouch down. You card your fingers through his sweaty hair, and Max smiles. “Must’ve taken a cab or something.”

“I walked,” Max admits.

That explains the sweat. That also tells you that Lando has lied to you- Max has been gone much longer than a half hour if he’s made his way here on foot. You choose not to call the other driver out on it, though. You want them to call you about things like this. If you chew him out, Lando will be less likely to do so.

“So he’s okay?” Lando asks.

“He’s fine,” you assure him. “I’ll talk to you later.”

You hang up and then start working on getting Max all the way into the apartment. He’s not much help. You manage to get his legs inside and then you close the door behind him. You’ll work on getting him out of the hallway next. For now, you sit down on the floor next to him.

“You walked here?” You ask.

He nods. “Missed you.”

You snort out a laugh. “You could’ve called me, I would’ve picked you up.”

He shrugs and shuts his eyes. “Didn’t want to bug you.”

“So you camped out in front of my door,” you say.

“Yes. But then you didn’t have to come pick me up.”

“I’ll always pick you up,” you say, brushing your thumb against his temple. “That’s what friends do.”

When he opens his eyes, they’re glassy. Your breath hitches. Max doesn’t get teary often, doesn’t get emotional often. Something aches in your chest. You rub your thumb over his cheekbone. He blinks once, twice, lashes tangled together.

“You okay?” You ask.

“Yeah.” He sounds so small when he says it. “Just. Thanks.”

There are these small moments, when Max shows a vulnerable side. These are the moments you think of when people spread vitriol towards him on the internet and ask how you could possibly be friends with him. They make you love him even more, and they make you resent the adults who were around him when he was growing up.

You’ve seen pictures of little Max, shown to you with funny anecdotes and teasing smiles. But when you look at them, and when you see him like this, you can’t find any of it funny. All you can think of is the other stories you’ve heard about his childhood. All you can wonder is how someone could’ve done those things to him. And then you wonder how despite it all, he ended up with such a kind soul.

Max is the one who brings you soup when you’re sick. He brings you trinkets from every country he goes to- the magnets fill the door of your fridge. Max sends you pictures of dogs he meets on the street even though he’s a cat person. He flies you out to races when you’ve had a bad week and buys you good pasta and better tequila. Max has a heart the size of a whole continent. People keep trying to chip away at it. You hate them for it.

So you take a moment to brush the tears from his cheeks. You don’t ask him why he’s crying, or tell him it’ll be okay. You just sit there on the floor with him in your hallway and wait for him to be ready.

Eventually, you get him up off the floor and drag him into your bedroom. It’ll be better for everyone involved if he gets a good night’s sleep in a real bed. You try to leave the room, but he grabs onto your wrist.

“Stay?” He asks, eyelids barely open.

You hum and brush the hair from his forehead. “Are you sure?”

“M’sure,” he says. “Don’t wanna be alone.”

You nod in understanding. You don’t even bother pointing out that he’s on your side of the bed. He’s too far gone to get him to roll over. You just climb over him and pull the blankets back and then tuck yourself in. You keep a respectable distance from him.

You know in the morning you’ll wake up to his arm around your middle and his face buried in your neck. You know because it happens every time you share a bed. Max will act like there’s nothing weird about it, will thank you for taking care of him, and be on his way before lunchtime.

You’ll crawl back into bed and curl up on your side, unsure of if you love or hate the fact that the sheets still smell like him.

…..

Charles calls you from Qatar.

You answer. “Charles, I cannot pick him up. I’m in another country.”

“Yes, I’ve told him that about a billion times,” Charles says. “He is very stubborn, you know.”

Something dawns on you as you sit up against your headboard. For some reason, you’ve always assumed that other people are the ones choosing to call you. That even when it’s someone who doesn’t know you, they’re getting your information from the emergency contact info in his phone. But this… Charles seems to be suggesting that Max has asked him to call you.

“Is he okay?” You ask.

Charles laughs. “He’s fine. He is a world champion, again. You know.”

You do know. You called and congratulated him right after the race. You can still hear the shake in his voice, the yelling of his team behind him. It’d made your heart ache, made you sad you weren’t there with him.

“Yeah,” you say. “You both still have to drive tomorrow, you know.”

“I do know, which is why I’m hoping you can help me,” Charles says. “We’re in his hotel room. His phone is dead, I guess? He came to use mine, so I brought him back here. He’s lost his charger.”

“There’s a spare one in his backpack,” you tell Charles. “In the small pocket.”

You hear the zipper and Charles’ amused laugh. “Did you pack his bag for him?”

“I helped,” you admit. “Let me talk to him and I’ll see if I can talk him down?”

Charles makes a noise of agreement. There’s rustling, then a thud. More rustling. You pinch the bridge of your nose.

Then, Max. “Hi.”

“Hi, Max,” you answer. “I thought you were going to take it easy tonight.”

“I am a world champion,” he says, so matter of fact.

In the background, you hear Charles groan.

“Yes, a world champion who still has to do a race tomorrow,” you remind him.

“I know. Can’t believe I got it in the sprint. A sprint I didn’t even win,” he says, laughing lightly. “Let the rookie win the race tomorrow. I’m the champion.”

“I’m going to throttle him,” Charles says, loud enough or close enough for you to hear. “I think in turn one I will run him into the wall.”

“Tell Charles if he hurts one hair on your head I’ll fly to Qatar and throttle him myself,” you tell Max.

Max relays the message. Charles is quiet after that.

“Doesn’t matter how you won it, yeah?” You remind Max. “You still worked just as hard to get there.”

“Yeah,” Max agrees. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You say with a laugh. “Charles has plugged your phone in. Make sure you turn it on and then go to sleep.”

You call his hotel and have electrolyte drinks and breakfast sent up the next morning, along with a bottle of painkillers. He texts you a photo of all of it along with a thank you message. When he wins the race, even hungover, you’re not the least bit surprised.

…..

When Max calls you at 11:00 pm, your first thought is huh. That’s early. You answer on the third ring, already looking for your keys. You wonder who it’ll be this time. A friend you know, or an unknown voice of someone he’s only met tonight.

“Schatje?” Max asks through the speaker.

You nearly drop the phone. “Max?”

“What, you don’t have my number saved?” He asks.

“No, of course I do, s’just- not usually you who ends up calling me, even from your phone.”

You think you hear him sniffle. Something twists in your chest. Before you can scramble to apologize, he’s speaking.

“Yeah. Um.” He sighs. “Huh.”

You can hear it in his voice, in the way the words seem to stick in his throat. Something’s wrong. You climb off the couch, headed for the door. “Tell me where you are, Max.”

He sniffs. “No, it’s uh- I don’t know why I called-“

“Max,” you repeat as you shut the front door behind you. “Where are you?”

He gives in and tells you he’s at some hotel bar. You recognize it and head down the stairs. You keep him on the line even as you start the car, as you pull out onto the road. He’s mumbling something about how he’ll be fine, about how you don’t have to come get him. Both of you know you’re already on the way.

You have to go in this time. For a moment you think about asking who else he’s with, and hanging up and calling them. But you don’t want to lose contact, so you park the car and head inside. You’re in a hoodie and sweatpants, a pair of slippers on your feet. Nobody bats an eye.

You find him in a back hallway, squeezed into a corner. Your heart crumples at the sight of him. You’re sure your face does too. He’s teary and curled in on himself. He looks so small. You love him, you worry for him, you hate this version of him. Not that you could ever really hate him. It’s just that he looks so vulnerable, so unlike himself.

As much as you want to get him out of there, as much as it would probably be the right move, you sit down next to him instead. You wrap an arm around his shoulder and pull him into your side until his head is against yours. You don’t ask him what’s wrong. He’ll tell you eventually. It might take a while- sometimes a few days. You always give him time. For now, you just sit in the hallway with him. You meet him where he’s at.

He tells you later that he suddenly found himself alone in the bar. After days straight of only being alone when he went to sleep, person after person wanting to celebrate his championship, he’d been alone. He hadn’t realized how much he’d felt like he was suffocating until that moment.

“I was one of the people celebrating,” you remind him as he clings to you.

“But you aren’t suffocating me,” he says. “You’re like… clean air.”

He sleeps in your bed that night. You sleep next to him, not even bothering to argue about it. You fall asleep to the sound of his steady breaths and the weight of his hand on your back.

When you wake up in the morning, he pretends he’s fine. You let him.

…..

Drunk Max is an overly honest Max. He’ll tell you anything and everything. So when you’re walking him home one night, his arm over your shoulder, gin on his breath, you’re expecting to learn some things. What you weren’t expecting, however, is for him to lean close, his lips against your ear, and tell you he loves you.

The odd thing is the way he says it. He leans close and tells you he loves you like he’s talking to someone else. He says “hey, you know-“ then he says your name- and then he says, “you know I love her?”

You shove at his side. “Yeah, I love you too, you dummy.”

He shakes his head, bumping his forehead against your temple. “No, I love her.”

Your heart stops at the way he says it. At the meaning he’s insinuating. Your feet fumble under you, but you manage to keep both of you upright.

“Max,” you say in a warning tone. “You’re drunk.”

“Mm,” he hums. “Drunk in love. Love drunk? Like that song she likes- got love drunk-“

He doesn’t realize he’s talking to you. He likely won’t remember this. You cut him off before he breaks into slightly incorrect Taylor Swift lyrics on the sidewalk. “That’s nice, Max. Why don’t you tell her?”

He shrugs. “Can’t.”

He doesn’t elaborate further, and you miss your chance to prod him about it when he trips over a bump in the sidewalk and nearly sends you both flying. After that, you keep your focus on getting him up to his apartment safely. You shove him into the bathroom in his apartment and tell him to brush his teeth. Then you stand in the hallway and press your hands over your face.

Can’t. Why not? Does he mean it? Did he say the wrong name? He won’t remember it tomorrow, you know that. Do you bring it up? Maybe you should just forget about it. He obviously doesn’t want you to know. And even if it is true, and he does have feelings for you, it would never work.

He stumbles out of the bathroom and presses a messy, toothpaste-y kiss to your forehead. That leaves your brain spinning even worse than it was before. You follow him to the bedroom and tuck him in. The cats glare at you as you disturb the blankets.

“You’ll stay, right?” He asks, tugging on your arm. He seems to know who you are now. “Please?”

You sigh and agree, climbing into bed next to him. He sighs happily and rolls towards you. He slings an arm around your waist, and you hold your breath when he presses his cheek to your shoulder.

“Goodnight,” he says, already half asleep.

“Goodnight,” you echo.

You lay awake and stare at the ceiling for at least an hour, trying not to listen to the sound of his soft breaths. Trying not to think about him admitting that he loves you. Trying not to think about him calling himself love drunk. Trying not to think about him at all, which is difficult with him right there.

You wonder if he really meant it. You want him to mean it, you realize. You tilt your head to look at him- you can only see the top of his head and the slow rise and fall of his chest. God, you want him to mean it. There’s no way he does, but you want it so badly your whole body aches with it.

Sassy walks up to the head of the bed and curls up right next to you. You run your fingers over her fur. Finally, then, you’re able to fall asleep.

…..

It’s not often that Max is the one to pick you up from a bar. It’s every once in a blue moon. You’re much more responsible, you plan ahead. You have a ride home, or you don’t get so drunk that you can’t walk, or you plan to stay with a friend who lives closer to wherever you’re going.

It’s not often, but it does happen. Which is how you find yourself in the bar bathroom, phone pressed to your ear, praying he picks up. There’s a good chance he won’t. He’s definitely not sitting around, waiting for you to call like you always are when he goes out. If he doesn’t pick up you’ll have to call someone else, but you won’t even know where to begin.

It’s only when you hear his voice that you realize you’re not sure he’s even in Monaco.

“Hello?” He says. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, just- what country are you in?”

“What?” He asks. You can hear rustling in the background. “Is this some sort of code? Is someone-“

“No, Maxie, I’m fine,” you say. “Where are you?”

“Monaco,” he answers, still sounding unsure. “At home. Where are you?”

“Monaco. A bar bathroom,” you answer. “Any chance you’d come pick me up? My designated driver met a guy.”

“Not a very good designated driver,” he says with a scoff.

“Says the guy who never has one,” you retort.

Max laughs and doesn’t argue. “Send me your location. I’ll come get you.”

Max gets there far too quickly to have been driving at a reasonable speed. He insists that you wait inside rather than meeting him out on the sidewalk, and says he’ll call you when he gets there. The phone rings, so you step outside. You’re thankful once again for his collection of cars and his tinted windows- nobody seems to have realized it’s him. He leans over and opens the door for you, and you climb inside. He already has the heated seat on for you, and he hands you a bottle of water after you sit down.

“Drink,” he says as he pulls away from the curb.

You roll your eyes but do as he says anyways. The city is a blur of lights outside your window, though you know Max isn’t speeding. He always drives carefully with you in the car, no matter how many times you beg him to go fast. You sink lower in the leather seat.

His eyes flicker over to you. “Did you have a good time?”

You shrug. “Yeah, till all my friends ditched me,” you say. “They found guys to hook up with.”

You see Max frown out of the corner of your eye. “And you didn’t? The men in this club must be blind.”

You pick at the hem of your dress. “Maybe I didn’t want to hook up with anyone. Maybe that’s not what I’m looking for.”

“And what are you looking for?” He asks.

He keeps his eyes trained on the road. You turn your head to look at him. You’re at a stoplight, and it paints his face red. You study the slope of his nose, the jut of his jaw. You, you want to say. I’m looking for you. You think of him the last time you picked him up, how he said he loved you. Called himself love drunk. And then you think of when you asked him why he hadn’t told you. Can’t.

So instead, you shrug. Max turns and looks at you, then shrugs in response. You pout, knowing he’s mocking you. His eyes trace over your face, then over the rest of you. You wonder if he’s relying on how drunk you are to make you forget this- hoping you won’t realize or remember him checking you out. He reaches into the backseat and comes back with a large dark hoodie.

“Here,” he says. “You must be cold.”

The light turns green when the sweatshirt is half over your head- you only know because you feel the vehicle lurch into motion. You squeak, and Max laughs and lays a hand on your leg to steady you. His palm is warm against your bare skin.

When you pop your head back out and shove your arms through the sleeves, you expect him to let go. He doesn’t. His hand stays there, a steady presence, the whole ride to his place.

He hasn’t even asked if you want to stay at his apartment- he doesn’t need to, he already knows what your answer would be. Plus, you’re a bit too drunk to really be left on your own. He leads you up to his door, keeping his hand on your lower back to steady your wobbling steps. You’d tried to kick your heels off in the lobby, but Max had insisted you keep them on. You take them off as soon as you walk in his front door, though, sighing in relief. You stumble over to the couch as he sheds his shoes and jacket. By the time he walks into the living room, you’re curled up in the corner, already under a blanket, face pressed against one of his throw pillows. Max clicks his tongue.

“Come on. Up,” he says, tugging at your shoulder. “You should change your clothes and eat something.”

You groan and reach out to wrap your arm around his neck. “I’m comfy. Come cuddle. Comfy.”

He sighs. “We can cuddle. If you change your clothes and eat something.”

The offer leaves you a bit dumbfounded, because Max isn’t much of a cuddler. It’s pretty likely that he’s lying just to appease you, to get you to follow his instructions. So you continue to lay there, trying to pull him in. When you don’t budge, Max huffs, plants his hands on the couch behind you, and straightens up. He does it before you can loosen your grip, so you go with him almost accidentally. He pulls you off the couch and grabs your hips, helping you to stand up.

“There,” he says, as you sigh and lean heavily on him. “Step one. Clothes.”

He leads you to his room, where you eagerly take the opportunity to sit down on his bed. He turns and begins digging through his drawers. You flop back onto the bed. One of the cats paws at your ankles- you don’t bother looking to see which one. Max throws clothing onto your stomach.

“I’ll go make you food,” he says.

It takes you far too long to find the motivation to shed the hoodie and dress and trade them out for whatever clothes Max has left for you. Eventually, though, you do it. He’s given you one of his shirts and a pair of shorts that are definitely yours, likely left behind whenever you stayed over last. You pull the hoodie back over your head and leave the dress on the floor. It’s only when you remember that Max is awful at cooking that you scramble towards the kitchen.

He’s putting perfectly cooked ramen into bowls. Frankly, it’s hard to mess up ramen, but you’re relieved either way. He smiles at the sight of you, and you think about telling him all over again. The last time you were drunk, you said you loved me. I love you too. We should talk about that. Can’t. Your heart stutters in your chest.

“Thanks,” you say, sitting down at the counter.

You never do get the cuddle he promised. You fall asleep there, forehead pressed to the granite, and Max carries you to the guest room and tucks you in. You swear you feel his lips against your forehead as you fall asleep. But that’s probably just a dream.

…..

By the time you’re in Vegas for the Grand Prix, you haven’t been drunk with Max in months. It’s been one or the other, not both. But since you’re there, Max drags you along to every event he gets invited to. You’re two drinks deep by the time Max makes it to the afterparty. He catches up quickly.

You sneak a sip of his gin and tonic and recoil at the taste. He gives you a blank stare in return.

“You’ve never liked it,” he says. “I don’t know why you keep trying.”

You shrug. “Exposure therapy. And my drink’s empty.”

He gives you a look that’s a mixture of what you think is exasperation and fondness. It’s his signature look when he’s dealing with you on nights out.

“We can fix that,” he says, as he reaches for your hand.

He leads you up to the bar, fingers knit with yours. He doesn’t let go like he normally would. It’s not uncommon for him to hold onto you in a crowd, especially when you’re drunk, but this is different. He leans over the bar and gives your order to the bartender, who nods and moves to make the drink. Max keeps his hand in yours. He finally lets go when you get your drinks, and you take a sip while you look up at him.

His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, blue eyes wide, and you’re trying desperately to read his mind. You want him to let you in so badly.

You end up at a table with him and his driver friends, squished in the booth between Max and Charles. You sip your drink and listen to them talk about race strategy and tires and Vegas in general. Max downs his drink, and someone brings him another. You do the same, and he gets them to bring you one too. And the cycle continues.

This means that by the time he turns to you and says, “we should leave now,” you’re pleasantly drunk, and you’d probably do anything he asked, really.

He slips out of the booth and pulls you along with him, ignoring the people who call his name. He has both of your jackets in his arm as he weaves through the crowds, holding onto your hand. It’s nice, to be here with him, to be a part of it instead of sitting and waiting for a phone call to come pick him up.

As the two of you stumble out onto the sidewalk, you tug on the back of his shirt. “Hey. Who are we going to call to come take care of us? We’re both drunk.”

Max turns and laughs, and then he’s quick to steady you when you stumble on the pavement. “We will take care of each other.”

You nod clumsily, leaning into the feeling of his hands on your hips. “Okay. Yeah. Nice.”

Max tugs you close, tucking you under his arm as he starts to walk down the street. “Lovely.”

“Simply lovely,” you say teasingly. “Where are we going?”

“The hotel,” he says. “I am sick of people.”

You deflate a bit at that. You’re not ready to say goodnight, to say goodbye, to be alone. You want to spend more time with him- it’s why you’re here in Vegas. Max seems to sense your change in mood and squeezes your shoulder, craning his head to look down at you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. “Do you want to stay out? We can find another club, I just thought maybe we could order room service, or pizza, and play a game or…”

He trails off as your eyes go wide, the hurt in your chest melting away. He cocks his head.

“I thought you were sick of me, too,” you say, and you bite your lower lip.

Max frowns deeply. The lights behind his head are blurry in your vision. You wonder if you’re just drunk, or if you’re tearing up. The way he swipes his thumb under your eye tells you it’s the latter.

“No,” he says, gently. “Never.”

Your lip wobbles. You shrug. Max seems to understand, and he just squeezes your shoulder again and keeps walking. You try to get your emotions in check. You have to, really, need to be normal about this. He’s just your friend. That’s all he wants to be.

“We could go do karaoke,” he suggests, pointing at a sign down the road.

He’s trying to distract you. It’s working.

You laugh and elbow him. “You’re an awful singer,” you tease.

“Am not!” He says, his tone full of mock offense. “Here, I’ll-“

You’re expecting him to break out into Viva Las Vegas, like he had at the end of the race over the radio. You’re bracing yourself for it, ready to grimace and cover your ears even though he isn’t really that bad of a singer. What he starts singing surprises you, makes you stumble a bit over your own feet.

“Welcome to New York!” He sings, and you stare at him, wide eyed. “They’ve been waiting for me- welcome-“

“Stop, stop,” you laugh, elbowing him as he attracts stares from people passing by. “We’re in Vegas, not New York! And you always get the lyrics wrong-“

“I am very good with lyrics,” he says, shaking his head.

“No, you’re not, you sang the other one wrong, too,” you tease. “You said got love drunk, it’s supposed to be got love struck. Remember, in Monaco?”

He stops in his tracks, his arm still around you, and stares. You stare right back. You frown and tilt your head at him, mirroring his earlier reaction.

“You remember that?” He asks, quietly.

“I was sober, Max,” you answer. “You remember that?”

He nods, lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes are wide, cheeks pink. “I wasn’t sure if it was real, or if I dreamed it. And you never said anything about what I told you, so…”

That’s when you remember the other part of that conversation, all those nights ago. I love her. Why don’t you tell her? Can’t. You swallow tightly, hands hanging at your sides.

“You didn’t seem to know you were talking to me,” you explain. “So I figured it wasn’t something you really wanted me to know.”

Max blinks, then nods. “I didn’t. Because you don’t feel the same.”

Your stomach twists violently, and your chest follows suit. “I never said that.”

His stare is so intense you feel like you’re seconds away from bursting into flame. “But if you did, you would’ve said something after that night.”

You shake your head. “I asked why you didn’t just tell me and you just said, can’t. You wouldn’t explain any further. I don’t know, Max, I just. I figured you had a reason. Like, maybe…”

“Maybe what?” He asks, still staring at you.

“I’m just me, Max,” you say, pressing your hands over your face. “I’m just your friend. People get crushes all the time but it doesn’t mean you want to be with me, you’re a fucking world champion and I-“

He reaches up with both hands and grabs your wrists gently. He pulls your hands from your face. There’s a smile on his lips that leaves you teetering between relief and apprehension.

“But I didn’t say I had a crush on you,” he says, brows raised. “I said I love you.”

You sigh heavily and try to pull your hands back to your face. He doesn’t let you. You’re looking anywhere other than his eyes. Anywhere other than him, really. He lets go of your wrists and then cups your face in his hands before you can move.

“Hey,” he says. “I said can’t because I thought there was no way you’d feel the same.”

You stare at him, wide eyed, as his thumbs sweep soft circles over your cheeks. Suddenly, everything comes into focus, bright and blinding and stark. The Las Vegas strip is glowing all around you, but none of the lights are as bright as him.

“I do,” you murmur, and he lights up even brighter, somehow, when he smiles. “Fuck, Max-“

He kisses you right there, where anyone could see, in the middle of one of the busiest sidewalks you’ve ever been on. Nobody seems to notice or care, nobody seems to understand that your whole world is shifting. His lips are warm against yours, he tastes like gin, and he holds onto you like he’s trying to be so, so careful. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck and thread fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

He only pulls away when someone whistles at the two of you. He’s grinning wide, hands still cradling your face, and you have to fight not to pull his lips back to yours.

“Come on,” he says, slightly out of breath.

You don’t ask where you’re going. You just let him lead you away. You’re so in love with him, you think you’d probably follow him anywhere. It’s terrifying and relieving all at the same time.

…..

A week later, in Abu Dhabi, you ask him if he wants to go out after the race. There’s a billion parties he could choose from.

“No,” he says, wrinkling his nose up at the idea. “I’m good.”

You elbow him lightly, raising your brows. “All those parties you called me to pick you up from, and now I’m here and you don’t even want to go out? You don’t want to celebrate your season?”

He smirks as he tugs on the hem of your shirt, pulling you along with him through the paddock. “I want to celebrate, but we don’t need to go out to do that. I have better ideas.”

His hand slips lower from your hip and squeezes at your ass. You yelp and look around frantically, hoping nobody noticed. He’s grinning with pride.

“Party animal Max Verstappen wants to stay in,” you tease. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

He shrugs, leans his head close to yours, and then admits, finally, “it was never about the parties. It was more about who was picking me up from them.”

You smile against his shoulder and try not to let it go to your head. He smiles against your forehead and tells you that he loves you for what must be the millionth time in the past week. You say it right back, drunk on the feeling of it.

a/n: thank you for readinnnnngggg!!

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully

thank you, colmar | myg

⇢ pairing: yoongi x reader

⇢ genre: drabble, established relationship, so much fluff it could be mistaken for a cloud…., very mild angst, long distance relationship, writer!yoongi

⇢ word count: 4.5k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, this is very PG to be honest

⇢ summary: long distance was a challenging feat to take on, though you and yoongi were sure you two would be the exception. since his leave, you had been counting down the days, hours, and minutes until you finally got the chance to visit him. little did you know, this visit was going to become the most memorable weekend of your life.

a/n: i can’t even explain myself i’m SORRY…. but i am literally the softest yoongi stan ever known to man. it had to be done. this was purely for my own indulgence lmao. also yoongi? france? a concept.

Keep reading

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.

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

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.

────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ──────────────

ALWAYS, I’LL CARE | myg

pairing: idol!min yoongi x producer!reader

genre: social media au [smau], idol!au, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, humor, idiots in love

warnings: reader uses she/her pronouns, explicit language, very slight angst

summary: y/n l/n used to help produce music for min yoongi years and years ago. together, they were recruited by bighit entertainment under the impression of being producers for the company. however, yoongi goes on to debut with six other members in idol group bts. but y/n does end up continuing to produce in the limelight for other artists.

status: ongoing !!

author’s note: hi, this is my first bts fic and first smau, so i hope you enjoy! don’t be afraid to give me feedback in the asks. lastly, this story does not follow actual timeline or events, & please ignore the time stamps on the pictures. thank you for reading !

main masterlist

ALWAYS, I’LL CARE

prologue

profiles — then

00 — the gloss and mae show

00 — someone named kim namjoon

chapters

profiles — now pt 1

profiles — now pt 2

01 — dude that’s fucked up

02 — (she) be(lie)ve(d)

03 — nice tunes

04 — stick with music bestie

05 — it’s just a cute alliteration

06 — shut up i’m raging rn

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

boyfriend things OT7

first edition - middle of the night

second edition - love at home

third edition - post break up

fourth edition - dancing

fifth edition - there’s nobody else

sixth edition - love in primary colors

seventh edition - one day at a time

eighth edition - kisses

ninth edition - dreams in reality

tenth edition - hugs

eleventh edition - when you lay in between my legs it doesn’t matter

twelfth edition - human and love sound similar don’t you think so?

thirteenth edition - heavier ground

fourteenth edition - you should have turned the page

fifteenth edition - what if your love radiates his name through your gaze

sixteenth edition - peace is closer than you realize

seventeenth edition - coming soon!

main masterlist

pairing: y/n x yoongi

summary: at night, yoongi tends to frequent cafés to get some work done. one night, he hears you sing, and his world is forever changed.

updates: pretty much every day

one - random stranger

two - a lot of inspiration

three - fix it

four - serial killer

five - original

six - a lot of questions

seven - bop

eight - dumb questions

nine - recording

ten - mp3

eleven - leaked my recording

twelve - babe

thirteen - back by unpopular demand

fourteen - protected

fifteen - everyone will love it

sixteen - who's the girl?

seventeen - music is a gift

eighteen - crazy

nineteen - wbk I'm a genius

twenty - shit

twenty-one - let me in (TW: abuse)

Sticky Notes [Request]

→ summary: You and Yoongi aren’t very good with words. But there’s a perfect, nonverbal form of communication that might just help tie your relationship back together.

→ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader | PG-13

→ genre: 80% mellow angst, 20% fluff | est. relationship!au

→ warnings: profanity (a scary argument 🥺)

→ wordcount: 5k

→ a/n: my second request! i hope i did domestic yoongi justice!!

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