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kurokoros · 4 years

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mirror mirror | shouta aizawa

Rated: M

Words: 3.3K

Pairing: shouta aizawa x fem!reader

Summary: You knew what you were in for as soon as the Pro Hero came home, the door closing behind him with a little more force than necessary.

Requested by @rreia

Warnings: smut, light bondage, mirror sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks)

Shouta Aizawa is a goddamn tease, you decide, hands fisted in the sheets beneath you. A quiet mewl slips from your parted lips as those long fingers of his squeeze around your thighs, forcing your legs open wider as his teeth scrape across your sensitive skin. Your heels dig into his back as he lazily kisses his way across your thigh, just shy of where you want him. He’s hardly touched you and you’re already quivering for him, whimpering each time he nips at your skin or you’re met with the coarse brush of his stubble.

You gasp as his tongue flicks out to taste the sweat-slicked skin that he’s been nibbling at, intent on leaving a mark. “Shouta,” you whine, trying to rock your hips forward against that sinful tongue, but he holds you down with ease. “Shouta, please!”

“Patience, kitten,” he tells you, breath hot against your dripping pussy. The rough tone of his voice hits you right between your legs. Your thighs twitch again, heat pooling low in your belly, and Shouta hums in approval as your back arches off the bed.

Shouto Aizawa is a goddamn tease and you love it.

You knew what you were in for as soon as the Pro Hero came home, the door closing behind him with a little more force than necessary. That was the only sound at all. Shouta didn’t stomp or swear, he was deathly quiet as he slipped through your apartment until he found you in your shared room. All it took was one look and you knew tonight would be one you wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon.

There’s nothing more erotic than seeing Shouta Aizawa on his knees in front of you, playing with you until you’re a shivering, whining mess.

Whatever riled him up is channeled perfectly into each slow drag of his fingers and his wicked tongue. Dark eyes stare at you from between your legs, illuminated by the last rays of sunlight pouring in through the window. Shouta watches each subtle reaction he pulls from you, the moans and whimpers, the heaving of your naked chest, every flicker of emotion that crosses your pretty face. Each one is filed away for later, an arsenal that you’re powerless against. He knows exactly how to have you sobbing for him within seconds. And tonight he wants you begging.

Teeth latch onto your trembling thigh and bite down roughly, a dizzying blend of pleasure and pain. A strangled version of his name bubbles up from your chest, but he doesn’t let go. Another pleading sound falls from your lips and he hums. Rumbling vibrations have you keening and bucking your hips against his mouth, and you nearly sob when he pulls away.

“I said be patient.” He releases your thigh to slide his palm to your heaving chest. Rough fingers close around your breast, kneading your skin before his thumb begins to roll over your nipple, pinching and playing with the sensitive nub.

You huff as he presses a sweet kiss to the hickey already forming on your thigh. “Tease.” Shouta lavs attention on the rapidly forming bruise until you’re squirming again, proving your point. “Fuck, please, Shouta, I need you.”

The scruff on his chin scratches your inner thighs and he stops, silence ringing in the room.

The knot in your stomach is wound so tight you could cry, and you nearly scream as the tip of his tongue flicks across your clit, warm and wet and rough. The sensation drags a moan from your throat. Shouta hums an approving sound and adjusts his grip on you, spreading your thighs embarrassingly wide before leaning in to lap at your slick core like a starved man.

Releasing your grip on the sheets, you grab a fistful of hair and pull. It’s hard enough to make him grunt, lips still wrapped around your clit and suckling. A harsh pinch to your nipple is his retaliation. You moan his name and rock your hips against his face, desperate for friction.

Shouta pulls away to mouth at your thigh again, and the sound that leaves you is an embarrassing whine: high-pitched and loud. Tugging at his hair, you try to guide him back to you—to roll your hips upward—but he’s stronger, holding you down with ease. Your eyelashes flutter, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure that he can hear it.

A lazy gaze catches yours as Shouta stares up at you and you can feel his smirk against your thigh. “Such a needy little thing,” he murmurs. He rolls your nipple between his fingers one last time before his palm drags down your belly and between your spread legs. The pad of his thumb strokes through your slick folds and clicks his tongue as his fingers come away wet and glistening. “Tell me what you want or I’ll stop, kitten.”

He’s trying to kill you.

Huffing, your head flops back against the rumpled blankets as he goes back to lazily kissing your legs. When you keep your mouth shut, he’s quick to slap the outside of your thigh, the smack more surprising than it is painful. “Don’t make me ask you to beg.” His tone is a low warning that makes you shiver. You could get off just listening to this man whisper filthy things in your ear.

His knuckles brush against the spot where he slapped you, soothing any lingering pain.

It’s hard to think with him kissing across your thigh like this, but you manage a choked, “Eat me out,” that has you blushing.

“Good girl.”

This time he doesn’t tease you. You shudder as his tongue rolls over your clit at the same time two thick fingers thrust into your dripping slit with a slick sound that makes your cheeks burn. Expert fingers curl inside you, quickly finding your sweet spot, and Shouta is absolutely ruthless as he fucks you with his hand, setting up a brutal pace. Each stroke of his tongue feeds into the tight knot between your thighs, coiling tighter and tighter until all you can do is pant and roll your hips against him as much as he’ll allow.

Shouta alternates between sucking on your clit and pampering it with kitten-licks that have your chest heaving. You’re squirming, gasping for breath, and it’s only your pride that keeps you from begging for more. The fingers you have buried in his hair pull harder, and he groans.

“That’s it,” he says, voice muffled by your thighs. He curls his fingers just right and you writhe under him. “Come for me, kitten.” The vibrations from his words tease your clit and your toes curl against his clothed back. You arch off the bed as his tongue draws hard circles over your puffy bundle of nerves. It’s already too much. Arousal makes you dizzy and the knot in your stomach is so tight you could cry as his teeth scrape against you.

“Fuck, Shouta!” Your thighs threaten to clamp around his head, but he holds them open, unrelenting as he fucks you with his fingers. When he takes your clit between his lips and sucks you’re thrown over the edge. You cum hard with a throaty moan of his name. There are tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and your hips stutter. “Fuck!”

He doesn’t stop. Shouta continues to slowly torture your clit and thrust his fingers until it’s too much, too fast and the pleasure borders on painful. It’s not until you call out his name breathlessly and are practically boneless beneath him that he finally slows.

Nipping at your thigh, Shouta eases his fingers from your core.

It happens fast. Before you’ve even caught your breath, he’s yanking you off the bed and spinning you around. One of Shouta’s hands fists in your hair, pulling, and your moan is smothered by the feverish kiss he presses to your lips. On trembling legs he walks you backwards, tongue in your mouth and his free hand stroking over the length of your spine. You stumble, still dizzy from your high and so, so sensitive to the touch. Everything aches in the best way.

Your fingers clench in the front of his shirt, scrambling for anything to hold you steady, but he releases you long enough to yank your hands away and rip his shirt over his head. Both of your wrists are captured in an iron grip, long fingers wrapping around you easily. Your back meets a cold, smooth wall at the same time as something soft and silky brushes against the skin of your wrists, both of Shouta’s hands gripping yours and holding them above you. Another incessant kiss distracts you, keeping you from investigating and you can barely think. Shouta nips at your bottom lip, taking it between his teeth and sucking, and you melt into his touch.

It isn’t until something pulls on your wrists and forces you onto the tips of your toes that you realize what’s going on. “Shouta!” you gasp as he releases your lips in favor of trailing kisses across your cheek and down to your jaw.

It would be sweet, if he didn’t just use his damn scarf to tie you up.

You feel him smirk against your jaw. His hand finds your hair again, his fingers winding through the silky strands. With another tug, he guides your head to the side, his lips working their way down to your throat and leaving love bites in his wake.

You take the opportunity to glance upward, confirming your suspicions. That damn scarf is wrapped around your wrists in a firm knot that you already know you wouldn’t be able to undo even if you had one of your hands free. Following the knot upwards, your eyes widen when you see it attached to the ceiling by something shiny and strong enough to keep you suspended on your toes.

“Did you put a damn hook in the ceiling?” you ask absentmindedly.

His only answer is a grunt against the side of your neck, but you don’t have it in you to complain as he slides his hands down your sides, stroking every inch of your soft skin. He kisses down to your collarbone before finding your lips again.

As he pulls away from the feverish kiss, you barely catch sight of a mischievous smirk before he suddenly spins you around.

Your eyes widen when you’re met with your own reflection. He’s made a mess of you: kiss-swollen lips, tousled hair, faint marks littered across your throat, and your own slick dripping down your thighs in anticipation. A wave of arousal ripples through you at the sight of yourself, and you’re quick to squeeze your thighs together, trying to relieve the renewed ache between your legs. Your calves are already burning with the stretch, but the lick of pain only makes you wetter.

Shouta catches your gaze in the mirror and you shiver.

The way he nuzzles against your cheek would be sweet if it weren’t for the absolutely wicked look in his eyes. Shamelessly, he drinks in the sight of your reflection, humming to himself. One hand slides around your chest to grope at your breast, idly plucking at your nipple. With the other, he grips your thigh, forcing your legs apart until your wet pussy is on display.

“I’m gonna fuck you in front of the mirror,” he tells you, squeezing the thigh he has trapped in his firm grip. “I want you to see how pretty you look when you’re spreading your legs for me.”

It’s all you can do to keep from cumming again at his words. You whisper his name as he kisses your cheek.

One last pinch to your nipple makes you gasp before he lets go. His hand skims down your belly to your thighs, finding your puffy clit with ease and playing with it. The rough pad of his thumb traces slow, maddening circles over your sensitive skin. Your eyes flutter shut.

He slaps your ass hard enough to make you moan. “Eyes on yourself,” he snaps, the words a warning. The lick of pain has your eyes watering, but he soothes the abused skin with a gentle touch. “You know the rules. Don’t make me remind you.” Letting go of your ass, Shouta drags two fingers up the column of your throat and tilts your chin. Once again, you’re met with the sight of your flushed face. His fingers squeeze around your neck just enough for you to feel it.

“Yes, sir,” you whimper.

Shouta hums in approval, rutting against your ass. His hips roll and you can feel the outline of his cock through his pants, hard and hot. It makes your toes curl as you think about him fucking you like this. Seemingly satisfied with your response, he releases your neck.

You can’t see what he’s doing in the mirror, but the tell-tale clanking of his belt-buckle coming undone has you shivering with anticipation.

For once, he doesn’t keep you waiting. He spreads your legs open wider and hooks his elbow beneath your knee, forcing you onto your tip-toes again as his naked cock presses against your ass again. Your balance is precarious, but you know he’d never let you fall. “Be a good girl for me, kitten, and maybe I'll let you cum again.”

The teasing tone of his voice has you mewling. His cock strokes along your dripping slit slowly, and he groans as you squirm against him. Your name is a husky moan that has you biting your lip. Shouta’s free hand wraps around your waist to hold you steady. Each lazy grind of his hips has the head of his cock kissing at your clit and it has your nerves on fire.

“Shouta,” you gasp, his name the only thing you can say because god does this man know just how to touch you to keep you on the edge. He could spend hours teasing you like this. The sweetest torture. And you’d let him, too. “Shouta, please.”

The wet head of his cock presses at your slit again, and a breathless moan tumbles from your mouth as he slips into you slowly, his thick length stretching you from inside until his hips are flush against your own. From this angle, his cock is brushing against every one of your sweet spots, and each shallow thrust of his hips has you shivering and whining.

A low, throaty chuckle teases your ear, and your slick walls clench down around him. Shouta kisses the side of your neck and presses his chest against your back. Heat licks along your spine as he looms over you, those dark eyes locked on your rapturous expression in the mirror.

“You’re so wet, kitten,” he murmurs as he picks up the pace. Those slow grinds become rough thrusts that have you panting, trying desperately to rock your hips back against his, though you don’t have the leverage. “Such a pretty pussy,” he continues, hiking your thigh up higher, eyes locked on the reflection of his cock burying itself in your dripping cunt.

The wet sound of his cock filling you has you struggling to keep your eyes open. Each time your eyelashes begin to flutter you’re met with another harsh slap against your ass. Tears well in your eyes as the coil between your legs winds tighter, threatening to snap with each filthy, wet sound that comes with his cock being buried between your legs.

Two fingers find your swollen clit, pinching and rolling the sensitive bundle of nerves with intent. Twitching, you sob, hips jerking wildly against his. It’s all you can do to keep breathing each time his cock fills you from behind, stretching you wide and pounding against your sweet spot perfectly. Your walls clench around his length at a particularly harsh thrust, but Shouta doesn’t slow.

The hard circles he’s rubbing against your clit are too much. The knot in your stomach is taut and threatens to snap, but you can’t. Not yet.

“Please,” you gasp, the heat between your thighs unbearable. “Oh, fuck, please—”

An amused sound reaches your ears. “Please what?” He starts fucking you faster, still toying with your clit. Shouta adjusts his grip on your thigh, lifting your knee to your chest to reach deeper inside you.

Your fingers curl around the scarf keeping you suspended, knuckles white from the pressure. You know what he wants to hear. “Please, let me cum, sir.” Sweat drips down your stomach as your chest heaves.

The fingers on your clit don’t slow as he pretends to hum in thought. His stubble scrapes the side of your neck as he presses a kiss to your racing pulse. “Cum for me, kitten,” he demands with a sudden harsh pinch to your clit.

You forget how to breathe as the knot snaps and the tension unravels. Your toes curl and you tense as your orgasm washes over you. A strangled groan pushes past his lips as your already tight walls squeeze around his cock. His name leaves you with a choked moan as your eyes squeeze shut in absolute bliss.

Shouta doesn’t give you a moment to breathe. His fingers keep circling your clit, his hips moving faster now that you’ve cum once. You’re twitching, slick dripping down your inner thighs, and he keeps fucking you from behind, showing no signs of slowing.

You got yours. It’s his turn now.

When you can finally see straight again, you’re met with an image in the mirror that almost has you cumming again. You’re an absolute wreck and he hasn’t even finished yet, a determined gaze locked on yours in the mirror. Slowly, you begin to rock your hips back against his, your movements shaky.

He pinches your clit and you whimper at the overstimulation.

“That’s it, kitten.” He breathes a shaky sound against the back of your neck, grunting as your tight pussy squeezes around his cock again. His grip on your thigh becomes bruising. “Just a little more.”

You’re going to be so damn sore tomorrow.

Shouta’s cock twitches inside you as his thrusts lose their rhythm, becoming sloppy and rough. The stimulation is too much and you cum on his cock again, slack-jawed and boneless. His hips slap against your ass as he finishes with a low groan of your name, his cum hot as he fills you up.

Both of you are shivering and panting as he presses a sloppy kiss against the back of your shoulder. An embarrassing whimper escapes you as he pulls his softening cock from inside you and tucks himself back into his pants. You glance at yourself in the mirror, met with the sight of his cum dripping from your spent pussy and sliding down the inside of your thigh. Shouta keeps your legs spread wide, eyes locked on you in the mirror.

After another minute, he finally lowers your leg back to the floor. You wince, legs trembling as a cramp forms in your upper thigh, and his fingers kneed at you soothingly and stroke your sweat-slicked skin. Once he’s sure you won’t collapse, Shouta reaches above you. It doesn’t take him more than a second to release the knots holding you hostage, and you would be irritated if it weren’t for the exhaustion overtaking you.

The only thing keeping you upright are the big hands that wrap around your hips to steady you as Shouta carefully turns you around. Once you’re facing him, Shouta lifts you with ease. A hand hooks under your ass as you lazily drape your arms around his neck, nuzzling against the underside of his jaw as he walks you to the bed.

He kisses your temple before flopping down on the bed with a grunt, you on top of him. Situating yourself on top of him, you curl up against his chest, trying not to think about the mess of fluids still dripping down your thigh and smearing across the front of his pants. Calloused fingertips stroke your hip.

“Bad day?” you ask him sleepily, eyelids growing heavier as you’re lulled by the familiar warmth of his body. He rarely ties you up unless something’s irritating him, and you certainly aren’t complaining if that’s the case now.

A gruff, noncommittal grunt is your response, but the way his lips press against the top of your head is nothing but gentle. “Thanks, kitten,” he murmurs as you drift off, his fingers making lazy circles on your back.

#aizawa shouta x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha dabi #bnha #bnha smut

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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

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Dreams, Chapter 13

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 13

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1513

Summary: The reader has another dream with Dean, where he emphasizes how he feels in a variety of ways.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w b u r n, this section has a little smut, oblique mention of suicide

The last lingering kids are leaving the other side of the playground as the golden hour streams through the trees, likely going home to their families for dinner and homework and whatever else normal kids do on fall afternoons like this. Sunlight seeps into your jeans even as the air has a touch of chill to it, and when you pump your legs the balance feels amazing.

“What’re you, trying to go all the way around?” Dean laughs, looking impossibly overgrown in worn shit kickers on a swing meant for children next to yours. You throw your head back to laugh, feeling the wind through your hair as you soar past him. When the chains start to jump a little you back off, letting your momentum wind all the way down until you’re swaying back and forth lazily together. You reach over and slip your index into a new hole in the knee of Dean’s jeans. He links his fingers into yours loosely, play-coy. “You always did love these, you little minx.”

“What can I say? I like as much of your skin as I can get.” You give him your best Dean Winchester wink and he bites his lip through a chuckle. For a long minute you sit just like that, feeling the warmth and calm soak into your pores. “What should I do, Dean?” you murmur.

He swipes his thumb across the back of your hand. “He needs time. It’s going to be okay, I swear. You know Sam he’s just—he’s in his head.”

You nod to yourself. “It’s that we’re happier, right? Is that how this works, how you can come be my Friendly Neighborhood Freddie Krueger, or whatever?”

“The way Cas explained it was ‘closer to true serenity and self-realization’ so whatever the hell that means. You are, though, right? Happier?”

Meeting his eyes made you feel even more relaxed, steady and reassured regardless of how bizarre it was to tell him, “Yeah, I really am. Dean, I—I miss you so bad it still sometimes feels like I’m going to puke. But yeah, I’m happier with Sam. I love him, baby.”

Dean’s gaze goes fuzzy with affection around the edges. “Well, he’s pretty damn lovable. Runs in the family, what can I say?” He kisses the back of your hand. “Good.”

“Good?”

“It’s not a trap, babe. You’re still my girl.”

“I love you.” It’s all you can say, all you can think, really. You watch his profile for a moment as he squints against the low afternoon sun, casting beautiful sunflower light over his freckles. “What happens if I don’t wake up?”

“Your subconscious will kick me out and you’ll wake up automatically. I don’t think you can really control it.”

“No, I mean, like, if I don’t wake up?”

Dean turns toward you, jaw set hard and nostrils flared. “That’s not fucking funny.”

He tries to pull his hand out of yours but you tighten your grip. “What’s the point though? If you’re, you know, okay, can’t we just—”

“No, we ‘can’t just,’” he scowls. “All the bullshit I’ve done over the years to keep you two alive, but fuck it, who cares? Let’s throw in the towel, really make the whole thing worth it.”

“I’m—Dean, it’s not that. I just don’t understand what we’re waiting for. It’s not like Sam and I are even hunting anymore, there’s no more ‘bigger purpose’ to our lives, why be separated—”

“The ‘bigger purpose’ is you fucking being alive. That’s the bigger purpose. Forget it, off the fucking table.”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but it’s not really your call.”

Dean finally yanks hard enough to get his hand out of your grip and braces his elbows on his knees to hold his chin. The serious angles of his anger look out of place as he sways slightly, boots in the playground mulch where he sits on his swing. He looks back at you after taking a deep breath. “Kid, please. Just, please? I’m—that’s all I want, is you guys getting old, really getting out. I can’t have—I can’t have Sam’s whole life be only hunting, he deserves more than that.”

You scoff, half a derisive laugh. “Making his decisions from beyond the grave, that’s good, even for you.”

“Is it really that bad? All I’m asking you to do is wait. You’ll get here soon enough.”

“Yeah, it really is. It really is that fucking bad. And honestly, who are you to ask me that? You’re not here, Dean. How can you ask us to do it without you?”

“It’s not like you two are fucking here with me! Do you think I’m loving every minute of it, getting grapes fed to me by 1992 Pam Anderson all goddamn day? I’m alone. It’s heaven and I can, whatever, visit Bobby or our folks, get so blasted I can’t see and wake up with no hangover, but you two aren’t there. Do you get that? So I get some glimpses of you guys and I know you’re taking care of each other and I can fucking wait, because that’s the way things are supposed to be.”

He’s trying hard to keep his voice level but it’s coming out like a growl, and you know him, know from that clench of his jaw that he’s barely keeping it together, on this stupid swing set in this stupid gorgeous park, whose attached memory you can’t even recall.

“Hey,” you breathe, getting up out of your swing to stand in front of him, taking each of his hands and putting them around your hips as you slot one leg on either side of his waist and settle on his lap. This close you can practically count each of his eyelashes where they graze his cheekbones and you take one hand to tilt his face up to yours, your toes just barely grazing the ground behind him. “Okay. I’m sorry. Okay.” You curl forward into him, catching the plush of his lips and kissing Dean in apology. He snakes a hand into your hair, winding his fingers in it and kissing you back, and you feel the twinge of desperate frustration, meeting him there with everything you have, shifting all your weight onto his center of gravity and working as best you can to weld your body to his. Dean’s other hand slides to your lower back, under your shirt, the callused tips of his fingers digging into the skin and he’s just as hungry for you as you are for him, grabbing at his chest hard enough that you’re at risk of ripping his shirt, pink lines from your nails marking up Dean’s neck.

The hand in your hair tugs back, firm enough to be rough, and the noise you make is halfway between a moan and a whimper as he bites your neck, the sound hardening Dean through the denim under you and then he’s tearing at your shirt, not bothering with the obstacle of your jacket at all as he tries to shuck both off at once.

“We’re in a—Dean, we’re in a fucking playground,” you hiss, about two inches away from not caring.

“Babe, it’s a dream, we’re not really in a park,” he mutters along your jugular, the moist slick of spit turning ice cold in the fall air.

That’s all the permission you need and you lean back to let him rip, flicking open the metal of his belt buckle and button, unzipping his jeans. “Fuck—kid, careful with the zipper,” Dean grunts, diction poor as you bite his lower lip.

“I don’t want—to wake—up—before—" you murmur though fevered motion, licking and nipping along Dean’s jaw, and the realization gets Dean with the picture. He stands up fast, picking you up and crushing you into the metal pole of the swing set, practically shredding your jeans as his start to slump around his hips, worn plaid of his boxers covering the fast-thickening length of him and you turn to lean your chest against the pole, ready for him before he spins you hard.

“Need to see you,” he says, almost quiet and gentle as his hands are moving roughly against your body, and you see the touch of wetness at the base of his eyelashes while you try to stand on one leg and yank the other out of your pants as fast as you can.

It’s sloppy and goofy and unbelievably, gut-punchingly hot, wrapping your bare thigh around Dean’s hips as he shove-slides inside you, his hand protecting your skull from getting rammed into the metal. “I love you I love you I love you” you’re humming into the crook of his neck and Dean kisses you again, slowing down.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says, pace no longer frenzied but rhythmic and building.

You press a palm to his chest and Dean pauses for a beat, stretch of him buried to the hilt so perfect it’s almost distracting but you still have to ask, “When am I going to s—”

“Hopefully soon.”

And then he’s gone.

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 14

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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1oserjk · 4 years

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— full stop | 03

* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*. * .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.

a series.

a messy divorce, unrequited feelings, and a five year old.

* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*. * .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.

02 ⇋ 04

x full stop masterlist | x masterlist

shit is 16k .. sry

* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*. * .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.

full stop | 03: unhappy birthday

Hyejin has always been a ball of fury when you poked at the wrong buttons on her. But something about Jungkook and the aftermath of the divorce has made her even more apprehensive of the man, and you can only do so much to shift her opinions elsewhere.

“Fuck him over. Somehow, someway — just do it.”

You choke.

Eyes widening, sputtering out, “H-Hyejin..”

“I’m not kidding,” she deadpans, already rolling up her sleeves, “How many times do I have to tell you that fucker will never learn?”

A hand comes up, “Okay wait.” You pause. “Are we going to collectively forget Jungkook is my daughter’s father?”

Her head shakes. “Not relevant—and also hard for me to care when it comes to him.”

You exhale, eyes fluttering closed and palms resting flat on her kitchen table. “Look, I know he’s not the most liked between everybody right now. But, I can’t just tell him no.. That’s not fair.”

“But there’s boundaries,” she points and argues, then prompts, “What kind of outcome does he expect when he goes out with the one person who caused most of the mess two years ago.”

Your eyes roll back. “She took a micro-portion of it.”

“Her presence was still there and highly significant if I'm judging from most of the nights you came to me for!”

“Hyejin.” You glare.

“And don’t even try to do That Thing where you deduce your own valid feelings and assume everybody else’s choices and actions are reasonable when it’s clearly not!” You glare and she blatantly ignores it, waving you off, “And I know you’re keeping everything within yourself for the sake of being a better co-parent, or whatever fucking advice you read in the facebook group you’ve recently planted yourself in, but god. I’m mad, anyone would be mad, so let me be mad for you.”

“No one is going to be mad about this,” you finally decide. “There’s nothing to be mad about. He is his own person and he can make his own decisions.” She pins her stare at your nails that you pick at. You feel it. “Even if it means going out with someone younger, more exciting, who prances around with a pen in her hand as if she’s really doing something useful all the fucking time for whatever goddamn reason. I could care less,” you can’t help but mutter under your breath shortly after.

“Ha!” One of her acrylics poke at you and you flinch. “You are mad.”

You groan out loudly. “I’m not mad,” you exasperate. “All I’m saying is for him to have at least decent taste if he’s going to date. Not someone so expectant after a divorce.”

Her eyes narrow.

“But that’s not the point,” you make sure to add right after. Fingers run through your hair and you sigh. “Look,” you ease gently. “I’m trying to be alright in this, okay? The last thing I want to do is stomp in like a madwoman and refuse a relationship that would’ve happened sooner or later.”

Of course, she disagrees. “God,” she stands, grabbing both of your mugs and heading to the sink. “You’re turning into one of those Milf’s that stand by to live, laugh, and love—it’s grossing me out.”

Your ears perk at attention and you smile smugly. “You think I’m a Milf?”

“Shut up. You’re flattered.” She turns it on to soak both of your cups before the coffee sticks. “I only dropped by to tell you that it’s okay to freak out once in a while.”

The only reason she’s been keening on you to go apeshit in front of your ex-husband, was the frantic phone call you left on the night of ditching Jungkook in your own kitchen. Being that she was here now, claiming that Kiumin ached for a playdate with Yeona, when in reality, her only goal was to scold you for not swinging at the doll Jungkook pranced around with as of late.

She puts a hand on her hip and leans towards the counter. “Turning to corny coping mechanisms like following a Bob Ross tutorial isn’t going to fix your rage you’ve been pushing down.”

“Okay, but that’s only because Jungkook still has some of his supplies laying around and the only thing I could come up with was painting a fucking sunset. Sue me,” you defend, throwing your arms up. “Besides, you weren’t there to see him, Hyejin. He was getting out of his office for once, smiling even, a-and it was different. A good different, and..” You’re completely at a loss, mouth opening, then shutting back closed, because what was even the point.

“..You don’t want to take that away from him,” she finishes, a tilt to her head and a consoling expression gracing her features.

“Exactly,” you exhale. “I can’t even be mad that she’s actually getting him out there, taking him to things that didn’t involve work. Something I couldn’t even do-“

“Hey, no,” she stops you, head firmly shaking. “No, you don’t get to do that. You were there and present, even on the days you were close to giving up before you actually did — you were there, trying your absolute hardest, clinging onto what he barely gave you. You were never the problem, okay?”

You meekly nod, tired eyes on her when she takes a firm hold of both of your hands.

She makes it clear, saying, “As a wife and a mother, you were always there and that is something nobody can take away from you.”

“I know,” you confess. “I’m just in a weird position right now, and I’m stressed out from it. Not mad—stressed.”

“And you don’t have to be, alright?” She shakes on your shoulder. “I know I insisted on breaking some plates and screaming, but hearing you out, I’m sure you would rather stray from the subject as a whole.”

“Please.”

“Alright. I’ll get out of your hair for now, and if I come up with something to do for us that doesn’t involve egging someone’s car—“

“Hyejin!”

“—then I’ll let you know.”

You huff out a breath and finally stand, entering into her arms she spans out. “I’ll always be worried about you, babe.”

“I know,” you mumble, “And I’ll keep telling you I’m fine every single time you ask.” She pinches your side that earns a loud yelp from you and a hiss of pain a second later.

“Love you.”

“Always,” you promise and then remind, “Please save some space for Yeona’s birthday that’s coming up, and be prepared for any phone-calls beforehand of me crying because my baby’s growing up and I have no control to slow down time for it.”

“Ah, that’s right,” she says. “Tell me if you need any help planning, alright?”

“Of course.”

“Kiumin, baby,” she calls out, heading towards the living space, “Buddy, let’s go. We gotta get home before dinnertime.”

Both of your children are on the floor, several toys in front of them and a television with brightly lit characters and colors that did not have to be at a high-volume as it was right now.

“Aw,” the little boy pouts, “Okay.” He turns to your daughter and waves hesitantly.

“Bye Kiumin,” Yeona yells out, clambering across the floor to get a hug. Short arms wrap around tiny figures and it’s absolutely adorable. Your eyes can sense a hint of red on Kiumin’s cheeks when your daughter’s hands tug tightly onto his. “See you soon, maybe.” She shrugs.

“Don’t worry, Yeonie,” Hyejin promises. “We’ll meet up again soon.”

At that, Yeona nods enthusiastically and shuffles herself forward for another hug directed towards your best friend. “Bye, aunt Hyejin.” She receives a soft pat to her head.

“Be safe on the way home,” you order.

They make their leave swiftly, and it finally gives you time to properly breathe—and think for a long while.

Tiny fingers pinch the paper in between them, a determination set in her eyes as she excitedly jumps around in her seat. “It’s done,” she announces.

Your eyes resemble a wink when you squint at her, sun shining way too brightly for it to be this early in the morning. It practically reflects Yeona’s attitude in starting the day like this, while you sit pathetically in an oversized shirt and coffee in hand.

Taking the time in the morning for yourself was barely a thing, especially when it came to your daughter and her way too early sleep schedule her school had willed her on.

Instead of sleeping in, you’re dealt with Yeona already being wide-eyed in her bed, making grabby hands at the toys in her bedroom you’ve put the time in cleaning up on the floor from the night before.

Even staying home in her matching sweats her father had gifted her, she would still request her hair up and out of her face for the rest of the day. So, you’d be taking fifteen minutes to slick her hair up in her choice of a ponytail or pigtails instead of preciously sleeping in. Even right after, she’d become hungry, wanting breakfast to go along with her cartoons she had downloaded on her tablet.

Which was perfectly fine, you’d be up soon anyway, so it would be better overall to just start the day off a bit earlier. It would only just leave you a bit off-looking and disoriented in the things you’d do for yourself.

Years back, when Yeona was younger and you were still married, the routine was easier and much steadier when you would tag-team in getting ready for the day, passing off your daughter after one task would be done for the other and it would be your own turn for yours.

At first, it left you frazzled when you were alone most days, but now, since the separation has settled in, it’d been okay for the most part. It just meant that some of the things and time you put aside for yourself were sacrificed, and that you would have to save your self care routine for later in the night when Yeona would flutter her eyelashes closed for slumber.

You excitedly clap a few times and reach eagerly. “Can I see?”

Yeona’s birthday was reaching close and for most of them, you would be able to know exactly what she’d want for that particular year. Normally, it would be a themed party of whatever she had been obsessed with at that time, and obviously the gifts you would drown her in. Last year went with a breeze. You were glad at that time when most of the conflict between you and Jungkook had faded when the time came, solely focusing on your daughter and that was it. But now, with the way things had left between the two of you recently, you were worried it wouldn’t be the same as this year.

Yeona had declared she wanted something different this year and decided that she’d write it all out in a list. Still unsure and a bit confused, you complied and set out her supplies for her to take over on the paper. It was only fifteen minutes after she claimed that she was finished.

Leaning towards her paper, you expected it to be drowned in color and design, taking the same artistic habits as her father. But to no avail, it was left blank.

Your brows furrow. “I thought you were done?”

She nods. “I am!”

“So.. Where—“ You awkwardly left off, wondering if she was hiding it beneath the table or behind her back. She giggles when you curiously dip your head under the tabletop.

“In here,” she points. A single finger pokes at her head and she proudly smiles before explaining, “The list is in my head! If you read all of it at once, then it wouldn’t be fun, so I’ll tell Mommy the first thing now and the rest for later.”

Your mouth opens in a sound of realization, and your eyes glint at how clever she became. “So,” you excitedly lean towards her more, landing a soft peck on her forehead. “What does my baby want for her birthday?”

“No party,” she firstly says with a firm shake to her head.

Your eyes widened. “No party?” Since the beginning, it’s always been one.

“Nope.” Her lips purse out with a crinkle to her nose. “Mommy,” she says, eyes twinkling. “I’m growing, so big girls don’t have parties.”

You hum, “Is that so?”

She nods dramatically.

“So what would you want this year?”

“I would like to ask if we could have my birthday at Uncle Jin and Joonie’s beach house.”

Your brows shoot up. “That’s all the way in Jeju..”

She nods. “We could all take the ferry!” Then, she pouts. “We never go on the ferry.”

Her idea runs through your mind for a few seconds before theorizing with her, mindlessly murmuring to yourself, “We could take the one in Busan and visit Grandma and Grandpa on the way..” You were sure they would want to see Yeona on the day of her birthday.

Her eyes brighten when she picks up on your mumbles, grappling your wrist and shaking it, “Yes, Mommy! We’ll take everybody, like, Daddy’s co-workers and Kiumin!”

It seems that you were already confirming the idea instead of considering it, though it all seemed like a perfect idea that wouldn’t take a lot of effort or stress. You can already imagine the small gathering for the weekend getaway, already knowing how much the others would like some time off, especially the guys that would always be cooped up in the suffocated shop filled with needles and ink. It would be a nice way of switching a few things up and catching up with the rest of the inner circle you’ve accumulated from the time of being with Jungkook.

“Well,” you start, “Let me have a conversation with your Daddy and then maybe,” you halt when she begins to turn giddy, “Maybe it will happen. But he’s going to have to ask Uncle Jin and Joon if it’s alright, so it's honestly up to them to decide..”

“Okay,” she quickly obliges, confidence set in her tone and smile, telling you that she was completely sure of her idea and their compliance to it.

“Of course!”

Jungkook’s head drops down in embarrassment while you sit across from him, mouth almost gaping.

“S-Seokjin,” you sputter. “You barely even gave it a few seconds to think about.”

He shakes a hand back and forth, “Why would I need to?”

“You can’t just..“ You lead off hopelessly. Turning to the lanky man next to him, you raise a brow. “Namjoon?”

“Fine by me,” he says over a mouthful of noodles, “We barely even use the house, anyway.”

“O-Okay, but-“

“We should go a week before the date to check up on it,” Seokjin suggests to Namjoon.

“You’re right, just in case anything is out of place,” he replies.

“The fireplace should be okay, right? I heard it rained last weekend.”

And then they fall into their own conversation, leaving you and Jungkook, the real parents in this situation — silent.

“I guess.. It’s happening?” You squeak out. The expensive couch sits uncomfortably on your bum, and you grow sweaty from being left to bask in the tension between the man across from you. It’s awkward, almost dragging on since you’ve entered the flat and sat down with Jungkook.

You were thankful at first, when Seokjin had butted in the conversation, boyfriend in tow.

The last time you’ve encountered your ex-husband, were only the past few weeks of dropping off Yeona on his days off, stoically handing her to him and running off until you would have to pick her up again.

It was childish, you knew that. You knew it exactly when you turned your back to him and completely shut him out three weeks ago. But at this point, it was the only way you were able to cope with however you were feeling about him, and simmering down most of your anger. But seeing that you would have to deal with him sooner rather than later, being that Yeona’s birthday was coming up, you were reluctantly willing to face him.

“Yeah, I don’t think we have a choice,” he chuckles, palms nervously rubbing against his knees. A small part of you is definitely basking in the way he squirms under your scrutiny.

“It’s fine,” you say, “This was the biggest part of Yeona’s list, anyway. She really wanted this.”

He offers a quirk to his lips, and your heart immediately seizes, having to force yourself to stop looking at him so obnoxiously. It’s gross, really, how you’ve managed to be so affected by him - good or bad, since the very start.

A throat clears, and it’s Namjoon, one hand stuffed in his pocket while the other on Seokjin’s lower back. You grow curious if he noticed. “Tell Yeona we can have her birthday at our house in Jeju.”

“Thank you, really—to you both. She really wanted this, and for you guys to be there too.”

“Of course, we’ll send a message to the rest that they’re invited.”

With a smile, you stand and wrap your arms around both of them on your way out. “Thank you, again,” you can’t help but repeat. They only chuckle in your tight grasp that clearly proved how grateful you were to them.

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Jungkook offers when he stands.

You shake your head, “It’s alright. I took a bus here.”

“Then, I’ll drive you back.”

“Jungkook, no, it’s okay-“

Already disappearing into his room, he makes a grab for his jacket and shoes to head out.

Seokjin chuckles when you whip around to face back the both of them, “Stubborn.”

You’re breathless when you repeat in stress, “Yeah.”

“Have a good night, _____.” Namjoon and Seokjin simultaneously wave, sending you both out the door. You embarrassingly let out a light laugh, waving back and wishing the same for them.

You rush to the side of Jungkook when they disappear.

Nobody talks, even until you’ve reached his car, unlocking the doors and allowing you to slip in the passenger side.

He got the vehicle shortly after finalizing his move out of the house, offering the one you previously shared and owned. You didn’t have much of a choice when he slipped the keys in your hand and left shortly after without any argument. You were more nervous that if you pushed more for him to take it, he’d go out and buy you a new one the next day.

For Jungkook driving the sleek black car everyday, it practically seems unused, leather seats still having that particular smell and everything still being tidy around it. Then again, Yeona is now older and less messy than before.

Everything in the car is so exactly him, and you weren’t quite sure how to feel about it.

After buckling up and properly settling in, he slides the keys in the slot, leaving you to stare at the hanging car accessory up at the rearview mirror.

It’s a picture of you and Yeona, laid out on the floor. You remember the memory clearly, Yeona declaring a tickle fight and sprawling out on the floor for a fair match. Even with Yeona sat on top of you, it seemed that you were winning in the game with how her head was thrown back and a wide grin on her face, you could practically hear the squeal she was letting out in the picture.

He still had it.

For a second, you smile back at it.

You barely even notice the car already moving and him asking the question, “Why didn’t you drive?”

Your head flicks to him, and your eyes stay right at his jaw when he makes a smooth turn. You shrug, “It was nearby, I didn’t mind.”

“You should’ve told me,” he says, “I would have come home instead of you travelling all this way for me.”

Home. He still called it home, like it’d be any day now for him to return to it, that this was all a temporary fix until everything would get less foggy.

“It’s fine,” you pass off. “I didn’t think you would see the offer as worthy since Yeona is at my mom’s place right now.”

His head shakes, turning away from the road to catch your eyes for a split second. “I don’t need any reason to see you, _____. Just tell me, and I’ll be there.” It’s with vigour and promise, you almost turn flustered.

You let out a small scoff before looking down at your hands. “If you said that a long time ago, we would’ve still been married,” you joke, though it comes out bitter. “Thanks for the offer, though,” you sarcastically add.

The car suddenly halts and you look up, the red traffic light flashes in front of you.

Jungkook shuts his eyes before tiredly letting out a sigh.

You grow anxious, looking out the window from the side. Some of the restaurants and shops are surprisingly still open and you focus on the windows with bright lighting inside of the buildings. Friends and couples are eating out, some are laughing, and you wonder what some of their conversation consisted of. You surmise it’s something foolish when one of them throws their head back in a fit of laughter.

Your hands grip each other when a pair from the opposite side of your vision pucker up and kiss. It turns personal way too quickly and you immediately feel like you're intruding, grateful that the light turns green and you finally move away from the intimate image, wondering if you would ever get close to that phase of your life again.

The silent minute brings you to announce abruptly, “We’re going to take the ferry in Busan instead of here, so that she would be able to see your parents before leaving.”

“Sounds fine,” he replies. “My mother would like that.”

You nod.

“What about yours?” He suggests.

You sigh, head hitting the headrest of the seat softly. “Another detox trip. They said they would send her a birthday card before they would leave. Probably why they’re spending as much time with her as they can before they leave.”

Even with eyes on the road, he still seems to be listening intently. He hesitates a few seconds before asking, “How’s your dad?”

You send him a smile, the least you could do before answering, “Still hates you.”

He snorts. “Yeah,” he says, “I figured.”

You swallow tightly and decide to ask, “How’s settling with Seokjin?” It’s been a couple of years, but still, it all still feels new and something you haven’t gotten around to asking ever since.

He hums, “It’s quiet most of the time since he’s at Namjoon’s nearly everyday..”

“The place is practically yours then,” you attempt to joke again, but it comes out as hardly, not exactly comfortable to throw that specific tone around.

He shrugs. “Wish he would let me pay more than half of the rent, but it’s tolerable.”

“Are you ever planning to get your own place soon?”

“Huh,” he thinks. “Haven’t put much thought into it.”

“Well, if you ever do, I can always help out,” you quietly suggest and he takes a quick glimpse at you to see if you were actually being serious.

“Really?”

You nod. “Yeah. I actually think it would be cool for Yeona to have a second room at your place. So it’s home over there for her as it is with me.”

Another red light, and his eyes blink close for a moment. The conversation is going too fast and all of a sudden, it starts to hurt.

Jungkook doesn’t want another home, a place that reads that he is officially separated from you and out of his reach, not when it doesn’t include you in it.

It would hurt him even more if you would egg it on, support him and the move away from you, like you would want him to, and maybe you really did. He would understand why. Still, it hurts when you talk so freely like this, seemingly eager to get rid of him.

Jungkook doesn’t voice his disagreement, avoiding talking at all and keeping his mouth closed instead.

The conversation falls off after that, and he most likely figured that would be the most he got out of you for the rest of the car ride.

That was until you spoke up again.

It was quiet, almost barely heard, and it’s said quickly. “You can invite her, you know?”

His fingers unknowingly grip on the steering wheel.

You look back down. “I don’t mind and I don’t want you to think that I’ll hold you back from doing so.”

They want to reach out, grasp for your hands you keep fiddling with, scold you for biting on your lip too harshly, everything he used to do, he wanted to fall back and do it all at once.

They keep clinging to the wheel.

“I was mad back then,” you guiltily admit and he immediately shakes his head.

“You had every right to be.”

“I probably looked silly for being so mad on something I have no control over.” You move your eyes back over the window and the blurry images that pass by solemnly. “Especially when everything’s been said and done with, right?” You turn to him and he gulps. His heart drops at how quick and firm you said, as if it was that easy.

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly.

“Maybe this is a learning curve for us,” you nod to yourself. “So, I’m open to having her with us this year.”

He had no idea why you were so sure that everything between Seol and himself were solid enough to introduce her as his girlfriend, fuck, even he wasn’t sure he could spit the word out himself.

Everything was going by way too fast, too much to process.

He only nods, clinging onto actions rather than words to speak for him.

His throat clears and the car slows down to a clear stop. You peak over his head and find your house already being presented as the car decreases in speed.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” is all he says.

“Well,” your buckle releases and you slide out onto the edge of the seat, already gripping onto the handle. You offer him a smile. “Thanks, Jungkook.”

The door opens and he stiffly nods and doesn’t pull out of his spot until his own two eyes have watched your figure disappear into the entrance of the house.

“Did you double-check that you have everything?”

She nods.

“Okay, then I think we’re ready.” You clap, zipping up the rest of your bags.

She can’t even stand still with her excitement, having to run around at times when it got too much.

Ever since the beginning of planning this weekend trip, you surprisingly had a lot of time on your hands from the immense help of everybody else who volunteered to plan. You were glad that they reached out, but you also became antsy at the fact you had no control over the outcome of this gathering. In anything that Yeona wanted, you strived to make sure it would happen with reasonability. Being away from most of the planning had left you anxious on most days, wondering what Seokjin would be pulling under his sleeve on Yeona’s celebration.

“Here.” You hand her backpack to her, silently ushering her to turn around so you could slip it through her arms. “Sit on the couch and watch your show for now. Your father will be here soon to pick us up.”

She complies easily, shuffling towards the cushioned chair.

Before she becomes too absorbed in the cartoon, you ask a mindless theory for her to answer, “If Daddy shows up with a friend—that is a girl.. You’ll be nice, right?”

Her head tilts and her brows crease. “Girl—friend?”

Your fingers tighten against the hem of your sundress. “M-Maybe? I’m not sure, he hasn’t told me a lot about her..”

“That’s not right,” she notes. “Daddy should tell Mommy so she knows..”

You send her a softened smile that holds a sad shift in it. “Not this time, baby.” You look down at your hands. “Just be nice to her, okay?”

She only nods.

You brush off your knees when you stand back up, moving back towards your room to grab whatever else you might’ve forgotten and rush through most of your makeup bag to fix yourself up a bit.

You debated a few times in your head to switch up your dress for another one in your bag. Usually, you never cared, but this time, oddly, you wanted to satisfy more than yourself with the way you currently looked and dressed as - for whatever reason you cannot decipher as. But having to change, you would also have to switch out Yeona’s dress since you both decided to match today.

You decided not to bother since it would take too much time, especially since you hear the buttons being pressed at your front door, buzzing when the code punches in and indicating that Jungkook was finally here.

You quickly pull and clip on a necklace that was mindlessly set on your bedside table, and rush out the room with your bags.

When both of them come into view, you already see Yeona attached to Jungkook’s hip. No one else.

“Hey,” you breathlessly greet with a nod, trying not to seem blunt by focusing on the front door to see if a certain person tagged alone. “I hope this isn’t too much—? I cut down most of it last night..”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it,” then looks down at the bags, “But—uh, are you sure you need all of this? It’s only a couple of days.”

“Yeah, but,” you hesitate, pushing some strands of your hair away, “It’s clothes, swimsuits, sunscreen, shower products, presents—“

“Presents?” Yeona brightens.

“No,” You and Jungkook rush.

“Mommy meant something else..”

“Oh.” Her expression flattens. “Then what did she mean?” She presses.

Jungkook’s mouth gapes and he attempts to spit out an answer before you boisterly interrupt, “Oh no! We’re running late.”

He nods comically when he meets eyes with you. “Y-You’re right! Let me take your bags,” he offers.

You practically shove them into his hands when you switch positions, taking Yeona into your own and softly letting her down.

When you stand up straight, he eyes the both of you in awe when he notices.

“You’re both matching.”

You grow heated under his gaze and shyly nod, straightening out the flimsy skirt of your dress. “She’s been hounding me to get a mini size for her when I wear mine, so this was her first gift from me.”

Her tiny hands cling onto your fingers and squeezes them, “Yup! We wanted to look pretty for Daddy.”

You practically choke out a small cough at her statement as he arches a brow towards you, your cheeks dusting a shade of embarrassment immediately.

“T-There was no set intent for doing this exactly,” you defend with a growing pout before you childishly point at Yeona and sputter, “It was her idea and I just went with it.”

He chuckles, encouraging the dusty rose to spread to your ears and neck. “Well,” he starts and confirms, “You both look beautiful.” He’s already turning away and moving towards the door before you can react. “I’ll compliment you more when we get in the car, but we should hurry.”

You both scurry in front of him, and a firm hand lands on the small of your back to lead you out. Whipping around slightly, you turn surprised from the mere gesture.

A certain feeling washes over you — it’s nostalgic, almost drowning you from the blunt force when his fingers land on only the thin material that separates your skin from his. For a second, it feels like what it has always been.

Even as false pretense or even reassurance, you bask in the feeling you can only assume is melancholy and warmth, all at the same time. It’s bittersweet, but it’s something and it’s clearly there.

He offers a smile, and it’s not a polite one you usually send each other when you would interact, it’s not a forced one either. It was genuine, and it was towards you.

A smile that read this weekend would be a memorable one, like all of the other birthdays you celebrated each year.

For a split second, you feel like a family again.

The door clicks shut and you finally all head out to fulfill Yeona’s birthday journey.

“God,” he rubs at his shoulder that aches. “What did you pack in here to make me feel like this four floors down?”

Rolling your eyes, your daughter’s leg brushes against you when it kicks up for the minute of buckling her up. You don’t bother asking her to stop, silently allowing her to start playing with your hair when you lean over the other side of her carseat. You adjust her sandals while you’re at it. “We took the elevator, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“You weren’t the one carrying it,” he argues, shutting the trunk closed.

Finally finished with making sure Yeona would ride safely in the backseat, you recover your crouched form and rise. “You offered.”

He sighs, hands on his hips, and a smile creeping on his face he managed to halt before your eyes would land on them. “You never answered my question.”

Both of you make it to the front of the car and slip in, shutting the car doors simultaneously in coincidence.

You wave a hand in dismissal before reaching up for the seatbelt. “It’s a few gifts for your mother. She really liked the scent of the apartment when she last visited, so I packed a few candles of the ones I’ve been using.”

“A few?” He scoffs, pinning you a look. The car begins to run when he slides the key in the slot. He has a hard time believing in your estimate of the amount you were bringing when he picks up weights on a regular basis at the gym, not boasting when he clearly can’t help mentioning it every now and then. There were way more than a few.

You hesitate, observing him shift the gear and backing the car up and out of the parking space. “Fine, I slipped in a few more for Seokjin,” you confess and it’s clear that he has a smug smirk carrying his expression. “Only because he asked,” you huff.

A light chuckle slips out and his fingers on the center console almost twitch when he hears you let one out also.

You abruptly turn towards the backseat. “Yeonie? Please turn down your tablet.” It Had been ringing in both of your ears since you got in the car. You wanted to have a proper conversation without having to scream out your words over the rhymes and overplayed sound-effects.

When she does, you finally sigh and lean back in pure exhaustion from the lack of sleep the night before.

Jungkook notices.

“You okay?” He asks.

Your eyes flutter open slowly and you nod. “Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, so I’m dealing with the repercussions of it.” Your gaze on the road soon turns blank.

If you were being honest, it’s been a long time in dealing with enough sleep. If you were in bed, you were most likely staying up, keeping yourself busy, not deeming it as a good enough reason to sleep just yet. Before, you slept easily, paying no mind to what was happening around you, you actually slept. Something changed to the point where you weren’t granted that access anymore, having to question the exact reason on why you should even sleep. You weren’t sure if you would find it, sticking with just coaxing yourself into slumber through most nights.

“You can take a nap if you want,” he suggests. “It’s going to take a while before we get there, so you might as well.”

You hum absentmindedly, barely registering any of his words if you were being honest.

Yeona yawns. He shifts his attention to the back, watching Yeona squirm for a comfortable spot - as comfortable as she can get - in her carseat. “Are you sleepy too, baby?”

She mewls out a tired noise in confirmation and leans her head to the padded side of hers. “Daddy, sing to me,” she requests, blinking, lagging until they fully close.

Jungkook’s soft hums fill up the noise of the car other than the white noise surrounding you when he drove.

Your eyes go back to closing when it hits you, a metaphorical blanket that deems where you were, what you were doing, and who you were with — as safe. Your brows furrow unconsciously at the thought that you’ve been dealing with this specific problem about your sleep for God knows how long, but Jungkook suddenly fixes it and now it’s all gone.

You finally sleep.

An hour into the drive and you suddenly ask, “Is she.. Driving on her way too?”

His eyebrows furrow and he turns to stare at you, disoriented by the question. “Who?”

You eye him wearily and tip your head forward, like it was obvious.

He’s still confused.

“Seol?” You finally spit out.

“Oh.”

That’s all he says and you grow impatient. “So?”

“She’s not coming,” he finally answers. “I didn’t invite her. Why would you think I would?”

“She wasn’t in the car when you picked us up, or at the house, so I just assumed..”

“No,” he quickly denies, looking you in the eye this time. “She’s not coming.”

“Oh—okay.” You wonder why.

It’s silent except for when his throat clears and he turns the car.

“Um,” you drag unsurely. “Are you.. Still—seeing each other?” It’s personal, and you regret asking, but for the sake of your bouncing leg and bated breath, you wait.

“I—I don’t know? I mean we’re going out, but it’s not anything official.” He looks nervous, eyes shifting back and forth from one side of a street to another.

“So.. You haven’t asked her to be your girlfriend yet?”

This is weird. Too fucking weird and now Jungkook’s acutely uneasy because there is absolutely no malice in your voice. Just curiousness being unravelled.

“No, not really,” he nervously stammers, and he tries his best to gauge your reaction but you hold absolutely nothing to read on. “I want to decide carefully.” You suddenly stare back at him and he has no choice but to continue, “Like you said. I want to make sure it’s right. No fuck-ups anymore. Not with you or Yeona.”

Your head shakes. “Jungkook, you don’t have to-“

“It’s my decision,” he firmly states, “and it’s on my terms.”

Jungkook’s mother was always a bright soul who greeted and welcomed you with open arms.

The first time you were off to meet her, you were twenty-three years old and absolutely terrified, and you made sure to tell Jungkook that before you even stepped foot in the house he grew up in.

You informed him how much bad luck you came with when it involved meeting your partner’s parents. More specifically — your past boyfriends and their overly clingy mothers who did not like you no matter what you did, as long as you were dating their son.

“My mom loves everyone,” Jungkook explained previously the night before the anticipated meeting.

You shook your head vigorously, eyes wide and anxious, shivering from having the thought of reliving something you always dreaded. “That’s what they all say before we end up arriving and then all of a sudden I’m being pounced on by an overbearing mother who obviously can’t stand the thought of having another woman in her son’s life.”

He laughed. “Your exes were probably an only child,” and then continued to inform as if it would ease your nerves, “I have an older brother.”

You shrieked. “Holy shit, that makes it even worse because you’re her youngest. The baby of the family—her baby.” He cackled and you landed a solid strike at his arm with a whine, “Jungkook, Take me serious.”

“Alright, okay,” he shushed you and tugged at your hips before closing in on you. “I can assure you that my mother isn’t some type of villain you’ve painted out in your head.”

You winced and patted his chest with a pout, “Sorry. Past minor trauma.”

“I get it,” he reassured. “But she’s different than the rest, I promise.”

And she definitely was.

The house fills with a scent of something cooking on the stove top and it immediately engulfs you in warmth when you hear the television going off in the spacious area of the living room, assuming it was Jungkook’s father planted on his signature chair he was always found in.

When Yeona finally kicks off her shoes, she immediately runs through the house to find her grandmother.

“Careful,” Jungkook calls from next to you.

He notices your dazed state and takes a step closer. “How are you feeling? Still tired?”

Your mouth falls open and you shake your head with a smile, brushing it off, “My head is aching a bit from the long car ride, but I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll sit down for a few.”

He shows concern in his expression and leans forward to inspect you carefully. “Come here.”

“I told you I’d be okay, Gguk. I’m fine.” Still, your feet take you closer towards him until calloused fingers land at your temples before applying pressure. “Mm,” you let out in surprise, lips pressed when he goes in circular motions against your skin, grappling onto one of his wrists for support. Your eyes flutter shut when the pain starts to subside. Four fingers each from both hands are firmly planted while his two thumbs continue to ease the throbbing that’s been planted in your head since you’ve gotten out of the car.

“Starting to feel better?” He murmurs softly.

You nod with the space he provided for it. “I still think I should just take some medicine.”

He doesn't stop his ministrations, only humming. “In a minute. Want to avoid my mom a bit longer before she starts to ask why I haven’t been visiting lately.”

A smile quickly settles on your lips and you squeeze at the wrist you’ve been gripping on.

It’s up close when he sees you softly giggle and his heart surges forward. Your eyes open back up and you’re suddenly staring at such a close proximity.

“She worries about you.”

“I know,” he promises. “Just not sure what to say when she starts interrogating me.”

Before your mouth can slip in an answer, a throat clears and you tense immediately.

You both stiffly turn towards the new figure in the room who raises an amused brow.

“Uh, hi Mom. Where’s Yeona?”

“With your father.”

You remember suddenly before coughing and tugging at Jungkook’s hands that stay planted against your head.

“We were just..” Jungkook attempts, wiping off his palms that have gotten significantly clammy in the span of a minute or two.

“Headache,” you finish and state for him.

“Yeah.”

“Did we go back in time before medicine was a thing?” She jokes then tilts her head towards the direction of one of the bathrooms. “There’s painkillers in the medicine cabinet.”

“Uh I’m going to.. Yeah.” Jungkook scratches at the back of his neck and seems unsure before seeing himself out to grab for the bottle of pills.

“Please, don’t give me that look,” you beg once the embarrassment settles in and your cheeks start to warm up.

“No, I’m just happy is all.” She smiles in satisfaction. “Last time I checked, you were divorced to my son.”

You groan. “And I still am.”

“Then what was that?” She refers back to the scene she had unfortunately walked in on.

“A ploy to drag out time before hearing your questions about why he hasn’t been visiting as often as he should be,” you easily tattle.

She gasps.

Jungkook walks back in with two bottles in hand, eyes bouncing back and forth to each one. “It doesn’t matter which brand right? I brought out two just in case-“

“Jeon Jungkook,” his mother scowls.

He freezes and looks up to his infuriated mother, then pointedly looks at you before the gears turn in his head.

“You told her?”

You simply shrug and snatch both bottles away before his mother would start shifting her target towards him. “Thank you.”

You don’t bother to hear the scolding, instead, walking through the house to find where your daughter had drifted off to.

Mrs. Jeon takes some time to catch up with her son and gives you enough to rest from the prolonged car ride.

Small feet tap on the wooden floor and you try to search for the doe eyes and pouty lips that come with them.

“Yeona, where have you been?”

“With grandpa!” Then, she enthusiastically stomps. “He said my gifts are hiding from me.”

You chuckle. “Is that so?”

A bigger pair of feet walk in and Mr. Jeon looks flustered, as if he had done something he wasn’t supposed to do. His head angles down to Yeona and he explains, “I messed up! I was supposed to wait for Grandma to feed you guys before I said anything about birthday presents.”

Your mouth opens to reply that he was perfectly fine before large hands settle firmly on your shoulders. You squeak and jump, registering that it was only Jungkook when you whip around to face the culprit. “Seriously?”

“It’s payback,” he simply says. “I got scolded for fifteen minutes all because you decided to be a snitch.”

“Sorry.” You softly nudge. “She was assuming too much when she saw us.”

“Ah,” he realizes, and he suddenly seems okay with the thought of going down just for you. “I’ll have to talk to her again about doing that. Sorry.”

You dismiss it with a smile. “Just more worried about you. Poor baby,” you tease. “What? Did she make you face the wall for five minutes?” He scowls. “Jungkook, she misses you,” you reason.

“I know,” he mumbles. “I promised her I would be here more often.”

He has that look in his eye you are way too familiar with — when the gears start turning and he begins to overthink his whole entire schedule for the month, figuring out the time-slots—if he even has any free space for it.

“Hey,” you call, and he snaps out of it. “Don’t try to fill your family in your schedule as if they’re appointments. You’ll visit when you want to, okay? Not because you have to.”

He exhales and nods. “Right. I will.”

He then notices your features significantly brighter than the last time he’s taken them in, no more fatigued, so he asks, “Did you take the medicine?”

You nod. “I just took it, but moving around a bit is helping a lot already.

“That’s good.”

His brows furrow when he catches the expression on his dad. “Is he okay?”

You turn and observe him tailing your hyper daughter who has been checking every crevice of the house for any mere glimpse of eye-catching wrapping paper.

“Like father, like son,” is all you say and he stares on with no clue. “He’s literally a second away from hearing his own scolding.”

Mrs. Jeon walks in and shrieks. “You told her already—?!”

The man beside you sighs and questions out loud what on earth his father had done.

So, you explain, “They put on a scavenger hunt for Yeona’s gifts. Except, it was supposed to be after lunch.”

“Oh no.”

“Yeah.”

“You were supposed to wait so that I could take pictures for it!”

The older man’s hands get thrown up in defense. “She hasn’t found them yet, it’s fine.”

“What if she actually does?” She tests with a brow raised.

“Mom,” Jungkook calls and both of his parents finally turn to give him attention. “It’s alright. We can do the scavenger hunt now since we’ll be leaving soon.”

“You aren’t going to stay and eat?”

“Please don’t worry,” you kindly decline. “I’d feel bad if you were to cook something, just for us.”

She waves a hand carelessly in the air. “Nonsense! I want to do this for you. It’s been way too long since the last time I cooked for more than two people.”

Your elbow prods at Jungkook who lacks his own attention. You quickly send him a look, a silent message to stop her from whipping anything up when you wouldn’t have much time to properly eat it, given from your strict itinerary.

“We only have half an hour to be here before the next Ferry arrives,” he finally speaks up.

“Oh,” his mother dejects with a pout. “Well, that’s a shame.”

“Yeah, sorry mom.”

Your hip pushes against his side, and your throat clears. “We’ll come back and stay for dinner,” you promise.

“Please do,” she nods. “My son doesn’t even visit anymore.”

She plainly ignores Jungkook, whose mouth has dropped significantly. “Mom—! I told you I would visit more often.”

“Can’t even make a simple phone call,” she tsks. “Your ex-wife interacts with me at least three times a week—more than you ever did within a month.”

“Mom!”

Your hand lands on top of his shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze and sending his mother a smile of understanding. “We’ll be there. Promise.”

She sighs, hands smacking against her fruity apron and then clapping enthusiastically. “Alright, fine! Let me get my camera first.”

Her son groans. “Just use your phone.”

Her head shakes, already bending down and shuffling through the drawers, “But you got me that nice camera for Christmas! I haven’t used it yet.”

“Alright, fine,” he reluctantly obliges. “Dad, will you please give my daughter a hint? She’s going crazy here.” He points and your daughter is exactly there, crawling through the coffee table and easing herself to the next tiny space she can fit in.

“Baby, you’re going to hurt yourself,” you warn when she breezes through a few expensive-looking structures around the house, “Or break something.. Jungkook—!” You tug on his sleeve and push him to grab her before any mishaps could happen.

When Jungkook finally gets a hold of a squirmy Yeona, his father finally ushers everybody outside towards the direction of the backyard where the scavenger hunt is officially located.

“They just texted me that they’re already at the house,” Jungkook suddenly announces by the time Yeona finds her fourth present.

You double-check the time on your phone and worriedly ask, “Do you think we’re running late?”

His head shakes. “I doubt it. If anything, we’re probably on time. We left really early in the morning.”

You sigh out with both shoulders deflating and he notices. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you ease. “Just worried, you know? This is the first year we aren’t doing a birthday party and she’s only turning six.”

“Hey,” he chuckles. “It’s not like these aren’t going to be a forever thing.”

“I know,” you groan and rub harshly at your temples. “I think I’m just so used to big gatherings, the amount of unnecessary attention, and the cake nobody eats because it’s all it really was for me growing up.” As much as the parties were for good intentions, it was never in a good way.

The only reason your mother was set on giving you a birthday party every year was for the pictures and some way into measly bragging about how well her life was going and not everybody else’s.

“And in no way I’m saying it as a way for Yeona to live through whatever I went through, but every year I try my best to plan something she wants.” You rub at your elbow unsurely with lips turned downwards. “For some reason, her not asking for one this year makes me think how much she didn’t like the others and how shitty I am for not seeing it much earlier.”

Yeona giggles when she picks out another that happens to be sneakily hidden snug between a few branches of a tree.

He shakes his head and calls for you softly. “Are you kidding? I’ve never seen her happier with every passing birthday you manage to outdo every year. Our daughter also has incredible confrontational skills - If she doesn’t like something, she’ll tell us regardless.”

You snort. “Right.” You grow nervous how serious he becomes when you catch onto his eyes and his front faces you so suddenly.

“She loves what you do every year,” he assures. He then reasons, “And maybe next year it’ll be different — she’s growing up.”

You slowly nod, handing him a laugh of disbelief. “Yeah. God, you’re right. Sorry.”

“Even standing here with a headache, you’re still worrying for nothing,” he scolds.

“I told you I already feel better,” you argue in return. “The medicine helped a bunch. I’m okay.” And for the next ten minutes, you ignore the side-eye full of concern overpowering on his side when he shoots you a glance. He’s known you since the start of his twenties, of course he would be able to pick out if you were lying or not.

“What’s the count?” Jungkook asks, eyes squinting from the bright sun casting down at the colorful yard.

His mother points the camera at him and raises a hand, “Number Five!”

“And how much in total?”

She pouts. “It wouldn’t be as much fun if I told you.”

“Mom.”

You shush him. “Leave her alone.”

“Six! Six! Six!” Yeona yells near the fence.

“You found the sixth one, sweetheart!” Jungkook’s father exclaims.

His mother curses and whips the camera back around. “I missed it!”

It’s comical when you watch it from afar, and a large smile blooms across your face at the three. “God,” you snort, quite endeared by the sight, “This is a mess. It’s cute.”

Jungkook stays behind alongside you to simply observe you and them, and he’s already memorizing every part and aspect of this moment to set aside for later.

Everything fell into place so perfectly, everybody belonging exactly where they were supposed to be.

“You really do look pretty today, _____.”

Eyes widening, you whip around to his figure with a questioned gaze.

He’s willing to repeat the words, let you know over and over until you grow tired of the repetitiveness, drown you in all of the compliments he’s thinking of right now.

But, you curtly nod and turn away. “T-Thanks.”

His hand reaches out, exactly to where yours is and his sight subconsciously falls on your fourth finger that was blank of a specific jewelry he put on you two years ago. It’s already been two fucking years and he still grows somber when his eyes catch onto where the diamond used to be.

No matter how many times he can confront it with his own eyes, stare at it for however long you would allow him to look, seek it every time it would raise or show itself — It still hurts nonetheless.

It’s exactly what makes him pull back and grip onto the chain tucked into his shirt, away from your eyes to see the charm that glints exactly like the first day you put it on him.

Finally having it be the middle of the day, you get to leave and head towards the station to get from Busan to Jeju.

The station is way more quiet than what you initially anticipated, it being the weekend and all, but the line barely lasts a minute, and you’re already boarding the ferry, right behind Yeona who holds her father’s hand tightly across the dock that transitions to the ship.

“Snacks?” Is the first thing Jungkook asks for when you all sit down and you quickly reach into Yeona’s backpack.

“All I have our a few baggies of rice-puffs and juice-boxes.”

“I want one!” Yeona intercepts, and greedy hands suddenly wave in front of your face.

“Alright, baby, hold on a minute.” You request and stare back up at Jungkook to propose the idea of sharing a muffin his mother offered last-minute when you slipped through the door to part ways. “There’s only two juice-boxes.”

Jungkook’s head shakes, going to decline the kind offer and allow you to have it before Yeona perks sweetly, “Daddy can share with me!”

His thumb and pointer softly caresses the supple cheek beneath it before landing a kiss on it and murmuring, “Always so sweet.”

Sitting back down, Yeona on Jungkook’s lap while you sit side-to-side, plastic cover of the muffin opened and lips pursed out to your own straw.

With Jungkook’s hands full, squirming daughter all over his lap, you make it easier for him by popping small pieces of the muffin in his open mouth.

You let out a laugh when you miss and watch a few chocolate crumbs dribble down his chin. “Sorry,” you murmur with a smile, fingers rubbing off some of where the chocolate smeared against his skin.

“Do you need a tissue?”

Turning to the nimble voice, you notice an elderly lady with a soft smile she carries so sweetly. “I’m sorry,” she laughs off. “I just noticed how much of a mess you’ve made on your husband.”

You both don’t flinch at the assumption, smiling back at her.

“Oh,” your voice brightens with a laugh of your own and bowing in your seat slightly, “Thank you so much for offering.”

She brings out a few from her own bag and reaches out over the seats, “Here.”

“Thank you again,” Jungkook says and she looks at you expectantly, practically requesting you to wipe off his mouth yourself. You jump at the realization and clear your throat with whatever protest that bubbled from within, and start with stiff fingers. You’ve already stuffed pieces of muffin in his mouth, what harm would it be to clean up the mess you’ve made? Except it’s completely different, not very easy doing the simple action with a bright-eyed old woman who seems very entertained by the aspect of it, all life returning to them when the tissue rubs at his bottom lip.

“Daddy,” Yeona taps. “Want off.”

His gentle grip on her tummy loosens and allows her to slide off of his legs to approach the woman. Your daughter gently waves and let’s her smile speak for itself, so easy to sway the woman when she was so used to doing this to every other person she meets daily.

“Hi there.” The woman waves back and bends her back more forward to reach Yeona’s level. “Where are you off to today?”

“Jeju!” She exclaims, and then boasts proudly, “It’s my birthday.”

The woman eggs her giddiness on by clapping gently, “Oh wow. What a wonderful place to celebrate your birthday!”

“Yes ma’am,” she agrees sweetly, hands clasped behind her back. “I told my Mommy and Daddy to bring me there and they said yes! We even rode all together here!”

The woman spares you an odd look at the figures Yeona points at, and you both refrain meeting her eyes that read about obviously riding together, you were married with a kid after all.

At least, to her eyes you were.

Unfortunately, the both of you lacked the guts to tell her the truth, and that this was just another day to simply tolerate each other more than you already do during the week.

Nothing more, nothing less.

The woman hums. “Your parents must love you a lot then. They look good together, too.”

It all seems too much, as if she was mocking you, and you immediately grow antsy at her nosy stare.

Luckily, after Yeona had her fair share in her frankly short conversation with the older woman, she left all of you alone for the rest of the ride.

“That was—” Jungkook starts.

“—Definitely new,” you finish.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be used to the assumptions of us still being together. It’s hard not to just blatantly say no so that they could get off of our backs for once.”

Your voice lowers a bit, just to make sure she can’t hear you from her corner-seat. “But we also have to understand their point,” you reason, “When people see both of us with a daughter, it’s easier to assume that we’re together.”

His head leans on the metal rod behind him, still listening with his eyes closed.

“Besides, I don’t really mind.”

His head shoots back into position and he stares with widened eyes. “Y-You don’t?”

Shrugging, your head shakes. “It’s better this way. I’d rather just go along with it than explain exactly why we’re separated, let them into something they have no business in being in.”

“Right,” he drags it. “Exactly,” and he says it more for himself to grip on, because fucking obviously. Not for any other reason but for convenience. Always for the best, and he was fine with it. Perfectly keen.

His head turns towards the water, and he squints, legs bouncing obnoxiously, Yeona whines. It’s only then you realize he’s decked out in all black, as usual, with beads of sweat running off his temple and onto his neck. It’s only worse when he’s seated exactly right under the sun, where the roof fails to give him any shade.

“You idiot,” you suddenly call and his brows furrow, whipping around to find you in a state of absolute worry, searching through your bag. “Out of all days, when we’d be outside, you’re wearing everything you’re not supposed to.”

His eyes widen and he stares down at his attire, sizzling back down into realization when he finally realizes the problem. “I’m fine,” he passes off cooly. “Yeona wanted the seat nearest to the water, and I figured you wouldn’t want to be under the sun this long.”

Before he can even come out with an argument, you’re already moving forward and grabbing Yeona off of his lap.

“What are you doing?”

“Come on,” you pat on his thigh, silently coaxing him to scoot. “We’ll trade spots. You can’t be under the sun like this.”

“_____..”

Your lips purse and stray down into a pout, and his heart falters, his argument pushed down his throat until he swallows it away. “Jungkook, I’m worried. I don’t even think you put on sunscreen today either.”

He’s fully aware how irked you get when he doesn’t follow the skincare regimen you set up for him. It’s especially the distress you hold in your eyes and lips when he forgoes the most important step of it all: suncare.

“Shit doesn’t even work,” he exasperates, and your eyes roll back.

“Say that to me when you’re fifty and covered with sun spots you’ll never be able to erase because you never wanted to listen to me.”

His bite comes without even a second thought, falling back into the banter he secretly misses, when it was comfortable to joke around you, tease you to no end, and drive you up the wall. “You’ll still like me that way, right?” He’s teasing now, and it’s clear when he raises his brows in expectancy, lighthearted and jokeful.

To your embarrassment, your cheeks tint pink and you don’t have enough pride to return his stare. The only thing you can really do is stammer severely and point at your purse. “J-Just put some on and leave me alone.”

He hands you a hearty and genuine laugh and you only try your best to ignore it, lips curving the same until you force them to stop from going any higher.

“Holy shit,” you gape. “It’s huge.”

“They’re loaded.”

“I-I can’t go in this, Jungkook.”

“You couldn’t have told me this before we went on a whole road trip and had me prepay tickets for a ferry ride here?”

You hit his arm. “Jungkook, I’m serious.”

He laughs. “Why exactly can’t you? It’s just a beach house.”

“This is too big for a six year old! A few candles from the fucking mall is never going to pay off the fact they are letting us have it for the weekend.”

“With their advision,” he reminds. Yeona stirs in her sleep from the backseat and Jungkook pins you a look. “Can we get out now?”

You hesitate. “How are you okay without thinking about being possibly indebted to Seokjin and Namjoon? First, they put out a car for us to drive here when we arrived, and now we’re staying in this? We’re being pampered.”

“Because I’ve been leeching off of Seokjin since I was a teenager, _____,” he states, nimbly remembering when he would depend on a few meals paid from him and even to now - being roommates with the older man. “He’s fine with it. He offered first, after all. We’re just following orders,” he defends so easily.

Reluctantly, you climb out of the car, crossed arms from your chest, heading towards the back to take out your daughter from her carseat. With a soft nudge and a kiss to her cheek, her eyes shot back open with the realization that this was the last stop, that she was finally here. “M-Mommy, look!”

“I know,” you coo, “I was just as shocked as you are now.”

She moves quickly, already releasing the buckle and sliding down to the car floor. She still requests to be picked up like a princess when her arms span out for you, and of course, you oblige.

“Jungkook,” you call. “Are you getting the bags?”

The trunk shuts, keys jingling in his hand, “Already on it.”

When you reach the porch, Yeona eagerly leans towards the right of the door to ring the bell.

It only takes three seconds for Kim Seokjin to open it with a wide smile. “Welcome!”

Yeona squeals, legs kicking all over the place and you finally set her down for her to enter first. Not before giving her uncle’s leg a big squeeze of her own, “Thank you, Uncle Jinnie! Love it so much!”

He chuckles, smoothing down her hair, “Anything for the birthday girl! You haven’t even taken a look around yet, sweetheart. Go find Uncle Joon and he’ll show you everything.”

“Okay!” Her form is only a blur when she rushes out.

He smiles. “You guys are on time,” and he says it like it’s a complete surprise.

A brow arches. “When are we not?”

“New years,” he recalls. “You both made it five minutes late after the countdown.”

Jungkook slips behind you to set the bags down. “That’s not fair.”

You agree. “Yeona was two years old that year. She had a hard time handling the fireworks. I had to coax her to sleep through the phone that night.”

His head tilts in reason, “Fair.”

Jungkook nudges you. “Where do you want these?”

You shrug, turning to Seokjin. “Depends where you want us, Jin.”

“It’s up to you guys. Taehyung and Jimin already took two of the guest rooms. There’s only three more.”

“Kiumin is sleeping over, so they can have one room,” you calculate. “And Hyejin’s coming with Kiumin, so we can split.”

The older man stares wide-eyed at his roommate. Jungkook stares back with the same expression, so Seokjin asks for him, “Split?”

You’re too busy with some of the messages on your phone regarding birthday wishes to your daughter, vaguely returning them with typed out thank you’s and kissy faces. “Yeah.”

“Does that mean you and—“

You send him an odd stare before turning around and grabbing onto your own bags, disregarding Jungkook’s. “Of course not—? I’m rooming with Hyejin and Jungkook can have the extra room to himself.”

“.. Right.”

“Is it this way?” You ask without a clue to the men behind you.

“Uh, yeah! Let me help you,” Seokjin rushes.

Jungkook is left at the doorway, all alone and with his own bags and a fuming heart that drags as if the slim possibility of what would have happened was anything more to go by.

It’s nighttime now.

You’ve directed Hyejin to your room and have let her unpack while you watched over Yeona and her little boy.

Your knees bend into a crouch, the familiar smell of chlorine filling your senses when you near the water.

Jungkook's hair flicks back when his fingers push through them and the blue rays of the water reflect against his chest. His collarbones glisten against the minimal light the night provides, making it harder to strictly set your eyes forward and stray away from anything that wasn’t his own.

“You couldn’t have waited a second for everyone to settle in before dipping into the pool?”

He pouts. “Why?”

Head tilting, you pin him a stare and direct your eyesight towards the pink floatie in the corner, swaying calmly. “Because Yeona’s been eyeing that giant flamingo and now she’s asking to hop in with you.”

“Let her in, then. Namjoon’s already here.”

Your head turns to the outdoor bar and they pin the figure reading a book with amusement when he sends off a small wave.

“But then Kiumin..”

Hyejin walks in with a relaxed sigh at the sight in front of her when she passes through the widened double-doors. “Too bad it’s nighttime. I could’ve been tanning.”

“Hyejin!” You gawk at her bikini. “You’re going in too?”

She nods in an obvious answer. “Kiumin’s been begging me to let him jump in since we’ve gotten here, and with a view like this — how could I say no?”

Jungkook points. “See? Our friend is obviously taking the advantage of being here.”

“We are way far from friends, Jeon,” she practically snarls back. “It’s almost insulting when you say it like that.”

“Hyejin,” you warn, and turn back to the man standing in the waist-deep side of the pool now.

Ignoring your friend’s hatred fueled statements, he coaxes. “Come on,” he lulls. “Taehyung and Jimin are already planning to jump in too.”

Your head shakes in decline, “I can’t. I didn’t even pack a swimsuit, only Yeona’s.”

“I have one laying out for you in the room,” Hyejin pitches and your eyes widen significantly. “It’s the one I’ve been meaning to give you.”

“Perfect!” Seokjin claps by the doors, tray full of glasses and the two children following right behind him. “We can start having a pool party!” They immediately cheer and your mind starts to reel in defeat.

You rub your arms shyly, “I-I’m fine. I don’t really feel like swimming right now..”

Hyejin snorts. “Don’t even lie. We used to be obsessed with the pool when we were kids. We can do it again for old times’ sake! Show our kids where they got it from.”

“Literally, what does that have to do with anything in wanting to swim? Aren’t kids naturally drawn to the pool, because it’s a pool?” You grit.

“I’m just saying to take the chance and relax,” she stresses and her arms extend, waving around carelessly. “We’re here!”

“You’re going to miss out if you don’t get in,” Jungkook bets, and he knows how much you despise being the outsider while everyone had their share of fun. You loathed the plain idea of it. “Just put the bikini on and stop being a pussy.”

“J-Jungkook!”

Childish. Absolutely childish.

You hear footsteps approaching right behind you, the vow reaching your ears. “I’ll only jump in if we do it together.”

Taehyung’s head shakes side to side, eyes narrowing at the shorter man with apprehension. “You pull back every fucking time we do it. I won’t fall for it again.”

Jungkook’s throat clears at the two and he orders his friends, “Tell _____ to get in the pool.”

Taehyung’s brow furrows, “She doesn’t want to? It’s the pool—and we’re in Jeju!”

You stubbornly shake your head. “Don’t care.”

Jimin has a teasing glint in his eye, something you dislike a lot when it’s crystal clear he has something stirring up in his sick head of his, especially since Taehyung had turned down the proposal of his playful and expectant joke.

“We can—grab her and push her in?” He suggests.

“That’s elementary school shit, Jimin,” you warn. “Get away from me.”

He’s inching closer and you’re nervously sputtering for Jungkook, helplessly calling for him to get his friend from throwing you in the water so carelessly.

Luckily, a small hand grapples onto you and it’s Yeona with eager feet who stops Jimin in his tracks. “Mommy, t-the pink birdie!”

You have a staring contest with it, the one side of the floating flamingo’s eye stares back at you and you exhale a puff before finally standing back up. “Alright, come on. Let’s get dressed.”

The white bikini on you terrifies you enough to cross your arms over yourself and skirt around the edge of the pool until you reach the chairs where Hyejin sits.

No one’s noticed yet. Not when Jungkook and the rest were already in the pool, putting on the floaties for the children who sat on the pathed ledges made of stone. At some point, you can see both of Jungkook’s eyes completely wiped out and squeezed shut when Yeona excitedly flaps her arms around the water, hyper to get in.

“Hyejin,” you hiss out, finally reaching your friend.

She hums with furrowed brows, too distracted in trying to connect her phone to the bluetooth speaker.

“Why in the world would you give me something like this. I-It’s too much,” you whimper out weakly.

Her eyes roll back. “It’s a bikini, _____. Remember those? I bet you look great—“ She screeches, chin dropping, hands hovering over her mouth. You flinch, just as shocked as she was, shushing her to shut up before anyone even has the chance in blinking your way.

“Holy shit.”

Eyes squeezing shut, you shy in on yourself, carefully taking the wooden pool-chair beside her. “Please, shut up.”

Her arms raise, “I haven’t said anything—yet.”

You scowl. “You seriously couldn’t have given me any other fucking set? Like a wetsuit? This is too weird for me.”

She cackles. “Relax,” she attempts to ease. “Why are you so freaked out? It’s just a swimsuit.”

Your head knocks back against the wood and you sigh tiredly. “It’s been way too long since I’ve worn something like this. Something not.. Mom-ish.”

“And why not? This literally proves how much of a Milf you really are!” She stresses.

You shrug shyly. “I haven’t had much of a reason to.”

“Well, I’m begging you to. Seriously, _____,” she reassures.

You quietly break into a laugh, smacking at her arm harshly.

“Where’s mommy?” You hear Jungkook suddenly ask, and you think you’re a hundred percent fucked.

Yeona’s voice is muffled against your ex-husband’s chest, incoherently explaining, “Mommy was already running away when we got outside.”

“Running away?”

“Yeah! Kind’ve like a ninja. She was there and then—poof!”

You don’t even announce your bathroom break to Hyejin, standing up and rushing over towards the doors that were close yet so far away.

It would only be a second before you would reach it, and straight into changing back to the sundress that was always deemed as safe.

Part of you wishes that you could parade around with no care, being so long since you’ve gone out in something like this. But another part that tears you completely, thinks about Kim Seol and how different she is compared to you.

With stark personalities and looks, you most likely would have never even thought about comparing you from her. But now that Jungkook was going out with her, everything’s changed, and your mind reels into thinking how in the world he had the chance of going to someone else completely different from you, and if he even liked you in the first place, relationship and marriage long forgotten, not even being considered in this context.

You weren’t exactly sure how long this feeling would last, and maybe it wouldn’t, sticking to all of the new relationships he would continue to open up now that he was available.

Sure, he’s seen you plenty of times in bed and in the shower from the past years of being together. But this is now and before he had anything younger, more vibrant.

This was possibly the only thing you could take away from him. Seeing anything physical to compare you with another was the only thing you truly, absolutely wished for.

You accidentally collide against something. Hard and wide.

And when you eventually look up, you’re relieved to only find Namjoon with a bag of chips in hand.

“Shit, are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine, Joon. Sorry for—running?”

He chuckles, pointing back to his boyfriend back inside of the house. “Save it for the lifeguard, but he’s off-duty right now mixing margaritas for everyone.”

You attempt to let out the same energy of a laugh as his, but it all turns dry and brittle, making him halt and inspect. “You okay, _____?”

“O-Of course I am.”

A few murmurs are made at the back of your figure until a small voice calls out, “Mommy! Over here!”

Letting out a small gasp, you reluctantly turn around, weakly mustering a smile and avoiding the eyes that officially lay on you when he notices.

“Hi, baby.”

“Mommy!” She splashes. “Swim with me and daddy!”

“U-Uh..”

“Looks like your daughter wants you to get in the pool.”

Turning back to Namjoon, you stiffly nod, “Yeah.”

“If you’re worried about the temperature, don’t worry. It’s heated.”

Far from your true concern, you manage to give him a thumbs-up and head back to the very place you’ve been trying to escape.

“I’ll be there in a minute, okay? Let me go get Aunt Hyejin first.” It’s truly for your sake more than for hers, a cry for help in a situation you could have easily avoided if you had just never put the bikini on. “I hate this,” you managed to mutter against your breath when you finally reached her. “I’m never listening to you ever again.”

She yelps when you rip the towel away from her, tugging tightly at her arm, urging her to get up. “Hey!” She pouts.

“Come on,” you order. “Yeona wants to swim and I am not doing this alone.”

She sits up and observes, quietly biting on a sly chuckle when she notices.

“What now?”

“Nothing,” she waves off. “It’s just—your ex is making googly eyes right now.”

You groan, stomping impatiently. “Hyejin, stop lying and get up.”

“I’m not lying,” she pleads. “I swear — I’m looking at him right now!”

“I don’t care,” you deadpan.

When she finally stands, you put a death-grip on her arm and timidly walk towards the pool.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry,” you sheepishly say, releasing a bit.

It’s a pleasant feeling when the warm water wets the bottom surface of your feet, and your shoulders subconsciously relax when your waist-deep.

Hyejin coos at her little boy, proud of her son when she watches Jimin help, something more in her eyes that go starry at the man who leads him through the water.

“Thanks, Hyejin,” you whisper.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” she pats softly at your arm. “I know how nervous you are and all. Just don’t, okay? You’ll be fine.”

You weakly smile at her again before finally sending her off.

When she moves out of your view and directly towards Jimin and her son, you find Yeona eagerly waiting for you.

Taehyung has his eyes blown at the sight of you, whistling with your name trapped between his lips, which exactly makes you wrap your arms tighter around yourself. Of course, he’s teasing, the natural flirt in him most likely powering over him.

Fortunately, you’re saved when he gets whacked with a strong push of water, Jungkook’s doing. You don’t notice it when your daughter cutely dog-paddles towards you.

All is forgotten, smile setting on your lips.

“Mommy! Stay right there, okay? I’ll swim to you.”

“Oh,” you perk, arms already rising beneath the water. With the long distance, you subtly move forward when her legs kick to make it easier on her, and within a few seconds, she’s splashing against your arms with a squeal.

You giggle. “Are you having fun?”

“So much, mommy!” She exclaims. “Daddy threw me up high when I wanted a splash.”

You gasp with a smile, nerves diminishing. “Really? I wish I was there to see it.”

“Are you too cold?” A voice asks from behind her and you hesitantly face Jungkook, always polite and concerned for your well-being, except there was definitely something else in his eyes you weren’t able to pinpoint and didn’t bother to anyway, now that you were in the water.

You stiffly smile and shake your head. “I’m fine. The water feels really nice.”

He nods. “T-That’s good.”

God, he feels like it’s high school all over again, having no utter idea in starting a conversation with a girl, wanting to, but not even knowing exactly how.

Still, he can’t stop the burning stare, even when your attention zeroes back in on Yeona.

The nice music sets a comforting nuance around the place, hearing splashes coming from everywhere, specifically when Seokjin’s yelling resonates from the chairs when Taehyung targets him with a cheeky grin.

“The slices of watermelon are here, you dick!” He scowls.

Jimin butts in with a scold to the older man, telling him to censor his words around the children.

Jungkook doesn’t have time to hear the continued argument when he’s hit with an expectant splash of water of his own.

He doesn’t even need to ask a second later when he hears the both of you giggling. Wiping away the drops on his face and in his eyes, he brushes strands of hair back to get a good look at the satisfied looks on both of your faces. He approaches slowly.

Your head shakes, already aware of what Jungkook was doing — getting his revenge.

“I-It was Yeonie’s idea!”

She only giggles louder, knowing fully well she would easily be the untouched one out of this.

“Jungkook, I swear to god if you do anything to me-“

Your warning goes straight out when strong arms turn you around to face your daughter. Fully wrapping them around your form for a slim chance of being able to escape, you hear a soft chuckle against your ear.

“I think it’d be fun to splash mommy, huh?” He teases and you tense.

“Jungkook—!”

“Yeah, let’s do it!” She pumps a tiny fist from out of the water.

“Sweetheart, no! Listen to me-“

Your nose scrunches, hair whipping with you to cover your face when she splashes. Jungkook helps along the way by releasing an arm and moving some of the water forward against you to hit you square in the face. His wave comes stronger and does an excellent job at soaking you completely.

You gasp, wiping some of the water away from your face. “Okay, please, I’m sorry,” you whine, gripping his wrists softly, eyes squeezed shut.

He falters at the frail sight of you, easily making you his biggest weakness.

“It’s okay, mommy,” Yeona speaks up first. “I forgive you.”

“Hey!” You scoff with a pout. “It wasn’t even my idea.”

Her eyes crease and she giggles loudly.

“_____!” Hyejin suddenly calls, and your chin tilts up to find your best friend. “Kiumin wants to play with the birthday girl.”

Yeona eagerly looks up at you and you simply nod with a smile, letting her small legs kick and float over to her best friend.

“Ah,” you realize, now being all alone. “I think I should go now.”

Still, with his arms wrapped around you, he leans closer, “What, why?” And it’s needy, wanting to pull you closer than what he already has. “Can’t you stay?”

“Yeona’s all the way over there and we’re..” Exes with barely anything to talk about or to get along in general. It wasn’t in the book you’ve written out for yourself and probably never will be. “I-I have to get her cake ready. Your mom worked really hard on it.”

“I’ll help you put the candles on it,” he quickly offers. “Just.. Just stay here with me for a while.”

A brow raises and you turn in his arms. “And do what?”

He feigns in thinking about it, sharp jaw tilting for you to settle your eyes on.

Seokjin interrupts with a call of his name and a raised brow at the sight.

You clear your tight throat and gulp when he hands Jungkook a towel. “Your phone is ringing,” and then carefully gives it to him over the water.

You observe him as he answers. “Hello?”

A female voice is heard on the other end and you sense the way he pulls back a bit, that it was Seol. Her muffled voice is enough to push you back into reality and to what exactly you were doing before the call.

“Ah, hey..” He awkwardly greets, nodding to whatever she was saying. Your head turns away when his eyes land on yours and you feign interest at the potted plant set right next to the door that led inside. “I’m at the house now with.. Everyone else.”

He chokes up a bit when she says another thing, and you don’t understand until he returns the words.

“I—I miss you too.”

Swallowing harshly, your expression hardens, and you begin to pull back.

“I’ll call you later tonight, alright?” He assures, almost in a rush. Your ears catch some of her words, not really interested in any of the conversation anyway, wanting to create a distance between you and Jungkook before anything else would happen, before you would hear something else you wouldn’t want to be hearing at all.

Finally hanging up, he takes a slow breath in and sets the phone at the side of the pool.

You finally pull away from him completely.

“_____.”

You give a curt smile. “Yeah?”

His head shakes. “Nothing. It’s just.. Are you okay?”

You nod, slightly with bewildering eyes, asking, “Why wouldn’t I be?” Then, you laugh softly. “We’re not married anymore, Jungkook.” He stiffens, jaw ticking and eyes shifting to catch your flat expression. “And from what I clearly remember — you’re seeing someone else.” You point towards the phone laying carelessly on top of the stone.

For once, you feel bad for the poor girl who’s probably wondering when his goodnight text from him would be.

You keep your eyes on his hands that sink and submerge into the water, and back to his sides.

“Just because it’s our daughter's birthday does not entail us playing family again,” you mumble. “You took that all away from me two years ago, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t say anything, shamefully looking down at the waves in the pool caused by Yeona a few feet away. A reminder that was given way too late.

You nod again, turning slowly around. “I’m going to go get the cake ready. I’ll ask Hyejin to help.”

With the distance you’ve given him, he finally looks up and finds a disapproving look being given by his own roommate, who had seen and observed every single second of the two of you together since being in the pool.

He understood exactly why.

Everybody eventually makes their way out of the pool and back into the house to hang out at.

The same subtle music speakers through the house, the kids being fully entertained by the large television in the living room, and the inside of the house being overall in a mood and feeling that definitely differs from your own thoughts that constantly circle around your head.

Whatever Jungkook was getting at in the pool, definitely wasn’t sitting with you right. And frankly, everything leading up to it too.

The process of the divorce was already stripping and tiring enough, finalizing the documents and who would get exactly what was already overwhelming enough, but to throw all of that away and not even consider it when you’re wrapped in the arms you were so accustomed to was entirely stressful.

It didn’t make sense. It never did when it came to him.

“Yeonie, are you getting sleepy already?” You ask across the room from the kitchen as you watch your little girl yawn and squirm on top of the fluffy carpet she lays on.

Her head stubbornly shakes with a pout set on her lips.

Glancing at the clock sat beside her, it was only eight, but judging from the exertion taken place at the pool, Yeona must have been exhausted.

Your feet move to where she lays lazily, crouching down and moving her towards your lap, you murmur, “Stay awake for me, baby. You haven’t even blown the candles or opened your presents yet.”

She yawns in protest and nuzzles her nose further into your neck. “Not even a nap?”

Chuckling softly, probably making it worse for her when your fingers trace against her back, you repeat, “Not even a nap.” Saying it exactly knowing what that would entail, Yeona misinterpreting what a nap and sleep was more often than not.

Jungkook comes back with damp hair and sweats, black socks shuffling through the floor until they reach you.

“Hey,” you greet, looking down at the sleepy-head in your arms. “She’s tired.”

He hums, crouching down with an endeared smile. “I can see.”

“I swear,” you promise to Yeona, patting her back. “Dinner is almost done and then you can go to sleep, alright?” Your eyes search for Jungkook’s and you request, “Keep her awake while I get everything ready?”

His arms stretch and extend out, and you pass off the small body in your arms.

His lips instinctively purse to a gentle shush and rocks her gently when he feels her squirm.

You glare. “I said keep her awake, not encourage her to count the sheep.”

He winces. “This is new! Usually I’m doing the exact opposite.” He lifts her head, and begins his futile attempts in keeping her eyes open. “Alright, sweetheart. What mommy says, it always goes, so you’re going to have to help me out here, okay?”

She mumbles incoherently.

“Come on,” he nudges, “Up.”

“Play that dancing game she likes,” you suggest.

Taehyung from the couch, perks at that. “God, I love that game,” inputting himself in the conversation and inviting himself a second later, “Please count me in.”

“You think they have any games like that for kids?” He specifies with a swift look at his friend and Taehyung sends a throw pillow his way.

Seokjin quickly dissipates it with a scold of how much the pillows cost and which country they were exactly from.

You eye the bar full of wires and game controllers, easily making the assumption quickly, “With the eight different consoles I’m staring at, they must.”

His head dips down. “How does that sound, baby? You want to dance?”

Yeona’s completely untouchable when she’s grumpy, so it doesn’t come to a surprise when her arms reels back to try to smack her father away from talking to her anymore.

Luckily, he dodges it.

But as her eyes open wider and catches an eyeful of Jungkook dancing along with Kiumin and Taehyung twenty minutes later, she ends up joining them in the end, the same jittery moves she first walked in with.

You pull Hyejin out of her light conversation with Jimin, opting to question her tinted cheeks for later when it would be time to head to bed.

Of course, Hyejin will want to pry whenever and wherever, deeming it acceptable when it’s noisy enough with the conversations and laughs airing through it. “Want to talk about it?” Hyejin, located beside you who unwraps the carefully decorated box, asks carefully.

You feign cluelessness to the subject. “Not sure about what.”

She pins you a stare. “Come on. I saw what happened. Everybody did.”

Shrugging, you grab the candles, sticking them carefully, three on top and three at the bottom. You would’ve gotten the actual number six, but Jungkook had argued that it would be more fun for your daughter to blow as many candles as she can, the singular candle not being enough for a kid’s satisfaction.

“I don’t know,” you start unsurely. “It’s just weird, is all. It’s always hot and cold when I’m with him — having weird moments happen every so often and reminding him where the line starts and ends, and then acting perfectly poised when Yeona’s there.”

Her back hits the counter as she leans, arms crossed and head shaking. “This needs to stop, _____,” she says honestly. “He can’t keep going back and forth like this, completely forgetting everything else that happened — you’re broken up for a reason.”

“Forget it,” you dismiss with a bite to your lip. “It’s not like I stopped him on time. For a second, I forgot about everything too.”

She’s visibly stumped, stern expression faltering and letting the silence bloom, other than the outdated pop music and stomping in the background.

“_____..”

“I’m not going to sit here and blame him for every little thing that I could have controlled myself if I just stayed in my own lane,” distressed hands and fingers pull against your hair and you sigh out, eyes closing shut and feet swaying a little. The throbbing in your head continues and pulls at you venomously, like it couldn’t get enough from the first time.

Hyejin’s eyes widen and she rushes over to you in full concern. “Babe, are you okay?”

You nod, even if your furrowed brows clearly show the opposite. “Of course,” you pass off, eyes darting to the same place they’ve been at all night.

He’s still dancing and smiling.

“He’s not my husband anymore.”

And you say it again, wanting it to stick inside of your head until it fully processes, that it’s your fault just as much as his, for playing against the papers and agreements you’ve spent so many nights and days over. A constant reminder for the rest of your life, and not the other. Not the one that consists of vows and promises. Never that one anymore.

You muster a quick smile, turning to her gaping mouth who yearns to reach out, but you refuse it when you turn the corner, beginning to set everything up at the main table.

“Is the birthday girl ready?” Your voice drags, upbeat lilt feigning the pounding in your head.

High pitched squeals resound from the main room and their small feet bounce against the hardwood.

Jungkook follows suit.

“Me!” Yeona calls excitedly, “It’s me, Mommy!”

“Woah,” Kiumin gapes. “You’re cake is awesome, Yeonie!”

She giggles and hops on her tippy-toes to get a peek, “Thanks! My grandma made it.”

“Oh,” Kiumin nods. “She’s awesome.”

You chuckle softly at the kids, smiling down at the cute cake. You go to pull out your phone for pictures and videos to make sure she would see her work being fully appreciated.

Jungkook hoists Yeona up on the chair, her lifted cheeks and glittering eyes proving her excitement when she sees the candles already lit.

“Has it already been six years, already?” Seokjin asks in disbelief, plates and forks already in his hand to set down on the table.

You nod, pouting and squishing one of her cheeks, “Already a big girl.”

Yeona hums, “Basically a grown-up now!”

Hyejin bursts in laughter, everybody following right behind.

“Alright,” Jungkook sighs, arms circling around her softly, placing a kiss on the top of her head. Fondly staring down at his rapidly growing little girl, the same feeling you hold to your chest. “Don’t need to rub it into our faces, miss.”

Your camera clicks on its own, a fond smile subconsciously forming.

“Are we ready to sing?” Namjoon timidly asks. You turn to find him weary at the sight on the wax that begins to drip rapidly. “It’s just—the candles are starting to melt.”

You laugh, nodding. “Alright, let’s sing.”

It starts off normal, a little bit muted, until Kiumin bursts into a full performance for his best friend. Until Seokjin follows along and throws in an impromptu dance routine. Her father and the others join in right after, impressed at how eerily good it actually looked, almost looking rehearsed. But then you familiarize yourself with the sharp moves, the hands and arms showcasing that it was the corny traffic dance Seokjin taught them all a few years back on one drunk night.

Until eventually everybody does their best in throwing Yeona in a fit of giggles.

You join her side and guide her into making a wish, clamping her hands shut and scrunching her eyes closed, until the commotion quiets and she opens her eyes with hopefulness written all over it.

Kiumin is the first to question through the silence. “What’d you wish for, Yeonie?”

She simply smiles, glancing at you from her side, and then moving her gaze straight to Jungkook.

She subtly shakes her head, voice so soft, almost completely blurred into a whisper, “If I tell you, it’ll never come true.”

* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*. * .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.

hi, i’m back omg. i had to take some time away bc midway of finishing this up, literally a few paragraphs away, i ended up having my mental health spiral down. but now, i’m better and managed to finish this part.

also please tell me ur thoughts! i crave validation n use ur feedback as my fuel towards anything i write. :]

* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*. * .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.* .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.

#mine #bts #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #full stop

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

Prompt: Newt has never seen the appeal of threesomes, frankly. They seem like more trouble than they're worth. But now there's two Hermanns standing in front of him, and his first thought (after "Did I take my meds?" , "Do I need new glasses?" , and "What the fuck is happening?") is that he needs both of them, immediately.

Anonymous said: Prompt (if you haven't written it already!) where due to time travel shenanigans, newt gets spit roasted by hermann(s)

i love how many requests i get for this kinda stuff HAHAHAH i technically have written this three times before, but in honor of newt’s birthday, let’s go for a fourth! MAJOR not sfw below cut!!!

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Newt is distracted as hell when he half-jogs into the lab one otherwise ordinary birthday afternoon, which might explain why he doesn’t see that there are two Hermanns at first. There’s too much on his mind—picking a club for tonight, what dissections he has to get done today before they can go out to a club, whether or not he remembered to wash his sexy club clothes, and if it even matters, because they’re just gonna get covered in glitter again. Whether or not the barista got Hermann’s coffee order right this time. Whether or not the special birthday breakfast pastries survived the journey. “It’s pouring out there,” he complains to Hermann, pushing his soaked hair out of his eyes and scraping his boots off on the pathetic rubber mat they keep in the doorway. “If it doesn’t let up, we might wanna reconsider going out tonight.”

“Newton,” Hermann says.

“Sweaty, wet bodies in a small room? Gross. No thanks.” Newt inspects the pastries: the brown wrappings of the one on top are slightly water-logged, but the pastry itself is fine. Perfect. “We could just rent a movie.”

“Newton,” Hermann says.

“And order some pizza.” Man, that’d make for a nice birthday. All cozied up in Newt’s bed with a monster movie and pizza. “Actually, let’s do that instead. I kinda wanted to go dancing, but—”

Hermann bangs his cane against the floor. It echoes strangely, almost as if he’s doing it twice at once, and Newt turns to him in confusion—or, as he discovers, them. He drops his pastry. He polishes his glasses free of water, and crams them back onto his face. He blinks a few times. “Oh, shit,” he says. “Dude, there are two of you.”

“I know,” both Hermanns say, and roll their eyes.

Newt approaches them cautiously. Two Hermanns. One of them is undoubtedly Newt’s Hermann, judging by his bad haircut, bad glasses, and bad clothing, which is the same boring slacks and sweater combo he was wearing when Newt left for coffee an hour ago. The other Hermann is a Hermann unlike one Newt’s ever seen before, clad in dark colors, with hair cropped somewhat more evenly and twice as many wrinkles around his eyes. Not two Hermanns—it can’t be two Hermanns. That’s a scientific impossibility. “Your brother,” Newt says. He knows Hermann has an older one, though the odds of Hermann having an older brother who uses a cane identical to his, on the same side as his, is a little slim.

“No,” Hermann says.

“You cousin?” Newt says.

“No,” the other Hermann says, but the corner of his mouth twitches up with an obvious fondness. “Your earlier assessment was correct, I’m afraid. There are two of me.”

Newt glances between them again. Same soft, brown eyes; same dark eyelashes; same weird, wide lips; same elegant cheekbones. Is Newt dreaming? No, he’s sure he’s not dreaming—it’s too, like, real to be a dream. (Besides, Newt’s brain is never this kind to him, and if it was, he would’ve just skipped the boring build-up and gone straight to the threeway.) Is he having some sort of a mental break, brought on by stress, or forgetting to take his meds somewhere along the line? Unlikely—Newt’s been way more stressed before, and he’s skipped his meds before, and he’s never had a reaction like this. It must be real. “Well, shit,” he finally says. “Hermann, this is the best birthday present ever.”

“Er,” Newt’s Hermann says. “It is?”

Newt cups the side of the new Hermann’s face, feeling it, inspecting it, reveling in the warmth of his skin. Yep—real, definitely real. Real and handsome. Newt pats his cheek. “You cloned yourself just so we could have an awesome birthday threesome,” Newt says. “That’s really touching, Hermann, seriously. I promise I won’t let you down.”

“No,” Hermann says. “That’s not—”

New Hermann gently places his hand over Newt’s, leaning into his touch, and smiles. There’s a hint of sadness to it Newt doesn’t quite understand. “I’m not a clone, darling,” he says.

“Oh, I like him,” Newt says. “He’s nicer. Definitely not a clone, then. Who are you, then, hot stuff?”

“He’s—oh.” Hermann sighs. “It all sounds so silly when I try to say it out loud. He’s from the future, Newton.”

Newt hums, considering New Hermann. Yeah, that makes more sense. Eye wrinkles. However far off in the future he’s from, apparently he’s picked up a bit more fashion sense by then, and maybe even a bit of style. “You came back in time just to have an awesome birthday threesome with me?” Newt guesses.

New Hermann laughs. Eye wrinkles, style, and apparently some sort of major head injury where he forgets how bad he and Newt hate each other. The future is now, or whatever. “Truthfully,” he says, “arriving on your birthday was unintentional. It’s difficult to get exact dates correctly with the sort of technology I was using, you see.”

“Apparently there’s some great big event that happens in 2035 that it’s absolutely imperative he warn us about,” Hermann says.

That’s a bit of a let down. Still cool by virtue of time travel, Newt guesses, but awesome birthday threesome would’ve been more exciting. “Oh,” he says. A let down, and a shame, really, because 11-years-into-the-future Hermann is pretty sexy, and Newt was hoping for the chance to get his hands on some of that. Or maybe get those hands on him. He’s not picky. “I mean,” he tries, one last desperate attempt, “what’s the rush, you know? You can always tell us afterwards.”

“Afterwards?” Future Hermann says.

“Afterwards,” Newt repeats. He grabs Future Hermann by the lapels of his dark labcoat and smiles cheekily. “You can spare a couple hours, can’t you, dude? For the birthday boy?”

A sudden warmth blooms behind the future Hermann’s eyes; his mouth stretches into a smile of his own, goofy and affectionate. Future Hermann sure seems to like him. Newt hasn’t got a problem with that in the slightest, actually. “Er, a couple,” he stammers, and Newt hears Hermann—his Hermann—inhale sharply, like he’s just been offended to the utmost degree. “I suppose that’s— Well, I suppose there’s no real problem there. It’s not as if I’m on a schedule. Time travel. After all.”

“After all,” Newt says. “What about you, Hermann?

Newt’s Hermann is silent for a little too long to be anything but considering. “Er,” he says.

“Good,” Newt says.

--------

“Alright, boys,” Newt says, “I’m not as young as I used to be, so I can’t promise I’m very good at this anymore.”

“Anymore?” Newt’s Hermann says.

Newt winks at him over his shoulder. He has a witty joke on the edge of his tongue, but it dies when the Hermann in front of him (older, nicer Hermann) begins to tenderly stroke his jaw without warning. “You’ve always been so handsome,” Hermann says. His hand trails up the side of Newt’s face and stops in his hair, where he begins to twirl a strand around his finger. Newt shivers. “I could stare at you all day.”

“That’s kinda creepy, Hermann,” Newt says. “And cute, I guess? Okay, here goes.”

He opens his mouth wide and takes in Hermann’s—the new Hermann’s—dick as deep as he can, which is somewhere around the three-fourths mark. He used to be a lot better at deep-throating in his twenties. Also, Hermann is somewhat very well-endowed. “Bugger,” the future Hermann moans. His eyes flicker shut, and his grip in Newt’s hair tightens, and Newt feels a surge of pride. He’s always loved being able to turn Hermann to jelly like this, and apparently some things never chance. He hopes future Newt is still giving it to Hermann like this. “Newton, that’s marvelous.”

“Oh, by Jove,” Newt’s Hermann murmurs. He’s standing behind them at the edge of the bed, his knees braced against it gently. He’s also undoubtedly enjoying the view. Newt smiles around Hermann’s dick (puffing out his cheeks for show, just a little), and wriggles his ass obnoxiously at his Hermann. He needed the guy inside of him five minutes ago, goddamn it. Hermann seems to get the hint: there’s a shaking hand placed on his hip, a lone finger prodding his lube-slick entrance to check he’s properly prepared, and then Hermann’s dick sliding into him inch-by-inch. Newt moans.

“Newton,” the two Hermanns groan out in near-unison, the one as Newt begins to bob his head up and down his dick, the other as he bottoms out and his pelvis hits Newt’s ass.

Newt pulls his mouth off of Hermann’s dick for only a second. “Fuck me already,” he begs. His voice is raspy even to his own ears.

He’s not sure which Hermann he’d intended to direct the plea towards, but both take it to heart: the Hermann behind Newt begins to rock in and out of him, picking up speed with each little thrust, while the Hermann in front of Newt pushes his dick back between Newt’s lips and begins a series of shallow thrusts of his own. Newt feels speared open, and used; Newt feels fucking awesome. “Mm,” he moans. He ruts against the bedsheets lazily.

“Wait, wait,” the Hermann fucking his mouth suddenly says, voice breathless. “Your—ah—your timing is not quite right.”

“It most certainly is right,” the Hermann in his ass huffs. “You’re meant to be following my lead. Yours is off.”

“Hardly,” the first Hermann says. “Stop moving—we need a bloody rhythm. We needn’t overwhelm Newton.”

Both of them still. Newt hears them debating how to proceed in a series of hissed whispers (though he’s too busy happily sucking on Hermann’s dick to bother with proper eavesdropping), and then the Hermann behind him is pulling out, while the Hermann in front of him pushes further into his mouth and down his throat. Newt’s throat burns pleasurably; his eyes begin to water, and he gags very slightly. “There we are,” the first Hermann continues in a grunt. “Now—” He pulls out until the wet head of his dick is just grazing Newt’s lips, while the other Hermann pushes back into Newt’s ass. “Much neater.”

Newt swallows down a hysterical laugh, or maybe it’s more of a whimper, and just grins instead. “You guys work it out?”

“Shut it,” the Hermann behind him gasps. He grinds deep in Newt, hitting all the right spots, and Newt is grateful for the return of the other Hermann’s dick in his mouth to muffle him before he can really make an embarrassing sound.

They keep up the pattern for all of five minutes, which Newt is pretty impressed with. Slowly, though, they start to get impatient; lingering too long inside of Newt, or pulling out a bit too slowly, or jumping the gun just a bit too early to rock back in. The Hermann in behind is the first to snap and forgo it entirely, suddenly gripping onto Newt’s waist and pounding into him as hard as he can. Not that Newt is complaining. “Ah, Newton, that’s so—” he moans, and Newt rewards him with a little teasing squeeze, “I—”

“Mmhm,” Newt says. Part of him wants to start worrying about his own orgasm, but honestly, he’s enjoying this too much.

Getting an idea, he pulls his mouth off of Hermann and replaces it with his hand. Hermann always gets really embarrassed when Newt lets him come on his face, and he’s curious about if that’s changed in eleven years. “This feels so awesome,” he says. He begins jerking Hermann off quickly, barely a centimeter from his lips. He’s sure he’s gonna say some dumb shit—he loses his mouth to brain filter (which already works at minimum capacity) completely when he’s this turned on. “So, so awesome. I wanna do it again with both of you guys in my ass or something, but I want you to come all over me first, fuck yeah, come on, Hermann, do it—”

“Newton!” the Hermann above him chokes out, throwing a hand over his eyes, which gives Newt all the warning he needs to stick his tongue out and catch a small portion of his jizz. The rest makes a mess of his glasses. Kinda gross. Pretty hot, too.

He’s not surprised when he feels the Hermann behind him stiffen and come in him only a second later, cursing and gasping—he really does like to see Newt messy.

While they both collapse to the bed and attempt to catch their breath, Newt rubs his fingers through the mess one Hermann made of his face and uses it as lube to stroke himself off. He doesn’t take very long, either, considering this is definitely one of the hottest things to ever happen to him. Top five birthdays for sure.

“So,” he says, ten minutes later. He’s positioned himself in bed as the middle of the Hermann sandwich. Both Hermanns (arms draped around Newt) look at him, but Newt only looks back at Future Hermann. “What did you come here to tell us?”

“Oh,” Future Hermann says. He blushes. “Er. Right.”

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous #with ten mins to spare in his (EST) bday!!!!#not sfw //////

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lepus-arcticus · 4 years

Text

43.

He studies the artefact of her voice on his machine, cataloguing each inflection, mentally charting each subtle flux of her pitch. He replays her empty missive over and over, hunting for distress signals, visualizing the choreography of her lips and teeth and tongue as they conspire to lie to him. Her apartment is empty, her cell phone turned off.

He can’t help but conjure impressions of her in distress; the barrel of a gun shoved into her warm, yielding temple, her slim, vein-mapped wrists rubbed raw, bleeding into knotted jute. He pores over emails signed with her name, finding no trace of her mellow cadence.

He sweats and he paces, his skin feels too tight. It’s happening all over again. It’s Duane Barry howling at the peak of Skyland Mountain, the lung-scraping cold of Antarctica ice.

The Scully he knows is not prone to fantasy. She is not easily manipulated. She does not play games, even when fate seems bent on maneuvering her like a queen on a chessboard. The Scully he knows is scrappy and canny and proud, and that’s what makes it all the worse.

All she has to show for her foolishness is a clutch of vacant wood-paneled offices and a blank CD. Disgust and devastation and relief gnash fiercely at each other within his chest. He can barely stand to look at her.

“I took an oath,” she pleads, pacing the shadowy perimeter of his apartment, the fray of her opium-poppy hair tangling with lamplight. Her mouth is set in a femme fatale snarl, her voice is low and thick. Mulder leans against the door frame, avoiding her eyes, knowing that the righteous blaze he’ll encounter there will burn him all the way down.

“It was my responsibility as a physician,” she continues. “If there was even the slightest possibility—”

Her hand comes to her forehead, like she’s had a revelation. “You know what? Fuck you, Mulder. I don’t need to explain myself.”

She turns on her heel and stalks to the door, yanking it open, sloshing light into the room.

A full-body swell of possessive wrath propels Mulder forward, and he lunges for her, clamps a hand around her wrist. He wrenches her back to him and slams the door closed, backing her up against it, pinning her captured hand to the wood beside her head. His pulse drones in his ears. He still can’t meet her eyes, but the defiant set of her jaw makes him ache to claim her, makes him so angry that for a moment, he thinks he might break down and cry, the way little boys rage in the face of playground injustice.

He crowds himself into her space, determined to bully her into submission, ducking his head to feel her quickening breath mingle with his. The tendons of her wrist flex under his palm. Her small, impertinent breasts rise and fall against his chest. “Mul—”

“Shut up.”

Kissing her isn’t fair, he knows, so he does it harder and better than ever before, gripping her jaw with his free hand, invading her mouth with arrogant, calculating lust.

See why you need me, Scully? He transmits the thought to her, rutting his growing erection against her belly while he kisses her senseless, secure in the knowledge that she likes him like this, that it gets her hot when he’s cruel and hard and selfish.

At least he has this. At least he knows that even at their worst, their most discordant, her body will listen to his, absorbing everything he hurls at it.

Scully knows it too, and she rips herself out of his grip with a frustrated gasp. She manages two frantic paces before he catches her from behind, an arm locked across her ribs, the other hand fumbling with the button at her fly.

“You gonna do to me what you did after Ed?” She pants, clawing at his forearm.

He nips her ear in retaliation. “Depends. You gonna ask me to stop this time?”

She struggles against him, but he can tell it’s not her best effort. He manages the button, gets her zipper down—

“He drugged me,” she says.

The oxygen leaves the room.

“The smoking man. He drugged me, undressed me while I was unconscious. Took my bra off. My panties. Probably did it nice and slow.”

Mulder loosens his hold, releasing her slowly, choking on a flood of horror and bile.

Scully turns to face him, and he finally musters the courage to meet her eyes, finding something like victory in their dark, acidic blue. “He made me wear this… this tight, tiny black dress. He stared at my tits with his mouth watering. He stank, Mulder. I had to breathe through my mouth.”

“Scully. Scully, what are you telling me?”

She stares him down, a hook at the corner of her mouth. “I would have done anything, you know. If he’d asked it of me.” “But... he didn’t,” Mulder says carefully, searching her face for confirmation. “And you… you wouldn’t have.”

“I would have,” she hisses back at him. “One night for the cure to all human disease? One night? How would it be any worse, any different, than what he’s done to my body already? He gave me cancer! Or did you forget? He controls this goddamned chip in my neck! He--he made children from me, Mulder, he stole my ova and used them to breed sick, doomed babies, my babies, babies I’ll never hold, never know, never get to say goodbye to. Seriously, what do you think the chances are that Emily was the only one? How many more do you think are out there?”

“Scully, stop it.”

“Might as well make the most of it, right? I would have let him use me in any way he wanted if it meant that I could save just one person—”

“—But it was a lie, Scully, a lie like all of his other lies! You would have thrown away your—”

“—It’s just a body, for Christ’s sake,” she snarls, and as if to demonstrate, she starts to strip, tearing impatiently at herself. “It’s meat and bone and—and, and tendon, and nerve. That’s it. That’s all it is. Look at it,” she says, throwing her shirt to the floor, tossing her arms up. “It’s nothing!” Her belly is muscular, pale, bullet-scarred. Her hip bones rise from her waistband like a challenge.

It’s not nothing. It’s his altar. It’s his mania, his confessional, his asylum.

His.

“He did this to get to me.” He knows it’s the wrong thing to say before it leaves his mouth, knows it sounds pathetic, knows he’s really pissed her off, even before the colour rises in her cheeks and her lips spring open to reveal her sharp little teeth.

“I’m not an extension of you, Mulder. You don’t own me.”

All the worst parts of him conspire to decide that it’s a challenge.

He crosses the fissure of energy and space that separates them, once again laying claim to her furious lips, swallowing her cry of objection. The neglected dining room table is only a few feet behind her, and he backs her up until there’s a clatter of resistance. He reaches blindly, shoving mail, newspapers, a stack of files to the floor, where they scatter like dead leaves in an autumn storm.

He knows she can’t hold out forever, and he’s right—and when he feels her soften and submit, when she goes slack and puts her arms around him and moans into his mouth, a dark whim like a restless spirit possesses him, body and soul.

He breaks his kiss and jerks her around, halving her over the table. Unclips her bra, pulls it from beneath her to fling across the room, scrapes his nails down her back. If the splintery, weathered thrift store wood is chafing her cheek, abrading her sensitive nipples, all the better.

One hand between her shoulder blades keeps her pinned, and he uses the other to rip her trousers and panties over her firm, sweet ass. He’s so hard now that he can feel every ridge and vein of his cock straining against his jeans, pulsing angrily, demanding attention. He wants to punish her, wants to make her beg. He wants to make her come so hard that she’ll never think of leaving him again.

His hand flies through the air. The resounding crack as it meets her ass is so, so good, just as good as her anguished yelp, her following whimper. The victimized patch of her skin pinks up, and he strokes it tenderly, making soothing sounds in the back of his throat.

Scully stretches her arms forward to grip the edge of the table. He wishes he was wearing a tie, so that he could rip it off and bind her wrists with it, spread her out and tie her to the table leg and leave her trembling and begging and cursing him out while he puts his feet up beside her face and finishes off a beer. He could do it with his belt, he supposes, but he’s a selfish, selfish man, and more than anything, he wants to fuck her.

He smacks her harder.

While she’s vocalizing her approval, he dips his fingers lower to slick through her hot, slippery pussy. He groans, then brings his hand up and wipes his fingers on her cheek, catching the corner of her mouth. “Wet,” he accuses her hoarsely.

Her eyelashes flicker, and she nods her confession.

She stays still while he frees himself from his jeans, his socks, his shirt. His cock bobs against her ass and his balls flex tight up to his shaft, but he wants to see her face, wants to make her look at him while he fucks himself back into her.

He hauls her off the table by her hips and turns her around. She’s ragdoll compliant, letting him strip her pants all the way off and lift her back up so that she’s sitting on the edge, facing him, her thighs spread wide and her plump, pretty, glistening cunt on display.

Simmering with greed, he sidles up close, his cock brushing the seam of her labia. She wraps her legs around him and crosses her ankles at his back, trying to pull him closer, but he doesn’t move an inch, his swollen, pulsing head just barely touching her, just barely grazing the peak of her clitoris. She’s wet and she’s hot and every nerve in his body is screaming at him to fuck, fuck, fuck, but he’s got a point to make, and goddamnit, he’s going to get it through to her.

He gathers a fistful of her hair and forces her head back, leaning over her, planting his other hand on the table behind her for balance. He locks her into his eyes.

“You’ll never go with him again,” he commands. “Never.” He pushes forward and slides the underside of his dick through her folds, grinding hard against her clit, because if he can just make her need him enough, surely he’ll never have to feel the soul-sickening panic of her absence again.

“I’ll do whatever I want,” she retorts, articulating every word, her chin jutting proudly, her pupils a black and dangerous chasm.

He tightens his fist in her hair and stabs himself into her.

The sound that rips up from her chest is short and shrill, and god, even her pussy feels defiant, strong and grippy and tight as hell. He fucks her in brutal, relentless strokes, punishing her, pleading with her. His eyes burn with unshed tears of humiliating rage as he reclaims her body, this perfect and inviolable body that she chooses again and again to share with him.

It’s not long before he forces an orgasm from her, steals it from her, biting her neck while she writhes and cries out for her god, to witness it, maybe, or to save her sinner’s soul. And while she’s calling on heaven, he falls harder than Lucifer, jerking and spilling inside of her, pumping her so full that at least for a short while, she can’t possibly claim to be only herself.

And then it’s done.

The world rights itself. The hush of traffic returns, the tick of his antique mantle clock.

She wraps her arms around him in silent forgiveness, and then he really does start to cry, hard and hopelessly, because how could he ever truly hope to keep her safe?

Incrementum

#incrementum #txf fic #txf fanfiction

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sunflowerhazzavol6 · 4 years

Text

Man After Midnight

Y/N is out for the night on a quest to find someone to sleep with and forget about the next day. The last thing she expects is to run into someone and find herself feeling like she's known them forever. 4k words of fluff, partying, drinking, and cursing (will most likely end up being a series). Enjoy!

Y/n was always up to go out.

It was fun, to get drunk, to party with her friends. It was fun to go to bars all dressed up, flirt with guys that she had absolutely no intentions of committing to. She supposed that was the case for most people her age; making decisions based on the theory that they were invincible. That there was no way they could get hurt when there was nothing and no one they were responsible for.

Tonight was no different than any other. San Francisco was bustling with its usual nightlife, twenty-something year olds stumbling into the entrance of the next bar they were going into. Y/n and her friends had just left one of their favorite places, beginning to head to the next destination for the night.

“Can you believe that guy?” Lydia, one of her friends, frustratedly wipes at her jacket with an old receipt from her purse. “Clumsily grinding on someone and then spilling your drink all over them is not a one way ticket inside their pants.”

“God, it was like watching a train wreck!” Her other friend Veronica skips around them holding a flask. “So bad you want to look away and yet you can’t help but watch.”

Y/n laughs, plucking the flask from her hand. “I kind of feel bad for the guy. He clearly had no clue what he was doing.” She takes a swig, coughing and handing it off to Penelope.

“Fuck that. He was definitely just drunk, not inexperienced.” Penelope says, rolling her eyes.

“Fuck him and fuck these hills. A bitch wants to be able to wear heels out without breaking an ankle.” Lydia groans.

“Cheers to that.” Y/n takes another sip and the girls pass it around, laughing.

Y/n never really got time with her girl friends like this. She was currently working at a coffee shop part time while she got her degree in digital marketing, which meant that between studying and work, she had no time to herself.

“You know, I think this is the one.” Y/n says at a pause in the conversation.

“The one?” Veronica laughs, narrowly avoiding a very drunk couple sloppily making out against a storefront. “You said the last one was ‘the one’.”

“I feel it this time.” Y/n turns to walk backwards to face her friends, entering the bar. “Mama is gonna get her p- Oh!” She falls against someone, laughing.”Fuck, I’m sorry, I should have-”

“Not been walking backwards?” The person interrupts her with a thick British accent, laughing heartily. She turns around, biting her lip when she sees the victim of her drunkenness.

“Well shit, of all the people to fall into...” Lydia says under her breath. Penelope elbows her in the side to shut her up.

Lydia was right. He was hot. Tattoos were littered around his tan arms, the sleeves of his white button up pushed past his elbows. A handful of the top buttons were undone, tattoos of sparrows just below his collar bones peeking out from underneath the fabric. Beautiful pale green eyes looked at her through long, thick eyelashes. His hair was a curly mop on top of his head, slick with sweat from dancing. The worst of it all was his smile. Blindingly white, crooked, dimples. That smile could make an honest woman out of her and she wouldn't mind one bit.

“Fuck- I mean, I’m sorry. You’re right, I probably shouldn’t be walking backwards, let alone walking backwards while drunk.” She laughs, holding out her hand. “No harm no foul?”

“None at all.” He shakes it firmly, his skin rough and calloused. Musician hands. She could feel them on the pads of his fingers.

“Well, we’ll be on our way then.” She says, nodding toward the inside of the club.

“Good luck to you, don’t back into anyone else.” He flashes his crooked grin at her again before his blonde-haired friend slaps him on the back and leads him out.

“What the fuck, y/n!” Lydia says, smacking her friend’s shoulder with her clutch. “He was the one! That was fate!”

“There's no way I’m going to talk it up with a guy that I quite literally ran into.” Y/n leads the group to the bar, ordering herself a drink.

“The sex gods not only sent you a bedtime buddy, they sent you one of their fucking own. Did you even see that man? Are you blind? Does your insurance cover eye care?”

“Forget about it.” She laughs. “They're probably long gone by now anyways.”

“I think Lydia is right. Anyone after looking at him is going to be mediocre at best.” Penelope says, sitting on the stool beside her.

“Whatever, I’ll find someone else.” Y/n says, trying to play it off. Maybe she had been to quick to brush him off. Usually she was the type to be forward and flirtatious, not the type to be nervous. “So, shots?”

As usual, their lucky bar had been a total success. Lydia had already left with a tall guy that said he was an engineer. (“Smart guys have the best dick, trust me.” She had said before she left. “They bottle up all that sexuality in high school and then release the beast when they go out into the real world.”) Veronica had met a guy and was currently pulling him off the dance floor to y/n and Penelope at the bar.

“Derek here says that there's this great spot just a block over with a bar downstairs and a DJ on the roof. Wanna go?”

“Sure.” Y/n shrugs. “Penny?”

“I think I’m going to head back home. I’ve got work in the morning. Should I wait up for you guys?”

“No, don’t worry about it, get some rest.” Y/n kisses her on the cheek, squeezing her arm. “Text me when you get there, alright?”

“Yeah, no problem. Be safe.”

“Always.” Veronica says, grabbing y/n’s arm. She barely has time to slap down money for the tab before she's pulled back out onto the street.

Veronica spends the walk clinging to Derek, leaving y/n to her thoughts. Maybe she was stupid for not talking to that guy more. He was really good-looking, and nice enough to not yell at her for tumbling into him. Not to mention that smile. God, she had never thought about a smile so goddamn much. She shakes her head to rid herself of those thoughts. He was long gone anyways, and if she wanted to get any tonight, this was the last stop.

Derek was right, this place was very cool. The bar was dimly lit and clearly busy, people ordering drinks and laughing with their friends. Even from down here she could hear the vibrations of the bass coming from the rooftop.

“Wanna dance?” Veronica yells over the noise.

“Sure! Drinks?”

“I’ve got them. You guys head upstairs.” Derek says, waving them off. Veronica shrugs with a laugh and grabs y/n’s hand to pull her upstairs.

If y/n was impressed by the bar portion, she was blown away by the rooftop. Tables were spread around the edge of a large dance floor brimming with bodies, lights strung up back and forth overhead of them. The DJ had his own light set up as well, colorful lasers darting back and forth to the beat of the music. The sky was clear above them to top it all off, no token San Francisco haze to block their view of the stars. Y/n was suddenly grateful for the rain she had complained about in the morning.

“Fuck, this song is my shit!” Veronica exclaims as ‘Gimme Gimme Gimme’ by ABBA comes on.

“Ronnie it's our girl group song!” She laughs, grabbing her friends hands.

“Hell yeah it is.” She takes two shots from the mini-bar adjacent to the dance floor, handing one to y/n and holding her own up. “To getting a man after midnight.”

“To getting a man after midnight.” Y/n grins, tapping their glasses together and downing the amber liquid. She coughs slightly before setting the glass back down and making her way to the dance floor.

Song after song plays, y/n somehow making her way to the center of the crowd of people. It was too tight for anyone to really dance, so she was just jumping around laughing and having fun. This was what it was about. What all the stress and hard work came back to. This. Letting go, having fun, dancing next to strangers who were equally as drunk and stressed and tired. A mass of twenty-somethings tossing away every bad part of their life. Y/n closes her eyes to soak it all in, tipping her head towards the sky.

“Fancy seeing you here. Run into anyone else yet?” A British accent yells over the music next to her. She opens her eyes.

“Not way.” She laughs, pushing her hair out of her face. “Hey!”

“You didn’t answer my question.” He grins, looking up at the DJ when the song changes.

“Not so far. The night is still young, though.”

“Right, of course. Silly me to think one would only step on a single person in a night.”

“I didn’t step on you!”

He looks down at his shoes, which were scuffed up at the point.

“Shit, my bad. I’ll pay for a shining?”

“Don’t worry about it. Pay me back with a drink?”

Y/n smiles. “I’d love to.”

The man takes her hand and weaves through the crowd of people back down to the bar. By now most of the crowd had either left or were upstairs, leaving the bar quiet besides a handful of people and the muffled noises from upstairs.

“What do you drink?” She asks, sitting on a stool.

“I’ll have a scotch, please.” He says, sitting beside her.

“A martini for me, and a scotch for...”

“Harry.” He finishes. “Thanks.” He says to the bartender.

“Y/n.” She says to him. “Nice to officially introduce myself in a way other than fucking up your shoe.”

“Indeed.” He laughs. “Well, y/n, where are you from?”

“Really? We’re starting with that question?”

“Is that a bad question to start with?” The corner of his mouth turns up, amused.

“A terrible one. People always ask that when they’re trying to get to know you, but I’ve found that where someone is from is the least telling information there is.”

“And why is that.” He grabs his scotch when it's set in front of him, nodding his head to the bartender in thanks.

“Well, there's a reason people left wherever they’re from. A reason why they wanted to get out of that place as soon as they could. So, therefore, they are likely the opposite of wherever they’re from and that information is irrelevant.”

“Thats contradictory. If they’re the opposite of wherever they’re from, doesn’t that tell you what they’re like anyways? Perhaps not so plainly, but it still does all the same.”

Y/n pauses and then laughs. “You got me there.”

“So then, where are you from?” He tries again.

“A small town outside of Chicago.”

“Aha. A midwesterner.”

“See, these are the exact kind of assumptions I wanted to avoid.” She takes a sip of her martini.

“You don’t want people to assume you’re nice?”

“I don’t want people to assume I’m a pushover.” She corrects.

“Darling, I have no assumptions whatsoever.” He turns in his seat to face her. “I’m from Cheshire, England. A little place called Holmes Chapel.”

“Little place? You’re from a small town?”

“Population 5,000.” He shrugs.

“I just assume every English person I meet is from London.”

“That's very American of you.” He laughs. “But I suppose I can’t judge you for that, I assume everyone is from LA or New York.”

“Is there anything about me that screams LA?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Nothing. As soon as your large midwesterner feet landed on my posh English shoes I knew exactly the type you were.”

“Did not!” She smacks his shoulder jokingly.

“’Did not’ indeed. That would have been cool, though.”

Y/n laughs, finishing her drink. Usually by this time she would have been in between the sheets with this stranger, and definitely wouldn’t know where he was from (or maybe even his name). Something was different about Harry. Maybe it was his teasing, or maybe she just wasn’t drunk enough. Or maybe it was because she felt like she had already known him for forever, which seemed crazy even to her.

“Hey.” Harry clears his throat, setting his empty glass down. “What do you say we get out of here?”

“And go where?” She bites her lower lip, running a hand through her hair. Maybe she had spoken too soon and this was just foreplay after all.

“It's a really clear night for San Francisco, right? My friend told me about this place where you can see the Golden and the entire bay. We could pick up a drink on the way, if you’re interested.”

“I am interested. Let me just let my friend know I’m leaving and we’ll meet back on the street?”

“Absolutely.” He grins lopsidedly, standing up and then helping her out of her chair.

“I’ll be right back, I promise.” She sets down money for the tab and then walks back up the stairs, finding Veronica.

“You found who?” She yells over the music, grinning. “No fucking way!”

“Yes fucking way.” Y/n grins. “So I’m leaving with him right now, if you’re good with Derek.”

“Absolutely I am. Go get that dick, baby!” She says, high-fiving her. “I guess you were right about that bar being ‘the one’, huh?”

Y/n rolls her eyes, squeezing her friend’s arm before making her way back down to the street. Harry is standing just outside of a taxi, leaning against it. He immediately smiles when he sees her, standing up and opening the door. “Ready?”

“To leave with a man I violently assaulted and just met? I guess.” She jokes, sliding into the car. He slides in next to her, leaning towards the driver, saying something she couldn’t hear.

“Alright, what other get to know you question can I bore you with?” He asks, sitting back.

“What brings you here?”

“What brings you here?” He repeats, looking at her.

“No, I’m asking you.” Y/n laughs, crossing her legs. “No offense, but your accent puts you heavily out of place.”

“Is that so? I hadn’t noticed.” He twists a ring around his middle finger. “I’m here on business. I work for a record label seeking new talent.”

“I would expect you to be a musician.”

“Now who’s assuming?” He teases, running his tongue along his lower lip. “I mean, I am one. A musician, I mean. I write stuff for people sometimes, and just for myself, but I prefer being on the sidelines for the time being.” He shrugs.

“So you sing?”

“I do.”

“That's cool. I wish I had a talent like that.”

“Tell me what you’re good at then.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of humility?”

“A bit, but you don’t strike me as someone shy.” He glances out the window when they stop at a 7/11, smiling. “Press pause on that, looks like we’re stopped at the epitome of class winery. Thanks for the ride, mate.” He hands the driver some cash, opening the door and helping y/n out.

“7/11? Really?” She laughs.

“Can you think of anywhere else open at nearly three in the morning that sells wine?”

“So we’re drinking wine? That’s very classy of you.”

“I’m trying to impress you, what can I say?” He shrugs. The door chimes when he opens it for her, following behind her and waving to the bored clerk. She walks to the wine section, Harry standing behind her with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “This isn’t your first midnight 7/11 wine run, I’m assuming.”

“What makes you say that?” She bites her lower lip, looking back at him.

He looks at her mouth and then back up at her eyes. “No reason. You just went straight for the wine section without so much as a glance at any of the directory signs.”

“So what if I have?” She turns back to the shelf, surveying the selection. “Are you a white or red wine type of guy?”

“I feel like that's a trick question, seeing as how you’re obviously an expert on 7/11 wine.” He grins when she looks back at him, glaring. “Are you going to judge me?”

“Would I ever?”

He snorts. “White. Chardonnay especially.”

“I would never have pegged you for a white wine bitch.”

“Hey! What happened to no judgement?”

“That was before you revealed you were a basic white wine bitch.” She grabs a bottle, pressing it to his chest. She can feel the warmth of his skin radiating through his shirt to the back of her hand, and it gives her the chills. “It’s okay. Chardonnay is one of my favorites too.”

“Is it?” He pulls his lower lip into his mouth, suppressing a smile at her touch. He wraps his hand around the neck of the bottle, covering hers. “Guess we’ll have to settle on that then, shall we?”

“We shall.” She lets go of the bottle, casually walking to the aisle full of snacks and grabbing a bag of Doritos.

“Wine and Doritos?” Harry quirked up an eyebrow.

“Wine and cheese is considered fancy and socially appropriate. Why not wine and… nacho cheese?”

“Right, of course,” He laughs, reaching over her to grab oreos. His arm was positioned beside her head like a boy leaning against his girlfriends locker in every high school rom com, and she wasn’t sure if the heat in her cheeks was from the alcohol or from his proximity. “And we can’t forget the chocolate.”

“It would be an absolute crime to consume wine without chocolate.” She laughs.

“Precisely.” He takes the bag or Doritos from her hand, walking to the clerk and paying for their haul.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Y/n says, following him out the door. “Pay for everything. I could have pitched in.”

“Don’t worry yourself with it. I’m the one that asked you out, remember?”

“Asked me out? Is this a date?”

He shrugs, smiling slyly. “It’s whatever you want it to be. Come on, the spot is a short walk from here.”

Y/n looks down at her heels with a small sigh before wrinkling her nose and shrugging. “Are you going to be thoroughly disgusted if I take off my shoes?” She asks.

Harry snorts. “I wouldn’t want to wear them. Go ahead.”

She puts her hand on his shoulder to stabilize herself, stepping out of her heels. Harry bites his lip at the contact, placing his hand in between her shoulder blades to assist. “Better?”

“Much.”

He shakes his head with a slight laugh before continuing on again. He leads her up the street and then turns down an alleyway, checking behind him every once in awhile to see if she was keeping up. Y/n trudges behind him with her heels and Doritos in hand, glaring at him when he looks back at her for the fifth or sixth time. “I’m perfectly capable of keeping up.”

“I don’t doubt your abilities.” He falls into step beside her, taking the Doritos. She doesn’t say anything, but smiles to herself. Harry grins wider when they get to a steep hill, blocking their view of what's ahead.

“Are you serious? A hill?” She groans, watching him bound up easily with his long male legs.

“Because a hill is the worst thing you’ve encountered in your life?” He calls behind him. She raises her middle finger in the air. He laughs.

She stomps up the hill, mumbling to herself about being a sucker for tattoos and dimples.

“For fucks sake, y/n. You’re almost there. I promise it's worth it.”

“You don’t live here, of course you think it's-” She cuts herself off, looking out over the view. The Golden Gate bridge was as twinkling in the night, lit up from end to end just to the right of them. Sometimes you couldn't see the other end of it, but tonight you could see the whole city, lit up and peaceful as sleep fell over it. She could taste the salt in the air here, feel the slight humidity on her skin. She could feel the grass between her toes too, this hidden little hill having not been trampled by the feet of locals and tourists alike. He was right. “...worth it.”

“Right?” Harry grins, placing his hands on his hips pridefully. “Not bad for a non-local.”

“Not bad at all.” She approaches him finally, biting her lower lip. “So…”

“So…” He smiles lopsidedly, holding up the wine in one hand and their snacks in the other.

“So.” She grins, taking the wine from his hands and screwing the cap off. Classic, convenient cheap wine. No cork to get in the way. She raises it up in the air, smiling to herself. “To getting a man after midnight.” She says before taking a swig.

Harry snorts, taking the bottle from her and tipping it in her direction. “To getting a man after midnight.” Y/n giggles when he sputters slightly after taking a sip. “Oh. This is cheap cheap.”

“Hey, you’re the one that took us to 7/11.”

“Sure, blame the foreigner.” He grins, sitting on the top of a lone picnic table, his feet on the bench. Y/n drunkenly hoists herself up to sit beside him, their sides pressed together as they pass the bottle back and forth.

“You know, I’ve never done this.” Y/n says, looking out at the water.

“Never done what?” Harry asks, looking at her profile.

“Hung out with a guy after meeting him at a bar. Or even wanting to hang out with a guy after meeting him at a bar.” She shakes her head with a laugh. “I was kicking myself for not talking to you, and then there you were showing me your shoes. I am sorry about that, by the way.”

“Don’t be.” He smiles, putting his hand over hers when she starts to pass him the bottle so that they’re both holding it when he leans in. She meets his eyes, biting her lower lip. “I like them better scuffed up. It reminds me of you.”

She had never had a kiss like this one.

One like the movies, the kind where you move slowly and bump noses before you kiss. The kind where your teeth knock together because you’re both smiling, where the kiss turns for a serious note when he holds your face in his hands and kisses you so hard it makes you breathless. He was kissing her like that now, setting the bottle to the side before immediately pulling her closer. There was no hand traveling up her thigh, no nudging her hands to certain places. He was completely invested in her, not her body.

She moves her hand to his forearm, pulling herself closer to him until she's on her knees on the table. Her hand slides up his arm and to his neck, tipping his jaw to fit his mouth to hers like two pieces to a puzzle. He takes this as a que to pull her into his lap, resting a hand on her hip and another in her hair. “Harry…” She breathes.

He pulls away slightly, biting his lip to keep from smiling embarrassingly big. His hand moves from her hair down to her hip. “We kind of forgot about the snacks.” He says quietly.

Y/n laughs, rubbing her thumbs along his jaw and putting her forehead on his chest to catch her breath. He rubs her back, resting his chin on top of her head. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but that was not a hook-up type of kiss.”

“That was not a hook-up type of kiss.” Y/n confirms, sitting back onto his thighs. “Whatsoever.”

“Well, in that case, what are you doing tomorrow?”

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff

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shadedrose01 · 4 years

Text

Only Us

Ship: Parksborn (Peter Parker/Harry Osborn)

Authors Note: A fluffy drabble I wrote quickly for fun. Based off the Spider-Man 2017 cartoon, not edited. Hope you guys enjoy! ❤💞❤

Edit: I'm stupid and forgot to add a spoiler warning. Spoilers for season 1 of the cartoon!!

It'll be us, it'll be us

And only us

And what came before, wont count anymore

Or matter. Can we try that?

"Cya!!"

"Get home safe, you two!"

"We will, bye!" Harry calls over his shoulder, to their three friends sitting on the steps Horizon High, Gwen and Anya in their fancy blue and red gowns, respectively, and Miles slicked back in his full black tux.

Peter echoes his words as he matches their steps, trying not to stumble as his attention shifts into the same thing it has been all damn night, Harry fricken Osborn himself and his goddamn suit. Because, while the rest of their friend group had dressed up nicely, him included in his burgundy hand me down vest and pants from his Uncle Ben and nice white dress shirt, Harry had outbeaten them all. To Peter, anyways.

The taller boy was wearing a dark navy blue velvet tux, with a bright white shirt tucked into his pants and a matching tie to bring it all together, and man is it doing things to Peter he'd rather not admit. It fits him in all of the right places, most likely tailored to him (unlike Peter's too big around the shoulders coat and rolled up pants), and the darker color brings out the lightness of his eyes, almost a cool gray in the light of the moon and yellow from the street lamps, while simultaneously meshing with his jet black hair, mostly slicked back except for the front, which had puffed back up in the hours of stuffy heat and the jumping that he had called dancing, combed back into a quiff only by his hands, messy and unmade but still so unbelievably perfect to Peter. It makes him forget how to breath, the ethereal beauty that is Harry Osborn, the perfection of the diamond that had escaped from the heat and pressure of Norman Osborn's clutches, and he barely notices that he's walking right towards a light post until he's right in front of it, and jerks out of the way at the last second.

Harry snorts of a laugh, and places a hand onto his arm to help steady him and help him keep up with the steady trot they've started. "You alright, Pete? You didn't sneak in some alcohol behind my back and didn't tell me, did ya?"

Peter turns to retort, to give back some snarky response as he always does, but then he's staring at harry again, into his bright, shining orbs and wide grin and raised eyebrow and his words dissolve on his tongue, his breath mysterious gone again. "Uhm, n-no?"

"You sure about that?" The taller boy starts at him quizzitively, but there's a hint of something else, of concern in his gaze. "You've been acting kinda weird tonight."

Peter feels his stomach twist with a guilt he hasn't felt around Harry in a while, since he had told Harry about Spider-Man honestly. After his biggest secret (or, what had been his biggest secret) had come to light, and the inevitable fight that came after was over, the two friends had been closer than ever, thicker than thieves, and they had promised to tell each other everything. No more secrets, no more lies. And Peter had broken that.

At least, for the past few months. He didn't mean to! Not really. He hadn't even noticed that he was gaining feelings, and feeling more for his childhood best friend until Anya and Gwen had cornered him in the lab and asked how long they'd been together, why they hadn't told them. After they talked, and he figured out he liked- no loved, its love at this point (oh god)- Harry, he didn't know what to do. How was he supposed to tell him that? When there was no sign that Harry felt the same (no matter how many times the girls, and then Miles too once he caught onto it, told him otherwise), when it could ruin everything between them. He didn't want to lose his best friend. Not again.

But that was the thing, wasn't it? The last time Peter had kept a secret this big away from Harry, it had almost ended in them severing, in the loss of their friendship, and Peter couldn't handle that. He couldn't lose him, not completely.

So, he had gathered up his courage, as much of it as he could muster being Peter Parker and not Spider-Man, and told himself and his friends that he was gonna do it tonight. He had planned to do it before the party, and then at the party, and then during the dance, and had proceeded to chicken out each and every time. But he knew he had to do it. He had to. And it had to be tonight.

"Yeah, yeah I'm sure." He breathes out, glancing anywhere but at the boy beside him, matching him step for step, inhale and exhale, heart beating at almost the same time, Peter's only slightly quicker in his nerves. "I'm okay, Harry, I promise."

"Okay, if you're sure." Harry shrugs it off, as he always does, something he truly, utterly loves about the boy. He knows when to back down, and trusts that Peter will tell him whatever he needs to know. Its the simple, whole hearted faith in him that makes Peter's heart swell, and his face warm, even in the slight chill of the early summer night. They take a few more steps, their feet crunching in the light frost coating the pavement sidewalks beneath their feet until he speaks up again, his voice light, barely a sigh, almost a whisper, a shy truth. "Today was amazing. I almost don't want it to end."

"Me neither," Peter murmurs honestly, his heart stuttering as he realizes his time for telling the truth is running out. He spots the shadow of a jungle jim in the distance, the shine of the street lights reflecting off of the metal slide, dented and scratched up with use, and stops. "Maybe it doesn’t have to, yet."

Harry stops beside him, basically as soon as he does, so in tune with Peters sudden antics that it happens almost subconsciously, leaning on his right side as his eyebrows furrow. "But we already texted Aunt May, she's probably waiting on you to come home-"

"She can wait, she'll understand." He rushes forward, then, glances quickly both ways before running across the street and towards the playground, hearing Harry bark out a laugh and a "Peter!" before his lighter footsteps trail behind him. Peter just chuckles with a grin, flipping around to stare at his best friend and ignoring the stutter in his heart. "Don't you remember this place? We used to play here all the time!"

"Oh I remember," Harry grins as he catches up to him, "You used to push me off the slide all the time."

Peter scoffs playfully, and shoves him roughly with his shoulder. "Yeah, but only because you would do it first."

"Not true!"

"Absolutely true, and you know it!" He sticks out his tongue just as the reach the swings, the bright red paint of the seats almost a pink now due to sun exposure, and peeling, the metal chains holding them up rusty and old. "And these babies!" He exclaims, practically jumping onto the seat and hearing it creek dangerously under his weight, and holding his breath, releasing it only when the swing holds. "We used to play on these all the time."

"See who could go the highest." Harry agrees, sitting on the one beside him with much more ease and caution than Peter had. "Who could go the furthest when they jumped off." There's a hint of sadness, of melancholy in his voice now that Peter hates, hates so so much that he has to turn and face him, to see what was wrong, to see if he could make it better.

But Harry wasn't looking at him. Instead, he was staring up at the sky, at the galaxies and stars barely noticeable throughout the clouds of smoke and smog of the New York City skies, with a hint of a frown tilting his lips, and the multitude of worlds shimmering in his eyes. He's still beautiful, stunning even with the etch of sorrow and nostalgia on his features, his hair swaying slightly in the faint breeze. "It was so easy, back then." His voice is soft, again, barely audible to normal ears but crystal clear to Peter's inhanced ones. He thinks he would've heard him either way, as all of his focus is now captured, captivated by the boy. "We didn't have a care in the world. No stress of saving New York, no fears of- of dying, no pressures of taking over the Osborn Mantel. Just-" He pauses, taking a shuttering breath. "Just innocence. Naivety. Just... us."

"At least that hasn't changed, hey?" Peter murmurs, trying to lighten the mood, and beams when he hears Harry laugh. A faint chuckle, but its a start either way.

"Yeah, yeah." The light smile fades just as fast as it came, the light twinkle disappearing from his eye. "I hope it never does."

"It won't." Peter states, sitting up abruptly, his heart and mind racing as Harry gaze drops from the sky and looks over to him, swirling with so much pain, grief, loss, fear that it makes Peter ache, and he knows what he has to do, knows what he can do to hopefully wipe all those fears away. He just hopes his friends are right, and that it doesn't make everything so much worse.

The smaller boy leans forward, giving plenty of time for the taller to lean back, or move away, giving him plenty of chance to escape this situation if this isn't what he truly wants. But... Harry stays. He stays put, watching intensely as Peter moves closer and closer, his pupils growing as their shaking breath starts to mix, as their noses brush and eyelashes flutter shut, as their lips gently press together with ease, fitting together perfectly almost like two pieces of the same puzzle, almost as if they were made for each other. And then, he's leaning forward too, grasping at the collar of Peter's blazer and pulling him closer, tilting his head to deepen the kiss as Peter grabs at his arms and holds him there, hoping, longing to stay here, in this moment for as long as they possibly can, all of the worries for the future and sorrows of the past disappear in the heat and warmth of the now.

But all too soon, Peter's lungs start to ache, so he eases back just as Harry does, still so in sync even at a moment like this, resting their foreheads against one another as they breathe the same air, Peter's eyes fluttering open to see Harry already staring back, the storm grays turning into bright summer skies, so full of light and warmth and excitement, so full of hope that it makes Peter's heart sing and his chest warm, making a wide smile break onto his face. "It won't." Peter reiterates now, bumping his nose with Harry's just to hear him giggle, light and breathy.

"It better not." Harry warns, his nose scrunching playfully, gaze teasing. "You better not be the type to kiss and leave, Parker."

Peter bursts out laughing, leaning back heavily and causing him to swing slightly as Harry follows suit, chuckling beside him. Once settled down a bit, he glances over with a warm, bashful look. "I wouldn't even dream of it. Not for the world." Harry's face flushes at that, and he glances away shyly, a wide smile on his face.

They don't discuss titles, or what they are, really. But they don't have to. Both of them know, now, that no matter what comes their way, no matter what life throws at them, they'll get through it, together. And thats all that matters.

The world falls away...

And its only us

#sorry i havent posted in forever lol #im working on something i promise #parksborn #peter parker #harry osborn #peter parker/harry osborn #harry osborn/peter parker #drabble #marvel #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #spiderman 2017 cartoon

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the-mad-starker · 5 years

Note

Hear me out... Peter is so eager to please Tony, like he practically builds his worth off of his ability to please everyone else. So when Tony gives him an order in the bedroom, and Peter realizes he can’t do it and safewords out or messes it up, it really affects him. Like he just... breaks. Like the idea that he failed Tony/made him disappointed just wrecks Peter so Tony spends the rest of the night with lots of love and aftercare, praising and reassuring Peter that it’s ok and he loves him ❤️

So, I normally take around forever to fill a prompt (I have about 20? And I’ve been dead past couple months) but! This one hit me cause I’ve been in such a sad/angsty/fluff mood so here we go.

Notes: edging, hurt/comfort, praise kink (?) fluff, probably tons of typos cause 5am…

AO3 Link

Length: 2.5k

💗💗💗

Peter has had the biggest crush on Mr. Stark since he first lays eyes on him. Inexperienced and a bit naive, Peter never thinks that Tony would reciprocate his feelings. That’s okay, Peter knows Tony’s way out of his league so it’s just nice to fantasize. Maybe just look at the older man and admire everything about him.

His commanding presence. His devil may care smile. Even the hints of silver at his temples makes Peter’s heart quicken and his cheeks flush.

So, he never thinks that while he’s looking at the older man that Tony would ever look back at him.

Peter almost has a goddamn heart attack when Tony presses up against him in the lab. Strong, dexterous fingers thread through his hair, then a gentle tug so that Peter turns his face towards his mentor.

A sweet kiss is pressed to his lips even while Peter stammers out, “M-Mr. Stark, I… I’ve never…”

Tony’s sharp brown eyes, dark with what Peter eventually learns is desire.

“But you want it, don’t you?” He murmurs, voice low and inviting. “You want me? Or were all those bedroom eyes you made at me just for show…?”

Peter’s breath hitches in his chest. He’s embarrassed but turned on because knowing Mr. Stark knows about his puppy love…

“I want it,” Peter replies, breathlessly and oh, so eager. “Please, Mr. Stark, I'll… I want to be yours…”

The older man smiles and corrects gently, “Tony, sweetheart. Unless I tell you to call me Mr. Stark.”

The implication makes Peter’s eyes grow wide.

“Tony…” He murmurs before the older man steals his breath away with a gentle kiss

“You don’t have to do anything,” Tony tells him when they pull apart. “This isn’t a job that requires a resume… I’ll show you everything you want to know.” His mouth curves into a sly grin. “You’re a quick learner, aren’t you?”

He knows Tony’s just teasing him but he can’t help but lean into the other’s embrace, brown eyes locked on his own.

“Yeah,” Peter says and it comes out in as a breathless plea. His eyes are fixed on Tony’s mouth and he just wants the older man to kiss him again.

“Good boy,” Tony smiles before he does exactly what Peter wants and kisses him senseless.

–

His first serious relationship and his partner is the man of his dreams. Peter works hard to keep Tony satisfied and the older man is so generous and sweet to him.

Peter blushes with every gift that Tony gives him. He melts every time they kiss. He’s already been in love with the man for years but with his affections returned, Peter enters a whole nee level of bliss.

His mentor is patient with him and never goes farther than what Peter’s comfortable with. He knows he’s lucky that Tony is so good to him and it becomes one of his biggest fears that Tony will one day realize Peter’s not good enough.

He never tells these things to the older man. Instead, he quietly confesses his worries to his best friends who often reassure him that Tony, according to Peter’s own words, isn’t like that. Their words help for a time, but what really helps are Tony’s words of praise.

Tony’s taken to calling him sweet names like baby, sweetheart, darling, and each time, Peter’s heart just wants to burst out of his chest.

It’s not all sweetness, though. There’s a fire between them that gets Peter hot just by thinking about Tony’s eyes on him. He entered the relationship a virgin and now… Now, he’s not exactly an expert but he’s definitely learning from one. Tony teaches him about his own body and the pleasure he can derive from it and it's… amazing. Perfect.

It often leaves Peter a mess, gasping and eyelashes fluttering as he tries to regain his breath. Tony’s just so good at it that it makes Peter want to be better, too.

Tony teaches him with the same kind of patience as everything else and it’s so sweet… It’s perfect. Peter’s perfect because Tony can’t get enough of him and he’s good. He does everything Tony asks of him during their games and he’s a good boy.

It’s another session between them and Peter’s laid out on the bed. There isn’t a stitch of clothing on him and Tony’s above him, completely dressed with one leg pressed between Peter’s trembling thighs.

“Nng…” Peter moans, hips hitching up so he can rub his bare cock against Tony’s clothed erection.

“Feels good like this, yeah?” Tony’s voice sends a shiver throughout his body.

Peter could only respond with short, breathless, “Yeah… yeah… so good…”

He feels Tony slip a hand between their bodies and arches his back when it wraps around his cock. Blunt teeth nibble on his earlobe and Peter whimpers, the sharp tug sending pleasure directly to his twitch cock.

“I got an idea,” Tony then says. There’s a certain tone he uses that Peter’s almost trained to respond to. It’s a low, husky sound that sounds teasing, as though Tony knows Peter’s always game to try anything he wants. It’s true, anyway.

“Mm?” Peter encourages, eyes hooded but his focus is always on Tony.

“Have you tried edging, sweetheart?” Tony asks while he continues to jerk Peter off. It takes a second for the boy to think because Tony’s hand feels so good.

“Ah… I-I think so,” Peter says.

He tries to recall if he ever did but his mind fogs over, greedy for pleasure instead of being put to work. He’s definitely heard of it but hasn’t really tried it. He’s often too busy to dedicate the kind of time that particular exercise takes.

“You wanna give it a try?” Tony offers with a sharp smile.

His eyes travel down Peter’s body, his gaze alone leaves trails of fire in their wake. Peter’s cock only gets harder beneath his stare. The older man always makes him feel so desirable… So sexy…

“Yeah,” Peter readily agrees. “You know I’ll do it…”

Tony rewards him with a hungry kiss and when he pulls away, Peter chases after him. A firm hand pushes him back down onto the bed. Peter lands with a huff, but he likes it. He loves the way Tony handles him.

“You’d look so pretty for me…” Tony muses, “all desperate and begging for me to let you come… How many times do you think I should bring you to the edge, only to have you teetering there… Unable to come until I say so…”

The thought is so arousing that Peter thinks he can come just by listening to Tony’s voice.

All he says is a breathy, “Please…”

“Okay, baby,” Tony smirks, “don’t come until I tell you to. Think you can do that for me?”

“Mm…” Peter moans, already looking forward to it.

For the next thirty minutes, Tony continues to play with him. Peter is so hot and eager for it, shamelessly writhing on top of the older man’s sheets. A pretty flush travels down his neck and chest, every muscle trembling as he keeps himself in check.

Right away, Peter knows it won’t be easy. He may be decades younger than his lover, but his stamina still needs work. Of course, Tony keeps an eye on him and he seems to know when Peter gets close. His tight, lube slick hand works Peter’s cock in perfect strokes, pushing the boy closer and closer to that perfect release.

Peter almost forgets what they’ve planned, he just gets so caught up in the feelings running rampant inside him.

“Tony–” he groans, gritting his teeth.

The pressure is suddenly gone and he cries out, his cock bobbing pathetically in the air.

“Not until I say,” Tony reminds him.

He bites back a whine because he did agree, after all. Once Tony decides he’s ready again, he starts working Peter over. The build up comes faster each time and every time Tony stops, Peter is one step closer to losing it.

Second time, Peter thrown an arm over his face, unable to stop the soft whines he makes when Tony stops. It feels like his balls are permanently pulled up to his body ready to shoot at any moment if Tony just lets him…

It gets worse when Tony actually pushes a finger inside him by the third time. Peter’s toes curl and he’s clutching into the older man. He’s only capable of saying his name at this point.

“Tony…” he groans, helpless, “A-ahh… T-Tony…”

“Just one more, sweetheart … One more,” Tony coos into his red tinged ear. He nibbles the soft flesh, sharp teeth providing just the right amount of distraction.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby…” Tony murmurs and the words… oh, Peter actually sobs when he hears them because it makes him feel so good…

“One more time,” Tony promises, a hint of pride in his voice.

Peter nods erratically. His cock is so hard that it hurts but it’s such a sweet pain… One more and Tony will let him come. It’ll be worth it… Peter’s stamina needs work and for Tony to be happy with him… All worth it…

Then to Peter’s dismay, Tony pulls away. Before he can protest, the older man settles between Peter’s legs and drops to his elbows. He stares up at Peter who trembles just from the sheer sight of him, his smirking lips hovering right over his swollen cock.

Tony’s going to–

Before Peter can say anything, the older man slips his mouth over the boy’s sensitive cockhead and sucks.

Besides an almost pained sound, Peter comes without warning. Every muscle in his body seizes as he unloads all the pent up frustration that built up over the last hour. He floods Tony’s mouth with his come and ends up greedily sucking in air when the worst of it is over.

He fucked up.

In the aftermath, there are tears in his eyes and he whimpers in mortification. The warm, tight heat of Tony’s mouth disappears and with it gone, Peter tries to curl in on himself. He doesn’t even want to look Tony in the eye because while it was the best orgasm he’s had so far, he’s upset with himself for fucking up the entire game.

“Pete…?” Tony sounds so concerned that it only makes the boy even more upset.

A gentle hand settles on his bare shoulder and Peter stiffens but doesn’t want to shrug it off. He craves comfort and Tony’s words of praise but having failed so miserably, he doesn’t deserve them.

“Baby…” Tony’s voice is soft and gentle like Peter hadn’t proven just how bad he is. Those strong loving hands pull the boy’s hands from his face. “Was it too much? Sweetheart, I’m sorry–”

Tony apologizing only makes it worse in Peter’s head cause the older man didn’t do anything wrong. Peter did.

“No,” Peter hiccups and he's… he’s crying?

There are tears in his eyes and he can’t seem to stop. He’s immediately pulled into the older man’s arms, his head tucked beneath Tony’s chin. Tony runs his hand through Peter’s hair and it helps… It makes Peter feel cared for, cherished… Loved.

It’s quiet for a moment while Tony giving him some time to wind down.

“Baby, sweetheart… Talk to me, please,” Tony almost pleads with him, “What happened?”

Peter bites his lip. His face feels hot so he hides it in the man’s chest.

“I came…” he whispers, reminding Tony what he did wrong, “I wasn't… I wasn’t supposed to.”

Tony doesn’t stop petting his hair nor does he pull away. Then he feels Tony move, feels his breath catch in his chest when the older man kisses the top of his head.

“It’s okay that you did,” Tony then says, “I did play dirty…”

Peter shakes his head though. Tony’s trying to comfort him, trying to shift the blame to himself.

“I wasn’t good…” Peter says quietly. “I should've–”

“Hey… hey,” Tony protests, pulling away so he could look in Peter’s eyes. “You’re always good, Pete. That– All that stuff we do, it’s just to explore and learn about each other, okay?”

Peter’s lips press together, about to shake his head.

Tony cups his face in his palm though and he looks so earnest when he says, “You’re good, Peter, you’re so good to me. I only want to do those things if you want to, okay? What matters the most to me is that you’re enjoying it.”

“I do want to,” Peter answers, “I just… I don’t want to mess up… I want to be perfect for you, Tony…”

“Baby, you are perfect,” Tony tells him. “It doesn’t matter what happens when we play those games, you're… Everything you do, I’m just happy to be with you, okay? Happy that I can teach you and make you feel good… God, I love that I can make you feel good…”

Is it really that simple…?

Peter wants to keep denying it. He still feels terrible but Tony’s looking at him with such sincerity that it chips away at his doubts. He nods with some hesitation but then Tony’s lips split into a smile at his acceptance.

“How about we clean up, hmm?” Tony suggests softly, “we can have a nice soak in the tub… Cuddle up together and watch a movie?”

“What about…?” Peter hedges when he realizes Tony spent the last hour pleasuring him and not getting anything in return.

“If it happens, it happens,” Tony says with a shrug, “But for now…. I think I just wanna hold you. Is that okay?”

It sounds so nice… Just being held by his lover.

“Always…” Peter mumbles before sighing against Tony’s chest. He could feel the steady, reassuring beat of Tony’s heart beneath his ear.

True to his word, Tony does hold him for the rest of the night. He also pampers him, showering him with affection and love. The pet names come in abundance as do the soft sweet kisses that he lays on Peter’s lips, his jaw, his cheek… Butterfly kisses, over and over until Peter’s smiling, turning his face to try to catch each one on his lips.

Whispers in his ear about how lucky Tony is to have him. How much he loves Peter. More than the moon, the stars, the nanites in his reactor. Peter’s face is flushed pink from the declarations but he soaks it up.

A new pet name is added to the list that night and the first time Tony calls him, “my love” Peter almost cries again. At least this time, it’s from sheer happiness.

As they’re cuddled close together, Peter can’t help but really look at Tony Stark. He’s still in awe, still just as much in love now as he was before. To him, Tony is loving and sweet… Gentle and so, so passionate. Perfect… And the way Tony holds him, nuzzles against his neck he knows Tony thinks the same of him.

Peter smiles and tugs Tony’s arm over his chest. He snuggles closer, no longer paying attention to the movie, and just breathes in Tony’s scent and listens to the rhythm of his heart.

#asks #starker #nff #madstarker writes #hurt/comfort #fluff

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johobi · 6 years

Text

Bloom

Word count: 4672

Pairing: Yoonji x Female Reader

Warnings: vulgar language, oral sex, fingering

Song inspo: Bloom

Drabbles: Bloom | Snared | ? | ? | ? | ? | ? | ? | ? | ? | ? | ? | ? | ?

The 80s. Power suits, perms, and peril. Because peril is all that can follow when you involve yourself with the Mafia capo in charge of extorting your hard-of-hearing employer for protection money.

13 snapshots charting your doomed descent into law-breaking love.

“G-God,” the blasphemous exclamation hits the muggy summer air with feeble force. “You can’t keep me here all day,” you squeak, hiking up a pitch when she drums against something notably spongy. Your knees twitch and draw together to occlude the girl subjecting you to such practiced torture, but she practically wafts them apart with a wave of her unoccupied hand.

But how can you possibly present a respectable resistance when she’s had you on the edge of a life-affirming orgasm for this past half an hour?

“Why are you drawing this out so long?” you try again, but you needn’t even hear your companion’s reply. Her feline eyes narrow playfully in on you as she paws gently at and inside your plastered pussy, only ever sparking your painfully swollen clit into ignition and never allowing it to kindle for too long.

Oh, no. That isn’t Yoonji’s style.

This sultry steamroller of a woman is certifiably sadistic.

“And miss out on all of your adorable sex grimacing?” she finally speaks, although it’s to impart her usual teasing of you. “And leg-quivering. You’re shaking like someone with Parkinson’s,” the girl with sleek, inky tresses quips, inclining said head of midnight toward your bent legs. Sure enough, the entire length of them is quaking and twinging spasmodically in response to every pinch, stroke and probe.

“That’s not a sexy image,” you huff, rolling your hips like a lust-drunk whore into her sporadic, inciteful touching. “And also kinda mean of you to make fun of people with that condition.”

Yoonji, face cradled in the heel of her hand, looms over you. “Can you take a momentary leave from sainthood a sec? So you can enjoy me, enjoying your womanhood?”

Ever the heathen, power-suited temptress, Yoonji lures you from sanctity with two beckoning fingers, bearing down on the ceiling of your dribbling cunt with her incessant massaging. Fuck, she knows how to touch you.

“O-Oh, Jesus,” you utter further profanities, looking far from the good Christian girl your father has raised you to be. Knees bent, legs splayed, and with your calf-length skirt above your hips and covering none of the flesh it’s sworn to, you writhe and sweat against the knuckles of Yoonji’s buried fingers. “More on my clit, please, I want to finish. I-I just need a little more. I have to get to class soon.”

“Mmm, that’s better, buttercup,” she coos like a syrup-tongued snake. Your brows, previously suspended in abject pleasure, knit into a scowl of indignance at the embarrassing pet name she’s adopted for you. “You’re sounding more and more like a bad girl.”

“I told you not to call me that! And I think you’re more than enough bad girl for the both of us,” you hiss and squirm, as serpentine as she. You try not to think too much about the sordid activities you know Yoonji is not only complicit in, but primarily orchestrates. Thankfully, you’re not allowed to ruminate too long. She withdraws her digits from the clenching void that is now your empty pussy, and busies herself with the entirety of your slick-smothered vulva, scissoring your lips together into puffiness. Pangs promising of your looming completion ricochet from your clit, curling your toes into the earth of the grassy knoll Yoonji has swept you away to. “F-Fuck.”

“But you’re my creamy li’l flower,” she purrs affectionately, a slash of her severely styled hair fluttering against your mouth as she leans in. “It’s a cute name, for a cute girl.”

Your eyes widen incrementally with the growing curve of your arching back. “I-It’s not,” you weakly rebuke. “Oh, God, kiss me,” the urgent entreaty is pried from you by the very deliberate, very widely drawn circles she’s ringing around your clit. You’ve been so protractedly close to freefalling that even the airiest of contact is deathly delectable. “Let me come.”

She lets you have her lips, at least. And just their languid, silken caress is enough to stir your pussy into mouthing around nothing. Yoonji has the measure of your mouth, by now. She’s practically its caretaker. She regularly maintains it with an unhurried, gentle tongue, faithfully representative of her full-body treatment of you.

Because although Yoonji is as much a walking, razor-edged weapon as one can possibly be without lacerating flesh, she sheathes herself for you. And in you, of course. She never so much as raises her voice, let alone her hands, nor those of her grunts.

And only because it’s you.

You’re her one, inexplicable foil.

She breaks reluctantly from you, eyelashes still down and dusting her cheeks as she retrieves herself from your kiss. Yoonji looks up with blown eyes. “You wanna come, darling?”

“Y-Yes, so bad,” you whine your appeal, trapping a smooch-smeared lip between your teeth. You know well how much the innocuous action will further your agenda. “Please, unnie.”

Yoonji takes the bait. But she snatches you in with her. “Alright, buttercup,” she murmurs around her tongue as she swipes a perfect, glistening track up your jaw and tugs the lobe of your ear between her softly suckling lips. “But I want you to be loud, okay? I wanna hear my girl call my name.”

You open your mouth to respond, but it hangs off its hinges as the sharply-dressed woman begins toying all-out with your poor, taunted clit, kneading it rhythmically between her long, sticky fingers. “Sh-Shit, I can’t. Yoonji,” you whimper her name like you’re beseeching an unmerciful god. “Someone will hear me.”

“That doesn’t matter,” your lover asserts with a self-assurance that could only have been cultivated through her daily regime of domineering duties. “If anyone has a problem, they can talk to me about it. I want to hear my buttercup sobbing for me.”

“You like getting me into trouble, don’t you?” you manage another scowl, though Yoonji wipes it clear from you with a mere cessation of her frantic wrist-born motions. “N-No! Please, don’t stop. I like it.”

“What do you like?” the woman wonders. And wanders, with her free hand, down your conservative cleavage. She settles herself straight, her knees bent and feet tucked beneath her, as she squeezes tenderly at your sweater-caught breasts, awarding the soft swells, in turn, with her discerning groping. “You like getting into trouble?”

Your chest jerks against her palm as you chuckle. “I meant, more, you touching my pussy, but, yeah. I guess, on some level, I enjoy you getting me into trouble, too. As long as it’s not too much trouble.”

Yoonji’s mouth stretches into a rogueish grin. “Not my brand of trouble, you mean.”

“Right,” you hum, capturing the fingers of the hand dirtied with your drippings and tugging them pitifully in the direction of your furiously throbbing cunt. “Please don’t stop anymore, Yoonji. I’m dying, and I’m gonna be late.”

She allows you the bold move and watches with a vested interest as you manipulate her rapidly drying fingers around your turgid clit. When you withdraw your guidance, she dunks the digits back into the warmth and wet of your honeypot pussy and exhales loudly. “God, you’re always such a damp, needy bitch for me. I’m soaked through just feeling you, darling.”

You moan wantonly, and with little spare breath behind it. “I want to touch you, too. If you’re so unafraid of being an exhibitionist, let me see you.”

The tsk means no. “Didn’t I tell you that this is my apology for the other day? I didn’t want you to have to see what you did.”

“Still,” you object by slithering a hand along the satin lining of her jacket and clawing at her immaculately tucked shirt. She’s always so put together. You love taking her apart. “I haven’t been able to get my hands on you for a while. I miss the smell and taste of your skin.”

Your earnest confession appears to somewhat shake that goddamn iron will of hers. But only for a moment. You feel her shudder into your fingertips, and then she’s thwapping away your wayfaring touch and tutting again.

And then she’s on her feet, and you panic. “Wait! Where are you going? Don’t leave me in this state!” you’re the picture of pathetic and needy, but you don’t care. Yoonji has long been winding your crank and not even the far-reaching wrath of her criminal family will stay your murderous hand if she leaves you now.

“Calm your cute li’l titties, girl, damn,” she snorts a laugh through her nose as she simply resituates herself between your goosepimpled legs. Her hands inch sluggishly, appreciatively, down the slopes of your thighs, reluctant to rush your skin past her fingertips. “You wanna come, and I wanna do it properly. But you gotta let me hear you good and loud, or I won’t be happy.”

Despite the obvious absence of people in your vicinity, your eyes sweep the secluded area out of discomfiture. Yoonji’s henchmen, comfortingly confined to the interior of her tinted-windowed Continental parked some distance away, unnerved you nonetheless with their pronounced presence. “They’ll hear.”

“Maybe they will, maybe they won’t,” came Yoonji’s voice from behind her curtain of face-obscuring bangs as she lowered her sweet, smart mouth to your glimmering slit. “And if they do, they’ll forget about it if they know what’s good for them,” her sultry breath was hot against your cunt, agitating you to ooze afresh. The proximity of her masterful tongue already had your visibly bloated clit pounding in anticipation.

An abrasive whine streams from you without prior permission when the girl, nose-deep between your legs, provokes the bud with her prong of a tongue. Mortification sees you clapping your hands to your mouth. “I know I’m the first to get on your back about the shady shit you do,” your words come muffled. “But something about hearing you threaten people is hot. I hate myself for it.”

Ostensibly, Yoonji welcomes this revelation with open arms. And a wide, open mouth, which she mashes to your slobbering orifice, engaging it in the sloppiest, most gluttonous of kisses. You feel her skim the rim of your interior with a firm, seasoned tongued, and tense around her oral caresses when she nuzzles that button nose you adore so much against your jumping clit.

Your talons shoot out to motivationally grapple the mass of hair bobbing before your cunt, but you halt mid-dive. “God, I wanna touch you, but I don’t wanna mess up your hair.”

Yoonji pauses her fervid slurping and tilts her face toward you. The midday sun looks all the more beautiful for glinting off the bottom of her fluid-smeared face. “What are you even talking about? Get your hands in there, girl. I want you to show me how good a job I’m doing.”

“But you said you have,” you hesitate, because the word seems far too inoffensive for half the deplorable things your girlfriend involves herself in, “meetings after this.”

“And you have class. But I’m still gonna send you there with a wet patch you can’t explain away,” Yoonji snickers, her feline-flicked eyes flashing predatorily as she drowns her laughter between your folds. You gasp, you bend, and your breasts press opportunely into her waiting hand, the one she’s infiltrated your blouse with without notice. Her avarice for your flesh can’t be satisfied over your cheap, synthetic bra, however, and her fingers are soon slithering beneath the underwire to grope unfettered. As soon as she has one of your bare mounds filling out her hand, she sends a moan through your pussy and her eyes flicker shut. “So soft. Honestly, I just wanna play with your tits all day,” Yoonji purrs, pursing her lips around the place you’re screaming for it. You buck weakly to encourage her focused attentions, and she seizes your thighs so tightly in her clutches that your flesh strains past her fingers.

“Yeah?” you hear her half-ask, half-lap against your saturated pussy. Your eyes are welded shut in pursuit of the thread that will unravel you.

“Y-Yeah,” you moan feebly, your desire to vault after your nebulous, nearing high ridding you of your consideration for preserving her pristinely-styled hair. “Suck me, finger me. God, Yoonji, please, I need you.”

“Yeah?” she ventures again, and you heave a faltering breath to reply, but she continues without you. “What do you want?”

Why does she make you work for everything, including your so-dubbed reward? Sure, eleven times out of ten you come so violently you astral-project yourself to another plane, but still.

Rude.

“Do you want me to beg—”

“Don’t just fucking stand there, answer me,” the voice coming from between your thighs is no longer syrupy, but serrated. Your eyes fly open in alarm and only then do you behold the figure looming over the two of you.

“Oh, fuck!” you squeak and scramble, yanking down your skirt that seems akin to a parachute now that your modesty depends on its timely descension. Despite your frantic fistfuls of fabric, Yoonji’s hands are very firmly communicating her desire to keep you revealed despite your spectator. “Yoonji!” your screeching seems to startle the man into a step back. “What are you doing?”

“Relax, it’s just one of my guys,” she sighs, vexation clipping her tone. You know, however, that her ire is not directed at you, when you catch the glare she beams at full, soul-searing strength towards the interloper. “I’m not putting you away when I’m not done with you yet. What’s the matter, Hoseok-ah? Never seen a girl eating pussy before?”

The man in question doesn’t know where the fuck to look. You find it difficult to conjure sympathy for anyone part of an organisation such as theirs at the best of times, but despite your vulnerability, you feel your gut twist uncomfortably for him. Finally, he clears his throat of consternation enough to reply. “Y-Yes—I mean, no. I mean—”

Yoonji raises an eyebrow at his incoherent dithering and returns to granting your poor, quivering clit some lavish, lingering kisses. “What,” kiss, “do,” lap, “you,” suckle, “want? Don’t make me ask again.”

A porn-perfect moan surges past your lips when she returns to you with her sinful tongue. The eroticism of being on display while your girlfriend berates and patronises a very uncomfortable man is strangely immense.

Unfortunately for Hoseok, your keening seduces him into shooting the most fleeting of glances toward your very possessively guarded cunt.

It’s enough.

“Are you looking at my girl’s pussy?” Yoonji hisses, now hostile. Her underling recoils with impressive swiftness, like it’s a genuine possibility she could project venom. She rises to her knees akin to a cobra coiling to strike, but despite the building tension, you only find yourself at the intensifying mercy of yours, and ache for her all the more. This is exactly why you find her so alluring.

And exactly why you shouldn’t.

“N-No, I swear, I’m not,” the mild-mannered man insists as best as one can when faced with the infamously hot temper of his boss’s daughter. “I literally just came to let you know that your father is on the mobile phone, Ms. Min. I’m sorry if I caused any offense.”

She sticks out her deliciously full, bottom lip. Boredom sedates the anger that had been wresting control of her features. “Tell him I’ll call him later. I’m in the middle of something, as you can see. Now get the fuck outta here and wait in the car, like I ordered you to.”

One relieved nod and urgent jog away later, Hoseok disappears behind the oily black veneer – and temporary safety – of Yoonji’s car. And she's back upon you before you even have a moment to admonish her for her unnecessary show of territorialism, daubing your lips and chin with your own, tacky excitement as she bends you into a hungry kiss. The length of her body is between your arms and your legs, pressing with some urgent insistence to your front, and you're bestowed with your first, heart-thumping feel of her today, though it's through the annoyance of expensive tailoring. Her perky, modest breasts feel so malleable, so supple as she crushes them flush to your own, stiffening your nipples with the delicate friction.

Finally, you gasp free. "Y-Yoonji," but she’s trying, in earnest, to rejoin your lips, looking wholly delicious in this mussed-up, unfocused state. You lay a finger to her mouth, and she stops, though not without awarding the obstruction a provocative lick. "There's no need to be rude like that," you conclude, but her eyes are already rolling heavenward before you reach your final syllables.

"I assure you, I'm perfectly nice when people aren't posing as an interruption to my extremely important duties," she drawls, inching her way back down your torso with a lascivious wiggle to her raised backside. The move draws your attention to the felicitous way the strained the fabric of her pants molds to her pert, peachy bottom. "Getting you off is my number one priority, today."

"And what's your number two priority? Me as well, I hope?" you taunt, pursing your lips into a petulant pout. It withers when you feel her moistened lips ghosting the softest parts of your thighs.

The devious chuckle that resonates from your lower half turns your gut and your cunt in tandem. Not least because the breath powering it thrums against your poor, toyed-with clit. It’s developing trust issues. "My number two priority is getting you off later. I wasn't able to pick up your favourite toy in time for lunch, after all. But I'll be bringing it later, don't you worry."

You swallow with some difficulty. Half because, fuck, it's not difficult to recall just how good she fucks you with your birthday strap-on. And half because it's also not hard to recall how much she enjoys indulging her power fantasies by shoving it partway down your neck. Your throat is still angry.

Love is about compromise, and all that.

Mere mention of what awaits you later sees you pawing coaxingly at her increasingly tousled tresses. You're throbbing again. "I'm so desperate, Yoonji. Please, put me out of my misery."

And you know that she won't goad you any longer. Because you are the sole proprietor of her only soft spot. This hardened, stoic criminal's only weakness.

Not rivals, nor betrayals, nor bullets.

You.

A cop's Christian, ne'er-do-bad, daughter.

Jesus is on your lips again when Yoonji finally, mercifully hears your pleas for absolution from suffering. And you're on hers. Or, rather, between them, matte plum lipstick bleeding beyond the lines as she seals your clit in the suction of her sensuous mouth. Every measured swat of her tongue against the trapped nub exacts spasmic thrashing from you, and she's grinning wide, you can feel it well enough in the way her mouth stretches against your cunt. Your genitalia twitches, within and without, when the tantalising tickle of Yoonji's fingertips trail around the brim of you. "Oh, Jesus, Yoonji. Please, please put your fingers in. Fuck, all of them. I don't care."

The tremors of her ensuing giggle reverberate compellingly through your sobbing cunt. "All of them? You want me to fist you?"

"God, yes. Anything. Everything," you pant, never having felt more slick, slack and ready for her hands as you do now. You can virtually feel your heartbeat in your cunt, hammering its impatience to be filled. The emptiness is excruciating. "F-Fuck me so hard, please, I'm begging you. I've never been so fucking horny."

A muted, sonorous groan kisses your ears. "You're so hot when you're whiny and squirming. You're such a mess right now. A beautiful, delicious mess. But you say that every time, buttercup."

Guilty.

Guilty and desperate.

When you don't respond past a whine of deprivation, Yoonji stamps her mouth roughly to your clit again and drags on it with her tongue, sinking her two longest fingers into your gasping hole. Your pussy practically drags her in with timed, steady pulses. Each is tighter than the last because she's working your clit so good you're about a second from stupefaction and your mouth is forever hanging open gormlessly. "Ah--oh my G-God, please, keep going."

Eager to please, Yoonji does keep going. And going, and harder, and deeper, until the only sounds rising are your promised, unbidden wailing and the depraved, wet guzzling of your cunt as it eats her fingers again and again. You're so lubricated, now, that her entry and exit is near-frictionless. And so she adds a third indiscriminately, stuffing it in alongside the others. "Ungh! Y-Yes!"

"You like that, darling?" she murmurs thickly, like she's dribbling out her favourite beverage. When you nod and thrash sufficiently enough for her liking, she coils her digits inward and upward, stimulating your squishiest, softest spots.

Your whole body begins bending concave, battling the pressure climbing in your twitching abdomen. "Oh, f—I'm gonna—I'm gonna come, unnie—"

Yoonji is mid-slurp and siphoning your soul through your clit when your frenzied cries reach her. You wish you could run your fingers over her satin folds and feel to what extent you’ve affected her, when she channels a moan through your own. She makes out with your pussy as passionately as she does your own mouth on those nights she stumbles in, full of liquor and lamentation for your spats. "Come for me, darling," she mumbles between her determined suckling and tongue-lashing. "Get my fingers nice and sticky."

Her words flog you like fire, tautening your entire being as the rumbles of a fast approaching release gallop closer and closer. "Y-Yoonji!" your vocal chords are in tender tatters as you scream to the big blue above, gyrating in place with every knuckle-deep pump and torturous tug of her lips and teeth. "H-Harder! Just a bit more!"

She gives you more than a bit. Struggling to reach as deep with your body's frantic, ecstatic convulsing, Yoonji digs her fingers into the roof of your cunt with some fury, rubbing you into the arms of a breath-stealing, vision-blurring orgasm. Witnessing you on the precipice of plummeting, Yoonji calls to you through the fog. "Nice and loud, buttercup."

You're loud until you're not, because the potency with which every wave seizes you renders you wide-eyed, mute, and thrusting like an oversexed bitch against her plastered face and hands, your nails etching crescents into the poor woman's scalp as you attempt, futilely, to haul her closer, deeper; to absorb her completely. It's never enough until it is, and you're coming down, breathing again, releasing her locks and falling back into your bed of grass, fully ready to be 6ft below it and facing your eternal slumber.

Because.

Fuck.

You wonder if you're doomed to forever suffer tinnitus after this, because your ears continue to ring like you’ve spent all night bleeding them by the speakers at an Iron Maiden concert. But not enough that you don't hear the string of smug chuckles emanating from the girl on your shaky periphery. "I really did a number on you today, huh?" your lover boasts, and you're not sure if it's the rush of endorphins or what, but, God, it hits you, then, just how much you love this girl. You love her enough that you can call upon your scant energy to tilt your head in her direction. She's kneeling over you, nursing her generously coated fingers like a just-fed cat, kittenish smirk to match. "Still with me, darling?" she asks again as you blink up at her, vacant of mind but for an acute, heart-thudding appreciation of the way the sun is lighting the crown of her head. She would look angelic were it not for the fact she's laving your pussy juice from her fingers.

"Somewhere in here," you whistle out on a wavering breath. You can't believe how drained you feel. You're lead, now, not flesh. "I feel about ready to die. This is what happens when you edge me for so long."

Yoonji taps a finger to her chin astutely. "Interesting. I'll remember that for the future."

"I don't know if I can take it," you wheeze, making to roll to your side but flopping helplessly onto your front. You faceplant the grass. "I'm gone for good."

Your own scent greets your nostrils when a hand comes to fold a lock of your hair behind your ear. Yoonji stoops to peck a kiss far too chaste for what just transpired, to your cheek. "You're not going anywhere. I need my buttercup."

"You won't have her for long if you keep calling her that," you growl, you're sure, without an ounce of menace, before you're being hoisted into a sitting position. Your arms droop, like a well-loved ragdoll's, by your side. "Anyway, are you sure you don't want me to return the favour?"

"I know you're asking because you're nice, but you're hoping I'll say no because you're going to be late," Yoonji perfectly surmises, and you feel a treacherous heat rise to your cheeks. "Don't worry, darling," she coos gently, pressing your own flavour to your mouth. You sense her about to pull away but you hold her there a few seconds longer to properly suck yourself from her lips. Yoonji sounds a sigh of content as you do. Then, "I'm so wet I could probably drown myself, but there's always later. I can wait."

You nod, guilt placated. As hasty as you were to convene this rendezvous before, now, in the balmy haze of aftermath, you feel a distinct urge to cuddle your mistress of extortion and intimidation until she reconsiders her life's path. "I'll see you later, then?" you confirm with a fallen face.

Yoonji doesn't miss it. "What's the matter, buttercup?"

"I don't know, I just wish we had more time," you half-shrug, averting your eyes bashfully. You’d known from her advent that Yoonji was an incredibly busy, influential woman, and had made some half-hearted peace with that fact. However, you could never quite rid yourself of the nagging sense that you were sharing your girlfriend with two hundred-odd men, too.

Her family was her every second. Her every motivation.

She draws you to your feet, straightening your skirt and grooming you of stray foliage. "Is that really it? Or is there something else?" Yoonji studies you with keen, cutting eyes. Suddenly, they snap wider. "Are those guys bothering you again? I swear—"

"N-No, that's not it at all!" you wave your hands frantically to mollify the brewing eruption. "They haven't been near me, since—well. Since you told them not to. I just wish we could spend more time together. I know I'm seeing you later, but—"

"I know, darling," gone is the danger and back is her sweet smile. "I'm working on it. Things are just tense at the moment. I have a feeling several of our associates have been selling some of the product without express permission, you know? It doesn't strictly fall under my area, but—"

You employ your hands again to wave away her words. "God, stop. Please. I don't wanna hear about this stuff."

Yoonji's mouth droops into a frown for a moment, and then it's gone. "I understand. Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I let my guard down a little too much around you," her lips twitch with the hint of a bemused smirk. "I don't know how you do that."

"Neither do I," you knit your fingers and rock on the spot, suddenly as meek as the day Yoonji first strode into your life, all power and purpose. "I'm glad I caught your eye."

Everything sharp about her softens and she's leaning in to press a kiss of farewell beneath your wild bangs. "You caught more than that, I think. Anyway," she turns, a hand still adhered to your cheek. "Later, okay?"

"Okay," your lips curve softly as you watch her go.

They tremble when you can no longer ignore the implication of her car's bulletproof panelling.

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