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author’s note: wellll… hey people 🤭 guess who’s back! i don’t wanna make this long so i won’t say too much, we can take this to the inbox if u guys want 💋 for those who remember me, hello lovies!!! i’m thinking of reposting some of my old fics before giving you new content hehe ! special thanks to my day ones who fought hard and brought me here again even through my hesitation, you know who you are 🥰🩷 love u!!! enjoy!!!

In the backseat of his car, you stare forward at his hands gripping the steering wheel. There's something hypnotic about the way his fingers curl around the leather. You bite your lips, an attempt to suppress the heat easily pooling low in your belly, your thighs rubbing together to conceal the effects of your lewd thoughts.

One in particular stands out. It’s the one that puts a shameless, selfish smile on your face when you fixate on the fourth finger of his left hand lacking a gold band.

It's been a few months since that day — since Areum, your best friend, showed up at your door in a frantic state, her finger jabbing the bell over and over in a panicked rhythm that jolted you from your bed.

You had nearly tripped down the stairs in your rush to swing the entrance open, and when you did, you were instantly tackled by your friend collapsing into your arms, her tears soaking through your shirt.

Kicking the door shut, your hands busy embracing Areum with your eyes wide, you tried to steady both her and yourself. In between her uncontrollable sobs, shaking you to the core, she let her worries tumble out her mouth. Words came in a torrent, fast and breathless, barely giving you any time to fully process them as she buried her face in your neck.

It took a moment for the huge news to break through your thick, slowed down brain, but then it struck you, Areum chanting it repeatedly as if she couldn’t grasp her mind around it: her parents were splitting up. Divorce was imminent.

Your own disbelief mirrored hers, but for very different reasons. You felt it in the way your shock turned into excitement; indecorous, depraved exhilaration, with your heartbroken friend still in your arms.

Even as her sobs echoed, your mind latched onto one single thought, repeating like a mantra: he’s single. Mr. Jeon is single.

You felt terribly guilty when you sensed a smile that you couldn’t quite suppress stretching over your features, and the jittery sensation that came with it flowed your body and reached your hands, tightening harder around Areum to try and squeeze the shame out of yourself.

Since that day, you’ve lost count of how many afternoons you’ve spent at the Jeon’s house. You've been doing your best to be the friend Areum needs, to keep her company when what she fears the most is loneliness. You’ve been a constant presence, helping her through the mountain of neglected work she left piling up, distracting her with baking sessions, or mindlessly binge watching entire seasons of Friends on lazy evenings. Anything to keep her mind off the pain.

But each visit is an opportunity. A fleeting chance to see him. To study how he moves around the house with an intensity that still manages to feel like a calm, steady current filling every room.

You’ve memorized many of his mannerisms. The way his eyes soften when he looks at Areum; the way his mouth twitches into a faint smile when she tries to cheer him up; the way he nods at you in recognisment, silently letting you know he’s grateful for what you’re doing to help his daughter.

You wish you could help him too. In other ways. Ways you know you shouldn’t be thinking about.

You can’t avoid it, though. You've witnessed him come back home from work countless times now, watched the tension etched across his features as he steps through the door, wished you could be the one to ease it off his shoulders. Let your hand travel down his chest, reach his belt.

You feel disgusting unfailingly, but how can you not let your mind wander when he groans so deliciously every time he loosens the tie around his neck and kicks off his shoes?

You know exactly what his next move is, the imperceptible sigh melting the weariness off his face the moment he greets his daughter, a tender smile breaking through his exhaustion.

“Any requests for dinner tonight, girls?” He always asks, his gaze jumping between Areum and you on the living room couch, waiting for a response.

After your friend replies she likes whatever her daddy cooks, your stomach twists with nerves when his eyes meet yours to make sure there’s no complaints, and you quickly shake your head, biting your lips to keep from saying something foolish. Is your dick on the menu? Perhaps?

And the man can cook. Exceptionally well. He moves around the kitchen with purpose in his every movement, each dish you have the honor of tasting better than the last.

While you help setting the table, you catch yourself staring more times than you should. You can’t help but wonder if there’s anything he’s not good at. Fuck. Is there even a single flawed bone in this man’s body? With every day you spend at his house, you’re convinced there can’t be.

You want him to notice you, the same way you notice him. You tell yourself you’re just being a good friend to Areum, but you know there’s more behind your constant visits.

There’s definitely more behind the way your skirts get shorter, your tops tighter, your bras purposefully not worn.

You feel crazed when you convince yourself his gaze falls upon your exposed thighs when he puts a plate in front of you at dinner, or when his eyes seem to be caught, only for a fleeting second, by your hardened nipples, evident through your poor excuses of shirts.

Even when your interactions don’t go further than a brief exchange about college and Areum or quiet, polite smiles in passing, the mere thought of being around him sends a rush through your veins.

You’ve been seeking more and more of that after one particular night, your feet making their way down the stairs after Areum had fallen asleep and you had rathered take your leave. You found him stretched on the couch, a drink in his hand.

His eyes hazily followed your movements, voice low and slightly slurred, “Are you leaving already?”

Hearing him acknowledge you outside of the usual context of Areum’s presence made you stop dead in your tracks, your reddened cheeks turning to face him, the dark color spreading all over your features when you fully took him in.

He was cladded in a comfortable attire, one you almost never saw on him, black sweatpants and a gray t-shirt deliciously hugging his shoulders, the short sleeves revealing the intricate ink designs running all over his right arm.

You shook yourself out of your trance suddenly, stuttering, “Huh… yes. Didn’t wanna be a bother.”

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine, “Oh, you’re not. I wish all of my daughter’s friends were like you.”

His words hung in the air, filling it with sincerity and a sudden tension landing right on your chest. You quickly brushed it away with a laugh, a nervous, shaky sound escaping your lips, trying to mask the way your heart was racing with desperation for the gods to grace you with the depth of his tipsy voice all night.

To this day, you still think your horny and delusional prayer was heard when he nodded to the empty space beside him, lifting his glass slightly, “Care for a drink? You’re 21 now, right?”

You only nodded shyly, more out of reflex than actual thought, slowly making your way to sit beside him just as he had instructed. The proximity sent a wave of heat through your body, your insides melting with the lava, the smell of his cologne and laundry detergent replacing the burned ground with a trail of flowers.

You were willing to do whatever he wanted from you at that moment, even if it meant downing the harsh liquor he poured into a glass for you. You took a sip, struggling not to grimace at the burn that followed. He smiled.

It was probably the alcohol loosening his tongue, but that night, for the first time, you saw a side of Mr. Jeon that he kept carefully hidden away, his vulnerability a strong characteristic of it.

His words tumbled out in an almost confessional tone. He spoke about his marriage, about how he had always felt somewhat trapped. Still a teenager himself, he was only 17 when he found out his soon to be wife was pregnant with Areum; 23 when they decided to marry. Voice soft but tinged with sadness, he admitted he never felt like he got to live his youth to the fullest, certainly blessed with his perfect baby, but also chained down by responsibilities and a tightening pressure he shouldn’t have had to deal with at such a young age.

Then, with his eyes burning into your shiny and equally flaring ones, he paused just for a moment, and you felt he could see right through you, into the very core of your being. That he had you all figured out.

“When I look at you,” he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper, gaze traveling down your bare thighs, squished together on his couch, “I feel like I get a bit of that youth back. You're so full of life, so fresh, so… full of love for my daughter. I'm glad she has you. Glad we have you.”

As he found your orbs again, you noticed his had significantly darkened. You were sure your heart would have failed you if you had kept navigating in his gaze; instead, you looked down at your hands folded in your lap.

That night, he paid for your uber and insisted you sent him a text when you made it home. It was only read the morning after, and left unanswered.

Even now, you’re convinced that if it weren’t for the whisky, those words would have stayed locked away in his mind, never seeing the light of day. Not even if he were forced to speak them at gunpoint.

Still, you’re grateful for the magical effects of alcohol and how they’ve brought you a tiny bit closer to give a look into his complicated world. It has awakened something in you, which led you to the conclusion that you always want to be there for him. Help him through the doubts and regrets. Be the youth he missed. Take the weight off his shoulders. Let him use you on that couch.

That feral, undomesticated monster inside you is a hundred times hungrier when, exiting the library building with Areum by your side, babbling in your ear about today’s plans, you see his sleek Mercedes parked outside.

He honks, getting his daughter’s attention too, who excitedly walks over the car when she spots it. The sound works as a pavlovian trigger for you, it has your mouth salivating and your senses alert, catching up with your friend and getting in the backseat.

It has been a few weeks since you last saw him, both you and Areum too busy with assignments and outside activities, and his charming smile as he asks about the day cuts the breath from your lungs.

You’re silent as your friend fills him in, your ears struggling to pick up her speech as it only takes a few more seconds for your eyes to be caught by an interesting detail, one that has your world rocked: he finally took his wedding ring off.

The wedding ring that has stood as an unspoken boundary between you and your reckless fantasies is gone. The realization hits hard, and suddenly your mind veers into dangerous territory, conjuring visions that feel too real. You can almost feel his left hand wrapping around your waist, pulling you in, claiming you. And the images are so vivid, so consuming, that you don’t even notice when Areum nudges your shoulder.

You don’t register her calling your name until the sound finally cuts through, pulling you back to the present with a jolt. You blink a few times, trying to ground yourself, before turning to face her, Areum’s voice light but her expression amusedly curious, “Dad asked you a question.”

Your whole face drops, panic clear in your features, and heat immediately rushes to your cheeks. You've been zoning out, lost in a daydream about the very man sitting in front of you, the one you literally just ignored, too busy thinking of him. The irony is almost too much.

Your eyes find his in the rearview mirror, and the slight smirk on his lips only makes you look even dumber, stuttering all throughout your explanation, “Sorry, Mr. Jeon. I— um. I was distracted.”

He simply chuckles, low and clearly not offended by your lapse in attention. His focus is back on the road, but as he speaks you keep yours on the words he’s directing at you this time, “It’s okay. And I always tell you, just Jeongguk is fine. I was asking about your day, you seem a little worn out.”

“Oh. I—it went well! I guess I'm just a bit tired,” the words feel clumsy as they leave your mouth, but you hope they sound convincing enough. You just can’t stop your eyes from falling on his left hand.

“Well, you can’t be!” It’s Areum’s excitement interrupting your furious imagination and bubbling over, “You need to help me set up for tonight. Then, we’re gonna do our makeup, our hair, and dress up. I'm so excited!”

Right. The reason why you could finally see Mr. Jeon after weeks and why you’re currently driving to his house is because it’s Areum’s birthday.

The day feels significant in so many ways. You're excited to witness your best friend turn a year older, especially with all the hardships she’s been faced with. Honored that you’re the one she’s chosen to help make this night perfect, ensure every detail is just how she’s pictured this moment to be like. And you can’t deny that you feel slightly nervous at the prospect of tonight, knowing there are going to be faces you’re not that well acquainted with. You'd say you’re a bit awkward with new people, but you’ll try to bear through it for the sake of Areum’s happiness.

But mostly, you feel guilty. Because no matter how much you try to focus on your friend, the thought that truly makes your insides all mushy with fuzziness is the fact that you’re going to be in the proximity of her dad, again.

You crave for the smallest moments. The brief second where you’ll catch his gaze. The way his cologne will subtly linger in the hallways of his home. Your eyes have a habit of drifting to his hands, those strong, veined, tattooed hands that move so smoothly whenever he speaks.

Even now, in his car, as you glance at his side profile, there’s a ridiculous and almost cosmic sense of gratitude. Like you’ve been chosen. Blessed by whatever God to exist on this planet at the same time as him, to simply witness his presence.

It should be enough. It really should. But you’re a sinner. You're greedy, wanting more. Always more.

That buzzing sensation sticks with you throughout the entire day, hours packed with anxious over-organization, both you and Areum moving as if every step had to be executed flawlessly. And with all the chaos, he’s there in the back of your mind. Mr. Jeon.

He helps for a while, joining you in the backyard as you set up for the evening, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to the whirlwind around you. But then he disappears into his studio, into his own space, leaving you to your tasks, and you don’t see him until hours later.

Yet, you still feel him, as if he’s always near. His upstairs studio’s window faces the garden, and it’s enough to make you hyper-aware of your every gesture. You straighten your back, slow your steps. Because even though you don’t know if he’s really watching, it feels like he is.

Getting your makeup, hair and outfit ready with Areum does slightly ease that sensation off your chest. You love these moments with her. Shared girlhood when you do each other’s eyeliner, the flutter of excitement as you zip up dresses, as you rummage through her closet, searching for the perfect piece to complete your look.

But even then, you’re brought back to the man working just a few rooms down the hallway. It's astonishing how easily Areum has access to everything she wants. The power her dad holds, the kind of wealth that makes life feel effortless in ways you can’t help but envy. For her, money isn’t just something that buys things. It shapes her world. It’s as simple as snapping her fingers.

You don’t resent her for it, not really. But it makes you wonder what it would be like to live in a world where nothing is out of reach. Where everything, even the man who haunts your thoughts, could be yours with the right words or a simple gesture.

When you see him again, you’re standing in his kitchen. Areum is still upstairs, fixing the tiniest details to her makeup, but you decided to come down early, just in case the first guests arrive, wanting to be helpful, wanting to keep yourself busy.

You’re momentarily lost in the view outside the window, the backyard garden bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights, soft hues blending beautifully with the sage and pastel yellow decorations. It pulls a small smile to your face, knowing your hard work paid off.

The quiet peace is soon interrupted by the sound of a cupboard cracking open behind you, and you startle, your heart giving a quick jump.

You turn, following the noise, and there he is — Jeongguk, bent over as he retrieves a bottle of red wine from the lower cupboard. As he straightens up, bottle in hand, he finds your eyes already staring in his. He's uncharacteristically deliberate as he lets his gaze wander up and down your figure.

You’ve dressed carefully for tonight, choosing a flowy pink dress that flutters delicately against your thighs. The corset top hugs your waist in all the right ways, accentuating your shape. It’s the kind of dress that makes you feel just a little more confident, a little more seen.

But now, under his gaze, you feel rather exposed, as if he’s seeing more than just the fabric of your dress. His eyes linger, and when his orbs dip to your chest, it’s almost as if he hesitates, like he’s trying to tear his eyes away but can’t.

You’re not even sure if the engrossed look on his face is real or just the product of your own twisted fantasies.

Still, your body responds instinctively, your hand drifting up to play with your necklace, an unconscious gesture, while your other arm wraps around your waist, as if you’re trying to hold yourself together under the intensity of his stare.

When his eyes return to your wide ones, he gives a subtle nod towards your dress, and although the smile that curves his lips is warm you can’t decipher that something else it wants to communicate.

His voice is smooth, literal honey, sweet and rich, dripping out from his pillowy lips, “What a beauty. You look very pretty.”

Now, you weren’t expecting that. It steals the breath from your lungs. It's not just the words, or even the way he says them, velvet wrapping around your senses. It’s how he seems to drink you in, his refined wine nothing in comparison. Like you’re something to be savored just as carefully.

At this point, you’re seriously questioning if there was a stronger substance in the liquor you and Areum shared earlier, even if you hadn’t taken big quantities. But you figure it must have been enough to distort the current reality around you. Or maybe, Mr. Jeon is the inebriated one.

You don't know how you find the voice to speak, or if you even do, the word escaping your lips in an uncoordinated mess, almost imperceptible, “Thanks.”

He hums deeply in response, and it vibrates through the space between you. You let out a shaky exhale the moment his gaze finally shifts away. He resumes the task at hand, effortlessly opening the bottle of wine and turning his back to you as he reaches for a glass from the higher cabinet.

The muscles in his shoulders shift under his shirt, and for a split second, you’re unsure what to do. Whether to stay, add anything else, flee the room entirely. Make small conversation about Areum’s birthday. Comment on his look, too. Oh, you’d have a lot to say about it.

You can tell he just wrapped up his work-related tasks for today from the way the first three buttons of his white shirt are opened, revealing his deep cleavage. His hair slightly tousled, but in a way that looks perfectly intentional, unintentionally. His slacks hug him deliciously, rounding the curve of his ass and making you swallow hard.

Your eyes can’t resist trailing over him, but they quickly move up to stare at the ceiling, feigning deep thought when he turns back to face you and the counter.

Surprisingly, he’s the one to break the silence first, again. The rich sound fills the air as he pours his red wine, the motion so precise, so fluid, it feels like witnessing an authentic art form.

He doesn’t bother looking up at you as he asks, seemingly casual, but slightly amused, “Is there a boy you’re trying to impress tonight?”

The way he steers the conversation makes you less agitated, suddenly confident. Especially with the question thrown your way. Teasing, almost belittling. You can see he’s not even trying to hide his pretty smirk, his focus on the wine flowing into the glass.

The question lingers, and you twirl your necklace around your fingers, smoothing down your dress with your other hand, your eyes flitting to his naked left hand, “Mh… you could say so.”

Of course, you’re not thinking about a boy. Mr. Jeon is no boy — he’s a man. The kind women dream about but know they’ll never find. The kind that belongs on the big screen or in the pages of a novel, with his effortless charm, wealth, looks that stop you in your tracks.

But he’s in front of you. And he’s tall, muscular, with hands that could crush or caress, tattooed in a way that makes your mouth dry up and water all at once.

It’s him you want to impress. You want to affect him the way he affects you. You want to pull him in, make him look at you the way he makes your world tilt on its axis with just a glance.

You’re hypnotized as you witness him in one of his rich man activities, performing a ritual with the wine glass. He brings it to his nose, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the aroma. It’s sensual, the way he handles the glass, its liquid dancing with precision, as if even this simple act holds meaning. You can’t look away.

When he's satisfied, he finds you again, and your mouth is slightly open without you even realizing it. The moment he lifts the glass to his lips, you bite your own, almost harshly, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

His smile is soft. He must know exactly what he’s doing to you.

Jeongguk mutters into the glass, his words resounding even stronger, “Well, he’d be a fool not to fall for you.”

The implications of his comment make you swallow audibly, while he downs his first sip of the wine with fine ease, his Adam's apple bobbing with it. The whole time, his eyes never leave yours.

A thick silence stretches between you, and you wish you could break it but you don’t know how. Your mind spins with the unspoken tension, instead he seems entirely comfortable with it. He places the glass back on the counter, the soft clink of it slicing through the quiet. Smoothly, he nudges it in your direction, his movements slow, as if testing the waters.

His voice is inviting, even more than usual, “You want to try?”

”Is that wine?” You instantly cringe at the way you sound strained.

He hums, a low sound of affirmation, watching you carefully. You briefly glance at the glass, "I've never had it.”

”Have it, then.”

With a slow twist of his fingers around the base, he slides the glass toward you. As it moves across the marble surface, you notice how he rotates it imperceptibly, but purposefully, so that the side where his lips touched the rim is now facing you. The gesture is subtle, but the intent behind it is clear. At least to your deranged fantasies.

There’s a faint lip mark where his mouth had been, and the sight of it pulls you in, making your pulse pound in your ears. You look back up at him, finding his gaze still on you, expression unreadable.

Without a word you lift the glass, your fingers wrapping clumsily around its stem. You bring it to your lips, mouth closing over the spot his lips had just pressed on.

The wine hits your tongue — bitter, sharp, and unfamiliar. You gulp hard, the liquid burning slightly as it slides down your throat. Your face scrunches involuntarily; the richness of the flavor is too much for you, and you can’t help but grimace as the aftertaste lingers.

He watches, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. When you set the glass down, he effortlessly picks it back up and brushes his fingers across the rim.

His tone laced with amusement, he asks, “Love it?”

You shake your head quickly, trying to hide your discomfort.

His chuckle is low, a soft rumble that makes your stomach flip. Swirling the wine gently, he muses, "I heard there’s going to be alcohol tonight.”

You grumble lightly, slumping your shoulders, “Ugh, I know.”

The endearment rolls off his tongue like a secret meant just for you, his voice dipping into something softer, more intimate, “Make sure you don’t drink too much, pretty face. I'll be around.”

Just like that, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your thoughts spinning. Pretty face?

What just happened? You're not so sure, but eyeing the glass left alone on the counter, you impulsively grab it and decide to gulp its remnants down, groaning immediately after. Taking wine as a shot might not have been the best idea, but you’re certainly going to need all the possible devices to shake this feeling off.

It’s hard to do so, even as the birthday party kicks off. The energy in the backyard shifts as more guests arrive. Lively voices and unfamiliar faces begin to fill the space. Areum’s laughter cuts through the hum, infectious and bright, drawing everyone in. With your best efforts, you start engaging with others, smiling as you talk to some classmates and mutual friends, but it’s all surface-level. Your mind is elsewhere.

It's only later, as the evening progresses and the party settles into a rhythm, that you begin to relax. Mainstream music plays in the background and it inevitably involves everybody, some classic party games becoming the main entertainment.

Long after the cake and the gift-opening, the group gathers into a loose circle, throwing each other Never Have I Ever questions. You can’t help the way you all are still too young, and how you still get foolishly excited whenever the topic turns hot and hints at anything that is sex related. Childish and immature, you know, but your ears still perk when the first probing question is tossed out.

“Never have I ever been fingered.”

Areum instantly shushes it, her eyes panickedly looking back to the house in hopes her dad isn’t around. laughter bubbles just as quickly, both because of the question and the girl’s reaction.

As expected, many reach for their drink, and you do too. The few present boys holler in a teasing manner, gaining some eye rolls.

Sheepishly, the plastic cup touches your lips and you take the smallest sip of your punch. You can’t appear unbothered like your other peers, your cheeks subtly flaming as the embarrassing memories rush to your mind.

It’s silent, the small plea you telepathically send to anyone that might be listening. You pray for the topic to shift to something else, something that won’t inevitably put you at the center of the attention. Something you can relate to.

But of course, God is not on your side. The questions only dig deeper, wandering in uncharted territory (at least for you), and you never reach for your glass again.

You can only sink further in your chair the more everybody else around you seems even more lively with the way the game has turned, sharing their experiences, giggling as they listen and refill their cups. Beside you Areum buzzes with energy, and every question is just something for her to drink to, nothing that shocks her or that she isn’t familiar with.

Never have I ever given head.

Never have I ever been ate out.

Never have I ever rode someone.

It’s undeniable, your skin heating up. With how you’ve been spending your whole day, fantasizing about the man who’s probably already asleep in his bedroom by now, your friends sharing their adventures only fuels your imagination. You feel dirty when you put yourself in those scenarios, and for every daring moment they relive, the figure that appears beside you is always Mr. Jeon.

If only you turned your head, just for a moment, and glanced toward the kitchen window that faces the backyard, you would have seen the same man dominating your thoughts, staring intently at the scene unfolding outside.

Jeongguk is swallowed wholly by the darkness of the house, every light turned off. Maybe that’s why neither you nor Areum notice him.

You don’t see him. For once, you don’t feel him. You’re too caught up in the moment, too consumed by your own desires, unaware that the man that put you in that same condition is standing so close, watching.

Jeongguk intently studies how your face dips down at every new question, how your smile seems just a little too tight, too forced when listening to the stories, the ones that make you shift uncomfortably in your chair.

If you don’t notice it, he does almost immediately — the moment the attention in the circle shifts toward you.

The glances thrown your way become layered with a subtle curiosity, laced with something that looks like concern. But then, in the eyes of a few, Jeongguk catches a faint trace of judgment. It’s there, in the tilt of their heads, in the exchanged fleeting looks with one another, as if they sense your uneaseness and interpret it as something lesser. Something they can pick apart.

His jaw tightens as he observes, that familiar protective instinct stirring within him. It makes his hands twitch by his side, but he stays rooted in place.

Eventually, the moment you clearly seem to dread the most (it doesn’t take a genius to know. It’s written on your face. Or maybe, he got so used to studying you. It comes easy to him. Knowing you,) follows.

It makes you want to vanish into the thin air caressing your legs, how you can sense that the question is put out with intent, an only pretending-to-be-careful tone wrapping it, all pairs of eyes instantly directed in your direction.

“Never have I ever… had sex.”

You feel trapped, a momentary panic bubbling in your chest as you reach for your cup, hesitant. The rim hovers near your lips and you try avoiding every expectant glance, taking the smallest sip you can manage.

A murmur ripples through the circle. You can’t decipher it, too busy feeling the heat spread across your face. It's only later that you realize no one else drank. The question had been crafted specifically for you, a test.

Lara exhales, a teasing smile playing on her lips, “Woah, I was getting worried for a second there, ___.”

You barely have time to react before Areum steps in, her voice sharp in your defense, “What’s wrong with never having had sex, either way?”

“Nothing, but—”

You’re not sure why you speak, and why you choose your speech that way specifically. You cut in before you even realize what you’re doing, driven by a sudden urge to explain yourself, an unshakable need to clarify forcing itself up your throat, "I only took a small sip, though.”

The group’s collective curiosity spikes, attention zeroed in on you like never before. You feel it — everyone waiting for you to continue, to reveal something you’ve kept to yourself until now. So, you give in, words tumbling out against your better judgment.

You clear your throat, straighten your back against the chair, your tone evasive, “I technically am not a virgin, but… When we— did it, he um… he got his tip in, but— God, this is embarrassing.”

“C’mon, tell us!”

You sigh, pressing forward with an explanation they do not deserve, “He came, like, two seconds after. So, I felt nothing.”

The laughter that erupts is immediate, your friends covering their mouths in shock and amusement. You can only chuckle nervously, shrinking in your seat with a deep, liberating exhale.

Yunjin pats your shoulder beside you, “That’s so sad, babe. We need to find you a real man.”

A strange sense of relief courses through you, the adrenaline from finally being acknowledged and validated by your friends swelling within. You don’t know why, but you keep talking, oversharing, feeding into the newfound attention, “Oh, I've been waiting for one in particular.”

You quickly become the center of attention for different reasons than the previous ones, now. Voices overlap, but you dismiss them all with a playful shake of your head, giggles bubbling up as you try to evade their questions.

But just as quickly as the moment came, it fades when you glance to the side, and your smile drops.

Jeongguk’s eyes meet yours immediately.

The intensity of the gaze knocks the breath from your lungs, and you immediately straighten in your seat.

He’s been watching the entire time, arms crossed, muscle in his jaw tensing as his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. There’s an unusual frustration etched into his expression, a subtle irritation with your friends’ behavior. But it’s more than that.

Your confession had softly revealed your inexperience. Your innocence. The untarnished parts of you he’s only beginning to realize he wants to corrupt.

Truth is, he’s known for a long time. Longer than he’d like to admit, really. But he’s never let himself feel it fully until now. It wasn’t something that hit him all at once. No, it crept up on him slowly, over the months. He’s always known you were beautiful, in that distant, untouchable way. You’re his daughter’s best friend, after all.

But he couldn’t help his eyes from lingering on you a little too long when you’d come over to hang out with Areum, how he’d feel the tension of his work day melt when he’d let himself be coddled by the warmth of your helping actions, the way his muscles would instead tense when he’d catch sight of you lounging by the pool.

He’d been good at keeping it under bay. But you weren’t subtle, not even the slightest, and it all made it harder. Even more when you’ve been nothing but the proof that angels exist, and at some point he convinced himself you were sent on Earth to fill the void he felt his whole life, with your unconditional care towards his daughter and your pupils widening whenever they’d land on his.

Maybe it was seeing you tonight, all grown up and standing there in that dress, hugging your figure deliciously. How you carried yourself, confident yet unsure, mature yet untouched.

Hearing you talk about your inexperience, about that brief, awkward encounter with a boy who clearly didn’t know what he was doing. Watching you squirm under your friends’ teasing questions, witnessing how you tried to explain yourself.

It’s like it all clicks into place for him. And for the first time, he’s letting himself acknowledge it.

Jeongguk wants you.

He knows it’s wrong. So wrong. He's never felt this way about someone so much younger than him, and yet, the need to be the first one to truly touch you, to show you what it means to be wanted by a real man, makes his blood run hot.

Yet, he feels disgusting. Selfish, his stomach swirling with nerves. Dirty, his fingers twitching and begging to free his insides from such feelings.

There’s simply no ignoring it anymore, no pretending like you’re just Areum’s friend. That boundary he set in his mind is starting to blur. He's old enough to know better, but old enough to know exactly what he wants.

Your eyes widen with terror, meeting Jeongguk’s own hardened gaze. He wants to tell you, wants you to know, but the way your startled expression lingers in his narrowed eyes makes him hesitate.

The contact is abruptly interrupted when one of Areum’s friends, an older kid she’s met through her dad’s colleague, crashes into you from behind, draping his weight over your shoulders.

You struggle not to stumble forward, holding yourself on the arms of your chair while you look to the side, and immediately try to pull away when you realize the unwanted proximity.

But you’re weaker than the boy’s embrace, holding you still and wiggling his eyebrows, his tone playful as he ruffles your hair, “Is it me?”

The people around you laugh, but the way your body stiffens, the clear discomfort in your eyes — Jeongguk notices. And he also notices (reluctantly) the ugly feeling making space in his stomach the more that guy’s face moves closer to yours. His jaw twitches, the muscle at his temple ticking.

He can’t just stand there doing nothing anymore.

The sudden sound of the door to the garden opening catches everyone’s attention, and your gaze flies over in that direction.

Jeongguk steps out, presence commanding, and Areum’s eyes grow wide, instantly sensing something wrong in the way her father is looking at the scene. His eyes are too dark, too sharp, and if no one else detects it, you and his daughter surely do.

Still, the taller boy behind you moves up again, taking a step back from your seat, and Jeongguk seems to reserve him a look you find hard to decipher.

“Areum,” he calls, soft but firm. She’s quick to move toward him, and you can’t help but try to listen in on what he’s saying to her.

But the voices rise again, loud and boisterous, filling the space with chatter, drowning out any chance you had of overhearing. You sigh, returning to your slumped position on the chair. As you do, you can’t ignore how all the girls around you are sneaking glances at him, their giggles piercing through the air as they whisper among themselves.

Jeongguk has always had a certain effect on people, and tonight is no different. You hear some of their comments, but they don’t fully register in your mind. All you can focus on is the bitter feeling rising in your chest.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. It sickens you, the way you have to share the image of him with everyone else. You wish only your eyes had been granted the gift of looking at him, of admiring the way his shirt stretches across his chest or how his hair falls perfectly, even when tousled. Instead, he’s a spectacle for everyone to enjoy, and you hate it.

When Areum returns, it’s with a slightly slumped posture and her energy deflated. Behind her, Mr. Jeon stands with his arms crossed, a small, condescending smile tugging at his lips.

Areum’s voice is low as she announces, “The party’s over, guys.”

The subtle groans of disappointment echo around you as your friends gather their things, saying their goodbyes and slowly trickling out, only after trying to argue about it, giving up when met with no possible negotiation. Once the last guest has left, it’s just the three of you, left to clean up the remnants of the night in the dimly lit garden.

The air is tense on your skin. You can feel it in every movement, every glance that passes between you and Jeongguk, though he barely looks at you now. His focus is elsewhere. On the mess, on Areum, on anything but you. It’s silent for a while as each one of you picks up their own task. Teamwork seems to be efficient, every area of the backyard slowly regaining its original aspect.

Until Areum yawns dramatically, stretching her arms above her head as she makes her way over to you and her father. She mumbles, blinking heavily. "’M so sleepy."

Jeongguk raises an eyebrow. He teases lightly, voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "Oh, really? You’re just gonna leave all this mess behind?"

For a moment, you and Areum both freeze, glancing at each other with wide eyes, unsure if he’s serious. However, you don’t seem to notice Jeongguk’s lips curling into a soft, knowing smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Just kidding,” he chuckles, tone warm now, the joke clear. “Go sleep, c’mon. It’s past your bedtime.”

Areum sighs with exaggerated relief, rolling her eyes before stepping forward to wrap her arms around her dad in a loose hug. She mumbles into his chest, “I’m not a kid anymore, dad. I don’t have a bedtime.”

He chuckles with a lightness foreign to you until that moment, and he leans down, pressing his lips gently to the top of her head, voice a low and tender whisper, “Whatever you say. Happy birthday, Reumie.”

It’s such a simple moment, nothing grand or elaborate. Still, you watch them with stars in your eyes, completely captivated by this rare portrayal of vulnerability from Mr. Jeon. You almost feel like an intruder, yet you keep contradicting yourself when you can’t help but want to be part of it, too. Want to bask in his love, the one he keeps hidden but the same one that shapes him whole. That fills him from head to toe, never spilling, always quiet. Makes him the brave man you only know through your best friend’s admiring eyes, never from his words.

He doesn’t like talking about himself, but you’d kill to know what truly goes through his mind, even for just a second. You’d gladly settle in a cramped house in his brain, pay rent and everything.

When Areum finally pulls away and turns to you, her expression sleepy but content, she asks, “You coming with me?”

You hesitate, glancing at the mess still surrounding you. You speak with a small, reassuring smile, only looking at your friend, “I'll be there in a minute. I wanna help clean up first.”

She just shrugs, too tired to argue, and heads inside. Jeongguk's eyes follow her briefly before flicking back to you.

His lips part as if he wants to say something. Maybe to insist that there’s no need to help, that you should join Areum inside and get a good night's sleep. But the words never come. Instead, he watches you silently for a second longer, before turning his attention back to the garden.

Now, it’s just the two of you.

The quiet between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy. The subtle hum of the night seems louder now without the chatter of party guests, and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze fills the air as you move around the small round tables, readjusting the chairs.

You’re trying to focus on the task at hand, but your mind keeps drifting to other regions. In your distraction, you clumsily trip over your own feet, your breath catching as you stumble forward.

Before you can fall, though, a strong hand grips your arm, steadying you instantly.

“Oops. Careful, little one,” it’s Jeongguk’s deep voice murmuring close to your ear, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

Your face flushes immediately, heat spreading across your cheeks and down your neck. “Sorry,” you whisper, glancing up at him through your lashes, feeling ridiculously small under his intense gaze.

“It’s okay,” he instantly replies, tone so gentle it almost makes your heart falter.

Silence falls again, but this time, it’s thicker, and maybe even uncomfortable. You both remain still for a moment, his hand loosely gripping your arm, and you feel yourself burn where his fingers rest. His thumb brushes your skin lightly, a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture, but it’s enough to make you gulp audibly.

Finally, he releases you, stepping back slightly, but his eyes never leave yours, "Thanks for making my daughter happy today. I really appreciate that. I appreciate you."

Your mind races, trying to find the right words to respond, but all you can manage is a stutter, “Oh. I—”

His voice is firmer when he gently cuts you off, “Go sleep now. I'll finish here.”

You want to protest, but the way he’s looking at you — dark eyes locking onto yours, holding you in place even with his hand now by his side — makes it impossible.

There’s something about the way he’s speaking, like he’s being careful with his words, almost spelling them out, making sure you’re paying attention to each one, “If you need anything, you know where to find me. Yeah?”

You swallow hard, nodding slowly. His gaze is unwavering, and it feels like he’s saying something more than just the words themselves, something you can’t quite grasp yet. You stammer, “Right. Yes. I—I’ll… goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

It’s not exactly a good night for you. In a sense, maybe it is. You always welcome dreams like these when they decide to visit. But right now, it feels more than a little awkward.

Worst timing ever. You’re lying next to Areum, the daughter of the very man who’s making you wet with just a few flashes of imagery dancing behind your closed eyelids.

At first, it’s soft, almost serene. You see a beach, engulfed in warm, blurry tones that blend together like watercolors left to bleed in the sun. The sea is flat, unmoving, and glimmers like pearls under the flaming light.

A weight presses down on your exposed thigh. The sensation feels so vivid that it pulls you deeper into the dream, and as you glance down, you instantly recognize the large, familiar hand resting there.

Jeongguk's hand. His left one. On the fourth finger, a gold ring.

When you lift your head, his face greets you with a wide, unusual smile. His hair is wet, slicked back as if he’s just come out of the water, droplets clinging to the tips. He bites his lip, and you see it. A double piercing sits on the side of his mouth, the silver studs gleaming as he plays with them using the tip of his tongue. Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t just see it there. On his eyebrow, a matching piercing catches the sunlight, giving him a rebellious edge.

You remember them from old pictures Areum showed you once. Jeongguk, in his younger days, rougher, wilder, and undeniably charming.

It must have left a deep impression on you because your subconscious has dug it up now, weaving it into this dream. Deep in your slumber, you unconsciously whine.

His hand kneads the soft skin of your leg, and his grin stretches wider, eyes crinkling into familiar crescents, but with an edge you’ve never seen on him before.

"You wanna take another bath?" His voice is husky in your ear, filled with suggestion. He's leaning in now, closer, his fingers drawing lazy circles on your skin. Before you can say anything, his hand slides higher, fingers grazing the hem of your swimsuit. "Come on. Just you and me."

Jeongguk’s hand is still playing with the laces of your bikini, and he’s slow and teasing as he pulls one of them. When he fully undoes it, you’re bare in front of him.

But he doesn’t look down just yet. He keeps staring in your eyes, his smile gone now, replaced with something more serious, more focused.

Jeongguk leans closer to your ear, pillowy lips brushing your lobe, and it feels way too real when he whispers, “Let me make you feel good.”

It’s with a jolt that you wake up, the low sound still echoing in the depths of your brain, and you struggle to take in your surroundings at first. On your right, Areum is sleeping soundly, even snoring softly. You'll tease her about it in the morning.

If the thought initially puts a smile on your face, it morphs into a frown when you register the reason why you’re now awake, and you brim with guilt. You have to get away from your best friend. Need to get away from your brain, if possible. Wash it all with a glass of cold water.

You make sure not to cause too much noise as you slowly sit up, the covers falling from your figure and the air welcoming you with goosebumps on your skin. Your naked feet tentatively touch the ground and you force yourself to stand on them, padding on the floor and exiting the room, gently closing the door behind your shoulders.

At first, you only hear it. Faint, muffled noises; fussing; heavy panting; groans.

You blink rapidly, convinced your hazy brain is still cozily wrapped around the blankets, finding it hard to let go of the images that had flashed behind your eyelids and adapt to the new state of consciousness.

But as you make your way to the stairs, the sounds get closer, and more vivid. It's not just your mind playing evil games anymore.

It’s shushed moans, and eager whines. And they seem awfully close to how you’d always imagined Mr. Jeon would sound like. In that situation.

Having lost control over your own brain a long time ago, it feels like you’re now being ordered around by it, no freedom of choice whatsoever.

Your feet move on their own, following the source of that delicious music, and you swear your eyes get teary with joy when you find that the door was left ajar.

You feel delirious. The small gap is more than enough to give you a view into what you never thought you’d have the honor of witnessing: the man of all your desires has his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing it, then dragging it up and down in slow movements that you just know are torturing him, from the way he harshly bites his lower lip, to the way his furrowed eyebrows almost meet at the bridge of his nose, eyes focused on his doings.

Nonetheless, he loves it. His mouth opens every time he brushes the tip of his thick dick with his palm, releasing small whines, followed by quiet moans when he uses his other hand to play with his balls.

He cusses repeatedly, then grips his base and halts his movements. Only to go over the punishing pattern again, bringing himself closer to the edge then retraining when he feels like stepping over it.

The sight of Mr. Jeon edging himself makes your knees weak. It takes over you physically, you genuinely have to find support in the wall beside you.

You need to be there with him. You need it to be your hand; need him to guide it just the way he likes it; need him to teach you how to please him. His groans make your head spin, and you need to get closer.

You’re not thinking when you instinctively take a step towards the slightly open door, but when you do, the floor cracks under you.

You’re paralysed. In the silence of the house, wrapped in night time, the otherwise small sound is amplified, and he stops his hand.

With the little power you still possess over your actions, you move your back to the wall beside the door. Your breaths are ragged, too overwhelmed with the mixture of fear and lust, and you think of running away to hide but a huge weight is chaining you down, and you find yourself unable to move.

You can only register fussing from the other side, the soft thump of his feet on the floor and the door opening alarmingly. When he looks to the side, he’s met with his expression mirrored on your small face, your eyes wide but willing themselves to keep looking in his.

If you were to look down, you’re not sure you could keep yourself composed, knowing his cock is hard and unattended in his pajama pants.

“____? What are you doing up?” His voice quickly takes on the calm that characterizes him so well, instilling some of it in your startled figure.

Still, you stutter all throughout your answer, making it clear what you just spied into with the way your face changes color, “I— Water. I wanted— There’s no, huh, water in the fridge.”

Mr. Jeon does a weak job at hiding the confused amusement on his features. Nonetheless, he nods, a small grin on his lips while he says nothing, just walks to the stairs and makes his way down them. You follow hastily, careful not to trip.

There's plenty of water in the fridge, but he doesn’t question it. He takes out a bottle and pours a glass for you, sliding it over the counter.

You take the smallest sip, afraid you might choke with the way he stands facing you, staring so intensely into your orbs.

When you put the still full glass down, he smirks. You see his hands gripping the edge of the table in front of him, “Nightmare?”

The depth of his voice translates into heat pooling right in your lower stomach and staining your shorts. You're a mess just from the blurred sight of him. You shake your head, “More like… a weird dream.”

He smiles taut, having to break the prolonged eye contact and look elsewhere, his grip getting tighter and his patience wearing thin.

He won’t be able to control himself much longer if he doesn’t get out of this kitchen, especially with the effects of your effortless charm flooding down his pleading dick.

You’re in front of him, eyes fond with a feeling that scares him, only the counter dividing your bodies, and you’re wearing the tiniest satin shorts paired with a white tank top that leaves little to the imagination, the cut dangerously low and your nipples evident through the material.

He’s a gone man.

His eyes no longer anchoring you, your gaze automatically travels to where you shouldn’t be looking, for your own sanity. The outline of his cock is so delicious, it makes your mouth water with want.

You’re not sure if it’s your own eyes deceiving you, but you swear you can see it throb, and at that moment you realize he’s not wearing any underwear. Just thin, loose pants covering his length.

You gulp, clenching around nothing. You feel him sigh, and the sound makes your head spin with greater force.

He looks back at you, but you’re too enthralled by your current view, the effects of it almost completely shutting out your hearing and your rational thinking, as you round the counter and leave his words hung in the air, "I'm sorry for… what you probably saw. Should’ve closed the door.”

Apology silently dismissed, or simply ignored (why would he even apologize for blessing you with such an unforgettable sight?) you now stand next to him. As he turns to you, you’re faced with his chest, and you have to bend your head upwards to meet his curious eyes.

Your body has long forgotten to trust the thin amount of rationality that could still be found in your brain, and that’s how you find yourself leading your hand to cup his cock through his pajamas.

His face is stoic, staring at you intensely. He doesn’t startle, doesn’t gasp, doesn’t move away. But you feel him. If the contact does something to him, he doesn’t show it. He keeps looking down at you, in your eyes.

Then, he speaks, his voice steady, “What are you doing.”

You’re suddenly aware of your actions, and you fall victim to them, feeling small because of his stern, composed gaze while you feel like melting under it.

Your voice is frail, barely a whisper, too weak to sound as convinced as you truly are, and your words come out slurred, “Wanna help you.”

He doesn’t break, doesn’t seem affected by your desperation, but his pupils are blown out, knuckles white from grasping the counter, “You already did enough.”

Your hand is still on his clothed dick, unmoving. No one dares break the moment, though. If anything, being this close to him, feeling him while you both search for something in each other’s eyes, is only spurring you further.

You get on your tip toes, your perky nipples brushing against his chest, your voice low while you tilt your head to the side, “What were you thinking of? I'll be that for you.”

Immediately, his hand flies over yours. He doesn’t move it, just holds it still. The look in his eyes is a lot darker, his eyelids droopy, his jaw clenched, “Stop this.”

The electrifying spark that buzzes you the moment you feel his skin travels from your hand to your whole body, and it significantly weakens you.

You don’t know if you fall to your knees because they genuinely give up on you, but it’s how you find yourself facing his hardness, your eyes never leaving his glossy ones, highlighted by the dim light shining through the curtains of his kitchen.

“___. Get up.” There’s a tremor in his voice, and the hand that was blocking yours now falls by his side, twitching.

You see it in his eyes. Sense it in the tension of his muscles. He's holding back. But you don’t want him to resist you.

“Please,” your beg is muffled and quiet, your nose brushing against his length and following a torturous path that makes him hiss.

He groans deliriously, willing himself to tear his orbs off your big, pleading ones staring up at him, but he doesn’t do anything to move you away.

“Fuck,” the chuckle that follows is feverish, his body on fire with the forbidden, but so wanted touch, “Don’t make me have to reject you, doll.”

“You don’t have to,” you’re unexpectedly quick in your answers, your conscience coming back to you but letting it be taken over by a dark feeling, the one that makes you kiss his tip through the thin material, and lick along his length, finding his eyes, "I want you.”

Jeongguk inhales, his lower lip bleeding with the harsh biting, and he swears his knees are shaking with the effort of keeping even the slightest, thinnest thread of sanity intact.

He wishes he could stop you. Knows he should. But he can't. He can only watch as your slim fingers hook under the hem of his light pants and lead them to pool down his ankles.

The way his cock springs free and brushes your smooth, pure face makes him huff out a deep exhale, his jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed as he takes in your eyes widening at the sight of his length.

Mr. Jeon is long. And thick. He's veiny, and perfectly shaved. It looks almost unrealistic, but he’s in front of you in all his glory and he throbs. Leaks pretty precum to coat his angry tip.

He doesn’t know how he manages to speak, especially when you look up at him through your droopy eyelids, pupils blown and tongue ready to take him.

His voice is rough, as if it wants to stay stuck in his throat, but he forces one last warning out, “___. Don’t do it.”

Any and all kinds of inhibitions are nonexistent the moment you attempt a kitten lip at his wet tip, and the simple action makes his head fall backwards, a way too loud growl escaping him. His breaths are heavy, broad chest moving with them as he looks down at you again, too tempted to look elsewhere.

He curses as soon as he does, his lust-filled orbs swimming in your equally craving ones, and he believes this view is crafted by the hands of a God, not slightly comparable to anything his mind came up with back in his room, not too long ago.

The reason why he’s gotten rock hard under his covers, it’s you. The yearning he couldn’t suppress anymore, the hunger making him salivate, the need to be consumed by your love, the desire to be touched by you, to be cured by your innocence, only to taint it.

He’s thirsty, wants to drink all of you in. Wants to finally have you, taste you, feel you. He's tired of fighting it.

Jeongguk doesn’t know how to decipher his heart doing literal flips in his chest when you fully take his cock in your mouth, and he lets out a sound he’s never heard his own self ever produce. It’s high-pitched, whiny, delirious, and it leads himself to subtly push himself forward, to bury his length in your throat.

You inevitably choke at the new sensation, your eyes fluttering shut to keep the tears welling up under your eyelids from spilling out, but you go relentlessly, just as hungry.

You tentatively bob your head up and down his length, messily taking him as best as you could, probably accidentally scraping him with your teeth a few times, and you try to make up for it with your swirling tongue, slurping thirstily.

He almost coos at your eagerness, and as badly as he wants to bask in the sensation, having to keep himself from pounding into your mouth, he holds your silky hair in a ponytail and gently pushes you away.

When you find him again, your eyes are glossy and your eyebrows drawn up with worry.

You don’t want this moment to end. You don’t want your insecurities to be proven right, don’t want him to ward you off, to still think of you as nothing more than a childish girl with an evident crush. You're on your knees for him to finally see you.

Jeongguk instantly reads your thoughts.

His voice is quick to sooth you, a sweet smile painting his face with an expression you rarely see on him. It's soft, just like his voice, “Come up here, angel.”

You want to listen to him, want to follow his every order. But you’re not sure how to when he’s regarding you with a care you’d never thought would be directed at you, one that empties you of any strength. When the pet name rolling off his tongue that easily seems so natural, you want to think it’s all he’s ever seen you as.

With a delicate tug at your hair, he leads you on your feet again. Still, you’re weak, your chin falling on his chest as you look at him through your lashes like he’s hung every single star in the sky.

His hand leaves your locks only to cup your face, promptly helping you stand straight to study your features.

If he didn’t know better, he’d say you’re high off the strongest substance you could find. Your pupils cover your orbs in a dark, wide circle, a lazy smile on your pink lips as you let yourself be handled by him, no control over your body, almost falling over his bigger one again before he steadies you by your hips.

He lets out an amused chuckle at the state you’re in because of him, and he hopes you know just how much you’re affecting him, too. He wants to swallow you, pill after pill, overdose on you.

When he’s sure you don’t need his help keeping you still anymore, leading your palms to rest on his wide shoulders, he takes your face in his big hands and forces you to swim in the intensity of his gaze.

His words are spoken slowly, a low whisper fanning over your lips, “If I kiss you now, I won't be able to control myself anymore.”

Your eyes jump relentlessly between his own orbs and his mouth, the latter winning the battle when you fixate on it, and speak just as weakly, “Please, kiss me.”

You barely manage to get the words out before Jeongguk is all over you. He devours you, pushing your lips open and finding your tongue, playing with it in a mess of slick and heavy breaths.

His fingers travel through every angle of your body they can find, pulling your face impossibly closer by your nape, leaving goosebumps along your bare arms wrapping around his neck, falling down your torso and squeezing harshly as they rest by your sides.

Your moan is inevitable when his palms reach down the curve of your ass and shove you against him. You feel his hardness meet the softness of your lower belly, his wet tip poking at it and making him hiss on your lips.

He does his best to swallow all your sounds, your muffled whines and whimpers his favorite meal as of now. It's a wince of slight pain that you let out as he positions you in between his body and the counter, the border pressing on your lower back.

When he moves from your kiss, even with your lungs being unable to breathe anymore and begging for a break, your head follows his movements to try and bring him back on you again.

The chuckle he lets out is almost belittling, the right side of your face being completely engulfed by his palm to put distance between your mouths, his other hand keeping you still by your waist, and his own hips push against you.

You quickly glance down to where your bodies meet, and you whimper when you take in the way his cock is just above your core, his balls brushing against your clit. You only need to lift yourself a little forward to fully feel him.

But it’s like he instantly knows what’s making your head spin, his grip tighter but still mindful not to hurt you. The sudden squeeze has your eyes finding his, feeling ridiculously smaller under the weight of his heavy gaze.

He makes sure you keep your whole focus on him, and as much as registering the way your orbs are glossy with anticipation and desire is making him almost regret his next words, he lets them out, steady but soft, in your face.

“You had your fun, baby. Now, you’re going to listen to me. Hm?”

This time, your reaction comes promptly following his request. You're hanging from his lips, tracing their every move and sound, immediately nodding at the order.

It’s not enough, and Jeongguk ensures to sound a bit firmer, ”Use your words.”

”Yes, Mr. Jeon.”

The way your response rolls off your tongue with seemingly no hesitation, your pupils still on his, the words you choose to say, make him let out an amused chuckle.

Your eyes widen, and he drinks in your state, cheeks flushed and lower lip trembling. You need to bite it in order for it to stop shaking when he narrows his eyes, his left palm rising from your hip and finding its way under your top, his remark making you startle, ”You’re such a bad girl. Aren’t you?”

Jeongguk makes up for the way more tears seem to well along your bottom lashes by cupping your small breast in his larger hand, swirling his thumb around your nipple, and you need to fight against the loud moan traveling its way up your throat, the choked sound getting stuck as your mouth hangs open, your eyebrows furrowed.

It only takes some more of his degrading tone for you to let out an unashamedly loud noise, his fingertips pinching your nipple, ”Calling me that only because it gets you off. Doesn’t it? You’re not so innocent after all, angel.”

He quickly swallows your sounds with his lips on yours, and both of you can’t help but hum lowly at the contact. Jeongguk thinks he could keep kissing you for hours on end. But he badly wants to feel every other inch of your body, too.

Unexpectedly, the kiss gets broken when he turns your body around with ease, your back now pressing against his front, and you steady your shaking figure by planting your hands on the counter.

The access to your ear comes effortlessly, he just needs to bend his head down to cover your height difference and make sure his whispered words meet you as close as possible, “I’ll give you what you want. But you need to be quiet and good for me, understood?”

You’re not sure if you should use your voice or stay silent, but your body doesn’t give you the chance to ponder over it before letting out a whiny Yes. You’re not exactly being quiet, but can he blame you?

The man you’d get to talk to for more than five minutes only in your dreams is now promising you he’s going to give you what you want. And his cock is perfectly nestled in between your ass cheeks. You're positive you’ll have to throw your shorts right in the bin after he’s done with you.

Though, the scoff resounding in your ear makes you regret not even trying to lower your volume. You really want to be good for him. Don’t want to disappoint him.

That’s why when he taps two fingers under your chin, without him having to express it for you, you part your lips open, tongue out. From the corner of your eye, you see the side of his face scrunched with a long dimple before he shoves the digits inside your wet mouth.

You instantly wrap yourself around his long fingers, coating them in your warm slick, and you can tell it’s affecting him with the way the hold on your hip tightens, and he shifts between your thighs.

With your tongue swirling around the two digits, your eyes search for his face. Looking up at him through your lashes, you clench around nothing when you take in the effortless way he towers over you, his body engulfing your whole smaller figure.

The sinful eye contact leads him to spur you on further, his voice rough with desire, “That’s right. Suck on them like you would my cock.”

You hum deeply at the encouragement, fluttering your eyelids shut as you energetically bob up and down along his fingers. You think you can still feel the taste of his precum lingering on your tongue, and you whine, wishing you could have him again.

The noise gets cut from your throat when he forces his digits out, the slicky sound lustful, and it makes him groan lowly.

With his other hand, he delicately pushes your head forward to bend you over the marble counter, the same one where hours ago he passed you his glass of wine to take a sip from.

The surface is cold against your cheek and he’s out of your vision as he stands straight. Not being able to see what he’s doing, the expression on his face as you lay folded for him, makes the anticipation flood even stronger in your veins.

You feel him pull your shorts down enough to reveal yourself to him, hear him hiss as he’s enthralled by the way your pussy glistens, all for his eyes to admire.

The curse that follows is instant, “Fuck. No panties?”

You’re embarrassed for your straightforward bareness, whimpering at his surprise with your fist tightening and your nails imprinting crescents in your palms, but you’re also so impatient to feel his touch.

Tentatively, you wiggle for him, hoping to brush against his length, but it’s to no effort as he instantly stills your movements with a hand on your lower back.

He scoffs incredulously, feeling your bare ass against his palm, “It’s like you knew this would happen. You dirty, naughty girl. Always giving me those eyes.”

It’s light, the spank that meets the side of your butt, but you gasp nonetheless. You need to bite your lower lip harshly in order to suppress the loud moan from escaping your throat, and you’re sure it bleeds when he strokes the spot he hit.

The hand soothing you now travels to your front, torturously putting pressure on your sensitive stomach and following a slow pattern, only to reach your wet core.

He finally touches you where you’ve been needing him the most, and you both groan when he uses his already soaked pointer and ring finger to spread your lips, his middle one tracing your slit.

You inhale deeply as he repeats the motion, and when you exhale you can’t help small whines from leaving you, the pleasure already too overwhelming.

You feel like passing out when his body weight presses on you again, his mouth directly on your lobe, the intention in his voice dripping on your skin, “You think I wouldn’t notice? You know how hard my cock gets everytime I see you in these tiny clothes of yours, huh? You’re quite literally the death of me, doll.”

Then, it’s like all your senses come back to you the moment he pushes his digit in, and he immediately reaches around you to put his other hand over your mouth the second he sees it opening, your eyes rolling up.

You cry in his palm, the sound muffled with his fingers tightening under your jaw, his body still leaning on yours. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear and stills his middle finger inside you, getting you used to his presence, “Shh, princess. Good baby, you’re doing perfect.”

The contrast to his earlier shaming tone only makes you whine more, your eyes squeezing closed to try and keep the noises in. You’re sure you bite his palm when he starts moving inside you, the finger curling tentatively and soon being joined by another one.

You shake your head weakly, feeling yourself reach delirium, and you manage to stammer out, “Can’t— can’t do this.”

“You can baby, c’mon. You wanna be a good girl f’me, don’t you?” His tone is still low, warm breath fanning over your nape, and you melt under the sudden change in attitude.

You nod, not because you believe you can actually get through this without your heart failing and the whole neighborhood hearing you in the process, but because you do want to be his good girl.

He hums, “That’s right. I need to stretch you out if you want to take my cock.”

You choke in his wrap, now looser around your face, surprised at his words, and you clench hard at the mention of his cock inside you. You throw your head backwards in search of more of his proximity, and you mumble nonsense, your brain completely melted, “Yes! Want your dick.”

“I know you do, little one,” with your head nestled between the crook of his neck, his hand now falls to your throat, and he holds you gently by it while his fingers pick up a faster pace.

He's ruthless as he moves them inside you, effortlessly finding your sweet spot with a curl of his long, tattooed digits, and you whimper at the foreign sensation, unable to moan like you really want to.

You feel like screaming the more he keeps going, the only possible reaction to what is happening to you. One moment ago you were dreaming of this, and now it’s your reality.

Mr. Jeon is fingering you and calling you his good girl. His large figure is behind your smaller one bent over the counter, his palm around your throat, his hard length pressing against your ass.

The moment he uses his thumb to flick at your clit, you arch your back into him and you hear him fight to suppress a surprised moan.

“Shit. You’re so impatient, sugar. Dripping around my fingers. Wanna taste your sweet juice, can I?” It’s a rhetorical question, hushed slurredly in your ear, because after he lets it out his fingers leave your hole, and find a new home on his warm tongue.

He purposefully moves your chin to make you a witness of his sinful action, humming deeply around the taste of you, his eyes fluttering shut, his digits popping out drenched.

Your mouth hangs, your tongue unconsciously peeking out as if asking to be made a participant, but Jeongguk only smirks and stands straight once again, his wet hand leaving another light spank on your ass cheek, “Turn around, sweets.”

You do as asked, making sure your palms are still steadying your weight on the counter now behind you, afraid your legs alone won’t be able to. You soon find out you won’t have to put much effort into that when Jeongguk lifts you with ease and sits you on the surface, your slickness meeting the cold marble.

You don’t have to lift your head to look at him anymore, your heights now the same. But finding yourself directly in front of his hardened gaze makes you feel even more intimidated.

Especially when he traces your inner thigh, his eyes never leaving yours, “Every time you stand up to leave after dinner, you always leave a puddle on my chairs. And I’m left to clean it up.”

You swallow audibly at the accusation, and you can feel your eyes water once again, biting your lips to conceal the shame.

He only grins amusedly at your state, the tip of his tongue coming out to play with his lower lip. The hand on your leg now forces it to move to the side, his face only getting closer to yours, his tone deeper, "I've thought about licking it up, you know? But then I always stopped myself, because I knew I'd get to taste your pretty, wet pussy.”

You gasp, a shaky moan leaving you uncontrollably, and your fingers hover over his figure, wanting to find support in him but unsure whether to touch him.

He finds your mouth in a short kiss, almost reassuring, but he’s back to spitting sins the moment he lowers his face between your spread legs, and the way he looks up at you is almost scandalous. He looks devilish, his orbs visible through his lashes, his tongue wetting his lips. He takes your uncertain hand and places it between his tousled hair, directing himself to you, instructing you how to use him.

He presses a peck above your clit, still drinking in your reactions, his smile wicked, “I knew you’d crumble soon. You little minx. Going after your best friend’s dad. So naughty.”

Your head is thrown backwards at his words, ones that only add to the pleasure that takes over you when he latches at your pussy, the wet sounds ungodly.

The shame and guilt mixing in the back of your mind generate a profane sense of bliss you’d never think you could reach, and even though deep down you feel dirty being confronted with the truth he sputtered out so easily, you can’t help getting off to it right now.

Jeongguk is ravenous as he finds your drenched lips, lapping furiously at them and drinking the juice that continuously drips out. He flicks the tip of his tongue up and down your swollen clit, and your hand that he himself put on top of his head now tugs at his curls, forcing him closer to you. He’s trapped, your legs squeezing around his head, his nose nuzzled in your slit, and he can’t stop the hand that reaches to stroke his pleading dick.

You think you hear him mumble something along the lines of taste so good as he teases your hole with his wet muscle, and you’re a gone woman the moment you look down, your eyes fluttering open.

His own are closed, brows furrowed in deep concentration, his nose relentlessly grinding against your sensitive nub, and the way he seems so affected by the act of pleasuring you breaks something inside you.

You feel it begin to crumble when his tattooed hand reaches up to lift your top just enough to expose your breasts, nipples hardening with the cold air and the stimulation, and you swear they hurt deliciously when he starts kneading at your boob, fondling it with care.

The deep hum generated from his throat vibrates against you, and the flick of his thumb around the center of your tit matched with the way your clit is being continuously abused unexpectedly leads you to your orgasm.

It’s fast, unannounced, and you find support in his hair, your body taking over your brain and relentlessly grinding against Jeongguk’s face, suffocated between you, unable to stop reaching for the heavenly, and so awaited high.

Your whines are frantically high pitched, but the moment he feels you cum all over his mouth everything around him disappears except you, and all he cares about is slurping you, drinking you as you let it all out because of him.

He pants, breathless, opening his eyes to witness your climax, to admire you breaking under his doings, chest swelling with pride and a primal sense of protectiveness.

When he hears you whimper the more he keeps sucking on your clit, your slim fingers pulling at his locks, he finally lifts himself up.

On the path he follows to come back up to meet your face, he finds your nipple with a sweet kiss, his tongue teasing your nub, and he smiles against it, teeth gently pinching it. When seeking with his eyes for your reaction he sees your own rolling back. Next, his mouth is on yours, smearing your wetness all over your lips and mixing it with his spit on your tongue, connecting in a frantic, hungry dance.

His forehead rests against yours when he breaks the kiss, breaths heavy, the lazy grin on his face the only thing you can focus on, hanging on his gentle words, “Did so good, babe. Came so hard all over me.”

Your eyes inevitably fall down to his cock, painfully hard against his stomach, the tip angry and slicked with precum.

You feel your core buzz, kissing him to conceal the unshameful desire building up so fast again, but still you can’t help from mumbling against him, “Wan’ you to fuck me.”

The hum of pleasure coming from his throat reverberates on your lips, and he smiles at your confession. Even chuckles, one hand resting at your hip and sliding you closer.

“That what you want, baby?” Your legs wrapping around him, he kisses along your neck and travels to your collarbones, leaving small bites to keep himself from marking you like he truly wants to.

He slips his palms under your thighs and lifts you up the counter effortlessly, your legs squeezing tighter around him in order to keep yourself balanced. The new position has his cock perfectly meeting your core, your slit brushing against his tip as he walks you two over the living room couch, his mouth promptly swallowing your whimpers.

When he lays you on the sofa, he straightens himself to fully admire you. You're sprawled for him, your hair framing your head like a halo, the sweat pearling your forehead adding to your angelic state.

Your hands are on either side of your face, fingers dainty and slender, and your tank top is lifted up enough to show him your small breasts, slightly spilling from the sides with the new position.

Your shorts still rest under your ass, and with a swift motion he fully takes them off you, giving him access to your center. But the attention is taken away from your wet cunt when he lets his eyes come back up to your face, your cheek resting on your shoulders, trying to hide your embarrassment at his ravenous observing.

He smiles, becoming impatient with the feeling that only grows inside him, and he walks out of his pants still pooled down his ankles, taking off his loose t-shirt and letting it fall on the ground.

Your eyes widen at his sculpted physique, now finally in front of you, his buff dimensions intimidating you, especially when your orbs follow his V line and put you face to face with his huge cock, so close to your watering hole. He teases it with his length, sliding it up and down your slit, then slapping it against your clit. You arch your back, groaning.

“Am I the real man you’ve been waiting for? You wanna be fucked by this big man, don’t you?” His sinful words only make you nod dumbly, becoming potty under his control.

At your eagerness, he wastes no time. Aligning himself with your hole, he enters you. The stretch is deliciously painful, his tip boldly splitting you open for him. He knows your wail is coming, so he lowers himself on you to block your sounds with his mouth. But, truly, he’s the one that needs to be silenced.

The moment he feels your tightness around his bare dick, he growls. His sounds grow more desperate as he sinks himself deeper, the grip on your waist enough to wreck you, and you’re expecting it to leave a mark

You hum roughly against his lips, your nails scratching along his shoulder blades in search of any kind of grounding you can find. It’s too much, his dimensions way oversized for what your hole can take, and the fact that you can’t help but grip him even tighter isn’t helping.

He reads you, your broken whines and the tear falling from your left eye, and the moment he bottoms out he stills himself, his face in the crook of your neck, his nose nuzzling the warm skin in a reassuring manner, “Shh, baby. I got you. Let me make you feel good.”

The whispered words are the same ones that jolted you from your sleep, the dream almost too real, and paired with his middle and ring finger circling your sensitive nub they cause you to emit a pleasured squeal, your chest arching into his.

At this point, you’re afraid you’re still trapped deep in your slumber. that none of this is actually real, it can’t be. You’re so convinced that it’s just too good to be true that you test it, scraping your nails harshly in his back, and when he bites the skin under your jaw in protest you gasp shakily.

It's definitely real. Jeongguk is fucking you. Almost. Not yet.

With the way your clit is being stimulated by his long fingers, the initial sharpness turns into more slick, and you impatiently groan, “Fuck me, please.”

One final kiss is left on your lips before he lifts his torso up, his hands roaming along your sides and grasping a hold of your tits. He teases you with a playful smirk on his face, your disappointed pout only resulting in a devilish chuckle from him as he massages your soft boobs. You can feel him throb inside you the more you swallow him in, and you know he’s just as impatient. You buck your hips up in search of friction, and the sudden motion makes the both of you moan.

He’s suddenly resolute as his palms fall to your waist and effortlessly holds it up as he begins fucking into you. With each stroke he picks up his pace, and he’s soon pounding your tight hole wrapping around him.

The both of you find out it’s impossible to be quiet. Your sounds are stuttered and pornographic, and it makes Jeongguk afraid he’s never going to be able to get them off his brain.

His own noises are heavenly, deep growls and surprised whines falling out his pillowed lips, slightly agape in bliss, brows drawn up.

Your eyes roll back and never come back, your vision patched, and you think you weren’t built to survive this kind of pleasure. It's almost deathly when he finds that one particular spot that makes you see stars.

Your skin slapping is louder than his hushed speech, but he makes sure the words reach you and translate into wetness coating his length even more, drenching it, making it soaked in your juices, “That’s how you need to be fucked. That’s how my girl needs to be fucked, hm?”

“Mhm, fuck, yes!” It’s breathless, but you want him to hear you. You feel yourself get closer just watching him smirk proudly at your state, his pupils blown out.

His palms are back to playing with your breast, kneading it harshly, and you enjoy the way he seems to be hypnotized by the vision, “Fuck. Love your tits. Fit just right in my hand. You were made for me, angel.”

Your head is thrown back between the cushions, your legs wrapping tighter around his ass and pushing him even deeper, the anticipated sensation building simultaneously in both of your trembling bodies.

“I'm not gonna last long, baby. This pussy’s too tight. Trappin’ me inside it,” Jeongguk’s voice is rough, the words leaving him slurredly and all his effort put into snapping his hips against yours, his eyes focused on the relentless in and out motion.

You wail, mumbling nonsense, but at the same time the most sincere words you’ve ever sputtered to him, “It’s yours, Jeongguk. F—fucking yours. Forever. Ah— fuck.”

He hums, feeling you contract around him the more he speaks to you, “That’s it. My pussy to fuck, baby. Mine to play with, mine to fill up.”

Your eyes widen at his territorial remarks, and when they meet his hazy ones they water with overwhelming ecstasy. The possibility of his cum filling you up is what does it for you, your nerves undoing once again and making you spasm around his throbbing dick. He talks you through your orgasm, praising you for cumming so good all over him, drinking in your blissful sounds and your hips rutting against his.

He’s just as close, and the realization that you came the moment he mentioned painting you in his seed makes him a crazed man, his motions stuttering sloppily, “Fuck. Aren’t you a naughty one, doll. You really want me to come inside you? You want it, huh? I bet you do.”

Your repeated nodding and the way your body is so pliant in his hold, letting it be completely handled by him with no functioning muscle, pervades his senses with a primal force that he puts into fucking your sensitive cunt.

He smirks wickedly, “You’d look so pretty. All stuffed. Want me to fill up this tight pussy? Want my mature cock in so deep you can’t breathe?”

You think you scream at his continuous suggestions, but you can’t be sure when all your senses are clouded, the oversensitivity turning you into a literal doll for him, no power over your actions. He looks just as fucked out, his lips parting as he basks in the feeling of being in control of you, eyes fighting to stay open and keep you in his vision.

When he feels you contracting around him in overstimulation, his breath stutters and he feels himself reach the peak, quickly pulling out of you to spill his cum over your naked skin. You gasp at the sudden emptiness and the warm liquid that keeps falling over your stomach, his cock being pumped in his fist and milked from all he can give you. You both pant in exhaustion, your legs loosening their grip around him as he dips his weak knees on either side of you on the couch.

He hums when he fully takes in your figure, marked by his cum, and he smiles when he sees your eyelids struggling to not fall. But you spasm once again when you feel his finger slide over your stomach, the wet liquid being collected, “Now, you gonna clean this up for me. Open your pretty mouth, baby.”

You don’t even ponder on the request, you just follow the order. Your brain is reduced to thoughts that are only related to him, and it automatically complies to anything that he orders from you. You engulf his digits promptly, swallowing his semen, looking up at him through your lashes and unashamedly clenching at his lazy smirk.

He makes sure every drop of his is collected and sucked by your hungry mouth, smiling when you don’t ever complain, “Mh, good girl. Get them neat.”

Only when he’s satisfied, he hovers over your face and finds your tongue in a sensual, slow kiss, both of you moaning at the exchange. With a sloppy sound, he parts from you only to disappear between your thighs, his eyes mischievous, “Gonna clean you up too.”

You gasp at the feeling of his mouth wrapping around your core once again, slurping your juice and lapping at your inner thighs, and you’re not sure how this is going to help in getting you clean. You only feel yourself becoming even wetter.

Leaving a kiss above your nub, he straightens up with a boyish smile softening his features, and with the fond way he’s looking at you, nobody could tell he just made you cum twice.

He moves your bangs from your forehead, closing the distance between you once again to leave small pecks over your still reddened face, “You did amazing, doll. Made me cum so hard.”

You hum contentedly, snuggling closer to him, your body unconsciously gravitating toward his warmth. Your hand lifts to thread through his hair, but before you can touch him, he shifts, pulling away.

The warmth he provided vanishes, replaced by the cold emptiness of the couch. Panic surges in your chest, washing away any remnants of fatigue. You prop yourself up on your forearms, eyes tracking his movements.

You don’t want him to leave you here alone, bare and vulnerable, maybe a bit confused and uncertain, and deep down deathly scared of whatever will come after this.

Your brows furrow, heart picking up a painful speed when you see he’s getting dressed — tossing on his shirt, pulling on his pants. And for a second, your pulsing organ clenches with dread. Is he leaving?

Then you notice him picking up your shorts from the floor, his expression softening as he walks back to you with that same gentle smile that had made your heart flutter earlier.

Relief washes over you.

He handles you delicately, as though you’re something fragile. His fingers brush your skin as he slips your shorts back on, pulling down your top before encircling your waist with his strong arms.

You squeal lightly when he pulls you onto his lap, settling back on the couch with you cradled against his chest. His hands never leave you, securing you to him. You settle into him easily, sighing in appreciation as the warmth of his body returns, your legs draped across his lap, arms circling his neck.

For a brief, fleeting moment, everything feels like it’s in its right place, like this is where you’ve always belonged. It feels so natural, so easy, being wrapped up in him. His deep, slow breaths lull you into a state of calm. His chin rests on the top of your head, hand rubbing soothing strokes along your spine.

You press even closer, breathing him in, feeling like you could get used to this, like you already have. Like you’ve always known this is where you should be. Your fingers trace absentminded patterns along his tattooed arm, the one holding you secure under your legs. You feel the need to look at him, to admire the man that marked you as his.

But when you glance up, you’re a bit startled when you notice the shift in his expression. His face is hardened, jaw clenched tight. He's not relaxed like he was just moments ago. His gaze is distant, staring intently at a spot across the room as if lost in thought. Yet his hands continue to cradle you, almost unconsciously, like holding you has become second nature to him.

Jeongguk’s mind is a whirlwind of emotions, and they only scatter all over the place as he feels you move closer, impossibly so. You seek warmth, care. Nuzzle your fragile body against his for protection, something more that he fears he can’t give you. Love.

He once thought he’d drained himself of it, had nothing left to offer. Now, with you in his arms, the smallest spark flickers to life, burning its way up his throat until it feels like it’s going to consume him.

He wants to give in. He wants to hold you tighter, trap you against him, keep you with him. Give you everything.

But he can’t do that to you. Can’t make you go through the same path that took everything from him. not without ruining you in the process.

He knows what comes next. What always comes next. Love turns into suffering, it’s inevitable. And could he survive seeing the look on Areum’s face when she finds out? How would she react if she knew the truth about what he’s done, about how he feels? About how he truly wants to act upon his feelings? The thought makes him feel sick, even as his heart beats steadily against yours, comforted by your presence.

Why doesn’t he feel disgusted? Why isn’t there shame gnawing at him, making him pull away? Instead, there’s only bliss. The sheer joy of having you this close, of holding you like this, makes him forget everything else.

He wishes he could be immature, for once. Wishes he was your age, and that nothing truly mattered. That he still could allow himself to make stupid decisions.

Maybe then, you’d be his, and reality wouldn’t catch up to him.

“Jeongguk? Are you okay?”

Your soft, honeyed voice pulls him from his spiral, and he startles slightly, caught off guard. His eyes meet yours, wide and filled with concern, searching his face for answers.

He tries to hide the storm brewing inside him, forcing a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Huh? Yeah. I'm okay.”

Of course, you don’t believe him. An ugly feeling makes space in your stomach, and the weight of everything begins to press down. You don’t want it to take over you just yet, want to be coddled by the moment a little more, want to try and believe there’s nothing to be afraid of.

You offer a tentative smile, hoping to ease whatever tension is growing between you. “You… you seem worried.”

“I'm not, baby. I'm just thinking.”

“About?”

“Stuff.” His voice is clipped, and the small wall he’s building between you becomes clearer.

The distance stings, and your heart sinks as you try to hold onto the moment that felt so perfect just a second ago. Desperate to reach him, you place your hands on his face, tilting his chin down to meet your gaze.

Your eyes glisten with emotion, but you manage a genuine, if small, smile. “You can tell me, you know. You can talk to me.”

One simple, small smile spreading across his lips makes you doubt all of your worries. It makes you want to believe that maybe, there’s truly no reason to be scared. That maybe, this can go well.

“I know,” it’s whispered on your face, his hand coming to play with the hair that frame your cheeks sweetly. “Let’s get you to bed now, hm?”

Before you can protest, he’s lifting you off the couch with ease, cradling you in his arms bridal style as if you weigh nothing at all. You clutch onto him.

You feel your insides fuzzy with the gesture, and you wiggle yourself closer in his embrace, looking up at him expectantly, “Your bed?”

It breaks his heart having to disappoint you, tone soft as he tries to make up for it with his thumb brushing your thigh, “No, baby. You gotta go back to Areum’s room.”

“But— but… I wanna sleep next to you,” you plead, your voice small and almost childlike as you pout up at him, hoping to sway him.

He looks away, focusing on the stairs as if looking at you would break his resolve. “We can’t, dove. You know we can’t.”

His words feel like a punch to the gut, and your eyes well up. “We can't?”

The silence that follows is louder than any answer he could have given, and it weighs heavy between you, suffocating. There's no actual explanation to it, and the realization leaves both of you uneasy.

At Areum’s door, he sets you down gently, making sure you’re steady on your feet. He's careful with you, like he always is, his voice low, “Go wash up. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“No…”

“C’mon, sweetheart. Don't make this harder.”

You frown in protest, keeping eye contact, but he doesn’t break. His gaze is steady, resolute.

You want to argue, want to push, but the exhaustion settles over you, and you slump, defeated. You still sway sweetly for him, your hands tied behind your back, “Okay… Can you kiss me?”

Your voice is small, muffled behind your pout as you seek for him with anticipation, a sheepish smile making its way on your lips.

When he doesn’t move closer, you get on your tippy toes and lean in his direction once again, your eyes almost fluttering shut before you hear him clear his throat, and take an awkward step back.

You’re back on your heels with a thump, the same one reverberating in your chest with your heart falling, your mouth hanging open with confusion written all over your expression.

You go to say something but he’s quicker, his voice solemn, “Goodnight, ___.”

Jeongguk smiles, but it’s nothing like the ones that took over his whole face just minutes ago on the couch, his eyes full of you. You're not even sure if you can define it as a smile. It’s polite, almost too polite, and it only results in feeling tremendously distant from him. Completely disconnected from you.

He retreats, long legs carrying him away, his back to you as he slips into his room. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound final, and it echoes in the hollow space.

You stand still, the weight of his absence pressing heavily on your chest. The spot where he left you feels like a grave, your feet sinking into the cold floor as if it’s pulling you under. The warmth he offered, the fleeting sense of safety, is gone, and you’re freezing. Your throat is tight with the effort to hold back the tears welling in your eyes. It's useless, though.

Your bare feet shuffle against the floor, but you can’t move forward. You can’t go back. You can’t do anything except stand there and feel the weight of it all crash down on you.

You’d been so afraid this would happen. How could you have been so foolish? Even in the midst of the sweetness, you knew it was too good to be true. A part of you always knew. And yet, you let yourself believe for a fleeting moment that something real could come from it. That you could be enough.

You’d have done anything to prove it to him. To show him your loyalty, your willingness to make it work. You still would. You'd give him every part of yourself, if he’d only take it. If he’d only look at you the way you want him to.

The full weight of your reality sinks in. In the end, none of it was truly real.

A sob breaks free from your chest, raw and painful. The sound echoes in the quiet hallway, bouncing off the walls that now feel oppressive, like they’re closing in on you. This house, every corner, it’s all stained now, tainted by the memory of what just happened, by the lie you let yourself fall into.

You picked Jeju because it was close enough to avoid a long flight, but still felt like a proper vacation. Now that you were almost entering your third trimester and starting to feel absolutely worn out, you couldn't think of anything you wanted more than a few quiet days alone with him.

He holds the door open and shifts to the side, giving you space to climb out. Placing your hand over the top of your belly as you watch your husband walk to the back of the taxi that brought you from the airport, watching the driver unload your luggage from the trunk. 

After slipping the man a generous tip, the driver thanks Yoongi before driving off.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks, grabbing the handles of the suitcases.

You nod, walking beside him through the doors of the lobby, silently thanking whoever decided to keep the air conditioning on full blast. 

The receptionist greets you. You hand over your IDs, and while Yoongi handles the rest of the check-in, your attention drifts to the tiger lilies and white hydrangeas arrangements displayed around the lobby. 

A few minutes later, the receptionist gives you two key cards and explains how to get to your room. Yoongi thanks her before reaching for the cards.

After a quick ride up the elevator, you make your way down the hallway until you stop outside your room. He taps the key card against the lock before pushing the door open. 

The room is even nicer than it looked online. A king-size bed sits in the middle of the room, with a small desk tucked neatly into one corner. Your gaze drifts from the bed to the balcony, curious about the view. 

"Well?" Yoongi asks behind you. "Do you like it?"

You grin. "Are you kidding?" you say, already making your way toward the balcony. "It's amazing." 

Yoongi sets the bags down and stretches his arms. He can't help but smile at your excitement. "What do you want to do first?" 

Sliding the door open, you step out. “Mmh, we could go down there,” you say, signaling the pool down below, turning your head back to look at him. “Go to the pool. Lay in the sun for a bit, maybe go for a swim.”

Yoongi joins you, slipping his arms around your waist. His hands spread across your belly, rubbing it, and you melt against him.

“Whatever you want, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Another kiss lands behind your ear before he eases you around to face him.  “Come on, go change.” He gives your ass a playful slap, making you squeal as he nudges you toward the room. 

On the mattress, the suitcases are already laid out wide open. You could kiss Yoongi for not leaving them on the floor, knowing how much you would struggle to bend over and reach anything with your belly right now. 

You grab your toiletry bag first before reaching into the side pocket for your bikini. It's a cute set, bright pink with tiny white polka dots. The triangle top matches a pair of bottoms that tie into little bows at your hips. 

Inside the bathroom, you pull your hair into a ponytail before smoothing sunscreen over your face. 

Quickly sliding off your clothes, you reach for the bikini top. You slip the strings over your neck before reaching behind your back to tie it in place. It fit perfectly the last time you tried it on, but when you look down, you realize just how much your breasts have grown since then. 

“Oh, shit,” you mutter, staring at yourself in the mirror.

The fabric barely holds your tits, leaving most of your chest entirely exposed to the point where you feel like you might as well go topless. Thankfully, the bottoms are a much easier story since you only have to tie the side strings into neat little bows on your hips to make them fit.

Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you trace the new curves of your body. It still feels strange to see yourself so round and full. Some days the changes leave you feeling strangely disconnected from your own skin, but keeping in mind that your body is transforming to grow a whole new life helps you accept it a bit more. 

Carrying the proof of your and Yoongi's love makes your heart burst with love every single time you think about it.

When you walk back into the bedroom, Yoongi is sitting on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the string of his swim shorts. “I'm ready,” you announce, stepping into his line of sight.

“Perfect,” he says, tugging the strings into a tight knot before looking at you.

“Be honest,” you sigh as you look down at yourself. “I look like a whale, don't I?”

"What? No!" Yoongi steps in, drawing you closer. "You look fucking incredible. Stop talking nonsense." 

Leaning down, his lips graze over yours before his eyes wander lower. His fingertips linger on the little bows at your hips, idly rolling one between his fingers 

“In fact,” he says, his touch sliding down your thigh until he hooks your leg around his hip, “we should get out of this room right now.” 

“Why?” you ask, giving him a cheeky look. 

“Because you look so fucking hot, that if we stay here for one more minute,” he murmurs, leaving a kiss on your neck. “I am going to lock that door,” he continues, his lips sliding up to your jaw, “put you on all fours on that big ass bed,” he adds, rocking his hips forward, “and fuck you right into the mattress until you can’t even think straight. And I know you’ll love every minute of it,” he finishes.

Oh, you definitely would.

“Down, boy. Let’s go get some sun first.” Shifting away, you pull a light cover-up over your skin before making your way toward the door. Your hand is already on the handle when you glance back over your shoulder, a teasing smile playing on your lips.  "You can fuck me later." 

Yoongi chuckles as he follows you outside, tugging at his shorts in a hopeless attempt to disguise the bulge straining against the front.

The pool is less crowded than you expected. You spot two lounge chairs tucked beneath a canvas umbrella and make a beeline for them. After a few minutes, a young man wearing the resort uniform makes his way over from the pool bar, stopping at the foot of your loungers. 

“Welcome to the Paradise Oasis,” he says, handing over the beverage menu. “I’m Jihoon, your server for the afternoon. Can I get you something to drink?” 

He says all of this while keeping his eyes entirely on you, blatantly ignoring Yoongi. 

Your husband clears his throat. “I'll have a whiskey. On the rocks,” he says without even glancing at the menu and he hands it back. Then he looks at you. “What do you want, baby?”

“A virgin mojito, please,” you say, smiling at the waiter.

“A whiskey and a virgin mojito,” your husband repeats.

The guy seems to remember Yoongi exists. “Uh, yes, sir. Right away, sir,” he says, backing away toward the bar.

Once he's gone, you glance over at your husband. Yoongi lets out a quiet huff before lowering his sunglasses over his eyes. “Unbelievable,” he mutters. “The nerve on these kids.” 

Not much later the waiter returns, carefully placing the two glasses down on the small table between you. He keeps his look down this time, avoiding any look at you, and quickly bows before disappearing again.

By the time evening rolls around, you both head down to the main restaurant on the first floor for dinner. 

“Is it good?” he asks, watching you take a bite.

You nod happily after swallowing. "Perfect," you say, reaching across to steal one of his grilled vegetables. 

“So, what are we doing tomorrow?” you ask, resting your chin on your hand. Your fingers tap absently against your cheek before your eyes suddenly light up. “Oh, I know what!”

Pulling out your phone, you unlock it to find the clip you were thinking about. “I saw this on YouTube,” you say, holding the screen out to him. The video shows a couple walking along a seaside trail.  “It looks pretty easy, doesn't it?” 

Yoongi leans in for a closer look. He doubts you'll be able to walk more than two kilometers before your feet start to hurt, but he isn't about to be the one to deny you anything, even if it means he has to carry you all the way back to the hotel on his back. He just wants you to be happy on this trip.

Putting his glass down, he smiles. “We can do whatever you want, baby. I'm down for anything. Staying in the room all day sounds pretty good to me, too.” 

You kick his leg lightly under the table, laughing as your face heats up. As tempting as that sounds, there are still plenty of things you want to see while you're here. 

When you get back to the room, you can feel the day catching up with you. Waking up early to catch your flight and traveling to Jeju left you utterly exhausted. Walking over to the bed, you try to get comfortable against the headboard, but it only takes a second to realize something's off. 

“Baby,” you call, trying to shift into a better position. “There aren't enough pillows here. You know I need one under my belly and another between my knees, or I'm never going to sleep tonight.” 

Yoongi looks over at the bed. “There are only two?” He glances around the room before opening the wardrobe, hoping they've stashed a few extras inside. The shelves are empty. 

“This is supposed to be a luxury hotel,” he mutters. “Why the hell are there only two pillows?” 

“Yeah,” you sigh, rubbing your bump. “Can you call reception and ask for more?”

“Of course, baby,” he says, walking over to the small desk where the room phone sits. 

It only rings twice before someone picks up. “Front desk, how can I help you tonight?”

“Hello, this is room 939,” Yoongi says politely. “My wife is pregnant and we need some extra pillows to make her comfortable. Can you send up three or four more?”

“Certainly, sir. We will send someone up with those right away.”

“Thank you,” Yoongi says, hanging up the phone.

While you wait, you decide to jump into the shower.

A knock sounds at the door and Yoongi tosses his phone aside and goes to answer it. Standing in the hallway is the same young waiter from the pool with a stack of fresh white pillows balanced in his arms.

“H-hi again, sir,” the waiter stammers. He looks – and sounds – nervous. “I was told to bring these up here for you.”

Before Yoongi has a chance to say anything, the bathroom door clicks open behind him. Changed into your pajamas, you step out of the bathroom with a towel in your hands, rubbing it through your damp hair. 

You’d stubbornly refused to buy actual maternity clothes, choosing instead to squeeze into what you already owned, which in hindsight, was a terrible plan. 

The blue cotton top that once easily covered you is now little more than a poor excuse for a crop top. Stretched so tight it's practically bursting, the fabric clings to your engorged tits like a second skin, doing absolutely nothing to hide the shape of your nipples poking right through it. Somehow, it feels even more revealing than the bikini you'd been wearing earlier. 

The waiter looks over at you as he fumbles with the fluffy white cushions. 

“Well?” Yoongi asks, extending his hand toward him.

“What?” the waiter stammers, trying to look past Yoongi's shoulder. “Oh–yeah. Right.” He nearly drops the pillows before awkwardly passing them over. “Do you... do you need anything else tonight?” 

Yoongi takes the pillows as he glares down at the man. “No, thanks. My wife and I are good. You can leave,” he says, putting a cold emphasis on the word ‘wife’.

The waiter opens his mouth to say something else, but Yoongi shuts the door right in his face, and you hear the click of the lock. He drops the pillows onto the chair.

You stand there with your hands on your hips, your foot tapping against the floor as your eyebrows raise. “Min Yoongi! What was that?”

Yoongi blinks, trying to look innocent. “What was what?”

“That behavior,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I wasn't doing anything,” Yoongi mutters, walking toward the bed.

“Yes, you were,” you say. “Don't even try to gaslight me, mister.”

“The guy has zero boundaries,” he argues, defending himself. “He was doing the exact same thing at the pool, staring at you like he's never seen a woman before. It's entirely out of line and unprofessional if you ask me.” He takes the pillows from the chair and puts them on the bed, murmuring under his breath about resort staff needing better training. 

“Just pee on my feet to mark me next time, will you?” Letting out a frustrated sigh, you turn around and walk straight out onto the balcony.

Resting your hands on the metal railing , you let your eyes wander across the grounds. Down below, the winding paths are illuminated by garden lights as a few resort employees collect towels and straighten up around the pool. Somewhere in the distance, you can hear the waves breaking against the shore.

You don't really understand it. Yoongi is usually very relaxed about everything, so this sudden change feels entirely out of nowhere.

In the past, you had to deal with the insecure, controlling behavior of your exes, so Yoongi’s quiet confidence had always been one of the things you loved the most about him.

A moment later, the door open and Yoongi steps out onto the balcony.

His voice cuts into the quiet of the night. “Look, baby, I–” Yoongi starts. He lets out a long sigh and his shoulders drop “I’m sorry.” 

You don't turn around, keeping your eyes on the trees below. “You were acting weird, Yoongi.”

“I know,” he sighs. He bows his head against the back of your shoulder, both palms coming to rest over your belly.  “I’m really sorry, baby. I don't even know what came over me tonight. It’s just… you look so beautiful carrying our child. The way that guy was staring at you like you were a piece of meat just drove me insane.”

You turn around in his hold, your belly pressing against his stomach as you look up into his eyes. “You’re lucky you're so cute,” you whisper, getting up on your tiptoes to plant a kiss right on his lips. “I forgive you.” 

Yoongi breaks away to press his lips down your jaw, burying his face in your neck, pulling you as close as your belly allows. 

“I love you so much,” Yoongi murmurs against your skin between kisses.

“Me too,” you gasp, gripping the linen of his shirt. 

He steers you around until you're leaning against the cool metal railing. Then he wraps himself around you, his palms spreading over your belly. His mouth drops to your shoulder, leaving a trail of wet kisses along your skin. 

“My beautiful wife.” He nudges his hips against you, his cock pushing against your ass. “Do you feel me?” he rasps. “Do you feel what you do to me, baby? 

Heat rushes straight between your legs, your pussy clenching around nothing. You nod.

“What should we do about it, mmh?” Yoongi asks, tracing down your thigh. 

“Baby…”

His thumb hooks into your waistband. “I have a few ideas,” he whispers, slipping beneath the fabric of your shorts and into your underwear. His palm presses against you, thumb rubbing circles over your clit. 

“Yoongi… oh God,” you moan as your hips rock back into his hand. “Here?” 

He keeps touching you, but his eyes lift to check the surroundings. Both sides of the balcony are flanked by tall stone walls, blocking the view from the other rooms. But being on the second floor means that if someone down on the paths or by the pool were to look up, they might see what you two are doing. 

He brings his mouth to your ear. “This place is perfect, you just have to be quiet,” Yoongi grunts, his thumb working over your clit. His other hand disappears beneath your top, wrapping around one breast as his fingers toy with the nipple.

“Can you do that for me, baby?” He tugs your nipple with his fingers, letting breast bounce against his palm when he lets go. “Keep those pretty noises down…” he murmurs, leaving a row of wet kisses along your neck while his thumb continues to circle your clit, “while I make you feel good?” 

You’re already dripping wet. “I–I can... fuck,” you stammer, resting your head against his shoulder. “I can try.” 

“Good girl,” he mutters. His touch leaves your breasts before he reaches for the waistband of your pants, hooking his fingers into the elastic. “Is this okay?” he asks. 

“Yes,” you whisper.

With your approval, he starts pulling them down along with your underwear, and you lift your feet to get out of them.

Kicking the fabric aside, you turn around to face him. You go straight to Yoongi's shirt, fumbling with the buttons in your hurry. He chuckles, making no move to help, far too entertained by the way your tits keep bouncing every time you tug at another button.

As soon as you manage to get him out of the shirt, you slide down his pants, dragging them over his hips until the piece of clothing pools at his feet. You barely have a second to admire your work before he's reaching for your top, stripping it off.

“Mmmh,” he whispers, cupping your bare breasts. “No wonder that guy couldn't stop staring at your tits. So fucking beautiful.” His palms stroke over your skin  “Too bad for him. You're mine.”

Bending his knees slightly, Yoongi lowers his head to take one nipple into his mouth. Your eyes fly shut, gripping his arms when his teeth lightly graze the peak. He draws your nipple deeper into his mouth, and the moan escapes before you can swallow it back. 

Oops.

Yoongi lets the nipple go, looking up at you through his eyelashes. “You need to be quiet, baby,” he murmurs, an amused smile appearing on his lips. “We’re right outside, remember?” 

You huff. As if he isn't the one doing this on purpose.

“I can't help it,” you gasp while you try to focus. “I just – fuck, Yoongi, it feels too good.”

“I know, baby. Just be good and keep it down for now, okay?” His mouth finds your breast again, his lips closing around your nipple as his tongue works over it. You whine softly. “Come on. Be good for me.” His lips linger against your nipple. “Don't make me punish you.”

Well, you won't be the one complaining if he does. Somehow, his so-called punishments always end with you begging him not to stop. 

Your fingers grip his shoulders as he pulls your nipple into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks. “Oh God... mmh, yes. Right there...”

Pregnancy has made your nipples unbelievably sensitive, and your lovely husband discovered just how sensitive they were one night while the two of you were watching a movie. 

His hand had slipped beneath your shirt, coming to rest on your breast almost out of habit. The movie kept playing in the background, but neither of you was paying much attention by the time his thumb started rolling your puffy nipple between his fingers. It didn't take long before you were whining into his neck and soaking your underwear as the orgasm took over you.

Like he can't help himself, his free hand finds your other breast. His thumb rolls over your nipple once again. “Yoongi…,” you whimper. “I want you inside me. Please fuck me.”

Lifting his head, he reluctantly lets the swollen peak slip from his lips, but he can't resist one last scrape of his tongue across the tip. 

“Not yet,” he murmurs, turning you gently by the waist. “Be patient for me, love. Let your husband take care of you.” He guides you forward until you're leaning over the railing, your forearms flat against the metal to support your weight.

After shoving his underwear down, you whine when the thick head of his cock drags up and down your slit, smearing your own juices all over himself. 

“You’re so wet…Bet I could slide right in with no effort, baby.”

He lines the broad tip right against your opening, pushing in just a couple of inches so you can feel how thick he is, but he stops, not going further inside you.

“See? So easy,” he murmurs. “Ah, ah, not yet,” he whispers, holding you still when your hips try to chase him. “I want to eat that pussy first.” 

You swallow a curse as he strokes the tip between your folds instead of pushing back inside. One last pass through your folds, then he's kneeling behind you, both hands settling on your ass before spreading you open. 

It takes everything you've got not to scream when his tongue glides through your folds, but a helpless whimper slips past your lips the moment his mouth closes around your clit.

“Oh god, Yoon–fuck, please, I–”

You're dripping, soaking his mouth and chin as he laps up your wetness.“You taste so good, baby. So sweet,” Yoongi murmurs against your skin. “Such a good pregnant cunt you have. I want more of this. Let me feel how wet you are.” 

“I'm gonna…” Your hips helplessly twitch against his face as the climax sweeps through your body.

“That's it, baby, give it to me,” Yoongi grunts against your soaking folds, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you open as he licks you clean. “Fuck... there you go.” 

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he pushes himself to his feet before reaching for your hips, drawing you back against him until your ass presses right against his thighs.  He lines himself up at your entrance and slowly pushes inside, filling you inch by inch.

“Now,” he murmurs, “is this what you wanted?” He kisses your shoulder. “Move, Yoon. Please.”

Being out here in the open, where anyone down by the pool or walking the paths could look up and catch you like this, should make you freeze with fear. You don't even know what is happening to you right now, but instead of panicking, the danger of getting caught just makes you shameless. And wetter. 

Yoongi notices too, groaning as your body gets even slicker, making him slide inside you with almost ridiculous ease. “What’s that, baby?” You can hear the smile in his voice when he murmurs against your neck. “You like this, right? Fucking you out here where anyone can catch us?”

You had never thought of yourself as someone who would get turned on by the risk of being seen, yet here you are.

“I know you do,” Yoongi grunts. “I can feel you tightening around me”.  He keeps pushing his hips into yours. 

“You looked so hot coming out of the shower,” he whispers, placing a kiss on your shoulder, reaching around to pinch your nipples. You let out a weak whimper. 

“I should have fucked you right in front of that guy. Made him watch me put my cock inside you.” He continues to play with them, his fingers pinching and twisting the tight buds until you cry into the night. “Show that imbecile who you belong to, baby,” he growls. His thrusts turn harder. “Would you have shown him, hm? Let him see exactly how beautiful you look when you take me?”

Just minutes ago, he looked ready to beat the waiter to a pulp. Now he's talking about fucking you right in front of him. You really don't know what's gotten into either of you tonight. You swallow. “Yes, Yoongi... God, yes.”

“Who do you belong to, baby?” he demands. 

“I’m yours,” you gasp, tilting your head back to find his lips. “You know I'm yours. Only yours.”

“Tell me who bred this pussy,” His thumb rolls over your nipple again,  “Who fucked a baby into you, mmh? Say it.”

“You,” you sob. “You did, Yoon.” 

A grin spreads across his face. Fuck, he loves hearing you say that. 

“That’s my girl.” Straightening his posture, he grabs your hips, pistoning harder and faster into your heat. “Now cum for me. Squeeze me. Let me feel that pregnant cunt around my cock.”

You shake your head, “I don’t think I can, Yoongi...”

“You can. You’ll cum for me, baby.”

A sound echoes in the night when he slaps your ass, a scream tearing from the back of your throat. Looking down, you watch a couple stop on the path below , both of them looking around, trying to figure out where the noise came from.

“Shh, baby,” Yoongi whispers, his hand clamping flat over your mouth to swallow your cries. “Or would you like them to see, hm?” Yoongi whispers. “To see how your bred pussy takes my cock? Mmm? You're so filthy, baby.”

Trapped beneath his hand, every sound you make is reduced to a muffled whimper. “Keep making noises like that, and I’ll have to shove my cock down your throat just to shut you up.” He pants, reaching up to pinch your nipple. Your inner muscles squeeze tightly around him as you climax. His head buries in your neck. “Fuck, you're milking my cock so good.” 

Slowly, he drags his length out of your wetness. “Wait here,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to the back of your neck before he finally pulls back.

Looking over your shoulder, you almost laugh as you watch him hurry into the bedroom, fully naked. He comes back seconds later with a thick white towel in his hands, carefully dropping it onto the floor and helping you get down onto your knees.

Yoongi's eyes wander slowly over you, pausing on the curve of your belly before drifting to your engorged tits, your puffy nipples. Eventually, they find your face again. Flushed cheeks, damp hair sticking to your skin, and that smile. The prettiest smile in the world, if you ask him. 

God, you've never looked more beautiful. 

“I don't know how the fuck you can ever look in a mirror and tell yourself you look ugly,” he murmurs. His fingers hook under your chin, tilting your face up. “Look at what you do to me.” He gestures down to his hard length to prove his point. “You’re fucking stunning, pretty. Absolutely perfect.”

His thumb swipes over your bottom lip before he slips two fingers right into your mouth, coating them in your saliva. “But baby… you couldn't keep quiet out there, could you? You just had to let the whole place hear you.”

He slips his hand from your mouth and wraps it around his cock, holding it right in front of your face. “Open,” he commands.

You stare straight up into his eyes, slowly sliding your tongue out to give him a dirty look. His grip tightens around himself as he guides the tip forward, giving it a light slap against your tongue. 

“Mm...” He does it again. You look up at him before closing your lips around the tip, your tongue tracing a lazy circle around it. “So eager.” 

You keep your lips wrapped around the head, sucking gently while your tongue glides beneath it.

"Greedy little thing," Yoongi groans. "Can't wait to have your mouth full of my cock, can you? C'mon, relax your jaw for me." 

Breathing through your nose, you let him ease another inch into your mouth. Brushing your hair back, he gathers it loosely at the nape of your neck.  “Mm, that's it,” he pants. “Just like that, pretty girl. Keep going.” 

Yoongi's chest rises and falls as he looks down at you. Fuck. Every part of him wants to grab you by the hair and fuck your mouth until he fills you with his cum, but he manages to hold back, pausing to check on you first. 

“You okay, baby?” he asks. “Not too much?”

You blink up at him, humming softly around his cock to let him know you're perfectly fine. “That's my girl,” he murmurs, dragging his knuckles down your cheek. “I'm gonna fuck your mouth now, baby. Tap my thigh if it's too much, okay?”

Bracing against his legs, you let him begin pushing slowly in and out of your mouth. Your lips stretch around his thickness as he grips your hair to guide your head. 

“Fuck, yes,” Yoongi pants, watching you hollow your cheeks to take him even deeper. “Right there, baby. Fuck, you look so hot,” he gasps, staring down at the way your mouth closes around him, “shit. Too good.” 

He starts pushing deeper, his thrusts getting harsher as he slides down your throat. Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, but you keep looking up at him, your fingers squeezing his thigh. You could tap if you wanted to, but you don't.

Knowing he's right on the edge, he pulls out before things get to be too much for you. His palm closes around his cock, slick with your saliva, as he begins stroking himself. 

“I’m close, baby,” Yoongi pants, his strokes getting faster and shorter as his thumb puts pressure right on the sensitive tip. “So close.”

You let your hands drag up from his thighs, bringing them to your own chest to pinch and roll your nipples between your fingers while you look straight up at him. “Will you cum for me, Yoongi? Please? I've been so good for you, right?”

He laughs, pumping his cock faster as he watches your fingers grip your nipples. “You're such a needy little slut, aren't you? So desperate for my cum.”

You want his cum on your tongue. Want to see him break and lose what little control he has left in him. You’re ready to do absolutely anything to make him cum. Even though you just reached your climax, you can feel your arousal dripping down your legs. You really are a slut. 

His slut. 

“Yes,” you whimper, tilting your head back to stare directly at his twitching length. “I’m your slut.” 

“Squeeze your tits for me. Pinch your nipples, baby. Be good and show me how you play with them.”

You play right along, squeezing your tits together, staring up at him as you offer your tongue out again, your fingers twisting your nipples until a quiet whine slips from your lips. His hips buck. Still stroking himself, he brings the tip of his cock in front of your open mouth.

“Fuck–baby,” Yoongi gasps. “Shit. Shit!”

The first spurt lands right on your tongue. The next lands across your chest, slowly running down your skin. 

He keeps stroking himself until there's nothing left. Standing over you, his attention focuses on your mouth, your tongue still holding his cum. “Swallow.” 

You don't break eye contact with him as you gulp it down, and then you open your mouth again, sticking your tongue out to show him it's totally clean. “Good girl.” 

He pulls you up from the floor, looking down at the mess on your breasts and chuckles. “I think you’ll need another shower.”

“And whose fault is that?” you say, nudging him lightly.

He grins, his look still fixed on your chest. Leaning in, he drags his tongue slowly over your left breast, licking up a stripe of his own cum before swallowing. Then he looks up at you with a smirk. “Let me help you wash it off.”

m.list ☆ yoongi m.list ☆ join my taglist

he owned his own mechanics company, the biggest in the city, which meant he worked like a dog but he earned good enough money to spoil you rotten. nothing had really changed after the divorce other than a formal understanding. he paid for your entire lifestyle, making sure you used his card for the groceries, the upkeep of your once shared home, your stupid skincare orders and of course, your sweet children.

jungkook’s only rule pending the divorce was made incredibly clear to you. he was the sole provider. him and only him.

you genuinely wondered whether his personal nightmare consisted of you working a shift with the way he’d get angry at you spending your own money, queuing another heavy argument that had you all but icing him out for a full day. enough to have him kissing down your neck in apology, all whilst groping your ass the way you secretly loved.

truthfully, he had never known how not to provide for you.

it lived somewhere deep inside of him, carved into his very being and instinct, so much so he thought it defined him as a man. once you had birthed your twin children, it was like something had switched in his brain to amplify it all that much harder. despite no longer being his wife, he supported you and the children, telling you it was the one thing he wouldn’t let you fight him on.

you were a princess to the core. manicured nails, weekly blowouts and a shopping addiction that only spurred jungkook on to work harder - you were his polar opposite, never having worked too hard a day in your life and he wanted to keep it that way. even your children were a gift from above, so well behaved and sweet that you had never struggled with them, loving nothing more than to pamper and shower them with all of your love.

you were an odd family unit, even you could recognise that, with your coparenting dynamic meaning he had unrestricted access to your home. he was over multiple times a week after work, always using the excuse of wanting to see the kids which of course was half true, but really, any access to you was worth making the journey over. you kept his stomach full and his annoyance high, just how he liked it.

no matter how well you were together, being married just didn’t work. he worked too hard, you pushed too much - you both wanted things from the other that seemed impossible, leaving you in limbo where all you’d do is argue. it would always end with him inside of you, but sex could only fix so much. somehow, not being together had only strengthened the tension between you as you made it your life mission to keep him on his toes, and he made sure you’d feel his presence no matter what.

in theory, you were perfect for each other.

because the thing about jeon jungkook is he liked his woman difficult.

liked when you bitched at him with glossy lips and french tips all curled onto your hips, scoffing at whatever he was telling you before taking his card to online shop. it was even better when you’d stomp around the house in your flimsy little pyjamas, pretending to be annoyed at him over stupid things he knew had no merit - it had him hardening beyond words.

you were his little minx, and he fucking loved it.

—

“mamma, daddy said i could stay up until nine today.” your son, minjae, giggled from his seat beside his sister on the couch, their favourite show playing on the screen.

“daddy’s stupid, baby. we don’t listen to him.” you cooed back as you handed them their snacks, the sound of your kids giggling enough to put a grin on your face.

“heard that.”

the deep voice came before you actually saw him, followed by the sound of heavy work boots by the door of your home. within seconds, you watched as he appeared by the doorway, in all of his obnoxiously masculine glory.

jeon jungkook practically swallowed your doorway whole as he stepped into the living room. broad shoulders were the first thing you saw as they stretched the material of his work t-shirt, his brand logo clear on his chest, the navy a fitting contrast to his tanned skin. his hair was messy, pulled back from his face, faint traces of grease still staining his forearms where he had scrubbed clean just minutes ago.

he was just so big. big hands, big biceps, big thighs - his muscles were something that you could never really get over, something he was very much privy to. he was the sort of man who reached for things on the top of the shelf without thinking, carrying both children with such ease that it had you malfunctioning in real time. his voice was low, gruff. the type that had people listening as though he was a natural leader.

a beast of a man.

“daddy!” minji, your little girl, squealed as she carefully placed her plate next to her before scurrying away to launch herself at him.

jungkook’s entire face softened, letting out a soft laugh as he picked her up, all whilst minjae copied his older sister, instead cupping his legs, much shyer than his overexcited sibling.

he cooed at them, his voice dropping low whilst he ruffled his hair affectionately. your children absolutely adored him, both sweet little things that glowed whenever their dad would appear.

you could never get over how good of a father he was, and despite your relationship not always being the best, he prioritised your children the way you wanted. even the way he provided for you, as the mother of his children, was beyond generous and underneath the bitchy attitude, you were grateful tenfold. he treated you three like you were a natural extension of him.

but unfortunately for him, you were simply unable to let him live in peace.

“you’re late.” you murmured casually from the couch, going back to filing your nails.

jungkook’s eyes lifted to yours. narrowing. he lingered, looking you up and down openly, hungrily, as though the prospect of you getting on his nerves whilst looking the way you did was straight out of a fantasy.

“traffic.”

“mm.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffed a little.

“nothing.” you hummed again, all too casual, but he could see what you were doing.

that didn’t stop him falling victim to it.

“been here three seconds and you’re already being bitchy.”

you gasped dramatically, pointing your nail file in his direction as it became your turn to narrow your eyes into slits. “watch your mouth in front of the children!”

“but mamma, you called daddy stupid.” minjae, your sweet angel inquired with a tone of genuine confusion, the two words falling into the same category in his mind.

jungkook watched as you cooed at him, getting up from your seat to plant a big kiss to his cheek, before reciprocating it with his sister too who giggled.

“that’s because your daddy is stupid, my love.”

he scoffed again at you with a shake of his head, muttering something under his breath that earned him a hefty glare from yourself. he put minji down finally, his hand still on minjae’s head affectionately only for the pair to grab at his hands in a shared babble, leading him over to the couch to show him the cartoon they had just been watching out of excitement.

and despite being exhausted, jungkook was utterly weak at the knees for his kids, and thus, followed along immediately.

you watched him, having moved to the kitchen where you got a clear view of them from your position near the doorway. his big body sunk into the couch whilst minjae shuffled closer, settling into his father’s side. the entire vision was enough to tug at your heart as you fought down your cuteness aggression - especially with the way he just looked too large for the area he was sat in, with all the cushions surrounding him, his two kids. he looked silly.

particularly with the way minji was now climbing all over him whilst explaining the plot with deadly seriousness.

“and then she lost her crown.” she informed him sadly.

“shit,” jungkook remarked with raised eyebrows. “that’s bad.”

“daddy!”

“sorry. shoot.”

you rolled your eyes as he looked up, meeting your gaze momentarily with a sheepish grin, before you looked away, settling over the stove once more.

it happened every time.

you’d spend all day mentally preparing yourself to be annoyed at him only for jungkook to walk in through the door and utterly transform. he became so soft, so gentle when it came to your pair and it was a constant reminder that the one good thing that came out of this situation was you had picked the perfect father.

he’d listen to them properly - never offering them a half assed version of himself, especially since you had both come from such broken homes. always listening properly, no distractions, despite the fact he would work gruelling shifts that had him using his body for hours on hours. even now, he’d always have his hand rubbing up and down minjae’s back as his sister yapped and yapped, knowing he was the quieter one of the two and therefore the shyer one.

your chest squeezed at the thought.

“you feedin’ me tonight, or what?”

you swore if you rolled your eyes any more that night, they’d pop out of your skull.

“you’re so romantic.”

“been thinking about your food all day.” he grunted, walking into the kitchen properly to allow the kids their time on the tv, and of course, his time to terrorise their mother.

“that’s because you eat like an animal.”

“worked twelve hours today.”

“who’s fault is that?”

he couldn’t help the smirk on his face. he loved you bratty. “yours. you’re milking me dry.”

you narrowed your eyes, stirring his food in the pot, though you’d never admit you cooked solely for him and his taste, despite it being more than clear. behind you, you could hear the soft sounds of the familiar cartoon playing mixed with the twins’ occasional giggle, though it wasn’t long until the heavy sound of jungkook’s footsteps became louder and louder, souring your mood.

of course. the man couldn’t survive without being near you when given the option.

“you’re extra bratty tonight.” he observed casually, leaning against one of the counters, though his voice was twinged in exhaustion.

“you’re projecting.” you hummed back.

“am not.

“are too.”

“you text me a thumbs up earlier.”

“and?”

jungkook scoffed before coming to the counter closest to you, leaning, despite your refusal to look at him.

“you know i hate that fucking shit.”

instead, you chose to feign ignorance, going so far as to prettily turn your back to him with a flick of your hair. you couldn’t help but wind him up, it was genuinely your favourite thing to do considering his reactions were always just so worth it. a man you knew could ruin you in seconds holding back because he knew he truly didn’t have access to you anymore, and until you gave him the green light needed, he was stuck in limbo.

lord knew whenever you gave him a faraway nod, he’d have you up on the counters and in between your thighs in seconds, always telling you it was the only way he felt satisfied anymore despite not being touched.

your hand reached upwards to grab a plate from the cabinet above your head. before you could even touch it, your feet on their tip toes, a large arm reached over your head instantly.

his chest brushed your back in the process in a way that felt accidental at first, but immediately, you found yourself pressed almost harshly into the stove, his front pushing your back against him cheekily.

fucking ridiculous.

jungkook grabbed the plate effortlessly, barely having to raise his hand whatsoever. instead of handing it to you immediately, he merely pressed against you further, your eyes widening just a fraction as you felt every inch of him behind you, warmth bleeding through the very thin material of your tiny pyjama top.

he was always so warm after work, it made your head spin.

“could’ve got it myself.” you murmured under your breath, cheeks hot.

“yeah?” he dipped his head down, lips grazing your ear. “looked like you were struggling.”

you hated how much you loved it - how big he was compared to you, how he towered over you. jungkook made you feel tiny in a way that genuinely fucked with your head, all broad muscle and rough hands, and sheer overwhelming man. even now, one of his thighs nudged between yours absentmindedly as he reached around you to place the plate down for you.

“you’re in my space.” you shifted, pretending like you weren’t enjoying it.

he could read you like an open book.

“your space?” he let out a small laugh.

you wanted to push him away, annoyed at his amusement at your words and even more annoyed at the way he so casually touched you, especially considering he knew what it did to you. it made you weak everywhere, to the point where you were utter putty in the palm of his hands and he relished in the feeling - the woman he obsessed over equally as ruined by something he did without thought.

you opened your mouth to speak only to feel his too large hand suddenly slide over to your stomach, digits digging into your skin before yanking you back into him. you were no longer pushed against the stove, now completely entirely into him, meaning you could feel every inch, including the harsh bulge that had begun to form just by speaking to you.

a squeak nearly left you before your eyes fell into slits, huffing as you smacked his hand meanly. fucking brute.

“jungkook!” you immediately snapped at him, but it did nothing to deter him as his fingers spread wide, practically covering every inch of the skin on your stomach all whilst he held you to him like he had every right.

“stop moving.” he muttered against your ear.

“ugh, you’re such a brute!”

“hard to do that when you’re walking around our house looking like this.”

your mouth fell open.

“our house?” you hissed, though he couldn’t help but realise the way your shoulders had dropped a little, almost at ease at his words despite your words. “i divorced you, this is my home.”

“stupid divorce.” he huffed a little under his breath, face dropping into your neck as he breathed in your scent. “worst fucking decision of my life.”

the words came out flat - immediate, as though they were plain fact. it constantly knocked you of breath whenever he talked like that, knowing that deep down you agreed too, that despite the problems between you, the divorce was also a big regret of your own. perhaps that was why neither of you acted like it had actually happened, simply playing house as though you were still together.

“you wear these shorts on purpose?”

you hummed at him then, looking over your shoulder at him just as he pulled away from your neck, your eyes connecting. “they’re just pyjamas.”

his hand, however, slid over to your hip with a grunt, squeezing.

“you’re killing me walking around like this.”

you rolled your eyes so hard, your head hurt. “just had a twelve hour shift and it’s my shorts that are killing you?”

“yeah,” jungkook replied instantly, with no hesitation whatsoever, eyeing you almost meanly. “you know what you’re doing. cut the innocent shit.”

you scoffed dramatically despite the heat travelling up and down your body. “you’re so embarrassing!”

“you’re a fucking minx.”

his teeth grazed the curve where your shoulder met your neck before he bit down, teeth sinking into your skin just enough to have you jolting. immediately, you smacked him on his arm with a hiss despite the utter mess between your legs, your brain growing hazier by the second.

“ow! you dog!”

“keep being mouthy,” he muttered against your skin, gently sucking on the area he bit, planting heavy kisses before dragging his lips to your ear once more. “watch what happens.”

the threat settled low in your stomach.

you could feel it everywhere, deep between your thighs and in the thump of your heart, all whilst your mind malfunctioned in real time. jungkook watched you slump against him, knowing how badly you were affected when he spoke like that. vulgar. nasty. all heavy hands and filthy promises he’d whisper into your skin like they belonged there. you couldn’t help how your body reacted to him, not when he was the only living thing that knew exactly which buttons to press to have you fall on your knees for him, to shut your pretty little mouth up with ease.

you twisted in his hold, finally managing to part from him just enough to actually turn in his hold, trying your best to glare at him despite the hazy look in your eye. he wanted to devour you, head dropping low to properly meet your gaze, feeling his breath against your lips.

“you’re disgusting.” you weakly rebutted at him.

“you like it.” his mouth curled.

he could take you now, right here, and he knew you’d let him - knew you’d open up your pretty little legs for him to give way for all of the things he had wanted. he also knew you weren’t ready for it, and despite the heavy tension between you and the thick want that clouded every conversation, he’d never push until you were the one that initiated.

that was the rules afterall.

you had told him as much, plainly. he could eat you out as much as he wanted, and lord knew he did with absolute glee, but no sex, no kisses. you simply used him to get off, grinding on his hardened cock through his work trousers late in the evening, his hand on your mouth to muffle the loud moans you couldn’t keep inside. he was a mere toy, happy to be at your disposal.

the smug bastard let out a low hum before finally releasing you, his fingers squeezing your stomach one last time to remind you of his hold on you, before grunting lightly, stepping back. you watched him, openly, one hand going down to adjust the growing bulge that had formed whilst he took a seat at the table, just like you had wanted him to at the beginning, still palming himself as he watched you as though it was perfectly normal.

you turned, plating his food despite your warm cheeks, all whilst your ex husband sat there, massaging his cock at the sight of your ass openly. you knew that to anyone else, the dynamic was batshit crazy, but to you? this was all you wanted, all you ever needed - a fucked up lover who managed to match you, none of that sappy shit. you wanted a man, and a man you had gotten indeed.

you turned, placing it in front of him, already turning to walk away before a large arm darted out, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you down onto his lap, against the very bulge that was growing and growing and growing. he knew how messed up you’d get just from grinding on him, and he had every intention of making you cum tonight, multiple times hopefully. the thought thrilled him.

“get off!”

his hand flattened against your back as your legs came up onto the side of him, your core nestled so perfectly against his clothed cock that it pulled a tiny gasp from your throat, a hitch of breath that had him openly bucking his hips into you so you could feel it more prominently. the man was obscene, genuinely obscene and the worst thing was that you were equally as sick, capitalising off of the interaction by grinding right back down on him, as though his food wasn’t there, as though he wasn’t exhausted from the day he’d just had.

“always fucking mouthing off.” he muttered darkly, lips now grazing your jaw in sweet kisses. “then look at you..” another grind, heavier now. enough to have you whimpering a little, the friction of his heavy duty trousers delicious against your barely there shorts. “get so sweet when i put you on my lap like you belong.”

at that, you shut your eyes, unable to rebut or saying more when you knew it was the truth.

no matter how mouthy you were, jungkook always put you in your place the same way each time. a roll of his hips, a thrust of his tongue - you were his girl through and through, no matter what you told him. it was his obligation, his duty, to satisfy you in the ways you’d let him and god did he exploit the fuck out of those decisions.

heat flooded your entire body, just as you spread your legs for him properly, straddling him the way he liked, your head on his shoulder, hands on his chest. you watched him eat, eyeing his adam’s apple half in hunger yourself, only for him. only ever him. he was filth personified, what with his obsessive and controlling tendencies but it was what made you want him so badly - even now, he found himself feeding you from his own plate despite being starved, always putting your comfort in front of his.

all whilst forcing your clothed cunt down on him harder.

you spent the next few minutes like that, in a state of bliss like you hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes being mean to him for no apparently reason, but he loved it, holding you tight to him as he indulged in your needy tendencies. he didn’t care what you did, or how you chose to use him as long as it was him you selected.

you were his fucking girl, and he’d never let you forget it.

—

shopping had easily become one of your favourite hobbies after the divorce.

that wasn’t to say you didn’t indulge prior, but having jungkook’s debit cards in your pink chanel purse post divorce meant you could spend as frivolously as you wanted with full knowledge that he couldn’t complain or you’d revoke all access to yourself. it was pure evil coming from you, that much you could agree, but it wasn’t like you cared to be honest - he wanted to give you his money, who were you not to spend it at dior?

it was his fault, really, considering jungkook had managed to make the separation somehow more beneficial than the actual relationship.

his cards sat so pretty in your bag, begging, yearning to be used by you and you, of course, were never one to deny your soul of what was so easily accessible to you. how could you deny a gift when given with so much love, so freely as though it was what he had intended in the first place.

and so, you found yourself on your weekly shopping spree, humming under your breath. dressed in your cute little skirt, top accentuating your breasts in a way you know would have jungkook passing away if he saw you, all whilst your big heels clicked and clacked on the pavement; you indulged in the strip of shops that had become home to you.

fendi, gucci, louis, hermes, chanel, prada - you knew them all, and oh, how they knew you.

you had already spent an ungodly amount.

a new perfume just because the bottle was pretty, alongside some high end skincare you secretly knew was utter bullshit. two sets of expensive heels that accentuated the length of your legs so deliciously, you’d be a fool not to purchase them. countless dresses and cute little jumpers for your sweet babies too, things you knew that they would love and feel comfortable in all whilst sporting a hefty price tag.

the best thing about all of this? jungkook didn’t give a fuck.

if anything, you were the sure he had something clinically wrong with him considering the way he would ask you what you had purchased, notification after notification plaguing his phone and despite seeing the ridiculous price tags, it never deterred him from making sure he worked hard enough to accommodate you. ex wife or not, you were his to provide for - you just came with a specific price.

you knew he was genuinely crazy when you had bought a whole new wardrobe full of clothes after a horrible day, needing some retail therapy more than anything else, spending an ungodly amount only to see a single text from him in response.

“good girl.”

god, you had nearly moaned.

spending his money seemed to satisfy something deeply primitive in him. the bastard was everything you had ever wanted.

still, despite being an utter bitch to him any chance you got, even you recognised that there were rules and boundaries.

you knew that jungkook would let you buy whatever you wanted, to your hearts content no matter how stupid, but your heart still ached whenever he would come utterly exhausted after a particularly gruelling shift at the shop. being a business owner was one thing, having the largest mechanic shop was another - being the head mechanic, and actually getting your hands dirty each and every waking day from morning till night? that was a whole different ballpark, and you often found yourself returning things secretly, or putting things down whenever you’d get the familiar feeling of guilt.

unfortunately for you, said feeling was no where to be seen when all you could think about was how pretty the pink bag in front of you was.

it was ridiculous, completely and entirely - even you knew that.

the second you saw it, your hands darted out, fingers gently grazing the gold hardware, pink leather soft against your touch all whilst your heart began to beat in that all familiar way. you wanted it. needed it.

oh, how your chest fluttered at pretty things. you had always been this way, no matter the price tag, and jungkook had done nothing but absolutely untrue it throughout your relationship so really, you had no one else to blame but him.

and so you stood, bottom lip jutted out slightly as you tapped your manicured finger against your chin in thought, humming lightly before looking over to the sales assistant. even she knew this was out of your typical budget, which wasn’t to say you couldn’t afford it because with jungkook’s work ethic, you could do whatever you wanted. this was just a large amount, all at once, all on one thing.

with a little huff, you pulled out your phone.

god this was humiliating. never a day in your life had you asked jungkook for permission on anything, especially not when it came to your shopping purchases, but that horrible gnawing feeling all too similar to guilt was already finding home in your stomach. you were simply going to inform him because you were so nice.

you weren’t even sure why you were feeling this way when he had never even uttered the word no in your presence.

your eyes dragged to the price tag one last time before letting out another huff, finding his contact and pressing the ring button all whilst grumbling.

the phone rang.

once.

twice.

three times.

your mouth fell open. nothing.

you immediately called again, now suddenly feeling even more humiliated, and more annoyed with each passing ring. once the second call rang out too, your eye officially began twitching.

you were the love of his life, the mother of his children - the only person he could cum to the thought of and yet here was, not answering your calls? what, did he have a new girl? someone else to keep him company? was that it? spoiling another girl with his bank card so he could get hard?

the deluded thought had you almost shaking as you took your furious fingers over to your messages, texting out immediately.

‘hello?????’

silence.

‘i need you’

silence again - you were starting to feel seriously pissed off. who cared about a job this much?

‘answer your phone, dickhead’

your eye was fully twitching in annoyance at the consistent blue messaging bubbles in front of you, all decorated with a single word at the bottom. delivered.

then, because you knew nothing else other than being a natural nuisance to him, you began spamming.

‘jungkook’

‘jungkook’

‘jungkook’

‘jungkook’

still nothing. the audacity of it all.

you wanted to sit and deflate before the very bag of your dreams, heart half hurting over it not already being in a shopping bag with your name on it and other half straining at the thought of jungkook not providing the attention you so desperately needed from him to live. he always had his phone on him, you thought, mind going into a million different conclusions that each felt as warped as the next.

you couldn’t remember a single instance where he hadn’t answered you - meetings, working, mid shower, mid wank. no matter the inconvenience, he’d be quick to hear your voice even if it was so you could bitch at him because even you knew he was down bad when it came to you. the man could have been elbow deep in an engine and somehow still find a way to have the phone on speaker next to him.

you could physically feel yourself growing more and more irritated the more you demanded for his attention, all whilst each message sat unread, until you let out a small whine. you had never done this before - never begged for him to look at you, focus on you and now? you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a horrible twinge of anxiety in your stomach at the thought of you dropping in his priorities.

he was your jungkook, afterall.

in that hazy train of thought, you put your phone away, turning sharply on your heel and towards the door, making your way outside with your multiple bags on your arms. the shop was only a few streets away, and you were quick on your feet. you wouldn’t usually walk so much in these heels, but these were trying times and you didn’t have a moment to waste.

it wasn’t even about the bag anymore. it was the principle.

at least, that was what you kept telling yourself.

-

the horrible mixture of irritation, brattiness and insecurity swirled deep inside your chest as you practically marched over to the mechanics shop, your hair bouncing with each step all whilst your insane heels clicked loudly. your multiple shopping bags were beginning to hurt your arms, another thing you were sure to take out on jungkook despite the fact it was a self inflicted problem.

your shoes, ones you never really had a problem with, were beginning to dig into your feet and you were sure it was because you were already annoyed. they had long stopped looking cute and started feeling devilish, but unfortunately for you, your pride well outweighed the hassle of it all.

you marched right inside, only to be hit with the all too familiar smell of oil and metal. it lived permanently in the walls and into your ex husband’s clothing, and no matter how much you denied it, it felt like home - comforting beyond means, so much so that you found yourself craving to be wrapped in it whenever you would see him.

the large workshop was busy despite the afternoon dragging on with engines high in the air, toolboxes scattered on each section, concrete floors muddied and dirtied whilst you could hear someone on the far end of the room call out about a missing wrench. again, it felt like home.

a few heads lifted immediately upon your arrival, with all six raising as you stepped forward a little. the move instantly changed, as all of them greeted you warmly, some waving, sweet jin even going so far as to take the bags off of your arms and put them in jungkook’s office.

you knew them all personally, of course. you had been here for years, when your ex had first opened the shop, hiring all of them. you had brought lunches, been pregnant with your babies here, waddling around whilst they all debated baby names with you. a family dynamic that resulted in there being no sense of awkwardness whatsoever, despite the divorce.

your gaze swept around the garage, looking, searching, finally finding him.

your breath caught. annoyingly.

because, unfortunately for you, no matter how many years had passed between you, no matter how many arguments where you’d poke and prod, and certainly no matter how many times you pushed him to brink of genuine desperation; the sight of him was always enough to have butterflies erupt in your stomach as though it was the first time.

your heart skipped a beat as you watched him, lowered over an engine with a tool in hand, grease and something dark smeared on his hands all whilst his work t-shirt stretched around his torso unfairly. his biceps were bulging, your kryptonite, all whilst he seemed completely focused on what he was doing.

it wasn’t until he could hear everyone greeting you that had him looking to the side, where you stood, giving you full access to his face. the same dark substance was smeared slightly on his jaw, his dark hair pushed out of his face all whilst his tatted frame turned to fully face you.

if you thought you had been undone by a mere look at you, it was jungkook who felt his entire life stop.

you, his minx of a girl, dressed in a skirt too tiny for his liking with a cute matching top, one that pushed your breast up, giving him the perfect view despite the distance between you. the way your hair sat, your lips plump with lip gloss he longed to kiss off of you, and your high heels that still couldn’t match his height.

he was assessing you hungrily, a darkened look on his face as he admired you head to toe over and over, openly for everyone to see. he had no shame, he didn’t give a fuck when it came to you - you might have divorced him but you were every inch his wife and you knew it too.

you recognised that look, and with each heavy step towards you, it simply expanded to every one of his limbs. he was a man starved, hungry for one thing in his life and that was you. he still looked at you like it was the first time seeing you, even after all these years.

his jaw was harsh, tightened, as though your presence here had fucked him.

good, you thought bitterly, still annoyed. you wanted him to suffer.

he grabbed a rag on his way to you, cleaning his hands of clinging grease before shoving the cloth over his shoulder. once he was in front of you, you readied yourself, lips parting to no doubt spit some venom at him over your own insecurities but he offered no time. instead, jungkook grabbed you by your waist and pushed you firmly in the direction of his office, no words exchanged.

“jungkook!” you hissed, turning a little as your body was all but forced to walk in a direction, the click of your heels heavy on the dirty workfloor.

he didn’t respond, eyes meeting yours in heavy warning, a reminder that this was his workplace, where he was a working professional, where his rules reigned first and foremost. you hated how badly the thought swirled in your stomach, coaxing you out of your negative thoughts and straight back where you felt most at home.

once you were in his office, he turned to close the door. with a single flick of his finger, the lock turned, confining you into the space, all whilst you narrowed your eyes at him. with a small huff, you turned around, flicking your hair at him before walking over to his large seat behind his mahogany desk, sitting down on it as though it belonged to you.

it was laughable, really, how easily you managed to rile him up. just the sight of you, bare legs crossed and high heeled feet - he wanted to fucking ruin you just to remind you that you were all his.

“you should clean up.” you huffed once more, fingers pushing the stacks of contracts away from your space, annoyingly mixing up important papers.

he simply stood in front of the door, before walking over to the desk, resting on the corner of it, eyes meeting yours. he didn’t bother even looking at what you were doing, despite it no doubt causing him problems in the future - he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

“you walked here.”

it wasn’t a question. a loaded statement no doubt used to coax you into revealing your full emotions.

your eye twitched. “i have legs.”

“your heels are new.”

“and?”

his lips quirked up slightly. “they’re hurting your feet.”

“no they aren’t.” you snapped back, despite your toes hurting slightly.

his eyebrows lifted. you were such a liar, dressed in sin. he wanted to kiss you.

jungkook pushed off of the desk, walking past the pile of bags that jin had placed in the office for you no longer than a few minutes ago, his eyes still trained on you as he refused to look away. your own eyes faltered, dropping onto the bags momentarily as that familiar feeling of guilt wrapped around your stomach before it returned to his gaze, insecurity wrapped in anger only coming back harder.

he looked like he was approaching a skittish animal, as though he was trained to deal with you entirely. unfortunately for him, you had claws.

“don’t.” you hissed.

“don’t what?”

“do that.”

“do what?” he was fighting a dimpled grin.

you grit your teeth. you extended your hand, finger pointing at him harshly, accusatively, all whilst he walked over to you, until your digit was actually pressing into him. your nail dug into his stomach, not by your own doing, but his as he pushed his skin harsher against you, the sting a healthy reminder of how much he yearned for your touch.

“real scary, baby.”

you nearly shuddered, his voice heavy and loaded.

“i’m serious.”

“yeah, i know.”

you hated when his voice did that, low and certain all whilst his eyelids drooped just from looking at you. you retracted your finger, only for his own hand to dart out and grab a hold of your own until it was pressed against his stomach completely flat.

“you ignored me.” you murmured in annoyance, all whilst you let him manoeuvre you. “did i?”

“mhm.”

he nodded, half condescending and other half fucking enamoured by you. “and that’s why you’re here?”

“don’t act stupid.”

your hissing had his eyes narrowing.

“careful.”

the single word landed heavy, your mouth snapping shut. if anyone was to ask you your favourite quality about jungkook, it would always be the sheer dominance he radiated without even trying - all man, half assertion and other half brute, he plagued your every thought and yet it still never felt enough.

his grip on your hand harshened, as though he needed to feel you on him in a way that hurt, with fingers digging into his skin through his t-shirt. you gulped a little at the feel of his warmth.

“walked into my garage wearing this shit, your feet hurting, and you’re not gonna tell me what’s got you so bratty?” he muttered down at you, voice low.

your eyebrows pulled at his choice of words, peering down at your outfit. this was the exact clothing choice that had you guys arguing so often, what with your breasts accentuated and your ass barely hidden by the cute skirt - you couldn’t help the fact that you liked things on the shorter and tighter side, especially when they’d rile him up so bad.

“you ignored me.” you repeated, with a frown imbedded into your skin.

“never ignored you a day in my fucking life. what you talking about?” he scoffed a little down at you, all whilst your head had to tilt just to look at him from your seated position.

“called you twice, jungkook, and i text you.” it was your turn now to push your finger into him willingly. “you ignored me, so don’t pretend like you didn’t. i’m not an idiot.”

“i was under a car.”

“you always answer.” you rebutted.

his eyes narrowed. there really wasn’t any winning with you, he knew that better than most, but he also wasn’t an idiot. you wouldn’t have marched here for no reason, especially over a missed call or two whilst he was at work considering he never really had his phone on him. he had a receptionist out front, practically hired for the sole reason of being able to inform him whenever you needed him. you knew that, so why was this so upsetting to you now?

“don’t look at me like that.” you huffed.

neither of you mentioned the way his hand on top of yours began to caress your skin, intertwining your fingers as he continued to press further into himself.

“not looking at you like anything.”

“yeah you are, like i’m being stupid.”

he cursed under his breath as he took his other hand and rubbed it up and down his face, as though this was the cherry on top of a long and stressful day. you could feel your blood pressure rising in annoyance at the thought - he had no right to be annoyed with you, not when you were too busy being annoyed at him. how dare he?

“y/n.” he warned lightly. “this shit is pissing me off. you ignore me every chance you get, so why the fuck are you so upset?”

you felt your cheeks begin to heat, half in embarrassment and other in deeper annoyance at being called out. was it your fault that you rolled your eyes whenever he text you, too busy grumbling to actually respond? the nasty feeling in your stomach only grew as he watched you swallow harshly, too humiliated to tell him the real reason all whilst he refused to read between the lines until you actually said something.

the office felt too small, and for the first time during the entire interaction, jungkook swore he could read genuine discomfort on your face.

it was as though the conversation at hand was something you weren’t expecting, simply assuming this was another instance where he’d bow down and allow you to be bratty but, alas - he could see this time that this was different. you weren’t annoyed, you weren’t even upset; you looked hurt.

it was an emotion he couldn’t quite understand, knowing fully he had absolutely done nothing wrong, not having even seen his phone since lunch time. rationality mattered little between the both of you, especially whenever it concerned you, but this was strange even for you. your sudden silence, your lips pressing into each other as you looked away from him, eyes unsure, gaze confused - it had his stomach dropping.

the humiliation was heavy in your frame as you realised how stupid you were being. you had marched here in these heels, a pair that were currently ruining your feet as you spoke, wincing a little as you shifted your toes to make it more comfortable. twenty minutes of amping your own emotions up only to arrive and realise the disgusting, simple fact of jungkook had been divorced by you.

you. you alone.

you had made the decision.

you had chosen to kick him out, break up the marriage over petty arguments that were a norm if anything.

you had done that, with the full expectation of him still fulfilling his husbandly duties as though you had any right to him, any access.

that alone was a horrible pill to swallow.

unfortunately for you, if anyone knew you inside and out, it was the very man in front of you. he reached over to you, tilting your chin forwards, and then up, so that your unsure eyes met his, all whilst you maintained your bratty nature by keeping your mouth shut. he wanted nothing more than to ruin your lips for even starting with him today, with that sleek gloss covering each inch of surface.

you hated when he looked at you like this, as though he was able to dismantle the corners of your feigned disdain, softening them, eroding them until all that was left was you. only you.

before you could look away, you watched as your hunk of an ex husband, all muscle and all tattoos, dropped to his knees in front of you. his arms came around your waist, yanking you forward until either of your legs were around him, his hands heavy on your back. your skirt rode up naturally, allowing him to slot in against you, forcing you to maintain eye contact despite the intimate position.

you flailed for a moment, gasping, everything happening so suddenly but his grip on you was harsh, mean even.

“you thought i was with someone else?” he immediately challenged.

his eyes were narrowed, scowl evident on his lips as he looked at you harshly, as though the notion was enough to genuinely piss him off. despite his nature, he wasn’t one to ever get angry with you, usually directing his annoyance elsewhere but in moments like this, you exasperated him enough that he had no option but to tell you.

“jungkook-“

“missed two fucking calls,” he hissed at you, pulling you closer, harsher. “and you’re already mapping random shit in your head? you trying to piss me off on purpose?”

heat flooded your face in embarrassment, already feeling heat in your chest with the way he looked so annoyed. you hated how attractive he was.

“that’s not what i said.”

“yeah?” he scoffed at you openly, one hand moving to the side to grip your waist instead. “you walked over here in those heels over nothing?”

you hid the insecurity on your face underneath a layer of annoyance, bratty to the core even when you knew you weren’t in the right.

“what’s it to you? if you don’t want me visiting, i won’t come again.” you huffed, pressing him by his shoulders to push him back and away from you.

unfortunately for you, jungkook was made half from stone - unmovable, with biceps thicker than your head, chest and shoulders so broad that it often had your eyelashes fluttering up at him even when you didn’t realise.

“don’t try that shit with me, y/n. you’re in your own head about something that isn’t real, and you’re taking it out on me.”

his tone was laced with something that had your throat swallowing a lump, your eyes struggling to maintain eye contact due to the heavy, and intense heat in his gaze. he was openly pissed off, and you wished you weren’t battling so many emotions at the same time, instead wanting to capitalise on it.

instead of responding, you huffed a little, looking away despite it all. you lifted your chin slightly, ignoring your wandering fingers that were already tracing his tattoos out of habit, grumbling a little under your breath. you hated that he had managed to figure you out so easily, as though he knew the ridges of your brain far more than you yourself, able to peel apart each nasty thought that occupied your thought simply because he could.

you couldn’t let him win. you wouldn’t.

“maybe i wouldn’t think like this if you just answered your phone.” you huffed back at him, returning the eye contact once you had finally settled into your usual bratty self. “god forbid i assume my ex husband might actually move on one day. how am i supposed to know what you get up to all day here?”

you laughed once. sharp. mean. defensive.

“wouldn’t exactly be shocking, would it?” you hissed once more. “we’re divorced.”

for a moment, silence filled the room, all whilst jungkook remained awfully still in front of you.

a sick part of you felt rewarded in thinking you had managed to hit him right where it hurt, to act as a reminder that despite everything, you were the one in control, but that emotion completely slipped away once you watched him stand up.

he stood to his full height, causing you to tip your head back to maintain the eye contact from your sat position. instead of moving back, his hands dropped from your back and waist.

his left hand rose, fingers immediately darting until they reached your throat, wrapping firmly. enough to push your head towards his, and not enough to hurt, his darkened eyes showcasing the same scary, obsessive streak that had you moaning into your pillow every night.

you could feel dampness between your legs, your heartbeat quickening immediately at the showcase of such dominance above you, your eyelids growing almost hooded whilst he leaned down until your breaths were mingling.

“careful.” he reminded, for the second time that night, long fingers digging into either side of your neck.

you, who had never learnt a lesson for long enough to actually make a difference a day in your life, couldn’t help the look of utter petulance on your face.

“or what?” you spat at him.

within seconds, you were put in a state of vertigo as you were yanked up from your seat. before you could realise what was happening, jungkook had you in his lap, yanked forwards so that your ass was jutted out into the air. your skirt had been pushed up, leaving your tiny panties on show.

“j-jungkook!” you squeaked but he took no notice, your arms going up to wrap around his neck all whilst he planted his palm heavy against your now bare ass.

smack.

you squeaked louder.

he didn’t bother saying anything, soothing your ass cheek as though he hadn’t just smacked it. that was, until he repeated his action, the noise sounding off of the walls of the office.

smack.

over, and over, and over, and over.

he didn’t stop, repeating his action of soothing your ass only to slap it harder, all until you were a mewling mess, whimpering at him like a wounded puppy, his eyes harsher than you’d ever seen him. you felt sore, both of his hands now massaging you despite his growing annoyance.

the office was silent apart from the sound of your shaking breath, all whilst you clung to him, your eyes still matching his in a heavy, tension filled gaze that neither of you could look away from. he wanted to coo at you, wanted to hold you, kiss it better but fuck; he wouldn’t have you thinking like this ever again.

“the problem with you is you think a piece of paper changed shit between us.” he whispered down at you suddenly, voice meaner than you’d ever heard him. your eyelashes fluttered. “makes you think a judge signing off on some fucking divorce means you’re any less mine.”

“kook..” you whined quietly, causing him to massage deeper.

“that’s not how this works, baby. get that through your thick skull before i fuck it back into you, you understand me?” he warned, all whilst pushing his head against yours.

your noses touched, rubbing together almost romantically as he nuzzled against you, positioning you better on his lap despite the incessant sting on your ass. he slid your legs over his legs as he brought you closer and closer, his intensely large frame entirely engulfing you.

“we’re not together though..” you whispered at him, the horrible insecurity that remained deep in your bones, the same one you refused to ever show him, bleeding into your tone. “it’s only a matter of time before you meet someone new. even i know that.”

your admission was raw, honest - far more than you’d ever been in a very long time. he knew that, he could see it, especially with the way you felt utterly scared at even letting the words leave your mouth, nibbling on your lip immediately after as though you almost regretted being so truthful.

“what you want, y/n? want a ring? i’ll marry you today.” he scoffed down at you, as though your words were utter bullshit, anger still heavy in his veins. “you are my girl. you hear me? you. you’re mine, every bit of you, and i’m yours.”

you swallowed down the lump in your throat, as he began to kiss at your cheek, your nose and jaw, planting promises deep into your skin so that you’d absorb them as truth. he didn’t care that you guys weren’t together due to a technicality - you were his wife, entirely, fully. no one would ever be able to take that away from him.

the next few hours were spent in a way that felt like home.

he had first spent the first hour just holding you, watching you trace the tattoo peaking from his chest, the colours up and down his arm all whilst nuzzling deeper into him like you hadn’t been a bitch to him for no reason. his hands had roamed up and down you, cupping you warmly, touching you at times inappropriately just to have your usual brattiness shine through.

alas, work called, and so he placed you onto the couch in the office, murmuring something about ordering you food before kissing your head, turning to leave. the whine you let out was enough to have him curse under his breath, knowing he spoilt you far too often and that’s why you were doing what you were.

it wasn’t until you were dragging him back to you that he understood exactly what you wanted.

it had been two years since the divorce - no intimacy beside him going down on you here and there, but apart from that, it was all hidden kisses down your neck and gropes on your ass whenever he’d walk past.

that didn’t stop him from leaning down, one hand on the head of the sofa beside your head and pressing his lips to yours.

the breathy sound that escaped you from being kissed by him was truly enough to drive a man like jungkook wild, his lips moving, guiding, encouraging you to catch up with him. you did exactly that, hands yanking him further down until you could wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him as though this was the most natural thing you knew how to do.

he was your husband, after all.

parting from his lips, you both watched as a thin string of saliva separated you.

standing up tall had your eyes falling to the evident bulge in his utility trousers, your eyelashes fluttering up at him as you pretended to be indifferent to it. you hummed a little, raising your hand. “you can go now.”

the corner of his lip lifted.

such a fucking minx.

the rest of the day had him popping into the office, bringing you food, spending time with you whenever it was quiet. you gave him a haul at one point, showing him all the things you had bought with his hard earned money, even mentioning the bag you had eyed up earlier.

his response?

he had tilted his head in confusion, asking you why you didn’t buy it despite you telling him the price tag.

you had never been wetter.

by the time the garage was closing, he had you in the car, bags already put into the boot, whilst a heavy hand sat on your thigh, driving you home.

it felt like something had completely shifted between you now the unspoken had been spoken. it made you feel good, but you wanted more, craved it - you had spent so long pushing him away, even when you were married, that you had forgotten what it was like just to give into his affections. even slightly, it felt fulfilling in a way that left you hungry.

once your driveway came into view, you already knew he was gonna stay the night. it was common enough, usually forcing him to stay in the guest room like you wouldn’t be up all night wishing he would just come in already. alas, you had married, and divorced, a respectful man.

“kids coming back tomorrow morning?” he asked as he parked up, both of you walking to the door, all of the bags in his hand.

“afternoon.” you corrected over your shoulder, eyes meeting his. you watched as his eyes lifted from your ass in your tiny skirt, cheeks already slightly bruised and red from your earlier spankings, only for his gaze to lift back up to you.

he didn’t respond, simply following you in, locking the door behind him as you slipped off your heels.

“my feet hurt.” you huffed a little to yourself whilst flexing your toes a little.

he let out a slight laugh, placing your bags down on the kitchen table before grabbing you by the waist, lips attacking your neck almost immediately. your back hit his chest as he took a hold of your personal space, breathing in your floral scent now that you were all alone, with no one to interrupt.

no kids.

no garage.

nothing but the two of you and the dying tension between you.

“ugh!” you huffed, brattiness at an all time high, despite tilting your head so he could kiss you further. “you stink.”

“yeah?” he continued his kisses, fingers digging into your hips. “gonna join me in the shower?”

you rolled your eyes, just as he twirled you, towering over you so easily that you found yourself tilting your head just to be able to meet his gaze. his hardened jaw, the feel of his abs where your hands sat on his stomach - you hated him.

“you wish.” you retorted, just as his hands drifted down to your ass.

a large hand smoothed your ass, causing you to wince up at him a little, falling further into his chest causing him to laugh. you swatted his chest with a huff, hissing at him.

“meet me in there in two.” he whispered into your ear, squeezing once more before you huffed again, walking upstairs to your own room.

within the next five minutes, the water had been turned on, and jungkook had pulled his t-shirt off, grunting a little as he undressed in what he had always deemed to be a too small bathroom. it wasn’t until the door opened and he watched you walk in, just as the water had begun to spray down onto his chest, that he felt his stomach tighten.

he watched as you undressed, clothes pooling at your feet, your bra and panties dropping in seconds all whilst you joined him in the shower, almost paying him no mind as though he too wasn’t here. it wasn’t until you stepped back into him, letting the water hit your body instead of his that he properly yanked you back, bodies suddenly flushed against each other.

he tilted your head for the millionth time that day, lips grazing over your pulse, kissing as though he truly couldn’t get enough. he hummed against it, tongue tracing over it as his hands openly began running up and down you, clutching your breasts, your thighs, your stomach.

he loved when you acted like this. all snooty, as though he was beneath you despite your legs parting just as his hands drifted down. his, bratty girl. what a dream.

“missed this.” he whispered into your ear, just as you reached for the body wash.

“need to wash my body.” you huffed back, looking over your shoulder at him in that familiar bitchy way, only for him to lean downwards towards your face.

he grinned, twisting you properly in his arms so that you were actually facing him. the glare you gave him was enough to have his cock twitching against you, causing you to look down momentarily.

you could have sighed out of content, feeling it against you, so, so thick. so large, pressed against his stomach as he openly admired you, his own hands roaming over you as though he had every right.

the last time you had both hooked up was after you had signed the divorce papers. he had pounded you in the courthouse bathroom, with a hand over your mouth, and a hiss in your ear reminding you that no matter what, you still belonged to him, to which you had nodded, promising him. you were both so fucked for each other it was unreal.

queue two years later, you hadn’t actually seen his cock in so long despite having craved it for what felt like eons. despite what you felt, you knew you couldn’t bring yourself to cave in, yearning for something more than just sex and you couldn’t afford to get attached without it.

here you were, with that exact thing.

you were both so fucked in the head when it came to one another, with jungkook even going so far as to make a dildo for you that replicated his cock, just so you could pleasure yourself the exact way you wanted. it killed him inside to know you used it every night instead of using him, but with you in his arms right now, he hardly gave a fuck.

he watched as you lifted one of your hands, fingers brushing against the tip, all whilst your big eyes fluttered up at him in a sort of faux innocence. he cupped your hand, bringing it to his lips, before wrapping it around his cock properly.

you let out another sigh of content as you pumped him, up and down, all whilst water cascaded down onto both of your bodies. his head pressed against yours, lips brushing against one another so naturally it felt innate to the both of you.

his breath hitched just slightly as you used both hands, your heart fluttering at the feel of him so intimately against you.

“my pretty girl.” he pressed sweet pecks to your lips, whilst you tilted your head up at him, his hands openly massaging your ass again.

“so big.” you whispered back at him with a little sigh, thumb tracing over his slitted tip. “yeah? been stretching yourself out every night on your own?”

“trying to.” you mumbled back. his hand cupped yours, guiding you faster. “just too big sometimes to do it on my own.”

his eyes closed at your words, letting out a shaking breath, gripping you so much tighter before opening them up once more. he nudged his nose against yours, before pressing his lips harshly to yours.

your lips immediately moved in unison, bodies aligning as you both pumped his cock as though you couldn’t get enough of one another. tongues wrapped until they became one, your soft moans gliding through the falling water as jungkook pushed, and pushed and pushed until you were pressed against the wall.

by the time he was parting from your lips, you were a panting mess, your chest rising and falling. your hand dropped from his cock as he lifted you in his arms, your back pressed against the cool tile whilst he took your left breast in his mouth. sucking, biting, moaning - he was a mess against you, your hands pulling at his long strands that were growing damper by the second from the falling water.

the moan of his name on your tongue had him hissing, moving to your right breast. you had become a mural, a physical manifestation of his morbid love as he decorated you in purple bruises, your big eyes closing in sheer pleasure.

“don’t wanna wait anymore.” you whimpered at him, shaking your head as you began to pull his hair off of you.

he hissed a little from the shot of pain, not afraid to admit his cock twitched from the shock of it. at that, he gave your ass another smack, watching the way you squeaked before narrowing your eyes at him with a loud huff.

“need to stretch you out before i fuck you.” he grunted at you, both of your cheeks flushed from the steam of the shower.

“i don’t care. want it now.”

“stop being a fucking brat.” he hissed again, spanking you for the umpteenth time, your poor ass bruised.

you slid down from his arms, narrowing your eyes at him as you cheekily turned away. he stuck his tongue deep into his cheek as he watched you, soap suds washing down your body before you reached for a towel, sliding out before he could even stop you, only to watch you slip out of the bathroom immediately.

he wanted to curse. his cock had never been so hard in his life, and oh, the things he wanted to do to you - he felt like a born again virgin, having been celibate the second you had pushed him away after the courthouse fiasco. he matched your movements, washing his body before grabbing a towel, drying himself off and walking to your room.

the sight of you on the bed, sat, still in the towel, huffing a little as you checked your nails, pretending to be completely disinterested in him had his jaw ticking again. such a fucking brat.

you opened your mouth, no doubt to spew some utter bullshit to rile him up, but he didn’t give you a chance. within seconds, he had his hands on you, dropping you fully onto the bed, hovering over you, both towels on the ground almost immediately.

the sight of him on top of you, inbetween your legs had you rendered speechless for the first time in eons, a shaking gasp leaving you. it was the feel of his cock running up and down your already weeping pussy that had you actually letting out loud whimpers and whines, rotating your hips in hopes you could finally get what you wanted.

“spoilt rotten. that’s your fucking problem.” he hissed at you, grabbing your face with one of his hands, forcing you to look at him. “always get what you want.”

“because you always wanna give it to me.” you whimpered back at him, grabbing onto his shoulders before raising your legs higher, begging for more.

he hated how true your statement was.

before you could think, jungkook lined himself and began to push inside, all whilst watching your eyes widen only for them to shut tightly.

euphoric. that was the only, single emotion he could describe the feeling of his cock being hugged by your velvet walls after so long, your pussy clinging to him almost as desperately as he pushed and pushed until he was entirely inside of you. you couldn’t breathe, not when you swore you could feel him inside your stomach, your fingers digging so deeply into his shoulders you swore you’d scar him.

even when you masturbated on your own with the dildo, you struggled to take him fully, but having him all but bullying his cock inside of you, making sure you took it all? nothing had never felt better, with his sheer size stretching a home deep inside of you, one that you had missed more than anything else.

“jungkook.” you mewled out, lip already about to quiver.

god.

he had dreamt of this exact situation.

you, underneath him, chest rising and falling whilst your tits were decorated in bruises, symbols of his devotion to you. his cock, thick and heavy, deep inside of you as he watched you quiver trying to accommodate for him despite knowing it was all too much. god, he had dreamt indeed and yet it paled in comparison to what he was seeing.

two years.

two years of being denied this, and here he was, finally claiming his girl once more.

instead of letting you adjust, jungkook grabbed the bottoms of your thighs, lifting them slightly before beginning to thrust.

had you been a normal girl, he would have been gentler, kinder, maybe even sweeter but he knew you better than anyone else. you were a slut for him, through and through - couldn’t cum unless he was mean to your pussy.

and so, he did what any good ex husband would do.

he pounded.

your moans turned into loud whines of pleasure, back arching as jungkook set out a pace that you certainly couldn’t keep up with, scratching over his shoulders and biceps almost desperately. the chant of his name echoed around the room, only adding to his pace, his head pressing against yours.

“look at you.” he grunted loudly, hips slapping against hips, skin smacking against skin. “needed this so bad, didn’t you?”

“so bad.” you whined, with a shaking nod.

“that’s my girl.” he kissed your nose almost romantically, only making you whimper as he pushed your thighs against your chest, before pressing down on you.

the new position had your back curling upwards as you somehow managed to feel him so much deeper, your hands now shaking in the confinements of his hair. you couldn’t stop thrashing, as though all of the begging to get him to fuck you without actually prepping you were all stupid ramblings now that you couldn’t take it.

he loved the sight. there was nothing jungkook loved more than watching you grow more cockdrunk by the minute, what with the way your eyes were rolling to the back of your head, drool beginning to drip by the corner of your mouth.

he had never been more in love with you.

he pounded you over and over, coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of you until you were an overwhelmed mess, sobbing in his arms whilst trying to shut your legs around him, the overstimulation only gripping you by the throat meanly. by your fourth orgasm, you were babbling utter nonsense, a mixture of tears, mascara and drool all over you.

he had tapped your jaw with his hand, only for you to open up, watching him spit in your mouth. you clenched around him hard just as you swallowed, the sight something he knew he’d replay for time to come over and over over.

“so fucking tight.” he hissed down at you.

your positions had changed, with the both of you on your sides as he thrusted into you, his lips attacking the side of your face and shoulder all whilst you clung to the pillow in front of you, poor pussy leaking on either side of him. you were being ruined in real time.

“gonna get you nice and round baby. you’d like that, hm? like it when kookie fucks his cum into you?” he cooed down at you, condescending enough to have your brain begging for mercy. all you could muster was a loud moan, back arching into him at the promise of another baby. “please. want it so bad.”

“yeah?” he hissed, thrusts only getting meaner. “fuck…gotta put a ring on your finger first.”

at that, your legs began to shake.

“gonna take you out tomorrow morning. gonna cum nice and deep inside of you, and take you ring shopping so you can get what you want, hm?” he hissed down at you through his heavy breaths. “gonna be a good girl for me?”

“mhm..i’ll be so good, k-kookie. promise.” you whimpered.

jungkook gave you a hard thrust. he knew it was a lie.

“should’ve never let you go, baby. been missing my girl so much. should’ve kept you nice and full like you deserve.” he bit down on your shoulder. “but jungkook’s gonna fix it. just need you to cum for me, sweetheart.“

it was like he had control over your mind and body. your orgasm erupted through your body, clamping harshly onto his cock, causing him to choke as his thrusts faltered, already on the edge. waves of excruciating pleasure ran through you, grabbing you at every angle all whilst you coaxed him into his own orgasm, his loud grunts echoing off of the walls.

you could feel his hot cum reach all the way into your womb - a promise of what was to come, an assurance for the future. the thought of having more of his children only stretched out your orgasm as you cried out his name, his large fingers harsh on your clit to really force you over the edge.

by the time you were both settling down, you were a shaking mess.

cum plugged inside of you as he refused to pull out just yet, your bodies both sweating, hair a mess, makeup utterly ruined. jungkook had never seen you look so pretty, wanting nothing more than to propose to you right then and there, but even he knew you deserved far better than that.

it was when only ten minutes later, he turned you fully after pulling out, did he plant soft kisses to your face, all whilst fingering his cum back inside of you. you cried in oversensitivity, only causing him to coo at you, whispering sweet nothings about how good you had taken him, about how he needed the cum to stick to get you round and pregnant.

you could feel your eyes drooping as he took care of you, manoeuvring your body until it was utterly engulfed by his, your body sore and mind free.

for the first time in two years, you felt like you were home.

—

true to his promise, you were both out of the house by the early morning.

also true to his word, you were currently stuffed with cum, littered in an array of hickeys both from the previous evening and that morning, causing you to choose an uncharacteristically modest outfit for the day. you had hissed at him all the way to the shop, huffing at having to hide your body in full length clothing only for him to smirk quietly to himself.

he couldn’t get enough of you.

still bitching, still whining - he had stopped pretending like he didn’t like it, especially when you could see right through him. he was yours, yes, but oh how you were his. he had woken you up to his mouth on your clit, coaxing you to a sweet orgasm before fucking you with the promises of a life even grander than the one you were currently living. that alone had gotten three orgasms out of you.

now, you were in the ring shop, frowning, flicking your hair and rolling your eyes at him with every ring you were shown, rudely grumbling over how it just wasn’t the one.

the one you had on was beautiful, which only irritated you more.

you made the effort of moving your hand in three separate angles, turning it to the light, turning your wrist away. the diamond caught every flicker, as it shon and sang to you, all whilst you pursed your lips.

“i don’t like it.”

the jeweller openly frowned at you.

this had been the tenth ring he had shown you, and none of them made you happy. none were the ring you had envisioned, wanting something different and yet something classic, the oxymoron killing you from the inside out.

whilst the man behind the counter was quite startled by your behaviour, jungkook was certainly not.

he stood beside you, t shirt stretched over his figure deliciously, arm heavy around your waist as he maintained you flushed against his figure no matter how bitchy you were being with him. it only had him tightening his fingers on you.

you continued your comments to the jeweller as he showed you more and more rings, before he sensed the growing tension, leaving you both be for a moment. once you were alone on the shop floor, jungkook nudged you a little so you’d look up at him.

“enough.”

the word was quiet. commanding. enough to have your pussy clenching despite how sore you already were, not that it was enough to stop you wanting him in every single way. unfortunately, despite your lapse in demeanour the night before, you weren’t willing to let it show easily again.

you huffed. “none of these are right.”

“you’re being nitpicky on purpose.”

“maybe i just have standards.” you rolled your eyes at him, making a show of crossing your arms across your chest.

it was his turn to make his eyes narrow down at you meanly.

“you done?” he asked, with a small hiss. “your ass not sore enough, y/n?”

you grit your teeth as you willed yourself to be quiet, wanting nothing more than to rebut at him but even you knew jeon jungkook was certainly not above spanking you in a jewellery shop, especially if it meant you’d actually shut up. so, instead, you found yourself huffing a little at him again, picking at your manicure.

“just don’t wanna pick the wrong one.” you admitted in a much smaller voice, refusing to meet his eyes as you ruined your french tips, frown heavy on your face.

the admission was quiet, barely above a mumble but it hit jungkook right in his chest, knowing that despite the rushed nature of everything, this symbolised something so much bigger. starting again when the first time around had been a rush in itself was scary, especially when the stakes were so much higher this time. sure, you had been divorced once and you were marrying him again but you knew this meant you guys would actually have to work through your annoyances with one another.

the thought honestly scared you.

his devotion, his obsession, his incessant need to have you in his arms whether you liked him or not was reciprocated heavily by yourself, only masked with an air of indifference.

“baby.”

he pulled you out of your thoughts, making you look up through your lashes.

“buy as many as you fucking want. you want seven, huh? all days of the week?” he narrowed his eyes down at you. “there isn’t a wrong one, so get that out of your head.”

for the first time in that interaction, you properly turned into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck with a soft sigh of content at his words. good answer, you thought, as you nuzzled into his neck, all whilst he pushed you against the jewellery counter.

by the time the owner had come back, you had finally made your selection, feeling almost shy as you watched jungkook pay for it. sure, you spent his money without thinking, but you were quickly realising how much better it felt with him beside you actually taking charge of the transaction part. the thought began to fester all over you as he signed the receipt, turning to walk you out as the jeweller began sizing the rings immediately.

unfortunately for him, you pressed your lips to his cheek in the sweetest action you could muster. judging from the flip in your eyes, the way affection swirled in them, he knew you wanted something.

“what?” he grunted.

“so..remember that bag?”

—

my babies!! i’m back!!

my first fic / one shot since the mature label got slapped on my page which means half of my followers won’t see this but i’m keeping optimistic!!

as usual, let me know your thoughts, i loveeeee reading your guys’ comments and asks so feel free to keep me in the loop with what you’re thinking

if you wanna support a bad b pay her london rent, my kofi is here <3

“I wasn’t aware that hypocrisy counted as truth,” she replied without turning.

“Ah, so you were listening.”

She stopped. Slowly turned. He stood a few paces behind, one brow raised, arms folded leisurely across his broad chest. Even lounging, the Duke of Aelridge looked like he was used to being obeyed.

“I wasn’t listening. I was cringing,” Y/N said. “It’s astounding how men can twist self-congratulation into philosophy.”

His smile was all bite. “Would you rather I pretend otherwise? That these parties aren’t a performance? That everyone here doesn’t play their part—yourself included?”

“At least I don’t speak as though I’m above it.”

“But you act like you are.”

Her eyes flashed. “Perhaps I simply hold myself to a standard you clearly lack.”

For a moment, they just stared—neither yielding, both assessing.

Then she swept past him.

Jungkook watched her go, the irritation simmering just beneath his smooth exterior. So she thought herself untouchable? Morally superior?

Interesting.

He had no idea who she was, but later that afternoon, as he observed her walking arm in arm with the ever-charming Lady Amelia Hargrave, the dots began to connect.

Amelia—the darling of the ton. Gentle, sweet, and completely unaware of her friend’s sharp tongue and barbed opinions.

A small, amused smirk played at Jungkook’s lips.

If Lady Y/N thought him so awful, so predictably rakish—well, perhaps he’d give her a reason to think so. After all, what better way to irritate a proud woman than by charming the dearest thing to her?

And Amelia Hargrave looked perfectly delightful.

------------

“I cannot believe it,” Amelia whispered, clutching Y/N’s arm as they strolled through the rose gardens of the Hargrave estate. “The Duke of Aelridge has called on me twice this week. Twice.”

Y/N arched a brow. “And the world still turns?”

“Y/N.” Amelia playfully swatted her arm. “You’re being impossible. You know what it means when a duke calls on a lady twice in the same week. Mother nearly fainted.”

“He’s a rake, Amelia.”

Amelia laughed, waving her hand. “You say that like it’s a confirmed diagnosis.”

“It is,” Y/N said flatly. “I overheard him bragging about his conquests not three days ago. He spoke of women as if they were games to be played, reputations to be wagered.”

“Oh, but you don’t like him, do you?” Amelia grinned. “You’re always so terribly fair, but the moment someone rubs you the wrong way, they might as well be declared villain of the realm.”

Y/N stiffened, then forced a smile. “I just don’t want you hurt.”

Amelia squeezed her hand. “He’s different with me. Gentle. Thoughtful.”

That was precisely the problem.

So Y/N made it her mission to supervise their every interaction, whether invited or not.

She “accidentally” appeared at tea the next morning, sliding into the seat beside Amelia just as the Duke arrived with his signature smirk and a bouquet of pale blue hyacinths.

“Lady Y/N,” he drawled. “How...surprising.”

Y/N offered her most innocent smile. “Isn’t it just?”

He said nothing, though his eyes lingered a fraction too long, jaw tight.

At the opera, when Amelia and Jungkook shared a box, Y/N insisted on accompanying them, claiming Amelia’s mother had asked her to. She spent the entire first act loudly offering commentary on the soprano’s pitch, just to drown out their whispered conversation.

When Jungkook tried to escort Amelia to her carriage, Y/N intercepted them with a feigned concern over a “lost glove.” When he reached for it, she let it fall again.

“Oh dear,” she murmured, eyes wide with mock dismay. “So clumsy of me.”

He bent to retrieve it with a barely contained sigh.

“You do know what you’re doing,” he muttered under his breath as he handed it back.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked sweetly, eyes wide.

He said nothing, only glared, then turned back to Amelia with a forced smile.

But by the third event—a garden luncheon at the Granthams—he broke.

Y/N was leaning against a tree, nibbling on a biscuit, her gaze flickering toward the pair seated across the lawn. Amelia looked radiant in lilac silk, head tilted toward Jungkook, who was clearly trying to focus. But his eyes kept drifting. To the edge of the clearing. To her.

She caught his eye. Raised her biscuit in mock salute. Smiled.

And he rose.

“Excuse me, Lady Amelia. There’s something I must attend to.”

He stalked toward Y/N, who arched a brow without moving.

“Have you nothing better to do, Lady Y/N?” he asked, low and sharp.

“Than what?” she asked. “Enjoy a biscuit? Observe the flora? Ensure the safety of a friend?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet here you are. Again.”

He stepped closer. She didn’t move.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, voice low.

“Nothing,” she replied, too smoothly. “But I do wonder… is it difficult, pretending to court someone just to annoy me?”

His eyes narrowed. “So you admit it’s worked.”

She took a slow bite of her biscuit. “Oh, Your Grace. I never said that.”

And then she walked away, hips swaying ever so slightly, leaving the Duke of Aelridge standing beneath the trees, utterly unamused and—far more troubling—utterly intrigued.

---------

“It’s terribly kind of him, don’t you think?” Amelia beamed, folding the invitation with careful fingers. “He’s invited us both to his country estate. The Duke! I never imagined I’d see Aelridge Manor, let alone bepersonally welcomed there.”

Y/N hummed, her smile pleasant and entirely false. “Yes. How generous of him.”

She didn’t need to read the cream-colored parchment to know exactly what it said. The Duke was being clever—throwing open the gates of his secluded estate, inviting his would-be courtship and her ever-watchful chaperone in one move. A perfect opportunity to display his supposed charm and moral reform.

He wants my approval, she realized. As if that’s something easily earned.

Still, refusing would only make her look more suspicious, and Amelia—sweet, trusting Amelia—was already flushed with hope. So, with a tight smile and a measured nod, Y/N agreed to the trip, tucking the invitation into her reticule like a warning bell.

Aelridge Manor was, of course, beautiful.

Golden light filtered through high windows. Ivy crept across stone walls in elegant twists. The surrounding countryside seemed plucked from an oil painting: fields that rolled into the distance, a lake that glittered like glass, horses that galloped with untamed grace.

And the Duke of Aelridge stood in the doorway, smiling like a man thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Ladies,” he said warmly. “Welcome. I hope the journey wasn’t too difficult?”

“Not at all,” Amelia said with a curtsy. “It’s breathtaking here, Your Grace.”

Y/N curtsied after her, meeting his eyes evenly. “Charming, truly. Like a stage set. I’m curious to see the performance.”

Jungkook’s smile didn’t falter, but something in his jaw ticked.

Over the next few days, he was everything a mother would dream of for her daughter.

He rode beside Amelia during morning gallops, handed her down from carriages with a steady hand, laughed at her cleverest comments and listened with devoted attention to the most mundane observations. He took them on nature walks, invited them to private music recitals, arranged picnics on the lawn where the servants appeared just as the sunlight turned golden.

And Amelia, to Y/N’s increasing unease, was beginning to melt.

“He’s not what I expected,” she confided one evening, cheeks warm. “He’s thoughtful. And quiet when he thinks no one’s listening. There’s more to him, I think.”

Y/N tried not to bristle. “Yes, well. He’s a man accustomed to managing his image.”

Amelia looked at her. “Why do you dislike him so much?”

Y/N faltered. “I don’t dislike him. I simply...don’t trust him.”

“You think he’s pretending?”

Y/N hesitated. “I think men like him only reveal their sincerity when they believe no one’s watching.”

Unfortunately, Jungkook had taken that as a challenge.

She began catching him alone more often—waiting at stairwells, lingering by the garden path.

“Enjoying yourself, Lady Y/N?” he asked one morning as they crossed paths in the orchard. He held a single plum in his hand, turning it slowly between his fingers.

She tilted her head. “Do you ever tire of pretending to be perfect?”

He chuckled, tossing the fruit up and catching it. “I’m not pretending. I’m trying. There’s a difference.”

“Trying to convince me or her?”

His expression sobered slightly. “Both.”

She blinked.

“I meant what I said,” he continued. “About wanting your approval. I realize I may not deserve it—but I’m not playing a game with Amelia. I don’t have a game to win anymore.”

Y/N didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Because for a moment—just a moment—he looked sincere.

And that terrified her more than any rake’s smirk ever could.

-----------

The manor was silent.

Outside, the wind whispered through the hedges, but within Aelridge’s grand halls, not a sound stirred. The moonlight spilled in pale strips through the tall windows as Lady Y/N padded barefoot through the kitchen, her silk nightdress trailing just above the cool tile. She clutched her shawl around her loosely, careful not to wake the maids.

She hadn’t meant to wander, but sleep had evaded her for hours—her mind a whirl of half-formed worries and something else she didn’t care to name. The cool air offered some relief, though she still felt vaguely flushed.

She found a jug of water and began searching the darkened cupboards for a glass.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

She froze.

The voice came from the doorway, deep and smooth and unmistakably male.

The Duke.

He stood in the threshold, backlit by moonlight, the crisp lines of his shirt unbuttoned at the top, revealing a sliver of chest. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, forearms crossed loosely. He looked... softer somehow. Less polished. Less performed.

“Apparently neither could you,” Y/N replied, straightening.

His eyes dragged over her, lingering—just for a second—on the delicate silk of her dress, the way it clung to her curves, her arms bare in the dim light, the hollow of her collarbone catching the moon.

“I didn’t expect company,” he said with a slight smirk, walking toward her.

“I didn’t want to wake the staff,” she murmured, moving aside.

Without speaking, he reached around her, their arms brushing as his chest pressed ever-so-slightly against her back. He pulled down a crystal glass from the shelf with casual ease.

The contact was brief, but it seared.

She could feel the warmth of his body even after he stepped away to fill the glass at the basin. He handed it to her, their fingers not quite touching.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

They stood side by side, the silence stretching. She sipped, not looking at him.

“Are you uncomfortable here?” he asked, voice lower now. “You haven’t looked like yourself.”

She shook her head. “I’m fine. Just thirsty.”

He gave a small nod, but he didn’t move away. Neither did she.

A pause.

Then Y/N turned slightly, her voice quiet but firm. “What are your intentions with Amelia?”

That caught him.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned and leaned back slightly against the edge of the counter, hands braced on either side, exhaling through his nose.

“I’m getting older,” he said finally. “Eventually, even a man like me must think of family. Stability.”

Y/N stared at him. “So you chose Amelia because she’s… convenient?”

“No,” he said, sharply. “Because she’s kind. Loved by society. Graceful. A good match.”

“Do you like her?”

“I respect her,” he said carefully.

Y/N frowned. “That wasn’t the question.”

His eyes met hers then, and the air between them shifted.

“No,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t... feel for her the way she might feel for me. But I could learn to. She deserves someone who can give her peace.”

“And you think that’s you?” she asked, her voice softer now, a tremor of something else beneath it.

“I thought it might be,” he said. “Until you started looking at me like that.”

Her breath caught.

“Like what?”

“Like you already know I’m lying.”

They were far too close now. Her hand still held the half-empty glass, but her gaze was locked on his, the weight of his words crackling between them.

She didn’t deny it.

Because she did know.

And suddenly, the kitchen didn’t feel so cold anymore.

--------------

They didn’t touch.

They didn’t speak further.

After a long, simmering silence, Jungkook finally straightened and nodded once. “Goodnight, Lady Y/N.”

Her name sounded different in the dark. Warmer. Unpolished.

“Goodnight, Your Grace,” she murmured.

And then they went their separate ways—he toward the east wing, she to the west—each haunted by the same question neither dared ask aloud.

Morning came far too brightly.

Y/N sat with Amelia beneath the pergola, sunlight filtering through the climbing vines above. The scent of early summer hung in the air—peonies and warm bread and something almost sickeningly sweet.

Amelia stirred her tea, humming softly. “He’s joining us for a ride this afternoon. He said I could take Bramble—the chestnut mare he brought back from Italy.”

Y/N blinked. “He’s letting you ride Bramble?”

Amelia grinned. “He said I had a good seat.”

Y/N nearly choked on her tea.

“I mean on a horse, obviously,” Amelia said quickly, cheeks flushing.

Y/N set her cup down with care, then folded her hands in her lap.

“Do you… really like him?”

Amelia blinked. “Of course I do.”

“No, I mean… truly. As a person. Not just as the Duke of Aelridge.”

Amelia’s smile faltered.

Y/N kept her voice light but steady. “You’ve known him for two weeks, Amelia. Do you actually know him?”

Amelia sighed. “You think I’m being foolish.”

“I think you’re being charmed. Which isn’t the same.”

“I’m not chasing a title, Y/N,” Amelia said quietly. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“But you said it would be a dream—to be a duchess.”

“It would,” Amelia admitted. “Not for the gowns or the balls, but for the life it offers. Security. Freedom, in a way. Choice.”

Y/N softened, but only slightly.

“And Jungkook? Does he make you feel something real? Something personal?”

Amelia hesitated. “He listens. He’s gentle. Thoughtful.”

Y/N thought of last night—the quiet in the kitchen, his voice when he said, I don’t feel for her the way she might feel for me.

“He respects you,” Y/N said slowly. “But that’s not the same as wanting you.”

Amelia blinked at her. “Are you saying he doesn’t?”

“I’m saying… just be sure. Before you lose your heart to a man who doesn’t know how to give his.”

They sat in silence for a moment, birdsong echoing in the trees.

“I didn’t think you cared for him at all,” Amelia said softly. “But you sound like you understand him better than anyone.”

Y/N looked away, heart beating a little too fast. “Understanding someone doesn’t mean you trust them.”

----------

The morning was soft with warmth, a gentle breeze stirring the leaves as the horses’ hooves crunched down the path toward the pond. Y/N rode with ease, back straight, curls loose beneath her bonnet, the basket of stale bread nestled in her lap. Amelia hummed beside her, cheeks pink with the glow of summer.

Jungkook, riding just behind, was trying very hard not to stare.

But every time Y/N shifted slightly in the saddle, the silk of her riding habit pulling tight across her bodice, the gentle bounce of her body moving with the horse—

He cleared his throat. Hard.

It was shameful, really. He’d invited them here to prove himself a reformed man. To show he was no longer a rake consumed by fleeting pleasures.

And yet the sight of her, graceful and unbothered, hips rocking with every stride—he could barely think straight, just picturing her on his lap doing the same movements. His clothes felt too tight. His jaw clenched.

It’s not just desire, he told himself. It’s her. All of her. That maddening mouth and those eyes that see straight through me.

As they approached the pond, sunlight glittering off the water and ducks quacking greedily along the banks, Amelia suddenly slowed her horse.

“I feel faint,” she said softly. “I think I rode too fast earlier.”

Y/N was instantly concerned. “Do you want to rest? We can turn back.”

“No, no,” Amelia waved a hand. “Truly, it’s nothing. You’ve the bread—go on. Feed the ducks. I’ll wait in the shade just here.”

She guided her horse to a willow tree nearby, already reaching for her water flask.

Y/N hesitated, but Jungkook was already dismounting.

He moved to her horse and looked up, hand outstretched. “May I?”

Y/N paused and then nodded, letting him lift her.

Their hands met, his palm warm and strong around hers, her waist held steady as she slid down. Her body brushed his chest just briefly. Neither spoke. When she landed, neither let go—not immediately.

Then, as if remembering themselves, they both dropped their hands at once.

Wordlessly, they walked to the pond, tearing bits of bread and tossing them into the water. The ducks surged forward with flapping wings and greedy beaks.

Y/N tossed a piece, smiling faintly. “They’re relentless.”

Jungkook chuckled. “Like some people I know.”

She glanced sideways. “I thought you were trying not to be relentless.”

“I am,” he said, tone softer now. “Believe me.”

They stood for a moment in comfortable silence, the kind that felt strange between them. The water rippled gently, the ducks squabbling, but neither spoke—until Jungkook did.

“I’ve spent years chasing… pleasure. Distraction. Anything to keep from feeling too much.”

Y/N turned to him.

He kept his gaze on the water. “But it never lasts. And it never fills the quiet. My parents loved each other so much and even that ended in tragedy. I wanted to avoid love and commitment for as long as I could remember to avoid that potential pain.”

She didn’t interrupt.

“But I want something more now. Something better. I want to set a good example for my sisters. They deserve to see what a real partnership looks like, the same way I did.” He finally looked at her. “Not scandal and bitterness. But respect. Warmth. A home.”

Y/N studied him, her brow furrowed. There was no smirk. No arrogance. Just quiet, steady honesty.

“You lost your parents young,” she said gently.

He nodded. “I was seventeen. They died within a year of each other. It turned everything upside down. My sisters needed comfort and I…” he shook his head. “I didn’t know how to be anyone’s safe place.”

Y/N’s chest tightened.

“And now?” she asked.

He looked at her, eyes searching.

“Now I want to be someone they can trust. Someone she can trust,” he added softly.

She didn’t ask who she was. She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.

But for the first time since their unfortunate meeting beneath the wisteria, she saw something in him that couldn’t be faked.

A man who wanted to be better.

Not for pride. Not for power. But for the people he loved.

She dropped another piece of bread into the water. “You should tell Amelia that.”

“I will,” he said.

But his eyes stayed on Y/N just a little too long.

-----------

It started innocently—her laugh, somewhere in the back of his mind. The way she’d looked yesterday in the sun, cheeks warm, neck glistening with a single droplet of sweat he’d wanted to trace with his tongue.

Then it shifted.

Y/N was on top of him, riding him slow and deep in the moonlight. Her silk dress was bunched at her waist, breasts bouncing freely in front of him, hair wild around her flushed face as she gasped his name.

His hands gripped her hips, fingertips digging in, his head thrown back as her slick heat squeezed around him. She leaned down, mouth brushing his ear.

“Do I still look like I’m judging you now, Your Grace?”

He groaned in his sleep.

His hips bucked into nothing.

He woke with a jolt, sheets tangled, chest heaving.

Sweat dampened his collarbone, and his cock was painfully hard beneath the thin linen of his sleepwear. He swore, dragging a hand over his face.

This is madness.

He couldn’t keep doing this. Dreaming of her. Of Y/N. Not when Amelia was so close, not when he was so close to doing the right thing.

He needed to move forward. Fast.

So that morning, Jungkook summoned a carriage. He had the perfect plan: introduce Amelia to his younger sisters. The final test. If she was to be his duchess, she would need to love what he loved. And Miri and Yuri were the center of his heart.

The girls arrived by noon—twelve-year-old twins with matching braids, bright grins, and too much energy for any one estate to contain.

He watched with fondness as they tumbled out of the carriage, clutching books, sketch pads, and one lopsided stuffed rabbit that looked like it had survived a war.

“Yuri, Miri,” he greeted, crouching slightly as they ran to him.

“Jungkook!” they shrieked, throwing their arms around his neck.

Y/N and Amelia emerged from the drawing room, and he turned to them, smiling. “Surprise. I thought today might be… instructive.”

Amelia blinked. “They’re your sisters?”

Y/N, beside her, smiled warmly. “Hello, I’m Y/N.”

“Are you the lady Jungkook’s going to marry?” Miri asked instantly.

Y/N laughed. “Goodness, I hope not. We’d drive each other mad.”

Jungkook coughed, not meeting her eyes.

Amelia’s laugh was thin. “Well, I—children can be so... lively.”

“Do you want to read with us?” Yuri asked her, holding up a dog-eared copy of The Secret Garden.

“Oh, I’m not very good with… young books,” Amelia said awkwardly.

Yuri then turned to y/n, "will you read with us?"

Y/N smiled and stepped in smoothly. “I used to read that under my blankets with a candle. Let’s find a shady tree.”

She took the girls by the hand and led them outside, their voices already animated—talking about secret places and garden walls and what sort of flowers a princess would plant.

Jungkook stood beside Amelia, watching them.

Y/N sat cross-legged in the grass, skirt spread beneath her, unbothered by the sun or her posture, listening with genuine interest as Yuri explained the entire plot of a fantasy book she loved.

Miri tugged at her braid absentmindedly and leaned her head against Y/N’s shoulder, and Y/N didn’t flinch. She wrapped an arm around the girl with ease, as if she’d done it a hundred times before.

Amelia, still standing stiffly, shaded herself beneath the veranda.

“Are they always so… loud?” she asked.

“They’re twelve,” Jungkook said, keeping his tone neutral.

“They’re sweet,” she added quickly. “I just never had much experience with children, I don't really know how to talk to them.”

He nodded, but his eyes stayed fixed on the scene beyond the glass.

Y/N was laughing at something Miri said, throwing her head back in a way that made his chest ache. Her hands were expressive, her posture relaxed, her interest sincere.

She wasn’t performing.

She was just being.

And the realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

The woman he thought he should want was standing next to him.

But the woman he couldn’t stop dreaming about—the woman who looked so natural in the role he thought Amelia was perfect for—was playing tag with his sisters in the sun.

And he’d never wanted anything more in his life.

------------

Amelia had always been the picture of calm decorum. She knew how to accept compliments with a blush, how to speak without offense, how to exist within the bounds of what society called admirable.

She knew how to be the kind of woman a Duke could marry.

So she had been patient—watchful, even—since the twins arrived.

At first, she thought she was imagining it: the way Jungkook’s eyes followed Y/N across the lawn as she chased Miri with a bundle of wildflowers in her hands, how his smile pulled wider when Y/N’s voice entered a room, louder and unfiltered. He never smiled like that with her. Not even once.

Then she began to notice subtler things.

How Jungkook’s throat bobbed slightly whenever Y/N got too close, how his fingers flexed at his sides when Y/N tossed a teasing comment his way. How he never interrupted her when they argued—in fact, he seemed to like it. Almost like he craved that friction, needed the bite of her words to stay engaged.

When Amelia spoke, he listened politely, nodded, sometimes even complimented her.

But he never reacted to her.

Not like that.

Not the way he looked at Y/N as if she were something untameable and beautiful, something dangerous and necessary all at once.

And then came the evening.

The sun was setting low, brushing gold across the countryside. They were walking together—Amelia on Jungkook’s left, Y/N on his right. The twins had been sent inside for bath time, the air warm and pleasant, filled with the scent of honeysuckle and fresh grass.

Amelia had just turned to ask a question when she heard it—the thunder of hooves.

A horse. Untethered. Racing toward them down the path, eyes wild, panic in its gait.

There wasn’t time to scream. Barely time to think.

Jungkook moved instantly.

One arm wrapped around Amelia’s waist, yanking her backward. The other slammed into Y/N’s side, dragging her down with him, twisting his body so that he landed hard in the dirt—not her.

Then he rolled them over and shielded her completely. His hand cupped the back of her head, the other braced near her hip, keeping her pinned beneath him but unhurt.

Dust swirled around them, the horse galloping past with a furious cry before disappearing into the trees.

Silence.

Then: heavy breathing.

Y/N’s chest heaved beneath him, her eyes wide, her fingers tangled in the folds of his shirt where she must’ve grabbed him on instinct.

Their faces were close. Too close.

His breath fanned over her lips, his gaze flickering from her mouth to her eyes and back again. She didn’t move.

Neither did he.

The world slowed.

And then—

Jungkook cleared his throat roughly and pushed up off her.

“S-sorry,” he muttered, offering a hand.

She took it, her cheeks flushed.

He helped her up, then turned to Amelia, who was brushing herself off more shakily.

“Are you both alright? We got lucky the wild thing didn't trample us” he asked, voice low and tight.

Amelia nodded, but her heart wasn’t in her chest anymore—it was somewhere far away, aching, already grieving.

The walk back to the manor was quiet.

Y/N glanced at Jungkook once. He didn’t meet her eyes.

Amelia didn’t speak until they reached the terrace steps.

“Your Grace,” she said softly, “May I speak with you?”

He turned to her, brow furrowed. “Of course.”

She gave a small nod, but her eyes were distant, and her smile—so practiced—wobbled for the first time.

Because in that moment, all the little signs weren’t little anymore.

They were loud.

And she finally understood the one thing Jungkook wouldn’t say out loud.

He didn’t want her. He never had.

The sitting room was dim, lit only by the flicker of a low-burning lamp. Amelia stood near the window, arms crossed loosely, her posture calm—but her voice held a quiet intensity.

“You covered her with your body,” she said softly, not looking at Jungkook. “You didn’t even think twice.”

Jungkook froze in the doorway, guilt bleeding through his expression.

“I—I just acted,” he said weakly.

“No,” she said, finally turning to face him. “You instinctively acted. And your instinct was to protect her.” She let out a soft breath. “It just confirmed what I’ve been trying to ignore.”

His silence was louder than anything he could’ve said.

“You’re in love with her.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. He didn’t move. But his face said everything.

And it wasn’t denial.

It was realization.

And regret.

“I never meant—” he began, voice rough.

“To hurt me?” Amelia finished. “I know. You’re not cruel, Jungkook.”

He stepped forward. “I’m sorry.”

But she held up a hand. “Please don’t.”

Her voice wavered, just slightly. “I need you to be honest with me, not sorry for the truth. Was any of it real? Any of this?”

Jungkook lowered his eyes. “In the beginning… yes. I meant to court you. Marry you. I thought you were the right choice. That it would be simple. Good.”

“And now?”

He looked up at her, pain evident. “It didn’t work out that way.”

Amelia gave a sad smile. “No. It didn’t.”

She paused, then turned toward the hallway.

“Y/N?” she called out.

Y/N appeared hesitantly, fingers still slightly dusted with flour from helping the twins bake. Her eyes flicked between them, alarmed.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, stepping inside slowly.

Amelia looked at her—really looked. And for the first time, saw clearly what had been there all along.

Not scandal. Not betrayal.

Just chemistry. Depth. Longing that had been hiding behind every jab and bicker and sideways glance.

Amelia smiled. It didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it was full of warmth nonetheless.

“I’m leaving.”

Y/N blinked. “What? Why?”

“I don’t belong here,” Amelia said gently. “And it’s time I stopped pretending I did.”

Y/N shook her head, rushing forward. “Amelia—no. Please. This isn’t—he and I—we’re not—”

“You are,” Amelia interrupted, her tone soft but unwavering. “You just haven’t admitted it yet.”

Y/N faltered, her eyes wide with guilt and confusion.

“I should’ve seen it sooner,” Amelia continued, brushing a hand gently down her friend’s arm. “But I see it now. And I’m not angry. I’m just… stepping aside.”

Tears threatened behind Y/N’s eyes. “You don’t have to—”

“I do,” Amelia said firmly. “Because I believe in love, Y/N. And you two—whatever this is between you—it’s not ordinary. It’s real.”

She turned toward Jungkook, nodding once.

“Be better than your reputation,” she said. “She deserves that.”

Then she kissed Y/N’s cheek, offered them both a last kind smile, and quietly walked out of the room.

The door shut softly behind her.

Leaving Jungkook and Y/N alone.

In silence.

In tension.

In something far too big to name yet.

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, sharp and furious.

“What did you say to her?” she demanded, voice rising as she rounded on Jungkook.

He met her glare evenly but sighed. “It’s not my fault.”

She scoffed, stepping back, tension crackling in every inch of her frame. “No, it’s not. She saw through everything. She's the first person of the three to be honest.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened but he said nothing.

Y/N shook her head, the anger boiling just beneath the surface. “I’m leaving.”

She turned on her heel, intent on storming out of the room.

But before she could get far, a strong hand caught her wrist.

He pulled her back until she crashed into him, breath hitching at the closeness, her pulse thunderous.

His voice dropped to something softer, more vulnerable. “Please… just give me a chance.”

--------------

it's your friend's party on the weekend, and you're currently in one of the most expensive stores in town. you've been here for the past two hours, deciding on the perfect dress. Jungkook's now sitting outside the dressing room, waiting for you to show him the next dress.

it's been seven months of this, of him being your bodyguard. ever since your father had decided that his only daughter needed a big, strong, tatted man to keep her safe, Jungkook has been glued to your side. apparently he's the best in the business, he worked in the special forces, has experience in assassination. he's lethal, he's perfect. you hated it, hated him most of the time. but even so, you have to admit that Jungkook is excellent at his job.

you adjust the straps of the dress you've just slipped on. a skimpy red dress that hugs your curves tightly. you grin at your reflection, the dress is short, showing some cleavage, the back dips low. its so sexy and so perfect. not so perfect for your bodyguard's blood pressure though. and that's what makes it all the better.

"are you ready?" you, pushing the door open.

Jungkook is slouched in the armchair. his legs are spread out, elbows on his knees, hands supporting his face. he doesn't move at first and for a second you think he might've fallen asleep. how silly of you to think so, this man barely sleeps a wink since he's always too concentrated on keeping you safe. he drags his hands down his face and looks up, his eyes start at your feet and ascend upwards– up your legs, your thighs where the dress ends high, up your hips and waist where the dress is cinched. his eyes keep going, eyeing your breasts that are pushed up because of the dress. his jaw clenches and lets out a soft curse.

you give him a bratty smile, the one that always annoys him. "well? it's pretty, isn't it?"

Jungkook leans back in the chair, manspreading even more. he crosses his arms over his chest, causing his strong biceps to flex. he stares, eyeing you up and down.

"it's short." he speaks hoarsely. "too short."

you roll your eyes. "to you, everything is 'too short', 'too tight' or 'too revealing'. can't you just admit that it's nice?"

he stands up from the chair and towers over you. you can't help but let your gaze wander over his handsome features, to his chest where his tattoos peek out. Jungkook steps closer, so close that you smell his scent, it's so strong and masculine. it makes you lick your lips. he reaches down to touch the hem of your dress that sits high up on your thigh.

"you bend down in this and you're gonna flash people." he murmurs.

at the contact, your heart does a little flip. you swat his hand away lightly. "well it's not your job to worry about that. your job is to stand by and look scary, while I live my life how I want to."

his eyes narrow, but you catch the way his tongue slips out to wet his bottom lip. your mind wanders off elsewhere, to very dirty places.

"your father hired me because last time you were at a party, someone spiked your drink. so no, you're too reckless to live your life the way you want to."

you hate that he's right. you hate more that your father trusts Jungkook way more than he trusts you. you weren't a small kid anymore, despite the dangers in the world, you didn't need a bodyguard. you've thrown tantrums about it, but every time your father made it very clear that no matter what, Jungkook would be staying.

so you've endured seven months of it. seven months of having him drive you everywhere, having him stay with you at the club, at parties or events. seven months of him shutting down any guy who gets too close to you. one time, he had thrown you over his shoulder and carried out the club like a sack of potatoes when you continuously infuriated him. your friends watched in awe, wishing to be in your position.

sometimes there were nice moments, moments where he drives you to wherever you want to go, when he holds all your dozens of shopping bags, moments like now where he'd sit through your try on sessions and making him rate your outfits. once you had come out wearing an elegant gown and he came inside the dressing room to adjust some things for you. yeah, he's very hands-on with you sometimes.

you twirl slowly in front of him, wanting him to compliment your attire. "come on. be a little nice. is it nice? scale of one to ten."

Jungkook's gazes wanders over you once more. his throat bobs. "nine." he says, simply.

you raise your eyebrows. " a mere nine?"

"ten if you wear it with a long coat. or at home." he says.

you step closer, invading his personal space, the same way he often invades yours. "hmm, it's a good thing I won't be doing either of those things."

he stares down at you. "guys are gonna see you in that and forget their manners real quick." well Jungkook would never let anything like that happen. he'd never let anyone touch you. he's just saying that in hopes you won't wear the dress. the thought of guys ogling over you pisses him off.

"and you don't?" the question leaves your lips by mistake. you regret it when you see his eyes darken.

he leans more, speaking rough and low, almost teasing you. "I don't forget anything, princess. especially not my boundaries. unlike you."

your heart drops and heat creeps up your neck. you have an idea at what he's hinting at, but just thinking about it makes you want to jump off a building. months back, you had understood that Jungkook was too overprotective and you'd barely be allowed interactions with men. so you could never have anyone to satisfy you the way you craved. the only thing you could do to get a release was to please yourself. one night, whilst doing so in the dark with a vibrator between yours legs, you vividly imagined that it was Jungkook doing it for you. he was the most attractive man you had ever seen and as much as you hated to admit it, you had developed a crush on the brooding man. as you reached your orgasm that night, you had let out moans of his name. when you had come down from the high, your soul nearly left your body. Jungkook was standing by the door, shirtless in his boxers, prepared for bed.

you squealed and stuttered, asking him what's he doing here. due to the moonlight shining in your room, you could see him quite clearly. however you couldn't really decipher the expression on his face, it was blank as usual. he replied, telling you that he thought you were calling him. it was obvious what you were actually doing. you knew that Jungkook knew. perhaps some of your embarrassment eased, because upon glancing at his boxers, his cock looked hard as it stood up, a very obvious boner. it looked so long and big. your sensitive pussy throbbed at that, but the moment was too awkward. you told him to leave.

thankfully, neither of you have ever mentioned that night again. until now, until he's decided to hint at it.

you turn away abruptly, stepping back into the stall and slamming the door behind you. inside, you press your back against the wall and clutch your heart that beats rapidly.

when you emerge, Jungkook is holding your pile of discarded dresses, plus your bags from earlier. he looks so put together, despite the two hours of sitting here like a statue.

"decided?" he asks.

"yep. the red one obviously." you say, knowing it's the one he disapproves of the most.

he nods once then falls into step beside you as you walk toward the register. with his free hand, he places a hand on your lower back, guiding you.

once you're all done, he loads your bags into the backseat as you climb into the passenger seat. he gets into the driver's seat, starts the car and pulls onto the road. after a short moment, he glances at you. "home or you got more ways to waste my time today?"

you glare at him. "you're so annoying."

he hums before continuing the drive home.

–––––––

your friend, megan's party is in full swing. everyone's dancing, laughing, drinking. you're dancing with megan and the rest of the girls. you feel great, spending time with your girls, looking sexy in your dress. it almost feels like freedom. almost. every now and then, you look toward the bar area. Jungkook is there, of course. he's perched on a stool, holding a glass of something, just for show. his eyes scan the crowd, the exits and entrances before locking on your figure again. you stuck your tongue out at him once before turning back to dance with your friends.

a couple of girls had tried their luck with Jungkook, beautiful ones intrigued by him. however he barely acknowledged any of them. you had seen some of the interactions, feeling a sense of happiness.

after a long time, you leave your group and head over to Jungkook. without asking, you plant yourself on his lap. it's not weird, since you've done it a few times before. Jungkook doesn't mind it. you loop your arms around his broad shoulders, fingers brushing the back of his neck. one of his large hands settles on your lower back, his thumb caressing just above your ass.

you move your hands to play with his shirt's collar, or to caress his hard chest. you're so close to him that your cleavage is practically in his face, you feel his warm breath fan against you with every breath he takes. for a moment, neither of you speak. he stares at you, wondering what's going on in your pretty head.

"I'm going to the loo real quick." you finally say, "with the girls. we'll be back soon."

Jungkook's eyebrows furrow immediately, his protectiveness surges. "I'm coming with."

you groan and roll your eyes at him. "Jungkook, no. it'd be so weird if you follow a bunch of gurls into the restroom."

"I'll wait outside."

you pout, toying with his shirt buttons. "you're doing too much. seriously. I'll be fine. I've gone to the bathroom by myself millions of times before you existed in my life. just... wait here. please?"

he stares at you for a few seconds. you can see the internal war etched on his features. finally, he sighs reluctantly. "fine, but make it quick."

you beam and hop off his lap. his hand lingers on you for a bit before he drops it away.

"love you for this!" you say before heading toward your friends.

Jungkook watches you go, narrowing his eyes. he doesn't like this – he doesn't like being a part from you, doesn't like the way he let you talk him into staying put.

five minutes pass, then eight, then twelve. he's on edge now, something doesn't feel right. to make his worries even worse, he sees a glimpse of your friends in the crowd again. but there's no sign of you. he gets off the stool, moves through the crowd until he reaches your friends. when the group spots him, their eyes widen. he's the most attractive and alluring man here, so they let their eyes wander over him, appreciating the magnificent sight.

"where she is?" he asks, his voice clipped and urgent.

one of the girls opens her mouth, "she's upstairs with–"

megan elbows her in the ribs, hinting that she should shut up.

Jungkook's eyebrows furrow. you're upstairs with someone? he feels a chill run up his spine. he's a fool, he should've known that you were up to something. Jungkook is already weaving through the crowd and walking toward the staircase. he takes about four steps at a time, urgently needing to find you. once upstairs, he sees that there are multiple doors along the hallway. he pushes the first door open, he finds a couple on top of each other, he doesn't bother with closing it. the second door is empty. the third, he finds a group of guys gambling, they give him an annoyed look but Jungkook could not care about anything else this moment. his heart is beating way too fast in his chest. he opens many more doors, finding no sign of you. where the fuck are you?

finally, at the last door, he shoves it open harder than necessary and there you are. you're sitting on a couch with your legs crossed, your dress riding up even more. you're next to a guy who's got his shirt unbuttoned, he's sitting way too close to you, with a hand on your thigh. your faces are inches apart, as if you're about to kiss. but when you register the door being slammed open roughly, you jump and pull away from the guy.

"Jungkook?" your eyes widen, seeing the angry man at the door.

hi pumkins, hope you enjoyed the snippet <3 you can find the full story on my patreon, either as a product or on my membership tier rkive (comes with extra benefits). you can find it here — What you need.