polyamory would've saved them smh my head đ„
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polyamory would've saved them smh my head đ„

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nda | j.jk
pairing: idol jungkook x f. fan reader
genre: smut
word count: 15.6k
summary: what would you do when your bias offers you an NDA?
warnings: verydom!jungkook x shy!submissive reader, explicit sexual content, clit rubbing, pussy eating, blow job, squirting, edging, spitting, dom/sub dynamic, daddy, heavy degradation, dirty talk, multiple positions, detailed smut, jk is very mean, oral sex, mirror sex, slapping, choking, pussy slapping, anal, rimming, nipple play, praising, dumbfication, usage of slut/whore, cum eating, marking, mentions of oc being his toy, multiple orgasms, rough sex, mentions of sex doll, crying, overstimulation, fingering, nipple slapping, penetrative sex, hair pulling, creampie.
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âPlease, please, please!â you whispered to yourself, fingers crossed tightly as you stared at the three screens in front of you.
Your laptop. Your phone. Your tablet.
Your eyes were glossy with hope and adrenaline, your feet thumping uncontrollably beneath your chair, a thin layer of sweat forming despite the air-conditioned room wrapping around you in cold comfort.
This was your first time buying concert tickets. Despite being a long-time fan, this was your only chanceâbecause you had finally gathered enough money to secure one.
You had prepared three Weverse accounts under your name and your parentsâ names, carefully reserving each slot so you could slip into the presale the moment it opened. You had already studied how fast tickets sold out in other countriesâthe quickest being around ten minutes. Ten minutes of chaos, of people like you refreshing, praying, losing.
You bit your lip hard enough to feel it sting. You were still in the queue when the screen suddenly shifted, dragging you into a loading page that refused to move. Thirty minutes had already passed, and all three accounts were still stuck.
âFuck!â
Your eyes widened when two of your accounts abruptly showed session timeout.
With shaky hands, you tried to navigate through it, but everything laggedâhesitating, freezing, slipping away from your control. You cursed under your breath, glancing at your laptopâthe only one still holding on, still alive.
Your vision started to blur at the edges. The chances of getting a ticket were thinning by the second, dissolving right in front of you.
âPlease, just this oneâŠâ you whispered to yourself, eyes locked on the screen with fragile, breaking hope.
Your eyes widened when the screen finally moved.
No Tickets Available.
Just like that, your hopes were crushed.
You slowly looked up at the posters on your walls, the albums stacked neatly on your shelves, the plushies scattered across your bed, and the ARMY Bomb you had recently bought, displayed beside your BTS McDonaldâs figurines.
Tears began falling uncontrollably from your eyes, like a flood breaking through something you could no longer hold together. The realization settled inâheavy, finalâthat you wouldnât get to see them.
Your lips quivered as you quickly sank onto your bed, pulling your favorite pink cooky plushie close to your chest. You cried into it, letting everything spill out with an aching, exhausted heart.
Your parents tried to comfort you. They knew how much this meant. They had witnessed your journey growing upâhow you stayed up all night waiting for comebacks, how you saved every bit of money just to buy new albums, how you would drop everything the moment a Weverse Live started, how you bought multiple happy meals just to complete all the toys, how you binge-watched their content and replayed Run BTS episodes whenever you had free time.
They had seen it all.
How deeply you adored and loved your biasâŠ
Jungkook.
You appreciated how your parents tried to look for tickets online for you, but the number of scams youâd heard about from resellers made you hesitate. Prices were tripledâfar beyond your budget. You didnât want to burden them, even when they insisted they were willing to cover the extra cost.
You were still a student, after all. You told them it was okayâthat they should just save the money for your college instead.
âWhat if you just check in to the hotel theyâre staying at? Girl, imagine!â your best friend Mina suggested.
The hot coffee you ordered had already gone cold. The concert was next month, and Mina was now throwing ridiculous ideas at you on how you could possibly see BTS. The supposed study session in the coffee shop had long been forgotten the moment you mentioned the upcoming concert.
âI doubt it. Thereâs usually no news about it because of their privacy⊠sometimes I only find out once theyâve already checked in or when they do a Weverse live.â
Mina rolled her eyes. âIâm sure thereâs at least some news if you really dig into it. How many days is the concert?â
âTwo days. And even if I wanted to stalk their hotel, Iâm sure a lot of fans would do that tooâand the next thing you know, the hotel is fully booked.â you pouted.
You were being realistic. The chances of seeing them at their hotelâor even getting a room thereâwere slim. With the number of fans camping out and others researching nonstop, you had almost zero chance.
âDo you want to see them or not? Come on, Iâll book a room with you!â she nudged your shoulders, wiggling her brows as she sipped her caramel macchiato.
You chuckled softly. âOf course I do, but I swear, Mina, itâs harder than you thinkâŠâ
Mina groaned, stomping her feet. âUgh, fine! But watching the concert online is really fucking boring when you know theyâre literally in the same country as you.â
You sighed. Mina wasnât really a fan, but she knew how much you loved BTS. When she found out you hadnât secured a ticket, she had been the first to suggest the most ridiculous ideasâstalking their hotel, camping outside the arena, chasing anything that even remotely felt possible.
After a few months since the presale, it had been a hard pill to swallowâbut you had finally accepted it. You wouldnât get to see them. Even if Minaâs ideas lingered at the back of your mind, you knew better. The chances were too low. Youâd rather stay at home, wear your cooky pajamas, and stream the concert online in peace.
Still⊠there were the sleepless nights.
The what-ifs that refused to leave you alone.
What if you had attended the concert? What if you had somehow booked the same hotel? What if you caught a glimpse of their van outside the arena?
Being a fan for almost a decade, you knew those kinds of scenarios only happened in fictional stories. Seeing Jungkook on a random day was like finding a bag of cash in a public restroom stallâcompletely impossible.
Though⊠still, a small part of you never fully stopped hoping.
âAlso, isnât our country their last stop?â Mina said, already searching for dates and details on her phone.
âYeah⊠thatâs why I actually had enough money and time⊠but I guess luck just wasnât on my side,â you murmured bitterly, glancing around the busy coffee shop as if the noise could somehow quiet the ache settling in your chest.
Mina suddenly froze, her eyes widening. âWaitâsince itâs the last stop⊠donât you think theyâll stay longer? Maybe for a few more days, like⊠I donât know, rest?â
You had already thought about itâbut how on earth would you ever know their whereabouts? Youâd only find out once they were already there, or when they went live. And since it would be after the concert, you were certain theyâd want to rest, to disappear into privacy for a while.
âMina⊠itâs okay. I swear, Iâll be fine.â you assured her, her ideas now more amusing than anything else.
Until your lunch break ended, Mina kept babblingâthrowing out unrealistic scenarios straight out of books and fanfics. You laughed at her what-ifs, at the corny places her imagination kept taking you.
You knew she wasnât doing it to be silly.
She was doing it because she knew you. Knew how badly you wanted to see them. Knew how quiet youâd become once the concert actually started.
So, as your best friend, Mina had decided something else entirely.
A short out-of-town trip. While BTS was in the country. A way for you both to disappear for a while, to breathe, to rest from studies, from expectations, from everythingâincluding the concert you couldnât attend.
âMina! Why didnât you tell me?â Your eyes widened in shock when you saw the cottage number and the dates.
Mina had booked a five-day beach trip, complete with daily activities that made your head spin just reading them.
âDonât worry, you can bring your laptop so you can still stream the concert.â she snickered, handing you the itinerary.
âMina! Thatâs not what I meantâthis is too much,â you groaned.
She giggled, already sitting comfortably on your bed while you scanned through the list she had prepared. âOh, come on. Itâll be fun! Besides, itâs been a while since weâve had a girlsâ trip.â
You pouted at her, still in disbeliefâbut the resistance didnât last. A smile slipped through as you pulled her into a hug anyway. âYou and your ideas,â you chuckled.
âBring cute clothes! Letâs take lots of picsâI want to update my IG!â she said excitedly.
You grinned. âLetâs go shopping tomorrow. My treat.â
Mina shrieked. âGod, yes! Letâs go!â
The upcoming concert was still on your mind, but you were also busy preparing for the trip with Mina. You were excitedâthe small distraction keeping you from spiraling into a full breakdown over not being able to see BTS.
Wearing a cute sundress and brown sandals, you and Mina finally checked in. It was Day 1 of the concert. You had already set an alarm for the online stream later, a quiet kind of excitement settling in at the thought that, at the very least, you had the privilege of watching it while sipping fresh coconut by the sea breeze.
âWhy the fuck are you reapplying your lip gloss?â Mina asked when she caught you touching up your makeup right before the concert started.
âTo look cute while watching Jungkook,â you giggled, turning your ARMY Bomb on.
After dinner, you and Mina sat on a bench by the sand, your pocket Wi-Fi, laptop, and earphones already set up beside you.
Mina rolled her eyes. âThatâs crazier than my ideas.â
You chuckled softly, eyes already fixed on the screen as the countdown began. Your heart raced like you were inside the stadium with themâlike the distance didnât exist at all.
When the concert finally started, Mina had to walk away because you were screaming too loudly, jumping from your seat and almost knocking over the coconut shake on the table.
âGirl, let me walk around and find a cute guy. Your shrieks are lowkey scaring me.â Mina laughed when she came back and saw you on the verge of tears, fanning yourself like you might actually pass out.
âOkay, okaâoh my gosh! Theyâre performing Dimple! Oh my gosh!â you shouted, already lost in it again.
For two days, you were completely gone in itâfangirling nonstop, fully absorbed in every moment. It was only on Day 3, when Mina had planned actual activities, that you finally stepped away from the screen. Until then, you had spent your time watching, rewatching, and reposting edits like the world outside didnât exist.
âHeâs so hotâI canât believe he wore that gray shirt. It looked so good on him,â you babbled, telling Mina everything about the concert details and the surprise songs they performed.
The two-night concert had ended like a whirlwind, yet you were still floating on cloud nine. While Mina had been busy taking pictures and scouting for cute guys, you had been replaying everything in your headâtaking screenshots, saving edits, and reliving every moment in real time like you couldnât let it go.
Mina was just happy you enjoyed it. She even swore she almost thought you were going to have a heart attack when you shrieked so loudly after Jungkook lifted his shirt and revealed his abs. Your gallery probably had ten copies of that exact moment.
âAnd! Guess what!â you said, munching on your breakfast as you wiggled your eyebrows at her.
âHmm⊠Jungkook showed his dick?â
âMina!â Your cheeks burned as you nearly choked on the waffles you were eating.
Mina laughed, casually pointing her fork at you. âThat would be good though.â
You shook your head quickly, your face still hot. âI meanâwould want thatâbut guess what! He sang the chorus of Still With You in acapella!â you babbled again, as if Mina would fully grasp the weight of it.
For your third day, you and Mina were supposed to ride a yacht. You were already getting dressed when Mina suddenly squealed behind you, hurriedly tying the strap of her sandal.
âHe replied! Oh my gosh, heâs treating me to dinner!â Mina said excitedly, quickly glancing at the mirror you were using to fix your hair.
âHuh? Who?â
âThis guy I met while you were watching the concert! He wants to see me again!â She showed you her phone.
Your brows furrowed. âHeâs inviting you to his cottage later?â you said, reading the message.
Minaâs eyes widened as she looked back at her phone. âFuck! What should I do?â
âWait⊠so youâre not going on the yacht with me?â you concluded.
Mina smiled cheekily, biting her lip. âWell⊠heâs cute and⊠hotâŠâ
You raised a brow. âMake sure heâs really hot,â you chuckled, fixing your hair again in front of the mirrorâwhen Mina suddenly squealed and hugged you from behind.
âPromise Iâll make it up to you! Youâre the best!â she grinned, already moving back to the bed to grab her bag.
Mina had booked this trip for you, and you wanted her to enjoy it too. Even though she originally planned it as a girlsâ trip, you had spent most of it absorbed in the concert. She had always supported your whims without hesitationâand now it was your turn to support hers.
âWhy are you bringing that duffel bag?â you asked, amused at the amount of clothes she was packing.
Mina wiggled her brows. âGotta be prepared, yâknow.â
She walked towards the door, fixing her neckline one last time.
You grinned. âText me when youâre heading back!â
âYes, maâam!â she giggled, throwing you a flying kiss before hurrying out.
The sheer amount of clothes Mina brought made it obviousâshe probably wouldnât be back tonight. You sighed softly, glancing down at your short pink floral dress, your hair tied in a half ponytail.
You still had two days left of the trip, but today was the first time it truly settled in. For the past two days, you had been completely immersed in the concertâno time to walk along the shore, no quiet moments to watch the sunset.
Now, it was finally your time to unwind.
Although you were tempted to doom-scroll edits again, you forced yourself up instead, deciding to follow the planned activity for the day and step outside.
-
âNumber 9! Calling for all passengers on Yacht 9!â
You hurried over to the line, double-checking the receipt number Mina had reserved for you.
There were only a few people waitingâsome couples and a small group of friends. You didnât really mind being alone. If anything, you needed this time to unwind, to breathe, to exist without noise pressing in on you.
âTicket, please!â the man in a white uniform said.
You handed it over, offering a polite smile before stepping onto the yacht.
A few groups had already settled inâholding bottles of champagne, chatting softly, taking pictures against the open sea. You made your way towards the main deck, where a small group of friends sat around a table filled with snacks and laughter.
Based on the crowd, you felt relieved it wasnât too packedâmaybe around twenty-thirty people scattered across the space, enough to feel lively but not overwhelming.
Soft music drifted through the air as the yacht moved gently along the waves. The salt of the sea lingered in every breath you took, calming something in you without you even realizing it needed calming.
You wandered towards a long table filled with food, your short dress and hair swaying slightly with the breeze.
There were different kinds of pastries, a large charcuterie board, bottles of wine and champagne catching the light, stacks of beer lined neatly at one end, and a few bags of chips scattered casually beside them.
Mina had definitely booked a nice yacht. You smiled to yourself, genuinely happy that you could finally relax and enjoy this momentâwith good food, fresh air, and a quiet kind of peace you hadnât realized you needed.
You grabbed a bag of potato chips and a bottle of wine, scanning the area for a place to sit until you spotted a vacant lounger on the sun deck.
âPerfect!â you mumbled excitedly when you noticed no one else had claimed that area.
Carefully placing your bag, chips, and wine down, you quickly took a photo to update Mina.
âLetâs sit here!â
You were still busy snapping pictures when a small groupâmaybe four or five peopleâsettled in beside you.
You werenât really paying attention at first, but in your peripheral vision, you noticed they had brought an impressive amount of snacks with them.
You opened your chips and leaned back on the sun lounger. When you heard the sharp crack of a beer can opening, curiosity tugged at you, and you glanced over briefly.
It was a group of Korean men, older than youâprobably in their mid-30s to 40s. Some wore black shades, already laughing as they settled into their drinks, their voices easy and relaxed.
They must be on vacation. This beach was a tourist spot, after all.
You turned your attention back to your chips, letting the sun warm your skin as you sank into the view. The group beside you wasnât loudâthey mostly talked about the scenery and the food, occasionally breaking into laughter over the activities they had tried earlier.
The world felt slow again, almost suspended in that gentle rhythm of waves and wind.
You were busy sipping your wine when you suddenly felt itâan unmistakable stare.
The group beside you was still laughing, their voices blending into the soft noise of the sea, but you couldnât shake the feeling that someone was looking at you.
These men were older, and for a brief moment, unease crept in.
You sneaked a glance over your shoulder and noticed the broad-built man in sunglasses staring straight aheadâpast you.
Does he want potato chips orâ
With a slight frown, you followed his line of sight properly this time.
He wasnât looking at you.
He was looking at your bag on the table.
My bag?
When he realized you were looking back at him, he quickly turned away, though the shift in his posture told you he was still thinking. Still aware.
Confused, you glanced down at your bag again.
It was just a simple beige tote bag. Nothing special. Nothing worth staring at.
You shrugged it off. It mustâve been a mistake. Besides, he was wearing sunglassesâmaybe he was just spacing out, looking into nothing.
Munching on your chips again, you noticed him typing on his phone, suddenly more focused, as if he had detached himself from the conversation entirely.
You almost laughed to yourself, thinking he might actually be searching something about your bag online.
A strange thoughtâbut harmless.
With a deep, content sigh, you leaned back again, the warmth of the sun and the rhythm of the waves slowly pulling you under.
And somewhere between the breeze and the quiet, you didnât notice when your eyes finally closed.
By the time you woke up, it was already sunset.
The bottle of wine beside you was empty, and the small group that had been next to you earlier was gone. The sea breeze had turned cooler nowâsoft and comfortingâwhile the sound of waves blended with the distant chatter of guests still enjoying the evening.
You stretched lightly and sat up.
Some people were still dancing, some chatting, others taking pictures against the fading orange sky. You still had a few hours left before the yacht returned to shore.
Grabbing your leftover chips and the empty bottle of wine, you frowned when something small caught your attention beside your bag.
A paper.
Leaning in slightly, you picked it upâand realized it was a calling card.
Song Hobeom +82 873 489 **** [email protected]
âWho the fuck is this?â
Looking around, you didnât see the group of Koreans anymore. You assumed the calling card mustâve come from them, especially given the Korean name and number printed on it.
Still⊠you were confused. Why would he leave his calling card?
Walking slowly along the yacht, you felt a slight dizziness from the wine lingering in your system. You tossed the empty chip bag and bottle aside, your eyes still scanning the space for any sign of the group you had seen earlier. The air had turned colder now, your short dress offering little protection against the breeze brushing against your skin.
Curiosity got the better of youâand maybe the alcohol gave you just enough courage.
You decided to dial the number.
âYoboseyo?â a deep voice answered.
You swallowed. âHello? I-Is this Song Hobeom?â
A brief sigh came through the line. âYes?â
Confusion crept in when he didnât immediately recognize you as the person from the sun lounger. You hesitated for a moment. Did he really hand out his calling card just like that?
âUh, I was the one sitting on the sun lounger by the main deck. I think you left your calling card at my table?â you said, biting your lip as nerves slowly settled in.
You had no idea what he wantedâand yet here you were, calling him back.
âOh, right. Thank you for calling back, maâam. May I know when you are free? I would like to discuss something with you.â he said in a formal tone.
Huh?
Confusion was written all over your face.
You walked towards the bow of the yacht, trying to escape the soft music and distant chatter, holding the phone closer to your ear.
âUhm⊠may I know what for? This is a bit confusing.â You looked around again, but there was still no trace of the group from earlier. They mustâve already left.
âIt is a bit confidential, maâam. But donât worry, I will give you a short background once we meet.â
You groaned under your breath. âIâm sorry, but canât you just tell me this over the phone?â
You didnât want to sound rude, but you didnât know this man. It was already strange enough that he wanted to meet in person to âdiscuss something.â
âIâm sorry, maâam, but we may need to discuss this face-to-face to ensure the call is not being recorded. If you prefer, you may set the time and place.â he said formally.
What the actual fuck.
You rolled your eyes. This was bullshitâit sounded like a scam. Some foreign guy trying to trick people before disappearing back to his country.
âSorry, but Iâm not interested. Thank you.â
You ended the call immediately.
You werenât stupid enough to meet a stranger like that. You had only been curious, nothing moreâbut the moment he refused to explain anything over the phone, something in you clicked.
Suspicion.
And you werenât taking that chance.
You were about to walk back to the main deck when your phone beeped with a new message. You thought it was Mina, but the moment you recognized the country code, you immediately rolled your eyes.
What does he want?
You instantly regret calling his number. Opening the message, you saw that he had sent a file.
âI swear if this has a virus,â you mumbled.
You were about to tap it when another message came in.
Song Hobeom: The file can only be viewed once. Any form of screenshot or screen recording will be detected and notified. Please contact me again if you wish to proceed after reading the contract.
Song Hobeom: Please do not share this file or inform anyone about this matter. This is strictly confidential. Thank you.
Fucking hell?
You snorted softly, finding his messages almost ridiculous. It sounded like a jokeâlike he genuinely believed youâd get âin troubleâ for forwarding whatever this was.
With a small smirk, you already decided youâd tell Mina about it later. You were definitely not falling for some scam. Youâd open it, see whatever nonsense it was, and then block him right after.
With a sheepish grin, you tapped the file anyway⊠your heart giving a small, restless thump as the screen began to load.
What if itâs a jump scare?
Your brows slowly furrowed when the title finally appeared in bold capital letters:
NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT
What?
You quickly scanned the document, reading faster and fasterâuntil your eyes landed on a name that made your heart jolt.
âW-What the actual fuck?!â you gasped in shock. A few people turned to look at you, but you didnât care. Your attention was completely locked on your phone.
You were starting to hyperventilate. You wanted to close it, to breathe, to thinkâbut it was a view-once file. Your hands trembled as the alcohol from earlier wore off almost instantly, replaced by something sharper.
âThis is not real⊠no freaking way,â you whispered weakly, quickly texting him back with shaking fingers.
No second thoughtsâyou typed immediately, afraid he might block you or change his mind.
You: I am free tomorrow at around 1 PM. Letâs meet by the coast area near the bar.
Song Hobeom: Noted, maâam. Thank you for cooperating.
-
You never thought you would find yourself in a situation like this.
You chose a spot with very few people around. It was a nice sunny day, but your face already felt warmânervous, alert, almost buzzing with anticipation.
Wearing a white floral dress, brown strappy sandals, and sunglasses, you called Mina beforehand and told her youâd be skipping the snorkeling activity for the day. You wanted to tell her the truth, but she didnât question it when you said you just wanted to swim and relax by the ocean instead.
She told you she wouldnât be back for tonight, giggling about the cute guy she had met. She kept talking, but your mind was elsewhere the entire time.
Honestly, you were relieved she wouldnât be back soon. Given the terms written in the file, you needed time alone.
Or this opportunityâwhatever it really wasâmight slip right through your fingers.
âAre you listening to me? Youâre like⊠spacing out, girl!â Mina chuckled.
Your face immediately heated up. âOh! A-Am I? I was just thinking about buying this merch, and itâs a bit expensive, so I was wondering if I should buy the whole set or just Jungkookâs edition.â you rambled quickly.
Mina laughed, shaking her head. âJust buy it all! Gosh! Anyways, so I went to this islandâŠâ
You bit your lip. She believed it.
She continued ranting, and you did your best to follow along, nodding at the right moments, forcing yourself to stay present. You had to hide thisâor youâd be screwed.
âDo you want to order, maâam?â
You looked up at the waiter and nearly froze when, for a split second, you thought it was Song Hobeom standing in front of you.
You were thirty minutes early.
Last night, you hadnât slept at allâspending hours searching for the man behind the calling card. And what you found had hit you like a truck.
He wasnât just some random foreign stranger.
He was BTSâs manager.
The weight of the NDA had settled in slowly at first⊠then all at once.
The same Song Hobeom you had seen on the yacht⊠was the same man now appearing across articles and videos all over the internet.
âNo, thank you. Iâll order later,â you politely declined. You didnât think you could eat or drink anything at this point.
The waiter nodded and left you alone.
You let out a quiet sigh, glancing at your phone to check the time. Closing your eyes for a moment, you tried to steady your breathingâslow, controlled. You couldnât afford to panic right now. Not here. Not yet.
âGood afternoon, maâam.â
The familiar deep voice made your eyes snap open.
He was finally here.
He approached in a composed, almost professional manner, as if this were a business meeting rather than something that had your entire morning spiraling. Black shirt, gray board shorts, black shades. Calm, unreadable.
Your gaze narrowed slightly when you noticed the large iPad and brown envelope in his hands.
You immediately stood up, quickly straightening your dress before offering your hand.
âG-Good day, uh⊠h-have a seat, please.â you gestured, waiting until he sat down before you did.
âHave you eaten, MsâŠ?â he asked, pausing as if waiting for your full name.
âOh, itâs Y/N L/N. I a-already had lunch,â you stammered, your heart racing as you finally introduced yourself.
He smiled and nodded. âThatâs good to hear. Iâm Song Hobeom, the manager of Bangtan Sonyeondan.â
He opened the brown envelope and showed you its contents. Like a startled kitten, you carefully took the papers.
âHave you read the file I sent you?â he asked casually, while opening his iPad.
You immediately nodded. âY-Yes, uh⊠but I only scanned it quickly.â
It was trueâyou had replied almost instantly because you were scared he might unsend it or take it back.
He nodded. âAlright. Let me explain this to you thoroughly. Before proceeding, we require a Non-Disclosure Agreement to protect the privacy and safety of our artist. This agreement simply means that any information you may see, hear, or experience during your time with usâsuch as the artistâs location, conversations, or personal detailsâmust remain confidential and cannot be shared with others, posted online, or discussed publicly,â he said in a formal, business-like tone.
You nodded quickly. âY-Yes, I didnât tell anyone!â you replied immediately.
He gave another nod, turning the iPad towards you to display the contract details. Then he began walking you through each section, one by one, in calm, structured explanations.
âMs. Y/N, the NDA does not take away your rights or force you to do anything. It only ensures mutual privacy,â he stated, and you found yourself listening closely, agreeing more than questioning. The moment you had texted back was already a signâyou had chosen to proceed.
âOnce signed, the confidentiality rules will remain in effect for the period stated in the document, and breaking the agreement could result in legal consequences.â
âI understand! I-I have researched how NDAs work as well.â
You bit your lip the moment you said it, suddenly realizing how desperate you sounded. You wanted to ask so many questionsâwhy you, of all people, why this situation had landed in your lapâbut you were too focused, too eager to get to the part that mattered most now.
Signing that damn contract.
That was your priority.
âGood. If you have any questions or concerns, I want you to feel comfortable asking before signingââ
âNo questions! Iâll s-sign,â you blurted out, cheeks warming as excitement slipped through your tone.
Mr. Song chuckled lightly and nodded before handing you an expensive-looking pen.
âAlright, please double-check the terms and conditions. Take your time, Ms. Y/N.â
But you didnât.
Not really.
Before you even properly reread the contract, you signed itâlike your life depended on it. A shy, almost embarrassed smile formed on your lips as you finished.
He looked amused, like this wasnât his first time seeing this reaction. As if he was already familiar with how quickly people surrendered to these documents.
Then he handed you the iPad for another copy.
Scrolling quickly, you signed again without hesitation.
Your eyes flickered over your own nameâand then, for a brief second, your heart stuttered when you saw the name of the artist involved.
Jeon Jungkook.
Mr. Song explained the terms and conditions again. You listened eagerly, a little calmer now that you had finally secured the contract.
âThank you for signing, Ms. Y/N. Please remember to keep everything discussed and experienced confidential as agreed,â he said with a polite smile, handing you another calling card. âMr. Jeon will be the one to contact you directly after this for any further coordination.â
You stared at the calling cardâJungkookâs name and number printed on itâyour eyes widening in shock.
This cannot be real.
-
âUgh! I want to cry!â
You stared at yourself in the mirror, now back in your cottage, pacing in front of it like a maniac.
You had one night. One fucking night with him.
The date stated in the contract was after your vacation ended. You were already stressing about what to tell Mina for extending your stay, what to say to your professors, your parentsâbecause you had clearly told them your trip only lasted until next week.
Jungkook hadnât contacted you yet. It was still too early. You had no idea if he was even on the island already. The only thing you knew was that you were supposed to meet him in Executive Cottage 3 at 8 PM next week.
You still couldnât believe it.
You had always thought NDAs were just mythsâfantasies spun by fans who imagined idols risking everything for a single private encounter.
Sure, you had heard rumors that things like this might actually happen⊠but you never thought you would experience it yourselfâwith your own bias, Jeon Jungkook.
It felt unreal. Worseâor betterâthan a concert. One-on-one. Up close. No distance at all.
Your cheeks warmed at the memory of the agreement, your heart picking up speed at the thought. It almost scared you how much you didnât want to wake up in case this was all just a dream.
Sometimes you found yourself lightly slapping your cheek, as if reality still refused to fully sink in.
For months, you had been depressed over missing the ticket, and nowâout of nowhereâyou had the opportunity, the privilege, to meet your bias in private.
Now it made sense.
It was their last concert. Their managers were staying here to rest⊠and for what? To arrange potential NDAs?
Last night, after Minaâs call, you had spent hours deep in researchâso deep it felt less like curiosity and more like you were preparing a thesis you somehow needed to defend. You searched everything: how NDAs worked, how participants were chosen, what would happen if you told someone, and a dozen other questions that only made your head spin the longer you read.
There was no hesitation anymore.
The moment you confirmed that Song Hobeom was actually their legitimate manager, something in you fully locked in. Any lingering doubt that the contract might be fakeâor some elaborate prankâdisappeared instantly.
It was real.
And you had already signed it.
Your excitement had gone through the roof.
Even though you wanted to tell Mina so badly, your eagerness to meet Jungkook was far stronger. You couldnât risk it.
âHuh? Why?â Mina questioned when she returned the next day and you immediately told her about extending your stay.
âI just want to relax more, you know⊠I didnât realize the sea was this calming,â you smiled, trying to sound convincing.
You and Mina were now getting ready for the snorkeling activity. After dinner, you had decided you would break the news properly.
âAre you lying to me?â Mina raised a brow.
You went pale. âN-No, I j-just really wanted to staââ
âYou met a cute guy, didnât you?â Mina accused, squinting at you.
You blinked, caught completely off guard by her conclusion. She knew you werenât the type to extend a trip like thisâespecially with school starting next weekâunless, of course, it was for BTS.
Or a cute guy.
âW-WellâŠâ
Mina giggled. âHa! Thatâs why weâre besties!â
Maybe a little white lie wasnât so bad.
Mina told you she couldnât extend her stay anyway since she had a presentation due next week. Even though she wanted to stay longer, you reassured her youâd be fineâand that you just wanted some alone time with your âcute guy.â
Yeah.
Cute guy.
-
The following days felt like a whirlwind. You enjoyed your last activities with Mina, all while quietly trying to keep it together every time the agreement flashed back into your mind and sent your thoughts spiraling.
When the last day came, you practically rushed Mina into the van just to get a proper goodbye out before she left.
Tomorrow was finally the day.
And yet, Jungkook still hadnât contacted you.
The day before, you had already gone through a medical examinationâanother requirement of the NDA. You were honestly surprised at how professional it all was, how organized everything felt despite how unreal the situation still seemed in your head.
It was almost ridiculous how seriously you had started taking everything.
You shaved your entire body. Scrubbed yourself religiously every night. Applied lotion more than usual. Even started doing small morning workouts after meals, as if preparation alone could somehow calm your nerves.
âHi, Jungkookie!â you practiced in front of the mirror, batting your eyelashes.
âFuck! Why did I do that?â you immediately cringed, shaking your head.
You tried again, this time forcing a different tone.
âSo⊠how was the concert?â
âIâm honored to be chosen.â
âDo I just lay here?â
âI love you. Youâre my everything.â
You groaned and covered your face completely.
You had no idea what to expect. The thought of meeting Jungkook was overwhelming in every possible wayâlike your brain couldnât decide whether to freeze, panic, or completely shut down.
And honestly, you were starting to worry you might faint⊠or embarrass yourself beyond recovery the moment it actually happened.
The contract stated âprivate meeting,â and you werenât exactly Sherlock, so it wasnât hard to conclude that it involves fucking. Especially considering they required a medical examinationâsurely not for a simple chat.
You almost screamed when your phone beeped with a message.
Jungkook: Hi Y/N, see you tomorrow at 8!
âOh my gosh! Oh my gosh!â you jumped onto your bed, staring at the text like it wasnât real.
His message was so casual, completely different from the formal, business-like tone Song Hobeom used. It almost made it feel even more surreal.
âWhat should I reply⊠oh my gosh.â
You bit your lip, carefully choosing your words so you wouldnât mess anything up.
You: See you, Kookie!
-
The cottage was larger than yoursâan executive unit reserved for upper-class guestsâwith soft ambient lighting, a private veranda, a small plunge pool, a carefully kept garden, a few hammocks swaying gently in the breeze, and direct access to the beach.
This area felt different. Quieter. More secluded. Tucked away from the other cottages scattered across the busy island.
You had expected to be guided by bodyguards, but there was no one. No visible security, no presence at all. It felt intentionalâlike the meeting was meant to be so private that even protection would disrupt it.
Wearing a lilac wrap dress, white glittery doll shoes, and your hair curled neatly at the ends, you slowly made your way towards the cottage.
Your fingers hesitated before pressing the keycard Mr. Song had given you last week. The soft beep that followed made your nerves spike instantlyâa quiet confirmation that you had arrived, and that you were allowed inside.
Once the door opened, you stepped in.
You were immediately met with a spacious bedroom featuring a king-sized bed, a lounge area, a large wooden door that likely led to the bathroom, and wide tinted windows with sliding doors that opened directly to a full view of the sea.
You stood there for a moment, taking it all in with wide eyes.
Carefully, you placed your bag beside the bed and began walking around the space, your curiosity slowly building. On the table, you noticed a selection of pastries and a neatly arranged meal set waiting, untouched.
âHey.â
You gasped, your eyes snapping towards the bathroom door as the man you only saw on screens stepped out.
Jungkook wore nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still damp, droplets of water trailing down his neck and collarbones as he ran a smaller towel through his hair.
Your lips parted slightly. Fuck.
He walked toward the coffee table first, casually lifting the silver cloche to check the prepared dinner as if nothing about this moment carried any weight at all.
But for you, everything had just short-circuited.
Jungkookâright there in front of you. Real. Close. Breathing the same air.
You had seen him countless times on screens, in edited clips and fan videosâbut none of that had prepared you for this. In person, his presence felt heavier, more grounded. His frame looked broader, more defined. The tattoos you had only ever glimpsed before were now fully visible under the soft lighting, detailed and striking in a way that made your thoughts scatter instantly.
Even his voiceâwhen he spokeâcarried a calm, effortless depth that made your mind go blank before it could catch up.
All the lines you had practiced disappeared completely.
You were speechless.
Frozen.
He was real.
You couldnât believe he was real.
âHave you eaten?â he asked, turning towards you while still holding the cloche.
Your mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. You stood near the couch like youâd been rooted in place, completely caught off guard.
A quiet chuckle left him as he noticed your reaction. He set the lid back down and began walking towards you.
Your breath hitched when he closed the distance. His fresh scentâclean, minty, just out of the showerâwrapped around you, sharpening your senses in an instant.
âRelax,â Jungkook said softly, his tone calm and steady as he gently placed a hand on your arm.
The touch was light. Grounding.
Warmth spread through your skin immediately, like your body had finally registered his presence all at once.
You nodded too quickly, blinking as if that could reset your brain. Your heart was pounding so hard you were convinced it had to be audible.
Jungkook smiled slightly, looking down at you. âHmm, look at me.â he said when you kept avoiding eye contact.
You triedâbut the moment your eyes lifted, you almost froze again.
Dark doe eyes met yours, steady and unreadable, holding you in place. His right hand lifted your chin just as you instinctively tried to look away again.
âSit down on the couch for me, mhm?â he said gently, guiding you down with an easy, controlled calm.
You were so nervous, looking up at him like a shy deer. All the conversations you had prepared were completely forgottenâyou were mentally blocked.
Jungkook tilted his head at you, still standing as he looked down at your form. âYou okay, pretty girl?â
Your cheeks turned crimson at the compliment, and you nodded again like you had lost your voice.
Jungkook chuckled, crouching down to get to your eye level. âTalk to me, baby. Wanna hear you.â
âH-Hi,â you said in a small voice, almost choking on the words.
âHmm, louder.â Jungkook whispered, raising a brow at you.
You gulped harshly, squeezing your own hands in nervousness. âH-Hi, Jungkook. Nice to meet you.â you said, a little clearer this time.
Jungkook smiled, sitting beside you. âThere you go. Good job, baby.â he praised. âSo polite.â
You smiled back shyly, your breath hitching when he took your handsâhands you hadnât even realized you were squeezing so tightly.
âBaby, youâll hurt yourself doing thatâŠâ he said gently, holding your hands and lightly tracing over the faint marks you had left on your skin.
âO-Oh, uhmâŠâ
âDo you want to eat first? What do you want to do?â he asked softly, studying your nervous expression.
He was so calm, so composed, so sweetâit made your stomach twist in a way you couldnât quite explain. You bit your lip under his attention, suddenly hyper-aware of every small movement you made.
His gaze briefly dropped to your lips. He swallowed subtly, something shifting in his expression for just a moment before he looked back up at you again.
âW-Whatever y-you want to doâŠâ
Jungkook raised a brow at you, tilting his head slightly. âYeah?â
You nodded quickly. âYesâŠâ
Jungkook straightened up, his gaze briefly dropping over your short dress, lingering for a moment before he looked back at the table.
âThereâs a bunch of pastries you might want to try. Do you like sweets?â he said softly, opening the glass lids of the desserts in front of you.
You smiled shyly, eyes shifting towards the neatly arranged food. âYes, I like c-cookies.â
Jungkook smiled, reaching for the tray of cookies with different flavorsâchocolate chip, walnut, matcha, red velvet, and more you couldnât even name at a glance.
You kept your eyes fixed on the cookies, forcing yourself not to look at him, especially with how near he was.
âIâve tried walnut and matcha,â he said, pointing at a few of them.
You pouted and picked the flavor he suggested. He smiled when you chose the matcha, carefully placing the tray back down on the table.
âDo you want milk?â he asked, pointing at the bottle beside the pastries.
You nodded, taking a small bite while he poured a glass for you.
âThank youâŠâ you said with a shy smile.
He smiled back and stood up to get dressed while you focused on eating the cookies. When he came back, he was wearing a white shirt and black comfy shorts. He sat beside you and took a cookie for himself as well.
Jungkook was patient, sweet, and gentle with you. He occasionally asked about your hobbies, your likes, your favorite food, and small details that only your parents and Mina usually knew.
With a soft, hesitant voice, you slowly opened upâtalking about how you became a BTS fan, how long you had followed them, and how much you liked him.
He listened closely, never interrupting, only asking follow-up questions like he was genuinely interested.
His eyes followed your lips whenever you spoke, then shifted to your eyes whenever you looked away. And every time your voice got smaller, he leaned in slightly, as if trying not to miss a single wordâespecially when you talked about him.
Neither of you mentioned the NDA.
It felt, strangely, like you were simply there to spend time with him.
You honestly thought he wouldnât talk much, given how shy you wereâbut Jungkook was unexpectedly patient, giving you space to settle in and feel comfortable around him.
But then
You were giggling about his travel story with Jimin when you noticed his tattooed hands slowly settling around your waist.
âA-And what did he do?â you asked, a little startled.
Jungkook had been talking about some of their personal trips with the members. You were surprised by how open he was with youâthe way he spoke during his Weverse lives was exactly the same in person: charming, funny, and easy to talk to.
You hadnât expected him to answer your small, silly questions, but he was attentive, responding to everything like you had known each other for years. You felt, strangely, at ease.
He pouted slightly, suddenly distracted by the lace ruffles at the hem of your dress, his fingers lightly brushing and playing with them.
âUsed all his perfume to spray it on the huge bug.â he chuckled lowly, his eyes still lowered towards your dress.
You giggled, imagining the chaos. âDid the bug get killed?â
Jungkook slowly looked at you, his eyes a little heavy-lidded, his hands still idly playing with the hem of your dress.
âHmm, no.â he rasped.
Your eyes widened when he pulled you closer, his left arm circling your waist to steady you. His right tattooed hand lifted both your legs across his lap.
âYou smell good.â he murmured closely, fingers now toying with the ribbons of your wrap dress.
You gulped harshly, your hands resting awkwardly on his arm for balance. Up close, he could see the details of your makeupâlight glitter dusted across your cheeks and eyelids, pink gloss on your lips, a soft blush deepening from warmth, and lashes curled with a hint of mascara.
He lifted a loose strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear, then let his fingers trail lightly along your cheek.
âYou dolled up for me?â he said lightly, tilting his head.
His tone had shiftedâless careful now, more playful⊠almost teasing.
âY-Yes⊠do you like it?â you asked shyly. It had taken you hours to finish your makeup, hours to pick a dress and style your hair. You were almost embarrassed when you saw that he looked so fresh and handsome after the shower, while you had taken an eternity to get ready.
Jungkook poked the inside of his cheek. He held your face with one hand, almost squishing both of your cheeks. His touch was gentle, but the way he tilted your head to examine your face made you feel weird.
Made you feel wet.
âI do,â he said lowly. âI like the glitters.â
You smiled, a bit more confident now. âReally?â you said happily, leaning a little closer to him. âMatches my doll shoes right?â You moved your toes up and down.
Jungkook nodded, his lazy eyes staring at you, then down at your dress. His hands traced slow circles on your bare thighs, making you tingly.
âI noticed something thoughâŠâ
âHmm, what?â you tilted your head curiously.
He pouted. âYour dress has no glitters, babygirl.â He slightly held the end of your dress, as if examining the texture.
You pouted. âYeahâŠâ You looked down. âB-Butââ
Your thoughts were interrupted when he softly kissed your cheek.
âHmmâŠâ He slowly held the ribbons of your dress, and with one hand, he untied the knot.
âW-Waitââ you gasped, eyes widening when you saw what he was doing.
âIt has no glitters, baby⊠doesn't match your pretty little shoes and makeup." he said in a mocking tone, removing your dress from your shoulders.
âJungkookâŠâ you said softly, cheeks growing hot under his gaze.
Licking his lower lip, his gaze dropped to your body.
The soft swell of your breasts was hugged perfectly by the white bra you were wearing, matching the delicate fabric of your panties. The small white ribbon resting between your breasts and the top of your underwear caught his attentionâsomething so simple, yet enough to make his cock tighten.
You looked⊠soft, so pretty, too cute. Ready to be ruined by him.
His hands slowly moved to the straps of your bra âOh babyâŠâ he said in a cooing tone. âThis doesnât have glitters as well.â He said it like it was a problem. His fingers hooked onto the straps before pulling them away from your skinâonly to let them snap back in place, the sting blooming lightly against you.
You were speechless. The way he talked to you, the way he looked at you, the way he played with youâit made your body heat up, a quiet rush of warmth settling low in your stomach.
Your instinct was to cover yourself, but the way he raised a brow at you made you hesitate, a shiver running through you instead. You blinked slowly, caught between nerves and awareness you couldnât quite name.
âJungkook, t-this is embarrassing.â you said in a small voice.
You thought you could be confidentâyears of reading fanfictions had convinced you of that. You were certain you could fuck him better, that you could show him what you were capable of. Make him feel good. Please him. Make him happy.
You had been so sure of yourselfâso full of it, evenâthinking you could give him the best night of his life.
But the moment he touched you, your mind went completely blank. All rational thoughts slipped away, leaving you flustered and unsure of yourself, shrinking back into a shy, overwhelmed version of you.
Jungkook chuckled sarcastically. You gasped when he suddenly pulled your hair, his lips reaching under your ear to whisper.
âYou signed up for this, didnât you?â he rasped, his lips grazing your earlobe.
You squealed, his dominance eating you alive. His sweet, teasing tone was gone; the way he pulled your hair closer made you shiver.
âY-Yes,â you bit your lip. You felt his lips move down your neck, his hot breath tickling you.
âHmm⊠do you want me to elaborate on what weâre doing here?â he said in a tone like he was talking to a child. You gasped when he slightly bit your neck.
âSorry, I was j-justââ
He removed your bra quickly, tossing it somewhere before his fingers grazed near the swell of your breast, teasing you.
âUse your pretty little brain, baby, come onâŠâ he said harshly, suddenly pinching your nipples, making you whimper.
Jungkook raised his head to look at you, his pupils dilated. The way he swallowed harshly when he saw your round breast and pink nipples made him leak.
âDo you knowâŠâ he whispered under your ear. âHow badâŠâ He slightly slapped your nipple, soothing it afterward by rolling it gently between his fingers. âI wanted to fuck you?â
âJ-Jungkook-â
âLook at you⊠youâll let me do whatever I want, right?â
You shut your eyes tightlyâŠfollowed by a slow nod, stunned by his words and actions.
He raised a brow, eyes dropping to your nipples. Your vision almost slipped when he suddenly spat on them, using his fingers to spread it over your breast.
âYeah? Youâll let me use you?â he said in a low voice, his hands now trailing down the garters of your underwear. âLike a pretty little, sparkly slut that your are.ââ
You knew what he wantedâit had been clear from the very beginning. It had already been hours, and you were still shy and hesitant. You wanted this too, but you were scared to make the first move, scared to say or do something that might turn him off.
He, on the other hand, had been patient from the startâletting you settle in, letting you eat, letting you relax, asking you what you wanted, giving you time without rushing you.
You didnât realize the way his eyes darkened the moment you entered his roomâthe way they wandered down the valley of your breasts, the way they roamed over your dress that hugged your curvesâ showing the swell of your hips, the way his gaze followed the pout of your lips. The way your cute little glitters and doll shoes made you look like a proper little slut for him to use.
Itâs been more than a year.
Jungkook had been busy with tour, with the groupâs latest comeback. He had been working endlesslyâpromoting their new songs, filming content for a variety of brands, updating his Instagram and TikTok daily for ARMYs, practicing nonstop to show his best on tour. His schedule had been packed for over a year since their comeback.
Now that the tour had finally come to an end, it was his time to relax and unwind.
Jungkookâs stamina was unreal. Despite his busy schedule, there were times he would ask his manager to arrange private, strictly confidential meetings through NDAs.
Unfortunately, their latest tour had been much bigger, making it harder for his manager to coordinate anything outside of his packed schedule. Because of that, for the past months, Jungkook had been letting all of his sexual frustrations by himself.
It started in 2017. At first, he was the one personally choosing and approving everything himself, but after a few yearsâonce his fame and schedule became even more intenseâhis manager took over the process. It became less personal and more structured, handled carefully behind the scenes.
With his level of fame, everything had to be treated with strict confidentiality and formal documentation.
For years, all the NDAs Jungkook had been involved with stayed quietâcarefully kept private, out of fear of the consequences, but also lingering with the hope of another night with him.
He was a man, after all. With his busy schedule and global fame, there was no room for commitment or long-term relationships. Everything in his life moved too fast, too publicly, too tightly controlled.
Because of that, he relied on brief, private arrangementsâcarefully managed and kept out of the public eyeâto relieve stress and maintain some sense of personal balance amid his packed schedule.
It was almost like something carefully curated over time. He didnât have a specific type, but his manager knew him well enough to anticipate what he was comfortable with. Over the years, everything had become more structuredâquiet introductions, formal agreements, and strict confidentiality before anything could proceed.
After the tour, Jungkook had been particularly insistent on arranging an NDA soon. The long schedule and constant pressure had built up, and he needed a way to release the pent up sexual frustration.
When the team decided to extend their stay in the country after the final stop, his manager quietly began looking into possible private, strictly confidential arrangements handled under NDAs.
It wasnât urgentâmore of a routine precaution when they had extended time in one location. In most cases, it was beneficial if the person involved was already an ARMY, since familiarity with boundaries and expectations made things easier. Over time, most of the people who signed were fans in one way or another, while others were simply individuals who happened to be in the right place at the right time and agreed to the confidentiality terms.
Jungkook himself rarely interfered with the process. He trusted his manager to handle the details, especially during tours and rare breaks when privacy mattered more than anything else. The goal was simple: rest, recovery, and avoiding unnecessary exposure.
That was why his manager moved discreetly when he saw youâsubtly noting your presence, your behavior, and your isolation from the crowd before eventually placing a small calling card on your table.
When Jungkook saw you standing in front of him, frozen like a deer caught in headlights, all his rational thoughts slipped away for a moment. You looked so sweet, ready to be used.
Jungkook was unbearably horny.
He wasnât the type to extend another night, even with a potential NDAâbut he was the type who wouldnât stop fucking you once you stepped into his space. The kind who fucked hard. The kind who took control and dominated you without hesitation. The kind who would leave marksâbruises that lingered long after the night ended. Whether you were the shy type or the bold type, you would fold once he touches you, once he pulls your hair and manoeuvres your body to his own liking.
Heâs mean when he fucks, praising you in a degrading way⊠though he would always start off sweet, to ease the tension, with his usual kind self and bunny smiles.
But, afterwards?
He would fuck you like a dirty whore, play with you like a little toy, use you like a cum dump.
When he noticed how hesitant and vulnerable you were, he took the lead by making sure you were comfortable at first. But his patience was running thin. Your sweet scent engulfed his sensesâyour soft voice and small giggles, your shy smile and twinkling eyesâit all made his cock twitch.
It had been monthsâtoo long without a proper release. At first, he wanted to take his sweet time with you, but your hesitance and shy demeanor were driving him crazy. Jungkook wanted to bend you over and fuck your unused holes, wanted to wrap his hands around your neck, wanted to fuck your pretty mouth until you were gagging and crying for him, wanted to feel your warm pussy wrapped around him until he could no longer think straight.
He forcefully ripped your underwear, leaving red marks on your thighs. Your body was now fully exposed to him.
âPretty girl,â he mused, when his gaze dropped at your pussy, you instinctively closed your legs.
He gripped your thighs, forcing them open so he could look at your cunt. âPretty little pussy.â he whispered, staring at your cunt with a faint shine visible from your wetness. âActing so shy yet your pussy is soaking.â
âJungkook, p-pleaseâŠâ you pleaded, slightly moving your legs.
âAww, a few moments ago you wouldnât let me see you. Now youâre pleading, hmm?â he cooed.
Your breath hitched when his index finger traced the slit of your cunt, gathering your juices.
âOh, t-thatâsââ you whimpered.Â
You were long gone.
He was making you so wet and turned on. Not that you werenât alreadyâyour shyness was already getting the best of youâbut the moment he took the lead, whatever composure you had left began to slip away. Your thoughts scattered, your attention narrowing to him alone, your body reacting in a way that made you feel both overwhelmed and helplessly aware of him.
Your eyes widened when he licked the finger that had gathered your wetness, staring at you while his tongue rolled over it.
âHmm, you taste so good.â his finger, now wet with saliva, went back down your cunt to gather your juices again, bringing it to his mouth to taste it once more.
âDo you taste yourself?âÂ
âN-No, I havenât,â you admitted shyly.
He placed his wet finger on your lip. âOpen,â he said sharply, like he wouldnât take no for an answer.
You slowly opened your mouth, his finger immediately sliding in so you could taste yourself.Â
âThatâs it⊠twirl your tongue, baby.â You obediently twirled your tongue around his finger, your saliva dripping down his hand messily. His cock twitched at the sight, he pulled his finger from your mouth with a soft pop.
âGet on the bed and spread your legs.â slapping your thigh lightly to urge you up.
You were almost dizzy, his words barely registering in your mind⊠you stood up, almost stumbling, but Jungkook caught your waist firmly.
âCareful, baby.â he chuckled lowly, your cheeks heating up in response.
Your legs felt weak as you made your way to the bed, Jungkook following behind. When you bent down to remove your doll shoes, he held your arm to stop you.
âLeave them.â
âO-Okay,â your brows furrowed, slowly sitting on the bed with your doll shoes still on.
Jungkook raised a brow at you. âRaise your legs on the bed.â
âBut my shoesâŠâ you pouted.
Jungkook chuckled, crouching down to level with your face. âIt has glitters, baby. No need to remove it.â
You blinked slowly, the realization settling in as you recalled his earlier comment about your dress and undergarments not having any glitter details.
Raising your feet, you let your doll shoes rest on the mattress. Your legs were folded as you adjusted yourself, your wet cunt fully exposed under his gaze.
Jungkookâs hand moved absently over his shorts as he looked at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his attention fixed on your wet pussy. âSpread wider, baby. Hold your ankles for me.â
You spread your legs wider, holding your ankles, making yourself open for him. Your juices leaked down onto the mattress, giving him a clear view. Your cheeks and neck turned red from what you were doing for him.
âThatâs it, wider.â he groaned, removing his shirt and shorts in one go. Your arms almost gave out when you saw him naked in front of you.
He was so hugeâhis cock red and veiny, precum leaking from the tip, his hand gripping himself, rolling the foreskin, pumping more wetness onto his mushroom head.
Jungkook moved closer, looking down at your cunt while palming himself shamelessly. âDo you like how I touch my cock?ââ
You whimpered when his other hand went down to you, his middle finger sliding into your hole easily. The wet squelching sound filled the room.
âSlut,â he whispered.Â
Using your wetness, he spread it around his cock like lubricant, mixing it with his precum. âYouâre so wet baby, my good little whore.â
You whined, your arms growing tired from the position. When you tried to let go of your ankles, Jungkook slapped your pussy.
âKeep them open,â he said harshly, squeezing his cock tighter, releasing more precum at the tip.Â
âLet me see your pretty holes, yeah?â His cheeks hollowed as he gathered saliva and spat onto your exposed cunt, letting it drip inside your wanting hole.
âJungkook, p-please⊠I canât anymore,â you whined, your body clenching around nothing. You wanted him to touch you.
âShh, be a good doll and stay still, yeah?â he groaned, spitting down on his cock, spreading it along his shaft as he pumped faster while looking at you.
It was so overwhelmingâthe way he looked at you while touching himself made you so wet.
âP-Please, t-touch me.â you pleaded, your eyes glossy with need, whining when you felt more of your juices spill onto the bed.
Jungkook groaned, âBe a good fucking slut and watch me touch my cock.â
It was obscenely dirtyâwatching him touch his cock so fast, his gaze locked on your pussy. Every now and then, heâd gather your slick with his fingers, spreading it along his length, making himself even wetter, even more desperate.
And just when it looked like he was about to cumâhe stopped.
His hand tightened around the tip, squeezing just enough to hold himself back, dragging the moment out, edging himself with a restraint that only made it worse.
âFuck!â he quickly kneeled down in front of you, his face now very close to your pussy. When you looked down, your eyes fluttered when you saw him staring closely at your twitching hole.
âYou look so tight,â he groaned, his finger tracing your cunt lightly.
âKooâŠâ you moaned, already shaking from the contact.
He kissed your inner thigh, occasionally biting the soft skin to leave marks. When you were already getting too whiny, he leaned in closer, his tongue pushing inside you.
âOh, Jungkookââ you moaned loudly, the feeling of his hot tongue inside your hole making you quiver. He was pushing his tongue so deep, like he wanted to collect all your juices.
âMhm,â he moaned, the vibration giving soft pulses down your clit. He collected all your juices, sucking them as much as possible, going deeper and deeper just to spit it right back up on your swollen clit.
âOh my goshââ you whimpered. He was making you as messy as possible. When he wrapped his lips around your clit to suck, you almost saw stars from the pleasure, the sensation pulsating through your whole body making you roll your eyes back.
âYou like that?â he murmured while sucking your clit, his tatted finger going inside your hole, releasing more juices from you.
You nodded almost instantly, holding your ankle tighter. When he nipped harshly on your clit, you almost dropped your legs, shaking from how good his lips and tongue felt. He looked up at you, still sucking your clit while inserting another finger inside you, instantly brushing your sensitive spot.
The way his middle and ring finger brushed your g-spot made your clit pulse. With the pressure of his lips around your clit, you were close to cumming.
âJungkook, I-Iâm gonnaâŠâ
âGo ahead baby, wanna eat your cum,â he whispered against your cunt, sucking harder, his fingers moving aggressively inside you.
You were shaking. When you felt your high building, you almost pushed him away, letting go of your ankles to grip his hair.
âJungkook! S-Stop,â you pleaded weakly. The pleasure was too much, too intense. His pace did not falter, his hand pressing your lower stomach down.
When he removed his fingers, you thought he was done, but he immediately rubbed your clit in circles, spitting down on your hood while holding your wriggling body in place.
You moaned loudly⊠his fingers, his mouth, his spitâall of it pushed you over the edge. You came so hard you almost fainted.Â
He still didnât stop- you were overstimulated, trying to push him away, but he wouldnât let you, drawing more release out of you. The pressure of his fingers dragged you into another climax, making you squirt messily around him, splashing his face, his neck, his body.
âS-stop, please KooâŠâ you cried, shaking uncontrollably as you squirted again. His fingers still didnât stop. His dark eyes stayed fixed on your swollen pussy, amusement etched across his face.
âMessy girl, good job baby.â he cooed, giving your pussy a light slap to coax out the remaining slick.
Your cheeks were wet with tears, your body weak from orgasm. He leaned down, holding your cheeks gently to make you look at him.
âPoor baby, let me wipe your tears, hmm?â
He leaned down, licking your tears slowly, his hot tongue dragging wetly across your cheeks.
You whimpered, your body barely holding itself together. His lips moved down to your nipple, sucking the hard bud softly, while his other hand caressed your other breast, pinching and rolling your nipples.
His throbbing cock grinds against your spent pussy, his swollen tip smearing messily against your slit, spreading his precum all over your cunt.
âKooâŠâ you said softly, still tired and hazy from your release.
His mouth moved to your other nipple, his teeth tugging slightly, making you gasp. You were certain you would have bruisesâthe way he sucked your nipple mirrored how he had sucked your clit, lingering just enough to draw a reaction, coating it in spit before taking it fully into his mouth.
âBaby, can you feel how hard I am for you?â he whispered, his cock grinding slowly against your wet pussy, his tip brushing your clit⊠making you wetter again. âDo you know how long I wanted to fuck a nice warm pussy?â He grabbed your neck, your lips parting instinctively. He took the chance to spit into your mouth, leaning down to slip his tongue in messily, swallowing your moans and protests. His grip tightened each time you whimpered.
âBeen touching my hard cock for months baby,â His movements were slow, deliberateâdrawing arousal back into your body. âNeed your tight pussy so bad.â The way he rolled his hips against you, the way he silenced you with his tongue so no protests could leave your mouth.
âYou wanted this?â he groaned against your lips, releasing your neck only to squeeze your breast harshly.
âOuch, Kooââ
âAnswer me,â he said sharply, tapping your right cheek.
âI w-want this,â you said with glossy eyes, small hands gripping his arm tightly.
He tilted his head at you. âYeah? You wanted to be fucked like a slut donât you?â he taunted, sitting up to squeeze his cock, teasing himself by twirling his index finger over his tip. âAre you a slut? hmm?â
You nodded weakly. âWould do anything for y-you.ââ you said shyly.
Jungkook raised a brow, standing up at the edge of the bed. âCome here then, crawl to me.â
It was degrading, the way he treats you like a slut for him to use⊠yet it makes you wetter, makes you hornier. You crawl towards him like a good whore, looking up at him with pleading, sparkly eyes. Your makeup is ruined, your hair disheveled, your doll shoes still intact, making you look like a ruined sex doll.
âGood girl, now wrap your hands around my cock.â he rasped, holding the base out for you. When your small, shaky hands felt his veiny shaft, you almost came again. It twitched in your grip, hard and flushed red at the tip.
He groaned. âSpit on it, baby. Make it nice and wet for me.â
You spat on his cock, spreading it around the base before moving your hands up and down, rolling the foreskin as you worked him. He moaned loudly, head tipping back, jaw clenched, sweat forming across the expanse of his chest.
âThatâs it, what a good little whore.â he praised, caressing your hair.
You tried your best to make him feel good. You raised your other hand, spitting into your palm and spreading it together with his precum.
Jungkook groaned at the sight. Using both of your hands, you made a twisting motion along his length, looking up at him like a good girl.
âI w-want you,â you said with a bit of confidence.
Jungkook cursed under his breath. âSuck my cock.â He slapped your hands away, then pulled your hair, forcing you to take his cock into your mouth. His breath hitched when he felt you gag around him, your nose pressed against his pelvis, your eyes turning watery.
âTake it,â he groaned harshly, guiding your head up and down like you were his personal fleshlight. You tried your best to take him, even though he was so big in your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat.
It was sloppy and nasty. Your tongue pressed flat against the underside of his cock, tracing the mushroom tip while you hollowed your cheeks and sucked hard. Spit and precum was leaking down your chin, your eyes glossy and red, the way you twirled your tongue to trace the veins of his cock made him groan.
âHands behind your back,â he panted.
You immediately did what he said, your body fully under his control. When he pushed deeper, your face pressed against his pubic hair. You choked, saliva and precum bubbling at the corners of your mouth, you want to tap his leg, the air in your lungs limited.
âYou look so pretty with my cock- fuck! Iâm gonna cum.â he grunted, keeping you close until you felt the liquid heat spreading inside your throat. He forced you to swallow, keeping your face snug against his pelvis so not a single drop would spill.
When he released your head, you almost collapsed onto the bed. Your eyes were red, your mouth slightly bruised, and your neck ached from the way he had angled your face. Due to exhaustion, you let him maneuver your body, pushing you down and flipping you over.
âBend over, baby. Iâm not done using you.â
He was still hard, giving his cock a few more pumps before guiding it towards your pussy.
âOpen your pussy, baby. Be a useful slut and spread yourself for me.â
With weak hands, you reached back to spread yourself for him, opening your folds. Your wetness leaked down your inner thighs.
âLook at you. You just came, yet your pussy already wants more⊠dripping all over my sheets like a whore.â he said mockingly.
You whimpered. âP-please, f-fuck me.â You were almost crying, your arms tired and your body aching from the position, but you wanted to please him so badly, wanted him to use you till you could no longer take it anymore.
Jungkook chuckled behind you. You thought he would tease you again, but you gasped when he suddenly pushed his cock inside you. Despite your earlier orgasm, the stretch was still painful, making you scream into the sheets.
âYouâre so tight, fuck.â he groaned, looking down at his cock getting swallowed by your tight pussy.
He leaned down, pressing your head down further, his cock pushing deeper and deeper, making you squirm in both pleasure and pain.
âFucking slut, so tight around daddy.â he whispered, your face buried in the sheets.
You clenched around him, whining against the mattress.
âOh, you like that?â he taunted, pushing deeper until he reached your g-spot.
You could feel every drag of his cock inside youâhis veins, his mushroom tip. The stretch was so good you were close to cumming, clenching around him as he fucked you deeper.
âStop that, baby, Iâm gonna cum.â he almost laughed, pulling your hair up so he could see your face. âWant to fuck you for hours, baby. Iâm gonna use your tiny hole till daddy canât release cum anymore. Do you want that?â
You whimpered, âYes, d-daddy.â
He groaned harshly; the way you called him made him even hornier. He pulled out and shifted down on his side, pulling your body snug against his chest, your back pressed against him. âKeep your legs up,â he whispered, holding his cock and directing it against your leaking hole.
You didnât expect to be fucked by Jungkook sideways. He held your waist while driving his hard cock into you, your legs spread wide in the air as his lips nipped harshly at your neck.
âFeels so g-good, daddy.â you moaned, your body bouncing slightly from the force of the way he was fucking you.
Jungkook bit your neck, his hands moving down to rub your clit. âUhuh, daddyâs gonna fill you with so much cum and youâre gonna hold it like a good girl.ââ
You moaned, trying to bite your moans back, but Jungkook slapped your clit harshly. âMoan louder,â he groaned, his balls hitting your ass as he pushes his cock all the way out just to push it harder all the way in.
âJ-Jungkook.â you moaned, eyes rolling back.
âLouder.â
âJungkook!â you moaned louder.
âGood girl,â he chuckled behind you, his fingers coming back down to rub your clit again.
You could feel your cum dripping down your thighs, the loud squelching sound of his cock fucking into your pussy and his deep groans pushing you to the edge. When he gave your clit a good rub, you came all over his cock, your pussy clenching around his girth, releasing so much cum. You held his wrist to stop him, your thighs shakingâyou were certain you almost drooled from the deep pulses your cunt was producing.
Jungkook groaned behind you. You gasped weakly when he removed himself inside your twitching pussy, your cum leaking onto the mattress, but he immediately lowered his head to catch your cum, wasting no drop.
âI c-cant, too much!â you cried.
Jungkook held your thighs firmly, slurping all your juices like a starved man. When he raised his head, his chin and nose were wet from your arousal. Using both his index fingers, he opened your hood, exposing your puffy clit. He leaned down to suck it, and you gasped when you felt your cum and his warm saliva spreading.
âOh daddy,â you moaned, another wave of pleasure rolling through your body.
He looked up at you, his tongue giving kitten licks on your clit. âAre you daddyâs good girl?â he murmured against it, his thumb circling the bud, the dual sensation making you lose your mind. âDo you like how daddy eats your pussy?â
âYes daddy, it f-feels nice.â
âNice?â Jungkook chuckled, sucking his thumb before rubbing his spit all over your clit. âIs this nice?â he mocked, looking at your bud as it looked so swollen and pink.
âDescribe nice for me,â he growled before standing up, carrying you with him. Your thighs wrapped around his waist as he walked beside the large mirror. Using both of his hands, he held your ass and pushed his cock inside your used hole, using almost no strength to lift your body just to push you up and down around his hard cock.
You could see your reflection in the mirrorâthe way he used your body to pleasure himself, the way his biceps flexed every time he pushed and pulled you against him. He carried you like a feather, your body like a used, fucked-up sex doll.
âIs this⊠nice?â he mocked you, his lips parted as he looked at your pleasured face. He could feel your juices dripping down his muscular thighs. He chuckled at you. âToo dumb to answer, baby? Is my cock making you feel so good?â
You squealed, gripping his arms tightly as your body bounced up and down. He was going so fast, his hips snapping against you, pushing up while forcing you down, the tip of his cock hitting your cervix.
âGonna cum, baby. Would you hold my cum inside like what I taught you?â he panted, his thrusts getting sloppy, his eyes hazy.
âY-Yes daddy.âÂ
Jungkook groaned, his hands gripping your ass hard, enough that it hurt. His cock drilled in so deep that you whimpered when he pulled your body close, forcing you down as he spilled all of his warm cum inside you. He groaned beside your ear, biting your neck through his intense orgasm, balls deep and snug against your ass. Your legs were shaking; you felt so full. You tried to move, but his grip was too strong. You could feel all of his cum filling your pussy, and it was so much that you could feel some of it dripping down your legs.
You thought he was done when he removed his cock inside you. Your legs wobbled as he quickly set you down on the bed, his hands palming your pussy as if to keep his cum inside you. Your eyes almost went out of their sockets when you saw that he was still hard.
âRaise your legs,â he rasped, gripping his cock from the base as he spread the cum that was left on his girth.
When you weakly raised your legs, he could see how much cum was inside your pussy, threatening to spill out.
âTouch yourself, push my cum deeper,â he said with serious eyes while staring at your hole.
Your eyes widened. âJ-Jungkook, t-thats-â
ââCome on baby, daddyâs waiting.âÂ
You gulped harshly. He was slowly rubbing his swollen cock, teasing the tip while waiting for you to move. Your small hand slowly reached down to your hole, pushing his cum deeper, but some of it spilled onto the bed. You tried your best to push it in further, but your past orgasm was still overstimulating you.
âLike this, d-daddy?ââ you said shyly.
Jungkook groaned, staring at his cum in your tight hole. âGood job baby, can you add another finger for me?âÂ
You added another finger. It was a lot easier to push his cum deeper, but your pussy was getting sensitive. You were whimperingâthe fact that he was just staring at you while rubbing his mushroom tip made you chase another high you didnât even realize was coming. The pad of your fingers brushing against your g-spot with his cum felt so good, forcing you into another mind-blowing orgasm. The fact that you came just from pushing his cum deeper felt so dirty.
âOh my gosh, I-fuck..â you were convulsing. You removed your fingers, trying to close your thighs shut, but Jungkook held your legs. He quickly inserted his hard cock, you were still pulsating and the feeling of his cock replacing your fingers extended your orgasm, your wet pussy clenching and unclenching around his cock.
âFuck you feel so good, Daddy didnât stretch you enough huh? Youâre still fucking tight.â he growled, his hips making a rolling motion as his fingers pinched your nipples harshly.
Your tongue was almost out, your pussy still quivering, your clit so sensitive that even the feeling of his pubic hair brushing against it felt incredibly intense.
âGonna fuck that tight little pussy till your loose, so that everytime you touch yourself your fingers would be too small for your gaping hole.â he grunted, his hands holding both of your wrists above your head, his other hand gripping your throat. He was fucking you so hard that your body was bouncing up. He crouched down to lick your sweaty neck, then moved down to your underarm, licking your sweat messily. You tried to move your arms, but his hold was firm, licking your other underarm and creating a huge wet mess.
âI-Iâm close,â you choked, chasing another orgasm, overwhelmed by how many times you had comeâyou were certain your pussy would be numb after this.
âHold it, you slut.â he bit the swell of your breast causing you to scream.
He held your body up, then laid down on the bed while holding your waist, placing you on top of him.
âRide my cock.â
Desperate for release, you positioned your body in front of him, but Jungkook stopped you.
âOn your back, babygirl.â he tapped your thighs.
Your cheeks reddened as you positioned your body with your back facing him. When you sank down, you immediately moaned, your ass against his lower stomach. The stretch felt so good, the veins on his cock filling your spongey walls perfectly.
âThatâs it, make daddy proud.â he groaned, holding your waist while you moved up and down on him. Your legs were aching, but you didnât care. When you felt his right tattooed hand slapping your ass, you almost came.
âYou look so pretty.â you heard him whisper, his hand caressing your ass, your brows furrowed when his hand went deeper. âLower your body for me.â
Confused and a bit dazed, you lowered your body while still riding him. You shrieked loudly when his fingers played with your exposed rim, circling around the hole. You held his thighs, squeezing them hard when he tried to push his thumb in, the stretch making you shiver.
âWould you let me fuck you here, baby?ââ he whispered, pushing this thumb deeper, your tight walls swallowing him.
You havenât done that beforeâyou canât even imagine it. He was the first man who touched you there. You were in so deep that you desperately nodded, clenching around his cock as the thought excited you.
He chuckled, âYouâre so dirty baby, gonna let me fill all your holes hmm?â
You nodded again. âYes, only for you J-Jungkook.â
âYeah? you love me that much huh? I bet you hump your little cooky plushies thinking itâs my hard cock instead.â
He removed his thumb from your ass just to insert his middle and index finger, causing you to scream at the stretch. "Tell me baby, how many times have you masturbated huh?" Your movements slowed down from the sensation.
âDo you fantasize about me? Fantasize about your bias fucking your slutty holes?ââ he taunted, pushing his fingers deeper, his hips pushing up to meet your thrusts.
It was embarrassing; you didnât answer, afraid to admit the dirty things you did every time you thought of Jungkookâafraid to admit how dirty you were behind your shy demeanor and innocent looks. You liked him so much, idolized him for years, dreamed about meeting him, dreamed about attending his concert, and in your most hidden fantasies⊠you dreamed about being his girlfriend, what it feels like to be loved by him, to be fucked by him.
âHmm, baby? I bet you do,â he chuckled.
He removed his fingers, slapping your ass cheeks, then flipping you down onto the bed. âMy dirty little girl, touching her little holes while thinking about her bias.â
You couldnât maintain eye contact, your fingers fiddling with the sheets when he went down to grind his cock against your pussy, both of his arms beside your head.
âAww baby, are you shy?â he cooed, pushing his cock inside you, trying to find the angle that hits your spot.
You pouted, your eyes a bit hesitant. He held your cheeks so you would look at him. âDonât worry⊠daddyâs here, Iâm gonna fuck you so good and make your dreams come true.âÂ
He spit into your parted mouth, urging you to swallow before fucking mercilessly into your tight hole. He held your thighs, almost folding you in half. Your pussy was so stretched and swollen. He leaned down to whisper moans in your ear, his movements so fast you were impressed by his stamina at this point.
âCum with me baby,â he panted, his thrusts getting sloppy, his mushroom tip hitting the right spot.
Jungkook forced you into another orgasm. You thought you wouldnât cum, but your pussy was pulsating so badly, his cock still drilling inside you.
He let out a strained growl, his breathing turning heavier with each passing second. When you felt him cumming, he removed his cock from your pussy⊠quickly inserting it into your other unused hole.
You screamed loudly, the stretch sudden and painful⊠you could feel his cock pushing his cum deep inside your ass, the sensation making you shake and cry. When you tried to move, he held your waist tightly, balls snug so he could keep his warm cum inside.
He kissed your cheek, âSo good for me, so pretty, so tight.â he whispered.
You thought he was done, but when he kissed you hard, his tongue dominating yours, you realized he wasnât fully sated yet. He pulled you onto the nearest table, bending you over, your hands gripping it for support.
âLift your leg here, baby,â he instructed, lifting your other leg so you were exposed to him.
The memories were hazyâyou remembered him fucking you on the table while your cheeks burned red from the way he pushed you down. You could see the reflection in the mirror, your doll shoes still intact, the table wet from your drool. After that, he fucked your breasts, urging you to suck the tip like a good little whore.
Every time you thought he was done, he would pull you back again, whispering dirty praises about how you were such a good slut for him. His stamina was so impressive, and you were also impressed that you managed to stay awake the whole time.
Even when he was washing you up, he was very sweet, washing your hair and body, yet his fingers were still trailing down your swollen pussy. You protested, but he told you not to worry, saying, âDonât worry baby, Iâm gonna rub the pain away,â while rubbing your pussy in slow circles, causing you to release another orgasm in the shower.
Before you drifted off to sleep, you felt him spreading your legs, whispering. âLast one pretty girl, let me leave you a present when you wake up, yeah? All nice and wet in the morning.âÂ
It felt almost unrealâlike something pulled from a dream you werenât fully ready to believe had happened.
When you woke up, Jungkook was no longer there.
Your body felt heavy, drained in a way that made even small movements difficult. You shifted under the covers, blinking slowly as reality started to settle in piece by piece.
The room was quiet. Still.
When you sat up, your gaze fell to your doll shoes placed neatly nearby.Â
You stared at them for a long moment, your chest tightening in a way you couldnât quite explain. A quiet reminder that last night had not been a dream.
You weakly stood up, wearing a comfy oversized shirt you were certain was his. Walking over to the table, you noticed a set of breakfast meals laid outâeggs, waffles, bacon, fruits, and a pitcher of orange juice.
Still a bit dazed, you sat down on the couch and stared at the food in front of you, your mind struggling to catch up with reality. Last night still felt distant, almost unrealâlike something your brain hadnât fully accepted yet. But every time you shifted slightly and felt the marks on your skin, the memory returned sharply.
It was real.
You knew the rules. You would never see him again, you would never contact him again, and anything that happened that night would stay with youâcarried quietly, taken to your grave.
Your eyes grew teary, not because you regretted it, but because some part of you wished it didnât end so quickly.
Wished it lasted longer.
You knew betterâthat you and him were not in a fairytale. You wouldnât be the special girl who eventually ends up with him. You werenât inside some ridiculous fanfiction where he would text you afterward, telling you he missed you, that he wanted to see you again, that he might even love you. Pure fiction.
Looking at the food in front of you, your eyes caught a small folded paper tucked beside the plate.
When you opened it, you had expected something sweetâmaybe a cute note, maybe his number. You already knew the number he used wasnât personal anyway, just an exclusive one-night line tied to the NDA.
âDollshoes.â
It was written quickly, but you recognized his handwriting immediately.
You looked around and spotted a paper bag beside the bed. You stood up at once, walking towards it, your hands already shaking before you even reached it.
Carefully, you opened it.
Inside was a pair of glittery doll shoes.
You searched for a note, but there was none.
You pouted slightly, your heart still skipping at the small gesture. It wasnât muchâbut it was something. At least he had left something for you.
It had been months since that night, but you would never forget it.
You told no oneânot Mina, not anyone, not even in passing. You were almost afraid that speaking it out loud would make it less real⊠or worse, make you forget it entirely, reducing it to something that only felt like a dream.
Over the months, something else slowly clicked into place.
While reviewing your notes one day, your eyes drifted absentmindedly to your tote bag. Only then did you notice the small cooky keychain attached to it.
It had to have been what his manager saw.
A quiet sense of relief settled in you thenâknowing that despite changing bags since that day, you had never taken it off.
You also tried to think harderâwhy did he give you a pair of doll shoes? Does he do that with all his hookups? Does he give them a farewell gift too after sleeping with them?
The thought left a strange mix in your chest. A little sadness. A little jealousy you couldnât quite justify.
And yet, the doll shoes still felt like a strong reminder that you were once hisâlike he gave you something so you wouldnât forget him.
Sometimes you would even wonder if everything that happened was only your imagination. His managerâs contact number, Jungkookâs numberâgone from your phone. The NDA had included a strict no-contact clause, and everything tied to that night had disappeared with it.
Afterward, you didnât see them anymore, and you had no idea whether they had even stayed in the country or left immediately.
The moment the marks on your body began to fade, you almost criedâlike something of him was slowly slipping away from you too.
Wearing the doll shoes he gave you, you sat in a nice outdoor coffee shop with your laptop and a hot latte.
It had been almost a year.
Despite the beautiful view around you, your attention was fixed on your screen. You were writing a paperâyour fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment longer than necessary, like they understood something you didnât want to admit.
You had been careful. Writing the details with precaution.
You changed the places, the countries, the names. You rewrote reality until it no longer belonged to anyone but you. Until it couldnât be traced backânot to him, not to that night, not to the NDA that should have never felt real in the first place.
You even made sure to hide it in plain sight.
Just another fanfiction.
Just another story.
Just enough to protect yourself.
Just enough to protect him.
Your foot tapped lightly beneath the table, uneven, restless. A habit you picked up a year ago. A habit you never lost.
And then you wrote itâthe memory still too fresh to feel like a memory at all.
âPlease, please, please!â you whispered to yourself, fingers crossed tightly as you stared at the three screens in front of you.
And for a brief secondâyou wondered if anyone would believe it was just fiction.
â â â â â â â â â â Ëâââàšà§âââ§âËâ â â â â â â â â â
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100% natural
All Night Long (m) - JJK
Teasing your husband whole day turns into him fucking you insane the entire night.
Pairing - HusbandJk x Wife!Reader
Genre - 18+, established relationship au, fluff, smut, MDNI
Wc - 4.1k
Warnings - dom jk, unprotected sex, bondage (hand tying) , rough sex, choking, edging, thigh riding, oral (f. receiving), fingering, ring play?, hair pulling, marking, breast play, overstimulation, crying, doggy, missionary, creampie, aftercare, kisses
a/n - see yaaaaa
Masterlist | ko-fi
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Jungkook knew by the third time whatever you were doing was far from innocent. The first time had been easy to ignore. You'd stepped closer while he was grabbing a drink, hand gliding down his grey vest as if there was something to fix, even though it was already perfect.
Then while eating, you'd brushed your hand over his thigh under the table. Although it's a habitual action but your fingers trailed a little too high and dangerously close to where he was already starting to feel the strain in his pants.
Later, when his aunt was showing some old photographs, his hand had rested politely on your waist, while you pressed back almost grinding against his crotch without anyone noticing.
God, you've kept testing his patience since you both arrived here.
From your side, it really wasnât your fault.
Your husband looked disgustingly hot tonight. The white shirt, the grey vest, the diamond brooch you'd gotten him and those fucking gold rings on his fingers. Your husband looked straight out of a scandalous magazine no less.
It had been too long since heâd properly touched you.
And by too long you mean this morning which only consisted of a desperate makeout session against the dressing table until his dad had called to remind not to be late for the family gathering.
so here he was- looking like pure sin in front of everyone while you were starving for your husband's touch. it's only fair enough to make him suffer too, right. But as you continued with your evil plan of torturing him with your little touches, you began enjoying it too much.
Jungkook was barely holding it together now. He's trying to look relaxed but you knew him too well. Oh, how he wishes if he could just bend you over this instant and fuck that brattyness out of you.
âAigoo, I left my reading glasses in the kitchen.â
âIâll get them for you, halmeoni.â You give her a sweet smile before making your to the kitchen.
The moment you reach for the glasses on the counter, a very familiar tattooed arm slams against the cabinet beside your head.
You turn around to find the man you've been successfully avoiding to meet alone. Jungkookâs other hand lands on your hip trapping you between his arms as he presses himself into you. You could absolutely feel the unmistakable bulge pressing against your body.
âWhat are you doing?â You try to keep your voice innocent.
Jungkook scoffs. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he tilts his head. âYou find this funny, huh?â
You try to bite back your smile. âI donât know what youâre talking about..â
âKeep up with the act and Iâll bend you over this counter right fucking now."
You gulp because your husband may or may not be kidding about this.
âHalmeoni!â you gasp looking at the doorway behind him.
Jungkook jerks back so fast he nearly loses his balance.
By the time he figures there's no one behind, you're snatching the glasses off the counter and dart past him with a bright giggle as you escape the kitchen.
âYou littleââ
He shakes his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair with a mix of amusement, adjusting his pants to hide his very obvious problem created by his wife.
--
By evening, itâs worse.
Much worse.
The garden's lit up with warm string lights filled with fun chattering and laughters.
But not for Jungkook, because heâs been on edge for hours now and itâs starting to show.
You see it in the way his fingers keeps drumming impatiently, in how his attention drifts back to you no matter who heâs talking to.
Which only makes it harder not to smile.
You sit on the grass with his niece, completely occupied as she shows you her new hair clip collection, nodding along, sharing a laugh at whatever sheâs explaining.
âReally?â you speak clipping one on her. âThatâs your favorite?â
She nods enthusiastically putting a few on your hair too.
âAre you staying?â she suddenly asks, looking up at you with hopeful eyes.
"Uhh.."
âStay.â She fists lightly at your dress with her little hand. âPlease?"
You soften instantly and glance up to meet Jungkookâs eyes.
The second he sees that look on your face he knows exactly what youâre about to do.
âNo, we can'tââ
âWe can stay,â you say at the same time, smiling down at her.
You donât look at your husband right away.
because you already know what youâll see.
and when you finally do glance upâ
Yeah.
There it is.
You actually have to press your lips together to stop a laugh.
Of course you didn't intend to stay the night but you also didn't have the heart to say no to his cute little niece. As the night stretches on everyone's scattered. Some have already gone to bed while others lounge in watching an old movie.
Youâre curled up on a big sofa, laughing along with Jungkookâs cousins. Jungkook sits across from you joining in here and there.
Itâs almost midnight and youâre still showing zero urgency to leave. Your usually patient husband is hanging on by a thread. Jungkook stands up after a moment before letting you know he's heading to bed and you sure catch the sharp edge in his voice when he looks at you.
You give it another twenty minutes before making your way down the room in the hallway where you always stay in whenever you visit.
Your eyes try to adjust to the darkness of the room.
Did Jungkook really fall asleep?
You did tease him a lot today. Heâs been worked up since morning and you spent the entire day pushing his buttons.
You pout closing the door behind you. What if he actually got annoyed and decided to just sleep?
The thought barely forms before strong hands grab your waist from behind and you're pinned against the door.
Jungkookâs hand slides up gripping your jaw to tilt your head back. You catch the intensity radiating off him as the moonlight spills through the thin curtains.
He breaths out dangerously calm.
âHad too much fun today, didn't you?â His body burns hot against yours. He only has his trousers on. You can feel how painfully hard he is as his thick length of his cock presses insistently against your ass.
His thumb brushes over your bottom lip almost too possessive.
âMy turn now.â
A soft whimper escapes your lips the moment he speaks into your ear. One of his large palm squeezes your waist while the other slides down along your thigh.
You whimper again pressing back against him seeking more friction. The movement makes him growl in warning.
He reaches for the zipper at the back of your dress and yanks it down almost roughly making it pool at your feet. For a second you think heâs finally going to fuck you senseless against the door. but you know your husband too well. After all the teasing you put him through today- heâs going to make you pay for every single second of it first.
You almost whine the moment you feel the loss of his heat. You hear the sound of him unbuckling his belt. Turning around fully, you find Jungkook has dropped his trousers. Sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but his black boxers.
The obscene bulge straining against it only adds more to your wetness.
âCome here.â
Your legs feel weak as you walk towards him.
His gaze drops to your panties. âOff.â
You do as he says, sliding off your drenched fabric down your legs.
Jungkook taps his thick thigh once, manspreading wider. You already know exactly what he wants.
The moment your dripping core makes contact with his veiny muscle, a sharp gasp leaves your lips. His thigh is warm and firm and slightly rough with a light dusting of hair that drags deliciously against your sensitive folds.
Your arms hook around his neck for balance as you begin to rock your hips forward.
His eyes stay locked on where your pussy is pressed, watching the way your slick glistens on his skin.
His muscle flexes beneath you, pressing harder against your clit. Your head falls forward onto his shoulder with a broken moan.
âJungkoo-â You can feel how wet you are by how easily youâre gliding over his thigh. Jungkook leans back on his palms flat on the bed behind him.
He doesnât touch you even once. Even as his cock is straining hard against his boxers leaving a wet patch from watching you use him.
Normally, Jungkookâs hands and mouth are always on you. So you know he's deliberately making you suffer.
You moan louder as desperation starts to build. Your slick is dripping down his thigh now.
âKook.. pleaseâ
You become needy. Youâre aching for his hands, for his mouth, for anything he's willing to give.
Your hands slide down his chest, pressing against the hard planes of muscle. You need more. You need him to touch you.
You dip your head and bite down on his shoulder making him hiss through his teeth.
âKook.. touch me..â
Your voice comes out in a pathetic whimper.
Jungkook exhales through his nose in a mock.
You whine loudly, hips stuttering against his thigh as you try to chase the pleasure but it's not enough. Itâs almost painful not having your husbandâs hands on you when you need him the most.
Your hand moves down to palm him over his boxers. Jungkook lets out a groan jerking up into your touch.
One moment you're riding his thigh and the next you find yourself thrown onto the bed.
âYouâre not getting to touch me soon.â
His words vibrate against your skin as he licks a stripe from the column of your throat.
âMy wife's been such a brat."
You whimper trying to reach for him again but he catches both of your wrists in one large hand and pins them above your head. Jungkook reaches for something beside you and you know from the feel of it that it's the grey tie he wore. He ties the silk around your wrists tight enough that you feel the gentle bite of restraint.
Jungkook sits back admiring his work. His eyes rake slowly over your body while his fingers barely touch over your belly. Jungkookâs eyes darken even more as he watches you squirm beneath him.
He buries his head into the crook of your neck, teeth sinking into the soft skin to make you gasp followed by the wet heat of his mouth as he sucks hard.
He pulls back up to hover his lips barely an inch away from your own, so close you can feel the warmth of his whiskey breath. You chase his mouth, lips parting in plea to pull him down into a proper kiss. Jungkook exhales a low laugh against your lips. Your back archs as he unclasps your bra.
âYou know the safe word?â he speaks against your skin as he starts kissing his way down between the valley of your breasts.
You whine nodding frantically, too worked up to form proper words.
He pauses above your left nipple, his warm breath fanning over the hardened peak.
âwords, sweetheart.â
âyes.. jungkook, pleaseââ
The plea barely leaves your mouth before he finally sucks hard around your nipple. His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud while his hand continues its torturous path, fingers barely moving along your slick folds.
He alternates between sucking and gentle bites on your breast, then moves to the other one giving it the same attention. All the while, his fingers tease your entrance dipping in just the tip of one finger before pulling back.
Youâre panting now, wrists straining against his tie, body arching up into his mouth and hand. Jungkook lifts his head, eyes locked on your flushed face as he continues his slow descent down your body, lips and tongue tracing a wet path over your stomach until he settles between your spread thighs.
When his eyes land on your pussy, a rough sound rumbles from his chest. A thin string of arousal clings to your inner thigh and every time your walls clench around nothing, more of it leaks out.
âIâm sorry,â your voice comes out as a broke whimper. âSorry, Jungkook.. pleaseâ
Itâs embarrassing how quickly the apology spills from your lips even though he hasnât said a single word yet.
Jungkook hums against your thigh. He lifts your left leg angling it up to rest your ankle on his broad shoulder. The new position spreads you open even more for him, exposing your dripping pussy completely to his hungry gaze.
âCanât hear you.â He places an open-mouthed kiss right on the inside of your ankle.
You whine pathetically.
âKook, please...â Your voice cracks with desperation. âneed you.. so bad. pleaseââ
Jungkook's own desperation wins as he dips his head down dragging his tongue through your folds. The loud moan escapes you as your back arches for him. His hot tongue laps at you with deliberate strokes.
The cool silver of his lip rings only add more to your pleasure as he eats you out like a mad man. One of his hands grips your thigh tightly holding your leg in place on his shoulder while the other slides under your ass, tilting your hips up so he can bury his face deeper between your legs. You moan his name like prayers.
You bring your tied hands to thread your fingers into his hair. Jungkook groans loudly at the tug. His scalp stings from how hard youâre pulling but it only seems to spur him on.
You cry out from the pleasure of his relentless licking, sucking and kissing every inch of your dripping pussy.
Youâre shaking. Whimpering. Already close to tears from how badly you need to come but Jungkook pulls back every time only to start the torturous cycle all over again.
âHands above your head.â Jungkook spreads your folds open with two fingers before you feel the flat of his ring-clad fingers directly onto your swollen clit. You let out a sharp moan as the thick gold rings make contact with your overheated skin. "Fuckââ
He knows how much you love these. How fucking turned on you get every time you see them on his hands. He starts rubbing circles over your clit, letting them drag again and again adding a new kind of delicious friction that makes your toes curl.
Your arousal is leaking steadily down your thighs and onto the sheets beneath you more so coating his shiny gold.
âLook at you,â He murmurs opening you up more. âDripping all over my rings like a desperate little wife. You love feeling them on your pretty pussy, donât you?â
You desperately pull down on your tied wrists against the sheets. Your hips twitch uncontrollably trying to grind against the cool metal.
Jungkook chuckles darkly.
He dips his fingers lower curling them deep.
Tears of pleasure stings your eyes as your husband mercilessly continues with fucking you with his fingers.
Every time your moans get louder, every time your pussy starts clenching too hard around his fingers he slows down or pulls back completely leaving you empty and throbbing.
You sob from the frustration and overwhelming pleasure. âI canât.. koo.. please let me come..â
Jungkook leans down pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your inner thigh. âNo,â he sounds almost gentle despite the cruel way heâs denying you.
âYouâre gonna come only on my cock tonight.â
He flips you over onto your stomach as his possessive hands manhandle your body yanking your ass up high.
Your tied hands remain stretched above your head. Your back arches deeply, ass presented perfectly for him pussy dripping and exposed.
âFuck, look at you,â He holds you in place with a bruising grip as he admires the view of his wife.
You finally finally feel the drag of Jungkookâs leaking cock through your soaked folds. The hot tip teases your clit all the way down to your entrance. You canât help it as you push back against him trying to take him inside.
âMy greedy little wife,â he lets out a chuckle.
Before you can form a single word he pushes in with a deep thrust. A loud cry rips from your throat. Jungkookâs cock finds home as he buries himself to the hilt. The sudden fullness makes your walls flutter wildly around him.
âFuck- baby,â he groans, fingers digging harder into your waist.
He doesnât give you any time to breathe. He pulls back almost all the way only to slam back in harder setting a brutal pace right away. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass fills the room, mixed with your broken moans and his low grunts.
Your hands fist the sheets above your head as he fucks you roughly from behind manhandling your body however he pleases.
âTake it,â his voice drips possession. âTake every fucking inch like youâve been begging for all day.â
Youâre so glad the rooms in this farmhouse are built soundproof because the noises spilling from your mouth are beyond obscene. Every brutal thrust forces another filthy sound out of you. wet slaps of skin against skin mixing with the squelch of your soaked pussy taking his cock.
Jungkook fucks you rough and deep. His relentless pace makes you see stars. pounding into you from behind as if heâs trying to fuck the brat right out of your body.
His hand slides up from your waist to cup your breast to grope the soft flesh roughly. His fingers find your hardened nipple and pinch it hard.
You cry out.
Youâre so close already.
He tugs your hair back roughly with one hand making your back arch until it presses against his strong chest. A strangled moan rips from your throat. The new position has his cock hitting even deeper inside you.
His hand snakes up your body and wraps firmly around your throat making your moan turn choked.
âYou donât get to come until I say so."
He bites down on whatever part of your skin his mouth can reach. His teeth sink in to leave dark bruises, marking you up as he continues thrusting into you with punishing strokes.
âAll fucking mine,â he growls right against your ear. His hand tightens slightly around your throat as he speaks. "Taking my cock so well.â
His other hand slides down your body pressing rubbing against your swollen clit.
The sudden added stimulation makes your entire body jerks violently as the orgasm crashes through you.
Tears spill freely from your eyes, sliding down into your hair as your walls clamp down around his cock like a vice. Your pussy gushes around him while he keeps thrusting through it until your legs shake uncontrollably.
"such a brat, aren't you."
You barely recover from the first orgasm of the night before your husband has you on your back.
You try focusing your blurry eyes on him.
Jungkook has his hand stroking his cock glistening with your sweet arousal. The sight of you wrecked and crying beneath him makes him more feral.
He moves on top of you taking your tied wrists and pins them above your head. His mouth crashes down on you hard.
Jungkook barely gives you a moment to breathe between his devouring kisses. You moan against his lips as his cock slides all the way in you again. His hand tightens around your wrists as he starts fucking you harder.
Though the Jeon house has highest grade furnitures but the way Jungkook fucks into you. you pray the bed doesn't break.
âWanted your husband's cock so bad, didnât you?â he punctuates each word with a hard thrust. âNow take it. All of it. Itâs all yours, baby.â
You can only sob in pleasure as he fucks you into oblivion as he keeps pounding and pouring filthy praises just for you.
You feel like youâre floating in a dream.
You have no idea how many hours have passed. All you know is the endless pleasure of being pulled apart and put back together by your husbandâs insatiable hunger.
His stamina is almost animalistic, reminding you of your honeymoon phase when he'd made love seven days a week. In your husband's words, he could never get enough of his beautiful wife.
Jungkook has always been quite experimental with your sex life. loves trying new things, toys, positions on you. but his absolute favourite is still classic missionary. because he gets to see your face when you come.
Jungkook has both of your legs pushed up over his shoulders now folding you in half as he drives into you insane. The angle is brutal, making your eyes roll back.
when he pulls your legs down making them wrap weakly around his waist. your thighs are barely able to hold onto him so Jungkook hooks one arm under your thigh holding it up for you. Youâve completely lost count of how many orgasms youâve had tonight.
Your mind is too blissed out to keep track of anything and your husband just canât seem to stop. Jungkook chases every broken moan that leaves your lips.
By the time he finally spills inside you for the last time, youâre more than completely spent.
Your body is covered in his marks. Your pussy is leaking his cum and your legs are shaking so badly you know with absolute certainty you wonât be able to walk properly tomorrow morning.
Jungkook collapses beside you holding you in his arms. You're too dizzy to figure what's happening anymore. But you sure feel your wrists getting lighter followed by so many soft kisses on them and your forehead and your cheeks before you finally pass out.
--
The first thing you register as you awaken are feather-light touches gliding over your skin along with lips trailing down your bare back. You stir letting out a hum.
Jungkookâs hand continues its slow caress down the curve of your waist, over the dip of your hip, then back up again. He becomes so soft after every intense night you spend together. It never not makes you fall for him harder each time.
Jungkook nuzzles his head into your neck while his hand slips between your legs with aching gentleness. His fingers almost caresses over your swollen folds.
A soft whine escapes you as turn around in his embrace, but the moment you do, a sharp hiss leaves your lips.
âShit, babyâ he speaks while his eyes look down to check. âhurts a lot?â
you nuzzle your face into his neck seeking his warmth.
âI can manage..â you mumble against his skin.
Jungkook places a kiss to your hair.
âIâll cook your favourite pasta when we get home."
You immediately look up at him.
âWork?â
He brushes a hair aside from your face.
âTaking the day off.â
Your face lights up and you lean to peck his cheek.
âIâll make cheesecake too.â Jungkook shows you his other cheek.
You smile childishly wrapping your arms around his neck smacking another one of your sweet pecks.
âAnd?â
He slides you closer by your waist, tangling your legs together with his.
âAnd Iâm gonna give you a Jeon Jungkook special massage,â he finishes with a peck on your nose.
âAnd?â you tilt your head still grinning.
Jungkook lets out a quiet laugh.
âAnd Iâm gonna spoil my wife so so much.â his thumb brushes over your cheek.
âYou already do,â you lean in to kiss him properly on the lips. He chases your mouth when you try to pull away.
âWell, Iâll add more to that then." A shared giggle fills between you as Jungkook rolls on top of you and starts attacking you with more of his kisses.
Kripke please let them kiss just once, they're dying for it

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DOWNHILL TO THE SHACK đ đ đ
remmick x fem!reader one-shot.
your daddy sticks the strange new farmhand in the small house by the barn, figuring itâs safer to keep a man like that close. it isnât. remmick spends his nights watching you, and when you finally sneak down in your nightgown to âset him straight,â he bends you over his table and fucks the fight right out of you. (wc: 22k). ao3 link
ănotes âžâž.áâ i was mad horny everytime i opened the doc to work on this⊠this is def one of my fav fics that i have written, and iâm ngl and say i wonât write anything else with this dynamic bc itâs too juicy. beta read by my offline irl bbg (iâm trying to get her to make an acc đ)
ă contents âžâž.áâ morally dubious behavior. virginity taking. peeping tom behavior / voyeurism (heâs a creep). m!masturbation. size kink. vaginal fingering. very light choking. groping. manhandling. breeding kink if you squint. messy sex. cum play. light overstimulation. rough sex. table sex. unprotected p in v. power imbalance. period-typical misogyny. small talks of purity culture. predator / prey vibes. praise w a little degradation. possessiveness. mdni 18+
Night eases down over the fields slow as molasses, settling in the furrows and fence lines until everything looks dipped in ink.Â
The porch sits right on the edge of it, a little island of yellow lantern light with you cross-legged in your chair, enamel bowl in your lap, fingers slick with bean juice. Crickets grind away in the ditch, frogs answer from somewhere near the pond, and the heat that pressed on your skin all day finally lets go a little, turning soft and damp and heavy instead of mean.
Your daddy, Joe, stands out by the road with a cigarette, just that small orange coal drifting up and down whenever he draws on it.
Heâs mostly shadow, hat brim pulled low, shoulders a dark cutout against the pale strip of dirt lane. The smoke hangs around him in thin gray strands, catching the lantern glow before the breeze worries it apart.
The wagon makes itself known before you see it. A tired rattle carrying over the fields long and low, iron and wood complaining in a way that could belong to any old rig on any old night.Â
The mule steps out of the dark first, ears flicking, hooves whispering in the dust, harness creaking, then the wagon-bed, then the man riding it, the whole shape of him hunched against the evening like the roadâs been sitting on his back.
He climbs down slow, not careless, one boot testing the ground, then the other. He isnât tall; not one of those long, scarecrow boys you see come through town sometimes. Heâs put together closer to the earth than that, thick through the shoulders and arms, weight settled in the meat of him instead of stretched out.Â
Shirt pulls across his chest where the fabric has been asked to hold too much too often, sleeves rolled to his forearms, muscle and old work written in the dust and veins there. Suspenders run straight over his torso, holding everything decent, but thereâs something loose under the neatness, a restless set to the way he carries himself, like heâs got more energy than his frame knows what to do with.
His hat sits low enough to shade most of his face until he steps up nearer and the porch light reaches for him.
âEveninâ, Sir,â he says, voice a slow scrape, low and worn, like itâs been dragged over gravel and cigarettes for years.Â
The vowels donât belong to your county, not exactly, but he leans into them like heâs been practicing, trying to make them fit the dirt under his boots.
âEveninâ,â Joe, flicks ash toward the ditch without turning. âYou Remmick?â
âYes, sir.â
He takes off his hat then, presses it to his chest in a gesture that seems to be humble, and in that little bow you see the line of him clear.Â
Hair dark and close-cropped, stubborn where itâs tried to wave up and been tamed with water and a hand. Jaw rough with stubble that looks more forgotten than stylish.Â
Thereâs a hardness around his mouth, something that could tilt into a grin or a snarl with not much provocation either way.
When he straightens and lifts his eyes, they cut toward the porch, and you feel it right away when they land on you, as sure as if somebody laid a hand on your bare ankle.
A limp green bean hangs between your fingers, ends torn and wet.
His gaze drifts, following your calves where your skirtâs ridden up, running along the slope of your shins and the span of your knees pressed together, sliding up the line of your apron and the thin open V between your collar buttons where the night air pushes in against your skin.Â
He looks like heâs reading you, not just seeing you, taking his time over every line.
You go still, sharp-aware of every place your dress touches your body and every place it doesnât.
The bean pieces drop into the bowl as you lower your eyes to the boards. The porch wood is dark and warped from years of feet, knot-holes winking like little eyes in the dim.
You fix on those, on the small wet snaps and soft taps of beans piling against enamel. Anything that is not the feeling of a strangerâs stare walking up and down you like a man checking fence.
âBaby,â your father says, voice flat, cigarette smoke curling out on the word. âSay eveninâ.â
You wipe your hands on your apron and stand, bare feet quiet on the boards. âEveninâ,â you say, polite as sunday, letting the rest of what you feel sink down where it wonât show on your face.
Remmick smiles like he hears it anyway. It isnât wide or warm. Just a slow tug at one corner of his mouth, a small, crooked tilt that never quite reaches his eyes.
âEveninâ, miss,â he answers, and thereâs a drag in that word miss, the s held just long enough to make it catch.
Miss, when he could have asked for your name, when any decent man might have. Your father hasnât offered it yet, so you keep it closed up in your mouth.
âGirl oughta be in bed this hour,â Joe mutters, eyes on the yard, not on you. âAinât no call for her to be sittinâ out like some boy on watch. Nightâs for men workinâ, not for women gawkinâ.â
The words land on your shoulders like an old coat, familiar weight, old smell. You bite down on what you want to say and feel it burn on the way down.
âIâm finishinâ the beans,â you tell him instead, hands tightening on the bowl till the rim bites into your palms. You donât bother trying to explain that the dark sits easier on your skin than the hard white noon does, that the night gives you a little space to stretch.
You can feel Remmick watching you still, not with that sloppy hunger youâve seen from boys in town, all elbows and gawking.
This is like heâs comparing what he sees to something heâs held in his head a long time.Â
âDonât reckon thereâs any harm in her gettinâ some air, Sir,â he says after a moment, pitched low, as if heâs offering reason and not meddling. âSo long as she stays where you can see her.â He tips his head, and his eyes make another lazy path over you, unashamed. âWorldâs rough for a girl on her own.â
Your daddy snorts, jaw tightening just enough for you to notice. âYou just worry âbout them fields, son. I didnât hire you to advise on my girl.â
The almost-smile on Remmickâs mouth doesnât quite leave. âYes, sir,â he says. âIâll give all my attention to what youâre payinâ me for.â
He keeps his words aimed at your father, but his gaze is not that obedient. It flicks back to you when he says attention, and thereâs weight in it, promise, something that makes your skin prickle fine all over. Something in you bristles right back, lifts its head like a barn cat whose tailâs been stepped on.
You draw a breath and set the bowl against your hip. âWhere you want him sleepinâ?â you ask your father, eyes fixed out over the yard so you donât have to meet either manâs stare straight on.
âIn the old place.â Joe jerks his chin toward the smaller farmhouse slumped beyond the wellâa squat little shape where the lamplight doesnât reach, half-eaten by shadow. âCloser to the barn. Got a bed and a stove. Man donât need more than that.â
Remmick turns to look at it, and the lantern light catches his eyes in a strange way, making them flash for an instant like thereâs something slick behind them.
The little house sits there like itâs been waiting, windows dark, door shut up tight, roofline sagged just enough to look suspicious.
âThatâll do,â he says. âIâm a night sort myself. Easier workinâ when the sunâs gone and the air ainât tryinâ to boil you clear through. Less trouble all around.â
He says it easy, like itâs about sweat and shade and nothing else, but you hear the way he shapes night in his mouth, the soft way he lets it roll off his tongue, and something in your belly curls up smaller and sharper.
âHeard you donât care much for daylight,â Joe says, watching him out of the corner of his eye.
Remmickâs jaw shifts, a muscle ticking like it wants to answer on its own. He glances at you, quick and bright, before he looks down at his boots. âSun donât care much for me,â he finally drawls. âBurns me to char if I let it. Always been that way. Doctor said I got delicate skin.â
The word sits wrong in your ear as soon as itâs out, delicate, dangling over this stocky man with forearms roped up in tendon and dirt ground into his knuckles, hands that look like they were made to break things, not handle them gentle.Â
It slips out of you before you can catch it, quiet and skeptical. âDelicate,â you repeat, eyes finding his without meaning to.
He catches that and settles into it like a cat into a warm spot. âYou donât think so, miss?â he asks, voice a touch softer now, gaze steady and unblinking.
You ought to let it pass. Ought to dip your head and let the men talk over you, let delicate lie between them like some joke you werenât meant to get.Â
Instead you hold his stare in the lantern glow, take your time looking back the same way he did to you, tracing the faint hollows under his eyes, the line of his nose, the mouth that looks used to biting down on words and maybe on other things too.
âNo, sir,â you say finally, after a beat that stretches long. âYou donât look delicate at all.â
Something shifts behind his eyes at that, something pleased and sharp that makes your heart knock once, hard, against your ribs. The corner of his mouth tugs just a shade higher.
âThen I suppose Iâll have to live up to what you see,â he murmurs. âWould be a shame to disappoint you.â
Your daddy grinds his cigarette out under his heel, done with this line of talk. âYou can unload what you got, then Iâll show you the place,â he says. âGot work waiting for nobody. You ainât too tired from sittinâ on a wagon all day, are you?â
Remmick rolls one shoulder, hand rubbing the back of his neck. The stretch shifts his shirt over his back, pulls the fabric across solid muscle there.
You feel your breath snag for half a second and hate that it does.
âWagon ainât heavy,â he says. âIâll get settled quick, then you can put me to whatever needs doinâ.â
Joe nods and starts toward the dim outline of that little house, his boots crunching through the loose gravel near the well. The lantern light falls behind him with each step until heâs just another moving patch of dark.
Remmick lingers at the foot of the porch. He settles his hat back on his head, brim bringing his eyes into shadow again, but you can still feel them.
âYou finish them beans,â he tells you, voice gone softer, aimed up at you like a secret. âMan works better with a full belly.â
Thereâs nothing in the words you could point to and call wrong, nothing on the surface you could carry to your father and hold up like proof.
Still, the way his gaze drifts down and back up as he says them leaves something slick and uneasy under your ribs. Heat crawls up your neck, hot in a way that has nothing to do with the air.
âIâll see to whatâs mine,â you say, gripping the bowl till your fingers ache. âSame as you should see to yours.â
His laugh is low, a rough little sound that lives in his chest and doesnât quite make it to his teeth. He dips his head a fraction, like youâve handed him a dare instead of brushing him off. âOh, I intend to,â he replies. âYou can count on it.â
Then he turns and walks after your father, stride easy, body moving with a loose sort of purpose. His shadow stretches out along the yard behind him, tossed strange and long by the lantern, then swallowed up as he and Joe move past the well.Â
The small farmhouse waits ahead, black windows staring, door a darker cut in the wall. It looks, for one breath, like itâs swallowing the two men whole.
You stand there with the lantern hissing softly at your elbow and watch the dark take them.Â
When the yard settles again, when their footsteps fade and the crickets creep back up to full volume, the space between the barn and the house does not feel the same. Itâs as if something else has stepped into it and sat down, something you cannot see but can sense just the same, like a pressure change before a storm.
You sit again, bowl back in your lap, fingers finding another handful of beans by habit alone. The wet snap of them breaking sounds too loud in the hush, echoing in the hollow boards under your feet.Â
Every few seconds, your eyes drag toward that low silhouette out past the well, toward the little house that is not empty anymore.
You tell yourself youâre only minding where your father put a stranger.Â
The first night after he arrives, he walks the fence line while you wash dishes.
You hear his boots dragging through the loose gravel near the yard, then the softer sound of steps in the grass.Â
The screen door hangs open to let the air move, lantern burning low over the sink. Your arms are wet to the elbow, suds creeping up your forearms as you scrub at a pan thatâs older than you are.Â
Out past your own reflection in the dark window, you catch a small shape of motionâthe swing of a lantern out near the barn, then the shorter, solid outline of him moving along the fence, checking posts, rattling wire.Â
He doesnât look up at the house that you can tell, doesnât lift the light toward you, just keeps on with that steady pace, head bent.Â
Still, your shoulders hunch like youâve been caught at something you havenât done. The glass fogs a little with the breath you donât remember letting out.
You tell yourself itâs good your father found a man willing to walk the property at night. Thatâs what you tell yourself as you rinse plates and stack them, as the little yellow circle of his lantern slides back and forth along the edge of your sight.
The second night you have to bring him his supper, because your father âforgets.â
Itâs late by the time the last of the pots are scraped and put away, your back aching from standing, hair pasted to your neck. Joe leans back in his chair, radio humming low on the table, and says without looking up, âThat boy eat?â
You still your hands on the dishrag. âAinât seen him at the table.â
âDamn it,â He grumbles, more at himself than you. âTold him come in if he heard me holler and I ainât never thought to holler. Fix him a plate and take it down. Man donât work right hungry.â
You swallow whatever you were about to say about whose job it is to feed farmhands, scrape together a plate from whatâs leftâtwo biscuits gone hard at the edges, a ladle of beans, a piece of ham with more bone than meatâand cover it with a clean cloth.Â
The air outside hits your damp skin and feels cooler than it ought to. The night smells like dirt and hay and whateverâs blooming along the ditch.Â
The smaller farmhouse sits out near the barn with a faint thread of light leaking around the edges of its curtain, not bright enough to spill onto the yard. You walk out there, skirt brushing your ankles, plate balanced careful in both hands.
You knock, knuckles soft on the wood. For a second thereâs nothing, then the faint scrape of a chair, the hush of someone crossing a small room.Â
The door opens only halfway. He fills the gap, shoulder and chest just there, heat and sweat.
âEveninâ,â he says, voice a little rough, like he hasnât used it since sundown. âYou lost?â
You hold the plate out, not stepping any closer than you have to. âDaddy forgot to call you in. Told me to bring your supper.â
His eyes go to your hands first, to the way your fingers wrap the rim of the plate, then to the food, then back up.Â
He doesnât reach right away; he lets the moment stretch, his gaze traveling from your wrists up your arms, lingering on the damp on your skin, on the few stray strands that have worked loose at your temple and stuck there.Â
âThatâs mighty kind,â he says at last, taking the plate so slow his fingers brush yours.Â
Theyâre not as rough as you expected, just warm and solid, the pads of them catching against your knuckles. âHope he didnât drag you out here from your bed on account of me.â
âI wasnât in bed,â you answer, because lying feels worse than telling him anything true. âKitchen donât clean itself.â
He makes a small noise at that, somewhere between agreement and amusement. âNo, maâam. Worldâd fall apart if it werenât for everything women do men donât think about. Least he can do is call me in for a plate now and then instead of sending you.â
You donât like that it sounds almost gentle, that thereâs no clear edge you can grab onto and call wrong.
You nod once and start to turn away, wanting the room behind that door to stay his business and not have to wonder whatâs in it.
âMiss?â he says, and you stop even though you donât want to. âYou tell your daddy Iâm obliged. To him and to you.â
You keep your eyes on the yard. âHeâll hear you tomorrow.â
âMaybe I like the thought of you carryinâ my thanks,â he says, voice dipping lower.
You donât answer to that. You walk back toward the big house with your empty hands and you feel his eyes between your shoulder blades all the way to the porch steps.
Another night you pass him by accident at the pump.
You come around the corner of the house with a pail in each hand, too focused on not sloshing well water onto your skirt to notice him right off.Â
Heâs just there suddenly in the lanternâs edge, sleeves rolled high, suspenders hanging loose at his hips, hair damp with sweat or water; you canât tell which.Â
The pump squeaks once as he lets go of the handle. Moonlight catches the wet on his forearms, the curve of muscle there, the scar that runs pale along his left wrist like a rope burn that never faded.
You stop short, pails swinging. âDidnât know you were usinâ it,â you say. âIâll wait.â
He tips his head, that same little crooked half-smile thinking about showing up. âYou scared Iâm gonna dirty the water, standinâ too near?â His accent is thicker tonight, as if heâs tired of smoothing them for everybodyâs sake.
âI ainât scared,â you say. Your voice comes out flatter than you mean it to, which only makes him watch you harder. âJust got taught not to crowd folk when theyâre at work.â
âAnd here I thought you were just beinâ polite,â he murmurs. He steps back from the pump, gives you room to pass. âGo on, then. Wouldnât do to have Mr. Joeâs girl haulinâ from the ditch âcause I hogged the handle.â
You move past him, the damp of his skin ghosting near your elbow, the smell of iron and sweat and something like tobacco clinging to him. You set a pail under the spout and work the handle, arm moving in a practiced rhythm.
The pump groans, then warm water shudders up from below, splashing cold over your fingers when you misjudge the first rush.
His gaze sits on your hands again, on the bare forearms you didnât bother covering because itâs night and thereâs no sun to scold you. âYou do all that yourself?â he asks. âWater, cookinâ, everything inside?â
âMe and Mama,â you say, though your motherâs cough has been bad enough lately you both know itâs more you than her. âDaddyâs got the fields.â
âAnd now heâs got me,â Remmick says, watching your arm work. âGuess Iâm supposed to make life easier âround here.â
âThen do it,â you answer, a little sharper than you meant. The second pail fills and you swing it away, careful not to splash your toes. âDonât stand around talkinâ about it.â
For a heartbeat thereâs quiet. Then he laughs, low and delighted. âThere she is,â he says under his breath, as if heâs been waiting on that bite.Â
When you glance over, he isnât offended. He looks satisfied, eyes bright, lean mouth curled up. âYou keep snappinâ at me like that, miss, I might start thinkinâ youâre sweet on me.â
âOr you might start thinkinâ wrong,â you shoot back, lifting both buckets. The weight drags at your shoulders, but youâd sooner drop in the yard than ask him to carry them.
He doesn't offer, just watches you walk away, and you can feel that as keenly as the pull of the water on your arms.
There are other little moments like that, small as splinters. Like, when you cross paths in the barn one evening when you go to check on a cow that lowed funny through your window.Â
Heâs already there when you reach the threshold, one hand on the animalâs neck, murmuring something soft and nonsense in her ear.Â
She calms under his touch, sides heaving slow, eyes rolling less. The lantern hangs from a nail overhead, throwing golden light over the dust in the air, over his shoulders, over the cowâs hide.Â
He glances up when he senses you, and for a blink his irises flash almost too light, as if the lanternâs in them and not above him. Then theyâre ordinary again, a color you could name if you got close enough, and heâs saying, âShe just didnât like the thunder,â even though the skyâs been clear all day.
You lean on the stall rail, arms folded, watching his hand move in slow strokes along the cowâs neck.Â
The steadiness of him with animals makes something twist in you, something like reluctant respect and something like fear, because if he can soothe two thousand pounds of nervous flesh with a voice and a touch, what could he do to yours if he ever decided to try.
On another night you fix a tear in one of his work shirts at the kitchen table because your father plops it there and says, âStupid foolâs gonna walk around with his arm hanginâ out if someone donât thread a needle.âÂ
You mutter that Remmick has two hands and surely they can manage a seam, but you fetch your sewing basket anyway.Â
The fabric smells faintly of him, sweat and field and that odd metallic thread thatâs been nagging at the back of your senses since he arrived.Â
You push the needle through worn cotton and wonder how a man gets a rip that clean across the bicep, by snagging it on barbed wire or nail head, without a single bloodstain around the torn edge.
He shows up to collect it before you take it down yourself. Donât know how he knows itâs ready, but heâs at the door not long after you knot the last stitch, hat in hand like heâs paying a call.
Your fatherâs gone out back to piss or smoke or both, your motherâs dozing in her chair, so itâs just you in the quiet kitchen with your fingers still sore from the work.
âYou didnât have to,â he says when you hand the folded shirt over. âCouldâve walked around indecent a day or two, see if anyone complained.â
âMy father would,â you say. âDonât like loose things on his land.â
He takes the shirt with his good arm, the other rolling his shoulder like it aches. The lantern throws his eyes into little warm coins.Â
Some nights you only see him from a distance.
Through your bedroom window when you should be sleeping, you catch the sway of his lantern again and again, marking his rounds. In the moonlight, his stride is compact, efficient, not showy.Â
He moves like someone whoâs spent a long time walking alone, someone who knows better than to waste steps. He never seems to stumble, never misjudges a rut or loose stone.
You watch him slip between the barn and the smaller house, in and out of shadow, and you tell yourself youâre just making sure heâs where he should be, that you are only doing what your father would want.
You notice, too, the nights when the light in his window stays on longer than makes sense. Long after your fatherâs snores have settled and your mamaâs breath has evened into sleep, after youâve lain there staring at the ceiling until your eyes burn, that far-off square of yellow will still be sitting out there at the edge of your sight.Â
Sometimes you think you see the shadow of him cross it, head bowed, shoulders hunched, moving back and forth in a tight little path, but when you squint itâs gone.
Once, you step out onto the porch for air and catch him already looking.
You donât see him at first; you just feel that prickling awareness that has become his signature in your body.Â
Then your eyes find him where heâs paused near the barn, one hand on the fence post, the other hanging loose at his side. No lantern this time, just moonlight on his face, flattening all the hard parts, making his eyes look too bright and his mouth too soft.Â
He doesnât look away when you notice him. He doesnât call out or tip his hat in greeting. He just stands there in the dark, steady as another post, and lets you decide whether to step back inside or stay where the night can see both of you.
You stay a breath longer than you should, chest tight, heartbeat stepping up loud between your ears. Then you reach for the door, fingers curling around splintered wood, and it feels, for a strange second, like youâre the one retreating and heâs the one who lives here.
By the time a week has worked itself around, his presence has braided into the place.
The horse knows him, ears twitching toward his voice before dawn. The dogs have quit barking when his boots scrape the yard at dusk. Your father has stopped watching him like he might bolt and started calling for him when something heavy needs lifting.Â
The small farmhouse doesnât look so empty now; youâve grown used to the idea of a manâs breath in there, a manâs boots by the door, a manâs shadow on the curtain.
Youâre the one still wary, nerves still stretched thin every time you feel his eyes, even if nobody else in the house seems to notice how often that is.Â
You catch him in little reflectionsâa sliver of him in the pumpâs metal, in the window glass, in any surface that throws back lightâand heâs always looking your way.Â
Not always outright, not always rude, but always aware of you. Always clocking where you are in the yard, whether your sleeves are rolled, whether your hem rides high on your calf or hangs proper at your ankle.
You tell yourself itâs just because thereâs not much else worth watching out here.
You donât quite believe it.
Clouds bruise up toward the horizon, swallowing the moon a few bites at a time. Youâre at the kitchen table with mending in your lap when you hear itâone sharp, panicked bawl from the barn that cuts straight through the hum of crickets and the low murmur of your fatherâs radio.
Youâre on your feet before you think about it, thimble still shoved on your finger, needle stuck tight in a loop of thread.Â
Your father says something about âdamned horses spookinâ at their own shadowsâ but doesnât move from his chair.
His backâs been bad all day; heâs been walking like every step hurts. Mamaâs dozing, her breath a thin whistle.Â
So you grab the lantern from its hook, light blooming up in a hot bloom that stings your eyes, and head out barefoot into the yard.
The grass is cool against your soles, damp from the thick air. The little farmhouse where Remmick sleeps has a strip of light at the curtain-bottom, but you donât see him outside. The barn looms ahead, big and dark, door standing half-open like a mouth. Another low, fretful sound comes from inside, not as sharp as the first but enough to hurry you along.
âEasy now,â you call as you slip in, lantern held high. âHush yourself, girl, Iâm cominâ.â
The barn swallows the outside sounds. In here itâs hay and dust and the soft shuffling of hooves, the rustle of wings up in the rafters.Â
Your mare stamps once, snorting, eyes rolling white when the lantern light hits her. You cross the packed dirt quick, set the lantern on a hook so youâve got both hands, and reach for her halter, stroking her long face.
âItâs just the weather actinâ strange,â you murmur, words more for yourself than her. âAinât nothinâ gonna hurt you.â
She settles a little under your voice, but her muscles are still tight, skin twitching under your palm.
Youâre so focused on her that you donât hear him until heâs already in the doorway.
âSomethinâ wrong?â
His voice slides through the gloom, low and rough.Â
You jerk a little, head snapping toward the barn entrance. Heâs just inside the threshold, lantern in his hand turned down low, throwing more shadow than light. Sleeves rolled, suspenders hooked proper tonight, hair damp at the temples like heâs just come in from a hard walk.Â
âLord,â you mutter, heart kicking hard. âYou move too quiet. Thought you were a ghost.â
He lets out a short huff of a laugh. âNot yet.â The lantern swings by his knee as he steps inside, setting the hay shadows dancing. âHeard her fussinâ. Figured Iâd check before she took it into her head to kick through a stall.â
âShe just spooked,â you say. âStorm brewinâ somewhere.â
He comes up nearer, close enough that you can see the sheen of sweat along his throat, the bead of something darker at the cuff of his shirt where it brushes his wrist.Â
His gaze does a quick, automatic sweep of the stallâmanger, bucket, the mareâs flanks, your hand on her halterâand then it hooks on you, like it always does, like thereâs a string between his eyes and your skin.
âYou shouldnât come out here by yourself at night,â he says, quiet, not rebuking exactly but not gentle either. âBarn full of spooked stock, any one of âem could knock you right off your feet. Ainât proper for a girl to be runninâ around after dark alone.â
âThat girlâs got ears,â you answer, voice tight, stroking the mareâs neck to hide your own nerves. âShe can hear you fussinâ without talkinâ over her head.â
His mouth does that little tilt again, amused. âReckon she can,â he says. âReckon she donât listen half as good as she ought, neither.â
Youâre just shaping a sharp reply when it happens.
Something cracks outside, a dry, sharp soundâmaybe a limb breaking, maybe a board settling wrong, maybe thunder grumbling way off where the clouds are thickest.Â
It doesnât matter what it is. The mare flinches hard, shoulder slamming sideways. The stall rail shudders under the hit, and youâre standing too close, lantern throwing crazy shadows as the world jolts.
Your first instinct is to get out of the way. You jump back, skirts swishing, hand flying off the halter. You pivot toward the stall opening and catchânot air, not clear space, but the edge of an old nail head thatâs been working itself loose from the post for years.
The sound of fabric tearing is loud as a gunshot in the barn.
It rips from just below your hip down the side of your thigh, a long, rude run that opens your dress like a mouth.Â
Cool air hits bare skin where cotton should be.
You gasp, more from the exposure than pain, and slap your hand down, fingers clutching at the split to keep it from gaping wider.
For a heartbeat you stand frozen, lantern light swinging, breath shallow, your leg half-bared through the torn seam.
You donât have a slip on under this dress, not a proper one. Itâs too hot. Youâve got plain cotton drawers and a whole lot of skin, and you know without looking that the tear has gone high, high enough that if you werenât grabbing it shut heâd be seeing places no man has any business looking at on you.
âYou all right?â Remmickâs closer before you register him moving, his boots whispering over packed dirt. His lantern clanks against a beam as he hangs it up. He reaches for you by pure reflex, hands coming to your arms, steadying you where youâve stumbled.
âIâm fine,â you snap, too quick, humiliation burning your face, neck, chest. âLet go.â
You twist away from his grip, turning your hip, trying to angle the torn side away from him.Â
The dress shifts anyway, hem dragging through straw, and thereâs a flash of thigh where your fingers donât quite cover everything. You feel the rush of blood under your skin like youâve been slapped.
His eyes drop before you can stop them.
Itâs an instinct with him just like yours, hungry and automatic. His gaze hits the split, the glimpse of your leg, and sticks. Time slows down around that look. You see it happen, see the way his pupils widen, see the quick, sharp inhale he tries to hide.
âJesus,â he breathes, almost soundless.
You yank the torn fabric tighter, the motion making the rip strain up higher, edge brushing the curve where your thigh meets your hip. Your whole body feels like a lantern flame, exposed and flickering. âDonât you look,â you hiss, low and furious. âTurn around.â
One of his hands lifts, like he might actually offer to cover the tear for you, fingers curling as if they want to fit over the place youâre guarding. He stops himself, hand hovering for an awful second near your hip, close enough that you feel the heat of him even through the thin cotton.Â
âAinât my fault you went tearinâ yourself open on every nail in the county,â he says, tone trying for light and landing somewhere rougher.Â
His eyes drag up slow, from your knuckles clenched in the fabric, up the bare strip of thigh he already saw, up the shape of your waist and the heave of your chest. âMaybe you should let me look and make sure you didnât cut that pretty skin to ribbons.â
The way he says pretty makes your stomach flip and your teeth set.
âI ainât cut,â you spit. âAnd I sure as hell donât need you inspectinâ me.â
He should look ashamed. Though, he doesnât. Thereâs color high in his cheeks now, not from heat, not from work. His mouthâs gone a little slack, like heâs holding back words. His gaze keeps sneaking back to the place your hand guards, greedy, any time you arenât staring right at him.
âIf you say so,â he murmurs finally. âWouldnât want to offend your delicate sensibilities.â
You hear the echo of his earlier lie in that word, delicate, and decide if you stay here another minute you might do something you canât take back, like slap him or cry or both.
You shift your grip to catch more fabric, bunching the torn side up in your fist so nothing shows. It makes walking harder; youâre hobbling, half-skipping, desperate not to let the skirt fall. âYou see to the mare,â you manage, chin up, eyes burning. âIâll fix my dress.â
He steps back enough to let you pass. As you squeeze by him in the narrow space, your shoulder brushes his chest, your bare calf bumps the hard line of his boot.Â
âCareful,â he says, voice quiet, right by your ear. âWould be a shame if the rest of that dress gave up and left you standinâ in nothinâ at all.â
You donât give him the satisfaction of a reply. You duck your head and hurry out, every step measured so the torn seam doesnât pull, one hand clamped between your thighs, lantern bumping at your knee.Â
The night air on your exposed skin feels wrong, every stray breeze finding its way up under the rip.
You keep your eyes fixed on the glow of the house, on the square of the kitchen window, on anything that is not the barn behind you.
You slam the kitchen door with more force than you mean to, startling your mama awake, mumble something about a nail catching you and make straight for your room. You donât light your own lamp; you donât want to see what he saw. You stand there in the dark with your back to the door and your dress torn open under your hand, heart hammering, ears roaring, shame and something hotter and uglier twisting up together in your belly.
Down by the south fence, in the smaller farmhouse, Remmick sits on the edge of his narrow bed with the easy, humming satisfaction of a man whoâs been saving something up.
He lit the lamp as soon as he stepped in, not out of any real need for light but because he likes the way it throws shadows, likes the way it paints dim gold over bare wood and gives him something soft to look at while his mind runs back over the evening.Â
The room is small and warm from his own body heat, close enough that every breath feels shared with the walls. Old wood, dust, a curl of tobacco from the roll-up he finished outside, and under it all the ghost of you clinging to his clothesâsoap and starch and sweatâmake a thick little stew in the air.
He shrugged out of his shirt as soon as the door shut, tossing it over the chair without bothering to check if the seam you mended had held.Â
The rip in the fabric is nothing next to the rip in your dress that he canât stop savoring. He works the buttons of his trousers loose without hurry, fingers moving with the contented patience of a man about to sit down to a meal heâs been smelling all day.
He doesnât try not to think of you. That would be a waste of a perfectly good night.
He leans back against the wall, boots kicked off, pants open at the fly, and lets the picture come as easy as breath.Â
You in the barn with your hand clapped between your thighs, dress split wide, that slick little strip of thigh flashing when the cloth slipped. The way your eyes flared when you realized heâd seen, outrage and mortification and something bright under both. The sound of your voice when you told him not to look, like you already knew he was going to anyway.
âHell,â he mutters, half laughing under his breath as his cock swells heavy against the thin barrier of his briefs. âAinât nothinâ on this earth Iâd rather think on.â
His palm drifts down over his belly, fingers tracing a slow path to the bulge at his groin. Even that light touch makes him suck in air through his teeth.Â
He presses his hand over the outline of himself, feeling the hot, solid weight of his cock straining upward, and a low, pleased sound curls up out of his chest. He palms it once, a lazy roll, enjoying the way it kicks against his fingers like itâs eager too, then he slides his hand inside.
Warm cotton gives way to hot skin. He wraps his fist around the thick base of himself and exhales like heâs been holding that breath since the barn, relief and hunger tangled up in it. His cock sits heavy in his grip, veins standing up, the head already wet where precum has gathered from how long heâs been walking around hard on the memory of you.
âLook at that,â he murmurs, voice low and rough, thumb smearing that slickness over the swollen tip. âWorked up over one little tear. Youâd laugh yourself sick if you saw me now, wouldnât you?â
The thought of you seeing him like this, spread out on his narrow bed with his trousers open and his cock standing full in his hand, only makes him harder.Â
He drags his fist down slow, savoring the drag from head to base, then back up again, the friction sharp and sweet all at once. The first few strokes are measured, a man settling into a rhythm he plans to enjoy, not something hurried and guilty he has to choke down.
He lets his head tip back against the wall, eyes slipping shut so he can see you better behind his lids.Â
Not the church version, not the good girl with the hem tugged just so and the buttons done up high.Â
The barn version. Lantern light sliding over your bare thigh, the tremble in your fingers when you clutched at the rip, that split second when your hand wasnât fast enough and he got the clean, unearned look heâs been replaying ever since.
âShit,â he breathes, hand tightening, the slide of skin on skin picking up a little speed.Â
He drags his fist down again, slower, getting a feel for every inch, for the way his cock swells harder in his grip with each pass. Arousal slicks his thumb, gathers at the crest of the head, and he spreads it with an easy, greedy little twist, working it around until the slide turns wet and smooth.Â
His hips lift into his own hand without much prompting, body eager after nights of walking around with you on his tongue and in his teeth and under his nails.
âBare leg,â he mutters, watching his hand move now, eyes half-lidded, lashes throwing shadows on his cheeks. âGoinâ about your business like you ainât got that tucked up under your skirt. Like I ainât seen it now.â
He remembers exactly how the tear opened, how the cotton gave and the seam surrendered, how your thigh flashed in the jumpy lantern light.Â
That first raw glimpse lives in his chest like a hot coal. Skin smooth and soft-looking, the curve of muscle under it, the sweet thickness where it met your hip.Â
He remembers your drawers too, plain white cotton clinging to you, riding that line between demure and lewd when the fabric shifted wrong.
His hand moves faster at that, instincts catching up with memory. He curls his fingers a little tighter, pulling from the heavy base up to the slick crown, milking a fresh bead of precum up with each stroke.Â
âBet you went home and stitched that dress up neat as a Sunday virtue,â he says, voice roughened by breath. âHead bowed, lips bit, pretendinâ that leg ainât still there underneath, smooth as cream and just as soft. Bet you canât stop thinkinâ about me seeinâ it neither.â
He can picture you at your little table, lamp burning, needle in hand, fingers trembling just enough to make the thread snag. Your face hot, your mouth set, your thighs pressed together under the cloth as you sew shame into every stitch. He imagines you tugging that seam tight, that same hand that clutched the torn fabric now working the needle, every pull a memory of his eyes on you.
His free hand slides down his belly, fingers pressing over the flexing muscles there, holding them tight as he fucks up into his own fist. The bed creaks under him, wood complaining, but he doesnât slow. He spreads his legs wider on the mattress, giving himself more room to move, and the extra slack lets his strokes lengthen, his hips roll, everything turning into a slow rhythm.
âYou know what I see when I close my eyes?â he asks the ceiling quietly, dragging his thumb across the slit. âNot that pretty little mouth tellinâ me not to look. I see that hand of yours slip. I see that dress fall open just a little more.â
The picture in his mind sharpens: you, back against a stall post, hand too busy clutching at rough wood to hold your skirts closed, light catching on the full line of your thigh as the rip edges skid higher.Â
He imagines the flap of cloth falling aside, full view of your leg from knee to hip, drawers pulled tight over the mound between your thighs, a faint darker patch where heat and sweat have gathered.
His cock throbs in his grip at that. He grits his teeth, pushes his palm down hard, and his hips jerk, chasing the pressure.
âYeah,â he growls softly. âThatâs it. Dress up around your waist, showinâ all that sweet flesh. You holdinâ on to that wood like itâs gonna save you, eyes full of righteous fury while your bodyâs tellinâ on you.â
His fingers slip lower on the stroke, pausing to cup his balls, rolling them in his palm, feeling the tight, heavy pull there. The sensation punches another sound out of him. He goes back to his cock with renewed urgency, arm working harder now, hand pumping.
He lets himself wander further than any real moment has gone. Lets the memory of that tear turn into something else, something he can taste.
He imagines stepping in close before you can bolt, one hand catching your wrist, the other gathering your torn skirt up and out of his way. Imagines your gasp, that little sharp intake he already knows, your bare thigh hitting his hip as he pins you to the stall. Your panties stretched tight over the soft swell of your cunt, his fingers pushing up against the dampening cloth, feeling how hot you are through the barrier.
âPretend you donât want it,â he murmurs, throat rasping. âTry to act like you ainât gettinâ wet for me while you fuss.â
The words sound vulgar and right in his mouth. His cock swells at it, the head aching now, sensitive with every pass. He squeezes at the top, thumb pressing just under the crown, and his whole body shudders, pleasure rushing up his spine.
âBe a good girl,â he hears himself whispering to the woman in his head, the one pressed to barn wood with her dress in tatters. âSpread âem for me, let me see what youâre hidinâ.â
His hand flies now, finding a quick, dirty rhythm. His breath comes rough, each inhale catching, each exhale spilling out in curses and half-formed praises.
âYouâd flush right up to your hairline,â he pants, head rolling against the wall. âAct all offended while your thighs tremble and that pretty thing between âem throbs. Might even cry a little, wouldnât you? All sweet and scared and soaked.â
The image of you cryingâeyes bright, lashes wet, lips bittenâwhile your body betrays you sends him right to the edge. His balls draw up tight, cock jumping in his fist, veins standing out under his skin. Heat coils at the base of his spine, that familiar pull gathering everything in, ready to snap.
He spits into his hand for more slick, doesnât even bother wiping his mouth. The added wetness turns his strokes into something obscene, the sound echoing in the small room. His forearm snaps, muscles burning, chasing the crest bearing down on him.
âCome on then,â he grits. âShow me.â
He imagines hooking a finger under the edge of your drawers and pulling the cotton aside. Imagines the first sight of you bare between your thighs, folds swollen, maybe already glistening, all that heat finally out in the lantern light instead of tucked away in shadows and good manners.
âThatâs it,â he rasps, voice breaking, hips jerking harder into his fist. âKnew youâd be pretty there. Knew youâd be soft.â
The wave hits with no ceremony; it slams through him like a mule kick. His whole body locks, stomach clenching, heels digging into the thin mattress, head thumping dully against the wall.Â
A groan tears out of him, rough and strangled, half-swallowed behind clenched teeth. His cock jerks in his hand, once, twice, then again, spilling hot over his fingers and across his stomach in thick, pulsing ropes.
He rides it out, hand still working, strokes shortening but not stopping, milking every last drop. Cum coats his knuckles, drips over his fist, slicking his grip until his palm slips on the softening length.Â
âFuck,â he breathes when he can breathe again, voice low and wrecked.
His strokes slow, then ease off altogether, fingers loosening their grip.Â
For a moment he just sits there, chest rising and falling, wrist slick and heavy, cock giving a few last, half-hearted twitches in his hand. Sweat cools on his forehead, a bead sliding down along his temple.
He looks down at the mess on his belly, streaks shining in the lamplight, dripping off the side of his hand. Thereâs no disgust in the way he examines it; if anything, thereâs pride. A crooked smile tugs at his mouth, lazy and satisfied.
âLook what you pulled out of me, and you werenât even here,â he murmurs, more pleased than ashamed.Â
He wipes his hand across his stomach, smearing instead of cleaning, fingers drawing idle patterns through the stickiness before he drags them off onto a wadded-up shirt at his side.Â
The cotton takes the worst of it, darkening where it soaks, but he doesnât fuss about the rest. Let it dry on his skin. Let it sit there as a reminder.
He tucks himself back into his briefs, though he doesnât bother fastening his trousers all the way, leaving the fly gaping a little for air.Â
His body feels loose and heavy now, bones sunk deep into the thin mattress. The edge is blunted, that sharp hunger dulled to a warm, low thrum, but itâs not gone.
He leans his head back and lets his eyes drift half-closed, the lamp still burning low.Â
In the quiet, he can almost hear you tossing under your own quilt up the rise, feel the echo of your indignation, imagine the way your fingers might trace absent circles over the mended seam of your dress while you tell yourself you hate him.
He runs his tongue along the back of his teeth, savoring that thought as much as any touch.
âGonna see it torn again,â he says softly, not quite a promise, not quite a threat.Â
The lamp flickers, a tiny flame fighting sleep. Outside, crickets scream and something small scurries through the grass.Â
The little house settles around him with soft creaks and sighs. He closes his eyes fully at last, the picture of your bare thigh and your furious face smoothing together into one sweet, ripe ache heâs already wondering how soon he can taste again.
Most nights Remmick does his rounds like heâs supposed to, lantern swinging at his knee, gate latches checked, fence wire plucked and listened to like strings.Â
But once he knows the map of the place in his bones, once he has counted every post and measured every path, his feet start wandering off the straight lines your daddy would like him to walk.Â
He learns where the shadows fall thickest under the pecan tree by the side yard, where the dark under the eaves hides a man from anyone glancing out through lamplight.Â
He learns just how far back he can stand and still see into the kitchen window when youâre up late, sleeves rolled, forearms wet to the elbow, talking to your mama while you scrub a pan.Â
He learns that when you think everybodyâs settled, you lean your hip against the counter and tilt your head a little while you dry your hands, and that little shift of weight does things to your dress youâd never let it do in town.
He finds out you like the back porch at night even more than you like it at dusk. That when the work is done and your parents are loud in their sleep, you slip out with a glass or a cup and sit with your legs stretched, ankles crossed, toes tracing idle circles on the board beneath them.Â
From the fence line he can see the shine of lamplight on your bare shins when your hem rides up, can see the loose, tired way you soften back into the chair.Â
He watches you tilt your face toward the dark yard like youâre asking it questions it hasnât answered yet, listens to the little sounds you makeâhalf-sighs, half-humsâthat never show up when anyone else is awake.Â
He leans on a post with a cigarette hanging from his fingers and looks until heâs had his fill, no hurry in him, nothing but a lazy, steady satisfaction in knowing you have no idea.
He learns your bedroom window, too. Where it sits in relation to the oak, how far up the slope he has to stand to see its square of light.Â
The first time he notices the curtain isnât quite shut, itâs by accident; heâs walking back late, boots slow on the path, when a slice of movement catches his eye.Â
Curtain gapping, lamp turned low, you moving around your room in that soft circle people make before bed.Â
He stops in the shadow of the tree without even thinking, shoulder to rough bark, the leaves above him murmuring in a wind that doesnât get down into the yard.Â
From there he can see you in fragmentsâan arm as you reach up to unbutton, a brief glimpse of the side of your neck, the line of your shoulder as fabric slips.Â
He tells himself heâll move when youâre done, that heâs only making sure you got in safe. He stays until the lamp goes out.
The night he sees you in the bath, thereâs not even that thin excuse.
Itâs late enough the frogs have worn down to a sleepy chorus and the crickets sound drunk. A low, warm fog sits over the fields, pressing scents in close: damp earth, animals settled in their pens, soap drifting thin from the open kitchen window where somebody forgot to latch it right.Â
Heâs finished his rounds early, all the work of the night sitting behind him instead of ahead, and he feels that restless itch under his skin again, that soft, prowling urge that has nothing to do with fences and everything to do with you.
The house is a square of softer dark against the sky, only a couple of windows holding light.Â
He knows which is which now without having to think about it. Kitchen, front room, your parentsâ room. The little back room off the side where the big galvanized tub sits when somebodyâs been lucky enough to haul enough water.Â
Tonight itâs that one glowing gentle behind its thin cotton curtain, lantern hanging somewhere just out of sight, making the fabric look like a pale, breathing thing.
He circles wide, slipping along the edge of the yard where the grass meets the packed dirt of the lane, where the shadows from the trees throw him one more thin cloak.Â
The bath window is low, glass fogged a little from steam. The curtain is drawn but not all the way, left a thumbâs width open on one sideâenough for light to leak out in a narrow spill. Enough, if a man stepped in close and angled himself just right, to see inside.
He comes up under the sill, breath slow, boots quiet, and lays his palm flat against the siding to steady himself. The boards are cool and rough under his fingers. He leans his shoulder into them and tilts his head, lining his eye up with that careless little gap.
Heat hits him first, a wet, sweet breath rolling out into the night. The lantern inside throws shadows high on the wall, flickering over the curve of the tub, over the length of you in it.
Youâre sunk down in the water with your knees bent, one leg drawn up just enough for him to see the shape of it under the surface, the other stretched straighter, foot braced on the far side.Â
The water glows around you, gone cloudy with soap, clinging in beads to your skin where itâs out of the tub.Â
Your shoulders show above the rim, bare and slick, drops running down in slow trails.Â
Steam curls off your chest, off the slopes of your breasts where they rise from the water, soft and heavy, nipples pebbled tight from the heat or the air or both. The lamplight loves them, catching on every curve, laying little gold crowns on each peak.
Your head is tipped back against the rolled towel youâve wedged between neck and tin, eyes closed, lips parted just enough for breath. One arm drifts along the tubâs edge, fingers dragging lazy patterns through the thin scum of soap there, the other resting across your stomach.
He watches your ribs move with each inhale, the slight swell and fall of your belly under your palm.
You're so unaware of him that it feels almost holy.
He drinks it in like itâs what he came here for all along, no flinch in him, no apology. His gaze roams where it will.Â
From the line of your throat down to the hollow between your collarbones, where a small puddle has gathered and overflowed in slow rivulets; down over the slick, shining hills of your breasts, the way they shift just a little with every breath, the way the waterline cuts across them. Lower, to where the curve of your stomach disappears under the opaque water, hinting at more, promising everything.
You shift, lifting one arm to drag the washcloth over your shoulder. The washcloth trails over the round of your shoulder, down the outside of your arm, across the swell of your breast, nipple tightening even more when the rough cloth skims past.
You donât seem to notice the way your own body responds; youâre too busy chasing day-dirt away, lifting your arm to scrub your neck, tilting your head to give yourself better reach.
From his vantage, he sees everything. His hand tightens on the siding, knuckles going white, that buzzing hunger flaring up bright and hot behind his eyes.
He stares, not making a sound.
You work the cloth down your arm and set it aside, then slide both hands into the water, scooping and pouring over yourself.Â
You lift your leg a little, knee rising higher, water spilling off in sheets, showing him the smooth length of your thigh all the way to the place where it vanishes back under the cloudy surface. The muscles there flex as you shift, your toes stretching, calf defined a moment before settling again.Â
For a brief second, the water thins enough he can see the shadowed shape where your thighs meet, softened by the haze but there, real and mouth-watering.
His eyes go dark on it, pupils swallowing light. He leans in a fraction more, cheek almost touching the glass, breath fogging the edge of the pane where it meets the frame.Â
Every small move you make sends little waves across your body, playing light over the parts he can see, hinting at the parts he canât.
You sigh, the sound faint through the wall but clear. Your head tips a little to the side, cheek turning toward the window without quite facing it.Â
One hand skims over your sternum, following the center line of your body until it disappears under the water.Â
Your fingers paddle lazily there for a moment, moving along your own stomach, over the soft give of your lower belly.Â
He imagines exactly where theyâre drifting, what warm, slick places theyâre brushing, even if youâre not thinking of it like that. Your face gives nothing away but relief, a tired little slackness, the expression of someone finally easing aches out of their bones.
âYou ainât got a clue,â he breathes, lips ghosting the words against the flaking clapboard. Thereâs satisfaction in it, not cruelty. âBathinâ like Eve in a picture book with the curtain open and the devil on the outside lookinâ in.â
His hand, the one not braced on the wall, shifts restlessly by his side, brushing the front of his trousers.Â
He doesnât touch himself proper, not yet; this is looking time. He wants to be empty enough of the last time to fill up on this one entire.Â
His fingers flex anyway, his palm pressing for a moment against the growing bulge, acknowledging it. His cock swells quick and eager, remembering the barn, welcoming the new fodder.
You lean forward to reach the soap, and the angle changes.Â
For a breathless few seconds he gets the long line of your back, the way it curves from nape to waist, the hollow above your hips, the dimples that show when you move just so. Water slides off you in glittering trails, trickling down along your spine, pooling in the small of your back before spilling lower.Â
As you sit back again, that same water slips over the round of your ass where it breaks the surface, catching the light along the curve, then vanishes under the cloudy bath.
He closes his eyes briefly, just to fix it, then opens them again. He doesnât want to miss a thing.
You lather your hands, work the soap into your skin, fingers massaging into your shoulders, down along your collarbones.Â
The more you scrub, the slipperier you become, water beading and running, foam clinging in thin streaks before melting away.Â
When you finally slide your hands under the water, scrubbing lower, your elbows move in a rhythm that makes something low and obscene curl in his gut.Â
He knows youâre only washing, just doing what needs doing, but to him it looks like a preview, looks like a rehearsal of things you havenât yet learned to want.
He watches until the waterline creeps lower on the lantern as the bath cools and you sink down, chasing warmth. Watches as you finally let yourself relax fully, shoulders sliding under, just your face above the surface, eyes closed, breaths slow and even.
Only when you sit forward and reach for the towel hanging on the peg beside the tub does he ease back from the window.Â
He knows if he lingers another second, if he sees you stand, water sheeting off every inch as you step out, heâll plant roots under this sill and never leave.Â
There will be other nights, he tells himself.
He peels himself off the wall, body humming, and slips back into the darker yard, breath still measured, strides easy.Â
By the time heâs at the edge of the light, he has his lantern in hand again, held low, the picture of a man just passing through on his way to some small piece of work.
He doesnât feel a lick of shame. What would be the use of it, when the memory of you in that tub is already lodged in his body like a polished stone, something he can roll under his tongue whenever he chooses.Â
Youâll go to bed clean and soft, thinking maybe about chores and storms and the seam you mended this morning.Â
Heâll go back to his little house with your wet skin behind his eyes and no confusion about what he plans to do with it.
The dayâs been long, the kind that starts with a rooster and ends with your back feeling twice your age.Â
By the time supperâs put away and the kitchen wiped down, your fatherâs in his chair with his boots off, socks so full of holes you donât know why he bothers wearing them, radio mumbling low out of the corner. Your motherâs gone to bed early with a headache, door cracked just enough that you can hear her cough now and again.
Youâre halfway through folding the dish towels when you remember.
Mamaâs good jar of salve.
You can see it plain in your mindâs eye: small tin with the blue lid, the one she guards like treasure.Â
She sent you looking for it just after dinner, when she noticed the raw place on your fatherâs wrist from rope burn and the darkening bruise on your own hip from where the stall rail caught you days ago.Â
Youâd gone to fetch more wood for the stove first, meaning to get the salve on your way back, and somehow it slipped right out of your head, chased off by smoke and scolding and the rush to get biscuits off the fire before they burned.
Your fatherâs already grumbled twice about the barn nail and told you if youâd been paying mind you wouldnât have torn your dress, wouldnât have bruises, wouldnât have needed fussing.Â
You can hear him in the morning if he finds that wrist still angry and your hip still tender. Can hear that disappointed click of his tongue.
Youâd seen him hand the tin to Remmick earlier in the week, mumbling something about âkeep this on hand, boy, in case you tear yourself up,â and watched the new hand tuck it into the pocket of his coat before heading down to the little farmhouse.
âThatâs where it is,â you murmur, more to the quiet kitchen than to anyone. A little knot between your brows loosens when you place it. âDown there.â
You glance at the clock. Itâs late enough the newsmanâs gone off the air, early enough the world hasnât quite tipped into the dead hours where the dark feels thickest.Â
Outside the window, the yard is quiet, the barn a heavy shadow, the smaller house beyond it just a darker square against the field.
âWhereâs that boy?â Your father mutters around his cigarette, not really expecting an answer. âAinât heard him come in for coffee. He out checkinâ fence or sleepinâ on my dime?â
âOut, I reckon,â you say, folding the last towel with a sharp little snap.
Truth is, you havenât heard his boots either. You havenât seen his lantern bob by the window. Itâs been a soft, blank stretch of night, no sign of him.
You tell yourself that means heâs at the far end of the pasture or walking the ditch line. Exactly where heâs supposed to be.
âIâll fetch Mamaâs salve,â you add, already untying your apron, tucking it over the back of a chair. âSheâll want it first thing in the morninâ.â
Joe nods, smoke curling out of his nose. âDonât you linger,â he says, not looking up. âGet what you need and bring your tail back in this house. I donât want you down there visitinâ like itâs social hour.â
You bite back the urge to say youâd sooner visit the pig pen. âYes, sir,â is what comes out instead.
The night air catches you on the porch, damp and soft, smelling of cooling dirt and a hint of something sweet blooming out by the fence.Â
You step down barefoot, skirts whispering around your calves, the boardsâ splinters familiar against your soles. The big houseâs light spills just to the bottom of the steps, then gives up, letting the yard roll out into dark.
The little farmhouse sits a ways off, past the well, past the worn track where the wagon turns. All its windows are black. No orange seam under the curtain, no silhouette rising and falling against the glass. The barn is quiet too, doors thrown shut, only a thin line of moon-silver along the roof.
You latch onto the sight of that dark little house like proof. Heâs not there. Heâs out somewhere with a lantern and a bad attitude.Â
Youâll be in and out before he knows youâve even left your room.
You wrap that thought around yourself like a shawl and start across the yard.
The grass is cool and a little slick with dew under your feet, clinging between your toes. Crickets saw at the edges of things, frogs mutter down in the low spots. The wellâs stone lip rises out of the ground like something old and patient; you ghost past it, keeping your eyes on the squat shadow of the farmhouse.
Up close, it looks smaller, somehow meaner. The door is shut, the porch bare save for his boots lined up neat off to one side. You take in that detail with a little flick of reliefâboots off means man in bed, not loose in the yardâbefore another thought slides in behind it: or just inside.
You hesitate only a heartbeat.
The want to not get scolded in the morning, the want to have Mamaâs salve where she can lay hands on it, outweighs the whisper of sense telling you this is foolish.
You lay your palm on the door and push.
It gives with a small, tired creak, the smell of the place rolling over you in a warm wave: wood, straw, tobacco, sweat, and that faint metallic thread youâve started to think of as his alone. Thereâs a lamp turned low on the table just inside, wick pinched till the flame is barely more than a coal in a glass throat, enough to lay out the shapes of things and nothing more.
âRemmick?â you call, voice barely above a whisper, more habit than hope. When nothing answersânot a word, not a shift of boardsâyou let your breath out slow and step over the threshold.
The door eases halfway shut behind you, not latched. You donât bother with it; you donât plan to be here long enough to worry about whatâs open and what isnât.Â
The room is small and spare, just like your daddy said it was. Bed against one wall, blanket rumpled from someone sitting, if not lying. Chair with a coat thrown over the back, shirt draped careless on top. Table with the lamp, a chipped cup, a folded knife. A shelf holding a few tin plates, a jar of coffee, the heel of a loaf.
You move quick but careful, eyes trying not to linger on the smaller things that say a manâs been living hereâhis belt coiled on the chair seat, his hat hanging from the peg, the empty space on the floor where his boots were.Â
You head straight for the coat, remembering your fatherâs hand dropping the salve tin into its pocket.
You pinch the fabric between your fingers, easing it aside, but the weight you expect to tug at the hem isnât there. The coat hangs light. You pat the pockets; theyâre empty, save for a wadded rag and a stray button.
âDamn,â you breathe, annoyed, under your breath.
Maybe he moved it. Maybe he took it out so the tin wouldnât fall and get lost when he shrugged the coat on.
You cast your eyes around the room, searching high shelves, low boxes, any place someone might set a small, important thing.
The table catches your attention next. You circle it, gaze skimming over the knife, the cup, the lamp.Â
There, near the edge, half in shadowâa squat little tin no bigger than your palm, blue lid dulled with age.
You smile in spite of yourself and reach for it. âGot you,â you murmur, closing your fingers around the cool metal.
You pop the lid just enough to see the salve inside, pale and thick, smelling faintly of herbs and camphor, then press it back down with a soft click. The jobâs done. Simple as that.
You turn, already thinking about the path back to the house, about slipping this into Mamaâs hand and letting yourself be proud she wonât have to wonder where it is in the morning.
You donât make it two steps.
There he is.
Standing in the doorway that leads to the small back room, shoulder braced against the frame like heâs been leaning there a while, like he grew right up out of the wood.
Heâs shirtless, skin slicked faint with sweat, the rise and fall of his chest slow and easy. Suspenders hang loose against his hips, clipped to his trousers but fallen off his shoulders, framing the cut of his torso in dark lines.Â
The lampâs low light paints him in gold and shadow both, dipping into the hollow between his collarbones, skating over the plane of his stomach, catching on the trail of hair that runs down from his navel into the waistband of his pants.Â
His arms cross over his chest, veins standing faint along the backs of his hands where they rest against his biceps.
His feet are bare. His eyes are not gentle.
âFind what you was lookinâ for?â he asks, voice soft, too soft, the scrape of it wrapping around the words like a touch.
Your heart gives one wild jump, slamming up against your ribs hard enough to hurt, then starts to run.Â
You hadnât heard him come in. Hadnât heard the back door, hadnât heard the floor protest, hadnât heard anything but your own little fussing search and the tiny pop of the salve lid.
For a foolish second you think about hiding the tin, tucking it behind your back like a child caught in a pantry. You donât. Thereâs nowhere to put it he wouldnât see, and you refuse to give him the pleasure of watching you scramble.
Instead you hold it up just enough that he can see the blue lid glint in the lamplight. âMy mamaâs salve,â you say, surprised at how even your voice comes out. âDaddy gave it to you. He forgot where he put it. I came to fetch it.â
He doesnât move. Doesnât look at the tin for more than a passing glance. His attention stays on you, heavy as a hand between your shoulder blades. He rakes his gaze from your face down to the salve, then lower, slow as a man looking over a field heâs about to plow.
You suddenly know exactly how your dress is sittingâwhere the fabric pulls across your chest from turning too quick, where the skirt clings to your thighs from the damp in the grass, where your collar gapes just a breath more than it should because you didnât bother with the top button in the heat. Your skin prickles under each place you picture his eyes touching.
âYou always just walk yourself into a manâs house without knockinâ?â he asks after a beat, one brow ticking up.
âThis ainât a house,â you reply, chin lifting a shade. âItâs a shack my father stuck you in so youâd be closer to the barn.â
Something like amusement flickers across his mouth. âStill mine for now,â he says. âDoor was shut, wasnât it?â
âYou left the lamp on,â you shoot back. âAnybody with decent sense would take that as invitation in case of emergency.â
He uncrosses his arms then, letting them drop to his sides. The motion makes muscles jump in his chest, the lines of his shoulders shifting under skin. âAnd whatâs the emergency, miss?â he asks. âThat your mamaâs medicine was sittinâ ten yards farther than you like it?â
His tone isnât mocking. It isnât kind either. Itâs something in between, something testing. Like heâs poking at you with words just to feel where youâre soft.
You swallow, the salve tin suddenly heavy in your hand. âI said why I came,â you answer. âIâll be goinâ now.â
You move to head toward the front door, the one you came in, but the room is small, and he doesnât move. One pace brings you close enough to smell him. Another pace would put you near enough to brush him if you misjudged your route.
He shifts his weight to fill the doorway more fully, one hand lifting to rest on the frame to the side of him. It leaves his ribs bare, that patch of hair under his arm catching the lamplight. Thereâs a faint scar along his flank, pale against the warmth of his skin, old and ugly, like something tore him open once and he lived anyway.
âSeems a shame,â he says, looking at you. âYou cominâ all this way just to snatch up a tin and run.â
Your pulse hammers harder. âIt ainât far.â
âFor you,â he agrees. âFor me itâs a long, lonely walk most nights. I might be grateful for a little company.â
âYou got company,â you say, words a little sharper than you intend. âYou got every cow, every dog, every fence post on this land. You donât need me.â
He lets that roll over him like water off a duckâs back. âMaybe Iâm tired of talkinâ to things that canât talk back,â he murmurs. His eyes flick down to the salve again, then to your hand, to your wrist where your pulse beats visible in the hollow. âYou tore yourself up any today, or you just borrowinâ this for show?â
âBruise on my hip,â you admit before you can remind yourself you owe him nothing. The words come out stiff. âAinât your concern.â
âEverythinâ that happens on this farmâs my concern when it means workers showinâ up busted in the morninâ,â he says. âYou do work, donât you? Or are you just here to keep the place pretty.â
Heat flashes through you, quick and mean. âYou've seen me work,â you say. âYou've seen me at that pump, at that stove, out in the yard. Donât you stand there half-dressed and ask if I do my share.â
His mouth twitches at half-dressed. He doesnât bother to hide the way his gaze drops, quick, down the front of himself and back up, as if to say he knows exactly how much heâs wearing and how much youâre seeing. Itâs deliberate, that small, shameless acknowledgement of his own body.
âBelieve me,â he says, voice dropping lower, âIâve seen you.â
The words land between you, heavy and thick. They mean more than they say. Every peek heâs stolen presses into the space they open up: your bare leg in the barn, your shoulders shining in the bath, your tired posture on the back porch, one strap slipping careless down your arm before you hitched it back up.
You donât know about most of that. What you do know is enough to make your throat go dry.
âI ainât supposed to be down here visitinâ,â you say, trying to wrestle the conversation back onto some ground that feels steadier. âMy father told you that when you got here. Told me too.â
His eyes gleam at the mention of your father, some dark amusement sparking there. âHe told me to show you respect,â he says. âAnd I have. Havenât laid a hand on you that you didnât walk too close to yourself.â
Your mind trips over the memory of his fingers catching your arm in the barn, steadying you when your mare spooked. The way his hand hovered near your torn dress, heat just shy of your hip. The way he stood in the yard with his eyes on your mouth and called you miss like it was something he wanted to lick.
You draw yourself up as tall as you can manage in the little room, salve tin tight in your grip, refusing to yield the step heâs trying to take without moving his feet. âThen youâll move,â you say, voice low but steady. âSo I can go on home and keep livinâ my life with all that respect youâre so proud of.â
For a moment, you think he might laugh in your face. His lips part, teeth catching on his bottom lip, eyes glinting.
Instead he just looks at you.
Itâs worse than if heâd laughed. He looks like a man deciding how honest he feels like being tonight. Like heâs weighing whether to keep playing at politeness or lay something sharper on the table between you.
The lamplight flickers, shadow jumping along his jaw as he tilts his head. âYou walk out that door,â he says finally, nodding toward the porch, âand Iâll let you. I ainât gonna drag you nowhere you donât step first.â
Relief and something colder flick through you at the same time. âGood,â you start to say, but he isnât done.
âBut,â he adds, and that one little word lands heavy, âyou come walkinâ into my place after dark again, all alone, dressed like that, lookinâ at me like you donât know whether you wanna slap me or cry on meâwell.â His gaze drops to your mouth and back. âThatâs you steppinâ. And Iâll take it as such.â
Your heart stutters, one hard misstep in its rhythm. âYou overestimate yourself,â you snap, even as your fingers twitch on the tin.
He smiles then, slow and wolfish, the expression finally reaching his eyes in a way you havenât seen yet.Â
âWeâll see,â he says.
For a long, tight second, nobody moves. The walls feel closer, the air thicker, the lamplight too intimate. You hear the frogs outside, the creak of the house settling, the little wet sound of your own swallow. His bare chest rises and falls, steady, like heâs got all the time in the world.
Then he steps to the side.
The doorway opens up behind him, a narrow slice of night visible over his bare shoulder. Itâs more space than you expected him to yield, less than youâd like.
You duck past, your shoulder nearly brushing his chest, the heat pouring off him making your skin prickle. You feel his eyes on the side of your face, on the line of your throat, on the way you have to hitch your skirt just a little to keep from tripping as you step over the threshold.
âGoodnight, miss,â he says softly, right by your ear, breath warm as it ghosts over your neck. âYou be careful now. Darkâs full of things you donât know about.â
You donât trust your voice not to shake, so you donât give him the satisfaction of hearing it. You just walk, bare feet hitting the packed earth hard, fingers biting into the salve tin so tight the metal cuts a little crescent into your palm.
Rough wood presses into your hips, edge digging a little where your nightgownâs ridden up, breath catching in short, shallow pulls because heâs got one big hand flat between your shoulder blades, holding you there, and the other is on your ass, fingers clawed into the thin cotton, bunching it up and away from your thighs.Â
The lamp in the corner throws a low, mean light over the kitchen, just enough to show you the knot in the tabletop and the chipped plate someone left on the shelf, just enough to catch the shadow of his arm when it moves.
You came down here hot with it. Anger, mostly.Â
At him for looking at you how he does, for crowding doorways and talking low in your ear. At yourself for feeling anything besides disgust when he does it.Â
For weeks that feeling has sat under your skin like a burr under a saddle, rubbing everything rawâevery brush of his eyes, every sly comment, every late-night glimpse of his lantern out in the yard when you shouldâve been sleeping.Â
Tonight it tipped over. Tonight you lay in your bed and stared at the ceiling and saw his bare chest in that little house instead, heard his voice saying weâll see, felt your own body answer in a way that wouldnât quit.
So you got up after the house went quiet, barefoot on the boards, heart in your throat.Â
You didnât bring a lamp. You told yourself you were just going to tell him off, to say plain that you didnât want him looking, didnât want him speaking to you sideways, didnât want the innuendo and the smirks and the way he made you feel peeled without ever laying a proper hand on you.Â
That was the story you wrapped yourself in as you crossed the yard, nightgown clinging to your knees.
He opened the door before you could knock, like heâd been standing right on the other side with his palm on the handle, listening.
You remember the way his eyes moved over you, slow, no shirt, just those loose trousers hanging low on his hips, lamp behind him making his shoulders look broad and his face unreadable.Â
You remember his mouth forming your name, quiet and satisfied, like heâd been waiting to say it like this.Â
You remember the way all that anger and want surged up together in your chest, wild and tangled, and how you said something too sharp, voice shaking, about him needing to keep his eyes to himself if he wanted to stay on your daddyâs land.
Now here you are with his hand on your back, pressing, holding you down exactly where you cameâover his small scarred table in his small farmhouse kitchenâyour own fingers gripping the edge in a white-knuckled clutch.
âThought you werenât supposed to be down here visitinâ,â he drawls above you, breath warm near your ear, words rolling over your spine. âThat what you told me?â
You glare at the knot in the wood like it did you personal harm.Â
Your face is hot, your body even hotter, a slow, heavy throb deep between your thighs that started halfway across the yard and hasnât done a thing but grow.Â
âI ainât visitinâ,â you say, the words a little muffled by the way heâs got you folded. âI came to talk sense into you.â
His laugh is low and pleased, hand on your back sliding a little, fingers spreading, thumb settling along your spine. He presses down just enough to remind you whoâs holding you where you are.Â
âIs that what you call it,â he says, âshowinâ up in your bed things after dark, sneakinâ through my door with your hands empty and your eyes wide? Talkinâ sense?â
His other hand cups your ass through the thin fabric, palm wide over you, squeezing like heâs testing a piece of fruit at the market.Â
The nightgown has twisted up, hem caught high over your hips, leaving the bottom curve of you bare to his touch, only the cotton of your drawers between his fingers and your skin.Â
Heat floods that spot, a sharp, shameful pulse that makes your breath catch.
âYou been walkinâ around twitchy as a cat for days,â he goes on, hand kneading, thumb digging into the give of your flesh there. âSnappinâ at me, snappinâ at your daddy, gettinâ that look on your face every time you see me like you donât know whether to spit or spit somethinâ else.â
âShut up,â you hiss, mortified at how true it feels in your bones.Â
You shift your hips, trying to wriggle away from that hand, and all it does is grind you back against his palm, soft cotton dragging over the swell of you, catching on the seam that runs right over the place youâre trying not to think about.
He makes a sound at that, low in his throat, rough and appreciative. âYeah. There she is,â he says, words coming a little thicker now. âAll that fire. You walked your own self down here, girl. Nobody dragged you.â
âI came to tell you to stop,â you manage, though the way your voice climbs at the end takes the bite out of it. His fingers curl, grab a little handful of your ass cheek through the cloth, and you feel the ache spike hotter. âStop lookinâ. Stop talkinâ like that. Stopâstopââ
âStop makinâ you feel all twisted up?â he supplies, not unkind, just plain.Â
His hand on your back softens, spreads, rubbing along your spine like heâs soothing a spooked animal even as the other keeps kneading at you.Â
âStop remindinâ you thereâs more to be had in this world than hymns and beans and mendinâ?â
You suck a breath in through your teeth. âYou ainât the only man alive,â you snap. âYou ainât special.â
His grip tightens, a hard squeeze that makes you gasp. âNo,â he agrees easily. âBut Iâm the only one you marched down here to cuss out in your bare feet and nightclothes, so Iâd say Iâm doinâ something right.â
You hate how your body answers that, how something low in you liquefies at the thought of it, at the truth you donât want to name. You hate the way your thighs press together of their own accord, seeking pressure, seeking relief, even as you hold yourself rigid under his hand.
He feels it. His palm slides down, fingers curling under the heavy curve of you, thumb dragging along the crease where your ass meets the top of your thigh.Â
Youâre hyper-aware of every inch, every callus on his skin, every place the old wood digs into your hips. When his hand moves inward, fingers bumping close to the center of you, you flinch.
âDonâtââ you start, panic and want knitting together, but the word thins out when his touch presses just a little firmer over the damp cotton there.
âYouâre soaked,â he says softly, no mockery in it, just raw, hungry wonder. âWalked through my door mad as sin, all full of pretty speeches, and your cuntâs already cryinâ for somethinâ to hold on to.â
Shame scorches up your neck. âDonât call it that,â you choke, mortified, the word hitting you deep and low and making everything worse.
He hums, thumb tracing a slow circle over that swell, pressing right where the cloth is clinging. The pressure is perfect, unbearable.Â
âWhat you want me to call it, then?â he asks, voice brushing the shell of your ear now.Â
âYour virtue? Your purity? That sweet spot between your legs that ainât nobody touched?â His thumb moves again, firmer, and your hips jolt against your will. ââCause I see it all over you, darlinâ. You came here wantinâ me to stop, but your body came here wantinâ somethinâ else entirely.â
You shake your head, even as your toes curl, even as your lungs drag in another sharp breath that tastes like him and the lamp smoke and the hot, close air of this little house.Â
âYouâreâyouâre foul,â you say, but it comes out thin, breathy. âYou been lookinâ at me, watchinâ me, talkinâ to me likeââ
âLike I know what to do with you,â he cuts in, a hint of impatience threading through his heat. âAnd I do. You think I donât see whatâs eatinâ at you every time you glance down at my hands, or my mouth, or lower?â
His fingers slide along the seam of your drawers, finding the little ridge where cloth meets cloth and pressing right there.Â
It sends a jolt through you big enough you canât muffle the small sound that drops out of your throat.Â
His hand on your back pushes down, keeping you bent, letting you grind into that touch without rising off the table.
âListen here,â he says, voice roughening, patience fraying. âYou came. Youâre here. You can tell me to stop and I will. I ainât gonna take what you donât hand me. But donât stand there in my house, drippinâ on my floor, and try to lie about what youâre feelinâ.â
The room seems to shrink around those words.Â
You know heâs right. You also know how far you are from where you were supposed to be, from the girl who said sheâd never let a man like him get close, from the girl who swore sheâd keep herself intact till some tidy, respectable husband came along with a ring and a house and his hat in his hands.
You think about those men. Faces youâve seen in church, in town, men who look at you when they think youâre not noticing with a hunger they donât know what to do with. Men whoâd apologize if their fingers brushed your wrist too long.
Then you think about this man, bare-chested behind you, hard and unashamed, his hand pressed between your shoulder blades, the other on you like youâre his to handle.Â
You think about his eyes in the barn, on your torn dress. About the words he said in this very room, about stepping. About how youâve been walking around with your jaw clenched and your thighs pressed together ever since.
âTell me the truth,â he says, thumb pressing a little harder, his other fingers spread wide over the swell of you. âYou want me to let go of you and send you back up that hill with your temper, you say it. Iâll move. You can go pray extra loud come Sunday.â
The lamp crackles softly, a tiny sound in the heavy dark.
âAnd if I donât?â you hear yourself ask, voice small but steady. âIf I say I donât want you to move?â
His hand stills on your back for one beat, then both of them tightenâone pressing you down, one grabbing a handful of your ass like heâs staking a claim. A breath leaves him in a long, shuddery exhale that ghosts hot over your neck.
âThen Iâm gonna take real good care of what you brought me,â he says, tone gone hoarse and thick, the restraint in it the only thing keeping you from shaking. âGonna give you somethinâ to think about next time you lay awake in that bed of yours. Gonna fuck you on this table till you donât remember what you came down here mad about.â
The word fuck lands hard in you, a punch and a promise all at once.Â
You grip the edge of the wood like itâs all thatâs keeping you upright, though youâre already bent, already braced.
âSay it,â he murmurs, leaning in until his chest brushes your back, bare skin hot where it touches the thin cotton.Â
The admission sits in your throat like a hot stone. It feels enormous. It feels like stepping off a ledge.
âI wantââ The word catches, but his thumb flicks over you again, sharp and sure, and your hips roll without permission, a little helpless grind that betrays every fight youâve been waging with yourself. âI want you,â you gasp, shame and relief crashing together. âI want you toâto do somethinâ about it.â
He lets out a sound thatâs almost a groan, almost a laugh, almost a curse, his body crowding you tighter, his weight a solid wall of heat at your back. âThatâs my girl,â he says, and the possession in it makes your knees wobble, makes that core of you clench hard around nothing.
His hand leaves your back long enough to grab a fistful of your nightgown at the hem, yanking it up in one rough motion that leaves it bunched around your waist.Â
Cool air hits your drawers, the bare backs of your thighs, the soft part just under your cheeks, and then his palm is there, skin to skin at last, cupping you hard.Â
His fingers dig in, thumbs pressing outward, spreading you slightly, mapping the give.
âYouâre shakinâ,â he says, sounding pleased. âAinât even touched you proper yet.â
âYouâre takinâ your time,â you manage, though the words shake too.
He chuckles, low. âFirst timeâs never good when a man rushes,â he answers, matter-of-fact. âAnd I know you ainât had nobody in you yet, feelinâ the way you do under my hand.â
Before you can answer, his fingers hook into the waistband of your drawers and tug. The fabric resists for a second, elastic biting into soft flesh, then slides down, dragging over your hips, over the swell of your ass, down the backs of your thighs until they tangle around your knees.Â
He leaves them there, trapping your legs just enough you canât kick or close up, just enough that youâre open and vulnerable and aware of it.
Cool air kisses you everywhere the cloth just left.Â
You feel filthy, bare from waist to mid-thigh, bent over his table with your nightgown rucked up, your cunt exposed to the room, to him. It makes your head swim.
Then his hand is back, and there is no room for anything else.
He cups you from behind, fingers sliding through the slick heat of your folds, and you hear a sharp breath hitch out of him. âOh, hell,â he says, reverent.
You make a broken, helpless sound that doesnât sound like it belongs to you.Â
No oneâs ever been there before, not like this, not with fingers spreading you, rubbing through you, middle finger catching on that aching bud youâve only ever touched in the dark with guilty hands.Â
The sensation is lightning-bright, stabbing up your spine.
âEasy,â he murmurs, palm flattening across your low back again, his body curving over yours, caging you. âI got you. Gonna make it good for you before I stretch you around me. Donât want you too scared to enjoy your first fuck.â
The way he says first fuck, like heâs staking a flag there, like heâs carving his name into it, makes something fierce flicker through you, a strange pride knotting up with the fear.Â
You push back against his hand without meaning to, chasing more.
He feels it. âThatâs it,â he encourages, fingers pressing deeper between your lips now. âAsk for what you want with that pretty body. Tell me where it hurts.â
âEverywhere,â you pant, honesty ripped out of you on a wave. âIt hurts everywhere.â
He laughs, breath hot against your neck, mouth close enough you feel the shape of it. âThat ainât hurt, girl,â he says. âThatâs need.âÂ
His fingers finally find your entrance, slick and hot and clutching, and he presses the pad of one inside, just the tip, testing. Your whole body clenches around that intrusion.
âYou relax for me,â he tells you, tone sliding into something commanding. âBreathe.â
You suck in air, lungs burning.Â
He slides the finger in a little further, thick and probing, opening you.Â
The stretch is sharp, uncomfortable, but thereâs an undercurrent of relief in it. He works it in and out slowly, letting you get used to the feel, letting your body learn the shape of him.
âThatâs good,â he murmurs when he feels you soften around him, the praise lighting up something small and hungry in your chest. âSee? You take my finger just fine. Gonna take my cock too when Iâm done with you.â
He adds a second finger before you can brace, and this time the stretch makes you gasp loud, muscles clamping down. It burns, a deep, insistent ache, like youâre being pried open.
âShh,â he soothes, his index finding that little bundle of nerves again, circling steady, sending sparks to chase the hurt. âI know. I know. We gotta loosen you up some or youâll split yourself on me.â
The blunt truth of it makes you squeeze your eyes shut, face hot against your forearm.Â
You can feel him behind you, solid, his chest glued to your back, his arm moving between your legs. When you manage to breathe past the initial shock, the burn eases, replaced by a full, pressurized feeling that fills your head with nothing but sensation.
He moves his fingers, slow at first, pumping them in and out of you in short strokes, stretching, coaxing.Â
Your body starts to answer despite itself, hips rocking back in tiny motions, seeking that deep, sweet drag.Â
Every thrust brushes against something inside you that makes your legs tremble, makes your breath hitch.Â
âListen to that,â he says, voice thick, and it takes you a second to realize he means the wet sound loud in the little kitchen as his fingers work in and out of you. âYou hear yourself takinâ me in? Thatâs you wantinâ it.â
Itâs filthy and true and you canât deny it.Â
There's a coil tightening low in your belly, every nerve in your body funneling to where his hand is. Your grip on the table edge goes slippery with sweat.
âRemmick,â you gasp, not even sure what youâre asking for, only that youâre strung too tight.
âThere you go,â he groans, fingers driving a little deeper, curling just right.
It hits without much warning. One second youâre climbing, the next youâre over the edge, everything snapping.Â
Your body seizes around his fingers, clenching so hard it almost hurts, that coil unspooling in a rush of pleasure so intense it blanks your mind.
A breathless moan tears up your throat. Your thighs shake, knees nearly buckling, if it werenât for his hand on your back and the table under your palms youâd be on the floor.
âThatâs it,â he groans, riding you through it, fingers still working, still moving until youâre whimpering, too sensitive, twitching with each little aftershock.Â
You sag against the table when it finally lets you go, chest heaving, sweat cooling on your neck. He eases his fingers out of you slow, gentle for the first time since you walked in, his hand sliding up to rest on your hip. You can feel his other hand at your back again, rubbing small circles, keeping you grounded.
âFirst oneâs always a little wild,â he says, sounding almost fond. âYou doinâ all right?â
You nod, or try to. Your head feels full of cotton, floaty and heavy all at once. âIââ Your voice comes out hoarse. You clear your throat. âIâm fine.â
âYouâre more than fine,â he says, and thereâs a smile in it. âYouâre perfect.â He shifts behind you, and thatâs when you feel it, really feel itâhis cock pressed up against the back of your thigh through the fabric of his trousers.Â
Heâs been hard this whole time, you realize dimly, all that while he was working you open. The blunt head drags over your skin when he adjusts, the thickness of him obvious even through cloth.
Your stomach flips, fear and anticipation knotting together. âYouâre reallyââ
âOh, Iâm really.â He sounds almost amused. âYou wanted me to take you on this table, remember?âÂ
His hand leaves your back and you hear the soft, familiar sound of a belt coming loose, a buckle clinking, the rasp of leather through belt loops. Then buttons, quick and practiced, fabric shifting.
You suck in a breath, every sense straining.
A moment later, something hot and slickânot his fingers this timeânudges against your entrance. He slides the head of his cock through your slick folds slowly, up and down, coating himself in you, bumping your clit on the downstroke, making you twitch.
âJesus,â he mutters, more to himself than you. âYou feel that? How youâre grabbinâ at me already and I ainât even in?â
You do feel it, and itâs terrifying. Your body recognizes him as something itâs meant to hold, meant to take, even as your mind stumbles over the size of him, over what this means.
âIâwait,â you say, panic flaring for a second, the reality of it looming. âRemmick, Iâmââ
âI know,â he says, and for once thereâs no teasing in it. âYou listen to me. Itâs gonna burn at first, then itâs gonna feel like you never shouldâve gone without it this long. You trust me?â
You hesitate. He feels it in the way your muscles tense around the head of him. His hand comes up, fingers wrapping loosely around your throat from behind, thumb tipping your chin just a little. The touch sends a different kind of shiver through you, sharp and grounding.
âI ainât gonna break you,â he says quietly, close to your ear. âI want you cominâ back to this just as bad as I want you right now.â His hips roll just enough that the blunt tip presses hard against your opening.Â
The hand at your throat, the tone in his voice, the memory of his fingers and the way your body just came apart on them thirty seconds agoâthey all crash together, and you find yourself nodding before you know youâre doing it.
âGo,â you whisper, the word trembling, but there.
He makes a sound then thatâs half-growl, half-groan, all man. His grip on your throat tightens just a hair, his other hand clamping down on your hip.
âThatâs my girl,â he says again, rough with need. âHold on.â
The head of him breaches you with more resistance than his fingers ever met.Â
Your body tries to clamp down, to keep him out, muscles fighting the stretch. He doesnât slam in, but he doesnât baby you either. He works himself in slow, steady pressure, teeth gritted, hips driving forward inch by thick inch.
The burn is real. Itâs sharp, like youâre being split open from the inside. You gasp, nails scraping at the wood, whole body bowing. For a second itâs too much.
âBreathe,â he grunts through his own strain, hand at your throat sliding up to your jaw, thumb pressing at your cheek. âBreathe through it. Youâre takinâ me. Look at you. Youâre takinâ me.â
He isnât wrong. Beneath the pain, thereâs this breathless aweâat the size of him, at the way your own body yields, at the feel of being filled in a way you never have before.Â
You force yourself to inhale, exhale, again, again. Your muscles flutter around him, protesting, then slowly easing.
When the broadest part of his head passes the tight ring of your entrance, the rest slides in easier, still stretching, still burning, but less violently.Â
He sinks deeper, stopping only when his hips are flush with your ass, his pelvis pressed to your backside, balls snugged up against your cunt. You can feel him everywhere, heavy and solid in your core, pulsing faintly.
âChrist,â he rasps, the words hot against your neck. âI can barely think straight. Sweet girl, you just swallowed every inch of me.â
You exhale shakily, overwhelmed. Full doesnât begin to cover it. You feel stuffed, stretched to the point of coming apart, and yet under the ache, something else is already startingâa low, thick pleasure that moves like honey, spreading outward from where youâre joined.
He holds still for a long moment, breathing hard into your hair, chest rising and falling against your back. His hand at your hip rubs little circles, the one at your jaw softening its grip.
âYou tell me when it stops hurtinâ so sharp,â he says. âI ainât in no rush, even if my cockâs yellinâ otherwise.â
You try to focus. The worst of the burn ebbs, leaving a throbbing soreness, but the sense of himâdeep, impossible, yoursâis starting to bloom into something almost good.
âMove,â you whisper, surprising yourself. âJust a little.â
He laughs, breath short. âGreedy already,â he says. âAlright.â
He pulls back, just an inch, maybe two, dragging that thick length along your walls. The friction is intense, raw and tender and electric all at once. Then he pushes in again, slower, watching for any flinch.Â
Your fingers dig into the table, but you donât cry out, donât tell him to stop. Your body clutches at him on the way out, sucks at him on the way back in.
He does it again. And again. Each shallow thrust smooths the hurt a little more, replaces it with deeper sensation. The initial sting fades into a deep, stretching fullness that makes your knees weak, that makes heat lick up your spine in waves.
âThatâs it,â he murmurs, hand sliding from your jaw back down to your throat, wrapping around it more firmly this time, not cutting your air, just pinning you, reminding you where you are and whoâs holding you. âNow weâre gettinâ somewhere.â
He lengthens his strokes, pulling back farther, pushing in harder. The wet slap of his hips meeting your ass starts up, quiet at first, then louder, the sound of skin on skin obscene in the still night.Â
Every push drives him deeper, nudging at something inside you that makes your breath jump, that sends little shocks through your belly, like heâs bumping the edge of something tender and secret and his.
Your body has learned the shape of him, stretching you from the inside.Â
You can feel every ridge, every vein, the way the fat head spears through the tight clutch of you and then disappears into that deep, hot place that was empty your whole life and now is nothing but him.
His hand at your throat tightens, just a little. Not enough to cut your air, but enough to make each breath a thing you have to pull for, chest heaving against the table edge. His palm is broad and warm, thumb resting under your jaw, fingers curved along the side of your neck.Â
Every time his hips snap forward, that grip reminds you heâs there; it pins you in your own skin so you canât float away from whatâs happening, canât pretend itâs anything but what it is: you getting fucked open on a manâs cock in his kitchen like you were meant for it.
Then his hand drops. It slides down the column of your throat, over the dip of your collarbone, fingers spreading wide as they drag lower, rough palm grazing the top swell of your breast through the thin cotton.Â
He cups you from behind, big hand wrapping around the weight of it, lifting, squeezing. The nightgown bunches under his fingers as he kneads, thumb rolling over your nipple until it stiffens hard, the fabric rasping just enough to make you whine.
âThere,â he mutters, voice gone thick, like he has to taste every part of you. âKnew theseâd feel good in my hand.â
He squeezes once more, harder, the pressure sending a sharp line of sensation straight down to where heâs buried in you, your nipple trapped between his thumb and the heat of his palm.Â
Your back arches, pushing more of your tit into his grip even as his cock grinds deeper.Â
For a second youâre caught between the drag inside and the rough, greedy hold on your breast, pleasure ricocheting between the two.
Then his hand is moving again, leaving your aching nipple peaked under the cotton, skimming back up over your breastbone, returning to your throat like it owns the place. His fingers curl back into their collar around your neck, thumb settling under your jaw, holding you where he wants you while his hips keep driving.
âListen to you,â he groans, and you realize he doesnât just mean your voiceâwrecked and breaking on every inhaleâbut the wet, filthy noise your bodyâs making, the slick drag of his cock pulling out of you, the obscene squelch when he pushes back in, the slap of his balls hitting the curve of your cunt. âYou hear that? Thatâs this pussy lovinâ every inch Iâm givinâ her.â
The word makes your stomach flutter and your cunt clench down around him so tight he curses, hips stuttering.Â
Thereâs no room for modesty now; everything between your legs is wide awake and telling on you.Â
Every time he pulls back, your inner muscles chase after him, hugging, clinging, like youâre frightened of losing that fullness, like your bodyâs praying heâll push right back inâand he does, like heâs answering a call.
He adjusts his stance, feet shifting on the rough floor, and angle changes. The next thrust lands different, deeper, the thick head of him driving up and forward to grind against a spot inside you that makes your vision white out around the edges for a beat.Â
You jolt, a strangled noise ripping out of you, fingers scraping along the tabletop as your whole body goes tense.
âThere it is,â he pants, catching that reaction, chasing it.Â
He does it again on purpose, hips rolling instead of just snapping, driving that same path, making sure he hits that spot with the crown every time.Â
âYou feel that? Right there? Thatâs what you been needinâ, girl. That ache way up high you ainât never had a name for.â
He's right on it now, relentless.Â
Each stroke is a steady assault, steady enough your body starts to learn the pattern, tension building with every collision. The soreness from taking him the first time smooths into a deep, hot throb that wraps around the pleasure, one feeding the other.Â
Your toes curl, your thighs tremble, your stomach ripples around the intrusion like youâre trying to swallow him even deeper.
He slides the hand from your hip back around your front, into the slick heat between your thighs, and finds your clit like heâs been doing it all his life.Â
His fingers are slick with your own mess, rough pads moving in tight, ruthless circles over that swollen bud. It sends lightning directly up your spine, straight to the base of your skull.Â
You choke on a sound that isnât quite a word and jerk against his hand; his arm around your throat holds you in place.
âGoddamn, youâre twitchy,â he groans, grinding his hips down so the bone of him presses your ass, so his cock bruises into that soft spot inside while his fingers roll your clit. âYou gonna fall apart on me again? You gonna let me feel you squeeze all over my cock proper this time?â
Your answer is a breathless, broken, âPlease,â your voice ragged, half sob, half prayer.Â
The table shudders under the force of his thrusts now, the legs complaining in small creaks that match the rhythm of his hips. The lamp flame jumps in its glass, throwing wild shadows against the wallâa tangle of your bent body and his frame hunched over you, shoulders rolling as he works inside you like heâs plowing up hard ground.
Spit slicks your lips; you realize at some point your mouth fell open and just forgot how to close, breath dragging in ragged, wet pulls.Â
You couldnât be bothered to care if you tried; everything is narrowed to the hot place his cock is sawing through and the bright, brutal pulses from his fingers on your clit.
He can feel you climbing, feel your body drawing in tight around him, feel your channel starting to flutter. He growls, low and guttural, the sound pressed against the back of your neck. âThatâs it. Thatâs it, squeeze me.â
His hand at your throat tightens a hair more, narrowing the world to his breathing and yours, the rush of blood in your ears, the drag of wood under your palms.Â
The smallest bit of pressure makes every sensation hit harder; your body goes light and heavy at the same time, limbs tingling, cock-deep pull inside you the only thing that feels solid.
He pistons into you now with a steadier, punishing rhythm, cock dragging from the fat base at your entrance all the way to that deep end that makes your belly flip, then back again.Â
Your ass jiggles from each impact, flesh rippling under his grip. His fingers at your clit donât falter.
You can hear yourself now, high and ruined, begging without even knowing what for. âDonât stopâdonâtâRemmick, donâtâohâoh Godââ
âMhm, use my name,â he hisses, hips crashing into yours, the wet slap echoing off the close walls. âYou say it when you canât hold yourself together no more.â
He leans forward, the sweat on his skin slick against the thin cotton of your nightgown bunched at your waist.Â
His mouth finds the side of your neck, teeth scraping over the delicate skin there, then biting down just hard enough to make you gasp. He sucks, draws blood closer to the surface in a hot sting that only makes your cunt flutter harder around him.
Between the choke of his hand, the sharp pinch of his teeth, the relentless grind of his cock, and the ruthless attention on your clit, you donât stand a chance.
The orgasm slams into you hard enough your knees buckle, your body trying to curl in on itself while he holds you stretched over the table.Â
Everything constricts at onceâyour throat around his hand, your belly around the deep ache, your cunt around his cock. You clamp down on him with startling force, walls seizing, milking, clutching like youâre trying to suck him straight out of his skin.
You cry out. Thereâs no pretty word for it. Sound rips out of you high and raw, your voice cracking on his name.Â
Your vision goes fuzzy with white at the edges, the kitchen shrinking to the rough wood under your hands and the thick, unyielding length splitting you and the brutal roll of pleasure ripping through you in waves.
âFuckâfuck,â he grunts at your ear, the feeling of you spasming around him cutting through every ounce of control he has left. âThatâs it, thatâs it, girl, grip meâJesusââ
He doesnât stop moving, not really; he grinds through it, forcing his cock to keep sliding, short, deep thrusts, using the vice of your orgasm to wring everything he can from you.Â
Youâre shaking all over, thighs trembling so hard your feet skid a little on the floor, toes digging uselessly for purchase.Â
Another rush of slick gushes around him, soaking his cock, dripping down over his balls, sliding warm along the inside of your thighs.
Your body keeps clenching in pulses, the pleasure cresting and breaking over and over until it tips toward something sharp, too much. You whimper, the sound small and shredded. His hand leaves your clit finally, stroking shaking skin instead, but his hips donât stop.
The rhythm goes ragged, less measured, more frantic. His thrusts turn into short, hard ruts, like his bodyâs the one begging now. His fingers flex around your throat, then loosen just a little, thumb stroking your jaw instead as his breathing unravels.
âGonna fill you up,â he groans, voice pitched low and rough. âYou want that? You want me shootinâ deep in you, huh? Want to feel me leakinâ out you all the way back up to that house?â
The words, filthy as they are, punch right through your oversensitivity and light up something molten in your gut.Â
Your sore, flooded cunt tightens around him involuntarily at the thought of carrying him inside you, his spend rolling down your thighs later when you climb into your own bed.Â
You canât shape the answer into full words; what comes out is some strangled mess that sounds like y-yes and a choke.
âYeah, you do,â he snarls like he heard it. âYou greedy little thing, cominâ down here pretendinâ you just wanna talk when your cuntâs hungry as hell.â
He drives in hard, once, twice, three more times, each thrust bottoming him out, pelvis grinding against the round of your ass.Â
The slap of his hips is loud now, sloppy, wetter, your combined mess making the impact slick.
Then his whole body locks.
His stomach clenches tight against your back, jaw clamped against the side of your neck. A sound tears out of him, not quite human, something between a growl and a groan. His cock jerks inside you, swelling even thicker for a heart-stopping second, and then you feel itâhot, heavy spurts of him spilling deep, pounding against your cervix, flooding that space thatâs been empty your entire life with a hot, liquid fullness.
He curses low and hoarse on each pulse, hips rocking in tiny, helpless movements as he empties himself, his own climax dragged out by the way your slick, oversensitive walls keep squeezing and fluttering around him. Every time your cunt milks him, another rope of cum kicks out of him, painting you inside.
âGodâdamnââ he grits, shuddering, one hand sliding from your throat to slap down next to your own on the table, fingers splayed wide, knuckles white on the wood. âYou feel that? Feel me givinâ it to you?â
You do. You feel all of it. Every pulse, every twitch, every deep throb of him lodged inside, filling you, staking a claim. Your whole body feels stuffed, weighty, like heâs poured something molten into your bones.
The shakes take him then. You feel them where his chest is plastered to your back, quivers running through him in waves as his orgasm tapers off.Â
His cock softens a little inside you but doesnât slip free; your swollen entrance and the spent thickness of him keep you plugged together. Each small movement sends a slow, slick ache radiating outward.
For a long moment neither of you says anything.
He slumps more of his weight onto you without meaning to, and you sag under it, cheek pressed to the tabletop, breaths coming in harsh, uneven pulls.Â
Sweat has glued your nightgown to your ribs where itâs still covering your upper body; where itâs bunched around your waist, the fabric clings damp to your skin with a mixture of your own wetness and his.
Eventually, he finds his voice, though itâs wrecked, scraped raw at the edges. âJesus,â he mutters, words ghosting hot over the shell of your ear.Â
For the first time since he pushed into you, he eases his hips back.
You gasp, a little shocked moan slipping out as his softening cock drags along your raw walls.Â
When his head slips past your entrance, your muscles clench on instinct, reluctant to let him go, but gravity wins. He slides free, leaving you empty in a way that feels sharp, unfinished, even with his cum already starting to seep down, warm, from inside you.
Something thick and wet trickles out immediately, a slow, viscous roll that slides over your swollen folds and down the curve of your inner thigh. You feel it clearly, a hot trail in the cooler air of the kitchen. The knowledge of what it is, whose it is, makes your face burn and your belly tighten all over again.
He sees it too.
âLook at that,â he says softly, voice full of rough, satisfied awe.Â
His hand leaves yours and slides down, palm cupping the underside of your ass, thumb catching one of those white streaks, spreading it lazily over your sensitive skin. You flinch, a little gasp escaping before you can stop it.
âToo much?â he asks.
âA little,â you admit, breath still stuttering.Â
He makes a pleased sound at that, thumb dragging one last lazy stripe through the mess before he rubs his hand off on his own thigh.Â
He straightens slowly, the absence of his weight making you sway for a second. His hands, empty now, come to your waist, smoothing down the bunched nightgown. He tugs it back into place over your hips, hiding what heâs done as best cloth can hide it.
Then he crouches a little, fingers catching the waistband of your drawers. Theyâre still tangled around your knees, sticky with your slick.Â
He coaxes them up, guiding the cotton over your tender flesh, covering your cunt, trapping his spend where it is.Â
The pull of the fabric against your oversensitive skin makes you hiss and bite your lip, but it also feels lewd and intimate in a different wayâhis cum pressed up against you, soaked into the cloth that sits right over your entrance.
He knows exactly what heâs doing, sealing you up like that. It shows in the way his thumb lingers a second too long at the gusset, pressing lightly, as if to make sure the material is snug, as if to feel one more time that heâs right there even with clothes between you.
âGonna be walkinâ home with your panties stickinâ to you and a piece of me tryinâ to leak right back out,â he murmurs, voice a dark purr. âYouâll be thinkinâ of me every step.â
You make a weak noise, somewhere between a protest and something softer. Your legs feel unsteady when he finally helps you pull them fully into place, when he urges you upright with hands at your waist.Â
When you stand, itâs like your bones have gone wrongâheavy at the hips, light at the knees, a deep, interior throb that makes you aware of your own body in a way youâve never been.
He turns you gently, so your hip leans back into the edge of the table instead of your chest, so youâre facing him. His hair is damp and rumpled, a curl fallen low over his forehead, chest and stomach slick with sweat.Â
His gaze sweeps over you, taking in the mussed nightgown, the bite marks blossoming at your throat and shoulder where his teeth worried your skin, the slackness of your mouth, the glassy shine to your eyes.Â
Confidence sits easy on him; he looks like a man whoâs put in a long nightâs work and is proud of the job heâs done.
âYouâre gonna cuss me tomorrow,â he says, voice low and a little smug. âWhen you sit down. When you walk. But you ainât gonna regret it.â
You swallow, throat thick, his words settling warm and heavy between your ribs.
âNo,â you admit, even quieter than before, and thereâs no sense lying now. âI donât⊠regret it.â
His mouth curves. âGood.â
You look away, suddenly aware of the time, of the silence of the big house up the hill, of how your mama and daddy are sleeping through something thatâs gone and rearranged their daughter from the inside out.
âI need to go,â you say, voice small but steadying. âBefore my father wakes up for water, or Mama starts callinâ and finds my bed empty.â
His hands fall from your waist, though not without one last, slow sweep along the curve of you, like heâs committing it to memory.Â
âGo on,â he says. âBefore I talk you into layinâ down on that bed in there and not leavinâ till the rooster screams.â
Your body responds to the image with an exhausted throb, a clench around nothing.Â
You push off the table and take a careful step. Your thighs rub, slick, the damp cotton of your drawers pulling against you; you feel a fresh little leak of him inside you, a warm ooze that soaks into the fabric and clings. It makes you stutter a little, the soreness set deep in your core.
Remmick watches the way you move, jaw flexing, something like pride and hunger both tightening his face.Â
He reaches for his trousers, tucking himself away, but he doesnât bother with a shirt yet, doesnât bother pretending heâs anything but what he is: the man who just fucked you on his kitchen table and filled you til youâre walking crooked.
You make it to the door on legs that still shake. Your fingers land on the frame as you pull it open, the cool breath of the night spilling in.Â
Before you step out, you glance back. His eyes are on you, unreadable now, dark and steady in the lamplight.
âYou come down here again,â he says, voice quiet, sure, âdonât pretend youâre just here for salve or scoldinâ. You knock on my door after dark, I know what youâre askinâ for.â
You hold his gaze, the soreness between your thighs, the fullness inside you, the ache in your muscles all speaking louder than any denial you could muster.Â
His eyes follow you out into the dark, low and pleased, and as you cross the yard barefoot, nightgown brushing your knees, his cum warm and sticky between your legs, you know heâs standing there in that doorway shirtless, watching you go with no shame at all, already planning just how heâll take you the next time you come scratching at his door.
remmick đ·ïž @nigelology @cosmicpro @jakecockley @saintlucretia @justalittlefreaksblog @madkingcrowley @sonnensche1n @saaficat0311-blog @shewants7 @scannainscanrula @heyylolitaheyy @skankhvnt42 @ceobuggy @carriemill @valvalvalval-val @nlnny @soggynuggies0 @bleedingsunlight @theabhartachsbride @h3r3t1c @mysticvi @damnbamb @hexqueensupreme @vamp-fuxker @iamheretoread1234 @z0mb13xxxx
handyman jungkookx y/n
damsel in distress, obsessive obsessive obsessive, smutty
>20k
-
the life you lived was hardly one that many dreamt about.
you werenât rich, successful or even remotely happy. you worked two gruelling jobs, one throughout the day and then a night shift at your local diner all whilst barely having enough money at the end of the month for basic necessities and food, all thanks to the horrible apartment you had moved into.
moving away from an abuser who had connections and knew everyone in the town youâd once lived in meant you were forced into the city - big streets, bigger prices and no safety net. you had been here for six months, still healing from the kind of trauma that lodged itself in your body as opposed to your overworked mind. the kind that made you flinch at footsteps, double check locks, keep your head down.
you werenât sure you had ever experienced safety, and you werenât sure you ever would.
the only building you managed to secure on such short notice was the building you lived in now - a concrete block rotting from the inside out. the water pressure was horrendous, shooting out cold water a majority of the time, with mould crawling up your walls like it was alive. you owned very little because you couldnât afford to replace anything that broke, and the worst part of all? the rent.
triple what the apartment was worth.
you didnât know at first, too blinded by your desperation to escape your abusive home, too tired, too exhausted - you had signed the papers without looking properly. by the time you realised, you were already trapped. you couldnât move even if you wanted, not with all of the deposits you couldnât afford, moving fees you couldnât dream of paying or the even nastier landlords that somehow managed to be sleazier than your own.
and so, you endured. endured the way he would speak to you, all up in your business, breath hot on your neck and cheeks every time heâd lean in too close. sometimes he would move goalposts, forcing you to pay your rent early just to watch you scramble. you were in a constant fight or flight mode that you knew would kill you.
you woke up tired and went to sleep tired, body aching in ways that rest could never help recover. you didnât complain, didnât have anyone to ask for help, didnât have the time nor the energy to believe anything would change. you moved through the world quietly, apologetically, as though your mere presence took up too much space.
jungkook had known that apartment long before you ever even stepped foot into it.
unit 4b.
as the residentâs on sight handyman, he had been inside it years ago. the building had been past saving then, but still pretending otherwise - he couldnât even imagine what it was like now, but luckily, it had been unoccupied for so long that he had forgotten all about it thankfully.
he had fixed a pipe in there once, replaced a fuse another; every visit had left him with grime underneath his fingernails and a sour taste in his mouth. the place was a hazard waiting to happen, damp beneath the walls and faulty wiring. it was a display of neglect that didnât show itself all at once.
when he had seen your name on the new tenants list, next to the apartment, something inside him had gone still.
he hadnât bothered to knock on your door when you moved in. never introduced himself, that wasnât how things were done in this place - it was rough living for rough people. you asked when you wanted something, werenât just given it.
he, however, had met fragments of you.
coming and going whilst he fixed stair rails, brow collecting sweat as he watched you shuffle beside him to take the rubbish out. you moved like someone permanently bracing for impact with your shoulders curled in, bag clutched tight, steps uneven with exhaustion. sometimes you couldnât even bring yourself to look up, but he could see the glassy mess of your eyes.
he doubted you had ever even seen him. that should have been the end of it, but it wasnât.
because once he noticed you, he couldnât stop.
it wasnât an immediate desire - it wasnât that simple or crude, no. it was something slower, heavier. it carried in the way his attention snagged every time he saw you stumble slightly on the stairs. the way his jaw would lock tight when he noticed how late youâd leave and come home from your night shift, or the way his chest would tighten inexplicably whenever he imagined you unlocking your door and stepping foot in that fucking apartment all alone.
he didnât like the thoughts that manifested because of you.
they were intrusive - possessive to the core. he felt sick at the thought of you. wanted to sink his teeth into your arms and legs, anything to grab your attention so youâd notice him head on. his brain was fucked up, wrong in the way that had less to do with morality and everything to do with intensity. jungkook had always known there was something twisted about the way he wanted - not in excess but in pure depth.
he didnât give a fuck about the idea of all of his past girlfriends leaving him - they werenât what he craved. they werenât the missing puzzle piece he had been looking for, all differently shaped to the specific hole in his life.
he fantasised about his dream woman. fantasised about making her stay, making her feel good, providing something he knew he yearned to give.
wanted to provide until there was nothing left for them to worry about. wanted to make money irrelevant in their brain. rest would be mandatory - he wanted to come home dirty after a long day of work to his sweet girl cooking for him, just so he could breed her all fucking night.
it didnât stem from kindness, but mere vice.
and watching you wear yourself thin inside a place he knew shouldâve been condemned made that vice burn hot and ugly in his chest.
he started recognising the patterns. the way you always opted for the stairs when the elevator had broken down, despite it being incredibly dangerous in a messed up building like this one. it was the way you paused on the landing, trying to catch your breath after a long day of not eating enough and feeling a level of exhaustion that had settled into your body like home, your fingers tightening against the very metal he had worked on prior.
you never complained, never flagged anyone down, never even asked for repairs - he was marginally cheaper than anyone else you could hire considering his contract with your building and yet still, you lived in squalor.
jungkook had never been good at ignoring the things he wanted most. especially not when they had him hardening, balls tightening at the mere sight of you - the perfect candidate for the life he wanted to build. at first, he tried convincing himself it was normal to worry about any woman like this, tired and exhausted living in a bad area but he knew his motivation was anything but innocent.
this was a fixation. a maddening, obsessive one.
he could feel his brain warping, dripping in need whenever heâd catch you walking back to your place. couldnât help the thoughts from straying, wanted to protect you, save you, heâd do it in anyway possible.
you shouldnât be living like this, and one day soon, something had to give.
heâd make fucking sure.
â
the stairwell smelled like damp concrete and old cigarettes.
the elevator was broken again, and this time it had been down for weeks. you didnât know if you were allowed to complain to anyone, didnât have half the energy the act required and frankly, neither the time. your bag dug into your shoulder as you opened the door to the staircase, sighing quietly, beginning your painful ascend to the fourth floor.
your vision swam from your shift you had just finished with, whimpering lightly as your aching legs took you to your place, so you could get dressed for your night shift.
as you climbed, your keys fell from your hand, your hair falling into your eyesight, blurring it even more.
you watched as they clattered down the stairs, another small noise of complaint leaving you at the sight. the sound was jarring in the empty space, as you stumbled down to collect them, hand darting outwards whilst you swayed.
your body lagged behind your mind, causing you to slip, a squeak escaping as you began to fall forwards, bracing for impact.
an arm caught you.
fast. firm. heavy. rough.
fingers clung to the skin on your waist like they had been there before, pulling you harshly into an equally hard chest, the contact knocking air away from your lungs.
âsteady.â
a single word. low.
you froze.
your bag had slipped from your shoulder to the ground, your soft palms pressing gently against a set of shoulders, heart pounding. the first thing you noticed when looking up was how big he was, wide shoulders, large pecs, biceps bursting from the t-shirt that sat on top of his body. his grip hadnât loosened, it had even tightened, his thumb pressing in further to make sure you were steady on your feet.
you nodded quickly, coming out of your daze. âi..i-i am so..sorry.â
he didnât answer.
instead, he manoeuvred you to his other arm, whilst he bent down to pick up both your bag and your keys, moving in a way that felt easy, controlled. he was blocking the narrow landing, making sure you were pressed firmly against him despite it being intense. you hadnât been this close to anyone, regardless another man, in years.
his forearm flexed when it straightened, veins standing out underneath worn skin. he held them out to you.
your eyes were hazy, a mixture of exhaustion and the heat of the situation, lips parted as your eyes met with his. you felt suffocated by his gaze, you felt completely naked, as though he as looking at every crevice you tried to hide with mere ease.
âyou live here.â he said. not a question.
you shrugged weakly, nodding, shamefully looking away from his gaze, unsure of what to say and not being able to stomach his stare.
something shifted in his expression at that. not sympathy. irritation, sharp and contained. his jaw tightened.
your fingers brushed his as you took your stuff, despite being held almost intimately still. the contact was brief, and accidental, and yet it held even more weight than the heavy arm around your waist, as though it meant something else entirely.
âlate.â he gruffed out.
you nodded again, hands against his chest. âyeah.â
his touch loosened, but he remained inappropriately close. tired eyes, scuffed shoes, the way your shoulders were sagging from exhaustion.
âyou shouldnât be out at a time like this,â he said.
not gently.
your stomach twisted. âi donât really have a choice.â
he looked at you for a long moment. his gaze flicked down the stairwell, listening, calculating, and when he looked back, he stepped closer, close enough that you felt it in your chest.
âpretty thing like you,â he said quietly, âworking nights in a place like this?â
your heart fluttering was a shock to you. you could feel a stampede in your stomach, curling further into the warmth he was providing without even realising it, voice tough enough to carry heat. his words werenât necessarily a compliment, but a mere observation, one that had you reeling regardless.
you nodded for a third time, small. âi have to.â
his hand on your waist squeezed, grunting vocally in response. he could feel his cock hardening, and he knew it was fucked up, but the prospect of such a pretty damsel in distress like you? you were out of his wildest dreams, an anomaly that only came once in a lifetime.
he held you for another moment, the two of you simply looking at one another. he liked watching you cower a little, knowing that there were bad people all over in the complex, and though he evidently wasnât one, his sheer size alone had you hesitant. knew it made his brain fucked up, but he enjoyed it regardless.
âget inside.â he muttered slowly, arm slipping away from your waist.
your too large eyes blinked up at him, uncomfortable with the feeling cold seeping in. you wanted him to touch you again.
âokay.â you nodded through a whisper, pulling your bag further onto your shoulder more firmly. he admired you for another moment before nudging his nose up to the rest of the staircase, where the door to your floor sat. âlock your door.â
your cheeks were a deep pink, as you turned and walked up the rest of the stairs, nibbling away at your lip, heading through the final door, and rushing into your apartment.
you leaned against your door, locking it exactly as he ordered you, before sliding down the cold wood, legs giving out beneath you.
who was he?
so tall and so broad, his face alone had your thighs trembling but it was more so how manly he was.
you knew it was ridiculous, but just meeting someone like that had your stomach in knots. you assumed he was just being kind, if a man like that was even able to process that emotion - he was calloused all over, rough without meaning to. the type of guy to take up as much room as physically possible because he could.
you had no idea that as you sat pooled on your floor, eyes closed and lip bitten, jungkook stood on the other side, quiet, listening to make sure you had locked it. to make sure you were safe.
only then, did the loud sound of his boots echo into the hall, cause you to gasp.
â
the knock came too early.
it was the kind of early that felt cruel - sunlight barely stretched through the thin, stained curtains, your body still sunk deep into that half-sleep where breathing ached and nothing felt real yet. the sound cut through the quiet of your apartment too harshly, your brain short circuiting despite your legs carrying you out of the little warmth of your bed.
you were startled. no one knocked on your door. people kept to themselves around here until, well, they didnât, like your neighbour on the left. his door had banged a few weeks ago just as you had come home, and you hadnât heard or seen from him since, a thought that was now presenting deep in your mind.
with trembling hands, and aching feet, you padded your way over to the door whilst all remnants of sleep fell from you like droplets. your toes curled against the cold floor, grabbing a cardigan on your way over to shield your indecent outfit that consisted of a too thin, too see through tank and shorts set.
by the time you had opened the door, the person behind it had already knocked three separate times, raising the level of urgency and only adding to the stress on your shoulders. you had a rare day off from your night shift, meaning you were only heading out to your day job in a few hours. this was supposed to be decompression time.
your fingers finally slid against the cool handle, hesitating at the lock before opening it up, eyebrows furrowed lightly.
you froze.
it was him.
your brain stuttered for a moment as it took in his broad frame, shoulders wider than youâd seen on any man, with muscles in places you had only ever dreamt of. his biceps were practically spilling out of his uniform, which despite being sat seamlessly, showed signs of wear, indicating he had been working all morning. boots were planted solidly against the chipped hallway tile, sunlight shining onto the highest parts of his cheeks.
daylight did him no favours - made him worse. heavier. darker. stronger. the kind of man that felt realer than anything youâd ever experienced.
the kind of man that worked to an inch of his life.
his work belt sat low on his waist, sleeves pushed up, tatted forearms already streaked with things like grease and dust, and hair still damp from his morning shower. despite the hour, he looked awake and alert, something you knew you lacked in that very moment.
his eyes flickered over you, slow. real slow.
you felt it everywhere.
jungkook met your gaze as you finally looked up, your chest tightening.
âmorning.â
his voice was even rougher in the daylight, like gravel dragging over concrete. you could feel it in your stomach.
âhi.â you whispered, barely audible.
âinspection.â he lifted his clipboard whilst staring you down. the eye contact was heavy. âpipe issues in this unit.â
you frowned faintly, confusion pulling at your features. âi..i didnât call anyone..â
his mouth twitched. you were even cuter when you just woke up. he liked that.
âi know.â
his comment should have unsettled you, should have had you closing the door in his face, locking it immediately and ignoring him.
instead, jungkook took it upon himself to set forward. the door brushed your arm as he passed, your already too small apartment feeling somewhat suffocating as it became swallowed by his mere presence.
you hovered near the door, against the wall as he began to move around with a sense of familiarity that had you stomach churning again.
first, he crouched beneath your sink before checking taps, looking inside your cabinets for any sign of water damage, inspecting the dampness that clung to certain walls. he was efficient, practised - it was clear he was good at his job. he moved like a man who knew what he was doing, as though this was another task on his list that he had to get through.
not like he had been thinking of you in this wretched apartment all fucking night.
he was in your bathroom now, writing something down whilst you continued to hover, half out of curiosity and the other half merely weary. you had every right to be given where you were, the fact you hardly knew him if at all, and of course the knowledge he had simply let himself in.
suddenly, water began sprouting from your tap the way it usually did but judging from the small grimace on his face, you knew it wasnât something normal despite it being that way from day one.
âthis place is so fucked.â he huffed, with a shake to his head. âthey shouldnât be renting this unit out. itâs a biohazard.â
your fingers intertwined together nervously; as though the problem at hand was your fault. âi keep a towel..under there..â
he paused. slowly, he turned to look at you, savouring the way your cardigan was leaving little to his imagination. your nipples had pebbled, and a better man would have looked away, but jungkook was hardly good - assessing them for a moment longer before meeting your gaze.
âyou shouldnât have to.â his voice was hard.
the way he said it, flat, certain, unyielding. it made your stomach ache and your chest tighten, as though someone was looking directly through you.
he stood taller then, raising from his once crouched position. he towered over you, a reminder of the sheer size difference between you, something both of you secretly felt aligned on.
he wiped his hands on his rag, cleaning them before moving past you to the breaker panel. his arm brushed against your shoulder deliberately, watching the way you shuddered.
âpower cuts at night?â he asked.
âsometimes.â you answered honestly.
he looked over you again. âfigures.â
he opened the panel, taking his time with inspecting it before closing it off. he turned back around to face you once he was done, not bothering to walk away, but instead taking up more of your personal space.
he looked at you properly.
the sag of your shoulders and the shadows underneath your eyes, the way you stood hoping not to be noticed. too small for even the cramped space of your apartment. it made his head swirl.
âyou eat?â he gruffed out, a slight edge to his voice.
you were shifting from foot to foot. âwhat?â
âfood.â he clarified with narrowed eyes. âyou eat it?â
âi-..when i can.â
you werenât sure why you were being so honest with him and yet the worlds tumbled out before you could think. you were nibbling on your lip.
he wasnât done with his line of questioning, finding himself stepping closer to you resulting in you stepping back.
âhow old are you?â
â24.â
he exhaled through his nose. he seemed angry, or something adjacent, as though your words were aggravating him. âtoo young to look this tired.â
you looked down with heat creeping up your neck and cheeks. âitâs fine.â
âdonât say that.â his eyes narrowed once more. he ran a hand through his hair before exhaling deeply. âiâll be around today, gotta fix some shit around here. donât go out.â
your mouth opened and closed a few times, unsure of what to say. you watched as he walked towards the entrance, the warmth radiating from his body suddenly gone.
he paused at the threshold, one hand braced on the frame whilst looking back at you, watching the way your chest rose and fell, your sheer pyjamas doing nothing to hide the way your body subconsciously leant towards him.
ânext time something breaks, you call me.â his voice firm.
âi donât have your number.â you weakly replied, as though it was anything to deter him. secretly, you hoped it wouldnât.
he didnât respond, simply running his eyes up and down you once more as though he was savouring the sheer look of you, all soft and pliant. it made that sick part of his brain swirl, the thought of you being all his, the side of him that tried to rationalise a man ten years older being with a pretty little thing like you. heâd fucking ruin you and he knew youâd be thankful for it too.
jungkook turned around, cock half hard and head swarming, veins popping out of his arm, leaving you be for a few moments.
â
working the diner on a late shift meant two things. first, it meant you would have to deal with cleaning the entire place top to bottom, which was easily your least favourite task of your entire job. second, and more importantly, it meant you would be forced to deal with the filthy, sleazy men that would come in hopes of riling you up in anyway they could.
you were pliant, too soft for a place like this, too clean, too scared. all the girls before you had been ran away with ease after experiencing a single shift, and here you were, tiny little diner dress that sat too high on your thigh as men ogled at you.
you knew it was going to be a long night by hour two when you had already been harassed by two newcomers, the cooks in the back not able to back you up as much as they wanted considering it was a busy shift. you had been fighting tears back the entire night, but this was borderline insane. it felt targeted, and you felt exhausted already - this was hardly helping.
the smell of burnt coffee and grease was all you could think about as you walked around the diner, filling coffee mugs everytime a man would smash it hard against the table to get your attention, ignoring disgusting comments like they had never even been uttered, eyes down.
you felt it before you saw it.
him.
a regular. late 40âs, unshaven, dirt under his fingernails. kind of guy to make you uncomfortable just to get him off. he made your skin crawl. made you want to hide forever and never appear again, but alas, you were a young, poor, twenty something year old fighting for the very will to live.
you felt the slow drag of attention on your legs, dragging up and settling on your tits. your dress was buttoned, and though you knew there was nothing to even ogle at, the shape of your breasts against your dress was enough for dirt like him to get riled up.
âthere she is, about fucking time.â he grunted out, breath hot and legs spread underneath the booth table. âfetch me a coffee. make it good.â
you simply nodded, not trusting your voice as you grabbed him a mug before pouring it in in front of him, eyes trained on the drink.
âwhat time you finish tonight, sweets?â
your shoulders bristled immediately. he always did this, but it never made you feel any better.
âlate.â you murmured quietly, but he was perceptive enough to hear you. didnât like the bite in your voice.
âwalking home alone again?â
your body went cold.
your stomach tightened uncontrollably, and though the line of questioning wasnât anything new, it still messed with you more than you wanted to admit. you could feel the thin layer of threat coated in each word, and it scared you to know you were utterly defenceless.
you had been feeling watched recently too. on the staircases, when entering your home, walking through hallways. your building was shady, yes, but this was different - it felt charged. felt scary enough to notice, and paired with a line like that? this didnât feel normal anymore.
you shake your head before you could even think it through. âno.â
âno?â he repeated with a smirk.
you swallowed nervously.
âiâve got someone..so.â
your words surprised even you, and you tried your hardest to hide it, especially when his own was formed perfectly upon his features. he leaned back, drinking the coffee with his darkened features.
âyeah?â
âyeah.â
you shifted from foot to foot. he didnât believe you, you could feel it.
âhe works in construction.â you added, nervously, breathing through your words to sound firm but instead, coming out like a fawn. âdoes long shifts too but takes care of me and..and he doesnât..like men talking to me..so.â
your pad suddenly looked so much more interesting, shuffling it between your fingers as he stared you down, secretly seething at the idea of the pretty plaything at the diner no longer being accessible to mess with.
âheâs protective too. big cause he works with his hands.â you kept rambling on, describing the very protector you needed.
describing jungkook.
subconsciously, of course.
the sleazy man narrowed his eyes at you, tilting his head slightly. âdonât look like you have a man like that. you sure youâre not lying to me, sweets? cause i donât like liars.â
âi do..i really do.â you nodded immediately but you were blinking fast, almost about to burst into tears from your lie that you begged wouldnât come back to bite you in the ass.
âyeah? whatâs his name?â
your throat constricted. you wanted to run away.
âhe wouldnât like me giving his name out.â your voice came out a whisper.
you knew he had you. knew he could see right through you.
he drank from his mug once more, filthy stare looking over you once more as though he had every right. his fingers tapped against the table for a few seconds before he leaned back.
âsay hi for me.â
you didnât respond. you couldnât. you simply walked away.
later, once the diner had closed and every inch had been mopped to perfection, you finally grabbed your bag and your coat with a loaded sigh. the exhaustion was heavy today, you could feel it in the way your bones screamed with every passing movement. you had been shouted at non stop all night by customers, and though you werenât doing anything wrong, it still was never good enough.
stepping out after you had locked the doors was stark, the cold air hitting you in your face causing you to wrap your coat even tighter around you, beginning the ten minute walk to your apartment block. you had long become used to the journey, and despite the late hour being terrifying at this time of night, it was one of the only chances you had to feel the wind hit you. to remind you that you were alive.
the streets felt different tonight, with the stark lighting above flickering with each and every step. you could feel a knot begin to form in your stomach, and you knew it was anxiety, you knew you were being ridiculous but that didnât make the thoughts go away.
it only took another 30 seconds for your thoughts to be confirmed.
you could hear it. footsteps just a few metres away from you, and considering it was the early morning, the streets were completely bare save for yourself and whatever was trailing you from behind. you felt your legs quicken despite the tiredness in your body screaming at you, openly telling you it could take no more for the night and yet you were doing a full blown run home within seconds.
you could still hear it behind you, and it was real, wasnât a figment of your imagination - someone was trying to get you, to hurt you.
you could see your apartment, could see the heavy doors, the rubbish bins all empty and random waste littered around on the floor. the most noticeable thing of all, however, was the beaten down truck, where a tall and bulky man stood, smoking his cigarette with furrowed eyes as he leaned against it.
you recognised him immediately.
he seemed to notice you too, watching as you all but ran over to him, your eyes wide and breathing heavy, your chest heaving up and down.
jungkookâs head tilted just slightly, grabbing you with one of his arms as his cigarette sat on his lip, watching as you burst out into crushing sobs almost instantly from the feel of his touch.
it was safety personified.
his arms wrapped around you as though it was second nature, one hand on the back of your head, the other harsh on your waist.
his cigarette fell to the ground, extinguished by a heavy boot whilst you sobbed in utter fear, clutching him like a lifeline, as though he was the only thing that could protect you from the outside world.
he was.
his touch wasnât gentle, or firm - it was mean, harsh against your skin, grabbing and forcing you to look up at him as it did exactly what it needed to. it grounded you, enough to sedate the fear, just slightly, fingers pressing into your uniform.
âwhat happened?â his voice was equally as rough, as though he had barely used it all day, a man used to using his hands as opposed to his words.
you couldnât get your words out, too big eyes staring up at him almost desperately as broken sounds and wet breaths fell into his chest, your hands bundled against his pecs.
his jaw tightened. he looked past you, eyes narrowing as he assessed the street, shoulders square. it was far too quiet considering the state you were in, and he could only assume whatever had made you so scared had quickly ran away the moment they realised you had sought shelter in him. he was a pretty intimidating guy, all height and muscle, a right hook that had people passing out in seconds.
âdid someone touch you?â
you shook your head fast against him, sucking in a breath.
ân-n..â hiccup. âno.â
his hand travelled from the back of your head, running through your hair until it reached the back of your neck, eyes narrowing harshly. he was grounding you still, keeping you safe in his arms as you shook violently, a mixture of the cold air and the fear of what could have been had jungkook conveniently not been stood outside.
you had no idea that he had been waiting for you, almost aggravated at how late you were coming home.
âuse your words.â he uttered, fingers digging into your skin just enough to leave pressure, something you found grounding. âtalk.â
âwas a m-man..at the..at the diner and..but he keeps..and then..â you were choking out words, hardly making sense but it was enough for him to gather the general gist of what was happening.
you watched as his face went completely cold.
âregular?â he asked.
you nodded, not trusting your voice through your sobs.
âhe fucking follow you?â
you took a deep breath, shaky air leaving your lips. âi donât know- i think..someone foll-followed me..â hiccup. âso i ran.â
he looked angry.
you barely knew the man, but from the emotions he had given you, you could tell it wasnât directed at you whatsoever. you could feel it in the tension of his arms around you, the warmth his body exuded - it was fury.
âalright.â
decision made.
he pulled your face back, the hand on your neck forcibly tilting your head, so he was looking down at you. you shamelessly had never felt so protected ever before. he wiped the mascara underneath your eyes, despite the constant stream of tears, making sure to rid you of the blotchiness on your skin.
âlisten to me,â he began, watching you nod like the good girl he knew you were. âyouâre not going upstairs.â
your lip trembled again. did this mean you couldnât go home?
âb-but..â
âif he knows the building, you ainât going up there alone.â
you let out another sob, this only adding to the pile of problems you were already drowning in. you couldnât handle this. could feel your brain splitting from the stress of it all.
âiâm scared.â you admitted in a small voice, fingers curled into his work jacket so delicately. âwhat if he knows which one is mine?â
that fucking killed him.
jungkook rolled his shoulders before letting go of your neck, grunting lightly as he pulled you even tighter against him. suddenly, you were turned towards the entrance of the building, his heavy hold on you guiding you inside.
âwhere a-are we-â
âmy place.â he cut you off immediately as he walked you inside, head turning back to make sure no one was following him.
âyou live here?â you asked through a hiccup, desperately still clinging to him, giving him no option but to hold you intimately as he guided you downstairs instead of up, where you and the other residents lived.
everything moved so quickly as you were ushered into an apartment, your eyes hazy as they began to blink away tears to register what was in front of you.
jungkookâs place was clean, tidy, meticulous. the furniture looked expensive, everything crafted perfectly, open plan living room and kitchen with a dining table sat as though he had a family he could dine with. dark wood floors and a couch so plush you were sure it was softer than anything you had ever sat on in your life.
you heard the clink of the door behind you, even watched him lock the door, bolting it for your comfort as opposed to himself.
he turned to face you again, observing you clearly.
you stood, shaking still, body slowly calming down from the sobbing you were doing earlier and instead replaced with a string of hiccuping breaths. you looked so small, so defenceless - a sick part of his brain wanted you like this always so he could play the knight in shining armour. wanted you to need him.
he exhaled through his nose. âsit.â
you obeyed instantly, moving to the couch and taking a seat on the edge as though you were terrified to touch anything. he walked over to the kitchen, where you could still see him before he returned to you, glass of water in hand.
he handed it to you, watching you take it with both shaky hands and take small sips.
he suddenly crouched in front of you. his calloused hands took a hold of either side of you, fingers digging into the sides of your thigh as he situated you on the couch properly, your bare legs brushing against him with ease due to the position he had now put you in.
âlook at me.â
and so you did.
his shoulders were tight against his work jacket, frame so large you longed to be underneath it, just to know what kind of warmth would seep into your skin and bones. his forearms were thick, veins visible and tattoos on show, with bruised and bloody knuckles showing signs of scarring display too.
âis he going to try something?â he asked you, eyes trained onto your own.
âi donât know.â you answered honestly, and the acknowledgment of being uncertain had your anxiety spiking again visibly, causing him to hold you even firmer.
ârecount the conversation for me.â
âhe a-asked when i finish..and then..something about if i-i was walking home alone..â
jungkookâs jaw was ticking; his shoulders rolling as he ran a heavy hand through his hair. he met your fearful gaze, your fingers intertwined in your lap shaking.
âwhatâd you say?â his voice was direct, and his presence felt calming.
âi..told him i had a boyfriend.â you admitted through a sniffle, rubbing underneath your eyes. âmade him sound scary.â
the silence between you became thick, jungkookâs fingers digging into your skin. not painfully, but enough to certainly remind you of his hold, with his gaze never leaving your own.
his face remained stoic, but his actions gave him away.
âyeah?â he quietly responded; to which you nodded. âmhm.â
âhowâd you describe him?â
âwell..â you sniffled again, making jungkook wipe under your eyes for him, the harsh skin on his hands a stark difference to the soft surface of your face. âsaid he works in construction..and that..that heâs big and he doesnât like guys talking to me.â
his tongue began poking his cheek, eyes closing for a mere second before his fingers then moved to sit on your hips, pulling you into him, making sure you were much closer than you initially were sitting. your hands situated on his shoulders through hiccups, sniffling away as you tried to ignore the severity of the situation.
âconstruction.â he repeated.
you nodded, the intake of your breath shaky.
âdonât like men talking to you.â he repeated again, but his fingers gave him away again. he was being prodded by you and you didnât even realise it.
you nodded again, realising then that you had just been openly describing him, a beat of acknowledgment filling the room as silence filled the empty cracks between you.
there was something dark shining in his eyes, something that wouldnât soften no matter how hard you sat there and tried. jungkook was a hard wall, but it didnât mean he was unfeeling. emotion swirled deep in his stomach, igniting an internal need to take you for himself, to keep the door locked and protect you forever. how could someone be so oblivious to their own nature? did you know how sweet you were? his jaw ached at the mere thought of how youâd taste, so sugary heâd get a fucking toothache just imagining it.
âyou lie good?â
your stomach dropped. âi-i donât usually..â
âdid he believe you?â his gaze dropped to your mouth, before returning to your eyes, lip curled.
âi donât think so.â you whimpered then at the memory, the feeling of suffocation running back as you remembered the implication of the situation. you werenât safe anymore.
silence settled between you once more, a norm considering he was hardly a man of many words. his hands on your waist tightened before sliding up and down, soothing you subconsciously, your bodies so close.
âif he comes near you again,â he said, voice low and void of overt emotion, âdonât engage. donât talk. call me immediately.â
you blinked through a hiccup.
âbut i donât have your num-â
you were cut off immediately as he stood up to his full length, towering over you as he grabbed his phone, unlocking it and opening his contacts app.
âgive me yours.â
you fumbled for your bag, hands still shaky, pulling out your phone before handing it to him.
he grabbed it, inputting his number and making sure it sat at the top of your contact list. there were no frills, no emojis, just his name staring at you as he handed your phone back to you, eyes sweeping over your face.
âdonât let him scare you so easy. guys like that thrive on this shit.â his words came out gruff, and you blinked up at him quickly.
âi know, i just-â
âi know.â he cut you off again, shaking his head.
that did something to your chest. he knew. he didnât need the details, didnât want to hear you make an excuse for how you were feeling because you didnât need to, he had seen enough for himself. he had watched you long enough to know you liked to pack yourself way in too small boxes in hopes youâd go unnoticed, in hopes you wouldnât be a bother.
the intimacy of him simply cutting you off to remind you he didnât need to hear an explanation, he understood. it was music to you.
he was still looming over you.
âyou donât eat.â his thumb suddenly pressed down on your bottom lip, as you hiccuped, big eyes staring up at him. âdonât sleep enough, work too much, walk home on your own in the middle of the night. live in a unit that should be fucking condemned.â
your throat tightened, but his thumb was firm, the tip of your tongue slightly grazing it. he liked it.
ânot anymore.â he shook his head.
the way he said it wasnât intended for romance, it was ownership. you could feel it deep in your stomach, inbetween your thighs and in the traitorous thump of your very soul.
âyouâre staying here.â he suddenly dropped his thumb from your lip, your brain a buzzing mess as his words began to register in your brain, your eyebrows shooting up on your face.
âwhat?â
he didnât respond, simply walking over to the kitchen area and grabbing a beer can, rolling his shoulders gently. you found yourself standing then, shaky legs taking you over to him, big eyes capturing his as he took a swig despite the late hour, his adamâs apple capturing your eye.
your smaller fingers tugged at his jacket lightly, capturing his attention as his own stomach pinged at the sight of you, yearning for him to address what he had just said.
âyou eaten yet?â he simply uttered.
your mouth opened and closed, nodding your head lightly making him do the same.
âdonât want you going up. not safe. bathrooms down the hall to the left,â he put his beer down. âyou can wear one of my t-shirts to bed.â
your shoulders were slowly dissipating before his very eyes. you had never been taken care of, not for a moment in your full 20 odd years of living and you were almost unsure of how to act as your fingers remained on him, large eyes still glassy from your earlier emotion.
jungkook wanted to take care of you, wanted to dominate every negative emotion in your head until you were nothing but lullabies and sweet nothings, no more echoes of stress or negativity. what he hadnât expected was to see you utterly melt at the prospect, as though the very notion was the one thing you had always wanted.
oh.
you were perfect for him in every way - that he could see clearly.
you made no effort to move, the act alone feeling like it would take too much out of you and so jungkook took one last swig, before grabbing you by your waist. his rough hand sat low on your back, half on your ass in honesty, as he lead you there himself, dark eyes trailing over your much shorter figure against him.
within seconds, you were in the bathroom, fresh clothes given to you, and the shower already on awaiting you. the first step into it had you moaning quietly, the patter of warm water being completely foreign to you considering you were so used to cold shooting bursts that brought no comfort whatsoever. you helped yourself to his shampoo, his body wash, his products just as he intended and were taken aback by how familiar it smelled to you.
there was a sense of protection in carrying his scent that was messing with your brain, and as you washed yourself, you couldnât help but recognise your situation properly.
you, who had only met jungkook twice before, were now naked in his shower, using his products to wash yourself, imprinting his familiar scent into your skin like it was a lifeline. you were in a strangerâs home, seeking refuge from a bad man and yet you knew secretly, the big bad wolf was merely a few metres away from you - not that it deterred you.
the protection. the safety. it felt like a drug. you couldnât bring yourself to reason with the fact it was batshit insane to be sleeping over at his home, your handyman for goodness sake, instead of going to the police or any other normal avenue.
no, instead, you pattered out, towelling your body down before putting on his t-shirt, eyes closing at the even stronger scent of his cologne. your uniform and underwear sat in a neat pile, ready to be taken away when you woke up in the morning, leaving you utterly naked underneath the way too large top that sat just below mid thigh.
once you were completely refreshed, all remnants of fear stolen from you by the warmth of the water and the comfort of his presence, your bare feet padded back to the living room. he wasnât here, causing your eyes to narrow slightly in confusion before hearing a noise in the room adjacent, making your way over.
walking in, you were greeted by two things.
first, jungkookâs bedroom, which like him, was as manly as you imagined it to be. clean, precise, darker in colour and void of any real personality - a nagging, desperate little voice in your head practically screaming that it needed a womanâs touch. if only you knew the thought alone would have him cumming.
the second? jungkookâs naked back, littered with scars and muscle in places you didnât even realise one could have. to say he was big was a gross understatement, for he defined the very meaning of buff - wide shoulders, insane biceps, back rippling with every move.
you could feel yourself growing wet at the mere sight of him, a quiet little gasp leaving you, causing him to turn around, only for you to see his pecs, his abs. god, he was just massive all over, a sight for your already sore eyes indeed.
jungkook didnât say anything immediately, but he let out a deep grunt of appreciation at the sight of you. your bare legs, your wet hair; the way your hands were shuffling together. you looked like a vision.
had he been a better man, he would have guided you to the bed and walked out, designating to sleep on the couch but he had no intention of doing so. especially not when he could see your nipples poke straight through the cotton of his shirt, no doubt suggesting you had nothing underneath. his mouth watered at the thought of the sugary nectar inbetween your legs, could feel himself growing hard at the prospect.
âwhere do you want me to sleep?â you softly asked him, voice so gentle he wanted to ruin you.
that broke him from his trance, realising he was half hard just from looking at you. he felt like a fucking teenager, but could you blame him? you were his dream woman, circumstances and all, dolled up in his room like a present just for him.
âbed.â he muttered, nodding towards it which made you shyly play with your hair, watching him leave the room to no doubt go to the bathroom, his body brushing firmly against yours purposefully on the way out.
you closed your eyes for a moment once you were alone, heart beating fast, before walking over to the bed. you felt bad thinking he would take the couch, a little frown forming on your lips as you settled into the plush covers. another soft moan escaped you at the feel of such softness, the mattress delicate underneath you as you settled into it, feeling more comfortable than you ever had.
jungkook was back in a few minutes, also sporting wet hair suggesting he had just showered. this time, he returned merely in his boxers, a towel running through his locks as he examined you, all curled into the covers, not asleep just yet, as though you were waiting for confirmation from him.
fuck. he liked that. liked having you wait for him so he could decide your next move, like you were a little fawn unsure of what to do unless someone told you. heâd be that someone.
he watched as your eyes instantly fell to his bulge, eyes widening at the sheer size of it, your thighs pressed tightly together under his sheets as he approached you. he watched you stare at it, cock only hardening further at the attention, before pulling back the covers.
âoh..a-are you..sleeping here?â you managed to choke out, your tshirt having ridden up to sit at the tops of your thighs, big eyes peering up.
ânot sleeping on a couch in my own home.â he grunted back at you, before sliding in beside you.
a once massive bed suddenly felt claustrophobic as you realised why he needed the space, though you managed not to touch him, you shyly moved to your side, your back to him to give him his privacy, your cheeks painted pink at the implication.
you were sharing a bed with a stranger. a big, tall, tatted stranger who was currently hard as fuck, whilst you laid on your side, pussy soaked from his attention, body quivering.
he was on his back, body taking up a massive majority of the space in the bed and he was utterly shameless about it. you, however, had tried to make yourself as small as possible in the corner, body scrunched up, unable to sleep as your brain worked round and around and around and around and arou-
big, beefy arms suddenly were grabbing you, one on your leg, the other on your waist as you were suspended in the air for a moment or two. you squeaked loudly, stomach dropping at the confusion of being moved and in the air.
jungkook was grunting at you, his preferred method of communication as you were finally placed firmly onto his chest, stomach first. your t-shirt had ridden up to the middle of your back, meaning your bare ass was on display, causing jungkook to place his hand on it as though it was the most normal thing on earth.
the position also meant you were pressed against him intimately, with your wet cunt now pushed against his too large bulge, causing a soft whimper to escape you, right into his ear. your breasts weâre pushed against his chest, your head resting into his shoulder as you both settled in as though this was the most natural thing on earth.
âsleep. youâve had a long night.â his voice was rough, coarse, as though he too was fighting something.
as though the hand on your ass and the push of his weight, making you feel him intimately in every single way, was just as much punishment for him as it was for you. it was suffocating and you needed more, yearned for it.
your hands settled on his chest, your nose nuzzling into his neck as you nodded, eyes snapping shut. you truly were the picture perfect definition of obedience.
you werenât sure how long either of you stayed like that, unmoving, unspeaking, just the understanding you were truly no more than strangers seeping in as sleep finally took both of you.
â
the diner was equally as busy the next day, with a particular scent that wouldnât escape your skin no matter how hard you tried.
burnt oil soaked through the cracking walls, whilst the coffee that had been brewing for far too long sat in its pot, in your hand as you walked around the dining floor, filling mugs to whoever demanded more. you had disinfected the entire place with a cheap lemon solution that morning, the scent lingering slightly, causing you to feel nauseous.
you had been out of it all day.
you had woken up still in the same position as you had fallen asleep in, only this time, jungkookâs arms were hugging you tightly to him. one hand was curled into his hair, the other pressed into his chest, whilst you both slept deeply, safely.
you had slept better that night than any other in your entire lifetime. the feeling of protection was immense, and for the first time, your brain wasnât racing in anxiety all night - you were able to rest comfortably.
that only made it so much more jarring once you had left his apartment whilst he was still sleeping, wanting nothing more than to stay in his arms, sleep a few more hours, relish in the warmth he was so happily providing for you. you felt guilty leaving like that, but the constant thump in your head brought you back to reality.
you did not know him. he was a stranger.
that was what you were telling yourself anyway, knowing that the traitorous thump of your heart gave you away. you hadnât been focused all day, spilling drinks, dropping plates of food - your manager had been on your case your entire shift, the cooks even shouting at you at one point. you were utterly overwhelmed with jungkook and he wasnât even there.
your feet were aching, but you knew you only had 20 minutes left. 20 minutes and you could go home, no night shift, just a long day that would be over in less than half an hour. that gave you a sort of excitement you rarely afforded yourself, and despite the fact your cheap flats were digging into your feet, and your apron felt too tight, you couldnât wait.
that was until you heard a voice.
âare you fucking deaf? asked for a coffee 3 times now.â
you looked up from your spot behind the counter, meeting the gaze of the horrible, sleazy regular from yesterday, your blood running cold.
he usually only showed up in the late hour, and this was the first time you had see him during the day. it felt like a confirmation of some kind, one in which you had gathered he had either been watching you or was now looking closely, something that unsettled you. how else would he be here? why else?
you swallowed the thump in your throat, shaking hands grabbing the coffee pot and filling his mug as he sat at the diner bar, your eyes avoiding his at all costs.
âyou look tired.â he said through a yawn, making no attempt to hide the fact he was ogling your tits. âyour âboyfriendâ keep you up?â
you flinched at his words, knowing the implication - he still didnât believe you. that made you feel sick. you chose to ignore him, tending to something at the till, in hopes heâd leave you alone.
âdonât know if i believe ya, sweets. been thinking about what you said about him, construction guys donât go for girls like you.â he mused, as though he was the smartest man in the world, watching the way your hands shook lightly. âyouâre all shy and shit. what you know about pleasing a man?â
you felt heat crawl up your throat and down your spine, feeling a level of shame you couldnât quite place. you hated it. even reacting to a man like him was giving him power, and he relished in it.
âyou better be usinâ what you got.â he leaned back, hand openly palming himself as he grinned, dirty teeth on display. âtight little ass like yours? should let him use it or heâll start lookinâ elsewhere.â
you flinched once more, this time harsher.
âthatâs inappropriate.â you found your voice, though it was shaky, desperately looking over at your manager who was conveniently pretending like he couldnât hear a thing.
âiâm helpinâ you, sweets. should be grateful.â
your eyes narrowed. âyou donât know anything about me.â
at that, he leaned forward, grin even wider. it was sinister. âyeah? know you walk home all alone.â
your heart dropped.
âi see you.â he added. âlate. every night.â
you couldnât breathe. it felt like someone had grabbed your lungs, suffocating you from the inside and out, a confirmation of your wildest fears before your very eyes.
âsee, i like to watch who goes in and out of that building. got some buddies, and you know..bad area. should be careful.â he was all but fucking gleeful. âpretty girls like you, theyâre the most fun to play with.â
your hands were beginning to shake violently, as one reached for your phone, clumsily putting your password in, not being able to think.
âyou sure your boyfriends real?â he asked lazily. âor you just sayinâ that to throw me off the scent?â
âi have one.â you immediately interjected, panic visible in your voice, desperate to be believed. âhe doesnât like when i talk to other men, so..â you pathetically whispered, turning on your heel and immediately going into the back, where the staff room was located.
you didnât come out for the rest of your shift, your chest in a panic, hands shaking and eyes leaking tears once more. he had been watching you? did that mean something could have happened had you returned to your unit last night, instead of staying with jungkook?
you couldnât believe this was a reality, and the fact you knew you had no escape plan was even worse. you couldnât move out, you didnât have the funds, and it was a terrifying thought to know you were simply waiting to be violated. the thought alone had you crying into your hands, shakily hovering over jungkookâs contact.
you didnât want to bother him. he owed you nothing, and you had already taken so much from him.
with that, you grabbed your things and snuck out the back, beginning the 10 minute walk back home.
jungkook had been in the same position as you all day. his work was rendered useless, and considering he had well paying clients, it was enough to drive him to the point of anger. every thought, every crevice of the world around him brought him back to you, how youâd slotted against him so easily last night, so pliant and ready. to then wake up to an empty bed and a wet patch on his boxers from where you were both pressed together was frustrating to say the least - he wanted to wake up to the sight of you.
he had every intention of sitting you down, telling you to leave your job, telling you exactly what he could offer you if you just let him. hell, he would do it against your will too if you kept this shit up, more than ready to fund a lifestyle you had only ever dreamt of.
he was outside the building now, loading up his truck with shit he had been using all day, his tools, extra pieces of wood he had no use for at the minute and what not. his hands were beyond rough, calloused from daily use but that was the payoff for working with them carelessly. he couldnât help but remember the feel of them on your ass, squeezing all night, sometimes dipping lower subconsciously just to hear you whine in your sleep.
fuck, he was half hard again just remembering it, but half annoyed recalling the way you had just left.
he was taken out of his thoughts when he looked to his right, just as you walked into the apartment complex, not seeing him, tears streaming down your face once more and shoulders sagging as though walking alone was too exhausting for you. he felt his chest break into tiny little pieces at the sight, it was enough to anger him for a completely different reason.
he was walking towards you before he could even rationalise it, a hand slipping over your waist within seconds and pushing your back straight into his chest, his bigger frame engulfing you. you let out a strangled gasp, looking down and visibly melting fully as you noticed the tattoos on his hand, letting out a quiet whimper.
âwhat happened?â jungkook immediately asked, the two of you stood in front of the building.
your tears wouldnât stop streaming, your breathing already difficult as your bag dropped from your shoulder. your hands instantly went to cover your face, as you broke out into quiet sobs, body raking in his arms. the exhaustion had finally got to you.
your brain had broken.
jungkook didnât waste any time. he grabbed you fully, picking you up with a single arm, to which you immediately hid your face in his neck, holding onto him as you ruined his uniform with your body shaking sobs. your bag was in his other hand whilst he made his way to his own apartment, not saying anything but simply allowing you to get the bulk of your emotions out, before walking in, and settling you down onto his couch.
âtalk to me.â suddenly, you were in his lap, completely cradled by the older, bigger man as though you were a little baby, and your body moved closer in hopes of more comfort.
it took you a while until you were able to speak, holding the sleeves of his jacket desperately, his large hands on your back and cupping your legs to him. he was soothing you with his presence, patting gently to get you to calm down and soon enough you did, unable to look him in the eye, feeling embarrassed enough that you had done this two days in a row now.
âthe guy from the diner came..came back and..â you breathed deeply through your hiccups, his forehead now against yours, making sure you could feel him. âtold me he watches..the building..knows i walk home alone and, said he knows..said he knows people from the building.â
the more you recounted, the more restless you became as you began to sob once more, your hands covering your face again. his anger was beyond anything he could describe, he could feel it coursing through his veins as though it was part of his dna, the need to protect you stronger than every other emotion.
âlook at me.â he managed to say, voice strangled, causing you to do exactly as he said, despite your shaking body.
âyouâre not going back upstairs, you hear me? iâm gonna go get your things, and youâre staying here.â
you startled for a moment, eyes narrowing up at him in confusion. what did he mean?
âbut thatâs my apartment..â
âitâs a fucking shoebox with a busted lock.â he hissed.
âjungkook, i canât just..â you shook your head, your shaking hands piled at his chest whilst he pulled you closer, nose nuzzling yours for just a moment to gather himself. âyou can. what do you need from it, and iâll grab shit.â
you shook your head, pushing him away lightly despite it being the last thing you wanted him to do, and he knew that. your hands were now tightening against the material of his jacket, tears streaming, eyes wide and head shaking.
âthis is crazy. you donât even know me and i donât even know you.â you said through another half sob. âi canât stay here, okay? youâll get sick of me, and..and iâll annoy you, or youâll wake up, and..and youâre gonna..youâre gonna decide it was a mistake and i..â
he simply stared at you, eyes narrowing dangerously. if he had felt anger at the situation before, now it was beginning to direct at you.
he exhaled sharply. âstop.â
you let out another shaky sob at his command, head dropping to his shoulder, the confusion in your mind so clear. it wasnât that you didnât want it, but you didnât feel worthy of it. all you had ever known was abuse, from the moment you were born until this very second - happiness was foreign to you, a notion you truly believed wasnât in the cards for you, and to have someone openly wish to shelter you felt confusing.
âiâll bother you, i know it.â the voice in which you admitted your darkest fear had him tightening his grip on you.
suddenly, your positions had changed. you were no longer on his lap, cradled, but instead, on your back laid on the couch, with your hands positioned above your head and jungkookâs entire body hovering over you. he was rendering you useless, and you couldnât bring yourself to fight it.
âlisten to me, y/n.â his eyes were dark. âi work all day, like a fucking dog, breakinâ my back doing all this shit, fucking my body up. you think i do that for fun?â
you shook your head in a little no, still crying.
âgot all this money, got a nice job, stopped doing all that bad work that gets me in trouble, no back door shit. do it so when i got myself a lady, she rests good, you hear me?â his voice was rough, almost mean. âso she donât have to lift a fucking finger a day in her life.â
your chest tightened at the notion, and a subconscious part of you screamed inside, begging to be the very woman he was discussing; yearning.
âyou move here, and you do nothing. donât want you working, donât want you doing anything other than lookinâ pretty. donât want a single thought in that brain ever again, unless itâs when i take you out, or when you want something.â
his head pressed against yours, the conviction behind his voice causing you to quiver. you had stopped sobbing now, reduced to silent tears that continued to stream, your cute nose all pink and the fucked up part of him was fighting the fact his cock was hardening at the sight.
âiâm gonna go upstairs, gonna get your shit, and you donât do nothing, understand me? donât think about rent, or food, or sleep - you donât stress about nothing no more.â
âbut why?â you asked through a shaky breath, sucking in air as you hiccuped, a pool of wetness forming on either side of your head from how much you were crying. âyou donât even get anything out of it.â
he doesnât hesitate. âi get you.â
at that, a strangled noise left you, your eyes shutting tightly as your heart thudded harshly in your chest. he wanted you? truly? even without the frills, even without you being able to offer anything real, or tangible?
âi get to take care of you, spend my money on you, get you in my bed every night where you canât run off before i wake up.â he grunted down at you, grabbing one of your hands from above your head and pressing it firmly against the growing bulge in his work trousers. âyou feel that? feel how fucking hard i get just thinking about it, baby?â
you nodded through your sniffles, hiccuping a few times as your hand gently massaged his cock, the layers of clothing dulling the sensation but it was enough to have him press his head against yours once more, cooing at you. his hand slid on top of your own, pushing it harder, and despite the action being intensely sexual, it felt intimate more than anything.
âcouldnât get bored of you, wouldnât ever. look at you..fuck. were meant to be spoilt, not built to be working out there and stressinâ. need to lock you up here so you never worry again.â
again, you nodded, more desperate, whining out for him as both of your hands interlocked with his. the one above your head, sweet and reassuring, and the other, massaging his cock, demanding and grounding. you were his, and it was only then that you realised it - strangers or not.
the next hour was spent with you washing up in the bathroom, having the longest shower of your life, crying all of the remnants of your emotions out whilst jungkook went upstairs, grabbing your things. considering your situation, it took him no longer than ten minutes, something deep pinging in his stomach knowing you had never even tasted luxury. heâd change that.
by the time he had come back down, he was settling your things into your now shared room, watching as you shuffled out in another one of his t-shirts, wet hair, big teary eyes and an unsure demeanour. he took his time with you then, arm around your waist so you could watch him work, putting things away like it was second nature.
he left you curled up all nice and warm on the couch, blankets covering you whilst he gave you the remote, urging you to watch something. he had shit to do.
first, he was going to cancel your lease and threaten your landlord.
second? he was going to fuck up the man who had scared you.
â
two weeks.
two weeks of living a life you were sure was never supposed to be yours.
from sleeping as much as you wanted, and eating whatever your heart desired, jungkook was spoiling you rotten. the glee in his eyes every time he could see a small smile form on your face was enough to render you a mess.
youâd wake every morning flush to his chest, with your bodies pressed together intimately, his hard cock poking against your own panties in a way that had you breathless. on one occasion, you had woken up to find yourself all but grinding against him, only aware of it once you realised you were orgasming, causing your cheeks to flush a deep plum.
he fucking loved it. finally, everything made sense, his life has purpose, tangible purpose. the sight of you on his couch, resting on your stomach with your bare ass to the door just as he would walk into the apartment was enough to drive him insane - it was the sight heâd masturbate to daily. he didnât want to push you, he was enough of a gentleman to know it wasnât right to push his needs on you, and he was trying. god knew he had put every bit of his restraint into his situation.
you were both dancing a fine line of evident need and want, yet one couldnât admit it to themselves and the other didnât want to push.
the first night was the moment you realised that jungkook wasnât any ordinary man. all of the kindness aside, it was when you awoke from the nap on his couch to him walking back into the apartment that you realised he was indeed every bit of the man you wanted.
bloody knuckles, and a slight bruise already forming on his cheek, he had walked over to you and pressed a kiss to your forehead, telling you everything was now taken care of. your rent, the piece of shit that had been scaring you, hell, even your nasty manager who made it a habit to be rude to you.
you had washed his knuckles yourself, sniffling away your tears whilst apologising for being so weepy. he simply nuzzled his nose into your forehead, grunting something about how he liked it. liked how you wore your emotions openly and how honest you were about your feelings. it felt refreshing.
after that, he made it a habit to break any wandering thought left in your brain. heâd wake up to you all curled into his body, making him leave kisses all over your hands and cheeks whilst you slept, leaving you to go to work. heâd think about you the entire day, only to return to you with different boxes of food for you to try so you could find out what your favourite cuisines were.
in two weeks, jungkook made you feel more seen and recognised than you had ever felt in the past 24 years.
you still felt awfully shy in his presence. just yesterday, he had taken you out shopping, your hand tucked gently into his arm as you both walked up and down the high street. you shook your head vehemently as he tried to get you to go into the expensive, designer shops, your heart practically failing out of guilt just thinking about it.
âbuy what you want.â heâd say to you, or, âdonât look at the price.â
you had once done so, picking out a lipstick marginally cheaper than the ones you could see in hopes that it would satiate him. he saw right through it, his eyes narrowing down at you as you shuffled from foot to foot, unable to meet his gaze.
âdonât annoy me. get something good.â
and so, youâd leave with bags upon bags of things, with flushed cheeks and a thundering heart.
his favourite shop, obviously, was victoria secret. you had clung to him almost desperately out of shyness, often hiding your face in his chest whenever heâd hold up a pair that he thought were nice. he let you browse, watching you shakily pick out a pair or two before you peered up at him, large eyes shining.
âwhich ones do you like?â you had whispered, so sweet, so inviting that he swore he could have came right then and there.
his arm around your waist tightened as he looked down at you, jaw clenched slightly at the way you had asked him. maybe it was the genuine curiosity that stemmed from you that had him guiding you to a cute, lacy pink pair. he bought them for you immediately, leaving you a flushing mess.
going home, eating together, curled together as you watched things, his legs spread wide whilst he played with your hair. it felt domestic. it felt freeing, and frankly, it felt like everything you had ever prayed for. something in the back of your mind screamed at you, reminding you that you still didnât know enough about him, that he was no more than just a random man a month ago and yet here you were.
and so, here you sat, at the dining table with your legs crossed. it was 2pm, so jungkook was well within his work day, leaving you at home with a racing mind and shaking hands. you wanted to do something for him, something to show him just how grateful you were for all of the kindness he had bestowed upon you.
you grabbed your phone, embarrassment heavy in your chest as you began searching in anything that came to mind.
âhow to keep a man happyâ
you frowned at the results, not finding anything that applied to jungkook in particular.
âhow to be a good girlfriendâ
you flushed furiously writing that one out, but you knew it was the closest equivalent to the relationship you had with him. even then, all the results catered to people that didnât align with jungkookâs personality. you sighed.
âhow to please a man that takes care of youâ
now this, this was different. you sat up, seeing multiple different hits but the one thing you kept seeing over and over was the same line. you shuffled in anticipation, eyes reading it continuously, biting down on your lip.
âkeep his stomach fed, and his balls empty.â you whispered out loud, repeating what you had read.
your cheeks flamed red as you shut your phone, setting it down like you had an audience around you, feeling a level of embarrassment creep up your neck. that..that felt fitting. you knew he loved his food, was always eating with a can of beer whenever he got a chance.
you also knew him to be hard nearly every instance he got. you werenât an idiot, you had felt it against you to know that you probably couldnât take him fully without prep, but the thought had your eyes shutting tight, a small whine leaving you - you wanted him just as bad.
soon enough, you had decided on your plan of action. you got changed, grabbing the card jungkook had given you and quickly made your way to the grocery store, hand shaking around your phone as you searched in popular dishes. you figured a steak would do, since you knew most men enjoyed meat, despite knowing you had never really cooked before.
you stood in front of the meat section hopelessly, shyly asking the workers there a million questions until a lovely older lady walked you around the shop, telling you how to prepare it, what ingredients to use, pushing you to purchase the more expensive options as âyou could taste it in every bite.â
waddling home, you steadied yourself as you put everything in the kitchen, wrapping your new apron around you tight. you were determined. you wouldnât fail, not when this was for jungkook, not when he had done so much for you.
hours had passed, and you were finishing up the last details of the dinner. the table had been set, with candles and plates positioned in a way you had seen in a youtube video. you had his favourite beer chilled and ready, even going the extra mile to have a shower, do your hair and makeup using the products he had bought you. you still had your apron on, knowing heâd love the sight of the cute frilly material around you.
your hair was clipped behind your head as you heard the door unlock, causing you to squeak quietly, gathering everything together as quickly as you could.
jungkook had had the longest day of his entire existence. from clients taking the piss, to fixing rushed jobs from other men in the industry. he had even had a phone call from an old friend, asking to stash some cash - it came with a hefty profit, but he had to decline, despite it souring the relationship. he had his girl waiting back home for him, and he had to make sure he was on the right track. no more illegal shit, no matter what that meant for the legacy he had built in his twenties.
walking inside his home, only to find you nervously smiling at him, was enough to take the wind out of his lungs. looking down, however, and seeing the full home cooked spread, was enough to have a man like him on his knees.
âhi..â you shyly grinned, hands shuffling.
âwhatâs this?â he asked, putting his tools down, uniform heavy as he approached you.
the sound of his keys dropping on the dish you had placed by the entrance made you jump slightly, as you nibbled away on your lip. he approached you, standing in front of you, eyes never leaving your own.
âi just..you do so much for me and, iâm so grateful and i wanna take care of you too.â your voice was no louder than a whisper, almost flushed at the admission as you immediately reached for his jacket, playing with the buttons, peering up at him. âitâs okay if you donât like it, i just thought it would be nice for you to have something home cooked.â
he grunted, deep from his chest as his face fell into the space between your neck and shoulder, breathing in your scent. his hands were roaming all over your stomach, your hips, your waist, a soft giggle finding its way out of your lips at his reaction. it made you giddy to think he was enjoying this.
âyou cooked all this?â he asked, walking towards the table, dragging you along with him, to which you lightly bounced, nodding. âwent to the shops, and asked the nice lady and she told me what to get and she said that youâd like steak and she showed me what video to follow-â you rambled.
he was enamoured by you, taking a seat at the head of the table, where you had positioned all of his plates. instead of moving towards your own seat, he grabbed your waist once more and pulled you firmly until you fell into his lap, your tiny dress doing little to provide modesty as you curled into him.
you watched him intently cut a piece, big eyes peering at him as he took a bite.
âyou really made this?â he asked you, hand harsh on your thigh.
you offered him a shy nod, anxiety swirling in your stomach. it was okay if he didnât like it, but the thought made you want to weep - this was supposed to be all for him. you didnât want to mess it up.
âgood girl.â he murmured, before cutting up a piece for you, watching as you ate from the same fork, a look of pure glee across your face.
his words had you leaning into him properly as you both ate, his grunts of approval worth a million words as you recounted how you cooked it, all whilst he listened carefully and ate. you truly couldnât have been happier with yourself, your fingers curling into the hair behind his neck.
he had finished his plate, but was now properly feeding you, and despite a shake of your head, was making sure you finished your plate. the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, your arms around him and his around yours, breathing in one anotherâs scent.
he was so manly all over, the faint smell of sweat alongside his cologne and skin was intoxicating and you wanted it ingrained in your mind forever.
âwell done.â he murmured down at you, soft for a change, causing you to look up.
the smile that formed on your lips was enough for him to dedicate his entire life to praising you, wanting to see it every single day for the rest of his life. he couldnât fathom how lucky he was to have the object of his desires all pretty, in a cute apron and dress; cooking for him, just so heâd feel good. fuck.
âiâm happy you liked it.â you admitted in a small voice. âi really wanted to make it good for you.â
âyou donât have to do anything, y/n.â
âi know, you always say that but i just..i wanna, okay?â you shook your head, nibbling away at your lip once again.
his thumb darted out, capturing your lip and releasing it from your teeth. god, he couldnât get enough of how cute you were, looking up at him like that. his thumb pushed against your lips for a moment, letting it sit on your tongue, watching the way you wrapped your mouth around it.
the moment was gone within a second as he pulled back, a sudden look on his face you couldnât decipher. before you could ponder on it, his lips finally connected with your own.
kissing jungkook was unlike anything you had ever expected. you knew him to be dominant, direct and manly, but this? he was all but devouring you. it wasnât gentle like first kisses often tended to be, but demanding - rough. his lips moved against yours like he owned you, and you deflated immediately, letting him do whatever he wanted to you. your hands were in his hair, tugging him closer, your legs moving around him to now straddle instead of just sitting.
the second his tongue began exploring your mouth, you couldnât hold back the moans.
he kissed like a man starved, his hands running up and down your body, cupping your ass, your breasts, before settling on your waist, chasing you every time you pulled away for breath.
by the time you had fully managed to depart from his lips, you were panting, eyes lidded and heart beating faster than you could keep up with. your hands slid from his hair down to his chest, as he captured your lips in small pecks.
jungkook could feel the day washing off of him. the dinner, your excitement, the kiss - fuck, even the thought of you paying for all of the things you wanted at the grocery shop with his card. he was visibly melting, more relaxed than heâd allowed himself to be in years and it was a sight for you too.
âgo shower.â you whispered lightly to him, pecking his lips. âiâm gonna clean up.â
he simply nodded, capturing your lips in another heavy kiss that lasted far too long before letting out a grunt, setting you on your feet, and heading to the bathroom.
you stood there for a moment, eyes fluttering closed and breathing out through your nose.
god, you were so fucked.
â
later that evening, jungkook sat in front of the tv, legs spread, a can of beer in hand and the game playing loudly. he was the picture perfect image of relaxation, in a pair of sweats and a white tank, his hair still wet from his earlier shower, he truly didnât think life could get better than this. he had jumped you the second he had gotten out, smothering you in as many kisses as he could get in before you started pushing him away, flushed pink and giddy.
his cock had been straining against his sweats for hours.
you, however, were a slight nervous wreck.
you stood near the edge of your now shared bed, nibbling away on your lip as you looked at yourself in the mirror. you had showered yourself, dried your hair, even did your makeup really nice. you were in a tank and tiny little cotton shorts, but underneath? the pink underwear he had bought you.
your only objective tonight was to make him cum.
a shaky breath left you as you ran your hand through your hair, making sure you looked okay. you wanted to make him feel good, wanted it more than anything else in the world, and you knew that once you started, the door would be wide open and your relationship would completely change.
you werenât sure how many more times you could withstand the feeling of not quite being able to satisfy yourself. being home alone for most days, waiting for him to return with the thought of him heavy on your mind and mouth, trying to keep your hands out of the space inbetween your legs was impossible.
waking up to his boner pressing into you? unfair.
you knew he wanted this badly, maybe even more than you did, but he wasnât about to push that on you given your strange dynamic. luckily for him, you were heeding the internetâs advice - you had fed him, now you were ready to drain his balls.
and so, you walked into the living room, his eyes completely trained on the tv as you sat beside him on the couch, not looking up at you. his hand, however, sat high on your bare thigh immediately, all whilst his cock strained against his clothes.
you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, noticing him taking a swig of his beer, attention entirely on the game playing, easing your nerves massively. you shifted, his hand dropping from your thigh as you began your plan of action.
jungkook finally looked at you, only to catch you pulling your hair up into a ponytail. he would have thought nothing of it had it not been for your outfit, your pretty lipstick, the way you looked like you were ready to be fucking used. his lips parted as he watched you drop to your knees in front of him, innocent eyes no longer feeling as naive as he once thought.
before he could even say anything, your smaller hands began reaching for his waistband, fingers hooking until you were able to push them down enough for his fat cock to spring free.
he watched you gasp. watched you take in his length and girth, a fucked up part of his brain eager to break you finally as you blinked away your visible fear. he wasnât just big, he was monstrous. the type of cock to break you from the inside, the type to hurt and make you sore for days. the type that had you moaning just at the sight of it.
your hand finally wrapped around it, although your fingers didnât touch and that alone had your head dropping to his thigh, mouth already drooling.
âso pretty.â you whimpered up at him, causing him to jolt in your grip, a low grunt filling the air. âgonna break yourself trying to make it fit in your mouth.â he nudged your chin with his fingers, his words condescending but they only made you wetter.
a surge of confidence ran through you as you huffed up at him, tongue laying flat as you let his cock tap against it a few times, licking up all the salted beads of precum. soon enough, you were suckling at his tip, moaning and circling your tongue.
his hand shot to the back of your head with a loud curse, his eyes closed. he hadnât had anyone warming his bed in months upon months, and now that he had you, he knew no one else would ever be good enough.
watching you finally begin to suck and bob your head was enough to have him pushing down your head, forcing you to accommodate another inch or two. it made you gag, but the wet patch forming on your shorts was proof enough you liked it. your hands pumped the rest of his cock in unison as you eagerly sucked, whimpering against the most sensitive part of him.
âfuck, look at you.â he hissed out loud, continuing to bob your head. âwanted this from day one, didnât you?â
you parted from his cock for air, gasping lightly as you pumped him faster, nodding despite already feeling lightheaded. god, jungkook had barely begun and you were already so needy - he yearned to know what youâd be like once he finally impaled you fully.
âwanted it so bad.â you admitted through a small voice, eyes never leaving his as you tapped his cock onto your tongue again a few times before opening your mouth and starting it again.
this time, jungkook pushed your head down further and further, watching his cock disappear down your throat until you couldnât take anymore, pulling off for breath once more, your shattered gasps and gulps enough for him to cup your cheek.
âthatâs my girl, look at you.â his coos were hardly sweet, with a clear edge to them as you bounced your head up and down, sucking him with all of your energy. he swore, throwing his head back. âshouldâve done this a long time ago. look how good you look choking on me.â
your legs were quivering with want, wanting nothing more than to play with your clit in that moment but focusing on him regardless. jungkook was already close, and as much as he wanted to paint your throat in his cum, he had no intentions of cumming anywhere other than your fucking womb.
suddenly; his hands on your head were pulling at your hair, forcing you off of his cock as you panted for air, chest rising and falling. your lips were covered in spit, and yet you looked like a vision made just for him, his cock tweaking at the sight of you.
he forced you to get up, which you happily did, falling onto the couch beside him as he grabbed onto your legs, hand grabbing your shorts and harshly pulling them down only to be met with the pink lacy set he had been thinking of all day.
his silence was met with a shaky giggle from as you spread your legs once more, your panties absolutely soaked through, and yet you wanted more.
âi hope you like them.â you hummed, as he began to hover over you. âwanted to wear them for you.â
âyeah?â he groaned quietly, fingers tracing the shape of your pussy through them. âfuck, youâre tiny. iâm gonna break you, you know that?â
âpromise?â you whispered back, causing his eyes to flicker back to you, his cock jolting.
you were a secret minx.
his lips were on yours within seconds, tasting himself on your tongue as he devoured you, moving against you with utter ease. instead of taking your panties off, he simply moved them to the side, pulling your tank down to reveal your tits spilling out of your matching lacy bra. pink was a colour he wanted you in every waking moment, you looked better than he could have ever imagined.
his hand was on you immediately, fingers rubbing away at your clit causing you to whimper at the feel of relief finally. you were wound up so tight anyway, to have someone touching you after so so long was a feeling you had forgotten. to be touched by jungkook was a whole other ballpark.
you both moaned into each otherâs mouths as your hand began to pump him, bodies moving in unison as you focused on pleasuring one another. it only took a few minutes for you to succumb to your first orgasm, loud moans leaving your lips as you shook in his arms.
he watched you hungrily, his brain chemistry changing before for your very eyes.
this is what you looked like cumming.
oh. how had he lived? how had he survived a life without your face scrunching up, whining out his name so pathetically, legs shaking around him whilst your hand only gripped him tighter.
it wasnât enough, though. never. he allowed you a moment or two of rest before circling your clit once more, watching you jostle in overstimulation. his fingers were inside you without any prior warning, pumping as he heard you whine loudly.
âj-jungkook!â you shrieked, hand falling from his aching cock as you grabbed onto his shoulders, grounding yourself.
âfuck, there you go. câmon.â he was hissing down at you, fingering you deep, bigger than anything you had taken in a while.
the stretch was delicious, and you already felt so full - you couldnât even fathom being fucked by his cock, but the thought had your hips lifting for more.
jungkook coaxed two more orgasms out of you just like that, leaving you a shaky and dazed mess, before removing his fingers, sucking on them with a loud grunt. he went to move inbetween your legs, to make good work of the slick dripping from you only to be stopped by your smaller hands.
âwant you.â you whimpered with a shake of your head. âdonât wanna wait anymore.â
âneed to stretch you baby, youâre still tight.â he shook his head back at you, grabbing your legs and pulling you closer.
âno.â you huffed, voice suddenly bratty. âyou said youâd give me anything i want..â
he closed his eyes at that, cock throbbing. fuck, you already knew his weak spots, and he had every intention of making you feel it just as deeply as he could. he departed from you entirely, leaning back, pulling you up by your arms firmly.
âget on the bed.â he simply uttered to you, voice dark. he was so firm, so direct - his words sat in your stomach as you shakily did exactly that, leaning on the walls as you wobbled your way over.
even in moments of heightened passion, he couldnât get over how tooth achingly sweet you were.
you laid on the bed, head plush on your shared pillows as you managed to catch your breath. jungkook walked in, hair a mess, shoulders sore from the scratches you had left behind, cock hard and against his stomach as he approached. neither of you could look away from one another, as he grabbed your hips and yanked you down closer to him, hovering over you immediately.
âgive me a kiss.â he hushed down at you, causing you to lean up, pressing a sweet peck to his lips. you were so cute to him.
he lined himself up with you, rubbing his cock up and down, causing you to whine, the size of him against you already addicting. soon, he started to push in, the tip of his cock already stretching you wider than anything you had ever taken.
jungkook hovering over you, his arms caging you in other side of your head as he pushed deeper, deeper and deeper. you could feel your thighs quivering, your wide eyes shutting tight as you felt you couldnât breathe by the time he was half way in. he wasnât fairing any better. this was out of his wildest dreams, panting on top of you, cooing down at you.
âmy good girl, so so good to me. look at you taking it so well. were born to take me, werenât you baby?â he cooed down, causing you to whimper as you could feel the familiar sting of tears forming in your eyes.
you nodded, sucking in a shaky breath as your arms wrapped around his neck. âs-so big.â
he hissed as he continued to push inside, managing to fit his entire length in after multiple minutes. you were breathing deeply, chest rising and falling as jungkook waited for you to settle down, watching the way your stomach bulged from the intrusion.
âyou can take it.â he assured, hand pressing down on your stomach, against the bulge causing you to shriek loudly, eyes closing tight again. tears were beginning to stream, and he could feel himself getting harder.
âyou c-can..can move.â you whimpered out.
with seconds, jungkook began to thrust.
if you thought you had experienced pleasure before, you were sorely mistaken.
you knew then that nothing would ever feel like this, nothing could compete or compare - this was everything your body has subconsciously craved for years, given to you by the much older, stranger who had taken you in for his own.
the pain was overshadowed by the thrill and pleasure, his deep thrusts hitting a sponge part of you that was already pulling you closer and closer to the edge. your tears were streaming as he rested his head against your own.
âneeded this from you, baby. been thinking about you for so long, you know that?â he grunted out loud. ânow youâre all mine..all mine to fuck.â
âyours..all y-yours, kook.â you nodded vigorously, hands pulling at his hair. âfeel so big.â
he hid his face in your neck as his pace began to quicken, causing you to borderline scream out his name. you didnât care who could hear you, the feeling of being pounded into by a cock too big for you euphoric. he couldnât get enough of you, the taste of your skin on his tongue as he sucked on your neck, leaving heavy hickeys to mark you for the entire world to see.
you couldnât hold back on the sobs, crying out from the overstimulation; the pleasure, the stinging pain. it was too much and not enough, at one point finding yourself even beating your fists against his chest, only causing him to fuck you harder.
soon enough, jungkook flipped you around, so you were on your stomach, his chest pressing harshly on your back. you could barely move in this position, couldnât breathe very well either, merely forced to endure the pleasure of jungkook taking care of you. your shallow breaths alongside the chant of his name were like music to his ears, as he kissed and bit on your shoulders.
âmy girl. gonna make you my wife, you know that?â he promised down at you, pounding at this point.
âdonât..say that.â you gasped loudly, his words making you clench harshly around his cock, clearly liking it far too much than you wanted to admit.
you had been in house for two weeks and yet the thought of this treatment for life, belonging to jungkook for the rest of your days, was enough to make you sob in joy. your cheek was smushed into the pillow, as you grabbed onto the sheets for life, only for him to intertwine his fingers with your own from behind.
âyou like that, huh..â he let out a small laugh. âwanna be my wife, pretty girl? wanna be mrs jeon?â
you were clenching uncontrollably, only edging him closer to his own orgasm.
âfuck..just like that.â he grunted. âgonna wake up to a ring on your finger one of these days. donât give a fuck that itâs too soon, gotta make sure you get what this is.â he was picking your body up from the bed, your ass in the air suddenly as his thrusts only got more brutal. âyou belong to me, you understand? every part of you, all mine.â
âwanâit.â you admitted, through a small sob. âwanna be your wife, kookie, want it so so bad.â
âyeah?â he closed his eyes at your admission. âgod. need to get you a house, make sure you decorate it just how you like. gotta spoil you like my wife deserves.â
you were seeing stars, the sound of skin slapping against skin louder than either of your whines, moans or sobs. he slid one of his hands down, circling your clit once more despite the fact you were already a bundle of over sensitivity.
at that, you squealed loudly.
âgonna cum soon, gonna fill this pussy up just like you deserve. get you all nice and round for me.â his words cut through you like a knife, causing you to lose your breath.
âplease, please, please.â you begged, through harsh sobs. âcum inside, kookie, please, wanna have your baby.â
you couldnât take it any longer. the movement of his fingers, the harshness of cock, the way you could feel his entire weight on your much smaller body - you could hardly breathe as your orgasm hit you like a freight train, rendering you useless.
you completely blacked out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you choked lightly, only causing jungkook to orgasm himself. he buried himself deep inside you with a final thrust, feeling you clench and milk him for all that he had.
the shared orgasm was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. it felt the closest to euphoria youâd ever felt, and you knew the feeling was mutual with the way the usually stoic, manly man on top of you was moaning into your shoulder, fucking you both through your orgasms.
he settled on top of you for a solid minute, still inside of you, repositioning you so you could breathe freely. he was breathing in your scent, his shoulders sagging as though the full stress of the day had finally escaped you. it was like he could breathe again, having bared his entire soul to you mid thrust only for it to be reciprocated in the filthiest of ways.
your eyes remained closed, even after he pulled out, and pushed his cum back into you with his fingers, secretly praying it would stick. you were a panting, dazed mess as he picked you up and took you to the bathroom, drawing you a bath all the whilst holding you firmly into his arms, not letting you worry about a single thing.
and once you were settled in, warm bubble coated water surrounding you as you nuzzled deeper and deeper into jungkookâs chest, only then did you open your eyes, meeting his gaze with parted lips.
âdid you mean it?â you whispered quietly, almost afraid of his answer.
he didnât respond to you at first. instead, he brushed a wet thumb over your cheek, watching the way you nuzzled into his cheek gently. he was were enamoured by you, both body and soul, and if he was a man of words, he would have professed his feelings for you grandly. alas, he was not, so instead, he did the next best thing.
jungkook took a hold of your left hand, easing it to his lips and planting a sweet kiss to your ring finger, right where he promised he would decorate it with jewellery soon.
he meant every fucking word.
â
three months had passed and welcomed pure bliss into your life. you knew that life with jungkook was a pleasure in itself, but from moving into a completely new home, one he had put under your name as a testimony of his love for you, to the ridiculously expensive gifts he would come home with each and every day. you were living a reality that you couldnât have ever dreamt would belong to you.
you looked healthier - from your long hair to your flushed cheeks, your eyes brighter and your ribcage no longer poking out. you were head over heels in love with the man who had claimed you for his own like a modern day stalker, and yet you had never felt so sure of your safety.
jungkook loved in a way that was visible, not explicit. he wasnât one to tell you those three words, instead opting to show you any change he would get, something that had you weeping constantly out of pure joy. something he couldnât ever get over.
you liked the dynamic you had built for each other too. you got to play house, spending all of your time being domestic, cooking meals, trying new recipes, baking, adding furnishings to the home, making it completely and entirely your own whilst he went out and worked. he was a manual labour kind of guy, coming home with sweat lined skin and grease all over him, but that only made you want him so much more.
to know he worked so hard just to provide the picture perfect life for you had you riding him most nights, giving him the love he bestowed upon you in the best possible way you knew how. through milking his cock until his cum sat deep in your womb, a favourite pastime for you both.
even now, you were stood in your kitchen, phone in hand as you read the text jungkook had sent to you only moments prior. he never texted. ever.
your stomach flipped as you reread it over and over, trying to decipher the meaning for the text, instead of him calling you, your head tilted as your stomach sat doing somersaults.
âdonât cook. bringing you something home.â
seemed innocent enough, but this was your man. you knew him intimately in a way many could only ever dream of - he was up to no good, you were sure of it.
you stared at the screen longer than you needed to, chewing on your bottom lip, bare feet cold against the kitchen tile. the apartment was quiet, save from the soft music playing from your tv, warm lighting dancing around your shared space whilst the low hum of the city rumbled through the walls.
you were already cooking. of course you were.
you liked when he came home to food, a visual manifestation of the fact you had been waiting for him to arrive - a kiss to his soul that told him directly that you wanted him to know you were thinking of him.
regardless, you turned the stove off, forever obedient to your older boyfriend.
you were in a matching loungewear set, soft and pink, his favourite duo as the shorts barely covered your ass, your breasts bulging out of the low cut t-shirt thanks to the pretty bra you were wearing. your hair remained damp from your shower, clipped up and out of your face, skin soft and flushed.
you checked the time.
like clockwork, the door began to open, making you look up, smoothening the strands around your face. after all the moments spent together, you still felt so incredibly shy in his presence, something he would never get over.
his footsteps were heavy down the hallway, weight against hardwood, announcing his presence with every creak of the floor. the air changed the second he stepped inside of kitchen, as though the temperature warped to accommodate him and him alone.
he shut the door behind him with his foot, looking you up and down hungrily as he placed a brown bag on the dining table unceremoniously.
âyou eat?â
his voice was rough from the day.
you shook your head gently. âno..waited for you.â
he glanced at the stove, noticing the cooling pan and your sheepish little smile. he tilted his head.
âtold you not to cook.â
âi turned it off.â you murmured just as he grunted softly. you walked over to him, helping him out of his work jacket; watching as his veins protruded from his arms, making you trace them immediately as a small habit.
you peered up, standing on your tip toes to plant a soft peck to his lips, with blazing cheeks that flushed too pink for the occasion.
he watched you for another instance, enamoured by you as per usual but there was something unreadable in his gaze. something darker, something raw that had been left untouched for too long, like a glass of water finally over spilling after being continuously poured into. you tilted your head at him gently.
you barely noticed it at first, too busy maintaining the intense eye contact, but jungkook reached into his pocket, grabbing something.
you watched as he placed something on the counter inbetween you.
something small.
velvet.
square.
the world suddenly fell completely silent as your eyes fell on it, your mouth completely drying up as your hands travelled up to your mouth. your breath had caught so sharply it left an ache in your chest.
your pulse thrummed harshly in your fingertips as you stared, and stared and stared, unable to bring yourself to open what you assumed was insane, unable to fathom this was a reality.
jungkook didnât say anything for a few moments, before looking down at you, observing your reaction.
âopen it.â
your eyes snapped up to him, finally.
â..what?â
his jaw shifted slightly. amused. âyou know what it is.â
you do. of course you did, but it felt too big to say out loud. your fingers hovered over the box, desperate to touch but almost unsure.
âyouâre serious..â you whispered faintly. it wasnât doubt in your voice but absolute disbelief, like something you had only ever dreamt about was about to take place before your very eyes.
his eyes darkened at your tone. âi wouldnât joke about shit like this.â
he stepped closer to you now, his chest touching the side of your body, caging you against the counter, his head dropping down so you could meet his gaze properly, without having to look up.
âyou think iâve been saying this for nothing?â he continued, voice low, rougher now. âyou think iâm talking just to hear myself?â
you shook your head up at him, chest rising and falling as one of your hands gripped his shirt, hand on his hardened abs to ground yourself as you blinked tears away, trying to comprehend this was really happening.
âopen it.â he nudged his nose towards the box, eyes trained on you intensely as your hand finally reached out to hold it, letting out a shaky breath.
opening it up caused you to let out a soft whimper, something that had your knees almost buckling.
the light of the kitchen caught on the heavy diamond sat comfortably in the box, a vision of both taste and money - it didnât take a jeweller to tell you that this ring was worth more than every pay check you had ever gotten. there was nothing delicate or dainty about it, he wanted you to wear the best of the best and this was exactly that.
you pressed your fingers to your lips as you tried to control your breathing, looking up to meet his gaze through a teary gaze that he was already devouring. you were such a crybaby, and he fucking loved it - you cried over everything and anything, with the only remedy being himself.
âyou like it.â he murmured, fingers pressing into your waist to ground you, voice certain.
you nod rapidly, letting out a shaky, teary exhale. âkookie, itâs so..itâs beautiful..â
âgood.â
silence settled between you both again, but it sat thicker now. charged. your chest felt too tight, your stomach aching as you tried to keep your tears inside, all the whilst he began peppering your neck in kisses.
âyou donât have to-â you started softly, tears beginning to stream. âiâm already yours, always.â
the words slip out before you could stop them, as you tried to stifle your sobs to no avail, hand shaking enough where you placed the box down onto the counter gently, too in awe of it to even comprehend it being real.
he stilled.
he stopped his kisses, leaning up to his full height before cupping your cheek with his hand, making your own head lean back to stare up at him. he swiped at your tears, humming lightly down at you. âyeah, you are.â
he took your fingers in his hold then, planting a sweet kiss to each finger, to your palm, to the tops. he took hold of the ring, feeling the weight of it for a moment before sliding it onto your finger slowly, letting you experience it first hand.
his calloused fingers were warm against your own, the size difference hitting you as it often did. it was the way in which it sat on your body, the weight of jungkookâs presence settling into your own and the love you both shared blatant and on display.
you were safe.
loved.
but more importantly? jungkook had chosen you, openly, directly, without fear of scrutinisation. he knew he was a man that moved fast, but it came with an understanding of exactly what he wanted.
you.
â
ahhhh!! handyman jungkook is finally here, thank you all for your patience - if this was something you enjoyed and you want to support me and my writing, here is my kofi <33
love u guys so bad





