#cheating au

he steps into the room, and everything seems to still around him. not because he tries to take up space, but because he just does. tall, confident, effortless. he doesn’t need to raise his voice. he doesn’t need to try.

but the kids don’t stop. they’re too lost in their game, laughter bubbling up like music, tiny feet thudding against the floor as they spin in circles.

he lets out a soft sigh, a mix of exasperation and amusement and reaches for his watch, sliding it off his wrist. you don’t know why that makes your stomach turn, but it does.

“but appa, it’s fun!” one of them whines, dragging out the word like it might change his mind.

he laughs under his breath, shaking his head as he sets the watch on the table.

“fun, huh?”

jeon jungkook.

the reason you tolerate this job.

technically, he’s your boss. the one who hands you a generous envelope every weekend to watch over his kids. but “boss” feels like such a dull, inaccurate word for him.

because jungkook is something else entirely.

the way he walks, so sure of himself. the way he speaks, low and even, like he never needs to prove anything. the way his smile changes the whole room. or the way his brow furrows when he’s thinking, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek like he’s holding back more than just thoughts.

the way he shrugs out of his jacket, the slow roll of sleeves up his forearms, veins and ink peeking out with every movement—

you pretend not to look. but you do.

everything about him feels like gravity. like something you shouldn’t be drawn to, but are anyway.

“are they giving you trouble, miss ___?” he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

he lowers himself onto the couch like he belongs there— because he does. his tie loosened, legs spread comfortably, one arm resting behind the cushions.

you take a breath, trying not to sound breathless.

“no, mr. jeon,” you say softly, eyes flicking back to the kids. “they’re just playing.”

his gaze stays on you a beat too long. unreadable. and then,

“take a seat,” he says, voice smooth. “you don’t have to chase after them.”

you nod and settle into a seat across from him. the cushions dip under your weight, and the room feels quieter somehow.

“yohan, yewon. come sit,” he calls. his tone is calm but firm, a slight shift in authority that even you feel in your spine.

they pause. glance at each other. then make their way over to you, slipping onto the couch on either side like you’re the center of some small universe they orbit.

“yohan wants to play more,” yewon grumbles, arms crossed.

“no, i didn’t! yewon noona said she did!” yohan snaps back, already offended.

you lean in, steady and gentle.

“hey. what did i say about pointing fingers?”

they go quiet. the room settles again.

“that it’s bad,” they mumble, voices small.

“and?”

“and we shouldn’t lie or blame each other.”

“that’s right.” you smile at them, soft but proud. “so, what do we say?”

they glance at each other again before offering quiet little apologies.

“good,” you say, your voice lighter now. “you’re both being so good. i’m proud of you.”

across from you, jungkook watches. he hasn’t said a word.

but you feel the shift. the way his body sinks deeper into the couch, the slight raise of his brows, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

admiration, maybe. or something quieter.

he knows his kids. they’re sweet, sure. but they’re stubborn. they rarely listen the first time. almost never apologize on their own.

and now they’re sitting quietly beside you like you’ve cast some gentle spell.

he doesn’t say anything.

but he sees it.

and you feel it.

“kids,” he speaks up.

his voice is calm, steady. the kind that draws attention without effort.

the kids immediately look over.

“yes, appa?” yewon answers, tilting her head.

yohan just watches him quietly, eyes wide and waiting.

you look at him too, trying not to make it too obvious how your heart stutters when he shifts in his seat, forearms resting on his knees.

“could you go to your room for a bit?” he says, glancing briefly at them before his eyes flick back to you. “i need a moment with miss ___.”

“okay,” they both say in unison.

they each lean in to kiss his cheek— yewon on his left, yohan on his right —and your chest warms at the sight. it's so quick, so natural. something they do all the time.

he taps two fingers against the back of yohan’s head as a reminder, murmuring, “no running.”

“we won't!” yewon insists, grabbing her brother’s arm and pulling him into a slow walk up the stairs.

and just like that, the room falls quiet.

jungkook sits up straighter. it’s subtle, but you feel it immediately; the shift in atmosphere. suddenly, you're very aware of your posture. you mirror him, hands neatly folded on your knees, back straight, nerves prickling up your spine.

his gaze lingers.

“is everything okay, mr. jeon?” you ask, voice low.

he nods slowly, then reaches for the coloring books the kids had left behind— sprawled open across the glass coffee table. his hands move with quiet precision, gathering them one by one, tapping them into a neat stack, arranging them by size..

why does it feel like he’s preparing for a difficult conversation?

“you won’t need to babysit them,” he says finally, looking up at you. “for…” he pauses, dragging the word just long enough to make your chest tighten.

your heart skips.

your throat closes up.

was your crush on him that obvious?

were you too careless?

shit— what if this is it?

he sees the way you tense, shoulders rising, fingers curling slightly against your knees. he pauses, then adds, “for two weeks.” he nods, “ the kids will be staying with their grandparents for two weeks.”

your mouth opens slightly, relief just barely catching up to your confusion. “you mean... i don't have to come in just for two weeks? not like... fired?”

he chuckles under his breath, a soft huff that somehow makes you feel ridiculous and reassured all at once.

“yes,” he says. “just two weeks. you’ll continue on the weekends once they’re back.”

you exhale like you’ve been holding your breath for an hour straight.

he watches you with a small, unreadable smile.

“you looked terrified,” he murmurs.

“i thought i was getting fired,” you admit, cheeks warming.

“why would i fire you?” he leans back slightly, eyes still on you. “they listen to you more than they do to me.”

you can’t think of anything to say to that. at least, nothing that wouldn’t give you away completely.

so you just nod, eyes flicking down to your lap, trying not to notice the way your pulse hammers in your ears.

you swallow hard, thoughts spiraling before you can stop them.

of course you’ve been a little… taken with him. who wouldn’t be?

he’s attractive. older. confident in that effortless, dangerous kind of way.

but he’s also married. off-limits.

completely.

you would never cross a line. never do anything reckless. this is just a passing crush. something you'll get over in a few weeks. a harmless little fantasy.

so you blink out of it and look up to see... he’s already watching you.

leaned back, one arm slung over the couch, completely at ease. there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth ; is it amusement? a smirk? you don't know but, whatever it is, it shoots straight to your core.

you shift in your seat. try not to squirm.

god.

if he weren’t someone else’s—

a soft chime echoes through the house. not loud. not intrusive. just a delicate sound, like wind brushing across crystal.

you blink, the thought still unfinished in your head. the tension still caught in your throat.

then the door opens.

not slammed. not swung. it glides. quiet and smooth, like everything else in this house.

heels click against the marble floor. sharp. unhurried. certain. and you don’t have to look, because you already know.

ms. xinyi has returned.

and she doesn’t enter like someone coming home.

she enters like she’s stepping onto a stage. commanding, composed, every line of her body deliberate.

her dress is deep red silk; elegant, fluid, expensive in a way that whispers it rather than shouts. the kind of red that means power, a color that speaks of control. her hair is slicked back, earrings glinting beneath the warm lighting. a purse hangs from her wrist, small and sharp, probably worth more than your entire semester’s tuition.

you stand immediately.

not because anyone tells you to. not even because you’re afraid.

but because that’s what you do when she’s in the room. because it’s her name on your schedule. her rules you follow.

jungkook may be the one who stays, who smiles at pickup, who folds the envelopes with your pay.

but ms. xinyi is the one who made the call to hire you.

and the way her eyes sweep the room now, like she's calculating. makes it very clear:

she hasn’t forgotten that.

“ms. xinyi,” you say softly, a little breathless.

she doesn’t smile. she just nods once.

you’d called her “mrs. jeon” the first time you met her, hands politely folded in front of you, voice careful with respect. but she had only smiled, graceful but distant, and said, “please. address me as ms. xinyi. ‘mrs. jeon’ makes me sound old.”

and you’d nodded, of course. because when a woman like her tells you to call her by name, you don’t argue.

jungkook gets up, but he doesn’t move to greet her like you do. no warm hug. no soft smile. nothing like the way he usually welcomes her home.

instead, he heads toward the bar tucked into the corner of the large living room. a sleek, dark wood counter with crystal glasses lined up on top, all under soft recessed lights. he reaches for one, his movements smooth, and pours himself a drink. it’s not alcohol.

drinking alcohol isn’t allowed while the kids are still awake— ms. xinyi’s rule. one of many.

you watch the way his jaw flexes as he lifts the glass to his lips, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

xinyi's eyes skim over you with practiced grace. she sighs, so quietly you almost miss it, but she recovers quickly, expression smoothing as if nothing slipped.

“the kids,” she says. “are they asleep?”

you nod politely, your voice soft but sure. “they’re upstairs. had dinner already. yewon finished all her veggies this time.”

a hint of something that might be a smile curves on her lips. she nods. “good.”

then, without missing a beat, “what about their mandarin practice?”

you nod again, hands clasped in front of you. “yes ma’am. they learned quite a bit today. they were good, really focused.”

you aren’t just their babysitter. you were hired with purpose. ms. xinyi wanted her children to have more consistent exposure to chinese. they know the basics already— of course they do, their mom is chinese. but she’s barely home, and jungkook… well, he knows as much as they do. maybe less. so she brought you in ; to help them speak fluently, confidently.

you’ve spent time building a gentle routine around their packed schedules. school, homework, and everything else expected of kids their age, and you weave language learning into their downtime, softly, kindly.

sometimes through games, sometimes through stories. not always strict. not always serious. they’re just kids. and they trust you more when you let them breathe.

“thank you for your hard work,” ms. xinyi says, lips painted in a matching shade of deep garnet.

you nod, swallowing your breath. “of course.”

she walks past you, toward her husband. jungkook is now leaning against the edge of the counter, one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around his glass.

he doesn’t speak when she approaches. just looks at her, calm and unreadable like usual.

she pauses in front of him and her gaze lingers.

then, with a glance back at you, she says, “can you tell the kids to go to sleep? tell them i’ll come kiss them good night later. they might fuss— but you can handle that, right? ms. ___.”

you nod quickly, eyes low. “yes, ma’am.”

you turn and head up the stairs, careful not to make a sound.

when you’re finally out of earshot, the calm cracks.

xinyi doesn’t raise her voice, but the cold edge in her tone cuts clean. “could you at least try to act like we’re in love?”

jungkook’s brow tics. he lifts the glass again, finishes the last sip, and sets it down with a soft clink.

“we’ve been acting for years,” he says quietly.

“so act a little better.”

there’s a pause.

she exhales through her nose, stepping back just slightly but never breaking eye contact. “you’re getting more distant every week, jeon. i can’t be the only one trying.”

“you’re not trying,” he replies, tone low. “you’re working. just like always. and now you’re mad that i’m not playing along like i used to.”

“i’m not just working for fun,” she snaps, though her voice stays poised. “we both agreed to this life. we’re business people. you of all people should understand.”

“i do,” he says. and he does. but that doesn’t make it easier. “i’m cooperating. for the kids.”

“then co-operate better,” she says, her words clipped. “when they come back from my parents’ house, they can’t see this—” she gestures between them, not cruel, just… resigned. “this cold.”

he doesn’t answer.

“my father thinks you’re slipping,” she adds.

jungkook’s jaw clenches. he doesn’t respond right away, but when he does, it’s only one word:

“okay.”

because what else can he say?

he can’t say he’s tired of this.

he can’t say he’s lonely.

he can’t say he’s barely holding the pieces together when everyone around him keeps demanding more.

so he says okay.

because that’s the only answer that won’t burn it all down.

“is mama busy again, ms. ___?” yohan asks, voice quiet as he snuggles deeper into his blanket, only his round cheeks and curious eyes visible now.

you’re helping yewon into her bed, gently fixing the corner of her plush bunny pillow when the question catches you off guard.

“hm? no, of course not,” you say, smiling gently as you glance at him. “she just got back home.”

“then why isn't she here with us?” yewon asks, a little pout forming on her lips as you pull her blanket over her, tucking her in neatly.

“because…” you draw out the word on purpose, standing up and placing your hands on your hips dramatically, eyes flicking between the two of them. “she needs to rest, doesn’t she?”

they both pout now, matching each other without even realizing it. you chuckle softly.

“don’t give me those cute faces,” you tease, leaning down to gently boop yohan’s nose. he wrinkles it with a quiet giggle.

but then his expression turns serious. “does mama and appa not like us anymore?” he says suddenly, so quietly it almost gets lost in the hum of the nightlight.

you blink, startled.

“han-nie!” yewon gasps, sitting up a little in her bed, “you can’t say that!”

“but it’s true!” he whines, glancing at her before turning back to you. “they’re always busy! especially mama! you miss them too, noona!”

you sigh, moving to sit at the edge of yohan’s bed. your hand reaches out to smooth his hair gently.

“you both know your mama works very hard, right?” you say softly. “and your appa too. they work so much because they love you. and when they come home, they’re tired. they just need a little bit of time to rest before they can give you all their attention.”

they both nod, but their eyes are still a little sad.

“plus…” you smile again, trying to cheer them up, “ms. xinyi told me she’d come up soon to give you both your goodnight kisses.”

that gets them to brighten a little.

“really?” yewon asks.

you nod. “really.”

“i won’t sleep till she gets here then!” yohan says quickly, determined now.

“me neither,” yewon chimes in.

you look between them and feel a tug in your heart. “oh and.. i heard you two are visiting your grandparents for the next two weeks,” you say, keeping your voice excited. “won’t that be fun?”

“yeah,” yewon says, “grandma lets us have lots of desserts!”

“and grandpa has a really big tv!” yohan adds.

“i bet they’ll be so happy to see you again,” you say, standing back up, smoothing out your skirt. “they’ll spoil you silly.”

“can you come too?” yohan asks suddenly, hopeful.

you pause, smiling gently. “i wish i could, yohan. but i’ll be right here when you come back, okay?”

“promise?” yewon says sleepily.

“promise,” you nod. “cross my heart.”

they both settle back down into their pillows, more at ease now.

you wait a moment, watching their eyes flutter slower and slower before you quietly reach for the door and close it with the softest click.

time to go home.

.

.

“i’ll take my leave now,” you say quietly, standing in front of ms. xinyi with your bag hanging neatly on your shoulder, hands clasped in front of you. your voice is calm, respectful. “please call me if you need any assistance before the kids leave for their grandparents.”

ms. xinyi nods once, eyes sharp but polite. “i’ll keep it in mind.”

you return the nod and turn to go, already picturing your long walk to the bus stop, the change of clothes waiting in your small apartment, the silence of a home that doesn’t echo. a far cry from this polished, glass-and-marble world you spend your weekends in.

but before you can take a step, she speaks again.

“do you go by bus, ms. ___?”

you pause, slowly turning back around. “yes, ma’am.”

her lips press together briefly, thoughtful. “jungkook will drop you off tonight.”

and just like that, he appears— quiet steps behind her, tugging on a sleek jacket, fingers adjusting the collar like he was already getting ready to step out. timing too perfect to be coincidental.

your eyes widen, a little panic creeping into your chest. “oh no, you don’t have to— i mean, i’m fine. really. this is… normal for me,” you say quickly, words tumbling out too fast, hands gesturing as if that’ll help your case.

jungkook glances at you once as he pulls the zipper up. his face is unreadable.

“sure,” he says, voice smooth and low. “wait outside for me. i’ll be there with my car.”

then, without waiting for your reply, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to ms. xinyi’s cheek. your eyes flick to her face, watching her expression shift for a moment— almost content.

maybe… they’re fine again? you can’t tell, but the tension that hovered earlier feels thinner now. less sharp.

he walks past, straight out the door.

ms. xinyi turns back to you, her hands now loosely folded in front of her. there’s a gentle smile on her face— elegant, polished, practiced. “i insist. it’s late. and it was my fault, staying too long at the office party. you had to stay extra hours because of me.”

“but miss—”

“i won’t take no for an answer, ms. ___.” the smile stays, but there’s weight behind her voice. soft power. “you know that, don’t you?”

your shoulders drop slightly, and you nod, looking down. “yes, ma’am. thank you for your kindness.”

you bow your head once, polite, and finally step out into the quiet night, where jungkook’s car is already starting up in the driveway.

the car is quiet. smooth engine, soft instrumental playing low on the radio. jungkook’s hands on the steering wheel. yours, clutched around your bag.

you sit straight, posture polite, and you’re hyper aware of him beside you — he’s relaxed, driving one-handed, leaning slightly back into the leather seat like this is nothing. like you’re nothing. just another person he’s offering a ride home to.

but still, your heart’s going a little crazy.

he suddenly speaks, voice low. “i was going out to get a smoke, ms. ___.”

you blink, startled a little. he doesn’t look your way. just keeps driving.

“that’s why my wife said i could drop you. you’re not troubling me or anything.”

you shake your head quickly, fumbling over your reply. “oh— okay. thank you. really. i was fine taking the bus, though.”

he hums, noncommittal. “still. late night bus isn’t the safest.”

you nod, lips pressed together. you want to say thank you again, but you don’t want to sound like a broken record. the silence returns, but it’s not entirely uncomfortable. just… a little charged.

you don’t realize you’re staring at his hands until you are — long fingers wrapped around the wheel, thumb tapping softly to the beat of the radio. his wrist, the veins on his hand, the simple silver ring he wears.

wow.

you swallow.

and then, without warning, he pulls over. not suddenly, but gently, easing the car toward the curb and shifting into park.

“you don’t mind if i get cigarettes, right?” he asks, glancing at you.

you shake your head. “not at all mr. jeon. take your time.”

he nods and steps out.

as soon as the door shuts, you let out a long, shaky breath.

what the fuck.

you’re in jungkook’s car. you’re in his fucking car.

it literally smells like his cologne. and the air freshener clipped to the vents and maybe a little like coffee. your fingers twitch, and you’re not even sure where to look — the leather, the sleek touchscreen, the dash, the mirror with that tiny photo of his kids tucked into it. you feel like an outsider just breathing in here.

he returns a few minutes later, slipping back in with a small paper bag in hand.

“sorry,” he mutters, adjusting his seatbelt and pulling away from the curb.

you don’t respond immediately. just watch the road ahead.

“no problem at all.”

the rest of the drive is short.

when the car slows in front of your apartment block, you quickly gather your things.

“thank you for the ride, mr. jeon” you say, already opening the door.

but then he gets out, too.

you freeze.

this— this is a small neighborhood. your apartment is in one of those plain buildings, paint chipped at the edges, a rusty bicycle chained to the stairwell. nothing glamorous.

you step out, feeling a little embarrassed as he looks around, taking in the area. and then he looks at your building.

“cute place,” he says.

you smile awkwardly, hugging your bag tighter. “o-oh. yeah. it’s, um, it’s fine i guess.”

he nods once, then meets your eyes again. “i’ll see you soon, ___.”

you bow instinctively, eyes flicking down. “goodnight mr. jeon”

he turns, walks back to the car. the headlights blink once as he unlocks it.

you stand there for a second longer, heart thudding, as his words echo in your head.

“i’ll see you soon, ___.”

he said your name without the “ms.” in it.

just ___.

you step inside your apartment with legs that feel too light. your fingers still smell like his car. and you close the door behind you, quietly, slowly, like you’re afraid of breaking whatever spell that was.

yeah. that was… intense.

the sun’s dipping low by the time you step out of the campus gate, bag slung over your shoulder, your phone buzzing with a low battery warning. beside you, minjun sips the last of his vending machine coffee, yawning dramatically.

“so you’re finally free this week, huh?” he asks, grinning. “no more mansion babysitting?”

you nod, pulling your hair back with one hand. “yeah. the kids are leaving for their grandparents. i think they’ll be gone for two weeks.”

“must be nice,” he laughs. “wish we got two weeks vacay too from this... hell-hole.”

“please,” you scoff. “never gonna happen.”

“rich people really live in another universe, huh.” he mutters, “by the way ___, if you ever disappear suddenly , i’ll assume they adopted you into their fancy bloodline.”

you’re about to reply when your phone buzzes in your hand —

mr. jeon.

you blink.

minjun peeks at the screen. “is that him? your boss?”

“shhh,” you hiss, already answering.

“yes mr.jeon?”

jungkook’s voice is calm. “ms. ___, are you free tonight?”

you glance at minjun, then ahead at the road. “uh— yes, i am.”

“good,” he says, and you swear you can hear the small smile in his voice.

your stomach does something weird.

“you're sure, right?” he asks

“yes,” you say, too quickly. “i’m free. do you need me to come over?”

“yeah. come when you can.”

“i will,” you nod, even though he can’t see.

and you hang up.

minjun’s staring at you. “sooo… you are not supposed to be babysitting but he still wants you over?”

“don’t start.”

“i’m just saying,” he raises his brows, “sounds suspicious.”

“bye minjun!!”

“text me if you end up in a scandal!”

you roll your eyes and wave him off, heart thudding harder than it should.

the kids are leaving. you don't have to babysit. he didn't call you for work.. did he?

you don’t know yet.

but you’re already walking faster.

the house was quiet when you stepped in.

jungkook opened the door, one hand on the knob, the other lazily tucked in his pocket. his expression was unreadable, as always, but his tone was polite. “hey. come in.”

you stepped in carefully, slipping your shoes off by the door. “thank you,” you said, eyes naturally glancing down the hallway, expecting to hear the kids, or at least see ms. xinyi pacing around on a phone call. but the space was… still.

“they’re not here,” jungkook said casually, as if reading your mind.

you blinked. “oh. they left already?”

he nodded, leading the way inside, you following behind slowly. “xinyi left this morning with the kids.”

you frowned slightly. “i thought they were leaving tomorrow…”

“yeah, it was sudden. her mom insisted.” he didn’t sound annoyed, just tired. “xinyi can’t stay long though. she has work, meetings. she’ll be back soon. but she asked if you could help out before she returns.”

you nodded automatically, because of course. “with what, exactly?”

“the kids’ stuff,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at you. “their mandarin folders, worksheets, the reading material. you know, that shelf you helped set up in their study room? xinyi wants it reorganized. she says it’s a mess.”

you smiled lightly. “it is a mess.”

“thought so,” he said, smirking a little. “you’ve got a few hours. i won’t be in your way.”

you hummed in agreement, already walking in the direction of the kids’ room.

“i’ll get started.”

it takes longer than you expect. papers are everywhere. yohan’s doodled over half the sheets, yewon’s managed to mix english flashcards into the mandarin set, and the books aren’t even standing upright anymore.

you roll up your sleeves and get to work. at some point, you stop checking the time. there’s something comforting about organizing their things— folding tiny papers, writing neat labels. it feels… peaceful. like you’re still around them.

and by the time you finish, the sky outside has turned navy blue and the hallway lights are dim.

you look around for jungkook. he hasn’t said anything since earlier. maybe he went out. maybe he’s in the study. but the house is too quiet. almost empty. he couldn’t have just… left.

you grab your bag and make your way downstairs, calling out softly, “mr. jeon?”

no reply.

you glance toward the kitchen. empty.

you pass by the sitting room. lights off.

you pause by the sliding doors that lead to the garden. there’s a breeze… and something else. something soft. a sound you can’t quite name.

you step outside.

and there he is.

standing under the open sky, alone, his back to you. the garden lights glow faintly along the grass. his dark hair moves with the wind. one hand is in his pocket, the other holds a slim cigar, glowing orange at the tip.

you don’t mean to stare.

but he looks… cinematic. loose black shirt. sleeves rolled. the way he stands so still, like the air doesn’t touch him. like he’s thinking about a thousand things you’ll never understand.

you clear your throat.

he turns slightly, glancing at you with no real surprise. “done already?”

you nod. “yeah. i didn’t want to leave without letting you know.”

he takes a slow drag, the smoke curling around his fingers before rising into the dark. “good timing.”

you hesitate, then walk a little closer. “why didn’t you go, mr. jeon? with them.”

his eyes stay on the sky for a second, then drop to the ground. “xinyi’s parents don’t like me much.”

that surprises you.

you blink. “why?”

he gives a quiet laugh, but it doesn’t sound amused. “they think i’m not enough. that i’m… not what they pictured for her.”

you look down. “but you’re—”

“rich?” he cuts in softly. “doesn’t mean i’m enough.”

you don’t know what to say to that.

he continues, flicking ash to the side. “i run too many things. i’m constantly flying in and out. the company’s in a complicated place right now. mergers. new investors. pressure.”

you stay quiet. listening.

just listening.

he looks over at you finally, the garden light catching his features. “it’s exhausting.”

your chest aches a little. he looks like someone who hasn’t slept right in days. you wonder if anyone ever asks him how he feels. if anyone even cares.

“sorry,” you say, softly.

he shrugs. “you didn’t do anything.”

you nod, then look away, eyes tracing the garden floor.

“how about you? college okay?”

you blink. “me?”

“yeah. you.”

you laugh nervously. “uhm… yeah. college is fine. tiring. the usual. rent’s going up though, it’s… whatever.” you roll your eyes a little and then you realise, maybe you shouldn't be telling him this stuff, so you quickly apologise, “sorry i didn't mean to say that.”

he watches you for a moment. “don’t be.” then nods. “you’re working hard. college. babysitting kids. you’re doing good.”

you grin a little. “yeah, i guess.”

he lets out a quiet hum, then turns back to the sky.

you both fall silent. the kind of silence that doesn’t feel awkward at all. you tilt your head back too, following his gaze.

it is a beautiful night.

he takes a longer drag this time, eyes falling shut as the smoke leaves his lips in slow swirls. his jaw tenses slightly, neck lines sharp against the collar of his shirt.

you look away quickly.

your heart’s doing something stupid.

you should go.

but… you don’t.

you stay.

you don’t say anything. don’t even shift your weight. you just keep standing there under the soft garden lights, with your bag still in your hand and your heart beating loud in your ears. and as the seconds stretch on, when he realizes you’re still there; still watching him, he doesn’t look surprised.

you don’t see it. not really.

but he smiles. just a little.

and then he speaks.

“you smoke?”

his voice is low. smooth, like usual.

your eyes widen a little. “me? no. not really. i mean… no. it’s not good for you.”

he raises a brow, amused. “mm. it’s not.”

you shift on your feet. “it’s addictive. and bad for your lungs. like. obviously.”

he hums, eyes still on you. “wanna try?”

you blink. “pardon?”

he flicks ash off the end, lets it fall with a soft hiss onto the wet grass. “just once. it's not like you will get addicted off one puff.”

you hesitate. heart tripping over itself.

because you know this is stupid. obviously. you’ve said the words yourself— bad for you, dangerous, addictive.

but your thoughts are running too fast and none of them make sense. your limbs feel slow and heavy like you’re melting under the weight of his attention.

you shouldn’t.

you really shouldn’t.

but he’s looking at you with that.. amused little glint in his eye, and his shirt’s a little wrinkled, and his fingers look really good around the cigarette. and you’re tired of always being the one who makes the right choice.

what’s so bad about one?

he watches you, smoke curling past his lips again, quiet for a moment. “it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“sure,” you say quickly, cutting him off. “i’ll try it.”

his eyebrows lift, surprised. “you sure?”

you nod, too fast. “mhm.”

he smirks, a slow little curve of his lips. “thought it wasn’t healthy?”

you roll your eyes. “just one puff.”

he laughs quietly, drops the stub of his cigarette to the ground and presses the toe of his shoe against it. then he slips a hand into his pocket, pulls out a slim case, taps out a new one and holds it between two fingers like it’s nothing. like it’s casual.

“here,” he murmurs, handing it to you.

you take it.

your fingers brush his when you do.

you almost gasp but you don't , thankfully.

your fingers close around the cigarette he holds out, but just before you bring it to your lips, you drop your bag to the side with a soft thud on the grass.

you place the cigarette between your lips awkwardly at first, but you pretend to be cool about this. you keep your eyes on him the whole time. never looking away, and he doesn’t either. his gaze holds you in place.

he brings the lighter to the tip, flicks it open. the soft click sounds loud in the quiet.

then, his voice.

low. rough. lazy. “breathe in slow. not too deep. let it sit for a second. then let it go.”

you nod, and your fingers tremble just slightly as you try.

he lights it.

the flame glows bright, just for a second. burns orange, then settles into a steady red glow at the tip. and his eyes never leave yours.

you inhale like he said. it stings— more than you expected. burns your throat, makes your chest tighten, but you try to hold it.

you let it sit. then exhale.

it leaves your mouth in a shaky stream.

you cough a little, just once, and his eyes darken.

“that’s it,” he says, voice smooth like velvet. “you can do it. that's it. good girl.”

your stomach flips.

and then you try again. slower this time. his gaze never leaving your mouth.

“just like that,” he murmurs. “see? not so bad.”

you exhale again, and this time it doesn’t burn as much. it still makes your head spin. but not in a bad way.

you glance up at him, your voice softer now. “i kinda like it.”

he hums. “yeah?”

“yeah. i mean. i don’t know if that’s… right.”

he chuckles, steps a little closer, his voice brushing your skin. “doesn’t have to be right to feel good.”

your breath catches.

his eyes trail from your lips to your throat, very slowly. you take another drag, just to have something to do, but he’s watching you like he’s thinking about a dozen other things he’d rather have in your mouth.

your fingers shake a little again, but you don’t drop it.

he’s too close now. too warm.

you feel it in your stomach. between your thighs. every-fucking-where.

and when he takes the cigarette from you and presses it between his own lips for a second, eyes locked with yours the whole time— you swear you forget how to breathe.

you’re so fucking gone at this point.

you can’t stop looking at him.

the way his lips wrap around the same cigarette you’d just held between yours. the way his jaw flexes. the way his throat moves when he exhales; smoke curling out of his mouth like it was made to escape him that way.

you don’t even realize you’re staring.

not until his eyes drag back to yours— sharp and dark, the kind that doesn’t ask questions. the kind that already knows the answer.

“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough to hear.

and then his hand is behind your neck.

you don’t even have time to blink. to breathe.

to think.

his lips crash against yours, rough and sudden and so fucking real. your whole body locks up in shock before melting into the heat of it. it’s messy. desperate. everything at once. he kisses like he’s starved, like he’s wanted to do this for longer than he’ll ever admit.

you’re not supposed to do this.

he’s not supposed to do this.

but your lips part for him anyway.

and he kisses you deeper.

his other hand joins the first, palms warm behind your neck, holding you in place like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. the still-burning cigarette drops from between his fingers and he steps on it, crushing it into the grass without ever pulling away.

your fingers twitch at your sides. you don’t know where to put them.

you just… stand there. letting him kiss you like that. letting yourself kiss him back.

it feels like a dream.

it feels too good.

your lips don’t stop moving against his. they can’t.

you’re already too far gone— breathing him in like he’s the first drop of water after a dry, godless drought. your hands are clutching the front of his shirt, dragging him down, keeping him close, greedy like you’ve been starving.

then suddenly, your breath catches.

you pull back.

“mr. jeon—” your voice is shaky, lips swollen. “shit.. i— we.. we shouldn’t... this is wrong.”

his hand cups your jaw, warm and grounding. but there’s something wild in his eyes. his voice comes out low, wrecked. “then tell me to stop.”

you stare at him. the garden lights behind his silhouette, the echo of your kiss still on your mouth.

you should tell him to stop.

you don’t.

instead, your fingers find his collar and tug again, hard this time.

fuck.

“just take me inside.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

“you’re so quiet,” he murmurs.

his voice cuts through the silence like a warm knife. his palm is on your head, fingers slow as they run through your hair, caressing in soft circles against your scalp. your cheek rests on his bare chest, his skin warm beneath you, rising and falling gently with every breath he takes. your hand is near his neck, thumb brushing the skin there, slow and absent-minded.

the room is still. faint moonlight slips through the sheer curtains, casting soft shadows across the floor. the sheets are pulled over the both of you, tangled between legs, your bodies tucked close under them — in his bed.

the one he shares with his wife.

you don't reply at first. you're thinking. you’re here, lying on a mattress you shouldn’t be on, next to a man you shouldn't be touching. and yet, your heart feels full. your body’s warm. you feel… good. and that’s what scares you.

he doesn’t say anything again, just keeps stroking your hair, so softly it makes your eyes flutter.

you were quiet, yeah. but only because there’s so much going on in your head. so much you tried to ignore earlier — the guilt, the reality of what you were doing, the wrongness of it all. you’d been quiet because you were trying to forget it. to focus only on him.

you stare off across the room, eyes fixed on a dark corner. not looking at anything in particular. just grounding yourself. and then your voice breaks the quiet.

“i can be loud.”

he pauses. then laughs a little, and you feel his chest rise under your cheek. “really?”

you hum again. “mhm.”

the next second comes as a surprise — his hand gripping your hair suddenly, fingers threading through the strands and tugging just enough to make you gasp. your head’s pulled up, gently but firm, so you’re looking right at him.

his eyes are darker now. and oh you fucking love it.

you love how easily he shifts from soft to rough. how he looks at you like he owns you. how your stomach flips at just the change in his tone. the power in it.

your lips part slightly, a soft moan escaping before you can hold it back. you don’t even blink. you just look at him. your eyes hazy.

he bites his bottom lip, dragging it between his teeth, eyes flickering over your expression. “what? you like this?”

you hum again. it’s all you can manage.

his grip tightens, just enough to make you whimper. not painful. but enough to remind you who's in control. his voice is lower this time. firmer. “use your words, doll.”

your heart races. you want to kiss him so badly your lips practically itch.

but you speak first.

“i love it, mr. jeon”

he exhales sharply through his nose, almost a scoff, but amused. definitely turned on.

“yeah?” he murmurs, already leaning in.

you nod. and his grip loosens. his hand trails down, cupping your jaw instead as he leans forward, lips brushing against yours.

and then he kisses you.

soft. slow.

his mouth moves over yours with the kind of ease that makes you feel dizzy, like you’ve kissed him a hundred times before. you sigh into it, pressing closer, lips parting slightly as his hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you in place. you moan just a little, not even meaning to; it just slips out, the warmth of his mouth too good to resist.

his tongue doesn’t push in right away. he just kisses you. sweet and languid, like he has all the time in the world. like this moment is meant to stretch on forever.

and when you pull away, your palm flattens against his chest. you feel his heart is beating hard beneath it. just like yours.

you don’t look at him right away. your eyes are on the curve of his shoulder. your voice is soft when you ask,

“does this mean we can never see each other again?”

he looks at you.

then he says, “no.” almost too casually, like you didn’t just ask something loaded. “why do you think that?”

you blink, eyebrows raising slightly. your palm’s still on his chest, but your fingers curl a little, pressing into his skin. “i mean… we just fucked,” you say, half-laughing under your breath, even though your voice is tight. “isn’t that, like, a major babysitter deal-breaker?”

he snorts. actually snorts. and you almost want to smack his arm.

“just act like we didn’t fuck,” he says, like it’s simple. like you didn’t just sleep with a man who is married and has kids you take care of.

is he being for real right now?

“we don’t see each other much anyway. i’m always at work, remember? barely have time to breathe.”

you raise an eyebrow. “but you had time today.”

he shrugs, shifting a little beneath you, head sinking further into the pillow. “i finished a bunch of stuff early. got lucky.”

you try not to think about how it’s you he got lucky with.

your fingers stop moving against his skin, and for a second, you just stare at him. he looks so relaxed. one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting lightly on your side now.

and then you ask, softly, “what about ms. xinyi?”

he blinks, like he forgot she existed for a moment, and then he sighs.

“what about her?”

“what if she suspects something?” your voice is quiet. a little strained. because the weight of reality is creeping back in, and you don’t know how to carry it.

he sighs again. not annoyed — more like, he expected this.

his hand lifts to cup your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your lips. “don’t give her a reason to.”

you look at him, wide-eyed.

“just be you,” he says simply, like that’s all it takes. like you can just forget the way he kissed you like you belonged to him. like you weren’t crossing a thousand lines just by lying in this bed, with him.

your chest tightens.

you nod, but inside, panic floods you like a wave.

what if you mess up?

what if she sees it in your eyes?

he notices the shift in your expression and before you can spiral further, he pulls you back in.

his lips find yours again, slow and deep, and you melt into him just like that. your hand slides up to his shoulder, and your body leans in because he’s the only thing that makes sense right now.

when he pulls back, his breath brushes your lips.

“i need you to know this , doll,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours,

“you’re mine.”

And so here I stand. In front of her apartment door with a bowl of snacks and a bottle of wine. Her friends usually prefer bear, but just like me, Jia fancies wine over bear. She always watches her weight and doesn’t like to get caught up on drinking bear and gain weight. I personally just don’t like the taste.

Someone finally opens the door, but it’s not Jia herself. It’s one of her friends. Some of her friends have already arrived and are busy with some games. I smile at the guy and walk inside.

The man joins everyone else in the living room, going back to the game as I place everything I brought on the little table next to the door and hang my coat.

Jia leaves her spot on the couch and walks to me.

“Hey, pretty.” She helps me with the snack and wine. She inspects the bottle. “God, I love you. Come on. We’re kicking Joe’s ass in the game. We’ll start the next round soon.” We walk toward the kitchen.

“I told you I don’t like games with dice. Dices hate me.” The guy, Joe, who I’ve seen only twice before, yells at Jia from his spot on the floor.

We enter the kitchen together. I stand by the snack table and put the bowl down as Jia brings glasses for the wine.

She pours us two glasses but pauses when her eyes fall on me.

“Stop being nervous. All of these guys are really good people.” I follow her eyes and just then I realize I’ve been fidgeting with my fingers. She hands me the wine. “I know you’ve only seen them a handful of times and some of them, you haven’t even met. But trust me, they’re all nice and friendly people. You’ll feel just like one of them.”

If only she knew it’s not the people I don’t know that I’m nervous about. It’s Taehyung. And being around him in front of Annie and all their other friends.

They’re still not here, but they will be any minute now.

I really wish I was sick so I could miss tonight. And trust me, I tried. But the universe really didn’t want me sick tonight. Therefore, here I am.

I thank Jia for the glass of wine, because I really need it right now, and take a big swig.

We join everyone else in the living room after talking a little, just the two of us.

There won’t be a lot of people here for tonight’s movie and game night. Unlike her usual parties and movie nights, this time there’s only nine of Jia’s closest friends here, and maybe four more people that haven’t arrived yet. Taehyung and Annie included.

They take longer to arrive than everyone else. By then, I’m on my third glass of wine and way more relaxed than before. I’ve made myself comfortable and have talked and laughed with Jia’s friends the whole time.

I really liked one her friends, Ryu. Jungkook was very easy to talk to as well.

It’s my turn to roll the dice, basically already a winner on this round, when the doorbell rings.

Jia opens the door for them herself. Taehyung and Annie walk in together. Annie with her big radiant smile, and Taehyung with few boxes of pizza and a bottle of wine.

As Jia and Annie hug, Taehyung’ eyes fall on me. It’s like he didn’t need more than two seconds to find me in a crowded room.

He looks at me and the smallest smile sits on his lips. But nobody noticed that except for me.

Warmness floods in my belly as I return the soft smile. Feeling glad and warm that he’s here. Now forgetting about all the reasons I felt so nervous and like a mess. Now, I’m just glad.

They join everyone around the big coffee table. Everyone have to sit close and friendly as we start a game that can be played by this many people.

I’m sitting on a cushion on the floor as Jia, along with Annie and Taehyung sit on the couch. Jia makes place for herself on her big couch, and since they are a couple, Annie and Taehyung share the armchair so there’s more space for others.

I bitterly sip my wine as I focus my attention on the guy next to me who is explaining the game for everyone.

The game starts with me, and it goes on from there. Soon, we all get immersed into the game. I even laugh a few times when Jungkook teases me and my playing strategy. But the excitement in me dies every time Annie attracts the attention of the room and I get reminded how she’s hugging and clinging onto Taehyung.

She doesn’t want people to figure out how their relationship is failing, and that’s what all these acts are about.

They’ve been together for so long, and that has made everyone they know to believe they are the dreamy couple. That there’s no possibility in which they could end up with anyone else.

Everyone saw them as each other’s soulmates. When it came to this couple, they couldn’t think of one of them without the other one. To everyone else, they seemed like one person.

And that might’ve been closer to reality for the first few years, but after a while, that only became their image. The reality of their relationship got way farther from that perfect picture.

The pressure and perspective everyone has been forcing on them is the reason Annie became too stubborn and obsessed with keeping the relationship. Too stubborn to let their friends and families believe anything other than what they already believed.

Even before me, they had come close to breaking up so many times. More than Taehyung could count. Their relationship hanging on by a thread. And each time, she found a way to force the relationship back together.

Taehyung even tried to end things with her once and for all, serious and determined about the decision. He felt how unhappy he had become in that relationship. How unhappy she was, too. But she didn’t want that to happen. Her entire life and personality was formed based on her perfect long-term relationship with the most gorgeous man ever and people’s admiration for them.

She was so invested in that lie that she didn’t want people to suddenly start seeing her as the poor girl who got left by her soulmate out of nowhere.

That day was long and messy, as Taehyung described it. They had their longest fight ever, which ended in tears and things breaking. Annie acted so weird that night, unlike anything he had ever seen of her.

She threatened to harm herself if he left her. Even almost acting on her threats before Taehyung managed to stop her from going too far.

She succeeded in keeping the relationship. After that, Taehyung never brought that topic back again. They still had arguments and fights after that, a lot. But he never brought up breaking up again.

No one else knows about this but me. I was the only person Taehyung ever told about the messed up reality of his relationship. It took him a while to trust me enough, but after he did, the horrible truths came pouring after another.

Annie was a good actor, pretending her life couldn’t be more perfect. But how can someone truly feel that happy if they didn’t feel loved by their partner? Taehyung on the other hand, wasn’t a good actor. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but wear his emotions on his face.

He felt unhappy and trapped. All because he didn’t want to risk Annie actually harming herself. He may not be in love with her anymore, but she was still a human. Just because he had no affection for her anymore didn’t mean he had it in him to risk her harming herself and taking her life.

So he forced himself to stay in that relationship and play along with the lie.

But the fact that they weren’t in love anymore didn’t justify our affair. I knew that.

It still didn’t change the fact that our affair was wrong and forbidden.

This round of game ends with Jungkook beating us all. We take a break to eat and drink and talk before we start the next game.

Almost everyone gets up from their spots. I don’t need to go anywhere, so I use my chance and sit on the couch, making myself more comfortable.

Annie finally leaves Taehyung’s lap and joins Jia and their friends in the kitchen. Some of the guys are still in the living room, but no one notices when Taehyung gives me a secret affectionate smile.

I’ve seen him smiling at me thousands of times, but it still doesn’t fail to make my heart race. Just like the first time it happened on the balcony of this very house.

I mouth “Hey” at him.

His warm smile widens as he mouths the same thing back. I open my mouth to talk to him, but Annie and some of their guy friends walk into the living room as Jungkook comes this way and sits next to me.

We act normal again. We don’t try to speak after that. It’s too risky to get reckless.

I hold myself back from looking at him when he picks Annie up from his lap for a second so he can get up from his seat and leave the room.

Thankfully, Jungkook fully distracts me from Taehyung and how much I want to be alone with him.

“What did you say you do?” He asks as he makes himself more comfortable and leans his back on the couch.

I laugh because this is the fourth time he’s asked me that question, counting the first time we met and he asked me that.

“I’ve told you so many times. I work with Jia and Annie.”

He softly chuckles. “I know, sorry. It’s just fun to mess with people.”

Jia hears our conversation and kicks him in the shin. “Stop annoying my friends, JK.”

He just chuckles and turns to me. His eyes fall on the empty glass in my hands.

“Do you want a refill?” He points down to my glass.

“Sure. Why not.”

He takes my glass and heads to the kitchen, taking his own empty glass as well.

In the corner of my eyes, I notice Jia looking my way. I turn to her and see her wiggling her brows with a suggestive smirk.

She leans in. “Do you find him cute? He’s recently single and trust me, he’s an amazing guy.”

My eyes widen.

“No, no.” I weakly protest. “I mean, he is cute. But we weren’t flirting or anything.”

“Why not? He’s a really good option, and I’ve noticed you’ve caught his attention all night.” Her face falls a little in disappointment.

“I’m sure he’s great. And he is very good looking. But I don’t think about dating right now.” I come up with the lie very easily. I’ve said that line so many times, it feels like an automatic answer.

Shortly after my break up with my ex, Jia started trying to set me up with people. She knows a lot of people, so the options were endless. But at that time, me and Taehyung were already getting close behind everyone’s back. So I nicely rejected all of her attempts.

She still hasn’t given up on it.

But she lets this time go when she sees Jungkook approaching.

He offers me my glass and I take it with a smile. He takes his seat next to me and we fall into conversation again.

Like I said, we’re not flirting. Not really. At least not on my side. But he’s an easy person to talk to, so I stay in his company for a while.

But this time, even he can’t distract me from Taehyung’s noticeable presence when I feel him entering the living room again. That’s the kind of effect this man has on me. I’m affected by his presence from a mile away.

While Annie is laughing and deep in conversation with her friends, Taehyung uses his chance and sits somewhere else.

On a cushion on the ground, right in front of me.

It takes all my willpower not to turn my head from Jungkook while he’s talking to me and look at Taehyung. I really want to, though. He looks extra handsome and attractive in his dark brown colored trousers and white button down shirt, with his sleeves up to his forearms.

I think he engages in a conversation with some of the guys himself. I’m not sure. But I do see how his head snaps to our direction when Jungkook suddenly asks.

“Are you free Friday night?”

It’s like the room went quiet, but it didn’t. Jungkook’s question wasn’t loud, only meant for my ears. But I’m almost positive Taehyung heard him too.

I’m kind of taken aback. I don’t want to be rude and reject him too harshly. He does seem like a really nice guy. So I settle for a short polite answer.

“Uh… I’m not sure. I need to check my plans. I’ll let you know.” I smile at him.

He doesn’t seem let down or disappointed. He just nods with a smile. “Of course. Let me know later.”

He doesn’t let me feel awkward after that. Changing the subject like nothing happened, before some of people sitting around the table decide to start a last round of boardgame before we put on a movie.

Jungkook seems interested to join them. He even asks me to join, but I politely pass. I excuse myself and go to Jia’s room, needing some alone time and privacy.

I use her en-suite bathroom for more privacy, since I know the other guys won’t be coming around here.

The same thing can’t be said about Taehyung, because the idiot walks in to the bathroom without knocking and closes the door behind him.

I look at him with horrified eyes.

“What the fuck?” I hiss. “Taehyung, you can’t be in here.”

“I couldn’t wait.”

“Why not? Wait for what?”

Without saying anything, he leans down and kisses me. He holds my face as he deepens the kiss. Melting my heart and my legs simultaneously.

It’s dangerous how little sense of self-control I seem to have when I’m around him. When he kisses me like this.

I lean back and catch my breath.

“Please stop doing that. We’re gonna get caught, Taehyung.” I hold his hands. “You’ve never acted this reckless.”

He sighs and hangs his head down.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He removes his hands from my face and takes a step back.

Suddenly I want to hit myself. I know it’s stupid and wrong to take this kind of risk.

But I don’t want to ever make him walk away from me like that again.

Fuck it.

I take his shirt in my hands and pull him to me as I crash my lips against his.

He doesn’t need a second to think again. His grip moves to the back of my head as he takes control over the kiss easily.

He kisses me hard and I fail to keep up with his pace. I move my hands to hold the back of his neck as I fist his shirts with my other hand.

I don’t want to let go. Fuck knows I don’t. That’s why I let him decide when he wants to end the kiss.

By the times he does, we’re both breathless and panting for air.

His hungry eyes move around my face.

“What was he talking about?” he asks roughly.

I’m still breathless and dazed by the passionate kiss as I speak.

“Who?” I ask in a daze, my eyes focused on his now pink plump lips.

“Jungkook. Did he ask you out?”

With that, my eyes snap up to his. “Huh?”

“Don’t make me ask a third time.” His voice gets rougher as he brings his head down closer to mine.

“Yeah… I guess he kind of did.”

“Are you interested in him?” He asks with bitter venom.

“What?” My eyebrows fall to a scowl. “What do you mean?”

“He’s not bad looking. A lot of girls like him. Are you interested in him?”

“No.” I respond almost loudly, offended he even assumes that, but then remember where we are and lower my voice again. “Taehyung, I’m not interested in him or anyone else.”

“Are you sure, though? He is single. You’d be able to go on dates with him everywhere. He wouldn’t have to keep you a secret.”

With that, I realize why he’s acting like this all of a sudden.

I move closer to him and hold his face in my palm, gently pushing the long strands of hair away from his face.

“What are you really mad about, Taehyung?” I ask gently.

He swallows and turns his head so his lips can touch my palm.

“I can’t. I hate that I can’t hold you instead of…” He exhales painfully. “I hate that I hold and touch her when I want to hold you. Cuddle with you. Kiss you.” He leans down until his lips kiss mine in the softest touch ever.

There’s so much pain in his voice, in his sad eyes.

I wish for all of those too. Doesn’t matter how many times I see them together, it never gets easier for me.

I shut my eyes and hold onto him tighter, letting him know that I understand him. That I feel the same way.

“I hate that he doesn’t know you’re mine.” He holds the back of my head tightly, like I might slip away if he doesn’t hold me close enough, and presses his forehead on mine. “If they knew, none of them would ask you out or offer you ride home. Fuck, I hate this!” He hisses.

I kiss his lips again before he loses control and becomes too loud.

“Shhh.” I plead with hurt eyes. “Please calm down.” I caress his cheeks.

“Please tell me you’re still mine.” He pleads with so much desperation. His eyes searching mine. “I need to believe that after everything that happens, you are still mine.”

“I’m yours, Taehyung.” I breathe out without waiting. “Nothing can ever stop me from belonging to you.”

He takes a second to search my eyes. He searches for truth. To believe my words are coming from the bottom of my heart.

And in that moment, something sparks in his eyes. A mad, hungry fire.

He crashes his lips on mine again. He doesn’t just kiss me, he devours me. And I’m already too lost to protest. No. I fuel his fire.

He pushes me into the wall. Still kissing the senses out of me as he brings my left leg up to his waist.

His hardening cock grazes my inner thighs and I can’t help but moan quietly. Still, he devours the moan with another deep kiss before he thrusts his hip into mine. My mind goes wild as I moan and groan in his mouth. All I can think about is that I need the barrier of clothes between us gone. Now.

“Please.” I sound so pathetic as I hold the back of his neck tightly.

“You okay with risking it?” He asks.

Unfortunately for me, he doesn’t just mean getting caught. He clearly doesn’t have a condom with him.

Why does he need a condom with me, you might ask, even though he had gotten vasectomy? That’s the unfortunate part.

As their relationship died slowly, they drifted apart more and more. Emotionally and physically. They stopped being intimate long before I was in the picture.

But the night that this happened was when we were already together. One night after a party, when they both drank a lot and Taehyung was drunk off his mind, he found himself naked on their bed the next morning with a naked Annie in his arms.

He didn’t remember anything from the previous night, but he didn’t need clear pictures to know what exactly happened. The dried semen on his thighs and her inner thighs were clear evidence.

Annie remembered everything though, but she wasn’t as nearly panicked as he was. She actually enjoyed it.

He never drank alcohol after that, not wanting to risk anything like that happening to him again. But Annie’s enthusiasm about that night’s events made him paranoid.

So, for my own safety, he decided that he will always use condom with me.

But I trusted him. And I wasn’t as paranoid as he was. So I nodded my head.

“Yes. Just be quick please.” I breathe out.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He gently puts my leg on the ground as he quickly removes his belt. I want to take his shirt off really bad, but we need to be quick and with little damage to our looks as possible.

But I feel my makeup and hair are mostly ruined, anyway.

He unbuttons and unzips his trousers next as I get distracted by the gorgeous view. I watch how hard and fully erected he seems under those boxers. I want to drop on my knees so bad. But we’ll keep that on pause for another time.

He leaves his pants and boxers like that and helps me unzip my jeans. He gently lowers my panties. He slips his fingers between my lips and strokes the soft wet flesh. I swallow my moans as I hold onto his biceps.

He doesn’t waste time. He lifts me off the ground and places me next to the sink, knocking down half of Jia’s skincare around.

I reach for his boxers as he starts kissing and biting my neck. I pull hard at his hair.

“Don’t leave a mark.” I warn with a groan.

He groans and shuts his eyes as he brings his lips to meet mine.

“I don’t want him asking you out again.” His raspy voice makes my lower stomach to pulse.

“Not now.” I whisper as I go to remove his boxers.

I wrap my fist around his cock as I give him a few tight strokes. He hisses, followed with a moan as he brings his face down on my chest. He lowers my black top and bra and starts biting on the flesh of my breast.

“No problem here, right?”

He keeps biting and sucking as he guides his cock to me, pushing in without wasting any more time. We’re already short on that.

I whimper as he slowly pushes in me. He can’t really do that in one move. We’ve skipped all the foreplay.

He groans but he muffles it with my burning skin.

Suddenly, I realize this is the first time we’re fucking raw.

And it’s in my best friend’s bathroom while everyone are in the living room.

Taehyung wipes all thoughts out of my head as he fully pushes in with one last thrust.

My heart is beating like a fucking drum and we’re both panting hard.

“I have to move quick. Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

I nod my head and hook my arms around his neck.

I touch his lips with mine just as he starts thrusting. One after the other, he keeps thrusting me to the wall.

He doesn’t starts with fast strong thrusts but his pace builds up very fast. I wrap my legs around his waist so he can go deeper.

I want to scream. But all I can do is whimper quietly. His hips ramming into me like a maniac, his raw cock hitting and grazing all the right spots.

We try everything in our power to keep our moans and groans in. Taehyung seems to be going a good job, biting his lower lip to keep all the sounds in. When I fail in being quiet and a moan escapes me, he brings his hand up from my waist and covers my mouth with his palm as he furiously pounds into me.

He might be able to cover the sounds escaping me, but there’s no way to muffle the sounds our slapping flesh make. God I hope no one comes around this room.

His movements become faster and sharper, forcing me to moan and whimper as the pleasure builds up in my lower belly.

His hungry burning eyes look right through my soul as he pounds his hips again and again.

I lift my butt off the counter, trying to match his thrusts with my own hips, but his pace is too fast for me to keep up with. He hits a perfect angle, and when he sees I shake and shut my eyes while digging my nails into his arms harder, he holds my hips up and hits that angle again and again until I break apart.

I quickly cover my mouth as I orgasm. I’m still going through the shock of the orgasm as Taehyung thrusts faster. He breaths heavy while holding me close to him.

He brings my hips down to meet his last hard thrust as he comes. He throws his head back as he lets out a deep throaty groan.

I’m basically off the counter now, my pelvic pressed against his and my legs wrapped around him. I cling onto him. Our chests touch each other, making us feel the hard pound of the other one’s heart.

He holds me close to him like that for few moments. His hands holds my ass up. He looks me in the eyes.

“I fucking love you.”

My heart pounds in my ribcage for a whole different reason than the amazing orgasm I just had. I look at his beautiful face, his flushed cheeks and gorgeous dark eyes.

“I fucking love you, too.”

He kisses me one more time before putting me down on my feet. We both let out a moan as he slips out of me. We both look down to where his cum starts to spill out of me and onto my panties.

I reach for some toilet paper to wipe the mess, but Taehyung takes the paper from my hand and kneels down in front of me.

He wipes the wet spot on my panties with his finger. His burning dark eyes follow the wet line on my inner thighs. He brings his fingers up and rubs me between the lips with the same finger and pushes his finger in. A sudden whimper escapes me as my nails dig into his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” I breath out.

He takes his finger out and stands up. “Let’s keep them in there.” His voice low.

“What?”

He ignores my confusion as he pulls my panties and pants up before adjusting his own clothes.

We take care of our appearance and wash up.

We speak at the same time.

“I’ll go firs—”

“You go first.”

I smile up at him. He gives me a warm smile and he leaves a soft kiss on my temple before exiting the bathroom.

I let a long and deep breath out. My lower belly is still in chaos, especially as I think of Taehyung’s cum still inside of me. The fact that he acted unlike he ever had and wanted us both to have a reminder of him on —in, actually— my body.

I run my fingers through my hair and try to detangle them.

I can leave now. He must’ve left the room already.

I open the door fully without checking the room before I walk out.

That, was my biggest mistake. I should’ve checked the room first.

I freeze in my spot.

My heart starts to pound harder than ever. Both Jia’s and Taehyung’s heads whip to my direction.

Jia’s words die and she looks at me. With the lights on, I can see the confusion turning into something else.

I feel like I might throw up. But I compose myself and gulp down.

“I think I got my period. I was looking through your bathroom for some pads.” The first lie that comes to my mind flies out of my mouth so easily, I can’t help but feel guilty.

When did it become so easy to lie to my closest friend?

“I’m done with my phone call. I’ll go check on Annie.” He casually says to Jia, his lie sounding way more natural coming from him than mine came from me.

Jia nods at him and moves her eyes to me almost immediately.

Taehyung walks towards the door. But just before he leaves, he turns his head to look at me. But I’m not looking at him. Taking my eyes off Jia doesn’t seem like a smart choice right now.

I just pray in my head that he leaves the room right now, before Jia notices how long he’s taking to leave.

Thankfully, when he sees me ignoring him, he steps out and walks out of the hallway.

I act casual as I start to walk towards the door too, but I don’t think I seem as calm and cool as I want to seem.

I get so close to the door, but before I can leave, Jia grabs my arm and closes the bedroom door in front of me.

“Were you really looking for pads in there?”

“What do you mean?” I play confused, with my heartbeat in my mouth.

“I mean, were you actually looking for pads in there? Tell me the truth.” Her eyes darken.

“Yes, Jia. I really was looking for pads there.” I sound calm and confident, but I feel anything but that.

She look into my eyes, then speaks again.

“Why was Taehyung here?”

“What?”

“You know what I mean, so stop acting stupid.” She says with more seriousness than I’ve ever heard her use.

“Jia, I don’t—”

“I said stop acting stupid!” She forces out, cutting me off. “I’m giving you a chance to tell me the truth yourself. Don’t ruin our friendship more than you’ve already had.”

My heart beats faster. I can see it in her fuming eyes. No amount of lies will fool her now.

“Jia, it’s nothing like what you think—”

“Then what is it like? Huh?” She gets louder than before, but still not loud enough to bring everyone else into this. “I know two people after fucking from a mile away. So don’t try to insult me by denying it. You’re both flushed and you fucking smell like him!”

I take a step back when she takes one forward, with fury burning in her eyes.

“Well? Talk!” She lowers her voice when she realizes she got loud. “Were you or were you not fucking my best friend’s long-term boyfriend in that bathroom?”

I open my mouth to answer, but my voice dies down. How am I supposed to respond? Everything I say will kill our friendship. That is, if it has already not died. All I can do is escape her livid eyes.

This is exactly what I’ve always been afraid of.

“How could you do this? I can’t believe that you’re a fucking home-wrecker! With Annie’s fucking boyfriend of all people?”

I keep my eyes down and try to breathe through my nose, feeling a minor panic attack approaching.

“Look me in the eye, damn it!”

I breathe again before bringing my eyes up to meet hers. Immense hurt and disappointment is slowly replacing the fume in them.

“Jia, please listen. This whole thing is not like what you think.” I take another breathe before speaking again. “Their relationship… and ours… it’s not what you all thin—”

“So what? You think you can justify this? Just because they have some small problems in their relationship?” She takes another angry step forward. “Don’t you realize what the fuck you were doing? You were just fucking someone else’s boyfriend under my roof! When his girlfriend and their friends are still sitting in the next room.”

A tear slips down on my cheek.

I start to explain. I don’t know if Taehyung would be okay with me telling Jia things that he never told anyone else, but that’s a problem for another time.

But just as I start to speak, Jia holds out her palm to stop me. Her eyes cold as ice.

“I don’t want to know how long you’ve been fucking him behind my friend’s back, or why. You will end this. You hear me?” She swallows the lump in her throat and brings her face closer to mine. “You will end whatever the fuck is going on between the two of you before Annie finds out about this. Either you do that yourself, or I’ll be the one to tell everyone.”

With that, she twists the doorknob she was holding and walks out of the room, leaving me without giving me a second glance, let alone a second chance to try to explain everything to her.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 ᰔ

I guess I'm incapable of writing anything with an ounce of fluff. I swear, I'll try next time.

Jungkook takes a deep breath, then presses in the code Siri gave him—the same one she uses for everything, since she never really hides anything. Not from him, at least (except her painful past about Phoenix).

The door unlocks and as soon as Jungkook closes the door, there Siri is, running towards him.

"Woah!" He's stunned and stumbles back a little when she throws herself at him. She jumps up where her arms wrap around his neck, legs around his waist, and her lips crash into his.

Jungkook catches her, making the bag drop from his hand, causing the snacks to hit the floor. His hands grip her ass and her back, pulling her tighter against him as the kiss deepens. Her mouth is desperate as if it isn't just horniness doing this, it's something else. Something deeper.

Jungkook pulls back just enough to catch his breath. "Damn," he chuckles, eyes so soft and warm on her, "that was a great surprise. You must've really missed me, huh?"

I did, she thinks, but she doesn't say anything. She just gives that teasing smile she always does before her nose brushes against his and she kisses him again, softer this time. Sweeter. She holds onto him like she's holding onto that silly little bit of hope. She kisses him, giving him everything she has and all the love she's too afraid to admit she has for him.

She doesn't ask if Jimin spoke to him. Doesn't ask if he'll stay after. She doesn't say anything at all. She just holds Jungkook and kisses him. 

And just like that, everything Jungkook planned to say vanishes. Every word, every intention. Gone.

He's not ready to say the words that will ruin this. He thinks having Siri one more time is what he needs, so he kisses her back with everything he has too. To him, it feels like her mouth and her arms are the only places his heart feels steady and safe, and her body in his arms feels like home, even though it shouldn't.

He carries her to her bedroom, knowing the place like the back of his hand. He places her softly in the middle of her bed like she's his treasured little secret—which she is.

They slip each other's clothes off, piece by piece, with minimal breaks between their kisses. When they're finally naked, Jungkook hovers over Siri's frame where he settles between her legs, all while he places warm open mouthed kisses down her neck and across her chest. 

He wants to taste all parts of her, worship her with his mouth since this will be the last time. 

Siri can feel his hard cock pressed against her core, and so she wraps her legs around his ass, digging her heels into the back of his thighs to pull him closer.

"Want you, Jungkook," she murmurs, brushing his hair back from his face. "Please."

It was almost like she was begging for him—for all of him. Jungkook could see it in her blue eyes and feel it in her tender touch how much she wants him, and god, it broke his heart a little 'cause if he could give his whole self to her, he would. 

He knew, in that moment, that whatever Jimin tried to tell him about Siri wanting just sex and the thrill, it was wrong. 

"You have me, baby," he tells her. You have me for tonight... For the last time...

He guides his cock to her entrance, sliding the tip up and down between her folds before he slowly pushes inside her, all while keeping his gaze locked on her. When he's all the way in with no more room to go, Siri lets out a soft whimper.

"Fuck," Jungkook breathes out while his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the feeling of being sheathed by her walls. She was all warm, tight, wet, and perfect in every way that makes letting her go feel impossible.

He rests his forearms on either side of Siri's head, caging her in as if he can somehow shield her from what's to come; their end.

He starts to move, slow and gentle at first as he wants her to feel everything. Every veiny inch of him. Every achy stretch of her walls. And he wants to feel her too, all her velvety ridges and the way she clenches around him when he hits the deepest part of her.

His hips roll in a way like he's doing body rolls on her, and every time his cock pulls out, he goes back into her a little harder. Each time, Siri lets out a sound that Jungkook loves to hear.

They kiss each other between moans and gasps, they nibble one another's lips occasionally, and their tongues entwine. Jungkook's thrusts become stronger and more intense, filled with a purpose like he wants Siri to feel him for days after he's gone.

"Shit," she rasps out while shutting her eyes from the intensity as she could feel that knot in her core growing. "Fuck—Kook..."

He grunts, moving a little deeper. A little faster. A little rougher. "I know, baby. You're taking me so good," he murmurs, kissing her jaw, her cheek, her forehead. "My favourite girl, you are."

Favourite girl? More flutters of hope come in, sending butterflies into Siri's stomach. Maybe Jimin didn't get to him... Maybe we can still keep this going... 

She wraps her arms around Jungkook's back, rocking her hips up to meet every roll of his. She grinds against him, needing that friction on her clit. Needing the feel of his body pressed to hers 'cause she loves his warmth. Loves it when there's hardly any space between their bodies. They can't get much closer than this really and that's how she wants it. 

She gets wetter, clenching around him tighter, and it makes Jungkook moan in pleasure. "Shit, your pussy's hugging my cock so good. So fuckin' perfect for me. Don't ever wanna leave."

"Then don't."

Jungkook stops thrusting as he stares at her, searching for the meaning behind her words. It’s all there in her eyes though, and it’s there in her parted lips looking like she wants to say more but doesn’t. It’s also in her hands as they move from his back to cradle his jaw so gently.

It was such an easy reply. Just two simple words that slipped right off Siri's tongue, but they carried everything she's too scared to say aloud.

Stay. Choose me. I love you. I'm scared, but can you love me too? Please don't abandon me...

Jungkook's heart is in his throat and guilt aches it's way into his soul when he sees the look in her eyes. He didn't need to hear her say anything else when her expression said everything. 

Siri's offering him her heart and it fucking destroys Jungkook because he knows he can't keep it. He's already made the choice to end things; to try and fix his marriage, to be the father Mingyu deserves, and be the husband Sohee is missing. No matter how much Jungkook wants to stay with Siri, he can't. Not without losing everything else.

That's when Siri sees it.

His doe eyes are soft, loving, even. But they're also undeniably sad. 

Somehow, Siri's always been able to read Jungkook and understand him. And she realises now, ever since he walked in her door, he's just been delaying the inevitable. 

She sees his pretty doe eyes go watery, telling her, I'm sorry. I wish I could stay. Wish I could love you. I wish things were different.

And just like that, her hope dies once again.

Her throat tightens, and her chest starts to ache. It feels like her heart's caving in on itself, and she has to close her eyes tight to stop the tears from coming. 

So this is it... This is the last time. This is goodbye...

Siri should've known better—well, she did know better. It's just that for the first time in seven years, she wanted to let herself believe in love and hope again. But as usual, hope brings nothing but disappointment and heartbreak for her.

Siri keeps her eyes closed while she forces her lips to curl into a smile, just enough to show Jungkook she understands. That it's okay. That she won't make this harder for him than it already is.

He sees the way she's pretending it doesn't hurt, and sees the way she's trying to protect him from her heartbreak, and it kills him inside.

Jungkook presses his forehead to hers, closing his eyes as he exhales a shaky breath against her lips.

Neither of them say anything as they both try to not let any tears through. They just hold onto each other, bodies still joined while their hearts ache. 

Siri then leans in and kisses Jungkook to take the pain away. He kisses back to deepen their kiss, slowly rocking hips against her again because he understands her, too. Both just want to forget about the ache. 

She tangles her hands through his hair, and her legs stay wrapped around his waist, keeping him close, keeping him hers—for now.

While Jungkook's length strokes her walls, Siri's lips brush against his jaw where she presses little kisses to his cheek, his temple, under his ear, and his neck—all the spots she knows that makes his heart flutter and his dick throb. She's so soft and affectionate about it all, her actions clearly tell Jungkook she loves him.

He hates that he can't do anything about her feelings except to try and ignore them and pretend they don't exist.

But then, Siri doesn't want it to be slow anymore. She doesn't want tender. It's too kind and too close to goodbye. It's too much for her already damaged and broken heart. 

"Harder, Kookie," she husks against his ear. "Fuck me harder. Make my pussy ache and only remember you."

Jungkook moans at her words. Not only was it hot, but he understood what she was trying to say. It was a plea; make this unforgettable for me coz I know you won't be back.

He stills inside her where he can feel her heart pounding so hard against his chest. It makes him already yearn for her even though she's right here with him. 

But she won't be soon...

With a heavy heart, Jungkook presses his lips to Siri's temple, giving her a soft kiss before he whispers, "Turn around for me, baby." 

He pulls out gently, allowing Siri to flip over and get on all fours. She arches her back and sticks her ass out for him, and Jungkook couldn't help but bite his bottom lip while he strokes his cock at the sight of her. 

He caresses her ass before he glides his hand down her spine, causing goosebumps to appear on her skin. He leans in, placing soft kisses on her ass cheeks before he reaches her wet pussy. His tongue dives into her hole, needing to taste her one last time.

Siri squirms from Jungkook's tongue fucking her, licking her as deep as he can go. She then feels his fingers reaching around her waist to rub her clit. He vibrates his digits in the way he knows she likes it, and it makes her mewl into her pillow while she grips her bed sheets. 

Then suddenly, the loss of his tongue makes Siri whine. "Kooook, I was close to getting there."

"I know, baby, but I want you to cum on my cock."

He doesn't give her the chance to whine more or say anything else. One hand grips her hips while the other aligns his cock to her pussy where he shoves himself inside her, deep and hard, just like she asked. 

Siri gasps as her body jolts forward, and Jungkook groans at the feeling of her walls wrapped around him again.

"Goddayum, you feel like heaven."

He watches himself pull out just enough so his tip stays in, then he slams back into her, making her yelp. He repeats this action slowly, wanting to ensure there's a loud, satisfying smack every time his hips meet her ass, and he wants to see his cock glisten with her creamy slick. 

And then he gets faster. Rougher. He spanks her ass hard, making her moan out, and then he squeezes both her cheeks in his hands, watching the red handprints bloom across her skin.

"God, your ass looks so fuckin' good," he huffs, breath ragged. "Love this tight pussy... love the way you take me."

The pleasurable stinging feeling of Jungkook's cock hitting her deeply makes Siri forget about the ache in her chest for the time being. 

But then he suddenly slows and leans over her back. One arm wraps tight around her torso as he pulls her up, bringing her body flush against his so her back is against his chest. Their bodies align perfectly, skin pressed to skin, chest to chest, and heart to heart once again.

"Look," Jungkook murmurs against her ear. "Look in your mirror, baby."

Siri furrows her brows in slight confusion, and turns her head to the side where she sees her mirror opposite the bed.

"Watch us," Jungkook whispers, his voice hoarse from the sex. "Remember this." Remember us.

Siri's breath hitches as she watches their bodies move in the reflection. Not only were they both totally sexy together, but she sees the way his tattooed arm is locked tightly around her torso, keeping her close, like he doesn't want to let her go.

She sees his other hand is on her left breast, fondling and massaging it within his grasp, while his hot mouth is on her shoulder, placing tender kisses on her skin. 

She sees the strain in his muscly thighs underneath hers, spread slightly to keep her legs open for him, holding her steady so he can fuck into her at just the right angle. Every thrust rocks her forward slightly and her body automatically goes back against him again where her ass ripples each time their skin meets with a loud clap. 

And then Siri notices something else.

The way Jungkook's holding her... it doesn't look like dominance and it doesn't look like possession. It looks like protection.

His strong arms are wrapped around her like a shield, his broad chest flush against her back, his solid frame envelopes hers as if his body is trying to keep the pain away. 

In the reflection, she doesn't just see a man fucking her. She sees the man who makes her feel safe in the world, even if he's about to leave it.

Siri lets out a shaky breath as she watches them move. She makes her right hand reach back to tangle her fingers in Jungkook's hair, keeping his face close to hers, while her left hand goes over his hand that's on her breast, moving it so it's on her heart.

Feel my heart. Feel me.  Feel the way you make me feel.

And then, she pulls Jungkook's left hand to her lips where she kisses the inside of his wrist, her action practically telling him; I love you, before she places it back on her breast (and heart) again.

Jungkook's heart skips and aches at the same time. His arms tighten around her as he lets out a whimper—a whimper he tries to hide by pressing his face into the crook of Siri's neck. He can't let her see his eyes, not right now. Not when they're burning and prickling with tears again.

But Siri sees enough.

Her eyes go glossy too, but she doesn't look away. Even though her heart is breaking, this is the final time, and this is hers. This is their moment, and she wants to remember them exactly like this.

Jungkook’s eyes are still squeezed shut against Siri’s neck, breathing her in, trying to memorise the way she smells, the way her body fits in his arms, and the way she holds his hand against her heart as if he holds it.

He's never felt such intimacy like this and it breaks him. God, he thinks bitterly, how fucking cruel is the universe?

Cruel for making someone like her exist. Cruel for bringing her into his life when he already promised himself to someone else. Cruel for giving him everything he never knew he wanted in someone he can't keep.

Suddenly, Jungkook shifts from being sweet and tender to something a little more rougher again. Just like Siri needed it harder to take the pain away, Jungkook also needs that too. 

His arm tightens around her as his hips start to move faster, pounding into her from behind while still holding her against his chest. His left hand slides down her stomach until his fingers find her clit. He rubs fast circles on her nub, going at the same rhythm as his hips. 

He hears her moan and mewl loudly into her apartment and it makes him want more. 

"Come on, baby," he breathes raggedly against her ear. "Wanna feel you cum for me. Let me have it. Give it all to me."

Siri's body starts to tremble as her walls clench tightly around his cock, making Jungkook hiss through his teeth. 

"Fuck, just like that," he groans. 

With his fingers vibrating harshly on her clit, that aching heat in Siri's core becomes too much and her orgasm hits. She cries out as her thighs shake and her pussy contracts around him. 

The way her walls pulse around his cock makes Jungkook's head spin and he can't hold back anymore. With a guttural growl, he leans back slightly, grabs her waist with both hands, and hammers into her over and over, each thrust rougher, deeper, angrier.

He's angry at himself. Angry at the timing of meeting Siri. And angry that he has to walk away from the only place he's ever truly felt at home.

His cock throbs inside her, hitting that sweet spot where he hears Siri's moan again, but louder and higher this time. 

"Fuck, Kook!" she gasps, her voice cracking as another orgasm makes its way from the intensity of his pounding. 

He's slamming his cock harshly against her wet pussy, creating sounds of thunderous sex, and Siri has to hold both her bouncing breasts in place. She quickly side-eyes her mirror, seeing that sexy determined look on Jungkook's face, seeing how his toned body fits with hers perfectly. Fuck, they looked good. Too good. Too sexy. 

If only this could last forever.

With a few rough thrusts more, they're both cumming together. His body jerks as he spills deep inside her, painting her walls white with his strings of hot cum, while her walls contract around him once again.

Jungkook's fingers dig into Siri's hips as he rides out their highs, and slowly, a lump forms in his throat as he empties the last of himself inside the only woman he's ever truly lost himself in.

When it's done, they both collapse forward onto the bed, all puffed out. Siri's cheek and chest rests against the sheets while Jungkook's chest presses against her back. Both of them are sticky with sweat but they didn't care. 

After some time, with a soft exhale, Jungkook gently rolls off her. Siri stays still, her body too tired to move. They lay there in silence for a long moment, side by side, too close for two people who are no longer allowed to belong to each other.

Then suddenly, Jungkook sits up, swinging his legs over the bed. Siri's heart races with worry as she watches him reach for his Calvin Klein underwear on the floor and pulls them on.

Dread creeps up her throat as she asks, "You leaving already?"

Jungkook glances over his shoulder and gives a soft shake of his head. "No. Just... hang on," he murmurs.

He disappears into the hallway, and Siri closes her eyes, trying not to overthink. Trying to not panic. She tells herself she won't cry—not yet, anyway.

A minute later, Jungkook returns holding a warm damp washcloth in his hand. He climbs back onto the bed and nudges her to roll over and to part her legs.

The cloth is soft and warm against her skin. Soothing, even. Jungkook moves carefully, wiping around her inner thighs, then between them. He's tender and delicate as if he's afraid of hurting her. As if this act of care is the only way he knows how to say I'm sorry.

It makes Siri's chest ache, but it also makes her smile.

She looks at him and the way his brows knit slightly in concentration, the way his tattooed arm tenses as he cleans her up, and the way he's still so gentle even after all the roughness.

"You always do this," she says softly. "Take care of me before we have a smoke to chill with afterwards."

Jungkook glances up, and the corner of his lips curve too. They share a quiet smile together, but then their smiles falter and drop when they both realise this is it. This was the last time.

Silence takes over for a moment, until Siri decides to break it. Even though she knows the answer, even though her heart is already broken in her chest, she still needs to hear it.

"This is it, isn't it?" she asks quietly. "We're done?"

Jungkook swallows thickly, his gaze falling to the cloth in his hand as he continues to wipe the mess from Siri's thighs. He gives a small hesitant nod. "It has to be," he says, his voice hoarse from the lump in his throat.

Another moment of silence before she asks, "Jimin talk to you?"

Jungkook nods again. "Yeah."

Siri closes her eyes, letting the ache take root properly now that it's real.

"Well..." she sighs in defeat, letting out a sad chuckle. "It was fun while it lasted."

Jungkook freezes for half a second on her thigh, but before he can say anything, Siri gives him a small smile. 

"Not bad for a mechanic," she says playfully, nudging his thigh with hers. "You really outdid yourself, Kookie. Might be hard to top that."

Of course Siri's trying to put on that unbothered mask she's learnt to use to protect herself. She needs it right now because she doesn't want to break in front of Jungkook. 

He lets out a similar sad chuckle, playing along with her facade because he doesn't want to fall apart either.

"Yeah? That your way of saying I was unforgettable?" he gives a smirk and it makes Siri genuinely smile. 

She shrugs, pretending to play it cool by rolling her eyes. "Maaaybe. But don't go getting a big head now. No one likes a cocky asshole."

Jungkook chuckles under his breath, eyes crinkling just slightly. "I won't. Promise."

They share a soft smile again where it lingers between them. It's like it was their last attempt to hold on to something light. 

But then their smiles begin to fade once again and silence creeps back in, but it was heavier this time. 

That was until a small thud on the mattress interrupts the tension, followed by the bouncing of four little paws. 

Smokey, the grey kitty-cat, hops up onto the bed as if he knew it was the right time to come. He lets out a single chirpy meow as he plops himself near the two humans, nosing Jungkook's arm for attention.

Jungkook lets out a real laugh this time. "There he is." His expression softens instantly as he reaches to give Smokey his well earned cuddles. 

He scratches behind the cat's ears and leans in slightly, his voice going into a playful, affectionate tone. "You always wait till we're done, huh?" Jungkook coos. "Such a good boy. Always so respectful of us."

Siri laughs lightly, even with an ache in her chest. "Honestly, I still don't know how he knows. It's kinda creepy."

Jungkook snorts. "He knows everything. Don'tcha little guy?"

The cat purrs, settling comfortably between them. In that moment, everything feels soft again. The humans both smile as they look at Smokey and at each other, but it's a smile that's trying to cover their aching hearts and shared sadness. It's their one last gentle thing before the goodbye comes.

Then, awkwardly, Siri looks away first.

Her fingers stroke her cat’s fur as she stares at the ceiling, blinking up at it repeatedly to stop any tears as she tries to find the strength and courage to say what needs to be said.

"You should probably go," she says softly.

Jungkook doesn’t argue since he does have to go. He just nods, but he doesn’t move right away. Instead, he takes some time to scan Siri's face; memorising her cute button nose, her sparkly blue eyes, her plump, luscious lips—every detail of her since he won't see her again. 

He leans forward one more time to pat Smokey gently between the ears. "Be good to your mummy," he murmurs.

Siri's heart flutters at that whilst tears brim her eyes, but she tries to keep herself together. 

With a deep breath, Jungkook slides off the bed, picking up his clothes from the floor and putting them on. Siri lets Smokey go so she can do the same. And then... she follows Jungkook to her door.

"Oh, uh..." he starts to say, reaching for the bag of chips and cat treats on the floor near the front door. "I got these for you and Smokey."

Siri takes the bag gently from him, smiling with thanks. “You know the way to a woman’s heart, don’tcha mechanic?” She wasn’t just copying what Jungkook said to her a couple weeks ago when she brought him banana milk to his work, she’s also pretending to be teasing, but there’s some hidden truth to her words. Because Jungkook does know the way to her heart somehow. 

He just smiles sadly in return and turns to open the door. Then, the two stand just there, staring at each other. Looking at each other with their eyes saying, I wish this wasn't the end. 

Automatically, like two magnets, they couldn't help but lean in at the same time for one last kiss.  

He holds her waist tightly while she reaches for his face, holding him there. Their mouths press together deeply, tongues entwining, tasting and holding onto the last spark of something beautiful before the dark takes it all.

When they finally part, all breathless, Siri gazes up at Jungkook, looking into his soft chocolaty doe eyes. "I hope you'll be happy," she says quietly and sincerely.

Jungkook swallows thickly. His heart aches so hard he wants to cry. The last thing he wants to do is let her go, but he has to.

He cups her face one last time and places a kiss on her forehead. "You too," he says. "You deserve to be happy, too."

Then, Jungkook turns and walks out without looking back. He's afraid if he does, he might not leave her. 

The door closes behind him with a soft click and Siri lets out a breath she didn't realise she had been holding. Her breathing is heavy as she stands there for a moment, staring at the door, willing herself not to fall apart.

Don't cry. You knew things had to be this way. 

She swallows the lump in her throat as she turns and walks to the kitchen. She drops the bag of snacks on the counter then grabs her purse. With shaky hands, she fishes out her cigarettes and a lighter.

Lighting one, she walks over to the window where she pulls it open, just enough to let the smoke drift out, then she sits down on the small bench beside it. She looks out at the night sky and the city lights, feeling the sadness that fills her apartment. 

Her eyes sting as tears start to prickle behind them. She exhales smoke towards the window, feeling like she's grieving again. 

She knew this wasn't forever. She knew things were doomed from the start. Because she's not the wife. Not the mother of his child. And... she's not the one who has his heart 'cause if she was, he would've stayed. 

Siri takes another drag and exhales again to try calm her aching heart. She blinks hard while her eyes feel like they're burning—but still, no tears yet.

But then, a soft meow breaks the silence.

Siri glances down to see Smokey hopping up onto the window bench beside her. He stares at her with those big, concerned eyes only animals can give. Eyes that say 'I know something's wrong,' even if he can't understand what.

Siri stubs out the cigarette against her window and flicks it outside before she lifts the grey cat onto her lap. He immediately nuzzles into her chest, curling against her with another meow before he purrs.

Just from that, Siri bawls. Tears slip down her cheeks as she holds him tight, burying her face in his fur. Her shoulders shake as her body curls around the little grey cat, desperate to hold onto something that won’t leave her.

"He's gone, baby," she mumbles through the tears. "Daddy's not coming back..." Her voice cracks.

"He has another family to love and look after. A real one. With a wife. A son. His true home..." She swallows the lump in her throat, trying to keep the sob within her from escaping. 

"And I—no, we—are not part of that. We never were... But we'll be okay, right?" she says with a weak, broken smile towards her furry friend. "We've got each other, right baby? And Yoongi too."

Smokey doesn't understand, but he stays in her arms and meows as if he does.

Siri closes her eyes as more tears slip out, soaking into Smokey's fur. She lets out a shaky breath, rocking her little furry king as she clutches him tighter.

It's okay. We'll be okay. 

Jungkook had to leave, and I had to let him go. 

After all... if you love something, you let it go, right?

Except for those times where Obi-Wan bullies himself and his family into the mix: suggesting outings to the opera to Padmé during recesses between bill amendment proposals, sending her holo-bulletins for the latest, hottest  restaurants in the newest up-and-coming district of Coruscant. Places she should be seen, and who is Obi-Wan if not someone she should be seen with as her mentor in the Senate? As her confidante? But it may send the wrong message, open them both up to nasty rumors should they be photographed alone together at a dinner place. So really, Obi-Wan should check with his wife, to see if she is free. And if he is bringing his wife, then surely Padmé can bring her husband.

And Korkie enjoys the area, likes the spicy food from the Outer Rim that’s so in vogue at the moment. If Obi-Wan brings his wife, his child, and Padmé brings Anakin, then surely they should bring the twins too. The twins, who light up around Obi-Wan, who fight between themselves about who gets to sit next to him at the table.

But usually, Set Starkiller does not schedule appointments to see Obi-Wan during the evening. The evenings are usually reserved for his family, which Obi-Wan tends to allow him to believe does not include Obi-Wan’s family as well.

So the fact that he’s strayed so far from their usual, established pattern, makes Obi-Wan feel tense and hot all over from the moment his secretary alerts him to the request and then through the rest of the day. 

Thankfully, if nothing else, Obi-Wan has beaten into Anakin an appreciation for punctuality over the last four years, so at the turn of the hour there’s a knock on the door.

Anakin enters without being told he can, because of course he does. Because this is Obi-Wan’s office and Obi-Wan’s space and whatever is Obi-Wan’s is Anakin’s as well. It’d be presumptive and irritating if Obi-Wan hadn’t spent the last four years trying to instill such beliefs in the other man.

Obi-Wan stands, but waits for the door to slide shut behind the man before he speaks. “Darling,” he says, striding forward until he’s close enough to touch the other’s elbow. “Has something happened?”

Anakin’s hair, usually such a beautiful and precise mess of curls, looks like he’s been running his hands through it all day. There are dark shadows under his eyes, bruises imprinted over golden and flawless skin that Obi-Wan’s spent cumulative hours pressing his lips against.

“There are pictures,” Anakin says. Perhaps it’s supposed to come out strong, like a statement, but his voice cracks, and he rubs a hand over his mouth instead, turning away from Obi-Wan’s touch—no—and looking out over the cityscape through the one-way windows behind his desk.

Obi-Wan blinks at his back. He’s still clad in the conservative, high-necked starchly-white uniform he prefers for working in the offices atop the art gallery. It’s jarring to see him wearing such colors; he usually prefers dark clothes, black and brown leather. Night-sky blue and deep, bruiselike purples. The white looks good on him, but then most things look good on Anakin Skywalker. 

It just also makes him look that much more like a stranger.

“Pictures,” Obi-Wan repeats when his mind catches up with the conversation. “Of what?”

“Of us,” Anakin says, whirling around to stare down at him, eyes narrowing in anger.

After four years of feeling the burn of this man’s anger and knowing it is an essential aspect of the burn of his love, Obi-Wan is not moved to ire of his own. He crosses his arms and leans back against the edge of his desk. “There is no need to get angry at me, Anakin. I assure you, I did not hold the holocamera.”

It’s not an inaccurate statement, but it’s definitely also not something that Anakin appreciates if the scowl he throws him is any indication. Anakin’s hand runs up and into his hair, tugging at the curls as he frowns at Obi-Wan, waiting.

Obi-Wan gives in. He always does, when it comes to Anakin. “Pictures of us,” he says. “What are we doing?”

It’s not optimal, of course, and Obi-Wan’s pulse is already hammering beneath his skin at the idea of some holo-pap capturing an unsavory picture of the two of them out in Coruscant. After all, Satine may know of their relationship, but Anakin has carefully kept his wife in the dark. If a holo-pap caught them…kissing, it could be ruinous. 

For Anakin’s marriage, of course. 

But for Obi-Wan and Anakin’s relationship as well.

After all, blaster to his head, Obi-Wan isn’t sure what Anakin would do should his wife find out about the affair tomorrow. Would he beg her to stay with him? Would he promise never to speak to Obi-Wan again? Would he call it all a mistake, a lapse of judgement, a drunken mistake that only happened the once?

Eventually, Anakin will have to choose. Obi-Wan knows that, maybe better than Anakin does. He knows himself, knows that he will not be satisfied with only the crumbs of Anakin’s attention for long. Not when he knows that Anakin needs him. That Anakin wants him. That his children love him the same. One day, Obi-Wan will make him choose, but it will only be when he’s sure that he’ll be the one chosen.

And that’s not today. Not yet. 

“Last week,” Anakin tells him, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. “When we were leaving the Outlander.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows furrow before they raise. Last week, they’d gotten far too drunk at a dancing club in the lower levels. They’d stayed longer than they planned, and the night had ended with the two of them stumbling out the door, arms around each other, and into a taxi-speeder back to Obi-Wan’s private accommodations. 

“Alright,” Obi-Wan says carefully. He drops his arms, taps his fingers along the edge of the desk. “I must admit that I don’t remember us doing anything particularly…scandalous that night.”

Like kiss. Obi-Wan remembers wanting to kiss him, so badly it hurt to look at him sidelong. Obi-Wan remembers wanting to wrap his fingers around the leather cord around Anakin’s neck—his necklace, the japor snippet that was Obi-Wan’s—and pull him in so he could taste the alcohol on his lips right there. 

But he hadn’t. Even as drunk as he’d been then he’d known that he couldn’t. That as much as Anakin was his, he could only be his in the shadowy corners of the club, the absolute privacy of his apartments. 

Anakin shakes his head in a sharp jerk, plunging his hand into the folds of his tunics and pulling out a handful of colored flimsi paper that he slaps down onto the desk next to Obi-Wan’s hip. 

The pictures.

Obi-Wan studies them with a pursed mouth, mind racing.

They’re not scandalous, really. The holo-pap had not, in fact, caught them kissing. He hadn’t even caught them in a position that could be construed as scandalous. Their hands are, for the most part, visible, though Obi-Wan has an arm wrapped low around Anakin’s waist, hidden from view of the holo camera by the dark cloak he’s wearing. 

Obi-Wan blinks and looks closer, trying to find whatever hidden message has made Anakin so upset. 

But they’re just photos. In one, they’re leaning close together, heads nearly touching as they whisper. Obi-Wan can’t quite recall what was said, can just remember the feeling of Anakin’s hair brushing against his temple as he said it. In another, Obi-Wan is leaning against the club’s wall, deathstick lit and pressed between his lips as Anakin watches him from—alright, perhaps too close. His head is resting against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, face upturned to keep him in his eyeline. In the last picture, Obi-Wan is mostly out of view, negotiating a price for a ride with the taxi speeder. Anakin’s slumped back against the wall, head tilted back against the brick but eyes on Obi-Wan’s bent form. His lips are curved into a slight smirk. It’s heated, possessive, carefree and arrogant.

Not how friends look at each other, perhaps. But not necessarily damning either. 

He looks back up at Anakin, who is already staring at him with his arms crossed defensively over his chest. 

“I assume these haven’t been published yet,” he says, even though it’s not the first thing he’d like to say. “How did you get your hands on them?”

Anakin works his jaw for a moment before he says, “The Coruscanti Suns’ editor has a youngling in the same daycare as the twins. She gave them to me this morning. Said she couldn’t hold the story, but implied it was just cause she didn’t want to, the sleemo.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes fall back to the pictures. Must be a slow news day. Or perhaps the story is more telling than the pictures by themselves. He tries to think back to that night in the club. They’d danced, but then everyone had been dancing. They’d been—he’d been—so careful not to kiss his partner. But perhaps the Sun found a source, an underpaid server or bartender, footage from one of the serving droids’ memory cards that wasn’t erased properly. Perhaps there’s a story, dangerous and ruinous, lurking beneath these photos.

He sinks back his desk chair and rubs at his forehead for a moment as he considers the pictures before him.

“If she’s giving them to you free of charge and before the story runs, then obviously there’s something she wants more than to see this published,” he tells his lover, drumming his fingers along the armrest of his chair before he picks up the picture closest to him again and studies it. It’s the one of him talking to the speeder driver, the one of Anakin looking at him as if he were a piece of meat to be eaten.

“I don’t know anything about politics,” Anakin says flatly. He moves around the desk until they’re at odds with it between them, deep like a canyon. “She’s wasting her time.”

“Ah, but perhaps she realizes that the other person in these pictures does know a thing or two about politics,” Obi-Wan points out only half as condescendingly as he wants to be. He sets the picture down and taps his own pixelated face. “You, dearheart, are being blackmailed. Congratulations. You’ve taken the first step into your political career.”

Anakin’s scowl is fiercesome and entirely deserved. On the other side of the desk, he begins to pace, movements sharp and frenetic. “Well, what are we going to do about it?” he asks, far too loudly.

Obi-Wan places both his hands carefully on the desk so as to not give into the temptation to tighten them into fists. “My inclination is to let them publish,” he admits, watching Anakin with narrowed, assessing eyes. It wouldn’t do for the both of them to lose their heads. Obi-Wan can’t admit that the idea of this going to print—and the article that must be behind it and must be ten times as damning—makes his chest tighten with worry of his own.

Blaster to his head, he doesn’t know what Anakin will choose—he cannot allow him to make a choice yet. So this cannot be the thing that backs him into the corner. Animals, even predators, act out of instinct and fear when in corners. Everyone knows that.

But it won’t do to say this, any of this, now. 

Not when Anakin is already shaking his head, glaring at Obi-Wan as if he’s the enemy here. “No, no way,” he snaps, fists clenching at his sides. “This cannot print.”

Obi-Wan blinks at him, as wide-eyed and innocent as he can look. The truth is that he knows the editor of the Coruscanti Sun, knows that her political chair has been asking for an interview with him for months, has instructed his secretary to decline every attempt the holosite makes to contact his office. 

It is a rather heavy-handed attempt at blackmail; but she’s smart to have gone through Anakin. His eyes fall back to the pictures, as if magnetized, and he studies them with a fresh mindset, wondering if there’s anything in his expression that gives away how much of a weakspot Anakin Skywalker has become for him.

“Obi-Wan, please,” Anakin says, begs, really. Begs prettily, rounding the corner of the desk to drop to his knees beside Obi-Wan’s chair. For someone so unused to playing politics, he truly does know how to be as dramatic as the best of them. “Please do something.”

Obi-Wan reaches out, runs his hand through the curls framing Anakin’s face, before grabbing his chin and tilting his head up to study his expression. “You do know that it would be as good as confirming it to her, to stop this story from running,” he points out. Anakin’s eyes are dark but so pretty. 

All of him is, really. That’s half of what got them into this mess in the first place.

(The other half being that he’s charming, and whip-smart. Brash and assertive, full of surprises and begging for a firm hand almost as often as he’s raring for a body to take out his anger on.)

“Obi-Wan, please,” Anakin repeats. He presses his face into Obi-Wan’s touch. Relaxes into him. Trusts him. He has a problem; shouldn’t Obi-Wan take care of it for him? Hasn’t that been what Obi-Wan has taught him over the last four years? Of course Anakin came to him immediately with this and made sure to bring with him all of the information that Obi-Wan will need to solve the problem for him. 

“Alright, darling,” he says. Gives up, gives in. Because Anakin needs him to. Anakin needs this. Under his hand, Anakin melts in relief, turning immediately to press a kiss against his palm, anger forgotten or burned through as quickly as it was lit. “I’ll get in contact with her.”

“Thank you—”

“Only if you tell me why,” he finishes, and Anakin’s eyes snap to his.

“What do you mean why,” Anakin says, suspicious now. Still beneath his touch but not moving away from him.

“Those pictures are embarrassing, perhaps. Proof of a drunken night out that two men are far too old to partake in,” Obi-Wan says. “And stars, look at me, I haven’t smoked a deathstick in a decade. Hardly a good look for a galactic senator running for re-election.”

Anakin gets to his feet stiffly, jaw working as he glances from Obi-Wan to the holos then back out the window to the cityscape beyond.

Obi-Wan loves this man to the detriment of the both of them, but he’s never met an advantage he hasn’t wanted to press.

“But that’s me,” he says. “And I have a publicity team on standby whose job it is to spin these sorts of articles into a positive. And you, my dear, as important as I know your job is, hardly hold the same seat in the court of public opinion as I do. So. Why is it so important that these holos do not go to print? When all they depict is two men, enjoying a night out like they are reliving their glory days?” Anakin glares at him, expression surly and rebellious, but Obi-Wan has the upperhand. And beyond that, Obi-Wan wants to know. Obi-Wan wants to hear it.

“Did she say anything else to you?” he asks, adopting a concerned tone. “The editor? Anything to make you think that they have more on us than just this?”

“No,” Anakin snaps. Then, finally: “The photos are enough.”

Obi-Wan raises both eyebrows and shakes his head. Paranoia does not become his lover. “Truly, they are no–”

“She’d know,” Anakin interrupts, rubbing at the line of his neck before tangling his fingers into the leather cord of the necklace around his throat. A nervous habit he started up a few months ago. “She’d look at the pictures and know.”

There is no need to ask who Anakin is talking about. It is not the news editor. Obi-Wan finds that he does not particularly want to hear her name in the sanctity of his office either. “How?”

Anakin’s eyes are burning when he looks at him; one could almost mistake the emotion in them for hatred. Obi-Wan knows better. It seems, finally, Anakin knows better as well, because he says lowly and clearly, “Because that’s how I look when I’m in love with someone and she’d recognize it. And she’d know.”

VAL

Val doesn’t remember the last time her husband fucked her. Like properly, drawn out, toe-curling, mind-wrecking fucking. Don’t get her wrong, she loves him. Of course she does. But it’s more the way you love an old stuffed animal, you know it’s familiar, comfortable even, and easy to leave lying around. The point is- he’s nice. They look perfect on paper. Both with thriving careers, enough money, gym memberships, even matching luggages. Once again- it’s nice.

But that’s all it is. Just this big pile of nice, nice paper. The reality is her and Ross are... more friends, roommates if you ask her, whatever at this point. They recycle the same jokes. Eat the same dinner week after week. They go to fundraisers together, parties, he kisses her cheek every morning, barely a peck. Nothing changes. It's all just …nice.

Nice…

But that's life… Right?

She’s sitting at her desk, writing yet another email that’s already half-forgotten, trying to decide between takeout and frozen leftovers for dinner because Ross said he’d be home late, don’t wait up for him.

Val taps her finger softly on the space bar. Thinking about her marriage as the hum of the office floats in through her door. In the glare of the monitor she notes her nice dark hair in a high bun, better to hide her roots. The whites are creeping in so she’ll need an appointment soon. She rubs her bare shoulders, sore because she slept wrong. Her feet stretch, heels are too tight today. There she sits in a dark sleeveless dress, hair nice and neat, thinking about what to eat. The pressing reality of one message- this is her real marriage now. Work, uncomfortableness, and this email.

The door clicks open.

"Morning Val."

And then there’s her.

Val looks up.

Blue.

Dark, dark blue.

She's never seen that one. It's new. The blue dress looks soft, cinching her waist, ending just below the knee. Her black low heels echo on the dark carpets in her office, the sunlight comes in from her wide windows and highlights her tiny golden earrings creating little stars shining on either side.

Mel Gold. Her assistant for a whole year in a few months. Thirty. Smart. Funny. Very, very pretty.

She is smiling as she walks towards her, long dark hair pulled back into a low pony tail, lips painted a dark brown that makes Val’s mouth go dry. She sets a white coffee cup on the desk, the boxes are checked marked, black, four pumps of vanilla, exactly how Val likes it.

The thing is- she’s had plenty of assistants, plenty of pretty women and men, all unique and smart in their own way, all forgettable if she’s honest. But this one… this one is different. This one likes to smile at her, look at her-

"Thought you might need this," Mel says, her tone light and teasing. "It's a dreadful day when we have to be in before 8 a.m for a meeting."

She rolls her eyes before she winks at her.

This one…is thoughtful.

Val wants to say thank you, wants to keep it professional, but she’s already staring.

This one is unbearably her type.

"Thank you, Mel."

And as Mel winks at her she thinks no one else ever looks at her like that, like she's flirting or telling an inside joke. Like they share a secret. And just like that, Val can’t help herself.

She’s picturing that blue dress bunched up around Mel’s hips. Entertaining the thought of Mel on her desk instead of coffee. Wonders how Mel would taste, if she would make a noise if she pressed her mouth to the inside of her thigh, how she'd sound if Val pulled her in and licked-

"Hope you like it. I got it from that corner bakery on my way here." Mel glances at her watch, a nice thin golden one. "This next meeting is with that guy you said has a funny shaped head. Kind of loud, very annoying, Russian."

Val smiles wide. "Alexei," she says, taking the coffee, once again, thinking how thoughtful she is.

Alexei however, is not thoughtful, his booming voice gives her a headache. But Mel's right, coffee sustains her mood. Gets her through the worst of his dad jokes.

Mel doesn’t leave. Instead, she shifts her weight, leaning a hip casually against the edge of the heavy wooden desk.

"So, speaking of kind of annoying and loud,” Mel remarks, her tone dripping with a dry, condescending amusement. "Your front desk receptionist told me my dress was 'distractingly short' this morning."

Val takes a slow sip of her coffee. Over the rim of the cup, dark eyes casually dragging down the length of Mel’s tailored navy dress.

It is short. It clings perfectly to her hips and stops several inches above the knee, showcasing a frankly unreasonable amount of bare leg for the executive floor of the CIA. But wow, does it do wonders for Val.

"Ignore Brenda," she waves her off, her voice smooth and entirely unbothered as she brings her eyes back up to meet Mel's. "She's sixty, and she thinks anything above the knee is an act of federal impropriety. I happen to think it meets the dress code perfectly."

Mel’s lips twitch into a smug, highly satisfied little smirk. She reaches into the plastic bin on her desk and starts sorting through the mail, flipping ads and envelopes, making sure nothing important is buried. Then she stops, eyebrow arched.

"Hm. Interesting."

She holds up a glossy brochure with block letters in the middle of two cartoon gravestones-

PLAN FOR PEACE - PREPAID CREMATION PACKAGES.

She turns it over, eyeing the fine print, and snorts, "Hey, if I fake my death, do I still qualify for the fat life insurance they offer here, or do you think they’ll make me fill out a form first?"

Val shrugs, sips her coffee. "That depends- are you planning the classic car crash or something with a little more flair?"

Mel pretends to consider it, head tilted up, a strand of dark hair falling near her shoulder. "No, a car crash sounds like I'm trying too hard.

"Trying too hard?"

"Yeah, like, doesn't everyone do that?"

Val shakes her head, finding it amusing. "Car crashes happen all the time. How many do you think are planned deaths?"

Mel's eyebrows go up as she considers that. "Point made. The only thing I'd have to worry about is that the CIA would call fraud before my ‘body’s’ cold.

"Body?"

"You know, stunt double." Mel says, continuing along, thinking through her fake death scenario. "Maybe the office elevator? Go for a tragic workplace accident. My stunt double would have to be horribly mangled, of course. Do you think anyone would notice?"

Val sips her coffee, solemn. "Is there an ad for dental in there?"

Mel rifles through the stack, frowns. "Nope. Why?"

"Stunt doubles can be clever but dental records always ruin a good fake death. Crash is cleaner as it can be so messy the body would be unrecognizable. The only thing you'd need to worry about is finding a fresh cadaver."

Mel leans back on the desk, her long hair drapes down her tanned arm, and as she tilts to stare at the ceiling thoughtfully, her neck comes into full view.

Val's hands grips her hot cup of coffee. It burns her palms but god, anything to distract herself from wondering what her neck would feel like under her lips.

"Hm. Too bad we don't live in the century where I could just pay a random person to dig up the recently deceased."

Val feels her own breathing pick up as Mel's eyes come back to her. "Happen to know anyone willing to sell a fresh cadaver?"

She shakes her head. "Best I can do is offer up how to kill yourself properly and get away with it."

Mel snickers. "Okay. Any more useful tips?"

Somehow…making her assistant laugh in any way always gut punches her. Because Mel does this thing where she lightly shakes her head, looks down and smiles. And for a moment Val can freely admire all the pretty curves, the quirk of her red lips, and the way her dark hair falls down her body.

God, life's really unfair to put Mel Gold in front of her during her intense dry spell.

"Uh- ah." Val has to look down. Down at her boring coffee cup, red lipstick on the rim. "No. I- I'll be sure to file Form 45-7B, Death Benefits, Mel's Accidental Demise."

With great force, she leaves the safety of the coffee cup and looks up to see that perfect grin, but it's not directed at her anymore. Which is fine. That means she doesn't have to spend as much time gathering her thoughts.

Long tanned fingers flicks the pamphlet into the recycling bin on the side. "You made that last part up."

Val finds herself leaning in, can't help the smile that works itself into her visage. "Just like you made up your get rich quick scheme?"

Shaking her head, Mel says. "You never know. Every day this economy gets slightly more expensive to live in. Unless you're offering a raise?"

When her gaze comes back, there it is again, that little kick her heart does whenever those brown eyes land on hers. All she can do is shake her head no. Because the gravity about Mel constantly pulls her in, leaving her a little lightheaded.

"Hm. Fine, back to the original plan. All I ask is that you make sure Bob doesn’t get my chair. He's cursed."

"Cursed?"

"Yes. Val, somehow they all break."

"The chairs?"

"Yes! And that one’s mine. Got it with your corporate card, by the way. Cited medical need, that I have lower back pain. Very helpful."

Val stares, leaning forward on her elbows, coffee just below her nose, fighting a laugh. "Noted. You're faking your death and you used my company credit card improperly. But sure, I’ll salt the seat so Bob doesn't curse it."

The whites of Mel's teeth show as she sets the rest of the mail in front of Val, important ones stacked on top. "Much appreciated boss. Meeting's in ten."

And then she’s gone. Out the doorway, heels clicking, that flash of blue dress vanishing around the corner.

Val sits, coffee warm enough in her hands, no longer scolding, and her whole body's buzzing. She squints at the email on her screen, words blurring together, heartbeat hammering hard in her chest.

Mel’s got the audacity to make her giddy. To make her forget, if only for a conversation, about the husband she hasn’t slept with in god knows how long. What was she thinking about? Oh right. The last time they fucked. Val can’t remember, even when she tries hard to. Maybe their anniversary. Actually, maybe not even then.

She blames Mel for this. By being funny, sly, a little biting, never fawning. Really, Is it her fault Mel makes her laugh more in a week than Ross does in a year?

No, it's not. But that doesn’t mean Val isn’t a mess about it. It doesn't mean she's not at fault for thinking about Mel constantly. She can’t stop, can’t help it. It feels pathetic.

Her eyes trace the ghost of her own red lipstick print on the coffee lid. She imagines Mel’s mouth, how soft they must feel. She thinks about the way Mel touches her circle-shaped necklace with the bird in the middle when she’s nervous, fingers delicately tracing that dip between her collarbones. Then there’s that lopsided grin, that low chuckle she does when Val jokes back. It plays on a loop in her mind. All the time.

God, she wants to know how Mel tastes. She wants to suck on her bottom lip, tangle her hands in all that dark hair, bite the soft spot under her ear just to see if Mel would make noises for her. She craves it so much her mouth waters.

Val slams her coffee cup down, booming in her ears and little droplets of coffee spurts up and splatters her face. She dabs at her skin, breathes deep.

It doesn’t help.

The smell of coffee and Mel’s perfume lingers. It’s already too late. She realized it a couple months ago.

She has this big irritating crush on her assistant.

-------

MEL

The sun hasn't even touched her room. It's dark when she wakes up, hits snooze twice, spends too long staring at her phone. Her work inbox is a mess of Val's and hers work. When she gets up and shuffles to the kitchen for something to eat, she discovers her fridge is a graveyard of takeout because she works too much to cook dinner let alone have anything fresh for breakfast. When she opens a random white take out box her face scrunches in disgust. Okay, that's gone bad judging by the rancid odor. She'll have to grab something on her way to work.

When she opens her closet, a nice neat row of clothes stare back. She pulls out the new blue dress, holds it up against her chest before shrugging at the reflection, and doesn’t overthink why she's putting it on. So what if she's been choosing tighter work dresses. They're professional and they're all nice colors. Not for any particular reason. No. The dress just has to look good, that’s all. It’s not for anyone.

Definitely not for her boss, who she thinks about as she passes the bakery around the corner from the office. It's new and Val commented on it. Said she wanted to try it.

Oh and today is her meeting with the Russian guy she hates. Mel looks at her golden watch, realizes she has time and steps into the smell of baked goods and coffee beans. Orders herself breakfast and a coffee for Val.

It's going to be a busy day and really she buys it for everyone else's sake rather than her own. Her boss can get so moody when her calendar is as packed as it is today, that’s why she’s arriving an hour early. No big deal.

She walks into the short, gray government building, coffee in hand, says good morning as she passes a few employees dressed in gray suits gawking at her. She breezes right past Brenda’s desk, entirely ignoring the receptionist's loud, disapproving huff at the hemline of her tailored navy skirt.

"Distractingly short," the older woman had muttered sharply as Mel swiped her security badge.

Mel just smirked to herself, adjusting her grip on the coffee. She’ll ask Val about it, she tells Brenda who huffs some more as she heads for her own office to drop off her belongings and then heads down the hall to her boss's domain.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine is printed in dark black letters on the golden plaque in the middle of the brown heavy wooden door.

Val, as she calls her, is a successful, smart, witty woman. Not what she expected since everyone called her terrifying when she started. Not directly. Just weird little comments of "oh you're working for Director de Fontaine." Cue grimaces all around. Sympathetic eyes plastered as they raised hands to their chests like they felt genuine pity.

She pushes open the door, the hot cup of coffee in both hands. Hot enough to keep her grounded as she sees her boss. Hair high in a bun, black rimmed glasses on the bridge of her hooked nose, and the morning light filters in making her eyes look more golden than brown.

Everything slows here. Always does when she sees her. Mel thinks it's because her boss is…well, actually a genuinely nice person. The air always feels comfortable around her. She isn't sure what everyone was so worried about. And it didn't take long to figure this out. A couple weeks in and Mel found herself laughing, actually laughing at how she answered her back. The way she'd wink or stack onto their banter making her chest warm and tight.

But she doesn't think about the why's or how's of it. Just that Valentina Allegra de Fontaine is terrifying to everyone else but her. And that's that. Nothing to ponder too deeply about.

"Morning Val."

Whatever Val was thinking about, melts away as she looks up, takes off her glasses and smiles.

There's this thing she does whenever she walks in. Val’s eyes flick up, catches hold, and does a quick run down of her blue dress. Mel feels her skin prickle under her gaze, heart tripping in her chest.

Like she's eating the sight of her with her light brown eyes alone.

Don’t start, she tells herself. Don’t do this.

And then there's that.

She sets the coffee down, careful not to let her eyes linger on what Val’s wearing, the expanse of neck and how low the cut of her black dress is. Wonders if Brenda commented on her black short dress.

But nevermind Brenda. There's the way Mel…can't control her thoughts. Or rather- unable to keep them in check. Because around the fifth month of her employment something weird happened.

It was a regular day. Nothing crazy. Val just…wore a shorter skirt than usual, bent down and Mel’s not blind okay. She knows her boss isn't hideous. And her eyes wandered. And wandered. And…

They haven't stopped wandering…

Never, never stopped…

Even now- she fails to keep her thoughts in check. Instead wondering how she'd react if Val asked her to come closer. To sit on her desk instead of the coffee. If she told her how nice the dress looks, if her fingers- No, she tells herself again. Not today.

She sifts through the mail, focuses on the paperwork, keeps her thoughts in check. She cracks a joke about faking her own death, watches Val roll with it, playing along. That's another thing about her. Nobody else would laugh at her jokes, not these jokes. No. Even her mom would tell her how she'd embarrass their family at funerals, well, one funeral, when she'd ask how they preserve the bodies. It's not that she finds death fascinating, it's just that she finds the overall gloom of the world much more interesting.

But when you live in a world full of sunshine like her family, gloomy days aren't their best, she learned early on to keep her mouth shut about these things. But then came Val. She laughed at an accidental death joke about a hostile foreign operative who had miraculously managed to fall out of a bolted, seventh-story window in month two. Mel had quietly muttered, “Must have been a very aggressive breeze,” as she handed over the folder. Val had immediately snorted and chuckled about it before adding on something just as morbid- commenting aloud if the man at least had the courtesy to lock the window behind himself on the way down. She even had questions, debating the terminal velocity of a man wearing a heavy wool coat, and Mel suddenly found herself in a conversation she's only ever kept to herself.

But it's just banter, that's all. It’s not flirting, Val would never. She's married. She's her boss.

Her boss.

Still… Mel does like it. She always finds ways to linger in her office, around her, just a few minutes more. Whether it be by teasing Val about meetings, sorting her mail, anything small to keep busy, like she needs to be there. And so what if it leads to more conversations? She enjoys them.

But then she glances down at her golden watch, spots the little hand offending her by pointing ten minutes to eight. Her chest deflates with disappointment at how fast this conversation went. She needs to tear herself away now.

Times up.

It was around month six she decided it's better not to string these bantering conversations out. Otherwise her thoughts start to run wild. Usually she'd find an opening and leave. But not lately….

Mel hands over the mail, gives the meeting warning, and steps out, keeping her stride casual, fighting not to look back.

Down the hall, she exhales, feels a little giddy and stops. She smoothes her dress, takes a deep inhale and a long exhale, regains her composure and continues walking.

That's a new thing. The timing.

Last month her heart did something…strange. It jumped. Val had leaned into her in the back of the company car, took the tablet from her hand and it happened at the exact moment the car took a sharp turn. Her boss fell into her and the mix of perfume, the smell of her shampoo and the sweat on her skin collided and all the thoughts she pushed down sprang up. Her body reacted, face heating up quick as Val's hands snapped out to steady herself.

Unfortunately the closest thing was her. Unfortunately the closest spot on her was her thigh. From there, it kept getting worse. Val slipped when the car stopped harshly, and her hand went further between her legs and she didn't… touch her. No. Her hand fell straight down to the seat, where she felt the warmth of her wrist between her soft thighs.

Her boss looked up, but Mel was too busy holding back her thoughts, too busy fighting the urge to close her legs that she couldn't talk, couldn't do anything but stare back. Val immediately apologized, jumped back so fast her back hit the door. And that should've been it. Some funny moment to laugh at, but it was the moment everything changed for her. Her heart jumped so far into her throat she ended up inhaling too fast, choked on her own saliva because her body decided to humiliate itself even further. It was too late by then. She's never recovered.

She has to time herself between the times she talks to Val and the meetings, because she religiously sticks to the strict ten minutes rule, stopping when she's out of sight to calm herself because her heart doesn't stop anymore. All because of that one incident. 

It'll be fine. Because if Mel's good at one thing, it's compartmentalizing. She can hook up with anyone, end it without a second thought. Let people drift in and out of her bed and her life.

But when it comes to Val...well there's just something different. Maybe it's the fact that she's her boss. That she's exactly who she wants to be at her age. That she's...pretty and-

No. Stop. Don’t think about it, Mel mutters in her head. Don’t you dare.

Unwanted thoughts. Unwanted thoughts. She heads for her office to grab her tablet, heart calmer, already pivoting over to the new thoughts. What Val needs.

Because, once again, that's her boss. And her boss needs someone who's organized, remembers to remind her of who's next on her schedule, and-

Her phone buzzes as soon as she sits down at her desk. She sets her tablet aside to grab it and do a quick check before the meeting.

In white lettering on the notification bubble is the name:

Angie Martinelli

Ah. Not someone she dreads but not someone she's excited about either.

Had fun last week. Want to grab dinner again? Thursday?

Mel stares at the screen longer than necessary, phone in her hand, the time ticks on.

She has a kind smile. Really sweet girl. Asked good questions. Paid attention. Walked her home. Texted her later to make sure she got in safe. On paper she's all green flags. Perfect. Her mother will love her and she'd probably fit in with her sisters.

The issue is...No sparks. Mel didn't feel excited, actually she forgot about her until this message.

She looks at her watch, five more minutes till the meeting and, once again, she pivots back to Val. Who's probably gathering what she needs for the meeting. Mel wonders what faces she'll make at her today. It's usually across the boardroom. Usually around people she doesn't like. Like Alexei, Val hates being around him, but, to be fair, she doesn't like a lot of people. Mel's just glad she isn't one of them.

Instead, they've perfected their quiet comments. Val will eye her, maybe raise a brow, flick down at her tablet. Grimace. And it just clicks in her mind what she's saying. Always something sarcastic, she knows it, could practically hear the joke in her ears.

Then she'll lick her bottom lip, try not to smile at Mel and she wonders-

No. Nope.

Mel shakes her head, pulls herself out of it and types quickly, before she can change her mind.

Hey I think I'd like-

Stops. Thinks "I'd like to fuck my-"

No. Not a thought she should have. Delete. Types again. Thumbs tapping away. Thinks instead about how sweet this girl is...she'll give her a chance. Not because she needs a distraction because there's nothing to run away from. Who knows, maybe Angie will just be a good fuck.

Yeah. Thursday works.

She sends it before she can overthink. Before she can talk herself out of it.

Once her phone is locked she shoves it face down on the desk. When she looks up, ah- her heart does that jump again. Val's walking towards her, in her nice black dress, nicely tailored to her body, in flats today, her tablet on her side. She smiles at Mel and cocks her head to the side- like saying- come on. 

Mel follows, trailing behind, trying not to look down Val’s dress, at how it curves tightly from her waist to her bottom, how her hips sway-

Mel aggressively opens her calendar, as they enter the boardroom.

Reminding herself. Thursday dinner. Fine. Good. Normal. She’ll show up, be charming, laugh at the right moments. Maybe go back to Angie's place. Maybe not. Either way, it’ll be easy. Easy is good. Easy is what she needs, it's...

She glances across the table without meaning to. Val’s looking down at her tablet. Mel stares as her boss touches around her head, like she's fixing her hair. Even though she doesn't need it. No. Val's always put together, it's something Mel admires. How it's seven a.m. and Val has the audacity to look impeccable. She opens her mouth to tell her so when the door opens and Alexei’s voice fills the room. A loud and grating Russian lilt jolts her boss, who glances up at Mel, raises her brows, blinks twice before turning to Alexei with a wide grin.

Kill me now. She said with that look alone.

Mel smiles before taking her seat and does her job. Taking excellent notes.

Across the table, Val catches her eyes again, rolls them just enough for Mel to see when Alexei turns around. She can hear her voice inside her head again.

God, he made us get up so early and for what? Val is most definitely saying. He's saying nothing. Loudly.

Mel presses her lips together, her mouth curves into a smirk before she can stop it. Chest tightening again as her heart picks up, a feeling she wishes would stop every time Val does that- like they're reading each other's mind, it's not special. They're just workaholics who spend way too much time around each other. Annoyed at herself, she looks down at her notes, presses her stylus too hard into the screen.

Mel exhales through her nose. Get a grip, she thinks. You are thirty years old. You do not get hung up on your married boss because she smiled at your joke about faking your death.

The tablet closes on a timer, she catches her reflection in the black screen. Curtain bangs frame her face, her lipstick is nice, and she sees that stupid grin caused by Val.

She stops, clears her throat, smooths her dress. Breathes. Focuses.

This is nothing. It has to be.

Mel straightens in her chair as Alexei launches into another story, heart beating a little too fast for no reason at all as Val continues to steal glances at her, communicating without talking.