[lovieku]

LOVIE 𐙚 she/her. 04 liner. ot7 ⌗ jeongguk focused blog

sealed & sent ! MASTERLIST ⋆ RECS ⋆ ALSO ON ⋆ THEME

[missenu]

can you see me?

synopsis: jeongguk needs help with his prescription sunglasses. thankfully, his trusty optometrist is at one of his tour cities for a conference. the only thing you ask in return for the impromptu service request is for him to keep the sunglasses on during your assessment.

pairing: idol!jeongguk x fem optometrist!reader

wc: 8.4k

genre: fwb/situationship au, smut, fluff, angst

cw: eu arirang tour jk, flirting, banter, enamored fools, 67 obsession, slight jealousy, inaccurate optometry knowledge, 18+ ONLY, soft dom jk, pwp-ish (missie effects™ in motion), fingering, oral (f&m), backshots, mirror sex, full nelson, missionary, lots of kissing, biting (lovingly), multiple orgasms, creampie

a/n: can you see me? can you hear me and see me? or see me and hear me? testing..testing… late to the party but i’m here now!! jk decided to be a menace in eu, so ENJOY HIM BEIN A MENACE HERE ☆

Jeongguk [11:48 p.m.]: Can I see you tomorrow night? You [12:05 a.m.]: ???? Jeongguk [12:06 a.m.]: Saw your IG story. Why didn’t you tell me you’re in Brussels? :/ You [12:06 a.m.]: Just here for an optometry conference. You [12:07 a.m.]: Aren’t you on live right now?

You look at the tiny Weverse Live window on the corner of your screen where Jeongguk broadcasts from his hotel room in Madrid. He’s in his Calvin Klein denim jacket and jeans combo with no shirt on underneath. He smiles at his phone, all lovesick and gooey before he giggles and shakes his head. 

He reaches over to his camera. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

The live ends, the rectangular window in the corner going black and closing out. In the same minute, your phone lights up with a familiar contact name.

“Yes?” You answer, adjusting your head on the fluffy hotel pillow and angling your phone further from your face.

“You were watching my live?” His melodic voice resounds with a chuckle.

“Was all over Twitter.” You lie.

“It’s X now. Get with the times, Doc.” He teases, toothy grin on full display.

You roll your eyes, back turning away from the nightstand’s lamp. Your phone automatically brightens and adjusts to the change, now accentuating all the features of the man before you. He looks the same as he did moments ago, situated in front of his camera for his millions of fans online. They’ve seen everything: his scar on his cheek, the smeared eye makeup, and glimmering piercings at the corner of his lip. 

Though, they don’t get to see the way Jeongguk looks at you.

Eyes round and playful, you might’ve mistaken it for an enamored fool in love. 

Look, it was never your intention to establish a “connection” with a patient, especially when it’s someone like Jeon Jeongguk. He didn’t initially see you as that either, purely seeking you out for vision care services and an introduction to laser eye surgery. After his first appointment and all the side effects you mentioned from the surgery without a guaranteed lifetime of perfect vision, he decided against going through with the procedure, and instead brave through contact lenses and glasses for the rest of his life. Plus, he’d actually have to see an ophthalmologist for that service, which was out of your specialty.

Not a hard reality to accept when he gets to schedule visits with you to check on his eyes. 

Again, never his intention to hook up with his optometrist, but you were always so nice to talk to in the midst of his hectic schedule and lifestyle. In those short visits, he grew fond of you … as you did with him. Between the subtle flirting on his end and your quick-witted responses, after his sixth visit, he made an impromptu seventh visit the same week — strictly to see you for non-vision services … also where he made you fifteen minutes late for the rest of your appointments that day. 

“I really can’t see you in Brussels?”

You roll your eyes, small smile playing at the corner of your lips. It’s not that you don’t want to see him … it’s just that when you do, it gets harder to part every time. You’ve already readied yourself for the two-plus year long tour, only sporadically meeting up when he’s in Korea. 

The arrangement works for the most part.

Sure, there were lonely nights, but you think being in an actual relationship with Jeongguk would cause more issues in your life — a can of worms you’re not ready to open.

“I have long conference days and need to be up by 7 a.m.” You explain. “Wouldn’t work out with timing.”

You’ve always been the more factual one — no one can get hurt if realistic expectations are put in place upfront. 

Even though your reasoning makes sense, it doesn’t stop Jeongguk’s theatrics. He huffs and plops down on his equally soft hotel bed with his arm slung over his eyes.

“So you hate me.”

You smile again, shuffling underneath the covers to get comfortable. The jetlag wore off after the first day, so you’re battling with real-time exhaustion from the day’s long itinerary. Jeongguk’s a night owl … well, actually, more like an insomniac — the man never sleeps.

“Aren’t you hot in that jacket?”

He lifts his forearm from his face, expression devoid of the dramatics from a few seconds ago as he grins. “What? You wanna help me take it off? I mean … if we meet up in Brussels, you can–”

“Nope.” You reply, smile growing at the sight of Jeongguk’s exaggerated pout.

The conversation shifts over to the weather in Europe and how it’s nothing like he’s ever experienced before — you concede, mentioning how you avoid going outside if you don’t have to, only enduring the heat when conference duties call.

“Mm, are there a lot of attendees at the conference?” He asks, coyness seeping in his inquiry directed at a certain someone. And when you confirm that, along with the mention of your clinic’s partnered optometrist in attendance, Jeongguk’s usual bright smile falters into a scowl.

“You always make that face whenever I mention Dr. Seong.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He feigns ignorance. “But you have to admit, he’s constantly interrupting our appointments.”

“To follow up on a patient’s chart. And that only happened twice.”

“Two too many.” He retorts.

There’s a pause in your conversation, where he stares at you like there’s something else he’d like to say, but decides against it. He resigns and rolls over to his side, head dipping into the hotel pillows as well, “I really can’t see you?”

You shake your head. “Timing doesn’t work.”

The truth was … there were also a plethora of things in this arrangement that didn't work neither you nor Jeongguk wanted to address.

Unwilling to go on a tangent of the relationship status, you change the topic, “Hey, don’t you have to get back on live? They’re waiting for you.”

His eyes soften at the mention of his world. Caught between the devotion to his work and fans and your glossy, slow blinking eyes, he stares back at his phone where you’re just as unattainable as he is to his fans.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Then,” you start, as you always do, “we’ll talk next time.”

Before he clicks the red “end call” button on his screen, you clear your throat, “Make sure you rest a lot, okay? And drink lots of water.” You pause, debating if you should continue your reminders. “Don’t forget to do those eye exercises before bed. Your condition’s important.” 

You’re important.

He gives you that smile again — the kind right before he reluctantly tells you he needs to leave, feet still planted at your doorway.

“You always say the prettiest things after breaking my heart.” He teases. “Night, Doc.”

After the video call ends, you get a notification of his Weverse live. You decide against watching, going on Twitter (yes, it’ll remain as Twitter) in lieu of seeing the mass updates of his live. There were multiple screenshots, one capturing his unusual forlorn smile as he sets his phone down.

—

It was the second to the last night of your time in Brussels. While you enjoyed the conference and networking with other doctors, you were ready to go home. It was always busy back at home where tourists would visit the country for one sole reason. It’s no different now in another country, where thousands fly into this tour stop for the boys.

You drop your purse onto the small couch near the entrance of your suite, blazer thrown haphazardly over it as well. Fingers flying to your ears, you unclasp the backings of your earrings. 

Dr. Seong Minho [10:38 p.m.]: Drinks? On me. 🙂

Jeongguk [10:41 p.m.]: MAYDAY Jeongguk [10:41 p.m.]: Please call me 🥹

Ignoring your colleague’s message, you click into Jeongguk’s contact information and press the video call option. After the first ring, the frame freezes and a very visually distorted Jeongguk appears on screen. He’s saying something, but cuts off after every two words. Worse is his image glitching and his screen going black as a result of the poor signal.

“Jeongguk, if you’re saying something, I can’t hear you.” You say, plopping down next to your discarded purse and blazer. You reach down to slip off your heels, placing them on the side with the rest of the shoes you brought on the trip.

“Can-”

“-see–”

The call drops and you stare at your homescreen until your phone lights up again from his incoming call.

“Can you see me?” His voice blares through your speakers. “Can you hear me?”

“Now I can.” The exhaustion from socializing and sitting through hours of panels disperse at the sight of Jeongguk’s perfect face. You melt further into the couch as the angle of his phone sets on a coffee table. He sits forward to adjust the phone, silver chains dangling off his neck … the same ones you recalled grazing your shoulders when he had you bent over the last time he was in Seoul.

“Good,” he grins, “How are you?”

“Tired,” You answer honestly, “I just got back to the hotel.”

“I just got back from the concert too.”

“Yeah?” You settle back, tucking your legs underneath you as you lean against the armrest for support. “How did the show go?”

You know any performance held by BTS could only be exceptional. Knowing Jeongguk, though, his perfectionist nature will always find something to fixate or improve on. He offers a reassuring smile in confirmation of a decent show.

“Hey, so … I know it’s late and all, but I was wondering if you could come over?” He asks, noting your sharp exhale through your nostrils from his inquiry. “Before you say no, it’s sort of a medical emergency.”

At that, your face unconsciously twitches in concern. “If it’s an emergency, you should probably go to the nearest hospital.”

“Oh, ah, wrong wording.” He grins. “But it is medical-related. My vision, specifically.”

Your brows furrow, sitting up taller in your slouched position at the mention of his eyesight. He’s been your patient for over three years now, and his conditions matter a lot to you.

He continues, “So, it’s super sunny during our performances and my stylist got me some prescription sunglasses, but things look more blurry with ‘em.”

Well, that’s not good.

You frown, head tilting. “I’d recommend sticking to your current prescription contact lenses or glasses, then. Don’t know if they’re the correct prescription.”

Jeongguk inhales, worrying harshly at his plump bottom lip. Seems like that’s not what he wanted to hear from you. “Could you come over to just do a quick check on my eyes and the pair of sunglasses? Please?” 

You check the time, counting the number of hours before your first alarm would go off. Though, it’s no use pondering. All your rationale has long exited the moment you picked up his call, and your fingers position the back of your heels to slip them on before you could verbally agree. 

After all, how could you refuse a patient in need?

—

“Such a liar, Gguk.” Your breath comes out staggered and rough, all thanks to Jeongguk’s pressure on your body.

His doe eyes meet yours, a contradiction to everything he’s doing to you at the moment. 

Back pushed against the nearest wall upon arrival, you didn’t get the chance to slip your feet into the extra disposable hotel slippers. Though, his good manners still persist even through the lust and desire to have you the moment you crossed the threshold of his suite, giving you a polite greeting before this transpired. 

Being the polite boy his mother raised, he still asks, “Have you eaten yet?”

“Yes, around 6 or 7. Why?” You sigh into his touch, pleased by how his hand groped all the right places. Suddenly, he stills his movements and you feel his lips shift against your skin in attempts to mask a smile.

But you know Jeongguk and all the freckles on his back — you know him. Just like how predictable he is, and how the first thing he grabs upon meeting is the underside of your ass. He still lingers there, cupping the swellings through your slacks.

He lifts his head from your neck, proud of the wet sheen on your skin from his saliva. Nose scrunched in a playful smile, he tips his forehead against yours while his hands lift and drop one asscheek at a time. “Six, seven?”

“So immature.” You roll your eyes, muffling his laugh with a press of your lips.

“You love it.” He chuckles, unknowing of how your heart stirs at the mention of the L word. 

“Was gonna order us takeout if you’re hungry.” He explains while his hand hikes up one of your legs around his waist. The action has you tippy-toeing to match the height difference; though, little energy is exerted on your end as he holds you close.

“You haven’t eaten?” You moan when he pushes his hips against yours in a delicious roll. You try your best to stay focused, the thoughts of him not having a proper meal post-concert has your stomach tensing uncomfortably. 

He shakes his head while your fingers card through his short hair, the pads of your fingertips making contact on the glasses’ plastic ending. He has his sunglasses perched on the top of his head, bangs pushed back to expose his forehead. 

“Not yet.” He murmurs against your lips, warm air exhaled after another needy grind. “I will soon.”

No brainer you eventually end up on his bed, which by the way, confirmed ten times softer than yours. He’s on top of you, hand down your pants and rubbing slow circles on your clit. You can’t help the dreamy sighs and soft moans when he presses down harder, changing up the angle perfectly that has you tensing. Though, a small part of you doesn't fully relax as a thought looms over you the more he marks up your neck. The sunglasses perched on the top of his head pokes at your cheek.

“I’m a bit upset at you.” You manage, hands bunched at his shoulders.

“Hm?” His round eyes come up to search yours, surprised at your change in mood.

“You know I have to be up early.” You frown. 

You nearly whine out when he removes his hand and sits back up in a kneeled position. Pushing yourself up with your forearms, you half wonder if you should fix the button on your slacks at the ruined mood.

“Okay? Not like I don’t have to be up early either.” He mumbles, attitude detected in his tone.

“So we’re competing in the Suffering Olympics now?” You ask. “You tricked me into coming here.”

Jeongguk shifts and criss-crosses his legs, resting his elbows on the side of his knees as he leans in.

“I didn’t lie about my glasses.” He reaches for them and slides them onto the bridge of your nose.

Nothing was wrong with them — your surroundings darken like they’re supposed to, vision clear even with the added spectacles. They don’t pose an issue for someone with 20/20 vision, something Jeongguk doesn’t possess.

You slip the sunglasses off your face, fingers tilting the frames up and down. “Non-prescription glasses aren’t considered a medical emergency, Gguk.”

His expression falters. It was never his intention to coerce you into doing something outside of your boundaries. The tour has been rough on his physical and mental health, so it hadn’t occurred to him that he was being selfish in the midst of his desire for some respite.

“I wanted to see you.” He admits. “And you’re here for the same reasons, Doc.”

“I’m only here because I …” Your words trail as he looks at you with expectant eyes. Clearing your throat, you try to come up with a reason. “I care about your vision.”

He chuckles, biting down his smile before he leans towards you, body weight pushing you down again, “Admit it, you wanted to see me too.”

“I told you,” One. “I care,” Two. “About your vision.” Three kisses. 

“Uh-huh.” He taunts while snaking his hand down your pants again. “You make these visits with other patients back at home?”

Your eyes narrow, hips lifting to assist him to take off your pants. Jeongguk sucks in a breath at the sight of your lacy thong, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Wearing their favorite panties too?”

He runs his fingers over the thin cloth, taking note of how your covered clit twitches from the brief contact.

“Would you be jealous if I said yes?” You raise a brow, a soft moan when he presses down hard on your bundle of nerves.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” His tongue probes against his cheek. “You know this.” 

His jealousy is nothing short of subtle. The possessiveness was unwarranted given there’s no rule you were both exclusive. His good manners may have been taught, but his loyalty was something he emulated in life — expecting the same in his relationships. You nod, spreading your legs wider as he pushes your panties to the side to expose your soaked core. 

He drops the attitude, foregoing it for his true feelings in this whole mission to see you tonight. “I missed you. ‘S why I lied, okay?”

The sky is blue, water is wet, and so are you — didn’t need a Dr. Seuss rhymery to tell you Jeongguk conned you over. You slip his glasses back onto his face, noting how he initially retracts his head back but leans into your touch. “These stay on till I say so, ‘kay?”

He complies with a quick nod, nose nestled close before pressing his eager lips to yours. He’ll have to bear through the sunglasses’ fog up, being mindful to not actually hurt you or himself in the process. Doesn’t matter though, as he trails kisses down your neck all while he rubs your pussy up and down with his four fingers.

Your blouse gets pushed over the top of your breasts, a matching set with your underwear. Whether or not this was planned (it was), Jeongguk grows harder at the sight. Granted, he was in the country briefly for the Busan show, but the timing didn’t line up, so he’s gone a total of two months without you.

He presses wet, messy kisses over your soft mounds, one hand already underneath you to unclasp your bra.Thanks to gravity, the bra cup slides up when the clasps click, exposing your hard nipples begging to be touched and worshipped by a willing Jeongguk.

He takes one in his mouth, teeth grazing the small bud, eliciting a sweet whimper.

You were right to be hesitant on seeing him knowing the teasing would span throughout the night in an attempt to savor this precious moment. He always made you feel good — an arising problem for you now that you can’t seem to replicate these feelings with anyone else.

You watch his tongue dart out, flicking faster on your nipple before he wraps his mouth over it to give it a hard suck. He repeats the action, working you up and pulling his hand away from your pussy every time you try to grind harder against it. Every time he returns to your pussy, the wet clicks grow in tandem with your pleas for him to move quicker.

“Jeongguk–don’t tease …”

He releases your nipple, warm breath meeting your wet skin as he chuckles. He kisses down your torso, glasses slipping lower on his nose bridge where you could see his long lashes kiss the top of his cheeks.

You reach down, fingers hooking on the sides of your panties to rid them off your body.

He sits up on his knees, line of vision flickering between your face and dripping center.

“Can you see me?” You ask, lust clouding your brain. The ache gathers at your center from the visual of Jeongguk wetting his pouty lips, piercings also glimmering in the process.

He tilts his head, brows pulled together in an attempt to take in his slightly darkened surroundings. Somehow you still light up everything around him, making you the focus point of his world. 

When he doesn’t answer, your hand drops between your legs, middle finger automatically finding the button that sends a surge of relief after being neglected. He groans, finally scooting down and dropping on his stomach.

“Lemme taste you, Doc.” He kisses the underside of your thigh, reveling in the way your hole clenches from his request. You hum, fingers moving faster on your clit. You clench and a small bead of your arousal trickles from your hole, begging to be licked up.

Keeping his eyes on your face, Jeongguk nears once more, kissing one of your pussy lips before spreading them apart for a drag of his tongue over your entrance.

“Oh god.” You sigh, fingers moving faster over your clit as he inserts his tongue into your hole with little resistance. He does the same thing he did with your nipples, flicking the tip of his tongue fast over your entrance and sticking what he can into your heat.

No matter how he angled his head, the glasses remain a barrier between his mission to properly taste you. Impatient, he pushes at the back of your thighs, causing your hips to lift higher and legs spreading wider. Pussy in full view, he spits over your digits, watching you smear it over your slick folds. 

You didn’t want to come over for this reason, knowing Jeongguk took his time. He enjoyed drawing out your pleasure for the sake of his own — wants nothing more than to make you come undone, whether it be through a new or old experience with you. 

Perhaps if he learned more about your body, he’d get a better understanding of your heart.

For now, the only pathway to your heart is in the form of him thrusting his tongue into your hole, savoring your moans and cries. The action is so intense, you had to drop your hand from your pussy in favor of grasping the pillow under your head for support. 

He lifts and drops your hips to create a motion that has you whimpering and crying into the open space. Jeongguk has his air conditioning set to the lowest temperature — as he should with the insane European heat. And despite the air conditioned room, the heat continues to climb with everything Jeongguk plans to do with you.

Still, sweat gathers at his hairline and trickles down his sideburns as he groans into your pussy. He spits, sucks, and praises into your sex.

“Missed this pussy so much — all mine tonight, yeah? Gonna take such good care of it.” 

“All yours.” You moan soft and sweet, disappointed you can’t see his eyes through his shades in confirmation of your answer.

He slips two fingers into your hole without warning — none needed as the stretch removes the ache between your legs. They’re so thick as they pump in you, curling each time as he pulls out. The speed builds as does the sucking and licking motion on your swollen clit.

“Mm, d-don’t stop, I’m so close.” Your mouth drops, breath hitching as he complies and continues the motion as requested. “You’re gonna make me cum, baby.”

He grunts in compliance, tongue moving in fervor over your heat. He doesn’t care how messy the half of his face is with his saliva and your juices — doesn’t care about how the sunglasses distorts his vision of you. 

He deserves it for how he got you to come over. 

It won’t be your first and last orgasm anyway. He plans to prolong the limited time he has with you and etch every part of this encounter in his memories till he can see you again.

“Gguk, I-I’m cumming,” you rasp, tensed thighs quivering in his hold. “God, yeah.” Chin tilted up, your eyes shut at the first strong clench, pulsating around his digits faster as you unravel. 

He lets out a pleased sound, hips driving into the mattress at your body withering beneath him. You twitch after a final lick and purposeful suck on your clit, lightheaded from his wet mouth dragging up your body.

He presses his needy lips on yours as a reward for his job well done, leaning into the light scratches from your almond-shaped nails. He whines and groans against you, keening when you slide your hands up his shirt.

Your hands knead his chest, smiling into his lips when his pleased sounds reach your ears. The glasses knock against your cheek — a reminder of the annoying barrier. But god, did Jeongguk look good in them.

“Hate these glasses. Can’t see you.” He breathes, teeth pressing down over his pump lips to conceal his desperate moan at your fingers closing in on his hard nipples. 

“You want them off?” You ask with hooded eyes. Predicting his answer, you quickly shake your head. “Too bad. It’s what you get for tricking me.”

He hikes one of your legs over his waist, the angle and grind so delicious on your bare sex. “Come on.” He rolls his hips harder, knowing full well your arousal will dry and mark white on his black balenciaga pants. He’d proudly wear these pants tomorrow during soundcheck, unwashed and all.

You shake your head. “Lay down for me.”

The pressure ceases almost too quick for your liking — a surprise honestly as Jeongguk preferred taking the lead. The rare display of compliance serves to prove his devotion to earn your favor again.

As if it was ever lost to begin with.

He lays down next to you: neck flushed, lips pouty, and pants tented — waiting for your next move. You sit up, ridding yourself of whatever article of clothing you still have on before you slot your body in between his legs. 

Jeongguk swallows and exhales a shaky breath at the sight before him. It’s been months without you — lonely nights spent thinking about you and how you were doing, if you were doing anything … or anyone, for that matter. Work keeps him busy and while he loves spending time with his band members and fans, they just weren’t you.

You silence his thoughts with a swift move of your hands, pushing the end of his shirt all the way up to tuck underneath his chin. He likes the feel of your hands — always craved for it even before everything transpired between you two. The cold touch on his hot skin takes him back to the times spent in your clinic whenever you tilted his head into the phoropter, and your laughter after he tells you all the different lenses looked the same when you asked if it’s ‘better or worse.’

His vision gets infinitely better when he gets to see you.

Which is why these sunglasses must go. He knows he deserves this “punishment,” so he’ll entertain your demands.

You lean down to press a dainty kiss on the corner of his lips, one which he failed to catch in your pursuit down his body. A soft smile on your lips as you trail kisses on his chest and torso just as he did with yours. “Keep your eyes on me, Gguk.” 

He swallows, the action pushes his Adam’s apple uncomfortably against the bunched cloth at his neck. You can’t see through the shades, but you’d imagine him with wide brown eyes taking the scene before him. His chest trembles from another pant when you run your hand over his covered bulge.

Pants unzipped and flaps pushed to the side, his grey Calvins display a darker patch in between — a target marked for your kisses. When he rewards you with a pretty sigh, you pull down the front of his boxers to release his hard cock. Everything about Jeongguk has always been pretty. Outside of his playful demeanor, his kind personality exudes beauty. Naturally, his physical features follow the same path.

His cock? Oh so pretty, but you’re able to coax out another level of beauty with your touch.

Taking his thick length in your hand, you kiss the underside of his cock, tongue running softly over a prominent vein. He exhales roughly through his nose, head dropping momentarily onto the surrounding pillows. You make your way up and down his length, always stopped at the tip with a small kitten lick that has him panting. 

You told him to keep his eyes on you — never said anything about needing to keep his hands to himself. Unrestrained, his hand intrinsically guides itself to the back of your head, pushing you down the same time his hips thrust upwards for some added contact. Your lips stay sealed shut, unwilling to fully take him just yet. 

“Wanna feel your mouth so bad, Doc. Please?” He tilts his chin to his chest, the usual pleading eyes you’ve grown used to are concealed by the sunglasses. 

Wordlessly, you crawl closer to his body, head lowered in an illusion to comply with his request. He waits with bated breath, letting out a whimpered moan when you let a dribble of saliva trail over the tip before you run your thumb over it. 

You hum, squeezing the tip to ease a small bead of precum at the opening. Greedy, you lick over the heady arousal, endeared by Jeongguk’s soft praises to continue.

You do this two more times, observing his exhales and his hand’s pressure on the back of your head. “I was so nice to you and this is what I get? Cruel.” He exaggerates a pout, hoping you’d give into his play.

“Sure, so nice of you to trick me.” You rest his cock on the side of your cheek just shy of your mouth, turning to kiss the flushed head again.

“You still came.” Literally, in both senses. “Don’t I deserve something good in return? I even showered for you.”

“Wow, bare minimum hygiene after a three hour concert? I’m so romanced.” You tease.

Romance. 

While you’ve never asked for nor hinted at the necessity of it, Jeongguk’s never subtle with his attempts. Like the flowers he sends over to you and a full lunch spread delivered to your clinic’s staff as a “thank you” after one of his many appointments. Dangerously romantic whenever you’ve visited his place for a quick hookup only to land in his kitchen moments after as he cooks for you — shirtless, back full of your nail marks and neck littered with hickeys he’ll have to conceal. He cares a little too much about your life, droopy eyes fighting to stay open after his long schedule, but confirms his interest in your musings with an introspective follow-up question.

Heedlessly, he gives and gives — you wonder if you’re enough as a return.

Jeongguk returns a cheeky smile, face still angled at you as you finally give in and envelop your mouth around his tip. 

It’s not romance; yet, it’s something akin to romantic when Jeongguk thumbs your jaw after you run your tongue over his slit, coating his bare skin with more of your saliva.

“Oh god, yes.” His chest stutters, rising the same time you suction around him. “Missed your mouth.”

You can’t reply as you bob your head up and down half his length, the other half tugged by your hand with a small twist to your wrist just the way he fancied. His whines grow when you replace your mouth with your hand, lips trailing over his length again and dropping lower where you take one long stripe over his balls. He tenses, hips lifting up when you attempt to take a testicle in your mouth.

“I love when you do that.” He sighs. Again, that L word. The impact of the simple word punches your guts, and you suck and lick over his balls with a blind urge. 

After a couple minutes of teasing him, you make your way up to the head of his cock again. Eyes never leaving his fucked out face, you jerk over him quicker with your tongue pressed over his slit. He jerks up, cock pushed into your mouth out of habit and lust. You look at him with relaxed eyes, jaw going slack despite the sudden recoil and force of his hips.

“Go ahead, fuck my mouth how you need.” You encourage.

One of his brows raises and tongue darts out to wet his lips as he questions your offer. “How bad do you want my cock, hm?”

Like nothing you’ve ever wanted before — like how you’ll know the soreness the day after will be all you think of, because the pain reminds you Jeon Jeongguk was there. 

“Tell me.” He urges, both hands coming to cup your jaw, positioning you just right for him to slip past your lips once more. 

Your response’s inaudiable, gagging around his thick shaft when the tip meets the back of your throat. Still, you answer through one hand braced on his hip bone, while the other snaked in between your legs to rub hard circles on your sensitive clit. You answer with a determined expression, eyes fluttering shut when he repeatedly thrusts upward.

Like the back of your throat, another discomfort runs through your pussy from the sound of Jeongguk’s labored grunts. Your knees widen in accommodation for your hand, two fingers gliding past your entrance. You angle your wrist, fingertips hitting a spot you only discovered after hooking up with Jeongguk.

Jeongguk lifts his head, head tilted to look behind you. Unbeknownst to you, a body length mirror resides on the side, giving him the best view of your play. He lets out a pained groan, hips bucking up the same time he pushes your head down.

You grow wetter by the second, arousal on your fingers catching the hotel’s lights. Lord knows Jeongguk appreciates every bit of the bright settings despite his usual abhorrence with lights. He needs to see more of you — desperate times call for desperate measures.

He isn’t ashamed of begging.

“Can I take off the glasses? Please? I’ll do anything.” Funny how he expects an answer with your mouth stuffed full of him. You remove your fingers from your sopping hole, both hands planted on his hips to restrain him from thrusting up.

He releases his hold on your head, cock also slipping out of your mouth in the process. Panting, you nod and fight the giggle at the sound of the sunglasses when thrown carelessly onto the nightstand nearby. You almost think the glasses shattered from the impact, but the Saint Laurent frames should withstand a little more than most. 

You should’ve known how much of a liar Jeon Jeongguk was when he promised he'd do anything. 

Yeah, he’ll do anything, alright … anything he wants. 

He has you both at the edge of the bed now, facing the mirror completely nude. Turned away from him, he wastes no time positioning his cock at your pussy. You steady yourself with your hands on his knees, arching forward from his feathered kisses on your shoulder. He spreads his legs wider in his seated position — his hand squeezes and drags his cock through your folds. With one hand, your fingertips graze his own to aid and ready yourself for the sink down.

Home’s more memorable — within grasp … well, he’s in it now: enveloped and welcomed in your warmth.

“Fuck yes,” Jeongguk sits back, hands propped behind him as he watches you lift and drop on his length. “Can you see me, Doc?”

You look up at the mirror, the surrounding area shifts with every movement on top of Jeongguk. You see your fucked out face, breasts bouncing, and the accentuated creases between your hips when you sit your ass down harder on his lap. 

You hardly see Jeongguk.

“N-no.” You pant, chin touching your shoulder to look back at him. The contact of your ass on his lap produces a rhythmic slapping sound, overshadowed by your breathy moans.

Butterflies flutter dangerously at the pit of your stomach from his deep chuckle and his arms coming to wrap around your midsection. You still can’t see him, but the dark colorful lines on his tattoo sleeved arm remain a steady trademark of the man behind you. 

Your brain withstood years of memorization in optometry school, you didn’t need to see Jeongguk to remember what he looked like. Eyes closed, you memorize the shape of his lips peppered on your exposed nape and shoulders. Lips thinner than most, they still pout the prettiest and fullest on your skin. You shudder, hips grinding against his cock nestled deep inside you. 

His perfect nose presses into your skin after a rough exhale.

“Damn. That’s a problem, huh?” He spreads your legs apart, taking note of the translucent liquid trickling down his length and over his balls — a mixture of you and him. 

“Uh-huh.” You concede with a nod, looking over your shoulder to catch him staring at you with unadulterated hunger and need.

“‘Too bad.’” He mocks. Strong arms hooked under the backside of your knees, Jeongguk tilts you backwards while his own back meets the soft mattress.

“Oh!” You whimper from the changed position, thighs folded snug at your torso while the back of your neck is propped by his hands. Your hands land on his biceps for some leverage. It’s not the first time Jeongguk has put you in a questionable position, but the Full Nelson was a new one. Even for someone who does pilates two times a week, the position puts an uncomfortable stress on your poor muscles. One look at the mirror has you forgetting about the discomfort at the visual of his tentative thrust into your pussy.

“The hell?” Jeongguk snorts, warm breath meeting your neck and words straining as he pushes his hips up again. “ChatGPT said this position was supposed to feel good.”

Thing is, it does feel good, but you’re not going to confirm your enjoyment. You’ve shown your unwavering disdain for his AI usage, always putting up a stubborn fight to prove its unreliability. With a roll of your eyes, you huff. “Should stop relying on it, Gguk. You know that’s why–mmh, global warming’s–oh fuck.” 

Another playful laughter erupts as he finds a rhythmic pace, maneuvering you on his length. “I know, I know.” He slows down, afraid the position might accidentally make his cock slip out from your heat — the last thing he wants. “Just entertain it a bit for me, yeah?”

You whimper a small okay, head clouded by the mirror’s reflection. It’s plain filth how you grow even wetter after every shallow thrust.

Your moans are different — strangled and unreserved. Jeongguk’s well-versed with your body. Knows your left leg’s slightly more flexible than the other without reason. It’s why he eases on the pull in mercy for your physical limitations.

Romance.

“God, I wish–” He grunts, letting one of your legs drop to the mattress in favor of his free hand rubbing over your swollen clit. “W-wish I could see you.”

The statement itself was a self-made issue. No one forced him into this predicament — similar to his prominent status in the industry. He’s been told all his life what he can and can’t do. Every action scrutinized by the public’s eyes; consequently, every minute interaction with another celebrity could be misconstrued as a romantic relationship or unprompted beef. 

The constant surveillance weighs heavy on his soul and drives him into these moments of “selfishness.”

Like seeing you tonight.

It’s a risk every time he’s with you, knowing full well how the media and some of his “fans” sabotaged many of, if not all, his pursuits to find genuine connection with someone. Celebrities aren’t privy to this level of treatment … but there’s more at stake knowing your medical career is on the line every time you make the conscious choice to see him.

To the world, he’s Jeon Jungkook. On certificate, in his patient’s chart, the name you call out most in the shared space was Jeongguk. A small part of his brain likes to conjure the thought of you knowing him more than what he outwardly displays to the world.

“Tell me what you see.” He urges with another harsh drop on his length. 

You force your eyes open, a small whine leaving your lips from the arousal coating Jeongguk’s length every time he pulls back. “We’re,” you swallow, “we’re making a mess.”

“Yeah?” His free hand runs on the exposed area of his length not currently inside you, gathering the slick essence before bringing it back onto your clit. “How messy?”

He fucks into you again, smearing a fresh layer of the mixed juices on his cock once more. He repeats the action of transferring the shared arousal on you with no regard to how lewd your sound grows as the minutes pass. 

“So fucking messy.” You answer. 

Pleased with your answer, his hips speed up and hand leverages your head for a better view.

“I-I’ll cum again if you keep doing that, Gguk.” You warn, mouth dropping at the erotic view. It’s a shame he can’t see any of this, but he’ll consider this a tradeoff for the folded pretzel position you’re currently in.

“Good. That’s what we want.” He husks. “So cum on my cock. I know you can do it.” His hand moves quicker on your wet sex, matching the speed at which he thrusts into you from below. 

The leg propped on the side begins to shake, followed by the arch of your back, you break out of Jeongguk’s hold as you cum hard around him. The action slips his length out from your clenching pussy, but Jeongguk wraps an arm around your middle in his pursuit to work you through your orgasm. 

You sob at his flattened fingers moving vigorously over your pussy. The orgasm consumes and overtakes all your senses — so intense, it draws away the sensation of his teeth sinking into your shoulder.

Your nails dig into his wrist, hinting at your sensitivity. The visual of the overhead lights move the same time Jeongguk shifts your body to the side with him into a spooning position. His tongue soothes over the bite mark as a silent apology.

None was ever needed, but your stomach flips with every wet kiss to your nape. His big hands roam all over your body, the feathery touches has you pushing back against his still-hard cock. He giggles and lifts his head to place a tender kiss on your cheek.

The tenderness puts you on your hands and knees: ass up, face down. 

Bed dipping as he nears from behind, his breath hitches when he spreads your cheeks apart to reveal your messy pussy. He thumbs at the entrance, watching your fingers curl on top of the bedsheets.

“Gonna keep staring or …” You press, head turned to the side to catch a glimpse of Jeongguk.

He tilts his head just enough to make eye contact, hooded eyes fixed on yours as he puckers his lips before letting a dribble of spit run down your center. The warm liquid cascades down your ass first before meeting his thumb where he smears over your already wet entrance.

“Gonna be good and let me take you from behind?” He asks with a raised brow.

“Uh-huh.” You nod. His hard act crumbles at your soft smile. “‘That’s what we want.’”

He huffs a laugh and buries himself deep inside you once more. It’s true — you both want the same things: for him to fill and fuck you to the shape of all the unspoken feelings. 

He’s missed home.

You’ve missed him.

His fingers dig into the meat of your ass at the leisure pace he thrusts into you. Slow, when he wants to feel how your walls clench around him. Fast, so his balls slap against your pussy. One of his hands holds your shoulder so you don’t move from the hard thrust, keeping you in place. Your hand flies back to hold the hand he has on one of your asscheeks.

“That’s it, fuck, you’re so perfect.” He praises. “Taking me so well, baby.” 

You can barely answer him through the skin to skin slapping and your stuttered moans. The sudden strong recoil and thrust has you planting your entire front onto the mattress. His body follows along with yours as he shifts his weight on his forearms, sweaty chest meeting your back.

The light kisses he trails down your temple was a stark contrast to the way his hips piston to your plump ass, drawing out guttural moans from your lips. A hand comes to cup your chin, the other hand covers your eyes. They say the removal of one of your senses heightens others. You hear his labored grunts, palm at the soft sheets, smell the notes of his Chanel perfume, and taste the victory of a forthcoming orgasm. Something has shifted. Reality is, your whole life has always revolved around the importance of sight and vision.

And though small, the corners of your mouth dips.

“What’s wrong?” He husks into the shell of your ear, hips slowing to hear your answer.

“I–” You moan at his deep, slowed thrust. “I can’t see you properly.”

Haven’t been able to since the start of his tour schedule. 

You’re quite literally under him right now and it still feels like he’s too far away for reach. And even as he’s balls deep inside you, Jeongguk remains untouchable. The distance increases when he slides out of you, pussy already missing its fullness just as you always miss him a little more each time he leaves you.

Your shoulder knocks on his chest as you turn, eyes immediately locked with his hooded ones. 

“Hey, Doc.” He preens your hair from your face and nudges his nose against your own.

“Hi.” You breathe. The airiness in your greeting earns a light press of his lips on your cheek, skin memorizing the pleased curves and the metal piercings.

“This better?” Lifting his head, you gaze at his softened eyes and trace the slope of his nose down to the tiny mole underneath his lips.

You answer with your legs wrapped around his waist, eager for the distance to decrease. He doesn’t take his eyes off you either, not when he finally slips his cock back into your warmth with matched gasps and wanton sighs.

He tips his forehead onto yours, mouth going slack after a harsh pant. You were always going to end up like this — rightfully under Jeongguk’s starry eyes.

“God, you feel so good.” He licks into your mouth, all primal, similar to when he first greeted you at the door. “Love your pussy.”

There he goes recklessly throwing that word around. It pricks your skin, has you digging your nails into his back as he continues to fuck you. You pull away from his lips, panting hard as your body jerks from his thrusts.

Just as Jeongguk knows you, you also know he’s close. His schemes to see you stretched beyond his exaggerated health conditions, going as far as extending this meeting to the best of his abilities. Why else would he have you folded and pressed into different positions that don’t require seeing your face?

Knowing this, you tuck away your pride and utter words meant to be hidden.

“I missed you, Gguk.” A soft kiss to his chin just shy of his mole. “Every single day.”

All’s fair when he’s unknowingly used a word that fucks with your heart and brain — only natural you do the same too. Head dropped to the crevice of your neck, his other hand finds and holds your waist in place as he thrusts one final time before finishing inside you. He curses, teeth biting on your shoulder as he ruts into you, trying to push deeper if that were possible. 

“Fuck,” he breathes a chuckle into the small space, body slumping over your frame. His hips move ever so slightly, fucking his cum deeper inside you. “So cruel.”

Was it cruel of you to reveal your true feelings? Was it cruel of you to finally have him cumming as an aftermath? Though, there’s no greater cruelty than how life worked out between you and Jeongguk.

But this arrangement works, right?

Giggling, you cup his jaw, bring him back to face level, and place a tender kiss on his willing lips.

“Not cruel.” You exchange breaths with him, the pressure of your lips increases with each comforting kiss. “Had my assistant expedite some prescription sunglasses on my way over. Mr. Lee knows where to pick them up.”

He groans, hips slow in its buck, he expresses his gratitude with his hand on your pussy. 

“You’re the best. Always so good to me.” He kisses your sweaty temple as he brings you to another gentle orgasm. 

Late into the night, he lays with his cheek pressed flushed on your chest, eyes fighting to stay open as your fingers run through his sweaty locks.

“I miss home.” He confesses, arms wrapping tighter around your body. The fancy tour suites will never beat the feeling of home. Being at home hurts differently when he’s under heavier public watch — at least it’s familiar. At least he has his dog, mother’s cooking, and friends to run to.

He’d like to think he also has you.

It’d be cruel to offer him words of comfort knowing what you’re about to do next adds to his longing for home, so you soothe and rub the expanse of his back.

You don’t stay for long — you can’t. There’s only a small window of time for you to make your escape before fans or paparazzi catch wind of your relation to Jeongguk. You wouldn’t be surprised if your identity has already been mentioned among the threads of his sasaengs. It’s a fear you haven’t discussed with Jeongguk, nor want to dwell on. 

At the door, Jeongguk sports a small frown at you putting back on your heels. 

Fixing the strap of your bag on your shoulder, you offer him a soft smile, tippy toeing as you place a dainty kiss only for him to melt further into it.

“Come see me when you’re home, okay?” You say with round eyes.

His eyes soften, never wanting to admit how his home is about to leave him right now.

“I will.”

fin.

a/n: beta’d by the loveliest @lovieku ♡ OCEANS OF GRATITUDE AS ALWAYS!!

alas… my back hurts thinking about the full nelson. do lmk your thoughts on my first idol!jk fic!! 🤓

[lovieku]

DON’T read this if you’re already incurably delusional over jungkook… and please DO read this if you’re looking for more reasons to keep that up!!! i am so serious when i say this fic has made me want him a thousand times more in ways that are enough for me to be constrained into a mental facility 🥹🙏🏼 missie does so well with any trope but i fear we might need a million more of idol jks from her heh… for science i promise

[lovieku]

whats your opinion on chaiibts

basically a forum for losers to share their loser thoughts to a loser audience

[lovieku]

Some of the writers on this space are so weird. They shame Ariana and her listeners. And they even get praised because they hate Ariana Grande and her fans

Like congratulations for hating people enjoying and creating music? You're not cool for hating though

Many celebrities do shit, Most of them get excused and they forget about it — EVEN CELEBS WHO ARE LITERAL CRIMINALS. But these type of people hate on Ariana worse than an actual criminal

No wonder she looks the way she does. I feel bad for her

i’ve always admired ari because she’s been through so much, to the point of her brain actually suffering damage from it, but has always come out of everything as even kinder, gentler, more patient and stronger than before. she’s a beautiful example of resilience and growth, and i think all the unnecessary hate she receives only further highlights how much of an angel she is despite all she has to endure !!! i’ve had multiple conversations with people, in my life or not, who don’t like her, and i’ve always managed to prove how the reasons why she’s hated are based on lies that have been debunked, exaggerated and distorted stories, and simply her existing and finding herself in the process. even after that, they didn’t change their opinion. sadly, there’s not much to do with these people ! they hate what the masses hate ! it’s not cool to be intelligent anymore friend ☹️ still ari keeps shining and growing even through the cracks 🩷 my mother forever and ever

[lovieku]

‘ai writing sadly exists but, while it is still confined into fandom spaces, it’s not doing any scamming nor taking money’

You answered that in an ask and I think you’re totally wrong for saying this because there are writers out there using ai and asking for people to subscribe to their Patreon and kofi.

Inkedwithcharm and Youthguk are two accounts who are wellknown for their fics being made by ai, and they are scamming people for money.

well i clearly wasn’t talking about those cases ! i’ve already stated a couple times that i think fanfiction writing should be seen as a hobby and a self-expression tool that can unfold in an accepting environment (unless, of course, you’re actively harming other people in the process). my friends on here know my stance on asking for payment when it comes to fanfictions: i never supported it and never will. i believe it goes against the whole point of it. our fandom has been alive since 2013, surely you’ll find something close to what you’re looking for that’s completely free, as it should always be. or get to writing it yourself ! again, this is the whole point of it. being creative and vulnerable and honest. but this is just my opinion.

i wanna say though, i also think there are some cases in which writers have their kofi up simply for people who want to willingly show support to them through a monetary feedback. that’s a different and alternative way of supporting a writer. ultimately i think it’s up to the person paying, we all have a mind and willpower and are entirely aware of how we decide to spend our own money.

[lovieku]

OUT OF THE WOODS — PROLOGUE ⋆ 정국

looking at it now, it all seems so simple. your neighbour is burn-in stubborn, you’re no better, and somehow you become another fire he feels compelled to put out. but flames don’t just burn — they leave everything changed. jeongguk knows only how to run, never to let himself be consumed. you’re willing to see what happens if you stay in the heat.

pairing firefighter!jk x vet!fem reader

genre neighbours au, frenemies to lovers, fluff, angst, smut

contents slice of life, crack-ish rom-com energy, banter & bickering, lowkey grumpy x grumpy, Or sassy x sassy, dog dad!jk, sexual references, mentions of weed and alcohol, minor injury, use of nicknames, just an introduction to these idiots

word count 4k

author’s note hello guys… i’m back with my first big project in a while! it’s a (mini) series Wooo 🙂‍↕️ hope u like these two as much as i do and are ready for whats to come next hehe 🩷

beta read by my amazing sweetest and kindest bff @missenu, who i thank so much for the precious advice and suggestions, all making up the core of the story .. wouldn’t have known what to do without you 🫂 and my baby girl @voyter, who is the biggest ootw fan and genuinely helped me so much with all her love and support 🩷 love u 4eva!!!

banner creds ⋆ masterlist ⋆ series playlist

prologue ⋆ one ⋆ two ⋆ three

“Morning sir, where can I leave this?”

Jeongguk probably should have given himself a few seconds to at least be presentable to whoever is ringing his doorbell at 8 a.m. on his day off. Instead, the second the ding sound interrupted the weird melatonin dream he was already stirring awake from, followed by his maltese’s crazy barking, he got up on autopilot. Surroundings spinning, sweatpants hanging indecently lower than what he would allow for a potential stranger to see, palm rubbing his left eye — still, his firefighter reflexes kicked in unconsciously, and maybe reluctantly.

When he opens the door, he seriously considers this a continuation of his dream. The delivery man looks like he’s running on one too many coffees already, but what makes Jeongguk unable to snap out of his daze is the cardboard box the guy pushes hurriedly into his entrance, a rectangular box that reaches his waist. A couple of signatures and he’s gone.

Jeongguk looks between the box and the closed door in front of him. On the white label, only one piece of information matches him. Certainly not the name. That matches yours, the one written under your doorbell, which should have rung this morning instead of his. But the apartment number — that one matches his, the one written above his doorbell.

When he hears keys rattle, both doors are now open.

Your appearances are another thing that doesn’t match.

Jeongguk is shirtless, hair could potentially win a best bed-hairstyle competition, pants still low, and pillow lines trace his right cheek and arm. You, on the other side, are fully dressed, for starters. Your hair is also neatly out of your face in an up-do, almost looking effortless, adding to your flowy shirt and flared pants, the tip of your boots poking out the hem.

What also doesn’t match is your expressions. Jeongguk is starting to sport a bothered frown, brows going down. Your face seems to slowly come to a realization, an inconvenient one considering how late you’re running for work already, brows going up.

“That— that must be—”

“Yeah, it must be. Unless you wanna switch apartments. Or if you want to switch names, that could also work.”

Adding to the non-matches, Jeongguk is being extremely witty and sassy considering he must have just woken up. What matches is the fact that this very same wittiness-and-sassiness combo is included in the list of things you don’t enjoy about your neighbour.

You definitely do enjoy his six-pack, and his tattooed arm, intricate designs tracing up his shoulder and solid pec.

You sigh, taking a step forward. “Look, I’m sorry, my finger slipped—”

“Again. Your finger slipped again, and this time it woke me up on my free day.”

A scoff escapes you, and Jeongguk adds that to his own list. The one of things he doesn’t enjoy about you. “What do you want me to do? Should I get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness?”

“No, I’m simply asking you to learn the difference between a four and a five. I’m 554, and you’re 555. It’s three fives, how hard can that—”

“Okay, I really don’t have time for this.”

You make sure to take your keys with you as you walk towards him. Yes, you have to remind yourself of that, because a month ago you accidentally closed your door with your keys still inside while a similar scene was unfolding. And Jeongguk had to be the one to help you. Whenever that happens, what he always makes sure of is his annoyance is on full display.

Standing in front of him, you wait for your stupidly hot neighbour to move out of the way, not without a smirk stretching his lips at your height difference becoming glaringly obvious with your proximity. His arms are now crossed, only making his muscles look all the more jacked, but you manage to keep eye contact through your lashes, unimpressed.

When he steps to the side, you grab the box with both hands and pull. Like, really hard. The box doesn’t bulge, you slightly trip backwards.

Jeongguk has the nerve to chuckle. “You know, you’re seriously short. I’m barefoot and you’re wearing platforms.”

You feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as you stand upright again. “Wow, Jeongguk, has anyone ever told you how helpful you are?”

“I’m literally a firefighter, duh.”

You deadpan. He really shouldn’t remind you how hot he looks in his uniform, with that big ridiculous helmet. “Thanks for the reminder. Would you put that to work now? I’m a struggling lady, and you’re a firefighter… duh.”

Jeongguk hates the way your glossed lips close around the words you pronounce so sarcastically. He absolutely hates your sugary bubblegum scent. “Need I also remind you that today’s my day off?”

“Well, it’s not mine. I’ve no problem leaving this big ass box here.”

The second you start making your way to the other side of the hallway, he groans. Crouches down and effortlessly picks up the reason for this interaction, only taking a few large strides to place it inside your doorway. His pumped biceps have you gulping loudly, and his sweatpants seem to hang even lower. You divert your wandering gaze before he catches it, or before you catch a clearer sight of what’s hiding underneath thin layers.

He straightens up with a low complaint, and rapidly lets his eyes scan your living room before landing on you again.

You smile the fakest one he’s seen on your face so far and state with just as much pretence, “See, it wasn’t that hard.”

He puts on the most obnoxious voice he can muster, “Thank you Jeongguk, you really shouldn’t have done that.”

“Okay, thank you, I guess.” Your left eye twitching doesn’t go unnoticed. “Now, if you don’t mind, I got work waiting.”

“Sure, wouldn’t wanna keep you here longer,” you hate that you would laugh at his comment if it were sarcastically nice, not sarcastically hateful. You bite your cheek and he raises his brows mockingly.

Pushing him away from your threshold, you close the door, lock it, then head for the lift, taking a deep breath to calm your already agitated nerves, despite knowing they’re only about to be worse once you get to the clinic.

The quick meditation session doesn’t help, especially when you hear behind you, just before another door closes, “Have a good day at work, Oompa Loompa.”

Monday starts off on a very bad foot. Work doesn’t make it any better, having had to stick thermometers up thirty different dogs’ asses and almost being bitten by half of them. Poodle owners are the worst.

And when you’re back in your apartment, the sight of the brown Ikea box only has the pulse in your head pound faster. You stare at it as you take off your boots, feet finally touching a flat surface, and the comfortable sensation instantly has you considering leaving the unopened box for tomorrow.

Let’s be honest, you know you’re going to be just as tired tomorrow. So, you figure you’ll do it during the weekend.

But the weekend is for sleeping in and catching up on Love Island.

When you turn your head and see six different pairs of shoes all thrown lazily in the corner of your entrance, your platforms adding to the mess, you sigh. And twenty minutes later, in your Adam Sandler-like PJs and chopstick bun, you’re reading the instructions to your new much-needed shoe rack.

An hour goes by and you’re still at it, two poles in both hands, trying to figure out how they go together. You’ve made little to no progress, and after calling every friend you have for help and finding none available (not that you had many to begin with, the probabilities were already low) you start seriously contemplating making your dad drive three hours to your place.

Despite not deserving it, you take a break to get some food in, all while staring at the multiplied chaos in your entry way. There’s no going back now — you can’t procrastinate this. Just the sight of it is threatening to give you another headache.

The hot soup is still working its way down your throat to your stomach as you get up from your stool only to sit down again, this time on the cold floor. Another thirty minutes pass, but they don’t go completely wasted. You think you have something. Not too stable, a bit wobbly, but it’s something.

You try slowly standing on your fluffy-socked feet, all while balancing what looks more like a Jenga tower and less like a shoe rack, supported only by your hands. You’d say you’re almost proud of it. And as you go to assume a dad-like position, hands on hips and a pensive frown on, trying to spot what could still be wrong with your creation, it doesn’t take long to find out.

Every single piece falls. Not one stands, and a particularly heavy one lands right on your pinky toe. “Ouch!”

The rest of the parts scatter all over the floor, and you pray to whoever’s above (well, in this case, to whoever’s under you) this doesn’t earn you another noise complaint. It can’t be louder than when your freaking TV fell, right?

You can never be too sure, so why not add to it?

“Fuck this shit.” In a moment of frustration, you pick the criminal block that hurt you and throw it against the door. You really hope it feels triple the pain you do.

Maybe not even a second later, when you register the even louder noise and the fact that you’re wishing ill on an inanimate object, you regret it. Regret buying the whole thing thinking it would prove to your mom how independent and strong you are.

You think you are. You know you are. That doesn’t make you good at assembling, though.

You start regretting being born altogether when you hear multiple knocks at your door, the same one you think you can spot a scratch on now. You rush to it, apology ready on your tongue, “I’m so incredibly sorry—”

The sentiment dies as fast as it came when you recognise who’s on the other side.

“You starting a rage room, or should I call my station?”

Jeongguk stands tall, and compared to earlier he looks well rested, has a shirt on (unfortunately), and doesn’t look visibly pissed. You’re not sure if any of that is better than what you sparred with this morning.

Confirmation that it is, in fact, not better comes quickly in the form of his unsettlingly calm voice, “It’s ten at night. You’ve been getting on my nerves since eight this morning.”

“Appreciate the report.” Nothing wittier comes to mind. You hate that he’s right. What flows out of your mouth is another apology. “This is the only time I have to build this, and instruction’s confusing as hell. I’ll try to be quieter, okay?”

He’s silent for a second too long, either taken off guard by your fast surrender or wrestling with an inner conflict you’re not made aware of.

“Move.” The word comes out of his lips assertive, too effortless.

Your chin unconsciously rises in defense. “I don’t need help.”

“You think I wanna help you? I would like to sleep peacefully.” Jeongguk takes the initiative and fully steps into your apartment, moving past you but not too far. He wouldn’t be able to, his toes make contact with the random wooden pieces scattered on your floor.

Accepting defeat, you close the door and take a brief moment to yourself, just to shut your eyes and exhale deeply. When you turn around, Jeongguk is already reading the instructions and picking up the first block.

“Those are completely useless. There’s no way that’s English on there.” You exasperate.

“I think you might wanna go back to first grade then.” Your neighbour makes himself comfortable on your floor, assembling pieces together in ways you’ve never attempted. Pft, there’s no way he’s going to figure it out.

Before you can start your usual back and forth, he instructs, “Would you hand me that long one?”

You follow the direction of his pointing and comply. He scoffs, “You’re holding it upside down.”

Pride knocked down a couple pegs, you come short on a witty insult, defaulting to the first childish thing you can manage, “And your… your… your freaking face is upside down.”

Jeongguk just furrows his eyebrows in amusement at that. “See, first-grader comebacks.”

The next 20 minutes are spent in silence. You sit cross-legged on the floor, behind him, a sea of shoes separating you. You alternate between watching his broad back and beefy arms stretch, fixating on his thick tattooed fingers testing the rack’s stability, and trying to soothe your bruised toe.

When you hiss, he briefly pauses. Turns the side of his face slightly, “You okay?”

You look up, startled. “Yes. Do you need my help?”

“God, no. Just asking ‘cause you sound like you’re in pain.”

You ignore his quickness in denying your attempt at kindness with a roll of your eyes. “One of those heavy blocks dropped on my foot.”

He just hums, then goes back to the task. It’s finished in under half an hour, and as he stands up he assumes your dad-like pose from earlier. This time, nothing crumbles. The rack looks stable and sturdy.

Standing up alongside him, you scratch the back of your neck, debating how to navigate this. You resort to a well-mannered and rehearsed expression. “Thank you. You really didn’t have to.”

“Mhm. Looks nice. It’s a decent pick.”

You nod, unsure if he even notices. This is probably the most civil interaction you’ve had since moving in a year ago. It feels oddly awkward. Being normal to each other.

It’s not the first time he’s been in your place. For starters, he helped with the TV situation, which happened pretty early on. There was another time when you could smell something burning, panicked, and knocked on his door. He walked in as a firefighter before realizing you’d just burned your eggs and went back to his intolerable self. Called you versions of kuro-tamago for a month before indefinitely switching to Oompa Loompa.

You’ve also been in his apartment. When you locked your keys in your own and had to wait for your landlord to allow you inside again. Then, a few times when Jeongguk was worried about Gureum, his white maltese, not eating much or seeming weak and mopey. Thinking back, those were the only times Jeongguk showed human emotions, or just anything resembling genuine concern beyond annoyance and sarcasm.

Which is probably why this interaction feels off. You’re not Gureum. And you definitely don’t get Gureum privileges.

Part of you expects him to ruin it any second. You keep it going, for some reason. “Let me get you some water.”

He doesn’t sound as awkward, just nods. “Thanks.”

When you come back with a glass of ice water, he’s color-coordinating your shoes on the shelves of your new rack. You pause, a little taken aback. You don’t think anyone has ever arranged your things for you before.

At least this gives you something to fall back into your norm. “Ew, do you have a fetish or something?”

He surprisingly chuckles as he slots the last pair into place. “You wish. I was just saving you from the absolute chaos you always seem to live in.”

You hand him the glass and he chugs the water down in a few long sips, his throat bobbing as he swallows. You find it weirdly attractive. Forcing the equally weird thought away, you thank him again. “Hope you can sleep nicely now, with your OCD-ass habits.”

“I think anyone would prefer order to whatever you had going on here thirty minutes ago.”

“Whatever helps you sleep tonight. You wanna color-code my wardrobe too?”

“Now, you’re being the pervert.”

Brows knitted together, it takes you a second to understand why he’d even say that.

When the realisation comes, your brows raise and your face flushes at the insinuation. You’re basically asking Jeongguk to go through your every drawer. And that absolutely includes rearranging your intimates.

But then… brows furrowing all over again, why would he be thinking about your underwear in the first place?

Shaking the absurd thought process off, you’re ready to wish him good night and close the door on him the second he opens it, but he speaks first. “Wait here.”

Jeongguk unlocks his door, disappears somewhere inside and leaves it open, giving Gureum complete freedom to sprint free and away from his loving owner. You call him over before he can make a run for it.

Crouching down to his very low level, you scratch the spot you know he loves behind his fluffy ears. “Hi, baby. You wanna escape your evil owner? I share that sentiment.”

“Ha. Very funny. He would never,” the loving-evil owner in question comes back holding what looks like a tube of cream. You don’t tell him Gureum was ready to risk it all just seconds ago.

“What’s that?”

He tosses it to you just as you straighten up, and you barely catch it. Turning it over in your hands to inspect it, he explains. “For your toe.”

“Special firefighter cream?”

“Try it and let me know.”

When you look up, there’s something between a smirk and a grin on his face. He whistles for Gureum, who surprisingly obeys. Weird dog. Like father, like son.

You don’t get the chance to add anything else. He gives a small wave and finally closes the door behind him and his tail-wagging dog. You try the cream as soon as you get into bed that night, and the relief is immediate. You don’t tell him, he doesn’t ask.

Monday might not have been the best day to start the week (it generally never is), but the rest of it went surprisingly well. Good. Fine. Okay, maybe just decent.

There were a few other downs, like your ex booty-calling, you making the unfortunate decision to accept said call and, twenty minutes later, finding yourself in his car, parked at the front of your building. He’s not going anywhere in your home. You may lack pride, but you have boundaries.

Should’ve left the moment he couldn’t get his friend-down-there up. Blame it on the weed fucking up his brain, when you just wished you were the one getting your brains fucked out. Exes are exes for a reason, your best friend Ana’s words echo in that same brain. That’s why you didn’t tell her you still settled for the most spiritless fingerbanging session. You won’t reply to any texts again though, you swore the very moment you had to fake your orgasm after he’d been trying to get you there for ten minutes, wet only from his spit rather than any actual natural reaction.

Or, in turn, having to hear your lovely front-door neighbour giving what you assume is another random girl the best fuck of her life, her moans rivaling those of a pornstar, just as you were coming back from another exhausting shift. Must be nice. You cheered to that once you were in your pajamas and hair in a loose bun. Alone. With a glass of cheap rosé.

But the week was still decent. Even when, instead of accepting your friends’ request to go bar-hopping, you opted to bake cookies, sticking to your and Grandma Mimi’s weekly shared tradition — the neighbour you actually tolerate. Love and adore, honestly.

You spend Sunday morning hanging around in her apartment, checking on her three kitties as usual, but also staying for the latest building gossip. Apparently, Unit# 340 had four different boys over Friday to Saturday, and one of them was her boyfriend. Poor guy, getting extra-cheated on. You do envy her, though.

Despite your long gossip session, you still have enough cookies to feed the whole building. Grandma Mimi figures she would never finish those on her own, so she gives some back to you.

And as you stroll back to your door, a very dumb thought crosses your mind. You check the time on your phone: 12:17 p.m. on a Sunday. Would probably hate anyone for knocking at your door at this hour, on this day of the week. Sundays are meant for sleeping in. Perhaps Jeongguk is still asleep.

But when have you ever cared for his well-being? Well, alright, you weren’t that heartless. Plus, who’d turn down home-baked goods?

Resolute, you knock on the wood right beside the tiny plaque engraved with 554 and Jeon Jeongguk. Avoid the doorbell, just in case he actually is asleep. The last thing you need is to end your week full circle, with a pissed off-duty Jeongguk.

Still, the plaque does momentarily catch your eye. It’s so unfair that such a pretty name belongs to such an insufferable guy.

Insufferable or not, you’re still going to offer him the cookies. Be it to thank him for the shoe rack, or the bruise cream, or just to get rid of the sweet stack.

You don’t seem to need any more reasons the moment the door opens. It could simply be because you want to be blessed with such a harmonious face after a couple days of not bumping into one another.

Again, unfair that this face would go to such a man.

And that body. His expression is not too pleased at seeing you, but you don’t think yours mirrors that, even if you wanted to. He’s in a grey compression shirt and his fireman pants, overalls slung on his hips and big chunky boots at his feet, making him appear even taller. After your obvious once-over, you go back to his face.

Jeongguk raises his brows. “Yes?”

“Want some cookies?”

“No, thanks.” He’s fully about to close the door in your face until he hears a scoff.

“Are you seriously gonna turn down chocolate chip cookies?”

From your shorter stance, you look up at him through your lashes. They’re long and full, just like your hair, although it doesn’t seem thoroughly brushed. Your face is bare, big eyes bright on their own. You’re in comfortable attire, sweater cuffs swallowing your hands around the cookie container.

Jeongguk figures you don’t have much going on this morning. He does.

He sighs. “I don’t like cookies.”

Your peanut brain must not connect the fact that he’s in his uniform with the probability that he might be in a rush. You don’t relent. “Not true. You always accept Grandma Mimi’s.”

“Would you turn down an old lady?” He presses.

“Would you turn down a young one?” You retort.

The moment the sentence leaves your mouth, you realize it must sound weird. Jeongguk’s brows furrowing proves that.

“5, I don’t have time for this.”

You’re not about to give up. Why can you have a normal neighbour relationship with an old lady, but not with a man you assume is around your age?

“4, it’s just cookies—”

“Fine, give that.” He doesn’t actually wait for you to do so, just snatches the container from your hold and places it somewhere you can’t see beyond the door. Gureum barks in the background, but Jeongguk steps out of his apartment and locks the door.

You, in turn, take a step back startled, and you’re face to face with his broad back. You know what, maybe being at each other’s throats is for the best. If you were on friendly terms with this man, you would be climbing him like a tr—

“See ya.” Jeongguk makes his way toward the other side of the hall without looking back, just waving his hand absentmindedly.

You put on the deepest voice you can muster, “Thank you, you shouldn’t have done that.”

For the first time, he doesn’t fight to get the last word in. Somehow, the silence as he walks away is even more embarrassing than your impression of him. Worse when you realize you were supposed to be the one trying to thank him by offering him cookies.

When you pass him by two days later, you don’t ask him if he tried them and he doesn’t mention it.

prologue ⋆ one ⋆ two ⋆ three

[skzhotpot]

Oh man I really felt for this Jungkook and just wanted to give him a big ole hug 🥺

These two were truly precious what a sweeeeet 😉😉 match

💜 more → Jeon Jungkook · BTS · Fic Rec Library 💜

[lovieku]

THANK U SO MUUUUCH!!! these are my babies and im truly so happy and honored u enjoyed 🥹🩷🩷🩷

[lovieku]

thankyou so much for speaking up about this so thoroughly and in a broad way. no one can in any form approve that a fic is 100 ai generated and even if it is, even then we need to realize fanfiction is a space of no censorship where every form whether we like it or not is allowed to exist fortunately or unfortunately. you cannot based on what it is- assumptions can reblog fics so firmly with ai tags because that is too a form of cyber accusation without any legal proof. the effect will always be negative.

solution is, read stories which you think suits you, is too your liking, not AI gen acc to you and love them and keep the fandom clean and positive!

i still do believe that, because creative writing is a form of art and self expression, we should in no way put it in the hands of a robot who could never replicate the soul of a human. i believe there is no reason why anyone should not trust their abilities enough to put themselves out there and be vulnerable and real. so what if you think it’s shit, it’s yours, it’s authentic, it’s unique !!! it will speak to so many people the same way it spoke to your heart!!!

given this, i still do not agree with any of btsaificrecs and their supporters’ actions. as you said, ai writing sadly exists but, while it is still confined into fandom spaces, it’s not doing any scamming nor taking money, or time if anything. people can just block and scroll the second they clock it’s ai, the same way they do when they come across a trope or a pairing that is not their cup of tea ! i also certainly do not agree with being so sure in labelling these works as “ai slop” when there’s absolutely no proof of that. they say people should be able to form their own opinions “the same way they are”, but what they’re doing is basically spreading false and unproven information!

anyway. at the end of the day we are all capable of our own thinking so to each their own 🤷🏻‍♀️

[lovieku]

what is ur opinion on the btsaificrecs acc

i think it’s enabling a lot of people to turn a fandom space, which is supposed to feel safe and accepting, into a toxic and hateful environment. bangtumblr’s glory days are long gone but this was truly the cherry on top. final step into full darkness. the most talented writers on here are questioning their writing because of useless, proofless claims that are somehow taken as a gospel. unquestionable word of gods.

what i don’t like the most about the account is that they claim they’re doing the right and moral thing, want to act superior and all that. but they ignore the factual truth that there is still no existing system that can tell 100% whether something is ai written or not, and all their accusations are based on reblogs that we should trust because of some tags that make it seem as if these are absolute truths. the mistake they made with pjminii could easily be made with other writers, especially considering that they changed their opinion the second the blogs they deemed as worthy told them she wasn’t using ai. just goes to show that these accusations stand on absolutely no foundation whatsoever. it’s literally a bunch of he said she said’s. and there's no reason why we should trust their judgment. meanwhile, this can give entitled people the illusion of having a right to harrass writers just on the basis that they were shared by them, and therefore must be certainly ai. wake the fuck up people… this is fanfiction writing at the end of the day. a hobby to people with jobs, freshly turned adults, people struggling and dealing with stuff. it stops being that deep the second you realize nobody’s taking anything from you, and you’re not giving anything to these people either. stick with your writers and ignore who you think is suspect. that account is genuinely so pointless and only contributing to spreading hate, not awareness. as my dear friend missie said, intent does not equal impact. these people should review their priorities.

while i do agree that especially the jungkook tag has seen an influx in ai fics, this is not the way to go about it. i think we’re all able to draw our own conclusions. let’s start showing support to writers we love and admire, let’s not have this be the death of bangtumblr!!! let’s take this as more of a reason why we should make heartfelt writing rise on the tags and give kudos to so many deserving writers who put their all into their crafts. hating takes way too much energy, way more than what love could get us! curate your feed and surround yourself with peace.

[lovieku]

LOLLIPOP ⋆ 정국

in which jeongguk almost makes you forget you’re four years older than him and that he’s fucking you with a lollipop on the counter of the local cafe you work at.

⌗ from LOViE playlist

pairing younger!jk x barista!fem reader

genre smut

contents pwp, 80s au, jk 20 | oc 24, noona usage, situationship ??, slight jealousy, makeout sesh, public sex, brief tit play, fingering, switch!jk And oc, food play, cum eating, almost bj, jk is sensitive and could come untouched, he’s also so whipped

word count 3.6k

author's note i'm so sorry for this it's a filthy mess barely read through ! i'm ovulating and jk got me so wet in his last live Oop... can't stop thinking about his Rings and that Lollipop omg. anyway lovieku nation do not fear cause you're getting a lengthier and deeper fic soon ☺️😛 love ya

The heavy door jingles as it’s pushed open. Your hand freezes mid-swipe across the counter, voice already on autopilot before you even look up.

“Sorry, we’re clos—”

But when you do look up, you have to resist rolling your eyes straight back into your skull. Unsure if it’s annoyance or a visceral reaction, something that starts lower and coils tight in your middle.

“Should flip the sign then, no?”

Jeongguk gestures lazily toward the entrance — toward the board the manager told you to turn before leaving you alone to clean every inch of the café, like some 80s Cinderella scrubbing after midnight. Flips it from OPEN to CLOSED.

Still, the fashionable rebel doesn’t feel the message applies to him. The door swings shut behind him, as if the very idea that this place could be closed to him is incomprehensible. As if you would actually ask him to leave.

He steps closer. Leather jacket, simple black tee, straight black jeans cinched tight at the waist with a thick belt. A silver cross hangs at his throat, the tiny stones catching the light, matching the many rings stacked along his fingers.

Jeongguk looks ridiculous, even more so when a smirk on his pierced lips is in response to your eventual eye roll. He looks ridiculous because he’s the only one dressing like the trends crawling out of the city. Walking around like he expects paparazzi to trail behind him on the empty streets. Like he’s not out of place in your small town.

Like he doesn’t make you feel out of place.

He’s younger than you, four years. You know because your little sister had biology with him back in high school, and the stupid project they had to present resulted in him coming over to your house for a couple of days. A couple of days that turned into a recurrence. A recurrence with the sole purpose of seducing you.

You. Awkward, hair messy and braided, coffee-stained apron and bare faced you. With a rag in one hand and a cleaning spray in the other.

You sigh, placing them on the counter in front of you. “I said we’re closed.”

He coos, striding nearer until only the table separates your bodies. “You’re really gonna kick me out, noona?”

Teeth clenching, you untie your hair and let it fall loose, fingers combing through the front in an unconscious attempt to look more presentable under his swollen doe orbs and cocky smile.

Jeongguk has managed to seduce you.

It took three years. Three years of persistence, of never once backing down. He found every possible excuse to partner with your sister on school projects just to be in your house, in your space. Even when there were no assignments, he’d come over anyway, giving your sibling false hope that he was trying to befriend her, maybe even make her his girlfriend.

Your parents loved the idea. You didn’t. Not because you thought they’d be a bad match, but because you knew the real reason he kept showing up.

It only got worse when he found out where you worked. He started coming in every day after classes, giving up his every penny into the jukebox just to dedicate songs to you. His favourite was Can’t Take My Eyes off You.

It happened one night at a house party he somehow managed to sneak into. Found you on the porch, drunk and crying into your arms. Drove you home on his bike, the night air sobering you just enough to realise what you were doing when you pulled him down by the collar and kissed him in front of your door.

You threw up seconds later.

Since then, it’s been sneaky encounters, mostly in your bedroom after he’d knock softly on your window, hair tussled and breath fanning from the short but tense climb.

But more than anything, it’s given Jeongguk the final green light to fully court you. Gifting you roses every week, dropping you lunch at work, scoring goals for you at charity games. You pretend you don’t notice who he’s pointing to every time that happens.

In return, you haven’t given him much. Heated makeout sessions, dry humping and touching over thin layers. That’s where you drew the line. There was one time he touched himself in front of you, the first and only time you’ve seen his glorious and bare dick, all up and red for you. He’d claimed he was so hard he felt like he might actually die, sounded genuinely panicked when he said it — breath shaky, eyes wide. You’d believed him enough not to push him away.

Most of the time, though, it takes very little. A few slow grinds against your thigh and he’s spilling into his jeans with a strangled groan.

You made it clear from the beginning that whatever this is, it stays between you. A strict secret. No matter how many times he’s tried to ease public touches into your dynamic, you always step back. Pretend he’s just another customer. Just another boy in town. Your little sister’s friend.

It’s not like you’re not attracted to him. You are. Objectively, undeniably, he’s beautiful. Sharp jaw, dark eyes, tall figure. You just can’t shake the shame that comes with wanting someone younger. Especially someone who could have any girl his age, the very ones already lined up for him, battling their lashes, whispering when he walks by.

You’ve tried telling him a thousand times, that you’d be just a waste of his time, that he’d be better off with Leah, or Anna, or whichever cheerleader was flirting with him at the game last week.

Jeongguk doesn’t care. Ever since you happened, it’s as if his vision has narrowed, his ears have closed to every voice but yours. His focus has moved in one direction, and the destination is you.

If he can’t have you, then he won’t have anyone. There’s no point. He wants you only.

Hands planted on your hips, you lift your chin and try to conceal the once-over you just gave him, though your gaze lingers a second too long on the lollipop he rolls between his ring-adorned fingers.

“What are you doing here, Jeongguk?”

He sucks on his candy before smiling. “Wanted to see my favourite girl on earth.”

At that, you turn your back to him immediately, pretending to be busy wiping down a section of counter that’s already spotless. In reality, your heart climbs straight to your throat, eyes squeezing shut along with your thighs pressing together without you meaning to.

“I’m busy.”

Behind you, his jewelry clinks against the surface, fingers tapping lazily along to the muted hum of your playlist. “Too busy even for me, angel?”

Expression set, knowing exactly where this is headed, you turn around. He leans forward instantly at your proximity, like a dog catching the scent of its owner, and your faces are so close that he has to tilt his head down and you have to crane your neck up.

“What do you want?”

“You.”

The lollipop is strawberry flavoured. You know because his breath fans warm on your lashes, and because you can almost taste it yourself when he pops it back into his mouth, pretty tongue curling slow and deliberate all over it. His cheeks hollow around it, pushing it in and out. In and out. All while his blown pupils flick between your own and your lips.

You like to think of yourself as a strong, independent woman. Who knows exactly what she wants and what she doesn’t. Will fight for it, or against it.

Two minutes later, Jeongguk is on the other side of the counter with you pressed between him and the unforgiving edge. His palms are insatiable and slide from your thighs up along your waist, settling just beneath your chest. His mouth claims yours, swallowing your every small, breathless sound.

You are a strong woman, most of the time. At the very least you can say you’re fighting for what you want. And against it, if the way your hips move restlessly against the denim of his jeans counts as resistance.

The mix of sugar and saliva turns sticky, syrup-thick between you, and it threatens to make your teeth ache. You’re almost sickened by how easily your limbs melt in his hold, honey-soft and pliant. Almost, because you also sickeningly enjoy the rough smell of cigarette lingering on you after a long shift tangling with his soft amber scent.

“I missed you,” his words are muffled in your mouth, neither of you able to pull away. You answer with a soft hum, arms sliding around his broad back to tug him closer. You’re afraid to speak and be betrayed by your own voice. So you’ll let your tongues do the talking instead.

His own explores like it’s reaching as deep as it possibly can, almost tasting the words you keep locked at the back of your throat. He’s always been the one to say what you won’t. He talks enough for the both of you.

With his grip tightening on your hip, he reluctantly draws back, leaving only a breath of space, distance bridged by the longing in his stare.

“I really wanna touch you, noona. Please… can I?”

You’re convinced he only uses those puppy eyes when it benefits him, but you can’t prove it. The only piece of evidence you have is your immediate nodding, every single time.

Jeongguk fumbles with the strings of your apron, letting it slip from your waist and pool at your feet. He groans at the sight of you in nothing but your excuse of a skirt and a flimsy tank top, fabric clinging to your skin. His wide hand cups your boob, thumb brushing slow circles, while he mouths at the other over the thin material. You gasp at the raw contact, at the contrast of his cool rings and the heat radiating from his towering body, back instinctively arching into it.

He never lingers on one spot for too long. Comes back up, saccharine lips teasing yours before drifting to the sensitive and just as sweet place under your ear. The strawberry lollipop is still hooked loosely between his fingers. And with his own mouth occupied, it finds a new purpose: nudging one strap off your shoulder, his hand twists the smooth edge of the candy on your hard nipple, your head thrown back at the slick feeling.

“Ggukkie, oh my god,” breaths stuttering, you’re overwhelmed with his resolute confidence, fingers curling and tugging at his already-tousled hair as if wishing you could pry him off, but front betraying you and naturally pressing forward for more.

Fanning on your neck, he licks a stripe behind your lobe, sucking on the sensitive spot. Then lingers there, tip of his nose to your ear, so that his words stick like the sugar trail smeared all over your chest.

“I’m so hard for you. Let me touch you, please?”

You know what he really means. Your face slowly comes back up to meet his, brows knitting together both in pleasure and confusion. Confusion at the way your heartbeat stumbles when you take him in like this: heavy-lidded eyes dark with want, lips parted just enough to catch his breath, one hand still cupping your boob for insatiable closeness.

There’s no other reaction that feels more natural than kissing him. And he seems to get it, gulp down your consent, seek for more as he surges forward and reaches inside your mouth with animalistic urges. You frantically tug at his jacket, letting him throw it somewhere over the counter behind you.

When he finally pulls back, he’s breathless. His pitch-black sharpening gaze is on you, a faint sheen of moisture briefly keeping you tethered.

“You know you’re mine, yeah?”

“Huh?”

He pops the lolly back into his mouth, tongue swirling over it. The way his wet muscle flickers up, down and around it has your core quivering, mouth falling agape. The moment he pulls the candy out with an audible pop, briefly toying with the stick, you can see what he means. What he’s warning you for. He’s resolute, won’t wait for another second.

“Yoongi-hyung won’t give you what I can.”

In any other circumstance, you would’ve laughed in his face.

If it weren’t for his sneaky fingers hooking your panties aside beneath your skirt and letting the strawberry head glide along your folds. Your startled gasp melts into a moan, instinctively bracing yourself for balance on his shoulders, fingers curling into his collar.

He seizes the opportunity presented by your weight practically hanging off of him to lift you up onto the counter behind you, glasses and cups clattering together, one leg guided open and hoisted up over his forearm, the other barely keeping you steady on the floor.

You desperately wish a 20 year old boy didn’t have this much power over you. The kind that makes you forget your words, how to properly put them in a sentence. You don’t know how much longer you can pretend he’s wrong about you being his, or that the candy being dangerously close to your fluttering hole isn’t simultaneously the sexiest and most disgusting thing that’s ever happened to you.

“What the… fuck… does Yoongi have to do with anything?” Your expression is so tense it threatens premature wrinkles, only softening when his thick and silver-ringed fingers trail up to tangle in your hair.

“I saw you at the party. Flirting with him,” he keeps teasing your entrance, alternates between that and your swollen clit. “I know I’m younger, but I can fuck you better, noona.”

You gasp around surprise and pleasure, clinging to the thinnest thread of composure, though your body has long decided what it wants.

“What do you think you’re doing, Jeongguk?”

“Showing you.”

A loud moan is ripped from you when he finally commits, finally pushes the candy inside, swirling it in agonizingly slow circles. You head thrashes, overwhelmed by the collision of guilt and pleasure, brows drawing and eyes welling up. The hand buried in your locks descends to wrap gently around your throat, forcing your hooded gaze back to his.

“What? You think I can’t?”

You’re certain, painfully positive, that he can make you cum like this. Even more sure when his index and middle fingers thrust the candy deeper, while his thumb begins a relentless rhythm around your clit. You shake your head frantically, not in denial of his words but as a visceral reaction to his touch. It feels the closest you’ll ever be to heaven and hell. Your arms slide up his chest to wrap around his broad back and haul him closer.

The grip on the side of your neck tightens, the silver of his rings digging in deliciously, his eyes strictly on yours. “I’m going to make you cum on my sucker,” he smirks childishly at the pun, but you’re putty in his hands and hang on his every sound. You can only nod pathetically. “And then I’m going to taste it.”

When you buck your hips closer, inviting his suggestive intentions, you feel exactly how hard he is against your thigh. The brief and searing contact has him rutting his bulge flush on your skin, mouth forming an O shape around a delirious moan that you promptly swallow, capturing his lips with yours.

Your orgasm is messy. It’s your teeth clashing, tongues wishing they’d reach even deeper, his hold working at it as he pulls you into him from your nape. It’s the lollipop hanging from your tightening heat, three fingers joining it and his thumb maintaining an uncoordinated pace on your nub. He devours your every whimper at the cold bite of his silver rings on your sensitive folds, and a particularly sharp groan when you feel the textured surface of one entering you alongside his long digits.

Eventually, you only convulse around them once you’ve answered his command.

“You’re mine. Tell me you are. Tell me you want this.” No matter how much he tries to project dominance, or how much older he wants to make himself sound like, the request comes out more as a beg, a plea, a desperate whine against your lips as if he’s constantly waiting on you to tell him what to do. Guide him, please him, tell him he’s doing a good job.

“Want this so fucking bad, Ggukkie. I’m yours, I’m yo—oh, fuck!”

Nonetheless, the incoherent and stuttered confession, the continuous and satisfied pulse of your hole and your body naturally pulling his clothed length closer is all the fuel he needs. Not that he requires much. He’s incessantly untiring when it comes to you and your pleasure.

Jeongguk swipes the dense, translucent fluid from your folds, welcoming the sweet result onto his flat tongue. He watches you as he swallows, lets his cheeks hollow around the taste as he proudly savours every last drop.

His eyes tell a whole other story, now. They’re wide and searching, seeking approval, reassurance, relief. The wet sounds are punctuated by his small whines, and you let his bucking hips beg just a moment longer before your hand finally ruffles his hair. Your breath is still frantic, brains still very much fucked.

“You’re so naughty,” it’s a whisper between you, mirroring the slow tipping of the slicked candy. It slips from his mouth with a string of saliva still connecting him to it, before you’re wrapping your own hungry lips around the treat.

Jeongguk groans, hand palming himself through the heavy denim of his jeans. He’s gradually surrendering his show of dominance, slowly losing himself to you and the hazed effect you cast over him.

“Fuck. Please, let me come,” his head leans into your hold, mouth capturing yours and the glistening, consumed lollipop held between you. You both suck on it, tongues swirling on its head and tangling with one another in a syrupy knot.

Guiding the stick, you push it further into his mouth, pressing the round head flat against his tongue. He’s completely pliant now, throat clicking with a shallow gag as you test how far he’ll let you go.

Smiling at his familiar obedience, you hop off the counter, a small whimper escaping you as your sensitive core hits the cool air. You leave the candy hanging from his lips before dropping to your knees. The lollipop eventually slips, clattering to the floor beside you, and his jaw almost follows, remains agape in shock.

When you press a kiss through the tension in his jeans, he hisses. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck, don’t do that. I’m gonna fucking— gonna fucking come.”

Matching his impatience, you decide to save the teasing for another day. You fumble with his belt and the metal of his zipper, peeling down his black denims to reveal a heavy, darkened patch of heat on his Calvin Kleins.

Finally letting his length spring free, a strained moan catches in his throat. His hand flies to your hair, fingers sliding down to cup your cheek with the tenderness that you know him for. You feel the rings pressing on that spot, might leave a mark, but you simply kiss his palm, briefly mouthing his thumb before turning your focus to his perfectly tall and thick cock, pulsing in your face.

Retreating the discarded lollipop, you trace the sticky candy on his base, drawing a rough groan from his chest. Then, following the sugary trail, you run your tongue along his entire length, swirling right over the tip.

“Baby, fuck— I’m so sorry,” his hold on your jaw tightens, cock twitching on your tongue and the tip of your nose. Your hand travels up his tight abs, lollipop staining his shirt with his own precum as you force him to look down at you. He’d kept his eyes squeezed shut, desperate to keep from unraveling in under a minute before you’d even truly started.

When he sees you — brows drawn up in confusion, eyes still glassy from your own release — and feels your warm, wet mouth closing around his head, he breaks. A wail escapes him as he throws his head back, spilling across your tongue and over your cheeks. His cock pumps relentlessly, feverishly.

You watch in awe, his face contorted in pleasure that almost seems painful and a fist closing around your locks.

Hooded gaze dropping back to yours, you find that his eyes are brimming. A single tear falls, lands unexpected on your forehead.

“I’m so— so sorry, noona,” his voice quivers and threatens to break into a sob. He’s still twitching with over-sensitivity when you alarmedly stand up, candy finally clattering to the floor so you can cradle his face in your palms.

“Goo, baby, it’s okay.” You smile reassuringly, peppering his flushed face with soft kisses. “We’ll try that again another time, hm? How’s that sound?”

He peeks at you shyly through his lashes, cheek seeking the comfort of your touch. He sniffs, tip of his nose a dusty red. “Really?”

You nod, brushing the damp hair from his forehead. “Really. You did so good.”

Jeongguk leans in, tongue catching the stray white spots on your cheeks before seeking the rest from your mouth. You both hum at the contact, fronts pressing together as he already begins to stir against you once more.

When you pull back, your nose scrunches as your foreheads rest against one another. “This was all so disgusting.”

He lets out a breathy, boyish chuckle. Makes it hard to believe he’s been the same guy ever since he stepped through the door.

“You fucking loved it. As much as I did.”

[skzhotpot]

Yes Ellie’s noona kink is back and it’s ready to play

I will never ever ever skip a noona fic espppppp if it’s JK and this was nastyyyyy

💜 more → Jeon Jungkook · BTS · Fic Rec Library 💜

[lovieku]

YOU GET ITTTT honestly i need to get to writing more jk noona kink fics cause this one gave me a special thrill im ngl… thank u happy u enjoyed heh 🩷

[missenu]

perle di sole ⋆☀︎。

synopsis: packed and ready to go for your best friend’s destination wedding in italy? check. hot, broody senior manager jeon jeongguk as the groom’s best man? nothing could’ve prepared you for that. alternatively, what happens in italy, stays in italy … right?

pairing: sr. manager!jeongguk x fem colleague!reader

wc: 15.6k

genre: forbidden love, coworkers au, smut, angst

cw: slice of life, age gap (jk 37, oc 22), cold jk (#TroubledMen), hopeless romantic oc, grief, negative family dynamics, side character death, corporate lingo, light fluff, rich privilege, yearning, one sided grudge, oc gets harassed, hurt with some comfort, 18+ ONLY, porn with lots of plot, sexual tension, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, slight overstimulation, multiple orgasms, riding, missionary

a/n: pls go wish my queen n goat of dilf jk @lovieku the happiest bday! this was written as a gift to her <3 SHE DESERVES THE WORLD AND SO MUCH MORE

Auntie Lin’s only piece of advice after you announced your acceptance of your first corporate job: Small talk is your best friend. The advice hadn’t registered in your mind until you facilitated a meeting with executive management where the first five minutes of silent judgement nearly made you quit the job until you asked, “Any weekend plans?”

You learned the power of small talk and how obsessed executive leaders were when it came to bragging about their personal lives outside the office. The advice worked so well, management gave you an unprompted promotion two weeks later.

Nothing wrong with being the personality hire if it helps you climb the corporate ladder. 

Okay, well, no, you had history with this company.

Your father’s connection with the talent acquisition management landed you an internship at this very company right out of high school, so you didn’t need to reestablish your rapport after graduating from university.

You’re still a hard worker. Yes … objectively speaking, nepotism played a part in your current successes — you don’t shy away from that fact.

Your charming and curious personality only got you so far, but the magic always stopped with one person.

Jeon Jeongguk.

Hard case to crack and even harder to not stare at when he’s within your vicinity.

He’s polished, well-spoken, and … let’s just say there are things you shouldn’t say or think about in a place of work, let alone towards someone in the senior management team. He hardly smiles and if he does, it’s never towards you.

Right now? You think the least Jeongguk could do is crack a smile at your joke to break the tension in the virtual meeting. No one liked hearing bad news and you became the bearer of bad news as you explained to the client why a deliverable will not be made by the proposed timeline.

Delivering bad news was a manager’s job and unfortunately, your manager entrusted you with this responsibility right before she left for maternity leave, raving about how it’ll build your leadership and communication skills … right, right.

Jeongguk was the other leader overseeing the project. His team met all the deliverables, so there was no real need for his attendance other than pure formalities. 

This was your chance to show him what you were capable of. 

“Mr. Choi, we apologize for not making the deadline. With half the team on leave, the estimated completion date will need to be extended as a result.” You explain.

Jeongguk sits and watches you exchange words with the client. The mic button remained on mute during the many moments you would’ve benefited from his direction or support. You didn’t think you’d have to go through a humiliation ritual the day before your big trip for your best friend’s wedding in Italy. It’s your turn to have your mic button on mute as you let the client chew you out in front of your peers.

“Mr. Choi.” Jeongguk interrupts.

Thank god, finally. 

“The deliverables will be completed by the original proposed due date. I will personally see through that.”

You exhale in relief once the client settles back into their chair, demeanor shifting from their outburst moments ago.

You [3:32 p.m.]: Thank you, Jeongguk.

As expected, he doesn’t reply. 

The meeting wraps up on a positive note thanks to Jeongguk’s interception. Everyone bids each other farewell until you hear a call of your name.

“Stay on the call. Need to discuss a few things with you.”

Confused, you aren’t sure why he doesn’t ask you to walk ten steps to his office to chat privately. You swallow and one by one, all of your colleagues leave the meeting until it’s just you and him. 

He sighs, letting his agitation come out freely now. He loosens his tie and fixes his frames on his nose.

“So …” you begin.

“Do you know what your first mistake was on that call?” He sneers, a complete one-eighty from the well-mannered speaker he was during the meeting.

“I’m–uh, not sure.” You reply honestly.

“‘We apologize,’” he repeats your words, “there is no ‘we’ in this — you were the one that didn’t meet the service level agreement. Learn to take accountability for your own shortcomings.”

Ouch.

He continues, “You also failed to offer any alternatives or incentive for the delay. This is about being reputable — customer experience dictates future collaborations with new clients. If this one goes sour, we lose our clientele.”

Each word morphed into daggers piercing and digging into your self-esteem.

The finishing blow?

“That being said, you will finish what we originally promised the client.”

“But,” your heart drops at the mention of working during your time off, “I’m not going to be in the country.”

“I’m sure there’s internet wherever you’re going.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

“And then! He said I’m paid salary, not hourly, so it doesn’t matter how long I need to work — I just need to get it done.” You complain to your colleague, Mina, who happened to work under Jeongguk’s section. 

“Oof, sorry girl.” She pours the coffee into her cup, unsurprised by her boss’ expectations. Setting the pot back onto the warmer, she leans against the counter. It’s just the two of you in the breakroom, free from prying eyes and ears. “So what are you gonna do?”

You groan. As much as you’d like to ramble and moan about how unreasonable Jeongguk’s demands were, you knew he was right about needing to take accountability.

“Well, if I push in some work in the early morning and night the first couple of days in Italy, I should be able to get it done.” You sigh. “Just hate it.”

Mina pats your shoulder and gives you a reassuring smile, which soon changes into a bewildered expression as she digs her fingers into your shoulder.

“Oh, hey bossman, here for a coffee refill?” Mina’s voice strains, projected to the space behind you.

You turn and there stands Jeon Jeongguk in all his glory. While you had the privilege to see him earlier today during the virtual meeting, nothing compared to the real deal. Dressed in an all-black suit, Jeongguk looks ever immaculate. His face is free from his metal-framed glasses, but they leave their small indentations on the sides of his nose. The deadliest combo came in the form of his hair pushed back, exposing his wrinkle-free forehead.

If it weren’t for his wired earphones and outdated iPod you caught him with during his walk, you would’ve never guessed his age. Technically, you still don’t know the exact number but Anna in Human Resources hinted he’s in his mid to late thirties.

Whatever. Age is just a number and hasn’t stopped you from trying to befriend the older man. 

“Yes, my third one today.” He muses.

“Anything the team and I can do to help wrap up things for you before your vacation?” Mina probes.

Wait. You never caught wind of that.

“No,” he shakes his head, “thank you, though.”

Your heart stirs at the low timbre of his chuckle, surprised at his abilities in displaying any other emotions outside his stoic expression. You theorize it comes easier with an established rapport. 

Maybe you’ll try your luck today.

“How long are you going to be out for?” You ask, moving to the side so he has better access to the coffee pot. His scent naturally fills your space — a mixture of fresh laundry and cedarwood. 

“Two weeks.”

“Oh, same here!” You beam. 

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that quite a bit this month.”

You warm in embarrassment; though, the feelings get swept underneath the rug at another fact.

He listened — more importantly, he remembered your many musings. 

“I’m going to Italy.” You remark, hoping he’d give a little more detail on his own vacation if you shared a bit about your upcoming adventures.

Jeongguk freezes momentarily and clears his throat before setting down the nearly empty pot.

“That’s nice.”

Seizing the moment to continue the conversation, you throw out details of your trip, namely for the wedding you’ll attend as maid of honor for your best friend.

“And they’re going to have this lovely venue near the beach. It’s going to be great.” You marvel.

“Ugh, I’m jealous,” Mina pouts. “Are you going to be doing something fun during your time off, Jeongguk?” 

You watch him with expectant eyes.

“Tending some family matters.”

That’s corporate lingo for: it’s personal, so none of your business. Everyone knows to back off on the topic at that point.

Taking a sip of his coffee after mixing a pack of Splenda, he offers a tight-lipped smile, “I have to head back to the desk. Enjoy your break.”

Alone with Mina once again, you look at her with defeated eyes.

“He’s just introverted and private, babe. I wouldn’t sweat it.” She waves.

“I’ve been here for over a year and he’s never like this to management or clients.” You sigh. “Maybe I’m the problem.”

It’s hard to not take things to heart being a natural born people pleaser. You want to be liked and if you’re not, at least know why; except, Jeongguk kept things strictly work related with all the little pocket of interactions you’ve had with him. 

If you were brave enough, you’d ask him about it over coffee or lunch — anywhere that might give you a glimpse of who he is outside of work. 

“Don’t mind him. In about twenty-four hours, you’ll be in Italy! Last time you updated, the best man was a little wishy-washy about the wedding? How’s that going?”

“Jihyo said Seojun got it sorted out, so they’re okay.” All you know from the matter is how much of a struggle it was to get a definite answer from his best man. Prick move and unnecessary stress for the wedding party. Had you been in Seojun’s position, you would’ve cut losses and moved forward without the best man early on.

Planning a wedding was difficult enough, let alone dealing with difficult people in the wedding party. You pray he steps into his role as the best man to lessen the to-be-wedded couple’s worries. 

“Good. Wedding drama’s the worst.” Mina nods. “Still haven’t recovered from finding out my cousin’s husband was fucking his cousin.” 

The gossip session goes for another fifteen minutes until you begrudgingly head back to finish up some last minute tasks. You weren’t going to be that coworker who leaves a bunch of unfinished work for your backup. 

Another thing you didn’t want to be was like your father, but you’re no different by the time you finish your pending tasks at 9:52 p.m. You do a quick once-over your automatic out-of-office notice and send out a list of items for your backup to look after before stuffing all your belongings into your workbag.

Going home was always your favorite time of the day, granting you the chance to walk past Jeongguk’s office. Even from where you’re standing, the lights in his office are the only ones still on out of all the managers on the floor.

His door remains slightly ajar throughout the day aside from the times he’s on a call or speaking to one of his employees. An ‘open door policy,’ Mina explained. Wants the folks on his team comfortable coming to him with their needs or questions.

You didn’t need anything, per se. There were plenty of questions floating in your head, but none that would qualify as work-related or professional. Things like … where are you going for vacation? Would you like to grab dinner together? … Are you seeing anyone? 

Your short almond shaped nails tap on his metal name plaque outside his office.

He looks up from his computer, the monitor’s brightness setting doing little to hide his exhausted stare. One brow raised, he cocks his head to the side.

“Come in.”

You take in your surroundings: a shelf containing all his Employee of the Year awards, empty “In” bin as opposed to a stacked “Out” bin, and half-finished cup of coffee. Above all, no pictures of his family or signs of life outside of work.

A stark contrast in comparison to your cubicle full of small trinkets, pictures of your loved ones, and cards you’ve received from both your coworkers and clients.

“Just wanted to say goodnight and thank you again for joining the meeting.” You say. “I followed up with the client with your recommendations and they’re happy with the timeline.”

He nods. “I’m glad it worked out.”

“Well,” You rock on your heels, not wanting to leave just yet, “I’ll see you in two weeks. Hope you have a nice time off, Jeongguk.”

He leans back into his deskchair, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he studies your face. His black dress shirt stretches and expands tightly at a passing thought; at the last second, he makes his resolve in foregoing the notion for simpler words.

“Likewise. Safe travels to Italy.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Despite the two layovers and many near-death turbulences later, you arrive in Venice, Italy in one piece. Your best friend, Jihyo, was the first person you see at the gates, smile lighting up the building when she finally spots you through the crowds. These days, she glows more with her soon-to-be husband, Seojun.

You’ve met him only a handful of times and he’s always been kind. You don’t know him well enough, but as long as your friend was happy, so were you.

Which is why she’s going all out for her wedding — it’s her chance to do what she wants with those who care for her. Jihyo’s parents unfortunately did not extend their support and care. They were so against the idea of her marrying a person of no status, her father threatened to cut off all ties and funds if she were to go through with marrying Seojun. 

“My favorite person is finally here!” She squeezes you in her arms. “How was the flight? Are you hungry? We can go get a quick bite.”

“Jihyo, love, slow down,” Seojun comes from behind and offers you a kind greeting. “You must be exhausted. We can head back to the hotel. Just waiting for my uncle to clear customs.”

“Oh! Do you know when he’ll land?” You ask.

“I think he was on the same flight as you, so he should be out soon.” He pulls out his phone to answer a quick text before scanning the area. 

“Think that’s him.” He squints. “Uncle, over here!” He extends his arm above his head. 

You expected a fifty year old balding man, not senior manager, Jeon Jeongguk. 

Fuck.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

You didn’t think you’d ever ride in the same car as one of your managers, especially one you had a dire crush on. You definitely didn’t think you’d be seated in the back of a rental car with him in Italy for your best friend’s wedding.

This whole scenario has to be straight out a romcom … or, in your case, a horror film.

You open up the notes app in your phone and type out a quick message: Do we tell them we know each other? 

What you really wanted to ask was: Why the hell didn’t you say anything about this being the “family matter” you had to take care of?

He takes your phone from your hand and begins typing something before handing it back to you. Nothing from your original note was edited, but a second later a notification comes through.

Jeongguk [4:56 p.m.]: No. Too complicated. You [4:56 p.m.]: Okay..

“Uncle.” Seojun looks at the rear mirror. “How’s work been?”

“Busy,” he sighs. “But it’s been getting better.”

“I’m glad. Hope these two weeks will give you the break you need. You didn’t bring your work laptop, right?” He presses.

Kind of cute seeing the younger male lecture his uncle — cuter seeing Jeongguk grumble at his nephew’s nagging.

“No promises.”

“Speaking of work,” Jihyo chimes in, “How you coping with work?” She turns her entire body from the passenger seat to look at you.

The passengers in the car go silent for your reply, feeling Jeongguk’s shift from the work status inquiry.

“Fine.” You answer quickly.

“Really? That one manager didn’t give you more shit right–”

“Jihyo!” You interrupt, quickly covering up with an awkward laugh and stiff smile, “ Ha-ha … no, it’s been great!”

“Wha–? But you were venting about having to work during the trip … Honestly, that manager’s lucky he’s hot.”

“Ji–”

“Hot?” Jeongguk asks with a raised brow. There’s a lift in his voice, forcing you to bury and shrink deeper into your seat.

“Allegedly.” Jihyo replies mindlessly. Oblivious to your discomfort of the topic, Jihyo continues, “You still gotta sneak a picture of him when you can, babe. I need to see if his pretty privileges warrant this sort of power trip.” 

You’ve heard summers in Italy were magical. You wish for some of that magic to touch you right now — the kind good enough to make you disappear all together from this awkward conversation.

“Huh.” Jeongguk props his elbow by the car’s window ledge, palm covering his mouth. “I’m curious too.” 

Jihyo changes the topic to the itinerary she made for the wedding party; however, you couldn’t be bothered to tune into the details. Knowing Jihyo, she’ll eventually send the party a spreadsheet of the schedule.

You [5:02 p.m.]: Please ignore Jihyo 🥹

Your heart accelerates at the appearance of the infamous dots signaling Jeongguk’s reply in the making.

Jeongguk [5:03 p.m.]: I’ll try. Power trips make it insanely hard to.

You chew on your bottom lip out of habit, feeling the sweat gather behind your neck. Hand fanning your face, you glance over and notice a slight shake in Jeongguk’s stature. He’s still facing away from you and towards the window, but from the reflection, you can see the corners of his mouth lift.

Endorphins rush through your bloodstream at the thought of making him happy.

While chasing your happiness has always been your life motto, you wouldn’t mind chasing for Jeongguk’s happiness too.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

On Jihyo’s itinerary, she deliberately left Venice off from the rest of the wedding party arriving later at the actual wedding site. The next two days were solely meant to spend more time with the maid of honor and best man.

The first day in Venice naturally got cut short with your arrival time; so, the only thing Jihyo planned was a nice dinner after you and Jeongguk settled into your respective rooms. Dinner rolls by with just you, Jihyo, and Seojun perusing the menu for the umpteenth time. The seat, meant for Jeongguk, remains cold and empty. After about thirty minutes and a couple text messages, Seojun confirms with the waiter to remove the utensils and plate — something about his uncle not feeling well.

“Okay, but he’ll be at dinner tomorrow, right?” Jihyo frowns, eyes full of worry.

“Yes, love.” He smiles. “Just old man tendencies and jetlag got the best of him. He’ll be there tomorrow.”

Back at the hotel, you had half a mind to check in on him and just as you built up the courage to knock, the door swings open to reveal a Jeongguk you’ve yet to ever witness: dark grey compression shirt with five-inch inseam shorts. He has his wired earphones in and looks well rested, contrary to what Seojun mentioned at dinner about two hours ago.

“Oh, are you feeling better?” You ask, hand retracted and tucked behind your back.

His brows twitch, fingers removing one of the buds out his ear. “Sorry?”

“Seojun mentioned you weren’t feeling well. Are you better now?”

“Yep.” He answers.

Awkward. 

“Where you headed to? It’s late.” You rock on your heels, afraid you might’ve overstepped with your light interrogation.

“Saw a small running trail nearby, just wanna get some movement in.”

“Would you like—”

“Well, goodnight.” He places the earpiece back in and walks off, the scent of his fresh linen deodorant trails along with him.

“—company?” The end of your sentence comes out in a tiny whisper, the question dying on the tip of your tongue as his figure disappears in the distance.

It was going to be a long two weeks, but you’re optimistic for a chance to change the tides with Jeongguk. Maybe even get to know him a little better or collect more versions of who he may be outside of work before this trip ends.

Arms linked with Jihyo, you walk down the small alleyways of Venice the next day, marveling at the tiny trinkets on display. Seojun and Jeongguk were always a couple steps behind, mainly taking note of the repeating gelato flavors at each stand. Your ears perk when Jeongguk chuckles at Seojun’s excitement of finally finding a stall with a new flavor. His laugh rings deep and rich, something you’re rarely afforded at the workplace.

You hold up two carnival masks to your face. “Which one suits me better?” You preferred the pink one in your left hand, but the green in your right hand spoke to you as well.

“Mm, you know I’ll always favor pink, but is there room in your suitcase?” Jihyo inquires.

Well, no, but you could always buy another suitcase. 

“All going to end up as clutter once you’re home.” Jeongguk mutters to himself, eyeing the other trinkets on the shelf.

Whether or not it was directed at you, you put the mask back with the rest. The shop owner smiles, a little dejected at the missed sale, but with the numerous tourists filtering through the alley, he’s bound to make his daily quota by closing time.

The rest of the day is spent on trying new food — your favorite being the bruschetta flight near the waters. Again, Jeongguk and Seojun were always a couple steps behind, chatting about god knows what while you and Jihyo swap gelatos between every two or so licks. Venice was packed — mainly with tourists, but in a specific alleyway you all decided to turn into held a different kind of danger.

Pigeons. Lots of them. 

One could argue Venice might be the motherland to birds; you’re not in any position to disagree as you cower between the birds staring down at your group from the railings. They swarm around your feet, begging for whatever you’d offer or accidentally drop.

Lucky for you, a shop owner comes and throws out bits of their baguettes. All the pigeons flock over in pursuit of their (probable) tenth snack for the day. You breathe a sigh of relief for the small deterrence, walking quicker to escape from the flock.

“Phew, thought we were goners back there.” Jihyo jokes, looking back at the boys.

At the last second, a seagull swoops in and takes the unfinished gelato right from your hand. You let out a blood curdling scream, hand immediately letting go of the cone. You grab Jihyo by the shoulder and chant for the birds to take her as an offering instead.

Everyone within the vicinity laughed, some tourists offered a sympathetic smile and asked if you were okay. Among the laughter, Jeongguk’s chuckle echoes loudest in your head. It had never been your goal to become the group’s court jester, but you wouldn’t mind making it your life’s sole purpose for this version of him.

Seojun checks his watch. “Jihyo, baby, we still have five more hours to kill before our flight over to Sicily. Should we head back to the hotel? Uncle said he’s tired—”

Smile wiped off his handsome face, Jeongguk nudges the young man in the arm. “Don’t use me as a scapegoat.”

You never realized how much the two men resembled each other, catching you off guard when Jeongguk hooks his arm around Seojun’s neck, and rubs his knuckles over his nephew’s head. Their laughter comes out the same, pairing well with their toothy grins.

“We only have one last item on the itinerary.” Jihyo says, a fond smile at the sight of her happy fiance. “I wanted to do a little gondola ride.”

Most tourists seized the golden hour for their boat ride too, which sent you and your group on a hunt for an unoccupied gondola, eventually finding two docked boats on the opposite entrance of Venice.

“I’ll pass.” Jeongguk says with a hand up.

Jihyo pouts, pointing in your direction. “But she’d be all alone.”

“Oh, um, I don’t mind staying behind.” You smile, doing your best to not sound disappointed at the lost experience. “Can always ride a boat at home.”

“But Miss, when will you ride a gondola in Venice while the sun is setting?” One of the gondoliers pitches.

“He’s right.” Jihyo nods. “Please, Jeongguk?”

He’d rather not waste money on a tourist trap … one look at Jihyo’s pleading eyes in combination with his nephew’s displeased stare has him folding on the spot.

Defeated, he sighs, “Fine.”

Jihyo cheers, skipping over to the first boat lined up where Seojun waits patiently with a hand out for her.

Their boat rows off first and five minutes later, it was yours and Jeongguk’s turn to step into the gondola. He holds out his hand to steady your step, boat wobbling as you plant your first foot down. His hold lingers a little longer even when you’ve successfully made it into the boat. Eyes peering up at Jeongguk’s tall stature, your body heats up under his watchful gaze.

“Steady now?”

“Yes.” You chirp.

“Good.” He lowers you both carefully onto the small seats. Once secured, the gondolier begins his descent through the canals.

Naturally, you strike up a conversation with the gondolier, asking how many rides he averages a day to which he politely answers, ‘too many to count.’ The conversation goes on for another five minutes until Jeongguk sighs, a subtle signal for you to stop and take in your surroundings instead.

Despite the on and off whiffs of the decade old sewage lines rooted in the city, the ride descends to the narrower alleyways one would miss on foot. Water levels rising, the gondolier signals you both to duck at an approaching bridge. You hadn’t realized you didn’t duck low enough until you feel Jeongguk’s warm palm at the base of your head, urging you lower.

His hand rests there until it’s time for you both to lift your heads up again. So warm and thoughtful, unlike how he’s been treating you at work.

You might explode at the silence, finding the need to address the elephant in the room. What were the odds you’d be alone with Jeongguk again? What are the odds you’d be riding on a gondola in Venice, Italy with Jeongguk?

“Do you hate me?” You blurt out, immediately embarrassed at your sudden forwardness. The gondolier peers from the side and looks forward again, slowing his rowing motion with his oar. 

Jeongguk’s brows furrow, lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t hate you.”

“It seems like you do. You always are just so …”

“So …?” He trails along.

“Mean.” You frown. Feeling more foolish for your lack of proper vocabulary words for such a serious confrontation, you do your best to explain. “You seem to get along with everyone else at work and even here. You’re nice to everyone but me.” 

He stares straight ahead, tongue probing against his cheek. He doesn’t respond right away and you deflate at your wasted effort in an attempt to understand Jeongguk beyond the cubicle. You only hear the waters splashing against the gondola as the oar steers you both to another quieter route. 

If Jeongguk didn’t hate you before, he probably does right now. So evident in his silence and unwillingness to discuss this topic, you wonder to yourself … were older generations this bad with expressing their emotions and thoughts? Your father was a great example, and while you don’t want to generalize an entire generation, Jeongguk drives a hard bargain.

“How’d you get into Cientra Corporations?” The question rolls out of Jeongguk with no hint of curiosity.

What did your place of work have anything to do with his alleged animosity? 

“I applied for an opening.” You answer.

His chuckles, full of mock and taunt. “When?”

You frown, a little taken aback by the conversation now turned into an interrogation.

“I think a month before my graduation?” Your stomach churns from the unpredictability of his next words.

“Right, of course.” Jeongguk looks to the side, eyes tracing the water stains on the old brick buildings.

“I’ve had plenty of internships during undergrad and I graduated early with honors.” His demeanor only makes you overexplain your qualifications. “My recruitment was done through a fair hiring process.”

“The position was not in the budget.” He rolls his eyes, his crossed arms accentuates his muscular build. If you were more shameless, you’d let your eyes linger at his chest for a little longer despite how his next words batters your pride. “Freshly graduated with little to no experience landing a mid-entry position?”

You’re not ashamed to admit you had a foot in thanks to your connections. Of course, you were unaware a position had been created just for you, but to insinuate you didn’t deserve your place … now, that was not something you’d take lightly.

“I’ve worked hard with all the opportunities—”

“As one should.” He interrupts. “But all your ‘opportunities’ only became yours because they were taken away from someone else. There were at least ten other highly qualified applicants in the candidate pool.” 

You open your mouth, but Jeongguk beats you to it, “One summer internship at Cientra wouldn’t have gotten anyone else into the company.”

Now that shatters you. You had really thought you stood out in the pool considering you had previously applied and interned for the same company. Now you’re rethinking whether you’ve also gotten the job purely from connections.

Fighting through your imposter syndrome, you stand your ground. “At the end of the day, I was chosen and I take my job seriously. I can’t change what’s already set in stone.”

“That’s your privilege speaking.” He leans against the backrest. “I’ll only repeat this once: I don’t hate you.” Extremely hard to believe after your self esteem’s been kicked to the curb. 

And despite the sour mood, you still try to salvage what you can. “Okay,” You breathe, “Regardless of how you feel about me, can we get along for the sake of the wedding?”

“Of course.” He rolls his shoulders, discomfort clear from the small chair setup. “Trying to make this wedding as seamless and pain-free as possible.”

You piece his aversion to the wedding now. The last minute confirmation of his attendance and lack of enthusiasm for the trip’s activities … it all checks. The gondolier rounds to the ride’s starting point and docks the boat where you and Jeongguk need to quickly alter your attitude in front of the unsuspecting couple.

Jeongguk stays behind to tip the gondolier, murmuring his apologies for the tense ride. From a distance, you overhear the gondolier snort, saying something on the lines of how he should be tipping Jeongguk for the soap opera level conversation.

Your act works — neither Jihyo nor Seojun suspected any shift in moods because Jihyo was too busy begging for another cannoli and, of course, Seojun being the exceptional fiance he is, advised you guys to return to the hotel first to prepare for the flight while he ran to the specific stall Jihyo requested for.

“Uncle, you go on ahead with the girls.”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “I’ll come with you.”

On the train ride back to the hotel, Jihyo lays her head on your shoulder. “I think Uncle Jeongguk hates me.”

That makes the two of you.

She continues, “I know this wedding was rushed, but I thought he’d warm up to the idea of us by now.”

Very out of character for Jihyo to sulk over the minute things in life. You’re not one to talk, knowing firsthand what it’s like to wish for someone’s approval.

“Hey … it’s been less than two days. And who cares what he thinks? You and Seojun are in this for life.”

“I know, I know. Seojun just adores his uncle, you know? That’s his only family.” Jihyo frowns. Unlike him, she’s grown up in a big and affluent family her entire life — well, now cut in half since her choice to marry Seojun, a man of no title or status. She can bear the disdain from her own family, but she doesn’t want Seojun to lose his one and only family member over their choices.

“I was thinking,” Jihyo begins, suddenly sitting upright with determined eyes. “You know, you’re always so fun and great with people … could you maybe get to know Uncle Jeongguk and put in a good word for me? Just until the time of the wedding at least.”

You’ve never seen her this desperate. You ponder back to the conversation on the gondola and if there were little to no chance of making things right with Jeongguk yourself, how were you going to do it for Jihyo?

You’re no better than Seojun and eventually give into her plea. 

“Okay.” You smile, arms embracing her.

All checked out of the Venice hotel, your party makes it through the airport’s security checkpoint just in time for the flight to the actual wedding destination: Sicily.

Italy is magical and Sicily proved every part of that belief even in the cab ride over to the rental property. Windows down, you let the warm breeze run through your locks, uncaring if the sea salted air clung onto your hair and skin. The tips of your hair unknowingly float over and graze Jeongguk’s arms, marking and reminding him of your presence whether or not he welcomed it. 

Jihyo really went all out and booked the dreamiest villa. The villa had everything: a fifteen minute walk to the wedding venue, close to local shops and restaurants, and here’s your favorite: the beach. It’s perfect … almost as perfect as the living situation Jihyo had planned out. No brainer, she and Seojun would get the main house while you and Jeongguk would occupy the cottage a couple steps away.

“Dinner in fifteen minutes? I have a reservation with the restaurant down the street.” Jihyo shrugs her duffle bag higher on her shoulders to which Seojun immediately takes after he unloaded all the other suitcases from the trunk.

“Isn’t it a little late for dinner?” Jeongguk reads his watch.

“Customary to eat later in Italy.” Jihyo smiles.

Jeongguk checked off all the body cues to decline. His resolve crumbles yet again from another one of Seojun’s stares, ultimately agreeing to dinner after settling in.

The first thing you and Jeongguk noticed upon entering the cottage was the stuffy and warm air from the windows being closed for too long. No matter how hard you push and yank the panes, the windows just wouldn’t budge. With a sigh, a strong source of heat presses against your backside.

The scent of fresh linen only welcomes you after laundry day and whenever you’ve switched out your bedsheets. Your mind wanders around scenarios of being welcomed by this exact scent and warmth in bed, sheets needing to be constantly changed afterwards.

Fuck.

Jeongguk’s fingers pull at the knobs above the window sill. Using way less force and energy, the window cracks open with ease and the crisp crash of waves in the distance meets your ears. Nothing was louder than the beating in your chest — must’ve been your imagination when you thought Jeongguk stayed a beat longer behind, breath sucked in from the proximity.

You replay the scenario in your head even at the dinner table. 

The times you’ve looked up from your plate, you’ve unconsciously caught Jeongguk staring in your direction too. He looks away, suddenly mesmerized by the shoreline. His attention pulls at some clapping in the background, waiters and waitresses nearing your section of the restaurant. Your smile widens as they circle your table, confused but pleased by the grand gesture.

Setting a small cake down on the table and resuming their singing, you peer over at the frosted words: Happy 37th Birthday, Jeongguk!

Jeongguk keeps his smile at a sensible level, not wanting to show too much excitement. 

After the employees leave, Seojun beams, “Jihyo arranged this. Nice, huh?” He has his arm around her shoulder.

“Yes, very. Thank you, Jihyo.” Jeongguk smiles, warm and sincere. 

Bellies full, you all walk back to the property. Everything seems to fall into its natural place. Jeongguk lets you shower first and because you’re self conscious of taking too much time, you cut your usual routine by half. You’re seated at the same window sill again, watching the shoreline. 

The lights in the room turn on and you startle. Looking back, you catch a half naked Jeongguk drying his wet hair with a small towel. Bare torso on full display, you gulp at the sight while unknowingly clenching your thighs together. 

Thirty-seven looked good on Jeongguk.

You hope you looked this good at that age, but you have a long way to go. At twenty-two, you know your two little tattoos, one on your lower back and the other on your forearm, will look completely different in fifteen years. They’re nothing like Jeongguk’s, especially with all the intricate tattoos going up his arm, stopping at his chest — both old and new ones. In the office, you’ve only seen a snippet of his tattoos on his forearm, now you’ve been granted full access. Which you’re reminded that everything that happens in Italy will have to stay here. Water break chatter with Mina will exclude these details, saving these memories just for yourself on lonelier nights.

Jeongguk sucks in a breath, surprised at the sight of you. Should be in bed and knocked out from today’s festivities, but you’re there in your silk pajamas, shorts riding dangerously high in your seated position with your knees hiked up to your chest. His jaw clenches, fixing himself a glass of water at the kitchen sink. Hips pressed against the sink counter, he drinks the water, letting a couple droplets dribble past his chin and sharp jawline.

Summers in Italy were magical, but were they usually this hot?

You edge closer to the window sill, praying for the night breeze to snap you out of whatever spell you caught at this hour.

“Jetlagged?” He asks, rinsing the cup. You blink at his question, a little confused at his initiation. It warms you, but you know better than to latch onto this small exchange. 

“A little.” You let out a disgruntled sound as you get up. You think you’ve must’ve hallucinated Jeongguk’s frustrated exhale at your change of position. “You?”

“Mhm. Not as bad as the first night. The run helped.” He replies.

You have all the reason not to get along with him, let alone strike a normal conversation; though, you bare your warmest and genuine smile, “That’s nice. I’m glad.”

“Yes. Well. Goodnight.” He clears his throat.

The lock on your door clicks first, back pushed against the door for some grounding and support. Your bones click against the hard surface, ears cluing in for any sounds from your temporary roommate on the other threshold. His door shuts too, followed by a deep sigh.

There’s some shuffling followed by a drop of what you assumed were clothing. Hot and consumed by your thoughts, your mind spirals at the image of him in nothing but his briefs.

God, this was going to be a long trip.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

The internet connection in this villa was probably the worst thing Jeongguk has ever encountered in his life — even worse than the time he went abroad for school during his prime. It was another neighboring country, but still … how hard was it to get an adequate signal? 

He’s tried everything. Sitting in odd places, being closer to the router — nothing’s worked. 

He looks out the same window you were seated at last night, hoping to find an answer before he hurls his laptop out. 

Until he sees you.

You’re seated outside near a lemon tree between the two accommodations, laptop perched on the patio table while you tug at one of the nearby branches for a quick sniff at the fruit. Your eyes shut in bliss, lemon distracting you with its fresh scent.

You’ve done well to distract Jeongguk from his work too. As much as he’d like to hold onto this vendetta, he knows the grudge was misdirected and undeserving. He also knows a part of his hesitancy with you is who you are. Knows the reasons why you were hired aside from the connections you had. And although you had a good personality, he can’t call you a personality hire if you knew how to do your job.

He won’t deny your accomplishments in school, allowing you to graduate with high honors by the time you were twenty. You were an adequate worker, but again, only because you were given unfair advantages — tools and resources that were taken away from someone else more deserving and eligible. 

His grudge stretched beyond that, having been on the other receiving end of losing opportunities because of his upbringings. So yeah … maybe he’s biased.

You, on the other hand, want to hurl your laptop for other reasons. The laptop sits on top of the patio table, waiting for you to begin your long half day of work.

The metal legs of the empty chair across from you scrape against the concrete floor.

“Mind if I join you?”

You straighten from your slouched posture, surprised eyes meeting his neutral expression. Vacations were meant for fun, not the work you were trying to escape from. With Jeongguk here, you really can’t slack off. You quickly clear your items from the small table and gesture for him to sit.

“Terrible connection in the cottage.” You remark. “Gave me problems all morning.”

He hums, typing away on the laptop to make up for the lost time. You fall back into your work too seeing that there was a good motivator.

On your left side, there’s a small bowl of olives paired with the wine Jihyo delivered to your shared cottage. Jeongguk stares at the bowl, following one of the olives held by your fingers and popped in between your plump lips.

A small puff of air escapes through his nose at your winced expression from the initial burst of flavors, washing it down with a swig of wine.

“Would you like to try?” You push the bowl towards him.

“Didn’t look all that good.” He stares up, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Though small, you detect a teasing tone in his comment.

“It was … different. But!” You perk, “When will we be in Italy again, in a beautiful villa eating olives while working?”

Answer? Never.

Such a ridiculous thought that he reaches into the small ceramic bowl to plop an olive into his mouth. The bitter tang of the small fruit amplifies on his tongue from your expectant stare.

Not unpleasant, but there were plenty of other cuisine choices in Italy worth trying. 

Though, when will Jeon Jeongguk be in Italy again, in a beautiful villa eating olives while working with your melodic laughter resonating in his ears as you scoot your wine glass over to him?

Tongue no longer graced with the olive’s bitterness, a new type of bitterness spreads as Seojun and Jihyo announce they’re headed to the beach.

“How much longer do you need to work?” Jihyo pouts, hands on her hips as she peers down at your laptop. She’s not reading anything you have opened, deeming them unimportant especially when you should be spending time with her.

You offer a sheepish smile, afraid to voice your true thoughts in front of management. Jeongguk keeps his face trained to his screen, brows twitching in an attempt to hide his bemusement.

Had it been anyone else in front of you, you’d throw your hands in the air and say ‘Fuck it.’ But it was Jeongguk … one of the higher-ups you’d always admired — whose opinion you immensely cared for. 

“Uncle …” Seojun frowns. “You promised you weren’t going to work.”

“Code red. Need to take care of this.” Jeongguk explains.

Seojun sighs, the expression resounds his frustration to his uncle’s work habits.

In the short span of time working at the company, you’ve never seen Jeongguk falter; yet, the man seated across from you wavers at his nephew’s disappointment.

“It’ll be quick.” He remedies.

You also know Jeongguk took his time. He’s meticulous and wants everything right the first time around. It appears Seojun knows this too, not taking his promises too seriously, and grunting a small ‘okay’ before he takes Jihyo’s hand to lead them both to the beach.

Jeongguk purses his lips, a vexed expression he doesn’t let linger for long. You shouldn’t meddle with family affairs, but you couldn’t help thinking back to the missed dinners, absent parent recitals, and text messages telling you to not wait up late from your father. 

“Work’s never that important.” The words slip past your mouth before realizing it.

Jeongguk isn’t afraid to voice his response too, seemingly prepared for your judgment. 

“Easy for you to say.” His eyes narrow. “Some people aren’t afforded breaks.”

You take another bite of the olives, hoping the flavor would conceal the shame. The invisible wall between you and Jeongguk grows higher and thicker, making it impossible to penetrate. You refocus on the task at hand. 

Three hours pass with the sound of birds and ocean in the background — the sounds would have been enough for anyone to relax into their work, but all it does is make you yearn for fun. Makes you think anything might be better than being with the man seated across from you. Which is so unlike you when just a week ago, you’d do just about anything to be closer to him in the office. 

Every five minutes, you have to look at the shoreline and the people enjoying the summer rays. It was a good distraction until the envy sets in.

Another deep sigh.

“Go.”

“Huh?” You look up from your laptop. 

“I have access to your document in the shared drive. You won’t be leaving any time soon at the rate you’re moving.” He takes off his glasses, index and thumb pinching and rubbing to relieve himself of any tension. “Go spend some time with Jihyo.”

You almost think it’s a test until he looks at you questioningly for not having moved. You scramble to close out everything after a quick thank you before going back into the cottage to change. You shouldn’t feel guilty as you slip into your swimsuit and cover-up … shouldn’t feel guilty exiting the property, sneaking one final look back at the patio.

You shouldn’t ache the way you do for Jeongguk’s content smile when he nears the lemon tree.

Even Jeon Jeongguk needs breaks too.

You blame the aches from having laid down in the sand for an hour and not at the image of him back at the villa taking on your unfinished work. He made his decision, so why are you still feeling this way? 

“Uncle!” Seojun beams. “You made it.”

At the acknowledgment, you lift your head up and it’s none other than the man who’s plagued your mind since you’ve left the villa. He’s changed into lighter clothing, a short-sleeve button up over his white tank top with some beach shorts. The tight tank top hugs around his figure, ab ridges outlined from his small chuckle. The contraction intensifies when he looks down at you and over your stringy two-piece bikini.

He clears his throat. “Was able to wrap up what I needed to get done for the day.”

“Good.” Seojun replies. “Should enjoy our time while we can.”

Jeongguk’s face falls; immediately, the moment’s swept away when Jihyo calls for Seojun to help her take pictures. 

The older male settles next to you, mindful to not kick up any sand in the process. The couple eventually go to get some refreshments, leaving both you and Jeongguk under the rays of the sun.

He doesn’t say much … actually, he doesn’t say anything as he stares out to the bluest waters. 

“Thank you, Jeongguk.” You say. “You didn’t have to.”

You wonder if your father had acted the same at work, taking on additional workload he didn’t necessarily have to at the expense of missing out on moments in your life.

Jeongguk isn’t your father. He didn’t have obligations to you. Didn’t need to sacrifice his own time for your sake.

The center of a candy was usually the sweetest — perhaps if you keep at it, you’ll discover more of Jeongguk’s sweetness too. 

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Being around Jeongguk has been a tad more tangible now that you’ve spent a few hours together the next couple of days working in the morning, ending the nights over dinner with the couple. 

The next evening, Jihyo has you all crammed in a kitchen for a cooking lesson with a private chef. You’re on garlic peeling duties with Jeongguk, fingers sticky from the essence of the individual cloves, so sure this scent was going to linger on your skin.

Jeongguk remains unaffected, diligently peeling away. At the sight of you rubbing your sticky fingers together, he chuckles.

“Just wash your hands in between.”

The advice works. While you’ve barely peeled half a clove, Jeongguk was already on his second. 

“Did you have ‘pro-garlic peeler’ on your resume?” You try teasing.

He pauses, a small smile on his lips as he continues peeling the cloves.

“My sister had me on garlic peeling duties whenever we cooked.”

As far as you’re aware from Jihyo, the topic of Seojun’s mother was unspoken … only knowing she passed when he was very young. 

You work a little harder peeling the leftover cloves, running your hands under the faucet to rid yourself of the stickiness. The stickiness retained in your chest whenever Jeongguk peers over at your pile of perfectly peeled garlic. It’s retained throughout dinner and the glasses of wine served during and after a meal, following you as the group takes a walk on the beach the night before the rest of the wedding party was scheduled to meet for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow.

Jihyo yawns and announces she’ll head back to the villa to rest. Naturally, Seojun follows along. You expect Jeongguk to do the same, but he sits on the brick wall staring out at the beach.

You tuck your hair behind your ear and a strong, pungent scent greets you. Hand discreetly at the front of your face, you sniff.

“The smell doesn’t leave for a bit.” Jeongguk says. “My sister always recommended lemon juice and a little bit of soap.” 

“Have you tried it?” You ask, tucking your hands underneath you to hide the excitement of Jeongguk initiating a conversation with you. 

He shakes his head, “I like the smell of garlic.”

Be it from the glasses of wine served over dinner, you’re bolder as you ask about his sister. And he’s just as loose-lipped as he recalls memories of her. You learned she was four years older than Jeongguk, her first job was at their aunt and uncle’s convenience store, and they were ultimately left to fend for themselves the moment she had Seojun at eighteen.

Every story, small chuckle, and silence of the memory of his sister only softens the hard, jagged edges around Jeongguk.

“She sounds lovely.”

“She was,” he concedes, “Would’ve loved Italy too.” He speaks into the sea-salted air. He leans back, hands anchoring himself up as he looks up at the clear night sky. “Maybe give her son an earful about marrying too early.” She’d know firsthand how she lost out on her own developmental years as a result of having Seojun early with a man that wanted no part in fatherhood. Though, a small part of Jeongguk knows his sister would’ve adored Jihyo.

Back at the villa’s garden, you make a quick detour to the lemon tree, picking one from the bottom branches.

The lemon doesn’t get used quite yet when you both enter into the stuffy cottage. You and Jeongguk reopen all the windows to let some fresh air in.

You eye the unopened wine bottle — the night’s gone too well to end like this. Lemon placed on the counter, it’s spared and unscathed for the time being as you pop off the cork. 

Wordlessly, you pour and slide the glass over to a receptive Jeongguk.

One glass turns to three over the course of the night. The alcohol loosens the year’s worth of work tension, eyes blinking slowly as he swirls the glass around.

“Do you plan to stay with the company until retirement?” You ask.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“If I have to keep overseeing project leads who can’t make their deadlines.”

Had you both been less drunk and not seated on the high stools of this lovely cottage in Sicily, you’d be more offended. Eyes bemused and lips curved at your exaggerated gasp, Jeongguk brings the glass of wine to his mouth, red staining and deepening the natural shade of pink on his lips.

You’ll take this. It’s a development in comparison to what you’ve experienced in working with the company … not to mention the ride on the gondola. You like this Jeongguk. Where he isn’t going on a tangent about deliverables and Key Performance Indicators.

“What about you?” He asks.

You swallow the last of the wine in your glass. “I’m not sure.”

Honestly, you thought you’d be at another place of employment after your one year anniversary at the company. Yet, you’re still here.

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Answered like a person with one foot out the door.” He shrugs.

“I don’t mind the company.” You pout.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re young. There’s more out there.”

“You’re staying.”

“Never said I was.”

Wait … you hadn’t accounted for the fact of Jeongguk leaving one day. He has so much more years of experience than you, so having a promotion elsewhere would be a cake walk. One of your incentives to stay might disappear one day without warning and it frightens you. 

“The benefits are nice.” You reason. “It’s worth staying for.”

“The benefits are standard. Hm.” He purses his lips. Then, an expression you’ve never once witnessed stretches across his face. “That hot manager Jihyo mentioned can’t be enough incentive to stay.”

“She’s lucky she’s my best friend.” You groan. 

He laughs through his nose, “You’ll know if a company is worth staying for. Don’t be afraid to venture out.”

Friends and family have often told you to look for a higher paying job after every promotion — never concerned whether you’re content with where you’re at.

You find it hard to believe just a couple days ago, Jeongguk was grilling you for being a nepo-baby, and now he’s mentoring you over wine. You take in his words, letting them swirl in your mind before shaking away thoughts of the future. 

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

He nods, taking another small sip, “If only Seojun listened more like that. That brat.” He lowers his head with a fond smile, orbs glimmering like the wine glass caught in the light.

You should hold off from asking any overbearing questions and end tonight on a high note, but that just wasn’t your style.

“Do you not support their marriage?”

“It’s unfavorable.” He sighs. “I’m sure Jihyo’s nice—”

“She is.” You interrupt.

“But she’s reckless and so is my nephew. They didn’t think this through.” A pause. “Doing things out of love only gets you so far.”

If life wasn’t about love, then what could it possibly be about?

He chuckles and mumbles to himself, “She’s too much like her.”

“Huh? Who?” Your brows scrunch from the cryptic words, trying to decipher who he was referring to. Foolish of you to think he’d answer as he gets up and empties his glass of wine into the sink, eyes locked on the counter where the lemon resides.

You were going to ask if he’d like to use the lemon too; though, he beats you to your question when he tucks in the stool.

“Get some rest, we have a long day tomorrow.”

You exert all your energy into the lemon, squeezing and wringing out the halved fruit to distract you of the confusion. Have you pushed for too much? Were you out of line wanting to know more about Jeongguk? You hope the lingering thoughts of your cottage mate disappears with the garlic stench after a thorough soak. 

After your shower, you take one last peek at his door and the light emitting from the small slit persists even through the late hours. Was he still working or also plagued with the thoughts of tonight’s conversation?

It’s a little past midnight when you emerge into the kitchen again to get a glass of water only to notice a slightly ajar front door.

101 Dumb Ways to Die would commend you and your efforts to close the door. Your fingers touch the doorknob, ready to twist and secure the locks. 

You die a little inside when you spot a figure outside near the lemon tree.

Jeongguk. 

He sits there, staring at his hands before he lifts one of them up to his face. A small sniff, then his hand falls onto his lap again.

You lean against a nearby wall, hand clutching the glass of water close to your chest.

He bends down from his seated position and grabs a fallen lemon, uncaring if it came from the top or the bottom branch. Suddenly, he stands up and makes his way back to the cottage again.

“Fuck!” You whisper yell, scrambling to go back to your room but your foot catches onto your other ankle and you’re sent flying to the floor with the glass of water held close to your chest to brace the fall and potential damage.

Aside from a wet shirt and the bruise forming on your knee, the glass was still intact. What wasn’t intact was your pride as Jeongguk opens the door to find you laying on your side.

His eyes widen, immediately crouching down to check your conditions. “Are you okay?” 

You could fake an episode of sleepwalking and walk back to your room, wet shirt and all, but then you’ll be labeled as the colleague who sleepwalks.

“Oof,” You grab his extended hand, the one without the lemon, and pull yourself up to a sitting position. “Y-yeah, um, just wanted some water.” You peer down at the pool of water around you and flush harder.

He grabs a nearby cloth to clean up the mess and when he’s done, he holds his hand out again, “Can you stand?”

You nod, hand engulfed in his warmth as he tugs you up along with him. You walk stiffly next to him and thank him after he hands you a spare towel in the kitchen. 

You should return to your room to nurse your broken pride; yet, your feet stay planted as Jeongguk gets out the cutting board.

“Oh, there’s still half a lemon in the fridge.” 

Nodding, he retrieves the lemon and he squeezes the sliced half with ease. He dips his fingers in first, spreading the juice all over his hands and in between the crevices just as you did. You watch his fingers spread the juices all over the top of his veiny hands, light from the kitchen emulating the glisten on his skin.

A tingly sensation starts at your fingertips and you clench your fists tightly before it travels up your arms, unsure why your body is reacting at the simple act.

God, did you hit your head on something during the fall? 

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, breaking you out of your daze.

You blink, body automatically moving around to check for any soreness. High knees in place and a twist to your side, you confirm your health condition. You do one last stretch, intertwining your fingers and reaching up to the ceiling.

All’s well, so it seems.

Actually, no.

The action lifts your camisole, exposing the lower half of your stomach. Jeongguk’s gaze dips to your full hips and areas where the sun can’t fully reach. 

“Yeah, all good.” You swallow, arms coming down and holding your hands behind your back.

Lights shut off, you and Jeongguk make your way back to your bedrooms, steps heavier as you near your door. 

Suddenly, your hand reaches out, weak fingers wrapped around his wrist. He looks down at you with a raised brow, unmoving, so you tighten your grip around him. 

“I saw you outside.” You confess, voice small and hesitant. “Are you okay?”

Jeongguk didn’t owe you an answer. But after all the time spent leading up to this moment, you think something should’ve changed by now. 

His jaw clenches, eyes swirling with a mixture of uncertainty and discomfort as he considers the option of being honest.

He purses his lips and shakes his head no. 

Be it your underdeveloped prefrontal lobe or your innate desire to fix a troubled man, your fingers tighten around his wrist.

“Is there something I can do–” The latter part of your question gets cut short at another shake of his head. 

Your default solution is to deflect and lessen the embarrassment with cynicalism and a humorless laugh. “I know you hate me and all–”

He laughs, too — the dullness masking the irritability behind your unfinished statement.

“I don’t hate you.” He pauses and ponders his next words. “Whatever I’m going through right now has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”

Maybe … if you do make it about you, Jeongguk might forget about his bigger worries. The day has gone so well and all your effort’s about to be undone with what you do next. You step closer, gleaning at his reaction and any indication of his repulsion from your proximity.

“If we didn’t work at the same company, how would you feel about me then?” You ask.

His stare darkens. Pattern recognition from all the other fleeting moments in Italy only pushes you to do something you’d never have the courage to in a professional environment where you’d both break all code of conduct. 

What happens in Italy, stays in Italy … right?

“We’d get along.” You answer for him.

“We’d be strangers.” He corrects. “I don’t need twenty year old friends listening to my problems.”

Good thing you’re not twenty and good thing you don’t want to be friends with Jeongguk. In the span of this conversation, you and Jeongguk now share the same air and warmth as you press your front to his hard chest. He doesn’t pull away from your softness whether it be through the silky camisole, your nature, or exposed skin … he lets himself soak in what you offer him.

And when you tip-toe closer to his face, he doesn’t move, allowing you to do as you like despite all signs in his head telling him to turn you away.

“We’d get along.” You repeat, eyes bold and hopeful as you stare into his hooded ones. “You’d let me help you forget about your problems.”

Cause you’d create new ones for Jeon Jeongguk as you press your lips to his. 

The original hold you had on his wrist ceases as your nimble fingers find refuge on the ends of his cotton shirt. Your thighs tense from the vibrations of his small groan, the pleasure pangs intensifying when his hands cup your jaw. Lips soft and so rightfully slotted on yours, your eyes flutter shut and embrace the abundant hues of yellow and green similar to the villa’s lemon tree. 

The crisp citrus scent from his fingers warms and melts you further into his lips. He parts his mouth slightly, and for a moment, just a moment … you hope he’d run his tongue on yours.

Your hope gets wringed out like the used lemons residing in the wastebin the exact moment he says your name and pulls away, chest moving in tandem with his strained breaths. 

“This isn’t right.” He breathes, swallowing as he steps back to create some space between your bodies.

“I–”

“Goodnight.”

His door shuts, no different than how he shuts you out of the life you hoped to get a better glimpse of. Your fingers trace your lips, remembering how he felt against you before he took everything including your pride with him. You also shut your door, only bringing humiliation and rejection back in with you.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

You barely slept. 

Instead, you chose to put in the extra work you needed to meet your deliverables for your client. You locked yourself in the bedroom — rather brave through the shitty internet connection until it was time to meet up with the rest of the bridal party who arrived last night.  

“So,” Yebin starts, “I hear the best man is a hottie and you’re staying in the same cottage as him?”

You splutter into your drink, quickly grabbing the napkin on your lap to dab away the cascading liquid on your chin.

“Uh, wha–”

“Jihyo mentioned it in the group chat. What? Been too busy with him to catch up in the thread?” She wiggles her brows with a playful grin.

You push your body forward to give Jihyo a tiny glare. She sits prettily at the top of the table, the only person wearing white while the rest of you were in different variations of yellow to match the wedding theme.

“What?” She says with a mouthful. “He is objectively handsome. Not a surprise, I mean, look at my Seojun.”

“Isn’t he in his forties?” Another one of the girls asks.

“Thirty-seven.” Jihyo corrects. “We celebrated his birthday recently.”

“Basically forty.” Yebin retorts and turns back to you. “So what’s he like?”

You’re thankful for the soft breeze in the midst of Italy’s humid summer — helps you cool the sweat sitting uncomfortably on your skin, both from the rising afternoon temperatures and last night’s memories. 

“He’s … fine.” You pause and try to come up with other adjectives to better describe him, ultimately coming short and resorting to a foolproof excuse. “We haven’t really spoken.”

“Oh, please. Aside from his nephew, Jeongguk’s more friendly with you than he has been to me.”

Yeah, ‘cause you also work in the same building as him forty hours a week for the past year, but no one here needs to know that. The conversation eventually shifts over to Jihyo’s wedding itinerary, makeup and hair plans, and what the other girls plan to do after the wedding dinner rehearsal. You enjoyed your time in the smaller group, but you also valued the community the other girls brought in this part of the trip. You visit the nearby boutiques, splurge on things you could most definitely find back at home, because … when were you going to be in Italy with your girls again?

“Remember, be there at 8 p.m. The venue’s gates close five minutes after.” Jihyo reminds.

“Yes, ma’am. Got it marked down in our calendars.” Yebin yawns, still slightly jetlagged and ready for a much needed nap after the day’s festivities. You and Jihyo drop off the girls at the front of their hotel and begin the walk back to the villa. Would’ve been quicker to take a cab, but Jihyo wanted to walk off her second gelato and you didn’t mind not being in the same vicinity as your cottage mate all that soon.

“You nervous for tomorrow?” You ask, steps slowing as you both near the villa.

“No,” she smiles fondly at a passing thought. “But I am anxious for the future. Don’t know how long it’ll be till my parents want to talk to me.”

You’ve thought about the times you’ve fought with your parents — nothing as big as marrying someone they didn’t approve of. Hopefully Jihyo’s parents will come around. Love, from a parent at least, should be unconditional. 

She reads your thoughts with a chuckle and nudge to your shoulder. “Hey, I’m okay. It’s me and Seojun against the world.”

“They’ll come around.” You reassure. “You also have your friends too, so you’re never alone.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

“And then, the maid of honor and best man will walk here.” Violetta, the wedding planner, points down the long stretch to the altar. 

She looks over to the group, trying to single out the girl with that title since Jeongguk was the only male aside from the groom. You step out, having avoided Jeongguk all day with the wedding party, there are just some things you can’t avoid.

You avoid looking at the older man, keeping your stares locked on the wedding planner and aisle markings.

“Oh, to be maid of honor.” Yebin mumbles jokingly and the group of girls erupt into a small fit of giggles.

Jeongguk pays no mind and extends his arm for you to hold. Practice. Yes, this was still a rehearsal. You might’ve imagined his tense inhale as you press your body closer, breast pushing against his arm to see if the action could produce a similar sound or reaction.

Nothing.

After the rehearsal, you and Jeongguk still avoid each other like the plague, unwilling to address the elephant in the room. You try to sleep, tossing and turning all night until you made the executive decision for some much needed fresh air.

Part of you worries Jeongguk might also be outside, claiming the lemon tree as his area of respite. Can’t be his if you claimed it first. Unfortunately, the spot was occupied … not by him at least.

Pulling the metal chair, Seojun looks up, startled, but relaxes at the sight of a familiar face.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks.

“Yeah. Too stuffy in the cottage.” You lie, unwilling to admit the actual source of your unrest. “You?”

“Yeah.” He looks into the distance, worries swirling in his orbs. “I think my uncle’s right.”

Your brows pull together, head tilting in confusion.

“We’re too rash. Jihyo’s parents might never speak to her again and it’s all my fault. And I,” Seojun begins to crumble at the weight of his realization. “I don’t know if I’m enough for her to lose everything.”

You know more than anyone that there are some things money and power can’t buy. Jihyo wasn’t risking anything because Seojun was everything. Because if life wasn’t about love, then what was it about?

“You’re enough for Jihyo.”

“Uncle said–”

“Screw what Jeongguk thinks.” You interrupt, gasping at your sudden abrasiveness. “Wait, I don’t mean any offense to your uncle …”

His laugh could’ve woken up the entire villa, but you’re thankful to see this side of him in comparison to how he was a moment ago. 

“No, no,” he chuckles, “I know he’s not the most likeable person.”

“He’s not … awful.”

Seojun nods, tilting his head down to conceal a tender smile you’ve witnessed whenever he was around Jihyo — now you understand those were reserved for his loved ones. “He used to be different … lighter, does that even make sense?”

You agree, waiting for Seojun’s next words.

“Uncle was fun.” You learn how Jeongguk would take little Seojun to the zoo every year because his mother would be too busy with work, along with the late night video game sessions he would partake in despite his busy university schedule.

“He was in his second year of university preparing to study abroad … I don’t know much, but something didn’t work out and another student was chosen instead of him. Mom worked hard so that she could support uncle and his dreams.”

“Worked too hard — damn workaholics.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know he means well not wanting me to rush into things without a proper safety net.”

You think back to a younger Jeongguk navigating life alone with a young child … he couldn’t have been any older than you — a baby raising another baby with no one to turn to.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” Seojun shakes away some thoughts, “I didn’t mean to dump all of this on you. I’m sure you’re tired–”

“No, no,” You wave your hands. “I don’t mind. You’re marrying my best friend and whether her family or Jeongguk approves, it doesn’t matter. I’ve seen how happy you make her — how relaxed she is around you.” You offer a warm and comforting smile to which Seojun returns at the mention of your friend. “We’re both in this for Jihyo’s happiness. You deserve to be happy too.” 

“Yeah, we do.” He replies, shoulders sagging in relief.

You linger outside a little longer after Seojun’s departure, begrudgingly going back into the cottage. Before entering your room, you take one look at Jeongguk’s room, noting the small sliver of light from underneath his door.

You think back to all the late nights waiting for your father’s lights to turn off … wondering when you’d be enough for his attention. And as you shut your door to your room, you hope that was enough to garner Jeongguk’s attention too. 

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Jihyo loved everything about yellow. Loved the song by Coldplay and loved her flowers yellow — thinks she saw yellow when she met Seojun. Her bridesmaid dresses had to be yellow, as with everything in the wedding.

You see yellow everywhere too: the sand in the distance, wedding favors in the form of bagged perle di sole candies, and the boutonniere pinned on the left side of Jeongguk’s vest.

Yellow blurs around you during the ceremony, tearful gazes exchanged with the other bridesmaids. 

Jihyo had always centered her world around her friendships — no man has ever been enough to pull her away from that value. Though, as she stands across from Seojun, her hands in his, it seemed as though nothing could’ve pried them apart from each other’s gravitational pulls. Your eyes peer over the wedding attendees, taking in their expectant stares and proud smiles — even Jeongguk seemed to have softened at the sight. 

When it was time for the vows, you hand them over to Jihyo from behind, who took them without turning around, eyes still locked onto her soon-to-be husband.

She takes a steadying breath before speaking: “Seojun. These past years with you have been the happiest of my life. I could’ve never imagined meeting anyone like you. Now, I won’t call you my best friend, because that spot is taken and I think my lovely maid of honor might have some things to say about that–” The wedding party sounded a collective chuckle. You smile to yourself, eyes instinctively finding Jeongguk’s, who had already been looking your way in confirmation of your title.

“But I’m so happy to have found you, that I’m able to call you my friend, lover, and now, husband. I know a lot of people thought we were rushing into this, and they might be right. It is early, but I’ve never been as certain about anything as I am about wanting to spend the rest of my life with you. Seojun, you are the most wonderful and kindest person — better than I can ever hope to deserve, I love you.” Her voice had become increasingly more unstable as she went and she quickly wiped her eyes, not wanting to ruin her bridal make-up. Seojun wasn’t fairing any better, softly cupping her cheek and kissing her lips, whispering a small gratitude to her.

“Excuse me?” The officiant interrupts. “We’re not quite there yet.” 

Laughing, the pair separates and refocuses their attention back to the ceremony. You turn to your fellow bridesmaids after hearing a quiet sniffle from Yebin. You carefully lean back into her, nudging her shoulder in comfort. 

“Jihyo, you son of a bitch.” The girl mutters, dotting the corner of her eye with a tissue. 

You chuckle, moving back into your position after assessing everyone’s conditions.

When you find the confidence to check on Jeongguk, he’s just as affected and politely turns away from the couple to hide his emotions.

At the wedding reception, you watch Jihyo and her husband dance to every song on their playlist, joined by their guests, eventually being the last ones standing as the night progresses. The ache on the soles of your feet grow by the hour, and you find yourself sitting alone, nursing your drink and watching your best friend soak in happiness.

Yellow persists in the form of strung lights on the small dance floor. Though, a new opponent, green, enters when you catch some wedding guests approaching an unsuspecting Jeongguk.

As the maid of honor, you should stay for the night even if it’s nearing 2 a.m. Selfishly, you can’t bring yourself to. You tell Jihyo you’re not feeling well and that you’re going to walk back to the cottage to rest. She looks at you with concern, but she nods and asks you to text her once you’ve made it back.

Ten steps out the venue, you hear some whistles and chuckles. Shit. You walk quicker and a slimy hand wraps around your wrist.

The men smile at you, saying something you can’t really decipher. If all fails after your persistent ignorance to the Italian language, your heels make an excellent weapon of defense.

“C'è un problema?” A familiar voice says in the distance.

Immediately, the man releases your wrist and holds his hands up. The group of men shuffles away, mumbling to themselves as they look back at your savior.

“You okay?” Jeongguk asks.

“Yep.” You answer quickly, steps resuming in the direction of the villa.

Jeongguk follows closely behind you, silent as he has been all night.

“Aren’t you supposed to stay with the bride? Maid of honor duties.”

“Aren’t you supposed to stay with the groom? Best man duties.” You retort with no malice.

“Touché.” He contemplates his next words. “I’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”

Your brows furrow, and an immature part of you assumes you’re the reason for his early departure. He quickly follows up with, “There’s a fire I have to put out at work.”

The bitter memories of your father leaving for work resurfaces again. Would it be so awful to not think about work and be with his loved ones?

You wave off those feelings and express your gratitude instead. “Thanks for helping me back there. You never mentioned knowing Italian.”

Would’ve come in handy during the ample times you all had to order food, but this was not the right moment to joke. 

“Studied some basic phrases before going abroad. Didn’t end up in Italy though.”

You freeze a little, remembering the small detail Seojun mentioned the night before about Jeongguk’s missed opportunity. 

Silence takes over and continues even as you both face your bedroom doors.

“Jeongguk.” You say, before he enters his room. “I hope what happened between us doesn’t impact our work. Please forget it happened — I’m truly ashamed and sorry.”

He nods, jaw clenched and tense. 

“Have a safe flight home. See you in the office.” No other words are needed in your retreat back into your room.

The knot at the back of your neck strains and you can’t wait to finally shed your makeup, tight bun, and dress.

You [2:18 a.m.]: Made it to the cottage 💛 Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: GOOD Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: JEONGGU SAI HES HEDIN TO COTT TO Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: ILY Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: im drun

You smile at your phone, typing a quick reply and before you hit enter, you hear a knock on your door.

Door swung open, your eyes widen at the sight of Jeongguk, tie loose around his neck and hair tussled as if he ruminated for an eternity before knocking your door.

“It’s been nice with you in Italy.” His arm from behind comes to the front with a small object. You remember it from your last day in Venice: the green masquerade mask. “Safe travels home.”

You take the little green mask in your hands, frown deepening at the sentiment.

“Why would you get this for me?” You ask.

His tongue probes against his cheek, eyes coming down to look at your figure in your yellow halter dress. The same fleeting stares you’ve grown accustomed to in the time spent in Italy, unaware these glances have always existed without your knowledge back at home. He laughs through his nose and shakes his head.

He brings his eyes back to your face. “You’re a smart girl, graduated with honors and all … so think a little harder for me.”

You shake your head, afraid of the aftermath of another wrong move that could jeopardize your heart.

“I don’t know if I can …”

Leaders take the initiative — you’re nowhere near that point in your career and life. Jeongguk recognizes this too, which is why he walks you backwards into the room. His fingers trace the intricate beadings on the mask still in your hands.

“Here, we’re just two people who met through the people we love. No roles or responsibilities. I only know you as Jihyo’s friend. You’re just … you, and I’m just Jeongguk.”

“And who are you, Jeongguk?” You place the mask onto a nearby dresser, eyes never leaving the man in front of you.

He looks down at you again, a type of stare only capable of burning and tainting every inch of your being. He’s afraid to admit who he really is — what he actually wants, knowing he can’t fully have even if it was ready for him to take. Though, with only a couple hours to spare in Italy, he wants to use what little time he has on an experience he would never let himself indulge in back at home.

It’s what vacations are meant for, right?

“Someone that wants your help. Someone that wants to finish what you started two nights ago.” He answers.

It doesn’t make sense with you — he doesn’t make sense with you just like when he leans down to press his lips on yours. The kiss is punishing, no colors of yellow like the kiss from two nights ago. Yellow is only meant for lovers and Jeongguk is no lover. Would be the only logical reason you’d now see black and blue  — colors of old bruises and wounds left unattended for too long, and Jeongguk has far too many to count. 

“Fuck,” He says in between kisses, shrugging off his vest, “Tell me to stop.”

You whimper, shaking your head and looping your arms over his neck to bring him closer. He pushes his tongue past your lips, savoring the way you moan around and suck on his wet muscle. 

The only thing that makes sense is how your dress, the only yellow left, needs to come off. Your hands move behind your neck to undo the tight knot, letting the top fall down your front. Taking Jeongguk’s large hands, you take note of their softness, like sand — so malleable and so much harder to hold. You place them on your breasts instead. 

He groans, the sound so painful and full of want to give into his desires.

“This can’t mean anything.” He says through a harsh breath. “You know that, right?”

“It’s okay.” You reply, moaning again as the pressure from his hands increases. “I’m … I’m okay with that.”

You’re not and Jeongguk knows this too. He’s aware of the subtle glances in the time he’s worked with you, your shift in demeanor when he enters a room, and how your eyes search for his approval when none was ever needed. He knows you won’t be okay with this just being a one night stand or quick fuck, but it has to be because you and Jeongguk don’t make sense.

Not under the dull fluorescent lights of the company building, not in Italy.

His teeth grazes your skin, leaving a trail of pain and pleasure behind its wake. You quiver and his body presses harder against yours in panic that if he leaves any space in between, the distance would only grow should he second-guess. 

Dress bunched up at your midsection, he turns you away, eyes immediately landing where your mistake from your teenage years resided right above your pert ass. 

Was this going to be another mistake too?

Your hands brace yourself on the dresser, arching from his hand tracing down your back and down your ass. He pauses and waits for your nod to proceed. Palm up, he runs his hand over the pathetic cloth you’d call your underwear now completely soaked through and scrunched to the side of your pussy.

He sucks in a breath, “Kissing gets you like this, hm?”

You shudder, praying he eventually moves. His middle finger probes gently at your sodden folds, gathering your arousal. He stays doing this for a couple minutes, listening to your soft sighs, wondering when you’d begin to beg for him to continue.

And when you don’t ask for more, it aggravates him realizing he’s the one who needs more out of something that’s supposed to be meaningless. As the older adult, he should be the gentleman with better restraint, but he’s here in your room seeking something he can’t find anywhere else:

A distraction from all the buried guilt and pain — for once, he wants to win.

He somehow gets you perched on the dresser, head between your thighs as he eats you out both as a punishment and reward. The bottom half of your dress hangs over the side of your hips, thighs spread wide open as Jeongguk thrusts his tongue into your cunt.

He knows this is just sex … worse that you’re a younger colleague whom he has vehemently denied his attractions for. But he’s here in Italy where he’s tasted olives, rinsed his memories of past loved ones with citrus … he should enjoy this trip — enjoy you. Because when was Jeongguk going to be in Italy again fucking you in a shared cottage?

“Jeong–fuck, m-yeah, right there.” You cheer, fingers carding through his hair.

Your encouragement only spurs him on to work harder, lapping over your swollen clit until you tense and cease all noise in concentration for the impending orgasm. It’s all over when you fight his hold and win the battle with your legs clamped tightly around his head. You cum with a small sob, thighs shaking around him as he continues to eat you out.

He replaces his tongue with two fingers, lazily pumping his digits in you while he kisses your lips with the taste of you still on his tongue. Meanwhile, you fumble clumsily with his buttons and zipper, jaded by how much you want him.

He’s just as eager, moaning and grinding his cock into your hand when you’ve finally freed him of his confinements. 

Hoisting you in his arms, he brings you to the edge of your bed, groaning at how you automatically spread wider on the softer surface. So ready for him to do more with you until he realizes:

“Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

You hold yourself up with your forearms, legs still spread wide open for him despite his hesitance to move forward. His teeth sink onto his bottom lip, troubled dimples appearing as he stares at your glistening pussy clenching around nothing. 

“I’m on birth control.” You assure and add, “You can pull out if you want.”

What’s another bad idea added into the pile?

He strokes over his length, squeezing harder at the tip and lines himself up. You whine and circle your hips from the hard poke at your entrance, arousal coating his bare cock. He doesn’t push himself in just yet, watching as a bead of precum smears at your opening … a silent territorial marking. 

You’re his for tonight.

His thumb lands on your clit, rubbing it up and down. You keen, eyes shutting to concentrate on the added stimulation around the bundle of nerves.

“You’ve always been too rash on your decisions.” He pushes the tip of his cock into you, teeth biting the inside of his cheek. “Gotta work on that.” As if he’s not about to make an irrevocable mistake himself.

“High risk, high rewards … r-right?” You stammer through a shaky breath as he pushes more of him into you, uncaring that there’d been little to no prep. But that doesn’t matter, all your fantasies were coming true at this very moment and you’ll take whatever he gives you.

He gives you two more orgasms. One with your ankles by his ears. The other one where you lay on your side, memorizing the way his fingers dig into your skin as he pumps his thick shaft into you. You hike your knee closer to your chest to allow him to sink even deeper into you, hitting a specific spot repeatedly to burn figments of stars behind your lids.

The room’s hot and musty — didn’t help that neither of you remembered to air out the cottage upon arrival, but no one cared about that at the moment. Your sweat gathers behind your knees and drips down the slope of your thighs as Jeongguk continues fucking you into the mattress with an intense need.

“Gonna cum.” He announces, jaw going slack as his balls grow heavy with the need to release. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“Want you to cum for me.” You nod, and the slapping of his skin on yours grows as he moves quicker and harder. 

You moan, brows scrunched in anticipation for Jeongguk to pull out and the feeling of being stuffed full by him will cease all together. And through your past experiences with other men, sex typically ends once they cum, so you ready yourself for the mirage to end — ready yourself to face reality again. Your lower half relaxes, waiting for him to turn your body so that he could unload everything on your stomach.

Two things happen.

He pushes deep inside you, stilling as he fills you with his arousal.

Hands soft as sand, cradle your jaw for a searing kiss to conceal words he shouldn’t utter to a colleague, let alone a direct report.

Minutes pass like this and you come to find out: sex doesn’t stop when Jeongguk finishes inside you.

He lays down next to you and hoists your body on top of his, movements swift in slipping his sensitive cock back into your cum-filled hole. He hisses, fighting through the overstimulation in acceptance of the punishment for all the terrible acts he’s committed with you. Again, both a punishment and a reward as he lets you ride him, watching the way your hips roll smoothly over his. Your mixed juices trail down his length and over his balls the more you move and bounce.

He doesn’t tell you to give him another orgasm, knowing you’re working hard to get there again. 

“Don’t wanna stop. Wanna do this with you all night long.” Your breath hitches as the pleasure shifts into a type of pain no one can see. And no matter how you try to fight the physical effects of the hardest orgasm of your life, your body gives into the exhaustion and slumps over Jeongguk’s sweaty body.

In your slumber, you feel the sand, the breeze, and the absence of another human body. The next morning only proves your reality when you wake up clothed and sore from last night’s affair … with Jeongguk nowhere in sight.

You frown, tucking the sheets closer to your chin and watching the tree branches scrape against your opened window. The air in the room was no longer stuffy, ridding any evidence of what you and Jeongguk did.

Summers in Italy were magical. 

Though, the fact stands: magic was nothing but illusions, deluding you from the truth. And you feigned indifference when Jihyo tells you Jeongguk had gone home for an important project — you ignored the hurt and betrayal. You had never been enough for your father to come home, so it was easy to turn a blind eye at the heaviness in your stomach from the thoughts of hoping you’d be enough to make Jeongguk stay.

Another couple of days in Italy go by with those illusions till the truth sets in the day you return to work.

A couple coworkers stop you on the way to your cubicle, asking you for a trip recap. Your debrief takes longer as intended — half due to wanting to avoid work and the other half as a result of your efforts to leave out key details of a certain someone. 

You could’ve taken another path to your desk — one that kept you from the usual ajar door. Perhaps the magic followed you back home and you’ve alluded to think Jeongguk’s stares trail after your figure when you walked past his office.

The magical illusions continue as you settle into your cube, a bright yellow sticky note on your keyboard with a familiar handwriting reads: Lunch at Romano’s. - J

Even if the center of the candy happened to be sour, you have to see through it — you want to see through it.

fin.

a/n: missed me? cuz i’ve been missenU. ahh, ahh?? 🥹 i’ll see yall in about 1-2 months with something new! in the meantime, go send your well wishes to the bday girlie!! toodles ♡

also s/o to my bestie @takeitawaykenny for beta’ing!! love ya pookie

**no part two or sequel to this!🚫💋**

[lovieku]

i am THEEEEEEE ABSOLUTEEEEE luckiest girl alive!!!!!!!!! cause what do you mean my best friend, the one and only, my favorite writer ever, my mentor and light MISSENU!!!! spend her precious time writing this magnificent piece of literature for MY BDAY??!?!???!!!!!??? like do you all get how insane this is i really hope u do understand the gravity of this situation…..

i am always amazed and in awe of missie’s writing but she’s reached peak levels with this fic !!! i was so enthralled and hypnotised the very moment i started reading, it’s an immediate pull inside this summery, bittersweet world and i wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. missie reads my soul 🥹😮‍💨 truly so honored that i could be even the smallest reason why this fic exists, cause the rest of the world needs to be bathed in these yellow rays of love in all its forms as well Oh my god… 🥹 thee hottest fucking dilf jk EVA and thee cutest sweetest oc EVA guys all i can say is Please read this but don’t be too jealous of me … 😼😼

i love you so bad my bff and i will never stop thanking you for everything you are to me 🩷

[lovieku]

BEST MISTAKE ⋆ 정국

you've tried, but you can't help yourself from crushing on your best friend's dad. hot, buff, tatted up and successful, mr. jeon is the starring actor in all of your wettest dreams. and as you wake up from one while sleeping over at his house after his daughter's birthday party, you don't expect all of them to suddenly come true. but they do.

⌗ repost. originally posted as OLDER. from the grande series.

pairing: dilf!jk x inexperienced!fem reader

genre: smut, angst, dilf au, best friend's father au

contents: porn with some lots of plot, age gap (oc 21 | jk 38), dom jk, sub reader, voyeurism, messy blow job, fingering, oral (f receiving), bit of tit play (small chested reader yayy), two (2) spanks, unprotected sex, cum eating, dirty talk, a bit of degradation, but also praise, pet names, ANGST :P, she falls first he falls harder??? but miscommunication sadly, forbidden love

word count: 17.4k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Have it, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never have I ever been fingered.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never have I ever given head.

Never have I ever been ate out.

Never have I ever rode someone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never have I ever… had sex.”

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

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

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

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

“Nothing, but—”

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

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

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

“C’mon, tell us!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeongguk’s eyes meet yours immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeongguk wants you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can’t just stand there doing nothing anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, it’s just the two of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s a gone man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeongguk instantly reads your thoughts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Yes, Mr. Jeon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Relief washes over you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jeongguk? Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

“I'm not, baby. I'm just thinking.”

“About?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you? You feel tainted, too.

[wintrbears]

Broke me in the best way possible. This is one of those fics that lingers inside your mind and never leaves 🤧

[lovieku]

YOOOOO you’re lying i’m honored 😮‍💨🥹 thank u lotssss for this 🫶🏻🩷 don’t you worry i can also do fluff (sometimes 🙏🏼)

[lovieku]

Hold onnnn I JUST realized you wrote Best Mistake. I forgot to reblog it after reading it way back when so I couldn’t remember the name or author, but when I tell you, I think about that fic ALL. THE. TIME.

I hate sad endings, so I was initially upset about how it went down, but after mulling it over for some time, I actually think it’s the perfect ending and truly the only ending that fits. It’s so bittersweet and heartbreaking, but man is it GOOD. I’m so happy I found it/you again!

ARE YOU SERIOUSSSSS!!!! oh reading this makes me sooo happy hehe i know a lot of people were a bit upset with the ending but, as you said, i truly feel like it’s the only ending that made sense for them 🥹 sometimes what our heart wants is not what’s best for the rest of the people involved 💔

thank u so much for this!!!! 🩷🩷🩷

[lovieku]

BEST MISTAKE ⋆ 정국

you've tried, but you can't help yourself from crushing on your best friend's dad. hot, buff, tatted up and successful, mr. jeon is the starring actor in all of your wettest dreams. and as you wake up from one while sleeping over at his house after his daughter's birthday party, you don't expect all of them to suddenly come true. but they do.

⌗ repost. originally posted as OLDER. from the grande series.

pairing: dilf!jk x inexperienced!fem reader

genre: smut, angst, dilf au, best friend's father au

contents: porn with some lots of plot, age gap (oc 21 | jk 38), dom jk, sub reader, voyeurism, messy blow job, fingering, oral (f receiving), bit of tit play (small chested reader yayy), two (2) spanks, unprotected sex, cum eating, dirty talk, a bit of degradation, but also praise, pet names, ANGST :P, she falls first he falls harder??? but miscommunication sadly, forbidden love

word count: 17.4k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Have it, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never have I ever been fingered.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never have I ever given head.

Never have I ever been ate out.

Never have I ever rode someone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never have I ever… had sex.”

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

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

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

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

“Nothing, but—”

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

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

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

“C’mon, tell us!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeongguk’s eyes meet yours immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeongguk wants you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can’t just stand there doing nothing anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, it’s just the two of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s a gone man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeongguk instantly reads your thoughts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Yes, Mr. Jeon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow audibly at the accusation, and you can feel your eyes water once again, biting your lips to conceal the shame.

He only grins amusedly at your state, the tip of his tongue coming out to play with his lower lip. The hand on your leg now forces it to move to the side, his face only getting closer to yours, his tone deeper, "I've thought about licking it up, you know? But then I always stopped myself, because I knew I'd get to taste your pretty, wet pussy.”

You gasp, a shaky moan leaving you uncontrollably, and your fingers hover over his figure, wanting to find support in him but unsure whether to touch him.

He finds your mouth in a short kiss, almost reassuring, but he’s back to spitting sins the moment he lowers his face between your spread legs, and the way he looks up at you is almost scandalous. He looks devilish, his orbs visible through his lashes, his tongue wetting his lips. He takes your uncertain hand and places it between his tousled hair, directing himself to you, instructing you how to use him.

He presses a peck above your clit, still drinking in your reactions, his smile wicked, “I knew you’d crumble soon. You little minx. Going after your best friend’s dad. So naughty.”

Your head is thrown backwards at his words, ones that only add to the pleasure that takes over you when he latches at your pussy, the wet sounds ungodly.

The shame and guilt mixing in the back of your mind generate a profane sense of bliss you’d never think you could reach, and even though deep down you feel dirty being confronted with the truth he sputtered out so easily, you can’t help getting off to it right now.

Jeongguk is ravenous as he finds your drenched lips, lapping furiously at them and drinking the juice that continuously drips out. He flicks the tip of his tongue up and down your swollen clit, and your hand that he himself put on top of his head now tugs at his curls, forcing him closer to you. He’s trapped, your legs squeezing around his head, his nose nuzzled in your slit, and he can’t stop the hand that reaches to stroke his pleading dick.

You think you hear him mumble something along the lines of taste so good as he teases your hole with his wet muscle, and you’re a gone woman the moment you look down, your eyes fluttering open.

His own are closed, brows furrowed in deep concentration, his nose relentlessly grinding against your sensitive nub, and the way he seems so affected by the act of pleasuring you breaks something inside you.

You feel it begin to crumble when his tattooed hand reaches up to lift your top just enough to expose your breasts, nipples hardening with the cold air and the stimulation, and you swear they hurt deliciously when he starts kneading at your boob, fondling it with care.

The deep hum generated from his throat vibrates against you, and the flick of his thumb around the center of your tit matched with the way your clit is being continuously abused unexpectedly leads you to your orgasm.

It’s fast, unannounced, and you find support in his hair, your body taking over your brain and relentlessly grinding against Jeongguk’s face, suffocated between you, unable to stop reaching for the heavenly, and so awaited high.

Your whines are frantically high pitched, but the moment he feels you cum all over his mouth everything around him disappears except you, and all he cares about is slurping you, drinking you as you let it all out because of him.

He pants, breathless, opening his eyes to witness your climax, to admire you breaking under his doings, chest swelling with pride and a primal sense of protectiveness.

When he hears you whimper the more he keeps sucking on your clit, your slim fingers pulling at his locks, he finally lifts himself up.

On the path he follows to come back up to meet your face, he finds your nipple with a sweet kiss, his tongue teasing your nub, and he smiles against it, teeth gently pinching it. When seeking with his eyes for your reaction he sees your own rolling back. Next, his mouth is on yours, smearing your wetness all over your lips and mixing it with his spit on your tongue, connecting in a frantic, hungry dance.

His forehead rests against yours when he breaks the kiss, breaths heavy, the lazy grin on his face the only thing you can focus on, hanging on his gentle words, “Did so good, babe. Came so hard all over me.”

Your eyes inevitably fall down to his cock, painfully hard against his stomach, the tip angry and slicked with precum.

You feel your core buzz, kissing him to conceal the unshameful desire building up so fast again, but still you can’t help from mumbling against him, “Wan’ you to fuck me.”

The hum of pleasure coming from his throat reverberates on your lips, and he smiles at your confession. Even chuckles, one hand resting at your hip and sliding you closer.

“That what you want, baby?” Your legs wrapping around him, he kisses along your neck and travels to your collarbones, leaving small bites to keep himself from marking you like he truly wants to.

He slips his palms under your thighs and lifts you up the counter effortlessly, your legs squeezing tighter around him in order to keep yourself balanced. The new position has his cock perfectly meeting your core, your slit brushing against his tip as he walks you two over the living room couch, his mouth promptly swallowing your whimpers.

When he lays you on the sofa, he straightens himself to fully admire you. You're sprawled for him, your hair framing your head like a halo, the sweat pearling your forehead adding to your angelic state.

Your hands are on either side of your face, fingers dainty and slender, and your tank top is lifted up enough to show him your small breasts, slightly spilling from the sides with the new position.

Your shorts still rest under your ass, and with a swift motion he fully takes them off you, giving him access to your center. But the attention is taken away from your wet cunt when he lets his eyes come back up to your face, your cheek resting on your shoulders, trying to hide your embarrassment at his ravenous observing.

He smiles, becoming impatient with the feeling that only grows inside him, and he walks out of his pants still pooled down his ankles, taking off his loose t-shirt and letting it fall on the ground.

Your eyes widen at his sculpted physique, now finally in front of you, his buff dimensions intimidating you, especially when your orbs follow his V line and put you face to face with his huge cock, so close to your watering hole. He teases it with his length, sliding it up and down your slit, then slapping it against your clit. You arch your back, groaning.

“Am I the real man you’ve been waiting for? You wanna be fucked by this big man, don’t you?” His sinful words only make you nod dumbly, becoming potty under his control.

At your eagerness, he wastes no time. Aligning himself with your hole, he enters you. The stretch is deliciously painful, his tip boldly splitting you open for him. He knows your wail is coming, so he lowers himself on you to block your sounds with his mouth. But, truly, he’s the one that needs to be silenced.

The moment he feels your tightness around his bare dick, he growls. His sounds grow more desperate as he sinks himself deeper, the grip on your waist enough to wreck you, and you’re expecting it to leave a mark

You hum roughly against his lips, your nails scratching along his shoulder blades in search of any kind of grounding you can find. It’s too much, his dimensions way oversized for what your hole can take, and the fact that you can’t help but grip him even tighter isn’t helping.

He reads you, your broken whines and the tear falling from your left eye, and the moment he bottoms out he stills himself, his face in the crook of your neck, his nose nuzzling the warm skin in a reassuring manner, “Shh, baby. I got you. Let me make you feel good.”

The whispered words are the same ones that jolted you from your sleep, the dream almost too real, and paired with his middle and ring finger circling your sensitive nub they cause you to emit a pleasured squeal, your chest arching into his.

At this point, you’re afraid you’re still trapped deep in your slumber. that none of this is actually real, it can’t be. You’re so convinced that it’s just too good to be true that you test it, scraping your nails harshly in his back, and when he bites the skin under your jaw in protest you gasp shakily.

It's definitely real. Jeongguk is fucking you. Almost. Not yet.

With the way your clit is being stimulated by his long fingers, the initial sharpness turns into more slick, and you impatiently groan, “Fuck me, please.”

One final kiss is left on your lips before he lifts his torso up, his hands roaming along your sides and grasping a hold of your tits. He teases you with a playful smirk on his face, your disappointed pout only resulting in a devilish chuckle from him as he massages your soft boobs. You can feel him throb inside you the more you swallow him in, and you know he’s just as impatient. You buck your hips up in search of friction, and the sudden motion makes the both of you moan.

He’s suddenly resolute as his palms fall to your waist and effortlessly holds it up as he begins fucking into you. With each stroke he picks up his pace, and he’s soon pounding your tight hole wrapping around him.

The both of you find out it’s impossible to be quiet. Your sounds are stuttered and pornographic, and it makes Jeongguk afraid he’s never going to be able to get them off his brain.

His own noises are heavenly, deep growls and surprised whines falling out his pillowed lips, slightly agape in bliss, brows drawn up.

Your eyes roll back and never come back, your vision patched, and you think you weren’t built to survive this kind of pleasure. It's almost deathly when he finds that one particular spot that makes you see stars.

Your skin slapping is louder than his hushed speech, but he makes sure the words reach you and translate into wetness coating his length even more, drenching it, making it soaked in your juices, “That’s how you need to be fucked. That’s how my girl needs to be fucked, hm?”

“Mhm, fuck, yes!” It’s breathless, but you want him to hear you. You feel yourself get closer just watching him smirk proudly at your state, his pupils blown out.

His palms are back to playing with your breast, kneading it harshly, and you enjoy the way he seems to be hypnotized by the vision, “Fuck. Love your tits. Fit just right in my hand. You were made for me, angel.”

Your head is thrown back between the cushions, your legs wrapping tighter around his ass and pushing him even deeper, the anticipated sensation building simultaneously in both of your trembling bodies.

“I'm not gonna last long, baby. This pussy’s too tight. Trappin’ me inside it,” Jeongguk’s voice is rough, the words leaving him slurredly and all his effort put into snapping his hips against yours, his eyes focused on the relentless in and out motion.

You wail, mumbling nonsense, but at the same time the most sincere words you’ve ever sputtered to him, “It’s yours, Jeongguk. F—fucking yours. Forever. Ah— fuck.”

He hums, feeling you contract around him the more he speaks to you, “That’s it. My pussy to fuck, baby. Mine to play with, mine to fill up.”

Your eyes widen at his territorial remarks, and when they meet his hazy ones they water with overwhelming ecstasy. The possibility of his cum filling you up is what does it for you, your nerves undoing once again and making you spasm around his throbbing dick. He talks you through your orgasm, praising you for cumming so good all over him, drinking in your blissful sounds and your hips rutting against his.

He’s just as close, and the realization that you came the moment he mentioned painting you in his seed makes him a crazed man, his motions stuttering sloppily, “Fuck. Aren’t you a naughty one, doll. You really want me to come inside you? You want it, huh? I bet you do.”

Your repeated nodding and the way your body is so pliant in his hold, letting it be completely handled by him with no functioning muscle, pervades his senses with a primal force that he puts into fucking your sensitive cunt.

He smirks wickedly, “You’d look so pretty. All stuffed. Want me to fill up this tight pussy? Want my mature cock in so deep you can’t breathe?”

You think you scream at his continuous suggestions, but you can’t be sure when all your senses are clouded, the oversensitivity turning you into a literal doll for him, no power over your actions. He looks just as fucked out, his lips parting as he basks in the feeling of being in control of you, eyes fighting to stay open and keep you in his vision.

When he feels you contracting around him in overstimulation, his breath stutters and he feels himself reach the peak, quickly pulling out of you to spill his cum over your naked skin. You gasp at the sudden emptiness and the warm liquid that keeps falling over your stomach, his cock being pumped in his fist and milked from all he can give you. You both pant in exhaustion, your legs loosening their grip around him as he dips his weak knees on either side of you on the couch.

He hums when he fully takes in your figure, marked by his cum, and he smiles when he sees your eyelids struggling to not fall. But you spasm once again when you feel his finger slide over your stomach, the wet liquid being collected, “Now, you gonna clean this up for me. Open your pretty mouth, baby.”

You don’t even ponder on the request, you just follow the order. Your brain is reduced to thoughts that are only related to him, and it automatically complies to anything that he orders from you. You engulf his digits promptly, swallowing his semen, looking up at him through your lashes and unashamedly clenching at his lazy smirk.

He makes sure every drop of his is collected and sucked by your hungry mouth, smiling when you don’t ever complain, “Mh, good girl. Get them neat.”

Only when he’s satisfied, he hovers over your face and finds your tongue in a sensual, slow kiss, both of you moaning at the exchange. With a sloppy sound, he parts from you only to disappear between your thighs, his eyes mischievous, “Gonna clean you up too.”

You gasp at the feeling of his mouth wrapping around your core once again, slurping your juice and lapping at your inner thighs, and you’re not sure how this is going to help in getting you clean. You only feel yourself becoming even wetter.

Leaving a kiss above your nub, he straightens up with a boyish smile softening his features, and with the fond way he’s looking at you, nobody could tell he just made you cum twice.

He moves your bangs from your forehead, closing the distance between you once again to leave small pecks over your still reddened face, “You did amazing, doll. Made me cum so hard.”

You hum contentedly, snuggling closer to him, your body unconsciously gravitating toward his warmth. Your hand lifts to thread through his hair, but before you can touch him, he shifts, pulling away.

The warmth he provided vanishes, replaced by the cold emptiness of the couch. Panic surges in your chest, washing away any remnants of fatigue. You prop yourself up on your forearms, eyes tracking his movements.

You don’t want him to leave you here alone, bare and vulnerable, maybe a bit confused and uncertain, and deep down deathly scared of whatever will come after this.

Your brows furrow, heart picking up a painful speed when you see he’s getting dressed — tossing on his shirt, pulling on his pants. And for a second, your pulsing organ clenches with dread. Is he leaving?

Then you notice him picking up your shorts from the floor, his expression softening as he walks back to you with that same gentle smile that had made your heart flutter earlier.

Relief washes over you.

He handles you delicately, as though you’re something fragile. His fingers brush your skin as he slips your shorts back on, pulling down your top before encircling your waist with his strong arms.

You squeal lightly when he pulls you onto his lap, settling back on the couch with you cradled against his chest. His hands never leave you, securing you to him. You settle into him easily, sighing in appreciation as the warmth of his body returns, your legs draped across his lap, arms circling his neck.

For a brief, fleeting moment, everything feels like it’s in its right place, like this is where you’ve always belonged. It feels so natural, so easy, being wrapped up in him. His deep, slow breaths lull you into a state of calm. His chin rests on the top of your head, hand rubbing soothing strokes along your spine.

You press even closer, breathing him in, feeling like you could get used to this, like you already have. Like you’ve always known this is where you should be. Your fingers trace absentminded patterns along his tattooed arm, the one holding you secure under your legs. You feel the need to look at him, to admire the man that marked you as his.

But when you glance up, you’re a bit startled when you notice the shift in his expression. His face is hardened, jaw clenched tight. He's not relaxed like he was just moments ago. His gaze is distant, staring intently at a spot across the room as if lost in thought. Yet his hands continue to cradle you, almost unconsciously, like holding you has become second nature to him.

Jeongguk’s mind is a whirlwind of emotions, and they only scatter all over the place as he feels you move closer, impossibly so. You seek warmth, care. Nuzzle your fragile body against his for protection, something more that he fears he can’t give you. Love.

He once thought he’d drained himself of it, had nothing left to offer. Now, with you in his arms, the smallest spark flickers to life, burning its way up his throat until it feels like it’s going to consume him.

He wants to give in. He wants to hold you tighter, trap you against him, keep you with him. Give you everything.

But he can’t do that to you. Can’t make you go through the same path that took everything from him. not without ruining you in the process.

He knows what comes next. What always comes next. Love turns into suffering, it’s inevitable. And could he survive seeing the look on Areum’s face when she finds out? How would she react if she knew the truth about what he’s done, about how he feels? About how he truly wants to act upon his feelings? The thought makes him feel sick, even as his heart beats steadily against yours, comforted by your presence.

Why doesn’t he feel disgusted? Why isn’t there shame gnawing at him, making him pull away? Instead, there’s only bliss. The sheer joy of having you this close, of holding you like this, makes him forget everything else.

He wishes he could be immature, for once. Wishes he was your age, and that nothing truly mattered. That he still could allow himself to make stupid decisions.

Maybe then, you’d be his, and reality wouldn’t catch up to him.

“Jeongguk? Are you okay?”

Your soft, honeyed voice pulls him from his spiral, and he startles slightly, caught off guard. His eyes meet yours, wide and filled with concern, searching his face for answers.

He tries to hide the storm brewing inside him, forcing a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Huh? Yeah. I'm okay.”

Of course, you don’t believe him. An ugly feeling makes space in your stomach, and the weight of everything begins to press down. You don’t want it to take over you just yet, want to be coddled by the moment a little more, want to try and believe there’s nothing to be afraid of.

You offer a tentative smile, hoping to ease whatever tension is growing between you. “You… you seem worried.”

“I'm not, baby. I'm just thinking.”

“About?”

“Stuff.” His voice is clipped, and the small wall he’s building between you becomes clearer.

The distance stings, and your heart sinks as you try to hold onto the moment that felt so perfect just a second ago. Desperate to reach him, you place your hands on his face, tilting his chin down to meet your gaze.

Your eyes glisten with emotion, but you manage a genuine, if small, smile. “You can tell me, you know. You can talk to me.”

One simple, small smile spreading across his lips makes you doubt all of your worries. It makes you want to believe that maybe, there’s truly no reason to be scared. That maybe, this can go well.

“I know,” it’s whispered on your face, his hand coming to play with the hair that frame your cheeks sweetly. “Let’s get you to bed now, hm?”

Before you can protest, he’s lifting you off the couch with ease, cradling you in his arms bridal style as if you weigh nothing at all. You clutch onto him.

You feel your insides fuzzy with the gesture, and you wiggle yourself closer in his embrace, looking up at him expectantly, “Your bed?”

It breaks his heart having to disappoint you, tone soft as he tries to make up for it with his thumb brushing your thigh, “No, baby. You gotta go back to Areum’s room.”

“But— but… I wanna sleep next to you,” you plead, your voice small and almost childlike as you pout up at him, hoping to sway him.

He looks away, focusing on the stairs as if looking at you would break his resolve. “We can’t, dove. You know we can’t.”

His words feel like a punch to the gut, and your eyes well up. “We can't?”

The silence that follows is louder than any answer he could have given, and it weighs heavy between you, suffocating. There's no actual explanation to it, and the realization leaves both of you uneasy.

At Areum’s door, he sets you down gently, making sure you’re steady on your feet. He's careful with you, like he always is, his voice low, “Go wash up. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“No…”

“C’mon, sweetheart. Don't make this harder.”

You frown in protest, keeping eye contact, but he doesn’t break. His gaze is steady, resolute.

You want to argue, want to push, but the exhaustion settles over you, and you slump, defeated. You still sway sweetly for him, your hands tied behind your back, “Okay… Can you kiss me?”

Your voice is small, muffled behind your pout as you seek for him with anticipation, a sheepish smile making its way on your lips.

When he doesn’t move closer, you get on your tippy toes and lean in his direction once again, your eyes almost fluttering shut before you hear him clear his throat, and take an awkward step back.

You’re back on your heels with a thump, the same one reverberating in your chest with your heart falling, your mouth hanging open with confusion written all over your expression.

You go to say something but he’s quicker, his voice solemn, “Goodnight, ___.”

Jeongguk smiles, but it’s nothing like the ones that took over his whole face just minutes ago on the couch, his eyes full of you. You're not even sure if you can define it as a smile. It’s polite, almost too polite, and it only results in feeling tremendously distant from him. Completely disconnected from you.

He retreats, long legs carrying him away, his back to you as he slips into his room. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound final, and it echoes in the hollow space.

You stand still, the weight of his absence pressing heavily on your chest. The spot where he left you feels like a grave, your feet sinking into the cold floor as if it’s pulling you under. The warmth he offered, the fleeting sense of safety, is gone, and you’re freezing. Your throat is tight with the effort to hold back the tears welling in your eyes. It's useless, though.

Your bare feet shuffle against the floor, but you can’t move forward. You can’t go back. You can’t do anything except stand there and feel the weight of it all crash down on you.

You’d been so afraid this would happen. How could you have been so foolish? Even in the midst of the sweetness, you knew it was too good to be true. A part of you always knew. And yet, you let yourself believe for a fleeting moment that something real could come from it. That you could be enough.

You’d have done anything to prove it to him. To show him your loyalty, your willingness to make it work. You still would. You'd give him every part of yourself, if he’d only take it. If he’d only look at you the way you want him to.

The full weight of your reality sinks in. In the end, none of it was truly real.

A sob breaks free from your chest, raw and painful. The sound echoes in the quiet hallway, bouncing off the walls that now feel oppressive, like they’re closing in on you. This house, every corner, it’s all stained now, tainted by the memory of what just happened, by the lie you let yourself fall into.

And you? You feel tainted, too.

[aurorraaaa]

Re-reading "Best Mistake" is the Best decision, the Best feeling the Best escape, and honestly the Best thing I keep coming back to 🫶🏼🫶🏼

[lovieku]

OHHHH and you’re the Best poet out there fr… thank u so much happy u likey 🥹🫶🏻

[lovieku]

ohhokk you have a great taste mamm!! my favs would be dead poet's society BECAUSE OH CAPTAIN MY CAPTAIN, there's this indian romcom called kal ho na ho, then we have all about lily chou chou and past lives, i also really love bong jonhoo's movies as you do so yes definitely parasite, memories of murder, tokyo etc. then i have got the truman show, aftersun, animated movies like spirited away, frozen, etc etc etc. the list goes on.

i love timothee's movies too actually, most of his earlier ones like beautiful boy, call me by ur name, although marty supreme's also great. thankyou for answering btww:33

SUCHHH GREAT MOVIES!!! you put me on a few that i will need to watch 👩🏻‍💻 and omg yes i love animated movies so much 🥹 they truly teach the most ! TWIN YOU JUST GET IT!!! but no babes thank YOU for asking!!! have a nice weekend 🩷🩷

[lovieku]

randommmm ques but who are some of ur fav movie actors or ur top 4 films ?? i sound like those letterboxd interviewers but tellmeeee

OUUU what a nice question thank u!!! my top 4 movies got to be:

1. cars (first one obviously)

2. parasite

3. snowpiercer

4. soul

i’m a pixar and bong joonho girlie!!! but there’s so many others i wanted to include HELPPP like beautiful boy, 13 going on 30, challengers, beauty and the beast……. i’m also an indecisive girlie

my fave actor i’m gonna be so basic and say timothee chalamet but its bc i really loved him in every role!!! wait now i’m curious about your answer too tho…

[petijuno]

monthly jungkook fic recs - may edition!

hey cuties! ♡ this month’s reads might be just a little… hot! the result? a list full of smuts that are the smuttiest I’ve ever read. special shoutout to Help Wanted because, man, I am literally obsessed and I’ve never read something so eagerly, it's just captivating and amazing! pls reblog if you like any of my recommendations, and don’t forget to share lots of love and support for the incredible authors who write them. i hope you guys enjoy them and love reading them as much as I did!

!! cover heavily inspired by @ dododesjgns on insta!

help wanted by @merakoo — series, ongoing

summary: In order to make ends meet you pick up a side job as the nanny of a brooding, cold perfectionist by the name of Jeon Jungkook — while in the process of doing so, you might've ended up twisting the narrative about your education just a little. Watching over a few children couldn't be too hard, right? Only Jungkook is very peculiar about how he wants things done — strict routines, meal plans and tedious study hours that make the Jeon estate feel more like a military camp than a home — and it's only a matter of time until cracks in the seemingly perfect facade begin to form. ­ tags: dilf!jungkook, single dad jungkook, nanny!reader, 1980s au, slowburn fluff angst explicit content, age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20), jungook keeps secrets & so does reader

2. girls on film by @merakoo

summary: In order to spice up your sex life — your boyfriend proposes making a sextape. tags: no plot, just pure filth dom!jk, camera usage during sex, spanking, multiple positions (doggy style + missionary) unprotected sex + pullout cumming on stomach pet names (angel, love) dirty talk

3. feelings aside by @merakoo (again??)

summary: Jungkook had always been just sex to you and you had always been just sex to him. At least that's what you had believed. But when the line between you goes dry and your dating life takes off — you find him on your doorstep, and for once, it's not about sex. tags: friends with benefits pining jealous!jungkook, kissing, mentions of past hookups ft. jimin yearner!jungkook oblivious reader possessive!jungkook suggestive content

4. stretch you out by @chateautae — obs. Namjoon is a bonus here (omg love it)

summary: you have a plan for your crappy, diabolical ex who’s set on ruining your life; making him jealous by snagging a raunchy photo with two hot employees at the gym. what you didn’t have a plan for? befriending the mischievous pair to aid in your revenge and ending up underneath not just one, but both of them. tags: college!au, strangers to friends to lovers!au, porn but with plot :), the dIRTIEst smut, fluff, heavy making out, explicit sexual content, threesome

5. sinners by @wintrbears

summary: based on the concept from the movie “Sinners,” music has the ability to shred the barrier between planes of existence and draw creatures of the underworld to the land of the living, and Jungkook’s heavenly voice ends up bringing hell right to his doorstep. tags: fantasy in the modern world!au, strangers to lovers, angst, smut, demons, religious lore, mention of death, life-altering decisions

6. deal by @jeonstudios

summary: what do you do when your teenage brother’s cancer is too far gone? well, you summon a cocky crossroad demon to make a deal; your life for taehyung’s. tags: angst, smut, fluff, panic attack, penetrative sex, blood, mentions of killing, branding skin, wounds by arrow

7. best mistake by @lovieku

summary: you've tried, but you can't help yourself from crushing on your best friend's dad. hot, buff, tatted up and successful, mr. jeon is the starring actor in all of your wettest dreams. and as you wake up from one while sleeping over at his house after his daughter's birthday party, you don't expect all of them to suddenly come true. but they do. tags: dilf!jk x inexperienced!fem reader, smut, angst, voyeurism

8. acts of service by @jiminsafairy

summary: using a tiktok trend to try to relieve your pregnancy back pain was supposed to be a sweet, innocent, wholesome moment. Jungkook certainly didn't plan on it turning into a messy fuck in the middle of the living room tags: husband! jungkook x pregnantwife!reader, smut, fluff, pregnant sex, lactation kink

9. still don’t know my name by @dollfaceksj

summary: in which your annoying neighbor—that you can’t stand—turns out to be the person behind the online account you’ve been sexting. You still don’t know his name. tags: smut, enemies, sexting, hard kinks (slapping, spitting, hairpulling, choking)

[lovieku]

thank u so much for including best mistake sweetie 🩷🩷

[lovieku]

BEST MISTAKE ⋆ 정국

you've tried, but you can't help yourself from crushing on your best friend's dad. hot, buff, tatted up and successful, mr. jeon is the starring actor in all of your wettest dreams. and as you wake up from one while sleeping over at his house after his daughter's birthday party, you don't expect all of them to suddenly come true. but they do.

⌗ repost. originally posted as OLDER. from the grande series.

pairing: dilf!jk x inexperienced!fem reader

genre: smut, angst, dilf au, best friend's father au

contents: porn with some lots of plot, age gap (oc 21 | jk 38), dom jk, sub reader, voyeurism, messy blow job, fingering, oral (f receiving), bit of tit play (small chested reader yayy), two (2) spanks, unprotected sex, cum eating, dirty talk, a bit of degradation, but also praise, pet names, ANGST :P, she falls first he falls harder??? but miscommunication sadly, forbidden love

word count: 17.4k

author’s note: wellll… hey people 🤭 guess who’s back! i don’t wanna make this long so i won’t say too much, we can take this to the inbox if u guys want 💋 for those who remember me, hello lovies!!! i’m thinking of reposting some of my old fics before giving you new content hehe ! special thanks to my day ones who fought hard and brought me here again even through my hesitation, you know who you are 🥰🩷 love u!!! enjoy!!!

In the backseat of his car, you stare forward at his hands gripping the steering wheel. There's something hypnotic about the way his fingers curl around the leather. You bite your lips, an attempt to suppress the heat easily pooling low in your belly, your thighs rubbing together to conceal the effects of your lewd thoughts.

One in particular stands out. It’s the one that puts a shameless, selfish smile on your face when you fixate on the fourth finger of his left hand lacking a gold band.

It's been a few months since that day — since Areum, your best friend, showed up at your door in a frantic state, her finger jabbing the bell over and over in a panicked rhythm that jolted you from your bed.

You had nearly tripped down the stairs in your rush to swing the entrance open, and when you did, you were instantly tackled by your friend collapsing into your arms, her tears soaking through your shirt.

Kicking the door shut, your hands busy embracing Areum with your eyes wide, you tried to steady both her and yourself. In between her uncontrollable sobs, shaking you to the core, she let her worries tumble out her mouth. Words came in a torrent, fast and breathless, barely giving you any time to fully process them as she buried her face in your neck.

It took a moment for the huge news to break through your thick, slowed down brain, but then it struck you, Areum chanting it repeatedly as if she couldn’t grasp her mind around it: her parents were splitting up. Divorce was imminent.

Your own disbelief mirrored hers, but for very different reasons. You felt it in the way your shock turned into excitement; indecorous, depraved exhilaration, with your heartbroken friend still in your arms.

Even as her sobs echoed, your mind latched onto one single thought, repeating like a mantra: he’s single. Mr. Jeon is single.

You felt terribly guilty when you sensed a smile that you couldn’t quite suppress stretching over your features, and the jittery sensation that came with it flowed your body and reached your hands, tightening harder around Areum to try and squeeze the shame out of yourself.

Since that day, you’ve lost count of how many afternoons you’ve spent at the Jeon’s house. You've been doing your best to be the friend Areum needs, to keep her company when what she fears the most is loneliness. You’ve been a constant presence, helping her through the mountain of neglected work she left piling up, distracting her with baking sessions, or mindlessly binge watching entire seasons of Friends on lazy evenings. Anything to keep her mind off the pain.

But each visit is an opportunity. A fleeting chance to see him. To study how he moves around the house with an intensity that still manages to feel like a calm, steady current filling every room.

You’ve memorized many of his mannerisms. The way his eyes soften when he looks at Areum; the way his mouth twitches into a faint smile when she tries to cheer him up; the way he nods at you in recognisment, silently letting you know he’s grateful for what you’re doing to help his daughter.

You wish you could help him too. In other ways. Ways you know you shouldn’t be thinking about.

You can’t avoid it, though. You've witnessed him come back home from work countless times now, watched the tension etched across his features as he steps through the door, wished you could be the one to ease it off his shoulders. Let your hand travel down his chest, reach his belt.

You feel disgusting unfailingly, but how can you not let your mind wander when he groans so deliciously every time he loosens the tie around his neck and kicks off his shoes?

You know exactly what his next move is, the imperceptible sigh melting the weariness off his face the moment he greets his daughter, a tender smile breaking through his exhaustion.

“Any requests for dinner tonight, girls?” He always asks, his gaze jumping between Areum and you on the living room couch, waiting for a response.

After your friend replies she likes whatever her daddy cooks, your stomach twists with nerves when his eyes meet yours to make sure there’s no complaints, and you quickly shake your head, biting your lips to keep from saying something foolish. Is your dick on the menu? Perhaps?

And the man can cook. Exceptionally well. He moves around the kitchen with purpose in his every movement, each dish you have the honor of tasting better than the last.

While you help setting the table, you catch yourself staring more times than you should. You can’t help but wonder if there’s anything he’s not good at. Fuck. Is there even a single flawed bone in this man’s body? With every day you spend at his house, you’re convinced there can’t be.

You want him to notice you, the same way you notice him. You tell yourself you’re just being a good friend to Areum, but you know there’s more behind your constant visits.

There’s definitely more behind the way your skirts get shorter, your tops tighter, your bras purposefully not worn.

You feel crazed when you convince yourself his gaze falls upon your exposed thighs when he puts a plate in front of you at dinner, or when his eyes seem to be caught, only for a fleeting second, by your hardened nipples, evident through your poor excuses of shirts.

Even when your interactions don’t go further than a brief exchange about college and Areum or quiet, polite smiles in passing, the mere thought of being around him sends a rush through your veins.

You’ve been seeking more and more of that after one particular night, your feet making their way down the stairs after Areum had fallen asleep and you had rathered take your leave. You found him stretched on the couch, a drink in his hand.

His eyes hazily followed your movements, voice low and slightly slurred, “Are you leaving already?”

Hearing him acknowledge you outside of the usual context of Areum’s presence made you stop dead in your tracks, your reddened cheeks turning to face him, the dark color spreading all over your features when you fully took him in.

He was cladded in a comfortable attire, one you almost never saw on him, black sweatpants and a gray t-shirt deliciously hugging his shoulders, the short sleeves revealing the intricate ink designs running all over his right arm.

You shook yourself out of your trance suddenly, stuttering, “Huh… yes. Didn’t wanna be a bother.”

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine, “Oh, you’re not. I wish all of my daughter’s friends were like you.”

His words hung in the air, filling it with sincerity and a sudden tension landing right on your chest. You quickly brushed it away with a laugh, a nervous, shaky sound escaping your lips, trying to mask the way your heart was racing with desperation for the gods to grace you with the depth of his tipsy voice all night.

To this day, you still think your horny and delusional prayer was heard when he nodded to the empty space beside him, lifting his glass slightly, “Care for a drink? You’re 21 now, right?”

You only nodded shyly, more out of reflex than actual thought, slowly making your way to sit beside him just as he had instructed. The proximity sent a wave of heat through your body, your insides melting with the lava, the smell of his cologne and laundry detergent replacing the burned ground with a trail of flowers.

You were willing to do whatever he wanted from you at that moment, even if it meant downing the harsh liquor he poured into a glass for you. You took a sip, struggling not to grimace at the burn that followed. He smiled.

It was probably the alcohol loosening his tongue, but that night, for the first time, you saw a side of Mr. Jeon that he kept carefully hidden away, his vulnerability a strong characteristic of it.

His words tumbled out in an almost confessional tone. He spoke about his marriage, about how he had always felt somewhat trapped. Still a teenager himself, he was only 17 when he found out his soon to be wife was pregnant with Areum; 23 when they decided to marry. Voice soft but tinged with sadness, he admitted he never felt like he got to live his youth to the fullest, certainly blessed with his perfect baby, but also chained down by responsibilities and a tightening pressure he shouldn’t have had to deal with at such a young age.

Then, with his eyes burning into your shiny and equally flaring ones, he paused just for a moment, and you felt he could see right through you, into the very core of your being. That he had you all figured out.

“When I look at you,” he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper, gaze traveling down your bare thighs, squished together on his couch, “I feel like I get a bit of that youth back. You're so full of life, so fresh, so… full of love for my daughter. I'm glad she has you. Glad we have you.”

As he found your orbs again, you noticed his had significantly darkened. You were sure your heart would have failed you if you had kept navigating in his gaze; instead, you looked down at your hands folded in your lap.

That night, he paid for your uber and insisted you sent him a text when you made it home. It was only read the morning after, and left unanswered.

Even now, you’re convinced that if it weren’t for the whisky, those words would have stayed locked away in his mind, never seeing the light of day. Not even if he were forced to speak them at gunpoint.

Still, you’re grateful for the magical effects of alcohol and how they’ve brought you a tiny bit closer to give a look into his complicated world. It has awakened something in you, which led you to the conclusion that you always want to be there for him. Help him through the doubts and regrets. Be the youth he missed. Take the weight off his shoulders. Let him use you on that couch.

That feral, undomesticated monster inside you is a hundred times hungrier when, exiting the library building with Areum by your side, babbling in your ear about today’s plans, you see his sleek Mercedes parked outside.

He honks, getting his daughter’s attention too, who excitedly walks over the car when she spots it. The sound works as a pavlovian trigger for you, it has your mouth salivating and your senses alert, catching up with your friend and getting in the backseat.

It has been a few weeks since you last saw him, both you and Areum too busy with assignments and outside activities, and his charming smile as he asks about the day cuts the breath from your lungs.

You’re silent as your friend fills him in, your ears struggling to pick up her speech as it only takes a few more seconds for your eyes to be caught by an interesting detail, one that has your world rocked: he finally took his wedding ring off.

The wedding ring that has stood as an unspoken boundary between you and your reckless fantasies is gone. The realization hits hard, and suddenly your mind veers into dangerous territory, conjuring visions that feel too real. You can almost feel his left hand wrapping around your waist, pulling you in, claiming you. And the images are so vivid, so consuming, that you don’t even notice when Areum nudges your shoulder.

You don’t register her calling your name until the sound finally cuts through, pulling you back to the present with a jolt. You blink a few times, trying to ground yourself, before turning to face her, Areum’s voice light but her expression amusedly curious, “Dad asked you a question.”

Your whole face drops, panic clear in your features, and heat immediately rushes to your cheeks. You've been zoning out, lost in a daydream about the very man sitting in front of you, the one you literally just ignored, too busy thinking of him. The irony is almost too much.

Your eyes find his in the rearview mirror, and the slight smirk on his lips only makes you look even dumber, stuttering all throughout your explanation, “Sorry, Mr. Jeon. I— um. I was distracted.”

He simply chuckles, low and clearly not offended by your lapse in attention. His focus is back on the road, but as he speaks you keep yours on the words he’s directing at you this time, “It’s okay. And I always tell you, just Jeongguk is fine. I was asking about your day, you seem a little worn out.”

“Oh. I—it went well! I guess I'm just a bit tired,” the words feel clumsy as they leave your mouth, but you hope they sound convincing enough. You just can’t stop your eyes from falling on his left hand.

“Well, you can’t be!” It’s Areum’s excitement interrupting your furious imagination and bubbling over, “You need to help me set up for tonight. Then, we’re gonna do our makeup, our hair, and dress up. I'm so excited!”

Right. The reason why you could finally see Mr. Jeon after weeks and why you’re currently driving to his house is because it’s Areum’s birthday.

The day feels significant in so many ways. You're excited to witness your best friend turn a year older, especially with all the hardships she’s been faced with. Honored that you’re the one she’s chosen to help make this night perfect, ensure every detail is just how she’s pictured this moment to be like. And you can’t deny that you feel slightly nervous at the prospect of tonight, knowing there are going to be faces you’re not that well acquainted with. You'd say you’re a bit awkward with new people, but you’ll try to bear through it for the sake of Areum’s happiness.

But mostly, you feel guilty. Because no matter how much you try to focus on your friend, the thought that truly makes your insides all mushy with fuzziness is the fact that you’re going to be in the proximity of her dad, again.

You crave for the smallest moments. The brief second where you’ll catch his gaze. The way his cologne will subtly linger in the hallways of his home. Your eyes have a habit of drifting to his hands, those strong, veined, tattooed hands that move so smoothly whenever he speaks.

Even now, in his car, as you glance at his side profile, there’s a ridiculous and almost cosmic sense of gratitude. Like you’ve been chosen. Blessed by whatever God to exist on this planet at the same time as him, to simply witness his presence.

It should be enough. It really should. But you’re a sinner. You're greedy, wanting more. Always more.

That buzzing sensation sticks with you throughout the entire day, hours packed with anxious over-organization, both you and Areum moving as if every step had to be executed flawlessly. And with all the chaos, he’s there in the back of your mind. Mr. Jeon.

He helps for a while, joining you in the backyard as you set up for the evening, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to the whirlwind around you. But then he disappears into his studio, into his own space, leaving you to your tasks, and you don’t see him until hours later.

Yet, you still feel him, as if he’s always near. His upstairs studio’s window faces the garden, and it’s enough to make you hyper-aware of your every gesture. You straighten your back, slow your steps. Because even though you don’t know if he’s really watching, it feels like he is.

Getting your makeup, hair and outfit ready with Areum does slightly ease that sensation off your chest. You love these moments with her. Shared girlhood when you do each other’s eyeliner, the flutter of excitement as you zip up dresses, as you rummage through her closet, searching for the perfect piece to complete your look.

But even then, you’re brought back to the man working just a few rooms down the hallway. It's astonishing how easily Areum has access to everything she wants. The power her dad holds, the kind of wealth that makes life feel effortless in ways you can’t help but envy. For her, money isn’t just something that buys things. It shapes her world. It’s as simple as snapping her fingers.

You don’t resent her for it, not really. But it makes you wonder what it would be like to live in a world where nothing is out of reach. Where everything, even the man who haunts your thoughts, could be yours with the right words or a simple gesture.

When you see him again, you’re standing in his kitchen. Areum is still upstairs, fixing the tiniest details to her makeup, but you decided to come down early, just in case the first guests arrive, wanting to be helpful, wanting to keep yourself busy.

You’re momentarily lost in the view outside the window, the backyard garden bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights, soft hues blending beautifully with the sage and pastel yellow decorations. It pulls a small smile to your face, knowing your hard work paid off.

The quiet peace is soon interrupted by the sound of a cupboard cracking open behind you, and you startle, your heart giving a quick jump.

You turn, following the noise, and there he is — Jeongguk, bent over as he retrieves a bottle of red wine from the lower cupboard. As he straightens up, bottle in hand, he finds your eyes already staring in his. He's uncharacteristically deliberate as he lets his gaze wander up and down your figure.

You’ve dressed carefully for tonight, choosing a flowy pink dress that flutters delicately against your thighs. The corset top hugs your waist in all the right ways, accentuating your shape. It’s the kind of dress that makes you feel just a little more confident, a little more seen.

But now, under his gaze, you feel rather exposed, as if he’s seeing more than just the fabric of your dress. His eyes linger, and when his orbs dip to your chest, it’s almost as if he hesitates, like he’s trying to tear his eyes away but can’t.

You’re not even sure if the engrossed look on his face is real or just the product of your own twisted fantasies.

Still, your body responds instinctively, your hand drifting up to play with your necklace, an unconscious gesture, while your other arm wraps around your waist, as if you’re trying to hold yourself together under the intensity of his stare.

When his eyes return to your wide ones, he gives a subtle nod towards your dress, and although the smile that curves his lips is warm you can’t decipher that something else it wants to communicate.

His voice is smooth, literal honey, sweet and rich, dripping out from his pillowy lips, “What a beauty. You look very pretty.”

Now, you weren’t expecting that. It steals the breath from your lungs. It's not just the words, or even the way he says them, velvet wrapping around your senses. It’s how he seems to drink you in, his refined wine nothing in comparison. Like you’re something to be savored just as carefully.

At this point, you’re seriously questioning if there was a stronger substance in the liquor you and Areum shared earlier, even if you hadn’t taken big quantities. But you figure it must have been enough to distort the current reality around you. Or maybe, Mr. Jeon is the inebriated one.

You don't know how you find the voice to speak, or if you even do, the word escaping your lips in an uncoordinated mess, almost imperceptible, “Thanks.”

He hums deeply in response, and it vibrates through the space between you. You let out a shaky exhale the moment his gaze finally shifts away. He resumes the task at hand, effortlessly opening the bottle of wine and turning his back to you as he reaches for a glass from the higher cabinet.

The muscles in his shoulders shift under his shirt, and for a split second, you’re unsure what to do. Whether to stay, add anything else, flee the room entirely. Make small conversation about Areum’s birthday. Comment on his look, too. Oh, you’d have a lot to say about it.

You can tell he just wrapped up his work-related tasks for today from the way the first three buttons of his white shirt are opened, revealing his deep cleavage. His hair slightly tousled, but in a way that looks perfectly intentional, unintentionally. His slacks hug him deliciously, rounding the curve of his ass and making you swallow hard.

Your eyes can’t resist trailing over him, but they quickly move up to stare at the ceiling, feigning deep thought when he turns back to face you and the counter.

Surprisingly, he’s the one to break the silence first, again. The rich sound fills the air as he pours his red wine, the motion so precise, so fluid, it feels like witnessing an authentic art form.

He doesn’t bother looking up at you as he asks, seemingly casual, but slightly amused, “Is there a boy you’re trying to impress tonight?”

The way he steers the conversation makes you less agitated, suddenly confident. Especially with the question thrown your way. Teasing, almost belittling. You can see he’s not even trying to hide his pretty smirk, his focus on the wine flowing into the glass.

The question lingers, and you twirl your necklace around your fingers, smoothing down your dress with your other hand, your eyes flitting to his naked left hand, “Mh… you could say so.”

Of course, you’re not thinking about a boy. Mr. Jeon is no boy — he’s a man. The kind women dream about but know they’ll never find. The kind that belongs on the big screen or in the pages of a novel, with his effortless charm, wealth, looks that stop you in your tracks.

But he’s in front of you. And he’s tall, muscular, with hands that could crush or caress, tattooed in a way that makes your mouth dry up and water all at once.

It’s him you want to impress. You want to affect him the way he affects you. You want to pull him in, make him look at you the way he makes your world tilt on its axis with just a glance.

You’re hypnotized as you witness him in one of his rich man activities, performing a ritual with the wine glass. He brings it to his nose, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the aroma. It’s sensual, the way he handles the glass, its liquid dancing with precision, as if even this simple act holds meaning. You can’t look away.

When he's satisfied, he finds you again, and your mouth is slightly open without you even realizing it. The moment he lifts the glass to his lips, you bite your own, almost harshly, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

His smile is soft. He must know exactly what he’s doing to you.

Jeongguk mutters into the glass, his words resounding even stronger, “Well, he’d be a fool not to fall for you.”

The implications of his comment make you swallow audibly, while he downs his first sip of the wine with fine ease, his Adam's apple bobbing with it. The whole time, his eyes never leave yours.

A thick silence stretches between you, and you wish you could break it but you don’t know how. Your mind spins with the unspoken tension, instead he seems entirely comfortable with it. He places the glass back on the counter, the soft clink of it slicing through the quiet. Smoothly, he nudges it in your direction, his movements slow, as if testing the waters.

His voice is inviting, even more than usual, “You want to try?”

”Is that wine?” You instantly cringe at the way you sound strained.

He hums, a low sound of affirmation, watching you carefully. You briefly glance at the glass, "I've never had it.”

”Have it, then.”

With a slow twist of his fingers around the base, he slides the glass toward you. As it moves across the marble surface, you notice how he rotates it imperceptibly, but purposefully, so that the side where his lips touched the rim is now facing you. The gesture is subtle, but the intent behind it is clear. At least to your deranged fantasies.

There’s a faint lip mark where his mouth had been, and the sight of it pulls you in, making your pulse pound in your ears. You look back up at him, finding his gaze still on you, expression unreadable.

Without a word you lift the glass, your fingers wrapping clumsily around its stem. You bring it to your lips, mouth closing over the spot his lips had just pressed on.

The wine hits your tongue — bitter, sharp, and unfamiliar. You gulp hard, the liquid burning slightly as it slides down your throat. Your face scrunches involuntarily; the richness of the flavor is too much for you, and you can’t help but grimace as the aftertaste lingers.

He watches, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. When you set the glass down, he effortlessly picks it back up and brushes his fingers across the rim.

His tone laced with amusement, he asks, “Love it?”

You shake your head quickly, trying to hide your discomfort.

His chuckle is low, a soft rumble that makes your stomach flip. Swirling the wine gently, he muses, "I heard there’s going to be alcohol tonight.”

You grumble lightly, slumping your shoulders, “Ugh, I know.”

The endearment rolls off his tongue like a secret meant just for you, his voice dipping into something softer, more intimate, “Make sure you don’t drink too much, pretty face. I'll be around.”

Just like that, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your thoughts spinning. Pretty face?

What just happened? You're not so sure, but eyeing the glass left alone on the counter, you impulsively grab it and decide to gulp its remnants down, groaning immediately after. Taking wine as a shot might not have been the best idea, but you’re certainly going to need all the possible devices to shake this feeling off.

It’s hard to do so, even as the birthday party kicks off. The energy in the backyard shifts as more guests arrive. Lively voices and unfamiliar faces begin to fill the space. Areum’s laughter cuts through the hum, infectious and bright, drawing everyone in. With your best efforts, you start engaging with others, smiling as you talk to some classmates and mutual friends, but it’s all surface-level. Your mind is elsewhere.

It's only later, as the evening progresses and the party settles into a rhythm, that you begin to relax. Mainstream music plays in the background and it inevitably involves everybody, some classic party games becoming the main entertainment.

Long after the cake and the gift-opening, the group gathers into a loose circle, throwing each other Never Have I Ever questions. You can’t help the way you all are still too young, and how you still get foolishly excited whenever the topic turns hot and hints at anything that is sex related. Childish and immature, you know, but your ears still perk when the first probing question is tossed out.

“Never have I ever been fingered.”

Areum instantly shushes it, her eyes panickedly looking back to the house in hopes her dad isn’t around. laughter bubbles just as quickly, both because of the question and the girl’s reaction.

As expected, many reach for their drink, and you do too. The few present boys holler in a teasing manner, gaining some eye rolls.

Sheepishly, the plastic cup touches your lips and you take the smallest sip of your punch. You can’t appear unbothered like your other peers, your cheeks subtly flaming as the embarrassing memories rush to your mind.

It’s silent, the small plea you telepathically send to anyone that might be listening. You pray for the topic to shift to something else, something that won’t inevitably put you at the center of the attention. Something you can relate to.

But of course, God is not on your side. The questions only dig deeper, wandering in uncharted territory (at least for you), and you never reach for your glass again.

You can only sink further in your chair the more everybody else around you seems even more lively with the way the game has turned, sharing their experiences, giggling as they listen and refill their cups. Beside you Areum buzzes with energy, and every question is just something for her to drink to, nothing that shocks her or that she isn’t familiar with.

Never have I ever given head.

Never have I ever been ate out.

Never have I ever rode someone.

It’s undeniable, your skin heating up. With how you’ve been spending your whole day, fantasizing about the man who’s probably already asleep in his bedroom by now, your friends sharing their adventures only fuels your imagination. You feel dirty when you put yourself in those scenarios, and for every daring moment they relive, the figure that appears beside you is always Mr. Jeon.

If only you turned your head, just for a moment, and glanced toward the kitchen window that faces the backyard, you would have seen the same man dominating your thoughts, staring intently at the scene unfolding outside.

Jeongguk is swallowed wholly by the darkness of the house, every light turned off. Maybe that’s why neither you nor Areum notice him.

You don’t see him. For once, you don’t feel him. You’re too caught up in the moment, too consumed by your own desires, unaware that the man that put you in that same condition is standing so close, watching.

Jeongguk intently studies how your face dips down at every new question, how your smile seems just a little too tight, too forced when listening to the stories, the ones that make you shift uncomfortably in your chair.

If you don’t notice it, he does almost immediately — the moment the attention in the circle shifts toward you.

The glances thrown your way become layered with a subtle curiosity, laced with something that looks like concern. But then, in the eyes of a few, Jeongguk catches a faint trace of judgment. It’s there, in the tilt of their heads, in the exchanged fleeting looks with one another, as if they sense your uneaseness and interpret it as something lesser. Something they can pick apart.

His jaw tightens as he observes, that familiar protective instinct stirring within him. It makes his hands twitch by his side, but he stays rooted in place.

Eventually, the moment you clearly seem to dread the most (it doesn’t take a genius to know. It’s written on your face. Or maybe, he got so used to studying you. It comes easy to him. Knowing you,) follows.

It makes you want to vanish into the thin air caressing your legs, how you can sense that the question is put out with intent, an only pretending-to-be-careful tone wrapping it, all pairs of eyes instantly directed in your direction.

“Never have I ever… had sex.”

You feel trapped, a momentary panic bubbling in your chest as you reach for your cup, hesitant. The rim hovers near your lips and you try avoiding every expectant glance, taking the smallest sip you can manage.

A murmur ripples through the circle. You can’t decipher it, too busy feeling the heat spread across your face. It's only later that you realize no one else drank. The question had been crafted specifically for you, a test.

Lara exhales, a teasing smile playing on her lips, “Woah, I was getting worried for a second there, ___.”

You barely have time to react before Areum steps in, her voice sharp in your defense, “What’s wrong with never having had sex, either way?”

“Nothing, but—”

You’re not sure why you speak, and why you choose your speech that way specifically. You cut in before you even realize what you’re doing, driven by a sudden urge to explain yourself, an unshakable need to clarify forcing itself up your throat, "I only took a small sip, though.”

The group’s collective curiosity spikes, attention zeroed in on you like never before. You feel it — everyone waiting for you to continue, to reveal something you’ve kept to yourself until now. So, you give in, words tumbling out against your better judgment.

You clear your throat, straighten your back against the chair, your tone evasive, “I technically am not a virgin, but… When we— did it, he um… he got his tip in, but— God, this is embarrassing.”

“C’mon, tell us!”

You sigh, pressing forward with an explanation they do not deserve, “He came, like, two seconds after. So, I felt nothing.”

The laughter that erupts is immediate, your friends covering their mouths in shock and amusement. You can only chuckle nervously, shrinking in your seat with a deep, liberating exhale.

Yunjin pats your shoulder beside you, “That’s so sad, babe. We need to find you a real man.”

A strange sense of relief courses through you, the adrenaline from finally being acknowledged and validated by your friends swelling within. You don’t know why, but you keep talking, oversharing, feeding into the newfound attention, “Oh, I've been waiting for one in particular.”

You quickly become the center of attention for different reasons than the previous ones, now. Voices overlap, but you dismiss them all with a playful shake of your head, giggles bubbling up as you try to evade their questions.

But just as quickly as the moment came, it fades when you glance to the side, and your smile drops.

Jeongguk’s eyes meet yours immediately.

The intensity of the gaze knocks the breath from your lungs, and you immediately straighten in your seat.

He’s been watching the entire time, arms crossed, muscle in his jaw tensing as his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. There’s an unusual frustration etched into his expression, a subtle irritation with your friends’ behavior. But it’s more than that.

Your confession had softly revealed your inexperience. Your innocence. The untarnished parts of you he’s only beginning to realize he wants to corrupt.

Truth is, he’s known for a long time. Longer than he’d like to admit, really. But he’s never let himself feel it fully until now. It wasn’t something that hit him all at once. No, it crept up on him slowly, over the months. He’s always known you were beautiful, in that distant, untouchable way. You’re his daughter’s best friend, after all.

But he couldn’t help his eyes from lingering on you a little too long when you’d come over to hang out with Areum, how he’d feel the tension of his work day melt when he’d let himself be coddled by the warmth of your helping actions, the way his muscles would instead tense when he’d catch sight of you lounging by the pool.

He’d been good at keeping it under bay. But you weren’t subtle, not even the slightest, and it all made it harder. Even more when you’ve been nothing but the proof that angels exist, and at some point he convinced himself you were sent on Earth to fill the void he felt his whole life, with your unconditional care towards his daughter and your pupils widening whenever they’d land on his.

Maybe it was seeing you tonight, all grown up and standing there in that dress, hugging your figure deliciously. How you carried yourself, confident yet unsure, mature yet untouched.

Hearing you talk about your inexperience, about that brief, awkward encounter with a boy who clearly didn’t know what he was doing. Watching you squirm under your friends’ teasing questions, witnessing how you tried to explain yourself.

It’s like it all clicks into place for him. And for the first time, he’s letting himself acknowledge it.

Jeongguk wants you.

He knows it’s wrong. So wrong. He's never felt this way about someone so much younger than him, and yet, the need to be the first one to truly touch you, to show you what it means to be wanted by a real man, makes his blood run hot.

Yet, he feels disgusting. Selfish, his stomach swirling with nerves. Dirty, his fingers twitching and begging to free his insides from such feelings.

There’s simply no ignoring it anymore, no pretending like you’re just Areum’s friend. That boundary he set in his mind is starting to blur. He's old enough to know better, but old enough to know exactly what he wants.

Your eyes widen with terror, meeting Jeongguk’s own hardened gaze. He wants to tell you, wants you to know, but the way your startled expression lingers in his narrowed eyes makes him hesitate.

The contact is abruptly interrupted when one of Areum’s friends, an older kid she’s met through her dad’s colleague, crashes into you from behind, draping his weight over your shoulders.

You struggle not to stumble forward, holding yourself on the arms of your chair while you look to the side, and immediately try to pull away when you realize the unwanted proximity.

But you’re weaker than the boy’s embrace, holding you still and wiggling his eyebrows, his tone playful as he ruffles your hair, “Is it me?”

The people around you laugh, but the way your body stiffens, the clear discomfort in your eyes — Jeongguk notices. And he also notices (reluctantly) the ugly feeling making space in his stomach the more that guy’s face moves closer to yours. His jaw twitches, the muscle at his temple ticking.

He can’t just stand there doing nothing anymore.

The sudden sound of the door to the garden opening catches everyone’s attention, and your gaze flies over in that direction.

Jeongguk steps out, presence commanding, and Areum’s eyes grow wide, instantly sensing something wrong in the way her father is looking at the scene. His eyes are too dark, too sharp, and if no one else detects it, you and his daughter surely do.

Still, the taller boy behind you moves up again, taking a step back from your seat, and Jeongguk seems to reserve him a look you find hard to decipher.

“Areum,” he calls, soft but firm. She’s quick to move toward him, and you can’t help but try to listen in on what he’s saying to her.

But the voices rise again, loud and boisterous, filling the space with chatter, drowning out any chance you had of overhearing. You sigh, returning to your slumped position on the chair. As you do, you can’t ignore how all the girls around you are sneaking glances at him, their giggles piercing through the air as they whisper among themselves.

Jeongguk has always had a certain effect on people, and tonight is no different. You hear some of their comments, but they don’t fully register in your mind. All you can focus on is the bitter feeling rising in your chest.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. It sickens you, the way you have to share the image of him with everyone else. You wish only your eyes had been granted the gift of looking at him, of admiring the way his shirt stretches across his chest or how his hair falls perfectly, even when tousled. Instead, he’s a spectacle for everyone to enjoy, and you hate it.

When Areum returns, it’s with a slightly slumped posture and her energy deflated. Behind her, Mr. Jeon stands with his arms crossed, a small, condescending smile tugging at his lips.

Areum’s voice is low as she announces, “The party’s over, guys.”

The subtle groans of disappointment echo around you as your friends gather their things, saying their goodbyes and slowly trickling out, only after trying to argue about it, giving up when met with no possible negotiation. Once the last guest has left, it’s just the three of you, left to clean up the remnants of the night in the dimly lit garden.

The air is tense on your skin. You can feel it in every movement, every glance that passes between you and Jeongguk, though he barely looks at you now. His focus is elsewhere. On the mess, on Areum, on anything but you. It’s silent for a while as each one of you picks up their own task. Teamwork seems to be efficient, every area of the backyard slowly regaining its original aspect.

Until Areum yawns dramatically, stretching her arms above her head as she makes her way over to you and her father. She mumbles, blinking heavily. "’M so sleepy."

Jeongguk raises an eyebrow. He teases lightly, voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "Oh, really? You’re just gonna leave all this mess behind?"

For a moment, you and Areum both freeze, glancing at each other with wide eyes, unsure if he’s serious. However, you don’t seem to notice Jeongguk’s lips curling into a soft, knowing smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Just kidding,” he chuckles, tone warm now, the joke clear. “Go sleep, c’mon. It’s past your bedtime.”

Areum sighs with exaggerated relief, rolling her eyes before stepping forward to wrap her arms around her dad in a loose hug. She mumbles into his chest, “I’m not a kid anymore, dad. I don’t have a bedtime.”

He chuckles with a lightness foreign to you until that moment, and he leans down, pressing his lips gently to the top of her head, voice a low and tender whisper, “Whatever you say. Happy birthday, Reumie.”

It’s such a simple moment, nothing grand or elaborate. Still, you watch them with stars in your eyes, completely captivated by this rare portrayal of vulnerability from Mr. Jeon. You almost feel like an intruder, yet you keep contradicting yourself when you can’t help but want to be part of it, too. Want to bask in his love, the one he keeps hidden but the same one that shapes him whole. That fills him from head to toe, never spilling, always quiet. Makes him the brave man you only know through your best friend’s admiring eyes, never from his words.

He doesn’t like talking about himself, but you’d kill to know what truly goes through his mind, even for just a second. You’d gladly settle in a cramped house in his brain, pay rent and everything.

When Areum finally pulls away and turns to you, her expression sleepy but content, she asks, “You coming with me?”

You hesitate, glancing at the mess still surrounding you. You speak with a small, reassuring smile, only looking at your friend, “I'll be there in a minute. I wanna help clean up first.”

She just shrugs, too tired to argue, and heads inside. Jeongguk's eyes follow her briefly before flicking back to you.

His lips part as if he wants to say something. Maybe to insist that there’s no need to help, that you should join Areum inside and get a good night's sleep. But the words never come. Instead, he watches you silently for a second longer, before turning his attention back to the garden.

Now, it’s just the two of you.

The quiet between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy. The subtle hum of the night seems louder now without the chatter of party guests, and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze fills the air as you move around the small round tables, readjusting the chairs.

You’re trying to focus on the task at hand, but your mind keeps drifting to other regions. In your distraction, you clumsily trip over your own feet, your breath catching as you stumble forward.

Before you can fall, though, a strong hand grips your arm, steadying you instantly.

“Oops. Careful, little one,” it’s Jeongguk’s deep voice murmuring close to your ear, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

Your face flushes immediately, heat spreading across your cheeks and down your neck. “Sorry,” you whisper, glancing up at him through your lashes, feeling ridiculously small under his intense gaze.

“It’s okay,” he instantly replies, tone so gentle it almost makes your heart falter.

Silence falls again, but this time, it’s thicker, and maybe even uncomfortable. You both remain still for a moment, his hand loosely gripping your arm, and you feel yourself burn where his fingers rest. His thumb brushes your skin lightly, a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture, but it’s enough to make you gulp audibly.

Finally, he releases you, stepping back slightly, but his eyes never leave yours, "Thanks for making my daughter happy today. I really appreciate that. I appreciate you."

Your mind races, trying to find the right words to respond, but all you can manage is a stutter, “Oh. I—”

His voice is firmer when he gently cuts you off, “Go sleep now. I'll finish here.”

You want to protest, but the way he’s looking at you — dark eyes locking onto yours, holding you in place even with his hand now by his side — makes it impossible.

There’s something about the way he’s speaking, like he’s being careful with his words, almost spelling them out, making sure you’re paying attention to each one, “If you need anything, you know where to find me. Yeah?”

You swallow hard, nodding slowly. His gaze is unwavering, and it feels like he’s saying something more than just the words themselves, something you can’t quite grasp yet. You stammer, “Right. Yes. I—I’ll… goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

It’s not exactly a good night for you. In a sense, maybe it is. You always welcome dreams like these when they decide to visit. But right now, it feels more than a little awkward.

Worst timing ever. You’re lying next to Areum, the daughter of the very man who’s making you wet with just a few flashes of imagery dancing behind your closed eyelids.

At first, it’s soft, almost serene. You see a beach, engulfed in warm, blurry tones that blend together like watercolors left to bleed in the sun. The sea is flat, unmoving, and glimmers like pearls under the flaming light.

A weight presses down on your exposed thigh. The sensation feels so vivid that it pulls you deeper into the dream, and as you glance down, you instantly recognize the large, familiar hand resting there.

Jeongguk's hand. His left one. On the fourth finger, a gold ring.

When you lift your head, his face greets you with a wide, unusual smile. His hair is wet, slicked back as if he’s just come out of the water, droplets clinging to the tips. He bites his lip, and you see it. A double piercing sits on the side of his mouth, the silver studs gleaming as he plays with them using the tip of his tongue. Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t just see it there. On his eyebrow, a matching piercing catches the sunlight, giving him a rebellious edge.

You remember them from old pictures Areum showed you once. Jeongguk, in his younger days, rougher, wilder, and undeniably charming.

It must have left a deep impression on you because your subconscious has dug it up now, weaving it into this dream. Deep in your slumber, you unconsciously whine.

His hand kneads the soft skin of your leg, and his grin stretches wider, eyes crinkling into familiar crescents, but with an edge you’ve never seen on him before.

"You wanna take another bath?" His voice is husky in your ear, filled with suggestion. He's leaning in now, closer, his fingers drawing lazy circles on your skin. Before you can say anything, his hand slides higher, fingers grazing the hem of your swimsuit. "Come on. Just you and me."

Jeongguk’s hand is still playing with the laces of your bikini, and he’s slow and teasing as he pulls one of them. When he fully undoes it, you’re bare in front of him.

But he doesn’t look down just yet. He keeps staring in your eyes, his smile gone now, replaced with something more serious, more focused.

Jeongguk leans closer to your ear, pillowy lips brushing your lobe, and it feels way too real when he whispers, “Let me make you feel good.”

It’s with a jolt that you wake up, the low sound still echoing in the depths of your brain, and you struggle to take in your surroundings at first. On your right, Areum is sleeping soundly, even snoring softly. You'll tease her about it in the morning.

If the thought initially puts a smile on your face, it morphs into a frown when you register the reason why you’re now awake, and you brim with guilt. You have to get away from your best friend. Need to get away from your brain, if possible. Wash it all with a glass of cold water.

You make sure not to cause too much noise as you slowly sit up, the covers falling from your figure and the air welcoming you with goosebumps on your skin. Your naked feet tentatively touch the ground and you force yourself to stand on them, padding on the floor and exiting the room, gently closing the door behind your shoulders.

At first, you only hear it. Faint, muffled noises; fussing; heavy panting; groans.

You blink rapidly, convinced your hazy brain is still cozily wrapped around the blankets, finding it hard to let go of the images that had flashed behind your eyelids and adapt to the new state of consciousness.

But as you make your way to the stairs, the sounds get closer, and more vivid. It's not just your mind playing evil games anymore.

It’s shushed moans, and eager whines. And they seem awfully close to how you’d always imagined Mr. Jeon would sound like. In that situation.

Having lost control over your own brain a long time ago, it feels like you’re now being ordered around by it, no freedom of choice whatsoever.

Your feet move on their own, following the source of that delicious music, and you swear your eyes get teary with joy when you find that the door was left ajar.

You feel delirious. The small gap is more than enough to give you a view into what you never thought you’d have the honor of witnessing: the man of all your desires has his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing it, then dragging it up and down in slow movements that you just know are torturing him, from the way he harshly bites his lower lip, to the way his furrowed eyebrows almost meet at the bridge of his nose, eyes focused on his doings.

Nonetheless, he loves it. His mouth opens every time he brushes the tip of his thick dick with his palm, releasing small whines, followed by quiet moans when he uses his other hand to play with his balls.

He cusses repeatedly, then grips his base and halts his movements. Only to go over the punishing pattern again, bringing himself closer to the edge then retraining when he feels like stepping over it.

The sight of Mr. Jeon edging himself makes your knees weak. It takes over you physically, you genuinely have to find support in the wall beside you.

You need to be there with him. You need it to be your hand; need him to guide it just the way he likes it; need him to teach you how to please him. His groans make your head spin, and you need to get closer.

You’re not thinking when you instinctively take a step towards the slightly open door, but when you do, the floor cracks under you.

You’re paralysed. In the silence of the house, wrapped in night time, the otherwise small sound is amplified, and he stops his hand.

With the little power you still possess over your actions, you move your back to the wall beside the door. Your breaths are ragged, too overwhelmed with the mixture of fear and lust, and you think of running away to hide but a huge weight is chaining you down, and you find yourself unable to move.

You can only register fussing from the other side, the soft thump of his feet on the floor and the door opening alarmingly. When he looks to the side, he’s met with his expression mirrored on your small face, your eyes wide but willing themselves to keep looking in his.

If you were to look down, you’re not sure you could keep yourself composed, knowing his cock is hard and unattended in his pajama pants.

“____? What are you doing up?” His voice quickly takes on the calm that characterizes him so well, instilling some of it in your startled figure.

Still, you stutter all throughout your answer, making it clear what you just spied into with the way your face changes color, “I— Water. I wanted— There’s no, huh, water in the fridge.”

Mr. Jeon does a weak job at hiding the confused amusement on his features. Nonetheless, he nods, a small grin on his lips while he says nothing, just walks to the stairs and makes his way down them. You follow hastily, careful not to trip.

There's plenty of water in the fridge, but he doesn’t question it. He takes out a bottle and pours a glass for you, sliding it over the counter.

You take the smallest sip, afraid you might choke with the way he stands facing you, staring so intensely into your orbs.

When you put the still full glass down, he smirks. You see his hands gripping the edge of the table in front of him, “Nightmare?”

The depth of his voice translates into heat pooling right in your lower stomach and staining your shorts. You're a mess just from the blurred sight of him. You shake your head, “More like… a weird dream.”

He smiles taut, having to break the prolonged eye contact and look elsewhere, his grip getting tighter and his patience wearing thin.

He won’t be able to control himself much longer if he doesn’t get out of this kitchen, especially with the effects of your effortless charm flooding down his pleading dick.

You’re in front of him, eyes fond with a feeling that scares him, only the counter dividing your bodies, and you’re wearing the tiniest satin shorts paired with a white tank top that leaves little to the imagination, the cut dangerously low and your nipples evident through the material.

He’s a gone man.

His eyes no longer anchoring you, your gaze automatically travels to where you shouldn’t be looking, for your own sanity. The outline of his cock is so delicious, it makes your mouth water with want.

You’re not sure if it’s your own eyes deceiving you, but you swear you can see it throb, and at that moment you realize he’s not wearing any underwear. Just thin, loose pants covering his length.

You gulp, clenching around nothing. You feel him sigh, and the sound makes your head spin with greater force.

He looks back at you, but you’re too enthralled by your current view, the effects of it almost completely shutting out your hearing and your rational thinking, as you round the counter and leave his words hung in the air, "I'm sorry for… what you probably saw. Should’ve closed the door.”

Apology silently dismissed, or simply ignored (why would he even apologize for blessing you with such an unforgettable sight?) you now stand next to him. As he turns to you, you’re faced with his chest, and you have to bend your head upwards to meet his curious eyes.

Your body has long forgotten to trust the thin amount of rationality that could still be found in your brain, and that’s how you find yourself leading your hand to cup his cock through his pajamas.

His face is stoic, staring at you intensely. He doesn’t startle, doesn’t gasp, doesn’t move away. But you feel him. If the contact does something to him, he doesn’t show it. He keeps looking down at you, in your eyes.

Then, he speaks, his voice steady, “What are you doing.”

You’re suddenly aware of your actions, and you fall victim to them, feeling small because of his stern, composed gaze while you feel like melting under it.

Your voice is frail, barely a whisper, too weak to sound as convinced as you truly are, and your words come out slurred, “Wanna help you.”

He doesn’t break, doesn’t seem affected by your desperation, but his pupils are blown out, knuckles white from grasping the counter, “You already did enough.”

Your hand is still on his clothed dick, unmoving. No one dares break the moment, though. If anything, being this close to him, feeling him while you both search for something in each other’s eyes, is only spurring you further.

You get on your tip toes, your perky nipples brushing against his chest, your voice low while you tilt your head to the side, “What were you thinking of? I'll be that for you.”

Immediately, his hand flies over yours. He doesn’t move it, just holds it still. The look in his eyes is a lot darker, his eyelids droopy, his jaw clenched, “Stop this.”

The electrifying spark that buzzes you the moment you feel his skin travels from your hand to your whole body, and it significantly weakens you.

You don’t know if you fall to your knees because they genuinely give up on you, but it’s how you find yourself facing his hardness, your eyes never leaving his glossy ones, highlighted by the dim light shining through the curtains of his kitchen.

“___. Get up.” There’s a tremor in his voice, and the hand that was blocking yours now falls by his side, twitching.

You see it in his eyes. Sense it in the tension of his muscles. He's holding back. But you don’t want him to resist you.

“Please,” your beg is muffled and quiet, your nose brushing against his length and following a torturous path that makes him hiss.

He groans deliriously, willing himself to tear his orbs off your big, pleading ones staring up at him, but he doesn’t do anything to move you away.

“Fuck,” the chuckle that follows is feverish, his body on fire with the forbidden, but so wanted touch, “Don’t make me have to reject you, doll.”

“You don’t have to,” you’re unexpectedly quick in your answers, your conscience coming back to you but letting it be taken over by a dark feeling, the one that makes you kiss his tip through the thin material, and lick along his length, finding his eyes, "I want you.”

Jeongguk inhales, his lower lip bleeding with the harsh biting, and he swears his knees are shaking with the effort of keeping even the slightest, thinnest thread of sanity intact.

He wishes he could stop you. Knows he should. But he can't. He can only watch as your slim fingers hook under the hem of his light pants and lead them to pool down his ankles.

The way his cock springs free and brushes your smooth, pure face makes him huff out a deep exhale, his jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed as he takes in your eyes widening at the sight of his length.

Mr. Jeon is long. And thick. He's veiny, and perfectly shaved. It looks almost unrealistic, but he’s in front of you in all his glory and he throbs. Leaks pretty precum to coat his angry tip.

He doesn’t know how he manages to speak, especially when you look up at him through your droopy eyelids, pupils blown and tongue ready to take him.

His voice is rough, as if it wants to stay stuck in his throat, but he forces one last warning out, “___. Don’t do it.”

Any and all kinds of inhibitions are nonexistent the moment you attempt a kitten lip at his wet tip, and the simple action makes his head fall backwards, a way too loud growl escaping him. His breaths are heavy, broad chest moving with them as he looks down at you again, too tempted to look elsewhere.

He curses as soon as he does, his lust-filled orbs swimming in your equally craving ones, and he believes this view is crafted by the hands of a God, not slightly comparable to anything his mind came up with back in his room, not too long ago.

The reason why he’s gotten rock hard under his covers, it’s you. The yearning he couldn’t suppress anymore, the hunger making him salivate, the need to be consumed by your love, the desire to be touched by you, to be cured by your innocence, only to taint it.

He’s thirsty, wants to drink all of you in. Wants to finally have you, taste you, feel you. He's tired of fighting it.

Jeongguk doesn’t know how to decipher his heart doing literal flips in his chest when you fully take his cock in your mouth, and he lets out a sound he’s never heard his own self ever produce. It’s high-pitched, whiny, delirious, and it leads himself to subtly push himself forward, to bury his length in your throat.

You inevitably choke at the new sensation, your eyes fluttering shut to keep the tears welling up under your eyelids from spilling out, but you go relentlessly, just as hungry.

You tentatively bob your head up and down his length, messily taking him as best as you could, probably accidentally scraping him with your teeth a few times, and you try to make up for it with your swirling tongue, slurping thirstily.

He almost coos at your eagerness, and as badly as he wants to bask in the sensation, having to keep himself from pounding into your mouth, he holds your silky hair in a ponytail and gently pushes you away.

When you find him again, your eyes are glossy and your eyebrows drawn up with worry.

You don’t want this moment to end. You don’t want your insecurities to be proven right, don’t want him to ward you off, to still think of you as nothing more than a childish girl with an evident crush. You're on your knees for him to finally see you.

Jeongguk instantly reads your thoughts.

His voice is quick to sooth you, a sweet smile painting his face with an expression you rarely see on him. It's soft, just like his voice, “Come up here, angel.”

You want to listen to him, want to follow his every order. But you’re not sure how to when he’s regarding you with a care you’d never thought would be directed at you, one that empties you of any strength. When the pet name rolling off his tongue that easily seems so natural, you want to think it’s all he’s ever seen you as.

With a delicate tug at your hair, he leads you on your feet again. Still, you’re weak, your chin falling on his chest as you look at him through your lashes like he’s hung every single star in the sky.

His hand leaves your locks only to cup your face, promptly helping you stand straight to study your features.

If he didn’t know better, he’d say you’re high off the strongest substance you could find. Your pupils cover your orbs in a dark, wide circle, a lazy smile on your pink lips as you let yourself be handled by him, no control over your body, almost falling over his bigger one again before he steadies you by your hips.

He lets out an amused chuckle at the state you’re in because of him, and he hopes you know just how much you’re affecting him, too. He wants to swallow you, pill after pill, overdose on you.

When he’s sure you don’t need his help keeping you still anymore, leading your palms to rest on his wide shoulders, he takes your face in his big hands and forces you to swim in the intensity of his gaze.

His words are spoken slowly, a low whisper fanning over your lips, “If I kiss you now, I won't be able to control myself anymore.”

Your eyes jump relentlessly between his own orbs and his mouth, the latter winning the battle when you fixate on it, and speak just as weakly, “Please, kiss me.”

You barely manage to get the words out before Jeongguk is all over you. He devours you, pushing your lips open and finding your tongue, playing with it in a mess of slick and heavy breaths.

His fingers travel through every angle of your body they can find, pulling your face impossibly closer by your nape, leaving goosebumps along your bare arms wrapping around his neck, falling down your torso and squeezing harshly as they rest by your sides.

Your moan is inevitable when his palms reach down the curve of your ass and shove you against him. You feel his hardness meet the softness of your lower belly, his wet tip poking at it and making him hiss on your lips.

He does his best to swallow all your sounds, your muffled whines and whimpers his favorite meal as of now. It's a wince of slight pain that you let out as he positions you in between his body and the counter, the border pressing on your lower back.

When he moves from your kiss, even with your lungs being unable to breathe anymore and begging for a break, your head follows his movements to try and bring him back on you again.

The chuckle he lets out is almost belittling, the right side of your face being completely engulfed by his palm to put distance between your mouths, his other hand keeping you still by your waist, and his own hips push against you.

You quickly glance down to where your bodies meet, and you whimper when you take in the way his cock is just above your core, his balls brushing against your clit. You only need to lift yourself a little forward to fully feel him.

But it’s like he instantly knows what’s making your head spin, his grip tighter but still mindful not to hurt you. The sudden squeeze has your eyes finding his, feeling ridiculously smaller under the weight of his heavy gaze.

He makes sure you keep your whole focus on him, and as much as registering the way your orbs are glossy with anticipation and desire is making him almost regret his next words, he lets them out, steady but soft, in your face.

“You had your fun, baby. Now, you’re going to listen to me. Hm?”

This time, your reaction comes promptly following his request. You're hanging from his lips, tracing their every move and sound, immediately nodding at the order.

It’s not enough, and Jeongguk ensures to sound a bit firmer, ”Use your words.”

”Yes, Mr. Jeon.”

The way your response rolls off your tongue with seemingly no hesitation, your pupils still on his, the words you choose to say, make him let out an amused chuckle.

Your eyes widen, and he drinks in your state, cheeks flushed and lower lip trembling. You need to bite it in order for it to stop shaking when he narrows his eyes, his left palm rising from your hip and finding its way under your top, his remark making you startle, ”You’re such a bad girl. Aren’t you?”

Jeongguk makes up for the way more tears seem to well along your bottom lashes by cupping your small breast in his larger hand, swirling his thumb around your nipple, and you need to fight against the loud moan traveling its way up your throat, the choked sound getting stuck as your mouth hangs open, your eyebrows furrowed.

It only takes some more of his degrading tone for you to let out an unashamedly loud noise, his fingertips pinching your nipple, ”Calling me that only because it gets you off. Doesn’t it? You’re not so innocent after all, angel.”

He quickly swallows your sounds with his lips on yours, and both of you can’t help but hum lowly at the contact. Jeongguk thinks he could keep kissing you for hours on end. But he badly wants to feel every other inch of your body, too.

Unexpectedly, the kiss gets broken when he turns your body around with ease, your back now pressing against his front, and you steady your shaking figure by planting your hands on the counter.

The access to your ear comes effortlessly, he just needs to bend his head down to cover your height difference and make sure his whispered words meet you as close as possible, “I’ll give you what you want. But you need to be quiet and good for me, understood?”

You’re not sure if you should use your voice or stay silent, but your body doesn’t give you the chance to ponder over it before letting out a whiny Yes. You’re not exactly being quiet, but can he blame you?

The man you’d get to talk to for more than five minutes only in your dreams is now promising you he’s going to give you what you want. And his cock is perfectly nestled in between your ass cheeks. You're positive you’ll have to throw your shorts right in the bin after he’s done with you.

Though, the scoff resounding in your ear makes you regret not even trying to lower your volume. You really want to be good for him. Don’t want to disappoint him.

That’s why when he taps two fingers under your chin, without him having to express it for you, you part your lips open, tongue out. From the corner of your eye, you see the side of his face scrunched with a long dimple before he shoves the digits inside your wet mouth.

You instantly wrap yourself around his long fingers, coating them in your warm slick, and you can tell it’s affecting him with the way the hold on your hip tightens, and he shifts between your thighs.

With your tongue swirling around the two digits, your eyes search for his face. Looking up at him through your lashes, you clench around nothing when you take in the effortless way he towers over you, his body engulfing your whole smaller figure.

The sinful eye contact leads him to spur you on further, his voice rough with desire, “That’s right. Suck on them like you would my cock.”

You hum deeply at the encouragement, fluttering your eyelids shut as you energetically bob up and down along his fingers. You think you can still feel the taste of his precum lingering on your tongue, and you whine, wishing you could have him again.

The noise gets cut from your throat when he forces his digits out, the slicky sound lustful, and it makes him groan lowly.

With his other hand, he delicately pushes your head forward to bend you over the marble counter, the same one where hours ago he passed you his glass of wine to take a sip from.

The surface is cold against your cheek and he’s out of your vision as he stands straight. Not being able to see what he’s doing, the expression on his face as you lay folded for him, makes the anticipation flood even stronger in your veins.

You feel him pull your shorts down enough to reveal yourself to him, hear him hiss as he’s enthralled by the way your pussy glistens, all for his eyes to admire.

The curse that follows is instant, “Fuck. No panties?”

You’re embarrassed for your straightforward bareness, whimpering at his surprise with your fist tightening and your nails imprinting crescents in your palms, but you’re also so impatient to feel his touch.

Tentatively, you wiggle for him, hoping to brush against his length, but it’s to no effort as he instantly stills your movements with a hand on your lower back.

He scoffs incredulously, feeling your bare ass against his palm, “It’s like you knew this would happen. You dirty, naughty girl. Always giving me those eyes.”

It’s light, the spank that meets the side of your butt, but you gasp nonetheless. You need to bite your lower lip harshly in order to suppress the loud moan from escaping your throat, and you’re sure it bleeds when he strokes the spot he hit.

The hand soothing you now travels to your front, torturously putting pressure on your sensitive stomach and following a slow pattern, only to reach your wet core.

He finally touches you where you’ve been needing him the most, and you both groan when he uses his already soaked pointer and ring finger to spread your lips, his middle one tracing your slit.

You inhale deeply as he repeats the motion, and when you exhale you can’t help small whines from leaving you, the pleasure already too overwhelming.

You feel like passing out when his body weight presses on you again, his mouth directly on your lobe, the intention in his voice dripping on your skin, “You think I wouldn’t notice? You know how hard my cock gets everytime I see you in these tiny clothes of yours, huh? You’re quite literally the death of me, doll.”

Then, it’s like all your senses come back to you the moment he pushes his digit in, and he immediately reaches around you to put his other hand over your mouth the second he sees it opening, your eyes rolling up.

You cry in his palm, the sound muffled with his fingers tightening under your jaw, his body still leaning on yours. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear and stills his middle finger inside you, getting you used to his presence, “Shh, princess. Good baby, you’re doing perfect.”

The contrast to his earlier shaming tone only makes you whine more, your eyes squeezing closed to try and keep the noises in. You’re sure you bite his palm when he starts moving inside you, the finger curling tentatively and soon being joined by another one.

You shake your head weakly, feeling yourself reach delirium, and you manage to stammer out, “Can’t— can’t do this.”

“You can baby, c’mon. You wanna be a good girl f’me, don’t you?” His tone is still low, warm breath fanning over your nape, and you melt under the sudden change in attitude.

You nod, not because you believe you can actually get through this without your heart failing and the whole neighborhood hearing you in the process, but because you do want to be his good girl.

He hums, “That’s right. I need to stretch you out if you want to take my cock.”

You choke in his wrap, now looser around your face, surprised at his words, and you clench hard at the mention of his cock inside you. You throw your head backwards in search of more of his proximity, and you mumble nonsense, your brain completely melted, “Yes! Want your dick.”

“I know you do, little one,” with your head nestled between the crook of his neck, his hand now falls to your throat, and he holds you gently by it while his fingers pick up a faster pace.

He's ruthless as he moves them inside you, effortlessly finding your sweet spot with a curl of his long, tattooed digits, and you whimper at the foreign sensation, unable to moan like you really want to.

You feel like screaming the more he keeps going, the only possible reaction to what is happening to you. One moment ago you were dreaming of this, and now it’s your reality.

Mr. Jeon is fingering you and calling you his good girl. His large figure is behind your smaller one bent over the counter, his palm around your throat, his hard length pressing against your ass.

The moment he uses his thumb to flick at your clit, you arch your back into him and you hear him fight to suppress a surprised moan.

“Shit. You’re so impatient, sugar. Dripping around my fingers. Wanna taste your sweet juice, can I?” It’s a rhetorical question, hushed slurredly in your ear, because after he lets it out his fingers leave your hole, and find a new home on his warm tongue.

He purposefully moves your chin to make you a witness of his sinful action, humming deeply around the taste of you, his eyes fluttering shut, his digits popping out drenched.

Your mouth hangs, your tongue unconsciously peeking out as if asking to be made a participant, but Jeongguk only smirks and stands straight once again, his wet hand leaving another light spank on your ass cheek, “Turn around, sweets.”

You do as asked, making sure your palms are still steadying your weight on the counter now behind you, afraid your legs alone won’t be able to. You soon find out you won’t have to put much effort into that when Jeongguk lifts you with ease and sits you on the surface, your slickness meeting the cold marble.

You don’t have to lift your head to look at him anymore, your heights now the same. But finding yourself directly in front of his hardened gaze makes you feel even more intimidated.

Especially when he traces your inner thigh, his eyes never leaving yours, “Every time you stand up to leave after dinner, you always leave a puddle on my chairs. And I’m left to clean it up.”

You swallow audibly at the accusation, and you can feel your eyes water once again, biting your lips to conceal the shame.

He only grins amusedly at your state, the tip of his tongue coming out to play with his lower lip. The hand on your leg now forces it to move to the side, his face only getting closer to yours, his tone deeper, "I've thought about licking it up, you know? But then I always stopped myself, because I knew I'd get to taste your pretty, wet pussy.”

You gasp, a shaky moan leaving you uncontrollably, and your fingers hover over his figure, wanting to find support in him but unsure whether to touch him.

He finds your mouth in a short kiss, almost reassuring, but he’s back to spitting sins the moment he lowers his face between your spread legs, and the way he looks up at you is almost scandalous. He looks devilish, his orbs visible through his lashes, his tongue wetting his lips. He takes your uncertain hand and places it between his tousled hair, directing himself to you, instructing you how to use him.

He presses a peck above your clit, still drinking in your reactions, his smile wicked, “I knew you’d crumble soon. You little minx. Going after your best friend’s dad. So naughty.”

Your head is thrown backwards at his words, ones that only add to the pleasure that takes over you when he latches at your pussy, the wet sounds ungodly.

The shame and guilt mixing in the back of your mind generate a profane sense of bliss you’d never think you could reach, and even though deep down you feel dirty being confronted with the truth he sputtered out so easily, you can’t help getting off to it right now.

Jeongguk is ravenous as he finds your drenched lips, lapping furiously at them and drinking the juice that continuously drips out. He flicks the tip of his tongue up and down your swollen clit, and your hand that he himself put on top of his head now tugs at his curls, forcing him closer to you. He’s trapped, your legs squeezing around his head, his nose nuzzled in your slit, and he can’t stop the hand that reaches to stroke his pleading dick.

You think you hear him mumble something along the lines of taste so good as he teases your hole with his wet muscle, and you’re a gone woman the moment you look down, your eyes fluttering open.

His own are closed, brows furrowed in deep concentration, his nose relentlessly grinding against your sensitive nub, and the way he seems so affected by the act of pleasuring you breaks something inside you.

You feel it begin to crumble when his tattooed hand reaches up to lift your top just enough to expose your breasts, nipples hardening with the cold air and the stimulation, and you swear they hurt deliciously when he starts kneading at your boob, fondling it with care.

The deep hum generated from his throat vibrates against you, and the flick of his thumb around the center of your tit matched with the way your clit is being continuously abused unexpectedly leads you to your orgasm.

It’s fast, unannounced, and you find support in his hair, your body taking over your brain and relentlessly grinding against Jeongguk’s face, suffocated between you, unable to stop reaching for the heavenly, and so awaited high.

Your whines are frantically high pitched, but the moment he feels you cum all over his mouth everything around him disappears except you, and all he cares about is slurping you, drinking you as you let it all out because of him.

He pants, breathless, opening his eyes to witness your climax, to admire you breaking under his doings, chest swelling with pride and a primal sense of protectiveness.

When he hears you whimper the more he keeps sucking on your clit, your slim fingers pulling at his locks, he finally lifts himself up.

On the path he follows to come back up to meet your face, he finds your nipple with a sweet kiss, his tongue teasing your nub, and he smiles against it, teeth gently pinching it. When seeking with his eyes for your reaction he sees your own rolling back. Next, his mouth is on yours, smearing your wetness all over your lips and mixing it with his spit on your tongue, connecting in a frantic, hungry dance.

His forehead rests against yours when he breaks the kiss, breaths heavy, the lazy grin on his face the only thing you can focus on, hanging on his gentle words, “Did so good, babe. Came so hard all over me.”

Your eyes inevitably fall down to his cock, painfully hard against his stomach, the tip angry and slicked with precum.

You feel your core buzz, kissing him to conceal the unshameful desire building up so fast again, but still you can’t help from mumbling against him, “Wan’ you to fuck me.”

The hum of pleasure coming from his throat reverberates on your lips, and he smiles at your confession. Even chuckles, one hand resting at your hip and sliding you closer.

“That what you want, baby?” Your legs wrapping around him, he kisses along your neck and travels to your collarbones, leaving small bites to keep himself from marking you like he truly wants to.

He slips his palms under your thighs and lifts you up the counter effortlessly, your legs squeezing tighter around him in order to keep yourself balanced. The new position has his cock perfectly meeting your core, your slit brushing against his tip as he walks you two over the living room couch, his mouth promptly swallowing your whimpers.

When he lays you on the sofa, he straightens himself to fully admire you. You're sprawled for him, your hair framing your head like a halo, the sweat pearling your forehead adding to your angelic state.

Your hands are on either side of your face, fingers dainty and slender, and your tank top is lifted up enough to show him your small breasts, slightly spilling from the sides with the new position.

Your shorts still rest under your ass, and with a swift motion he fully takes them off you, giving him access to your center. But the attention is taken away from your wet cunt when he lets his eyes come back up to your face, your cheek resting on your shoulders, trying to hide your embarrassment at his ravenous observing.

He smiles, becoming impatient with the feeling that only grows inside him, and he walks out of his pants still pooled down his ankles, taking off his loose t-shirt and letting it fall on the ground.

Your eyes widen at his sculpted physique, now finally in front of you, his buff dimensions intimidating you, especially when your orbs follow his V line and put you face to face with his huge cock, so close to your watering hole. He teases it with his length, sliding it up and down your slit, then slapping it against your clit. You arch your back, groaning.

“Am I the real man you’ve been waiting for? You wanna be fucked by this big man, don’t you?” His sinful words only make you nod dumbly, becoming potty under his control.

At your eagerness, he wastes no time. Aligning himself with your hole, he enters you. The stretch is deliciously painful, his tip boldly splitting you open for him. He knows your wail is coming, so he lowers himself on you to block your sounds with his mouth. But, truly, he’s the one that needs to be silenced.

The moment he feels your tightness around his bare dick, he growls. His sounds grow more desperate as he sinks himself deeper, the grip on your waist enough to wreck you, and you’re expecting it to leave a mark

You hum roughly against his lips, your nails scratching along his shoulder blades in search of any kind of grounding you can find. It’s too much, his dimensions way oversized for what your hole can take, and the fact that you can’t help but grip him even tighter isn’t helping.

He reads you, your broken whines and the tear falling from your left eye, and the moment he bottoms out he stills himself, his face in the crook of your neck, his nose nuzzling the warm skin in a reassuring manner, “Shh, baby. I got you. Let me make you feel good.”

The whispered words are the same ones that jolted you from your sleep, the dream almost too real, and paired with his middle and ring finger circling your sensitive nub they cause you to emit a pleasured squeal, your chest arching into his.

At this point, you’re afraid you’re still trapped deep in your slumber. that none of this is actually real, it can’t be. You’re so convinced that it’s just too good to be true that you test it, scraping your nails harshly in his back, and when he bites the skin under your jaw in protest you gasp shakily.

It's definitely real. Jeongguk is fucking you. Almost. Not yet.

With the way your clit is being stimulated by his long fingers, the initial sharpness turns into more slick, and you impatiently groan, “Fuck me, please.”

One final kiss is left on your lips before he lifts his torso up, his hands roaming along your sides and grasping a hold of your tits. He teases you with a playful smirk on his face, your disappointed pout only resulting in a devilish chuckle from him as he massages your soft boobs. You can feel him throb inside you the more you swallow him in, and you know he’s just as impatient. You buck your hips up in search of friction, and the sudden motion makes the both of you moan.

He’s suddenly resolute as his palms fall to your waist and effortlessly holds it up as he begins fucking into you. With each stroke he picks up his pace, and he’s soon pounding your tight hole wrapping around him.

The both of you find out it’s impossible to be quiet. Your sounds are stuttered and pornographic, and it makes Jeongguk afraid he’s never going to be able to get them off his brain.

His own noises are heavenly, deep growls and surprised whines falling out his pillowed lips, slightly agape in bliss, brows drawn up.

Your eyes roll back and never come back, your vision patched, and you think you weren’t built to survive this kind of pleasure. It's almost deathly when he finds that one particular spot that makes you see stars.

Your skin slapping is louder than his hushed speech, but he makes sure the words reach you and translate into wetness coating his length even more, drenching it, making it soaked in your juices, “That’s how you need to be fucked. That’s how my girl needs to be fucked, hm?”

“Mhm, fuck, yes!” It’s breathless, but you want him to hear you. You feel yourself get closer just watching him smirk proudly at your state, his pupils blown out.

His palms are back to playing with your breast, kneading it harshly, and you enjoy the way he seems to be hypnotized by the vision, “Fuck. Love your tits. Fit just right in my hand. You were made for me, angel.”

Your head is thrown back between the cushions, your legs wrapping tighter around his ass and pushing him even deeper, the anticipated sensation building simultaneously in both of your trembling bodies.

“I'm not gonna last long, baby. This pussy’s too tight. Trappin’ me inside it,” Jeongguk’s voice is rough, the words leaving him slurredly and all his effort put into snapping his hips against yours, his eyes focused on the relentless in and out motion.

You wail, mumbling nonsense, but at the same time the most sincere words you’ve ever sputtered to him, “It’s yours, Jeongguk. F—fucking yours. Forever. Ah— fuck.”

He hums, feeling you contract around him the more he speaks to you, “That’s it. My pussy to fuck, baby. Mine to play with, mine to fill up.”

Your eyes widen at his territorial remarks, and when they meet his hazy ones they water with overwhelming ecstasy. The possibility of his cum filling you up is what does it for you, your nerves undoing once again and making you spasm around his throbbing dick. He talks you through your orgasm, praising you for cumming so good all over him, drinking in your blissful sounds and your hips rutting against his.

He’s just as close, and the realization that you came the moment he mentioned painting you in his seed makes him a crazed man, his motions stuttering sloppily, “Fuck. Aren’t you a naughty one, doll. You really want me to come inside you? You want it, huh? I bet you do.”

Your repeated nodding and the way your body is so pliant in his hold, letting it be completely handled by him with no functioning muscle, pervades his senses with a primal force that he puts into fucking your sensitive cunt.

He smirks wickedly, “You’d look so pretty. All stuffed. Want me to fill up this tight pussy? Want my mature cock in so deep you can’t breathe?”

You think you scream at his continuous suggestions, but you can’t be sure when all your senses are clouded, the oversensitivity turning you into a literal doll for him, no power over your actions. He looks just as fucked out, his lips parting as he basks in the feeling of being in control of you, eyes fighting to stay open and keep you in his vision.

When he feels you contracting around him in overstimulation, his breath stutters and he feels himself reach the peak, quickly pulling out of you to spill his cum over your naked skin. You gasp at the sudden emptiness and the warm liquid that keeps falling over your stomach, his cock being pumped in his fist and milked from all he can give you. You both pant in exhaustion, your legs loosening their grip around him as he dips his weak knees on either side of you on the couch.

He hums when he fully takes in your figure, marked by his cum, and he smiles when he sees your eyelids struggling to not fall. But you spasm once again when you feel his finger slide over your stomach, the wet liquid being collected, “Now, you gonna clean this up for me. Open your pretty mouth, baby.”

You don’t even ponder on the request, you just follow the order. Your brain is reduced to thoughts that are only related to him, and it automatically complies to anything that he orders from you. You engulf his digits promptly, swallowing his semen, looking up at him through your lashes and unashamedly clenching at his lazy smirk.

He makes sure every drop of his is collected and sucked by your hungry mouth, smiling when you don’t ever complain, “Mh, good girl. Get them neat.”

Only when he’s satisfied, he hovers over your face and finds your tongue in a sensual, slow kiss, both of you moaning at the exchange. With a sloppy sound, he parts from you only to disappear between your thighs, his eyes mischievous, “Gonna clean you up too.”

You gasp at the feeling of his mouth wrapping around your core once again, slurping your juice and lapping at your inner thighs, and you’re not sure how this is going to help in getting you clean. You only feel yourself becoming even wetter.

Leaving a kiss above your nub, he straightens up with a boyish smile softening his features, and with the fond way he’s looking at you, nobody could tell he just made you cum twice.

He moves your bangs from your forehead, closing the distance between you once again to leave small pecks over your still reddened face, “You did amazing, doll. Made me cum so hard.”

You hum contentedly, snuggling closer to him, your body unconsciously gravitating toward his warmth. Your hand lifts to thread through his hair, but before you can touch him, he shifts, pulling away.

The warmth he provided vanishes, replaced by the cold emptiness of the couch. Panic surges in your chest, washing away any remnants of fatigue. You prop yourself up on your forearms, eyes tracking his movements.

You don’t want him to leave you here alone, bare and vulnerable, maybe a bit confused and uncertain, and deep down deathly scared of whatever will come after this.

Your brows furrow, heart picking up a painful speed when you see he’s getting dressed — tossing on his shirt, pulling on his pants. And for a second, your pulsing organ clenches with dread. Is he leaving?

Then you notice him picking up your shorts from the floor, his expression softening as he walks back to you with that same gentle smile that had made your heart flutter earlier.

Relief washes over you.

He handles you delicately, as though you’re something fragile. His fingers brush your skin as he slips your shorts back on, pulling down your top before encircling your waist with his strong arms.

You squeal lightly when he pulls you onto his lap, settling back on the couch with you cradled against his chest. His hands never leave you, securing you to him. You settle into him easily, sighing in appreciation as the warmth of his body returns, your legs draped across his lap, arms circling his neck.

For a brief, fleeting moment, everything feels like it’s in its right place, like this is where you’ve always belonged. It feels so natural, so easy, being wrapped up in him. His deep, slow breaths lull you into a state of calm. His chin rests on the top of your head, hand rubbing soothing strokes along your spine.

You press even closer, breathing him in, feeling like you could get used to this, like you already have. Like you’ve always known this is where you should be. Your fingers trace absentminded patterns along his tattooed arm, the one holding you secure under your legs. You feel the need to look at him, to admire the man that marked you as his.

But when you glance up, you’re a bit startled when you notice the shift in his expression. His face is hardened, jaw clenched tight. He's not relaxed like he was just moments ago. His gaze is distant, staring intently at a spot across the room as if lost in thought. Yet his hands continue to cradle you, almost unconsciously, like holding you has become second nature to him.

Jeongguk’s mind is a whirlwind of emotions, and they only scatter all over the place as he feels you move closer, impossibly so. You seek warmth, care. Nuzzle your fragile body against his for protection, something more that he fears he can’t give you. Love.

He once thought he’d drained himself of it, had nothing left to offer. Now, with you in his arms, the smallest spark flickers to life, burning its way up his throat until it feels like it’s going to consume him.

He wants to give in. He wants to hold you tighter, trap you against him, keep you with him. Give you everything.

But he can’t do that to you. Can’t make you go through the same path that took everything from him. not without ruining you in the process.

He knows what comes next. What always comes next. Love turns into suffering, it’s inevitable. And could he survive seeing the look on Areum’s face when she finds out? How would she react if she knew the truth about what he’s done, about how he feels? About how he truly wants to act upon his feelings? The thought makes him feel sick, even as his heart beats steadily against yours, comforted by your presence.

Why doesn’t he feel disgusted? Why isn’t there shame gnawing at him, making him pull away? Instead, there’s only bliss. The sheer joy of having you this close, of holding you like this, makes him forget everything else.

He wishes he could be immature, for once. Wishes he was your age, and that nothing truly mattered. That he still could allow himself to make stupid decisions.

Maybe then, you’d be his, and reality wouldn’t catch up to him.

“Jeongguk? Are you okay?”

Your soft, honeyed voice pulls him from his spiral, and he startles slightly, caught off guard. His eyes meet yours, wide and filled with concern, searching his face for answers.

He tries to hide the storm brewing inside him, forcing a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Huh? Yeah. I'm okay.”

Of course, you don’t believe him. An ugly feeling makes space in your stomach, and the weight of everything begins to press down. You don’t want it to take over you just yet, want to be coddled by the moment a little more, want to try and believe there’s nothing to be afraid of.

You offer a tentative smile, hoping to ease whatever tension is growing between you. “You… you seem worried.”

“I'm not, baby. I'm just thinking.”

“About?”

“Stuff.” His voice is clipped, and the small wall he’s building between you becomes clearer.

The distance stings, and your heart sinks as you try to hold onto the moment that felt so perfect just a second ago. Desperate to reach him, you place your hands on his face, tilting his chin down to meet your gaze.

Your eyes glisten with emotion, but you manage a genuine, if small, smile. “You can tell me, you know. You can talk to me.”

One simple, small smile spreading across his lips makes you doubt all of your worries. It makes you want to believe that maybe, there’s truly no reason to be scared. That maybe, this can go well.

“I know,” it’s whispered on your face, his hand coming to play with the hair that frame your cheeks sweetly. “Let’s get you to bed now, hm?”

Before you can protest, he’s lifting you off the couch with ease, cradling you in his arms bridal style as if you weigh nothing at all. You clutch onto him.

You feel your insides fuzzy with the gesture, and you wiggle yourself closer in his embrace, looking up at him expectantly, “Your bed?”

It breaks his heart having to disappoint you, tone soft as he tries to make up for it with his thumb brushing your thigh, “No, baby. You gotta go back to Areum’s room.”

“But— but… I wanna sleep next to you,” you plead, your voice small and almost childlike as you pout up at him, hoping to sway him.

He looks away, focusing on the stairs as if looking at you would break his resolve. “We can’t, dove. You know we can’t.”

His words feel like a punch to the gut, and your eyes well up. “We can't?”

The silence that follows is louder than any answer he could have given, and it weighs heavy between you, suffocating. There's no actual explanation to it, and the realization leaves both of you uneasy.

At Areum’s door, he sets you down gently, making sure you’re steady on your feet. He's careful with you, like he always is, his voice low, “Go wash up. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“No…”

“C’mon, sweetheart. Don't make this harder.”

You frown in protest, keeping eye contact, but he doesn’t break. His gaze is steady, resolute.

You want to argue, want to push, but the exhaustion settles over you, and you slump, defeated. You still sway sweetly for him, your hands tied behind your back, “Okay… Can you kiss me?”

Your voice is small, muffled behind your pout as you seek for him with anticipation, a sheepish smile making its way on your lips.

When he doesn’t move closer, you get on your tippy toes and lean in his direction once again, your eyes almost fluttering shut before you hear him clear his throat, and take an awkward step back.

You’re back on your heels with a thump, the same one reverberating in your chest with your heart falling, your mouth hanging open with confusion written all over your expression.

You go to say something but he’s quicker, his voice solemn, “Goodnight, ___.”

Jeongguk smiles, but it’s nothing like the ones that took over his whole face just minutes ago on the couch, his eyes full of you. You're not even sure if you can define it as a smile. It’s polite, almost too polite, and it only results in feeling tremendously distant from him. Completely disconnected from you.

He retreats, long legs carrying him away, his back to you as he slips into his room. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound final, and it echoes in the hollow space.

You stand still, the weight of his absence pressing heavily on your chest. The spot where he left you feels like a grave, your feet sinking into the cold floor as if it’s pulling you under. The warmth he offered, the fleeting sense of safety, is gone, and you’re freezing. Your throat is tight with the effort to hold back the tears welling in your eyes. It's useless, though.

Your bare feet shuffle against the floor, but you can’t move forward. You can’t go back. You can’t do anything except stand there and feel the weight of it all crash down on you.

You’d been so afraid this would happen. How could you have been so foolish? Even in the midst of the sweetness, you knew it was too good to be true. A part of you always knew. And yet, you let yourself believe for a fleeting moment that something real could come from it. That you could be enough.

You’d have done anything to prove it to him. To show him your loyalty, your willingness to make it work. You still would. You'd give him every part of yourself, if he’d only take it. If he’d only look at you the way you want him to.

The full weight of your reality sinks in. In the end, none of it was truly real.

A sob breaks free from your chest, raw and painful. The sound echoes in the quiet hallway, bouncing off the walls that now feel oppressive, like they’re closing in on you. This house, every corner, it’s all stained now, tainted by the memory of what just happened, by the lie you let yourself fall into.

And you? You feel tainted, too.

[lovieku]