sad girl — jeon jungkook ! one-shot / no pt.2
creepin’ around while he gets high
summary: you were never supposed to fall for him. not the man who signs your paychecks. not the man with a wife and two kids. but he says he’s unhappy. he says it feels right with you. you know it’s wrong. and still… you stay. because nothing has ever made you feel more alive than being someone's secret.
pairing: rich married man!jungkook x babysitter!oc
wc: 8k
warnings: mature themes, adultery/infidelity, smoking.
important note: deleted this bfore cuz i got shit on for not writing “more smut”. after thinking about it a lot , here it is again !!! without the smut. i mainly wanted to write this as an angst fic, because hello?? cheating isn’t fun. but i think some ppl took it the wrong way. the smut wasn’t important at all. i kept it vague on purpose , those parts just had details that gave more meaning to the story. it wasn’t meant for jerking off at all lmao.
you love your job.
it’s not your dream job. not even close. you’ve never once imagined yourself as a babysitter. not when you were younger, not even as a backup plan. it was never part of the picture.
you didn’t grow up thinking, “i’m going to take care of kids someday.”
truthfully, kids have always been a little confusing to you. unpredictable. too loud or too quiet, too much or too little. like tiny humans with moods that change faster than the weather.
but somehow, here you are. and to your own surprise… you're starting to enjoy it.
why?
“kids, stop running around. you're going to hurt yourselves.”
that voice. deep, calm, firm. it cuts through the chaos like a thread pulling everything together.
your heart skips before you even look up.
but you already know who it is.
he steps into the room, and everything seems to still around him. not because he tries to take up space, but because he just does. tall, confident, effortless. he doesn’t need to raise his voice. he doesn’t need to try.
but the kids don’t stop. they’re too lost in their game, laughter bubbling up like music, tiny feet thudding against the floor as they spin in circles.
he lets out a soft sigh, a mix of exasperation and amusement and reaches for his watch, sliding it off his wrist. you don’t know why that makes your stomach turn, but it does.
“but appa, it’s fun!” one of them whines, dragging out the word like it might change his mind.
he laughs under his breath, shaking his head as he sets the watch on the table.
“fun, huh?”
jeon jungkook.
the reason you tolerate this job.
technically, he’s your boss. the one who hands you a generous envelope every weekend to watch over his kids. but “boss” feels like such a dull, inaccurate word for him.
because jungkook is something else entirely.
the way he walks, so sure of himself. the way he speaks, low and even, like he never needs to prove anything. the way his smile changes the whole room. or the way his brow furrows when he’s thinking, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek like he’s holding back more than just thoughts.
the way he shrugs out of his jacket, the slow roll of sleeves up his forearms, veins and ink peeking out with every movement—
you pretend not to look. but you do.
everything about him feels like gravity. like something you shouldn’t be drawn to, but are anyway.
“are they giving you trouble, miss ___?” he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.
he lowers himself onto the couch like he belongs there— because he does. his tie loosened, legs spread comfortably, one arm resting behind the cushions.
you take a breath, trying not to sound breathless.
“no, mr. jeon,” you say softly, eyes flicking back to the kids. “they’re just playing.”
his gaze stays on you a beat too long. unreadable. and then,
“take a seat,” he says, voice smooth. “you don’t have to chase after them.”
you nod and settle into a seat across from him. the cushions dip under your weight, and the room feels quieter somehow.
“yohan, yewon. come sit,” he calls. his tone is calm but firm, a slight shift in authority that even you feel in your spine.
they pause. glance at each other. then make their way over to you, slipping onto the couch on either side like you’re the center of some small universe they orbit.
“yohan wants to play more,” yewon grumbles, arms crossed.
“no, i didn’t! yewon noona said she did!” yohan snaps back, already offended.
you lean in, steady and gentle.
“hey. what did i say about pointing fingers?”
they go quiet. the room settles again.
“that it’s bad,” they mumble, voices small.
“and?”
“and we shouldn’t lie or blame each other.”
“that’s right.” you smile at them, soft but proud. “so, what do we say?”
they glance at each other again before offering quiet little apologies.
“good,” you say, your voice lighter now. “you’re both being so good. i’m proud of you.”
across from you, jungkook watches. he hasn’t said a word.
but you feel the shift. the way his body sinks deeper into the couch, the slight raise of his brows, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
admiration, maybe. or something quieter.
he knows his kids. they’re sweet, sure. but they’re stubborn. they rarely listen the first time. almost never apologize on their own.
and now they’re sitting quietly beside you like you’ve cast some gentle spell.
he doesn’t say anything.
but he sees it.
and you feel it.
“kids,” he speaks up.
his voice is calm, steady. the kind that draws attention without effort.
the kids immediately look over.
“yes, appa?” yewon answers, tilting her head.
yohan just watches him quietly, eyes wide and waiting.
you look at him too, trying not to make it too obvious how your heart stutters when he shifts in his seat, forearms resting on his knees.
“could you go to your room for a bit?” he says, glancing briefly at them before his eyes flick back to you. “i need a moment with miss ___.”
“okay,” they both say in unison.
they each lean in to kiss his cheek— yewon on his left, yohan on his right —and your chest warms at the sight. it's so quick, so natural. something they do all the time.
he taps two fingers against the back of yohan’s head as a reminder, murmuring, “no running.”
“we won't!” yewon insists, grabbing her brother’s arm and pulling him into a slow walk up the stairs.
and just like that, the room falls quiet.
jungkook sits up straighter. it’s subtle, but you feel it immediately; the shift in atmosphere. suddenly, you're very aware of your posture. you mirror him, hands neatly folded on your knees, back straight, nerves prickling up your spine.
his gaze lingers.
“is everything okay, mr. jeon?” you ask, voice low.
he nods slowly, then reaches for the coloring books the kids had left behind— sprawled open across the glass coffee table. his hands move with quiet precision, gathering them one by one, tapping them into a neat stack, arranging them by size..
why does it feel like he’s preparing for a difficult conversation?
“you won’t need to babysit them,” he says finally, looking up at you. “for…” he pauses, dragging the word just long enough to make your chest tighten.
your heart skips.
your throat closes up.
was your crush on him that obvious?
were you too careless?
shit— what if this is it?
he sees the way you tense, shoulders rising, fingers curling slightly against your knees. he pauses, then adds, “for two weeks.” he nods, “ the kids will be staying with their grandparents for two weeks.”
your mouth opens slightly, relief just barely catching up to your confusion. “you mean... i don't have to come in just for two weeks? not like... fired?”
he chuckles under his breath, a soft huff that somehow makes you feel ridiculous and reassured all at once.
“yes,” he says. “just two weeks. you’ll continue on the weekends once they’re back.”
you exhale like you’ve been holding your breath for an hour straight.
he watches you with a small, unreadable smile.
“you looked terrified,” he murmurs.
“i thought i was getting fired,” you admit, cheeks warming.
“why would i fire you?” he leans back slightly, eyes still on you. “they listen to you more than they do to me.”
you can’t think of anything to say to that. at least, nothing that wouldn’t give you away completely.
so you just nod, eyes flicking down to your lap, trying not to notice the way your pulse hammers in your ears.
you swallow hard, thoughts spiraling before you can stop them.
of course you’ve been a little… taken with him. who wouldn’t be?
he’s attractive. older. confident in that effortless, dangerous kind of way.
but he’s also married. off-limits.
completely.
you would never cross a line. never do anything reckless. this is just a passing crush. something you'll get over in a few weeks. a harmless little fantasy.
so you blink out of it and look up to see... he’s already watching you.
leaned back, one arm slung over the couch, completely at ease. there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth ; is it amusement? a smirk? you don't know but, whatever it is, it shoots straight to your core.
you shift in your seat. try not to squirm.
god.
if he weren’t someone else’s—
a soft chime echoes through the house. not loud. not intrusive. just a delicate sound, like wind brushing across crystal.
you blink, the thought still unfinished in your head. the tension still caught in your throat.
then the door opens.
not slammed. not swung. it glides. quiet and smooth, like everything else in this house.
heels click against the marble floor. sharp. unhurried. certain. and you don’t have to look, because you already know.
ms. xinyi has returned.
and she doesn’t enter like someone coming home.
she enters like she’s stepping onto a stage. commanding, composed, every line of her body deliberate.
her dress is deep red silk; elegant, fluid, expensive in a way that whispers it rather than shouts. the kind of red that means power, a color that speaks of control. her hair is slicked back, earrings glinting beneath the warm lighting. a purse hangs from her wrist, small and sharp, probably worth more than your entire semester’s tuition.
you stand immediately.
not because anyone tells you to. not even because you’re afraid.
but because that’s what you do when she’s in the room. because it’s her name on your schedule. her rules you follow.
jungkook may be the one who stays, who smiles at pickup, who folds the envelopes with your pay.
but ms. xinyi is the one who made the call to hire you.
and the way her eyes sweep the room now, like she's calculating. makes it very clear:
she hasn’t forgotten that.
“ms. xinyi,” you say softly, a little breathless.
she doesn’t smile. she just nods once.
you’d called her “mrs. jeon” the first time you met her, hands politely folded in front of you, voice careful with respect. but she had only smiled, graceful but distant, and said, “please. address me as ms. xinyi. ‘mrs. jeon’ makes me sound old.”
and you’d nodded, of course. because when a woman like her tells you to call her by name, you don’t argue.
jungkook gets up, but he doesn’t move to greet her like you do. no warm hug. no soft smile. nothing like the way he usually welcomes her home.
instead, he heads toward the bar tucked into the corner of the large living room. a sleek, dark wood counter with crystal glasses lined up on top, all under soft recessed lights. he reaches for one, his movements smooth, and pours himself a drink. it’s not alcohol.
drinking alcohol isn’t allowed while the kids are still awake— ms. xinyi’s rule. one of many.
you watch the way his jaw flexes as he lifts the glass to his lips, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular.
xinyi's eyes skim over you with practiced grace. she sighs, so quietly you almost miss it, but she recovers quickly, expression smoothing as if nothing slipped.
“the kids,” she says. “are they asleep?”
you nod politely, your voice soft but sure. “they’re upstairs. had dinner already. yewon finished all her veggies this time.”
a hint of something that might be a smile curves on her lips. she nods. “good.”
then, without missing a beat, “what about their mandarin practice?”
you nod again, hands clasped in front of you. “yes ma’am. they learned quite a bit today. they were good, really focused.”
you aren’t just their babysitter. you were hired with purpose. ms. xinyi wanted her children to have more consistent exposure to chinese. they know the basics already— of course they do, their mom is chinese. but she’s barely home, and jungkook… well, he knows as much as they do. maybe less. so she brought you in ; to help them speak fluently, confidently.
you’ve spent time building a gentle routine around their packed schedules. school, homework, and everything else expected of kids their age, and you weave language learning into their downtime, softly, kindly.
sometimes through games, sometimes through stories. not always strict. not always serious. they’re just kids. and they trust you more when you let them breathe.
“thank you for your hard work,” ms. xinyi says, lips painted in a matching shade of deep garnet.
you nod, swallowing your breath. “of course.”
she walks past you, toward her husband. jungkook is now leaning against the edge of the counter, one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around his glass.
he doesn’t speak when she approaches. just looks at her, calm and unreadable like usual.
she pauses in front of him and her gaze lingers.
then, with a glance back at you, she says, “can you tell the kids to go to sleep? tell them i’ll come kiss them good night later. they might fuss— but you can handle that, right? ms. ___.”
you nod quickly, eyes low. “yes, ma’am.”
you turn and head up the stairs, careful not to make a sound.
when you’re finally out of earshot, the calm cracks.
xinyi doesn’t raise her voice, but the cold edge in her tone cuts clean. “could you at least try to act like we’re in love?”
jungkook’s brow tics. he lifts the glass again, finishes the last sip, and sets it down with a soft clink.
“we’ve been acting for years,” he says quietly.
“so act a little better.”
there’s a pause.
she exhales through her nose, stepping back just slightly but never breaking eye contact. “you’re getting more distant every week, jeon. i can’t be the only one trying.”
“you’re not trying,” he replies, tone low. “you’re working. just like always. and now you’re mad that i’m not playing along like i used to.”
“i’m not just working for fun,” she snaps, though her voice stays poised. “we both agreed to this life. we’re business people. you of all people should understand.”
“i do,” he says. and he does. but that doesn’t make it easier. “i’m cooperating. for the kids.”
“then co-operate better,” she says, her words clipped. “when they come back from my parents’ house, they can’t see this—” she gestures between them, not cruel, just… resigned. “this cold.”
he doesn’t answer.
“my father thinks you’re slipping,” she adds.
jungkook’s jaw clenches. he doesn’t respond right away, but when he does, it’s only one word:
“okay.”
because what else can he say?
he can’t say he’s tired of this.
he can’t say he’s lonely.
he can’t say he’s barely holding the pieces together when everyone around him keeps demanding more.
so he says okay.
because that’s the only answer that won’t burn it all down.
“is mama busy again, ms. ___?” yohan asks, voice quiet as he snuggles deeper into his blanket, only his round cheeks and curious eyes visible now.
you’re helping yewon into her bed, gently fixing the corner of her plush bunny pillow when the question catches you off guard.
“hm? no, of course not,” you say, smiling gently as you glance at him. “she just got back home.”
“then why isn't she here with us?” yewon asks, a little pout forming on her lips as you pull her blanket over her, tucking her in neatly.
“because…” you draw out the word on purpose, standing up and placing your hands on your hips dramatically, eyes flicking between the two of them. “she needs to rest, doesn’t she?”
they both pout now, matching each other without even realizing it. you chuckle softly.
“don’t give me those cute faces,” you tease, leaning down to gently boop yohan’s nose. he wrinkles it with a quiet giggle.
but then his expression turns serious. “does mama and appa not like us anymore?” he says suddenly, so quietly it almost gets lost in the hum of the nightlight.
you blink, startled.
“han-nie!” yewon gasps, sitting up a little in her bed, “you can’t say that!”
“but it’s true!” he whines, glancing at her before turning back to you. “they’re always busy! especially mama! you miss them too, noona!”
you sigh, moving to sit at the edge of yohan’s bed. your hand reaches out to smooth his hair gently.
“you both know your mama works very hard, right?” you say softly. “and your appa too. they work so much because they love you. and when they come home, they’re tired. they just need a little bit of time to rest before they can give you all their attention.”
they both nod, but their eyes are still a little sad.
“plus…” you smile again, trying to cheer them up, “ms. xinyi told me she’d come up soon to give you both your goodnight kisses.”
that gets them to brighten a little.
“really?” yewon asks.
you nod. “really.”
“i won’t sleep till she gets here then!” yohan says quickly, determined now.
“me neither,” yewon chimes in.
you look between them and feel a tug in your heart. “oh and.. i heard you two are visiting your grandparents for the next two weeks,” you say, keeping your voice excited. “won’t that be fun?”
“yeah,” yewon says, “grandma lets us have lots of desserts!”
“and grandpa has a really big tv!” yohan adds.
“i bet they’ll be so happy to see you again,” you say, standing back up, smoothing out your skirt. “they’ll spoil you silly.”
“can you come too?” yohan asks suddenly, hopeful.
you pause, smiling gently. “i wish i could, yohan. but i’ll be right here when you come back, okay?”
“promise?” yewon says sleepily.
“promise,” you nod. “cross my heart.”
they both settle back down into their pillows, more at ease now.
you wait a moment, watching their eyes flutter slower and slower before you quietly reach for the door and close it with the softest click.
time to go home.
.
.
“i’ll take my leave now,” you say quietly, standing in front of ms. xinyi with your bag hanging neatly on your shoulder, hands clasped in front of you. your voice is calm, respectful. “please call me if you need any assistance before the kids leave for their grandparents.”
ms. xinyi nods once, eyes sharp but polite. “i’ll keep it in mind.”
you return the nod and turn to go, already picturing your long walk to the bus stop, the change of clothes waiting in your small apartment, the silence of a home that doesn’t echo. a far cry from this polished, glass-and-marble world you spend your weekends in.
but before you can take a step, she speaks again.
“do you go by bus, ms. ___?”
you pause, slowly turning back around. “yes, ma’am.”
her lips press together briefly, thoughtful. “jungkook will drop you off tonight.”
and just like that, he appears— quiet steps behind her, tugging on a sleek jacket, fingers adjusting the collar like he was already getting ready to step out. timing too perfect to be coincidental.
your eyes widen, a little panic creeping into your chest. “oh no, you don’t have to— i mean, i’m fine. really. this is… normal for me,” you say quickly, words tumbling out too fast, hands gesturing as if that’ll help your case.
jungkook glances at you once as he pulls the zipper up. his face is unreadable.
“sure,” he says, voice smooth and low. “wait outside for me. i’ll be there with my car.”
then, without waiting for your reply, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to ms. xinyi’s cheek. your eyes flick to her face, watching her expression shift for a moment— almost content.
maybe… they’re fine again? you can’t tell, but the tension that hovered earlier feels thinner now. less sharp.
he walks past, straight out the door.
ms. xinyi turns back to you, her hands now loosely folded in front of her. there’s a gentle smile on her face— elegant, polished, practiced. “i insist. it’s late. and it was my fault, staying too long at the office party. you had to stay extra hours because of me.”
“but miss—”
“i won’t take no for an answer, ms. ___.” the smile stays, but there’s weight behind her voice. soft power. “you know that, don’t you?”
your shoulders drop slightly, and you nod, looking down. “yes, ma’am. thank you for your kindness.”
you bow your head once, polite, and finally step out into the quiet night, where jungkook’s car is already starting up in the driveway.
the car is quiet. smooth engine, soft instrumental playing low on the radio. jungkook’s hands on the steering wheel. yours, clutched around your bag.
you sit straight, posture polite, and you’re hyper aware of him beside you — he’s relaxed, driving one-handed, leaning slightly back into the leather seat like this is nothing. like you’re nothing. just another person he’s offering a ride home to.
but still, your heart’s going a little crazy.
he suddenly speaks, voice low. “i was going out to get a smoke, ms. ___.”
you blink, startled a little. he doesn’t look your way. just keeps driving.
“that’s why my wife said i could drop you. you’re not troubling me or anything.”
you shake your head quickly, fumbling over your reply. “oh— okay. thank you. really. i was fine taking the bus, though.”
he hums, noncommittal. “still. late night bus isn’t the safest.”
you nod, lips pressed together. you want to say thank you again, but you don’t want to sound like a broken record. the silence returns, but it’s not entirely uncomfortable. just… a little charged.
you don’t realize you’re staring at his hands until you are — long fingers wrapped around the wheel, thumb tapping softly to the beat of the radio. his wrist, the veins on his hand, the simple silver ring he wears.
wow.
you swallow.
and then, without warning, he pulls over. not suddenly, but gently, easing the car toward the curb and shifting into park.
“you don’t mind if i get cigarettes, right?” he asks, glancing at you.
you shake your head. “not at all mr. jeon. take your time.”
he nods and steps out.
as soon as the door shuts, you let out a long, shaky breath.
what the fuck.
you’re in jungkook’s car. you’re in his fucking car.
it literally smells like his cologne. and the air freshener clipped to the vents and maybe a little like coffee. your fingers twitch, and you’re not even sure where to look — the leather, the sleek touchscreen, the dash, the mirror with that tiny photo of his kids tucked into it. you feel like an outsider just breathing in here.
he returns a few minutes later, slipping back in with a small paper bag in hand.
“sorry,” he mutters, adjusting his seatbelt and pulling away from the curb.
you don’t respond immediately. just watch the road ahead.
“no problem at all.”
the rest of the drive is short.
when the car slows in front of your apartment block, you quickly gather your things.
“thank you for the ride, mr. jeon” you say, already opening the door.
but then he gets out, too.
you freeze.
this— this is a small neighborhood. your apartment is in one of those plain buildings, paint chipped at the edges, a rusty bicycle chained to the stairwell. nothing glamorous.
you step out, feeling a little embarrassed as he looks around, taking in the area. and then he looks at your building.
“cute place,” he says.
you smile awkwardly, hugging your bag tighter. “o-oh. yeah. it’s, um, it’s fine i guess.”
he nods once, then meets your eyes again. “i’ll see you soon, ___.”
you bow instinctively, eyes flicking down. “goodnight mr. jeon”
he turns, walks back to the car. the headlights blink once as he unlocks it.
you stand there for a second longer, heart thudding, as his words echo in your head.
“i’ll see you soon, ___.”
he said your name without the “ms.” in it.
just ___.
you step inside your apartment with legs that feel too light. your fingers still smell like his car. and you close the door behind you, quietly, slowly, like you’re afraid of breaking whatever spell that was.
yeah. that was… intense.
the sun’s dipping low by the time you step out of the campus gate, bag slung over your shoulder, your phone buzzing with a low battery warning. beside you, minjun sips the last of his vending machine coffee, yawning dramatically.
“so you’re finally free this week, huh?” he asks, grinning. “no more mansion babysitting?”
you nod, pulling your hair back with one hand. “yeah. the kids are leaving for their grandparents. i think they’ll be gone for two weeks.”
“must be nice,” he laughs. “wish we got two weeks vacay too from this... hell-hole.”
“please,” you scoff. “never gonna happen.”
“rich people really live in another universe, huh.” he mutters, “by the way ___, if you ever disappear suddenly , i’ll assume they adopted you into their fancy bloodline.”
you’re about to reply when your phone buzzes in your hand —
mr. jeon.
you blink.
minjun peeks at the screen. “is that him? your boss?”
“shhh,” you hiss, already answering.
“yes mr.jeon?”
jungkook’s voice is calm. “ms. ___, are you free tonight?”
you glance at minjun, then ahead at the road. “uh— yes, i am.”
“good,” he says, and you swear you can hear the small smile in his voice.
your stomach does something weird.
“you're sure, right?” he asks
“yes,” you say, too quickly. “i’m free. do you need me to come over?”
“yeah. come when you can.”
“i will,” you nod, even though he can’t see.
and you hang up.
minjun’s staring at you. “sooo… you are not supposed to be babysitting but he still wants you over?”
“don’t start.”
“i’m just saying,” he raises his brows, “sounds suspicious.”
“bye minjun!!”
“text me if you end up in a scandal!”
you roll your eyes and wave him off, heart thudding harder than it should.
the kids are leaving. you don't have to babysit. he didn't call you for work.. did he?
you don’t know yet.
but you’re already walking faster.
the house was quiet when you stepped in.
jungkook opened the door, one hand on the knob, the other lazily tucked in his pocket. his expression was unreadable, as always, but his tone was polite. “hey. come in.”
you stepped in carefully, slipping your shoes off by the door. “thank you,” you said, eyes naturally glancing down the hallway, expecting to hear the kids, or at least see ms. xinyi pacing around on a phone call. but the space was… still.
“they’re not here,” jungkook said casually, as if reading your mind.
you blinked. “oh. they left already?”
he nodded, leading the way inside, you following behind slowly. “xinyi left this morning with the kids.”
you frowned slightly. “i thought they were leaving tomorrow…”
“yeah, it was sudden. her mom insisted.” he didn’t sound annoyed, just tired. “xinyi can’t stay long though. she has work, meetings. she’ll be back soon. but she asked if you could help out before she returns.”
you nodded automatically, because of course. “with what, exactly?”
“the kids’ stuff,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at you. “their mandarin folders, worksheets, the reading material. you know, that shelf you helped set up in their study room? xinyi wants it reorganized. she says it’s a mess.”
you smiled lightly. “it is a mess.”
“thought so,” he said, smirking a little. “you’ve got a few hours. i won’t be in your way.”
you hummed in agreement, already walking in the direction of the kids’ room.
“i’ll get started.”
it takes longer than you expect. papers are everywhere. yohan’s doodled over half the sheets, yewon’s managed to mix english flashcards into the mandarin set, and the books aren’t even standing upright anymore.
you roll up your sleeves and get to work. at some point, you stop checking the time. there’s something comforting about organizing their things— folding tiny papers, writing neat labels. it feels… peaceful. like you’re still around them.
and by the time you finish, the sky outside has turned navy blue and the hallway lights are dim.
you look around for jungkook. he hasn’t said anything since earlier. maybe he went out. maybe he’s in the study. but the house is too quiet. almost empty. he couldn’t have just… left.
you grab your bag and make your way downstairs, calling out softly, “mr. jeon?”
no reply.
you glance toward the kitchen. empty.
you pass by the sitting room. lights off.
you pause by the sliding doors that lead to the garden. there’s a breeze… and something else. something soft. a sound you can’t quite name.
you step outside.
and there he is.
standing under the open sky, alone, his back to you. the garden lights glow faintly along the grass. his dark hair moves with the wind. one hand is in his pocket, the other holds a slim cigar, glowing orange at the tip.
you don’t mean to stare.
but he looks… cinematic. loose black shirt. sleeves rolled. the way he stands so still, like the air doesn’t touch him. like he’s thinking about a thousand things you’ll never understand.
you clear your throat.
he turns slightly, glancing at you with no real surprise. “done already?”
you nod. “yeah. i didn’t want to leave without letting you know.”
he takes a slow drag, the smoke curling around his fingers before rising into the dark. “good timing.”
you hesitate, then walk a little closer. “why didn’t you go, mr. jeon? with them.”
his eyes stay on the sky for a second, then drop to the ground. “xinyi’s parents don’t like me much.”
that surprises you.
you blink. “why?”
he gives a quiet laugh, but it doesn’t sound amused. “they think i’m not enough. that i’m… not what they pictured for her.”
you look down. “but you’re—”
“rich?” he cuts in softly. “doesn’t mean i’m enough.”
you don’t know what to say to that.
he continues, flicking ash to the side. “i run too many things. i’m constantly flying in and out. the company’s in a complicated place right now. mergers. new investors. pressure.”
you stay quiet. listening.
just listening.
he looks over at you finally, the garden light catching his features. “it’s exhausting.”
your chest aches a little. he looks like someone who hasn’t slept right in days. you wonder if anyone ever asks him how he feels. if anyone even cares.
“sorry,” you say, softly.
he shrugs. “you didn’t do anything.”
you nod, then look away, eyes tracing the garden floor.
“how about you? college okay?”
you blink. “me?”
“yeah. you.”
you laugh nervously. “uhm… yeah. college is fine. tiring. the usual. rent’s going up though, it’s… whatever.” you roll your eyes a little and then you realise, maybe you shouldn't be telling him this stuff, so you quickly apologise, “sorry i didn't mean to say that.”
he watches you for a moment. “don’t be.” then nods. “you’re working hard. college. babysitting kids. you’re doing good.”
you grin a little. “yeah, i guess.”
he lets out a quiet hum, then turns back to the sky.
you both fall silent. the kind of silence that doesn’t feel awkward at all. you tilt your head back too, following his gaze.
it is a beautiful night.
he takes a longer drag this time, eyes falling shut as the smoke leaves his lips in slow swirls. his jaw tenses slightly, neck lines sharp against the collar of his shirt.
you look away quickly.
your heart’s doing something stupid.
you should go.
but… you don’t.
you stay.
you don’t say anything. don’t even shift your weight. you just keep standing there under the soft garden lights, with your bag still in your hand and your heart beating loud in your ears. and as the seconds stretch on, when he realizes you’re still there; still watching him, he doesn’t look surprised.
you don’t see it. not really.
but he smiles. just a little.
and then he speaks.
“you smoke?”
his voice is low. smooth, like usual.
your eyes widen a little. “me? no. not really. i mean… no. it’s not good for you.”
he raises a brow, amused. “mm. it’s not.”
you shift on your feet. “it’s addictive. and bad for your lungs. like. obviously.”
he hums, eyes still on you. “wanna try?”
you blink. “pardon?”
he flicks ash off the end, lets it fall with a soft hiss onto the wet grass. “just once. it's not like you will get addicted off one puff.”
you hesitate. heart tripping over itself.
because you know this is stupid. obviously. you’ve said the words yourself— bad for you, dangerous, addictive.
but your thoughts are running too fast and none of them make sense. your limbs feel slow and heavy like you’re melting under the weight of his attention.
you shouldn’t.
you really shouldn’t.
but he’s looking at you with that.. amused little glint in his eye, and his shirt’s a little wrinkled, and his fingers look really good around the cigarette. and you’re tired of always being the one who makes the right choice.
what’s so bad about one?
he watches you, smoke curling past his lips again, quiet for a moment. “it’s okay if you don’t want to.”
“sure,” you say quickly, cutting him off. “i’ll try it.”
his eyebrows lift, surprised. “you sure?”
you nod, too fast. “mhm.”
he smirks, a slow little curve of his lips. “thought it wasn’t healthy?”
you roll your eyes. “just one puff.”
he laughs quietly, drops the stub of his cigarette to the ground and presses the toe of his shoe against it. then he slips a hand into his pocket, pulls out a slim case, taps out a new one and holds it between two fingers like it’s nothing. like it’s casual.
“here,” he murmurs, handing it to you.
you take it.
your fingers brush his when you do.
you almost gasp but you don't , thankfully.
your fingers close around the cigarette he holds out, but just before you bring it to your lips, you drop your bag to the side with a soft thud on the grass.
you place the cigarette between your lips awkwardly at first, but you pretend to be cool about this. you keep your eyes on him the whole time. never looking away, and he doesn’t either. his gaze holds you in place.
he brings the lighter to the tip, flicks it open. the soft click sounds loud in the quiet.
then, his voice.
low. rough. lazy. “breathe in slow. not too deep. let it sit for a second. then let it go.”
you nod, and your fingers tremble just slightly as you try.
he lights it.
the flame glows bright, just for a second. burns orange, then settles into a steady red glow at the tip. and his eyes never leave yours.
you inhale like he said. it stings— more than you expected. burns your throat, makes your chest tighten, but you try to hold it.
you let it sit. then exhale.
it leaves your mouth in a shaky stream.
you cough a little, just once, and his eyes darken.
“that’s it,” he says, voice smooth like velvet. “you can do it. that's it. good girl.”
your stomach flips.
and then you try again. slower this time. his gaze never leaving your mouth.
“just like that,” he murmurs. “see? not so bad.”
you exhale again, and this time it doesn’t burn as much. it still makes your head spin. but not in a bad way.
you glance up at him, your voice softer now. “i kinda like it.”
he hums. “yeah?”
“yeah. i mean. i don’t know if that’s… right.”
he chuckles, steps a little closer, his voice brushing your skin. “doesn’t have to be right to feel good.”
your breath catches.
his eyes trail from your lips to your throat, very slowly. you take another drag, just to have something to do, but he’s watching you like he’s thinking about a dozen other things he’d rather have in your mouth.
your fingers shake a little again, but you don’t drop it.
he’s too close now. too warm.
you feel it in your stomach. between your thighs. every-fucking-where.
and when he takes the cigarette from you and presses it between his own lips for a second, eyes locked with yours the whole time— you swear you forget how to breathe.
you’re so fucking gone at this point.
you can’t stop looking at him.
the way his lips wrap around the same cigarette you’d just held between yours. the way his jaw flexes. the way his throat moves when he exhales; smoke curling out of his mouth like it was made to escape him that way.
you don’t even realize you’re staring.
not until his eyes drag back to yours— sharp and dark, the kind that doesn’t ask questions. the kind that already knows the answer.
“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough to hear.
and then his hand is behind your neck.
you don’t even have time to blink. to breathe.
to think.
his lips crash against yours, rough and sudden and so fucking real. your whole body locks up in shock before melting into the heat of it. it’s messy. desperate. everything at once. he kisses like he’s starved, like he’s wanted to do this for longer than he’ll ever admit.
you’re not supposed to do this.
he’s not supposed to do this.
but your lips part for him anyway.
and he kisses you deeper.
his other hand joins the first, palms warm behind your neck, holding you in place like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. the still-burning cigarette drops from between his fingers and he steps on it, crushing it into the grass without ever pulling away.
your fingers twitch at your sides. you don’t know where to put them.
you just… stand there. letting him kiss you like that. letting yourself kiss him back.
it feels like a dream.
it feels too good.
your lips don’t stop moving against his. they can’t.
you’re already too far gone— breathing him in like he’s the first drop of water after a dry, godless drought. your hands are clutching the front of his shirt, dragging him down, keeping him close, greedy like you’ve been starving.
then suddenly, your breath catches.
you pull back.
“mr. jeon—” your voice is shaky, lips swollen. “shit.. i— we.. we shouldn’t... this is wrong.”
his hand cups your jaw, warm and grounding. but there’s something wild in his eyes. his voice comes out low, wrecked. “then tell me to stop.”
you stare at him. the garden lights behind his silhouette, the echo of your kiss still on your mouth.
you should tell him to stop.
you don’t.
instead, your fingers find his collar and tug again, hard this time.
fuck.
“just take me inside.”
.
.
.
.
.
.
“you’re so quiet,” he murmurs.
his voice cuts through the silence like a warm knife. his palm is on your head, fingers slow as they run through your hair, caressing in soft circles against your scalp. your cheek rests on his bare chest, his skin warm beneath you, rising and falling gently with every breath he takes. your hand is near his neck, thumb brushing the skin there, slow and absent-minded.
the room is still. faint moonlight slips through the sheer curtains, casting soft shadows across the floor. the sheets are pulled over the both of you, tangled between legs, your bodies tucked close under them — in his bed.
the one he shares with his wife.
you don't reply at first. you're thinking. you’re here, lying on a mattress you shouldn’t be on, next to a man you shouldn't be touching. and yet, your heart feels full. your body’s warm. you feel… good. and that’s what scares you.
he doesn’t say anything again, just keeps stroking your hair, so softly it makes your eyes flutter.
you were quiet, yeah. but only because there’s so much going on in your head. so much you tried to ignore earlier — the guilt, the reality of what you were doing, the wrongness of it all. you’d been quiet because you were trying to forget it. to focus only on him.
you stare off across the room, eyes fixed on a dark corner. not looking at anything in particular. just grounding yourself. and then your voice breaks the quiet.
“i can be loud.”
he pauses. then laughs a little, and you feel his chest rise under your cheek. “really?”
you hum again. “mhm.”
the next second comes as a surprise — his hand gripping your hair suddenly, fingers threading through the strands and tugging just enough to make you gasp. your head’s pulled up, gently but firm, so you’re looking right at him.
his eyes are darker now. and oh you fucking love it.
you love how easily he shifts from soft to rough. how he looks at you like he owns you. how your stomach flips at just the change in his tone. the power in it.
your lips part slightly, a soft moan escaping before you can hold it back. you don’t even blink. you just look at him. your eyes hazy.
he bites his bottom lip, dragging it between his teeth, eyes flickering over your expression. “what? you like this?”
you hum again. it’s all you can manage.
his grip tightens, just enough to make you whimper. not painful. but enough to remind you who's in control. his voice is lower this time. firmer. “use your words, doll.”
your heart races. you want to kiss him so badly your lips practically itch.
but you speak first.
“i love it, mr. jeon”
he exhales sharply through his nose, almost a scoff, but amused. definitely turned on.
“yeah?” he murmurs, already leaning in.
you nod. and his grip loosens. his hand trails down, cupping your jaw instead as he leans forward, lips brushing against yours.
and then he kisses you.
soft. slow.
his mouth moves over yours with the kind of ease that makes you feel dizzy, like you’ve kissed him a hundred times before. you sigh into it, pressing closer, lips parting slightly as his hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you in place. you moan just a little, not even meaning to; it just slips out, the warmth of his mouth too good to resist.
his tongue doesn’t push in right away. he just kisses you. sweet and languid, like he has all the time in the world. like this moment is meant to stretch on forever.
and when you pull away, your palm flattens against his chest. you feel his heart is beating hard beneath it. just like yours.
you don’t look at him right away. your eyes are on the curve of his shoulder. your voice is soft when you ask,
“does this mean we can never see each other again?”
he looks at you.
then he says, “no.” almost too casually, like you didn’t just ask something loaded. “why do you think that?”
you blink, eyebrows raising slightly. your palm’s still on his chest, but your fingers curl a little, pressing into his skin. “i mean… we just fucked,” you say, half-laughing under your breath, even though your voice is tight. “isn’t that, like, a major babysitter deal-breaker?”
he snorts. actually snorts. and you almost want to smack his arm.
“just act like we didn’t fuck,” he says, like it’s simple. like you didn’t just sleep with a man who is married and has kids you take care of.
is he being for real right now?
“we don’t see each other much anyway. i’m always at work, remember? barely have time to breathe.”
you raise an eyebrow. “but you had time today.”
he shrugs, shifting a little beneath you, head sinking further into the pillow. “i finished a bunch of stuff early. got lucky.”
you try not to think about how it’s you he got lucky with.
your fingers stop moving against his skin, and for a second, you just stare at him. he looks so relaxed. one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting lightly on your side now.
and then you ask, softly, “what about ms. xinyi?”
he blinks, like he forgot she existed for a moment, and then he sighs.
“what about her?”
“what if she suspects something?” your voice is quiet. a little strained. because the weight of reality is creeping back in, and you don’t know how to carry it.
he sighs again. not annoyed — more like, he expected this.
his hand lifts to cup your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your lips. “don’t give her a reason to.”
you look at him, wide-eyed.
“just be you,” he says simply, like that’s all it takes. like you can just forget the way he kissed you like you belonged to him. like you weren’t crossing a thousand lines just by lying in this bed, with him.
your chest tightens.
you nod, but inside, panic floods you like a wave.
what if you mess up?
what if she sees it in your eyes?
he notices the shift in your expression and before you can spiral further, he pulls you back in.
his lips find yours again, slow and deep, and you melt into him just like that. your hand slides up to his shoulder, and your body leans in because he’s the only thing that makes sense right now.
when he pulls back, his breath brushes your lips.
“i need you to know this , doll,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours,
“you’re mine.”
