068

JEON

I take a drag—slow.

Smoke curls up in air, grey silent—like a ghost refusing to leave.

Sunlight cuts through the blinds—bright. Brutal. My head pounds like war drums under bone—but I don’t move.

Sunlight spills across the bed—over her back, curved , perfect with my child beneath it—

And over my arm…

Her head rests on it.

My arm.The one I’ve kept coiled tight for years—The one I trained not to flinch when breaking necks. The one I used to pull her close when she screamed. Now… soft. Still. cradles her like sacred ground.

Her back to me.

Fists buried in the sheets.

Facing away.

Still fighting me…Always fighting me—even in sleep.Even in dreams, she turns from me like I’m poison on silk.

But still… she didn’t move.Didn’t pull away this time.Fell asleep on me—Not with guards behind screaming for safety—

Here.

On me.

With our child curled inside her belly.

I lean closer—the heat of her breath tickles my skin as it rises and falls steady, peaceful… so rare…

So beautiful.

Gently—I touch—brush a loose strand of hair off her face.

Her cheek still warm from tears.Trails dried but fresh—a map of pain only I caused…

Lips swollen. Bitten raw from last night’s scream...

When she cursed me… Then called out my name...

"Jungkook…"

Not boss. Not monster.

...Me.

And now?

Now this quiet morning light dares to touch us both—as if forgiving what we’ve done,Cigarette burns down between fingers— Ash trembles—but doesn’t fall yet.

I flick it—ash falling into darkness. Gone.

Then slide under the duvet.Warmth hits—her warmth—I curl behind her, slow, careful—not wanting to wake her, not wanting to scare this fragile peace.

My arm slides gently over her belly.Our child rests inside—my child warm against my palm—

My kid—

Our kid. almost ready to meet me.

My fingers soft against the bump.Small kick.Firm. Stronger.

It knows me.

Or maybe it’s just movement—but to me? It’s a miracle written beneath stretched skin with love and pain.

My other hand remains beneath her head—where she slept on it all night long, use as her pillow without protest. Without demand. Just a comfort for a man like me.

I trace her lower now—

Those lines…

My fingers trace down.Beneath her belly button.

Over angry red stretch marks crawling down her hips—the war wounds of carrying my blood, my name, my future king or queen…

They’re not flaws.They’re maps of sacrifice carved into soft flesh.

Even if she hates me…Even if she never turns around…

This child will know— Daddy loves them before he ever saw their face.

I glance up—take the moisturizer—cool squeeze into my palm.

Rub it slow between my fingers, warming it.Then press gently against her belly—where the angry red stretch marks cut across like storm trails.I massage in soft circles. Carefully.

She stirs—shifts slightly into me… I freeze… breath trapped…

Then she settles.

My hand moves higher—up over the curve of her bump—Then underside of her breasts…where I teased the flesh last night… now soft. Swollen. heavy with milk for our child, veins faint blue beneath skin. Full of life I never thought she’d ever grow in her body. A life i know she fears, and still she endures… like the brave girl I first met.

Rubbing slow in warm circles…

Because no one sees this side of me.No one knows the king kneels not with guns or power—

but here,

in silence,

with lotion on his hands and tears he won’t let fall,

because last night?

when she sobbed into my chest after, her nails digging into my back, cursing through gasps—I didn’t move.But held her through three waves of pain until she slept, drained.

A soft rub over swollen flesh."You're mine" I whisper into her neck"And even if you burn me alive every day….I’ll still bring gasoline."

I pour more lotion into my hand—Then rub with two fingers over her swollen buds—They feel heavy… full… like already leaking—

I remember what those maids reports days ago—hesitant, eyes down:

"Mrs. Jeon... now wearing 36 DD..."I almost spit out my whiskey.

I kiss her shoulder—softly. The scent of her soap—soft. Sweet.Hair spread around like a fan against my chest, i rub the cream slowly—carefully—against the swollen buds.

So tender.Swelling.

Full.They flush under my touch—not from arousal, but from change. From her change. Because she’s becoming something more than just my wife…

A mother.

And still so soft… so painfully delicate, like everything about her defies me.

I trace gentle circles around each areola—warm lotion seeping into stretched skin to keep it from cracking—from breaking under the weight of our child’s hunger…

Because even if she hates this body…Even if she curses me when they ache…

I’ll protect them anyway.

They feed my blood.They swell with love only she can give.

And no one touches them but me—

No one dares—

Because these aren't just breasts...

They're sacred ground—

And somehow,

miraculously,

they’re mine too.

My hand moving—slow, steady—over her breast, the lotion warming under my touch."You don't think im kind?" I whisper.

"Me rubbing cream on your body like some gentle husband?"

A pause.

My fingers tighten slightly—i kiss behind her neck."You scream for me. Cry for me. Carry my child and feed them from these—and still you act like you don’t belong to me." My thumb drags over a tight bud—

“You think I don’t see how you flinch when the maids look at you too long?”

Another rub over the stretched areola.

“They stare because they know… these belong to me. Not some gentle husband. Not some fairy-tale father.”

Another kiss on her neck—“They’re marked by my mouth. My teeth. When you scream, they're into my palm.”

A beat.

I rub slow.

“If any man ever thinks of touching what feeds my child… I’ll feed him their own eyes first.”

She sighs in sleep.

“But you already know that, don’t you? You always know what I’ll do for us.”

—Because love isn't gentle here.It’s blood-deep.

And she?

She’s not just carrying my child…

She’s living inside the mouth of this beast—

And still breathing.

Still mine.

I rub over her swollen buds—the lotion makes them slick—wet—I rub them until they flush—my fingers come away wet.

Milk.

She leaks everywhere these days— except my mouth, which stays empty—as I watch the liquid pool onto the sheets, down her thighs, into clothes she refuses to wear unless forced.

But never into my mouth.

Never by choice.

And yet…

I keep rubbing. She sighs.Eyelashes flutter.

I press a kiss to the side of her neck."Don't worry. I’m here."Warm skin from nuzzling, like this wolf became just a dog begging for scraps of love that aren’t his…

Another kiss.To her ear—It’s red from those heavy diamonds—

Diamond!

My breath stops—I reach gently, lift her hand out from the duvet—limp in mine—

Sunlight spills across it—

And there...Ring is still on.On the fourth finger of my wife...

The oval-cut 12-carat stone…

Shines so bright it hurts more than any bullet ever did.

"Wife." The word cracks out—"My wife..."

I close my eyes—bring her hand to my mouth—her skin is soft, smells vanilla.I kiss her fingers slow, one by one.

"Why?— Why do you hate me?"

Silence.

No answer—just her breathing—even. A soft rise and fall—

A beat...

Kiss each finger—slow—like prayers for forgiveness I don’t deserve.

"Am I not good enough for you?"

She stays limp.Breath steady.Belly rising and falling with the rhythm of life we made together.Our child calm inside, unaware that his father is drowning on dry land.

"Tell me— Am... am I not good enough for you?"

No answer.Her face still—a statue carved from moonlight.

"Am I too much?"

Another kiss—on her palm. "I can be less..." My voice cracks—"Just… just tell me…"

I press closer— "Tell me ba–baby."

Baby?Did I just say that?

My eyes sting—i shut them—but it doesn't stop—I kiss her temple—A droplet fall— on her temple then rolls down—Inside her parted lips…

"Y-Yes… just like that, baby... take me."

Take all of this madness,this fire,this blood-soaked soul—

"Take my everything."

My lips linger there—arm around our child tight, it kicks right back at me through warm walls,Stronger than yesterday—Already ready to fight daddy.

She's curled against my chest—soft hair, skin like silk against mine.She's breathing easy—untroubled—her face softer than I've seen in months.

"I know you hate me—"I swallow, throat tightens—i press my nose in her neck—breathing her in—

Vanilla.And something else—A scent so sweet—so innocent—The scent of motherhood...A new life...The one that grows every day in her body.

I pull her closer—tighter—until my chest molds to her back, heartbeat slamming against her spine.

"Why do you hate me…?"

My jaw clenched. Tears not falling this time—they’ve already bled into the pillow.

"Why—Why can't you love me back? —B–baby."

The word tastes something sacred.Something weak.Something real.

People say it to those who they cherish—those who cherish them back.

But me?I don’t deserve to say it—

I’m on my knees in shadow, calling this sleeping woman "baby" while she breathes hate for me—

"Just… just please—" "Love me–""Love me back."

My voice muffled in her neck. Her hair—the forgiveness I’ll never earn.

She doesn’t move.Just sleeps on my biceps—one already turning blue under pressure from holding us up all night, veins strained from tension and need—

Like trash beside her?

Yes.

That’s all I am now.Not a king.Not a don.Just another piece of waste clinging to warmth that doesn’t want him…Because without her?

Im nothing .

"I'm nothing without you..."

Another kiss behind her ear—the pulse there steady... calm... so unbothered.I kiss her hair—then her neck.

I want to curse, shout. Shake her until she speaks.

But nothing.She stays asleep.I press my lips again—to that fluttering vein—"Yes, Jungkook is under your feet."

I serve only you.

Even if as trash,

even if forgotten,

even if hated...

Silence.

I soothe our bump—with slow circles,where our child kicks once more…

Strong little fighter.

The baby kicks as if responding to me.

"Shhhh…" I soothe gently."Shhhhh…. calm down, little tiger."

It kicks again, then another.I rub my hand over the curve, then wait for another kick.

"Shh, kid," I lean—lips nearly brushing her belly— tracing slow circles over the taut skin.

A kick.

"You keep kicking like that… gonna be stronger than me."

A pause.

"Maybe that’s good…"

"So you can protect her when I can’t."

Silence— another kick, firm in my palm.

"Yeah? You know who I am?"

Then another kick.

"Most people call me monster… even your mamma…"

other kick.

"...But you’re not scared? Huh?" My thumb presses gentle near where a tiny foot pushes out—"You’re in there fighting already… just like her."

Silence.

I Press my forehead gently."Listen—I might not be what she wants... But I’m here. Every second... Every breath..."

I kiss the tiny foot.

"And if she never loves me back—that's fine..."

Silence.

She sleeps on.

"I know you don’t know me yet," —"But I do… know you."

Another kick—stronger this time.

"You want out already? To see her face? Yeah… she’s beautiful when she sleeps like this.""When she hates me least..."

I rub slow circles where it kicked. "Listen… Daddy doesn't have much left up here…Head's full of fire and bad ideas…"

"But down here?" I press over heart "This thing? This beats only for three people now…"

One is asleep on my arm...The other sleeping in nursery,  and this one fights me from inside hers...

Sigh.

"You gonna hate me too?"— "That's fair."

I kiss the curve gently —"But still... let me love you all anyway."

My hand slide down between her asscheeks—warm. Wet. Skin stretched, loose… tender from me last night.

I exhale—

"Im sorry… love."

I pull my fingers out—red smear still there. Bright in morning light, unflinching in truth.Proof of how deep I went.How hard I took her—even when she sobbed,Even when she said "Stop..."Even when she begged in broken whispers.

And—I didn’t stop.

The redness on my fingers.My throat tightens.She bled a lot last night—from me,from my need.

Every time I tell myself—this time she'll feel something real.This time, she’ll look at me and see not a monster, but a man who loves her with everything.

But instead?I only push harder.Deeper.More violent in desperation.My fingers trembling against warm stretch marks.

"Im such an idiot." —"More idiot than Wooshik…"

The child kicks one tiny foot against my palm—As if saying: You want me to know you? Then learn how to touch without tearing.

Silence.

Only the hush of morning—Air slipping through half-drawn curtains, cool on sweat-damp skin.

Her breath steady.Soft.Unbothered.

And me?

Breaking in slow.

Sigh.

My face in her vanilla scent—that haunts every clean thought I’ve ever had.

"Please….. please love me back."

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