[Jungkook's POV]

December 16th, 2024

It starts with her blouse. 

A button or two left undone, exposing the soft curve of her collarbone and just enough of her chest to make me notice. 

Minji moves around the house with purpose, her movements deliberate yet feigning innocence. She leans over the dining table to clear plates, her hair falling over her face, her blouse gaping just slightly.

I glance away before she can catch me looking.

Later, it’s the skirts. Short, tight, hugging her in all the right places. She wears one while dusting the shelves, reaching up just high enough that the hemline inches dangerously upward. I catch a glimpse of her thighs, smooth and shapely, and the sight pulls at something primal in me.

But instead of desire, all I feel is shame.

I try to focus on anything else—the TV, the newspaper, my phone—but my gaze betrays me. It keeps drifting back to her. Her perfect curves. The way her body moves. I can’t stop comparing it to mine—the body I hate, the one I’ve been stuck with for years.

She’s flawless, every line and curve seemingly designed to torment me. And I? I feel like a boy trapped in a man’s world, my insecurities clawing at me from the inside out.

Minji isn’t subtle about her intentions. She brushes past me in the hallway, her hand grazing my chest. She lingers in the bathroom doorway while I shave, wearing nothing but a towel that seems one tug away from falling.

“Jungkook,” she says one evening, her voice low and teasing as she leans against the counter in the kitchen. Her shirt is unbuttoned enough that I can see the swell of her chest, the delicate lace of her bra peeking through. “Do you think this looks good on me?”

I can’t answer. My throat feels tight, my mind spiraling into a pit of inadequacy.

When I don’t respond to her touches, her smiles, her attempts, the frustration begins to seep through.

Her fingers trail upward, tentative at first, then more assertive. I stiffen, not from excitement, but from panic.

I gently take her hand and place it back on her lap. “Minji, not now,” I mumble, my voice barely audible.

“Not now?” she repeats, her tone incredulous. She pulls her hand away, crossing her arms. “It’s never now, Jungkook. Five years, and you’ve done nothing to make me feel like a wife.”

Her words sting, but I keep my face neutral.

“You know,” she continues, her voice sharper now, “my ex-boyfriends never had this problem. They couldn’t keep their hands off me. They wanted me, Jungkook. Do you even want me?”

I swallow hard, the burn of her words searing through me. “Minji,” I start, my voice soft and measured, “please don’t—”

“Don’t what?” she snaps. “Don’t compare you to the men who actually made me feel desired? Don’t point out how pathetic this is? Because it is, Jungkook. It’s pathetic.”

Her words hit their mark, but I don’t let it show.

“I’m trying,” I say quietly, though even I don’t believe it.

She stands abruptly, her hands clenched at her sides. “No, Jungkook. You’re not trying. You’ve given up. On me, on us. And I’m done pretending that this is okay.”

She storms off, leaving me alone in the living room. The silence is deafening, but it’s better than her anger.

I sit there for what feels like hours, her words replaying in my mind. I want to tell her the truth—that I do want her, more than anything. But every time I look at her, at her perfect body and flawless beauty, I’m reminded of my own imperfections.

I’m not the man she deserves. I’m not even the man I want to be.

—

[Minji's POV]

December 16th, 2024 - Evening

It was the baby shower of Yuna, one of my closest friends. I should have been happy for her. I wanted to be happy for her. But as I sat in the passenger seat of Jungkook’s car, my bitterness was a thick, suffocating cloud around me.

“She got married just a year ago,” I muttered, glaring out the window at the passing city lights. My voice was sharp, pointed. “And now she’s already pregnant. Meanwhile, we’ve been married for five years.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, his jaw clenched.

“It must be nice,” I continued, unable to stop myself. “To have a husband who actually wants to build a family. To have a husband who doesn’t dodge every single conversation about having a child.”

“Minji, not now,” Jungkook said quietly, his voice strained.

“Not now?” I shot back, turning to face him. “That’s all you ever say, Jungkook. Not now, not yet. When, then? When we’re old and gray? When it’s too late for me to have kids?”

He said nothing, his silence infuriating me even more.

By the time we arrived at the venue, my frustration had reached a boiling point. The place was decorated beautifully, all soft pastels and delicate flowers. Yuna looked radiant, her hands resting lovingly on her round belly as she greeted her guests.

“Minji! Jungkook!” she called out, her smile wide and genuine as she hugged me. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Of course,” I replied, forcing a smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

But as I looked at her glowing face and the unmistakable joy in her eyes, my chest tightened with a bitter ache.

“Congratulations, Yuna,” Jungkook said politely, his voice distant.

It didn’t take long for the teasing to start.

“So, Minji,” one of Yuna’s friends said with a sly smile as we all sat down for drinks. “When’s your turn? You’ve been married much longer than Yuna. Surely there’s some news to share?”

I felt my face flush. “Not yet,” I said, keeping my tone as neutral as possible.

“Not yet?” another chimed in, her laugh light but cutting. “What are you two waiting for? Five years is a long time, you know.”

I glanced at Jungkook, who looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor. He avoided eye contact with everyone, his lips pressed into a thin line.

The questions kept coming, each one more pointed than the last.

“Is it career plans? Or are you just enjoying the married life too much?” 

“Maybe Minji is being too picky about the right time?”

“You know, sometimes it’s the man who’s hesitant. Jungkook, what’s your excuse?”

The laughter that followed was light, but it stung like a slap.

“Maybe Jungkook’s just not ready for the responsibility,” someone else joked. “Or maybe he’s scared of dirty diapers?”

I could feel the blood rushing to my face, my embarrassment mixing with anger. “That’s enough,” I said, my voice sharp, but the group only laughed it off.

“Oh, come on, Minji. We’re just teasing!”

But the worst came when Yuna, oblivious to the tension, chimed in. “You know,” she said sweetly, “sometimes it just takes a little effort. Maybe a nice romantic getaway? That’s what worked for us.”

Her words felt like knives, twisting in my already raw wounds.

I forced another smile, but inside, I was burning. “We’ll see,” I said shortly, not trusting myself to say more.

The rest of the evening was a blur of forced smiles and hollow congratulations. My friends meant well—at least, that’s what I told myself—but their words left me feeling humiliated and exposed. 

On the drive home, the silence between Jungkook and me was deafening. I stared out the window, my hands clenched into fists, my mind replaying every cruel joke, every mocking laugh.

And as I sat there, the bitterness that had been simmering inside me threatened to spill over. Because deep down, I knew that no matter how much I wanted to blame my friends, the real problem was sitting right next to me.

My husband.

–

December 16th, 2024 - Night

Desperation. It’s a bitter thing, isn’t it? You convince yourself you’re better than this, above such petty, conniving schemes. 

But tonight, as I set the wine glasses on the counter of our little home bar, I knew I wasn’t better.

I didn’t want to do this. Not really. But deep down, a part of me—a dark, bitter part—wanted to see him lose control. Just once. 

To see him want me the way a man is supposed to want his wife.

“Jungkook,” I called softly, my voice laced with sweetness. He was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV, his shoulders heavy with whatever guilt or shame he carried.

He looked up, his dark eyes tired. “What is it?”

“Let’s have a drink together,” I said, forcing a gentle smile. “We never do that anymore. Just... sit together, talk, and unwind. Not as a married couple, if that feels like too much. Just as... us.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. For a moment, I thought he’d refuse, retreat back into his shell. But then he sighed and nodded. “Okay.”

We sat side by side at the bar, the soft clink of glasses breaking the silence. I poured him whiskey, neat, and wine for myself.

“To us,” I said, raising my glass.

“To us,” he echoed quietly, his voice hollow.

We drank in silence for a while, the alcohol warming my throat but not my heart. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. The way he sipped slowly, his fingers tapping the glass nervously.

I reached for the little packet I’d hidden in my pocket, the MDMA I’d bought weeks ago in a moment of frustration. I poured another glass for him, carefully sprinkling it in while his gaze was elsewhere.

The conversation started light. I told him about my college days, reminiscing about the times I was carefree and desired.

“You know,” I said, swirling the wine in my glass, “I could’ve had any guy I wanted back then.”

“I’m sure you could.”

I smiled bitterly. “There was this one guy—Kai. God, he was something else. Handsome, confident. And let’s just say he knew exactly how to treat a woman.”

Jungkook’s grip on his glass tightened, but he said nothing.

“Then there was Jae,” I continued, letting out a low laugh. “Biggest dick I've ever had... well, let’s just say he didn’t disappoint. Not once.”

I saw the way Jungkook’s shoulders stiffened, the way his gaze dropped to the drink in his hand. I should’ve stopped there, but I couldn’t.

“I wonder sometimes,” I said softly, “what my life would’ve been like if I’d chosen differently. If I’d married someone like them.”

He poured himself another drink, his hands trembling slightly. The MDMA was starting to take effect; I could see it in the way his pupils dilated, the faint sheen of sweat on his brow.

But then something I didn’t expect happened. Instead of getting sloppy or aroused, Jungkook just... sat there. Silent, listening to every word I said like it was some sort of penance.

The room grew heavier as we drank more, my words growing sharper, more cutting. I wanted him to react. To yell, to fight, to prove me wrong.

But he didn’t.

[Jungkook's POV]

The bitter aftertaste of whiskey lingered on my tongue as I sat on the couch, trying to piece together the strange warmth spreading through my body. My head felt lighter than it should have after just a few drinks. Something was off.

I glanced at Minji, sitting across from me, her fingers brushing absently against her lips. The motion caught my attention. A fine, glittering residue coated her fingertips—faint, almost invisible, but there.

It hit me like a punch to the gut. MDMA.

I knew what it looked like. Years ago, I’d seen enough of it in friends’ parties, back when I was still exploring the wilder edges of my youth.

My heart sank. She hadn’t. She couldn’t have.

I swallowed hard, the taste of betrayal rising in my throat. For a second, I wanted to confront her—demand answers, yell, anything. But as I looked at her, leaning casually against the bar with her wine glass in hand, I forced myself to stay calm.

Instead, I stood and walked over to her, keeping my movements steady. Her eyes widened slightly as I reached for her hand. “What are you doing?” she asked softly, almost flirtatiously.

I lifted her fingers to my lips, brushing a kiss across them like it was some romantic gesture. But my intention wasn’t romance. As my lips made contact, I sniffed lightly, confirming what I already knew.

It was there.

The pain in my chest deepened, spreading like poison through my veins. Minji, my wife—the woman I cherished—had tried to drug me. And for what? 

To force something out of me that I couldn’t give. To use my body against my will.

I lowered her hand and met her gaze, my stomach churning at her obliviousness. “Come with me,” I said, my voice calm but hollow.

Her brow furrowed in confusion, but she followed me as I led her to the bedroom. My mind was a storm, every step heavier than the last.

Once inside, I locked the door behind us. She looked at me, uncertain now, her usual confidence shaken by the weight of my silence.

“Jungkook, what—”

“Shh.” I raised a hand, cutting her off gently but firmly.

I turned toward her, and before I could hesitate, I began unbuttoning my shirt. Her confusion deepened as I shrugged it off, revealing my chest.

“What are you doing?” she asked again, her voice unsteady.

I didn’t answer. My hands moved to my pants, unzipping them and letting them fall to the floor. Soon, I stood before her, completely bare under the stark, unforgiving light.

Her eyes widened in shock, and she instinctively stepped back, covering her mouth with her hand.

I could feel the tears threatening to spill, but I held them back as best I could. “Look at me, Minji,” I said, my voice breaking despite my efforts to keep it steady. “This is me. All of me.”

She said nothing, her gaze flickering down to the part of me that had caused this rift between us. I saw the realization hit her like a blow.

“When we had our first night together,” I began, my throat tight, “do you remember when you told me to stop teasing with the head?” I forced a bitter laugh. 

“That wasn’t the head. That was... all of it. I’d already... finished.”

Her eyes filled with horror as the truth sank in.

“I used a toy on you after that,” I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to feel cheated, so I tried to give you pleasure in the only way I could.”

The room was silent except for the sound of my uneven breathing. The humiliation, the guilt, the pain—it all poured out of me in a torrent I couldn’t stop.

“But, of course,” I said, my voice breaking, “you can’t get pregnant with a toy, can you?”

I saw the tears start to form in her eyes, but I couldn’t stop now. “I didn’t tell you because I was scared. Scared of how you’d look at me, scared of exactly this moment. And now...” I swallowed hard, my legs trembling. “Now I don’t even want it anymore. I don’t want to try. I don’t want to feel this shame every time you touch me.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but I raised a hand to stop her. “If you hate me for this, I understand. If you want to leave me, I won’t stop you. I don’t blame you. But Minji, I don’t give you my consent. Not for this. Not to keep trying to force something out of me that I can’t give.”

The room spun around me, the effect of the MDMA finally overwhelming my senses. My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the bed, my vision swimming.

—

[Minji's POV]

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the man I’d spent five years building a life with. Jungkook, my husband. My partner. My… liar. The revelation from earlier hit me like a tidal wave, relentless and suffocating. 

I couldn’t stop looking at him. 

His vulnerability had been laid bare, and it left me reeling. His words echoed in my head, the toy, the excuses, the lies. 

I looked at his face, peaceful now, eyes closed from the exhaustion and whatever haze the drink had left him in. 

And then I glanced lower, to the truth he had hidden from me all these years. That small, undeniable truth.

The tears came unbidden, hot and angry, as I whispered to myself, How could he do this to me? How could he let me dream of a future he knew he couldn’t give me?

I ran my hand over his, desperate to feel something—anything—that would ease the ache in my chest. But all I felt was emptiness. He had hidden this from me, and now it was all I could think about. 

It was so small.

I had convinced myself that maybe I was imagining things when I saw it earlier. That it was the dim light, the haze of emotions clouding my judgment. But now, with nothing obscuring my view, the truth was undeniable.

This tiny, almost insignificant part of his body had grown into a monster in my mind, a barrier standing between me and everything I’d ever wanted.

This tiny thing would take me another 10 years and a thousand miraculous attempts to get pregnant.

I felt disgusted seeing his small penis.

"Five years," I said, my voice growing louder. "Five years, I’ve been living a lie. Thinking we were happy. Thinking you were normal. And all this time… all this time, you knew."

My hand trembled as I reached out, almost against my will. My fingers brushed against his chest, then trailed lower. I hesitated as I reached his lower body, my stomach twisting in knots.

I touched it, almost as if I needed to confirm that this was real. That this was the reality I had to live with.

It didn’t even feel real. It was soft, small, almost… insignificant.

A bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat. This is what I married. This is what I’ve been waiting for. For five years.

I need to fix this, I thought. 

My dreams couldn’t be over. I couldn’t let them end like this. I touched his arm gently, almost pleading, but his only response was a faint murmur, incoherent and distant.

"Jungkook," I whispered, my voice trembling. "We’re married. We’re supposed to be partners. I just want…" My voice broke, and I shook my head, tears blurring my vision. "I just want one thing, Jungkook. A child. My child. Our child."

My hands trembled as I reached for him, unsure of what I was doing or why. The anger and hurt swirled inside me like a storm, clouding my thoughts. 

I knew he wouldn’t agree to having sex, that he’d fight this, resist it. 

But wasn’t it my right? 

As his wife? 

Wasn’t this what marriage meant—working through the impossible?

"You’re my husband," I said softly, almost pleading. "This is normal, right? This is what married people do."

The voice in my head whispered that this wasn’t right, that I was crossing a line. But I silenced it quickly. 

It’s not wrong. It can't be marital rape…. Can it be ?

It can’t be wrong. He’s my husband. We’re supposed to do this. We’re supposed to try.

I glanced at the bedside table and picked up a small wrapper of condoms. Holding it up for him to see, I said, “See this? We’re doing it right. Without condoms. Everything’s fine.”

He stirred again, his lips moving as he mumbled, “Minji… don’t… not good…”

"Not good?" I snapped, my voice rising. "You think this isn’t good? What about what you’ve done to me? To us?”

I positioned herself near him, ensuring I was in the best possible position to increase our chances of conception. I listened as Jungkook mumbled softly, his words slurring together due to his intoxication from alcohol.

"Condom...leave...not good..." Jungkook's mumbled words trailed off as he struggled to stay awake.

Driven by my desire to become pregnant, I picked up a condom from the bedside table, determined to prevent its use. I tore it apart and threw it away on the floor while looking at my husband.

“See, baby. I'm sorry I have to do it this way…. I'm really sorry, but you leave me with no choices. I need a baby and so do you. I can't let your tiny thing spoil my dream. No matter what I have to do.”, I spoke with tears falling out of my eyes and in his cheek.

I froze because of the insanity overpowering me. I could hardly tell that what I'm about to do will impact my relationship with Jungkook and deteriorate it even further, but again….

When did I even have a good relationship with Jungkook to begin with? 

He'll hate me a little more. 

I'll manage it.

Once the baby comes, he'll eventually forgive me and we'll be a good happy gmail finally.

I increased her pace in top of him, hoping to catch Jungkook off guard and achieve my goal of making him come. 

It was hard to ride him. His member kept on slipping out of me and I had to re-position myself every second. 

I felt him twitching, although the palpitations were very low. I felt him hardening a bit, some length being provided henceforth.

He soon cummed, his body convulsing and a loud groan leaving his mouth. I felt his shaft collapsing, the hardness coming to a softness as I got off of his body and laid next to him. 

I move slowly, almost hesitantly, as I reach for the duvet and cover his exposed body. It feels wrong, like I’m trying to hide the truth from myself. But I can’t look at him without feeling like I’ve failed, like I’ve failed both of us.

I think back to the moments leading up to last night—the desperation in my heart, the constant yearning for something I couldn’t have. I didn’t want to believe it, but I think I knew deep down that things weren’t going to get any better. I wanted him to understand, to give me something real. But I pushed him away. I pushed him into something neither of us wanted.

For the first time in a long time, I feel completely and utterly lost.

But I know that I need to keep doing this again and again, until him and I achieve what I want - a baby. 

I slowly take the condom packets stash stacked on the bedside table and picked a safety pin.

With a meticulously crafted position, I pricked holes in all of them, hoping to use these in the trip today onwards and increase my chances of conception.

A stash of broken condom packets is what I felt would hold me in the light of having sex, with my own husband and help me to get pregnant.
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A/n : Liking the story so far?