❝You're never going to be my wife. Never going to be anything close to my Michae. You're just a fucking babysitter for Seol. Don't forget that,❞ he growled, pinning her down with a slewing glare. "Get out of my room." She quivered softly, her doe eyes blinking. "B-But didn't we marry?" Her tiny hands tightened on her plushie. "Marriage doesn't mean dogshit to me." He started pushing her out of his room because there was no way he was letting this freak sleep in here. Crazy childish bitch. "Issok, I'll make Seol a big good girl like me, then you'll like me too, Jungkookie." She grinned, innocent to his hate, and pressed an adorable kiss on his cheeks. "Wanna play-" He harshly shoved her out before she could finish and slammed the room's door shut. Stumbling, her cute little figure fell on the ground and her tushie hurt. "Ow! So mean. Hmph, I don wanna play wichyu too!" She stomped up and went to the other room while clutching on to the plushie for moral support. ... Jeon Jungkook finds himself in the trickiest situation of his life when his family falls in love with a 22 year old woman, who has little space syndrome, and selects her as his second wife. All he can muster up is hate and disgust when he looks at her. No doubt she is amazing with his daughter Seol. That didn't mean she was getting a space in his heart or actually be his wife. She happens to be the sweetest, kindest and adorable death to him, and a beam of sunlight in his bleak dark life. Whatever he had touched had broken down, now she was gifting her joyful touch to it and bringing it back to life. Against his wishes, she was playing with the strings of his heart too easily, without a single clue of being so effortlessly beautiful inside-out. In this unknowing whirl of bringing things back to life, she might have also touched Jungkook's heart and it was coming back alive. For her. Was this the start of falling in love all over again? Why was his cold-heart starting to beat yet again?

𝗔𝗿𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴. 𝗛𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝘁. 𝗛𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴. ❤︎︎ You gasp when you see a woman lying completely naked on a royal red couch. She looked like a goddess sprawled amidst soft fabrics. Showing off the gorgeous beauty which was her body. Her stunningly long legs rubbing against each other, her waist caving in, full breasts creating a lewd display with her nipples looking perky and hard, her neck--a chic elegance--and her long curls resting on her shoulders. Her face showing a bold fierceness, yet a plush rosy blush. The painting was intrepid and lucidly sensual. At the same time, portraying her as an enigma that is craved for. That is wanted. That is lusted over. The face was so defined, meticulously drawn and painted. For a second, you wished it wasn't so. Cause the woman, painted on the ginormous canvas, was 𝙮𝙤𝙪. You turn around. To find 𝙝𝙞𝙢 looking at you with the same boldness. The same desire he drew you with. Like he wanted you naked for him, and he would take you with everything he could give you. ●●● ➼ This book has some of my best writing, the style is very dynamic and artistic. I write very graphically and try to make the reader experience every moment of falling in love. Him as your dripping-hot, young art teacher. Age gap: 9 years.

❝You mean, both of us can get benefit out of this thing?❞ "That's literally the reason people call it FWB," he sighs, tired with your innocent ramblings. "FWB?" You question, confused. Shrouding your smirk behind the tilt of your head, you continue acting oblivious. "Friends-with-benefits, you know that, don't you?" The lines on his forehead show how bothered he was by this. Everyone your age ought to know friends-with-benefits, right? "That's really a lot considering you don't even treat me as a proper friend. Can't it be called something more simple? I don't want to feel like I'm taking benefit of somebody. We can call it sex exchange? Or sexchange?" You smile proudly, coming up with it on the spot. He remains numb, staring dead ahead like always. The familiar expression of his coldness replaces his handsome features once again. So cold, a learned shudder passes down your spine. He's a snowman, he's an iceberg, always so fucking cold. Your insides prick when the expression replaces the rare mood of him wanting to talk. Talking with him is no different than talking to an inanimate object. "Fine, sexchange." "So, you agree? You'll dat- fake date me?" "I'll fuck you. That's it." *** ➼ mature content. ➼ smuts, angst, fluff, love, softness, jealousy and a cold jungkook who can fuck you harder than he hurts you.