MUFFLED GROANS || J.JK × Reader ✔

Chapter 1 | Eager

Saturday, July 24th, 2021.

7:15 am.

"Y/n," my step-mother places her purse down on the kitchen island as I am eating breakfast, so I peek up but come across her putting her earrings on. "Do you still have the dress I bought you for your birthday?"

"That dad bought, you mean?" I glance down at my fruit to not have to see her anymore, and she heaves a loud sigh to make her annoyance obvious. "Yeah. Whatever. Do you still have it?"

"I do, but I can't fit in it anymore," I scroll through the notifications on my phone, barely giving her my attention. "Are you kidding me? It's only been two years."

I ignore her words that are meant to hurt me, and I chew on the piece of banana that I put in my mouth.

"Anyway," she understands I am not interested in this matter, and she steps towards her purse. "We're having guests for dinner today, so wear something decent and elegant, understood?"

"Who?" I chew on the piece of banana that I put in my mouth, and she fixes her hair. "My colleague, Jungkook, and his son,"  she pronounces one of the names my body always gets excited at the sound of, and I suddenly raise my eyes up again. "Jungkook?"

"Yes, but don't ever call him by his name," she points out what I cannot forget given the number of times she repeated it already. "He's your colleague, and we've already seen each other many times. Are you serious?"

"I am serious," she stands on her spot to stare at me with her irritating authority, and I chuckle but end my snack. "This is ridiculous," I leave the stool and grab my phone to walk to the trash and throw the peel out but hear her high heels hit the parquet floor.

I gaze up at her to check where she is going, but she heads to the front glass doors, where the coat rack is, so I walk up to the sofa since I do not work before nine o'clock.

I wonder if she knows that I have Mister Jeon's number, and his son's one. She is probably not aware of it since she only focuses on herself and how much she gets this man's attention on her.

"By the way," she turns around when I dived in my phone to continue writing my book. "Since you don't fit in that dress anymore, you're going to be on a diet again."

"No," I let out with no second thought, not even considering the thought of drinking tasteless soup only every day. "I have enough things to deal with in my life to give a shit about my body again. I'm healthy, that's all that matters."

"You're healthy but can't even fit in a—"

"I said I don't give a shit," I do not speak with respect, hating her for the words she never muses on. "Stop talking to me that way. I'm just trying to help," she tells a falsehood, faking her kindness and care when I know that she never showed me any until my dad was gone. "No, you're not. You're constantly judging me and putting me down. If that's what you call 'help', then you can keep it to yourself."

A nervous sneer escapes her mouth, her hand clutching her expensive purse. "Whatever you want to believe," she gives up on arguing, knowing I will never give up.

Once she grabs her jacket, walks out of the house, and closes the door, I stand up and walk up the case of stairs that is between the kitchen and living room, which are open to make one enclosed area with the dining room that is on the left of the kitchen.

I step to the right to enter my bedroom, and I move to my closet to open it, check my dresses and see where my favorite one is.

A white babydoll one, with small strawberries on it.