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zaldritzosrose · 21 days ago

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Disease (Aemond x Witch!Reader)

Summary: Harrenhal was a prize and with Daemon leaving it abandoned, Aemond wasn't prepared to let it be lost to them again. Rage simmered within, the inaction of those around him had put his nerves onto a knife's edge. Nothing would stop him from achieving his goal. Except you, of course. A witch like your sister, Alys, but far more formidable if you tried.

Song - Disease by Lady Gaga

CW: MINORS DNI, she/her pronouns, mentions of witchcraft, mentions of drugged wine and hallucinations, mentions of violence, mentions of past deaths (Lucerys and Alys), mentions of manipulation, mentions of pregnancy, innuendo, profanity, masturbation (fem), voyeurism (Aemond watches), oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, tiddy sucking, mildly submissive Aemond.

Words: 7152

It's a long one..but it was a brain worm that just wouldn't quit!

There are no more tears to cry. I heard you beggin' for life…

Harrenhal was a prize. Aemond was furious to find out that Daemon had taken it from their grasp despite the plans he had tried to lay into place.

Yes, he likely shouldn’t have schemed behind his brother’s back. But he was doing it in the interests of the Crown and their family. Even if it meant undermining the King in the process.

Rook’s Rest had been a key move. But where there was triumph, there was failure.

A win in Rook’s Rest, followed by three more dragons to Rhaenyra’s cause. Meleys and Rhaenys downed, but Aegon and Sunfyre were injured. It felt as though the war was becoming a lost cause. Aemond was floundering, though he would be damned if he let anyone see it.

The mask of cold, sharp indifference was set in place. But inside he felt rotted. Rage was a disease, and it ate him alive.

Long gone was the boy who cried over no dragon, who ran to his mother when he hurt.

In his place was a man filled with little more than hate and violence.

Runnin' out of medicine. You're worse than you've ever been…

His head pounded. Aemond barely heard the words of the council, his mind swirling. He wanted nothing more than to be done with the tiresome meetings.

“There will be no argument,” he snapped suddenly, cutting through the arguing voices of the council members.

“Harrenhal shall not be lost to us again. I will fly out as soon as possible, Cole and our men shall follow.”

There was silence in the room, yet the pain in his head felt like the entire room rang like a bell. He wanted to act, not sit and prattle about plans and alliances.

“Your Grace…” Lord Wylde had barely opened his mouth to speak before he stopped silent.

If looks could have killed, Lord Wylde would have perished immediately. Aemond’s singular gaze burned into him, and the Prince was sure he saw the Lord visibly shrink beneath it.

Aemond said nothing more, but it was clear the matter was done. The air was tense as Aemond left, not a single look back as he silently dismissed the council.

The castle was eerily silent was Daemon and his dragon departed, but eerie was what you enjoyed. Harrenhal was your haven. Your sanctuary to live unbothered and without fear.

Even when Prince Daemon had arrived, he left you well alone.

The Witch of Harrenhal.

That’s what they called you, though no one knew the extent of the things you were capable of.

You were not the first. Your sister, elder by two years but as much bastard blood as you were. She had tried to play with Daemon’s mind, and it had cost her life. And while you loved her dearly, you couldn’t feel much sympathy.

Alys had been warned. Targaryens were unpredictable, untameable. And yet she tried to.

The magic that ran in yours and Alys’ veins was far different from what ran in the fiery veins of the Targaryens. All Old Gods, but nothing alike.

Now your home was empty. The army Daemon had roused gone. Ser Simon Strong hiding away in his rooms. The constant screeches of the blood red dragon no longer grated on your ears.

You had almost returned to a life of darkened peace.

And then word of another silver haired visitor came. Younger, fiercer it was rumoured than his uncle.

The Prince Regent himself was set for Harrenhal.

(Ah-ah) Screamin' for me, baby. (Ah-ah) Like you're gonna die…

Vhagar was an unwelcome sight in the Riverlands for most. For others who openly supported Aegon as King, she was the opposite.

For you, she was a warning to prepare.

Alys had taken it upon herself to try and unpick the mind of Prince Daemon, hoping insanity would distract him from whatever he aimed to do. You were unsure of what exactly your sister had intended with such a plan, but it failed when Daemon’s knife found her heart.

You, on the other hand, knew a Targaryen in Harrenhal was a bid for power. Power you could leech upon yourself.

A bastard. A witch. All things levied as insults against you that you chose to revel in. Alys had taught you everything and you had taken to it like a duck to water. The morbid history of Harrenhal only fuelled you.

So, you kept your eyes to the sky for the sight of the great she-dragon. Waiting patiently for the Prince Regent to land at your doorstep.

But a vengeful and rage filled prince, with the largest living dragon, was a dangerous omen on the Riverlands.

It was as though seeing what Daemon had almost taken from them, Rhaenyra’s banners on different castles as he neared Harrenhal, had sent him into a maelstrom of violence.

Word of the destruction quickly reached Ser Simon, though Harrenhal’s lord was not prepared to attempt a stand against yet another Targaryen. Daemon’s presence had taken it’s toll on him, the biting wit you were used to hearing long extinguished when Aemond finally arrived.

Harrenhal grew larger on the horizon. Vhagar leaving nothing but ash and blood in her wake, feeding off the fury that simmered in her rider.

Aemond had heard the whispers about Harrenhal. The cursed stones, the ghosts that wandered the hallway, the sisters that haunted the old ruin.

But he had also never really believed in magic.

So, he let the stories linger only in the back of his mind. Harrenhal was a prize to win, haunted or not.

The dinner hall was prepared for Prince Aemond’s arrival, the large silhouette of Vhagar was visible from a fair enough distance to give the servants time to prepare.

Ser Simon had forced himself from his rooms, unwillingly knowing that his lack of presence would only anger the young Prince more.

You sat watching from your chambers, sat on the sill of the window. The flash of silver hair in the courtyard had a smile tugging at your lips. Maybe this wouldn’t be quite as much a chore as you thought it would be.

The Prince Regent was a treat for the eyes.

You watched as he disappeared into the castle. It would simply be a waiting game. You were going to take your time, reveal yourself little by little. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t toy with him just a little.

Harrenhal was known to be haunted. What were a few extra ghosts in the grand scheme of things?

(Ah-ah) Poison on the inside. I could be your antidote tonight…

The meal with Ser Simon had been nothing short of uncomfortable for Aemond and everyone involved. He wasn’t one for small talk and it seemed the previous visit from Prince Daemon had soured any thoughts the Strong lord had about Targaryens.

The only balm, the only light in such gloomy halls, had been you. Aemond hadn’t been able to take his eye off you the moment you entered. Posing simply as a servant, a tray with a jug of wine placed in the centre.

Hair falling in waves down your back, the dress you wore nothing like he’d ever seen a servant wear. Something about you just draw him in.

So, when you appeared at his elbow, soft voice offering him wine, he could barely stop himself before he had agreed. The wine slipping down his throat easier than it ever did, and the cups that followed all blurred into one.

The walk back to his chambers, however, was an impossible memory.

You sat in your chamber, on the same floor as the guest rooms the prince currently resided in. But you knew he wouldn’t be within for long…

Not with the hallucinogenic herbs slipped into his wine. His gaze on you had been just enough of a distraction.

All you had to do now, was wait.

(Ah-ah) Screamin' for me, baby. (Ah-ah) Like you're gonna die…

(Ah-ah) Poison on the inside. I could be your antidote tonight…

Sleep evaded him. No, not evaded. It tortured Aemond to try. Slumber hadn’t been an easy task for him in a long time. First the pain of losing his eye and then the death of Lucerys had afforded him hours and hours of interrupted and painful sleep.

But this was different. He felt nauseous, head spinning and his body felt like it was constantly falling.

And yet, his feet took him from his bed. He wasn’t sure where he was going, he simply needed to walk.

All the halls looked the same. Dark save for a few sporadic candles. The same grey stone walls seemed to never end. But his body seemed to know where it wished to go.

Aemond didn’t realise he was outside until he felt the night’s air on his face. The soft sounds of the water ahead drawing him closer and closer.

And then he saw you. Moonlight bathing your skin with a glow, the water lapping at your feet. Your gown flowing in rhythm with the waves.

The prince could have sworn he could hear you calling his name. Like a siren.

He was at the edge of the water before he knew it. Eye trained solely on you. How your gown had slipped from your shoulders, dangerously close to exposing more and more of your naked flesh.

Were you not cold? He thought, the water splashing up the toes of his boots. Yet he couldn’t move any further. All he could do was watch you.

I could play the doctor, I can cure your disease. If you were a sinner, I could make you believe…

Aemond’s thoughts were muddled, consciousness swimming in and out of lucidity.

Then he saw it, your hand sliding down from your neck and disappearing beneath the water. The ripples that formed around it told him what you were doing.

Sweet moans floated towards him and Aemond could feel his own heart beating to the same rhythm as your hand.

He knew it couldn’t be real. Aemond had heard the stories of Harrenhal, how it had driven so many to madness. How ghosts roamed the halls and witches hid in the shadows.

But logic was not with him anymore.

His chest heaved at the sight of you, the blood in his veins rushing down to fuel his arousal. Who were you? What were you?

Just as your moans reached a crescendo, his name falling like sin from your lips, Aemond’s hand moving to palm himself…

Lay you down like one, two, three. Eyes roll back in ecstasy…

He was back in his room. Sweat coating his skin and rolling down his spine. He was in his bed, cotton shirt stuck to his skin. His head still a little fuzzy, but he felt different.

Aemond could remember pieces of what he’d seen. Was it a dream? No, he couldn’t dream about someone he barely knew, surely?

Yet he could still see you so clearly. Soft skin, long hair. Eyes closes in pleasure as the water overtook your arched body.

His body still thrummed with the remnants of the desire he’d felt.

He lay back down, trying to let sleep take him again. But when he did, he only saw your face.

And it was a face he found himself longing to see again.

I can smell your sickness, I can cure ya (Cure). Cure your disease…

You could feel Aemond’s presence behind you as you worked. There was something about him that was immediately recognisable.

He had woken less rested than he hoped, his headache returned. The socket of his eye felt like it burned. He had asked a passing servant if there was a healer in the castle, and they had sent him to you.

“My prince, is there something you need?”

The moment you met his gaze, Aemond felt a ringing in his head. Flashes of the night before in his mind. But then you spoke again, smiling a little as he shook his head before looking at you again.

“This place is a not built for a restful sleep, I’m afraid. Especially for those not used to it.”

Your voice was so soft, like a balm to his whirring mind.

Before he knew it, you were stood in front of him. A good head and shoulder shorter than he was, head tilted in curiosity.

“That is an understatement, my lady.” Aemond answered, his voice coming out hoarser than he cared for.

He didn’t expect the laugh you responded with.

“I am no lady, my prince. Just a bastard healer.”

Aemond hummed in response, wincing as the pain in his eye burned again. It was intense enough that he didn’t notice your hand on his jaw, turning his head to look at his damaged eye.

He should have pushed you away. But your touch sent sparks through his skin, and he found himself unable to move.

“Can…do you have something to help?”

You smiled, stroking his cheek once before letting him go. Aemond hated asking for help. The Maester in the Keep would simply bring him medicine for his pain without being asked, knowing the prince well enough to know when he’d need it.

The absence of your touch made him feel empty. His skin now cold where your hand had been.

“What does your Maester usually give you?”

You had returned to stand behind the table and for the first time Aemond took the time to look around the room he now stood in. It was everything he would imagine a healer’s quarters would look like. Though it didn’t look like you resided here.

Herbs littered the table in front of you. Books laid wide open, dog-eared as if they had been read hundreds of times. Bowls, bottles, boxes filled to the brim with concoctions and ingredients. Plants hung from every possible surface. A fire smouldered in the background.

“Milk of the poppy, but I do not like how it fogs my mind.” Aemond huffed back, regretting how annoyed he sounded.

You smiled, glancing through the hair that hung before your face to look at him.

“Take a seat, my prince, I can have breakfast brought in here while you wait?”

Aemond nodded, taking a seat by the window. You disappeared for a moment, coming back with a tray of tea and a promise that a servant would bring him some food.

He didn’t know why he felt comfortable, or as comfortable as he allowed himself to ever feel, around you. You had both an air of mystery and familiarity that he truly didn’t understand.

The servant brought the food in silently, setting the tray down in front of Aemond with barely a glance towards the stern prince.

But Aemond only watched you. Much like his dream last night, he couldn’t tear his eye away.

The way you flitted around, gathering everything you needed for whatever it was you were creating for him. The smell was unusual, both sweet and bitter at the same time. But for whatever maddening reason, he trusted you meant him no harm.

“It is ready, but feel free to finish eating. It works better on a full stomach.”

You walked over, setting a steaming cup in front of him. The liquid had a cloudiness to it, much like poppy milk, but it smelled almost floral. He nodded his thanks, drinking it as fast as the heat of it would allow.

Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but it was like the pain began to dissipate immediately. Aemond sighed as the last drops slipped down his throat. The warmth disappearing along with the throbbing in his head.

You leaned against the table, arms tucked into the pockets of your gown and simply smiling.

“It works quickly, does it not?” you asked, head tilted again like he was an experiment to observe.

Aemond set the cup down, wiping at his lips and touching the skin next to his eyepatch. Not a single ounce of pain was left.

“It does indeed, far quicker than any poppy milk I have drank.”

The prince glanced out of the window, watching as the castle began to stir to life below.

“Some might say…it is magic, my prince.”

You're so tortured when you sleep. Plagued with all your memories…

Aemond had already been in Harrenhal for a week. He had become used to the old castle, the eerie sounds that seemed to leak into his room as he tried to sleep.

Some mornings, he would visit you. Sometimes for a remedy for his pain. Sometimes simply to be in your presence. As far as he was aware, it was entirely of his own volition.

The servants seemed to look at you with both fear and reverence. Ser Simon would flit between ignoring your existence and staring at you as though you were another of Harrenhal’s spectres.

The Strong lord was as impassive towards Aemond as well. As though he tolerated the prince’s presence after his experience with Prince Daemon. Learning from his mistakes and keeping his guard up whenever he was in the young Prince’s presence.

But progress was made. Whether it was through loyalty to the King or through resignation to his fate, Simon Strong bent the knee to King Aegon. Even offering Harrenhal to Aemond as a token of House Strong’s loyalty.

And Aemond had no interest in leaving anytime soon.

Sleep, however, would still evade him. Not quite dreams, but not quite nightmares. Aemond would feel like he was sleepwalking, waking up and barely remembering what had happened. The only clue would be the dirt on his bare feet or the tangles in his hair in the morning.

And you were always there.

Sometimes just in the distance. Sometimes simply calling out his name.

But still always there.

He could deal with those dreams. There was something calming about them.

But Harrenhal would never let him rest easy. Whether he believed it or not, the castle was cursed.

One night, was the worst of all.

It had been weeks since Lucerys died. Weeks since that night had plagued his dreams. But the incident had been brought up during a tense conversation with a lesser Lord to Ser Simon. Spat as an insult towards the prince in temper.

But it invaded his dreams. Replaying them over and over until one night.

Aemond didn’t know how he’d ended up on the battlements. The wind whipping at his hair, the drizzling rain soaking through his bed shirt.

Yet he couldn’t see any of it. He could only see the fleeing silhouette of Lucerys on the back of his dragon. He could only remember the vengeance that filled his very soul.

It was like he was there. Reliving it all over again.

You reach out, and no one's there. Like a god without a prayer…

Aemond could feel the wind in his hair as though he was on Vhagar’s back. Chasing down his nephew, screaming insults and threats into the storm.

But he wanted to try and change it. To stop Vhagar clamping her jaws around Arrax’s neck. To stop Lucerys falling into the water.

His hand reached out as he saw Lucerys fall, but when his fist closed it was like he was grasping at smoke. Nothing was there, only the empty courtyard below.

Aemond leaned against the crumbling wall, gasping for air.

Then he heard you. Calling his name in that sweet voice of yours. Luring him back inside. So, he followed. His mind only on the relief you could bring him.

You waited in your chambers. You knew forcing those memories back into his mind was harsh. But it was necessary. You needed him to seek you out. To see you as his sole source of calm.

And if it meant he felt other things for you, you weren’t going to deny him.

You weren’t a fool. You had seen how Aemond looked at you when he thought you couldn’t see. Lingering just a little too long on the swells of your body. He was a young man, you could hardly blame him.

You were only a couple of years his senior, but you knew all too well the way sheltered princes acted around women.

The smell of him found you immediately. The coolness scent of the fresh air mixed with the constant scent of dragon that seemed to linger on his skin. So when your chamber door pushed open, you were barely surprised.

“My prince? Is everything alright?”

You slid from your seat by the window. White nightdress barely concealing the curves beneath. You immediately brought him inside, tugging him towards the fire.

Your hands lingered on his arms, longer than you ever had before. Rubbing up and down the cotton covered muscle to warm him.

“Sleep…I cannot sleep.”

His voice sounded so resigned, you almost felt sorry for putting him in that place to begin with.

“Nightmares? Or these cursed halls stealing your slumber?”

You let your hands trail further down, cheek pressed to the valley between his shoulder blades. His whole body was tense and cold. His eye trained solely on the flames before him. But he didn’t speak.

“Nightmare, I know that look.”

Your hands moved to his front, wrapping around his chest and pressing your body to his. Aemond tried to ignore how warm you were. How sweet you smelled, like flowers and smoke. A fragrance that had always invaded his dreams.

He felt himself relax. His head turning to try and look at you. Spinning in your hold just a little.

“It hasn’t plagued me for a long time. I cannot tell if it is these halls or the stress of war that has…”

Aemond trailed off, why was he revealing himself so easily to you?

You turned him to entirely face you. And it was only then that you realised he was missing his eyepatch. The sapphire glinting in the firelight.

(Ah-ah) Screamin' for me, baby. (Ah-ah) Like you're gonna die…

You could see the pain in his eye. The crease between his brows and the tight set of his lips. Your hand instinctively going to his jaw, thumb stroking soft circles on his skin.

“Harrenhal will do awful things to those not accustomed, my prince.”

Aemond nuzzled into your hand, eye closing in satisfaction.

“Aemond. Call me Aemond.”

His lips ghosted over your hand. Aemond had only sought comfort in one woman before you, but you were so very different from Sylvie.

He hadn’t paid you to be at his side. You weren’t chasing his presence for status or power. He could see it in your eyes.

You desired him as he did you.

Aemond didn’t know it, but you’d tried to deny it. To stop the feelings for him blossoming. You only intended to manipulate, to bring him to any form of submission you could. But you had fallen just the same.

(Ah-ah) Poison on the inside. I could be your antidote tonight…

“Aemond.”

His name had never sounded so sweet. Aemond wanted to hear it again and again. To hear you whisper it, scream it even.

“Do you need relief? I can make you so-“

Your words were cut off by his lips on yours. His hand tangled in your hair and holding you tight to your body. The other arm wrapping around your waist. No space left between your bodies.

He grunted into the kiss, your hands tangled into his shirt to steady yourself. His kiss was hungry and demanding, and you welcomed it gladly.

You could feel yourself walking back towards the bed. You had expected him to try to take control. To hold on to some semblance of power.

And you let him. You could feel it, pulling you in and begging you to succumb.

But a powerful prince at your heel was the goal.

Your knees hit foot of your bed, letting yourself fall as Aemond stood over you. You rested yourself on your elbows, trailing the tips of your toes up the length of his leg.

“Or do you need something else?”

Your hands tugged up your nightgown, revealing inch after inch of your bare legs.

Aemond swallowed thickly, the fabric of his breeches growing tighter with every ounce of flesh revealed. You were wearing nothing beneath.

“Take what you need, I am all yours.”

(Ah-ah) Screamin' for me, baby. (Ah-ah) Like you're gonna die…

His instincts were screaming at him to leave. He didn’t know you, not really. He knew your name, that you were a bastard, but he knew very little else. For all he knew, it was you playing with his mind. Making him see things, making sleep evade him night after night until he depended on you.

But in reality, he didn’t care. The fire in his loins was burning, his mind reeling. And the only solution was to have you.

If desire was his disease, you were his cure. If rage and pain were his disease, he was sure you could cure that too.

Aemond dropped smoothly to his knees, hands finding your thighs and squeezing. Pushing them apart until he could glimpse the sweet nectar that lay between.

(Ah-ah) Poison on the inside. I could be your antidote tonight…

“Anything I need?” he whispered, the tip of his nose grazing the skin of your inner thigh.

You were in control, you had to remind yourself of that. But it was hard to ignore the heat that pooled in your belly at the low tone of his voice. Your hand found his hair, tugging the tie from it and letting the silver locks fall loose around his face.

Nails grazed his scalp, gently pulling him closer and closer to your core.

“Absolutely anything,” your words fell to a moan as his tongue darted out, taking one long stripe between your folds.

It was like that one taste of you woke something within him. Gripping your thighs harder and devouring you like you were the only sustenance he needed. The curve of his nose rubbing against your pearl in tandem with his tongue, which was mapping out every fleshy inch of your inner walls.

Aemond grunted into you, his grip on your thighs brutal but the pain only heightened your desire. His own hips rutting against nothing. All he could focus on was your body, the dreams entirely forgotten.

I could play the doctor, I can cure your disease. If you were a sinner, I could make you believe…

Your back was arched off the bed. Aemond switching between lapping at your core and suckling on your swollen bud. Focused on nothing more than coaxing your release forward.

“Delicious…” he whispered, pulling away for a breath while replacing his tongue with his fingers.

The pace of the slender digits was almost as fast as his tongue. There was little doubt you weren’t his first. He could feel your muscles clenching and unclenching, signalling that your release was close.

And he wanted you to spill only on his tongue. The taste, the feel, the sound, it was all he could think of. Like it was the only thing that would bring him any kind of satisfaction. You had taken hold of his mind completely.

“Aemond…” you sighed out his name as he latched onto your pearl again.

Your hips canted up to meet his face, your hold on his hair tight enough to make him hiss in pain. But he relished in it.

A hand planted on your stomach as you peaked around his tongue held your thrashing body down. The other held your body tight against his face until you relaxed beneath him. A few final laps at your quivering walls was all he got before you pulled him up to hover over you.

“Feeling better, my prince?”

The title made him chuckle. The same question you asked after he drank down whatever remedy you created for him. His hair hanging loose around you like a curtain. His slick glossed lips hovering mere inches from yours.

His hips nestled between your thighs with his feet still planted firmly on the floor. Hardness grinding ever so slightly against your bare cunt.

“I could use a little more healing, I wager…” Aemond smiled, leaning down to brush his lips against yours.

You chased his lips, nipping at his jaw when he pulled away.

“Then let me take care of you.”

Lay you down like one, two, three. Eyes roll back in ecstasy…

Aemond didn’t hesitate when you tugged him up as you shuffled further onto the bed. Both of you quickly shedding whatever clothing remained on your body.

You could see his eye flicker immediately down to your breasts as you lay beside each other, his hand reaching out to tug you closer. It was the first time you had seen any real vulnerability in him. The broken parts that made him seek you out.

Your hand found his jaw, pulling him in for a kiss as you gently pushed him onto his back. Aemond sought control in every other aspect of his life, that was easy to see. But tonight, you were going to let him relinquish that control.

He gave in willingly. Eye closed, silver hair fanned out on the dark sheets below. The lean, yet formidable form of his body seemed so small now beneath you. Your hands rested on his chest, nails circling the lines of muscle down to his stomach.

Your thighs caged his hips, swollen cock nestled between your still damp folds.

“Surrender to me, and I’ll take away the pain.”

Your voice was like a balm to whatever uncertainty raged in him. A promise he wouldn’t be able to refuse.

Gone was the demanding prince that had devoured your cunt only moments ago. In his place was the broken boy, wrecked with guilt and rage.

And that was exactly how you needed him. Open and raw, so you could rebuild him.

Aemond nodded, hands squeezing at your waist as he tried to move you over his almost painfully hard length.

“Please…”

That was all he got out before you sank down onto him. Taking him to the hilt with a breathy moan. Your fleshy walls stretching to accommodate him as though you were built for only him.

Aemond’s eye rolled closed, your name falling from his lips as you began to ride him. You started slow at first, rolling your hips back and forth at a painfully slow pace. His hands tightening on your waist in his impatience.

One of his hands trailed up, cupping your breast in his palm and massaging the flesh with a reverence. Your hips sped up at he sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist as he latched his lips onto your pebbled bud. His tongue swirling as a groan of satisfaction left his body.

You laced a hand through his hair, holding him to your chest like a mother would a babe.

“Take what you need, my sweet boy.”

I can smell your sickness, I can cure ya (Cure). Cure your disease…

You were not a mother, not swollen with milk, but the action brought him a comfort he never understood. Just to be cared for and nurtured was enough.

Between the feel of your hot cunt swallowing his cock again and again, to the soft flesh of your breast between his lips, Aemond was as close to the heavens as he believed he may ever get.

His hips began to rut up into you, feet planted on the bed as he put all of his effort into pleasing you. The wet slap of skin against skin mingled with his grunts and your moans.

The first tendrils of his release began to lick at the base of his spine, releasing your breast and simply burying his face in the valley between.

You let him control the pace, slamming his hips into yours with wild abandon. Your release struck you like lightning, your muscles shaking as Aemond chased his own end. And it wasn’t long before he thrust into you one last time. Painting your insides with his seed.

Aemond grunted out his release against your skin. Breath huffing against you as he stilled.

You could hear him mumbling against you, words not meant for your ears. The one word that you could just about make out.

“Mine.”

You ignored it, it wasn’t for you to hear. Not yet anyway. He was in a haze of pleasure and satisfaction. Drunk from his release.

The word lingered in your mind. You had wanted him under your thrall…

But you hadn’t quite expected him to come so willingly.

(Ah) (Ah) Cure your disease. (Ah) I can smell your sickness, I can cure ya…

Every night from then on Aemond was at your door, or you were summoned to his. Seeking solace in your body in whatever way he could.

The dreams stopped. The rage smouldered, like a fire that simply needed fuel.

And you both knew the fuel would come. But for now, he was happy at your side.

You had succeeded where your sister had failed. You had brought a Targaryen prince to heel. But you didn’t know he had taken your heart as well.

Where Aemond went, you went too. Taken from the service of House Strong to the personal service of the Prince Regent.

Bring me your desire, I can cure your disease. If you were a sinner, I could make you believe…

Aemond had settled in Harrenhal now. Sending word back to King’s Landing to inform the Council that the cursed castle belonged to the King now and that Simon Strong had bent the knee.

He came immediately to your chambers after a night’s ride on Vhagar. The smell of dragon and smoke entering your chambers before he did. And when he entered, you hurried to the door to greet him.

“Do you want a bath drawing, my love?”

The endearment was new, but Aemond had never stopped you from using it. The warmth it sent through his heart was more comfort than he had felt in a long time.

Your hands were already removing his coat and folding it over a chair by the fire.

“You do not have to tend to me, you know? You are not my servant.”

It was not the first time he’d spoken such things. But you always brushed it off. You didn’t tend to him because you felt you had to, it was because you wanted to. Because he needed it.

“Servant or no, I like taking care of you.” You answered, pressing a kiss to his cheek with a smile.

Aemond hummed in response. Maybe it was because he simply wasn’t used to it. Having someone tend to his every need because they truly cared for him. Or at least, he believed you cared for him.

You’d given him no reason to think otherwise.

Lay you down like one, two, three. Eyes roll back in ecstasy…

The bath was drawn, though Aemond had demanded a servant do the work whilst you lounged in his lap. His coat and leather tunic discarded, boots kicked off to the side. His hair loose just as you liked it.

The water was cooling as he finally stripped and stepped in. You kneeled at the side, letting yourself be warmed by the fire. Aemond’s hand reached out for your chin, turning you to plant a kiss on your lips.

“Get in with me.”

It wasn’t a question or a command. Aemond commonly stated what he wanted and left you a choice of whether to follow or not.

You stood, letting his dripping hand slide down your dress. You let the fabric pool around your ankles, stepping in and letting your back rest against his chest. His arms wrapping around your waist, hands flattening against your stomach.

Aemond’s lips found the juncture of your throat and shoulder, planting lingering kisses to your skin.

“You have bewitched me, that’s the rumour that is circling this ruin.” Aemond whispered suddenly, his voice muffled with the skin of your shoulder.

You laughed softly. You’d heard the same. That you had poisoned the prince’s mind, that you had used your unholy powers to seduce and entrance him.

“Is that what you believe? That I have toyed with your mind? Used my body to control you?”

It didn’t hurt you. Not anymore. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d been accused of such.

Aemond’s hands trailed lower, fingers finding the heat between your thighs and circling your bud softly.

“You have done many things, my little witch,” Aemond hummed, parting your folds with his other hand and sinking two fingers within.

“Whether it is enchantment or love I care little. All I know, is that I am better when I am with you.”

That was all you needed to hear. Leaning your head back and pressing hot kisses to his jaw as his hand moved faster. Water splashing around you as he pressed his hips against your backside.

“You have cured me, little witch. Fixed my broken parts and made me whole.”

You could only moan his name, eyes rolled shut as he bit down on your shoulder. Shifting your body until he could slide his length to rest between your folds. The cant of your hips enough to bring him to release just as you spilled over his hand.

I know all your secrets, I can cure ya, oh. Cure your disease…

You knew his heart, Aemond knew that deep down. You knew what ailed him before he could even speak the words himself. Whether it was love or something else, he’d realised quickly that it didn’t matter.

He never openly said it, Aemond wasn’t sure he ever would. But he knew you knew it. In the way he held you. In the way he would take you over and over every night.

It was as though you were a piece to a puzzle he hadn’t realised he’d been struggling with.

His little witch.

(Ah) Cure your disease. (Ah) Cure ya. (Ah) I can smell your sickness, I can cure ya…

Aemond was in a shroud of bliss. The past failures of the war meant nothing now. He had secured Harrenhal, he was a step closer to finding more success as more of Rhaenyra’s followers fell or abandoned her.

So, when a letter arrived, carried by a servant to what had become your shared chambers, he had believed nothing could ruin what he had.

But the Targaryen symbol, painted red and black on the wax lit a fire within him that hadn’t existed in a long time. He dismissed everyone, even you, from his presence as he read. The letter was from his uncle. Congratulating him on securing Harrenhal.

But that wasn’t all.

It was an invitation. A taunt even. Goading him to end the war once and for all. Prince against Prince. Uncle against nephew. Dragon against dragon.

You could tell something was wrong the second you saw him again. The tense set of his brow and jaw. The letter discarded on the floor.

“Daemon?”

Aemond nodded, continuing to stare out of the window.

“He wishes to settle this once and for all. Him against me.” He snapped, his hands clasped behind his back.

You were already forming a plan. You knew Daemon, you knew what his mindset was now, having seen him only months past before he murdered your sister – a fact you had sometimes considered revenge for.

“Invite him to Harrenhal. The God’s Eye has enough space for dragons to battle.”

Aemond turned to you in shock. You planned to send him to his potential death?

But he knew you. You were more intelligent than some would allow themselves to believe. You read people like Aemond read books.

Your hands wrapped around his waist.

“Bring him here and I will handle the rest. You will have your battle, and I will repay him for my sister’s demise.”

Aemond hummed, bringing one of your hands to his lips and kissing it.

The date was set. Daemon was set to arrive that night. Vhagar was as restless as her rider. Waiting outside the blackened walls for her rider’s call.

The screech of Caraxes was heard before he was seen. The entire castle was on edge. A dragon battle was both a spectacle and a devastation.

Aemond was sure Daemon would arrive alone, and he was right. There was no army, just his uncle and his blood red dragon.

The elder prince landed outside the gate, settling beside Caraxes to wait for Aemond.

But you remembered how easily Daemon had succumbed to the horrors of Harrenhal, and you could only hope it would happen again.

Though you weren’t going to leave things to chance.

Herbs were you weapon. Knowing what could warp or sharpen a mind. It was an unfair advantage, of course, but you had good reason to ensure Aemond’s victory.

The child that grew in your womb.

The herbs hung from the tree Caraxes rested under were subtle, but the mix of scents would be just enough to meddle with Daemon’s concentration. You had no plans to allow any risk that Aemond would perish.

Aemond was outside beside Vhagar. Weapons strapped to his belt and a stern set to his expression. He could feel your presence the second you stepped onto the shore.

“I had to see you…” you called out, taking cautious steps closer.

He turned, his face softening as he saw you.

“A welcome sight, my little witch.” His voice was as tense as his face.

He closed the distance between you, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your head.

You both stood in silence. The weight of what was coming heavy in the air.

Despite everything, despite your beginnings, he loved you. Even if he never said it, he loved you.

And you loved him.

When you pulled away, your expression was entirely serious.

“Come back, my love. Whatever it takes, come back…to us.”

Aemond held you at arm’s length, silently begging for an explanation. All you gave was moving his hand to rest on your womb. The heavy fabric of your gown having hid the swell of your stomach for the last few weeks.

“I’ll never leave you…either of you.”

The vow he made sunk into your veins. Those words meaning more than any declaration of love.

He turned, mounting Vhagar as Caraxes screeched in the distance.

The battle begun.

I can cure your disease. (Ah) Cure your disease. (Ah) Cure your disease. (Ah) Ooh…

You watched from the safety of the castle. Hand on your stomach as you silently prayed.

You had fixed his pain, gave him something to fight for.

You could only hope it would be enough.

Aemond Taglist:

@legitalicat @thenameswinter99 @sylasthegrim

@aemondsbabe @kaelatargaryen @thought--bubble

@towriteloveontheirarms @anjelicawrites @multyfangirl

@blissfulphilospher @elaratyrell

@tumblin-theworldaway @aemondsbabygirl

@hoosbandewan @mysticalendings @arcielee

#aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #song fic #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #house of the dragon #x reader #x reader fanfiction #x reader smut

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redcherrykook · 2 months ago

Text

ִֶָ── ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐ Kinktober D9- tit job

────☠︎︎────

content: nipple play, cumming on her tits, chest play obv. big tiddies reader

note from cherry: very short, but very cute imo

────☠︎︎────

It was his idea, after making out with you beneath him until your lips are bruised, he had no choice but to remove your sweater, immediately noticing how you aren't wearing a bra, your full chest on display for him entiely

He bites his lip, "wow, i'm never getting used to this view" his sultry voice makes you blush, instinctively wanting to cover up from his burning gaze,

"so gorgeous, so fucking pretty" he mumbles, running his hands up your sides to finally cup your chest, loving how they fill out his large palms, so smooth and tender beneath his rough skinned hands

"mhmm.. more please babe" your soft pleas get heard by him, he rubs his thumbs over your nipples, rolling them in his fingers, flicking the hard, sensitive buds to make you arch in pleasure.

tiny whimpers tumble out of your lips, encouraging him to lean his face down level with your tits,

"impatient baby aren't you? how could i say no to you, look at how good you are f'me" his tongue darts out, gliding over one of your nipples, the other one still getting rolled between his fingers,

Jungkook tugs at you with his teeth, gently pulling the pink flesh with him

Your back arches even more, whining out his name as he repeats the action on the other side,

"Mhh baby.. can i please, please-"

"yes- yes kook use them, cum on them" you cut him off, running your hands over his cheeks to pull him into a heated kiss, messily exploring his mouth, he moans into the kiss, sucking on your tongue and kissing you back with a trembling need for you

You know him well, you know how much he adores your chest and loves playing with it, he could spend hours sucking on your tits if you'd let him

Reluctantly, the kiss breaks and in the blink of an eye he's rid himself of his briefs, kneeling on the bed that you are also kneeling on, legs spread to be lower than he is

"thank you baby, you're so pretty, so cute. my pretty girl" his hand strokes your chin, tilting it upwards to make your big pleading eyes look up at his,

you nod, "yours kook"

he lets out a hum, guiding his heavy cock to slap against your chest, rubbing his leaking tip against your nipples after, his precum coating them in a soft glaze

the heavy feeling in his length worsening by your hard flesh making contact with his sensitive tip, watching how cutely you try to surpress the whiny moans that want to be let out

"nhhmm.. so good" hands finally cupping your own chest, you wrap them around his stiff length, squeezing them to suffocate it in the middle

Jungkook throws his head back at the soft, squishy sensation, his hands resting on your delicate shoulders

"fuck baby you feel so good.. so soft" he rasps, hips bucking into your touch,

"mhm.. just like that" you praise him, the grind of his hips only increasing, you help him out by massaging your tits to meet his tip, engulfing the leaking head with your smooth skin,

"yeah.. yeah.. fuck you feel so amazing baby"

his forward grinds pick up, roughly pushing his cock between your tender skin, the hold on your shoulder tightening ever so slightly,

"feels so fucking good" his deep groans make you feel heavy, you spit down into your tits to make him glide easier, his eyes meet yours and immediately lock on them,

"so perfect.. god you're mine, mine.. my tits, my pretty fucking tits" his rambles don't stop here, going on about how good he feels, how soft your skin is

A familair throb returns to his cock, tugging at the knot that signals he's close,

you know he is, he makes sure to bite down in his bottom lip, clenching his jaw and shutting his eyes as his thrusts get sloppier and lazier,

finally, he leaks with his milky essence, splurting up to your neck and drooling down over your chest,

Jungkook pants, opening his eyes to a spotty vision, he can make out your fingers taking the arousal from your neck to spread it on your nipples, rubbing it in with sensual circles

he moans quietly, leaning down to kiss your lips in a love filled kiss, still restless from his orgasm,

"my girl, you're so perfect f'me. Gonna lick you clean and make you cum so hard baby, all for being so goddamn good"

#redcherrykook #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #bts fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #bts kinktober

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taegularities · 1 year ago

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colour me in: redraft | jjk (m)

Summary: The calm is more appreciated after a storm. Life with Jungkook proves to you that sometimes, joy can, in fact, overshadow grief. Yet, not without confronting and removing all hurdles standing in your way once and for all.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some tame angst, sooo much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: new relationshippppp, so much hugging and kissing, yoongi!! tae!!, tears, abandonment issues, talk about social anxiety (just briefly and nothing serious!), jungkook drops a big question :'), a surprise in the middle, a surprise near the end, and then a SURPRISE at the end lol, many surprises, they're so crazy for each other it's gross; explicit sexual content: okay – kook is wearing a chain.. this vibe :'), making out, showering together, shower sex, spanking, biting, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, mouth/face f*cking, mirrorssss, he likes her ass and tiddies, tears, choking, v brief ass stuff, rough and soft sex, dom and big cawk jk, vocal jk, multiple orgasms, they're simps; ALSO YEAH THE ENDING :') ➳ word count: 25.3k ➳ a/n: so when i said this chapter would be shorter… welp lol. but i still think it introduces the next arc really well. i kinda love the ending!! .. and the next part will be </3 :'''') as always beta'd by my lovely @missgeniality 🤍 i hope you guys like this one a lot. worked my ass off for this fr :') if you do, please do support the chapter and interact with me, too, it makes my day <3 ➳ listen to: i need u by yaeow | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER

Monday morning’s breakfast is awkward. Or at least, the very first minute of it.

The hands of your watch drift to 9 AM; you should’ve expected you wouldn’t be occupying the dining table alone. Your parents, sipping the last of their coffee, aren’t that much of a surprise after all.

You breathe a quiet breath of relief when their eyes dart towards your timid forms at the threshold, then back to the table. And a moment later, they’re pushing their chairs back across the marble floor before they clear the path to breakfast for the two of you.

Your father acknowledges you with a brief, polite nod on his way out, even flashing a similarly quick smile. Ingenuine, because his glance, fleeting when directed to you, is as disappointed as your Mom’s behind him.

Today, you understand. Somewhere in the depths of your recovering mind, you feel upset about shitfacing yourself so thoroughly, too.

You haven’t seen your mother in over two days. Jungkook’s post-showcase confessions brought you to Eun, and the next morning you barely scanned your room before you left for her place again.

Guess the momentary encounter in the hallway doesn’t quite count; you could hardly crack your eyes open. Combined with half the dozen naps you took in your locked room the very next day, you won’t exactly expect pride from her right now.

Until now, as she advances towards your body, you didn’t consider much of her side; you stayed focused on the other occurrences passing after sunset. Moments whose scent your sheets still carry.

As your mother comes to a stand, you prepare your vocal cords, breathing in to explain yourself until you realise that she isn’t looking at you at all. Her eyes are firmly glued to Jungkook’s face, devoid of enmity for once.

Instead, she flattens her dress, sighing through her red-tinted lips before she nods towards him and simply says, “Thank you.”

And that’s it. A little breathtaking, entirely new.

You’re dumbfounded when she leaves; Jungkook doesn’t manage a single word. You imagine that if you’re baffled, he’s probably rethinking her words to assure he didn’t hallucinate them.

But neither of you did. And the silence lingering for a couple more seconds proves the depth of reality; not that you’ll change your mind about leaving your place. But the hint of appreciation, shot directly at him is a pleasant first nevertheless.

Breakfast is patient but fast. The quiet atmosphere doesn’t derive from the night before or what your mother just left you with, but from the emotional fatigue slowly dropping off your shoulders.

Jungkook lets you feast in peace, a soft palm rubbing over the back of your hand every now and then to assure you’re okay. And you are. You’re getting used to these changes.

To this alternative to whatever you feared before. A chance to erase all words and start on a blank page; a white canvas, waiting for vibrant colours instead of monochrome gloom.

Yet, despite the tranquillity last night, still present in the air and in your aching limbs, you don’t understand the sincerity of all the confessions he uttered until you leave.

Because breathing in your car isn’t as suffocating as it was the last few weeks. Back when you’d navigate through the town alone, the passenger seat empty. Or when you plucked up the courage and drove to the showcase numbly.

Or when the pain pierced through your chest; when your drunk ass thought the world would remain blue forever.

All of it is gone when you buckle up, shifting in your seat as you announce, “Okay. Let’s finally get you home.”

The engine roars for a moment, the car trembling, but you only register the knot in your throat when he says, “Feels so unfair of me. Having my girl drive me around so much.”

You don’t miss the endearment; neither the way your heart skips a beat.

Incapable of a proper reaction, you clear your throat and stutter, all at once and oddly in succession until you settle on a weak, “Why unfair?”

“Because. You do it a lot.”

You really do not. The night the museum closed and you dropped him off at your place was one of a few times; besides, he’s operated your vehicle more than enough before, too.

But you don’t contradict him, instead lightly suggest, “Well, you can drive if you want.”

You’re relieved when he joins your smile, dimples ever-so-sweet and genuine as he promises, “It’s fine. I’ll just stare at you.”

The shudder along your spine is delightful — relentless, he keeps your nerves alight. Perhaps he’s back to the self you knew pre-broken-hearts, playful and teasing, but the effect of his words curses through your veins hotter than ever.

“That’s creepy,” you still retort; you’ll gladly keep fighting this sweet, awkward battle against compliments for life, unaware how to handle them. “And it makes me nervous.”

“Sorry.”

Jungkook laughs, the back of two fingers reaching to your cheek to graze it featherlightly. Maybe he feels the heat beneath your skin, enhanced through his touch.

By now, you’ve spent a year with him — as a party fling, a class frenemy and a blue flower. But each second ticking away brings a new wave of soft, shy speechlessness. New honeymoon emotions.

The certainty of his reciprocated feelings, the fact that you’re finally on the same page, makes you rethink his tender confessions and touches differently. Makes you navigate the relationship differently.

His eyes drift back to the quiet, narrow street, surrounded by houses and blooming gardens. Probably as tired of the idyllic utopia as you, he doesn’t spare the suburban setting any more attention.

He only lets a flat hand rub against his thighs, nipping at his clothing as he says, “God, I can’t wait to get out of these damn joggers.”

Right. While not a main focus, you did find the special attire at breakfast today quite amusing.

“Did you even get to shower since picking me up?” you ask.

“Yeah. When you were napping again yesterday. Just gotta wash my hair later tonight.”

Hmm. You spent half your day knocked out; Jungkook could’ve circled the world and you wouldn’t have known.

“Oh. Good.”

The road proceeds straight, emptier near the suburbs. You allow a reckless glance before tackling busy streets; his eyes meet yours in curiosity, hair even messier than the night he met you in front of the bar.

When he left his apartment in joggers and an old shirt, mane untamed and no extra clothing at hand, he probably didn’t expect to abandon his place for so long. It gives you solace that he doesn’t regret it.

You drop the million memories of yesterday’s sunset burning into your eyes and everything that introduced it. The drunk words and the begging.

And then drop everything that followed afterwards; more pleading, more touching, more confessions that were in no way uttered through inebriate but not quite through sobriety either.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

You drop all the remembrances to focus on the moment; just to make sure that it’s real. So you ask, “Why didn’t you wash your hair there, too?”

For a moment, you see a flicker in his eyes, short-lived and quick; and his answer shoots out even more rapidly, “Just so.”

He emphasises his admission with a shrug of his shoulder, but it’s not nearly as convincing as he anticipates. Not buying a word, you push again, “C’mon.”

“I swear.”

“I’m curious now, though.”

There’s a momentary drop of silence before Jungkook hums, thinking as though he’s crafting a plausible excuse. Then, he says, “I didn’t wanna be away for too long.”

“…Why?”

“Why would I want to be?”

Ah…

Hmm. Well, maybe that’s enough for now.

Maybe he’s still not used to laying his secrets open. Maybe you need to practise patience, too, and stop digging like that.

You know that’s not all there is, but you certainly understand that it’s not a lie after all. Despite the pause and the obvious way his brain racked for a reason, his tone is genuine. You’ve experienced his insecurities before — that’s not what it was this time.

So you focus on the steering wheel instead, turning it left and away from the truck you drove way too close to. Your distraction might kill you — right there, next to you, clearing his throat and sitting up.

“Oh,” he says, segueing, and you let him, “wait, I forgot. Could we stop by at Yoongi’s for a sec? I wanted to see how he’s been doing.”

An abrupt change in topics, but not too abstract. As someone merely acquainted with the man, you’ve been collecting info on his state from Jimin; of course Jungkook would drop by personally.

You take a look at your digital watch; it’s barely ten and you don’t need to get away before 10:45. Taehyung agreed to meet with you to accompany you to your new potential flat again, so you should have time for a detour.

But.

“Is he…” you start, “gonna be okay with me being there?”

“Why?”

“I mean, just ‘cause… You know. We weren’t the closest for a while.”

Jungkook’s forehead wrinkles in new perplexion, muttering a few words. It takes a couple seconds — but eventually, he figures out that you’re not referring to Yoongi and yourself, and his expression changes immediately.

To subtle pain, you’d guess, like he doesn’t want to relive the memory. Like it never happened; like you weren’t two pieces of the same shattered heart this entire time.

But then he sighs, a hand wandering to your thigh. He kneads it softly, as a reminder to himself and to you that the past isn’t transpiring right now; that you’ve finally breathed and waded through it.

His optimism is encouraging when he says, “Nah. He thinks you’re cool.”

“I guess,” you mumble. You tap the steering wheel nervously, lips in a thin line before you add a hushed, “And if not, that’s alright, isn’t it? Like, hey, as long as you like me? Yeah, I shouldn’t overthink it…”

Jungkook releases air through his nose. You perceive a subtle shake of his head, as if to scold you, hear him say earnestly but gently, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t just like you.”

And whether casual or not, his words engulf your body immediately, like a soothing warm touch across your chest, yet effectively freezing your beating heart in place.

You can’t pinpoint whether the weight of his own words ever affects him as much as it affects you, or whether harbouring these emotions has become a familiar habit to him. At least to you, his tone is conversational and promising, perhaps even subliminally reassuring.

“At the very least,” he continues, “he’ll never disapprove of you the way Jimin disapproves of me.”

Which… snaps you back into reality for a second.

Your friend’s name is connected to more than mere dislike for the man next to you; currently, you think of dark nights and lamp-lit streets. After-midnight shenanigans and near tears in your own car, driven by the man who broke and mended your heart.

It reminds you of a blurry picture; two guys standing near an entrance, the older of them patting the other’s shoulder; smiling at him.

You do wonder if it was a fabrication of your mind.

“Forget Jimin,” you tell Jungkook, speech broken when you take another left and resumed when broader streets start. “Also. He did say he’s growing fond of you.”

“Because you like me. I still need to prove my worth to him.”

You tut.

“Kook, you don’t need to do anything. He’ll come around eventually. Just be you.”

“It’s fine, honestly.” He leans in, nudging your elbow, echoing you with a teasing undertone as he says, “As long as you like me.”

You love it when the initial nature of your relationship breaks through the mist of newfound passion; when you find the foundation of what you were, remembering how you landed here.

Which is why you bite back a laugh the moment you suppress a sassy, teasing remark, as if on reflex. One steer shy from pulling into a parking lot, you breathe out. If you halted here now, you’d kiss him, you’re sure.

But you merely laugh, squinting your eyes as you say, “You’re okay.”

Yoongi’s apartment, now inhabited by only one instead of two people, lies a couple miles from the campus. Jungkook guides you through the streets, jumping from one harmless topic to another — you reach his friend’s place a lot faster than you expected.

The building stands at a quiet place, surrounded by mid-high trees that give the grey colour of the complex a bit of liveliness. You walk to the entrance laughing about something stupid, a subtle nudge of his shoulder here, you pushing against his arm there.

But despite the familiarity and whatever occurred last weekend, it’s still odd jumping into the girlfriend role just yet. The word itself won’t even roll off your tongue very easily so far because you can’t believe a thing about this new reality.

So your hand dangles next to his awkwardly. Your thoughts keep drifting, registering half his sentence at times. What-if situations of gentle kisses and upcoming nights spent together tighten your chest.

Jungkook’s speech is clear and fluent, so you don’t know what your impact on him is exactly. At least he’s made sure you do have one on him — but you still wish you had a map through his mind to understand every thought he houses for you. Every emotion.

On the way up you feel a little dizzy; whether it’s due to the circular shape of the staircase or his proximity, you don’t know. You only realise that something’s still bothering you when you’re halfway up, coming to a halt with one foot on the next step.

“Okay, seriously,” you say, and he turns to you immediately, puzzled as he drops to the same level as you. Close to you.

“What?”

“You said you didn’t wanna leave,” you repeat, still stuck on the hair washing and staying longer thought, “why not?”

The answer could be simple. Could be rooted in emotions and the confessions you later uttered — but there must be something more. You saw it in the brief feeling flashing across his eyes, sitting in the passenger’s seat with silence sealing his lips.

Maybe something happened… because something always happens.

“You’re still thinking about that?” Jungkook questions, eyes wide in disbelief; lips pouting.

“No secrets, right?”

This seems to snap him out of all mysteries, last night’s conversation travelling to the forefront of his mind. But something about your curiosity amuses him. He wraps the fingers of his left hand around the staircase reeling, head dropping with a delicate smile.

His hair hides his eyes, but you know they’re sparkling; voice a mild drizzle when he starts, “It’s…” He draws in, inked digits touching your elbow before moving up your arm absentmindedly. “Don’t worry so much. It’s nothing harmful at all.”

You wait. Let his thumb graze your neck, up to your chin.

He sighs, almost exasperated in a way. “You speak in your sleep, you know?”

Wait. What?

You blink, thoughts disoriented. The staircase is dimly lit, but you recognise the slight upward curve of his lips; more empathetic than teasing.

So you still do?

“Huh?” you make.

“I think you dreamed of waking up a couple times? You hadn’t, though, and it’d always be something about being alone again.”

Again.

The word reverberates through your mind, dragging and stretching. Didn’t you once read that a broken heart is akin to serious rehab, accompanied by withdrawal symptoms and slowly healing scars?

You guess your heart was hurting more than you already knew.

“Okay,” you say, nodding when he does, thumb lifting your head when you drop it. You swallow thickly. “What did I say exactly?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know anymore. Something about me leaving. And I was scared of waking you up while gone ‘cause you’d actually think I’d left.”

You hum. Allow yourself a moment to process the info; you seek out fragments of your dreams, but you draw a blank. You feel guilty about his concerns, yet relieved. Vulnerable. And somewhat reassured.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say.

Your voice is barely above a whisper — less because of the conversation. More because of the touch on your cheek. It’s soft against your skin, and you shiver. The flutter in your chest is only just bearable.

That’s the thing about falling in love. It’s sweet — so much sometimes that it twists your guts. You’re in so deep, you could hurl.

“Nah. You don’t need to worry about this anymore, okay?” he murmurs.

His eyes dig into yours. Dark and shiny through his healthy tresses, livelier than ever. Sincere.

You, on the other hand, must look unconvinced without intending to, because his mouth aligns with yours soon after.

He exhales, tilting his head, and says, “Look,” leans in, leaves a featherlight kiss against your cheek, right next to his thumb, “I mean it.”

Guess being with him comes with occasional mental blackouts. And regular arrhythmia. The palpitations behind your ribs are almost ridiculous; instead of gripping your own chest, you grasp his shirt immediately.

Lightly, as if you could collapse without this anchor.

He lets you pull him closer just a little, whispering as if someone could hear, “What’s wrong?”

Vulnerability hidden, you blink again, and joke, “Nothing. Just thought you were gonna kiss me.”

Jungkook smiles. His nose brushes against yours, toying a bit, and his bunny teeth make him look somewhat younger when he voices, “You want me to kiss you?”

“I always do.”

Your grin is playful, but your heart is pounding in your chest. Who would’ve thought the journey from a car to an apartment could be so long, so thrilling?

His snicker is gentle and canorous, knees careful against yours. Your heartbeat accelerates some more, rose-tinted lips opting towards their goal. You part your mouth, ready with a deep breath.

But the two of you are always subject to disturbances — so you’re disappointed but not surprised when you hear rushed steps on top of the staircase, strolling down and crossing your path just when Jungkook backs away.

The stranger passes by you with initial surprise in his eyes, not expecting you, but soon gets over it and drops his gaze again. And once he’s gone, Jungkook winks, a hand on your back pushing you forward gently.

“Later,” he says.

You know as you ascend the stairs.

Know that with the ease with which you handle your feelings for each other, you’ll strive towards a future where you won’t be haunted by dreams of being alone. Where you won’t fear his departure, and where his kisses won’t be interrupted by this cruel world.

The building reminds you of when you’d frequent the dorm you used to know. The walls and hallways are similarly built, narrow and somewhat cheap. They look like most buildings from the inside do, honestly, but you like the pleasant illusion the nostalgia brings.

Even the bathrooms are located near the end of the hallways; Jungkook once told you that Tae and Yoongi have their own kitchen, unlike him back when he still housed his dorm. But there’s a communal bathroom here, too; allegedly one reason why Tae moved out.

The only thing that separates this place from Jungkook’s old dorm is the subtle difference in scent. Not pure testosterone.

You smile.

The mood doesn’t match with what you felt back in June at all.

Back when you stomped to Jungkook’s dorm, furious about yet another insignificant issue, you didn’t think your fingers would ever be brushing his like they are now. Or when you escaped the rain and entered the building’s warmth, your umbrella leaving behind a trail of raindrops.

Your relationships, your priorities, your emotions. Your universe changed faster than the seasons.

As you walk past a random door, Jungkook cranes his neck, staring as if he could x-ray-glare a hole into it and glance at what lays behind it. Perhaps he’s thinking back, too.

You don’t know about all the things he experienced throughout the years there. Part of your heart stings because you remember you weren’t the only girl who ever frequented his place.

But you still left an impression — if the current status of your relationship isn’t proof of it, then the sudden touch along the back of your hand certainly is. A thumb following a vein blindly, opting to grasp your palm into his, yet retracting when you finally come to a stand.

The digit caressing your skin lifts to the door, and his knuckles knock three times, rhythmically. Your chest constricts as you jump back into the moment, probably half as nervous as you’d be if you met Jungkook’s parents.

A moment stretches as you wait for Yoongi to open, allowing yourself just another spiralling thought as you imagine actually daring a meeting with Jungkook’s parents. It’s too early to think about it, isn’t it?

It’s just.

Since yesterday, you’ve created a dozen different scenarios in your head, ranging from a civil, calm conversation with his father to a full snap. Half of you wants to know his genuine thoughts on his son’s sorrows; the other half wants to rage and then bolt away.

Ugh.

When the door swings open, your hand flashes to Jungkook’s. A startled instinct, even though nothing about the action was surprising or scary. But he doesn’t mind — of course he doesn’t.

His eyes rush to yours for a second, warm and somewhat thrilled, his smile permanent. And then he looks back at his friend, quietly squeezing your palm, the shy smile soft as he greets, “You’re walking without clutches, huh?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away. He looks from Jungkook to you and back. His gaze isn’t very telling, but you find amusement in it. If you weren’t so ridiculously and inexplicably nervous about his upcoming statement, you’d laugh.

Intently, he grants a peek at your entwined hands, and when he looks at the two of you again, he starts…

Smiling.

Gummies all out, a tiny laugh thrown in between before he says, “Ohoho. You’re here, too?”

The smile turns into a sly grin, a hand clutching the frame of the door. You guess he’s not as balanced after all. Possibly just abandoned his clutches for the short way from the couch to the door.

“I can totally go,” you tell him, the teasing tone missing; soft and small instead.

“Why in the world would you?” Yoongi steps aside carefully, nodding the two of you inside. You oblige, hearing his voice behind you jest, “Now, would you look at that. Did I do that?”

Jungkook automatically drops on the chair at the tiny dining table, like he’s arrived home, and you follow; make yourself comfortable on the seat next to him. There are three chairs, as though carefully chosen for the pair of friends who used to live together and a guest.

Next to you, Jungkook huffs, leaning back as he watches his friend plop onto the chair in front of him, and asks, “How would you’ve done that?”

“Well, you guys gathered at the hospital because of me.”

Right. Good point.

If he just knew how that night played out. Actually, you think he just might, yet not quite aware of its severity.

“Not because of you,” Jungkook promises, “I just charmed her again.”

You laugh. So does Yoongi.

He isn’t irritated or taken aback by the younger’s boldness; in truth, he seems entertained. Arms crossed, eyes small and grin wide. He half mocks, “The young ones are charming for sure these days.”

“Spoken like a true Grandpa,” Jungkook remarks. You press your lips into a thin line, but with a faint smile. You only listen; you’re in the territory of two friends who spend their time roasting each other. You’re not on that level yet, so you observe. “But I had to.”

“You had to, huh?” you joke. Okay, observation broken. Your body tilts towards him. “You didn’t need any of your charm for… this. But still good to know.”

Because you would’ve been putty in his hands, no matter what — charm or not.

"Can confirm," Yoongi agrees, nodding towards his friend, "that he was also a proper mess the last couple weeks. Very out of character."

Your eyes roll to the side to catch a glimpse of him, but the moment you detect the rosy dust on Jungkook's cheeks, you avert your gaze immediately.

Admittedly, the guilt in the middle of your chest is undeniable. But there's comfort in knowing you were never the only half who was deeply, perpetually falling.

Yoongi scratches his temple, doesn't meet your eyes; possibly shy when it comes to conversations like these. But he sounds warm and gentle when he says, "I'm really glad you guys are back."

You’re similarly timid, feeling strange. As if someone’s congratulating you on a fresh marriage. Or maybe that’s just the emotion you want, need to feel.

You say, “Thanks.” And then, ever-so-terrible with compliments, add a little, “Let’s say it was you. Double thank you to the man of the hour.”

Yoongi pulls a grimace hitherto unseen; it doesn’t faze Jungkook, but the Joker-esque grin and wide-eyed nod have you bursting into laughter. His friends are pleasant, you think.

If there was a way to lure Jimin in and convince him of this group’s collective appeal, you wouldn’t hesitate. There’s only a limited time you want him to play the petty, protective friend.

“So, how have you been?” Jungkook eventually asks.

Yoongi rubs the corner of his eye, stretching his injured leg under the table, “Never better. The bank is surviving without me. Besides, I haven’t gotten around to making some music in a while.”

“Tae did tell me you were enjoying your days off.”

Jungkook reacts with a tiny chuckle, but your eyes widen. You let him finish his sentence, and then spit, “Wait, wait. You make music?”

“Oh, I mean… I’m not any good,” he explains, wiggling a hand, a little startled as if he forgot you didn’t know yet. “I just. Make a few beats every now and then and write my own bars and stuff.”

“Wait, rap?” You stare between the boys, to and fro, only a little offended that you didn’t know you had a brooding future musician in your midst. “Can I hea—”

“No.” The answer is immediate. You pout. “Before you ask, I am way too much of a coward.”

“He’s amazing,” Jungkook intrudes.

And you whine, “Unfair, Yoongi.”

He imitates your expression, leaning back, copying your stance, and answers in the same childlike tone, “Warm up to me first! I’ll show it to you one day.”

“One day I’m gon’st hear it,” you declare, overly dramatic with your chin up, “you have my taste in music, you know? I know I’ll like it.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I can try.”

Yoongi blows a raspberry. You’re not sure what you expected; maybe subtle hostility. But the sense of casual camaraderie is refreshing; lounging comfortably in his living room was a picture far from your mind until now, and you think he enjoys the unforeseen gathering, too.

Because after a moment of stillness, a faint smile touches his lips, his voice back to normal and deep as he remarks, “It’s nice that you guys came. I get bored here a lot.”

Right. You kept wondering.

You don’t dive into the matter immediately, instead drenching your voice in a teasing lilt, “Even though Jimin visits you?”

“Shut up.” Mock exasperation rolls his eyes as Jungkook appreciates your joke, one foot pressing against yours under the table. “No. It’s just been lonely since Tae moved out. It’s a two people thing with two bedrooms.”

He shrugs his shoulders, attention fully on you. Jungkook either doesn’t have much to say or doesn’t want to interrupt. Only listens.

“Living here alone feels like I’m wasting space and money,” Yoongi finishes.

Curiosity piqued, you probe, “What did Tae say when he left?”

“He offered to let me move in with him. But that’d be pointless.”

“Why so?”

“He’s awesome for offering, but I think he wanted his own place, you know? Why would I intrude then? But I did tell him I’d look for another place.”

“Have you been?” you ask. You still remember how happy Taehyung looked last time you met him alone.

How he spoke so highly of a life on his own, gladly interrupted by the occasional visits Eun granted him. Yoongi, you think, would probably benefit from acquiring his own place, too — one that doesn’t remind him that someone left him behind, inhabiting a vacant space thought for two.

“Every now and then,” Yoongi admits. “Will think about it some more once my leg’s healed.”

You nod in understanding, a thoughtful hum escaping your lips. Yoongi soon leans forward, naked arms on top of the table, and delves into a discussion about the rising costs of rent.

He outlines the challenges of finding the right place in the bustling city, and explains his worries about the empty space in a too-large apartment. And you listen intently.

But as minutes pass, you can’t help but notice the contemplative silence Jungkook has fallen into.

It’s always the same with him — thoughts you can’t read, questions you need to postpone.

Because you do glance over at him, observe the distracted furrow of his brow, the distant look in his eyes. You understand he’s once again lost in unknown thoughts, and you sense how jumbled his mind must be.

But you still decide to hold off for the moment, out of respect for the ongoing conversation. You don’t focus on addressing his apparent preoccupation until it keeps going until later, way after you’ve bid Yoongi goodbye.

“Why do you seem so reserved?” you ask in the car, his home your new destination.

It must be around quarter past ten; you should still be able to meet Tae within half an hour. Yet, despite the brooding rush, you can’t help but wanna drag out the ride, finish this conversation.

“Hm?” he voices.

Did he not hear you? Maybe.

You sigh, seeking an available parking spot. You’ve already turned into his street, way past the park, halting close to his entrance. The engine dies, sudden silence inside the vehicle.

“Okay,” you turn towards him, forearm against the wheel. “You’re a lot less enthusiastic now. What’s up?”

He looks distracted. Drags his teeth over his full, pink lower lip hard enough for you to repeat, “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Uh.” Cue big boba eyes flitting to you. “I was just. Thinking about something.”

“Wanna share?”

“Yeah. Yeah, uhm. I swear I’m not trying to be mysterious, just. Not sure how to phrase it.”

He’s easing himself into this whole thing. The entire opening up act and being fearless with his feelings. So you don’t push him, but encourage, “Try. If not now, then maybe later, though?”

“No, no. Now is fine.” He frees his eyes off the dark bangs when he shakes his head a little, preparing to voice his hidden thoughts. Then, he breathes, “Yeah, so…”

One more second.

And.

“What if you dropped your plans of moving into that apartment?”

Oh. What?

Does he mean what you think he means…

There are only two options, right? And you choose to go with the one that would embarrass you less if it turned out wrong.

“Should I… do you think I should stay with my family?” you ask, your voice cautious.

But when his hands shoot up, immediately denying your assumption with round eyes, you breathe out through your nose. Relieved when he clarifies, “No, not at all. I mean, it’s up to you, but that’s not what I meant.”

So then…

“So you’re saying—”

He interrupts, rushing before he can back down, “Move in with me. And Yoongi could take the apartment you were considering.”

Fuck.

You didn’t expect your heart to jump up to your throat like that. It’s a day full of brief heart failures. You barely know how to react anymore.

You stare. Then stare a bit more. And eventually, you simply ask, “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean…” He gulps, averting your gaze all of a sudden before it lands back on yours. You chuckle quietly, unprompted, and it boosts his confidence. “You stayed at mine for days and it worked. It could… you know— keep working.”

The suggestion lingers like a fresh breeze, grazing your cheeks and twirling around you like a soothing force. He beams — though subtle, he seems to interpret the simultaneous rise of your eyebrows and your lips immediately.

Still, he inquires, “I don’t know… too soon?”

Technically yes. But then again, no. Because he’s right — you’ve already experienced a piece of heaven, tasted the bliss of domesticity with Jeon Jungkook.

“You really are serious about this, yeah?”

“Only if you want me to be,” he counters, less tense than before, but a hand rubbing in nervous circles over his knee, “if not, then I was absolutely joking.”

An awkward, little chortle fills the small space of the car; you shake your head, teeth out and smile bright. There’s sweetness in knowing that his affection is real. That the thought of shared future pains, joys and days — that it’s all actually become so unbelievably real.

The car is cool in the shadow, but you feel a strange heat coursing through your body. At the end of the street, you see the sunlight brighten the moment he laughs. Fitting.

The crinkly eye smile softens when he reaches for your hand, pulling it off the wheel and wrapping it in his. There’s an automatic reaction in your chest, a constant racing when he says, “I mean it, though.”

Brief pause. He looks down to your fingers.

“I think I got used to having you there. And then, at Yoongi’s I had this… I don’t know, overwhelming urge to tell you. That,” his teeth worry his lip, releasing it softly, “I want you next to me for as long as possible.”

You understand.

He means every minute that society and norms don’t force you out of the house. At nights and in the mornings, on off days and holidays. To fall asleep next to his presence, to wake up on the same mattress, too.

And the longing is undeniable; you know that it is. But you’re already swamped with decisions as it is — could you call off the apartment right here, right now? Rethink all you discussed with the landlord, Taehyung or yourself?

Life decisions are harder than that, and despite all the wants infiltrating your body, you can’t dive into this without a couple more following thoughts.

You keep gazing into his smouldering eyes, more intense when he looks up. Let their effect send a thrill down your spin, a surge of yearning through your veins.

And then, you acknowledge the need for prudence. You savour the moment, let the anticipation built, and flash a sultry smile to ensure that, yes, if not now, then one damn day, I’ll be yours entirely.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything to work more than this,” you admit, “but I need to—”

You halt. Words come hard to you these days; and the two of you are sensitive. It’s not easy to reunite after weeks of overthinking and distance; and you don’t want to provide more reasons to overthink.

But you forget that as sensitive as Jungkook is, he’s just as understanding and gentle, too.

Because he says, “You need to think. And I know you can’t just pack your things and move over, I just— I wanted it out there.”

“I know. I know.”

“And I,” he continues, “I actually thought you were gonna say no right away since you’re getting out of your childhood home just now, so naturally, you would wanna be alone for a while and—”

You lean forward, pulling your hands out of his grip. His eyes shoot down, baffled and confused, but you don’t give him a second to think or speak. In a moment’s notice, his cheeks are squished between your palms, his bunny face now akin to a duck.

“I don’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone all my life,” you tell him; Jungkook eyebrows furrow in empathy and worry, but you smile, “I don’t wanna be anymore.”

His expression and voice are dorky when he speaks, first words incomprehensible. You let go, watching the red splotches on his cheek, and he repeats, “Is that a yes?”

“It’s… I don’t know. A to be continued.”

“I’ll live with that.”

You don’t know if it’s the electrifying prospect of a life together or the confidence he follows his statement up with, but the insanity burns wild in your head. Untamed and dizzying.

“And I’ll wait for however long.”

“I didn’t even ask, I’m sorry… but are you starting work later today?”

You stand in the middle of Taehyung’s living room, a hand over your eyes to protect them from the bright sunlight. He’s busy piling the saucers and the cups, and you wait as he drags a vocal in thought.

“No, no. I’m off today.” He stands, and you automatically walk the short distance to the kitchen, lingering at the door frame. “Need the afternoon for an appointment at the doc. So yeah.”

“Oh. Everything okay?”

He doesn’t speak yet, dishes in the wash basin too loud. They clink and rattle; the moment you’ll move to an apartment by yourself, you’ll have to wash them yourself, too.

Maybe you can make your place as aesthetically pleasing and beige as Taehyung did. You don’t know — you couldn’t imagine much today nor discuss further details about the contract and rent and general house rules.

The landlord bailed on you last second. And Taehyung sacrificed over an hour that he could’ve spent keeping Eun company between her morning lessons.

You apologised the second you entered his apartment instead, thankful for the invitation to tea, yet harbouring guilt for wasting his time. But Taehyung proved incredibly kind, waving off your concerns immediately.

He asked, playfully offended, “So you’re saying a tea party with me is a waste of time?” And then he laughed, immediately shaking his head, “Nah. It’s fine. Am glad someone finally prefers tea over coffee, too.”

So now you’re here.

“Yeah, just a check up,” Taehyung answers, “vamps drew my blood and will tell me today if it’s good or not.”

“Interesting way to refer to doctors,” you admit, backing away when he leads you to the exit. You need to be at work in forty minutes tops. “Good then.”

He hands you your blazer, silent for a moment before he says, “Talking about feeling unwell.” You look up, arm halfway through the blazer’s sleeve. “What were you doing getting shitfaced like that?”

“Uhm…”

Word travels fast. Your cheeks heat up, fingers curling into fists. You smack your lips, letting out a tiny laugh, and ask, “Eun told you, huh?”

“Mhm. Scolded her for taking you to the bar and leaving you alone.”

You sigh.

You should’ve guessed that she’d tattle. And of course you might appear like the helpless, heartbroken girl, seeking comfort in alcohol, dark clubs and blue neon lights. It’s a little embarrassing, actually.

“Kook was there, though,” you defend.

“I know. I called when he was still at your place.”

Huh? What else did he do when you were asleep? Painted a Louvre-ripe masterpiece, probably.

Taehyung decodes the dozen questions in your stare, tumbling until his back leans against the wall. He explains, “We just talked for a sec. He sounded worried, so I didn’t prod too much. Just don’t do these things anymore, okay?”

Huh…

You can imagine it well. Partly because you remember the way he looked at you that night: distressed beyond belief, giving you soft orders, insisting on help everywhere — the car, the shower, the bed.

But also because you know him.

And you don’t think you needed to see him in those very moments to know he must’ve brushed through his silky hair. Must’ve looked through your room, gaze stopping over your sleeping figure.

Voice strained on the phone, yawning, shaking his head because he must have been a little mad at you, but comforted that you were resting, too.

You remember the tone of his voice, soft as a piano tune but saddened nonetheless.

”What did you drink? You’re… in such a bad state.”

You shake the words off. God, he was there for you more than you’ll ever know.

You say, “That’s nice, though, Tae… I didn’t think you’d ever get so worried about me.”

“Hey. You’re still my friend,” he promises.

He’s possibly been the only person throughout this entire ordeal to not be pissed at you or annoyed by you. You never doubted that he still liked you.

“I might not know you inside out like Eun or Jungkook do, but you’re part of this group. So naturally, you’re important, too.”

You push your hands into the pockets of the blazer, gripping the car keys inside. Bashfully, you smile. His sincerity pumps warmth through you; it’s crazy how good belonging somewhere, to someone, can actually feel.

It’s refreshing. New.

“Wow,” you murmur, shuffling your feet, “thank you.”

“You’re glowing, you know. That’s nice.”

“Am I?”

He nods. “I can’t wait to see him glow either. A couple weeks were a couple too long.”

Those couple weeks felt like someone ripped out the hands of time, keeping them from moving. Your brain aged faster in that time, deep in a bottomless abyss. You don’t want to experience it again.

And you don’t want to imagine Jungkook in the same pit again. Looking for you, but bumping against walls, painted with his past that made him stumble back instead of pulling him forwards.

Your eyes trail down the hallway, looking at the small paintings and decorations on the wall. You take in the furniture, inhale the pleasant colours. Imagine his living room in its entirety, the sunlight seeping through the windows. Curtains pushed aside.

Your apartment could be like this, too.

But.

“Tae,” you begin. You wrap your fingers around your rattling car key; lick your lips. “Do you think I’d like it here?”

“Hmmm,” he voices, gazing down as if he could look past the parquet floor and to where your potential apartment stands nearly empty. “Yeah. I mean, I like to think so, because I’m very happy here.”

He stops abruptly, the tone of the last syllable not matching a sentence’s end. You wait as he smiles a little, creating a thought, “But you could be happy somewhere else, too. Happier even.”

His words hang in the air, a sense of both possibility and uncertainty tangible. You were wanting to venture into this new chapter of your life with hope, but also with trepidation.

Suburban areas are nice, but you opted for the heart of the city — the vibrant tapestry of dreams and opportunities. You didn’t expect the journey to be fraught with sudden doubts.

The best thing, however, is that doubts and dilemmas never seemed this… tempting.

You tell him, “There’s always a place that makes people happier, for everyone.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice tinged with wisdom. “Only, some people already know of it, and some keep searching for it.”

“And I am—”

You pause, anticipating for him to finish the sentence; he responds, “You gotta know.” There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, support and acknowledgment hiding right behind — matching his words, “I’d be bummed if you didn’t become my neighbour, but. Also just happy you guys are happy.”

Too kind for this world.

In your endearment, you laugh, suddenly stepping forward for a brief, thankful hug. A silent gesture of gratitude for his friendship, no matter how shallow or new.

The people you surround yourself with offer endless reassurance, and you’re lacking the words to express your appreciation.

“Thank you, Tae. Eun’s right when she praises your constant respect for other people, you know?”

Taehyung, maybe a little perplexed, brings a hand to your back, patting gently as he states, “No worries. The worst is over.”

You hope so. God, you genuinely hope so.

You pull back, tucking your hair behind your ear and bid him goodbye with one last nod. Taehyung closes the door behind you with a humorous thumbs up, and you grin before it’s silent in the hallway again.

There’s a tiny window outside, overlooking the street down there and the cars flitting by. The area isn’t as peaceful as Jungkook’s — more lively and noisy. You can see the city’s river if you look far enough.

And as you step closer to the glass, you envision your own apartment again. You imagine the soft glow of the lamp before you go to sleep. The comfortable couch you want to plant in the back of the living room, curling up with work or your laptop or a cup of hot chocolate.

You picture the view of the city as you step to your open window, glancing out as the steam of your beverage swirls in the evening air. Contemplating the world outside.

But then you start rethinking Jungkook’s words, too. The idea of belonging and happiness, of domesticity and what could be.

And at last, you visualise what it’d be like if you didn’t see any of this — the lively street, the river in the distance. Wonder how you’d feel if the horizon looked different.

If you stared out and saw a different canvas instead.

The changes in your life are drastic in some way, but Jungkook always stays the same.

Your house lies quiet most of the time; as days pass, you frequent your room, then drop by in the living room, greeting the staff, grabbing dinner and retracting back to your beloved bed.

Jungkook’s apartment, baby-sized compared to your place, allows a much livelier atmosphere. Maybe because you don’t need to yell for him to hear you from another room. Or maybe because it’s just the two of you.

Perhaps even because you find solace in the couch, in the smaller smart TV in front of it, the glass table, the carpet, the homely furniture in general. The scent reminds you of wood, but you connect it with him, too.

It’s different from the room you grew up in. Different from the luxurious chimney and marble you’ve seen all your life. And you must admit that you enjoy it a lot more, too.

One of the few reasons why your mood changes from exhausted to merry the moment you knock at his door on Thursday. He was expecting you, because when he opens, he beckons you inside immediately, pulling you in and planting a generous kiss on your cheek.

A smooching sound accompanies it, his foot closing the door as he suggests, “Dinner first or TV?”

“Shoes.” You laugh. You slip out of your thin jacket before tackling your snickers quickly, your clothes suddenly itchy and uncomfortable. “Shoes first, and then shower? Can I?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It’s not the first time that you’d be doing it. But there’s still something new and pure about this new chapter of your life; one that comes with polite questions and reinventing reality, apparently.

Redrafting life as you knew it and striving towards something better.

“I knew it, actually,” he says, forefinger wiggling, “I put a fresh towel on the washing machine. Also had a handful of your shirts here, so there’s one of those on the towel, too. And my joggers… Sorry, you left none of those, uhm—”

He’s started walking ahead, scratching behind his ear, but when he notices you not following, he looks over his shoulder. Blinks at you, staring into his living room and back, innocent voice unsure, “Come?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just— you didn’t have t—”

“I know,” he interrupts, breathing a sigh in faux frustration, “I know I never have to. But I figured you’d wanna shower.”

“…Thank you, Kook.”

You wish you could say more; express your gratitude the way you want to. At least your body is jubilating, craving the hot steam of the shower. Starving further for some peace when you step into the bathroom and detect the neatly placed clothing.

Jungkook halts at the door, gripping its frame, a little shy as if you didn’t breathe each other in for the last couple of weeks and months. He’s looking at you, waiting for something, and when you raise an eyebrow in curiosity, he snaps out of whatever daydream he was in.

“Oh. Right,” he mumbles, cheeks flushed, “sorry. I’ll leave. Can heat up the food. Or, or do you wanna order in?”

“Anything’s fine.” He nods. Opts to walk away, big hand flattening his hair at the back. It takes a moment for your heart to riot as you watch him leave, immediately babbling, “Actually. I was—”

Returning within a moment, he looks alarmed. Less so when you point a thumb to the shower and suggest, “Do you wanna join?”

“You in the shower?”

No, doofus. Join to watch the washing machine unsoil your sweaty clothes.

You clear your throat. “Yeah?”

“I uhm… Is that okay?”

Goddamn. Redrafting life as you knew it, you said.

You just didn’t expect the two of you to still tip-toe around each other. Seems you still have a lot of adjusting to do.

You try to break the ice.

“Acting like I’ve never seen you naked.”

“No, I know,” he responds, “I was just thinking that you…”

You can’t quite decrypt what he’s trying to say, but you do perceive the flash of concern in his eyes. It’s a tiny glimpse, barely there; but you see it. And you think about it.

Try to understand, let moments pass — until you’ve grasped his thinking.

The night he helped you clean up was the last time you stood under a showerhead together; maybe he thinks you’re still connecting it to the night’s trauma or borderline dangerous intoxication. And perhaps you’re wrong.

But you still take a breath, and then segue, “Already took a shower, didn’t you?”

You know he did. He’s addicted to cleanliness, sensitive to scents; he hoards diffusers, skin care products and new underwear like a treasure. And showering is always the first thing he goes for, a beeline to the bathroom after work out sessions and intense summer days.

You follow up with, “It’s okay, if you did. I’ll just go alone and hurry to dinner, then?”

“No, no… No, it’s fine.” He starts his sentence fast, but slows down halfway through, awkwardly. “Of course I can join. What’s some extra refreshment, right?”

“That’s the reason, huh?” you mock, laughing when he shrugs his shoulder. “Keep acting like you’re not the biggest simp around.”

Your confidence boosts his own, too. The signature smile is soft, lips curved gorgeously, but the subtone of his words is teasing, and even a little cocky.

“Of course. I know, I know.”

“Come then.”

You offer a stretched hand, curling your fingers in and outwards, and he places his warm palm into it like a key to a lock. Albeit tense and nervous, your body feels good next to his. The telltale awkward signs of a new relationship don’t deter you from indulging in its sweetness.

So you’re not surprised at how quickly you undress, throwing each other’s clothes at the back of the washing machine and planting kisses whenever one of you bares their shoulder. Eyeing each other from bottom to top.

You think you ogle for a moment too long, though — and how could you not with the freaking silver chain dangling from his neck?

An exciting evening lies ahead, you can already tell.

It’s fresher now outside, and all of Jungkook’s windows are open. Despite the cosiness of the bathroom, you rush under the hot shower stream.

Only, it’s not as boiling as you’d like it to be. Jungkook starts and finishes his showers ice cold, so you screech when you meet water from the Antarctic. You jump on your spot, arms around your torso.

And when you allow yourself one single glance at him amidst the breathlessness, you notice that the asshole is doing it on purpose. Same old. Rouses core memories.

Jungkook wipes over your hair and your face, drenching them thoroughly. You only realise he’s smudged your mascara when he starts rubbing underneath your eyes gently, managing to get some of it off.

“Fuck,” you curse, “I forgot about that. Should I take it off first?”

The intention is to slip out, use one of his cleansing skin products and get the mess out of your face before stepping back to him. But you don’t make it far anyway; he yanks you back before your foot can even touch the mat.

And then, the moment passes in a blur.

Tense body back against his, he tugs you close. Holds both your wrists in front of your breasts, leaning in without a warning, and then — connects his dripping lips with yours.

If there was any space to gasp, you would. Instead, your fingers instantly dig into your hand, sharp nails scarring the skin. You move your fists, trying to touch him, but he holds you in place firmly.

That is, until his digits relax, trailing up your shoulder to your neck, jaw and then to your cheeks. Face in your grip, you let him control the pace. You find an anchor in his bicep, holding on; kissing isn’t enough.

You wish he could eat you up. Wish the tongue finally touching yours, swirling around it, was everywhere on your skin at once.

You feel a slight twitch underneath, right against your body; ready to devour, hopefully soon to explode. But Jungkook gasps for air when his lungs give out, allowing a break, backing away with your face still between his hands.

And then, he utters something surprising — something you didn’t expect in the heat of the moment at all.

“I was meaning to tell you something.”

“…Oh?”

“I’m uh. I’ve been meaning to tell you for days. I just never quite got around to it and we were so busy and tired all the time and—”

“What is it?” you break in, heart pounding at an unnatural speed. “I’m here now, so…?”

For a second, you expect this to take a whole different turn.

The database in your brain empties the moment you scour it for an answer, preparing yourself for molten knees and dissolving hearts. Or maybe, it’s already clarifying to liquid, jumping out of your chest and flowing down the drain along with the water.

But he doesn’t say what you anticipate. Though, what he does admit has your nerves glowing neon white anyway.

“So— the first night of my showcase. On my birthday?” he starts. You feel the muscles of your face change, and he sees it, immediately assuring, “No, no. Don’t worry. I was just gonna say that a guy came to me by the end of it? And—”

He lets all of it sound like an unsure question. But you think you know where it’s going — you hold your breath under the already suffocating water.

“And?” you prod.

“And turned out Namjoon invited him, and he’s kiiiinda a big shot in the art business? Like, he’s a gallery collector, he said. He’d invest in my art and acquire it and have it showcased in bigger museums for more recogni— I know!”

Your mouth and eyes opened halfway through his quick explanation, fingers back in fists, pressing against his solid chest and then moving up to hook in his silver chain. You’re restless in the congested space, suppressing the high pitched sounds.

He puts his hands on your hips, snickering in joy as he says, “Be careful before you slip.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Thankfully I’m not, angel,” he shakes his head, bangs sticking to his forehead, “not this time, at least.”

You raise a hand to his pec, tapping against it, “Wait. So just so I understood correctly — they’re gonna put up your stuff there for an even bigger audience to see, yeah?”

“I mean, the gallery is definitely far bigger than the exhibition I participated in.”

“Oh my god, Jungkook, the exhibition already had a shit ton of visitors!”

He nods, proving a point.

You feel an electric current in your blood. Pride, that’s what it’s called, too. You sling your arms around his neck recklessly, nearly falling, but you can’t be bothered as you exclaim, “This is so— I don’t even know how to react, Kook!”

And who could convince a big-shot art connoisseur so quickly after graduation anyway? Jungkook’s god given talents are never praised for nothing — you knew it. Fucking knew it.

Won’t make it anywhere, your ass.

“That’s so fucking awesome.” You stare, out of breath all of a sudden. God, if there was a way to express your delight. “When is it happening? Are you selling the one you showcased?”

“I don’t know yet. And no. That’s too… personal to me.” You blink, nodding. Still overwhelmed with how his pieces made you feel — of course they’d hit even harder for the artist himself. “He wants something in a similar style, though. I’ll make something new for him.”

“What’s it gonna be?”

It’s a simple question. You swear it’s nothing too deep.

But Jungkook’s gaze changes. An amused, delighted expression replaces a neutral one, head tilting to the side just a little. His lips, already slightly swollen from the kiss, move up, eyes kind and sugary.

If you only knew how your small details affect him, too. How you looking at him like this, expectant eyes split wide, innocent and gentle, shoots an arrow to his heart.

You just don’t know.

He brushes the hair sticking to your cheek back and tells you, “You’ll see. I’ve been working on it these days, but. Will show it to you when it’s done.”

You can’t even be mad. If it was up to you, you’d probably wait for the big day, too — can’t spoil the surprise, need to cry tears of pride and joy in public.

So all you say, deep from the heart, is, “You’re the fucking coolest person I know.”

“Nah—”

“The coolest.”

“Funny,” he retorts, as bad at compliments as you; throws them back like a boomerang, “thought the same when I met you at the party last year.”

“…Gross.” That’s what you say. But you still shake your head; overwhelmed, smile plastered to your face and cheeks hurting. “God, Kook.”

And that’s all.

You keep holding his stare, finally too tired of the distance to endure any longer — and then lean in. You stop a couple inches away, watch his head angle more, mouth steering towards yours. The smile is mutual, fingers seeking a spot to settle on on each other’s bodies.

Your heart monitor would be wilding right now — the effect of your lips meeting clear as day behind your ribs. And this time, you don’t stop.

The push against his chest is immediate, his feet slowly tumbling backwards. His tongue burns hot against yours, your lower lip fitting perfectly in the gap between his lips. There’s a sharp hiss when his back finally touches the tiles, mouth open but not leaving yours.

Teeth soon clash, and you opt for more of his taste, well aware that you just cannot kiss more than you already are. His hands move up and down, never settling, both your lips harsh and impatient. Your tongues keep moving in patterns, thirst never quenched.

You break the kiss solely for oxygen purposes, but he uses the moment to let his palm wander from your face to your hair, grabbing a patch. One hand pushes against the small of your back, though soon dropping to your ass, fingers between your ass cheeks, teasing the clenching hole.

Fuck.

The moan isn’t intended, but very welcome — you love the sound of it as much as he does, followed by his own. An automatic reaction. His hips indulge in the tiniest movements, length jerking against your body; no more than an inch of his fingertip pushing into your ass.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you breathe, eyebrows furrowing, mewling against the corner of his lips. “More, now, please.”

It’s an attempt. Of course he won’t act that fast — you know him well enough. He’s been a soft gentleman often enough; but after holding back the past few days, missing it for weeks, you know it won't be easy on him either.

One of you will be on the brink of tears soon; until now, it’s usually been you.

You take a deep breath, agitated when he laughs. He retracts his hand, smoothing back his chaotic mane before leaning in for another peck. And that’s all it remains — interrupted immediately, saliva mixing with the shower water.

“I’m so fucking crazy for you,” he confesses; the shiver doesn’t hesitate crawling down your spine — neither does Jungkook, peppering your neck with kisses.

His actions are smooth — you let him do anything. Like, explore every little spot of your skin. From the softness of your face, down to the flesh of your ass, echoing hard when a flat hand slaps it out of nowhere.

You propel forwards, barely aware of your surroundings. The shower raining onto you is the only indicator of where you still are.

So when he turns you carefully, 180 until your back touches the tiles, you don’t realise his intentions for a moment. Only when he changes his approach, digging your shoulders hard into the wall, knocking you out of breath.

“Are you trying to—” you ask, but he interjects right away.

“Don’t question it this time, okay?” His face inches close again, teeth suddenly pulling and nibbling at your lip. “Just let us do. Lemme do, yeah?”

His chest presses against your tits before he backs away and palms your mounds, squeezing nearly painfully.

For only a heartbeat, though — he doesn’t stall further. Because another second passes before you’re turned in his grip, chest not touching his anymore, but the wall now. From behind you, he grasps your hips, dragging you back just a couple inches; enough to sneak his hand through.

“But whenever things get too much, you…”

You nod. Promise, “Will tell you. I will.”

“Good.” His cock pokes between your ass, and he spreads its cheeks. Lets the hardness rest between them, sliding up and down. “Gonna make you feel so good, though. Wanna make you feel so fucking good.”

Wow… wow, f—

Not that you were ever interested in it before, but…

Part of you wants him to shove it in anywhere. Wherever the fuck he wants. You’d endure all hour-long foreplay and pleas and tears for him.

And perhaps he’s thinking the same. Perhaps you even spoke it out loud — you wouldn’t be surprised if you did. But you choke on your spit when he says, “Missing the sex toys. Like… What do you think of new ones, hm? Someday, maybe. Like— like an anal pl—”

“Please,” you beg, “I’ll do fucking anything for you.”

Break in conversation. Then, “Holy shit.” He chuckles. Fuck — his voice is deeper now, isn’t it? “You’re being whiny. I thought you’re a badass business woman, but you’re so whiny.”

“Because— I can breathe when I work.”

“Ohh. And now,” he whispers, close to your ear, hand moving. Up and further up, stopping around your throat, as if he’s testing your statement. As if he could tell him anything about the state of your lungs. “Now we’re not as focused, right?”

“No thinking when I suck your dick.”

“Dammit. Really don’t wanna wait to fuck you numb.”

You’re shamelessly jittery, patience out the window. “Don’t then. Get to it now.”

“Nope. I know you’re not ready yet. And I’m not either… so—”

He steps closer, forcing your body further forward until your cheek is squished against the wall. His fingers leave your throat to find another target; something far more south, a lot more dangerous.

One small circle drawn around your clit, you gasp, hearing him ask, “You think you can come with just my fingers?”

“I don’t know. I honestly think I need—”

He chuckles, and you can’t help but laugh, too. You’re hilarious sometimes.

“You think you’re so smart. But we can still try, though.” He says it casually, as if the two of you don’t exactly know that he’s perfectly capable of pulling through. But his voice still softens when you don’t answer, “Hey. You wanna try, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Anything,” you convince him, “anything, Kook.”

“Good girl. The best, always.”

His touch vanishes. You let out a mildly confused sound, observing with an unfocused vision how he opens the shower door a little. He reaches for the towel on the washing machine, drying his fingers, other hand moving the shower head until it’s mostly wetting his own back.

It’s a tiny detail, really. You only told him once how action around the clit might become uncomfortable with hands priorly washed or wet, and it seems he remembered.

Your eyes shut when he returns to your bundle of nerves, massaging gently, skilled. It starts slow at first; you feel the hot wetness build in and around your entrance, the line between the shower water and your arousal fading.

Jungkook’s movements, calculated and systematic, only spur your body on. He’s always known what he’s doing; has analysed and explored what you want. How you want it.

It’s true heaven to you: the way he kisses your cheek. The way he draws moans out of you, the motions around your swollen bud rhythmic. Your back and limbs tingle; you don’t know what to do with yourself.

And when you can’t stand still anymore, Jungkook orders, “Stop that. You’ll break my jaw.”

“Sorry.”

Your apology is timid, tiny; he laughs. “You cutie… you’re adorable even in moments like these.”

You throw your head against his shoulder as if to oppose him, opening your eyes, looking straight into his eyes. Your eyebrows are kissing, tension between them, mouth agape.

And he adds, “Or maybe not.”

He lifts you up a bit, dragging your body along the wall — you didn’t even notice that you slid down this much, angled, ass darting out like this. But you also don’t mind the arm that rounds your torso, just underneath your tits, keeping you steady when he takes it up a notch and—

“Oh my god,” you squeak when he pushes two fingers in. “Yes, yes, please—”

The incoherent, random requests are his favourite. Most of the time, he knows better than you what you’re pleading for. Which is why he doesn’t stop this time; probably more in the mood to please you than tease you.

From this position, he can’t reach knuckles deep, but just enough to brush the walnutty spot inside. And to your surprise, the orgasm builds up fast; the first quiver takes over your knees, but you understand that this is nothing compared to what’s to come.

You press your hands to the wall, holding onto remnants of your sanity when he kisses your neck, and along your damp shoulders. His mouth is hot against your pulse, wet hair tickling under your jaw. He bites lightly; soothes the fleeting sting with his tongue. Vampiristic.

Like a sensual massage, well thought out, pornographic.

And then he picks up on pace. Whispers, “That’s right— we got this—”

He starts pumping into you; relishes your incomprehensible curses. The thumb over your clit and the impatience of his fingers inside are a dichotomy, and you don’t know what to focus on. Which is why you stop thinking altogether.

Jungkook takes a sharp breath, quiet whistling sounds included, and then groans into your ear when you do. He keeps his motions up diligently, fingers a bit deeper with each time your ass moves back an inch.

As an aid, he shifts his arm, too, pushing forward, palm pressing against your clit now.

And when you come, you melt. Nearly collapsing, you keep moving, on edge, every spot of your body in tremor. You can barely breathe; you’ve been nestled in the heat of the shower for way too long.

He notices your tremble in an instant, encourages, “Got it. Got you. Keep going, baby, c’mon.”

The peak is blissful; you don’t want to ever fall off the edge again. Want to remain in this starry, gorgeous ache. Your eyes could stay in the back of your head; the world may keep fading. And you don’t need to know where you are.

All you know is that your voice sounds odd, high when you pant, “Don’t go away yet.”

“I’m right here. Right here, got you,” he repeats, holding you upright.

Jungkook knows — knows how to get you from lowest lows to your highest highs. Today was as pleasant as a day at work can be; but if he’s ready to do all this to you on any other, worse day, too, you might never encounter grief again.

He scatters kisses all over your jaw when you’re done — busies himself as you catch your breath, swallowing, eyes closed. Once you’ve caught yourself enough to utter fragments of sentences at least, you tell him, “Something not human about you, Jeon.”

“Oh. Are we back to surnames now?” He cackles, soothing motions along your arms. “Are we gonna shake hands, too, once we’re done? Bow and say thank you?”

You shake your head, though the stupid smile doesn’t wait to spread on your face.

“You’re dumb,” you say.

“You make me dumb.”

He drops his touch, brushing your pussy again — maybe as a test. But you’re sensitive and vulnerable, closing your legs and opening your mouth in response. He’s sly; uses the moment to push two fingers in right away, pressing your tongue down.

And you, as challenge-accepting as ever, start sucking, tasting some of yourself. You wrap your hand around his, moving your head, chest still heaving from the exhaustion. Your eyes close slowly enough for him to see them roll back, a reaction to the images your brain creates.

Like, the thought of the member currently poking you replacing those digits. The prospect of emptying him entirely.

“Fuuuuck— wish my brain could take a picture of this and save it forever,” he says, voice strained.

You open your mouth, licking a strip along his finger, past the tattoo. “What’d you do with it?”

“Would… would bring it to the forefront of my mind,” Jungkook begins, reclaiming his hand and dragging it down to your waist, “and use it whenever you’re away.”

“Hmmm… and then?”

“Would just…”

He doesn’t continue. Only shakes his head, lifting his shoulders, stance desperate and wanting; maybe he’s even a little out of his mind.

You egg him on, “Show me if you can’t say it.”

It’s a surprise that he obliges, but then again, it’s not. You always forget just how weak he is — that his heart sits right there in your palms, his body a magnet to yours.

So you’re endlessly pleased when your eyes flit down to a hand around his dick. Stroking slowly, its head hard against your pelvis. And you manage to watch a tiny second longer until the floor beckons you towards it, down to your knees.

It’s uncomfortable immediately; slick and odd. But you’re distracted by your dry tongue, thirsting, ridiculously hypnotised by the cock dangling in front of you. And then his thighs… muscular and thick. You reach out to them, holding them, steering forwards.

Despite his delicate frailty, you don’t fare any better. Ready to bruise your knees like an obedient doll, eyes wide when you look up at him. You grip him softly, urging him to remove his hand, stroking in his stead.

You pass all pleasantries and hesitations, and dive in immediately — leading your mouth to the tip before wrapping your lips around it delicately. Determined, you let only a second pass, eager as you start moving right away.

Bobbing your head, you take him in as much as your gag reflex allows. He’s too big — it’s impossible to ever swallow him fully. But no matter how greedy you are, that’s it.

You don’t give into it all the way just yet.

Instead, you back away after another lick. Straighten your body, drawing in and repositioning until you can push your tits together around the stiffness.

His groan tumbles out of him broken, choked, a hand against the wall. His abs are rippling, bicep bulged, nipples tiny and perked. Dark brown. Eyes hazy.

You want to do so many fucking things to him — want to mount him. Pull his head back by his long strands. Want, need to kiss him, rub yourself on him, back and forth along his cock until his moans become uncontrolled. Sticky white cum sprayed over his tummy.

Your nails in your skin, yearning for more — that’s one of your billion thoughts.

Instead, you summarise your wants, whispering a single, simple, fucked out, “I…” You gulp down the knot. Shiver at your position, craving the hot water a little now. Then command, “Fuck my mouth.”

His eyes threaten to fall out of his head; like they always do. He knows it’s a constant reaction, too, it seems, because, “God. I’ll never get used to you saying this.”

“You better, though.”

“Right. Right…”

He caresses your face, pushes your hair back. Perhaps he’s had enough of the pace; because he soon reaches for your arms, compliant deer kicked out of his head as he forces your wrists up and crosses them against the wall.

One hand is all he needs to hold them in their place. One hand gripping them hard, disabling any movement of your arms.

You let out a strange, obscene sound, finding utter liking in this gesture.

But despite your pleasure, he still eases you into the process, the heart tattoo grazing your cheek. A touch so soft that you think he’s praising you, wordlessly and gently. Making sure you’re absolutely okay with whatever he does to you.

And you confirm it with another blink, stretching out your tongue, ready. Holding his gaze. Mesmerised and frustrated, he says, “You’ll kill me with the way you look at me.”

Jungkook fuels your confidence with vigour each time, eloquent through scorching heat, too. Because you don’t think you’ve ever smiled this self-assured before you knew him; or been certain about your power over others.

You used to be far more insecure than that, feigning ignorance and carelessness, but reevaluating your decisions every step of the way. Months ago, you could’ve never predicted such a shift in conviction towards yourself.

So it’s new to you, but invigorating at the same time, the grin you sport, the words you utter, “Killing you isn’t my intention,” when he doesn’t, you move your head towards the leaking head of his cock, awaiting destruction, “wanna make you feel more alive than ever.”

The breath tumbling out of his mouth is ragged, pinky finger twitching a tiny bit when you wrap your lips around the tip and then let it go with a plop again; like it’s a lollipop to you.

Your knees move closer to his feet, and he stretches his one hand to your shoulder, making sure you don’t get hurt on the slippery ground. But you’re far too distracted to appreciate the gesture just yet, even though you feel the faint tickling along your limbs.

“I got it,” Jungkook then says, back in charge, hands back on the protruding, thick veins.

He moves his hips forward, testing. You roll out your tongue once more, closing your eyes. Try to make more room in your mouth, despite knowing it’s a thing of impossibility. And to your chagrin, it takes only a few more seconds for you to be full already.

Taking in as much as your throat allows, you gag when you reach your limit, letting out a tiny cough, salivating. You still can’t move your arms; his fingers are like chains around your wrists.

“That enough?” he asks. “I’ll stop here, okay?”

You nod. Wait. When he doesn’t move, you start pulling back, and then push forward again immediately. Your tongue is drenched in absolute filth; the spit trails down your chin, and you wish it was his.

But that’s not the point of it all — you’re not supposed to comfortably bop your head back and forth, are you? Despite the daily softness between the two of you, you want to be used. Want all his greed.

And he knows. Asks, “What do you need?”

Of course you can’t speak. He’s aware of that; stares down at you as you breathe heavily around him, mouth stuffed to the brim. Cheeks aching from the circumference.

You moan around him, parting your lips, moving your tongue from under his dick to swirl it around it a little. You move back, tasting the liquid minimally dripping out of his slit. Fuck, you want all of it, in thick, sickening ropes, in loads and buckets.

“Won’t even back away to speak,” he teases, words contradictory, because he won’t allow you to take a break either. Shoves himself inside again; you’re embarrassed that you only manage half of his length. “The dedication is hotter than it should be—”

Full, coherent sentences. How?

But even his string of thought breaks when he starts in earnest. Filling up your mouth once more, as much as he can and then a bit more for good measure. You adjust to his movements, suck down immediately.

You don’t care about the loss of voice later; you want to eat him up entirely.

His strokes grow harder by the second, rock hard inside you. You move your head until the head pokes against the inside of your cheek, and the tight wetness affects him, his knees buckling by one single inch.

“Easy…” he whispers, shaking his head, water drops landing on your face. “Fuck. Wanna have you hanging off the bed one day. Wanna see my cock ram your throat…”

Easy, he said. He’s definitely not being easy on you, though. Not with these admissions. Not with his motions.

The thrusts aren’t just hard, but deliberate and controlled, too. Your head keeps pushing back, lightly touching the wall. You’re far over sucking his dick, way too obedient and submissive to define it like that.

No, you’re being fucked. Gagging and choking around him, sucking in the spit whenever only his tip remains inside, sounds lewd and specific. Coming from the back of your throat, wet, hot and bothered.

God, you wish you were strong enough to take him all the way down to the base, licking at his balls, feeling his twitching dick thumping at the very far back. But you guess this is more than enough for him, too.

Because he holds your wrists harder, a rope around them, digging into your skin. The free hand wipes your hair away again, your body sweat-soaked while the shower water still trickles down his back.

He holds you there; then reaches for your nipple; pinches it hard over your heavily heaving chest, pleased when you open your eyes and look up at him. Waterline damp — the dangling chain might just be one of the reasons for that.

“Bit more,” he mumbles, and you think he’ll surrender right there, inside your mouth.

Which is why you sit up straighter, more determined, licking at the underside of his cock when he drags it out a little. His balls hang in your face and you reach for them, tongueing, hungry, not wanting him to move away now.

He doesn’t. Not yet. Relief courses through you, swallowing around his thickness again. Rolling your eyes back, hearing subtle “Doing well, so well, angel”s, ignoring the pain in your arms as he holds them upright.

You hollow your cheeks when he buries himself in deep, struggling when he stops right there. He doesn’t move; your eyes well up harder. All air enters and escapes through your nose, and you’re shaking, holding his stare as he keeps his cock in place, absolutely still.

That is, until you can barely breathe anymore, nails digging into your palms, arms trying to escape. He doesn’t say a word yet, only lets your hands drop. Your shoulders crack a bit, and you shake your arms, filling up your lungs, your palms next to his feet.

His cock is covered in your spit when you look again; your gaping mouth and chin similarly drenched.

And only when your head stops spinning, does he hold his hands towards you, urging you to take them as he says, “Sorry, baby. You did so well, I…”

You grip his fingers feebly, getting up on weak knees. Instead of holding onto your hands, he soon wraps an arm around your body, pulling you up before he asks, “Less next time?”

“No,” the word comes out as a squeak, throat already affected, “I’ll always tap if I feel it’s too much. I promi— promise.”

“Good,” he praises, a kiss to your damp forehead. He turns the water off. “That’s all I want, baby. Look at me.”

You’re already exhausted, staring down, fatigue fuelled by the hot water. Your eyes flutter open as you meet his gaze, and he puts a hand to your cheek, thumb on your swollen lower lip.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he compliments; his hand must be heating up under your touch, “did you know? So sweet and stunning. It makes me sick.”

“Thought I was the only one. You…” He looks at you, and you hold him tight, smiling about your joke in advance. “You have such an effect on me, it makes me wanna throw up.”

Right. So in love, it makes your stomach turn.

“Please don’t,” he pleads, conjuring a tender eye smile. The wide grin is unreal. “And let’s get out of here. We can’t keep standing here.”

“Waste of water.”

“Yes, waste of water. That, too. And I should have some lube in the bedroom.”

Of course he’s as impatient as you — although you’re almost a hundred percent sure you could do without that stuff easily. The insides of your thighs are slippery, and you’re certain the shower wasn’t the sole reason for that.

Your legs feel weird, your body heavy when you finally get out. The cosy bathroom is filled with steam and heat, but at least you can breathe easier here than under the piping hot water.

The mirror is fogged up; you glance into it to check your state, but recognise nothing but your vague form. You wipe a stripe the size of your hand along it as you walk past, halting at the door. And when you look back, Jungkook is making quick, brief work on picking up the clothes you haphazardly threw to the side before.

“You don’t wanna do this later?” you ask, still fond.

It’s just him cleaning up the floor, but… you enjoy watching him do mundane things. You might never be able to explain why, but you do.

“Just throwing them into the washing machine. Will turn it on later,” he answers.

He straightens his body with a sigh when he’s done, sniffling as he usually does. His eyes are hidden behind his long hair, so he lifts both his hands to brush the soaked tresses back. The muscles of his arms are mountainous and firm. Tattoos ending at his shoulder.

He’s indescribably pretty like that. Looking up, lips parted, jaw chiselled.

You observe him for a bit longer, gaze trailing down his body. Small nipples, broad and sculpted pecs, six painfully visible rectangles of abs. Cock still mostly awake.

Fuck.

Crossing your legs, you bite your lips, one hand on the door handle. You take in the domesticity. The moment might be subtle and casual, but something about it is incredibly homely.

How you speak to each other, and how his washing machine is cleaning both your clothes. It’s the little things, isn’t it?

Your eyes are fond when you say, “Whenever it does happen… I can already imagine all of it clearly.”

“Hm?” He blinks at you. “All of what, baby?”

“Of being here with you. All the time.” His motions stop. He drops his arms, a strand falling back into his face, but he doesn’t care. Glances at you for a couple seconds until you smile and nod towards the door. “Let’s go.”

But it seems he changed his mind in this split second that you turn to the exit.

Because all of a sudden, just as he did before, he tugs you back. And just like before, you land against the wall, having him staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time. His voice is a whisper, enchanting, “Okay… you know what. Forget it.”

“Huh?”

“Fuck lube, okay?” His eyes are glued to your lips. Then to your pupils. He looks lost. “We can manage. Don’t need the bedroom… just you. Want you right now.”

“Jungko—”

You don’t anticipate it — so it draws a small moan out of you when his fingers suddenly graze between your legs, digging in for just a moment. Fingering you for a split second as you gasp — and then they disappear again.

He moves in to kiss your cheek. Just a peck first. Then his lips open against your neck, hand moving up your body and pushing your tit up. His tongue soon joins the fun, darting through his parted lips, sucking your tits hard. Biting, groaning, moaning.

“Jungkook.” You push your touch through his hair as he kisses his way further down, nibbling at your sides, and you whine, “Don’t wanna wait, Kook…”

His eyes are closed and his voice hushed, raspy and deep as he says between kisses, “I’ll be gone for a moment, baby. You’ll barely notice, I promise.”

Strange how he means distanced from your kiss, not from your body. Strange how you miss each other while in the same room, but not melted into each other.

You’re losing your mind. Throwing your head back, ruining your hair against the tiles. Eyes droopy and hazy, mind turning in various directions as you relish each touch and peck. Your body relaxes; all the weight of the world off your shoulders.

Jungkook fondles your body, caresses all of you, planting kisses on your tummy, your waist, your pelvis. Continues to tug at the flesh of your thighs with his lips. It feels like a massage, not painful but gentle. Careful as he hoists up one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder.

And then… he starts.

His tongue flashes out to your clit. Parts your folds. It’s difficult from this position, but his pointy wet muscle paints patterns over your pussy. And you reel.

Jungkook truly is an artist. Knows to make you mewl, turns your breaths laboured. You move your hips, guiding his face closer with your hand in his hair, slowly riding it. The French kisses, the brush against your thighs… he’s…

God.

“God,” you echo, “I love this, I—”

He’s feasting. Letting out alluring sounds, spurring you on, and you almost topple over the edge. But Jungkook knows what he’s doing — leaves you yearning, moving away and up to you.

When he said he’d be gone for a moment, he truly meant it.

Your lip quivers when he looks at you, ordering a soft, “You’ll come together with me.” He raises your chin. “Okay? You and I together. Always.”

Must be a hidden message. He’s not just talking about sex anymore, is he? But him and you in one bubble, separated from the world. Nothing but you, you and you.

You barely wait another second. Instead, you immediately lurch forwards, initiating a kiss beyond sinful from the start. Teeth clashing, tongues feral. For a couple seconds you breathe into each other, letting out odd noises, his hand pulling your leg back up again and pinning it against the wall.

You’re on your tippy toes when his cock teases your entrance, his lips soon on your shoulder again. Cold chain brushing your skin. He’s sucking harshly, guiding his dick inside with determination. Sheer impatience is palpable in his touch and audible in his sounds.

The head of his dick parts your folds, diving in; and you let out a moan so lustful that he grows downright desperate against your shoulder. Standing here like this is hard, too; so he puts his palms on your ass, commands—

“Jump once.”

“What?”

“Jump,” he repeats, “I’ll hold you. Want you, please.”

“Okay…” you mumble. You put your hands on his broad shoulder, readying yourself, “Okay.”

And then you do — immediately wrapping your legs around him. And he lets you fall slowly, body pressed against yours, so you’re sandwiched between him and the wall; so he can guide his hardness back to your cunt.

You drop onto it slowly, carefully. Impaling yourself on him, inch by inch penetrating your insides. The more you take in, the deeper the crease between your eyebrows. And when he’s bottomed out, you feel like… yourself again?

Because what moment is more intimate than this? What moment allows you to crawl out of your shell more than this?

Even if in a crude sense, this is yet another definition of home. And every definition can be traced back to him.

“You feeling alright?” he asks, and you nod immediately.

“Is a bit weird, but…” you hold onto him, one hand moving to his face. You don’t finish your sentence; only nod, exhaling against his lips.

“Can I start?”

Another nod; and then he starts pumping in. Slowly in and out; you’re firmly in place against the wall, slipping just a little. His hands engulf your ass again — his strength is mind-numbing, and his sounds loud as he splits you in two.

Your eyes shut for a mini moment, and when they crack open again, they’re met with the still mirror. It’s fogging up again, yet still clear enough to make out Jungkook’s back; the form of his body. Your thoughts tangle up.

You’ve seen him shirtless a million times before, fully bare — but it might be the first time you’re enjoying this very perspective. And the entirety of him… leaves you gasping. Butt naked, ass muscles flexing, the triangle shaped back smooth. Where do his guts even fit?

They’re a blessing, those reflections, catching the way he’s standing, ramming into you. And then you, burying your nails into his shoulder blades, expression fucked out, body moving up and down the wall. Having things done to you by him.

You’re so fucking lucky.

You mutter, “Kook…”

“Yes, baby.”

“You look so good… so…”

“Mmmh, you do, too,” the sentence starts in a clear tone, but morphs into a whisper, “just… can’t see enough of you… shit, babe—”

He leans in, parting your lips with his, your tongues touching as he delivers a rough jab just once. And that’s when things stop working for you.

Because soon enough, you’re swaying to the side, nearly falling; as his protective instincts kick in, immediately holding you, his cock jumps out. And he shakes his head, pecking your temple once, and then deducts, “Okay. This won’t do.”

“Hmmm,” you hum in agreement, weak on your legs, “bad idea for sure.”

“Hold up.”

He’s quick to turn you around, thoroughly in charge of your body tonight — you’re fully under his mercy. Ready to kneel and bend for him. And Jungkook, understanding your boundaries, gives you all you need — knows what to do, knows when to stop.

And you keep handing over control; more so when he pushes you over the sink, stating, “Okay. Looks easier.” A pause. “Looks so much fucking better, too.”

Wish you could see. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re tense.

He leans down to kiss your back. His dick pokes between your ass cheeks again, slipping down and further down until it makes itself home between your nether lips again.

It falls into it in one fell swoop, swiftly, as if it’s no effort at all — guess it never is.

And god, does the position feel heavenly.

Balls deep inside; the first angle that allows full unhinged, animalistic mode.

But he still starts out slow; with long strokes and a hand in your hair. You tumble backwards a little, urging him to move too, lifting your ass higher and pushing your legs together for maximal effect.

Allowing more tightness for him; more friction for you.

“I… missed fucking you so much,” he says between thrusts. “You feel unreal.”

You guess you do. He does, too. Maybe the two of you need a reminder that this is all too real; perhaps a tantalising equivalent to a wake-up-pinch.

So you suggest, “Fuck me harder, Kook.”

“Hmm… want that?”

“Been waiting so fucking long.”

And while a lover of patience and anticipation — who is he to reject your wishes after the entire ordeal occurring in this room? The two of you have dragged out this moment plenty.

So he listens fast; soon using your neck as leverage as his inked fingers wrap it smoothly. Agreeing, “It’d be my literal pleasure, babe.”

God, he’s a dumbass — but you can’t physically react. Too caught up in something else; storing the laughter and jokes for later.

Because he picks up on pace, not too much right away; but enough for his hips to slap against your ass. Enough for you to be catapulted forwards with a whine, cheek pressing to the glass.

You lift your hand, accidentally wiping again, but only manage a trail, hand sliding down. From behind, you hear a hoarse praise, “Looks so fucking hot,” he draws a sharp breath, nearly hissing, “I promise I’ll be careful, just…”

He pulls at your hair. Shoves his cock inside rougher, face closer to you, lips to your cheek. Swallows hard enough for you to hear, and then, “Tell me if it’s too much. Am careful until I can’t be, baby.”

Until he loses control. He says it right before he drops all inhibitions and — goes feral.

You squint your eyes shut, calling out his name; the word echoes in the small room, and for just a second, you worry the neighbours might hear. And then right away, you stop caring again.

Because you want this man. Now and later and forever; want him like this, want him in any way. This isn’t just sex to you — if that’s what you wanted, you’d download an app like your freshman self used to.

No.

No matter how obscene, there’s meaning in every one of your touches; in every stroke, in every word, in every single time you lose yourself in him.

Your stomach twists as he jackhammers into you; you’re craving proximity, craving all his attention. Want all of his emotions and touches raw and merciless. Want to see him.

Although, when your shut eyes open, you only see blurry forms in the mirror moving, him behind you. He squeezes your neck; you see that much before he slides it down your body, straight to your clit, no detours.

He pushes his knee up for a second, touching the edge of the sink and balancing on one leg, but drops it again soon. The white painted, stainless steel of the sink, previously cold on your tummy, burns against your skin now. A chafing feeling.

Jungkook draws more forms against your clit, but then retracts his hand; instead, squishing your tits, indecisive where to touch. But it’s the last move he makes before he straightens his body, palms on your ass until he spanks just once and…

Pulls out again.

What?

“Look at me, sweetheart,” you register.

You pant, fingers clutching the sink and gulping down the tiredness before you manage a turn. Your eyes land on his dick first; it’s fully drenched in your arousal, so unbreakably stiff.

He whispers again, “Look at me,” but the moment you do, he doesn’t withhold your stare for too long. Instead, his hands are back on your cheeks, drawing you close, seeking your lips. His never-satisfied thirst matches yours; you want to remain here and freeze time.

With your arms around his neck, he guides you towards the washing machine, pushing the clothes further aside. He helps you get on it, but you argue immediately, “This could be dangerous, right? Shouldn’t sit here, I think… might break…”

“It’ll be okay,” he says, making himself comfortable between your legs, pushing them apart with his thighs. Two fingers hold your chin, lips ghosting over yours. “Is a cheap ass thing… want a new one anyway.”

You wonder if he’ll say that about all the furniture he’ll fuck you on. Because observing his eyes, you know that he will — will soil every inch of his apartment within, what you anticipate, a short period of time.

But unfortunately for the washing machine, you’re too weak to reject the offer.

So you hold him tight, jostling him closer to you as you ask, “Yeah?”

“Mhmmmm.” The word drowns in your moan when his cock glides back in; when will you ever get used to this? “Don’t worry… won’t break as badly as we will.”

Well, fuck.

The ridges of his cock drag just right along your walls, the angle making your mouth water. Your cunt is burning; and he still dares to ask, “Okay like that?”

“More than okay, Kook… more than—”

He always screws you numb; barely ever lets you finish your sentences. Your moans have become a constant interruption, along with the goddamn things he says, “Your pussy is so good. So, so good.”

And then he’s back making out with you, sweatier than before. His body is enticingly warm, muscles working on you. Both his and your hair sticks to the nape of the neck or your back, and you hold onto him, keening against his lips.

Then, you lean back for a second, keyed up as fuck, propping up your body with your arms. Your palms press against the back of the machine, and he inches close to explore the bare skin of your torso. His chain skims your nipples, as if on purpose; and he kisses you here, there, everywhere.

Neck, clavicles, tits, jaw.

Perspiring without an end, all of this could be gross. But instead, you feel hyped up, sexy as never before. Dizzy at the sight of his golden skin, the small beads of sweat spreading on it.

It takes one or two more minutes of this insanity until things come to an eventual end. A glorious end, that is — filled with deep moans, squealed calls of names, unrhythmic thrusts that fasten for the finale.

“I’ll come,” Jungkook states, and you shoot back up to him, holding his head against the mounds of your tits. He kisses between them, breathing irregular, words muffled, “Gonna come so hard, what the f—”

And when he does, you lose all coherent thoughts immediately. Not that you could think before — but his uncontrolled exclaims already make you wish for a whole new round. Nevermind that your pussy is wrecked and beaten.

Vocal as ever, he finishes with deep shoves, slowing down with each second. His lips remain open between your collarbones, and you feel his eyebrows draw together. Thick strings of hot cum filling you up, your cunt tightens.

And somehow, after all this, he still finds the energy to sneak his hand between your bodies, blindly seeking your clit until he finds it. Familiar circles render you breathless, even though they’re lazy — but picking up on intensity when he leans back, still breathing hard.

He looks absolutely done — still fucking the rest of him into you. But you’re moaning and groaning, and he’s far from giving up as he says, “Come with me, baby.”

Honestly, he doesn’t need to tell you. You’re already calling and blurting out random words, already limp. Wrapping your legs around his torso with the tiny remaining energy you have left, absolutely insane.

Jungkook kisses you one last time. And you let the build up in your lower tummy and pussy proceed; up and up and up to the peak — until he delivers one last stroke, cock already softening, finger on your nub diligent and…

You milk his dick in its entirety. Your pussy clenches and unclenches. Random figures swim in your vision, flashy behind your eyelids. Limbs trembling, body a mess and fingers hooking into his chain, you only notice now that you’re repeatedly whispering his name.

Winding and crying. Trying not to tug too hard, to break the jewellery, but still urging him closer, closer.

You’re shivering, surviving the vertigo, breathing stagnant. Trying to control it. Quivering like fucking crazy, not feeling your legs.

Also hating how his cum is dripping onto the damn washing machine. In your hazy mood, you laugh a little.

It takes a bit of time for the two of you to calm down, to dim the adrenaline in your nerves. Your chests rise and fall in unison, still clutching to the embrace. His skin is flushed, yours hot, skin tingling with the lingering heat of the passed passion.

And when he finally moves back, looking at you, you see half a dozen things in there. Satisfaction and vulnerability among them. Maybe even a hint of mischievousness, proud of whatever just happened; happy with the emotions it conjured.

Stars in his eyes. Contentment, composure and affection at last.

A pleasant stillness follows, the world outside the bathroom nonexistent. The aftermath of the steamy encounter lingers until you break the silence after all.

“When the hell,” you start, throat dry, “did you get so broad?”

“…What?”

“You just. You looked endless in the mirror. You’re so—”

Amused, he displays a grin as sly as you adore. He tsks and then mocks, “Stop drooling.”

“You first.”

His chuckle is throaty; a result of the constant exclaims and the absolute dehydration. You give the two of you a moment to collect saliva on your tongue, to swallow and wet your cords.

Your fingers paint an invisible, light pattern on his skin; tracing his tattoos is one of your favourite things to do. You jest, “That’s a good way to destress.”

He arches an eyebrow, then rolls his eyes — but the devotion towards you behind the gesture is irrefutable. It carries into his words, no matter how playfully mocking his tone or his sighs, “Everything for the princess.”

“So,” you pause, lips curling into a soft smile. “Is this what I’m gonna be getting for the rest of my life?”

You see it immediately. The explosion in his eyes; the burst of stars in the depths of his pupils. Clear as the night sky, fond and sweet and magical. Guess you spoke big words for sure.

“…The rest of your life, huh?” he asks.

“No?”

“Is that what you want?”

Ever-the-boomerang, you gauge his reaction, closing the distance between you. Lips barely apart, you throw back again, “Don’t you?”

You don’t need to glance through his ribs, lungs, blood and skin; you see the swelling around his heart. Emotions swimming in it in abundance. You see all of it right in his eyes.

And his voice proves it; delicate and quiet, “Baby… you make my heart drop to my stomach all the time. Do I not look at you like I want a rest of my life with you?”

Gosh. You’re too weak for this.

“Look at me like that more often,” you answer, breathing against him, eyes dancing with delight, “maybe I’ll believe you then.”

“Huh,” he makes, letting out an entertained huff, “brat. Maybe later. Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed for now, alright?”

Right. You forgot you’re still here. Snapping back into reality is always a task.

Of course it is.

Because your world is a cocoon; you don’t want to leave it just yet. And maybe, somewhere in the near future — you won’t have to anyway.

Jungkook and you don’t waste minutes doing formalities tonight. No flickering candle flames; no organised set up of your table. You dim the lights, snatching a lamp from his bedroom and rely on it along with the TV’s brightness.

You filled your plates and stomachs with a dish he’s wanted to show you for a while. It’s some special Jeon recipe — limited to him specifically, not his family. The brief cut in your relationship kept you from the meal, but watching him fiddle with the pots and cutlery was worth the wait after all.

He’s still proud of it; you’re filled to the brim, sick to the core, but the noodle-Buldak-mayo-perilla-oil-combination introduced the night just perfectly.

Your body is limp against his after dinner, bloated. A mutual agreement concluded that watching a movie might be the easiest activity you could indulge in to further destress. So you cuddle up, eyes droopy as you wait for the Netflix logo and thump to subside.

You let the username float by, though unable to suppress your giggle. Your back shakes against him, his hand halting mid-air, remote control in it, and you comment, “Letjungcook7. You’re such a dork.”

“Why?” You look back, met with raised eyebrows and round eyes. “Do you not like it?”

“I love it. Don’t you ever dare change it.”

He tuts, trademark smirk tilted; responds, “And don’t you ever change your Sunny Baudelaire icon.”

“God, she’s an iconic baby,” you groan, enthusiastic; your hands gesture to the TV, Baudelaires nowhere in sight, “I will never shut up about this show.”

“That’s why you’re not allowed to change it. Kinda cute how much you love it.”

“Jungkook,” you tug at his unoccupied arm, placing his wrist and palm over your belly button, “would you ever rewatch it with me?”

His hand rubs gently over your shirt, and then drops until his fingers are toying with your — his — jogger’s strings. “I’m a pro at rewatching. I’m down.”

You whisper a dragged celebratory word, eyes back to the screen. He’s scrolling through the genres fast, barely inhaling the titles and summaries. And when he skips three more of the stuff you’d usually settle on, you say, “Don’t think you’ll find anything on there.”

Ironically enough, he answers, “We’ve barely looked. Look. Knives Out’s second part is on there.”

“I just watched it recently. Hmm, what about that Poe movie with Christian Bale?”

On cue, he passes it three seconds later, only stopping on it for a moment before he voices, “Hmm…”

You wait. Drag out another second. Then conclude, “Okay, you’re not feeling it. Got it. Something else?”

“What about Disney?”

“What about scrolling until we fall asleep?”

The hand still busy with the strings moves up to your sides, pinching you lightly. You flinch, hard enough to nearly break his nose, overdramatic by nature. Amidst your commotion, you hear him say, “Don’t mock me. I’ll kick you from the couch.”

“I’ll just stay on the floor then.”

“Angel, I swear.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

But you’re not.

Because the bicker continues for another ten minutes, remote control snatched every now and then, ideas suggested and immediately rejected.

Jungkook admits his guilty pleasures merely a couple minutes later, and you conjure all your patience and discourse abilities to explain why you can’t watch The Notebook or Titanic anymore.

But once Dion’s soprano voice builds a nest in a lobe of your brain, you give in, half laughing, half agitated as you tackle the 90s classic — only for Jungkook to click out again.

“It’s no fun when we’re not both ready to watch it.”

“Dude…”

More scrolling, you guess.

Five more minutes pass — and eventually, Titanic deserted, you sing the songs of Coco instead. You expect Jungkook’s attention and lips to shift halfway through the movie, tracing down your neck or along your sides – a standard for a weekday movie night.

But to your surprise, he powers through it with minimal dialogue and wide, focused eyes. Palm above your ribs, moveless under your shirt and his cheek pressed against your heartbeat, you assume he’s fallen asleep by the time the credits roll.

Until – you feel warm liquid wetting your shirt, a sniffle combining with his shaky breath before you ask with your own damp eyes, “Babe— are you crying?”

His answer is delightfully unashamed and immediate, “I’ve never watched Coco without crying.”

The soft strains of the movie’s soundtrack won’t let your eyes dry either; but Jungkook seems far more into it than you. Adoration burns hot in your veins.

“You never told me that!” you exclaim.

“Because it’s not worth telling. Should be a given — these movies are made to cry to!”

You giggle through your tears. Jungkook’s mind works in miraculous ways — non-judgemental, yet probably flashing a side-eye to those who do not partake in a sob fest during Coco or Encanto.

“I honestly love how you’re not a toxic male at all, you know?” you point out; you feel a huff against your chest.

At least he’s smiling through the brief sadness, too.

You crane your neck, not quite turning around just yet, and watch him rub his cheek clean off the tears. Not that his eyes have stopped welling up, though.

For a moment, you observe, staring at the swollen, pouty lower lip. His pupils glimmer in the TV’s light, long locks brushed back; half of them tied in a tiny ponytail.

You could overthink every detail of his face. Tell him all about his everlasting elegance. Instead, you only lower your voice, soft as you say, “You look pretty even when you cry.”

“Thank you,” he returns, though fingertips still work at the liquid, and you can’t help but laugh.

You can barely believe that’s the same confident beast who was pressing you against cool tiles just an hour ago. The stark contrast baffles you.

You’re amused when you question, “It really affects you so much?”

“Everything about it!” he immediately argues. You expand your eyes. “The way Coco looks at Miguel at the end. And that freaking moment when she meets her parents at the end. Does it not affect you?”

“Oh, of course it does,” you defend, “I’m a story girl. I’ll cry reading and watching these things, for sure.”

“And then the lyrics,” he continues, in his element a hundred percent, “the thought of remembering someone even after they’re gone and far away…”

The further his sentence progresses, the more the words blur. His voice is feeble, hoarse when he gets to the final syllables. When he pauses between his rambling to draw a breath, you hear a heartbreaking shake in his inhale.

And the exhale sounds like a quiet sob.

You turn back immediately, pressing onto the pause button, remote control still in his hand. The credits darken the room as opposed to the movie’s colours before. You see a damp trail along his cheek, eyelashes wet.

Your smile vanishes as you stare a little longer. The blanket falls from your chest into your lap when you lift your arm from under it, hastily drying his tears with your thumbs. Just slightly, he leans into the touch, but his face soon falls, an attempt to hide.

You ask, “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook isn’t embarrassed of tears — you figured this out without him admitting it to you. But he’s embarrassed of the guilt he feels; acknowledging it when he speaks.

“It’d just be nice,” hands holding his face drop; you touch his chest, “to make up with the family like this. They made it look easy.”

You keep looking. Bewildered, unable to answer for seconds too long. You blink until the words sink in properly, incapable of more than, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“No, no,” he argues, shaking his head, “I mean. Who am I to tell you something like this?”

“It’s okay. Your worries are legit worries, too. Look at me,” you reassure, prompting him to meet your gaze. “You’re not a bad person. Okay? It’s… so terrible that you think you are.”

“I fucked up.”

It dawns on you once more that he firmly believes that; causes a searing sting. The process is neither a smooth nor a quick one — you know it’ll take a while for him to convince him otherwise. To drop his current beliefs about himself.

“You didn’t,” you refute, firm certainty and conviction in your voice. “That’s not how a fuck-up is defined, I promise you. And those who are actually wrong probably know, too.”

“It’d just be nice,” he starts again; the shrug of his one shoulder doesn’t distract you from the misery and self-loathing in his eyes, “if he called at least.”

“I know. I don’t know, I… do you think you could call instead?”

Jungkook’s lashes brush his skin, the apples of his cheeks not as round and squishy as usual. Yet, the sadness makes him look younger, softer.

You sigh; a warm blanket isn’t enough anymore. You need to wrap him in the comfort of the world — ideally, in his father’s care.

Jungkook opens his mouth for another argument, but then holds it in, says after another moment of contemplation, “Actually… There’s a gathering coming up. I’ll see my people there, so… I don’t know. Trying won’t hurt, right?”

“It never does.”

His eyes start unfocusing. You recognise it in the way he glues his gaze to a point on the glass table, unblinking, staring nowhere in truth. You keep your attention on him for another second, hoping he’ll look at you, even if forlorn.

But when he doesn’t, you wrap your arms around him instead. His chest is calmer against your head now, breathing as soft as the palms that find your back. He presses you into his body by mere inches; you barely notice.

Your fingers draw shapes on his arm, a subtle consoling gesture. In the background, you hear the song fade, volume lower now. The movie soon transitions to something else; you don’t pay any mind to it, drowsy and distracted in his embrace.

But then your mind wanders; to the man keeping Jungkook’s thoughts hostage. You remember the conversation the two of you had last Sunday. You recall the way your hand held his broken heart together.

You wish it was as easy as a small scar — an echo of whatever once transpired, but also a reminder that it healed.

Then, for a second, you think of your own wounds. How they still need to be cured, too. How years and time alone won’t fix issues; you need to tackle them actively — maybe at some point, the two of you can.

You laugh softly against his shirt, burying between his pecs; joking, “We’re perfect for each other. Dysfunctional families and whatnot.”

His chuckle is still a light tremble, but genuine enough for you to celebrate. His hands push a little harder into your back; your body shifts up his lap, butt half on his thigh. Eyes shut, still sniffling.

Jungkook wraps around you like a soothing force, an invisible bubble. A bandage despite carrying all bruises. You sigh in contentment, head dizzy from exhaustion; waking up just when he blurts a question again.

“You really think that, right? That I’m not a bad person.”

You crack your eyes open a slit.

You understand. Someone who overthinks needs multiple repeated reassurances — you’re the same.

So you nod against him, guaranteeing, “You’re… kind of ridiculously amazing. You’re someone who gives all those people hope who don’t believe in humanity anymore.” Pause. “And I admire you in every way. So much.”

He doesn’t respond. You wait. Further dead silence, interrupted by the soft sounds of the TV. You lick your lower lip, dropping your gaze to where your thumb rubs his wrist. Tracing a vein.

His mellow voice reverberates, a melody to your eardrums when he whispers, “We’d do this so much if you were here all the time.”

“Crying in each other’s arms, huh?”

He clicks his tongue, accompanied by the grin you’re certain graces his face, even if you can’t see. You hear it in his voice all the more, “Sure. Also, have dinner together. Shower and watch movies together. Laugh and cry.”

You smile. “I still can’t believe it, you know? That you want this… and me at all.”

“You feel that, too, yeah?” Fingertips move up your spine, between your shoulder blades and then to the nape of your neck. Tickling, grazing gently. “I promise I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t truly feel all that, though.”

“What’s all that?”

“Just.” His chest rises. Then falls. “Everything.”

One of your heartbeats freezes, you’re sure. And when it comes back alive, you think — maybe he doesn’t need the world’s comfort after all. Or his father’s care. Maybe yours is enough right now.

But then again.

You’d be damned if you kept your traumas intact. Or his. You took each other as you came long ago — as vulnerable human beings, with a whole lot of baggage. With all the injuries on your heart.

Yet, this isn’t a state you want to accept. For neither of you.

Your unwavering belief remains steadfast — that one day, things need to become… okay.

So you gulp down all the pain, lighting a candle in your chest, and say,

“It’s not over yet, baby.”

Zara keeps yelling orders around. Her voice, usually collected and tender, is agitated today. You can barely imagine how many little tasks, how many stressed phone calls must be overrunning her.

You establish a distance between your device and your ear, protecting your hearing with one eye squinting shut. And when she returns to the conversation, you exhale through the nose.

“Sorry. You were asking—”

“How’s it look?” you repeat.

“I mean, everyone’s stressed,” she responds, clearly frustrated; as if it should be obvious to you. And it is; but you’ll spiral, too, if you don’t keep your calm, at least. “A lot to do.”

“You’re sure you don’t need me to come earlier?”

“All good, love. You’re not a manager yet,” she stops her speech to mumble something to another co-worker, imaginary hands jam packed with preparations for the press conference. “But when you are, you won’t know what to do with all the stress.”

“Great outlook into a potential future.”

“I just mean you should enjoy things while they last.”

Zara isn’t the only one wandering up and down the building to assure perfection. She’s only one of the big mentors, managers to handle everything; responsible for the catering and content to be presented at the conference.

Her team stands firmly behind her, but you don’t blame her for still allowing her head to steam. Of all busy people in their blazers and slacks, however, she’s been the only one to spare some time for you.

You’re grateful for her enthusiasm and support. You smile as you ask, “Do you think I can answer everything the way I intend to?”

“I think so.”

“It’s so new to me.”

“Yeah, but you’re a natural at this stuff. And also,” she speaks slower now. The chaos behind her has calmed a little; her voice echoes off somewhere. Perhaps a restroom. “Things are looking good.”

You stop sauntering through the room, pausing in front of the bed’s corner before dropping onto it. Dragging your tongue over your lower lip, you blink, and then ask, “You’re sure?”

“We had a couple conversations over here. Made a few more phone calls, and I think you don’t need to worry about a thing. We’ll come up with something if things derail, though, okay?”

You’re uncertain, still anxious. Should this afternoon flop, you’ll be screwed.

You need it to succeed. You can’t afford misfires. Ugh.

Restless, your foot taps against the floor. You try not to think of things going astray; try to think of a smooth progress, not precarious in any way.

Yet, you ask doubtfully, “Can we do that?”

“We always can. That’s business.”

Guess she’s right. Your mother has saved you one too many times — from stupid things you did as well as from things you never needed saving from.

A rich human being’s power over the media — and frankly, the world — is unbeatable. Barely to be underestimated.

“Okay,” you mutter, “thank you.”

Despite only hearing her voice, you imagine her nod, the way she often does. You miss the warm, promising palm on your shoulder. Appreciate that she’s still here instead of dropping you to the side; leaving the call to handle more relevant issues.

No, she lingers there; you hear her breathe until she asks, “Are you bringing your man, too, by the way?”

Your man.

You straighten your back in pride, bright smile back, “Yeah! He said he’d come and support me. But he’s not home yet.”

“Oh? Well, you gotta be here in three hours. Where’d he go?”

“God knows. But don’t worry about punctuality.” You hear a hum, glancing up at the clock. Past noon. “Hey, also. My parents are definitely gonna come, right?”

“Babe,” she drags the word a little, and you can almost see her side-eyeing you, “journalists will be present. Cameras everywhere. At least your mother would never miss such a thing.”

Right. Cares about that company too much.

You remember the times she proved it to you. When you’d come home from middle school, eating some extravagant lunch while watching her talk on TV. Conversing with your staff.

“Okay. Good,” you say, happy about that very answer for once.

Outside, a door creaks. Steps echo through the hallway, a soft call of your name following as you hear the jingling of keys stop.

He sounds joyful.

You get up, phone halfway off your ear as you say, “Hey, I should go. I think that he—”

And the moment you look at the open door of the bedroom, your heart stops. For a second, you fear an intruder at his apartment, but the longer you look, the more your brain gives out.

The black-white-red jacket hugs his broad shoulders comfortably, the thin white sweater underneath it nearly transparent enough to reveal his tiny nipples. But despite his stature, it’s not his body that kills the power in your head.

It’s the—

You murmur last words into the phone, making out a goodbye that doesn’t reverberate as much anymore. She’s probably out of the restroom again; too distracted to give your mumble any attention anyway.

You place your phone where you previously sat and inhale his appearance carefully.

First off — you can see his ears. Can see most of his eyes. His forehead.

His hair is still dark, but it’s tamed. The wild locks, usually a feature you’ve gotten used to over the span of that one year, lay comfortably on his head. In fact, most of them are gone.

You feel a needle in your chest, but one of the surprising sort. Not painful at all.

“Wow,” you only say.

He reaches to the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing the hair there. “Yeah?”

You move towards his body, eyes fixated on every hair strand. Then, close enough, you state the obvious, “You cut your hair.”

“I… yeah. Is it terrible?” he asks, round eyes meeting yours. He raises his hand again, to his ear this time, scratching behind it for a second. “Not used to it at all. But I figured I’d look a little more serious as an artist like this.”

Really? Most artists you knew cared the least about a fancy appearance.

Then again, Jungkook doesn’t look fancy. He just looks different. Breathtaking, more mature, older.

His cheekbones look more chiselled now, his eyes wider. You could pass out right here, right now, and he still wouldn’t know how relentlessly he affects you.

“More serious?” you ask, less because you need an explanation. More because your mind keeps wandering, and you can’t fathom a word he’s saying.

“Just. Needed a change, I think,” he admits, “and wanted to adjust to a press conference’s typical look, too.”

“You did this for the press conference?”

“I wanted to look put together.”

Your heart dissolves and dissipates. His voice is soft as a petal, tender like the colours on his arm. The expression he sports is unsure, like he wants to hide — waiting for your opinion.

He really put thought into this. Woke up this morning and set a goal with purpose, not uttering a word to you to surprise you a couple hours later.

You don’t know what to say. You barely know what to feel, except this unbearable urge to ramble down every piece of tiny emotion he’s ever made you feel.

You want his body wrapped around you, engulfed in a blanket, head on his chest and slumbering for the rest of your life. Want to mumble little confessions, shiver when his lips touch your scalp.

Overwhelmed — that’s what you are.

“I loved the long hair,” you finally admit, “I guess I got too used to it, so I need to adjust, but. But… this is so… It… it suits you.”

You’re stumbling over your words, suggesting doubt. Not the way to go. Perhaps they shouldn’t have chosen you as one of the press conference speakers after all.

Jungkook’s concern grows visible in his big, round pupils; expressive, a true glimpse into his heart. You feel bad because you’re not as good with words as he is, and because he seemed so happy about his choice.

You just can’t fucking express yourself — even though you’re melting inside, falling harder. And maybe he notices your awkwardness, because he tries again.

“You’re uh— sure you don’t hate it?”

“No! God, no. It’s different. You look amazing, Kook. You look like…”

He swallows. “Like what?”

“You’re so pretty, Jeon Jungkook.” You say it with genuinity this time. He closes his lips, blinking, and while he attempts to veil his relief, you still see the high rise of his chest. “You look fucking gorgeous, no matter what you do. I… I mean it.”

The answer satisfies him. His risen shoulders drop a little, tension falling off, and he fixes the already perfectly sitting collar of his jacket before he smiles. Just a little, a subtle twitch of the corners of his lips.

As soft as his response, “I always aim to reach your level, you know?”

You roll your eyes. Partly to keep them from watering because your heart is bursting. Splintering like every morning and every night; you wonder if you’ll ever get used to it.

A couple gentle words lie heavy on your tongue, pressing against the muscle to let them out; but at the prospect of actually uttering them, your guts twist. You don’t want to throw up before the meeting.

So you remove the tightness from your chest with a deep exhale, nearly until your lungs are dry, and say, “Shut up.”

Playfully, you deliver a soft push against his chest, laughing when his dramatic ass stumbles backwards. Submerged in those goddamn dimples, you immediately grab the hem of his jacket and before you know it, you’ve taken a step forward and landed in his arms.

You sneak your arms underneath the leather-ish material, not hesitating for a second before you’re squeezing his torso. He lets out a choked sound, groaning, but reacts similarly fast as you.

His heartbeat accelerates for a moment, right against your ear as you make yourself small. The sweater smells like his favourite detergent and him; musky, fresh. Your palms, flat against his back, crave deeper touch.

Nothing crude; just an afternoon on the bed behind you, limbs entwined, laughing about things that probably aren’t that funny anyway.

For a moment, the silence transcends words. You inject the blend of gratitude and affection through your touch, ensuring he understands.

But when it’s not a testament to your emotions enough, you speak against his chest, voice very likely muffled, “You didn’t have to do this for me… you just. You never have to do anything for me, but you still do.”

“I’ll do anything for you.”

Immediate and sincere. Voice unwavering.

God, you’re not his strongest soldier.

A smile tugs at your lips, and you chide, "Stop that."

"What?"

"If you keep saying these things," you continue, a frisky lilt in your voice, "I'll die. Do you want me to die?"

Jungkook chuckles. Always a soothing melody in a hushed room. He remarks, grip still wrapped around you securely, "Acting all innocent now."

You don’t understand right away what he means — but then you hear his heartbeat, picking up on pace again.

Makes you want to squash him harder. Melt into him further.

“Shut up, Jeon,” you respond with a nudge, cheek pressed against his shirt. Just a moment longer — just a couple more seconds to inhale the solacing scent.

Your heart is unguarded; he could sever it if he wanted to. He’s proven that he has the power to. Yet, you keep fuelling it, vulnerable in his warmth as you say, “You’ve no clue what you mean to me, Kookie.”

Your vivid imagination might be forcing things upon your mind that aren’t actually there, but you do think you perceive the way his entire body melts. Nearly limp, in a state so relaxed and peaceful that you have only experienced in the mornings before.

Waking him up for work, feeling weightless limbs wrapped around you, passed out.

His fingers trace patterns on your back lightly, stirring from bottom to top and back. They first stop at the small of your back, then lift off your body, hands suddenly on your shoulders.

He pushes you off him, your movements reluctant, and looks at you with profound sincerity. His voice matches his expression, gentle and adoring, “Will you tell me how much I mean to you?”

Amidst the delicate minutes you spend standing between the bedroom and the living room, you almost forget that there’s a world outside. It’s a little more grey than before, similar to the suit you’ll be wearing in a couple hours.

You remember the prospect of an audience, the answers you’ve prepared, to questions they probably will ask. Zara told you they wouldn’t hold back — they’d phrase their inquiries friendly, but still keep the intentions devilish.

Right.

The world is still turning out there. You want it to stop for the two of you — frozen moments. But it can’t, at least not yet. Right now it’s too real; and you guess that the worst part is that in your line of business, it will keep revolving around people like you.

Whether you want it or not.

So maybe, if it truly needs to keep spinning and can’t halt for you, keeping you in the centre, you should give it something to talk about, too.

Something crisp, something new. Without a care for it, but all the care for you and the man in front of you.

Which is why you spare him another fond smile, forehead calm and your demeanour confident — and tell him, “I’ll do my best to let you know."

The audience stretches to the far back. All the rows are filled to the brim with reporters or guests. The shutter of the cameras and the flashing lights are agitating.

You look down.

Nervously tapping your feet on the stage, you shrink into yourself inch by inch. Your seat is uncomfortable, though padded, a little too warm against your ass right now. Zara notices your tick and puts a steady hand to your knee, repeating for the millionth time today, “Stop. It’ll be okay.”

“It’s just dawning on me though, Zara.”

“What is?”

You nod faintly towards the mic and the attendees, tell her, “That I was actually chosen to speak. They shouldn’t have chosen me.”

“You asked for it.”

“Yeah, but there are more important things to discuss.”

Zara’s lips form a circle; she shakes and lowers her head, sending out a beam of air that you feel on your wrist, blazer sleeves rolled up. You’ve been like that all evening.

“You can do it,” she repeats patiently, “you’re the boss’ daughter and they want your opinion. You’ll hit them hard with yours.”

You suck in a breath, leave the air in your cheeks, and then puff it out again. “I want to. I hope to, I just— never thought it’d be this nerve-wracking. Don’t wanna say anything wrong.”

The subtle shake of her head continues — or reemerges —, lips in a thin line, eyes slowly blinking, “Mh-mh. We talked about it, okay? Practised all the questions they could ask. You’ll be good.”

“You gotta promise.”

“As much as I can, babe, it’s up to y—” She takes in your falling face, holding back with a sigh when she sees the dread in your pupils. “I promise. Of course.”

She taps your knee, softly and lightly, and then says, “I’m so curious about everyone’s reactions. Like. Gosh, just look at those people.”

You understand what she means. “I know.”

Zara places a manicured thumb on her matte red lips, mumbling, “Here for entertainment. At least a third of them will add their own fantasies to the articles they’ll write. Hypotheses and manipulative, neutrally phrased thoughts. Cockroaches.”

Funny. That’s what you call them, too. A collective understanding, you see.

But.

“Shhh,” you voice, “they—”

“It’s fine. They know it, too. Like lawyers do.”

Can’t refute. Eun told you one too many times how unfair the law business usually is, and how she’ll strive to not have anyone ever manipulate her. To remain genuine.

“Yeah, but,” you still argue, “I imagined they’d be listening in all the time. Don’t they do lip reading and stuff?”

She nods, a finger still on her mouth, smiling, “Mhm. I also feel like I could say whatever, but it’ll be you they’ll focus on today.”

Your heart drops, an uncomfortable twist in your guts adding to the stress. Might have to dash to the bathroom at the very last minute. You curse, “Shit, Zara… I should fucking ru—”

“Stay. You can do this. I promise.”

“Okay,” you take another deep breath, helping your oxygen-lacking, spinning head, “okay.”

You look back to the media present, ready to survive questions; prepared to provide answers. The moderator is talking to your mother at the front, covering the mic with a hand.

They gave you around five minutes to speak, and in that time, you need to answer everything. How you do it is up to you, but the pressure to perform in a certain way, accordingly, weighs heavily on you.

But it’s alright.

You’ll just need to stay confident. Stick to your message. They’ll have things to say anyway — and you’ll make the best of them.

You stare past the lights, squinting to find him, raking your neck. His figure towers in the back, easy to detect, and once he meets your eyes — or perhaps never having averted his from you — he lifts a hand to wave in tiny motions.

Then, he drops his fingers again, entwining them in front of his body. He isn’t necessarily allowed here, but you were able to sneak him through in advance. So now he’s a couple feet from the wall, choosing to stand rather than sit, so you find him easily.

So you seek his eyes for comfort if need be.

Before you parted near the entrance, he said, “I’ll be offering a dozen thumbs up like a fool if you need me to.”

You chuckled — but maybe he meant it. Because his smile and nod undoubtedly dispel your fears; as if he can see you struggling.

The seconds drag on, and the conference begins seven minutes later. Your mother is the first to talk, outlining a general overview of what’s to come. Of Charmante’s philosophies, of its success, praising the team.

Then, she forwards to important employees like Zara, letting them ramble about launches or ideas in depth. Business strategies, partnerships, bringing across points that you usually don’t get the chance to share.

This is legit press; even though out for a loophole, they won’t follow you around or hide in the shadows. Incessant and vexing, but at least they’re allowed here.

Conversations about new collections, store openings as well as expansions and customer engagement pass in a trice, and at some point, another coworker is uttering last words to a last question.

And you realise — that you’re next.

The moderator introduces you with pride; everyone applauds, smiling at you fondly despite all the controversies. ”Controversies.” Under quote marks, as Zara pointed out, because you never committed an offence.

You stand on weak knees. Trembling when you grip the podium. It’s like the sound in the room fades, a single peeping tone overshadowing all noise. You barely blink anymore; not even the flashy white can shut your eyes.

And god, you can hear your breathing. Your damn heart. Your nose sucks in all the air available in the room, or at least in the building, and then you open your mouth to speak.

a/n: this is not a cliffhanger!! tumblr just doesn't allow to drop looong posts anymore, so here's the rest of the chapter lol, keep reading and enjoying, i love you and will see you on the other side!! and don't forget to support this chapter, folks 🥺 <3

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #jeongguk smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #bts fics #jungkook scenario #jeon jungkook smut #thebtswritersclub #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #bts angst #jungkook angst #jungkook

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dilfl0v3rss · 1 year ago

Text

gon start this mf off right!

drunk delusions 🔄

everybody knew that when it came to going out ony wasn’t the type. he enjoyed chilling at home or occasionally going to a party to chop it up and smoke with his friends, but as far as going to the club weeks after his birthday for a “belated birthday bash” ony didn’t care for it. nonetheless, the poor man was dragged out of the house by his friends and pushed out by his girlfriend.

you loved your man with your whole heart, but when you saw how excited connie and eren were when they told you their plans you couldn’t help but join in and help them get your homebody boyfriend out the house.

“please ma don’t let these niggas do this t’me” ony groaned, the outfit you picked sat handsomely on his body as he stood in front of you on the couch. you looked up from your phone, a small chuckle leaving your lips as you took in the pouty look your boyfriend carried. “they treating you to a night out papa, be nice”. ony sucked his teeth, pulling you up from the couch so he could stand with his arms around your waist. you instinctively wrapped yours around his neck, letting him rest his chin on your shoulder as he mumbled to you. “ion wanna be nice, i wanna stay wit my baby”

the sound of a roaring engine followed by many beeps of the horn took both of your attention. a smile growing on your face as a loud groan left ony’s throat. “time t’go!” you squealed, removing his hands from your waist before you wrapped a small hand around his wrist and walked him towards the door. as you opened it the sound of the car grew louder and clearer, ony’s annoyance only growing as he looked at his ignorant friends in the car. eren was in the drivers seat, the passenger door wide open for your boyfriend to enter as yelena stood outside the car. before either of you could speak your attention was snatched by the sight of connie popping out the sunroof, two bottles already in his hands as he rapped along to hellcats & trackhawks by lil durk. “i take ha ass off, gimme dem tiddies back bitchhhh! let em loose manita i got ten blunts rolled and enough liquor to flood a house. we goin crazy t’nightttt!”

ony instantly looked towards you, silently begging you to let him stay but you only replied with a happy smile. “have fun!”

what ony expected was to be in some lowkey club, probably sitting at the bar by himself while his friends got drunk off their asses and forgot all about him, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. as soon as they got there connie let ony know that he cannot leave the bar until he finished each of the shots his friends bought him. yelena buying him two shots of tito’s while eren bought a shot each of espolòn and lunazul. connie did the same, smirking as he watched his best friend down the different drinks before dragging him towards the booth he paid for.

“sit down and drink up!” yelena yelled, lightly pushing her friend towards the booth where many other bottles of alcohol as well a bunch of wrapped gifts sat. ony’s eyes widened at the sight in front of him, hidden happiness bubbling in his stomach as a small smirk spread towards his lips. “y’all gon have me crawling outta here”

and they nearly did. all it took was a couple hours and your usual lowkey, mean-faced boyfriend was outside with his friends surrounding him, his head spinning as he leaned on the wall for support.

“ony m’not finna call her for some bs like that” eren said, his eyes low and red from the many blunts they smoked as he gave his friend a lazy expression. ony didn’t pay his words any mind, repeatedly patting his pockets in search for his phone as he mumbled to himself. “ima call her then. niggas think i’m pussy so ima have t’handle my business” connie laughed at the sight of his friend, all a guy did was bump into him without saying anything. if the regular ony was here he probably wouldn’t even have cared, but the regular ony wasn’t here. the man before him tonight was the same guy that connie remembered going to middle school and starting high school with. the hotheaded guy that had no problem beating someone up for something as simple as brushing shoulders with him without an apology. “i got your phone right here” connie mumbled, ignoring the warning looks his other friends gave him as he watched his friend look for your contact name.

you were resting comfortably on the couch face deep in your favorite book. your cami top riding up your stomach as you reached for your wine on the table. before your fingers could meet the glass the sound of your ringtone took your attention. your eyes widened at the sight of your boyfriends contact photo. “hope he alright” you mumbled as you answered the call. “hello?” a relaxed sigh left his lips at the sound of your pretty voice reaching his ears. “mama? s’this you?” a small smirk made its way to your lips as the sound of his deep, slurred speech, you could tell he was absolutely fucked up. “s’me papa, you okay?” ony shook his head, moving off the wall as an upset look grew on his face. “m’not okay…not okay at all princess. smbody gotta get fucked up n i need ya t’come ova hurr wit my gun”

a loud chuckle escaped your lips at his words, your body already moving towards your room so you can grab your keys and one of ony's hoodies. connie’s voice began to come through the phone, his words also a little slurred since he was drinking too. “hey sis, call sasha t’come bring mine too, he not fightin alone” you rolled your eyes at the sound of your friends voice. connie was nearly just as fucked up as your boyfriend. “yea con i’ll call her”

on the way to the club you picked up sasha so she could drive connie and the rest of your friends home while you got ony since they lived closer to her than to you. as the two of you approached the club you were almost immediately met with the sight of your friends surrounding ony at the wall. “alright yall let’s go!” sasha yelled, an attitude rushing through her body as she stood in her tank top and pajama pants. connie turned around at the sound of her voice, a dopey smile crawling on his face as he looked her up and down. “hi mami, i missed you so muchhhh” as he spoke, his hands moved closer and closer to her waist, but sasha quickly slapped them away. pointing to the car for him and his friends to enter. “get in the car so i can get y’all home and go the fuck t’bed”

as the three of them began to follow her to the car you made your way to your handsome boyfriend leaning on the wall. “ready t’go pa? you had fun?” at the sound of your voice ony lifted his head, but his expression quickly went from excited to confused as he got a look at who was talking. “who you? where my girl at?” now you knew you looked at little different from usual, your naturally curly hair pressed to perfection in a messy ponytail, your glasses sitting nicely on your nose, ony's hoodie zipped just below where your cami top ended. stoping just above your stomach so your piercing showed and your short shorts that you liked to wear to sleep. you were completely ready for bed, but it’s not like this was new to your boyfriend so why didn’t he notice you?

“s’me baby, here to take you home” you said, moving your hand towards his wrist so you can lightly grab him. ony saw this and moved immediately, shaking his head as he looked around you as if someone were watching. “miss you gotta get back. my girl crazy furreal nd ion want her t’knock you out” you had to cover your mouth with your hand at this, a giggle trying to force it’s way out as you looked at the fear and confusion on your drunk boyfriend's face. even though you were a little tired you couldn’t help but feed into his delusions right now, a smirk on your face as you took advantage of his current state. “she told me t’come get you papa, didn’t want you attacking an uber driver” you spoke in a sultry tone, your glossy lips taking his attention as he licked at his brown ones. ony stared down at you with low, glossy eyes, shaking his head slightly as he spoke. “nah she wouldn’t do that, lemme call her and check”

as you thought your fun was coming to an end, you began to move towards the man to take a peak at his phone. the screen on your contact before he clicked call and put it to his ear. “can you back up some? ion want her to pull up and see you all in my face like this” as ony spoke you could see the growing irritation in his eyes, his head slightly shaking as he looked down at the ground. he completely missed the part where you lifted the phone in your hand and answered the call, moving away like he said as you pulled your hood over your head. when gave him a small “hello?” ony’s face lit up, the sound of your voice making a smile bloom on his face as he spoke to the woman he’s longing to see. “mama? baby where r'you?” the slight slur of his speech made a smile appear on your face. “coming, why?” ony wasted no time ratting you out to yourself, his eyes briefly scanning you before going back towards the ground.

“this girl tryna get me in the car wit her, sayin sum bout you sending her t’get me. she keep calling me papa n shit too like im her nigga or sum, but im YOUR nigga and i know you wouldn’t send no girl ion know t’come pick me up." your smile grew at his words, a giggle almost sneaking past your lips as you turned around to see his eyes still trained on the ground. "what she look like baby?" you listened to the groan your man let out in the receiver, your back still turned to him you heard him suck his teeth. "ion wanna be starin at her ma, i only stare at you" a small whine left his lips as he spoke, his softer side slowing sneaking to the surface as he listened to your pretty voice come through his phone.

"its okay baby, i need you to look so i can talk to her when i get there, kay?" ony nodded his head, phone still at his ear as he lifted his head and studied the woman in front of him. "aight, she got on a lil white shirt under a grey hoodie n some shorts" he said quickly before turning back towards the ground. you rolled your eyes at this, his loyalty to you never faltering even in his crossfaded state. "what else baby? what she look like?" a loud groan left his lips at your persistence. 'should've just got in the car wit sasha' he thought as he looked back up at you. this time you were facing him. too intoxicated to register the phone at your ear, he looked you over a second time.

"damn" he mumbled at the sight of your pretty face, the diamond stud on your nose shining a little from the streetlight as you pulled your hood down and gave him a kind smile. "sh-she got the same piercings you got, got sum tattoos on her stomach and arms too. her hair up in a ponytail and she got glasses on." as he stared you down, ony couldn't help the twitching going on in his pants. his body betraying him as he took in each go your pretty features. "i can't look at her no more mama she keep lookin at me. can you hurry fore she get me?" you sighed as you watched him return his gaze to the ground, deciding that your poor boyfriend has had enough of your games. "kk im on the way"

you hung up the phone before ony could reply, moving towards him on the wall. "what she say?" he didn't move an inch as he replied, knowing that the sight of you would make him fold. "said she on the way to talk t'you" as he looked at the ground ony couldn't help but notice the anklet you had on your left foot. it looked wildly identical to the one he bought you. the gold complimenting your brown skin perfectly as the diamond plated "o" sat perfectly in the middle. "the fuck you get that?" he mumbled, but since you were so close you heard him. a smile crept on your lips as you lifted his head towards you. "my man bought it f'me and if he gets it together and lets me take him home he might be able to see it dangling by his face soon."

ony's eyes widened in realization, everything becoming much clearer to him now that you were so close. in no time he was on you, attacking your face with kisses as his hands quickly found a home on top of your ass. "easy big boy, if you keep leaning on me like that we both gon fall." he mumbled a small "srry" as he moved back from you a little. "m'fucked up mama you gotta get m'outta here." the two of you laughed as you led him to the car, your fingers intwined as he shuffled his feet behind you. ony couldn't help but admire the way your ass moved in your shorts, the thick, fuzzy fabric moving fluently as he followed each jiggle with low eyes. once again his body reacted to you, but this time his gaze didn't move. ony only licked his lips, stopping in his tracks as he pulled you back towards him.

"cmon papa we gotta goooo" you whined, your tired state making your eyes lower and your voice soften as you looked up at him with confusion written on your face. ony ignored this, sliding his wide hands back on the curve of your ass, this time squeezing it through the soft fabric of your shorts. "y'gon gimme some when we get back?" as he spoke you could feel him hardening through his black jeans, the fabric doing almost nothing to conceal his large print from the world. a small smirk was dancing on his lips, the gold grills on his canines peaking at you as he licked at his bottom lip. you couldn't stop your arousal from growing, his body having the same affect on you as you felt butterflies grow in your stomach. "if you be a good boy in the car i might be able to work sum out"

ony's eyes widened in excitement at the thought of getting what he wanted, his hands tightening on your ass as he leaned down to leave a sloppy kiss on your lips. regardless of the state he's in ony always found a way to kiss you in just the way that'll have you bending to his will. your thighs rubbed together as you tried to keep your horniness at bay. before you could deepen the kiss further he moved his face back from you. his sly smirk never leaving him as he finally let go of you. "m'always a good boy when it come to making my girl nut on this di-" your hand instantly covered his mouth, not letting any more dirty words fall as you cut him off. "boy you better watch your mouth, we still in public." you could tell he was smiling just by the look in his eyes, a smile also sneaking past your lips as you let him go and opened the passenger door for him. "cmon birthday boy, lemme get you home."

finally, he listened to you. his much larger figure moving towards the door before he made himself comfortable in the passenger seat. there was nothing but your later activities on his mind as he let you close his door with a dazed grin on his face. you rolled your eyes, taking a deep breath before making your way to the other side of the car. as you entered you noticed your boyfriend already knocked out in his seat, his lips upturned in a small smile as his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. you couldn't stop yourself from snapping a few pictures before starting the car, giggling to yourself as you began your journey back home.

"somebody can't hold their liquor"

#onyankopon x black reader #aot x black reader #aot onyankopon #onyankopon x reader #onyankopon x black!reader #aot smut #onyankopon smut #aot onyankopon x black reader #onyankopon x black y/n #aot onyankopon x black!reader #aot onyankopon x black y/n #aot onyankopon smut

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youraverageaemondsimp · 1 year ago

Text

Taste of depravity. // DARK!Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon (Cole)!Reader (Criston's daughter.)

MDNI, reader discretion is advised.

Summary: Aemond knows he shouldn't want you, especially after finding out you that were Criston's daughter, who was his father figure his entire life, yet he can't help himself but to crave the sweet taste of sinfulness.

A/N: y'all he's dark but not the usual dark, he's just psychotic(?) Idk. No noncon, but he's extremely obsessive towards her, and criston is stressed tf out. // divider credit: @cafekitsune

WARNINGS: dark!aemond, p in v sex, unprotected sex, biting, breeding kink, humiliation, dacryphilia, overstimulation, fingering, virginity loss, tiddy sucking, oral (f. receiving), face sitting, manhandling, profanity, reader is a bastard, aemond insults reader for being a bastard, he gets off of her suffering, he's insane, stressed dad criston, traumatic encounters by criston, dilemma, angst(?), fluff, reader is described to resemble criston so she has dark hair and eyes but no color is explicitly stated, + not proofread.

WC: 7k

Criston walked through the hallways of the red keep, armour clinking against each other as he walked towards a person's chamber who he swore to never involve himself with again.

Rhaenyra.

It wasn't the sudden love for her that made him do this, no, in fact he never even loved her, he had only realised after whatever happened on the ship with her.

It was guilt.

Guilt that he had stained his white cloak, guilt that he wasn't able to refuse, because the power imbalance between them was way too high, he couldn't risk it, burning all his efforts just because of refusing a princess.

He couldn't say no.

He was disgusted with himself afterwards.

He tried to pretend it was love to no avail, convincing himself that Rhaenyra didn't just use him for sexual pleasure, that he wasn't just an object or someone to discard, he believed that she loved him.

But none of that was true.

The events that followed along were obvious, she was married off to Laenor, and recently returned to the keep, pregnant with her fourth child.

It was only then Criston noticed the eldest child.

You.

He tried to think you were the same as Jacaerys and Lucerys, a rumoured bastard born to Ser Harwin Strong, Anyone can easily mistake you for his child itself, but not Criston.

The timing did not add up.

And neither did your features resemble Harwin Strong's.

Dark hair and dark eyes.

Features of him.

There was only one answer, and he wanted to be sure himself.

Which is what led him to visit Rhaenyra, something he would've never done in a thousand years to come.

He sighed heavily, knocking on the door, the guard allotted to her chamber looked at him suspiciously before announcing his presence, to say Rhaenyra was shocked is an understatement, she immediately opened the door, a hand resting on her stomach.

“Ser Criston.”

“Princess.” he greets her by bowing his head.

“Princess- I must speak with you, if you'll allow it.” his tone told her everything, and she looked around, before signalling Laenor, who was in the room, to take the boys to the training yard while she let him in.

He tried not to remember the last time, of what happened when he was with her.

“What is the issue?” she asks him, not wasting anymore time.

“Might I speak plainly, princess?” he asks, face stoic, he looks at him for a moment before nodding, and he takes a deep breath.

“Is she mine?”

Silence falls in between both of them, the way she clenches her jaw doesn't go unnoticed by him, and he clenches his teeth as he swallows thickly, bracing himself for the answer.

He already knew it.

He just needed confirmation.

“Yes.”

And that was enough to send all the waves crashing down on him, he stood there, breathing heavily, it felt as though there had been even more weight placed upon him, more than before.

He looks down, and bows.

“Thank you for your honesty, princess.” He says, “Ser Criston, please do not let this get out.” she pleads to him and he thinks for a moment. “Rest assured princess, I will not speak of this to anyone, for it will sully my reputation as it will do yours.” he says sternly and turns on his feet to leave.

His walk down to the training yard was swift, he was behind his allotted time to train the young princes due to this ordeal, yet he couldn't bring himself to care, all he could think about was you.

He stopped in his tracks down the stairs when he spotted you with your younger brothers, playing around with the wooden sword, they were clearly not training since he was their main instructor, just playing around.

He noticed how you smiled brightly, pretending to stab Jace and he fell, committing to his act of being stabbed by you, “Oh no more princess! I beg your mercy.” he played pretend, which made you giggle.

Then you heard a scoff.

You turned to see who it was, only to find your uncle, Aemond, looking at you with raised eyebrows as if he was judging you.

He was.

“Girls aren't allowed to train here.” he simply says, shifting his weight onto his right leg as he relaxes his grip on the sword before holding it placed down in front of him, leaning both his hands against it.

You furrow your brows, opening your mouth to speak up and reply to him but you are immediately cut off by Criston cole.

“Don't stand too upright my prince, you'll get knocked down.” he interferes with an advice for him, and you close your mouth before giving the wooden sword to Jacaerys.

“Ser Criston, May I stay and watch?” You ask him, eyes wide and pleading.

Normally he would refuse.

Normally.

But this situation was anything but normal.

“I already told you, girls are not allowed here–”

“Yes you may, princess.” He cuts Aemond off, and Aemond rolls his eyes while you smile widely at Criston, “But for your safety, please stand far away.” He tells you and you nod, immediately standing as far as possible.

Criston sighs before beginning the training for the boys.

It has almost become a routine for you, watching them train, Criston allowed you to stay and watch, much to everyone's surprise.

You had been hanging out with the boys, using the excuse of keeping a watch over your younger brothers as an excuse, Aemond did not like this however.

This obviously meant you were spending more time with Criston, it was fun being around him, when the boys would warm up for their training he would occasionally tell you about his achievements.

He has no idea why he's doing all of that, he could just ignore you, but he couldn't bring himself to.

It was a fine day, you were in the dragonpit with your brothers and uncles, Jace was learning new commands for his dragon, and you watched boredly, not understanding the obsession with dragons, you did not have one of your own, but you did not care.

Everything was going well, till you noticed Aemond, looking annoyed and wanting to be anywhere else but here, you obviously knew about his obsessions with wanting a dragon, it wasn't unknown.

The young prince's egg never hatched, leaving him without a dragon. You felt bad, knowing it must be tough to be the only one who has no dragon to ride, except you, but you had long given up the idea of wanting a dragon and accepted that you might not ever have one.

His public interest and the desire for always wanting a dragon so badly was what led to this moment, which altered him forever.

Aegon, Jace and Luke decided that it would be funny to mock him.

So they dressed up a pig and presented it to him, pretending it is a dragon while laughing loudly.

You did not find the situation funny at all, your brothers both laughed cruelly, along with Aegon who made the pig noises, you couldn't even bring yourself to let out an awkward chuckle, because you knew how this situation was incredibly mean.

Aemond obviously wasn't laughing, instead he stared at the pig before swallowing thickly, blinking rapidly, you remained silent, observing him. Prince Aegon left whilst mocking him, laughing along with your brothers and exiting the pit while you stayed back, and watched Aemond, who just seemed to be staring at the pig.

“Uncle? I-”

“Don't.” He cuts you off, his voice trembling, as if he was moments away from crying.

He was.

“Aemond.” You stand next to him, you watch as he shoots a glare at you, gritting his teeth.

“Are you here to rub salt on the wound?” His voice was laced with venom and hatred even though it was trembling.

“Why are you always speaking to me like that? I've never been anything but nice to you. Let me guess, you are going to assume that it was I who planned this as well?” You snap, words spilling out of your mouth before you could stop them, his eyes widened.

“I wouldn't be surprised if it was you, after all, it would be your way of getting back at me.” He shakes his head.

“I would never do that to you.” you mumble, which causes his eyebrows to raise slightly in surprise, “I know- well at least I think I do know- what it feels like to not have a dragon, mine didn't hatch either, Aemond.” you try to comfort him.

“It is just that, I simply do not care, I've accepted it.” You shrug, and he scoffs, “A true Targaryen is to have a dragon, I can understand why it wouldn't hatch for you- cause you're... plain.” He stops himself mid sentence, clearing his throat. You look down, fidgeting with your fingers as the air turns awkward, you expected Aemond to leave but he instead stays.

“I- I did not mean it that way, I simply meant that we are both different individuals, not having a dragon might not bother you, but it bothers me, it is a big deal for me, especially if even someone who is a wastrel like my brother has one.” He speaks up and you look at him, maintaining eye contact with him.

You don't know what came over you, but you suddenly grab his hands and hold them tight, “You will have a dragon one day.” you reassure him and he looks down, “You think so?” He asks and you nod, “I'm sure of it.” You smile but he doesn't return that smile.

He simply grabs your hand before turning around and leaving the dragonpit.

To say things changed between you and Aemond since that day would be an overstatement, his behaviour towards you remained the same, except this time it feels as though he is purposefully saying hurtful things, to get a reaction from you.

Is this what you get for being kind?

Yes.

But something did slightly change.

It was the way Aemond looked at you.

He might be mean, but he immediately comes to your defence when it is not him who is doing the mockery.

You learnt it when Aegon was mocking you and Aemond stepped in, defending you, same with your brothers, who would sometimes crack jokes that would be way too over the line, only to have Aemond shut them down.

You had mixed feelings about this.

It was a normal training day, you watched as Criston trained the boys, deciding to focus more on Aegon and Aemond instead of Jace and Luke, but it didn't matter since they were also learning along.

Until a certain presence had come in.

Harwin Strong.

You watched the interaction happen, the air became intense as Criston felt insulted, not wishing to take any criticism from someone from city watch.

Then they fought, Harwin threw punches at Cristons face until he was stopped by the guards, “You act as if you're any better, your attention towards the princess is also quite the unique thing.” Is what Harwin slowly said on top of him, but everyone was too scared and focused on the fight to stop to even care.

Things started to go downhill from then onwards.

Aemond and you have gotten slightly closer and things seemed to be less intense between you both, that was until your mother whisked you and your siblings away to dragonstone.

Criston was devastated, angry but he couldn't do anything about it, nor stop it.

Until driftmark.

He got to see you again, you stood there beside rhaenyra and your siblings watching as the funeral progressed, and clearly understanding the venomous words Vaemond aimed at your family.

Criston fought the urge to leave Alicents side and instead spend it with you, he wants to be closer to you, he wants you to remember him, maybe one day you'll even find out that he is your father, and when you do, he doesn't want you to be disappointed in him.

He made many plans, that if everything went well then your family would visit the keep often.

Of course until Lucerys took Aemond's eye.

He knew the drift between both sides of the family was clearer than ever, especially after Alicent lunged at Rhaenyra in anger with a knife.

Aemond did his best to interfere.

To everyone's surprise, when you came to realise what happened, you immediately sped to Aemond's side, and looked at his face before wincing at the raw sight, he was holding his mother before he turned and his gaze fell upon you.

Your lips trembled slightly as you looked at him softly and with pity, but he didn't return anything back, not even a scowl.

And that would be your last interaction with Aemond, or anyone on that side of that family at all.

Up until years later.

Many years have passed, and Criston tried to forget about everything, but he couldn't. Instead, as the years went by, he grew more worried but curious, he wondered if you'd grown into a woman, he wondered if you look even more like him now.

Luckily all his questions would be answered when he found out that your family would be returning to the keep, as Vaemond had made a petition against Lucerys.

Aemond was far too excited to see you too again, he remembers taking nothing but pleasure in the expressions you'd make when he'd be mean to you, they were forever etched into his memory.

Since the incident from the driftmark, Aemond grew into a much more calculated yet even more mean of a person, his words would be laced towards venom against the ones he despised, dripping ever so sweetly from his tongue.

Your arrival was anticipated by both the men patiently.

And day had arrived just like they hoped, you stepped into the walls of the red keep once again, yet everything seemed to lose its familiarity with the family sigils being replaced to that of the seven.

You did not come across both of them till the next day, until you went into the training yard with your brothers, you watched as they reminisced and smiled, you looked over the spot you always stood whenever you would watch them train, the spot looking smaller since you've grown in height.

However you felt the stares of the people prod at your back and you looked at them to see all of them whispering about your and your siblings obviously non valyrian features.

You try not to let it get to you, and distract Luke from the judgemental gazes, considering how he's already been feeling insecure due to the petition.

That was until you heard a noise in the background, and watched as the people gathered in a shape resembling a circle, you quickly patted Jace and Luke and gestured to them to come with you to watch what was going on.

You immediately spotted the familiar face of Ser Criston Cole, making a wide smile appear on your face as you watched him sway his weapon against who you weren't sure was Aegon or Aemond as the back was turned.

Ser Criston hasn't changed since the last time you saw him, you watch as he swung his weapon towards the Prince, and he countered that attack and blocked it with his sword, causing Criston to withdraw his weapon and take the Prince's previous spot, which lead to the Prince now facing you.

You immediately recognized him the moment you spotted that eyepatch, sitting snugly over his left eye.

Aemond.

Something about seeing him like that made heat travel down your body, is this what they call desire? You swallow thickly. He has indeed grown into a very handsome man, the loss of his did nothing but elevate his looks even further.

The trial match soon came to an end, with Aemond's blade pointing towards Criston's collarbones.

“Well done my Prince, you'll be winning tourneys in no time.” Criston praises, “I don't give a shit about tourneys.” Aemond answers while regulating his breathing, his grip loosens on the sword as his eye lands on you and your siblings, “Nephews,” the sword in his hand is spun slightly as he lowers it, “'Have you come to train?” he asks and that's when Criston's attention turns towards you and his eyes widens.

Jace's throat tightens as he tries to form a reply, not expecting Aemond to be this well trained over the years.

“Niece.” Aemond addresses you next and you look at him, “It has been a while.” He comments, his eye scanning your figure from toe to head, before his lips twitch, forming into a smirk.

“It has, Aem— Uncle.” you reply, cutting yourself off before you spoke his name.

“Princess.” Criston greets you and you smile, “Ser Criston, It is a pleasure to see you again.” you tell him and he nods, giving you a tight lipped smile. He's noticed how you resemble him even more now, which makes him happy but also fear.

“OPEN THE GATES!” you hear a distant voice yell and watch as the gates open.

Vaemond Velaryon enters the premises with guards around him, the chatter and everything falls to silence as the only noise now that can be heard are the footsteps of the guards as they accompany him.

The way he looks at Luke doesn't go unnoticed, causing already shaken up Luke to shiver further in fear, but you hold his hand, reassuring him.

You travel to your chambers patiently and prepare yourselves for the court hearing that would likely be held in a few hours, you sit down and pace around the chambers that were given to you when you had arrived here.

You hear the sound of a stone sliding in your chambers and you turn around to see none other than your uncle aemond emerging from behind a tapestry in the chamber.

“Aemond? What are you doing here? You shouldn't enter a lady's room like that.” You question him, calling him by his name instead of uncle like you did earlier.

He makes his way over to you, his presence was intimidating as he looked over to you. “Pardon my rudeness but how can I contain myself when my niece, who I haven't seen for the past few years appears in front of me?” He quirks up an eyebrow, his eye scans your figure once again, but this time, his gaze lingering more on your breasts before he meets your eyes once again.

“Especially when she's all grown?”

“When the object of both my desire and ire is right in front of me, how can I not?” His hands rest on your hips, and your mouth falls open.

“You are being inappropriate-” You protest.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you did not feel something when you first saw me.”

Fuck.

You thought you covered it well.

“What? Did I catch the cat in the act?” He mocks you and you glare at him, one of his hands travels to your cheek, tilting your head upwards before he descends his lips on your own.

You're shocked at what he's doing, but you don't protest, your mind becomes hazy as he continues kissing you, lips moving against yours in a rhythm, he swipes his tongue against your bottom lip, asking for entrance and to your own surprise, you allow him to by slightly parting your lips open.

The kiss elevates further from there, his tongue fighting against yours as you kiss him back, your hands grip his shoulders as leverage while his own grab your waist pulling you close, it gets rougher, hungrier but more passionate.

He pulls away for air looking at you while breathing heavily, you hold him by the face and pull him into a kiss again and he returns it immediately.

Your head spins as Aemond walks you backward until your back comes in contact with a wall, his grip tightens on you further, he pins your hands above your head as pulls away, and you look at him with pleading eyes, your lips swollen from the kiss.

“Fuck, you're so fucking beautiful for a bastard.” He comments and you frown, “Everyone knows, they just don't say it in front of you.” He says meanly, “I could have your tongue for that.” You threaten him but he smirks, “Hmm? Really?” He mockingly questions and you try to glare at him, but it doesn't seem much threatening.

His free hand hikes your skirts up, and travels upwards to your cunt, you gasp when you feel his cool fingers press up against your clit, then travel slightly downwards where your wetness was beginning to leak from.

“Don't fucking tell me you're getting wet all because I called you a bastard?” He questions, and you try to deny it but your body betrays you by making you clench your thighs together in arousal, he chuckles meanly and you bite your lip to try and fight the humiliation you are feeling.

“You seem to like it when I'm fucking mean to you, don't you? Seriously, you're getting wet from this.” You heave when you feel him pinch your clit, pulling on it meanly, causing you to squirm.

“Yes, yes you fucking do.” He growls.

“Aemond-” You choke out his name and he replies with a hum, “Hm?” He peppers kisses against your neck as you try to form sentences but you cannot seem to do so because of the way his fingers are rubbing small circles onto your clitoris.

“We s-shouldn't— it's unseemly of us oh–? ahh—! fuck.” You throw your head back against the wall when you feel him insert a finger into your awaiting entrance, He slowly moves it in and out, he lets go of your hands which were pinned to the wall, causing them to immediately fall on his shoulders in an attempt to balance yourself.

His free hand trails down to your bodice, he pulls the material down, freeing your breasts, he mutters a curse before peppering kisses to the flesh, and biting harshly which chokes out a whine from your throat. He pulls away and watches as the shape of his teeth get imprinted into the flesh of your breast, marking you.

His mouth then descends onto your nipple, you let out a loud and a lewd moan when you feel his finger curl up and hit the sweet spot inside of you while simultaneously his tongue flicks and plays with your bud.

He inserts another finger inside slowly, stretching you on them and your grip on his shoulder tightens, nails digging into the material of his clothes.

“Are you a maiden?” He asks you suddenly, pulling away from your nipple and you look at him for a second, processing what he said before nodding shyly, which causes him to smirk. “No wonder why you are clenching around my fingers so tightly, Relax.”

He speeds up his pace, hitting the sweet spot over and over again, you clench your eyes shut when you feel a type of tightening begin to form into your lower abdomen.

“Open your eyes.” He commands, you obey and look him directly in the eye, “Good, I want you to look at me when you peak.” He kisses your cheek, and as if right on cue, your orgasm hits you like a sudden storm.

Everything around you feels hot as the pleasure ripples through your entire being, making you moan his name out loud.

He slowly pumps his fingers in and out, letting you ride your orgasm out before placing a kiss to your lips and pulling his fingers out, letting your skirts fall back to place again, and puts the same fingers in his mouth, licking up the evidence of your essence, a satisfactory hum leaves his mouth.

Before he could advance any further, there is a knock on your chamber door, before he watches it slightly open, quick on his feet, he swiftly leaves your chambers through the secret passageway, and you try to fix your clothing, pulling up the material back up to your breasts and patting down your hair.

You watch as the knight enters your chamber and bows to you, “Princess, the court session is about to take place, your presence has been requested.” he tells you and nods, clearing your throat, “I shall be there.” He bows his head before leaving the room and you quickly fix up your appearances before leaving your chambers.

Heart racing at the thought that you both would've been caught if you hadn't reacted quickly.

Aemond, in an attempt to move to his chambers quickly, accidentally took the wrong route and ended up on the path to the small council room, which he figured out when he heard the voices of his mother and Ser criston.

“What do you mean by this criston?” He was about to turn back but halts when he hears his mother talk. “I have noticed your attention on the eldest daughter of rhaenyra, are you infatuated with her?” Alicent asks plainly, voice laced with concern. “No- my queen, she-” Aemond hears Criston sigh, “I suppose I cannot hide it any longer.” This makes Aemond grit his teeth, did Criston actually like you? He couldn't let Criston have you.

“She is my daughter.”

“What?”

What?

Aemond's eye widens as he hears those words leave his mouth, and Alicent is shocked as well. “How long have you known this for?” Alicent questions, “For many years, few months before driftmark.” He tells her, “I apologise my queen, I should've told you it immediately but- I was concerned for her safety.” He confesses and bows his head in shame.

“All is forgiven Ser Criston, Was this from the time you had laid with rhaenyra?” She continues to ask and he nods, “I am glad it is just that, because I plan to betroth Aemond to her, and with what you've just revealed to me, I think I can confidently go through with this.” She tells Criston of her plans, and this satisfies Aemond very much, but there is the fact that he cannot look at you the same anymore, for you were the daughter of someone who was his father figure his entire life.

Besides, he wondered what would Cristons reaction be if he found out what Aemond actually did to you mere moments ago.

“Prince Aemond? Your grace, I do not question your decision, but they don't seem very close, from what I remember, he had always seemed quite rude towards her.” Criston speaks up, he tries not to show the distaste for the choice as he has no say in this, because he cannot rightfully claim you as his daughter. “They will make up eventually, they're both grown ups now, I'm sure they'd put their childish quarrels aside.” Alicent answers him, Criston bites his lip, preventing himself from saying anything. “Besides, she is next in line to the throne, I know there will be complications if we crowned aegon, so we'll retreat and let Rhaenyra rule, after that, Y/N will ascend, at first I was reluctant to have a bastard on the throne, but I changed my mind after your confession.” Alicent reveals her true motives to him which makes Criston internally punch himself for revealing that, he still thinks Aemond isn't the right man for you.

“It is not uncommon knowing that after their marriage- she will eventually give birth to Aemond's children, his heirs, our blood, and they will definitely inherit the throne right after her, putting our blood on the throne.” Criston nods as he listens to Alicent speak.

They fall silent for a bit thinking through it.

“My Queen, the court session is starting.” A guard comes inside the council to inform her, Aemond immediately goes back to his room before cleaning and composing himself and then making his way to the throne room.

The court session was progressing, with Vaemond backing up his reasons to sign a petition against Lucerys, and everyone in court listened intently.

But Aemond's attention is somewhere else, on you, who is currently squirming under his gaze, trying to avoid it, this makes Aemond smirk a little, with all he had overheard from his mother, he could only think of one thing.

You bearing his heirs.

How amazing you'd look with your stomach swollen, carrying his seed deep inside you, this thought alone makes his cock ache.

It was one boring session, until Viserys arrived, and knowing Vaemond had nothing to lose anymore, considering he already lost, he chose to direct vile insults towards you, your brothers and your mother, which led to Vaemond's head partially being cut off by Daemon.

This shocked everyone and Viserys fell weakly onto the chair.

“And one more final— hh. thing.” He wheezes out, “The queen- has proposed a. be- be-brothal between Aemond and Y/N, w-w-which. i. hh accept, it is a perfect way to reunite our drifted houses.” He manages to get the words out. Your gaze turns towards Aemond whose smile just got bigger and you look away immediately blush creeping up your cheeks, frankly, all you could think about was his fingers inside you.

Viserys ends up having a coughing fit, which causes Alicent to panic and scream for the maesters.

Viserys doesn't seem to have left more than a few moons to survive, so they plan a wedding in one moons time, to have the king witness it before he dies, and also so that Rhaenyra can't go back and change her decision.

Dinner that night went peacefully, with Aemond right beside you, Aemond was too focused on you to the point he didn't notice how Lucerys chuckled when the pig had come in, you did, so you shot him a stern but warning gaze, which made him shut up.

You were back in your chambers again, the maids undid your hair, letting it fall freely and got you ready into your bed clothes, you decided to sit by the fire and read a book when you heard the familiar sound of a stone sliding again.

You lifted your head and found Aemond, also in his bed clothes who was coming towards where you sat, “What are you reading?” He asks and before you can close the book, he snatches it from you and views it.

“A caution for young girls?” The name alone is enough to make blush creep up your cheeks, “If I remember correctly, isn't this book forbidden?” He teases and you get up from your seat and grab the book from his hand, turning away from him before placing it on the table.

“What do you want?” You ask, not bothering to turn back.

His arms snake around your waist and wrapping them around it, he nuzzles his nose into the back of your neck and places kisses on it, “I think you know what I want very well.” He mutters, still kissing your neck.

“I'm afraid I don't.” You try to play clueless, not wanting to react to what he's saying but all of that comes crumbling down when he gropes your breast before squeezing it tightly. “Don't you?” He questions and turns you to make you face him.

His hand moves to your cheek, “You want me to remind you? Where we left off?” He asks and you stare into his eye, not speaking anything, trying to deny him. That doesn't last long when he presses his lips against yours, and once again you're kissing him back, he is just so addictive.

He suddenly pulls away, and throws you over his shoulder, catching you off guard and makes his way towards your bed before throwing you on it, causing you to bounce slightly.

“I cannot hold back anymore.” He hovers over your form, trying to contain himself, “Don't.” that one singular word leaving his mouth was enough to break his restraint, and before you know it, he's on top of you kissing your face, neck, breasts as he paws at your nightgown, trying to remove it off you.

Frustrated, he tears it off your body, ripping it into shreds before throwing the fallen pieces away.

Your body is in full view to him now, you feel so vulnerable yet aroused, you rub your thighs together to soothe the ache forming in between them. “Spread them.” He speaks and you're confused until you realise he means your legs, you feel ashamed to do so. “Did you not hear me? Spread those fucking legs.” His voice becomes impatient now, causing you to spread your legs.

You lay there, humiliation poking every inch of your body as he remains silent, staring at your cunt, you shiver when you feel the cold breeze hit your core, and then suddenly Aemond moves swiftly, giving you not enough time to realise what he was doing.

“Wha—” your question is cut off short when you feel his warm mouth on your sex, making you shriek in surprise when his tongue laps at your clit, flicking the bundle of nerves up and down, “Seven fucking hells, you taste divine.” he mutters against your cunt before devouring it once more, his tongue prods at your entrance, before entering inside you, whenever he moved, his nose would bump against your clit causing stimulation.

He suddenly pulls away and lays down next to you before pulling you on top of him, you end up straddling his waist and lay your arms on his chest as support. “Sit on my face.” He demands, “But-”

“Did I fucking stutter? Sit. On. My. Face.” He growls and cuts you off, making you shiver and you obey him changing positions to where your cunt is hovering right above his mouth, his warm breath hitting it.

He grabs your thighs harshly, annoyed at your reluctance and pushes your cunt into his mouth before lapping at it like a man starved, you throw your head back at the pleasure.

You move your hips unknowingly to aid your building pleasure, and it is when he nips at your clit that you feel your peak coursing through your lower body, you choke out a moan of his name.

He once again changes position by laying you on your back and moving up a little, his lips meet yours again, and you wince at the tangy taste of your own juices.

Aemond pulls away, “Gosh, I can't believe a bastard like you has me fucking cunt struck.” He whispers in your ear, “D-don't call me that.” you tell him, “But you seemed to to fucking like it earlier.” You stay quiet to that, not wanting to admit it.

“I know of your tastes my lovely niece, do you even know who your father is?” He asks and you shake your head no, “It's Ser Criston Cole.” He tells you and you look at him shocked, “I overheard him talking to my mother earlier, how does it feel? Lady Cole?” and you remain quiet.

Ser Criston Cole was your father?

It all made sense now.

“But enough of that, your attention should be on me.” He grabs you by your cheeks, squeezing them, “My dirty little whore of a bastard, with a cunt so divine that it puts gods to shame.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself, letting me do all of this to you, do you have no dignity? you're crumbling the moment I try to do something.” He says meanly and tears prick at the corner of your eyes, it wasn't anything new, he had always been this way, ever since he was young, you knew this was humiliating, you knew this was insulting, seven hells, you're even almost crying at his words, yet you can't help but get wet at everything he's saying.

“You're mine, you have always been mine, got it? mine to mock, push you around, fuck, breed and do whatever as I please.” He growls, you lay there and nod, “Gods, it feels so good to be so mean to you, I hate to admit it, but I love seeing you cry.” He wipes the tear that has escaped your eye with his thumb before putting the very same thumb into his mouth and tasting it.

He pushes you further up the bed, before he sits back, he undoes his breeches, and pulls it off along with his tunic, leaving him bare just like you, and you swore that the gods favoured him much more than others, his body seemed as if it was sculpted and moulded personally by the smith himself.

He spreads your legs wide before placing himself between them, his cock rubbing against your folds, “Do you want my cock so bad? Your cunt is fucking weeping for it.” He questions and you nod, “Use your words.” He orders you, and you swallow, “I want your cock.” You speak slowly.

“Beg for it.” He smirks when he sees your eyes widen, and you take a deep breath, trying to form words, he taps your clit with his cock causing you to squirm, “Please-” You managed to choke out. “Please what?”

“Please—! Please I want your cock inside me so fucking badly.” You say, and that is enough for Aemond before he positions his tip at your entrance. “This is going to hurt okay?” He tells you, and you nod.

And gods did it hurt.

His cock was too big, the stretch was unbearably painful, yet Aemond was patient, pushing in slowly and slowly until he was fully sheathed, it took him every grain of control to not start ramming into you like a wild beast, especially the way your cunt was clenching around him, he breathed heavily, letting you relax and adjust to him.

“I'm going to move, stop me if it's too painful.” He tells you and you stare at him, “I thought you found joy in my pain.” you mutter which makes him chuckle, “I do, but even i have my limits, and this is where I draw the line.” He tells you, which makes you smile, “You can move now, Uncle.” you tease and he grits his teeth before drawing his hips back and thrusting into you harshly, you wince as the first few thrusts cause you slight pain, until you relax and eventually get used to it, and slowly get pleasure from it.

But this pace wasn't enough.

“Faster- Aemond–” You heave out as your body jerks up and down beneath, and just like you pleaded, he swiftly increases the speed. “You're a filthy fucking bastard, you know that?” Aemond sneers at you, grabbing you by the cheeks as he brutally thrusts into you. “Answer me.” he groans into your ear and you nod, earning a light slap from him on your cheeks, “With words.” he growls.

“Yes, I- know!” you moan when you feel the tip of his cock hit the sweet spot, hands gripping the linen sheets tightly as he bullies your hole. “And who does this filthy bastard belong to?” He asks, sickeningly sweet, hands leaving your cheek to grip at your breast, twirling your nipple in between his thumb and index finger.

“Y-You.” You gasp when you feel his hand trail down to your cunt and press up against your bundle of nerves before rubbing small and gentle circles on it, elevating your pleasure. “Good girl, you're so good for me, aren't you? Good for your uncle, you'll let me breed you right?”

“Hmm–! Yes! I'll let you breed me– oh fuck right there– yes–” You throw your head back against the bed as you feel him hitting and ramming into your sweet spot again and again and before you know it, your peak is ripped through you brutally, causing you to clench around his cock, making him moan loudly.

“Fuck-” and with a gasp, Aemond finishes inside you, his hot spend coating your inner walls, creating a warm feeling, he slowly rides his orgasm out, staying in until his cock begins to soften.

“You'll look so beautiful with my children, your breasts will swell with milk, and I'll indulge myself in them, because you're mine, you belong to me and I shall do as I please with you, and you'll let me right?” He asks and you nod, “Such a fucking pretty bastard, and my soon to be wife.” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

He pulls you into his arms and you both fall asleep, too tired to even clean up because of the eventful day.

A month later.

To say Criston was disappointed would be an understatement, he didn't hate Aemond, but he didn't like him to the point where he would watch his only child, that too who he cannot claim openly, be wedded off to him.

But at least you look happy and content with him.

After the vows were said and you were officially declared as Aemond's wife, Criston left the scene not being able to control his emotions, he stood at the very same place where he almost took his life, gazing up into the sky, “Ser Criston?” He heard your voice and immediately turned to you, “Princess.” He bows, “You can drop the formalities.” You tell him with a smile and he looks at you questioningly, “Fathers shouldn't be formal with their daughters after all.” You explain and his eye widens before he looks around to see if anyone heard that.

“You- know it?” He chokes, not being able to hold back his tears anymore. You nod “Aemond told me.” You tell him, and he immediately hugs you and you return the hug, “I am sorry, I failed you, but I had my own reasons, even then, I still apologise, I wish I had been there for you more.” He cries and you pull away from the hug, “It is fine, I can understand.” you reassure him and he smiles at you.

Everything seemed to have ended happily.

Though there was that one thought which Criston had that was immediately forgotten when you pulled him back to the wedding.

How did Aemond even come to know of it?

— ! ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

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adonis-koo · 11 months ago

Text

wicked • 18

↳ Summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader

↳ Genre: arranged marriage AU, enemies to lovers, it’s kind of a period AU??? Historical but also technically not? prince!AU, eventual smut

Word Count: 12k

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tags: oral (f), tiddie sucking…love kink?, teasing, vaginal fingering, begging, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, squirting (yeah…), soft dom!kook, loss of virginity, penetrative sex, it doesn’t fit, but only for a moment, size kink, possessiveness, multiple positions, slight spanking, corruption kink if you squint, creampies (wrap it before you tap it, condoms don’t exist in this au so…yknow)

Note: this chapter was not supposed to be so horny but the brain insisted 💅

Chapel bells could be heard, a somber cry of the hazy day ahead, you sniffled trying to get the smell of ash out of your nose, squinting as you glanced through the cracked tent, the sky tinted and hazy.

You didn’t remember the sun looking quite that color, it was distorted from normal, another bell chimed and you could hear the camp from even this distant, a crackle of the fire and a sob.

“Focus!” Baba Enàir slapped the stick in front of your desk making you jump.

“Sorry Baba.”

“You can say sorry to all the folks who rely on your hands to save their kin,” Her eyes glowered down at you, “As for me, you will do good and well to pay attention.”

Your lips twitched as you stared down at your desk, eyes slowly squinting into a glare before briefly glancing behind her once more towards the open flap of the tent where you watched the girls, hands all joined skipping in a circle.

“Why can’t I be excused?”

Baba Enair’s eyes followed yours as she sighed, perhaps taking pity on you, though if she did her eyes didn’t show it.

“You are the Princess of Eunoia, the people look to you for hope, not the court girls.” Baba Enair replied, “Your dryad blood allows you to heal in a way other girls cannot, that other people cannot. It isn’t fair, but it’s for the war, the amount of lives you can save alone compares to ten of the court girls. It’s imperative that your skill is honed. Now focus once more.”

You sighed, you had heard the same reason again and again, one day you hoped it would finally mean something to you though, today however, was not that day.

Regardless of how you felt, you stuck your hands back into the moon water, a small beautiful red fish, evidentially dying as it struggled to swim around.

You closed your eyes.

“Now start your three part breath, calm your mind.” Baba Enair instructed.

You took a deep breath from your stomach, slowly expanding it to your chest and then your throat, finally letting it exhale, after a few more breaths you began to speak.

“Ni esta- upon I cemen, eless- mama na- laiva,”

“Louder.” Baba Enair commanded.

“Let your coiv- mauime- celusse minna -yes’s eala-“ you winced as you yanked your hands from the water, the water boiling and your lips parting, feeling a piece of your heart crack at the fish, no longer swimming, but floating.

Your eyes watered as your lips trembled, you wanted him to have a peaceful passing, but all you caused was pain…

Baba Enair slapped the stick on your table, “You were too fast, too hasty! Rushing your studies will only make them last longer. Save your tears child, you will have much to cry for if you cannot even heal a fish.”

Your eyes only closed letting the tears stream down your face, the scene shifted, the tent no longer over you, but the sky above.

Thick with clouds of ash and the fire raged on, the sickening smell of death in the air, people groaning in agony and cries of mourning.

“How could you let him die you bitch! He was only a child!”

Your mouth was ajarred as you took an unsteady step back, “I’m- I’m sorry but I tried everything-“ the tent behind you being prepped for the fire, there laid a boy no older than four, a head wound that he had accidentally reopened when he fell down, attempting to play with his friend.

Blood was everywhere, even now covering your hands as tears gathered in your eyes, “I’m sorry.”

The older mother only glared as if you were nothing more than a speck of dirt under her shoe, “You’ve no right to cry!” She screamed out, reaching out as she grabbed your hair making you yelp, “You are no princess of this country! You are nothing! The dryads have abandoned your veins!”

Guards had already pulled her off but she made sure to shove you down, gravel digging into your palms as sharp jagged pain entered your body.

Tears dripped down your nose as you heard the woman scream and cry, throwing curse words your way only for her voice to be guided elsewhere as her son’s body was carried out of the tent.

Placed into a bag but it was evident he was in there, you glanced at the large bonfire, cowardly. You looked back at the ground, unable to watch them toss his body in.

You heard her wails and cries as the fire burned bright.

And suddenly, it was surrounding you, suffocating you as you cried out, the plead of a child, the skin melting from your hands and-

You gasped, sweat dripping from your body as you sat up in bed, wincing as if something of ash still lingered in your lungs, coughing you grabbed the water carafe from your nightstand, pouring a drink.

Leaning your back against your bed board, it was just a dream…you took a shaky breath, attempting to close your eyes,

‘blood covering your face, skin hanging and cartilage visible’

Your eyes shot back open upon being greeted with Di Jin’s dead face.

It had already been difficult to go to sleep, his cold dead face showing up every time you closed your eyes, or in your dreams once you had finally slept. Tonight had been different though, different difficulties deciding to present themselves this time.

All better forgotten nonetheless.

It had only been two days, and yet, it felt as if no time had passed at all, slowly you peeled the covers off yourself, shivering as you grabbed your nightgown cover, putting the long sleeve on as you walked to the door.

The room suddenly felt too closed in, too suffocating, you needed air.

Opening the door, you were greeted with your personal knight Yoongi, his injuries still healing, but he was doing far better than you.

When the unfortunate event of Di Jin and Seohyun showed up, Yoongi had shown up the morning after, bruised and battered, the entire operation of the tower being sieged a guise to bait him out and even better if it killed him, and worst of all it worked.

Well, the bit to draw him out, but evidently he was still very much alive.

“Your Highness?” Yoongi raised his brows a little, not surprised to see you up, but a little concern evident in his eyes.

“I wish to go for a walk.” Your voice was a quiet croak, shaky even.

“Of course.” Yoongi replied.

“Can it be…as if I were by myself?” Your lips turned into a small frown.

Yoongi gave you a weak smile, “You won’t even notice me.”

You nodded before walking past him, a little ways ahead before you could only assume he melded into the shadows, trailing behind unseen but still within a safe distance.

The corridors were empty, save for a few guards who bowed for you before giving you no grief, everyone looked at you differently though.

It was evident in their eyes, the way they all warily kept a distance.

Once upon a time, you had gotten used to your title, the Bitch of Eunoia.

But now they had all taken to calling you something different, something new, the Blood-Devoured Bitch. It was a hybrid name, both of Penumbrian and Eunoian background, sickening and yet flattering all the same, it suited you, you supposed.

Stepping out into the courtyard you innately shivered, ice cold air penetrated easily past your cover, wrapping your arms around yourself you took a big breath of air.

It’s crisp cool entered your lungs like new life, and for a moment you felt better.

Sitting down on the bench you curled into yourself, and suddenly the weight of your soul felt heavy again, you were so tired. A type of tired that sleep would not make go away.

Staring at the moon, you let its light be your only comfort, surely better days would come.

Jungkook couldn’t describe his level of worry for you, you had woken up physically fine, a minor wound to your chest where Di Jin had attempted to kill you. But you yourself were not fine.

You looked haunted, any food put in front of you was left untouched, and even if you did eat, you were unable to keep anything down.

Jungkook thought once Wheein was safe, things would get better. But it was clear to him this was hardly the case and what made it worse was you were isolating yourself now, refusing to talk to him or anyone else.

Wheein had desperately wanted to see you but Jungkook firmly sent her back to Skol demanding she take some time to herself, being in the dungeon for the last three weeks was no good for anybody mentally, especially her.

Meanwhile he was left to pick up the pieces of whatever had happened at the estate, and it didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

He felt horrible, he wanted you to go to the estate because he thought it was safe, but as it turns out, he nearly sent you to your death. He hadn’t pushed the topic with you, left you alone if you didn’t respond.

He just wanted you to be okay, it pained him seeing you like this.

You felt unreachable, and it made him feel as if he was literally losing his mind.

But tonight was Sunday, the day the family gathered together for dinner, Jungkook’s hopes were low but he could only hope that you would show up, he was worried and even more so at a loss of what to do, or if he could do anything at all.

You killed Di Jin.

The Eunoian Princess, who had sworn an oath to never kill, who came from a pacifistic nation, who had divine dryad blood running through her veins, killed someone.

And Jungkook knew you wouldn’t listen to him, it mattered not that you did it in self defense, it didn’t change the fact that you still broke your oath. Dinner had been quiet, nobody talking and this was to be expected, after all, everyone almost murdered your hand maid, you almost died, and then not only killed Di Jin, the kings oldest and dearest friend, but also Seohyun, Jungkook’s old fiancé.

Guards had gone to the estate to clean up the mess only to find her mangled body, torn apart by a wolf- namely yours.

Perhaps it wasn't directly you, but it mattered not, you would still take the guilt.

The doors opened and Jungkook straightened in his seat, you gave a short courtesy before taking your seat next to him, your eyes looked sunken in and it was evident you hadn’t slept a single night.

Jungkook could feel it clawing at his chest with the urge to do something, anything, but he knew all too well this would be something you would have to reconcile with yourself, in your own time.

Dinner was quiet and his uncle and aunt only murmured conversation, Jungkook could only let out a quiet sigh as he lifted his goblet to his lips, wine almost never solved his problems but it did help him relax.

“Yes, apparently a wild pack of dogs attacked Vail yesterday,” Jeong Dae’s voice was quiet, Areum’s eyes on him as she took a sip of her wine.

Their voices were the only one’s at the table that have yet to talk, after all they had always managed to keep the conversation going in these awkward events.

You were twirling your soup in its bowl, having not attempted to eat, eyes strictly somewhere between the table and your food.

“Well there needs to be more guards posted in the outer district’s now that this whole assassin business is finished,” Areum replied, leaning back in her chair, “They had four fatality’s which could’ve been prevented with adequate soldiers number’s.”

“Or perhaps we just need better soldiers,” Jeong Dae mused, “Perhaps our War Matron should make her return.”

You finally gathered a spoonful of your soup, watching the steam rise from it’s surface before you pushed it into your mouth. Jungkook wasn’t trying to stare, but it was difficult to look away when you were having to force every drop of broth down.

Areum scoffed, “Unless war is on the horizon I would rather rot. There was only one guard there, and he was passing through on his patrol.”

You gathered another spoonful, looking at it once more as if having to mentally prepare yourself.

“Is a shame though,” Jeong Dae sighed, “It was an absolute mess when I arrived, blood everywhere, one of the poor lad’s had his throat ripped out-”

A loud cough cut off the conversation, all eyes on you as you grabbed your mouth, lurching in your seat as if attempting to not vomit, “Excuse me.” You didn’t even so much as wait for a reply, shoving yourself out of your chair and promptly exiting.

Jungkook was immediately pushing himself out of his chair, not even saying a word as he quickly followed after you. You probably didn’t want to see him, but he simply couldn’t stand watching you like this.

He needed to do something, anything.

“Y/n!” He called out as you rushed down the hall.

You shook your head as you took a sharp left, going down the stairs towards the cellar, Jungkook quickly stepping down the stairs as he called your name once more.

It was dark and only candles lit the air, dust could be seen if one got too close, walls of wine and dry goods stored as you turned the corner of a storage wall, weaving towards the very back where surely no one would go.

Jungkook quickly followed behind, turning the last corner of the storage wall before he sighed out, a dead end with you at the last wall, back still turned but your sobs evident, hands covering your eyes as you tried to regain your breath but struggling to do so.

It came out in choked wheezes as you coughed and gagged, struggling to calm yourself down, flashes of blood, images of flesh and gore, no matter how many times you washed out your mouth, you could still taste it.

Raw flesh going down your throat.

Jungkook finally stopped at your back, unable to find any words, he could only pull you to face him, and he hated it, how it always seemed your face was filled with tears more than smiles, “I can’t get it out!”

You felt like a helpless child all over again, unable to help yourself let alone anyone else, but you felt so lost, you didn’t know what to do, you had all of these new feelings, all of these new sins you had to carry.

You let out another sob as Jungkook pulled you in, and you could do nothing but collapse against him as you cried, “I can’t get the taste out! No matter- wh-what I eat, what I drink, I still taste it!”

Jungkook only soothing hushed you, pressing his lips on top of your head, “I know.” He ushered softly, “I’m sorry.”

His arms wrapped around you tighter as you cried, resting your head into his shoulder, after a few minutes passed you had finally managed to calm your breath into steady.

“I can’t go back, I can’t undo everything I’ve done, I don’t know what to do anymore,” You tried to not weep but the tears slowly began to trickle back down your cheeks as you lamented, “My whole life i’ve been told I’m supposed to save lives,”

You pressed your hands against his jacket, looking up at him, “So why is it, all I ever seem to do is take them?”

Jungkook tenderly cupped your cheeks in his hands, thumbing the tears away as he pressed his forehead against yours, “I can’t speak for all of your past doings, but I can speak for what happened at the estate, your survival was dependent on your ability to defend yourself. You were forced to do what anybody would do.”

You shook your head in remorse, closing your eyes as you stifled a sob, Jungkook tenderly stroking your cheeks as he continued, “Humans are instinctive creatures, though you are part dryad, it seems violence runs in your veins.”

You sniffled, “That’s terrifying! You should be terrified. Everyone looks at me differently now, certainly you do as well, I killed the woman who was supposed to be your wife!”

Jungkook sighed, tenderly tracing your jawline with those long fingers of his, “The only thing that truly terrified me? Was when you walked through those gates covered in blood, and I realized I had unknowingly sent you to your death, unable to be there for you, unable to protect you, failing as a husband. That terrifies me.”

Your lips trembled as Jungkook’s fingers traced down your neck to your collarbone, “But you? I told you to show me all of you, and that I would take you as you are, my words still stand.” His fingers trailed down the center of your chest, stopping at the covered wound, the mark where Di Jin had attempted to make his finishing blow.

“How could I be afraid of someone I love?” It was nothing louder than a whisper.

It caused your gut to wrench as you violently shook your head, “Don’t say that, please don’t say that Jungkook.” You immediately escaped his arms, every step you took back Jungkook closed the gap with another forward.

“I don’t expect it to be requited, you don’t have to say it back Y/n but I’ve went through all stages of grief about it, I can’t change it,” Jungkook wasn’t backing down though, “I am in love with you and everything I thought I knew about love, everything I thought I knew about women, feelings, all of it, you came into my life and taught me that I was a fool to ever assume as much. I love you.”

“Stop saying it! Please, you don’t mean that, please don’t say it so easily…”

Your back was pressed against the wall as you shook your head, Jungkook standing tall in front you, delicately leaning down, both his forearms on either side of you as he whispered, “I love you Y/n, and you will not dictate to me whether that is the truth or not. My love for you has been anything but easy, don’t discredit how I feel because I’m the first to admit it.”

“You can’t love me,” You whispered, eyes blurring once more as flashes of Seohyun’s mangled body appeared in your vision.

“Loving you is like loving the sun,” Jungkook replied softly, “Effortless, and if I’m meant to burn in its light, then I'd die happily in doing so. My precious sun, the light of my life. Let me love you, let me take care of you, let me protect you, let me never leave your side again.”

“Jungkook…”

“I failed you, let you leave my side, sent you to the estate. It’s ultimately my own fault, and I’ll spend the rest of my life redeeming myself for it. But please, don’t punish me anymore,” Jungkook’s eyes sombered, a sort of tender plea in them, “I can’t be apart from you anymore, I’ve tried to give you space, time to think, to heal, but just as you need me, I need you. I need you just like the moon needs the sun.”

You had no words, unable to speak, overwhelmed by so many different feelings, but one thing you knew for certain was that when you looked at Jungkook, you felt at home. You said nothing, only gently laying your forehead in the crook of his neck, arms wrapping around him.

Trying to drown out the voices, the memories in his warmth, you were so terribly homesick, and Jungkook was surely your only remedy to this.

His arms wrapped around you in return, holding you tightly as he pressed a kiss against your head, “It’s selfish, but please, don’t deny me, love me, lay with me, we’re married, but I want you to be my wife.”

“Take me back to our bedroom.” You whispered to him, curling into his warmth as you shuddered, trying so hard to not let the vivid grotesque images back into your mind.

There was nothing quite like the warmth a bath could offer, steaming wafting from heat and dipping your body in made you realize just how chilled you had become throughout the day. Perhaps the best part was sitting perched in your husband’s lap, head laying on his shoulder as he tended to you.

The warmth of the washcloth running along your body, his hands that had easily taken tens if not hundreds of lives tenderly running through your hair as he washed you, he of course didn’t miss the opportunity to feather your neck in kisses.

“Is this okay?” He whispered in your ear, you nodded wanting nothing more than for him to keep making you forget, you didn’t want to remember anymore.

Jungkook was still tenderly cleaning you up, lips occasionally going back to your neck with a few gentle kisses and eventually after bathing you both settled in the water, just enjoying one another’s embrace.

His fingers tracing circles on your back before running down your waist, squeezing your ass for a moment before his hand would return back up your waist, touching you however he wanted, simply because he could.

It was a comforting gesture, but it was also evident how aroused you both were, every time his hand would dip under the water, it made your body just a little more excited, feeling his hand gripping your flesh tightly, making you shift a little and the first tiniest audible moan escaping your lips.

You could feel it briefly, his hardened cock resting against his chiseled abdomen, Jungkook’s lips pressed against your neck once more, this time suckling the skin as his other hand trailing down your waist before gripping the other side of your ass.

A soft moan escaped your lips, making your hips shift, nudging his cock once more making his lips suckle your skin a little harder, he released the skin after a moment, as if not wanting to mark it, “Let me make you feel good, my little sun.”

His fingers digging into your skin, his tongue dragging on your neck, “Please.” You ushered out a small moan.

Jungkook’s hand’s suddenly grabbed your waist, “Hold on,” He said and you didn’t understand for a moment until he suddenly picked you up, bringing you out of the water, grabbing one of the towels from off the stool he laid it out on the bed to not get it wet before dropping you down.

The fire crackled on, the only light source in the room, leaving it dark and warm, but the silhouette of Jungkook’s body was still very evident, his hard cock even more so as he stood tall in front of your figure.

You felt so small in comparison in this moment, but it didn’t last long as Jungkook leaned down, “You’re so perfect.” He whispered, lips pressing into yours as if he could sense your anxiousness, your body was so pliable though, having his hovering over you protectively. You moaned into the kiss, body relaxing as one of his hands found your thighs, pushing them apart tenderly as you opened them for him.

Your cunt was throbbing and wet, eager to be touched by him as Jungkook broke the kiss, letting his tongue drag down your throat and to your collarbone before he feathered more kisses, pausing at your breasts.

Jungkook couldn’t resist wrapping his lips around your left tit, this forced a moan from you, hips shifting in need as a hand steady them, as if telling you to be patient, he traded for your right tit next, moaning softly against your skin as if relishing in it.

“Jungkook…!” You whined softly, watching the explicit sight, your thighs spreading a little more in need.

Jungkook’s eyes almost glowed in the dark, that icy blue piercing gaze, hazy and filled with lust as he released your tit from his lips, a small lazy smirk tugging on his lips, “Yes, my love?”

It felt like knots were forming in your stomach, “Love me, you keep saying it, show me how it feels.”

Jungkook gave you a small smile, “You don’t need to ask me twice.” His lips pressed down your stomach and your body was reacting in all the ways he could hope as he made his way down to your hips, tenderly, slowly, licking up every reaction he got before he settled himself between your thighs.

Still he seemed to enjoy getting you worked up, lips pressing against your inner thigh making you squirm, your cunt dripping wet as you whined, “Jungkook!”

His tongue dragged just a little closer to where you wanted it, “What do we say when we want something?”

“Please…!”

Jungkook moaned softly as his tongue pressed against your cunt making you let out a moan of relief, his hot wet tongue mixing with your arousal as he pressed against your little opening before dragging it up your slit, right where you wanted it.

You moaned softly as his tongue pressed against your clit, you shifted onto your forearm, your other hand reaching down to bury in his wet dark locks of hair, his tongue swirling around the tender bud as pleasure shot through your body making your thighs open further for him.

His eyes closed as he moaned against your clit, wrapping his lips around it as if suckling something sweet, it made a sharp whine escape you as you yanked his hair hips lifting for him.

“Mm Jungkook.” You ushered out softly as his lips parted, tongue lathing against the little bud that had you squirming in pleasure.

“Relax my love,” Jungkook moaned into your cunt, “Let me make you cum as many times as you please.”

His fingers snuck down to your cunt as his lips wrapped back around your clit making you whine, his tongue having found a particularly sweet spot that had you grabbing his hair.

His fingers toyed with your little hole at first, letting them get nice and sticky from your arousal before he pushed a digit in, your body immediately reacted, walls clenching around him as a strangled whine left you.

His lips parted as his tongue lathed your clit, continuously flicking the sweet spot of your bud as you whimpered, your cunt throbbing in pleasure as his finger began to pump inside you, “Relax princess, I got you,” Jungkook’s lidded eyes met yours, and briefly you could see his finger, knuckle deep in your cunt.

As if noticing this as well a small smirk curled on his lip as he pulled it out, before gathering both his middle and ring finger, pushing it back inside you, it made you wince a little in discomfort, “Shh, give your body to me, I’ll take care of it my love,” Jungkook moaned softly, his cock was rock hard at watching you moan and wither beneath him in pleasure.

Your walls clenching tightly around his fingers as he thrusted them inside you, his lips tenderly pressing into your thigh to soothe you as your body slowly relaxed just as he said.

Your hips slowly lifted in sync with his as you whined, Jungkook buried himself back in your cunt once more, tongue lapping at your little clit, getting the exact reaction he had hoped.

A loud cry escape you, thighs suddenly wrapping around his head just the way he wanted them too, wanting to be suffocated by your cunt and nothing else, his fingers immediately began pumping rougher inside you as you whined unable to keep yourself supported anymore as you collapsed back against the bed.

“Koo! Mmm! Please Koo!” Your words were mumbled and whiny as his tongue viciously swirled and suckled your throbbing bud, his fingers suddenly lifting inside you as if in search for something.

Pleasure was becoming more consistent, more intense as Jungkook's moan vibrated against your clit and his fingers pushing all the way inside you as they lifted once more, the pleasure that suddenly snapped through your body was indescribable, a loud whimper escaping you.

His name came in shambled shorter variations as you whined and moaned, your walls rapidly squeezing around his fingers as he kept thrusting into the same spot again and again.

Jungkook kept lapping at your clit, finding that sweet spot once more as you withered beneath him, back arching as your mind blurred with pleasure, “Oh..! Oh god, please! Yes! Mmm!”

Your voice echoed throughout the bedroom loudly as fits of moans escaped your mouth, lips parted at just how good you felt, “Cum for me, cum all over my fingers sweetheart,” Jungkook moaned before his lips parted against your clit, lazily rubbing into that little spot as his fingers ruthlessly rubbed into that spot inside you.

And you did.

Your walls rapidly wrapped around his fingers as he kept shoving them inside you, his tongue attached to your bud, milking your orgasm as unholy noises escaped your lips, mixtures of thanks, of his name, cries to the empty sky.

It just kept going, the pleasure only heightened as you squealed out, hands digging into his hair as his tongue swirled over your clit, fingers refusing to stop as they hit that same spot inside you over and over again.

It had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your thighs trembling as you completely gave your body up to him, relaxing into the building sensation inside your cunt as your walls kept squeezing around his fingers, his tongue not stopping on your clit as he suckled it once more.

His tongue finding just the right spot as it all spiked once more, your moans were shaky and cried out as blind pleasure washed over you once more, cumming all over his fingers but not only that liquid suddenly spewing lewdly from your little hole.

“Fuuck,” Jungkook moaned, lifting your hips suddenly as his fingers abused your little entrance, hitting that spot over and over again as your body withered against him, “Such a good girl.”

His fingers finally pulled out of your cunt, your thighs trembling as he set you down, moaning as he kissed your thighs, hands dragging against your waist, “Fuck, I want you so bad sweetheart, wanna fill you up, wanna feel you cum all over my cock.”

You were heaving deep breathes, trying to comprehend the pleasure you just experienced, you were hazy still as your hand tenderly combed through his hair, “Then do so…” You gazed at him, hazey and the darkness made it difficult to make out his expression, “You said you wanted me to be your wife, then make me your wife.”

Jungkook’s gaze shot up to you as you weakly smiled, “I want you to be my husband, but we’ve never consummated it. I want to.”

Jungkook moaned softly, his cock throbbing as he crawled up to you, arms hovering on either side of you as he stared down at you, “You mean it?”

“Of course I do,” You whispered, hands creeping up his neck and back to his hair once more, pulling him down for a kiss that he would never deny you.

Jungkook moaned softly into the kiss before he broke it, pressing a kiss against your neck, “It’ll hurt,” He whispered, “But I’ll make sure it doesn’t last long.”

Jungkook shifted you further up the bed as he sat on his knees, between your thighs as you parted them for him, feeling nervous, but you felt so safe with him, you wanted him, craved him. Jungkook’s fingers brushed over your cunt, puffy and wet as you shuddered.

His hand was soaked in your arousal as before he wrapped it around his cock, just as big and fat as you remembered. His eyes didn’t leave yours as he pumped his cock in his hand, it made you feel shy as you shifted beneath him.

“Are you sure?” He murmured, you nodded.

Grabbing your thighs he pulled you closer to him before he grabbed his cock once more, rubbing the fat weeping head of his cock against your cunt as you let out a shaky exhale, you knew he was big but…he was really big compared to you.

Just the size of his head was nearly as big as your cunt itself, “Jungkook I don’t…-”

“It’ll fit.” He reassured, a little amused, pulling the head of his cock to your little entrance before attempting to push it in.

You winced in pain as you shifted, you weren’t sure how you expected this to go, it really wasn’t something you had ever fantasized about. But the first attempt was lackluster due to the fact that he indeed was not getting it in.

Jungkook’s nose wrinkled, “Ugh fuck. Hold on,” He whispered, shifting a little more, setting your thighs a top of his a little more, lining his cock back up to your entrance as he pushed once more.

He pushed the fat head of his cock against your entrance once more, this time however, you let out a yelp, the sensation almost burning as you shifted in discomfort against him, “Ah…! Fuck that hurts.” You let out a weak whine, biting down on your lip hard.

And it did, all you could focus on was how much it ached and burned having your walls pushed open by something so large and foreign.

Jungkook leaned down, arms on either side of you as he pressed feathery kisses into your neck, “I’m sorry, my love,” His whisper was strained, “Just let yourself relax, it won’t last long.” He let out a slight shaky moan as he pushed himself just a little deeper inside you.

You tried to let yourself relax as much as possible, but your brows were still pinching together and it was difficult for it to not hurt when he was just really that big.

Jungkook suddenly pulled out of you making you sigh in relief, Jungkook pressed another comforting kiss against your neck as he pushed the head of his cock back inside, only this time, it wasn’t nearly as painful, a little discomfort of having something foreign inside your body.

But it wasn’t nearly as bad, Jungkook’s muscles were completely tensed and his breath was shaky as he buried his face into your neck with a moan, “Fuck sweetheart, you feel so fucking good wrapped around me.”

Jungkook his deep raspy words in your ear made your walls squeeze around him, making him push a little deeper inside you as you let out a soft whine, shifting your hips as if trying to take more of him.

Jungkook could feel this, immediately pushing his cock deeper inside you, “Oh my god,” He whispered, “Fucking perfect, perfect cunt, perfect body, perfect for me. Look at that little cunt, taking me so well.”

You whined at his hips thrusting a little, as if testing the water’s, “Koo…mmm!” Your eyes snapped shut at feeling his cock splitting your walls open, hitting all the right places.

Jungkook moaned as his hips slowly began to thrust, his cock still not fully inside you but with each thrust it got a little closer, “Feels so warm, so little, fuck, keep wrapping around me like that love.”

His shaft rubbed right into that sweet spot that had you moaning, legs wrapping around his waist, your cunt felt so full and yet wanted so much more, Jungkook’s hips were becoming a little faster, “Such a perfect cunt, mine. All mine.” There was a hint of possessiveness in his words.

Your hands dug in his hair, “All yours.” You whimpered out quietly as your body started jolting, his hips becoming rougher at the words, “Your cunt, yours.”

Jungkook let out a rough moan, deep and raw as if those words made him all hot and bothered, “Fuck yeah it is,” He suddenly growled in your ear, “You’re my fuckin’ wife, my cunt to play with, my cunt to make cum again and again. Mine.”

You suddenly whimpered at feeling his cock going deeper inside you, your eyes shutting as you moaned for him, knowing he wanted to hear them, knowing how much he liked to see you in pleasure, “Mmm! Like that.”

“Oh? Like this?” He smirked against your skin as he thrusted particularly harsh, his cock going deep inside you once more, your walls rapidly clenching around him as you moaned, nails dragging against his back.

“What about this?” He murmured in your ear, pushing his hips all the way until they met yours, his cock completely buried in your warm little cunt as you shakily moaned, eyes squeezing shut at how deep he was inside, how thick and fat his cock was, completely splitting open your walls.

“Mmm fuck, yeah.” You ushered softly, creaming all over his cock, arousal coating it as your walls squeezed around him, you had finally found heaven, it was Jungkook buried inside your cunt.

Jungkook moaned as well, feeling how tight your walls squeezed around him in pleasure, as if suddenly starved Jungkook grabbed your thigh, bringing it over his shoulder as his hips shifted, rapidly thrusting into you as you yelped in surprise.

But pleasure was immediately blooming side you, his shaft rubbing all the right spots, balls slapping against your skin as you whimpered for him, “Oh! Right there, yeah! Yes, god…!”

Jungkook moaned, “Fuck yeah, squeeze around me baby, know you wanna cum on it, cum all over this fat cock, gonna fill you up until your dripping.”

Your hips lifted with his, moaning at how good it felt, his cock roughly dragging in and out of you, pushing your walls open with each thrust, “Mmm wanna cum all over it.”

Jungkook moaned, thrusting particularly hard this time making you whine before he suddenly shifted, letting go of your thigh as he suddenly sat up right, but dragging you with him, his cock pulling out of you as you whined.

Thighs trembled and uncertain of this new position as Jungkook sat you in his lap, immediately grabbing his cock as he pushed it back inside you, except you were a little awkward, “Mm Koo I don’t-”

“Like this love.” Jungkook moaned, grabbing your hips as he lifted them, this new position made you feel him in an entirely new way, your lips parting as an involuntary moan escaped you, trying to mimick the way his hips guided you.

Sliding down his cock as you moaned, feeling how deep he was inside you, your walls rapidly clenched, Jungkook’s hands tightened around your ass, “Fuck yeah sweetheart, can feel you wrapping around it, cum.” His head suddenly dove down, lips parting on your right tit as he suckled it harshly making you cry out, walls clenching around him as you lowered your hips all the way down.

Your arousal dripping on his balls as he lifted you, fucking you on his cock as you whined pathetically, not of much use when he fucked you like this, his lips suckled your tit harshly once more, “Cum,” He growled, his hand suddenly smacking your right ass cheek making you yelp.

Your body however, loved that feeling of pain, your cunt squeezing around his cock as he roughly bounced you on it, “Like that? Like getting spanked sweetheart?” Jungkook grinned deviously, suddenly smacking your ass even harder, your body reacting to it as your walls clenched harder around him.

“Mmm! M’ gonna cum..Koo!” You whimpered out, all the sensations overwhelming you as Jungkook continued to bounce you on his cock, pushing you deeper on him as he smacked your ass once more, this time hitting just under the cheek, the pain mixed with the pleasure as you moaned loud, walls squeezing rapidly around his cock.

Your lips parted as you came all over his fat shaft, being bounced roughly as Jungkook moaned, “Fuck yeah, thats it princess,” Jungkook moaned, wrapping his around around your waist as he laid back on the bed, bring you with him a top as his hips lifted, rapidly thrusting up inside you, this orgasm was much deeper, more powerful as he continued to bottom out inside you making sure he was completely buried inside you.

“Fuck my love, that’s it.” Jungkook ushered a moan, you felt it before you heard it, something indescribably warm shooting deep inside your cunt, “Mm that’s it, take it like the good girl you are.”

You let out the tiniest whine, burying your head in his shoulder as he let out a deep sigh of contentment, relishing in his orgasm, how long had he imagined holding you like this?

His lips tugged into a lopsided smile as his eyes opened, looking at you as if you were the only thing in the world, as if in deep admiration, love.

You supposed that look in his eyes, could only be described adequate as love, “My goddess,” He mused, fingers trailing your face, his hand trailed down your side before grabbing your hand, the skin discolored in large patches.

Jungkook pressed his lips against the palm before tenderly planting a kiss on each finger, the gesture was so full of love it made your eyes fill with tears that did not shed, his lips pressed against your wrist, “The love of my life, I know I cannot change the past,”

Jungkook laid you both on your side as he wrapped his arm around you, “But we will get through this together.”

You weren’t sure what it was, the earnest look in his eyes, the pure devotion in his voice, but you believed him, you wholeheartedly believed him, “We will.” You whispered back, leaning in to press your lips against his.

It was filled with nothing but sweetness, tenderly pressing over yours as he let out a soft moan, his hand finding its home around your neck, not squeezing but simply holding it, “My wife.” He moaned against the kiss, “My beautiful wife. I don’t think there will ever be a day I don’t love you. Sleep, and if you wake, I’ll be here to hold you.”

Sleep did not come easily, Jungkook had managed to get you both under the warm covers, scaring off whatever little coldness that had tickled your skin, the last hour before he fell asleep had been silent, his fingers tracing circles against your back, enjoying one another's warmth.

You had eventually fell asleep but dreams you could not remember had plagued you back awake, your eyes were tired but you could see blue light streaming in from the window, it wouldn’t be long before your day would begin.

Still, you laid dozing off enjoying your Jungkook who hadn’t let go of you the whole time, skin to skin contact soothing, you had rolled onto your stomach, letting the weight of his body near on top of you soothe your eyes back shut.

Shifting a little to get comfortable this must have accidentally awoke him as you felt a gentle kiss press on your shoulder a sleepy groan escape his lips, “How long have you been awake?” He mumbled, his voice quiet, deeper and raspier than normal.

“...Not too long, I’ve woken up multiple times though.” You whispered, keeping your eyes shut as you felt his hand slowly stroke your waist.

You would never say it out loud, but you could definitely get use to being petted like this.

“You should’ve woke me up,” Jungkook pressed another kiss against your skin, this time your neck, “Let us lay together in silence.”

“We could be laying in silence right now.” You offered a tiny tired smile though you weren’t sure he could see it.

“We could.” Jungkook murmured, his lips pressing onto your neck once more, this time parting as his tongue tenderly lapped over your skin, the act itself made your breath hitch, body stirring as you tilted your head, letting him have more access to your skin.

You kept your eyes closed, allowing him to give you open mouthed kisses over your neck, not too long in each spot to be mindful of marking, his tongue delicately tracing over each patch just enough to tease.

It seemed he finally got what he wanted out of you, a tiny moan as he shifted you both, now spooning you, your bare ass promptly snug against his hard cock, his lips suckling the skin of your neck as his hand snaked over your waist, grabbing a handful of your tit as he pinched your nipple.

You whined as you rubbed back against him a little, this made his hand immediately grab your hip, squeezing it to stay still before it hooked over your thigh to lift it, your cunt glossy and wet, dried cum staying your thighs no doubt.

Your face felt hot and flush and suddenly the covers that had kept you warm were like an inferno, Jungkook shifted, grabbing his cock as he let his fat weeping head rub along your puffy slit.

A small breath escaped you as he rubbed it over your sensitive clit before back to your little entrance, and then pushing it in, your brows pinched together in discomfort, his size still big for your body to adjust too.

“Shhh,” He whispered against your neck, moaning softly as his hips started thrusting, his cock pushing further inside you as you whined, “Fuck, can’t believe this pussy is all mine,” Jungkook ushered quietly, “Mine to fuck, mine to love, mine to cum inside. Mine.”

You moaned against the pillow, your walls squeezing tight around his cock as he thrusted further inside you before pushing all the way in, his shaft rubbing just the right way inside you, “Mmm, Jungkook.” You moaned quietly.

You could feel his wicked smirk on your skin, hips suddenly thrusting rough up into you, his cock throbbing as his balls smacked against your skin, “Moan my name, only mine. Want everyone to hear, to know how good I fuck you.”

You bit down on your lip at his hips thrusting at a steady but rough pace, each time pulling almost out of you only to shove all the way back in, the fat head of his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you each time.

“That's right sweetheart, cream all over it, wanna feel this pretty little cunt cum all over my cock,” Jungkook moaned in your ear, that deep rasp in his voice had your clit throbbing and your walls wrapping around him as you whined.

Overwhelmed by how big he was, how good it felt you nearly cried out at the feeling of his cock pulling out of you, your muscles tensed as your eyes snapped open at being robbed of your pleasure.

Jungkook had a sleepy smirk on his face as he sat upright against the headboard, pulling the covers off to reveal his fat, proud cock, glossy with your arousal as he offered you a hand, “Come sit on your throne my goddess.”

Your body felt hot in all kinds of ways as you took his hand before slowly crawled to him, Jungkook however manhandled you to sit on his lap, your back pressing into his chest as he pried your thighs apart, the position was all too familiar as you whined.

“Jungkook…!”

“Remember what I said last time?” Jungkook pressed a long kiss against your neck, shifting you as he grabbed his cock, gleaming coated in your arousal as he pushed the head back inside you, an audible moan from you echoing in the room as you watched in arousal and horror at how much he was splitting your cunt.

Your body could do nothing but sink down on it, whines and whimpers escaping you once again at just how thick his cock was, finally meeting the base as your body rested against his, Jungkook however had different plans, grabbing your thighs to lift them a little as he suddenly starting thrusting.

His fast pace took you off guard as you gurgled a moan, eyes unable to look at anything except his cock pulling in and out of your cunt, covered in slick arousal as you felt his shaft squeezing past your soft warm walls each time, hitting up into your sweet spot that had you moaning.

“You like watching?” Jungkook grinned, a breathy moan escaping him as his chin rested on your shoulder, eyes hazy as he watched his cock push all the way inside you, “Like being made to take this big fat cock while being made to watch.”

Jungkook’s eyes squeezed shut at how hard your walls suddenly clenched around him, taking everything in him to not cum this very moment, “You’re so fucking little,” He groaned, fingers digging into your thighs, “Love feeling that pretty little cunt wrap around me, heh yeah like that fuuck.”

His fingers found your clit rubbing them as you yelped out, walls rapidly clenching around him in a feeling that he was quickly starting to familiarize himself with, it made his cock throb in pleasure as he lifted once more, shifting you both a little so you laid back more against his chest, thrusting harder and faster this time as he pressed your clit between his fingers.

“Mmph! Koo-! Fuck, ah! Yes! Oh god, like that, please! Please!” Moans escaped you incohesively, surrendering your body to him as he fucked you roughly, hips snapping up into yours, his cock stretching out your walls each time.

Jungkook’s fingers toyed with your throbbing clit, “Thats it, moan, let them know who’s taking care of this pretty pussy, who’s filling you up with cock right now,” His hips drilling into you as he watched his cock snap in and out of your cunt each time, “Look, watch.” He growled in your ear.

Your eyes opened as you moaned, your cunt puffy and wet, stretching for him with more ease now than before, Jungkook’s hips slowed down, “You like watching yourself get fucked?”

Your throat felt dry and your body hot as his hips sensually moved, slower, deeper, making sure you felt every thrust of his hips as his cock buried deep in your cunt, “Answer.”

“Yes,” You stammered, whining a little at his cock burying inside you once more but this time not pulling out immediately after, “Like watching.” You whined quietly.

Jungkook had a wicked grin on his lips, “You like it? Being fucked by the wicked prince?” His thrusts were short, keeping his cock as deep inside you as he could, your walls clenched at the short snapped sensation, “Like it when I cum deep inside this pretty virgin cunt of yours?”

Pleasure was building rapidly in your body, your walls squeezing tightly around him each time, watching his long thick fingers rub into your clit, finding that sweet little spot that had you gasping a whine.

“Yes, yeah, fuck, mmm! Fuck Koo, gonna…!” Your body was contorting as his cock pushed all the way inside you once more.

“I remember that little mouth of yours our wedding night, remember wanting nothing more then to bend you over and stuff you full of cock,” Jungkook moaned, hips becoming sloppy, thrusts uneven, some slow, some rough, “Fuck you so hard all you’d be able to do was thank me. But look at you now.”

Jungkook smiled against your shoulder, “My pretty wife letting me fuck her tiny little cunt, letting me ruin the little virgin dryad princess. Fuck yeah, that’s it, cum all over it my love. Cum all over this cock.”

You were moaning so loud, surely people out in the halls could hear, and it only turned Jungkook on further, his cock buried inside you with the need to make sure you kept moaning, needing others to hear, to know that you were his.

His thrusts were short, keeping buried deep in your cunt as his fingers kept rubbing into the sweet spot of your clit, your walls rapidly clenching around his base as he buried into you once more before you came.

Jungkook let out a loud moan as your walls squeezed him so tight he was unable to thrust, pleasure was contorting in every part of your body as you came all over his cock just as he wanted, your clit throbbing in pleasure as Jungkook tenderly rubbed into it, milking every last bit of pleasure he could.

“God I love the way your cunt wraps around me,” He murmured, eyes tightly shut at the sensation, what he had dreamed of for so long now, the feeling of your cunt squeezing tight around him, begging to be filled with his cum.

The feeling was still foreign, having something warm and slightly sting as it roped inside you, his hands squeezing your thighs tight as he came, moaning softly in your shoulder, you both were heaving breathes.

Jungkook pressed a flutter of light kisses against your neck, fingers tracing your thighs, is fingerprints still prominent in them, “So that’s what you meant…”

“Hm?” Jungkook hummed out, nose nudging your neck in a loving manner, his fingers tracing over the skin that was slowly discoloring.

“You…once told me bruising could be attractive, is this what you meant?” You whispered, voice raspy a little humored.

You could feel the tiny smile on your neck, “Maybe. Maybe not, do you find it attractive?”

“Do you?”

Jungkook’s fingers continued to trace over the marks, “When they’re mine,” He pressed a kiss against the shell of your ear, “They’re the most attractive.”

You had gotten distracted though, his cock slipping out of you and cum oozing from your entrance you squirmed in discomfort, your face felt warm at the lewd sight.

“Mmm, that’s even more attractive though,” Jungkook moaned softly, his index finger scooping it back up before pushing it back in making you squirm.

“Jungkook…!” You whined out, immediately closing your legs.

He chuckled as he pressed a kiss against your head, “Let me grab a washcloth and get you cleaned up.”

Jungkook shuffled you out of his lap before standing up with a groan, grabbing his undershort that had never gotten worn last night as he put them on, grabbing a washcloth from the stool, walking back over to bed where you had shuffled, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed as you sat naked on his bed.

It didn’t matter if you both had just finished laying together and his cum dripped between your thighs.

Jungkook looked down at you for a long moment before a smile curled on his lips, “Are you going to let me see?”

“I…can clean myself.” You replied flustered, unable to look at those pretty blue eyes of his.

“What kind of partner would I be if I made you do that?” Jungkook snorted, grabbing your legs as he pulled you closer, it made you squeak now at the edge of the bed.

You thighs parting only a little for him, but he had quickly made it more as he pulled them further apart, his tongue grazing his lips at the sight before the warm wet cloth dragged over your thighs, his hands were attentive and gentle as he cleaned you up.

Jungkook had gotten himself halfway dressed and had just gotten your slip on just in time for the timely knock on the door, Taehyun’s voice on the otherside.

Jungkook had allowed him to come in, bowing to you both before going to Jungkook’s wardrobe, “Would you like for me to send for a maid to help the Princess?” Taehyun asked, you could tell he had to have known something was up but obviously not about to ask.

“No,” Jungkook replied, leaving your side as he walked over to Taehyun, “I’ll help her get ready for the day.”

Taehyun said nothing more aside from going over the duties Jungkook would need to attend today as he got him dressed, you had fidgeted in bed, eyes glancing at the window as light began to filter in, brighter than usual.

You would be expected to carry out your duties today as well, the rebuilding of the market had slowed down since winter had approached and Jeong Dae had warned you the building would be very slow in the winter, but to be patient.

You also had to meet with a few noble houses today to discuss resources once more, just the idea exhausted you. It had been nearly a week since the incident and yet it felt as though a day hadn’t past.

You hadn’t even noticed when the door had been shut.

“You’re in your head again.” Jungkook frowned, staring down at you, fully dressed in black today.

“So much has happened since we married,” You frowned as you looked at the window once more, “It’s difficult to not these days.”

You parted your lips but no words came, uncertain of how to express your feelings, Jungkook patiently waited as he turned away from you walking to your wardrobe, most of your clothes had been taken out, but evidently he had somehow managed to keep most of your winter wardrobe here.

“I knew it would be difficult, when we married and I would move here, leaving my land behind. I had two years of mental preparation for what may happen,” You sighed softly as you glanced at your hands, flipping them over to look at your discolored palms, “I had mainly prepared myself to be killed here. And yet…somehow, it never occured to me that living might possibly be worse. That living and yet, unable to recognize myself, would be a thousand times worse than death.”

You felt alienated from yourself, perhaps deep down you always knew you were capable of murder, the rage so deep in your bones that certainly it would strike a god down, but to have done it?

To go against everything your nation stood for? The oath you had so proudly taken as a little girl, your mothers eyes beaming down at you with pride.

Jungkook set the material out on the bed he had gathered before kneeling down in front of you, gently taking your hands in his, “Or perhaps this is just another side of you, something different, something new, change is uncomfortable. Growth is painful. I remember my first time…”

Your eyes slowly moved, meeting his as he frowned, “I was nothing more than a child, holding a sword too big, he was a grown man. It was one of our drill sergeants in training, he had despised the Jeon name and had taken to treating me as nothing more then dirt beneath his boots.”

Jungkook sighed, “He had been ruthlessly sparring with me, going as far as kicking me into the ground well past my attempt of surrender. And then he stopped, and just stared at him before laughing, saying I was pathetic, that I’d never live a day in battle. And like that he just turned his back and walked away.”

Jungkook’s eyes dropped, “I don’t even know what possessed me, but he kept laughing as he called out to his little friend that he was done with the Jeon Scum, suddenly I had unsheathed the dagger in my hand and ran at him.”

“And?” You whispered out.

Jungkook shrugged, “I don’t remember much of it anymore, I’ve been told I stabbed him over fourteen times though, I was covered in blood by the end of it and I only remember crying in the bathtub while washing myself.”

Your heart painfully squeezed for him, he couldn’t have been older than ten? Nobody would ever be fit to kill, let alone a child, “Were there consequences?”

Jungkook shook his head, “Areum had given me a light slap on the wrist, extra watch duty, less rations, things of that nature. But being the prince gave me certain privilege,” He a bitter smile grew on his face, “I think that was the first time my father ever told me he was proud of me. Said I had great promise on the battlefield and that I was meant to rule.”

“You say it with such disdain.” You frowned.

Jungkook sighed as he stood up, grabbing the dress he had picked out for you, a purple dress with long thick velvet sleeves, the material was sheer and thin but he had grabbed a thick under slip to pair with it.

Jungkook pulled the slip over your head, “Do you want my honest words on it?”

“Of course I do.” You whispered out, eyes meeting his as he pulled the material down.

“I’ve never had the desire to rule,” Jungkook said it no more than a whisper, “I don’t want the crown, I don’t want to be king.” He ushered it as if it was a crime, but suddenly he looked a little relieved as if this was the first he had ever voiced it, “I don’t want those responsibilities that come with it…”

Jungkook held your dress in his hands as his brows furrowed, “...I don’t want to be like my father.”

He spoke it as if that was the underlying reason, you stood up in front of him before wrapping your arms around his waist to hug him, “You’re nothing like him.” You whispered out, his hands wrapping around you as he squeezed you tight, nose burying in your hair.

Jungkook broke away only a little as his forehead pressed against yours, “But then I think about you, crown on top of your head, the way you visit the outer districts, redistribute what's left that the royals waste, how you sacrificed something so sacred to you…” His hand grabbed your own, pulling it towards his lips as he pressed a kiss against your palm, “And I think about how you were made to be a queen, and if I were to rule by your side…then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Truthfully?” You whispered back, looking up at him with a soft smile, “It doesn’t matter to me, as long as I’m with you.”

Jungkook only smiled, fingers tracing your neck as he gave a flutter of kisses to the palm of your hand before he let go of you, grabbing the gown as he helped you change, tentatively lacing the back of your dress before turning you around.

A sort of satisfied look on his face as if he had made the right choice, “Leave your hair down today, it looks nice like this.”

“Jungkook…” You gave him a look, you felt incomplete if you didn’t have your hair braided or styled at all.

“Indulge me today.” Jungkook replied with a sort of saccharine dripping off his tongue you had never heard before, pulling the velvet gloves over your hands.

You hated how much he had so easily convinced you as you sighed, shaking your head, “Very well, anything else.”

He nodded walking to your jewelry box once more, “I didn’t say anything, but it didn’t mean that I didn’t notice.” Jungkook walked back over to you, gently grabbing your left hand lifting it up as he held out the large black ring, your wedding ring, “Wear it with pride.”

Jungkook slid it on your ring finger making you smile as you glanced down at it, you had worn it a few times in the past, but it felt different letting him put it on you.

Your lips slowly fell though, “...I’m not ready for today.” You whispered out, Jungkook had been completely taken you away from your sickening thoughts for the last twelve hours, and soon you would have to return to reality.

Jungkook frowned as his fingers traced along your neck, “It’ll be over soon my love.” He ushered quietly before leaning in, pressing a chaste kiss against your lips, your eyes closing as you leaned into his warm touch, fingers curling around your throat as you let out the softest moan.

Jungkook refused to let this go further though, letting his hand drop as he broke the kiss, “If the day gets hard, you know where to find me.”

Your day had become tones of gray, monotonous without having even realized it, your mind was elsewhere and nobles had looked at you with mixed reactions, some in fear, some in disgust. After all, they had all seen you, seen what you had done, what you were capable of.

You had been hold up in the library the last hour and a half though, reading up on some of the policies for building that had a headache beginning to turn up in your head.

Flipping the page you had went to drink your tea only to find it ice cold, the fire crackled at the far end of the library, but here in the nook you had found it towards the window was cold.

Time had passed more than you had realized when you found your husband standing at the front of the table, looking at you expectantly.

You glanced up from your book, “Are you finished with your duties already?” He usually worked later than this.

Jungkook’s nose wrinkled, “I’ve been done for over an hour, it’s nearing seven Y/n.”

Your eyes widened as you glanced out the window, realizing it was dark outside before you looked back at him, “I’m sorry I didn’t even realize…”

Jungkook rounded the table, fingers dragging to your book before shutting it, “Enough of burying yourself in work.”

You frowned before you glanced up at him, “Do you have something in mind for us then?”

“Dinner,” Jungkook replied with a tilt of his head, “But first come, we should check on Fenrir and…you’ll enjoy the walk.”

You took the hand he offered you before hooking onto his arm as you both walked down the hall, it was a quiet night but the glances maids and nobles alike didn’t surpass you, the looks never went away.

You tried your best to ignore them as you entered to the courtyard, lips parting as you both stepped out.

Large fluffy snowflakes fell from the sky, almost shimmering against firelight as they softly landed on the ground, small piles of powder already forming as you looked around, enchanted at the sight, “It’s snowing…!” Your lips twisted into a smile, “I’ve never seen snowflakes so large…”

Jungkook’s eyes softened on you as he smiled, “I figured so, it’s our first of many snowfall to come this winter. I thought you might like to see it.”

Jungkook had led you down to the stables but your eyes were still captivated by the sky, filled with little white puffs that gracefully landed onto the ground, a loud whine however brought you back as you frowned.

“Oh my sweet boy,” You ushered out softly at the sight of seeing Fenrir limp towards you, large tail wagging behind him as you reached out for his face, tenderly rubbing his snout before planting a kiss atop his head, “I’m sorry I haven’t visited you today.”

“I saw him this morning, I let him loose while watching the guards spar,” Jungkook said, “He’s healing, by the time we travel for Yule he’ll be good as new.”

He reached out, giving a firm pat to Fenrir’s side, ��We’ll be taking him with us?” You glanced back at him in surprise.

“Wolves will be roaming for food no doubt by the time we leave, it would be most safe to have him with us to scare off any predators.” Jungkook replied with a nod, “...He’s also bound to you, the grief he’d give royal staff would be something I’d never hear the end of from my father.”

You gave him a guilty smile, “I wouldn’t want to part with him either.” Fenrir had managed to lick your face causing a quiet giggle to escape you as you leaned away from him, lovingly stroking his neck.

You had gone inside his pen to straighten out his blankets and to pull out one more thicker one, now that it was snowing you were certain the winter nights would be long and cold, you truly did wish the castle would let him stay inside.

After spending a few minutes with Fenrir you let out a soft sigh, wishing to not have to depart from him so soon, but your duties had kept you all day, and tomorrow would most likely not be much better.

Fenrir as if sensing this let out a whine, his ears flattening against his head and his tail fell, “Don’t look like that,” You whispered out, your heart aching for him as you rubbed his ears, “I’ll be back tomorrow, and maybe Jungkook will let you out again.”

“We’ll see,” Jungkook replied neutral, “Inside Fenrir.”

It was a soft command the Fenrir hesitated to listen too, “Inside.” Jungkook repeated more firm making the wolf whine once more as he went back into his pen, making circles before he laid down, another high pitched whine escaping him.

“I’ll be back soon.” You whispered before kissing his head once more, closing his gate as you tried to not let his whines make you sad.

Jungkook had extended his elbow out to you once more as you took it, sighing with a frown as you gave the pen one last look, “It’s only a day, he’ll survive.”

“I still don’t know why we can’t keep him in the castle…” Your words trailed off at the sight ahead.

A silvery cloaked figured and…Wheein, bundled up in a green cloak, cheeks rosy pink from the chill as you both paused, it hadn’t been fair that you hadn’t even gotten to see her since she had been trialed.

You had immediately left Jungkook’s side, “Wheein!”

Tears filling your eyes as she met you halfway, “Y/n! I’m so, so incredibly sorry!” She whispered out as you both embraced, tears of joy, tears of relief, you weren’t sure, but seeing her in person, being able to tightly hug her.

It had all suddenly rushed in your mind, that what you had committed, why you had done it, it wasn’t just for your own survival, but it was for the survival of someone else, your arms squeezed around her.

You broke away from her, grabbing her hands in our own as you both looked at one another, Wheein immediately noticing your tiredness, “Are you okay?” She whispered out.

“You were nearly executed, I should be asking you that.” You frowned.

“But you…” Wheein couldn’t bring herself to say the words, the silence loud as you looked away from her.

Your eyes dropped down to her own gloved hands before finally back at her, “You are alive, and so am I. I will be okay…with time.”

“You should be at home resting with your family Wheein.” Jungkook had decided to step into the conversation, words softly reprimanding.

“I couldn’t stay away any longer, not after everything that has happened. I owe you both my life, and I wanted to give my thanks for all you have done for me. As well as…” Wheein frowned disapprovingly as she turned to the cloaked figure.

Taehyung.

“I’ve heard about the ill-spoken words.” Wheein stared him down as she let go of her hands, taking a few steps back as she gestured the man over.

Taehyung frowned, scratching his cheek as he shuffled in front of you, “What I accused you of Princess…I cannot take back my words, but all I can do is ask for your forgiveness.”

You gaped as he dropped to one knee, bowing his head, “I spoke without thinking and let my emotions get the better of me.”

“Taehyung…” You whispered softly, true his words had wounded you but you couldn’t entirely blame him, you had no idea what would do if Jungkook was in such a similar situation, “While your words hurt, being upset like that is understandable. We were all afraid of what would happen, I would never hold it against you.”

“Stand up Taehyung,” Jungkook spoke, his eyes not quite as kind as yours but it seemed he had a similar line of thought, “While your words were border treason…” He trailed off, glancing down at you briefly, “If the love of my life was also on death's doors, there’s no telling the hell I would raise.

“Love of your life?” Wheein squeaked out, clearly embarrassed at the comparison, but it made a soft smile tug on your lips.

Taehyung bowed at this, “I won’t speak out of line again. I still hope to one day serve as your hand Your Highness.”

Jungkook snorted, “We’ll see about that. Now you need to escort Wheein back-”

“With all do respect,” Wheein spoke up, a small shy smile on her face, “I would like to return from my leave early, I would like nothing more then to be back in service to the Princess once more.”

Jungkook frowned disapprovingly but you had spoke before he did, “You are always welcomed to return Wheein, your company would be a light that I need right now.”

Jungkook sighed, “Very well, then return to your quarters for the night,” He began walking, pulling you along with him, “And we’ll see you in the morning.”

Snow fell quietly and you could hear the owls trill out, your heart feeling just a little more light, the road ahead would be only just as treacherous, but with Jungkook by your side, and the friends you had made.

You could only hope it would be enough.

#bts #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader smut #jungkook smut #prince!jungkook #prince!jungkook x reader #bts au #jungkook imagine

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beefboyandbabygirl · 1 year ago

Text

Titty-Shirt! (18+)

pairing: pervert!rollercoaster operator!jeonghan x bigtiddie!fem!reader

genre: theme park au??? lmao, coworkers to lovers, kinda enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, lil crack, lil angst

description: you start your new job and your mentor, jeonghan, is the biggest piece of shit you've ever met. you swear you hate him. you swear. he's just also the most gorgeous man you've ever seen.

warnings: whew this requires a lot of warning, first of all a lot of DUBCON BEHAVIOR FROM JEONGHAN INITIALLY (we know she enjoys it to some extent, but he doesnt know), hes a sleazy perverted fuck, tiddie playing, tiddie sucking, tiddie fucking, fingering (f. receiving), dry humping, mirror sex, praise (f. receiving), dirty talk, FINGER SUCKING HNG, a lil degradation (f. receiving), meanie condescending jeonghan turning all soft for ur tiddies :(, V TIDDIE-CENTRIC IF U COULDNT TELL, belinda loves jeonghan, WEED LOTTA WEED, explicit depictions of smoking weed, high sex, this fic sounds rough but it actually has some really soft cute moments, im pretty sure thats it lmk if i forgot smth

quotes from babygirl (@joshibambi): "shove ur cock down my throat treat me like the whore i am", "FUCKING STEP ON ME", "omg hes so disgusting..... im so attracted to him"

wordcount: 13.2k

a/n: the way i raced 2 finish this before im actually moving out... ALSO thinking ab making this a series? like one for each member, the theme being "unusual jobs". like not stuff youd immediately think of like coffee shop or lawyer or ceo or whatever. like. strange jobs. would u guys b on board?

“We’re so excited to have you working with us.”

She had a mole on her nose that was hard to ignore. It was big and exceptionally round - your thoughts flitted back to your dearest Discovery Channel, and how amazing it was that nature could create such perfect spheres. The thought of your couch and your blanket and your most cherished nature docs brought upon a wave of uncertainty. You could just be lying at home, you thought.

“Happy to be here,” you smiled tightly. She was your new manager and she was short and stout and had gray hair and a lovely smile and a round mole on her nose. You tried not to make it obvious you were staring at it.

You were standing in your city’s local theme park under a long path with flower archways. People, kids and parents and ninth graders, swarmed around like bees, standing at booths and in lines to old, janky, rusted roller coasters. It was summer and you were wearing the branded shirt they’d given you, slightly too small, and the matching cap. Insects buzzed past your stray hairs and you looked up at the bright blue sky.

You needed a job, you had known, and your mom had certainly known it too, so you could only lounge around after graduating for a short while, before you opted to apply. This had been your last choice. You’d tried to become some sort of lobby-worker, tried makeup stores and even regular stores. You used to make fun of the people who worked here. But now that person was you, and standing under the archways in the summer sun slathered in sunscreen, you figured you would make the best of it until the busy season was over.

“So,” your manager, Belinda, began after a brief pause of polite nods, “new employees such as yourself are required to be trained and surveyed by an existing worker for a two-week period, but after that you get to run the rides all by yourself.”

She said it like it was something to look forward to. You tried to believe that it was.

“Of course,” you said, and once again the space between you was filled with polite and exaggerated nodding. “Need to learn first before you get to be the master.”

“Exactly!” she said. Her lipstick was barbie-pink and a little overlined on the right side. She smelled faintly of gasoline. “So we’re handing you off to one of our star-employees!”

You hummed and noticed her taking a step backwards, indicating you to follow. She began walking, trudging over the cobbled paths and shuffling awkwardly in between walls of people. You followed behind. “He’s been working here for the past two years, so he knows the place in and out.”

As you walked, passing twisting, gnarly tracks with screams emanating from them and stands with oversized, China-made plushies hanging from them, you tried to imagine what a star-employee at Caratland Theme Park looked like.

It was probably someone that loved roller coasters, maybe someone like yourself, who strived for approval and perfection, maybe someone that found a certain joy in being a good service experience for guests. Someone who was good with kids?

“So you’ll be training with him for a bit before we leave you alone with the coasters, of course, but it should be no trouble, he’s a fun guy!”

You passed by a haunted house, where a group of kids psyched each other up in the queue. Dodging a tree, you finally came up on a certain blue ride where Belinda stopped and put her hands on her hips, power posing in front of the creaky, old machinery.

The Pirate Swing. That’s what it was called, and it was a big ship attached to a huge, metal pole on each side, and it was currently swooshing up and down with a large, grating sound. You cringed at it. Belinda noticed and frowned, fingers fiddling with the edge of her shirt. “Maybe we should oil that one.”

Kids and parents were lined up at the stairway leading up to it in a parade of artificial polyester colors, and on the edge of the platform where the ship was shoveling through the air, a little booth was sat. Peeking through the frankly grimy windows, you could see him. He was slumped back in a wooden chair, wearing the same shirt as you and Belinda, and wearing big, blocky, black sunglasses.

“Jeonghan!” she called, and you saw the figure jolt. He looked briefly dazed, before he snapped his head up to peer through the glass, smiling and waving. The kids in line turned to glare at you. He scrambled up from his seat clumsily and with sporadic movement, and you both watched how he hunched over the door, shaking it in its frame before it finally let open. He took one long step out the door and was finally outside, looking down at you from the platform and leaning on the railing.

“Belinda! Nice to see you,” he breathed, smiling in a way that seemed to indicate he did not find the prior sequence of events embarrassing. In fact, he seemed to think he had the upper hand - the confidence rolled off of him in waves. You grimaced.

You could see him much better now that he was outside, not broken up by the greasy glass, and whatever you had envisioned the star-employee to look like, this was not it. He was young, maybe just a little older than you, and he was thin, with long black hair that just kissed his shoulders. About half of his face was hidden away behind the frankly humongous sunglasses on his face, but he had pale pink lips and a pronounced cupid's bow, and even though you were a little skeptical of him, the cockiness in his smile was well-received.

“This is Y/n!” Belinda said (yelling to overpower the severely loud child glee), gesturing to you, and you almost felt self-conscious when he looked over at you and smiled. “She’s a new employee and you’ll be her mentor during her training period.”

“Sure thing!” he said simply. Again with the polite nods, you thought, before you felt Belinda’s hand on your shoulder. You glanced over and she squeezed.

“Good luck, Y/n! You’re in great hands!” Now that you weren’t so sure about. Had the two of you not seen the same thing?

You mumbled a thanks and she padded away, once more dodging and weaving through huge chains of people, and you squinted after her, before you turned back to Jeonghan. He was already looking at you, a lazy smile on his lips.

“Welcome to The Pirate Swing, matey! Get up here and let me show you the ropes,” he padded back to the booth, now visibly more relaxed, as his back returned in a hunch. “I should probably stop the ride,” he mumbled to himself, pressing a button on a long controlpanel with a grid of eight buttons.

You climbed up the stairs unsurely, hand smoothing over the railing as you went. At the top you squeezed in beside Jeonghan. It was a fairly small space, just big enough for the two of you to stand next to each other. Jeonghan smiled a straight smile at you, before brushing past you to let out the dizzy guests.

“Was it a good ride?!” You heard him ask distantly, while you studied the interior of the booth.

It was reeking with a sweet herbal stench, and for a moment you might’ve chalked it up to sweat and cologne, but when your gaze danced over the grid, you became aware of a small, open ziploc of weed on the countertop, crumbs of it dotted by the opening. An energy drink, most certainly warm from the sun flowing in, was perched next to it, and you saw more cans by the foot of the wooden chair (it seemed like a chair that had been dragged in from somewhere else - it was almost reminiscent of the one from your grandma’s house).

You grimaced, looking over to where Jeonghan was waving kids off and shuffling over to let in people from the queue, a big sign for checking heights in his hand. The sunglasses, of course, you thought and frowned at the room. Luckily it seemed pretty straight forward, so maybe you could escape this Jeonghan character earlier than two weeks.

“Right,” Jeonghan clapped his hands together, pushing past you again. “This is how you turn it on,” he said and pressed one long, skinny finger to a black button that read ‘dispatch’.

Sure enough, the huge metal set to work again, screeching as it lifted a boat-full of nuclear families through the air.

“You turn it off with this other one. Usually rides just stop by themselves when they reach the end, but since we got a little shitty one today it’s manual.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding along and watching when his hand danced and pointed to the set of buttons.

“That’s pretty much it!” he said, collapsing in his chair again, sunglasses sliding halfway down his nose and revealing his bloodshot eyes.

“What about the other buttons?” you ask pointedly, arms crossed.

“Don’t worry about them, sweet cheeks,” he waved you off. “They don’t do much.”

The empty cans by his chair clattered when he reached down a hand for one, toppling over and hitting the metal flooring. You scrunched your nose in disgust.

“I like your shirt,” he mumbled, nimble fingers picking up a particular empty can. It was bent on one side, little holes pricked in it - it was a makeshift bong. You scoffed at him. This was the star-employee?

“We have the same shirt,” you deadpanned.

“Yeah, but I like yours better,” he grinned lazily, can now in hand, when he leaned forward to fetch the ziploc of weed. “Nice and tight.”

“You’re gross,” you spat, brows furrowed. “This is a kid’s establishment, you know that, right?”

“Ninth graders fuck here all the time,” he shrugged. You gasped, not only because it was an extremely gross fact, but also because that was not what you were suggesting. “I’m referring to the fucking weed in your hand, jackass!”

“Woah, calm down!” He shushed you, and you might’ve genuinely scared him, because he looked around each window of the booth, light cascading down his tan skin. He was wearing a pair of shorts, and you saw his knee bounce. When he’d secured the area, he turned to you with a hiss: “That’s a secret, woman! You can’t just throw words like that around.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t smoke here!” You snapped, but Jeonghan was doing exactly the opposite. Ducking down so it wasn’t totally visible from the windows, he’d placed a little nugget of weed on the grate, and was now setting it alight with Transformers-print lighter.

“This is your first day, right? Trust, you’re gonna end up being high on the job too,” he ended his sentence by placing his lips around the mouth of the can, sucking in smoke.

“That’s such a safety hazard,” you murmured, looking down at him from where you stood. He pulled away, smoke still in his mouth and you saw a twinkle in his eyes from above his falling sunglasses. Then he lunged forward and blew it into your face, a concentrated stream of weed smoke bouncing off your shiny cheeks. “Hey!”

You sputtered and spat, shoulders tense and straining against the fabric of your shirt. Jeonghan settled back down in his chair, legs spread.

“The kids love me! With or without weed!” he said, voice a little groggy from the smoke. You coughed, discontent.

“Maybe they love you because you get them contact-high,” you mumbled under your breath. Jeonghan grinned at that.

Suddenly he leaned back in his chair to study you, one hand on the can, the other taking off his sunglasses. He stared up at you with fire-red eyes and soft, long hair and a bemused grin on his lips. Seeing his full face, you gulped under his intense gaze. He was really pretty. Annoying. More annoying than pretty. But still.

Distantly, kids screamed and a constant buzz of countless conversations overlapped in each inch of the park. Jeonghan reached out a finger and poked your jean-clad hip once.

“You’re funny,” was all he said, something resembling curiosity in his eyes. “Yeah. Funny girl with the tight shirt.”

You were going to retaliate (they truly had run out of your size and had opted for this as a temporary option, it wasn’t your fault!), but Jeonghan coughed suddenly, eyebrows furrowing as he sat back up in his seat.

“Oh shit, should probably stop the ride now.” _____________________________

You thought about quitting.

You could honestly say that Jeonghan made you think about quitting, and maybe you would even have brought the plan into action, had it not been for the fact that you had been rejected from just about every other job that you’d applied to. It seemed you were stuck.

You showed up the next day in your shirt and it felt even tighter than the day prior, and the cap tightened around your scalp like you were a toy in a claw machine.

Fortunately for you, the park seemed much less crowded today. It was a Wednesday, parents were still working and apparently no one sought out the thrill of scary, old, decaying rides on such afternoons. You admired how much lovelier it was when it was still, as you walked up to The Pirate Swing.

“Hey, titty-shirt!”

The loveliness was ruined.

Jeongan was standing on the railing with someone else you didn’t recognize, long, black hair swaying out from the rim of his cap. He waved enthusiastically, watching your form slump at his words.

“Hey, Jeonghan,” you muttered, approaching the steps. The boy beside him looked mildly uncomfortable at the interaction.

“It’s a good thing you’re here, N/n - can I call you N/n?” he didn’t let you answer, simply continued talking like a telemarketer. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re here. Me and my buddy, Junhui, from the Beetle Bug ride were just discussing something that I think is extremely valuable to learn about this place!”

“Are you gonna teach me about the rest of the buttons?” you drawled, eyes half closed in feigned boredom (as much as you disliked him, it certainly wasn’t boring).

“No!” Jeonghan snapped his fingers at you. You noticed he had this way of smiling, that irked you. It was void of sincerity and was instead wolfish and teasing, something genuinely animalistic and mean-spirited. It was distasteful.

“On days like these-” he hovers and outstretched hand to gesture to the mostly bare land of the theme park, “- you can steal food from the restaurants.”

After just one eight hour shift with Jeonghan, you find yourself not even remotely surprised at this. You cross your arms over your chest (Jeonghan’s eyes briefly flick down to them, and you think you might actually hate him): “I have a packed lunch.”

“Packed lunches are for geeks and nerds,” he said, unbothered. “You can come along if you want to get some delicious, warm pizza, or you can stay here like a loser and explain to every kid that comes by, that you’re not allowed to give them a ride on the coaster and watch them cry until you get fired. Your choice, babe.”

“Don’t call me that,” you snarled. Jeonghan shrugged with puckered lips and the Beatle Bug guy - Junhui - scrunched his face in disgust at the two of you.

“Not gonna lie, I’m gonna go find Seungkwan,” he said, not even attempting to hide his dismay for your dynamic. He brushed past you on the stairs, hands buried in his pockets. “If you guys fuck, do it in the bathroom Chan uses!” he yelled, trudging past the pillars that held up the haunted house.

“Sure thing, Jun!” Jeonghan smiled, and you could punch him. Again that animalistic, joyful, laughing-at-you-not-laughing-with-you smile.

“What if I snitch on you?” you asked, hoping it would knock some sort of sense into him, but he only shrugged.

“Belinda loves me. Whenever she works on Valentine’s day, she cries in her office and I let her rant about her shitty boyfriends,” the visual was somehow not hard to imagine. Belinda in her office chair (you’d seen it once, and all you could say was the interior looked like something from a log cabin) and Jeonghan, 19, feeding into everything she said. “You can say what you want, but she’ll just fire you for making up rumors.”

Your brows furrowed. “That’s so concerning.”

“Nothing about this place works right,” he admitted and it was maybe the only time you’d sensed an ounce of truth in his words. “So, are you coming?”

You hesitated. You really were working up a real distaste for Jeonghan, but talking to spoiled, crying kids seemed worse than anything else at the moment. You decided you could live through Jeonghan’s lewd comments and maybe make friends with some other park workers.

“Okay.”

“I knew you loved me,” he teased, and then grabbed your wrist from the top of the steps, bouncing down and pulling you along with him. “Hey!” you yelped, but Jeonghan was, as always, unbothered.

He pulled you by a narrow walkway into the toilets, passing by a single, confused family, as you stumbled behind him. There was a fountain with a hen figurine on top, which he steered around, your arm jerking limply, as he went down a flower-walkway.

“You do this often?” you remarked, out of breath from jogging to match his strides.

“Oh yeah. Mingyu works there and he’s like 16, he lets me do anything,” Jeonghan giggled evilly, glancing over his shoulder once, and you gulped, and hated the way his eyes were so big and pretty, and the way his hair blowed softly along carvings of his cheeks.

“It’s great that you have so many people here to enable your bad habits,” you said. Whatever sarcasm you portrayed in your tone, Jeonghan ignored it, still smiling when he said: “Right?”

When you stopped you were standing on the backside of a blocky building - one of the many offers of food you provided, prices marked up to drain the suburbs of their cash. You felt something underfoot, and looked down on the gravelly, rustic pavement, only to see circa 20 cigarettes jammed in between the rocks. You scrunched your nose.

“What? You don’t like cigs?” you looked up at Jeonghan’s voice, to see him grinning cheekily at you. His eyes sparkled and for maybe just a second it was kind of attractive.

“I don’t..” you broke off eye contact. “I don’t mind, it’s just.. Is everyone here like you?”

“Sweetheart,” he tutted, and you nearly flinched at the feeling of his long fingers tapping your cheek, cool on the warming skin. You looked back up at him and he had tilted his head to the side. Why was he being attractive? Why were you finding him attractive? “There’s no one like me.”

Before you could respond, Jeonghan pushed open the backdoor, the heat of the kitchen simmering out in one brief wind, before it slammed shut behind him, and you were left, alone and dumbfounded on the stones in a mountain of cigs.

Then you scoffed.

You stood for a moment, letting the fresh air cool the inevitable warmth on your cheeks, huffing (because you were annoyed, you told yourself, not because he had just done something terribly, horribly attractive!) and puffing with your arms crossed over your too-tight-shirt.

Then you pushed open the door and stepped inside the tiled kitchen.

The room was filled with steam and it smelled like canned marinara sauce and fake cheese and most of all it was unbearably hot - so hot and humid, you felt the particles of water sitting on the fabric of your shirt. There was a decidedly oversize pot simmering with sauce on a stovetop, and on a hotplate three untouched pizzas sat; one with potato-topping, one pepperoni and one margarita.

A very tall boy was running frantically around the kitchen, three different kitchen utensils in his clenched fist like claws. Sweat was dripping down the side of his frowning face and red speckled his shiny cheeks. Jeonghan draped himself against the counter lazily.

“It’s just me today,” the boy, Mingyu, cried, “Thomas sent home the other two because there’s no one in the park, but I can’t do this alone!”

“Seems real stressful, Gyu,” Jeonghan mumbled, leaning on his hand.

“Yeah, so if you aren’t too busy, maybe you could stir the marinar-”

“That’s really great, man. You’re doing God’s work. But hey, we’re just gonna-” While Mingyu’s back was turned, the tall boy hunched over the sauce, Jeonghan limply pushed the pepperoni pizza to the edge of the hotplate with a pair of tongs. He winked at you, scooping the pizza into his open palm. “We’re just gonna head out now.”

“Jeonghan, please help me out and don’t-”

Mingyu turned around and his tortured expression dropped into one of shock, his tense limbs falling limp at his sides. Jeonghan stood, hand in the cookie jar and pizza in his palm, frozen in front of him with a sort of cartoonish ‘oopsie’-face. Steam clouded the room while you watched from the doorway.

Mingyu’s eyes narrowed and when he spoke again, his voice was lowered in warning: “Jeonghan. We’ve talked about this. Put. The pizza. Down.”

There was a moment of indifferent silence. Jeonghan contemplated.

Then he nodded, lips pursed and eyes cast down to the pizza.

“You know… I would.. But. Y/N, OPEN THE DOOR OR KNOCK HIM OUT!”

“WHAT?”

“OPEN THE DOOR.”

You did. Apparently Mingyu hadn’t seen you, because he jumped at your voice behind him, body twisting to see you just in time for you to open the door and Jeonghan came scrambling out of it like a rat. You cannot believe you just aided this man’s crimes, you think, Mingyu’s expression of horror forever imprinted in your retina, before you followed suit.

However bad Mingyu’s puppy expression made you feel, the rush of adrenaline as you bolted down the pavement under row after row of flowers and sunbeams brought forth something sinister and mean that had you giggling at your evil-doing. Jeonghan was laughing as well, and his genuine laugh was bright and bubbly and very unlike him.

Mingyu sprung open the door behind you, yelling over your shoulders: “HOODLUMS! THIEVES! YOU’RE LUCKY I CAN’T LEAVE THIS SAUCE.”

This made the both of you laugh even harder, disappearing behind another building, leading up to the chicken-fountain. You caught up to him, still holding the pizza in his open palms, now sweating and panting in between bright, heart-thrumming giggles.

“I thought-” you panted, bending at your knees and warding away the image of the betrayed Mingyu. “I thought you said he let you do whatever he wanted.”

“Yeah,” Jeonghan heaved, cheeks rosy and shiny, as he gently padded over to a bench with the pizza out like the plate in the hand of Oliver Twist. “That’s my bad. I forget he was 16 two years ago and has since then lost all respect for me.”

This made you laugh. This had your eyes squinting closed and a deep, ringing laugh bouncing up your ribcage and your throat and exploding into the summertime. Eyes closed, you missed the way Jeonghan’s face lit up at that.

“That made you laugh? Self-deprecation?” he asked incredulously, but somehow amazed.

“Oh,” you cried, opening your eyes and willing your laughter to calm. “I think it’s just the first time you haven’t been baselessly confident and cocky.”

“Baseless?” Jeonghan echoed, face screwed in poorly-concealed glee.

“Yeah,” you nodded, face also screwed in poorly-concealed glee.

“What? Am I supposed to collect, like, fuckin’ data?”

“Yeah, evidence.”

“EVIDENCE?”

You and Jeonghan went back to The Pirate Swing, splitting the pizza in the booth and every 45 minutes or so, letting guests on when they came by. He was still annoying and in all fairness he’d dragged you into his crimes against humanity. But. He was also a little funny and sweet.

And the pizza did taste better than your packed lunch. _____________________________

Two days of normal work followed.

There were too many people to really fuck around, so you and Jeonghan stayed in the booth, and you even managed to pressure him into telling you about the rest of the buttons, as well as the mechanics of the bigger machines.

Everytime Jeonghan saw you he greeted you with “Hey titty-shirt!”, equally enthusiastic each time. Everytime the clock hands read 8 PM he pulled out his weed and began smoking. Everytime he began smoking he snaked a hand on the back of your leg where you stood (still no chair!) beside him, rubbing the flesh under his palm. You shooed him away half-heartedly, then felt guilty for not meaning it. Jeonghan was a sleazy piece of shit, but his hand was warm and felt nice on your thigh. You liked to tell yourself you were just lonely or something.

“TITTY-SHIRT!”

That Saturday you came walking into work, still wearing your shirt and your cap, and was immediately alerted to the fact that something was off; Jeonghan was ecstatic.

He always had this front of joy and constant bemusement, but you’d learned to read how he yearned for his shift to end - you saw it sometimes when he gazed out of the windows of the booth, thinking you were surveying the kids. That day, he was happy. Genuinely.

“TITTY-SHIRT!” he called again, causing a family of blonde children to turn their heads in dismay. He paid them no mind, rushing down the stairs with loud, trampling steps, to meet you at the foot of the platform, before you could even settle down in the booth. He grabbed your forearms in his hands and grinned at you childishly. You couldn’t help the small, bemused smile that parted your lips.

“Great fuckin’ news,” he said, “Belinda is fucking gone. M.I.A.”

“Okay?” you grimaced, unsure of what he was getting at.

“Okay?! Do you know what this means?”

“No, not particularly,” you mumbled.

“This whole fuckin’ area,” he let go of your arms to motion vigorously to your part of the park. "Unsupervised. Unaccounted for.”

“Okay?”

“Okay?! This means we’re gonna go shoot the shit at the arcade, come on!” He threw a hand over his shoulder to gesture to the arcade area. You frowned and crossed your arms challengingly.

“Shouldn’t we go take care of our coaster?”

“Are you kidding me? If no one is working it, people just assume it’s shut down for maintenance. Come on, this only happens, like, twice a year!” He whined, stomping his worn-down Nike sneakers into the pavement and pouting at you. You hated to admit it made your facade melt like an overpriced ice-cream in the hand of a child.

“Alright, but-”

“Yes!”

Without further nonsense, Jeonghan grabbed your hand in his, and began to once more drag you through the park. As you ran behind him, you looked at your interlocked hands and thought, briefly, that it wasn’t too bad to look at. And it felt kind of good.

“What happened to Belinda?”

“God knows, I think it was something with her kids.”

“She has kids?!”

You and Jeonghan messed around at the arcade - Jeonghan miraculously had been granted the keys to the arcade by Belinda (something about her trusting him?), and unlocked the machines and you played games with already-used coins.

First was Whack-A-Mole, then the boxing game, then those motorcycle races, and then you played the basketball game.

“I’m gonna beat you!” you squealed, throwing a miniature basketball through the hoop with a small jump. You grinned in triumph when it landed right, punching the air like a dork and turning to him with victoriously glean.

Jeonghan wasn’t even played, you realized. You’d been so caught up in actually landing the ball in the hoop that you’d managed to forgo the way Jeonghan leaned against his lane, eyes half lidded and shadowed under his cap. You turned to him, now much more aware that you’d been acting like a dork.

“Uh, aren’t you gonna play?” you asked sheepishly, blushing. You wished you’d missed how Jeonghan’s lips quirked upwards at the sight.

“No,” he sang, “I think I’m just gonna stay here and watch you play.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspiciously, and that was all Jeonghan needed before he sighed and shrugged in defeat, like a criminal caught for his crimes.

“Sorry, I just like watching your tits bounce when you get all excited,” he deadpanned. Your mouth gaped open and crossed your arm over your chest.

“You’re so gross, Jeonghan!” you said, now thoroughly uninterested in playing anymore. Jeonghan only scoffed though, to which you snapped your head back to him with an outraged expression. He smiled at you in that cheeky son-of-a-bitch way.

“Oh, don’t act like that,” he said cockily.

“Like what?”

He laughed, rolling his eyes, letting a small pause linger in the space between you. You hoped he couldn’t see the way your eyes twinkled with excitement every time he said something like this. As hot as he was, Jeonghan was a cocky, sleazy piece of shit and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Like you’re scandalized,” he said simply. You wanted to respond, wanted to defend your honor, but Jeonghan saw right through you, and he took one step forward to speak again: “Like you hate the way I talk to you. You act all innocent and nice and so uptight, but you know what?”

He took daring steps forward, one after another, until you were half-sat on the basketball machine and he stood, looming over you, surprisingly menacing despite the get-up. The air seemed to suddenly thicken and warm, tasting foul in your mouth. Then he leaned in, eyes glimmering brilliantly with amusement and that evil smile on his lips, breath hitting yours.

“I think you love being treated like a slut.”

Fuck.

He was so close to you, body heat rolling into you. You knew he saw the mechanisms of your brain turning behind your eyes, saw the fear when you realized he had seen right through you, and he smiled, and he might as well have had fucking horns.

He tilted his head, and, fuck, if every angle of his face wasn’t perfect. It was unfair. It was so unfair.

“I-I don’t-” your voice was a meek, half-hearted protest, cut off before you could even begin.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “I think you do. You don’t just let any man massage your thigh, hm?”

At those words, his hand dropped onto your thigh, finger digging into soft flesh. You mewled at the feeling, causing his grin to spread wider.

“Oh, poor baby,” he pouted in fake-sympathy. “Am I making you wet?”

“JEONGHAN!”

Thank God for Kwon Soonyoung with the impeccable timing.

Soonyoung was “the pool boy” - he did not work at the pools, but he was the victim of a dunking-machine that was set up in the summertime. Kids and adults alike paid to throw balls at a big, red button that would lower a trapdoor and dunk Soonyoung in ice-cold water. You’d seen it in action and it was pretty hilarious.

At his voice, you and Jeonghan scrambled apart, his hand flying off your thigh and body twisting to back away from you, and you dropping off the machine and landing flat on your feet, blushing wildly and somewhat out of breath.

Soonyoung, the poor boy, was sprinting through the park, stopping awkwardly where you and Jeonghan had been standing. He was out of breath and had a wild look in his eyes, like he was being chased by some supernatural monster.

“Belinda is back! Get back to your coasters!” If he’d noticed your philandering he certainly didn’t mention it, breaking into a sprint again the second the words had left his lips.

“Shit, thank you, Soonyoung!” Jeonghan yelled, receiving only a limp thumbs-up from the trackstar in response. Jeonghan grabbed your hand and the two of you ran back to The Pirate Swing as fast as your legs could take you.

Your heart fluttered at your interlocked hands again, and you stared at them, focused on them, as the world became a blurred mess around you. His warmth streamed into you.

You couldn’t even look at him the rest of the shift. Something about his confrontation stirred a mimicking phenomenon in you. Did you want to fuck Jeonghan? You did, you realized, and thus you were unable to raise your gaze from the floor, pressing yourself against the wall to be far enough away from him, that he couldn’t touch your thigh again. He didn’t. He just let your cheeks blaze and pressed buttons and talked to kids, and he even waved at Belinda when she walked by, and she smiled wide and waved back.

You went home at 9 PM, shirt too tight around your chest, and chest too tight around your heart. You simply couldn’t believe it, because not only did you want to fuck Jeonghan;

You had a fucking crush on him. _____________________________

Having a crush on Yoon Jeonghan was maybe the worst revelation you’d had in your life.

You’d kept all the things you admired about him hidden under the veil of your shirt; he was sleazy and gross and he smoked weed at work and had a certain disregard for child safety. But, and there was always a but, you realized, he was also witty and easy to talk to, and it was cute when he was happy or he got excited about something, and he was so damn charismatic, and you realized you would do anything to see him with that childlike joy again.

The worst part was that Jeonghan did not like you back. In fact, you couldn’t even imagine him liking anyone. He thought you were hot and wanted to fuck and that was the end of it. All the ways you cared about him were unreciprocated. He did not care to see you happy. He did not care for the twinkle in your eyes when you were excited. He liked your tits in your shirt and was working his fingers up, day by day, to touch you. Yoon Jeonghan did not like you back.

Three days of work passed, three days of being muted and awkward around him. Jeonghan’s shine was not dulled by your lack though. The kids loved him, Belinda loved him, and he didn’t love anyone back - just let himself be showered in admiration. He was greedy like that. He took all the love and gave none out.

On this particular day, all you did was lay in your bed before work, willing time to stop so you wouldn’t have to go. Legs flopped on top of your bedsheets, work shirt on and cap on your bedside. You waited.

You waited with a metal ball in your stomach, rolling around and causing a ruckus. It rested heavy there, rolling to and fro and grazing your heart from time to time, and it hurt.

Maybe the reason it felt this bad was because you did it to yourself. Of course, Jeonghan wouldn’t like you back. He was Jeonghan. And yet, you’d had your guard down and his effortless charms had worked their way into your brain. You wondered how many girls had been in the same exact position as you; being graced with Jeonghan’s presence, being smitten by it, and now lying in bed, realizing the admiration would never be bounced back to them.

You went to work.

In the damn shirt, you walked in through the staff-door and journeyed towards The Pirate Swing.

There were so many people that day, you could hardly believe your eyes. The queues were mile-long stretches, and every pathway was spotted with body after body, walls of families, crowds swarming like insects. It was enough to induce a slight panic.

“It’s good that you’re here, Titty-shirt,” Jeonghan said, when you walked into the booth beside him. He had a bit of a wild look in his eye and he was chewing on a banana. You stood by the door of the booth, looking out at the queue - a genuine queue? To The Pirate Swing? - as the boat swung catastrophically behind you. “We’re fucking busy.”

You hummed, then turned your head to him. He had sat down, seemingly exhausted and pouting a little.

“You brought a packed lunch?” you asked, nodding towards the banana in his hand and he looked up at you. His cheeky smile made you want to die.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I stole this from Seungkwan,” he said and you laughed, and you hated that he made you laugh. The walls of the booth muffled the loud, indistinct buzz and shielded you from the chaos. The flimsy, windowed walls had never felt as intimate.

“It’s gonna be a shitty day,” you declared ceremoniously. He grunted something in agreement, voice strangled by the now finished banana. Forever himself, he discarded the peel on the corner of the control panel, among his ziploc of weed and empty cans.

It was a shitty day.

The constant swarming of people, crying children, the non-stop screech of rusted roller coaster tracks; everything brewed together into a pounding headache, as you and Jeonghan hunched together in the booth. Beads of sweat collected on your skin, where the unforgiving sun streamed through the windows.

Around 8 PM you’d had just about enough. Your head was pounding, you were hungry, and most terribly you were sad. You were sad, sitting next to Jeonghan on the dirty, hard floor of the booth, and you could cry every time he said something snarky and lewd to you. He would never like you and you were a fool for ever letting yourself get attached.

The day was constant work, constant talking to kids and putting on an energetic front. Finally the crowd seemed to thin out. Slowly but surely, the suburban families returned home and only a few people remained, and the night time glowed soft and warm.

“Dude,” Jeonghan said, neck craned to look at his phone. With most of the guests gone, he’d finally gotten a chance to waste away on his phone, putting his mouth to his makeshift bong and smoking pot. You kept the booth-door open to let the smoke out. “Wanna go see a crowd of teenagers dunk Soonyoung? Junhui just texted me.”

You were so tired. Every inch of your body yearned to relax where you sat, cross legged on the metal floor. With dark, sunken eyes and no courtesy left, you simply shook your head.

“You sure?” he asked, eyebrows raised. You were just tired enough to miss the small frown on his lips.

“I’m tired, you just go.”

Jeonghan shrugged then and stood up. He left the bong on the floor and stepped over you to exit.

“I’ll be back ASAP!” he yelled out, and you didn’t even try to look at him, to call something witty back. You just sat.

And as if it weren’t the last thing you needed today, just thirty minutes before closing, a woman and her son strolled up The Pirate Swing. You saw them, eyes glazing with worry as you flickered your head to Jeonghan’s empty chair.

“We want a ride!” cawed the woman, holding her son by the hand. You scrambled to your feet, stuttering as you dusted off your pants.

“Uh, I-” hopeful, you looked around, hoping to see Jeonghan and his long, poodle-y hair somewhere near. The pathways were deserted. “I-I actually can’t-”

Not waiting for an explanation, the woman clucked once more: “You’re still open, aren’t ya?”

You nodded, tiredness painted thick and greasy on your face. “Yes, we are, um, open, but I-”

“Well, then give us a ride?!”

This woman was going to be the death of you. Why were they even here now right before closing? You closed your eyes, collecting yourself and mustering each ounce of patience you had left.

“I’m not allowed to because I’m new-”

“Well, where is the operator? Why are you here if you don’t know how it works!”

“He’s, uh,” your face fell, “He’s using the bathroom right no-”

You’re not even sure why you lied.

“Alright,” she huffed, strained and impatient. “Well, you just ruined me and my son’s night!”

She tugged her blonde kid by the hand and began to turn around, grumbling with a red face.

“I’m so sorry, but- it’s a matter of safety-”

“Next time just say you don’t know how to do your job!” she yelled over her shoulder, mean glare coming out over her shapely glasses. Then she was jiggling away with a pouting child.

Your mouth fell open in shock. A part of you wanted to be angry - a part of you was angry - but you found yourself weighed down and sliding down the wall of the booth with a much heavier feeling; you were exhausted.

This was the last straw for tonight, you decided, resolve melting like a dropped ice cream. Booth door half-creaked open and weed vapor in the air, you buried your head in your hands and began to cry. It was small. It was not loud and sorrowful, it was small and petty. Nothing grand about crying on the dirty floor at your workplace. Sniffles and single, wet tears and a quivering lip, all dying out in the soft glow of the fairy light decorating the park.

“Y/n?”

“Shit,” you lifted your head from your hands, wiping hard on your reddened cheeks. Jeonghan was standing in the open door, looking down at you on the floor.

“Sorry, uh-”

“Why are you crying?”

You paused, hands fiddling with the collar of your shirt and effectively covering your breasts. Your breath was shaky and snotty, eyelashes coated in tears. Red patches your skin around your puffy eyes, and your lips pressed into a thin line.

Jeonghan did not look like himself when you looked up at him. It must have been a completely different person, you decided, because his features had tightened and screwed into an expression you had never even seen a hint of before: concern.

It looked so utterly foreign on his face - there was always a lightness to his expression, a joking, teasing look, but now he was frowning and his brows were furrowed and his eyes were big and red and round. It made you feel small and frail. You didn’t like seeing him like that; unwell. But it seemed that feeling was mutual.

“Um,” you began, voice hoarse and shuddering like a frail old fence-gate, that’s been slammed shut. “I’ve just had a shitty fucking day and- this woman came and wanted to ride and she was just so fucking mean when I told her I couldn’t..”

Telling it all again made you feel so pathetic, it wracked another sob from you, hurdling past your lips. You caught it in your hand, pressing it to your mouth and squeezing your eyes shut up.

God, you were pathetic.

But your heavy, heavy eyelashes blinked open and you looked up to see Jeonghan’s expression softened into something else entirely;

Guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately.

“No, it’s fine-”

He dropped to his knees in front of you, now at your level and up close, so you could see every tensed muscle and every strain on his beautiful face.

“I’m sorry I left you alone,” he said solemnly and for the first time since you’d met him, Jeonghan was merely expressing his regret, not bartering for some sort of gain. His words were dripping with sincerity and it was so strange, you had to laugh.

“What?” he asked, a small grin growing on his face. That was more familiar.

“I just- I’ve never seen you so serious, it’s okay, Jeonghan, I forgive you-”

He broke into a laugh as well, rhythmic clucks dancing through the air from the booth, and it immediately cheered you up: he was beautiful and practically glowing, a small rim of light encapsulating him.

“I’m very serious, I think,” he said. You rolled your puffy, old eyes.

There was a significant pause.

Your head lolled over and your gaze landed once more on the makeshift bong by the chair, now abandoned. It reminded you of how different you were. You tried too hard because you liked when people liked you, you were a hard worker, your shirt was too tight. Your shirt was too tight and that’s what had landed you in this situation.

“Can I…” you trailed off, daring to look at him again. “Can I smoke some of your weed?”

Jeonghan’s face was practically split in half the way he was smiling. There was something akin to triumph in his eyes, but it was almost fatally overpowered by sheer, bubbling, striking adoration. It made you blush.

“Of course, babe, I thought you’d never ask,” he breathed, still smiling when he scrambled forward for the bong and stretched out his arm to finger at the control panel, finally feeling the soft plastic and snatching it down to the floor with you.

“Just put your mouth to the can, baby, I’ll light it for you,” he giggled giddily, scrambling for the lighter in his pocket.

“I know how it works,” you tried to sound stern, but you were smiling and your eyes were twinkling.

Jeonghan messily pinched off a nugget of weed and placed it on the gridded holes in the can (which he had pricked with his work badge; “Hi, my name is Jeonghan!”), and you placed it to your mouth, while he held the lighter to it.

“You’re so hardcore,” he said sarcastically, face close to yours as he flicked the lighter, sending a warm flame onto the can, so the nugget lit ablaze.

“Shut up,” you said, and then you inhaled and the flame went out and turned into a glow, and warm, crisp smoke traveled down your throat, leaving it sore and burned. It felt great.

You held it in for a moment, then exhaled, and Jeonghan watched eagerly as your chest rose and fell under the restricting fabric of your shirt.

You and Jeonghan sat side by side for the last half hour, smoking together, eyes turning red and breaths turning sour and casting laughs into the night air. There was a warm buzz in your chest, a low drum, and you basked in the proximity to him, in how the heat of his body met yours in a fierce battle, at how he caught your eye when he joked, and how he smiled when you laughed. Your responsibilities melted away; your shirt felt looser.

“We’re closing now,” you hummed after a while, somehow lighter and heavier at the same time. Your eyelids felt heavy and your cheeks were warm from giggling. Jeonghan placed his hand on your wrist, squeezing and tearing your eyes to his.

“I have such a good idea right now,” he grinned lazily and you couldn't help but echo it. His eyes were red and half-lidded, and his voice was groggy from the smoke. He had run his hand through his hair one too many times and now it was puffier, poodlier than normal. He looked so handsome, you thought, studying the tan from many days in the sun. You figured he didn’t use sunscreen.

“What is it?” you breathed.

“Come on, come with me!”

Then the two of you were sneaking from building to building and giggling indiscreetly, two hunched silhouettes becoming one with the backs of buildings. Jeonghan insisted the two of you go to the toddler playground (Sunshine Dance Club, as it were called), because, in his words: “those dumb prick security guards never bother to actually check it”. He pulled you into the pastel green, red, blue, and yellow dreamscape, pulling you up a wooden tower, where you would be shielded by the railing.

The two of you sat against the railing and waited while a security guard checked the place before closing.

The mischief had made the two of you even more giggly, scratchy throats producing choppy snickering, as you leaned into each other on the wood, breathing in each other’s air. You liked being so close to him, you thought, and you were almost high enough to just spit it out. The distant stream of light overhead revealed his pores, but you liked those too.

“Shut up, shut up,” Jeonghan whispered at one point. “I think he might be coming!”

“You’ve said that three times-”

His hand clasped over your mouth and he fought not to laugh at the surprise in your eyes. Sure enough, this time he was right, as you heard booted footsteps in the distance, and the beam of a flashlight danced across the sloping and bouncing playground.

You held your breath, not only because you feared, for the first time that night, getting caught, but also because Jeonghan had leaned so close to you, that you could see every stirred acrylic in his eye, every color of brown, swirly sundae.

Both of you stopped laughing and stared at each other.

His hand dropped from your lips.

“I have cotton mouth,” he whispered, footsteps fading away. You couldn’t tell if it was the weed or what, but the air seemed thicker and you felt heavier, like imaginary hands were tugging you down. Jeonghan was no better - you couldn’t quite place the emotion on his glowing face. He almost seemed vulnerable.

“Me too,” you whispered, breathless.

A pause.

His eyes flickered down to your lips, pink and plush.

“Can I kiss you?”

You were almost bristling for a moment in pure surprise, before you recollected yourself and nodded eagerly.

“Yeah.”

You thought his lips would smash into yours; you thought he would conquer you, because that would simply be the most Jeonghan-thing he could, to take what was his, to be cheeky and horny and sleazy.

To your utmost surprise, his hand was shaking when he lifted it, brushing so softly, so gently across the skin of your neck, resting on the back of it, cold from the icy, night breeze. His hand kissed the tips of your hair, and he gently slid it up, breath shaking, as he stared at your lips. Then he leaned in.

His lips were soft like the bouncy castle on the edge of the playground, so impossibly gentle and flowing and warm. He breathed out shakily against your skin, eyes squeezed shut. Had you seen it, you would’ve almost believed that the kiss pained him, with the furrowed brows, but you didn’t, and it wasn’t painful at all, it was just that his heart was exploding and so was yours. Tender and slow, that was what it was, and you had never thought you’d use words like that to describe him.

A moment of entangled lips, slow making out and warm air covering your skin, his hand in your hair. The Sunshine Dance Club was filled with the sound of spit.

Then he pulled away, breath still shaking, but now, less vulnerable. His lips curled into a smile, spreading that childlike joy on his face. It made you smile as well.

“That was-” he shook his head at himself, cringing. Then he restarted: “Can I show you something?”

You chuckled, cheeks heavily flushed and eyes twinkling. “What is it?”

The cheekiness returned to his eyes, as he scrambled to his feet: “A surprise.”

And once again the two of you were giggling through the park, this time hand in hand, looking over your shoulders for the security guard that by this time had definitely gone home. The halted steps over the cobbled paths echoed in the dead, empty park.

It would’ve been a strange feeling - seeing everything closed and dark and empty, every inch usually crammed with people strangely void - had you not been entirely consumed by Jeonghan’s presence. His hand in yours, his laugh, his starry eyes, his face softening when he looked at you.

Jeonghan led you into Belinda’s office (he had a key because he was her favorite, he said), allowing you to sit on the edge of her desk, while he sauntered off into an attached room. You sat there, overhead light dull and buzzing, and basked in the log cabin aesthetics. Your chest was warm.

Then, from beyond the other room, sounding much further away and thereby being much bigger than you had initially imagined the attached room to be, you heard the mechanical sound of several switches. They sounded heavy and important, having a sort of resonance that continued into your room, where Belinda’s desk chair was spun halfway.

“Jeonghan?” you called, a twinge of worry in your voice. “What did you do?”

He came jogging back into the office, all wide grinned and puffy-eyed.

“You’ll see.”

Once again he grabbed onto your hand, pulling you off the desk and barging out of the doorway.

The night air enveloped you completely, stealing you away from the warmth of the office, kissing your warm skin, as you stood on the cobble. The feeling was so great, you almost missed what Jeonghan had done.

It was beautiful.

The switches had turned on the lights everywhere. In every color imaginable, illuminating dramatically sloping tracks in the distance, fairy lights on the pathways, signs re-lit, and the whole park before your eyes seemed to have become a disco-ball, sending faint streaks into the star-spotted sky like aurora borealis.

You, now red and green and yellow and blue, let out a disbelieving laugh, smiling wide. You squeezed his hand, unable to communicate further. There was something about it that left you entirely speechless. It was an inability to overcome and conquer the lights before you - your eyes feasted on them much too eagerly.

“What do you think?”

Jeonghan was looking at you.

“It’s-” you sucked in a breath, trying to compose a sudden sincerity you felt. You looked over at him. “It’s so pretty, Jeonghan. It’s really beautiful.”

“I knew you would like it,” he murmured happily, body turned to yours. You turned to him as well.

There was a moment of silence. The two of you basked in the light and in the gentle glow and the cool night, and in each other.

“Thank you for cheering me up,” you said and pursed your lips. He smiled in a gentle way. It looked nice on him.

“It’s nothing,” he said, “we were having fun.”

The conversation lulled again, and while you turned your head back to the light show, the flickering lights and the ombre, Jeonghan continued looking at you.

You felt his eyes on you, and you turned to him, shyly: “You should look at the beautiful lights.”

He shook his head, lips twisting upwards: “No.. Not right now…” And that was all he said.

The words left a bit of a void in you, like a black hole sunk in your stomach and you turned to him curiously. Jeonghan sensed your confusion, because he licked his lips and gave you a knowing smile, and then explained.

“I wanna kiss you again, love.”

And his voice was so angelic, such a grave contrast to the boy you’d come to know, but he’d been so strange tonight. Your first kiss had been so tender, now he was looking at you and his pupils were dilated and a smirk spread across his face, and you needed to know something; just one thing, before you threw yourself at him, and gave to him, something you would not be able to take back.

“Do you just wanna fuck me?” your voice echoed off the walls of the empty park, resounding accusingly. He laughed.

“Of course, I wanna fuck you, baby,” he laughed a little, shaking his head in disbelief. You stayed staring at him, bristling. “You’re hot as shit.”

“No, I mean,” you paused, because suddenly your heart was climbing into your throat and it seemed like everything you’d worried about was true, that you were just another girl that was hexed by his charms. “Do you just wanna fuck me?”

His smirk dropped. There was a moment where all you could hear was wind and the electrical whirring of the many, many lights, draining energy from the earth by the second.

“Do you honestly think I’d do this for just any girl I wanted to fuck?”

“I-”

“I thought you were smarter than that, N/n,” his lips spread once more in a smile, but this one seemed more fitting on his face - condescending and confident. Whatever vulnerability had hung in the air was replaced by warmer, thicker danger. Was it the weed making you feel this way? On edge or excited?

“I just-” you stammered, feeling bashful suddenly. Did that mean he liked you? Yes, that meant he liked you. You had truly not even considered the possibility, not really thought it through the way you had the negative outcome, so now you were standing and you didn’t know how to respond. A stuttering, blubbering mess of red cheeks and avoidant eyes. “I just- I thought you just- because you talk so much about my boobs-”

“Shhhh,” he shushed you. The cocky motherfucker actually shushed you, staring you down in a way that made you feel like prey and taking two steps forward, and closing the gap between you. He was so, so close to you, chest inches away from yours and leaning his face down to tilt his head at you.

“You’re so cute, baby,” he cooed, eyes dancing around your face.

You and him watched it, as one lean hand lifted itself to your chest, tightly wrapped in polyester-fabric. You sucked in a breath. His fingers lightly grazed it, trailing over the soft plushness of it. Then he cupped it, experimentally, like feeling the weight of it in his hand. You whimpered pathetically.

“Hm,” he hummed, ripping his gaze from your tits very briefly at the noise, “you sound so pretty.”

In an effort to steal more noises from your pretty lips, his delicate thumb rubbed over your nipple, watching it harden under the fabric with a bemused smirk. Your breathing became heavy and shaky.

“Can we– please?” you whined, but he only tutted, watching the fat crook under his finger.

“Hang on, sweetheart, I’m having my fun,” he said, nonchalantly, another hand snaking up to your other tit. “Been waiting for this since the first time I saw you.”

You couldn’t help but whimper quietly, his caresses and his intense gaze sending electricity straight to your core. You fingers wrapped around his forearms where they flexed, as he kneaded your chest eagerly.

“That’s right,” he whispered and leaned into you, eyes half lidded and lips wet from spit. “Be a good girl and let me play with your pretty titties.”

Then he kissed you again, groaning into your mouth at the weight of your tits in his hands. His groping became more rough and hurried, as he bit your lip and slipped his tongue in your mouth.

“Fuck, baby, need to get your shirt off, it’s so tight,” he groaned, licking into your mouth. You whined, back arching into his hand. “Poor baby, shirt so tight it’s strangling your pretty tits.”

“Jeonghan, please!” You cried, putting one hand on his chest to push him away from you. He pulled away, lips red and swollen and cheeks delightfully flushed.

“Okay, baby,” he whispered, comfortingly. “Okay, okay, I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.”

You could cry. The way he was touching you so intimately, but refusing to snake his hand down to your burning core, where you could feel yourself fucking dripping. Your body was on fire and your voice was hoarse from the weed that still coursed through your body.

“Please, please,” you mumbled, and it was desperate enough that Jeonghan pulled his hands from your chest (which took more willpower than he was willing to admit), sliding them over your back and pulling you into him. You nosed into the crook of his neck, sighing happily.

“Alright, baby,” He breathed, hand in your hair. You felt his neck crane, looking around.

“Come with me, baby, I know just where to go.”

You didn’t even have time to whine that you didn’t want to go anywhere, you wanted him to touch you. Jeonghan grabbed your hand and crossed the pathway, and you saw the yellow, lit-up sign for the funhouse before you disappeared into the entrance.

The first room had a large circular hallway, and when you stepped onto the red plastic, it rolled a little. You and Jeonghan both stumbled rockily, and you nosedived into his chest. He laughed, steadying you with warm fingers on your waist. “Silly girl,” his voice cooed in your ear.

“Jeonghan, please touch me-”

“We’re almost there, baby,” he said, and he was being a little annoying, because he’d just played with your boobs and made you so fucking wet that your panties were sticking to your folds, and now he was trudging you through the hallways of a funhouse. You both skiddered out of the circular hallway with much trouble.

The next room was slanted, and in your intoxicated mind, this was more than a challenge. The whole room was blue and your knuckles became celeste, as you gripped the slanted railing.

“Jeonghan, I can’t-”

Not another word out of your lips, before Jeonghan was scooping you up in his arms, walking with seemingly no problem through the room. “Shit!” you yelped when he did so, but he only smiled at you, a mixture of adoration and teasing. He ran with you, his bride, through a black and white doorway.

The next room was the mirror maze, and Jeonghan’s face lit up at the sight of it.

“We’re here!” he panted giddily, gently lowering you. You found your footing and looked around, a little speechless at how quickly he’d constructed this plan. There were at least 20 different angles of you, and you cringed at your own disheveled appearance and how your tiny shirt dug into your skin. A hall of reflection, the roof and flooring was pitch black and only you and him existed in the void, copycats at every corner.

You saw Jeonghan in the mirror, walking up behind you. He was smirking, planting his head on your shoulder and peering up at you, as his hands caressed your waist, riding up your shirt and exposing your stomach 20 times over. You hated to say it, but seeing his veiny, big hands on you made your breath hitch.

“Was it not worth it, hmm?” he sang innocently, blinking at you with a bunched up cheek on your shoulder. His sleazy hands worked the fabric upwards, just under the impressive bump of your chest.

His eyes flicked over to the most nearby mirror. Breath becoming shaky, his hands lifted the shirt, finally, over your chest, exposing your simple, black bra and the soft skin of your tits. You could breathe easier, without the fabric digging into your chest.

“Fuck,” he hissed, soft hands immediately dipping inwards to touch over the skin. “Shit, you’re so perfect,” his voice was strangled, all composure gone as he looked at your chest with something akin to wonder.

You moaned, feeling his dick, fully fucking hard from just playing with your soft mounds, grinding into your ass. Like a horny teenage boy, he moaned shakily, big hands covering your boobs and squeezing, and rutting into you from behind. As much as you wanted him to touch you, you couldn’t help but enjoy the sight of Jeonghan so utterly fucked out, using your body to pleasure himself. It was so erotic, the way his pretty face twisted in place and his fingers dug into the fat of your chest, panting into your neck. Then the sight untangled itself from your body.

“Sorry, sorry,” he was out of breath, removing his hips from your ass. “I got too caught up.”

“It’s okay-”

He spun you around, pushing your body against the mirror. You stood back to back with your reflection.

“No, it’s not,” he breathed, working your shirt the rest of the way off hastily. You lifted your arms to help the fabric off.

You very barely registered Jeonghan snaking your pants off, and then his own clothes. You leaned your head on the mirror and you could finally breathe without the tight shirt, and you somehow felt stronger, not vulnerable like you would have expected. And when your eyes flicked to another mirror and you saw Jeonghan shirtless too, you realized the two of you were much more similar now.

Jeonghan was standing in his boxers now, and you in your panties.

“You know, I always thought you’d be more composed during sex,” you mused, returning your focus to him and smiling teasingly, because even now he was transfixed on your bare chest, heaving for air. Jeonghan scoffed, seemingly genuinely offended by this.

“It’s not my fault your fat fucking rack has been staring at me through that tiny fucking shirt every day,” he spat, and in a sort of retaliation he cupped your pussy through your panties.

Finally, he touched your cunt, and God, was it worth the wait, because it shot straight through your stomach, even the slightest touch on the cold, wet fabric. Jeonghan grinned cockily at the state of your underwear.

“You’re one to talk,” he teased. “Your pussy is fucking weeping for me.”

You moaned and your back twisted against the cold surface of the mirror, as Jeonghan slipped his finger upwards to circle your clit slowly.

“N-ngh, fuck..”

“There you go,” he said in fake sympathy, pouting, and even with his hand on your clit, you could almost believe it, because he just looked that angelic and pure. “Finally your greedy cunt has my hand, hm? Bet you’ve been thinking about this since we met.”

He couldn’t help himself. He trailed his free up to your chest again. It just looked so delectable, unblemished skin, jiggling at every twitch and shake from you, and nipples hardened to pebbles. “I’ve been thinking about you since we met,” he sighed happily, pinching the nipples between his fingers and relishing in your strangled whine.

Jeonghan slipped his hand in your panties, scoffing to himself at just how fucking wet you were, leaking from your hole like a slut, when his finger prodded at it.

“P-Please, Jeonghan, please, fuck-”

Your plea was cut off by Jeonghan’s hand gripping your throat. He smirked at your tortured expression, one hand circling your hole and the other wrapped around your neck, thumb climbing up your chin to rest on your lip.

“What do you want?” he tilted his head challengingly. You gulped, face flushed and baby hairs sticking to your sweat-gleamy face.

“I-I want you to finger me,” you mustered, building up all the courage you could to hold eye contact with him and his lopsided grin. He raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise.

“Really?” he sang, “you want gross, sleazy, perverted Jeonghan’s fingers up your tight, pink pussy?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. Of course, all those moments of shaming him for thirsting over you. Now you were basically fucking naked, tits perked up from your arched back and writhing under him for just a single finger in your glistening hole.

“Jeonghan, I’m sorry-”

His thumb on your lip tugged downwards, effectively muffling your words and shushing you. He watched your pretty lip bend to the will of his thumb, humming.

“Then say it,” he shrugged.

“Wha?” your speech was slurred by his heavy thumb.

“Say you want gross, sleazy, perverted Jeonghan’s fingers up your tight, pink pussy,” he repeated, acting exasperated, like it was your fault for not being able to keep up. Legs spread and utterly naked, you flushed and felt dumb, and you felt even dumber when you began to speak, and his thumb stayed where it was, weighing down your lip.

“I-I wan’ gross, sleazy, perverted Jeonghan’s fingers up my tight, pink pussy,” you slurred. Somehow the embarrassment translated into a wave of slick exciting your hole and landing on Jeonghan’s hand. He grinned at your obedience, hand pushing up so his thumb entered your mouth, pressing down on your tongue and the rest of his hand cradled your face.

“Good girl,” he purred, head craned down to look at you, suckling his thumb with wide eyes. He finally heeded your request, two fingers pushing into your sopping heat. “Now suck on my thumb like the good, big-titted girl you fucking are while I make you cum.”

He was immediately bullying his fingers in and out of you, curling them. Drool escaped where your lips wrapped around his thumb, as you moaned on it, feeling him poke and prod at your tongue with an evil smirk on his pretty face. You saw his dick print straining against his boxers in the corner of your vision.

“Been waiting for this pussy to be mine,” hummed Jeonghan, long eyelashes coming over his eyes when he looked down at you. “You know, if you’d been a little more cooperative I could’ve had my cock in you everyday for the past week.”

You sobbed around his thumb, panting for air through your nose. His fingers felt so good, pistoning into you and so thin you could feel the bulge of each crooking knuckle churning in and out. His thumb sneaked back up to rub your clit again, and you clawed at his shoulders, trying to stabilize your suddenly shaking legs.

Jeonghan let out the most erotic, guttural moan you’d ever heard, when he watched drool slip from your swollen, red lips and languidly ooze on your trembling chest. His face twisted in pleasure at the sight of them, becoming all shiny and slicked up from your own spit.

“Fuck, you’re so pathetic. Can’t believe you’re fucking drooling all over your tits,” he spat, cheeks flushed as he leaned back to look at them, all pretty and slick and glowing under the maze’s fluorescent tubes. He slipped his thumb from your mouth to begin smearing the spit all over your skin.

Your cunt pulsed around his fingers, clenching and unclenching as something in your belly tightened. You heaved for air, moaning loudly into the maze and practically crying.

“F-Fuck, Hannie, f-feels s’ good!” you whined, chest thrashing under his needy hands. He lifted his gaze to smile at you, where he was crooked over to look closely at your spit-slick boobs.

“I know, baby, I know. Cum on my fingers, now, m’kay?” He smiled cheekily, pressing especially hard on your clit. You saw white, orgasm so potent, you almost didn’t even register how Jeonghan dived into your chest, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples

The wet, smacking of his lips and his pleased humming into the soft skin only spurred on your orgasm, as your cum coated Jeonghan’s fingers. His nose, buried in the flesh of your tit, breathed out a dam of warm air into it.

His fingers stilled within you, slowly pulling out, while he continued to lap at your chest, warm tongue on your areola. You tried to catch your breath, but it was hard with how he moaned around your fucking tit, sucking and smacking his lips, while holding you to him. You cried out softly when he nibbled at it, to which he finally pulled away, smiling teasingly.

There was something about the way he was so shameless about it, that almost made you feel even more ashamed, especially when you saw your form in the mirror, and how wet and red your boob was from his insistent sucking. You blushed deeply.

“You gettin’ shy on me now?” he tapped your cheek, eyes twinkling.

“Not used to seeing myself,” you mumbled sheepishly. Jeonghan’s ever lust-filled gaze was overtaken with a very deep, fundamental adoration. His smile became genuine - not teasing nor in feigned sympathy. Despite being the sexiest person he’d ever met, Jeonghan found you so severely cute in that moment, all heaved breaths and glossy lips and rosy cheeks.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, tapping your nose. The action would’ve been annoying were not entirely too fond of him at this moment. His eyes wandered, trailing down your collarbones and back to your cleavage. Then returned the lust: “Beautiful, pretty, gorgeous girl with big, bouncing fuckin’ tits.”

His fascination with them was genuinely insane, but you thought he was pretty and sweet, so you let him marvel.

As if he could never get enough, he reached out one hand and cupped your tit again.

“Are you gonna be a good girl and let me fuck your pretty tits?” Jeonghan asked, experimentally pressing the mounds together and licking his lips at the sight. He had to swallow (and he would never admit this) because the idea actually had him salivating.

“Yes, Hannie,” you said sweetly, because although you really wanted his dick inside you, he had that twinkle in his eye that made your heart burst, and, indeed, you would do anything to keep the starlight blazing in his pupils. Jeonghan looked up with raised brows - this time, the surprise was not feigned. Swiftly, he grabbed your head and kissed you, deeply and appreciatively licking into your mouth.

“Good girl,” he murmured, rowing the two of you away from the mirror-wall with his tongue down your throat. “Good fucking girl.”

He pulled away from you, frantically looking around, and you simply waited for his command. He began to crawl onto the floor, lying down on the hard, sleek black flooring, resting on his elbows.

“C’mere,” was all he said, and you sat down on top of him, confused. He wantonly pushed you by your shoulder so you rested further down, while he lifted his hip to free his cock.

It was long and right by your fucking face.

Impossibly pretty and pink near the tip, it oozed sticky, white liquid, dripping down the veiny side, and now you were salivating, because you almost wanted to take it in your mouth and suck his soul out.

“Shit,” he groaned, studying your face next to his hard, heavy dick with a tortured expression on his face. It seemed his thoughts had traveled the same road as yours, because when he spoke, he said: “There’s so much I wanna do to you, doll. Give me another couple shifts, I’ll have your cum all over the fucking park.”

Without another word, he leaned forward and grabbed each of your tits, hovering just below where his dick extended out, proud and tall like a gothic church. You helped by crawling further over his tan body, lying down on your stomach with your chest raised up.

Jeonghan enclosed your tits around his dick, breath shaking and eyes blinking shut. The sounds he released were angelic, wetting and rewetting his fiery lips, and he struggled to keep his eyes open from the pleasure. He didn’t want to close them though, because the sight of you was insane.

You were so pretty, smiling in adoration where you laid between his legs. Prettiest girl in the world, he thought, just letting him bounce your fat tits up and down his shaft like a good, obedient girl. Your rack was like a fucking cloud around him, jerking him off and spurting pre-cum on the already slick skin.

“S-Shit, you’re so fucking- pretty-” he stuttered, breath trembling and face flushed. From every angle he saw you, perfect, pretty, cute and sweet you. Every version of you in the mirror was perfect, he realized, every copycat a perfect picture.

“You’re pretty,” you mused, wrapping your hand around the lower part of his shaft where your tits didn’t quite reach and squeezing it. Jeonghan moaned, stammering the breathy noise. He gulped then.

“I-I’m gonna cum, shit-” he sucked in a harsh breath. He could not believe how lovely you were, how witty and funny and sweet and how big your fucking tits were bouncing up and down around his cock. “C-Can I cum on them, baby?”

“Of course, Hannie,” you obeyed sweetly, watching how he desperately bucked his hips upwards. Squeezing your hand around the base of his cock, you let out a final admission to help him cum: “Want you to cum on my tits, Hannie, want it so bad.”

Sure enough, it was that easy, because without warning long ropes of thick, white cum spurted into the valley of your breasts and climbed up to your collarbones and neck. Jeonghan cried out when he came, eyes finally squeezing totally shut and hips stuttering into your chest. He sounded angelic, even with his voice hoarse from the weed and grunting.

You let him calm down, waited until his pants turned into soft, regular breaths, and released his now flaccid cock from your cleavage.

“Oh shit, baby,” he sighed happily. “Come up here.”

You crawled up to his chest, curling into his open arms and feeling him under your cheek. Your legs entangled on the funhouse floor, mirrors a little foggy from the sweat and the sex. It was perfect, lying in his chest, having him, knowing he wanted you and liked you. Perfectly timeless, you draped over each other limply.

Or almost perfect.

You wiggled your hips away from his body, hoping then he wouldn’t notice how you were still leaking from your poor, puffy hole. Jeonghan frowned when you did so, though, both hands grabbing your waist and tilting his head down to look at you.

“What is it, baby?” he asked.

You looked away bashfully, shaking your head, but Jeonghan gripped your face in one hand, just as condescending as his thumb had been earlier: “You’re covered in my cum, baby. You’re not getting shy on me now. Tell Hannie what’s troubling you.”

His voice was stern. You tightened your lips the best you could with his hand squeezing your cheeks together.

“I just..” you were embarrassed again, with how your words became muffled and slurred by his flexed hand. He paid it no mind though, looking at you intently to continue.

“YouweresoprettyearlierIgotwetagain.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. From beyond the dark void, you heard Jeonghan laughing. You opened your eyes and he removed his hand from your face, instead brushing it through your hair lovingly.

You were gonna get whiplash with how lovingly he looked at you, how sweetly and with so much wonder and adoration; and how it stood in such a stark contrast to the words that left his mouth:

“Baby, you just get up and bounce your fat tiddies around a little bit, I promise you, I’ll get hard in the next five fucking minutes. Then you can get my cock in your cute, greedy pussy. How’s that sound?”

Really fucking good.

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