#Women in Realise one piece

[thedeadathlete]

[ato-dato]

That’s MISS Booboo the fool to you!!!

[hauntingblue]

This volume is called ace's introduction. Nothing more to say.

"You hire comedians here?" He is so funny....

Who's gonna tell him..... He literally will never get a break

Ace being so proud of Luffy not accepting to join and being a little shit... Also right here is where I got ROBBED of my acesan content.... Also he does fight whitebeard... In marineford... GOD!!!!!

GOOOD TAKE ME INSTEAD!!!! TAKE MEEEE!!!! AAAAHHHHHHHH

You cannot see me but I am on the floor on my knees and I am crying and sobbing and hitting my chest asking the gods to spare him

[maaarine]

'We Can Bury Anyone': Inside a Hollywood Smear Machine (Megan Twohey and Mike McIntire and Julie Tate, The New York Times, Dec 21 2024)

"Last summer, as the release of “It Ends With Us” approached, Justin Baldoni, the director and a star of the film, and Jamey Heath, the lead producer, hired a crisis public relations expert.

During shooting, Blake Lively, the co-star, had complained that the men had repeatedly violated physical boundaries and made sexual and other inappropriate comments to her.

Their studio, Wayfarer, agreed to provide a full-time intimacy coordinator, bring in an outside producer and put other safeguards on set.

In a side letter to Ms. Lively’s contract, signed by Mr. Heath, the studio also agreed not to retaliate against the actress.

But by August, the two men, who had positioned themselves as feminist allies in the #MeToo era, expressed fears that her allegations would become public and taint them, according to a legal complaint that she filed Friday.

It claims that their P.R. effort had an explicit goal: to harm Ms. Lively’s reputation instead.

Her filing includes excerpts from thousands of pages of text messages and emails that she obtained through a subpoena.

These and other documents were reviewed by The New York Times. (…)

Mr. Baldoni was best known for the CW satirical romantic dramedy “Jane the Virgin.”

Wayfarer provided the resources for bigger ambitions. It was bankrolled by the billionaire Steve Sarowitz, who is co-chair of the studio with Mr. Baldoni.

They and Mr. Heath, the chief executive, are all deeply involved with the Baha’i religious organization, which promotes unity, peace and gender equality.

Mr. Baldoni has presented himself as an ally to women, writing books, co-hosting a podcast with Mr. Heath and giving talks on toxic masculinity. (…)

She claimed Mr. Baldoni had improvised unwanted kissing and discussed his sex life, including encounters in which he said he may not have received consent.

Mr. Heath had shown her a video of his wife naked, she said, and he had watched Ms. Lively in her trailer when she was topless and having body makeup removed, despite her asking him to look away.

She said that both men repeatedly entered her makeup trailer uninvited while she was undressed, including when she was breastfeeding. (…)

As the film release neared, Ms. Lively and other cast members informed Sony and Wayfarer that they would not do any appearances alongside Mr. Baldoni.

So did Ms. Hoover, the author, who had her own dissatisfactions with him and had become more upset after he told her about Ms. Lively’s allegations, according to text messages from Mr. Baldoni and Mr. Heath.

By the first week of August, Wayfarer and Mr. Baldoni had retained Ms. Nathan, who had worked with high-profile clients including Mr. Depp, whose ex-wife, Amber Heard, accused him of physical abuse. (…)

Three days later, Mr. Baldoni texted Ms. Abel, flagging a social media thread that accused another celebrity of bullying behavior and had generated 19 million views. “This is what we would need,” he wrote.

Ms. Nathan soon floated proposals to hire contractors to dominate social media through “full social account take downs,” by starting “threads of theories” and generally working to “change narrative.”

“All of this will be most importantly untraceable,” she wrote. (…)

When Ms. Abel wrote to her Aug. 4 that “I’m having reckless thoughts of wanting to plant pieces this week of how horrible Blake is to work with. Just to get ahead of it,” Ms. Nathan replied that she had spoken off the record to an editor at The Daily Mail.

“She’s ready when we are,” Ms. Nathan wrote.

A flurry of articles followed the Hollywood Reporter piece. Many made it seem as if the only rift was over creative control.

Some journalists had gotten wind of complaints about Mr. Baldoni’s behavior, but none of the most serious ones were published.

“He doesn’t realise how lucky he is right now,” Ms. Nathan texted Ms. Abel. (…)

It is unclear exactly how Mr. Wallace operated.

There are references in emails to “social manipulation” and “proactive fan posting,” and text messages cite efforts to “boost” and “amplify” online content that was favorable to Mr. Baldoni or critical of Ms. Lively.

“We are crushing it on Reddit,” Mr. Wallace told Ms. Nathan, according to a text she sent Ms. Abel on Aug. 9.

The next day, one of Ms. Nathan’s employees texted, “We’ve started to see shift on social, due largely to Jed and his team’s efforts to shift the narrative.”

Ms. Nathan wrote to Ms. Abel: “And socials are really really ramping up. In his favour, she must be furious. It’s actually sad because it just shows you have people really want to hate on women.” (…)

On Aug. 16, Ms. Nathan shared the Daily Mail article headlined “Is Blake Lively set to be CANCELLED?” with references to ‘hard to watch’ videos and a ‘tone deaf’ promotional Q. and A.

“Wow. You really outdid yourself with this piece,” Ms. Abel responded.

“That’s why you hired me right?” Ms. Nathan replied. “I’m the best.”"

[earthtooz]

cw: arranged marriage, fluff, neglect at the beginning, ratio falling hard, pining, ratio being jealous of aventurine, unedited bc i wrote this with my heart not my brain

my brain has been thinking about an arranged marriage fic with dr. ratio...

he isn't kind to you at first, less than happy to share a life with a mere acquaintance. he's heard about you before in passing, noting your achievements with a grain of salt because nothing about you particularly mattered to him, irrelevant against the mass of scrolls and books he needs to read.

you don't really disturb his normal routine too much. you move in to his estate with a fair share of your belongings, but none of them crowd his house too much. you have your own room, pristine guest room unearthed by your artistic touch.

aside from dinners, you don't get to see each other too much. he starts his mornings early, getting up at the crack of dawn to exercise and start his day with a hearty meal. you wake up later, partaking in a slow morning, and if you glanced out the window, you might be able to see your husband running laps around the expanse of his gardens.

you admire his dedication and routine, it's fascinating to live beside a genius. everyday, the chest table that sits in the living room changes, the black and white pieces never remaining where you last recalled. the size of his blackboard is impressive, and yet too small to fit all of the formulas his brain remembers, hands effortlessly dancing along the surface to scratch number after number.

a frequent order of his estate is chalk. a new pile is delivered every three days, and he goes through them without fail every time.

during dinner, he tries to spare some conversation with you. you don't tell him too much about your day, not wanting to bore him with your menial chores. he's only half-listening either way, so you'll feign understanding about his work when he explains what he's up to.

ratio is not an attentive husband, but he doesn't mistreat you, either. he allows you to spend his assets without too much care, doesn't police your everyday tasks, and also doesn't bat an eye at other men or women. his pursuit of intelligence is important, and your wellbeing would not come in between that.

your monotonous, distant routine changes one autumn dusk. you're perched in the front yard with an easel set up before you, the sky in front of you now a blend of pink-purple hues. he returns home earlier than you expected, carriage stopping at the front of his estate, and he witnesses you in your tranquil state.

the paint strokes on the canvas before you are skilled, and show years of dedication to the craft. you're so invested in the piece before you, that you don't even hear him approaching until he calls your name.

"the night turns colder with each minute. shouldn't you come inside before you fall ill?" the scholar greets, and you're snapped out of your creative reverie, looking over at him.

"oh, i had not realised. let me clean up here, first." you take your canvas off the easel, but to your surprise, your spouse kneels down to organise your oil paints back into their box.

"make haste, then," he urges.

during dinner, he can't help but be curious over your hobby, the stubborn splotches of paint clinging to your hands visible to him. that night, you engage in uninterrupted conversation, and discover that he's an artist himself- a sculptor. it calms him, and all the statues reside in a removed room, adjacent to his study.

despite your years of matrimony, you had never once dared enter his study, but the design is so fittingly him. it is organised (well, as organised a genius can be), with shelves and shelves filled with books, discarded scrolls lay around the room, but even then, his taste for greco-roman aesthetics are seen. roman dorics act like stands for little plants, and his many certificates are displayed, along with other achievements.

(his study is overwhelmingly filled with them. though you knew of the merit of the man you were arranged to be married to, you had never known just how expansive the list is. perhaps, that only made him more intimidating to you, standing beside a genius does not feel so light to say anymore.)

he shows you his sculptures, and though many of them are... self portraits... the likeness is disgustingly accurate. it was as if he had casted himself in plaster and displayed it proudly. you wonder how long he must have stared in the mirror to perfect their appearance.

but, there are also various other formidable statues. some of people you recognise. you compliment his skill and don't get to see the blush that spreads along his cheeks.

it seems that you've chipped a way into his heart, because between brushstrokes and chiselled marble, he falls in love with you.

ratio knows he didn't start off being the best husband, but he tries to now, and begins by being present. asks you to dine together where possible, listens when you're talking about your day, and the two of you can be seen venturing downtown together; an unbelievable sight for those who believed that ratio was romantically inept.

perhaps, an even more unbelievable sight, was the soft smile on his face that glanced at you very adoringly, and how you remained unaware of his affections.

and, maybe a jealous veritas ratio is just as unbelievable.

he is practically glaring daggers at the side of a certain blond's head. ratio has never been fond of the scheming businessman, aventurine, and is even less so of the fact that you seem so close to him, more than you are with your own husband. you're speaking with him like how one would with old friends, a peaceful visit to the markets turned sour by his presence.

when you finally, finally, finally, bid farewell to aventurine, who gave ratio a look that signified he was up to no good, your husband held your hand in his gloved one with an unforgiving grip. his mood is dampened for the remainder of the day, and is only made better when you enquire about his sudden glumness, visiting his office to see if he was alright.

you leave him with a kiss on the crown of his head, and a whisper of 'goodnight', before retreating to your chambers, and the only thought that circulates in his head for the rest of the night is you, and how he's going to sweep you off your feet.

[chaussetteblanche]

and they were roommates pt. 3

pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader summary : life on campus with a killer on the loose, the FBI makes an arrest word count : 2k warning : canon-typical violence, swear words (one use of the f-word) A/N : thank you so so much for all the love on this story !!! I'm so glad you all enjoy it <333 I'll probably do a part 4, it may be the last part, idk yet :)

part 1, part 2, part 4

"Spencer, I realise your concern, but lots of women look somewhat like this." It wasn't lost on Spencer what Hotch was trying to do by calling by his first name. "Hotch, she- she could be right next to them. She fits his type right down to the colour of her eyes!" "Spencer, man, you need to think rationally." Derek placed a hand on Spencer's shoulder. "Lots of women have that hair colour and length, it's in style right now, right Emily?" "Yeah, definitely." "Look, I just- I need to make a call."

When Spencer had called you sometime in the evening, you'd been expecting him to tell you he was going to come home late and to not wait up for him. What you weren't expecting was for his voice to be the most serious and stern you'd ever heard it. "Don't go outside until I come home, okay?" He knew it was entirely irrational. The unsub only took women in broad daylight, you weren't facing any more risks than usual. But he couldn't take a chance. Not with this. Not with you. "What? Why?" "Just- I'll explain everything when I come home, I'll be there in a couple hours, but please, don't leave the apartment. And make sure everything is locked." "Spencer, what's going on?" "Can you just-" He paused, forcing himself to remain calm. "Look, do as I say, please. I'll explain everything later, I promise." You hesitated for a moment. Luckily for you, you weren't working at the bar tonight. Luckily for Spencer, you liked him enough to indulge him. "Okay." "Thank you."

"Oh my God, no, absolutely not!" "Y/N, it's for your safety, don't you understand that?!" "My safety? What about my life?"

This was the first real fight you'd ever had. You'd had disagreements, of course, he didn't like you leaving your empty cups and glasses all over the place. You told him off for waking you in the morning by making too much noise. Sometimes you'd get jealous if Geoffrey slept in Spencer's bed rather than yours. Yes, you'd had your fair share of arguments, but none quite like this.

"I'm not asking you to give up your life, you're being totally-" You scoffed loudly, interrupting him. "Spencer, you might as well! Do you realise what you're suggesting I do? You want me to give up on going outside, not go to any of my classes, not see any of my friends, not go to work, don't you see what bullshit that is? It's putting a cross on my social life, my education and my work!" You gesticulated angrily as you speak, feeling heat rising to your face. "I already told you, it's for your own safety." He sighed loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. He wasn't even looking at you. A tiny, tiny piece of you wanted to slap him. "I will not stop living my life because some psycho thinks it's fun to kill innocent girls! I won't!" You crossed your arms over your chest and resisted the urge to stomp your foot.

"You're being incredibly childish right now." You hated how he managed to stay calm. You wanted him to get just as angry as you were, livid even. It wasn't fair that you were the only one getting upset. "Are you making all the girls who look like me give up everything for the sake of their safety?" Your tone was mocking and mean but you didn't have it in you to care at the moment. He met your eyes at last, lips turned downwards into a frown. Finally, some sort of emotion. "Don't do that, Y/N," he warned in a low voice. "No, I think it's a valid question. Is your boss making an announcement to the press that all the girls in Mary Washington University who look like the three last girls should stay inside? Is he?" you pushed. Spencer looked away from you again, shaking his head in disbelief at your attitude. "No, he isn't."

"Then why do you expect me to do that?!" You threw your hands in the air, beyond frustrated. For a logical person, Spencer's behaviour wasn't making any sense at the moment. "I don't expect you to do it. I want you to do it, I need you to do it." You could feel his calm facade breaking, piece by piece. "Why, Spencer, fucking why?!" "Because!" He finally exploded, jumping to his feet and slapping his palms onto the table. You didn't jump. "Because it's you, Y/N! I can't work this case if I know you're in danger every single day! If I know yours could be the next dead body students ogle at on the university's front lawn! If I know it's your picture they're going to hang up next to the other victims! I just can't do it!"

Oh.

You let yourself fall down on the couch, running your hands over your face. You were both stepping into uncharted territory. You'd tip-toed this line before but had never crossed it yet. And this was not the way to do it. You were not going to cross the border from friendship into something more by screaming at each other. Spencer seemed to read your silence as distress.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell." He softly trudged over to the couch and sat down next to you. "No, it's okay, I- I kind of wanted you to. I'm sorry for getting so upset." You take his hand in your lap and intertwine your fingers. "I understand, I'm asking too much of you, it's selfish." He gives your hand a squeeze. "I just can't stand the thought of anything happening to you." You sit in silence for a little while, processing.

"I just can't hide while I wait for other girls to be killed, Spencer, it wouldn't be fair." Sometimes, Spencer hated how good of a person you were. If your morals and personal ethics were some of the things he liked about you the most, he couldn't help but curse them in this moment. "I don't care about fair," he mumbled, hating how puerile he sounded. You cooed and laid your head on his shoulder. "I know, I'm sorry."

"I won't promise you anything, but I'll try to always be with someone around campus. I'm usually with my friends anyway. And I can share my location with you all the time if that's reassuring for you." "I'd like that, thank you. And... what about when you're at work?" "I can ask Paul to walk me to my car." Paul was the manager at the bar you worked at, Quantequila. His past was a mysterious blend of prison, MMA fighting and crochet clubs. He liked you plenty and you knew he wouldn't mind walking you to your car for a while. "Thank you."

Over the next week, you did just that. Many students started moving in groups and avoiding being alone at all costs after the FBI released the profile and the pictures of the last victims.

"We're looking for a local white man, early twenties. He may have moved here a year ago, we figure he's either in his first year of BA or MA. This is someone you don't notice, he's shy and introverted, he doesn't participate in class and he won't talk to people if he can help it, especially not women. This man is a loner and does his best to be invisible. We think he stalks his victims for a while before attacking them, so if you start seeing someone you've never seen before in strange places, please notify us. My name is Aaron Hotchner and you'll find the hotline on the screen you're watching this on."

You always had at least two friends with you whenever you were roaming about on campus. Though no one really spoke about the situation, the energy had changed. People were becoming tense and suspicious. Friends were fighting over who should accompany who, when and where. A place which had once gathered so many motivated and joyous students now had those very people looking over their shoulder.

You hated it.

Truly, you didn't want to underestimate this killer, but you were getting tired of it all. You'd wish the BAU would just catch him, but, as Spencer had explained to you multiple times, they had incredibly little to go on. What you knew without him telling you was that they needed another victim to predict his next move. Still, you were a person who appreciated alone time and you had gotten none in the last 10 days. So, when two of your friends who were supposed to walk with you from your class to the subway bailed on you, you weren't that upset.

You put your headphones on, listening to your favourite song of the moment and started walking. You had a tendency of getting lost in your thoughts and didn't notice the sound of heavy footsteps following your own over your music. What you did notice though, was the reflection of someone walking close behind you in a cafe window. You looked over your shoulder, frowning. The sun was in your eyes, blocking your vision, but you managed to perceive an average-sized man with long-ish black hair which hung around his face in greasy strands. Not thinking too much of it, you continued on your way.

You didn't think too much of it when you saw him sitting a few tables away from you when you were studying one afternoon at the library. You were captivated by the Middle English poem under your eyes, wondering what the author had meant with the particular use of the kenning "earth-cave". When you looked up and caught his eyes, cold and unnerving, you didn't overthink it. There were some weird people on campus. Who were you to judge?

When you saw him at your grocery store, though, that was when you started worrying. You were picking up a box of After-Eights for Spencer when you saw him looking at oatmeal raisin biscuits. What really tipped you off was that no one really liked those, so he must have been pretending to look occupied. A chill ran down your spine as all the other places you'd spotted him came back to you. Your lecture hall, the cafeteria, sitting in the lawn under a tree, the main hall,...

You decided that the next time you would see him, you'd tell Spencer. You didn't want him to worry if this turned out to be nothing. Maybe the man was just an exchange student? Or had joined during the academic year?

Two days later, the FBI made an arrest. A man named Ben Colton fitted the profile exactly. In his dorm room, they'd found pictures of women who looked exactly like the last victims and of resembling women on campus, you were part of them. You didn't know that, Spencer had felt you didn't need to be aware of that specific detail. The only problem was that the BAU had no physical evidence tying him to the crimes yet. The arrest had been sanctioned by higher authorities while physical proof was searched for. Police dogs and officers had been tearing through all of his possessions while Garcia had gone through his entire online life. Nothing tying him to the murders had been found.

The general public knew nothing of this, of course. To them, someone getting arrested meant they could go on with their usual lives. The man you'd been seeing left and right had left your mind entirely as you celebrated your regained freedom with your friends.

Of course, Spencer had warned you. They were 99% sure this was the unsub, they just needed the evidence. That didn't eliminate the 1% chance it wasn't him. But 99% chances were good enough for you. You trusted the BAU. Specifically, you trusted Spencer. With your life.

So you started living your life normally again. You left for class a little later because you didn't need to walk with your other friends. You stopped sharing your location with Spencer. You put the volume of your music higher again. You started leaving your pepper spray at home. You started texting while walking again.

Needless to say, you were wholly unprepared for the violent blow to your head as you walked to class one morning. How ironic, you thought as you blacked out, that Mary Goldman had probably experienced the same thing exactly two weeks prior.

Taglist : (all of you who asked for a part three <3) @princess-ofthe-pages @usuck @theylovemelody @empressgraytea @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @lillianacristina @venomsvl @user-3113s-blog @pumpkin-cake @redros3y @faunrasthewinterelf @puppykinsthepotato @bookishnerd1132 @bonza-bear @teeshamcbeesha @hades-disappointment-child @princesssparkle2024 @darlingcharling-blog @yasmin12312 @khxna @jamieeboulos

[vroomvroomwee]

Can we talk about this?

Because we seriously need to talk about it. This single scene is so so so so important. Both of them are doing something typically associated with romantic couples. He grabs her hand, kisses it, holds it close to his chest and looks directly into her eyes.

In any other piece of media that would have undoubtedly been a romantic gesture. But not these two. And that is just so fucking incredible. Personally, I didn't think I would ever see this type of platonic closeness in my lifetime. One where romantic or sexual attraction between both parties is completely thrown out the window.

That's just so goddamn important to have. And you know what makes this scene even more mind-blowing. It's that their relationship is a male-female one (I know the Doctor is non-binary, but rn he's presenting as male). AND where the woman is attracted to men and the man is attracted to women (be it allo or ace).

And there is ZERO possibility of a romantic relationship between them. How amazing is that? It's so important to have that. To show that men and women can be friends. That women are not objects or something to achieve. That men can have closeness with women without being attracted to them. That there can be love, pure deep love, between men and women, and it's no less than that between a romantic couple's one.

And it's not like that trope in movies that we so often see where the "ugly" "undesirable" "quirky" ones are single and have formed a relationship with other individuals because no one wants them. No no. Both of these people are absolutely stunning and still, there's no attraction.

Also, this will go a very very long way for the ace and aro communities. To know that the love you can give is no less powerful and not inferior to that of people who do experience romantic and sexual attraction.

These two are a fan favourite, if not THE fan favourite, duo of all Doctor Who and I just wish people will realise how wonderful and special platonic relationships can be.

[guummy]

GODS & MONSTERS

pairing : god!jason todd ⠀𝒙⠀ nymph!fem!reader | words : 1.8k

summary : ‘put your hands on my waist, do it slowly.’

contents. allusions to mistreatment ( from the other gods ), half of this is actual plot, the second half is smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, stalking ( idk )

note. so, I made a post earlier this month abt this fic, and a lot of people took an interest in, so if this flops then everyone lied to me /j, but thank you to that anon who told me to carry on writing it bc I would have forgotten about it. this fic is giving meeting ur celeb crush not knowing that in the future, you’ll be married

#. main masterlist. | dc masterlist. | jason todd masterlist.

OVER AND OVER again, the older nymphs had to follow your every move. They said you had the mind of a curious adventurer, and although your sisters were the same, you couldn’t help but find curiosity outside your own home. So, as you rested your back against a tree, playing with a piece of thread between your fingers, you couldn’t help but wonder how long would pass until they found you.

One of your most favoured pastimes was to watch the supposed god that visited the riverbank every morning. The first time you ever laid eyes upon him, you asked your sister who he was. A god of war, who was supposedly sane enough to accompany the war of mortal men if they worshipped him to his liking. If he was lucid enough to subjugate his godliness to the land of humans, perhaps he was rational when it came to love. Instead of chasing and manipulating women to his enjoyment such as the other gods of Olympus, perhaps he was gentle enough to devote himself to a lover.

And you were one who loved devotion.

As a nymph, you craved it just as you longed for the touch of cold water to soothe your skin.

Now, that you peered around a tree, glancing at the god, you couldn’t help but revel in his presence, watching as he performed his daily routine. You revelled in the way he curled his fingers into fists, his gaze locked onto the soft rushing of the waves and ripples of the water. And apart from that, and the bellowing of the wind, there was nothing else you could hear, not the breathing of either of you or the creatures around as if they were kept silent at the sight of the god.

In the midst of your obnoxious staring, you let out a small yelp in pain as you happened to impale the tender skin of your palm with something protruding from the ground, drawing his attention over to the source of the noise; your incompetent lips.

“Who’s there? Come out,” he demanded, his voice sending shivers down your fragile spine.

Cursing under your breath, you stood up and slowly approached him from your hiding, leaving prints in the soil as you stood before his towering figure.

“Forgive me,” you begged as you bowed.

When you felt his fingers on your chin, your body trembled as he lifted your face to look at you.

“There is no need to,” he replied, his voice deep and hoarse.

You would have expected him to end your life there and then, yet, he gazed at you in a way that beckoned you to say more, your body weakening at his viridescent pupils.

“Are you Jason?” You asked, eyes widening as you realised how close you were.

To be noticed by a god was startling, but to have one touch you whilst you stare at each other was viewed as only a dream.

“And you are?” He asked.

As you told him your name, he repeated it with a small smile, gesturing for you to stand up.

“And what do I owe the pleasure of meeting a nymph?” He asked, circling you slowly. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” he spoke as he watched you step away from him. “I’ve seen you before,” he confessed. “You watch me from over there. And you return to the river when I leave.”

“I never meant to stare at the beginning,” you replied, biting on your inner cheek as you played with the fabric of your clothing, your voice becoming silent as you finished your confession.

“Why do you stare?” Jason asked, crossing his arms.

“Why do you visit the river?” You questioned him, the mischief you were born with as a nymph seeping through your shyness. “You’re a god, you’re handsome, and I cannot stare?”

“I visit these waters to pay respect to someone I lost,” he replied after you answered his question.

Barely any of the gods respected mere humans so his confession had your mouth agape.

“Were they your lover?” You asked.

“A friend,” he corrected.

You didn’t know if he could tell what you were thinking but inherently, you were satisfied he was an unmarried and untaken god. Naturally, gods had affairs and multiple marriages, but the idea of his attention simply being on you had you flustered.

You nodded in understanding as you looked over at the ripples practically telling you to come back.

“I’ve been away from home for too long, my sisters will probably be looking for me,” you whispered, staring back up at the god before you, your heart beating and the pits of your stomach fluttering.

Choosing a pebble from the bank of the river, you held it in front of him before placing it in his palm when he held it out.

“To remember me by,” you muttered before taking a step backwards.

Glancing at him one more time, you made your way back along the river, deciding in your head your sisters would never hear of this interaction.

Not only was he a revengeful and a passionately driven god, he was also wise. The two of you seemed to talk every possible moment; at the break of dawn, sat on the riverbank a few yards away from your home, or late in the afternoons where you showed him your favourite comfort places around the woods you had spent your life in.

Yet, everyday, you had tried to push yourself to offer yourself to him as a sort of gift, if he’d accept you anyways. You were noticeably touchy with him, whether the pads of your fingers grazing over the embellishments and carvings in his armour or making sure your hands brushed against his larger limbs.

One late evening, the confidence you had been longing for finally came as you stood before him in a coven of trees, desperate to tell him of your deep and solid feelings.

“I want you to have me,” you confessed, breaking the silence between the two of you, your hands held out in front of you as your gaze was focused on the ground.

“Excuse me?” He replied, needing reassurance of what you said.

“I want to give myself to you,” you added.

Jason paused for a moment before resting his hands on your hips.

“Insolent gods only want to please themselves, but I don’t wish for the same. I don’t want you to offer yourself to me, but if you truly want this, all you have to do is tell me,” he explained, his hand resting against the back of your head. “I don’t wish to have your body if you cannot have mine.”

Slightly nodding in understanding, your hands drifted to the hems of your clothes.

“Do you want me?” You whispered, twisting your clothing between your fingers.

“In all my life I’ve never wanted someone more,” he confessed, leaning slightly to meet your gaze.

At his words, you began to remove the fabric clinging onto your skin, standing still in front of him as your breath quivered.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his hands resting on your hips as he pressed a kiss to your jaw, his lips travelling down to your neck.

Your body was cold to the touch, and when he brought your hand up to press a kiss to your palm, your body shivered and grew warm under his touch.

If Jason’s men found him like this, found him making love to a nymph, they’d probably cheer, but you knew he wasn’t simply doing so because it had been so long for him, but because in the last few days, he had grown fond of you, and it was an act of feverish desire to hold you.

“Lie down for me,” he mumbled, yet, his voice was loud.

Doing as he said, you laid down on the sheets of clothing you previously removed, watching as he knelt down, pressing his hands to your inner thighs as he gestured for you to spread your legs.

Soon, he was clad with no clothes, brushing soft kisses across the expanse of your stomach as he gazed up at you, worshipping your body even though it should have been the other way around.

You were already practically his goddess.

Jason was tender with his touch, his hands gripping at your waist as he pushed his cock inside your clenching hole. The girth of it had you gasping as your head lolled back and your eyes shut in both pain and pleasure.

“Please,” you whispered when he paused in his movements. Your small beg led to him beginning to move, slowly pistoning his length in and out of your soaked core, the soft sounds of skin colliding hidden beneath the rustling of leaves and lapping of water.

It was your first time, yet, his gentleness distracted you from how much it hurt and soon, instead of cries, small whimpers soon fell from your lips, your eyes closing as he drove his length inside you.

“Jason ── ,” you hushed, your eyes fluttering as you looked up at him with your blown pupils. His hands gripped tighter at your waist as thrusted into your cunt, your walls sensitive around his length.

You trembled underneath him, revelling in the warmth of his body against yours as the soft winds blew against your skin. Your body had practically welcomed him, and it was then that you realised that you were no longer a virgin.

That you were losing it to a god.

One who whispered your name repeatedly as he pressed against your flesh, handling you with care and the urgency to bring you to your release

You were annoyed that he was so gentle in his touch, drawing you close to tears as he bullied his twitching cock in and out of your chaste and tight hole, but not selfishly that you were in pain and he didn’t boast in his lack of ego. Small pleads and whispers spewed from your lips as his own breath hitched, your walls clenching with every thrust.

Burrowing your face in the crook of his neck, you could feel the knot in your stomach tightening, Jason’s hips meeting yours with such a lack of rhythm; you knew how desperately he wanted to claim you as his. And soon, you felt yourself come undone underneath him, your body trembling as your orgasm crashes upon you. Jason soon shuddered as he filled you up with spurts of his hot cum, his groans too godly to be heard by your nymph ears.

“Your mine, and I’m yours,” he quivered, still bucking his hips against yours.

‘You’re already mine,’ he whispered, and at that, you knew he was never going to let you go.

[shrimpybbq]

rafe and high school gf's first mother's day

oh boy, where to begin

charlie was only a few months old when mother's day rolled around and high school gf was still in the adjustment stage with her little boy

she was crying a lot too, always sad and watching rafe stalk in and out of tannyhill, high and grumbling about things she couldn't understand

charlie wasn't sleeping through the night and it was all just too stressful for her - high school gf was definitely experiencing postpartum depression

she doesn't even realise that mother's day is coming up, never picking up on the hints and besides, she hadn't been going into town to see the cards and gifts out

it's sarah, rose, and wheezie who decide to do something for her. they know rafe won't do anything for her since he's off on a coke bender again, so they decide to cater in morning tea for the family and have a small celebration

high school gf woke up that morning to find wheezie insistent on playing with charlie, and so she lets her take him down to the living room

high school gf allows herself a well-earned shower, washing her hair and finally feeling somewhat normal. dressed, she gets ready to go downstairs only to have sarah knock at the door and accompany her downstairs

as the pair reach the living room, charlie and wheezie aren't in sight

"Wheezie took him outside, said the weather was nice," Sarah said.

the pair wandered outside only for high school gf to freeze at the decadent spread on the table, the balloons floating and the cake with the words 'happy mother's day' on it

"It's mother's day?" She asks quietly, voice wavering as her pent up emotions rose to the surface once more.

"Yeah! It's your first one so we wanted to do something special for you!" Wheezie exclaimed, running to hug the older girl.

the cameron's warily watch as high school gf's still for a moment, sarah beginning to panic as she notices the girl's lower lip begin to tremble

the family exchange wide-eyed glances as the new mother bursts into tears as she clings to wheezie, her sobs reverberating off the walls of tannyhill

they're all so confused until wheezie hears her mumble,

"Rafe isn't here,"

the young girl silently mouths 'rafe' to the other women, both realising what was making her so sad - rafe hadn't remembered the special day, and what's worse, he hadn't really acknowledged her much in the last month at all

high school gf was at her breaking point, so overwhelmed and sad, and the person who got her pregnant and put her in the situation in the first place hadn't even showed up

soon the cameron women surround her, bringing her to the table and comforting her as much as possible

it takes a while, but her tears stop and soon, the family eat pieces of the cake (the vibe is a little awkward, but sarah is doing her best to make high school gf laugh)

they've been outside in the sun for hours by the time ward returns back to the house, only to appear with a high rafe in tow. ward freezes at the sight of the group, taking in the words on the balloons. he can only sigh, balling up his fists at the realisation of the date

"Are you serious, Rafe?" Ward snipes, turning to face his son. He seethes, barely able to contain his anger at the continuous failures his son seems to bring upon him, "You can't even pull yourself together for one day."

Rafe looks at him hazily, his confusion clear. "Dad.. what are you talking about?"

Ward sighs once more, gripping his son's polo and dragging him towards the house. Before they pass through the door, he pauses and calls out to the sweet young girl watching, noticing her tears have begun to well up in her eyes again, "Happy Mother's Day, sweetheart."

Rafe's head turns to his girlfriend swiftly, eyes widening at the congratulations. He barely has a moment to process his mistake before his dad pulls him inside.

high school gf gives a sad smile to sarah and the younger girl immediately pulls her head down to rest on her shoulder, gently soothing her soft cries that have started up again. the whole table sits uncomfortably, wondering truly how someone so sweet and kind had ended up with rafe

they wish he would get clean for her and their son, but for now, all they can do is comfort her and try and make her day the best it can be (a rare moment that sarah and rose work together)

though her following mother's days were signficantly better and rafe actually remembered them, he always feels incredibly guilty at the memory of how he made her feel that day

@droppedyourhnd sorry this has taken so long to get out!

i've been taking a little break over xmas, but hoping to write a bit more now

[clare-875]

First Kiss (Luffy, Sanji, Zoro, Ace, Law)

_____ Pairings: (Separate) Luffy x Reader; Sanji x Reader; Zoro x Reader; Ace x Reader; Law x Reader Summary: How he becomes your first kiss. Warnings: Kissing, Fluff, Slight angst in Law's, Alcohol in Zoro's, Female Reader [One Piece Masterlist] _____

- Luffy -

"Hmmmmmm." You feel the heat rush to your face as your raven-haired Captain looks at you intently, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Hmmmmmm." You can't help the laugh that bubbles up at his unusually quiet and contemplative demeanour but that only causes him to come closer, leaving barely any space between your faces. "L-Luffy... what is it?" You watch as he stares deeply into your eyes and there is quiet for a moment. It is like your crewmembers, who are supposedly scattered around the vicinity have disappeared. Your heart beats faster. You have tried to ignore the growing feelings for your Captain, but being this close can only cause your smothered emotions to ignite. "I wanna try something." He says, a determined expression on his face and you tilt your head in question. Just what was he wanting to- Your thoughts are cut short as Luffy moves forward and closes the space between you. It takes you a moment to realise, that his lips are on yours.

He’s kissing you.

Your eyes widen, but Luffy parts from you before you can even react. You are met with his wide grin and you have never seen such delight in his eyes. "Shi shi shi, you taste nice [y/n]." You have to force yourself not to gape in your disbelief. Someone kissed you. Not just someone... Luffy, your Captain, your crush, what- "Luffy! You- you-," Your words are stuttered out in your shock but Luffy simply laughs at your expression before mimicking the tilt of your head earlier. "I thought that's what you do to the person you like?" His words cut you short of your rambling as your surprise increases tenfold. He likes me? Was that a confession? "I- I haven't kissed someone before," you say under your breath but Luffy catches your words and it only causes his smile to widen. "Me neither!" You find yourself leaning forward at the proclamation, and he grins as he does the same.

- Sanji -

You lean back, admiring your creation with a wide grin. Finally. You had been working hard all morning to create Sanji's favourite dish as a thank you for having saved your ass about a week ago. But in your mind, you also just wanted to do something nice. Sanji always doted on the women of the crew and you would be happy to return the favour even if it was just this one time. You would also be lying to say you hadn't gained feelings for the love-lost cook, but you knew how stupid it would be; he didn't seem like someone who had his eyes trained on one woman at a time. You couldn't help it though, and among your feelings, you suddenly felt nervous. You had conjured up a dish for, basically, the best cook in the world; you hoped he would like it... you hoped he would appreciate it. Unbeknownst to you, the cook your mind drifts to has already entered the kitchen, eyes widening in surprise at your presence so early in the day, and more importantly a familiar dish your gaze was trained on.

"Love, what have you made so early in the morning?" Your heart pounds. Love, you adored that nickname, he kept it just for you. "S-Sanji! It's for you, a thank you, I-I hope you like it..." Your words are smothered in nerves but the cook is stunned to silence. You made something for him? Was he dreaming? Was this heaven? He almost starts crying and your eyes widen at his lingering tears before you usher him gently to the dish; of course, what fills the air is compliments on compliments. "The best thing I've ever tasted", "Beautiful", "Thank you", "Would you like to taste-" You don't know where you find the courage but among his ramblings, your gaze wonders to his lips, and before you know it you have stepped forward. "L-love?" When you close the space between you both, only a split second can pass before Sanji basically malfunctions. However, in that short moment, you taste his sweet lips, lingering with the dish you made and the faint tint of a cigarette. You savour the feeling of his trembling hands as they reach for your arms in anticipation. You hold on to his shaky breath as he fights to reciprocate.

When you part, your eyes widen as you realise the breadth of what you have just done. It was your first kiss. You had really kissed him. But your concern is now not on the kiss but on the cook who is basically dead on the floor, murmuring about going to heaven. Yes, you have to shout for Chopper afterwards, but in the aftermath, Sanji does his best to return the favour... well, without dying at your feet again.

- Zoro -

You watch as Zoro downs another bottle of sake and can almost laugh at the expression on his face; it is his fifth and still, he is calling for more. You nurse your own drink in an appropriately sized cup as Zoro turns a sharp eye to you, "What are you smiling about?" You grin teasingly but shake your head, "Nothing, I'm just wondering how far you'll go before you have to stop drinking." Zoro smirks widely at your words and takes another swing of his bottle. "Is that a challenge?" He asks before leaning closer to you, and you have to fight the heat that wants to rush to your cheeks. Even in the dimly lit bar you sat at, he is still so handsome. You watch his defined face and his well-built muscles glow under the low lights and have to fight to keep your eyes on his face. I wonder how it would feel to- "N-nah, we'll be here for decades." You murmur with a roll of your eyes, trying to keep up your nonchalant facade, but Zoro spots your wondering gaze. His grin widens subtly as he invades more of your space and you struggle to keep your proximity as he leans in closer. "See something you like, doll?"

When you look up he is hovering over you and you fail to keep the fluster at bay. You stutter words that take no shape, and in an instant one hand goes to hold your face before he closes the space between you. Immediately, you taste the alcohol that lingers on his lips intrude yours, and you are surprised at how soft and slow and gentle he is. The kiss is short, and when you part you look at the swordsman in stunned silence, but he merely grins before leaning back into his seat once more. "You- You just-," you stutter and despite Zoro’s sharp eye as he looks to you, there is mirth in his irises, "Yeah, what about it?" His words are so blunt you suddenly feel as though the kiss hadn't meant as much to him, even though it was your first, but you are surprised when he quickly catches your dismay. "I don't just kiss anyone, you know." He interrupts the lingering silence and you look up, only to see his face close to yours once more. "You're drunk," you murmur your heart beating faster as he inches closer, "I don't get drunk, doll." You taste the alcohol on his lips again.

- Ace -

You glance at the horizon in awe as shades of red and orange mingle in the blue sky and sunset takes over the long day. To your right, you suddenly feel warmth, as a presence comes to lean on the railings with you to watch the falling sun. You don't even have to turn to know that it is Ace. You smile softly but your eyes are still trained on the illuminance of the sky. "Isn't it beautiful?" You softly utter before finally turning your gaze to the second division commander, but to your surprise, he was looking at you already. "Yeah, beautiful..." His words are murmured and you think you're hallucinating when you see genuine awe in his irises but you have to roll your eyes at his remark. "You really couldn't have picked a cheesier line Ace." You say as you tease his choice of words, but Ace keeps that determined look in his eyes, that shine of pure honesty. "I'm just telling the truth." Your heart hammers erratically in your chest, and you curse the way he so easily influences the rhythm; how he so easily influences you. There is a long comfortable silence, though untold feelings linger beneath it, but when you look up to meet his gaze again, you are surprised to find him closer to you than before.

"Can I kiss you, [y/n]?"

His question is asked so bluntly that you are taken aback. Your eyes widen in surprise, and you watch the way red seeps onto Ace’s cheeks, nerves engulfing him. His irises flicker in subtle desire as he tries to keep your gaze. You think your lungs have ceased to work as you struggle to get the oxygen going. "I- I-" You want to tell him you might be bad at it, that you've never kissed a soul, but you stop yourself from breaking the trance that lingers between the two of you. Your nerves have taken over and so you find yourself nodding. When he closes the distance, you feel utter warmth. His lips are soft as he pulls you impossibly closer and you feel the delight in his movements; you feel the longing. His arms hold you to him and one of his hands caresses your hips soothingly whilst yours tangle themselves in his raven locks. The kiss lasts only a few moments, but you wish it would go on forever; when you part, it is only because the both of you need air. When you open your eyes he is grinning at you so wide, it is like you presented him with the world's greatest treasures, and in some ways that was true; you were all he wanted. He lets you take in a breath, before he leans towards your lips again, warmth lingering and the faint sound of the crew cheering behind you.

- Law -

You sit on the bed, slightly mortified, and terribly embarrassed. You curse yourself for having agreed to participate in the game 'never have I ever,' because of course, you had to be that boring person, never drinking because you had done basically nothing. The last straw was when Shachi tried to do you a solid but embarrassed you further when he asked if you had kissed someone. Of course, seeing as you hadn't, the crew looked in silence as you held your untouched drink sheepishly in your hands, their mouths agape in shock. "What?!" "[y/n] you mean to tell me, you haven't kissed someone before?" The comments lingered on and now you wonder why you didn't lie; no one would've known better. Moments pass before you hear a knocking at your door, and you contemplate pretending you're asleep but you sigh at the repetitive rhythm and decide to answer. To your surprise, it is your Captain, and the man you unfortunately had a significant crush on that was on the other side.

"Law... what's up?"

You try to keep up a nonchalant facade like you haven't just been tearing apart your mind because of the events of the evening. Law returns your half-hearted smile with a blank look on his face as he sighs deeply. "Don't give me that [y/n]-ya, what happened back there?" His question leaves you wanting to melt to the floor as you remember back to how you hastily tried to leave the room with your abundance of excuses. "I don't know what you're-" But his words interrupt yours, more gently than you would've expected. "Is this about Shachi's question, you know it's just a stupid game? It's normal not to have kissed someone yet." You internally cringe as you hear your Captain's words but now your eyes are trained on the floor as you sigh, almost withering under the weight of his attempted comfort. "I didn't think it was just a big deal. I- I guess I was just saving it, you know?" You watch as Law's usually darkened eyes ignite before he spares you a knowing smile. "I know." His eyes travel from your eyes to your lips and you are surprised to see the faint blush that reaches his face. "You know, [y/n]-ya, I didn't drink either." You pause as you look up, eyes widening in surprise and disbelief. "Wh- Law what are you-" But he interrupts your rambling as he closes the space between you, now mere inches before your face.

"Can I kiss you [y/n]-ya?"

You take in a shuddering breath. What's happening? Are you dreaming? Is this really happening? You can't find the words and so you slowly nod, and Law wastes no time connecting his lips to yours. His lips are soft and gentle, his movements almost tempting the new sensation shared between the both of you, but a mere moment passes before you find the rhythm and he intensifies the kiss. His hands reach for your waist and your hands reach for his hair. There is a long moment shared between you before you finally reach for a breath. He looks up to you with a gentle smirk that has your heart beating faster, and you take the courage to close the space between you once more. Nevertheless, when Law tells you to rejoin the group, you are both able to drink to Shachi's question and stare amusedly at the crew who look between you and Law with shock.

[cherry-romper]

Realising they like you

+ Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Marco, Jean, Connie, Sasha, Levi, Erwin, Hange, Reiner, Bertholdt, Annie, Porco, Pieck, Zeke

Warning; alcohol consumption

Eren; It was while you played in the ocean. You were messing around with Sasha when a piece of  seaweed touched your foot. Having never seen seaweed before, you panicked and threw yourself at the nearest person for safety - that person was Eren Jeager. Taken aback by the sudden weight, he fell into the ocean, you along with him. You apologised profusely while helping him out of the water, but he just stood there. You watched him carefully as he moved the hair out his face. You worried that you might have hurt him during the fall, so you asked if he were alright. Again, you were met with silence. You looked back at the others for support, but were cut off by Eren laughing. He let out the most genuine belly-laugh you had ever heard. He was smiling like an idiot, keeling over as he clutched his stomach. Your heart squeezed, as did the others. Eren hadn't laughed, nor smiled, in months. You soon giggled along with him. You even held onto his arm for support. Once he'd calmed down, he looked at you, from your eyes to your lips. He uttered a small "thank you," before pulling you into a deep hug.

Mikasa; It was just a normal day. You had been doing your chores around the garrison and were now eating your fill, along side Connie and Sasha, in the mess hall. The two you were sat with were, once again, arguing over food. They bickered like children, throwing food and hurling insults at one another. You laughed at them, dodging the occasional piece of bread that came flying your way. Mikasa was stood at the door, staring at you in awe. The way the sun fell over your hair and framed you face was like something out of a renaissance paining. She admired your every crevice. From the way your nose curved to the shape of your lips as you smiled. She saw how your uniform draped over your shoulders as they bounced while you laughed. She was stood far away but could still see your eyes as the shone in the light. As far as she could tell, you were glowing. You were radiating serenity - the kind she'd been looking for her whole life. She'd never seen you in this light before, it caught her off guard. The more she watched on the darker her blush got.

Armin; He'd liked you since you were kids but fell head over heals for you when you saved him from a titan. He had been assigned a separate group from you during a mission beyond the walls and you were leading a rescue squad to his distress signal. You found him being cornered into a tree by two small titans. He was waving his swords at them helplessly, begging for them to not eat him. You made quick work of the two titans, cutting them both down in the same motion. He watched you wipe off your blades as you asked if he was alright. He was so thankful you'd saved him, he started babbling on about him repaying you. You shushed him and told him that if he were to make it out alive, that would be payment enough.  He knew then he'd marry you.

Marco; When you were injured while on a mission beyond the walls. He'd never felt so strongly for someone before. He sat with you on the ride back into the walls, the whole time he was gawking at your injuries. He held onto your hand tightly while he cried into his sleeve. Jean, who was riding a horse next to the cart the two of you were in, asked why he was so upset, you'd survived hadn't you? Marco just shrugged, unsure how to answer, but the aching in his heart answered for him. He stared at Jean, a broken expression on his face. Jean knew, just from that look, that Marco loved you.

Jean; On a day off you'd gone to the market place. There was a band playing in the square. Some people were drinking and laughing, others were just passing through. There was a group of people dancing to the music. You and Jean watched on in awe. You were mesmerised by the way the women's dresses flowed as they danced and Jean watch as the men moved freely as they sways their partners around. While you watched on, someone pulled you in. You were a little shocked, but took to it straight away and started dancing with the others. Jean eyes gazed over your dancing figure. You were beautiful. Truly beautiful. He was so entranced by you he hadn't notice you nearing him. You stood in front of him and gave him a mischievous smile. He cocked a brow at your expression, but before he could ask you pulled him into the circle. His hand naturally glided to your waist and yours to his shoulder, your bodies held close. The two of you swayed together in rhythm with the music. His chest tightened as he stared at your smile. There was no doubt in his mind, he loved you.

Connie; You'd both been drinking. While it wasn't illegal to drink at your age, but it wasn't smart. You both knew you had training in the morning but you drank anyways. Connie had convinced you, or vice versa, at this point you couldn't remember. Neither of you were light-weights but between you, you'd had gone through nearly a barrel of ale. You didn't feel as drunk as you were but still you ended up throwing up really badly. Maybe it was the fact that this was your first time drinking in months or the fact you and the ale tasted like shit, either way, you were hacking up as much as your body would let you. Connie panicked a little, you were both in no fit state and it was hard too see in the dark, but you were his first priority.  He comforted you, moving any hair out of the way as you threw up. After a while, you'd appeared to have finished, or at least calmed down. The two of you slumped down against a tree. You tried to say sorry but the soreness of your throat wouldn't let you. He shushed you, pulling your head against his shoulder. He told you to rest, he explained that he'd take responsibility for the two of you being late in the morning. While you rested, he could hear you softly snoring to yourself, a sting of dribble hanging from your mouth. He thought you were so cute. And even though you were in a vulnerable position, you trusted him to take care of you and that meant the whole world to him.

Sasha; You'd gone hunting with her and finally managed to kill the boar you'd wanted to for weeks. In celebration, you flung your arms around her nuzzling your face into her neck as you squealed with joy. She felt so warm and fuzzy, she hadn't felt that way before. It was new, refreshing even; like a breath of fresh air. She held you there, close to her chest, for a few moments more before she began jumping for joy with you. On the way back to camp, you both gushed over what dish you were going to cook with all the meat you now had.

Levi; You left him a note one day when you were sent on a mission. It read: while I am gone, remember to stay healthy. Asshole. Notes were your thing, but for some reason this one made Levi's heart skip a beat, a rare smile found it way across his cheeks.He replied to the note in his head: as long as you promise to come back to me, dumbass. He wouldn't admit it aloud but he was giddy with excitement waiting for you to return.

Hange; You brought them a Titan back from one of your missions. It was one that they'd had a hard time capturing, an abnormal beyond the walls that Hange desperately wanted to study; they'd already named it Alexander. When they realised you'd risked your life to help their studies and free humanity, they knew you meant more to them than they could fathom.

Erwin; You'd been gone for nearly a month. Your convoy had been spilt up from the main unit and everything had gone horrible wrong. You were outside the walls for 3 and a half weeks before you found your way back. You and one other in your unit had survived, out of the 28 that been split. When he saw your face he nearly fainted. Your whole unit had been presumed dead, the probability of your survival was less than 0.067%.  You and your other comrade were malnourished and dehydrated, they had lost an arm in the carnage. You only survived because of the sacrifices made by the other members of your unit, who'd unknowing donated their gas and gear through their deaths. No one could believe it, you both became legends, both being awarded medals for your bravery. It wasn't like Erwin to loose his composer but you seemed like an angel in that moment, as you were brought to the safety of the walls. He stared through you, like you weren't real, his legs moving on their own as he stumbled to you, slumping his arms around you, pulling you in for an embrace he swore he'd never release.

Reiner; You followed him. After he betrayed everyone and left with Bertholdt and Ymir. You followed him on your own volition. He was at a loss for words, he betrayed you, as if he'd murdered your friends and family with his own hands. Still you were soft with him, asking if he was okay, telling him you'd be fine no matter what happened, you'd stay with him. You knew he didn't want to do the things he was forced to do, and you were willing to hear him out. He just listen to you talk, slack-jawed, that someone as kind as you had come into his life to guide him down the right path. He was in awe of you and he knew he'd do whatever it takes to keep you safe in Marley. 

Bertholdt; You knew his secret and confronted him about it. You told him after everything you still loved him and that if he needed saving you'd be right there to do it. They were the words he'd wanted to hear his whole life and he was so happy they'd come from you. He sought comfort in you from then on and invited you to talk with Reiner about going back with them. 

Annie;

It was while she was in her crystal, you had visited her any chance you got, explaining the situation to her. You'd known she was the female titan before her reveal, and you confessed that too her crystal. You cried as you explained that you wish you could have stopped her, or at least found a way to help her. You been talking to Reiner about it all, as you figured out their secret to. He'd agreed to take you to Liberio with them, as long as you pledged allegiance to Marley. They were empty words, but you did so anyways, and conjured up a plan to rescue her.

Porco;

He'd known for a while that he liked you but being the stubborn ass he is, he denied and denied his feelings until it was you who confessed to him. He had convinced himself that relations like that were pointless, given his limited lifespan. During your confession, you mentioned that even though he didn't have long to live you were happy with any amount of time with him because your forever could be even better than nothing at all. He was at a loss for words, in disbelief that you'd be willing to go through that for him.

Pieck;

She'd liked you for years, but never really found the time to talk about it with you because she'd been deployed to Paradis. The most casual confession known to man. You were sure she hadn't realised what she'd said. She'd finished reading a book she'd recommended a millennium ago and were talking to her over how the characters had fallen for one another. She simply replied with "yeah, I think he fell for her the same way I fell for you, Y/N". You eyed her cautiously, she wasn't even looking at you, she was just sorting through her papers. A gargled string of flustered sounds made it way out of you mouth in response, unable to form a real sentence. Finally she looked up from her work, smiling at you knowing, she had no doubts that you liked her back so she felt no need to tip-toe around the subject. 

Zeke;

He knew when you were walking along the docs with him. He was having a smoke, basking in the sunset, it was the calmest he'd felt in months. Looking to you, he saw that you were messing around with a piece of seaweed that had found its way to the waters surface. He saw how you absentmindedly played with it, it brought him peace that you could still find joy in the little things, despite what you had witnessed. Seeing you lit by the setting sun, finding solace in his company was enough to solidify the rising emotions in his heart.

[betweenstorms]

Butcher simon who can’t help but slowly realise the portions you’re buying at his are for one person’s only, nd he slowly learns more abt you from the casual things he observes; like your name when you take a phone call, what you’re planning to make, whether you have guests over… and he doesn’t mean to pry or feel anything over it, but he can’t help but feel a sense of pride when you keep coming back, with the same slight awkwardness, slight out of place feeling, always shyly looking up at him before staring at his hands only. (he wonders if you can see him flex his arm more, on purpose compared to the other orders.)

sorry, just needed to share this after reading yours :)

I love this, thank you for sharing! The little details Simon picks up on are so perfect. And the flexing on purpose? Chef’s kiss.

Part Three of What's Between Fridays (previous part) (masterlist) Butcher!Simon x fem!Reader

Simon Riley liked routine.

It kept the world in order and kept him grounded.

And running the butcher shop had always been routine. Methodical, repetitive, and solitary, just the way he preferred it.

He didn’t need to talk much, only sharp blades and clean cuts as his constant companions, the rhythm of bone meeting steel, and the quiet satisfaction of a job done well. He found solace in the sharp rip of tearing flesh, in the metallic tang of blood that hung thick in the air of his shop. It was the perfect barrier, a crimson curtain behind which he could stand, keeping the world at arm’s length, untouched and untouchable. Because people came and went. He watched them all, never really letting anyone into his space.

Until you.

You’d been a quiet fixture in his world for months now, slipping into the shop every Friday afternoon with the same awkward hesitance, like clockwork. At first, you were just another customer, always fumbling with your words, your gaze skirting his as if afraid to linger too long. Simon had hardly given it a second thought, just another customer passing through. But something changed over time, something he hadn’t been able to ignore.

It wasn’t particularly the way you looked or even the way you sounded, it was something quieter, subtler.

It was in the way you lingered—

—like you were hesitant to leave. 

So he started paying attention.

You never bought much, always just enough for one person. That told him more than you ever realised. No ring on your finger, no mention of anyone waiting at home. You were alone. He didn’t mean to dwell on that fact, but he did. He couldn’t help but notice the little things. The slight hesitation in your step as you approached the counter, the way your voice softened when you asked for his recommendations, as if you were nervous about making the wrong choice, about using the wrong words. And the way your eyes flickered over his arms as he worked, not realising that he noticed every glance, every stolen look.

He knew the effect he had on people, especially women.

He was a large bloke, muscular, intimidating to most. But with you, it felt different. It wasn’t just that you were nervous around him, it was the way you’d peek at him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

And he saw it. The way your sparkling eyes flicked down to his arms when he flexed, and yeah, maybe he did it a bit more around you. Just to see if you’d notice.

It was almost ridiculous to himself, how aware he became of his own movements when you were in the shop. Simon, who had never been one for vanity, found himself caught off guard by the subtle shift in his own presence. The weight of your gaze, tracing the lines of his hands, the curve of his muscles, stirred something in him. He wasn’t the type to seek attention, but there was a kind of satisfaction in knowing that, in those stolen moments, you saw him. And somehow, he found that he liked it—more than he cared to admit.

Simon wasn’t proud of it, but he had started piecing things together about you from the subtle details.

Your name overheard when you answered a phone call one particular afternoon. The quiet way you spoke to whoever was on the other end, your voice soft but clear. The small, everyday details of your life that trickled into his awareness over time. Like what you were planning to cook, whether you had guests coming over, even the way your eyes lit up when you talked about a new recipe. He wasn’t prying, wasn’t trying to learn more about you, but the knowledge seeped in anyway, like rain through cracked windows. 

And he found himself enjoying it, this strange cat and mouse game you both seemed to play without ever acknowledging it.

It was the way you two observed each other—never too long, never enough to make it obvious, but enough to catch those fleeting moments when your eyes met his. It was a game of longing glances, of stolen seconds, a tempting thrill woven into the mundane, and Simon couldn’t help but lean into it, enjoying the chase.

It had become a sort of ritual, a delicate choreography.

Each Friday, it played out the same. A dance of soft touches and curious glances, of hesitations and quiet desire, a rhythm you both followed without ever naming it. He’d hand you your package of meat, your fingers brushing against his for the briefest of seconds, and you’d blush, your gaze flicking down to avoid his.

It was a small thing, a passing moment, but Simon found himself waiting for it each time you stepped through the door.

That delicate brush of time where your presence seemed to still the air around him. He’d catch you looking at him more often than not. His arms, his hands, even the way he moved around the shop. You thought yourself subtle, but Simon, who had spent a lifetime reading the unspoken language of people, so he definitely knew when someone was holding back. And yet, despite all of it, you never made a move, never crossed that line.

Until you did.

It had been a regular Friday afternoon, just like all the others, and you’d come in with your usual nervous smile, your fingers brushing his as you took the package he’d prepared for you. But this time, something felt off, as though the sun had lost its way in the sky, casting shadows where light should have been.

You’d lingered just a little longer, your eyes meeting his with a kind of quiet determination that he hadn’t seen before.

And then, you asked him. 

“Are you… visiting anyone during the holidays?” The question had been innocent enough, your voice soft and unsure, but the weight of it hung between you like something fragile, something easily shattered. “I mean, celebrating with your family or…?” 

Simon’s chest tightened at the mention of family. However, the way you looked at him, the vulnerability in your sweet voice, made something stir in him, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“If not,” you’d continued, your voice faltering slightly, “I was thinking, maybe… you could join me for dinner this week? At my place.”

He’d stared at you, unable to form words for a moment.

You’d always been nervous around him, shy and reserved, but this… this was something else. The offer hung in the air, tentative, like you were holding out your heart, unsure if he’d take it or let it fall.

Simon had spent most of his life holding the world at arm’s length, keeping people at a distance where they couldn’t reach him, where they couldn’t see the quiet wounds beneath his skin. It was easier that way, safer and cleaner. No need to wrestle with the chaos of feelings or the tangled knots that came with letting someone slip past the defences. But as he stood there, your gentle eyes searching his, waiting for a word, he felt something shift, something unsettling in its quiet simplicity. It crept up on him, the realisation, as delicate and inevitable as the tide, that keeping you at a distance wasn’t as effortless as it had once been. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew, in that fleeting moment, something had shifted.

Simon didn’t want to say no.

So he didn't.

“Okay.”

Your face had lit up, a soft smile breaking across your lips as you nodded, the tension in the air dissolving into something lighter, warmer. You took the package from him, your fingers brushing his once more, but this time it felt different—like a promise, a quiet understanding passing between you.

As you slipped through the door, leaving the shop behind, Simon remained rooted in place, his gaze lingering on the space where you'd been, watching the quiet swing of the door as it clicked shut. And for the first time in longer than he could remember, the feeling that settled in his chest wasn’t the familiar weight of apathy, nor the impenetrable armour of his guarded soul. No, this was something different—something lighter, like the gentle stirring of a breeze before dawn. It crept in softly, taking root in his ice cold heart, as though he were standing on the edge of something unknown, the whisper of a promise waiting to unfold.

For the first time in a long time, Simon allowed himself to think about what it might be like to let someone in.

To let you in.

And the thought didn’t scare him as much as it should have.

[venerawrites]

Vi reuniting with her significant-other after prison? The reader could be a mercenary, or a firelight, a baker, an artist(music and paint) just to name a few occupations they could have. I am not used to requesting, so please forgive me.

author's note: I think this request is so cute, I really loved doing it! I tis a bit angsty in the beginning, but it is fluffy at the end! <3 Thank you so much for requesting and I hope you enjoy! x

Nature always finds a way.

Even when surrounded by nothing but a cold, grey concrete, it managed to give birth to life.

Hope.

As she leaned against the wall, Vi gazed upon the big tree in front of her, focusing her attention on the gentle dance of the green leaves. Of course, she has seen trees before, in Piltover and on photographs, but never in Zaun.

In a way, she was both surprised and impressed with Ekko finding this place. She always thought she knew the city like the back of her hand, yet she had never stumbled over here. How many places were like that in the Undercity? How many places remained hidden, waiting to become a symbol of a new beginning?

"Your mind seems far away", a voice sounded next to her and Vi turned to her right, only to find Caitlyn's smiling face. Despite her gentle expression, there was a spark of worry in her eyes.

Interesting girl was she. One who has grown up in a closed bubble, protected by her family's money and influence, yet there was a fire inside of her, that made her different from the stereotypical Piltover person. She had a deep sense of justice and despite seeing the worst of Zaun, instead of turning her head to the side, she wanted to dig deeper and to know more.

Vi would lie if she said she did not judge her in the beginning. She was sure Caitlyn would not survive more than an hour down here. However, the girl kept making her raise her brows in surprise, completely changing her views about the people in the Topside.

"It is", the pink-haired girl finally answered, letting out a soft sigh in the process, "Somewhere far. Somewhere better."

And with someone else.

Biting her lip, she turned her attention to the few streaks of grass poking near her feet. She grasped one, pulling it out and bringing it in front of her eyes. Twirling it a few times, she carefully examined it, noting how the end was starting to turn yellow.

There was minute during which each of the women seemed to be lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Caitlyn laid her palm on Vi's back, rubbing small circles on top of the clothed skin. She remained silent, but her gesture managed to ease the tension in the other female's muscles.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Vi shook her head, his eyes still focused on the little piece of grass in her fingers.

God, she wanted to talk. She needed to talk. But what was weighing on her mind, was something she couldn't share with anyone. Especially Caitlyn.

"No, I will be fin-"

"YOU LYING SNAKE!"

Before Vi could realise what was happening, she found herself on the floor pinned by your trembling body. The eyes, once so full of gentle love, which haunted her dreams almost every night, were now staring down at her full of rage. As your name rolled off her tongue, another set of hands got involved by grabbing you by the shoulders.

"Hey! Get off her!"

Whipping your head back, your eyes narrowed to slits once you saw the blue-haired enforcer. Your nose involuntarily scrunched, a clear sign you were far from happy of what, or more specifically who, was before you.

Ekko has already warned you Vi was back in the city and that she was accompanied by an enforcer, but you did not expect... well, her. In your mind, you had built the picture of an old, grumpy prison officer, not a young and pretty woman. Perhaps, you did not want to believe YOUR girlfriend would be giving someone like her a tour around Zaun, while completely forgetting your existence.

Your name was called again and you looked down, your expression softening once your eyes met those of Vi. Many emotions were swimming inside of them - happiness, guilt, pain, relief - all of which were making you wish for nothing more than to press her against your chest and hold her for hours. Your fingers twitched, but instead of embracing her, you landed a few harsh slaps against her shoulders.

"Stop!", Caitlyn shouted once more, grabbing your vest from the back. Instead of calming you down, however, this enraged you even more and you turned around, slapping her hands away.

The enforcer was not a woman who gave up easily, however.

"I demand you to stop!", your body froze as the command left her lips. You stayed still for a few seconds, during which only your heavy panting and the distant shouts of the children around the base could be heard.

"You demand me?", the words came out as a loud scoff and you lifted yourself from Vi, while eyeing the other girl with a mix of irritation and disbelief. With one long stride, you closed the distance between you and gabbed the front of her jacket.

"I demand you to shut your mouth and get your little ass out of here before I kick it so hard, you'll regret ever coming to the Undercity!"

Before things could escalate, you were pulled away by Vi, who held her arms tight around you, while nodding her head toward Caitlyn.

"Cait, give us-Stop it, damn it!", she groaned, tightening her hold, "Cait give us a few minutes!"

The blue-eyed enforcer stood frozen in her place, her worried gaze shifting from her friend to you and then back. You still fought back against Vi's grip, ignoring the feelings of warmth and nostalgia that you felt by being so close to her.

"Please?", the pink-haired woman said again and reluctantly, Caitlyn started walking slowly backward. Once she was far from earshot, Vi released her grip on you and took a step back, giving you some space. She opened her mouth to speak, but you were faster.

Without a word, you turned around and smacked your palm against her cheek. Her head whipped to the side and for a moment, it remained there, frozen. The usually pale skin flushed a deep red where your hand had made contact and your hand trembled, before hiding inside the warm comfort of your pants' pocket.

"I probably deserve that...", Vi mumbled, moving her jaw left and right while she rubbed the sore spot on her face. She took a shaky breath, regaining her composure, before lifting her face. With the corner of her eyes, she could see Caitlyn eyeing both of you with worry and she lifted her hand toward her, a gesture to show her she did not need to intervene. Yet.

The subtle communication did not stay hidden from you and let out an angry huff, before shaking your head. Rarely have you felt such intense emotions, especially since that night when... No. You couldn't go back down this memory lane. Not again.

"Oh, you deserve way more than that!", your tongue pushed against your cheek, biting back all of the colourful insults that were resting on the tip of it. The memories of all those lonely nights you spent crying, mourning, and wondering what happened to her, now hung between you like a dark cloud. No matter how much you have prepared to face her once again, all self-control and reason left your mind as soon as you laid your eyes on her.

"I know you're hurt, but please give me a chance to explain!", her voice was low and soft, an unusual sound for Vi, "Please, I-"

"What is there to explain? You left! You left me! You left Powder! You left Ekko...", with each name, the pain in your chest felt stronger. You closed your mouth, pressing your lips into a thin line before your gaze involuntarily moved to your right, where in the distance the enforcer was nervously chewing her thumb while keeping her attention glued to both of you.

Narrowing your eyes, you grabbed Vi's hand before starting to drag her toward the nearby wood shack. In the beginning, when you joined the Firelights it was used as a storage for hoverboards, but as the members of your group grew, it was soon abandoned and left to collect dust. It was secluded and most importantly away from prying eyes and ears.

The pink-haired girl followed without resistance, giving a last reassuring nod to the Piltover girl, who was now being led away by another Firelight. From all of the scenarios she imagined through the years about your reunion, you pouncing on her was definitely not on the list. A hug, a kiss, maybe even a chance for her to finally show you how much she actually loved you - those were the fantasies that kept swirling around her head all morning when she thought of how should she handle your first meeting after so many years.

Hearing that you were now part of the Firelights was not a surprise. Just like her, you liked to resolve your problems with your fists, rather than talk, and like many young people part of the group, there was nothing that you wished for more than free Zaun. You were stubborn, hot-headed, and reckless, and gave Vi a headache more than once in the past.

Would she have it any other way, however? Absolutely not!

Despite your tough and fiery nature, you also possessed a surprising softness and gentleness, reserved for those closest to you. She often considered herself lucky by being able to see you like this - open and vulnerable, a harsh contrast with your usual combative demeanour. The memories of your many nights spent together, sharing warm cuddles and soft kisses, while your head rested on her shoulder as you talked about your future dreams, often resurfaced in Vi's mind, reminding her how effortlessly it was for you to make her fall in love with you.

Deep inside she foolishly believed that if she ever got the chance to be released from prison, everything would be the same. Powder would still be her little sister, seeking her approval; Ekko would be their smart-ass best friend, who spent too much time tinkering with random gadgets; and you, her first love and girlfriend, would patiently wait for her arrival, ready to promise her the future which you always dreamt about when you were little.

Now, as she stood in front of your furious figure, she felt almost foolish for having such expectations. Of course you would change, you were forced to, just like everyone else in Zaun. The hardships you had to face at such a young age shaped you into someone colder and more guarded.

"I am sorry."

The words fell quietly from Vi's mouth, as she watched your face, trying to find even a glimpse of the love you once carried for her. All that stared back, however, was fury and disgust.

"You are sorry? That's all you've got to say?", you let out a dry chuckle, your voice ringing with mockery. Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you eyed her up and down, finally having the chance to properly observe her appearance.

Vi has always been a beautiful woman, even if she never seemed to care much about her looks. She never bothered with fancy hairstyles or clothes, preferring practicality and comfort over style. Yet, she possessed a natural attractiveness, one that made you turn your head the first time you saw her.

Your eyes focused on her buzzcut, before sliding down her face and noting the numerous new piercings and a tattoo, that were now covering it. Her eyes, still as piercing as you remembered them, held the same fiery spark as before, despite being clouded by guilt. She was also taller and more muscular, now towering almost a full head above you.

"I didn't leave!", she finally said, her expression hardening, "That night..."

The words got stuck in her throat, as she let out an angry sigh and rubbed her calloused hands on her face. Her body slumped against the wooden wall behind her, the loud thud making you wince.

"That night I was taken against my will", she continued, her voice trembling, "By the Enforcers. I... After seeing the remains of the explosion and Powder, I just needed a minute. Some time to breathe, to realise what had happened..."

The rage that bubbled inside your chest just a minute ago slowly started to evaporate, replaced by a mix of caution and confusion. You never wanted to believe that she abandoned you - for years, you pushed this thought aside, not able to accept the idea that Vi is capable of doing something like this. Not to you or Powder.

But as the time passed, the hope you held that she was just hiding somewhere started to transform into suspicion. Seeing Powder becoming Jinx right in front of your eyes, claiming that her sister deserted her, also did not help ease your mind and soon you started to accept this version of the events more and more.

She left you. Alone.

As she continued speaking, telling you how she was thrown in Stillwater Hold, never prosecuted or charged, and beaten and tortured, your whole body tensed. Her words painted a picture of chaos and pain, something completely different from what you had imagined for her. You always thought that she was living her best life, somewhere far away from Zaun.

"Do you know how many times I thought of giving up? Of just accepting that this was the end?", her eyes lifted toward your face, the raw feelings behind them making your breath catch in your throat, "But then I thought of you. Of Powder. And I knew I had to find a way back to you."

Her words hung in the air, and there was a minute of silence, during which you assimilated what she had said. A part of you wished for your initial belief to be true - you spend such a long time resenting her for abandoning you, and to a certain extent you even made your peace with it. But now, as she spoke her truth, you were left both confused and heartbroken.

How could you deal with that?

"I thought I would never see you again", you finally said, your voice sounding way softer and gentler than it was before, "That you are living your life somewhere else... with someone else."

Vi's brows furrowed at your admission and she pushed herself away from the wall, before taking a few steps toward you.

"Did you really believe I would do that?", her accusation made you shrink in your place, "That I would just leave you and Powder by yourself? That I don't care?"

The mention of her sister sent a pang of sorrow through your heart. Everyone knew how hard it was for you to witness her transformation, especially since you fought for years to save her from Silco's influence and twisted games. It took a long time for you to accept the painful truth that she was beyond saving.

"Have you seen Powder?", you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, "Do you know what she has become?"

Her gaze fell down at her feet and she weakly moved her head up and down. Despite seeing it with her own eyes, it all still felt unreal. If she controlled her anger that night, if she never screamed at her sibling, if she didn't step back from her... Maybe everything would've been different.

"I tried, Vi", you shook your head, unable to even look at her eyes, "I tried so hard, but Silco had his claws in her mind, filling it with lies. I couldn't... I couldn't save her. I don't know if anyone can. Even you..."

The woman's face fell - this was the second time she was told there was no hope for her sister anymore. She wanted to argue, to tell you that she could reach her, save her, but deep down she knew what your response was going to be. You were always honest to a fault, wearing your heart on your sleeve, and while Vi always loved that about you, she was not ready to hear the truth. Even if she already knew it.

Closing the gap between you, she cupped your cheek, gently running her thumb across the skin. You instinctively leaned toward it, seeking the feeling of warmth and comfort that you have been missing for so many years.

"I know", she said, still caressing your face, "It's not your fault. You did everything you could."

Her words were meant to comfort, but all they did was add the final drop to the already overflowing pool of emotions bubbling inside your chest. You leaped forward, circling your arms around her taller frame and burying your face in her chest. Hot tears were now flowing from your eyes, a result of years of silent suffering. Loud sobs escaped your lips, and you felt her strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer in a protective embrace.

"I missed you!", your words were muffled by your face being pressed against her shirt, "I missed you so much, Vi! I.. I thought I would never see you again!"

Her grip tightened and she buried her nose in your hair, inhaling deeply. The sweet scent of strawberry and cream filled her senses and she smiled, finding comfort in the fact that even years later, you still used the same shampoo. After being hit with the harsh reality of what Zaun has become, she welcomed this familiarity, even if it was a small one.

"I missed you too!", she murmured in your hair, before pressing a tender kiss on top of your head, "It's all going to be alright. I promise! I am here now."

You knew you shouldn't hope - after all, in the past it brought you only hurt and despair. But as she continued whispering sweet promises next to your ear, you couldn't help but cling to them, allowing yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there is a chance for you both.

"I would never leave you again!", her voice became harsher, filled with determination, "Whatever happens, I will always be by your side!"

Closing your eyes, you nodded your head, pressing your face even further into her chest. Your breathing was now calmer and the tears had dried on your cheeks, leaving salty trails behind them. If only you could freeze time and stay in this moment forever...

Suddenly your body tensed and you pulled yourself harshly from her embrace, leaving Vi shocked and surprised by the sudden movement.

"What about the enforcer girl?", your face scrunched in disgust as the words fell out of your lips, "Who is she... to you?"

The young woman blinked a few times, taken aback by your bluntness and the sudden coldness in your voice.

"Caitlyn?", the sound of her name made you roll your eyes, "She is... a friend. She helped me get out of Stillwater."

Your brow quirked and your arms crossed in front of your chest, as if protecting you from the idea that there may be something more between them. Ekko has briefly told you what he knew about her and how she seemed to be different from the other enforcers, but even he still had certain reservations when it came to her real intentions and her relationship to Vi.

"Just a friend? Is that all she is to you?"

The pink-haired woman stared long and hard at your face, somewhat amused by your questioning. She bit her lip, trying to suppress her smirk, but she couldn't control the way the corners of her lips twitched upwards.

"Violet!", the sound of you using her full name pulled her attention to your face and she reached out to you again, resting her hands on your waist, "Violet, I am being serious!"

She took a deep breath, fighting the urge to just pull you closer and shut your mouth, stopping you from asking such silly things. Her gaze bored into yours and her fingers squeezed the soft flesh under them.

"Caitlyn has been a great friend and a partner in crime...", she explained, pulling you closer to her, "But she is not you! I am not interested in her in that way."

With narrowed eyes, you studied her face for any signs of her lying, before reluctantly nodding your head. Slowly you lifted your arms, before wrapping them around her neck and immediately starting to play with the ends of her short locks.

"C'mon, I have a girlfriend, who do you think I am?", Vi finally let out a soft laugh, leaning her face toward yours and nudging your nose with hers. A light blush covered your cheeks and the tip of your ears at the sound of the word "girlfriend". After so many years apart, you were not even sure if she still considered you as such.

"A girlfriend, huh? She must be lucky!"

She grinned, moving one of her hands behind your neck, while the other one remained gripping your waist.

"I think I am the lucky one."

She closed the distance between you, pressing her chapped lips against yours and pouring all of the pent up frustration and love she held for you. Closing your eyes, you melted in her embrace, completely intoxicated by the familiar taste of her. The hand behind your neck pushed you even closer to her, resulting in a harsh battle of teeth and tongues, during which she easily dominated you.

When you finally pulled back, both of you rested your foreheads against each other, while trying to catch your breaths. You opened your eyes, immediately meeting those of Vi. Dragging your hand from behind her neck to her cheek, you rubbed it affectionately, smiling once she nudged it with her head.

"If you disappear again, I will hunt you down", you say half-seriously, half-jokingly, "And I will kick your ass!"

A wide grin formed on her face.

"I wouldn't even dream of it."

cc artwork: Shuo Shi

[grimmweepers-archive]

— ★ 𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: a year after your bitter divorce, you crossed paths with your ex-husband again, forcing you to confront your unresolved past.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Ex-Husband Toji x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.7k | masterlist | byf/dni | ao3

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: smut MDNI, light angst, hurt/comfort, the comfort is sex, yearning, arguing, swearing, soft and maybe ooc!toji but rough sex, couch sex, unprotected, oral (fem! receiving), fingering, missionary, make-outs, dirty talk, mild hair-pulling, mild choking, creampie, he calls you ‘little birdie’ and ‘baby’, late-twenties reader in mind

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The thing about ex-husband Toji is that no matter how much he tries to drown his sorrows in booze or waste his hard-earned money on gambling, he can’t escape the fact that he’s still so painfully— maddeningly in love with you. 

He was no stranger to flirting with random women at the bar, hoping to mask his woes, but it was always a punch to the gut whenever he found himself searching for a piece of you in them. 

Toji, from the very beginning, never believed in marriages, much less divorces— so enduring it for this long had changed him in ways he never expected. 

As the first anniversary of the divorce approached, you remembered when he asked you to be official. Those naive, argument-free days felt like a lifetime ago, and you almost wished you could go back, even for a breath of a second.

It just made you wonder— when did it all go wrong?

You were the one who filed, but it didn’t make it any easier— he didn’t make it easier. The last time you saw him was when he signed the papers for the final time, dropped off some keys, and bid you farewell with a stinging “See ya” before closing the door behind him for good. For longer than you wanted to admit, any time somebody had knocked on the door unexpectedly, you had wished it was him. 

Your love for him never left but you were good enough at concealing it to keep the pitying comments at bay. Although, having the anniversary so close felt like reopening a wound and it fucking sucked. 

The place you became official wasn’t far from home. Toji was never big on flashy things so he had asked you at a quaint, little park with his arm slung around your shoulders as you both sat on the worn-out bench. 

“Toji, would you put that duckling down? It’s trying to get back in the pond.”

“Yeah, in a minute,” he replied, squeezing you. There was a hint of wonder in his eyes as he watched the duckling flap its flightless wings before he set it on the ground. Then he turned to you, a grin playing on his lips. 

“Wanna be my little birdie?” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you said. But you remember your heart pounding out of your chest. His straightforwardness was exactly what you loved about him.

Back then, he watched you with a different kind of intensity and that’s what made you realise he wasn’t fooling around. Finally, you gave him a small nod, “Alright, I’ll be your little birdie.” 

A quiet, satisfied huff escaped him and he pulled you closer. His lips brushed your temple in a brief, possessive kiss that sent a shiver down your spine. For a while you both sat in silence, listening to the rustling trees and soft quacking of ducklings as they reunited with their mother. It was more comforting than Toji would ever admit out loud.

Eventually, he spoke, his voice low and gravelly, “I don’t got a lot to offer and I sure as hell ain’t good with words. But I’ll take care of you. You’ll never have to worry about that.”

You leaned into him, resting your head on his solid shoulder, “That’s all I need.” 

That was when your journey truly began and it wasn’t long before Toji proposed… So again you asked yourself, when did it all go wrong? 

When the anniversary of your divorce finally came around, your friends decided to treat you to dinner to get your mind off your troubles. But on the drive home, you found yourself taking a detour and then another, your mind drifted as your hand steered the wheel almost on its own. 

Before you knew it, you had arrived at the park that started it all. You sat there for a minute, staring at the familiar scenery, unsure of what you were expecting to find— perhaps some ghosts of the past. It was definitely quiet and eerily so. 

You stepped out of the car and walked slowly to that same bench, it had aged even more since you saw it last. Sitting down, you closed your eyes and let the memories from that day wash over you— the warmth of Toji’s arm and the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. 

But those were just memories now. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there but the cold was beginning to bite through your clothes. So with a deep sigh, you decided it was time to leave. Whatever you were searching for, it wasn’t going to be here. 

The sound of footsteps made your heart skip a beat, and you snapped your head towards the sound. You weren’t expecting anyone to be here at this hour. 

And then you saw him.

You had to blink once, twice— thrice to make sure you weren’t imagining his broad silhouette against the fading light. Neither of you moved and you hoped that maybe you could escape before he saw you too. But you knew that was impossible.

“Toji…”

He didn’t answer right away but he took a step closer with his hands still in his pocket. “Shit… Didn’t expect to see you here,” his voice rough, as if cutting through the silence like a blade. 

“I-I didn’t think…” You pinched the bridge of your nose, praying that when you took your hand away, he’d be gone.

Toji eyed the bench and you saw a flicker of something on his face that made your chest tighten. “This place…” He began as his gaze fell on the empty spot beside you, “It’s somethin’, huh?”

You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. The park that felt so empty just moments ago was now humming with tension between the both of you— the weight of a year without each other hanging in the air.  

He didn’t mean to sit next to you but he had to do something to make up for the silence. 

“So, how’ve you been?” your question came out more awkwardly than intended. You swallowed hard as you tried to compose yourself. 

Toji shrugged, “Been gettin’ by.”

He was still the same— gruff, unreadable, with an air of indifference that used to drive you crazy in more ways than one.

The small talk felt like a waste of time and you wanted to jump into everything left unsaid. You knew he wasn’t the type to have the patience for it either. 

“I didn’t expect to end up here,” you admitted, more to yourself than to him. “I just… I don’t know. I felt like I needed to see it again.”

His expression darkened, “It brings back a lot, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t answer, you just nodded. This park was a place of new beginnings and now it felt like a graveyard of what could have been. The silence was starting to stretch and grow thicker with each passing second.

“Why didn’t you fight for us, Toji?” The question slipped out before you could stop and it was laced with pain that had been simmering for too long.

Toji turned to you, his eyes narrowed slightly, “What good would it have done?” And then he stood up— you almost thought he was going to leave again. “You made up your mind.”

“You could have tried!” You snapped. “You just let it fall apart like it didn’t mean a damn thing to you.”

His jaw clenched as he stepped closer. “You’re the one who filed for the divorce,” he growled. “You’re the one who walked away.” 

“Because you wouldn’t fight for us!” You shot back, now standing up in his face. 

His eyes flashed with anger as he closed the distance between you, looming over you with that presence that used to make you feel so safe. Now it made your heart race for different reasons. “You think it was easy to watch you leave? To sign those damn papers?” His voice was louder than before. “I didn’t fight because I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“That’s bullshit, Toji,” you hissed, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. “You never even tried. You let me walk out of your life like I was nothing.”

He took another step forward and you could almost feel the heat radiating off his body. “Don’t you dare say you were nothing,” he snarled. “You were everything to me.”

The intensity of his words hit you like a physical blow so before you knew it, you were shoving him. “Then why did it feel like I didn’t matter?” Your voice trembled as it came out in a rush and you hated yourself for breaking this fast. “Why did you make it seem like it was so damn easy?”

Toji caught your wrists, his grip was firm but not painful. “You think it was easy for me?” his breath was fanning your face. “You didn’t think I was kickin’ myself every day since? Tell me why you think I came back here,” he shook you. “It’s because I missed the hell out of you!” 

You struggled against his hold but he didn’t let go, and something raw and desperate came over his glare. The air was thick with anger, hurt, and another thing that you didn’t want to admit.

Your breath hitched in your throat, “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to walk back into—”

Before you could continue, his lips crashed against yours, cutting off whatever protest you had. The kiss was rough and hungry, fuelled by the emotions he had been burying for the past year. You tried to resist, to push him away but your body worked against you.

“Let… me… go…” You said between gasps, though you lacked the conviction.

“No,” he whispered, “Not until you understand that you mattered, that you still matter.”

His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer before catching you in another ferocious kiss. You couldn’t help but melt into him. The hurt began to dissolve into something more primal and you were responding to him with a need that had never really gone away. You could feel his longing and frustration too. All the pent-up emotions came crashing down and it wasn’t just about the kiss anymore; it was about everything left unresolved between you.

He slid his hands up your back and held you until there was no space left. As he brushed his tongue against your lips— as you allowed him in— the familiar scent of his cologne flooded your senses. You didn’t want to think anymore, didn’t want to dwell on the pain or the past. Not yet. Right now, you just wanted to feel.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both breathless.  Your hands hadn’t left his chest and your fingers trembled, the mixed emotions were written on both of your faces. 

“Toji…” 

He looked at your lips, and then your eyes. You understood the conflict writhing in him. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he finally said. 

You knew what he was suggesting— it was a terrible idea. It would only complicate things but the larger part of you didn’t care. You needed this and you needed him, undeniably. 

The walk back to the car was a blur.

When you reached the car, you expected him to ask where to go, but instead, he pushed you against the car door and began trailing kisses down your neck. God, it had been so long since anybody touched you like this so when he started sucking the sensitive spots he knew so well, it was enough for you to forget your own name.

You moaned softly as his hands moved to your breasts, massaging them through your clothes. Hearing you like this after all this time had him grind against your thigh, his already half-hard bulge pressing into you. 

“Fuck—” he muttered, his breath hot and heavy. “The things you do to me…” he paused, brushing his lips against your ear. “Think you’re gonna make it home, baby?” 

No. The honest answer was that you weren’t sure. Every touch was so deliberate and the way he called you ‘baby’ after all these rotten months was so intoxicating, that you were almost offended he remained the same since you last slept together. You probably dragged out the divorce just to hold onto the sex for a little longer. 

Without an answer, he took it as a sign to squeeze your thigh, ready to hoist you around his waist but—

“Toji,” you interrupted, trying not to sound like it was out of pleasure even though it was ready to overtake you. If you were going to fuck your ex-husband, it was going to be on your terms, in the comfort of your own home, 

“My place. Now.”

“Come inside…”

When the front door closed behind you, Toji was on you again, lips crashing into yours with a force that took your breath away.

He backed you into the living room, restraint now completely gone. His hands were everywhere— exploring, claiming— slipping under your shirt, and tracing the contours of your body with a hunger that made your knees weak. 

You didn’t hold back either, your fingers tugging at his jacket, eager to feel his skin. He pinned you against the wall, nipping love bites below your collarbone. You fumbled with his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders as your own clothes began to disappear piece by piece. 

“God, you’re still so perfect,” he murmured as he kissed down your stomach. You were left in only your panties and Toji didn’t hesitate to show his gratitude by pressing his lips against the thin, lacey fabric. “Every damn night… You were always in my head,” he confessed while looking up at you with those sinful eyes. He lapped you through the fabric, once, twice, and your body responded instantly, his name began rolling off your tongue. 

This was taking you right back.

“Don’t know how I let you slip away,” he said, his voice rough with regret, as he yanked your panties to the side and sank his mouth directly into your folds. He swirled circles around your clit and you couldn’t help but rock your hips towards his face.

“Toji… don’t… stop…” you pleaded, biting your lip while your hands were tangled in his hair. He groaned in response, one hand palming his cock through his trousers, the other gripping your thigh to keep you steady. The thought of your ex-husband on his knees, groaning and telling you how much he regretted losing you while his face was buried in your pussy, sent a rush of heat through you.

“I’m not… going anywhere,” he muttered as he unbuttoned his pants. “Not this time,” he freed his cock, stroking it slowly as his tongue sloppily dragged up and down your sweet spot, making you clench around him.

The room was quiet aside from the sound of him devouring you. His movements became faster and more greedy, and you could feel yourself shaking and squirming on him. Every time you moaned his name, he fucked his fist with more desperation, spurred on by the way you tightened around his tongue. 

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy,” he said through grunts. He slid a finger inside you, and then another, stretching you just enough before pumping you with relentless vigor. His impatience was palpable; he never bothered with a slow build-up, and the intensity had you arching against the wall and pushing his head deeper into your cunt. 

Shit. 

You were close— so close— and he wasn’t going to stop until you were cumming all over his mouth.

The way he moved, the way he touched— it was sensory overload. As he flattened his tongue and rubbed it over your clit, again and again, he glanced up at you, his eyes dark with hunger. When he let go of his length to play with your nipples, you were instantly spiraling over the edge.

“Oh, fuck!” You cried out, your fingers tightening in his hair. “Don’t stop!” 

And of course, he didn’t.

Your vision went white as wave after wave of sensation rolled through you, your body convulsing as you came, and your juices coating his chin and fingers. When he finally pulled away, he looked no better than a hound who had just feasted and a small pool of precum sat below his cock, which was now twitching eagerly against his stomach.

Limp and spent, you almost slid down the wall, but Toji quickly caught you by the chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. 

“Ah ah ah—” he taunted you, “You’re forgettin’ something.”

You mustered enough energy to roll your eyes, retorting, “You’re in no position to expect anything from me,” but out of the kindness of your heart (not), you did it anyway.

It was almost a custom to kiss him after he’d been between your legs. He loved the filthiness of it, how it riled him up in ways nothing else could. Still catching your breath, you pressed your lips on his, tasting yourself on his tongue as he deepened it.

“Tastes good, huh?” he whispered against your lips, a grin spreading across his face.

Annoyed by the brief pause in his touch, you replied, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

You impatiently pulled him back, continuing the heated kiss.

The hint of sass in your voice made his cock twitch, a reminder that there was still unfinished business. Between gasps and sighs, you snaked your hand across the hard lines of his body, heading straight to his length. But as you wrapped your fingers around his throbbing shaft, he grabbed your wrist.

Your eyes widened in surprise.

“Nah,” he gruffed, “You ain’t doing nothin’ tonight, baby.”

Before anything else, Toji moved. In a swift motion, he led you to your couch— pushing you down onto the cushions as they sank beneath your weight. Your heart raced when he positioned himself above you.

“Toji–” you breathed, your hands ran to his chest, feeling the hard muscle flex under your touch. 

“I’m takin’ care of you tonight,” he settled between your thighs, “Just relax for me.”

He rubbed his fat tip at your entrance, teasing just enough to make you whine, but that was the last of his patience. Gripping your hip with his free hand, he buried himself inside you with one deep thrust. It strangled a helpless moan out of you. The stretch was as delicious as you remembered, filling you in a way that was both familiar and overwhelmingly new.

“F-Fuck, I’ve missed this,” he grunted low in his throat. Resting his forehead on yours, his breath was staggered as he gave you a moment to adjust. You couldn’t form a coherent response, too caught up by the way he was splitting you apart. Instead, you wrapped your legs around his waist and he needed no more encouragement than that.

He started moving and his pace was unforgiving from the start. It was hard and deep, each thrust pushing you into the cushions. The couch creaked beneath you but you barely noticed.

“Yes-Yes, Toji—” you gasped, nails digging into the bare skin of his back as he pounded into you. You could feel him everywhere, his hands on your waist, his chest pressed against yours, the thick length of him sliding in and out with a rhythm that had you seeing stars. The way he took you— it was almost like the first time all over again.

But Toji wasn’t having any of it. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back, making you look up at him while he was fucking you, 

“You’re mine.” 

His voice was possessive and it sent a jolt straight to your core. If it was even possible, he picked up his pace and became erratic. Each movement drew a cry from you as your back arched off the couch. 

“More… Please—  don’t stop…”

“I won’t,” he cooed, “I’m right here, baby. I’m not lettin’ you go.”

Your moans grew louder as he continuously hit the sweet spot that had your walls tightening around him. The room mingled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, your breathless cries, and his ragged grunts.

When your nails sunk even deeper into his skin, you could have sworn the bastard threw his head back, with that infamous smirk tugging at his mouth.

But you could feel it coming, your body was tensing and ready to snap. 

“Toji… I think I’m gonna—”

“Do it, baby,” he urged. He released your hair, his hand sliding down to your throat, holding you there as he fucked you even harder. “Let me feel you.”

That was all it took. 

Your orgasm crashed over you but he didn’t slow down. He fucked you right through your climax as you cried out his name.

Toji wasn’t far behind. As you gripped him, he shuddered, thrusting a few more times before spilling his thick white cum into you, pulsing as he filled you with his warmth. His loudest groan followed right after. 

For a moment, neither of you moved as you caught your breath. 

You could feel his heartbeat slowly calming and his grip on you tightened as if to hold you closer. Remaining tangled together was not a choice, you told yourself. It was just the outcome of exhaustion. 

But a part of you knew better.

You wondered how long it was going to take for him to pull out but he stayed inside you. His softening length kept his seed from spilling out entirely.

Then, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, a stark difference from what had just happened. 

In the darkness of your home, you saw it— the same look he gave you on the day he asked you to be his. There was a glimpse of sadness too.

Maybe, just maybe, he cared after all.

As he looked down at you, chest still heaving from the intensity, Toji was struck by the fear that had haunted him for months. The fear he had truly lost you— that no amount of sex, no confessions, could fix the damage that had been done. But something allowed him to hope.

“I know that didn’t mean shit as an apology,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’ll earn you back if you’d let me.”

His words hung heavy in the air.

As you searched for an answer, a thought crept in: whatever this was, it was far from over. 

And maybe, just maybe, that was okay— at least for now. 

a/n: this is the first jjk fic i’ve written in two years. i was so scared to post this. i’m not kidding, my heart was gonna fall out of my ass. i’ve been a sukuna girl through and through but toji can take the spotlight i guesssss

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform

divider and line break by @/chachachannah

mdni banner template from @/kithsune

[samkerrworshipper]

initiation | barca femeni x reader

part 2 -> part 1

warnings: pure smut and filth

this is not made for anybody under the age of 18, you are responsible for your own digital consumption.

Lucy opens the door without any hesitation, and almost as soon as she does the silence is broken by the sounds of a series of gasps and moans.

It bounces off of the walls surrounding you, and you jolt a little bit when it finally makes it to your eardrums.

“Lucia, te tomaste tu tiempo.” Lucy, took your time

Lucy steps into the room, and it gives you your first view of what’s happening.

“Buenos Noches.”

Keira’s hand grabs onto your own, pulling you into the room with her.

Your eyes flash around at a hundred miles an hour, taking in all of your surroundings.

It’s a oddly set up space, which makes you think that it’s been preorganised specifically for this. It’s a overly open living space, a kitchen to the left as you walk in, but the rest of the living room is completely empty besides massive couches that really are the size of beds.

The lounge room is massive, but the big couches and seats surround the space.

It’s not the couches that actually capture your attention though, it’s all of the women on them.

Everybody is in different stages of undress, and doing different things, it takes a few seconds for you to absorb.

Then, you spot an actual bed sitting about ten metres in front of the couch, pushed up against a wall.

It’s a big bed, but the size of the bed definitely isn’t what captures your attention.

It’s whats happening on it, which is enough to make your eyes almost fall out of their sockets.

There are three people on it, people you quickly recognise as Mapi, Aitana and Ingrid.

Aitana is crammed between the two women, Ingrid’s behind her and Mapi in front.

Mapi’s mouth is directly on her clit, whilst Ingrid is fucking her soundly and roughly from behind.

You feel rude for staring but you also can’t manage to tear your eyes away from the view directly in front of you.

It’s the definition of erotic, watching as Aitana’s mouth goldfishes open and closed as the two women work away at her happily.

“Hola carino, come over here.”

It takes you a nudge from Keira to realise that Alexia is talking to you.

The captain is sitting on a couch, alone besides the fact that Jenni is on her knees in front of her licking gently at her.

Besides from that Alexia still has a bra on, a fairly simple but beautiful black lace piece that looks perfect against her tanned skin.

With a push from Keira you walk over to her, unsure how to approach.

She opens up her arms to you though, and you carefully, without disrupting Jenni climb into her lap, resting on top of one of her ridiculously muscular thighs.

It gives you a perfect view at what is happening below you, but you can’t help but let your eyes wander.

Keira and Lucy have already joined Pina and Patri in the corner of one of the couches, the two had been lazily making out but upon the appearance of the other couple they’ve now begun to kiss each other, with pina now grinding down on Lucy’s lap and Keira below a Patri who has straddled her and has her mouth on her neck and chest.

On the other side of the couch, Ona, the other newbie who you know from Man U is in the arms of Caro, Marta and Frido, who are all touching her in different places. Ona looks completely blissed out, something you hope to feel soon.

After you are done observing everybody else, your eyes naturally fall back to the bed, where Ingrid and Mapi are still going at it with Aitana, who looks like she’s on a completely different planet to everybody else.

“You like what you see, bebita?”

You absentmindedly nod at Alexia, your lip between your teeth as you continue to keep your eyes on the two women.

“Y’know, I’m sure Ingrid and Mapi would be happy to give you the same treatment, they like to reward pretty girls like yourself for being so good.”

The praise has you weak from below the knees, your tense body slowly relaxing against Alexia’s.

“Really?”

You’re well aware that you’ve been told multiple times that people are interested in having fun with you, but that doesn’t mean you find it easy to accept.

“Oh si, ellas están muy desesperadas por ti.” oh yes, they are very desperate for you

You understand that Spanish well enough, even if you don’t know the words. The way it falls from Alexia’s tongue is enough of an indicator.

“How about Jenni and I get you nice and ready for them then?”

You look down at jenni, she’s taken a break from Alexia to look up at you, a big smile on her face, which is glistening with what you assume to be Alexia’s juices.

“O-Okay.”

Alexia beams at you, her smile big and bright as she fiddles with the material of your sweater in between her fingers.

“Let’s take this off, hmm?”

You nod shyly at Alexia, everything about this whole situation is completely different to your previous experiences, and it’s not that you don’t like it but you can’t deny the fact that it’s making you feel a little bit anxious.

Alexia begins to tug the jumper up, over your stomach and then over your head.

You feel exposed, and your hands gravitate up to cover the skin almost immediately, but Alexia’s own hands grab at your wrists, pulling them down to rest at your waist, before you can protest Alexia’s lips are on your neck, biting at the exposed skin around your bra.

“So pretty carino, red is definitely your colour.”

Her praise makes your hands relax, allowing her to manhandle you on her lap so you are resting directly on her hips, your legs parted on top of hers.

“Is it okay if Jenni takes off your pants, carino?”

You nod your head, looking down at Jenni as her hands hook into the waistband of your sweats and begging to gently tug them down your legs, you lift your hips up for her, allowing her to slip them off with ease and reveal the matching lace panties underneath.

Jenni groans, and it makes you feel a little bit more confident, as the Spaniard looks at you like you are a meal to be eaten.

Once your pants are off and resting on the floor somewhere, she parts your legs properly, so they are hanging off of Alexia’s, leaving you exposed to the room.

Subconsciously, you are aware that there are eyes on you, but it doesn’t really set in for you because all of your attention is on Jenni, watching as she gently begins to litter kisses up the insides of your thighs.

It elicits a series of dirty noises to fall from your mouth, breathy groans as Alexia continues to nip at your neck and collar bone whilst Jenni worships the skin between your thighs.

“P-please.”

Your voice is quiet, quiet enough amongst all of the noise in the room that you aren’t sure whether you’re heard.

“What do you want carino?”

You groan as Alexia’s lips move further up your neck, somehow, even from behind you she manages to get the perfect angle, her neck craning around your own to peck at the sensitive skin.

“P-please.”

You’re brain is short circuiting, all you can do is look down at Jenni with complete disbelief as her lips nibble at the edges of your panties.

“You’re going to have to use your words carino, otherwise how are we supposed to know what you want?”

Alexia’s voice is teasing, a little bit mocking as her hands work their way up and down your hips, scratching up and down the skin, over and over again, every once and a while randomly they will stray up to your bra, drawing little circles around the underwire and lace trim.

“Jenni, please, more.”

Your words are murmured, your confidence still low as you work up the courage to ask for exactly what you want.

“More of this?”

Jenni moves her lips further down your legs, closer to your knee, earning her a sigh of annoyance from you and a big shake of your head.

“I’m going to need you to be more specific then, bebita.”

Jenni is quite frankly, in your opinion, the picture of desire.

Resting on her knees, her feet tucked underneath her thighs, legs spread, juices dripping down her chin and a big wolfish smile on her face.

It’s an out of body experience in itself just to look at her, but to feel her own desire to please you, it’s something else completely.

“Jenni, please, anything just touch my pussy.”

You don’t like top use vulgar language, but you know that there isn’t going to be any way to get her to do what you want without asking for it directly, so you do.

You are granted immediate validation, Jenni’s hands reaching up from her sides to the waistband of your panties, tugging them down at a speed that even you don’t even realise that they are off until Jenni’s lips are pressed directly against your heat.

The feeling ignites something in you, Jenni, doesn’t miss a beat, her mouth applying a pressure to you clit that in your opinion is absolutely perfect.

She knows what she’s doing, she reads your body like it’s an open book, parting your lips and folds apart with her tongue.

You’re a moaning mess, your hips thrusting on top of Alexia’s as Jenni eats you out like you are her last meal, savouring every single part of you, parts you weren’t even sure existed being worshipped.

You’re to much of a mess to even realise Alexia’s unclipped your bra, until her lips are on your nipples, her two hands resting on your belly, just above Jenni’s head.

It’s so amny sensations, so many fireworks bursting all over your body with every touch, nip and lick. You understand now what Alexia had said, about all of this being an atmospheric experience, about the magic of being in a room full of women who are experiencing just as much pleasure as you are, it’s a whole other energy you’ve ever experienced.

You’ve played at a a Euro’s, you’ve played at a full Wembley, and yet it wouldn’t come anywhere near this, in any form of excitement or pleasure.

Jenni is a expert with her mouth, alternating between sucking at your clit with so much pressure that your eyes roll into the back of your head, and flicking her tongue in and out of your hole, slurping up any new juices that are coming from it.

“G-god feels so good.”

Jenni seems to take the praise as even more of an incentive, the pressure applied to your clit somehow increasing, making you thrust directly into her. Alexia’s grip on your stomach and hips is strong, holding you down directly against her but you can’t stop the movements.

“How good does she feel carino? Is she getting you all ready for Ingrid’s cock?”

Your eyes stray from Jenni, up to the bed, where Ingrid is still pounding into an almost lifeless Aitana, who looks so blissed out that you wonder if she’s even remotely on the same planet as any of you anymore.

“S-so good.”

Your words are stuttered out between moans, your mouth hanging wide open as you continue to watch Ingrid, Aitana is bobbing up and down with every single thrust, her body almost ragdolling, the only thing holding her up behind Mapi, who has her hands securely on her hips, her fingers rubbing big circles over Aitana’s clit.

Ingrid looks wild, her hair all splayed out and sweaty, sticking to her face and neck, not that she seems to mind, all of her focus is on Aitana and the dildo that is connecting their two bodies.

“Are you going to cum for us carino? Going to cum all over Jenni’s face? Be a good girl and cum for me.”

You don’t even really notice that you are on the edge until Alexia’s reminding you, and suddenly you feel it all wash over you, the coil in your stomach snug and tight as Jenni focuses on your clit, applying pressure with her tongue and moving it in deep, tight circles.

“G-gonna cum, please can I cum?”

Alexia’s lips focus on your nipples, one of her hands reaching up from your hips to pinch the other one.

“Such good manners, go ahead carino.”

In synchronisation, Alexia pinches your nipple just hard enough for the pain to turn into pure pleasure and Jenni sucks down on your clit so hard that you see stars.

The mixed sensations have your body thrashing, Alexia’s hands being the only thing to stop you from falling off of her lap.

It’s unlike any other orgasm you’ve ever experienced, everything heightens for a few seconds, and then it all comes crashing down, your body going limp and shaking, your toes curling and feet arching as Jenni pulls all of the aftershocks from your body with her mouth.

Her focused sucking turns into big licks, from your clit down to your hole, parting everything as she runs over and over the same stripe.

It doesn’t take you long to recover, your body slowly becoming more aware of its surroundings as Alexia’s lips and Jenni’s mouth slowly bring you back down to earth.

You’re over sensitive, so you begin to tug your hands from Alexia, reaching down to gently push Jenni’s face away from you, well aware that if she keeps going you’ll be forced into a premature orgasm that will be nowhere near as pleasurable as one that’s properly built up.

Jenni coos at you from down below, if you weren’t floating on a happy cloud then you’d probably find it a little bit condescending, which is a big juxtaposition considering that she’s on her knees below you.

“How was that, carino? Jenni is quite skilled with her mouth, if she could she’d spend every day of her life on her knees for a pretty girl like you.”

You want to say that Jenni most likely does spend a lot of her time on her knees for a pretty girl like Alexia, but the compliment is lost on your tongue.

“So good, thank you Jenni, I’m here any time you want.”

Everything is back into focus, and suddenly you feel overly shy, but also with all the endorphins rushing through you it’s hard to control your words until they are spilling out of your lips.

Alexia chuckles and Jenni just grins up at you, her hands resting on either side of your thighs whilst her mouth is blowing hot air directly onto you, it’s a nice sensation, less stimulating but still something.

“You are very welcome, bebita, I’ll definitely take you up on that in the future some time.”

You look over your shoulder at Alexia, who is just grinning at you.

“I don’t mind sharing, carino.”

You suddenly feel extremely shy, your head tucking itself into Alexia’s neck as you feel both the couples eyes on you.

“Is that not something that you’d want bebita, you don’t want to have some more fun with Jenni or I in the future?”

You shake your head into Alexia’s skin, it’s certainly something that you want, but it feels awkward asking for it, especially with the both of them staring intently at you.

“I need a verbal answer, carino.”

Alexia’s voice is a little bit taunting, she knows what she’s doing, trying to get a reaction out of you, and you play directly into it.

“If you guys wanted it, I’d be happy too.”

Alexia tugs your head out of her shoulder, just for her lips to hit yours as soon as they meet daylight. It’s a dominating kiss, Alexia taking over without any fight from you, it’s less sweet and soft to Keira and Lucy’s kiss, but the intention is all the same.

“Now, how about you go and put on a show for me, Ingrid, Mapi and Aitana are ready for you.”

You pull your lips from Alexia’s looking back over to the bed.

It’s a different scene to previously, Aitana is sat up the very top of the bed, pressed up against the headboards and pillows, her legs spread eagle whilst Ingrid and Mapi are sitting at the bottom of the bed, lazily making out. Aitana’s eyes are starry and glazed, she looks orgasm drunk, completely inebriated with whatever pleasure she’s experiencing.

“María, I have a present for you.”

Alexia gently pushes you out of her lap, your body stumbling towards the other couple as you adjust to the different sensation of walking. Your legs are wobbly per say, more so that your head feels a lot heavier on top of your body.

Mapi and Ingrid break apart, just in time for you to stagger your way in front of the mattress.

“Hola.”

You nod your head meekly at Mapi, it’s your first time meeting her, and the both of you are butt ass naked in a room full of women fucking.

Lucy has Pina bouncing up and down on her lap, whilst Patri has Keira sitting on the couch, one of her knees strung over Patri’s shoulder as she slowly but deeply fucks her, the couples are making out with each other diagonally across each others body. It’s something that you’d see in a porno, not in real life, and yet there they are, a couple of metres to the side of you. Whereas Ona is being stuffed to the brim, her pussy filled with a vibrator, ass stuffed with Caros fingers and mouth filled with Marta’s strap whilst Frido is softly grinding herself up and down Onas toned stomach. You can’t see her face, but you can picture it in your head, her face titled to a side, mouth filled with dick, her eyes full of ecstasy as she experiences all the different sensations, her own slobber dripping down her chin.

Mapi reaches out for you, guiding your eyes to her own.

“Tan bonita, did Jenni treat you well?”

You nod your head, unsure how to put what you just felt into words.

“She’s good with her mouth, the best way to shut that one up is to put her on her knees.”

You gulp, definitely unsure what to say to that, Mapi is smirking cavalierly, like she’s somehow getting off on your awkwardness.

“María, play nice, or else you won’t be getting your reward.”

Mapi almost immediately shrinks backwards, suddenly your attention is captured by Ingrid, the Norwegian woman’s voice is commanding and you can’t for the life of you ignore it.

“You’re quite a cute little thing aren’t you?”

Ingrid’s voice towards you is very different to how she’d been talking to Mapi, it’s gone up a few octaves, much softer, like she’s talking to a stray cat or a little kid.

“Mm not cute.”

Your words are gruff, more like you are trying to convince yourself not Ingrid, she breaks out into a big smile.

“Oh of course not, you’ve just got a cute little face and a cute little frown and cute little shaky legs.”

You feel your skin flush red, you feel like you’re under a microscope in front of her.

“Oh honey, don’t take it so seriously, I'm just teasing you, take it as a compliment, I find you very cute.”

You bite down on your lip, shivering when Ingrid’s hand comes up to your shoulder resting gently on it.

“Look at Tana, isn’t she so pretty all fucked out? You’d look so pretty like that, your body all spent from being stuffed full, do you want that? Want me and Mapi to fill you up all nice and full?”

You nod your head eagerly, Ingrid is still strapped up and fuck is it the most bewildering sight you’ve ever seen, she towers over you, literally looking like a goddess.

“Yes, please.”

Ingrid smiles at you, a big toothy smile, her thumb rubbing skilled circles into your shoulder muscles as she looks down at you.

“Such good manners, Lucia and Keira must have taught you so well. How about you hop up on the bed and show Tana what your mouth can do?”

You practically jump onto the bed, crawling your way up to the top, slowly clawing your way closer to the naked body in front of you.

Aitana is quite literally dripping, her thighs and the sheets below her soaked in what must be the multiple orgasms she’s already had.

Her body is completely limp, the only proof that she's alive is her chest rising up and down slowly. Little puffs of breath that leave her mouth every few seconds, like she’s trying to regain her composure but it’s a losing battle.

“Go ahead, amor.”

You look over your shoulder to Ingrid, who is nodding encouragingly at you.

You don’t want to disappoint her, so you swiftly turn your head back around, gazing down at the pussy sitting right in front of you.

Aitana’s clit is puffy and sticking out of its hood, a clear sign that she must be pretty sensitive, so to

begin with you sticking to the edges of her folds, gently running your flattened out tongue along the sides.

Her cum and arousal is a salty sweet taste, one that’s addicting and tastes exceptional on your tongue. When she moans, you jolt a little bit, surprised by the evidence that she is in fact alive and not completely passed out on the bed.

It eggs you on a bit, enough for you to move your tongue down to her hole and lick up the pool of arousal and cum from her previous orgasms.

Aitana’s arm's reach down to your scalp tugging at your hair gently, pulling you further into her and you let her.

It’s just as you begin to nudge your nose against her clit and probe her hole with your tongue that you feel a finger enter your own pussy.

Your back arches almost immediately, you’d felt the want in your stomach but having it finally be catered to is exceptional.

Ingrid’s finger is long and slender, and after a few slow strokes you are desperate for more.

You know they are Ingrid’s fingers, because in the very short amount of time that you’ve spent with your head in between Aitana’s legs, Mapi has managed to make her way up to the bed and straddle Aitana’s face, the Spaniard already rocking up and down the Ballon D’or winners face.

“More, please.”

Your words are hushed and mellowed out against Aitana’s sex, but Ingrid must hear them because on the next thrust she adds another finger.

It’s a little bit more of a stretch, but your body accommodates it with ease, Ingrid’s fingers slowly opening you up with every thrust of her fingers.

Aitana’s hands stay laced in your hair, tugging you up to her clit.

Her moans are now silenced by Mapi’s pussy, but the way her legs tremble on either side of your head and the way her hips cant up randomly every once in a while.

When ingrid leans over, breathing hot air directly into your ear, it makes your spine shiver.

“You want my cock baby girl? Want me to fuck you hard from behind? Make you scream my name into Tana’s pussy?”

You nod your head vigorously, your head nudging Aitana’s clit making her hips thrust up into your face.

“You make her cum and I’ll fuck you, how does that sound?”

It sounds like music to your ears, and as soon as the words have left Ingrid’s mouth you are diving into Aitana’s sex, sucking down on her clit.

She screams out, loud enough that it’s heard underneath Mapi’s pussy, chances are that she is very overstimulated and over sensitive and the sudden pressure is probably sending shock waves up and across her body.

You don’t give up though, to focused on your own impending pleasure, which is practically at a stand still with Ingrid’s fingers leisurely thrusting short and shallow into you.

It doesn’t take long for Aitana to get to the edge, you can tell because the shaking in her legs turns to spasms and they clench down on the sheets, as soon as this happens you bite down on her clit, not hard, but enough for it to be enough pressure for her legs to completely seize up.

As soon as it happens, Ingrid’s fingers disappear from your cunt and are replaced by the silicone cock slowly beginning to slide into you.

If you were a religious woman, you’d call whatever it was you were experiencing a godly encounter.

Ingrid didn’t waste any time, once she’d bottomed out in you with out any protests from you, she started to slowly fuck in and out of you.

You busied yourself with licking up the aftermath of Aitana’s orgasm, she was on a whole other level of over stimulation though, and you didn’t push it when she forced your head away from her thighs.

Instead Ingrid took a hold of your hair, pulling you up onto all fours as she began to thrust in and out of you at a faster pace.

“How does it feel being filled up with my cock amorcito? How does it feel to be my little cock slut, just another hole for me to use?”

Ingrid’s words are feral, and they only spur you on no further, your hips pushing back to meet her at every single thrust.

It’s inexplicably the most intense but perfect thing you’ve experienced in a while. Ingrid's hands on your waist are soft, but her words and thrusts are so rough, it’s a perfect balance between the two.

“I-Ingrid, please, faster.”

Your words are forced out between thrusts and moans, your mouth trying to articulate your desperation without it turning into a mess of sounds.

“Does my little cock slut want it harder? María, do you think she deserves it harder?”

You look up at Mapi, the Spaniard is lent up against the headboard, but she turns around to take a good look at you.

“I don’t know, is she being a good girl, or a bad girl like Onita over there?”

Your eyebrows raise up your forehead, and before you can even ask Ingrid is swivelling your body around, so you are met face to face with the sight of Ona, who is bent over the sofa, still stuffed with toys, whilst Alexia is spanking her with what looks to be a riding crop of some sort.

“This is what happens when you cum without permission, maldita puta.”

You cringe into yourself when the sound of the whip connecting with Ona’s skin rings out, the sound is almost immediately followed up with a moan, you aren’t sure whether it’s one of pain or pleasure, but the way that Ona’s hips push back to meet the leather tells you that she definitely doesn’t hate it.

“You’re good right bebita? You wouldn’t disobey me would you?”

You shake your head vigorously, the last thing on your mind right now is disobeying. You can be a brat, in certain circumstances, but in a room full of people who literally bleed confidence you're a little bit more cautious of your actions.

“She’s too much of a people pleaser to disobey, isn’t that right little one?”

It’s Lucy’s cocky voice from the couch that pulls Ingrid’s and your attention.

“Is that right? So how would you feel then if I switched to fucking Tana?”

Subconsciously, you know that if Aitana is far to gone for Ingrid to even try to fuck, but your dicked up brain does not know that and it is completely terrified of Ingrid pulling through with what she’s just said to you.

“Please no, please i’ll be good, please keep fucking me.”

You hear Ingrid snicker from behind you, all you can do is watch on as Ona continues to be brutally spanked by Alexia, Ona being a more than content participant.

“Ingrid, be nice, she’s so young and new, we need to test out her stamina.”

You pivot your head to look at Mapi, who is no longer sitting on Aitana’s face, instead, she is sucking marks into Ingrid’s neck whilst the Norwegian continues to fuck you at a slow but steady pace.

“Mm, she has been good so far, how about we see just how much you can take?”

Your brain doesn’t fully articulate what Ingrid is saying, until a wet solid comes up against your asshole.

It takes you a few seconds to realise that there is a finger, pressed straight up against it.

You flinch away from the contact, but Ingrid’s hands hold you still and keep you from moving away from it.

“Has anyone fucked you back here before, hermosa?”

You shake your head deftly at Mapi’s voice, gulping as she gently begins to push her finger inside.

“Joder, a little virgin? It’s going to be so fun opening you up, I’ll be nice and gentle, just focus on Ingrid.”

You nod your head, taking a deep breath and focusing on the feeling of Ingrid’s hips slamming up against your ass cheeks with every single thrust of her hips.

As Ingrid thrusts, Mapi slowly begins to work a finger into you.

It’s a weird kind of stretch, but it doesn’t hurt, and you are so focused on pleasing the couple that you hardly notice it. To caught up in the sight of Onas fate and desperately trying to avoid it. Punishment, can be fun, but tonight you want pleasure, you crave it with every single cell in your body and your positive that if you don’t achieve it then you’ll be broken.

Before you even realise, Mapi is easily slipping one of her fingers into you, and once she’s certain that there is no longer a stretch, she begins to work a second finger in.

This definitely gets your attention, having two different people penetrating you is something you’ve never experienced before, at first it hurts and is weirdly tender, but as time goes on, you slowly begin to fade into a mellow state of pleasure, a cloud of happiness and ecstasy.

The duo of the two forms is fantastic, and you find yourself in the edge once Mapi is easily sliding her two fingers in and out of you.

“I-Ingrid please, I’ll be good, let me cum, please.”

Your almost whining, the sight of Ona, being held open, her pussy and ass both stuffed with vibrators whilst Alexia spanks her clit, is something else entirely and it’s making you even more aroused.

“How do María’s fingers feeling bonita? How does it feel to be stretched out around two people?”

Your answer is strung together quickly, the desperation for your release only heightening.

“So fucking good, please, let me cum for both of you.”

Ingrid’s thrust suddenly become far more frantic, her hips canting upwards, the strap rubbing directly against your g-spot.

“Cum for us bebita.”

As soon as the words leave Ingrid’s mouth you are coming undone.

Your whole body goes limp, your body completely inebriated with pleasure as Ingrid continues to fuck you through the after shocks.

Mapi pulls out, instead moving to begin gently rubbing at your back and whispering reassurances in your ear.

“Such a good girl, so perfect for us.”

When you start to come down, Ingrid slowly slips out, leaving you legless and boneless in front of them on the bed.

Before you can say anything, Mapi is turning you over and cleaning you up with her mouth.

After the two orgasms everything is far more sensitive, but you’re still recovering and don’t have the energy to stop her even if you wanted to.

You lie on the bed, Mapi eating you out, Ingrid gently massaging the inside of your thighs until from somewhere across the room, a voice tells out to them.

“Maria, bring her over here.”

Mapi’s mouth leaves your sex and much to your displeasure, she lifts you up and sits you down on the edge of the bed.

Your head is still spinning a little bit, but after a few seconds in the vertical position you manage to stop your surroundings from doing somersaults in your head.

“Carino, come over here.”

Alexia is sat on the couch, legs wide open, Ona sitting on her knees in front of one of her legs.

Mapi helps you to hoist yourself up off the bed, your legs are definitely shaky but you manage to make your way over to the captain without any major struggle.

When you do, she gently direct you to her thigh, helping you to straddle the muscular skin.

“See Ona, this is what good girls get, good girls get to get themselves off on me, whereas bad girls just have to sit and watch.”

You look down at Ona, shocked by the little red lashes across her ass and how willing she is to partake in whatever this is.

“You can move carino, be a good girl and get off on my thigh.”

Before you can do anything, Alexia’s hands are at your hips, gently helping you to begin rocking against her.

It’s a completely different sensation, and it takes you a few seconds to figure out the exact way to run up against the flexed muscles to hit your clit in the right place, but once you do it feels impeccable.

“Such a good girl, not like our Ona who just can’t seem to behave, you would never disobey, would you?”

You shake your head at Alexia, your mouth wide open as you moan happily on her thigh, rutting up and down it with absolutely no care for your partner on the floor.

“Alexia?”

Alexia’s eyes are on Ona, but as soon as the words leave your mouth, her attention falls back to you, her eyes wide in question.

“Yes carino?”

You continue to rub yourself up and down, chasing another high like the two previous.

“Can I please cum?”

Your not quite on the edge, but a few more hits of Alexia’s quads flexing up against your clit and you might very well be.

“Of course carino, you’re our good girl, such a perfect girl, go ahead. Ona, watch as our good carino gets exactly what she wants because she’s been a good girl.”

Suddenly Alexia completely flexes her muscles, and as you’d predicted after a few good thrusts into her thigh, your coming undone, your body collapsing into Alexia’s chest as you moan happily and cum all over her thigh.

Alexia lifts you up, gently placing you down on the couch beside her before ordering Ona to clean up her thigh and then refocusing back onto you.

Alexia waits until your just about to come down, before she pulls out a little bullet vibe and presses it directly to you clit.

The sound of you screaming out is music to her ears, and she doesn’t let up on the pressure at all, watching as your legs spasm and thrash from the overstimulation.

Before you can say anything, you’re being forced into another orgasm. It’s not as good as the other ones, less satisfaction over the work that you’d done to get to it, and it hurts like a bitch, but it’s the final straw for your body.

Your whole body completely goes limp, similar to Aitana on the bed who is now being cleaned up by the couple and force fed a protein bar and water.

Alexia brings you to her side, letting you rest in the cranny in her neck.

You’re happy there, her skin is warm and familiar and you feel more protected with your head in her shoulder then you do with it exposed to the outside world, so you stay there until Lucy and Keira come over to collect you.

Lucy manhandles you to somewhere, a bedroom maybe but your head is so high up in the clouds you aren’t sure of anything.

You just know that you are comfy and very happy in the arms of Keira on the bed.

“You did so good honey, so proud of you, so very perfect you were.”

Keira’s praise doesn’t really register in your mind, but the kindness behind her words does and that’s enough to put your mind to rest.

Lucy takes her time in cleaning you up, running a washcloth between your thighs and gently massaging at any cramps or locked muscles in your body.

Once she’s done, she joins you and Keira in bed, the two cradling you between them.

In the morning, or whenever you wake up, they’ll tell you how proud they are, how brilliant you were and how next time they’ll just keep you all for themselves instead of sharing you around. Alexia will try and claim you as her own, her love for you stemming a lot deeper now at the connection that’s been formed.

One things for sure, this will definitely not be your last escapade with the barca girls.

[taegularities]

candles & flames: air | jjk (m)

bonus chapter I: air

Summary: Voices over the grapevine murmur that somebody has been yearning for you who certainly shouldn't. Jungkook is agitated to the core – reacts immediately until something far sweeter overshadows the envy and turns his and your life upside down.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: established relationship, royal!au; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: so much okay let's see; jk is jealousss, mention of a dead parent, daddy issues, pregnancy, birth (no details), kissing, insecurities that are resolved, worries and tears, somebody faints :'), 19th century culture/beliefs/society, short mention of the struggles after birth, a guest appearance!, and a cute baby 💕 jk loves the kiddo so much that his affection makes him cry; explicit sexual content: making out, muchhh teasing, fondling, biting, he loveees her tiddies, oral (f. receiving), he touches himself/masturbation, manhandling, soft dom!koo, big dick!koo, he threatens to tie her up lol, "fck me like you hate me", both hard and soft s/x moments, love spanks, delaying of orgasm, hair pulling, he's roughhhh, fingering, multiple orgasms; pls spot the lil references to the other parts hehe 😁 ➳ wc: 24.4k yay! ➳ a/n: hi hi hiiii. it's been literal months, but we're here again and sharing another piece of our soul. hope y'all like this one, whether you've just arrived here or been here for a while. love you all and as always, let me know what you think!! 🤍 ➳ a/n2: this is a bonus chapter for my mini-series candles & flames. reading the rest of the story helps!! find the mpost below <3

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

The quiet hysteria starts with a whisper.

It echoes off the walls that Friday afternoon, seemingly insignificant at first. Most of the whispers are — a cacophony of hisses and sharp tones and hushed nodding.

Uttered between members of the staff, Jungkook catches the conversation coincidentally. He never means to eavesdrop, but these accidental occurrences have revealed one or two things to him before.

Like, what they ate for dinner last night. Or how their sons had learned to read. Jungkook would laugh at stories about neighbours, pout at tragedies of lost family members. But what he hears today is worth neither of those reactions; just mild yet growing confusion.

He wouldn’t have registered a word if he’d left his office a minute later. Wouldn’t have known if he’d opted for his meal thirty seconds earlier.

No. He had to step out now. Cross paths with the staff in this very moment as if it was supposed to happen, coming to a stand in the hallway, mind instantly whirling and eyebrows furrowed. 

The two women, startled by the sudden appearance, freeze at their spot a couple feet from Jungkook’s body. They stare at him as though met with a ghost, eyes trailing from his uncurling fist to the Lord’s unmatchable face — puzzled at the moment.

Abandoning curiosity and the hint of amusement, sudden respect spreads over their countenances, and once they have made sense of the situation, they straighten their backs. Bow a little. One of them a little deeper than the other.

Their eyes are as wide as his; the scene couldn’t be more comedic in the afternoon sun shining through the wide window. Three baffled figures fighting the awkwardness; growing by the second until one of them murmurs, “Lord Jeon.”

Her tone is timid, as if she fears he might’ve heard — which he did, alright. But they don’t dare make an attempt at asking about it, perhaps finally realising that things like these aren’t really their business.

So they only nod again, waiting for the man to react in kind, and then rush past him and down the hall. Jungkook isn’t stupid, though — he knows they won’t stop talking.

And he could confront them. Call them back and demand an explanation, lay out every word he just heard and analyse it with what they know. But he doesn’t. He lets them approach the end of the hallway, turning left at the end of it just a few seconds later.

His body’s balanced weight shifts to his left leg, and he puts both his hands on his hips, curling his lower lip inward and tracing it with his tongue. He knows better than to believe rumours mumbled in the gardens or halls of this place.

Maybe it’d be foolish to overthink just yet. Guess he’ll need to ask you yourself.

But he can’t help but replay the conversation in his mind, gaze wandering out of the window and to the blue sky above. He soaks in the summer, lowers his eyebrows, appetite forgotten as he simply voices—

“Huh.”

Existing in this world with you as the love of his life isn’t easy.

There’s magic to how you move. To the way you slip under the blanket with that enchanting smile. To how you reach for the back of your head, undoing the bow.

For a moment, he can’t keep his eyes from the locks that fall over your shoulder; how you sigh in relief as your scalp finally breathes. And when you lean against the bed frame, pulling your legs up and knees close to you, book in hand, you look endlessly cosy.

Warm and inviting, soft hands holding the novel. Your side profile is tender, lips always a perfect curve. Your mouth moves with the words you read, and you smile whenever a description delights you.

You always live in a dream. You are one, too.

Loving you isn’t easy because you’re a constant source of healthy insanity. Of the burning in his chest, the odd feeling in his stomach, and the yearning in his fingers.

But especially tonight, you evoke something he only ever experiences with you. He did it when he saw you dancing with somebody else two years ago. And feels a sliver of it whenever he catches men staring at you at gatherings.

The emotion boils green inside of him, and somehow, you’ve managed to elicit it more than once. He could swear he never knew of it before he met you. You’re truly a spell; only right now, he wishes he felt something else.

You shut the book suddenly, keeping a finger where you stopped, and look up into his eyes without a warning. He flinches just a little, as if awakening from a dream, and you laugh.

“Will you speak what’s on your mind or just keep staring?” you ask; the tilt of your head is sickeningly sweet.

He improvises — nods towards the novel and wonders, “What is it about?”

“Oh,” you look down, holding it up, “secret affairs. Princess to be betrothed is in love with someone else.”

The situation lacks so much humour that he can’t help but find it funny. He suppresses the sarcastic smirk and the shake of his head, keeping the facade upright as he admits, “That is very brave of the author to thematise.”

Your eyes narrow a little, drenched in confusion. “Well, I mean. A lot of them are. But it’s just words on pages. How many secret affairs do you think happen in actual life?”

More than you’d know. Jungkook has seen enough to understand that lovers often reunite in shadows; or that they betray loved ones when the world goes quiet.

You believe in people, though. You romanticise the world. Assume that cruelty is rare, and that most human beings strive for loyalty and flawlessness.

But he doesn’t say any of it; only shifts closer to your optimistic, angelic warmth, craving your scent. He says, “We were the opposite, weren’t we? Made everyone think we were in love when we still despised each other.”

You cock an eyebrow; he instantly regrets his words, realising how harsh they truly sounded. You might be gentle, but you can be just as fierce, too — so he prepares for some scolding, lips parted.

But you only puff out a breath, freeing the finger trapped between the pages, and put the book aside. Then, you say, “I still despise you.”

Jungkook stares, pausing for a moment, and you let him ogle for another second before you laugh. You grab the still hand on his thigh, lifting it to your lips and press the feather lightest of kisses against its back.

You keep the palm against your cheek, inquiring carefully, “Is something troubling you?”

“No,” he immediately shoots, “no. I just wanted to ask about your novel.”

“Just about the novel?”

“Mhm. Yes.”

“Hmm. Well, yes, that one,” you grace it another glance, “it’s good. A typical story about a royal princess mingling with the stable boy and rejecting the prince.”

Jungkook nods, but you think his pupils widen. Is he imagining a scenario of his own? Not enjoying the storyline? Perhaps.

Because he states, “Disloyalty is quite something. I would,” he pauses, blowing a raspberry, “die if I was the prince.”

He emphasises die with all his tongue’s strength; you huff at the dramatics of the moment, puzzled by the sudden shift in mood. In truth, this is not such an unusual behaviour.

Because more often than not, Jungkook displays interest in your little hobbies. Novels render you sentimental, and you’ve pulled him into the whirling storm of emotions that those stories made you feel before.

Like,

“They won’t accept him because he’s an artist?”

“So he decides to leave instead of fighting for her?”

“Alright, tell me about the first time he tells her he loves her.”

He’ll lean forward, turn to his side, eyes wide, indulging in the narrative. Mirroring your emotions, a sucker for tales and sentiments, albeit barely ever picking up a book voluntarily.

Just today. Today something seems off. The issue he has with the feelings prevalent in the book seem to reach far deeper — to a personal level, it seems.

You start slowly and patiently, shaking your head once before you say, “But you won’t die. I chose my prince wisely, and I do not care for our stable boys,” you pause, lifting a finger with a laugh, “wait. In such a way, I mean. They are actually very kind.”

Jungkook doesn’t appreciate your joke — your suspicion grows. Although he does turn to the side again, elbow digging into the pillow, body closer to yours.

“What about lords?”

Huh. What?

You echo your thoughts, “What?” You wait for only a moment before the space between his eyebrows morphs into a crease, and you mimic the expression. “Alright. Now you’re not making sense anymore.”

It takes another second or two for his drying eyes to blink. The movement is slow, a little frustrated; he looks to his hands. Then up to you; to the wall behind you and back to you.

Then, his Adam’s apple bops, swallowing thickly before he finally reveals, “The maids were talking about some neighbouring man. Lord Jeong or something. Would you happen to know him?”

Jeong? 

Hm…

You think for a moment.

Of course you know him. The town isn’t too far from yours, and the people around here never speak ill of him. In fact, one of your cooks was just praising him a couple weeks ago as you dined without Jungkook during his busy working hours.

The cook kept you company for most of the time, speaking of his pre-Jeon adventures in other towns, with other lords.

You hum before you respond, “I know of a Jeong Yuno. But I have never spoken to him.”

The sigh of relief that Jungkook heaves is immediate. You stare bewildered.

“Good,” he answers, “they were just…”

He scratches his scalp before the hand drops to the mattress with a dull thump. For a distracted moment, he smoothens the already flat baby blue surface, drifting from his original thought.

The light tug at the sheet creates new wrinkles; you watch intently, relaxed and calm. Only, you aren’t sure he feels the same way. Especially when his fingertips shift to the back of your hand, a ghost touch looming over your thumb.

He must have thought about this a lot.

“They were saying that a lord was spreading rumours about how he used to want you and would still not hesitate if you could be his.”

Oh.

“That’s… not a proper thing to announce for a lord,” you sympathise, gaining an instant nod, enhanced by the round, big, brown eyes.

“Yes. It is not. A very outrageous statement to give about a married lady anyway.”

“Mhm…”

You are in full agreement that the words shouldn’t have fallen out of a presumably respected man of the country. Someone as loved and cherished by a community shouldn’t comment on a married couple, even less on the wife of a well-known man.

Jungkook’s father was celebrated around towns and villages — the head of the capital.

It’s just that in this case — you can imagine what occurred. The lord in question relishes a far lesser known reputation than Jungkook. If it’s who you imagine it to be, he must be reigning over a tiny village now. 

You remember that back when you knew him, he was still young, uninterested in his parents’ legacy; seems he has made it far. Though, it seems he hasn’t quite understood the responsibilities that come with royalship.

Shit.

Jungkook notices your fog-shrouded gaze; you probably haven’t blinked in a while. He touches and taps your wrist, pulling back your attention, possibly still tense as he asks, “What?”

When you look at him, he resembles a curious, frightened puppy, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He’s pouting, waiting for an answer, lips parted. He lifts his head off the propped up hand, alerted, and repeats—

“What?”

Waving his concerns off would do nothing, right? You swore to always be transparent — and this issue isn’t big enough to be postponed. In fact, it might only grow if you do choose to stuff it in a chamber.

“You are not talking about Jeong,” you explain, carefully wrapping your fingers around his, “but Jung. Jung Hoseok.”

The curtain of relief falls and gives way to a dark, gloomy night. You know he expected this conversation to be over, for his misunderstanding to turn out as just this. But there’s more behind the maids’ whispers — and he hates it.

“Who?” he asks.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you feel displeased with it.”

“Why would I feel displeased?” Jungkook prods, slowly sitting up. “Is there a reason to?”

Absolutely not. But you also know your husband isn’t the most patient of men when it comes to envy and poison green feelings alike. You still remember the night you confronted his uncle — slivers of jealousy found their way through him even then.

“No,” you admit, “but it is absurd, and I knew you would react like this.”

“Like what? I am calm.”

That he is.

At least the rapid breathing, the voice gaining on pitch, the manner in which he squeezes your hand — they indicate a form of calm unknown to you, alright.

“Jungkook…” you mumble, wiping over the back of his hand with your thumb, trying to calm the grip.

You move on the bed, butt bumping against your book and nearly knocking it to the ground. Tired from the day, you grunt as you get on your knees, watching him follow your body before you finally straddle him.

Jungkook gets into a proper position, heaving himself up until his back is pressed to the bed’s railing. He holds onto your waist to keep your balance, and you shift properly onto his lap.

Once stabilised, your hands hurry to his face, squishing his cheeks just a little as you speak, “I shall make you wiser then?”

“You shall stop teasing me.”

The fiery eyes could throw daggers at you on any other day, but the pout he talks through just makes him look… sweet. Thick eyebrows kiss, and he pulls at one of your hands to lighten the cradling grip around his face.

You angle your head, fond of the soft care, albeit hiding behind an insecurity. There’s flattery in the way his mind created a nonexistent rival — at least, he thinks you’re worth the worship.

You surrender when he blinks, letting out an exasperated breath, “Alright. Remember when I told you I have only fallen in love very few times?”

“At the orphanage.”

His answer shoots out of him as if scripted, and you dare a subtle chuckle. Your thumb brushes against his lips and the mole underneath them; you think that despite his agitation, the gesture soothes his soul.

“Jung Hoseok was one of those people,” you say.

A few buttons of his linen shirt are open, so you see his sun kissed chest heave at the admission. You move a hand down to touch the sculpted skin, warm and immediately comforting under your touch.

“He was the only other Lord I ever dared to mess with, but he wasn’t too important back then yet. And Hoseok… he caught me at a time when I was not yet ready for bigger commitments. Despite my feelings for him.”

Jungkook’s eyes are glistening. Helplessly observing your every move and expression, lost for words as he digests yours. There’s an ego in men that you haven’t understood just yet; fragile at times.

So this piece of information must be activating a thorough thought process in him.

It’s odd. How those once roaming around town are usually the ones affected the most when they actually fall in love. Protective and dedicated to an exceptional degree.

Maybe, however, because his escapades never meant anything at all. And you… You put your heart in someone’s hands once.

“What happened?” Jungkook wonders, puppy stare intact.

You don’t think there’s more to tell — or more for him to know. But a curious mind is a curious mind.

So you tell him, “He wanted more right away. Dedication, marriage, for me to leave my house. And,” you shrug, uncomfortable with memories of a past lover; you want to keep loving and touching your current one, “I couldn’t.”

You’re not sure whether his nerves are calming at all; but you’re satisfied and relieved when he lifts a palm to the small of your back, gaze warm. You keep playing with the collar of the soft linen.

“And now I am happy I didn’t. In hindsight, we were so incredibly different. I mean, people are different, but… we didn’t match at all.”

“Were you…” His voice is so unbearably quiet. So sweet and lovely; the cocky boy from years ago has a delicate heart, and you want it pressed to yours. “Ready when I asked you to marry me?”

Ready? In fact, your skin was tingling with joy; every moment of the day.

You soothe his worries, “I would not be here if I hadn’t been. This,” you raise your fingers to his cheek again, brushing his face with their back, “you. I won’t ever want more. You’re all the dreams I’ve ever dreamt.”

Are you referring to nightly images conjured by a dreamy mind? When you’re fast asleep, barely ever tossing beside him? Because as far as he’s concerned, you follow him even into his daydreams, in your presence and in your absence.

If he told you now, he fears you’d dissipate; you’re a soul with its head in the clouds, and you’ve always appreciated a gesture of romance here and there.

You’re a force of nature, and someone to be desired greatly.

But.

Perhaps that’s what’s troubling him the most right now. And it never has before. He knows you’re captivating, and he’s proud that somebody loves him who’s easy to love, but this time… this time the whispers prevail, and they do something odd to his mind.

He matches your smile, giving into the relief you bring; yet, distressed by his own intrusive thoughts and memories of conversations he’s gathered, he can’t help but let his gaze fall. It floats over your bare neck and clavicles and then drops further to your lap.

A hand on his neck, you opt for a question — he knows by the way you suck in a soft breath, knows every of your motions and their meanings. But before your inquiry tumbles out, he murmurs, “They were saying he wants you back.”

And the worst thing is that you don’t hesitate, immediately nodding. “I heard about it. I uh… the other day I went down to the village and one of them told me her sister was part of the staff over in his town. And they heard others in his mansion say it, apparently.”

Jungkook doesn’t like the ugly, searing hot feeling spreading beneath his chest. It differs entirely from anger or disgust; pure fire burning up his insides and extending to his head.

That you talked about the still rather yearning lord with somebody else isn’t Jungkook’s favourite thought, admittedly. Worse even when you proceed, “He’s unmarried, I’ve heard.”

But what could you do with what you heard? Do you even care?

Jungkook swallows the balls of flames until the vexing sensation burns in his stomach, nearly afraid to ask, “What do you think of that?”

He shouldn’t be, though. Because you’ve proved time and time again who you stand with — yet, it feels like a wanted relief when you, with absolute certainty unmatched, assure, “Nothing. How could that affect my life? I’m here, with you.”

“I…” Jungkook tilts his head, and when he stares back up to you again, you could swear a piece of your heart detaches itself from the rest. Shoots right into his chest. “Am I being stupid?”

And how could it not if the man of your dreams, yours in this and the next lives, usually so composed, wordlessly declares you his kryptonite every single day?

Your eyebrows furrow slightly in unending adoration and worship, and you sigh, touching his cheek, wishing there was a far superior way to showcase affection and love of such tender sort.

“A little,” you admit.

“But… you’ll forgive me for it?”

“Nothing to forgive you for.” You match the tilting motion of his head, but in the opposite direction. You blink slowly. “Except maybe for the fact that you provide so much love without giving much of it to yourself.”

When he downs the knot in his throat again, it feels and looks different. Not the insecure envy from before, but rather a truth spiking his heart.

“…Darling,” he whispers, “why?”

“You know as well as I know that you trust me. That’s not why you’re afraid, right? It’s because you don’t trust yourself.” You remove a strand of dark tresses off his forehead. “We’ll change that.”

You don’t judge him for it, huh? You could. In truth, you could absolutely distance yourself from such an unwanted trait, but you don’t. Combatting it seems easier to you.

Yet, he can’t find a better answer than, “I’m sorry.”

Your husband is a jealous man, but he’s also a fragile man. You’re not allowed to leave him; not because you regard it as a duty to serve as his remedy. But because you made a vow to love him regardless, regardless of fate’s cruelty.

And.

You want to show him what you see through your eyes; what he doesn’t notice through the looking glass.

“Thank you for forgiving me, though?” he then speaks, forming it as a question rather than a statement; though he finds himself pretty soon. “Albeit, I have to say, if you hadn’t, I would’ve found ways for you to do it either wa—”

His promise is broken by your yelp when he presses you in, tickling your waist. He grits his teeth, cuteness aggression kicking in when you call his name, holding onto his face. Your nose inches close to his as he squeezes your hip.

Eyes closing before they open again and he says, “I will never let you go. Never. And let nobody ever have you but me.”

“Aren’t we a little more obsessed tonight?” you jest, watching him shrug his shoulders. “But. I would be mad if you did.”

“My princess…”

There’s something about the breathy tone, filled with growing desire, a not too subtle hint to how the night will inevitably evolve.

It’s insane, how the breathing stagnates when you’re in love; crazy at just the prospect of lips touching.

And once they do, your lungs dry out right away, and you lean back, slowly losing your grip. But he holds you and holds you tighter, eyes aflame with sheer willpower, and then holds you so tight, it hurts…

The kiss is breathtaking, in the truest sense of the word. Goosebumps covering all your flesh, you raise your shoulders, hands in his hair as his wander along the lines of your body. He moves just a little underneath you, but you feel the change so obviously.

Harder, stirring, hot and heavy. And you enhance the effect, continuing the sloppy kisses until he, impatiently, breaks away from the kiss with a quiet moan and opts for your neck.

The break between the change, he uses to focus on his hands. Raises your dress at light-speed, brushing his palms over the curves of your ass. And he doesn’t take too long before he’s snuck his digits further in this complicated position, winding his arm to find your aching heat.

You move forward a little, helping out, so his limb can wrap around you easier, digits floating to the hole. But your decision distracts him; you laugh.

“It’s amusing to you, yes? Having your tits in my face,” he teases, as shameless as ever when he bites and misses your nipple by an inch over your gown.

The free hand pushes the clothing down, freeing one side, reluctant to practise restraint when swollen lips engulf your hard nipple. You whimper immediately as his teeth gently nibble at the nerves, and you tighten your grip around him, head falling back.

“Cannot say it’s not,” you admit, unconsciously toying with the hair in the nape of his neck until you start pulling, barely noticing. He does, however, gasping with a mouthful of your tits. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head, an indicator that he doesn’t care; that he enjoys the pleasurable pain if it’s you inflicting it in a moment like this. As a masochist and a pet at times, you won’t disagree.

But you don’t hold the power for too long when he continues with his intentions, finger pressing against your pussy, desperately longing for the garment to disappear. Wanting to sink into you with all his might.

But… endurance. Patience.

You nearly suffocate him in your tits as he caresses your cunt, and then your ass again, only managing to resurface to say, “Pretty girl… weren’t you tired?”

“I was,” you tug at him, wanting him much, much closer, “make me more.”

“More tired?”

“So I sleep better tonight.”

“Sweetheart… you will. I promise you.”

It’s vows like these that stir the last stage of lust in you, so unbridled that it leaks out of each of your pores. You want his trousers off, want them to magically disappear. But sorcery doesn’t exist, and your wish will be impossible to fulfil in this position.

And he notices, reads your thoughts as if floating above your head. “Lift your body?” he kindly demands, holding you for a second until you’re inches over his crotch. He uses the moment to lower his clothing along with the underwear, suddenly half bare.

Oh so bare…

When you look down, you’re met with protruding veins, a length twitching slightly, wanting to lay against his stomach. And you don’t hesitate as you lower yourself again, dragging your clothed pussy over the hardness so recklessly—

But the harsh material of your clothes rubs him wrong, literally, and he whimpers. Should you do it again? You fucking love it when he whines and writhes… but not in such a way.

You don’t want to hurt him. So you oblige. Stop when he digs his nails into your waist, ordering, “Get off, so I can—”

You don’t know what for, but you can imagine, and the thousand possible pictures are more than enough for you to lift yourself off immediately. Carefully, you move away, expecting for him to let you know how to continue, but instead…

Within the blink of an eye, you find yourself flat on your back, flipped over and caged in. Only rising again when he aids you in doing so, just the upper body, just a little. To remove your dress, pulling it over your head and stuffing it in a corner.

You swear the time passes in slow-motion, yet simultaneously paces faster than usual. Because it’s a leisurely blur when you see him discard the last piece of your bed-attire. But a rush when he bares his golden chest and back, laying next to you and starting to kiss your tummy.

It’s so funny because…

You sigh. Nevermind.

You put your attention solely on how he kisses his way down, still next to you, further down until you only see his back and his mane, and somewhere far beneath, hands caressing your thighs. Then spreading them. And then, working up… up towards…

“You’re defeating me today…” you happily conclude, not one to reject a night with him winding under you, but also not one to decline… whatever he’s doing right now.

“You are very welcome.”

Cheeky jerk. You’d snort and roll your eyes if you had the energy and power to. Although, the latter does not stay absent after all, even if the roll of your eyes occurs backwards, mouth open when he parts your folds and touches your swollen nub.

Gauging your reaction, he throws a stare back, just briefly and quickly. He barely flinches when you pierce his skin with your nails, scratching him, biting your lower lip with desperation in your pupils.

And it’s enough for him. Boosts his keenness. You see it in his smirk, and see the desire, the devotion, the appetite in his lost eyes. 

He cocks an eyebrow at you, never bothered by your frequent love-wounds, yet sly when he warns, referring to your nails, “Stop it. I will tie you up if you keep going.”

Is that… a threat or a promise? You’re tempted to test him.

But for now, you wish to indulge further in what he’s initiating, and if you said something right now or provoked him into a pace of change, you’d lose the moment. So you remain still. Or, as much as you manage to.

Not quite when he moves over you, turning the back towards you once more, and—

Is that… oh. No doubt that he just spat right onto your clit, wet, warm and enhancing your greed. And then the damned finger. Touching your thighs as if to tease you, advancing to your cunt slowly, as opposed to the ball of frustration building in your chest and tummy.

“Could you move that up?” you mutter, barely registering how nonsensical you might sound.

But Jungkook knows you inside out, and reads your words as well as your body. Uses the knowledge to torture you some more, sneaking to your folds before he finally touches them, but doesn’t dig in.

Okay…

“Why?” you ask, not expecting an answer. “I’ve been good these days.”

“You’ve been great,” Jungkook retorts, tugging at one of your nether lips as if busying himself, “but I’m just kidding. Who am I to deny you anything?”

“In this situation? Perfectly Jeon Jungkook…”

The unsteady breathing accompanying your statement adds to the comedic aspect of the moment, and he doesn’t hold back when he laughs. Only briefly stopping when he leans down, delivering a chaste kiss to your aching bud.

And then he does the unforgivable, and lifts himself up. Away from you. Entirely.

“What—”

“It’s alright,” he ensures, nodding as if to make it believable for himself, “I am right here. See?”

He crawls — crawls! — towards you, very briefly until he reaches your lips, kissing you with the same filthy mouth that touched your intimate part just a moment ago. His mouth moves against yours just a little, then retracts and then comes back for another shorter kiss.

“Want me to do it?” he asks.

“Do what?”

“Tie you up?” The constant head tilts are killing you, not well for your heart or mind. Even less combined with the sickly sweet smile, so awfully in love. “You didn’t reject the idea and,” another kiss to the corner of your lips, “you’re being so terribly cooperative tonight.”

He says it as if it’s news to him. As if you’re not true-blue every second of the day.

Jerk wants things spelled out to him. Waits as he plays with a lock, face hovering inches from yours, and the tip of his tongue so visibly touching the spot behind his front teeth. 

As you refuse to answer, however, solely for the purpose to gauge what he might do next, he chuckles quietly, inhaling before he says, “Alright. Different idea, then.”

He gets back on his knees, straightening his upper body for a mere moment only before he opens your legs. Positions himself between them. Distances himself from you before finally getting into the desired stance. Stomach-down, hands touching your thighs, parting them with his mouth close to you.

It takes everything in you to not shut your limbs again when the warm breath mingles with your sloppy centre; and you already feel wasted when his tongue darts out. Opens up your pussy a little. Tickles you so lightly.

“Put your hands over your head,” he uses the pause for, haphazardly gesturing into your general direction with his chin, “no touching allowed. And if you endure until I’ve tasted you till the end, I’ll do whatever you want for the rest of the night.”

“Put your hands over your head,” he uses the pause for, haphazardly gesturing into your general direction with his chin, “no touching allowed. And if you endure until I’ve tasted you till the end, I’ll do whatever you want for the rest of the night.”

The image his words conjure is mesmerising. Yet, you don’t know if that’s the outcome you’re wishing for, or rather the absolute opposite, submitting to him and letting yourself go entirely for his pleasure.

There is no time to think. Your mind isn’t capable of thoughts at all.

Of course not, not if he attaches his mouth to your cunt, wrapping gorgeously soft and swollen lips around your equally soft and swollen ones. He kisses your pussy, drawing back with a smooching sound.

Goes in again, repeats. Then, slowly, adds his tongue. Swirls it around your clit, making your right leg twitch, your body react. A strong hand holds your thigh down, breath falling against you so hotly; the sensation is unlike anything else.

You don’t know how he does it; but you don’t just feel the tickling, endlessly lustful phenomenon where he causes it, but across your body. On your warm skin, in your stomach, in your chest.

You’re light-headed when his tongue flicks over your clit again, and then moves back to your hole; you curl in your toes. For the first time after a long while, you think this won’t take very long.

Digging your nails into your palms, you wet your lower lip with your tongue, uttering, “I’m almost there…”

“Mhm,” he muses with his mouth still licking you up, spreading the warm feeling all over. Then detaches himself to say, “I thought so. I can hear it.”

Knows you too well…

You recognise that he wants to take his time. Your pleasure is his sole purpose, fully focused on your reactions, your sounds, your winding body. But as the two of you deduced, you’re closer to the end than ever.

He kisses your thigh, provides little love-bites, tongue tasting your skin before he dives back in. Breathing in and out through his nose, he buries himself in you, bringing a thumb under his tongue and pushing in just a bit, but not entirely.

At the same time, his other thumb shifts its attention to rolling over your clit. Apparently, he trusts you enough now to not pin your legs to the mattress anymore, doesn’t expect you to give in and touch him, even if you want to. The way you’re holding yourself back, seeking your pleasure and obeying his orders floods pride and immeasurable greed through him.

As he French kisses you thoroughly, you notice when he smiles against your pussy. Even laughs a bit in amusement. Your body moves and lifts when his light but calculated touch toys with your nerves; he follows the insane writhing, glued to you.

And then he pushes a finger inside, pumps a couple times; moves his tongue to your clit. It’s crazy. Crazy. The saliva dripping off his chin when he eats you up, so diligent and powerful, executing this as perfectly as ever.

But it’s neither of these things that make you topple off the edge; not just the fingers or his tongue or how worryingly good he is at this.

But the damn eye contact at the end.

The immediate connection between you, the way he wants to see you, understand your reactions, but simultaneously keep going.

And all that knowledge helps you feel it all over. The contractions coming in waves; the pleasure radiating to every other part of your body. The sense of warmth and tingling experience.

Shit, and the euphoria. The profound relaxation while perceiving the increased heart rate at the same time; your glowing skin and the sweat.

And once you’re done, throat dry from not speaking, only yelling, you breathe, “That was… quick.”

“I am sorry,” he responds, still exhaling against you; you still feel the waves inside your cunt, so it’s hard to listen. “I needed to let my frustration out somewhere.”

You half-roll your eyes, as much as manageable.

“But in exchange… I’ll hold my promise and let you do anything,” he repeats, rubbing your leg and then your sides softly. Slowly moves up to you until his length presses against your heat and his lips align with your mouth. “Can I just first…”

“Love,” you interrupt, “you don’t need to. You don’t need to hold your promise, because I don’t want you to. Not tonight.”

“What?”

“I want you to let it all out,” you confess, ”claim me.”

Because frankly, you see it in his eyes. That he wants to release the beast, too. Of course ready for your ministrations, but yearning to wreck you so desperately. Already in the headspace, affected from the moment he licked you dry and wetter.

“I promised,” he tries, but you shake your head, still breathing stagnantly.

“I… So I… May I?” he still inquires permission, stuttering, so gentle, polite and tormented. “Goodness. I might die.”

You chuckle at the hyperbole, though the sound comes out weak as you still breathe through your craze. As you stare up at him, you think you recognise pure anguish reflecting in his gaze, made visible by the candlelight. Eyebrows kissing, mouth open. 

You feel similar, so you’re not one to turn down the plea.

“Yes, but… I mean it. You don’t need to submit entirely. I want you to do what you want to do.”

Because that’s when he’s the most authentic. And because the statement never poses a risk with Jungkook. Any other man might forsake you, but you could say such a thing a thousand times; even as he seeks his own pleasure, he won’t forget about yours.

And unleash all desperation on you simultaneously.

You want this. You want this.

“Fret not,” he assures, “I will. I am not neglecting either of us.”

Lining himself up, he sits up properly, starting a languid movement of the head of his length up and down your pussy. He means to tease you just a bit longer, wanting to test your reaction to the thickness rubbing between your folds.

But you see the surprise in his face when his cock threatens to slip in the moment it reaches your hole, even though there is no reason for his bafflement. Doesn’t he know what he does to you?

“Oh…” he murmurs, trying again, once again watching just a few inches disappear inside you before he pulls back. “That is… nice.”

In, then out again. Once more, in. Once more, out.

Then a tap of his heavy cock against your pelvis, stroking it in the process for further hardness, and you observe. Fully undisturbed and entirely amazed by what you’re seeing. Every single time.

You let him touch himself, and then close your eyes to listen to his sounds. But he soon leans into you again, whispering to keep them open, and when you do, he uses the proximity to kiss you again.

Harder this time. Moaning as he jerks himself off. A second longer until he brings it back to your pussy, and you raise your back off the mattress a little when he pushes the head in. Whimpering into the kiss, never having him back away.

You grip his shoulders for safety, trying not to go insane, and right before he parts from you, he nods. Asking, “Yes?”

“Please.”

“Shall I?”

“Please start.”

“Start… if you want me to fuck you numb, I will. Right until your mind is vacant of everything else. Will fuck all of me into you. Yes?” You take a shaky breath, barely nodding, but he sees and laughs quietly. “I need every lord to know to keep their hands off just by the way you walk.”

The nod turns into a shake of your head, and as he presses in further, you try to whisper, “That would be… incredibly scandalous, my love.”

“Oh? What difference does it make? The entire house always knows when I do these things with you.”

“Do they—”

“The staff always whispers. And they pay extra attention to you. Always lurking and trying to see if something changes about you. I’ve heard them, you know?”

Oh… oh, you know what he means. Of course you do. Perhaps you’re not the only one dreaming of a blooming future with him, of seeds being planted and growing into this family of yours.

The entire place must be waiting for the announcement to arrive one day.

Right…

“Then…” you start, interrupting yourself to press your lips together, muffling your moan when you feel him bottom out. “Then do not hold back now either. I want you to.”

“To hold myself back?”

“No.”

“Want what then, darling?”

“To fuck my mind numb of thoughts. And my legs of any feeling.”

Abruptly, he pulls out. Then, all of a sudden in again, all at once. You’re cross-eyed when you moan, and he more or less falls onto you as you pull him in, resisting the urge to bite into his shoulder as he nuzzles your neck.

A hand settles under your knee, raising one leg over his waist, starting to move. Messily, he licks and kisses your neck, continuing at your jawline, and then down to your clavicles. Fucks you lovingly enough to light a fire in you.

His hanging strands tickle your skin, damp from the sweat much like his forehead. His greedy sounds are crazy against your collarbones, and then decrease in volume when his lips wrap around your nipple once again.

“Sweetheart,” he mutters.

“Mhh…”

“This is not enough, is it?” No, it isn’t. He barely needs to speak on for you to momentarily shake your head, but he does, and it adds to your madness. “Not enough to disable straight walking…”

“Yes. No, yes—”

You mewl embarrassingly when he slides his cock out again; you see so much more of him outside of you than fucking necessary.

And God. God, you hate it when he presumably accidentally retracts it fully. Silently complaining, you sigh with worried eyebrows, but he finds his way back to you easily. It’d be odd if he didn’t. You suck him in effortlessly.

And he seems to enjoy it. Seems to seek an end to his goal, still keeping his previous question in mind, and then—

Your thighs quiver when he pushes in with all his power, all at once and as deeply as physically possible, and your eyes shut so hard that they hurt.

“Would you look at these tits…” you hear him say, forcing yourself to look at him again, fluttering your eyelids open.

And as sassily as your foggy brain allows, you respond, “I am looking, as well.”

At small, brown, constantly hard nipples. You want to touch them, kiss and bite them. Want to destroy him as much as he’s intending to destroy you. But you can barely move.

How could you if this time, when he returns to his ministrations, he turns entirely, irrevocably, positively merciless.

He gently falls forwards, holding you as he did before, but this time, when he hammers into you, the entire bed shakes. You raise your arm over your head, holding onto the railing for a second, inspecting how far away your head remains from it.

But Jungkook is attentive, and you only notice a second later that his palm is covering your head, keeping it from bumping against the railing. So you remove your hands from it, letting it glide over his smooth back again, sweat-covered and hot now.

He’s a monster, this man. Or perhaps, you make him a monster. You want to believe you’re the sole reason he forgets the universe like this; pounds into you, causing your body to move up and down the mattress, just because you’re the weakest spot he has.

Of course you are. Of course. 

So obvious when he confesses for the millionth time, “I love you.” Muffled, but clearer when he moves to look at you, expression beyond words as he repeats, “I love you so much.”

“And I you, my love.”

Strange. So strange how you never would’ve imagined yourself saying such a thing just a few years ago. How you avoided him, took a different path than him, never voluntarily meeting his eyes.

The words floating between you urge him to slow down for the moment; he attempts to take you in, to memorise you. Lets his eyes flit from your mouth over your nose to your pupils. Touches your cheek.

And the slower pace allows you to speak a bit more properly, even though you can’t help but feel distracted when he drops his head some to peck your skin.

“It… it has not been more than two years, has it? When we still despised each other.”

His kiss burns scars into your shoulder, hotter than hellfire. A raspy voice murmurs, “The world changes in mysterious ways.”

“Mmmh—”

It does. So does your mind. Because why is it that the most utterly sweet romance births the wildest of desires?

“And… Maybe that is what you need to unleash tonight, Kook. Perhaps I need it, too—” You shudder when he hums. His digits are still restless on your face, sliding up and down; not knowing what to caress. “What if you fucked me like you still hated me?”

“I… would that… You want that? I cannot even act as if I hate you, though.”

“Try it. I want you to.”

Jungkook remains speechless for too long, still comprehending your words, clearly torn between adhering to your wishes and worshipping you with the same adoration as you give out.

But as you so faintly mouth a hushed Please, you diffuse something in his brain. Inexplicably, because the rush of sensations, while never absent, feels new each time he touches you.

Perhaps that’s why he never gets enough of you; you hang a new star onto the sky every day, a new moon every night. Alternating every moment and refusing to leave a single one bland.

He’d be damned if he didn’t give the same excitement back to you.

Pushing his body up, he kneels above you, slipping out of you bit by bit as he grips your left knee. He shifts your limb, changing the position until you’re laying sideways, somewhat twisted.

You see the fleeting glimpse of pride as he slides back home and you mewl, soon squinting your eyes shut because shit — whatever you were doing before doesn’t compare to the tightness the shift allows. How your legs are nearly closed, allowing for much more friction.

You’re wrapped around him so fucking well, reminiscent of old key-to-its-lock-metaphors; and he feels infinitely closer to you. Possibly having a harder time than you, even.

The drag of his cock is endless as he begins, still too gentle, but effective enough. Your hands seek a place to hold onto, immediately opting for his leg; but he doesn’t seem to dig the idea as much.

“Let go,” he orders, not quite waiting for you to oblige before he’s captured your arm harshly and removed your touch, pinning it to your hip. “Same as before. No touching or I’ll stop—” The thrust he delivers isn’t quick, but relentless and hard; deep to the hilt. “—this. I don’t care if you cry or complain then.”

Shit…

He’s started. And he’s playing the act well. In your drowsy idiocy, you can’t help but wonder how the two of you would’ve fared if you’d turned your hate into lust much earlier. If you hadn’t used the time to despise each other, but transform it into this kind of energy.

Of course it is stupid to retort to such fantasies. Back then, you were disgusted by his personality, irritated by the way the two of you treated each other. There would’ve been no scenario in which he would’ve landed balls-deep in you.

But fuck, does the image prompt something in you.

You don’t bother for an answer, reckoning that the quiver of your lower lip might suffice, but… seemingly, not for him. Because he presses into your wrist harder before moving it to your back.

Yelping, you nearly stuff your face in the pillow, not entirely realising his next moves until you open your eyes again. See his mouth floating right over your ear. So close to you, pushing your damp hair back, whispering ominously, “Are you not fucking hearing me? Do you not understand?”

“I…” Goddamn it. Is he gritting his teeth? Playing his aggression so well? Or does it derive from the sheer lust he can’t contain? “I hear you. I understand.”

“What did I say?”

“No touching.”

The fingers stroking your strands back are more tender than his words, rewarding you with caresses as he continues just a tad softer, “Was that so difficult?”

He leaves you with another squeeze of your tits, moving his knees on the mattress to draw closer to your body. To bury himself further into you, leaving no spot untouched. And then, perfectly in character, claims, “Looking as pathetic as years ago, aren’t you? Probably dreamed of fucking me then, too.”

Wow—

Regarding the assignment with absolute diligence, it seems.

Even more cruel when he slips out of you so casually, so easily, despite adjusting to the position a mere moment ago. For a good purpose, however — because his digits replace his rock hard, soaked cock not soon after, testing the situation with languidly slow pumps.

They feel so different from his length; so… inadequate. You desire so much more. Back to where you were a minute ago. It’s… so hard not to touch him.

But if you begged for it now, would he give in? Or rather hold onto your previous idea?

You can try.

“Kook…” you whisper carefully, albeit immediately noticing how his breathing overshadows the word. You attempt again, “Kook.” This time, he hears. “Please. Need more? Please.”

“Asking for mercy all of a sudden… you cannot be serious.”

“I…”

“You’re lucky I do, too, you see? Need more.” Firmly, he lets a heavy hand fall to your ass, moving it up before your surprised squeal leaves you, and pushes at your back; your body flat on your stomach. “Or you’d long be sprawled over my lap.”

One of your dangerous traits is that you’re constantly tempted to test him. To act out, to follow his little warnings. Then again, he already provides enough; already at a hundred percent.

Like now, when he returns with the intent to wear you out. Wrecking you from the moment his cock intrudes again, falling in so smoothly that it’s almost embarrassing.

He starts right away. Pants a couple seconds later, matching your squeaks, probably delighted by your desperation as you hold, nearly rip the sheets. 

Tired, he leans in, chest closer to your back, and uses the nape of your neck as leverage to move easier. Wrapping a hand around it, pressing you down, hearing you whine and sniffle against the pillow.

You cannot recall the last time he fucked you this brutally. Snapping against your ass, letting all of the massiveness he sports disappear inside you. You don’t know what surprises you more — his stamina or the fact that you can take him this well at all.

But even Jeon Jungkook has his limits. You hear the approaching end in the way he sounds, breathing irregular and words incoherent. How broken his sounds are, high-pitched and absolutely unhinged. How his thrusts are slower now, indicative of his fatigue.

You know he’s close. But when he doesn’t slow down but stops altogether, you know he doesn’t want to be.

Refusing the orgasm, he pulls out for the nth time, much, much to your chagrin. With a dry throat, perspiring skin and droopy eyes, he delivers a harmless smack to your ass, and says, “Get up. Your turn to work on this.”

And with that, he means making himself comfortable against the back of the bed; letting the muscles of his arms bulge when he lifts them; using both hands to card through his hair, bringing some order into his messy mane.

Then, watching as you sit up, crawling on all fours and nearing his awaiting body.

Your gaze falls to his lap right away as you inch closer. To the shiny, wet member, secured in his fist, moving in it just a little, so as not to explode prematurely. Reserving it for you, and you only.

Such a giant. Towering. Thick enough for you to once again wonder if you can truly fit this inside you. Jungkook is gifted in every way.

And it’s not just the package he’s so proudly touching right now; it’s all of him. The golden skin, the thick thighs, the firm chest and the moles across his body. How his plush lips part further, the more your warmth nears.

Ready for you when you don’t take a seat right away but instead, steer straight towards his mouth, seeking a kiss you so hopelessly need. And for a second, he falls weak to your actions.

Only, until he suddenly yanks you back by your hair, probably reluctantly because…

Even now, his face draws to yours like a magnet, wanting more. Resisting. Extending the misery.

“Sit down,” he instructs, hitting your hanging tits. “Now.”

You do.

You do as quickly as you can; even rolling back your eyes, throwing back your head, unconsciously submitting to the reflex of gripping his shoulders. Bad idea — because he snatches your wrists, working to bring your arms behind your back again. Away from his body.

“Without this. Start.”

You try. You drag your pussy along his cock, up and then back down again; give yourself time to actually take in every little bit of him and how he makes you feel. The muscles of your legs and upper body are in full swing, exhausting your capacities.

But you’ll admit that it’s hard; not because your limbs have turned as wobbly as is usual with this beast, but because you’re awfully out of balance.

As he holds you captive, you’re struggling with the stance, even when he pulls your chest to his, melting the two of you. You don’t voice the difficulty yet, keen on observing his reactions; enduring the tremble of your body.

“So incredibly cooperative,” he repeats, “we make a strong pair, don’t we?”

Tease. Tease. Taking advantage of how much you crave praise.

You cannot pinpoint whether you’re coveting his appetite particularly strongly these days, or whether he’s just now awoken desires unknown to you so far — but his advances leave you salivating. Make you hunger for more.

Odd how you didn’t know you’d enjoy it if he gripped a patch of your hair as he is now, shaking your head, face close enough to you to repeatedly graze his lips against yours. Or that you could tighten around him like this the moment his fingers dig into your cheeks, holding you like an enemy.

“Mmmmh, you are pretty,” he hums, delivering two light slaps to your cheek. He hisses when he feels you constrict again, trapping his cock between your drenched walls, only able to whisper multiple fucked-out, “Pretty, pretty, pretty.”

His fitful breathing doesn’t allow for much interruption of his air flow; his chest is heaving and he seems far more spent than he did in the beginning. But he’s never ready to stop or wave the white flag.

Still succumbing to said hurdles when his lips dash forward, instantly blending his taste with yours as his tongue snakes around yours. His lips move against yours with ferocity and determination. Teeth bite your lower lip softly, giving his aggression a soft outlet.

And it seems to you that he might not pull his claws in again tonight, unleashing all the savage fierceness his lust and envy combine into. Perhaps this will turn into the most ruthless night just yet.

But you’re wrong.

And for once tonight, you don’t mind the 180 turn.

Because the moment he surfaces from the kiss to catch his breath, you use the pause to whisper his name. With a gentle shudder, kissing eyebrows and half-open eyes, you bring your forehead to his, and all of a sudden, he lets you go.

You don’t understand why until you look at him again. Blinking innocently, still not touching him properly, but carefully bringing your fingertips to his legs. The crease between your eyebrows vanishes, allowing them to rise, and you echo, “Kookie…?”

That’s all it takes. You might be hallucinating, but you think you see something in him break. Something shifting back into place, as if he’s going through a change, returning to himself after separating from his mind for a bit.

And he slows down. The dizzying brutality of his pounding leaving you drooling turns into something friendlier. A welcome alteration but…

The change in pace surprises you. Not even inspecting his expressions helps you understand what he might be thinking, what he might be intending to do next. He’s unpredictable in moments like these.

He might turn the tides. Or he might return to his demonic self.

What you don’t realise is how your eyes affect his thumping heart so badly; how you emanate sweetness with all of your being, and how you make this played aggression nearly impossible.

Rendered hypnotised, he understands that’s enough for tonight. This isn’t the true nature the two of you share. What was it again in simple, human words, never enough to describe the celestial feeling within?

In love. Devoted. Ready to do anything. And so, so beautiful.

Jungkook cradles your face, gently massaging the back of your head. His thumb touches your cheek as if you’re fragile, careful to keep you together now and forever. You’re tenderness personified; the object of all his desires.

The definition of a treasure to be protected. And you are—

“You’re the kind of person to kill for.” His warmth breathes into your face when his lips ghost in front of yours, words sugary when he admits, “I cannot do this like I hate you. Because I don’t.”

…If there is one thing aside from you that your husband will remain loyal to forever, it’s his feelings. Not only towards you, but everything he regards the world with.

He always claims he hid most of himself before he met you, but you’re convinced he never stopped being the person he is. That he was merely believing in what others wanted him to believe.

That’s all.

Even now, as his touch falls to the small of your back, he refuses to deny the fondness and care that has grown in his heart, right around your name sheltered in there.

You swallow thickly, touching his waist, and shake your head, “Then don’t. Do it just how you mean it.”

He nods, bringing his fingers back to yours and lifting them as he asks, “Would you like to touch me again?”

“Will you let me?”

A kind laugh meets your curious, yet genuine question. He places your hands on his shoulder, jesting, “Imagine… having the power over you to decide whether to let you or not.” 

Bringing his own fingers to your ass, he moves you a bit, and with that, his hardness inside you. “I love it when you are desperate like this, my love. But.” You moan when he urges you to move. “So am I.”

“Jungkook… I’m yours. You can do whatever you want.”

“I can, right? And— in return, I can be whatever you need me to be, too.”

Yours — that’s all. All of him.

The arms you finally touch, up to his shoulders, neck and jaw. The soft lips he’s kept parted ever since you started. The mole on his nose, under his mouth, near his jawline. The kiss he shares with you and the hands clamping at your body.

How he fucks you with a passion you’re certain is reserved for nobody in this world but you. You’re selfish like this; you don’t believe anybody loves like that.

It’s all yours; that’s what you need him to be.

You murmur his name repeatedly, and he pecks your neck dryly. Your sounds change as you near the end, feeling a bubbling sensation in your stomach pleading to be released. Impatiently, you lean back, planting your hands to the mattress, face towards the ceiling.

Jungkook uses the position to latch onto your nipples, fucking you harder now, even if not with the same craze as before. He knows your body; he knows it so well. So you’re not surprised, yet gasping when he brings a finger to your clit, hitting and touching the right stops over and over and over again.

Your body winds on top of him as the chaos inside you unfolds, your shoulders sinking, eyes in the back of your head, upper body so fucking weak. And as he massages circles onto your clit, never rough, and murmurs against your jaw, you lose your mind.

“You’re my love. Gorgeous, beautiful sweetheart. I want to see… this every night.”

Doesn’t he know he will all his life? Doesn’t he know you’ve surrendered every piece of you to him?

Fuck. Fuck—

The knot uncoils the moment he utters the last word, voice dulcet and hazy, so loving and breathy. Your arms give out, threatening to let your body fall, and you rush to find an anchor in his shoulders, holding him, embracing him within a second.

Without a single thought ahead, you blurt, “I’ll— I’ll never want anyone but you. Never.”

“You’re all I know, baby,” he responds in kind, holding you the same, a confession between each kiss to your neck, “I love you. D-did you know? I love you. Love you. Love you so much.”

And God, do you love him.

The waves crashing over you are metres-high, and they’re drowning you ocean-deep. Why does this feel new and crushing every single time? He’s helped you experience this a hundred times. Nobody ever has before.

But you never get used to this. Not to how hard your pussy tightens and loosens over and over again, how your body becomes weightless, needing to be kept upright. How your stomach feels much more free, like you’ve gone through an epiphany.

The world sparkles. You feel ridiculous, alone in your head with these thoughts, but you’re above clouds, and the stars sparkle. What the hell…

“H-how much?” you ask, gripping his black hair, dizzy. 

“You cannot ask me. I have no fucking idea,” he curses, “I wish I could measure it, you see? Wish I could show you better. Tell you. Write it in a book.”

You’re fond of books; but he doesn’t know there’s no need for him to create a story, because he’s one himself. Isn’t he? A chapter after another.

He lifts your face from his shoulder, making you look at him. Pushes your hair back, his stare fond. Crashes his lips against yours again before it’s his turn to let go.

Affected by your contractions, he moans against your cheek, closing his eyes before he’s shooting all that he kept back into you. Hot, wet and sticky, loads of it, requiring multiple pumps until he’s drained.

Then, falls back against the railing with you in tow, hiding in your chest as you keep him close to your heart. You touch his tresses, caressing his scalp, matching his breathing until your bodies wind down.

It takes endless minutes in each other’s arms until the burning sensation all over your skin diminishes.

The room has grown darker now, candles burned halfway through. When you allow yourself a glimpse of him, the shadows are dancing across his features, hiding half his face. The light is so faint where it hits him, a gorgeous weak golden that still doesn’t do his own teint justice.

You can’t believe you get to keep this for a lifetime. That this is the very being you have the honour to wake up next to every single morning. That you’re the only one holding his heart, and that he’s the only one matching your soul.

Is this what it means to share everything with someone? To indulge in something far greater than love.

Which… reminds you…

“Jungkook,” you call, and he hums quietly, smiling through it. Eyelids falling, he listens as you ask, “Kook, do you think I feel— or look different?”

There’s a pause in your hushed conversation, a rise of eyebrows. If he wasn’t so tired, he’d sound a lot more concerned, you reckon. Immediately question your thoughts.

Instead, he sounds weaker, yet confused when he mutters, “…Why?”

“Do I?”

Another break in thought. This time to take you in. To lean in just a little, regard you carefully, to let his eyes drag over your being to detect the change you speak of.

But maybe…

“I think you were quieter these days. In thoughts? I assumed it was the Jung thing. But,” he eventually says, “responsibilities didn’t allow me to be around much either. Did I… miss something?”

Were you quieter? Possibly. 

Saying you were trapped in your thoughts is an understatement; if he’s figured something out without being around, it’s this much. The utter truth, a successful deduction. But was it the Hoseok rumours?

You can’t yet say for sure. So you choose to not say anything at all.

Only, “That might be it.”

“Other than that, however…” he speaks, moving with a grunt. The hands on your hips are gentle as they instruct you to get up; and unbothered by the seed soon flowing out, he urges you to your back, face soon levitating above you. “You’re still the same.”

A creature of habit, he wipes the drying locks out of your face, kissing the tip of your nose. You’re almost entirely sure that you look like a proper mess — but it’s impossible to not believe him when he claims, “Still the same beautiful woman I fell in love with two years ago.” Another kiss to your eyelid. “Stunning darling.”

“Are you still in love with me the same?”

“No,” he immediately blurts, and if you didn’t know him so well, you’d panic, “of course never the same. Always a little more.”

“Mmmh. And I love you.” You touch the smooth surface of his back, drawing figures over the defined muscles. “So. Does this prove that I wouldn’t run away with some lord?”

He puts on the act of a thinker, purposely teasing you until you hit his bicep. Then, “Yes. But does it prove you won’t run away with a stable boy?”

“…I hate you, Jeon Jungkook.”

The laugh he emits is genuine, so different from the troubled voice you heard less than an hour ago. His old jesting self, he refers to your awkward idea before, mentioning, “I know. You surely got that across tonight. And oh, how you kept looking at me. Pure hatre—”

“Shut up. I gave myself to you tonight or you would’ve begged and whimpered—”

“Oh? How so? Tied me up, hm?” he mocks, fingers cautiously following the veins of your arms before he’s caught your wrists again. He lifts them over your head, trapping you again. “Like this?”

You laugh as his lips trace your neck, the tickling sensation not quite the same as the lust spreading before. Helplessly, you surrender, begging, “Alright. Okay. I apologise for saying that! If you keep going, I will be crawling tomorrow.”

“Is that so bad? Not having to tend to so many things?”

“You’d make it worth it, I’m certain.”

He lets you go the very next moment, sighing before he asks, “Do you feel alright? I was worried about going overboard.”

“No, I am more than alright. Dog-tired but… this was perfect. I am a little happy you got jealous. Do you feel better, too?”

“I feel extraordinarily well.” He keeps his mouth open, pondering on saying more, but as you see his mind whir, you reckon another thought has replaced his previous statement. “I was not jealous. Merely worried.”

“…You yourself have said you are a jealous man.”

“Have you got any evidence? I thought so.” Another snicker in a joyous night, setting the mood for your dreams. “But. You are loved by many, and I admire you for that. And objectively I know I will always love you the most, but… it’s scary.”

“Ah… what is, Kook?”

“Knowing that somebody might want to overtake me. To try better or make you reconsider.”

“They couldn’t. I do not have to tell you… you know me and you know I will be here.”

“Good. I know,” he assures, countless infinitesimal sparkles of yearning in his eyes. They glow even in the shadows of candlelight, even without flames. “I really want this with you.”

“What is that?”

“…Everything.”

Everything.

His thoughts are a repetition of your own. A confession of a forever. Which is why you understand so well what he means, not a single explanation necessary. Because you want it all, too.

Of all the facts existing in your realm and universe, this remains one that you could never doubt. And you’re trying to provide him with the same amount of everything, as well. You are.

Which is why the thought of disappointing him is so unbearable for the time being.

So for now, you’d rather avoid it by keeping your mouth shut just for a little longer.

For all the longing touches revealed last night, Jungkook was certain he’d meet a glowing face the next morning. Sparkly, familiar eyes, taking in all hallways despite already knowing them so well, pointing out a new detail each time as you love to do.

For all the affection revealed last night, he was sure he’d eliminated all doubts and sorrows, every piece of thought and afterthought left of the conversation about other lords and past love.

In such a sense, he finds himself cheerful in his office the following day, enduring the staff’s playful ridicules. Grateful about the comfortable atmosphere, the lightness of the morning. His humour runs off the charts and he catches himself snickering about his own jokes.

You left him bright at least. Hopeful and joyful, with a heart filled with so much love and craze that is barely comprehensible for a mortal mind.

When you stroll into his office with your hands folded, his dark gems glitter, lights dancing in his pupils. He didn’t see much of you yet, despite from the tiny moment he left you sleeping in bed, kissing your shoulder and removing the lock off your face.

Tending to his duties, only torn away from you when he was urged to do so.

“Good morning,” you say in your sweetest voice, so small and soft.

And he hears the alteration in your words, so vastly different from last night. But your eyes look somewhat swollen, sleep still apparent in them, so it’s easy to give into the first instinct and blame a short night for your fatigue.

“Good morning, my love,” he responds, silencing as he nears your body, tenderly aligning your fingers and raising yours to his mouth.

As he kisses every knuckle, you ask, “Working so early?”

“Did not choose to,” he murmurs in between pecks. He concludes the gesture with rubbing a thumb ever-so-gently against the back of your hand before he leads your palm to his face. “I can come back to you any moment, though.”

You smile, but the blinking of your eyes is slow, and your reserved stance grows. He finds it odd when you hesitate, but you’re faster than him when you speak, “No, no. I didn’t want to disturb you, please do what you need to do.”

“Then… keep me company?”

“I will, but later, yes? I was thinking of a brief outing.”

It’s not unusual for you to seek fresh air or promenade along a nearby waterfront. Ever since you left town, you’ve grown even fonder of nature. The blossoming flowers, the sun, the summer rain and the rainbows afterwards match your energy.

But your usual light is missing; you don’t look quite downcast, but moreso worried about something. Your chest rises a bit too hard when you breathe in, and the nerves burn hotter when he asks, “Where to?”

“Just nearby. Picking flowers.”

Maybe he’s thinking about it too hard. Maybe you’re honestly just drowsy and opting for the crisp air, hoping for it to clear your mind. And maybe your demeanour will have changed by the time you return.

Might at least just be worth the wait, right?

So he doesn’t intervene with your thoughts, merely nodding. He leans into your tender palm, still resting on his warm cheek, and presses a careful kiss into it, as though a mistake could make you run away.

“Sure,” he concurs at last, “rush back to me. And show me the flowers you collect, alright?”

Which you don’t really oblige to, keeping a safe distance from his yearning, worried heart for an hour or two.

It becomes increasingly difficult to focus on work with you away; inquiring about you doesn’t do much, because how could the staff within these walls know more than he does? Would you confide in them but not in him?

Are you afraid of something?

When the attention drifts off his work eventually and his gaze keeps switching to the view out the window, to a path that you might be walking, he plummets into his chair. Waits. Fiddling. 

“Dojoon,” he calls, immediately met with a guard outside the room, speaking to the stiff, polite form, “has my wife returned yet? Have you seen Aza around?”

Denying his lord’s questions, Dojoon shakes his head, causing Jungkook’s chest to deflate, and informs him that no, he has neither noticed the presence of you nor of your chaperone.

Fitting, a timing so appropriate, because the guard has only nearly finished his sentence and increased Jungkook’s concerns when footsteps echo through the hallway outside. Jungkook cranes his neck momentarily, hoping for an end to his perturbation.

And at last, some deity seems to have heard his prayers, even if, in hindsight, he knows he’ll probably have nothing to worry about. You’ve been away for longer, albeit usually announcing your departure more cheerily and with less uncertainty.

Which, to his pleasure, doesn’t torture your expressions as much anymore as you finally enter the room. The hands are still folded, a shawl wrapped around your back and gracefully falling over your arms.

You’re always so pretty; so stunning that he nearly forgets the issue on hand.

That your folded fingers don’t carry anything.

Which is not too suspicious, it shouldn’t be. You might have handed the flowers to somebody, might have hastened back into his room without thinking of his prior request.

But his paranoid mind has been wreaking havoc lately, and he hates, hates, hates it — yet, can’t stop it.

So he despises the feeling in his chest when he asks, “Where are the flowers?”

“I…” you unfold your hands, inspecting your fingers as if you forgot they were vacant of said bloom. “Staff took them.”

Of course. That’s the most logical option, one he considered. So why…

He inches closer to you, nodding towards Dojoon and signalling for him to leave. As the guard exits right away, Jungkook lightly touches a strand of your hair, tucking it back as he so gently wonders, “Where did you go, baby?” 

“Just out for a while. I told you before.”

“But…” You swallow as he talks, nervous about something and suddenly fidgeting with your way too warm cashmere shawl. Only looking up when he breaks his barriers and asks, “What’s the matter?”

“What?”

“I do not know. You tell me. What’s the matter? Is it because of something we said last night? Or because of…”

There. He said it. Stupid unease that might prove wrong and oh-so-utterly and truly stupid soon.

Of course he’s had this in his mind. But somehow, he’s started to wonder… do you feel okay? Are you ill?

“What?” you echo, shaking your head. “No. What are you saying—”

“Something must be bothering you, I reckon, and you…”

“No, I think I just,” you start, pausing, tonguing your cheek until you turn your body a little. Almost facing the door. “I probably only need more rest. I feel tired and you wore me out so much, you see—”

It’s meant as a joke, and he’s sure he even recognises a smile — but the mood won’t allow for otherwise very welcome jests. Before you can even reach for the door handle, he places a flat hand on the surface of the door, ensuring that Dojoon didn’t leave it ajar even a tiny gap.

Half caged in, you look at him in disbelief, lips slightly parted as you say, “Won’t you let me go out?”

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” The genuine distress in his expression hurts you; just because you’re so fearful of disappointing him, or putting him under more anxiety. No reason, no reason. “Tell me what’s going on.”

You want to. It’s just — he’s been forlorn before. You’ve seen his lows and seen the reasons for it. Waded through parts of his pain with him. The news you want to deliver are merry and colossal, but you don’t know if he’s ready.

And fuck. You’re taking too long to answer, aren’t you?

You are. You see it in his eyes. How they start to burn, how frustration grows so apparent in them. Never replacing the care and worries, but certainly furrowing his eyebrows the way he often does when irritated.

“What’s troubling you?” he tries again, keeping himself from snarling. “Where did you go? Did you… did you see him somewhere? I apologise if I said or did something wrong last night. If I hurt you.”

Keeping himself from snapping. Because your eyes are so big, and your stare so innocent and you look so concerned for him rather than for yourself, and… and…

Other than every reason in this universe, he can’t bear to be mad at you.

“Hm?” he voices.

“No,” you finally reveal, “it’s not him at all.”

“I know… Of course I know. But what is it?”

You blow out air. “I am…”

“Yes,” he interjects when your pause proves longer than a moment, “are you ill? Oh goodness, this is nerve-wracking. I think I might fai—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, both hands dashing to his arms. He’s out of breath, unfiltered craze in his eyes, as if expecting the worst. So you free him of his misery, taking a deep breath, and then, outrightly, reveal, “I’m expecting.”

…The world stills.

You hear it and you feel it; are certain that all movement has ceased, that the birds have halted mid-flight. That the wind has ebbed down. That the people down in the village have frozen in whatever state they were in before.

Selfishly, you believe that the centre of the world has shifted from the sun to right where you’re standing, right where the love of your life has paused. Where he’s looking at you and you only, barely blinking, out of words, lungs as dry as yours.

“My lo—” you start at the same time as he mumbles, “What?”

So you speak on, “I have not been bleeding. I went to consult the doctor and—”

“Outside? Where?” he asks, the memory and logic in his mind so disrupted that he finds himself in a state of utter bafflement and insanity. “Why didn’t you go to the mansion’s—”

“He went to his family for the week. Do you remember?”

“Right… right. What did you… You just went?”

You nod. “Spoke to him about all the things I have been experiencing and he’s certain those are all signs for me expecting… it seems.”

“…You didn’t tell me.”

“Because I wasn’t sure. And I… I know how much this scares you, so I didn’t want to stir chaos in case it turned out to be nothing.”

Which is a truth you weren’t sure you’d be able to spell out. Jungkook has wanted children; he has mentioned it on several occasions. But ever since you fathomed his deepest fears, laying in a fatherless past and a sorrowful childhood, you’ve been careful.

He’s affected. He always has been. And perhaps you’ll see glimpses of those very worries the more your pregnancy advances; let’s see.

For now, however, they don’t seem to roam his mind.

Instead, he shakes his head, hints of an expression creeping onto his face that you know too well. The first sign of approaching tears; of a swelling heart. Of love growing so fondly and fast that it overflows.

Every single tongue-tied reaction gathers in eventual words when he summarises, “I barely know what to say.” And right there it is; underneath his eye, on the apple of his cheek. One single tear. And with it, a breaking voice. “I do not know what to say.”

But he knows what to do. And what he does is tilt his head, sighing into the stuffy air of the office, not bothering to wipe away the tears — and you can’t either as he grips your hands. Smushes them in his. Calls forth your own liquid affection, blurring your vision.

And then you’re pulled off your spot, crushed in a long-overdue embrace. Before you know it, you’re safely secured in his arms, one a snake around your body, the other hand holding the back of your head as if you could disappear.

He hides his lips in your hair, still not able to put his thoughts into words. But he cries silently against you, leftover panic subsiding and giving way to raw sentiments.

“Jung— kook—” you hiccup, and he shakes his head, possibly keeping you from sobbing; yet, not faring better. “I apologise for— for keeping it from y—”

“No. No, you…” he takes a deep breath, and you know without looking that he’s closing his eyes. Putting his chin on top of your head. “You’re the only one who’s ever cared like this. And shielded me like this. How do you care so much? No, I know. Because I do, too…”

His words turn into a murmur, and he swallows a syllable or two, but it doesn’t matter. You hear his heart, and it speaks volumes without him needing to.

You could cry all your life. And you could love all your life.

“So,” he adds, “we are finally growing, yes? You and I and another. The only another we need, right? Fuck the rest of the world.”

You nod against his chest with a broken laugh, palms wandering further up from the small of his back, and you try to hold him as tight as he’s holding you.

There is no need for words and confessions anymore. There is no need for anything at all; just this very thing. And this very touch. These tender sounds of your sobs, ongoing until they turn into a light and quiet mingling of smiles and tear-filled laughter.

“I promise to you,” Jungkook finally says after a minute, his voice calmer, steadier, “I will do anything. Everything.”

Pause. Waiting to collect his thoughts. All those of lords and kings knocked out within a moment.

And then—

“I will do so much better.”

Over the course of the one year you have spent within the same walls as your husband, you haven’t just learned how to share the same home but the same habits, too.

Some are deliberate — reading the Friday newspaper together in the morning; craving eggs on Saturdays; taking walks to wind down from the week on Sundays. They have become a reflex; unspoken activities you indulge in without the other pointing them out anymore.

Others developed accidentally — like, unconsciously counting the windows you pass in the long hallways, because you caught him doing it before. Or, not being able to sleep well unless you have bid each other a good night. Or — in such a case, seeking each other out once the other side of the bed feels too cold.

It’s not rare for Jungkook, who’s still learning to handle responsibilities, to overwork himself deep into the night. At times, you find him at the edge of the bed, still reading a document. On other days, you tap blindly along the walls of the mansion, meeting him in the library.

Tonight, it’s neither.

The place looks eerie, somewhat haunted in the dark. Still adjusting to the darkness, you stroll from room to room idly, trying to make out a light, or a shadow, a sighting of the man you woke up without.

It must be late; or incredibly early. You can’t say when he awoke and skulked off; the sky is still pitch black outside, but sunrise might break in soon.

A few minutes later, akin to an eternity, you finally push the unlocked door to the study, lit by faint flames. Jungkook flinches when it squeaks open and you step in with featherlight steps. He nearly throws the book into the air, catching it as it threatens to slide off his knee.

The gentle heart only calms once it recognises you, taking a deep, shuddering breath in. He isn’t angry; rather delighted to see your figure standing in the dark, in a long, white nightgown and big, worried eyes.

As much as he’s able to perceive from his spot, you look relieved, fingers fiddling, and he doesn’t think he could love anybody more than you, ever. Not when you’re here steering towards your goal, obviously having scoured the mansion to find him.

“You’re so light on your feet, love,” he faux-complains, tutting, “thought you were a ghost.”

“Oh. A pretty ghost?”

“One I’d let haunt me any day.”

You let out a gentle laugh, stepping closer until you’re towering over him, “They say one glows when with child.”

“If you glow any more, then…” he whispers as you take a careful seat on his lap, simultaneously securing you there with an arm and covering his eyes. Charading being blinded by the light.

How dramatic.

Shaking your head, you take a look down to his fingers, following his touch until you’ve opened the shut book to the page his thumb serves as a bookmark for. The cover isn’t particularly telling, a mere title on it too small to read.

The chapter he was reading is an advanced one, the page starting in the middle of an ongoing sentence. but as most stories beloved to dreamy poets go, kindness prevailed in the end.

You don’t ask for the content right away; rather, you wonder, “Jungkook, why are you still up? And here of all places.”

The golden candlelight highlights the fatigue in his eyes — but it makes his heart-stirring smile evident, too. A note of pride resonates in his voice as he lifts the book, holding it towards you as if that doesn’t worsen the lighting drastically.

“It has lullabies and bedtime stories,” he says. You lean in, staring at the right page, and recognise colourful, faded illustrations. “Father used to read them to me. I remember how they shaped me, so I— I wanted to practice, too.”

No matter how many arrows Cupid shoots into your heart, Jungkook always seems to outdo the beneficent god. He’s diligent in watering and growing the affection in you. Tending to your heart — just like that, effortlessly.

Despite your tired mind, your emotions are on overdrive; because of your tired mind, you, in the tone of a statement, repeat, “You were preparing.”

“Is that odd?” he immediately blurts, a little too loud for the room. When you shake your head in denial, he nods in comfort. “I was afraid I was doing too much. This book helped. There is another one on parenting, but,” he reaches for his desk with a groan, putting another, smaller piece on top of the other one, “but I feel like this advice is a given. Look.”

He flips through the pages, halting at one that outlines tips and tricks in imperatives. The first you lay eyes on is already one that proves his point, odd as you read aloud, "An affectionate household works wonders upon a young mind. Remember to, uh— cultivate a serene and harmonious family atmosphere!"

“Fair enough, is it not?” Jungkook jests, shutting the book again.

The smile he flashes, the one you never hesitate to join is a peculiar one. Utterly sweet, undeniably handsome; yet, strange, considering the history the two of you share.

You wonder once again.

When did he become this tender? The boy you knew, smirking so slyly, evil words shot towards you in a group of fellow pals — none of the damaging energy remains today. Today… sitting on this very lap, going into raptures.

Carrying his child.

Then again, people change, but never thoroughly. A basic foundation, the core that one is made of always healthily and steadily remains. Jungkook’s traits, the ones you have learned to love and cherish, were always part of him.

He just needed an outlet. Somebody to practise them on; a lifelong companion to pour the softness onto.

And things never end there. No, they go on and on, a flood of sparkly emotions. Like, when he gets into a more casual conversation now, never quite realising that his little statements are pulling you above clouds.

”I asked some of the staff about their experience with their children. Did you know some of them have young toddlers themselves?”

”Mihee gave me a list of things to be careful about once birth comes around. It sounds painful, darling. You can do it, right?”

”You can. I’ll be there, too. You can certainly do it better than I will, possibly.”

He tells you he has been working a little less these days; having struggles forming a clear thought. Informs you about his spontaneous and perhaps too early decision of planting a tree just for the child. Explains to you how to not hold a baby, the information courtesy of Mihee.

And then, he kisses your forehead, sucking in a breath as if shivering. He adjusts for a moment, never pushing you off his lap, and then eventually, quietly, admits, “It is so frightening, as well, though, isn’t it?”

“Hm?”

“This… this whole thing.” You gaze at him with gentle worry, suspecting what’s to come, but he misinterprets it for doubt. “I am not anyhow indicating that I don’t want this. Not at all. I wouldn’t want it with anyone but you.”

You nod understandingly, clarifying that you never assumed such. But he continues, “Still, I can’t help but wonder how well I will do.”

You could tell him that it’s a valid and often occurring worry. That no parent-to-be will ever dive into this with full confidence and a pure lack of insecurities. But you know why he’s saying this.

Not everyone has a dead father. Not everyone deals with an abusive household growing up. And not everyone was fed with doubts and deep-rooted issues that provoke such hesitant thoughts.

“Is that why you are reading books on parenting, my love?” you inquire, speaking slowly.

“I would guess so,” he answers, “I want to be there. I’d hate it if I had to leave… you never know what might happen, you know? Or maybe, if I was here, yet tried too hard and then failed in the process—”

“First of all,” you interrupt, “do not make me imagine a life without you. Second of all… we are thinking about it in such a theory. I reckon that… once you hold someone in your arms,” you put your head onto his, keeping him close, the free hand seeking his, “it feels more natural. Love happens naturally.”

“Does it? I have never been a father before.”

You chuckle, “So I hope! But. What was it like to love me? A process? Progress? Were you scared of loving me?”

“I was.” The answer is unexpected. Then again, it’s not. Certainly rapid, though. “You’re an unstoppable force. Of course it is scary to love you. What if one messes up? That’s nothing that can be forgiven.”

“You always speak too highly of me.”

“I am not blinded. I see it clearly and I mean every word. Loving you was frightening, but it developed…” He removes his touch from your fingers, instead tracing up the skin of your arm until his digits skim your elbow; echoing, “Naturally.”

“Mmmh. And does it ever feel like you’re trying too hard?”

“No. You’re right, it doesn’t. It just happens.”

“So,” you whisper, “who’s to say this will be different? And to tell you a secret: You’re doing so amazing loving me. If you can give this one the same amount as you give me, we will be fine.”

He hums, nodding instantly. This must boost his confidence.

He’d be a fool to ever doubt the sentiments he houses for you. He knows he loves you well, because he regards you as worth it. Because he vowed to provide to you what you deserve; the intensity of that adoration will never be subject to confusion.

“I will share another secret with you,” you clear your throat, shifting. “Can you imagine how terrifying it can be for a woman to leave home after so long? How, considering the role of the woman, the thought of living with a man can be intimidating?”

Jungkook’s head sinks in thought. Big eyes fixate on a random spot and a plump, rosy lower lip curls outward, pouting. Another hum before he does a head tilt and confesses, “I haven’t thought about it yet. But… if I had a daughter and she left, I would be scared to death for her well-being.”

“Yes. And she would be, as well. It can be difficult. But to tell you something… Despite my fears and the adjustments I needed to make here, I didn’t fear for my well-being. I knew you’d take good care of me.”

You swallow, sighing when he leans in, lips close to your chest, “And if this is what you consider your nature, Jungkook… Then I do not think you have to worry about anything.”

“Hmmm. This makes so much sense. You are such a bright woman, did you know?” he says, rubbing your arm, then your back. Buries his face in your breasts; his voice vibrates against you as he speaks, “You are everything good. And incredibly smart.”

That’s what he’s saying. The true feelings run much deeper than that; you understand.

The sudden affection that washes over one on the best days. When it overwhelms the senses and dips the air in vibrant shades of pink. Feelings of invincibility and eternal happiness.

Yet, hard, or even impossible, to grasp into appropriate sentences. What Jungkook is doing is merely spitting the most harmless of his love confessions, because his true thoughts cannot be constellated into actual words.

“I love you. I do love you. So, so much,” he mutters, scattered kisses between words a habit now, “and I want to take care of you forever. I will bring you tea. And carry you to bed. I will even cook for you, I do not care about the intensity of effort…”

He’s said that before — delivering whatever you crave, whenever you crave it. To your surprise, the royal you thought spoiled previously has a knack for bringing delicious creations to the table. You know because he gets bored sometimes. Takes some work off the staff’s overworked shoulders.

“Speaking of,” he soon inquires, just as you foresaw, “are you hungry? Are you eating well? We should sneak into the kitchen.”

You shake your head immediately, telling him that eating before sleep does not do well to the stomach. Tell him that it is far too late to hide in the corners of the mansion the way you hid around town when engaged.

That now, it might be much easier to stroll back into your room. Slip under the covers. Smile and talk and drift into sleep.

And you promise that you’re already well fed as long as he fills you with the care your dreamy youth would always read about.

But the clouds you float above dissipate and drop your body into a fall, from heaven to absolute hell.

You’re not sure what you expected from this entire affair; perhaps you should’ve known that carrying and leading a full human being into the world wouldn’t occur so blissfully as the pregnancy itself was. And yes — compared to this, the pregnancy was a bed of roses, no matter how often you whined.

Damn the society around you. The only knowledge you had of this moment came from the few books Jungkook brought you every now and then, his gentle warnings that this might hurt, and the brief conversations you had with your mother about the existence of people.

One or two comments from your doctor here and there.

Oh, it will be all good!

But that’s it, isn’t it? Women do not get informed properly; you do not fully understand the concept of such things until they finally roll around.

And the day you wake up once again with the highest expectations, you finally speak those hopes into existence. As you walk up the stairs shortly after dinner, you feel a liquid drain your legs; confused until your stomach so agonisingly twists. 

A punch to your guts.

The moment it happens, your heartbeat accelerates, its sound echoing in your ears — for the very first second, you fear the worst. Did something go wrong? Is something bad happening?

But it doesn’t seem the case, because the tumult around you suggests otherwise entirely: the royal mansion breaks into an immediate excited bustle. You don’t know how they do it, but word spreads like a wildfire.

As soon as the world starts spinning and you let out one or two groans, slowly turning into yelps of pain, you’re escorted to the empty bedroom. Barely minutes later, you’re accompanied by the doctor residing in your mansion these days.

Jungkook’s doing.

Ordered the physician Sang and the midwife Yumi — yes, both — to spend their days here because this is the time they predicted for the baby to arrive at. Nine months… plus, minus a couple days.

The skies have darkened and the seasons changed. It’s colder now, but you feel hot, tortured by your body temperature as staff members drape more blankets over your body, comfortable pillows under you, water and cloths beside you.

And among the blurring faces you perceive under the growing pain, you don’t see his.

Not now; not a couple minutes later; not even more than half an hour has passed. Have they not informed him? He went out for a stroll, but he couldn’t have gone this far.

Your pleas were whispers before, asking for him, yet somewhat ignored, as if you never uttered them at all. So when the light contractions turn moderate, threatening to worsen over time, you raise your voice, “Where’s my husband?! Are you being serious? Get him o—”

“Lady Jeon,” Yumi calmly starts; your possibly irritated mind perceives the probably neutral tone as condescending, and as such, your title makes you internally cringe. “We cannot.”

“What?”

“Husbands aren’t allowed at childbirth. But—”

“What?!” you repeat, rage redirected from the pain to the person only trying to help. You’ll feel guilty later, you know. “This is his child, too. He’s a goddamn part of th—”

The blunt curses are unlike you, and your brain understands; they understand, too, because they have seen and appreciated your true nature for the past few days. Maybe that’s why they don’t take your outbursts too personally; or maybe because they have done this before.

And you know, you know that whatever bond you share with Jungkook, you probably can’t breach society’s rules and the things it deems inappropriate. You weren’t aware that he wasn’t allowed in here; the books didn’t teach you that.

But you should’ve known.

“The Lord will be with you the moment this is over,” Sang promises, preparing whatever he needs to. You’re barely looking, only praying to the ceiling. “He won’t miss a moment with his child. Now, listen to what I say.”

You do. You are.

It just gets so hard with time; the pauses between the contractions seem to shorten and then they vanish. The intensity grows, each time a little more than before; and every other minute, you’re sure you’ve reached the peak, but you never have.

Then, everything starts spinning, your skin soaked in sweat and the little one moving inside, your vision blurring… have hours passed already?

You don’t know. You don’t care — you want this to be over.

But the warm liquid between your thighs, the urge to push, along with the midwife’s words and reassurances, indicate that you’re almost there.

And that’s when it happens. Not the end of it all. Not the appearance of whoever you’ve been anticipating for so long.

But the aggressive thump at the door, repeated and rapid. It hurls your heart from your chest into your throat, your breathing a little more arhythmic than before and you nearly cannot imagine who might be provoking chaos so close to the end.

Then again, could it truly be such a surprise?

Because when the door opens a slit, a familiar face peeking, something in you stirs so hard that you nearly jump into a standing position, pain be damned. Adrenaline rushes through you as a hand pushes you back again; you must’ve risen a couple inches, calling a name.

“You can at least tell me how she is,” Jungkook’s shaky voice inquires near the door, louder than he probably intends. His words are filled with anxiety, and you know he cried before. “I deserve to know.”

Sang hesitates; even in such an advanced state, you still hear his composed words, as calm as he’s been taught to be. “She’s been bleeding a little. We are, however, taking care of it.”

“…What is a little?”

“Bleeding is a common occurrence. It’s just…” The man clearly leans in, because you hear him a bit worse now, yet well enough to understand why your thighs feel so oddly wet and warm, and you so weak. “Somewhat more than it should be. But she’s nearly done, so it’ll be—”

“No,” Jungkook resists, “this is unspeakably stupid.”

Not the man speaking to him, and not anything about what you’re going through, what so many women a day must be going through.

But the distance — you know. And when you move your head towards the open door, meeting his eyes at just the right moment, almost hidden behind Sang’s figure, they widen. Once again, you know why.

Because he’s snapped.

“Jungkook—” you murmur, and it’s enough.

With a combination of impatient aggression and respectful care for the physician, he pushes past the arm blocking the entry to his own bedroom. Someone in the room catches onto Jungkook’s sleeve, but he shakes it off without ever averting his gaze from you.

Yumi follows her responsibilities without a moment of hesitation, nearly leaning over your body as she warns somewhat shyly even, “You are not allowed to be here, I apologise, but…”

But her message is sharply cut in the air before it even reaches Jungkook, because he finally breaks eye contact with you, instead redirecting the flaming pupils towards her.

You don’t see much else than the bottom of his jaw, but you’ve seen the stare before.

When he manages a business that irritates him. When he gets into a rare but bad argument with you. You saw it when he met his teasing friends again, way after your engagement, ready to mock you. And when he faced the idiocy his uncle committed.

Intimidated, Yumi leans back, nodding just once, probably accepting that should whatever myth about childbirth come to life, it’d be your problem. But Jungkook has always been careful; doesn’t believe in the warnings of infections and other unspeakable things that apparently occur when the husband joins the birthing process.

“You are almost ready to push. Just a bit more,” she informs you instead, taking her place at the end of the bed, taking a glimpse under the blanket over your legs.

You feel it, too. Your body is telling you to.

“This is so stupid,” Jungkook repeats, taking a seat on the chair shoved behind him. His hands seek out yours, clutching it immediately. “Hours of waiting and hoping you’re alright? Incredibly dumb, isn’t it?”

“I know,” you say, faintly nodding, only noticing how much you’re crying when he wipes away a stray tear, “I told them. It’s taking so long, Jungkook…”

“Yes, I figured it might, but… but,” he starts, waterline shimmering, bangs already damp — where did he run from to you? “It will be over and so worth it.”

“Read it in… a book?” He nods, and you chuckle as much as possible. “You’ve been reading so much.”

“More than ever! I have never read so many books before, you know?” He sniffles. “And still nothing prepared me. Do you know what happened, darling?”

He’s fighting tears until he can’t. A single one rolls down his cheek and over his mouth, his smile remaining intact, even if somewhat damaged by the profuse emotions. His lower lip trembles like yours.

You’re in no mindset to answer, but his voice, his words, his touch soothe your heart. Lessen the pain, even though in reality and in theory, they don’t.

How does any woman do this without her beloved?

“Two hours in, and I fainted.”

Immediately, your eyes shoot open, your fingers squeezing his, but before you can utter your worries, he shakes his head and continues, “They kept me in there and guarded me like a child. I was scheming how to escape… climbing out the window.”

He smiles when you laugh again, sniffling again, and concludes, “Then they told me they had heard you were struggling and that you were screaming more often. And the room was so hot, as well — it is winter, for Heaven’s sake! And I just…”

Shaking his head, he emphasises the embarrassment of the moment, aware that you cannot talk much, but guiding you through it nevertheless. Speaking his mouth wound, “You’re the one doing this. I did nothing.”

“You did,” you manage, “it is not the same, but you were there.”

“I was there. But you’re doing this, yet I fainted. I would’ve been with you so much earli—”

His soft conversation is soon interrupted when you scream again, your chin quivering, head thrown back when another excruciating contraction catapults you almost into unconsciousness.

Somebody wipes the sweat off your hot forehead for the millionth time, and finally, finally, you feel something happening.

But Jungkook can’t contain his concerns, an observer who can’t feel any of this, only seeing the love of his life sobbing, yelling, squeezing her eyes shut until they hurt. You hear him ask, “What?”

“Just… blood,” Yumi’s voice answers at the same moment as another pair of hands start massaging your stomach for whatever reason, “just…”

“Is that bad?” Jungkook wants to know, out of breath.

“It’s not great, but it won’t be fatal.”

“What? Is she…” He stops for a second, and you see him looking at you through half-lidded eyes, then back at the headless body, covered by the blanket, “God. Then do something!”

You rub a thumb over the back of his hand, fully breathless, already feeling veins pop as you push. And once more. Then say, “It’s alright. It…it will be alright.”

“I should be telling you that! Is that why they mock men? Huh?” He looks back and forth, and you want to laugh, barely managing to listen as you focus on the pushes. You hear his words faintly, but they help. “I am guessing you are feeling it quite a bit as opposed to me, yes?”

You’re crying harder when you shut your eyes again, back arching, yelling out sarcastic words, “No! N–not feeling a thing!”

Your upper body is killing you. The pressure is unbearable, the sensation burning. Through it all, as you near the finishing line, wishing to skip these minutes, he keeps encouraging, “This is so amazing. Just a little more. Almost… almost do—”

The last word is swallowed, quiet, barely spoken. Maybe because his voice is breaking, too. But maybe, because it’s interrupted by another, much shriller cry of change. Entering a world so new is surely scary.

Somebody knows it even better than you, because the first ever sounds of the baby once it finally emerges heal and break your heart. How can that be? You haven’t even touched it yet.

Then, how are you already caught by such an… odd feeling? Floating somewhere between reality and a dream, not quite realising that you’re actually hearing the crying. Isn’t a child just what you were a while ago, too?

You remember the moment you first met Jungkook so vividly. In the rain, attempting to soothe his sorrows, trying to figure out what misery had ambushed the disconsolate boy.

You were a child back then, too. That wasn’t long ago, was it? Are you really married to the same being now, sharing your all with yet another existence that is yelling away in this very room?

Overwhelmed by someone you only felt and cherished through your own skin, without ever touching, without ever speaking to it? 

“Is it… a girl or a boy?” you want to know.

Jungkook takes a stand, leaving your hand for just a moment, but Yumi and the rest are busy tending to the bloody and fresh child. Wrapping it in a blanket. Holding it carefully. Cutting off the umbilical cord — a relatively young term Jungkook told you about.

“It’s… a girl, Lady Jeon.”

A girl.

Oh God. The father’s beauty. The mother’s wit. A lion-heart and a strong-willed mind. If the two of you are combined, that’s what comes out, doesn’t it?

And all of her, all of what she is is yours. And you’re hers.

Jungkook doesn’t get to inch too close to his flesh and blood, because Yumi turns away; you’re too tired to be angry, albeit a little relieved when she lets you know extra gently, “We’ll just clean her up and get her back to you immediately. You can hold her then.”

You let your arms sink, and Jungkook comes rushing back to you. Instead of grabbing your hand again, he places a palm to your forehead, wiping at it, moving back the hair. The calming gesture helps you wind down, even though you’re nowhere close to being yourself again.

The aftermath of the pain remains, but you’re eternally grateful for the end of the contractions. For the ceasing of your screams. For the temperature coming down, your breathing calming just gradually.

And for—

“Thank you, my love,” you mutter absent-mindedly, noticing when his movements slow down. You’re so dizzy. “For being with me through all this nevertheless. I do not know how they expected me to do it without you.”

“Well… they did not know I read all those books. I mean, you heard it. I’m more or less a certified royal midwife now.”

You can’t help but let out an unexpected snicker, still too exhausted to open both eyes. You crack one of them a split apart, teasing, “My midwife fainted.”

“We have bad days, too. No?”

You hear the actual midwife’s voice jest something in agreement, widening your smile, and state, “Then. In that case, you need to redeem yourself, yes? How— about a crown for our baby?”

When you look at him properly, you see new tears emerge. He’s trying his best not to cry — but with you so close, alive and courageous, and a child weeping away a couple feet from your bed… how could he hold back?

“Well, I was thinking of a nightdress with a tiny crown print. A real crown might be a bit much, don’t you think?”

The counter-jest is already forming on your tongue, something about toys and humility and joy combined into some type of coherent sentence. But as Yumi turns towards you, holding the vulnerable, now calmer baby in her arms so carefully, you lose track of your thoughts.

Even from afar, you hear the tiny sounds. Noises of comfort, remainders of the crying. You see a miniscule hand with petite fingers curling and uncurling before they disappear close to her face, hidden behind the blanket.

You can’t see much more from down here on the bed, sinking into the mattress. You attempt to get up a little, but you still feel faint, taking it step by step until someone from the staff rushes to your side. Helps you sit up.

In that time, Jungkook has already taken upon the offer to hold her first, his stance unbearably and sweetly cautious. As if he’s holding freshly crafted glass. No… much more careful than that.

He draws a breath in, and you see the furrowed eyebrows. The shine in his eyes. How he looks at her with utter, pure, unfiltered, raw affection until he can’t bear it anymore. Averts his gaze for just a second to blink the tears out of his eyes, trying not to let them fall on her face.

His lips remain parted, focusing on breathing, cradling her. You see the knotted ball of a dozen emotions in his stare, each string made of a different sentiment.

Like a fierce protective instinct, surging through him as it does through you. Awe and wonder, marvelling at her delicate features. And a smile, a little laugh, an obvious sign of endless elation. Speechlessness.

Without words, he says—

I’ll keep you safe.

You’re so perfect.

I would die for you.

All summarised in a quiet, “I can’t believe it.”

He’s close to you, and you reach out to him, touching his knee softly with a palm, rubbing until he looks at you. Shooting a curious look, he shakes his head, barely any reason behind, before he says, “She’s curled up. Touching her face.”

“Is she… looking at you?”

“Barely opening her eyes. Just a slit, and… it’s all dark pupils and nothing else, you know? But…” His next breath is shaky, his upper body trembling; the baby with him. You wait patiently, expecting anything but what he says next. “She’s even prettier than you.”

“Shut up,” you immediately blurt, laughter mixed with relief. It’s hard to speak; there’s a clump in your throat. “Yet… it’s so easy to believe you.”

“See?”

He leans in, moving naturally, gracefully, and you widen your arms, ready to welcome her in the first embrace, and once she settles and you get comfortable and lean back again, you realise—

He’s so right.

The slight crack she opened her eyes to. And the small tongue darting out every now and then. A hand on her face, arms close to her body, as if guarding herself. No weight on your arms at all; cheeks that remind you of some fluffy pastry.

You don’t know her yet, but you already know her name. You haven’t spoken to her, but you’ve already internalised the shrill voice. And the face is new to you, but you do already treasure it.

Does she feel the same? It’s crazy… This is crazy.

In theory, you know most newborn babies look similar. You know they sound the same and act the same. You’re aware that they need to be cleaned thoroughly, and that they need to grow into more than this little bundle in your arms.

But, perhaps as a mother, you can’t deny how gorgeous she is.

You already know — already pronounce her the diamond of every season and every year to come.

They say that love opens your eyes to new colours. Unlocks a path to brighter sunrises and clearer nights. They say in every second of loving somebody another star is hung into the sky, shedding more light onto the world.

There’s utter truth to these fairytales and supper anecdotes; but they never quite mention how draining a life as a mother can be, too.

That it’d be torture to your once bright mind; that you’d wake up in pain and beg for sleep and never quite receive it. That you’d realise how mean your mind could be to you after experiencing such heart-shattering worship the moment you saw her first.

The nights are difficult, but Jungkook exerts an effort equal to yours. You’re grateful when he takes a few days off as needed. Constantly shows his appreciation for your hard work and refuses to let you do this alone.

And you both agreed. You want the nanny to interfere as little as possible; want to keep the child’s attention glued to you for the most part, but with a balance that allows her to never shy away from other people, either.

Like, when your and Jungkook’s family visited a while ago; not once did you feel like she couldn’t handle a moment without you. Was switched from one hold to another, moving towards whoever was ready to provide affection.

She’s a social butterfly. Doesn’t fear strangers. But you still help her familiarise herself with you, independent from a nanny who’d enable more of your time to yourself, but less time with your baby.

And neither you nor Jungkook urges for that distance.

It’s never easy.

You’ve cried more often than your fingers can count, on your last legs as you wept into Jungkook’s clothes. Feeling a palm wiping at your tears a dozen times. Motherhood always sounded so gorgeous, but it hurts, too.

Then again…

See, then again, it’s easy to circle back to the metaphor of the sun and the stars, the fresh start to your life that cannot be replaced by any other experience. A million little moments that wrap you into your own bubble. The three of you and nobody else.

They render each of those troubles worthless; you cherish them with an unspeakable vigour, aiding yourself as your exhaustion fades once faced with warm, sunlit afternoons as today’s.

Jungkook offered to watch over her as you wallowed in the breeze and the walk you desired for so long. It’s been too long since you enjoyed the miles outside; steep hills and green fields, accompanied by the sound of birds you yet need to study.

Then down to the village, then another stroll back up again. You sought out tranquil moments, escaping your chores. But when you come back, nothing compares to the sight that meets you.

Damn all these walks.

Because only a fool could resist such an image of your husband lying on your bed, on his back and with his legs crossed, head facing sideways and away from the window. Away from the descending sun. Suhana sprawled right on his upper body. Cheek above his heartbeat, her fingers on Jungkook’s sharp jaw.

A pocket-sized hand holding him close to her.

His proportionally large palms rest on her back and under her little butt, both of them dozing peacefully. She moves with him as his chest rises, but she looks so undeniably at peace — as if there’s no better heaven. And mouth open, like no thunder could wake her.

Suhana’s bangs have grown longer now, hair covering some of the nape of her neck and her forehead. Her lips are rosy; the same shape as his. Even if reluctantly, you have to admit that she looks a lot like him.

You act offended when people remind you of that. Because you vehemently claim you want to see more of yourself in her, and Jungkook always calms you with the forecast that she’ll grow up to be as beautiful as you.

Something he thoroughly fears, however, judging the world’s intentions.

But you must also confess that seeing two pieces of the same gentle soul makes you feel lucky.

You drape your shawl over the chair at the large, wooden desk and step closer to the royal bed. Rest your legs from the excessive walk, laying down right beside him — facing him directly.

Gently, you reach out and graze the apple of his cheek; soon repeating the action with his miniature version before you tuck your hand under your temple. Then, you wait.

She doesn’t stir — as expected. But the tickling touch you left along his face elicits a sigh out of him before he lets out a small sound. Voices something like a harmless groan, along with a quiet smack of his lips that reveals the tiny dimples at the corners of his mouth, and a barely-there crease between his eyebrows.

His hand slides over her mini-body as a protective reaction, an immediate reflex. His eyes flutter open so slowly, just a slit; and when they do, you’re not the first thing he sees. Because they drift straight to her, ensuring that she’s still right where he left her and alright.

And only once he’s gathered that she’s still asleep, he blinks into your direction. They also say that priorities change with a child, no matter the amount of love for the partner; and you can’t blame anybody for this.

He smiles when he realises your presence, only lightly nudging you with his elbow. You move closer as he deduces, “You’re back. Was it…” Loving yawn. “Was it long enough for us to fall asleep?”

“It seems so. What were you two doing?”

“Talking.” Of course. Not an absurd answer by now at all. You nod. “She was explaining to me the existence of the pillow and the sun. Pointing at them. I was listening.”

Jungkook doesn’t ever describe her curiosity as exploration. To him, she’s talking, conversing. Your heart swells as you ask, “Ohhh, yes? What else?”

“I made her toy talk and she liked it, I reckon. Giggled so much that she fell off my lap once.”

The fantasy of the moment makes you break into laughter; you have a handful of questions. Did she get hurt? Did she keep laughing as she fell? Was she out of breath as much as you are when you observe her shenanigans?

You quiet down when she moves, fingers curling in. Shushing yourself and grimacing, you shift your attention back to your husband, taking in his freshly awoken expression before you state, “Your eyes are so swollen, though. And your face is dry.”

As if liquid dried on it.

Attentive assumption, because Jungkook instantly discloses, “Uh… I might’ve cried a bit.”

Oh? Oh no. Not him, too—

You wonder, “Why did you cry, my love?”

“Because she was crying…”

“What? Why?”

“Mmmh…. She’s always touching her face, you know?” You do know. You keep her from squishing her cheeks all the time. “I think she poked her eyes at some point and I mean… it didn’t hurt her at all.” Of course not; you make sure to keep her nails trimmed. “But it was a new sensation for her and her baby brain must’ve thought it hurt. So she started crying.”

“Oh no… and then you cried, as well, huh?”

You reach out to him, clearing his right eye and temple as you swipe away the strands of hair. By now, your language and manner of talking are mixing; you feel the same protective instinct towards both.

He sighs before he continues, “The parenting books said not to. I was supposed to stay calm, so she doesn’t interpret the situation as worse than it was. But I hate seeing her sad. So stupid.”

The position doesn’t allow him to shake his head properly, so he settles with a slow blink of his eyes. Then, he says, “But that made her stop. Look how hard she’s sleeping now. So deceiving!”

“Oh, baby…”

You don’t know what it is; maybe the permanent, lingering, overwhelming fact that this dream is actually your reality. That the three of you are alive and together and undoubtedly part of each other.

Whatever it is, it looks as though he is about to cry again.

“She is so feisty. Reminds me of you,” he whispers. “Right?”

He’s not talking to you, but to her — because she’s opened her eyes and he noticed before you even saw it.

Upon hearing his voice, she moves. Tiny fists stretch out, and she starts kicking slowly against Jungkook’s stomach. Her body winds restlessly, put off by his reaction just for a second when she hits against his body again and he utters, “Owwwh!”

And then, shamelessly, she yawns. 

Coos and gurgles, croaks and caws. The sounds are small and high-pitched, sweet and tender. Curious wonder rests in her eyes as they crack open entirely, adjusting to her surroundings and you suddenly being here when you weren’t before. Not that she remembers.

And…

God, your heart jumps out of your chest, bloody and beating.

Because the very moment she sees you, she smiles in joy. She so often does. Sometimes, as you walk over to her crib at night, shining the candlelight into the space between you, she smiles with barely open eyes, too.

She squeals a little, reaching out for you, and you bring her fingers to your face for a fleeting moment before she retracts them again with a tired giggle. But when she registers her father’s breath, his voice sounding against her ear, she stops again.

Cuddling back in. Right where she wants to be.

No matter how much she loves you, she will never feel the same towards anybody in this world as she does for him. 

He settles his hands on her more firmly, and then sits up with an encouraging, “Aaaand, here we go. Let’s take a look at you.”

He stares at her as he holds her in front of him, and she laughs again, seemingly amused by floating, held by two strong hands. Meaty legs kick in the air until he seats her down between the two of you with a shielding hand on her back.

She can’t fully sit on her own yet, but she always tries. Doesn’t wiggle too much anymore, though. Hits the mattress with her palms playfully.

“I swear… I will die for her,” Jungkook proclaims, moving until he meets her eyes. She looks up in a sudden movement, snickering again when he tickles her a little. Then, he repeats through gritted teeth, “Do you know, hm? I will die for you, I will!”

Before you know it — probably even before she, with her limited attention span, knows it — she’s back at playing. Then, another shift to you; a touch to your cheek. Leaning in, almost falling onto you when you scrunch your nose and kiss the air, communicating with her silently.

As her body attacks your face, an open, amused mouth drooling onto your cheek, you protest. Sitting up, you help her into your lap, and she has the audacity to yawn again.

With a shake of your head, you declare, “Sometimes you act spoiled, alright. Haven’t acted up yet, but I think we should probably feed you now, shouldn’t we?”

“Probably before she starts crying again,” Jungkook agrees.

“Can’t have that. Or you will, as well.”

“Ha-ha. But you know what, I might as well. It was insane.” He tuts, cocking an eyebrow as you prepare to bare your chest. “But if that’s what being with this tiny little thing means, I’ll take it,” leaning in, he returns to his talk with her, “alright? Listen up.”

Somehow, she does. No matter what he says, he manages to flood happiness through her, because she coos again, inhales sharply as she perks up her ears, “I’m serious. I’ll die for you, but only if you do not grow up. Stay like this, yes?”

“Stop it. I need her to grow into a woman like me and save the world.”

“Is that right? She can’t even say Dada yet. Give her some time.”

“Or Mama.”

“Yes. But you know as well as I do what word she’ll start out with.”

Standard banter between parents, you assume. You wouldn’t want it any other way. You prepare for a counter-tease, but then you fare better. “Of course. Something distinguished and eloquent like crown princess, probably.”

Jungkook blows a raspberry, and when tiny Hana mimics the action, spitting in the process, he roars with laughter. His usual child-like, sugary sweet titter, head thrown back and a hand under his chest.

This right here.

This is worth the pain, you think. Despite the hurdles, you think you’ve settled in this job, understood its responsibilities and set goals that will probably enable the life you desire.

Nothing can break this. Right?

As if diving into your thoughts or seeing them floating at the surface of your eyes, Jungkook reaches out, placing a warm palm on your neck. You look into his eyes, half his face dark as he covers the sun falling in from behind him.

If she wasn’t still on your lap, you’d jump into his, cuddle in and stay like this until the hot ball outside sets and rises again. But instead, you keep staring until he says, “We’re doing well. Really, really well.”

You are.

You have made yourself at home with the most tender of men, have gained luxuries and a noble style of living, still sporting a kind and generous heart. Yet, you’ve never been prouder of yourself.

“We are. And you are! See?” you agree cheerfully, touching his knee briefly. “You were so worried. And now— I’m losing her to you. God, just look at this—”

Her eyes must have followed your hand when it caressed his knee a moment ago. Because she crawls out of your lap, squeaking in joy as she targets his. Climbing it until he helps her up and settles in the way you wished to do just a minute ago.

“Mmmh. I guess I’m great at this, yes,” Jungkook concurs, “seems that bad traits aren’t learned after all, hm?”

The environment might be crucial in many cases, but if one inhabits a strong heart and a solid will, nothing can sway you.

Your chest feels as warm as the weather; your mind is as fresh as the breeze. And staring at his set of cheeks as flushed as the roses planted outside, you can’t help but be flooded with inexplicable magic.

You tell him, “You got into this role very easily. And I’m happy you’re happy.”

And he, the effortlessly fitting, second part of your soul, answers without a moment of hesitation and doubt—

“You make it easy to be.”

The bright, opulent room you enter floods back bittersweet memories in soaring waves.

It has been a while since you attended a noble ball like this. They’re cosier where you live. Smaller, the names less known; differing rigorously from events in the main city, in the capital, in the centre of your country.

Your seethingly beloved lorddom where you now reside has a humble and warm note to it; but no matter how thoroughly you might seek quiet peace, it will never bring the same nostalgia your former home does. Where you grew up.

Where you come from. And where Jungkook comes from. That one connection, indicating where the two of you started; your family; the crowds. This is all your life, playing out right in front of you.

As two of the most noted royals entering the hall, all eyes flicker to the two of you. Their gazes are brilliant and their attire posh. His brother, the host of the night, invited the best of the town; or rather, his wife did.

It’s wedding season again, which means that courting and heartache, confusion and intrigue will come back in all the glory you remember. Even now, you see a sliver of all the drama already.

Because no matter where you look, somebody is whispering. Somebody is eyeing another. Mustering the courage to dance with the object of their affection, or hatching a plan how to go down as the most desired of the year.

And from an outsider’s perspective, it’s fun to watch. In hindsight, you wonder if the crowd noticed the tension between Jungkook and you all that time ago; if they tittle-tattled about you, making up rumours or silent bets on what might transpire between you.

They probably did. You don’t recall much of the reactions as much as you do the touches, gazes, the butterflies his existence brought along.

And just as well, you remember the time before — when you’d hide behind your sister as she sought out a partner. Never did you think that the two of you would come out of the season with a beloved like the ones you now cherish.

And never did you think it would be the man who’d stand near those very pillars you’re now passing, a mere boy, keeping his eyes on you, but never saying anything particularly nice or productive.

It was events like these that you attended with him after he posed the question that changed the two of you.

“Let me court you.”

Sleepless nights. Rainy evenings. Swirling on dancefloors, bonding at orphanages, teasing in carriages. Locked rooms, secret conversations, broken hearts. Unexpected secrets and reunions.

Was that your life within a few months?

When people grow bored or notice the indecency of staring, they drift back to their old conversations. Jungkook and you conclude your entry, soon moving to the side. Fearing upcoming talks with people curious about the two of you.

You sigh as you listen to the strings, stress dropping off your shoulders as you say, “I love Hana so much, but… it’s so nice being here with you again.”

“It is,” he agrees, though hesitating, mouth open as if to add something. And then he does, “I do miss her, though.”

You laugh. Of course. “I know you do. I bet she does, too.”

Of course.

She could barely contain herself from babbling constant Dadadadas before you left. And yes, she said it before she learned to pronounce Mama. An insult, considering that you were the one who tended to swollen feet and a weight hanging off your tummy. Building to the moment she’d call for you.

But no! A daddy’s girl through and through. Then again, you are, too.

You do adore her to pieces, as well, but… it’d be a lie if you said you didn’t look forward to a night without a single obligation. Thankfully, the nanny took it upon herself to take care of Suhana tonight, so you are free to roam.

Despite, she’s already two years old now.

She’s been articulating herself clearer these days, so it’s gotten a little — a little! — easier to explain things to her now. She didn’t whine much when you told her you’d be out for a bit, but come back soon.

She must be asleep already anyway. And you hope you can keep your husband’s yearning in bay, too. You understand; it’s hard to leave. Especially as she stood ogling at you before you bid her good night, muttering a teeny tiny, “So pretty,” to you as you presented your gown.

“Mine?” she uttered.

You squinted, puzzled; you spoke her language, but couldn’t decipher this just yet. “…Yours?”

To explain, she nodded, making you understand when she patted her chest with a flat palm. Eyebrows cocking, you voiced, “Ohhhh. Hmmm. Darling, shall we go tomorrow and get you a pretty new dress for the summer?”

She was unspeakably delighted.

“Do you want to dance?” Jungkook asks, a hand already lifting.

For a while, you’d rather watch. It’s custom to dance, but… you’d rather observe the world from a different point of view, see what they used to see. Besides, you don’t enjoy Galop as much, and that’s what the piano is pulling out of the guests right now.

“You want to exhaust yourself already?” you laugh as he shrugs his shoulders. “Hmm. Am I allowed to decline?”

“Well…” he starts, lightly gripping your wrist, thumb touching it sweetly. “Do you have a card that you need to fill?”

“If you were courting me, yes. But I’m already shackled to you, and can’t escape even if I wanted to.”

“Ahhh,” he draws closer, mouth inches from your ears. Acting as if forwarding gossip, but only driving you insane in reality. “So you want to escape?”

“Something’s telling me I should try and see what you’ll do.”

“I mean, go ahead. Not opposed to going full-courti—”

Your laughter overshadows his last syllable, and you push his chest away, careful not to risk a scandal after coming out here after so long. He’s unabashed and would kiss you right here, if you let him.

So you move away, still giggling, and the moment your eyes lift to the guests, you silence. Right there, among the faces, you recognise one in the distance that had long dimmed in your memory.

You haven’t seen him in such a long time. And you didn’t expect it to happen today, either.

The man must have noticed the presence of a direct stare, because he soon looks into your direction at the very same moment. Squints his eyes, the smile adorning his mouth dropping as he spots you and understands who you are. Eyebrows raise. Features always expressive.

You want to grab Jungkook’s arm and flit away, but the man excuses himself from the conversation, idly strolling towards you and not leaving a way to escape anymore.

“Oh shit,” you quietly curse, and Jungkook hears, alarmed instantly.

He widens his doe eyes, so sweet as he looks at you, fingers coming up to pinch your chin as he asks, “What happened? Are you alright?”

“Yes. Certainly, just—”

“Oh… I won’t ask if it’s you because I know it is.”

The smooth greetings are accompanied by a surprised call of your name, and when you look back at the person matching the voice, your expressions move to kindness. You don’t want to appear awkward, and you don’t, but you wonder what Jungkook might be thinking.

Smiling, too, as you observe. But this one’s definitely awkward, the friendly kind that can’t do anything else but wait until the question marks have cleared up for him. Right there in his eyes until you enlighten him.

“It has been ages,” the man in front of you chimes.

“It has been. Years!”

You turn to Jungkook, an introduction sitting on your tongue, but he beats you to it. Still weirdly smiling, as amiable as ever, he asks, “Do you know each other?”

And the man, heart-shaped lips rising back to a smile, apologises immediately, “Ah, yes, yes, yes. My manners. I am Lord Jung. Jung Hoseok.”

He bows, missing the way Jungkook’s mouth parts, eyes blinking nearly unimpressed until— his features become defined all of a sudden, jaw far sharper than usual. Akin to a razor.

He’s not liking this.

“Ah,” Jungkook mutters, returning to the sociable expression that households drill into their children for years. “I am Jeon Jungkook.”

If anybody knew him as well as you do, they’d realise much sooner than later that he’d rather switch the situation with an easier one. But you can’t say any of it yet. You only listen as your past flame says, “You settled so well.”

Of course he knows. You guess after the craze over two years ago, he soon found out what the truth really held. You only reply, “I did.”

“Married life suits you!”

“Thank you, Hoseok! What about you, have you—”

“Oh, actually I—”

He seems much more cheerful about this than you imagined. Then again, what did you think? His life has probably changed now and the sentiments his heart once tended to evaporated. Everyone moves on at some point.

And he sounds genuinely happy for you.

But that’s not how Jungkook seems to perceive it. Because to your chagrin, he interrupts the man facing you, and you immediately hold your breath, already preparing a couple warning words when he starts—

“It is rude of me, but may I perhaps interrupt?” Hoseok silences upon Jungkook’s words, listening attentively, and you ready yourself for more teeth-grinding. “I apologise for being so impudent and straight-forward, but… this is uncomfortable to me because—”

“Jungkook—” you cut, trying to save the situation.

“I know, I just do not wish to let feelings out on anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

Hmm…

“Uncomfortable?” Hoseok repeats, watching Jungkook’s Adam’s apple move as he swallows. Ponders over the words hanging in the air, and when none of the two of you speak on, Hoseok finally understands. “Oh! Ohhhh…”

He snaps a finger, and you resist the urge to slap your face. You know you’ll laugh about it in a couple hours; in truth, you don’t care if it might get odd for you because in all pure honesty, the situation has the potential to turn into comedy gold.

But Jungkook has an envious fibre; one to occur rarely, but when it does, he doesn’t hide it. To him, you’re the most striking creature to exist; in his opinion, everybody should be in love with you.

Yet, the thought of you with someone who he might consider better than him is unbearable.

For a second, you consider lifting your frock and storming to the entrance, or a room upstairs and to squish Jungkook’s cheeks between your palms. To make crystal clear who your heart thumps for, to bring back the confidence he’s built in the marriage with you.

But you restrain yourself when Hoseok speaks, “I understand. Back then, I actually hoped to see you at some point because I know what you are talking about.”

Jungkook reacts, “You are?”

“I think so. Is it not about the shenanigans people crafted a few years ago?”

Two and a half years now, to be exact.

“Yes, I apologise,” you chime in, “they shouldn’t have spoken about you or your personal feelings. But I thought you knew I had married and—”

“No, I,” he says, flushing, raising a hand in objection, “I— this is what I wanted to explain, so the two of you never find yourselves despising me.”

Oh god.

“The thing is that,” he hesitates. If you didn’t know his heart better, you’d assume he’s teasing you. But he scratches his temple, scrambling for words. “One of my staff came to my mansion with me as we settled there. He lived in this town before as well. Like you and I did.”

He looks to the side as if he could find that friend here, but then soon lets his eyes drift over you and Jungkook again, continuing, “He had heard stories about… what we used to be.”

“Right,” you add.

“He asked me about it. And my best guess is that somebody must have heard and interpreted that I was still yearning for those sentiments. But I wasn’t. I had a secret fiancée for the longest. I never told anyone until the wedding day neared. So…”

It takes a moment. Then another.

You think back to the reactions each of you had two years ago; how it spread throughout the mansion and spawned chaos in your bedroom. In any good or bad way, and yet.

And when realisation finally trickles in, a big of course ghosting through your minds, Jungkook and you both voice a simultaneous, “Oh.”

You should’ve known. Then again, didn’t you? Didn’t both of you doubt the truth behind the rumours, yet believing what a collective of people said? You guess, once more than one person claims a thing, it becomes more plausible.

No matter that it never was.

“Please don’t misunderstand,” Hoseok emphasises, “it’s not how I felt. Certainly not. I just never thought you’d believe it, or,” God, how stupid, “as a happy married woman, care. So I never bothered reaching out. We both have our homes, right?”

His fingers touch almost shyly, another smile flashing to defuse the situation. You’ll definitely laugh about this later. But right now, you only feel heat in your face, desiring to chase your staff throughout the mansion until they tire out.

Damn it.

“We did. We do.” You put an ashamed hand to your stomach. That feels funny. Weird. “I actually have a daughter now.”

Good change to lighten the moment. You shoot Jungkook a look; his cheeks are as flushed as you expected. But Hoseok does well in playing along, latching onto the new topic effortlessly and naturally.

“Oh, you do? I have a son as well. Maybe yours and he could be friends.” You nod as he talks, grateful for his kindness. “Another’s on the way for us, and Soo swears she can feel it’s a girl this time.”

“That’s so lovely, Hoseok,” is all you need to say. You might not feel towards him as you used to. Whatever flame the two of you ignited all that time ago has long been extinguished, but you always wish the best for him. “That is honestly so lovely. I’m happy for you.”

One single nod, smile reaching his eyes. Then, no more beating around the bush, the end of the conversation already overdue when he says, “Enjoy the night. Don’t ever trust anyone but your own eyes and ears, yes?”

“Yes… you as well, Lord Jung.”

And then he walks away. Leaves the two of you in silence.

Lips tight, eyes on the ground, nearly dissociating until you nod. Then you raise your lips. And then laugh. Chuckling with a shaking head and a hand lifting hand. Touching your hot forehead as you say, “I feel stupid.”

“And I feel stupid…” Jungkook finally speaks, his first words after a while.

“Did we really argue about this years ago?”

“Well, before you reprimand me, I need to defend myself and remind you that the argument worked for us that night, not against us. Did Suhana come from it or what?”

“Do the math, Jungkook! I told you about the pregnancy already a day after. Suspected it that night, too.” You giggle again, amused by his dumbfounded expression. “You know what? Maybe I could use that dance now.”

“Ah? Thought the lady would be rejecting me tonight. That would’ve robbed much of my honour.”

“Shut up, you envious fool. Either you’ll come and sway with me or I’ll never let you forget it.”

“You won’t. Either way.”

You don’t respond with much other than another beam and an accepting palm in his. You don’t need to.

In the end, Hoseok didn’t make a difference. Guess you would’ve lived either way, just the way you are, content and in love and eternally blissful to all obstacles. The evil of the word and sorrow fear you, not vice versa.

Because it’s him. It’s you.

And her. The three of you; three pieces of the same heart.

Or perhaps— perhaps it’s you who’s doing the math all wrong.

yoooo!! it took a while, but we're finally back. as summer and vacation near, i will have a lot more time to write again, so sit tight and look forward to more content, like entertainer and cmi (ofc these two, as well). i really really hope you liked it. some parts were written under a bad migraine and exhaustion, but i hope i could still deliver the emotions well.

and love you all!! thank you for still being here with me :') and stay healthy and happy, don't overwork yourself! hopefully this one could serve as a bit of relaxation. if you liked it, don't forget to let me know as always, no matter if you just arrived here or have been here for some time. and like, reblog, comment as well! you knowww how much i cherish all the words ever sent hehe <3