#v’s fics

[say-al0e]

Sleep Tight

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Jake Seresin knows he’s a good pilot. But what happens when skill and luck run out and you find your husband in the hospital for the first time. | Ft. Anon Request: “Should I stop talking?” “Please don’t. Your voice is… comforting. I’ve missed it.” + “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Warnings: Jake gets in an accident, hospitals, anxiety, questioning mortality, v knows nothing about medicine or Navy protocol, hurt/comfort, Dagger Squad is family; anything else, let me know and I’ll tag it.

Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!Reader

Word Count: 9.5k (Look, I see a pretty blonde southern man and I blackout. It is what it is.)

Hospitals had always been a source of - understandable - anxiety.

In your experience, nothing good ever happened in hospitals. It was where you were taken as a teenager, in desperate need of stitches after a schoolyard mishap; where your mother was taken when you were only seventeen, confined to a hospital bed after a particularly nasty car accident; where your brother was taken, face and uniform stained red after a football accident nearly took his eye.

The hallways were always too bright, the harsh scent of disinfectant always too strong, and certain sections rivaled only a library in terms of quiet. Getting the scent out of your nose, out of your clothes and off your skin, seemed next to impossible and the beeping of far off machines rang in your ears long after leaving. But, as life went on, you were fortunate enough to avoid hospitals, for the most part.

There was always a chance that would change upon meeting - and falling in love with - a Navy pilot. Every mission Jake went on, every training exercise he flew was a trip to the hospital in the making but he was too good for that. Human error or natural disaster, technical failure or birdstrike, freak accident or routine incident; Jake Seresin trusted himself and his skills enough for the both of you.

Once, early on in your relationship - not long after you realized it was love that kept you coming back to him, not just an appreciation for his pretty face - Jake grinned at your obvious but unspoken worry as he prepared for a mission. “I’m damn good at what I do, sweets,” he assured you, warm hands cupping your cheeks as he searched your eyes. “The best of the best. Don’t you worry about me.”

While you valued his trust and belief in his own abilities, Jake knew you still worried simply because you loved him. He appreciated it - told you once, in the darkness of your shared bedroom not long after you moved in together - but promised he would continue to do everything in his power to make it home to you. Regardless of how good he was, your worry only ceased when he stepped foot through your front door.

Jake himself worried, you knew that, though he buried it deep beneath a layer of bravado to keep from impacting him flying. Neither of you spoke of it and, really, you wouldn’t have known had you not fallen so ridiculously in love with him. Instead, you simply smiled and shook your head fondly as he paraded around, loud and proud.

The only thing you could do was hope beyond hope that he was right. However, hope only lasts so long.

A phone call from Javy was, usually, a good thing. More often than not, it was at Jake’s expense - tattling on something your husband did or said that would earn him an eye roll and an unimpressed look, poking fun at a mistake Jake made or a faux pas he committed, or, most recently, relaying the reason Hangman continued to draw the ire of other Naval officers.

Other calls were excited, bright declarations that he’d been sent something wonderful from home. You both shared an affinity for the chicory coffee his mother sent from New Orleans and, if asked, you never hesitated to help him whip up a batch of beignets to accompany it.

But you knew the moment the phone rang that it wasn’t a call you ever wanted to receive.

For nearly a week, a nagging, anxious feeling plagued you. Jake attempted to explain it away, reminded you that the holidays had rattled your nerves and you were simply stressed by the amount of work you’d returned to. There was an ever-growing to-do list pinned to the fridge and not enough hours in the day so you agreed, brushed it off and redirected your thoughts any time they veered into dimly lit territory, but it didn’t help much. And though Jake was destined to spend his first real week as a Top Gun instructor in a classroom, you made yourself feel just a little better by urging him to be careful, anyway.

That anxiety proved necessary when, instead of returning your greeting, Javy quietly informed you, “Jake’s in the hospital. I’ll meet you out front.”

As the words registered, the world seemed to fade around you. Whatever else he said - if anything at all - dissolved into a high-pitched ringing, lost to the ether, as “Jake’s in the hospital,” played on a loop.

For a long moment, you stood frozen. It felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over your head, chilling you to the bone as every horrible scenario you’d ever imagined and quickly brushed away suddenly became a reality. Dread filled the pit of your stomach as a weight settled on your chest, compressing until you feared your lungs might give, and your hands shook as you reached for you keys.

Try as you might to tell yourself that whatever landed Jake in the hospital likely wasn’t as serious as you were fearing, you knew that wasn’t the case. If it was simple - a few stitches, maybe an x-ray, possibly even another concussion - there was a good chance you wouldn’t have been notified until someone (likely Javy) drove him home. 

With those thoughts plaguing you, everything between Javy’s phone call and your arrival at the hospital melded into a blur of trees and afternoon sun.

The hospital itself wasn’t that far from your new home, thankfully, but it was a miracle you made it in tact as the only thing on your mind was Jake. Javy himself likely didn’t know much and likely wasn’t supposed to be the one to call, however, you were grateful he had. Knowing that he was waiting for you, just as concerned about your husband, made the thought of stepping foot into the hospital just a little more tolerable.

True to his word, Javy waited near the entrance when you arrived. Seeing him stood there, worry crystal clear - obvious in the way he blinked just a little too fast, stood with slumped shoulders and furrowed brows as he folded his arms across his chest and tapped usually still fingers against his bicep - and only seeming to worsen as you rushed across the parking lot to meet him made catching your breath that much harder.

Seeing how shaken Javy was - usually so light and strong - made you feel as if you’d just run a marathon. Every step felt like a monumental task, each more difficult than the last, and your heart thumped so loud you worried everyone could hear. Tears pricked at the backs of your eyes, clumped in your throat and threatened to choke you, but you refused to break down when you still weren’t sure what you were walking in to.

“They won’t tell us anything yet,” he explained, forgoing any niceties as he ushered you inside. His voice was rough, quiet and solemn as he steered you down a long hallway, and you could feel the bile creeping up the back of your throat as he spared you a sidelong glance.

No one bothered to question you with Javy at your side. With his jaw set and shoulders squared, determined to keep himself composed (at least in part for your sake), you were thankful for his presence as he guided you through the brightly lit halls. In that moment, you were half-certain you would still be frozen in the middle of your kitchen had he not promised to be waiting, especially as he pushed open the door to the intensive care unit.

The weight pressing on your chest returned full force, heavier than before, as you realized where you were heading. Remaining upright took a concerted effort and, though he kept his distance, you could see Javy tense by your side, just in case.

Before you, a group of pilots - still dressed in flight suits, in various states of dishevelment after a day of work - crowded a doctor who looked more exasperated than anything. They filled the waiting room that was, mercifully, otherwise empty and you were unsurprised to see them. Though he hadn’t been back at Top Gun very long, Jake had finally found himself amongst friends and, like you, they all wanted answers.

Still, the doctor seemed reluctant to give them anything more than a stern look.

“Look,” he began, tone firm but not unkind, “I’m sorry. I understand your frustration but I cannot release any information at this time.  Lieutenant Seresin’s commander or family can share information about his condition if they so choose.” It was as if he’d already repeated those exact words a thousand times over - which, based on all Jake had told you about the group, you assumed he had.

Jake could be personable when he chose, friendly and bright, but he’d never been the type to make friends easily in his line of work - especially with those he saw as competition, once upon a time. Since returning to Top Gun, however, the group of pilots had become something of a second family and you were grateful he’d managed to find a sense of belonging. It was clear that they cared about him deeply, despite their rocky start, and that made catching your breath just a little easier.

Though the tension grew more palpable the closer you stepped, there was no hesitation as you rounded the group to approach the doctor. None of them paid you any mind until you cleared your throat. “I’m his wife,” you announced, voice cutting through the aggravated chatter of the pilots as they continued to demand an answer.

In a split second, the group fell silent. Every set of eyes fell to you, all but two widening at your declaration, as Javy nudged a pair of pilots to the side to give you space. Their gazes burned into your skin, warmed your cheeks and would’ve been enough to send you stumbling under any other circumstances, but you paid them no mind.

With a shaking hand, you reached forward and introduced yourself to the doctor. From the corner of your eye, you could see the confusion written across every face as the group shared glances while the doctor scanned the file in his hand. You knew what was running through their minds but the questions could wait as you willed the doctor to speak.

“Mrs. Seresin,” he finally greeted, taking the hand you offered with a terse nod. “If you’ll come with me, I can give you an update on your husband’s condition.”

Javy remained close, gaze trained solely on you as you shook your head and folded your arms over your chest. “I’m just going to repeat everything you tell me,” you informed him, willing your voice not to shake. “Might as well say it here, that way I don’t leave anything out.”

Though it was clear he wasn’t pleased with your answer, the doctor nodded once more and began to explain Jake’s condition.

Most of the terminology went over your head, entered one ear and flew out the other, but you dutifully nodded along as he explained the steps they’d already taken to counteract the injuries he’d sustained. Javy hadn’t elaborated on what happened - and you weren’t sure you wanted to know - but the severity was made clear as you pieced together what little you could understand.

The doctor made it clear that Jake was lucky - he would claim skilled - to have made it and you could feel your knees growing weak as he explained that Jake was still in triage. The sting of your nails pressing into your forearm kept you tethered to the moment and inhaled slowly through your nose to keep your breathing even as he concluded.

“We’re going to keep Lieutenant Seresin sedated for now, until the swelling on his brain begins to go down, and then allow him to wake on his own. When he’s transferred to a room, you’ll be allowed to visit. Until then, you can wait out here,” he offered, gesturing to the empty lobby. “You’ll be notified the moment you can see him.”

With that, the doctor offered one more terse nod before turning to disappear through a door marked ‘staff only.’

For a long moment, the waiting room remained silent. There was a sharp ringing in your ears, drowning out the all too heavy thump of your heart, and you wondered if your breathing sounded as ragged as it felt. In the back of your mind, you were aware of the attention on you - the sets of eyes studying you for answers to a question no one knew existed - but the only set of eyes that you could meet belonged to Javy.

“You okay?”

The answer was no - he knew that, and wasn’t either, judging by the set of his jaw and the glassy sheen to his eyes - but neither of you were willing to admit it aloud. He was a solider, strong and tough, and you refused to play the part of weeping partner when you needed to believe that Jake would be alright. Strength mattered in that moment, composure in the face of tragedy, so you nodded.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, voice quiet but stronger than you hoped it would be. It was clear he didn’t believe you - no one would - but he didn’t question it. Instead, he returned your nod with one of his own and waited as you turned your attention to the group of pilots staring with uncertain frowns.

Javy took the initiative to introduce you, though it did little to answer the question on the tip of every tongue. Neither of you elaborated beyond your name and relationship with Jake and you could see that there were at least a dozen questions each of them wanted to ask. There was a quiet confusion, a bewilderment that would’ve made you laugh under different circumstances, even as they all politely agreed that it was nice to meet you.

If all had gone according to plan, Jake would’ve made the introduction himself and you would’ve smiled at their bewilderment as you stood with a strong arm tossed around your shoulders. There would’ve been an amused declaration that you hadn’t intended to keep your marriage a secret, an explanation that their friendship hadn’t existed when you wed and no one had questioned his relationship status since he returned.

Work had kept you in Lemoore a little longer than Jake, as had dealing with the last of the paperwork necessary to sell your home, and you’d jumped headfirst into a new position that kept you busier than you would’ve liked the moment you arrived in San Diego. You’d planned to visit the Hard Deck, join the fun and meet his friends, there just hadn’t been time.

Regret, bitter and biting, lingered in the back of your throat the moment you considered time. There were so many things you’d intended to do, so many plans you’d made with Jake, that had been delayed by the excuse of never having enough time. You were both focused on your respective careers - Jake, determined to make it to admiral someday; you, eager to follow your dreams - and never stopped to consider what might happen when time eventually ran out altogether.

Though Jake faced death relatively often - more often than the average person, certainly - the thought never really crossed your mind. Losing him was a fear that lingered, buried deep lest it immobilize you each time he set out for a flight, but it never felt like something that could become reality. Jake himself instilled that belief in you, urged you not to worry despite the circumstances he faced daily, and you’d clung tight to it. 

Jake was too lucky, too confident, too good to die.

There’d always been all the time in the world, another day just around the corner, and the reality of the situation felt like a slap to the face as it suddenly dawned on you. There might never be another moment, might never be another day. All the plans you’d put off, all the plans you made; suddenly, there was a chance they would never come to fruition.

As the realization sank in, you could feel your knees growing weaker. The edges of your vision began to white and the bile crept higher and higher in your throat. Breathing was a chore, more and more difficult with every second that passed, and you were only vaguely aware of the hand at your elbow tugging you in the direction of uncomfortable wooden chairs.

Time passed slowly the moment you sat, crept by in a muddled mess of ticking clocks and faraway voices. The other pilots remained for a while, all scattered around the room and talking softly amongst themselves, but Javy remained at your side long after they’d gone. 

The waiting room itself remained empty, devoid of others sharing your nauseating worry, and you couldn’t decide if you appreciated the quiet or not. 

For the most part, Javy remained quiet but steadfast in his observation of you. Every so often, he stood and returned with bottles of water and nearly stale packets of Oreos from the vending machine down the hall that neither of you ate but he figured might come in handy. It was only a matter of time before he was forced to leave, you knew that, but you held tight to the comfort his presence brought as you struggled to keep your thoughts from wandering.

There was no use dwelling on the past. Nothing good would come of regret, of thinking of the time you’d wasted holding off on taking this trip or going on that date, so you forced yourself to think of the future. Jake was lucky, he was good, he would make it and there would be time to atone for the sins of the past.

Still, even the most optimistic thoughts were plagued with the whisper of ‘what-if’ that now lingered all too prominently in the back of every thought.

Eventually, after nearly three hours of anxiety-inducing, nauseating waiting, Jake was settled into a room. When a nurse retrieved you, she informed you that visiting hours would start soon and that Javy wouldn’t be allowed in until they did. You, however, were given a few moments alone with Jake.

Wandering down the hall behind her, close but far enough to keep her from hearing your ragged breathing, nearly sent you into an anxiety attack. Jake would be sedated, that much you knew, but everything else remained a mystery. Would there be bruising? Had he needed stitches? Would you even be able to recognize him?

Each question hurt more than the last and, when the nurse stopped in front of Jake’s room, you could tell she wasn’t surprised by your hesitation. “We’re optimistic,” she shared, voice a mere whisper in the quiet of the hall. “Lieutenant Seresin is a fighter.”

There was no doubt that Jake would do all he could to pull through - she was right, he was a fighter - but her soft encouragement did little to calm the churning of your stomach, even as you nodded. There would be no calm until he woke, a fact she likely knew as well as you did, so you swallowed your fear and stepped into his room.

Seeing your husband, usually so bright and boisterous with a seemingly permanent grin etched across his face, lying lifeless in a hospital bed was devastating. He looked frail, pale and bruised, and the tears you’d been narrowly keeping at bay began to fall as you took in the sight of him.

A gash, held together by stitches, ran from temple to forehead. A bruise, still fresh, was beginning to blossom along his jawline. The beginnings of a black eye were noticeable, as was a busted lip, and a handful of other scrapes and bruises along his neck and arms. The doctor mentioned a cracked rib and the need to monitor for internal bleeding and you lifted a hand to cover your mouth in an effort to muffle your sobs.

For nearly an hour, you sat in the small chair at Jake’s side and allowed yourself to feel the hurricane of emotions raging in your mind. Fear, regret, anxiety, anger, sorrow; each one was more powerful than the last and each one hurt worse. There was no estimate of when Jake would wake - if he woke at all - but you did your best not to dwell. 

Jake was strong, he would make it. And maybe if you repeated that enough times, it would be true.

The only thing that kept you from losing yourself completely to worry was the arrival of visitors.

Javy was, of course, the first to arrive.

Though you offered to give him a moment alone, he refused. He insisted you remain in the seat you’d made your own and, instead, offered you the duffle bag he’d retrieved from your home. Anything you could’ve needed - or wanted - was placed neatly inside.

Pajamas - both yours and Jake’s, pieces of his he knew either of you would love - and a small bag of toiletries, the cell phone you’d dropped the moment Javy ended the call and forgot about, a few personal items; the sight of it all made your eyes sting with another wave of tears and Javy accepted the grateful squeeze of your hand with a nod.

For a few moments, the pair of you sat in silence. Like you, Javy seemed unable to look at Jake for too long without getting overwhelmed and you imagined the rest of the squad would likely endure the same difficulty. He was the first - as far as you knew - to experience such a serious accident and, though you wished like hell it hadn’t been him, you hoped no one else would follow.

Somewhere amidst the beeping of the heart monitor, the far-off hum of voices, Javy turned to you. “I promised him if anything happened, I’d be there for you,” he confessed, voice rough with emotion. His eyes, like yours, were swollen and rimmed red. The promise was likely one he’d made when deployed, uttered in the heat of battle, but you could tell he’d taken it seriously as he spared Jake a glance. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

There wasn’t much you could say that could adequately convey your gratitude - both at him treating you like family and him loving Jake like a brother - so you squeezed his hand once more. In that moment, in that circumstance, that was enough.

Later, when Javy needed to return to Top Gun for a debriefing, Fanboy arrived and replaced him in the seat to your left.

Mickey - you’d come to learn his name the moment he sat down, uttered in an outburst of nervous energy that saw Javy shaking his head upon exiting the room - offered you a smile. He seemed to have no idea what to say, at a loss for words as he spared glances at Jake and blinked back a frown of worry, and you imagined silence wasn’t as comfortable for him as it had been for you. There was a chance he didn’t want to offend you, unsure of what was appropriate to discuss with the wife of a friend he hadn’t known existed in the midst of said friend’s hospital room, so you broke the silence for him.

“Where’d Fanboy come from?”

Callsigns always intrigued you -  the story behind Jake’s was the first question you asked, though you hadn’t gotten the real story until much later on. The silence didn’t bother you but Mickey seemed grateful for the question, if a little surprised, and shot you a smile that managed to touch his eyes.

“I love nerd shit,” he explained with a quiet laugh. ���Star Wars, Star Trek, comic books, superheroes; all of it. I became a pilot because of Han Solo,” he admitted, expression brightening when you smiled at him. “I can get a little… into it when I talk about it, so, fanboy,” he explained, only a little sheepish.

“I love Star Trek. And Star Wars, but Star Trek has my heart.”

The confession was met with wide eyes and parted lips, though there was a hint of delight beneath the winged eyebrows. Mickey spared Jake a glance, blinked hard at the reminder of why you were there, before he returned his attention to you.

“Hangman’s married to a Trekkie? No way.” Mickey paused, as if considering all he knew about Jake - which was, from your understanding, a little less than the rest of the squad - before a look of understanding lit his eyes. “His nerd jokes were always a little too detailed for him not to know anything about Star Trek,” he declared, head tilting as he met your eyes.

For a moment, the room felt nearly normal. It was a conversation you could picture having with him at the Hard Deck, laughing over a few drinks as Jake played a round of pool and rolled his eyes fondly with every secret you spilled, and you willed yourself to keep from glancing at him as you nodded.

“If you tell him I told you this, it’ll be the last thing you do,” you warned, tone clearly teasing as you tilted your head to meet Mickey’s eyes, “but back when we first started seeing each other, when we were just friends with benefits, he made fun of me for being a Trekkie. He thought it was hilarious and so embarrassing that I was a nerd. It was the only thing he ever truly teased me for.”

A brief pause interrupted your story, a moment in which you finally spared Jake a glance and took a steadying breath. The memory of Jake’s teasing was one you loved, especially as it indirectly lead to the true beginning of your relationship, and it helped to distract yourself with stories of the past. The smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth was a little more real, a little easier, as you continued.

“One night, though, he was having a really hard time. Javy got deployed and his dad was really sick. We’d only been seeing each other for a few months and it was still a casual thing so he tried playing it all off. I could tell he wasn’t himself, though. He wasn’t interested in sex but he didn’t want to be alone so I told him we could just hang out. I was watching Star Trek in chronological order, starting with Enterprise, and was only on the first season. He made fun of it at first, called it cheesy and weird, but he got so into it. He asked me a thousand questions, mostly about why the Klingons hated everyone and why the Vulcans were so disliked when they were right about pretty much everything. But every night for two weeks, until he got deployed himself, we watched Star Trek together. And when he got home, he came back to me and we picked up where we left off. It went from him coming over for sex and leaving immediately after to him coming over for dinner and a few episodes of Star Trek. It just kind of became our thing and he’ll deny it until he’s blue in the face to anyone but me but Jake Seresin has a soft spot for Star Trek.”

Mickey’s eyes grew brighter with every word, clearly surprised but pleasantly so. The wonder with which he glanced between you and Jake lifted a fraction of the weight on your chest and brought a small smile to your own lips as you recognized the look in his eyes. It was awe, something a little too hopeful for the setting you found yourselves in, and you were suddenly grateful for Mickey’s bright-eyed enthusiasm.

“The first Halloween we spent as a couple, we were the mirror versions of Trip and T’Pol,” you confessed, grinning when he gaped at you. “Jake only agreed because he could lie and say he was a pilot who’d been in an accident, because of the jumpsuit. I think I was the only one who really knew who he was but it was nice.”

“Do you have pictures and can I see them?”

Though you hadn’t known what to expect, stuck in a hospital room with a friend of your husbands that you’d never met, you were grateful for Mickey’s presence. There were parts of Jake you knew he wouldn’t want shared with his teammates - not yet, anyway - and you kept those tucked close to your heart. Other pieces of your shared life, however, were laid bare with every enthusiastic question Mickey asked.

For nearly an hour, you sifted through photos documenting your relationship with Jake - from the first picture you took, pressed close together in the dim light of a dive bar near a naval base, to photos from your wedding day, to a selfie taken on the beach only a few days prior. Though, somewhere along the way, Mickey’s questions shifted from reminiscing on the past to planning for the future without you even realizing.

When he left, after a great deal of chatter and even a little laughter, the weight on your chest felt lighter. Jake’s condition hadn’t changed miraculously over the course of your conversation but Mickey managed to steer you away from the dark clouds and back into the sunshine. When he left, you felt a little hope, a little peace, and could breathe a little easier as you reached for Jake’s hand.

Before the levity of Mickey’s visit could wear off, a third visitor stepped through the door of Jake’s room.

From the moment Phoenix entered the room, it was clear that she felt out of place. She and Jake weren’t the closest and would likely never be the best of friends. There was no real animosity, not anymore, but their personalities clashed more often than not. He was something of an annoying older brother, a pain in the ass that refused to disappear, and he knew it.

Because of his unapologetic Hangman tendencies, Jake once admitted he wasn’t sure Natasha would ever truly like him, despite how much he’d grown to respect and admire her. However, despite knowing that she was the one person who continually called him on his shit, it seemed that his fears were unfounded.

A soft frown curved her mouth and pinched her brows as she settled into the seat at your left. With every second she spent glancing at Jake, her concern grew clearer. It seemed new, as if it had taken her by surprise, but you’d expected it. Though Jake doubted his place in her heart, you had little doubt that she cared about him as much as he cared about her.

Of all the aviators - aside from Javy - Natasha was the only one you’d met prior to moving to San Diego. It was in passing, in the presence of a friend of a friend of a friend, and long before you married Jake. There’d been small talk, brief chatter that neither of you could remember, but you could see the dim recognition on her face as she finally turned to face you.

“I’ll be honest,” she began, voice soft after a few long moments of silence. “I really don’t know what to say.”

It was apologetic but you understood. If you were in her shoes, you likely wouldn’t know what to say, either.

Their relationship wasn’t built around feelings, had never been fuzzy and warm and truly friendly. Jake was cocky, a little too loud and brash and full of himself, and she reminded him of those facts every chance she got. Their friendship was witty quips and sharp remarks, rolled eyes and huffs of annoyance.

Soft declarations of hope were out of character, as were heartwarming - and, no doubt, embellished - stories of his contributions to the team. That was of no surprise to you, little about your husband surprised you, so you shrugged and offered her a half-smile.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

The declaration wasn’t unkind, simply an acknowledgement that you expected nothing from her, and Natasha seemed to understand. Though her pinched brows remained, frown still darkening her face, she nodded and allowed her gaze to return to Jake.

Though you were thankful for Mickey’s spirit, you found yourself grateful for Natasha’s quiet. The adrenaline that pushed you out of your house and to the hospital had long since worn off. The tears you’d shed left your eyes in a state of discomfort and you could feel a migraine beginning to form. Everything felt heavy, like the weight of the world resting on your shoulders, and holding a conversation felt too much like work in that moment.

It was clear that she worried for Jake, that she’d begun questioning her own mortality, and it hurt to know that Jake was the catalyst for such difficult soul-searching. As you gently traced the back of Jake’s hand, fingers a featherlight touch over his bruised skin, you wondered how long it would take for the squad to return to some semblance of normal, regardless of the outcome of Jake’s accident.

Natasha, however, didn’t leave you long to dwell. Instead, she tipped her head to truly look at you for the first time since stepping into the room.

“Hang- Jake,” she corrected herself, blinking just a little too fast. You knew the look well, had worn it a handful of times yourself, and smiled softly as she spared him a fleeting glance. “Jake is the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.” When you laughed, head tilting in quiet agreement, Natasha’s frown lifted into the smallest of smiles. “He’ll be okay,” she assured you.

There was a finality to her statement that told you she clearly believed it. Though their relationship seemed to be the roughest around the edges, Natasha’s certainty calmed your heart. If she believed he would be alright, if Mickey believed he would be alright, if Javy believed he would be alright, you were going to have to believe it, too.

“Yeah.” There was little you could say in response - even less that wouldn’t leave you in tears - so you nodded and traced the faint tan line at Jake’s ring finger. “Thanks for coming. I know he’d appreciate it.”

Natasha left shortly after, eyes a little glassier than you’d expected and shoulders slumped in a way that made your chest ache. However, you weren’t given time to dwell on the effect Jake’s accident might have on the squad - on Natasha and on their relationship moving forward - as another visitor stepped through the door.

Unlike the others, Bob lingered near the foot of Jake’s bed. He stood with his hands tucked into his pockets, taking in the sight of Jake with a deep frown darkening his face. Of the visitors, Bob seemed to be the most upset, and you found yourself surprised as he pulled in a shuddering breath.

“Can I ask a question?”

Bob’s voice was soft, timid, and though he had yet to spare you a glance, you smiled as you twined your fingers with Jake’s. “Sure,” you permitted, though you were quick to add, “but I’m not promising an answer.”

The frown he wore deepened into something nearing hurt, an anguish you weren’t expecting from someone who never seemed particularly close with your husband - someone who, like Natasha, Jake feared may never really like him - as he finally lifted his gaze to you.

“How come we didn’t know Hangman was married? I was stationed at Lemoore, too, and I never knew.”

That was the question you’d been waiting for, unasked but lingering on the tip of every tongue. You were surprised no one else had asked - Mickey, in particular - but it seemed as if the answer truly mattered to Bob. There was genuine hurt in his eyes and you felt your heart clench at the furrow of his brows.

There were no memories of him from Lemoore - he wasn’t someone you remembered seeing out at a bar, not someone you remembered having over for dinner - but he clearly remembered Jake. 

“It wasn’t intentional,” you consoled him, voice just as soft as his had been as he slowly stepped closer. “Jake’s never really been one to make friends. Javy knew because he and Jake have been through a lot together but you guys are the first real friends he’s made since Javy. He was planning on bringing me to the Hard Deck to meet you all but I’ve been so busy with my new job and unpacking the house that the time was just never right.” A huff of laughter, devoid of any humor, escaped as you cast a sideways glance at Jake’s face. “That sounds really stupid now but it all felt so important at the time, you know?”

Bob made a noise of understanding, one that confirmed he understood the pang of regret you felt each time you truly looked at Jake, as he finally took the seat to your left. “Hindsight,” he mumbled, corner of his mouth kicking up in a rueful smile as he folded his hands across his lap. “We met a few times, me and Hangman,” he admitted, gaze dropping to his lap. “He didn’t remember me but most people don’t. He was nice to my grandma when she came to visit. Helped her find me when she got lost.”

“He can be nice when he wants to be.” Bob hummed, a noncommittal sound that acknowledged he’d heard you, and allowed himself a glance at the way you continued to caress Jake’s hand. “Grandparents love him,” you continued, though you weren’t quite sure why. “I’m my grandmother’s favorite but he’s a close second, even though she’s got six other real grandchildren.”

A small smile lifted the corner of Bob’s mouth. “How long have you been married?”

“A little over a year. We got married a few months before he was called back to Top Gun,” you informed him, smiling as you squeezed Jake’s hand.

The wedding itself was a small affair - a handful of friends and family - on his family ranch and brought a smile to your face each time you thought of it. Before Jake, you hadn’t given marriage much thought, hadn’t really considered what your wedding might look like, but looking back, there was nothing you would change.

“It rained, near the end of the reception. I panicked for a second ‘cause it felt like bad luck, you know? But Jake just smiled and pulled me out to dance in the rain.” There was a moment of pause, a moment in which you took in the deceptively peaceful look on his face, before you turned your gaze to Bob. “I know Jake can be… a lot. But there’s good there, too. Just takes him a while to let other people see it.”

Jake was an acquired taste, that much you knew to be fact, but Bob’s understanding nod confirmed something else you knew to be true; his return to Top Gun had flipped a sort of switch. Details were fuzzy, as they always seemed to be, but Jake had grown more comfortable in the last year.

A small part of you wondered if it was love, being given affection he’d doubted himself worthy of for so long, but another part of you wondered if it was acceptance. He’d finally come to accept that not only was he worthy of romantic love, he was worthy of familial, platonic love, too. The people he’d seen as competition for so long, the people he’d pushed himself to be better, stronger, louder than weren’t out to get him. They were there to work with him, to be part of the same team, and you were glad that others had seen the change, too.

While Bob wasn’t as quiet as Natasha or as chatty as Mickey, he still managed to make you laugh with the odd deadpan remark. He asked a handful of questions about your relationship, mostly wondering how you managed to live with Jake, and answered questions you would’ve asked had you met in any other setting.

It was nice, another pleasant conversation in the midst of a dark moment, but you were grateful for the silence that followed once he left. For the first time in hours, you were left alone for longer than a few moments. There was a slight worry it would be overwhelming, give you too much time to think about the dozens of potential outcomes that awaited you, but you felt a sort of peace you hadn’t expected.

Regardless of the outcome, knowing that Jake had managed to find a family that loved him, despite his past misgivings, granted you serenity. Knowing that that same family had taken the time to embrace you, despite learning of your existence only a handful of hours before, was enough to ease the weight on your chest and make catching your breath less of a monumental task.

Jake was loved, well and truly, and you were grateful for it. 

Though you imagined the night was over, the visitors would stop funneling in, a final member of the team appeared with thirty minutes to spare. Rooster stepped into the room with a brown paper bag that smelled of Chinese takeout and a coffee that looked suspiciously like your go-to order.

When his offer was met with a frown of confusion, Bradley smiled. “Coyote,” he explained, not giving you the chance to ask. “You should eat."

Hunger was the last thing on your mind. The thought of eating turned your stomach but you knew he was right. So, instead of arguing, you took the coffee with a smile. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

Bradley sat in the chair to your left and began rifling through the bag. He produced a few of your favorites - an order Javy no doubt relayed - before pulling out a carton of his own food. When you realized he was waiting for you to begin before he would, you laughed quietly.

As the pair of you ate, both slow and methodical, Bradley spared you glances every so often. Like Javy, the silence you shared was comfortable. Despite not knowing one another, there was no overwhelming, awkward need to fill the quiet with mindless chatter. Still, Bradley managed to break the silence before you could.

“I never told him,” he began, voice a quiet rasp in the still of Jake’s room, “but I figured he was seeing someone. He’s got a photo of you in the cockpit of his jet.”

That was of little surprise to you. Jake had taken a handful of polaroids throughout your relationship, each with the excuse of being able to carry you with him wherever he went, and you smiled. “Is it still the one from the beach?”

Bradley returned your smile easily as he shook his head. “No, it looks like you’re in the snow. I tried not to stare too much. Figured he would’ve said something if he wanted us all to know.”

“That was right before we got engaged. He knew I’d never seen snow so he took me to see it.” Bradley paused, placed his chopsticks onto the small tray and turned to face you as you swirled the straw of your coffee. “Is he still an asshole? Absolutely. Do I want to smack him for being an asshole? Regularly.” Bradley laughed, smile as real as you imagined it could be, and tipped his head in acknowledgement as his eyes shifted to where you squeezed Jake’s hand. “I know that it’s hard sometimes, seeing Jake beneath Hangman, but I’m glad you’re all getting a glimpse.”

“When we first got called back,” Bradley began, “I told him that he hadn’t changed. But that was a lie. We can all see that he’s changed. He’s still an asshole, but he’s more tolerable now.”

“I can’t lie and say that I’ve never seen that side of him because I have. I’ve seen Hangman. But I see Jake more often. I see the man who dances with me in the kitchen to old country music after we do the dishes. I see the man who asked me to marry him in the snow, even though he hated every second of the cold.” Bradley frowned, if only slightly, as he watched you blink back the tears that stung the backs of eyes. “Jake loves you guys. He spent so long trying to be the best, seeing you guys as competition. I’m just glad he’s learning how to be part of a team.”

Bradley hesitated for a moment, seeming to question whether he should speak, before he spared Jake a glance. “He saved my life,” he admitted quietly, eyes on Jake as he shook his head slightly. “Out of everyone, he was the last person I expected to come back for me. But he did.”

The shift in their relationship had been the most obvious to you. Jake had gone from lamenting being passed over in favor of Bradley Bradshaw to laughing at his antics in the span of a few weeks, and you wondered what happened. To know that your husband, who felt overshadowed by Bradley for years, had gone out of his way to save him brought you comfort rather than instilling fear. 

“He doesn’t talk a lot about deployment,” you confessed, shrugging slightly when he turned his attention back to you, “so I appreciate you telling me that. I’ve spent the last few years kind of terrified, just waiting for a call like this, but now that it’s here, I don’t really know what to do.”

“There’s not much you can do other than be here.” When you frowned, gaze falling to the cup in your hands, Bradley sighed. “I can’t tell you it’ll be okay because I don’t know that. But I can tell you that he’s good at what he does and he’s stubborn. Knowing he has you here, waiting for him, he’s going to fight like hell to stay with you.”

Bradley sounded just as confident as Natasha had, convinced that Jake would be fine, and you were grateful for his assurance. It filled your chest with a little hope, though you were careful not to allow it to inflate too much as hope was the thing that killed.

Instead, you attempted to keep some semblance of the peace the Squad’s visits brought, even as Bradley bid you goodnight. You knew that there was no chance of sleep finding you, even as tired as you found yourself, so you shuffled through the bag Javy bought and smiled when you came across the book he’d plucked from your nightstand.

It was a book you’d taken to reading when you couldn’t sleep, one you’d already read at least a dozen times, but it helped remove you from reality as you flipped it open and settled deeper into your seat. The nagging anxiety, the worry that Jake may not awake, lingered prominently in the pit of your stomach - made the tips of your fingers tingle and the intake of a deep breath seem next to impossible - but you attempted to swallow it as you removed the bookmark and began to read aloud.

Jake was never overly fond of the books you read - he preferred nonfiction, biographies or deep dives into historic events - but you’d found a happy medium in the form of modern classics. The Illustrated Man was one he’d gotten into and it helped that the book was comprised of short stories, split into pieces for those nights he was home and sleep seemed to evade you both.

While the hospital continued to move around you, while the machines Jake remained tethered to beeped and blinked, you began to read aloud. A story of explorers, searching for a force greater than themselves, followed by the tale of men driven to madness by eternal rain filled the relative quiet of the hospital room before you paused at the title page of The Rocket Man.

The story of a man who left his family for months at a time, off in a spaceship exploring the galaxy, was not one you gave much thought before falling in love with Jake. But the story of a young boy who desperately missed his father and a wife who once loved her husband greatly having resigned herself to knowing that one day her husband would walk out their door for the final time weighed a little too heavy on your chest these days.

There was no future in which you could see yourself growing numb, resigned to a fate you desperately wished to avoid, and you hoped beyond hope that Jake would continue returning to you. The pair of you hadn’t discussed a family, a future beyond loving one another, but you knew that Jake Seresin was it for you and that you were it for him.

So, instead of allowing yourself to fall deeper into the anxiety you’ve barely kept at bay, you flipped through the pages in search of a different story.

As you thumbed through the book, however, a quiet sigh drew your attention. The book was quickly abandoned as you lifted your head to glance at Jake. Those green eyes, a sight you marveled at even on the best of days, met yours and you nearly pinched yourself as you blinked back the tears stinging at the backs of your eyes.

In that moment, every emotion possible filled you. Breathing simultaneously grew easier and more difficult as the weight on your chest shifted. The tingling in the tips of your fingers eased, if only slightly, as you struggled to latch onto one particular train of thought.

Before you could speak - and say what, you weren’t sure - Jake beat you to it. “Why’d you stop reading?”

The question was so mundane, spoken as if he’d simply woken from a nap to find you pausing din the midst of a story, but the gravel of his voice and the injuries marring his face reminded you of exactly what happened. The story was one you made it a habit to skip, especially with Jake around, so you simply shrugged.

“I… the next one isn’t my favorite,” you nearly whispered, gaze never leaving his face as you dropped the book into the chair and reached for his hand. “I’ll keep reading after someone comes and looks you over, alright?”

Jake hummed, a noncommittal sound, as he tilted his head to offer you a lazy smile. “Good. Missed your voice, sweetheart.”

Though he didn’t mean for it to, Jake’s comment broke the dam that had kept the tears at bay since the aviators left you alone. Relief, so bright and warm, filled your veins even as Jake squeezed your hand and frowned at the sight of your tears. But before he could speak, you shook your head.

“I’m going to go grab a nurse. I’ll be right back,” you promised, squeezing his hand in return before untangling your fingers and rushing out of the room on jelly legs. 

As the nurse, followed by a doctor, stepped into Jake’s room, you remained in the hall. With your back pressed to the wall, you scrubbed at your eyes to stop the tears from falling. You made it a point to keep your composure, especially in front of Jake as it related to his work, and did your best to settle yourself. However, the weight of the day, combined with the lack of sleep, made it difficult to pull yourself together.

Jake was lucky, you didn’t need a doctor to tell you that - though he made sure to point it out the moment he stepped back into the hall - and you knew that the day could’ve ended in tragedy. This was the closest you’d come to losing Jake and you had no desire to ever relive this day.

But this was his life, the path he’d chosen and a path you knew he would continue down the moment he was cleared to fly once more, so you swallowed your fear and thanked the doctor for letting you know that they’d be keeping Jake for a little while longer, just to observe. 

After a few moments, when the nurse finally left the room, you stepped in and returned to your seat at Jake’s side.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure what to say to Jake. The silence felt awkward, painful in a way it had never really been, as you took a moment to study the injuries Jake had sustained. 

“Doc assured me there are ways to get rid of scars. Just gonna have to deal with me lookin’ like Two Face for a while.” The joke was weak, unable to hide the anxiety he clearly felt, and you frowned as you lifted a hand to gently brush the uninjured cheek. When you found yourself unable to speak, voice stuck in your throat even as you so desperately wanted to say something, Jake sighed. “Want me to stop talking?”

“Never.” The reply was quick, stronger than you intended, but it made Jake laugh quietly - and then wince - as your hand returned to his. “Please don’t. Your voice is comforting. I’ve missed it.”

Jake sighed once more, a quiet sound as he attempted to shift in bed, and turned his head to a more comfortable position. “I’m sorry for scaring you, sweetheart.”

The apology was soft, a whisper in the still of the room, and you shook your head to keep him from speaking further. “You’re awake,” you dismissed, “apology accepted.”

Sensing your desire to change the subject - you weren’t ready to talk about the accident and you were assuming he wasn’t either - Jake hummed. “Anything exciting happen while I was out?”

“I met some of the Dagger Squad.” Jake smiled - the barely there lifting of his lips - as you idly brushed your fingers over the back of his hand. “Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy, Rooster; they all dropped by. Javy said the others planned to come tomorrow but hopefully they can all visit at home, instead.”

“Anybody get a picture when they figured out who you were?”

“No, but they all looked a little like fish out of water.” Jake laughed quietly at that - a sound that seemed to pain him as the hand you weren’t holding lifted to his ribs. “I spilled some of your deepest, darkest secrets while you were out.”

“Mm, only fair,” he decided, hand turning to hold yours still as he waited for you to meet his eyes once more. “Know you don’t wanna talk about it right now but I’m glad you’re here, darlin’. You were the last thing I -“ Jake cut himself off, quickly realizing that line of thought was not one you needed to hear in that moment, so he corrected himself. “You’re always on my mind. Just wanted to make sure you know that.”

Jake made sure you knew that - often made it a point to remind you that he was thinking of you, whether it came in the form of flowers or a quick text - so you nodded. “I know.”

“Good.” Jake took a moment to really take you in, then, eyes roving your face for the first time, before he sighed and squeezed your hand. “You should go home, get some rest. I’ll still be here in the morning.” When you raised a brow, clearly unimpressed with his idea, he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You leave when I leave. Fine, at least try to get some sleep. I’m the one in the hospital bed but you look like hell, sweetheart.”

“If you didn’t have a head injury, I’d be really offended,” you huffed, though the joke came out a little weaker than you intended.

“How long you think the squad’ll let me get away with shit before they start calling me out again?”

The laughter was still light, brittle, and accompanied by a wince but Jake seemed to truly be in better spirits than you expected. You knew that it was for your benefit - the real damage would be uncovered later, when you were both in a headspace to discuss what happened, how he really felt - but you still laughed as you shook your head.

“Not even for a second. You’re lucky, babe, but not that lucky.”

Jake smiled, happy that his joke worked at least for the moment, and gestured to the small couch in the corner. “Still gonna push my luck, sweetheart. Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up, promise.”

Though you had no desire to lose another moment with Jake, the need for sleep was overwhelming. You could feel the adrenaline of the day wearing off, the worry and anxiety calming just enough to leave you exhausted, so you sighed and slumped in your seat. “Fine, but only because you’re cute.”

Everything that awaited you both remained to be seen. The conversations you needed to have, what the future would hold, could wait. You were granted tomorrow with Jake, the only thing you could’ve asked for, and figured that would be enough for now. And with his hand clasped firmly in yours, you allowed yourself to rest with the knowledge that when you woke, he’d be there.

______________________________________

Author’s Note: If the tags don’t work, I will scream.

Taglist: @lulu-noodles, @holachicos, @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth, @withakindheartx, @ssprayberrythings, @verin93, @totalwitch2, @malindacath, @alexparkxr, @hangmandruigandmav, @alexxavicry, @calicokel, @jaymum, @dracosluvbot, @little-wiseone, @specialk6802, @mandylove1000, @xlynnx07, @julesclues, @archetypesoflife, @oliviah-25, @benhardysdrumstick, @caatheeriinee07, @prettymucheveryothernamewastaken, @yvespoems, @chloereidwayne, @flower-name​, @ccristata​, @feltonswifesworld87​, @mxdi0​, @angellwingggs, @s00buwu​, @mjsvinyl​, @woodlandmouth​, @hngmnslver​, @wifey-halstead​, @pr3ttyr0s3xs, @winchester126, @peoniarose​

[rafey-baby]

older!rafe loves to put his fingers in sensitive!reader’s mouth & her favorite place in the world is his lap...

18+ mdni!

c/w: mean older!rafe being a tease & making her choke on his fingers, heavily suggestive, size kink, use of daddy

wc: 1.6k

in love w this man so more of him on the way xx

this is an additional part to this & u can read more here

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Rafe has had a bad day.   

She notices it immediately by the way he greets her with only a brief peck on her cheek; carelessly throwing his jacket on the couch before slumping down against the cushions and letting out a washed-out exhale.  

For the entirety of the week, gloomy clouds have painted over the dusty, colorless horizon and wet water puddles have saturated the socks of passing pedestrians and dog walkers alike. However, Rafe is not someone who particularly minds rainy days, which is why she assumes that the reason for his disgruntled mood has something to do with business, as it more often than not does.   

He scratches at the buzzed hair still slightly damp from the rain while she simply stands there and blinks; unsure whether he wishes to be alone or not.   

“What are you doing? C’mere,” he suddenly orders in a somewhat of a stern tone and she has no choice but to pad over to his sprawled-out legs, lowering to sit on top of him and letting him paw at her waist as his beefy arms pull her closer. And she can't really complain when the heat of his body seeps into her flesh in such a comforting way; makes her insides feel all fluffy and featherlight.  

In the same way that Rafe seems to enjoy her needing him to take care of her when everything feels like too much, she loves being there for him; likes to feel useful, needed.

“Do you wanna...talk about it?” The muted melody of her vocal cords reaches his ears as vivid raindrops pitter patter against the glass of the windows and he groans in exhaustion at how perfect she is for him.   

“Not really,” he dismisses her with a shake of his head. “How was your day, hm?”  

“It was uh, okay. I don’t know, the usual. Had some boring lectures, almost fell asleep…questioned every decision I’ve ever made,” she huffs out and settles her palms on his strong biceps. 

“Mm,” he’s only half listening; beginning to mindlessly twirl a strand of her hair around his index finger.   

And she takes that as her cue to continue blabbering out complete nonsense as she begins to grow slightly restless being this close to him. Truth be told, she’s pathetically been missing him the whole day; the only thing granting her the motivation to go about her routines being the thought of seeing him at the end of it all. And now that he’s here, he seems frustrated; mind entirely elsewhere and she doesn’t know what to do except ramble on and on about her dull day.   

Then, completely out of the blue, he’s grabbing her jaw into his massive hand and hushing her.  

“Shut up for one second, yeah?” He mutters out before he’s tucking a thumb past her lips; a surprised squeak leaving the back of her throat at the sudden intrusion because he was the one who asked for her to talk in the first place.   

However, she can’t exactly say that it’s unexpected. He often gets a tad bit meaner whenever he’s had a dreary workday and takes it out on her in some form or another. And regardless of how unhealthy all of it might seem, there’s a crooked part of her brain that yearns for it; wants him to come to her whenever he’s upset. If she’s utterly honest, the thought of him searching for solace in anyone else makes nausea creep up her bones.  

For some reason, the firm pad of his thumb making her tongue feel heavy in her mouth placates her; turns her brain into a needy, dingy muddle in a way that only Rafe is capable of.  

“Shit, just needed something to suck on, huh?” He pushes down on her tongue, making her swallow around the digit with a whimper.   

“So fucking pathetic sometimes, you know? Just take anything Daddy gives you,” a low-pitched chuckle thunders from his chest, seemingly amused by the ease in which she gives into him.   

However, there’s also something gooey, syrupy beginning to whirl in the pit of her tummy. It reminds her of the countless times she was perched on the park swing as a little girl during the balmy summers of her childhood; thinking she could reach the fluffy clouds with the tips of her sneakers if only she could fly a little higher.   

“Feels nice to have something in your mouth, doesn’t it?” He ogles at her, mesmerized with intrigue twinkling in the Carolina blue that has always made her think of the sky.   

She lets out a faint moan when he drags the digit out and then back in, making her gag around it; her hips involuntarily rutting against the growing bulge straining against the zipper of his pants, desperate for some sort of friction if even through the soft material of her sweatpants.   

“Didn’t give you permission to move, did I?” He feigns confusion with a furrow of his brows that gets her to reluctantly halt her shifting.   

“Daddy, need your...” Her words are cushioned against the obstacle he’s planted between her teeth. 

“Can’t really hear you, Kitten,” he mocks before he’s pulling the thumb out of her mouth altogether.   

However, the next thing she knows, he’s stuffing in his index and middle finger both at the same time. They reach far deeper; a muffled sound of gagging following his actions as he seems to discover a perverted sense of satisfaction from her struggle.  

"What did you say?" His lips twist into a cruel smirk when she whimpers pitifully and tries to draw away from him in order to catch her breath but his other hand only grips her jaw tighter, keeping her exactly where he wants as she’s forced to breathe through her nose.   

“I think you can take it for a bit longer, yeah?” His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he simply stares, seemingly absorbed into the obscene scene before him.   

And she should feel embarrassed, demeaned even. And she does! However, the humiliation of letting him do whatever he wants as if she’s nothing but a cheap toy for his entertainment blurs over the lines when her cunt throbs in response to his degrading attention. She flutters uselessly around nothing; powerlessly begging for some sort of alleviation with a whine that merely earns her a tut of his tongue.   

Therefore, the only thing she can do is sit there like an obedient animal because he’s already scolded her once. She hasn’t turned entirely dumb just yet; knows firsthand how ‘Daddy doesn’t like to repeat himself’ and that the next time she misbehaves will result in a punishment her poor cunt probably wouldn’t be able to handle in this helpless state of hers.  

“Don't think you could take Daddy’s cock even halfway in this pretty mouth,” he mindlessly croons, thumb smoothing over the skin of her throat as she swallows the spit beginning to dribble down her chin.   

The thought manages to pique her curiosity because his cock has been at the forefront of her mind for a couple of weeks now, due to him constantly teasing her with the notion of letting her suck him off properly. He keeps murmuring about training her throat and fucking it raw but never actually doing it; merely allowing for her to drool and mouth over the tip because apparently, she's 'not ready yet'.   

She’s beginning to turn into something desperate because whenever she tries to take more of him into her mouth, he stops her with a click of his tongue and big hands lifting her head off him. “Don’t be greedy now, Kitten,” he’d scold her but she's certain she’s going to die if she doesn’t get to feel his cock nudge at the back of her throat soon.   

“Ray…” she tries to fruitlessly speak but he’s not exactly making it easy as he keeps stroking against her tongue. However, she doesn’t need to say anything. He knows what she wants. 

“I mean, can barely fit into this tight cunt, don’t know why you keep whining about wanting me in this mouth so bad. Don’t think you’d even enjoy it that much. It’s a lot, you know?” There’s something almost patronizing in the way he’s speaking to her as if he’s not the one who brought the idea up in the first place.  

It’s like he’s trying to talk her out of it yet his fingertips keep prodding past her gag reflex every few minutes, almost as if testing the waters before plunging in and it’s making her head spin.   

She whines and tries to defend herself but the digits fussing with the inside of her slobbery mouth don’t allow for her to form anything audible as she begins to grow troubled.  

“What was that?” The line of his mouth curls when he pokes deeper once more, causing her to moan with watery eyes pleading him for anything at this point.   

“Such a dirty girl. Bet you’d like choking on my cock, huh?” He grunts and she hums in response; nodding fervently before he’s finally withdrawing his hand and smearing the spit-stained fingers against her pouty lips.  

They’re both panting heavily as he gently swipes at her under-eyes in order to catch the teardrops ready to trickle down before petting at the apples of her cheeks with a tenderness reserved only for her. 

“Shit, always know how to make me feel better, don’t ya?” He rumbles fondly against her mouth; following his saccharine words with a messy kiss soon after. Maybe he'll finally allow her to have what she so badly craves… 

[jimxnslight]

Fool's Gold || Part I

Summary: Sweet Y/N, with her fluffy pastel dresses, soft makeup, and ditzy mannerisms. She’s seen as a fool in a world where there is no place for such things, but little do they know, the only fools are them.

Pairing: mafia leader!Jungkook x mafia leader's daughter!reader

Genre: mafia au, arranged marriage au

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: most warnings associated with mafia fics (e.g. violence, blood, etc), additional warnings might be added as the story progresses

<< masterlist || next part >>

“I heard that she’s a complete airhead.”

Jungkook’s expensive shoes smacked against the pristine white and gold marble floors as he continued to walk through the lavish hallway, hands disappearing behind his pockets while his steps were slow and confident. Most would think he was choosing to ignore the comment, but his closest friend knew better than to rush a man as calculating as Jungkook. 

Instead, Taehyung strolled alongside him, taking in the glittering chandeliers looming over their heads and the intricate designs carved into the white walls that were much too traditional for his taste. Jungkook and Taehyung were nowhere near out of place in the sea of extravagance with their custom suits and shiny black dress shoes. Taehyung, the more simple of the two, had his brown hair parted and pushed back to reveal a blemish free forehead while his grey and black suit complimented the grey specks in his brown irises. 

On the other hand, Jungkook’s black on black outfit adorned two expensive cufflinks and a gold brooch attached to his lapel. Taehyung’s gaze dropped to his black hair, which he noticed had grown in the past month. 

When Taehyung realised that Jungkook wasn’t going to speak, he decided to fill the silence. 

“Like apparently she’s huge on wearing pink and frilly stuff -which I guess is just a girl thing- but still, this is a mafia not a tea party.”

He paused, waiting for his comrade to offer his thoughts, but was met with silence once again. 

“I’ve also heard she’s dumber than a pile of rocks. Barely passed high school and then dropped out of university not even a month in. Her major wasn’t even that hard. Commerce, was it?”

Taehyung’s eyebrows furrowed as Jungkook continued to lengthen the silence. 

“And as you already must know, she was also married about a year ago but then was widowed after her husband was killed by a rival gang on the same day. Even though their marriage didn’t even last a full 24 hours, she had been so traumatised by the whole thing that apparently she didn’t even speak for an entire month after the ordeal. Can you imagine how much of a princess she must be for a simple death to shake her that much? She must be a real- come on man, how long are you going to make me go on?”

Jungkook turned his head to offer him a sly grin, “I was wondering when you would reach your limit.”

Taehyung gave him a halfhearted punch to the arm, “you’re such a jerk. Answer my question man. I’m dying to know what she’s actually like.”

He followed Jungkook as he turned into another hallway, curious as to what he thought of her, but his answer had him staring at Jungkook incredulously. 

“I don’t know.”

Taehyung faltered in his step, gaping at the back of the man who continued through the hallway nonchalantly. When the weight of his answer finally processed completely in Taehyung’s mind, he ran forward so that he could walk alongside his friend once again. 

“I think you misunderstood my question,” Taehyung tried again slowly, “I want to know about Lee Y/N, you know, your soon to be wife? The one you’re about to marry right now?”

“What is there to know?” Jungkook commented, mind occupied with a topic of much more importance, “a marriage with her will allow for the unification of two powerful mafia families and will also allow for an heir to be born. Is that not the whole point of marriages for individuals like us?”

“Well yeah, but there’s no harm in getting to know her at least a little bit. Did you even hear about the ‘dumb as rocks’ part when I was rambling?”

“That will only make her easier to control,” he deadpanned.

“Fine, whatever. Is she at least pretty?”

Taehyung’s eyes widened even more when Jungkook didn’t respond, “please tell me you’ve met her at least once. Oh my god, have you even looked at a picture of her?” 

Jungkook's silence was all Taehyung needed to know that the answer was, in fact, no,” I knew I shouldn’t have gone out of the country! My parents kept telling me everything would be fine and they’d take care of the whole thing but you haven’t even met her once? I should’ve made my return flight earlier, then I could’ve-”

Taehyung’s voice faltered as he noticed Jungkook’s distant expression, causing his brows to furrow. He wasn’t listening to a word he was saying, which wasn’t something entirely out of the ordinary, but it usually wasn’t this bad. He sighed as he shifted his gaze to the expensive hall before him. 

“Is this about the Parks?” He asked, noticing his friend’s focus return.

“It’s the Parks and the Mins,” Jungkook admitted, “ever since their alliance, they’ve been getting bold. They made a move on our West docks last week and would have been successful in seizing them if it weren’t for the blackmail I managed to procure at the last minute. But that won’t hold them off for long.”

Taehyung’s head tilted to the side, “you’ve always enjoyed a challenge. Why’s this bothering you so much?”

Jungkook turned into another hallway to finally come face to face with a large pair of grandiose double doors that towered over them. The two men came to a stop, aware that their conversation was now on a timer. 

“I just… have an uneasy feeling,” he said, unable to reveal anymore to Taehyung. He couldn’t bring himself to tell his best friend what he had really witnessed when he visited the docks yesterday.

Taehyung, clueless to Jungkook’s inner turmoil, slapped him on the back, lightening the mood with a grin, “come on man, this is your wedding. You’ll figure everything out later, for now just relax. You deserve it.”

Before he could protest, Taehyung shoved the double doors open to reveal an enormous and crowded wedding hall. The white and gold marble floor stretched across the entire room, while multiple diamonds came together to form a giant chandelier that hung over the hundreds of tables that had been decorated with shiny silverware and pristine white roses. The people were just as decorated as the furniture, with their elegant gowns and glamorous jewellery. 

At the sound of the doors opening, the once chattering crowd silenced, opting to sneak glances at Jungkook and his friend instead. Hushed whispers echoed around the hall as Jungkook straightened his back and held his head high before making his way to the centre of the room. Behind him, Taehyung took his place, his outgoing and extroverted personality tucked away to look just as regal and intimidating as the groom. The crowd began gathering on either side of the aisle, clearly excited for the bride who had been scheduled to appear any second now. 

Most men’s hearts would be racing during a time like this, Jungkook thought distantly, eyes focused on the aisle as well. Marriage to others was supposed to symbolise unwavering love and devotion. But not for him. For him marriage was simply a contract, a means to an end that he hoped would lessen the burden of a number of challenges. In a world like this, there was no such thing as love. 

Only power. 

The sound of the double doors opening pulled him from his thoughts, with two professionally dressed workers fixing them on either side so that they remained open this time. Jungkook watched a pair of women in what seemed like light pink bridesmaid dresses trail behind two girls who couldn’t have been more than five throwing white and light pink flower petals in the air. Behind the entourage was a figure drenched in white. 

You walked slowly into the room, your glimmering white dress trailing behind you as a thick white veil draped over your face and the front of your dress. Jungkook could only make out your hands clutching a small bouquet of white roses while your arm looped around your father’s, who was slowly guiding you down the aisle. Despite the aid, he couldn’t help but notice an uneasiness to your steps and a slight shake in your hands. 

The crowd’s gaze stayed fixed on your figure, drinking in the Jeon Jungkook’s soon to be wife. There were some gasps of astonishment at the beauty of your dress and figure, while there were some gasps of jealousy towards the woman who was taking Jungkook off the market. You didn’t seem to pay them any attention as your head stayed fixed in front of you, focusing on not falling as you continued through the aisle. 

To Jungkook, it felt like years had passed before you finally reached the small steps leading to the stage he was standing on, your bridesmaids taking their places on the opposite side of where Taehyung was standing. Your father unlooped his arm from yours and stepped back to sit on one of the seats that had been reserved for him, leaving you to hesitantly step onto the stage yourself. Your heel wobbled as you brought your foot forward and Jungkook knew exactly what would happen before it did. 

He watched your heel slip sideways, causing you to careen to your right under the heaviness of your dress. But before you could crash into the large pots of white roses, Jungkook shot forward so that his hand could grab your waist, hoisting you up to prevent you from falling. The crowd swooned at the gesture, murmuring about its romantic nature, though all Jungkook could wonder was how you’ve been surviving in a mafia family for so long. Taehyung had only said you were dumb, not a complete klutz too. 

He could feel the warmth of your delicate hand on his shoulder as he guided you up the steps, only letting go of you once the two of you were facing the patiently waiting priest. Once he had motioned for everyone to sit, he began his sermon in an obnoxiously boring voice. Jungkook had no particular interest in paying attention to a speech he had listened to multiple times growing up. Instead, he took the chance to survey you briefly. With your veil still hiding your face, he could only take in your perfect figure and pristine skin. 

Eventually, the priest asked you to remove your veil, to which you complied slowly. Taehyung came forward, offering to take the bouquet in your hands while your bridesmaids helped you hesitantly lift the soft white cloth over your head. 

A wave of hushed whispers spread throughout the crowd at the sight of your face, one that caught Jungkook off guard. Your eyes had been lined with a light liner, while your lips and cheeks had been made to look dainty. Your hair fell from the top of your head to your shoulders, styled in a way that framed your features and neck. Jungkook noticed a small silver necklace in the shape of a heart resting against your exposed collarbone. 

Your makeup made you look so innocent and… young. Jungkook almost wanted to pull Taehyung’s parents aside and confirm that you really were twenty three and not some nineteen year old. It was a bit of a turn off, he realised, slightly bothered by the fact. As a twenty six year old, he obviously wasn’t into teenagers, so he didn’t know what having a wife that looked like one was going to do for him. 

Then again, he wasn’t marrying you for some kind of gratification. He was marrying you because he needed to form a strong alliance between your father’s gang and his so that he could be, or at the very least appear, stronger than the Mins and Parks. You were nothing more than a path to more power and, aside from upholding his responsibilities as a husband, he would treat you as such.

As the priest continued to drone on, Jungkook continued to analyse your form. He watched your eyes stay focused on the priest before they strayed, hesitantly landing on Jungkook for a split second. When you noticed his gaze already on you, a small squeak sounded from your lips before you quickly shifted your focus forward. With the bouquet of flowers now hanging from Taehyung’s hand, your own fingers were clasped awkwardly in front of you. 

You were apparently everything Taehyung had painted you as earlier, Jungkook thought. Your makeup and mannerisms had an air of exaggerated innocence, while your body language was shy and sheepish. He had no problem imagining you as a weak girl that was so traumatised by the death of your first husband that you couldn’t utter a single word the following month. 

The priest turned to the seated crowd, beckoning anyone that had an issue with the marriage to step forward and speak their mind. Just as Jungkook expected, no one dared make a stand, preferring to cherish the connection between their head and neck instead. Following the silence, you and Jungkook were made to stand facing each other.

Your gaze was fixed on his collar, seemingly too shy to meet Jungkook’s eyes. It only confirmed his suspicions regarding your confidence, or lack thereof. 

Yet, despite your evidently timid nature and lack of intelligence, Jungkook couldn’t help but experience an uncanny feeling lingering at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was his untrusting nature, or maybe he had just been forced to over analyse you during the long and boring sermon. But he could have sworn that there was something about you. Just… something about the way you had trouble meeting his gaze yet seemed to have no problem in scanning Taehyung up and down. For a fraction of a moment, the look in your eyes was almost calculated, as if you had been assessing him. But just as fast as Jungkook thought he saw it, the look disappeared, replaced by a timid and shy gaze once again. It left him questioning whether he had even seen it in the first place, or whether he was letting paranoia see things that weren’t there. 

Finally, the priest turned to the two of you and made you both say your vows outloud. They were the standard vows, Jungkook and you putting no effort in creating a confession that you both knew was ingenuine. Instead, the two of you repeated after him, answering “I do” when the time was right. Jungkook was glad that, despite your seemingly ditzy nature, you hadn’t requested any giant romantic gestures. According to your father, you had even had no problem with Jungkook requesting that there be no kiss at the altar. It made his life a lot easier and truthfully made this entire situation a lot less awkward.

To Jungkook’s relief, the priest finally addressed the crowd once more, ending the sermon on a final note filled with hope and prosperity. He spoke about how the marriage would strengthen the two mafias, mitigating worries relating to attacks from enemies that may wish to harm them. Jungkook had already expected this part of the speech, as he had been the one to tell the priest to say those exact words. 

At the end of the sermon, Jungkook and you were made to walk down the aisle back to where he knew his expensive car was waiting. He turned to you, looping his arm around yours so that you wouldn’t fall again, and guided you down the steps slowly. He noticed that your every step was still wobbly and he could feel your hand shaking as you placed it on his bicep to steady yourself further. But this time, with the veil now draped behind you, he could see the distress in your face as well. Your eyes were wide as you took in the crowd surrounding you, looking as naive as Taehyung had made you out to be. 

Jungkook tried to remind himself of Taehyung’s words. About how you had barely been able to pass high school and then completely dropped out of university a month in. About how your style consisted of pink and frilly clothes that didn’t have much place in the mafia. About how, at this moment, you seemed almost scared of the crowd and attention. 

A girl like that was shy and naive and ditzy. Aside from being slightly irritating, that meant you couldn’t be much of a threat to him or anyone else. If anything your incompetence would be a threat to your own self. Jungkook had nothing to worry about when it came to you. 

So he tried not to be unsettled. 

He tried not to be unsettled by the fact that, despite your apparently innocent and weak nature, your fingers were gripping into his bicep so hard he would no doubt wake up with a bruise tomorrow morning. 

He tried not to be unsettled by the way your shy gaze, which stayed fixed on the floor, would sometimes stray upwards to almost study the crowd around you before quickly darting back to the ground. 

He tried not to be unsettled when you looked up at him to give him a bashful smile, one that the logical part of him agreed looked sweet and innocent enough.

Yet, why did another part of him wonder whether there had been something else lurking behind those seemingly innocent eyes?

-

-

-

The only thing that Jungkook had learned about you from the car ride was that your voice was as light and soft as your appearance. 

The ride in his black car decorated with gleaming small white roses and ribbons had been mostly silent, the two of you making no effort to start a conversation. Jungkook had never been one for small talk, more than content to let Taehyung talk for hours instead. The reason for your lack of conversation, though, was unknown to him. 

It was only when he was speeding through the highway that you had spoken to request that he slow down a bit. Your voice had been soft and timid, as if you were scared that Jungkook would lash out at you for the simple request. Or maybe that was just the way you spoke. Considering your personality, Jungkook wouldn’t find that too hard to believe.

Now the two of you walked through the entrance of his home, your eyes taking in the grandeur of it all. Despite its vastness, Jungkook felt that this was where he felt the most comfortable: between the white and fawn walls, the elaborately designed bannisters, and the creme marble floors. His home had remained the only constant in his life and, because of that, he cherished it immensely. 

There were only a few people that Jungkook had allowed inside, all of whom were people that he trusted with his life. This was the first time, he realised, that someone outside of those few was stepping foot onto the marble floor and laying their eyes on the spiralling staircase. It was an odd feeling, allowing you to enter into what he felt was the only place that truly allowed his mind and body to relax. 

He observed your reaction curiously, taking in your wide eyes. They bounced from one thing to the next, each structure seeming to fascinate you more and more. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling that you were assessing the space, but the logical part of him kept trying to reassure himself that you couldn’t possibly be considered any kind of threat. 

The sound of the door opening behind him pulled him from his thoughts. He turned around to find Taehyung walking through the doorway, a particular look on his face. Jungkook recognised it right away, causing him to turn to you for a moment while calling over one of the maids. 

“Get her to the bedroom,” Jungkook commanded the maid as Taehyung stepped beside him, “and help her take off her makeup and dress into something comfortable.”

The maid nodded before she began to guide you up the flight of stairs, pointing out a few directions here and there to get you comfortable with the new environment. Jungkook watched you look back at him and Taehyung for a split second, an unreadable look in your eyes, before you faced forward once again and allowed yourself to be dragged away wordlessly. 

Once you had disappeared up the stairs, Jungkook turned to Taehyung with a raised eyebrow.

“Well?” He prodded. 

Taehyung glanced at the top of the stairs to make sure you really were gone, “I should be asking you that. What do you think of her?”

Jungkook mulled over his question for a moment, “she seems to be everything you said she is. Although, are you sure-”

“She is one hundred percent twenty three years old. I triple checked that one,” Taehyung said immediately, hands up in a gesture of surrender. 

Jungkook let his hands nestle into his pockets, wondering if he should bring up his other concerns as well. Uptil now, you haven’t actually done or said anything worth garnering suspicion. Jungkook just seemed to be picking up on small things here and there, but he wasn’t sure if those things were just him being paranoid or genuinely things that he should be cautious over. This whole marriage thing was proving to be a lot more confusing than he had initially thought. 

“What is it?” Taehyung asked, noticing his friend’s silence. Jungkook hesitated for a moment, but, after earning a questioning look from Taehyung, he relented slightly. 

“How well of a background check did your parents do on her?” Jungkook asked cautiously. He didn’t want Taehyung to know too much of how he was feeling at the moment, in case this was just his mind being overactive, but something in Taehyung’s expression seemed to indicate that he knew a lot more than what Jungkook was letting on. 

“They did a very thorough one, of course,” Taehyung said, eyeing Jungkook knowingly, “you know my parents. If there’s one thing that they’re the best at, it’s uncovering people’s secrets.”

Then he added with a smile, “couldn’t get away with much while growing up because of it.”

Jungkook let his gaze wander around the room, “I just…”

“You’re just suspicious of her,” Taehyung finished, causing Jungkook to look his way, “of course you’re suspicious Jungkook, you’re letting a girl that you’ve never even met before into your house for the first time. It’s a natural reaction, especially considering how untrusting we’ve been conditioned to be since we were young.”

Taehyung clapped Jungkook on the back reassuringly, “I was the exact same way when I married Chaewon. Hell, in our first year of being married I even accused her of being a traitor when she was planning a surprise party for my birthday. When she finally told me… man, it took me a whole year to make it up to her. On another note, from a married man to a newly married man, don’t accuse your wife of anything unless you’re a hundred and ten percent sure of it. Otherwise you’ll never hear the end of it.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, causing Taehyung to laugh.

“Besides, have you seen Y/N? She’s so shy and naive, her own reflection in the mirror must frighten her. I doubt you have anything to worry about, especially after my parents’ background check. Just enjoy yourself, man, it’s your wedding night,” Taehyung said with a knowing smirk. 

Obviously ignoring the suggestive comment, Jungkook nodded, finding logic in Taehyung’s other words. Jungkook had never been married, all of this was new to him. But if Taehyung, who had been married for almost a decade, said feelings like this were normal, then maybe he really was just being overly paranoid about the situation. You’d had a thorough background check done, which revealed nothing, and your personality was quite clear to Jungkook after he’d observed you at the wedding. 

It was time Jungkook started trying to enjoy this marriage as much as he could. He was going to be stuck with you indefinitely, and constantly being suspicious of you was only going to wear him out, especially since you now had access to the only place he allowed himself to be free of the constantly vigilant and calculating mind that came with being the leader of the Jeons. 

Jungkook turned to Taehyung, about to thank him for the insight, but the sound of the door opening once again caused the two to shift their gaze to behind them. The sight of the man walking through the doorway immediately had Jungkook wrinkling his nose in distaste while Taehyung’s expression had become a distant neutral. The man didn’t seem to mind the reactions if he noticed them, casually strolling deeper into the house until he was standing before the two. 

“Jungkook, Taehyung,” Daehyun nodded, the respectful gesture somehow seeming more disrespectful if anything. He had clearly just come back from the wedding, still wearing his black suit and light brown hair styled back, “you just got married, yet I see only Taehyung and no bride. Shall I assume the two of you are running away together?”

The tasteless joke was followed by a deep laugh, one that belonged to neither Jungkook nor Taehyung. Instead they just stared at him with an unamused scowl.

“Relax, it’s only a joke,” he shook his head, gaze wandering the place casually, “I doubt your wife and kid would like the thought of that anyway.”

Taehyung’s jaw ticked at Daehyun’s words. Even if he hadn’t directly threatened or disrespected them in any way, just the mention of his family from his mouth was enough for Taehyung’s gaze to turn icy.

“Careful Daehyun, you’re standing before two mafia leaders,” Taehyung said, voice low and intimidating, “I would be less casual in our presence if I were you.”

To Taehyung and Jungkook’s dismay, Daehyun simply chuckled, “ah yes, but Jungkook and I are cousins. He’ll cut me some slack, won’t he?”

Jungkook didn’t answer, even after Daehyun gave his arm a lighthearted punch. Daehyun was the cousin that Jungkook could never be rid of, no matter how badly he wanted to. He was slimy and tactless and everything Jungkook hated rolled into one unbearable being. Having to give him access to his home, his only place of peace, had been one of the hardest things to do. But at the time, Jungkook had had to make sacrifices and this had been one of them. 

Daehyun, undeterred by his cousin’s lack of response, leaned his arm on Jungkook’s shoulder casually, “congratulations by the way. When I saw your wife’s face- god did she look young! You’re so lucky man, I hope my future wife turns out like that.”

Jungkook grimaced as he suddenly felt the desire to wipe off any remnants of Daehyun’s touch from his suit. Daehyun had attended the same university as Taehyung and Jungkook, yet he had evidently obtained none of the class that they had. Everyday he wondered how the two of them could possibly be related. For the sake of Jungkook’s mental wellbeing, sometimes he liked to imagine Daehyun had actually been adopted and his parents had simply decided not to share that piece of information. 

“I should get going,” Jungkook said stiffly, brushing his cousin’s arm off his shoulder. He fixed his suit as Daehyung smirked at him, likely thinking of Jungkook’s comment as more suggestive than he had actually meant. 

Jungkook faced Taehyung to give him a curt nod before he turned and began walking up the stairs, not bothering to use the fawn iron bannisters on either side of him. He could hear Taehyung taking his leave through the front door, dragging a complaining Daehyun behind him to Jungkook’s satisfaction. The sound of the front door shutting had never sounded so delightful. 

A silence ensued as Jungkook walked through the hallway upstairs, continuing until he paused in front of his bedroom’s door. He couldn’t hear any noises coming from inside the room, so, with a light knock against the white and fawn wood, his hand wrapped around the handle to turn it and finally push the door open. 

The windows displayed an almost set sun, coating the atmosphere in a blanket of dimness. Everything about his bedroom had been changed. His once dark brown and white bed had been switched out for a cream and fawn coloured one, with a bouquet of vibrant red roses sitting atop the fancy and plush duvet, while his black leather couches had been replaced by light cloth ones. The ceiling and walls had been painted white, complimenting the new white and fawn patterned marble floor. His old dresser had also disappeared, a cream coloured dresser twice its size sitting in its place instead. 

Aside from the drastic changes that had been made to his bedroom, no doubt to signify the change that came with marriage, the first thing Jungkook noticed was the maid who was drawing the curtains closed. The room would have fallen into complete darkness if it weren’t for the lamps sitting atop the bedside tables which were emanating a warm light around the space. 

The second thing he noticed was you, who was sitting timidly on the edge of the bed and facing him. Your fingers were playing awkwardly in front of you while your gaze had been fixed on the floor, but at the sound of the door opening, your head raised to look at Jungkook. The sight of your face once again caught him off guard, the lack of makeup revealing a different side of you. 

You no longer looked young. Without the innocent look that had been created with the blushes and the eyeliners and the lip glosses, Jungkook could see the mature shape of your eyes and the defined look of your features. You looked your age now, a lot more maturity prominent in your appearance. 

You were pretty. Jungkook could admit that much now that you didn’t resemble a teenager. He wondered why you had done your makeup like that in the first place. He’d been to many weddings before and none of the brides had been made to look so young. Then again, Taehyung had already told him that, on top of looking innocent and naive, you seemed to dress the part as well. 

“Is something wrong?” Your soft voice asked, eyes blinking innocently up at him. 

Jungkook shook his head, motioning for the maid to leave the room. She gave you both a low bow before scurrying out the doorway, making sure to close the door behind her. 

“No,” he finally answered. For the first time in a long time he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. He wasn’t sure if you were expecting anything to happen tonight, or if you even wanted anything to happen for now. 

His gaze lowered as he mulled over his next actions. You had changed out of your wedding dress into a light pink, mesh lace nightgown that came all the way down to your knees with a silk bow stitched into the centre of your chest, as if your clothes were meant to compensate for the lack of makeup dolling up your features. He almost wanted to raise an eyebrow at you, but you seemed much too fragile to be ridiculed. 

Alternatively, he decided to take an experimental step in your direction, surveying your reaction closely. He watched your fingers close tighter around the duvet on which you sat, your gaze hesitantly darting everywhere but him. That was answer enough for him to know how far you were ready to take it tonight. So instead, he passed the bed, opting instead to drop onto the couch on the far end of the room. While he was facing you, you had to turn your head to keep him in your sights. 

“What would you like to do now?” He asked you, resting an arm over the back of the couch while he crossed an ankle over his knee. 

Your gaze dropped to your lap, watching your fingers fidget against each other nervously. It was almost as if having to answer a question like that had you stressed, which again made Jungkook wonder how you had survived growing up in a mafia family. How could you have been this weak?

“I-I don’t know,” you squeaked, not able to meet his gaze. 

Jungkook sighed, turning his head to the side to survey the room. Technically, the two of you could just call it a night and go to sleep. You were clearly too shy to even speak a word to him, and Jungkook had never been one to beg others for things. Only time would tell how well the two of you would get to know each other. 

But then Jungkook’s gaze dropped to the coffee table in front of him, noticing some sort of gift basket placed in its centre. It was obviously a wedding gift, filled with chocolates, scented candles, roses… and some wine and champagne. Jungkook has always been more of a whiskey guy, but right now he’d take just about anything. 

“Why don’t we have a drink?” He suggested, uncrossing his leg so that he could lean forward and grab the top of the expensive-looking bottle of red wine. He prayed you weren’t one of those people that didn’t drink, your innocent personality couldn’t possibly extend all the way to drinking as well. 

You paused for a moment, taking in the bottle in Jungkook’s hand, before slowly nodding your head, to Jungkook’s relief. 

He beckoned you over with his free hand, “come here.”

You hesitated before slowly pushing yourself off the bed and took small steps towards him. Jungkook waited patiently until you were standing right in front of the couch, hands clasped shyly in front of you while your gaze stayed glued to the floor. He held up the bottle of wine and champagne in front of you, hoping you weren’t so dumb that you wouldn’t understand the question in his actions. Thankfully you studied the two bottles before a shaky hand raised and tapped against the bottle of champagne. 

He pushed the bottle in your direction, forcing you to take it in your own hands, before standing up from the couch. The unexpected action seemed to scare you, causing you to immediately take a timid step backwards while you hugged the bottle to your chest. Jungkook had to suppress a tired, and maybe even slightly annoyed sigh, as he manoeuvred past you. He was trying to be patient, but this was becoming ridiculous. 

“You get that open while I wash up,” he said to you, pointing at the bottle still pressed to your chest, “okay?”

You nodded slowly, allowing him to turn away from you and walk into the joint bathroom. Once the door was closed behind him he let out the sigh he had suppressed earlier. You really were… something. He couldn’t believe he had been suspicious of you earlier when you could barely even function properly, much less be any sort of threat. It was irritating, Jungkook felt, to have someone so incompetent for a wife. He wondered if he would have to break you out of that shell. You were the wife of a mafia leader now after all, you had to keep up at least some air of confidence in the presence of others so that you didn’t make him look weak. 

Jungkook walked over to the sink and turned it on, splashing some cold water on his face before he began brushing his teeth. You were far from his ideal type, and he doubted this marriage would ever stem into whatever Taehyung and Chaewon had going on. Hell, he was wondering how the two of you could ever even produce an heir. You’d probably spontaneously combust if he even tried to touch you. And besides, he didn’t really want to touch you if he was being honest. You reminded him too much of a weak and helpless child, which was obviously a huge turn off. He may have been a mafia leader, but he wasn’t a complete monster. 

Jungkook placed his toothbrush into the holder after spitting into the sink, drying himself off with one of the towels hanging near him. He was about to start changing into more comfortable clothes, only getting as far as unbuttoning the first few buttons of his black collar shirt, before a crashing sound rang from the bedroom. In less than a second he had pushed out of the bathroom, immediately scanning the bedroom before him as his hand automatically sought out the gun at his side. 

It took him a moment to realise the lack of intruders in the room, and then another to take in your completely unharmed form. You were standing with your hands covering your mouth, looking down at the ground. Jungkook followed your gaze to find the champagne bottle rolling along the marble floor, still entirely intact. You had clearly dropped the thing accidentally, causing Jungkook to place his gun back in his waistband.

“I’m s-so sorry,” you squeaked, bending down quickly to pick up the bottle. Suppressing a huff, Jungkook walked over to you to take it from your hands. 

“Here, let me do it,” he said, taking two of the crystal champagne flutes from the gift basket and placing them on the glass coffee table as he sat himself down on the couch, distantly annoyed at the fact that you couldn’t even pour a glass of champagne by yourself. Was this seriously what he was going to have to deal with from now on?

He tipped the bottle, filling both glasses to the brim with the bubbling liquid as you hesitantly sat yourself down on the couch to his left. His gaze fell on you as he was about to offer you one of the flutes, but paused when he noticed the look on your face. For the first time since he met you, you looked almost… excited. Usually your eyes would be downturned and focused on the floor, but this time they were fixed on the crystal glasses before you as if you were eager to taste the expensive liquid. Jungkook made a note of it, tucking it into the back of his mind for later. 

“Take one,” he said as he motioned towards one of the glasses, but to his surprise you hesitantly shook your head. Your expression had turned timid once again, any hint of excitement from earlier entirely gone. He narrowed his eyes at you as he wondered if he had just imagined it. It had barely been there anyway. 

“I don’t drink,” you said in your signature soft tone, not able to meet his gaze. Of course you don’t, Jungkook thought irritatedly, god forbid the princess touch a glass of champagne. He knew the thought was immature, but there was no way he was the most immature person in the room at the moment. 

He pushed himself off the couch, very much aware that his patience was starting to wear thin, “well then I guess we should call it a night.”

But before he could step towards the bed, your hand shot out, clutching the edge of his sleeve with your fingers. He immediately looked down at your still seated form, a question in his eyes. You had to look away for a moment, seemingly collecting your nerves, before you met his gaze once again. 

“Just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean you can’t,” you said, “I don’t want you not to enjoy yourself because of me. Please stay.”

Jungkook noticed the evident guilt in your eyes as your fingers continued to stay enclosed around the edge of his sleeve. When he didn’t move, you hesitantly leaned forward to gently pick up one of the glasses and then slowly presented it to him. His gaze shifted to the glass in your hand, pausing for only a moment, before he took it from you. He let himself sink back onto the couch as he studied you. 

You continued to sit in your spot on the sofa, posture still timid. Your gaze bounced from one part of the floor to the next, while your expression remained shy. But there was something else lurking behind the expression. If Jungkook focused well enough, he could have sworn the edges of your lips were turned slightly upwards. It was so faint that it might have not even been there, but the more he focused, the more prominent it became to him. 

A naive part of him might have thought it was from being successful in getting him to stay and have the drink, but the more logical part of him had already latched onto an idea, one that refused to be swept to the side any longer. 

His gaze lowered to your collarbone, a glint from the heart-shaped necklace resting over your soft skin catching his attention. Unlike earlier, he noticed that the metal heart was actually a locket, and that its two sides were slightly open. It couldn’t have been ajar by more than a millimetre, but Jungkook still noted it down in his mind.

His gaze then ascended to your face, still a perfect picture of innocence. Your eyes were widened to resemble a curious doe, while your lips were pulled into a timid line. The hands resting in your lap fumbled with each other shyly, really completing the look. 

Finally, his gaze dropped to the drink in his hand. He brought it closer to his face, as if he were about to take a sip, before eyeing the expensive liquid. His gaze fixed on the miniscule bubbles that continued travelled from the bottom of the flute to its surface, causing it to sizzle.

Jungkook slowly leaned forward, keeping his eye on his drink as he brought it away from his lips and instead calmly set it down on the coffee table before him. He then easily pushed himself off of the couch, which caused your brows to jump. There was an apparent question in your expression, one you decided to voice out loud. 

“Is something wrong with the drink?” You asked, voice still soft as your doe eyes looked up at him through your lashes. 

Ignoring the question, Jungkook placed a hand on the edge of the coffee table and slowly pushed it forward so that it was farther away from your seated form. The action caused you to blink. 

“Is everything okay?” You tried again slowly.

But Jungkook then faced you, assessing you for a moment, before he took a few steps in your direction. You had to crane your neck upwards to continue meeting his gaze, his tall form towering over your seated one. This time your brows pulled together, eyes still doe-like, as you continued to question his actions. 

“Jungko-”

Jungkook didn’t let you finish. The second you opened your mouth his large hand suddenly shot out and grabbed your neck, slamming your head into the seat of the couch. You squeaked at the sudden violence, immediately clawing at the fingers now enclosed around your throat. But your efforts were nothing in comparison to Jungkook’s iron hold. 

“J-Jungkook, you’re h-hurting me!” You let out a choked cry, continuing to put up a weak fight against Jungkook. Tears had already started to coat your eyes and run down your cheeks, but Jungkook ignored them completely. He watched you struggle, fascinated by the way you thrashed around like an animal yet every jab at him was weak and ineffective. There was no sign of the strength he had noticed when you had grabbed onto his bicep earlier, so hard that he was sure it would leave a bruise. It was enough to make him grin.

Jungkook lowered his face so that his lips neared your ear, his body still hovering over your smaller form. 

“If you wanted to kill me princess, you’ll have to do a better job than that,” he said, voice low. Your eyes widened even further as you continued to struggle against him, making pitiful noises that didn’t move him in the slightest. 

“K-Kill?! What are y-you talking about?!” You continued to choke out as tears streamed down your cheeks. Your hands had moved to his chest, desperately trying to push him away, yet failing miserably in the process. Jungkook tilted his head at your weak plea, eager to hear what other ways you’d beg him to let you go.

 “P-please-” You began, but then cut yourself off abruptly when your tear-filled gaze met his. You must have seen something in his eyes, because he felt your body slacken, no longer desperate to fight him despite his hold on your neck cutting off your lung’s supply of air. 

Instead you studied him, really studied him. He could see the same calculated look you had used on Taehyung earlier during the wedding. It was as if you were assessing Jungkook, picking out his strengths and weaknesses to figure out how you could use them to your advantage. He watched you weigh options in your head patiently before you finally tilted your head to the side calmly and shot him a look. In response, Jungkook decided to loosen his grip on your throat. He watched you catch your breath for a moment before you spoke. 

“Well, you’re already smarter than the first one,” you commented, but your voice was entirely different. It was no longer soft and timid, rather it was a lot more deep and confident. He watched your expression change in the same manner. Your once wide and innocent looking eyes narrowed into a more matured look, while your lips straightened into more of a dangerously amused grin than a naive pout. 

Then he processed your words. The ‘first one’ had to be your first husband, who Taehyung had explained had been killed on his wedding day. Taehyung had mentioned that a rival gang had been the one to murder him, but the actual one responsible for his death was clear to Jungkook now. 

“Do you make it a hobby to poison your husbands’ drinks on their wedding nights?” He asked, hand still wrapped around your throat. He had situated himself between your legs, his own leg pushing one of yours against the back of the couch while his free hand pushed the other down against the seat of the couch. The position ensured you wouldn’t be able to kick him, while his body hovering over your own seemed to take care of the rest of you. You were smart enough not to try anything anyway, knowing Jungkook’s strength was incomparable to yours.

You shrugged, panting at the limited oxygen entering your lungs, “golf just wasn’t cutting it for me anymore.”

“Golf? How can a weak and helpless girl like you play such a sport?” Jungkook couldn’t help but quip, bordering on mocking you. It only made you grin, clearly no hint of offence in your expression. 

He studied your nonchalant demeanour curiously. You had tried to kill him, and he should send your head back to your father’s doorstep for it. And yet, you couldn’t have looked any less composed with his hand around your neck. Either you were a complete idiot, which seemed much less likely now that he was starting to see your real character, or you believed you had the upper hand in this situation. 

“You’re quite calm for someone I should have killed,” he noted, meaning for it to be a threat. But once again you didn’t seem deterred. In fact, the comment seemed to amuse you even more. 

“Just because you should have me killed doesn’t mean you’ll actually have me killed.”

Jungkook’s brow raised, finding an opportunity to prod you further, “and why won’t I have you killed? Your father sent you here to kill me under the pretence of an alliance. I should start a war for this.”

You nodded, “but you see, my father did send me here to form an alliance. The whole killing you idea was all mine.”

Jungkook scoffed at the lame attempt at a lie, “you expect me to believe that?”

But you scoffed as well, meeting his gaze just as vehemently. It was an odd sight considering you had spent the entire day trying to make yourself small and avoiding his gaze. Yet here you were now, eyes ablaze like a thrashing fire. Not a spontaneously violent fire either, no Jungkook could very easily handle that. You were more like an electrical fire. It was becoming increasingly apparent that he had to be cautious around you, and that trusting any word that came out of your mouth was dangerous. 

“Prove it then,” he challenged, tightening his hold on your neck for a moment to remind you of your vulnerability. 

“I don’t need to prove anything,” you said, a hand coming up to wrap around his wrist, “just go ahead and mention to my father that I’m not a complete airhead that’s afraid of her own shadow. He’ll laugh in your face and call you a moron.”

The revelation that your father was just as clueless about your true self as everyone else only confirmed his initial thoughts. It also proved he couldn’t have trusted you to carry out an assassination attempt, meaning your father really did genuinely want an alliance with the Jeons. That was perfect, because Jungkook had certain plans that relied on this partnership. It was a relief that they hadn’t gone to waste.

“If it wasn’t your father’s idea, then why did you poison my drink?” He asked with a raised brow. 

Silence filled the room following his question, one that allowed you both to hear the sounds of the wall clock. He got the feeling that you were contemplating something once again, planning out your next move.

Then you squirmed underneath him, seemingly getting comfortable, but Jungkook knew better than to believe whatever you appeared as. The second your hand went for the gun wedged in his waistband, he grabbed your wrist, pining it against the couch, while the hand that had been around your throat pulled out the matte black weapon. He slowly brought it to your temple with an amused grin.

“If you wanted it so badly, you could have just asked,” he taunted, bringing the gun down so that its barrel lifted your chin, “now, I asked a question princess.”

You huffed, your amusement finally falling to give him a half-hearted glare.

“I want a divorce.”

Jungkook couldn’t help the laugh that sounded from his lips at your straightforwardness. You just tried to kill him, it didn’t take a genius to work out that you weren’t a fan of this marriage and wanted out of it. 

It was an arranged marriage after all, and even though all arranged marriages didn’t equal a forced marriage, technically he couldn’t be certain that this marriage was of your own choice or not. For all he knew, you had some secret lover waiting for you back home, your marriage with Jungkook coming between the star crossed romance. The thought made his jaw tick. He was far from in love with you, but Jungkook tended to be territorial about what was his. And you were his wife at the moment. 

You, on the other hand, seemed surprised by his reaction, as if it was the last thing you expected him to do.

“I mean you obviously want one now too, right?” You asked with your brows furrowed.

Jungkook didn’t respond, and that only seemed to make you more agitated.

“I’m not the wife that you want. You clearly can’t stand me when I have my ditzy front pulled up and you can’t trust me when I don’t.”

Although the points that you were making were true, there was one important factor you were missing, and that was the alliance between the Jeons and the Lees. Jungkook needed this alliance to, at the very least make himself seem like, he was more powerful than the Parks and the Mins. And with their recent moves -with what he saw at the docks just last night- he needed this alliance now more than ever. So while he normally would have had you executed and then sent your head to your father’s doorstep for your little assassination attempt, this time he was going to have to sweep his pride to the side.

Jungkook placed his free hand next to your head as he pushed himself up, choosing instead to stay standing in front of the sofa. His intense gaze dropped to your still form while his gun hung from his fingers firmly. 

“No,” he finally said, causing your brows to jump. 

You quickly pushed yourself off the couch to stand just as he was, but Jungkook didn’t move. With the sofa right behind you, barring you from taking a few steps back, that left you and him standing dangerously close to each other. The bow from your nightgown pressed against his partly unbuttoned black collar shirt, while its edge grazed his dress pants. Jungkook could feel the heat of your breath raise goosebumps from his exposed collarbone. 

“Why not? I’m not the wife that you want.”

He smiled at the bite in your words, finding your frustration amusing, “you’ve got it all wrong. I simply wanted a wife to make the Lees allies, nothing more.”

Like a fire set alight, your eyes flashed in anger, “I won’t change. I’ll still be your idiot wife that will make you look weak.”

It was true that most wives of mafia leaders were strong and confident beings, symbols of their husbands’ power, and that having a wife like you may be a slightly risky choice. But Jungkook was sure his carefully established reputation could take the hit. Besides, although you might make him look weak, your marriage with him would make him far from actually weak. 

“You think divorcing you won’t make me look weak?” Jungkook decided to say, unsure of if he was saying it to play with you more or to make sure you don’t believe your threats are inconveniencing him, “you’ve fooled everyone with your ditzy facade. A divorce will make them think I wasn’t able to tame a naive girl. You think people will accept me as a leader then?”

You didn’t react to the point, giving him the feeling that you might have already known that might pose an issue for him. Perhaps you thought his reputation could take the hit? When Jungkook really thought about it, it probably could have. He’d worked hard to be both feared and respected for years, a divorce like this, while questionable in the eyes of the people under him, could have been pushed under the rug given time. But the alliance was too important to him. 

And that was something he needed to make sure you knew. 

“That means you will continue to be my wife,” he settled, lowering his gaze so that it met yours with unwavering finality, “so you’ll continue to act like it.”

Jungkook felt his voice naturally lower, a hint of a threat evident in his tone, “listen to me well, Y/N. I don’t care if you act like the dumbest woman on Earth or the most sultry. Regardless, what you will act like is my wife. When we’re outside of this bedroom, we will laugh together, we will hug each other, and we will do whatever other damn thing married couples do so that no one doubts this relationship.”

“And if I don’t?” You bit, the speed of your reply making his jaw tick. 

“If you don’t, you can stay locked in this bedroom until you learn how to behave. Understood?”

Your rage couldn’t have been more prominent, with a fierce glare burning right through him and a pair of fisted hands at your sides. Yet Jungkook ignored it all, instead meeting your gaze coolly as he waited for your confirmation. 

It took a long moment to come, so long that Jungkook thought it wasn’t going to come at all. But eventually he noticed you nod your head. It was barely a movement, your head tipping down slightly before resuming its earlier place, but it was enough for him despite your unwavering glare. 

He finally took a few steps back, thrusting the barrel of his gun once again into the waistband of his pants. Your angry form, on the other hand, didn’t move, opting instead to stand perfectly still despite your calves pressing into the sofa behind you. Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, brushing the strands that had fallen onto his forehead away from his face.

“Good, then we’re done here.”

He finally turned away from you, eyeing the door on his left intently. But before he could move towards it, your words made him pause.

“I just tried to kill you,” you commented before he turned to question its randomness. He found you sitting on the sofa once again, an eerily thoughtful look lurking behind your rage-filled eyes, “how will you know I won’t do it again?”

Jungkook tilted his head in response. 

“You can try all you want, princess,” he said, liking the feeling of that nickname on his tongue more and more. It was almost addicting, “but you won’t succeed.”

Then his lips curled into a sly smirk, “after all, what kind of husband would I be if I barred my wife from her hobbies?”

He was able to just barely catch the roll of your eyes before he turned and pushed through the door he had been eyeing earlier, his hands automatically locking it behind him as he casually surveyed his office. The room had been spared from the new gleaming white and fawn furniture which had taken over his bedroom. Instead, it was filled with familiar dark brown.

Refined dark oak wood shelves and cabinets lined the walls except for the wall behind his large desk, which was made up entirely of a bookshelf filled to the brim with various hardcovers. For the sake of matching with the rest of the house, the marble floor had been done a light fawn colour, while another wall was made up of bulletproof glass, its centre having the ability to slide open to reveal a decent sized balcony. 

Jungkook shrugged off his blazer as he made his way to his desk, laying the piece of cloth over the back of his black leather chair, before he opened the glass cabinet behind it. He didn’t need to think much as his fingers expertly curled around an expensive bottle of whiskey and a crystal glass. Before he knew it, he found himself standing outside on his balcony overlooking his estate, one hand holding the crystal glass filled halfway with light brown liquid while the other clutched the iron railing. 

His gaze bounced around his estate for a peaceful moment as he took a sip from his glass, taking in the expanse of the luscious green field bordering the neatly done driveway despite the darkness of the night. In its centre was an intricately designed white fountain spewing water in four different directions, but all of which emptied systematically into the white basin at its base. The estate itself stretched for metres, the gates enclosing the space barely visible from where he was standing. Jungkook’s thoughts bounced around his head just as quickly as his gaze. 

What a day it had been. At first, you’d been a complete idiot, one that had irritated him to no extent with your doe eyes and evident shyness. 

But then you had turned out to be an entirely different species, far from the innocent and ditzy girl he’d labelled you as. You were cunning and feisty and seemingly very much ready for a divorce. 

Jungkook felt the corners of his lips pull upwards into a grin as he took another sip of his whisky.

You were quite the enigma.

But he was going to enjoy the challenge.  

A/N: comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated!

[colfy-wolfy]

hello again I'm insane. I will never not love drawing slugcats hugging and cuddling. but my md hyperfixation hasn't stopped yet so it's nuziv

[seraphont]

some stuff for my Drone Tessa Au story! Downsides of stealing your body from a zombie/eldritch horror is that your antivirus thinks youre a threat and your body is rapidly deteriorating

[wolvimiau]

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream, and see the light…

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

what if. readerbot met Eclipse. and Eclipse, who is both Sun and Moon combined, also had both Sun and Moon's collective love for readerbot all stuffed into one big stupid silly baby brain. and what if Eclipse also had absolutely zero self control and immediately turned into a pile of big soft mushy love dovey feelings as soon as he made eye contact w readerbot. and meanwhile readerbot, who has not been clued in on the fact that Sun and Moon are both head over heels for them, was struggling hardcore to process the unstoppable stream of Eclipse's pure unbridled love being beamed directly into their brain with zero filter whatsoever. like what if tho

(eclipse accidentally kills his staffbot spouse by being a teeny tiny little bit too intense, thats what)

[pantherxrogers]

fantasy - kim taehyung x fem!reader

��� pairing: taehyung x fem!reader, established relationship, married

🖤 warnings: pure smut (18+ only), no plot, degradation (tae calls reader a slut *affectionately*), dom/sub dynamics, masturbation, explicit language, fingering, use of vibrator

🖤 summary: you love a man in uniform. more specifically, you love the way your husband looks in a uniform. he attempts to come home and surprise you, but he's the one left in shock.

🖤 a/n: this is 100% based on that video of v on patrol. he is too sexy. 😮‍💨 thus, this was born. hope you enjoy! ☺️

disclaimer: i am in no way affiliated with taehyung aka "v of bts". this is purely a work of fiction.

my masterlist

This is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent real events or the actual personalities of any K-pop idols mentioned. All characters and situations are purely imaginary. This story is created for entertainment purposes only, and no harm or disrespect is intended toward the idols or their fans. Enjoy!

your thighs tremble, locking around the vibrator pressed to your center.

you're fighting your orgasm, not ready for the pleasure to end. if you had an ounce of shame, you'd be embarrassed by how quickly a few photos of your husband can make you cum. but, alas, you have none.

shutting your eyes in ecstasy, it's hard to focus when the vibrator is so steady against your clit, massaging the sensitive nub. still, your mind drifts to him. he looked even bigger than the last time you saw him. firm muscles filling out the black uniform, a timid smile on his perfect face.

and ugh, did he have to be so polite? you're caught between cuteness aggression and the need to jump his bones. the latter wins.

he quite literally looked like your ultimate fantasy. it flashes through your mind. taehyung hovering over you, still dressed in that black uniform. you can almost hear his deep voice, whispering pure filth into your ear.

goosebumps break out over your body. the vibrator feels amazing, your vagina clenching around nothing. you feel hot all over and unable to keep teasing yourself. if your husband were here, he'd be able to give you exactly what you want. the thought makes you press harder, wetness coating the silicone toy.

"fuck, tae," you whine out, still imagining his thick cock inside of you.

"i guess we're both suprising each other today." his low timbre makes you scream, heart beating out of your chest.

"ohmygoshwhatthefuck!" you're trembling, yanking the vibrator away to regain your bearings. your husband only lets out a chuckle, making his way over to the bed. and that's when you notice.

that fucking uniform.

he's still fully dressed. the black fabric pulled tight over his newly acquired muscle. you saw him just a few weeks ago on his break, yet he's somehow gotten even bigger. his hair has grown out a little more, too. you're appreciating his tanned skin, loving the way it contrasts the dark uniform.

"tae, what are you doing here?" you breathe out, rising up to meet his lips. the kiss accelerates your heartbeat, arousal stirring deep in your stomach. he brings an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his warm body. he's a little rough nowadays, a desperation he's picked up since being in the military. you feel that way, too, hands roaming all over him.

"i requested more time off," he breathes in between kisses, "needed to see you again." his admission turns you on even further, in love with the way he loves you. his hands are greedy, slipping from your waist to grab handfuls of your ass. you made it easy for him. one of his loose t shirts paired with your thong does little to cover you.

"missed you so much," you whine out, head lulling back, lost in the way he kisses down your neck.

"i can tell." you hear the smirk in his voice, suddenly remembering the predicament he caught you in just a few moments prior.

"about that..." you mutter, suddenly feeling shy again. you're quiet for a few moments, finding it hard to focus on anything aside from the way his hands feel against your skin. they're rough, obviously a side effect of his active duty. the cool metal of his wedding ring sears into your heated skin, the sensation driving you wild.

"i do the same thing, baby. almost every night," he huffs, tucking an arm under under your ass to wrap your legs around his waist. he lowers you onto the mattress, strong frame hovering over you. a moan slips out of you, the sight of your fantasy playing out in front of you is almost too much to bear.

"i get in the shower and imagine you're there with me," he speaks against your skin, starting from the valley of your breasts. "i get so fuckin' hard, and all i have is my hand," he confesses, closing his lips around your hard nipple.

"s-shit baby," you moan, running your fingers through his short hair. he's almost animalistic in the way he sucks your breast, tongue swirling around your areola. he massages the other with his hand, rolling your sensitive nipple between his fingers.

"had to come home and have you in front of me. couldn't take it anymore," he grunts, finally pulling your shirt off. his eyes are dark, unabashedly checking you out.

your nipples are hard, and he watches them rise up and down each time you pant. he studies your body, eyes finally landing on your skimpy thong. an unmistakable groan reaches your ears, more arousal flooding the flimsy fabric.

"tae, c'mon please," you beg, reaching for his arms to do anything. you don't even care what he does. you just need to feel him.

he lowers himself to your neck, sucking on your sweet spot. holding himself up with one arm, he's careful not to put his full weight on you. his soft lips trail up to your ear, pressing a delicate kiss there.

"tell me what you were thinking about, baby," he hums, slowly dragging his hand down your stomach. he toys with your thong, dipping in, still not deep enough to give you much stimulation. the sensation makes you clench around nothing, desperation coursing through your veins.

"t-this, i was thinking about exactly this," you confess. he rewards you immediately, middle finger slipping down to draw slow circles on your hardened nub. his cock throbs at the loud moan you let out, sounding like an absolute wet dream.

"yeah, just needed me to come home and touch your little pussy?" he coos into your ear, before sucking a love bite right below your jaw.

you swear you're going to come any second. all of it is too much, but not enough at the same time. his body is so warm and inviting, and his scent floods your senses. it's a clean scent, laced with a hint of musk that makes your eyes roll back.

"y-yeah, saw a picture of you in that uniform," you squeal, hips bucking into his hand. he's using more pressure, rubbing faster circles into your clit.

"what a slut. you started touching yourself just from a picture?" he's teasing you. the cockiness in his voice is so attractive. he has a smug look on his face, studying the way you shamelessly grind into his hand, chasing your long lost orgasm.

"mhmm, 'm a slut for you, tae," you babble, unable to focus on anything but this earth-shattering pleasure.

"i know you are, baby. that's why i fuckin' love you." you jump at the sudden vibration. he's using one hand to press the vibrator against your clit and using the other to fuck you with his fingers.

"o-oh, i'm gonna cum," you gasp. the squelch of his fingers sliding into your wetness makes you feel filthy. he presses a button, making the vibrations grow stronger. you whine out, more wetness coating his fingers.

"damn, you're wet." his deep voice only adds to your pleasure. his fingers are thick, gliding against your walls with ease. the stretch is perfect, exactly what you've been needing.

"shit, shit, shit!"

"yeah, baby. go ahead and cum on my fingers," he mutters, brushing against that spongy spot inside of you. the moan you let out is pornographic, satisfaction radiating throughout tae's body.

"yeah, let it out. good girl." his praise sends you over the edge, clenching around his fingers like a vice. he works you through your orgasm, slowing pleasuring you through the intensity. you're seeing stars, the orgasm overriding your senses.

you hear tae's soft affirmations in your ears. a steady stream of good girl, so pretty, my perfect girl, only add to the airy feeling. it takes you a minute to come down. he slowly lowers the vibrations, not wanting to overstimulate you.

"you still with me pretty girl?"

"i'm good, baby," you mumble, nestling into your husband's side. he kisses your forehead, pulling you closer to him. he stays with you for a few minutes. your breaths become slow and shallow, fully relaxing into the mattress.

"i need to get changed, sweetheart," he whispers, untangling himself and tucking your body under the covers.

he hovers over you, unable to take his eyes off your peaceful form. your eyes are closed, a content smile on your lips. this is exactly why he needed time off. he's been missing you so much that it hurts.

"tae, get changed so you can hurry back," you whine, a warm blush spreading across his cheeks. he thought you were asleep, and he's been staring at you like a creep. but, he's too in love to care.

"okay, baby," he soothes you, pressing a final kiss to your forehead before heading to his wardrobe. he trips over himself a few times, excitement making him jittery. he laughs at himself, feeling like a lovesick fool. but, he wouldn't have it any other way. and neither would you.

[f14fun]

pixelated love (!simmer x mv1) - chapter 1

synopsis: in which the famous three time world champion max verstappen wants to learn how to play the sims 4. except, he doesn't really know how to. so what does he do, search up a youtube tutorial. low-and-behold, y/n's video is the first he watches.

smau ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ next | series index ˚୨୧⋆｡

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yourusername:

liked by user1, user2 and 18,102 others

yourusername: the infamous sims 4 tutorial is official out on yt 🔐😈💟 (pls guys u spammed my dms so hard for this one i was SWEATING editing 🙄🙄)

view comments

user1: QUEEEN TYYY FOR THIS VIDEO

user2: me when y/n releases a new video 🫠🫠😵💦💦

yourusername: now... ayo...

yourusername: (in the dms only, we talked about this guys...)

user3: pookie your so hawt hahaha (viscerally sweating)

yourusername: just u, babes xxx

user4: LMFAO in the video where she goes "wow, i didn't know you could make boobs this big in cas (create a sim), huh..."

user5: HOLLERINGGG, she said that?! ☠️☠️

user4: YUPPP. then she preceded to say, "mmm, mommy milkers"

user6: she is not real this is insane 😵😵😭

user4: what makes it even funnier is that there is always some type of smooth jazz playing in the background, so every time she says unhinged shit its accompanied with the most nonchalant whatever music 🫨🫨

user7: literally this is why she is my fav simmer ytber 4 reallz

liked by yourusername

user8: DID YOU GUYS SEE MAX WATCH HER VID ON STREAM LMAO??!

user9: OMG YES I DID IT WAS SO FUNNY

user10: wait pls fill me in max who

user10: is he some gamer?

user8: LMAO not really ☠️

user8: we r talking about max verstappen, he's an f1 racer who occasionally games

user9: tbf he seems to game and sim race more than he actually races 😭😭😭

user10: ahhh ic

user10: wait so then what was he doing watching mother y/n's video 👁️👁️

user8: he was trying to learn how to play the sims 4, so ig he clicked on the first tutorial on yt and it j happened to be her video 😍🫠

user11: omg it's the girl max watched on stream yesterday, she was hella funny im ngl

user12: wait yeah, she's so pretty in this post

user13: GIRL MAX WAS SIMPING OVER U SO BAD YESTERDAY

user14: FR DOWNBAD.

yourusername: max you say... drop his @ 😁😁

user13: @/maxverstappen1

user15: girl you are NAWT ready for the shit u r ab to go thru w the formula one community

yourusername: wait he's a formula one racer???

user15: GIRL PLS GOOGLE HIM I BEG

user15: UR GOING TO LEARN SM AB UR FUTURE HUSBAND

user17: HUSBAND? let's gatekeep our wife, shall we

user18: @/maxverstappen1 @/maxverstappen1 @/maxverstappen1

user19: @/maxverstappen1 i found the woman of ur dreams 😈

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author's note: ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾 part two will be out sometime within the next week, comment if you want to be added to the taglist! ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

[14dayswithyou]

Hello! Hey! Hi!

I don't think I saw this question being asked before (so if it was I'm so sorry I didn't see it 😔) but is there anything that can get [REDACTED] flustered?

And if so my I have a silly little fic abt it? (You don't have to indulge in my silliness if ya don't want to)

OH AND I LOVE YOUR GAME SM RENREN IS SUPER CUTE THANK YOU FOR MAKING 14DWY ILY/P 🔥🔥🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

✦゜ANSWERED: Every time Ren got flustered in the demo was a genuine reaction!! Angel could literally comment on his shoes looking nice and he'll become a blushing mess.

Like... Why was Angel looking at his feet? Do they like his style? He did buy those shoes specifically with Angel in mind... Did they notice? Do they want a pair as well? Do they want to match? Does Angel like him? ...Does Angel love him? Do they want to get married within the next ten years or one? Where would they live? What wallpaper would Angel like? Kids? One or fourteen of them?

...Wait, what if they were looking at his socks?

[nuzipilled]

One cannot define grief as a solid entity; It shifts and changes like the tide, rising and falling, waxing and waning. Its unexpectedness rips off a layer of one's life like a band-aid, and an exposed underbelly is never pretty. J is no exception.

the final chapter of requiem is finished.

[say-al0e]

Hold Tight

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18. Minors, DNI!

Summary: Aemond has long sought comfort in the arms of the madame at his lowest. Now, he has what he's so long craved; a loving wife who is happy to indulge him. Warnings: Pregnant!Reader, lactation kink, PinV, mention of Luke's death and the war, mentions of the madame, Aemond's a little soft. If you notice anything else, let me know and I'll tag it! Pairing: Aemond x pregnant, wife!Reader Word Count: 7.6k HotD Taglist | HotD Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen knew the secrets of the Red Keep better than most.

As a child, he spent his days studying history and philosophy, learning the language of his ancestors or practicing with his blade, preparing himself for the future he knew awaited him. He kept to himself, tired easily of his brother’s torment and Helaena’s bugs - her riddles - and spent much of his idle time wandering the Keep.

Aegon was bold, slipping out of the gates with a command for the guard on watch to allow him and little regard for who knew. He used his power as the King’s eldest son, as the heir to the throne in the eyes of most, and came and went as he pleased. Helaena never left the Keep without supervision - never wanted to leave at all, really. And Aemond, as always, fell somewhere in between.

Many nights, when he found himself searching for sleep that refused to come, Aemond roamed the labyrinthine passages Maegor the Cruel left behind. He learned most of them, slipping in and out of the Keep as he pleased, and found the ones that he could someday use to his advantage.

Most apartments in the Keep contained an alternate entrance - or exit, if need be - that few knew existed. The royal apartments, he found, were most likely to contain them; Aegon’s, Helaena’s, his mother’s, his, yours.

Though, their existence was a secret he had yet to reveal to anyone, including you.

For as long as he could remember, Aemond made use of the passages. It was not often that he visited the city - he’d never been fond of it, never cared for the revelry in the same way Aegon did - nor did he spend much time by the water. The Keep was his home and where he felt safest. But he slipped from his room to the field where Vhagar resided from time to time, or to the Kingswood, just for a moment of peace.

However, after his thirteenth name day - and Aegon’s insistent ‘instruction’ - Aemond found himself returning to the city more than he ever had.

The unmarked door, one he’d grown to need and hate in equal measure, was his destination. It called to him, a siren song in the dead of night, on his darkest days and it seemed as if each day had grown darker than the last. The incident with Lucerys, the bitter sting of his mother’s wrath, the whispers beginning to fill the ears of all who might hear; every bit his fault, and every bit beckoning him closer to that door.

Aemond lingered there for a few long moments, moments he dared not count, as a war raged in his mind. Seconds could have passed, even hours, as he hid in the depths of the shadows. Many and more moons had passed since he last stepped foot into the city, since he last visited this place, but the song drew him closer.

There was comfort to be found inside, one he once craved so desperately, but he now knew better.

Love, affection, eluded him for so long that he saw this place - the woman inside, the gold he paid her - as his only option, the only chance to feel what others took for granted. A gentle hand, a soft word, a kind smile; he wanted little else and knew she would give it to him. 

Inside those walls, the world ceased to exist. There would be no mention of his nephew, his brother, his wife. The woman inside would not ask, would not mention the whispers he knew she’d already heard, and would only listen to whatever he decided to share. There would be no strategy, no attempt to comfort him with words he knew she didn’t mean. Instead, she would hear him confess his gravest sins before attempting to comfort him with the warmth of her mouth around his cock, the pads of her fingers tracing the tense muscle of his shoulder when he curled into her after.

Spending the night there, in her arms - no matter how tempting - would only add to the oppressive weight already crushing his chest. It was a truth he’d come to learn now that he knew real love, true affection, a reality he’d faced.

Despite himself, the tricks his mind played, the comfort he found there had never been real. With his body curled into hers, her fingers carding through his hair and his breath shuddering as he finally allowed himself to feel, he willed it to be a true comfort. He once considered this place, her, the pinnacle of vulnerability, of safety, of comfort.

Now, he knew there was none to be found there.

There was nothing she could say, nothing she could give him, that would provide any comfort at all. The siren song had ended, faded into the din of the city surrounding him, and Aemond could hear a new call. This song was sweeter, gentler, had blown in on a strong wind and erased all other noise the moment he fell in love with you.

Though the marriage was one of convenience at first, an arrangement made by your father and Aemond’s grandsire - his hand for the full strength of your house, when the time came - it had grown into something more.

For much of his life, Aemond refused to entertain the idea that any marriage he found himself in would be one filled with love. Marriage was bound to duty, something done for the good of your house - the good of the realm, in his case - and love meant little. Most lords disliked their wives, took other women to bed at any given chance, and the wives often rejoiced as they were no longer forced to share a bed.

The most he’d ever hoped for was a wife he could tolerate.

Aemond shared little of his mother’s faith, even less of her devotion to prayer and piety, but he often found himself thanking the gods for bringing you to him.

Hidden in the Red Keep, very likely in his own bed as you’d taken to spending more nights with him than alone, he imagined you asleep beneath the soft linen. Very clearly, he could see the white of your nightgown - a beautiful, soft material he found himself clutching between calloused fingers as oft as you would allow, drifting to sleep with the feeling of it soothing his warm skin - as your head rested on his pillow in a desperate bid to surround yourself with his scent.

That image - the picture of you he now saw so clearly, stamped in place of the door he’d been staring at without really seeing - was enough to break the invisible bond that kept him cemented in place. 

Without sparing the door another glance, Aemond turned and began his retreat to the Keep.

Each step through the city was quicker than the last, eager to return to the quiet of home - the solace that awaited him in his chambers. Aemond knew the route by heart now, could find his way back with his remaining eye closed, and breathed a sigh of relief as he wound through the hidden passages that lead back to his comfort.

The moment the door settled in place, clicked shut with a soft gust of cool air, Aemond crossed the expanse of the room carefully. His footsteps were light, a barely there sound in the quiet of the room, and he was glad for his caution as he perched on the arm of a chair. His gaze fell to the bed he’d grown so used to sleeping alone in and he felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth at the sight of another body making itself at home, directly in the middle of the mattress.

Just as he’d expected, you rested there comfortably. The white of your nightgown stood in stark contrast to the deep green of his sheets, a bright spot in the otherwise dim tapestry of his room - his life. 

Aemond sat there for a few long moments, time beginning to slow as he drank in the sight of you. The Keep was quiet, save for the odd shuffle of guards or servants, and he could hear the soft sound of your breathing as you shifted. 

Though you rested near the center of his bed, your head on his pillow and your hand outstretched - reaching for him, despite his absence - your brows furrowed with a discomfort he’d never seen. Beneath the soft bedding, he could see the curve of your body, resting on your side, and the shift of your hand as it lifted to cradle your stomach. The motion set him on edge, drew a sharp breath from him, and earned a fluttering of your lashes as some semblance of wakefulness returned to you.

“Aemond?” you questioned, voice still so soft despite the sleep clinging to you. 

“Mm.” He hummed, voice equally soft in the dim light of the room - the lone candle you’d left burning, a beacon for him to find his way in the dark. There was little doubt where your thoughts had begun to drift, the questions you wanted to ask; where he’d gone, how he felt, what came next? But he could not yet describe his feelings in words.

Before you could so much as part your lips, he sighed. “I went to see about Vhagar.” The lie slipped from his lips easily, believable enough, and his eye fluttered shut in a sort of relief - or, perhaps, shame, guilt - when you made a sympathetic noise. “I did not mean to wake you.”

As he stood, fingers beginning to work at the buttons of his doublet, you hummed. “’Twas not you,” you informed him, a sigh of your own escaping as you sat up against the headboard. “Your babe is restless and will not allow me to find comfort.” Aemond watched for a moment, keen eye following every move you made, as your hand returned to your growing belly. 

The babe you carried was now very visible, obvious to all who spared you a glance, and the sight was one that enraptured him and terrified him in equal measure. Aemond was a proud man, one who was eager to carry on the Targaryen line, but his family was not one of love. There was no comfort, no happiness, to be found in the Keep - none to be found in the arms of his mother, certainly not his father - and he often feared the same fate awaited his own children. But the soft smile that curved the plush of your lips each time you rested your hand on the swell of your belly and the delighted laughter you breathed each time one of Helaena’s babes brought you into their playtime served as another light, shining in the dark; a spot of hope that, perhaps, his children may know a love he never had.

Aemond’s eye finally lifted to yours, met your concerned glance with an even one of his own after a beat of silence that stretched on almost too long, before he shook his head. “My babe? I seem to recall that we both had a hand in his creation,” he reminded you, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he removed his breeches and stood in nothing but his small clothes.

“Mm, perhaps,” you hummed, though the glimmer in your eyes told him you remembered very well. “But her nocturnal nature is solely your own. At this hour, she is yours and yours alone,” you teased, smiling softly as he padded across the stone floor to make his way to bed.

“Still insistent our first babe will be a girl?”

“A mother knows,” you hummed, watching as he slipped into bed beside you. His violet eye raked over your form, still so easily visible in the dim light of the room, and you bit back a sigh as you reached for him. “Come here.”

With little coaxing, Aemond shifted closer to you. The shift of his body was easy, almost as natural as breathing now, and you hummed in encouragement as you pushed away the bedding to allow his head to settle on your plush thighs. His favored position was resting with his head on your chest, face tipped to the crook of your neck, but the swell of your belly and the sensitivity in your breasts left you both with little choice but to find an alternative.

The beat of his heart began to slow when your hand fell from your belly to his hair, fingers softly carding through the silver strands - now free of the tie he kept in it and the lace of his eyepatch. “What happened, my love?”

Silence settled thick over the room and he knew that you weren’t asking where he’d gone. Though you worried, his disappearance was of little concern to you in that moment. The truth would out eventually, he would admit his shame sooner rather than late - as he so often seemed to with you - but this question afforded him a bit more time.

This question was the one he dreaded, the one that truly meant; what happened that night with Lucerys?

“I sincerely regret that business with Luke,” he admitted, voice a whisper in the still of the room. “I… I was angry, but I only meant to scare him. I did not mean to end his life. But Vhagar, my temper; I lost control.” The confession, whispered to you in the only place he’d ever known true safety, felt like a weight off his chest. It left behind a crater, a chasm that he knew would be difficult to fill, but sharing the secret with you made it easier for him to draw his breath. It escaped as a soft sigh, a puff of air blown across your thighs - now exposed, fabric of your nightgown pushed out of the way to allow his own hand to fall to the plush of your thigh. “Aegon is shortsighted. He wishes to throw feasts, to celebrate bloodshed. Mother is angry because she knows what must come next. Peace is no longer an option.”

Aemond’s confession lingered in the air for a long moment. It reverberated in his ears, rang like the bells that tolled on the day of his father’s death, but you calmed the noise with a quiet sigh.

“I don’t believe peace was ever an option,” you confessed, carefully brushing silver strands away from his sapphire eye. “This war started long ago, before you or Aegon or Rhaenyra were even a thought. It will be convenient, for some, to blame you and Vhagar, but this began before you took the sky together. And someday, there will be none who remember what started it or why it was fought. History will only remember the bloodshed that we must now bear the brunt of.”

No response came to him, lost in the thoughts that swept through his mind like a raging storm, but he knew you didn’t expect one. The words were meant to be a balm, soothing the soul he bared only for you, and he took them as such as he allowed his eye to fall closed.

There was something to be said of routine, then, as you followed the familiar dance that started months ago. 

Silence lingered for a beat, long enough for his breathing to even and your own to grow deeper - always so shallow now, he noticed, almost labored as your stomach grew ever rounder - before you spoke again.

“I spent the day with the twins,” you informed him, fingers still softly working through the strands of his hair. “Helaena wanted to take Dreamfyre out so I sat with them and we watched her fly. I think Jaehaerys will love being a dragonrider, like Helaena, but it seems Jaehaera has no interest.”

“And Maelor?” 

Aemond’s question was reflexive, asked without thought, but you took a moment to consider it. “Too young to tell,” you decided, allowing your hand to drift to his cheek and brush the sharp line of his jaw. “He has no reaction to the stink of dragon, unlike his sister, but he may, later on. Aegon wishes to take him flying on Sunfyre but Helaena has forbidden it.” Another moment of quiet, then, before you hummed once more. “Has an egg been chosen for our babe’s cradle? Or do you wish our daughter to be like her father and claim a fearsome old beast?”

The reminder of the babe you swelled with drew a shuddering breath from him as Aemond struggled to keep the grasp he held on your thigh light. “Our son will have an egg,” he promised, “but they do not always hatch. He might try for one of the unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone. Vermithor is nearly as fearsome as Vhagar, nearly as old.”

‘If we can pry Dragonstone from Rhaenyra’s hands,’ went unsaid, though you both allowed the thought to cross your minds.

That thought did not linger, however, as you allowed your hand to drift from his cheek to his shoulder. Soft fingers caressed his skin, warm and strong, and Aemond relaxed into your touch. “How can I help you, my love? I mislike seeing you this way.”

More often than not these days, Aemond found himself here. Many and more nights had been spent curled into the curve of your body, his head resting against your skin as you stroked his hair and spoke softly to him, but they seemed to grow more frequent. Aemond knew that you were observant, that you’d realized he seemed to need your embrace more and more with each passing day, but even he could not articulate why.

Perhaps the weight of his inheritance had finally caught up to him. Or, perhaps it was the knowledge of all he’d done in preparation for his brother’s reign. He even considered it was the possibility that he found himself desiring his brother’s crown, the one Aegon had no desire for.

In truth, he knew that it was you.

The moment you joined hands, the moment you became his wife, Aemond began to feel the walls he’d spent so long building crumble around him. You chipped away at the slowly, almost imperceptibly, but they toppled all the same.

With every moment spent together, with every word of affection you shared or every soft brush of your fingertips across his skin, Aemond felt his world shifting.

Everything he’d ever considered important remained, still mired in the golden glory of his inheritance, only you now loomed over it all. All with the babe you now carried, his babe, alongside you.

“You are with child,” he whispered, shifting to lie on his back and glance up at you.

���I hadn’t noticed,” you returned, drily. When he fixed you with a look, violet eye unamused, you sighed. “I am with child,” you agreed, free hand falling to your belly as you stroked his hair once more. “Our child. That is what we wanted, is it not?”

“It is.” That was always the plan; get married, have children, carry on the Targaryen legacy. Only, the plan had never included losing his eye and spilling the first blood that began a war - killing a child, a nephew.

Aemond could not bring himself to say those words aloud, however, as your fingers carefully carded through his hair, he knew that you understood. There was a fear you both shared, one that had grown heavier since the incident with Lucerys, but he dared not speak it and neither did you. Losing a babe was something that frightened you both - him, nearly as much as losing you in the process - but he willed himself to push that concern to the back of his mind.

Instead, he searched desperately for a thought more pleasant.

Initially, when your betrothal was announced and preparations began for the wedding, he heard murmurs of those who pitied you. It was a shame, they all said, that such a pretty maiden - known for her kindness, her beauty, her wit - would be married to someone like him. He was, after all, noted for his sullen silence and impassive expression.

Everyone wondered how you might fare, locked away in the Keep as your husband-to-be rarely ventured outside its walls, just as Aemond wondered how he might tolerate a highborn lady who doubtlessly believed the whispers.

Those whispers had proven false - just as you’d proven that you never believed any of them.

Love, a curious thing he never hoped to find, bloomed between the two of you. It was not instant, as he learned you had hoped, but slow and cautious. Trust took time, vulnerability even more, but they came, eventually. And with them came a relationship that seemed to stun the whole of the realm into silence.

The pair of you were evenly matched: both highborn, well-educated and eager to continue learning; both fond of the quiet, though you had a natural charm and ability to pretend to enjoy banal chatter that he did not possess; both desperate for a love, a comfort, that you never found at home. There were many similarities, and more differences, but the love that bloomed brought you both a happiness you never knew possible.

And now, as you grew round with the evidence of your love, he discovered another feeling he never thought possible.

Aemond always found you beautiful - he agreed with the whispers of court, that you were much too beautiful to be chained to him for the rest of your life - and he spent the first few weeks of your courtship attempting to ignore his baser urges. There would be time enough for him to indulge in you, for him to see you as no other had ever seen you, but a desperate need for you began to take root then and had yet to release him from its iron grasp.

With every day that passed, Aemond wanted you even more.

Aegon often spoke of the joys of sex, the great pleasure he found in the Streets of Silk, and Aemond never quite believed him. The little experience he had - courtesy of his brother’s goading and gold coin - proved Aegon a liar. However, when Aemond found himself settled between your thighs, he finally believed his brother.

Now, there was little that settled him - anchored him to the moment and cleared his mind of all the noise - quite like losing himself in the throes of pleasure with you.

Since you began to swell with his child, your belly growing round and your tits beginning to spill from your gowns, Aemond found himself even more drawn to you - a feat he hadn’t believed possible. There was something so alluring about the sight of you, wandering the Keep dressed in the color of his house and bearing the most obvious sign that you were his, that it had begun growing maddening.

Luckily, you seemed to be just as desperate for him as he was for you.

The maesters assured you both that there was no harm to be done in satiating your urges and, though he was hesitant in the beginning, soon trusted they spoke nothing but the truth. Now, as he found himself eager for comfort - soft words, loving touches - he allowed himself to seek it in your embrace.

“Are you tired, ābrazyrys?” His question was soft, spoken into the silence that settled easily around you, and met with your hum.

“No.” It was a lie, he knew - could tell by the way your lashes fluttered and your fingers slowly brushed at his skin, the way your lips parted with badly concealed yawns - but you would not be swayed from allowing him whatever he wanted. “I’m here, my love,” you assured him, thumb caressing his cheek. “Take what you need.”

Aemond knew that your body was beginning to grow weary - he’d heard your whispered complaints to Helaena; how your back ached constantly, how your body felt heavier with every step, how even your softest gowns felt too rough on your sensitive skin - and nearly refused you as he had no desire to cause you pain. But the warmth of arousal had already entered his blood, burned beneath his skin, and the shift of your thighs beneath his head indicated that you felt it, too.

Rather than backing away, Aemond moved to sit up and crowded closer to you.

“Gevie,” he whispered, violet eye raking over your face as he lifted his hand to cup your cheek. “Issa gevie ābrazyrys.” Aemond pressed his mouth to yours, then, and you swore you felt his lips curve into a soft smile as you leaned into him.

Aemond had softened some, over the course of your marriage. Though he remained himself, steadfast and strong in who he had become, the edges grew a little more polished. His touch was gentler, his words softer, his kiss less rushed, and you appreciated the effort he’d taken as he tipped his head to deepen the kiss. His hand descended, brushed the soft material of your nightgown as his tongue traced the seam of your lips, and you released a contented sigh.

The large expanse of his hand fell to your ribcage, just beneath the swell of your breast, and though you knew it was coming, you still gasped as his thumb brushed a sensitive nipple.

“I’m alright,” you assured him, the moment he broke the kiss - before he could ask. Your hand lifted to his cheek, thumb brushing his warm skin as you offered him a smile. “Sensitive, is all. The maesters told me it’s normal,” you explained, watching as his gaze fell to your breasts. “They… they also said stimulation may help,” you continued, fingers returning to his hair as his violet eye returned to meet yours.

“Stimulation?”

Aemond knew he hadn’t been subtle in the attention he paid your swelling breasts, in the way his gaze fell to them every time he found you bare between his sheets, but his skin burned with an embarrassed warmth and an overwhelming lust as he realized what you were offering.

“Mm,” you hummed, not bothering to hide your actions as you lifted the skirt of your nightgown higher up your thighs. “I tried, with my fingers, the way they instructed to no avail. Perhaps you have another idea, my love?”

For a brief moment, Aemond felt his head begin to swim. His thoughts muddled, each one making less sense than the last, but they all seemed to lead in the same direction. It was a desire he’d never dared speak aloud, one he barely allowed himself to consider, but the rounder you grew with his seed - the heavier your breasts grew - the harder it became for him to forget. 

Most nights, Aemond spent his time wrapped in your embrace. He enjoyed exploring your skin, mapping the soft expanse of your body with his hands and mouth, and had committed it all to memory. His words sometimes failed him, never quite capturing just how much you meant to him - just how deeply he loved you - but his touch never did. With a flick of his tongue or a brush of his fingers, with a snap of his hips or a soft press of his hand, he continued to find new ways to express himself. And when he’d gotten his fill of you, of hearing you cry his name and watching your body writhe with an exquisite pleasure only he could provide, he filled you with his seed before sometimes settling at your breast.

While he once feared you might find the act strange, that it might repulse you, you were eager to take him as he was. Any act that offered him comfort was one you allowed and the few times he curled into you, flushed body pressed to yours and mouth pressed to your breast, he felt nothing but your love.

As he swallowed, hesitant, you offered him a smile. “You will not harm me or the babe, my love,” you assured him, fingers caressing his jaw as they began to drift lower. “If anything, you will be helping me.” When he frowned, uncertain - disbelieving - you hummed. “Feel,” you instructed, reaching to guide the hand on your rib cage to your breast. It was engorged, heavy and warm in his palm, and you sighed as his thumb mindlessly brushed the nipple once more. “When the babe is born, she will have a nursemaid and I will be left with swollen, leaking tits.”

Aemond acted without thought in that moment and allowed himself to take what you offered so freely. His hands lifted to the straps of your thin nightgown and brushed them off your shoulders, giving him an opportunity to free you from the confines of the fabric.

Pregnancy had changed your body, in a way that terrified him at first - something so delicate now rested within you, a life he helped create - but now drove him to the brink of madness.

A searing warmth, all encompassing and hotter than any dragon fire, enveloped him. And a single glance at your face proved that you did, too. You felt the heat of him, the warmth of his palms - of his heavy gaze, his lithe body - and feared you were only moments from begging him to act when he took mercy on you. The gift you offered, the act you so willingly encouraged him to indulge in, was one he would never refuse.

His touch had never been exceedingly gentle, nor was it particularly hesitant. Aemond was a man assured, confident. There were moments he could be tender, even teasing, but none compared to the moment at hand.

The press of his hands to your sides, just beneath your rib cage, was soft. It was a featherlight pressure, one you feared you might not have felt were it not for the overwhelming sensitivity of your skin, and you sighed contentedly as your hand returned to the silver strands of his hair.

Slowly, and with a caution you’d never before seen in your husband, Aemond’s hands lifted. 

Aemond was almost tentative, careful, in the way he touched you. His violet eye remained fixed on your face - watching, waiting for any hint of discomfort - and you offered him an encouraging smile as you leaned into his touch. “I am not fragile,” you reminded him, a small grin forming at the words he’d once used to declare his surprise at your steadfastness, your unwavering strength. “I will not break.”

A moment passed, in which you watched your husband gather himself, before his hands lifted to your breasts. He seemed to marvel at the weight of them, the warmth of your skin - usually so cool in the depths of his chambers - and hummed.

As he leaned in, gaze finally dipping to your breasts, you expected him to press his mouth to your skin - bury his face in the crook of your neck, press his lips to your collarbone and work his way down - but you were surprised when he tipped his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. Though he never left you wanting, never left you doubting his desire for you, this kiss stole your breath.

The kiss was unlike any other; fierce, passionate. It fanned the flames of desire already burning within you and turned it into an uncontrollable blaze. As eager as you always felt for his touch, the fierceness of his kiss left desperate tears pricking at the backs of your eyes.

Calloused hands - toughened by years of swordplay and dragon riding - began to explore in earnest.

Every press of his palm, every swipe of his fingers drew soft noises from your lips, cries that Aemond swallowed eagerly. He relished in them, in the noises only he managed to draw from you, and you felt the evidence of his pleasure press into your thigh.

For a moment, you wondered if he might refuse your offer. However, the thought disappeared with a swipe of his thumb over the sensitive skin of your nipple.

Aemond allowed you to break the kiss, lips parting in a sharp gasp, and wasted little time in pressing his mouth to the curve of your jaw. There seemed to be little hurry in his actions, the way he nipped and kissed the soft skin of your throat, but you could feel the tension in his corded muscles as he crowded into you. He seemed to be nearly vibrating with desire, a tremble that made you lightheaded - an awe that you could produce such a reaction in such a man - and you struggled to catch your breath as he began to descend.

There was a brief worry - a split second thought that never fully formed - that he might avoid your eye in the way he had the very first time, when there was no babe and no real reason to suckle at your breast. However, it was quickly driven away as your husband’s violet eye lifted to meet yours.

Soft kisses were pressed to your skin, across the tops of your breasts and between them - violet eye fluttering as he paused only to marvel at the newfound heat emanating from your skin.

“The maesters told me I would remain warm until the babe is here. They jest it is because I carry the blood of the dragon,” you informed him, hand falling to the back of his head to cradle him close. “I’m not sure I mind. But, tell me, husband; what do you think?”

Though your husband had always been a man of few words, he seemed lost in his own thoughts. The words you spoke meant little to him, it seemed, as he found himself capable of only a simple reply. “I shall keep you warm and full,” he promised.

Already, he could see you swollen with his seed - with the blood of the dragon - again and again. He would see you round with his babe as many times as you would allow and you could see the promise in his eye as he glanced up at you. “Perhaps it is good there will be a nursemaid, then,” you hummed, unable to bite back your grin as Aemond’s mouth pressed just beneath your breast. “So you may spend as much time at my breast as you’d like.”

In the moment, the present mattered little. All that had come to pass ceased to exist and all that might come felt good, sweet. In reality, the future seemed bleak, but in the moment, there was a future. And all either of you wanted was to pretend.

Without sparing another moment, Aemond’s lips wrapped around the sensitive nipple.

The warmth of his mouth, the swirl of his tongue, was cautious at first - desperate to keep from hurting you, to keep from causing any pain - and you hummed contentedly as his eye fluttered shut. Your fingers carded through his hair, touch as delicate as his own, as your free hand fell to his chest.

Aemond’s heart thrummed beneath your fingertips, the beat of it as erratic as you’d ever felt it, and you felt your own beat in time with his. 

No part of you ever imagined you would find yourself here - in bed with your dragon rider, the fierce swordsman and Targaryen prince, suckling at your breast - but there was no dismay in it. The pair of you were two halves of a whole: him, desperate to be wanted, needed, loved; you, desperate to love, to want, to need. There was a balance, an equal give and take, that saw you both offering the other what they desired freely. You understood one another in a way no one ever had and you were grateful for that understanding as Aemond attempted to crowd closer.

“My sweet love,” you whispered, fingers brushing the silver strands from his cheek. “This is what we both needed,” you assured him, voice a quiet lilt in the dim of his chambers. “Feels so much better.”

A pleased hum - proud, soothed by your praise - escaped your husband as his free hand returned to your thigh. His fingers pressed into the plush skin, anchoring himself to you, and you sighed at the touch. His hand was so close to where you wanted him and you asked without sparing it a second thought.

“Aemond,” you whispered, hand reaching for his - fingers clasping around his wrist and dragging it higher. “Touch me, please. Need you.”

Calloused fingers slipped between your thighs, lips curving into a smile at how readily you parted for him. His touch paused only for a moment, as did the gentle pull of his lips at your breast, as he seemed to realize the state you were in.

Slick pooled between your thighs and Aemond readily gave you what you wanted. His fingers swiped through your arousal, gathering your slick, before his thumb found the all-too sensitive bundle of nerves. 

The wet slip of his fingers was self-assured, an action he’d taken a thousand times before, and it seemed as if he knew your own body better than you did. Heat pooled in the pit of your stomach, filled your veins and blazed up your spine, as he rolled the numb beneath his thumb for a moment before abandoning it to press his fingers to your slick opening.

“You enjoy this,” he accused, finally allowing his violet eye to open as he released your nipple and urged you to turn so he could reach the other. “As much as I do,” he continued, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I do,” you promised, sigh escaping your lips as you felt his long fingers press into you - curling, parting, manipulating in the way only he knew. “I have never turned you away,” you reminded him, words ending in a breathless moan. “If you are as depraved as you imagine yourself, then consider me your equal.”

Aemond seemed pleased by your assertion, proud to have found a wife who not only indulged him, but understood him. And you were pleased, as he returned his mouth to your aching breast, that he trusted you enough to allow you this glimpse. 

The press of his mouth to your breast was growing ever eager, desperate for whatever you could give him - and, as it turned out, was not much yet, though you knew he would patiently await the day it would be more. It was soothing, almost, in a way that eased the ache you’d begun growing weary of, and you parted your lips to thank him for it the moment his thumb pressed to your aching clit.

A keening moan escaped, a noise that might’ve brought an embarrassed heat to your skin in the beginning of your marriage, but such noises were familiar now and your husband reveled in them.

Some small part of you wondered if he meant to have you both finish this way, him with his mouth pressed to your breast and you with his fingers curling into your heat. Only, he gave you little time to wonder as he lifted his head to glance at you fully.

“I know your body aches,” he hummed, press of his fingers slowing - thumb stilling on your clit, earning a displeased whine. “Do you think you can take my cock, my love? I have no desire to cause you discomfort.”

“You will,” you huffed, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging - just slightly, “if you do not fuck me.”

Aemond laughed, then, a sound you imagined few others had ever heard, before pulling away from you. You whined at the loss of his touch, the emptiness that filled you and the cool that suddenly chilled you, before your attention was stolen. His lips wrapped around his fingers, capturing the taste of you on his tongue, and you swallowed hard to keep from lunging at him as he settled against the headboard himself.

“Come here,” he beckons, hand already reaching for you hip and hauling you onto his lap. “So fucking perfect.”

Before the babe, before your stomach began to swell, this was a rarity. Aemond preferred you beneath him, pressed into his mattress as he left you seeing stars, but he’d admitted he could see the beauty of the position you now found yourselves in.

As expected, the moment you settled atop him, his gaze returned to your breasts. “One may think you’d never seen tits before,” you teased, not bothering to hide your grin as Aemond rolled his eye. “I jest, my love,” you hummed, reaching out for him - encouraging him to return his mouth to your breast. “It helped,” you assured him. “They no longer ache as they did when I woke. Thank you.”

Aemond lifted a hand to the back of your neck, then, and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss. The kiss was more familiar, something you’d grown to expect - grown to love - and you felt yourself melting into it as he crowded you closer.

The swell of your belly made it difficult to press your body as close to his as you would’ve liked, as close as he would’ve liked - in the privacy of his chambers, beneath the sheets of his bed, Aemond liked you a close as he could have you - but it was enough. His hands explored your warm skin, slick beneath his fingers and no longer aching in the way you’d complained earlier, and you relaxed into his touch as his hand slipped between your spread thighs once more.

Though you expected his fingers to return to your center, Aemond’s hand fell to his cock. You breathed something akin to a sigh of relief as you felt the tip glide through your slick folds, catching on your aching clit and drawing another keening moan that he eagerly swallowed.

The head of his cock nudged your slick opening, nestled there as you rested on your knees, before he lifted his hand to your hip and pulled you down.

A familiar stretch, a familiar warmth, captured the whole of your attention as you sank down onto Aemond’s cock.

Every pulse of him, every twitch of his cock - every ridge, every vein - was heightened by your sensitivity and your eyes nearly rolled back as you sank onto him fully. He filled you wonderfully, perfectly, and reveled in you saying so. Only, he barely allowed you a moment at all to speak before his mouth returned to your breasts.

Each sensation was overwhelming in its own right, every touch more consuming than the last, but the combination of it all had you seeing stars.

The warmth of Aemond’s body pressed to yours, the way his muscles clenched as he rocked his hips up to meet yours, the insistent press of his hand - fingers dimpling your skin as he held you tight - was all magnified by the warmth of his lips pressed to your breast. Even as his hips snapped, pressing his cock in deeper, the press of his mouth remained soft.

Aemond was careful to keep from hurting you, despite his desire to devour you - clear in the lust darkening his violet eye - and you lifted a grateful and to his cheek.

“Feels so good,” you breathed, gaze meeting his. “You make me feel so good, my love.”

The praise he craved, the words he desperately needed to hear but would never ask for, earned you a sharp snap of his hips - driving him deeper, pressing you closer - and you gasped as his teeth carefully nipped at your sensitive nipple. He’d already taken what little your body had produced, would need to wait a little longer for more, but that did nothing to stop him from continuing to suckle at the soft skin as his thumb fell to your clit.

As he so often tried, your husband pressed you on to your pleasure first. His fingers, his mouth, his cock; all working together in an eager attempt to earn your blissful cries. That sharp violet eye watched your face, watched your lips part and your lashes flutter, and you could see the pride in his gaze as you began to quiver in his grasp.

When your release washed over you, heavy and so desperately needed, Aemond allowed himself to let go. He chased his own high for a moment, sinking into the pleasure of you - of your slick cunt, of your swollen breasts.

With a muffled noise, Aemond spilled into you - his spend filling you with a warmth you swore you would never tire of. It was accompanied by a soft gasp, a quiet noise that you wouldn’t have heard over your own heartbeat had you not been paying him such close attention, and you reached for his cheek with a soft smile.

Aemond easily lifted his head, his mouth meeting yours, and gave you the kiss you wanted. It was an assurance for you both, a gesture meant to calm - to serve as a reminder that you were bound, one - and ended with his forehead pressed to yours.

“All of this,” you whispered, the pair of you still struggling to catch your breath, “will end and we will carry on. And when our duty is done, we will be free to live our lives as we wish. You did not start this war, but you will finish it.”

“I will,” he promised, violet eye glimmering with an unscheduled tear as his hand fell to your swollen belly.

It was a promise he couldn’t make in good faith, nor one he could reasonably be expected to keep, but it was enough for the moment. The idea that this is what awaited him - this life, you - made him desperate. He wanted nothing more than to carry on, than to spend the rest of his life right here, and he would do anything in his power to make it happen.

And, if he could not spend the rest of his life here, he would perish in the pursuit.

____________________________________________________

Author's Note: Aemond just. Captivates me. How am I supposed to survive two years without more content?

Taglist: @anaya-rhys, @holypeacecrown, @marvelously-flawed, @travelingmypassion, @letsgotothehop, @reynacrawford, @liannafae, @ffsg0jo

[tinseltownie]

He said yes!!!

[jimxnslight]

Fool's Gold || Part II

Summary: Sweet Y/N, with her fluffy pastel dresses, soft makeup, and ditzy mannerisms. She’s seen as a fool in a world where there is no place for such things, but little do they know, the only fools are them.

Pairing: mafia leader!Jungkook x mafia leader's daughter!reader

Genre: mafia au, arranged marriage au

Word Count: 10.2k

Warnings: most warnings associated with mafia fics (e.g. gun/physical violence, blood, dead bodies, etc), very vague indication of past sexual assault, additional warnings might be added as the story progresses

A/N: thank you guys so much for all the love you gave the first part, it means so much to me 🥺 Hope you enjoy this chapter too (Y/N and Jungkook bicker for like half of it 💀)

<< previous part || masterlist || next part >>

It was supposed to be simple. 

You kill Jungkook, breaking up the alliance between the Lees and the Jeons, blame his murder on a rival mafia, and then be on your merry way back to your father’s home before you could be caught up in the chaos you’d have started. Sure it hadn’t been the most complex of plans you’ve come up with, you hardly had the time to map out a plan like that anyway, but sometimes simple was all one needed. 

Unfortunately, this had clearly not been one of those times. 

The problem was Jungkook. Your first husband had been an idiot and completely fooled by your featherbrained facade, so much so that even after you’d stolen the gun from his waistband and shot him twice in the chest he’d stared at you like you’d grown two heads. He just couldn’t comprehend the fact that a seemingly frivolous girl could have the courage to pull the trigger. Even after what he’d tried to do to you. After he almost-

You felt a shudder sweep across your spine.

But Jungkook was different. He had been assessing you the second you appeared before him during the wedding ceremony and, even though he had seemed to take in your carefully crafted performance, his gaze still refused to complete its assessment. At first you thought it was just lust -most men in the mafia couldn’t seem to be rid of that tenacious emotion- however, the lack of sexual initiation on his part despite being alone together in his room made you realise that perhaps Jungkook was a lot less like the mafia leaders you had grown up with than you realised. 

For one, he was scarily observant, and it was this skill that had ultimately led to the downfall of your assassination attempt. 

A huff escaped your lips at the thought, your hands continuing to expertly manoeuvre two pins inside the lock of the door you were currently crouched in front of. You had stayed sat on Jungkook’s bed the entire night, too wary to even attempt sleeping in the bedroom that was entirely unfamiliar to you. You half expected Jungkook to sneak into the room while you were out cold and enact a fitting revenge; you’d be unable to even blame him, you’d tried to kill the man after all. But Jungkook hadn’t left the mystery room all night, only emerging once the clock had struck 7 in the morning to wordlessly grab a black coat from the top of his dresser and disappear behind the front door with nothing but a single, hasty glance in your direction. 

Your brow had raised as you watched him get into his black car and drive off through the window, wondering how he could just leave you unattended in his home after the threat you had dropped near the end of your conversation earlier. Sure he probably had people monitoring his house at all times, but there was still a lot you could get done in front of people that wouldn’t suspect the girl with fluffy dresses and doe eyes to be much of a threat. 

Luckily for him though, you were beyond tired, and that meant that his absence was just a window of opportunity to get some actual rest without the constant fear of his retaliation keeping you awake. So following a long yawn, you had naturally felt yourself drift towards the bed, eyeing the soft duvet and fluffy pillows sleepily. But then, before you could lose yourself to the comfort of his mattress, your curious gaze had slowly wandered to the door Jungkook had disappeared behind last night and, next thing you knew, you were crouched in front of its gold lock and jabbing two pins into its keyhole. 

Your focus snapped back to the door before you as a familiar click sounded from the lock, causing it to swing open just a few centimetres. You pocketed the two pins, muttering a small “finally...” while your fingers wrapped around the gold handle. But before you could push it open, the muffled sound of an object dropping suddenly startled you. You whirled around, eyes immediately scanning the bedroom with intense precision as your hand grabbed the closest thing to you: a vase. Had someone managed to get into the room without you knowing? Perhaps you weren’t as observant as Jungkook seemed to be, but you’ve never been so absentminded that you could’ve been this caught off guard-

“Oh my god,” you gasped abruptly, a recollection surfacing as you quickly placed the vase back on the bedside table and scurried over to the closet. You couldn’t believe you had forgotten something so important… She must have been waiting in there the entire night.

You hastily threw open the closet door, gaze scanning the space until it finally fell on a small shadow peeking from behind the white and fawn island. The black shadow stood still for a moment, as if identifying the intruder, before the familiar cat sauntered out of the small space, black fur gleaming under the light. She looked up at you with an expression that eerily resembled a scowl. 

“Hi Persilla,” you cooed, crouching down to run a hand apologetically through the creature’s fur. Persilla evaded it at first, almost punishing you for forgetting her in the small, dark walk-in closet for the entire night, but eventually she gave in, purring as she brushed her soft tail against your still bare legs. While you could understand being stuck in a place like that for hours might’ve been slightly uncomfortable, she really had no right to act like that after how damn hard it had been to have her smuggled into Jungkook’s house without alerting anyone. It had been a huge risk, one that you might have a little trouble justifying, but you swear there was just something calming about her presence and you needed that desperately, especially in such a foreign place. 

“I failed to kill him,” you frowned, watching as Persilla’s feline eyes raised to watch you, “which means we’re going to have to stay here a little longer than I thought.”

You pulled yourself from the floor, shifting your focus back to Jungkook’s mystery room as you felt a pang of irritation hit you. You needed Jungkook dead, the delay in his death getting in the way of everything you’ve been working towards. Yet here you were now, stuck in the house you thought you wouldn’t be spending more than a night in. 

You cautiously walked over to the door you’d lock picked earlier, taking special care not to step on Persilla as she skittered between your feet, before grabbing the handle and pushing it open. The room turned out to be a seemingly simple office, which you found unsurprising for the most part. There was a wall full of books on one side, a glass cabinet of liquor wedged between its centre, while another wall was made up entirely of glass that showed off an enormous portion of Jungkook’s estate. It was the large desk to your right that really caught your attention, the sight of a map sprawled over its smooth surface particularly piquing your interest. 

You walked towards the glass cabinet first, pulling out a crystal glass and a bottle of whiskey to pour yourself a drink, before you walked over to the desk and glanced at the map curiously. Persilla jumped onto the surface, circling the piece of paper like a predator surveying its prey. 

“It’s a map of the North,” you noted, taking a sip of the drink in your hand momentarily as you recognised the illustration instantly. You’d spend months studying a similar map back home before marrying Jungkook after all.

Handmade lines ran throughout the northern portion of the country, separating the territories run by different mafia leaders. You recognised Jungkook’s territory first, one of the bigger ones in the region, while Taehyung’s was right next to his, both of which were detailed with the locations of different landmarks: docks, hotels, residential areas, etc. You noticed that the other territories hadn’t been labelled like that, with the territory above Jungkook’s labelled “Park Territory” simply containing one or two locations and the territory labelled “Min Territory” containing no locations. There was a region above those two territories that hadn’t even been labelled at all, similar to your own map of the North back at home. 

“Aside from Taehyung’s territory, Jungkook doesn’t seem to know much about the northern region. I guess we’re similar in that aspect,” you muttered, speaking to Persilla as if you were giving her a report of the current situation. She turned towards you, tilting her head for a moment before she nudged the corner of the paper with her paw. You narrowed your gaze at the action, deciding to flip the paper. To your surprise there was another map, this time illustrating the southern portion of the country; the one where your father’s territory, the Lees, was situated and where you’d grown up your entire life. 

You smiled at Persilla, scratching under her chin while she purred in delight at the attention. What would you do without her?

It was surprising to see this map so much more detailed than the first, you thought, taking another sip of the whiskey in your hand. While Taehyung’s territory had been the only one littered with details in the northern region, all the territories in the South were full of details upon details. You could make out each one labelled with its respective mafia leader, a number of important locations, and even predictions about possible actions each leader might take in the future, all of which you could confirm to be highly accurate.

You flipped the map back to how it had been initially, gaze raising to move onto scanning the rest of the room while Persilla dropped to the floor quietly.

“How could Jungkook know so little about the northern region, yet so much about the South?” You thought out loud, tracking Persilla’s movements as she began pacing around the room. He was clearly great at collecting intel, the amount of information he had on the southern region was evidence of that, yet the North, his own region, was practically blank aside from Taehyung’s territory. Having grown up in the southern region yourself, you knew it better than the back of your hand. So if Jungkook had grown up in the North, how could he know so little about it? Was there some kind of history between the mafias in the North? 

Like your thoughts, you began absentmindedly drifting towards the enormous bookshelf, fingers brushing against the hardcover spines. 

If there really was history between the northern mafias, then knowing that history could be useful. Once you killed Jungkook and blamed his death on Park Jimin, there would be war between the Jeons and the Parks, and since the Kims and Mins are allied with the Jeons and Parks, respectively, it would be a full on war of the North. It’s that kind of instability you were aiming for, but knowing the more personal history of the northern mafias might help you create further tensions between the alliances, making things even more unstable. It would be perfect; the messier the better. That’s what your ultimate plan called for. That’s how you’ll finally-

You suddenly came to an abrupt stop, your fingers freezing as they came in contact with a particular book. It was a hardcover, just like the others, entirely black aside from the title, which had been written in bright gold, and the off-white pages. 

Persilla was back to skittering between your ankles once again, as if sensing the change in your thoughts. Her soft, black tail brushed against your bare legs as you delicately brought out the book with both your hands, wide eyes scanning it almost in disbelief. 

The Choice of a Nation.

It was the book that had changed your life. A fictitious book about a protagonist that lived in a world of human rights, justice, and structure. A world where everyone, more or less, was defined by their achievements and hard work rather than who they were born to. 

Reality was far from that. It was an enormous country cut up into territories based on which mafia leader ruled it. It was having to grow up watching innocent people be slaughtered because of petty disputes between said mafia leaders. It was watching people from mafia families be automatically rich and educated and powerful while people born to those under their rule automatically be poor, uneducated, and stepped on again and again and again. You were taught that this way of living was normal, that it was the only way of living in this world. 

Reality was something you’ve always found difficult to come to terms with because of this, because despite being taught the normalcy of such a way of living, it never seemed right to you. You couldn’t wrap your head around the idea of people’s entire lives being dependent on who they were born to, something that wasn’t in their control. If you were born a servant, you and the rest of your generations would stay servants forever. If you were born a mafia leader, you and your future generations would stay in power forever. Your sentiments made you feel alien when you realised no one else around you seemed to share the same thoughts, so much so that you started wondering that perhaps you really were being too unrealistic. 

But then came The Choice of a Nation, a book that introduced to you concepts like governments and elections and courts. It was all entirely fiction, every term having to be explained in great detail to be understandable, but all that mattered to you was that it was doable. Having different levels of governments, having a justice system that judged everyone fairly no matter who they were, and having the people decide who they want leading them. It was realistic. 

And you’re convinced that the mafia families knew it too, because despite its fictitious nature, the book was immediately banned the second it was published, while its author had been killed just as quickly. You yourself had only gotten your hands on the book out of sheer dumb luck. Distantly you wondered how and why Jungkook had this copy. 

After that you had become dead set on making the book’s world a reality. But in order for things to go as you’ve planned, you need things to be unstable, because unstable things are weak. The South has always been like that, with mafia leaders constantly at each other’s throats. You doubt any of them even know what the word ‘alliance’ even means. It was perfect for you. 

The North, on the other hand, was a bit different. There were two alliances and the most northern region was a complete mystery to you. At first, you were stumped with how you were going to weaken the region, but then the opportunity had presented itself when your father had announced your hasty marriage to Jungkook. And once again, it was perfect. 

All you needed was Jungkook to be dead, and the rest would fall in place just like you’d planned. 

A meowing noise suddenly sounded from your feet, causing you to look down and find Persilla standing on her hind legs, her front paws brushing against your bare shins repeatedly. Her impatience was clear as day, making you smile. 

“You’re right, that’s enough snooping for today I think,” you nodded, running a hand over her small head while the other clutched the book firmly, “you deserve some expensive salmon for being such a good girl.”

As if she understood your words, Persilla dropped to the floor and purred, rubbing her furry body against your ankle. You gave the room one last look, as if expecting to find something else worth surveying, but ultimately decided you were way too tired from your all-nighter to continue on. 

-

-

-

At this point in his life, Jungkook could say with certainty that he was a pretty patient man. He wasn’t born with the trait, if anything impatience seemed to have been stitched well into his personality the second he’d entered this world. But, over time, he’d learned to get rid of the pesky trait and replace it with the much more effective and fruitful quality that was patience. 

Yet, not even all those years of cultivating the characteristic could have prepared him for how late Kim Taehyung was. 

Jungkook had been standing at the West docks, hands in the pockets of his long, black coat, since 8:00 AM in the morning, waiting almost 4 hours for his friend with furrowed brows and an unimpressed frown. He’d left the house as early as appropriately possible, partly because of your presence and partly because of the urgency in addressing the dock’s issue. Now it was almost noon and Taehyung, who’d promised to be here by 9:00 AM was still nowhere in sight. 

An annoyed sigh escaped his lips as he felt the ocean air breeze through the nearly black strands of his hair. Taehyung being late had given him more time to think about earlier this morning, when he’d shot you a glance before he was out the front door. You looked like you hadn’t slept a wink, which Jungkook could relate to, but he supposed that was for the best. You’d threatened to kill him at the end of your conversation last night, so having you sleep deprived would probably work in his favour. 

Not that you could really do anything anyway. Jungkook had made sure to set guards in every entrance to the kitchen and stripped the house of every weapon that wasn’t locked in a hefty safe. There was no way you could get your hands on any kind of gun or knife, so he was pretty confident that you couldn’t be a threat to him at the moment. Though, the memory of your fiery eyes from last night had seemed so determined…

“What are you smirking about?” Taehyung asked as he strolled along the boardwalk, making his way towards the younger man. 

Jungkook’s scowl instantly returned, causing Taehyung to raise his hands in surrender, “it took Chaewon and I a whole hour to get Suho to bed, who’s also sick by the way. Cut me some slack, man.”

“I told you guys to stay over at my place and not some hotel,” Jungkook chastised, feeling bad for the little guy. He made a note to send some sweets to their hotel room when he got back, “the maid could have helped you guys out.”

“The newlyweds deserve to have the house to themselves,” Taehyung waved him off before he smirked, “besides, I didn’t know how freaky you guys were going to get and I couldn’t risk Suho hearing, he’s way too young for that stuff.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, motioning for Taehyung to start following him. They started walking along the boardwalk, Jungkook’s hands still shoved into his coat’s pockets while Taehyung’s were covered in black leather gloves. 

“Okay,” Taehyung said, “I’m just going to ask one question, and then we’ll drop it and you can explain this whole dock’s situation to me.”

That earned him a raised brow, but the lack of the younger’s refusal spurred him on. 

“What do you think of her?”

Jungkook didn’t answer for a moment, mulling over his reply before he finally answered. 

“She’s fine.”

He didn’t know why he wasn’t telling Taehyung the truth about you, about how your entire ditzy personality was a front and about how hellbent you were on killing him to get a divorce. Maybe it was because he didn’t really see the need to. Jungkook had concluded that you were only trying to kill him because you wanted a divorce, allowing you to go back to whichever boyfriend was waiting for you back in the south. 

“Your words are saying she’s fine, but your face is saying you’re mad,” Taehyung noted with a brow raised. But Jungkook waved him off, ready to end this conversation and get onto more important business. 

“Anyways, as you know, the Parks decided to attack the West docks last week,” Jungkook began, pointing towards his left to show Taehyung the damage sustained. One of the enormous warehouses, which collectively formed a neat line leading farther than his eye could decipher, had caved into itself, its walls charred almost entirely. The two warehouses by its side seemed more salvageable, with only a wall or two affected by the evident fire that had taken place. Construction workers could already be seen surrounding the area, hard at work to replace the damaged structures. 

Taehyung nodded as he took in the scene, “an attack at the docks… they’re checking to see how strong the Jeons are at the moment.”

“They’re doing it because they want to know if they can take over our territory.”

That was the standard protocol after all. When a mafia attacks another mafia’s docks, it’s usually because they want to test how weak or strong they are and whether they can take them over or not. The fact that the Parks pulled something like this right after their alliance with the Mins was no coincidence to Jungkook. 

But to his surprise, Taehyung paused, as if mulling over Jungkook’s words. He watched Taehyung’s gaze drift over to the vast sea on their right, a contemplative look shadowing over his eyes before they flickered back to Jungkook. 

“Is that really what you think Jimin is doing?” 

“What do you mean?” Jungkook frowned, “this is the textbook procedure for taking over another territory.”

When Taehyung didn’t answer him, Jungkook placed a hand in front of his chest, blocking his path so the two could stand facing each other as they spoke.

“I’m just saying,” Taehyung finally explained, “it seems a bit out of character for him. Wasn’t he always the one that was going on about how dumb it is to want to take over other territories instead of cultivating your own?”

Jungkook scoffed, “yeah, in university, which was years ago. Jimin has changed since then.”

Taehyung’s lips formed a grim line at the animosity in his voice. 

“Look, I know you both-”

“No,” Jungkook cut him off quickly, knowing exactly where this conversation was going, “this isn’t the hatred from what happened years ago talking. Jimin has changed, and I have the evidence to prove it.”

Jungkook turned around to resume his earlier path, Taehyung walking slowly behind him as they passed by the workers sighing in relief at the cool breeze of the ocean and large ships anchored alongside the piers. In a matter of minutes, Jungkook had led him to the entrance of an enormous warehouse. Taehyung’s brows furrowed when Jungkook turned around to face him, a grim expression washing over his strong features. 

“When the Parks attacked the docks last week, I managed to prevent them from seizing control of it by bringing out some old blackmail. Obviously I didn’t think it would hold them off for long if their plan really is to take over my territory, but I didn’t expect them to retaliate so soon,” Jungkook explained, “nor did I expect them to retaliate in this way.”

He turned back to face the warehouse's door, hand wrapping around its handle, “the night before my wedding, I was called to the docks because some of the worker’s had found something in this warehouse.”

Then he turned the handle and pushed the door wide open, revealing its inside.

“This is what I found.”

It was awful. 

The entire warehouse was full of dead bodies, some thrown haphazardly on the ground while others were thrown over the equipment spanning the room. Taehyung could make out bodies of men, women, and even some children -he couldn’t look at them for too long without thinking of his own son- all of which had clearly been killed in varying ways. Some looked like they had been burned, while others looked like they’d been thrown into a blender. Being in the mafia, Taehyung was no stranger to blood and gore, but this… this was too much, even for him. 

But then his gaze caught onto a wall in the far corner of the warehouse, particularly the sight of dried blood smeared against the grey metal. He took in each stroke of red, processing each letter it had been made to resemble until he could read what had been written. 

“‘We’re coming,’” Jungkook read out loud, keeping his stoic gaze fixed on Taehyung. 

He shook his head, unable to comprehend what he was seeing, “I knew Yoongi was brutal, but I never could have expected he’d be capable of… this.”

Jungkook’s gaze drifted around the room, grimacing at the scene before him. 

“Jimin and Yoongi clearly aren’t who they used to be,” he concluded, looking towards Taehyung for confirmation. Thankfully, Taehyung nodded this time, gaze becoming hard as he agreed without protest. 

“Well, they’ve warned us that they’re coming,” he said, gesturing towards the bloody message, “what are we going to do about it?”

Jungkook motioned for Taehyung to follow him back outside, where the air didn’t smell like death and the sights didn’t make him want to crawl out of his skin. 

“I’ve scheduled a meeting with one of the unaffiliated gangs located in the West in about an hour. As long as we pay them well, they’ll do just about anything for us. Having extra manpower should tip the odds in our favour. Not to mention, I’ll make good use of the Lees.”

Taehyung nodded as he watched Jungkook close the door of the warehouse, “are you going to contact Jimin first?”

“No,” he shook his head, beginning to walk back to the parking lot alongside Taehyung, “I’ve had a headcount done and it doesn’t seem like any of the people in the warehouse were one of ours. I think the Parks were just trying to send a message to scare us.”

“I’ll get a headcount done for my people too just in case,” Taehyung said, to which Jungkook agreed. 

Once they had made it back to the parking lot, Taehyung turned to face him.

“I was thinking of heading back to my territory tonight, since I have a few things I need to take care of,” he explained, opening the door of his bright orange car before leaning against it casually, “but Chaewon wanted to have a late lunch or dinner with the bride and groom before we left. I hope you don’t mind.”

Jungkook’s interest piqued as a thought suddenly came to mind. This would be a good opportunity to assess how you and him were going to act like a couple in front of others. If the two of you failed, it would be fine since it was just Taehyung and Chaewon, two people that he trusted with his life. Then you and him could learn from the experience and hopefully get it together before having to make any public appearances. 

“Does 6 work?” He asked, to which Taehyung nodded. 

The two then exchanged quick goodbyes, Taehyung explaining that he should probably get back as soon as possible to get things in order, before Jungkook watched as he got into his car and drove off, standing for a few minutes until someone came to stand behind him. 

“Sir?”

He turned to find a man bowing in his direction, waiting for permission to speak. Jungkook motioned for him to go on, already getting an idea of what this was about. 

“Our informant within the Lees just contacted us,” he explained, “he said that Lee Y/N’s father believes his daughter to be a frivolous and naive girl, her sole purpose being to marry someone that will benefit the Lees.”

Jungkook nodded at the news. So you had been telling the truth when you said that you’d fooled everyone, including your father, with your performance… Distantly he wondered why you would decide to resort to such an act. 

“Have there been any talks of betraying this alliance?” Jungkook asked, to which the man shook his head. 

“The informant said there were none. Lee Y/N’s father seems dependent on this alliance to protect himself from neighbouring mafias. The South is quite unsettled in that aspect.”

“I see, and have there been any talks of Y/N having some sort of significant other in the Lee territory?”

The man seemed to hesitate for a moment, “the informant said that there weren’t really any talks of that… but he did mention that before your marriage, when Lee Y/N was still living in the Lee territory, he’d accidentally overheard a hushed phone conversation she’d had in her bedroom. He couldn’t make out what they had been talking about, but he was able to confirm that the voice on the other line was male. The informant hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but since you’re asking now, he decided it would be safer to let you know just in case.”

It could have been anyone, hell, you could have been talking to a relative or something, but Jungkook’s mind went straight to his initial theory. It made sense, especially considering you wanted a divorce so badly. He couldn’t really think of any other reason besides your heart already belonging to someone else… even though you were his wife. 

“Sir? Was there anything else?” The man asked, causing Jungkook to reel in his scowl.

“Contact Lee Y/N’s father and schedule a meeting with him as soon as he can,” Jungkook said, “that’s all, thank you.”

The man bowed, instantly scurrying away from sight to get to the assigned task, while Jungkook turned to start making his way to his car. 

For some reason, his mood had suddenly soured. 

-

-

-

“So we finally get to meet the famous Y/N.”

You smiled shyly as you walked into the grand dining hall, automatically taking in the spiralling chandelier, marble floor, and dark brown dining table filled with formal decoration pieces. Only after this assessment did you let your gaze fall on the two sitting on the dining chairs; the first one you already knew to be Taehyung, who was dressed in a rich grey suit, while the other was a woman -you automatically assumed she was Taehyung’s wife considering the maid had told you you’d be dining with the two today. 

She had been the one that had spoken, but the first thing you noticed when your eyes landed on her was that she was gorgeous. Her straight, long black hair and hazel eyes sparkled under the glittering light of the chandelier overhead, while her dark maroon dress fit elegantly into the rich ambience of the room.

As she stood from her seat, you felt yourself automatically tense. Back in the South, the wives of mafia leaders were always vicious and constantly at each other's throats, a reflection of their husbands’ animosity towards each other. Now that you were married, you supposed you’d have to be subjected to the same, but the only difference was that your ditzy facade would bar you from being able to fight back. Whatever Taehyung’s wife threw at you, you’d have to take it. 

But after she made her way towards you, her actions as smooth as silk, you were surprised when she pulled you in for a quick and formal embrace. 

“The wedding was absolutely beautiful,” she praised, even the flow of her voice silk-like, “and of course your dress, it was exquisite! You must tell me the designer you went with- or perhaps it was all just your figure. I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.”

For a moment all you could do was stare at her; this woman… she was being so… nice. Too nice, if you were being honest. It was a little unnerving, instantly making you sceptical of her intentions. Perhaps the wives of northern mafia leaders were more cunning in the way they sniped at each other? They greeted each other politely during occasions, but behind the scenes they would attack each other to obtain what they wanted? But then again, what could anyone possibly want from you? To them you were just some featherbrained girl that dressed like a fancy pastel tablecloth. 

You’d decided to still dress the part this evening, with a fluffy light pink dress that fell right at your knees and a matching silk ribbon tied into a bow pulling up half your hair, even if you didn’t know for sure how much Jungkook would have revealed to Taehyung. You had the feeling that Jungkook wouldn’t tell him anything, since it would work in his favour having the least amount of people knowing, but you’ve also heard how close the two men were so it wouldn’t entirely surprise you if he had.

Taehyung certainly was staring at you like he knew your secret. Unlike his wife, he stayed seated at the dining table, offering you a polite greeting from there instead, but you could recognise the calculating nature of his gaze as clear as day. He was assessing your every movement as you interacted with his wife, which made you straighten up. It wouldn’t be the biggest deal if he did know, because who would believe him if he went around spreading that kind of news, but if he didn’t, then you would have to up the quality of your act. 

“Has Jungkook told you anything about us?” Taehyung’s wife asked as she took the seat next to her husband once again, while you decided to take the seat across from her, “ah- who am I kidding? You’ve only been here a night. I’m Chaewon and this is Taehyung, he’s the leader of the Kims.”

You nodded, making sure to keep your voice light and airy, “you’re pretty.”

She tried to hide it well, but the comment had Chaewon’s eyes flickering to her husband for a moment. It was better that you started dropping a dumb comment here and there to really seal the ‘dumb as rocks’ trait. 

Chaewon quickly recovered from the surprise, letting out a breathy chuckle, “you’re sweet, but you’re so pretty yourself. I love the light sparkles you’ve added to your lids, it’s such a subtle but dainty thing.”

Her tone was so formal that you couldn’t tell if she was passively mocking you or not. You would’ve preferred she just pull a gun on you or something; it would be way less confusing than sitting here and trying to read between the lines of her words. Confrontational individuals were dangerous, but individuals who planned their strikes in the shadows were the real threats. You’d know that best.

At that moment, before you could reply with an even dumber comment, the sound of the door opening caught everyone’s attention. You turned just to catch Jungkook closing the door behind him, his hair slightly damp, likely from a shower, and dressed in a simple black collar shirt tucked into matching black dress pants. He paused at the doorway, scanning the room for a moment until his eyes dropped on you.

Your brows furrowed when he held your gaze for a second longer than normal, a hidden question in your expression. He looked almost thoughtful, an idea clearly waltzing through his mind, before he finally started making his way towards the three of you. 

You thought that was the end of the odd moment, and that Jungkook would finally initiate a conversation with the other two sitting at the table as he pulled out the chair next to you. But just as he was about to settle into the soft cushion, he stalled for a second, turned to face you…

And then placed a quick peck on your cheek.

You froze, shock making your limbs rigid as you used every bit of your self control to stop yourself from instinctively flinching at the action. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Jungkook apologised as he casually plopped down into his seat, gaze fixing on the couple before you. 

But Chaewon smiled, a graceful hand going to her chest. 

“Aww look at how flustered she looks, aren’t they just adorable, Taehyung?” She said with a smile. Your hands instantly went to your cheeks, annoyed to find them burning underneath your palms. 

Before you could think much of it though, the servers started spilling into the room to place steaming plates of food before you all. This evening’s menu seemed to be seafood themed, with plates of crab, lobster, and shrimp filling the initially empty surface of the dark dining table. It made sense to you, considering almost half of Jungkook’s territory bordered the ocean. 

Once the plates had been placed, a server stepped beside you, bringing out a bottle of red wine to pour into the empty glass beside your plate. But you brought up a hand to stop him. 

“Not a fan of wine, Y/N?” Chaewon asked as she noticed the gesture, and once again the ambiguity in her formal tone made it hard to tell whether she was mocking you or not. 

You shook her head in response, “I don’t like alcohol, it tastes gross.”

Yes, ditzy Y/N didn’t like alcohol, but the real Y/N was seriously craving that expensive whiskey you knew Jungkook had stashed in his office at this very moment. He clearly had good taste, it was a shame you’d had to drop a gram of lethal toxin into the bottle before you’d left the room and passed out on Jungkook’s bed for nearly two hours. You scowled inwardly as you remembered how much more you could have slept had it not been for the maid who had woken you up to give you a tour of the house and then helped you get ready for the early dinner you and Jungkook were supposed to have with Taehyung and Chaewon. 

“I apologise ma’am, is there anything else I can interest you in instead?” The server asked, moving the bottle of wine away from your glass. You mused over your answer for a moment, before you smiled up at him.

“I’d like some banana milk, please.”

Once again, Chaewon subtly threw an unreadable look towards Taehyung, but this time she wasn’t alone as Taehyung and Jungkook each threw their own odd looks in your direction at the wildly childish choice. Back when you first started acting naive your reaction would have consisted of an intense feeling of embarrassment washing over you, but now the others’ reactions only seemed to amuse you. Although, you were inwardly groaning at how gross having seafood alongside milk was going to be. But the show had to go on, didn’t it?

Taehyung cleared his throat when the server returned with a wine glass filled with banana milk -you had to pinch your arm to stop yourself from laughing at that- before he turned to face Jungkook, eager to break the awkward silence that had ensued. 

“I hope you both enjoyed your wedding present, Chaewon spent so long on making that gift basket I thought it was going to be for your one year anniversary,” he joked, causing Chaewon to playfully slap his shoulder. 

“I just wanted it to be nice,” she defended instantly, “we’ve known Jungkook for years, seeing him get married makes me feel like a proud older sister.”

It was such a contrasting sight seeing two mafia families be so fond and at ease with each other when you’d grown up seeing the southern mafia families at each other’s throats constantly. Chaewon seemed so comfortable here, and even though Taehyung was mostly quiet -you were starting to think he was trying to decipher the relationship between you and Jungkook with the way he kept staring back and forth between you two- even he didn’t seem to be guarded despite being in another mafia leader’s territory. 

“We enjoyed the basket, thank you,” Jungkook said, bringing your focus back to the conversation. You watched him lean back in his seat as his gaze drifted to you, the ghost of an amused look haunting his features, “the champagne particularly was quite the ice breaker.”

You’d tried to kill him using that bottle and yet here he was practically mocking you about it not even 24 hours later. You threw him a sweet smile, as if you were reliving a fond memory, hoping he would pick up on the hidden glare in your gaze. But that only made his grin widen. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Chaewon clapped, not seeming to pick up on the tension between you both, “I wasn’t aware of your distaste for alcohol though, Y/N. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind in the future.”

You faced her with what you hoped was a grateful smile, “it’s okay, I really liked the scented candles.”

It had actually been Persilla that had been obsessed with them, the vanilla scented one seeming to be her favourite. 

The dining room was mostly quiet following that, the four of you finishing up your food in a comfortable silence. Inwardly you were gagging at the combination of shrimp and banana milk you’d decided to torment yourself with. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, every few minutes or so you’d catch Jungkook trying to suppress a sly grin, the man being the only one in the room, to your knowledge at least, who knew the reality of your predicament. You scowled, annoyed by his satisfaction until an idea came to mind. 

Well, you could always hit two birds with one stone. 

You reached over your plate to grab your glass of banana milk, bringing it towards yourself to give the impression that you were going to drink from it. But at the last moment, you let the bottom of the glass catch on your plate, causing the entire thing to tip from your fingers. It clattered onto the table, splashing all over Jungkook’s plate and seated form, making him flinch. 

You instantly gasped dramatically, hands going to cover your mouth and eyes widening as you squeaked, “I’m so sorry!”

With Taehyung and Chaewon’s focus shifting to the spill on the table, the roll of Jungkook’s eyes went unnoticed by them. 

“It’s okay, it was only an accident,” he forced out, pushing his chair away from the table’s edge and widening his thighs to evade the rest of the milk. You had to hide your smile behind your hands as you watched the no doubt cold milk seep into his pants. 

Taehyung picked up the box of napkins, which had been near his plate, and held it out to the younger man, causing Jungkook to stretch over the table to receive it. But just as Jungkook grabbed the box, you noticed Taehyung’s brows suddenly furrow, his eyes seeming to stay fixed at a particular spot on Jungkook’s neck. 

You followed his gaze curiously. The first few buttons of Jungkook’s black shirt had been undone, revealing a sliver of his collarbone and chest, but as Jungkook stretched you noticed the fabric shift to expose more of the area, which you realised was covered in red patches that looked a lot like… hickies. You and Taehyung weren’t the only ones that caught this as you noticed Chaewon smirk, her gaze travelling between you both. 

Jungkook himself was the last to notice the stares as he pressed some tissues against the wet material of his pants, most of which was prominent on his lap. Yet when he did notice them, even you knew that Taehyung and Chaewon’s questioning looks wouldn’t allow for him to get out of this without an explanation. 

You expected him to wave them off with a lame excuse anyway, like it was a rash or he’d burned himself somehow. You could call Jungkook many things, but he didn’t seem like the kind of guy that enjoyed making suggestive jokes or conversation. Nor did he seem like the kind of guy to divulge in his sexual escapades. 

But Jungkook didn’t do any of that. Instead he paused, similar to earlier when he had entered the room, and seemed to think something over. Then his gaze dropped on you, and the mischief in his eyes gave you the odd feeling that you should prepare yourself for what he was about to say. 

You should have listened to that feeling. 

Jungkook broke his eye contact with you, his lips twitching into what suspiciously seemed like a smirk, before he turned to face Taehyung and Chaewon. 

“I guess Y/N got a bit carried away earlier.”

Your eyes widened and jaw dropped open as Chaewon gasped, her hands instantly going to her chest as if she couldn’t believe it. From your peripheral vision you could make out Taehyung slumping against the back of his chair, as if he had finally given up on trying to figure the two of you out. 

“Y/N! I would have never guessed you were the freaky type,” Chaewon laughed, her gaze seeming to take you in a different light. Your hands curled into fists under the table. 

Jungkook knew exactly what he was doing by dropping a comment like that, and you were far from stupid enough not to see it. By insinuating that there was a more suggestive side of you, he was slowly starting to break down your performance of an innocent girl capable of doing no wrong in the eyes of others. 

You’d promised to kill him, and now he’d seemingly decided he wanted to kill the image you’d spent years cultivating. 

You took a deep breath to calm yourself as Jungkook’s hand hooked under your chair to drag it towards him, allowing him to wrap an arm around your shoulder when he was close enough. Even in the midst of your subdued anger you noticed just how close the sharp cut of his jawline was in this position, and not to mention the tiny mole under his bottom lip that you hadn’t noticed before. 

“It’s okay, princess,” he said, sounding sweet but you knew it was meant to be mocking, “you don’t have to be shy in front of them.”

You were going to kill him. You were going to shoot him so many times that by the time you were done with him he was going to look like a giant block of swiss cheese-

“Well, we should probably get going,” Taehyung said suddenly, his eyes focused on reading something on his phone before pocketing the device, “I think Suho is starting to get fussy again, plus we should get going if we want to get back home before it gets too dark.”

Taehyung offered a hand to Chaewon to help her get up from her seat, a classy smile gracing her lips as her gaze met yours, “that’s our son by the way. You must meet him the next time we meet.”

“I would love to. I love children,” you said with a tight smile as you and Jungkook got up from your seats, exchanging polite pleasantries all the way to the front door.

“You know, that’s not very surprising to me,” Chaewon commented while Taehyung looped an arm around hers. You waved to each other with smiles, watching him guide her into an orange car before driving around the fountain and disappearing through the tall gates. 

The second the front door closed your smile dropped, replaced by an annoyed scowl that you threw in Jungkook’s direction. He regarded you as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“I don’t know about the North, but in the South we have this thing called personal space. You should try it out some time,” you said, to which Jungkook raised an eyebrow.

“Have you ever seen a married couple have personal space? Really Y/N, must I explain the birds and the bees to you?

You huffed as he walked past you, climbing up the stairs casually while you started following behind him. 

“Why does it even matter if people know how dysfunctional this marriage is? We’re married, how is that not enough?”

It really did not make sense to you why he was so dead set on selling this image of a perfect marriage to others. Back in the South, there was not one marriage a mafia leader was a part of where it wasn’t in complete shambles, and that was very public knowledge to everyone in, and even outside of, the territory. Yet, that didn’t seem to affect the level of control or power the southern mafia leaders had. So why was Jungkook making it out to be such a big deal?

But the question stopped him in his tracks, causing him to turn around on the stairs to give you an incredulous look, as if what you had asked was almost alien. 

“I don’t know how it works in the South, but in the North it very much matters,” he said slowly, gaze fixed on yours, “we must present ourselves as perfect in every aspect of our lives, or there are a number of enemies that would have no problem taking advantage of even the most miniscule flaw.”

You scoffed, “that’s dumb.”

Jungkook turned away from you, not bothering to comment on the mindless remark, as he continued to resume his path up the stairs. When he finally made it to the top and walked up to his bedroom’s door, he pushed it open and walked inside. 

Your breath instantly stalled as you followed behind him, gaze darting around the room quickly to see if Persilla was anywhere in his sights. You knew you didn’t need to worry, Persilla was a master of remaining unseen, she’d managed to hide from everyone in the house when you’d been living in the South with your father after all. You’d even opened the door to the balcony slightly, allowing her to roam outside freely if she wanted to, so she might not have even been in the room anyway. You exhaled slowly, successful in convincing yourself that the little black cat you’d grown to care for and love would be fine. 

Jungkook’s breath, on the other hand, came out as a low huff when he noticed the balcony door ajar. He walked over to it quickly, closing it before giving you a chastising look. One you ignored obviously. 

Instead you casually turned away from him to enter into the bathroom, grabbing a few makeup wipes before returning back into the bedroom and plopping yourself down on the fluffy duvet of the bed. You began wiping off the various light sparkles and pinks that softened your face, as if you were taking off a doll-like mask. 

“You’re an annoying little thing, aren’t you?” He commented as he watched your nonchalant demeanour. 

Then it was your turn to watch him disappear into his closet for a moment, the muffled sounds of clothes moving around reaching your ears, before he emerged in a pair of grey sweatpants and a black short sleeve t-shirt. 

But you particularly noticed his right arm, which was covered in a full sleeve of tattoos ending just above his wrist. The ink travelled over the smooth ridges of his skin, taut from the firm muscles underneath. Your gaze immediately dropped to the small trash can next to the bedside table, hoping he didn’t notice your staring, as you focused on throwing the used wipes into the bin. 

You then leaned back on the mattress, arms holding you upright, trying to get your focus back on track, “I like how forgetting to close the balcony door annoys you and not the fact that I want you dead.”

That made Jungkook smile, amusement clear in his eyes, “I’m still standing here though, aren’t I?”

Your reply was quick.

“It won’t be for long.”

“Right,” Jungkook nodded, his words laced into a patronising chuckle, “but while you’re working on that, I need you to actually act like my wife. We’re lucky Taehyung and Chaewon didn’t notice anything, the public won’t be so inattentive.”

You tilted your head, “yes, I wonder what the public would have said about the hickies on your neck.”

Jungkook mirrored your movements, the edges of his lips twitching.

“I think they would be glad to be under the impression that we’re hard at work trying to produce an heir.”

“That’s only if your side piece stays quiet.” 

“Careful, Y/N,” Jungkook tutted, “you sound almost jealous.”

“Jealous?” You repeated incredulously, sitting up straighter with an evidently offended expression, “your girl is sleeping with a dead man walking. Is that something to be jealous of?”

Jungkook paused for a moment, continuing to direct an amused gaze in your direction, before he turned away, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips as he ran a hand through his hair, “relax, princess, there’s no other girl. I just went hunting earlier and got a few mosquito bites. Nothing more.”

“It doesn’t make a difference to me,” you shrugged before falling back onto the mattress, the softness of the duvet making your limbs feel heavy with exhaustion. The position caused your dress to ride up to the middle of your thighs, a movement that didn’t go unnoticed by Jungkook. He looked away when he realised he was staring, choosing instead to focus his gaze on the bright moon outside the window. 

“We may be as far from in love with each other as the moon is to the earth, but I still won’t risk messing around with others outside this relationship,” he said. There was a pause after his words, as if he were expecting you to say something, but you let the silence ensue. There really was nothing you wanted to add anyway. 

A noise made you lift your head, allowing you to see Jungkook unlocking the door to his office before he turned his head to you, “just get used to whatever happened at dinner today. There will be much more where that came from in the future.”

And then he was gone, disappearing into the room while locking the door behind him. Jungkook immediately walked over to the cabinet, pulling out a crystal glass and a bottle of whiskey to place them on the desk.

The loud clink of the glass against the wood of the desk made Jungkook frown, annoyed by his getting annoyed at your lack of reply. Yet, it was evident that he was indeed irritated by it. Of course you wouldn’t agree not to mess around with others, you had your ‘boyfriend’ waiting for you back in the South. 

He certainly wasn’t messing around with anyone. After meeting Taehyung at the docks, Jungkook had gone to meet with the leader of an independent gang in the West, who, to his distaste, was a huge fan of hunting. So naturally they’d met in a forest to hunt for a few hours, before Jungkook had convinced the man to be at his disposal. Jungkook has always been prone to mosquito bites, but that day the mosquitos seemed to have taken a particular liking to his neck and arms, despite what Taehyung and Chaewon might have thought. 

It didn’t matter to him, though, that you had a boyfriend. Yes, it really didn’t. He was just annoyed because if someone found out about him, then Jungkook’s reputation would take a hit. The news would spread like a wildfire, and the outcome would be far from good. 

He didn’t even know how well you could hide a secret like that. What if you slipped up somewhere? What if the dude did? It would be a disaster. 

Jungkook placed his glass down, the whiskey momentarily forgotten as he grabbed his phone and leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen in thought. This was for the good of his leadership, not anything personal. Yes, that’s right. 

Mind made, Jungkook quickly dialled a familiar number, waiting barely a single ring before a male voice sounded from the device. 

“Hello sir, was there something I could help you with?”

Jungkook’s fingers wrapped around the glass on his desk, “tell the informant I want him to investigate Lee Y/N’s room at the Lee mansion. I want to find out everything we can about the man Y/N was talking on the phone with before our marriage, and if there’s anything else unusual I want to be informed of it as well.”

“Yes, of course sir,” the voice said immediately, “I’ll let him know as soon as possible. Is that all?”

Jungkook paused for a moment, thinking over the question. This had been an impromptu call after all.

Stuck in his thoughts, he brought the glass into his hand, swirling the liquid in it for a second before taking a modest sip.

His reflexes acted before his mind did; the second he registered the hint of a metallic taste he lurched forward, spitting the liquid back into the glass in a matter of a second. Even with that little exposure he could start to feel his tongue burn slightly, causing him to instantly open the drawer of his desk and grab a water bottle. The water soothed his mouth as he quickly swished it between his teeth before spitting it out and repeating the process a few times.

“Sir? Sir?! Is everything okay?” The voice rang from his phone, Jungkook almost forgetting about him for a second. He cleared his throat.

“Yes, it was nothing. That will be all, thank you.”

He ended the call, grimacing in discomfort at the feel of his slightly sensitive tongue against the roof of his mouth. So you’d managed to find a way to sneak into his office. He shouldn’t have been very surprised by that, you seemed to have a talent for getting into places where you shouldn’t. 

Jungkook sighed as he eyed his liquor cabinet, realising that he’d have to throw it all. But as his gaze raised, it seemed to catch an empty slot in his bookshelf. Curiously he walked over to it, hand hovering over the hollow space between a book about war tactics and a book about his family’s history. 

It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. You’d obviously taken one of his books, but whether it was for casual reading or for something more he couldn’t tell. 

He ignored the pang of pain that rippled throughout his mouth as he ran his tongue over the back of his teeth, his gaze falling back to his desk. With Jimin’s attacks, he had a lot of work he was going to have to do, and now seemed like the perfect time to get that done considering he was not going to go back into his bedroom, which you had taken over. 

He sighed. 

It was going to be a long night. 

-

-

-

You remained seated on the bed as you watched Jungkook lock the door behind him, leaving you alone in his bedroom once again. You hoped he enjoyed the nice present you’d dropped into his liquor bottles this morning, because you were just about ready to be shipped off back to the Lee mansion and watch your plan unfold in the perfect way you’d outlined it to. 

The sound of something tapping against glass caught your attention, causing you to turn towards the balcony. It was hard to spot her in the dead of night, her black fur blending into the dark so well that her feline eyes were the only thing about her you could really make out. But even then, there was no doubt in your mind that it was Persilla trying to get your attention from outside of the balcony door. 

You stood, sending a wary glance in the direction of Jungkook’s office’s door, before slowly pushing yourself off the mattress and making your way towards the glass. You paused in front of it for a moment, taking a deep breath before closing your eyes. Your hands blindly felt in front of you, moving erratically in the air for a moment before you could feel the handle between your fingers. You pulled on it, hearing the sound of the door opening as well as the feel of the fresh airy breeze on your face.

The second you felt Persilla’s small body walking between your feet, you pushed the door close, sighing in relief when you opened your eyes. 

You crouched down to pet Persilla’s head, scratching against her chin when she purred delightfully. It was only when she moved her head upwards, showcasing her collar, when you paused, your gaze catching onto something white wedged between the sleek leather and her furry neck. 

“Do you have something for me, Persilla?” You asked, fingers pinching the thing, which you realised was a folded note, and bringing it out of its confines. You unfolded it, eyes widening after scanning it and recognising the familiar strokes of black pen on its surface.

It’s done.

We should meet soon.

~ H

A/N: comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated! Also Jungkook when he finds out about Persilla: 🧍‍♂️

[shmreduplication]

fun fact and absolutely don't ask how i found this out but there's a very common type of comment on hamlet slashfic that's like "i'm supposed to be studying/writing an essay about hamlet rn but instead I'm reading this"

I love you all, gay little shakespeare nerds, good luck with your grades

[stevesbipanic]

Eddie gets stuck in a time loop but has no idea why, his day is normal, there's not even a test that day that he can use this to pass. After a few time loops he says fuck it let's start doing fun things, starting with talking to his crush, the lovely Fallen King Steve. After a few loops Steve starts talking back, soon there's whole loops with just them hanging out.

Little does Eddie know, Steve is in a time loop too trying to stop the Upside Down once again, he's just having a hard time caring when there's this sweet metalhead chatting him up everyday. Maybe he deserves to waste a few loops.